“Well thanks for grabbing me,” I said. “That was a good idea.”
“I have them every now and then.”
“So the Ferbleticks, burning up that field, that’s what Agatha wants to do to the Wishing World?” I asked.
She laughed that soft laugh. “That would be Agatha’s break time during the apocalypse. But it is a bad omen that the Ferbleticks are running, and no one can calm them down right now. Without my Skitterspark, I can’t control that much fire.”
I took a deep, cool breath and just enjoyed the fact that I wasn’t burning. “What makes them do that?”
“They’re scaredy cats,” she said.
“Scaredy squirrels?”
She smiled. “Yeah. They’re perfectly normal ground squirrels until they get spooked. Then their tails burst into flame. And they’re terrified of fire.”
“But they’re made of fire,” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh. Great design,” I said.
“Maybe it was a mean Doolivanti’s idea of a joke?” she said. “I don’t know. But their tails set everything else on fire, which makes them run faster. Which sets more stuff on fire, which makes them run faster, and . . .”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“It’s impossible for anyone but me to stop them once they get going. Usually, I spend a fair bit of my time putting out Ferbletick fires. There is nothing so fearsome for burnables as Ferbletick stampedes.”
“Burnables?”
“You. People like you,” she said.
“Who can’t live in fire.”
“Yes.”
“You call us ‘burnables’?”
“What would you call you?”
I thought of a quick retort. Except, you know, I didn’t. Flicker, one. Me, zero.
Flicker held her arms out and shook them like she didn’t want to touch the misty air. “That was a nice flame-up. But this is awful. I wish I’d shoved you into this forest and stayed with the Ferbleticks,” she said.
And our tender moment was over.
Of course, the cool forest seemed glorious to me, but I imagined that being in here for Flicker was something like me being in a Ferbletick stampede.
“Squeak,” Squeak reminded me.
“Right,” I said. “The Reflection Pool. Let’s find HuggyBug.”
We followed a path that meandered through the trees and came to a chasm. There were clouds down there, and I couldn’t see the bottom, if there was a bottom.
Metal flashed through the white, like there were giant, spinning blades down there. Beyond the moat was an island with another forest. It had tall, white trunks and giant green shamrock leaves. The whole thing was a perfect circle, like mathematically perfect: the shape of the chasm, the pillar-island, the grove on top of it. I walked along the cliff’s edge, peering at the forest. It shimmered like it was brimming with power, and I felt myself drawn to it. There was something in there.
Flicker craned her neck to peer down at the shifting mist. A wicked-looking steel blade flashed, then vanished as the mist covered it. It was as big as a fire truck.
“Chop you up,” she said.
“Yeah. Let’s just walk around this—”
“Lorelei.” Flicker touched my shoulder. HuggyBug the pug stood far away at the edge of the perfectly circular grove, his immense bulk cutting a dark silhouette against the trees. His black, puggy nose, upturned jaw, and mirror eyes were all pointed at me. I saw a black tentacle slither out of the forest, just like one of Jimmy’s Ink King tentacles. It hovered over HuggyBug, hesitated, then decided against it. A translucent red spider the size of a trashcan lid crawled out on a tree limb over the giant pug’s head, then also thought better of it and retreated.
“Okay,” I said. “That is officially the last place I want to go.”
“I officially volunteer to not go with you,” Flicker said.
HuggyBug blinked. His eyes flashed silver. Suddenly, he was standing right next to us.
Flicker said, “Yeep,” and jumped back.
“Squeak,” said Squeak, and I could tell even he was impressed.
Silver flashed again, and suddenly I was standing with HuggyBug at the edge of the grove on the circular island. Squeak and Flicker were far away on the other side of the chasm.
“Squeak!” said Squeak.
Flicker shot flame at the ground, and she started to lift off like a rocket.
“No, wait,” I shouted.
“That’s your dog?” Flicker shouted back.
“This is HuggyBug. He’s a friend.”
I turned to HuggyBug. “You can’t leave my friends behind. They have to come with me. I need—”
He lowered his head, and I saw my reflection in his eyes.
It was the same reflection I’d seen in Darthorn’s armor: Loremaster. With her blue jacket and satchel full of stories. Beside her stood Vella Wren.
I spun, but Vella was not behind me.
“Vella is in there?” I asked, nodding at the death-by-tentacles forest.
HuggyBug licked me.
“Can we go back for Squeak and Flicker?”
HuggyBug turned his back and walked a few steps into the scary forest.
Flicker had landed on the ground, but she had balled up her fists and her eyes had little flames rising up from their corners. She looked ready to blast herself over here.
“I’m . . .” I shouted over to her. “I’m safe with him.” I think.
“Squeak,” Squeak said.
Flicker cocked her head. “You sure?”
“Yes.” No.
Flicker curtseyed with a flourish of her flaming dress. “Well, then have fun in the forest of freaky monsters. I’ll wait here in the sunshine for you.”
I peered into the forest. I saw the same giant cockroaches that had attacked us in the Kaleidoscope Forest before, lurking on the trees, waiting for me to come in. And that black tentacle I’d seen was also there, wrapped around a trunk.
“What the heck is in there?” I asked HuggyBug. “Every nightmare I’ve ever had?”
And HuggyBug said, you know, nothing. Because he never says anything. The giant roaches hopped off their trees and started toward us. I backed up.
“Okay, no wait. This sucks. I can’t go in there.” My heels reached the edge of the island, knocking a couple of loose rocks into the chasm. They fell into the white clouds, then I heard awful spang noises as they hit the spinning blades.
The roaches were running now, almost upon us. Black tentacles surged out from between the trees, surrounding us. What was next? Crocodile men with double-bladed axes?
Crocodile men appeared to our left and right, charging out of the trees and racing toward us along the edge of the island, raising double-bladed axes over their heads.
“Okay, that’s it! What is this? HuggyBug,” I shouted, yanking my wooden pen from my pocket and raising it up—
The pug’s silver eyes flashed. The nightmare vanished, and so did the chasm. Now we were deep into the shamrock-leafed forest; the roaches and the crocodile men were gone.
We stood in a quiet clearing with a pool in the middle. Old, gnarled trees were crowded thickly all around us, each with a million twisty branches blocking out the sun and reaching over the water. There was a small shore between the trees and the water, and right at the waterline was a white picket fence, barely knee-high. I peered closer. The surface of the pool was made of a million crystals all stuck together.
HuggyBug sat down with a thump, and the ground shook.
“This is the Reflection Pool,” I guessed.
“Of course it is,” came a smooth, liquid voice.
I jumped. On the far side of the pool, a girl in a sparkling, floor-length dress walked toward me along the shore, one finger tapping on each picket of the fence as she walked. Her dress was crystalline like the pool, except that it moved with her, the facets twinkling as they shifted and caught light from different angles.
I held my pen up. If we were in a forest of n
ightmares, who knew what dastardly turn this girl might suddenly take? Still, if she was a nightmare, she wasn’t one of mine. The roaches, check. Inky tentacles, check. Crocodile men . . . Well, okay, check. Girls in sparkly dresses, no. I reached out to pat HuggyBug to make sure he was seeing—
He was gone.
“The pool has depths,” the girl said. “Mysteries most will never explore. Is this what you seek?”
“I . . . well, I was told to come here.”
“I am Miss Tery,” the girl said. “And you’ve been driven by great need to reach this place. None come into the Metaphorical Forest unless they are driven by great need.”
“I . . . yes. This is the Metaphorical Forest? That’s where we are?”
“At its center. Many try to come here. Almost all fail. Your darkest thoughts come to life. Whatever you think comes to pass. That you have made it this far speaks of your strength, your will.”
“Well, I had help.”
“The Reflection Pool can show what you most need. If you survive. Most who go in never come out. Are you sure you will risk it?”
Somewhere in the trees around us, I heard soft, eerie singing, like background music to go along with the girl’s Hollywood voice.
Another girl emerged from the trees. She also had a long dress on, but it was blue and had an array of different-sized white arrows stitched into it, all pointing different directions. She pointed to her right. “Go that way,” she said.
“Is that the way you wish to go?” Miss Tery cooed. “If you follow my sister’s direction, you never know what you may find.” The singing in the trees heightened. “There are treasures in the Metaphorical Forest.”
“Just the Reflection Pool, please.” I hooked my thumb at the crystal-topped lake. “That should be enough for me.”
The girl with the arrows walked right up to me, and I took a cautious step back. She pointed in the opposite direction of where she’d first pointed. “Go that way.” The singing above took on a jaunty, adventurous tone.
“You’re standing too close again, sister. It makes them nervous,” Miss Tery said.
“She’s lost. She needs to know where to go,” the arrow girl retorted.
“This is my sister, Miss Direct,” Miss Tery said to me.
Something small hit the back of my head.
“Ow!” I flinched, then saw a pistachio nut fall on the ground at my feet. Above me, a girl in black leggings and a sleeveless, dirt-stained white shirt perched on a tree limb. She tossed a second pistachio at me, but I dodged it.
“Hey,” I said. She scrambled back into the foliage.
“Go that way.” Miss Direct pointed into the branches.
“Maybe you should chase Miss Chievous. That would be exciting. Do you climb?” Miss Tery asked. The disembodied singing rose to a crescendo.
“Waitaminute,” I said. “Mystery. Misdirect. And Mischievous?”
“And Miss Sing,” Miss Tery said, waving vaguely at the singing. “Somewhere in the trees. But you’ll never find her.” The singing punctuated with a “Da da da!”
“I bet you know the Flimflams,” I said.
Miss Tery gasped and put her hands to her mouth. “Oh, yes. Sir Real is so handsome, don’t you think?”
“Well, I . . . He’s my friend.” I could feel heat rising in my cheeks. “I mean . . . he’s nice.” The last time I’d seen André, we had gone on one of our long walks down by the Platte River. We found a secluded spot, and he had sketched me. I had watched the moving water and talked about stupid things: My homework. My parents. Troubles with Jayla. Troubles with Theron. He had smiled his patient smile, keeping his pencil moving. I remembered his elegant fingers touching my face, moving it a little to the side so he could get the angle he wanted. My heart had fluttered then. It was fluttering again now.
“. . . with his sharp, foxy nose and his purple fur,” Miss Tery continued. “And I just love the silver gloves. So dashing.”
“Ah,” I said. I had been thinking about André in his human form. “Yes,” I smiled, trying to shake the goosebumps away. “Dashing. Foxy, even.” I stuttered. “N-no. I mean, you know, like a fox.”
“Ooooh, however did you find such a perfect word?” Miss Tery said. “You must have a deep regard for Sir Real to choose such a word. It is a glimpse behind the veiled secrets of your heart.”
“No, I meant he’s a fox. I mean, foxy like a fox! I didn’t mean—”
“Sir Real looks silly,” Miss Direct interrupted. “And so do you. Go that way.” She pointed at the ground. Another pistachio nut hit me in the head. I looked up in the trees and Miss Chievous scuttled back.
“Look, I need to find someone here at the Reflection Pool,” I said. “Can you help me?”
“Of course,” Miss Tery said, glowing. “That’s what we do.”
“Go that way,” Miss Direct said emphatically, pointing straight up. I walked past her to the edge of the water.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather explore the Metaphorical Forest? Any daydream, any nightmare, any passing thought can become real. If it doesn’t destroy you, it could be paradise,” Miss Tery said.
“No thanks. I’m looking for Vella Wren,” I said.
The singing stopped.
“Go that—” Miss Direct cut herself off.
Miss Chevious had another pistachio cocked to throw, but she held it.
“Ooooh,” Miss Tery cooed. “Vella Wren. Then you want the Lady of the Lake.”
“Vella Wren is the Lady of the Lake?”
A pistachio hit me in the back of the head.
“Go that way.” Miss Direct pointed back the way I had come.
“Oh, you don’t know about the Lady of the Lake,” Miss Tery said. “That’s so exciting.”
“Who is the Lady of the—” I started, but stopped. On the far side of the lake stood a woman. Or, no, maybe not a woman. She was completely bald and had big purple eyes as large as teacup saucers. She wore a red robe with the hood pushed back, and she had no nose. It was just smooth above her wide mouth.
“Go that way,” Miss Direct said quietly, and she pointed confidently at the Lady of the Lake.
I started walking around the crystal pool and left the Misses behind. The Lady of the Lake waited for me. The closer I got, the more I couldn’t stop looking at her eyes. Her lack of a nose was eerie, but her huge eyes were warm and kind, and the more I looked at them, the better I felt.
“Hello,” I said as I reached her. She smiled, but didn’t say anything. Her feet were bare, and I stared. She had two feet and a gazillion toes, and each was as long as a finger. She tapped one softly on the giant root in front of her.
A thin pillar of wood rose up from the root and flattened into a small, circular table. She drew a sheet of paper from within her robe. That was when I noticed her hands. Each had a thumb and twelve fingers, which were long and thin with an extra joint, but they moved as gracefully as reeds. She put the paper on the desk and gave four quick swishes with her pencil. The strokes were deft and artful, and it was unmistakably a pear. She put the pencil away and tossed the sketch onto the crystal surface of the lake. It landed, then the crystal became water and the sketch sank beneath.
“What—” I started.
She held up one of her long, multi-jointed fingers. The water rippled out from where the drawing had sunk, then rippled back, hardening into crystal again. But as it did, a pear pushed its way up to the surface, light green and ripe. It looked delicious.
The Lady of the Lake extended a long arm—which I also thought might have an extra joint, but I couldn’t tell because of the robe—and picked up the fruit. She offered it to me, and I took it. She smiled and nodded.
I raised the fruit to my mouth.
She nodded again.
I bit into it. It was glorious. Juicy and sweet and . . . Dang, it was the best pear I had ever tasted.
The Lady of the Lake motioned to me, beckoning for the pear.
“Oh,” I said. “Okay,” I said, sl
urping and wiping a hand across my mouth. The pear was so juicy! I handed it back to her, and she took a bite.
“Good,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Oh, I wasn’t sure you could talk,” I said.
“I cannot speak your language. But the Apearant makes everything clearer for both of us, and we must hurry.”
“A-pear-ant?” I said. “I love the Wishing World.”
“It is most fruitful.” She winked one of her giant eyes.
I laughed. “Why can’t you speak without the Apearant?”
“I do speak, but in the language of my people.” She fanned her graceful fingers out and back. “Which is a language of touch.”
“Oh.”
“Humans are sometimes skittish about touch.” She took my wrist with one of her hands. I flinched, but her touch was light, gentle. I got the impression she could feel every hair, wrinkle, and even freckle on my wrist. She gently squeezed, then swished her hand around and gave two taps on the inside of my forearm.
“That is hello,” she said. “Where I come from.”
“That’s amazing,” I said.
“Perhaps someday, when time is not so short, we may find each other in a less dangerous setting, and I will teach you our language.”
“You’re a Doolivanti?” I asked.
She nodded.
“You’re not human, are you?” I asked. I remembered Vella talking about how Earth wasn’t the only place Doolivantis came from.
“I am from Haelaeron.”
“Wow. I have no idea where that is. That is so cool.”
She smiled. “I am glad you think so. My appearance scares many away.”
“Well, you can’t make a dumb bunny hop smart. Some people want to be scared.”
She brought her hands up to her face and lightly swished each of her fingers one at a time on her cheeks. It looked like two fans rippling back and forth.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Laughter. You’re funny,” she said, then she sobered. “I am sorry, Lorelei, as much as I would like to get to know you, we are out of time. I have been waiting for you, and I must fulfill my promise.”
“Promise?”
“I was asked by Vella to wait for you, to ensure that only you entered the pool. There are others who seek her, and none with good intent.”
Loremaster Page 7
