Zib didn’t like Hepzibah very much. They might share a skeleton, but they would never share a skin.
“Names don’t work like that,” protested Avery. “My name is Avery. It’s Avery now, and it’s Avery tomorrow, and it was Avery yesterday. Once you have a name, it’s yours. You can’t just slice it up and use the parts you like.”
“Can so!”
“Can not!”
“Can so!”
A shadow passed over them, huge and dark and silent. The children froze, looking slowly skyward. There was nothing there. A nearby tree creaked ominously. They looked down.
The owl that had landed on a branch almost even with their eyes looked back at them. A birdwatcher would have gasped at the sight, fumbling for their binoculars and bird book, intent on recording this remarkable moment. Avery and Zib simply stared. Avery, who had watched a great many nature shows despite not liking the outdoors, thought that it might be the biggest owl in the entire world. It was easily as tall as he was, with tufted feathers forming “ears” on the sides of its head that made it look even taller. Zib, who knew all the owls living in the woods behind her house, thought she had never seen a blue owl before. It was as blue as the ferns, banded in midnight and morning, with a belly the color of the ceaseless sea.
The owl looked at Avery and Zib. Avery and Zib looked at the owl. It was difficult not to notice how long the owl’s talons were, or how sharp its beak was, or how wide and orange its eyes were. Looking directly at them was like trying to have a staring contest with the whole of Halloween.
Privately, Avery guessed that the owl did not give away licorice or candy apples on Halloween night. Dead stoats and stitches were much more likely.
“You are very loud,” said the owl finally. “If you must spend the whole day fighting, could you do it under someone else’s tree?” The owl had a soft and pleasant voice, like a nanny, and while there was a slight lisp to its words, both Avery and Zib could understand it perfectly. They blinked in unison, bemused.
“I didn’t know owls could talk,” said Zib.
“Of course owls can talk,” said the owl. “Everything can talk. It’s simply a matter of learning how best to listen.”
“No,” said Avery.
Zib and the owl turned to look at him. He shook his head.
“No,” he repeated, and “No,” he said a third time, for emphasis. “I’m supposed to be going to school. I should be at school by now, not standing here arguing with an owl next to a wall that isn’t there.”
“You’re right about one thing,” said the owl. “There isn’t a wall there at all. I don’t know all the names you humans use for the things you build, but I know what a wall is, and I know what a wall isn’t, and unless humans have started building invisible walls, that isn’t one.” The owl blinked. As its eyes were very large, this took quite some time. “Humans haven’t started building invisible walls, have they? Because that would be very unneighborly of you. Glass is bad enough. Invisible walls would be a step too far.”
“Can you be next to something that isn’t there?” asked Zib.
Avery glared at them both. “Don’t make fun of me,” he said.
“I’m not,” protested Zib. “I asked because I really want to know!”
The owl heaved a heavy sigh. “You’re children, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Zib. “Can’t you tell?”
“Humans always look the same to me once they’re old enough to leave the nest. Hatchling humans are one thing, but the rest of you? Pssh.” The owl waved a wing. “All gangly and flightless and odd. It’s no wonder you cover yourselves with artificial feathers. I wouldn’t want to go around looking plucked all the time either, if I were you. But the two of you, you squawk and flail your flightless little wings, and those things usually mean ‘child’ when it’s humans involved. What are you doing here?”
“We climbed over the wall that isn’t there,” said Avery. “Where are we?”
“Well, you’re in the Forest of Borders,” said the owl. “The forest is very large, so that may not help you as much as you would like it to, but it’s where you are, and it’s where you’ll be until you decide to let your feet take you someplace else. You’re under my tree, which is more specific but even less helpful, since it doesn’t tell you where anything else is. Where are your nests?”
“On the other side of the wall,” said Avery miserably.
Unlike Zib, he had never gone wishing for adventures, and had always thought that he wouldn’t know what to do with one if it happened to come along. Now that he was being proven right, he found that he didn’t enjoy it in the least. This wasn’t the sort of right answer that was rewarded with hot chocolate and fresh cookies and pats on the head; this was the sort of right answer that came after a question like “Do you think it will hurt?” or “Do you know whose turn it is to do the dishes?”
For perhaps the first time in his life, Avery found himself wishing he’d been wrong.
“Ah,” said the owl, understanding. “Poor children. You didn’t know you were on a border, did you? And when you’re on a border, if you step wrong, you can find yourself in the forest.”
“Can we step back?” asked Zib.
“No, I’m afraid not. You’re not on a border anymore, you see; you’re someplace. The only way to get back to where you were is to find another border, one that crosses
