The Water Queens (Keeper of the Water) (23 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

My eyes snap open and though the bedroom is still mostly dark – and John still snores – I can tell that hours have passed. The first vestiges of the early sun lighten the sky outside my window but my mind hardly registers that dawn is coming. Instead, all I notice is the tingling of warning that tugs on the back of my mind. Something is wrong and I jump out of bed.

I don’t bother to wake John as I rush from our room, the whole time silently cursing myself for falling asleep in the first place –
if
that’s what it was that happened when I tried to connect with Cassie…

When I open the door to Janey’s bedroom, I breathe a sigh of relief to see a big bump beneath the blankets. I’m about to retrieve my bow and do another perimeter search of the house until I realize that big bump doesn’t seem to be moving. Careful not to wake her, I tiptoe to the side of her bed and slowly ease back the blanket. Beneath, I find no girl but two large pillows. A lump the size of a golf ball fills my throat and my insides turn to ice. In my panic, my mind somehow registers that one particular book is missing from its shelf.

I rush around the house, searching every crevice for Janey though there’s not many to choose from. In my room, I launch a pillow at John’s head but don’t bother waiting for him to wake up to explain. Instead I rush out the door – not bothering to close it behind me – and search the porch, the gardens,
anywhere
around the outside of our house. Still nothing. I expand the search by checking the village, praying that I’ll find her out for a morning walk though she’s never done that before.

As I get farther from our house, my desperation grows fervent. I run at full speed around the mountain; a few of the village’s early risers are already out working but I don’t care if they see me moving at unnatural speeds. I eventually make my way near the top of the mountain but Janey’s not at the spring, either. I’m about to run off to keep looking when my eyes spot an object on the ground beside the water. I come to a screeching halt and fall to my knees.

Janey’s well-worn copy of
Pride and Prejudice
sits in plain sight. I pick it up and open to the inside cover. Writing fills what used to be blank space, a flowing artistic scrawl I recognize at once; I taught Janey to read and write when she was three and her penmanship is already better than mine.

Dear Mommy,

I am sorry I left the house twice when I wasn’t supposed to but this is very important. I am leaving to find Mary so she can bring me to Spain. I must help to heal the Keeper, even if she is evil like you think. I hope you won’t hate me for doing this. I know you don’t want me to go because you love me and can’t live with the thought of putting me in danger. That is why I have made my own choice so you don’t have to feel bad about it. It is the right thing to do and if I ever want to become a great Amazon like you one day, this is what must happen to make sure they don’t become extinct. I love you and Daddy very much so once I help the Keeper, I hope she will leave us all alone and stop being mean to you two. I will see you soon.

Love, Janey

Janey’s words leave me breathless and heart-broken. I feel worse than ever about telling her so much about the Amazons and Cassie; I feel even more foolish for underestimating her intelligence, underestimating her ability to process information I’ve given her. As much as I want to blame Mary’s appearance for this, the only person to blame is
me
.

I jump to my feet, praying she doesn’t have a big head-start on leaving. The sun has risen higher in the sky than I realized – my frantic search of our village and mountain took longer than expected. I look between the mountains in the distance and spot the blinking lights of the morning’s first ferry already leaving the island. The second boat should be close behind though it’ll still be tough to get there in time. Still, that doesn’t mean I’m about to give up.

I run down the mountain to our house, rushing inside to see John emerge sleepily from our bedroom.

“Where did you girls go this – ”

“She’s gone!” I snap. “Janey left!”

His heavy eyes suddenly open wider in alarm.

“We have to go
now
!” I yell.

I rush into our bedroom and grab the bow beneath the bed, slipping it over my shoulder. I stuff John’s cash into my water-tight backpack before rushing to the living room, where John is pulling on his shoes.

“There must be a logical explanation for this,” he says. “Have you checked everywhere? The spring?”

I throw
Price and Prejudice
at him and he quickly reads Janey’s note as I shove our picture album into my backpack.

“Convinced?” I ask.

I don’t wait for his response before running out the door; John is right behind me as I rush to the car. The only thing I give way to John about is driving but when he turns the key, the engine refuses to start. It’s not unusual for the car to give us problems but
of
course
it happens at the worst possible time. In my mind I’m certain Mary has something to do with this but John has his own theory.

“You’re always so damn hard on the clutch when you drive it!” he snaps at me.

My instinct is to yell back but seeing John so upset – even if he misdirects that anger – at least proves he’s finally taking this threat seriously. I just hope it’s not too late. I get out of the car and look through the mountains. I see the second ferry of the day approaching. It’s about to disappear from my view behind the mountains, which happens when it’s nearly at the port.

“Maybe Niko will let me borrow his Vespa,” John says.

If we had the time, I’d raise an eyebrow and shake my head at his suggestion. He might be hundreds of years older than me but living a normal life on the mountain – far from danger – has left his instincts duller than mine.

“There’s no time for that,” I say. “We have to run.”

I take off toward the steep driveway, leaping down in a single bound despite years spent carefully traversing it. Since walking away from the jungle with John, this is the first time I tap into my water-fueled abilities. I may be older and further removed from my last sip of special water – not to mention having a baby in that time – but I haven’t lost a step. A quick glance behind shows John right on my heels. In less than a minute, our house is nothing more than a speck on the mountain in the distance. A part of me is glad there’s no time to feel guilty about leaving our home behind.

At first we run along the paved road that winds up and down and through the numerous mountains that separates us from the port town. But John is the one who realizes this isn’t the most direct path; he leaps off the road. I follow him over rocky terrain, my legs pumping so furiously that the difficult land causes me little problem. Few cars travel into this sparsely populated section of island but anyone watching the scenery might see more than just mountain goats climbing around. I sill don’t feel like we’re making progress quickly enough so I consider dropping the pack from my back. But the horrific thought that I might never again see Janey enters my mind and I can’t bear the idea of ditching my only pictures of her across the island. This thought alone is enough to spur to move faster. It’s not long before John is half a mountain behind me.

Civilization looms ahead. A half-hour trip by car takes only a third of the time on foot. I don’t bother to slow down as I bolt through Batsi and approach the port town of Gavrio. A few cars honk as I zip by – and I nearly collide with a fat man riding a moped – but the port is soon in sight.

“It’s about to leave!” John calls out just behind me.

I didn’t realize he caught up but it shouldn’t be surprising that he’d figure out a shortcut. As if to confirm his warning, the ferry’s whistle blares, echoing across the early morning sky. Dozens of trucks and cars – which must’ve just debarked down the ferry’s large ramp – drive in our direction, headed toward all parts of the island. We run between the tight spaces of traffic and my shoulder smashes into the side of a truck, knocking a side mirror clean off. Once clear, we see the ferry’s large ramp being raised as the boat glides farther and farther from the dock.

“We’ll have to jump!” I yell.

“It’s too far!” John yells back.

Neither of us slows down. The ferry is at least fifty feet from the dock and the ramp’s platform has raised more than a dozen feet. But with the crowds clearing out, nothing stands in our way and we both accelerate near the end. A lone dock worker somehow realizes the approaching blurs are people and he tries to yell out a warning. But his words get lost in the rushing wind. John and I reach the dock’s edge and launch ourselves skyward. As I soar through the air, I’m fairly certain the ramp is rising too quickly. I smash into the underside of the metal ramp, the fingertips of my right hand somehow grabbing onto the ledge. Luckily, John’s not weighed down by a backpack like I am so he has a much easier time grabbing on. Just before my hand slips, he grabs me and pulls me up. Together, we climb over the lip of the ramp and slide down the other side before it can close all the way and slice our bodies in half.

The angle of the ramp is steep and the drop is far. A normal human might not survive such a fall, or at the very least end up with a pair of shattered legs. But John and I land smoothly, much to the shock of five ferry workers just inside, men in bright orange vests who stand around smoking cigarettes. When they get over the surprise of seeing us still on our feet, they drop their cigarettes and rush toward us, one of them yelling. I can’t understand what he’s saying but I know when I’m in trouble – not that any of these mere men can stop me.

“Come on, let’s just hope Mary or Janey or
both
didn’t get on the
first
ferry that left,” I say.

We blow by the sailors and run through rows of cars and trucks packed into the cargo section like sardines. The ferry workers yell and chase us but can’t keep up. We run up the stairs to the passenger section. I swallow hard; the boat is packed. I just hope it won’t be hard to find a little girl with a black woman among the sea of olive-skinned Greek families. But we don’t even have time to begin our search when a high-pitched alarm begins to buzz loudly. Apparently our intrusion won’t be taken lightly; the bow on my back doesn’t help me look so innocent either.

Panic quickly spreads among the passengers. Calm and seated just seconds ago, the passengers as one seem to rise scatter. Any hope for a quick search is gone.

“You check outside and the balcony!” I call out to John over the panicked cries. “I’ll look in here!”

He nods and takes off, pushing his way through the surging crowd. Inside the ferry is pandemonium and I’m pushed from all sides. Even the least claustrophobic person would feel uncomfortable with so many people around. The only good part is the crowd shields me from the ferry workers now searching for me; once again, my bow doesn’t exactly make things easier.

As I search hundreds of faces, I become increasingly panicked but not because of the men chasing me. I’m running out of areas to check and there’s been no sign of Janey or Mary. As much as I hate to admit it, I realize my recruit and daughter
must’ve
taken the first ferry. I find a chained off staircase and easily leap into the restricted area – not the best idea. Even more dock workers wait up here so I throw my shoulder into the nearest door and rush outside. Men chase me, yelling, but I pay them little attention as I look for my daughter.

On the deck below, most passengers have congregated outside, becoming even more disturbed since the ferry has stopped moving. I’m so frustrated and worried that I don’t notice a sailor waiting for me just around the next corner. He tries to attack but my reflexes are still sharp and I easily duck his punch. Without thinking, I grab hold of his vest and toss him overboard. He nearly dips over the side when John suddenly appears behind him, grabbing his foot and slinging the man back over the railing. He’s safe but still smashes into a few chasing sailors, knocking them over like bowling pins.

I can’t believe I nearly killed an innocent person out of anger.

“Just calm down,” John tells me.

“But she’s not here; I don’t see her anywhere,” I say. “They already left, there’s no other explanation.”

We look across the sea but the first ferry is long gone, not even its wake left in the water. 

The sailors are slow to get up and continue their chase but I wonder if that’s because they’ve seen what we’re capable of. The ferry slowly turns back toward the island when John points into the distance. Back on Andros, most of the smaller boats are docked farther down from the larger ferries and commercial fishing vessels. This is the section where John motions; three police cars with flashing lights – the island’s entire police force – are near the smaller boats but two of the cars begin to drive toward the larger dock. I don’t need more than one guess to imagine why they’re now headed in that direction.

“Something happened over there,” John says.

I nod, not sure whether or not to hope the police presence has to do with my daughter. I look from the shore to the opposite direction, wondering whether to go after the other ferry or head back to land. Either way, it’s a decision that must be made quickly unless I want to fight an entire squad of ferry workers, who grow braver in numbers and rush toward us. Regardless of which choice I consider, I still feel a tingle of warning in the back of my mind.