by H. S. Norup
“A very friendly dog,” he muttered.
With their long feet, his parents blocked him from moving, and their fur stood on end, tingling. He could sense them exchanging glances above his head.
“Oh, Gawion.” Maman sighed. “Never trust a dog. They do the bidding of humans.”
“Your maman believed the imperial dogs were her friends, in Vienna. Do you remember, ma chérie?”
“I shall never forget.” In a gentle gesture, Maman twirled strands of Papa’s beard around her fingers. “Those snarling, baying beasts, tracking us to the station, despite the snowstorm—”
“If the train had not departed right after we got Grandpère up on its roof, we would still be stuck in that iron cage as part of the imperial menagerie.”
Keep talking, Gawion thought. The longer they talked, the calmer they became. Perhaps they would forget all about him.
“Yuck, yuckety-yuck. Why does Gawion smell so bad?” Liel, her nose a normal snow-colour again, had sneaked past her parents and now stood underneath Gawion’s chin.
Papa swivelled on the spot. “Yes. Explain yourself.”
Gawion took a deep breath, his brain whirling, trying to find a way to avoid being grounded and having to watch Liel while Maman searched with Papa.
He told them the whole story, from finding the human, who seemed to know what he was, in the hole, to his meeting with Brownie. Or, almost the whole story.
When Gawion explained how he had transported the human and her broken wooden feet to a big dwelling on the edge of the village, Papa tensed and said, “You moved into their artificial light? You could have been seen,” and grasped his hand. “Good thinking, posing as a dog.”
Gawion did not mention that he only pretended to be a dog after he was in fact seen.
Maman shook her head while he talked, mumbling “Never trust a dog” over and over. So he neglected to inform them of his meeting with Brownie tonight.
They did not ground him, but he had also not mentioned the worst thing. His biggest mistake. The crucial part missing from his explanation. The one thing he omitted, after careful consideration: that he had spoken to the human.
—14—
Back in Oma’s kitchen, Tessa crouched to open the freezer. The drawers stuck, filled to the rim with berries in clear plastic bags. Oma usually wrote content and date and weight on frozen food. Nothing marked these bags—another sign they were meant for the barbegazi. But how could she deliver them without skiing off-piste?
Tessa wished she’d not been left at home. The ticks from the grandfather clock amplified the emptiness of the room. “Just go on ticking,” she muttered, and ran upstairs.
She turned on the TV, flipping through reruns and cartoons, until she let the weather channel fill the house with sound and flickering light. After retrieving her phone from the charger, she curled up on the sofa, waiting for Mum and Oma to return.
Felix had sent three messages. The first read: u r as crazy as ur opa. The second, an animation of a stick figure snapping her skis in half, made her smile. And the third was good news: come by tmrw b4 ski to fit my old skis 4u. Only 2 x training until race! At least she could get up on the slopes tomorrow.
Returning to the elf book, she studied the barbegazi chapter again, and read snippets about limestone-cave goblins and mountain-spring sprites.
Later, Mum sent a message: Oma okay. Am driving her to hospital for tests. Go to Lisa’s or there’s soup in the fridge. Mum xxx.
If they were going to the hospital, it didn’t sound as if Oma was okay.
The cosy kitchen and the homemade desserts at Lisa’s tempted Tessa. But Maria would be there, or Lisa would be at Maria’s. They’d boasted of their daily sleepovers. She didn’t really mind leftover soup, and she wasn’t even hungry.
But the barbegazi she’d seen might be hungry, craving the berries Opa used to bring. And if barbegazi ate berries, then she knew something that professor didn’t. He’d be so grateful when she told him, he’d definitely mention her in his next book!
Opa had wanted Oma to tell her about the berries… Tessa bit her lip. Perhaps there was another way of reaching the barbegazi hole. She’d promised Mum not to ski off-piste alone. She hadn’t promised not to go hiking alone. The nearest hospital was thirty kilometres away. Would that give her enough time?
As a precaution, she wrote two notes. The first, I’m going over to Lisa’s, she fixed to the fridge with the Merlion magnet Dad had sent from Singapore. She placed the second on her pillow, where Mum wouldn’t look unless she became worried. In scrawling letters she’d written: If Lisa’s not home, I’ll walk up to Schöngraben.
After pulling on thermal long johns and thick, striped socks, she rummaged in the attic until she found Mum’s big rucksack—the one they used for overnight hikes in summer. Downstairs, she lined the rucksack with a heavy-duty blue plastic carrier bag, and filled it with the frozen berries. Less than half of them fitted inside, but going upstairs she swayed under the rucksack’s weight. With her outdoor clothes on, she trudged outside and into the garage. Her ruined skis lay by the jumble meant for the refuse station. She shuddered. Breaking alpine skis required immense force. She’d always thought of the barbegazi as cuddly creatures. Perhaps they weren’t quite as harmless as she’d imagined.
Although she searched, she couldn’t find her snowshoes. Last season, after the final race, when ski training stopped, she’d often used them with Lisa. They would walk up the slopes, chatting, and sit on a bench in the sun, before running downwards, sliding through powder snow up to their knees. They always exited the forest on Jakobsweg, the old pilgrimage route through Europe which led all the way to Santiago de Compostela in Spain, then half-glided to Lisa’s house, and drank hot chocolate in that cosy kitchen. The snowshoes were probably still at Lisa’s.
Opa’s snowshoes hung on the wall, above her broken skis. They looked like relics from the Stone Age. The wood, bent into the shape of elongated tennis rackets, gleamed. As usual, Opa had oiled them in the spring. The strings and the smooth leather straps seemed new, yet they had been old long before Tessa was born. They weighed a lot compared to her own high-tech aluminium snowshoes, but they were better than nothing. She strapped them onto the sides of the rucksack, and borrowed Mum’s lightweight, adjustable hiking poles.
On her way through the darkening village, a ski bus rumbled past, its snow chains grinding on the gravel. A group of wobbly ski-boot walkers shouted après-ski song refrains. To avoid them, Tessa crossed the road. Behind the last houses, the road became a steep track. Sweat ran down her brow under the knitted hat. She huffed, and her shoulders ached.
Two sledges rushed towards her, their riders squealing and laughing. Tessa shrieked and jumped sideways to escape being hit. The toboggan run was open tonight, even though it was Wednesday—above her, on the track leading up the mountain, splotches of warm yellow light gleamed among the snow-covered trees.
Another group of tobogganists sped past. Tessa crept along the edge of the track until she crossed the bridge over the mountain stream and the sharp turn-off to the toboggan run. From here on, there would be no more sledges and no more light.
By the last lamp post, she secured her headlamp and tightened the leather straps of the snowshoes round her boots. When she was done, her breathing had slowed. She shivered and took a few tentative steps. Although she walked with her feet wide apart, the heavy things still clanged together. Her legs were too short to heave Opa’s snowshoes far enough to lift their wobbly back ends. Should she take them off again and just walk on the hardened ski trails? No. If she accidentally stepped off those tracks, she might sink into soft snow.
“No falling into holes, today.” She trudged forward, finding a slow rhythm. Pole in, lift opposite foot, drag forward, set down, pole in, lift, drag…
The two huge mounds, which marked the entrance to Schöngraben, and protected the village from avalanches, loomed above her. When she passed between them, the faint shrieks from the toboggan run
died away.
On skis, the lower part of the gorge seemed flat, but it was steeper than most roads, and soon her whole body ached. Her shins cramped. She whistled—not a tune, just individual hoarse tones—but she lacked air. The thumping blood in her ears, and her ragged breathing, made it difficult to hear if anyone whistled in answer.
From up near the trees, on her right, came a faint swishing sound. There couldn’t be tobogganists here. Or skiers, so late. Could it be a barbegazi?
Tessa stopped and turned. Her headlamp drew a dark green circle on the black forest. “Hel-lo,” she called, her voice cracking. “Anybody there?”
Silence.
She continued her slow ascent, whistling and calling, “Hello bar-be-gaziii… I’m bringing the berry gift.”
—15—
In the cave, the day had felt endless. Maman recited her terrifying dog-tales and kept repeating her “never trust a dog” mantra. Despite her scrubbing his beard with all kinds of snow, Gawion still stank. That set both her and Papa off whenever he neared their wrinkled noses. If it had not, he might have confessed and told them he had spoken to the human.
But what did it matter? He had only asked about the berry gift, and, after his memory charm, the human would have forgotten ever seeing him.
What he would not give for the berry gift! The blackberry he had shared with Liel, helped less in his hollow stomach than a snowflake trying to fill the crack in a glacier.
Outside in the pleasant evening gloom, they prepared to resume the search. Papa pointed him to the bare rocks above the treeline. The least likely place to find Maeg.
“We should search below the avalanche, Papa.”
“Have you not already trawled the area from the avalanche to the earth mounds? Or did you neglect your duties, in your haste to go on adventures in the village?”
“I did not,” Gawion answered, feeling blood pound all the way up to the points of his ears. Every snowflake of the scar left by the avalanche had been combed. And every boulder and lump of snow below had been turned during that first frantic night. Twice. First with Papa, and then again on his own. “How about beyond Schöngraben? In the village.”
“Too dangerous. If Maeg has indeed been taken, she might be used as bait to lure us thither. That is how they captured Maman and Grandpère, when they tried to rescue me.”
“I know, I know.” Gawion stopped Papa before he got into his storytelling stride. He had heard about those particular events hundreds of times. They were a chapter of the cautionary tales told to keep him and Maeg away from humans. “But we could sneak around the village, listen to the dogs. They might reveal news of Maeg.”
Papa rubbed his chin under its long beard, and sighed.
Gawion, sensing his uncertainty, pressed on. “She is not lying under the snow, Papa. She has been taken. It was your first instinct when we found the fur.”
Papa stood with hunched shoulders, staring down at the village—his fear both obvious and contagious.
Dots of light littered the darkening valley, creeping up towards the surrounding night forests. From up here, where few trees grew, the lights seemed as distant and mysterious as the emerging stars.
After a long time, Papa said, “All right. I will go to the village. You must stay in Schöngraben.”
“But, Papa—”
“There will be no discussion. Search the bottom part again, if you must, but do not cross between the human-made earth mounds. Understood?”
Gawion nodded. Brownie would have to come into Schöngraben.
Near the bottom of the gorge, they parted. Papa continued, hidden by the trees. Gawion passed the hole where he had found the human just yesterday. Its gaping emptiness neither surprised nor disappointed him. His stomach reacted, though, with a faint grumble.
He followed the mountain stream—the only area with no human tracks—stopping at intervals to kick at mounds in the snow. He had already searched here. If only he had been able to persuade Papa to let him go to the village!
He heard a feeble human whistle, coming from a strange light cone farther down the narrow valley. A voice called, “Berry gift.”
Gawion sniffed. No, that could not be. His stomach growled in response. A smile spread below his beard. Finally, the berry-human had come. Excited, he surfed towards the light, careful to stay clear of its beam.
“Berry gift,” the human called again. It stopped. The light was shining out from its head. The human dimmed the brightness until it cast an oval pale shape on the snow.
With a jolt, Gawion recognized the human he had found in the hole yesterday. How could it come back, when he had ruined its wooden feet? And how could it remember? His charm should have filled its head with that horrible noise.
The usual winter forest stillness seeped out from the shadows under the trees. Underneath the berry aroma, the air carried only the faintest tang of iron.
The human dumped a large pack on the ground, fumbled inside it and extracted a see-through bag. Even from this distance, Gawion could see the small blood-coloured balls, and hear the dull clicks they made when the human shook the bag. It used its teeth to tear the transparent material. The delicious scent of raspberries engulfed Gawion. His stomach rumbled and the human looked up, pointing the light beam to a place just in front of his toes.
It threw a handful of berries out beyond the light. Gawion hurried to sniff them out. The first four he swallowed without taking time to enjoy them. He had to stay alert. The rest he collected and dropped into the little pocket Maman had knotted in the middle of his beard. He would save them for her.
The human threw more berries, but this time they landed inside the light. One of them was just at the edge though. He might be able to snatch it, without the human noticing. Then again… The human stood completely still, probably staring at exactly that berry.
“I’ve brought the berry gift,” it said.
Gawion could not leave without all those berries. Perhaps if he walloped the human and took them… But that was an impolite response to someone bringing food, and then it most certainly would not bring any more.
The light cone moved to the side. Now was his chance. His arm shot out and seized the berry, but the light returned too soon.
“I’m not going to harm you,” it said. The human poured berries into the snow by its feet, dotting the ground with blood-coloured spots. “The berries are from my grandfather.”
Was this really a descendent of the berry-human? He sniffed, inhaling deep through his large nose, but the sweet berries overpowered any particulars of the human’s scent. He supposed it could be true. Why else would it bring berries?
“He broke his leg in an avalanche right up there, years and years ago.” The human pointed. “One of you saved him and helped him home.”
That was true. Gawion only hesitated for a moment more before he said, “To be sure, it was I.”
—16—
In two leaps and a flurry of white powder, the barbegazi landed next to Tessa. Up close he—or she—looked even stranger than in Opa’s sketched drawings. Like an upright, cuddly teddy-polar-bear, with the biggest feet she’d ever seen. She wanted to sing and dance and jump around, but, fearful of frightening it, she stood without moving while the barbegazi snatched the berries at her feet.
Most of them disappeared into a parting in the middle of its long beard, but it scooped one three-fingered handful of snow and berries into its mouth, and gulped down the mixture with loud smacks. Talk about craving berries. It must’ve been starving.
The barbegazi only reached her shoulder, and hedgerow-like eyebrows hid its eyes, so she tried to get down on her knees to look into its face. Her snowshoes clanked together. The barbegazi swirled its head towards them, then up at Tessa, like a startled animal. It stopped chewing and stared at her. Instead of trying to get down on her knees, Tessa slowly leant back until she was half-sat on the sturdy frame of the rucksack. She adjusted the beam of her headlamp, so it didn’t shine directly on the barbegazi. T
he creature’s ice-blue eyes followed her movements.
“I’m Tessa. What’s your name?” Inside the mitten, she crossed her fingers, willing it to speak.
“Gawion.” He bent his head in a formal bow. The gesture, worthy of a ballroom filled with royalty, was at odds with the yellowish, gleaming fur, which hung in clumps encrusted with ice.
Tessa gave a quick nod. How could she get it to talk?
Before she thought of a question, Gawion asked, “Where is your grandfather?”
The pitch of his voice—for she was certain it was a he, now—reminded her of those “Staying Alive” singers Mum liked, or someone speaking after inhaling from a helium balloon, but without the mirth.
“He died. Twenty-eight days ago.” The familiar lump grew in her throat. This, the barbegazi, was what Opa had planned to show her. They should’ve been here together, and then told Oma all about it afterwards. She blinked to keep the tears at bay.
“Allow me to condole.” Gawion bent his head. “That explains the missing berry gift.”
“Did you help me out of the hole yesterday?”
A third bow, before he rubbed his belly, streaking his beard with red spirals.
“I apologize for the damage to your wooden feet.”
Tessa shuddered. Not because she was scared, but because Gawion’s bow sent an icy breeze towards her. It was as if he were radiating coldness. Despite the state of her skis, she wasn’t scared at all.
“Why’d you break them?”
“I presumed it would prevent your return. Obviously, I was mistaken.”
Tessa smiled.
“I wanted to find one of you. And I did. Now they have to believe me.” She could even take a photo and send it to that professor. The whole world would know the barbegazi weren’t extinct! “Will you come with me? So my friends can see you?”
The ice-blue eyes gazed deep into Tessa’s, then Gawion shook his head, the long beard swinging from side to side.
