Island of Fog (Book 1) (21 page)

“Actually,” Robbie said, “I read about this in one of my bug books. Three hundred million years ago there were dragonflies two-and-a-half feet long, and the reason was because there was more oxygen in the air back then—”

“It was around thirty-five percent,” Miss Simone said, nodding. “Scientists in both our worlds have uncovered many, many fossils of huge insects from that era. But such enormous bugs are not feasible in a world with only twenty-one percent oxygen, which is why bugs today are so small.”

Robbie nodded. Then he frowned. “Could that be why your world has more intelligent species than ours?”

“That’s the general consensus,” Miss Simone agreed. “Increased oxygen means better and faster development of muscles and organs. Even brief tests have shown that. Apply that logic to millions of years of evolutionary development and you can see why even a slight variation in the oxygen level might make a fundamental difference to life on the planet. In your case, growing up here in your world—on this island—dramatically slows the manifestation of your alternate identities, giving you time to grow into your human bodies.”

She paused for thought. In that moment, Hal realized how utterly silent the night was. Even the bullfrogs had stopped croaking.

Hal had a sudden nagging feeling that something was very wrong. He looked sideways at Abigail, but for once she seemed at peace with what Miss Simone was telling her.
The truth at last.

“There’s something strange though,” Miss Simone continued. “We discovered long ago that a sudden change in oxygen levels midway through the process somehow messes things up. There are many documented reports about this, and I have a very good friend who is living proof. He’s a shapeshifter too, a strapping six-foot man who can transform into a flying horse. Only he can’t fly. When he was eight and first began to show signs of transformation, the scientists were impatient to introduce him to my world to study how he interacts with the elusive flying horses. In their haste they brought him across too soon, before he had learned to fly. The scientists figured that he had already undergone a full transformation, wings and all, so all that was left was to actually learn to fly. And yet he never did.”

“Why?” Emily asked.

“Nobody knows. It’s a mystery. Of course, one case alone isn’t anything to go by. But this has happened repeatedly in history. Almost every similar developmental failure can be attributed to haste.”

Miss Simone glanced around at them all.

“You can imagine my horror when the virus struck this world. I thought to myself, why did this happen on
my
watch?” She sighed heavily. “Well, we developed the fog very quickly and started pumping it through to your world, and it did a very good job of keeping the virus away. It still does. But we were always unsure of the effect it would have on you children over a period of years. We feared that it might prevent you from changing. Only time would tell. To our surprise, young Thomas changed a little earlier than expected, at age six.” She lowered her gaze to the road. “It wasn’t the most successful of transformations—in fact it was a disaster, as you know. But it gave us hope that we still had a group of young shapeshifters on the way.”

Hal thought about Thomas falling off the cliff, being pulled under the water by unseen hands, waking in a strange place. Had Miss Simone been part of that?

“We were extra vigilant from that day forward,” Miss Simone went on. “But nothing happened to the rest of you, and you all turned eight and then nine without a sign of change, and then more years passed and still nothing happened. You can imagine our increasing frustration and worry—you’re now four years late!”

“It’s not your fault, though, children,” Hal’s mom called from the ring of silent adults.

Miss Simone shook her head. “No, not your fault. But my people are worried sick. People are being killed through misunderstandings with neighboring communities. Just recently the naga folk thought we were deliberately diverting a river away from their neck of the woods. Actually a rock slide blocked it, and we were in the process of clearing it when the naga sent someone to investigate.”

“Naga?” Emily asked, with Wrangler lying happily across her bare feet.

“Snake folk,” Miss Simone said. “Half snake, half human . . . Anyway, naturally they got the wrong end of the stick. They’re a prickly species anyway, and this just enraged them. So they sent a forest’s worth of snakes into the settlement and . . .”

She broke off and fell silent at last.

“If you could have communicated with them properly,” Abigail said, “you might have been able to explain the situation and avoid an ugly scene. Is that it?”

Miss Simone nodded. “A simple conversation. That’s all we needed. It’s the same with the ogres. They’re lovely, docile beasts, not an ounce of malice in them. Yet they cause so much trouble for us, and for other species too, just because they blunder around the land and don’t stop to think.” She snorted. “They’re intelligent enough to be talked to and reasoned with in their own tongue, but too dumb to be a real threat. They’re like oversized four-year-olds. You can lead them away from danger and trouble by coaxing them, dangling a carrot on a stick—but if you upset one, you’d better run.”

Hal nudged Robbie and grinned. Robbie scowled back.

Miss Simone frowned, catching the private exchange. But she said nothing. Instead, she turned slowly in the street and made a final chilling statement that caused Hal’s goose bumps to rise again.

“Because of this man-made virus,” she said in hushed tones, “which has effectively wiped out most of the population of your world, I fear for the future. I fear that your world is lost forever, and because of that I fear that my
own
world may be on its way to chaos and war with other species.

“You, my children, may be our final generation of shapeshifters.”

The evening was growing colder by the minute, Hal decided as he stood outside in the street under the feeble moonlight. Even wearing his magic clothes, or ‘smart’ clothes as he still thought of them, he was beginning to shiver. Now he understood why Miss Simone wore a cloak; there was only so much cold these garments could keep out. The glow of lanterns from inside Fenton’s living room once more looked welcoming.

But Miss Simone had no intention of going inside now. Around her stood all the parents. Feet shuffled and eyes darted. There was an air of expectation. Enough had been said; it was time for a demonstration.

Hal looked at Abigail. “Want to go first?” he asked. “Since you were the first of us anyway.”

Abigail pouted for a second, and then shrugged. “Sure, why not.” She stepped away from Hal and Robbie and moved to the center of what suddenly seemed like a performing stage in the middle of the road. She glanced at her mother. “Ready?” she said softly.

Dr. Porter hugged herself and nodded stiffly.

Hal wondered what was going through the minds of his own parents. What must it be like for them, knowing that their child was about to turn into some kind of monster? How often had they worried about this night? Did they even know what kind of monster Hal was?

As he was debating this question, Abigail sprouted her wings. They just popped out in an instant, her dress parting obligingly at the back. As several adults gasped, she began buzzing and lifted easily off the ground.

“Oh!” her mom said, hands flying to her face. Tears were welling up again, but she was smiling with joy.

Abigail flew closer and then buzzed quickly around the road, obviously showing off. Now the other parents were smiling too, and to Hal’s amazement, they actually started applauding.

Encouraged by the positive vibes, Abigail buzzed over heads and spun in mid-air. She had a beam on her face.

Finally, she stopped in front of Miss Simone and bobbed up and down. Miss Simone was nodding with approval, hands on her hips.

“Very good,” she said. “Very, very nice.”

“I’m a faerie, right?” Abigail asked.

“Yes,” Miss Simone said, nodding. “Although in my world they still use the word
fae
. The fae folk are everywhere, and there are many species, so simply calling yourself a faerie is not very precise. It’s rather like cats; there are many kinds of cats, you see, including lions, tigers, cougars, and so on.”

And manticores
, Hal thought.
Do they count as cats?

“Still,” Miss Simone said, nodding again, “we’ll stick with faerie for now.” She reached out and brushed Abigail’s hair aside. “Hm. Your ears aren’t pointed. How strange. And you’re much too big to be a real faerie. Can you shrink?”

Abigail landed abruptly and her wings went still. “What?”

Miss Simone cleared her throat. “The fae folk are tiny,” she explained. “About the size of my hand.” She held it up palm upwards, fingers straight, in case her point wasn’t clear enough. “I wonder if perhaps yours is only a partial transformation.”

Abigail shot a glance to Hal. “Um . . . well, I don’t know anything about that. This is all I know.”

“Oh. Well, perhaps it’ll come to you in time.” Miss Simone glanced around. “All right, who’s next?”

Somewhat deflated, Abigail came and stood by Hal again. He nudged her and whispered that she’d done well. “You just need to practice on the size thing, that’s all,” he finished. “And your ears aren’t pointy enough.”

He laughed at Abigail’s snort.

Robbie stepped forward. “Okay, my turn. Ready, Mom? Dad?”

Mr. and Mrs. Strickland both looked delighted. It was clearly enough for them to know that their son could change, regardless of what he would become.

Robbie’s transformation came as quickly as Abigail’s, only it was far more dramatic. Almost everyone in the circle took a step backward when the ogre exploded into being. With Abigail there had been looks of delight; with Robbie it was awe, mingled with touches of concern. Wrangler, who had seemed only mildly surprised at Abigail’s sudden transformation, now laid his ears back and tensed as Robbie loomed over him.

As a ripple of applause echoed through the night and Miss Simone began speaking, Hal looked for Fenton. There he was, still hanging from the lamppost, watching everything but remaining absolutely motionless. In the dark of the night he was now a blacker-than-black shape, with just his tiny, glowing red eyes giving him away, and even then because Hal was looking in his direction and knew he was there.

“Wonderful, wonderful,” Miss Simone said, sounding bright and cheerful. Gone was her icy attitude; now she was as warm and pleasant as the sun had been that afternoon at the top of the lighthouse. “A fine specimen, if I may say so!”

Robbie shifted from one foot to the other, looking oddly confused, like one of his bugs wondering how it had got caught in a jar. After a while he returned to his usual skinny self and gave an exaggerated bow to the now delighted crowd.

As the applause died, Mrs. Bridges called out. “Where’s Fenton?”

In unison, Hal and his classmates turned to Fenton. There was silence for a moment while the adults searched the darkness, following the collective gaze of their children, trying to find the missing boy. And then Dewey’s mom gasped and pointed, and one by one the adults saw the black, serpentine creature hanging from the lamppost.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this,” Mrs. Bridges murmured.

Miss Simone gave a grim smile. “Just don’t faint like you did the first time you saw him like this,” she said quietly. “He’s still your son.”

Hal caught this private exchange and was startled. So Mr. and Mrs. Bridges, as well as Miss Simone, had already seen Fenton’s full transformation? He supposed that was logical; after all, Miss Simone wouldn’t have arranged for Fenton to leave the island otherwise! But it proved that Fenton could change back and forth and wasn’t ‘stuck’ in his present form, so why he remained so was a mystery.

“Come on down, Fenton,” Darcy called. “Show us what you can do.”

It seemed for a moment that Fenton hadn’t heard—either that or he was ignoring them. But then, slowly, he began to move. He gripped the post tighter, hugging it closer to his sinewy torso, and then his impossibly long tail slowly unwound from the overhanging lamp, and his slender, reptilian body eased down the post.

Apparently noticing the creature for the first time, Wrangler started barking frantically. Emily hugged him and whispered in his ear, trying to calm him.

Fenton slithered across the paved surface, lazily pushing himself along with his gangly legs. It reminded Hal of his and Robbie’s short journey on the raft a few days ago, when they had stood on the platform and paddled gently with shovels. Fenton slid across the road with the gracefulness of a raft on calm water.

His red eyes gave no hint of recognition or humanity. Even Hal, himself a lizard-like creature, shuddered at the sight of the black serpent as it eased into the center of the audience. But the fact that Fenton was here, obediently presenting himself for inspection, proved that
the boy was still himself
. His human mind was in there somewhere, however mysterious and menacing he appeared.

Finally Emily managed to calm Wrangler. The border collie seemed very unhappy, crouching low and baring his teeth. A low, continuous growl came from his throat.

Meanwhile the adults were quiet. Almost
too
quiet. Hal wished they’d say something. The last thing he wanted was for Fenton to feel like some kind of freak. The idea of the boy bolting in shame and ending up like Thomas filled Hal with fear. A deranged manticore was bad enough!

“Fenton, do the water thing,” Hal said, breaking the silence.

Fenton swung his head to look at him. Then he swung back to look at the adults. Hal thought he saw a momentary flutter somewhere in Fenton’s elongated body, like a muscle spasm, and in the next moment water spewed out of Fenton’s mouth in a perfect stream, pooling on the road before him. The audience parted as the puddle spread. Wrangler couldn’t help letting loose a high-pitched whine.

Then Fenton stretched his neck and, with a sinister hissing sound, breathed on the puddle. The water solidified, thickening and turning a dull translucent gray.

Miss Simone grinned and nodded, then leaned down to touch the solidified puddle. It yielded under her touch like soft putty. When she took her finger away, the dent she’d made slowly smoothed out.

“Fenton is a very rare species,” she said quietly. She knelt and gently patted Fenton on the head as if he were a pet. “There are only two that we know of in our entire land, both ten times bigger than Fenton.”

Hal gasped. Ten times bigger . . . !

“Fenton is so rare that his species doesn’t even have a name,” Miss Simone went on. “He’s a cross between a dragon and a serpent—a water dragon, or perhaps a serpent dragon. Dragons typically live on land, while serpents live in water. Fenton is amphibious, like a frog or a newt. He breathes air but can spend great lengths of time underwater.”

Fenton’s long tongue flicked out.

“What’s remarkable about Fenton is that he has a couple of extra stomachs for holding water. Many animals have four stomachs—cows and giraffes, for example—and camels have three. But normally they’re for storing and processing food . . .”

Miss Simone seemed to be lost in a world of biology, and the intent look on her face was a little disturbing. Hal decided she was exactly the sort of scientist Abigail had described on numerous occasions, the sort who would stare with morbid fascination at a creature in a cage, poking it with needles and making notes, seemingly unaware or uncaring of the subject’s feelings. The only difference was that Miss Simone wore a green cloak instead of a white coat.

“But where cows regurgitate food into their mouths and continue chewing on it,” the scientist went on, “Fenton regurgitates water and spits it out.” She pointed at the solidified puddle. “It’s a defense mechanism. The water from Fenton’s stomach contains all sorts of strange chemicals, and it dries very quickly after being spat out, turning into a glue-like substance. Breathing on it seems to speed up the drying process.” Miss Simone looked almost awestruck. “This is a fearsome weapon against predators.”

Her face was red with excitement as she stood once more. She looked around and realized that her audience of mystified adults and horrified children were not quite as enthralled as she.

“I just thought he was a gargoyle,” Hal said.

Miss Simone nodded. “Remember that the two adult creatures in my world are ten times bigger than Fenton. One attacked a village recently. Nobody knows why; it just appeared and started spitting water at people, and breathing on them. You can imagine how horrible that was.”

“How awful!” Emily cried.

“There’s a story,” Miss Simone said, “about one of these creatures crossing into your world. It ended up in the Seine River, in France. The locals, of course, were terrified at the sight of this monster, which apparently flooded the land with the foul-smelling water spat from its mouth. These stories are always exaggerated and twisted, of course, but there’s some truth to it. You see, the creature’s stomach holds a limited amount of water, and while that water is stewing in the creature’s belly for several hours, it develops its strange glue-like characteristic. When it spits out that water and breathes on it, the water solidifies. Once the stomachs are emptied, the serpent dragon can drink more water and spit it right back out again, but of course freshly swallowed water won’t turn to glue when breathed on. So the creature, frantic to escape, ended up swallowing and spitting ordinary water—lots and lots of it. That’s what it was remembered for in your own history books: the
Gargouille
, as it was named, a bit like
gargoyle
, the name of carved statues that have water spouts.”

“Is it me, or is the moon brighter?” someone asked. It was Mr. Morgan, Dewey’s dad, a big bearded man with a strange accent. He rarely spoke, but when he did, his voice boomed. He was Welsh, if Hal remembered correctly. Whatever
that
meant.

Everyone glanced first at Mr. Morgan, and then up at the night sky. Hal had to admit he had a point. Perhaps the fog was finally starting to clear!

And that was when he had that awful nagging feeling again, that something was very wrong. Yes, the fog was clearing, and while this fact was exciting, at the same time he felt that he and his friends had made a terrible mistake. In that moment he realized he should mention the fog-hole to Miss Simone. He should tell her that it had been blocked and the fog was lifting. Should they be worried about the virus? Surely not. Surely it was long gone by now.

But what if it wasn’t?

Miss Simone had already moved on to the next performer, leaving Fenton to sidle away. As fascinating as Fenton’s transformation might be, nobody could shake the sinister air of menace that followed him. As he moved into the shadows by the side of the road, several eyes followed him warily, including Wrangler’s. Even Fenton’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Bridges, seemed on edge, and they stood in silence as they watched their son slither past.

Lauren was next in line to demonstrate her transformation. Her change was dramatic and, it seemed, extremely welcome after Fenton’s eerie presence. As white fur sprouted in an instant and her impressive bird-like wings snapped into place, applause once again broke out. Lauren looked relieved at the positive reaction after hearing all those tales of harpy raids.

In an effort to show off, Lauren took a few long bounds and launched into the air, flapping hard. Heads ducked as she soared overhead. She arced around and came at them again, swooping and putting on a show to a ring of delighted faces. Even Wrangler appeared excited now, his tail wagging gently. Perhaps his mood was directly affected by that of the audience. He seemed confused, but if everyone was happy, well, perhaps this enormous bird-like thing was all right.

Mrs. Hunter was overcome with emotion, her tears flowing freely. She kept saying, “My little girl,” over and over. Her husband, a broad grin across his face, was clapping the loudest of them all.