The Prince of Neither Here Nor There (25 page)

He had no idea how fast they were going. Guessing speed was impossible when there were no landmarks or reference points. Brendan had seen the surface of Lake Ontario many times while driving with his parents along the expressway. The lake seemed more like an ocean sometimes with huge slate-grey waves capped in white driving against the jetties. He looked in the direction he assumed was up and saw nothing but darkness outside the perimeter of the glow-weed’s reach. Strange. Something didn’t seem right. He thought about it for a moment before he realized what was bothering him.

“Where are all the fish?”

Oona looked back at him with a puzzled expression. “There are no fish. They are all gone.”

Brendan couldn’t believe it. “There have to be some fish.”

“Oh, there are some eels.” Oona stopped, hanging in the dark water, her face sad and serious. “There are some that scrape the muck for food in the deepest part of the lake. But no true fish remain, nor otters nor beavers nor any creature that swims. The lake is dead. Even we do not live here. We come to see if any life has taken hold. We patrol the waters to make sure nothing goes amiss. We try to punish the worst polluters by fouling their machinery and sabotaging their factories.”

“How is that possible?” Brendan asked, but even as he spoke the words, he knew. Pollution and overfishing, oil spills and chemicals dumped in the lake had sterilized the waters. How many times had he seen news reports saying that the waters were too full of disease to swim?

Oona’s eyes flashed with anger. “Drylanders have destroyed the lake, annihilated every living thing, and snuffed out the very soul of the waters.” Brendan could feel her anger burning in her voice. “Drylanders! We must obey the Truce but it is bitter for us.”

“What is this Truce? People keep mentioning it but no one explains it.” Brendan called out to her.

“An agreement, forced on our kind by the Drylanders long ago,” Oona answered.

With a flick of her powerful hands and feet, Oona increased her speed through the cold murk. Their conversation was at an end. Brendan kept his mouth closed, partly because the water they ploughed through made his lips flap if he opened his mouth and partly because bits of weed and dirt would get into it. The sensation was odd, as though he were flying through the water. He held on to Oona as tightly as he could. He didn’t want to be left behind in the dark watery wasteland of the lake. He thought about what Oona had said: the whole lake dead. What had the lake been like before people had come and poisoned it? He couldn’t even imagine it. The lake had always been a thing of beauty to him. Now he realized he was only seeing the surface. Beneath the waves, Humans had made a desert.

Time passed with the rush of water in his ears. At last, he marvelled as the floor of the lake came up to meet them. His heart fell again as he saw the rubbish strewn on the lake floor. Tires, shopping carts, rubbish bins, plastic bags, cans, bottles, and a million other discarded objects were half-buried in the sterile muck. They skimmed along a few metres above the lakebed and a metre or two below the surface. He could make out the lights of the shoreline and the wake of a boat, one of the ferries heading out to Centre Island.
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Daytrippers travelled out to the amusement park there and to ride bicycles on the island paths on the weekends.

Oona took them in among the frothing waves churned up by the ferry’s wake, corkscrewing in the turbulent water. Her mood appeared to have lightened somewhat. Brendan got a glimpse of what she might be like when she was in a happier time. She flashed a smile at him, a glimmer of white teeth in the darkness at his side.

They swam to a stop as they approached a series of regular, dark columns furred with green algae fronds. Oona guided them along through the massive pillars of the ferry dock, coming into shore. The water was finally shallow enough for Brendan to stand upright. He queasily placed his feet among the garbage and stood up.

His head came up out of the water beside Oona’s. He took a deep breath and immediately started to cough.

Oona slapped his back. “You have to get used to breathing air again,” she said, laughing at his spluttering. “Give it a moment.”

Brendan coughed heartily for a few seconds, spitting and choking until he had control of himself. Water flowed freely from his mouth and nostrils as he emptied his lungs. The bow wave from the ferry washed over him, filling his mouth with dank, oily water. He choked anew.

He was in the middle of the second coughing fit when Miv’s head, hair slicked back with water, broke the surface. He raised Kim’s head above the water. She was stirring but still not fully awake. “Here you go,” Miv said. He pushed Kim into Brendan’s arms. “We have brought you to the Island of the Ward as you have asked us to do. The Swan is here. We can do no more.” Miv and Oona turned away.

“Wait!” Brendan grabbed Oona’s shoulder. “Where are you going? I need you.”

Oona smiled ruefully and shook her head. “No. We go this far and no farther.”

“Why?” Brendan shifted Kim so he could get a better grip on her. He was starting to feel cold. “Can’t you live on land?”

The Silkies laughed. “No, no! Nothing like that. We can survive on the land for a time,” Miv told him. His dark eyes turned to watch the ferry easing into the concrete pier. “We choose not to. We will leave you here. Goodbye, Breandan. Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

Miv disappeared under the waves with barely a splash to mark his passing. Oona gripped Brendan’s forearm and squeezed. “Remember what you’ve seen.” She raised a dripping arm and pointed ashore. “Follow the path. There are signs for eyes that can see. The Swan awaits you. Good luck.” She winked and disappeared after her brother.

Brendan was left standing in the cold stinking water. Kim floated in his arms.

Now what? What am I supposed to do?

As he watched, he noticed a smudge of cloud roiling over the lake. Lightning flashed within the disturbance. The cloud was moving out over the lake from the centre of town. He had lost Orcadia in his trip under the lake but only for a while.

She was coming.

He jumped when the voice shouted from above him.

“I see you down there!”

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 The Toronto Islands were originally a peninsula connected to the mainland by a long spit of land. In 1858 a storm blew a hole in the peninsula, in effect cutting the islands off from the mainland. Humans believe the storm was natural, but it was actually part of the Ward conjured by Ariel to create The Ward’s Island. But I’m getting ahead of myself ... and I wouldn’t want to run into myself should the part of myself that’s ahead of myself suddenly decide to stop for some reason.

THE WARD’S ISLAND

“Are you deaf, kid? I’m talkin’ ta you!” the voice demanded angrily.

Brendan looked up and saw a man in a waterproof coat and hat staring down at him over the edge of the pier. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“U-uh,” Brendan stammered. “I was just … uh … swimming!”

“Ya can’t swim there! Are ya stupid or what? The water’s filthy! You could get cut to pieces by the props. Get outta there.”

“Okay,” Brendan mumbled. He hefted Kim under the arms and dragged her up onto the bank. The mud made the footing slippery and she was a dead weight. He fell a number of times before he managed to get them up onto the grass, where he collapsed beside her to catch his breath.

The man was still looking at him, taking in Kim with a critical eye. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Uh …” Brendan thought quickly. “She fell in and … she fainted from the cold. She’s fine. I’ll take care of her.”

“Just stay right there.” The man pointed at Brendan, indicating he was not to move. As he turned away, Brendan saw him take a radio from his belt. The man spoke quietly into it, and Brendan was sure he was calling the police. For a moment, Brendan toyed with the idea of just sitting, waiting for the police to come, but a look at the storm cloud boiling across the lake changed his mind. He knew that the police wouldn’t be any help against the likes of Orcadia. He had to find this place, the Swan. He had to get some answers.

He became aware that he was hearing music. A band was playing at one of the halls on the island. Brendan had been here for picnics in summers past. He knew there was an amusement park on one of the islands with little kiddie rides and a couple of restaurants and bars. He’d never heard of one called the Swan. He watched as a small airplane rose up over the trees as it took off from the Island Airport. He wished he could just fly away like that plane but here he was, shivering in the grass. What was he supposed to do now?

He reviewed his situation. He knew he was on one of the Toronto Islands, the small scattering of islets that sat offshore from the city. But which one?
The Island of the Ward,
Miv called it. He slapped his forehead. Of course. Ward’s Island. He’d read somewhere that it was named after a man named Ward, but now that he knew about Faeries, he wasn’t sure that was really where the name came from.
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His father had played a gig there last summer at the Ward’s Island Community Centre. Again, he couldn’t recall a place called the Swan, but he didn’t know the island well.

One thing was for certain, he couldn’t just sit here. Orcadia was coming, and the ferry operator was calling someone on his radio. Time was of the essence. “It’s up to me, then,” he said through chattering teeth.

He got to his feet and pulled Kim up with him. Carrying an unconscious girl around with him seemed like a sure way to attract attention, but he had no choice. He imagined that it looked very bad.
Hi! I found this girl and I’m taking her home! Not good,
he thought ruefully. The man in the white uniform watched him lift Kim and shuffle away. Brendan was certain the man was suspicious. He could feel the glare following them as he hauled Kim away. Brendan half-dragged, half-walked her to the convergence of paved paths that led away from the ferry pier. He had to find the Swan before the man could call someone to stop him or Orcadia caught up with them.

A street lamp cast a bright white light down over the signpost that listed possible destinations with pointed arrows.

“Centre Park. The Dock. Cycle Paths. The Marina. Ward’s Island Community Centre.” No sign indicating a place called the Swan. “Now what?” He was about to turn away from the sign when something weird happened.
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The central pole of the signpost began to grow!

A further foot of green post sprouted out the top and a sign unfolded. Written in an elegantly quaint hand, the sign read
THE SWAN OF LIIR THIS WAY
! Brendan rubbed his eyes and stared, but it wasn’t a hallucination. The sign pointed in the direction of the Community Centre, straight up the path toward the interior of the island in the direction of the music he’d been hearing. He hefted Kim and started off down the path.

The music swelled louder the closer he got to the Community Centre. Kim groaned, her head lolling forward as he struggled with her along the paved path. People passing gave him funny looks. He soon came to the edge of an open space. Reggae music was thumping, and the voices of people having fun, shouting, and whooping drifted from the open doors of the Community Centre. Light spilled from the broad windows and the wide double doors.

A cluster of people stood smoking outside the door. Soaked in sweat and steaming in the cool air after the heat of the Community Centre, they were laughing and chatting happily, but they stopped when Brendan shuffled past with his cargo.

“She’s not feeling well,” he explained lamely.

“Do you need a hand?” A young man stepped toward him.

“No! No thanks,” Brendan said quickly. “We’re fine. Her parents are inside. No problem!” The man frowned suspiciously. Brendan hurried past and came to the entrance, where an older woman with grey hair braided at the back and wearing a tie-dyed dress that spread out around her like a tent was sitting at a small table.

“Hi there,” she said, cheerily. “Five dollars each, please.” Then the woman noticed Kim. “What’s the matter with her?”

“She’s fine. Just a little sick. Flu maybe? She’s flu-ey, y’know. Flu.”
Flu-ey? Nice one, dummy.

The woman’s face went from cheerful to suspicious in short order. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing, really,” Brendan said. “I’m looking for a place called the Swan. The Swan of Liir? I was told it was near here?”

The wind was picking up, lashing the trees. A few drops of rain struck his face. The small hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. Orcadia was getting close, and he still didn’t know where the Swan was. He didn’t want to be caught out in the open when he was so close to the sanctuary Kim had insisted they find.

The smokers decided it was too cold to stay outside and shuffled into the hall. “Weird weather,” one of them said as they pushed past Brendan and Kim. He didn’t know how far away Orcadia was, but he felt instinctively that he didn’t have time to sit around.

“There’s no place named the Swan on the island.” The woman stood up. “You stay right here. I’m going to call security …” She picked up her cellphone and flipped it open.

Brendan turned away from the desk and looked in the direction of the city. The cloud bank had stopped. It appeared to him that the clouds had halted in a roughly semicircular line about two hundred metres from the building. He could see rain falling and lightning igniting the interior of the clouds, but they seemed to have stopped in their advance as if they’d run up against an invisible wall.

“No need to call security, Pearl,” a deep voice rumbled. “I know these two.”

Brendan turned and looked up into a dark smiling face wreathed in knotted dreadlocks. The man was easily the biggest man Brendan had ever seen. No, that wasn’t true. He wasn’t as massive as Borje, but Borje was a Troll and Brendan assumed that Trolls ran to the large side. This man wore a tight T-shirt with a portrait of Bob Marley stretched almost beyond recognition by his massive chest. His bare arms squirmed with muscle and were adorned with raised markings, scars in the shape of lions’ heads. His shaggy, dreadlocked hair was like a ropey mane draped over his broad shoulders. Twined in the strands of hair were beads and bands of metal, gold wire, and lumps of coloured crystal that glimmered in the lights overhead. His skin was like dark chocolate. In contrast, his eyes shone as blue as sapphires. He raised his massive hands and smiled, displaying an impressive array of gold teeth.