Furthermore

by Tahereh Mafi

  “You only unlock it if you’re tasked,” she said to him, jumping to grab the card out of his outstretched hand. “There is nothing to unlock in a zero.”

  “And how would you know?” Oliver shot her a look.

  “It is my very firm belief.”

  “Oh yes,” he said. “I daresay you have many firm beliefs.”

  Alice turned away and crossed her arms.

  “What will you do now?” he asked.

  “I will get my card back from you, thank you very much,” and she caught his arm just long enough to snatch it back.

  “And now?” He stood there staring at her.

  “Now I will dig a very deep hole and live in it.”

  Oliver laughed and it lit up his face. Softened the hardness in his eyes. “You will do no such thing.”

  “What do you care? I can live in a hole if I please.”

  “Alice, I don’t care what the Elders say. I know what you can do. Just because you chose the wrong talent to surrender—”

  “I did not choose the wrong talent!”

  “Certainly you did,” he said, one eyebrow raised. “I can’t even comprehend it. I thought for sure you would’ve—”

  “You hush your mouth, Oliver Newbanks!”

  “What? Why?”

  “That is not a talent,” Alice said firmly.

  “Not a talent!” Oliver balked. “Do you know what I would give to be able to do what you do?”

  “Everyone is born with color,” Alice said carefully. “Mine is simply contained on the inside. That is not talent, it is biology.”

  “That is a biology the rest of us don’t have,” Oliver pointed out.

  “I dance,” she said to him. “That is what I do. That is my gift. I feel it, Oliver. I feel it in my heart. It’s what I’m meant to do.”

  “I disagree.”

  “It’s not your place to have an opinion.”

  “Well, clearly your opinion did not work in your favor—”

  She kicked him in the shin.

  “Good grief, Alice!” Oliver yelped, grabbing at his leg. “What is the matter with you? I’m only trying to help.”

  Alice bit her lip and looked away. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to be cruel. It’s just that my heart is so thoroughly broken I fear I am beyond repair.”

  Oliver seemed slightly mollified. He sighed. “You don’t have to be so dramatic,” he said. “Besides, if you’re looking for adventure, my offer still stands. I still need your help.”

  “I don’t want to help you.”

  “Why?” he said, exasperated. “Why on earth not? Would it really be so terrible?”

  “Probably, yes.”

  “But for your father?” he said desperately. “Would it be so terrible to also find your father?”

  “I still don’t understand why you won’t just bring him home,” Alice said, fists clenching. “If you know where he is—”

  Oliver let out a frustrated cry and threw his hands up. “You don’t understand!” he said. “It’s not that simple—I can’t just bring him back, not without you!”

  “And why not?” she demanded. “Maybe if you first brought him back I would actually want to help you! Did you never think of that? That maybe kindness would work better than cruelty? Did you ever consider that maybe—”

  “Alice, please!”

  Oliver grabbed her arms and set her with a look so strong she couldn’t remember enough words to speak.

  “Alice,” he said again. “Bringing your father home is my task.”

  Alice’s body was goose bumps from hair to heel. A shiver climbed into her clothes and warmed itself against her skin. Her heart was racing and her hands were clenching and she closed her eyes and drew in the deepest breath.

  Oh my very dear, she thought.

  She knew Oliver Newbanks was telling the truth.

  She made a sound just then, a sound that might’ve been a word but was mostly just a sound, and backed away from Oliver, teetering sideways and frontways until she spun and fell in her skirts, a heap of color swallowing her whole.

  Finally, Alice looked up.

  Oliver had his arms crossed against his chest, his eyebrows drawn tight and low. His eyes were focused on a piece of bark peeling off a nearby tree.

  “Oliver,” said Alice.

  “What?” said he, still glaring at the tree.

  “Are you angry?” she asked.

  “Yes, quite.” He crossed his arms more tightly.

  “Don’t be angry.”

  He harrumphed. “You are insufferable.”

  “Well,” she said, crossing her arms, too. “So are you.”

  Finally, he turned to face her. “And that is all you have to say? After all I’ve shared with you? You still refuse to—”

  “No,” said Alice, scrambling to her feet. “No, I did not refuse.”

  Oliver’s arms unthawed. They hung at his sides, limp as his bottom lip. “What?”

  “I said,” said Alice loudly, “that I did not refuse.”

  “Then you agree—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Oliver’s mouth had frozen open mid-sentence, but now his jaw snapped shut. He narrowed his eyes. “You are the most confounding girl I’ve ever encountered—”

  Alice smiled. “Well thank you—”

  “Don’t you dare!” Oliver cut her off, horrified. “I did not intend that as a compliment!”

  Alice’s eyes flashed. She was in a delicate state, and Oliver had just made himself the most convenient target for her anguish.

  “Of all the things to dislike,” said Alice angrily, “I fear I dislike you the most!”

  “Consider the feeling mutual,” Oliver snapped.

  They stood there awhile, the two of them, chests heaving as they glared at each other. Each was fighting a difficult personal battle, and both were too proud to share aloud their pain.

  Finally, Alice grew tired of being angry (it was an exhausting occupation) and collapsed onto the ground, biting lip and cheek and knuckle to keep from bursting into tears once more.

  This, Oliver seemed to understand.

  Carefully, cautiously, he sat down beside her, and a beat later, they spoke at the same time.

  He said, “Do you truly dislike me more than anything else?”

  And she said, “Oh, Oliver, I’ve lost everything, haven’t I?”

  And Oliver blinked, stunned. His heart, so hard just moments ago, softened as he realized that, for today at least, Alice’s battles were greater than his own. He spoke gently when he said, “Of course you haven’t.”

  Alice looked up at him, round eyes full to the brim and shining. She managed a small smile. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “Well then,” he said, failing to suppress a smile of his own. “Come with me. Come and find what you’ve lost.”

  “But how will I ever be able to trust you?” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes, determined to pull herself together. “I haven’t the slightest inclination to run off any place with any persons who tell more lies than truths.”

  At this, Oliver raised an eyebrow and smiled. It was perplexing, yes, but the boy appeared to be flattered, and we won’t bother wondering why. Either way, he was now digging around in his messenger bag for something or other, and Alice was caught, deeply curious. Not a moment later Oliver reemerged, clutching no fewer than five scrolls in his fist, his smile triumphant.

  “I have maps,” was all he said.

  Alice gasped appropriately.

  (Dear reader: For you and I, the acquiring of maps is an altogether unimpressive feat, as maps are, generally speaking, abundant and available to any persons desiring such things. But we must remind ourselves that in Ferenwood, maps were a rare commodity; and for Alice, they were a fierce re
minder of Father. Making maps, you will remember, was his lifelong work.)

  Oliver, of course, understood this.

  Alice made an odd, startled sort of noise, and he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “They are indeed your father’s maps. The Elders gave them to me before I set off for my task.”

  Alice appeared unable to speak, so Oliver plowed on.

  “They’ve been searching for him since he left, you know.”

  Oliver paused, again allowing Alice an opportunity to respond. When she didn’t, he said, “But they couldn’t find the right person for the job until last year, at my Surrender. That’s when they knew my skills would be just the ticket.” Oliver grinned. “Impressive, no?”

  “What else do you have in that bag?” Alice finally said, eyes narrowing.

  “Nothing you need to be bothered with,” he said quickly.

  Alice opened her mouth to protest when Oliver interrupted her, hastily shoving the maps away. “Absolutely not,” he said. “I shan’t share a detail more unless you agree to help.”

  At this, Alice took a long and deep and careful breath.

  Finally, she relented. “Alright,” she said, and exhaled. “I’ll go with you. I’ll help.”

  Oliver, to his credit, looked so surprised Alice thought he might weep. But Alice hadn’t meant to do Oliver any favors; her decision was motivated entirely by self-interest. The way she saw it, she had only two choices now: find Father with Oliver, or stay in Ferenwood and live forever in shame.

  So she nodded. “I give you my word.”

  “Oh, Alice,” Oliver said, reaching out. “Thank you—”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” she said, swatting at his hand as she got to her feet, eager to put some distance between them. She didn’t want Oliver to think she was thrilled about the situation. “You are certain you know where Father is?”

  “Yes,” he said, clambering to his feet as well. “Yes, yes. But—don’t you see? Knowing means nothing when there’s doing to be done. It’s the getting to your father that I can’t do.”

  Alice clasped her hands and considered the sky, pressing her lips together as she did. She looked Oliver square in the eye, all the while digging the toes of her right foot into the grass. “And can you be sure you know where he is?”

  Oliver looked like he might fall dead of exasperation. “Have you been hearing nothing I’ve been saying? Of course I know where your father is, but that doesn’t—”

  “Yes, yes,” Alice said, waving a hand. “I heard all your etceteras. But just because I know you’re not lying doesn’t make it any easier for me to believe you.”

  Oliver studied her carefully. He reached into his bag and pulled out yet another scroll of parchment that he then unrolled in the palm of his hand. The paper lay flat as a board for something that had been so tightly wound, but when Oliver next touched it, it shuddered to life. Slowly it grew, the rectangle of paper shivering into a three-dimensional box taller than Oliver was wide. He touched the top with three fingers for three seconds, and the top disappeared.

  “Come then,” he said to her, motioning with his free hand. “Come have a look at where your father has gone.”

  Alice was horrified.

  “Father is in that box?” she gasped, clasping a hand to her chest. “Has he been trapped? Or broken? Do we have to put him back together? Oh, Oliver, I don’t know a lick about fixitation—”

  “He’s not broken,” Oliver said, shaking his head at the clouds. “Just come here and look,” he said. “For heaven’s sake.”

  “Oh, alright,” she said, cheeks stinging. It was hard for Alice to like Oliver—on account of she didn’t like him very much—but she wanted to find Father much more than she didn’t like Oliver, so she’d have to put up with him. And so she wandered closer, close enough to peer into his box.

  Inside, was a door.

  Alice gasped again.

  “Yes, it’s very clever, isn’t it?” Oliver said. “But the journey will cost us a great deal—”

  “Oh I haven’t any money,” Alice said. “I spent my last fink on a dillypop.”

  “—of time.”

  “Right, yes, time.” Alice cleared her throat.

  “Once we step through,” Oliver said, “it will be very difficult to come back. We might be gone for very long.”

  “As long as a caterpillar?” she asked, one eyebrow arched as she pinched the sky. “Or as long as an ocean?” She threw her arms wide.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Last time I was gone for a year.”

  “A whole year?” Alice said, dropping her arms. “That’s where you’ve been all this time? Trying to find Father?”

  He nodded.

  Alice sat down.

  She reached for a daisy without looking, plucking it from the ground only to stuff it in her mouth. “So where does it lead?” she asked, staring into the distance as she chewed. “The door?”

  Oliver sighed.

  Alice squinted up at him, shading her eyes against the rainbows. Finally, he placed the box on the ground and sat down beside her. “It goes to Furthermore.”

  Alice laughed, mouth half full of daisy. “Oh, go on,” she said. “Really. Tell me where it goes.”

  “It goes to Furthermore,” he said firmly.

  “But—” Alice faltered.

  Oliver raised an eyebrow.

  “But, no,” Alice said slowly, quietly. “I thought—everyone thought—” She hesitated. “Oliver, Furthermore isn’t real.”

  “Your father thought it was. He was tasked to Furthermore when he was your age, didn’t you know? He wasn’t just mapping Ferenwood, Alice. He was making maps of all magical places. He was doing work far more important than anyone in Ferenwood’s ever done.” Oliver tapped his bag twice. “Your father’s maps saved my life countless times.”

  Alice’s eyes had gone round as plates. Alice hadn’t known any of this. (Had Mother known about this?) Father, the town, and the Elders—they’d kept these truths from her. And even though she’d always hoped, always wanted to believe there was something more out there—another magical place in the world—now that the actual possibility was staring her in the face, she wasn’t sure how to believe it. (Still—and perhaps unfortunately—Alice knew that Oliver spoke the truth, which made it inconvenient for her to incline toward disbelief.)

  “What’s it like?” she whispered. “Furthermore?”

  Oliver looked away, but not before Alice saw a flash of nervousness flit in and out of his eyes. “There’s a reason we don’t talk about it,” was all he said.

  Alice gasped, finally understanding.

  “Oh, Oliver,” she said. “Is it dangerous? Has Father gotten himself into trouble?”

  Oliver turned to face her, determined now. He nodded at the box between them. “Are you willing to find out?”

  Alice looked into the box and the tiny door it held. She thought of fear and she thought of courage; she thought of home and hope and the chance for adventure.

  She thought of Mother.

  Mother, who wouldn’t miss her; three brothers, who never knew her; and Father, who always loved her.

  Alice had nothing left to lose and an entire father to find.

  There it was: For the very second time, she knew what she was meant to do. So she reached inside and turned the knob.

  Alice peered into the open doorway and saw nothing at all.

  “There doesn’t appear to be anything inside,” she told Oliver, rattling the box a little. “I think maybe you’ve got the wrong door.”

  “There is nothing the matter with my door.” Oliver snatched the box away from her, setting it down a few feet away. “You must step inside a world to see it honestly. A passing glance won’t do.”

  She wanted to say something unkind to Oliver, but decided instead to study him awhile, curiouser
and curiouser about this boy with the mouth of a liar and hair the color of silver herring. She noticed then that he wore a quiet tunic with no adornments. It was not very stylish. In fact, it had little to recommend it but its hue. It was the color of an unripe eggplant.

  Oliver noticed her staring and began to fidget. “Well?” he said.

  “Are you certain the door is the only way to get in?” Alice asked. “Perhaps there’s a window, something that would give us a quick peek—”

  “Are you going to question everything I say?” Oliver asked, his arms flailing about. “Is this how it’ll be the entire time?” He caught a passing butterfly and whispered in its ear. “I should snip my head off right now, shouldn’t I?”

  Alice stifled a laugh.

  “Oh very well,” she said, and clambered to her feet. “Go on, then. Make me small enough so I might fit inside.”

  “There’s no need for that,” Oliver said, releasing the butterfly. It flew in circles around him only to land in his hair, where it promptly fell asleep. “There’s plenty of space to fit the both of us. So do be quick about it,” he said, gently plucking the butterfly from his head. “It’s rude to keep the door waiting.”

  Alice peered into the door before glancing back at Oliver one last time. He was fighting a losing battle with the butterfly, which had very obviously fallen in love with him. It was a silly thing to do, talking to butterflies. Falling in love was their favorite way to pass the time.

  Alice stepped one foot into the box and nearly screamed.

  “Why on earth is it wet?” she shouted, panicking. She tried to pull her foot free but it was now stuck inside the door. “Why didn’t you tell me it would be wet—?”

  Alice didn’t have a chance to protest before Oliver grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up. He said, “It’s wet because it’s water, you silly girl,” and dropped her in.

  THIS MIGHT BE MY FAVORITE PART

  Alice fell very far.

  She fell back for a bit and then slightly to the left, and then up for a very long while until she finally fell down with a plop, soaking wet and sinking fast.

  She tried to scream but spoke only in bubbles, blinking around at the sea she was drowning in. She was scared and she was mad, but mostly she was mad. Oliver had not told her she’d have to swim in these heavy clothes, and now she would die and it would be all his fault and she wouldn’t even be able to tell him so, and that made her even madder and so she kicked and kicked at the water, her delicate headpiece and ankle bracelets slipping off in the process. Horrified, she finally accepted that she could only survive if she untied her cumbersome skirts—and, oh, how it broke her heart to watch them go—but it was then, just as she was thinking of how best to kill Oliver Newbanks, that he was tugging on her arm.