White Fox Page 2

  The clouds grew heavier, as if they’d been coated in dark blue paint. His surroundings became blurred. But then Dilah caught sight of something moving through the snow in front of him. He squinted and slowed down, keeping a watchful eye. A skulk of foxes emerged from the flurry. There must’ve been a dozen and they quickly surrounded him, cutting him off from every means of escape, the cliff at his back. A pale blue fox headed the group. He looked like an ice sculpture: nearly translucent. He had thick fur, an air of arrogance, and a deep scar etched across his right eye.

  “You must be Dilah,” the grim-faced fox said. His tone was chillier than the piercing wind.

  “Who … who are you?” Dilah replied nervously, his voice muffled by the package still dangling from his mouth.

  “My name is Jens, patriarch of the Arctic foxes,” the blue fox rasped, stepping forward. “That parcel must be the moonstone. Carl, my old friend, it seems that you’re correct,” he said, a faint smile spreading across his face.

  Moonstone? Was that what was in the parcel? How could a stone guide him to Ulla’s treasure?

  “I told you I was there when Gray gave that old thing to Blizzard,” a sly voice replied. A lean white fox emerged from behind Jens. He must be Carl, thought Dilah, confused and scared in equal measure. Carl’s limbs were long and slender, his eyes yellow, deep set, and bloodshot. Dilah shivered. One of Carl’s hind legs was dragging, as though he’d been seriously injured.

  “What do you want?” Dilah asked.

  Jens slowly approached Dilah, never taking his eyes off him, speaking in a low voice. “Child, you’re so young—and all alone out here in the wilderness. You have no use for the moonstone, but we need it. Come now—hand it over. In return, I can offer you safety, food, and warmth.”

  Dilah held the little package tightly between his teeth as he surveyed the pack of foxes, snow swirling around them. Their eyes were hard and cold; he couldn’t imagine finding safety with them, despite Jens’s coaxing words. Besides, his mother had entrusted this parcel—this moonstone, as Jens had called it—to him before she died. No matter what, he wasn’t handing it over to anyone else. He suddenly felt braver. A low growl hummed in his throat. He was ready to fight to the death. “No,” he said. “You’d better give up and leave me alone.”

  “Come now, child, don’t be this way. You’re frightened—but there’s nothing to fear,” Jens said, speaking slowly. “As the patriarch of the foxes, I can promise you that as long as you give us the moonstone, no one will harm you.” He and the other foxes drew closer to Dilah, tightening the circle around him.

  Dilah backed up toward the edge of the cliff, determined not to surrender the moonstone. At least if I die, he thought, I’ll be with Mama and Papa again.

  “Let’s just take it, Jens,” Carl snapped. His red-rimmed eyes stared savagely at Dilah.

  “My mama left me this parcel. I’ll never let you have it!” Dilah said, backing up toward the cliff edge.

  Anger flickered across Jens’s face. The blue fox roared, his rage so sudden and so powerful that it took Dilah’s breath away. At the same time, the vicious half circle of foxes tightened further. “You’ll die if you fall,” Jens said, anger simmering under his calm voice. “I don’t believe you’ll jump. So before I let Carl have his way”—the white fox growled in appreciation—“I’m giving you one last chance. Hand over the stone, or Carl and the rest of my pack will rip you to shreds.” There was a malicious glint in the foxes’ eyes as they bared their teeth and claws, closing in on Dilah.

  Dilah edged back farther and nearly lost his footing. Clumps of snow fell into the chasm at his feet. He glanced over his shoulder and was overcome with dizziness: It was a bottomless pit.

  In a split second, a white shape lunged at him with astonishing speed. Dilah didn’t have time to think: He clamped down on the leather parcel, squeezed his eyes shut, and leapt off the cliff. Carl’s teeth closed down on a tuft of his neck fur, but it was too late: Dilah fell away from the fox’s grip, plummeting into the abyss alongside the snowflakes. The foxes’ surprised cries gradually disappeared as the cold wind pierced Dilah’s fur.

  Little by little, Dilah became aware of the hard ground, cool sea breeze, and salty air. He slowly opened his eyes and noticed the glare of the sun beating on his face, the whoosh of waves crashing in his ears. I am still alive.

  The blue fox. The white blur of shadow, the snap of sharp teeth, and the stomach-turning fall—it felt like a long, confusing dream.

  The snowstorm had stopped, and the sky was now clear and bright. Giant floating icebergs sparkled in the sun, and the surf gleefully pounded the rocks that lined the shore. A gust of wind splashed the ice-cold spray in Dilah’s direction. He lay on a large, flat rock. How long had he been out of it?

  “You’re finally awake!” A small round head popped into Dilah’s view. Dilah sprang to his feet in surprise and bumped smack into it.

  Dilah instantly saw stars and felt as if everything were spinning. “Ow!” cried the head. Dilah steadied himself and stood up—more slowly, this time. The owner of the head was a strange fellow: short and squat, with huge, watery eyes; a velvety body; and dark gray fur. He was the spitting image of a glutinous rice ball.

  A seal!

  The seal rubbed his head with a large flipper, cursing up a storm.

  “Cripes! Did you do that on purpose?” the seal huffed, furrowing his bushy eyebrows. “You scoundrel, last night I pulled you out of the sea. It just about killed me!”

  “You—you saved me?” Dilah asked, rubbing his own throbbing head.

  “Of course! How else do you think you got here? I nearly passed out dragging you to shore, and you thank me by banging me on the head!”

  “I’m so sorry!” Dilah felt awful.

  Suddenly, the seal started to wheeze, his big brown eyes crinkling up.

  Dilah was puzzled. Was there something wrong with the seal? Had he knocked the sense right out of him? He felt guilty. “Are you OK?”

  The seal wheezed harder, a tear trickling from his eye. Dilah realized he was laughing. “It’s so easy to fool you,” the seal chuckled at last, covering his mouth with a flipper. “And a lot of fun!”

  “Fun? You made me feel terrible!” Dilah said, torn between annoyance and relief. “But I’m glad you’re all right. How did you find me?”

  “I was in the area searching for cod when something fell from the sky,” the seal said, waving his flippers. “Then plop—the water splashed this high!” He raised a flipper up as high as he could reach. “Then I grabbed you by the neck and dragged you to shore.”

  Dilah shook the remaining beads of water off his body, his fur fluffing up wildly, and took in his surroundings. Far above, a towering cliff was covered with thick snow and ice. That’s where he’d jumped from. He’d been lucky: The wind must’ve blown him out into the water as he fell.

  “Anyway, my name’s Egbert—but you can call me Egg. My mom called me a ‘bad egg’ when I was a pup, and I guess it stuck.” The seal clapped his flippers together. “And you?”

  “I’m Dilah,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. He couldn’t help but warm to Egg.

  “Dilah, there was a huge snowstorm last night. How’d you end up falling into the sea? If I’d found you any later, you might’ve …” Egg pretended to choke his own neck with his flippers and played dead.

  Dilah laughed. “I was …” But his mind went blank—the dreamlike memory had slipped away. Then two words flashed through his mind: the moonstone. Dilah looked around in alarm—where was the parcel?

  “My parcel!” He panicked. He must’ve dropped it when he’d fallen into the sea—the one thing he had from his mother! “Have you seen my parcel?” he asked Egg.

  “Parcel?” Egg frowned. “I haven’t …”

  “Argh!” Dilah’s blood froze and he sank to his haunches. If he’d lost the moonstone, how would he ever find the secret treasure? How would he honor his parents’ memory?

  “Do you mean thi
s?” Egg smirked, dangling a leather parcel in front of Dilah.

  “That really wasn’t funny!” Dilah cried out, his blood instantly thawing as he grabbed the leather package from Egg’s flipper.

  “What is it? Must be pretty special to have you so worked up,” Egg said, leaning forward curiously.

  “It’s called a moonstone, I think,” Dilah said, unwrapping the parcel. “But I haven’t actually seen it yet … let’s take a look!”

  The moment the parcel was opened, the two little animals’ eyes widened. It was indeed a stone, but unlike any either had ever seen before. It gleamed with a beautiful blue light. Egg gasped.

  “It’s like the aurora, isn’t it?” breathed Dilah, picturing the twisting blue-green beams that shimmered in the Arctic night sky. As he watched, the light danced and flickered like a flame, blazing in spite of the bright sunlight. Dilah noticed a small golden crescent moon carved into the center of the stone.

  “Wow—it’s beautiful!” Dilah said in wonder.

  “Sure is,” said Egg. “Hey, what’s this?” He pointed to a line of text on the untied leather.

  Dilah gingerly nudged the moonstone off to the side and plucked the piece of leather. Carefully examining it in the sun, he saw that a line of gilded script was inscribed on its front:

  I am not a worldly object;

  I do not belong in this world.

  On the reverse side, there was a picture of two foxes. They sat back to back, looking both charming and bashful with their exquisite curled-up tails, enchanting eyes, and long lashes. Between the arch of their tails, there was a poem, which Dilah read aloud:

  I was formed in the Arctic.

  I bring hope and guide the way.

  I’m filled with sky and moon,

  on behalf of the northern night.

  More than a thousand years ago,

  I was unearthed one fateful eve.

  As soon as I was touched by Ulla’s hand,

  I took charge of the wheel of life and death.

  From then on, desire was born …

  I shall follow my new master,

  in search of my other half.

  The sound of the waves faded away as Dilah read. It was as if everything around them had stopped, plunging them into silence.

  “It’s not really a poem, is it?” Egg asked, shaking his head. “It’s a riddle. Do you understand it? I don’t think I do!”

  Dilah remembered what his mother had told him: Legend has it that the patron saint of the Arctic foxes, Ulla, created a secret treasure like no other. It contains an incredible magic that can turn animals into humans … There’s something hidden beneath the dirt in the deepest part of our den that can lead you to Ulla’s secret treasure …

  This riddle mentioned Ulla too and said it would “guide the way”—like his mama had promised. But what was this “other half”—was that the treasure? And there wasn’t anything in there about turning into a human. “No,” said Dilah, frowning. “I don’t understand it either.”

  Dilah noticed a faint line of text below the picture of the two foxes. He studied it closely, sticking his face up to the leather—it was a complex script written in strange picture-like symbols.

  “What’s that?” Egg asked.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t recognize the language at all. Perhaps it was written a long time ago,” Dilah said. What did these strange symbols mean? Did they have something to do with the origins of the moonstone? Or perhaps with how to use it?

  “Wait …” Egg said, his eyes growing distant and thoughtful.

  “What is it?” Dilah asked.

  “I’ve seen similar symbols before … Let me think, where was that … ?” Egg wrinkled his eyebrows, clearly trying hard to remember. He shuffled over to the shore, gazing at the seemingly bottomless sea, tilting his head and lightly tapping it with one flipper.

  “Ah!” Egg spun around and shouted excitedly. “Grandpa Turtle! I remember, I saw these symbols on his shell!”

  “Grandpa Turtle?” Dilah repeated. He tried to remember what his mama had told him of turtles. “Is that a kind of fish with a stone on its back?”

  “With a stone on its back?” Egg doubled over with laughter. “Not exactly! You’ll see. I think we should go and talk to him.”

  Dilah felt a spark of hope. “So he can understand these kinds of symbols?”

  “Of course. He’s no ordinary sea turtle! He’s in the Arctic for a start! But he hasn’t always been—he’s more than two hundred years old, a world traveler who’s seen it all. He knows tons of languages and even understands a bit about human civilizations. The story goes that he even knows why ships can swim! If ever there’s something I don’t understand, like the behavior of white dolphins, or how to find flying fish in the North Sea, or where whales swim off to during winter, I’ll go ask him.”

  “Wow!” Dilah said, trying to imagine what a two-hundred-year-old sea turtle might look like. “He sounds really impressive.”

  “He is … but he can be a bit devious, and he has a unique hobby—he likes to collect treasures from all over the world and trade them with other animals. He’s seen so many treasures. He might’ve heard something about the moonstone.” Egg had a glint in his eyes.

  “Wonderful!” Dilah said, delighted. “But do you know where he is?”

  “I saw him recently. He swims slowly and loves to bask in the sun, so he can’t be too far from where I passed him. If we head west along the coast, I’m sure we’ll bump into him.”

  “Then let’s go!” Dilah said, jumping to his feet and chasing his tail in excitement.

  Before they set off, Egg dove into the sea, retrieved a bundle of thin seaweed from the bottom, and wrapped it around the leather parcel. He hung the parcel carefully from Dilah’s neck. Then he led him west, swimming close to the shoreline while Dilah padded along the beach on foot.

  As evening approached, the western sky burnt bright scarlet, the glow of the setting sun illuminating the sandy beach, Dilah’s shadow growing longer and longer. Dilah was about to step onto a fiery red rock when he realized it was moving, and quickly withdrew his paw, darting backward. He lowered himself onto his haunches, his fur bristling, and eyed the moving rock curiously as two sharp pincers emerged from under the huge dome of its upper half. It was a crab, Dilah realized, his eyes widening.

  “Hey, watch where you’re stepping!” the crab scolded him, brandishing its gigantic pincers and inching closer to the sea. “You inlanders—you’ve got no manners.”

  “Fred?” Egg had swam up onto the beach, noticing Dilah had stopped.

  “Hey, Egg, old pal!” As soon as he saw Egg, the crab’s anger melted away, and he smiled.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” said Egg. “Didn’t you say you were going on vacation to Hawaii?”

  “Well, well, as you know, I say a lot of things, but I don’t always mean all of them …” Fred said, looking away in embarrassment.

  “Have you seen Grandpa Turtle around here?” Egg asked.

  “Grandpa Turtle? As you know, I’m quite the social butterfly, so I’m not sure which one you’re talking about.” Fred’s beady eyes fixed on Dilah, measuring him up.

  “The Grandpa Turtle! The one you frequently do business with—you know. Grandpa Turtle.” Egg flapped his flippers in exasperation.

  “Oh, that one! As soon as you said the name, I thought you might mean him, that sly old crook!”

  “What? I thought you two were friends?” Egg asked, wriggling his eyebrows.

  “We used to be, but not anymore!” Fred grumbled angrily. “A few days ago, I gave him a black pearl I found in the Norwegian strait in exchange for two tuna—I’d planned on saving them for winter. But he carved up a swordfish’s mouth and passed it off to me as tuna. Swordfish indeed! The taste just can’t compare!”

  But then the crab shrugged, raising his two pincers and spreading his claws. “Then again, I didn’t suffer a loss either: I actually gave him a white pearl that I’d dyed black with squid
ink. That stupid turtle is too old to see clearly—he couldn’t tell it was fake!” His tiny eyes narrowed with laughter, and he lightly clapped his pincers together.

  “You say that Grandpa Turtle’s a crook, but aren’t you one as well?” Egg asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Dilah smiled. It sounded like the two old crooks were as bad as each other!

  “I—I—” Fred stuck his head in the sand and said no more.

  Egg and Dilah glanced at each other. “Anyway … do you know where Grandpa Turtle is?” Egg asked the lump of sand where Fred had buried his head, speaking a little louder to compensate. “We’re looking for him.”

  “Of course,” Fred replied, his voice muffled. He pulled out his head and squinted up at Egg. “You’re heading in the wrong direction. He’s collecting pearls and jewels on the eastern shore!”

  “Eastern shore? Are you sure? That’s strange …” Egg said. He wasn’t buying it.

  “Why would I trick you? We made our trade on the eastern shore. If you turn back now, you can still catch him!” Fred urged.

  “Is that so?” Egg said. He reached out suddenly with his flipper and pinned Fred down in the sand. “You’re lying!” he said.

  “Hey, hey, Egg! What’re you trying to do?” Fred cried out in panic. Egg pushed him deeper into the sand. Fred frantically flailed his claws, struggling to get up.

  “Tell me the truth, Fred,” Egg said. “I know you, and I know you’re going to tell me, so spit it out!”

  Sure enough, after wearing himself out struggling to no avail, Fred finally slumped into the sand and raised a single claw in surrender. Dilah couldn’t help giggling.

  “All right, all right, mate,” said the crab, “I was just joking around with you and your friend—easy, easy! Grandpa Turtle is just up ahead looking for rare pink pearls.” Fred’s small, shiny black eyes pleaded with Egg. “Now, let me go!”