The Daughter of the Sea and the Sky

by David Litwack

  “And has Benjamin given you that comfort?”

  “You don’t like him, do you?”

  “I don’t trust him. Do you?”

  She hesitated, thinking it through. “When he first spoke to me, I was angry with him. I went back to my cabin and screamed into the mirror, ‘The Spirit is a myth.’ After a while, I made my peace with the idea that there might be something greater than us. Have you ever lost someone you loved, Jason?”

  Thinking of his mother, he nodded. “Yes, but it didn’t make me give in to fantasy.”

  “Well, maybe I’m not as strong as you. I took what comfort I could.”

  Jason stayed still, staring until she became uneasy and turned back to her letter writing.

  “And what about Helena?” he said, gently. “Where was her comfort?”

  Her hands froze over the paper. The hum of the heater fan at her feet started up, sounding unnaturally loud.

  “I was so distraught,” she finally said. “I hardly knew who I was. I couldn’t help myself, never mind anyone else. Now I’m sorry I left her, terribly sorry. I was wrong.”

  “Have you told her that?”

  She resumed writing, fumbling with the pen—scrawl, scratch out, scrawl again—until she shoved the paper away.

  “Tell her? I can’t tell her anything right now. When I suggested she try meditation the other day, she nearly bit my head off.” As if sensing his dissatisfaction, she turned to him. “She’s my only daughter, Jason. She’s all I have left. I want her back.”

  He stared at her, trying to picture her as the mother of a nine-year-old Helena.

  “What is it, Jason? Say something.”

  “You’re different from what I thought. I’m learning more on the farm than I did in my time at the Polytech. I guess I still have a ways to go.”

  Martha Brewster smiled. “As you get older, you’ll realize you know less and less. That’s another difference between scientists and artists. Scientists think all truth can be found if they work hard enough. Artists know better.”

  “So we’re supposed to be confused?

  She laughed, then went silent. When she spoke again, the astonished eyes bore in on him. “There’s something I want you to know, Jason. For all my confusion, there’s one thing I’ve learned since you came to the farm—seen for myself, confirmed by empirical evidence.” She paused.

  He waited, until finally he had to draw it from her. “What is it?”

  “The one thing that makes Helena happy.”

  A question he’d been asking himself since he first saw her on the cliffs. “And that would be...?”

  “You, Jason. She wants you.”

  Chapter 29 – First Snow

  November was a bleak and soggy month in the Northern Kingdom. As it came to a close, the leaves that had adorned the October trees floated to the ground and decayed to form a brownish muck along the farm’s pathways.

  Helena spent her days scheduling Kailani’s pilgrims and chaperoning the resulting meetings, while Jason raked and cleared brush, and did his best to keep up with his Polytech work. With the exception of meals and an after-dinner stroll when the weather permitted, they had little time to be together.

  Helena remained unfazed. Winter would come and pass and Jason would be with her. Perhaps by the fifth of April, they’d even find a way to convince the tribunal to let Kailani stay with them.

  Meanwhile, her mother cloistered herself in the studio and complained to anyone who’d listen how she hardly saw her daughter or Kailani anymore.

  One afternoon, when the audiences had ended early, Helena suggested Kailani go see Miz Martha while she used the time to visit Jason.

  “Only if you come too,” Kailani said. “Miz Martha needs to see her daughter.”

  She reluctantly agreed.

  In the studio, they set a cut onyx into the prongs of a silver ring. Thankfully, her mother was content to let Kailani help while Helena watched. They finished without incident and had time to spare before dinner. With the days so short, her mother suggested they take advantage of the remaining light to go for a walk.

  They revisited Serena’s statue of the woman with the golden eagle on her shoulder, and let Kailani commune with Grandmother Storyteller. On their way back to the barn, white flakes began to drift through the air.

  Kailani held out her hands and stared at the flakes landing on her palm and fading away. “What is it?”

  “It’s snow,” Helena said. “Remember we told you about snow when we were driving up to the farm?”

  “It tingles on my skin. May I taste it?”

  Helena glanced at her mother, who responded with a look that said, you were once much the same way.

  Kailani stuck out her tongue and waited until a few flakes rested on it, then swallowed.

  Helena smiled. “So how does it taste?”

  “Wet.” The girl from the Blessed Lands twirled around as if trying to touch each flake.

  Helena watched her catch the falling snow in her hands and on her cheeks, and thought of another winter long ago, when she and Jason where children. Huge clumps of white had floated through the air, snow that melted on her tongue and kissed her face with cold, making her cheeks flush. Jason had called—no school that day. He insisted on trudging through the drifts to meet her on the cliffs. The two of them played outside, tossing snowballs at each other, tumbling and rolling in the snow... and reveling in their first touch.

  Helena’s mother interrupted her reverie. “If you look quickly, when they land on your clothing, you’ll see they all have a six-pointed pattern, but each flake has its own design.”

  Just like her mother to describe the geometry in the flakes. Her father would have said it differently: water high up in the atmosphere forming tiny crystals around a piece of dust, each a unique, lace-like pattern of six-sided fractal art. The crystals would clump together into flakes as they fell, covering the land with snow.

  Now that she and Jason had freed Kailani from her cell, the girl would get to see it for the first time.

  Kailani froze, studying her right sleeve. When a few flakes landed, her face lit up. “I see.” She gave a shiver. “But snow makes you cold.”

  “Of course it does,” Helena’s mother said. “It’s frozen water, and it reminds us that you, young lady, are not ready for winter.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “What you have to do is accompany us to town, if you can spare an afternoon away from your admirers, so we can buy you some winter clothes.”

  “Can’t you sew me some, Miz Martha?”

  Helena’s mother rolled her eyes. “You may be able to perform miracles, Kailani, but as a seamstress, winter coats are beyond my abilities.” She turned to Helena. “Why don’t you check with Jason and see if you can pry him away from his work long enough to drive us into town? Maybe we could have lunch together. My treat.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?” Helena said.

  “Why would I mind? He’s such a nice young man. I’d like to get to know him better. And you, my dear, should spend more time with him.”

  ***

  At a quarter till noon the next day, the four of them loaded into Jason’s car and headed to town. More than a month of dealing with pilgrims had left Helena drained. How good it felt to take a break from their endless tales of woe and spend time with Jason, even if she had to share him.

  Now, after finishing lunch at the Northweald sandwich shop, they waited as Kailani spooned her way through an enormous hot-fudge sundae, which she insisted was essential before she could buy a new coat.

  Helena watched Jason watching Kailani, and saw the delight he took in her. She pictured him carrying her out of the surf, the sun and seawater making the muscles of his arms gleam. She recalled the look on his face—not just the exhilaration of rescuing a child, but how much he cared.

  Kailani had been right; they shared the Spirit.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a conversation from the table behind her, where two
middle-aged women sipped coffee and swapped stories.

  “My grandfather loved sports,” one said, “talked about the local university team constantly. When my dad was growing up, he pushed him to get in shape and practice so he could earn an athletic scholarship. Dad came to loathe sports and the university as well, but my grandfather tried everything to get him to go there.”

  “And did he go?” her friend asked.

  “He did. And you know what? If he hadn’t, he never would have met my mother. They’ve been inseparable for fifty years.”

  Helena jerked around at the sound of wood scraping the floor, and saw her mother stifle a sob and stumble out the door. When she turned back, Kailani was staring at her.

  Kailani licked her spoon clean, then filled it again with ice cream and waved the new spoonful under Helena’s nose. “I think she needs you.”

  “I’m afraid it’s more... complicated than that.”

  “Why? You mourn the same spirit, don’t you?”

  Jason tapped her on the shoulder and tilted his head toward the street. She looked out the storefront window at her mother huddled on a park bench in front of the village green, the statue of the soldier with the sabre at his side hovering over her as if standing guard.

  Helena’s throat began to tighten, and the words came out muffled. “I can’t.”

  Kailani popped the ice cream into her mouth and let it roll across her tongue, then shoved the dish aside and reached for Helena’s hand. “Yes you can. It’s not so hard.”

  Helena at once understood what the pilgrims had discovered. Kailani’s eyes were no longer the color of the ocean but the ocean itself, ageless and inviting. Anything seemed possible. When the Daughter stood and beckoned, people had to follow.

  A few seconds later, the three of them stood over the bench.

  “Martha?” Jason said, as if they were best friends. “Here’s your only daughter, and this is your chance.”

  Kailani nodded and went back to finish her ice cream.

  Panic-stricken, Helena glanced at Jason.

  “You’ll know what to do.” He followed Kailani across the street.

  When her mother looked up, her cheeks were moist with tears. “Oh, my girl, I’m so sorry.”

  “Is there space on that bench for me?”

  “Come sit.” Her mother brushed the seat next to her. “Please.”

  ***

  When Helena and her mother returned, Jason ordered them hot mulled ciders, the specialty of the house. As they blew across their steaming mugs and fumbled awkwardly for words, he decided to give them a little time to themselves.

  “That cider looks too hot to drink,” he said. “Why don’t you let it cool for a while? I can take Kailani across the street to look at clothes.”

  Helena nodded, but her mother seemed skeptical. “Are you sure you’ll know what to buy?”

  “Of course not, but I can get her started. I promise not to buy anything without your approval.”

  With her reluctant agreement, he led Kailani across the street to Hal’s Sporting Goods Mart, the largest building in town. The store appeared to stock everything: clothing, farm supplies, and equipment for every sport imaginable, especially those suited to the northern wilderness. Jason had counted on it keeping Kailani occupied, allowing the Brewster women a chance to review and reflect, but three steps into the doorway, Kailani stopped dead and yanked on his hand.

  When he glanced down, he saw her eyes fixed on something overhead. Above them was a hunting trophy, the head of a fourteen-point buck. Its face was twisted in Kailani’s direction, its mouth open and tongue lifted, its eyes curious, as if asking, “Why?”

  Jason turned back to the girl. “It’s a deer, Kailani. It’s stuffed, not alive.”

  “What’s it doing there? Was it killed by a motorized wagon?”

  A knot formed in his stomach. No way out of this one. “It’s a... trophy. That’s all.” Before she could ask, he added, “Hunters go into the woods and hunt. If they kill an animal, they use its body for food. Then, they keep the head to... show off their skill.”

  Kailani pulled away from him, took a step closer, and tilted her head as if to mimic the buck’s expression. After a moment, she skipped over to the far wall, where rows of hunting rifles hung in racks. “And what are these?”

  Jason sighed, already exhausted. He hadn’t expected a sporting goods store to present such a challenge. “They’re guns. They’re used for hunting.”

  “Are they what killed the deer?”

  “Probably. I think so.”

  After that discussion, he took her straight to the clothing section and the safety of dressing rooms and displays of winter coats. A friendly saleswoman was more than glad to measure Kailani and recommend a wardrobe. With a tummy full of dessert and a stack of clothing to try on, the Daughter was at last content.

  By the fifth coat, Jason was getting bored. As he stood to stretch his legs, he saw something that made him duck back out of sight. Through the racks of garments, he spotted Benjamin, who must’ve taken advantage of his absence to come into town. It wasn’t just the little man’s presence that concerned him.

  Benjamin stood in front of the gun counter, making a purchase.

  After Benjamin exited the store and was no longer visible through the front window, Jason approached the clerk. “Could you tell me what that man was buying?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. We’re not allowed to discuss the purchases of other customers.”

  Jason forced a laugh. “It’s all right. Benjamin and I work together at Glen Eagle Farm. Sebastian sent me here to place an order.” He pulled out the small notepad he kept in his pocket in case a work idea struck him and flipped to the third page. “I wanted to make sure we didn’t have the same items on our shopping list.”

  The clerk nodded. “Ah. No harm then, I guess. He was buying .308 caliber silvertips. Is that on your list?”

  Jason ran down the invisible list with his finger.

  “No it isn’t. I should’ve known—Sebastian’s always so organized.”

  Just then, the bell attached to the front door jingled, and Helena called to him. “What are you doing over there, and where’s Kailani?”

  “I was wandering around while I waited.” He gestured toward the clothing section. “It seems the young lady likes clothing as much as sweets.”

  As Helena and Martha hurried over to shower squeals of approval on Kailani’s wardrobe, Jason had other concerns. He glanced up at the deer and gazed into its glassy eyes, picturing the window of the quilting room and a squirrel scurrying across the lawn.

  ***

  “I hate to nag, but... are you sure he’s not a danger?” Jason slumped in the visitor chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

  Sebastian paced back and forth behind his desk. “Of course not. I’m never sure of anything. I wasn’t sure the old generator would hold out or that we’d have the wherewithal to replace it. What I do know is that it’s unreasonable to punish people without proof.”

  “But why would he be buying ammunition?”

  “I told you, Jason, we have several members who like to hunt, and Benjamin’s the best of them. There’s nothing wrong with hunting. I used to hunt myself until my bones couldn’t take the cold anymore. You’ll feel differently the first time you taste fresh venison.”

  “So you knew he had a gun?”

  “Not a gun, Jason.” Sebastian went to the file cabinet and withdrew a red folder. “It’s a Browning Mark II Lightweight Stalker, an elegant weapon with a polished walnut stock. Modest recoil. I’ve fired it myself. Takes a .308 caliber charge, accurate within four hundred yards. Of course, Benjamin with his special scope can hit a target at double that distance.”

  Jason looked away, but Sebastian sailed on. “Would you like to know the serial number?”

  He shook his head. “But why would he be buying ammunition now?”

  “Come on, you’re grasping at straws.”

  Sebastian went
back to the file cabinet and pulled out a notice, which he slapped down on the desk. It read: Northern Kingdom deer hunting season begins November 29.

  “Enough. I give up.” He stared past Sebastian to the painting of the great house in winter, which he’d soon get to see as depicted, covered with snow. “Why do you do it, Sebastian?”

  “Do what?”

  “Put up with all of us. It seems like a thankless job.”

  “Thankless? Oh no.” Sebastian looked genuinely surprised. “I used to run big projects with lots of employees, thought I was pretty important. This isn’t that different. It’s what I’m good at.” He let his smile broaden until it nearly reached his earlobes. “How old do you think I am?”

  Never a good question to answer. “Maybe sixty-five.”

  “Seventy-eight.” He glanced to his right, at the teapot with the cherubs, and then out the bay window to the lawn. “I loved those projects, because I wanted to leave tracks like the little creatures in the morning. Not footprints, though. Brain prints. Let them know when I’m gone that I passed this way, that I was smart and hard-driving and competent. But it wasn’t enough.

  “When I came here after Lizzie died, I didn’t plan to stay this long. Then I found they needed someone like me. I could leave tracks here too, not just brain prints but something more—call them heart prints. To be useful, to be needed, to every so often make a difference in someone’s life—that’s enough for me.”

  He came out from behind the desk and pulled Jason by the elbow until he stood. Then he gave him a hard pat on the back. “Now in the name of reason, go worry about your job. Watch out for Helena and Kailani, and let me worry about the farm.”

  Jason slunk out of the office like a student who’d been scolded for a prank, but the scolding gave no closure. The prank, he feared, was yet to come.

  Chapter 30 – The Secretary of the Soulless

  The Minister of Commerce studied the man across the table—imposing, obviously accustomed to power, and flanked by two burly guards. The minister tried not to be intimidated. After all, he’d met other high-ranking officials at the land bridge, but they’d been in charge of industry or education. This was the first one who commanded an army.