“I am her son,” he whispered aloud.
Mentor hadn’t heard him. He continued talking. “I had traded away the most important part of myself. I turned selfish. Cruel. The pretty widow didn’t want a man like that! So I had made a meaningless trade, and I had turned into a person I hated—but a handsome one! And young!”
Gabe forced himself to pay attention to the schoolmaster. “What changed you back? You’re a man of honor now, Mentor.”
“Jonas stepped in. Trade Mart had corrupted the whole village. Many people had traded away their best selves. We turned on each other. There was greed, and jealousy, and . . . Well, it had to end. There was a set of horrible events—we lost one of our best young people—”
“Matty?”
“Yes, Matty died, battling the evil. But because of him the rest of us survived and were restored. I got my bald head and my birthmark back!” He laughed. “And I lost my silly romance. Still a bachelor today.”
“And we banished Trademaster,” Jonas reminded them.
“We did. Forever.” Mentor said it with a kind of relief and satisfaction. He turned to leave. Then he said slowly, with a questioning look, “Something’s wrong?”
Jonas nodded. “He’s returned,” he said.
Mentor looked stunned. “So this battle must be waged again?”
Jonas nodded. “This time we must be sure it’s final.”
“Whom do we send this time, to die?” Mentor’s voice was bitter and sad. Like everyone, he had loved Matty.
“I’m going,” Gabe told him.
Mentor was silent. Then, without speaking, he turned away from them.
Gabe and Jonas stood watching the aged schoolmaster walk away. His shoulders were slumped.
“He got himself back,” Gabe said, after a moment.
Jonas nodded. “He did.”
“That means a trade can be reversed,” Gabe said.
Jonas nodded.
“I’m scared.”
“I am too,” Jonas replied. “For you, for all of us.”
She is my mother. She is my mother. Gabe took a deep breath. “How much time do we have?” he asked.
Eleven
They hurried back to the cottage where Claire was dying. The sun was setting now. Someone had lit an oil lamp on the table. This time, in the flickering golden light, Gabe approached the bed without hesitation. He knew, he thought, what he wanted to say: that he’d been waiting all his life for her to find him. That he understood the sacrifice she had made for him. That it didn’t matter that she was old. What mattered was being together.
But when he knelt beside her, he thought he’d come too late. Her eyes were half open and glazed. Her mouth fell slack. Her hand on the coverlet, when he took it in his, was limp and cold.
Crying unashamedly, Gabe turned to Jonas, who stood behind him. “I wanted to tell her I knew! I wanted to tell her I remember her! But I’m too late,” he wept. “She’s gone.”
Jonas gently moved Gabe aside. He leaned down and touched Claire’s thin, veined neck. Then he rested his head against her chest, listening carefully.
“Her heart is beating still,” he told Gabe. “She’s very close to death. But she is still alive. We have very little time, and I have very little left of the gift I once possessed. But I am going to use it. I am going to look beyond and try to see where he is. After that, it will be up to you. Your gift is still young.”
“Do you need to go to some special place?” Gabe asked, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt.
“No. I just need to gather my strength. And I need quiet, for concentration.
“Claire? Can you hear me?” Jonas said toward the old woman. She didn’t respond. She took a slow, deep breath.
“Gabe will sit here beside you. Gabe, hold her hand so that she knows you’re there.”
Gabe took the gnarled hand in his own.
“I’m going to close the door to the cottage so that no one comes in, so that it will be quiet. I’ll be here, by the window.” He was speaking to them both. “I’m told that this is difficult to watch, Gabe. But don’t be afraid. It’s not painful for me, just very draining. It shouldn’t take long.”
Jonas went to the front of the cottage, spoke briefly to the people gathered outside, then closed and latched the door. Gabe, watching him, could see that already he was changing in some way; he was becoming something different from the ordinary and pleasant man he had been. He went to the window and stood looking through it into the night, though his eyes were half closed. He was breathing deeply, in and out, very slowly. Suddenly he gasped, as if he were pierced by pain. He moaned slightly. Gabe found himself squeezing the old woman’s hand. He continued to watch Jonas.
On the bed, Claire breathed occasionally, with a tortured sound.
Jonas began to shimmer. His body vibrated and was suffused with a silvery light.
“He is beyond now,” Gabe said to Claire, hoping that somehow she could hear and know how desperately they were trying to save her.
Jonas gasped loudly again.
“I think he is seeing Trademaster,” Gabe whispered, and felt Claire shudder.
Then he fell silent and waited.
Afterward, Gabe had to help Jonas to the nearby rocking chair. He collapsed into it, panting and trembling. “What did you see?” Gabe asked. “Could you find him?” But Jonas was unable to speak. He closed his eyes and held up one hand, asking Gabe to wait. Finally, after resting for several minutes, Jonas opened his eyes.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to do that again,” he said hoarsely to Gabe. “It was the last time. It has become too hard.”
He turned slightly and looked toward the bed. “How is she?”
Gabe went to Claire and took her hand. There was no answering squeeze from her. Her hand and arm were limp. But he heard a long, slow breath.
“Alive,” Gabe told Jonas, returning to the chair where he was slumped.
“There’s not much time.” Jonas sat up a little straighter, still breathing hard. “But I saw him; he’s close by. It’s up to you now, Gabe. I’ll stay here with her.”
Close by? What did that mean? Gabe found himself looking around the room, and toward the window. Was someone standing out there in the trees? A closet door was open in the corner, the interior dark. Was someone in the closet? A board creaked, and Gabe jumped nervously. But it was just Jonas’s chair, its curved rockers moving against the wooden floor.
He found a pitcher of water and brought Jonas a cup. Jonas drank, and sat up straighter.
“I forgot to tell you something else that she and I both remembered. When you were a baby—a newchild—you had a stuffed toy.” He smiled. “It went everywhere with you. Your hippo.”
A blurred image appeared to Gabe. A soft, comforting object. With ears. He had chewed on the ears.
“Po,” he said.
“A fine water beast,” Jonas said. “You’ve always been attracted to water, Gabe. And now you must become like Po. Trademaster is on the other side of the river.”
It was dark when Gabe stood at the water’s edge, alone. He had begged Jonas to come with him. But Jonas had said no.