1 The Twins Once upon a time there were two brothers, as alike to one another as you are to your own reflection. They had the same eyes, the same hands, the same voice, the same insatiable curiosity. And though it was generally agreed that one was slightly quicker, slightly cleverer, slightly more wonderful than the other, no one could tell the boys apart. And even when they thought they could, they were usually wrong. "Which one has the scar on his nose?" people would ask. "Which is the one with the saucy grin? Is Ned the smart one, or is it Tam?" Ned, some said. Tam, said others. They couldn't decide. But surely, one was better. It stood to reason. "For god's sakes, boys," their exasperated neighbors would sigh, "will you stand still so we may look at you properly?" The boys would not stand still. They were a whirlwind of shrieks and schemes and wicked grins. They would not be pinned down. And so the question of which one was the quick one, the clever one, the more wonderful one, remained a subject of some debate. One day, the boys decided it was high time that they built a raft. Working in secret, and with great attention to detail, they constructed it using scraps of lumber and bits of rope and cast-off pieces of broken furniture and sticks, careful to hide their work from their mother. Once they felt the vessel was seaworthy, they slid it into the Great River and climbed aboard, hoping to make it to the sea. They were mistaken. The vessel was not seaworthy. Very quickly, the rushing currents pulled the raft apart, and the boys were thrown into the water, fighting for their lives. Their father, a broad, strong man, dove into the water, and though he could barely swim, struggled through the current toward his children. A crowd gathered at the edge of the water. They were afraid of the river--afraid of the spirits that lived in the water who might snatch a man if he wasn't careful and pull him toward the dark muck at the bottom. They did not dive in to assist the man or his drowning children. Instead, they called out helpful comments to the terrified father. "Mind you keep their heads above the water when you drag them back," one woman yelled. "And if you can only save one," a man added, "make sure you save the right one." The current separated the boys. The father couldn't save them both. He kicked and swore, but as he reached one boy--the closer boy--his twin had been swept far down the length of the river and out of sight. His body washed ashore later that day, swollen and aghast. The people gathered around the small, dead child and shook their heads. "We should have known he'd bungle it," they said. "He saved the wrong one. The wrong boy lived." Excerpted from The Witch's Boy by Kelly Barnhill All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.