The Song of the Winns (8 page)

“What . . . ,” she gasped. “What happened?” She struggled to sit up, but Alistair gently pushed her back down.

“You fell,” he said simply. “You've been unconscious. Try not to move too quickly. Are you hurt?”

“My head, a little.”

Alistair rummaged in his rucksack for a bottle of water, then held it to Tibby's mouth. She sipped, then asked urgently, “Are you all right?” Once Alistair had reassured
her that he was fine, she closed her eyes. Then she opened them again. “Oswald,” she said weakly. “Is he . . . ?”

Alistair started guiltily. He hadn't once thought about the injured owl.

“I don't know, Tib. I haven't seen him or the eagles since we fell.”

“Poor Oswald.” Tibby sighed. “The eagles wouldn't—they wouldn't kill him, would they?”

Alistair shook his head. He didn't know. With a pang he thought of all the owl had done for him, the distances he had flown. Oswald might be grumpy, but he was generous too. And not once had Alistair said thank you.

Finally he cleared his throat and said, “Where do you think we are?”

“The wind was blowing pretty fiercely from the west,” Tibby offered. She sat up slowly, turning her head to face Alistair, a look of pain crossing her face as she did so. “I'd say we were blown off course to the east.”

Alistair tried to picture their original course, northwest toward the source of the Winns. If they had ended up due east of there, that would mean . . .

“So we're in the Crankens,” Tibby stated matter-of-factly. “But where in the Crankens is anyone's guess.”

Alistair gulped. “What side of the border do you think we're on: Gerander or Souris?” He had rather hoped never to see Souris again.

“It doesn't make much difference,” Tibby Rose pointed out. “Whether we're in Souris or Gerander, if the Queen's Guards spot us we've had it.”

She was right, of course, but Alistair thought he would still rather be in Gerander.

“So we need to head west,” Tibby continued.

“I don't know if it's really safe for you to move around, Tib,” he said. “What if you've got a concussion? We should just wait here for rescue.” A thought struck him. “But unless Oswald comes back . . .” He let the sentence trail off, then finished, “We have no way of letting anyone know where we are or what's happened.”

“I'll be okay,” said Tibby. “I've got a bit of a headache, but my vision isn't blurry or anything.” Her eyes lit up. “Anyway, the explorer Charlotte Tibby found herself in much tighter spots than this. She was crossing the Crankens when she became lost in a blizzard. Then she fell and broke her leg. She survived alone for three weeks before finding her way out.”

“So would I be right in guessing you know something about surviving in the snow?”

“Everything that Charlotte Tibby wrote about it,” Tibby Rose agreed. She seemed almost excited by the opportunity to test her survival skills in a new terrain. Alistair hoped her optimism was genuine, and not a symptom of concussion. Personally, he was feeling rather anxious about being lost in the Crankens. He hoped it wouldn't take them three weeks to find their way out again. Not with his parents on Atticus Island . . .

“Come on, we should start walking. Where's my rucksack?” Tibby looked all around before realizing she was sitting on it.

“Let me carry that for a while, Tib,” Alistair offered.

“Thanks,” said Tibby. “Help me up.”

Alistair gripped her wrists and pulled her to her feet. When he let go of her she wobbled unsteadily for a moment, then fell back down onto her bottom.

“Oh,” she said. “That didn't work very well. I'm still a bit dizzy. Hang on a minute and I'll try again.”

“I don't think you're well enough to walk, Tibby,” Alistair said, slinging his own rucksack over one shoulder and Tibby's over the other.

“But we can't stay here,” Tibby argued. “It's too exposed. At the very least, we need to find shelter.”

Tibby was right, Alistair knew; they did need to find shelter—from the weather and from predators. He could piggyback her, he supposed, but it would be pretty hard going when he was already carrying two rucksacks. Perhaps if he dragged the rucksacks behind him? Or dragged Tibby Rose behind him. Hmm, that wasn't such a bad idea. . . .

“Tibby, can you tell me how to build a sled?”

“A sled?” said Tibby. “Let's see . . . two forked branches . . . cross beams . . . Yes,” she decided. “If you can find the right kind of trees. You'd better take my rucksack. There should be a pocketknife in the front compartment, and you'll need some thin cord. Oh, and the rope.”

Alistair concentrated as his friend described how to build a basic sled, then he set off toward a stand of slender saplings. They looked perfect.

Using the knife—which he recognized as Uncle
Ebenezer's—he sawed away at first one long slender forked branch, and then another. Then he cut away one side of each fork to leave two curved sticks. These would be the runners. He placed them side by side on the ground so that the curves pointed skyward. Now for the cross beams. He cut three short pieces and, spacing them evenly along the runners, lashed them in place with the cord.

By the time he was done, it looked just like a real sled.

He added some diagonals for strength, then pulled a coil of rope from Tibby's rucksack, which was starting to look decidedly emptier now. He tied each end of the rope to the front-most cross beam, so he could pull the sled along.

When he returned to where Tibby sat, dragging the sled behind him, she was pleased with the results. “It's very well made,” she said, admiring the curved runners.

“Hop on, Tib,” he suggested. “Let's give it a test run.”

Tibby sat on the sled with the two rucksacks on her lap, and Alistair began to pull.

“Ouch!” he cried, as he tried a turn and had his tail squashed by a runner. “I'll have to remember to keep my tail up.”

It was hard work tromping through the snow, but the sled slid smoothly along behind him.

“This is the way to travel,” called Tibby. “Let's not bother with looking for shelter now. We can start trying to find our way out of here. We'll just make sure to find somewhere to stop for the night before the sun sets. The valley runs northwest,” she observed, “so let's follow it as far as we can.”

As the sun beat down, Alistair found that it was possible to be boiling hot from the exertion of pulling the sled while his toes and ears and tails were numb with cold.

By the time the sun was directly overhead, its rays on the snow were blinding and Alistair was finding it hard to focus. Not that there was much to focus on: snow, snow, and more snow. If only there was something to look at, he thought, he wouldn't be so aware of the weight of the sled, or the heaviness of his steps as they crunched through the snow.

His legs were tired and his arms were aching by the time Tibby said, “Do you want some water?”

“Yes, please,” he said. He dropped the rope and rolled his shoulders, then did some arm stretches.

“I wish we had some food too.” Tibby looked upset. “I can't believe I set off without packing supplies. What a stupid mistake.”

“But we didn't exactly have time to ask for supplies last night,” Alistair reasoned. “I just presumed Slippers and Feast would take care of it. And we couldn't have known we'd end up in this situation.”

“That's no excuse,” his friend said. “Charlotte Tibby would never have set off so underprepared. And trying to find something to eat around here . . .” She gestured at their bleak surroundings.

“All the more reason to keep going,” said Alistair. “Hey, are you sure you're not just faking that headache, Tibby?” he quipped, trying to change the subject; he hadn't really been aware of his hunger until they'd started talking about
food. “I won't be angry if you say yes. Just get up and walk and we'll forget the whole thing.”

Tibby smiled. “I am feeling much better,” she agreed. “Maybe I could walk.”

Alistair helped her to stand, and this time she was much steadier on her feet. They lashed the rucksacks to the sled and set off again, Tibby walking beside him.

Alistair found that the afternoon passed more pleasantly than the morning had. Pulling the sled was much less tiring with only the rucksacks for passengers, and the sun was warming his shoulders. But Tibby raised her hand to call a halt.

“If we were heading west now, that sun should be in our eyes. The valley must be curving around to the east.” She turned to face the sun. “Looks like we're going to have to climb some mountains,” she said with a sigh. “Pity.”

Alistair followed the direction of her gaze. “We have to climb that?!” The mountain towering over them was huge. Its lower slopes were studded with trees and rocks, before rearing to a high pointed peak.

“Well, not all the way up.” Tibby pointed to a dip between the mountain and its neighbor to the north. “We can pass between the peaks. At least we should get a better idea of where we are from up there.”

“How long do you think it will take to reach the pass?” Alistair asked. He was feeling tired again just from looking at the mountain.

“I don't know,” Tibby replied. “But I don't think we'll manage it today.” She pointed to a dark patch about
a third of the way up the mountainside. “We could aim for that last stand of trees, and set ourselves up there for the night.”

They began the uphill climb. The slope was gentle at first, and Alistair found it easy enough, though it was very uncomfortable walking into the sun. But as the afternoon wore on and the slope grew steeper, the sled grew heavier. At last it seemed to Alistair that although he pulled with all his might, they were barely moving.

When the first clouds passed across the sun, Alistair was glad not to have the glare in his eyes anymore. Then the clouds began to gather, more and more of them appearing over the mountain until the sky was much the same color as the ground. Soon the mountain peaks were no longer visible as the clouds began to sink. It gave Alistair the strange feeling of being imprisoned in the valley.

“I don't like this,” Tibby muttered. “I don't like this at all.”

A wind came howling down through the trees to whip Alistair's tail about his feet. Then snow began to fall, dashing across his face and body, stinging his ears and eyes and nose.

“It's a blizzard!” Tibby cried. “Keep going! We have to find shelter in the trees!”

Lower and lower the cloud descended, obscuring the trees, the rocks, shrinking the space around them. Alistair could no longer see the trees, and couldn't remember how far they had been from them. He concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other, step by interminable
step, his head down. Without the sun, the temperature dropped rapidly, and the cold crept from his toes to his knees. He could hear Tibby, breathing hard beside him, but he could barely see her.

One foot in front of the other . . . The snow swirled and eddied around them. It coated his fur, collecting in icy clumps where his scarf circled his throat. His hands ached where they gripped the rope, his eyes streamed where the snow stung them, and his ears hurt from the roar of the wind. He was so cold his blood felt as though it was freezing in his veins; his very bones felt chilled. Alistair couldn't imagine ever being warm enough again.

One foot in front of the other . . . His hunger was growing sharper, a relentless nagging in his belly. Yet while the sensation in his stomach seemed to grow more intense, his thoughts grew dull and his limbs leaden. He longed to stop and rest, but they couldn't risk it. The temperature would drop even further as evening fell. If they didn't reach shelter soon, there was a very real chance they'd die of exposure out there on the freezing mountain.

One foot in front of the other . . . Each step was becoming more of an effort as their toes sank deeper into the snow. And still they hadn't found shelter. How could they even be sure they were going the right way? Alistair wondered. They couldn't follow the position of the sun, couldn't see the trees they were aiming for. They had only the relentless climb uphill to assure them they were on course.

Alistair still couldn't see the trees even when they finally reached them. The huge dark trunks had been buried in snow and the white-covered boughs were invisible through the dense white fog. It was only when the sound of the wind grew muffled, and the snow was no longer driving into his face, that he realized shelter was close at hand.

Tibby's voice sounded unaccustomedly loud as she said, “Let's stop here.” Still breathing hard, she looked around. “We should be able to find space around the trunk of a tree where it's sheltered by a spreading branch. We'll need to dig a bit though. How about—ouch!”

Alistair dropped the rope of the sled and rushed toward the sound of her voice. “What's wrong?”

“It's nothing,” she said. “I just walked into this big rock. Hey . . .” She was feeling in front of her with her hands. “There's an overhang. We can just crawl under here—it should give us enough protection.”