A TAIL OF NINE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A Song of Loss and Dragons ... wait ... DRAGONS?!?!

A noise to my left reminds me that I need to find a place to make my own.

Everything's gray. It's like someone drained all the color out of the world. Focus. Find a place to shelter. Then worry about provisions.

When I lean against an oak tree, I sink partway into the trunk. It's spongy, like a cookie that's been soaked in milk too long. It takes some practice, but after a few minutes, I push my hand right through the oak! I try a pine next to it ... At first, my hand rests against it. Then I push a little harder. My hand slips into this tree too. It feels like I'm pushing through chunky pudding! When I pull my hand out, I expect bits of pulpy tree to be clinging to my fingers. Nope. My hand's clean. There's no hole in the tree.

Everything else today has sucked, but that was pretty awesome!

I start walking with my fiddle case.

The best thing I can do is sit tight and wait for Kon.

What's the word for gray in Japanese?

"Gurē," I answer my own question. Then I say, "Karemasu. Wither."

Did I do the right thing by getting Kon to leave me behind? Should we have stayed together?

I can't keep second-guessing myself. I'm here and I'm gonna make the most of it.

Dylan Caid has his Place of Losing, and I have this.

I'm the same gray color as everything around me, only a little paler. Why couldn't I be more like a fox? Or a wolf? Or anything that isn't some human kid stumbling around and nearly getting his family killed?

I'M SO STUPID! AND WEAK! I CAN'T DO ANYTHING TO HELP KON AGAINST MIRABELLE! ALL SHE HAS FROM ME IS A WORTHLESS BUTTON!!!

Come on, Jack, I tell myself. Be smart. Remember what Kon taught you--know your territory. You saying good-bye to Kon and Kirby ... it wasn't really a good-bye. It's a see you later.

Where are all the animals? In woods like this, rabbits should be scampering around. Squirrels should be chittering. A blue jay or two should be showing off and squawking at me.

To make sure I'm not deaf, I hum a hymn that Mr. Unger used to sing. From what I can remember, he's not all that religious. He just likes the song. Why is it popping up in my head now? It's like the littlest things can dig into your memory, get stuck there, and then rise to the surface when you least expect it.

Shall we gather at the river; Where bright angel feet have trod...

I can hear myself. My ears are working just fine.

With its crystal tide forever; Flowing by the throne of God?

A creek snakes by me. In the woods, if you don't want to go in circles, follow water. So I do. While I'm walking, the less dingy gray blob that's the sun sinks down into the darker gray that is the chiseled silhouette of the mountains. The sun's setting already? What happened to the day?

After cracking open my fiddle case (at least my hand isn't sliding through it--probably because I brought it in here with me), I prop my fiddle under my chin.

I don't want to play the song about the foxes tricking the Old Fox. Or about the old war. So I play a song all my own.

The sun sinks lower. Wherever Kon is, she's thinking about me.

Something else plays along with me ... I can hear soft echoes of drums and the sad whine of a flute ... like the voice of a ghost, full of longing, singing with me. Instead of going into a frenzy of notes, I drag the bow across the strings in long lazy arcs. I think of Kon ... of growing up with her. If I ever shivered at night or whimpered, she'd curl around me, her tails draping across her shoulders. That's how things were until I became too big for her to hold.

The music weaves a weird tapestry of sound that drapes around my shoulders. The notes come faster. I think of running through long grass with Kon, feeling it brush against my bare legs and the soft dirt under my feet. A fox running ... with the notes, I can see the orange ripples of fur and the streaks of auburn as the sun hits it. Trapped in the gray, those colors seem brighter somehow and locked within my mind. Bears lumber. Wolves lope. A fox ... it's more of a dance, everything moving in concert.

And I think of her in the snow. I'd take my gloves off to feel the cold. My fingers would turn pink and feel almost brittle. Kon would dance through the snow, looking elegant and regal. More regal than Mirabelle ever could. Kon would stop, the wind ruffling her fur while snowflakes got stuck in her whiskers. Then she would leap up and dive face first in the snow after a mouse.

I try to whisper those Moon-eyed words that she told me, but I can't. Why can't I remember something simple like that? Those were the last things that my mom said to me. And I can't remember something important like that?

As I'm playing, there's a WHOOSH!!! right above my head!

Still hunched down, I wait. In the distance there's another WHOOSH! Isn't this place supposed to be safe?

A room in a house might be really good right now. Somewhere inside that doesn't have phantom flying things.

I keep walking until the woods thin all the way and I see a small neighborhood. The houses are all huddled together. There's nothing all that special about the tiny blue house that I pick. And that's fine with me.

It's harder for me to walk all the way through a door than it is to put my hand through a tree, but after a few tries I get inside the house. A guy could get used to this ghost business.

A brown dog's sleeping on a rug. Its paws move back and forth in its sleep. Just like Kon's do sometimes. I curl up next to it.

I guess the life of a ghost warrior isn't all it's cracked up to be sometimes. I kinda wonder if the Moon-eyed People use this to protect some people but to screw with others. Can you imagine waking up as a ghost? Not having anybody see or hear you?

I'm so tired that I almost forget about the canopic jar.

And then there's a noise that sounds like a jet turbine coming on. And then another sound--like bricks clattering against the ground.

Leaping to my feet, I wait for some monster to come skulking around the corner.

There's just more of that noise.

The stairs don't creak. Even if they normally do, they wouldn't for me.

What IS that sound???

I could find another house, but I'm curious.

With each step, I think about the Moon-eyed people and ghost warriors. They would be able to stalk through the hills unseen, holding bows or spears. They would sneak past mountain lions and stalk a bear.

The sound gets louder.

GrrrrrrCRACK!

And then a sputtering sound--PBBBBTTTtttttt!

One time I saw a movie with a sleeping dragon that made a noise a whole lot like that.

I think of every movie I've ever seen with a dragon--and there are a lot of them. Will this thing be like a giant lizard or will it have lots of magic that it can use against me?

While I stand in the doorway, the noise emanating from within threatens to rip the house apart. That's when I see that it isn't a monster causing all that racket. It's a bearded guy snoring. His mouth is open so wide that it's almost like he's unhinged his jaw!

He sucks in another burst of air and I expect for the roof to cave in on both of us. When he exhales with a wheezing-snarl, I think the windows are gonna fly apart. The whole house shudders.

Shaking my head, I head back downstairs. There's no way I'm getting any sleep in here tonight. I head outside and climb an oak tree, lugging the fiddle with me. Cradling it in my lap, I lean back against the tree trunk.

What did Mr. Unger say about snoring? Boy, the Devil don't snore. Naw, he walks around in a circle ... and there the grass don't grow. Won't nothing grow.

With this guy snoring, I don't know how anything around here sleeps.

Including the devil, himself.