The Whisper (11 page)

“You wicked beast,” the girl told the bear. “You are no longer my brother.”

Like the wolf, the tribe did not suspect the bear. They laid blame upon the creators. And the girl replaced the bear with a lion. The arrangement worked once again, until it didn't. The beast's appetite won out. This time the tribe's greatest hunter was the meal.

It kept on like this for a while. The girl refused to tell the truth about her brother, she continued to replace the animals, and people kept getting swallowed up in the forest. Soon, the only ones left in the tribe were the girl and that turtle, the one that had originally eaten her brother. Due to a steady diet of frogs, the turtle had grown to the size of a mammoth.

“Do you plan to eat me and end this tribe?” the girl asked the turtle.

“No,” the turtle told her. “I plan to protect you. To keep you alive so that you will grow very old and realize how foolish and selfish you have been.”

Sure enough, that's just what the turtle did. He kept the girl from harm, lending her his shell when she needed protection, catching extra frogs and fish so that she would always have food. And she lived a long, healthy life.

When they were both quite old, the turtle asked her if she regretted what she did.

The girl, now an old woman, replied, “No. Because I lived much longer than I would have without your help. Lying was the smartest thing I ever did.”

This angered the turtle so much that he finally revealed the truth to her. “All of these years and you haven't learned one thing!” The turtle then transformed into an old man and stood in front of her.

“Brother?” the old woman asked.

The old man nodded. “The same,” he said. “That day at the pond, I did not become a frog. I became a turtle. And you became a liar.”

This was not the end of Cabal's story, but it was all the tribe would hear, for Cabal stopped the tale when Hela, who was their oldest member, began to weep.

“Do not worry, Hela,” Cabal said. “It's only a tale. This girl did not exist.”

“But she did,” Hela cried. “The girl you described was Una, with her long arms and big eyes and scar on her cheek. And the boy? He was Banar.”

“Who is Una?” Cabal asked. “Who is Banar?”

“I am the only one old enough to remember,” Hela said. “When I was a girl, there was a boy named Banar who impersonated animals. The chaos spirits drowned him in the creek one night. Not long after that, they took his sister, Una. We never saw her again.”

The rest of the Hotiki gasped at this. “I know nothing of these people,” Cabal said.

“Of course you don't,” Hela said. “No one does. Because we chose not to speak of them, for fear that the chaos spirits would come after us all.”

“I believe you're seeing something in my tale that is not there,” Cabal said.

Hela stood up and pointed a finger at Cabal. “I believe your tale comes from an evil place. I believe you know not what fills your head. I believe you are possessed by the chaos spirits and have no place in the Hotiki.”

Since Hela was the eldest in the tribe, she was trusted to be the wisest. The rest of the Hotiki agreed with her when she said that Cabal might be dangerous. Even Cabal's parents thought it best when the tribe decided to isolate him for two rainy seasons.

“We will not speak to Cabal,” Hela decreed. “He will not speak to us. We will bring him food, but that is all. He will live alone in the smallest of our caves. And if after two rainy seasons we are safe from the chaos spirits, then we will let him live with us once more. But he must not tell such tales ever again.”

There was no arguing with Hela, and Cabal accepted his fate. He set out to live in the small cave. It was a cramped and dank place. Water dripped from the stalactites and onto Cabal's head when he tried to sleep. It kept him awake for hours. In the past, when he couldn't sleep, he would make up stories, but he tried to wean himself of that habit now.

I must think of only things I know,
he told himself.
I must not let the stories in.

There was no stopping them, however. The stories rushed in at an alarming rate, piling up in his head. Soon there was no room for them and they started replacing his memories. By the end of the second rainy season, Cabal hardly had any memories left. His head was only stories.

Hela came to him one morning and said, “You have been noble and brave to live alone for all these days and nights. The Hotiki have been safe. Would you like to rejoin us now?”

With an innocent smile, Cabal said, “Yes. But first I'd like to finish that story.”

 

MUCH LATER

 

CHAPTER 8

Broken icicles as thick as tree trunks covered the floor of the cavern. Cracked and splintered bones lay scattered throughout. A penguin stood a few feet from Alistair, his black wings crossed like arms across his white chest. The penguin winked and smiled, and Alistair scooted away on his butt and the heels of his hands. “It's okay,” the penguin whispered. “Forget your worries.”

Forget your worries? Easy enough for him to say. He isn't sitting where I'm sitting.

The penguin clearly hadn't just witnessed a monster attack hundreds of people. The penguin clearly wasn't covered in blood. Sitting on the frosty ground, Alistair examined himself—his clothes and their rusty, earthy sheen. He paid particular attention to his hands. Yes, they were bloody too.

“It's confusing, I know,” the penguin said. “New places. New creatures. Takes some adjustment. I can help with that. My name is Baxter. My game is hospitality.”

The penguin bowed low, his beak almost touching the ground, but the gesture didn't impress Alistair. He wasn't about to be burned by a bird once again. “Stay back,” he said.

Baxter nodded respectfully, held his ground. “I take it that your visit is an unplanned one?”

On the walls of the cavern there were little lights, not much different from Christmas lights. Only a handful were lit. They spelled out a message:

H
E WON.

A few raggedy, emaciated polar bears hovered overhead, in the upper reaches of the cavern, aided by propellers that sprouted from their backs. The propellers were flesh and bone, as much a part of the bears as their chapped noses, as their yellow teeth, as their crescent-shaped claws that grew like terrible black flames from their dangling feet. Their eyelids were low, and their eyes were glassy and pink. They didn't seem to notice Alistair, and he had never seen anything like them.

Yet he had heard of something like them. Exactly like them. “Your name is Baxter?” Alistair asked.

“Yes.”

“Baxter the penguin?”

“Yes. Would you prefer another name?” Baxter replied. “I'm open to suggestions.”

In the middle of the cavern, there was a throne made of ice. It was cracked and empty, but Alistair imagined a girl with a fur-lined parka perched on it. “Who created you?” he asked.

The tip of Baxter's beak dipped and his voice became somber and respectful. “You are looking at the first and most loyal friend to Chua Ling, a creator of great wit and generosity.”

Chua Ling. She was Fiona's friend. Fiona had told Alistair stories about her. “You're serious?” he asked.

Baxter put a wing to his heart. “I don't kid about Chua.”

Chua had gone missing almost a year before Fiona. It was her disappearance that had set off a chain of events that led Fiona to tell Alistair about Aquavania. If it weren't for Chua Ling's insistence on stopping the Riverman, Alistair would have been at home, asleep in bed, instead of stuck sitting on the ice talking to a penguin. Of all the corners of Aquavania he could have ended up in, Alistair had landed in one of the few he had heard about. It was either a fabulous stroke of luck or another elaborate trick.

“If you were really created by Chua Ling, then tell me, what was her favorite snack?” Alistair asked.

The question sparked Baxter's eyes, and with a flick of a foot, the penguin sent himself sliding across the ground as if he were wearing skates. It was impossible to avoid the bones, and as Baxter plowed through them, femurs and vertebrae clattered together like wind chimes. Eventually, his curving path led him to the throne of ice, behind which he ducked down for a moment. When he reappeared, he was carrying a bowl filled with potato chip crumbs.

“Salt and vinegar were her absolute favorite,” Baxter said. “But for guests, she served barbecue. More of a crowd-pleaser.”

A simple answer of
potato chips
would have sufficed, so Baxter's thoroughness was impressive, but Alistair wasn't completely satisfied. The best liars are thorough. “What did Chua say when she was excited?” Alistair asked.

“Hot chocolate!”

“And who did she love?”

“Her mom. Her dad. Her sister. Werner Schroeder … and me.”

The bird was right on all counts, and Alistair only had two more questions.

“Do you know Fiona?”

“Of course.”

“Then what's her last name?”

Baxter put the tip of his wing to his chin and thought on it until the best answer he could give was a squint and a “Haven't the faintest clue.”

It was a trick question. If Baxter had known Fiona's last name, or had given a false one, then he wouldn't be Baxter, because Fiona had never told anyone in Aquavania her last name. The only person in Aquavania who knew her last name was the Riverman, the Whisper … Charlie.

Charlie. He might never have learned that Fiona visited Aquavania. But Alistair had scribbled her secret on a bathroom stall. Stupid. Charlie had read it and had figured out how to find Fiona in Aquavania, how to exploit what she needed and capture her. Sure, it was another of Alistair's numerous mistakes, but the fact that it was a mistake didn't make it feel any less shameful.

“You realize I have to be cautious?” he told Baxter. “I have to be sure you are who you say you are.”

“You're frightened?” Baxter asked.

“Aren't you?”

Baxter shrugged. “Worst possible thing has already happened to me: I lost Chua. What else is there to be frightened about?”

“You don't even know who I am,” Alistair said. “That doesn't frighten you?”

Another shrug. “You're in trouble. Doesn't take much to see that. People don't usually crash through our floor covered with blood and asking a bazillion questions. You need help, and I'm here to help. Besides, you know Chua. Are you her friend?”

Alistair shook his head. “I only know Fiona.”

“I see,” Baxter said. “How is good ol' Fiona?”

“You don't know?”

The split in Baxter's beak twisted up in embarrassment. “Since Chua's been gone, I haven't talked to anyone. It's been pretty much me and the bears. Not all of them have survived, as you can see. Lean times here.”

The remaining bears continued to fly in lazy circles near the top of the cavern. That's when Alistair realized that there was no sunlight, starlight, or firelight in there. Except for the dim message on the wall, the only illumination came from the bears' patchy fur. They were like glow-in-the-dark toys that were almost out of juice. Watching them made Alistair sad and dizzy, so he turned back to Baxter. “Do you even know where you are?” he asked.

“I'm … where I've always been?” Baxter asked.

Alistair sighed. He was used to being the ignorant one in Aquavania. Now, met with this penguin's pleading eyes, he was the one who had to explain. “The Riverman took Fiona,” he said.

Baxter took a breath, closed his eyes, and nodded.

“Just like he took Chua,” Alistair went on. “And when he took them, he took their worlds too. You are where you've always been, but you're also somewhere new. Your world has moved. Floated into other hands. The Riverman has your world now. And around here, they call him the Whisper.”

Baxter opened his eyes. A tear slipped out. “It's been so hard without her.”

“I know.”

“I'll admit I felt it,” Baxter said, shuffling closer to Alistair as his voice gradually crumbled. “It's been more than her absence. Things have been … different. Things have been … off.”

Alistair didn't realize what was happening until he found himself stroking Baxter's head. The penguin was hugging Alistair's shoulder and burying his face in Alistair's armpit. “I'm sorry,” Alistair told him.

“I tried to ignore the difference,” Baxter cried. “All I cared about was getting Chua back.”

“I know, I know,” Alistair said. “I care about the same thing.”

Baxter pulled his head out from the pit and looked up at Alistair. “You do?”

“That's why I'm here. To find Fiona … to find both of them.”

The words slipped out and there was no taking them back, especially since they made the penguin's webbed feet wiggle with excitement. Alistair could only nod with a feigned confidence that he hoped would convince Baxter he wasn't in over his head. That he hoped would convince himself.

*   *   *

Over the next few hours, Alistair told Baxter his story. He didn't mention Charlie Dwyer, because he didn't want Baxter to think he could be friends with such a … person. But he talked about everything else he knew about Aquavania and the Whisper. He told him about Mahaloo, Polly Dobson and the Ambit of Ciphers, about Hadrian, the Hutch and Potoweet, about the Mandrake.

“I'm not like that,” Baxter said. “I am penguin through and through.”

“I know,” Alistair said.

“Where do you think this Mandrake came from?”

“Hadrian said the Whisper is his master.”

“And why does he make him do horrible things?”

Alistair pretended to think this over for a moment, but he knew the answer immediately. “For fun.”

“I don't understand,” Baxter said. “What's so fun about destruction?”