Twist of the Blade

by Edward Willett

  As the taxi pulled away from the hospital, Wally glanced at Ariane. She had her head turned away from him, staring out the window. Her long black hair, tumbling loose around her shoulders, shone like ebony in the morning sun. As he watched, she reached up her right hand and absentmindedly brushed the hair back from her ear, exposing the graceful line of her neck. A faint herbal scent came from her, shampoo or soap, and Wally suddenly wanted, more than anything, to protect her, to make sure she didn’t get hurt. Very aware of the listening ears of the driver, though, all he said was, “We’ll find a way. Don’t worry.”

  And Rex Major, he thought, can go hang.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  UP, UP AND AWAY

  The cab turned into Harrington Mews, the cul-de-sac just off the Albert Street Bridge where Wally lived. “Wait,” Wally told the driver when they stopped. “I’ll get some money from the house.”

  “No need,” said the driver. “All paid.”

  Surprised, Wally joined Ariane on the sidewalk. “I guess Mrs. Carson took care of it with the hospital,” he told her as the cab drove away. “I’m beginning to think I misjudged her.” He snorted. “Of course, she’ll probably make sure Flish goes home in a stretch limo.”

  Ariane hugged herself. “Can we talk inside?” she said. “I’m freezing.”

  “Sorry.” Wally led her up the winding walk to the front door. Ariane had been there before, of course, but in the wake of their conversation about money he suddenly felt self-conscious about the size of his house: the largest on the cul-de-sac. Taking up two full lots that backed up against the Wascana Creek dike, it was practically a mansion compared to Aunt Phyllis’s. He fished his key out of his jeans pocket, unlocked the door and showed her in.

  “I’m starving,” he said. He led the way into the kitchen and pulled open the big stainless steel door of the refrigerator. “Ah,” he said, spotting a plate covered with aluminum foil. “Just the thing.” He took it out, peeled back the foil, and held it out to Ariane. “Want some?”

  Ariane took one whiff of the pungent odor rolling off the plate and stepped back with an almost comical look of disgust. “What is that? It smells like old gym socks!”

  “What?” Wally looked down at the slab of blue-veined cheese he’d uncovered. “It’s just cheese. Really good stuff. Cave-ripened in France!”

  “Urgh. No, thank you.”

  Wally shook his head. “No accounting for taste.” He picked up a big piece of the cheese and popped it in his mouth, then put the plate on the counter and turned back to the refrigerator, pulling out bread, dill pickles, onions and summer sausage and two cans of Diet Coke. “Do you want a sandwich at least? I can leave off the cheese.”

  “No, I’m fine,” Ariane said. “Thanks anyway.”

  “No problem.” Wally set to work on his own sandwich. “So. France. How do we get there?”

  “I don’t know,” Ariane said. She took one of the cans of Diet Coke and popped it open. “I’ve been trying to figure it out. I can’t use salt water, and even if I could, I don’t think my strength would last all the way across the Atlantic.”

  Wally took a big bite of his sandwich and chewed while he thought. He swallowed. “What about the Arctic ice cap? Ice is fresh water.”

  Ariane shook her head. “Wally, you’ve travelled with me, you know how it works. I travel through liquid water. Not solid. It would be like trying to walk through a brick wall.”

  “Hmmm.” Wally opened his own can of pop and took a gulp. The can was cold and wet with condensation... condensation...

  “Eureka!” he shouted, then hesitated. “Well, maybe.”

  Ariane stared at him. “What?”

  “Look.” Wally put the can down and ran his finger over the wet side. “Condensation. You can purify water by evaporating it then condensing it. So...” He raised his eyes and looked out through the kitchen window. Though the day had started sunny, clouds were beginning to drift in from the west, big, fluffy grey clouds that made Wally wonder if snow was on the way.

  “So?” Ariane prompted.

  “So clouds are made of fresh water.” He hesitated again, wondering if he was about to sound as if he’d gone crazy. “Have you tried...could you...travel through the clouds?”

  ~~~

  Ariane stared at Wally, then grinned. “I never thought about it.” She felt a surge of excitement. “I don’t know. I...wait a second.”

  She closed her eyes. A good night’s sleep had done wonders. She could once again draw on her own power without reaching for the frightening energy of the shard. All the water nearby sang to her, shrill and metallic in the pipes of the house, deep and slow in sluggish Wascana Creek to the south, loud but placid in Wascana Lake, east of the Albert Street Bridge. But she had never thought of listening for the song of the clouds. She did so now, focusing her magical awareness on the sky...and there it was. Faint, hard to distinguish from the much stronger songs of the lake and creek, but unmistakable, like the ting! of a triangle cutting through the blare of a brass band...or the smell of Wally’s blue cheese curling through a room full of roses.

  She could hear it, but could she use it? With her magic she tugged at the airborne water.

  Wally gasped. “Wow,” he said. She opened her eyes and followed his gaze out the window. Huge flakes of snow drifted lazily by as though someone had ripped open a feather pillow above the house.

  She blinked. I did that? “Wow,” she agreed.

  “If this whole saving-the-world thing doesn’t work out, you can always make a living as a rainmaker,” Wally said. The flurry was already petering out. “I’m sure that will come in useful sometime.” He turned back from the window. “Okay, so you can pull water down from the sky. But can you pull yourself up into the clouds? And then travel through them the same way you do through streams?” He laughed. “It sounds crazy, but I guess I’m asking you if you can fly, Supergirl.”

  “Please don’t start calling me Supergirl.” She chewed on her lip thinking about Wally’s question. “I don’t know. What if I got myself up there, but then couldn’t hold it? If I rematerialized thousands of feet in the air...”

  Wally winced. “Ouch.” He shook his head. “Maybe not such a great idea.”

  “Maybe not,” Ariane said, but inside she was thinking, It may be the only way....

  She had to test it...but she didn’t want Wally with her when she did. He’d want her to take him with her, and she wasn’t sure she could do it by herself, much less with the dead weight of Wally trying to pull her back to Earth. It had been hard enough work pulling him through flowing water. No, she thought. It’s too dangerous. Once I’ve tried it myself, felt what it’s like, then I’ll know if I can take him with me. She looked uneasily at Wally, who was gulping Diet Coke, his Adam’s apple bobbing. And what if I can’t?

  She wouldn’t even have thought of trying the clouds if he hadn’t mentioned the possibility. The thought of going after the second shard alone terrified her. What else might she not think of? I need his brains, she thought, then had to laugh silently at herself: she sounded like a zombie.

  All the same, if the only way to get to France proved to be through the clouds, and she couldn’t take Wally with her...then she might not have any choice. She hated the thought of having to tell him she was leaving him behind almost as much as she hated the thought of setting off without him. He’d understand – of course he would – but he’d be horribly disappointed.

  I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. First, I’ve got to find out if this crazy idea of his will work.

  Wally gobbled down the rest of his sandwich, slugged down more Coke and then wiped his face with the back of his hand. “That’s better! Hospital food...” He gave an exaggerated shudder.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come last night,” Ariane said. “I could have brought you pizza.”

  Wally sighed. “You could have brought me your aunt’s chocolate-chip cookies. That’s what I was really craving.”

  Ariane laughed
. “I don’t blame you. Who else dropped by?”

  “Just the doctor, the nurses...and Mrs. Carson. Although she really came to see Flish. I was just an afterthought.” His voice was casual, but Ariane knew Wally well enough by now to know how much that hurt.

  “Did your parents call?”

  Wally busied himself with the dishwasher. “No,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” Ariane said, wishing she hadn’t asked.

  “Me too.” Wally closed the dishwasher and turned back to her. “Look,” he said, “if the cloud idea is out, I don’t see how we’re going to get to Europe without buying plane tickets. Are you sure Aunt Phyllis can’t help?”

  Ariane shook her head. “We really don’t have much money, Wally. Aunt Phyllis is on a fixed income and she already draws on her savings just to make ends meet.” She glanced at the clock on the microwave oven. “And speaking of Aunt Phyllis, I’ve got to get home. She didn’t expect me to be gone this long. She asked me to invite you to dinner tonight. We can figure things out then.”

  Wally brightened. “Chocolate-chip cookies?” he said.

  Ariane laughed. “There are some in the freezer.”

  “I’m in!” Wally said, then winced and touched the gauze pad covering his stitches.

  “Are you sure you’re up to it?” Ariane said.

  Wally waved the question away. “I’ll take painkillers just before dinner,” he said. “I’ll be feeling great! As long as you’re not planning to serve me alcohol or ask me to operate heavy machinery.”

  Ariane laughed again. “I think I can promise you neither of those will be on the menu.”

  A few minutes later she was on her way home, passing through the graffiti-scrawled tunnel beneath the Albert Street Bridge to the bike path that circled Wascana Lake. She walked along the lake’s north shore, empty except for a few joggers and some laggardly Canada geese that hadn’t yet gotten around to flying south. She should have turned north at the playground to get to College Avenue, the most direct route home, but instead she kept going until she reached the parking lot from which she had first seen the staircase descending into the lake. She climbed onto one of the giant stones that separated the parking lot from the lake and stared at the slate-grey water between her and Willow Island. The lake’s surface rippled where the Lady had appeared, but that was only because of the light but steady breeze sweeping across the lake beneath the overcast sky. Ice crusted the shore at her feet. There’s so much you didn’t tell me, Ariane said silently to the absent Lady. This shard is in France. The next could be in the Himalayas or on Easter Island. How am I supposed to get to them? How am I supposed to finish this quest?

  There was no answer, of course. The last vestiges of the Lady’s presence had been driven out of the world by Rex Major. Ariane was on her own.

  Not quite, she thought. Not quite. I’ve got Wally. And Aunt Phyllis.

  But for how long? Major had already threatened Wally to get to the shards. He hadn’t done anything since they’d retrieved the first shard...but that was no guarantee he wouldn’t try again in the future.

  I may not always have Aunt Phyllis’s or Wally’s help, Ariane thought. I have to be prepared to finish this quest on my own.

  The thought, though cold and sharp as shattered ice, brought with it a kind of clarity.

  I have to try the clouds. Ariane looked up at the grey curtain hanging over the city. It may be the only way to get to France. She glanced around. Nobody was in sight. And where better to test her power again than here, where it had first come to her?

  She closed her eyes and listened for the cloud-song.

  At first, just as before, she couldn’t find it – the fortissimo chorus of the lake at her feet overwhelmed the pianissimo music of those tiny drops of water suspended far above. It was like trying to hear the sound made by a single drop of water falling into a still pool above the roar of a waterfall.

  But in the same way that the musical plink of a falling drop was so different from the deep thunder of the falls, she found that if she concentrated hard enough, she could distinguish the song of the clouds from the song of the lake, even when she stood on the lake’s frozen shore.

  Of course she wasn’t really hearing songs at all: her awareness of the water came through a sixth sense, one she didn’t have a word for. But her brain interpreted it as sound, and she found that the more she concentrated on the faint, lilting soprano of the clouds, the less overwhelming the basso profondo growl of the lake became. The cloud-song high above called to her, urged her to join it...so she did.

  She would have gasped with surprise, if she still had lungs. Her body vanished, yet she still sensed it: rushing up and out from where she had stood, growing broad as a house, tall as a skyscraper, yet insubstantial as...well, as a cloud. The ground fell away, the lake shrinking until it seemed no more than a pond surrounded by toy buildings. The air embraced her as she rose, holding her aloft in firm but incorporeal arms.

  The sensation was completely different from when she dissolved into water. She never felt herself change size in water, even though her body and everything she wore or carried weren’t really there at all (she’d given up trying to figure out where they really were; in fact, she preferred not to think about it), even when she knew she was passing through pipes far too small to accommodate her. Now, though, she felt like a disembodied spirit floating high above the earth.

  The sensation both exhilarated and terrified her. Every time she joined water she felt it calling to her, urging her to let her consciousness dissolve into it as her body did, to become one with it. Here in the clouds that deadly nihilistic urge was greater than ever. It took enormous effort to maintain her sense of self, to keep her mind intact. It would be so much easier to just join the cloud, to enter the endless cycle of evaporation and condensation...to leave behind the grief of her mother’s disappearance, the challenges of school, the hopeless quest for the shards of Excalibur...

  Let them go, the clouds seemed to say. Turn your memories to mist, your fear to fog...let longings evaporate, sorrow dissolve, thoughts whisper into nothingness... nothingness...

  Pain stabbed her: a hard, sharp pain. How can a cloud feel pain? she thought. With that question, her sense of self solidified, and she felt a stab of terror as well as pain as she realized what had almost happened...and what had saved her. The shard wasn’t about to let itself dissolve into the clouds. It clung stubbornly to its existence, even though for the moment it was no more solid than she was, and she in turn now clung to it, coalescing her thoughts around it like an oyster forming a pearl around a grain of sand, layer by layer, until she could think clearly again.

  The magic the Lady had bequeathed to her was many things, but “safe” was not one of them.

  The cloud she had joined had drifted with her thoughts. She looked down at big-box stores like scattered building blocks and trucks, tiny as toys, on the Trans-Canada Highway on the eastern edge of town, then out at the vast, flat prairie beyond.

  So. She could join the clouds. But drifting as slowly as a cloud would not get her to France. How fast could she travel? She and Wally had flashed along the waterways to the Northwest Territories in a matter of minutes, not hours.

  Well, there was only one way to find out. She mentally held fast to the shard, looked east, and...pushed.

  A flashing sense of movement, of fog and rain rushing past, a tumbling chaos of updrafts and downdrafts and...she pulled herself to a halt, and took stock.

  Below her spread another city, far larger than Regina, a river winding through it. Atop a domed building like the Legislative Building on Wascana Lake, though smaller, she saw the golden statue of a nude boy.

  Winnipeg, she thought in wonder. Hundreds of kilometres in a few seconds.

  But could she return? She looked west, pictured Wascana Lake in her mind and once again...pushed.

  It was harder moving in this direction, against the prevailing winds; but within moments she sensed the lake beneath her, pulled
herself to a halt, and gazed once again at Regina...or what she could see of it: thick snow was now falling from all around her down to the city. Did I do that? What else could I do using the clouds?

  But those were questions and experiments for another day. For the moment, only one thing mattered. I can get to France, she thought with excitement. I can get to the second shard!

  The thrill lasted only as long as it took her to realize something else: She had no idea how to get down.

  Think it through! She mentally tugged at her nebulous extremities, and felt them start to rush back toward her. She stopped that instantly. So she could materialize right where she was if she wanted to. But since she would then plunge to her death, she really didn’t want to.

  Reverse the leap from earth to cloud, she told herself. Do what you already know how to do: materialize in water deep enough to submerge you.

  She rushed downward. The lake swelled, black water filling her vision...

  With an explosion of spray she materialized right in front of two startled little girls feeding geese. The frightened birds lumbered away, honking as the water around them erupted.

  Ariane staggered to the bank. “Fell in,” she said brightly to the little girls, who watched open-mouthed as she squished off, dripping.

  Once she was out of sight behind some caragana bushes, she ordered the water off her body and clothes. The snow she had begun high above began to fall around her. She looked up at the clouds, awed all over again by the power of the Lady...and the power of Excalibur, whose fierce magic had saved her from her own folly.

  I can do it, she thought again. I can get to Europe. I can get anywhere in the world the shards are located, as fast as or faster than Merlin. I can beat him!

  She set off for home through the already failing flurry, excited to share her discovery with Wally.

  But hard on the heels of her excitement arrived another thought. Maybe you shouldn’t share this with Wally. Maybe you should just go. Grab the shard, bring it back. Don’t involve Wally. Don’t involve Aunt Phyllis. Keep them safe....