As much as I wanted to stay, I still had a job to do. A job that required the Boy.
“You’re not how I pictured you,” he said as I made my way to the dock where he’d anchored his boat. He hadn’t been up to the house since we banished Bronagh, claiming he had repairs to make on his boat. I think he just felt awkward.
I was in a flowered dress that was far too fancy for traveling in a boat across the Sea. But it was Caragh’s, and she knew how I’d always wanted it. Rory gave me her blue sweater, which didn’t match but was almost as soft as my fur had been.
“What did you imagine?” I asked, a bit peeved.
“I don’t know. I thought you’d look fiercer.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” I replied.
“Obviously.”
What did fierce look like, after all? Were my eyes supposed to shoot out lightning when I glared? Was my hair (which Caragh had braided, since it was quite matted) supposed to catch fire when I got angry? Seriously.
So if you are wondering if the trip across the ocean was awkward between me and the Boy, it was.
“It’s different now, isn’t it?” the Boy said as we rowed ashore on Hybrasil. I didn’t respond. I hadn’t even wanted him to come. It would have been better for him to stay back with Caragh. He could have helped her in the Cork house. But he wouldn’t loan me the boat.
“There’s no beach at all. Look, the garden’s underwater, too,” he continued.
Alas, the garden! The beautiful vegetables. I mourned them for a moment, even the cabbages, though I couldn’t explain why. They were just plants, after all. But still, an empty hole was growing inside of me.
We rowed past the drawbridge in the pebbly shallows. The Boy climbed out and offered me his hand. I was still getting used to being human again. I had the urge to scamper off, up to the castle, which no longer looked so large, but I could only walk on my two, not-so-sturdy, legs.
There was no movement anywhere near the castle.
Maybe the Magician was napping.
“I want to go to the other side.” The words tripped from my lips even before I thought about them.
“We might not be able to get there. The stick bridge might already be underwater. Actually, we’re lucky the whole island isn’t completely submerged,” the Boy said.
I looked up to see the castle’s tall, crumbling tower, but I wasn’t ready to go in, afraid of what we might find.
“I can swim across if the stick bridge is gone. It was a worthless bridge anyway.” I was walking, sometimes wading, through what was left of the grounds.
“Don’t you want to check on him first? Let him know that we are here?”
I pretended that I didn’t hear. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see the Magician. I did desperately. But what if…what if he wasn’t…
There are things you can’t let yourself say sometimes, and they are so awful, you can’t let yourself even think them. But they are there, hiding noisily in the back of your brain.
Oh, so noisily hiding.
The bridge was wrecked. Maybe from the wind, although if I didn’t know better, I would swear that a wave from the ocean came far inland to swoop in and break it. Like maybe the Sea didn’t want me or anyone else to go across anymore. But I was small, and there was enough wreckage left for me to find my way.
If the bridge was this bad, I couldn’t help but wonder about the other side. What had happened since I was last there?
The wind began to kick up.
Thankfully, there was no howling. I hadn’t heard any howling since Cork—since I’d turned back into a girl. Perhaps it was just something that rabbits heard.
Except that the Boy had heard it, too. And Caragh and Rory, too.
Maybe the mystery of the Howler was something I would never solve.
It wasn’t hard to navigate across the decrepit bridge before, one paw here, another there. Even now, using feet and hands instead of paws, I was still remarkably nimble. At least I had that.
Balance your weight. Balance. Balance.
It was even windier. You’d think that in the wind, a howl would feel right at home. But still, no howling. I got to the other side.
Finally gone.
I was surprised. If there’s one thing I learned, it was that bad things rarely faded permanently. They had a tendency to come back again.
And so, too, did good things. Sometimes. So I closed my eyes and hoped with all my might, but when I opened them, he wasn’t there.
My father, I mean. I knew he wouldn’t be, of course. Perhaps the Boy was right and he’d never really been there at all. Papa thought he’d dreamed me, but maybe I had dreamed him. I could picture him, holding the medal he hadn’t yet won and giving it an odd look. I could still feel the touch of his hand on my rabbit back.
But I was alone now. Just me and the wind.
The small shack where I had cast the spell was now in ruins. It looked like a hundred years had passed since I’d last seen it, but I knew that was impossible.
“Time moves differently here, Albie. Of course, you remember that, don’t you?”
Though his voice was weak and papery, no longer deep and gravelly, I would recognize it anywhere.
The Magician sat on what was left of the back porch, in a rickety old rocking chair. His white hair was nearly gone. He was so wrinkled, it was difficult to find his eyes in his face.
But it was him. Of course it was.
“You’ve found your destiny and changed back into a girl, I see. Though would it be wrong of me to say that I liked your rabbit-self equally well?”
I wanted to throw myself into his arms, the arms of my grandfather, but instead I asked awkwardly, “Why are you here?”
“Why are any of us here?” he answered.
“I mean here, on this side of the island?”
His beard was shorter than last I saw it, trimmed nicely, too, as if he was getting ready for something important.
“Thought it was about time.”
Silence hung in the air between us, thin and fragile. I knew we’d have to break it, that we’d have to talk, to say things that maybe neither of us wanted to hear. I didn’t want to continue.
The Magician sighed. He didn’t want to continue, either.
I decided evasion was better than confrontation, at least at this moment. “Why are you dressed up all fancy? I’ve never seen you like this.”
“I used to dress up and trim my beard all the time. See this suit? It’s my fancy-go-to-a-meeting suit.”
It looked just like a regular old suit—kind of faded and frayed. In the lapel he had pinned a rather sad flower that drooped to the right, except when the Magician spoke, then it jostled back and forth in rhythm with his words.
“And who are you going to meet?”
“Why, you, Albie. Of course it’s you.”
He couldn’t have known. I only just decided a few moments ago to come here.
“And who else?” I asked, but he didn’t say anything. He just looked at his wrist for a watch that wasn’t there and muttered something about it “getting late” and that he had “much to do.”
“Well, no one here is stopping you. Go ahead and do whatever it was you were going to do.” The words came out more harshly than I intended, so I tried to make myself look busy, which is hard when you’re doing nothing. I went into the ramshackle house and started to look through things. Eventually, I found my way to the table and just sat there. I didn’t mean to be so mean. This wasn’t what I expected. The Magician was acting like he was ready to die, and now that I was finally here and supposed to save him, I really didn’t know what to do.
The Magician walked very slowly and noisily into the shack, with the aid of his cane.
“You’d best be on your way, Albie, though I’d be lying if I said that I’m not glad to see you one last time.”
“I’m—I’m glad to see you, too. But it’s not for the last time. I’m sorry I couldn’t save Hybrasil, but I came back for you. I came b
ack to bring you home with me.”
“But I am home.”
“If you stay, your home will soon be at the bottom of the Sea.”
“Would that be so bad?”
There was a breeze, and it was strangely warm. The grasses waved, green and vibrant. Did they know they would soon be covered by ocean?
“Yes! It would be pretty awful.”
“Well, Albie, that’s because you don’t know everything.”
“I know a lot more than you think. I’ve learned a lot in my adventures. More than you can imagine.”
The ground moved, causing my chair to wobble. Then it shifted some more, knocking the Magician to the ground.
“It’s happening! It’s happening! You must go now, Albie!” he cried. I ran toward him, falling twice as a deep rumble began beneath us.
“I won’t leave you here!”
I tried to help him up, but even though he looked frail and small, he was too heavy for me.
“It’s not your choice to make.”
“Well, maybe it is,” I said. I tried again, and this time, miraculously, I propped him up and forced him to walk. “We’re going to Cork, to your family. The Boy is taking us in his boat. We just have to get to him.”
And then, like the earth itself was cracking, a horrible cry came from its cavernous depths. The wind reared up like an angry horse whipping its mane. Just as we made our way through the doorway, the shack collapsed upon itself and was sucked down below into a swirling whirlpool.
I was too late. I’d spent too long searching for my own destiny, and I’d lost my chance to save him—to save the old man who had once saved me and my sisters. My grandfather.
And now I had doomed him. And me.
“Aaaaaaaooooowwwwwwww!”
“What is that sound? Is that your Howler, Albie?” called the Magician over the ruckus.
The hole was swallowing up more and more of the island, when a new sound joined the Howler. It was the sound of my own screams.
“Boy!” I cried, and the water sloshed against my knees.
“BOY!” I cried again when a wave knocked me over and the water closed over my head for a moment. I knew he couldn’t hear me—he hadn’t crossed the stick bridge with me. He was much too far away.
My ears rang with a menacing cackle. It couldn’t be, but it was.
Bronagh.
The last time I tried to call for the Boy, my mouth filled with water, and I sank. Down, down, and farther down.
“Albie?”
When I opened my eyes underwater, they burned and stung. I could see nothing.
All I ever wanted was to have my parents back again, living in our house with my sisters. That’s all.
But time has a way of changing things.
In this moment, all I wanted was to breathe.
“Albie, remember the last time…”
Her voice was a whisper in the water. But yes, as I plummeted to the bottom of the Sea, I did remember the last time I was deep in the ocean. It was when I met Barinthus and swam to an underwater cavern where I could breathe. But I’d had the magical bridle then. Now it was just me.
“Remember!” the Sea commanded.
Was there a cave under Hybrasil? (Or what used to be Hybrasil.)
I swam deeper, searching frantically for an opening, but I was down so far below the surface, it was too dark to see.
Under the ocean’s surface it’s quiet, so quiet. I wanted to call out to the Sea, but a person can only make glugging noises underwater. Besides, she knew I was there.
Down I sank. I didn’t fight it.
Something grabbed my hand and pulled me under a slippery, algae-covered formation of rocks, then upward until my face broke through the surface. Air, even air salty with spray, tastes so good. Coughing even felt good.
The Boy pushed me up onto the edge of the small hole, then climbed out of it behind me. He bent over with his face close to my own. “Are you okay, Albie? Can you hear me?”
Still coughing, I nodded. “The Magician? Where is he?”
The Boy shrugged. “I’m not sure. I didn’t see him. I heard you calling, and I came.”
“How did you hear me? You were on the other side of the island.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Albie.”
The cavern was different from the one I’d been in earlier. This was much smaller and with no fancy furniture to make it feel cozy. This was cold and dark like the inside of a hole.
And it was filled with air. Glorious air. Like some sort of strange, underwater bubble.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“This cave is…well…it’s mine.”
“It has air!”
“You can thank my father for that.”
I took in its emptiness. “This is where you live?”
“Not most of the time. I spend most of my time hauling rabbits across the Sea. But this place is my own.”
“Why don’t you live with your father?” I asked.
“Same reason you don’t live with yours. It’s not really possible.”
“Oh,” I said, pretending to know what he meant.
“Barinthus doesn’t need a son. He just needs someone to take over eventually. So I guess that would be me. But he’ll be at it for another millennium most likely. Plenty of time for me to learn what to do.”
“So,” I said.
“So.”
The awkwardness in the cave was replaced with the realization of the situation at hand. We had to save the Magician—and the Howler was still out there somewhere.
“The Magician? Is he…,” he began.
“I think Bronagh has him. I heard her laughing. And I heard the Howler, too,” I finished.
“The Howler doesn’t matter. Not now. Not with the Magician taken by the sluagh.”
This would be her final act of revenge upon me. I had deprived her of my sisters’ souls. So she had come to take the Magician’s.
What a cruel end for him! He’d been planning to sink into the ocean, his beloved Murien, and simply cease to be. That much was obvious. I’d been too late to save his life, and now I’d ruined his death, too.
“What will she do to him?” I asked.
“Torture his soul, most likely. What did you think? Take him to tea?”
I was tempted to lash out, but I knew that wouldn’t get us anywhere. I took a deep breath and asked as calmly as I could, “Where will she have taken him?”
The Boy was quiet. He kicked a small shell against the wall of the cave that came rolling back to his foot. “I have no idea.”
A wave splashed up through a hole in the floor. Foamy bubbles surrounded our feet. The Boy kicked at the bubbles in the same frustrated way that he had kicked at the shell.
Until I stopped him.
“Shhh,” I said. “Can’t you hear it?”
“I can only hear the sound of foam bubbles popping.”
But I could hear more. Much more.
In each foam bubble was a message from the Sea. And as it popped, the words traveled into my brain.
It was strange, listening to the Sea as a person rather than as a rabbit. My rabbit ears were much better. But my girl-heart, why, it understood things that ears by themselves cannot.
The Sea was weeping.
“Oh, Albie, my sweet,
It is too late.
Even I cannot save
Him from a terrible fate.”
I had never known the Sea to give up. Not once.
She sobbed some more, softly as ever, as the last of the foam bubbles vanished.
I eyed the water as it lapped against the rocky floor. The Boy followed my gaze and reached into his pocket, revealing the golden kelpie bridle.
“I know, I know, there aren’t any kelpies around here. But it’s enchanted, and it might help you. It certainly can’t hurt.” He handed me the bridle, which I slipped into the waistband of my soggy dress to keep safe.
I realized then that he wasn’t planning to go wi
th me.
I guess I’d been hoping that he’d have a plan. But in the end, despite being the son of Death’s Ferryman, he was still only a boy.
A boy with no idea what to do.
“It’s your destiny, Albie,” he said at last.
I held my breath as I jumped into the hole. Then I began swimming as if my life depended on it.
Because it did.
But not only my life. The Magician’s as well. And quite possibly the Boy’s life, too.
Down, down, into the blackest part of the Sea I swam until I thought my lungs would burst from my chest. Below the shadow of the underwater rocks of the Boy’s cave I swam, until my legs ached from kicking. When I passed the rocks that supported Hybrasil, I swam, up, up, up to the small circle of light that could only be the sun.
When I broke through the surface, gasping and coughing, every muscle in my body burning, I could see what remained of Hybrasil. Two small peaks that had once been tall hills were now separated by a thick river of ocean. Rocky, craggy beaches surrounded each peak. White birds darted in and around each peak.
No castle. No stick bridge. No shack.
And no sign of the Magician on what was now the new beach. No sign of life at all except for those birds.
The Sea carried me ever so gently to the shore of one of the peaks. I was glad I didn’t have to give much effort, for I’d never felt so exhausted in my life. My limbs were noodly and heavy, and I still felt like there wasn’t enough air in the world for me to inhale. But I had to go on.
The Sea deposited me onto the pebbles of a ledge, along with thousands of bits of white shell. Not the smooth kind, where the edges are polished and even, but freshly broken, sharp and jagged.
I wanted to call out for the Magician, when I realized that I didn’t even know his real name. So I called out the other name I knew him by, this one sounding strange as it tumbled for the first time from my human lips.
“Grandfather?”
I was timid at first, but then I yelled until my throat, raw from the salt water, turned hoarse and raspy.
“Grandfather! Grandfather! Are you here? Where are you?”
The Last Rabbit Page 14