A Grave Tree

by Jennifer Ellis

  As soon as Sarah closed the door behind them, Ian’s broad smile dropped off his face. “We need to hurry. I’m going to run a few errands while the two of you are treated.” He took off at a swift march, leaving Abbey to ponder the degree of uncertainty in Sarah’s voice when she said she thought it would be fine.

  Caleb started to climb the stairs that ran up the middle of the back yard, his face now a sickly shade of puce. He managed to make it out to the lane and then bolted for a spray of wisteria that hung out of someone’s yard. The sound of him vomiting followed. Maybe he did have internal injuries.

  After Caleb had emptied the contents of his stomach, he started determinedly down the paved lane toward Ian, his footsteps unsteady. Abbey followed warily. Was Caleb about to keel over? But no, he seemed to recover some of his strength as he proceeded, and by the end of the lane, he walked with greater vigor.

  Abbey glanced back down the lane. She should try to remember what it looked like, and which house was Simon’s. Who knew when they might need to make a run for safety? She suppressed a small shriek. A man with fiery red hair peeked out of the door of the shed, his freckled skin white in the sun.

  Caleb. Future Caleb.

  The man vanished and the door swung quickly closed.

  He was alive. Abbey closed her eyes in a silent rush of gratitude.

  Was the presence of his older self the reason why Caleb had suddenly flagged, and why Sarah had seemed so skittish? Abbey hesitated. There were so many things she wanted to ask her older twin. But it was clear that older Caleb hadn’t wanted to be seen, and it was also clear that younger Caleb needed to get farther away from himself. And Abbey’s wrist throbbed painfully.

  When she caught up to Caleb and Ian, Caleb was speaking in clipped tones, his face still pallid. “You adults need to start being a little more forthcoming with what’s going on if you want our help. You can’t just give out cards and hope we solve the clues while you mastermind the whole operation.”

  The card. Abbey had forgotten about the card. To Know, To Will, To Dare, To Keep Silent had been written in ominous script in the center of the cream-colored card. There was probably also something else hidden on the card, if it was anything like the other ones.

  Abbey tried to reach through the front of the jumpsuit to retrieve the card, but she couldn’t quite reach her right pocket with her left hand. Wearing two layers of clothing was cumbersome, and despite her wettish underlayer, she sweated in the heat and dry breeze that seemed to always blow in this future Coventry. The card would still be soaked anyway, and would likely rip if she tried to remove it.

  Ian’s normally buoyant expression seemed drawn. “Rescuing Sandy from Nowhere has had more implications than we would like, it seems. I’m going to have to pay this future Ms. Ford a visit.”

  Caleb stopped walking and folded his muscular arms over his chest. Ian seemed positively elven in comparison, and there was little doubt that Caleb could take Ian down if he needed to, unless Ian had special powers that they didn’t know about—and Abbey hadn’t seen much in the way of special powers from any of the so-called witches.

  “Just so you know, Sandy is a friend of ours, and of our mother’s, and she isn’t a big fan of yours,” Caleb said. “She said you were stalking her. If she wants to run for mayor in the future, she has every right to do so.”

  Ian’s eyes narrowed. “Ms. Ford says a lot of things.”

  Abbey struggled to sort out what was going on from beneath the layers of wrist pain that threatened to capsize her.

  “I need to get to the hospital,” she snapped. “Can you two continue this conversation there?”

  Caleb and Ian shot glares at each other before swiveling and carrying on down the boardwalk in the direction of the train station.

  6. Slip of a Thread

  It seemed like they’d walked for ten hours while Mark’s stomach consumed itself with a delicate ferocity, although in reality it had probably been only half an hour. They passed the skull. Sylvain (thankfully) did not seem to possess any inclination to climb down it like the beret man, who was clearly unstable and dangerous. Not too far after the gaping eye sockets and jagged teeth, the canyon gave way to steep sandy cliffs, which got progressively lower until they were walking alongside the Moon River on grass-tufted banks only a few feet above the water.

  The river remained low, more like a stream really. It had been unseasonably cold in the Coventry they had left, and Mark wore khakis and a windbreaker (for which he was grateful), but here, the air hung sullen with a more oppressive kind of moisture and chill. Dark clouds gathered on the southern horizon, and the air crackled with the possibility of a thunderstorm.

  Jake and Russell exchanged the occasional pleasantry while they walked—the kind of “getting to know you” banter that Mark understood other people engaged in. Talk of sports teams, mutual acquaintances, and school. He ignored them, as did Sylvain.

  As they proceeded, Mark strained to see the cement edifice of the Granton Dam. Was it actually gone, as it had seemed to be the last time he had been to this future and looked across the valley from the lookout on the mountain? That day, in place of the grey tower of cement and metal, he had seen only a waterfall.

  Based on the landmarks they had passed and the looming Stairway Mountains in front of them, they should be almost at the original dam site, but the river right now seemed too calm and low for there to be a waterfall. Sylvain, too, was darting sharp looks at the river as if he knew that something was different.

  Mark’s impatience carved around in his head like a shark, threatening to destabilize his calm. He needed to be higher, to be out of the trees to see. He should try flying with his head again. To go above the tree line and look down. But the prospect scared him. He evidently did not know how to control it, and what if something happened to his body while he was gone? What if the dogs came back and ripped off one of his limbs while he soared over the river in search of a dam? He just had to wait. They were only fifteen to twenty minutes from the dam now.

  Abruptly, Sylvain called a halt and gestured at the river. It had widened slightly and was studded with large flat rocks that stuck out of the water.

  “We cross here,” he said.

  Mark felt his brows gather. Why were they crossing? The dam—or waterfall—was just up the river. The other side of the river looked no more or less passable than this side.

  But he followed Jake and Russell, who nimbly leapt from rock to rock. He was ungainly next to them, his jumps uncertain and staggering. Several times he nearly slipped from his slanted purchase on a river rock into the glistening knee-deep water. But he made it, then turned to watch as Sylvain, who brought up the rear, hastened from rock to rock with his long bony limbs.

  On the other side, Sylvain pointed into the trees. “We’ll be heading into the trees now to Four-Valley Gap,” he said.

  Mark jerked his eyes away from the river channel in surprise. Four-Valley Gap, a unique convergence of four valleys almost in the form of a pinwheel, was nowhere near the river; he wouldn’t be able to see the dam, or not-dam. He’d always wanted to see the Gap and the stone chapel that apparently stood in its center. But they were almost at the dam, and he needed to see the dam first. And yet the bad man—who had suddenly become very clearly a bad man again in Mark’s mind—was announcing that they were leaving the river. Mark’s body locked up into a rigid stance of defiance and his hands flew to his ears. He needed to stop this.

  The bad man turned and started to walk into the woods, Jake and Russell behind him.

  “No,” Mark whispered. “No.” He stood on the riverbank staring out at the rippling water. The shadows of fish moved against the sand, darting and rushing.

  Russell glanced back over his shoulder. “You coming?” he asked. Mark gave the river another sidelong look. He would follow them for a bit, and then, before he got too far away from the river to retrace his steps, slip away.

  The risks associated with
this step loomed gargantuan in his mind. Mark couldn’t get home on his own. They’d already lost the stone that had brought them to this future, and Sylvain was the only one who knew where he had hidden the other stone that could take them back. Then again, it was Mark who supplied the energy that enabled the stones from Coventry Hill to work—presuming that the stone Sylvain had hidden was from Coventry Hill.

  Which meant surely they would come and find him and take him home. They’d have to, if they wanted to get home themselves.

  He just needed to make sure he didn’t get killed or eaten by dogs in the interim.

  *****

  “You should have seen the machine they used to treat my bruises,” a remarkably better-looking Caleb announced as they made their way back through the hospital lobby.

  Abbey cradled her knit-back-together wrist. It was tender, but now completely functional and healed. Nanotechnology surgery using gold catalysts, she had gathered from the kind Asian doctor, Dr. Yee, who had seen her. No wonder their mother had come here for medical treatment.

  They had encountered no problems. Nobody had asked for a medical card or insurance, or inquired about their family doctor. Their explanation—that they were from the Outlands, were sponsored by the Sinclairs, and that a bike collision had been the cause of their injuries—had been recorded without as much as a raised eyebrow. It was as if people wandered in off the street all the time seeking medical treatment.

  “In fact, I feel better than I did when I woke up this morning,” Caleb continued.

  “Where exactly are the Outlands, and how did you know about them?” Abbey asked.

  “From what I understand, they’re anything beyond the boundaries of Coventry. Simon mentioned them when I was here that night Mark and Sylvain went to the library. Apparently Coventry is so anxious for population growth that it accepts new citizens sponsored by existing citizens without much question. It seems like a great system if you ask me, especially if free medical services come as part of the package. C’mon. We’d better hurry if we’re going to meet Ian at the apothecary on time.”

  Abbey felt a flutter of movement on her left and right, and two burly security guards materialized out of nowhere. They swooped in on Caleb, catching him by the arms on either side.

  “Wha—?” Caleb yelped.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but you’re being detained,” one of the men said. They proceeded to guide Caleb away from the front door of the hospital. Caleb stiffened and automatically tensed into a fighting stance, his fists balled and face scrunched up, but the men were bigger and armed, and they easily maneuvered him through the lobby.

  Abbey scuttled after them. “Wait! Where are you taking him?”

  One of the men scrutinized her, as if trying to decide whether she should be detained too. “He’s going to detention for questioning due to some irregularities.”

  “What do you mean?” Abbey said.

  The man shook his head, while the other man punched in a code on a keypad door just off the lobby. “We’re just security, miss. If you’ll excuse us.” Without another word, they dragged a now struggling and red-faced Caleb through the door and down a narrow hall.

  Abbey stared at the now-closed door, her jaw slack with shock. What was she going to do? She had to find Ian, or older Simon, or someone who could help her. She hustled out the main door of the hospital.

  The woman in the turquoise jumpsuit who approached Abbey wore a friendly smile, but she carried a tablet with a picture of Abbey on the screen.

  “Abigail Sinclair?” the woman said. Her bushy dark hair was caught up in a ponytail, and her lined face flickered with crisp assessment beneath an air of fatigue.

  Abbey shook her head.

  The woman put a firm hand on her arm. “I know you are. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Diana, and I’m with immigration services. We accept refugees here in Coventry. We just need to get you registered, talk about your parents, if you have any, and see about finding you a foster home if you don’t. My office is only a few blocks away.”

  Abbey scanned the front walkway of the hospital frantically. Could she make a run for it? Diana had started guiding her briskly down the boardwalk.

  “Can I come and register later, with my brother?” Abbey said. “He’s still in the hospital. Just give me the address and we’ll come together, and no need for a foster home. We’re going to live with my Uncle Simon. He was going to register us when we hurt ourselves. This is all just a misunderstanding, I’m sure. Just call my uncle.”

  The woman frowned and consulted her tablet, flipping through screens with her finger. Her eyes widened slightly, and then she shut down the tablet with a quick swoop of her thumb.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. You’re going to have to come with me. And don’t try anything or I’ll call in the authorities.”

  Abbey was bracing to run, when someone grabbed her arm on the other side. She caught a whiff of floral perfume and heard the click of fingernails meeting, and she turned to see an older-looking Selena. The Selena of the future. Did this mean Selena had failed to find a parallel universe?

  “Abbey, I’m so glad I caught you,” Selena intoned, before turning to Diana. “She’s with me.”

  Abbey froze. What was worse? Being with Selena, who was potentially evil, or going with some unknown woman to some unknown fate in the future foster care system?

  Diana stopped walking and eyed Selena in her brilliant red jumpsuit. “Who are you?”

  “Selena Darby. I’m Simon Sinclair’s assistant at Salvador Systems. Just look me up. Mr. Sinclair sent me down because he’s in a meeting with Mr. Salvador. Mr. Sinclair is sponsoring Abbey and he’ll bring her in to register her tomorrow morning.” Selena gave Diana a patient but tight sort of smile. She had placed a lot of emphasis on the names. Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Salvador. But none of it made any sense. Simon worked at Sinclair Systems, not for Sylvain. And Simon would never hire Selena as an assistant.

  “I’ll have to scan your chip,” Diana said.

  Selena shook her head, her still-shiny dark hair sweeping back and forth over her shoulder. “I’m exempt from scans for health reasons. Just look me up on the Salvador site. You’ll see my picture there.”

  “There’s been a serious security breach by someone associated with this girl,” Diana said, typing furiously on her tablet.

  Selena smiled again. “We know. They were plants. It was a test of the 8.01 scan system. Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Salvador are thrilled with your response efficiency. You’ll be receiving a commendation in your file.”

  Diana drew back a bit, a pleased half smile slipping over her face. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Abbey wanted to shout, “Don’t believe her!” but she didn’t. Somehow a known evil, but renegade, entity seemed safer than an administrative entity. “Now if you don’t mind, Abbey and I need to get back to the office.”

  Diana consulted her tablet, and whatever was on it must have satisfied her because she grunted, nodded, and stepped back while Selena hustled Abbey back along the boardwalk.

  After a few feet, Abbey wrenched her arm out of Selena’s hand. “If you grab me again, I’ll start yelling that you’re a fake,” she hissed.

  “Ah, but I’m not,” Selena almost purred. She didn’t grab Abbey again, but as she walked, she seemed to fill the air around Abbey in a terrifying way, like Abbey’s limbs had been put in an invisible chokehold.

  “You don’t really work for my brother, and Simon doesn’t work for Sylvain,” Abbey said.

  “I do, and he does,” Selena replied sweetly. “And since he was just arrested an hour ago for the murder of Abraham Dunham, and Sylvain never comes in anymore, I pretty much have full control of the office.”

  *****

  Slipping off had been easier than Mark had expected. He had just hung back and thought invisible thoughts, and then eventually, when the others weren’t looking, he turned and slipped
into the trees. He thought he had been exceptionally crafty and stealthy.

  Now Mark sat on a rock in the shadow of the grey cement wall of the Granton Dam. The last ten minutes of hiking had been arduous, and despite the cool air of this future, sweat bathed his back and forehead. The clouds had cleared, and shafts of light eased between the mountains as the sun began its evening descent. From this vantage point, he could even see the hill on the Circle Plateau that they’d climbed before Christmas, where he’d been quite absolutely certain that a waterfall, not a dam, occupied the space between the two mountains that bookended the dam. But there was no waterfall now. There was a dam, and Mark was hopelessly confused.

  Here, right up against the dam—a shocking vertical edifice of cement up this close—the drop in the water level of the Moon River relative to the present was stunning. At its middle point, the Moon River looked barely waist-deep. When Mark had been to this future the last time—at least he thought it was the same future—there had been lots of water. His future self had said the water was being diverted. But who would divert the water, and why?

  The mosquitos clustered around him in a humming frenzy, and Mark was quite certain he was going to go mad, both from the crawl of insects on his skin and the bewilderment that had taken over his brain.

  He reviewed the facts. The Moon River in the Coventry City of the future (Simon’s future) flowed in serpentine loops, and the erosion, high water mark, and defoliation along some of its edges were clearly suggestive of flooding. The very bad man’s map marked the five-meter contour line all along the river. Mark had assumed that it was intended to mark out the areas that would be flooded. He had also assumed that the flooding had occurred because the dam had been decommissioned. (This was the most likely scenario that would precipitate flooding, although he had entertained the possibility that the dam had been blown up, or weakened somehow by an explosion of some sort. Future Caleb’s talk of a bomb that was not a bomb had led him down this path.) But here the dam still stood, and the small amount of water that flowed from the two outlet valves at the base of the dam was hardly voluminous enough to suggest the possibility of flooding.