Prairie Fire (35 page)

It thrives on the prairies, where drums and pipes add volume and depth. But danger lurks, looking down from the mountains, and when it strikes, it strikes with deafening blasts from the horns and crashes from the percussion.

It struggles next, using all the pieces it has gathered thus far. It ranges high and low notes against a faster tempo, until at last, the music is overwrought and stops.

But that isn't the end.

The horn is a difficult instrument to learn and even harder to master when you have broken hands. But it climbs out of the ashes with the main theme, strong sounds in its bell and notes that hang like golden keys in thin air.

The other instruments find their way back in—strings, clarinet, flute, trumpet—until once again the orchestra swells together, following the rising and falling hands of the conductor to the triumphant finish.

It took me a long time to figure it out, the Story of Owen. I thought I was composing it, observing it from the outside and chronicling it for those who would follow in his footsteps, but I was wrong. I composed music, it was true, but that was not my role.

Burned hands will struggle to hold a lot of things, but a conductor's baton fit as easily into my hands as if I had been born with one clasped there. I stood in front of the Oil Watch Ceremonial Orchestra, made up of players from all around the globe. Most of them had only seen the music a few hours beforehand, and we hadn't had a lot of time to rehearse. I wasn't nervous, though. I knew what I was doing.

We were playing on Parliament Hill, the full Oil Watch orchestra, as part of the Canada Day celebrations. It was sunny and too warm, the way Ottawa got in the summer, like it was making up for being so cold in the winter, but I didn't care. My support squad and Porter had seats of honour in the boxes reserved for the NDP. Everywhere I looked, I saw red and white T-shirts, and flags with the Maple Leaf in the centre.

The broadcast system activated, and the crowd hushed as we were announced.

Everyone knew the Story of Owen. They'd seen it on the news and read it on the Internet, but today they were going to hear the version I had written. The sheet music was in front of me, rustling gently in the wind, and the eyes of the crowd and of the musicians, were fixed on where I stood.

I raised the baton.

And the story began again.

Da Capo al Fine

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Two books! Which is about two more than I ever thought I'd get to see on a shelf somewhere. Who'd've thunk?

Big thanks to Agent Josh, who was very understanding when I told him I didn't want to write a second Owen book and then sold it when I wrote one anyway, and to Editor Andrew, who learned almost as much about Canadian history and infrastructure as I learned about the publishing industry.

To my ever-expanding writing group (Emma, Laura, Faith, RJ, and Tessa), some of whom I surprised with the ending: I love you all the most. We should work on the whole geography thing. To the Fourteenery: you got me through book one AND book two, which I think is over and above for a debut group. Ditto on the geography, though. Marieke Nijkamp gets massive bonus points for volunteering to read the sequel without having read part one, and Dot Hutchison read it and told me everything was going to be okay when I most wanted to light the manuscript on fire.

Huge thanks to my family, especially my sister, who put up with me visiting for the weekends only to disappear for hours, and totally fail at child-minding (though I thought Eli did a great job duplicating Brett Lawrie's tattoos! And the markers were washable!), and to EJ and Jen for offering up their cottage as often as I needed it.

And special mention must be made here to John, who got married to my friend Emma while I was finishing up the first draft, and who was down with me sending the last ten chapters to her while they were on their honeymoon.

The music of Heather Dale was a great inspiration to me, both for
Owen
and
Prairie Fire
, and I am very grateful to be able to use the lyrics from “Joan.” Heather is a true modern bard with great music … and a Web site:
heatherdale.com
.

Finally, a shout-out to end all shout-outs to the staff at Chapters Kitchener. You have hand-sold my book like it was on fire, and I am so, so grateful for your hard work!

Prairie Fire
was born under blue skies on a windy hill overlooking the Athabasca River, begun on an airplane bound for Texas, and written in at least six different area codes.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Kate Johnston is a forensic archaeologist by training, a bookseller by trade, and a grammarian by nature. Someday, she's sure, she's going to get the hang of this whole “real world” thing, but in the meantime she's going to spend as much time in other worlds as she possibly can.

When she's not on Tumblr, she dreams of travel and Tolkien. Or writes books. It really depends on the weather.