Siblings
Chapter 1
The roar of the huge aircraft's jet engines filled the air as it began the final approach to the runway. Thirteen-year-old twin brothers Evan and Brynley Selkirk exchanged looks. They were finally arriving in Calgary, Alberta after a long and exhausting flight.
Evan sat next to his mother, Julianne. She reached over and pushed his lanky hair out of his hazelnut brown eyes in a familiar gesture which she'd made since he was a small boy. "We made it." She smiled at her son and patted his hair down.
Evan frowned at his mom for the babyish gesture. His mom, who was a James Bay Cree, had dark brown hair like his, but hers was thick and shiny and looked great, while his just seemed to hang limply straight down, usually into his eyes, which was why his mom was always fussing with it. His skin was dark like hers, but where she was short and fine-boned, he was built more like his dadtall and sturdy.
It was because of his mom that they were moving from their home in the tiny isolated community of Whapmagoostui, Quebec. She was a lawyer and had accepted a new job with a top-notch firm here in
Calgary. Whapmagoostui, on the east coast of Hudson Bay, was a very long way from Calgary.
As the plane broke through the clouds, Evan looked out the window at the tiny houses flashing by below. Calgary, situated where the prairie meets the mountains, was surrounded by a colourful patchwork of flat farm fields to the east and rolling foothills climbing up the shoulders of the Rockies to the west.
Occasional drifts of gleaming snow reminded Evan it was early November and winter, even this far south. The gently rolling prairie stretching off into the distance was quite a change from the endless grey, frigid waters of Hudson Bay. And here, he noticed, there were roads absolutely everywhere.
Back home, they had few roads because there were very few cars to use them. In the summer, people drove quadssmall, four-wheeled, all-terrain vehiclesand in the winter everyone used snowmobiles.
Evan looked past his mother to his brother, Bryn. Blonde with ice-blue eyes and a fine bone structure, Evan's brother looked like a poster boy for Angels Anonymous. He and his brother had never gotten along and seldom saw eye-to-eye on anything. It wasn't Evan's fault; he was the normal one. For instance, Evan lived for hockey, which was completely cool for a thirteen-year-old guy, whereas his wimpy brother Bryn didn't play hockey. In fact, Bryn didn't do any sports; instead, he played the pianoa lot.
Just then, Bryn glanced up from his book and caught Evan looking at him. He gave Evan a dirty look.
Evan ignored his brother, pretending instead to be looking at his dad, Thomas, who was sitting in the next bank of seats. His dad, who was usually neat and precise in his appearance, was now distinctly rumpled after the tiring flight. His shirt was creased and his curly blonde hair looked as if he'd just climbed out of bed. There were dark smudges under his pale blue eyes. He had been the only white elementary school teacher in Whapmagoostui and had been well-liked by his students.
Stuck in the aisle seat, Bryn had to lean forward to peer out the small window for his first glimpse of their new home. "Look at the size of this place!" he exclaimed when he saw the rows upon rows of houses. His eyes were shining. "Calgary's so big, I bet they have their own philharmonic orchestra."
Evan rolled his eyes. He knew his brother loved music. It was probably because for as long as Evan could remember, Bryn had songs playing in his head, like background music in a movie. In Evan's books, this made Bryn a freak because of the way he was always tuned in. His brother said his brain and body seemed to work faster with his private music playing.
Bryn started to bob his head up and down and Evan knew he was listening to his head music. It was probably a boring piano piece. Bryn planned on being a classical pianist when he grew up and would torture Evan by practising for hours.
The two boys gave each other one last glare, then sat back in their seats and waited for the long journey from their old home to end. The plane touched down with a gentle bump.
Their new adventure was about to begin.
***
The weekend was spent moving into their house and arranging for the boys' new school.
Slouching against the doorjamb of his brother's new room, Evan watched Bryn struggle with a large poster. "You're not going to put those stupid things up, are you?" he asked, folding his arms and nodding at the stack of posters waiting on Bryn's bed.
His brother scowled. "I'll put up whatever I like in my room." He nodded toward the pile of posters, which held portraits of such famous composers as Mozart, Pachelbel, and Chopin. "These geniuses have stood the test of time and come out on top." He finished hanging the large poster. "Ludwig van B., here," he jerked his thumb at the picture of Beethoven, "happens to be my hero."
Evan scoffed. "Yeah, right. Only s
The boat was pushed closer to the cliff with each surge of the sea. Jake glanced back and saw the entrance to the cave a short distance away. Each time a wave hit, water rushed into the hole, like storm water down a drain. Then it was sucked out again as the wave receded.
"Jake! Look out!" said Tommy, standing up and pointing.
Jake saw the cliff loom up in front of him.
"Hold on!" he shouted.
Everything hinges on my next decision. Do I trust the bush with my weight? It feels secure from here, but I can't be sure it will hold me if I step off the ledge. I'm more than two stories up, above a solid stone floor. If I fall now, it's goodbye Byron.
A chill creeps up my back. I swear, when I walked into this shed half an hour ago, there were muddy footprints on the dock. They aren't there now.
"Hey," Keely said to her brother, Reg. "This is a good day for a bug walk!"
"What is it with you and bugs?" he asked. "Rocks are so much better."
Keely got a serious look on her face and started to sing,
"Rocks are boring, rocks are dead.
Reg has rocks in his head."
"Rocks don't do anything," she said with a sniff.
"That’s why I like them," Reg said. "They don't fly away, they don't bite and they last a long time."
An instant later, my mind registers this certainty: She is not of this world. My throat constricts, strangling my scream. The choking sound I manage is no more than a whimper. I yank my sleeping bag over my head and hold it tight. Maybe I pant a little in the utter black of my cocoon. What is she doing? The sweat oozing from every pore on my rigid body itches. Has she gone? I strain to hear something, anything, over the roar of my blood. I wait for a very long time.
