The Doorway and the Deep (34 page)

“Oh, that doesn't matter anymore,” Lottie said. “I'm here, aren't I? And all the rest of us. We're just glad to have you back. And you know, even if you weren't able to protect us, other Barghest did.”

“Tell us, Barghest,” said Dorian, “have you heard anything about the state of the Northerly Court?”

The Barghest nodded. “The Southerlies are defeated,” it said. “Fifty soldiers, all cut down by brave Northerly hands. Rebel Gem was wounded, but not mortally so.”

“Then she's alive,” whispered Dorian.

The Barghest barked in the affirmative.

Dorian nodded weakly and turned his back to the others.

“What about Iolanthe?” Lottie asked the Barghest.

The Barghest shook its head. “Hard to say. Her body was not found amongst the slain. It is believed that she escaped.”

“Then she could still be on the hunt for us,” said Oliver.

“Do you really think she's after
us
?” said Eliot.

“Who else?” said Fife. “She's tried to kill Lottie twice now—once by assassin, and once in person. It's not like she came up north to pick flowers and spread sunshine.”

“I'm glad we have you with us now, Barghest,” Lottie said. “I feel a lot safer with you around.”

“Where are you traveling to now?” it asked.

“Dorian's taking us through the mountain pass to the Wilders,” said Lottie.

The Barghest growled, its back arching.

“What?” said Oliver. “You don't think that's a good idea?”

“By my counsel,” it said, “I would not travel that way.”

Dorian turned around, pale-faced.

“Why is that?” he asked. “It's the best known route. I've taken it plenty of times before.”

“That is precisely why it is not safe,” said the Barghest. “It is the most obvious choice. Iolanthe has stationed more Southerly soldiers in the pass, just out of sight, high up on the mountain ledges. They lie in wait for an ambush, knowing full well you intend to take that route. It is by no means the safest path. Nor is it the only one.”

Dorian bristled. “If you're suggesting the ferry, you're out of your mind, Barghest.”

The Barghest pawed a step toward Dorian, its body tensed with challenge.

“You doubt my word?” it snarled.

“I've heard tales of that passage. I'd rather take my chances fighting off Southerly poltroons than entrust my life to a nix.”

“Do
you
know what they're talking about?” Eliot asked Lottie. She shook her head.

“Why would I lead the Heir of Fiske astray?” said the Barghest. “I speak the truth. Far better to follow the flatlands and take the ferry.”

Lottie stepped forward. “If Barghest says there are Southerly guards in the pass, then shouldn't we go the other way, Dorian?”

“No,” he said, voice hard. “There is a curse on that coast and a strange magic at work in that part of the flatlands. I wouldn't advise it, not for all my lifeblood. I say we stay true to our current path.”

“And what do you think, Barghest?” Lottie asked the creature, who was still glowering at Dorian. “Which path do you think is less dangerous?”

“This sprite fears riddles and old war stories,” the Barghest said, nodding toward Dorian. “I do not. If you have a sharp mind, there is nothing to fear from the flatlands,
and no threat of Southerly attack, either. Moreover, my route will take two days less than journeying through the pass.”

Lottie looked back to Dorian. “If that's true, it seems like the flatlands really
are
the better way to go. And I trust the Barghest.”

“You mean to say you don't trust me?”

“Sorry to bring up a sore spot,” said Fife, “but she did almost get assassinated on your watch, Ingle.”

Dorian squared his jaw. “Rebel Gem sent me north for a reason.”

“'Cause she's your girlfriend?” Fife suggested.

Dorian moved swiftly, as though to grab hold of Fife, but Fife was too quick for him. He floated out of reach with a calm smirk plastered on his face.

“Just saying.”

“I'm sorry, Dorian,” said Lottie. “I know it wasn't your fault, but we have gotten into trouble before with you as our guide. Barghest was right the last time. It told us not to trust Nash, and it was right. And if Barghest thinks it's safer to travel by ferry, then I think we should take its advice.”

Dorian dragged his hand across his face, looking at Lottie in a tired way.

“Shouldn't Lottie be the one to choose?” said Adelaide. “She's the one running for her life.”

“It's a bad plan,” said Dorian. “But I can't stop the six of you if you've all got your wills set against me.”

“It's nothing personal, Dorian,” said Lottie.

“Oh, certainly not. It's only that you
personally
trust the Barghest more than me.”

“Then it is settled,” growled the Barghest. “I will lead you to the ferry.”

“Well go on, then, dog,” said Dorian, though it was more like a snort than a sentence. “Lead on.”

The Barghest brushed past Dorian, pupils thin slits in a sea of silver. It bounded ahead of them, turned back once, and gave an encouraging growl. They set down the path in the opposite direction.

Lottie hadn't spoken to Fife,
properly
spoken, since she had healed his wound. There hadn't been a chance. He floated alongside Eliot and Oliver, joining in their conversation about Vincent Van Gogh every so often with a laugh and, once, a joke about severed ears. Lottie was glad to see he was getting on better with Eliot, but she still felt a funny twist inside every time she looked at his bobbing mane of black hair.

“Did you hear me, Lottie?”

Lottie looked up, startled. Adelaide had fallen into step with her.

“I was saying,” she said, “how well the boys seem to be getting on.”

“Oh. Yes.”

“I suppose they just needed a bit of adventure to bring them together, hm?”

“I guess.”

“I think you made the right decision, too, siding with the Barghest. Dorian's very charming, but I
do
wonder sometimes if he's the best sprite for the job.”

Lottie looked ahead at Dorian. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

“I don't know,” she said. “Rebel Gem said he's one of the only sprites to have gone to the Wilders, so I think he must be very brave.”

“Well, there's no doubting that. The stories one hears about the Wilders! Almost impassible, with pits and cliffs in every which direction. The soil there is poisoned, they say. Impossible to grow trees or vegetables or anything worth eating.”

“But possible to grow addersfork?” asked Lottie.

“So we're told.”

Their new route wound over hills, some steep and others gentle. Their walk became a rhythm—straining up and up, then skidding down and down, with the constant tip and turn of the earth. Lottie had seen many strange trees during her time on Albion Isle, but the ones that grew along this
path were by far her favorite. Maybe, she reflected, they were her favorite because they reminded her of the human world. There was nothing unusual about them—no silver boughs or transparent leaves or white bark. They were perfectly ordinary oaks and aspens and ash, and their leaves were aglow with the fire of autumn.

They stopped once, very briefly, to eat and rest their legs. Then Dorian tapped his boot impatiently and said they'd better get moving again. He and the Barghest had fallen into a grim but manageable partnership where, though neither spoke to the other, they walked together.

They traveled hours more through the color-drenched wood, and when their path forked—as it did many times—they always veered right, right, and right again.

“We're nearing the coast,” Adelaide told Lottie. “If I try very hard, I can hear the gulls.”

When they forked right yet another time, the trees rapidly began to thin, and moments later the company was walking through a vast, open field. In the distance, Lottie made out the outline of mountains to her right and a row of cottages to her left.

“They call these the flatlands,” said Adelaide. “Rather a dreary name for such a pretty place, isn't it?”

Lottie agreed. The green of the fields seemed to stretch on forever. The sky was cloudless. Here, the sun warmed
Lottie so thoroughly that she first took off her scarf, then unbuttoned her coat and hung it over her arm. Eliot, who'd been walking in time with the boys, hadn't coughed but once the entire journey, and Lottie began to wonder if maybe he wasn't getting sicker after all. Even if he was, Lottie knew what to do now. She'd used her keen three times since that night at the Barmy Badger. She just hadn't expected the last time to involve a kiss.

I'm doing something at last
, Lottie thought.
Finally, I'm making progress. I healed Nash of his burns. I healed Fife's wound entirely, and if I can heal Fife, surely I can make Eliot better
. Completely
better
.

They walked toward a setting sun, and with growing night came the cold. Lottie wound her scarf back around her neck and fastened her coat to its top button.

They made camp under the shelter of a lone oak tree, just a little way off the path. Dorian removed blankets from the bag of supplies he'd obtained at the inn. They were coarse, but they were a welcome change from the rocky bed Lottie had slept on the night before.

Lottie felt restless as she watched the others. Oliver sat talking to Fife and Eliot. Adelaide had made herself a snug bed within two thick tree roots and was curled into a ball, already asleep. The Barghest prowled around the tree's perimeter in slow circles, its silver eyes ever alert. Farther
off still, Dorian was crouched on his own, eyes toward the road, keeping watch. Lottie wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and walked out to join him.

“If you've come to apologize,” he said, eyes still fixed ahead, “save your breath.”

“I didn't,” Lottie said.

Dorian snorted. “Ah. Well then.”

“It
wasn't
personal,” said Lottie. “I know Nash trying to kill me wasn't your fault, and I don't think you're a terrible guide or anything. It's just that Barghest has done so much for me. He helped me back when I was in a lot of trouble.”

“I understand. If I were friends with a venomous beast who obeyed my every command, I'm sure I'd side with it, too.”

Lottie didn't think Dorian was being fair, but then again, she hadn't been very fair to him, either.

“Do you think things are really all right back at the Northerly Court?” she asked.

“If Rebel Gem's genga is to be believed, then yes.”

Lottie lit up. “What? Her genga found us?”

Dorian turned to Lottie to afford a better view of his hands. They had, until now, been cupped. He opened them to reveal a lark with plumage of the deepest blue.

“Oh,” said Lottie. “She's beautiful.”

“She is.”

“What's her name?”

“Flame.”

“Flame,” Lottie repeated. “I think that's very appropriate for someone like Rebel Gem.”

Dorian laughed hoarsely. “Yes. Very.”

“Oh.” Lottie sat straight with realization. “I've interrupted you, haven't I? You were talking to her. Sending a message back.”

Dorian shrugged. He slipped the genga into his vest pocket.

“It's all right,” he said. “I'd be happy to pass along your own message, if you'd like.”

Lottie thought of all the things she'd like to tell Rebel Gem, all the questions she was dying to ask. But she couldn't ask them here, in front of Dorian.

“No,” she said. “That is, you could just let her know I'm happy she's okay.”

“Will do.”

In the silence that followed, Lottie heard Eliot's loud laugh. It was a sound she would never grow tired of.

“I knew your parents, you know.”