Xander and the Lost Island of Monsters (11 page)

I don't have what it takes to save my father. Poor Dad. Peyton should have been his son, not me.

I wonder if my mother knew about my father being Momotaro. Maybe that's why she left. When I asked my father about my mom leaving, all he said was, “You're too young to understand. But she loves you very much.” Not a very satisfactory answer, but the only one he'd give. Just this year, I went to Dad and said, “Hey, I think I'm old enough now to handle whatever you need to tell me.”

For a second, Dad peered at me as if he agreed. Then he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Soon, Xander. I promise.”

I'd heard Peyton's parents talking about my mother more than once when I was over at their house. One time, Peyton and I were watching a baseball game. We both probably would have preferred to watch an anime, but that would have caused Peyton's father to come in and lecture us about the uselessness of cartoons. Still, the baseball game was tolerable, mostly because we were splitting a bag of BBQ-flavored sunflower seeds. Peyton pecked his out of his hand, eating ten for every one that I ate. I was trying my best to catch up so he wouldn't finish the whole bag before I got my share.

Peyton's parents were in the kitchen, washing dishes or something. “Guess what?” Peyton's mother said to her husband as she ran water in the sink. “I know someone I could introduce Xander's dad to. That new librarian in town.”

I sat up straight and spat out a husk. It hit the television screen. I knew who she meant. A pretty, young librarian with long brown hair who smiled at me every time I came in. She'd special-ordered a graphic novel I wanted from a county library on the other side of San Diego. “No!” I yelled.

Peyton reached out and wiped the husk off the screen. “Ew. Be careful. What are you yelling about? Our team is winning. I know you don't care about baseball, but that's a good thing.”

“Can't you hear what your mother is saying?” I said. “She wants to set my dad up with the librarian.”

He shook his head. “I can't hear her at all.” He spat a shell into an empty paper cup and said nothing else.

“I don't want my dad dating some silly librarian.” She'd probably bring me brand-new books and comics all the time, or let me have extra minutes on the library computers, or pretend she didn't see when I was eating a snack in there.

Oh no. I couldn't think of a single negative thing about her. But that didn't mean I wanted my dad to date her. Why wouldn't my friend back me up? “That would be totally awful,” I said to him.

Peyton cleared his throat and stared into the sunflower seed cup. “Xander. It's been eight years since your mom left.”

I slumped back into the couch. “So?”

“So…” Peyton sucked a few more seeds into his mouth. “That's more than half your life.”

“So?” I sounded angry, even to myself. “What are you saying?”

He crunched the seeds and looked at the television. “So maybe your mom's just not coming back.”

My eyes got hot and teary. And right now they get hot and teary all over again, here on the gently rocking Momotaro ship in the middle of the ocean, as they stare up at the empty bunk.

Because I know Peyton is right. My mother's not coming back, and my whole family needs to get over her and move on with our lives.

Well, maybe my mother's gone because she couldn't handle being the wife of a demon-fighting peach man. I kind of want to run away myself.

Maybe Dad tried to tell her all this and she thought he'd lost his mind. But if that was the case, why didn't she take me with her?

The truth is, I just don't know.

The questions churn in my mind like clothes in a big old washing machine. Great. Now I'll never get to sleep.

I turn over and fluff my sweaty pillow. Across the room, Peyton and Inu breathe slowly and deeply. They, of course, have been asleep all this time.

The current knocks into the ship with a gentle
whoosh, whoosh
. Despite myself, lulled by the rocking, I finally doze off.

I'm in a black forest. Not the pine one that used to be by my house. No, this is a different forest, with lots of leafy trees, and dry brush crunching under my feet. Ahead of me is a small clearing, with dusty dirt on the ground. This is the only spot where the sun shines through.

A silver-haired man, shirtless, in a pair of loose white pants, swings a samurai sword in a circle above his head, his back to me. His white skin has a sort of glow to it, like a dim moon. His back muscles bulge as the sword cuts the air. The blade gleams. Ivory peaches decorate the black handle.

“Ie ni kangei suru,”
the man says in a quiet, deep voice, his back still turned.
Welcome home
, my brain translates instantly.

The man turns and smiles at me, wrinkles forming parentheses beside his mouth. He has a sparse, closely trimmed silvery beard, and his eyes sparkle like blue topaz.

Without thinking, I drop into a bow. When I straighten up, he slides the sword into a scabbard that is stuck through the left side of his
obi
belt, by his hip. He strides toward me. He's tall—tall for anyone, but especially for a Japanese man. Taller than Dad. I only come up to his chest.

I look up into his eyes. They are eerily like mine, except for the wrinkles fanning out on the sides. I see myself in his pupils. It's like I'm inside of him, too, staring back at myself way down below.

He steps forward and embraces me. He smells exactly like that old wooden box full of netsuke, a faint whiff of powdered sugar mixed with musty wood and fresh green grass.

“Musashi-chan,”
he whispers, and kisses the top of my head.

I know it's him, even though I've never met him, and he seems way, way younger than my grandmother. But he died old, not young. “OjÄ«chan,” I say, and it's not a question at all. Somehow I'm not surprised to see him here. Of course—it's totally normal to see the ghost of my grandfather. At least when you've had a day like mine.

I look down at the crackling leaves beneath my feet. This is a really detailed dream. “Where's my father?” I ask. I figure he knows. He's a ghost. Can't they see the whole planet or something?

“You must retrieve him.” OjÄ«chan crosses his arms, and his silvery eyebrows slant down in a scowl.

My heart beats really fast. “But I don't know how.” Why did he say
retrieve
, instead of
save
?

“You
do
know how.” OjÄ«chan turns away, gets on his knees as if he's praying. “You have powers unknown to the rest of us. The trick is unlocking them.”

“You're wrong. I don't have any power.” Tears spring into my eyes, and my nose starts to run. I sniffle. I hate crying, but I can't help it. What do they want from me? A few hours ago, the hardest thing I'd ever done was play in an all-day Mario Kart video game battle.

OjÄ«chan doesn't answer. His body shakes, and I wonder if it's got something to do with the ship moving in real life. I walk over and put my hand on his shuddering shoulder. “Are you all right?”

My grandfather turns. Slime oozes up between my fingers as if he's an amphibian. It burns my skin. “Ouch!” I wipe my hand on my side, but it still hurts like I'm holding a hot lightbulb.

A forked red tongue darts out of his mouth. At the end of each fork is a hissing, fanged snake. I jump backward.

The skin on his face is now red and scaly, covered in a thin coat of shiny goop.

His eyes are coal-black.

“Xander. At last.” The creature reaches for me.

“Anata ni wa nani mo nai!”
I don't know what I just said. The creature looks as surprised as I feel.

I shout it again.
“Anata ni wa nani mo nai!”
And then I'm just screaming, a long wail, as I feel myself fall.

I
wake up by falling out of bed. My eyes fly open right before my face hits the extremely wooden, extremely hard, extremely real floor.

But then I land upright, perfectly fine. How did I do that?

In his bunk, Inu lets out a loud yawn-sigh, high-pitched moving to low.
Buh
, he barks in a bored way, knowing I'm all right. He drops his head back down on the pillow.

“Good morning to you, too.” I feel my face with my hands, just to make double sure I didn't get hurt. No bruise, no blood. I use the toilet, then go into the galley.

Peyton sticks his head down from the upper deck. “Dude, are you okay? You were screaming like a girl in a horror movie.”

I have to laugh. “You mean, I screamed the same way you scream when you see a spider?”

“Something like that.” Peyton grins back at me. His hair's sticking straight up like a cockatoo's head feathers. Mine probably is, too. There's no adult here to tell us to comb our hair or brush our teeth. That's kind of cool. “Nightmare?”

I nod. That's all it was. Not a visit from my real grandfather or a real demon creature.
Justadreamjustadream
, I chant silently to myself. “Yeah. Guess I'm not used to the boat.”

I go up on deck. “Here.” Peyton comes up beside me and hands me something wrapped neatly, like a diamond-shaped origami, in wax paper. “Found these in that box.”

Good old Peyton, always pecking around for food. I unfold the paper to find a big, fat buttery croissant stuffed with chocolate. My mouth waters. “Thanks.” I bite into it. So good. Obāchan usually makes me eat something disgustingly healthy for breakfast, like oatmeal sprinkled with bran fiber. Maybe this trip's not such a bad thing. “Did you find something for Inu?” Dogs can't have chocolate.

He nods. “A meaty rice ball.”

“Cool.” We stand there quiet for a minute, gazing out at the horizon. The sky is stained violet, the way it looks at sunset sometimes, only the sun's getting higher and this sky is definitely getting a brighter shade of purple. The color is reflected in the water, crystalline and countless meters deep, dark mauve in some parts and light lilac in others. I inhale sharply, tasting the salt in the back of my throat from the ocean. A school of dolphins leaps in and out of the amethyst water, their sleek gray-green bodies forming perfect half-moons as they squeak merrily to each other. Only, when I lean forward, I see that they're not dolphins, but unfamiliar creatures with green scales and wider eyes. I just hope they're as friendly as dolphins. I don't feel like battling anything this soon after breakfast.

“Wow,” is all I can think of to say. Words seem pretty inadequate at this point.

“Yeah,” Peyton says in a hushed tone, like he's inside a church.

We stand silently for another moment as the sun turns brilliant on the sea. The dolphin creatures dive and disappear.

I finish the croissant and lick my fingers. “Got any orange juice?”

“I didn't see it. But that doesn't mean there isn't any.”

I stand there for a moment, debating whether I want to bother going back to the galley. Then something tickles my side. Like a branch with soft leaves. I laugh. “Peyton, cut it out.” I turn and look at him. He's packing a croissant into his mouth, chocolate smeared around his lips.

And then I see. My mind is blown.

“Peyton,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I point at his back. Now I can't speak at all. I just keep pointing with a quivering finger.

Peyton frowns and tries to see behind him. He turns all the way around. “What? Do I have TP stuck to my butt?”

No.

He has wings.

Big, golden, feathery, soft, honest-to-goodness, eagle-looking wings.

Finally my voice works again. “LOOK AT THOSE THINGS THAT ARE COMING OUT OF YOUR BACK!”

He cranes his neck until he sees what I see. “AAAGH!” He leaps forward like he's trying to get away. The wings spread out, wider than his arms, longer than his whole body.

Peyton starts running. He sprints all the way down the deck to the end of the boat, then back to the prow, then to the stern again.