by Amy Plum
I mask a laugh as Tallie continues. “Have you learned anything from me that’s going to help you save your folks?”
I shake my head.
“Okay, well, it’s your turn. Tell all. Or at least all that you feel like telling.”
I hesitate, not because I don’t trust her but because I don’t know where to start. My story still feels so fresh and painful after spilling it to Miles—after seeing him brush it off as fantasy. My stomach twists when I think of him. It’s not like I ever really trusted him. But I entrusted him with my story. And he betrayed me. You betrayed him, too, I remind myself.
Tallie sees my indecision and leans over to pat my hand. “You know what? I find late morning the perfect time for fishing. I’m going to go catch us our lunch, and you can have some time to yourself.”
And when she returns a few hours later with a stringful of river trout, I’m ready to talk.
“So now your power is gone,” Tallie concludes when I’m finished. We’ve just eaten lunch, and our lips are both stained from blackberries. She scoops the last spoonful of purple cream out of the bowl into her mouth.
I nod. “I tried the most basic of Readings last night and it didn’t work.”
She places the empty bowl back down on the table. “Try something now. Try your firepowder. Does it work with a candle?”
I shake my head. “No, it needs to be a substantial blaze with open air around it.”
“It’s not really cold enough to merit a fire, but I’ll build us one anyway.” And she sets to work piling up kindling and logs, and soon a good fire is crackling in the hearth. While she works, I pull everything from my bag and set it out. It has been so long since I’ve seen it all arranged outside my pack that I discover a few things I had forgotten were there.
“Tell me what things are for,” Tallie says, placing a hand on my arm. I feel my skin tingle. A little quickening of warmth. Of kinship. Like I felt with Nome and Kenai. And whether or not that feeling is from the Yara, it’s a feeling that I trust.
“Telling you what one thing is for is like telling you that basil can only be used with tomato sauce. All of these can be mixed to facilitate different Readings, and a few for Conjurings.”
I feel like I am back with Whit, teaching the clan children the basics of Reading the Yara as he looks on and makes suggestions or additions.
Tallie’s watching me, so I begin. “The concept behind Reading is that everything in nature is alive in a certain fashion. So everything has its own version of what it sees or experiences: either past memories, what is happening in the present, or, since we think time is flexible, a ‘memory’ of what will have happened in the future. Every living thing is connected through the Yara. So Reading is just reaching out to the right element in nature that can give you the information you want to know. Some things, Whit has established as being consistently reliable for transmitting their knowledge, and those things can be accessed by using a certain object that he’s matched with it.”
“In a way it’s like Beauregard. He’s my tool for reading the future,” Tallie says.
“I have a feeling it might be all part of the same thing,” I confess. “You use the bones to connect with the Yara—or whatever your women called it—just like I can use an animal skull to Read where to hunt our next kill.”
Tallie smiles and nudges me. “Sisters in sign reading. I knew you’d be special. I’m shutting up now. You go ahead.” She runs her finger over an uncut amethyst.
“The precious stones act as a conduit for pretty much anything,” I explain. I pull my opal from under my shirt. “Most of our clanspeople wear one on them at all times to facilitate Reading, although the adults usually leave the Reading to the kids. We’re better at it than they are.”
“And you’re the most talented of all?” Tallie asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Um, yeah, actually,” I say, feeling a little embarrassed. “My father says that my mother and I were prodigies, like any math or musical prodigy, but our gift was in using the Yara. My mother would have been the next clan Sage if she hadn’t died.”
“I’m sorry,” says Tallie softly.
I nod. “It’s been a long time. Anyway, because of my ‘talent,’ I was chosen to be the next clan Sage.”
“Figures,” she says with a wry smile.
“Why?”
“Because my goddesses wouldn’t bring just anyone to teach me the ways of Yara. They’d only bring me the best.”
I laugh, and continue taking her through the stones, herbs, ground-up minerals, and bones, skin, and fur, including the rabbit feet, and explain their different purposes.
“And Whit’s the one who came up with all of this?” she asks when I finish.
“He says he ‘culled the world’s wisdom’ for it. This is Whit’s firepowder,” I say, pointing to the rapidly dwindling supply in my bag. “It’s a mix of ground mica, gypsum, and a couple of other minerals local to Alaska. Besides skipping stones, fire is the earliest thing children Read because it’s one of the easiest.”
I hand the pouch to Tallie and then shuffle over next to where she’s plopped down in front of the fire, being careful not to flex my ankle. “You do it first,” Tallie says, looking as excited as a kid at a magic show.
“Like I said, nothing is working for me right now. But this is how I would do it.” I take a pinch and throw it into the flames, where it pops and sparkles silver for a second. “You need to get really relaxed. Slow your heartbeat. Slow your breathing. And then focus on the person you want to see. You can even say their name if it helps. And then you open yourself up and let the Yara make that connection for you.”
“Where am I supposed to be looking?” Tallie asks. She’s arranged herself in a lotus position and has rested her wrists on her knees, palms facing up like Whit does when leading the elders in their daily yoga session. This makes me smile.
“Look just above the fire and a tiny bit to one side. And then try to see patterns in the top of the flames and the shimmering of the heat above them.”
“Does the person have to be alive?” she asks, not daring to tear her eyes away from the fire.
“Yes—you use fire-Reading for seeing things in the present.”
“Says who?” she asks petulantly.
“Whit,” I respond.
She pauses. “Okay,” she says, “Yara, show me that lying cheat Nick Chowder, may his pecker shrivel to the size of a cheese puff and rot in hell.” She stares hard at the fire, squinting at it like she’s daring it to comply. I can’t help but giggle, but try to hide it so as not to distract her.
“What?” she says, finally turning from the fire with an irked expression. “Why are you laughing at me?”
“I wouldn’t try to start with someone whose guts you hate,” I say. “Your emotions are supposed to be calm. Like meditation.”
“Then you do it,” she challenges.
“I told you, I’m not—”
“No, just pretend like you’re doing it, so I can copy you.”
I straighten my back and exhale deeply, closing my eyes. “Dad,” I whisper, and then let my eyelids slowly open as I stare above the fire. I watch the flames lick the air. Watch the negative space above them, pointing downward in flickering Vs, and wait, without hoping, for the tingle of the Yara connection. After a while, I break my gaze and look at her.
“Did it work?” she asks. I shake my head.
She sighs, and then gets up and grabs me a couch pillow to put under my foot. Digging through a cupboard, she takes out a plastic-lined box and scoops something out. “Clay from the riverbed,” she says, and comes back to sprawl beside me in front of the fire. “I think better when my hands are working,” she says, and starts rolling it around between her palms.
“So when you were telling me your life story there, you ended up with your theory that you’ve lost your powers because you’ve lost faith in the Yara. But since you’ve been explaining to me how it all functions, I’ve noticed just how much you d
o seem to believe in it. Your face kind of lights up when you talk about it.
“However, with all that postapocalyptic crap that your elders were feeding you and the other kids, I don’t blame you for doubting everything you ever learned. But you can’t throw out the baby with the bathwater, as they say. This is an important time for you, Juneau. You have other people to think about. You have a whole clan that’s depending on you. So you owe them to think a little bit harder about this.”
The clay is now squished into an oblong shape, and her thumbs are kneading it like she’s giving it a massage. “What I’ve just heard is that this one man came up with the whole idea of the Yara—”
“Whit based it on the whole Gaia philosophy,” I interject.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she says, and pats the top of the clay with the ball of her hand with little slapping noises until it’s flat. “He gathered the info. He made sense out of it. He mined other belief systems for what would go with it. And sounds like he did a pretty good job synthesizing it all to make it something that is a powerful tool for you and your people. But that doesn’t mean he knows everything.”
I consider what she’s said. “You know what I’ve been thinking about, Tallie? How all the totems Whit uses for Reading and Conjuring, even though he claims they’re all necessary, they seem to detract from the pure connection between me and the Yara. Why do I have to go through something—whether a stone or the rabbits’ feet? I should be able to go directly to the Yara to ask what I want. All the bells and whistles might be extraneous.”
“Doubt everything, Juneau. Doubt everything at least once. What you decide to keep, you’ll be able to be confident of. And what you decide to ditch, you will replace with what your instincts tell you is true. You’ve been living in a crystal tower that just had the foundations knocked out from under it. Which sucks. But now it’s up to you to decide whether you’re going to wallow around in the wreckage or rebuild something sturdier. Nothing better than making something with your own hands,” she says, gesturing around at the house she built. “Or, in your case, with your own mind.”
She smiled at me. “Now that I’m done with my lecture, here is your reward for listening.” She hands me the ball of clay, and suddenly I’m looking at a miniature version of myself. High cheekbones, full-moon eyes, and spiky hair made by pinching the clay dozens of times. She’s even made the starburst in my right eye.
“Hey, you’re really good,” I say.
She shrugs but looks pleased. “When I’m not building log cabins, I’m an amateur sculptor.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“No, thank you,” she responds. “I think we just now fulfilled Beauregard’s prophecy. You taught me something, or attempted to.… I’m going to keep working on the fire-Reading thing until I make it work. And in exchange, I gave you something to mull over, drawn from my own hard-earned life experience. I’d say we’re pretty even.”
44
MILES
I AWAKE TO THE SOUND OF THE CLEANING LADY unlocking my door. “Checkout was a half hour ago,” she says, and stands there with her fist on her hip like she’s kicking me out.
“Uh, could I have five minutes to get up and get dressed?” I ask. She makes a puffing noise and backs out, but leaves the door cracked open. I glance over at the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table. Eleven thirty a.m. My first night in what feels like forever in a real bed instead of on the hard ground, and I want to sleep all day.
And then I remember why I’m here and leap out of bed, pulling yesterday’s jeans and T-shirt on and running out to the car. I was so tired last night I didn’t even bother to bring my suitcase in with me.
Okay, Miles, think. Redding and Portman will already be in Salt Lake City by now. Whit and his men… who knows where they are? And Juneau? She could be anywhere between that service station and Salt Lake City. It’s useless to try to search for her in between, when I know that the city is her goal. She’ll turn up there sooner or later.
I pop the trunk, fish out the cereal and a bottle of cranberry juice. Juneau had never seen it before, so of course she had to buy a six-pack, and I remember her excitement with a smile. For the next three hours I eat dry Cap’n Crunch out of the box and take swigs of Ocean Spray (which do not mix well) as I drive to Salt Lake City.
But once I’m in the city, I have no clue of where to even start looking for her. I try to think like she does. She had talked about that prophecy of the serpent and the city by the undrinkable water and seemed to think that she would find the next piece of the puzzle once she arrived. But what would she look for? Where would she go to look for a sign?
I drive around the downtown area, looking for anything that catches my eye. Temple Square. Capitol Hill. The shopping district. All I can think is that modernity freaks her out, so she would probably head to a park or the lakefront. My stomach’s growling, so I park the car and go into a sandwich shop and order some food. I’ll eat next to the waterfront. When I give the cashier my credit card, it comes back as declined.
“Try it again,” I say, and end up having to pay with cash. I’ve got twenty bucks left in my wallet, so I head to an ATM. It eats my card. When I go into the bank, the teller tells me that my card has been reported as stolen. And then I know.
“What the hell, Dad!” I yell into the pay phone.
“Watch your language, young man,” he growls. “I told you to come directly home. What are you doing in Salt Lake City?”
“How do you even know where I am?” I yell.
“My assistant, Sam, is tracking your card use.”
“He reported it as stolen!”
“I’ll have him rectify that as soon as you reassure me that you are on your way to L.A. and I will see you here tomorrow.”
“I’m not coming home. I’m staying here until I find the girl.”
“If you do, Miles Blackwell, you can forget about Yale. I have my men on this, and I don’t want you messing it up.”
“But Dad,” I begin. The phone line clicks as my dad hangs up.
I head back to the car, flipping through my wallet as I walk. Twenty bucks to my name and my dad’s Shell card, which can only buy me gas. I’m not leaving. I’m not going home, but where am I going to stay? I’m not Juneau—I can’t survive off the land. What am I going to do until I find her—snare pigeons with my phone charger and cook them over a campfire in the public park?
I press the button to unlock my car, accidentally popping the trunk open. Walking around to slam it shut, I see something I had completely forgotten was back there: the tent and camping supplies.
I glance around at the stunning mountain scenery surrounding the city and smile. I can’t afford a hotel room, but I can sure as hell camp.
45
JUNEAU
BY NIGHTTIME I’M DESPERATE TO LEAVE. BEING cut off from all communication with my clan makes me feel so out of control I can barely sit still.
Tallie helps me limp outside, draws a circle on the ground with a stick, and tells me to throw Beauregard’s bones while thinking about my father. This reminds me so much of contacting the Yara that it makes me wonder once again if there is more than one way—Whit’s way—to Read and Conjure. And that Tallie’s just using a different method and vocabulary to get the same results from the same source. Although the thought is destabilizing, it also appeals to me. I take the dried old bones in both hands and toss them inside the circle.
Tallie squats down and studies them. She runs her finger along a series of small bones lying perpendicular to one another. “I don’t know why, Juneau, but it looks like your quest ends here, right now, at my house.”
“What?” I ask, aghast.
“You’ve deviated from the path you’re supposed to take, here.” She points to a bone in the series. “This one is off-kilter, and if you don’t put it straight, you won’t go any further.”
She looks at me. “If you had to divide your journey into major steps, maybe into important Read
ings, how would it go?”
I think. “Well, first I fire-Read and saw Whit near the ocean. Then, once in Anchorage, my oracle directed me to Seattle. Which is where this old man told me how to find Miles, and said I had to be honest with him, but not to trust him. And… oh.”
“What?” Tallie asks, hand on her hip.
“He said that Miles was the one to take me far,” I say in a small voice.
“Looks like he hasn’t taken you far enough,” she says. “You’re going to have to tuck your tail and go find him. Convince him to keep going with you.”
“But his dad is out to get me for some strange reason.” Something strikes me for the first time. “What if Miles’s dad is actually working with Whit and his men? What if Miles’s dad is the one who kidnapped my clan?”
Tallie shrugs. “Whatever the case, it looks like you’ve got your work cut out. You have to, one, find the boy; two, convince him to forgive you for drugging him and stealing his car; and three, persuade him not to hand you over to his dad.”
I gape at her. “But without my ability to Read, how in the world am I supposed to find him?”
“Well, that’ll be a good incentive to get your abilities back. If Whit sent that bird to find you, do you think you could send it to find Miles?” she asks.
I nod. “I’ve tried that before, with a much smaller distance, and it worked.”
“Well then, that’s your next step. As soon as you’re ready, you let me know. I can hike over to the general store. Mikey over there’ll let me borrow his pickup truck, and I can get within a half-mile of here if I go back-road. Then I’ll take you to wherever the bird tells you to go. How’s that?”
“I’ll do my best” is all I say. Although the last twenty-four hours with Tallie have raised my spirits, I’m still awash in a sea of doubt. What we talked about this afternoon was like a wake-up call. I know there is some truth in what I’ve been taught. But it’s going to take time to sift through it all and decide what I truly believe. What makes sense. And I don’t have time to spare.
