Chapter 10. The Ice Spring

Bookworm and Magda waited until the end of July. Then they got ready. In his long years of reading books from many countries, Bookworm had picked up bits of knowledge about human survival in snow-bound mountains. He and Magda made a list of things needed for the trip: fur-lined boots, a pair of thick pants, a jar of goose fat to protect the skin from the intense cold, a pick axe, a sturdy shovel, rope, a long pole for probing the snow. They also prepared a flask of cider spiced with pungent, blood-warming roots for Magda. For Bookworm, they filled a sheaf of parchment with the peppery satirical epigrams by Martialis, Catullus and a few other poets. They decided against buying snowshoes or skis for Magda because she did not know how to use them and did not want to attract attention by asking for skiing lessons in the summer! They made a trip to Deer Lake, a large town a good distance below Ice Spring Gate. There Magda bought the missing items on their list.

Once all was ready, Bookworm flew up to the rock spire for an exploratory foray. When he returned, he sounded a bit less cocky about "knowing all that he needed to know."  He was not able to pinpoint the spring from the air. The rock spire stuck up from the edge of a large plateau of snow. Bookworm found it hard to believe that any kind of spring could exist in this perpetually frozen world. He certainly did not know what it would look like. He noticed a couple of spots where there were irregularities in the surface of the otherwise pristine, glittering plain: faint spots of blue tint, ripples, a small hillock. His plan was to return to the plateau, land there and explore the spots he identified by going on foot. Bookworm would have preferred to go back to the glacier alone, but Magda was burning with curiosity to see the glacier and to drink from another magic spring. He did not have the heart to deny her. There was, however, the question of how to get Magda up to the right spot. Walking up to there without a guide was clearly out of the question. She could not ride on Bookworm's back because there is no place to sit on a dragon: sharp, spiky crest runs the entire length of the narrow spine. The dragon and the girl decided that the only way for both of them to get to the glacier was for Bookworm to fly there and carry Magda with him in his paws.

The travelers chose the dawn of a cloudless August day for their adventure. Magda piled on layers of wool felt and fur, slung her satchel over her shoulders, strapped the pick axe and the small shovel to her belt and took the long pole in her hand. She then stood on a large rock by the side of the lake. Although she was sweating in all her heavy clothes, her belly was filled with the chill of apprehension as she watched Bookworm's powerful wings beat the air. He took a running start, pushed off with his hind paws and was up, up over the lake, and then swooping low again, bearing upon her. She felt his front paws clamp onto her shoulders and give her a mighty heave. Her feet tore off the ground.  All around her was the flapping, whistling confusion of wings and whirling air. Magda looked down and saw the tree tops beneath her boots.  She wanted to scream, to demand that Bookworm put her down this instant. But she felt that if she opened her mouth all her insides would lurch up and fall out. In terror, she clenched her teeth, wondering if her guts would ever settle down where they belonged, or had been permanently dislodged from her belly. It was a good thing that she had been too nervous to eat breakfast, or she would have been violently airsick. Magda tried shutting her eyes, but dangling blindly in the air while jolting up and down with each wing-beat was even more disorienting. The best she could do was stare up and ahead, to the rock spire for which Bookworm was steering. Although to Magda it felt as if the dragon was lurching up, down, and from side to side in a haphazard manner, in reality Bookworm was steadily gaining altitude while simultaneously circling in search of a rising thermal current.

Suddenly, the flapping and jolting ceased. They were riding smoothly and silently upon the air. Bookworm's wings were opened wide, their membranes stretched so taut, that they reflected sunlight. Now and then, the dragon slightly adjusted his tilt as they spiraled majestically over the mountains. The shaggy coat of the forest below was stitched here and there by a gleaming river or the thin thread of a path. Lakes flashed with mirrored sunlight. They were rising towards the severe and serene world of never-melting snow and ice. Magda, giddy with a mixture of terror and exultation, let out a whooping, yodeling scream.

But this glorious part of flying was over too soon. They were now level in altitude with the rock spire and Bookworm had to flap in a straight line. Finally, they landed in deep powdery snow. As soon as the dragon let go of the girl’s shoulders, her legs buckled under her and she sat down. During the flight, Bookworm was consumed by the effort of carrying his human cargo while flying through the thin mountain air. So he had been oblivious to Magda's discomfort. After all, she was silent the whole time, except for that whoop of delight when they were soaring. So the dragon was pleased with how well the ascent had gone for both of them. "If I had known that you would enjoy flying so much, I would have taken you long ago. We can go again anytime you wish!" he told her. "But you have to make sure to eat a proper breakfast before we go; look at you, your face is green with hunger!" Magda, still sitting in the snow, could only manage a wan smile. After a while, she ate a hunk of cheese and had a good drink of the cider. Strengthened, she scrambled to her feet and they set off across the glittering vastness of the glacier.

The air was thin and Magda found that she had to move slowly to avoid getting dizzy. It was so cold and dry that her nostrils were sticking together and her eyelashes kept freezing shut when she blinked. They had to stop often to let her take a warming break under the dragon's wing. It occurred to her that Ludwig was right when he said that skirts did not belong on the mountain; she was glad that she remembered to put on the thick sheepskin britches in the morning.

They moved in silence, awed by the vast and eternal hush of this snowy world. Bookworm was in the lead. His hot scaly body broke through the wind-compacted crust and sunk deep into the snow, so that he was not so much walking as plowing laboriously. Magda followed in his deep track.

They visited the first of the spots scouted out by Bookworm and found that it was nothing more than a large snowdrift. The next landmark turned out to be a small lake of blue ice, smooth and slippery, only barely dusted with snow. In the center of the frozen lake, the ice rose in an odd protrusion, about the size of a beehive. Bookworm pointed to it silently and Magda nodded. They reached it and stood gazing in wonder. The ice beehive had a flat top with a deep well in the middle. This well was filled with unfrozen water — deep blue in color, bluer than the sky. Despite the ice and snow all around it, the water in the well was roiling, and silver bubbles rose and broke at the surface, as if it were boiling. Magda stirred and, taking the mug off her belt dipped it in the well. As she drew it out, the outer surface of the tin immediately became covered with furry frost. But the water inside remained liquid. Cautiously, Magda took a tiny sip. A bolt of cold shot through her. She felt as if all her insides froze solid. "Well? How is it?" Bookworm asked with impatient curiosity. But Magda's tongue was still completely numb, she could only gasp and point at her mouth. Bookworm waited a few seconds. Then he simply took the mug from her, filled it to the brim and tipped the contents down his own fiery gullet. In the next moment he was rattled by a spasm of wing-flapping, spark-spewing cough. Echo bounced from mountain to mountain, finally dwindling into silence far away. The dragon regained his breath. He was filled with a strange sense of absolute clarity. And then he heard, or more precisely felt, a soft yet powerful blast of cold air roll over him. In the state of this preternatural clarity, Bookworm did not have to look up to understand what was happening. He knew immediately what this was, and he knew what he needed to do.
 
Bookworm spread his wings and turned around to grab Magda. But the girl was not next to him. The blast of air knocked her off her feet. As she fell, she slid all the way across the ice and was now some way down the slope, struggling in the deep snow, trying to get up. The dragon realized that in the split second he had left, he did not have the time to both reach Magda and take off. He leaped towards the girl and, grabbing her, rolled into a protective ball around her. Then the avalanche was upon them. The moving wall of snow picked up the dragon, as if he were a small toy, and carried him down, down, down the mountain with great speed. With a sickening crack, it slammed him against a rock outcropping and left him wedged there. The avalanche sped on down the mountain, reaching the tree line and then gradually dying down in the forest below.

For a few minutes, the dragon lay still, completely dazed. Then, slowly, painfully, he uncoiled his battered body. Magda crawled out, and sat, blinking. Then she leapt to her feet. "Bookworm? Are you all right?" He tried to get up, then collapsed with a loud groan. "What is it? Are you hurt?"
"My back right paw. Broken." His golden eyes clouded with pain. His head dropped down onto his front paws. "Magda," he croaked hoarsely, "we are done for. I cannot take off."


What did she have with her? Her satchel with the food for herself and for the dragon and some rope. On her belt, the pickaxe and the spade were still hanging in their leather sheaths. She paced up and down next to the sprawled dragon, looking down the slope at the trail left by the avalanche. It must have dragged some large rocks with it; here and there were deep tracks gouged into the snow. This view brought to her mind the picture that she used to see often back home, when there was deep snow on the hills. Local children would roll a barrel down a slope, then they would pour water to glaze the resulting trough. Magda used to watch longingly from her window as the laughing children slid down the icy chute faster, faster, almost flying at the end, before they landed in a big snow pile at the bottom. Magda shook her head, trying to bring her mind back to the problem at hand, but for some reason it kept returning to the image of children sliding faster and faster down an icy track.

And then, in a flash, she saw the solution as clearly, as if someone drew it for her on a piece of parchment! "Bookworm!" she exclaimed, "I can make a chute and a ramp for you to take off without using your hind paws!" The dragon opened his eyes and mumbled something indistinct. Magda whipped out her shovel and went to work. She dug and shaped snow for several hours, interrupting her back-breaking work only to take a sip of cider or a bite of cheese and to say a few reassuring words to the dragon. As time went on, Bookworm's reaction was more and more sluggish, he was slipping into shock. Magda goaded herself to keep moving — faster, faster. Her muscles were cramping and trembling with exhaustion, she gasped in the thin air, yet she refused to give up.

At last, Magda's work was done. She called to the dragon, but he lay still and did not answer. She could see the shimmering of warmed air, as his breath rose above his snout, and there was the familiar red glow in his nostrils; so she knew that he was alive. But no matter how much she hollered and shook his wingtips, he did not respond. His eyes were closed and his forked tongue lolled out from his jaws. In desperation, Magda seized the dragon's tongue and, ignoring the singed smell and smoke that rose from her charred mittens, yanked hard. The tongue flicked back and the dragon's eyes opened a slit. Magda grabbed out of her pack a wad of the parchment with the peppery poems and shoved them into Bookworm's jaws. He chomped and swallowed. His eyes opened wider and his gaze gradually became more focused. Magda was finally able to get his attention.

Following her directions, the dragon gathered all his strength and exhaled long jets of fire down the sloping chute and along the ramp that Magda had fashioned out of snow. The heat melted the upper layer of the snow. Then the water froze again, forming a hard and smooth coating of ice. Pushing with his front paws, Bookworm launched himself down the slippery chute. Magda's design was perfect — he gathered enough momentum to come shooting along the horizontal ramp and get launched into the air. He swept his wings wide, banked and gained control of his flight. Magda scrambled onto the rock outcropping and Bookworm, swooping by in a daring aerial maneuver, managed to grab her by the shoulders, as he narrowly avoided crashing into the mountain. They were airborne.


CONTINUED IN THE NEXT CHAPTER