The Fires Beneath the Sea ebook - Lydia Millet (primary phonics .txt) 📗

“And what was that,” said Max, almost coldly.

“A war,” said their mother simply.

“A war with—a war with guns and bombs?” asked Cara.

“It may not look like that kind of war. Not at first. But it may become that kind of war, if we don’t win quickly enough. It’s why we have to fight it. And I’m going to need all of you.”

“Then why not Dad?” said Max. “He thinks you left him!”

He shook his head, kicking the ground at his feet.

“Max,” said their mother. “Your father is a grown man. He’ll be OK. It’s you three I’m worried about right now.”

“Well, I’m worried about him,” said Max stubbornly.

“What’s happening now dates from long, long before I met your father,” she said. “This is a new battle in a very old conflict. And I’m afraid we just can’t tell him everything we might like to, Max. There are things going on that are beyond the reaches of what he knows, what he accepts to be the world …”

She paused for a second, then went on.

“Wild happenings,” she said.

A chill wind rushed through the pines around them, a sweeping wind that moved the branches roughly for a few moments, dropping needles and cones on the ground, and then settled down again abruptly.

“There are events taking place that would test anyone’s threshold. Events that honestly …”

“What?” prompted Cara.

“… that would simply be too much for some people. For their minds to deal with.”

“You’re saying he couldn’t deal? That he’d have some kind of breakdown,” said Max flatly.

“The truth is, for all your father’s strengths—and they are many—he’s not ready for this.”

“He’s not ready,” said Max, “but we are?”

“You’re different,” said their mother. “You’re meant to be a part of it. In every life, Max, there’s a moment of testing. One moment where things turn. And this is yours. You have to believe, as your sister and brother did. You have to make that leap of faith. They made it already, but you still have to. This is a fight for all of us. And believe me, I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t have to.”

“But what are we supposed to say to him?” asked Cara. “Max is right. We’re not the only ones who miss you. He’s really lonely. This is so hard for him, Mom.”

“I know, sweetheart,” said their mother in a voice full of regret. “But you’ve already seen the danger I put you in, haven’t you? You, the people I love most in the world. You’ve seen the kind of—elements that are after me. They’d be after him, too, if he knew. Just like they’ve been after you. And believe it or not, he’s actually more vulnerable than you are. Because he’s not a child anymore, he lacks some of your advantages.”

She detached Jax gently from her side and took his hand, then turned and walked over to where a couple of rusting lawn chairs were fallen over. She flipped one upright and sat down on the edge of it, leaning forward. Jax hovered beside her, still clutching her fingers.

“I’m sure,” she went on, “that you don’t want him exposed to that any more than I do. He doesn’t have your resilience, you know. Adults, after all, are more … brittle. In some ways we’re harder, and that makes us easier to break.”

It occurred to Cara how gracious and elegant she looked, even sitting on a broken chair in her wet hair and bare feet and simple sundress—like a queen.

“You can tell him I spoke to you, if you have to,” she said, and sighed. “Tell him I’m—tell him that one day I’ll come back. That I want to now, but I have a duty. Ask him if he remembers where we first met. Those are my people. Tell him there’s a crisis in the world, a crisis that’s all around us but whose roots are deeply hidden. But I’m close to those roots, and I have to do what I can. Can you repeat a phrase, Jax?”

“Of course I can, Mom.”

“Then tell him this. It’s something you already know, something you’ve seen this week and are beginning to understand, but he doesn’t know. Few adults do. It’s this: Die Tiere sind nicht, was sie scheinen.”

“OK.”

“And to you three, I promise: when it’s over—when it’s really over—then I can come home for good.”

“You haven’t explained anything,” said Max. “You’re speaking in code.”

“The Pouring Man,” put in Cara. “He got Rufus killed! I mean, who is he? Really? And why is—was—he after you?”

“He was a servant,” said their mother. “A servant of the Cold One, a servant who is not alive. An elemental in the water army. In this war, the enemy has his forces arrayed that way—those who operate through water. Those who operate through earth. Those who use air, those who use fire … and there are others, too. There are other soldiers, other servants. He wasn’t unique. But because of your courage, he’s gone now. And I’m so … so very sorry about poor old Rufus.”

They were silent. Cara felt the push of a little anger at her mother, anger that what she was doing—all of this, even if it wasn’t exactly her fault—had hurt Rufus.

Had killed him.

“He was a good dog,” said Jax quietly.

For a moment Cara wanted to do nothing but listen to the rhythmic lap of the tide.

“What was that—was that an orca?” she asked finally. “Why are we seeing all these—I mean, orcas and Pacific sea otters and creatures that shouldn’t be here? To say nothing of selkies, which aren’t even supposed to be real. I mean, why was a sea turtle talking to Jax?”

“Friends,” said her mother, and smiled. “Friends have joined the battle. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy….”

“Hamlet,” said Max, half-grudgingly.

“And those—those pirates? That were ghosts? What was their connection?” pressed Cara.

“They were just captive souls. Some of the souls the Cold One was imprisoning, through one of his