Bryn and the Room Behind the Icicles

“I found the room where the stars had forgotten how to shine,” I told Lumi the next morning. “But I didn’t find it alone. I had to follow a moonbeam.”

The night before, Lumi and I had been walking through the ice palace on Snowcap Hill. The palace had crystal halls, round windows, and stair rails that curled like frozen ribbons. I was a young snow creature, small enough to fit beneath the banquet table. Lumi was my friend, with a silver scarf and a laugh like a tiny bell.

We were heading to the lantern room when Lumi stopped beside a tall window. She held up a clear snowflake she had made, turning it between her mittens.

“I wish I could see one of the palace stars up close,” she said. “They used to shine so brightly.”

I looked toward the ceiling. A row of ice stars hung high above the hall. Most were dim now, like lamps waiting for someone to remember them.

“I’ll bring you a little of their light,” I promised.

Then I noticed a curtain of icicles at the end of the hall. It hung between two crystal pillars, though there was no window behind it. A thin draft tickled my nose. I pushed one icicle aside. Behind it was a narrow doorway, almost hidden in the wall.

“Bryn?” Lumi whispered.

“Just looking,” I whispered back.

Beyond the doorway, a passage sloped gently down. I followed it, brushing frost from the walls. The passage turned once, then opened into a quiet room. Ice stars hung from its ceiling, but every one was dark.

A narrow skylight crossed the roof. Moonlight came through it and laid a pale stripe across the floor. The stripe climbed partway up the wall, then stopped.

I stepped into the room. The door closed behind me with a quiet click. I wasn’t frightened, but I did miss Lumi’s company. I found a small crystal mirror on a low ledge and held it carefully.

One star hung above me, dimmer than all the rest. I wanted that one to shine for Lumi. I lifted the mirror, but the star was too high. The walls were smooth as a frozen pond, with no ledges to climb.

I looked at the mirror, then at the moonlit stripe. Maybe the moon had left me a way to reach the star after all.

I tried standing on my toes. The star stayed far above my head. I placed the mirror on the floor and stretched up with both arms, but my mittens touched only cold air.

“Maybe I can climb the wall,” I said, though I already knew it was much too smooth. I pressed my hands against the ice. They slid down with a little squeak, and I landed on my bottom.

The room was so quiet that I could hear the moonlight doing nothing at all.

I sat beside the mirror and studied the bright stripe on the floor. It crossed the room, reached the wall, and ended just below the dim star. I remembered how a puddle could catch sunlight and toss it onto a ceiling. The crystal mirror might do the same with moonlight.

I nudged the mirror until its face caught the stripe. A small patch of light appeared on the opposite wall. I tilted the mirror to the left. The patch slid left, too. I tilted it right, and the patch moved right.

“Up you go,” I murmured.

I raised one edge of the mirror with a smooth pebble from my pocket. The reflected patch climbed the wall. It wobbled past a carved snowflake, then reached the edge of the star. I shifted the pebble a little. The patch slipped away.

“Oh, no,” I said. “Come back.”

I steadied the mirror with both hands. The moonbeam held still for a moment. Then, with one careful turn, I guided the light onto the star’s center.

The star gave a faint silver blink. I waited. Its points began to shine, one after another, until the whole star glowed like a little moon trapped in ice. The light filled the quiet room, and the other dark stars caught pale reflections along their edges.

I laughed, but kept my hands steady so the beam would stay in place. Then I remembered Lumi. I took the clear snowflake she had made, which I’d tucked safely into my scarf before going through the passage. I held it where the star’s light touched the wall. A tiny bright fleck rested inside the snowflake, no bigger than a grain of sugar.

I turned the mirror aside, and the star’s glow remained. Then I carried the snowflake back through the passage, careful not to lose its little piece of light. Lumi was waiting beside the icicle curtain.

“For you,” I said, and held it out.

Lumi peered into the snowflake. The little fleck of light sat in its center, caught between the clear, neat points.

“Is that really from the star?” she asked.

“It is,” I said. “The moonbeam helped me find it.”

Lumi held the snowflake near her silver scarf. A bright speck appeared on the cloth, then traveled across the ice floor when she moved her hand.

“It’s like carrying a tiny window,” she said.

We walked back through the crystal halls together. The palace was quiet, and our footsteps made small, crisp sounds. At the end of the hall, we glanced toward the ceiling. The ice stars still hung high above us. One of them shone brighter than before, and its light made a silver mark on the polished floor.

Lumi set the snowflake on a little ledge beside her bed, where it could catch the star’s light. The fleck inside it stayed bright, even when she turned away.

“Tomorrow, we can look at the hidden room again,” she said.

“Tomorrow,” I agreed. “But tonight, we can just watch.”

So we sat together by the window. From there, we could see the palace lights reflected in the snow around Snowcap Hill. The bright star made a path of pale marks along the hall ceiling. Each time the air moved through the palace, those marks slid gently over the walls.

Lumi leaned against my shoulder. Her scarf smelled faintly of cold air and pine. I told her how I had slipped onto the floor and how the moonbeam had nearly escaped the mirror. She laughed at the part where I had asked the light to come back.

“Did it listen?” she asked.

“It did,” I said. “I think it liked being useful.”

We watched until our eyes felt sleepy and the halls grew still. Then Lumi carried the snowflake to her bedside and tucked herself beneath a quilt. I settled into my little nook nearby, where I could see the star through the open doorway.

By the time the palace grew quiet for the night, its ice stars were shining above us, and the little snowflake beside Lumi’s bed held one bright point of their light.