The Key & the Flame

by Claire M. Caterer

  “To use for what?” Ben asked.

  “Well, it’s sort of—sort of a magic key.”

  “Oh, get real.”

  “It’s not just a key,” said Everett. “Let her tell us.”

  Holly held out her hand and, after hesitating just a moment longer, Everett laid it in her palm. Ben plopped onto the grass and the others followed. “I know it sounds crazy,” Holly began, “and the thing is, I don’t think anyone else can see what I do, because the key only belongs to me.”

  “Like at the castle. You saw those people in fancy dress,” Everett said.

  “Right. And then they just vanished when I dropped the key. Mr. Gallaway says it unlocks things. It lets me see things from the past, or even from other places. At least, sometimes.”

  Ben rolled his eyes.

  “But it also opens this oak tree, like a door. And those trees there”—Holly pointed at the far side of the glade—“those are all doors to different places. Or times. At least, I think so.”

  “And I guess we can’t see the different places either?” Ben asked. “That’s not even logical.”

  “Shut it,” Everett told him.

  Holly told them what she had seen at the castle—the lords and ladies, and Ben at the high table, and the knight with the sword. She explained about the trunkful of keys, and the few things Mr. Gallaway had said about them. “He knows exactly what’s going on, but he won’t tell me everything. It’s like a test or something. I’m supposed to figure it out for myself, I guess.”

  “A test of what?” asked Ben. “To see if you’ll go to a medieval party and get your head cut off by King Arthur?”

  “He was in the Dark Ages,” said Everett.

  “I mean,” said Ben, “what do we really know about this Gallaway guy?”

  “He knows things,” Holly said. “And he has these fantastic keys—lots of them! It’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing! He’s not trying to hurt us.”

  “Sounds to me like he’s playing a big joke on us. Or trying to get us killed.”

  “I don’t think so, Ben,” said Everett. “I mean, I’ve known him forever. He’s mostly all right.”

  “So you believe this? That Holly’s got a key to some kind of magic place?”

  The boys exchanged glances. Holly knew Ben thought she was playing some kind of trick on him, but Everett seemed to be trying to convince himself that she was telling the truth. Finally Everett said, “Yeah, I do. Okay, Holly. Show us.”

  She walked over to the oak tree and brought the key to the lock. The hum of the forest grew, and the key vibrated in her fingers.

  “What’s that?” Ben asked. “Are you making that sound?”

  “No, it’s the key,” Holly said. “Come here. You can see the keyhole.”

  Everett and Ben ran up behind her. “I don’t see anything,” Ben said.

  “I think I see something—sort of,” said Everett.

  “Yeah, I see something sort of,” Ben said at once.

  “Here goes.” Holly thrust the key into the trunk of the tree and turned it. With an earsplitting crack, the ground trembled and the trunk split apart like before. The doorway opened. “Do you see it?” Holly asked, desperately.

  “What are we supposed to see?” Ben asked.

  “Maybe if we held the key,” Everett suggested.

  “No,” said Holly, afraid he would take it again. “It’s mine.”

  “Come on, I’ll give it back.” Everett grabbed the hand that clutched the key. “Crikey! What’s that?” He stared at the open tree trunk.

  “What’s what?” Ben whined.

  Everett took Ben’s hand and wrapped it around Holly’s. “Whoa!” said Ben. “What did you do? Is that the door?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you the rest.” She started through the doorway, but Ben tugged her back.

  “I don’t think I want to do that.”

  “We’re all here,” Everett said. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

  “I didn’t say I was scared. But you don’t know what you’ll run into,” said Ben. “This isn’t normal, Holly. We might find, I don’t know, giant ogres with sea serpent heads or something.”

  “I’m just going to take my chances.” Holly pulled her hand free from his. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

  For a moment, Ben looked at Holly and Everett, standing hand in hand. “If you’re both going, I’m going too.” He took Holly’s hand again. Through the gap in the tree trunk, Holly could see the grass rippling, as if beckoning them. She closed her eyes, gripped both boys’ hands tight, and led them through the oak doorway to the other side.

  Holly let out a sigh. She realized she’d been afraid that it would be different this time, but the glade looked just as it had the day before. There was a glow about it, as if the sun had burst out of the clouds. The forest was humming again, but the vibration was louder this time, and it shot through all of them, the underbrush, the clusters of celandine and yellow primroses. The circle of beech trees quivered. The air thickened. Holly thought if she put out her tongue, she could taste it.

  To be honest, she was relieved to have someone else along. “Can you guys see the keyholes in all the beech trees?” she said.

  The boys nodded. “It’s like they’re, I don’t know, brighter or something,” said Everett softly. “And look.” He pointed at their feet. They stood on a carpet of low, nodding purple flowers. “I’ve been in this glade a hundred times. There’s never been bluebells before.”

  Holly took a deep breath. “Okay, so I’m thinking if we turn the key in one of these beech trees, it’ll open up like the oak. And we can step into this other place. But, I mean, I’m just guessing.” She would much rather have been a confident tour guide, to have already gone ahead and been able to say, “That’s the way to the land of the unicorns” and “Steer clear of that monster pit.” But as it was . . .

  “So we just need to pick a tree,” said Everett slowly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

  “What about this one?” Ben walked over to a skinny tree, hardly more than a sapling. The others followed because no one had dropped hands. Holly was just as glad they hadn’t.

  “No,” Holly said. “It doesn’t look—I don’t know—strong enough.”

  “Why’s it have to be strong?” Everett asked.

  “It’s just a feeling, that’s all.”

  “The feeling is that you want to be boss, like always,” Ben said.

  “Well, excuse me for being older than you!”

  Everett cut in. “How about we just pick a really—er—strong-looking tree? Like . . . ” He looked around the glade and pulled everyone over to an old, gnarled beech. “Like this one.”

  The tree Everett had chosen was the strangest Holly had ever seen. It looked like three trees growing together, as wide as the three children standing abreast. Each conjoined trunk had its own thick branches sprouting from it, every which way, each one as big around as Holly’s waist. Green moss grew up its silvery roots. In the center, the keyhole glowed faintly.

  Holly dropped Everett’s hand and traced her fingers around the keyhole. Something answered her touch. It was almost like the key’s vibration, but warmer. As if she were coming home after a very long time away, and her hand had just closed over the handle of her front door.

  “We should vote on it,” Ben said.

  Holly turned to snap at him, but then the key vibrated in her fingers. Ben’s damp hand clutched at hers. He didn’t really look any different—still short and pudgy, with his annoying runny nose and his dorky stick-up hair—but now he seemed different. Like someone who needed her—as if straight-A-student Ben could need anybody. But then she remembered that day last year when she’d scared off some boys who were picking on him after school. She guessed he needed her sometimes. She had to lead, but something told her that they all had to be part of it. Even Ben.

  “Are you okay?” Ben said. “You look weird.”

  “Yeah
. Sorry.” The feeling faded. “Anyway—what you said—we should vote.”

  Ben stared at her as if she’d spoken in Japanese, but then he raised his hand. “Okay. This tree looks good to me.”

  “Me too,” Everett agreed.

  “And me. So it’s unanimous. Everett, hang on to my elbow.” He did as she asked, and she pushed the key into the keyhole.

  Chapter 11

  * * *

  The Wand

  Holly imagined they would step through the beech tree as they had through the oak, but she was wrong. Just as she turned the key, a flash of light exploded along with an enormous thunderclap. Holly covered her eyes and stumbled. Ben’s fingers crushed her own as the sharp scent of ozone and burning bark filled the air.

  The three children tumbled to the ground. Holly opened her eyes. “It’s all right,” she said. “It looks fine.”

  The glade and the oak tree had disappeared. They stood up in the valley of an overgrown forest crowded with tall, thin trees and low shrubs. Their enormous beech tree looked out of place here. On a hill above them Holly could make out a little clearing. Tiny orange and yellow flowers carpeted the ground beside a broad path. The air was still, suffused with a deep, enduring quiet, as if sound had hardly been invented yet. They stood without moving for several moments. Finally a bird gave a raucous call and Holly startled, then relaxed. “Well, let’s take a look around,” she said.

  Ben still held on to a branch of the beech tree they’d entered by. “But look at this forest,” he said. “This path, all these trees—there’s no landmarks. What if we get lost? How will we ever find our tree again? Maybe we should go back.”

  Holly took a breath. She couldn’t even think of going back. Something about the air here, the sun filtered through the canopy, the speckled thrush that cocked an eye at her from a low branch above them. She belonged here.

  Still, Ben had a point, as much as Holly hated to admit it. “Here, I’ll mark our path.” She rummaged in her backpack for a moment, then remembered the bandana and pulled it off her head.

  “Hey, you’ve got food!” said Ben, peering in the backpack before she zipped it up. “And matches! What were you gonna do, camp out? I’m not staying here all night.”

  “Relax,” said Holly. “We’re just going to wander around a little and come right back.”

  “It feels primeval,” Ben muttered. “There might be T. rexes or something.”

  “More like velociraptors,” said Everett. “T. rexes were in North America.”

  “Gee, thanks. What a relief.”

  “Shut up and pay attention,” said Holly. She flicked open her Swiss Army knife and poked it into the bandana, working the blade until she could tear off a strip of fabric. She tied it onto the branch of a nearby tree. “See? I’ll tie one of these strips to a tree every time we make a turn. And we’ll use my compass so we’ll know which direction we go.”

  “But what about going back?” Ben asked.

  “It looks pretty safe,” Everett said. “And if it was dinosaur times, it would be tropical. It just feels like regular Britain.” He cocked an eye toward the sky. “But later in the day, I think. Maybe afternoon.”

  “So we’ll all stick together, right?” said Holly. “No going off on our own?”

  “Agreed,” Everett said.

  “Duh,” said Ben.

  “Okay then.” Holly glanced around for other landmarks. The path in front of them was nearly wide enough for a car to drive through. Two low bushes framed their beech tree, and a fallen log lay behind it. It took only a moment for Holly to fix the picture in her mind like a photograph. She would easily find this place again.

  The path rose along a slight incline to their left. “Let’s go that way,” Ben said.

  Holly held out the compass. “Northwest. Sounds good to me.”

  They had taken only three or four steps before Everett said, “Holly, what’s that you’re holding?”

  “Oh, the key. I’d better put it in my pocket.”

  “That’s not the key,” said Everett. Holly stopped walking and held it up.

  He was right. What she held was no longer a key, but a carved stick, perhaps a foot long. Wound around it were carvings of vines and flowers. It tapered to a narrow tip at one end, where a tiny, faceted crystal was fixed into the wood. Holly dropped it. “Oh no! Where’s the key?”

  “I think this is the key,” said Everett, picking it up. “It’s changed.”

  “What do you mean, changed?” Ben asked sharply. “It’s got to stay a key, or we can’t get back home.”

  Holly took the stick from Everett and darted back to the beech tree. She pointed the narrow end at the knot in the trunk’s center. It glowed. The keyhole had changed too—it was exactly the size and shape of the crystal at the tip of Holly’s stick.

  “Everett’s right. It’s still the key. But what’s happened to it?”

  “It looks like a magic wand,” Ben said, shrugging.

  The other two stared at him. “He’s right,” Everett said. “That’s exactly what it is.”

  Holly turned the stick over. It had the same strong, heavy feel to it as the key, as if it were hers—as if she’d found something she’d lost long ago. What could it do? she wondered. What could she do?

  It tingled in her hands and she pushed it into her back pocket. “I’d better put it away,” she said, shaking off a shiver. “What if I accidentally turn one of you into a frog?”

  “Oh, right. By accident,” said Ben. “Let’s go. It’s too quiet here.”

  They set off on the path again. It was too quiet, despite the occasional trill of birds and the rustling of chipmunks through the dead leaves. Every twig they stepped on echoed like a rifle shot. Though the trees grew dense, the path was wide and well kept. Someone must live near here, Holly thought.

  They walked in a straight line for perhaps five minutes, not saying much, which only increased the oppressive silence. And then Holly, who was somewhat in the lead, although they were walking abreast, halted.

  Ben bumped into her; he’d been holding on to her backpack strap. “Why’re we stopping?”

  His voice rang out as if they were in a library. “Shhh!” Holly and Everett whispered together. “I hear something,” Holly added.

  It wasn’t so much that she heard something as that she felt something. A vibration shook the ground beneath her feet in a steady rhythm, like a drumming. And it was getting stronger. The three of them stood, frozen.

  “I feel it too,” Everett said finally.

  Ben said, “What are we supposed to feel?”

  Everett pulled him off the path. “Get out of the way! It’s a horse!”

  Holly knew at once Everett was right, and she dodged into the trees on the other side of the path. She signaled to the boys to hide, but Everett didn’t need any advice. He pulled Ben in among a clump of bushes. Holly crouched behind a tree. The ground shook as the rhythm grew. More than one horse.

  Around the bend in the path the first horse bounded into view. It was twice Holly’s height, thickly muscled and shiny black. On its back sat a skinny blond-haired boy a bit older than she, dressed in a bright tunic of purple and gold. A broad scarlet cape billowed behind him. Holly squinted, sure she had seen him somewhere before. As he approached the rise, a sliver of sunlight caught a thin gold circlet on his head. The horse slowed, and a smaller chestnut appeared behind it. The man astride it was a grown-up, and his clothes weren’t quite as fine as the boy’s.

  “The theves,” the boy said to his companion. “Hie beth nere. The hors smelleth hem.”

  The older man glanced around. “Nis non here, Sire.”

  The boy frowned and peered through the trees. He said something else to his friend, sounding irritated. Holly wished she could understand them. She pulled the key—now wand—from her pocket, worrying her fingers over the carvings. For some reason, holding it made her feel calmer. Almost without meaning to, she pointed it at the blond-haired boy. His speech hummed and crac
kled like a distant radio signal, and then all at once she understood him perfectly, though his accent was British.

  “I tell thee, Pagett saw them in this wood, and I shall have their heads when I find them!”

  “My lord,” said the older man patiently, “their heads you shall have, but they have not been seen these three days.”

  “My informants tell me otherwise.”

  “Do you mean the horse, Your Highness?” The dark-haired man pursed his lips. Holly guessed he was trying not to smile.

  The boy turned his mount, searching the trees, and Holly crouched lower. She looked down at the wand. Your Highness . . . Had she cast a spell on a prince?

  Then, above the blowing of the horses, Holly heard a familiar sound: snuffling.

  It was Ben, on the opposite side of the path. She could just make out his face between two shrubs. The tail of the older man’s horse swished in and out of the brush, inches from Ben’s nose. Holly knew why he was snuffling: He was fiercely allergic to horses.

  Hold it in, Ben, come on.

  “Dost hear?” The boy stilled his horse.

  Another rustle told Holly that Everett was trying to hold Ben still, but it was no use. She recognized the gasping that meant Ben was trying not to sneeze.

  “Someone is here, Clement,” the boy whispered.

  For a long moment, everyone, even the horses, was still. Then a loud, messy sneeze exploded in the wood.

  “There, my lord!”

  The man called Clement pointed, the boy wheeled on his horse, and then several confusing things happened. Everett broke from the underbrush and, dragging Ben by one hand (he was in the middle of another sneeze), he crashed through the forest, off the path. The boy on horseback uttered some kind of curse and jumped off his mount, then took off after Everett and Ben. He called behind him, “Follow on the path!” At that, his companion caught the free horse by the bridle and galloped down the path in the general direction the boys had gone.

  But before man and horses had gotten too far, a triumphant cry (and a frightened kind of squeak) emerged from the woods. “I have them at swordpoint!” called the prince.