Across the Great Barrier Read online

  Allie told us that Mama and Papa had talked about waiting a day or two for the mail train to bring a letter with more details, but they’d decided that it would be better to head East right away. Papa said that Mr. Ziegler, the dean at Simon Magus College who’d sent the telegram, was a reliable person and wouldn’t have told them to come all that way if he hadn’t thought there was reason.

  Finally, Nan and Allie went to the parlor to figure out who they’d need to tell and when to write them. Robbie would find out when he got home; there was no sense in sending someone out to look for him, because his classes were done for the day and he was probably somewhere with his friends. They’d wait a day or two before they wrote Rennie and Jack; since both of them were out in the settlements and mail would be slow getting to them, it’d be best to have as many details as possible before writing them. I thought about writing William, but the letter would go East on the same train as we did, so it made more sense to wait in case there was more news. When Allie started in on who they’d need to tell at the college and at church and how soon, I told them to make sure Professor Jeffries and Professor Torgeson got told right off, and to leave Professor Torgeson’s note for me to add a line to, because I wanted to say I was sorry I wouldn’t be able to go on her specimen-collecting trip after all. Then I went up to pack.

  I didn’t think about writing to tell Mr. Boden at all.

  CHAPTER

  20

  MRS. CALLAHAN HAD LEFT A CARPET BAG BY MY BED. I CRAMMED A few underthings and an extra skirt and blouse into it any which way, then after a moment added my good Sunday dress, just in case. I didn’t really know what I’d need. I hadn’t been back East since I was thirteen. The last thing I packed was the broken-winged stone bird I’d brought back from Daybat Creek, so I could show it to Lan when he recovered. If he recovered.

  I couldn’t think. Twice, I found myself standing in front of the wardrobe, holding the door open and staring at my clothes without really seeing them. There was a hard lump in the middle of my chest that wouldn’t go away. I didn’t even try to tell myself that Lan was sure to be all right. They wouldn’t have sent for Mama and Papa so urgently if they thought there was a good likelihood of that.

  Dinner was cold meat and bread and cheese that Mrs. Callahan laid out for us to grab as we rushed around finishing things up so that we could leave the next day. I didn’t sleep well that night; I don’t think any of us did. Mama had dark circles under her eyes when we caught the train in the morning. Papa just looked tired and strained.

  It was a long, quiet trip. Mama held tight to Papa’s hand for the first few hours; then she held mine. She went back and forth like that for most of the trip. None of us said much. The train still took nearly two full days to get from Mill City to Philadelphia, so it was late in the afternoon when we finally got off at the platform on Broad Street. As we waited for the porter to finish unloading our baggage, a young man came up to Papa.

  “Mr. Rothmer?” he said tentatively. He looked relieved when Papa nodded. “I don’t know if you remember me, sir. I’m Nicolas Petrakis; we met when you came to New Amsterdam two years ago. Dean Ziegler got your telegram and sent me to watch for you.”

  “Mr. Petrakis,” Papa said. “How is my son?” That told me just how tired and worried Papa was; normally, he’d have made himself introduce Mama and me first, no matter what.

  “Lan’s still …” Mr. Petrakis hesitated. “… unconscious. He’s in the Philadelphia Hospital, and he has the best doctors in Philadelphia,” he added hastily. “I can take you there now, or —”

  “Take us there now,” Mama said before he could finish.

  Mr. Petrakis looked at her and nodded. He and Papa exchanged a few more words, then we loaded our bags onto the carriage he had waiting and drove straight to the hospital. Mr. Petrakis told us where Mr. Ziegler had arranged for us to stay, and took our bags on for us while we went in to see Lan.

  We didn’t actually get to see him that day. Lan was in a private room in the Surgery and Magical Injuries wing of the hospital, and the doctors all thought he was still in too delicate a condition to have visitors, even us, though they did say we could come back in the morning. Mama was all set to spend the night in the waiting room, but Papa said there was no point in all of us getting more exhausted than we already were. She still wouldn’t leave until she got the hospital people to promise to send a message right away if there was any change in Lan’s condition. It wasn’t until we got to the hotel that we found out any more about how it had all happened.

  Mr. Petrakis was waiting for us with two men and a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman about five or six years older than me. “Miriam!” Mama said when she saw them, and hurried forward.

  “Frank will be here tomorrow,” Miriam said. “He had some trouble finding someone to take over his patients.” I realized she must be my oldest brother’s wife. I’d never met her; Frank had gotten married while I was still in upper school, and only Mama and Papa had come East for the wedding. Now that he’d finally finished all of his schooling and his apprenticeship, he was a full-fledged medical magician at the New Amsterdam State Hospital, and already pretty important. There weren’t all that many folks who took time to learn both medical and magical healing.

  Mama gave Miriam a hug, and then we had a round of introductions. The bearded, brown-haired man was Mr. Ziegler, the dean of Simon Magus College, and the stern, thin-lipped man with the dark hair was Professor Martin Lefevre. As soon as we finished being polite, we went off to one of the sitting rooms to talk, and of course the first thing Papa wanted to know was what had happened.

  “As far as we can determine, Professor Warren was demonstrating a series of mid-level construction spells for his sophomore class in comparative magic, and something went wrong,” Dean Ziegler said. “The injured students are a bit vague as to exactly what, but it is clear that Professor Warren lost control. Mr. Rothmer managed to protect his classmates; I firmly believe that it is due to his quick action that the only serious injuries were to himself and Professor Warren.” He gave Papa a solemn look. “Your son is a hero, sir.”

  Professor Lefevre snorted. “He shouldn’t have needed to be. I’ll wager anything you please that Warren was messing about with some of that Hijero-Cathayan foolishness he was so fond of.”

  “Yes, well, we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Dean Ziegler said. “And after all, one would expect him to pay some attention to Hijero-Cathayan spells in a class on comparative magic.”

  “A talent such as young Mr. Rothmer’s shouldn’t have been wasted in that man’s classes in the first place,” Professor Lefevre went on as if Dean Ziegler hadn’t spoken.

  “If Mr. Rothmer hadn’t been there, this incident would likely have been far worse,” Dean Ziegler pointed out. “In any case, I expect that he’ll focus on more traditional forms of magic after this experience.”

  Papa asked for more details about the spell they thought had gone wrong, and the conversation got technical. I stopped listening and started thinking about what Dean Ziegler and Professor Lefevre had said. Lan had written quite a bit about Professor Warren in his letters, and most of it hadn’t been complimentary. I wondered what Lan had thought of Professor Lefevre. I couldn’t decide whether Lefevre just disliked Professor Warren, or maybe Hijero-Cathayan magic, or whether he was like all the other folks who made a fuss over Lan for being a double-seventh son.

  We didn’t talk for much longer. Mama and Papa and I were real tired from the train, and Mama wanted to be at the hospital early in the morning. As soon as the three men from the college left, we went up to our room and fell into bed.

  Frank arrived sometime in the middle of the night; he and Miriam were waiting for us when we came down to breakfast in the morning. Having a doctor with us helped when we got to the hospital. Even though Frank didn’t work there, the doctors were a lot more willing to tell him what they thought, and they even took him in to see Lan. When he came out, he said that Lan was still unconscious, but
they expected him to wake up soon and we’d all be able to see him then. Meanwhile, they only let Mama and Papa in for a few minutes.

  We spent the rest of the day at the hospital. Lan didn’t wake that day, nor the day after. The doctors frowned more and spent even less time talking to us, even Frank. On top of that, the newspapers got hold of the story and went on about Lan being a double-seven and a hero and saving fifty people from a deadly rogue spell, even though Dean Ziegler told us that there were only eleven students and Professor Warren in the classroom at the time and nobody outside had ever been in danger at all.

  So Lan had letters and flowers and gifts piling up from people we didn’t even know, as well as letters from all the family, even the cousins and second cousins that Mama and Papa hadn’t told yet because there wasn’t much to tell. Miriam and I were the ones who ended up answering the letters. Miriam took the huge stack from the people we didn’t know at all, and I took the giant one from the family. When your father is a seventh son, and most of his brothers and sisters married, there are a lot of aunts and uncles and cousins, and that was on top of Sharl and Peter and Diane and Julie and all the rest of my older sisters and brothers who’d stayed in the East.

  I didn’t mind writing my brothers and sisters, but I wondered a bit about the rest of the family. Most of them hadn’t liked me much when I was little, and I hadn’t seen any of them since I was thirteen. The one letter I was sure about was the one to William. I’d written him the day we got to Philadelphia, to tell him what we knew about Lan. He’d written back right away — a short note to Mama and Papa saying how sorry he was to hear it and that he trusted things would work out well and he hoped we’d let him know when they did. There was also a letter to me that was a lot less formal and polite.

  I never really believed everything Lan said about Professor Warren, he wrote, but I guess he was right after all. I don’t know why Lan was taking that class, anyway — he doesn’t have the temperament for Hijero-Cathay an magic. Write if you need to, but don’t feel as if you have to. You have more important things to do right now.

  I wrote him back right away, even though he’d said not to. It was the one letter I really wanted to answer. All the well-wishing from other people was a nice distraction some of the time, but it got real wearing after a while, especially since we still didn’t know if Lan would be all right. Writing William was a comfort, because I didn’t have to watch what I said or pretend I was sure everything would be fine.

  Pretending everything would be fine got harder and harder as the days went by and Lan didn’t wake up. The doctors still wouldn’t let us see him, except for Frank, and Mama and Papa for just a few minutes a day. Finally, five days after we arrived, Mama cornered Frank.

  “I’d appreciate some more information,” she told him, in that tone that said he’d better fess up right now, or else.

  Frank sighed. “Mother —”

  “Your father has been a professor of magic for nearly fifteen years,” Mama interrupted. “I’ve seen my share of student mishaps, though thank the Lord no one has died of them. Still, I know what is usual and what isn’t, and this isn’t. You know more than you’re saying. Say.”

  “I — there isn’t much to say.” Frank looked at Mama, then Papa, then me. “From everything we know — and we’ve talked to the other students and examined both them and Lan — the critical period was the first seventy-two hours, and —”

  “Critical period?” I interrupted. “What does that mean?”

  Frank swallowed hard. “It means Lan should have died then, if he was going to. And if he wasn’t, he should have started improving.”

  “But he hasn’t,” Papa said heavily.

  “No.” Frank straightened his shoulders. “It’s been more than twice as long as we expected, and he isn’t improving. None of the treatments we’ve tried have helped. I don’t think he’s going to make it, Mama.”

  I stared at him, thinking that I should feel upset, or cry. I just felt numb and a little dizzy. It should have been a shock, but after so long, it was almost a relief to know, even though it was sad and horrible, too. Papa’s jaw tightened, and then his head jerked, just once. Mama’s face went a little whiter, and she nodded, too. “Then there’s no reason for us not to stay with him, is there?” she said.

  “I suppose not,” Frank said. “I’ll talk to the floor director. They may not want everyone there at once.”

  “Then they can come and tell us,” Mama said. “We’ll be with Lan. All of us. Daniel, Miriam, Eff.” She raised her chin and swept out of the waiting room, and we followed her. Frank hesitated, then trailed along behind.

  That was the first time they’d let Miriam and me in to see Lan. His room was hardly bigger than the box room in the attic at home, and I could see why they didn’t want a crowd of people in there. There was just room for the door to open without hitting the end of the narrow bed. The walls were painted gray, and there were plain, heavy curtains at the one window that had been only partly opened, so the light was dim. It smelled of medicine and sweat and the dusty tang of spent magic.

  Lan looked very small and white lying on the bed. I could tell just by looking at him that he wasn’t sleeping. He had bandages on the left side of his face and his left shoulder and arm; Frank explained in a low voice that he’d been burned when he’d stopped the spell and protected the other students.

  I nodded along with everyone else, but I didn’t really take in what Frank was saying. I didn’t seem to be able to think at all, or do anything except stand and stare. Mama took the one chair squeezed in beside the bed and held Lan’s good hand for a while. Nobody spoke much, and when they did, it was in soft voices, as if we were trying not to wake him. I thought that didn’t make much sense, since we’d all have been happier than Christmas if Lan had even moved or grumbled a little in his sleep, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to upset Mama.

  After about half an hour, one of the doctors came in and said we couldn’t all stay. I could see Mama was ready to argue, so I volunteered to go back and write some more letters if I could trade places with Miriam later. Mama nodded, and Frank said he’d walk me back to the hotel, so that was two less people for a while, and that seemed to be enough for the doctor.

  The minute I got out of the hospital, I felt better. I hadn’t noticed how odd and light-headed I’d gotten until then. Frank looked worried and solemn. By the time we got to the hotel, I just felt tired. I told Frank I’d answer some letters and then take a nap, and sent him back to Mama.

  As soon as he left, I lay down on the bed without even kicking my shoes off and fell straight asleep, and straight into dreaming. I could tell right off that it was another one of those dreams, the ones that were too sharp and clear and orderly to be normal dreams. I’d had another few since the last of the drowning dreams back in September — maybe one every couple of months — but I hadn’t thought on them much because they weren’t frightening. Mostly, they were just dreams of following the silver cord and watching the woods green up.

  This one started off that way, with me following the cord through a forest. The light started going, as if the sun was setting somewhere I couldn’t see, and a mist came up in the trees. Something tugged on the cord I was holding, and I nearly dropped it. It was pulling me left, instead of straight on, the way I’d been walking. I stopped moving for a minute, and the tug came again. I turned left and started walking again.

  The mist got thicker and thicker, until I couldn’t see the trees any longer. I tightened my fingers around the cord; if I accidentally let go of it and lost it in the mist, I’d never find it again.

  After a long while, the mist cleared and I was standing in the darkened kitchen of our old house in Helvan Shores. I felt unhappy and uncomfortable; I didn’t have a whole lot of good memories from there. The silver cord I’d been following was gone. Everything was quiet and empty and very cold.

  I shivered and looked around. The big black stove was barely warm to my touch, bu
t when I opened the fire door I saw a few embers still glowing in the heaped-up ashes of yesterday’s cookfire. I gave a Rennie-like sniff, wondering who had left the stove in such a state, and set out to mend matters as best I could.

  I started by getting the ash bucket and shovel from their place by the back door and clearing out most of the dead ashes. I left just enough around the embers to keep them from burning out. Then I went through the basket of kindling. I found a couple of likely pieces and a wood knife, and splintered off a dozen long, thin strips for tinder. I frowned. I could tell that I was only going to get one chance at this, and the embers were so low that I couldn’t be sure that my tinder would catch. I needed something even finer and easier to light.

  I thought for a minute, then took the knife to the hem of my skirt. Once I had a chunk sliced off, I teased the threads apart as best I could in the dark, until they made a light, fluffy ball in my hand. I stuffed the ball in my pocket for the time being, then carefully opened the fire door again. I scraped some of the ashes out, then made a tent of my tinder strips by leaning them against each other over top of the largest and brightest of the still-glowing embers. Then I pulled the thread-ball from my pocket and poked it in between the tinder strips and the ember, and blew gently.

  The ember glowed more brightly. The threads smoked, then flared up. They didn’t last long, but they lasted long enough to set fire to the tinder. Quickly, I put a larger piece of kindling up against the tinder, and then another as soon as the first piece caught. In a few more minutes, I had a small but steady fire burning. I added a middling log, then another, and adjusted the grate. As the stove began to heat up and the chill left the kitchen, I woke up.

  I felt terrible, all achy and stiff, and my chest felt cold. I got up and poured some water into the washbasin to splash my face, then paced a little to get some of the kinks out. Then I sat down to answer letters, the way I’d promised.