Something changed in Cezar’s face, and a chill went up my spine. It was as if darkness itself was looking out through those eight-year-old eyes. I dropped my gaze; I could not look at him.
I heard him say, “I’m sure,” in a voice that sounded like someone else’s. Then the crone spoke again.
“It’s done,” she said. “Play your game. Don’t forget, next time: nothing comes without a price.” She picked up her basket, turned her back on us, and shuffled away into the woods.
Costi was on his feet, solemnity forgotten. “I’m King of the Lake!” he shouted. Seizing my hand, he ran down to the water, pulling me behind him. “Come on, Jena! I’ll give you first turn on the raft. I’ll ferry you over to the magic island. The Queen of the Fairies needs her own special realm where she can hold court.”
He was so quick. My heart pounding, I let him guide me onto the precarious craft, constructed of willow poles tied with twists of flax and lengths of fraying rope. It rocked in the water as he stood knee-deep beside it, unfastening the line that moored it to the willow. I teetered and sat down abruptly, swallowing tears of fright. My big cousin had allowed me to play his grown-up game. I wasn’t going to give him the chance to call me a crybaby. Besides, I’d paid for this with my best thing in the world. It must be all right. And I really did want to be on that island, the dear little one with the flowers. If I looked closely enough, I might find real fairies there, tiny ones, hiding inside the blooms. I was a queen now; I must be brave.
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“Ready?” asked Costi. Then, without waiting for an answer, he pushed the raft away from the shore. The pole for guiding it lay across the weathered boards by my feet. Probably he had planned to jump on with me, but somehow, the raft went out too quickly. As I grabbed for the pole, it rolled across the boards and into the waters of the Deadwash. Costi was left standing in the shallows, staring after me.
The raft floated out. Eddies and swirls appeared on the surface around it, carrying the pole farther and farther away. I passed the little island with the flowers. I passed another island thick with thornbushes, and a third all mossy rocks. The figures of my cousins got smaller and smaller. I thought I could see dark figures on the islands, hands reaching out to grab me.
The mist seemed to swirl closer, as if to draw me into the mysterious realm beyond. I began to cry. The raft moved on, and I began to scream.
“Hold on, Jena!” Costi shouted. “I’m coming to get you!” He stripped off his shirt and waded into the lake. He was a strong swimmer. On the shore behind him, Cezar stood in shadow.
His face was a white blob, his figure no taller than my little finger. He was utterly still. My screams subsided to hysterical sobs, then to sniffs, as Costi came closer. Around him, I saw the lake waters swirling and bubbling. The raft began to move in circles, making me dizzy, carrying me away from his grasp.
There was nothing to hold on to. I felt another scream welling up in me, and sank my teeth into my lip. Then Costi was there, his hands clutching the edge of the raft, his face even whiter than Cezar’s. His dark hair was streaming water and his teeth were chattering.
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I was too scared to speak. The raft began to drift back slowly toward the shore, Costi’s strong legs kicking us forward. We moved past the rocky island and the thorny one.
Costi was struggling to hold on, fighting the current. His eyes had a fierce look in them, like someone in a fight. His fingers were slipping. I put my hands over my face, listening to him gasping for breath. I felt the raft spin around, then tilt up; I heard splashing. Then someone grabbed my arm, pulling me, and I struck out wildly.
“Stop it, Jena, it’s me. You’re safe now.” The voice was Cezar’s. As I opened my eyes, the raft beached itself, and my cousin’s hands dragged me onto dry land. My head was spinning. My nose was running. My heart was beating madly.
I fled. I pelted past Cezar, past the cloth where we had laid our offerings, past the clothing Costi had shed, and into the shelter of the bushes, where I crouched down with my colored blanket over my head and surrendered to hiccuping sobs of fright and relief.
Maybe I wasn’t there long—to a five-year-old, a few minutes can seem an age. I heard Cezar calling my name, but I ignored him. This was the boys’ fault. They had made me play the game, they had made me come to the lake, and now it was all spoiled. And I hadn’t gotten to be Queen of the Fairies, even though I’d given away my lovely crown. Now my cousins would tease me for being afraid and for crying, and they’d never ask me to play with them again.
“Jena! Come out! Jena, please!”
Something in Cezar’s voice made me get up and walk back 54
to the shore. The square of cloth still lay on the sand, but the silver ring and my little crown were gone. I couldn’t see the raft. I couldn’t see Costi.
“Where were you?” Cezar seized me by the arms, hard—
I thought he was going to shake me. “Where did you go? Did you see what happened?”
“Ow, let go!” I protested. “See what? What do you mean?
Where’s Costi?” Then I noticed that, although he was three whole years older than me, my cousin was crying.
Cezar sat me down on the sand and told me what had happened. His nose was running because of the tears, and his eyes were swelling up and going all red. I gave him back his handkerchief. He told me that as the raft was passing the fairy island, Costi had lost his grip. As Cezar had stripped off his own shirt and boots, ready to go to his brother’s aid, hands had reached up from under the water, pulling at Costi’s arms and rocking the raft as if to capsize it. Cezar had swum out to rescue me, grabbing the raft just in time. He’d propelled it, and me, safely to shore. Then he’d gone back in for his brother. But when he returned to the fairy island, the water was calm and clear. And Costi was gone.
“He’s dead.” He said it as if he couldn’t believe it, even though he’d seen it with his own eyes. “Costi’s dead. The witch took him. Dr?agu?ta, the witch of the wood. She pulled him under and drowned him.”
I was too little to find words. Perhaps I did not yet quite understand what death was.
“We have to go home.” Cezar’s eyes were odd, shocked and 55
staring. He looked more angry than sad. “We have to tell them.
You’re going to have to help me, Jena.”
I nodded, misery starting to settle over me like a dark blanket. Costi was gone. Costi, who was so alive—the
