Chapter 9 - The Trail

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
'Tis the wind, and nothing more." - Edgar Allan Poe

That night I dreamt of the library. A year ago my parents thought it might be nice to invite a few kindergarten classmates of mine to play, though I’m sure my father’s true motive was to show off. The children would see the Library and tell their parents. My father would mentally preen.

For all that I loved him, my father managed to embarrass me in most social situations. “Dad! Stop doing that! People are looking at us,” was a common statement of mine. My father paid very little attention to my complaints. Looking back on it now, I think he found them amusing. At some point in his life, he had decided that the notion of embarrassment was a waste of time and proceeded to ignore it.

In my dream that day had not yet turned sour. The children were still marveling at the many shelves. No one had thought to point out that I and my family could be a bunch of nerds. Everything was too new. I knew all of that was about to change.

Jordan, the boy I had always considered a friend, turned to face me. He was grinning a wide, hungry, violent grin. Adults never remember these grins, even though they haunt our deep-down memories. We put them in stories about murders and werewolves. We forgot that these are the grins of little girls and little boys who have discovered the power of cruelty.

“Nice house, dork!” shouts Jordan, his teeth flashing. I find my hands tugging at my mother’s shirt, but she does not hear me or feel me. She is turned away and oblivious.

Sammy turns at Jordan’s words and instantly understands. Children know about power. “Yeah, dillweed!” he cries.

Quickly, the remaining children turn and start shouting insults. In moments I can no longer comprehend the words, I only feel the rage, the heat blazing from their bodies. Then, from the ranks, Jordan steps forward. The crowd goes silent. He stands inches away from me and stares down into my eyes. “Boys,” he says to the children behind him. “Let’s go. It’s time to leave this loser and his loser father with their loser books.”

My eyes water at this point, but I manage to hold back the tears. Jordan curses at me, puts his hand upon my chest and shoves me down. I fall against a bookshelf and crack my head on a corner. Then they are gone. When my parents ask me where my friends went, I tell them I asked them to go. My father is irritated at this and walks away. My mother looks concerned, but does not press me.

It is a dream I have often had since that day. Until that night in the plains, the pain had been dulling. I was a child, and children can forget. Now it was back, vivid and ghastly. However, I had little time to deal with it as I awoke. Something more pressing was happening.

Jonathan was shaking me. “Dewey,” he whispered. “the others are awake. You have to see this!”

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and pushed the pain into an unused corner of my mind. “What? What’s going on?” I asked.

“It’s..., I don’t know what it is. I’m not sure if it’s amazing or funny or both. You just have to see.”

With that Jonathan hurried away. Curious, I got up and followed him. The sky was dark, as the dawn sun had not yet risen. In a few moments, we reached a small rise. He crouched down, waited for me, and whispered, “They’re just over this hill.”

I peaked over the grass and was astounded. There, as far as the eye could see, stretched a single row of prairie dogs, starting as far as I could see to the north and ending just as far to the south, facing east. Each one stood on his or her hind legs and stared intently at nothing that I could see, each one’s tail wagging furiously. I recognized Herrenfeld nearby. For a time, nothing happened, then the Patros began to hum. The hum followed the line of the Prairiea both north and south, until it seemed an immense sounding board stood in front of me. The earth seemed to buzz in counterpoint to the creatures’ rumble.

And then the sun broke the eastern horizon. The humming swelled and minute changes appeared along the line. Harmonies floated atop harmonies. The underlying current held steady. In its tones I thought I heard flashes of the song Aly sang the night before. As the sun rose, the prairie dogs went totally still, save for their vast song. Then, at the edges, the song seemed to dim. Younger voices fell away. The song grew deeper, more ancient.

I felt in that hum, the song shooting back thousands of years and shooting forward thousands more. The Prairiea had greeted the dawn in this way since time immemorial.

Yet more voices quieted. The line of song got smaller and smaller, until only one voice could be heard, the hum of Herrenfeld. In a moment he too went silent. Jonathan and I exchanged glances. We had witnessed the morning song of the Prairiea. We did not speak as we returned to the camp. What could be said? Having witnessed the event from other points, my cousins and Thad trailed in from other directions, obviously stunned by the enormity of the prairie dogs’ choir. I returned to my blanket and remained quiet for some time.

It was not until that afternoon that we finally returned to our journey. In the intervening moments, discussions occurred, plans were set, hands were shaken, and a wheel was fixed. I rode in the cart with Kenzie and Aly, and Jonathan walked along with Thad as we departed. The many prairie dog pups trailed us for several hundred yards before returning to their parents.

“So that was something this morning, huh,” ventured Jonathan, as he kept pace with us.

“I’ll say,” said Kenzie. “Speaking of which, what happened to you last night, Aly? I had no idea you had that in you.” Aly only shrugged and looked embarrassed.

“Seriously, Aly, I’ve never heard you sing like that before. Where did it come from?” added Jonathan.

Aly looked down at her hands, then said, “I’m not sure, guys. It felt strange. It was like the words were coming from my voice and were being lifted from my mind, but they didn’t feel like my words. It was like someone else was singing through me… No, that isn’t right. It was like someone else had told me what to sing years ago, and I was just remembering the words.”

“You know,” I said, “I’ve felt the same way since we began this quest.” As I said it, I realized it was true. “I’m a kid. I’m seven! I should be watching cartoons and learning to color, but I talk like I’m Kenzie’s age and act like I'm as old as my father. Heck, we all do. What is happening to us in this place?”

Before the cousins could say anything, Thad called out. “We’re here! Dewey! Kenzie! We made it!”

Startled, we all looked at him, then looked around. Not a lot had changed. Prairie grass continued to ripple in every direction like a vast ocean. Kenzie and Jonathan exchanged exasperated glances.

I spoke up. “Um, Thad, it looks pretty much the same here as everywhere else. What are you talking about?”

“It is, lad, it is. But it’s also something more! Come see.” Having said this, he trotted over to a point a few yards further and gestured at the ground. Grumbling, I climbed down and went to see what he was pointing at.

When I was about three feet away from Thad, I tripped. Surprised, I looked at where my foot had been. There was a wide rut. My hands had fallen into another one near where Thad was pointing.

“This is it!” he hooted. “This is the trail! This, my good friend, is when our travails get easier and our step livens.” Thad began to do a little jig.

I turned back to my cousins and shrugged. Thad was correct. This was a trail. I still did not understand what made it so fantastic, and said as much.

Jonathan tried to clarify things. “What’s so great about this trail?” he asked.

“What’s so great?! What’s so great?! Children, this is the Chisholm Trail! The is the great cattle-driving trail of Texas! This is the Roman Highway of Kansas. This is the Autobahn of the plains. This is the path to your friend Matty,” Thad said and poked me in the ribs. He grinned. “Everything is going to get easier now.”

Very few statements have been more false.

For a time after we turned onto the trail, it was as Thad said. Everything was easier. The bumps and bruises of the open plains disappeared as our cart stopped jostling and jerking the lot of us. Even the mule seemed content and pulled with extra vigor. At some point, Aly had named the mule Nestor, after some cartoon donkey. She encouraged Nestor’s new energy with a few extra carrots. That whole day we made excellent time.

As the evening came upon us, we started to make out a light in the distance.

“What is that?” I asked Thad, pointing toward the light due north of us that seemed to intersect with our trail perfectly.

“That is Newton, the international port of Kansas,” said our guide, proudly.

“Port?” I asked. “How can Kansas have a port? It's a prairie in the center of a continent without a single major lake.”

“Newton,” said Thad, “is home to the Train Station. It's Kansas's connection to the world. The next port is Kansas City, and that train station is on the Missouri side.”

“Are you saying there’s a train from Newton to KC?” interjected Jonathan.

“Yes,” said Thad.

Aly got very excited at this. “Does that mean we can take the train?! Oh, I’ve always wanted to take the train.” She turned to Kenzie. “Can we please, Kenz? It would be so much fun!”

Kenzie glanced from Aly to me and back, then said, “I don’t think so, Sis. The old man told us to avoid cars and the like. We could take that train, but…” she turned to me for support.

“Something real bad might happen,” I said. I knew Kenzie was right too. I could feel it. I could hear the scream of the gears. I could see the train’s hunger. “Real bad,” I repeated, almost to myself.

The discussion ended with that, and, shortly thereafter, so did that day’s journey.

“We should camp here, tonight, before we hit Newton,” said Kenzie.

Thad began to complain at this. He had been looking forward to a warm bed. Kenzie interrupted him. “I’m sure it’s a wonderful town,” she said, “but something about those lights makes me feel uneasy. I don’t want to run into trouble tonight. It’ll be far better and easier to deal with any problems in the morning.”

Thad said nothing at this. He simply shrugged and set to building the fire for camp. His silence made me nervous. Such behavior was unlike Thad. Before now, a simple explanation had never been enough to stop his wheedling. Usually, it took threats of violence.

After camp had been set up and dinner finished, Thad stood to perform yet another poem. It had taken little time for him to overcome any moodiness Kenzie might have forced on him. He began.
Twelve strokes around and I am the same
Yet different.
Twelve strokes around and the sky is dark
And I’ve reset.

Twelve strokes around and the world is turned
But I am not spent.
Twelve strokes around and my soul is burned
And the night is dark and the moon is red.
Twelve strokes around and twelve again
And the flames fly high and the world is dead.

Twelve strokes around and my gears are shot.
Twelve strokes around and it was all for naught.
Twelve strokes around and twelve strokes around.
And twelve strokes around and twelve strokes around.

Thad was finished, but there were no sighs or moans of embarrassment. For the first time, he had left us speechless. This was not his usual poem of love and loss. This one was different. This one felt unpleasant. This one felt wrong.

I tried to fall asleep that night, but the words haunted me. It was not until well past midnight that I drifted away. Until then, Thad's voice echoed in my head.

And twelve strokes around. And twelve strokes around. And twelve strokes around.

That night the wind howled.

Chapter 8 - The Prairiea

If you go down in the plains today,
You're sure of a big surprise.

If you go down in the plains today,
You'd better go in disguise.

For ev'ry bear that ever there was,
Won't gather there for certain, because

Today's the day the Prairie Dogs have their picnic. – An Alternative Folk Song

The rest of that day we said little and paused only to water the mule at a creek we passed around noon. Each of us seemed lost in thought. I could not keep my mind away from Maddy, her morning run, and the gift of her ring.

The ring drew my eyes from our surroundings to the point that I did not notice the creek until we were fording it. It was a beautiful piece of gold. It was elegant. It looked fragile but felt immensely strong. I held it in the palm of my right hand and twirled it about, using my left forefinger.

While our mule drank from the stream, we took lunch. I do not recall eating, though I was not hungry later, so I assume that I must have. All I could think was that Maddy had flown.

It was not until that evening that my thoughts came crashing back down to the real world. It happened suddenly.

“Umph!” grunted Aly, who was sitting on the right side of the cart.

Aly, along with the cart, had dropped a few feet on the right. I had been sitting in the middle, between Jonathan and Aly, but was now lying atop my youngest cousin.

Jonathan, who had caught hold of the left rail in time, stood up. “Kenzie!” he called. “Can you see what’s happened?”

Kenzie, who had been leading the mule, had turned back when the mule stopped walking. She examined the left side of the cart. “Um,” she said. “It doesn’t look good. Hey, Thad! Come here.”

Thad had been walking well in front of us. He trotted over to Kenzie’s side. “That doesn’t look good,” he echoed Kenzie.

“What doesn’t look good?” asked Jonathan.

I had managed to climb off Aly and down out of the cart. I was astonished. “Wheels fall off?” I asked.

“The wheel fell off!” exclaimed Jonathan.

“Yup, front-right,” said Thad to Jonathan, then he turned to me. “Not very often,” he said. “In fact, I’ve never been near one that has, and I am especially surprised that a wheel might have fallen off one of Jim’s carts. He’s a very careful man. He should have caught this.”

I agreed. A chill breeze blew from the southwest, where we had been and where I had been dreaming all day. Something happened back there that I had missed, that we all had missed. Jonathan was the first to notice the sound riding the wind toward us.

“Do you hear that?” he whispered. He was gazing southwest in the direction of the stream we had forded. “It’s some kind of ant or bug… maybe not. It’s a sort of chittering.” He looked to Kenzie for advice.

“I don’t hear anything,” she said.

Jonathan turned his face back in the direction of the breeze. His brow furrowed then rose in alarm. “It’s coming closer!” he said.

Kenzie looked at me, and I shrugged back. “Better safe than sorry,” she said. “Everyone up. Get on the cart. Heppy?” She turned to the bird. “Could you try scouting back? Maybe you’ll see something.” The bird cawed in acknowledgement and flew back in the direction we had come.

The rest of us piled aboard the broken cart and waited.

“Being with you children is certainly a bit nerve-racking,” said Thad to no one in particular. I don’t know why the boss thought I was up for this gig. I’m a poet, not an adventurer.”

Aly patted the man on the head, trying to calm him down. Kenzie said nothing, while Jonathan tried to listen for new noises. I kept my ears open and fingered Maddy’s ring.

For a time nothing happened, and my eyes started to droop. I began to dream, and in my dream I could see Maddy sitting on her bed, her legs swung down and her toes nearly touching the floor.

“Dewey,” she seemed to say.

“Yes,” I said, noting that her voice lacked the laughter that seemed always ready to burst out.

“You will not be with me long,” she said, “so say nothing and listen. The ones you are about to meet are important. You must enlist their aide or all of our efforts will be wasted. Without them even your friend Matt will not be able to stop the angry old man. Do what you can. Trust your cousins. But know that the only one who can truly win them over is the one with the strength to do so.”

I felt confused. What was going on? Was this a dream? “Maddy,” I said. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

She interrupted me. “It’s fading already, Dewey. I’m sorry. I will try to tell you more, later, but for now, just know that I miss you.” She closed her eyes, and the image jerked away.

Thad was shaking me. “Wake up!” he shouted. “Do you hear that?”

I blinked and was awake. The sound that Jonathan had called a chittering was now a rumble. The earth shook around us. “What is that? What’s happening?” I shouted back.

“I don’t know. He hasn’t come back yet!” said Thad, his eyes seeming to roll around in his skull as he glanced around.

“Who?” I called.

“His bird,” said Jonathan. “His bird isn’t back.”

“Where is he?”

“We don’t know,” said Kenzie. The rumbling had grown steadily louder. I could barely hear Kenzie’s voice now. “He’s been gone a half hour, at least,” she yelled, and then there was silence. The word “least” echoed through the plains around us. The rumbling had stopped.

We all looked at one another, confusion written plainly on our brow.

“What…” began Jonathan. He was silenced by the appearance of a prairie dog in front of us. This one was, however, like no prairie dog that I had ever seen. It stood at least three feet tall on its hind legs and with lidded eyes examined us in our cart. Its black-tipped tail waved calmly back and forth. We gaped at the animal. Thad was making choking sounds.

I do not know how, but I could sense a vast age in the creature before me. His whiskers were graying and his back sloped mildly, but something more existed. This prairie dog was a grandfather and a leader. His eyes spoke of sadness and wear. In a slow, measured voice that was both masculine and nasal and that exuded wisdom, the prairie dog spoke. “You have ridden over our land,” he said. “You have rumbled the caves and frightened the pups.” His sentences were accusatory, but his tone was more confused than angry. “What is worse, you have brought a machine, a… vehicle,” his voice trembled at the word, “into a peaceful place. Why? Why have you done this?”

His question was a weak one, a pitiful one. I could feel a hidden strength in his spirit that had somehow been crushed away. What was happening to the people of this world?

Kenzie climbed down off the cart and stood before the ancient prairie dog. Though Kenzie was a tall girl at nearly six feet, the prairie dog did not back away. He stood as though the two were equal in every way. I did not know what Kenzie would say. I did not know if she would take the small creature seriously.

“My name is Mackenzie, and I am sorry,” she said in a voice nearly as measured as the prairie dog before her. “We did not know this was your land. In another world and another time we might never have taken a vehicle across and above your homes. Such was not an option today.” Kenzie turned away from the prairie dog and indicated me. “This boy is named Dewey. A great conflict approaches. He, along with myself and my brother and sister, has been sent by Abraham to the place where the Kansas and Missouri rivers meet to help a boy named Matthew in the coming struggle. Even now, the battle has begun. It is with this terrible assignment in mind that we travel across and over your land.”

Jonathan and I exchanged glances. Kenzie had never spoken like this before. “Weird,” murmured my cousin.

The ancient prairie dog stood silent, appraising the woman in front of him. Then he smiled. “You are wise and courteous. You do your party honor. My name is Herrenfeld. These are my people. These are the Prairiea.” Out of his throat came a chittering call, then the world quaked around us.

From the fields in every direct hundreds of prairie dogs emerged from unseen burrows. Each stood at least two feet high, though none quite managed the height of the wise Herrenfeld. Thad fainted. Aly squeaked with delight. The vast sea of prairie dogs surged in a joyful tide toward us, calling out in a high pitched, brassy language that I could not understand, but thought sounded beautiful.

Herrenfeld made another sound, and the masses quieted. “I know about this conflict. Even we sheltered Prairiea have heard the rumblings in the earth.” He turned toward the west. “The sun sets. The night begins. Take shelter here, and let us speak of these matters.”

Kenzie nodded and thanked Herrenfeld. I felt frustration at the need to stop again, but quashed the urge to lash out. I could still hear the voice of Madison in my dream. Were these the creatures of which she spoke? This night might be an important one.

After Kenzie and Herrenfeld had finished complementing one another and shaking hands, we began setting up the tents. Thad had come out of his faint and was bullied by Jonathan into lending a hand. When the first tent was almost set, a loud caw filled the air. Thad looked up and released the brace he was holding. The tent collapsed. Thad did not care. He was running toward the sound. I followed. At the edge of the encampment he and Heppy were reunited. The crow landed on his shoulder and made a second caw.

“Really?” said Thad. “You don’t say.” I was curious and asked Thad to translate. “He says,” said Thad, “that the sound is just some prairie dogs. They’re friendly, so we shouldn’t worry.”

I looked at the bird on Thad’s shoulder who was preening himself for a job well done, and sighed.

When camp had been made and a fire lit that could comfortably warm my cousins, Thad, Herrenfeld, and myself, the wise and ancient Prairiea spoke.

“You have come far, and yet traveled very little,” he said, staring into the flames. “Your journey is barely begun, yet Change already wraps the four of you in her protective chrysalis. I do not see an easy time to come.” He sighed. “However, that is not what we shall speak tonight, is it?” He turned his eyes from the fire, skipped Kenzie, and looked directly at me.

I felt trapped in the headlights. Until he spoke, I had not realized my intentions. Now they were as clear to me as they obviously had been to Herrenfeld.

Kenzie followed the prairie dog’s gaze to see me squirming on the other side of the fire. “What is he talking about, Dewey? Is there something I don’t know?”

I looked down at my hands and was startled to discover how small they still were. I was a kid. How had all of this become my responsibility? Slowly, I nodded. “Herrenfeld…,” I blinked. Calling the leader of the Prairiea by his first name seemed inappropriate right now. I interrupted my sentence. “Is that what we should call you?”

“You may if you choose,” he said. “There are those of my children who call me the Patros, though I rarely attend to such formality.”

I nodded. “Patros Herrenfeld,” I began. “Though such was not our intent as we traveled over your land, I find it is my duty today to ask you for a gift you have every right to refuse.”

Jonathan, who had been dozing off, jolted up at this. He gazed suspiciously at me. I could not meet his eyes.

“As you have said, the earth rumbles. Forces are mounting. Our friend Matthias stands at the center of something larger than any of us, but he cannot afford to stand alone. He needs us. And he needs you.”

A burst of air escaped Jonathan’s lungs. I do not know how, but he could see where this was going.

“He needs the Prairiea.”

The Patros Herrenfeld stared into the fire and said nothing. Then he turned to me. “I feel you have been misinformed, lad. The Prairiea have heard the distant thunder. They have witnessed the trampings of the multitudes. Yet we stand alone. We are sheltered in our homes. The battles above the surface do not affect us in our burrows. We are peaceful and intend to remain so. We do not take sides.” Having said his lot, the Patros returned his gaze to the fire.

I turned helplessly to Kenzie who only shrugged. Thad, who sat between Jonathan and me, whispered, “This is the way of these creatures. They have stood alone for centuries, perhaps millennia. They take no sides, have never taken sides, and will never take sides. They exist with the earth, shiftless and resolute. They are the Prairiea.”

With nothing left to discuss, the gathering fell away. Kenzie stayed to contemplate the fire with the Patros Herrenfeld. Aly attempted to befriend the many young Prairiea girls, who found her giggles and ability to talk about anything fascinating. Though these creatures had a language of their own, they all seemed entirely conversant in ours.

Feeling embarrassed and frustrated at my failure in turning the mind of the Prairiea leader, I walked back to the broken cart and sat up front. The mule sat in the grass, fast asleep. I heard a rustle behind me, then Thad’s voice. “Don’t feel disheartened, kid,” he said. He sat in the seat beside me. “It was not meant to be. No matter how hard you talk, these people will not change. I’m a little surprised the boss gave you this task.”

At that, my shoulders and head slumped. Thad looked at me curiously. “He did give you the job, no? Kid, tell me you didn’t decide to do this on your own.”

“It wasn’t on my own,” I said, “but it wasn’t the boss, either. You know how I just sort of fell asleep, right before Herrenfeld showed up?”

Thad nodded.

“Well, I had a dream. In my dream, Maddy was calling to me. She told me we would need these people. She said I needed to trust my cousins. I don’t remember it very well now. I think I remember something about strength, but I can’t place it.”

“Oh Dewey,” Thad said, “Did you ever think maybe it was just a dream? Not everything is magical here. Look at Jonathan over there, wrestling with those prairie dog pups. Do you think a few tumbles are going to change any minds? And look at Aly. Did you think adolescent prairie dog girl giggles were going to alter the world?”

I looked at Jonathan and then at Aly and looked away. Thad was surely correct. Herrenfeld had sounded implacable. There was nothing we could do.

Thad rambled on for a time, sounding nearly depressed enough to write another poem. Then his voice changed, and his words trailed off, mid-sentence. I had nearly fallen asleep, but was startled awake by his silence. I looked at him and saw that he was staring off at something. I followed his eyes.

There was Aly and her gaggle of girls. But they had stopped giggling. In fact, the prairie dog children were totally silent. Every last one of them was staring in wonder and astonishment at Aly, who had begun to sing. Even Jonathan’s rough-housing had ceased. The entire camp was silent, save for the crackling of the flames, the slight gusting of wind, and the beautiful sound of a little girl who sang with the breathy whisper of a child’s heart.

I had never heard the song before, and I knew that I never would again. It was far too perfect to be reproduced. At first, Aly sang of simple things: waves of grass and wheat, the glorious dawn and vivid sunsets.

Then her tone changed. Her words became stronger; her song became a tidal wave. She sang the stories of children and parents, of husband and wife, of cousins, of connections seen and unseen. She sang a story that began with a lone infant and ended with the world, with the universe, with the family, with the windswept plains of Kansas.

And just I began to feel crushed by the enormity of this world that we live in, Aly’s tone changed. It grew hollow and empty and cold. It spoke of creaks and cracks, of lost connections, of homeless children, of empty societies that have lost touch with the world and in the same breath with themselves.

Once again, Aly’s melodies changed. The empty societies truly emptied. Lives were lost, senselessly. Murders happened in the night. Parents never came home again. The world had been lost, not by those who had fought to keep it, but by those who had chosen to let it go.

Tears fell into a puddle at Aly’s feet as she sang of a loss more tragic and bitter than the loss of the moon or the stars. The loss she sang of was that of love, of beauty, of empathy and understanding. She sang of a race that could lose its soul.

But as her words and her tune sharpened and stretched taught that bleakest moment, the hope in her eyes and in her own heart fought back. The melody struggled with itself, for a soul once lost is almost impossible to find again by any ordinary individual. Aly, though, was no ordinary individual.

In our minds, we witnessed a pitched battle, as Aly struggled – cut, bloodied and bruised – with the shadows of emptiness. Her song was thick with the cries and screams, for nothingness does not like to return what it has claimed.

Then we felt it. A tear across the fabric of everything bit into us. From the shadows of separation, of loneliness, of despair and hatred, Aly pulled a brilliant sliver of light and love, joy and exultation. Aly had managed pull back a small patch of soul with her song and her compassion. And as the shadows slunk away and the emptiness drew back, the soul in her hands grew in an explosion of rejoicing and light.

As the light sped to eternity, it was possible to see for a moment what had been hidden within that soul. It was a lone infant, and it was a world.

Aly’s song ended as it had begun, as a breathy, childlike whisper that grabbed at the heart and would not let go.

The camp stood silent, save for a few sniffles coming from Thad. As if in a dream, I stood and walked back to the fire. Every eye followed me. As I approached, Herrenfeld stood, his brilliant eyes reflecting the firelight and tears streaming down his furry cheeks.

I said nothing as the Patros wept, unaware that I was weeping as well. When the ancient Prairiea had collected himself, he said, “My people are your people. My people are the world’s people. We shall reach out. We will help.”

I held out my hand, and he grasped it with his own. “Please,” he said. “allow me to adopt you as my own. From this moment on, I and the world shall be honored to know you all as one with the Prairiea.”

Off in the distance, one of the pups that had been tumbling with Jonathan let out a joyful call to the moon, and the silence was shattered by the celebration of all.

The festivities lasted past midnight. Drunk with happiness, I failed to notice Thad until the merriment had died away. Wandering back to the wagon, I spied him shaking his head. I returned to the seat I had occupied several hours before and asked him what the matter might be.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s just, well, your cousin has shamed me. How can I continue to be a poet, when I know my ventures can never approach the beauty that she brought us tonight?”

For a time I said nothing, choosing only to consider Thad’s words. Finally, I said, “That isn’t really what poetry is for, is it?” Thad gave me an uncomprehending look. “What I mean is,” I continued, “that poetry is never intended to be beautiful itself. It is meant to reflect the beauty of the world around it.”

We both considered Aly, who was once again giggling with a few of the Prairiea girls. “You know, you might be right,” said Thad. He shook his head as he continued to stare at all. “And, if so, there sure is an awful lot of beauty to reflect out there.”

I looked up at the stars and then at the plains around us. “Without question,” I said.

Chapter 7 - A Kansas Farmer

Ad astra per aspera – The Kansas state motto, which means “To the stars, through difficulties.”

The five of us stared quietly at the man, whose gun was pointing at Thad’s head. What was there for us to say? The shock of the run, of the terrifying hail of grasshoppers against the wall, of being in this strange and ancient land had finally caught up to us. Thad was too busy swallowing the frog in his throat to speak. Even Heppy, standing on Aly’s shoulder, was uncharacteristically free of bird calls.

The stand-off stretched into a minute before an unknown and unexpected voice rose from one of the darkened corners of the hut. “Oh, Grampa, what are you doing? When you invite someone into your home, you can’t very well threaten to kill them the next second.”

None of us spoke, nor dared move while the gun remained pointed at Thad’s head. The wrinkled, old man squinted, squared his shoulders, made as if to squeeze the trigger, then sighed and lowered the barrel.

“I reckon Maddy is right. More to the point, I couldn’t go killin’ no one in cold blood while she was watchin’.” Thad, relieved, began to speak, but was interrupted. “That don’t mean I like you, boy. I still ain’t heard no reason why I shouldn’t kill you.” Heppy cawed. “And don’t think I like you much either, bird. I warned you not to consort with his likes. Now look what happened.”

Having learned his lesson, Thad hung his head and said nothing. Instead, it was Kenzie among the five of us who spoke. “Please, mister. We don’t mean to intrude. The moment that storm outside ends, we’ll be on our way.”

The old man looked at Kenzie. “What’s your name, girl?” he asked.

“My name is Mackenzie,” she replied, “and this is my brother Jonathan, my sister Aly, and my cousin Dewey.” She indicated each of us respectively. “I assume you’ve already met Thad and Heppy.”

“You can assume right,” the man replied.

“Grampa!” called out the voice in the corner. I could not make out a shape among the deep shadows. “Don’t be a dunder. You gotta tell’em your name.”

The old man gave Kenzie an embarrassed smile – I relaxed at this – and said, “You can call me Jim. I farm around these parts. Wasn’t expecting any visitors today. On the other hand, I guess you weren’t expecting to visit, were you?” The man laughed. “Anyway, sorry about the state of things. It’s hard to keep everything in its place.”

Now the farmer named Jim picked up his lantern and walked over to the corner of the room where the voice had issued from. I could see a girl sitting up in a bed that could easily have been fashioned of bits of twigs and branches that came from the river we had camped at the night before. “And this,” continued Jim, “is my granddaughter Maddy. She’s doing real good today; aren’t you, girl?” He smiled with shining eyes at the girl in the bed.

The girl reached up and hugged Jim around the neck. “Yes, Grampa.” She let go and gave him a serious look. “And if you let me up, I can help you out with these guests.”

The old man smiled fondly, patted Maddy on the back, and said, “No, no. That’ll be alright, girl. I’m sure I can manage.”

Maddy sighed and looked at us. “So what brings you all out this way?” she asked.

I answered. “We’re headed to Kansas City, but those grasshoppers drove us your way.”

The old man frowned curiously at me and asked, “Kansas City? What might send four children, a crow, and a thief to Kansas City?”

Jonathan spoke up. “A thief? Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Now see here…” Thad began, but was interrupted again by a quick gesture from Jim to his gun. Becoming hesitant, Thad attempted to placate our host, “I mean, I may have made some transgressions in the past, but I’m a reformed spirit, I am.” He sent a quick glance in Jim’s direction and stepped behind Aly.

Turning back to the old man and his granddaughter, I replied, “We have to reach a friend of mine. Honest Abe told us he was in trouble.”

“Abraham?” asked Jim, sharply. “What’s so important that the old man of the sea would get moving?”

“Um,” I turned to the others for support, but they watched me and said nothing. “Well, see, my friend Matty is pretty special. He and I ran into this other old man a few days ago, and I guess that man isn’t as nice as Honest Abe. I guess he might try to hurt Matty. Abraham said Matty could protect himself, but he needed our help to do it.”

“Really?” said Jim. He sat at the corner of the bed, near Maddy’s feet, and regarded me thoughtfully. “This ‘other man’… Did he look very much like Abraham?”

Again I looked at Kenzie, who shrugged, and then I turned back to the old man. “Yes. At first, I thought they were the same person, then I noticed that Abraham didn’t…,” I hesitated. What exactly had I noticed? How could I put it into words? Finally I said, “He didn’t smell as bad.”

Jim threw back his head and laughed, hard and hoarsely. With tears streaming down his face he said, “Yes. That’s a wonderful way to put it. I think I’m going to have to tell Abe that one. ‘Didn’t smell as bad!’” He chuckled a moment longer.

When he had finished, he continued. “Well, if Abraham says you need to go to Kansas City, you need to go to Kansas City.” He turned to Thad. “You’ll be taking them along the Trail?” Thad nodded, mutely.

“Good. Once these grasshoppers pass by you can be on your way. I haven't been up that way in twenty odd years, but I'm sure everything is still fit. In the meantime, make yourselves at home. These hoppers are…,” he paused. His eyes had been wandering the ground. He crept back to the front door. When he was about two paces away, he flung himself to the ground, his right hand opening wide and quickly closing. He stood up, brushed himself off, and smiled at me. He held out his hand and opened the fingers to reveal the grasshopper within.

“Ever had chocolate covered hoppers?” he asked, grinning. I blanched.

Over the next hour, Jim prepared a stew that he assured all of us was free of any bugs, “Intentionally, anyway,” he added. This gave me little comfort, but the stew smelled wonderful, so I blanketed my unease. I realized we still had not eaten lunch, and my stomach was not happy.

My cousins had arranged themselves around Jim and the stew cauldron. Thad and Heppy were sulking in the corner opposite Maddy’s. I sat in a wooden rocking chair, staring at the front door.

After a time, Maddy called out to me, “Was it Dewey?” she asked. I did not respond immediately. Something about her made me very nervous. Contrary to popular belief, little boys do indeed develop crushes, and they do so very early. There had been a girl in school that I very carefully kept as far away from as possible. She sometimes wore a little red dress with flowers. Maddy reminded me of her – they were about the same age, but there was something else. I could not put my finger on it.

After pretending like I had not heard her for what seemed an appropriate time, I stood up, backed against the wall and said, “Yeah. What do you want?”

Her cheeks went red, and she said, “Nothing.” We eyed one another. “I was just hoping to talk to someone other than Grampa. He’s really nice, but all he wants to do is talk about wheat and barley and milo.”

I digested this, decided her request was a safe one, and said, “Ok.” I walked over to her bed, pulled up a chair that Jim probably sat in to read to her, and said, “So… what do you want to talk about?’

Maddy smiled at me, then quickly looked away. “Maybe you could tell me about how you got here,” she said from behind the hair that had fallen in front of her face. My heart skipped for a second.

“Ok,” I said. Until the stew was ready, I talked, recounting the old men, the wave, the water, and our path into this strange other-Kansas. Maddy listened and said nothing, snatching glances at me when she thought I was not looking.

After about half an hour, Jim walked over and said, “Stews ready.” He gave me a funny look and a smile, then walked back to start ladling out portions. Outside, the thundering continued.

We ate around a table that had also been drawn near Maddy’s bed. Thad continued to sulk as he ate his, but Heppy seemed in much better spirits. He pecked the stewed meat out of his bowl with gusto and cawed happily to himself.

As we ate, Jim turned business-like. “Children,” he said, “I’ve been thinkin’ about it, and I’ve decided that Kansas City is just too far to a walk. So,” he looked at Maddy, and then turned to the rest of us, “around the back of the house, I’ve got a cart and a plow horse. I’m gonna' give you more than you can fit in the cart, but it shouldn't be a problem if you're will to take turns walking along and guiding the horse. That way we can load up some noncombustibles and jugs of water and make sure no one gets too hungry or thirsty along the way.”

“Awesome!” said Jonathan.

Aly looked worried. “But won’t you two need that cart?” she asked.

“Eventually,” said Jim, evasively. “Just be sure to bring it back, and I guess we’ll be fine.” I knew there was something he was not telling us, maybe several somethings, but I decided not to say anything for now.

The pounding of grasshoppers continued for the next two days. In that time we all tried to prepare ourselves as well as we could for the next leg of our journey. Jim provided Kenzie with a map he had drawn. Between the lectures of Thad and Jim, Jonathan learned the fundamentals of horse driving. And Aly used all her charm to reconcile the two grown men. For a time it seemed her efforts would be futile, but to my great astonishment, she had persuaded Thad to recite a poem for us by the end of the second day, and Jim did not shoot him on the spot at its conclusions.

As for myself, I grew attached to Maddy. We would talk. I would tell her stories, and she would laugh. When I told the story about how I got my name, she giggled for several hours. Until that time, I had not considered the story particularly funny, but under Maddy’s ears it became a riot. Yet for all that I told her about myself, she seemed reticent to speak of her past. At first, I ignored this, but by the end of the second day it was like an itch I could not scratch.

Thad’s poem that evening was as strange as the first one, if not more so. He grunted, looked around the room nervously, and began.

“Sometimes, even
when I look at
something entirely
unlike you
my chest hurts.

How can beauty
cause such
an unusual contraction
in vision,
lungs, and hearing?

Why do I skip
a beat
and harden my mind
at skin
and bone and blood?

Cartilage stretching a face
in unusual designs
provides for an interesting
response.”

After the embarrassed coughs, sighs, and groans – and unexpected clapping from Maddy – had ended, we prepared for bed. When everyone else had drifted off to sleep, I got up and walked over to Jim, who seemed never to sleep, as he rested in the chair facing the front door with his shotgun on his lap. The thunder of grasshoppers had died away now. The farmer's home stood peaceful among the plains.

“Jim?” I whispered.

For a moment he said nothing and continued to stare at the door in front of him. Then he sighed and said, “I know what you are going to ask me, Dewey. I want to tell you. I want to explain.” He pulled his eyes from the door and looked at me. “I’m going to say as much as I know, but you won’t be pleased.”

As he spoke, I became aware of the soft sounds of breathing around us. I listened for Maddy's tremulous sighs and nodded. “Something is wrong, then, isn’t it?” I breathed.

“To say the least,” the farmer said. “When you’ve spent as many years as I have working the ground, clearing weeds and watching for rain, you start to feel your crop. A mother will know hours before the first cough that her child is sick. A farmer can tell almost the moment he’s finished planting how plump his yield will be.

“Madison has been stuck in that bed for a long time. In my dreams I can still see her running through the clean rows of wheat, laughing as her hands pass over the stalks. I’d be surprised these days to see her walk twenty feet, much less run a thousand.”

He stood and rested himself and his gun against a wall to better contemplate the young girl in the corner. “Things are different here, you know. This isn’t the world you grew up in. This is a place where all times coincide, where the very essence of a thing shines brightest in an almost everlasting moment. In my dreams I see Maddy running, but not in my memory. We’ve lived in this home for what could as easily be a hundred seasons as it could be five. We exist in an almost infinite time in which we live our lives unchanged. I read the Farmer’s Almanac. I toil with the seasons. I look with pride upon the harvest and anger upon those pirate so-called “cowboys” who rob my livelihood and destroy my land’s work.

“And Maddy is a tired girl, stuck with some unknown illness that has her wasting away in a permanent, painful, and – God help me – cheerful malaise. I don’t despair, because she doesn’t despair.” Jim’s eyes began to water.

“I once took her to Abraham and pleaded with him to somehow help her. For a time he had me stand outside, waiting, but when he ushered me back in he told me…” Jim paused. For a moment I thought he would break down into tears. He did not. Instead he did the opposite. His shining eyes dried. His bowed back straightened. He did not cry. He became a rock. He was a Kansas farmer, solid through it all. “He said there was nothing he could do. He said that it was Maddy’s lot in life to be as she was and that only she could change it. I asked him how she might do that… how I could help her.

“But he said that wasn’t up to me. Abraham could not help her. I could not help her. Dewey, you can do nothing either. Only Maddy can help herself.”

I stared at Jim, and Jim continued to stare at the girl in the corner. For several minutes, neither of us said anything. I suppose that was Jim’s way. He only said what he needed to. When the silence became unendurable, he turned back to me. “It’s time to sleep, Dewey. Tomorrow will be a long and difficult day for you. You’ll need your rest now.” That said, Jim took up his shotgun, returned to his chair, and became silent and immobile, like a boulder, ready for whatever flood may come his way.

I returned to my place on the floor and tried to sleep, but could not. The tragedy of this implacable land had struck my gut like a brick. How could these two tired souls exist like this on a frontier land that should not be a frontier any longer? A deep sense of shame swept through me, as I imagined my beautiful, easy life with parents who cared for me, with cousins who would throw off all fetters just to be with me. Most of all I felt weakness and shame in knowing how powerless we all were to cure a little girl of an empty, meaningless sickness.

Jim did not cry that night. I did it for him.

In the morning it was as if our conversation had never happened. Jim was pleasant and energetic. He had risen before dawn and already packed the cart with everything we might need, save our personal items. With his help and guidance Kenzie, Jonathan, Aly, and I fit the rest of our things into the back of the cart.

My cousins worked quickly. They seemed pleased and ready to be off. I could not seem to work with their speed. I felt wrong, like we were not finished with this place. The problem was obvious, when I thought about it. Maddy was still asleep. How was I to leave without saying good-bye?

As we packed and stowed away our supplies, I dragged my feet. While the rest wolfed down their breakfasts, I toyed with mine. In every possible way I lingered, hoping that Maddy might move so I could hug her farewell.

With our repast over, the cart packed, the mule jumpy, and Thad and Heppy antsy to depart we stepped outside. The cousins all climbed into the cart, as I had volunteered to walk first. Jim shook our hands and gave the mule a slap on the backside. With that we began to move. I looked back at the house for what I resigned myself to be the last time and turned away.

There came a shout. “Wait!” I heard Maddy cry. I turned again, terrified and grateful. There she stood, outlined by that solid doorframe that had protected us from a storm of grasshoppers. Then Maddy did something that shocked both Jim and myself. She hiked up her skirts and ran.

As she laughed, tears coursing down her eyes, she seemed to fly. All around her wheat stalks that had already been harvested then ravaged by the past few days seemed to bend away. A brisk breeze from the southwest picked up, causing her hair and skirts to billow around her, as if she were an angel speeding through the heavens. Then she was upon us.

“Dewey,” she said, bent over, trying to catch her breath. “I’m so tired. I must get back to bed. It hurts. Oh, it hurts.” She paused, spent another few moments gasping, then caught her breath and stood up straight. “It hurts, but I couldn’t let you go. Not yet. Not without saying good-bye.” Then she flung herself at me. I closed my eyes as she hugged me so close that I could barely breathe.

“I have something for you,” she whispered in my ear. She released me and took my hand. “When are tired or uncertain, think of me and hold this to your heart.” Into my hand she placed a ring upon a chain. “This was my mother’s and her mother’s and her mother’s. It is nearly as much of me as my own little finger.”

She smiled a quiet smile at me and said, “It doesn’t feel like just two days, does it? I will miss you.” Then to my surprise she kissed me on the corner of my mouth and ran behind Jim.

I focused my attention on the farmer, who smiled the sad smile he had given me before. “Well?” he asked.

I stammered and said, “I’ll miss you too. I’ll miss you both.” I looked again at the ring in my hands. “Thank you, Maddy,” I whispered and turned back to the wagon, where my cousins and Thad were grinning at me. “Shut up, you guys,” I muttered.

The four of them returned their gazes to the northeast, and we were off: the sun at our faces, the world at our backs.

Chapter 6 - A Troubled Horizon

Have you ever tried to eat a chocolate covered grasshopper? Has a chocolate covered grasshopper ever tried to eat you? – Crazy Steve, at the gas station

In the morning, after a breakfast generously donated by Thad and Heppy, we broke camp and continued the trek northeast, but with Thad now breaking the way. As we walked, I broached a question that had been dogging us all the previous day.

“Thad,” I said, “where are we?’

For a time the man said nothing, continuing in his strange, three-step gait of leg, walking stick, leg… leg, walking stick, leg. I almost asked the question again, when he spoke. “Have any of you ever heard of the synaptic cleft?” I looked to Kenzie, who shrugged. When none of us responded, the man continued, “It doesn’t matter. We are in the chaotic pool of the mind. We are in that critical juncture between one thought and another. On the other hand, we are still in Kansas. In fact, we camped only a few miles north of your home, Dewey.”

“But I don’t recognize any of this,” I protested.

“As well you shouldn’t,” said Thad. “This isn’t the Kansas you can see or touch. This is the Kansas you can hear in your dreams. This is the Kansas that comes out at night, when everyone is asleep and the wind is howling sharply at the moon. This is the Kansas of rampaging cowboys, of God-fearing farmers, of buffalo and Indians. This is Bloody Kansas. And this is a Kansas before all that. This is the land when the oceans dried away and were pulled into the hard ice of the north. The world you know exists here to, but it is as an eye blink to the millennia.”

Aly spoke up. “What do you call it?” she asked.

“What’s that song? The one with the deer and the buffalo?” Thad asked. Heppy cawed out an answer. “Oh yes, Home on the Range. That’s an apt title.” The man, obviously feeling that the time for questions was over, at least for the present, picked up his pace and began to whistle.

For a time we walked in silence, save for the whistling of our strange guide, the sounds of tall grass rustling in the wind, and the occasional caw of Heppy. As we walked, I took some time to examine our poetic scout. His clothes looked like throwbacks of silent movies. If it were not for his build and face, Thad could have been confused for the loveable tramp played by Charlie Chaplin. His shoes were too big. His pants seemed to be made out of some kind of scratchy wool. He wore a too long jacket as well, like the ones professors wear in movies about college with the leather pads on the elbows. On his head, resting like the losing cat who slouched away from the fight, slumped a beaten, patched, wool bowler.

Over his shoulder he carried a brown canvas bag, like the ones potatoes are kept in. I could not discern what was in that bag, but the bulges could have easily been mistaken for potatoes at any other time.

When the sun reached its zenith, I began to sweat. I was tired and hungry and did not know how much longer I could walk without falling over. Just as I thought my lips were beginning to crack, Thad called a halt.

Instead of preparing for lunch, though, he crouched down and whispered for us to join him.

“Do you see there,” he said, pointing toward the north. I saw nothing, squinted, and breathed a little faster.

“What is that?” I asked. Before us I could see some sort of dusty haze, rising from the earth like a cloud of smoke.

“Don’t know,” said Thad. “Could be stampeding buffalo. Could be a cattle train, though I don’t know why it would be heading south.” He eyed the four of us. “Or it could be real bad…” Abruptly, he turned and called out, “Heppy, go up high. See if you can’t see what that is.”

Heppy, being a little quicker than Thad, had already begun his ascent. Up he flapped, until he looked like a ball with wings, and then he was only a point of black against the blazing blue sky.

Jonathan had been looking around nervously. “Um,” he began, “that old man, your boss…”

“Abe,” Aly said helpfully.

Jonathan looked at her irritably, then continued, “Yes, Abe. He said something about me being the muscle. I, uh, I don’t think he meant anything about fighting stampeding buffalo…” He trailed off, looking nervously between Kenzie and Thad.

Thad grinned and said, “Don’t worry, lad. If it’s buffalo, we can just move out of the way. On the other hand, if it’s…” At that moment, Heppy returned, diving in as fast as he could and cawing madly. Thad’s eyes opened wide. His pupils flicked rapidly among the four of us, and he broke down again.

“Oh no!” he wailed. “Now I’ve done it! Now the boss is going to have a real fit. ‘Keep them safe,’ he says. ‘Don’t get them into any trouble,’ he says. Now we’ve done it. I’ve sent them in the path of the grasshoppers!”

Aly and I looked at one another, nonplussed. Grasshoppers? What was wrong with grasshoppers? Kenzie, on the other hand, became very alarmed. “Oh no,” she said. Thad blubbered at the sky. She darted over to the man, grabbed him by his lapels, and shouted, “Get a hold of yourself!” She slapped him. I began to hear a strange rumbling buzz, like a train with wings.

Thad stopped blithering. He looked at Kenzie with a crinkled forehead and terrified eyes. “You are a guide, no?” Kenzie asked. “Then guide us. If you know this land so well, point us to a house or a cabin or something. We’ve got to go.”

“But,” Thad began, his eyes even wider than before.

“No!” screamed Kenzie. “No ‘buts’. A house. A hovel. A lean-to. NOW!”

Thad stood up and began to run due west. We raced behind him. As we ran, the rumbling grew louder, deeper, more alien. It was how I imagined an avalanche or mighty rock fall to sound. The blurry haze of earlier had gotten bigger and closer. It seemed composed of tiny, flickering particles.

Then I remembered something. It may have been a movie or a dvd or just something I imagined while my mother read me some book or another. In my head I saw the plague of Egypt, of Cairo, of the Pharaoh’s lands. It was the plague of locusts, brought down by the god of the Israelites to prove a terrible and awesome point. Those locusts had been everywhere, eating plants, animals, people. Flying so densely that to breathe was to risk choking to death. The sound those locusts made was the same sound echoing at my feet, the sound of a million, million insects swarming, calling for your soul.

I ran. I grabbed Aly’s sleeve, pulling her as fast as I could, trying to follow Thad and Heppy, Kenzie and Jonathan.

As I ran, I thought I saw a speck against the sea of grass in front of us. Thad turned his head, pointed, and shouted something that was drowned out by the droning rush of insects. I could feel my heart hammering against my chest. The edges of my vision darkened, as the horizon behind me became more and more densely populated by a living bringer of doom.

Then I could see the sod house in front of us. A wrinkled, old man in overalls stood directly in front of the entryway and glared at us, his hand resting upon a double-barrel shotgun. Thad raised his arms in the air, calling out some treaty that I could not hear. The man in the overalls glared at us for a moment longer, then stepped aside and motioned us in.

More of my peripheral vision disappeared.

Then we were passing the old man, flying into his worn shelter. The man quickly followed, slammed the door behind him, bolting it closed in the process, and shoved a bit of sod securely into the one crack at the base of the door.

For a moment, we were encased in a false silence. In the small hut our dulled gasps were the only sound to be heard. Then I heard a thunk against the door. Moments later, another thud registered against the wall. Then a sound that was half rain, half thunder slammed into the sod house from every direction.

The wrinkled man who had been facing the door turned to us. He grimaced, picked up his shot gun, aimed it at Thad’s head, and rumbled in a dry, cracked voice, “Now tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

Chapter 5 - The Crow in the Plains

I’m sorry, one more time. A cow patty is made of WHAT? – A young man, passing through Newton, KS

The view from beyond the door was eerie in its twilight glow. Somehow, it was as though the world had gone from the middle of the night to a lukewarm, overcast morning in a matter of seconds. Jonathan glanced back at us with a crease in his brow and stepped into this odd dawn.

Kenzie and Aly followed, and I brought up the rear. Everything around us had changed. Where once had stood the outskirts of Colwich, KS now stood a living, rustling prairie. Tall grass flowed outward in waves, like wheat pulsing in the wind.

I heard the door shut behind me, and we all turned to see an old blue and gray farmhouse that seemed to be gazing resolutely back at us. “Creepy,” muttered Jonathan.

Aly’s eyes were opened wide as she turned a slow circle, trying to grasp the world around her. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Where are we? What happened to the Library? Where is Colwich? Dewey!” She turned upon me, “What’s going on?”

I said nothing. I did not know what to say. I looked to Kenzie, who shrugged, and I turned back to Aly. Where had we gone? Where were the fields of wheat, of milo, sunflowers and soy? We had obviously gone to another place, and I had not counted on that. Worse, unlike the last two times, I had not changed now. I was still a child with a child’s memories and a child’s knowledge. I had no answer because I was seven and did not know an answer.

“I’ve seen this before,” said Jonathan, under his breath. We all looked at him. “This house, this land, it’s all so familiar.” He backed away from the old farm house about twenty feet and started walking to his left, then to his right.

“It’s… just… about… here!” he said. He turned to Kenzie. “Hey Kenz, come look at this.” She trotted over to where Jonathan stood, looked, and wrinkled her brow. He watched her for a moment, and then said, “You’ve seen it before too.” It was not a question. She looked at him and nodded, her brow still wrinkled.

“But I don’t remember from where,” she said.

“It’s that picture,” he said, “the one at the old farmhouse. The one Grandma painted.”

Kenzie’s expression cleared, then was replaced by one of fear. She looked at Dewey and said, “He’s right. Dewey, he’s right. I imagine we must be somewhere in Kansas, but I don’t think we’ll find it on any maps.”

I looked at them both and smiled. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” I said. “I’d be surprised if we found any maps in the first place.”

Aly spoke up again, “So which way do we go?”

“Northeast, I guess,” I said.

“And which way is that,” said Jonathan. “We don’t have a compass, and the sky is totally overcast. We have no way of knowing where the sun even is.”

I sagged my shoulders, thought for a moment, and said, “Well, maybe we can just assume that this farmhouse is pointed in the same direction as the Library and use it like the compass rose on the Library floor.

Jonathan did not appear convinced; however, before he could say anything, Kenzie spoke up, “Sounds like the best plan we have. The front door faces south, right Dewey?” I nodded, “Then let us head to the Northeast side and get going.”

Jonathan crinkled his eyebrows, seemed ready to argue, then shrugged, shouldered his bag, and began walking around the house on the right side.

The rest of us followed. Once we reached the northeast corner, our path broke from that of the dull gray farmhouse, and none of us looked back. For the next few hours, we simply marched forward. Jonathan crunched a way through the tall grass, and we followed. With the sky as overcast as it was, there was no way to tell exactly how long we had been walking when Kenzie called for a halt.

“It’s lunchtime,” she announced. The rest of us chose not to argue. We were all hungry and tired. Dogs walk around in a circle several times before laying down to sleep to fulfill some primordial need to clear the weeds and grass beneath it. We did much the same as we made a place to set our picnic.

I passed out a few of the items from my pack, which we all set to with gusto. After a brief rest, Jonathan announced a time for bathroom breaks and walked behind a nearby cluster of especially tall grass. As we all took turns relieving ourselves, Kenzie spoke quietly to me. “We’re going to have to find some water at some point, Dewey,” she said. “Cans of soda won’t last us very long.”

I nodded in agreement. After what seemed to be about a half hour, we all stood and prepared to continue our march. At that moment, a loud “CAW!!” echoed from due east. Aly, who was standing beside me, and I eyed one another. Again, the caw came, closer and louder. We all looked nervously at Kenzie, who said, “Keep quiet, lie low, and stick to the edge of the grass. Whatever is making that sound probably isn’t dangerous, but we should probably wait and see.”

The four of us crawled to the eastern edge of our circle and into the grass beyond, trying to blend in with our surroundings. We all peaked through the tall blades, trying to discern any movement that might not be the omnipresent grass.

After a few moments, Aly gave a hiss and pointed. As I gazed along the path of her finger, I saw first an enormous, black crow, swooping and diving in broad swaths over the dense greenery. Then I heard a voice, “Stop that, Heppy!” Behind the bird, I could now see a man shouldering his way through the tall grass, a gnarled walking stick in one hand. “Stop that! What will the children think of us?”

The black bird flapped toward the man with the gnarled stick and landed on his shoulder. It then croaked and glared in our direction. “They’re here?” he said, sharply. He stopped walking and his eyes grew wide. “But…but,” his lower lip trembled, “But I’m not ready for them!”

He then began to wail and sob, spouting little words like “I’m terrible at this!” and “Why me? Why do these things always happen to me?” and “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” This last utterance was cried, while the man smacked his head against his walking stick, over and over.

The cousins and I looked at one another in astonishment. “Weird guy,” said Jonathan. I nodded mutely.

“You guys!” said Aly, angrily. “You shouldn’t say things like that. We need to help that man. He’s so sad.” Without saying another word, she then stood up and walked purposefully toward the man, his stick, and his crow. “Sir!” she called. “Excuse me, sir!”

The man stopped bawling for a moment and looked up, startled. “Why are you crying?” asked Aly. “You are a grown-up. Grown-ups do not get to cry. Now stand up!” To startled to continue weeping – or, indeed, do much of anything else – the man stood up. “Good. Now then, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alyson. What is yours?” Aly held out her hand.

“Um,” said the man, hesitantly, “My name is, um, Thad, and this is my friend Hephaestus.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I call him Heppy,” he whispered. Thad of the gnarled stick took Aly’s hand and tried to kiss and shake it at the same time, managing to smack it into his nose.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Aly. “Let me introduce my sister, brother, and cousin.” She turned back to us, though the man was still shaking her hand, and said, “C’mon guys! No one is going to bite you.”

The three of us began to creep out of our hiding spots, then started walking, as staying crouched down made us all feel foolish. Aly made introductions, then asked, “We heard you talking, Mr. Thad. How did you know we were going to be here?” As she asked this, she pried off his fingers, and he finally released her hand.

Thad thought about this for a moment and said, “Heppy told me that the boss had a job for us around these parts. I guess he wanted us to shepherd some kids,” he paused and looked at us, “you guys, I guess, to a place near the end of the Trail. Being a big fan of the boss, I decided,” Thad was interrupted by a loud caw, “I mean, we decided to take the job. So here we are.”

Kenzie spoke up, “Well, we’re glad to see you, I guess, though you really gave us a scare when you first got here.”

Thad goggled at her. “I… I didn’t mean to…,” his eyes began to water, again, “I’m… so… sorry!” As the word “sorry” turned into a wail, Thad burst into tears again, banging his head against his gnarled staff.

Aly sighed, tapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Um, mister, remember what I said about grown-ups?”

Thad quickly brought his wails down to a mild sniffling and said, “I’m sorry. You’re right.” Heppy cawed something that sounded like agreement. “We should probably go, now,” Thad added. “It’ll be night soon, and I already made a camp up near the bend in the river.” He sniffled a few more times, stood up, and began trudging east. The four of us followed him, as the crow Hephaestus flapped overhead.

We had all assumed it was morning when we exited the Library, but we had either taken more time walking than I had realized, or the day had started much later. Regardless, the overcast sky was darkening when we reached Thad’s camp.

With Kenzie and Jonathan’s help Thad prepared and lit a fire from the fallen branches of a tree that had grown along the nearby river. As I warmed myself by this fire, I felt my eyelids drooping and realized that I had gotten very little sleep over the past two days.

After a time, Thad spoke again. “Did I tell you folks that I’m also a poet?”

Kenzie closed her eyes for a moment, opened them, and said, “No, I don’t believe you did, Thad.”

“Ah,” he said. “Yes indeed. In addition to being a guide of the ground around me, I sell books and write poetry. In such a way do I try to guide in truth, as well as geography.”

We could all feel him waiting for someone to ask. I caught Jonathan’s attention, rolled my eyes, and popped the question, “What kind of poetry do you write?”

Thad’s eyes sparkled. “Poetry about life! Poetry about the world! Poetry for the soul,” he whispered. “Let me give you an example.”

Jonathan sighed and lay back into his sleeping back, closing his eyes in the process. Thad also closed his eyes, appeared to be thinking, then spoke.

“Sometimes, when the resounding
silence is strongest in my soul,
I can look at all of my surroundings
and breath through open lungs.

At times like these, the world
is far more important than
my life at its most unfurled
and weakest span.

I understand then that for
me to worry overly of myself
and my own troubles poor
would be like setting a single
book on a mighty bookshelf.

The world is a giant place
And everyman must maintain his
own footing. But holding his space
is not even half the battle.
Anyone contrary to this
is already lost in the
Used Book stack.”

Heppy cawed in obvious embarrassment and flapped away. Kenzie quickly shut her mouth, which had been hanging open. I heard Jonathan mutter, “Used book stack? Good Lord!”

Thad opened his eyes and looked directly at me. “Some people don’t get it, Dewey, but some do. Don’t they?” He closed his eyes, lay back, and started to snore. As the rest of us tried to sleep, my thoughts kept returning to that poem. Most of it was emptiness and foolishness, it seemed to me, but one part had hit home.

“The word is a giant place, and everyman must maintain his own footing.” The words rolled through my mind, and I thought of Matty, alone, possibly already fighting a battle that we were desperately trying to reach.

The clouds broke. The moon rose. And I fell asleep with the image of Matty trying to stand on a slippery, icy surface.

Chapter 4 - 3 A. M.

If midnight is the witching hour, then one o’clock is last call, two is the hour of the burrito run, and three… three is the hour at dead man’s curve. – A tired, old bar brawler

The rest of that afternoon, we sat around, watching television and eating grilled cheese. My mom kept trying to talk to Aly and Jonathan, but Aly was more interested in the television, and Jonathan kept getting up and hiding in the bathroom. In the back of our minds, I think, we all kept thinking about what we had seen and heard, what we felt, and what we were going to do that night.

To keep my mind off it, I pulled my mother into the kitchen and asked her if we all could go get pizza for dinner. She thought about it and said, “We’ll have to wait until your father comes home.”

I knew this meant yes, hugged her, and managed to keep the secret from my cousins for almost eight minutes. They were watching an old rerun of Friends, when I walked back in, whistling poorly and rolling my eyes extravagantly.

Jonathan picked up on it quickly. “Hey, Dewey, what’s going on?”

I shrugged, “Oh… hmm, hmm, hmm… noooothing.”

He looked at me for a second. “Oh,” he said and looked back at the TV. I was crestfallen. He was not playing the game! Luckily, Aly took pity on me and said, “No, really Dewey, what’s going on?” She smiled at me. I smiled back, as mysteriously as I could with lots of rolling eyes and looking behind my back.

“I really can’t say,” I said. “I would get in trouble!” I looked back at the kitchen door again, to emphasize how serious the issue was.

“What if you whispered it in my ear, so the other two can’t hear?” she said. “Then it’ll be both our secret.”

I pretended to think about this for a moment. “Nope, I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Aly rolled her eyes, then returned her gaze to me. “Then I’m going to have to…” she stood up, “get you!”

“Oh, no!” I cried. The two of us then spent a merry five minutes racing around the Library. As I got close to a couch, Aly leapt, barreled me into it, and started tickling my stomach and that tricky area on the neck, right below the ears.

I laughed and squirmed and laughed some more. Finally, when I couldn’t catch my breath anymore, I shouted, “Ok! I’ll tell!”

Aly stopped. I placed my lips over her ear and whispered, “We’re going to Gambino’s!”

Jonathan, having overheard every word, yelped. “Gambino’s? We never go to Gambino’s anymore.”

I nodded. The secret was out, so it was ok to discuss it now. “Yup. That’s the best reason to go.” Also, I loved Gambino’s. They had gotten out an old arcade machine from when my father was a kid, and I loved to play it.

“Sounds pretty good,” said Kenzie. “When are we going?”

“When Dad gets home,” I said.

She grunted and went back to watching the show. I felt that a grunt was not a very good response, but was too happy to say anything.

When my father got home, the usual display of affection occurred. Aly ran to meet him. Kenzie got up when he walked over and gave him a hug. And Jonathan pretended not to notice that he had come home. My father once confided in me that he thought Jonathan’s sham was funny. He had done the same thing when he was little.

My dad strode over to Jonathan, patted him on the head, and said, “Hello, Uncle Jonathan!” I do not know exactly how my cousin felt about this. For my father it was a little inside joke. Jonathan always called him “Uncle Natey,” and so my dad started calling him “Uncle Jonathan.”

I got up and ran over to him. “Dad,” I said very seriously, my eyes meeting his, my hand pulling at his finger. “Mom says we can get pizza at Gambino’s.”

“Did I?” When I was not looking, my mother had wandered into the room. “I remember saying something about asking your father first. Maybe I dreamed that.”

Caught, I quickly backpedaled. “I mean, if you say it’s ok too, Dad.” I looked at my mother nervously.

My father flopped himself onto an armchair. My mother walked over and sat on his lap. I then pulled myself on to her lap. My dad laughed. “Dewey!” he exclaimed. “I think you might be getting bigger than your mom!”

His words made me feel proud, so I patted him on the head, just as he had done to Jonathan. He laughed again. “Alright. Pizza it is. Where are we gonna go?”

Quickly, I whispered in his ear. He listened and said, “Uh huh. Right. Yes, that was pretty fun. Yeah. Ok. It’s decided then. Gambino’s!”

My mother put her hand to her forehead and said, “Not again!”

For the next few weeks, I would look back at that time at Gambino’s fondly. It was to be the last safe, warm, and happy time any of us would have until we reached Matty’s home in Lenexa, that far away town, hidden on the outskirts of Kansas City, KS.

Gambino’s tried very hard to be Italian. The owner’s daughter had painted frescos on the wall ten years ago and updated them ever few years. The most recent update had a renaissance theme. Images of the Vatican and grapes littered the walls. A massive last supper of pizza adorned the north end. The Madonna and Child was on the south wall. Images of vines draped everywhere.

Jonathan and I played the arcade game, and all the while he assured me that the PlayStation 4 was going to be way more awesome than this game could even pretend to be. We ate pizza and cheese sticks. Mom and Dad got salads, though when my mother was not looking, my father did sneak a slice of pizza. He gave me a grin and a wink while doing so.

Kenzie and Aly talked about boys, but kept getting interrupted by my father’s jokes on the subject. My dad loved to tell jokes, even if he was not very good at it. My mother jumped in when the two talked about guys in movies. It seems they all loved that guy from the Pirates of the Caribbean movie. My mom made a point of saying how hot he was, while jabbing my father in the gut. My father responded by tickling her sides. I was happy.

Too soon it was over. The bill came. My father paid. We got in the car and returned home. After baths and teeth brushings, it was time for bed. The dome over the Library was dark. The night was overcast. The cousins slept on couches in the main room. I was to sleep in my bed. My parents wished me goodnight. My dad gave me a hug. Then my mom gave me a hug. As my mother started to let go, I grabbed her shoulders and hugged her tighter. I could feel the separation, even if they could not.

They walked to the door. My father turned off the lights. My mother closed the door behind them. It has been years since the moment my mother closed that door, yet the sound it made echoes like a fifty foot steel barrier slamming into place. Those last hours shall always be indelibly etched in my mind as the final hours of my childish innocence. When that door closed, I knew the path that lay before me would be a path of threat and peril. I would see a dark, angry world that I had never known before.

As I thought about this new road, I realized that I did not want this evening to end. Every moment I stayed awake would be another moment putting off the inevitable. I resolved to stay awake until three.

Seconds later, I turned over and fell asleep.

When I awoke, I knew something was wrong. For a moment, I did not know what it was, I only had a strange and empty feeling. Then it struck me. The world had gone quiet. All that ambient noise that we forget about was gone. The sounds of powered speakers, of wind, of the hum of light bulbs and refrigerators, all were gone. It was like the power had stopped and the weather had vanished.

I looked at my alarm clock.

3:00 A. M.

I climbed out of my bed, pulled on some pants, a shirt, and a warm jacket with a hood. I grabbed my new backpack and tossed in some extra clothes. As quietly as possible, I tip-toed my way downstairs and into the kitchen, where I threw in some breakfast bars, cookies, jerky, and anything else I thought might be useful. Then, I slung the pack over my back, stepped into the living room, and called out to my cousins.

“Kenzie!” I whispered urgently. “Jonathan! Aly! Get up. It’s time to go.”

After some grumbling, all three had risen, grabbed their packed bags, and looked to me.

“Ok, Dewey,” said Kenzie. “What do we do?”

I looked at her and looked away, suddenly frightened. My cousin Mackenzie was asking me what to do? She was supposed to take command. She was the leader. I said nothing for a second. Well, if she was going to put this on my shoulders, then so be it. I met her gaze. “Abraham said to start at the front door. I guess that’s what we should do.”

For a moment, I could see a smile touch her face, and then she became stern again. She turned to Jonathan and Aly. “You heard him,” she said. “Let’s go.”

She marched passed me. Jonathan and Aly followed. I brought up the rear. Once last time, I thought back on the love and safety of my parents' arms, then I steeled myself and looked forward. Now we stood in front of the door. Kenzie turned to Jonathan. “If you would be so kind?”

Jonathan looked at Kenzie, looked at me, gave his pack one more heft, and opened the front door.

Chapter 3 - The Boatman

It’s always the same: a trinket, an idiot, a wise and frightening old man, and the steadfast companions. Mix, match, multiply and you’ve got the American Executive Branch of Government. Oh, and a fantasy novel, though they aren’t that different. – Overheard at a sci-fi convention

I was floating. We were all floating. The world around us felt peaceful, warm and unrushed. In the distance a blue light drifted toward us. Just as one can feel the heat of a fire before it reaches you, so could I feel the empty cold of that blue light. My limbs grew numb. My thoughts sharpened to a fine edge. I knew that I had once again gotten rapidly older. I was an adult with the body of an adult. With the knowledge of an adult.

We were clinging to old, round, white life preservers, straight from the Titanic or Love Boat. Beneath us, the water felt cold and sharp like a knife blade, piercing our exposed skin. Above was a great fog, the kind from which you expect to hear the low rumble of a ship or semi’s horn. Trawling toward us, like George Washington over the Delaware, was another old man, holding a blue-lighted lamp well above his head.

Through the fog I could make out the old man’s features, which were the same as – yet wholly different from – the angry, scabby man of a few days before. This man had the same bent, slouched appearance. His clothes were shabby and torn. Most importantly his eyes pierced into mine with the gray light one could only find in the eyes of an ancient wolf. Yet this man smelled, if not clean, then strong, like the salty sea air, like the dust flying from the saw and the lumber, like dirt and rain and mud.

“Ahoy, young’uns!” he called. “Would you be likin’ a climb aboard? You’re lookin’ – ahyuh, ahyuh – a might cold!”

My cousins said nothing. They were too shocked to speak. Jonathan’s mouth kept opening and closing, searching for words and finding none.

“Ple-e-e-e-ase, sir. This water is fre-e-e-ezing,” I tried to say through chattering teeth. “What…what’s going on?”

“I’ll – ahyuh, ahyuh – tell you in a moment, lad,” called the ancient man. “It looks like Aly here might be goin’ a bit blue on us.” He indicted my cousin, who did appear to be changing colors as the blood desperately rushed to combat the glacial waters.

Jonathan, Kenzie, and I swam over to Aly, as the old man and his boat angled in her direction. With much jostling and after a terrifying moment in which my head was submerged in the terrible waters, we managed to force Aly into the boat. Once the rest of us had climbed in, the gray-eyed man handed us heavy woolen blankets.

“Welcome – ahyuh – to the dark waters of the mind, children, where anything can and, usually, does happen,” he said, once we had all stopped shaking. “My name is Abraham – ahyuh – Honest Abe, and I shall be your guide.” He gave Kenzie a wink at this. Her eyebrows flew up at this, then dropped down in confusion and thought.

“That’s what… you’re the old man from Wolf Creek!” she said in an accusatory tone. Kenzie and the rest of her Chemistry II classmates had taken a field trip to the Wolf Creek Nuclear Power Plant the week before.

“I am who I am,” replied Abraham, simply. Then he grinned, “but I am who I am – ahyuh – not, as well!”

“But who are you?” asked Aly.

He grinned at her, “When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see! And well do I see thee, my dear.”

He turned now upon me, and his expression clouded. “Ah. Dewey. It’s too late, is it not? Brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor sea, but sad mortality over sways. You’ve seen my brother.” It was not a question; I nodded regardless. He sighed. “Then now is not a time for laughter. I must put aside my grins, my winks, my yucks, and my bard’s many words.”

He grinned at Jonathan, but the smile was weaker now. The piercing, gray eyes looked tired. “You’re going to love this one, boy,” Abraham said. Jonathan said nothing. Abraham turned back to Dewey.

“Do you know where Matty is?” he asked.

It did not occur to me to wonder how Honest Abe knew Matty. Too much had already happened to worry about such a minor triviality.

“Kansas City,” I replied.

“Yes,” said Abraham, “but can you get there?”

“I….” I did not know. I did not know what he meant. I was a kid. How was I supposed to get there? It was not like I could just ask my dad to pack everything up and drive me to KC because some imaginary man named Abe asked me to.

Abraham had not taken his eyes from mine. “You don’t ask,” he said. I jumped. Abe could hear what I was thinking? “No, but I can make pretty good guesses,” he said with a tired smile.

“What do you mean, I don’t ask?” I demanded.

Abraham stared at Kenzie for a second, as if weighing her in his mind, then returned to me. “You must get their on your own,” he said. “You may bring these three, and I may watch out for you from time to time, but this is not your father’s story. It is not your mother’s story. This story is for you.” He looked up into the sky for a moment, smiled, and said, “And for your cousins, I suppose.”

Jonathan finally spoke, “What? What is going on, old man. Why are we going… Why are you making Dewey go to Kansas City? Who is Matty?”

It is strange to me, even now, to think that my cousins had never met Matty before. In this instance I still firmly believe that it was coincidence. On the other hand, I am not sure how much trust I am willing to put into coincidence anymore.

“Matty is George’s son,” I explained for Abe. My father had been friends with George since high school. Kenzie used to have a crush on him. Dad thought that was very funny. My cousins all knew George.

“That still doesn’t explain why we have to go to KC to see him,” Jonathan pointed out.

I squinted, trying to put it into words, “Matty is…”

“Special,” finished Abraham. “Matty is special. He can do things that few other people can do; maybe no one else can do them. But he needs help. He needs Dewey. And Dewey needs the three of you.”

“And what can Matty do, exactly?” asked Jonathan. Abe looked at me, as did my cousins. I looked to Abraham, who nodded, and then I told the story of the boat and the wave and the scabby old man. And I talked about Matty. Before us in the waters, the images in my head floated by. My cousins watched as the wave approached. They watched us run and heavy. And they heard Matty asking me to stand by him.

When I’d finished my story, all eyes were upon me, and I was crying. I did not know why I was crying. Perhaps the experience was just too much to go through again. Or maybe I finally felt what Matty felt as the old man slouched and muttered himself down those stairs. Regardless, I was crying.

Jonathan and Aly looked away from me and to Kenzie, who did not take her eyes away from my face. “We’ll go,” she decided. ‘I can drive…”

“No!” Abraham interrupted. “You must not drive. If you do so, you will be in my brother’s hands. Try to stay off the roads. Follow them if you must, cross them if no other option exists, but do not walk along them. If you agree to the course you are about to follow, you will find yourselves steeped in dangers one does not ordinarily run into in Kansas.”

“What about our parents?” Aly asked. “Won’t they be worried about us?”

“If you succeed,” said the old man, “it will be as if you had never left.” He put his hand to the rudder, and the boat turned about.

For a moment, we were all silent, pondering the days to follow. It is strange, how quickly we accepted the old man and the mission he set us on, but we were children. We were not yet set in our ways. An adult had set us on a task, and it was our job to see it through.

Abraham broke the silence, “It is customary, at times like these, for me to give each of you some kind of gift. To that end…” he turned to Aly, “Alyson. I give you the gift of love. Those not set on your path by my brother will care for you and yours.” Now he turned to Jonathan, “Jonathan, to you I give the gift of bravery. There are many battles to be won and lost in this world, but one cannot win if one cannot face the fight.” He turned to Kenzie, “Mackenzie, to you I offer leadership. There will be times when others will not know what to do or whom to turn to. It is at these times when you must become the Voice. Believe in yourself, and others will believe in you.”

Finally, the tired, old man turned to Dewey, “Dewey,” he began, “there is only one thing left for me to offer you, but it may be the most important. There will be times when you all will struggle. You will tire. You will be frightened. Dewey, I offer you my lamp. When my brother has set his hounds upon your heals and his black despair gnaws at your heart, raise up my lamp and let the hope of the world beat back the darkness around you.”

Abraham held out his lamp. Dewey reached for it. As his hand touched the metal, the lamp vanished. In the darkness, the four children heard the ancient man’s voice, “When the clock strikes three and your parents are fast asleep, you four must rise. At that moment, the world you know will stop, like an unwound clock. Meet inside the Library door. I wish you all luck, and I ask you to think of Matty as you journey. He will need your strength even then.”

Abraham’s voice echoed upon the still water. For a moment, I thought I heard a final, “ahyuh,” and then the blinding light of mid-afternoon struck us. Mom had walked out of the kitchen and said, “The grilled cheese is ready.”

Chapter 2 - The Cousins

The social apparati of the modern chimpanzee is nearly magical in nature. Forget the ant, the gnat, or the bee. Chimpanzees converse in a manner we cannot begin to dream about. And just think if we could take a step back from ourselves to see humans talk!

Miraculous. – probably not Jane Goodall

When I was seven, I had three cousins, all of whom were older than I. Kenzie was a senior in high school and probably the most popular person I would ever be close to. Had we all grown up in California, she might have become a model, an actress, or some kind of fashion designer. In Kansas she was not sure what she wanted, but none of us doubted that she would get it. Oh. And she was a monster on the basketball court.

Jonathan was about to be a freshman in high school. He was the type of boy who might play football, might run cross country, would probably be involved in track, but would absolutely not play basketball. He was one of the smartest kids in his class, but managed to avoid being stereotyped as a nerd.

Aly was in fifth grade. She was unlike either Jonathan or Kenzie in that she could never be called popular. Such a word would fail to describe her because everyone liked her too much, and she liked everyone around her. She was loved. She was the mascot. She was the little girl you invited to your party because you wanted her there.

And I thought they were all the coolest kids ever. My aunt would drop them off sometimes to visit or baby-sit or do chores for my father in exchange for dinner and money. My father was notoriously loose with his money when it came to my cousins. I believe they would have loved him anyway, but the cash probably did not hurt.

When they visited, the girls would coddle me and Jonathan would try to play catch or watch TV or in some other way help me become a manly man. They would listen when I told stories or secrets, and they never laughed at me.

To my great fortune, one of their ritual visits happened only a few days after the incident with the old man. Matty and his father were back up in Kansas City. I needed someone to talk to, and Kenzie, Jonathan, and Aly were going to be my audience.

As luck would have it, my father was not around when my cousins showed up. My mother and I were sitting around the kitchen table. She was telling me about the play she had been in with my father in high school. At the time they had barely spoken to one another. They had different circles of friends and never considered getting any closer.

When the doorbell rang, I leapt up and out of the kitchen. It was several years later that I realized my mother stayed behind in those moments. It is hard to believe now, but she was afraid of my cousins.

It is odd. One can be the most confident person in the world when it comes to interacting with other people, but the moment one must deal with family all bets are off. My mother knew how much my three cousins meant to my father, and it terrified her. She needed for them to love her, but she did not know how to make that happen. My cousins, being only children, never knew what to make of her. She seemed nice at the time, but distant. Kids know. They may misunderstand, but they know when an adult is acting far away. So they feared her in return, each in a slightly different way.

Of the three, I thought the funniest way was Jonathan’s. He was especially quiet whenever my mother would talk to him. His cheeks would glow red, like my father’s always did. Then he would mutter a reply and run away, though he would try to be cool about it.

Whenever this happened, Kenzie would look my way and give me a slow wink. My mother never seemed to figure it out – or never let on that she knew. And I never got jealous. I was way too confident in how my parents felt about each other to let a little crush bother me. Plus, Jonathan was too fun when he was around to let a little thing like that get between us.

However, when I was that age, all of the hidden turbulence between my cousins and mother flew right over my head. I was too busy being excited to see The Kids – that was what my dad called them. We were going to play. I was going to be hugged by two beautiful girls. And they were going to hear my secret and believe me.

It turns out they would hear my story and believe me. I was going to be hugged. And we would play. The only thing I had not planned on was the visitor we would have that day.

I yanked open the door and pulled them into the Library. Aly picked me up and twirled me around, while the two older kids watched and laughed. My aunt went into the kitchen and talked to my mom. As I led my cousins to my favorite play spots, my aunt walked back into the Library, intercepted us, told my cousins to be good, and walked back out the front door. High above, the sky was shining through the great dome window.

The Library was divided into two floors. The main floor was an octagon and covered by desks and couches and armrests. Built into the Parke floor was a great, wooden compass rose. The front door was at the south end of this rose. At the north end was a magnificent fireplace made of stones imported from Montana. My father used to make frequent trips up there, following his graduation, and he would often bring back great loads of rock. At the southeast point was the doorway to the kitchen. And the southwest point led to my parents’ bedroom.

The second floor opened in the center, allowing the light from the great dome window to reach the first floor. A banister was built around this hole on the second floor. When I was slightly younger, I would often sit along this banister and watch my parents read on one of the couches. I can still see my mother resting her head against my father’s shoulder. Until I got bored and made them play with me, I felt more content in those moments than any other moment I had as a child.

Circular staircases could be found at the northeast and the northwest points of the compass rose. Matty and I were playing on the second floor, directly over the west point of the rose, and that terrible man had vanished down the northwestern circular steps. On the day my cousins visited, I did not take them upstairs. Instead, we walked over to the couches facing the fireplace on the north side.

“What do you guys want to do today?” I asked. I was still little, but I had seen my parents being “good hosts” enough to know the guest was supposed to decide what to do.

Kenzie was oldest and the leader. She was practically an adult now, and we were all surprised that she still took time to play with us. If she said something was going to happen, we made sure that it happened. She spoke. “Why don’t you pick today, Dewey? It didn’t look like you were having much fun when we played basketball last time.” She was correct. Being only seven (and short for that age) made basketball a real chore, especially when playing against a girl my grandmother called “that Amazonian princess.”

“Ok!” I said. I scrunched my eyebrows together to make it look like I had to think about what I wanted to play. I already knew, but I did not want my wonderful cousins to think that I had planned everything out ahead of time. That would not be cool. “What about…,” I paused. I would have made an excellent seven year old poker player. I allowed my eyebrows to smooth out. “Mountain climbing!”

I loved mountain climbing. My father taught it to me. Mountain climbing was a noncompetitive sport. The rules were simple. Try to climb the mountain and make sure everyone else makes it up alive. Of course, in real life the “mountain” was just a couch, and instead of climbing up we were climbing sideways. It was a great game for pretending, though.

Kenzie was much too tall for this game, but did not have the heart to tell me. Instead, she said, “That sounds awesome! Why don’t you three start playing? I’m going to go talk to your mom about colleges and things, Dewey, but when I finish I’ll come back out and join you all.”

We all said that sounded great. Kenzie went to chat with my mom, who loved when this happened. Jonathan, Aly, and I walked over to the largest couch, leaned against one arm, and began to imagine.

We three were at a perilous juncture. The cliff beneath us had broken away. Our feet were swinging free in the wind, and our hands were beginning to ache. One of us needed to pull himself (“Or herself,” said Aly), or herself up. Then he or she could help the rest. We just had to get above this jut in the rocks. “Dewey! You’re going to have to do it!” called Jonathan, through gritted teeth. “You’re the lightest! Use my body like a ladder. If you can climb up me to get there, I think we all might make it.”

“But won’t that hurt?” I cried. “The spikes in my shoes might tear into your back!” The wind, which had previously been nonexistent, had picked up and was now howling.

“Don’t worry about me!” Jonathan called, nobly. “Just go.”

To add emphasis, Aly added, “I don’t know if I can hold on much longer!”

So I began to climb. I could feel Jonathan’s stomach knot under my foot. “Are you ok?” I asked.

Jonathan’s eyes were tearing up. “Go!” he grunted.

And so I climbed. First one arm made it over the lip of stone, then the other. After a bit more grunting, I’d managed to swing a leg over. After that, things got much easier. I pressed my body against the cliff face, leaned over, and grabbed Aly’s hand. “C’mon!” I said.

Up Aly climbed. After that, it was simple for both of us to pull Jonathan up. For a moment, the three of us stood gasping, backs pressed hard against the sheer cliff face. A gust of wind caught Aly, almost forcing her to a plummeting doom, but I caught her arm and yanked her back to safety. Pebbles shifted under her feet, bounced beyond the cliff face, and dropped. Five seconds later, we heard the rattling as they hit the ground. “It must be five hundred feet straight down,” Aly whispered.

When we’d caught our breath, Jonathan tapped me on the shoulder and signaled to start again. I turned around and reached for the first handhold. I pulled up and….

“What do you kids want for lunch?”

The cliffs vanished. We were lying with our stomachs pressed against the couch. Mom was at the doorway to the kitchen. Jonathan popped his head over the back of the couch and blushed. “Um. Could we have grilled cheese?”

Aly’s head also appeared over the couch, “Yeah! Grilled cheese!”

Then I hopped up, “Definitely grilled cheese!” I liked grilled cheese alright, but the important part was being a good host and agreeing with your guests. My mother smiled at this and turned back into the kitchen.

The three of us rested our heads against the couch again and the cliffs reappeared. Jonathan looked at me. “Ready yet, are ye?” he said.

I froze. I had heard that before. My eyes opened wide, and I stared at him. I could almost smell the sea and the brine. The old man’s glinting, gray eyes – had they been gray? – burned themselves back into my brain. Jonathan’s face was not that of the old man, though, and as he grinned, I relaxed. His eyes were soft and blue. I resolved to talk about it right after we finished our monstrous trek.

As I turned back to begin climbing, my thoughts returned to that day with Matty. It was strange. Somehow I felt as if I could remember more about that time now than I could moments after it happened. I could see the man’s eyes perfectly. I could hear the swishing of his oversized jeans as they slid against the wooden floor. The smell of olives and parmesan cheese reeking from his breath and body was now overpowered by the scent of raw sewage. Perhaps worst of all, I could now remember the slimy grumbling sound he made right before braying that mucus-infested “ha.”

Who was that old man, and why could I remember it all so much more clearly now? And Matty? Images flared in my mind that I did not have, that I could not have. I was not looking at Matty when the man first spoke. We did not talk about the incident when our fathers returned, so how could I now have memories of Matty’s thoughts?

I felt his fear. I felt his pain. I felt his need. I felt his strength. There it was. That moment of power that surged from him and into our as we moved the wheel at the helm of that ship. And it was a surge, was it not? It was as if he were drawing the power from everything around him. Even the wave’s strength thundered into him. I could feel it all now. It was a momentary suspension, almost in mid-air, as muscles tensed further and further, until they stopped feeling like a part of his body and started to feel like metal, like iron armor. Then it all shifted. It was all displaced into that resisting wheel aboard that terrible ship.

Even as my mind drifted, my body continued to climb the cragged face of that mountain. Once the last of us had risen beyond the lip and onto the top of the mesa, we let out a mighty cheer. Aly hugged me, and we danced in a joyous circle. Kenzie walked back in to see what the commotion was. I ran to her.

“We made it, Kenz! That wind nearly caught Aly, and I just about broke Jonathan’s back, but we made it!”

Kenzie grinned and said, “Good job, Dewey. I remember when I used to play that game with Jonathan and your dad. He used to pretend he couldn’t make it any further, so we had to pull him the rest of the way.”

I goggled at her. “Dad still does that! But I always get him up, though.” It was very important that Kenzie knew that I was a strong boy.

“I’m sure you do,” she said, grinning at me. I grinned back. And all the light vanished.