“The men will take the horses,” the captain said, “and make camp farther down the shore, so we’re not so exposed to the trail. We”—he locked eyes with the magus—“are going to take another look at that map.”
David’s first step down from his horse sent a punishing wave of pain up through his body. He walked out of the water and huddled on the grassy verge above the beach.
The magus sat down next to David and unrolled the map. The symbol of the Sunstone hung over a confusing welter of lines.
“As you can see,” the magus began, “the trail is easy to follow. There’s Osham’s Bridge, and we followed this line, which brought us here.” He poked his finger at the spot where the trail intersected with the shores of the lake. Written in the space above it, in now familiar script, was the word Abislot.
“So we know we’re at the right place,” David said quietly. He was having trouble focusing on the map.
“We know we’re at the right lake,” the captain said bitterly. He was standing next to David, looking out at the water. “But as you can see—” He swept his arm to encompass its length. “That doesn’t really help us.”
“So there’s nothing here?” David said. “No clues, no markings, nothing to tell us where we’re supposed to look?”
The captain shook his head. “Not unless you can see something that I can’t.”
David picked up the map.
“Be careful,” the magus cautioned. “The vellum is very thin. It’s a wonder it has survived as long as it has.”
David held it gingerly as he settled it onto his lap. “This is what you were talking about,” he said, pointing at the busy confluence of lines in the middle of the lake on the vellum, lines that seemed to have no relationship to the rest of the map.
The magus nodded. “I don’t know what they indicate, or what they might represent,” he said. “The other maps were so clear, so direct. This—” He traced his finger along a line that ran above the outline of the lake, curving toward the Sunstone symbol, then falling away. “There’s no river of that size to the west of Lake Abislot. Not one that I’ve ever heard of, at any rate.”
“So right now,” David said, looking up from the map to the lake and the mountains, “we’re looking west?”
The magus nodded. “Due west.”
He looked down at the map again, back at the line curving under the Sunstone. “And there’s no river here,” he said, pointing at the line.
“Not that …”
David nodded, but he wasn’t really listening. Instead, he was feeling the thinness of the vellum between his thumb and forefinger, remembering the moment when the captain had first unrolled the scroll the night before, the way the firelight had shone through it.
He looked up at the lake again, the stretch of beach, the icy-looking blue water, the island and the mountains behind.
“I think I’ve got it,” he said.
II
WHEN I WOKE THE NEXT MORNING, the sunlight was spilling white through the sheers on the windows and the whole hotel room seemed to glow. A small seizure had woken us up in the middle of the night, but David seemed fine now. Or what passed for fine.
“Good morning,” I said, my voice still thick from sleep. “Did you have a good sleep?”
I would have given anything for him to answer me. Instead, I snuggled myself into his silence, sliding one arm under his pillow and head, the other over him, pulling myself close. I rested there for a long time, drifting in and out of sleep, warm in the smell and heat of him.
It took me quite a while to get us both ready to go, to get him down to the garage and buckled into the van. I almost forgot my notebook, tucking it into my pocket with my cell phone as an afterthought.
David hadn’t risen from his spot on the grass all afternoon, shivering as the hot sun passed high overhead. The captain and the magus checked on him regularly while the guardsmen set up camp.
As the sun started to sink over the western shore of the lake, they both joined David where he waited. They sat close on either side of him, trying to share his perspective on the vista before them.
“I hope you’re right about this,” the captain grunted.
I hope so too, Matt muttered, his first words all afternoon.
David didn’t say anything, just held the map loosely in his lap.
After another few minutes, the magus asked, “What are you expecting to see?”
“Do you see those rocks?” He pointed to a rounded outcropping of rock just off the shore to their left. “What you were saying about water, and about time,” he said to the magus. “A thousand years ago, those rocks were probably a different shape, right?”
“Yes,” the magus said uncertainly.
“But they still would have been there. And this shoreline, it’s probably changed some over that time, but it’s still mostly the same. So that island”—he pointed across the water—“that’s been there, pretty much unchanged, for the past thousand years too, right?”
“Dafyd, what’s this about?” the captain asked impatiently.
“This map,” he said, lifting the vellum off his lap. “It works.”
“But those markings don’t resemble anything I can see,” the captain said. “There’s no territory I know near here that matches that map.”
Glancing at the sky, David nodded. “That depends how you look at it.” He lifted the map in front of them, pulling it wide, up to the landscape, blocking their view of the lake. “Here,” he said to the captain, shifting the map his way slightly. “Hold this.”
The captain took one end of the vellum, pulling it a little.
They could clearly see the fiery orb of the setting sun through the vellum. It penetrated the symbol of the Sunstone, the printed sun shining now with the force of the real sun behind it, glowing like a ruby.
“Almost,” David said, glancing to his left. In the waning light of the sunset, he could just make out the shape of the half-submerged rocks through the vellum.
“Here.” He reached out and moved the captain’s hand. “A little lower. A little farther your way.”
“Take care, Dafyd,” the magus said.
“That’s it,” he said, as the rocks at the lake’s edge fit, almost perfectly, into a jagged outline on the lower left side of the map.
“Now my end,” he said, shifting his end of the map a little lower. He felt a surge of triumph.
“There. Do you see it?”
It took them a moment, but then the magus gasped and the captain said, “By the Gods …”
David’s heart thrummed.
“Look,” David said. “The rocks are here.” He pointed to the jagged scrawl, and through the vellum at the rocks they outlined. “Which means this is the shoreline.” He traced a long, wavy line that ran the width of the map, one that roughly matched the line of the water’s edge that they could see in the sunset light through the vellum.
It’s a transparency! Matt said, delighted. Like for an overhead projector.
“Now look.” He drew their attention to where the sun was perfectly centred on the Sunstone. “Everything has to line up for the map to work. You see? The rocks are here, to make sure the map is in the right position. You match the shoreline and the sun to make sure that everything is centred.”
“Which means this”—the magus pointed to the curving line, which everyone had assumed was an unknown river—“is the island.”
They could see the vague shape of the island through the vellum, its darkness outlined by the sunset behind it.
“Right,” David said. “Which means this is where we need to go.” He pointed at the spot where, in their original view of the map, the trail intersected with the lake’s shore, the two lines forming an X. That spot, on the new map clearly marked a location on the lower half of the island, at the bottom of the hill, close to the shoreline.
He couldn’t help smiling, especially when the magus broke into a grin himself. “That’s it, Dafyd! You did it!”
The captain, however, was silent. David watched him for some reaction as he traced the lines on the map with his eyes, finally staring at the X on the island’s shore.
Then he nodded, and stood.
David waited for the captain’s praise, some acknowledgement that he had been right.
The captain said only, “We’re going to need a boat.”
After breakfast at Denny’s, I drove us to the Barnes and Noble near the hotel. We spent most of our time in the Children’s Section, where I read David the backs and jackets of anything that looked interesting.
“We should pick out your next book,” I told him. “We’re just about done what we’re reading now.”
Hoping that there would be a “next book.”
We spent a little time in the local interest section, and I ended up taking a still-wrapped road atlas of the Pacific Northwest off the shelf and tucking it under my arm.
“We should get going,” I said, glancing at my watch. “It might take us a while to find this place.”
Our slow trajectory toward the cash desks took us past the Fantasy–Science Fiction section.
“Hey,” I said, suddenly inspired. “Let’s go this way.”
As we walked down the row of shelves, I followed the alphabet with my eyes.
I picked a thick hardcover off one of the lower shelves, surprised by how heavy it was.
“How about this?” I asked David, holding the book up toward him. “The Lord of the Rings?” He didn’t react. “I think you’re probably ready for it now.”
The captain had sent his two fastest riders back to Osham’s Bridge, with uncomplicated orders: “Procure a boat. The King’s name has little currency in these parts, so buy, beg, borrow or steal, but don’t come back without one.”
The men had set off at full gallop into the dark. They returned at midday, two days later, at a more restrained pace, one of them towing a cart which carried a small rowboat.
“That looks almost watertight,” the captain said. His words were scornful, but it was clear from his tone that he was pleased: the men must have ridden hard to be back so soon.
He beckoned others over to untie the boat and take it down to the water’s edge.
I don’t like the look of this, Matt said, as they dropped the boat into the water.
It isn’t sinking, David thought, watching the boat. It seems to be floating all right.
No, Matt said. Look how big it is
Matt was right—it was tiny.
Barely big enough for two.
The men spent several minutes checking the boat—tapping the hull with oars, climbing in and pushing off from shore, paddling a short distance down the lake. Even with only one person in it, the boat sat low in the water, but when the guardsmen pulled it back up to the beach the boards were mostly dry.
With a curt nod, the captain pronounced her seaworthy.
“All right,” he said, taking the oars from the guardsman and looking at David. “Are you ready?”
“Now?”
“Assuming you’d prefer to make it back before nightfall.”
David stepped warily toward the boat. One of the guardsmen eased it back into shallow water, holding it steady while David climbed in and struggled to balance as he stepped toward the small bench at the bow.
When he had settled, and pulled the blanket tight around his shoulders, he saw the magus approaching the beach. He had almost reached the boat when the captain stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “The boat will only carry two.”
The magus glanced at David. “I need to be there,” he protested. “What if—?”
“If the boat sinks?” the captain said. “I’m sure Dafyd will be able to manage. He’s done fine on his own so far.”
David winced at the words, and the magus backed away. He clearly had no hope of changing the captain’s mind.
“We’ll be back soon,” the captain said, stepping into the water. “And if we encounter a problem that’s truly insurmountable, I’ll row back and bring you over.”
It took us a couple of wrong turns, a couple of stops to consult the road atlas, but I eventually got us into Carol Corvin’s neighbourhood. It was a nest of winding streets and tree-lined cul-de-sacs built on the side of a hill. The houses got bigger as we followed the street upward, the hedges taller, the cars nicer in the driveways.
“This,” I said to David, “would be how the other half lives.”
We were pretty close to the top when I turned into the Corvins’ crescent. As best I could tell, the address she had given me belonged to the biggest house on the block, near the end of the street. The house was concealed by a tall hedge trimmed into sharp right angles.
I checked the address a final time and tucked my notebook into my pocket. David had escaped breakfast largely unscathed, save for a dark drop of syrup that I figured no one would notice on the front of his shirt.
“We want you looking your best,” I said, wetting a tissue with my tongue and rubbing at the corners of his mouth.
I hadn’t told Carol that I was bringing David with me, but I needn’t have worried. As she opened the front door and I began to introduce myself, she looked past me and stepped toward David.
“And who do we have here?” She crouched slightly to bring herself down to David’s level. “My name is Carol,” she said, reaching out and taking his right hand. “What’s your name?”
“He doesn’t talk,” I said sheepishly. “His name is David. He’s my son.”
“Well, I’m pleased to meet you, David.” She released his hand and it fell slowly back to his side as she turned to me. “And you must be Christopher Knox.”
“I am,” I said, shaking her hand. “I’m sorry …” I glanced at David. “I wasn’t planning to bring my son, but something came up.”
“That’s all right,” she said warmly, looking at David again. “Would you like to come in?”
The house was a reflection of her: there was money there, and an unmistakable style, but it was restrained, intimate. Human-scale. It put me at ease, despite everything.
She led us through the foyer and into a room with a couple of couches and a big-screen TV.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” she said. “I’m not surprised you brought your son, Mr. Knox.”
“Chris,” I said. She wasn’t sitting yet, so I remained standing. “Why?”
She waved to me to sit down. “I’ve found that some journalists become aware of the foundation and its work for personal reasons.” She looked at David again. “It doesn’t usually come up right away—” She smiled. “But eventually it comes out that they have a son or a daughter or a niece or a nephew or a family friend. If you don’t mind my asking, what happened to David?”
I was surprised by her directness, but Carol had spent several decades confronting the hard reality.
“The doctors aren’t sure, actually.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Was there an accident?”
“No, it was …” I struggled for the word. “Spontaneous.”
She smiled, focused on David. “All right,” she said. And then, as if remembering, “Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?”
“Oh no, that’s not—”
“I’m going to get myself a glass of lemonade. It’s just as easy to carry three as it is to carry one.”
I smiled. “Lemonade would be very nice. Thank you.”
As she left the room, I put my hand on David’s leg, sighing heavily in relief. “I think she likes you, sport,” I said, squeezing gently.
I don’t know what I was hoping to get out of my conversation with Carol Corvin. Mostly, I think I was there to be in contact with someone whose life had been changed by the book, whether she was aware of it or not.
A minute later she swept back into the room with a tray of drinks. “I took the liberty,” she said, setting a tall sippy cup on the table in front of David.
“Thank you,” I said.
“It’s part of the routine.”
> “You have a lovely home,” I said.
She looked around as if she hadn’t noticed until I had brought it to her attention. “The unanticipated trajectory of random numbers, Brent likes to call it.”
“I’m sorry?”
She laughed at my confusion. “Brent, my husband, is a mathematician. When we bought this place, one of his first comments was that there would have been no way to anticipate us living like this, no matter what variables you put into the equation. Math geek humility, I think.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I still don’t really get it.”
“I would be concerned if you had.”
I smiled.
“The whole time Brent was in school we had a pretty clear track in mind: he’d get his doctorate, then get a job at a university and teach, and then we’d retire.” She shrugged and sat down. “The only variables were where he would teach, where we would live, that sort of thing.” She took a sip of her lemonade. “And then, when he was in the process of applying for teaching jobs, he took a position with a company that was just starting up. He said he figured he’d try it for a few years, and who was I to say no? He’d worked so hard, he deserved a chance to do what he wanted for a while.”
I nodded.
“Of course,” she said smiling, “that company was Microsoft, so he never did take any teaching jobs. More than thirty years now.”
I tried to figure out the dates. “Thirty years? He must have been there almost from the beginning.”
“Almost,” she said. “He wasn’t one of the very first, but pretty close. Close enough for all of this.” She gestured at our surroundings. “Close enough for the foundation.”
“Brent’s making more than we ever thought he’d make. Beyond our wildest dreams, as a matter of fact. So I started the foundation as a way of making some of that money do some good. We’ve been funding summer camps and special shuttles so people with neurological conditions can get to medical appointments. We’ve got treatment bursaries established, so that people can travel to specialists if necessary. We’ve been helping fund some significant research. Oh—” She stopped suddenly. “That reminds me,” she said, looking at her watch and standing up. “Matthew is probably up from his nap. Would you mind if he joined us?”
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