Struggling against the wind, Jack makes a dive for it, but it’s too late. It hits the water with a “hiss” and the glow disappears as it sinks down into the inky darkness.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?” I pull Kimiko across the rocks, ignoring her pleas to let her go. She trips, but I drag her off the rocks and finally up onto the beach.
“Are you crazy?” I shout. “You could have been killed! We all could have been killed!”
She slumps down on a piece of driftwood, silent and exhausted.
“Seriously? You were going to jump? What if Jack and I hadn’t seen you, Kimiko? What if we hadn’t been there tonight?” I look over my shoulder to see the shadow of Jack dipping and diving, dodging the wind and rolling waves as he desperately tries to spot the hoshi no tama. I want to tell him to stop. It isn’t safe out there. But it wouldn’t do any good. Jack won’t stop until he wants to.
“I wasn’t going to jump,” Kimiko says, “I just wanted to destroy it! I can’t take it anymore! You won’t ever understand what it’s like to be this way. I’d rather stay in the limbo state like before, when I was without my star ball, half alive.”
“But don’t you realize what you’ve done?” I’m so angry! I shake her small frame with both of my hands. I can’t help it. I can barely spit out the words. “It isn’t just about losing your hoshi no tama. What if it breaks out there in the surf? If it breaks, you could …”
I can’t finish. I can’t say the words, but Kimiko says them for me. “I know. I could die.”
We look at each other in the dark, standing there on the beach in the crazy wind, while white flashes of sheet lightning surround as though we’re in the middle of some crazy light show.
“No,” I say firmly. “It’s not broken. Jack will find it. You are not going to die.” I put my arm around her shoulders and walk her up the beach toward the lodge. “You’ve got to give things a chance. I can help you. And what about the Okami’s message for you? You can’t just ignore her. You’ve come this far! You have to try, Kimiko. You can’t just give up!”
She shakes her head but doesn’t answer.
I look into the wind, trying to locate Jack. It starts to rain, and then it starts to pour! So much, that it’s difficult to see five feet in front of me. But Jack is out there. I know it. And I know he won’t rest until he finds Kimiko’s hoshi no tama.
Please. Don’t let it be broken. Don’t let it be broken.
“Come on,” I say gently. “Let’s go inside. It’ll be okay. Let’s just go inside where it’s safer.”
Kimiko is drenched and shivering, her wet braids hanging down past her waist.
We walk back toward the Elephant in the dark, and halfway there I skid on some slippery rocks, and fall, smashing my knee against a cluster of barnacles.
“Ahh!” I moan, clutching at my knee. I squeeze my eyes shut, grimacing with pain, but when I reach out my hand for Kimiko’s, it isn’t there. Kimiko is gone!
I can’t believe it! I’m the one who should have been paying closer attention! How could she just disappear like that? I turn around in circles, but it seems like everything has been swallowed up by the rain and wind. It’s impossible to see anything.
“KIMIKO!” I run blindly into the dark. I can hear her running toward the trees, sure and quick.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
I say the words over and over again as I run up to the boardwalk. Don’t panic. Stay calm. Tell the others. Don’t panic. If Kimiko’s hoshi no tama can survive a tsunami—if it can cross the Pacific Ocean and remain intact—then it will soon find its way back to the shore again. It’s not going to break, not after almost nine hundred years. It’s going to show up. Jack will see to that.
I push thoughts of the star ball from my mind, trusting that Jack has got it covered. My job is to find Kimiko, and I’ve got to find her now.
I race to the lodge with my plan in place.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I open the back door but it shudders against the hammering wind, and I have to work hard to steady the rattling doorknob in my hands.
Okay, first things first. I tiptoe up the stairs to our room, and gently push open the door. Sabrina is still sound asleep. I go back out to the hall, open the linen cupboard, and grab a bunch of pillows. Then I creep back into our room and quickly sculpt two “believable” bodies—one under Kimiko’s duvet, and one under mine. I know, it’s totally a cliché move, but it’s worth a shot.
I check my phone. No one will be up for hours. I’ll find Kimiko in time. I have to!
I grab my Cowichan sweater and tiptoe back downstairs.
Of course, one of the steps creaks loudly on the way down, and I freeze, waiting for a door to open, or for Norman to bark. Thankfully, neither happens. I find the kitchen’s junk drawer, and lucky for me, there are two flashlights inside it.
“Don’t blow this for me,” I whisper to Norman, who is curled up in the Big Kahuna. He raises his head and whimpers a little, but I put my index finger to my lips to shush him, promising to feed him all sorts of “not-allowed” things when I get back. He drops his head on his paws and looks at me with his big, soft eyes. I hate it when dogs do that. It makes me feel like an ogre.
Outside, the raindrops are the size of marbles. An old blue tarp—probably from the woodpile—sails past me, a length of frayed rope whipping out behind it. I brace myself, pull my toque down, and march toward the trees.
The flashlight isn’t much good, and I begin imagining all sorts of things I can’t see. Things like bears and cougars cougars that will drop on the back of your neck from high up in a tree. I heard that on a nature show on TV. One bite and you’re as good as dead.
I walk straight into the trees anyway, ignoring the mud that finds its way into a hole in my boot. Instantly, my foot is cold and wet.
I hear a raven cry, but it isn’t Jack. I know his calls by heart. Where is he anyway? This storm feels like it’s building to be an epic one, but I know he won’t rest until he’s found the hoshi no tama. Jack has never been a quitter.
There are footprints at the edge of the trail. Someone was here. Small feet, but the prints can’t be that old because the rain hasn’t filled them up yet. You can still see the tread on the boots. Kimiko. No one else would be out here in this. But her tracks aren’t the only ones I see. There is another set, only feet away from hers. I recognize the prints immediately: canine. Wolf tracks—Sitka’s tracks.
I follow the tracks, my flashlight aimed at the ground, as they veer off down a narrow deer trail. It grows narrower still, before disappearing completely. I end up blindly bushwhacking through the tangle of underbrush, trying hard to pick up the trail again. What happened to my woods sense, my internal compass, and all the things I learned about the forest from Yisella?
I feel panic rising inside me, and remember how dangerous it is to be in a situation like this without a clear head—a recipe for disaster. So I take a moment and stand completely still, while I try hard to quiet my racing thoughts.
I hear a tiny whimper, and my head shoots up. I make my way through the dripping foliage toward the sound, ignoring the wet smack of branches against my cheek. Something is on the ground, near a clump of salal by some exposed bedrock. I aim my flashlight at the shape, and beside her, curled against her back, is Sitka, her sweeping tail wrapped over Kimiko’s torso.
I don’t dare move. Sitka raises her head, fixes me with a stare and sniffs the air.
“Easy,” I whisper, more to myself than to Sitka. The three of us are frozen, each eyeing up the other, unsure of what to do next.
“Kimiko?” I whisper. She’s soaked through and white as a ghost.
“Are you okay? You’re shivering so hard! Can you get up?”
“I …” she mumbles. “Just … leave … me … here.” Sitka sits up too, and favours her back leg. I can see that the cut is still there, but the mangled toe isn’t! All that remains is some matted bloody fur where Sitka’s toe used to be.
> “The Okami,” Kimiko says. “She stayed with me.”
“You see?” I say. “She’s looking out for you, Kimiko. But still, you’re going to get hypothermia if we don’t get you back to the lodge.”
“No. Just leave me here.” She struggles to get up, but becomes suddenly uncoordinated and sinks back down on the ground.
I reach over and try to pull her onto her feet. In a flash, Sitka is up on all fours and has limped away from me.
“Let go,” Kimiko insists, but she can’t shake me loose.
“Kimiko,” I say calmly, “you can’t just stay out here. Think about what you’re doing! How do you think all this will go over? If you disappear, or anything bad happens to you, Ruth is going to have to take the fall. Her business will be ruined. How can you do that to her?”
“I have to think about what is best for me.”
“Cut it out,” I say, angry now. “You’ve been messed up ever since Sabrina saw your tail. You—”
“This isn’t about my stupid tail,” Kimiko says, frowning. “The tail was nothing. But that incident showed me how completely unsuited I am for mortal life. Don’t you get it, Hannah?”
“Stop it! People aren’t going to forget that good old Ruth, long time proprietor of the Artful Elephant, let a young girl come to harm in the woods. You really want that on your conscience? She has been so good to all of us. This is how you are going to repay her for being so awesome?”
Eventually, she sighs, gets onto her knees and reaches for my hand. I help her to her feet. She sways a little, and grabs my arm.
“Dizzy?” I ask.
She nods. This isn’t a good sign. Clumsiness and dizziness can both be signs of hypothermia, something Aunt Maddie taught me.
“The Okami,” Kimiko says, but when we look to the fir tree, Sitka is gone.
A blast of wind threatens to knock us both to the ground, but we hobble through the bush, dodging debris and twigs that twist and sail past us at warp speed. The driving rain is bitterly cold, and the ground has turned into a soggy, foot-sucking quagmire.
Kimiko is running out of steam; she’s dragging her feet and keeps falling to her knees every few steps.
“Kimiko!” I plead. “We’re almost at the lodge. Come on. Just a little further.”
“I … I can’t,” she mutters. “I’m too cold.”
But there’s no way I’m going to let her give up. Not now, not after everything. I didn’t come out here in the middle of the night for a nice, serene nature walk. I didn’t come out here to fail!
“TRY HARDER!” I yell over the wind.
She whimpers, but she does tighten her grip on my arm, and steps it up a little.
The rain becomes so heavy it’s blinding, and soon walking anywhere is completely futile. And while the flashlight is fully charged, it hardly does any good at all.
“Kimiko,” I say. “We need those hovering lights again. Brighter ones.”
“I can’t. I don’t have my hoshi no tama. I don’t have any powers at all.”
Duh! Of course! But Jack will find it. And then he’ll bring it to us. He’s probably on his way right at this very moment.
I duck under a spruce tree, steadying Kimiko against its wide trunk. “We have to get out of this rain for a bit. We have to get you warm.”
“Okay,” she says, but I wonder if she has even understood me. It’s as if she’s fading in and out, as though she’s trying not to fall asleep.
I wipe water from my face, and see a thick copse of trees that looks promising—a place where we can take shelter for a while. Kimiko’s braids are pushed back, and her small pointed ears twitch back and forth a mile a minute.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Somehow, I manage to find a few bits of dry bark and wood shavings, and luckily, have a box of wooden matches tucked away in a hidden pocket inside my sweater. I get a flame going pretty quickly, and soon the air fills up with the smell of smoke and wet wool.
I take off my Cowichan sweater and wrap it around Kimiko. It’s wet, but it’s real wool, so it will help to keep her warm. Soon the fire is throwing off some real heat.
Then, through the crackle of flames and wind in the forest, I hear it—the wolves—their song floats high over the forest from somewhere far away, then weaves in and out of the trees to settle around us by the fire. I look over at Kimiko, but she just stares like a zombie at the flickering light. When I scan the perimeter of the clearing for Sitka, there is no sign of her.
“Sitka,” I say. “The Okami. I saw her tracks earlier. She was following you.”
Kimiko raises her head in the wind. “I don’t smell her anymore. But without my hoshi no tama, I don’t smell much of anything.”
“Are you feeling warmer yet?”
She nods, even though she is still shivering.
“Here.” I take a half-eaten chocolate chip granola bar from the pocket of my sweater and hand it to her. “It isn’t much, but it’s something.”
She accepts it gratefully, and finishes it in two bites.
When the fire begins to sputter, I stamp it out and cover the few remaining sparks with wet earth. I get Kimiko up on her feet, and keep a firm hold on her as we start down a narrow single-track trail through the trees. She is light as a feather. There’s nothing to her at all. We keep going until we reach a boggy clearing, flanked on both sides with the first tiny spring shoots of vanilla leaf.
“The trail is washed out here,” I say, stopping abruptly, but we’re already soaked to the bone. We wade through water that reaches halfway to our knees. The cold stings my toes and the soles of my feet, but I am determined to break out of the woods and get Kimiko back to safety.
Finally, about the same time that my toes become numb, the black night surrounding us begins to loosen its grip and the wind suddenly drops. We begin to be able to make out the dark shapes of the trees and bushes against a gradually lightening sky. Knowing that daybreak is close gives me extra energy, despite the steady rain that continues to fall.
The air begins filling up with familiar and reassuring sounds: seagulls crying out, the occasional scree of a bald eagle, the first hopeful “rbbbbiittts” of a few brave frogs as they emerge from their long winter sleep in the mud. But there are no raven cries, and from out of nowhere, a shiver runs through me, one that has nothing to do with the state of my feet or the wet chill in my bones.
The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. Something feels wrong.
Very wrong.
“Why did you stop?” Kimiko asks as I stand still on the trail.
“Something isn’t right,” I say frantically. “We have to hurry.”
But hurrying is easier said than done. My heart thumps harder and harder as I struggle to support Kimiko along the soggy, root-covered trail. With every step I take, more fear builds inside of me. I’ve got to get out of here! I’ve got to get to the beach!
“It’s okay,” Kimiko says as she slams awkwardly into my shoulder. “Let go of me. I can walk by myself. Really.”
And then I see a sliver of ocean between the thick trunks of cedar trees.
Without another word, I leave Kimiko and run ahead. I push through the tangle of undergrowth and burst onto the rain-soaked sand. The sea air stings my tired, smoke-burned eyes, but it’s getting lighter—I can see the Artful Elephant up the beach, weak curls of smoke rising from the chimney, remnants of last night’s fire in the Big Kahuna.
Giant pieces of driftwood have been upended all along the beach, and broken fir, spruce and cedar boughs lie scattered every which way—some of them the size of small trees.
Oddly enough, the ocean is now calm, and laps gently at the tangled kelp and other seaweed that has collected at the tide line. But there is something at the water’s edge that looks out of place. Something black. The closer I get, the more my legs feel as though they’re sinking into quicksand. The black shape begins to look familiar. My pulse quickens and thuds in my ears. Then I see his feathers, the curve of his beak, and I stop mov
ing. I freeze. This can’t be happening. This has to be part of a cruel and twisted dream. It won’t last. I’m going to wake up any minute and find myself at home on our houseboat. I’ll smell the coffee brewing downstairs in the kitchen. I’ll hear Dad humming, just like always.
No, no, no, no. NO!
But I’m not waking up. The morning light spills over the sand, highlighting what I already know to be true. But I still can’t move. Time stops, and I put my hand over my mouth, afraid I might throw up. It’s like the wind has been knocked out of me and its punch has left another hole inside me—a hole as deep and hollow as the one left there the day my mother died.
I ball up my fists at my sides, and squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to turn and run back into the woods. But I can’t abandon him. I have to go.
The last fifty feet are the hardest steps I have ever taken. I don’t know how my legs carry me to the tide line but they do. I force myself to look down at the sand and when I do, my heart breaks.
Chapter Twenty-Six
There are no words. Only pictures. A slide show of the past three years: slides of Jack, my best friend. The images cycle through my head like a badly edited movie: Jack outside the Toad-in-the-Hole Bakery, looking for crumbs; Jack, never quite mustering the courage to hang out with Sadie, Ben’s overconfident African grey parrot; Jack the hero, who helped to bust the poaching ring last summer; Jack, and his multitude of crazy calls. His impatience when he wanted my attentionhis cocky swagger as he strutted along dock #5, looking for scraps. Looking for me.
Jack. My Jack.
He lies lifeless at my feet, the water slapping against his wet, blue-black feathers. Each wave pushes him a little, and then pulls him back as it retreats. There is a twist of seaweed around one of his legs, and when I push it aside, my eyes are so full of tears that at first I miss the faint light that glows through the dark green fronds. I wipe at my face and there it is—Kimiko’s star ball—her hoshi no tama. The twisted and knotted chain is wrapped tightly around both of Jack’s legs. And then I understand. He must have found the star ball, but the storm. The wind. He must have been unable to get back to shore in time. And then the chain …
Hannah and the Wild Woods Page 14
