East of the Sun and West of the Moon 4 page

She forced herself to take a deep breath. She had to keep calm. Bear would help her. She wasn’t

going to be alone. He’d know what to do with a baby—a munaqsri baby. Once she and Bear were

together again, they could face this.

Cassie got to her feet and dried herself with a towel made of woven ferns. It fell apart on her

skin. All she had to do was find Bear in time and it would all be fine. With Father Forest’s help, it

would all be fine.

Cassie pulled the clothes out of the cabinet, and the clothes unfolded into a dress with a leaf

green blouse and a shapeless bark brown skirt. Cotton underwear fell onto the floor. She stared at the

dress. No one who was going to be trekking across a boreal forest wore a dress. Cassie searched the

cabinet for other choices. She found only doll-like slippers. The slippers were worse than the dress

—they would shred in the forest. What was Father Forest thinking?

Cassie glanced at her wet clothes, now hanging on a branch towel rack. She didn’t have much

choice. If she didn’t want to be naked, she’d have to wear the dress. She put it on and scowled down

at herself. “Ridiculous,” she said.

She pulled on her old mukluks and found Father Forest outside, waist-deep in ferns. He raised

his head as she stepped on a singing stone. He beamed at her. “Sleep well?”

“Completely rested and ready to go,” she announced. “Thanks for the hospitality.” She decided

not to say a word about the dress. It was probably all he had. His gnome pants would have been

knickers on her. She shouldn’t be ungrateful after all he was doing for her and Bear.

He screwed up his face like a prune. “Not now!”

She’d felt the baby move; she didn’t want to wait another minute. “Why not?”

Father Forest waved at the yard of fronds. “The ferns are ready to seed.”

She was waiting for ferns? She had not crossed the entire Arctic to be delayed by ferns. “Bear is

waiting for me,” she said.

“Ferns cannot wait,” he said.

Clenching her teeth, she reminded herself that he had fed and clothed her. A little yard work was

a fair trade. “Fine,” she said through her teeth. “Let me help.”

He smiled with eyes crinkling like Santa Claus’s. Kneeling, he demonstrated how to pluck the

seeds from the undersides of the ferns, scatter the seeds around the yard, and smooth pine needles

over them. He acted like a child showing off a new toy. “Gravity and wind will do that, you know,”

Cassie said.

“You are so innocent,” he said fondly. “It’s really charming.”

She scowled. “After the ferns, we go to Bear.” Bending over the ferns, she scraped the seeds

with her short fingernails. She tossed them into open patches.

“Good, good,” he said, watching her.

It was as pointless as plucking autumn leaves. Cassie scraped and tossed, scraped and tossed, as

fast as she could. Bear was waiting for her. She pictured him pacing in a cage while trolls prodded

him and laughed. She hated the thought of him trapped and helpless. She scraped so fast that she

shredded the tender leaves.

Whistling to himself, Father Forest leisurely bent over the ferns, picked the seeds one by one,

examined each one in the low angled sunlight, considered the full yard, and placed the seeds

individually on the ground. Cassie wanted to shake him. She had to bite her lip to keep from shouting

at him to move.

Cassie worked through lunch and dinner. Father Forest came and went, tottering off to do

munaqsri business (or, she thought, scratch his elbow for an hour or two). She stretched her back,

wincing, as he sniffed the roses that curled around the cottage windows. He peeled back the petals

until the roses were in full bloom. The old man, she decided, was a kinnaq, a lunatic. But as long as

he brought her to Bear, she didn’t care. She finished with the ferns. “Now can we go?”

Father Forest arranged the petals like an artist. “All the seeds?”

She surveyed the yard. “Yes.”

He gestured to the forest. “And those?”

Cassie looked over her shoulder at the expanse of boreal forest beyond the picket fence.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

He left her looking out at the forest.

Cassie felt the baby shift inside her again, and she automatically placed her hands over her

stomach. If she cooperated, this kinnaq would help her find Bear. Sedna had said he’d help her. Even

the owl had said she could rely on him to do what was best.

For the first time, she wondered exactly what “best” meant.

She turned back to the cottage. Silent and peaceful, it looked like a painting. The amber light of

the permanent sun warmed the roof. She didn’t want to spend another night without Bear. Father

Forest would simply have to understand.

She marched into the cottage and through the kitchen. She found him lounging in a wooden

rocking chair in the living room. He looked up as she entered. “Finished already?”

“I want my husband back,” she said.

“And I want my tea,” he said. “Come, have tea with me, and we will talk.” He tottered into the

kitchen and fetched the kettle.

“Bear needs rescuing,” she said as evenly as she could. Rescuing Bear was more important than

tea or ferns or showers or sleep. Rescuing Bear was more important than anything else in the world.

She followed Father Forest to the kitchen. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your hospitality, but every

second Bear is in that troll castle is a second too long. Please, try to understand.”

He poured two cups of tea. “Won’t you have some?”

She wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, she gritted her teeth and tried to smile. “If I didn’t

know better, I’d think you were delaying me on purpose.”

He shuffled to a root chair and sat. Not looking at her, he stirred his tea. “You cannot travel with

that child inside you. It risks too much.”

Cassie froze. She had to have heard wrong. “Excuse me?”

“I am sorry to disappoint you.”

She opened and shut her mouth twice before saying, “I don’t understand. You have to help me.

You were supposed to help me. The mermaid said… Munaqsri are supposed to be good. You’re

supposed to do what’s best.”

“I do want what is best. You cannot be allowed to risk a future caretaker.” Perched on the root

chair with his feet dangling above the floor, he looked like a wrinkled child.

She clenched her fists. “I don’t care about the risks. I have to try!” Her father hadn’t tried, and

look what had happened: She’d grown up without a mother, and Gail screamed at night.

His wrinkles darkened. “It is not safe… ”

“Bear needs me to do this.” She stalked to the guest bedroom and returned with her pack. “I need

to do this.” This wasn’t open for debate.

Bones creaking, Father Forest rose. “I am sorry, but I have to insist.”

“You and what army?” She marched to the door.

In a quiet, sad voice, he said, “I do not need an army.” Flicking his wrist, he commanded the

walls. Shoots sprouted out at her and wound around her wrists. Cassie shrieked. Vines tightened

around her arms and coiled up to her armpits. Wrapping around her chest, they lifted her off the floor.

She kicked, and her feet ran on empty air. She spun in the vines. “Let me go!”

“Of course, I will,” he said, “as soon as you understand that you must stay until the child is born.

Your child is needed.” His voice was so calm that it chilled her. “The world is short of munaqsri,

and munaqsri make the world work. Please, try to understand. It is for the best.”

Cassie fought, but the vines held her like a scarecrow—arms out and feet dangling. Her head

was between the rafters. “You can’t do this! You can’t keep me here!”

He fetched his tea. “As soon as you agree to behave, you can come down.” He went to the door.

“Where are you going?” She twisted to see him open the door. “Come back here! Don’t leave me

like this!” She kicked the air.

Sipping his tea, he walked out the door and shut it behind him.

Pedaling in vain, she spun in the air. “Get back here!”

She heard the last singing stone, the creak of the gate, and he was gone into the forest. Pumping

her legs, she tried to swing. She was able to stir the vines. She swayed back and forth, increasing

momentum.

Sensing movement, the vines shortened. Her head bumped into the ceiling. She swore. Sedna, the

lemming, the owl, the aspen… Had they known that Father Forest would want to imprison her? Had

they deliberately misled her, or had she willfully misunderstood?

Cassie clawed at the vines. They squeezed her wrists. She had to stop as they bit off circulation.

She hung in the air, panting. Oh, Bear, I’ll find a way!

Dangling from the living ceiling, she swung in a lazy circle.

Cassie heard Father Forest boil his morning tea. She did not lift her head. “You need to let me

down for the bathroom,” she said.

“Birds and squirrels do not use bathrooms. You will not disturb me.” He poured tea from the

kettle. The sound made it worse.

She clamped her legs together.

The vines twined themselves around her legs, locking them tight. “Unless,” he said hopefully,

“you have decided to stay?”

Straining against the vines, she swore at him until she ran out of words.

“Such language for a child,” he said mildly, and then he left the cottage.

After a few minutes, Cassie had to stop struggling. It hurt too much. Her arms pulled at their

sockets; she felt like she was being crucified. Tears sprang into her eyes, but she blinked them back.

She would not give him the satisfaction. He could not beat her. Nothing could beat her—not ice, not

sea, not tundra, not this damn forest.

She wormed her fingers through the vines. Responding, vines split and wound around her

fingers, paralyzing her hand. She twisted, and the vines thickened around her. “Oh, God,” she

whispered. Panic started to rise—she couldn’t help it. She flailed against them. But more vines piled

on top of the initial vines. She was cocooned from the neck downward in bark.

Soon she would be swallowed entirely, like she had been in her sleeping bag in the storm. Panic

bubbled in her throat. “I can’t do it,” she whispered. “I can’t. I can’t.” She could take anything but

this: trapped, helpless, not in control of her own body. She took a deep breath, forcing down the fear.

Her ribs strained against the wood. She took another breath, and the vines responded, squeezing the

air out of her. She couldn’t help herself—she begged, “Please, don’t crush me. Please. Please.”

The vines loosened a centimeter, and she took minibreaths. She reminded herself she could still

think and talk. The vines could not hold her mind or tongue. She shuddered at the image of vines

wrapping around her tongue. Her shudder was constricted to a tiny shiver by the cocoon. She hadn’t

known that Father Forest had this kind of power. She should have known—Bear had it too. But Bear

had never used his power like this. When she’d wanted to go, he had let her go.

He had used his power on her only once without her consent.

For the hundredth time, she replayed their conversation in her head. He’d claimed a

misunderstanding. He’d said he’d hoped that once she knew how important a munaqsri child was,

she’d be as happy as he was. Now that she’d seen firsthand how all the other munaqsri reacted to her

unborn baby, she finally believed he hadn’t meant to deceive her or use her or betray her. He may

have deluded himself, but he hadn’t meant to hurt her.

Nine hours later, she heard the chime of the stones. Her cocoon, as thick as three bodies now,

and immobile, positioned her so that her back was to the door. She saw sunlight spill across the floor

as the door opened behind her. “Father Forest?”

“Yes, my child. How are you?”

She was aching and sweating inside her wooden shell. Her ribs hurt, her bladder pinched, and

her skin itched, and he had the nerve to ask how she was? He dared call her “my child,” as if he were

some benevolent priest? She was not a child, and she wasn’t his. “You need to let me go.”

He shut the door, closed out the light. “I am sorry,” he said, “but you give me little choice.” She

heard feet shuffle. She could not see him. Neck paralyzed, she had to face the carved cabinets.

“You’re making a mistake,” she said.

Father Forest hobbled into view and put a pot onto the stove. “You are reckless. The young often

are. In the meantime, it is up to your elders to ensure your selfish behavior does not cause lasting

harm. You risk the life of a munaqsri, and that cannot be allowed.”

“Bear is a munaqsri!” Why wouldn’t anyone understand that? She was on their side—trying to

help one of their own! She fought to keep her voice calm and even. “If you keep me here, you

condemn the polar bears.”

She saw pity in his face. “The bear is gone,” he said gently. “I know it is difficult for you to

accept, but he is beyond the world. He is as dead.”

“He is not dead!” Cassie thrashed, and the vines squeezed.

“You have the baby to think of now, and the polar bears are a dying species regardless,” he said.

“You must accept his loss, and—”

“I will not. He’s not dead!” Never dead. She couldn’t think it. It wasn’t true. He was a prisoner,

waiting to be freed, like her mother years ago.

“Some nice stew will make you feel better. Carrots, potatoes, onions”—he fetched vegetables

from the cabinet—“tomatoes. If you truly love him, you will let him go.”

“He promised me,” she said. “‘Until my soul leaves my body.’” A munaqsri couldn’t break a

promise. Right? Unless it was countered with another promise. Cassie remembered Gram’s story:

The North Wind’s Daughter had countered her father’s promise with her own. Cassie felt despair

tighten around her, tighter than the vines.

Father Forest peeled and sliced the vegetables and then added them to the pot. “Is that what your

bear wanted? For you to seek your death and your child’s? No one has ever been east of the sun and

west of the moon.”

“Not true,” she said. Gail had gone there, blown by the North Wind. The North Wind… Cassie

cursed herself. She should have gone to the North Wind. He could have taken her to Bear. Stupid

idiot. Now she had a plan, now when she was trussed up like a snared hare.

“No, my child, any attempt to reach the castle is doomed to fail. It is best for you to stay here. It

is what the bear would have wanted.”

Promise me you will not try. “He didn’t mean it!” If you love me, let me go. “He doesn’t want to

be a troll prisoner. He wants to be with me!” She was surprised at the strength of her conviction.

When push came to shove, she did believe he loved her. The realization took her breath away.

“Sometimes bad things happen to good people.” Father Forest ladled stew into a bowl. He

carried it to Cassie and commanded the floor to raise him up until his face was even with hers. The

smell of the stew filled her head. Betraying her, her stomach cried. “Everything will work out for the

best,” Father Forest said. “You will see.” He lifted a spoonful to her lips. “Open up, now. You need

to keep your strength up.” Saliva flooded her tongue. “Come on,” he said. “For the baby.”

Cassie spat in his face.

Father Forest wiped his eyes. “Foolish child. This is for your own good.”

“I hope you have a forest fire,” she said. She would not let him see her fear.

“You will stay up there until you understand.” At the flick of his hand, the floor lowered him

down and the vines jerked her arms. She bit back a scream. He turned his back on her and emptied the

stew back into the pot.

Tears pricked her eyes as her arms ached. She blinked her eyes clear.

“Someday,” he said, “you will thank me.”

And he left her alone.

Cassie wet herself during the sunlit night. She felt the warmth run down her thighs and pool at

her knees, where the vines were a tight ring. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to think about anything

but where she was. She thought of the station. Dad, Gram, Max… She’d always assumed that if she

had a child, they’d be there with her. She pictured herself as a little kid, surrounded by scientists and

snowmobiles. She’d been so lucky.

In the morning, she watched Father Forest putter in the kitchen, fixing himself breakfast. She

hoped his eggs tasted like urine. But when he brought her some, she ate it. “There’s a good girl,” he

clucked. He poured water into her mouth. Most of it spilled down her neck and seeped in between the

vines. “Are you ready to cooperate?”

“I don’t want to starve before I rescue Bear,” she said.

He frowned at her. “Perhaps in another day, you will feel differently.”

“Don’t count on it.”

He left her again, and she hung from the ceiling for the rest of the day. It was hard, harder than

she ever could have imagined, to not despair. She thought of her mother, prisoner of the trolls for

eighteen years. No wonder Gail had nightmares. The wonder was that she had survived as sane as she

was.

Father Forest returned in the evening. She heard the door open behind her. She couldn’t move to

see him.

“You are evil,” she said flatly.

“Not true, my child. I have your interests at heart.” On his command, the vines loosened. Cassie

collapsed to the floor. Her cheek pressed against the wood. She tried to remember how her muscles

worked. She heard the munaqsri kneel beside her. “It hurts me to see you like this,” he said. “Please,

be sensible. Cooperate, and your stay here will be pleasant. You will be my guest.”

Arms shaking, she pushed herself up. She reeked, and her thighs felt sticky. Blood rushed into

her stiff fingers. Her eyes met Father Forest’s.

He had tears in his eyes. “I am not a cruel man,” he said. “All I want is what is best for you and

your baby. Please, do not fight me. I am not your enemy.”

In a burst, Cassie scrambled for the door. Her legs failed her. She threw herself at the doorway,

and then the vines snapped her back, like a dog on a leash. She sank back to the ground.

Vines lashed her to the floor. Clucking his tongue, Father Forest said, “Another day then.” He

stepped over her. She heard the bedroom door open and shut.

Alone, tied to the floor, she watched the shadows from the shutters move across the floor. “Oh,

Bear,” she whispered. How could she rescue him now? Who would rescue her? If she were in these

vines for another day, she thought she would lose her mind. Anything else she could have endured—

any pain, any challenge—but not this horrible helplessness. “I’m sorry.”

She had to be free of the vines.

A small voice inside her whispered that once she was free, she could earn Father Forest’s trust,

lull him into complacency, and escape when he least expected it. She tried to convince herself it was

a plan, not an excuse.

It felt like she was betraying her husband, betraying her father, and, most of all, betraying her

mother. It made her sick to think about it. But her joints hurt, and her muscles burned.

She heard Father Forest enter the kitchen. He stepped over her to put the kettle on the stove.

“Fine,” she croaked. “You win.”

He beamed like a cartoon character. “Release.”

The vines retracted, and this time, Cassie did not run. She lay silently on the floor, telling herself

it was part of the plan, but feeling like crying.

CHAPTER 24

Latitude 63° 54’ 53” N

Longitude 125° 24’ 07” W

Altitude 1301 ft.

Cassie bit the inside of her cheek so hard that she tasted blood. Meek, she thought, concentrating.

Beaten. Using sheer willpower, she lowered her eyes. She could have seared a hole in the wood

floor with her stare.

Father Forest beamed. “Good girl.”

How could anyone think Bear was a monster? Father Forest was a true monster.

He handed her a broom. She took it, wanting to snap it over her knee. Last night, after her

surrender, he had simply fed her and let her sleep. But this morning, he’d greeted her with

instructions. Become a good mother, he had said. Be the woman that Bear would have wanted her to

be.

He was wrong. Bear loved her for who she was. She wouldn’t let this gnome poison her mind.

She may have doubted Bear once, but never again.

Half her height, Father Forest could not pat her on the head, so he patted her on the elbow. She

gripped the broom handle with white knuckles. Just until he’s lulled, she told herself. After she’d

fooled him into thinking he’d won, she’d escape.

“Set a good example for your little one,” he said.

He went out into his garden of ferns. For an instant, sunlight flooded the kitchen. She saw dust

hanging in sunbeams. Then the door shut like a cell door. Her insides screamed. She wanted Bear

now.

Follow the plan, she told herself. Cassie swept viciously. She pounded at the floor with the

broom bristles. Dust plumed around her. Cassie whacked at cobwebs. “Die, die, die!”

In the doorway, Father Forest sneezed.

Cassie froze midswing.

“Energetic,” he said dryly.

The broom fell out of her hands. It clattered to the floor. Both of them looked at it. Maybe

“meek” wasn’t her forte. She swallowed and then plastered a smile on her face. She’d be free soon,

she promised herself.

Three nights later, while midnight sun leaked through the shutters, Cassie inched across the

bedroom. She saw the outline of her pack. Kneeling beside it, she placed her mukluks inside and

packed it all down hard. She could not afford a single sound. Slowly and silently, she lifted the pack

and settled it onto her shoulders. She slipped out the bedroom door.

Listening, she stood in the shadowed kitchen like a deer on alert. Her heart thumped in her

throat. To her ears, her breathing sounded like a wind tunnel. Father Forest snored.

Barefoot, Cassie crept across the kitchen. She watched for coils of vines. Like sleeping snakes

under the cabinets and chairs, the vines were quiescent. She put her hand on the doorknob.

Without warning, wood encased her hand. Biting back a scream, Cassie tugged. Bark spread. It

grew over her wrist. She hit it with her free hand. It spread up her forearm. She pried with her

fingers. It covered her elbow. Father Forest kept snoring.

Oh, no, please, no. Bracing her feet against the door, she pulled.

She couldn’t be trapped again. She reached behind her. Her ice axe was lashed to the pack’s

outside straps. If she could reach it… She yanked at the straps with her left hand as the wood oozed

over her right arm.

Clasps on her pack clinked as loud as bells. She did not care—the wood was covering her right

shoulder. She swung backward and hoped she had good aim.

Cassie slammed the wood with the axe.

Father Forest screamed.

Cassie lost her grip. She caught the axe handle before it fell. He was awake! As Father Forest

tore into the kitchen, Cassie hacked at the wood. Hurry, hurry, hurry! Wood chips flew.

Vines stirred. Father Forest shouted. She yanked at her encased arm. Not enough. She chopped

as the vines snaked around her body and up her left arm, the one with the axe. She fought them and

brought the axe down hard. The wood splintered. Sunlight pierced through the cracks. She wiggled

her right hand free.

The vines squeezed her left elbow. Cassie yelled as her muscles spasmed. Her hand opened.

The axe fell. It hit the ground. She dove for it. Vines snapped her back.

She swung in the air.

“I can feel it bleed,” Father Forest said softly. Cassie shivered. Vines coiled around her legs.

She hung, spinning gently, watching Father Forest stroke the axe marks. “How could you? Have you

no heart?”

Hating him, she said nothing.

He ordered the vines to swallow her supplies.

Through the kitchen shutters, Cassie could hear him cooing at his ferns. She wanted to claw the

windows. The fact that he hadn’t found it necessary to cocoon her in vines this time only underscored

how thoroughly trapped she was. She paced the length of the kitchen. The wood was warm under her

bare feet, as if it were reminding her it was alive, as if she were likely to forget. The vines had

absorbed her pack, mukluks and all, like an amoeba. She wasn’t likely to forget that. How was she

supposed to escape from a living prison when a magical being was the jailer and she had no

equipment and no supplies?

Searching for her pack, she tested the cabinets and drawers in the kitchen, the living room, the

two bedrooms, and the bathroom. But the drawers wouldn’t budge, and the cabinets behaved as if

they were solid wood. The entire cottage seemed carved out of a single tree. Everything—furniture,

fixtures, walls—grew out of the floor. She returned to the kitchen. There had to be something here that

could help her.

Cassie tugged on a cabinet under the kitchen sink, and to her surprise, it popped open. She shot a

quick look at the vines (the vines were sleeping like coiled ropes) and at the shutters (Father Forest

was just outside, humming an Irish jig). She knelt and peered into the cabinet.

The cabinet held cleaning supplies. Her heart sank. “Subtle,” she said to the shutters. He must

have known she’d search the cottage. He had wanted her to find this.

Cassie weeded through the cabinet, in case it miraculously held anything useful. She emptied out

Comet, Pledge, Lysol… until all that remained was the sink plumbing. It seemed strange to her that the

cottage had ordinary plumbing and that such a powerful munaqsri owned everyday cleaning supplies.

Couldn’t the magic do it? Maybe he preferred it not to?

Cassie shook her head. To think she had come to a point where plumbing and Lysol surprised

her more than magic. She remembered back to when she’d first met Bear—She squeezed her eyes

shut. Don’t think about it, she told herself. Concentrate on escaping. She rocked back on her heels,

considering the cabinet. She didn’t see a single crack large enough to lose a paper clip, much less a

backpack. She would have to escape as she was, barefoot and without her supplies. Dad would help

her. He had prepared her for this. He’d taught her to forage—she could eat berries, bird eggs, and

bark. She’d do her best to avoid giardia, dysentery, and the other joys of Mother Nature. She’d drink

from running streams. But first she had to escape this cottage.

Cassie stood and looked around. The only part of the cottage that she had not explored was the

vines themselves. Gathering her courage, she poked the vines. They were as inert as an ordinary

plant. She picked up one end with her thumb and forefinger and held it at arm’s length. It dangled, as

limp as a garden hose. Braver, she uncoiled it. She traced it back to its source.

The vines had grown from the floor, walls, and ceiling. She stretched them across the room to

the other side of the stove. There was no place the vines could not reach. As long as she was confined

inside, she would never make it past them—or the doorknob.

She had to return to her original plan: Lull Father Forest into complacency and convince him to

trust her enough to let her outside. From there… She peered through the shutters at the trees beyond

the picket fence. If she could outdistance the vines, she could disappear between the trees.

It could be weeks, though, before he trusted her enough. Or months. She did not want to think

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 631