by H. S. Norup
Only about a million things could go wrong.
—31—
When the mountain transporters stopped, Papa came to inspect Gawion’s work. He commented on the unevenness of the cave floor. “And the entrance tunnel is too short,” he said, “Your ice block will melt.”
“It is my cave.” Gawion stamped on a pile of snow that had fallen from the wall, making a new, obvious bump on the floor.
Papa left without giving any further advice.
Maman brought him a handful of berries and marvelled at the cave’s cosiness. To his surprise, she also admitted that Tessa had saved them from starvation, though she was still wary of the human.
“We are only afraid you will get disappointed,” she said, caressing his beard. “Humans are so fickle, and as adults they forget the promises they made to themselves and others when they were children. At Schönbrunn, Francis Joseph visited our cage every day with an entourage of nursemaids, promising to free us upon becoming emperor, but it forgot too.”
“Tessa’s grandfather did not forget. Neither will Tessa.”
“I dearly hope you are right.” She parted her beard and removed something from it. “Give this to your human. It is a token of our indebtedness, and a promise to fulfil a wish.”
Gawion stared at the precious gift in Maman’s outstretched hand. “But that is fairy ma—”
“Hush. It is a snowflake charm as old as the glaciers.”
“Did you make it from strands of your own beard, Maman?” he asked, unable to believe the sacrifice she had made for a human.
“The longest and strongest. True stamina.”
“But your life will be shorter,” he said, remembering the tales Maman had told them of the Fates spinning, measuring and cutting threads, determining lifespans. According to the myths, these goddesses of destiny gave the barbegazi their long full beards made of stamina, and therefore their long lives.
“Only by a few years…”
“Thank you, Maman.”
She tucked the gift into the pocket in his beard and fastened it with two knots.
“I still have misgivings about your human,” she said. “And I beg you to stay vigilant.”
———
Papa returned when darkness had fallen and insisted on accompanying Gawion to the meeting with Tessa and Felix.
Why did Papa have to treat him like a child? Why could he not trust Gawion’s judgement? Without him and his human friends, they would all be starving, and Maeg would be forever lost. Even if Maman remained sceptical of Tessa, she at least had faith in him. Papa trusted neither the humans nor Gawion.
As they made their way towards the village, a few strange lights lit up the gloom, followed by loud noise. Fireworks, ignited by humans. On one night each year, nine or ten nights after the winter solstice, the sky above the valley always erupted in a sea of coloured sparkles.
Was it that time already? He remembered the solstice, and his disappointment when there was no berry gift in the hole, as clearly as if it were yesterday. But so much had happened since he met Tessa three nights ago, that it felt like they had known each other for ever. Time was like snow, sometimes fluffy and spaced out, and sometimes compressed into glaciers.
Papa hid between the trees, near the human habitat.
“I am only a whistle away.” His hand clutched Gawion’s shoulder. “Are you sure it is safe, son?”
“Trust me, for once,” Gawion snapped.
Under the pine tree, he found one of the ovals and threw it at Felix’s bright see-through wall. It bounced back with a clink. Two faces appeared, their noses pressed against the glass.
A short while later, Tessa joined him under the tree. “Felix had to help his mum,” it said, then inhaled deeply, as if preparing for a long-distance whistle. “We found Maeg. She’s alive, but not well. And she’s in an iron cage.”
Gawion choked. The blunt words smothered him with the force of a wet snow avalanche.
Tessa squeezed his hand, saying, “Don’t worry. I have a plan,” and told him how and where it had found Maeg, while he gasped. Then it explained the elaborate scheme to rescue his sister.
When Tessa finished talking, Gawion stared at it, amazed that a human baby could conceive of something so ingenious. Liel would not understand half of it, and she was almost fifty. He closed his mouth, pleased that his beard had hidden his gaping.
“Very cunning,” he said, “I shall do my part.”
Tessa blew a long puff of warm air at him. “Thank you.”
There was a loud control whistle from Papa, checking in, and Gawion whistled a short, “All good” signal back.
“My only concern is the shell on the elf hunter’s head,” he said. “How can I remove it?”
“Shell? Oh, you mean the helmet. Wait here, I’ll show you.” Tessa turned and sprinted back to the habitat.
It was far from his only concern, but it was the only one Tessa could help him solve. The plan was bold. Dangerous, even. And far from infallible.
Regardless of Tessa’s suggestion, he would tell Maman and Papa nothing. With their lack of faith in humans—and in him—they would doubtless forbid his participation in such a risky scheme.
—32—
Tessa ran, hunchbacked, through the torrential sleet, trying to protect her ski helmet. Gawion was willing to do his part; another chunk of her plan was in place. But could he? He’d been so shocked when she told him Maeg was in an iron cage. Tessa had wanted to hug him—he’d reminded her of her favourite teddy bear. And a cuddly bear couldn’t do what was required.
At least he wouldn’t be alone. She’d asked him to get his parents to help. Did three cuddly barbegazi trump one evil professor?
She brushed wet branches aside and re-entered the tentlike space under the tree. Sitting on her knees, she showed Gawion how to squeeze the clasp on both sides until it snapped open. Then she put the helmet on and leant forward. “Try. It’s plastic.”
Goose pimples chased chills all over her body, at his icy touch.
Gawion, having unbuckled her helmet for the third time with hesitant, clumsy fingers, shifted his focus to her eyes. “If we succeed—”
“When we succeed,” she said, with a conviction she didn’t feel. Watching him concentrate so hard on opening a clasp had not improved her confidence.
“We are already indebted to you for bringing the berries.” He fiddled with his beard. “And I have something for you.”
The “something” was a coin-sized tangle of hair.
In the low light, it was nearly invisible, blending in with the fur of Gawion’s hand. After taking her gloves off, Tessa picked it up with thumb and forefinger, and brought it closer to her headlamp.
It wasn’t a knot of hair. It was a thousand knots of hair, or the finest threads imaginable. Their intricate pattern formed a shimmering snowflake.
“Wow! It’s beautiful,” she whispered. In comparison, Aunt Annie’s framed lace doilies were plain and lumpy.
“All snowflakes are unique wonders,” Gawion said. “Maman has knotted this one of stamina.”
“Stamina? Isn’t that like strength or energy? How can you knot that into a snowflake?”
“Barbegazi only have little magic, but she has used strands like these.” He lifted part of his beard. The pale hairs gleamed in the light. “And granted you a wish. The snowflake is a token of her promise.” His nose turned the same shade of rosy pink as Mum’s favourite lipstick, and he bent his head in a deep, formal bow.
“A wish? Really?” Tessa smiled despite her worries. “So, can I ask for anything? Like world peace?” she said, expecting a no. She had, after all, read lots of fairy tales.
“That is impossible,” Gawion said.
“Can I visit your caves then?” She’d spent hours on the T-bar imagining cosy igloo-like domes under the snow.
“That requires Maman’s permission, not magic.”
“Okay, then my wish is for Maeg to be safe.”
“You would do t
hat?” Gawion frowned. “Use your wish to help us?”
She nodded.
“Thank you, but if a snowflake charm could save Maeg, Maman would have done it already.”
“Let me think…” Tessa studied the knotted snowflake. If the barbegazi only had limited magic, she should wish for something smaller.
Felix knew the barbegazi existed, but she really wanted Lisa to know. Seeing Lisa’s expression when she met Gawion would be priceless. Tessa could almost hear Lisa’s “Oh my god”, and see her cuddling the barbegazi. They’d be best friends again.
But part of her wanted to be the secret barbegazi protector. To only share the knowledge of their existence with Felix, until the time came for her own grandchild to take over the task of bringing berries.
Perhaps Lisa would like her more if she skied better in the competitions.
“Could I be the fastest tomorrow, and win the ski race?”
“Easily.” Gawion grinned, showing layers of tiny pointed teeth. “You have the ability. You only lack belief in yourself. Is that your wish?”
“No. Wait. I haven’t decided yet.”
It would be cheating, a kind of fairy-doping. Still… Standing on the centre step of the podium, holding the biggest trophy high in the air… Swishing her hair, wavy after she’d taken it out of the plaits, and looking down at Lisa and Maria. Coach would slap her on the back, pleased with the points she’d gained for the team in the seasonal standings. And Mum, after being a nervous wreck while Tessa skied her run, would be so proud, and buy a winner’s round of sodas for everyone.
But no, Mum wouldn’t even be there. Mum might be a nervous wreck tomorrow, though not in St Anton. She’d be in Innsbruck, in the hospital with Oma.
Tessa’s excitement drained away, leaving only worry.
“There is no need to decide now,” Gawion said. “Think for a day, or a year, or a decade. The wish can be fulfilled at any time.”
Tessa traced the fine outline of the snowflake and nodded. She’d save the wish for something that mattered. Right now, the only thing she wanted was for Oma’s broken heart to mend, and fulfilling that wish was clearly beyond barbegazi magic. After wrapping the delicate snowflake in a paper tissue, she put it in the inside breast pocket of her jacket, right next to her own heart.
That night, she lay awake long after Felix had fallen asleep. She’d not shown him the snowflake. Perhaps she never would. Under the duvet, in the light from her headlamp, she tried to follow the knotted paths of the shimmering strands. It might only be a token for a promised wish, but to her it was magical. The threads were much finer than fishing line, and much stronger. Gawion had said they were made of stamina. She still didn’t understand how that was possible, but she believed him.
Clutching the snowflake, Tessa closed her eyes, and wished with all her heart that she could send some of its mysterious strength to Oma.
—33—
Bahne brushed his teeth until the sand ran through the hourglass. While he flossed, he considered his incredible luck.
This was it: his chance to capture another barbegazi. With two of the creatures in his possession, it would be easy to make them talk. Despite their animal nature, they presumably had enough human characteristics to protect each other. Chimpanzees did. When he stretched the feet of one barbegazi in the rack while the other watched, the watcher would spill all their secrets.
And two barbegazi of opposite sex could be the start of an acclaimed breeding programme. Science had come a long way since the middle of the nineteenth century, when the last incarcerated avalanche of barbegazi escaped, under puzzling circumstances.
He sneered, admiring the gleam on his sharp canines in the mirror.
It satisfied his need for order and patterns that his helper in finding the barbegazi was a descendant of someone who had caused him so much trouble. When he wrote Habits & Habitats, he was young and foolish, keen to pursue all possibilities. Now, with one sweep of his iron chain, he could overcome his regret of ever mentioning Mr Berger.
The only two other esteemed elf researchers in Europe still ridiculed him for believing Mr Berger’s tale. Barbegazi couldn’t thrive so far from the high Alps, they claimed. It was going to be an immense pleasure to prove them wrong.
His dental hygiene secured, Bahne strode to the desk. The pile of papers still lay there, and he returned them to the drawer, one by one, searching for his precious map. Its red circles indicated signs of barbegazi presence. Though most people mistook them for snowboard tracks, he never doubted when he saw their spoors.
He even suspected a barbegazi had once dug him out of an avalanche in Schöngraben. One moment he had been stuck under the white mass, the next he was inside a rescue helicopter, where a young doctor told him how lucky he was to end up on the surface of the snow. Whenever he tried to recall the location of the avalanche, however, his memory blurred, to the sound of awful music, like a ringing in the ears. So that spot was not marked on his map. His map that someone had stolen.
He slammed the drawer shut with a bang.
Was Berger’s granddaughter somehow involved? If so, he might need to bring additional tools. He unlocked his suitcase and picked through the equipment inside, selecting with care.
The girl had said she kept the barbegazi a secret. That was good. Very good. If she truly saw them as her friends, she might not approve of his plans. A minor problem. After she had shown him to them, he would find a way to keep her quiet. The scientific insights to be gained were far too valuable to let such inconveniences stand in the way.
Children had accidents all the time, and the mountains were filled with dangers.
SATURDAY, 31ST DECEMBER
—34—
Race day began clear and bright and freezing cold. The blue never-ending sky and the glittering mountainsides promised sunshine, but no avalanches. It had stopped snowing before midnight.
Tessa stood with her teammates, sideways, canting her skis, on the steep World Cup piste, where the best skiers in the world sometimes competed.
Coach yelled instructions on how the run should be attacked.
“You wanna come at this blue gate from above. Then quickly shift your weight for the red. Like this.” He moved his bulk with surprising lightness, and cut tracks in the snow, showing the ideal curve.
One at a time, Felix first, the group followed, slowly tracing his tracks. Above and below them, other ski teams from the region, in uniform outfits, mirrored their own coaches in slow motion. Of course, they couldn’t ski as close to the gates as they would in the race, and their speed was turtle-like by comparison, but it was supposed to give them a sensory memory.
Tessa’s memory didn’t get it. Or maybe her brain was just too full. Plan details kept popping up in her head, when she wasn’t thinking about Oma. The barbegazi snowflake was back inside her breast pocket. It was silly, but she almost thought she could feel its strength and energy, like heat radiating from a tiny flame.
“Wake up, Miss My-head’s-in-the-clouds!” Coach yelled.
What had Coach said? Mimicking Lisa, she trailed the others.
The race began with the youngest age groups, and Tessa went inside to drink hot chocolate with Felix, who refused to discuss the plan before the race. Afterwards, in the ladies’, she struggled to get her race suit up over her back protector and, in Mum’s absence, had to ask a tourist for help.
When she returned to the start area, the U11 boys were already racing, and her own year group was getting ready. Some stood with their eyes closed, making slow, wavy motions with their hands, visualizing the course like World Cup skiers. Nerves bounced around, infecting everyone. Except her. Ambitious fathers shouted advice to their kids, sharpened skis, and argued over waxing techniques. Tessa’s skis were in top condition—Uncle Harry had serviced them as thoroughly as Opa would’ve done.
Most of the mothers waited by the finish area, prepared to cheer or console. A sharp pang spasmed in her stomach. Today, Mum wasn’t there to bundle her into a
warm jacket and give her a hug.
Lisa made her way through the bustle. She belonged to the closed-eyes, visualizing group.
“Good luck,” Tessa said.
Lisa’s eyes widened.
“You too.” Her mouth opened as if she wanted to say more, then closed as she gave Tessa’s arm a squeeze.
“Does it help, the hand-waving thing?” Tessa asked.
Lisa shrugged. “Nah… but it makes Dad shut up.” Lisa turned and wiggled out of her jacket. Her bib showed start number 113. With number 112, Tessa would be racing just ahead of her.
Uncle Harry shook her.
“Time for boots.”
Tessa lifted her foot, like a horse having its hoof cleaned, and Uncle Harry scraped every single flake of snow off each boot, before he guided them into the freshly cleaned ski bindings.
Sliding her goggles on, Tessa entered the start box. Only one more minute, then she could focus on her planning. She’d never been less nervous about a race. Later today came the real challenge.
“Three push offs, Tessa! Watch the second blue. Knees!” Coach yelled. “Ready?” He held a lump of snow to the back of her bare neck. A shocking chill raced down her spine. “Steady. Go!”
Tessa pushed off, releasing the timer, and passed the first gate. In front of her, the red and blue gates made a pattern. A pattern she’d never really seen before. And suddenly it was like she was off-piste with Opa, him saying, “Look at the slope, Tessa. Decide your path.” He used to drill her, forcing her to tell him her plans for a particular stretch, before they set off. Now she used the same method.
