Windblowne

A few more leaves stirred from their branches as a puff of wind blew over the platform. Oliver watched them tumble past. The leaves were identical to those of the sick oak outside Great-uncle Gilbert’s treehouse, and with them came a disgusting scent—a sour odor—where had he smelled it before? Oliver took a deep sniff.…

And then he knew.

Like the ticking gears of a Windblowne water clock, pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

tick—He had indeed smelled this odor before—outside Great-uncle Gilbert’s treehouse. The smell from the sick oak. Looking down from the balcony, Oliver could see that the sick oak at Great-uncle Gilbert’s treehouse was in the exact same location as the riven oak here.

His great-uncle’s notes:

“the winds do not whisper…
but if you do whisper, O winds, then
whisper to me,
of oaks which dwell across the worlds.”

Oaks which dwell across the worlds. The sick oak there, the riven oak here—they had the same leaves. They were the same tree.

tick—Oaks on the mountain, losing their leaves in both Windblownes.

Oliver remembered his arrival in this Windblowne, how he had known right away that something was different about the world. The colors, the scents, the sounds, everything had been subtly altered. The only thing that had seemed the same to him was the oak leaves. Somehow, the oaks were the same—they lived in both worlds. And the damage from Lord Gilbert’s machines and those black strings was affecting Oliver’s Windblowne as well.

tick—

A crimson kite made from oak. A kite that traveled between worlds. The secret to traveling between worlds lay in the oaks.

Feeling returned to Oliver’s body, and he was able to stand. He looked warily at Lord Gilbert’s hunters. They perched silently in a row, not looking at Oliver, not looking at anything.

He started toward the steps. A cold fury filled him. He would finish the work the crimson kite started. He would smash the machines that were torturing the oak. He’d find a weapon—anything—and hammer them to pieces and pull down the black strings. He was not sure if there was still time to save the tree. But he would do as much damage as possible before Lord Gilbert could stop him.

He had taken only three steps when the nearest hunter raised a metal talon, lowered its synthetic fiber wings, and, looking directly at Oliver with its cold, glassy eyes, gave a menacing croak.

Oliver stood motionless. One by one, the other hunters turned their heads and fastened their empty stares upon him.

He took a step back, carefully, then another. The hunters’ gazes did not waver. Not until he felt the treehouse wall behind him did he realize he had been holding his breath.

Oliver heard a chuckle. Lord Gilbert was watching him with amusement. “You see, One,” he said, “things can go very badly for you if you don’t cooperate.” He gave his flashing panel a loving stroke. “My machine is all better. Now your training can begin. Two will teach you everything you need to know about the hunters. I’m sure it will seem intimidating at first, but have no fear. Your natural engineering talents will shine through. Join us in my laboratory!”

Lord Gilbert rushed past Oliver, snatching up the remains of the crimson kite. He continued inside. Two limped up the steps after him.

Oliver, looking at the row of hunters, realized that he had no choice but to follow, for now.

He heard voices from the direction of the workshop, or what Lord Gilbert had called his laboratory. He stalked to the doorway.

Right away, Oliver could see that a laboratory was like a workshop, except that all of the normal tools were replaced with more devices that blinked and hummed. There were workbenches made out of that smooth whitish stuff, and long tables, and racks of inscrutable equipment.

And there were fifty-six more hunters.

Oliver knew there were exactly fifty-six, because there were rows of narrow hutches built into all four walls, and each one had a small plate with a number from one to one hundred. In each hutch was a hunter, folded nearly flat. Only the first fifty-six were occupied.

Oliver stopped in the doorway.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Two. “None of these are activated.” He was hunched down on a stool, shivering.

“I’m not afraid,” said Oliver. He stepped into the laboratory and leapt a foot into the air as he heard a scrabbling sound beside him.

The noise came from one of several birdcages hanging in a corner. In the cage crouched a small, quivering hawk with wide, frightened eyes. It was pressed as far as possible from the human occupants of the laboratory.

Next to Two was the injured hunter. He had laid it on a workbench, with its broken wing sticking straight up. It had stopped writhing and jerking. Beside the hunter lay a number of screwdrivers, wrenches, and a few other tools Oliver didn’t recognize.

Lord Gilbert was bent over a kind of tablet on which the crimson kite had been stretched, its sails fixed in place by pegs. He was peering at it through a metal tube and muttering loudly, “Nothing … nothing!”

Oliver’s eye was caught by a flash of bright blue-green. It was one of Great-uncle Gilbert’s kites, folded flat on top of a stack of other colorful kites. All of his best kites, Oliver thought despairingly. Two had taken them all. They must have hoped that one of the others could do what the crimson kite did.

Lord Gilbert looked up from his tube and noticed Oliver. “You!” he said crossly. “Tell me more about this kite. My microscope reveals no unusual features. The sails are made of silk and the spars of ordinary oak. Where did he hide the circuitry?”

“Circuitry?” said Oliver, irritated. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Actually, Oliver did know of one unusual feature of the kite’s design—the oaken spars—but he wasn’t about to share that with Lord Gilbert.

Lord Gilbert looked him up and down and sighed. “No, you probably don’t.”

“And even if I did,” Oliver continued, “I’d never tell you. I’m not going to help you, ever. I’m not like him.” He cast a withering glare at Two, who ducked his head. “And what’s more—”

“Oh, do shut up,” said Lord Gilbert. “Having two of you around is twice as annoying.” He shoved the microscope aside. “A shame I couldn’t force an explanation from the old fool before I banished him to that hell- world. Doubtless a few weeks of suffering will persuade him.…” His eyes fell on Oliver’s arm. “Ah!” he said brightly. “More of his craftsmanship!”

“Hey!” said Oliver, backing away. But Lord Gilbert yanked Great-uncle Gilbert’s beautiful handvane from Oliver’s forearm, wrenching his wrist in the process. He held up his prize, turning it about, squinting and muttering.

“That’s mine,” Oliver lied. “I made it, so hands off!”

Lord Gilbert shrugged. “Useless.” He tossed it aside on a bench and went back to digging around in Oliver’s pack. Oliver reached out carefully and took the handvane, slipping it onto his wrist. Then he went to the crimson kite, where it lay pinned under the microscope, and reached for it, too.

“Don’t touch,” Lord Gilbert warned without looking at Oliver. He gave the HM IV a meaningful tap.

Oliver looked longingly at the kite, a terrible sadness falling over him. It was hard to believe that this poor, ragged, torn thing had ever flown at all. It looked like nothing more than an old piece of silk drooping over the edge of the workbench.

“Try to focus on the future, Oliver One,” said Lord Gilbert. “This is all for the greater good. My machine, once perfected, will be able to send more than just one child, or a few letters—it will be able to send anything and