Birdie's Book - Andrea Burden [50]
The crab’s one-claw clickety-click taunt became a noisy clatter as more crabs suddenly swarmed to join the chorus. Interestingly enough, not a single one skittered near the rocks.
I was wondering if I would have to just break its little claw off—hoping that it would grow a new one like the stingray—when I tried one last idea. Walking on the heel of my left boot so I wouldn’t break the crab, I slowly made my way to a large rock. As soon as I climbed onto it, the crab let go of my boot, dropped into the sand, and scurried back to the crab-creature colony.
From here I was right beside the stone wall. The moss was more of a slime—so although there appeared to be places where I could put a hand or foot, the wall was too slippery to climb. Switching the heavy coat to my other arm, I jumped to the next big rock. I headed down the beach this way, looking for a break in the stone wall. I had to get over it to reach the Three Queens.
Suddenly I remembered the knotted wind rope. I couldn’t climb the barrier, but a strong wind could carry me over—as the Redbird Wind had flown Birdie and me across miles of Aventurine. I opened the blue drawstring pouch and pulled out the rope. Just as I was about to touch the first knot, I asked myself: Was it wise to use one of the magic knots so soon?
I put the rope back in its pouch. Then I took a piece of cake from the other pouch and nibbled as I continued jumping from rock to rock. I found cracks between boulders here and there, but they were too narrow for anything except a butterfly flying sideways to squeeze through. Looking up, I realized that the stone wall blocked my view of the Three Queens. On the off-chance that seeing the crowned peaks would give me a brainstorm, I jumped off the rocks.
I braced to jump back on in case any silvery crabs attacked me from the sand. Keeping an eye out, I hurried down the beach, walking away from the rocks until the golden peaks of the three mountains were visible. From here, I could also make out three distinct paths leading away from the piles of rocks: One went straight and the others branched to the left and right. Each path was obviously a route to one of the Three Queens, and each path was blocked by a pair of humungous boulders.
One of the mountains was the key to completing my quest and making my dream come true, but which one? I had no information, no map to help me decide, and not even a friend to talk to about it.
A shrill whistle rang out as pebbles and small rocks tumbled down the boulder barrier.
“Who’s there?” I yelled.
Suddenly a small man jumped over the stone wall. Standing two feet tall and wearing what I thought of as basic elf clothing—red cap, brown leggings, a green coat, and black boots—he watched me from atop a large rock. His pointed ears were too long to fit under his cap.
I was sure he was an elf. He looked seriously grumpy, and I tried not to be too worried. In Finnish folklore, disturbing an elf is almost as bad as insulting or cheating one.
The elf’s ears twitched when he cocked his head. I just stared back until he somersaulted off his perch. The little man rocked up onto his feet and zipped across the sand, moving so fast I saw only a blur of red and green, like a piece of Christmas gone crazy. He skidded to a halt in front of me.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Who’s who? And who are you?” the elf answered in a squeaky lilt. Then he added with a smirk, “As if I didn’t know!”
I wasn’t sure whether to tell him my name—which would give the elf the upper hand—or to call his bluff, which might not be a bluff.
“Who am I, then?” I asked with an impish grin, and crossed my arms, daring him. I knew that elves have a habit of getting even by doing something ten times worse than what was done to them. But they also like to be amused and