Thresholds (16 page)

“This is where we bring outsiders,” Gwenda said.

Travis sat on the couch, his head thrown back, napping. A dish holding nothing but crumbs was on the coffee table in front of him. Kallie worked at a nearby table, something that involved books, paper, and a quill pen. She set her quill down and smiled at Maya. “Are you officially one of us now?”

“I guess,” said Maya.

“And Travis is officially
giri
. Two new people. That is so cool. Sometimes we get sick of each other.”

Rowan came from an archway that led to the kitchen, which, from what Maya could see, looked showroom fresh. He carried a plate of sliced bread and oranges. “Sit,” he said, waving her toward the couch. “Feed.”

“Feed?” Maya settled beside Travis, and Rowan placed the plate in front of her. Her stomach growled again; it felt like a raging fire that needed fuel, but she hesitated to snatch food when there was something wrong with Rowan’s verb.

“Help yourself,” Benjamin said. He and Gwenda sat in chairs across the coffee table from the couch.

“Why do you have to be so snotty?” Maya asked Rowan.

He heaved a sigh. “You present problems.”

“Not on purpose.”

He slumped in an armchair near the couch. “Granted. Please. Have some food.”

“Thanks.” Maya ate a slice of bread in three bites. “What
is
this?” she asked as she reached for a second slice.

“Plum bread. Mother’s specialty.”

“It’s delicious.” She ate as slowly as she could manage, which wasn’t very.

“And nutritious,” said Rowan, “and freighted with
palta
. Kallie, did you send Travis to sleep?”

“Nope. He did that all by himself. He’s like a champion sleeper. Two seconds and he’s out.”

“Travis, wake up, will you?” Rowan said, slightly louder.

Travis shuddered and sat up. “Huh?” He checked his watch. “Jeez Louise.”

“How long can you give us?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Good. I accept you both as necessary evils, and, since you’re now part of our extended family, I need to explain some rules to you.”

“Way to welcome them, Rowan,” said Gwenda.

He glared at her and continued. “The first rule is silence about all you see in the house, but I guess Great-Uncle Harper took care of that, yes?”

“Hell, yeah,” said Travis. “He ever do that to you? It’s darned spooky.”

“Rowan’s never needed discipline,” said Gwenda, “but I have. Silence is one of my least favorites.”

“The second rule is study,” said Rowan.

“You guys are like the psychos of the homeschool world, aren’t you?” Travis said. “Except you come to regular school, too. How come you spend any time in regular school if you’re going to spend your whole lives within thirty miles of this place? Couldn’t you learn everything you need to know right here?”

“We would not learn how to socialize with our neighbors. That’s important at every portal.”

“Is that what you’re supposed to be doing at school?” asked Travis. “I see Gwenda and Benjamin doing it, but Rowan, you
so
flunk. And I know from flunking.”

Rowan straightened, brushed the hair away from his face, and gave Travis a full-throttle two-eyed glare. Maya, glad Rowan was focused elsewhere, finished off the oranges. She’d eaten half a loaf of plum bread—all he brought out. The gnawing in her stomach had gone down to nibbling.

“Yeah, yeah, glare all you like. Doesn’t change the facts. So anyway, second rule, study. I don’t have time to study. I’m already not studying for school as it is.”

“Travis,” Gwenda said, “why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you have time to study? Twyla said you were the smartest person in sixth grade. You did outside projects on Ancient Egypt and Ancient Greece. You built a Parthenon! She said you were planning to be an archaeologist. Then last year, what?”

Travis leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. He frowned at the floor. “Last year,” he said finally, “there was an accident.” His gaze rose, met Maya’s, met Rowan’s, danced away. “Am I going to talk about this? I guess you need to know, or it’ll be nag nag nag. My mom left when I was six, and me and my dad moved in with Oma and Opa. Oma raised me. She’s the one got me studying other civilizations. Now that I know about this
giri
thing, I guess I understand she was interested in more than just what was going on on Earth.

“So Opa, also a good guy, but absentminded, last year he was driving Oma home from shopping, and he pulled out right in front of a truck—” He stopped and just breathed. No one spoke. “So, anyway, Opa never came home from that one, and Oma—so, Oma—” His hands closed into fists and he set them on his thighs. “She was hurt bad. She needs twenty-four-hour care, and we can’t afford that. We have a couple nurses that come in during the day while Dad’s at work and I’m at school. I’m supposed to be home at four to take over, and Dad gets home around seven and he helps. I’ve got a dog-walking business I take care of after Dad gets home. Oma tries not to be a burden, but she needs a lot of help, and she doesn’t sleep a lot, and—” He jumped to his feet. “I’ve got to go.”

He crossed the room and was out the door before anyone could speak.

“Community service,” Gwenda said when they had sat in silence for a little while.

Benjamin sat up. “That’s right. She’s our
giri
, and he’s a
giri
in training. Jemmy and Alira are studying eldercare, right? They could use some field practice.”

“Aunt Raia’s a nurse,” Gwenda said. “She could probably help.”

“Good thinking,” Rowan said in a grumpy voice, “but let’s solve all the world’s problems later. Right now, Maya—”

“What am I supposed to be studying?” Maya asked.

“Well,” said Rowan, “there’s a whole curriculum for us, but I don’t know how much of that will be useful to you. We don’t know where your talents will be yet.”

“Talents?”

“The skills we need to manage the portals, those are family things, and you probably won’t have any of them, so you won’t need energy theory and harmonics and voice lessons and personal tuning and group alignment, but you should learn some basic skills—”

“Do you mean, like, training me to work here? I don’t think—” Maya felt walls closing in on her. The egg heated. Red streaks crossed it.

“No,” said Benjamin. “No, Rowan.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“Did Great-Uncle Harper tell you you were supposed to inform Maya about new responsibilities?”

“He said tell her about our classes.”

“You’re not doing that,” Benjamin said. “Maya, we study a lot of stuff. The older people teach the younger whatever they know. When someone shows a talent, they get focused teaching in that direction. What I think you could use, if you want, is a class in Kerlinqua, our special language, and maybe some classes in etiquette so you know acceptable ways to greet travelers.”

“Joining your family doesn’t mean I have to stay here forever, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I’d like to learn more languages, and I’d like to know how to behave with—with travelers.”

“Great,” said Benjamin. “We could even start teaching you some of that at lunch. Here’s what you should know: you don’t have any family responsibilities yet. Just take care of yourself and learn what you can and tell us when you need help.” He turned to Rowan. “Does that cover it?”

Rowan snorted and looked away.

“We have study rooms on the second story, where the Elders—and that includes everybody older than us—teach, and where we can practice. We can show you those later. For now, how about I walk you home?”

“I’d like that.” Maya glanced at her watch and realized it was almost five. “I have to set the table. I’m so tired. I feel like I could sleep for a hundred years.” Her stomach rumbled. “Um. After a snack.”

When she and Benjamin stepped off the Janus House porch, Maya felt as though a weight lifted from her heart. She had so wanted to know all about the new neighbors. Now she just wanted to go home and pretend she was normal again.

“I know,” said Benjamin, even though she hadn’t said anything out loud. “It’s a lot.”

“You deal with things like that all the time.”

“We’re used to it. I bet it’s big scary to you.”

Maya scuffed her shoes on the grass. “Do you have any talents yet?”

“Nope. No special signs. I’m about average on a lot of stuff.”

“Do you read minds? Any of you?”

He shook his head. “I know some travelers who have that talent, but none of the Earth Keepers do.”

“That’s a relief.”

Her mother’s car pulled into the driveway just as Maya unlocked the front door. Peter leaped out. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Benjamin, from next door,” Maya said. “Benjamin, my brother Peter, my mom Liz.”

“Nice to meet you, Ben,” said Mom. She put down her briefcase and held out her hand.

He shook it, smiling. “My pleasure, Mrs. Andersen. Help you with the groceries?”

“That would be great,” said Mom. She pointed her key fob at the car and beeped the back unlocked. Benjamin headed for the car, and Mom whispered, “What’s with that family? Are they
all
that polite?”

“Not all of them,” Maya whispered back. Then she headed toward the car to carry groceries, too.

“Do you know about creeks around here?” Peter asked Benjamin as they all carried plastic sacks of groceries into the house.

“Creeks?”

“Yeah, wild creeks where there are tadpoles and frogs and things? I haven’t seen one near here. Dad said there’d be a creek.”

“Have you been to Westedge Park yet? There’s a stream there. And there are restored wetlands out west of town, with nature trails in them.”

“Great! Can you drive yet?”

“Peter!” cried Mom. Benjamin laughed. They put the grocery sacks on the table, and Peter went to the back door to let Sully in.

Sully rushed up to Maya and barked. She backed away from him, and he followed her, barking and barking, until she was trapped between the refrigerator and the stove.

“Sully! Stop that right now! Maya, do you have a steak in your pocket or something?” Mom asked.

“No!”
Egg-person
, she thought,
is there any way we can calm the dog
?

“Sully, shut up,” Peter yelled, but Sully ignored him. Benjamin looked worried, uncertain. His hands flexed as though he was about to do something, but he didn’t follow through.

The egg thrummed, a sound below the threshold of hearing. Maya felt calmer and calmer as she felt the hum travel up the bones of her arm. It wasn’t the same as when the egg calmed her during the council; this was more of a meditative state. Sully’s frantic barks slowed. Finally he sat back with a yip and let his tongue loll out in a dog smile.

Maya crouched. “Hey, Sully,” she murmured.

Wagging his tail, Sully came to lick her face. “Hey, boy. Hey.” She hugged him and he woofed. Maya looked up at Benjamin. His face was still, his head tilted as though listening. He smiled then, and she felt better.

“What was the matter with you, you daft, darling dog?” Mom asked. “A moment of identity crisis? Did you forget you were a golden?”

Sully whined and went to sniff Benjamin’s jeans. The dog accepted petting from everyone as Maya straightened.
Can we talk to animals
? she wondered.

That wasn’t talk
, answered the egg.
It was feel.

Either way, it worked. Thanks, egg-person
.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Andersen, Peter. I better get home now,” Benjamin said.

“Benjamin, do you sing?” Mom asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Do you sing? We like to make music on Saturday nights. I was wondering if you’d care to join us.”

He stood, his hand resting on Sully’s head, and then a smile lit his face. “All of my family sings, ma’am, and I’d love to come if I can. I have to check with my parents.”

“Bring anyone else you like, and if you have sheet music, that might help. If we don’t know your music already, we’d like to learn.”

“And bring your instruments,” said Maya, remembering the weird-looking not-guitars and not-flutes she had seen them play.

“I’ll tell them,” he said. “Thanks, ma’am. Maya, see you tomorrow.”

“’Night, Benjamin.” Maya collected dishes and flatware and went to set the table.

In her room
after supper, Maya painted a couple of pictures of the aliens she had seen in the courtyard that afternoon, even though she knew she was doing something Rowan wouldn’t like. Benjamin had challenged Rowan on some of his rules. Maybe this was not a real rule, either. She wanted to paint another picture, but she was too tired to hold her eyelids open anymore.

She woke when something crackled in the air around her. Disoriented, she sat up, untangling her egg arm from its nest of pillows. The egg felt hot, and she was surrounded by a faintly gleaming pale blue bubble.

“Maya?” whispered someone. Two shadowy people stood in her bedroom, one much taller than the other.

Maya blinked and checked the clock. Two A.M. She reached to switch on her bedside light, and the bubble moved with her, staying about a foot from her in all directions.

In the light, she saw that the shadows were Gwenda and Ara-Kita. “What?” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry we didn’t let you know we were coming,” Gwenda whispered. “We need to set up some kind of communication system for that.” She went to the door and tapped the lock, then gestured through the air, singing a faint phrase of song that sounded like wind. “Okay, I set a silence ward so the rest of the house shouldn’t be able to hear us,” she said in a more normal tone. “Great-Uncle Harper cleared Ara-Kita to question your egg.”