“Hey,” Alice said, and tugged at his shirt. “I thought you said we weren’t allowed to eat anything in Furthermore!”

“This is not eating,” Oliver said, licking his fingers. “This is enjoying.”

Alice was beginning to realize that the longer they stayed in Furthermore, the more relaxed Oliver became. (It was also true that he was still very nervous and overly cautious, but somehow, despite his many fears, he seemed happier.) He was nothing at all like the grumpy boy she’d met so few days ago, and Alice was surprised to find that she was actually learning to like Oliver. Just now, she couldn’t help but grin at his giddiness.

Though she was a bright, interesting young girl, the difficulties of the last three years had isolated Alice from persons her own age. Now was her chance to start new and shake off the disappointments of her middlecare years, and she couldn’t contain her quiet excitement. After all, Alice was now twelve years old, which meant she was nearly grown up. And if growing up meant she’d be making new friends? Well, Alice decided she wouldn’t mind getting old.

The clouds were pressed up around them now, soft and warm and doughy. The air smelled like apples and baked bread, and Alice had never known she could feel so safe in the sky.

She peered down to see how high they’d floated, but could see nothing of the ground. Around them was cloud after cloud, and, oh, she could just lie here, she thought, and it would be so cozy and she’d have the best sleep of her life, definitely, definitely. Had she mentioned how soft and warm it was in the clouds? She couldn’t remember. Anyway she was so tired. So comfortable. So sleepy. So—

“Alice!” Oliver said suddenly. “Alice, no!” He shook her, hard, the panic in his voice sending a chill through her body.

“What is it?” she gasped, looking around. “What happened?”

“You cannot sleep without a dream,” he said urgently. “Never, ever, sleep without a dream.” He looked so rattled; she didn’t know what to say. “They will always try to keep you here, but you cannot stay. Do you understand?”

“No,” said Alice, who was still visibly frightened. “I don’t understand at all. Who will try to keep me? Why?”

“You really don’t know, do you? You truly know nothing of Furthermore?”

“Of course I don’t,” said Alice, defensive. “I’ve heard only rumors of Furthermore, and most of them nonsense. Aside from that?” She looked around. “Well, we are standing on a cloud, Oliver. I can’t possibly make any sense of this.”

Oliver almost smiled. “People are so preoccupied with making sense despite it being the most uninteresting thing to manufacture.” He shook his head. “Making magic,” he said, “is far more interesting than making sense.”

“But we do make magic,” Alice pointed out. “It’s all we make, isn’t it? We spend our lives harvesting magic.”

“Yes,” said Oliver. “We make magic. And what do we do with it? We turn it into currency. We make laws. We build homes, we bake bread, we mend bones. We use magic so carefully you’d think we had none at all.”

“And you think we should do things differently in Ferenwood?”

“No,” Oliver said quickly. “Not exactly. But I do think there’s much to be appreciated in the oddness of Furthermore. There’s something curious about a land that uses magic in a reckless way.” He smiled to himself. “I confess I sometimes enjoy the chaos; it provides a great diversion from the safe, sleepy lives we live in Ferenwood.”

Alice touched a hand to her face, cold against cold, both warming each other from nothing, and kept quiet for a minute. Oliver’s opinions had left her troubled and concerned; and she wondered, for the very first time, whether she hadn’t made a very big mistake in coming here.

Alice didn’t agree with Oliver, you see.

Alice loved her safe, steady village, and for a girl who’d always longed for adventure, she didn’t much care for chaos. In fact, Alice had never even thought of using magic haphazardly, without regard for consequences or the well-being of others. That just wasn’t the way of Ferenwood folk; they were kind and caring people who lived mostly happy, straightforward lives. A lawless sort of magic-making seemed dangerous to Alice. Lawless magic, she realized, would make it easy to hurt someone else. And despite it taking her far too long to discern this, Alice was finally grasping something rather important.

“Oliver,” she said slowly.

“Yes?”

“Are there people in Furthermore who want to kill us?”

“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”

Alice felt a pain snatch the air from her lungs.

“Why, Alice,” Oliver said, surprised, “there’s a reason why the Elders keep Furthermore a secret from Ferenwood. This land is like sinking sand. Once you step inside, you’re never really meant to leave.”

“Ever?” she cried.

“Never.”

“But why?”

“I really would like to tell you, but it would take far too long to explai—”

Oliver was silenced by a single, threatening look from Alice.

“Oh, alright,” he said with an air of defeat. “We can spare a few—and only a few!—moments to talk this through. And I suppose it’s best to start from the beginning if you haven’t even a hint of the middle.” He looked around for something to lean on and found nothing but sky, so he began pacing the short length of the cloud. “You know the old song, don’t you?” he said. “About Furthermore and Ferenwood?”

This much, Alice knew. So she nodded and promptly recited:

Farther is more than Ferenwood!

Go as far as the land may reach

A quick dip in the sea