Sanctuary

by E. Edgar Price

  *****

  Sarah was grateful when Sylvie came up to take Kimmy home. She was glad to see the little girl and grateful for the chance to apologize for her cruel words, but it was taxing having the little bundle of energy rushing around the room.

  Kimmy had appeared in Sarah’s doorway after dinnertime. She was surprised to see Kimmy, thinking that after yesterday, the girl would probably want to stay far away from her. Sarah was happy to see that wasn’t the case.

  “I’m so sorry for what I said, Kimmy.” She looked at her small friend standing in the doorframe. “I know that you have a special understanding with . . . things,” Sarah apologized, “I was being unforgivably mean because I wasn’t feeling like myself. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” Kimmy said. “Mom told me you were sick, but not with a cold.” The girl seemed as jittery and excitable as ever, practically unfazed by yesterday’s events. “Miss Rachel said you don’t sleep when you should. I never knew that could make you sick. Do you think that’s why parents are so strict about bedtimes?” She looked at Sarah curiously.

  Sarah smiled at her. “Probably,” she said and that was the end of it. Kimmy came and sat with her on the bed. They played go fish with a deck of cards Aunt Rachel brought earlier.

  Kimmy talked nonstop, as usual, and told Sarah about the day. Sarah learned that two new frogs took up residence under the dock at the fish pond, the rabbits were moved into the barn because of the heat, and the roses out front were blooming in bright pink.

  After the card game, Kimmy began to go through Sarah’s trinkets and books lining the tables and shelves. Sarah didn’t really mind, but she was still so tired. It was hard to keep up with Kimmy’s sixty mile an hour speed.

  When Kimmy and her mother disappeared into the hallway, Sarah fell back into her pillows. Surely she wouldn’t be alone for long, she thought. Aunt Rachel had called a doctor in town apparently, Dr. Simment, and he recommended a few non-pharmaceutical remedies for insomnia. One was not taking naps, which Sarah didn’t anyway, but, with that edict in mind, Sarah hadn’t been left alone for the rest of the day. Sure enough, Aunt Rachel entered the room a moment later.

  “You still look worn out,” she commented as she sat on the edge of Sarah’s bed. She reached over in an automatic gesture to feel if Sarah’s forehead revealed any signs of fever.

  “I’m just tired, Aunt Rachel,” Sarah protested. “I’ll probably be right as rain tomorrow.” She smiled at the expression. “Kimmy told me I would be at any rate,” Sarah confided to her aunt.

  Aunt Rachel laughed. “Well, I’d almost trust that one’s diagnosis as much as I trust the doctor’s. Do you think you’ll sleep tonight?”

  Sarah shrugged. “I feel like I could, but that doesn’t always mean I will,” she admitted.

  Aunt Rachel nodded, like she expected that answer. “This kind of thing is normal, I’m told, after the death of a parent,” she said. “Dr. Simment was surprised you weren’t automatically given anything to help with sleeplessness after your mom died.”

  Sarah suspected Aunt Rachel was fishing for information. Throughout the day, Sarah slowly became aware the adults were blaming her father for this episode. Todd was apparently persona non grata at Black Rock Wildlife Sanctuary and Sarah suspected this wasn’t a recent development. She recalled the tense words he exchanged with Grandpa the day they arrived.

  “We were required to see the guidance counselor at school,” Sarah said even though Aunt Rachel already knew that. “He gave Dad some recommendations over the phone a few times for me and Tyler, but nothing ever came of it.”

  “And Benji?” Aunt Rachel prompted.

  “Benji’s counselor was a Mrs. Warren, I think. She and Dad had words one evening, but I don’t know what about.” Sarah wanted to defend her father. He wasn’t a bad guy. “He was busy,” she said. “We suddenly had only one income,” explained Sarah. “Dad had to work harder and deal with all of us, too. He loves us, but he can’t handle all the stress and work and deal with raising three kids.”

  “And you could?” Aunt Rachel’s eyes narrowed.

  Sarah ducked her head. “Well, I was the most responsible, so I helped,” she said lamely.

  “Uh-huh, and from what I can gather from Tyler, you helped so much he and Benji didn’t have to do anything at all.”

  “I’m their sister,” Sarah said defensively.

  “But not their mother,” her aunt’s voice was soft. “Why don’t you take a hot bath, sweetheart?” she suggested, dropping the subject. “The doctor recommended reading a boring book, too,” she said, “so I brought you the most boring thing I could find.” She held up a book Sarah hadn’t noticed. A Brief History on the Science of Reason was printed in gold leaf on the cardboard cover.

  “Thanks,” said Sarah with a small smile. She took the book and watched Aunt Rachel leave the room. Sarah thought she saw Jessie out in the hall, but the other girl did not come in. That was a puzzle, she thought, getting out of bed.

  Jessie lied to her yesterday. Kimmy had not, in fact, run off to cry. She was just upset for awhile. Adam came to visit earlier and told her that. He seemed surprised Jessie told Sarah any differently. Sarah wondered at Jessie’s mean-spiritedness. Had she done something to upset her cousin?

  Sarah filled the tub automatically. She took these baths so often that her skin had become smooth and soft like never before. Even her feet felt petal soft to the touch. She poured in a mix of crystals Aunt Rachel gave her that was supposed to be the most relaxing combination of scents she could come up with. Sarah hoped it would help.

  She was startled to find everyone so worried about her. She tried to be grateful, but was only perplexed and somewhat annoyed by their behavior. Grandpa was the most confusing one of the bunch. He treated her like fragile china about to shatter at any moment. He popped in at least twenty times in the course of the day.

  Sarah had been happy to find that she hadn’t slept that late, when she finally got a look at the time. Only until nine-thirty. Apparently, though, when she wasn’t down for breakfast, Grandpa waited for her. He was the one who sent Aunt Rachel up to check on her. He’d been her first visitor and looked haggard with worry, carrying his chessboard and box of playing pieces under one arm. He seemed to calm down after a while, but he was constantly asking her how she felt or if she was alright. It became irritating very quickly, but Sarah didn’t say anything.

  She sighed, when she slipped into the warm water. The flowery scent of the bath salts relaxed her. She left the light off, but the door to the bedroom was open and provided enough light to read by. Aunt Rachel was right. The book was incredibly boring. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be sleep inducing and Sarah left her bath when the water went lukewarm. She was still tired, but unable to sleep.

  She curled up under her covers, first one way, then another. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. Then Sarah tried to count imaginary sheep like the ones in a mattress commercial she’d seen. An hour later, she opened crusty eyes to see that it was only eleven.

  The sky was dark and cloudy outside her large window. She could only see part of the moon from where she lay and few stars were visible. She moved her coverlet aside and sat up in bed. And again noticed the two dark marks on the fitted sheet.

  Perhaps a walk, she thought, would help her get to sleep. Maybe she could have a good cry in the maze, like she planned to last night. She knew she’d gone out last night. The smudged sheets and her dirt crusted feet had proven that. Sarah thought the rest must have been a dream. An exhaustion induced hallucination. She probably went no further than the entrance to the maze and then turned back. Partly curious and partly thinking a shadowed walk would help her sleep, Sarah put on sneakers and went out into the night.

  It was darker tonight, but she could see well enough and didn’t go back in for a flashlight. She wasn’t looking to have her late night escape interrupted by overly anxious relatives. Jessie had a light on in her room, but she wasn’t
on the balcony, so Sarah didn’t give her much thought. She went directly to left-most maze entrance, but hesitated before stepping through it. It was dark and slightly ominous looking in the faint starlight. Reaching out, Sarah assured herself it was just a green archway created with a clever trimming of leaves.

  Sarah went inside and began navigating the maze. However long it took to reach the opposite entrance or get back out to the way she came in, would be the duration of her walk. That settled in her mind, she wandered the paths arbitrarily. But, suddenly, she was brought up short when an archway appeared where it should not be.

  Tonight she was instantly aware this opening did not lead to the garden. There was a statue next to this opening, a dancing faun which should mark a length of blank hedge-wall. It did not. Instead, it stood to the right of the unfamiliar archway. The faun played his pipe in frozen euphoria, unconcerned at the oddity it now stood beside.

  Sarah was hesitant. The archway was solid, the stones sturdy beneath her feet. Aside from the doorway being where it should not be, she didn’t see anything suspicious. She took a breath and went outside of the maze. The path was still solid and real; she had at least enough sleep to recognize its authenticity.

  The woods here made up part of the tree line surrounding the farm. The tree line Grandpa said not to enter. But his reasoning concerned disturbing some animal’s home since there were supposedly no trails. This little corridor of trees was clearly paved with rocks, smooth from the presence of many feet. Sarah told herself it must be an extension of the farm, thus not subject to Grandpa’s rule. Despite her misgivings, she started down the path.

  It took a while, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, to reach the part where the trail broke away. It tapered out, forming stepping stones that ran in an arc to the pavilion, just as Sarah remembered it.

  Roman columns held up a flat roof, much like the pool area back at the house. Sarah approached the bench inside and ran her hand along the tall curving back before sitting down to face the lake. It was darker tonight, less iridescent; as if the lake water decided to absorb light instead of reflect it.

  Across the water, Sarah saw a few faint glowing squares. She knew she wasn’t close enough to Natalie to be seeing the town. Could this be part of the village she’d seen or was that part really a dream? And the boy, she thought, he might still be a dream too. Sarah leaned her head back, grateful in ways she did not anticipate to find the place was real.

  The pavilion was a hidden shelter. Sarah could cry here, when she needed to. She could be alone here. She was startled to find herself crying right now. Light tears of relief caressed her cheeks. Sarah didn’t wipe them away. She let the night blur in her vision, and sat with only the lapping lake for company.

  “Here again?”

  She jumped and jerked towards the voice. Sarah guessed what she’d see, but still didn’t quite believe it. The boy stood as he had before. Starlight glinted off of his glasses, hiding his eyes. His hair, she realized, wasn’t tangled, but was twisted into dreadlocks that fell to his shoulders. “You’re real,” she said, stunned.

  “So are you,” he replied solemnly. His voice was tinged with an accent Sarah couldn’t place. “Why do you cry so much?”

  When Sarah didn’t immediately answer, the boy took a seat on the other end of the bench and looked at her inquiringly.

  At first, Sarah wasn’t she was even going to answer, but the strange boy’s calm patience invited confidence. “I need to,” she finally said, lifting her arms in a helpless gesture. “I haven’t been able to cry for so long,” she explained. “I cried when I ran, but I can’t do that anymore. So I came here.”

  “Has life become so harsh? Has the outside world gone mad?”

  She shook her head. It occurred to her she ought to be scared of a stranger appearing out of nowhere and pumping her for information, but she couldn’t summon up the presence of mind to be truly cautious. “No, the world’s not mad,” she answered him. She gazed out across the lake. “Maybe I am.”

  He laughed. His voice was soft and reminded her of wind chimes. “I don’t think you’re mad,” he said.

  When he said it, she knew it was true. Sarah wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t dreaming this up or imagining things or having hallucinations. “I suppose not,” she answered. For some reason, confirming her sanity didn’t make Sarah feel any better.

  “I’m San,” the pale boy introduced himself after a brief silence. His pronunciation sounded Slavic.

  “My name’s Sarah,” she replied. “Do you live in the village beyond the lake? If,” she struggled, “there even is a village over there?” Sarah gestured across the lake.

  San was obviously taken aback by her question. “There’s a village,” he said slowly. “It’s been there a long time.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “I live there with my sister,” San explained.

  “There’s something different about you, isn’t there?” Sarah said with an impulsive insight. “Something you think I should know, but I don’t.” She didn’t like the strong feeling of being deceived.

  He nodded. “I’m a mære,” he said. “My sister and I are refugees here. We live in the village like many others.”

  “Mare? Like a horse?” Sarah thought this conversation might have taken a turn into Wonderland, but she’d already jumped through the looking glass. She might as well keep going.

  “No,” San said. “A mære is a fey being. You’d say fairy, in your language.”

  “A fairy?” she asked doubtfully. He nodded.

  “What does a mære do?” Sarah wondered. “Sprinkle magic dust on unsuspecting children?”.

  San shook his head, sending his yellowish dreadlocks swinging over his shoulders. “We are dream walkers, riders of sleep. We’ve no power in the waking world, only in dreams.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Not long ago, my country went to war.” He looked uncomfortable. “It was brutal, very bad. Many of my kind sought refuge. Even the fey are no match for human destruction.”

  Sarah tried to think rationally. This was a wildlife sanctuary. Did fairies count as wildlife? If there were dream-fairies living here, surely Grandpa knew about them. “Who granted you asylum?” she asked.

  “The Keeper of Black Rock,” San responded promptly.

  That wasn’t very helpful. “Who’s the Keeper?”

  “If you are asking,” said San in a measured tone, “then I think it is not my place to say.”

  What a maddening reply, thought Sarah. Perhaps she needed a different approach. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, “This isn’t something I understand.”

  San looked tense and Sarah noticed his attire for the first time. He wore a light colored polo with jeans and sandals. It was oddly normal. He even sounded like a normal teenage boy. Sarah was having a hard time reconciling this normalcy with the strangeness of speaking with someone claiming to be a fairy.

  “Why do you not understand?” asked San.

  Sarah recalled the worry etched into her grandfather’s face. This strangeness might explain such extreme concern. “I think I’m being protected,” she said. From what exactly, Sarah didn’t know. She suspected that Grandpa wasn’t hiding fairies simply because they were a secret. The idea made her cautious.

  “I would hope so,” San said ardently. His sudden zeal startled her. “A one such as you needs much protection.”

  This was such an odd phrasing Sarah didn’t know how to respond. Maybe humans were special to fairies? “What do you mean,” she asked in confusion, “‘one such as me’?”

  San tensed even more and did not answer. Instead, he asked a question of his own. “How did you come to be in the sanctuary?”

  Sarah considered insisting he answer her question first, but she was too tired. After all, San already told her his story, she might as well tell hers. “My mother died,” she explained softly, without preamble. “My father went to Australia and my brothers and I were sent here, to live with our grandfathe
r and aunt and uncle.” Sarah shrugged nonchalantly even though she felt like crying again.

  “Is that why you have so many tears?” San asked. He shifted closer to her and laid his hand atop hers. The gesture was disturbing and unexpectedly romantic. Sarah jerked her hand back in surprise and scooted away from him.

  “I did not mean to offend,” San exclaimed in remorse. “I meant only to help.”

  Sarah observed him warily. He really did look sorry, but she didn’t appreciate his unsolicited entrance into her personal space. “I don’t need your help,” she admonished.

  “Perhaps not in comfort,” said San, “but I am not without ability.”

  Sarah sighed. She was tired. She didn’t like the way San talked in riddles. “What does that mean?” she asked, exasperated.

  “I am mære,” he said. “I can sense your need for sleep.” He raised his hands expressively. “It is within my power to give you sleep.”

  Sarah shook her head. She said hesitantly, “That doesn’t sound like a good idea. I don’t know you very well, and I’ve still got doubts you’re even real.”

  “I am here,” San spread his hands wide. “I am real.” He studied Sarah intently, making her more uncomfortable. “I can help you sleep.”

  Sarah considered the boy before her. He seemed sincere. She was surprised by how appealing the offer was. Simple sleep. That would be heavenly, but what if he was lying. What if he did something else to her or messed with her dreams? What if he was the result of some kind of psychotic break she was having? Did she really want a cure for insomnia that came with so much risk? She wasn’t sure.

  “Why would you want to help me?” she asked suspiciously. “And just to clarify,” Sarah added, “why wouldn’t you hurt me? How can I trust you?”

  “Some answers are not mine to give,” he said cryptically. “I can give you only my word to cause no harm.”

  Sarah shook her head. At that moment she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear San anymore. She thought about running away with her hands over her ears like Kimmy had done the day before. She was so very tired, though. If this was a dream, what could be the harm in accepting San’s help? And if it wasn’t a dream? She was too tired to consider all the implications.

  “You will not be harmed,” San interrupted her thoughts. “I swear my intent is only to give you respite. To let you sleep.”