A Tear in the Ocean

by H. M. Bouwman

  “Una never came back?” asked Artie. “Nunu?”

  Rayel shook her head. Her hair and skin looked less stone-like, and she moved more freely. “Not that I know of. I think—I think something must have happened to her. I think she would have come back.”

  Putnam said, “How did Una get out of here?” That part of the story didn’t make sense to him.

  “Weren’t you listening?” said Artie. “She swam—”

  “I think he means how could she swim up to the ocean from here. And even if she could swim that far, how could she survive when she got to the freezing ocean above?”

  Putnam nodded. That was exactly what he’d meant.

  Rayel shrugged. “This stream must travel underground before it empties out into the ocean.” She paused, as if waiting for them to say the rest.

  “Maybe she transformed as she swam,” said Artie. “Into Nunu.”

  “There are Raftworld stories about dolphin people,” said Putnam. “But I didn’t know they were real.” Bears, dolphins; he wondered how many fairytales were telling the truth.

  “I like to think she turned back,” said Rayel, “into whatever she really was, and she got away, and had a good life somewhere warm.” She leaned her head back against the tree. “But I guess I’ll never know.” Her face was full of color now, and her hair shone with the light glancing on it. Her clothes, old-fashioned but beautifully woven, moved like real fabric now, in bright colors. She stretched and then said, “Well. I guess you two need to get back home. I wonder . . .”

  “Do you want to come with us?” asked Artie.

  “I was hoping you’d invite me,” Rayel said, dipping her head awkwardly.

  Putnam said, “Of course! Please come. In fact,” he said, trying to smile, “you’re actually next in line for the throne—”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I never wanted that. Just . . . don’t make me marry someone awful.” She grinned.

  Putnam laughed. “I’m pretty sure you’ll make your own choices. I mean, technically, you’re really, really old.”

  And then it struck him: all this talk of going back, and he still hadn’t fixed the water . . .

  Oh.

  It was her. “The salt in the ocean. Your tears.”

  Rayel nodded.

  So. The problem he’d come south to fix was already solved—and not because of anything he’d done. It felt a little disappointing. Shouldn’t there be more? A big finish of some kind? A fight against a dragon, maybe—or at least a giant sled made of salt that had to be hoisted back into the sky?

  “We fixed it,” said Artie, leaning back on her elbows and then sliding down to lie on her back. Her eyes were shining. “Well, Rayel did, anyway.”

  “After causing the problem in the first place,” Rayel murmured dryly. “And it will take a while for the ocean to heal. It won’t be suddenly better just because I stopped crying.”

  Artie, curled up on the grass, giggled.

  She giggled. Had she ever done that before, during all the long weeks of their trip?

  So many things had happened since they arrived at the cavern, and all he’d done was lie around with a sore back. He’d return to Raftworld—if they even could—exactly as he was, not having done anything. All his problems still the same.

  “What’s wrong?” said Rayel softly. “Artie told me her story. But I haven’t heard yours. Want to talk about it?”

  He shrugged. “There’s really nothing to tell. I’m the king’s son. My life is practically perfect.”

  “I was the king’s daughter, and my life wasn’t perfect.”

  She waited.

  “I had a big fight with my dad before I left,” said Putnam. It was hard to admit that. His dad wasn’t perfect, but he was a good dad, especially compared to some.

  “Does he love you?” asked Rayel.

  Putnam looked at her, startled. He almost said, Of course, but stopped himself. There was no of course, not for everyone. “Yes. He does.”

  “And you love him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then when you go back, you can fix it. You can.”

  Artie was fast asleep, her head pillowed on a tree root.

  Rayel said, “And your mother?”

  Putnam took a deep breath. “She left us. Left me. She didn’t—she didn’t love me. Not enough to stay, not enough to come back.” It was the hardest thing he’d ever said. And he knew that this was the thing, more than anything else, that made him angry with his dad. Why didn’t his dad go after her? Why didn’t he make her stay? It was the thing behind every argument he and his dad had. It was the thing that made Putnam—the next king, the kid who had everything—feel small and unloved. And there was no way to fix it.

  Rayel put her hand on Putnam’s. It was warm and pulsed with life. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  * * *

  • • •

  AFTER A FEW MINUTES, Rayel nodded toward Artie, who was still asleep. “She’s exhausted. Caring for you, and visiting me. She figured it all out a long time before you did, you know. And she did the only thing that could make me stop crying. She told me her story, and she listened to mine. Just listened.”

  “What exactly happened to her?” asked Putnam. “What did she tell you?”

  Rayel stared at him, her black eyes piercing.

  “She hasn’t told me anything,” said Putnam. He almost added, It isn’t fair. And it wasn’t, was it? He’d helped her sail the boat here, given her his food, saved her from bears almost at the cost of his own life, traveled with her for so long and never been anything but nice to her. He should get to hear her story, too. What had hurt her so badly?

  “I don’t think you understand how this all works,” said Rayel. “I told my story to her and to you—and yes, I knew you were in the bushes all the time—because I wanted to. Because I wanted you both to know.

  “But Artie hasn’t given you her story. She told me, because I was a statue and that was all she could bring herself to talk to. She didn’t tell you. And the fact that you were nice to her doesn’t mean you get to hear her story. It’s hers, don’t you see? She doesn’t have to tell you. She doesn’t owe you anything.”

  “But that’s—”

  “Not fair? People don’t owe you their sad stories just because you’re a good person, Putnam.” Rayel looked over at Artie, and a softness flashed across her face. “She gave you her friendship. That was a lot. A lot.”

  He nodded. It was, and he knew that. He also knew that her friendship was different, better than any he’d had before (his mind flashed to Olu and his schoolmates). And it was brave. From Artie, friendship took so much of what had already been stolen from her: trust and openness.

  “It is a lot,” he said. “She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  Rayel tilted her head to the side.

  “I mean, she’s friends with me without caring that I’m going to be king of Raftworld someday. Without caring that I’m a really good sailor and raft builder, and that I can read and write really well. Without thinking that I’m tall or good-looking or that I live in the nicest house on Raftworld. She’s just my friend because of . . .”

  “Because of you,” said Rayel. “And because you are in this mess together.”

  Putnam said, “We can’t stay here.” It was a question as much as a statement.

  Rayel nodded.

  “But we don’t have a way out.”

  “We could use the tunnel Una and I used when we went to the surface to explore.” And Rayel told him about the tunnel with the gradual incline. “I think it’s probably still there,” she said slowly, tapping her head in thought. “It was really wide. It’s probably how my bear got in.”

  Putnam swallowed. “The bears. Do you think—”

  “They’ll find you? Yes, eventually. Mine found me.” She
held out her arm with its claw marks still embedded in it, even though her arm was now flesh. The cuts were deep, like farrows that had been dug for planting and then abandoned.

  “Mine found me?” repeated Putnam. “What did you mean when you said everyone has a bear after them? Your bear wasn’t the same bears that are chasing us?”

  “Of course not,” said Rayel. “That was a long time ago.” She paused to think. “Like I said, we each have our own bear. At least, that’s my belief. And I had a long time to think about it, after I took care of mine.”

  Took care of? “What did you do?” asked Putnam.

  She smiled, but the smile didn’t look happy. “I don’t recommend my method.”

  He waited.

  “I ate it.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t explain it, exactly. I was already a statue, or mostly one anyway, and the bear found me. It clawed my arm. The worst pain I’d ever experienced. And I was so mad—about everything—I just grabbed it, grabbed it and hugged it to me, and it—it shrank, and when it was small enough, I put it in my mouth and I ate it. I was so angry. I thought my anger could . . . devour the bear.”

  “Did it—did it work?”

  She shook her head. “It’s been clawing my insides ever since. Until Artie and I talked, until she told me her story and I listened, and then I told her mine.”

  “And now the bear is gone?”

  Rayel shook her head. “Now it’s a little more quiet. Napping, maybe. I really don’t recommend eating your bear.”

  But what do I do? Putnam knew he couldn’t fight the bears. Not again. Not ever. He’d lost last time; he’d lose again. And now he knew what it felt like to lose, how much it burned. He’d fail even faster next time around.

  One of those two bears was his, and one was Artie’s.

  “Your bear never leaves you,” said Rayel. “That’s what I’ve finally learned. Your bear follows you. If you run, it will chase you forever. You can’t run away.”

  Artie opened her eyes, which glittered in her shadowed face. She looked empty. Putnam wondered how long she’d been awake. “So if the bear never leaves . . . then we need to find another way. Not fighting it. Not running away. Something else.” She spoke in a slow, sleepy voice. Maybe she was still partly asleep. She turned on her side and her eyes closed again, her face restful. “I like this tree.” Her hand curled around the root that pillowed her head.

  Putnam said, “I’ll get our stuff—our blankets and things—and bring them here, and we’ll all stay together tonight. And maybe tomorrow you can show us the way to get out. And you’ll come with us.”

  Rayel smiled. “That sounds good.” She lay back next to Artie. By the time Putnam returned with their supplies, both girls were deeply asleep.

  * * *

  • • •

  THE NEXT morning, the three of them packed up, though there wasn’t much to pack. Artie and Putnam tried to share warm clothes with Rayel, who reminded them that she didn’t need them. She’d told them yesterday, but in the mix of everything else—a statue come to life, bears tracking them—they’d forgotten that she didn’t feel the cold.

  Artie and Putnam needed to make their clothes as warm as possible. They had thought that Putnam’s two cloaks and his shirt were ruined by the bear, but now, cleaned and dried (though still torn), the cloaks still had some warmth to give. So Artie and Putnam each wore one of the ripped-up capes as their underlayer and kept a mostly whole one to wear as an outer cape. Even the outer cloaks, however, were torn where Artie had made them back into blankets and used them as bandages. There just wasn’t much cloak left to any of the cloaks. They’d need to get to the boat quickly—and hope it was still there.

  They still hadn’t talked about what to do about the bears. Artie was hoping they wouldn’t meet up with them. Rayel had said the bears wouldn’t stop looking; she hadn’t said the bears would find them.

  They ate as much as they could for breakfast (several apples, carrots, handfuls of berries) and they packed up some apples and carrots in an extra hood, along with some potatoes Artie had found and dug up that morning. They put on their boots and found their mittens. And then all three of them started walking in the direction of the tunnel Rayel had used, so many years ago.

  Rayel didn’t talk. She’d started coughing that morning, first just a few coughs and now more and more, racking her body and making her hold her stomach. Putnam had asked if she was sick, but she shook her head and insisted that they leave right away. She’d be fine.

  As they walked, pausing frequently to allow Rayel to cough, Artie divided her thoughts between worrying about Rayel—who did seem sick—and thinking about the bears. Artie had heard most of the conversation the day before. She’d been dozing, but the mention of bears had brought her out of that dreamland and back into reality with a crash. This world wasn’t safe. The monsters were coming. And even Rayel, who’d been here so long, didn’t know how to defeat them.

  “. . . Artie?”

  With a jerk, she realized Putnam had been talking. They’d reached the edge of the garden, and there in front of them was a tunnel into the gypsum, wide and smooth, gradually ascending. Big enough for a bear to get into or out of easily.

  Rayel and Putnam were both staring at her, and she realized she was breathing short, upset breaths, almost like she’d been running.

  “Sorry,” said Artie. “Daydreaming.”

  Rayel coughed again, doubling over and clutching her gut.

  “Let’s rest here for a few minutes before we go up,” said Putnam.

  * * *

  • • •

  THEY HAD a snack, and Putnam thought maybe everyone was feeling better. Rayel didn’t eat, but she had stopped coughing. Artie had eaten a lot and seemed less upset. Putnam raised his arm to toss his apple core and grinned when it barely hurt to throw. Of course, if he had to lift anything heavier than an apple . . . He winced.

  “Are you okay? We can rest longer.” Now Artie looked worried about him.

  “I’m completely fine,” said Putnam, trying to sound as confident as he must have sounded before they’d been attacked by the bears. Trying to feel that confident again.

  “Okay, then.” Artie stood and brushed herself off, then held out her hand to pull Putnam to standing. He didn’t need it, but he grabbed her hand anyway. Rayel gave him his walking stick—a long straight branch she’d found near the willow tree. The stick helped when his back got tired.

  Suddenly Rayel’s head jerked back, and so did Artie’s. They’d heard something.

  And a second later, Putnam heard it, too. Growling? And from where?

  Putnam shook his head, and the sound was gone. “What was that?”

  “Maybe nothing?” Artie said. She sounded like she wanted to believe herself.

  Rayel stifled a cough and nodded, lips pressed shut in a line.

  They stood a moment. They’d all heard something—a breeze, a birdcall, something—and maybe just imagined it as more? Or maybe it was more? And was it coming from behind them or in front of them? In the echoes of the tunnel, Putnam couldn’t tell.

  Either way, there was only one exit from the underground world.

  They headed up the tunnel.

  8

  PUTNAM AND ARTIE.

  THE TUNNEL was wide and followed a long, gradual slope, much nicer for hiking than the one they’d come down. The ice was rough, which made it easier to walk on without falling. Putnam tried to imagine Artie dragging him down this tunnel on a sled made of blanket, and shook his head. They were lucky they’d come down the other passageway. It had been narrow enough to allow them to escape, and slippery enough for Artie to pull him on the blanket.

  This one was so wide, a bear could navigate it.

  Walking behind Artie and Rayel, Putnam was almost sure he could hear something padding slowly and carefully b
ehind them (or maybe in front of them?) and stopping just a split second after they stopped for each rest break. But he didn’t know what to say or do. Maybe, just maybe, what he heard was a trick of sound in the cave, the way your own steps echo in tunnels just after you’ve finished walking. Then Rayel would cough, and the sound would seem to stop for a few minutes. Maybe he was imagining.

  He didn’t ask Rayel or Artie about the noise again. What if the answer was that they heard it, too? The tunnel was their only way out.

  They walked a long time, rarely speaking and only then in quiet, clipped sentences. Somehow going back to the surface made everything seem dangerous again. The tunnel grew darker and darker—and then, slowly, it grew brighter and brighter until finally a light glowed ahead of them. Putnam put out his bare hand to feel the walls. Pure ice now. Their breath exhaling in steam. He was glad of the cloak—and knew it would be even colder outside.

  Rayel coughed quietly, like she was trying to muffle the sound.

  “Ready?” breathed Artie.

  “Ready,” said Putnam. “Let’s go.”

  The three of them stood side by side—the cave so wide now that they could do this easily—and walked the last stretch until they reached the tunnel’s opening.

  They stood near the top of a slight hill, somewhere near the boat. Putnam thought he recognized the land. It was a clear day, and they could see the water from where they stood. “That hill,” said Artie, pointing. “That’s the one we climbed before. I’m almost sure of it. The boat should be on the other side.”

  Rayel nodded. “That’s about where my boat was, too.”

  Even if it wasn’t the right hill, it was high, and they’d see more from there. And thankfully it was not too far away. Putnam nodded to Artie, not trusting his voice, and they started walking. Putnam’s back was aching from the long hike already, and he leaned heavily on his staff.