by John August
At recess, Arlo practiced his knots and compass work with Indra and Wu. After lunch, they raced to the library for one last look through Culman’s Bestiary. Mrs. Fitzrandolph had gotten so used to them asking for it that she left the drawer unlocked provided they each promised to check out one actual book without monsters in it. (Arlo chose My Side of the Mountain. He had always wanted a trained falcon.)
When the bell rang at 3:05, they went straight to the church parking lot with their backpacks. An hour later, they were hiking to their campsite, digging out to set up their tents. Connor triple-checked the wards, but Arlo felt remarkably safe even without their protection.
Unlike a normal campout, this weekend there were thirty patrols from eight different companies up on the mountain. Everywhere he looked, he could see Rangers and Wardens cooking by lantern light. He saw snaplights, snowball fights and flaming marshmallows on sticks. If something wanted to attack him, there was no way it could sneak up. Plus it would have to get through a lot of innocent people first.
That was a grim thought, Arlo admitted. But comforting.
* * *
A roaring jet of flame shot fifty feet into the air, so hot that Arlo made sure his eyebrows hadn’t burned off. Then the fiery column split into three glowing strands, the sections bobbing and weaving around one another to form a braid.
The three hundred assembled Rangers cheered wildly. The opening-night bonfire was an Alpine Derby tradition, but tonight’s entertainment was unprecedented.
Arlo watched the three Wardens standing at the edge of the fire. As they moved their hands, the flames followed, flowing like molten glass. The Warden closest to Arlo was a bearded man with suspenders. He seemed to be the leader, nodding directions to the other two.
“How are they doing that?” asked Arlo.
“They’re firecraefters,” said Indra. “Elemental magic. Super advanced and dangerous.”
Wu leaned in. “I heard they were all Bears back when they were in Rangers. They teach them that at the secret camp.” Arlo hadn’t considered that many of the Wardens were likely former Rangers. He’d thought they were all just ordinary parents.
Once the braid was complete, the bearded Warden squeezed his hand into a fist. The three strands of fire fused at the top.
“All right!” he shouted. “We’ve done our part. Now it’s your turn. Rangers, snaplights! On three.” All around Arlo, Rangers raised their hands, including Wu and Indra. Arlo decided he would try as well. “One, two, three!”
Hundreds of snaplights shot from the crowd. As they rose, a strange gravity bent their path until they formed a swirling ring around the pillar. New snaplights continuously added to the shape, which kept growing brighter.
Wu launched one that made it to the pillar. So did the twins. Indra got two. Arlo kept snapping, but he couldn’t get anything to happen. He tried with his left hand as well. Thinking maybe his hands were too dry, he licked his fingertips. Still nothing. No spark, no light.
“What am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing,” Connor said. “It will just happen when it happens.” That was easy for him to say as he snapped a dozen lights in a row.
Frustrated, Arlo put his gloves back on. He looked back at the firecraefters. The bearded man seemed to be straining, fighting to hold on to the fiery pillar like it was a vicious dog on a leash. No one else seemed to notice. They were all too busy shooting snaplights.
Arlo followed the man’s gaze to the top of the column, where the flames were starting to shift. They stretched and flattened, reaching over the top of the ring. It almost looked like the head of a snake.
The bearded man was now clearly struggling. Arlo could see him sweating. The other two Wardens looked over, concerned.
Now the snaplights themselves were starting to drift, pulled from their orbit. Some went up, tracing the outline of an alligator’s snout with the horns of a goat. Other lights fanned out to form glowing wings.
Arlo could see it clearly. It was—
“A dragon.” He said it in unison with a girl standing beside him.
He looked to his left to find Rielle. Everyone else had vanished. The two of them were standing at the deserted bonfire, staring in awe at the massive flaming dragon suspended above them.
It didn’t move. It simply burned. Yet Arlo sensed it was somehow alive.
“It’s sleeping,” Rielle said. “It’s been sleeping for centuries.”
“How did it get here?” asked Arlo.
“It made this place. This is its dream.”
“Then how did we get here?” asked Arlo.
Rielle looked over. “We found our way. That’s what makes us so valuable.”
Arlo could see the fire reflected in her mismatched eyes. As he looked back to the dragon, he could feel Rielle leave. Or maybe he had left her. If this was all a dream, he was waking up.
The Wardens were back at the bonfire, fighting to control the flames. Arlo could see real panic, yet all around, the Rangers were cheering wildly. They assumed the fiery dragon was part of the show.
The bearded Warden nodded to the other two, signaling them to hold it still. Then he clasped his hands, aiming them at the center of the flames. He flicked his fingers apart.
The dragon exploded into thousands of tiny points of light. They descended like fireflies, fading into the night.
All around him, Arlo heard the Rangers cheering. Wu was the loudest of them all. “That was awesome! I want to be a firecraefter.”
“Obviously,” said Indra. “You’re already a pyro.”
Arlo knew he needed to tell his friends about seeing Rielle. But he wanted to know something else first.
As the patrols headed back to their campsites, he found the bearded Warden talking with a group of other adults. He waited until they finished, then went up to the man as he was lighting his lantern. The Warden’s hand was trembling as he held the match.
“You didn’t mean to make the dragon, did you?” asked Arlo.
The bearded man looked over. His eyes narrowed, sizing Arlo up. “Fire’s a tricky thing. It surprises you sometimes.”
He blew out the match.
24
THE SPRINT
THEY WERE WINNING.
At the front of the sled, Arlo couldn’t see how close the other patrols were. But he knew Blue was ahead.
They had taken the lead at the midpoint, swinging wide around the giant totem pole to keep their speed up. Red Patrol had gotten there first, but got stuck in the turn. Connor had predicted it when they scouted the course that morning. “By the time we get to our heat, twenty other patrols will have carved up the snow.” That was no problem in the straightaways—in fact, the flattened sections were faster—but you wanted clean powder for the turn.
So Blue Patrol stayed on the outside, and let the others get jammed up in the ruts of previous runs. Arlo could hear Russell Stokes shouting at his Red teammates while they repositioned their sled. Even Green with its jingling sleigh bells was struggling, caught behind two surprisingly strong patrols from Nederland Company.
While the others were jammed up in the bend, Blue was already headed home. All the weeks of sled practice were paying off. Mr. Henhao was performing perfectly.
Not that it was easy. Arlo’s lungs burned. His legs strained. But he kept running. They were going to win. The finish line was twenty yards away. Fifteen. Ten.
Then he heard it. A whoop. A scrape. Pounding footsteps.
Russell Stokes was suddenly right beside him. Then he was passing him. Red Patrol was passing them.
Arlo was running faster than he had ever run in his life, but it wasn’t enough. Russell’s hand broke the toilet paper finishing-line ribbon. The back of the Red sled crossed before the front of the Blue sled.
There was no question, no debate. Red had won. Blue came in second.
The moment they crossed the line, Arlo collapsed on the snow, staring up at the bright blue sky as he caught his breath. Every nerve was twitching. He was
hot and cold simultaneously. His stomach itched from where his T-shirt was rubbing.
He wiped his eyes. It was sweat, not tears. He was pretty sure.
At the corner of his vision, he saw Russell Stokes. He was leaning on his knees, catching his breath. He traded a few high fives with his buddies. Then Russell noticed Arlo watching and held his fingers in an L against his forehead. Loser.
* * *
Connor wasn’t disappointed. Or at least he did a good job of pretending not to be. “Look, we came in second in our heat. We beat Green Patrol, which is amazing.”
“We should have beaten Red,” said Wu. “We were ahead.”
“Yeah, and they were faster,” said Jonas. “Look at them. They’re all jocks. They run track and play football. We can practice all we want, but they’re always going to be faster. There’s no way we can beat them.”
“You’re right,” said Connor. “We can’t outrun them. But remember, the sprint only counts for ten points. We’ve still got all the stations plus spirit and sled-judging. We can still beat them.”
“We’d have to be perfect,” said Wu.
“Then let’s be perfect. Because they won’t be. Think about it: Are they better than us at knots? No. How about signaling? No way. Julie and Jonas are unmatched.”
Connor was right: the twins were scarily good at signaling. It was as if they were communicating psychically.
“Wu is great at fire-building. They’re not going to be able to boil water faster than us.”
Arlo had seen Wu go from a single scrape of flint and steel to a roaring blaze in less than a minute. Wu always knew exactly when to add more kindling and just how hard to blow. He called it his dragon breath.
“And nobody is better than Indra at map-reading,” said Connor. “Red Patrol is going to get lost at some point, I guarantee. That will cost them time.”
“We could cross the finish line first,” said Indra. “That alone would make up the points we lost.”
“Guys, we can do this,” said Connor. “Seriously. We can win.” With nods and bitten lips, the patrol was coming around. He had sold them on his vision. Until—
“You forgot Arlo,” said Julie. “What’s he good at?”
Arlo could feel them all staring. Judging. Trying to think of something nice to say. He had been happy to be overlooked. The truth was, he wasn’t particularly good at anything.
“Spirit,” said Connor. “He’s our mascot. He’s going to win this for us.”
Wu punched him in the shoulder. Arlo smiled.
“Let’s practice our yell,” said Connor. “It’s gotta be flawless.”
They lined up. Arlo was on the end because he was the shortest. Connor shouted, “One!”
The twins shouted, “Two!”
Wu and Indra shouted, “Three!”
Arlo shouted, “Four!”
Clap your hands!
Stomp your feet!
Blue Patrol just can’t be beat!
Faster than a snowshoe hare,
Stronger than a grizzly bear.
Both tomorrow and today,
Blue Patrol will lead the way!
25
KNAUGHTS
THE ALPINE DERBY WAS DESIGNED to measure a patrol’s competence in six fundamental outdoor skills, which went by the acronym SKRIFT: Signals, Knots, Rescue, Identification, Fire and Teamwork.
Each skill was the focus of one station along the derby course. While patrols could prepare in a general sense—such as practicing their knots and first aid—they had no way of knowing a station’s specific challenge until they arrived. Only when they checked in with the station captain would they learn what they needed to do.
“Last year for Teamwork, we had to build a bridge over a ditch and get everyone across,” explained Connor. “Which would have been easy except they didn’t give you enough logs. The trick was that you had to wait until another patrol got there and share logs with them. Green Patrol was the first to figure that out.”
To do well, patrols needed to be fast and flawless. The maximum score for each station was ten points, but time penalties and other deductions made that hard to achieve. “Last year, we got a three in Signals. We just couldn’t do it. Patrols kept passing us.”
While the derby was meant to measure six skills, a seventh factor played a major part: luck. Patrols were required to visit the stations in the order specified on their route card, yet some were nearly a mile apart. “If you draw a bad route card, you can end up backtracking a lot. It slows you down.”
With sled-judging complete—they’d received nine out of ten points—it was time for the main event. Patrol leaders gathered at the starting line, where each chose a sealed envelope from a stack, holding it high in the air. The bearded Warden from the night before called out, “Patrol leaders! May your path be safe!”
In unison, they responded, “May your aim be true!”
“On my mark, let the forty-ninth annual Alpine Derby begin!” All the Rangers cheered, then the Warden thunderclapped. It was so loud it echoed off distant mountains.
Connor raced back to the patrol, ripping open the envelope as he ran. He handed the route card to Indra, who started tracing a map.
“We have Rescue first, followed by Knots. They’re really far apart.”
Jonas shook his head. “We got a bad draw.”
“Not really. Signals, Identification and Fire are next, and they’re all pretty close. Teamwork’s on the far side, though. It puts us a long way from the finish line.”
“Then we’ll run to the end,” said Connor. “We’ll give everything we’ve got.”
* * *
Running at a steady pace, they were the first patrol to reach Rescue. The station captain—a Senior Patrol member from another company—handed them instructions glued to a board.
An exploding aurora geyser has left everyone in your patrol temporarily blinded, except for one member who fell from a tree and broke both legs. Choose one member of your patrol to be the victim. The rest of the patrol must tend to the injuries, construct a stretcher and transport the victim to the medical tent while blindfolded. The victim can see and provide directions.
Indra squealed with delight. They had practiced almost exactly this scenario just a week earlier.
Wu was the designated victim. He called out instructions while never losing his cool. Arlo helped splint Wu’s left leg before switching to stretcher construction. At no point was he confused about what he needed to do next. The patrol was moving as a single twelve-handed organism.
The path to the medical tent was filled with obstacles—mostly barrels and posts—but Wu carefully guided his team as they carried him on the stretcher. “Set me down!” he shouted. “We’re here!” They heard a whistle, their signal to take off their blindfolds. Arlo squinted in the bright light, looking back over the course. They had finished before other patrols had even picked victims.
Connor collected their route card from the captain, checking the score. “Ten points!” he shouted. The patrol cheered. They were off to a perfect start.
On their way to Knots, they crossed paths with both the Red and Green Patrols. Each had apparently finished their first challenge quickly, and were now headed to the next closest station. “They got a better draw,” said Jonas.
“Let’s run our race, not theirs,” said Connor.
Knots seemed straightforward—they simply had to tie the same ten knots they had practiced for months. The surprise was the rope itself: it was thirty feet long and six inches thick. Working as a team, they dragged it through the snow to form the necessary loops and hitches. Not only was it exhausting, it was hard to visualize how to tie each knot at such a giant scale. Arlo helped tie the bowline, acting the part of the rabbit as he crawled out of the hole and around the tree.
Once again, they got a perfect ten points. “Let’s not get cocky,” Connor warned.
For Signals, the instructions called for patrols to split in half, with one group hiking to a distant hil
ltop. Once there, they had to communicate a series of code words back and forth between locations. Arlo, Connor and Jonas were on the hillside team, while the other three stayed at base.
There was no required method of signaling. Arlo saw that most patrols were using mirrors or flashlights to do Morse code, but Jonas and Julie had been practicing flag semaphore for weeks. Originally used by ships at sea, semaphore was potentially faster. By holding flags at specific angles, the twins could send messages one letter at a time. “B-L-U-E-B-E-R-R-Y,” called out Jonas, reading his sister’s positions. Arlo looked up blueberry in the provided chart, finding the corresponding answer: elephant.
Within two minutes, they had gotten all of the words and were racing back down to join the others. Not only did they receive ten points, the station captain said they were the fastest patrol yet.
Indra and Connor could handle Identification by themselves—they were walking encyclopedias of naturecraeft. The rest of the patrol simply followed them as they quickly distinguished spruces from firs (pinereading), warblers from wrens (birdsighting), and squirrel prints from chipmunk (tracking). “The tail spray is a dead giveaway,” said Connor.
The only debate came over a pile of droppings. Based on the color and texture, Indra was certain it was moose poop. Connor was equally convinced it was elk, given the smaller size. “Not all moose are full-grown,” Indra argued. “Little moose have little butts. Just look how much cellulose there is. That’s nothing like an elk.” Connor was finally persuaded. He wrote “moose” on the clipboard.
But when he returned from the station captain, even Arlo could identify the look on his face. Those were elk droppings. At the one station that should have been a lock for a perfect score, Blue Patrol had only gotten nine points.
“Lots of patrols are going to get that one wrong,” Connor said as they left the station. “I doubt anyone gets a perfect score.” But Arlo could tell Indra was upset. Even as Wu sailed through the water-boiling section of the Fire challenge, she hung back from the group, silently cursing her overconfidence. When it came time for the patrol yell, she cheered with gusto. But the moment the station captain stopped watching, her smile faded.
