The Forest at the End of the Hall - 3 (original) (raw)

II

It was her mother, the Moon, and Grandmother Tide beside her. The Moon held a candle in a small, earthen holder, and looked down serenely at her daughter.

The door knocked again. Alva started away from it, then looked up at her mother.

"I left her there," she said.

"You did," the Moon said.

Alva looked back at the door, which knocked again. A knock like a friend come to dinner, waiting patiently for you to open to them.

"How can I get her back?" Alva asked.

And then the Moon and Grandmother Tide came forward, and took Alva by her shoulders, and walked her down the hall, holding the earthen lamp high. "The spell for stone lasts from my dark to my dark," said the Moon, and Grandmother Tide added, "and that was yesterday."

"You have a month," the Moon said.

Alva looked back, as the door knocked again.

"Don't answer," said the Moon, and started down the stairs, holding her daughter's hand. Grandmother Tide followed them, golden key in her hand. She had come home to the house empty, and the golden key in the door, and the door wide open, and knowing where this would lead, Grandmother Tide had clumped back downstairs and outside. She had called down the Moon, who was just beginning to rise and who had, consequently, to pull up a great blanket of cloud across the just-cleared sky in order to hide her absence. Then she found a crow's feather in the grass, and picked it up, and told it, "think! remember!" and the feather had become a crow itself, and that Grandmother Tide had sent after Alva.

"What is it?" Alva asked.

"Probably the Witch, hoping you'll forget what she is."

"Before that, it was the Worm in the Wind," Grandmother Tide said.

They arrived in the kitchen. The Moon set out a warm blanket in Alva's seat, and Grandmother Tide took a warm cup of tea to her, and Alva sat, and drank, and looked up at the two of them.

"How can I get Linnea back?"

The Moon nodded. "You must prepare. The stone spell is good for a month. After the Witch leaves the door, you must go back in, and find the Queen of Ice, who will give you what you need. I cannot go with you, as those are not my lands."

"And I cannot go with you, as I must tend the tides."

"But we will give you gifts, and help you to prepare."

They did. They told Alva of the sunless, moonless lands, what they were like, what lived there. And they waited, together, as the knocks at the door came less frequently, and less frequently still. At the full of the moon, there were no sounds from the door. Still the Moon did not trust the Witch. "Take three more days," she said, and on the third day, when the moon was just past full and there was still no sound from the door, the Moon and Grandmother Tide spoke to Alva.

"Here is my gift," said the Moon, and gave Alva an all-protective cloak. "It will guard against cold, and heat, and harm."

"Here is my gift," said Grandmother Tide, and gave Alva a deep bagful of nuts. "Each is filled with the food you need."

Then they let Alva prepare herself, and take up what she needed, and brought her to the door. "We will see you with your sister," they said, and gave Alva the key. Alva opened the door and went in alone.

The hall was no lighter this time. The tree limbs still lowered, dark, hanging brushes that grew out of the walls, then finally replaced the walls. Above them, in the cracks of sky Alva could see by tilting her head, the auroras raced and plunged, green and blue and bright against the wandering stars. For a time, Alva was at peace, walking silently through the trees.

There came a noise, though, and came again. Rustling, barely heard, in the needles underfoot. The brushing of low, quiet limbs. Alva heard the sounds and kept walking, but the sounds moved with her. Low breath in the trees. She fastened the cloak tighter, then stopped. "Who follows?"

Movements, and the darkness pressed closer. Then, under a patch of light from the skies, the wolf king stepped forth.

"I am Alva Moon's Daughter," Alva said. "Why do you follow me?"

"You are flesh," the wolf king answered.

"Wait, then," said Alva, and took from her bag a nut. She cracked it, and shook out the halfs, and out fell the new-slain body of an elk, bloody and open-eyed. "This is flesh, too," she said.

The wolf king sniffed at the elk, and found it good meat. "Pass, then, Alva," he said. "And if you would feed us again, you may call on us."

Then Alva left the wolves to their eating, and went on.

She came after a time to the edge of the forest. There the trees thinned, and there spread out before her a vast, frozen lake. Above it, the auroras turned pink and pale, reflecting long, pale streaks on the ice. Behind it, far, far along, mountains rose up.

By the edge of the lake stood a small house, with a lit window. Alva went to the house, and looked in, and saw and old woman sitting in a chair, smoking a pipe as long as her hand. Alva knocked and went in, and stood inside the door, and the old woman looked up at her.

"Good evening, mother."

"Good evening if you must, daylight child. What are you doing here?"

"I am going to the Queen of Ice. How can I get there?"

"Go to my sister's house," said the woman.

"Where is that, mother?"

"Across the lake. I will lend you my skates. They will bring you straight there, if you go where they take you: only when you arrive, turn the toes back toward my house, and they will skate back on their own."

"Thank you, mother," said Alva, and took a nut from her bag. She gave to the old woman, and the old woman gave her the skates, and Alva went back outside, tied them to her feet, and set off.

On she skated, across the lake. It was a long journey, and bitter cold, but Alva wrapped up warm in her cloak and was not cold. The ice lay thick beneath her: cracks ran through it like cobwebs, like auroras, and tiny streams of frozen bubbles passed by her feet. Ripples tried to trip her, but the skates ran true, and finally, at the other shore, Alva stopped.

Here there stood another house: small, and lit from inside, at the foot of the mountains. Alva went to the window, and saw an old woman, even older than the last, this one sitting and smoking a pipe as long as her arm. Alva knocked and went in, and stood inside.

"Good evening, mother."

"Good evening if you must, daylight child. What are you doing here?"

"I am going to the Queen of Ice. How can I get there?"

"Go to my sister's house."

"Where is that, mother?"

The old woman nodded. "She lives on the ridge of the mountain, up there above us. I see you have my sister's skates. Go, send them back to her. I will lend you my snowshoes. They will bring you straight there; when you arrive, turn the toes back toward my house and they will come back here on their own."

Then Alva thanked the old woman and gave her a nut from her bag. She went outside and set the skates on the ice, pointed back home, and they glided away in long strides of their own. Then she tied on the snowshoes and set off up the mountain.

The mountain was a fast, steep slope covered in snow. Some trees tried to grow, but not many could, and they were small and scrubby. Alva tracked back and forth up the slope, her legs growing tired, but the snowshoes led her true, and she came at last over the ridge to a new house, overlooking the mountains.

Inside this house was the oldest woman Alva had seen yet, wrinkled all over, and smoking a pipe that reached to her knees. Alva went in and said hello, and the old woman nodded to her.

"Where are you going, daylight child?"

"I am going to the Queen of Ice. Would you know how to get there, mother?"

"I see from my sister's snowshoes that she has helped you too. Of course I will send you on. Send her back her snowshoes, and I will lend you my skis. They will bring you straight to the glacier where the Queen of Ice lives. But don't forget to send my skis back!"

Then Alva thanked the oldest woman and gave her a nut too, and sent the snowshoes back, and then took the skis and tied them to her feet. She set out down the mountain.

Above her, the auroras fired red and green and bright. Around her, the snow reflected the lights back bright as day. Her skis cut the snow keenly, and she let them take her on turns and loops down the mountainside, through a valley, and out into another valley, where loomed tall above her a glacier.

Alva skied to the edge of the snow, then sat down, untied the skis, and turned them back toward the house on the ridge. They started off home. She turned back toward the glacier, and started walking.

The Queen of Ice lived in the

~:~

oh god I have to sleep

fought it off jsut to write this

now the deluge

of sleeps