“Bones,” she said.
She sighed deeply in relief.
The dust that had escaped the box hung on the wind for a moment, then, as Ida inhaled, rushed in a whoosh into her nose, almost too fine to be noticed. She rubbed her sleeve across her nose, sniffed a few times, and then looked up from the hole again.
“Any day now, Polywog,” she said impatiently.
Ven held out his hand to her. “Here, let me help you out of there,” he said.
Ida reached up to grasp it, but when she did, her fingers passed right through Ven’s palm. Puzzled, she tried again, and still missed.
Then she looked down at her hand and gasped.
It, like the rest of her, was beginning to dim like a lantern running out of oil.
And disappear.
27
A Desperate Dash
“WHAT THE—?” EXCLAIMED CHAR.
“Ida,” Ven said slowly, “give me your elbow.”
At first the girl didn’t seem to hear him; she was staring at her hand, a puzzled expression turning to one of shock. Then she looked back up at Ven, and her pale blue eyes were wide with fear, something Ven had never seen on her face before.
“Come on,” he said gently. “Elbow.”
Ida crooked her arm and Ven made a grab for the bend in it. This time his fingers wrapped around something solid, and he gave a strong pull, yanking Ida out of the hole and into the pile of dirt beside it.
“What’s—what’s happening?” Clemency stammered.
They looked around at the crossroads, now swallowed by darkness. The thick steam that had begun to rise from around the Rover’s box had disappeared, leaving only the low-lying fog of night. In the distance, warm lights burned within the Inn. Ven saw another, dimmer light traveling slowly from behind the Inn to the stables; Cadwalder’s back to work, he thought. We sure have been at this a long time.
“Polywog, what have you done to me?” Ida demanded in a voice that quavered. She was staring at her hands in the dark, watching as they grew more and more filmy by the moment.
“He’s done nothing,” came a hollow voice from the cemetery behind them. They turned to see Gregory there, becoming more solid in the dark. “You swallowed some breath of the Rover’s grave. Now you are becoming a Revenant yourself. With each breath you take, a little more of your life bleeds away. By this time tomorrow, you will be one of us. I’m sorry.”
“No—nobody mentioned that when you dragged me away from supper to help you,” Ida said nervously. Clemency reached for her hand and passed right through it; she put her arm around Ida’s shoulders quickly.
“What can we do?” the curate-in-training asked Gregory.
The translucent boy considered. “I really don’t know,” he said finally. “I’m only here to guard the crossroads and look after my mother. Now that you have closed the box, that shouldn’t be necessary anymore; at least once you’ve reburied it. When the crossroads were safe again, I was planning to go on myself.”
“Go on?” asked Ven.
“To the light,” said the ghost. “Where I am supposed to be. You will see someday.” He looked at Ida, who was trembling like a leaf in the wind. “You don’t have to be scared. Being dead really isn’t all that bad. Neither is being undead.”
Ida turned her head and heaved her supper all over the grass.
“All right, we have to do something to fix this,” Ven said as Clem bent over Ida and gave her a handkerchief.
“Like what?” Char demanded.
“Maybe McLean can help,” Saeli whispered in her harsh voice.
“That’s a good idea!” Ven said. “He fixed Nicholas with a song of his true name. Maybe he can do the same for Ida.” His excitement waned at the look on Ida’s face. “What? What’s the matter?”
The thin girl’s eyes were wide in the dark. “I—I don’t know mine,” she said softly.
“Your name? You don’t know your real name?”
“Not all of it,” Ida said defensively. “Maybe you could lend me one of yours, Polywog—don’t you have about ten of them?”
“Don’t feel bad, Ida,” Char said awkwardly. “Lots of people don’t—I don’t know mine, Cadwalder doesn’t know his.”
“Thanks—I feel so much better now.” Ida scowled and turned away.
Clemency was examining Ida’s arm. “Whatever is going on here, it seems to be moving from her outer limbs inward. And it gets worse every time she takes a deep breath. So for goodness’ sake, Ven, try to keep from upsetting her, and Ida, stop talking.” She tore a piece fabric off the bottom of her tunic and tied it around Ida’s upper arm. “Maybe we can hold it off for a while.”
Char pulled Ven aside and spoke softly. “Ya know, ever since I met her I’ve wished that Ida would disappear, but I didn’t mean like that,” he said uneasily. “She makes me crazy, but I don’t wanna see her die—or worse.”
“No,” Ven agreed. “We have to do something fast. This is a matter of life and death.”
The words rang in his head from the last time he heard them.
Something that powerful should only be sought out in a matter of life and death, McLean had said.
“The Floating Island!” he shouted, causing Char and Saeli to jump. “That’s it! We have to get some of the Living Water; that’s the only thing I know of powerful enough to counteract this. It was the only thing that kept Mrs. Snodgrass alive—surely it can save Ida.”
“You’re daft.” Char snorted. “That thing was out in the middle of the sea, for cripe’s sake, and two weeks’ sail away. How do you expect to get to it before she vanishes completely?”
“We’re not going to it,” Ven said, looking around the crossroads. “It’s going to come to us. Come on, we have to get to town.” He paused, staring at the blank faces in front of him. “Unless anyone else has a better idea?”
A heartbeat later he, Char, and Saeli were running as fast as they could across the fields toward the stable.
Cadwalder had just hung up the lantern and was pulling on his boots when the three children bolted through the stable door, causing the horses to nicker nervously.
“Polypheme! What are you doing here at this hour?” he demanded, gentling the horse in the nearest stall.
“We—we need to get to town, right now.” Ven panted, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Please—it’s an emergency. Can—you—lend us a wagon?”
Cadwalder blinked, his eyes going from Ven to Char to Saeli.
“Mrs. Snodgrass would hang me by my toenails,” he said uncertainly.
“I will hang for you, I promise,” Ven said. “Please, Cadwalder, we don’t have much time.”
The boy considered for a moment. “Do any of you know how to drive a wagon? Or even ride a horse?”
The three children looked blankly at one another.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Cadwalder said.
“You could drive us,” Ven said quickly. “You must be good at it.”
“I am, but I’m not leaving my post, Polypheme,” the steward of Hare Warren said, picking up a rake. “And I’m not going through the crossroads, let alone to town, at night. Has bad memories for me. I’m sorry.”
“Now what do we do?” Char asked. “There’s no way Ida can walk—all that breathin’, she’d be gone before we made it to the White Fern. And those bloody dogs might still be out there. What are we gonna do?”
Ven felt movement behind him. He turned around to see Saeli wandering over to the paddocks of two older draft horses. She waved for Ven to come nearer, and when he did, she motioned for him to get down on his hands and knees. He did, feeling foolish, until Saeli climbed up on his back, holding on to the paddock door, and began whispering into the ear of the nearest horse, a fat white one named Breeze.
“What are you doing?” Cadwalder asked in disbelief, but Char waved impatiently at him.
“Shhhh,” he whispered. “Saeli can talk to animals.”
With a whinny, the horse lifted its head in what a
ppeared to be a nod.
“Can you do it, Saeli?” Ven asked, feeling his excitement grow as she climbed down from his back. “Can you tell them what they need to know to get us to town?”
The tiny girl nodded, her face uncertain.
Ven turned back to Cadwalder.
“Please, Cadwalder—can we take them? And a wagon?”
The older boy exhaled, thinking. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “You can have Breeze and Trillium, the oldest ones here; they’re practically dead, anyway. But you are taking the fall for this, Polypheme. I’m not facing the wrath of Mrs. Snodgrass on your behalf. If you don’t come back, I’m telling her you stole them.”
“Whatever you need to do,” Ven said, opening the paddock door.
“I’ll tack ’em up for you,” Cadwalder said, reaching for the bridles and reins, and pointing to an old, rickety wagon. “And I’ll get you a lantern. After that, you’re on your own.”
Ven nodded curtly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an orange shape hovering near the stable door, and turned to see Murphy watching them with what looked like interest.
“Brave lad, isn’t he?” the cat said disdainfully, nodding toward Cadwalder, who was busy gathering the tack.
“He’s helping, and we need his help,” Ven replied. He went over to the cat and bent down in front of him. “Murphy, will you do me a favor?”
“That depends on what it is. I rarely do favors, and I always expect a treat in return.”
“A treat?” Ven asked in dismay.
The orange tabby shrugged. “I’m a cat. If I do something for nothing, I get thrown out of the cat guild.”
“What sort of treat?”
Murphy considered. “Oh, a nice ball of string, or perhaps a fish head. That would be tasty. I’m not hard to please.”
“I’ll do my best to find you something,” Ven promised. “But please go and tell McLean what’s going on. Tell him we are going to take Ida to the island—and that I remember exactly what he said about doing so. He will know what I mean.”
The cat sighed. “All right. But there had better be a treat involved.”
“Thanks, Murphy,” Ven said, returning to the wagon.
It took a very long time to get the wagon hitched to the horses. By the time Ven, Char, and Saeli returned to the crossroads, Clemency was sitting on the ground, Ida beside her with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. In the dark it was hard to see Clem, even as the light from the lantern hanging from the wagon approached, but almost impossible to make out Ida from the low-lying mist.
“Come on,” Ven called, waving to the girls. “Get in!”
* * *
The ride to town was agonizing. The wagon Cadwalder had given us was warped and old, barely held together by wooden pins, and the wheels wobbled so much that we were afraid one or more of them would go flying off into the night.
The light from the lantern bounced crazily around the fields and the road as we bumped along in the darkness. Char and Clem stayed in the back of the wagon with Ida, who was fading away more and more by the minute, while Saeli and I sat up on the wagon board with the reins in our hands, me looking useless while Saeli called to the horses in her strange, raspy voice.
All along the way I kept hearing my father’s voice as he admonished me to remember my lessons. I’m not sure what lesson I ever learned could have prepared me for what we were doing now—five kids alone in a wagon they didn’t know how to drive, heading for an island they only barely had an idea of how to find. I didn’t know if what we were doing would save Ida, or if we might all end up joining her and Gregory in the Snodgrass family burying ground.
I only knew we didn’t really have any other choice.
* * *
As they came within sight of the White Fern Inn, they could hear the barking of dogs. The gleaming building glowed a ghostly white in the darkness, pale as the moon behind the racing clouds.
“Saeli—tell the horses not to worry,” Ven said when Breeze and Trillium lurched to one side as the howling in the distance got closer. “The dogs are caged unless Whiting lets them out—and I think by now the ones that attacked Nick are back in their pens.”
“That’s reassuring,” Char muttered.
Saeli urged the horses into a clattering canter as they passed the inn. All five children tried to avoid looking as they rumbled by the high fences, where the black and brown beasts snarled and barked in ear-splitting shrillness, hurling their muscular bodies against the barrier. Their yellow eyes glowed eerily in the darkness.
“Blow you down!” Char shouted at the dogs from inside the wagon. “Where’s your paint now, eh? Ghost wolves, nothin’.”
“Shhhh!” Clem scolded. “Don’t tease them—they could tear our horses to pieces fairly easily.”
At that moment, the lanterns at the doorway of the White Fern Inn were unhooded, filling the night with eerie light.
“What’s going on out here?” Ven could hear Whiting shout in the darkness.
“Hurry,” he urged Saeli as the barking grew louder.
The wagon careened down the roadway out of the light from the inn, the barking and howling fading into the shadows behind them.
“How’s Ida doing?” Ven called from the wagon board once they were well past the White Fern and lurching down the open road again.
Clemency crawled over to the board and kneeled up beside him.
“Not good,” she said in a low voice. “I’m really worried, Ven. Maybe if she had a real curate, a grown-up, instead of just a curate-in-training taking care of her, she might be better off. She needs a healer, and I don’t think I’m doing very well by her.”
“Hang in, Clem,” Ven said, making a grab for Saeli as the wagon swayed and she slid off the board. “You’re doing fine. Just remember whatever lessons you were taught, and do the best you can.” That’s all any of us can do, he thought.
After what seemed like forever, the lights of Kingston came into view, a bright haze of burning streetlamps and two large torches that lit the gate into town.
“Drat!” Clemency said, staring at the gate. “I’d forgotten they shut the entrance into town at night. We’ll never get past the guard. They never make allowances for kids.”
“Maybe we can go around,” Ven suggested.
Clem shook her head. “There’s no way the wagon would hold together if we go overland,” she said nervously. “If we go to the south, we have to drive over a huge levee of rocks toward the fishing village, and if we go to the north, we will have to go all the way around the Gated City. I don’t think we want to be anywhere near there, especially at night.”
“I’ll second that,” Char called grumpily from the depths of the wagon.
“Then we’re just going to have to find a way to get through the town gate,” Ven said.
The gate was an enormous one fashioned in stone and covered with twining ivy, the same gate Ven and Char had passed through when they first came to Serendair. The man guarding the entrance to the city was barely awake as the wagon pulled up to the gate. He rose sleepily to his feet, blinking rapidly at the sight of two old draft horses, without drivers, pulling a clattering cart full of children.
“What’s going on here?” he demanded. “Gate’s closed.”
From the back of the wagon, Clemency stood on Char’s back to appear as tall as possible and tucked her hands into her sleeves, looking very curate-like.
“Good evening, my son,” she said solemnly. “Please let us in.”
“My son?” the guard asked in amazement. “Wha—”
“My name is Clemency, the curate currently assigned to the Crossroads Inn,” Clem went on, looking severely at the guard. “I have a very sick passenger, and I must get into the city now, before it is too late. Pray stand aside, my son, and you will be blessed for your efforts.”
“All right, get out of that wagon, you kids,” the guard replied, pointing to the ground.
“I really don’t have time to argue about th
is,” Clemency said, politely but firmly. “Please open the gate.”
With a silver shing, the guard drew his sword. “I said get out of the wagon,” he said menacingly.
Clemency, whose face was now grim, nodded to Saeli.
Directly behind the guard the ivy vines on the gate suddenly stretched, as if waking from a long sleep, then whipped out, wrapping their long tendrils around the man’s arms and legs, pinning him to the rocky wall.
“What the—hellpgghfff!—” the man gurgled as the ivy tied itself around his mouth.
Ven and Char leapt out of the wagon and ran to the gate, hauling the portcullis up. Ven tried not to look at the terrified guard, who was now sprouting leaves from every part of his body.
“Heave! Heave! Pretend we’re hoisting sails!” he called to Char, who nodded and put his back into the effort. The portcullis glided up easily into the stone of the gate.
“Come on!” Ven called to Saeli.
“May you have a blessed evening, my son,” Clemency said as they passed through the gate. The guard stared helplessly as the wagon rattled by. Char and Ven lowered the portcullis again, then ran back for the wagon and hopped in.
The gate guard struggled for a moment, then stopped in amazement.
A large daisy had appeared from within the vines under his nose.
* * *
We rumbled and bumped over the cobblestones in the dark, past empty shops and silent fountains. The wind was strong with the smell of the sea, and many of the oil lampposts flickered as it blew through the streets of Kingston.
Our wagon clattered past the twelve-foot-high walls of the Gated City, its guard towers dark for the night. On the other side of the walls lights and music blazed; it seemed as if an enormous bonfire had been lit in celebration of nothing in particular. I could hear the sound of wild laughter and drunken merriment, and it chilled me to the bone.