Unwritten Books 2 - Fathom Five by James Bow

on?”
    Rosemary stared at the inquisitive looks of Benson and Joe. They were serious and concerned, completely different from the two boys who used to take special pleasure in pelting her with snowballs.
    “I … I don’t know,” she managed, finally. “He’s been having trouble sleeping.”
    Joe sighed. “That sucks. Maybe I shouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer when I invite him to the team party.”
    Veronica snorted. “At the Homecoming Dance? He wouldn’t go unless Rosemary dragged him!”
    Benson and Joe looked at Rosemary. “That’s an idea. You want to drag him?”
    Rosemary started to protest, but stopped. “Okay,” she said at last. “I’ll talk to him.”
    “Great!” said Joe.
    The conversation moved on. Rosemary stared out the window as the bus reached the edge of town. The people they passed were shrouded shadows, almost unrecognizable.
    But she recognized Peter when she saw him.
    She pressed her face to the window. Peter was on the sidewalk, holding hands with — What on Earth?!
    The bus shuddered to a stop. Benson and Veronica got up to get off. Rosemary gathered her things and darted after them, almost knocking Benson over as she leapt to the sidewalk.
    “Hey!” Veronica shouted. “Watch it!”
    “Rosemary, what’s the matter with you?” said Benson.
    Rosemary ran to get behind the bus even as it pulled away.
    They were at the crossroads where the 45th Parallel Road ascended the escarpment to Peter and Rosemary’s homes. Peter could barely be seen on the other side of the road, walking with a thickening of the fog. He’d been walking with a person, hadn’t he? Where was he going? He should be turning right to head home, but he was turning left, towards the bay.
    “What’s he doing?” said Rosemary. “Peter!”
    “What’s going on?” asked Benson. “What about Peter?”
    Rosemary ignored them. “He can’t be going to the Point. Not in this fog!”
    “What?” said Benson.
    Rosemary ran across the road. Benson and Veronica vanished behind her.
***
    “Fiona!” Peter gasped. “Slow down! I can’t keep up this pace!”
    They were on a dirt track that was changing to a rugged trail that climbed the escarpment. Peter stumbled on the stony, uneven ground.
    Fiona giggled. She wouldn’t let go of his hand. She tugged him, playful and insistent. They hadn’t met a single person, on foot or in a car, but he couldn’t think on the strangeness of this while Fiona kept up the pace.
    “We must hurry, Peter,” she breathed. “The portal awaits!”
    “Portal? What portal?”
    The fog veiled all. Peter could barely see where to put his feet on the ground. He could no longer tell where he was in relation to the road, but he could hear the sounds of waves against a rocky shore, and the squeal of seagulls, and he figured they must be approaching Clark’s Point.
    The pathway levelled out and they stepped onto a ledge. The rocks of the escarpment rose sheer on his right, topping out ten feet above him. On his left, the ground dropped away to nothing. The ledge curved away in front, making his small patch of land look like the only solid ground in existence. Somewhere beneath the sea of white the waves of Georgian Bay rolled.
    He pressed himself against the rocks, stabbed by a pang of vertigo.
    Fiona smiled at him. “Don’t be afraid. We’re almost home.”
    Peter stared at her. “Where?” He had a sinking sensation the answer was “down there.”
    “You shall see.”
    She let go of his hand, stepped to the edge of the cliff, threw back her head, and sang.
    Fiona’s voice was barely on the edge of human hearing. There was no melody. It was a chord, higher than a piccolo and more beautiful. It made the fog roll back. The water below grew more distinct until it was as though they were standing in the eye of a small hurricane.
    Then Fiona leaned forward. For one heart-pounding moment, Peter thought she was falling, but she cast her arms out and jumped into the air. Her body