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  I turned away, seething. If she thought she was helping, she wasn’t. How dared she tell me who I was? She’d known me for … what? A day? Two at the most?

  “You want to go running back to the fairies? You want to go back to your perfect Califa? Nothing’s stopping you,” she said, her tone cold as ice. “You have free will. You can quit anytime you want. Just wake yourself up and go back to your sad real life.”

  “Well, maybe I will quit!” I spit. “Maybe I’m just too sensitive to my environment to put up with this … this … graveyard! And you!”

  “Fine,” Kerka shot back. “That lets me off the hook.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have come along,” I muttered. I stomped my foot, and dust flew.

  “Maybe you’re right!” snarled Kerka. “And maybe you should grow up!”

  I was battling with myself about just how offended I should feel when I saw that Kerka’s eyes were filled with angry tears. When she saw me notice them, she lowered her head and dashed them away with her hand.

  Seeing Kerka like that helped me let go of my own anger. As it drained away, I couldn’t imagine where it had all come from. “Sorry for being a jerk,” I said quietly.

  “I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer when you called. I was just nervous and needed to keep moving.”

  “I don’t know what came over me, either,” I said. “And I guess I am used to complaining. It was good for you to stop me. I clearly need you on this adventure.”

  “You weren’t that bad,” Kerka said. “It obviously really upsets you when there’s nothing growing around you. And that makes sense with your family.”

  “Friends?” I asked, putting my hand out and smiling.

  We shook.

  “Do we need some food?” she asked.

  “That’s a great idea,” I said. “And it’ll remind us of the fairies.”

  Kerka put her Kalis stick on the rocky ground. Then she shook her backpack off her shoulders and pulled out the box lunch the fairies had packed. The box was painted with lilacs that had silver and gold leaves. It made me calm and happy. We sat in our beautiful fairy clothes on the dusty trail, unwrapping delicacies.

  There were cucumber toast-point sandwiches, rosemary biscuits, and rose-cut radishes. There were grapes and herbed cheeses. There were gooseberry nectar and spiced mango chutney for dipping. For dessert, the fairies had packed lemon zest tarts. It was the best picnic I’d ever had, in the worst surroundings.

  “I know we have to go to the jungle to get to the Shadow Tree, but do you think there’s a better way?” asked Kerka, licking the last of the lemon tart from her fingertips.

  “The map!” I said as I popped the last rose-cut radish into my mouth.

  Kerka got out Zally’s map and threw the fairy wrappings into her pack. I reached over to help unroll the map on the rocky ground. The map went through its ritual of showing us Zally (she waved at us this time, which was heartening) then it filled itself in. Zally is like a Dodecatheon, the shooting-star flower.

  “It looks like Mo’s garden! But I wonder where we are on the map,” I said, remembering that we were drawn in last time. Maybe Zally couldn’t do that here in the shadows.

  I could make out the maze with the tree in the middle, then the path to the waterfall past the valley, all surrounded by a jungly mass, which, thankfully, didn’t look like it was that big. It made sense that in this world the Shadow Tree would have started in a garden like Mo’s. Maybe Mo even created or tended it before the Singing Stone was broken!

  Just then, a shower of red sparks silently emerged.

  Kerka and I drew back, waiting to see what happened. Then words—or letters—formed:

  HO WHAT PEAT SH GA

  Kerka and I exchanged a puzzled look.

  “Is it a foreign language?” I asked.

  “No idea,” said Kerka. “It looks like it might be written upside down or backward.” She bent over to try to read it upside down.

  We stared hard at the letters, trying to make sense of them. As we did, I started to get that unsettling irritated feeling again. I could tell that something mean was going to come out of my mouth any second, and I couldn’t stop it.

  “You’re the one who brought the map,” I told Kerka. “Why can’t you read it?”

  She looked shocked at my outburst (and no wonder—I’m embarrassed just thinking about it!).

  “Well, I sure don’t know what this stupid map is saying,” I continued. “You’re supposed to be helping me, not the other way around!”

  Kerka turned cold and silent.

  Now everything about her bothered me. Her seriousness was boring. Her strength was hard and unfeeling. I looked back down at the map letters, and now they moved around, as if we were upsetting them.

  GO WHET PATS AH HA

  “Go wet your pants?” I said through my irritation.

  “Maybe it’s jumbled?” Kerka suggested, gritting her teeth.

  “GO WEST!” I yelled then. “The message says GO WEST PATH, AH HA!” I was proud of myself.

  “Ah ha?” said Kerka. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Sure it does. It’s what you say when you’ve figured something out, which I did.” I looked around. “So which way is west?”

  Without a word, Kerka pointed with her stick. I didn’t ask how she knew. I just stared where she’d pointed, into the tangled sea of brush and twisted vines and seemingly impassable growth. No question, our only choice was to proceed through the strange jungle in as westward a direction as we could.

  We walked in silence. The air was getting colder with each step. Kerka used her Kalis stick as a machete, hacking through the dead, tangled vegetation. I wondered why Zally’s map hadn’t shown us a picture of something this time; it seemed to do slightly different things each time we used it. I didn’t say anything to Kerka, though, not with the mood she was in.

  We kept going until we hit a sheer drop-off. Kerka and I looked down wordlessly into a ravine filled with more dead trees and bushes. We’d have to walk along the ravine in one direction or the other. If we’d been walking west, which way would it be? Both ways looked the same: dark, with uninviting plants and scrubby trees everywhere. I felt all turned around. Where was this in Mo’s garden?

  Then something clicked. “Ah ha!” I said. “We’re coming in backward, past the waterfall—although I doubt there’s a waterfall here—and the ravine, the ha-ha!” I knew exactly which way to go now! I remembered that at Granny Mo’s, the right-hand path at the cliff went to the waterfall with the stone seat, and the left-hand one went to where Willowby had turned to the maze and the Glimmer Tree.

  Kerka was looking at me doubtfully. “The map didn’t say AH HA. It said HA HA,” I explained. My excitement left no room for the itchy irritation at Kerka. “This is the way.” I pointed to the left, along the edge of the chasm. “There will be a bridge. Really!”

  Kerka just stared blankly at me. “I don’t know what ha-ha means, and you sound crazy,” she said. “Why should I trust you?”

  “Mo says that a ha-ha is what the Irish make to keep sheep out of their gardens. It’s like a ditch or a dip in the earth. So with a bit of shadow thrown in, the ha-ha could turn into this ravine, don’t you think?”

  Kerka was still not with me, and I couldn’t really blame her. I sighed. “I don’t know what came over me back there,” I said. “Look, I’m really sorry about arguing. Really. Really, really. Please, forgive me, Kerka?”

  Kerka’s blue eyes were guarded, and I could tell that she was not sure if she was ready to make up yet. “Do you get the feeling here that sometimes something not good is creeping into you?” I asked. “That’s what I keep feeling. The way the shadow has turned the Aventurine version of Mo’s garden into this … plant graveyard, the shadow is creeping into me, too, and making me, I don’t know, like a mean version of myself.”

  Kerka was nodding as I spoke, and I watched her eyes clear. “I know exactly what you mean,” she s
aid. “It’s making me want to fight with you. I keep thinking how different we are and how I have to do all the work. But I know that teamwork almost always makes things better—not to sound like a coach, but it’s true.”

  I had a sudden thought. “Hey, I bet whatever bad thing is creeping into our heads scrambled Zally’s map, too!”

  “That makes sense,” Kerka agreed.

  “So what do we do?” I asked.

  “Be on our guard,” she answered.

  Then I had an idea. “What if we had a signal? You know, something that will tell you I’m starting to get the weird feeling and I need your help,” I suggested. “And it would work the other way around, too, if you’re getting … well, snappish.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good,” said Kerka. “Like a handshake or a peace sign?”

  “How about a sign that reminds us of the fairies?” I suggested, remembering the heart gift from the fairy queen. I put my hand on my heart. It felt goofy, but I also felt warmth welling up from my heart and actually giving me strength. “How about if this is our signal?”

  “I like it,” she said, slapping her hand on her own heart vigorously. “It’s perfect.”

  “Perfect,” I agreed. We sat there for a minute with our hands on our hearts.

  We then continued on, and Kerka let me lead. Soon we could see the broken bridge up ahead that would finally take us across the canyon. “It’s the bridge I told you about!” I said. Despite the grim surroundings, I was thrilled that I had been right. Not in an “I told you so” way, but in an “I’m so glad I can trust my instincts” way.

  “Good,” said Kerka. “I’m glad you were right. Do we cross the bridge?”

  “Yes,” I said, sobering instantly.

  It was nothing at all like Mo’s beautiful Ha-Ha Valley. But the vantage point was identical. My eyes fixed on a huge tree in the distance—the Shadow Tree. It was in the middle of a maze of boxwoods, their branches tangled and ghostly gray. Lightning flashed over the tree, and the blackest clouds I’ve ever seen hung over it. The wind whistled around us, and I shivered.

  I walked to the bridge, the wind tearing at my fairy cloak. When we reached the bridge, Kerka marched over it in her usual way. She didn’t even hold the rotting handrail or miss a step as she avoided the broken slats.

  I, on the other hand, stopped dead. How was I going to cross this bridge? I could barely cross the nice bridge in Mo’s garden!

  I bet you’re wondering what the big deal was. Well, let me tell you: Not only was the bridge rotting and missing slats, but it was also literally covered with bugs—termites, spiders, ants, and bugs I didn’t know the names of and didn’t want to know the names of.

  Kerka reached the other side of the bridge and turned back, brushing off what must have been some bugs that had gotten on her. “Come on, Birdie!” she called. “It’s just bugs.”

  “Just bugs? Are you crazy? What about how high up it is?” I called to her. My stomach quivered at the thought of having to step on the insects or touch them. I shook my head. “No. This is too much.”

  Kerka put her hands on her hips. “More than the shadow creeping into your head? Bugs are worse?”

  I took a deep breath and stepped onto the bridge. The bugs crunched under my feet. I gagged and put my hand out to the railing, where, of course, more bugs were waiting. The bridge creaked under my feet, and I jumped back, shrieking and shaking off bugs. “I can’t do it!” I yelled. The only good thing about the bugs was that they seemed to stay on the bridge.

  Kerka shook her head and tromped back over the bridge to me. How did she do it? Was she made of iron? She brushed stray beetles off her arms and legs as if they were dirt. I watched her with my mouth open.

  “You just want to live in a sweet little garden where everything is safe and comfortable,” said Kerka.

  “I’m just scared—” I tried to explain, tears filling my eyes.

  “You’re scared of change,” said Kerka, cutting me off. “Well, change happens, Birdie.”

  What was she talking about? I won’t let Kerka treat me this way, I thought. “Maybe you never had to move from a place you love to a place you hate,” I shot back. “Just because your mother found a job she liked better!”

  “Change happens. Life happens.” Kerka stared at me. “Death happens. … ”

  That hit me like a ton of bricks. Kerka’s mother had died, and here I was complaining about moving across the country, still complaining about my own mom. I was mortified. I took a deep breath. Then, all of a sudden, I recognized that this was the power of the shadow at work. I moved my hand to my heart and was filled with warmth again.

  “You’re right, Kerka,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared.”

  I could see Kerka struggling with something, and then she put her hand on her heart, too. I saw her body relax, and she closed her eyes.

  She opened her eyes after a few moments. “Let me help you,” she said. “Just imagine that the bugs are fake, plastic toy bugs. I bet you are good at imagining things.”

  “Okay,” I said. That sounded like it might be possible. “I can do that.”

  “Take my hand, and we’ll just go,” said Kerka. “Don’t think too hard about it. And be careful. Remember how scared I was to go swimming, and it all turned out okay? This will, too, I promise.”

  She held out her hand, and I took it, trusting her as I had trusted Mo the first time I crossed her bridge. Kerka pulled me onto the bridge, just like that. I marched behind her, eyes on the slats, thinking, plastic bugs, plastic bugs, and when I felt a few crawl on me, I thought, wind-up plastic bugs, wind-up plastic bugs.

  We reached the other side, and Kerka stood back as I screeched my head off and shook bugs every which way. When they were all off me and I stood quivering, I saw that Kerka was laughing.

  “Oh, Birdie, I am sorry,” she said. “But you are so funny! All that jumping and screaming!”

  I laughed weakly, seeing her point. “I swear, I am not usually such a scaredy-cat,” I said, shivering from the cold now. “But I really hate bugs—and heights.”

  “So do a lot of people,” said Kerka. “One of my sisters doesn’t like heights, and my mother hated bugs, too.”

  “I like worms,” I said, trying to redeem myself a little. “And bees and butterflies are nice.”

  “Well, then you must be okay,” Kerka said, grinning. “Shall we continue now?”

  I nodded. We turned toward the maze and the dark tree that loomed at its center. The wind blew leaves in little whirlwinds down a path that wound through the thorny bushes and vines, right to the entrance of the maze.

  Lightning cracked over the tree, and thunder rumbled. But there was no rain, no soothing, healing rain.

  I pulled my cloak around me. Kerka held out her Kalis stick like a tennis racket (I guess she was going to whack away anything she saw). We stepped onto the path. Nothing moved except the wind, so we kept going. Kerka let me lead, so I saw the lights first, just as we reached the maze.

  The maze walls were ten feet tall here in Aventurine, and the lights came through them, moving like the stars had outside of my bedroom window. I stopped, and Kerka bumped into me. “What are they?” I whispered.

  Kerka looked up and saw them.

  “They must somehow be the Shadow Tree’s helpers,” whispered Kerka, sounding as scared as I felt.

  “Kerka, we have to run as fast as we can,” I said. I knew if the lights saw us, they’d attack us. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. “I think I can find the way through the maze.”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Kerka whispered.

  I ran, choosing my way by pure instinct. I forced myself not to question but just to feel. Finally, I knew we were close to the middle. I went from running to trotting, then walking, until I stopped. Kerka stopped, too.

  I thought we needed to rest before we actually tried to do what we needed to do next. What that was exactly, I didn’t know. From where we were, we had a clear view of
the tree; the lights rested on the tips of the tree’s barren branches. They seemed to be waiting for something. The dark clouds hovered like smoke over the tree.

  “It knows we’re here,” whispered Kerka. “The Shadow Tree knows we are here.”

  “How do you—” I began.

  Suddenly the lights flew from the tree like a swarm of bees. They dove for us.

  “Put your back against mine!” Kerka said. “Use your cloak!”

  I had a second to pull my cloak off before they were on us. Kerka and I stood back to back; she slashed at them with her Kalis stick, and I flung my cloak at them like a matador.

  Whenever a light managed to land on me, it stung. The sting was strange, sending a stabbing, empty feeling into my heart. I was filled with pinpricks of sadness and fear and rage that echoed all the bad feelings I’d had in my life. I couldn’t tell if Kerka got stung the same way, because I couldn’t see her face, but it was probably the same for her. Maybe it was worse, because she had lost more than I had.

  The small but powerful jabs came over and over. Kerka and I were being pushed through the maze by the lights—into the center of the maze.

  Then the Shadow Tree was looming over us. As one, the stinging lights silently flew back to the tree’s branches, as if their job was done.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Kerka, turning to face her.

  “I guess so. Just sad,” she said, not looking at me but tugging at her braids that had loosened and fallen down her back. “I don’t know how you are going to fight the shadow, Birdie.”

  Now that we weren’t being attacked, I looked up at the tree. It was even more menacing up close, despite being so near to death. It was dark in the center of the maze, the stinging lights and lightning giving the only illumination. Between these two light sources, one dim and constant, the other bright and occasional, I could make out several things. One was a large knothole on one side of the tree, seeping black lava. The other was a bank of lush ferns that was growing among the tree’s huge knotty roots.