Corwin Opens the Cold Bell — Every evening, Corwin hurried the lantern path between the tall pines, tapping each post twice and listening for its clear little clink. Read the full story →
Every evening, Corwin hurried the lantern path between the tall pines, tapping each post twice and listening for its clear little clink. He wanted to finish before the northern wind rolled down the hills, because the dark smelled like icy bark and made every snowflake sting his cheeks. Until one evening, the last lantern stayed black, and the only sound was a dull thump from a pinecone hanging overhead.
Because of that, Corwin climbed the drift, shook the cone, and nearly dropped his lamp when it rang like a tiny doorbell. Because of THAT, three more pinecones answered—ding, ding, DING—and a blue spark zipped from cone to cone, showing a trail no lantern had ever lit. “That was not in my route,” Corwin whispered, grinning anyway.
He chased the sparks past bare silver trees to the oldest pine, where the fattest cone split open with a spicy crackle. Inside sat a folded wind-map, hidden where nobody thought to look, marking the safe way home before the storm swallowed the path. Corwin tucked it in his satchel and ran back, lantern swinging gold; next time you spot the pinecones above him, see if one is still ready to ring.
