‘Once we know what Lessek knew, what will we use?’ Garec broke the silence, making Gilmour jump visibly. ‘The staff? That book?’
Steven replied, ‘That remains to be determined, Garec, but at this point, I am fairly confident we will use compassion-’
Mark looked down, his head shaking.
‘-magic-’
‘And?’
‘-and maths.’ Steven gave him an amiable slap across the back. ‘Mathematics, Garec.’
Garec went off in search of more wood, and Gilmour stood alone, ankle-deep in the fjord, enjoying a pipe and wrestling with his thoughts. They had made the decision to remain there another night, for they had talked until late in the day. Steven had put up a halfhearted fight when Mark told him where they were – he had assumed his friends were already in Praga, not well on their way to Sandcliff Palace. He had argued – for a few moments – then given in gracefully; much as he hated it, he knew that getting to Sandcliff as quickly as possible was more important than finding Hannah. He had known it when he told Jennifer Sorenson to wait two months before bothering to open the far portal again; it would most likely be even longer before he was reunited with Hannah.
Steven and Mark sat together near the fire, alone together for the first time that day.
‘I’m sorry,’ Steven said, leaning against a fallen log and staring into the flames of the campfire.
‘For Brynne? Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. She was over the stern rail and halfway to safety before she decided to climb back up.’ Mark took a long swallow from one of the beer cans. ‘She made her own decisions.’
‘It’s more than that.’ Steven said. ‘I’m sorry for the whole thing, for this whole mess. I never apologised to you. I ruined your life. Everyone thinks we’re lying dead up there on Decatur Peak. I’m sure they’ve filled your job – hell, I might even have been responsible for the damned school burning down yesterday.’
‘The students will hold a parade in your honour. You’ll be the graduation speaker next spring.’ Mark had been reading the newspaper articles Steven stole from Howard’s refrigerator. Many had been ruined when Steven dived into Clear Creek, but enough had survived to give Mark a sense of the extent of the rescue and recovery efforts on the mountain trail west of town.
‘I’m serious.’ Steven tried to make eye contact; Mark avoided looking at him.
‘It doesn’t matter, Steven. I mean, I appreciate you saying it, but we are here. This is who we are and what we have to do with ourselves now. This is much bigger than being a high school teacher or a banker. These people need you and that staff. They need you here thinking the way you were thinking today, figuring things out, deciphering the magic to get the job done.’ He finished the beer and tossed the can over his shoulder into the sailboat. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’m figuring out my role.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means until something better comes along, I am going to kill. I am going to learn to fight, to shoot and to defend myself, and I am going to kill them, one at a time until-’
‘Until Brynne comes back?’ Steven challenged.
‘Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just do it until one of them sends me along after her.’ He reached for another beer. ‘Either way, I don’t care.’
‘But there is something else bothering you, I see it now. I saw it before, long before Brynne- before she disappeared.’ This was risky; Steven understood he was putting their friendship in jeopardy by pushing Mark along this emotional razor-high-wire. ‘Isn’t there?’
‘Actually, you’re right,’ Mark said.
Steven was a little shocked – he had expected more resistance.
Mark refolded an article from the Denver Post and tucked it into the pocket of his new coat. ‘I’ve been trying to work through something, and it’s still bothering me. Do me a favour, give me Lessek’s key.’
‘What?’ Steven was taken aback by the curious request, but didn’t hesitate. ‘Sure. Here it is.’ He tossed the stone across to Mark who caught it in one hand. Neither noticed Gilmour turn to eavesdrop.
Mark closed his fist over the stone and went on, ‘You know, I never touched this that night in our house, but when you opened that box, I experienced something strange.’ He furrowed his brow, trying to remember exactly how the evening had unfolded. ‘It’s weird, and the only way I can explain it is like this: when I was a kid I had strange sleeping habits: I’d just pass out – the couch, the floor, wherever. So rather than try to lug me upstairs to my room, my mother would throw a blanket over me and leave me there. I never really woke up, but I could always sense when she’d covered me up. Do you know what I mean?’
Steven grunted in response; he didn’t want to derail Mark’s thoughts by interrupting at this point.
‘Well, that night when you opened the box, that’s what I felt: a warm sensation, like someone reached into our apartment and draped some old blanket over me.’ He laughed, grimly. ‘I know this isn’t making sense, but bear with me. I’d been drinking, so at the time I dismissed it – I was just drunk, or stupid, or needing to pee, whatever.’
‘But it came again?’
‘When I came through onto that beach in Estrad, I was out of my mind. I thought I was going to lose it – and you know what happened?’
‘Someone draped a blanket over you?’ Steven felt gooseflesh rise up on his forearms.
‘I remembered being a kid, out at the beach, Jones Beach, on the island. I was in Eldarn less than five goddamned minutes, losing it, going full-on screwball crazy, and all of a sudden, I got a reprieve.’
‘What do you mean, a reprieve?’
‘It wasn’t permanent; before the end of the night, I did lose it, curled in a ball, crying like a child. I thought I was dead. But for about ten minutes, I was given a break – I’m sure of it. I certainly wasn’t in any condition emotionally to look after myself, and someone came down to that beach and draped that old blanket over me.’
‘Lessek.’
‘And Bingo! You’ve won it all – the new car, the trip to Paris, and the showroom full of beautiful prizes,’ Mark said with mock game-show enthusiasm.
‘Holy shit.’ Steven was stunned.
‘You took the words right out of my mouth, cousin.’ Mark drained his beer and leaned back against the log, shoulder to shoulder with his roommate.
‘So what does it mean?’ Steven pressed.
‘I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be remembering something about some afternoon out at Jones Beach with my family – something about my dad, I think – but our days at the beach were pretty much the same. The only thing I’ve managed to cling to is a Red Sox-Yankees game, the night before, and the Sox won on some late-inning feat by Karl Yazstremski.’
‘And your dad was pissed off about it?’
‘Hell no, you know my father. He’d gladly go to his grave before supporting the “great scourge of the boroughs“ – no, it’s not that: he’s a Sox fan, no matter that he took all kinds of shit for it at work all his life. The game isn’t all of it, though: I think it’s just a point of reference for me to get the day right.’
Steven pulled one of the saddlebags over and rummaged around for something to eat. Finding a block of cheese, he broke off a chunk and offered the rest to Mark. ‘So what else do you remember?’
‘Dad had a cooler full of beer and a couple of sandwiches. He wore a madras bathing suit, something he had bought back in the ’60s, I’m sure, and he carried my mother’s old yellow beach umbrella out there and stabbed it into the sand like Neil Armstrong claiming the moon for Earth.’
‘How do you remember so many details? That was so long ago – how old were you? Six? Eight?’ Mark’s memory astounded Steven.
‘I remember so much because I’ve relived it so often since we came across the Fold. It happened that night on the beach in Estrad. It came again in the cavern the night before we fought those bone-collector things-’