Furthermore

by Tahereh Mafi

  Oliver shook his head again. “It’s inconceivable that he’d come here for no reason. Think, Alice. You’re overlooking something wildly obvious.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes,” said Oliver. “You’re underestimating how much your father loves you.”

  “What?” Alice’s heart was kicking around in her chest. “You think Father came here for me?”

  “What I think,” said Oliver, “is that what your father wants, more than anything else in the world, is for you to be happy.”

  Alice blinked, her eyes stinging with emotion, and looked away.

  “And what does your father think will make you happy?” Oliver asked. “What is the secret desire of your heart?”

  Oliver knew.

  Of course he knew.

  He’d known the secret desire of her heart since the first time he met her; this was a part of his talent. And Alice’s deepest secret was more than just the truth of her real ability; it was also her deepest wish. Her forever fantasy.

  “Color,” she said, her voice catching. “I want color.”

  “And don’t you think,” Oliver said quietly, “that your father, knowing your pain, would come here for you? In search of a solution? Furthermore uses magic in ways Ferenwood never has; it’s a place of endless experimentation and infinite possibility. It makes sense that he would search here, especially if he’s been here before.”

  Alice’s heart was thrown into chaos.

  She could hardly speak and, even if she could, she didn’t know what to say. To think that Father had put himself in such danger—that he’d risked so much—for her? It was impossible to describe her heart’s simultaneous pain and joy; so she was silently grateful she didn’t have to. Because just as she parted her lips to respond, Oliver did her a great kindness and changed the subject.

  “So anyway,” he said, staring off into the distance. “I do hope we’ll still be able to find him.”

  “What do you mean?” Alice said sharply, the gentle moment forgotten. “Why wouldn’t we be able to find Father?”

  Oliver clapped a hand behind his head and looked off into the distance. “It took me sixty-eight villages just to unearth the basic facts of your father’s imprisonment. And when I failed to reach him, I thought we needed to start over in the same pattern—only I figured we’d need to do it better this time. It’d taken so much work just to be able to get a glimpse of where your father had gone that I was too afraid to do anything differently; I didn’t want to lose track of him. But ever since we left Tim, we’ve been taking paths I’ve never traveled, and I don’t know what that means for us.”

  “Well, I don’t want to lose Father,” Alice said nervously. “Maybe we should go back to the original plan, Oliver, I think that might be—”

  “No,” he said. “Absolutely not. We will find your father, yes, but we will fix you first.” He looked at where her right arm used to be. “This is an emergency,” he said softly. “It’s not a waste of time. In cases of physical wound or peril, Furthermore has been known to overlook the expense; your father won’t suffer for our delay. I can promise you that.”

  “You’re sure?” said Alice anxiously. “Because I’ve already got one arm, and I’m sure I don’t need two. I’d really rather find Father.”

  “Alice,” Oliver said with a laugh, “you are so very, very strange.” He was staring at her, a gentle smile strung from ear to ear, and it was then that Alice realized how different he’d become in this short time. Alice couldn’t explain why, exactly, but she knew now that things had changed between them. Oliver had become her friend in an absolute, uncomplicated way. She was done fighting him, and he was done lying to her.

  Their friendship had changed seasons.

  And now, after all they’d fought through, she couldn’t imagine returning to Ferenwood life without him. She couldn’t think of sleeping with the pigs and fighting with Mother and sharing a room with her tiny brothers and finding ways to pass the time on her own. How could she forget the excitement of an adventure with Oliver? What would her life be like when they finally returned home?

  Strange, she hadn’t thought of it until just then.

  It scared her a little.

  “A new adventure awaits!” Oliver cried, charging forward.

  “I’m very glad you’re excited”—Alice laughed as she ran to catch up to him—“but we still haven’t a single idea how to get to a painter to fix my arm. What do we do now?”

  “We figure it out.” Oliver grinned. “Furthermore is a land of tricks and puzzles, so we must use the only tools we’ve got.”

  “And what tools are those?”

  Oliver beamed. “Our brains, of course.”

  Alice and Oliver had been wandering a long while before the floral hedges finally opened up to an expansive clearing. Endless green hills rolled off into the distance, their gentle slopes dotted with wildflowers. Soft, golden light filtered through spider-webbing tree branches, creating an impression of sweetness that the land of Furthermore did not deserve. Most curious, however, was the great, glimmering lake set just beyond the hills. A long wooden pier had been built out to the middle of the water, where the path was then split in two: Separate footbridges led to either ends of the lake—one going left, and the other, right—but where those paths went, Alice could not see.

  “Oh, this is splendid,” said Oliver, awed as he looked around. “And much more interesting. I thought for sure that we were in another village.”

  “And we’re not?”

  Oliver nodded at the lake. “Your emergency door dropped us inside of an intersection.” He looked at Alice. “This is a Traveler’s Turning Point.”

  “So we have to choose which way to go?”

  “Yes.”

  “And . . . I’m guessing it won’t be easy,” said Alice.

  Oliver laughed.

  They didn’t speak as they climbed the gentle hills, but Alice was studying the idyllic scene like it was something to be feared. Birds were pirouetting through the air and lambs were bleating their woes and flowers dipped and swayed in the wind like this was just another perfect day. But Alice wouldn’t believe it.

  And when they finally, reluctantly, stood at the end of the pier in the very middle of the lake, she and Oliver didn’t know which way to turn.

  “So,” said Alice. “Left or right?”

  “Wrong,” said Oliver.

  Alice raised an eyebrow.

  “We have four choices, not two,” he said. “Up, down, left, or right.”

  “Down?” said Alice, taken aback. “You mean—down into the lake?”

  “And up into the sky. Yes.”

  “Oh, for Feren’s sake,” Alice said, and sat down.

  Alice hadn’t the faintest idea which way to go, but she didn’t say as much because her vanity wouldn’t allow it. Oliver was now relying on them to use their brains to navigate Furthermore, and as she was currently the smartest person she knew (outside of Father, of course), Alice didn’t want to lose that title to Oliver. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be useful.

  (She wanted to be smarter than Oliver.)

  And then she had a sudden stroke of inspiration.

  “Perhaps the answer is in the pamphlets!” Alice cried, and not a moment later she was digging papers out of her pocket and soon she was unfolding “What to Know Before You Go,” all ten feet of it rattling and unfurling across the pier.

  Oliver flit about anxiously as Alice perused the papers, shooting her skeptical looks and claiming he’d never had to rely on pamphlets to get him through Furthermore and “it’s all nonsense anyway, not meant for anything but confusing” but Alice paid him no mind. She carried on perusing, and soon his anxiety gave way to acquiescence, and moments later he was sitting by her side. Th
e two of them pored over the pages in hopes of finding a single useful word, and though it took them nearly ten minutes to come upon it, they eventually found their answer in large, shouting capital letters:

  CONSTRUCTION NOTICES: ALL INTERSECTIONS

  UP AND DOWN EXITS PERMANENTLY CLOSED FOR REPAIR!!! DO NOT ATTEMPT DOWN-EXIT WITHOUT PERMIT. DO NOT ATTEMPT UP-EXIT ON MONDAY THROUGH FRIDAY OR SATURDAY AND DEFINITELY NOT SUNDAY!!!! IF EXIT IS NECESSARY, RIGHT AND LEFT ARE UNDER CONSTRUCTION BUT CURRENTLY OPERATIONAL. PROCEED WITH CAUTION!!!! NOTE: DOWN-EXIT DISALLOWED ON MONDAYS FROM 2:00 to 6:00 p.m.

  “Well, that wasn’t helpful at all, was it?” Alice said with a sigh.

  “What do you mean?” Oliver was beaming. “It says here that up- and down-exits are closed! Narrows things down, doesn’t it? Now we only have to choose between left and right.”

  “Well, yes,” Alice said, “but do we go left or do we go right?”

  “Oh,” Oliver said, the smile gone from his face. “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s go left,” Alice said, deciding. She got to her feet. “Everyone is always going right, and if so many people are going right, it’s bound to be wrong, I think.”

  “Okay then,” Oliver said, looking at her like he was proud. And surprised. But mostly proud. “Left it is. Left we go.”

  “Left we go!” Alice cheered.

  So that was that. They took the Left footbridge and ran as left as it would go—

  until they ran into a wall.

  They were knocked backward with two short screams, one after another, and landed painfully on their backsides. Oliver moaned. Alice groaned.

  “My head,” he said.

  “My eyes,” she cried. “I can’t see a thing.”

  “Alice?”

  “Oliver?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you alright?”

  “Just fine,” said Oliver.

  “Oh, good. Me too.”

  They were both silent a moment.

  “Well,” Oliver finally said. “I can’t see a stitch.”

  “No,” said Alice. “Neither can I. And it smells like dirt.”

  “And wood,” Oliver said. “It smells like dirt and wood.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” A pause. “Where are you?”

  Alice hadn’t any idea where they’d landed. She stumbled to her feet and tread carefully, single arm out, feeling for familiarity. Alice and Oliver both breathed sighs of relief when they collided, and he quickly took hold of her only hand, holding tight as they forged forward, sniffing and sensing and listening for a hint of what would come next.

  They hit wall after wall of old, musty wood—strange, the wood felt damp—until they finally stumbled upon a door. Alice’s heart did a happy flip in relief, and Oliver laughed a nervous sort of laugh, and then . . . they hesitated.

  Alice wanted to turn the knob, but Oliver said they had to knock. “It’s the Furthermore way,” he reminded her. “It’s improper to walk, uninvited, through a door that isn’t your own. You always have to knock.”

  “But what if no one answers?” she asked. “What if we knock forever and no one comes?”

  “Nonsense,” Oliver said with a wave of his hand. “There’s no door in Furthermore that isn’t aching to be opened.”

  Alice took a deep breath. “Very well,” she said. “If you’re certain.”

  “Quite certain.”

  They were both quiet a moment.

  “Are you ready?” said Alice.

  “Always,” said Oliver.

  And together, his knuckles and hers, they knocked on the door made of damp, musty wood, and tried not to think too hard about what might be waiting for them on the other side.

  After only a moment, the door creaked open. Wood straining against wood, the door no longer seemed to fit in its frame. It was so old and warped it was almost as though it’d never been opened until that very moment.

  Alice was goose bumps everywhere.

  Inch by inch, light poured into the dim room they stood in, until soon the lengths of it were flooded with light, and Alice and Oliver had to squint to see who stood on the other side.

  Alice blinked and blinked until a figure finally came into focus, but even then she was confused. It was either an owl or a very old man, she couldn’t be sure. All she did know for certain was that he was very happy to see them. She knew this because the first thing he did was burst into tears.

  “Honorable guests of Left,” he said, sobbing, “you are most welcome to our land. Oh honorable guests,” he wept, “bless you for bestowing your good graces on our home. Bless you,” he said, “for choosing Left when you could’ve gone Right. Bless you,” he said, his voice cracking, “for we’ve wanted for visitors for so long. We hoped and danced for the chance to speak to another. Waited and waited for a moment with a new friend. Oh honorable guests!” He was half bent, hands clutching his knees and weeping (Alice could see now that he was indeed an old man, and not an owl), and she was so startled, so moved, so touched, and so tentative, she wasn’t quite sure what to do.

  She looked at Oliver.

  He shrugged.

  “Please,” the old man said (after he’d pulled himself together), “please,” he said, gesturing toward the light. He moved just outside the door to allow them room to pass. “Step into the land of Left. The land of my home. A land,” he said with sudden pride, puffing his birdlike chest into the air, “no longer ignored. No longer neglected. Oh joy, oh joy,” he said. “What a day, what a day!”

  Oliver stepped forward cautiously and peeked his head out. She heard him gasp, and then he looked back, eyes wild, and made an effort to smile. “It’s okay,” he whispered.

  Alice took Oliver’s outstretched hand and followed him out the door. She didn’t know what she felt more: nervousness or excitement, or a nervous sort of excitement, but, oh, where they were she didn’t know and didn’t mind, because it was beautiful and strange. The little old man was beside himself with joy, and she didn’t think anyone had ever been happier to see her than he was just then.

  Friends, they had just stepped out of a tree trunk.

  These were trees as tall as giants who were tall for their size. Trees as grand as mountains, tree trunks as wide as treetops, trees chock-full of leaves so green she could barely stand to look at them. They were high, high above the ground, but in the land of Left there was a clear bottom: Many thousands of feet below them was an expanse of green that seemed to go on forever; she could see little yellow flowers dotting the tall, wild grass. But most interesting wasn’t the web of interconnected trees. It wasn’t the many busy people tending to their lives in a brilliantly lit forest. Well, I mean, it was—it was all of that—but it was more: Here, their homes were made from empty eggshells; mostly whole or one-quarter missing, each one painted a different geometric design. They were bright and steady and somehow unbroken, hung from branches with thick, glittering white rope. Inside each one was a little world, a home that held hearts and minds; and it was immediately obvious to Alice—and Oliver—that the people of Left were a happy sort.

  But experience had taught her to be suspicious.

  The little old man was waiting for them under a canopy of branches. There was just enough shade to protect them from the sun, but occasionally the light would slip through a crack and remind them all how dim they were without it.

  Alice and Oliver carefully balanced their way down a branch and followed their new guide. Suddenly he came to an abrupt stop, jumped straight up in surprise, and turned back to face them.

  “My goodness,” he said. “I have taken leave of my manners.” He shook his head and bowed slightly. “Please forgive the oversight,” he said. “It’s only that I am so very pleased to see you that I forgot everything but my own excitement.” He lifted his head and looked them in the eye. “I am Paramint,” he said. “And it
is my great honor and privilege to meet you both.”

  Alice and Oliver introduced themselves, and as they did, Alice noticed that Paramint was wearing an outfit she’d never seen any person wear before: a mustard-colored buttoned-down shirt with a bright-blue vest and a red-on-rust pinstriped jacket paired with olive-green velvet trousers. He wore chocolate-brown boots so shiny Alice swore she heard them glitter, and he carried in his hand a very tall candy cane, presumably for walking.

  So many clothes for a man. Alice was impressed.

  Alice had only ever seen father wear loose tunics and linen slacks. (And occasionally his denim jacket, when it was cold.) But not only was Paramint wearing a shirt, a vest, trousers, and a jacket, he was also wearing some kind of knitted cloth—a scarf, perhaps?—knotted around his neck, and he’d stuffed a handkerchief in his jacket pocket. It made her wonder if he sneezed a lot.

  But never mind all that, because Paramint was the nicest, cleanest old man she’d ever met. He explained that it was his job to guard the Visiting Door, and to always be ready for guests; he said it was all he did, all day long. He made sure he was prepared (and looked presentable) for the day the land of Left would finally receive a visitor.

  He said he’d been waiting fifty-six years.

  Paramint ushered them down one branch and up another, all the while announcing very loudly to anyone who would listen that Alice and Oliver were the honorable guests who’d finally arrived. There were many gasps, a few short screams, and occasionally, someone would faint. (Oliver had a bad habit of laughing very nervously when this happened.)

  The whole of Left was dressed in complicated clothes. A few of the ladies wore suits much like Paramint’s, and though they were well tailored and colorfully done, the truth was Alice hated suits just as much as she hated pants, so really, it was only the gowns she loved. There were a few ladies (and even a gentleman or three) who wore the most beautiful gowns—flowing skirts and intricate tops—and did very interesting things with their hair. Alice looked down at her own tattered clothes and touched her matted, knotted hair and, for just a moment, was silly enough to be sad she wasn’t a bit more presentable. She imagined that she and Oliver must’ve looked very strange indeed. What a pair of dirty visitors they were. Were it not for the blue shoes Oliver had made for her, Alice would’ve had nothing to be proud of, because those blue shoes were now the most beautiful things she owned. And no matter her running, jumping, and nearly dying, the slippers still looked brand-new. Oliver had done some very skillful magic.