The World Above Page 2

  Duchess Celine believed she was with child.

  By the time the duchess reached the wise woman’s cottage, long shadows had begun to fall. Rowan helped the duchess tend to her horse, and then the two women went inside the cottage. They shared the evening meal together, and afterward the duchess insisted on doing all the washing up. Then, at long last, the two sat down before a bright and cheery fire, for although the day had been fine, the nights were beginning to turn cold.

  “So,” Rowan said after a few moments of contented silence. “How long have you known?”

  At this the duchess gave a quick laugh. “I didn’t know,” she confessed. “Not for sure. Not until just now. It’s why I came to see you. But I’ve suspected for almost a month.”

  “Your news will bring great happiness,” Rowan said.

  To which the duchess answered, “I hope so.”

  “Did I mention that it’s twins?” the old wise woman asked. At which the duchess laughed once more.

  “You know perfectly well you didn’t,” she replied. She rested a hand on her belly, as if she could already distinguish between the two children growing there. “Two,” she said, her face thoughtful. “I hope it’s one of each, a girl and a boy.”

  “Have you told Duke Roland yet?” the wise woman asked.

  Celine shook her head. “No. I wanted to wait until I had seen you. I didn’t want to raise false hopes.”

  It was at precisely that moment that a gust of wind blew down the chimney, sending out a shower of sparks. Startled, the two women leaped to their feet to stamp them out. But even when the sparks were extinguished, the wind was not. It prowled through the branches of the trees outside the house, making a noise that was a lament and warning all at once. The old wise woman cocked her head, as if the wind were speaking a language she could understand.

  “What is it?” Celine asked, for the voice of the wind was making her anxious. “What is wrong?”

  “We must wait for the morning to know for sure, I think,” her old nurse said. But she moved to take Celine’s face between her hands and gazed into her eyes for a very long time. So long that the young woman began to tremble. For it seemed to her that, though her old nurse’s hands were warm, and though the fire still burned in the grate, the room had suddenly grown cold. A cold that was finding a way inside her, burrowing straight toward her heart.

  “No,” she whispered. “No.”

  “Let us wait and see,” the wise woman counseled. “By its very nature, wind is impetuous. Sometimes it exaggerates things or misunderstands.”

  But by the morning, the voice of the wind was not alone. Word of what had happened in the palace began to spread through the countryside, told by the hushed and fearful voices of Duke Roland’s former subjects. In this way, the duchess learned that her worst fears had been realized. Her husband was dead. She herself was in great danger. Her unborn children were Duke Roland’s true heirs. They must be protected at all costs.

  “Ah, Roland! I should have told you,” Celine whispered, as the tears streamed down her cheeks. “I wish I had. At least then you could have died with this joy in your heart.”

  “His heart was full of joy already,” Rowan said. “For he loved you well.”

  “As I loved him,” Celine replied.

  At this the old woman gave a brisk nod. “Even so. Dry your eyes. You must not pour this love away in grief. You will need it to sustain you in what is to come. There is only one place where you and your children will be safe. You know that, don’t you?”

  Celine took the deepest breath of her life. She could feel it expanding her lungs, then streaming throughout her body, all the way down to the tips of her fingers and toes. She let it out and did a very unduchess-like thing. She wiped the sleeve of her dress across her face to dry her eyes. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

  “I know what must be done,” Duchess Celine said. “Show me how to reach the World Below.”

  TWO

  In the end, it was simple. As simple as growing a beanstalk.

  Both women knew there was no time to waste. Guy de Trabant would soon discover where the duchess had gone. Quickly but without letting their actions escalate their fear, Celine and Rowan made their preparations. First Rowan went into her kitchen and took a small green bowl down from the highest shelf. The two women peered inside. Nestled in the very bottom was a single bean, speckled red and white.

  “Take this,” Rowan instructed, as she upended the bowl, tipping the seed into Celine’s palm. “Walk to the far end of my vegetable garden. Turn so that your back is to the meadow, and then throw the bean over your left shoulder. Don’t look to see where it lands, but return to me at once.”

  Though her knees were inclined to wobble just a little when she walked, Celine followed her old nurse’s instructions. Her curiosity was great, but she did not turn around to see where the bean fell. Instead, as soon as the speckled seed had left her hand, she returned to the cottage.

  “Work with me now,” Rowan said. Together, the two women filled a large shawl with things to help Celine start a new life in the World Below.

  Seeds from the wise woman’s garden and orchard. A small pouch of gold coins. Various other sensible things it would be too long and boring to recount. Finally, though it made the bundle heavy, the wise woman added a hatchet. Then she tied the shawl twice. Once so that nothing could fall out, and a second time to make it nestle against the small of Celine’s back, leaving her arms free for climbing. Finally she threw Celine’s cloak over her shoulders and tied the drawstrings at the throat.

  “Now,” Rowan said, “let us go to the edge of the garden and see what has grown.”

  Together, the old woman and the young one walked to the place where the garden ended and a great meadow rolled beyond. The meadow was as flat as a pancake. At this time of year, summer just easing into fall, the grass was brown. But poking up through it was a sudden burst of bright green leaves covered with red speckles.

  It was a beanstalk.

  “Very good,” the wise woman said. “That is fast work. It must have fallen onto fertile ground in the World Below.” For that is what the magic bean had done. It had slipped through the World Above and fallen all the way down to the World Below.

  “We should give it a few more moments, I think. Just long enough to say good-bye.”

  The duchess threw her arms around her nurse and held on tight. Though the desire to weep filled her chest until she thought her heart would drown, she did not utter a single sound. She did not let a single tear fall.

  “Listen to me, Celine,” Rowan said. She swayed gently from side to side, rocking the grown woman as she once had the child. “I won’t tell you not to feel bereft, not to be afraid. You will be both. But know this: You will not be forgotten. Always I will hold you in my heart.

  “When the time is right, a messenger will come to the World Below. You and your children will be given the means to return to the World Above. It may be many years before this day comes, but never doubt that it will. Prepare your children well.”

  “I won’t and I will,” Celine said quietly. “I promise on the love I gave my husband.”

  “Then the time has come for you to climb down the beanstalk,” Rowan said. The two women released each other. “When you reach the World Below, take out the hatchet and chop the beanstalk to the ground. Once you have done this, there will be no mark in this world to show where you have gone.”

  “But what if Guy de Trabant suspects?” Celine asked in a whisper.

  Rowan gave a snort. “So what if he does? Guy de Trabant is going to have his hands full in this world. He will have no time to be worried about anything he might suspect of the World Below. You and your children will be safe there, Celine. Now trust me, and go.”

  And so the duchess Celine climbed down the beanstalk, down through the clouds and the wide-open sky, and alighted at last in the World Below. The moment her feet touched the ground, she immediately did as her old nurse had i
nstructed. She took the bundle off her back, unfolded it, removed the hatchet, and chopped down the beanstalk.

  It did not fall straight, as a tree might, but wound around in a great green coil, settling to the earth with a rustle and a sigh. The duchess gazed at the beanstalk in astonishment. For now that it lay on the ground, she could not imagine how it could have carried her from one world to another. It looked too thin, too delicate, too short. Yet all the while Celine had been climbing down, she had never doubted for a moment that the beanstalk would take her where she needed to go.

  On impulse, she lifted it up and slipped it onto her shoulder. It seemed the proper thing to do somehow. Then she reknotted the shawl, slung it over the other shoulder, and looked around her. The beanstalk had taken her to a fold of gently rolling hills. In the distance, Celine thought she could see a ribbon of road.

  “No time like the present,” she murmured. With determined steps, she began to make her way toward the road.

  “And that is how we came to dwell in the World Below.”

  With this sentence, my mother always ended her story, blew out the candle, and kissed us good night. But Jack and I both knew what had followed. Our mother had used Rowan’s gold coins to buy a farm not far from where she had first arrived in the World Below. It was close enough to a village that she did not feel all alone, but far enough away to be safe from prying eyes.

  There, almost precisely eight months to the day after the events of her story, Jack and I were born. I was actually the first to put in my appearance, just in case you’re wondering. My mother always said it explained my strange affection for the World Below. And this brings me to the most important difference between my brother and me.

  Jack believed my mother’s tale with his whole heart. He believed in the World Above. But try as I might, I could never quite bring myself to do so. My heart was too tied to the World Below.

  Now, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not calling my mother a liar. It’s just that I could never make myself take her story for the literal truth. After all, she told it as a bedtime story. A way to lull Jack and me to sleep each night, so that we would be inspired when we awoke the next morning.

  Everyone needs to believe that they are special, different from those around them. That’s what my mother’s story always seemed like to me. A charm, a way to get us through hard times. But even as I appreciated the story she told, I never believed that it was true. Not the way Jack did, in my innermost heart of hearts.

  That is, not until the day that Jack set off with Agapanthus and returned with a handful of beans instead of a pocketful of coins. Seven little beans, white with red speckles, the sight of which made my mother sit down abruptly in what was left of the carrot patch, laughing and crying at the same time.

  That was when I realized my mother had meant every word of her bedtime story. It had been true, all of it. And I knew, in that moment, that nothing in our lives was ever going to be the same.

  There would be a beanstalk in our future.

  I could only hope I wouldn’t have to be the one to climb it.

  THREE

  I needn’t have worried. Jack was always going to be the one to go. It was actually something of a wonder he’d brought the beans home at all and hadn’t simply tossed them over his shoulder immediately after he and the old woman completed their transaction.

  For once in his life, however, Jack used his head. He kept it out of the clouds and squarely on his shoulders. Those beans were important. When a thing is important, you have to take extra care to get it right. That meant bringing the beans straight home to our mother.

  “Well, my dears,” my mother said. She dried her eyes but made no move to get up out of the carrot patch. “This is a momentous day, no two ways about it.”

  “That means it’s a big deal,” I said.

  Jack made a rude sound. “I know what it means, Gen, thank you very much. I’m not the simpleton you’d like to make me out to be. I was smart enough to take the old woman’s bargain, wasn’t I?”

  “Children, children,” my mother said. But I could tell from the curve of her lips that she was holding back a smile. She extended a hand. As Jack’s were full of beans, I was the one who reached out and helped her up.

  “What do I have to do to grow a beanstalk?” Jack demanded, as soon as Mama was on her feet. “Just throw it over my left shoulder, right?” He turned and raised one arm as if to complete the action.

  “Jack,” my mother said, her voice like the snap of a whip. “Stop right now.”

  Jack’s arm jerked to a stop, and his eyes went wide with astonishment. I might have been tempted to laugh if I hadn’t been so surprised myself. Our mother never raised her voice.

  “I’m sorry,” Mama went on, in a tone I recognized. She moved to Jack and put a hand on his still upraised arm. Slowly he lowered it. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh, my son. But there are still many things you need to know before you can attempt a journey to the World Above.”

  Mama turned then and walked briskly toward the house.

  “Come inside, both of you,” she called over her shoulder. “We have many things to discuss.”

  “You might as well say it,” I said as Jack and I fell into step together. “Otherwise you’ll explode. Then I’ll be the one who has to climb up some stupid beanstalk.”

  “It won’t be stupid,” Jack said. “It will be stupendous.” Before I realized what he intended, he caught me by both hands. “Think about it, Gen!” he cried, as he began to spin us both around. “Magic beans. Magic beanstalks.”

  “Jack,” I protested, even as I caught his excitement. “You’ll make me dizzy. Stop.”

  “Not until you confess you’re a tiny bit interested in the World Above,” he said. He leaned back, his hold on my hands the only thing keeping me from flying. “Come on, Gen. Come on.”

  “Oh, all right,” I cried out. “Just a tiny little bit.”

  Jack stopped, pulling me to him in a breathless hug. I felt the way his heart beat, fast, against mine.

  “Oh, and by the way,” he whispered in my ear. “I told you so.”

  By the time we reached the house, Mama was seated in her favorite chair, by the window. In her lap she cradled the sugar bowl. It was one of the truly fine pieces that we owned, pristine white porcelain with a smattering of pale pink roses painted around its fat middle. The lid had a knob like a rosebud. Two handles stuck out like bent elbows on either side. Lovely as it was, we hadn’t used the sugar bowl much lately. It had been empty for quite some time. Sugar is expensive, and we’d had no money to pay for such luxuries.

  While I took a moment to wonder why on earth Mama was holding the sugar bowl, Jack seemed to grasp the significance at once. He tumbled the beans into it. They landed with a high, clattering sound. Mama put on the lid, then placed the bowl on the windowsill beside her chair. Now I could see that her lap contained another object as well, though I couldn’t yet make out what it was.

  “Sit down, children,” my mother said. Jack and I settled down on the braided rug before her, our knees bumping together the same way they had when we were small.

  “Tell me what you make of this, Gen,” my mother went on. She held out the object she’d been holding in her lap. It was a piece of cloth. Somewhat surprised she hadn’t offered it to Jack first, I took the scrap and held it up to the light.

  “Well, it’s wool, for starters,” I said. I could tell that right off. Of the finest weave that I had ever seen or felt. The color appeared faded, but I thought it had once been a rich forest green.

  “It is, indeed,” my mother said. “It was once part of a cloak.”

  “Your cloak?” I asked quickly. “The one from the story? You mean this came from the World Above?”

  Beside me, Jack shifted, as if holding back the impulse to snatch it away so he could examine it for himself.

  My mother nodded. “As it turned out, I was glad Rowan insisted I bring it along. I cut it into baby blankets when you and Jack
were born. But this piece I kept whole. Can you figure out why?”

  “Because there’s something on it,” I said at once. “It’s embroidered.” I squinted a little and leaned closer to the window. “It’s a shield, quartered.” The scrap of cloth fell from my hands and into my lap as the realization hit. “It’s a coat of arms.”

  At this, Jack decided he’d had enough. “Let me see it,” he demanded. I handed him the scrap of wool, the images I’d seen whirling through my mind.

  The upper left-hand corner of the shield showed a sack overflowing with gold coins. Beside the sack, upper right, was a bird with its wings spread open wide. In the lower left, below the sack, was a type of harp called a lyre.

  I knew it was a lyre because I can actually play one. To tell you the truth, I play pretty well. I was taught by a traveling musician who came to our village for one of the harvest festival celebrations. I’d been so intrigued, I’d attended every single performance. Delighted by the young girl who’d watched his performance so intently, the musician had asked Mama’s permission to give me lessons. He’d even gone so far as to give me the gift of an old instrument when he moved on to another town.

  Mama always claimed that my love of music was proof that I was my father’s daughter, proof of my ties to the World Above. I finally thought I understood.

  In the lower right corner of the shield was a beanstalk.

  All of a sudden, I sat up a little bit straighter. “Jack,” I said. “Let me see that again.”

  “Why?” Jack countered at once, as much out of habit as anything else. “Did you see the beanstalk?”

  “That’s why I want it back,” I said.

  Scowling, a surefire sign he was curious but would never admit it, Jack handed over the scrap of wool. Again I held it up to the light.

  “The beanstalk is newer than the other images,” I said. I lowered the cloth and looked into my mother’s face. The face of the woman in her stories, I thought. The face of a woman once named Celine Marchand. There was the single dimple in her chin, but until today it had been a long time since I had seen my mother smile. The World Below had offered its protection, but life here had not always been kind.