“And what is that?” Mac asks.
“Well, it’s very complicated, but I think it is enough for you to know that it means I take care of you, and you take care of me, because we are extended family.”
“I like that,” Mac says.
I don’t say it, but I like it, too.
“So perhaps now you can tell me why you’ve come to my mountain and what I can do to help you.”
“Thanks! I mean, ahéhee’,” I add quickly, remembering the Navajo word. It seemed like the right thing to say, since we’re talking to a Navajo elder, and it must be, because Mr. Yazzie smiles at me encouragingly. I vow to practice speaking my language more often in the future.
“We are looking for a white shell to take to Spider Woman as a gift,” I say. “Can you help us?”
“Not just any white shell,” Mr. Yazzie adds hastily. “It must be perfectly formed. No chips, breaks, or scratches.”
“There are many shells here,” RC says, tapping his chin in thought. “I am very busy and cannot help you look, but I can show you where a perfect shell might be found.”
Hmm. He doesn’t look that busy, but maybe there are secret guardian duties I don’t know about. RC stands up from his seat and walks to the small window facing east.
“See the white peak in the distance?” he says, pointing toward the snowcap with a push of his lips. “Walk that way, until you reach the base of the mountain, and you will come upon the white shells you seek.”
“I still don’t understand how there are shells on a snow-covered mountain,” Mac says. “Don’t people usually find shells at a beach?”
“It is said that, when the Holy People made this mountain to mark the easternmost edge of Dinétah,” RC explains, “they adorned it with white shells to make it shine in the sunlight and mark its beauty.”
“It is very beautiful,” I say.
“We learned in school that this land was once underwater and all kinds of sea creatures lived here,” Davery adds.
“So it is said,” RC agrees. “The world may change around us, but if we look closer, we can always see its bones.”
“Bones?” Mac yelps. “No one said anything about bones.”
“And since it is such a beautiful morning,” RC says, ignoring him, “I will walk with you a ways. Once you finish your tea, of course. And let me find Mr. Yazzie a sweater.”
We all empty our mugs, and RC digs around in a box full of what looks like scarves, mittens, hats, and other cold-weather gear until he produces a tiny sweater the perfect size for a horned toad. It’s snowy white, just like the mountains around us, and it looks thick and warm.
“This should do the trick, little cheii,” RC says as he slips the sweater over the lizard’s bony spine. The turtleneck catches on Mr. Yazzie’s left horn, but after a sharp tug, it’s on nice and snug.
“Why did RC call Mr. Yazzie ‘little grandpa’?” Mac asks me.
“It’s respectful,” I explain. “He is our elder, after all.”
“Are we ready?” the guardian of Sisnaajiní asks. We all say yes and he opens the door to lead us back out into the rosy dawn light and pink-tinged snow.
“If you don’t mind,” Mr. Yazzie says to me from the table. He gestures toward the little nook on my shoulder where I had tucked him earlier. “It was quite nice being up so high.”
“Of course,” I say. I reach out an arm and let him climb to his new favorite spot.
He snuggles in and says, “Onward!” and I follow everyone else outside.
The snow is deep around the hogan, and we have to slog our way through. It comes up past my ankles, making my sneakered feet cold. But the farther we get from RC’s home, the thinner the snow gets until it’s only a sprinkle of frost underneath our feet. We walk for a while, the white peak getting closer and closer, but the sun doesn’t rise any higher in the sky. After what seems like hours, RC stops.
“That is what you seek,” he says, pointing to something in the distance.
Now I can see that what had looked like a snowcapped mountain is actually a massive mound of white shells. Hundreds, maybe thousands. Okay, definitely thousands. Piled higher than my house. A three-story pile of shells.
And somehow I have to find the most perfect one in the bunch.
“That’s a lot of clams!” Mac exclaims.
“Good luck!” RC pats Mac on the back. “I’ll just wait here for you to finish. I’d help, but as I said, I’m very busy.”
“He doesn’t look busy,” Mac mutters as we watch RC head back to his nice warm house.
“We’re supposed to go through all these?” I say, dismayed. “There’s no way.”
“It does look daunting,” Mr. Yazzie admits, “but it can be done. The mountain seems huge, but I know we will find the perfect shell. With a little patience,” he says, hopping off my shoulder to land on the white mound, “and positive thinking.”
“I appreciate what you’re saying, Mr. Yazzie. I really do. But I just don’t think positive thinking is going to be enough.”
“Well, that’s negative thinking right there!” Mac says, eyebrow raised in my direction.
“Nonsense, Nizhoni,” says the horned toad, climbing higher on the mountain. A trail of white shells trickles down behind him. “It is a challenge worthy of a hero, which you are!”
“I thought being a hero meant I was going to fight monsters.”
“One step at a time, young slayer,” he says, already halfway up. “One step at a time.”
“Come on,” Davery says. He tightens the straps on his backpack and looks at the foreboding pile. “We better get started.” He follows Mr. Yazzie up the hill.
“I still say it’s impossible,” I mutter, “but I guess we’re doing this.” I adjust my own backpack and take a deep breath. I step onto the shell mountain. The sharp edges of broken shells poke at the canvas of my sneakers. Ouch! I try to ignore the pain and take another step. I immediately start to slide downward. I flail my arms for balance, letting out a not-so-heroic yelp, before I lean forward and dig in. Every move I make cracks shells underneath my feet. I can feel a wail building up inside me. How am I supposed to find a perfect shell when each step breaks some? It seems impossible. Even more impossible than fighting monsters. At least that’s exciting. This is just hard.
I look up and see that Mac, Davery, and Mr. Yazzie are already halfway up. “Wait for me!” I shout, scrambling forward, my feet slipping. I lean over and use my hands, and immediately the shells cut into my palms. I’ve barely begun and I already feel like quitting. But I remember what Mr. Yazzie said. You wanted to be a hero, I tell myself. This is part of it. So I start searching. But all the shells look the same. Nothing is standing out.
The sun rises hot behind me. It feels like there’s a heavy weight slung over my shoulders, and that weight is making me tired and hungry. Give up, it whispers. Why try so hard? No one will notice if you quit. No one really cares. You’re only a kid, after all. You can’t really fight monsters.
For a moment, I want to do what the voice says, but I don’t. My dad needs me. And I definitely don’t want the world to be overrun with monsters. So instead of giving up, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and imagine the shell I want. Unblemished white and shiny, the ridges aligned perfectly. It’s so clear in my mind that I can almost reach out and touch it. I lean down, stretch forward, and let my hand graze a shell. And I know it’s the one.