by Toni Kerr
Tristan glanced at the holey sneakers he’d worn for the past several years.
“We’ll let Alvi take you clothes shopping,” Victor added cheerfully. “She loves that stuff.”
They’d given him so much already: a house, food...and there were things he’d want to buy before upgrading his clothing. Like a watch, a calendar, and a pencil sharpener. “Any chance I could get a job?”
“Take a few months to get settled, then you can see how much time you have for a job.”
Tristan sighed and followed them outside.
They took a trail that circled the house toward the back, past a pile of firewood and a few other trailheads, and walked on a level terrain for forty-five minutes in silence.
Landon stopped to remove his backpack and drank some water. Victor did the same.
“Are we here?” Tristan asked, drinking the end of his own water.
“Almost,” Landon whispered. “From here, we go stealth.”
Tristan glanced at Victor, who winked. “Go ahead, I’ll set up base camp.”
Tristan followed Landon to a crystal-clear, shallow river. Landon knelt down, signaling for Tristan to do the same, and pulled a pair of miniature binoculars from his shirt pocket. He aimed it upstream for a few minutes, then motioned Tristan to stay low as they retraced their steps back to Victor’s camp. Three chairs surrounded a small campfire.
“What’s on the menu?” Victor asked.
“Grasshoppers.” Landon held up a small glass jar with a large bug inside. He handed the container to Tristan and unfolded a canvas roll from his backpack, attaching braces and poles until it became a small table. “Welcome to art of fly tying.”
Tristan brightened as Landon set up two stations, making a pile of materials for each. He studied the striped wings and long antennae of the grasshopper, and looked questioningly at the pile of random fur and feathers on the table.
“He knows what he’s doing,” Victor said. “But let me know if you want a short cut.”
Landon rolled his eyes. “If you can’t handle the hunt, stay in the kitchen.”
“I can rise more fish with my eyes closed.”
“But can you hook ‘em?”
“You release everything anyway, why injure the poor things?”
Landon rolled his eyes again and laughed. “This is why he doesn’t get invited very often. He’s lucky he can cook.”
“Yeah, well....” Victor frowned, then shrugged and went back to seasoning a glass tray of steaks.
“There are plenty of other bugs working the surface, but grasshoppers will be the best to start with.” Landon snipped the barb from a hook and handed it to Tristan, along with a file. “Smooth out the rough edges.”
Tristan imitated Landon throughout the entire process of making the fly, laughing at Victor’s commentary.
“Grasshoppers tend to float high and they’re nice and big, which makes them visually easy to follow in the water. Ready?”
Victor looked at his watch. “You could’ve been on the water half an hour ago if you would have used your brains. Or you could’ve just altered the colors on what you already have to match the hatch, but nooooo.”
“Match the hatch?” Tristan asked, lost in the lingo.
“Each species has its own color going on, and since we caught a live specimen, we know exactly what color of grasshopper is working the water today.”
“I know for a fact that you have at least twenty never-used grasshoppers in your stash. How do you think they feel? Always left behind, never good enough....”
Tristan chuckled and helped Landon put everything away.
“It’s the journey, not the destination.” Landon removed two rolls of burlap from the pack and handed one to Tristan, then pocketed a few other items before heading back the way they’d come. “We’ll start downriver and hike upstream, so the spot we were just at will be the last hole we fish. It’s my favorite, and usually a fun one to end on.”
Victor gave a thumbs up when Tristan glanced back.
“He really doesn’t mind staying behind?” Tristan asked.
“Nah. Don’t be surprised if he shows up later though, he doesn’t always sit well.”
“How come we’re going this way?” Tristan asked, as they headed farther from the river.
“The fish will know we’re here if we make too much noise along the bank, so we’ll circle around.”
They walked for twenty minutes before merging onto a rocky beach. Rounded rocks from pale green to pink sparkled in the shallow water.
“Stay back here until we’re ready.” Landon unrolled his bundle and motioned for Tristan to do the same. They assembled five-piece rods, attached the reels, and strung the lines for each. “The ideal thing about this particular beach is that there’s plenty of casting room. You don’t want to cast too close to the water because you’ll spook the fish. Word gets around, then no one bites for the next hour.”
There was a casting lesson, during which Tristan developed the basic feel of the rod. He could not ‘feel the fly’ as Landon said he should, but didn’t stop trying.
“Ready for water?”
“Yes!” Tristan soaked in the warmth of the sun, his only regret being that he hadn’t wanted to come out the first time they’d offered.
“Watch first,” Landon whispered, putting a finger to his lips. “I’ll do one cast, then you can have the hole.”
Tristan nodded and watched Landon stalk the river. He stopped a good distance from the water’s edge and knelt to one knee, letting out more line on each whip of the rod. The grasshopper-fly landed on the bank of the other side.
Tristan suspected he’d overshot the river, but Landon lifted the tip of his rod slowly, until the grasshopper fell off the bank and hit the water with a bit of grass and dirt. It drifted for a few seconds while Landon pulled in the slack.
A fish erupted from the water and Landon flicked the rod to set the hook. He stood and called for Tristan to come. “Better hurry if you want to see it.”
“We don’t have to be quiet?”
“I think it’s safe to say that all the fish in this hole know we’re here now.”
Tristan stood over Landon, watching him remove the hook with ease. The fish had to be a solid eighteen inches long and sparkled with a metallic range of colors. “How can a fish that big survive in such shallow water?” Tristan looked for signs of other fish, spotting nothing.
“It’s best to fish the banks for the big ones. There are thousands of little guys in the middle, but then you waste a bunch of time keeping them off the hook. Nothing destroys a fly quicker than being munched on over and over.” He held the fish underwater for a few moments, then it darted back to the bank, disappearing in the shadows and reflections.
“Do you ever eat them?”
“I don’t really care for fish. They taste too….” Landon glanced to the sky, searching for the right word. “Fishy. Even with Victor’s talent for cooking.”
Tristan laughed and agreed, thinking of all the fish he forced down while on Dorian’s island.
“Your turn. Walk up to the next hole when you’re ready, and put your fly anywhere in the water. Keep up the slack or you’ll miss strikes. Don’t beat the water. If nothing happens within five casts, keep moving. I’ll skip a few holes so you can have first dibs; there’s plenty of water for both of us. And, if you need something, don’t yell. Just call me mentally.”
Tristan waited until Landon vanished before casting into the water. Within three attempts, he’d snapped the line and got his hook snagged on the only stub of a tree within twenty feet.
He knotted the line back together and kept trying, curious as to why his grasshopper wouldn’t float. Fly fishing was definitely harder than it looked. Eventually, he lost the fly altogether.
Content to call it quits, he reeled in the remaining tangles and walked quietly until he spotted Landon. He sat on a log to admire how easy Landon made it seem.
Why do you suppose he doesn’t jus
t put the fly where he wants it?
Tristan jolted upright, hearing the same voice he’d heard all night long.
Better yet, why doesn’t he just acquire the fish without the hook at all?
That would defeat the purpose, Tristan thought to himself, trying not to feel alarmed.
What purpose? There’s something very sadistic about what he’s doing.
Landon reeled in a large catch, then let it run free to be reeled in again.
Thrill of the hunt? Being just as good as nature? Tristan wasn’t sure what the point was, other than doing something fun. Relieve stress?
What an impressive, remarkable challenge! Outsmarting a fish’s instinct to eat! Do you suppose this is the best he can do to relieve stress? Inflicting pain and permanent damage to something that couldn’t care less? The thrill of a good hunt is one thing, but I doubt the pain to a fish is sufficient to make it worthwhile. Besides, the fish can’t even defend itself. What good feelings can that bring to a person?
If it wasn’t Lazaro.... Who are you?
Does anyone really know who they are? I suppose if I had to define myself, I’d say I’m a lot like you. You must have some notion of your strengths and use them to your benefit?
I guess. It felt like a trick question but Tristan played along, braver with Landon nearby.
We would both rather use power than suffer, or see others suffer?
I suppose.
We would both kill if it were absolutely necessary.
Tristan didn’t answer, watching Landon.
Well?
If it were absolutely necessary, I guess so. He didn’t know if the unforgivable event in Ireland could have been avoided or not.
“Lose your fly?” Victor asked, settling on the log beside Tristan.
“My mind is more like it.” Tristan glanced around for anyone else who might be watching from the forest. He was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining such a crazy, two-sided conversation. Unless he was talking with an alter-ego. “Let’s say I did have that drug, whatever you said it was. How long would it last?”
Victor scratched his head. “An hour? Maybe two depending on how much you took. I’ve never actually used it.”
“What about the side effects, how long would they last?”
“I don’t know. I’d guess any hallucinogenic drug would mess with your head. You might get flashbacks of something you thought you saw at the time, but forgot about ‘til now. Crap! I need to talk to Donovan.” Victor shot up from the log, catching Landon’s attention.
“No!” Tristan jumped to his feet to stop Victor while Landon reeled in his line. “Donovan doesn’t need to be involved. Really, I’m fine. It was just a question.” A wave of dizziness had him clutching Victor’s arm tighter. He sat back down.
“It’s okay,” Victor said. “I was actually referring to something else. You probably just need a decent meal and a good night’s sleep. Then, you’ll be back to normal in no time.”
Tristan nodded, certain Victor had already filled Landon in.
“I’m going to go put the steaks on,” Victor said as Landon approached. “You guys got thirty minutes tops, or I’ll eat them all myself.”
“Got it. Thirty minutes.” Landon grinned and waved Victor away. “You’ll get the hang of it if you keep practicing. Fly fishing is an acquired skill.” Landon motioned the way upstream.
Acquired? That’s a laugh. The voice continued, laughing heartily before trailing off.
Tristan almost tripped on a rock, recognizing the laughter in horror. Lazaro?
Who’d you think, God?
“Can you handle another thirty minutes?” Landon glanced over his shoulder, stopping mid-sentence. “We could just call it a day.”
Tristan shook his head. “I’m just tired. You keep fishing and I’ll watch, if that’s okay.”
“Thirty minutes.”
Tristan agreed with a nod, but his eagerness faded when Landon walked on. Landon turned abruptly, startling Tristan back a step.
“Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about Lazaro.”
Tristan considered the repercussions of either answer. “No.”
“Good.” Landon continued walking. “Because that’s what the Makai are for. We’ve always got an eye on him, and he can’t be anywhere near you.”
I think not! What a bunch of arrogant goodie-goodies. They have their noses so high in the air....
“Let’s not talk about the Makai,” Tristan said to both of them.
“Sure.” Landon shrugged his shoulders, studying the river.
I might like to know some things.
“Stay low.” Landon motioned with his hand and approached the river as low as he could without crawling.
Tristan gulped, following orders.
“I’m going to show you feeding lines. Pay attention to where the fly lands.”
Tristan nodded and Landon crept forward.
Look at him! Idiocy in its finest form.
Will you get out of my head?
All in good time, and, I’m not actually in your head.
Where are you then? Tristan studied the forest.
I wouldn’t want you tipping off your little buddy there.
Landon motioned him forward with a reminder signal to keep low.
Could Lazaro use him against Landon somehow? Tristan hesitated until Landon waved him forward again.
Lazaro, apparently, had nothing to say for the next thirty minutes.
Landon broke down his pole and put it away. “No wonder you didn’t have luck,” he said, pulling line from Tristan’s reel until all the tangles were out. He bit off the line and stuffed the knotted wad in his pocket.
“Sorry. I wasn’t sure what you’d want me to do with it.”
Landon smiled. “You feeling better?”
Tristan stared over the water. Peace flowed with the river, especially now that Lazaro didn’t seem to be around. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Ordinarily, I’d say don’t eat before sleeping...but you need it.”
Tristan nodded, though his stomach clenched at the thought of eating, and he fully expected Lazaro to be waiting for him at his cabin.
20
- WILD CHILD -
TRISTAN SAT UP IN BED and peered out the window to his front yard. Something in the morning light had wakened him.
He had no memory of dreams or voices throughout the night, and felt better than he had in days. A flash of movement caught his attention from outside as something dove into the shrubs.
Again.
Tristan leaped to the front door. Whatever was outside, he wasn’t about to let it get away a second time. “Hey!” He waited a few seconds, unsure if the cowering figure was an animal or person. “I can see you.”
A young child unfolded himself from his hiding place, brilliant blue eyes shining through a layer of grunge and dirt.
“What are you doing out—” Déjà vu struck him like a punch. He’d seen this kid before, but where? “Can I help you with something?”
The boy shook his head and stepped out of the brush. Tristan glanced up at the sun. How much time did he have before class?
“I’m sorta in a hurry, do you want to come in?” Tristan shrugged when the boy said nothing. He left the front door open and filled two glasses with water.
The child stayed just outside, clinging to an oddly shaped ball. He quickly stuffed the item in his pocket when he caught Tristan eyeing it.
“You can come in.” Tristan offered one of the glasses and the boy shook his head. “A shower maybe? You look like you need it more than I do.” Tristan opened the bathroom door and stepped back to give the boy space.
It was a little like training his falcon. The boy stayed where he was on the porch. Then something must have changed his mind and he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
“So, you do understand what I’m saying?”
The boy seemed to think about it, then nodded a yes.
“Do you live around here?”
He shook his head no, then nodded yes.
“Are you a native?”
The boy shrugged his shoulders and seemed to relax with the questioning.
“Have you lived here long?”
The boy shook his head no.
“Hungry?”
He shook his head again. Tristan rummaged through the things Victor had left and found a jar of dried fruit in one of the cupboards. The boy stepped back against the door, suddenly petrified.
Tristan poured a handful for himself and left a handful on the counter. “Hot chocolate? Are you sure you don’t want anything?”
The only thing the boy did was shake his head in the negative.
“I have to get to class. You’re welcome to stay while I’m gone. Maybe get some sleep?” An idea popped into his head, but he had to test the boy first. “Can you do anything special?”
The boy shrugged.
“A trick maybe?”
The boy’s face lit up with excitement and he wandered around the room. His attention settled on the decorative drum that Victor hadn’t gotten around to explaining yet—he took it off the shelf and placed it on the table.
Tristan hoped he would do something magical, so he could take the boy to Angelina for advice.
The drum somersaulted into the air, shattering the window as it spiraled out of control.
Tristan grinned as the boy’s eyes grew impossibly wide with fear, and decided right then that they would be friends.
“I’m afraid I don’t know how to fix that,” he said, nearly laughing. “But I’m sure it’s fixable.”
The boy scrambled onto a chair and leaned out the window to see where the drum landed. Tristan walked around to retrieve it, put it back on the shelf, then closed the curtains to cover the gaping hole.
“I have someplace to take you. It’ll be fun.” Tristan motioned for the boy to follow him out the door. “Do you have a name?”
The boy nodded.
“Can you give me a hint?”
The boy smiled and shook his head.
“Should I guess?”
The boy caught up to walk alongside Tristan and nodded happily.
“Winthrop?” The boy made a disgusted expression that made Tristan laugh. “Seymour? Rudolph? Fritz? Maybe...Redhead?”
