The Doorway and the Deep

by K. E. Ormsbee

  “If Iolanthe ever visited you,” said Lottie, “she’d have a much harder time chopping your tree down.”

  Rebel Gem’s gaze darkened. “If Iolanthe ever visited us, we’d have a whole slew of other problems on our hands. Now, your letter.”

  “Oh. Oh!” Lottie couldn’t believe she’d nearly forgotten her whole reason for paying a visit to the apple tree. She dug Eliot’s letter from her pocket and walked toward the tree. There were six guards positioned around its trunk with drawn swords and stoic gazes. They carried shields, too, made of metal and engraved with black diamonds.

  Lottie turned back to Rebel Gem. “The wisps only had one guard at theirs.”

  “I’m well aware of the fact,” said Rebel Gem. “Upon receiving news of what happened to the wisp tree, I ordered this guard be doubled. Our tree is far less vulnerable than others, perhaps, but I won’t take any chances.”

  “Good,” said Lottie. She didn’t want anything left to chance when it came to her and Eliot’s one route home.

  She took a few steps closer to the tree, gaze fixed on Eliot’s letter, afraid to look any of the guards in the eye. Then she remembered something. She turned to Rebel Gem again. “I don’t have a way to send it back. I used a copper box before, but Iolanthe and her soldiers stole it, or destroyed it, or—well, the point is, it’s gone.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” said Rebel Gem, motioning back to the tree.

  One of the guards had set aside his shield and was holding a box, which he now offered to Lottie. She shrank with embarrassment, realizing that if she’d actually been brave enough to meet the gaze of the guards, she might have noticed the box sooner.

  She took the box from the guard. It was far heavier than it looked; Lottie suspected it was made of pure silver. There was an engraving on its lid of a single apple, split in half so that its seeds—tiny inlaid rubies—were visible.

  “Are you sure it’s okay for me to use this?” Lottie asked.

  Rebel Gem laughed. “I’m sure, Lottie. It’s mine to give to whomever I’d like. And you have need of it. So use it.”

  Lottie opened the box and placed Eliot’s letter inside. Then she drew closer to the apple tree. The two guards nearest her stepped aside, and Lottie set the box at the tree’s base.

  “All right, Trouble,” she said, reaching into her pocket and finding, to her relief, that he was actually roosting there this time.

  Trouble rustled in her hand, shivering out his wings with an annoyed squawk. A few moments later, once he found his bearings, he fluttered to a low branch and perched. Lottie walked up to the silver bough, jumped, and grabbed hold. Using all her weight, she tugged the branch down. Then came a deep groaning sound. The tree’s bark splintered, and Lottie stepped back as a doorway formed in its trunk. With a satisfied nod, she retrieved the silver box from the ground. She walked straight up to the tree’s threshold and placed the box inside. As she did, she felt certain she heard a faint hitch of breath behind her, from Rebel Gem.

  “Mr. Walsch’s house, Kemble Isle,” she whispered into the tree.

  Then she released the box, stepped back, and watched as the apple tree’s bark whorled back in on itself, sealing up the doorway.

  “There,” Lottie said, holding up her hand for Trouble to return to. Though of course, Trouble did not wish to return immediately. He chirped obstinately and flew three wide circles around the tree, swooping quite close to some of the guards’ heads. Lottie gave Trouble a look once he’d finally landed in her palm.

  “Show-off,” she muttered, tucking him into her pocket.

  “Um, thank you for your service, guards,” she said, hoping she sounded confident and mature. Then, she returned to Rebel Gem, who had remained at a distance from the apple tree and was watching Lottie with an apprehensive gaze Lottie had never seen on her before. As Lottie came closer, Rebel Gem shook off the strange look and smiled.

  “All right?” she asked.

  Lottie cast a glance back at the tree. It was strange to be so close to her route home and yet so very far away.

  I could have gone back right then and there, she thought. I could have, and no one would’ve been able to stop me in time.

  She wondered if Rebel Gem had thought about this, too. She wondered if this was why she had gasped as Lottie stepped so close to the tree’s threshold.

  But, of course, Lottie would never have stepped into that tree. For one thing, Eliot was not with her, and for another, she had made a promise to Rebel Gem—and Rebel Gem certainly seemed to be holding up her end of the deal.

  “Soon we’ll go home, Eliot,” Lottie whispered on the long, dark journey back to the surface. “Soon.”

  There were guests in Fife’s room. Even before Lottie stepped through the doorway, she heard peppery laughs and a deep voice shouting, “No fair, that! Eh! No fair!”

  Roote and Crag were paying a visit. They and Eliot sat on the giant canopied bed, while Fife floated above a mound of pillows. Scattered on the bed were colored stones and octagonal pieces of paper that resembled playing cards.

  “Greetings, Lottie!” cried Fife, flapping an arm at her. “The boys and I were just playing a game of skipping stone.”

  “Cheatin’ is more like,” said Crag, throwing down his cards. “That boy ain’t allowed to float like that. ’E can see everything in our ’ands!”

  Fife laughed loudly. “It was just a joke. Tell them, Eliot.”

  “It isn’t funny,” said Eliot, who was very white in the face. “You shouldn’t be floating. Rebel Gem said you haven’t fully recov—”

  “Oh, who cares what she says. She hasn’t checked on me in a full day.”

  Eliot broke into a cough and turned his face away.

  “Eliot’s right,” Lottie said angrily. “You’re supposed to be resting, Fife. There’s no way you’ll be able to explore the Northerly Court if you split your stitches back open.”

  “I’m fine.” But even as Fife said it, an undeniable wince flickered across his face. He lowered back to the bed but added, “I’m only doing it because I want to sit back down.”

  The sound of a horn sang down the cave hall.

  “Supping time,” said Roote, collecting the stones and cards from the bed. “But this isn’t over, young Dulcet. We’ll be back for another game.”

  “Counting on it,” said Fife.

  They left, and Lottie glared at Fife.

  “What?” he said. “I’m bored. Don’t begrudge this sprite a little gambling to stave off the doldrums.”

  “You shouldn’t be floating,” Lottie said.

  “What are you, my mother?”

  Lottie, who didn’t appreciate being compared to Silvia Dulcet, decided not to press the issue further.

  Later, after the white-haired boy had cleared their supper away—all the while casting Lottie the stink eye—Lottie insisted that she take over Eliot’s watch.

  “Just tonight,” she told Eliot in an appeasing way. “You should sleep on my bed. I want to stay up with Fife and talk.”

  Eliot looked prepared to argue, but his eyelids were already drooping. He gave way only after he secured Lottie’s promise that she wouldn’t let Fife read ahead in their book. When he’d gone, Lottie turned the book over. The cover read In a Time of Schisms, by Ferdinand Ellard III.

  “Quick,” said Fife. “Burn it. Burn it while you have the chance.”

  “I heard it’s a classic,” Lottie said.

  “That doesn’t mean anything up here. You could write the word ‘mud’ on a piece of paper, and the Northerlies would call it a classic.”

  “You’re starting to sound like Adelaide.”

  Fife’s face went stony. “Take that back.”

  “No,” Lottie said, grinning.

  Silence fell, and finally Fife spoke again.

  “Don’t you dare ever tell her this,” he said, “but I miss her. A little.”

  Lottie made a show of dropping her jaw. “Fife Dulcet,” she said, throwing her hand on her heart.
“You miss Adelaide?”

  “Ollie, too, of course. But I kind of miss her stupid nagging. In a stupid way, you know?”

  “No,” said Lottie, suddenly serious. “I know.”

  Fife shifted in his pillows, scooting closer to where Lottie sat. “Is everything okay with Eliot?”

  “Why?” Lottie asked, ignoring the judder of her heart.

  “It’s only, he’s been acting kind of sick today. And I didn’t know if that was normal, if he just has his bad bouts every so often.”

  “No,” Lottie whispered. “It isn’t normal. I think he’s getting sicker.”

  Fife licked his lower lip. “Lottie—”

  “Don’t use your keen. Please. You don’t have to say a thing. It’s just, I thought at first I’d made him better for good.”

  “He’s human, Lottie. He isn’t like you. He’s full-blooded human, and he’s been living in Limn for a while. That would make any human sick—even the healthiest, strongest one alive.”

  “Do you think that’s all it is?” Lottie asked, drawing her knees up and burying her nose in them.

  “Yeah, I do. I mean, it’s what happened to your father, isn’t it?”

  Lottie went still.

  Yes. That was what had happened to her father. He had stayed too long in Limn, and he had grown sick. By the time Lottie’s mother brought him back to the human world, there was nothing to be done.

  “Lottie?” She felt the press of a hand on her knee. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

  “No,” said Lottie, dragging her face up. “You’re right. It is what happened to my father. Which is why I won’t let it happen to Eliot. I can’t.”

  “That search party is going to find Ollie and Adelaide,” said Fife. “And they’ll find Dorian, too. They will, and then Dorian will get the addersfork for the wisps, and Rebel Gem will let you and Eliot use the silverboughed tree, and everything will be okay again.”

  “Yes,” said Lottie. “That’s the deal anyway.”

  “You don’t say that like you mean it.”

  Lottie met Fife’s gaze. She forgot sometimes just how terrifyingly bright his eyes were.

  “I’ve been thinking about the future,” she said.

  “Whoo boy. Why would you do something like that?”

  “I’m serious, Fife. I’ve been thinking of where I belong. I know I’m half human, but there’s nothing about the human world I ever liked much, except Eliot.”

  “You mean you prefer being chased around by wild beasts and the Southerly Guard and nearly getting assassinated by one of Iolanthe’s spies, and, I dunno, almost drowning in a raging river of doom?”

  “I didn’t say things here were easy,” said Lottie. “I just mean, in spite of all those terrible things, I really do love it here. I feel like I’m home when I’m in Limn, even though I don’t have a proper home at all. I feel like I belong here. I want to stay. But—”

  “Eliot can’t.”

  “Eliot can’t.”

  “Oberon,” muttered Fife. “And I thought I had it bad.”

  “When I was talking to Rebel Gem and she promised she’d let me and Eliot go back to Kemble Isle, I realized: I don’t want to go back to Kemble Isle, even though I know it’s what’s best for Eliot. Because I think of you all, and I think of the wisps dying and King Starkling and Iolanthe and the horrible things being done. And I think how, even if it’s just a little thing on my part, I might be able to do something about all of it. So, who’s more important: Eliot or the rest of you? I’ll be miserable no matter what I choose.”

  “I think,” said Fife, “you’ve been sharpening too hard today.”

  “No. I’m seeing things very clearly.”

  Fife sighed. “I don’t know what to say. Usually, I’m pretty good at that.”

  “It’s okay,” whispered Lottie.

  Then arms wrapped around her and held her close. Fife was hugging her. She felt his cool chest and the brush of his downy black hair, ducked against her neck. For a quiet moment, they stayed just like that.

  Fife made a mumbling sound. A few mumbles later, his words became audible.

  “Ummm, Lottie? I’ve never hugged anyone before. So I don’t quite know, um, how to stop.”

  Lottie remained still. “You’ve never hugged anyone?”

  “Well, the immediate family isn’t exactly the warmest bunch, in case you hadn’t noticed. And as for Ollie . . . Well.”

  Slowly, Lottie slipped out of the embrace.

  “There. That’s how you stop one. More or less.”

  Fife nodded, his eyes on the pillows. “Easy enough.”

  Lottie nudged Fife’s knee with her own. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t want my cheese earlier, and I could see you eyeing it.”

  “No, Fife. Not for that.”

  He didn’t look at her when he said, “I know.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Discoveries

  “I WANT PAPER,” Lottie said first thing the next morning, when Rebel Gem met her in the pine clearing. “Preferably a sketchbook, but loose-leaf will do. And I want charcoal, and I want a Southerly novel. A good Southerly novel.”

  Rebel Gem had been poking at something within the locket that hung around her neck. At Lottie’s arrival, she clamped the locket shut and gave Lottie a long stare. Lottie marveled at Rebel Gem’s ability to never—not once—look startled, even when Lottie did plenty of things she herself considered startle-worthy.

  “That can be arranged,” Rebel Gem said at last. “I’ll have them delivered to your room this evening.”

  “Not my room. Fife’s.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  Lottie had expected resistance. She’d expected Rebel Gem to say that Lottie was under her rule and had no right to make demands. Lottie wasn’t sure how to behave now that she’d so easily gotten what she wanted.

  “There are Southerly books up here, then?” she asked.

  “In my own personal collection, yes. You know, they write much better novels than Northerlies do.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Lottie said.

  For the rest of the morning, and well past noon, they resumed Lottie’s sharpening lessons. Only, today, Rebel Gem did not ask Lottie to think and feel things that made her angry but rather things that made her afraid. It was hard work at first, compiling a list—far harder than it had been to list things that made her mad. Lottie felt she had a right to be angry with someone like Starkling. But to admit that she was afraid of him, too, and afraid of Iolanthe and her soldiers—to admit that made Lottie feel weak.

  Eventually, they came up with enough items for Lottie to begin thinking and feeling through. As she did, she discovered that fear felt different than anger. It wasn’t the feverish burning sensation she’d endured the day before but a deep, nauseating ache in her gut.

  Rebel Gem was relentless. Think, she told Lottie, and Feel, and Move. But no matter how much Lottie thought and felt the things that caused her fear, she still couldn’t move the feeling, couldn’t send it radiating to her hands. She went to bed exhausted that night, before suppertime.

  There was still no word from the search party of soldiers and gengas that Rebel Gem had sent out. Lottie tried not to think about this and what it might mean. Her worry, like her training, became all-consuming, taking hold of her hours, her thoughts, and even her dreams. She told herself that Oliver and Adelaide had to be all right, and she refused to let herself consider the alternative explanations that flooded her nightmares.

  The next morning, when she arrived at Fife’s room, Eliot had received a thick, leather-bound sketchbook and a set of well-sharpened charcoal pencils, bound in twine. On the table at Fife’s bedside sat a book entitled Tales of a Fairwind Pauper, which Lottie had of course never heard of but Fife was enraptured to possess.

  But none of the new items compared to the letter the white-haired boy delivered along with breakfast. According to his report, it had arrived in the dead of nig
ht and been handed over to him straight from one of the yellow-apple-tree guards.

  Lottie watched anxiously as Eliot read.

  “Father says he’s concerned,” he said once he was through, handing the single sheet of folded paper to Lottie. “But he understands and is glad we’re safe.”

  Lottie read over the letter twice, but she felt worse, not better. Mr. Walsch’s worry bled across the page, and when Lottie looked up she saw Eliot sopping a tear into his wrist.

  For that day’s sharpening, Rebel Gem changed the target emotion yet again—this time to sadness.

  “Why can’t I think and feel happy thoughts?” Lottie asked, scowling. “Maybe I could actually move feelings if I felt good about them.”

  “Did you feel particularly happy when you healed Eliot?” asked Rebel Gem.

  Lottie wanted to lie, but Rebel Gem already knew the truth: Lottie had been miserable the night she’d healed Eliot. She’d thought her best friend was going to die.

  “It just seems wrong,” said Lottie, “to feel all these horrible things on purpose. Does everyone have to torture themselves when they’re sharpening? I mean, what, did Fife have to remember all his worst nightmares when he was first trying to taste people’s words?”

  “I imagine not. Everyone sharpens differently. But every approach is painful in its own way.”

  “I’m asking Fife,” said Lottie. “I bet it wasn’t as painful for him.”

  “You’re not going to get anywhere if you keep comparing yourself to someone else,” said Rebel Gem. “Focus on you. Focus on your emotions.”

  Again, Lottie made her list. She was sad whenever she heard a song that Mrs. Yates had liked to play back at the boarding house—an old Irish ballad called “Two Brothers.” The month of January made her sad, because everything was cold and dead, and there was no more Christmas to look forward to. Stray dogs and cats made her sad. So did the fact that she’d been separated from the Barghest on the journey north and that there was still no word from the creature. She made her list, and she thought and felt but still could not move. She left the pine grove well after sunset with heavy limbs and a heavier heart.