ONCE UPON two times, two girls and a boy and a magical dolphin-girl and their bears all went on journeys. They arrived at various destinations, but the destinations weren’t always as expected. Bad things happened and good—and sometimes both at the same time. Most of the travelers transformed, some of them drastically. No one knows where the dolphin-girl ended up. Some stories don’t have happy endings, and other endings are mysteries.
But one story—our story—needs a finish. Two girls and one boy returned to the warm part of the world, in a little miraculous boat, sailing slowly outside the current, through the quiet and sweetening sea, heading north, always north. Eventually they arrived.
They sailed to Putnam’s world, to Raftworld. It was also Rayel’s world, though it was the wrong time. Still, the more they talked it over, the more she thought she would stay there. Or maybe, eventually, she’d move to the Islands or travel somewhere she could experience winter and get to use her gift. But for now at least, she’d visit Raftworld. She had a lot to catch up on.
Artie thought she’d stay on Raftworld, too, at least for a while, with her new friends—especially Putnam, this person almost as close to her now as her own heart. This person who’d saved her—and whom she’d saved. Later, Artie thought, she might move to the small secluded island with the monkeys and mangoes, and live by herself. But that idea sounded less and less right as time went on, and besides, for now she owed it to Putnam to go with him and face his father and whatever punishment he might receive.
Putnam hoped Artie would change her mind and stay on Raftworld, though he knew he couldn’t make that happen. But he wished. Maybe, he thought, if he’d had a brother or sister, he would already have known what it was like to have someone that you’re willing to die for and are also completely irritated by—at the same time. Someone who you know so well that you know what they’re thinking, sometimes, before they even open their mouth. Someone whose face is almost more familiar to you than your own. He thought that might be what a sibling was like. He’d never had a friend like Artie, someone who would never, ever flatter him or lose a game to him on purpose or hide her mood from him. Who would always be true.
In their little boat, they spotted Artie’s home island late one afternoon and sailed around it without landing. They stayed far out to sea, keeping it on the horizon. Rayel stared, hungry for people after so long. Artie watched, arms crossed, as they circled and moved north.
Just north of the big Island, they saw what Putnam had hardly dared to hope for: a shadow on the horizon. Raftworld. He let out his breath in a gush. How would he have found Raftworld if his father hadn’t waited for him? If the nation hadn’t lingered, hoping the king’s son would return?
The three travelers arrived to Raftworld in the early night, a couple of hours after dark. The half-moon gave enough light to see but not so much that they would be noticed. They were all glad; they could step into this world without crowds. For Rayel and Artie, there would be explaining to do, some of it hard to believe. For Putnam, there would be apologies to make and groveling to do; he couldn’t imagine his father not being furious at how long he’d been gone: well over a month, going on two.
They all hoped to tell their stories in private.
They pulled the boat up to the south dock—the quietest dock at night and closest by a little bit to Putnam’s house—and walked down the empty path to the king’s mansion. Voices wafted from people’s homes, muffled. The water slapped lightly against the bottoms of the rafts, which shifted as they walked.
Artie, who had never been on Raftworld—nor on any boat bigger than the fishing boat they’d traveled the seas in—marveled at the size of Raftworld. Rayel, who had been there before, marveled at how familiar it seemed, even with a century of changes. Hundreds of small rafts, joined with waterproof seams that allowed for flexible movement on the water; a house on each raft, surrounded by a lush, dense garden; the nighttime sounds of chickens nesting and children protesting bedtime. Paths wound through the rafts to draw everyone to the center, which was magnificent: huge gardens spanning multiple rafts; a large building that served as school, market, and meeting place; and the king’s mansion, not much bigger than the other houses but set in a gem of a garden that, even at this time of night, glowed with small lights.
At the entryway to the king’s garden, Putnam paused as if uncertain.
Rayel said, “Is this the place?” It was bigger than she remembered.
“Are you scared?” Artie said to Putnam. She thought, Of course he is. She’d be scared, too. What would his father do to him, after he’d been gone so long without permission?
Putnam took a deep breath. “It’ll be okay. He’ll be mad, but he’ll also be happy to see me. To know I’m safe. He’ll be glad that we—that Rayel—fixed the water. And of course, he’ll love to meet you both. I just—I’m thinking about how much he must have missed me and worried.”
Artie took one hand and Rayel took the other, and they stepped through the gateway and into the garden, through the garden and into the house, through the house and into Putnam’s father’s arms.
The old man wept with joy.
RAYEL, ARTIE, and Putnam felt funny about being called heroes. They hadn’t slain monsters, defeated bad guys, conquered foes. They had shrunk a few bears, but that victory was private. And they’d stopped the salt from entering the ocean—but only after Rayel had started it in the first place. Still, the people called them explorers. As Raftworld traveled north, the water grew less salty by the day, almost by the hour. And someday, all the ocean would be sweet again.
Rayel moved into a small house near one of the hydraulic engines; she said she wanted to learn how they worked, as she might plan another exploring trip into the cold sometime—maybe the deep north this time. She promised not to leave without telling anyone. And she made new friends—starting with the Raftworld storyteller, who was excited to meet someone who knew so many old legends.
Artie was given her own bedroom in the king’s house, a small cozy room next to Putnam’s. Putnam attached a lock to the door, in case she wanted to lock it. She did.
Artie’s bedroom contained a soft bed, and clean clothes to change into, and a cozy chair next to a window where she could sit and watch birds flutter and plants grow.
She went to school with Putnam, where she learned reading and knitting and how to build small rafts and how the giant hydraulics worked on the corners of Raftworld. Sometimes, to help out, she mended nets. She got a lot of compliments on how well she mended: the patches she sewed, full of intricate stitches like a spider’s web, turned out stronger than the areas that had never torn.
One day, Putnam’s father took Artie to a house where there was a woman musician with a double-stringed instrument made from gourds. The instrument was shockingly hard to play, so Artie went to the woman’s house every day to learn.
Weeks passed. Weeks and weeks. And they were all good. She still had nightmares, but the days were sunny and sleep was bearable.
One afternoon as they sat on the south dock, back-to-back in the sun, eating strawberries out of the same bowl, Putnam asked Artie if she still wanted to go to the little island and live by herself. “No one will bother you there if my father tells them not to. I promise.” His back was stiff against hers, but his voice was calm and careful. He was making the choice all hers.
Artie ate the last strawberry, licked the juice off her fingers, and put her hand to her luck pouch. The little stone bear shifted under her hand’s weight and then stilled—moving so slightly that it might have been her imagination. In addition to the stone bear, her luck pouch now held a fragment of the first string she’d broken learning to play the kora; and the tiny pencil stub she’d first learned to write her name with. And there could be more things later, more reminders of goodness and bravery and, yes, of pain and trauma, too. This world was so many things, but one of them was that it was sometimes good. The pain would never go, and maybe not the fear either, but there would be brightness as well. And people to love. And a whole life to live.
Artie reached back and squeezed Putnam’s hand. He squeezed in return, still waiting for her to speak.
“I want to stay here. With you.”
They held hands, slightly sticky from the strawberries. With her other hand, Artie lightly traced the dotted scars on her neck and running down her arm. She was made of constellations. And she alone could decide what their shapes meant, because these stars were all part of her. Dragons and goddesses and dolphins and whatever else she decided. She had survived so much, and so had Rayel and Putnam. Whatever happened next, they weren’t alone.
“Let’s find Rayel,” she said, “and see if she’ll tell us a story.”