Xander and the Lost Island of Monsters (8 page)

I
stand and gape. It's so surreal my mind can't catch up to my eyes. I don't realize that my mouth is hanging wide open until a fly buzzes into it and I spit it out.

The grass near my feet, where the water is lapping, is already flattened and turning brown, dying off. The water's totally calm, like a bay. The sky is blinding blue again. A white seagull caws and swoops.

It's as if the forest was never here at all.

And my dad is gone along with it.

“Dad!” I yell. I walk out into the water, up to my knees. “Dad, Dad, DAD!” It's a hundred percent useless.

Peyton puts his hand on my shoulder. “Dude, your dad's gone. He…” His voice cracks. “He got washed away.”

My ears feel pressure, like I'm ascending in an airplane. But I can hear my grandmother's voice, faint, from inside the house.
“Kita, kita! Come here, quickly!”

“Obāchan!” I'd lost track of her. Peyton and I rush back into the house.

Inu races in first, barking. We follow him up the partially collapsed stairs to the bedrooms. Why did she go up here?

We run by Dad's office, nothing but a pile of books and lumber. My room's a mess, too. Everything's fallen off the shelves. A gentle breeze now wafts through the broken windows, and my drawings flutter through the air. Not a single one is left on the walls.

Obāchan is wedged under a collapsed metal bed frame, with the heavy solid-wood bookcase on top of that. Blood streaks her forehead. Inu licks her face, and she pushes him away with a grimace. “Stop that, you silly dog.”

I run to her, try to move the bookshelf off, but of course I can't budge it. “Help me.” Peyton pries up the other end so Obāchan can scoot out.

I pull her to her feet. She brushes off her polyester pants. Her arm's bleeding, too. “Don't worry, I'm fine. Old skin tears easily.”

I think of Dad, out there in the forest. Which is now water. I shake my head, trying to clear it of this nightmare. “Obāchan…” My throat closes. “Dad's dead.”

She puts her hand on my arm, clenches it tight.

“There was…” I don't know how to explain the rest to her. “…a big wave. We got flooded.”

Her small brown eyes lock onto mine, and she lets go of my arm. “Come on. We have to hurry.”

“I better go home and check on my mom.” Peyton starts for the door. “I'll call 9-1-1, tell them about your dad.”

“No.” My grandmother grabs my friend's arm in a death grip this time. “Your house is fine for now, Peyton. You must help.”

His eyes dart from the door, to the window overlooking the ocean, to me. His tan face is covered in red blotches, the way it gets when Peyton's trying hard not to cry, like the time his cheekbone was cracked by a stray fastball. I'm glad, because if Peyton starts crying, I will, too, and I can't do that. I might not be able to stop.

“I promise. It's all right.” Obāchan's tone will not be argued with. She's so sure of herself that Peyton visibly relaxes. She releases him as if she's letting an unruly Inu off leash.

Peyton slumps to the floor, Inu flopping down beside him with a loud doggy sigh.

I turn to help my grandmother, who is now scrabbling through the fallen objects on the floor. “What are you looking for?”

“Here it is.” Obāchan picks up a wooden shoe box with Japanese writing on it. It used to hold candy—now it has Japanese stuff my grandpa left to me.

She takes off the lid and dumps it out.
Netsuke.
Little carved figurines, no bigger than a man's thumb, that people used to stick through their kimono ties and attach boxes to. Kind of like super-decorative buttons with dangling boxes that served as pockets. Anyway, they're really old, and people like to collect them now, as my grandfather did.

Obāchan's gnarled hands sift through the figures. She selects three. A tiny sailing ship, made out of dark wood. Second, an ivory octopus, which Obāchan told me was carved out of the tooth of a whale that washed ashore in my grandpa's hometown when he was a child. It has long, curly tentacles with teensy suction cups on each one. And the last is a wooden monkey with a bare-toothed grin. Each of the netsuke have a small lacquered box attached by a golden thread.

Obāchan displays them in her palm. “There's a reason your grandfather wanted you to have these, Xander. How he wished your father would follow him…” She trails off and looks right at me. “But your father had a different way of doing things. He liked to take a more peaceful, intellectual approach. He was trying theories of peaceful resistance.” She shakes her head. “I don't think that worked very well.”

Thoughts rush around in my head.
Liked.
She said
liked
, past tense. He
is
gone, for real. Dad, the absentminded professor. Gentle Dad, barefoot, urging a line of ants out of the house by making a line of sugar water for them to follow. “He studied fairy tales,” I argued, feeling defensive.

“He studied historical events.” Obāchan goes silent, letting this sink in.

I blink at her. “What do you mean?”

Peyton gets it first. “I'm sorry, what?” Peyton stands up and unfurls his long arms. “Are you saying that fairy tales are historical events? Jack and the Beanstalk? Cinderella?”

“Not all. The ones Xander's father studied.” Obāchan points to the ground. “Now, please sit down and let me finish telling.”

Peyton scowls and looks at me. I shrug. He shrugs back and returns his bottom to the floor. Obāchan opens the closet and takes out one of my belts. She secures the octopus and monkey netsuke to it before she speaks again. “Did you read your story of Momotaro?”

“My story?” I'm confused. “You mean the comic book Dad gave me?”

Obāchan clucks at me. “
You
made it, Xander.”

So it's true. I drew it. But why don't I remember that? I sit down on my bed, feeling dizzy and nauseated. Inu lies down at my feet, puts one huge paw over my toe, and whines as if to tell me not to worry. I scratch his head. Inu always makes me feel better.

Obāchan sighs and closes her eyes for a second. “Xander, this is not how we wanted you to find out. Your father wanted to protect you for as long as we could. Momotaro is a real story.”

Inu howls like a werewolf, cracking the air. My stomach knots up even more. What is she talking about? Demons, here? Momotaro, real? Maybe the earthquake gave her a stroke. She is super old, after all. “Okay, Obāchan. Do you know what year it is?”

She ignores the question. “All the bad things in the world today?” Obāchan says. “It's the oni.”

“The oni?” Peyton asks.

Obāchan takes a canteen from the closet, goes into the bathroom, and opens the tap. She tastes the water and makes a face. “Eh. No worse than usual.” Then she turns back to us. “War? The oni. Disasters? The oni. A fire eating the South Pole?”

I wait for her to say she's kidding.

She doesn't. “You've seen all the horrible tragedies happening around us. That means the oni are very strong indeed. Momotaro is the warrior who keeps them at bay. Your father is a Momotaro. So were your grandfather and your great-grandfather. All the way back to the original, who appeared when the world was in need of him.”

I sag, practically collapsing on the bed. At the same time, I note that Obāchan used the present tense when she talked about Dad this time. A small flare of hope heats my chest. Does she think he's still alive? I don't know. I'm so confused. “What? You're telling me I came out of a peach?”

Peyton giggles nervously. “Peach boy. Cute little fuzzy peach boy.” If I could reach, I'd sock him.

Obāchan talks fast. “No. You were born from your parents. But when a boy in our line is old enough, or when it's necessary, you become a Momotaro.”

Before I have time to process this, my grandmother grabs my hand and turns it over. She pries the lid off the octopus's box and shakes some big grains of salt into my palm. “In Japan, salt is sacred. In the old days, and sometimes still in certain places, we sprinkle salt at our doorways to keep out the oni. It is one weapon.”

My head aches. I slump on the floor. “And here I thought it was only good for putting on food.” The room feels like it's spinning really fast. “Obāchan, come on. You're saying I'm destined to be some grand warrior….” I search for words. “And you're telling me all this
now
?” My voice squeals. It does that sometimes, unfortunately.

Peyton snorts, his face fading back into its usual tan. “Xander, a warrior? Maybe in a virtual world. Behind a keyboard. Not in real life.”

I glare at him. “Why don't you think I could be a fighter?”

“No offense, Xander. But both you and I know that you're not exactly into sports. Or anything physical. Don't you remember the school Jog-A-Thon, when we had to run around the field to raise money? You gave up after one lap.” Peyton shrugs. “I did more laps than that with a broken ankle, for goodness' sake.”

“It was hot,” I say lamely. “I could have done more if I wanted to.” Sheesh. Why does he have to be so darn
right
about it? I feel like I'm an inch tall.

Peyton slides next to me. “I'm not trying to be mean, Xander. I'm only telling you what I've observed.” He looks at my grandmother. “Are you sure you didn't get banged on the head, Mrs. Miyamoto?”

“I'm not crazy, if that's what you're thinking.” Obāchan holds up a hand. “You two boys stop interrupting.” She raises an eyebrow at us and we nod. “We were going to take you to Japan next summer, to study all this and more.” She presses her hand against her mouth. “They got too strong for your father. Just like they were too strong for my husband.”

My grandfather, another person we rarely talk about. I always thought it was because he and my father disagreed about everything. So my grandfather was a warrior, too. I stare at her, not knowing what to think. Obāchan has never once lied to me. Heck, she's never even told me a fairy tale. Instead of stories, she read me encyclopedia entries at bedtime. Could she have developed an active imagination all of a sudden?

But then again, this mountaintop now has its own private beach, so I should probably keep on trusting her.

Obāchan screws the lid on the canteen. “Xander, there's a window of time when your father can make the water recede. Just like it never happened.”

“Dad can do that?” I'm still really confused.

“Yes. And save the people. But instead, your father vanished. That means the oni have him. You must rescue him, and you must go now.” She gulps. “If you don't, most of the world will be underwater or worse very soon. We must correct this.”

I'm still trying to wrap my head around her words. “So you're telling me these demons…these oni…are so strong they defeated both my father and grandfather, and now it's my turn?” This. Is. Unreal. “What can I do? I'm just a kid!”

“You're different.” Obāchan's lips thin into a line. “You have talents.”

Peyton stands again, towering over my grandmother. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Miyamoto, but Xander can't be the Mommy-taso.”

“MOMOTARO!” I shout at him.

Peyton slaps his hand down over his bouncy hair. His eyes are lit with excitement. “Whatever. He can't be the Momotaro. He'll get killed. Annihilated. Turned into a thousand little pieces of Xander mincemeat.”

Wow. He's on a roll. “Exaggerate much, Peyton?” I stick my fingers into the carpet, start picking at it. Peyton's right. I'm no warrior. The idea is really the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. I think of Dad. He can do push-ups on his knuckles. That's how strong he is. What can I do? Draw funny pictures of people? “What kind of talents?”

“We don't know exactly, Xander. We think it has to do with your drawing. Nobody else in the family did that.” Obāchan sits on the bookcase. “Your grandfather and father were of equal strength, but your grandfather focused more on the physical, and your father focuses more on the mind. Then there's you….” She hesitates. “You're the only one with a mother who…” I can tell she's choosing her words carefully, trying not to upset me.

“With a mother who what? Abandoned her kid?” Steady, voice.

“Who's not Japanese,” Obāchan says softly. “Nobody knows how that will affect a Momotaro. What talents you will gain, or lose. It's genetics.”

Fantastic. Another not-right thing about my heritage. Even when I find out I'm some kind of superhero, something's weird about it. “How is that going to help me, Obāchan? How?”

My grandmother shakes her head. “I don't know if it will help or hurt you, Xander. That's the truth.”

Peyton moves over next to me and puts his hands on his hips. “Whatever Xander's going to do, Mrs. Miyamoto, I'm going to do it with him. And nobody can stop me.”

Obāchan blinks up at him, a look of gratitude on her face. She pats his arm. “Why, Peyton, I wasn't going to stop you. I was just about to ask you to help Xander.”

“Oh.” Peyton squares his shoulders. “Well, good. Because I'm ready, Mrs. Miyamoto. Just tell me what to do.”

I can't believe Peyton's offering to be oni bait with me. If I were him, I'd be running home by now. I grin. “Aw, Peyton, you're volunteering to be my sidekick? Thanks. I knew there was a reason I was keeping you around.”

“Watch it, Miyamoto.” Peyton kicks at me playfully. “I'm your bodyguard, not your sidekick.”

“Whatever.” I grab his ankle. He shakes it free like my hand is a cobweb. Further evidence of my weakness. “You're still my sidekick.”

“Bodyguard.”

“Sidekick.”

“Hush, boys. Pay attention.” Obāchan opens up the box attached to the monkey. Rice pours out into her palm, a lot more than you'd think could fit in that tiny container. “Rice and salt and water. This is all you need. The building blocks of life.” She puts the lid back on the monkey box and ties the belt tight around my waist, around my T-shirt. “Now, come along.”