When Alma told Hugo and Shirin about the light on the top of the mountain, Shirin shrieked with excitement, which was not surprising. What was surprising was when Hugo smiled and said, “Zonks. I thought so!”
“Does this mean you believe now?” Alma asked. They were sitting on a bench outside of school, Quintessence open on Hugo’s lap.
Hugo shrugged at this, his curls bobbing noncommittally. “I haven’t drawn my conclusions yet,” he said. “That would be very unscientific. But I am eager to continue testing the book’s hypotheses.”
“That’s a change from thinking it’s ‘ludicrous,’ though,” Shirin said. “Was it the shiny water that convinced you? Was it? Was it?” She wiggled her eyebrows and grinned so big that Alma laughed.
“I propose that we stop talking,” Hugo said, ignoring them both and flipping through the pamphlet, “and study the section on wind.” Pushing his visor-glasses up, he began to read aloud:
Let us turn high, high up to the wind.
Who can hold the wind? Who can calm its restless pursuit?
The Earth spins, the pressure shifts,
and the air moves ever onward.
And those Elementals of Wind,
single-minded and excessively focused
though they can seem,
are they not engaged in their own pursuit—
the pursuit of wisdom?
Do they not blow hither and thither,
asking “Why, Why, Why?”
Do they not challenge us to do the same?
“Fascinating fact!” Shirin cried when Hugo finished. “That sounds exactly like Hugo!”
Alma had been thinking that too. Hugo had been the one prodding them to plan, the one asking questions every step of the way. If Shirin’s element had been water, then Hugo’s was definitely wind. As she nodded her agreement, Alma tried not to feel jealous that both of them seemed to have an element. There were four elements, she reassured herself; hers would be next.
“I will take that as a compliment,” Hugo replied, “although I don’t believe there is such a thing as ‘excessively focused.’”
“It also says ‘high up,’” Alma pointed out. “The light was on the tallest mountain peak. But how are we going to get to the top of the mountain? And then how are we going to get the wind into the container? I still can only think of the funnel.”
“Funnel?” Shirin asked.
Alma explained her idea of creating a funnel that would direct the wind into the windmill bottle while Shirin listened intently.
“You’re so creative, Alma!” she said when Alma was done. “You always have the best ideas, like the spring and, well, this whole quest really.”
Alma didn’t know what to say. She didn’t think she had the best anything. Hugo was the one who knew everything, a never-ending supply of information spilling out of him and filling him up, as easy as filling his lungs with air. Shirin was the one who did everything, rushing from place to place, bubbling with life and laughter and fun. What did Alma know? What did Alma do?
It was still nice to hear, though. It made Alma feel warmer inside, brighter inside.
“It’s certainly the best idea we’ve come up with,” Hugo said. “I do have supplies for such a venture at my house, but we may need to pay a visit to the library for further instructions. I want to research wind funnels and turbines, as well as other elemental possibilities and, of course, alchemy. Given its pseudoscientific nature, that subject is one I have only cursory knowledge of.”
Alma felt her stomach knot. “You want us to go to the library?” she asked.
“I find it to be the most efficient way of collecting information,” Hugo said. “Also, my mother received an automated message this morning about several books that the library claims are overdue but that I no longer have in my possession. I would like to resolve that issue before my ability to check out further materials is compromised.”
“Let’s go!” Shirin cried, leaping to her feet and pulling her sequined backpack on. “Then we can stop by the Fifth Point and see if Alma’s mysterious ShopKeeper is finally there.”
Of course, neither of them was one bit afraid. Who would be afraid to go to a library?
Only Alma.
But if she was going to bottle the wind, it was a fear she would have to face.