Edgar folded up his newspaper, picked up a pot of coffee from the warmer, and came over to Merddyn’s table. “More coffee, sir?”
“A little. Thank you, Edgar.”
Pouring the coffee, Edgar said, “He’s a nice kid. He’ll come around.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I run a doughnut shop. You get a feel for people.”
Merddyn smiled. “I guess I’ll just have to have faith in your judgment, Edgar.”
“I’m never wrong.”
“I used to think the same thing a few thousand years ago.” Merddyn smiled sadly and turned his attention to the important task of choosing another doughnut.
^ 46 The term idiot savant is old-fashioned now. It was used to describe someone who was capable of accomplishing one very complicated task, despite being of below normal intelligence or mentally challenged. For example, a person whose brain was faulty in some way and couldn’t speak might perform extremely complicated mathematical functions in his or her head. I once knew a beaver that could slap out pi to the three-hundredth decimal place. It wasn’t an idiot savant, however; it was merely amazing.
DAWN FLYERS
Brendan had left the doughnut shop intending to go home. Instead, he’d found himself running, faster and faster. At first, he had no idea where he was going. He just needed to move. He didn’t want to think about anything but speed. It was the only way he could wipe his mind and exhaust himself to the point where he could fall asleep. At last, he went home and crawled into bed without even changing into his pyjamas.
For the next three days, he was irritable and distracted. His parents were too busy with work and Christmas preparations to notice his mood. Delia, surprisingly, stayed out of his way. He went to school and sleepwalked through classes, alone. Charlie didn’t come around, as if sensing that the meeting with Merddyn had left him needing some time and space to himself. Each night he waited until he was sure everyone was asleep and then, once again, he raced through the streets, trying to banish his worry and confusion with the burning sizzle of the warp singing in his blood.
On the third night, the night before the Proving, he followed the Humber River north into the countryside. As he left the blaze of city lights behind, he could see the stars wheeling above him. Now and then, a star raced steadily across the blackness: a satellite, his father had told him years ago. He was always amazed that the works of Humans were visible in space, a sign that they were constantly reaching for more in the universe. Brendan turned and swung across the top of the city, ghosting along just outside the reach of the halogen lamps that lit the freeway, until he reached the Don River and headed south.
South he flashed, keeping to the back alleys, staying in the shadows and away from the people who frequented the nighttime streets. The speed didn’t come easily to him now. His mind was troubled, turning over what Merddyn had told him. How could he be so important? How could he be the key to anything? He looked up to the stars but could barely see them in the wash of light pollution.
Humans have no idea how much more there is to the world. Even my parents, with their recycling and green habits, will never see it the way I can, the pain and the poison. I can feel it in the air. I can feel it my lungs when I breathe. If I think too much about it, I’ll go insane!
He staggered to a halt in the shadowed doorway of St. Michael’s Church, in the heart of the winter city. The streets were quiet save for a few late revellers. He couldn’t see them but he heard the mobs heading along Church Street. They shouted back and forth, sang at the top of their lungs. He envied them their easy mood. He found himself sliding dangerously toward self-pity.
He leaned back against the weathered wooden door of the cathedral. Christmas with his family was probably his favourite time. His mum and dad were big fans of the holiday and tried to impart its traditions to their kids. There was midnight mass on Christmas Eve, though they rarely went to church any other day. They came here, to St. Michael’s. Brendan closed his eyes and tried to remember the smell of the incense and the sound of the choir as it filled the vaulted space.
He needed some peace. He couldn’t catch his breath. Everything was just too much: the revelation of his true heritage, and now the pressure of the Proving. To top it all off, here was Merddyn, the great Merlin himself, telling Brendan that the fate of the world might rest on his shoulders. How could he hope to bear such a heavy burden? Only weeks ago, the biggest thing he’d had to worry about was his crush on Marina Kaprillian. Now he wasn’t sure if he’d live to come back to this church with his family on Christmas Eve.
He didn’t hear Kim’s approach. Suddenly, her voice was in his ear.
“There you are!” Kim melted out of the shadows and trotted toward him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. People were worried sick.”
“Oh,” Brendan grunted. “Well, you’ve found me. You can go tell everyone I’m fine.”
“Wow. Hello, Grumpy-Pants! It’s nice to see you, too.”
Brendan didn’t speak as she settled down next to him on the steps.
“Look who’s talking,” Brendan shot back. “You haven’t exactly been all sweetness and light, you know!”
Kim glowered but said nothing. They leaned against the door in silence for a moment, listening to the people laughing and singing.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“What’s wrong?” He laughed bitterly. “What isn’t wrong?”
“It’s not that bad, Brendan.”
“You don’t think so? I may die at the Proving!”
“You probably won’t, though.”
“Why not?” Brendan said softly, hanging his head. “What makes you so sure?”
Kim smiled her lopsided smile. “You always manage to surprise everyone. I believe in you.”
“Well, that makes one of us.”
“And… ”
“And what?”
Kim took his chin in her hand and lifted his head until he was looking into her almond-shaped brown eyes. “And I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”
As Brendan studied her familiar face, the angle of her chin, her high cheekbones, the dark, glossy hair falling over her forehead, he realized suddenly how glad he was to see her. Charlie had shown up and stolen his attention. The lutin had stepped into his life and pulled him into her orbit. He’d neglected not only his friendship with Harold and Dmitri, but his friendship with Kim, too. He saw that she’d been hurt by that, and he felt ashamed.
Kim sensed his discomfort and mercifully let go of his chin. “All right, pal. It’s time to blow off some steam. I know just the thing. Follow me.”
She set off across the churchyard, her field hockey stick swinging back and forth on her back like a pendulum. After a moment’s hesitation, he followed her.
He didn’t know where they were going until she turned down a street and the looming spire of the CN Tower rose into the night before them. Year-round, the tower’s elevator shafts that crawled up the sides were lit up, but during the holidays, the lights were bright green and red, transforming the grey concrete finger into a gargantuan candy cane. Even through the cloud of his tension and worry, the sight lifted Brendan’s spirits. He felt a swell of fondness for the city he called home.
As they drew closer they were joined by others heading to the tower. Faeries emerged from the alleyways and side streets until a small group of colourfully dressed travellers coalesced into a throng. Some carried bundles on their backs, tightly rolled tubes of bright fabric and sticks that looked like tent poles.
“Hey, Ki-Mata! How’s it going?” a Faerie called, falling into step with them. She was carrying a multicoloured bundle on her back. She smiled at Brendan. “Hey, Brendan! I’ve never seen you out here before.”
Brendan recognized Cassie, the barista from the Hot Pot. Gone was the bland apron and Human disguise. She was out in all her Faerie glory. Her hair was aglow with filaments of silver wire woven into her dark tresses. She wore a tight jumpsuit of muted sky-blue and grey. “Hi. No, I guess not,” Brendan admitted. “What’s going on? Where are all these people headed?”