East of the Sun and West of the Moon 3 page

Cod nibbled at the mermaid’s hair. Made of kelp, her hair drifted around her face like Medusa’s

snakes. Cassie noticed the mermaid had no fingers, and a memory tugged at her, one of the local

stories. This was the creature who had spawned the Sedna stories, the Inuit sea woman whose father

had chopped off her fingers. “You’re Sedna,” Cassie said. Months ago, Bear had mentioned Sedna as

the overseer of the Arctic Ocean.

With a flick of her fin, the mermaid rocketed toward Cassie. Instinctively, Cassie shielded her

face, but the mermaid veered around her and circled her in a jet stream of bubbles. “I have heard of

you as well,” Sedna said. “You are the girl who was forced to marry the polar bear to save your

mother from the trolls.”

“No one forced me,” Cassie said. “I chose to save her.” And now she was choosing to save him,

whether he loved her or not. “I need to reach the castle that’s east of the sun and west of the moon.

Will you help me?”

“The bowhead says that you have a future munaqsri inside you,” the mermaid said. She swam

faster. Bubbles cycloned around Cassie.

Cassie pressed her hands to her curved stomach. It was only a fetus right now. “It’s not even

born yet, and it might not want to be a munaqsri. But Bear’s alive now. Please, help me. If not for me,

then for the polar bears.”

“Land creatures,” said the mermaid dismissively. She kept swimming, tail flicking through the

water.

Cassie tried to watch the mermaid, but the mermaid swam in a blur now, still circling her.

“They’re almost sea mammals,” Cassie said. It was a controversial theory, but her father had done a

paper on it. Maybe the caretaker of the sea would like the theory. “Blubber. Water-resistant fur.

Streamlined ears. Webbing between their toes. They’re evolving into the sea.” Please, let her

believe!

The mermaid laughed, and the bubbles spun in waves. “I am helping you,” she said. “You have

not drowned.”

The mermaid swam even faster. Cassie felt dizzy. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the vertigo

stayed. She opened her eyes. “But I need to find Bear!” she shouted. Bubbles cycloned faster and

faster. She was surrounded, as if in a net. Cassie swam at the bubbles. She was thrown back into the

center. She could not see through the bubbles. “Wait!” The mermaid blurred into silver and green.

The cyclone lengthened. Cassie saw it stretch like a Slinky through the sea. “Hush, child,” Sedna

said. “Trust the munaqsri. We want what is best for our world, as all creatures do.”

“Not the trolls,” Cassie called through the bubbles. “The trolls don’t want ‘what’s best.’ They

want the polar bears extinct!”

“No one knows what the trolls want,” the mermaid said. “You must go to Father Forest. He

knows best how to help you.”

“Who is he?” she asked eagerly. “How do I find him?”

The cyclone collapsed around her. Bubbles hit Cassie’s skin. She kicked, yelling, and the

bubbles squeezed. Cassie flew. Like paint squirting from a tube, she shot down the cyclone through

the water. The roar of the water drowned her screaming as she sped through a tunnel of bubbles. Just

when she thought the ride would never end, she felt the sea undulate beneath her and the cyclone of

bubbles thrust her into the air. She broke out of the water. Sun hit her eyes. “Whoa!” she yelled as she

rushed to meet the shore.

CHAPTER 21

Latitude 68° 32’ 12” N

Longitude 89° 49’ 33” W

Altitude 2 ft.

Cassie skidded on her tailbone. “Ow, ow!” Shielding her face, she slammed into a dune of

snow. For an instant, she lay there, limbs tangled. She was alive. She had dived into the Arctic Ocean

and lived.

Closing her eyes, Cassie inhaled. The air tasted wonderful, like salt and sun and earth. Opening

her eyes, she turned her head. Her pack lay beside her. The nylon had ripped in three spots, and the

frame had warped into an S, but it was dry and whole.

Gingerly, she untangled herself and tested her joints—no broken bones. Just a lot of bruises. She

pushed herself up to sitting and looked around. Glacier-scoured rocks stretched for miles, patches of

snow alternating with windswept expanses. She was on the tundra.

A brown blur scooted over her mukluks. She jerked her feet under her.

“I am here,” a voice said.

“Where? Who said that?” she asked. She looked around at the rocks, the waves, the sky.

The brown blur shot past her, darting from rock to rock. Suddenly, it stopped, and she saw a

roly-poly brown rodent, like a furry toy football perched on a rock—a lemming. Cassie grinned.

Sedna had said she’d help. Cassie just hadn’t expected that help to take the shape of a magical rodent.

She pictured herself telling Bear about this. He was going to laugh for days.

“Come on,” the lemming said. “Pick me up. We must be off. I have responsibilities to tend to,

you know.”

With the lemming cradled in her hands, Cassie sped across the tundra at munaqsri speed. The

world sped by like a film on fast-forward. She saw clips and heard snippets of the landscape as it

changed around her. Geese flew overhead, and unseen birds called across the grasses. In hollows,

purple saxifrages and arctic white heather flourished. Poppies bloomed in snow patches. She was

heading south (quickly), and summer was heading north.

Late in the sunlit night, they halted. “I feel a call,” the lemming said. “Camp here. I will return

for you.” Before she could protest, the rodent was gone.

Her one link to Bear, gone.

Cassie swallowed hard. He’ll return, she told herself. He said he’d return. And Sedna had said

to trust. Ordering herself to stop worrying, she looked around. She was beyond the shrub tundra now,

deep in tussock tundra.

Stretching out her legs, Cassie threaded between headsize clumps of grass. Filled with stagnant

water, the tussocks would burst if she stepped on them. To walk through the minefield, she had to lift

her knees high like a stork. She imagined how she’d retell this to Bear: She’d march around the

banquet hall as if she were walking through tussocks, and he’d laugh in his low rumble. He’d serve

that chicken in white wine sauce, and she’d tell him how she’d picked lichen from rocks for her

dinner on the tundra. She’d say how much she’d missed him, and he’d say he loved her and had never

meant to hurt her…

But all the apologies in the world wouldn’t undo anything that had happened. Cassie laid her

hands on her stomach. Even if she found Bear… everything would be different. She swallowed hard.

She didn’t just want Bear back; she wanted the life they’d had.

She camped between tussocks. Overhead, the northern lights chased each other in pale ribbons

as the sun continued its low roll along the horizon. She dreamed about Bear, and she woke expecting

him to be beside her like he used to be. She nearly cried when she realized he wasn’t.

To her relief, the lemming returned shortly after she woke, and again they raced across the

tundra. The next time they stopped, she was surrounded by cottongrass. Thousands of flowers that

looked like gone-to-seed dandelions covered the tundra in a fine white mist. She took out her GPS.

After a dip in the Arctic Ocean, it shouldn’t still have worked, but the numbers flickered. She tilted it

until she could read it. Latitude 66° 58’ 08", longitude 110° 02’ 13". Whoa. She’d come hundreds of

miles in less than two days. At this rate, she’d be in the boreal forest before she knew it. “Thank

you,” she said to the lemming. She’d never imagined it would be a rodent who would be her savior.

“The owl will hunt for you,” the lemming said. “She enjoys it.”

“What owl?” Cassie scanned the skies. She didn’t see… Wait, she saw a white splotch to the

north. Silent, the snowy owl drifted over the tundra. Her feathers were like a cloud against the sky.

Cassie saw her dive—right toward the lemming. “Watch out!” Cassie yelled as the owl’s talons

wrapped around him.

The lemming did not flinch, and the owl released him and glided a few feet away before settling

in the cottongrass. “You invite me to play,” the owl said, “And you do not even run. Where is the

sportsmanship in that?”

Cassie exhaled. It was the owl munaqsri, and they obviously knew each other. Cassie wasn’t

going to lose her transportation.

“I did not invite you to hunt me,” the lemming said in his piping voice. “I invited you to hunt for

her. She travels to Father Forest. She is the wife of the polar bear.”

The owl swiveled her head a hundred eighty degrees. “I see. And the child is his?”

Cassie threw her arms around her stomach. The sun was warm, and she had shed her parka and

wool. Her curved stomach strained her flannel. More than four months now. “I need to find Bear,” she

said, her voice rising. “Father Forest has to help me.”

The owl studied her for another moment. “Of course he will help you,” the owl said. “You may

rely on him to do what is best. What do you wish to eat?”

Cassie’s knees wobbled in relief. The owl wasn’t going to argue, and she was going to get her

dinner. Food! She wanted chocolate cake and stacks of hamburgers and Dad’s beans and Max’s

sausage omelettes, but she tried to think of what lived in sedge meadows. Dad used to refer to

lemmings as “wild fast food.” Cassie glanced at the lemming munaqsri. “Rabbits?” she suggested.

In a few minutes, the owl returned, soaring low. Her feathers brushed flowers. Petals flew like

confetti. Cassie saw the grass sway in front of the owl. Cassie stood on top of a hummock for a better

view. With wings spread a full five feet wide, the owl herded rabbits. Lots of rabbits. Politely, the

owl called to her, “Would you like to kill one, or may I?”

She felt a twinge of pity for the hares being hunted by a superowl. The owl, on the other hand,

seemed to be enjoying herself. “Please, be my guest,” Cassie said.

Cassie set her stove as the owl neatly killed a hare.

Seconds later, a live hare appeared beside the corpse. He hopped from paw to paw. “Filthy

predator!” the new hare shouted. “Return the soul you stole immediately.”

The owl ruffled her feathers. “You did not come to claim the soul. It was free for me to take.

You would not have wanted it to be lost, would you? It is better for it to become an owl than for it to

be lost.”

“I am here now!” the hare munaqsri cried. “Return it immediately.”

“As you wish,” the owl said. She opened her beak. Mist, the soul, drifted across the grasses. The

hare chased after it. It melted into him.

The owl dropped the carcass beside the stove. “Thank you,” Cassie said. “Sorry for causing

problems.”

The owl shrugged, an interesting feat with wings. “The hare has no sense of humor,” she said.

The hare munaqsri returned. “Disgusting predators.” The irate rabbit fixed its eyes on Cassie.

“You are an omnivore. Why must you eat my hares?”

“Find me some wild tofu, and I’ll eat that,” Cassie offered.

The owl chuckled. Sputtering, the hare disappeared into the grasses.

Cassie smiled. How strange that she could now joke with talking birds and rodents. Months ago,

Bear had said he could show her a new world with wonders she didn’t know existed. She certainly

had never imagined she’d be out on the tundra with a magic lemming, owl, and hare.

“Are we close?” Cassie asked.

“I will bring you to the end of my region,” the lemming said, “and the owl will arrange for a

guide to bring you into the forest. You will be with Father Forest by tomorrow afternoon.”

Cassie felt her heart leap. She could see Bear tomorrow! Finally, after the ice and the sea and

the tundra… Cassie ran her fingers through her hair, and her fingers snagged a few inches from her

scalp. She hoped he didn’t mind that she smelled. Cassie laughed out loud and shook her head. Her

hair flew around her in a red cloud of tangles. “I’m coming, Bear!” she said. She’d bring him home.

She touched her stomach. And then? She didn’t know.

CHAPTER 22

Latitude 64° 04’ 50” N

Longitude 124° 56’ 02” W

Altitude 1281 ft.

She’d be met by a guide, the lemming had said before he’d left her, but Cassie didn’t see

anything that looked like a guide. She was alone at the foot of a hill. Spruces studded the low rise,

and an aspen grove blocked her view over the top. The air crackled with birds and tasted faintly of

evergreen. “Hello?” she called. She wondered what kind of creature she was supposed to meet.

Rodent? Bird? Mosquito?

One of the aspen trees halfway up the hill began to shiver. Aspens, northern aspens, quiver in a

breath of wind. She remembered one of Dad’s lessons: Populus tremuloides, they were called.

Quivering aspens. But this was the only tree in the grove that was moving. She walked up to it. Its

trunk was as thick as her arm, with bark a peeling pale green. Thin branches jutted out at uneven

intervals.

It jiggled harder, as if it were doing a belly dance.

And then suddenly it laughed. Or, more accurately, a girl perched in the branches laughed.

Cassie squinted—the sun was directly behind the tree and, oddly, made the girl appear greenish.

“Hellooo!” The girl waved. She swung out of the branches and landed lightly on the ground. “I

am the aspen.”

Cassie blinked at her. She was green. Her skin looked like layered leaves, and her hair looked

like twigs. “You’re the aspen munaqsri?”

“Yes,” the girl said. Her voice was high, whistlelike, and cheerful.

“You’re a tree,” Cassie said.

Again, the green girl laughed. “Yes!”

Cassie decided that she’d seen stranger things than this. Or maybe she hadn’t. She tried to

imagine describing this creature to Owen and Max. They’d never believe her. Gail might. If Cassie

went back to the station now, maybe she and her mother would have something to talk about.

Following the aspen, Cassie climbed to the top of the hill, and the view banished all other

thoughts. All Cassie could do was stare. “Wow,” she whispered. It was gorgeous. Far in the distance,

she could see mountains, the Mackenzies. Dark purple with streaks of glacial white, the mountains

crowned the horizon. Max had always wanted to fly his Twin Otter in the Mackenzies. Now she could

understand why. Rivers cut through the foothills. She saw enormous rock faces. And the green… oh,

the green. Spruces, thick and tall, dominated the landscape for the hundreds of miles between her and

those foothills. Pale green tamarack and the slender spines of aspens stood out like lights against the

rich spruce green.

“Father Forest is within the boreal forest,” the tree-girl said. “We will ride there.”

“Ride what?” Cassie asked.

Seeming to ignore her, the aspen pointed. “I like that one,” she said. She was pointing at a

nearby caribou, a young buck. His back was to them. He had shed most of his winter coat, but

remnants hung like rags on his broad neck and back. He lowered his head into a thicket and thrashed

his antlers against the branches. It sounded like a dozen snare drums; it drowned the chirps of birds.

Finishing, he lifted his head. His antlers were tinted red. Cassie could hear larks and thrushes again.

The tree-girl sprinted to his side, as fast as a blur.

Grinning, Cassie followed her. This was even better than traveling by lemming. The aspen-girl

sprang onto his back and beckoned to Cassie. Grasping the caribou’s mane, Cassie pulled herself

onto his back. The length of her pack forced her to lean toward his neck. His vertebrae stuck into her

legs.

“Run!” the aspen commanded.

He broke into a gallop, and the other caribou scattered. His tendons clicked with the unique

caribou sound, like rubber bands snapping. Cassie bounced on his bony back as he accelerated to

munaqsri speed under the aspen’s power.

She knew the moment they left the taiga and entered the boreal forest: The light changed.

Shadows surrounded them as conifers blocked the sun. The caribou ran over needles that crunched,

and he leaped over fallen trees. Spruces were swathes of dark green punctuated by the white flash of

an aspen. Finally, she was almost to Father Forest!

The aspen shouted a command, and the caribou stopped. Cassie was tossed into his neck. “Ow!”

Her stomach squished. She scooted back behind his prominent shoulder blades. “Why did…,” she

began to ask, and then she stopped.

Ahead was a picturesque cottage nestled in spruces. It looked as if it were part of the spruces.

The bark of the trees bled into the wood of the walls. The roof was made of mossy stones. Cassie

smiled—the cottage defined “quaint.” Wild roses curled appealingly around the door and windows.

The air smelled of rosemary and mint. Smoke curled invitingly from the chimney. Ferns covered the

tiny yard, and wide slate stones made a path to the door. Cassie slid off the back of the caribou, and

the caribou trotted away.

Opening a wooden gate, Cassie stepped on the first stone. She heard a chime like a chorus of

birds. Passing her, the tree-girl skipped, laughing, down the path. Each stone sang out under her feet.

It sounded like a bird-call xylophone. Cassie tested another stone. It chimed for her. Grinning, she

went down the path toward the cottage door. She could smell bread baking. She inhaled deeply.

The tree-girl flung the door open. Cassie stooped in the doorway. She squinted, her pupils

expanding. Inside, the cottage was as dark, snug, and comfortable as a bear den. It took a second for

her eyes to adjust before she saw the cottage’s occupant.

The old man was as bent and gnarled as a black spruce tree. Broom in hand, he scuttled around

the tiny home sweeping dirt from the corners and the ceilings. Dust hung in the air like morning haze.

He muttered to himself. The tree-girl threw her arms around him. He patted her absently on the

shoulder. “Yes, yes, dear,” he said. “But everything must be perfect for our guest.”

Father Forest. She wanted to shout or sing. Bear seemed so close she could almost feel his fur

under her fingers and smell his seal-tinged breath. Cassie cleared her throat.

He clapped his hands together. “Our guest!” All his wrinkles seemed to smile. “Please, come in,

come.” He fussed around her as she ducked inside.

The cottage kitchen was full of cabinets and drawers, all carved with pictures of rabbits and

squirrels. Shelves were stacked with wooden plates, bowls, and pitchers. The sink even had a

wooden faucet. The only metal was a wroughtiron stove with an old-fashioned teakettle. Corners of

the kitchen receded into shadows. She saw a small, cozy living room through an open doorway, and

through one of three other doorways, she glimpsed a bedroom. It was nothing like Bear’s castle with

the open ballroom, the buttressed halls, the spiral staircase, but she liked it. It felt warm and safe and

a welcome change from ice and tundra. “You are Father Forest?”

The old man bobbed his head. “Do you like it?”

He must mean the forest, she guessed. “It’s beautiful.”

He beamed. “You must see the Aberdeen Lake area. Beautiful white spruces. And the Peacock

Hills. Some of my finest work. Yes, you must have a tour! You should see my aspen groves. And the

riverbanks with the balsam poplars. The rivers are not my region, of course, but, ah… the

riverbanks!”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“Oh, you must see the willows! Riparian willow thickets!” Unable to restrain himself, he

hopped from foot to foot. He reminded Cassie of a Christmas elf. Or Santa Claus himself.

“Next time,” she promised, and she smiled at him. His enthusiasm was infectious. It was

impossible not to like him. “I’m sure you do wonderful work.”

“It is a noble calling.” For an instant, there was something in his eyes—a seriousness.

“Munaqsri make the world work.” And then he was all smiles. He patted her hand. “Come, sit,” he

said. Guiding her to an empty corner, the old man tapped the floor with his broom. In the spot it

touched, a tree root bubbled up from out of the floor. It flattened under his guidance. He molded it as

easily as Bear sculpted ice. She thought of Bear’s topiaries—all destroyed now. Soon they’d be

home, she told herself. The forest munaqsri patted the root chair. “Please, let me get you something to

eat. You must be famished.”

Her stomach rumbled as he scurried to the kitchen. “Thank you, but I don’t have time. You’re

right. About munaqsri, I mean. Without Bear, the whole polar bear species will be extinct in a

generation.”

On tiptoe, he peered into his cabinets. “We have all sorts of delicacies here in my forest. Fresh

fronds? Pinecone hearts?” Father Forest filled a tray with out-of-season berries and odd-shaped

leaves.

She was not going to be distracted, not this close, though the thought of food was tempting. She

hadn’t eaten since the hare yesterday. “I was told you could help me get to the troll castle.”

He opened the iron oven, and the smell of bread wafted across the room. Her stomach cried. He

lifted out a luscious loaf. “Rest first. Then we’ll talk about your polar bear.”

Fresh bread. She salivated. How could it hurt? Wouldn’t it be better to rescue Bear on a full

stomach? For all she knew, it was thousands of miles to the castle and she would need the energy.

Urgency argued with hunger, and hunger won. Cassie took off her pack and rested it against a wall.

She sat on the root chair. It felt as solid as ordinary wood, even though it had just grown. He served

her the tray and the bread. She wondered why he hadn’t magicked the food here the way he had the

chair. Then she bit into the bread and lost interest in the question.

The bread tasted like honey. It melted in her mouth. She devoured it in three mouthfuls. “This is

wonderful.” Some of the leaves tasted like lettuce, some were tinged with mint, and others were nut

flavored. “Thank you.”

He smiled fondly at her. “You are the wife of the bear. We take care of our own.”

She smiled. The owl had been right. She’d said that Cassie could rely on him. She had nothing

more to worry about. Thanks to Sedna and Fluffy and the lemming and the aspen, she and Bear would

be home soon. “How far is it to the castle?” she asked as she finished her food.

“Tea?” he asked. He patted a finger on the root. Cassie moved as a green shoot sprouted out of

the bark beside her. It unfurled, and its tip swelled into a bulb. It fattened until it looked ready to

burst. Green sides peeled away, and it opened like a tulip. From its base, color spread up it as it

darkened from a light pink to a deep red. Delighted, she laughed out loud. How magical—just like

something Bear would do. The forest munaqsri snapped the blossom at the base. The green shoot

withered into dust. He fetched the kettle from the stove and poured tea into the flower. He handed it to

her. The petals felt soft and warm. “You will like it,” he said, smiling. “It’s a special blend. Extra

strong for you.”

Steam rose into her nose as she brought it to her lips. She took a sip. It tasted of herbs and pine.

Immediately, she felt calmer. “Thank you again,” she said.

“I have prepared a bed for you,” he told her. “You need a good night’s sleep.”

Cassie shook herself. “No, no.” Her tongue felt thick. “So close.” She stood, and her knees felt

suddenly weak. Father Forest took the tea out of her hands and set it on the root chair. Gently, he took

her elbow and guided her to one of the doors. He said, “If you need anything, you have only to call

out. The trees have ears, you know.”

Sitting in a corner, the tree-girl giggled—a shrill sound. It grated inside Cassie’s head like metal

filings. She shook her head to clear it, and felt dizzy.

He led her through the door into a green room with a downy bed. She frowned at the bed. She

did not want to sleep; she wanted Bear. “No, no sleep.” Her words slurred. It was hard to think.

Dimly, she thought, It was the tea. But he was such a nice old man. “See Bear when wake?” She tried

to look at him, but her eyelids felt as heavy as granite. She sank onto the bed.

He patted her arm. “Rest tonight, dear. Please, do not worry. It will be all right. You will see.”

On an impulse, she hugged the gnarled man.

“Yes, yes, dear,” he said. “You will see.”

CHAPTER 23

Latitude 63° 54’ 53” N

Longitude 125° 24’ 07” W

Altitude 1301 ft.

“Ow, ow, ow.” Cassie peeled the clothes from her skin—long johns plastered to her with dirt

and dried sweat. It felt like pulling off a Band-Aid. She grimaced at herself. She had flecks of blood

from a thousand scratches, and she was mottled with purple and yellow bruises. How lovely. She

turned on the shower, and the water spilled through a crevice and then was funneled out between

roots on the floor. She flinched as she ducked under the stream.

Mud dripped down Cassie’s legs, and the runoff turned a Mississippi brown. Father Forest had

told her she would find fresh clothes in the bathroom closet, so she rinsed all her long johns and

silkweights. Even considering the knockout tea, which (she had to admit) had provided much-needed

sleep, he was proving to be a generous host. She felt like a hotel guest, or what she imagined a hotel

guest would feel like—she’d never been one. Cassie sanded her skin with pine-scented soap. Wow,

she had missed being clean! She scrubbed her hair. Grass clumps plopped onto the shower floor. She

noticed one was seaweed.

She shook her hair and splattered the walls. Father Forest should be nominated for sainthood,

she thought. She finally felt human again. First thing she would ask Bear to do when all this was over

would be to resculpt the bathroom. She imagined herself and Bear rebuilding the castle side by side.

Glorying in her daydream and in the water, Cassie stretched. And she felt a fluttering in her

stomach.

Her hands flew to her curved stomach. She felt the fluttering a second time. It was like wings

inside her abdomen. Cassie grabbed the shower wall as her knees caved.

Oh, no. No, no. How could she have a baby? She huddled against the bark wall of the shower.

Her hair stuck to her skin as water streamed over her. She wasn’t ready to be a mother!

She had so cleverly avoided thinking about it too much. But the baby wasn’t waiting for her to

adjust to the idea. Every day, it marched closer to birth.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 612