You ought to push me, Dale grumbled.
How did it feel being a walrus? Kendra asked.
Is that what I was?
A mutant humpbacked walrus with a deformed tail, she clarified.
I wish we had a camera! It was weird breathing through my back. And it was hard to move. Nothing felt right.
Might be safer not to converse so loudly, Grandpa said.
I couldn't talk, Seth said more quietly. I felt like I still knew how, but the words came out all tangled. My mouth and tongue were different.
What about Muriel? Kendra asked. If she unties that last knot, will she be free?
She was originally bound by thirteen knots, Grandpa said. She can loosen none on her own, though it doesn't seem to stop her from trying. But other mortals can undo the knots by asking a favor and blowing on them. Powerful magic holds the knot in place. When released, Muriel can channel that magic into granting the favor.
So if you ever need her help again... I will look elsewhere, Grandpa said. I never wanted her to get down to a single knot. Freeing her is not an option.
I'm sorry I ended up helping her, Seth said.
Did you learn anything from the ordeal? Grandpa asked.
Seth lowered his head. I feel really bad about the fairy.
She didn't deserve what happened to her. Grandpa made no response, and Seth kept studying his shoes. I shouldn't have messed around with magical creatures, he finally admitted.
Grandpa placed a hand on his shoulder. I know you meant no harm. Around here, what you don't know can hurt you. And others. If you have learned to be more careful and compassionate in the future, and to show greater respect for the inhabitants of this preserve, then at least some good came of all this.
I learned something too, Kendra said. Humans and walruses should never mix.
Hugo The triangular wooden board rested on Kendra's lap.
She studied the pegs, planning her next jump. Beside her, Lena gently tilted back and forth on a rocker, watching the moon rise. From the porch, only a few fairies could be seen gliding around the garden. Fireflies twinkled among them in the silver moonlight.
Not many fairies out tonight, Kendra said.
It may be some time before the fairies return in force to our gardens, Lena said.
Can't you explain everything to them?
Lena chuckled. They would listen to your grandfather before they would ever heed me.
Weren't you sort of one of them?
That is the problem. Watch. Lena closed her eyes and began to sing softly. Her high, trilling voice gave life to a wistful melody. Several fairies darted over from the garden, hovering around her in a loose semicircle, interrupting the warbling tune with fervent chirping.
Lena quit singing and said something in an unintelligible language. The fairies chirped back. Lena made a final remark, and the fairies flew away.
What were they saying? Kendra asked.
They told me I should be ashamed to sing a naiadic tune, Lena replied. They detest reminders that I was once a nymph, especially if those reminders imply that I am at peace with my decision.
They acted pretty upset.
Much of their time is spent mocking mortals. Any time one of us crosses over to mortality, it makes the others wonder what they might be missing. Especially if we appear content. They ridicule me mercilessly.
You don't let it get to you?
Not really. They do know how to needle me. They tease me about growing old-my hair, my wrinkles. They ask how I will enjoy being buried in a box. Lena frowned, gazing thoughtfully into the night. I felt my age today when you called for help.
What do you mean? Kendra jumped a peg on the triangular wooden board.
I tried to rush to your aid, but ended up sprawled on the kitchen floor. Your grandfather reached your side before I did, and he is no athlete.
It wasn't your fault.
In my youth I would have been there in a flash. I used to be handy in an emergency. Now I come hobbling to the rescue.
You still get around great. Kendra was running out of moves. She had already stranded a peg.
Lena shook her head. I would not last a minute on the trapeze or the tightrope. Once I played on them with facile agility. The curse of mortality. You spend the first portion of your life learning, growing stronger, more capable. And then, through no fault of your own, your body begins to fail. You regress. Strong limbs become feeble, keen senses grow dull, hardy constitutions deteriorate. Beauty withers.
Organs quit. You remember yourself in your prime, and wonder where that person went. As your wisdom and experience are peaking, your traitorous body becomes a prison.
Kendra had no moves left on her perforated board.
Three pegs remained. I never thought of it that way.
Lena took the board from Kendra and began setting up the pegs. In their youth, mortals behave more like nymphs. Adulthood seems impossibly distant, let alone the enfeeblement of old age. But ponderously, inevitably, it overtakes you. I find it a frustrating, humbling, infuriating experience.
When we talked before, you said you would not change your decision, Kendra reminded her.
True, given the opportunity, I would choose Patton every time. And now that I have experienced mortality, I do not imagine I could be content with my former life. But the pleasures of mortality, the thrills of living, come with a price. Pain, illness, the decline of age, the loss of loved ones-those things I could do without.
The pegs were set up. Lena began jumping them. I am impressed by how glibly most mortals confront the debilitation of the body. Patton. Your grandparents. Many others.
They just accept it. I have always feared aging. The inevitability of it haunts me. Ever since I abandoned the pond, the prospect of death has been a menacing shadow in the back of my mind.
She jumped the final peg, leaving only one. Kendra had seen her do it before, but had not yet succeeded in copying her moves.
Lena sighed softly. Because of my nature, I may have to endure old age for decades longer than regular human beings. The humiliating finale to the mortal condition.
At least you're a peg-jumping genius, Kendra said.
Lena smiled. The solace of my winter years.
You can still paint, and cook, and do all sorts of things.
I do not mean to complain. These are not problems to share with young minds.
It's okay. You aren't scaring me. You're right, I can't really picture being grown up. Part of me wonders if high school will ever really happen. Sometimes I think maybe I'll die young.
The door to the house opened, and Grandpa's head poked out. Kendra, I need to have some words with you and Seth.
Okay, Grandpa.
Come to the study.
Lena stood, motioning for Kendra to hurry along.
Kendra entered the house and followed Grandpa into the study. Seth was already seated in one of the oversized chairs, drumming his fingers on the armrest. Kendra claimed the other one while Grandpa settled in behind his desk.
The day after tomorrow is June twenty-first, Grandpa said. Do either of you know the significance of that date?
Kendra and Seth shared a glance. Your birthday? Seth attempted.
The summer solstice, Grandpa said. The longest day of the year. The night before is a holiday of riotous abandon for the whimsical creatures of Fablehaven. Four nights a year, the boundaries that define where different entities can venture dissolve. These nights of revelry are essential to maintaining the segregation that normally prevails here.
On Midsummer Eve, the only limits to where any creature can roam and work mischief are the walls of this house.
Unless invited, they cannot enter.
Midsummer Eve is tomorrow night? Seth said.
I did not want to leave you time to fret over it. As long as you obey my instructions, the night will pass without incident. It will be loud, but you will be safe.
What other days do they run wild? Kendra asked.
The winter solstice and the two equinoxes. Midsummer Eve tends to be the rowdiest of them all.
Can we watch out the windows? Seth asked eagerly.
No, Grandpa said. Nor would you enjoy what you saw. On the festival nights, nightmares take shape and prowl the yard. Ancient entities of supreme evil patrol the darkness in search of prey. You will be in bed at sundown.
You will wear earplugs. And you will not arise until sunrise dispels the horrors of the night.
Should we sleep in your room? Kendra asked.
The attic playroom is the safest place in the house.
Extra protections have been placed on it as a sanctuary for children. Even if, by some misfortune, unsavory creatures entered the house, your room would remain secure.
Has anything ever gotten into the house? Kendra asked.
Nothing unwanted has breached these homestead walls, Grandpa said. Still, we can never be too careful.
Tomorrow you will help prepare some defenses to afford us an extra layer of protection. Because of the recent uproar with the fairies, I fear this could be a particularly chaotic Midsummer Eve, Has anyone ever died here? Seth asked. On this property, I mean?
We should save that topic for another time, Grandpa said, standing up.
That one guy changed into dandelion seeds, Kendra said.
Anybody else? Seth insisted.
Grandpa regarded them soberly for a moment. As you are learning, these preserves are hazardous places.
Accidents have occurred in the past. Those accidents generally happen to people who venture where they do not belong or tamper with matters beyond their understanding.
If you adhere to my rules, you should have nothing to worry about.
The sun had not yet risen far above the horizon as Seth and Dale walked along the rutted lane that ran away from the barn. Seth had never particularly noticed the weedy cart track. The lane began on the far side of the barn and led into the woods. After meandering for some time beneath the trees, the track continued across an expansive meadow.
Overhead, only a few wispy clouds interrupted the bright blue sky. Dale walked briskly, forcing Seth to hustle in order to keep up. Seth was already getting sweaty. The warm day promised to be hot by noon.
Seth kept watch for interesting creatures. He spotted birds, squirrels, and rabbits in the meadow, but saw nothing supernatural.
Where are all the magical animals? Seth asked.
This is the calm before the storm, Dale said. I expect most of them are resting up for tonight.
What sort of monsters will be out tonight?
Stan warned that you might try to pry information out of me. Best not to be so curious about those kinds of things.
Not telling me is what makes me curious!
It's for your own good, Dale said. Part of the idea is that telling you might make you scared. The other part is that telling you might make you even more curious.
If you tell me, I promise I'll stop being curious.
Dale shook his head. What makes you think you can keep that promise?
I can't possibly get more curious than I already am.
Not knowing anything is the hardest.
Well, fact of the matter is, I can't give a very satisfying answer to your question. Have I seen strange things, frightening things, in my time here? You bet. Not just on festival nights. Have I stolen a peek out the window on a festival night? A time or two, sure. But I learned to quit looking. People aren't meant to have things like that in their minds. Makes it hard to sleep. I don't look anymore.
Neither does Lena, neither does your grandfather, neither does your grandmother. And we're adults.
What did you see?
How about we change the subject?
You're killing me. I have to know!
Dale stopped and faced him. Seth, you only think you want to know. It seems harmless to know, walking under a clear blue sky on a fine morning with a friend. But what about tonight, alone in your room, in the dark, when the night outside is full of unnatural sounds? You might regret me putting a face to what is wailing outside the window.
Seth swallowed. He looked up at Dale, eyes wide.
What kind of face?
Let's leave it at this. To this day, when I'm out and about after dark, I am sorry I looked. When you're a few years older, a day will come when your grandfather will give you an opportunity to look out the window on a festival night. If you start feeling inquisitive, postpone your curiosity until that moment. If it were me, if I could go back, I'd skip looking altogether.
Easy to say after you looked.
Not easy to say. I paid a heavy price to say it. Many sleepless nights.
What can be so bad? I can imagine some scary things.
I thought the same thing. I failed to appreciate that imagining and seeing are two very different things.
If you already looked, why not look again?
I don't want to see anything else. I'd rather just guess at the rest. Dale started walking again.
I still want to know, Seth said.
Smart people learn from their mistakes. But the real sharp ones learn from the mistakes of others. Don't pout; you're about to see something impressive. And it won't even give you nightmares.
What?
See where the road goes over that rise?
Yeah.
The surprise is on the far side.
You're sure?
Positive.
It better not be another fairy, Seth said.
What's the matter with fairies?
I've already seen about a billion of them and also they turned me into a walrus.
It's not a fairy.
It's not like a waterfall or something? Seth asked suspiciously.
Chapter Twelve
No, you'll like it.
Good, because you're getting my hopes up. Is it dangerous?
It could be, but we should be safe.
Let's hurry. Seth dashed up the rise. He glanced back at Dale, who continued walking. Not a great sign. If the surprise were dangerous, Dale would not want him running ahead.
At the top of the rise Seth halted, staring down the gentle slope on the far side. Not a hundred yards away, a huge creature was wading through a hayfield wielding a pair of gigantic scythes. The hulking figure slashed down wide swaths of alfalfa at a relentless pace, both scythes hissing and chiming without pause.
Dale joined Seth atop the rise. What is it? Seth asked.