Furthermore (12 page)

They walked for days.
Weeks. Months and years.

“Don't be so dramatic,” Oliver said. “It's only been fifteen minutes.”

“But I'm cold.” Alice sneezed.

Oliver stopped to stare at her. “Yes, I daresay you are.” He looked a bit defeated as he looked her over. They were friends again and making their way out of Slumber, feet pounding the cobblestoned path. “Alright,” he said, pulling her close. “Don't worry. We're almost there.”

But almost there was still too far, and the farther they walked, the farther the town stayed behind, keeping its lights with it. They'd wound their way through the center of Slumber, Alice's eyes eating up what her stomach could not: the fire-like glow; the slinky black backdrop; the hustle and bustle and the sounds that came with it. It was chilly but it was alive, chimney-puffing and storytelling and snips of conversations the strangest strangers left on sidewalks.

They were leaving it all behind.

“So where do we go?” she asked Oliver. “To get the pocketbook?”

“Up,” he said cheerfully.

“My goodness, Oliver, have we learned nothing in the last half hour?
Up
is not an answer.”

“Right,” he said, startled. “Right, forgive me. I meant
up
, you know, in the sky. I hid it in the clouds, you see.”

Alice was beginning to realize that the explanations she'd so desperately sought were now only adding to her confusion. She was no longer certain she wanted to understand Furthermore.

In any case, she felt another sneeze coming, so she let go of Oliver's hand and grabbed on to his tunic, bracing herself for the impact. But the sneeze was a false alarm, and when it passed it left her sniffling; she could feel her nose slowly growing numb. The last dregs of the sun's heat had left them, and warmth was in short supply. “So, Oliver,” she said, still sniffling. “Tell me. Why did you fail?”

“What?” he said, his body tensing.

“To free Father,” Alice said. “Why did you fail to bring him home the first time? What happened?”

“I . . .” Oliver trailed off. “Well . . . I . . .”

He seemed to be making a decision right then; a decision that would say quite a lot about the direction of their
friendship. Would he trust Alice with his insecurities? Could he dare to be vulnerable in her presence? Which would it be, hmm? Truth or omission, truth or omission, truth or—

“I just wasn't good enough,” he finally said.

(Ah, a bit of truth, then. Refreshing.)

“I hit a dead end. The final steps stumped me, and I knew I needed help.”

“And you needed
my
help?” Alice asked, flattered and suspicious all at the same time.

Oliver stopped walking and locked eyes with her. “Yes,” he said softly. “But you know why, don't you? You can imagine why?”

“Because he's my father?” Alice guessed, searching Oliver's face for answers. “Because you need to know something about him only I can tell you?”

Oliver's gaze faltered. He offered her a smile and said, “Well, we'll talk more about it later, won't we? For now,” he said, perking up as they walked on, “we should pay close attention to where we are. Furthermore is always awaiting our distraction. There's always a trick, always a catch, always a danger smarter or sillier than you think. It's a strange and terrible land to get lost in,” he said. And then, more sadly, “It's probably why your father couldn't get out.”

“Right,” Alice said, startled. “Of course.”

It was another tiny pinch of a reminder, but it was enough. Alice had worried and wondered about Father for three years, and now here they were, so close, so close.

And still, so very very far.

Alice had dreamed of a reunion with Father the way some people dreamt of fame and glory; she'd acted out the motions hundreds of times; she'd imagined every smile, every tear, every clinging hug. And yet, somehow, it was much easier to dream of Father from afar, because being this close to him now only filled her with fear. What if their journey went terribly wrong? What if she ruined everything with a simple mistake and Father stayed gone for good? It would be infinitely more difficult to live with loss if Alice had herself to blame for the lack.

She wore her worries like a cloak clasped tight around her throat but, come fear or failure, Alice would tread cautiously into the night. There would be no turning back.

Alice didn't know where they were going now, but the farther they went, the darker it grew; and the darker it grew, the colder it became; and the colder it became, the quieter it was; and the quieter it was, the more there was to hear.

“My goodness,” Oliver said. “Your stomach has quite a roar.”

Alice felt a blush creep up her neck. “It's no fault of mine,” she said. “I'm not to blame for needing food.”

“And how are you feeling?” he asked. He'd come to a complete stop, so she did, too. There was nothing but darkness all around them; not a single thing in sight.

“I'm feeling alright, I think.” Her stomach sang another song, and she sighed. “I'm feeling a bit faint, really.”

“Are you quite empty, do you think?”

Alice raised an eyebrow at Oliver.

“Empty,” he said again. “How empty are you feeling?”

“Very.”

“Well I'm thrilled. This is excellent timing.”

“Why Oliver Newbanks, what a rude thing to say. My hunger is not a thing to be happy about.”

“Hunger is not one but two,” he said. “Emptiness is not three but four.” He was whispering to the moons, his eyes on the stars, his hands reaching up into the dark, searching for something.

“What?” she asked, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

But then there it was.

Oliver was tugging on a chain in the sky. He pulled once, very firmly, and it made a scissor-like sound.

A lightbulb illuminated.

It was hanging free and clear, right there, right in front of
her, suspended not ten feet off the ground—she wouldn't have been able to reach for it, not even with a stool—right in the middle of nothing.

She was still gaping at the lightbulb, even when Oliver looked back at her. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Always,” she said. “But whatever for?”

And then he took her by the waist and tossed her in the sky.

Alice thought maybe she should scream
—it seemed like the right thing to do—but it didn't feel honest. The truth was, she wasn't scared at all, and besides, it was much warmer up here. She'd flown straight up, light as a bulb, and it was only once she'd stopped and stood around that she understood why lighting that first light was so important. It was awfully dark in the clouds.

She looked around for Oliver and it was only a moment before he was standing beside her, both their feet planted firmly in the air.

“It's quite nice, isn't it?” he said.

Nice
wasn't the word Alice was searching for. It was not uncomfortable, no, but it was strange, certainly. The cloud they stood on was fairly insubstantial—and she feared she'd slip through at any moment—but when she mentioned this to Oliver, he only shrugged and said, “As long as you're hungry, I wouldn't worry. It's always best to float on an empty stomach.”

Oliver was positively beaming.

He kept reaching out around them, touching the dewy cotton of the clouds, running his fingers through their tangled strands. Occasionally he was too rough, and he'd rake his hand right through a stubborn knot of cloud, and the whole thing would burst into rainwater. This seemed to delight Oliver in a most particular way, as the water would then pool in the palm of his hand, and he'd proceed to drink up its contents.

“Hey,” Alice said, and tugged at his shirt. “I thought you said we weren't allowed to eat anything in Furthermore!”

“This is not eating,” Oliver said, licking his fingers. “This is enjoying.”

Alice was beginning to realize that the longer they stayed in Furthermore, the more relaxed Oliver became. (It was also true that he was still very nervous and overly cautious, but somehow, despite his many fears, he seemed happier.) He was nothing at all like the grumpy boy she'd met so few days ago, and Alice was surprised to find that she was actually learning to like Oliver. Just now, she couldn't help but grin at his giddiness.

Though she was a bright, interesting young girl, the difficulties of the last three years had isolated Alice from persons her own age. Now was her chance to start new and shake off the disappointments of her middlecare years, and she couldn't contain her quiet excitement. After all, Alice was now twelve years old, which meant she was nearly grown up. And if
growing up meant she'd be making new friends? Well, Alice decided she wouldn't mind getting old.

The clouds were pressed up around them now, soft and warm and doughy. The air smelled like apples and baked bread, and Alice had never known she could feel so safe in the sky.

She peered down to see how high they'd floated, but could see nothing of the ground. Around them was cloud after cloud, and, oh, she could just lie here, she thought, and it would be so cozy and she'd have the best sleep of her life, definitely, definitely. Had she mentioned how soft and warm it was in the clouds? She couldn't remember. Anyway she was so tired. So comfortable. So sleepy. So—

“Alice!” Oliver said suddenly. “Alice, no!” He shook her, hard, the panic in his voice sending a chill through her body.

“What is it?” she gasped, looking around. “What happened?”

“You cannot sleep without a dream,” he said urgently. “Never, ever, sleep without a dream.” He looked so rattled; she didn't know what to say. “They will always try to keep you here, but
you cannot stay
. Do you understand?”

“No,” said Alice, who was still visibly frightened. “I don't understand at all. Who will try to keep me? Why?”

“You really don't know, do you? You truly know nothing of Furthermore?”

“Of course I don't,” said Alice, defensive. “I've heard only rumors of Furthermore, and most of them nonsense. Aside
from that?” She looked around. “Well, we are standing on a cloud, Oliver. I can't possibly make any sense of this.”

Oliver almost smiled. “People are so preoccupied with making sense despite it being the most uninteresting thing to manufacture.” He shook his head. “Making magic,” he said, “is far more interesting than making sense.”

“But we do make magic,” Alice pointed out. “It's all we make, isn't it? We spend our lives harvesting magic.”

“Yes,” said Oliver. “We make magic. And what do we do with it? We turn it into currency. We make laws. We build homes, we bake bread, we mend bones. We use magic so carefully you'd think we had none at all.”

“And you think we should do things differently in Ferenwood?”

“No,” Oliver said quickly. “Not exactly. But I do think there's much to be appreciated in the oddness of Furthermore. There's something curious about a land that uses magic in a reckless way.” He smiled to himself. “I confess I sometimes enjoy the chaos; it provides a great diversion from the safe, sleepy lives we live in Ferenwood.”

Alice touched a hand to her face, cold against cold, both warming each other from nothing, and kept quiet for a minute. Oliver's opinions had left her troubled and concerned; and she wondered, for the very first time, whether she hadn't made a very big mistake in coming here.

Alice didn't agree with Oliver, you see.

Alice loved her safe, steady village, and for a girl who'd always longed for adventure, she didn't much care for chaos. In fact, Alice had never even thought of using magic haphazardly, without regard for consequences or the well-being of others. That just wasn't the way of Ferenwood folk; they were kind and caring people who lived mostly happy, straightforward lives. A lawless sort of magic-making seemed dangerous to Alice. Lawless magic, she realized, would make it easy to hurt someone else. And despite it taking her far too long to discern this, Alice was finally grasping something rather important.

“Oliver,” she said slowly.

“Yes?”

“Are there people in Furthermore who want to kill us?”

“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”

Alice felt a pain snatch the air from her lungs.

“Why, Alice,” Oliver said, surprised, “there's a reason why the Elders keep Furthermore a secret from Ferenwood. This land is like sinking sand. Once you step inside, you're never really meant to leave.”

“Ever?” she cried.

“Never.”

“But why?”

“I really
would
like to tell you, but it would take far too long to explai—”

Oliver was silenced by a single, threatening look from Alice.

“Oh, alright,” he said with an air of defeat. “We can spare a few—and only a few!—moments to talk this through. And I suppose it's best to start from the beginning if you haven't even a hint of the middle.” He looked around for something to lean on and found nothing but sky, so he began pacing the short length of the cloud. “You know the old song, don't you?” he said. “About Furthermore and Ferenwood?”

This much, Alice knew. So she nodded and promptly recited:

Farther is more than Ferenwood!

Go as far as the land may reach

A quick dip in the sea

and you're up to your knees

then cross the sleeping beach.

Time is a hard and heavy rule

You'll find it behind the door

Adventure is there

(he's lost all of his hair)

Beyond is Furthermore!

It was a nursery rhyme Alice had known forever. A tale of nonsense, she was told. Just funny words strung together to trick children into sleep. It was only now, as Alice repeated the words aloud, that she saw the secrets between the silliness.

She grew quiet as she finished the poem, and Oliver nodded, recognizing her silent realization. “Long ago,” he said, “in the very, very beginning, Furthermore and Ferenwood were united, despite being split vertically by sea. It was a land called
Anymore
. Things were different back then,” Oliver said thoughtfully. “Anymore had opened its borders to the non-magical world.”

Alice's eyes went wide. This, she'd never known.

“Magical folk married non-magical folk and things were alright for a while, but—you know how it is. We can't survive without magic, and non-magical folk didn't understand. Mixed magic made it so some children were born with talent while others were not, and they couldn't always tell right away. Non-magical parents would want to take their children out of Anymore, to go back home, and things seldom ended well. To make matters worse, giving birth to magical babies was very hard on non-magical mothers. Many of them died in childbirth. It was a very dark, very unhappy time.”

“Oh, Oliver,” Alice said, her hand on her heart. “This is a terrible story.”

Oliver nodded. “And I hate telling it, so I'll skip ahead. Do you know the origin of Feren and Further?”

Alice shook her head.

Oliver was solemn as he said, “They were twin sisters. Their birth had killed the mother, and they were raised by a grieving
magical father. But the two girls processed their father's grief in different ways. Feren, who'd inherited her father's magic, wanted to prevent this sort of thing from ever happening again by cutting ties with non-magical folk. Further, who'd not inherited any magical ability, wanted to honor her non-magical mother by maintaining those ties. It was the beginning of a revolution for the land. The two became figureheads for a controversy that'd been brewing for decades. Wars were waged. Sides were taken. Anymore split in two to become Ferenwood and Furthermore as we know it now.”

Alice was so stunned she could no longer stand, so she sat down, legs crossed beneath her, and leaned back on a bit of cloud.

“And then what happened?”

“They never spoke, not ever again,” said Oliver. “Both sides lost so much life and magic during the war that they eventually agreed to agree to only one everlasting law: That they would never meddle in each other's magic matters, for as long as their lands still stood.”

“Wow,” said Alice.

“Furthermore has been true to its founder's wishes and deals with all kinds of visitors, magical and non-magical alike. But the twisty business of Furthermore attracts the wrong sorts of visitors. Few come to Furthermore in pursuit of decent pastures.” Oliver frowned. “And it doesn't help that this
land has been reckless with their magic. It's a deeply unsteady, turbulent place, and its people have fractured into hundreds of smaller villages, each with its own rules and officials, and each with contradictory laws and confusing legislature. It's a land rife with inconsistencies because the confusion suits their underhanded ways. But they burn through magic faster than the land can produce it and, in their desperation for more, they're willing to do awful things.”

“What kinds of awful things?” Alice asked.

Oliver paused, then said. “Well—we live off the land in Ferenwood, don't we? We are made more magical because of the fruits and plants and nuts we eat, are we not?”

Alice nodded.

“Right. So.” He cleared his throat. “In Furthermore, they eat more than just fruits and plants and nuts.”

Alice nearly jumped to her feet. “I knew it!” she said. “That's why they eat animals, isn't it? Isn't it? Oh, how awful!”

“I'm afraid it's much worse than that,” said Oliver quietly.

“What?” Alice stalled. “What do you mean?”

“Furthermore is very hungry for magic, Alice. And
we
—that is to say, you and I—are meant to be”—he hesitated—“well, we're meant to be consumed.”

Alice blinked and stared, confused.

“Oh, for goodness' sake,” Oliver said. “
Consumed
, Alice. They want to
eat
us. They will eat people for their magic.
Though they do prefer to eat visitors,” he added. “Something about it being more compassionate that way. They'll only eat their own in the most desperate situations. And in order to avoid these desperate situations, they've taken proactive measures.”

Alice made a squeaking gasp of a sound.

Oliver bit his thumb, deep in thought. “I suppose Furthermore is a lot like a series of increasingly complicated spiderwebs. Each village has a distinct way of catching its prey, which, well—
you know
.” He raised an eyebrow. “It makes it so it's very difficult to stay alive here.”

“How awful!” Alice cried. “Oh, I can't imagine, I can't even
imagine
—goodness,” she said, holding a hand to her chest, “I can't breathe, can I? I'm sure I can't breathe.”

She was wrong, of course; she was entirely able to breathe, but Alice was scared, and so she was, for the moment at least, very short of breath. And it was then, as she struggled to right her breathing and keep from upsetting her stomach, that she decided she hated Furthermore more than she'd ever hated any place in her entire life. She was now fully terrified for Father, and she couldn't imagine what horrors he'd already experienced.

Oliver held out a hand to her. “Right,” he said. “Ready to finish up here?”

Alice accepted his outstretched hand and, once on her feet,
shook out her skirts and looked around at the slumbering darkness. She couldn't trust anything anymore. She was sure this velvety night cloaked infinite secrets.

“Oliver,” she said quietly.

“Mm?” He was searching his pockets for something.

“How do you know all this? All this history of Furthermore and Ferenwood? I don't remember learning about any of it.”

That held his attention.

“No,” he said, looking up. “I didn't learn any of it in Ferenwood. My friends in Furthermore taught me.”

“You have friends in Furthermore?” Alice said, startled. “But I thought—”

“There are good and bad in every bunch, aren't there?” Oliver shrugged and resumed digging through his pockets. “I've seen many hearts here heavy with the loveliest secrets. Not everyone in Furthermore enjoys eating people, you know.”