Dorsom snapped, “Better we take our chances with the Nixie! It is well time for us to be on our way.”
But the Shadow pleaded for them to wait just one second longer. “I would try to convince thee to abandon this journey, Flickers.” She pointed toward the sunrise, where Sami noticed odd, pencil-thin lines dancing in the distance, like a kind of straight gray lightning. “Closer they come on thy scent. And thine approach to the Bare Isles—it’s too direct, too open to her sentries.” She drew in the sand with a stick, then pointed, saying, “Here. This spot is little known and rarely used. This may give some advantage.”
Then she turned to Sami. Her chain of coins outlined her face so it was almost possible for Sami to discern the Shadow’s features. “Yamay is tenderest to mine heart,” she confided in a low voice. “So hurt and unhappy she is never to find one like herself. Yet for this day and night thou hast made her happy. For such relief, Silverwalker, a special gift I have.” From one of the pouches in a camel saddle, she removed a translucent paper folded into a slim envelope, much like the golden paper star Sami had found in her pocket back in the Actual World. Handing it to Sami, she said, “Here thou shalt find my spell most powerful. ’Tis powder of revealing and unbinding. And most illegal, to be sure, here in Silverworld,” she added with a wink at Dorsom and Natala. “Its crystals are poisonous. Never lose or let go. Only once shall it work. Someday, thou might be in need of such stuff.”
Sami accepted the gift with thanks as the other Flickers quickly loaded their satchels with provisions from the caravan. As they set out, Sami felt the pressure of a strong hug around her middle. “I thou shalt see again,” she heard Yamay whisper, a pair of lavender eyelids pressed to her chest. Sami looked down into outer space darkness in the shape of a little girl, a single star twinkling at her center.
After another windy day and stormy evening of walking, Sami realized they were again approaching the beach. They were headed to the hidden route Lamida had described, winding over seagrasses and between dunes. The sand, kicking up in whirlwinds, looked gauzy in the sunrise.
This was a new place, a new land. There were streaks of black and gold in the morning sky, and Sami could hear the songs of strange birds with deep voices like flutes. In the distance, rising above the waves, she could see a landmass—the first of the Bare Isles, Natala told her.
Also, past the edge of the sand and surf, she could make out some sort of towering shape. She studied it for a few moments until gradually her eyes focused: it was a woman. Ten stories high, rising straight out of the water. The gigantic grayish-white statue rose eerily, impossibly before them. It stood in the water on wide-apart legs rising into a long waist and broad shoulders; there was a fan of wild hair that pointed and curled in every direction, and its arms were held above its head, fingers splayed. Sami stared at it without blinking, half expecting it to break out of its frozen stance at any moment and seize them.
“Wow,” she breathed.
“The Stone Keeper, I believe it’s called,” Dorsom murmured. “Nixie created it long ago, to frighten away intruders from the hidden route.”
“It works,” she said.
“I’ve heard stories of this creation,” Natala said with the faintest smile. “And scarce believed it existed.”
“Are you positive we should go this way?” Sami asked. “What if Lamida was tricking us? Maybe this is a trap….” She gulped. She was still trying to figure out Silverworld, who and what to trust. And things seemed even stranger and less familiar out here in the Bare Isles. On the horizon, the bronze-colored half sun had a slightly fizzy edge, as if someone had dropped it in a soda.
Dorsom smiled and said, “That is, to be sure, a risk we must take. But I do promise, this is only a statue. A big one. Having its intended effect on you.” He brushed hair out of his eyes and frowned; Sami saw his anxious expression clearly in the sparkling light. “Unfortunately, a statue is the least of our worries.”
The morning was turning hot, but Sami was the last to wade into the cool surf. She’d never liked going into the ocean, and she had to close her eyes and take deep breaths as she inched forward into the water. A big surge nearly knocked her over and her eyes flew open to see the enormous bronze legs and crashing waves. Sunlight glinted off its metallic lips, its wide, wild eyes, its outflung arms. It looked lit up, alive, just as if it were marching through the waves about to snatch her up. She shivered and looked away.
The water itself seemed ominous here, very different from the water at the pier. Though it was a brilliantly sunny morning, this water was streaked with deep navy, and cobalt currents. The waves slithered and hissed and whispered, and it seemed she heard voices in them, murmuring to her.
The ocean had always scared Sami. Growing up in the middle of New York State, she hadn’t had that many chances to go to the beach or to practice swimming. She took ice-skating lessons and knew how to ski and hike and snowshoe. But none of that did her any good when she got into big, wild waves.
And she didn’t like the way she couldn’t see what was under the surface. There were always things brushing against her in the open water or curling under her toes. Just seaweed, her mom reassured her on their vacations to Lake Ontario or Jones Beach—maybe a curious fish or two. But it was creepy getting touched by stuff she couldn’t make out. The one time she’d put on a mask and looked under the water, she’d spotted an enormous fish right next to her leg, and had run straight back to land.
“Does anyone else hear what I hear?” Now Sami stopped in the foaming surf, the wind rumpling her hair.
Dorsom and Natala slid a look at each other. “What is what?” Dorsom asked. “What do you perceive?”
Sami frowned and shook her head, listening; it was hard to pick up anything clearly above the pounding of her heart. “It’s quiet, but…I swear, it sounds like—questions. You don’t hear that?” The murmurs seemed to rise directly out of the water, as if thousands of invisible swimmers were all speaking at once. Their voices weren’t quite thoughts or audible sounds, but some whirling middle range that echoed through her head and reminded her of her grandmother’s stories of the spinning dervishes.
You can’t do this.
Who do you think you are?
You’re scared.
Why are you doing this?
You won’t survive.
Over and over, the challenges rose from each ripple so her chest tightened and she backed away on the sand, hands clasped over her ears.
Dorsom frowned. “Shadow voices in the water—they snag oddments and fragments of your own thoughts and use them to bedevil and frighten you.”
Natala took Sami’s arm. “Waterborne Shadows. They’re refracting—bending your mind. Water amplifies thought. It’s a way to use information from you, against you.”
“The stiller you can settle in your mind, the better,” Dorsom urged. “Make your mind as quieted as possible.”
“But how? The ocean is, like, my biggest fear—I really am scared!” Sami wailed, and, almost as if they were listening, the unseeable Shadow swimmers surged back with hundreds more thoughts:
How can you…?
Why would you…?
You mustn’t…
“It’s all right to be afraid.” Dorsom’s eyes gleamed. He stood directly in front of her, the sun washing across their faces. “Now, let your mind hold its breath, Sami.”
She opened her mouth, about to tell him what a terrible idea that was, when he held up his hand. “Please, just allow. Let your mind hold its breath,” he repeated. “Only try it.”
Sami stared at him, then nodded slowly. “I’ll try.” Like so many things in Silverworld, it made no sense to her, but she just told herself, Hold your breath. For a moment, she tried actually holding her breath, then gently released it. She blinked slowly. And it seemed as if she began to slow down, and the world around her als
o slowed. The wind seemed lazier and the water softer.
The strait seemed to turn into the clear warm water of Coconut Shores and, in turn, she felt her heart expanding. She heard seagulls cry out from high overhead, her mother and brother calling to her to come swim.
Sami realized then the water-thoughts had hesitated as well. She tried telling herself: Go still. She didn’t think about anything except the word still, still, still, her eyes following the path of a bird flying big soft circles in the distance. The image of a single spinning dervish came back to her, conjured straight from one of Teta’s stories, white robes fanning out, head tipped back toward heaven, face filled with peace.
“Good,” Dorsom murmured. “Perfect, actually.”
“I think,” Natala said quietly, “we haven’t time to waste. The way is clear for now. Let’s make our crossing.”
Dorsom held Sami’s gaze. “This you can do. Keep your mind soft. We needs must walk the water to get to the Bare Isles. But the greatest importance is to keep your thoughts quiet. Soft-minded.”
Sami nodded, not wanting to speak and break her own spell. He lifted his chin, then took one of her hands, and Natala held the other, and together, they entered the deeper water.
In her mind, the image of the dervish kept spinning: she watched as if it were turning in the sky within the path of the distant circling bird. And trying with all her might, Sami didn’t let herself remember that she was terrified of the water.
Chills prickled Sami’s spine as she walked deeper. The water felt cooler and somehow lighter than in the Actual World. For Teta, she told herself. She held tightly to Dorsom and Natala, until she was up to her waist. Slowly, she let her eyelids lift. Just beyond the Flickers, a great pair of bronze kneecaps rose out of the ocean and soared into thighs, with the dark bell of the statue’s skirt forty-five feet over their heads. Now Sami could make out purple barnacles and seaweed on the metallic surface, covering its cold features—its chiseled brow, curling lips, and hard, blank eyes. It looked cruel and beautiful. “Is—is—that her?” she asked. “What the Nixie looks like?”
Dorsom shaded his eyes and looked up. “No knowing. No Flicker’s ever seen the actual her.”
Natala looked up as well. “There’s no telling her native form. Shadows are remarkable shape-shifters.”
Sami thought of Lamida in her Shadow form, yet covered in so much jewelry and so many scarves, as if to define her form for the Flickers. She remembered the depthless Shadow full of stars she’d seen bowing before the Rotifer—lovely yet somehow amorphous—like the cosmos itself, capable of becoming anything at any time.
The ocean water swelled and surged around them, knocking them back and forth. Stumbling, Sami couldn’t help stealing glances at the statue’s cold facade, its swirling hair and outstretched fingers. Suddenly, she thought she saw the thing’s mouth curve into a smile and a voice like a lullaby rang through her head: Come to me!
Sami cried out, frozen in fear. The two Flickers swiveled toward her as she realized the ocean water had turned gray. It looked to her as if their lower halves had been sheared away by a gray mirror. In an instant, all the whispering questions were back, battering at her mind. “No, no.” She released their hands in terror, lurching backward, staggering in the water.
“Don’t let them in!” Natala cried.
It was too late. Sami twisted, looking for the beach, but it wasn’t there. No matter which way she looked, all she saw was inky water.
“It’s an illusion,” Dorsom said, coming toward her. “Don’t believe it.”
Voices hissed through her mind. Now they were asking: How can you stand this? What are you doing? Why are you here? She felt things brushing against her legs—it felt like hands, fingers feathering, curling against her, and she shrieked, flailing and trying to pull away.
“Attend me, Sami!” Dorsom commanded. He grabbed her arms and moved directly in front of her. “You can do this. You must. We’re halfway there. Keep your eyes to mine. Don’t look away. Don’t look at or listen to anything but me. Do you understand?”
She was gasping and trembling from the invisible hands, but Dorsom laced his fingers with hers and she managed to nod.
“Come, then! Step upon step. Steady yourself. Breathe. You are fine. Most excellent.”
She nodded again and dared a step, though it was like walking into a thicket of sweeping touches. Again Sami gasped, but she didn’t look away from Dorsom. She lifted her hands and took hold of his elbows as he held her upper arms. It was a tense dance, moving in a slow line, wobbling through the waves. Gradually, her awareness of the world around her began to diminish. She barely registered when they passed under the cold shadow of the statue’s legs. The water crept up to her waist, then her shoulders, but she kept her focus locked on Dorsom.
Staring into his eyes was like looking into one of those images of mirrors inside mirrors. Sami had a vague sense of falling forward and of being drawn forward. He kept murmuring to her and to Sami it felt as if her anxiety were gradually being pulled from her chest—a long rope attached to the string of his voice. For Teta, she reminded herself again. This is for her. She imagined her brave twelve-year-old grandmother standing up to the desert raiders, bringing them to a halt with a single spell.
Another memory came to her at that moment, of being the smallest child, sitting at the table with her mother, brother, father, grandmother. The world complete at their round table. She knew, though, there was a sadness in her mother. None of the others seemed to notice—at least not her father or brother—Alia was very good at hiding it even from herself. But Sami noticed—every time she complained about the cold climate of New York State, America’s lack of sophistication, the fact that no one read, that families split apart, that people spoke only one language. Once, after cracking some eggs for breakfast, Alia shook her head and murmured, “The yolks here are so pale.”
Sami knew—her mother compared it all, unfavorably, eternally, to Lebanon.
Yet she rarely spoke of her home country. It was like the most beautiful secret that belonged only to her. Like, if she talked about it too much, it might dissolve and blow away.
Sami used to wish it would.
Now, though, standing waist-deep, facing her greatest fear, Sami realized her mother had also gone on a journey she hadn’t planned on—a rather scary and unexpected adventure. She loved her young husband, but she missed her home country so much, and the fighting in Beirut made it seem impossible to return. And now Sami too had, perhaps, a taste of what that might have been like. It was terrible. Shocking. And yet, as she walked through the mysterious waters under the statue, she thought of something Teta had liked to tell her: Don’t let your fears run your life. Don’t let them make it smaller.
Gradually, the hissing voices started to subside. Sami felt the water grow warmer and calmer as they approached a new shore. She let herself dare break eye contact with Dorsom and glanced back at the statue. Its perfect silhouette, carved right out of the sky, seemed to be holding its breath.
The only way out, she reminded herself, is through.
“…more carrion birds,” Natala was saying.
Sami opened one eye, then the other. She was lying curled on her side on the tangerine sand. They were in some sort of bower protected by rich blue palms, the fronds big, lobe-shaped, and flattened. Sunlight spilled through the wide fans and turned everything turquoise. After they’d made it across the Bare Straits, she’d lain down for a few moments once they’d come to this quiet little spot and fallen into a half sleep. Thoughts and sensations coursed through her body, a jumble of relief, emotional exhaustion, and curiosity over whatever was to come. The air was thick and damp, and she felt a pang of hunger. “What were you saying?” She pushed herself up. “Some kind of birds?”
“I didn’t realize you were listening.” Natala looked abashed. Sami could hear some sort of bird cry
now: a hard, prehistoric-sounding echo that rose in waves over the horizon. Darkness appeared to rise as well, like bands of heat over the distant water. Everything was getting darker.
Dorsom nodded. He was sitting with his elbows resting on his bent knees. “Shadow eaters, those birds. They clean up bits of—debris—the Shadow creatures leave behind.”
“Bits of debris?”
He pointed toward the sky, where there was a lot of bird activity. Sami watched the bending, rippling flight, but when she looked more closely, it seemed she was seeing single wings only—perhaps a bit of tail feather—rising and falling through the air, without need of heads or bodies.
“How do they do that? Are those real birds?”
Natala wrapped her forearms around her knees and folded her tattooed hands. It was much hotter on the island and she’d discarded her veil. “Carrion birds sweep up the leavings. Part of the biological systems.”
At first there were dozens of the winged things, then there were hundreds, flapping and spiraling through the sky, descending with screams. Sami watched as the weird part-birds swept downward along the palm trees. They skimmed just above the ground, whisking up all sorts of odds and ends—rocks and knobs and roots. Then she seemed to catch the tiny shriek of some small creature snatched in the collecting wings.
Sami leapt to her feet. “They’re killing little animals! We have to stop them—they’re horrible.”
Natala grabbed Sami’s arm. “We mustn’t interfere. They’re part of the ecosystem of the Bare Isles. This is how Shadows clear their environment.”
Before Sami could respond she heard a snickering hiss: the flying wings shivered and a whinnying motion filled the air near Sami. The movement appeared to concentrate, lengthen into a slot, then a crossbar, then unrolled into a woman with cascading bubbles of silver-blue hair, amber-brown skin, and glowing gray eyes.
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