First Light

by Rebecca Stead

  Thea's face lit up. “If we can wedge these alongside his legs, we could melt some of the ice around him. We might be able to pull him free.”

  It was a good idea. “They get really hot,” Peter warned. “They're meant to be held with gloves.”

  “He's wearing a fur. He won't be burned.”

  Peter showed Thea how to break the plastic separators and they activated all but two of the warmers. Thea shoved them into deep pockets, in the legs of her fur, that had been invisible to him. She had a surprising amount of trouble with the pod's zipper, and accepted Peter's help with it before crawling inside.

  Her three dogs kept watch over the end of the pod,waiting for Thea to come out again. Sasha stayed close to Peter. He leaned against her, realizing that he was shaking. He didn't want to be here, where a boy might be about to die.

  A few minutes later, Thea backed out of the pod and Peter zipped it closed behind her.

  She was flushed. “Now we wait,” she said. “Do you have anything that will help us to pull him out? We must lift him nearly straight up. The warmers may give us a bit of room, but the crevice is nearly vertical, and he's badly stuck.”

  Peter looked around at the things they had strewn around them in their panic. Nothing. They would just have to hope that the ice around him had loosened enough to let the two of them pull him out. It would help if the boy woke up.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Thea looked up toward the top of the long slope and pointed to a line of small glaciers that looked like white sheets hanging from an invisible line.

  “He slipped.” Thea started crying again.

  She stopped after a minute. The sun was up now, and she kept glancing up, shading her eyes with one hand. Peter offered her his goggles, but she just looked at them and shook her head.

  Five long minutes later, they removed the small tent from around Mattias. Peter bent to support him underone shoulder while Thea took the other. They counted to three and tried to lift, but Peter knew in the first moment that the ice wouldn't give him up so easily.

  “I'm going for help,” Peter said. “My parents aren't far.”

  “No!” Thea shouted. “No. Don't go. Please, let's try one more time. Please.”

  If only the dogs could help, he thought. They were strong and certainly willing. The four of them stood together in a line now, watching solemnly.

  “Wait a minute,” Peter said. “Let's harness the dogs.”

  “Why? The dogs can't pull straight up, and he won't come free any other way. He is buried too deeply. They might tear him in half.”

  Peter reached for his sled, grasping the high backbar. “We can use this to make a pulley.”

  Thea nodded quickly. “Hurry. If the melted ice freezes around him again—”

  Peter drew his sled up until the backbar was almost directly above Mattias's head and shoulders. Thea had somehow harnessed the dogs already, Sasha included. They lifted the harness strap over the sled's backbar and tied it as well as they could under Mattias's arms. Peter hoped he remembered the loop Jonas had taught him. Then they squatted to reposition themselves around Mattias, ready to try again.

  “At three, then,” said Thea. “One … two …”

  Peter forgot to call out to Sasha, but all four dogs took off together on three, straining with incredible force while he and Thea struggled to stand.

  Mattias came up all at once, Peter and Thea staggering under his weight until they reached Thea's sled, where they managed to lay him down on a bed of fur that Thea must have stretched out there. She began to strap him in quickly.

  Peter fumbled to help, unable to suppress his questions any longer.

  “Where are you going now?” he asked, patting the fur that Thea used to cover Mattias. “Are you camped close to here?”

  Thea just shook her head as she attached her dogs to her sled. Peter harnessed Sasha to his own sled, hoping fervently that the dog could pull it up the icy slope while he climbed behind her.

  Thea checked the straps around Mattias while Peter threw his equipment back onto his sled and tried to secure it. Mattias could still die; he wouldn't ask questions now. He walked up to Thea with the last two warmers.

  She shook her head. “You may need them yourself.”

  Peter quickly squeezed them, breaking the starters, and tucked the warmers into the furs with Mattias. Thea nodded her thanks. Peter hoped she wasn't going to start crying again.

  Thea stood behind her sled and gave the dogs a short command he didn't recognize. They began strongly, thethree dogs pulling well, and a few moments later Peter and Sasha started up the hill behind them, Peter struggling a little to keep up but immensely relieved that his sled was moving at all with only Sasha to pull it.

  Then, quickly, Thea's team slowed. She climbed up to her dogs, feeling their feet and ears, and swearing softly. She swore like his mother, too. Definitely English, he thought.

  “Ham and Peg are half-frozen,” she said, “lying all that time on the ice.” Still talking, she began to cry. “Why didn't I think to put furs under them?”

  “Frostbite?”

  “I don't know that word. They are dangerously cold.”

  “But how? Aren't they, you know, snow dogs? Sasha never gets cold.”

  Thea stopped crying. “They aren't used to it—they sleep on sand, and their coats must have thinned. …” Her expression hardened. “I have to bring Mattias down a steep pathway, and they won't be much help. I have to ask you to come with us.”

  Peter nodded slowly, wondering for the first time how much time had passed since he left camp.

  Thea harnessed Sasha alongside her dogs while Peter took his water, his flashlight, and a few other things from his sled and stowed them in his bag. With Sasha and the big gray dog pulling hard, Thea's sled kept moving while Thea and Peter climbed behind it.

  Neither of them spoke, each focusing on the steep hill in front of them. They rested every few minutes at Thea's signal. At their second rest, Peter remembered the chocolate eggs in his pocket. He unwrapped four and passed two of them to Thea without a word. Although she looked none too eager to eat them, she put one into her mouth. In a few moments her eyebrows rose slightly and she gave him a small smile. He passed her two more and drank from his canteen, watching her raise what looked like an old cloth sack to her lips.

  They continued on like this, breathing hard, making a little progress at a time and wasting no energy on words. Two of Thea's dogs, the white one and the black-and-white one, walked oddly—as if they were suddenly old— but with help from Sasha and the big gray dog, the sled was moving steadily.

  At the top of the hill, they watered the dogs. Peter watched Thea pour water from her cloth sack into a shallow trough carved into the front of her sled.

  “That's cool, a built-in water dish,” Peter said. “And I thought my dad was the only westerner who rode sleds around Greenland. What's yours made out of?” He looked at it more closely. It looked like gray plastic, but not exactly.

  “The usual things, I suppose,” Thea said, looking down. Then her head jerked up as if she had heard something.

  “What?” Peter said, looking all around. “Don't scare me like that.”

  Thea rushed to Mattias and gave a yelp of joy.

  “He's moved! He turned his head!”

  Mattias was waking. Thea carefully dripped some water into his mouth, and then accepted another chocolate egg from Peter. She unwrapped it carefully, saving the foil in a pocket, then bit off one end and put it in Mattias's mouth.

  “Don't move. I'm afraid you're hurt.” Peter heard her say as she rearranged the warmers under the fur that wrapped him. “We … We are bringing you home now.”

  Mattias's gaze swept around him until it found Peter. His glance shot back to Thea for a moment before he lost consciousness again.

  Peter looked around for a campsite, wondering how much farther they might have to go. But there was nothing to see, other than the snow and the crusted grou
nd and a few high ridges of ice. “Which way?” he asked.

  Thea's relief returned some of her color to her. She looked like a different person as she rooted around under Mattias for a few moments and then tossed Peter a fur from the pile beneath him.

  “Put it on. It is colder where there is no sun.”

  Peter stood uncertainly before Thea, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The fur she gave him was too short in the leg, but she could hardly let him descend the flooded tunnel wearing the thin shiny thing he had ventured out in. He was lucky to be wearing high boots. She hoped they were lined with something very warm.

  Even as these thoughts passed through her mind, she was aware that they veiled darker ones. What was she doing? Leading a boy of the wider world to the only refuge her people had ever known. It was unthinkable.

  But how else was she going to get Mattias home?

  She looked at Peter again. His companion trusted him—she had seen that right away. And this boy, of course, had had no part in the annihilation of her people in the old world. But his forebears may have. Their blood might flow in his veins.

  Even half-conscious, Mattias had seemed to speak his vehement disapproval before he slipped away again. Maybe he had somehow stirred himself just to warn her. But with the water that still flowed down the tunnel's path, she, Gru, and the injured Chikchu could never stop the sleigh from hurtling down the passageway as quickly as the water blower had. A quick shudder went through her. Even with Peter's help, the sleigh could slip out of control.

  She had no choice.

  She set aside every thought but Mattias's survival.

  “Are you all right?” Peter was looking at her anxiously.

  “Certainly. I'm considering the best way down.”

  “A camp inside a glacier,” Peter said, shaking his head while he rooted around in his bag. “I can't believe my father never told me about this. He'll be dying to see it.”

  Thea fought down a sense of panic.

  Peter went on with his rummaging. “I have an idea.” His hand came out of the bag. On his palm rested a thick shining loop with a sharply ridged protrusion about the length of her finger. It looked dangerous, and she recoiled.

  “It's a screw.” He looked at her strangely. “We can use it as an anchor. We could tie a rope to this and attach the other end to the sled. In case one of us, you know, slips.”

  When Thea didn't respond, he hesitated. “You know what a rope is, don't you?”

  “Yes, I am familiar with rope,” Thea said, trying to sound reproving but hearing herself as desperate. A rope leading into the tunnel was as good as an invitation to anyone passing this way.

  Think of nothing but Mattias! Peter's plan made sense. She nodded.

  They screwed the cold loop into the ice as well as they could, taking turns at it because they had to remove their gloves to grasp the thing and their hands numbed quickly. When it was secure, Peter brought out the rope and tied it to the loop. Thea tied the other end of the rope to her sleigh. It was not nearly long enough to reach to the bottom, Thea thought, but it would help.

  “Wow,” Peter said, probing the tunnel entrance with his flashlight. “You guys dug this out yourselves?”

  Thea pretended not to hear as she harnessed the dogs to the back of the sleigh. She didn't trust herself to speak. She took one harness loop for herself and handed one to Peter. With Peg and Ham hurt, they would have to bear much of the sleigh's weight themselves.

  They mounted Peter's flashlight to the front of the sleigh with a cord so that it cast a dim light ahead of them. Thea checked the sleigh straps one more time to make sure Mattias was tightly held.

  “Brace yourself,” she said. She gently pushed the sleigh into the steep passage until its weight pulled the traces taut. The dogs fanned themselves out to support it, Peter and Thea behind them.

  Then Thea spoke to the Chikchu and they started off as one, leaning heavily on their front paws to restrain the sleigh, which threatened to hurtle down the tunnel. The four dogs inched down the passage, unused to the sight and the weight of the sleigh in front of them.

  The tunnel seemed much steeper going down. Thea and Peter each had a harness strap wrapped tightly around a forearm, and they hugged the walls in an effort to avoid the worst of the water that flowed past them. The flashlight cast a weak glow over the ground in front of them, but failed to illuminate the murals on the walls. Thea took a moment to feel grateful for that bit of luck, and for the fact that the work of finding footholds left little time for questions.

  It was cold. At the steepest parts, they gave up walking and scooted along the tunnel floor in a sitting position, bracing themselves with their heels. This meant sitting in the icy stream that still rushed down the tunnel; theirfurs kept them dry, but couldn't entirely protect them from the chill.

  “Is it, uh, usually like this?” Peter asked. He was breathing hard. “With the water?”

  “No,” Thea said fiercely, so that he wouldn't ask more. She couldn't help feeling a bit mean.

  The dogs, walking in the stream of water that flowed over the icy floor, slipped from time to time, but they all kept their harness lines taut and took on as much of the sleigh's weight as they could manage. Thea praised them every few minutes, and Peter began to do the same, remembering her Chikchus' names and earnestly telling them that they were something called “real troupers.” She was coming to like him.

  They traveled the length of the rope and then rested, rubbing their sore wrists while the sleigh was still anchored by the screw at the top of the passage. They drank water and allowed themselves three chocolates each.

  Thea checked on Mattias while Peter watered the dogs. She watched with interest from where she knelt next to the sleigh as Peter patted each of the animals in turn, speaking softly.

  “You are quite good with them,” she said.

  Peter smiled. “That's what my mother says.”

  “Your mother is right.” Thea reached into a fold of fur at the back of her sleigh, straightening up again with the lightglobe in her hands. “We need more light,”she said, glancing at Peter's flashlight, which had begun to flicker.

  He winced. “The batteries.”

  Thea suspended her lightglobe by its woven strap. She spun the globe's small knob and it blazed to life with a bright green light.

  Peter's eyes widened.

  “It's fueled by oxygen,” Thea said quietly. “The knob controls the flow. I promise to answer the rest of your questions when we get to … the bottom.”

  Peter nodded.

  It was time to untie the rope. Thea found two good footholds and managed to hold the sleigh with the dogs' help while Peter untied their lifeline. Then he grasped his harness loop again and looked at her.

  “Ready.”

  They were exhausted, and their progress was more painful now. It was more and more difficult to find footholds that would support the sleigh's weight. Their feet slipped continually, and their hands were of little use, as they had to keep their grips on the harness loops.

  Peter interrupted their concentrated silence. “We need to rest.”

  “How?” Thea's arm muscles were trembling.

  “I've been thinking,” Peter said. “The tunnel isn't very wide. If we can get the sled to go sideways, maybe we can wedge it across the passageway.”

  Thea was doubtful. It was too easy to lose control of the sleigh.

  “We have to do something,” Peter said. “My arms are about to give.” His face was pinched and white in the green light.

  She nodded. “It's worth trying.”

  They struggled to grip the sleigh's curled runners and managed to drive its head against the tunnel wall. Peter let the back of the sleigh slip in a slow arc until it came to rest against the opposite wall. It seemed to hold. Shaking with fear, Thea loosened her grip slowly, uncurling her fingers with effort. The sleigh stayed where it was. She let out a long breath, her arms and legs trembling.

  They sat without s
peaking. Thea supposed that, like her, Peter was feeling the throbbing of his muscles and wondering how in the world he had come to be here. Thea summoned what was left of her reason to make a plan.

  But she disliked the only plan her mind could manage. Disliked it very much. She didn't even know how to propose it.

  “You're right,” she started, looking at the ground in front of her. “We aren't in very good order, are we? I think it would help me if I could free my hands.”

  “Free your hands? How? You can't let go of the sled.”

  “I will tie myself to the sleigh,” Thea said. “I'll loop the harness strap around me and then continue on. I thinkyou should go back up. I'll be able to make my way down. It isn't so much farther.”

  “By yourself? You'll never make it! And tied to the sled …” He didn't finish the sentence.

  Yes, she thought, if I slip I'll be dragged down after the sleigh and smashed to bits at the bottom. “There is no alternative,” Thea said. “Mattias is my family. I must do what I can.”

  “Look,” Peter said. “Let's leave him here and go down ourselves. Get help.”

  Thea shook her head. “There's no way to know whether the sleigh will hold that long. I'm not going down without him.”

  “Then let's get going,” Peter said, strapping the harness loop around his midriff and tying it. “We're wasting time.”

  “No,” Thea said, turning to face him for the first time. “This is more than I can ask of you. Mattias is a stranger to you, as am I.”

  “Do you really think I'm going to climb back up there while you two slide to your deaths? Let's go, I'm numb.” Peter pulled the strap more tightly around him. The dogs all stood up at once, which somehow made his decision final.

  When they had checked each other's knots, Thea and Peter edged the sleigh out of its resting place, making sure it didn't come loose all at once.

  They advanced by inches and an eternity of held breaths until the ground began to level. Soon they could walk upright, and the water flow had slowed to a trickle. They freed themselves from the sleigh traces and held the lines loosely with their throbbing hands. Thea vowed that she would never again take the painless miracle of walking on two legs for granted.