“What’s this for?” she asked, having flashbacks of crashing and seeing them sail off into the cosmos.
Hang on, Trystyng mimed.
A vacuuming whoosh preceded a flash of green. The dancing lights absorbed the balloon into a chute of warm green flames. The gnomes rushed about madly. Cecelia clasped tight to the basket’s edge and peered down the glowing green chute. As she did, the Dröm Ballong dropped like an unhooked elevator toward a black desert below.
A black desert. Like the one in the Land of Yesterday.
“We’re heading to the Land of Yesterday, aren’t we?” Cecelia shouted to the gnomes. Her hair rippled like blue fire over her head.
They paused from their frantic hurry and nodded gravely back.
All at once, daisy vines unwrapped from the basket and spun Cecelia in a protective cocoon. The gnomes covered her body with theirs. And within the strange cocoon of flowers, friends, and space, memories of yesterday bombarded Cecelia. How, after Celadon died, she barely spoke, ever, to anyone. Because everything she said came out wrong. For a while, she turned to her pen and paper for a cure to her tongue’s clumsiness—easier to let the paper take the blame, fold her feelings into an envelope and give them away, than to say the wrong thing or keep her emotions locked inside. She thought about how she pushed away her friend Bram, with whom she’d once held hands, and shared her wildest, most secret dreams.
These memories danced around her and carried the weight of the sky.
She remembered what her mother told her after the funeral for her hamster, Professor Rick Von Strange. “Cecelia, do you know why you’re so special?” her mother had asked. Cecelia shook her head as her hair dried her tears. “You saw in him what few are able to see in another. You saw yourself within him. Each time you looked into his eyes, you saw your own happiness, love, vulnerability, and pain. You’re a rare child to be able to see so deeply inside the heart of love. . . .”
More than anything, as the Dröm Ballong plunged through the green cyclone of lights, Cecelia remembered how for days after Celadon’s death she longed for her mother to comfort her like that again, to understand how she felt, to understand her. She needed her mother to tell her everything would be okay, that Celadon’s death wasn’t her fault. But her mother couldn’t do that. Because she was too busy drowning inside her own tears to help anyone else.
Then, as fast as they’d come, the fog of memories let go and the Dröm Ballong crashed.
Yesterday had arrived at last.
Cecelia crawled from the wreckage into the whirling black sands with her mother’s tears still firmly in mind. She decided she wouldn’t drown like her mother had.
Cecelia decided she wanted to swim.
Chapter 14
The Caterwaul of the Land of Yesterday
Cecelia’s ears rang with the quietest quiet. Her hair floated north, reaching for the faraway stars. The night skies no longer seemed haunted. Thanks to the daisy cocoon, and Trystyng and Phantasmagoria’s protection, Cecelia’s paper limbs and torso had not been damaged in the crash. A white sickle moon loomed overhead, coating everything in a glow of mystery.
In the distance, an old English-style castle stood alone on the windy horizon. Four tall and thin towers, twisting like licorice spires, rose toward strange constellations; flags snapped from each peak, all bearing a griffin clutching a snake eating its own tail. It glowed like a radioactive beast at the horizon’s edge. The castle’s stone shimmered in shades of mazarine and lit the black sand like neon. Stars clustered around the turrets and seemed to be whispering, Come, Cecelia, come . . .
Her mother had to be inside.
Cecelia scanned the black wastes for the gnomes. The hot-air balloon lay crumpled in the shadows to her right. Directly beside it, two small still shapes had collapsed in the sand. Trystyng and Phantasmagoria!
When Cecelia readied to race toward them, an explosion burst from the crash site. Cecelia blew backward. Fire shot into the sky. The Dröm Ballong’s basket, half buried in a drift of black sand, billowed with flames.
Without a second thought about her paperness, Cecelia sprang to her feet and ran as fast as her parchment leg would allow toward the inferno. Trystyng and Phantasmagoria leaped up and dashed toward her, shouting in the blustery way they did, as the Dröm Ballong blazed behind them. The trio met in the middle and crashed into a hug.
“Are you all right?” Cecelia asked while brushing debris from their vests.
Both nodded. Trystyng licked his fingers and extinguished a burning thread on Phantasmagoria’s hat. Phantasmagoria hugged Trystyng extra tight. To Cecelia’s surprise, Trystyng smiled sweetly. They seemed as vigorous and wonderful as ever.
“Good. Because you’ll need to be in tip-top shape to navigate the castle. I’ve read about it. Amytheria Nox, the famous warrior hermit of Mount G, wrote in her book, Guardians of Legend and Lore, that this fortress, known as the Castle of Never More and Once Again, was the most perilous castle in the Multiverse. I never knew if it was real until now, but there it is.” The gnomes rubbed their hands together, entranced. “Amytheria stated the fortress itself would do anything to trap the living within its walls and steal all their tomorrows.”
The gnomes gave Cecelia thumbs-ups.
Scared, but undeterred, she nodded. “Let’s go.”
Finally, she would see her mother. She would hand her the letter, written with her miraculous pen filled with her equally miraculous tears, and gain her forgiveness for her part in Celadon’s death. Her mother would know how to handle Widdendream and rescue her father, and they would be a together family once more. Cecelia warmed at the thought, but her happiness faded fast.
Lost and forgotten things littered the glittering onyx desert. Cecelia stepped over each object with care. A cracked locket lay at her feet, holding black-and-white photos of sweethearts inside. Farther ahead, a toy truck, with more scratch than paint, bearing the inscription Serena the Great! lay half buried in sand. Next, a tattered suit and a wedding dress spilled out of an ancient trunk, along with a handful of books. Another step and a once white teddy bear (Sand Goon, according to its tag) gaped up at Cecelia with its remaining eye. “I’m lost,” it seemed to say. “Have you seen my boy?” She grimaced as she stepped over a stack of unopened letters bound by a frayed red ribbon, addressed To Mom, with love. They reminded her of the unread letter to her own mother in her pocket, and that sometimes letters remain forever unread.
A tawny flash of light popped out of the sand by her feet, scurried up her leg and onto her shoulder. “Professor Rick, it’s you!” Cecelia patted her hamster’s ghost. He placed his paw in her hand like he used to. “I’ll never forget you,” she whispered in his ear. One nose wiggle later, he scampered back into Yesterday.
Another shape bloomed from the night sands to her left. A full-size fighter jet with a white star on one wing protruded like a dark desert rose. Cecelia’s pulse leaped at the words written beneath the circled white star: To the boy and his sheep. I looked with my heart and found what I was looking for. Your friend, A. 1st August, 1944.
Cecelia’s heart clenched. The boy with the sheep mentioned he’d lost a friend—one that had flown away and never returned. Cecelia felt responsible for the message, and vowed to keep it safe for the boy, as he’d kept her mother’s for her.
A roar of wind blew, and with it came her mother’s voice. It sang out from the direction of the castle: the lullaby Mazarine used to sing to Cecelia and Celadon to lull them to sleep. So lost was Cecelia in her thoughts and the song, she hadn’t noticed the thundering footfalls shaking the sands behind her until it was too late.
Trystyng and Phantasmagoria sprinted ahead. Mouths wide and screaming with tornado-force winds, they tried to grab Cecelia’s hands as they passed, but Cecelia couldn’t hang on. She fell to her knees. The gnomes skidded to a halt and ran back for her, just as Cecelia turned.
A towering feline beast stopped a few paces away and loomed over them. Standing on its hind legs, it w
as the height of a maple tree. Cecelia had to tilt her head all the way back to see the great cat’s face. Its whiskers, longer than Cecelia’s arms, rippled in the breeze. Its fangs gleamed in the moonlight. Silver-and-charcoal fur covered its body. An unpromising growl emanated from its throat.
This must be the Caterwaul, Guardian to the Land of Yesterday.
She’d heard stories of the Cat Guardian, each more terrifying than the last. And yet, observing it now, with its fuzzy face and long whiskers, chubby belly and sorrowful stare, Cecelia struggled to feel afraid. Maybe all this paperness had withered her fear as it had her tears. Maybe that second wish she’d made had started to come true—that she could be heroic like the explorers on her walls and in her books, like she used to be.
“Hello, fierce and terrible Guardian,” Cecelia said, bowing to the Caterwaul. “Is that your castle over there?”
The gnomes looked at her like she’d lost her marbles.
“Yeeesssss,” the Caterwaul growled. It lowered its massive head and moved an arm’s length from Cecelia face. She saw herself reflected in its shimmery eyes. “Thiiisss siiiide of Yesss-terrr-daaayyy is miiiiiiinne.”
Cecelia grinned and clapped her hands. “You can talk! And I understood you!” Her face fell as she turned to the gnomes. “I guess that means the Caterwaul has lost loved ones, too.”
Phantasmagoria and Trystyng were too busy yanking the Caterwaul’s fur and kicking its toes in an attempt to divert its attention from their girl to respond.
The Caterwaul, paying no notice to the gnomes’ efforts, stepped back, extended one upturned paw in front of Cecelia’s face, and yelled “GIIIIIIIIFT!” so loudly, the desert lifted around it in a whirl.
She’d forgotten the Caterwaul demanded a gift as payment to stay in Yesterday and ate those who came unprepared. Also, anyone who stayed too long in its desert became trapped inside here for eternity.
No pressure.
“GIIIIIIIIFT!” the Caterwaul repeated, lips rippling from its roar. Anyone in his or her right mind should have groveled, but not Cecelia. For she glimpsed behind the Guardian’s eyes a secret wish only she could grant.
On instinct, Cecelia lunged forward and hugged the beast tight. Her paper middle crunched. Her hair wrapped its body and snuggled merrily into its fur. The Caterwaul wailed hard enough to shatter the stars, yet did not pull away. Instead, it lifted her into its mammoth arms, held her with love, and very quietly, so only Cecelia could hear, the Caterwaul laughed.
Cecelia crawled up and onto its shoulder and whispered into its tufted ear, “I have the perfect gift for you.”
Cecelia burrowed into her sweater pocket and produced her finest gift. She held it up to the Caterwaul. “I do hope my special pen will suffice as payment for my visit to your castle, Caterwaul of Yesterday.” She didn’t relish the thought of letting her pen go, especially since it might contain the last tears she would ever cry. Still, the giant demanded a gift, and this felt like the right one to give.
The Caterwaul either grimaced or grinned or was about to eat someone alive by the look on its face as it received her pen. Then, slowly, carefully, the Guardian set Cecelia back down on the sand.
Cecelia stood before it and bit her lip.
Her hair went absolutely bonkers with anticipation.
The gnomes jumped in front of Cecelia and braced for attack.
The Caterwaul watched them in stunned silence for a moment before its whiskers quivered, lower lip shook, and eyes swelled with delight. Finally, the Caterwaul fell backward with a grand plomp and burst into a laughing fit. When it finished rolling about in the sand, it wiped its eyes and groaned in its grisliest voice, “Thaaank yoooouuuuu.” The Caterwaul’s breath hit her with the scent of spring daisies and perfumed the desert night.
Daisies.
A small grin spread through her.
She was on the right track.
“One daaaaay,” the Caterwaul groaned as it straightened to its full height, “I wiiillll repay giiiiifffft.” Tears glistened on the short fur beneath its eyes. It brushed Cecelia’s cheek with the soft parts of its paw. “III wiiilll dryyyyy yooourrr teeears aaand heeeellp Ceceeeeliaaa baaack hoooommme.”
Nodding, Cecelia answered, “Deal.”
The three followed the Caterwaul through the wasteland of forgotten treasures, toward the castle. Along the way, Cecelia thought again of the dangers of Yesterday. How the castle would do anything to trap unwelcome visitors inside.
As the castle loomed ominously before them, Cecelia’s hair curled around her neck and turned as cold as ice. “There, there,” Cecelia whispered, stroking her panicked blue locks. “With the Caterwaul as our Guardian, nothing bad will happen. That cat wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Chapter 15
Mother, Is That You?
At six years old, Cecelia fell off her bicycle. Her leg had shredded so badly, her tears didn’t stop for what felt like an age. “Tears have a power,” her mother had said. “When they come forward, you mustn’t try to stop them.”
Cecelia searched her mother’s kind eyes and asked, “Why not?”
“No matter what language a person speaks, how old they are, where they come from, or what they’ve been taught, tears are the one thing everyone understands.” Mazarine caught a teardrop at her daughter’s chin and held it up to the light.
Then her mother did something that Cecelia hadn’t understood at the time. She placed Cecelia’s tear on her tongue, where it vanished without a trace. “Your pain is my pain. If we ever become separated and have trouble finding our way back together, shed a few of these, and I will find you.”
Or, Cecelia thought, grasping her letter of tears on her approach to Never More Castle, I will find you.
The Caterwaul led the way to the bastion at the horizon’s edge. Sand grated Cecelia’s eyes. Her hair rode the maelstrom of wind gusting from all points of the compass. The gnomes fought to stay upright in the torrent of black grit. Then, without warning, the desert jerked as if it was a rug yanked out from under their feet.
Cecelia, Phantasmagoria, and Trystyng flew into the air, cartwheeled, and dropped to the ground. The Caterwaul rode the rolling sands with ease.
“Caterwaul,” Cecelia shouted. “What’s happening?”
Objects popped out of the desert around them like coffins from flooded graves: old rocking chairs, swing sets, photo albums, jewelry boxes, love letters, strands of clipped hair. Everywhere they looked, memories of lost time blocked their way.
The Caterwaul, about twenty paces ahead, faced them, stretched its jaws, and roared, “Desert angreeeey with Caterwauuuul. Doessss nooot want Mazariiiiine to goooooo.”
Cecelia dug in her heels. Her mother was definitely here, and not even the Guardian of Yesterday would stop her. “I’m sorry, but that’s unacceptable. One way or another, I’m getting inside that castle and taking my mother with me.”
The desert rolled and pitched, and screamed. The Caterwaul howled out a hurricane. “Muuust nooot enterrrr!” It tried desperately to hand Cecelia back her pen. “Pleeeease,” it moaned quieter, “the miiiists aaaarre awaaaaake.”
Cecelia braced against the desert’s fury. “I’m not sure what you mean about waking mists, and I’m sorry your desert is upset, but I must find my mother.” Her hair whipped about in outrage. “Please step aside, Caterwaul. My friends and I intend to pass.”
Trystyng and Phantasmagoria shook their heads at each other, shrugged, and finally nodded emphatically, ending their silent conversation. The wind shrieked like an injured animal all around them.
“Yeeesterdaaay doesn’t let anyyyone goooo!” The Caterwaul, looking panicked, pointed at something behind Cecelia’s back. “Noooow, it coooomes fooor yooooouuuu.”
Cecelia turned around. A tidal wave of swirling sands rolled toward them at an alarming speed. The sky blackened to pitch.
Sandstorm.
“Run!” Cecelia shouted to the gnomes over the squall and made a break for the castle.
; More objects rose from the desert to stop them. She leaped over each and only fell once. The gnomes couldn’t keep up. Cecelia feared Trystyng and Phantasmagoria would become lost to the storm until they shared the fastest glance/nod/mischievous-grin combination ever. A micro split second later, the gnomes morphed into dogs.
Dogs!
Cecelia stared at them in astonishment. Phantasmagoria, now a silvery German schnauzer, and Trystyng, a snaggletoothed bulldog, dashed forward and stood before Cecelia, growling at the Caterwaul blocking their way.
She recalled the disclaimer in the Aeronaut’s note, the one that went up in flames, which read, Lastly and most important, the aforementioned gnomes may or may not turn into animals at any given time while entering forbidden lands. . . .
Phantasmagoria nudged Cecelia’s leg. His eyes seemed to say, What’re you waiting for? This is our chance. Let’s roll! Cecelia wanted to hug them, kiss them, and ask them a million questions, but now certainly wasn’t the time.
Trystyng and Phantasmagoria nipped and snapped at the Caterwaul’s ginormous feet until it danced clumsily out of the way. Cecelia sprinted after the gnomes, Joan of Arc clenched in one fist, with these words held firmly in mind:
I am not afraid. My heart is true. I was born to do this.
Out of nowhere, a rogue black wave knocked her head over heels. Cecelia flew into the air and landed with a rip and a shred. Her right ankle of midnight-blue parchment severed almost in half. She registered no pain, but didn’t think she could walk.
The dog-gnomes barked in unison, trading glances between her and the storm. It was coming fast. For a moment, she thought her ankle might mend as the doors of her middle had, but no such luck. She needed to wrap her ankle so she could run—if only she had something to hold it together.
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