The Doorway and the Deep (26 page)

“No. Not at all.”

“I didn't think so. Clearing your mind is an all right trick for Southerlies to teach their six-year-olds, but you're no Southerly, and you're well past the age a sprite ought to begin sharpening.”

“You don't have to remind me,” Lottie said miserably.

“Don't wallow in self-pity,” said Rebel Gem. “To be honest, Lottie, I have no idea what you're capable of at full potential. But I do think that Mr. Wilfer—however good his intentions—was training you the wrong way. No disrespect, of course. I've heard nothing but good things about his talents. But
his
keen is about receiving—receiving signals about a sprite's well-being. That's it. He can't
give
healing like us. Calming one's mind is very fine if you're trying to listen, like he has to. But you and I aren't so much listeners as talkers. And if you're going to become any good, you've got to
talk
, and talk
loud
.”

Rebel Gem crisscrossed her legs on the bench and dropped her chin into her hands. She squinted hard at Lottie.

“If your mind wasn't clear those times you used your keen, then what was it filled with?”

“Well,” said Lottie, thinking back. “Anger, I guess. I was angry that Eliot was going to die. And I was angry that Nash had lied and tried to hurt me. I don't know if anger is the right word for it, though.”

“It's enough to work with,” said Rebel Gem. “Lottie Fiske, you and I are going to get angry.”

They spent hours in the pine clearing. The sun rose above the treetops, then fell back down again. All the while, Rebel Gem gave Lottie orders, and Lottie obeyed—or at least tried her hardest to obey.

Together, she and Rebel Gem made a list in a blank-paged book Rebel Gem had brought along. They wrote down all the people and things that made Lottie angry. Pen Bloomfield was on the list, along with King Starkling and Iolanthe. So were smaller things, like people who spat on sidewalks or talked in movie theaters.

Then Rebel Gem read off the items one at a time. She told Lottie to think of the angriest she'd ever been about each person or thing.

“Then stop
thinking
about it,” she told Lottie, “and start
feeling
it. Feel it here”—she pointed to her gut—“deep down. And once you feel it,
move
it.”

Lottie tried. She thought of the night Iolanthe had cut down the silver-boughed tree in Wisp Territory. She thought of the sadness in Eliot's face and the anger in her own heart. Iolanthe hadn't just cut off Eliot from home; she'd destroyed something very precious. The more Lottie thought about it, the more she
felt
it—a hot, coiled thing in her stomach.
It was undoubtedly anger, and it felt similar to one of her bad spells. Similar, but not quite the same. And try as Lottie might to
move
the anger in her stomach through the rest of her body, she never could. She knew what Rebel Gem was after. She knew what it meant to
move
the anger, as strange as it sounded. She knew, because she'd moved her bad spells before, the two times she had healed.

“Think. Feel. Move,” Rebel Gem instructed. “Think. Feel.
Move
.”

Lottie strained herself until her hair stuck to her sweaty skin and her arms shook. She thought of the anger, she felt the anger, but she could not
move
it.

“I'm doing something wrong!” she shouted after the tenth time she and Rebel Gem had worked through the exercise. “Why do we keep doing the same thing over and over again when it's not working?”

Rebel Gem looked untroubled.

“Who says it isn't working?” she said. “I told you to
try
moving. I didn't say you had to succeed. In fact, you probably never will. You were right before: anger isn't the best word for what you felt those times you used your keen. It's close, yes, and it's part of it, but it isn't
exactly
it. You can't properly move anger the way you can the
other thing
—the thing you can't quite name. And that's what's at the heart of your keen.”

Lottie gaped at Rebel Gem. All the anger she'd been
thinking
and
feeling
for the past few hours swelled inside her, and she realized that she was hungry and thirsty and had a terrible headache, and this was
all Rebel Gem's fault
.

“Then what have we been doing any of this for?” she yelled. “It's just as worthless as trying to clear my head!”

“Someone's impatient,” said Rebel Gem, which was the worst thing to say to Lottie Fiske. If Lottie were to make an exhaustive list of things that made her angry, one of those items would be the horrid set of people who used the word “someone” when, in fact, they really meant “you.”

“We're just wasting time!” Lottie shouted louder, as though the loudness of her words would grant them more truth. “We've been at this for hours, and don't you have anything better to do? Aren't you supposed to be, I dunno,
ruling
?”

Rebel Gem remained unmoved by Lottie's shouting.

“The best way to rule the Northerlies right now,” she said, “is to spend my time helping the Heir of Fiske with her sharpening. I don't think I'm wasting time. It's a pity you do.”

“But I'm not sharpening,” said Lottie. “I can't move anything inside of me, and I'm not healing anyone!”

“Lottie,” said Rebel Gem in her infuriatingly calm way, “you seem to think that sharpening is the same as instantaneous progress.”

“Well, I'd like to see a
little
progress. Right now, it just feels like I'm sharpening the wrong thing.”

“Oh, you're sharpening the right thing. Believe me, you wouldn't be acting so anxious and tiresome if we weren't onto something. You just can't expect to be an expert healer after one lesson. That's unfair to me, and it's most unfair to yourself.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Lottie muttered, slumping into a sit on the ground. She didn't even care that the seat of her dress was getting damp and muddy.

“When you learned to read,” said Rebel Gem, “you didn't start off by just picking up a copy of
In a Time of Schisms
by Ferdinand Ellard III, did you?”

“No,” said Lottie grumpily, “because I've never heard of that book in my life.”

“What I mean,” said Rebel Gem, “is that you began by learning parts of words and then full words and then words put together into sentences and then paragraphs and chapters and
then
books. And even then, you didn't pick up any Ellard for some time, until you were ready.”

Lottie studied her bootlaces with a pout. She knew what Rebel Gem was trying to say, but she didn't want to admit it. Rebel Gem was treating her like a child. Even now, as Rebel Gem knelt beside Lottie, placing a hand on her back, Lottie felt so
small
.

“I know it's frustrating to start sharpening so late,” Rebel Gem said softly. “I know you feel you have a lot to make up for in a very short space of time. And it won't get easier. Sharpening is always hard, often painful. But it's worth it. I promise.”

Lottie's mood began to change. The bitter barb in her throat dislodged. She felt the anger of the past few hours fizzle out. Rebel Gem wasn't trying to make her feel small, Lottie knew. She'd done that to herself. She looked up with wet eyes and a half scowl.

“Are you using your keen on me?” she said.

“It's helping, isn't it?”

Lottie sniffed and nodded. Then she asked, “How long did it take you to get any good at
your
keen?”

Rebel Gem's hand slipped from Lottie's back. She settled in the moss, opposite her. “My story's unusual. The exception, not the rule.”

“That's all right,” said Lottie. “Mine's unusual, too.”

Rebel Gem nodded. “Well. I began sharpening very young, when I was three. I did it all on my own, for a long time without my parents' knowledge. By the time I was ten, I'd reached my limit. I'd sharpened as far as I could. My parents brought me down from the Northerly Wolds to court and presented me to the first Rebel Gem. He was already very old then, and neither he nor his
council had found any sprite they considered worthy to take his place.

“Since I was a healer, my parents thought I would be an asset to the Northerly Court and its soldiers. But Rebel Gem saw something else in me. He thought I would make not just a good healer, but a good leader. He trained me to take on his position. In the meantime, I earned my reputation as the Healer of the Wolds. The people of court came to care for me, and I for them. When Rebel Gem lay on his deathbed, he nominated me as his successor, and the council unanimously voted for me to take his place.” She shrugged, and the solemnity went out of her voice as she said, “So here I am. The new Rebel Gem.”

“But you're not the
real
Rebel Gem?” Lottie asked. “Gem isn't even your name?”

“Does that matter?”

“I think it does. Everyone in the South still thinks you're an old man.”

“That's just as I want it,” said Rebel Gem. “As far as Starkling and his people know, I'm still the frail, cautious sprite I replaced. Many of my own people still think so, in fact, and any diplomats that come to the court—Lyre Dulcet included—are sworn to secrecy about my true identity.”

“But
why
?” said Lottie. “Why try to cover it up? Why not use your own name?”

Rebel Gem tapped at something—a small locket clasped beneath her cloak.

“Did you know, Lottie,” she said, “there hasn't been a single woman on the Southerly throne? Not since before the Great Schism, when the two courts were still united.”

Lottie shook her head. “I didn't know.”

“You see, Southerlies took it into their heads that women had no business sitting on thrones and giving orders.”

“That's stupid.”

“Stupid, yes,” said Rebel Gem, “but a popular idea nonetheless. You may have caught wind of the fact that the Southerlies and Northerlies don't hold each other in high esteem. The Southerlies would only respect us less if they knew a woman led our people—especially a woman as young as I am.”

“How old are you, exactly?” Lottie asked.

“How old do you think I am?”

“I don't know. Sometimes you don't seem much older than me. But other times, you act older than even Mr. Wilfer. I can't figure it out.”

“I'm twenty-three,” said Rebel Gem. “Which isn't a respectable age in any profession, and certainly not in the business of ruling.”

“But that's so—so
stupid
,” Lottie repeated, unable to come up with a better word. “You're good at what you do. In
fact, I think you're the best ruler I've met in Limn. I don't see why the Southerlies wouldn't respect
that
.”

“But you're seeing it from your perspective, Lottie, and not from the perspective of old men—and the old men are still the ones who make the decrees and write the newspapers down in the South. Starkling choosing Iolanthe as his new right-hand sprite is a very big deal. She's the first woman to hold that spot. The king's detractors are more upset about that fact than the rumor that Starkling is building a world gorge. It's unfortunate, but that's the way of it.”

Lottie was starting to have a headache.

“How're you feeling now?” asked Rebel Gem after a moment of silence. “Less angry?”

“More, I think,” Lottie muttered.

“It'll be suppertime soon. I'm sure you've worked up an appetite for it.”

“Yes,” Lottie said, “but can I eat with Fife and Eliot tonight?”

“Tired of my company?” Rebel Gem asked, smiling.

“No. It's just that I miss them. And it's not like I have much to do on the supping lawn. Everyone cheered for me and all, but afterward it was like I didn't exist.”

Rebel Gem burst into laughter.

“What?” Lottie demanded.

“You have a bruised ego, Lottie Fiske, haven't you?”

“No, I don't! I just meant—well, for all their talk of the
Heir of Fiske, it's like they don't care I'm here. No one spoke to me all through supper but Roote and Crag. Nobody else even tried to ask me questions or—”

“Ask for your autograph, you mean?” said Rebel Gem. “Lottie, I thought you were more solid than that. I
told
you we're not like Southerlies. Much as the Northerlies respect the name of Fiske, it would be rude beyond belief to show any more interest toward you than toward our fellow sprites. That's the first rule of Northerly conduct: we treat everyone as equals here.”

An autograph was not what Lottie had meant. “People treat
you
differently.” But even as Lottie said it she recalled that she'd seen no crown upon Rebel Gem's head, nor heard a fanfare announce her presence. Rebel Gem's seat at the supping lawn was no different from anyone else's. More than that, she'd spent the good part of her day in the middle of the wood, sharpening Lottie's keen, and not one attendant had come trotting out to remind Rebel Gem of all the important appointments on her agenda.