Sacred: Eslura's Calling Page 3

  “You don’t suppose Mr. Pemadee would mind if I took just a little lick, do you?” He opened his mouth and plopped the whole candy inside, ran his tongue over its sugary surface, and decided that the flavor was delightfully sweet and delectably tart at the same time. “Mmm…it’s quite all right! You want a lick?” Barnaby plucked the candy from his mouth and held it out for Mauz. The toad ran his sticky tongue over its round surface several times. “Good, isn’t it?” Barnaby asked. Mauz croaked and Barnaby took the candy from the toad’s mouth and tossed it back in his. He sucked on it noisily as he skimmed the page of swooping script. Dear Mr. Pemadee…

  Boring, boring, nothing of importance…Olphin! He stopped and stared at the word to be sure he had read it correctly.

  Olphin. The word stuck in his throat like a fish bone. He swallowed nervously and continued to read.

  “I’m either going mad, Mauz,” he told the toad, “or there’s another Olphin in Eslura.” He could not believe the words as he spoke them. It must have been a terrible hoax.

  Pemadee had never mentioned another Olphin living in Eslura. The news struck Barnaby like a hammer, smashing all he had thought to be true.

  “Well, all right, all right,” Barnaby said, swatting a hand at Mauz, who was tickling his gill with his tongue, “Give me a second. I know you’re excited, but you don’t have to get me all slobbery.” Barnaby continued reading, his hands shaking with fear or excitement; he had not the spare thought to consider which.

  “Whoever wrote this letter says there was an Olphin in Treenode, and it was only marked a few moons ago. You don’t suppose they would still be there, do you? I mean, another free Olphin! Whaddya think, Mauz?” Barnaby hoped and prayed that the words were true.

  “Stay here, Mauz,” Barnaby said, wagging a finger at the toad. He set the letter back down on the floor, where he had found it. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Mauz croaked.

  “Oh, Mauz, don’t you worry one bit.” Barnaby patted Mauz’s lumpy head and smiled. “I’ll be okay.” At least he hoped he would be okay. He scooped up his cloak from the hook by the door and wrestled his arms into it. He pulled his gloves from its pockets and slid them over his webbed hands.

  If there was another Olphin in Eslura, Barnaby was determined to find them, even if it meant confronting the dangers of the world outside Tide Tale Alley. As beautiful as the world looked in photos, he knew it was crawling with scoundrels waiting to capture him and bring him to justice. The thought made him quiver.

  Barnaby shoved away his fears, pulled his scarf from its hook, and wrapped it around his gills, letting the soft cloth rest over the brim of his nose just below his glasses.

  He opened the door and the bell chimed, nearly scaring his little pants off him. The fresh breeze swept through his brown curls.

  He stood outside in the alley; the storefront window no longer separating him from the world. He turned back and peered into the store, his home—and his prison—for his entire life. His chair was empty, his broom still propped up against it. His world, his safe space, was all behind him.

  He let go of the knob and stepped forward.

  4

  Eslura's Calling

  Bea woke to a hand on her shoulder. She squinted and blinked, adjusting her eyes to the mid-afternoon sunshine, realized that wasn’t helping, and raised her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the dazzling rays.

  “Hey,” Reagan said, smiling, “we’re here.” Bea looked around the bus. The other campers had already left, leaving a trail of crumpled candy wrappers and salty snack bags in their wake. She could hear them talking outside the bus. Their voices seeped in through the open windows, tearing away at her peace and quiet. She leaned her head against the back of her seat, closed her eyes again, and sighed. Then she got up, moaning of course, and followed Reagan down the aisle and out of the bus.

  “Hey,” Jamie, now wearing a blue Camp Tossbridge shirt, called and trotted over with a wave. “How’d ya sleep?” She smirked. “The other campers are hanging out in the cabins. Lunch is in about a half hour.”

  Lunch? How did it already get to be time for lunch? The last thing on Bea’s mind was food. She was already nauseous from just being there. She grabbed her gut and felt like she might throw up.

  “C’mon, I’ll show you where to put your stuff,” Reagan said. She led Bea under an arched sign that attempted to spell “Camp Tossbridge,” but only managed “C—p T—sbri—e” through the moss and overgrown vines that were consuming it, and down a path cratered with potholes of sloppy mud and water from the previous night’s rainfall.

  Wave-like fumes billowed through the air, distorting the several wooden buildings along the way and making Bea feel like she was in some sort of horrific dream. Is this what not sleeping for a week makes you feel like? She pressed her hand onto her scalp and found that it was covered with beads of sweat. She wiped them off on her shirt and hoped she didn’t look as grimy as she felt.

  “That’s Gwenlyn Field.” Reagan waved toward the field to her right. “It’s where we’ll be spending the most of our time.” The field was the epitome of every camp field Bea had ever imagined. Volleyball nets, horseshoe pits, basketball courts, and picnic tables. A blackened firepit sat at its center. Sitting around a crackling fire sounded pretty nice, but when she factored in the other campers and the smoldering smell of smoke on her clothes, she decided she would rather not.

  On the opposite side of Gwenlyn Field, where the ground sloped downward, was a clover-shaped pond overlooked by a large, A-frame lodge with a wraparound porch. The murky-brown water was half covered by lily-pads and cattails that she, at first glance, mistook for corn dogs on long sticks. A group of younger-looking campers leapt into the water without a moment’s hesitation, splashing around and cheering as their counselor cannonballed in to join them.

  “It’s not as gross as it looks,” Reagan said with a laugh, “I promise.” Bea smirked. She knew. She had swum in her fair share of slimy pond water herself and lived to speak of it.

  Bea and Reagan’s journey ended on a grassy yard between four rundown shacks in a small clearing. Overgrowth strangled their sides and moss on their roofs bathed in what little sunlight that managed to break through the canopy of pines above. A densely packed maze of wood stretched endlessly around the clearing, reminding Bea of her old home.

  “All we ask is that the campers don’t venture into the woods by themselves,” Reagan said while Bea gazed around at the rustic setting. “You know, just to keep everyone as safe as possible. It gets pretty rocky back there.” Bea nodded and turned her attention back to Reagan. “All right, great!” Reagan smiled. “Well, welcome to your new home away from home, Bea.” Reagan walked up two steps to the cabin in front of them and tapped her hand on a wooden sign that read Black Oak Cabin.

  The cabin was tiny, musty, and hot, and smelled of sweaty bodies and mildew. Bea suspected this was due to the sole air conditioner being taped up with a sign that read “out of order.” A pill-shaped speaker sitting on a table in the middle of the room blasted upbeat pop music at an obnoxious volume, not that upbeat pop music was not obnoxious at any volume. Bea grimaced and wished she had snagged a pair of Joe’s earplugs.

  A half-dozen bunk beds, their mattresses sagging from decades of bouncing campers, were pressed against the moldy wooden walls. A couple of them had already been claimed by the duffel bags on top of them. The windows, two of which were boarded up, were darkened by the overgrowth hanging over them outside.

  “We don’t have a full group this year,” Reagan told Bea, “so feel free to choose whichever empty bed you’d like. Each one has its own cubby too, so you can just unpack your stuff in there. If you need anything at all, holler. I’ll be right over there in my room.” She pointed to the propped-open door on the far side of the room. Through it, Bea could see Jamie already getting settled. She stood on tiptoes on a wobbly stool with a tack between her teeth, attempting to hang a poster of a shirtless man with a cowboy
hat.

  Reagan joined Jamie, leaving Bea standing in the center of the room, trying to decide which bed was the least bad. Most of the girls chose to clump together, taking up all six beds on the right side of the room, making the decision an easy one for Bea: left side of the room, far left corner.

  She unloaded her bag into her cubby and pulled out her sketchbook. The worn leather surface bore the initials CT for her mother, Celine Tidal, the woman whose face she had not seen for nearly a year and a half.

  She flipped through the pages, perusing the countless worlds unknown to anyone except Bea and her mother. Her ‘escapes,’ she called them. The places she found herself traveling to when the world failed to bring her comfort—which, given her current predicament, was more often than not.

  Lost in the pages of her sketchbook, Bea did not notice the trio of girls prowling toward her corner of the cabin. “Well, well, well,” said a voice she recognized immediately. It belonged to Wren Grout, the principal’s daughter and self-made leader of the cheer girls, better known as ‘the clones,’ to most of the students at Mountbridge High School due to their inability to create unique personalities. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.” The lanky girl placed her hand on the bunk above Bea, trapping her as the other girls closed her in. Bea leaned back and tucked the sketchbook under her pillow, hoping that the pages wouldn’t get crumpled.

  “Wren,” Bea said. It was more than she wanted to say.

  “Mmm.” Ava Grout, Wren’s identical twin, pursed her lips. Her face was caked with enough makeup for a weeklong production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. “I’m just as surprised as you are.”

  “Haha, yeah,” Krista Letting, whose nasally voice always sounded like she always had a clump of snot lodged in her throat, snickered. “How is it being Mountbridge High’s only dropout?”

  “Yeah,” Ava chimed in, “where did you disappear to, huh?”

  Bea closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Not only did ‘the incident’ put distance between her and Fran and Joe, but it also caused her to be pulled from school and admitted to Mountbridge Psych Ward. Three days she spent holed up in that cage, three, painfully long and dull days trying to prove her sanity.

  “Krista, Ava,” Wren fake gasped, “too soon!” Ava put a hand over her mouth to hide her laughter and Krista shrugged. Bea scooted closer to the wall, hoping that if she didn’t feed into their comments they would give up and leave her alone.

  “Whatcha got there, Bea?” Ava cocked her head.

  “Nothing.” Bea didn’t even convince herself with the lie, let alone the snickering witches.

  “What is it, Bea?” Wren leaned in and hissed like the snake she was. “Don’t you know it’s not nice to keep secrets from your friends?” Friends. Bea let the word sit for a moment. Friends. She really let it sink in. Friends didn’t start rumors that you left school because you were pregnant. They didn’t steal your clothes from the pool locker room or throw ketchup on your pants to make it look like you’d…y’know…

  “Yeah, c’mon Bea,” Krista snorted, reaching her hand down toward the pillow. Bea put her hand on the pillow before Ava could touch it.

  “Please, stop,” Bea pleaded. The words caught in her throat and came out like a stutter. The girls laughed, though Bea could not hear the sounds coming from their open mouths. All she could hear was the terrible music blasting from Jamie’s speaker. It rang in her ears, making her want to bury her head under her pillow and hide with the sketchbook.

  “What?” Ava looked down her nose at Bea. “What’s wrong, Bea?” The other girls egged Ava on.

  “Hey girls.” Reagan came up from behind them, breaking through their circle. She put her hands on her hips. “Is everything all right over here?” She looked down at Bea, frowned, and narrowed her eyes at the girls.

  Krista pulled her hand away and shoved it into her pocket. “Of course! We were just catching up with Bea. It’s been a while.” She grinned, showing off her rainbow-colored braces.

  Lying, scheming, little…Bea bit her lip.

  “Mmm,” Reagan hummed, her lips pursed. “Why don’t you girls go start a line by the door? It’s about time we head over to the mess hall for lunch.” They gave Bea a final dirty look and walked toward the cabin door. Bea stared at her grey mattress, embarrassed.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Reagan said. “Between me and you”—she leaned down a bit and cupped her hands around her mouth—“I can’t stand them one bit, and yet they keep getting assigned to my group. Two years in a row. You know how painful that is?” Reagan rolled her eyes and Bea muffled a laugh with her fist. “They won’t bother you again, I promise.” Bea highly doubted her ability to keep that promise, but she looked up and mustered a “thanks” anyways.

  Reagan led the group of girls across Gwenlyn Field to the mess hall. Storm clouds hung low in the sky and tiny drops of rain fell on their heads. A line of campers, both older and younger than Bea, had already formed outside the building, huddling beneath the overhang to escape the rain. Some held their trays above their heads as makeshift umbrellas, while others ignored it and eagerly awaited whatever food was attached to the smoky smell that wafted out the window.

  The bright, fluorescent lights inside the hall irritated Bea’s eyes. Handmade posters decorated the side walls and a splotchy mural of painted handprints covered most of the back wall. A few grumpy-looking staff members lurked in the kitchen, near the front of the room, and doled out their meal.

  Bea made her way up the line and placed her tray on the long table in front of the serving staff. One of the lunch ladies, whose green hair was held back by fishnets, grabbed a foil-wrapped burger and a bottle of water from two stainless steel tubs and placed them on her tray.

  When Bea turned to face the room, every table was full, and her heart started to race. Her chest tightened, and she felt herself getting ready to hyperventilate. She stood and gaped at the scene, not knowing where to go or whom to sit next to.

  “Excuse me?” Someone tapped her shoulder. A boy behind Bea leaned around her and gave her a look as if to say, “Move it.” She realized she was still standing at the front of the line, blocking the other campers from getting their food.

  She took a step toward the crowd, mustered a smidgen of courage, which was all she had at the time, and squeezed through the maze of circular tables, dodging chairs that scraped across the floor and ducking under hands that jutted out across the tight aisles. At last, she found an empty table in the back corner of the room by the fire door. She sat down and used her napkin to wipe away some splotches of mayonnaise and a small puddle of unrecognizable green sauce on its surface. She then pulled out her sketchbook from her bag, double checked the table was clean, and flipped to a new page.

  Two tables over, she heard her name being passed around in conversation. Wren, Krista, Ava, and six other girls were seated at a large table. They cupped their hands and whispered to one another, snickering and looking toward Bea to see if she heard.

  She did.

  As if it couldn’t get any worse, Wren, Krista, and Ava stood up, lifted their trays, and strolled over to Bea’s table.

  “Hey, Bea.” Wren put down her tray. “Whatcha got there?”

  Bea closed the cover of the book and went to tuck it under her seat, but Ava crouched quickly and grabbed its cover.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ava said. She had either smeared her lipstick with her food or had ketchup on her face—it was hard to tell. “Aren’t you gonna let us see it? All you ever did in school was draw in this thing. Is that why they kicked you out?”

  Bea rolled her eyes. She wished she had gotten kicked out, but that just wasn’t the case. She scanned the crowd for Reagan, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  “Oh!” Krista laughed into Bea’s ear. “You’re looking for your little friend, aren’t you? Well, she’s all the way across the room.” Krista pointed at Reagan, who stood chatting with another counselor. “Don’t you see? Busy with someone other than you
.”

  Bea fought Ava’s hold on the book, but the girl dug her long, fake nails into its cover.

  “Let go of it, you little—” Ava kicked Bea’s chair and jerked the book from Bea’s grasping hands. “Sheesh.” Ava rolled her eyes. “You’d think she was hiding a million dollars in the thing.” Ava flipped through the book’s pages seeming to make sure that no hundred-dollar bills were actually tucked inside. “It’s just a bunch of stupid drawings? Who cares?” She handed the book to Wren, and the three girls sat down at Bea’s table.

  Krista nudged Bea with her elbow. “Did your momma teach you how to draw like that?” Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “What a shame! Poor old Ms. Tidal couldn’t stand her loser daughter anymore so she up and left.” Ava put her hands on her rouged cheeks and pouted her ketchup lips.

  “Girls, please,” Wren said, “we don’t want to hurt her feelings, do we?” She smirked at Bea and flipped the page in the sketchbook. “Hmm…” She looked over the top of the book. “Speak of the devil herself, Ms. Celine Tidal.”

  Bea clenched her fists in her lap and tried hard not to swing one at Wren’s cheek. She did not want to test her odds against the girls. Her bi-weekly mandatory gym class where she hid in the bathroom half the time did not prepare her for this. She eyed the rest of the campers at the tables around them. No one was paying any attention to the trio or Bea, and her only hope, Reagan, was preoccupied across the room.

  “You know what?” Wren tapped her finger on her chin. “She looks just like you, Bea. A little not-quite-there-in-the-head, ya know what I mean?”

  “Oo, oo, lemme see!” Krista begged. She scooted forward and tried to look over Wren’s shoulder.

  “Patience, Krista! You’ll get your turn,” Wren snapped. She elbowed Krista in the side. Krista wobbled in her chair and nearly fell off.

  “Give it back,” Bea mumbled.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, did you say something, Beatrice? Could you speak a little louder for me? I just can’t seem to hear you when you speak like a church mouse.” Wren cupped her ear and leaned closer.