Stork (32 page)

When I opened my eyes, I could barely see Jack for shooting flames, but I could still hear him. He was in agony, but at least alive.

And then Wade loomed over me. He sneered and heaved me over his shoulder like a duffel bag. I continued to fight, squirming and twisting, but it was useless with the thick ropes binding me. From this elevated position, I got a look at Jack, whose entire body was convulsing in pain. I noticed blisters on his face and arms.

“You’ll need to come with me,” Wade said. “You are, after all, Ostara’s Dawning — the key. All we need now is for his last few gasps of life. He really can’t take the heat.”

I screamed. It was loud and shrill. I felt my throat strip with ribbons of pain, but I continued screaming. I heard a thunderous sound — and then birds rushed in from every direction. They dove at the fire, hundreds of them, the weight of their bodies suffocating the flames, extinguishing the light. Their wings flapped in angry snaps and they gouged at Wade with diving beaks and sharp talons. Wade continued to carry me like a sack, using my body as a shield against the attacking birds. They buffeted and bumped me, but spared me their beaks and claws.

A river of air, loud and angry, roared down on us, and I watched in wonder as a milky substance materialized in the sky, lowering and descending in a cloudlike swell. A bridge appeared through the mist. Wade tightened his hold on me with one arm, while pawing at the air with his other, as if he could quicken the descent of the billowy span. It soon lowered to the ground, and although birds dove at us from every angle, Wade stepped onto the bridge. There was a flash of light, then a cracking sound boomed from above, and I felt a jolt that knocked me out of Wade’s arms and onto the cold, hard ground. I looked up to see Wade crumble to the ground, clutching his chest in shock and agony.

Confusion gripped me as the birds descended, pecking and nibbling at me. It took several moments before I realized I was unharmed and free of the ropes. I looked around. Feathers and birds choked the air and blanketed Jack’s body. Hundreds more lay dead in the smoldering ashes. I stumbled to him, stepping over carcasses large and small, and through burning embers. Though the birds had picked him free of his bindings, Jack wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing, and the skin on his face and arms was bright red and shiny. I fell to my knees, choking with emotion and afraid to touch him. I assumed the worst. Tears ran down my face.

“A catastrophe! I tell you, Fru Hulda, a catastrophe!” The harsh voice of Grim filled the air. “How long was the portal open? What has been wrought this horrible night?” That acidic tone was pure joy to me. I lifted my head and saw her and Hulda step into the clearing.

Hulda rushed over to Jack. “Quick,” she commanded. “The white clay, the
aurr,
from the base of the ash. And the herbs. Did you bring them?”

Hulda sifted through a leather bag stuffed with leaves, berries, barks, and small medicine bottles. She extracted a mortar and began adding ingredients, crushing some with a pestle, and crumbling others with her fingers. Grim rushed to a nearby tree and began pawing at the ground, filling her apron with clumps of mud. She firmly pushed me aside and began pressing the white paste onto Jack’s burns, with long, quick strokes covering his arms and face. Hulda continued with her potions, adding a single drop from a bottle of inky black liquid, and a healthy glug from another containing something yellow and foamy. A sharp scent filled my nostrils. Hulda held the concoction under Jack’s nose. I sat back on my heels, watching and feeling useless as the two women tended to Jack, who didn’t seem to have the slightest flutter of life in him.

“I fear we’re too late,” Grim said in a sad voice.

“He used his last spit of life saving our Katla,” Hulda said. She caressed the white mud over his face in tender strokes.

“No!” I yelled, throwing myself on Jack’s chest. “He’s not dead. Jack, you’re not dead. We survive. Remember? We find a way to survive.”

My grief-stricken body was so racked with emotion that I didn’t notice the rise and fall of his chest. But then Jack coughed and moaned in pure anguish. Never had the sound of misery and suffering been so welcome.

“Praise be,” Hulda said.

I was crying too hard to form coherent thoughts, never mind words or sentences.

“Let us do our work now, Katla,” Hulda said.

I scooted back again.

Hulda continued to hold the mysterious rub under his nose, while Grim pressed the salve into his burns. Jack was soon covered in a ghastly white plaster; his breath was ragged, and he rocked in spasms of pain. The two of them muttered softly to each other. Grim moved back and forth collecting armfuls of leaves. Soon, over the layer of white clay, there was a blanket of foliage covering him. And then they chanted something in Icelandic over and over, their voices plaintive and solemn. For a long, long time I didn’t dare interrupt them, or ask questions, or get in the way. I was vaguely aware of other movement in the strange clearing. I thought I recognized Fru Birta — in a long, white hooded coat, and others similarly clad — dragging and lifting and clearing things from the scene, one of which I realized was Wade’s heavy body.

Finally Grim began to brush the leaves from Jack. Hulda, using the tails of her apron, wiped the thick clay from his arms.

He stirred and slowly opened his eyes. “What happened?” he asked, his voice parched.

“A terrible thing,” Hulda said. “A breach of many years’ peace.” Hulda waved at the air in front of her. “We don’t talk of such things now. Now we focus on healing.” Hulda continued to wipe the clay from him.

I gasped as I realized he was unscathed: no char, no blisters, no twisted skin.

Jack struggled to a sitting position. Color returned to the bits of him visible through the splotchy dried mud. “What about Wade?”

“Dead,” Hulda said.

Jack clutched his knees to his chest. “That was intense,” he said, looking up to where I stood.

I hurried over, crouched next to him on the ground, and threw my arms around him. I started to cry again. He rubbed my arm up and down in response.

“Fru Hulda, Fru Grimilla,” I said, wiping my eyes and struggling to control the shake in my voice. “I can’t thank you enough. How did you do it? How did you heal him so fast?”

“Ah,” Hulda said. “We are in a place of great power here. Magical forces swirling over special beings have strong healing powers.”

“And how did you know to come?” I asked.

“Your call of distress, of course,” Hulda said.

Jack reached out and pulled my hand into his. It was warm and strong.

Hulda straightened her skirt. “Come, Fru Grimilla. Our work is finished.”

They walked to the edge of the clearing, Grim’s hawkish voice drifting back. “I wait all night at my post in the cold barn, and then this sudden change in plans. I’m telling you, Katla is not an easy charge to protect. No patience. No protocol.”

It was kind of nice to know that despite everything I’d just put her through — acts of heroism and magical healing — old Grim wouldn’t let it change our relationship.

Jack pushed himself up. I rose to my feet. We collapsed into a bone-melting embrace.

“I’ve never been so frightened,” I said.

“He almost took you with him.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Wade had to be stopped,” Jack said.

“He was evil. Something called a Raven.”

“You’re a Stork.”

I gasped. I didn’t know how much he’d overheard or been conscious of. Enough, obviously.

“I knew before tonight,” he said.

“How?”

He took a big breath of air and held me at arm’s length. “Maybe we should start with that thing I wanted to tell you.”

“It’s about time.”

“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to one of the stumps.

I sat, which was just as well. I really felt quite weak.

“Have you heard of the Veturfolk, the Winter People?”

“Hulda mentioned them to me.”

“Do you know I’m one of them?”

“Yes.”

“Technically, I’m more than just one of the Veturfolk.”

“What does that mean?”

He stood in front of me and gestured to himself with a small pull of his arms. “Make me mad.”

“What?”

“Make me mad.”

“What? That’s silly. After all we’ve been through.”

“Just play along. Tell me something that will make me angry,” he said. “Better still, tell me something that will make me jealous.”

“You’re talking crazy.”

“Just do it. Tell me about some guy in California.”

“OK. There was a guy named Ethan. We went out for six months.”

Winds began to rustle through the trees. A blast of arctic air lifted the tails of my shawl.

“Wow,” I said. “That came out of nowhere.”

“Finish your story.”

He was starting to scare me a little. Why would he want to hear about another guy? Nonetheless, it seemed important to him. “He had long hair. I like long hair on guys.”

The air temperature dropped precipitously. The wind continued in intensity, but was much colder. Something fluffy and white danced at the corners of my eyes.

“Is it snowing?” I hugged my arms in tight.

“Kat, I’m trying to tell you something.”

I was entranced by the flakes falling around me. “It’s snowing in September!”

He took me by the shoulders. “Focus, bird girl.”

That snapped me out of my winter wonderland.

“Now tell me something you like about me,” he said.

“What?”

“Just do it.” He touched my mouth lightly.

“I like everything about you.”

He smiled and slowly traced my lips. “Go on.”

“You’re in my head. Every minute of every day ever since you walked into Afi’s store. But almost unbearably since the Asking Fire. And what I know now about the lake. And knowing the way you protect everything that’s dear to you — your town, your school, and me — I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Suddenly, it was warmer. A light breeze tickled my cheeks. And it hit me like a Louisville Slugger.

“Are you doing this?” I held my arms up.

“Yes.”

“You’re changing the weather?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Well, it’s not something I have much control over, but it’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m more than just one of the Veturfolk. When we didn’t die in the lake, my grandmother was the first to suspect. Even as one of the Winter People, the cold should have killed me — us.”

“What saved us?”

“My special immunity to the cold was part of it. But as my grandmother explained it to me, there was a combining of forces. Yours and mine.”

“Oh.”

“Kat, I felt wings under the water that day of the skating accident. I know it sounds crazy, but I did. Besides you, my grandmother is the only one I’ve ever told.”

“What did she tell you?”

“She told me all about the Storks. She thought there could be no other explanation to what I described. That you had to be one of them.”

“You knew?”

“I knew. And this is how I’ve known that our destinies are entwined. We both have abilities, special abilities. And I’m convinced now when combined, some sort of immunity. Do you get it, Kat? We’re stronger together.”

Got it
. Loud and clear. As if tonight hadn’t been evidence enough, I thought about the incident at the lake, the bear encounter, and the way Jack’s cap pulled me from harm’s way. As I momentarily basked in that knowledge, questions pecked at me.

“But if an ordinary ancestor of the Winter People would have died in the lake, what are you?
Who
are you?”

“I’ll give you a hint. My last name, Snjosson, means
Son of Snow
. That makes me
Jack Snow
.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Sometimes known as Jack Frost.”

“Jack Frost?”

“Yes.”

“For real?”

“Well, not
the
Jack Frost. A gifted descendant is probably a more accurate description, though I’m sure — besides my grandmother — there isn’t a living soul who believes the old tales are true.”

My hand covered my open mouth. It started to snow again. Thick flakes fell like confetti. He pulled me to my feet. How had I been so oblivious? Had I been so consumed with my own abilities that I hadn’t noticed the personification of winter breathing down my neck?

“I believe.”

“Thank you.” He squeezed my hand.

“What about Wade?”

His shoulders dropped. “That was lightning. I didn’t mean to kill him, but I had to do something.”

“You saved me. You saved yourself. Wade would only have hurt more people. What else could you have done?”

“Still. I didn’t know I could. Up till now, it had only been small things. But lately, under stress, my powers have been growing.”

I remembered Jack’s reaction to the threat of a compromising photo. “Monday’s electrical storm?”

“That was me.”

“And the blast of air that hit the bear cub?”

“Guilty. Fear is a powerful emotion.”

I started to laugh. I knew it was inappropriate. But as I stood there looking at the two of us, our clothes singed and in tatters, our faces smeared with dirt and mud, and having survived our second, my third, brush with death that week — it all hit me as funny. It was a crazy reaction, but I was OK with that. We were alive, together, and still had our feet firmly planted on the realm known as earth, or Midgard. I guess I had been paying a little attention to Hulda after all.