by Amy Herrick
The snow had stopped. The moon had risen. The black timeless river threw back no light, but a little farther downstream, he thought he saw a swarm of time bees working hungrily away. Edward frowned and put his hand in his pocket. Something round and silky met his palm. He drew the object out and stared at it curiously in the moonlight.
He didn’t recognize it at first and then he did. It was one of those little balls of spider thread. The ones his aunt kept on the windowsill. How had that gotten in there? Then he remembered how she had stuck her hand in his pocket, supposedly to find his gloves. The silky thread was slightly sticky to the touch and seemed to give off a faint light of its own. As he stared at it uncomprehendingly he noticed a stranger thing yet. Shooting right out from the side of the ball, stretched tautly, was a thread of silk. He could see it shimmering in the air in front of him and then vanishing into the darkness along the bank beside the river. He tugged on it lightly and it tugged back. He tugged on it again and it tugged a little harder. There was no mistaking what it wanted from him. Slowly at first, he began to follow where it led, rolling the thread up around the ball as he went. After a while he went a little faster, and then faster yet. The impossible thought came into his head that here, where he walked, there were minutes, but beside him in the river of nothingness there were none. He wasn’t sure how long he went along like this, but then abruptly the thread changed direction.
If he followed it now, it was going to take him right out over the oily bottomless nothing.
“Why am I not surprised?” he said to whoever was listening.
Was it some kind of trap? Somehow he felt sure that the voice that had awoken him would not purposely lead him astray. He peered into the darkness and saw that were no bees foraging here. He could see a swarm of them farther ahead, but for the moment, they had left this area behind. Still, what could possibly stop him from falling if he did what was being asked of him? He peered anxiously into the darkness and then he found what might be the answer to the riddle. There was something showing through the surface of the river. Something glowing faintly. A stepping-stone-sized, snow-covered island that the bees had missed.
He hesitated, but felt the thread tugging beneath his fingers. He took a breath. What was there to lose? It was all going to end the same way sooner or later, anyway. He put his foot out and stepped over the yawning dark and when his foot came down, to his great astonishment, it came down on something solid. He let out a gasp of relief. He couldn’t see what he was standing on, but it felt like a rock—a slippery yet solid four-dimensional rock. Carefully, he brought his other foot along to join the first and he stood there and felt along the string. It gave another tug and he peered into the darkness. Was that another foot-sized island just ahead? Yes. He was sure of it. The string tugged beneath his finger. But this one was farther away. For this one he would have to jump. He hesitated. He bent his knees. He measured the distance. He hesitated once more and as he stood considering his own klutziness, the string tugged again and the silky ball slipped from his grasp.
“No!” he cried. Now, without thinking it over, he leaped from the rock, stretching, stretching his arm toward the falling thread. It met his fingertips and he snatched it out of the air. He closed his eyes as he continued to fall forward into the darkness.
Danton wanted, more than he had ever wanted anything, to go and stand beside her. Somehow, he understood that if he did, all would be lost. He made himself stay where he was, and it seemed to him that Brigit’s voice was like a river dammed up in a narrow place until it had, at last, built up enough pressure to burst through. It came out stuttering and muddy at first, but as the leaves and twigs and stones got pushed out of the way, it came pouring into the air. If the song had words, it was in a language he didn’t know, but his heart swelled with pride as he listened. Her voice was magnificent, bell-like, liquid, and strong. The melody was simple, but the song was commanding. He could tell that she was calling to someone.
The foragers began to arrive.
They moved more slowly now, almost drunkenly, like bees who have been feasting for a long, long summer afternoon. They came from all directions at once and, maybe because they were swollen and full, Danton was now able to get a better look at them. They looked like the tiniest of seed pearls and each one trailed a bright green comet’s tail of light. Brigit held the Fetch out in front of her and the foragers approached it in lazy maneuverings until they were nearly home. At the last moment, each one woke up and shot forward, vanishing instantaneously through what might have been a tiny hole in the Fetch’s side.
Danton watched closely, but the foragers seemed to ignore Brigit and only be interested in entering the stone. When the notes of her song had climbed so high they were nearly out of hearing, the song fell and began again. The melody returned almost to the beginning, although not quite. And now, from out of nowhere, Danton heard another voice join hers. An expression of surprise came over her face, but she hesitated for only the briefest of moments and then went on. He looked around anxiously, but he could not see the singer. The new voice didn’t seem to be male or female or exactly human, either. Brigit kept the melody while the second voice held the harmony. They wound around and around each other, playful and quick. Now the foragers came pouring in. Once again, the song went up until it could rise no more and then dropped and began again.
On this third round there were more than two voices, but it was hard to tell how many. These were high and silvery and childlike, and in and around them there was the sound of laughter. The foragers were coming in fast and furious now. The air was full of them. They seemed to jostle each other merrily until they reached the Fetch and vanished inside. It frightened Danton to see how pale Brigit had grown. Her arms, holding the Fetch out, seemed to tremble as the throng of foragers grew. But so far as he could tell, she hadn’t gotten any older and her voice remained steady. On the fourth round, the foragers were so thick, they clotted the air and had to wait for their turn to enter the Fetch. They seemed to grow angry and impatient with each other and the music darkened with their mood. A sound of pipes and drums joined the voices. The laughter faded and an undertone of urgency crept into the music.
Danton couldn’t hold himself still. “I can hardly see her anymore,” he whispered anxiously to Feenix. “Can you? Can you tell if she’s all right?”
“She’s all right,” Feenix hissed. “You can tell from her voice. Be quiet!”
Danton fell back into silence. There was a sound of distant swords clashing, metal on metal, and the drumbeat pounded louder and louder, more like a battle call than a symphony. The music grew more discordant and confused but kept on. Finally, Danton could hear nothing of Brigit’s voice in the noise.
“I’ve got to go in there!” he said at last. “She’ll be trampled or killed.” But Feenix grabbed his arm.
“No! You can’t! Her only chance is not to move. You heard what the silver woman said. You have to let her finish it.”
Danton shook his head angrily but stayed where he was.
At last a high whistle screamed through the air, and a moment later there was a tremendous bang.
Danton shuddered and felt Feenix reach out and give his hand a quick squeeze.
The singing voices could be heard again from within the still-thick cloud. No longer high and silvery, they filled the air with a solemn richness. There was triumph in the voices, and sorrow. Some were as deep as echoes in caverns and some were rich and golden as trumpets.
And through them all, steady and sweet, Danton was sure he heard Brigit.
“That’s her!” Feenix said. “Can you see her?”
But he couldn’t, not yet. The mob of foragers was thinning. They continued to vanish inside the Fetch. One by one the voices that accompanied Brigit’s reached the sky and continued on up and did not return.
Then, at last only Brigit’s voice was left and it rang out bell-like and true.
“There she is!” Feenix cried, but Danton didn’t need to be told t
his. He had already shaken himself free and was running toward her.
Brigit stood as they had last seen her. She was very pale, but still standing with arms out, the Fetch in her hands. The last foragers disappeared inside and the final note of the Calling In song died away.
Danton pulled up short in front of her. He wanted to touch her, but he didn’t dare. She looked so still and far away. “Are you all right?”
She looked at him startled, as if she had forgotten all about him, all about everything that had come before. She studied his face carefully as if she were trying to remember not just who he was, but what he was. Then, at last, she smiled.
“Danton,” she said. “It’s you.”
He’d been waiting for this voice for so long. It was an ordinary voice, a little shy, but with a ripple of gladness in it. He didn’t think he’d ever heard anything nicer. He found he couldn’t say a word.
“Yes, I’m all right,” she assured him. “Are they all in?”
He looked around. The air was quiet and there was no sign of the bees. Danton also realized that the silver lady and the three-headed dog and the tree people and the witches and all the rest had vanished. Where could they have gone? He wondered if they had been frightened back into hiding. All that seemed to be left were the girls and him, the oak tree, and the very top of the hill where they stood, which seemed to give out a strange, faint light of its own.
“There’s nothing else out there,” Feenix said. “Everything’s gone. But it’s weird. Don’t you feel like we’re on a stage? Like there’s something out there watching us?”
“Yes,” said Danton. “Something’s going to happen. I can feel it. Can’t you? Something’s listening to us.”
“Do you think it’s this Keeper dude?” she asked nervously.
“I don’t know,” Danton replied. “All we can do is wait.”
So they waited. It was impossible to tell how much time, if any, passed as they stood there on the top of the hill. It was getting colder and they all drew closer together. When they were almost touching, shoulder to shoulder, they heard a noise. It was the sound of something moving toward them, a panting breath growing nearer and nearer.
“Where in this butt-faced blankety-blankety blizzard have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you guys!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Doorway
Feenix almost didn’t recognize him now that he was however much older than he used to be, but she certainly wasn’t going to show him she was impressed or anything. “That’s what I love about you,” she said. “The way you always manage to show up after everybody else has done all the work.”
“What do you mean? Which work are you talking about? What happened?” Eddie asked.
“Nothing much,” Feenix said. “We managed to fight off two panthers, cross a mile-wide bottomless crack in the time fabric, climb the equivalent of Mount Kilimanjaro, make small talk with the ornaments from your aunt’s Christmas tree, and call all the foragers back into the Fetch.”
“You were talking to the ornaments on my aunt’s tree?” He looked around sharply.
Danton jumped in. “You should have seen them—there was a minotaur and Feenix’s witches again and then a silver fairy lady. The Old Ones, I guess. I think they’ve camouflauged themselves again. They’re really good at it. Something must have scared them off.”
Feenix thought he was probably right. There was a lot to be scared of. So why was Edsel smiling?
“Let me see the stone,” he said.
Brigit, Feenix noticed, hadn’t moved since Eddie had arrived. She was staring at him weirdly. Now she brought the Fetch toward her chest protectively and stared at him.
“She was the one who called them in. She got her voice back,” Danton said.
“That’s great,” Eddie said. He smiled at Brigit. “The stone must be very full. Could I see it?”
Now that Feenix was looking at Eddie more closely, she decided there was something else that wasn’t right with him. It was more than the fact that he was a few years older. What could it be? “How did you get over that big rip at the bottom of the hill?” she asked him suspiciously.
“That’s a crazy story. I’ll tell you later. I think I’ve got an idea. Give me the stone.”
“You look different,” Feenix said. “What happened to you?”
“We all look different. It’s been some night. C’mon,” he coaxed. He held his hand out and took a step toward Brigit.
She took a step backward, her eyes fixed on his hand.
Now Feenix saw it, too. “What happened to your thumb?”
He pulled his thumb inside his fisted fingers and made a face of impatience. “It’s fine. I twisted it when I was climbing up here. Stop fussing. We don’t have time for this. Let me see the Fetch.”
“You’re not Eddie. Who are you?”
Danton had been looking back and forth at the three of them, seeming puzzled. “What do you mean he’s not Eddie? Who else would he be?”
“Look at him. Don’t you see? He’s all—I don’t know—backward.”
“He’s all backward? What are you—?” Danton peered at Eddie more closely and now he, too, must have seen something, because he fell silent.
“Whatever happens, Brigit, don’t give him the Fetch,” Feenix said.
Brigit nodded and took another step backward.
“Where’s Eddie?” Feenix demanded. “What did you do to him?”
There was a short silence while Eddie-who-was-not-Eddie must have been considering his next move. “Not a thing,” he said at last. “What was done, he did to himself. By now, he will be—gone.”
There was silence while everyone took this in. Then Feenix said through clenched teeth, “You’re that Unraveler guy, aren’t you?”
Eddie-who-was-not-Eddie gave a small bow.
“Did you let those time bees eat him?” Feenix cried.
“The foragers are hardly under my control. Though I must say, I couldn’t have done better work myself. By now, your friend will certainly have been gathered into the Sameness. Just as you soon will be. You will be returned to where there is neither time nor space nor light and you will rest, at last. It is what your wise teachers know we all seek.”
“What?” Feenix shouted. “What do you know about what our teachers teach us?”
Not-Eddie gave a little laugh. “Think back. Did I not hear one of your teachers talking just the other day about the true and final state?”
“You’re just blabbering,” Feenix snapped. “Who would let you into our school?”
Now Danton spoke up unhappily. “Mr. Ross. He’s talking about Mr. Ross. He got off on a tangent the other day about entropy, about how things always move toward losing heat energy and getting all disorganized.”
Not-Eddie gave him a nod of approval. “Exactly. The wise among you spend their lives searching for the homeward path. The wise know that nothing is really solid. Things take on form and shape for the briefest of times and then return to dust. Everything carries within itself the means to its own return. I am only here to help things along. Why struggle so pointlessly? Aren’t you tired?”
It was true, Feenix realized. She was very tired. The guy’s voice was so soothing and hypnotic. Mr. Ross and everything else of their past lives seemed very far away. She made an effort to remember what it was she had left behind down there in Brooklyn, what it was that had seemed so important. But even as she struggled she found her memories were all dissolving. She started to turn toward the other two, hoping they could help her, but her arms and legs didn’t seem to be following along.
“Now if you will hand me the Fetch, I will gladly dispose of it for all our sakes. We wouldn’t want anyone getting hold of that honey and making more mischief, would we?” He held out his hand to Brigit.
Feenix was able at last to turn to face Brigit, but now she seemed to be looking at her from far, far away. It reminded Feenix of getting gas at the dentist while she had a cavity filled. Yes
, maybe it would be better if she just handed it to him.
Brigit, however, made no move to hand the Fetch over. Feenix could see how she was staring at the Unraveler’s backward thumb and how hard she was struggling not to give in to his voice. She managed to actually take another step away from him and then she shook her head.
The man’s voice grew impatient. “You meek ones. I don’t know why you’re always the worst.”
Brigit took another step backward.
Yes! Good for her, Feenix thought admiringly. She shook herself and suddenly another of Mr. Ross’s schticks came into her head, the one about how wonderfully improbable everything was. How the odds were totally against their ever having come into being. Yet here they were. How they all ought to make the most of it and not waste their time. Would Mr. Ross want them all to just lie down and be dissolved back into the sameness again? No bleeping way.
Feenix came wide awake with a start and saw that the Unraveler was advancing upon Brigit in a smooth, rapid glide over the snow.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Danton had woken up, too. It was Brigit, she knew, who had broken the spell. Danton was moving quickly, running backward, his hands up in the air. “To me, Brigit!” he shouted. “Throw it to me!”
“Don’t look in his eyes!” Feenix yelled. “He’s hypnotizing you! Throw it to Danton.”
Brigit took a shuddering breath and tore her gaze away from the man coming toward her. She threw the Fetch to Danton.
Danton caught it easily and moved off as far as he could.
“Now, children, you are wasting valuable time. And what’s the point? Where can you possibly go?” said the Unraveler.
He looked around at the three of them, calculating something. Then he threw back his head and opened his mouth. It seemed to be hingeless, like a snake’s mouth. The inside of it was very dark and much bigger than the inside of anybody’s mouth ought to be.
Out of this mouth rose a spinning funnel of wind and dust. As the funnel twisted itself out of the open throat and thrust upward into the air, it began to pull the false Eddie inside out like a glove. Several seconds passed while the twister disposed of the Unraveler’s body in this manner, but no sooner was the job done than the funnel began spinning over the ground toward Danton. The sound that came with it was a roar of white noise. The funnel grew rapidly wider and taller, sucking at him as it drew nearer.