The Doorway and the Deep

by K. E. Ormsbee

  “I’m just saying, Mr. Wilfer is pretty qualified for the job.”

  “As is the healer of our Guard,” said Lyre. “And Mr. Wilfer’s presence is required here. He does not have the freedom to choose his patients. We decide whom he attends to.”

  Fife looked ready to start shouting, but he said nothing, only hovered a little higher off the ground.

  “The point of this audience,” Silvia said, “has nothing to do with this morning’s unfortunate event. It concerns news that my brother has brought back from the Northerly Court. News concerning the Southerly King.”

  Something plummeted deep within Lottie, turning her bones gelatinous. The mention of Starkling brought with it the remembrance of her vivid nightmare: the king’s fair skin bubbling like tar, eyes wide with rage, teeth red with blood.

  “What kind of news?” Fife asked.

  “The Northerlies,” said Lyre, “have discovered a way to destroy Starkling.”

  “Whoa,” said Eliot. “Destroy him?”

  Lyre’s gaze jolted to Eliot. His upper lip pulled up in distaste.

  “What is this?” he asked Silvia.

  “A human,” she said.

  Lyre said nothing more on the matter, but for the next several minutes, he continued to look as though he were suffering from indigestion.

  “I have spent these past months in the company of Rebel Gem, leader of the Northerly Court,” said Lyre. “Two of the court’s spies have attempted to assassinate the king before, using common poisons that had no effect on him. However, Northerly healers hypothesize that Starkling can be brought down by a plant that grows only in the Wilders. It is called addersfork. It is rare and blooms only at the end of autumn. It is the deadliest poison on our Isle, and it is, I believe, our best chance of destroying the Southerly King once and for all.”

  “Let me get this straight,” said Fife. “You went off to the North to find a cure, and you came back with poison? How’s killing off Starkling going to help the wisps who are dying?”

  “Still your tongue, Fife,” said Silvia. “Do not be impudent.”

  “There is no cure to be found in the northern territories. There hasn’t been for years.”

  Lottie was taken off guard by the sound of Mr. Wilfer’s soft voice. She lowered her gaze to where he stood.

  “Northerly healers manufactured a cure,” he continued, “but used up the vital ingredients years ago. The Plague was eradicated in the North, but now there are no remaining ingredients in the Isle for the cure they invented. There has been little research into another cure that can make use of ingredients still in existence. That task has fallen to me.”

  “And a shoddy job you’ve done of it,” said Lyre. He turned to Fife. “If you want an explanation for why wisps are still dying, boy, ask your precious healer here.”

  Fife looked close to bursting, but still said nothing.

  “I may not have found a cure in my travels,” said Lyre, “but I lighted upon the next best thing. Too long have the wisps lived under Starkling’s embargoes and threats of invasion. It was due to his extortion that my people could not afford inoculations—when there were still inoculations to be had. Long has he wanted us weak, and dead. He’s been wearing us down, readying to strike and take Wisp Territory for himself. My people deserve justice. Starkling will suffer for what he has done.”

  “That’s all good and well,” said Fife. “Everyone wants the king dead. But why are you telling us?”

  Lottie wondered this, too. They had never before been invited to the Royal Bower or been privy to Silvia or Mr. Wilfer’s conversations. Why were the adults now freely sharing their secrets?

  “They want something from us,” said Oliver. He was studying Lyre with cold blue eyes. “That’s what it is.”

  “Not from you,” said Lyre, “but from the Fiske girl, yes.”

  “What?” said Lottie. “Why me?”

  “I believe the addersfork will destroy Starkling,” said Lyre, “but the place it grows is dangerous terrain. None but Northerlies know how to cross over the Wilders, and fewer still know where to find this addersfork. Rebel Gem has offered to retrieve the plant for me in return for something else.”

  Lottie’s throat felt dry. “You mean someone else.”

  Lyre produced a thin smile. “Rebel Gem is under the impression that you are a far greater asset than addersfork, Miss Fiske. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the name of Fiske has caused quite a stir up North. Rebel Gem thinks your presence alone would be a great boon to the court.”

  Silence circled around the bower, and Lottie finally understood.

  “You think—you think you can just force me to go north?”

  “My brother and I do consider it rather fortuitous,” said Silvia, “that the Heir of Fiske resides in our territory.”

  “Fortuitous?” said Fife. “That’s rich. You can’t just give Lottie away to Rebel Gem, like she belongs to you. You haven’t even asked if she’d like to go.”

  “In the end,” said Lyre, “it does not matter whether or not Miss Fiske wants to go. She’s a fugitive, and she’s a guest in my court. Unless you all wish to fall into the hands of the Southerly King, you must rely entirely on me. And if I say you must go north, you will go north.”

  “But I can’t!” Lottie shouted. “Eliot and I are going home for Thanksgiving. Silvia said we could use the apple tree to go back to Kemble Isle. We had a deal.”

  “Little girls with unsharpened keens aren’t in a position to make deals,” said Lyre. “Things have changed. I refuse to let you use our apple tree.”

  “So, what?” said Fife. “Lottie’s supposed to forge her way to the Northerly Court all alone, just in time for winter?”

  “Of course not!” cried Silvia, throwing her hands up. “Fife, darling, really. As though we would ever send an honored guest northward unprotected! We’ve discussed the matter at length with Moritasgus. The Northerlies intend to do all they can to make Lottie’s journey safe and worth its while. Rebel Gem has personally arranged for comfortable lodging in the Northerly Court.”

  “Moritasgus also informs us,” said Lyre, “that none of you are particularly happy with your arrangements here in Wisp Territory. As outlaws, you have no fellow sprites to help you sharpen your keens properly.”

  Lottie felt certain she heard a sneer in Lyre’s voice as he said the word “keens.”

  “The Northerly Court is full of sprites who can help you along in your training,” said Silvia. “Rebel Gem has offered you the full protection of the court, just as I have extended my protection here.”

  “Is that all true, Father?” asked Oliver. “Is that what you want for us?”

  Mr. Wilfer looked tired. “I’ve long felt uneasy about your situation here,” he said. “I can think of no better opportunity for you to advance your studies. I think you should be back amongst other sprites. Though I will of course leave it up to you.”

  “You may leave it to them, Moritasgus,” said Lyre, “but I do not allow halflings and other folk”—here he cast a look at Eliot—“to reside in my territory.”

  “Hey!” cried Eliot. “But Mr. Wilfer made a deal with the Seamstress.”

  “He made a deal with her,” said Lyre, “not with me. Silvia can play by her rules while I’m away, but my rule has been, and ever will be, that there is no room here for outsiders. We wisps have enough troubles as it is without interference.”

  “Yeah,” said Fife. “Troubles you want us to help with. And when exactly do you plan on booting us out of here?”

  “Tomorrow,” said Lyre. “I promised Rebel Gem an immediate transaction.”

  “WHAT?” roared Fife.

  Lottie blinked in shock. This news was so sudden, so wholly unexpected, that she’d yet to sort out half its meaning. Travel to the Northerly Court? All she knew of Rebel Gem were the fractured mentions she’d heard from the Barghest and from Roote and Crag, the two Northerlies she had met on her journey to the Southerly Court. She had certainly nev
er heard of a place called the Wilders. And what about Eliot?

  “What if we do go?” asked Fife. “How’re we supposed to travel north, on bare Barghest back?”

  “Nothing so uncivil,” said Silvia, who hadn’t seen the excitement in Fife’s face when he asked the question. “Lyre has brought back with him an ambassador from the Northerly Court, sent directly from Rebel Gem as a gesture of hospitality. He’s been taking a rest after the long journey, but I’ve requested Wren to fetch him. Ah! And what magnificent timing, for here they come.”

  Silvia motioned to the bower doors, where Wren stood guard, her face impassive.

  “Go on, then,” said Silvia. “Show him in.”

  Wren opened the bower door and announced, “The honored ambassador from the North.”

  In walked a young man with shaggy black hair and muscled arms. His gait was confident as he strode toward the willow tree, then stooped in a bow. When he lifted his face, Lottie saw the three metal rings that pierced his nose.

  The honored ambassador from the North was none other than Dorian Ingle.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Iolanthe

  “DORIAN,” said Lyre. “I didn’t think Northerlies acknowledged royalty.”

  Dorian Ingle smiled broadly at the Tailor of the Wisps. “I wasn’t bowing to you. I was paying my respects to the Heir of Fiske.”

  Dorian turned his smile on Lottie. Warmth creep-crawled into her face.

  “I’m not royalty,” she said. “Not even close.”

  “No,” said Dorian, winking at her. “But you possess the courage of the Fiskes. I haven’t forgotten that so easily from our last encounter. Lottie Fiske, it would be my honor to serve and protect you on your journey north.”

  “Yeah, and what about the rest of us?” said Fife. “Will it be your honor to protect us, or are you just flirting because Lottie’s so nice to look at?”

  Adelaide gasped. Oliver’s eyes went pink.

  “You’re a forceful one, aren’t you?” said Dorian, sauntering closer to Fife. “The Tailor warned me about you.”

  “I can’t imagine what he said, considering he doesn’t know me at all.”

  Dorian snorted. “Well, listen up, Little Dulcet. It will be my privilege to escort all of you safely to the Northerly Court, without regard to parentage or prettiness.”

  Lottie blushed. She turned to avoid Dorian’s gaze, but also because she had something to say to Mr. Wilfer.

  “I can’t go,” she said. “I won’t.”

  “It’s been a month,” Eliot piped up timidly. “My dad’s been really understanding about everything, but he’d be so upset if I didn’t come back for the holidays.”

  “Then let the human child return to his home, where he belongs,” said Silvia. “There’s no need for Lottie to follow.”

  “There’s every need for me to follow!” Lottie cried. “I have to stay near Eliot. I keep him well. Tell them, Mr. Wilfer.”

  “It’s true,” Mr. Wilfer said. “If she and the boy were to part, I fear it would be detrimental to his health.”

  “That is not our concern,” said Lyre.

  “Well, it’s mine,” Lottie said. “I can’t go on this great errand of yours if it means traveling north tomorrow. I promised Eliot I would go home with him for the holidays. We’ll be there for weeks. I promised.”

  “That’s terribly inconvenient,” observed Dorian, who had pulled a pipe from his breast pocket and was now lighting its contents.

  “It’s impossible,” said Lyre. “I told Rebel Gem I would send you to the Northerly Court straightaway.”

  “Well, maybe you should’ve asked my permission first!” Lottie shouted.

  “Easy now,” said Dorian, puffing out a cloud of orange smoke. “No need to get riled up. Maybe Lottie just needs some time to consider.”

  “There’s nothing to consider,” Lottie snapped. “I go home with Eliot tomorrow.”

  “Have you told her, Lyre?” Dorian asked. “How Rebel Gem has offered to train her in person?”

  Lottie grew still. “Rebel Gem wants to help me sharpen my keen?”

  “A very qualified teacher, too,” said Dorian. “Has anyone ever told you how similar Rebel Gem’s keen is to your own?”

  Lottie shook her head. She suddenly felt as though her neck wasn’t properly attached to her body.

  “That shouldn’t change anything,” she said quietly.

  “Maybe it shouldn’t,” said Dorian. “But it’s something to consider, isn’t it?”

  “Tailor,” Mr. Wilfer spoke up. “Seamstress. You’ve given the children a heavy piece of news. I think it best to grant them time to think it over.”

  The brother and sister exchanged a glance. Silvia gave a slow, solitary nod.

  “They can think it over, if that gives them comfort,” said Lyre. “But regardless, the Heir of Fiske must be ready to depart in one day’s time. No later.”

  “Don’t worry,” muttered Fife. “We’ll be out of this rotten dump soon enough.”

  They were assigned four guards for the journey back to the Clearing. Though Lottie knew Lyre had only sent Wren and the three other guards to ensure that she and the others didn’t try to escape, she was secretly grateful for their presence. She still couldn’t shake her fear of whitecaps or the memory of that wisp guard slumped in a pool of blood.

  Fife talked the whole way back.

  “We don’t even get a say in the matter. If we don’t go of our own free will, that Dorian fellow will probably kidnap us and haul us to the Northerly Court anyhow. Wouldn’t be surprised if the Tailor’s sold us all into slavery.”

  No one replied, but no one really needed to. Fife was content carrying on the conversation with himself.

  When they arrived at the Clearing, Lottie said, “We should talk it over.”

  So they all crawled into Lottie and Adelaide’s yew, and only after the guards had left and the yew branch splintered back into place did everyone start to speak.

  “Father seems to think it’s a good idea,” said Oliver.

  “Yes, well, he was forced into it by the Tailor,” said Fife. “Uncle probably threatened him with disembodiment.”

  Oliver shivered. “Whatever the case, it isn’t fair Lottie and Eliot are being backed into it.”

  Adelaide was crying. “This isn’t what I meant when I said I wanted proper tutelage! What kind of qualified teachers can there possibly be in the North? They’re all barbarians!”

  “I dunno what’s left to discuss,” said Fife. “They’ve made our decision for us.”

  Eliot looked over nervously at Lottie.

  “Don’t worry,” she whispered for only him to hear. “I’m going home with you. Nothing’s changed.”

  Though something had changed. Lottie had promised Eliot she would return home. He missed his father, and Lottie knew Mr. Walsch must miss Eliot terribly, too. And she couldn’t possibly let Eliot go home on his own. He coughed even when he was with her. What would happen if she left his side?

  And yet.

  Rebel Gem had offered to train her. The Rebel Gem, leader of the Northerlies, had a keen like her own. The memory surfaced in Lottie’s mind: the bloodied wisp guard who had struggled for life while she looked on, powerless, unable to help or heal. She wasn’t getting anywhere under Mr. Wilfer’s instruction, but what if she could make better progress with Rebel Gem?

  Then her memory threw up the awful, unwanted image of the Southerly King’s cold eyes as he crushed a helpless boy’s genga in his hand, a crowd cheering, “Fifthed! Fifthed!”

  “Do you think the Tailor’s plan would work?” Lottie asked. “Do you think if the wisps get hold of the addersfork, they can really kill him?”

  “Who knows?” said Oliver. “But it sounds like the only plan they’ve got.”

  “Lottie is the only plan they’ve got,” corrected Adelaide. “But it’s unjust for the Tailor to banish the rest of us up North when we’ve nothing to do with this silly scheme.”

  “
Come on, Adelaide.” Oliver’s eyes turned a green as coaxing as his voice. “It won’t be that bad. I bet the Northerlies aren’t nearly as uncivil as you think. Some of the most powerful sprites in history have been Northerlies—Fiskes included.”

  Lottie perked up at this. In all the ruckus and confusion, she’d forgotten the fact that her mother was a Northerly. Her mother had probably visited the Northerly Court, too. The thought made her heart lurch.

  “I’ll go,” said Adelaide, sniffling, “but I won’t go happily.”

  “What about you, Lottie?” Fife asked. “Are you really going back to Kemble Isle? The Tailor isn’t going to take kindly to that decision.”

  He didn’t sound accusatory, but he did sound upset.

  “I’m really sorry,” Lottie said, “but I have to. I care about all of you, and about Albion Isle, but Eliot is—I mean, Eliot could—he could—”

  “No one’s angry with you, Lottie,” said Oliver. “You don’t have to explain.”

  Lottie wanted to say, But I’m angry with myself.

  “How long will you be gone?” Adelaide asked.

  “Nothing was definite,” said Lottie, “but we’d planned on staying several weeks at least.”

  “How will you even get back here is what I want to know,” said Fife. “The Tailor’s hardly going to let you come waltzing back through his silver-boughed tree after you refuse to cooperate with his plan.”

  “I don’t know,” said Lottie. “I don’t know. I need to talk it over with Mr. Wilfer.”

  “You’ll figure something out,” said Oliver. Then, in a tone of voice Lottie knew all too well, he said, “You are the master of your fate; you are the captain of your soul.”

  Though Adelaide had stopped crying, a heaviness still hung over the tree after the boys had left for their own yew.

  Adelaide lay on her back, squinting up at the chandelier. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “I keep trying to work out how things could’ve happened differently. How the pieces could’ve fit in other places so that none of this ever came to be, and my world was the same as before, and Iris Gate was ours again, and Father was the king’s right-hand sprite. I would still have my daily lessons with Tutor, and I could walk down to Gertrude’s Dress Shop and look at the newest patterns to arrive. It’s impossible, but I think about that.” She tilted her head to Lottie. “Is that terrible of me?”