The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland In a Ship of Her Own Making (22 page)

September Morning Bell

The upper bell of the hourglass was almost empty.

“That’s still a clock,” Saturday pointed out.

“True. But the Ravished have their own miseries. The Stumbled cannot stay--the Ravished cannot leave.”

“What?” cried September.

“September, do you remember your big orange book that you like so much, full of old stories and tales? And do you remember a certain girl in that book, who went underground and spent the whole winter there, so that the world mourned and snowed and withered and got all covered in ice? And because she ate six pomegranate seeds, she had to stay there in the winter, and could only come home in the spring-time?”

“Yes,” said September slowly.

“That is what it means to be Ravished. When the sand runs out you must go home, just like poor Mallow. But when Spring comes again, so will you, and the hourglass will turn over again. It will all begin anew. You are bound to us now, but you will never live fully here, nor fully there. Ravished means you cannot stay, and you cannot go. You ate heartily in Fairyland, and I am so terribly glad you did, even though it was certainly naughty of me to have tricked you so. But I do think I warned you not to eat, so you cannot bring suit against me.”

September laughed. “You did warn me.” She thought of her mother, of leaving her every Spring. But, then, hadn’t the Marquess said that when you go home, it’s just as though you never left? Maybe her mother would not miss her. Maybe it would be like dreaming.

A-Through-L tucked his huge head against September’s little neck, nuzzling her.

“When spring comes, I shall meet you at the Municipal Library, and you will see how much I’ve learned! You’ll be so proud of me and love me so!”

“Oh, Ell, but I do love you! Right now!”

“One can always bear more love,” the Wyverary purred.

Suddenly, September thought of something that had, excusably, escaped her until this moment.

“Green! If the old laws are all broken, then Ell’s wings needn’t be chained down anymore!”

“Certainly not!”

September ran to the great bronze chains--they were still bound with a great padlock, and no amount of rattling budged them.

“Oh, if only I knew how to pick a lock!” sighed September. “I’ve turned out to be no kind of thief at all!”

You and I may imagine this simple plea floating up and out of the golden field and up into the sky, winding and wending toward our stalwart friend, the Jeweled Key which had sought September through all of her adventures. We cannot fully understand the joy that exploded in the heart of the Key as it heard September’s cry, and how fast it flew, knowing she needed it, knowing its girl cried out for it.

Winking down out of the sun, the Key fell like a firefly. It flashed and sparkled, a glittering dart, and came to rest just where September longed for it to be--nestled in the lock of the Wyverary’s chains. It glittered with the shock of arriving just when it was called for, the pleasure and surprise of it. With a click, the Key turned. Peace and contentment flooded through its tiny body. The padlock fell away; the chains slid to the earth. A-Through-L, for the first time since he was a tiny lizard at his mother’s side, spread his wings.

The great scarlet things cast them all in shade, and kicked up warm winds as he flapped them once, twice, and lifted uncertainly into the air. Ell choked, tears welling in his eyes.

“Did you know I could fly, September? I can! I can!” The Wyverary soared up, whooping, spitting joyful fire into the clouds.

“Oh, I did know, Ell,” September whispered as her friend looped and did somersaults in the sky. “I did.”

September looked down at the Key, finally. Her Key, with which she had unlocked the puzzle of the world. It basked in her gaze.

“Have you followed me all this way?” she gasped.

It spun around, terribly pleased.

“Oh, Key, how extraordinary!”

The Key thought it might die of the sound of her voice. September gathered it up in her hand, and it felt it must die all over again, for the touch of her fingers.

“Will you do something for me?”

It would do anything, of course it would.

“Go and unlock the others. All over Fairyland, everyone chained and unable to fly freely. When you’re done, it will be spring and time for me to come back, and then we shall not be parted again, and you shall ride on my lapel, and we will share jokes in the moonlight, and look very fine on parade.”

It bowed a little to her, not a little puffed up. Then, the Key rose up and flew away out of site, twinkling like a tiny star.

“It’s almost time,” said the Green Wind gently. The wine-colored sand was nearly spent.

“I understand now,” September said ruefully.

“What?” said Saturday.

“What the sign meant. To lose your heart. When I go home I shall leave mine here, and I don’t think I shall ever have it back.”

“I will keep it safe for you,” Saturday whispered, barely brave enough to say it.

“Will you see the witch Goodbye gets her Spoon, Green?”

“Of course, my lambswool.”

“And you’ll show Gleam Pandemonium, and the sea, and the highwheels, and all sorts of things, Ell? Like she wanted, to see the world.”

The Wyverary laughed. “If the Library gives me weekend liberty, I shall!”

The orange lantern bounced and shone.

September turned to Saturday.

“Did you see her?” the Marid said nervously, looking at her with great dark eyes. “Our daughter. Standing on the Gear. Did you see her?”

“What?” said September--and then she winked out, like someone blowing out a candle, and all the field was still.

#

In Which September Returns Home

Evening was just beginning to peep through the windows of September’s little house, glowing blue and rose. September found herself at the kitchen sink, with her hands deep in soapy water that had long gone cold, a pink and yellow teacup still clutched in her hand. Behind her, a small, amiable dog yapped away at nothing. September looked down--her lonely mary jane, who had missed all the adventures, lay cast off and forgotten on the parquet floor. Her feet were bare.

“Mama won’t be home yet!” she said suddenly. “Oh, how glad I shall be to see her!”

September put on a kettle of tea for her mother, and set out a clean little plate with an orange on it, and opened all the windows to let fresh air in. She even let the small dog kiss her nose. September got a blanket out of the closet and curled up in her father’s big, threadbare armchair just by the door, so the first thing her mother saw when she came home would be her girl, safe and sound. Besides, September felt as though she could sleep for a century. She pulled the woolen blanket up around her chin as the dog chewed its own tail at the foot of the chair.

“I wonder what did happen to the fairies after all?” She said to the dog, who wagged his tail, pleased to be paid attention to. “When I get back, that will be the first thing I shall ask Ell about! After all, Fairy begins with F! And when spring comes again, I shall be sure to leave mother a note and a nice glass of milk.”

September drifted off to sleep in her couch, her long hair wrapped around her. When her mother came home from a long shift at the factory, she smiled and bundled her girl off to bed, snug and whole and warm.

She didn't notice. Of course she didn’t. Who would, after a long graveyard shift and with her back so sore? A mother cannot see every little thing, and glad we may be that she could not, as it would have caused a great deal of trouble September would never have been able to explain. All stories must end so, with the next tale winking out of the corners of the last pages, promising more, promising moonlight and dancing and revels, if only you will come back, when spring comes again.

For when she lifted her daughter up out of the threadbare couch, September cast no shadow at all.