The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3)

The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3) Page 123

The wall that separates the Borderlands from the Winterlands is a fearsome construction. It stretches as tall as the dome on Saint Paul’s Cathedral and runs in either direction as far as the eye can see. In the gloom, it appears to glow.

I put my hand to the tall pilings. They are smooth.

“Bones,” the fairy whispers.

I lift the torch. The light catches the outline of a large bone, a leg perhaps. I recoil from it. The bones have been fastened with ropes of hair. Red flowering vines have threaded their way between the bones to look like startling wounds. It is a macabre sight. The fairy snickers at my distress.

“For one so powerful, you are easily frightened.”

“How do we get in?” Mercy asks. Her face is cradled in deep blue shadow.

The winged creature darts in front of me. “The gate is near. You must feel for it.”

We place our hands against the bones and matted hair, feeling for a way in. It makes my stomach churn, and I’ve a mind to turn back at once.

“I’ve found it!” Pippa calls.

We crowd around her. The gate has a latch fashioned from a rib cage. The sharp points of the ribs are joined so that it is impossible to tell where one side ends and the other begins. Most disturbing of all, there is a heart that beats behind it. The faint thump-thump of it reverberates in my stomach.

“What is that?” Ann gasps.

“The way in,” the creature replies. She flutters near the beating heart and back again. “Answer it true,” she warns. “Else it will not allow you to pass.”

“Do you wish to enter the Winterlands?”

The voice is silk-soft, and I cannot be certain I’ve heard it at all.

“Did you hear that?” I ask.

The girls nod. The heart shines a deep purplish red, like a wound festering. The voice comes again.

“Do you wish to enter the Winterlands?”

The heart is speaking to us.

“Yes,” Pippa answers. “How may we enter?”

“Tell us your secrets,” it whispers. “Tell us your heart’s greatest desire—and its greatest fear.”

“That’s all?” Bessie Timmons scoffs.

“That is everything,” the fairy creature says.

Bessie steps up. “My greatest desire is to be a lady. And I’m afraid of fire.”

A huge gust of cold wind blows out from the Winterlands. The bones clatter in the wind. The heart’s pace quickens and it burns brightly in the gloom. The rib cage splits apart. A giant door swings open.

“You may pass,” the heart says to Bessie. Bessie steps through, and the gate slams behind her.

“That wasn’t so difficult,” Felicity says. She takes her turn at the gate. “My desire is to be powerful and free.”

“And your fear?” the heart prompts.

Felicity pauses. “Being trapped.”

“Not entirely true,” the heart answers. “You have another fear, greater than the rest. A fear wrapped in desire; a desire wrapped in fear. Will you say it?”

Felicity pales noticeably. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she answers.

“You must answer truthfully!” the fairy hisses.

The heart speaks again. “Shall I name your fear?”

Felicity falters a little, and I do not know what could frighten her so.

“You fear the truth of who you are. You fear that they will find out.”

“Very well. You’ve said it; now let me pass,” Felicity commands. The door swings open again.

The others take their turns. They confess their longings and fears one by one: to marry a prince, being alone, a loving home with flowers along the walk, the dark, a never-ending banquet, hunger. Pippa admits that she fears losing her beauty. When she states her desire, she looks straight at me. “I should like to go back.” And the door opens wide.

Ann is so ashamed she whispers till the gate asks her to speak more loudly.

“Everything. I fear everything,” she says, and the heart sighs.

“You may pass,” it says.

At last it is my turn. The heart thumps in anticipation. My own beats just as fiercely.

“And you? What is your greatest fear?”

Circe warned that I must answer honestly, but I don’t know what to say. I fear that my father will not heal. I fear that Kartik doesn’t care for me, and I fear equally that he does. That I am not beautiful, not wanted, not lovable. I fear that I will lose this magic I’ve come to cherish, that I will be only ordinary. I fear so much I cannot choose.