Bedtime Story Read online

  Apparently we were done.

  “Okay, give me a couple of minutes.”

  He nodded, and then he was gone, bent a little under the weight of the pack.

  “Homework first,” I called after him. “No video games until after your schoolwork is done.”

  Nothing.

  For two days the King’s Men gave their horses a bit of lead, but never let them reach a full gallop. They rode the faint riverside trail from early in the morning until late in the afternoon, when they would start looking for places to make camp. They rode through the heat of the day, the sun baking down, a thick sheen of sweat on their faces catching the dust and darkening their skin. They rode through the rough, brown-grey landscape, through the tall dry grass and over the slow rolling hills.

  Dafyd had never been more than a short walk from the seashore; caught up in the streets of the city on the island and Colcott Town he had never imagined that the world could open up like this and be so vast, so empty, so utterly devoid of people. They passed only occasional farmhouses, a few fisherman’s shacks along the river. The air seemed filled with spice, a sharp, savoury scent he couldn’t quite identify.

  Each company of riders made camp separately for the night. Though “making camp’” was an exaggeration: preparations included little more than finding a flat place off the trail, close to the river for fresh water, where the horses could be tethered and the men’s bedrolls opened.

  “No fires,” Captain Bream said as the sun sank low. “A fire can be seen for miles in this country, and the smoke can be smelled even farther.”

  The slight cool of the evening came as a blessed relief. The dried meat and crusty bread that the men had brought were more than satisfying, the river water cold and almost sweet it was so fresh.

  That first night, Dafyd had difficulty getting to sleep. He kept getting lost in the stars. The sky on the plains stretched from flat horizon to flat horizon, seeming almost to swallow him.

  They rode again all through the next day, following the curve of the river to the southeast.

  As they finished eating that night, the captain leaned back against a log. “By this time tomorrow …” he began, looking at Loren.

  The magus nodded. “That’s what I reckoned as well.”

  Dafyd looked from one man to the other, not following their meaning. “What?’ he asked.

  “We should get to the canyon by early afternoon tomorrow,” the captain said.

  That didn’t help Dafyd. “What canyon?”

  “The canyon we’ve been riding for.” A hint of impatience crept into the captain’s voice. He looked at the magus.

  The old man rose and walked to his horse. “I didn’t see any need to burden the boy with the specifics.” He brought back his saddlebag from the tall grass near where his mount was tethered. “Especially since he was concentrating so hard on keeping to his horse.”

  The captain smirked.

  “We’re going to a canyon?” Dafyd asked, trying to shift the conversation back.

  “I believe so,” the magus said. He sat on another piece of driftwood, three of which formed a rough triangle near the river’s edge. “The book presents us with a bit of a puzzle, actually.” He began to flip through the pages. “According to the book, the secret of the Sunstone will be found in ‘the rainbow chasm at the moment the sun slips and the doorway to the secret world is revealed.’ ”

  “So is that the name of the canyon?” Dafyd asked.

  “No, that is what the men have always called it.”

  “Then … how do we know if we’re going to the right place?”

  “We don’t,” the captain said drily.

  The magus unrolled a map, laying it on the ground close to the hooded lantern. The evening light was almost gone. “We’re here,” he said, pointing at a nondescript spot along the twisting line of the river. “We’ll stay close to the river in the morning, and a half-day’s ride”—he slid his finger along the line, toward the mountains in the east—“will bring us to this canyon. Which I think”—he looked at Captain Bream—“is the canyon described in the prophecies.”

  “Why do you think that?” Dafyd asked.

  “Because of this,” the magus said, poking his finger at a series of arching lines on the map.

  “And because of something I saw in the war,” the captain said.

  “I called you twice,” I said as I pushed David’s door open with my free hand. “Didn’t you—?”

  He looked up at me as if caught, holding his place in the book with one finger. He was sitting on the bed, his pack on the floor.

  “Who—? Pardon?” His eyes were glassy, unfocused. He must have been deep into it.

  I gestured toward him with the plate. “I’ve got your snack, Your Highness,” I said. “I hope peanut butter and jelly is okay.”

  He nodded. “Sure. Yeah. Sure. Thank you.”

  I handed him the plate, which he set down on the pillow next to him.

  “I called you a couple of times, you know.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I didn’t hear.”

  I looked down at the book in his hand. “No, I guess you didn’t. You’re not reading too far ahead, are you?”

  “I’m trying not to. It’s hard to stop,” he said, bursting out with a smile.

  For a moment it felt like my heart might explode. “I’m glad you like it,” I said.

  “Dad, I’ve never read anything like this before. It’s like I’m right there.”

  I wished I could remember the last time a book had had that effect on me. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ve got to get started on dinner. Don’t read too far ahead,” I said. “And make sure you get your homework done. You know what your mom’ll say if you start to fall behind.”

  He was reading the book again before I was out the door, ignoring the sandwich on the plate beside him. I stood and watched him for a moment from the doorway, feeling a combination of pride and wonder. Getting him to read anything had always been such a struggle, and it usually ended with David in tears of frustration. Seeing him so engrossed made it all worthwhile—like I had finally given him something of myself, like we finally had common ground to meet on.

  The next morning they headed east along the edge of the river. As the hours passed, the land to the south, to their right, seemed to rise away from them. By noon, they were riding along the foot of a sharp hill carved out by the rushing Col alongside them.

  Dafyd heard the canyon long before he saw it, a sound like faint thunder in the distance, barely noticeable over the rumble of the hoof beats.

  By the time they were close to the canyon, the sound drowned out the pounding of the hoofs. When he glanced at the magus, the older man nodded.

  “That’s the waterfall,” he said. “The source of the Col.”

  A cool mist hung in the air as they slowed their horses near the entrance to the canyon, where the lead group of guardsmen were already setting up camp.

  “This is the place I remember,” the captain said as he dismounted.

  Dafyd climbed easily off his horse, tethering it loosely to a low branch. He couldn’t help but stare at the great vertical fissure in the otherwise solid wall of rock, out of which burst the mighty Col.

  “The Rainbow Canyon,” the magus said. “The waterfall is at the far end. As you’ll see.”

  Dafyd and Loren skirted the river’s edge, the water frothing and foaming at their feet, toward the crack in the towering rocks. At the foot of the canyon, to the side of the rushing river, they clambered up a fall of rocks. They both leaned forward to keep their balance.

  To Dafyd’s surprise, they found a path at the top of the rocks, a trail not quite so wide as the well-travelled road out of Colcott, but just as smooth. The path quickly rose high along the canyon wall, well above the rapids.

  He glanced at the magus. “How …?”

  “This is but one of the wonders you shall see, I think.”

  The smooth path grew d
ark as they followed it deeper into the canyon. The thunderous roar echoed around them, though the river was now as far below their feet as the rock walls soared above their heads. A strong wind blew cold from the depths of the canyon.

  “So what do we do now?” Dafyd asked, his voice sharp and echoing off the rocks before it was swallowed by the rushing water.

  “We wait,” the magus said. “The book refers to the moment that the sun slips.”

  “Sunset?”

  The magus nodded, and pointed back at the entrance to the canyon. “Due west,” he said.

  “So we have to wait here all afternoon?” Dafyd asked, wrapping his arms around himself against the chill in the air. The thought of spending that much time on the narrow ledge, the continuous thunder pressing in on his ears, gave him the shivers.

  “We can wait back at the camp,” the magus said.

  “Good.”

  “You might want to wait a little longer.” The captain stepped out from the shadows between them and the canyon entrance.

  “Captain,” the magus said, clearly surprised. “I thought you were at the camp.”

  “I had to see if it was as I remembered,” he said, looking out into the canyon. “It should be any time now.”

  Dafyd knew better than to question him. Instead, he stepped away, picked up a handful of stones and threw them one at a time into the roiling white foam.

  They didn’t have to wait long.

  As the sun crested above the canyon walls, its light warmed Dafyd. It also drew the wet rock walls out of shadow, revealing the full length of the canyon for the first time. From where they were standing, it cut into the hillside almost straight back to the waterfall at the far end.

  Dafyd had never seen a waterfall. The white, raging wall of water, with the sun seeming to hang in the sky above it, was perhaps the most beautiful thing he could imagine.

  He changed his mind a few moments later.

  As the sun rose still farther, the light fell directly onto the falls, and Dafyd saw rays of sunlight taking shape in the mist thrown up by the falling water. The light spread out into thick bands of colour which reflected off the river’s surface, filling the canyon with the soft, rich glow of a rainbow.

  It was like something out of a dream.

  Looking down, Dafyd saw that he himself was stained red by the light. When he looked up, the magus was smiling.

  Captain Bream nodded, his face strangely soft. “This is what I remember,” he said.

  Dafyd felt like laughing; in the warm, rainbow light he almost forgot their mission, was almost able to put his fears out of his mind.

  “That’s why it is called the Rainbow Canyon,” the captain said, half closing his eyes. “I feared I would never see it again.”

  The magus nodded.

  “You’ve seen this before?” Dafyd asked, his voice almost breaking.

  “Once,” Bream said slowly. “A long, long time ago.” And then he didn’t say anything more.

  IV

  I WAITED UNTIL WE HAD polished off the plate of nachos, until we had each had a couple of beers, before I reached into my pocket, set the small yellow envelope on the table and slid it toward Dale.

  “Here,” I said.

  “What’s this?”

  He wasn’t going to make this easy for me.

  “It’s the key. To your apartment.”

  He didn’t pick it up. Didn’t look away from me.

  “I mean, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not going to take it.”

  “Why not?”

  Dale had a way of asking questions and then waiting, not saying anything, forcing me to answer.

  “It’s not … I’m not ready to take that step. It’s not like we’re estranged. Not really. I see her every day. We talk.”

  “You fight.”

  No argument there.

  “When was the last time you had sex?”

  “Come on.”

  “All right. Made love.”

  “I don’t think …” A not-very-convincing stalling tactic.

  “I’ll tell you when it was. It was on your anniversary last year.”

  I had to remember to stop telling Dale everything.

  “So?”

  “So you’re not estranged from a woman who you’re not living with, not sleeping with, and who you’re unable to have a civil conversation with? What do you call it?”

  I lifted one hand in a gesture of surrender.

  He picked up the envelope from the table and held it close to his face, studying it in the half-light.

  “Do you ever think about how you’re going to die?”

  To say that the question caught me by surprise would be a serious understatement.

  “What?”

  He leaned forward again, taking me into his confidence. “Your own death. How do you see it?”

  I looked around the bar for a moment. “I don’t spend a whole lot of time thinking about it,” I said, like I was confessing something shameful.

  He sat back, nodding sagely. “I didn’t think so.”

  I didn’t want to ask: I knew better. He waited. I couldn’t resist, and he knew it. “So?”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this lately. About how important it is to live with an awareness of your own death. A constant awareness of it.”

  “You’ve been reading self-help books again.”

  “Self-improvement,” he corrected. His fondness for pop-psych books was a long-running joke between the two of us. “I’m serious, though. That’s what whoever-it-was meant when he said that the unexamined life wasn’t worth living.”

  “Plato.”

  He waved my reply away. “Whoever. The important thing is, if you don’t have a keen awareness of your own death, you’re not really able to live your life. You’ll always be putting things off to the future, operating under the faulty assumption that the future is unlimited.”

  “What does this—?”

  “Chris, there’s no future. And there’s no past, not one that you can climb back into, like you’re trying to do. There’s only this, this moment, right now.” He raised his hand slowly, and snapped his fingers. “And gone. All you can do is make each moment, each day, the best that it can be.”

  I looked at him for a long moment.

  “So, you’re Yoda now?”

  He shook his head, and looked at me with such sadness I had to turn away.

  “Hello?” Jacqui called as she closed the front door. “Is anybody here?”

  “Back here,” I called, my face bathed in steam as I dumped the spaghetti into the colander.

  I could hear her footsteps through the house.

  “Something smells good,” she said from the kitchen doorway. Dark purple scrubs tonight, matching the circles under her eyes.

  “You’ve been busy.” She looked pointedly at the table, set with three places, the pots and pans on the stove and on the counter.

  “We thought we’d have a late dinner, once you got home.”

  “David hasn’t eaten?”

  I tried to ignore the tone of reproach. “He had a snack a while ago,” I said.

  I added a dollop of butter to the noodles, let it start to melt.

  “I opened some wine.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “No occasion,” I said as I began to cut the bread into thick slices. “I just thought we might all have dinner together for a change.”

  When I looked over at her, she was staring at me.

  “I thought it might be nice.”

  She nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll get changed. Should I get Davy on my way? Are we close—?”

  “Sure,” I said, hoping she’d walk in on him neck-deep in his homework. “We’re almost ready to go.”

  She took one last look at me, at the food, at the kitchen, before she turned away.

  “Should I pour you a glass of wine?” I called after her.

  “Oh, I think so,” she said from the stairs.

 
David came down a minute later.

  “How’d the homework go, sport?”

  “Fine,” he said, slipping into his place on the far side of the table. “I’m starting to really hate French, though.”

  I grinned. At least he was talking again. “Why?”

  He shrugged as I went to the fridge for milk. “It’s hard to remember all the words for things, and all the ways to conjugate the verbs. I don’t see why we have to learn it anyway.”

  “It’s good to have a second language,” Jacqui said from behind me. She had changed into a T-shirt from a breast cancer fund-raising walk she had done a few weeks before and a pair of yoga pants. Her relaxing-at-home clothes. “And if you ever want to get a job with the government—”

  “Which I don’t,” he said, with such certainty that Jacqui and I both smiled.

  “Well, never say never,” Jacqui said, sitting down at the table.

  “I have a hard enough time with my own language,” he said.

  I brought the basket of bread to the table. “There is that,” I said.

  “How’s math?” Jacqui asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know why I have to learn that either. I can do it on a calculator faster.”

  “So the homework didn’t go well?” I asked.

  “It’s all done.”

  “I think that calls for a toast.” Jacqui lifted her wineglass.

  Was she really going to get into the spirit of this?

  “To getting it done,” she said, and looked at me as she sipped.

  Dafyd spent most of the afternoon exploring the near reaches of the canyon. The path of the sun overhead was keeping it lit and warm. He didn’t venture too deep between the walls. He went a short way into the canyon and sat down on the path, leaning back on his hands as he watched the play of light in the misty air.

  The canyon walls weren’t smooth, as they had seemed to be in the earlier dark; they were rugged and pitted, worn from the crumbling of time, the passage of the river before it had cut so deeply into the earth. The rainbow colour played across every crevice, every crack.

  When the afternoon drew late, the sun remained visible through the open end of the canyon as it sank heavily onto the horizon. Dafyd heard the sound of voices approaching. Bream and the magus led a column of the guardsmen up the narrow path toward him.