A snowstorm in summer

When the last feelbinder was burned, my parents were my age. I wasn't born yet. Grandpa died in the Book War. When I ask Dad about it, he says charged books are dangerous and must be burned. Books and feelbinders.

But Grandma likes to talk about the time before the war. The time with books and stories. And feelings and magic. Although I've heard the story dozens of times, it never gets boring. She only tells it to me. Always at night in my room, whispering so no one hears us.

"Felix," she says quietly, tucking me in. "Stories are dangerous, do you know why?"

"Because," I say. "Even if you're not an feelbinder—"

"—stories have power," we say together. She gives me a little poke on the nose. "And don't tell your parents!"

Then she tells me how Grandpa once gave her a love poem so charged with fire magic that it almost burned down her parents' house when she read it. Her eyes sparkle strangely then, and I see a little smile on her wrinkled face. A little smile is okay, Grandma says. But a big one is dangerous. If you're not careful, the masked guards will see it and ask if you have a forbidden book or are even an feelbinder. And then you'll be taken away and, in the worst case, burned.

Grandma tells me more, but by then I've usually fallen asleep.

"Felix?" calls Grandma. She's in the kitchen cutting vegetables for the stew we'll have the day after tomorrow. That's when my parents pick me up again.

I can't believe summer is already over. The three weeks on Grandma's little farm always go by too fast. No wonder, there's always something to do. Either driving the sheep to pasture or bringing them back, milking Mira the cow, or harvesting vegetables and fruit.

"Yes?" I answer from the living room. I'm lying on the soft carpet drawing a picture for my parents: Mira dancing with Paul the cat. Paul usually just lies around lazily, but I draw him dancing anyway. Actually, I'm only supposed to draw houses or cities, because dancing is more dangerous than a big smile. But no one sees us at Grandma's. Guards rarely come this far, and the city is too far away.

"Can you quickly get me three onions from the basement?"

Oh, the basement! It's dark and smells funny and spiders crawl around. The basement is great!

"Sure thing!" I jump up, waking Paul on his armchair, and run into the pitch-dark basement.

"Don't forget the lamp!" Grandma calls from above.

I run back up, grab Grandma's lit oil lamp, and go more cautiously into the now bright basement.

The basement shelves are crammed with jars of jam and pickles, sacks of potatoes and apples, wooden crates and paper boxes. My lamp flickers over more boxes on the floor.

I put the lamp on a box. "Why are you so high up?" I push a box closer to the shelf and climb onto the creaking lid, stretching upward. With one hand I hold the shelf, with the other I grab a large brown onion and drop it. Thud. The third slips through my fingers and rolls further back. Damn. I stretch higher, making myself and my fingers as long as possible. I can already feel the onion. Suddenly, there's a crash beneath me. With a cry, I collapse.

"Felix? Are you okay? Do you need help?"

"No!" I say quickly. My left foot is stuck in the box. "Everything's fine! I'll be right there!" I carefully pull it out and assess the damage. The hole isn't that big. I look around. There! Grandpa's old hat. As I'm about to put it over the hole, I pause. Something stares back at me from within the box. I reach in slowly and pull out a small blue thing. It's about the size of my two hands and made entirely of paper. And it opens up with more paper inside! There are strange white symbols on the front. Is it a book? Grandma told me about them.

Then it hits me like lightning. A book! I feel hot and tingly and stifle a scream. I drop it like a hot potato and take two steps back. Did the guards overlook it? They weren't looking for such small books, where they?

The book remains open. Now I see even more symbols. In between are beautiful drawings of trees and white stars, and what is that? I move closer with the lamp. Three white balls. A small ball with two black eyes and a carrot on a larger ball, which sits on a very large ball.

"Felix! Where are you?"

I flinch. "Yes, I'm coming!" I hesitate, but since the book hasn't eaten me or burst into flames, I grab it and hide it in my waistband. I put Grandpa's hat on the broken box and hurry upstairs with the onions.

I lie in bed, staring into the semi-darkness and listening. Nothing. I think Grandma's asleep. I feel bad because I lied when I said I was too tired for a story. But she just said, "It's all right," nudged my nose, and left.

I lift my pillow. The book lies there exactly as I left it. Still not burning. I sneak to my door and open it a crack. Grandma's sleeping across the hall; I hear her snoring through the closed door. Barefoot, I pad into the kitchen where embers still glow in the stove. I light an oil lamp and return to my room. The full moon shines brightly through my window, but I need more light for what I have planned. With book, lamp, and lots of paper, I sit at my table and start tracing pictures and letters from the book.

By now, I realize the book is about winter and snow. Everyone wears hats, scarves, and gloves, and everything is white. I draw trees and laughing children throwing snowballs. In between, I keep drawing letters. After a while, I feel cold. My teeth chatter slightly, but I'm so absorbed I don't mind.

I draw children sitting on a strange wooden thing whizzing down a mountain. It looks fun. On the next page, a big dark cloud with an angry face blows lots of snow, but the children in the house don't mind. They sit safely before a burning fireplace, drinking tea or cocoa from colorful cups.

A sudden gust makes the pages flutter. Is the window open? When I look up, I freeze. Frost flowers cover the closed window. I watch them grow and soon cover the entire window. I look around in panic. The frost is everywhere! On the windowsill, on my bed, on the floor.

My heart beats wildly and mist floats before my mouth. What happened? Was it me? Was it the book? I quickly close the book. This is a nightmare, I'm dreaming. I close my eyes and count to ten. Everything will be gone. I wrap my arms around myself because it's getting colder. After seven, I can't wait and open my eyes, but the frost is still there!

I have to wipe it away. When it's gone, nothing happened. "Ah, it's cold!" My bare feet touch the floor. I scurry across the room trying to wipe the frost away, but it's everywhere. I can't do it alone. "Grandma!" My throat tightens and I wipe away tears. "Grandma!"

The door opens. "Felix! What—" She looks at the room, then at me with wide eyes. "What happened?" Her voice is quiet.

But mine is loud and choppy. "T-the book! I didn't mean to!"

Grandma comes in and hugs me. I hold her tight. She's warm.

"You're shaking," she says, stroking my hair.

"It was the book," I mumble into her nightgown.

"Which book?" She lets go and goes to the table. As soon as she's gone, I shake again. She picks up the cursed snow book. I'm afraid she'll turn into three snowballs with black eyes and carrot noses, but nothing happens. She smiles slightly. "Where did you find this?"

"In the basement," I sob. Like frost, a blanket settles over me. "Am I going to be burned now?"

"What?" She hugs me again.

"Dad says books and feelbinders are evil and must be burned, and I copied the book, and then this happened..."

Grandma's bushy eyebrows draw together. "Copied? Where?"

"On the table." I wipe my eyes and nose on my nightshirt. When Grandma sees this, she says, "Felix, not on your shirt!" She puts the book back, takes my drawing, and becomes very quiet.

Her little smile reappears. Then it grows bigger. Her eyes sparkle. "Oh," she whispers, her voice trembling. "That's... just like back then." Her cheeks turn red. Little white clouds dance before her mouth as she suddenly bursts out laughing. I flinch and wrap my arms around myself because it's getting colder, and the wind is getting stronger. "Grandma, something's wrong..."

As if my drawing heard me, it suddenly glows blue in Grandma's hands.

"Grandma, the drawing!"

Something cold and wet lands on my nose. I look up and more wet things land on my face. It takes me a moment to comprehend because it's so crazy. But it's snowing! In my room! Thick white flakes appear out of nowhere and swirl in the strengthening wind.

I look at Grandma, who has her arms wrapped around herself, quietly humming. Her dreamy gaze is fixed on nothing.

"Grandma!" I snatch the glowing drawing from her hand because I'm afraid she'll burn herself. I crumple it and throw it on the floor, where the wind catches it and rolls it into a corner like a small blue glowing moon.

Grandma flinches. Her gaze clears. "Felix?"

"It's fine, Grandma. Now it's gone and nothing else will happen."

At that moment, the storm breaks out. The door slams shut. The window rattles wildly. The oil lamp falls off the table and goes out. Everything that isn't heavy enough is thrown across the room. My stuffed cow flies past me. The book and empty sheets of paper dance in the storm like butterflies. The bed shakes. The chair is pushed against the table. Pictures are torn from the wall and fly around in the storm. I have to duck to avoid being hit. Soon I can't see anything because of all the snow.

"Grandma!" I stumble toward her, cling to her, and press my face into her nightgown. She wraps her arms around me. The icy wind and snow bite into my feet, hands, ears, and everything unprotected.

"We have to get out!" she screams. We wobble to the door. Grandma pulls, but her hands slip. She falls backward and pulls me into the snow. The cold steals my breath. Grandma scrambles up and tries again. She pulls with all her might. There! A small gap opens. I pull myself up on Grandma's nightgown, fall halfway through, and press against it from outside so Grandma can get through. Snow and ice swirl into the hallway, then the wind slams the door shut, trapping the storm inside.

I pant, shivering. We sit on the opposite wall and look at each other. Grandma's hair sticks out wildly and is full of snow. My pajamas are soaked, just like Grandma's nightgown.

"I'm sorry." I start crying again. The tears melt the snow on my eyes. "I didn't mean to!"

Grandma breathes heavily. "It's all right, Felix."

We both jump when something crashes against the door. It rattles and shakes and is pushed outward.

"When will it stop? Why is this happening? Will the door hold?" As if in response, the door groans and creaks.

Grandma hugs me. "I don't know, Felix."

"What exactly?"

"The door... should hold." She looks at the shaking door, then at me. "Let's think quickly. You found the picture book."

I nod.

"Then you copied the drawings and words."

I nod again and say quickly: "And then you took the drawing and laughed really loud and looked so funny, and then the storm came and the snow, and my drawing glowed so blue, and I was afraid it would burst into flames like the love poem—"

Grandma snaps her fingers. "That's it! Fire!"

"Fire?"

"Yes! Grandpa's poem burned in a huge fireball." She looks at the door. "And later, after the war, all the charged books were burned too!"

"Grandma? Why did my drawing glow and why did it snow?"

"Felix, I'll tell you everything later, but first we have to burn your drawing, okay?"

I nod. Then I remember. "Grandma? The drawing is still in there!"

"Then we have to get it." Grandma stands and holds out her hand. "Will you help me?"

I swallow hard. "I'm scared."

"Me too. But together we can do it, right?"

After hesitating, I grab her hand and she pulls me up. "All right!"

"On three, I'll push the door open. You run in and grab the drawing." Grandma stands before the creaking door. I stand beside her. I'm shaking again.

"One, two, three!" Grandma pushes and shoves hard. The door keeps getting stuck because of the snow. The storm blows through the crack and I can't breathe or see. I hold my arm up to protect my face and slip inside.

Only white outlines show where my table or bed used to be. Everything is white and glows strangely, even though it's night and the window is covered in snow. The glow helps me, but I wonder how I'm supposed to find anything in all this white. Fear creeps up my throat.

"Felix! Hurry!" Grandma's call is almost drowned out. I turn, wanting to go back. I want to tell her I can't do it when I see something blue shimmering behind the door.

"I've got it!" I shout and rush out with the drawing.

Grandma lets go of the door, jumps back, and the storm slams the door so hard it breaks off its hinges and dangles in the frame like a loose tooth. Ice, snow, and wind push us against the wall.

"Quick! To the kitchen!" Grandma grabs my hand and we run. In the kitchen, she opens the oven and blows on the embers. "The drawing!"

I stare spellbound at the glowing paper ball in my hands. It's cold, but strangely not wet.

"Felix!"

I throw my drawing in and cover my ears.

At first, nothing happens. Then the paper starts to smoke and glow before bursting into blue flames. After a short time, only ashes remain.

I take my hands down. Everything is quiet. I look at Grandma.

"Do you hear anything?"

I shake my head and snowflakes fall from my hair.

Grandma sighs heavily and sinks to the floor against the kitchen wall.

I sit beside her. She puts her arm around me and I press against her.

"That was very brave."

"You helped."

"A little."

No one speaks for a long time. The stove crackles and we let the embers dry us. I yawn and my eyes grow heavy.

"Your grandfather was just like you," Grandma suddenly says. "He could bind feelings and magic into books. But I thought the guards had taken all the books..." She strokes my hair. "He was a feelbinder."

I almost fell asleep. It's so warm with Grandma. But that word startles me and I stare at her. "A feelbinder? Grandma! Am I evil now?" My vision blurs and my body tenses. "Are the guards coming for me?"

"No!" she says firmly and hugs me. "You are very special. And no one will take you away from me. But it must remain our secret, understand? Just like with Grandpa."

I nod. "Because Dad says feelbinders are dangerous."

"Dad is afraid," Grandma says quietly. "But you and I know better." She smiles at me, but differently than usual. A big smile. I can't help but smile back. "Come on, let's see what's left of your room."

My room looks like the drawings in the book. There's snow everywhere, but now it's quiet and peaceful. I'm still shaking a little.

"Is it really over?"

Grandma nods and carefully forms a small snowball. "Look, Felix. It's just normal snow." She gently throws it against the wall where it bursts. "Completely harmless."

"And how are we going to explain this to Mom and Dad?"

"Oh, you know, the window opened during the night. A terrible storm." She winks. "These things happen."

"And the snow? In summer?"

She pokes my nose with snow on her finger. I giggle.

"Hopefully it melts by tomorrow. If not..." She shrugs.

"Shall we build a snowman?"

"That's a wonderful idea."

While we build a snowman, she tells me about Grandpa. That he could conjure stories in books that made you cry or laugh.

When I see her laughing loudly, I ask, "Isn't that dangerous?"

She looks at me, her eyes sparkling. "Maybe?" she says, and throws a snowball at my head.

"Hey!" I throw one back.

We laugh in the snow.

Loudly and freely.

And without fear.