by Mary Coffin
When they stopped for the night and Tibby produced supper, Fynn explained that she couldn’t stomach dead animals. So she asked if he could crave a veggie burger. The sound of that didn’t appeal to Tibby’s sense of taste. So, with their imaginations, Fynn helped him dream up a burger that looked and smelled like hamburger but was made of mushrooms, peppers and other vegetables. She didn’t dare ask him to put seaweed in it.
“So how did you know to find me?” she asked.
Tibby sighed. “After my parents died, I had this dream. A beautiful, tall woman with sleek black hair and eyes that sparkled like gems...” He stopped and looked at Fynn. It was still dusk and he could see her face slightly but he wasn’t sure whether he detected a look of irritation. “Oh, sorry.” He apologized as though describing the beautiful woman upset Fynn.
“You know, not every girl gets jealous,” she mumbled. “Uh, let me guess. This beautiful,” she said the word in a long, dramatized way, “woman had eyes the color of emeralds, right?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
Fynn pointed to Cnāwan lying between them. “Tibby, meet your beautiful woman.”
He looked at the cat. “Huh?”
“I’ll explain later. Go ahead. Finish telling the dream.”
“Well, anyway, this woman came to me in my dream and told me that I was going to prison. She said not to worry, that I wouldn’t be there long, but to seek out the girl with the cat and she’d help me get out. Last night, she was in my dream again. She told me to prepare because today was the day and that we had to act on it. So this morning, I grabbed the only item I came here with,” he motioned to the small bottle hanging from his neck, “and knew the only place I could see you would be outside, since they kept the boys and girls separated back there at Herman’s Hapless Days for Children.”
“Who is Herman?”
“Oh, yeah, you probably weren’t there long enough to meet him. He’s the headmaster of the boys. What a dweeb.”
“Well, the girls’ headmistress wasn’t any better. It’s odd because one of the girls looked like she could have been her daughter. Her name is Susan.” Then Fynn recalled the sight of seeing little Snipwit with the box before they left. She shook her head in despair. “How am I going to get it back?”
“That box you mentioned?”
“Yeah. Before Mom died, she gave it to me and told me that I had to keep it hidden and safe. There was no place to hide it except under my pillow. Susan saw where I kept it and, as we were leaving, I saw her in the courtyard with it.”
Fynn went on to explain the contents of the box and what little she gleaned from the poem. She also mentioned her dream with the emerald-eyed woman and that her name is Cnāwan and how she was currently in the form of the cat sleeping between them. Cnāwan raised her head when her name was spoken, then she stretched, rolled onto her back and went back to sleep. Fynn also told him that the cat appeared to be invisible to other people.
They talked through much of the night and, by the time they finished, had pieced enough things together to determine they were on some kind of a mission with this prophecy thing. Beyond that, however, they had no clue as to what they were to do or why. They finally dozed and got a few hours of sleep.
Chapter 9
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They woke to the sound of voices nearby. There was enough light coming through the leaves and debris surrounding them to know that it was daytime. Tibby, Fynn, and Cnāwan held completely still.
“I’m just not seeing anything,” said a male voice.
“They couldn’t have gone far,” said another. “You go farther up the hill and I’ll continue in this direction.”
The children waited until the sound of snapping twigs and crunching leaves grew distant, then they slowly moved the debris aside and crawled out from under the rocks.
They looked up the hill but didn’t see anyone. Then Fynn looked to the side. Several hundred feet away she saw a man through the trees. He had turned and was looking directly at her.
“Down here,” he yelled to the man up the hill and then took off after them.
Fynn, Tibby and the cat raced down the hill, dodging trees and boulders along the way.
The man up the hill yelled. “Where you at?”
The second man wasn’t far behind them. “Here! Get down here!”
Fynn heard the cat. Tell Tibby to follow your lead.
“Tibby, do what I do.”
“What?!?” he panted.
“Get ready to do exactly what I do.”
“Yeah, sure.” He had no clue what she was talking about but hoped she had something in mind that would get them out of this situation because they weren’t far from getting caught. He’d rather die than go back to the orphanage.
Up ahead was a cluster of full pine trees. Cnāwan said, Say the word ‘sceadu’ and then drop to the ground on the other side of those pine trees and don’t make a sound.
“Sceadu!”
Fynn ran to the downhill side of the pine trees and hit the ground. Fortunately, Tibby’s responses were just as swift. She held her finger to her mouth so he knew to be quiet. They both took deep breaths to slow their pounding hearts but Fynn could still hear her heart thumping in her head.
They heard the man from up the hill catch up with the second man. “Which way did they go?”
They didn’t move and, for some reason, were confused. Then the other man said, “Uh, there! Over there! I saw a shadow.”
The two men took off again in the direction of the shadow.
“Wait...no...over there. I thought I saw movement.” It sounded like they ran in a different direction.
“No. That way. Geez, how many of them are there?”
“There’s two.”
“There’s more than two.”
“We need to get more guys out here. I think I saw another one.”
The men’s voices were farther away now.
Tibby whispered, “How’d you do that?”
Fynn shrugged. Cnāwan looked at her. Your shadows created a diversion.
Fynn looked at the cat and asked, Shadows?
You have three of them. They can be bothersome when they don’t agree with each other. But, when they do, it’s a good thing.
“I guess my shadows took care of it,” she casually said.
Tibby gave her a perplexed look. “Whatever.” He stood. “We better get going before they come back.”
They continued down the hill in silence. After some time, the forest thinned and the ground leveled off. At the edge of the trees, it opened into a meadow and they could see the town in the distance.
“Where exactly are we going?” asked Fynn.
Tibby looked at her. His eyes got real big. “Oh, god. Not again,” he grumbled.
Fynn realized he was looking past her and turned her head to see what he saw. She heard Cnāwan say Not good!
They both shouted, “Porcupine!” and sprinted across the open field.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Quills flew past. Fynn suddenly found more momentum and shot past Tibby. They came to a shallow stream. Fortunately, the water was just a trickle but neither of them broke stride as they splashed through it to the other side.
Tibby glanced behind and relaxed at the distance they created but decided they should run farther to increase the gap, for added security.
They found a small park and stopped to regroup and eat. Tibby produced three cheese dogs for himself, fully loaded with relish, mustard, and catsup, and topped it off with a vanilla milkshake. He provided Fynn with a couple tofu dogs and a fruit smoothie.
Cnāwan approached the bottle hanging from Tibby’s neck again and started sniffing. This would be a good time for a little treat, don’t you think? Just a wee little taste? She rubbed against it and purred.
Tibby held her off and said, “Somehow, I have this feeling that it’s too soon. Sorry, Cnāwan.”
&nbs
p; The cat faced him with a look of defeat. She cackled in protest and, in one swift move, flipped her head over and landed with a thud, on her back. You’re no fun. With legs in the air, she quickly fell into a cat nap.
Tibby giggled. “A little demanding, isn’t she?”
“You’re the only other person I know who runs from porcupines,” said Fynn.
“Come to think of it, so are you. I got hit by a quill one time. I was so sick I thought I would die. It was awful! Ever since then, they terrify me.”
“Me, too. Isn’t it strange how they can run so fast with those tiny little legs?”
“No kidding!”
~~~
“We don’t even know where we’re going,” said Fynn as they walked through open meadows. They could see the town off in the distance.
“I know. And, we need to be careful because who knows how many are searching for us.”
“In a dream, Cnāwan told me to trust the prophecy. Since we don’t know what the prophecy says, I guess we have to trust that where we go is where we’re supposed to go. Talk about the blind leading the blind. I’m worried about the box.”
“We should figure out where we’re going first. Then we’ll find a way to get the box back. Let’s head into town and see if we come across any clues.” He thought for a moment. “It would help if we had different clothes,” then he looked sideways at Fynn, “and change our appearance somehow.”
Fynn caught his glance and her eyes got big. “No way! I’m not cutting my hair off. I’ve had long hair my whole life. I’ll find a hat or something. Don’t even think about it!” She shook her head.
“Do you always know what other people are thinking?”
Fynn’s cheeks turned pink and she looked down. She had never told anyone that she could sometimes read other people’s thoughts. Sometimes was becoming more often since the dream where Cnāwan had put a finger to her forehead but past experience taught Fynn to be discreet about how much she revealed her ability. She was careful not to let on because the minute someone suspected that she knew what they were thinking, they became self-conscious, shut down, and quit talking to her. She didn’t want Tibby to do the same.
“No – it’s just the way you looked at me. I figured that’s what you were thinking.” She glanced back at him and suspected that he didn’t believe her. Then again, he didn’t look bothered by it either.
He took in their surroundings. “I bet there’s a barn around here.”
“For what? Sheep shears?!?” Fynn didn’t like the way the corners of his mouth turned up into a slight grin.
“That’s a good idea! Why didn’t I think of that?” he mocked.
Chapter 10
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Tungate, like most towns, had an old, quaint section where the buildings housed an eclectic mix of shops. There were artisans of many types, bookstores, coffee shops and culinary merchants to satisfy the most unusual of taste buds.
The buildings themselves had personality. Some were made of stones, slabs of rock and wood. Some of the slabs were polished to reveal patterns that looked like a lace doily with swirling lines of reds, whites, pinks and browns surrounding bubbly shapes and blotches of color – as though someone took paint on a brush and flung it at a canvas. Many shops had thick, wood doors with elaborate carvings on the face. One could stand in front of the shops for hours just to admire the details of the architecture.
One bookstore in particular – Benjamin Boc Books – was in an old building that contained several shops in a row, and was sandwiched between a coffee shop and an art gallery. In the front window there hung a colorful stained glass picture of a mountain, with a foot bridge connected to it from another mountain. Below that was a display showing popular books for the month.
Once inside, it was like two bookstores rolled into one. The front section of the store contained modern novels and topics that appealed to the general public. The back section housed rare books and specialized subjects, like: Our Multidimensional Universe – What You Can’t See Won’t Hurt You, Handbook for Time and Space Travel, and The Unheard Sounds Among Us, to name a few.
Benjamin Boc stood six feet tall, with a lean build, and piercing hazel eyes with a hint of blue in them. Those eyes were striking against his tanned skin and dark brown hair. He stood behind the counter and had just completed a book sale to an elderly woman.
“Thank you, Mrs. Wilson. Your business is appreciated.”
“I think my granddaughter will enjoy it. I hear that it’s popular among children.” Then she lowered her voice. “My last choice didn’t go over very well with her mother.”
As Mrs. Wilson walked out, a gentleman held the door for her and then entered Ben’s store with a coffee and bagel in hand.
“Well, Jonathan, my old friend. How are you today?” asked Ben.
“Must you put it that way, Benjamin? I feel very old today.” Jon Hieran was a couple inches shorter than Ben, with black hair and blue eyes. The slight bulge in his midsection indicated his interest in food but he never let it get too far out of hand.
Jon plopped on a stool behind the counter, bit into his bagel and sipped his coffee.
“You look younger all the time,” smiled Ben as he answered the telephone. “Boc Books. How may I help you?”
While Ben helped the customer over the phone, Jon got up and walked to the back room. He vacantly stared at the old books on the shelves, slightly shook his head and walked back to the front room, where Ben had just hung up the phone.
“Don’t you get tired of answering the phone that way? Boc Books. Boc means book so you’re saying Book Books. That’s like walking around saying I’m fine fine. Or I need to tie my shoe shoe.”
Ben studied his friend for a moment. “What’s eating at you Jon?”
Jon sat back down, looked at his bagel and coffee and set them on the counter. “Do you realize how long we’ve been in Tungate, Ben?” Just as Ben was about to think about it, Jon spouted, “Never mind, let me spare you. This week we will have been here for precisely two hundred thirty one years. Don’t you miss home?”
Ben’s face grew solemn. He glanced at the stained glass picture of the mountain hanging in the window and then back at his friend. “Of course I do.”
“I had no idea if we – if I - missed the first call – that it would take so long for the second call to come. After this much time, it’s hard to believe we’ll ever make it back.” He paused and then, referring to home, quietly said, “I almost forget what it was like.”
Ben knew, with each passing year, that the anniversary of their arrival in Tungate was hard on his friend. After all, it was partly because of his friend that they were still here, or so Jon believed.
“Jonathan, prophecies don’t play out part way and then decide to skip the rest. We have to be patient. We’ll get a second chance. She’ll come for us, or we’ll get a sign or something will happen to let us know it’s time to go back.”
“I’m wearing down, Benjamin. I’m running out of energy. I think I’m losing my hearing.”
“What?” asked Ben.
“I think I’m losing my...” he looked at Ben and saw the smile. Jon knew he was teasing. He smiled back.
“Quit beating yourself up, Jonathan. You’ve been too hard on yourself all these years.”
Jon stood and rubbed his belly. “You’re probably right. I think I’ll go buy myself something at the street fair. Care to join me?” He picked up his bagel and coffee.
“Who’s watching the coffee shop?”
“I hired an assistant.” He raised his eyebrows. “She’ll be fine without my help for a while. Besides, with a smile like hers, no one would dare give her trouble.”
Ben laughed. “You go ahead. I need to stay here.”
Chapter 11
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“Fynn, if you keep playing with it, you’re going to draw attention to yourself
,” said Tibby as they walked through town. “Guys don’t play with their hair.”
She kept tugging at the short, rough ends, as if she could make it long again by pulling on them. Now and then, she’d rub a spot on her head. “I can’t help it. Besides, I can tell by touching that it’s a bad haircut. It feels choppy and uneven. Those shears must have rusted for the past fifty years.”
“I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean to pull your hair so hard but it got stuck. I couldn’t find anything else in that old shed. It looked like no one had been in there for that long, too.”
“I need a scarf or something to cover it.”
“A boy’s hat! You’re supposed to be a boy now.”
They were approaching old town when Tibby spotted a police officer, nailing something to a post. He grabbed Fynn’s hand and pulled her back several feet to the backside of a building. He peeked around the corner and saw the officer walk away. Cnāwan sat at their feet. She looked up at them and then poked her head around the corner, too. She liked playing these games, even though she knew that no one else could see her.
After the officer continued down the street, they cautiously approached the post, watching in all directions for more officers. What they saw were pictures of themselves beneath big, bold letters that said MISSING CHILDREN FROM HAPPY DAY’S HOME and to contact the nearest authorities if found.
“Great,” mumbled Fynn. She reached up, tore off the sign and tossed it into the trash.
They proceeded down the street, slowly and cautiously, ready to dart into a doorway or down an alley at any moment. They tried to act like they were simply going about their business, in reality, feeling totally exposed. Fortunately, most of the people they passed seemed to be lost in their own thoughts and didn’t pay them much attention.
In the middle of the block, a police officer came out of a shop ahead of them. Quickly, they ducked through the nearest doorway and watched, through the shop window, as the officer crossed the street.