He floated up a few feet and hovered, treading water to stay down. I’ll be okay. And it’s her. We’re not afraid of her. He swam away, small and frail-looking in the murky sea light.
Kinchen yanked the others to follow, but Caesar pulled back, standing her ground, and with Thanh to anchor her, held the group still. We’ll wait here. Really. He’ll be okay. Let him be.
While Caesar breathed for them, the other three watched Pip swim toward the monster until he was floating directly in front of one unblinking eye, his small silhouette glowing faintly against the dark pupil and iris. He bowed awkwardly in mid-water. She swirled a delicate tentacle.
Pip and the creature conversed for some time while the others waited. Kinchen couldn’t hear Pip’s thoughts or the Kraken’s. Neither could Caesar, who thought-muttered constantly: Can’t make it out. Too far away. Must be going okay. He’s doing great. Thanh said nothing but watched intently. Finally, Pip reached his hand out to stroke the Kraken—right where Kinchen imagined the nose would be, if Krakens had noses—and the Kraken patted Pip back, one tendril arm drooping over his shoulder.
Then Pip swam back to the three who were waiting.
He took Kinchen’s hand at the end of the line, and his feet bumped down to the sand. She wants to talk to us. Next to Kinchen, Caesar nodded and stepped forward. Thanh followed, face open in interest and awe.
And through Pip, it seemed, they could now hear her. As they drew near, the monster’s thoughts gradually separated from the water and clarified, funneling through Pip into the others: . . . had a grand adventure. All over one world and another. But now I’m old. And I miss him—
The Kraken stopped short. That’s one of them. A tentacle whipped out, longer than seemed possible, and tapped Thanh gently in the chest. How are you?
Thanh froze. He didn’t answer her—his thoughts instead went to Pip. Tell her—tell her thank you. Tell her we’re all okay. Alive.
Pip did, repeating Thanh’s thoughts and sending them out into the sea.
The Kraken shifted. Even the man who smelled of blood? Is he okay?
Even him, said Pip. Getting better.
And the girl whose body longed for the sweet water, the girl who wanted to float?
She is also fine. She can walk on the water.
That I saw. After I blew everyone through the doorway. Her color shaded lighter, and her body shrugged in a sigh. I didn’t know if I should follow. If you think he’ll want me back after all this time—
He will, said Kinchen emphatically. Her words hovered around her, but they didn’t go anywhere.
And the Kraken didn’t seem to hear her. Will he want to see me again?
He will, said Pip, and the Kraken blinked. Pip said, Your husband misses you terribly. He’s told me a hundred times at least how much he wants to see you again. Every day. He’s waiting for you. Always.
You can take me to him? She blinked her enormous eye. It’s time for me to rest. But I want to go home first. To him, wherever he is. I’m waiting for him, too.
We can take you there, said Pip. But it’s a long trip.
I can’t move so fast anymore. Not for so long a distance.
Caesar said suddenly—and even in water her thoughts sounded bright and bubbly—Ah! Raftworld can help. Raftworld is big enough to pull! She jumped, and her braids floated up around her head in graceful tendrils.
But we need to make sure the portal is shut first, said Kinchen. The doorway. The—she’s sitting in it.
Be quiet and let me talk, said Pip. Please. He sounded so . . . so grown-up and sure of himself. Like he knew what he was doing. Like he wasn’t scared. Kinchen remembered Caesar’s Let him be and made herself quiet.
To the Kraken, Pip said, gesturing toward Caesar, This girl offers her nation of Raftworld to pull you to your home— after you come out of this doorway, and the door closes.
For a moment no one spoke. Then: I couldn’t decide, she said.
Decide what? asked Pip.
Whether to go in or out. To stay or go. First world or second. I wanted to go home for a long time, and I couldn’t find the way. Imagine my surprise when the last storm blew a door open, and I could see my way into the world where my husband might still live. I could taste the sweet water. On the surface, a boat imploded, sending its people down, hand in hand. They were drowning. They were dying; they had no one to breathe for them underwater. So I shot them back up—but to the second world, because I saw that one of them belonged in the sweet water, and I thought that, with her, they all might survive there. And they did. They did survive. They walked on the skin of the water. I wedged in the door right behind them. Sat down in the doorway. Because I couldn’t decide.
She shrugged all eight shoulders. Now I’ve decided. Thank you.
She heaved herself up—only a few feet, as she shifted her weight, but the disturbance was enormous. Sand puffed up in billowing clouds higher than Kinchen’s head.
The Kraken was moving. Out of the doorway. Thanh yelped: Not yet! Tell her not yet!
Wait! called Pip. Wait!
They stood for a moment in an agitation of water and sand. Small fish darted past them, flitting away from the commotion.
Then she thudded back to the ground, and the sand filtered down, golden around them. Though the water remained cloudy, they could see the Kraken again, a massive hill on the bottom of the ocean. Still holding open the door.
You want me to come or not? The Kraken sounded—amused? Irritated? Kinchen couldn’t read her voice well enough to tell.
The family you saved from drowning, said Pip. They want to return to their world. Let them through first—hold the door open for them—and then we’ll come back down and you can leave the doorway and come with us. And we’ll bring you to him. To your husband. Can you do that for us? Wait for just a little longer?
She laughed, and the fish darted through the resonant water to hover around her eye like butterflies around a particularly fragrant bush. She laughed a long time, the water burbling around her. I’ve been waiting this long already. I can wait a little more.
We’ll return soon, said Pip. We need to say good-bye to our friends. Then we’ll come back for you.
I’ll be here. But that family that’s going through the door. They’ll have a long journey to shore, and a rough one. Do they know that? Can they make it?
8
Caesar’s Story.
WHEN THEY reached Raftworld, they let go of one another’s hands and swam to the surface, but Caesar, who could not float, climbed the rope that had been dropped down for her, deep in thought. By the time she reached the air, shook the water from her braids, and wrapped a dry robe around herself, she felt she understood what Mai’s solemn look had meant. And she suspected that Thanh did not yet understand.
On the dock, she moved to stand next to Thanh. He, Kinchen, and Pip were already wrapped in robes and holding mugs of hot tea. Jupiter sat nearby on a stool. The first worlders—Thanh’s people—clustered near their new boat, a sturdy little thing filled with food and water, waiting to say good-bye. One of the king’s guards was instructing them on how to use the hydraulic engine, with Mai trying her best to translate. There were a lot of gestures involved on both sides.
“. . . We’ve never tested it in salty water like you say your world has. I don’t think it will last very long in these conditions. But it should take you to land at least.” Oars and a sail and fold-up mast were stowed in the bottom of the boat just in case, along with the food and water and tarps and everything they’d need.
“Before the men go,” said Caesar, “I have to tell you something.” She tried to talk in a low voice, for Thanh’s ears only.
“What is it?” said Thanh. “Remember, Sang and Mai and I aren’t going. You can tell me after.” He paused at the look in her face. “Unless it’s important to say now.”
“
It is.” Caesar took a deep breath. How to say it? She didn’t have the right to tell Mai’s plans, but she wanted Thanh to hear her own idea. Even though he didn’t know her that well yet, it might give him some comfort. And she liked him. “It’s this. You and Sang don’t have parents. And neither do I. And Kinchen and Pip are going to go back to the Islands to live with their adopted grandfather. So I was thinking—I was thinking that you and I could adopt each other. Like a brother and sister. Like friends.”
Thanh looked surprised. “Sure. Of course.” He grinned. “Mai will love that, too—we can all three adopt one another; and Sang can be our big sister. But we really should talk about this later. Unless—do you want me to ask Jupiter if you can live with us three?”
A hand descended on Caesar’s shoulder, and she jerked before she realized who it was. “I have room for this one if she wants it,” said Jupiter. “I’ll make sure of it.” He knuckled under Caesar’s chin. “Good girl,” he muttered.
The three of them walked back to stand by Sang and Mai and The Turtle, near the new boat. Mai put her arm around Thanh’s shoulders and cleared her throat. “You know we’re best friends forever.”
Thanh laughed. “Everyone’s my friend today.”
“I’m serious.” She wasn’t smiling, not even a flickering start of a smile. “You’re my best friend.”
“Even though I’m a knucklehead?”
“Not a knucklehead. I’m sorry I ever said anything like that. You’re a great person, with your imagination and your stories, and I hope—”
But the men had finished their piloting lesson and were climbing back out of the boat; Truc helped his brother ease onto the dock. The Turtle crowed at the commotion, and the moment was lost.
As the men joined the others, the rower who’d been tutoring them on their new engine chuckled and shook his head. “Having to pack water when you travel on water. That’s a crazy world you live in.” They all looked out toward the odd elongated patch of light—where they knew the open doorway must be. The rower sighed. “I can’t believe the king’s going to go there.”
“The king isn’t.”
Caesar—everyone—turned, and there stood the Raft King, chest thrown out, in his purple robe. Putnam. “I’m not leaving. I’m going to stay here, with my people. With Raftworld. We’ll figure out what to do together.”
“I might—have a suggestion,” said Kinchen. Her voice carried across the dock. “A place you might like to live.”
The Raft King gave her a long look. “I’ll listen to all suggestions, and we’ll decide as a people. Together. Let’s talk after—after our guests leave, and after we shut the door.”
Kinchen nodded.
With her arm still around Thanh, Mai cleared her throat and spoke in slow, careful English. “I have to say something. Now.”
9
Thanh’s Story.
EVERYONE TURNED to Mai with a question on their face—except for Jupiter, who looked watchful as usual, and Caesar, who looked worried. And Thanh, whose stomach suddenly sank. He couldn’t read Mai’s mind, but he knew—he just knew something bad was about to happen. And he could almost make out what it was. He didn’t look at her. His best friend—his first best friend ever. What was she going to say?
Mai twisted the bottom of her shirt in her hand until it knotted. “The boat,” she said to Uncle Hung and Uncle Truc, now speaking in Vietnamese. “The long trip on the water. You can’t make it with just the two of you, especially since one of you is hurt. And with The Turtle. That’s crazy, even with a new boat and a new engine and lots of food and water.” She nodded thanks at the king, and though he couldn’t understand her words, he inclined his head.
And then, suddenly, Thanh understood.
He knew what Mai was going to say, and he knew that it would break his heart. He could see what Mai was going to do. Because he would have done it, too, if he’d had any gift for it.
Mai’s hands shook as she took Thanh’s palm in both of hers and looked down into his face. Her features, compact and strong, framed by the fuzz of short hair, focused on Thanh, all her light and energy aimed at him. “You have to stay. This is your home. You have a new grandfather, and you have a job here. So does Sang. But I have to go. Don’t you see? They need me. I can get them safely to shore. I have the magic to keep the sea calm, and now that I know it, I can do it awake, too. I’m sure of it. I’ve been practicing here, focusing, every time I go out on the water, and I understand more about how it all works.” Her face, calm as always, glowed—but without the growing smile—and she threw her shoulders back in an echo of the Raft King.
“No,” said Uncle Hung. “Get a better life here.”
“Also, I’m a good sailor, and I can help take care of the baby.”
Uncle Truc didn’t say anything. But he looked toward Thanh, and his long face twisted up as if he were in pain.
Uncle Hung said, “Stay here. It’s better for you.”
Mai stepped away from Thanh and toward Uncle Hung, hugging him gently around his taped side. “This is my choice. I choose to go back with you.”
Thanh couldn’t move. His throat tightened and dried, as if after days without water. When Mai looked over her shoulder at him, he croaked, “But—then we’ll never see each other again.” He felt like he couldn’t quite understand all the ripples that were going to move outward from this choice. Like it needed to be spelled out very clearly what was going to happen. And underneath all that confusion, sitting like a rock at the bottom of his stomach, was the answer. That Mai was doing the right thing.
Mai shook her head firmly at Thanh. “After I bring everyone to land, I’ll row out to sea in a little boat of my own. And I’ll look for you. In every storm, waiting for a doorway to pop open, until I come through again, and I’ll find you. I promise.”
At the thought of Mai in a little rowboat searching for a storm and a doorway, Thanh found he could move and breathe again. His throat unthawed. She’d find a way to return—knowing her—if it were at all possible.
Then he thought about what that life would be like for her. Like being Amelia on her last trip, or the Kraken when she finally became homesick, always looking but maybe without ever finding the door. Maybe wandering forever and never finding a real home. And he knew he couldn’t let her make that kind of promise, not even for him.
“Try to come back if you can,” he said. “But don’t spend your whole life on it. Just—maybe every once in a while, try. Okay?”
And he stepped into her open arms, and she bent and kissed the top of his head as if they were even more than friends.
Then Uncle Truc grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug, those strong lopsided shoulders pressing against Thanh for the last time. The man who’d watched over him and Sang, who’d told him stories about his father, who’d brought him along on the dangerous trip, who’d forgiven him when he messed up, who’d loved him as a son. This man leaned crookedly over Thanh, laughing and crying at the same time, telling him good-bye and that all would be well. That Thanh and his sister would have a great life in their new home. That he would always, always miss them. That they were making the right choice.
Then everyone hugged everyone they could, and Uncle Hung and Uncle Truc and The Turtle boarded the boat, and Mai stood on the water next to the boat. And they left. Mai walked ahead on the water, her last chance, and the boat followed, the hydraulic engine pumping quietly.
Everyone watching knew exactly the moment that Mai reached the doorway and stepped through, for her tall, dark silhouette sank into the ocean, and she treaded water until the boat reached her and picked her up.
Thanh watched as through a window while the boat grew smaller and smaller, farther and farther away in the first world. He didn’t cry. He would do that later. For now, he watched the boat shrink through the door between the two worlds, until finally the dot that was the boat turned and moved out of t
he frame of the doorway, and he could see it no longer. It was gone.
PART SEVEN
Pip Again.
Still 1978. Still the Second World.
1
WHEN THEY went back down to the Kraken, she was ready; Pip could hear her before he could see her, humming with quiet expectation.
As they drew closer in the deep water, her mountain of a body appeared like an island on the ocean floor, eye open. Did your friends get through? Oh. I see they did. She waved a frond at Thanh, who waited stiffly at the end of the group, face stony.
I’m sorry for your loss, she said. It is deep.
He raised his free hand to her.
She shifted in the sand. I’m ready to go.
Pip took her by one tendril, as thin at the end as a child’s arm, and led her away from the crack between the worlds. He didn’t pull—he didn’t think it seemed dignified, and he worried he might hurt her tentacle. She did the work, pushing herself forward out of the doorway. It was a tight fit, not unlike a child shoving its head into a too-small sweater. She squeezed and groaned and wrestled her way through; and in the process she stirred up so much sand, Pip felt they were buried in it. But Caesar held on to them all, and after some moments they could see again.
I’m out, she gasped. That was something. All three of my hearts are racing. Then she sighed. It’s shut. I can feel it behind me. It’s like a draft is gone.
Pip squinted through the dim green light—they were so deep—and though he couldn’t see a difference, he had to agree the atmosphere felt different.
The salty taste is gone, said Caesar.
Thanh said nothing—he sent out no thoughts. Pip could feel his silence like a weight, and he thought probably Kinchen could also feel it.
I’m sorry, he thought toward Thanh. I wish it could be different. I wish people never got split up, and no one ever had to leave each other.
A Crack in the Sea Page 22