Furthermore

by Tahereh Mafi

  “Oh Oliver.” Alice sighed, rolling her eyes. “We’ll get you ten pocketbooks if you love them so.”

  Oliver was perplexed but let it go. He seemed distracted—nervous, even, as he wove a path through town, but Alice was experiencing no such nervousness. She followed Oliver through the narrow cobblestoned lanes and tried to be present in each moment, appreciating the scents and scenery of this new land. Lanterns were lit along every path and the sky was positively mad with power, but even so, it was hard to see. Night light made everything invisible around the edges, all slinky silhouettes and occasional spotlights. Alice did her best to keep up with Oliver, but her efforts required more than several apologies to the bodies she collided with. Still, it smelled like cardamom in Slumber, and the pinked cheeks of bundled strangers made her want to stay forever.

  Oliver, however, was not having it.

  “But that’s not fair,” she said to him. “What if there are clues here? Clues to where Father has gone? We came all this way—I really think we should investigate the people! If Father has been here, we should shop the shops he shopped and climb the trees he climbed and see how the gentlemen wear their hair and, oh, Oliver, I would dearly love t—”

  “Absolutely not,” Oliver said, stopping in place. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Alice, please stop insisting we stay. I already know where your father has gone. I don’t need any more clues. And besides it all, you don’t understand how important it is that we—”

  “But—”

  “It’s not safe!” he said, finally losing his temper.

  “It’s not safe? To pop into a shop? Not safe to knock a hello on a neighbor’s house?”

  “Not safe, no! Not safe at all! We cannot, under any circumstances, go into the light,” he hissed. “Don’t you understand?”

  “No, I do not understand,” Alice snapped. She shook her head and shook off his hand. “You are being insufferable,” she said, “and I’m so tired of it I could fall asleep standing up.”

  “But—”

  “Now I haven’t a single idea which feathers you pluck in private—(this was a common Ferenwood expression; I’ll try to explain later)—but I can’t guess which either. And my right hand to rainlight, Oliver Newbanks, I swear it, if you go on an inch more with this nonsense of answering none of my questions, I will find a lake and push you in it and then,” she said, poking him in the chest, “then you’ll discover the only use in having a head so full of hot air.”

  Oliver had gone reddish.

  Humility had gotten lost on its journey to his ego, but the two had finally been reunited, and the meeting appeared to be painful. Oliver swallowed hard and looked away. “Alright,” he said. “Alright. I’m sorry. But let us find a quiet place first. A private place. We won’t have much time to spare, but I’ll do my best to tell you the things you need to know.” His eyes darted left and right. “And please,” he begged, “for Feren’s sake, lower your voice.”

  Alice sighed.

  “Oh, very well,” she nearly said. “Fine, fine, let’s carry on,” she nearly said. She nearly said she was perfectly ready to be amiable.

  But nearly said was not quite enough. Alice was distracted, frustrated, and embarrassingly stubborn, and she had stopped paying attention to anyone but Oliver. So it should come as no surprise to you then, that in that moment, just as she was about to grant Oliver her acquiescence, she was plowed into.

  Apologies abounded.

  Excuse me and pardon me and oh goodness collided in the air. Alice was dusting herself off and adjusting her skirts and clambering to her feet (with no help from Oliver, mind you), when she first saw the person with whom her body had collided.

  Friends, he was the most handsome boy she’d ever seen.

  He was tall but not too tall, perfect but not too perfect, dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin. He looked like molasses had made a man. Her exact opposite in every way. Skin like silk jam, hair as dark as pitch. Eyes with lashes so thick and black and oh, how they fluttered when he blinked. Was he blinking? He was staring. At her.

  At her?

  Where she looked like nothing, he looked like everything, and she had never been so speechless in all her life.

  Be still her heart, he was smiling at her.

  Alice was convinced, after a moment or two, that she was most certainly in love with him. It seemed like the only logical explanation for what she was feeling. And it wasn’t until Oliver pointed out (rudely) that her mouth was open (only a little, really) that she was startled back into her bones.

  She gasped, surprised by how loudly her jaw snapped shut, and wondered how best to ask the beautiful boy to marry her. He was maybe Oliver’s age, which meant he was close to Alice’s age, which meant none of them had any actual interest in marrying anyone, but that didn’t change what Alice said next.

  “Will you—” she began to say, and thought better of it.

  “Would you—” she said instead, and reached for his hand.

  Oliver snatched her arm away and gave her a very mean look. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

  “Oh, hush,” she whispered, waving him away.

  “Good sleep to you,” the beautiful boy said to her, smiling wide. “It certainly is a pleasure to be meeting you tonight.”

  He had a slight accent; his voice was deep and musical, like maybe it wasn’t real. Like maybe he was speaking a language she didn’t know she could understand.

  She didn’t much care either way.

  “It is a very great pleasure to be meeting you, too,” she said quickly, ignoring Oliver, who was already trying to pull her away.

  “Yes, yes,” Oliver said. “Pleasure. We must be on our way now. Thank you, good-bye!”

  “Wait!” said the boy urgently. He scanned Oliver’s face for only a moment before turning back to Alice. “You are new here. I have never seen anyone like you before,” he said, and as he did, he reached out, tangling a strand of her unfortunate white hair around his fingers.

  Alice nearly fainted.

  “Would you like to stay awhile?” he asked her. Only her. “I could show you around—”

  She was already nodding when Oliver interrupted them, yet again. “Please,” he said quietly. His eyes were bright and twitchy and locked on to hers. “A moment of your time in private?”

  Alice wanted to ignore him, but the look on Oliver’s face worried her. So she excused herself and promised the beautiful boy that she would return shortly.

  Oliver, however, was steaming mad.

  He had a whole host of unhappy things to say to her about breaking the rules and not listening to him, and though she tried to reassure him that she hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, Oliver was adamant that they keep moving.

  “And anyway,” Oliver said, “I haven’t any idea why you’re so enchanted by him. Residents of Slumber are very nearly covered in dust.” (Dust, I should mention, was a kind of slang for magic.) Oliver crossed his arms. “He has hoaxed you, be sure of it.”

  “Oh but Oliver,” Alice said, glancing over his shoulder. “Did you not see him? He is so astoundingly beautiful. Just, oh”—she was very nearly melting—“so very, very beautiful. I am sure I have never seen anyone so handsome in all my life.” She grabbed Oliver’s sleeve. “Do you not think he is the most handsome person you have ever seen in all your life?”

  Oliver went purple in the face. He pursed his lips and flailed his arms and almost exploded the words he spoke next. (Honestly, no one could understand a thing he said, so I won’t even try to recount any of it.) Anyhow, Alice didn’t want to upset Oliver—he seemed so very put out by the whole thing—so she prepared to tell the boy that she could not accept his generous offer. But when they returned, he’d already assembled a crowd, and by then—well, by then it was far too late.

  And it was all her fault.

  Oliver had gone white.


  He was milk and paper and ghostly fright. He’d taken her hand and was squeezing so tight Alice had no choice but to shake him off. She yanked her hand back and scowled at no one in particular, realizing all too late that she had caused quite a lot of trouble. She glanced at Oliver. He was frozen in place, eyes wide, horrified by the spectacle they’d become.

  The beautiful boy and his crowd of people were close, closer, and a blink later, had circled around them completely. The tallest held a torch and held it high, high above Alice’s head, so everyone could get a good look at her face. They were pointing and gesturing, heads cocked and gazes roving over her hair, her skin, her tattered skirts. She felt as though she were locked in a cabinet of curiosities, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  Alice narrowed her eyes at the beautiful boy, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was smiling wide, looking around at his friends like he was proud, like he’d discovered something odd and strange and oh, wouldn’t it be tops to poke fun at the nothing-girl tonight. Well, she wasn’t having any of that.

  Alice was not interested in being stared at, and besides, she and Oliver had a very busy schedule and no time to spare for nonsense.

  The beautiful boy stepped forward.

  “My name is Seldom,” he said. And smiled.

  Alice wanted very much to speak, but she was abruptly startled into silence. Seldom had moved into the torchlight and his face—well, it was nothing at all like it was in the moonlight. Here, where the fiery glow illuminated his features, she could see him far more clearly. Tall and broad, he wore a sleeveless shirt with a deep V-cut neckline, very short shorts, and a pair of moccasins. But most interesting was his skin. He was a stroke of midnight—so blue he was almost black—and he was covered, head to toe, in tattoos. Stars, moons—galaxies—were drawn upon his body in ink so gold they shimmered in the light. Alice stood there staring at him, just as he stood staring at her.

  Mouths agape.

  He was beautiful in an extraordinary way. He was beautiful in a way she did not understand.

  “What is your name?” Seldom asked.

  “Alice, don’t tell him!” Oliver said, reaching out as if to stop her.

  Alice didn’t even have time to roll her eyes at Oliver.

  “Your name is Alice?” Seldom asked.

  She nodded, pausing just long enough to shoot a dirty look at Oliver, who had now turned a very unflattering shade of puce.

  “Yes,” she said, and sighed. Oliver had already told him anyway. “My name is Alice. Can I leave now?”

  Seldom shook his head. “We would like to keep you.”

  “Oh,” she said, surprised. She looked around at the crowd. They were smiling eagerly, nodding and waving hello. Suddenly they seemed friendly, and she was convinced it was some kind of a trick. “Well, that is very kind,” she said, turning back to Seldom. “But I really must be on my way.”

  She took a step forward.

  Seldom stepped in front of her. “Where do you have to go?”

  Alice bit her lip and looked him square in the eye, wondering how much to say to him. She wasn’t sure how dangerous this situation was—mostly because Oliver was such a mouse he could hardly say a word—but she wasn’t going to let anyone keep her here. She knew that if she wanted to find Father, she had to first find her way through this.

  (I feel it necessary to mention here that were it not for Father, Alice might not have felt so brave. Love had made her fearless, and wasn’t it strange? It was so much easier to fight for another than it was to fight for oneself.)

  But how? Alice thought. Escape might require a lie, and she—well she had bound herself to the truth.

  And yet, Alice compromised, her truths were meant only for Ferenwood, weren’t they? Technically—if we may speak technically—Alice hadn’t even known Furthermore was real when she made that pact. And anyway, she quickly convinced herself, these next words wouldn’t be a lie. Not exactly. She would tell a story, she’d decided. A fable. A work of fiction.

  “I am in charge of the sun,” she said loudly. “And I’m on my way to wake him up.”

  Seldom blinked fast. Shocked.

  Oliver inhaled sharply.

  The crowd around them went loud then silent in rapid succession.

  “Alice,” Oliver whispered. He was holding her hand again. He kept doing that. “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered back to him. She was still looking at Seldom. “I’m trying to get us out of here.”

  “But, Alice—”

  “You are in charge of the sun?” Seldom asked quietly. His eyebrows had rushed together in confusion.

  “Yes,” she said. And nodded, too, for added effect.

  “Oh.” He frowned. “We did not think a person could climb so high.”

  “I’m very talented,” she assured him, this time not lying at all. “There are a great many things I can do.”

  Seldom grunted.

  Alice tried to smile.

  “Is that why you’re so white?” Seldom asked, with no preamble.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Because your color’s all burnt off,” said someone from the crowd. “You’re white because you burnt off all your colors, didn’t you?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that I—”

  “So—you are not a visitor?” Seldom asked. “You’re one of us, but your color is gone? Because of the sun?”

  “I, um”—Alice cleared her throat and looked around at their anxious faces—“yes,” she decided, “yes, that’s exactly what happened.” And she silently congratulated herself on her storytelling abilities.

  “And what about him?” Seldom was pointing at Oliver.

  “Oh yes,” she said quickly. “Him too. He’s seen the sun too many times, too. Not as many times as me, of course, but, you know, eventually, he’ll be just as white as I am.”

  Seldom was crestfallen. He was so disappointed, in fact, that he seemed almost mad at Alice. He and his friends shared some words on the matter, and everyone took turns shooting her unkind looks.

  Slowly, they scattered.

  When they’d all finally walked away, Alice and Oliver were left to dwell on their feelings—and it turned out they were both very angry with the other.

  Oliver was still holding Alice’s hand and they were now walking very, very quickly through town, but Oliver was huffing and Alice was puffing and he said, “I can’t believe you!” and she said, “You are such a coward!” and he said, “Always causing trouble, never listening,” and she said, “Didn’t do anything at all to save us, just standing there like a stump,” and Oliver stopped so suddenly they nearly fell over.

  “Didn’t do anything at all to save us?” he said. “Standing there like a stump? Alice, have you gone mad?”

  “Oh don’t be ridiculous, Oliver! I was the one who had to think quickly—I was the one who had to—”

  “You did nothing at all!” Oliver nearly shouted. “Do you know how hard I had to work? To get us out of that mess?”

  “What?” she said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Me, Alice, me.” He stabbed a finger at his chest. “While you stood there answering questions and making up stories, I had to convince them to believe you, and my head nearly exploded with the effort. I’ve been working so hard to help you, and all you do is fight me. I take your hand and you shove me away and I’m left grasping, furious—”

  “Well maybe I don’t want you to hold my hand,” Alice snapped, cheeks pinking. “And anyway, I had been wondering why—”

  “I am trying to keep us safe!” Oliver shouted, so angry now he was practically shaking. “I need to be near you in order to quietly convince everyone to leave us be! And what thanks do I get for all this? None. None at all. You’re running off, breaking away, charging into strangers! You make everything so
much more difficult!”

  Oliver threw his hands in the air.

  Alice shoved him in the chest. Twice. “Maybe if you’d been honest with me about what to expect—”

  “Maybe if you’d been patient, or even bothered to ask nicely—”

  “I am not incompetent!” Alice cried. “And I don’t appreciate your patronizing me! In fact, I’ve no doubt I could find my own way through Furthermore, without a bit of help from you—”

  “Is that right?” Oliver’s eyes flashed.

  “Right as rainlight!”

  “So you really think,” Oliver said, stepping closer, “that you’d have gotten five feet farther without my saving you from your own silly stories? You think anyone would’ve believed you?”

  Alice’s confidence faltered. Her stomach did a nervous flip.

  Oliver looked away, shaking his head. “In charge of the sun,” he said. “Really. What nonsense was that? Of all the things to say!”

  He ran both hands through his hair, losing steam.

  “Don’t you understand why your father was tasked to me? Why the Elders sent me here, to Furthermore, to a land of tricks and puzzles? I have the gift of persuasion, Alice. And, yes, it grants me the ability to know the deepest secret of every person I meet, but the people of Furthermore are nothing like the people of Ferenwood, and their deepest secrets hardly help me at all, making the task infinitely more complicated. And if you think navigating this land is hard for me, it would be a sight near impossible for you.”

  “I beg to diff—”

  “Forgive me,” he said, exhausted. “I didn’t intend that as an insult. Truly. It’s just that some things in Furthermore are about more than being smart. In fact,” he said, “most of it is about lying, tricking, and the luck of just barely surviving.” He looked up, looked her in the eye. “Alice, this land is not generous. It does not forgive. And it would kill to devour you.

  “There is only one reason I have not yet met your father’s fate, and it’s that I have the ability to convince others to believe what I want them to believe. So please,” he said. “Please trust me enough to do the one thing I’m any good at. If we don’t stick together, we’re lost for good.”