Sean Cullen - The Prince of Two Tribes

“I don’t understand why you’re so angry at him,” Dmitri ventured. “It isn’t his fault he was adopted. It just happened. He would change it if he could.”

“What do you know about it? You don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“I did have a brother,” Dmitri said softly. “He died.”

Delia fell silent.

“I don’t remember him very well. He was older than me. He had a cancer of the blood.”

“Leukemia.”

“Is that the English word? As I was saying, I was very young and I barely remember him. I remember playing soccer in the street with him once. His name was Albin.”

“Well,” Delia said in the awkward silence. “That’s too bad.”

“Uh-huh. I wish I had a brother still. I think you’re lucky to have Brendan. Even if he’s not your real brother,” Dmitri said pointedly and lapsed into silence.

Delia didn’t respond. She sat in the darkness, glaring at the screen and trying to ignore what Dmitri had said. Maybe she was being insane. Brendan was an annoying freak, but he was her brother. Maybe she should be worried about him instead of suspicious. Still, she couldn’t forget how she’d lost that day. She knew he had something to do with it. And Charlie was a part of it, too. When she saw the two of them climbing down from the window on the webcam, her suspicions were confirmed. Even if her parents were fooled, Delia wasn’t.

She gritted her teeth with new resolve. She wouldn’t let Dmitri’s sentimental opinion distract her from her path. She’d get to the bottom of this. If she and Dmitri had different reasons for doing this, so be it.

She glared into the greenish glow of the laptop as if willing Brendan to appear. She just had to keep her focus despite the fatigue that was beginning to set in. She couldn’t count on the two boys. Harold was already out for the count. That left her and the little kid, Dmitri. She would have to make sure she didn’t succumb to the heaviness that was pulling at her eyelids. She had to stay sharp… Had to…

Delia’s head snapped up. She was still sitting on the sawhorse, but now she was wrapped in a scratchy woollen blanket.

Harold and Dmitri were eating steaming bowls of oatmeal in chipped white bowls. They smiled at her.

“Why did you let me sleep?”

“You were tired,” Dmitri explained. “We’ve been watching, don’t worry.”

Delia shrugged off the blanket fiercely. “What time is it?”

“Six-thirty,” Harold said. “It’s gonna be dawn in an hour or so. He’s gotta be back soon.”

“Thanks, Sherlock,” Delia snarled.

“Geez.” Harold whistled. “You really are a total… ”

“He’s back!” Dmitri sat bolt upright. He pointed at the screen.

Delia shouldered her way between the two boys. There on the screen was Brendan, closing the backyard gate. The picture was too grainy to see his face, but it was undoubtedly him. His coat was open despite the cold. He walked across the yard.

“He’s alone,” Harold pointed out. “Again.”

“Yeah,” Dmitri agreed. “Where has he been all night?”

“What’s that?” Delia asked.

A small mote of light darted into the picture. It moved like a bumblebee or a hummingbird but it was larger. Again, the picture wasn’t clear enough for details. Brendan stopped and appeared to be speaking to the speck of light. Suddenly, it raced at the camera and, for an instant, filled the lens. Then the screen dissolved into electronic snow.

“What the heck was that?” Delia demanded. Her heart leapt. This could be the break they were looking for.

“Hold on!” Harold tapped the keyboard and the video began to scroll backwards. He stopped when the screen was full of the glaring white thing only inches from the camera. He made a few more taps and the image dimmed and became more defined. Though it was still fuzzy and burned out, the thing on the screen was clearly a tiny human figure. It was obviously female. She wore a tightly laced old-fashioned vest and red trousers. Her little face was frozen in a snarl and her fists were clenched in fury. A smear of colour at her back indicated wings that were moving too fast for the camera to capture.

“What is that?” Delia gasped.

“Hold on!” Harold cried. He dug into his backpack and produced a leather portfolio crammed with papers. He flipped through a few sheets of scribbles and finally said, “Aha!” He laid the picture on the keys of the laptop and pointed to a drawing. “That’s her! I drew her! I knew these pictures were of real people and things. I knew it!”

The drawing was just a rough charcoal sketch, but it undeniably portrayed the creature on the screen.

“It’s a little person?” Delia couldn’t believe her eyes. “Is this some kind of joke? An optical illusion?”

Dmitri shook his head. “How could it be?”

“How could I draw this before I saw it on the screen?” Harold asked. “I must have seen her on the day I lost.”

“But… ” Delia struggled. “But… she’s tiny! There aren’t people that small! It’s impossible. It’s crazy!”

“Crazy or not, it would appear to be true,” Dmitri decided. “You can’t deny it. She’s there before our sight.”

“Before our eyes!” Harold and Delia snapped together.

“Whatever,” Dmitri conceded. “So the question is, what do we do now?”

Delia stood up. “I’m going to confront Brendan.”

“No!” Dmitri grabbed her arm. “You can’t do that. We need to know more.”

“Get your cabbagy hand off me.” Delia tore her arm away. “I have to make him tell me what’s going on. My family might be in danger.”

“You don’t know that,” Harold pointed out.

“I don’t think Brendan would ever do anything to harm you or your family,” Dmitri said. “He’s a good person.”

“How do you know? You obviously don’t know him at all!” Delia shouted. She turned and flung the door open. “What…?”

Standing in the doorway was an old woman, her head wrapped in a shawl. Her face was ancient and wrinkled but her blue eyes were bright. She wore a thick woollen dressing gown over her nightclothes and a pair of fluffy blue slippers on her bare yellow feet.

The woman croaked in words in a strange language. She pointed at Delia and croaked again, more insistently.

“Babka!” Dmitri cried in alarm. “What are you doing out of bed?” He leapt up and went to the old woman, taking her arm. He spoke a few words in the same strange language and tried to guide her back to the house. She struggled against him, shouting again.

“What’s with her?” Delia asked. “What’s she saying?”

“She’s my babka, my grandmother. She’s speaking Polish. She seems quite upset. She keeps saying, ‘The Prince is going to the island.’”

“The island? What Prince?”

“She could mean Ward’s Island. Where we followed Brendan,” Harold suggested.

“But who is the Prince?” Delia asked. “Brendan?”

The old woman pointed a gnarled finger at Delia. “Tak! Tak! Prinz Brendan!”

“How does she know?” Delia said, skepticism clear on her face.

“She is what we call a vrooshka,” Dmitri explained. “A psycho.”

“Psychic,” Harold corrected.

Delia looked at the old woman. She had a thought. “Ask her this. Tell her we followed Brendan to the island but we lost him there. How can we follow him?”

“She should be in her bed,” Dmitri said. “In fact, I don’t think she’s been up on her feet for months… ”

“Just ask her!”

Dmitri shook his head and turned to his babka. He spoke in Polish and the old woman nodded. She answered in a rapid stream of words. When she was done, Dmitri translated. “She says we must find one who can see. She is too old to make the trip but there is another. He was an enemy but now he’s a friend. The Prince gave him Sight, though the Prince was not aware of the gift. Find the former nemesis.”^ 50