“Anything. Take my mind elsewhere. The aches of my aches have aches.” He closed his eyes. “Tell me about the seventh fathom. What happens there now?”

“The seventh fathom! You remember that?”

Asa’s eyes fluttered open. “I don’t just remember it. I went.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did so.”

“Asa, are you saying you went diving?”

“Yes. And do you know what I learned? It’s miserable down there. Cold. Dark. Lonely. I nearly drowned. I had an earache for days after. I haven’t got a clue why you like it.”

I laughed. “You must’ve done it wrong.”

“Oh, no. I did it right. I went three times—and never once did I see any castle.”

“It’s there, Asa. You missed it. Didn’t you even see the forest?”

“A forest?” He shook his head. “Nay. I didn’t see a single twig. You bamboozled me.”

“Well, I can remedy that. Close your eyes and I’ll take you there now.”

“All right.” He shut his eyes. “Take me.”

Saints, it was like we hadn’t skipped a day. “The forest,” I began, “is on the south side of the castle, across a broad grassy field. We walk through it, our footsteps flattening a path. Then we reach the edge of the wood. There, we stop to admire black oaks and great firs so tall their tops stir in the wind, but where we are below, it’s calm and quiet. The sort of quiet that steals time away. We delve inside, breathing in the loamy dampness. It’s darker here, but there are ferns everywhere, bursting like green fireworks. As we go along, you start telling me stories of the places you’ve sailed to—the Azores, Salvador, Dublin…everywhere. Everywhere you’ve gone, you tell me about it, and it’s just the rustling trees and your words. Words that shine and shine and shine in the foresty darkness.”

Asa’s mouth curved into a slow smile, but his eyes stayed shut. “Well, that all sounds fine, but where are we going in these woods?”

“That is exactly what you ask me. Then you stop and check your compass and tell me you think we’re lost. I reply that we can’t be, ’cause you are north and south, and I am east and west, and do you know what that means?” I was rising into the clouds of my own mind, spinning through them like a bird. “It means we’re the point where the needle spins—the very point that balances the whole world—and that means that everything else is lost, and far, and forgotten, but not us, Asa. Not us.”

“All right, but what if we want to go to the sea? I am partial to it, you know. What do we do then?”

“Simple. Simple as can be. We turn into birds and fly over the treetops and soar up into the sky, where we can see the sea.”

“See the sea,” he said sleepily, his head relaxing to the side. I knew soon he’d be asleep again—but recovering, thank the Lord. “What sorts of bird are we?”