by Scott Mebus
“Don’t tell on me,” she whispered to Tucket, and leaned in to hear what her brother and Soka were saying.
“You’ve been a little . . . distant,” Rory was saying. “And I don’t understand why. I like you, you know? And I thought you kinda liked me, too. And you’re not feeling well, so I, uh, thought I could, I don’t know, be there for you or something . . .” Rory trailed off, kicking at the ground in embarrassment. Bridget wanted to clap. Her idiot brother was finally telling Soka how he really felt! This was awesome!
“I do . . . I do like you,” Soka replied. She stared miserably at her feet. “It is just . . . there was this boy in the park . . .” Bridget’s heart sank. No! Don’t mention him!
“What boy?” Rory asked, his eyes flashing.
“No, it wasn’t like that,” Soka reassured him. “His name was Finn and he was our guide. He . . . he died protecting me. I didn’t ask him to, but he did it anyway. And it hurts me to think about it. And if I get too close to you and something happened to you . . . I couldn’t bear it.”
“So what are you saying?” Rory asked, looking so sad Bridget wanted to burst out of the trees and give him a hug.
“Can we just be friends?” Soka asked, finally looking up at him. “That is all I can give you right now. I’m sorry.”
Bridget’s heart sank again. “Of course,” Rory said, too casually, trying to save face. He reached out and shook Soka’s unresisting hand. “Friends. You got it.” With that, he strode away, quickly, eyes blinking away the tears. Bridget wanted to kick Soka with her steel-tipped boots. Even she knew that you couldn’t protect yourself from love. Either you loved or you didn’t. And as Soka leaned against a tree, tears running down her face, Bridget knew that the Indian princess loved him. She thought about giving her comfort, but she didn’t think Soka would welcome it right now. Instead she headed back to camp, leaving Soka behind to grieve for her lost love.
In his dream, Rory was floating high above the city. The cloudy night sky shone with the reflected glow of the millions of glittering lights spread out beneath him. The city was a bonfire, the buildings ablaze in a fire that never flickered out. He had seen it many times before, but still the beauty took his breath away.
He suddenly realized that he wasn’t floating at all; his feet stood upon something solid, even though he could see right through to the streets far below. A memory tugged at him: he had been in this place before. Turning, he saw the huge mirrored spire of the Chrysler Building right behind him. He had been here before, with Hex and Bridget, only then it had been day. It felt like a lifetime ago. He gazed uptown, toward the park. Whereas before it had been covered in an impenetrable blue glow, now he could see through to the darkened trees and faint lamplights that lined the winding paths. A feeling of accomplishment washed over him. At least he had succeeded at something.
“Enjoying the view?” a dry voice said behind him. Rory spun to see the man with the black eyes sitting atop the spire. He looked like a dark angel watching over the city; it made Rory’s spine shiver.
“Why are you here?” Rory asked, taking a step back. “Did you bring me here?”
“Watch your step!” the man with the black eyes warned him. “It’s quite a drop.”
“This is a dream,” Rory shot back, though he stopped in his tracks. “I can’t get hurt in a dream.”
“So you know everything about dreams, do you?” The man with the black eyes looked amused. He leaned forward. “I’ve met people like you before, who knew everything about what can and can’t happen in dreams. They soon discovered how little they really understood. For many, it was the last lesson they learned.”
Rory remained still, refusing to let the man see him flinch. “Are you trying to frighten me? Is that how you get your kicks? You’re just a bully.”
“Aaron Burr took you up here, did he not?” The man with the black eyes gazed out at the glowing city. “He never knew where this little lookout sprang from. It never occurred to him that I created it. He would have been too frightened to step foot out here if he had known that. He should have guessed. This is my city. Most if its wonders stem from me. Avoiding my touch here is as futile as trying to swim without getting wet. I am everywhere, everything.”
“Then why are you bothering with me?” Rory asked.
“Even gods enjoy having their work appreciated,” the man said. He waved out at the city. “Is it not grand?”
“You didn’t create any of this,” Rory shot back. “It’s not yours. It’s ours. We created you! You answer to us!”
“Do I?” the man with the black eyes asked. “Then why are you afraid to move?”
“What do you want?” Rory replied, trying not to shake. The man’s deep, dark eyes were burning into him, making him want to step away, which he dared not do.
“See all the little lights!” The man with the black eyes pointed toward the East River. Rory could see hundreds of what appeared to be tiny torches moving toward the water. They were crossing a small bridge, which led to Queens, but instead of going the entire way, the torches were leaving the bridge halfway across, exiting onto a long, thin island that lay between the two boroughs. The man with the black eyes sounded almost gleeful. “Those are my people. My spirits. My gods. I have called and they have answered. They go to join me on Roosevelt Island, where I am readying my army. I’ve set up a war camp in the remains of the old smallpox hospital. Fitting, isn’t it? People believe that decrepit old place is haunted, and now it truly is! That cursed place will soon overflow with my faithful warriors. It is not long before my war will begin. Look at all of them. You can’t hope to stop such an army.”
“It’s very impressive,” Rory admitted. He didn’t know what else to say; the sight of all those torches turned his stomach. The man with the black eyes sprang to his feet, hopping down onto Rory’s invisible walkway. He looked almost angry.
“Why does she want to see you?” he demanded, striding toward Rory. Rory wanted to back away, but he was afraid to fall. The man stopped a few feet away. “The Fortune Teller never takes sides. That is not her function. Why would she call for you?”
“I don’t know,” Rory admitted.
“You will never find her,” the man with the black eyes spat. “My army is forming as we speak and soon my dream city will be a reality. You can’t stop that. You never could.”
“But you’re here, trying to scare me again,” Rory replied, working up his courage. “So I must be able to do something.”
“You’re nothing, you hear me!” The man covered the rest of the ground between them in a heartbeat, his eyes boring into Rory as his hot, rank breath threatened to suffocate him. Under the onslaught, Rory took an involuntary step back, and his foot passed through nothingness. Helpless, he stumbled backward and then he was falling, watching the man with the black eyes float away as he plummeted to his death on the busy streets below—
Rory, wake up!”
Rory slowly opened his eyes to the sight of Bridget’s paper face leaning over him. He knew he had dreamed again, and he knew it was important to remember the dream, but try as he might, it slipped through his fingers. Frustrated, he focused on his sister, who looked worried. He soon found out why.
“There’s someone in the bushes!” She was clutching her new sword, which had the words BUTTKICKER 2 written on the side in charcoal.
“Since when are you afraid of people in bushes?” Rory said, yawning.
“I’m not kidding! We need to make sure it’s not a spy or something!”
Sighing, Rory sat up. Glancing around, he could see that the Munsees were sleeping over by the cave, and the Rattle Watchers and Fritz were bunked down by the tree line. Rory knew he should wake someone up, but a suspicion had popped up in the back of his head. The bodies of his mother and Bridget lay on the other side of the shell pit. Bridget pointed past them into the trees.
“I saw it over there.”
Nodding, Rory slipped into the trees, deciding to stay in the forest as h
e moved around to the other side of the pit. Bridget followed close behind. As he came around to the other side, he peered into the darkness at the tree line. By the light of the shell pit, he could just make out a shadow crouched down at the base of an elm tree, gazing out at the bodies lying prone before the pit. Moving very carefully, Rory sneaked forward, Bridget right behind. He accidentally stepped on a twig, sending out a snap that sounded like a gunshot in his ears. The shape heard, looking over in their direction. The light fell on its face and Rory’s heart began to pound. It was just as he suspected. The figure waited a moment, then, satisfied it was alone, returned to its silent vigil.
Rory pulled Bridget back out of earshot of their visitor.
“What’s he doing here?” he asked. Bridget’s face was suddenly pale.
“He looks just like his picture . . . ” she muttered.
“I guess we should go talk to him,” Rory said, but was surprised when Bridget backed away.
“I don’t wanna!” she whispered. “Look at me! I’m not even human. I don’t want him to meet me like this.”
“We’re going,” Rory said. “Come on.”
“No!” Bridget held back. “You go talk to him. Please?”
“Okay. But I think you’re being ridiculous.”
“Don’t care,” Bridget muttered. Rory felt a wave of pity for his sister. She didn’t even know if she could ever go back to her normal body again, and now this. He’d hide behind a tree, too.
Taking a deep breath, Rory left his sister in the trees and approached the shadow. Once he came within earshot, he purposefully stepped on some more twigs. The shape turned, stiffened, then relaxed.
“I won’t be here long,” it said.
“You don’t have to go, Dad,” Rory said softly. “No one’s coming to get you.”
“They will, soon enough,” Peter Hennessy said, his eyes fearful. “I just wanted to see for myself . . . ” A tear ran down his cheek as he glanced at his wife’s body. “I did this. This is my fault. I never should have entered her life.”
“It’s my fault, Dad,” Rory told him. “I was the one they were looking for. And she paid the price.”
“This started long before you were ever thought of, son,” Mr. Hennessy admonished him. “I started it when I married her. I started it when I caught a glimpse of her reading down by the river. I started it the minute I crossed Kieft and didn’t kill Buckongahelas like I was told. Actually, it was way before that, to tell the truth.”
“How old are you, Dad?” Rory asked, risking the question that wouldn’t leave him alone. Mr. Hennessy glanced away, staring back out at his wife as he avoided the question.
“Has Sooleawa figured out a way to heal them?”
With a start, Rory realized that his father thought Bridget was also at death’s doorstep. He knew he should tell him the truth, but a perverse piece of him, the part that was still angry, decided not to. He shook his head. “She doesn’t know the magic, she said. Her mother used to know, I guess, but she’s long gone.”
Mr. Hennessy nodded absently, even as his shoulders slumped at the news. “Alsoomse was very powerful. She saw right through me.”
“Why won’t you tell me anything about you?” Rory asked.
“There are things in my past.” Mr. Hennessy couldn’t look Rory in the eye. “Things were . . . done to me. They broke me, pure and simple. I am broken. I can’t go through it again. And I won’t let you go through it, either! You have to stay safe. You’re all I have left now.”
Rory couldn’t believe his father would give up on his mom so easily. He could barely think, he was getting so angry. “Well, I’m going to see the Fortune Teller to find out what I can do to help them. The first door in the Tenements was destroyed, but there are two more and we’re going to find one.”
“No!” Rory was shocked to see that his father’s face had turned white. “The Tenements door was the firs door, the easiest to find. And her price there was high enough. But the price of the other doors is even higher. You don’t understand what she’ll require of you. It’s too steep! You can’t do it!”
“How do you know so much about it?” Rory asked.
“Promise me you won’t go looking for the Fortune Teller,” his father begged him.
“I can’t just stand aside and let Mom die!” Rory hissed. “Do you know where the other doors are? You’ve got to tell me if you do.”
“Rory, you have to listen to me. You can’t risk it. We’ll find another way to help your mother . . . ”
Rory was so angry at all the cryptic hints and hidden meanings. Why couldn’t someone just tell him the truth? His stomach started to hurt the more he thought about it. Soon it was burning, and he almost doubled over with the pain. It was as if the copper spear Caesar Prince had thrown into the Sachem’s Belt had pierced his stomach after all.
Mr. Hennessy noticed something was wrong. “Are you all right, Rory?” he asked.
Rory felt the burning flow through his body. He tried to ignore it, wiping the sweat from his brow. Refusing to be distracted, he tried his question one more time. “Dad, you’ve got to tell me if you know. Where is the Fortune Teller’s door?”
The burning intensified as his father opened his mouth, undoubtedly to refuse again. But something completely unexpected popped out.
“The Little Red Lighthouse,” Mr. Hennessy said, then blinked, shocked. A look of horror spilled across his face. “Why did I say that? I didn’t want to say that!” He began to back away.
Rory was lost. “Are you serious?”
Mr. Hennessy stood still for a moment, a deer caught in headlights, and then, without saying another word, he turned and ran into the woods. Still shocked, Rory let him go.
Bridget ran up behind him.
“Where is he going? What did you say to him?”
“I don’t know,” Rory replied, dazed. “But I think, for the first time, he just told me the truth.”
4
THE LITTLE RED LIGHTHOUSE
Askook slithered through the underbrush in the early morning light, taking care to stay as quiet as possible. Before Kieft sent him north, he’d been keeping watch from afar on his people in the park. He knew he’d been cast out for the games he’d played, but it did not bother him. He did not feel lonely. He felt mysterious—he knew secrets no one else did, deep secrets most would never dare to unearth. One day he would be the last of his people—Kieft had promised him. He wished every moment for that blessed day to come; he would then hold the secrets of an entire race. That thought made him shiver with pleasure.
Shorakapkok—that was what his people had called these woods hundreds of years ago. Askook could remember coming to this trading camp as a young boy, collecting wampum and other fine things in exchange for the copper his father had amassed from the southern Lenape tribes. Few Munsees had actually lived on the island back then. It was far too hilly to easily grow crops. Instead, they all came together on Mannahatta to trade. Askook remembered watching his father with pride as he skillfully bartered with the men of other tribes. And when the newcomers came, even better opportunities arose. But Askook’s father refused to trade with the newcomers, mistrusting their insatiable need for fur and land. It didn’t matter. In the end, his father had everything taken from him—a Dutch soldier shot him for his wampum, simply grabbing for himself what the old man had refused to sell. And Askook could not blame the soldier. His father had been foolish and stubborn. Askook did not make the same mistake. He’d traded and sold everything he could—land, fur, slaves, everything. He became famous among his people for his underhanded deals. They changed his name to Askook, and though they meant it as a slur, he took the name with pride. You did not tread upon a snake. A snake had the power to make you watch your step. And the notoriety of his name grew, as did his stature. So what if they did not trust him? They still came to him when they were in need. Just as Kieft had come.
Askook moved through the trees of a Shorakapkok much changed from those early days
. Now they called it Inwood, a name with very little power. But these trees still trembled with memory. This was where Wampage had spent the past century and a half, Askook was sure of it. He fingered his knife—already imagining what taking Wampage’s life would feel like. Goose bumps rose upon his skin as he moved farther into the forest. Something powerful waited up ahead, he could feel it
Then he spied movement through the trees. Askook slid behind a tree before he could be seen, glancing around the trunk at the source of the disturbance. It was the figure of a man sitting alone in the shade of a giant rock, sniffling to himself. He looked familiar . . . Askook crept closer, trying to catch a glimpse. The man turned slightly, and the early morning light fell upon his face. Askook repressed a gasp. Him! Here? All his plans flew away as he quickly turned to run back to his master. Everything was different now that the traitor had returned . . .
Rory and his friends left the shell pit at first light, though not everyone would be making the journey to the lighthouse. Wampage had gathered up his dogs, sadly informing Rory that he could put it off no longer—he had to return to his people in the park. Both Rory and Bridget were frantic at the idea of leaving their mother unprotected, but Wampage suggested they ask Tucket to stand guard. The large dog now happily sat at Mrs. Hennessy’s feet, ready to fight off anyone who might try to hurt his masters’ mother.
So it was without Tucket that Rory, Bridget, Fritz, and the Rattle Watchers made their way south along the Hudson River toward the George Washington Bridge, in whose shadow lay the Little Red Lighthouse. The morning sun shone brightly over their heads, peeking through the trees that lined the path. The beauty of the day, along with the hope that they were about to find a cure for his mom’s illness, lifted Rory’s spirits. Bridget skipped along at his side, throwing leaves at her brother when he wasn’t looking. Alexa laughed, taking the opportunity to tickle Simon’s ear with a twig, almost forcing the newly minted god to drop his tea set. Lincoln practiced his boxing moves on the arm of a patient Nicholas while Fritz rode at their feet, a serene look on his face. Even Soka, who still had not shaken her ill look, seemed peaceful as they walked beneath the tall trees.