The Doorway and the Deep

by K. E. Ormsbee

  “They call these the flatlands,” said Adelaide. “Rather a dreary name for such a pretty place, isn’t it?”

  Lottie agreed. The green of the fields seemed to stretch on forever. The sky was cloudless. Here, the sun warmed Lottie so thoroughly that she first took off her scarf, then unbuttoned her coat and hung it over her arm. Eliot, who’d been walking in time with the boys, hadn’t coughed but once the entire journey, and Lottie began to wonder if maybe he wasn’t getting sicker after all. Even if he was, Lottie knew what to do now. She’d used her keen three times since that night at the Barmy Badger. She just hadn’t expected the last time to involve a kiss.

  I’m doing something at last, Lottie thought. Finally, I’m making progress. I healed Nash of his burns. I healed Fife’s wound entirely, and if I can heal Fife, surely I can make Eliot better. Completely better.

  They walked toward a setting sun, and with growing night came the cold. Lottie wound her scarf back around her neck and fastened her coat to its top button.

  They made camp under the shelter of a lone oak tree, just a little way off the path. Dorian removed blankets from the bag of supplies he’d obtained at the inn. They were coarse, but they were a welcome change from the rocky bed Lottie had slept on the night before.

  Lottie felt restless as she watched the others. Oliver sat talking to Fife and Eliot. Adelaide had made herself a snug bed within two thick tree roots and was curled into a ball, already asleep. The Barghest prowled around the tree’s perimeter in slow circles, its silver eyes ever alert. Farther off still, Dorian was crouched on his own, eyes toward the road, keeping watch. Lottie wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and walked out to join him.

  “If you’ve come to apologize,” he said, eyes still fixed ahead, “save your breath.”

  “I didn’t,” Lottie said.

  Dorian snorted. “Ah. Well then.”

  “It wasn’t personal,” said Lottie. “I know Nash trying to kill me wasn’t your fault, and I don’t think you’re a terrible guide or anything. It’s just that Barghest has done so much for me. He helped me back when I was in a lot of trouble.”

  “I understand. If I were friends with a venomous beast who obeyed my every command, I’m sure I’d side with it, too.”

  Lottie didn’t think Dorian was being fair, but then again, she hadn’t been very fair to him, either.

  “Do you think things are really all right back at the Northerly Court?” she asked.

  “If Rebel Gem’s genga is to be believed, then yes.”

  Lottie lit up. “What? Her genga found us?”

  Dorian turned to Lottie to afford a better view of his hands. They had, until now, been cupped. He opened them to reveal a lark with plumage of the deepest blue.

  “Oh,” said Lottie. “She’s beautiful.”

  “She is.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Flame.”

  “Flame,” Lottie repeated. “I think that’s very appropriate for someone like Rebel Gem.”

  Dorian laughed hoarsely. “Yes. Very.”

  “Oh.” Lottie sat straight with realization. “I’ve interrupted you, haven’t I? You were talking to her. Sending a message back.”

  Dorian shrugged. He slipped the genga into his vest pocket.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I’d be happy to pass along your own message, if you’d like.”

  Lottie thought of all the things she’d like to tell Rebel Gem, all the questions she was dying to ask. But she couldn’t ask them here, in front of Dorian.

  “No,” she said. “That is, you could just let her know I’m happy she’s okay.”

  “Will do.”

  In the silence that followed, Lottie heard Eliot’s loud laugh. It was a sound she would never grow tired of.

  “I knew your parents, you know.”

  The voice was so soft that Lottie thought at first it couldn’t possibly be Dorian’s.

  “You—you did?” she whispered.

  Dorian nodded. “I was just a kid, but I remember. They were friends with my father, and they stayed at the inn sometimes, when I still lived in New Albion, before Father sent me north to sharpen. Your father made me laugh so hard once that I shot soup straight out my nose.”

  Lottie laughed. “Really?”

  “Really. They were nothing but kind to me. That’s what I remember. It isn’t much, but there it is, for what it’s worth.”

  “It’s worth a lot,” Lottie said. She sank her hand into her pocket and touched the silk-covered ring resting there. “Sometimes I feel so far away from them. They’re my parents, but they’re strangers, too. That probably doesn’t make sense.”

  “At the risk of sounding like a sap,” said Dorian, “I’d say you’ve done them proud.”

  Lottie gave Dorian a disbelieving stare. He just nudged the tip of his boot against hers. Then he shivered and tugged on the sleeves of his coat. As he did, Lottie saw the white circle imprinted on his wrist.

  “I forget sometimes,” said Lottie, “that you were born Southerly.”

  Dorian scoffed. “You’re not born either way. Southerly, Northerly—they’re just alliances, and alliances can shift. You should consider yourself lucky with that unbranded wrist of yours.”

  “So,” said Lottie, “you don’t think of yourself as a Northerly, either?”

  “Not a chance. I just side with whoever is doing the least amount of damage.”

  “And, I guess, for now that’s us?”

  “Yeah,” said Dorian. “For now, it is.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Riddle on the Rock

  “I THINK I’m coming down with a cold.”

  They had set out early that morning, with renewed energy and stomachs full of breads and cheeses from the Sharp Bend tavern. Everyone’s spirits seemed high, but Adelaide had begun sneezing around noon, and she hadn’t let up.

  She now rubbed miserably at her runny nose and added, under her breath, “This wouldn’t be a problem in New Albion. I would’ve just taken Father’s medicine and be done with it.”

  “You mean, Mr. Wilfer has a cure for the common cold?” asked Lottie.

  “Of course,” said Adelaide. “Healers long before him first concocted it. Goodness, I mean, that’s primitive medicine.”

  Adelaide paused to sneeze, then rubbed at her reddening nose. “Don’t look,” she said. “I’m sure I look a fright.”

  “You look fine,” Lottie assured her. “Just as worn down as any of us.”

  For most of the day, they’d been plodding down a broad path across the open field. The flatlands, true to their name, stayed flat, and when the path sloped, it did so gently. Lottie found it nice not to have to strain her legs so much as she had in the Northerly Court, but she did miss the shade of trees. Nothing grew out here but grass, and occasionally a wide expanse of corn or grain. It was a pretty enough sight, but Lottie soon felt her skin burning under the glare of the sun. She felt, also, that she was in a perpetual state of squinting. She’d forgotten what it was like to spend so much time in unhindered daylight.

  As they walked, Lottie found herself thinking often about Fife. They still hadn’t spoken properly. Fife talked to Lottie in front of all the others, of course, but that wasn’t the same. Several times, Lottie had tried to walk alone with him, alternatively falling behind or skipping ahead to where he floated. But every time she did so, Fife would float off as though he hadn’t noticed and begin a new conversation with Oliver or Eliot. After hours of this, Lottie gave up trying. It had been one thing when they’d been distracted by finding food, shelter, and the right path. Lottie hadn’t expected Fife to talk to her then. But now, with nothing but hours of smooth walking on hand, Lottie realized that Fife was purposefully ignoring her.

  Very well, she thought. If he’s got nothing to talk about, then neither do I.

  So, instead, she talked to Adelaide about her runny nose. And when she wasn’t talking to Adelaide, she spent time spying barns and thatched cottages in t
he distance. In fact, Lottie grew so distracted by the sight of a weathervane atop a nearby barn, she did not notice the Barghest’s presence until the creature released a deep growl.

  “Oh!” Lottie found the Barghest slinking alongside her, his gray mane blowing in a gentle wind. The Barghest was a large animal, but it could move so softly, and Lottie wondered if she was not just impressed by this fact but also a little frightened.

  “How fares the Heir of Fiske?” the Barghest asked.

  “I’m all right. Just nervous.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well,” said Lottie, “nothing bad has happened to us for a full day, which makes me think that something extra horrible is right around the corner.”

  The Barghest released a crunchy bark that Lottie took for a laugh.

  “Not a cheery thought,” it said.

  “Guess not. But there’s no reason for me not to think that way. It seems that just when we think we’re safe, someone attacks. Nash on the boat, and Iolanthe in Wisp Territory and the Northerly Court. Why can’t the Southerly King mind his own business and let me be?”

  “You are a threat to him,” said the Barghest.

  Lottie frowned. “Well, yeah, but I’m not the one who’s going to poison him. None of that was my idea. I wish he’d just give up already. It gets tiring, always running, never safe.”

  “That it does,” said the Barghest, shaking its mane.

  Something squelched under Lottie’s foot. She stepped back to inspect it and immediately wished she hadn’t. Brown slime coated the sole of her boot, and on the path lay the upturned body of a large, goo-covered toad.

  “Ugh,” she said, wiping her boot on the path.

  The others looked back.

  “What is it?” asked Eliot.

  “Oberon,” said Fife, spotting the dead toad. “That’s disgusting.”

  “I didn’t see it,” said Lottie, swiping her foot all the more vigorously, desperate to rid it of blood.

  But Adelaide was pointing to the ground, her eyes wide with horror. “Look,” she said. “Look.”

  The toad was moving again. Or rather, something was moving inside the toad. It bulged against the toad’s skin until it burst free in an explosion of yet more brown slime. Everyone shrank back. Adelaide shrieked. Lottie shielded her eyes. When she looked again, she saw three filmy toads emerging from the first toad’s body—each one just as big as the first. One let out a menacing croak and hopped straight for Fife.

  “AAAH!” he screamed, leaving the ground just in time to avoid collision.

  “There’s something strange at work here,” said Dorian. “Move out, quickly. And whatever you do, don’t step on another one of them.”

  Eliot took a cautious step back. His heel landed squarely on the toad that had just missed Fife.

  “Watch out!” said Lottie. “I think they want to be stepped on. That’s how it works. Look!”

  For just where Eliot had squished the creature, another three toads emerged from its corpse, their eyes dark and slitted.

  “Run!” she shouted. “Run, but watch your feet!”

  It took only a half minute’s fleeing to confirm that Lottie’s hypothesis was all too right: the toads threw themselves underfoot as though they desired nothing more than to be squished. And with each squishing came the arrival of three new toads. No matter how careful the company was to watch their footing, the toads were quicker and more cunning. In no time at all, the pathway was swarming with them. The sound of their awful croaks filled Lottie’s ears. A stench like a mildewed rag began to clog up her nose. The toads where everywhere, piling atop one another and jumping high. Lottie gave up trying to be cautious; she began to run blindly.

  Lottie wondered if she could die this way. She wondered if the toads would continue to pile and pile until she was dragged under their miry bodies, suffocated. And, just as she began to despair, she felt arms, firm and strong, wrap around her middle. Her feet left the ground, and she rose upward, out of the din.

  “Steady on, Lottie,” said a voice at her ear.

  She knew Fife was using his keen, but she didn’t care. She wanted to feel better. From where she floated, she could see the full stretch of the sea of toads, growing ever deeper and wider. She saw Dorian hacking away with his sword and the Barghest nipping at the toads with its fangs. She saw Eliot and Adelaide, close beside each other, arms covering their heads.

  “We have to help them!” she said. “Drop me down someplace safe. Out there!”

  As she pointed to the horizon, she saw for the first time that the shore was in view. There was a long bank of sand and the wink of blue waters.

  “Set me down up ahead,” she said, “and go back for the others.”

  “Are you crazy?” shouted Fife. “It could be a trap. This could be just what Iolanthe is after—to get you alone and kill you off. I’m not leaving you.”

  “But we’ve got to do something!”

  She looked again at the terrible scene below. Something was different. The toads were still multiplying, and the others were still fighting them off. But the color of the toads had begun to change. What had once been a sea of brown was now filled with glimmers of red, blue, black, and purple. It took Lottie a hard moment to figure out what was happening. Then she spied Oliver in the midst of the colored sea, and she knew.

  “Oliver’s touching them,” she said. “And look, Fife! I think they’re dying for good.”

  Fife’s float had sputtered to a low hover, close enough for them to see the action better. Oliver was grabbing at toads left and right. As his hands made contact with each one, their bodies bloomed with new color and fell away. One landed just beneath Lottie’s floating feet, dead. It was stained as bright blue as the cloudless sky above. No new toads emerged from its lifeless body.

  “He’s stopping them,” Lottie said. “Do you see? He’s really stopping them.”

  “It must be killing him,” Fife whispered

  Oliver was red-eyed and red-faced, his movements frantic. But he didn’t seem to be hurt, didn’t seem to be incurring injures from the frogs he touched.

  “I think he’s okay,” Lottie said.

  “No,” said Fife, lowering them to the ground, clear of the swarm. “No, I mean, it must be killing him inside.”

  On instinct, Lottie stepped forward, but Fife grabbed her by the elbow and held her back.

  “You can’t do anything,” he said. “Not yet. Just wait it out.”

  Lottie knew Fife was right, but it was agony to watch the others bat off the remaining toads, to hear Adelaide’s screams, to see the red of Oliver’s eyes. The others had taken note of what Oliver was doing. They’d all come to a stop, crouching down with hands over their heads until the attack had subsided and the ground was littered in the discolored carcasses of dozens upon dozens of toads. The tide had turned. The remaining toads hopped away into the field and out of sight.

  It was over.

  Slowly, Adelaide and Eliot uncovered their heads. Dorian straightened to his full height, sword at his side, its blade coated in mud-colored blood. The Barghest pawed roughly at the bodies of several toads lying dead at its feet. And in the midst of it all stood Oliver, hands limp at his sides, his eyes a burnt-out black.

  “Lottie!”

  Arms swung around her. Eliot.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” said Eliot, pulling away to get a good look at her. “You?”

  “Fine,” she said, just as Adelaide joined them. “Fife and I are fine.”

  “Just goes to show who your favorite is, Fife,” said Adelaide. “Left the rest of us to our doom, did you?”

  “I hardly call a bunch of hopping toads your doom,” said Fife. “Anyway, Lottie is the Heir of Fiske. Top priority and all that.”

  “Everyone in possession of their limbs?” asked Dorian, crossing over the mound of toads with a sickening squelch, squish, squash.

  Everyone confirmed that they were all rig
ht, just badly shaken. The Barghest joined them, panting.

  “Well, we’ve had our scare for the day,” said Dorian. “But the coast is in sight. We should journey on—and this time be more mindful of where we set our feet.”

  “Hold on,” said Eliot. “Aren’t we going to, I don’t know, applaud Ollie for his bravery? If it wasn’t for him, we’d all be drowned in frogs.”

  All eyes turned to Oliver, who was still standing in the pile of colored toads. His eyes turned pink under their gaze, and Lottie knew instantly that this was the very last thing Oliver wanted.

  “Eliot,” said Lottie, touching his hand, “Dorian’s right. We should just move on.”

  Eliot didn’t notice the warning in Lottie’s voice.

  “What’s the matter with all of you?” he said. “We just got our lives saved! Ollie deserves a standing ovation!”

  “No.” Oliver said it loudly, coldly—in a way that made Lottie squirm inside. His eyes turned back to black.

  “No,” he said again. “I don’t want applause. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want anyone to talk about this ever again.”

  Dorian sheathed his newly cleaned sword.

  “Then come on,” he said. “Let’s move out.”

  They headed for the coast. If Lottie had been paying full attention, she might have noticed the fresh, salty taste the air had taken on; she might have heard the squawks of gulls overhead; she might have noted the way the sun glinted off the distant blue water. But Lottie wasn’t paying full attention. She was too distracted by Oliver’s mood and Eliot’s guilt and, on top of all this, a nagging feeling about Fife.

  “I don’t understand,” Eliot whispered to Lottie as they walked on. There were tears resting in his eyes. “Why is Ollie so angry? If I could fight off enemies with my bare hands, I’d be proud. He’s basically a superhero.”

  “Oliver doesn’t see it that way, though. He doesn’t like hurting or killing anything.”

  “Ooh,” said Eliot. “You mean, like, he’s a pacifist?”

  “It’s more than that,” said Lottie. “I don’t think anyone knows how guilty he feels when he uses his hands like that.”