“Thank you for asking me the same questions I’ve been asking myself,” Jack said testily. “How is this helping?”
“It helps to clarify just what you’re up against, Jack,” Mama said.
“I know what I’m up against,” Jack said stubbornly. He looked between the two of us, his gaze finally settling on our mother. “Don’t you even want me to try? I thought this was what you wanted me to do, Mama. To return to the World Above and reclaim all that is rightfully ours.”
“And so I do,” replied our mother. “But . . .” She paused, trying to select the right words. “These last couple of days, while Gen and I waited, I came to understand what it would mean to lose you. I want you to take your place as your father’s rightful heir with all my heart, Jack. I want to see you sitting on his throne. But I want to keep you alive and well more. If you were to be captured or killed—”
“I won’t be,” Jack said in quick reassurance, reaching across the table to grasp her hand. “I won’t be, Mama.”
“Then listen to your sister,” Mama said. “She wants you to succeed as much as I do.”
“Of course I do,” I said quietly. “Though you know . . . officially, I’m the rightful heir to the throne, not you. I am five minutes older. And there’s nothing that says a girl can’t succeed.”
Jack’s mouth dropped open, as did Mama’s. I might have been tempted to laugh, were it not for the twist of pain in my heart. Sensible Gen, boring Gen with her strange affection for the World Below. Who would have considered her for a crown in the World Above?
“Fortunately for you,” I went on, “I have no desire to sit on a throne. But if that’s what you want, then we should get you there in one piece.”
Jack took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, as if expelling his preconceived notions along with his breath.
“All right, then,” he said. “What did you do with that pen and paper, Mama?”
“I put them on the sideboard.”
Jack fetched the inkpot, quill, and paper I’d been using earlier, then returned to the table. He placed the paper on the table, turning the sheets over so that my handwriting was facedown. If he’d noticed the nature of the lists I’d been making, he gave no sign. He opened the inkpot and dipped the quill into the ink.
“Now,” he said, “I am going to pretend I’m Gen. I’m going to make a list of all the things we think I need to find out before I attempt to win back the lyre. That will be one column. All the potential pitfalls will go in another. Then I’ll return to the World Above and get our questions answered. I’ll add more as they come up. I’ll do whatever it takes to create a plan we believe can be successful.
“But you have to understand something.” He looked at me and then our mother. “If I’m going to do this, if I’m really going to win back Roland des Jardins’ crown, then sooner or later, I’m going to have to take a risk. There’s simply no way around it. Either you trust me to take the right chance at the right time, or you don’t. And if you don’t, I’ll do this completely on my own. My plan, my risk, my chance to win back what’s rightfully ours.”
“Ours,” I replied. “That’s the key word, Jack. Of course I want to help you. What you’re doing is for all of us.” I slid the paper in front of me, then extended my hand, palm up, for the quill.
“You should let me write the list,” I said. “Your handwriting is atrocious.”
Jack laughed and surrendered the quill.
“Question one,” I said as I dipped the quill into the inkpot and wrote the number. “How do you get from Duke Roland’s castle to Guy de Trabant’s fortress?”
EIGHT
It took three days of making lists, of tossing ideas back and forth, but finally the morning arrived when Jack, Mama, and I stood beside another beanstalk. This one looked slightly different from the first. It was still green and tall. But where the first beanstalk had reminded me of a tree, the second seemed more like a vine. More sinuous and thinner than the first, it seemed to twist and turn into the sky on its way to the World Above. I wondered if the difference was significant. There were five magic beans left now.
The change of seasons had begun in earnest, summer into autumn. Yesterday had been hot and fair, but overnight the temperature dropped. Fog had crept in, spreading its damp white fingers into every nook and cranny of our farm. Beside us, the beanstalk twisted upward, disappearing into the mist.
“You remember what to do?” Jack asked me, as he shouldered his pack.
“I remember,” I assured him.
Jack was referring to the very last item we’d added to the list. A plan that called for me to go up the beanstalk.
According to Jack, Sean had estimated it would take about a week on foot to reach Guy de Trabant’s fortress. Once Jack and Sean arrived, they would wait for the next court of assizes, which was held in the castle’s great hall. Since the sessions took place every other week, with luck, the two boys shouldn’t have to wait long.
The irony of one of the magical emblems on our coat of arms being used by Duke Guy to govern his own people wisely while ours remained neglected was a sore point. It was just one of the injustices that could be remedied if Jack was able to steal back the harp.
We’d decided to allow Jack four weeks to travel to de Trabant’s castle, see the harp for himself, assess the overall situation, then come back home. If he had not returned within that time, I’d toss a bean over my own shoulder and go up after him.
Mama and I would chop down this beanstalk tomorrow, when we were sure Jack had had plenty of time to reach the World Above. After that, he would literally be cut off from the World Below. But he’d travel with a bean in his pocket, as I would, assuming I had to go. That left two beans to remain with our mother.
“Well,” Jack said. “Here I go.”
Mama threw her arms around him and held him close. “Good luck,” she whispered. “I am proud of you, my son.”
She stepped back, and I moved in for a hug of my own. Jack gave me a squeeze so powerful I swore I felt my ribs crack.
“You know,” he murmured, for my ears alone, “I almost want you to come after me. You need an adventure of your own. And I’d really like for you to meet Shannon.”
“The most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen,” I teased, even as I tightened my hold.
“You’ll see what I mean when you meet her, however it happens.”
Jack released me and turned to face the beanstalk. Without another word, he walked to the sinuous green trunk, set his foot against it, grasped the leaves firmly with both hands, and began to climb. The last I saw of him was one brown boot-clad foot, disappearing into the clouds.
One week went by, and then another. My mother and I did our best to keep ourselves occupied. We spent several days over the hot stove turning the last of the late harvest fruits and vegetables into preserves or pickles. Mama did piles of mending, while I cleaned out the barn. We worked so hard I almost didn’t have time to worry about what was happening to Jack.
Almost. Almost. Because the truth was that it was all a ruse. Mama knew it just as well as I did. Even as our hands flew from one task to another, our minds were fixed on the World Above.
By the middle of the third week, I think both Mama and I knew the truth. Jack was not coming home. This was not to say that something dire had occurred. It might be that it had taken longer to reach de Trabant’s fortress than Sean the giant had predicted, which could mean, in turn, that it would take Jack longer to return home. Perhaps Jack had even discovered an unexpected way to get close to the harp and was attempting to get it back.
The trouble was, maybe’s and perhapses were all Mama and I had. We didn’t know. And the only way to turn uncertainties into understanding was for me to journey to the World Above.
“It’s all my fault,” I said at dinner that night, the fear I’d been harboring ever since Jack had vanished up the beanstalk at long last bursting out. “If I hadn’t suggested that Jack try to use the wizard’s gifts to prove
who he was in the first place—”
“No,” my mother said firmly. Fear and frustration ran through her voice. “If anything, the fault is mine. I’m the one who filled both your heads with tall tales.”
She threw her hands up, the way you do when you concede an argument even though you think you’re right.
“I just wanted you to know who you really are,” she said. “Is that so wrong?”
“Of course it isn’t,” I answered at once. “It’s just . . .” I paused. “It’s not a story anymore, is it? I guess it never really was. Our father really was murdered. If Guy de Trabant could have caught you, there’s every chance he would have killed you as well.”
“And now,” my mother said, “for all we know, Jack may be in the same danger.”
“We don’t know,” I replied. “That’s the problem.” I pushed my plate of food away. I wasn’t eating it anyhow. “The good news is that I can remedy that fact.” I stood up. “And I should do so.”
“I just wish we knew more about this Sean and Shannon,” my mother said as she rose in her turn. She went into the kitchen and got down the sugar bowl. “What if they’re not as virtuous as they seem? What if they’re leading Jack into a trap of some kind?”
“Jack’s a pretty good judge of character, Mama,” I consoled. “If he thinks we can trust them, my guess is that we can.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right,” said my mother. She removed the lid from the sugar bowl. Heads close together, we peered inside. Just four speckled beans remained.
“They look like four wishes,” I said softly.
“Perhaps they are,” my mother replied. Carefully she tipped one of the beans into my outstretched palm. “That’s a rather fanciful notion for you, Gen.”
I gave a quick laugh that didn’t sound all that convincing, even to my own ears. “Maybe I’m practicing for the World Above.”
I closed my hand around the bean. I could feel it, pressing into the center of my palm. “I think I’d like to go to the cornfield by myself, if that’s all right.”
“Of course it is, sweetheart,” said my mother. “Just don’t think about it too much. Trust the magic.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try.”
“But you’re not a tryer, are you?” my mother said. “You’re a doer, Gen. I think you have been from the day you were born. I used to think it was your affinity to the World Below, but now I’m not so sure. I think it’s just the way you are, and I am glad for it.”
“Thank you, Mama,” I said, surprised.
My mother bent to kiss my cheek. “Go along now. And remember—don’t stop to think too much along the way.”
I did my best. Honestly, I did. But all the way to the cornfield, with the bean clutched tightly in my palm, I wondered. If, in my innermost heart of hearts, I still harbored a tiny seed of doubt, would the magic work? Could my attachment to the World Below, which I’d secretly always been so proud of, doom my brother to destruction in the World Above?
You’re failing already, Gen, I thought as I reached the cornfield. Since Jack had grown the last beanstalk, our neighbors had come to help us harvest the corn. Jack’s absence had been noticed, but not spoken of. I had seen the worry, and the judgment, in the other men’s eyes. My mother needed all the help she could get. Where was her son? There was no way to explain. I wondered what the neighbors would think when our family disappeared entirely. If we did. If we didn’t, we would face hard times.
I gazed at the cornfield. It looked as bleak as my sudden turn of thought. Where before tall stalks had stood, now there was nothing but stubble. My beanstalk, assuming I could actually get one to grow, would have no camouflage.
There’s a lesson in here somewhere, I thought. It was time to see if I could find it. Turning my back to the field, I planted my feet and whispered a quick prayer to whoever might be listening.
Please, I thought. Let me succeed in spite of myself.
I let the bean fly. I did not turn to try and see where it landed. I tried to trust the magic, to let it take its course.
Now there was only one thing I could do: wait for morning.
“Well,” my mother said the following day. “So much for your concerns.”
I had grown a beanstalk all right, a sinewy column of green reaching into the sky. It swayed despite there being no breeze, and looked as if a puff of air might knock it down.
But when I set my hand on the trunk, I felt the beanstalk’s inner core of strength. Felt that it possessed a single desire: to carry me and only me from the World Below to the World Above. The fluttering leaves reminded me of waving hands, beckoning me upward.
“You take good care now, Gen,” my mother said.
“I will. Don’t forget to chop down the beanstalk.”
“I’ll remember,” she said quietly, and I realized that for the first time in sixteen years my mother would be all alone. Alone in the place that had been both her sanctuary and her exile. I opened my mouth to say something, but Mama spoke first.
“I’m proud of you, Gen.” At her words I let go of the beanstalk. “I’ve always been proud of you. I probably haven’t said that as much as I should.”
My eyes filled with tears, but I did not let them fall. In this, at least, I was my mother’s daughter.
“I understand, Mama,” I said quietly. Now that I was about to embark on an adventure of my own, a great peace seemed to come over me. “You and Jack are so much more alike. And he’s so . . . charming. Don’t you dare tell him I said that. If you do, I’ll just deny it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” my mother said with the faintest hint of a smile. The kind that caused only one dimple to appear, rather than two. “But I mean it, you know.”
“I’m sorry I never really believed,” I said. “Not the way Jack did.”
“It doesn’t make any difference,” my mother replied. Her eyes focused on the beanstalk for a moment, then returned to mine. “You believe now. Be safe and smart up there, my Gen. Be yourself.”
Before I could answer, she turned away and walked quickly toward the house. I turned to face the beanstalk.
There is no going back now, I thought.
For better or worse, there was only going forward. There was only going up. Seizing the trunk of the beanstalk with both hands, I pushed off from the World Below and began to climb.
NINE
How shall I tell you? How shall I even begin to describe what it was like to climb that beanstalk?
It was hard. A lot harder than I thought it would be, and it wasn’t just that the climb was long or that my dratted skirts slowed me down. I’d never been one of those girls who longed to do everything the boys did. Why should I? I did most of Jack’s chores anyway. But scrambling up that beanstalk hand over hand, hour after hour, I wished I’d had the foresight to put on a pair of pants.
Climbing a beanstalk is not like climbing a tree. A tree trunk is firm and hard. It feels unyielding beneath your feet and hands. Even when the wind moves through its branches, a tree feels solid. You can remind yourself that the tree lives and breathes, just as you do yourself. If you really put your imagination to work, you can conjure up an image of sap flowing, deep within. But it’s difficult to really feel this beneath your hands.
From the moment I first touched it, I knew that the beanstalk was different. Never in my life had I felt anything so magical, so alive.
The surface of the stalk was slightly tacky, which helped my hands maintain a firm grip, and kept my feet from slipping as I braced myself. The stalk itself was precisely the right diameter for me. Thick enough so that I could get a good grip, my fingers just touching as I closed my hand around it, but not so thick that my hands grew tired.
Leaves sprang from the stalk with what I can only describe as wild abandon. Some stayed in close, as if huddled against the stalk for protection; others unfurled into the open air, as if eager to explore. But no matter where they were, the leaves never stopped moving. The slightest breath o
f air made them dance and flutter.
Though I soon found I could rely on its sturdiness and strength (besides, having committed myself, what choice did I have?), it was slightly disconcerting to realize that not just the leaves, but the entire beanstalk itself, was always in motion. It swayed ever so slightly. Whether this was the result of my own movement, or was simply an attribute of all magic beanstalks, I had no way to discover.
I soon found myself settling into a rhythm, grasping a set of leaves with my right hand, boosting myself upward with my right foot braced against the trunk, then repeating the actions on the opposite side. I grew tired. I stopped to catch my breath, leaning my forehead against the great green trunk. My breath my own once more, I recommenced my climb.
Birds fluttered around my head, as if curious about this new creature invading their airy realm. But finally even those dropped away as I continued to climb. Hand over hand, hour after hour, up, up, up, until the very notion of the passage of time lost all meaning. There was only me and the beanstalk. All around us, the wide-open sky, the great expanse between the World Below and the World Above.
I did not look down.
It never even occurred to me to do this, believe it or not. All my energy, all my attention, was focused on going up. The higher I climbed, the more filled with possibilities the air seemed to become.
It got cooler too, after a while. Thin wisps of cloud drifted by. Gradually they became more dense, finally coalescing into a cloud so thick I could barely see the beanstalk. I could hear my heart, thundering inside my chest. My breath, whooshing in, puffed out white to become one with the cloud.
Surely I must be almost there, I thought. For what else could this be but the layer of cloud that Mama had always claimed divided the World Above and the World Below?
Reach with the right hand, boost with the right foot. Reach with the left hand, boost with the left foot. Keep going. Keep going. You can do this, Gen, I thought. Jack had done it twice. I’d never prove myself to be my father’s daughter if I couldn’t even do it once.
The World Above Page 5
