Curl was weak and thin, but surely she could walk a little ways.

  “No,” replied Curl contentedly.

  “I think you could walk some!” Lacht insisted, wondering how she could offer to carry the girl instead of Ploddin without hurting his feelings.

  “I like Wet Ones,” was Curl’s only answer, as she lay her head down on Ploddin’s shoulder.

  He moved off following the stream, and Brownie scampered behind him, tail wagging. Lacht followed the three of them, watching carefully and wincing whenever Ploddin’s limp got worse. At least, all that blacksmithing had strengthened his arms. As the minutes passed, he held Curl without any sign of strain, and she began to relax.

  Why worry? It takes too much energy. A big yawn pushed itself out of her body, and then a series of smaller yawns followed, one after another. Tired.

  When her stomach gave a loud rumble, Lacht rubbed it apologetically. She felt hungry enough to eat pooma, but they’d left the pooma sticks under the pond, and she didn’t want to think about that pond anymore.

  Her mind shifted and she asked, “Curl, do you know how we got the name, Wet Ones? I mean, we don’t get wet in Wasso Lake. We stay dry. Why did they name us Wet Ones?”

  Curl peered sleepily over Ploddin’s shoulder and yawned before she answered. “The Wassandra named you that a long time ago. Don’t you feel the smooth wetness whenever you come into the water, like something soft all over you?”

  “That’s not what wet feels like. Wet means having water drip on you, and your hair gets soggy, and your clothes feel damp, and your shoes and socks go ooshy gooshy,” Lacht argued.

  She found it hard to describe wetness to someone who had obviously never experienced such a thing.

  Curl perked up. “No, that’s not wet. Wet is like having a cushion all around you wherever you are—a nice soft cushion. Wasso Lake isn’t that bad really, I suppose. Do you like it, Ploddin?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been in it,” he told her.

  “Oh, I can’t wait to show you two around,” Curl said enthusiastically.

  The Wassandra girl showed no vestiges of droopiness now. In fact, she bounced up and down so hard that Ploddin had to tell her to stop.

  “But how did people from Stalli ever become Wet Ones to begin with?” asked Lacht, glad to be getting answers to some of her questions.

  “A Wassandra married a Stalli long ago. Their children were Wet Ones,” Curl explained.

  “That makes sense. Their descendants over the years must have varied. Some of them became Wet Ones, and others didn’t,” Plodding said thoughtfully.

  “What would happen if a Wet One married a Wassandra?” Lacht wondered out loud.

  Curl shouted, “Let’s do it! I’ll marry a Wet One and we’ll see what happens.” The eleven-year-old shook her head regretfully at Ploddin. “I’d marry you, but it’s obvious you’re taken. Do you have a brother?”

  Ploddin snorted loud enough to frighten a small flock of birds out of the tree in front of them, and Lacht burst into laughter.

  “What are you laughing at?” Curl asked. The light brown flecks in the younger girl’s eyes started hopping sideways, giving a mischievous glint to the golden eyes that peered at her over Ploddin’s shoulder. “Don’t you know what I meant when I said Ploddin was taken? I meant—”

  Hastily Lacht interrupted her. “I’m laughing because Ploddin’s brother, Crispin, is too old for you, and he’s not a Wet One. Besides, Crispin made up scary stories about the Wassandra. He’ll be surprised to discover what a beautiful people you are.

  The young Wassandra wrinkled her nose. “We tell stupid stories about you too. Crispin won’t be the only one surprised.”

  “A lot of good might come out of this,” began Ploddin.

  Curl lost the wrinkles around her nose. “That’s right. We can tell that to my parents,” she said enthusiastically.

  Stumbling as he stepped over a big tree trunk, Ploddin had to take a quick step to one side before he could regain his balance.

  “It doesn’t make what you did right,” he reminded Curl a little breathlessly.

  Lacht hopped over the tree trunk after him and asked before her feet hit the ground, “Curl, don’t you want me to take you for a while?”

  “No,” the girl answered with conviction. She put her arms around Ploddin’s neck. “Ploddin’s stronger than you are—and a lot handsomer,” she finished with another mischievous peek.

  Ploddin snorted again and Lacht smiled. Then her face brightened even further. Their conversation had taken attention away from the actual walking. Ahead of them past a few scattered trees, golden water poured over the surface of a big gray rock.

  When he reached the waterfall, Ploddin put Curl on her feet. Blowing a little, he sat on a small rock next to the stream. Then he turned pink.

  Lacht started slightly as she sat near him. Is it sunset already?

  Ploddin was thinking the opposite. “How could so much happen in such a short time?” he asked shaking his head.

  Curl glanced at the beautiful pink about her, but the exploring girl had seen sunsets before and she had other things on her mind. “You’ll come home with me, won’t you? My parents won’t get as angry if you’re there,” she begged the two of them.

  “Curl, is that all you can think about? Don’t you care that your parents have worried about you for weeks?” Lacht asked severely.

  The Wassandra hung her head, but Ploddin spoke before she could. “I’ll take her from here, Lacht. You should go back to Burkin Village. Your family’s been worried about you too this afternoon.”

  “But that means telling them I’m a Wet One all by myself. I don’t want to do that,” she protested, jumping up from her rock and wringing her hands.

  “You can wait until I get back to the village to tell about us. Your family—” Ploddin was saying when she interrupted him.

  “But I want to take Curl home too!”

  “Lacht, don’t you care that your parents have worried about you for hours today. Shame, shame, shame on you!” Curl scolded promptly.

  Ploddin laughed, and even Lacht couldn’t keep a smile off her face though she tried. Smirking, the nine-year-old proceeded to organize everything.

  “Lacht doesn’t have to walk around Wasso Lake. Going through is shorter. I can show her the way before Ploddin and I go home.”

  Ploddin asked suspiciously, “How much longer would it take and are you sure which direction to go once we’re under the water? It’s a big lake.”

  “I know Wasso Lake well enough that I got bored with it. That’s why I left. It won’t take long,” she wheedled.

  Ploddin thought a minute and then nodded at Lacht. “It ought to shorten your trip. Why don’t you come with us?”

  Lacht smiled broadly. She wouldn’t have to part from them right away. She could go down into the golden water with them.

  “OH NO!” screamed Curl suddenly.

  Ploddin jumped to his feet, and Lacht’s body tensed convulsively.

  “I’ll have to say good-bye to Brownie! Dogs can’t breathe under Wasso Lake,” the Wassandra girl wailed.

  Ploddin groaned loudly, and Lacht would have echoed him if she’d had the energy. Instead, she held onto a tree for support and said, “Don’t scare us like that, Curl. We’ve had enough scares for one day.”

  Curl threw herself on the ground beside Brownie and gave the little dog a hug. “I’ll visit you,” she promised.

  Brownie licked Curl’s face and sat beside the stream. He made no effort to follow them as they walked around the rock.

  Twelve

  Under the Lake

  Curl led the way to the rough side of the rock, to the very place she’d scrambled down weeks ago.

  Ploddin went up after her followed by Lacht, who deliberately went last in case he needed a boost, but the young blacksmith pulled his good leg up from one foothold to another without any problem. No need to worry!

  As she climbed, Lacht smiled as she imagined the expression on Ploddin’s face if he knew how often she worried over his leg. Sourplum, definitely sourplum. She was still smiling when she reached the top of the rock and found herself on the brink of Wasso Lake.

  Abruptly Lacht quit smiling.

  Sunset had passed now, and the evening mists swirled up from the surface of the lake to twist about their legs like happy cats. Lacht looked sideways at Ploddin.

  He wasn’t smiling either.

  Not long ago, not long ago at all, the two of them had avoided Wasso Lake with a passion. Then they’d had to walk into that awful pond.

  “Come on,” Curl urged them and stepped forward into the water.

  Ploddin offered Lacht his hand and she took it gratefully. Together they walked into the mists that swirled over them, into the water that didn’t feel wet, until their heads went under the surface and the pale gold of Wasso Lake surrounded them.

  A confusing jumble of rocks filled the underwater slope on this side of the lake, but Curl confidently wove her way through them, bouncing with excitement the whole way. It wasn’t until the rocky slope leveled into an open smoothness that extended on and on, as far as they could see that the Wassandra girl sank to the golden floor and put her head on her arms.

  “I’ve got to rest. I’m tired,” she whispered shakily.

  “You need to get home. Your parents will know what to do for you,” Ploddin said gruffly, kneeling beside her.

  Lacht’s heart clinched. She knew Ploddin’s gruffness didn’t come from crossness this time. What had all the weeks of hunger and fear done to Curl?

  “Point me in the right direction. You don’t need to take me. You should go straight to your home,” she told Curl.

  “No,” Curl objected. “Some places in Wasso Lake can get you into trouble. I know!” Even in her weakness, she grinned at them.

  Ploddin grinned back. “I bet you do. Let me carry you again.”

  He picked her up, and she draped her arms about his neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “That way,” she said, pointing with a long, graceful finger, and off they went, walking through the deepest part of the lake.

  The water didn’t darken at night in the deep places of Wasso Lake; it just became a more intense gold. No one spoke. A deep quiet surrounded and filled them, which no one wanted to disturb. They walked forty more minutes with Curl directing them by waves of her graceful hands. When they started another gradual climb, Ploddin broke the silence.

  “I wonder what it’s like down here in the middle of the day,” he said.

  “It’s lighter,” Curl told him and yawned loudly.

  Lacht yawned too. She was thirsty. Hmmm.

  Discreetly turning her head to one side, she started gulping. The water didn’t have a taste, but it certainly relieved her thirst and—

  “What are you doing? You look exactly like a fish with long black hair!” Ploddin said smiling widely.

  Lacht broke into laughter.

  She’d never laughed underwater. It caused golden ripples that undulated away from her. Up to now she’d only seen the tops of ripples, tops that made irregular waves on the surface of a pond and ended in splashes against the shoreline. Underwater ripples waved from side to side in tight little oblongs. The further away they got, the bigger the oblongs grew until in the distance the water rolled in long ovals that began to lose their shape.

  “Poppa used to tell me that the mists of Wasso Lake came from our laughter,” Curl remarked from the comfort of Ploddin’s arms. “Every time we laughed, it traveled through the water until it reached the surface where it changed into mist and jumped for joy. He said that was why the mists swirled. I believed him when I was a child.”

  Lacht smiled at her. “Then I’m glad I look like a fish when I drink. I make more mists!”

  “Drink!” Ploddin exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me we could drink this water? When I’ve been about to die of—”

  “Like this,” Lacht interrupted him.

  She demonstrated.

  Ploddin opened his mouth and started gulping. Curl shouted with laughter and Lacht giggled helplessly herself. He did look like a fish; a big fish with short black hair that stood on end and waved back and forth in the golden water.

  The laugh ripples rushed out in long, swaying ovals as he winked at the two girls and kept on drinking, mouth opening and closing in round O’s.

  The Wassandra men made no sound as they approached. Curl straightened up in Ploddin’s arms right before they arrived and called out, but Lacht couldn’t tell what had alerted the girl.

  Suddenly tall, willowy forms stood in front of them. Curl was weeping while she leaned away from Ploddin with her arms stretched out towards one of them. With a graceful bound, the Wassandra man leaped to her side and gathered her to him.

  Singing filled the water then; male voices blending in a harmony so beautiful that Lacht could only stare, eyes wide. When the singing stopped, she heard an answering song far off and barely discernible, but beautiful all the same.

  Curl still sobbed with her arms around her father’s neck. He was crying too and Lacht didn’t even try to stop her own tears, but she smiled as she cried. At least she smiled until she noticed the faces of the other men in the search party. Still and emotionless, the men watched Lacht and Ploddin. Their eyes didn’t waver, and their expressions didn’t change.

  Lacht’s lips straightened. She was tired of stop-and- start smiling, but she couldn’t help it. They don’t know who we are. They haven’t seen Wet Ones in years, and, for all they know, we sneaked into their lake and kidnapped their girl.

  “Curl,” she whispered nervously.

  The girl sobbed louder.

  “Curl, you need to tell your people that we’re friends!”

  Helplessly, Curl waved one hand above her head. She couldn’t speak, but she did start making an effort to control her sobs.

  The men waited silently, their tall golden forms at home in the water. The short, brown curls on their heads bobbed gently in the underwater currents, but everything else about them suggested flowing grace.

  Lacht tried another smile but knew immediately that it was a mistake and took it off her face. Ploddin reached over and held her hand again.

  “It’s all right. They’ll understand in a minute,” he told her.

  The sobbing girl hiccupped loudly, and Lacht watched the effect of the hiccup on the water. It made more of a bumping effect than anything else, little bumps of water movement that moved away in bigger and bigger bumps.

  Finally Curl could speak. “Poppa, I’m sorry. I ran away and followed a stream that falls over a gray rock outside the lake. I knew you wouldn’t follow me there, because nobody else would dream of leaving Wasso Lake. The stream emptied into a golden pond, and I wanted to see inside it.”

  Curl had sounded shaky up to this point, but her words got much shakier now. Lacht could barely understand them.

  “I found, I found a Wert under there!”

  The men started, and Curl’s father clutched her closer.

  “It was horrible with all those arms and I was frightened, but I saw a panotka plant and hid in its leaves. The Wert couldn’t catch me, but I couldn’t get out either. I tried and tried, but it always chased me back. Then Keshua came and told me Lacht would come, and then Lacht came.”

  Curl took a deep breath.

  “That’s Lacht,” she said, pointing. “She stayed with me until the Wert started through the leaves, because they were all purple and most of them had fallen. We had to run for it, but the Wert would have gotten us if Ploddin hadn’t jumped in between us.

  “That’s Ploddin,” she said with another point. “He killed the Wert. He’s a hero!”

  Everyone stared at Ploddin who cleared his throat and turned as red as the coals in his forge.

  “Thank you for saving my daughter,” Curl’s father said to Ploddin and Lacht in a rich baritone. He bowed his head as he added, “We honor you.”

  The tall, golden bodies of the men swayed as they all lowered their heads before Lacht and Ploddin.

  Lacht blurted out, “Don’t. I kept having dreams and now I know that the Plete sent them, but I didn’t want to be a Wet One, and I didn’t want to go into that pond, even though I knew Curl was there. Keshua almost had to drag me into the water.”

  The group looked at Ploddin then who quickly said, “I spent twenty years refusing to tell anyone I was a Wet One, and I didn’t believe anything Lacht had told me until she’d been gone for hours. If Brownie hadn’t led me to them, I would never have reached the girls in time.”

  “We should honor Brownie then?” asked one of the men.

  Curl waved both hands above her head as she shouted her agreement, “Yes! Let’s honor Brownie!”

  Lacht and Ploddin laughed at her, and the men shook their heads in confusion.

  Ploddin explained, “Brownie is a dog, an animal that lives above the water. He is a good dog, but I think the only one you should honor is Keshua.”

  “Keshua has obviously played the major role in saving our girl,” answered Curl’s father with a smile, “but you have both done your parts. You, Lacht, comforted my daughter; and you, Ploddin, killed the Wert. We will not forget.”

  “Poppa, I want to see Mama,” whispered Curl, slumping against her father after her momentary burst of energy.

  “You shall,” he said. “All else must wait. Wave will direct your friends to Burkin Village, and I will take you home.”

  He started to leave, but Curl stopped him.

  “Wait a minute, Poppa,” she said.

  She looked at Lacht and Ploddin, and the brown flecks in her beautiful, golden eyes did not jump sideways this time.

  “I will see you soon. I love you,” she told them.

  “We love you too,” answered Lacht, and her throat tightened as much as the first time she’d responded to those words from the girl. “Go home and get well.”

  “Poppa,” Curl said again, and the tall man bent his head to hear her whisper.

  “My daughter tells me that you have a hurt leg,” he said to Ploddin as he straightened.

  “Well, yes,” Ploddin answered shortly.