Winter's Child (11 page)

Food to last for several days. A water skin. These, too, were added to my growing pile. I considered for a moment, then added some examples of my needlework. These I might barter for food or sell. Perhaps I could even hire myself out as a seamstress, if necessary. Finally, I placed the shawl I had given Oma in honor of her last birthday on the bed. It was made of pale green silk, embroidered with images of the flowers from our garden. It was too fine to wear, but I could not bear to leave it behind.

I stood back, hands on hips, gazing at my selections.

What else, Grace? What else?

There is nothing else,
I realized. Nothing that I could pack, anyhow. My memories of Oma lived inside me, just like my love for Kai. Those would go with me wherever I went.

Go!
my heart cried suddenly.
Don’t wait for morning. Don’t wait another moment to go after who you love. Go now.

And with that, I was desperate to be gone. Filled with a fierce determination, I bundled the items I had selected into my pack, put on my boots,
tossed the cloak around my shoulders, and headed for the door. Here, finally, I paused to look for one last time at the rooms in which I had grown up. On the small table beside Oma’s favorite chair was her seed-saving box. I had left it for Herre Johannes.

Oma saved garden seeds every year, each kind in its own slip of paper that was carefully folded so that no seeds could escape. On impulse, I crossed to the box and plucked out a paper containing the seeds of Oma’s favorite sunflowers. I carefully tucked it into the bottom of my pack, then slung the pack onto my shoulders. I felt the weight of it settle against my back, felt the way the straps gripped my shoulders. Then I left the apartment, closing the door quietly behind me.

Outside, it was cold. A great round moon, just past full, drifted in the sky. By its light, Kai’s footprints were easy to see.

Why?
I thought again.
Why?

I had no answer. But I was not about to let that stop me.

Wish me luck, Oma,
I thought.

My breath making fat white clouds in the cold air, I began to walk alongside Kai’s tracks.

A girl doesn’t need luck, Grace.
I suddenly heard Oma’s voice inside my mind.
What a girl needs is a good head on her shoulders. She needs to learn to keep her wits about her and her eyes open.

I will, Oma,
I thought.
I promise.

I reached the end of the street, following Kai’s
footprints as they went around the corner. I was so intent on following this strange path that it wasn’t until I reached the outskirts of town that I realized the truth:

Kai’s steps headed straight toward the horizon.

T
WELVE

By morning, I was well into the mountains. Though the sunlight made Kai’s footsteps more difficult to see, I was glad for it. The mountains, with the entrances to the mines yawning like great dark mouths, were an eerie, unsettling place to be at night. Were it not for the steady pace of Kai’s footsteps showing me the way, I’m sure I would have become lost.

Sometime during the night, my ears had caught the voice of a stream, and in the morning light, I could see that my path ran right beside it. It rushed ahead, flush with snowmelt. I continued to walk until I came to a place where the flow of water broadened, becoming wide and shallow.

Here, a clump of fat boulders clustered together, as if inviting weary travelers to sit down and take a rest. I obliged, resisting the temptation to take off my shoes and stockings and wade into the stream.
The thought might have sounded inviting, but it was still early spring and I knew the water would be icy.

I sipped from my water skin, ate a piece of cheese and an apple, and contemplated my surroundings. The mountains were beautiful. They also made me claustrophobic. They pressed close together, leaning in as if wishing to peer over one another’s shoulders. I could not see the horizon. I remembered Kai’s father, buried to death deep within the earth, and I shivered.

Time to keep moving, Grace,
I thought. It was far too early in the journey to be indulging in such morbid thoughts.

I got to my feet, then bent to refill my water skin. I hadn’t consumed much, but I had no idea how long my journey might take and I knew I could not be without water. Food I might forage or beg for if it came to that.

The water was cold enough to make me gasp. I filled my skin as quickly as I could, and then returned it to my pack. I settled the straps of the pack over my shoulders and turned back toward the path. I could just see the faint outlines of Kai’s footsteps.

I began to walk once more.

By midday the sun had grown warm enough that I could take off my cloak. I added it to the contents of the pack. Without the extra layer of the cloak, the straps of the pack dug into my shoulders.
I will have blisters if this keeps up,
I thought.

In the span of no more than half a dozen steps, I was cross. Cross with myself, but most of all, I was cross with Kai. What did he think he was doing, stealing away in the middle of the night? He hadn’t even said good-bye. He had made the most momentous decision of his life without me. He’d gone off and left me behind.

“So much for
me
not loving
you
enough,” I muttered aloud as I stomped along.

The path was more uneven now, filled with sharp chips of slippery stone. Somewhere, I felt certain, there had to be a broader way, an easier way; the path the traders with their carts and horses used to cross the mountains.

“But you couldn’t go that way, could you? Oh, no,” I said, continuing to speak aloud. “You had to go and pick the hard way. You had to follow the Winter Child.

“Ow!”

Busy stomping out my thoughts, I’d let my eyes stray just long enough for my foot to find a large and contrarily shaped stone. It had rolled over, turning my ankle right along with it.

“Oh, fine. You’re happy now, aren’t you?” I exclaimed aloud, still talking to Kai.

I always had insisted that all you needed to do to get where you were going was to put one foot in front of the other. Kai always had been equally insistent that this only worked if the path was on your side. Apparently, the current path hadn’t quite made up its mind as to how it felt about me.

Several steps ahead, a particularly sharp stone sat in the middle of the path. I sent it skittering with a quick, defiant kick.

“All I did was ask for a little more time!” I shouted. “Was that so wrong? We were talking about the rest of our lives. Just because I wasn’t ready to settle down right that second. ... For the record, I never said I didn’t love you, Kai. I
do
love you, and if you weren’t such a pigheaded idiot, you’d know it!”

At that moment, as if the sound of my voice had startled it into flight, high above my head I heard a bird call, the sound keen and fierce. I paused and looked up, shading my eyes from the glare of the sun. I caught a flash of white as the bird plummeted downward. In the next moment, it spread its wings, the shape of them sharp as an etching against the sun.

It must be a hunting bird of some kind,
I thought.
A hawk or a falcon.
City birds I knew well from my many hours on the roof, but I was not as familiar with the wild birds. The bird banked low, and now I could see its dark head. Its body was dappled black and white, like the flanks of a horse.

I watched, my heart in my throat, as the bird’s wings beat in the air, soaring upward once more.
He’s not hunting,
I thought.
He’s simply reveling in flight. Reveling in motion.

“Oh, how beautiful you are!” I exclaimed, the words rising straight from my heart. “How I wish that I could be like you. How I wish that I could fly!”

What a glorious thing it must be,
I thought,
to be able
to leave the earth behind. To see it spread out below you in all its infinite possibilities.

What did the horizon look like from the sky?

As if it had heard both my words and my thoughts, the bird cried out once more. Then it folded its wings and shot toward the earth. I lost sight of it in a fold of the mountains. As quickly as my elation had come, it abandoned me. I was hot and I was tired.

What do you think you’re doing, Grace?
I thought.
Kai left without saying good-bye. He left you for the Winter Child. An enchanted princess straight out of a bedtime story. You think you can compete with that?

You turned Kai away. What makes you think he’ll welcome you with open arms? Assuming you actually find him in the first place.

“Stop it. Just stop it,” I cried aloud. Thoroughly frustrated with myself, I yanked off my pack and threw it to the ground. “If you’re going to think like that, you might as well go home right now. You didn’t even last a day. That’s pretty pathetic.”

I have no idea how the argument I waged with myself would have ended if it had been allowed to run its course. It wasn’t. Before I could berate myself any further, I heard the falcon’s cry, right behind me. I whirled around. The bird swept toward me, claws outstretched. I cried out and lifted a hand to protect my face.

With a rush of wings, the falcon swept past me. It scooped my pack off the ground and carried it away.

“Come back here!” I shouted. I began to run, stumbling
as my feet sought purchase on the slippery stone path. “You can’t have that,” I yelled. “I need it. It’s mine!”

Up ahead, the path took an abrupt turn to the right. I propelled myself around the corner, then skidded to a stop, abruptly confronted by an unexpected confusion of images, a cacophony of sounds. Before I could begin to make sense of any of them, something rough and scratchy was tossed over my head. Sharp pain exploded through my skull. Stars danced before my eyes, and I remembered nothing more.

T
HIRTEEN
Story the Eighth

In Which Grace Makes a New Friend but Encounters Several Obstacles

When I came to, I was lying flat on my back. A rock the size of a goose egg was digging into my spine. Above my head, the light was beginning to dim; the sun hung low in the sky.

Slowly, I sat up. The motion made my stomach lurch and my head pound. I made a low moan of protest even as I persevered.

“I’m sorry about how hard he hit you,” a nearby voice said. I swung my head toward the sound, then wished I hadn’t as the world began to spin.

“I wish he hadn’t hit me at all,” I croaked out. I put my head into my hands until the spinning stopped, then raised it again, more cautiously this time. The figure of a girl about my age swam into view. She was sitting on a boulder near a small, bright campfire, stirring the contents of a pan suspended on a tripod. There was a tent pitched just beyond her.

“Who’s
he
?” I asked.

“Harkko, my brother,” the girl answered without looking up. “He and Papa think you mean to harm us. They think you’re not alone. They’ve gone scouting to locate the rest of your group.”

“They’re wasting their time,” I said. “I
am
alone.”

The girl gave the side of the saucepan a sharp rap with her spoon.

“That’s craziness!” she exclaimed. She turned to look at me now, her dark brown eyes wide. Her head was covered by a deep green headscarf. Hair the same color as her eyes peeked out at her temples. She wore a simple dress of coarse homespun wool. Her boots were even sturdier than mine.

“No one goes through the mountains alone.” Her eyes suddenly narrowed. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying,” I protested at once. “Why would I?”

The girl shrugged. “How should I know? You’re a stranger,” she replied. As if the fact of my foreignness explained everything and nothing all at once.

“Do you hit every stranger you meet over the head?” I asked.

“It’s not a bad plan,” the girl answered calmly. “It’s always better to strike first and ask questions later. That’s the way to stay alive.”