Chasm

PROLOGUE

Sebastian did not have to look into her eyes to know she was grieving. She had lost so much and was about to give up the rest. Maybe there was another way. Maybe there was something they overlooked, something right in front of them so obvious it defied notice.

We haven’t overlooked anything, Illiana told him.

Sebastian lowered his head, embarrassed. He didn’t want Illiana searching his thoughts at the moment, trespassing on his emotions. He knew she used her power on rare occasions, but it always seemed to be during moments he’d rather not share.

The decision has been made and there is no turning back. Cornelius spoke for the first time since they arrived. That option has been taken from us and we must now do what we agreed upon.

Cornelius walked slowly to the cliff’s edge. His tattered robe hung at his feet; its silken cloth glistened under the setting sun. He walked with the stride of a man who knew his time was at hand. Cornelius was not a weak or fearful man, but it was apparent this decision had weighed heavily on him. The concern in his eyes belied his strength and authority. He stood at Sebastian’s side, placing a hand upon his shoulder.

The fourth will come, Sebastian. This will not be done in vain.

The sun fell below the horizon, its light replaced by that of the moon. The three friends listened in silence to the sounds of life around them—the gulls, the waves, the leaves rustling in the breeze.

Illiana, it is time, Cornelius said.

Illiana stepped off the cliff but did not fall. She floated across the canvas sky, her turquoise gown flowing gently behind her. Hovering above the ocean, she raised her arm and opened her hand, which held a smooth dark stone.

Sebastian heard Illiana’s voice in his head. We are doing what is right, she assured him. He felt a surge of energy racing through him. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. Sebastian groaned in pain as a stream of light shot from his hand and struck the stone.

The force of the impact gave Illiana a heavy jolt, but she held tightly to the stone. Cornelius, now! Without hesitation, Cornelius raised his arms and released his power. The stone exploded with light, shrouding the dusk and illuminating the waters below.

Illiana closed her eyes. She focused intently, channeling the light, sending it from her mind … to her arm … and finally, through her hand. The ground shook and the sky lit up like a torch. Illiana’s fingertips burned, but she did not feel the pain.

The moon rose higher in the sky. The breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. The waves crashed upon the rocks and the ocean mist fell upon the sand. And so it was done.

Chapter 1

A Stranger on the Bus

The worst part about being twelve? No understanding. No understanding on anyone else’s part, that is. Surely not from Joshua. What could a nine-year-old possibly understand? Certainly not from his teachers or from Mrs. Morris, the principal. And most of all, not from his mother—her above everyone else.

Daniel pushed his plate aside. He couldn’t finish his supper (broccoli! the third night in a row). It had been a rough day and all he wanted to do was get to his room and sort things out in his head. Can I be excused? he asked. He wasn’t sure what he would do if his mother refused the request. He’d probably do it anyway.

It wasn’t that he wanted to disobey, it was just that he couldn’t sit there any longer, pretending to be chipper while fielding his mother’s questions. When would parents learn that children don’t want to answer the question, How was school today? They should know by now the answer they’ll receive is, Fine.

His mother acquiesced. Daniel took his plate to the sink and left the room, stopping in the hallway to check on his history project. It still needed a couple of finishing touches, but he could do those tomorrow. Daniel paused long enough to hear his brother detailing the events of that afternoon. Joshua spoke in hushed tones, but the words reached Daniel’s ears, nonetheless.

I don’t know what happened to him, Mom, Joshua said. He froze up and just stood there, and he had a really scared look on his face. Then he screamed, Joshua added. He wouldn’t say a word on the way home. He walked with his head down … and he was really mad.

***

Josh and his big mouth. Why did he have to talk all the time about everything, and usually at Daniel’s expense? Daniel couldn’t count the number of times his brother had ratted him out over the years. Sure, this was a little different, but what business was it of his? Yeah, something happened on the bus and, yeah, it happened just like Josh said. But why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? Daniel was the one who saw it, not Josh.

Besides, even if he wanted to tell his mom, what would he say? How could he explain it without her thinking he was crazy?

Mom, I have something to tell you. I got on the bus after school today and Mrs. Humphries changed into a monster! That’s right, Mom, a full-blown, out-of-the-horror-movies, ooze-dripping monster. By the way, she didn’t bother changing her clothes. She was still wearing those polyester pants that show every ripple of fat on her stubby legs, and her penny loafers—you know, the ones that say comfort instead of style. And it was really cool because all that ooze didn’t even drip on her blue bus driver’s shirt. Nice to know monsters are tidy as well as horrifying. So what do you think, Mom, should I pack my bags for the hospital now or do you want to wait until after dinner?

No, he wasn’t going to tell his mother, or anyone else, for that matter. The face was grotesque and contorted, matted with stringy black hair. Steam poured from its ears and nose, and silvery ooze filled its eyes. Daniel couldn’t bear to look at it for more than a second but knew it was sinister, and definitely not human.

It was like his world went into a tunnel. The noises around him disappeared, leaving a ghostly rumbling silence, and he felt it grow cold around him. The creature opened its mouth to speak. Though he didn’t hear the words coming out, there was no doubt what the monster was saying. Daniel, it snarled. Daniel.

Daniel stepped back and screamed, putting his hands up to defend himself. Then, as if having cold water doused on him, he came to and heard laughter. He opened his eyes and saw the other students in their seats, pointing and gossiping. The evil face was gone. There was only Mrs. Humphries, who smiled at him with a kind and concerned look.

Daniel? she said. Daniel, honey, are you okay?

He managed to give her a nod, but as he fumbled his way to the back of the bus, his world was still spinning and he had no idea what he’d just seen.

I don’t care if they think I’m crazy, Daniel thought. I know what I saw, and what I saw was real. I don’t care what anybody thinks.

Daniel changed into his sweatpants and thermal and stood at the window, listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks. He did care, actually, what others thought, but wasn’t about to admit it. The face on the bus was so vivid in his memory, from the silvery eyes to the vein-lined cheeks, that he knew he was right.

Nothing in his life made sense, so why should this be different? If no one believed him, fine. He was getting used to being on his own and saw it as a badge of courage. Heroes stand alone, he declared, the words tumbling from his lips. It was something he’d heard many times, something grownups liked to say when they were trying to make a moral statement. He remembered his father using it on more than one occasion.

He closed the curtain and turned from the window. It was strange; Daniel could still hear his dad’s voice, as if it were right there speaking to him. You’re Braden boys. Don’t worry about what other people think. You do what’s right, and everything else will fall into place.

Daniel sat at the edge of the bed, tightly gripping his foam basketball. It had been a long time since he’d thought of that. It was during their Yosemite trip. They stopped at a diner along the way, and after scarfing down their food, he and Joshua ran outside to play. That’s when he found the wallet.

He’d never seen so much money. Ten and twenty dollar bills exploded from the leather pocket when he opened it. There must be over four hundred dollars in here, Daniel remembered thinking. He was close. It was four hundred and twelve dollars, to be exact.

He kept his mouth shut as they drove, debating what to do. Should he ditch the wallet and keep the money? It would go a long way toward buying a new bike to replace the one that was stolen. He could always mail the driver’s license and credit cards back to the owner. His conscience, though, was turning somersaults. At the next rest stop, he showed the wallet to his father.

He kicked himself for giving away the money. Now, it would be ages before he saved enough for the bike, but he felt good about what he’d done. The owner was an elderly man who lived not too far from Yosemite and was so happy to get his wallet back that he thanked Daniel at least thirty-six times and gave him a reward of twenty-five dollars.

That night, his father told him how proud he was of him. Well, Daniel countered, everyone else will probably say I’m an idiot for not keeping the money.

In the end, he figured it was an even trade-off. Four hundred and twelve dollars plus a guilty conscience versus twenty-five dollars and hearing his dad say he was proud of him. He could live with that.

Daniel shook off the memory. That was then and this is now, he told himself. That was back when life made sense. He tossed the ball at the hoop hanging on the closet door. His shot missed wide and the ball fell to the carpet. He didn’t bother to pick it up.

Why does everything have to change? Daniel collapsed onto his bed, where he soon drifted off to sleep, a sleep as restless as the waves outside his window.

Chapter 2

Three Strikes

There had been too much rain and too little sun in Grisby this year. Seeing the bright rays and feeling the unaccustomed warmth, Daniel smiled as he walked to the schoolyard (he thought it a good idea not to take the bus today). The sky was clear and he was happy to have left his raincoat behind. If only I could leave Josh behind, too—then everything would be perfect.

Hey, wait up, said Joshua, struggling to lace his sneaker while clutching his lunchbox.

That was Josh—sweet to the core. Nauseatingly sweet. Was it any wonder every mother in town thought he was the most adorable boy to ever walk the face of the earth? How many times had he heard the compliments?

Oh, he’s got such a pleasant attitude.

What a joy to have around.

He’s so well behaved and has such excellent manners.

Daniel knew another word for his brother: naive. Naive and clumsy. How that boy would ever make it in the real world was beyond him.

Daniel glanced at Joshua, still struggling with his laces. His tousled brown hair hung over his eyes, while his hand-me-down ski jacket and humongous backpack called attention to his smallish frame. Joshua was small for his age, but if it bothered him he never mentioned it.

Joshua finished tying his sneaker and ran to catch up. Thanks for waiting, Daniel, he said, slightly out of breath.

"I wasn’t waiting. I was just watching nine years of dumb.

***

Smack!

Daniel was greeted in first period English class by a pencil eraser that nailed him squarely on the cheek. Oh, you’re going to pay for that, Brad! Daniel took out a rubber band to use as a weapon of his own.

Smack!

A spitball splashed against his neck; the assailant this time was Stephanie Meacham, the class tomboy. Don’t be starting fires you can’t put out, Daniel said, firing his rubber bands at both shooters. This is war.

The second bell had rung and Mrs. Tarpley was late. Brad Sherman had taken her place in front of the class and was clearly enjoying his time there. You should have seen Braden, he said. He almost jumped out of his skin when that hit him.

Daniel loaded an eraser onto his rubber band and shot it at him. You’re dead now, Sherman.

Quick, everybody down, a student yelled. Here comes Tarpley.

The kids scrambled to their seats as Mrs. Tarpley entered an orderly classroom. Why do I feel like I’ve just walked in on something that shouldn’t have been going on?

Brad snickered and glanced at Daniel. Daniel smiled and held up a spitball he was working on. Just wait, this one’s got your name written on it.

All right, since you’re all so eager to get started, Mrs. Tarpley said, take out your textbooks and turn to chapter nine.

***

The other students raced by on their way home or to after-school activities, and all Daniel could do was wait. He hated to be kept waiting. It was his biggest pet peeve, and what made it even worse was that Joshua knew it.

Hey, Daniel! It was his friend Travis. Are you coming to the bluff?

Daniel scowled and stood on the bench to get a better view of the oncoming crowd of students. Of course, every kid in school is coming down the hall except for Josh.

Braden, are you coming to the bluff or what?

Yeah, I’ll be there. After I put my kid brother on the bus.

Daniel looked at his watch and paced. Every day he met Joshua here and every day, like clockwork, Joshua was late. The other guys were probably there already. You’ve got five minutes, Josh. After that, you’re on your own. He started his stopwatch. Make that four minutes and fifty-five seconds.

Daniel and his buddies had invented a game called Three Strikes. It wasn’t complicated; it was just cool. They made a rope swing that swung out over the bluff behind Shawn Hudson’s house. The goal was simple. Several trees lined the edge of the bluff, but one in particular, nicknamed the Goblin for its spooky appearance, had immense branches with one that reached a good fifteen feet over the cliff’s edge. Each boy held a different colored piece of chalk and would try to swing far enough to mark the branch with his color. The first with three chalk marks was the winner.

It was his favorite game. For Daniel, there was no feeling like it, swinging over the rocks, looking down at the ocean and sand below. It was the closest thing he knew to flying. Unfortunately, he was forbidden to play it, which is why he lied to his mother and told her he was playing football.

Mothers worry too much about everything. You can’t have any fun without them breathing down your neck. There’s nothing dangerous about Three Strikes. You’d have to be a moron to get hurt.

I’m sorry I’m late, Daniel, said Joshua, running down the hall, his overstuffed backpack jangling with each step.

You’re sorry every day. Quit being sorry and start being on time.

***

Watch this! One-handed, one foot!

It was a great feeling, soaring above the ground and being suspended in air. Gravity may always win, but occasionally it gives a momentary reprieve. Daniel flipped upside down on the swing and felt the blood rush to his head. He wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything in the world.

Nor was there any place he’d rather be. He remembered that his mom and Joshua believed he was playing football. Well, what they don’t know won’t hurt them. He slashed his yellow chalk across the Goblin’s arm-like branch. His second strike.

He hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. It was good to be hanging out with his buddies, laughing and goofing around. He swung back to the edge, jumped high off the swing, and landed safely on the ground.

That was awesome, man, Stevie said, slapping his hand.

Wait until you see my next trick. One hand, no feet, then I’m going upside down again.

Daniel looked at the chalk marks on the branch and tallied the scores. He was in the lead with two strikes. All he needed to do was wait his turn and go out in style. He wondered if it was possible to go upside down without using any hands.

The day was waning, and Daniel wished it didn’t have to end. He needed to finish a book report that night. Hmm, let me see, having fun versus doing homework—I think I’ll take having fun.

All right, Braden, your turn. See if you can come through in the clutch.

Daniel reached for the rope. You better believe I can come through in the clutch, Travis. I’m as clutch as they come. He needed a lot of running room and took the rope back as far as possible before taking off. He was going to finish the game with an acrobatic flourish, even if it meant showing off a little.

He never got that far.

It was Joshua, sprawled out on the ground and holding his leg in pain. His jeans were ripped and his knee was bleeding. Daniel stared at his brother, trying to assess the situation. Tears streamed down Joshua’s cheeks, cutting into the dirt on his face and leaving a trail of … over-dramatics. Yes, that was definitely the phrase he was searching for. Once again, Josh was destroying his life.

What are you doing here? Daniel said.

Joshua stifled his sobbing long enough to speak. I tripped on a stump. It hurts, Daniel. It hurts bad.

Typical Josh, Daniel thought. How many times over the years had he seen this happen? Joshua tripping on a rock. Joshua falling off a swing. Joshua stumbling down the stairs. It was always something. The boy had the balance of an egg in a tailspin.

I swear you are the clumsiest kid in the world. Daniel grabbed a water bottle from his backpack. It’s a miracle you’re able to put on pants without breaking your leg.

Joshua bit his lip and wiped away the remaining tears. I’m sorry, Daniel. I didn’t mean to be clumsy.

Daniel knelt beside his brother, poured water over the cut, and washed out the dirt. You never do, but it happens all the same.

Hey, Braden, are you going to take your turn or what?

Playing paramedic to his brother’s stupidity, he’d completely forgotten about the game. He hadn’t lost a game of Three Strikes yet and wasn’t about to start now. Besides, he reasoned, Joshua had already busted him for playing. If he was going to get in trouble, he should make sure it was worth it. Hold on, I’ll be right there!

Please, Daniel, don’t leave. Joshua’s eyes filled with tears and his lip quivered. I think it might be broken.

It’s not broken. Will you stop being so dramatic? He handed the bottle to Joshua, who gulped the rest of the water.

Hurry up, Braden, we don’t have much time left. If your brother’s through being a wuss, then come on.

"Hey, I’ve seen you cry a lot harder than that, Shawn. Go ahead and