Frost (26 page)

I rose to my feet without help, brushing dirt from the hem of my nightie. “She could have just asked,” I said.

Jinky, I discovered, did have the facial muscles required to smile. Who knew?

“I have told her of your rune reading,” Jinky said. “She tells me she had sensed a disturbance in the energies of this power place. She has prepared the spirit breath for you.”

That didn’t sound good. And if you asked me, the situation didn’t look good, either. As forewarned, Jinky’s grandmother was a sight to behold. She was about four foot ten, tops. Her arrow-straight silver hair hung loose over her shoulders. She wore a colorful striped knit cap, a large fringed and patterned woolen shawl knotted at her throat, a belted royal-blue knee-length woolen tunic, and knee-high bristled fur boots. The boots were to die for, as I suspected some local furry critter had. She definitely had the look of someone who threw around words like “spirit breath.”

“The what?” I asked.

The old woman rattled off a long directive. Jinky nodded and said, “Don’t be afraid. My grandmother only wants to help. As a shaman, she can guide you, but she warns you: once through, the journey is your own.”

Which was no help at all.
Seriously. Once through? Through what?
Shaman-granny then approached me, lifting my right hand and facing it skyward. She ran her hand along my palm. I was reminded, eerily, of the way Jack’s grandmother had done this very same thing. Especially, as she, too, ran her finger into the inlet between my thumb and pointer. She said something to Jinky, who nodded her head and stepped away.

“Did you read something in my palm?” I asked the old lady. She looked at me blankly and dropped my hand. And then she also walked away.

Huh? Jack’s grandmother had mentioned the “power of three,” when she had done her palm-reading. A little translation might have been nice.

Instead, Jinky and her grandmother started doing — of all things — yard work. With shovels, they removed large hot rocks from the center of the fire, carried them to the small tentlike dome, and dropped them inside. This continued until there must have been a good-size pile of rocks in the tent. All the while I was warming myself by the fire; heat, glorious heat, I couldn’t get enough of it. Minutes later, they dropped their shovels. From her pocket, Jinky’s grandmother pulled a small bundle of dried branches, which she lit by dipping into the fire. She and Jinky walked over to the entrance of the low tent and started —
huh?
— removing their clothes. Jinky went down to her panties and a black tank over a black bra. She at least had a figure one wouldn’t mind exposing. Shaman-granny, on the other hand, didn’t. I was relieved when she stopped at a bone-colored slip, but, still, it was a little TMI for my tastes. They both turned and looked at me.

“What?”

“To enter the
savusauna,
you must remove your layers.” Jinky looked at me impatiently.

I wasn’t budging from my spot by the fire. I looked down. Under my parka there were only my nightgown and underwear. Besides, I was good where I was,
thanks, anyway.

“You’re insulting my grandmother,” Jinky said. “Take your coat and boots off. Now.”

Still smarting from her tone, I dropped my belongings onto the pile with theirs. I then crouched and followed them into the diminutive animal-skin tent. It was too low to stand in, so the three of us crawled to positions around the mound of stones set into a shallow hole in the center of the space. Jinky, the last one in, lowered a flap of stretched hides, plunging us into a warm and airless enclosure. As far as I could tell, the hot rocks were the only form of heat, but, man, they were kicking out some serious BTUs. Following Jinky’s lead, I sat cross-legged facing the stones. Shaman-granny began to speak. She held out the smoking bundle of twigs and waved it around her head and over her shoulders. The sickly-sweet smoke soon filled the space, and I coughed into my fist. Jinky shot me a look.

What? I wasn’t allowed to breathe?

The smoking bundle was passed to Jinky, who swept it back and forth across her chest and even around her head, as her grandmother had. “We pass the smudge wand,” Jinky said, “to cleanse the space and to purify our bodies and minds.”

She passed me the wand. I copied their movements, not wanting to get in any more trouble. I had to wonder, though —“cleanse” and “purify”? The smoke was getting in my eyes; they were starting to water.

Shaman-granny took the bundle from me and placed it at her feet. Next she pulled a bucket to her side and spooned a ladleful of water onto the rocks. The water sizzled, venting a steamy mist into the small space. It got even hotter.

The old woman spoke in a chanting rhythm; both she and Jinky lowered their heads. I did, too. Man, that Jinky had me nervous as a chicken near a bowl of batter and a hot frying pan. More water was poured onto the rocks, emitting a hiss like a hot skillet. “We give thanks,” Jinky translated, “to the womb of Mother Earth for this safe space, to the grandfather rocks for their wisdom, to the animals for their skins, and to the plants for their medicines.”

Medicines, my foot. If anything, I was feeling worse. More water was poured onto the rocks; it got hotter still. I understood now why we had stripped down.

Shaman-granny talked some more, it was hard to follow. First off, I didn’t understand a word. Furthermore, it was getting so foggy in the tent I really couldn’t see straight. And lastly, it was so dang hot I was getting sleepy.

“The spirit breath surrounds you,” Jinky said. “The first cycle of your vision quest will be a return to the past, to the source of loss. By way of travel, you will employ an ancestral gift. Are you ready?”

Hardly. My eyelids were so heavy they could have anchored Hinrik’s boat. Had I even wanted to reply, I wouldn’t have been able to. Though my legs could still feel the scratchy square of mat underneath them, I felt myself soaring away.

Flying. It felt great. And how had I — bird girl — never experienced this before? I felt the air roll over my feathers. Feathers! They were a dappled brown, and my wingspan was huge.
Score.
Once I stopped admiring myself, I took in the view: a bird’s-eye perspective. I couldn’t believe how crisp and scoped everything was, even though all I saw was an endless terrain of snow-covered hills and ridges. My chest filled with a puff of cold air as something below caught my eye. I dipped into a dive, thrilling at the rush of speed. Soon, a team of barking dogs pulling a sled came into view. All at once, the novelty of the experience fell away and I was left clutching only fear. I flew closer, recognizing the forms of Brigid and Jack on the sled.

Jack. From above he looked small. I dove even lower, now kiting above the yapping dogs, who did not welcome my surveillance. Contrary to my storybook images, this was no fancy carriage-style sledge. It was really no more than a rickety wooden platform atop two long and curved toboggan-style runners. A simple bench and backrest afforded a crude seat, upon which Jack was huddled. Behind that, Brigid stood upon the footboards with her hands on the driving handlebar. Their gear was tied in tarp-covered bundles in front of Jack, who, by the way he was cowering and cupping his left hand over his right, I’d have guessed was cold, but that couldn’t be. And if not cold, then he had to be shaking from fear. It wasn’t like him. Panic and a protective instinct tore through me. I had to do something, but what? I remembered that Jinky had described this cycle of the vision quest as “a return to the past, to the source of loss.” Was it too late? Was what I was viewing a done deal, a
fait accompli
?

The dogs continued to act up. If this was the past, how did they sense my presence? In irritation, Brigid slowed the sled.

“What is wrong with you worthless creatures?” she screamed at the dogs. This was not the same Brigid I had known during her stay in Norse Falls. This one had a hard glint in her eyes and an imperious cadence to her voice. The dogs continued to fuss, two now snapping at the air. Brigid brought the sled to a stop. I dropped onto the perch of a low cliff overlooking them.

Brigid stepped off the back of the sled and strode through the snow to where the dogs were leashed in a fan-shaped formation of long nylon traces. Even in my current no-clothes-required state, I couldn’t help but admire her travel garb: fluffy dove-gray fur pants tucked into knee-high suede boots laced tight to her calves. With a gloved hand, she yanked the collar of the loudest of the two yelpers, causing him to whimper and lower his head submissively. Brushing her hands, one over the other, she sauntered back to the sleigh. When close, she slowed and lingered, watching Jack in his withdrawn state.

“Dear Jack, are you still so very glum?” Though she tempered her voice, there was still a sharpness to it. She removed a glove and brushed his cheek with her hand. He recoiled as if struck, but then his body slumped forward in a very un-Jack-like display of defeat. I understood then that it wasn’t cold or fear that had him shaking — it was pure hatred. “Still angry, are we? I’m sorry that you don’t agree with my methods, but it couldn’t be helped, really. You’d never have come willingly. I need you, though. Besides, what is there to complain about?” She gestured to the snowy landscape with open arms. “Just look at the beauty surrounding us. How could you, of all people, not be happy? And to think, soon all the world will be just as breathtaking.” Jack turned away from her. She shook her head and stepped back onto the footboards. “Shame, your lack of enthusiasm. Anyway, soon you won’t waste energy on anything as ridiculous as emotion.”

I could see the way he shrank at the sound of her voice. I could also see a cloudiness in his eyes. I wanted to do something to help him somehow, to come between them. I jumped from my perch only to find myself being wrenched forward, through the air, through time itself.

I came to on the earthen floor of the sweat lodge. I was shaking uncontrollably as much from the thrust of the travel as from the sense of helplessness and hopelessness.

Jack had seemed so angry, yet oddly resigned to his fate. Though he withered under her touch, he didn’t fight to escape. As if he knew, somehow, that it was pointless. And judging by what I’d overheard, Brigid wanted it all, not just my world — which was Jack — but
the
world, too.

I sat up, lifting my heavy-as-barbells shoulders. Brigid had Jack. Did she intend to use him to deep-freeze us all? Regardless, Brigid had Jack. I’d do whatever it took to stop her — and to free him.

Jinky and her grandmother were still with me in the low tent. How long had I been gone? And how could they stand it? It was so cloyingly hot. The steam from the water poured over the hot rocks, and the smoke from the smudge wand still had the place banked in a fog that could rival both London and San Francisco — combined. Despite the creepy sensation of them both watching me, waiting for me to say something, I needed a minute to recover. All I could think about was Jack. If that was the past, where was he now? And what had Brigid meant when she said he won’t be wasting his energy on emotions much longer?

Finally, Jinky’s grandmother spoke, pulling me from my sulk. When Jinky handed me a cup of water, I noticed something bordering on respect in her dark eyes. The drink was cold and delicious and almost as rejuvenating as Jinky’s small nod of approval. The old Sami woman’s conversational tone changed, and she began chanting in an odd, choppy rhythm. She also added more water to the rocks, again shrouding us in a cloud of steam.

When the old woman finally stopped talking, Jinky translated, “My grandmother says that the spirit breath is now ready to take you on the second cycle. During this cycle you will find guidance.”

Round two? I hardly knew if I was up to it. My breathing was labored, and it was so very, very hot. And with the crazy steam funneling all around me, I couldn’t see. I felt sick to my stomach and so tired I couldn’t even lift my arms, never mind fly again. All the while, Jinky’s grandmother was reciting a phrase over and over. But guidance sounded good. I’d take some of that. Though I hardly had the energy to blink, never mind visualize. The air in the tent grew so heavy I could have pulled it up to my chin like a blanket, which reminded me of how very sleepy I was.

I came to feeling a glorious ribbon of cool breeze tickling me. It felt so great to be out of that stifling heat. Still groggy, I sat up, struggling to process my surroundings, until I realized, with a start, that I was on Hinrik’s boat. We were adrift, waves licking up the sides of the pitching wooden craft. A gray mist gathered in shifting patches, obscuring the gulls who screeched their presence. I stood and made my way to the stern, where Hinrik, with his back to me, cast a net out into the water.

“Where are we?” I asked. “Where’s Jinky?”

He turned to face me, and I gasped. This wasn’t Hinrik at all. Though he wore the same knit cap and navy jacket, the guy before me was much taller and broader.

In a sweeping gesture, he removed his hat, revealing a head of light brown curls. He was younger than I expected, my own age. And if not classically handsome, attractive in some inexplicable way. “Ah, there you are,” he said, smiling.