Avery’s fire had roared through the wood like a wild animal released from a trap, igniting one tree after another until their path was completely blocked. The smoke rolled in a black cloud through the valley. Holly could only just make out the beech tree. The fire was pulling closer to it.
“We’ll just have to run for it,” she said in a low voice.
“There’s no way!” said Everett.
“We can’t stay here forever!” cried Ben.
“We won’t have to. Áedán, I need you.” Holly reached under her cloak and pulled out the little salamander. “Can you do it? For all three of us?”
The golden creature gazed up at Holly with his bulbous eyes. She felt Áedán’s strength gathering in his tiny body, like a cat about to spring. “Wow!” Ben breathed. “That’s cool! What is it?”
“It’s the Golden Salamander,” said Holly. “There’s no time to explain. Just stay close to me, both of you!”
The boys huddled around her and the three joined hands. Holly glanced up and saw Avery—impossibly, not gone, not fled—stampeding through the smoke. “It is too late, Lady Adept!” he shouted. “Your portal has been destroyed!”
“Avery, don’t be daft!” Everett said. “Get out of here before you burn up!”
“Who cares if he does?” Ben countered.
But Holly was peering through the smoke into the valley, hearing a great crash as trees fell, igniting others, and then she saw that the prince was right: The beech tree was in flames. “Now, Áedán!”
She spoke none too soon. In the same instant as the leaves at her feet began to burn, ignited by sparks carried on the breeze, the warm curtain of flame rose up around the three of them like a golden balloon. She could hardly see through the gauzy flames, but she could make out Avery’s silhouette, his stallion rearing in panic, and his voice choked with smoke, crying out to them. Holly turned to the valley. Rabbits and chipmunks streamed out of the underbrush in every direction; flocks of birds burst from the canopy. Everything was ablaze, but surely Áedán could protect them; wouldn’t fire best fire? The little group began to move as one.
“Faster, Holly!” said Ben. “The tree’s already burning!”
The three began to run, borne over the burning leaves by the fire curtain. In front of them, a tree crashed to the ground and they hustled around it, pushing through the smoke with their eyes shut, until, moments later—though it seemed like much longer—they reached the beech tree at last. Holly’s heart sank. How could the wand possibly work? The tree was in flames.
“Just try it!” Everett cried.
She pulled out the wand and pointed it at the burning tree trunk. A faint light glimmered, but the tree broke only halfway apart with a weak crackling sound. The branches at the top of the tree creaked, then fell, raining fire all around them.
“Áedán, we have to leave you,” Holly said desperately. She blinked away tears, remembering what the Wandwright had said. Áedán would hibernate, safe in the flames, until her return. If she returned. She plucked him from her shoulder and he gazed at her with his bulbous orange eyes. Did he nod?
“We can’t go through there without him!” Ben said.
“We’ll have to. He’ll be all right. Come on, everyone together!” Then all at once, Áedán’s fire curtain fell away and the heat from the forest fire engulfed them. Holly couldn’t tell if the tree trunk had broken apart because of the wand or the flames; would it even work now that it was nearly burned to a cinder? The beech looked like nothing magical now. She put a foot through the crack as the flames licked up her legs; she tightened her grip and pulled on Ben’s hand, which pulled on Everett’s. Holly squeezed through and she was aware of two things at once: the impossibly hot flames on her skin and the sickening smell of burning hair. She jumped.
At the same time, the earth shook and everything went black. Smoke choked her lungs and she coughed; everything was so hot; they weren’t going to make it. But a moment later, she collapsed on damp grass, her clothes crackling with flame. She rolled, still pulling on Ben’s hand, and the fire smothered beneath her. Before she could call out to them, Ben and Everett fell through on top of her and for a moment they were all a tangle of arms and legs and feet in one another’s faces. When they were finally sorted and the flames stamped out, they looked back at the beech tree they had entered by. It was a twisted, blackened hulk. As they watched, its branches closed in on themselves and the tree dwindled down, shrinking into ashes.
Chapter 45
* * *
Teatime at Number Seven
But it wasn’t only the beech tree that had disappeared. When Holly righted herself in the cool grass, she saw that the keyholes in all the other trees had vanished.
Or perhaps they had never been there in the first place.
She ran around to the other side of the oak tree—there was no need to step back through it. Clearly, they had emerged from Anglielle back into England, not into that bright place between the worlds.
Behind her, she heard Ben ask, “What happened?” And then a shush from Everett. Holly ignored them.
In her hand, she clutched the key—for it was no longer a wand—and held it up to the knothole in the oak’s trunk. But the metal plate had shriveled and twisted like molten iron. The key no longer fit.
—
Holly didn’t know where else to go. Of course, she took Ben home first. Everett walked with them as far as Hodges Close, and then turned down the block to go to his own house, giving a silent wave. No one spoke. It seemed to be midmorning, and as far as Holly could tell, it was the same day they had left, since her father, who was busy at his computer, hardly glanced up when she came in the door. She and Ben took turns showering and putting on clean clothes, which felt more wonderful than clean clothes ever had before. Ben went straight to his computer.
Holly would have loved to have gone to bed, to curl up with her own things—or as much as that was possible, seeing as her own pillow and blankets were thousands of miles away, very close to the exact center of another continent. But instead she walked out of the house again and wandered down the street to Number Seven.
She found Mr. Gallaway puttering around on his screened porch, repotting plants. Holly knocked on the door.
The old man looked up, startled, and opened the door. He took her by the elbow, led her into his kitchen, and set the kettle on. He said nothing, though he winced at the bruises on her wrist where Avery had grabbed her. Then, when the tea things were ready, Mr. Gallaway carried them on a tray into his sitting room, motioning her to follow.
A sudden lump grew in Holly’s throat. She realized, looking around at the comfortable chintz-covered chairs and settee, how like Almaric’s cottage this room was. Mr. Gallaway didn’t comment when she swiped the back of her hand against her cheeks, though he did pass her a handkerchief. And when at last he had poured the tea, his ancient face crinkled into a smile below his deep-set blue eyes.
“Now, sit down. You must tell me everything.”
And Holly did. She talked until her voice sounded raspy. Several times during the telling of her story, her throat thickened, and more than once she blew her nose into the handkerchief. Never did Mr. Gallaway say anything like “Don’t be ridiculous” or “That couldn’t possibly have happened.” Holly would have been very surprised if he had.
“And now?” he prompted, when she seemed to have finished. “You seem unhappy.”
“I miss Áedán. He didn’t come through the portal. He’ll die without me.”
“Oh, I should think not. Salamanders, even golden ones, sleep quite happily in their nests until their keepers return. Or so I have read.”
Holly didn’t ask where he could have read such a thing. “If I ever can return. Or maybe I’m crazy. Maybe none of it really happened.”
Mr. Gallaway snorted. “Come now, Holly. Even children younger than you know the difference between real events and imaginary ones.”
“But I stayed for days in Anglielle.”
“I don’t
understand. What has that to do with anything?”
“Well, where did all that time go?”
“You’re quite a clever girl. I expect you know exactly where it’s gone.” The old man sat back and sipped his tea.
“I traveled somewhere. . . . ”
“Did you?”
She frowned. “No, not traveled, exactly. I went through to somewhere, though. Everett said we were still in England. But we couldn’t have been.”
“Holly, unlike yourself, I’ve spent very little time in classrooms.” Mr. Gallaway hobbled over to a bookshelf. “Never found them to be very useful. Books, on the other hand, are a different story.” He took down a leather-bound volume and handed it to her.
The Nature of Quantum Matter and Alternate Worlds by Anthony Krendall. “This looks kind of hard.”
“I assure you it is not. As I say, I am not an educated man. But I do know that there is much that none of us knows. Including Dr. Krendall.”
“You think we went to some kind of alternate universe?”
Mr. Gallaway shrugged his gray eyebrows. “I know very little of such matters. But that is a fascinating book. I would like you to have it.”
Holly laid the book beside her. “So I would have come back to the same time and place that I left.”
“It appears you have done, whether or not we understand how.”
Her face fell again, and the old man said, “Something else?”
“It’s just that . . . I didn’t do anything, did I? I didn’t defeat the king or Banish the Sorcerer. I might even have made things worse. The king will probably hunt the Exiles down, and when Raethius gets back, who knows what he’ll do? Nothing’s changed. I haven’t helped at all. And I promised.”
“A promise, as you say, that binds you to that place.”
Holly glanced up from her teacup. “Do you think there might be a way to get back?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have any idea.”
“Mr. Gallaway, I know you know more than you say. You gave me the key. You have a whole trunkful. You got them from somewhere.”
“Keys, like wands, are forged. It is a simple matter. Ask any ironmonger you like.”
Holly searched his blue eyes. He raised the teapot. “Another cup?”
—
Holly drifted through the week, staying indoors as the weather turned rainy. She wrapped her key in a piece of muslin she found in an empty drawer and closed it inside its wooden box, which she tucked in the bottom of her suitcase. Every now and again, when she felt a chill, she reached up to her shoulder where the Golden Salamander had nestled. She spoke very little, to the point that her mother insisted she see a doctor, who pronounced her fit and in need of some sort of activity. The family went to London that weekend.
Another weekend they went to Stonehenge, and another to Paris. Holly saw vast cathedrals and ate mussels and croissants and learned a few words of French. But none of it mattered very much to her.
When they returned to England, Holly spent most of her time exploring the village of Hawkesbury and the fields and hills on its southern side. She stayed clear of the castle and the woods. She was glad after a few weeks when she realized they would be going home soon. It was on one of these last days that finally, just to say good-bye, she found herself walking through the woods to the clearing where the oak tree stood.
She had not brought the key with her. She sat on the grass near a cluster of primroses, gazing up at the twisted knothole in the tree trunk.
A rustling.
Holly sat up, her neck prickling. She tensed, waiting, until Everett and Ben poked their heads through the trees.
“We saw you go into the wood,” Everett said by way of explanation. They sat down opposite her, forming a little circle.
Holly had hardly seen him in the last few weeks. She disappeared into the garden when he came over to play Planeterra Five with Ben. It seemed awkward to sit with them now in the forest, afraid to disturb the silence.
“You’ve not been round much lately,” Everett said at last.
Holly shrugged. “We went to Paris.”
“I know.”
“This is weird,” Ben said finally. “We should be talking about it. I mean, as far as I know, we’re the only three who’s ever had anything like this happen to them for real.”
“Ben, we’re leaving in two days. What difference does it make?”
“Aren’t you—” Everett paused, and coughed. “Aren’t you ever coming back to Britain again?”
“I don’t see why we would.” Holly had a sick, hollow feeling in her stomach. She had made a blood oath to Bittenbender and the others. If she could come back, she must—but how could she?
“That’s all you know,” said Ben.
“Why? What do you know?”
“Just what Mom told me,” said Ben. “When I asked. Like you should be doing.”
“What did she say?” Everett said.
“She said that the office in Oxford really likes her. That we’ll probably come back here again—maybe lots of times. We could even move here someday. I said no way, it’s nice and all, but the electrical system is all bizarro and my computer doesn’t always work right, plus what’s the deal with all the rain, and it’s kind of cold, too—”
“Ben!” Holly cut in. “Is that what she said? That we’d come back?”
“Well, if you ever paid attention, instead of moping around all the time, you’d have heard.”
“But if we came back,” she said, her stomach feeling lighter, “maybe we could get back to Anglielle, too. Maybe we could really help them next time, instead of just being—I don’t know—a burden.”
“I don’t see how,” said Everett. “The beech tree burned down.”
“But there’s lots of trees.”
“Do they all go to the same place?” asked Ben.
“I don’t know. We can’t get in through the oak tree, but there must be some other way.”
“Holly.” Everett took a deep breath. “You did the best you could. You were . . . well . . . brilliant, you know.”
Holly gave a real smile for the first time in weeks. “Really?”
“I thought Avery’s head was going to come off when that centaur showed up!” Ben exclaimed.
“That was brilliant, biting Avery to get the wand,” said Everett.
“I think that Loverian really wanted to help us.”
“Oh, don’t be so thick. He’s the king’s knight. . . . ”
“Mr. Gallaway said Áedán would be fine, just hibernate in a kind of fire . . . like he was when I found him. . . . ”
“Yeah, where did he come from, anyway? Without him we would’ve died!”
“I still don’t see how you got the whatsit, the lady’s favor, Everett. . . . ”
“I just found it, that was a bit of luck, is all. . . . ”
“You should’ve seen me with the horses! People kept falling off and nobody had any ice. . . . ”
“I had to learn to joust. That wasn’t easy. . . . ”
“That’s nothing, I had to ride on a leogryff and shoot arrows at the same time!”
“Sorry I screamed and all. . . . ”
“Grandor would’ve killed you for sure if he’d got the chance. . . . ”
And so finally Holly began to believe she wasn’t quite crazy, and the three of them rehashed everything they’d been through, filling in the blanks in one another’s stories and reassuring themselves that of course the Shepards would come back to England, and they could get back to Anglielle, if they just put all their heads together. They talked about Mr. Gallaway, and how was it he had the keys (“I don’t think they came from Ace Hardware,” Holly said); and about the queen, and why had she stepped in to help them (“She’s like the king’s slave,” Ben said); and of course, about Avery, and how he’d betrayed them (“He seemed like such a regular bloke, too,” Everett said).
Holly realized she was sad to be leaving, that she really did like Everett, though there was somet
hing about him that still bothered her a little. She felt quite sure that he had stolen the key, whatever he said. But they exchanged e-mail addresses, though Holly admitted she didn’t e-mail very often, and Ben said he would teach her, and Holly said she knew how to do it, she just didn’t choose to do it, and Ben said she was a computer neophyte, and Holly didn’t like being called that, whatever it was. They were still arguing when Everett waved good-bye to them as their little car trundled down Hodges Close back to Heathrow, and although he didn’t know it, they were still arguing on the plane back to the States. Their parents rolled their eyes and were glad after all that the children’s seats were several rows behind their own, and Holly and Ben made a good show of sounding like their old selves.
Except, of course, that they were anything but.
Acknowledgments
I would be ashamed to send The Key & the Flame into the world without acknowledging the hard work and encouragement of those who helped me give it life. My heartfelt thanks go to:
Sally Caterer, who supported me in more ways than one through the writing;
Margie Caterer-Clark, who believed in me when my own faith wavered;
Melanie Bohling, whose beautiful heart cheers me when I’m down;
Dr. Peter Grund of the University of Kansas English department, who lent me his expertise in Middle English;
Chris Richman, agent extraordinaire, whose enthusiasm fuels my own;
Ruta Rimas, editor supreme, who loves my characters as much as I do, and the marvelous team at Margaret K. McElderry Books;
Leigh Blackman, Megan Foote, and the women of SMOAUF, for being my cheerleaders;
Eloise and Sawyer, who gave up many a walk when deadlines loomed;
and Chris Bohling, who lets me work behind closed doors, chases the gremlins from my computer, and loves and supports me in all that I do.
grew up in a supremely ordinary Kansas suburb and spent most of her youth not appreciating it. Having since lived in exotic locales like Paris and New York City, she eventually returned to the Kansas City area, where she shares her home with one husband, one daughter, and two occasionally incorrigible dogs. Although she has published fiction and nonfiction for adults, she immensely enjoys writing for younger people, who are frankly more interesting. Visit her online at cmcaterer.com.
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