I could tell by the way she said it that she didn’t really believe what she was saying. I thought about the snarling expression on the stone squirrel’s face, and decided I didn’t really believe it, either.
“It’s a right interesting problem,” Wash said after a minute. “But interesting or not, we still don’t have room for every bit you’ve set aside.”
The professor rolled her eyes but nodded. “I knew this would happen,” she grumbled. “I told Jeffries we needed more than one pack animal. Oh, very well, I’ll go through everything one last time. But if Jeffries complains when we get back, I’m sending him to you.”
The professor took Wash’s words greatly to heart, because she ended up only choosing one satchelful of the best pieces. Champ was pleased that the squirrel’s head he’d found was one. So was my barn swallow. She took the piece she said was from an ice dragon, too, but she said she’d leave it at Promised Land. It was too large to haul all the way to Mill City, and the professor didn’t think it would be as interesting to anyone else right off, the way the squirrel and the barn swallow would.
Champ and I each took one of the stones ourselves, as mementos. His was another paw, from something considerably larger than a squirrel that Wash couldn’t identify. I took a small bird that looked like it had been caught in mid-flight. The head and parts of the wings had broken off, or I think the professor would have taken it instead of my barn swallow.
Getting back to Promised Land didn’t seem like as much of a chore as getting out to the dam had been. We dropped Champ off with Mrs. Turner and Mr. Ajani, and told them what we’d found and what Wash had done about it. Mr. Ajani asked some questions about the spell Wash had used, and he gave me an approving look when Wash said I’d been the one to think of using the magic of the creek itself. Mrs. Turner looked skeptical, but she didn’t say anything.
Wash told them to keep a close eye on the water level in the creek, and maybe check on the dam again in a few days. Then Professor Torgeson told them about the stones and advised them to be extra careful if they meant to stay long anywhere around the landslide. Even if we hadn’t had any difficulties, we still didn’t know what had happened there, and it was best not to take chances. Also, the historical excavators would want everything left exactly as it was, or at least as much as possible. Mrs. Turner looked a bit miffed, especially by the comment on the excavators, but Mr. Ajani just said that anyone they sent would certainly take care, and that was that.
We stayed the night in Promised Land and went on the next day. We had to ride longer and harder than we’d planned in order to make up all the time we’d lost, and even then, it quickly became plain that we weren’t going to be able to survey the whole circuit the way the college had planned. Professor Torgeson wasn’t best pleased, but Wash just shrugged and said he’d have been more surprised if we’d been able to stick to the schedule.
For the rest of the trip, I practiced world-sensing faithfully every morning. It worked just the way it had when I was watching Wash do the spell at Daybat Creek. When I first started, I’d get a splitting headache, but if I kept at it for a minute, the headache went away, and the only problem was the mildly unpleasant sensation of the grub-devastated land. It got even easier when we finally turned east and left the area that the grubs and mirror bugs had destroyed. Even the headache stopped. And then, three nights before we reached the ferry, I had another dream.
Like the flying dream, it was sharp and clear, and the clarity lingered even after I woke. I dreamed I was standing on the bank of the Mammoth River. It was a clear night, and the stars were bright overhead. I could see Mill City on the far shore, faintly outlined against the sky, but where I stood was only wilderness. West Landing was gone, and so was the shimmer of the Great Barrier Spell that should have hung over the middle of the river. Everything was dark and still.
I felt a breath of wind and saw a light on the opposite bank. As the light moved toward me, I saw that it was a log raft with a waist-high railing around the edge. But the logs weren’t logs of wood; each one was a different spell, shaped into a log. The boards that made up the railing were more spells, and likewise every nail that held it all together. The glow of the spells brightened as the raft came closer, until I could hardly stand to look at it.
At last the raft bumped gently against the bank, right where I stood. A gate in the rail swung open, and I stepped on board. The end of the raft where I stood sank lower in the water, then lifted a little. The raft began to move again, back toward the city on the far shore. I felt sad and excited at the same time; sad for what I was leaving and excited by what I was going back to.
Halfway across the river, the raft stopped moving and began to sink. I hit at the railing, trying to break it and release its magic so that the raft would surface and take me safe to shore, but it was too strong. The water crept up to my knees, then my waist. The raft sank completely, and I floundered in the dark until the deep current pulled me down. I woke in a cold sweat, just before I drowned.
I didn’t sleep well for the rest of the night, and I wasn’t good for much the next day. I was careless enough with the professor’s specimen case that she ended up giving me a good scold, and I had to force myself to do my world-sensing practice. I was surprised when it worked the same as always; I’d been expecting more headaches or an upset stomach or something.
Two nights later, on the night before we reached the ferry, I had the dream again. It was exactly the same: the silent river, the glowing spell-raft, the passage halfway across, the raft sinking. I jerked awake in my bedroll, gasping.
Once I’d calmed down a little, I started in on wondering why I’d had the exact same dream twice. I’d heard of folks who believed all sorts of things about regular dreams — that they were messages from people who’d died, or that they were visions of the past, or symbols of the future. If people could believe all that about ordinary, muddled-up dreams, I figured it was possible that the dream I’d been having was more than just a plain old dream. I didn’t know how to check on it, though it did occur to me that if I had the same dream again, I ought to make real sure I never climbed out onto that raft.
Wash rousted us out early in the morning so that we could all get cleaned up in West Landing before we crossed back to Mill City. He said he didn’t mind turning up a bit shaggy himself, but he wasn’t about to face my mother or Professor Jeffries with me looking like a ragamuffin. Professor Torgeson laughed and nodded; next thing I knew, Wash had sent us off to a ladies’ hairdresser while he went to the barbershop.
I was more uneasy at crossing back over the Mammoth River than I’d ever been before, but it was an entirely uneventful trip. We didn’t even have any problem getting the professor’s specimens through the Great Barrier Spell, though I’d expected that the few magical plants and insects we’d collected would be a problem at the least. Wash saw us back to Professor Jeffries at the college, then took himself off to the Settlement Office. I stayed most of the afternoon, helping Professor Torgeson unpack and sort all the specimens she’d brought back.
When I finally got home, Mama had made a welcome-back dinner that couldn’t have been fancier if I’d been gone ten years. She’d made Nan and her husband come for it, even though she only found out at the last minute when I was for sure going to be home. She’d have had Jack and Rennie, too, if they’d been anywhere in reach.