The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making - Catherynne M. Valente [70]
The Key entered the Autumn Provinces far too late, but followed the trail of September’s memory into the Worsted Wood. There, it met with the Death of Keys, which is a thing I may not describe to you. It is true that novelists are shameless and obey no decent law, and they are not to be trusted on any account, but some Mysteries even they must honor.
Much shaken, the Key returned to see the ruined September, her wracked body all branches and leaves and buds, being carried by Citrinitas in three long strides so far from itself that the Key fell to the forest floor and did not move for a long while.
But move, at last, it did. What if September came upon a lock and was lost without her Key? What if she were imprisoned? What if she were lonely, with all her friends snatched away? No. The Key would not abandon her. It set out, after her curling, spiraling green trail, all the way to the hut of Mr. Map, who gave it a cup of fortifying tea and showed it the way to the sea, placing a gentle kiss upon the Key’s clasp before it went.
The Key blushed and set out over the Perverse and Perilous Sea, full of purpose, sure that soon--oh, so very soon!--September would be near.
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Chapter XV: The Island of the Nasnas
In Which September Runs Aground, Learns of the Vulnerabilities of Folklore, and Is Half-Tempted
It was not so much that September came upon an island as that she had a bit of an accident with an island. She cannot be entirely blamed. The current ran right into the little isle, and even if she had been awake and at the tiller she might not have been able to avoid it. As things stood, September awoke with her ship tangled in a bramble of lilies and seagrass, of spiky cream-colored flowers she could not name. It was not the collision that had woken her, but all the perfume of that thin beach, drifting out with the tide. Her mouth was thick and dry, her belly empty, and the sun beat at her head. The violet salt of the sea caked her arms and cheeks. She looked, in fact, entirely a mess.
If there are folk here, I ought to make myself fit for company, September thought, and set about taking down her sail, which was by now quite sodden with seawater and not at all nice to wear. She shook out her green smoking jacket and tied it on, and lastly, with much frowning, slid the Marquess’s shoes back on her feet, though she did not like to. But roses have thorns and girls have feet, and the two do not get along. September still felt wet and sore, but she thought she might be more or less respectable-looking. She bent in the flowery shore and searched for berries, any sort that might make a breakfast. She found a few round hard pinkish things that tasted a bit of salt and grapefruit rind. Can’t ask them all to taste of blueberry cream, and be knocked off a tree by a Wyverary for me, she thought, and with the thought of Ell, slumped.
“I’m alone again,” she whispered. “just me, and the sea, and not much of anything else. Oh, how I wish my friends were here! I am coming, I promise, it’s only that I must eat something, and drink fresh water, or I shall not make it round the horn of Fairyland at all.”
“N’ whol al,” said a quiet voice. September started and looked round.
A lady stood uncertainly by, looking as if she might run at any moment--if indeed she could run, for the lady was truly only half a lady. She was cleanly cut in half lengthwise, having only one eye, one ear, half a mouth, half a nose. It did not seem to trouble her any. Her clothes had been made to fit her shape, lavender silk trousers with only one leg, a pale blue doublet--or singlet--with only one padded sleeve. Half a head of hair tumbled down her side, colored like night.
“What?” said September. The one-legged