The Sweet Far Thing

“I’ll not make the same mistakes you did; that’s for certain,” I snap. “Tell me one thing more: Does the Tree of All Souls exist?”

“I hope you will return and tell me,” she says at last.

A rippling sound comes from the well, like the smallest of movements. But that’s impossible—she’s trapped. I look back, and Circe is as still as death.

“Gemma?” Circe calls.

“Yes?”

“Why does Wilhelmina want you to go into the Winterlands?”

“Because,” I say, and stop, for I’ve not asked myself that question until now, and it fills me with doubt.

There it is again—a slight rustling in the water. The walls of the cave trickle with moisture and I think that must be the sound I hear.

“Do be careful, Gemma.”

Pippa and the others wait for me in the blue forest. The berries have ripened on the trees. Half-filled baskets of them are everywhere. The front of Pip’s dress, stained with juice, looks like a butcher’s apron.

“Did she offer us any protection?” Ann asks when I catch up to them.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“Asha,” she explains.

I see Circe’s pale face in my mind. “No. No protection. We’ll do our best.”

Pippa claps in delight. “Splendid! A true adventure at last. The Borderlands have grown dull. I should call them the Boredomlands!”

I look toward the Winterlands’ churning sky and the gate that separates us from it.

“What about those terrible creatures, miss?” It’s Wendy. She holds tight to Mercy’s skirts.

Pippa loops her arm through Felicity’s. “We shall band together. We’re clever girls, after all.”

“It is the only way to be certain,” Ann says.

“I’m not leaving until I know whether the Tree of All Souls exists,” I say.

A small light blinks in the trees, growing as it descends. It’s the fairylike creature with the golden wings.

“You wish to see the Winterlands?” she whispers huskily.

“What business is it of yours?” Felicity demands.

“I would light the way,” she purrs.

Mae Sutter shoos the creature away. “Go on! Leave us be.”

Undaunted, the creature flits from branch to branch and lands on my shoulder. “The Winterlands are not easily traveled. One who knows the way could prove helpful.”

Circe’s words come back to me: Make no bargains.

“I’ll give you nothing for it,” I say.

The creature’s lip curls into a sneer. “Not even a drop of magic when you’ve got so much?”

“Not even a drop,” I answer.

The fairy gnashes her teeth. “I shall take you anyway. Perhaps someday you’ll reward my service. Leave that one behind. She’ll prove a nuisance,” she says, flicking a wing at Wendy’s cheek. Wendy gasps and puts a hand there. The fairy cackles.

“Stop it!” I snap, and she falls back.

“I don’t want to be no trouble,” Wendy mumbles, hanging her head.

I take Wendy’s hand. “She does what we do.”

The fairy scowls. “Too dangerous.”

“Wendy, you stay ’ere,” Bessie commands.

“I want to go,” she says. “I want to know where that screamin’ comes from.”

“She’ll only slow us down,” Pippa argues, as if the girl isn’t standing right there.

“We go all of us together or not at all,” I say firmly. “Now, I must confer with my companions. Shoo! Away with you.”

The creature beats her shiny wings, hovering. There’s hatred in her eyes as she zips a few feet away, keeping watch.

I take in the sight of us. We’re a motley band—factory girls in their new finery, Bessie holding fast to a long stick, Pippa in her queenly cape, Ann and I in our nightgowns, and Fee with a layer of chain mail over hers, sword at the ready.

“We don’t know if that overgrown firefly out there can be trusted, so let’s be on our guard,” I say. “Memorize the way, for we may have to get out again on our own. Are we ready?”

Felicity pats her sword. “Quite.”

“I grow weary, mortal girl,” Golden Wings complains. “This way!”

We leave the safety of the blue forest and cross the vine-covered plain of the Borderlands. In the distance, the high, jagged gate into the Winterlands rises like a warning through the fog. We cannot see what lies beyond it save for the twisting, steel gray ropes of clouds. I carry a torch I’ve fashioned from sticks and magic. It casts a deep pool of light. The fairy sits on my shoulder. The tiny claws of her feet and hands dig into my nightgown, and I hope the thin fabric will keep them from scratching my flesh to ribbons.