“And they built the wall because of that?” asked Oliver.
“Partly,” Ilia said, “but also because of what happened next.”
Oliver waited.
“Windblowne went crazy,” Ilia said. “They blamed the great-uncle. The Watch—they were all old men back then—went to his treehouse to arrest him. When they got there, he was packing. He said he was going to search for the children. The Watch tried to stop him, and that’s where the story gets really weird. The Watch claimed they were attacked by kites. Some said it was five kites, some said ten—and some said it was really only one. Whatever happened, when they returned, they were covered in bites and bruises and there were a few broken arms.”
Oliver thought about the kite-eater, far away in his Windblowne. By now, it had probably chewed most of the way through those books.
Ilia went on. “And the great-uncle was gone. No one ever found him, or the kites, or the children. But after that, everything in Windblowne changed. Everyone became afraid. They built the wall to keep anyone from going to the crest, and they destroyed every kite they could find. They said kites, the same ones that had attacked the Watch, had stolen the Lost away, and that no kites would be allowed in Windblowne again.”
“But the kites didn’t steal them,” Oliver pointed out. “The notes told them to come to the crest!”
“Yes,” she sighed. “But they destroyed the note they found, too. They wanted to blame someone, so they blamed the great-uncle and his kites and ignored everything that told another story.”
Oliver shook his head. No wonder the other children had gotten so angry with him when he claimed to be Oliver.
“I miss him,” Ilia said. “He was my best friend. Everyone said he must be dead, but his great-uncle said he wasn’t and that he would be able to find him. But nobody would listen.” She paused, studying Oliver, studying his kite. “I know this is a stupid question,” she said, hesitating, “but … you look a lot like … I mean, it’s been five years but …” Her voice trembled. “Are you Oliver?”
“Yes,” said Oliver. “And no. Not your Oliver.”
He told Ilia everything, from the moment he had first met Great-uncle Gilbert to his escape from Lord Gilbert’s Windblowne. Ilia, at first stunned into silence, became increasingly excited as the tale went on.
At last she burst out, annoyingly, just as Oliver was coming to the part where he bravely fought off a flock of Lord Gilbert’s hunters. “This means,” she exclaimed, her eyes bright, “that when Oliver … I mean, my Oliver … disappeared, he traveled to another world!” She jumped to her feet, beaming. “Maybe he’s the Oliver who’s living with Lord Gilbert!”
“No,” said Oliver. “He’s lived in that Windblowne his whole life. His parents disappeared along with everyone else.”
“Oh,” said Ilia, disappointed. “Well, you travel to lots of worlds! You’ll find him!”
Oliver shook his head, wishing he could get back to the part where he knocked two hunters aside with a single blow. “No, I’m sorry. I think there’s a lot of these worlds—thousands … millions. And I can’t choose where I go. Not with a broken kite.”
“That means …,” said Ilia, then paused. “That means when you leave, you’ll never come back again?”
Oliver was certain he detected a quaver in her voice.
“No,” said Oliver, as manfully and courageously as he could manage. “I don’t think so.”
“But the kite can still do things,” Ilia pointed out. “I saw it carry you up the wall. And you said it grabbed you around the arm before you took off from Lord Gilbert’s world.”
“Y-yes,” said Oliver, thinking, stroking the kite. “It’s still alive. But I think it takes a lot of energy and wind before it can do those things, and it’s exhausted afterward.” He looked at Ilia. It all sounded so weird, he had stopped expecting anyone to believe him. But she sat gazing at him solemnly. There was no doubt that she trusted him. He remembered another Ilia trusting him once before too, and winced before continuing. “And it can’t guide me to the right Windblowne. We just have to go wherever the wind takes us. I thought I could use my great-uncle’s handvane for guidance, but it’s broken, too.”
He took Great-uncle Gilbert’s handvane from his pack.
Ilia gasped. “A handvane! I haven’t seen one in years. And it’s so beautiful!”
“Here,” said Oliver.
Ilia traced her finger over the intricate carvings. “You have so many amazing things.”
Oliver had not thought about it. “I guess I do,” he said, trying to boast a little bit but not too much.
Ilia spun the vane, which settled firmly on west. “How would this help guide you between worlds?”
“I don’t know,” Oliver admitted. “I just thought it might. I mean, handvanes can tell you a lot of things, like when the winds are about to change, and where the next winds might come from. And Great-uncle Gilbert made this one, so …” He shrugged. “Anyway, it’s no good.”
“I think it’s pretty good,” said Ilia, smiling and returning the handvane. Oliver placed it back in his pack, more carefully this time.
“So what are you going to do next?” asked Ilia.
“Well,” said Oliver slowly, “I’m trying to find my great-uncle, but I don’t know how to find him or if I ever will. I’ll just have to go from world to world, trying to find where Lord Gilbert left him, and then maybe I can stop Lord Gilbert in time to save the oaks and the other Windblownes and Olivers and …” To his shame, his voice was shaking. But when he put it all out like that, the situation sounded hopeless. Anyone who paid attention could tell the oaks were dying, and there wasn’t much time left.
He tried to recover his manly tone, but he did not feel manly anymore. He felt like just another Oliver who had been blown away from home.
He looked at the crumpled note, which was both familiar and foreign at the same time. “Why would those kids do what your Oliver told them?” he asked, thinking that if he wrote such a note, everyone would pass it around, laughing about how his family got weirder every day. They certainly wouldn’t light out for the crest at midnight under perilous circumstances.
“Oh, of course they would!” said Ilia, surprised. “Why wouldn’t they? I mean, you and your family were just about the most respected people in Windblowne! Probably still are, in your world.”
“Er … yes,” said Oliver. “Of course. Just checking.”
He looked at the note again, the childish scrawl somehow infused with greatness. Then something occurred to him.
“The notes,” he said, holding up the crumpled paper. “You said they destroyed the one they found. They didn’t find this one?”
“No,” she said. “They didn’t.”
“Why not? Whose was it?”
Ilia’s face went tight. “It was mine.”
“Yours? But—”
“I never saw it,” she said bitterly. “I snuck out that night to climb trees. When I came in that morning, the note was on my pillow. But it was too late. Midnight had passed. I was meant to be one of the Lost”—her voice caught—“but now I’ll never know what happened.”
A few minutes of silence passed. Ilia stared at the floor. Oliver toyed with one of the telescopes, feeling embarrassed. The Oliver of this world had been Ilia’s best friend. A best friend would probably know what to say in a situation like this. But he had no idea, any more than he knew how to fix the crimson kite.
The silence was broken by a distant, echoing shout.
“The Watch again,” said Ilia, standing. “Don’t worry, they’ve never found my treehouse.”
“But they’ll keep looking for me,” said Oliver. “And if they don’t find me, then the hunters will. It will be a lot harder to hide from them.”
It was true. The hunters would continue their relentless search, and eventually they would find him. He couldn’t protect the crimson kite forever, or his family, or his Windblowne. Wherever he flew, he would bring danger to everyone he met, just like he was bringing danger to Ilia now.
“Maybe we
