Hannah and the Wild Woods Page 4

  The next time I look up from filling my bag, the others are even farther away, not much more than specks at the end of the beach. Peter waves to me and I wave back, but thankfully, they stay where they are.

  My hair is covered with tiny water droplets, and I have to keep wiping away the moisture that forms on the end of my nose. I hate to admit it, but Aunt Maddie was right. It is wet here, and even though it isn’t raining, the dampness finds its way into all of my clothes. It’s going to feel great to sit on the warmed river stones of the hearth in the Big Kahuna when we stop for lunch.

  There is a loud “caw” overhead, and Jack swoops down to pick something up off the beach in front of me. He flies straight up in the air only to release it, and whatever it is bounces off the rocks. It looks like a ratty piece of dried-up seaweed to me, but never a dull moment for a hungry raven, I guess. As if on cue, Ruth rings a bell from the porch of the Artful Elephant.

  “Woohooo!” Peter hoots, jogging toward me on the beach with Jade not far behind. “Quittin’ time!”

  His long hair is wet against his neck, and his boots are caked with mud and sand. “I don’t know about you,” he says with twinkling eyes, “but I’m starving.”

  “Same here,” Jade and I say in unison.

  We walk up the beach to the wooden steps that lead to the deck of the Artful Elephant. When I look back over my shoulder, I see Sabrina lagging behind, dragging a mostly empty garbage bag, along with her feet. She’s wearing a white-belted raincoat and a pair of knee-high, bright-white hunter boots. Even out on this wild beach, she’s dressed to the nines.

  Lunch turns out to be homemade pizza, loaded with about fifty delicious toppings. Why does working outside make everything taste so amazing once you come inside?

  “Um. I’m allergic to shellfish,” Sabrina says rudely, eyeing the shrimp on the pizza.

  “Oh no!” Ruth jumps up from the table. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I have some leftover soup in the fridge. It’s no trouble at all to heat some up and—”

  “No thanks. We had that yesterday; it was cream-based. I don’t do dairy well, either.” I stare at Sabrina, unsure of whether or not she’s telling the truth. She could be playing one of her mind games. I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s pretty good at that sort of thing.

  “You seemed to do dairy just fine the other day when you had all that whipping cream on your hot chocolate in the Salty Dog,” I say, helping myself to a piece of pizza.

  It was a soy latter’

  I Sabrina says defensively, “and there was definitely no whip.”

  Someone knocks at the front door, and Norman begins barking furiously in the hallway. I notice the hackles on his back are raised a little.

  “Shush, Norman!” Ruth says, swatting him with her napkin on her way to the door. But Norman doesn’t shush. If anything, he barks even louder.

  There are some muffled voices, and Norman is quickly sent to another room. When Ruth returns, a girl carrying a red backpack follows close behind her.

  “Everyone?” Ruth says, “This is Kimiko. She’s a little late to arrive but she’ll be joining in with you guys as part of the clean-up crew.”

  Kimiko is stunningly beautiful, and looks to be around seventeen or eighteen. She’s Japanese, with porcelain skin and luminous amber-coloured eyes that twinkle even though she’s not even smiling. Her shining black hair is braided: four on either side of her head, gathered into two ponytails.

  “Hello,” she says quietly, tugging at the hem of her purple sweater. She sets her pack down against one of the armchairs at the edge of the kitchen. “I’m really sorry to interrupt your meal.” She pulls a crisp, white lace-edged handkerchief out of the pocket of her green cargo pants and dabs at the spots of rain on her face.

  Handkerchiefs? Who uses handkerchiefs anymore?

  “Interrupt?” Ruth snorts. “Don’t be silly. We’re pretty informal around here. Just roll up your sleeves and dig in.”

  Kimiko sits on the other side of Peter, and I notice that Sabrina looks anything but impressed with the arrival of this exotic-looking newcomer. Her cheeks are red and she begins picking shrimp off a slice of pizza.

  “How long are you staying in Canada?” Ruth asks.

  “Oh, I’m just visiting here for just a little while, to see the West Coast. But I heard about the Coast-is-Clear program in Tofino. I thought it seemed like a good thing to do. So I called the number and talked with Peter.”

  Peter nods and smiles, his mouth full of pizza.

  “Well, that’s awfully decent of you,” Sabrina says sarcastically. “I can think of a million things I’d rather do than pick wet, mouldy Styrofoam off a beach in the rain on my spring break.”

  “I won’t mind,” Kimiko says thoughtfully. “Vancouver Island is so lovely, and I like the big trees.”

  “At my house,” Sabrina snorts, “we have hired help to clean up any garbage we leave behind.”

  Peter ignores Sabrina and turns to Kimiko. “Well, the way I see it? We all share the planet, so if everyone pitches in, it’s a win-win, right?”

  Sabrina rolls her eyes and flicks a shrimp off her slice of pizza with her fork. “Oh, pleeease! Gag me. You’re as bad as Hannah. You both sound like walking inspirational posters.”

  I’m speechless, but Peter just laughs it off. Kimiko, on the other hand, stares at Sabrina for a long time, a look of confusion on her face.

  “After lunch, the girls will show you your room, Kimiko,” Ruth says, pouring our new team member some tea. “You’ll be bunking in with them.”

  “Oh,” Kimiko says with a dazzling smile. “We will be sharing a room?” Her eyes dance and she starts in on a piece of pizza as though she hasn’t eaten in a week. “How wonderful! We will be like sisters!”

  Even though Kimiko must be a few years older than me, her enthusiasm is childlike, and I grin at her. Sabrina, on the other hand, just drums her fingers on the tabletop.

  “Right,” she says. “Sisters. Wonderful.”

  By the time nine o’clock rolls around, everyone is ridiculously tired, having put in a full day of bending and stooping on the beach. We all spread out in the Big Kahuna, not doing much of anything, while Peter and Jade pick away at a duet on their guitars. I recognize the song right away—some old Johnny Cash tune about a train and being in prison.

  I ask if I can use the land line in the kitchen to call home. Like everything else in the Artful Elephant, the phone is old school, an avocado green one that’s attached to the wall. It even has a rotary dial! I have to ask how it works, which makes me feel stupid, but how would I know? This phone is probably older than my dad. I’m amazed it still functions.

  Our answering machine picks up, so I leave a quick message for Aunt Maddie, and then one for Izzy, nagging her about Chuck and Poos. After I hang up, I grab my almost-dry boots from the mat by the door.

  “Where are you off to?” Ruth asks, looking up from her book.

  “I just want to see the beach in the dark,” I tell her. “Just for a couple of minutes. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

  “Well, stay back from the water, Hannah. The wind out there is very unpredictable this time of year.”

  “Okay. I’ll be careful.”

  As soon as I’m outside, my cheeks sting from the salt spray that hangs in the air. I pull my hood up over my head and trudge down the steps to the beach. There’s no moon tonight, but I can see where I’m going from the dull glow cast by the porch light.

  I don’t need to go very far. It’s enough to sit on a piece of driftwood and just breathe deeply of the sea air. I close my eyes, letting the sound of the waves fill up my head. The ocean here is so different from the ocean in Cowichan Bay. At home, the water is mostly unchanging—flat, and busy with houseboaters, sailboats and kayakers. Most of the sounds I hear there are generated by the businesses on the shore. The smell of the ocean there is mixed with others of gasoline, baking bread, and fish and chips from the Salty Dog Café. But up here, everything is raw and wild an
d fresh. I get the feeling that things here haven’t changed all that much from the way they’ve always been.

  I open my eyes, and wait for them to adjust in the dark. Soon I can see the frothy white foam that appears when the waves break on the shore. It’s bright, with flecks of … wait. There’s something else down there—something in the seafoam—a glimmer of light that appears and then disappears as the waves break and recede. At first I think I’m imagining it, but then there’s another flash of light, followed by a dark shape on the sand that appears to be chasing it.

  Despite Ruth’s warning, I run over to investigate. Besides, the waves aren’t very big and the wind isn’t too scary. There’s that flash again! Yes, there is definitely a bright spot in the water. Phosphorescence? I’ve heard about that stuff—how you can be mesmerized by schools of tiny glowing plankton that put on an underwater fireworks show at certain times of the year. Is this one of those times? But as I get closer, I know that’s not what I’m seeing.

  The dark shape hops near the edge of the water and squawks at me.

  “Is that you, Jack?” I say, coming closer. “Whatcha got there? What is that?”

  He cackles again and dips his head in the foam just as another wave approaches. There it is again! Something bright; something glowing; something that appears to be caught in a piece of floating Styrofoam.

  I jump back to avoid the advancing water right at the same time that Jack frees the luminous object and takes off with it. He skims the surface of the sand, a sphere of bright light flickering just below his beak.

  “Jack! Wait! Come back!” But he flies high up over the beach toward the wall of trees at the top of the shore. As I stumble my way through the tangle of dune grass toward the forest, I see the faint white light halfway up a cedar tree.

  “Come on, Jack,” I plead from the ground. “Show me what you’ve got there! Please?” This is not an unusual game for us. We do it all the time. Jack is always flying off with shiny objects that he believes are worthy treasures. Most of the time, they’re just coins, aluminum pop can tops, or long lost earrings. This, however, is intriguing. My first guess is that it’s an LED on a key chain or something.

  I watch as the tiny circle of light travels to the end of a branch and then stops moving. I wait. Nothing happens, and I start to grow impatient with Jack. He’s playing hardball this time, and he knows he can’t squawk back at me. He knows that if he opens his beak, whatever is in it will fall out.

  It’s only when another raven cries from somewhere beyond the trees that Jack instinctively calls back. That’s when the sphere of light drops through the branches and lands inches from my feet.

  Chapter Six

  It’s a ball. A hollow glass ball about the size of a jumbo marble, attached to a gold chain. I pick it up, marvelling at the soft golden light that spills into my hands. It vibrates gently, and heat spreads across my palms all the way to the very ends of my fingertips.

  A red spiral design encircles the bottom half of the ball, and a single black Japanese character sits just above it. I pick up the chain and dangle the ball in front of me. The chain is missing its clasp but the O-rings at either end keep the ball from sliding off. Its brightness is dazzling against the black night sky.

  What is this thing? Did it float across the entire Pacific Ocean on that piece of Styrofoam, all the way from Japan? I take a woollen mitten from my pocket, wrap the strange glowing object inside it, and tuck it away.

  Instinctively, I touch the sliver of abalone that hangs on the cord around my neck. It’s the necklace I’ve been wearing since I was twelve-years-old, and it was given to me by Yisella, the girl I met from an earlier time—the time when I first met Jack. I smile as I remember the events of that magical summer; how special the abalone necklace had been to my new friend, and how amazed I’d been when Jack had flown through time to deliver it to me after Yisella and I had said our final goodbye. That was almost three years ago.

  A sudden gust of wind wakes me from my daydream, and I pull my coat tight around me. I need to get back to the lodge before someone comes out looking for me. I pat my pocket, and though I’m not sure why, my instincts tell me to keep my find on the down low, at least for now.

  When I reach the lodge, there is hot chocolate in the making. As I take off my boots in the hallway, Kimiko comes in and stands before me like a statue. “Where were you just now?” she asks, and for some reason I feel as though I’m in trouble.

  “Um, on the beach?”

  “Why?”

  I laugh a little. “Because it’s there, and I felt like it?”

  “Why did you feel like it?” She leans in closer, and I look at the others, but they’re all crowded around the big square coffee table in the Big Kahuna, playing some nerdy fantasy board game.

  “That’s a very strange question,” I say, standing up.

  Kimiko doesn’t move—she’s totally invading my space bubble—but at the same time, she looks truly confused. “It is?”

  “Yeah. But the answer is simple: it’s a beautiful beach, and I felt like seeing it in the dark.”

  “You can see in the dark?” Kimiko’s eyes grow wide. “So can I!”

  I squeeze past her, and place my boots on the rubber mat by the door. What is with this girl? By now, the others have stopped playing their board game, and are looking over at us with curiosity.

  “It’s true,” Sabrina calls out, suppressing a smile. “Hannah has night vision.”

  “She’s right,” I say. “I’ve been this way for a few years now.”

  It isn’t a complete lie. Ever since that summer in Tl’ulpalus, when Yisella taught me how to “be” in the forest, I do feel pretty comfortable in the dark.

  “Did you see anything interesting out there just now?” Kimiko asks quietly.

  I place my hand in my jacket pocket, resting it on top of the mitten. It’s very warm, almost hot. “No,” I say. “Just waves, rocks and driftwood. Standard beach stuff.”

  Kimiko stares at me with those strange amber eyes. I try to look away, but it’s hard. There’s something really different about them, her pupils especially. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but all the same, it’s a little unsettling.

  Despite everyone’s good intentions, by ten o’clock we’re all struggling to keep our eyes open. Jade and Peter brief us about tomorrow’s plan and then check the Weather Network for storm updates and things.

  I head upstairs before Sabrina and Kimiko do, my hand in my pocket. I close our bedroom door and sit down on my bed. Then I carefully roll the glass ball out of the mitten and onto my pillow. It’s so perfect. There isn’t one chip or crack on it, despite the likelihood of it having floated all the way across the ocean on that piece of Styrofoam!

  I grab my phone and snap off a bunch of photos of it from different angles, then pick it up and roll it around in my hands. The light inside it has turned from yellow to a deep orange, and it feels even warmer to the touch than it did before. Warmer, and then suddenly hot! So much so that I drop it like a hot potato on the pillow, fanning my fingers in front of me in a desperate effort to cool them.

  When I hear footsteps on the staircase, I scoop up the now red-hot ball in my hands and juggle it frantically before dropping it into the I LOVE NYC mug on my nightstand. It lands with an audible hisssssss into my cold tea, and I leap off my bed and blow on my fingers.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Sabrina asks, coming through the door.

  I think fast. “A spider. I saw a spider in my bed.”

  She screams and runs into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

  While she’s gone, I take a few deep, slow breaths. “It’s okay,” I call out, trying my best to sound calm. “It’s gone now. It’s safe to come out.” That’s when I notice the little round scorch mark in the centre of my pillow and steam rising from my previously cold mug of tea.

  Chapter Seven

  When I wake up in the middle of the night, I’m not gonna lie, the house isn’t the only
thing that’s a little rattled. Rain beats against the window, and the wind whistles through the entire length of the Artful Elephant, making the old house heave and groan.

  I turn over and my hand brushes against the rough scorch mark on my pillow. The glass ball! I squint in the darkness. I can see a lump in Sabrina’s bed, but Kimiko’s looks untouched.

  I reach for my phone and activate the flashlight app. I was right. Kimiko is definitely not in her bed. A second later I see her standing at the foot of mine!

  “Sorry,” she says, cool as a cucumber. “Did I wake you?”

  “Why are you standing there?” I back myself up against the headboard and fling my phone down beside me. Kimiko’s braids are no longer tied together; all eight of them hang down in front of her to her waist. I’m instantly reminded of that horror movie that came out when I was little—the one with the creepy little girl who climbs out of a well.

  “I heard something. Outside. I came to look. That’s all.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’ll probably think I’m crazy, but I’m a bit nervous here.” She laughs. “This is nothing like my home in Japan.”

  “It is pretty windy out there tonight,” I say, allowing my shoulders to relax a little.

  Kimiko twists her fingers in the lace frill of her vintage cotton nightgown. It looks very white, and in the half-light I can see there is delicate embroidery across the front of it.

  “Don’t worry,” I say as she pads back to her bed. “It’s always windy up here. It’s totally a Vancouver Island thing.” But then I start thinking about that tidal wave again, and wonder if Kimiko was actually in the middle of it when it happened.

  “Kimiko?”

  “Yes?” Her voice is calm and even.

  “Were you there? I mean, in Honshu? When the tsunami hit?”