The Leopard paced nervously, however.
“Has my brother come with you?” she growled. “I do not see him.”
September’s face fell.
“You did not wish for him,” Saturday whispered fretfully.
The Leopard gave a little cry, quite like a kitten who has lost her litter mate. “It is all right. He would have gone back for her. I’m sure of it. For that which was Mallow still, whom we both loved. And he was always good in a storm.”
“She is only sleeping, Green,” said September slowly. “Might she come back someday?”
“One can never be sure,” the Green Wind sighed. “There is always the danger of kisses where sleeping maids are concerned. But you are safe now, and for a while yet, and why worry about a thing that may never come to pass? Do not ruin today with mourning tomorrow.”
September looked at her hands. She did not know quite how to ask what she needed to know.
“Green,” she said, her voice trembling. “I know it was not my clock the Marquess showed me. But … where is my clock? How much time do I have left?”
The Green Wind laughed. A few fruit fell from the trees with the boom of it. “You don’t have one, love! The Marquess knew it, too, which is why she tried to trick you with hers. The Stumbled have clocks. It is their tragedy. But no one has quite the same tragedy. Changelings can’t leave without help. And the Ravished…” The Green Wind pulled an hourglass from his coat. It was filled with deep red sand, the color of wine. On its ebony base was a little brass plaque. It read,
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 springtime?”
“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.