PUTNAM ROSE early—a sure sign that he was feeling better. He woke just as Artie was leaving, but he lay still anyway and let her depart. She was up to something. He wanted to know what it was.
She headed toward the river, and after a few moments, he pushed himself up to sitting to follow her.
It was harder than he’d thought it would be. Up until now, he’d really only left the blanket to take care of necessary business at a nearby latrine Artie had dug for him. This walk, though, was much longer and took him back through bushes and long grass. He wondered how Artie had helped him up the hill into the sunny spot to begin with; he barely remembered the walk and the river; even the icy tunnel had faded into a long dream of pain and claws and burning.
But he remembered the statue. Or he thought he did. Did she really look like a Raftworlder? How was that possible? He must have dreamed that part.
Trying to be quiet, he walked slowly and stayed on the path. The grass was flattened, as if Artie took it often. Well, of course she did: to gather water for him. But the path was so worn it almost looked older than their arrival here. Or she was using it much more than he’d thought.
He could tell he was nearing the river because the sound of the waterfall grew loud. He could see the tall willow tree bending gracefully at the base of the fall; the statue would be nearby. He paused on the path. Was Artie down there now? How would she feel about him barging in on her?
All at once the entire woods went silent; it was as if his ears suddenly stopped working—except that he could hear the water running and splashing. And through the babbling water came the sound of a voice.
Not Artie’s voice.
A Raftworlder accent, but old-fashioned, the way the oldest of the elders spoke. “My name is Rayel,” said a girl’s voice. “I want to tell you a story.”
AS PUTNAM listened, the statue told her tale of how she left home to avoid an unwanted marriage; how she found her gift for the cold; how she met and lost Nunu; how she found Una in the underworld; how she and Una fought; how Una left. How Rayel, the girl who couldn’t freeze, felt herself hardening in grief and regret, how she turned into a statue, how she cried.
She didn’t cry as she told her tale, though.
Putnam, creeping closer, could see Rayel through the brush. Her face moved stiffly, as if unused to speaking, and her voice was creaky with disuse. Her hair was curled as tight and dark as Putnam’s, twisted around her head in intricate braids.
“What about the scars on your arms?” asked Artie. Putnam, who didn’t remember, smiled. After all that—the crazy story, the fact that a statue was talking at all—Artie wanted to know about scars on the statue’s arm. She was an odd one.
“The bears,” Rayel said. “Like what happened to you two. Bears follow everyone who comes south. Everyone has a bear after them.”
Oh. Putnam gasped, then remembered he needed to be quiet.
Artie too sounded shocked. “But the bears didn’t—they didn’t kill you.”
“I was already a statue when they found me. Mostly.”
There was a long, long pause. Then Artie said, in a small voice, “Wait. Your bear came here? Into this underground world?”
“Yes.”
“But . . . I thought this place was safe.”
“Safe as anywhere else. Which is to say, not safe. Eventually your bear will find a way in, just like mine did so many years ago.”
Putnam sat back with a crunch of twigs. The bears could be here—anytime. He thought of all the nights he’d slept without fear, out in the open on the grass. Artie, too.
Artie turned and saw him, and he could see the same thought in her face.
RAYEL HAD been frozen so long. It was as if the cold had finally, in her grief and shame, found her and had frozen her all at once. She didn’t know how the magic worked. She just knew that, when it happened, she had embraced it. She’d wanted to freeze. She had never planned to thaw.
It hadn’t occurred to her that her tears would affect the rest of the world. She’d never considered that.
If she had considered it, would it have made a difference? She wasn’t sure.
But when Artie started speaking, she had felt something inside her come to life. Here was someone else with a story just as painful as hers—maybe more so; pain was so hard to compare and weigh. It was always heavier in your own hands than in anyone else’s. At any rate, here was this other girl with a painful story. Rayel listened, and her heart cracked open.
Then the magical words: Do you want to tell me anything? And Rayel found that she did. Most of it confession. All the anger she’d felt toward Una (and Nunu) for leaving had melted away over the years, and what was left was regret and shame over the way she’d treated her. Thought of her. Rayel also felt grief, pure and sharp like a sword in her heart, for the people she’d loved and lost: Solomon, and Una and Nunu. And now, she felt love for Artie, who had gone through so much and still had room in her heart to care for someone else. And she worried that Artie would get stuck, too, and freeze. Underneath all these feelings, she was angry that the world was still, after all these years, so hard on people.
So many emotions. They stirred her. She could feel waves of energy tingle all the way to her fingers and toes. And she knew she was unfrozen now for good.
Everyone she’d ever known was dead—too many years had passed. But here she was, brought back through this girl’s story, and through her own. The least she could do, given that she’d been unfrozen, was help this girl in return.
And the boy, Putnam. He’d listened to Rayel’s story, too. She knew that—she’d heard him and seen him eavesdropping early on, and she’d decided to keep talking, for him as well as for Artie. He was, according to Artie, a Raftworlder, and Artie cared about him. Rayel wanted him to know her story.
As she told her own tale, her body thawed. Her limbs began to move. She felt stiff, as after a too-long sleep, but she was alive. Living and breathing again. With someone who cared about her—and people she cared about. Sharing a story with them. A perfect moment.
When she finished, Artie asked if they were safe here in the underground. Rayel told the truth—no—and Putnam fell backward into the bushes, and the perfect moment was over.
THE THREE of them moved to the side of the willow tree that was farthest from the waterfall, so that they were more out of the mist, and Putnam and Artie sat with Rayel for hours, rehashing her story and fitting it with their own histories. It turned out that Putnam was a distant grand-nephew of Rayel’s—through the baby that hadn’t been born yet when Rayel left. And he had heard stories about Rayel—not her name, which was probably recorded somewhere but not in the tales he’d heard, but her actions: he’d heard about a king’s daughter who’d run away on her wedding night and never returned. He’d heard—though he didn’t tell Rayel this part—that the princess had been cursed and turned into some kind of monster and had left. In some versions she left in order to protect her people from herself, and in others she was chased out after killing the young prince in a fit of rage and jealousy. She’d gone somewhere far, far away where she could be a monster in peace.
Maybe, Putnam thought, lots of monster stories were just that—stories about people who’d left, for whatever reason, long ago. Maybe a hundred years from now, he and Artie would be remembered, if at all, as monsters who’d been exiled to the deep south . . .
“Una never came back?” asked Artie. “Nunu?”
Rayel shook her head. Her hair and skin looked less stone-like, and she moved more freely. “Not that I know of. I think—I think something must have happened to her. I think she would have come back.”
Putnam said, “How did Una get out of here?” That part of the story didn’t make sense to him.
“Weren’t you listening?” said Artie. “She swam—”
“I think he means how could she swim up to the ocean from here. And even if she could swim that far, how could she survive when she got to the freezing ocean above?”
Putnam nodded. That was exactly what he’d meant.
Rayel shrugged. “This stream must travel underground before it empties out into the ocean.” She paused, as if waiting for them to say the rest.
“Maybe she transformed as she swam,” said Artie. “Into Nunu.”
“There are Raftworld stories about dolphin people,” said Putnam. “But I didn’t know they were real.” Bears, dolphins; he wondered how many fairytales were telling the truth.
“I like to think she turned back,” said Rayel, “into whatever she really was, and she got away, and had a good life somewhere warm.” She leaned her head back against the tree. “But I guess I’ll never know.” Her face was full of color now, and her hair shone with the light glancing on it. Her clothes, old-fashioned but beautifully woven, moved like real fabric now, in bright colors. She stretched and then said, “Well. I guess you two need to get back home. I wonder . . .”
“Do you want to come with us?” asked Artie.
“I was hoping you’d invite me,” Rayel said, dipping her head awkwardly.
Putnam said, “Of course! Please come. In fact,” he said, trying to smile, “you’re actually next in line for the throne—”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I never wanted that. Just . . . don’t make me marry someone awful.” She grinned.
Putnam laughed. “I’m pretty sure you’ll make your own choices. I mean, technically, you’re really, really old.”
And then it struck him: all this talk of going back, and he still hadn’t fixed the water . . .
Oh.
It was her. “The salt in the ocean. Your tears.”
Rayel nodded.
So. The problem he’d come south to fix was already solved—and not because of anything he’d done. It felt a little disappointing. Shouldn’t there be more? A big finish of some kind? A fight against a dragon, maybe—or at least a giant sled made of salt that had to be hoisted back into the sky?
“We fixed it,” said Artie, leaning back on her elbows and then sliding down to lie on her back. Her eyes were shining. “Well, Rayel did, anyway.”
“After causing the problem in the first place,” Rayel murmured dryly. “And it will take a while for the ocean to heal. It won’t be suddenly better just because I stopped crying.”
Artie, curled up on the grass, giggled.
She giggled. Had she ever done that before, during all the long weeks of their trip?
So many things had happened since they arrived at the cavern, and all he’d done was lie around with a sore back. He’d return to Raftworld—if they even could—exactly as he was, not having done anything. All his problems still the same.
“What’s wrong?” said Rayel softly. “Artie told me her story. But I haven’t heard yours. Want to talk about it?”
He shrugged. “There’s really nothing to tell. I’m the king’s son. My life is practically perfect.”
“I was the king’s daughter, and my life wasn’t perfect.”
She waited.
“I had a big fight with my dad before I left,” said Putnam. It was hard to admit that. His dad wasn’t perfect, but he was a good dad, especially compared to some.
“Does he love you?” asked Rayel.
Putnam looked at her, startled. He almost said, Of course, but stopped himself. There was no of course, not for everyone. “Yes. He does.”
“And you love him.”
“Yes.”
“Then when you go back, you can fix it. You can.”
Artie was fast asleep, her head pillowed on a tree root.
Rayel said, “And your mother?”
Putnam took a deep breath. “She left us. Left me. She didn’t—she didn’t love me. Not enough to stay, not enough to come back.” It was the hardest thing he’d ever said. And he knew that this was the thing, more than anything else, that made him angry with his dad. Why didn’t his dad go after her? Why didn’t he make her stay? It was the thing behind every argument he and his dad had. It was the thing that made Putnam—the next king, the kid who had everything—feel small and unloved. And there was no way to fix it.
Rayel put her hand on Putnam’s. It was warm and pulsed with life. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
AFTER A FEW MINUTES, Rayel nodded toward Artie, who was still asleep. “She’s exhausted. Caring for you, and visiting me. She figured it all out a long time before you did, you know. And she did the only thing that could make me stop crying. She told me her story, and she listened to mine. Just listened.”
“What exactly happened to her?” asked Putnam. “What did she tell you?”
Rayel stared at him, her black eyes piercing.
“She hasn’t told me anything,” said Putnam. He almost added, It isn’t fair. And it wasn’t, was it? He’d helped her sail the boat here, given her his food, saved her from bears almost at the cost of his own life, traveled with her for so long and never been anything but nice to her. He should get to hear her story, too. What had hurt her so badly?
“I don’t think you understand how this all works,” said Rayel. “I told my story to her and to you—and yes, I knew you were in the bushes all the time—because I wanted to. Because I wanted you both to know.
“But Artie hasn’t given you her story. She told me, because I was a statue and that was all she could bring herself to talk to. She didn’t tell you. And the fact that you were nice to her doesn’t mean you get to hear her story. It’s hers, don’t you see? She doesn’t have to tell you. She doesn’t owe you anything.”
“But that’s—”
“Not fair? People don’t owe you their sad stories just because you’re a good person, Putnam.” Rayel looked over at Artie, and a softness flashed across her face. “She gave you her friendship. That was a lot. A lot.”
He nodded. It was, and he knew that. He also knew that her friendship was different, better than any he’d had before (his mind flashed to Olu and his schoolmates). And it was brave. From Artie, friendship took so much of what had already been stolen from her: trust and openness.
“It is a lot,” he said. “She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”
Rayel tilted her head to the side.
“I mean, she’s friends with me without caring that I’m going to be king of Raftworld someday. Without caring that I’m a really good sailor and raft builder, and that I can read and write really well. Without thinking that I’m tall or good-looking or that I live in the nicest house on Raftworld. She’s just my friend because of . . .”
“Because of you,” said Rayel. “And because you are in this mess together.”
Putnam said, “We can’t stay here.” It was a question as much as a statement.
Rayel nodded.
“But we don’t have a way out.”
“We could use the tunnel Una and I used when we went to the surface to explore.” And Rayel told him about the tunnel with the gradual incline. “I think it’s probably still there,” she said slowly, tapping her head in thought. “It was really wide. It’s probably how my bear got in.”
Putnam swallowed. “The bears. Do you think—”
“They’ll find you? Yes, eventually. Mine found me.” She held out her arm with its claw marks still embedded in it, even though her arm was now flesh. The cuts were deep, like farrows that had been dug for planting and then abandoned.
“Mine found me?” repeated Putnam. “What did you mean when you said everyone has a bear after them? Your bear wasn’t the same bears that are chasing us?”
“Of course not,” said Rayel. “That was a long time ago.” She paused to think. “Like I said, we each have our own bear. At least, that’s my belief. And I had a long time to think about it, after I took care of mine.”
Took care of? “What did you do?” asked Putnam.
She smiled, but the smile didn’t look happy. “I don’t recommend my method.”
He waited.
“I ate it.”
“What?”
“I can’t explain it, exactly. I was already a statue, or mostly one anyway, and the bear found me. It clawed my arm. The worst pain I’d ever experienced. And I was so mad—about everything—I just grabbed it, grabbed it and hugged it to me, and it—it shrank, and when it was small enough, I put it in my mouth and I ate it. I was so angry. I thought my anger could . . . devour the bear.”
“Did it—did it work?”
She shook her head. “It’s been clawing my insides ever since. Until Artie and I talked, until she told me her story and I listened, and then I told her mine.”
“And now the bear is gone?”
Rayel shook her head. “Now it’s a little more quiet. Napping, maybe. I really don’t recommend eating your bear.”
But what do I do? Putnam knew he couldn’t fight the bears. Not again. Not ever. He’d lost last time; he’d lose again. And now he knew what it felt like to lose, how much it burned. He’d fail even faster next time around.
One of those two bears was his, and one was Artie’s.
“Your bear never leaves you,” said Rayel. “That’s what I’ve finally learned. Your bear follows you. If you run, it will chase you forever. You can’t run away.”
Artie opened her eyes, which glittered in her shadowed face. She looked empty. Putnam wondered how long she’d been awake. “So if the bear never leaves . . . then we need to find another way. Not fighting it. Not running away. Something else.” She spoke in a slow, sleepy voice. Maybe she was still partly asleep. She turned on her side and her eyes closed again, her face restful. “I like this tree.” Her hand curled around the root that pillowed her head.
Putnam said, “I’ll get our stuff—our blankets and things—and bring them here, and we’ll all stay together tonight. And maybe tomorrow you can show us the way to get out. And you’ll come with us.”
Rayel smiled. “That sounds good.” She lay back next to Artie. By the time Putnam returned with their supplies, both girls were deeply asleep.
THE NEXT morning, the three of them packed up, though there wasn’t much to pack. Artie and Putnam tried to share warm clothes with Rayel, who reminded them that she didn’t need them. She’d told them yesterday, but in the mix of everything else—a statue come to life, bears tracking them—they’d forgotten that she didn’t feel the cold.
Artie and Putnam needed to make their clothes as warm as possible. They had thought that Putnam’s two cloaks and his shirt were ruined by the bear, but now, cleaned and dried (though still torn), the cloaks still had some warmth to give. So Artie and Putnam each wore one of the ripped-up capes as their underlayer and kept a mostly whole one to wear as an outer cape. Even the outer cloaks, however, were torn where Artie had made them back into blankets and used them as bandages. There just wasn’t much cloak left to any of the cloaks. They’d need to get to the boat quickly—and hope it was still there.
They still hadn’t talked about what to do about the bears. Artie was hoping they wouldn’t meet up with them. Rayel had said the bears wouldn’t stop looking; she hadn’t said the bears would find them.
They ate as much as they could for breakfast (several apples, carrots, handfuls of berries) and they packed up some apples and carrots in an extra hood, along with some potatoes Artie had found and dug up that morning. They put on their boots and found their mittens. And then all three of them started walking in the direction of the tunnel Rayel had used, so many years ago.
Rayel didn’t talk. She’d started coughing that morning, first just a few coughs and now more and more, racking her body and making her hold her stomach. Putnam had asked if she was sick, but she shook her head and insisted that they leave right away. She’d be fine.
As they walked, pausing frequently to allow Rayel to cough, Artie divided her thoughts between worrying about Rayel—who did seem sick—and thinking about the bears. Artie had heard most of the conversation the day before. She’d been dozing, but the mention of bears had brought her out of that dreamland and back into reality with a crash. This world wasn’t safe. The monsters were coming. And even Rayel, who’d been here so long, didn’t know how to defeat them.
“. . . Artie?”
With a jerk, she realized Putnam had been talking. They’d reached the edge of the garden, and there in front of them was a tunnel into the gypsum, wide and smooth, gradually ascending. Big enough for a bear to get into or out of easily.
Rayel and Putnam were both staring at her, and she realized she was breathing short, upset breaths, almost like she’d been running.
“Sorry,” said Artie. “Daydreaming.”
Rayel coughed again, doubling over and clutching her gut.
“Let’s rest here for a few minutes before we go up,” said Putnam.
THEY HAD a snack, and Putnam thought maybe everyone was feeling better. Rayel didn’t eat, but she had stopped coughing. Artie had eaten a lot and seemed less upset. Putnam raised his arm to toss his apple core and grinned when it barely hurt to throw. Of course, if he had to lift anything heavier than an apple . . . He winced.
“Are you okay? We can rest longer.” Now Artie looked worried about him.
“I’m completely fine,” said Putnam, trying to sound as confident as he must have sounded before they’d been attacked by the bears. Trying to feel that confident again.
“Okay, then.” Artie stood and brushed herself off, then held out her hand to pull Putnam to standing. He didn’t need it, but he grabbed her hand anyway. Rayel gave him his walking stick—a long straight branch she’d found near the willow tree. The stick helped when his back got tired.
Suddenly Rayel’s head jerked back, and so did Artie’s. They’d heard something.
And a second later, Putnam heard it, too. Growling? And from where?
Putnam shook his head, and the sound was gone. “What was that?”
“Maybe nothing?” Artie said. She sounded like she wanted to believe herself.
Rayel stifled a cough and nodded, lips pressed shut in a line.
They stood a moment. They’d all heard something—a breeze, a birdcall, something—and maybe just imagined it as more? Or maybe it was more? And was it coming from behind them or in front of them? In the echoes of the tunnel, Putnam couldn’t tell.
Either way, there was only one exit from the underground world.
They headed up the tunnel.