by Marina Cohen
“I can’t,” Kallie had said, shrinking at the mere thought. “Please don’t ask me.”
“But I need a twosome to form a team,” Grandpa Jess had begged. “Or I’ll be disqualified.”
“Why can’t you go, Dad?” She did her best to keep her tone in check, because she knew how much her father disliked the sound of whiny children.
Victor Jones shook his head briskly. “There’s been a water main break on Pine Street. We’ve already received a flurry of calls about flooding damage and expect plenty more tomorrow. Customers are frantic. The adjusters are going mad—they all need my help. And Grandpa needs yours.” He used the tone of voice he saved for speeches designed to instill responsibility. And guilt.
Grandpa Jess had looked at Kallie with large, pleading eyes.
“No,” she had said definitively. “I can’t.”
The thought of being out on the lake—especially in the darkness, and on that particular weekend—made her stomach turn. Grandpa Jess meant the world to her, but not even for him could she force herself to do it. She never went out on the lake. Not ever.
“You have to get past this,” said Grandpa Jess. “You can’t let fear control your life. The lake is not your enemy.”
Kallie hung her head and closed her eyes. It was her enemy. Why couldn’t he see that? It was deep and dark and mysterious, and it had stolen something from her. No. She would not go out on the lake. Not even for Grandpa Jess. But when she looked up to tell him so, she could taste his disappointment. She took a deep breath and sighed.
“I’m not fishing,” she had said, as they set out from the marina.
“Leave that to me.” Grandpa Jess grinned.
She adjusted the life jacket once again and hunkered into her seat. She finished the last few sips of hot chocolate and then sat yawning and staring out at the dark water.
“Keep your eyes open for ol’ Champ.” Grandpa chuckled.
Kallie scowled. She rubbed her eyes and stretched. There was a moment of long-drawn-out silence as the boat pulled into the bay, and then, as if the words came from a mouth other than hers, she heard herself ask, “Why were they going to Plattsburgh?”
Grandpa Jess was preparing the red anchor to moor the boat. He stopped and looked up. “What?”
“They were taking the ferry to Plattsburgh that day. What were they going to do there?”
“Uh, well.” Grandpa Jess let the heavy red anchor shaped like an upside-down mushroom splash over the side of the boat. It disappeared downward. “Business.”
“What kind of business?” said Kallie. “I thought Dad did all his business in Burlington. And Mom stayed home. Writing.”
“Personal business,” he said. “Which means none of ours.”
Personal. She mulled over the word. Personal meant private. Private meant secret. Then, like a weather vane catching a breeze, Kallie spun the conversation in an entirely different direction.
“Did she love me?”
The anchor had reached the bottom. The boat was secure. Grandpa Jess stood staring over the side. The full moon was large and looming. It reflected in the dark water and lit his face. He inched toward her and gently patted her knee.
“Of course she loved you.” Though he tried to sound positive, there was something in his voice Kallie didn’t like, something that said she was asking the wrong question. He patted her knee again and then began organizing his gear.
Kallie yawned deeply. They had to get up at three o’clock to get to the boat in order to reach the bay on time. She required exactly eight hours of sleep to function properly. She checked her watch. She was several hours short.
Grandpa Jess assembled his six-foot fishing rod and baited his hook. He pitched it into the lake about twenty feet from the boat. He liked to use a technique called flipping, where he pulled on the line, then let the weight of the lure sink it back down, pull the line up again—without using the reel—and let it sink again. He claimed it mesmerized the bass into biting.
Pull and sink. Pull and sink. Kallie watched him and waited. Waited and watched. Grandpa’s dark silhouette bobbed and swayed in a hypnotizing rhythm while gentle waves flapped like crows’ wings against the side of the boat. Kallie closed her eyes and let the boat rock her gently side to side.
Suddenly, she sensed movement, and her eyes snapped open. Grandpa Jess was tugging on the line. He pulled tighter and harder, and she knew he was in fight mode. He yanked and pulled, and the line grew taut, the tip of the rod bending with a heavy burden as he reeled in something huge.
“This is gonna be a big one!” he shouted. “Hold on, Kallie. Hold tight!”
Grandpa Jess braced himself against the side of the boat and began to crank the reel harder, pulling with such force Kallie thought the line would snap.
She leaned over to see what he’d caught. In the deep, velvety darkness, something emerged from the surface of the lake.
Kallie had expected the shimmering scales of a largemouth bass or a trout, but what appeared was pale with a bluish tinge. It took Kallie a moment to realize it was a human face.
The head emerged from the water with bluish skin, deep and cavernous eyes, and hair matted and tangled with weeds. The black lips parted in a ghoulish grin while crablike limbs reached for her.
She recoiled, pressing herself into the side of the boat and searching frantically for Grandpa Jess, but he had vanished.
“Come,” said the creature, crawling up over the edge of the boat, grabbing hold of Kallie’s arms. She struggled wildly, kicking and scratching, but the thing was cold and slimy and strong. She was overpowered, and in one swift motion she was dragged overboard.
Icy water enveloped her and sucked her below its inky depths. Her glasses were lost, and her life vest came loose and drifted away. She tried to scream, but as she opened her mouth, water rushed in, filling her lungs with mud and minerals. Her chest seared. Her struggling stalled. Her limbs began to wilt …
“I’m here, Kaliope…” she heard it say as darkness enveloped her. Smothered her. And then everything stopped.
Kallie startled awake. She spun around, her brain still lost somewhere beneath the soupy surface of sleep. She gasped for air. She was not underwater. She was in the Escape. She was still wearing her life jacket. And her glasses. She was okay. She had dozed off.
The first glimmer of light crept over the horizon. Kallie squinted. In the mellow orange glow, Kallie saw Grandpa Jess holding his first bass.
“It’s a lunker, Kallie!” He was grinning. “A lunker!”
Beside her, the thermos of hot chocolate had spilled. Kallie searched for a rag to clean the mess. She felt icy inside and out.
It was going to be a long day.
14
STILL LIFE
“Sincerely, Lucy.”
Kallie lowered her assignment paper and looked up at the class with a smug, satisfied grin.
There was a moment of complete and utter silence, and then Pole began to slowly clap. Anna and Taylor joined in, creating what amounted to very sparse applause.
“Um. Thank you, Kallie,” said Ms. Beausoleil, her face twisted into a mixture of confusion and shock. “That was very—” she seemed to search for the right word “—informative.”
“I don’t get it,” said Ivan, shaking his head.
“Me either,” said Mathusha.
“What about the wardrobe?” whispered Queenie. “She didn’t even mention the wardrobe.”
Kallie’s letter from Lucy to her mother lasted twenty-five minutes and somehow included a lengthy discussion on the causes and consequences of World War II, the global conditions preceding World War I, fascism, racism, and concluded with an explanation of existentialism—the philosophical approach emphasizing the individual as a free person who determines his or her fate through acts of free will.
Rather pleased with herself, Kallie left the front of the class and plunked herself onto the giant, paisley pillow beside Pole, ignoring the dust cloud she’d created.
“Yes. Well. Perhaps next time, I should be a little more specific,” muttered Ms. Beausoleil as she jotted notes into her assessment binder. She looked up, slightly frazzled, then tucked a curl behind her ear and said, “After Kallie’s lecture … er, I mean, letter, we only have time for one more presentation. Anna, would you like to go?”
Anna beamed. She took the stage and read her letter softly.
Dearest Mother,
I have failed you. I am a traitor. Through my selfishness and greed, many have suffered, including those I love most. I betrayed Lucy, Susan, and Peter to the wicked White Witch. I lied to everyone, but most of all, I lied to myself. I convinced myself that the White Witch meant my sisters and brother no harm and that I was somehow deserving of the high honor she promised. You made great sacrifices to send us to safety, and now, because of me, everyone is in danger. But there is still hope. It lies in the real magic of the world. The magic to transform and redeem. I hope I shall redeem myself or die trying.
With much love and great hope,
your son,
Edmund
Anna looked up at the class as though searching for approval. The applause was soft but steady. Kallie noticed Ms. Beausoleil wiping something from the corner of her eye. Probably a speck of dust from the ratty old pillows.
They spent next period in science class. Mr. Bent had begun their first unit on the properties of matter. He explained how the density of a substance could be measured and quantified. Today, they were learning how to calculate the density of regular- and irregular-shaped objects. It was the only thing that got her through the morning, since the following period was nearly as bad as English.
Mr. Washington had positioned a large table in the center of the art room. On it, he placed several stacks of books and boxes to create levels. Over that, he draped a brown burlap cloth, and then, on each of the levels, he placed objects. A tin can filled with paintbrushes, a thick book with a pair of glasses on top, a vase containing three paper daisies, a candlestick with a half-melted wax candle, a box of tissue, a coffee cup and a bag of cheese pretzels (Kallie suspected this was Mr. Washington’s snack), and a small globe.
Chairs had been arranged in a circle around the table. Once everyone was seated, he gave each student a large clipboard, a sheet of paper, and a piece of charcoal. Mr. Washington’s instructions were simple—select an area of the still life table and sketch what you see. To keep students focused, he played classical music in the background. Kallie found the entire experience unnerving.
For the longest time, Kallie stared at the table festooned with objects. She had no clue as to where to begin. Mr. Washington made his rounds, complimenting each student on their work, assisting where necessary. When he arrived at Kallie, he placed a hand on her shoulders and whispered, “It’s okay. There is no right or wrong here. Let your eyes guide your hands. Draw what you feel.”
Kallie glanced at her empty paper and sighed. I am drawing what I feel, she thought.
She looked up again at the table and settled on the box of tissue. It was a simple rectangular prism. This was geometry. She could do this. Only, her eyes became distracted by the floppy white tissue hanging lazily out from the open slit. With only ten minutes left for the activity, she closed her eyes and began to scrape her charcoal across the paper. A line. Then another. And another. And suddenly, her hand was zipping up and down, side to side, pressing harder, then softer, swirling and curling. She had no idea what she was doing. But when she opened her eyes, a group of students had gathered around her.
“Wow,” said Mathusha.
“That’s great!” said Anna.
Pole was glaring at her suspiciously. “I had no idea you could draw like that.”
Kallie was confused. She had never spent any time drawing. Her father didn’t even allow coloring books. She had zero talent for art and couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. She looked down at what she’d done. As the sketch came into focus, her insides turned to jelly.
15
THE CASTLE
Liah tucked the bone flute into her sack. It was in its rightful place once again. The Lie-peddler was gone, and along with him all evidence he had been there. He left no trace except for the melody he had played, for it still clung to the instrument, echoing on in her mind.
Liah had not slept well. The ground had been hard and pockmarked with pebbles, and the night too cold for comfort. She had drifted in and out of dreams. And now, as she gathered her belongings and prepared to set out, she found herself stifling yawns.
Facing the two paths, Liah could see one moved straight toward steep hills while the other meandered around the edge of the woods, meeting up once again with the river.
“Which road leads to the palace?”
“Both,” said the bone carver. He slung his sack over his shoulder, adjusting its weight. “One is quicker, the other less perilous.”
“Then which will we choose?”
He paused and stared out over the vast expanse he had traveled many times before. “It is never wise to trade time for security.”
And with those words, he set out on the long and winding path. “Another half-day’s journey and we will arrive at the base of the palace.”
Liah refilled the gourds with water from the river. The meat supper had saved them two millet cakes. She supposed she should be grateful to the Lie-peddler for that, though something about the stranger continued to disturb her. She took a cake from her sack and broke it in two, offering the larger half to the bone carver. They chewed silently as they walked.
As they left the river, the dry fields of sorghum and millet eventually gave way to a rocky terrain. Once again, Liah’s feet began to ache. She reached for her heel where a large blister had swollen.
The bone carver called out, “We have much distance to cover. You must not tarry.”
“My skin is raw,” Liah complained. “My feet ache terribly.”
He stared at her a thoughtful moment and then said, “If something harms you, it is a sign that you must make a change.”
“A change?” asked Liah. “But how, when I have no other shoes?”
The bone carver did not reply. He merely shrugged, turned, and slowly walked on.
“Make a change,” Liah scoffed, rubbing her heel. “How can I make a change when I have but one pair of shoes?”
She took a ginger step, then another, the straw now cutting viciously into the blister, bursting it and exposing the fresh but vulnerable skin beneath. She stopped again and removed her shoe. The breeze was cool and stung, but at least the foot was free. Staring at it, she understood. She did not need another pair of shoes to make a change. She simply needed to remove those she wore and walk barefoot.
The bone carver let her travel this way for some time, and then, without glancing back, he tossed something over his shoulder. It landed in a small heap on the ground before her.
Liah bent to see what he had so casually cast aside and discovered it was a pair of goatskin shoes—his finest pair. Her immediate thought was that the bone carver must have pitched them accidentally. But when she caught up to him, holding the shoes out, he made no move to take them. He glanced at her, smiled, and then continued on his way.
Liah was filled with great joy and appreciation at the special gift. She pulled the shoes on, wriggling her toes in the supple leather. She was not sure if it was the softness of the shoes or the kind gesture of the bone carver that made the rest of the journey seem to pass all the quicker.
As they drew near the castle, more and more merchants joined their travels. They came from all directions, some on foot, others in ox-drawn carts. Liah made note of the many goods they bore: reams of fine silk, earthen jugs, animal pelts. Some carted bushels of fruit and vegetables, while others brought woven tapestries.
When at last Liah and the bone carver reached the base of a jagged mountain, the sun was only beginning to creep over the horizon. The orange dawn was fiercely bright, forcing Liah to squint and shad
e her eyes as she gazed upward.
Looming atop a rugged peak sat a daunting fortress that seemed to defy gravity. From its perch, the great palace cast a deep shadow far and wide.
Standing at the bottom, looking up, Liah got a sense of its impenetrability. The thick walls of stone surrounding the castle were high, and the twisting path leading up the cliff steep and narrow. Liah knew many enemy forces had tried unsuccessfully to breach the palace, but this was a castle devoted to one simple purpose—maintaining power.
The line of hopeful merchants was long and winding. It coiled its way toward the steep path leading upward.
“You will wait here,” said the bone carver.
How badly Liah wished to pass through the wall to the great palace—to see the lavish displays of wealth and power with her own eyes. But all she could do was lower her head in acceptance. The bone carver left without looking back. He joined the lengthy line.
Liah plunked herself down on a nearby rock, retrieved one of the gourds from her sack, and took a sip of cold river water. If only there were a way she might take a quick peek—just a peek—and then return without her master’s knowledge.
The sun rose higher in the sky. As Liah returned the gourd to her sack, her hand grazed the damaged bone cup. She withdrew the piece and examined it. The scrapes were still visible, but only on one side. If she held it a certain way, the damage could be concealed. It was a very fine piece indeed. Much finer by far than her paltry carvings. Her bone flute paled in comparison.
Suddenly, the Lie-peddler’s melody began worming its way through her mind once again. It brought with it an idea—a clever, but deceitful idea. There was a way she could glimpse the palace. If only for a moment. Using the cup, she could gain access and then return without the bone carver’s knowledge.