decision. We made it a long time ago. Just in case …” His voice trailed off. “Just in case this time came.”
“I don’t understand,” Gus said. “What do you mean, you made this decision a long time ago? Did you know Mom might get sick?” Her voice rose. “Has she been sick all this time, and you didn’t tell us?”
Her father reached out and put his hand over hers. “Gussy,” he said. “There are some things we haven’t told you about your mom’s family. About where she comes from.”
“She’s an orphan,” Leo said. “She was drowning and you saved her—”
Their father interrupted. “We haven’t told you everything. We—your mom and I—hoped that we would never need to. It’s old history, nothing to do with our lives here. It should be behind us.” He shook his head like someone with water in their ears after swimming.
“We thought it
was
behind us,” he said again. “But it’s not. And your mother and I both feel that no matter what, the most important thing is that you three are safe. And yes, we talked about it, before your mom got sick, and”—he stopped and cleared his throat—“and after,” he said quietly. “And we agreed that you three must be kept safe, no matter what.”
“She wants us to go to someone,” Leo blurted out. “A woman, right?”
Their father looked at him, and Leo blushed. “We heard you,” he said.
Their father nodded. “Yes. Your grandmother.”
“Grandma Brennan’s dead,” Gus pointed out.
“Your other grandmother. On your mom’s side.”
“What other grandmother?” Gus and Leo said at the same moment.
“Your Móraí,” their father said, and all of the hairs on Gus’s arms stood straight up, the way they had once just before lightning struck the chimney of their house.
“That’s the word Ila was saying,” she said. “Moray.”
Their father pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and wrote it right on the cloth napkin.
“It’s spelled M-ó-r-a-í,” he said. “It’s Irish.” He sighed heavily, and placed both palms flat on the tabletop, spreading his fingers wide and studying them. “She lives on one of the Far Islands.”
“No one lives on the Far Islands,” Leo said promptly.
The Far Islands were islands in the Gulf of Maine, except they weren’t, not really. They were just rocky heaps, the tips of undersea mountains that had been covered by the water many thousands of years ago. They were uninhabitable, visited only by seagulls and napping seals.
There were fishermen’s stories about the Far Islands, though. It was said that they were wreathed in strange, thick fogs that appeared and disappeared at will. Some of the islands, the fishermen claimed, moved at night and could never be found in the same area twice. And the creatures that had been seen on the islands—seals, but also stranger creatures that walked upright like men. Fishermen fished all around Georges Bank, the deepest part of the Gulf of Maine, but none would go out after dark, even with radar, for fear of running aground on one of the Far Islands.
“Your mother’s family lives on one of them, or at least they did,” their father said shortly. “Only the Móraí is left now. But it doesn’t matter. You’re not going there.”
“What?” Gus began hotly.
Their father held up one hand for silence. “Your mother’s side of the family,” he began, and then stopped, took a breath, and began again, awkwardly. “Your mother’s people, they’re—they’re not like other people. They’rehalf wild, I guess you could say, and they’re dangerous. I don’t want you mixed up with them. I’m going to take you to Pop Brennan’s instead. I have to be at the hospital, but you guys can stay with Pop for a little while, until your mom’s better and this is all over. It’ll be fun.”
“But, Dad,” Gus said, “I don’t want to leave Mom. And why do we have to go anywhere? And what about her family? And what—”
Leo interrupted her.
“I don’t understand,” Gus said. “What do you mean, you made this decision a long time ago? Did you know Mom might get sick?” Her voice rose. “Has she been sick all this time, and you didn’t tell us?”
Her father reached out and put his hand over hers. “Gussy,” he said. “There are some things we haven’t told you about your mom’s family. About where she comes from.”
“She’s an orphan,” Leo said. “She was drowning and you saved her—”
Their father interrupted. “We haven’t told you everything. We—your mom and I—hoped that we would never need to. It’s old history, nothing to do with our lives here. It should be behind us.” He shook his head like someone with water in their ears after swimming.
“We thought it
was
behind us,” he said again. “But it’s not. And your mother and I both feel that no matter what, the most important thing is that you three are safe. And yes, we talked about it, before your mom got sick, and”—he stopped and cleared his throat—“and after,” he said quietly. “And we agreed that you three must be kept safe, no matter what.”
“She wants us to go to someone,” Leo blurted out. “A woman, right?”
Their father looked at him, and Leo blushed. “We heard you,” he said.
Their father nodded. “Yes. Your grandmother.”
“Grandma Brennan’s dead,” Gus pointed out.
“Your other grandmother. On your mom’s side.”
“What other grandmother?” Gus and Leo said at the same moment.
“Your Móraí,” their father said, and all of the hairs on Gus’s arms stood straight up, the way they had once just before lightning struck the chimney of their house.
“That’s the word Ila was saying,” she said. “Moray.”
Their father pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and wrote it right on the cloth napkin.
“It’s spelled M-ó-r-a-í,” he said. “It’s Irish.” He sighed heavily, and placed both palms flat on the tabletop, spreading his fingers wide and studying them. “She lives on one of the Far Islands.”
“No one lives on the Far Islands,” Leo said promptly.
The Far Islands were islands in the Gulf of Maine, except they weren’t, not really. They were just rocky heaps, the tips of undersea mountains that had been covered by the water many thousands of years ago. They were uninhabitable, visited only by seagulls and napping seals.
There were fishermen’s stories about the Far Islands, though. It was said that they were wreathed in strange, thick fogs that appeared and disappeared at will. Some of the islands, the fishermen claimed, moved at night and could never be found in the same area twice. And the creatures that had been seen on the islands—seals, but also stranger creatures that walked upright like men. Fishermen fished all around Georges Bank, the deepest part of the Gulf of Maine, but none would go out after dark, even with radar, for fear of running aground on one of the Far Islands.
“Your mother’s family lives on one of them, or at least they did,” their father said shortly. “Only the Móraí is left now. But it doesn’t matter. You’re not going there.”
“What?” Gus began hotly.
Their father held up one hand for silence. “Your mother’s side of the family,” he began, and then stopped, took a breath, and began again, awkwardly. “Your mother’s people, they’re—they’re not like other people. They’rehalf wild, I guess you could say, and they’re dangerous. I don’t want you mixed up with them. I’m going to take you to Pop Brennan’s instead. I have to be at the hospital, but you guys can stay with Pop for a little while, until your mom’s better and this is all over. It’ll be fun.”
“But, Dad,” Gus said, “I don’t want to leave Mom. And why do we have to go anywhere? And what about her family? And what—”
Leo interrupted her.
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