by Liz Kessler
I counted on my fingers. Prosperous II had disappeared on Friday. If that was day one, that meant today was day four.
Lyle must have seen me adding it up. “Yes,” he said. “Two more days and then I have to give up hope for good.”
“But I saw her,” I insisted. “I saw the ship, saw Lowenna.”
“Fading,” Lyle pointed out.
“Yes,” I admitted reluctantly. “But still there.”
“How come Emily saw Lowenna and I didn’t?” Aaron asked. “And why could she see the ship more clearly?”
Lyle shook his head. “I don’t know. I still have more questions than I do answers. I know this, though.” He looked me hard in the eyes, holding me with his stare. “I could barely see the ship from Lookout Reach today — yet you saw it quite clearly. You have given me hope. I was almost out of that.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I couldn’t really speak anyway, as something about the look in Lyle’s eyes was clogging up my throat.
A moment later, he stood up. “Look, you’d better be going. Your teacher will be wondering where you are, and the last thing we need is for you to get into trouble.”
Aaron and I stood up, too. Lyle led us to the door.
“I need to think this through,” he said. “I’ll spend all night working on it. Will you come and see me again in the morning?”
“Of course,” I answered for us both.
“Good. Come before breakfast,” Lyle said. “We’ll make an early start. I’m not giving up. Not until I have to.”
We paused on the doorstep. “We’re not giving up, either,” I said. “However we can help, we will.”
Lyle nodded a thank-you at us both. And then, closing the door softly behind us, he went inside and we headed back to the road. I glanced over my shoulder as we walked away. Lyle was in the window. He gave a brief wave and I waved back.
Aaron put an arm around me as we made our way back to the cabin. We didn’t talk. I guessed his thoughts were as dark and as sad as mine. And at the heart of them, just one question: Did we really stand a chance of rescuing a ship from Atlantis before time was up in two days?
I barely slept on Monday night. When I did, it was accompanied by restless dreams where I was trapped underwater in the darkness, or in an abandoned ship, surrounded by dark, prying eyes, all staring blankly at me.
I woke, sweating and breathless, for the third time in an hour. I checked the clock. Six fifteen. I turned over in my bed. Turned again. Pulled my sheets off, put them back on. Nothing was working.
Finally, I gave up. I got dressed and crept downstairs. The place was silent. Well, of course it was. Why would anyone else be up and about at six thirty in the morning?
Except — someone was. Not in the house, but outside, across the road. Sitting on a wooden bench in his front garden. I guessed he was having as much trouble sleeping as I was. More, probably.
I quietly opened the front door and went outside. “Lyle,” I called as I crossed the road and went over to him.
He glanced up at me, his dark eyes not seeing me for a moment, not recognizing anything. His blank, unseeing look reminded me of the second time I saw Lowenna.
He shook himself. “Emily,” he said. “What are you doing up so early?”
I shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither.”
“Are you OK?” I asked, then wanted to kick myself. Of course he wasn’t OK.
Lyle stood up. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I’ve been up all night working on this, and I think I’m finally getting somewhere.” He waved a hand at the bench. “Look, take a seat. I’ll just get some coffee and grab my paperwork, and then we can discuss everything — if you’re still on board.”
“Of course I am! Should I go and wake Aaron?”
Lyle glanced at his watch. “Let’s let him sleep a bit longer. We can update him later. Plus, there are a few things I’ve figured out that I’d like to share with you while Aaron’s not here.”
As he went off to get the coffee, I couldn’t help a shiver from darting through me. I was probably just cold. The sun hadn’t even risen yet. But I had the feeling it wasn’t just that. What had Lyle figured out? And what on earth did he need to tell me that he didn’t want Aaron to hear?
I sipped my coffee, grimacing as I swallowed. I don’t think anyone under thirty actually likes coffee at the best of times, and this cupful was so strong, it looked like dirt. At least it was warming me up, though.
Lyle noticed my face. “I can get you a hot chocolate if you prefer.”
“No. I’m fine.” I didn’t want to hold this conversation up any longer, even if the coffee was starting to give me palpitations.
Lyle pulled over a fold-up chair and sat down beside the bench. “OK, so, as you know, we’ve seen the ship at high tide.”
“And low tide, too,” I added.
“Yes, at slack tide. You know what that is?”
“When the movement stops in between the tide coming in and going out.”
“Correct. So the first thing I’ve figured out is why we’ve seen it at these times. At first I thought it was just because the ship had gone down at high tide, but after talking to you yesterday, I realized I was wrong. We’re seeing it then because these are the times between.”
“Between?”
“The ship was caught between earth, sea, and air — that’s what allowed it to become lost to Atlantis. We see it between the tide coming in and going out.”
“And the reason we see it is because we are between human and mer!”
Lyle wagged a finger at me. “Exactly. You’re a quick learner.”
“So that explains why only Aaron and I could see it when we were there with others, but what about the fact that the ship seems to be fading?”
“OK, that’s the next thing.” Lyle picked up a notebook he’d brought out with him and flicked through the pages. “Here’s what I’ve come up with. The fact that we’re seeing the ship means that it’s trying to get back. The fact that it’s fading means that those on board are giving up. You remember I told you about time working differently in Atlantis?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, remember, the day it went missing — Friday — was day one. That means it’s now day five. In Atlantis, they’ve been gone for more than six months already. By the end of today, it could be anything up to a year. Even in normal circumstances, that’s long enough for at least some of them to start giving up.”
“And Atlantis isn’t normal.”
“Not even close to normal. Atlantis has special qualities that make you forget you ever lived anywhere else, make you want to stay there forever. It’s like a kind of paradise, and it works like a magnet, keeping you happy and content, smoothing the passage . . . until the six days are up.”
“When it’s all over and you’re never coming back.”
“Exactly.”
I thought for a moment. “So by the end of tomorrow, that’s it, game over?”
Lyle nodded. “That’s how it works.”
“So what can we do?” I asked. “Are we giving up?”
“No! Never. Not while there’s still a chance,” he replied with such force he almost sounded angry.
“OK, go on,” I said carefully.
Lyle ran a hand through his hair. “OK, so you remember yesterday I told you how some folks believe that there is a portal between the two worlds?”
“You said that was why we were seeing the ship.”
“Yes — but this portal isn’t just about seeing the ship. In some quarters, there are whispered rumors about the possibility of moving between the two worlds. No one has any proof that this can be done, but there are stories.”
“And what do the stories say?”
“It’s very rare that this portal can open — and most believe it is only a myth, anyway,” Lyle went on. “But if it is true, I think we have a chance.”
“That’s wonderful!” I said.
&n
bsp; He frowned. “Well, yes. I’m going to try it — but I don’t know if it will work.”
“Why not?”
“OK, this is about being between two states. The ship was pulled down between earth and sea, and it is now stuck between this world and the next. So, it was in two in-between states when it disappeared. Do you realize how significant that is?”
“Umm, I think so.”
“Well, the stories say that if you can double the number of between states that took the ship, the boat will appear again, even if it is no longer trying to get back. And then you can find a key to creating a bridge between the two worlds.”
“Double the between states? So you mean we need four of them and we can reach the ship?”
“That is what the stories say. And even if they are true, the chances of this being achieved are so slim, it’s no wonder that most believe the stories are myths with no foundation. But I’m determined to try. While there’s hope, I’m not giving up.”
“OK, we need four states . . .” I mused. “Well, first, there’s us being semi-mers.”
“Correct. That’s one.”
“And then there’s the fact that we see the ship at slack tide, when the ocean is between movement in and out.”
“That’s two. Which is enough to see it,” Lyle agreed. “We need two more to reach it.”
I thought as hard as I could. What else was there? I shook my head. “I can’t think of any more.”
Lyle flicked through his book and opened it on a page with times and numbers written tightly together in columns.
I leaned in to look. “What’s that?” I asked.
“Tide tables.” Lyle ran a finger down the page. He stopped at Sunday’s date. “Look, see, these were the times of high and low tide on Sunday, and yesterday, too. This is when the ship was visible.”
I read the figures. They tallied with when I’d seen it. “OK,” I said. “But what —”
“Look here.” Lyle pointed at today’s date. High tide had passed about half an hour ago. Today’s low tide would be at 12:18 p.m. The next high was at 6:20 p.m.
“So that’s when we should see it today,” I said.
“Yes, if they are still trying to get back. If they haven’t given up completely yet. But look — this is the important part.” He pointed at the next column. “See the high tides for tomorrow?” he said.
Wednesday’s high tides were at 6:41 in the morning, and then at 6:53 in the evening. What was he getting at?
“I still don’t see what’s so significant,” I said.
Lyle flipped over to the next page in his book. More numbers.
“What are these?” I asked.
“Sunrise and sunset times,” he said. “It’s just after the fall equinox, which means that dawn and dusk are more or less twelve hours apart.” He ran his finger down to Wednesday’s date. “See that?” he asked. “What time does it say for dawn?”
“6:46 a.m.,” I read aloud.
“Exactly. Right in the middle of slack tide! And dusk is at 6:59 p.m., right in the middle of slack tide again!”
My brain cells were working as hard as they could. Finally, I understood what Lyle was saying. “That’s another between state! Dawn and dusk are in between day and night!”
Lyle smiled. “Yes!”
“And it’s on day six. The last day we could possibly reach the ship,” I mused.
“From what I’ve learned, if we can find a fourth between state, and if the portal exists, it will open at dawn for the length of the slack tide. On the next high tide, it will mirror this movement and open again, before closing for good.”
“That’s a lot of ifs,” I murmured.
“I know. But ifs are the best thing we’ve got right now.”
“So what’s the fourth between state?” I asked.
Lyle shook his head. “I can’t think of one.” He bit on the end of a fingernail. I hadn’t seen him do that before.
“What?” I asked. “There’s something you’re not saying.”
“No, there isn’t,” he said quickly. “No. I’m not. I can’t.”
“What? What is it?” I insisted.
Lyle looked as if he might cry. His eyes narrowed into dark holes. “I can’t,” he said again.
“Please,” I begged. “What is it? Tell me.”
He paused for ages. Then in a really quiet voice, he said, “It’s you.”
“What? What’s me?”
“You can do things that neither Aaron nor I are capable of. You experienced the ship more strongly than Aaron did. You saw Lowenna when Aaron didn’t. More important than that, she saw you. I wish it were me — and we’ll figure something out because I’m not going to let you use it — but, Emily, you have one more between quality.”
“Really? What is it?”
Lyle smiled sadly. He looked as if he’d disappeared somewhere miles away. “It wasn’t until I watched the two of you walk away last night that I realized what it was.”
“What? What is it?”
Lyle held my eyes with his and said, “You are between like and love.”
I gawped at him. I don’t know what I had been expecting him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. “I’m what?”
“I can see it. You’re teetering between the two states. You probably won’t be for much longer, but you are now.”
“But — but —” I spluttered. “I mean . . . what about Aaron? Isn’t he the same?”
Lyle paused for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he said simply. “Aaron is not the same.”
I wanted to ask him more. At least, half of me did. The other half didn’t really want to know. On top of the way Aaron had been responding to some of the things I’d said this week, it was obvious what he meant. Aaron was nowhere near loving me, never mind halfway there!
Just then, with perfect timing, I heard someone calling across to us. I looked up. Aaron!
He made his way over the road. “There you are,” he said, closing the gate behind himself and joining us in Lyle’s garden. “I guess you couldn’t sleep, either?”
“Mm,” I said. I couldn’t speak. I could barely look at him. My cheeks burned as if there were a fire right in front of my face. I was in between like and love? Was I? Really? I mean, could you even love someone at my age? Especially when it was so obvious that they didn’t feel the same way. He did at least like me, though, didn’t he? I hadn’t gotten that wrong?
“We were just talking about you.” Lyle broke into my thoughts.
“Really? All good, I hope?” Aaron said as he sat down next to me on the bench.
“Mm,” I said again. Seriously? Was this all I was going to be capable of uttering from now on?
“Just discussing our plan of action,” Lyle said, saving me from the need for further explanation. He summarized what he’d told me about the slack tide and the reason the ship was fading. Luckily, he didn’t go into any more detail.
“So we have to act quickly,” Aaron said.
“Yep,” Lyle agreed. “And I’ve found out what we need to do. I believe that a portal will open early tomorrow morning, on the high tide. It will be our one chance to reach the ship and bring it home.”
“I’ll do it!” Aaron announced without a second’s hesitation.
Lyle laughed softly. “I thought you’d say that,” he said. “But no. You can’t. I’m going to figure out a way that I can get through it. I’m not letting either of —”
“I’m doing it,” I said firmly.
Both of them turned to look at me.
“I’m going,” I repeated. As I said it, I got a tingly, wriggly feeling in my stomach, as if a tiny octopus were tickling me with its tentacles. I know I should have been scared, but I was excited, too. I was going to find a mythical portal. I was going to bring Lowenna back. I was going to go to Atlantis!
Aaron held out a hand, as if to stop me from running off to find the ship right then. “No! Emily, it could be dangerous.” He glanced at Lyle. “I mean, I
think it could be. Is it dangerous?”
“Oh, yes,” Lyle confirmed. “The dangers are plentiful and varied. The biggest danger of them all is the risk of getting across to the ship but never making it back again.”
I swallowed. The tentacles in my stomach tickled harder. “Being lost forever in Atlantis?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m not letting you go. I’ll think of something. We just need to figure out together how —”
“I’m going,” I said. “I’m doing it.”
“Emily, no!” Aaron said again. “If anyone’s doing it, I am.”
Lyle stopped him. “Aaron, you can’t. Right now, Emily is the only one who could even attempt it.”
Aaron glanced between the two of us. “Why?” he asked. “How do you know?”
“Because I saw Lowenna,” I blurted out before Lyle had the chance to say anything embarrassing. “Because I saw the ship more clearly. Guys, you know it’s true. I’m the best hope of bringing Lowenna home.” I looked from Aaron to Lyle. “I’m the only hope.”
Lyle dropped his head. He knew it was true.
Aaron let out a hard breath. “I’ll go with you all the way to the portal,” he said. “I’ll stay with you till you get across. I’ll do everything I can to keep you from danger, OK? That’s the deal.”
I felt myself melt. I didn’t care if he didn’t feel the same way as me. At least he wanted to look after me. He was so sweet. He made me — wait! He was making my feelings stronger. I couldn’t let that happen! What if I stopped being between feelings? What if his being so nice tipped the scales from like into love?
“Aaron, don’t be so sappy!” I snapped, my words not reflecting my feelings at all. “I’ll be fine.”
Lyle caught my eye. He knew what I was doing. “Emily, if you’re absolutely determined . . .”
“I am.”
“Well, then, we’ll all do everything we can to keep you from harm,” he said. “But you need to think carefully about this. I can’t ask it of you. I won’t. It’s not right for —”
“You’re not asking it of me,” I interrupted. “I’m telling you: I’m doing it. I want to. I need to.” I wasn’t going to spell it out for Lyle, but I had to do this for myself almost as much as for him. It wasn’t only that I seemed to be completely incapable of resisting an adventure; it also felt like the only way I was ever going to get Lowenna’s desperate face out of my mind.
