We press on across the ice sheet and snow begins to fall. At first the soft flakes are welcome, but it’s soon snowing so hard that we can barely see. The wind picks up, too, and blasts the fallen snow back up into our eyes, so that every step becomes a slippery adventure. We walk in each other’s footsteps, five people and a dog sharing their fates like mountain climbers tethered together.
I don’t think that even Kidah would be able to stay on the Dark Lord’s trail through this storm if he didn’t have help. Arctic foxes trot ahead of us, and I see white owls with great wingspans diving in and out of the billowing blizzard. We reach the top of a ridge just in time for me to spot a polar bear rear up on its hind legs and then duck out of sight and vanish in a puff of new-fallen powder.
P.J. sees the huge bear, too, and reacts.
“He’s on our side,” I tell her. “There’s a much narrower web of life here than in the Amazon, but we’ve got friendly eyes and ears on every glacier.”
Kidah stretches out his arms to stop us. “They’re very close,” he announces. “The good news is that our journey will soon be over!”
“And the bad news?” I ask him.
The wizard gives me a mischievous smile, and his eyes glint. “I’m afraid the weather is about to take a turn for the worse.” He holds the Star of Dann high in one hand while he moves his other arm in slow circles, as if stirring water in a cauldron.
The sky darkens, and wind blasts down at us in savage gusts that knock P.J. and me back several steps.
My father catches us, and for a moment P.J. and I share his safe, fatherly embrace. “Stay low,” he counsels.
“We are staying low,” I tell him. “Trying to walk in this storm is crazy.”
“It’s as hard for them as it is for us,” he says. “We need to pin them down and blind them.” He releases us back to the winds.
You’re staying low, but you’re not low enough, Gisco advises. I notice the savvy hound is now practically slithering along on his belly. Unless I’m mistaken, this is a katabatic wind.
A what? I ask as P.J. and I stagger forward, holding on to each other and crouching down.
A rare and dangerous weather pattern. It’s a powerful drainage wind that blows off a mountain or glacier. Air becomes denser as its temperature drops, and it starts flowing downward, faster and faster.
Eko silently takes my other arm. It feels very strange for me to walk with these two women who I’ve shared so much with on either side of me. But there’s no other way to move forward—we might all get sucked off the ice at any moment and blow away to Oz.
How strong can one of these katabatic winds get? I ask Gisco.
There’s something called a Piteraq, he tells me. It’s a hurricane-force katabatic wind that can form over the Greenland Ice Sheet when conditions are just right. A Piteraq can blow right off the scale.
Great, I say. I take it that they’re just right?
Yes. I believe we’re smack in the middle of a Piteraq.
How do we get out of it?
Find shelter immediately or die! the dog replies without hesitation. And my mother didn’t go through the pains of birthing a litter just to have her favorite son glaciate on this ice sheet. Follow me! And he bravely crawls out in front of our slow-moving column.
My father and Kidah link arms and fall in behind Gisco. I watch them stagger along ahead of us—even the wizard and the King of Dann struggle to take each forward step.
Suddenly, we see snow rising off the ice sheet in an endless column reaching to the dark sky. A cyclonic wind is heading toward us, and we can hear the shrill howl as it spins closer and closer.
P.J., Eko, and I stop walking. There’s nothing to do and nowhere to run. We just stand there, holding each other and waiting for it to hit.
The mesocyclone slams into Gisco first, since he’s out in front. He dives flat and tries to hug the face of the ice sheet, but the wind lifts the hunkered-down hound off his stomach and blows him back at my father and Kidah like a canine bowling ball. Whoa! he howls telepathically. Somebody catch meeeeeeee!
My father and Kidah crouch low to absorb the impact, but Gisco slams into them with all the force of the raging Piteraq. Gisco, Kidah, and my dad are swept back toward us. I see flailing limbs and white hair and a wagging tail flying at us like a giant living snowball in an avalanche.
I get into my best tackling stance and try to hit them low and at least slow them down, but the impact combined with the ripping wind is impossible to resist. Eko and P.J. are thrown over along with me, and we’re all blown backward together, totally at the mercy of the gale.
We spin and scrape and slide at terrific speed, six out-of-control windsurfers with no way to steer or apply the brakes. I fear we’ll be blown clear across the ice sheet, but after two or three minutes we thunk into something large and hard that stops us cold.
I slowly get to my feet and look for P.J. and Eko. They’re both dazed, but when I call their names they rise to their knees.
A hulking shape looms above us like a giant gravestone. I look out and see another such shape, and a third. They’re ice formations, as large and mysterious as Stonehenge.
Kidah and my dad crawl over and we all huddle on the lee side of one of the ice formations. “Well, we’re here, right on schedule,” the wizard announces cheerfully, shaking some snow out of his white hair.
“You planned that, didn’t you?” P.J. accuses him.
“Well, it’s not the most comfortable way to travel,” Kidah admits, “but we weren’t doing very well by walking.”
“WE’VE LOST GISCO!” I shout, alarmed that the dog might have blown far away across the ice sheet.
It’s impossible to lose a loyal dog, a telepathic voice assures me, and a second later his snout pokes out of a nearby drift. He hobbles over to us on shaky legs.
“Okay, we’re all here,” I say to Kidah. “What do we do now?”
“We arm ourselves for the final battle,” he says.
My father adds softly, “And then we go finish this.”