“No!” she wept, trying to tear away from that terrible darkness. The swords cut deeper, and pain flooded her vision. Her skin was slippery with blood.

The orange lantern bobbed in front of her, just over the pit. The lovely handwriting flowed over its face.

The Marquess said to look for a girl

wearing beautiful black shoes. I’m sorry.

“And do what?” shrieked September.

Kill her.

The swords threw September down into the black.

She fell a long way.

At first, September was not sure she was awake. She saw no difference, whether she opened her eyes or not. Slowly, she felt the cold wetness of sitting in several inches of seawater. Her bleeding, she thought, had stopped, at least, mostly stopped. But she could not move her arms, and she suspected her leg was broken. It surely was not supposed to bend that way beneath her. The cold water numbed her all over, and softly, quietly, September cried in the dark.

“I want to go home,” she said shakily to the dark. And she meant it, for the first time. Not as the lie that had gotten her into Fairyland, but the real and honest truth. Her lips trembled. Her teeth chattered. “It’s all so scary here, Mom,” she whispered. “I miss you.”

September put her cheek to the cold stone wall. It was fuzzy and wet with slime. She tried to think of Saturday, pressing his cheek against a dire wall like this one, waiting for her, believing she would come for him and smash his cage as she had before. She tried to think of Ell’s warm bulk, curled against her in the dark.

“Help!” she yelled hoarsely. “Oh, help…”

But no help came. September saw the day come pale and blue over the rim of the well. It seemed very far away. But the thin sunlight gave some courage. She tried to fill her mind with the scent of Lye’s golden bath, fireplaces crackling and warm cinnamon and autumn leaves crunching underfoot. She put all of her weight onto her good leg, and pushed up out of the water—only her body buckled underneath her, and she fell back down, gasping for air.

Some time later, a soft thing brushed her face. September could not tell time at the bottom of the well, but it must have been night, because she could not see what it was. Blindly, she reached out. Orange light flooded the well. Sinking down to her came the lantern, beautiful and round as a pumpkin. Its tassel hung down below it and tied to the tassel was a huge green fruit. September snatched at it and tore it open with her teeth, slurping the pink juice and devouring the meat. She did not say thank you—she was quite beyond manners. The lantern watched her eat. When she had finished, September panted with the exertion of eating, looking wildly about.

Very slowly and gingerly, as though it was afraid to be caught at the deed, a slim hand rose up out of the top of the lantern. And then another. The pale greenish hands clutched the lantern sides and pulled up the orange globe—so that two girls’ legs could stretch out beneath it. September waited, but no head came.

“Please help me get out,” whispered September.

Golden writing spooled out across the surface of the lamp.

I cannot.

They would tear me in half.

But the orange lantern wrapped her arms around September, and her legs, too, and held the little girl in the dark, stroking her hair. If September had looked up, s

he might have seen a gentle lullaby writing itself across the Tsukumogami’s face.

Go to sleep, little firefly,

Float down to the earth …

But she did not look up, and very soon, September was asleep.

When she woke, the lantern had gone. The seawater had risen slightly. No day peeped through the top of the well. September screamed in frustration, kicking the wall with her good leg.

“I shan’t make it to one hundred, you know!” she hollered up angrily. “People don’t live that long with broken legs in the dark!”

September screamed again, wordlessly. The cold seeped in, unmoved. She shoved her hands in her apologetic smoking-jacket pockets to keep warm—and what was there but the glass globe the Green Wind had given her? September seized it and threw it hard against the opposite wall in a fit of rage and frustration. She felt a little better. Breaking things heals a great many hurts. This is why children do it so often.

The green leaf that had been caught inside the crystal drifted down to the stagnant seawater and spun a bit on the surface of it, like a camping compass.

September felt something heavy and furred settle to rest on her lap. The well filled with a deep, profound purring.

“Oh…,” choked September. “It can’t be. I must be dreaming. It just can’t.”

Tags: Catherynne M. Valente Fairyland Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net