The Obsidian Blade (6 page)

“You scared?” Tom asked.

Tucker almost gave Tom a shove off the edge of the bank, but he managed to hold himself back.

“Okay,” he said. “I tied it; I’ll go first.” He grabbed the end of the nylon cord from Tom, but instead of jumping onto the big knot and swinging out from the top of the bank, he tied it to his belt, and climbed up the tree, dragging the rope behind him.

Will and Tom stared at him.

“Are you crazy?” Tom yelled.

“Yes,” said Tucker. He climbed a few feet out on one of the branches.
I’m not that high up,
he told himself. He grasped the thick rope in his hands; it was a strong rope. He looked up at the knot he had tied, a good knot. He untied the leader cord from his belt and wrapped his legs around the rope, which hung in a steep arc, dropping for fifteen feet or so before beginning its journey back up to the branch high above him.

He waited, letting the urge to jump gather.

“You gonna do it or not?” Will yelled.

Tucker pushed himself off the branch — and went straight down. Time stretched. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, then felt the knot dig into the backs of his thighs as the rope went taut. The water rushed at him; the soles of his shoes skimmed the surface of the lake. Wind filled his open mouth; he rose into the blue sky, heading for the clouds.

At the top of the arc — a weightless moment that seemed to last far longer than it should have — he saw, hovering in the air before him, a transparent man. Impossible, but utterly real. He was close enough to see the individual strands of the man’s swept-back hair, and the perfect teeth in his colorless smile. Tucker nearly lost his hold on the rope, then he was swinging back, twisting his body to get a second look. His shoes touched the water again and he spun, the bank rushing past him, Tom shouting, and then a terrible, crushing force slammed hard into Tucker’s back, and he was falling.

“I
S HE DEAD?
” W
ILL’S VOICE
.

“I don’t know. He’s not moving.” That was Tom.

“What if he’s dead?”

“He is not dead.” A girl’s voice, strangely accented.

“I think I saw his eyelid move,” Tom said.

“What if he’s paralyzed?” Will asked.

“He is not paralyzed,” said the girl.

Tucker opened his eyes. Three faces framed by blue sky: Tom, Will, and a girl. Lahlia. Her hair was longer.

“You see?” she said. “He is alive.”

Tucker drew a shuddering breath; a wave of pain rolled from his head to his feet.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked.

“It hurts.”

“What if he broke his back?” Will asked.

“Move your legs,” said Lahlia. “Show them.”

Tucker moved his legs. He looked left and right. He was lying on the narrow strip of beach at the bottom of the bank, just a few feet from the water. Tucker pushed himself up into a sitting position. He felt as if he’d been run over by a combine.

“Did the rope break?” he asked.

“No, you idiot,” Tom laughed. “You swung back and hit the tree trunk.”

“Oh,” Tucker said, looking at the towering cottonwood. “I didn’t think of that.” He climbed shakily to his feet.

“You rolled down the bank like a log,” Will said. “Too bad we didn’t get it on video. It would have been really cool.”

Tucker tested each of his limbs. Everything seemed to work.

“How come you were twisting around like that?” Tom asked. “You were way up there and all of a sudden you started to spin.”

“I thought I saw something,” Tucker said. “Like a ghost.”

“You saw a Klaatu,” Lahlia said.

“A what?”

“A sort of ghost,” said Lahlia.

“Does
Klaatu
mean ‘ghost’ in Bulgaria?” Tucker asked.

“What is Bulgaria?”

“Isn’t that where you came from?”

“No.”

“Then where
did
you come from?”

Lahlia thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I was raised in the Palace of the Pure Girls in the city of Romelas, where I was taken to the Cydonian Pyramid at the time of my Blood Moon.” Lahlia’s dark eyes locked on Tucker. “Had you not appeared, the Lah Sept priests might have sent me through Gammel or Dal with a hole in my heart.” She regarded Tucker with a slight tilt of her head and the hint of a smile.

“You must read a lot of fantasy books,” Will said.

“This is why I do not talk about it,” said Lahlia. “I knew you would not believe.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t believe in ghosts, either,” Will said.

Tucker said, “Did you see it too? The ghost or whatever?”

Lahlia nodded. “Not everyone can see them. In Romelas they are considered bad luck.”

“You didn’t used to talk,” Tucker said.

“I had nothing to say.”

“You still got that little cat?”

Lahlia pointed. The gray cat was sitting at the top of the bank, cleaning its paws.

“His name is Bounce,” she said.

“He hasn’t grown much.”

“Bounce is always the same.”

“How come you don’t go to school?” Will asked.

“Arnold says public schools breed sin and wickedness.”

“That’s weird,” said Will.

Lahlia shrugged. “Arnold and Maria have many weird ideas. They enslave animals and draw milk from them. They consume animal flesh.”

“You mean meat?” Tom said.

“Muscle tissue from mammals and birds.”

“Everybody eats meat,” said Will.

“Not everybody.”

“Are you a vegetarian?”

“I don’t consume animal products.”

“No milk even? That’s
really
weird,” said Will.

As Lahlia talked with Tom and Will, Tucker watched. It was the only time he had ever been able to get a good look at her without her big black eyes staring back at him. He liked the way her upper lip lifted when she spoke. She was, he decided, kind of pretty.

“You find it strange because you are a primitive,” she said to Will.

Will took a moment to consider that, then hopped around with a hunched back and bent legs, arms dangling, saying, “Hoo-hoo, ugh-ugh.”

Lahlia frowned. “Are you in pain?”

“He’s being a caveman,” Tom said.

“Ork eat meat!”

“I once saw him eat seven hot dogs,” Tom said.

Lahlia twisted her face. “It is bad enough to make animals into milk slaves, but grinding them up and stuffing them into their own intestines and then burning them over a fire is . . . barbaric.”

“Ork barbarian! Ork throw girl in lake!” Will advanced upon Lahlia.

Instead of running away screaming as another girl might have, Lahlia stepped into Will’s open arms. Her sharp shoulder connected with his belly, and in a graceful, apparently effortless motion, she lifted him into the air and
threw
him. Will landed in the shallow water with a tremendous splash.

Tom jumped back from the deluge. “Whoa!”

Will, sputtering and apparently uninjured, waded back to shore. “What happened?” he said.

“You just got your butt kicked by a girl,” said Tom.

Lahlia was standing with her feet apart and her arms held out, her eyes locked on Will.

“I think she wants to do it again,” Tom said.

“I wasn’t gonna
do
anything,” said Will.

“How’d you learn to do that?” Tom asked Lahlia.

“I have been trained to defend myself.”

“No kidding!” Tom looked at his brother. “You okay?”

Will looked down at his dripping T-shirt and sodden jeans. “I am totally soaked.”

“That what Ork get when Ork try to throw girl in lake,” Tom said with a grin.

“I did not wish to get wet,” Lahlia said, relaxing slightly.

Will peeled a glob of pond scum from his T-shirt and flung it into the water. “You could have just said so. Jeez!”

Tucker was feeling neglected — he had just smashed into a tree and could have died, and now the three of them were acting like he wasn’t even there. He grabbed the rope and dragged it up the sandy bank.

“Where you going?” Tom asked.

“I’m going again,” Tucker said.

“Are you nuts? You’ll get killed.”

“He will not die.” Lahlia said, watching him.

Tucker tied the nylon cord to his belt and started up the tree, dragging the heavy rope behind him. Knowing that Lahlia was watching made him feel stronger and more confident. This time, he would show them what he could
really
do. He climbed out onto a limb ten feet higher than his previous launch site and edged his way out on the branch, as far as he dared. His new trajectory would take him away from the trunk. He hoped. Wedging the big knot between his legs, he looked down at the three tiny upturned faces, took a deep breath, and pushed off.

The ride was even better than before. He dropped twenty feet before the rope went tight, and the weightless moment at the end of the swing seemed to last twice as long. This time there was no ghostly face looking back at him. On the return swing he tensed himself for impact, but missed the trunk by several feet. He swung back and forth, looking up at leafy branches against the bright blue sky, until the rope slowed. Tucker jumped from the rope onto the shore.

Tom clapped him on the back. “All right!

Tucker, light-headed and proud, looked around for Lahlia.

She was standing at the top of the bank, holding Bounce, looking down at him. Beside her, wearing an amused smile, stood a man with long black hair tied back in a ponytail. He was dressed in faded black jeans and a leather vest decorated with silver studs.

“Nice one,” he said to Tucker. He grinned and gave Lahlia a light punch on the shoulder. “Let’s go, kiddo. Time to milk the slaves.”

Lahlia moved away from him, not meeting his eyes. The man shrugged and walked off. Lahlia looked at Tucker. Her right hand twitched, the faintest of waves, before she turned and followed the black-haired man.

“Who was that?” Tucker asked.

“That,” said Tom, “was Ronnie Becker.”

W
HEN
T
UCKER GOT HOME LATE THAT AFTERNOON, HIS
father emerged from his study and suggested that they catch some fish while his mom prepared dinner. Tucker was surprised and delighted — it had been a long time since he and his dad had done anything together. They dug some worms from the compost pile and walked down the path to the pond. Tucker told his dad about the rope swing, leaving out the part where he had crashed into the tree.

His father laughed when Tucker told about Lahlia throwing Will in the lake. Seeing his dad laugh — a wide smile breaking through the frown lines — Tucker felt joy, hope, and sadness all at once. It had been too long since they had laughed together.

“Do you remember the raccoon?” Tucker asked, bringing up one of their favorite family stories.

“How could I forget?” his father said.

One day, a couple of years ago, his mom had chased a young raccoon out of her vegetable garden. The raccoon panicked. Instead of running off into the woods, it ran through the open door into the house. The Reverend, hearing the commotion, came downstairs from his study to find a very frightened raccoon in the kitchen sink. After much screaming and shouting and broom swinging, the raccoon was herded out the door, where it ran straight between the thick legs of Mavis Setterholm, one of the church ladies, who had come by to drop off a fresh-baked rhubarb pie. Mavis screamed and fell backward onto her ample butt, throwing the pie in the air as she went down. The equally terrified raccoon hightailed it for the woods, and the pie landed upside down on Mavis’s lap.

They had laughed about it for weeks.

“That raccoon, I bet he’s the same one that’s been upending our garbage can,” the Reverend said as they stood side by side at the edge of the dock, watching their bobbers float. Thinking back to happier times, Tucker imagined that everything could be okay again. His father would regain his faith and his mother would be cured. That was what he had been praying for. Thinking to test this notion, Tucker looked from his red-and-white bobber to his father’s craggy face.

“Remember when I was a little kid and I used to ask you why the sky was blue instead of green?”

“You always did have a lot of questions,” his father said with a smile.

“You used to say it was because God made it that way.”

The Reverend’s face darkened. “The sky is blue because of the way atmospheric gases scatter sunlight, Tuck. This dock —” He stomped his foot against the weathered planks. “I built this dock. God had nothing to do with it.”