The Children of Hamelin

by Danny Lasko

  “Knowledge is power.”

  The flashlights my dad gave us pour so much light into the cave that only Linus needs to point his to the ceiling. We can see fifteen feet in both directions. We hear the crashing of the waves in the cave before we see the last of the twilight. As we turn the final corner, we’re sprayed by a flash of mist from a crashing swell among the rocks. The cave’s opening curves up around twenty feet high, the side jutting out like a long, narrow nose, retreats, then broadens out like a prominent forehead.

  “Sunny Jim,” I say, smiling. “Where to, Linus?” But Linus is staring at the water at our ankles.

  “Linus!”

  “The water’s higher than I thought it would be.”

  “Hey,” I say, snapping my fingers in front of his face. “No time to be afraid of getting wet. Which way to do we go?”

  “Third cave over,” he says, pointing north, but not looking up.

  The light from the outside sky is less than helpful now, so all three of us shine our lights to fill the cavernous chamber. We’re constantly sprayed by the flailing mist with each crash of the waves. My face and hands get sticky with the salt water, and I can’t imagine why anyone ever thought this place was a paradise.

  We find a gap to the second cave, which sits deeper in the water. The cave’s opening to the ocean is narrower than Sunny Jim’s and pushes each swell more angrily. We escape the cave and into the third just before a massive blast of ocean pushes itself in and floods the entire room.

  “One more. Hurry,” urges Linus, pushing through a couple of boulders blocking his path. The light is completely gone from the sky outside, blackening out the cave entrances. We can only hear the blasts of water pressing against the cliffs and rocks, hoping their roars are only for show.

  Half-submerged in water, we squeeze through a small break in the wall that leads to the third cave. It’s small, the smallest yet, and a stumpy hole acts as the only opening to the black sea.

  “Now what?” asks Annie, wringing the rim of her shirt.

  “Look for poppies.”

  “You mean these?” I ask, pointing my light to a patch of white blossoms which have no business growing in a saltwater cave. Even at mid-day, there’s no way the sun hits them, let alone freshwater.

  “Impossible,” I say. “This is impossible.”

  “Perfect,” says Annie.

  “Poppies,” says Linus. He pulls out note two. “Do you see a red one?”

  “Here,” says Annie, pointing her light at a single red poppy amidst the sea of white. Linus sloshes over and picks it at the base of its stem.

  “We have to go,” he says.

  “Wait, so that’s it?” I ask. “That’s what we need?”

  “The tide is rising. If we don’t leave now, we never will.”

  I look down at my feet and realize I’m standing in water. We slosh our way back to the break in the wall, now completely under water. Not deep, but enough to force us to hold our breath as we pass through. It’s a new experience for me. My heart doesn’t like it and tells me so at about five hundred beats a minute.

  The floor of the third cave is completely submerged. We slog through to the other side, but we can feel it rising as we move. Annie tries the opening first but ducks back just as a monstrous burst of water strong enough to take us all off our feet roars by. Again she tries, but another blast prevents her from coming through.

  “What do we do?” she asks me. “They’re coming too fast.” Linus shrugs as well. I flash forward and watch the options swirl through my mind.

  “Wait,” I say, just before another blast hits. “Wait. … Wait. … Now!” I push Annie through, who stumbles into waist-high water. Linus is next and doesn’t fare so well. I pull him up by his coat and push him along until we’re in the center of the second cave. He tries to keep moving, but I won’t let him.

  “What are you doing?!” he yells at me.

  I reach for Annie, grab the tail of her duster, and yank her back into my arms. I pull them both in tight to my chest, arms engulfing them.

  “Hold on to the flower, Linus!”

  I can see the light reflect in his glasses and watch the wave magnified within them. It blasts through the narrow opening and hits us straight on. I hold tight to Annie and Linus as we tumble back, twirling weightless and uncontrolled in the water, deep into the bowels of the cavern, until the wave relents for a few seconds. I feel my back sing out with pain. I’ve been cut by the coral climbing the nearby rocks. But I don’t let go.

  “Deep breath!” I call just before we’re sucked back under. The current tows us through the narrow passage out into the black ocean. I let them go for a second and throw Annie, then Linus to my right as far as I’m able. I swim toward them, screaming for them to join me. Linus struggles to paddle and hold onto the flower at the same time. I yank it out of his hands and yell at him to swim.

  Letting that bully wave jerk us back and forth and out into the black ocean was the only way I saw where all of us succeeded in breathing again. Had we tried to get back to Sunny Jim’s cave, we would have died, all of us. But this is where the vision ends. I turn back to my mind, but I can’t focus enough to see anything. The stairway entrance has to be underwater by now; even if it isn’t, I don’t see a way back into the cave without being pummeled by the angry sea.

  Linus thrashes around but can’t keep his head consistently above water. I grab ahold of him, but he’s panicked. He tosses and churns so violently, I can’t hold him without going down myself. I’m exhausted. I continue to kick my legs as hard as I can, but Linus’s flailing works against me. My head sinks lower in the water, bobbing down and above. I don’t like the ocean.

  I feel a hand on me, then a second. I force my head up out of the water again and see Annie doing her best. But it’s not enough. Not even close. In fact, it’s bringing her under, too.

  I thrust the red poppy into her body, push her away, and try to yell at her to get to shore. But every time I open my mouth, it’s clogged by the thick, salty water. I feel the panic tighten in my chest while the blanket of wet sloshes over me. I catch Annie’s form in the moonlight, her emerald eyes still focused on me, willing me to get it together.

  “Get up,” they say.

  SWIMLEFT lose sight of Annie and Linus SWIM RIGHT lose sight of Annie and Linus STAY STILL tangled in seaweed drown WHISTLE You Annie Linus all saved.

  I press my lips together and let out a blaring, high-pitched whistle with all I have left. Suddenly, I hear the low whinny of a horse coming from Sunny Jim’s cave. I flash my light over, and it reflects off two beautiful black eyes. Wildwynd’s wet mane shimmers in the moonlight. I grab hold of it and lift Linus and me onto his back. Annie does the same with Silver Wing. Doc pushes up next to Wildwynd, trying to get his head and neck under Linus’s still-flailing body. I have one more big push in me and use it to fling Linus onto Doc’s back. Finally, they move us south past Sunny Jim and along the coast. The cliff’s silhouette is sinking. Or the sea is rising. Either way, the shore is getting closer.

  Wildwynd trots out of the surf and onto the firm, wet sand. I drop myself and try to find my breath, all the while furiously patting the leg of the most magnificent creature I’ve ever encountered. He nuzzles my shoulder, happy I’m alive.

  “Can horses swim?” I ask Annie, who drops beside me, grabbing my hand.

  “Not like that,” she says, laughing in awe. Even Linus is grateful.

  “Good horse,” he whispers. “Very good horse.”

  It’s the last thing I remember hearing before the sun wakes me in a panic. I look around to find us lying on the sand of a calm and deserted beach, only the mumbles of whitewater keeping us company. The once angry ocean seems shockingly tranquil against the great sky. Our gear is spread out along the sand but doesn’t appear to have been touched. Linus a
nd Annie look like they fell asleep right where they dropped, just like me, and haven’t moved. The horses hover around us as though standing guard. I let go of Annie’s hand.

  “We’re safe,” I tell her after her head pops up off the ground. She looks down at her arm and sees she still holds the red poppy, miraculously unharmed.

  “So we did it,” she says.

  “Hooray for us,” I say, falling back down to the ground after the early morning adrenaline drains out.

  We wake Linus and look over the casualties. While the coat didn’t rip, the cut on my back is pretty deep, spreading the red infection past the edges of the slashed flesh, choked with sand and specks of black debris. But with Annie here, I’m not worried. The other two have bruises and scrapes and more water in their lungs than they’d like but nothing concerning. Even without the rest, the horses seem as strong as ever.

  Annie and Linus both lost their flashlights, but I’ve lost my entire pack. My sword and pipe are still secure in their sheaths, which allows for breathing room.

  “Could be worse,” says Annie, cleaning up the gash in my back and the bruises around Linus’s chest and arm, mostly where I had wrapped my arm around him to keep the kid from drowning.

  “A lot worse,” I add. “What about you?”

  “I’m fine,” she says just before wincing as she gets up.

  “That’s not the sound ‘fine’ makes,” I say, hoisting her up and then laying her back down. I roll up her pant leg to reveal a swollen purple ankle.

  “Must have happened during that first swell in the cave.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For saving my life?”

  “Feel like I should have done more.”

  “Trust me, you did plenty.”

  I run my fingers over her ankle and then her sculpted calf until she slaps my hand away.

  “Are you helping me, or do you have something else in mind?” I grab a wrap from Annie’s pack and start to bandage the ankle.

  “So you can’t heal yourself.”

  “I’ve never met a healer who can.”

  “Why would the Soul be limited like that?”

  “A lot of powers are like that,” she explains. “They can only be used to help others.”

  “Help or hurt,” says Linus from his perch at the edge of the water, letting the last of the surf cover his feet.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Linus doesn’t answer. He’s just staring out into the ocean, looking for something I can’t see.

  “Linus,” calls Annie, “what is it?”

  He finally breaks his trance and looks over at Annie.

  “The tide,” he says. “It rose too high and too quickly while we were in the cave.”

  “Are you telling me that we’re being followed by a wizard who can control the tides of the ocean?! Someone can seriously do that!?” I ask, wondering when it’ll be our turn to catch a break.

  “There have been Children who can control the wind and the earth,” says Annie. “No reason to think water would be excluded. Raysh, if they know where we’re going, they can make sure the hotel is submerged and most likely smashed so badly, there’s no way we’ll find the crown.”

  I’m thinking the same thing.

  “Okay, we need a plan, which I have,” I say, staring at Annie.

  “Uh oh.”

  “It involves setting Annie out on a big rock in the ocean, completely vulnerable.”

  “Again, uh oh.”

  “Don’t worry, gal. You were born for this.”

  The horses carry us along the coast until we come to a large boulder jutting out of the sea about fifty yards from the shore.

  “That’s your spot,” I tell Annie.

  “You’re sure this is going to work?” she asks.

  “It worked on me.”

  Not quite convinced, she turns to Linus, who hesitates but finally backs the play.

  “I believe it is sound.”

  I pull earplugs and the breathing rig from Annie’s pack while Linus does the same from his own. We drop from the horses, who turn their heads inland, guarding our exit into the water. I glance down toward Annie’s ankle.

  “I’ll be alright,” she says. “I can do this.”

  “Reach the rock as fast as you can, Annie,” I tell her, giving her the rig. “Then belt it.”

  We all race into the water, diving under the surface. I’m the weak link in this little sting, mostly because I have to rely on my own lungs for air. About halfway to the rock, Linus and I turn south while Annie pushes forward. My lungs are tight but holding. Another twenty yards and I have to sneak a breath. I don’t know if they saw me or Annie or both, but the tide is rising. The waves are getting much bigger. The wizard is near. I peek through the surface of the water, hoping not to see a tidal wave cascading over Annie’s silhouette, ready to collapse on top of her, but all I see is Annie pulling herself up to the top of the boulder, at least thirty or forty feet above the water, bad ankle and all. I scan the coast but don’t see anything just yet. The earplugs do an amazing job. Can’t hear a thing. I’m tempted to pull one out just so I can indulge my senses. But then I’d be just as helpless as I’m hoping the wizards will be.

  Then, out of nowhere, a figure appears on the beach. No, three figures. I give Linus the signal, and we start to head to shore, about a hundred yards away from the three wizards. I feel the tide shift again. As fast as it had risen, it falls. These are definitely our guys.

  We stay low as we climb out of the surf, but the wizards are otherwise occupied, ensorcelled by Annie’s true gift. Her song.

  And when I say gift, I mean complete dominion over anyone who is within earshot of her voice. Or in my case, three miles away.

  That’s how I know these three wizards don’t have a chance. I don’t even have to be sneaky. I saunter up behind the three of them, watch them for a moment, remembering making those faces, feeling those feelings, wiping those tears off my cheeks, before I swing the base of my sword along the back of each of their heads. They fall one after the other into a pile on the sand. The one who falls last, he’s old. At least eighty, I would guess. His salty white hair and weathered skin tell me where he’s spent most of his life. He has to be the one who controls the tide. I bend down and check his pulse to make sure he’s breathing. I wonder who he is. If he has a family. If he has a grandson that believes in the wizard’s cause as much as he does. Enough to kill three kids who are trying to do nothing more than make the world better. Worse, I suppose, from their point of view. I don’t know why, but I feel a loneliness in him. I want to wake the old man up, talk to him. Ask him about the old days and what brought him to side with the wizards. The other two are young punks, a few years older than I am. I can understand their wanting to keep their power, but this old man, he’s had it for years, and by the looks of it, he doesn’t have much time. It occurs to me he isn’t doing this for himself but for others who are younger and have more to live for. Others he cares about. Was this old man convinced that the only chance his family had in this world was to keep the Soul for themselves, Mira be damned?

  We have the three wizards blindfolded, bound, and gagged, and we’re stuffing plugs in their ears by the time Annie rejoins us.

  “How’d I do?” she asks, squeezing the water out of her hair.

  “Better than middlin’.”

  “Did you hear it?”

  “No,” I say, “but they sure did.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad”—she smiles—“because I sang about you.”

  I fumble the last earplug, and I miss the ear twice before I finally jam it in. I jump up to face my playful Annie.

  “Yeah, you would have loved it,” she smiles.

  “Well, sing it for me right now!”

 
“What, now? I’m not feeling it.”

  “Annie, come on. What’s—”

  “I’m sorry,” interrupts Linus, “but we have only nine days before the end of the world, and I’m not sure this conversation will finish by then, so I’d best nip it in the bud now, agreed?”

  I know he’s right, but it doesn’t stop me from shooting Linus an annoyed look. I’m a little surprised because he isn’t remotely kidding. He’s not a kidder by trade, I know, but even more serious—no, not serious. Irked. I sling a wizard over each of the horses, and we head south another ten minutes or so before I see a battered, cone-shaped structure with squared-out holes all around, some still with glass, attached to a peeling white base, just peeking out from the sea.

  “The castle on the coast,” Annie says. “We’re here.”

  We decide together that we can’t risk one of us staying behind to watch the wizards, even if there’s a chance they might escape. They’re still out cold, and to make things even tougher for them, I bury them up to their necks in the sand.

  We move the horses several hundred yards down the beach just in case. Linus hasn’t said much, not since the caves. He hasn’t argued or even disagreed with any plan, but something has changed, like he’s going out of his way not to talk to me.

  We wade out into the sea, nearly able to reach the castle without swimming until the last several yards. Annie and Linus slip on their air rigs. After they spend a few minutes scouting the entrance below, they tell me that just after the doors is a grand lobby with plenty of air up top. I take a breath and push my way through the crystal blue and past the broken door. I pass by a long counter and a set of stairs with a wood banister climbing its way up. I follow it and break through the water’s surface, breathing in life. I’ve decided I’m much more an “above the water” kind of guy.

  Even after all these years sitting in salt water, the intricate carvings in a once-polished dark brown wood on the ceiling are impressive, especially the monstrous and still sparkling chandelier hanging in the room’s center. In its time, I expect this was an incredible place, putting even the Lily Rust Theater to shame.