Samhain chuckled after her, “Well I think ye must be rather talented to fall down a rabbit hole. I hear that’s nearly impossible to do.” He said it in good fun, knowing full-well how the logic of their magickal worlds worked - if there were any at all.
“Not to worry. I can assure you, you are definitely not dead,” he said it with such a warm smile. On the matter of his own state of being, he thought, that was a story for another evening preferably.
But as the ghoul listened on, his brow furrowed with both curiosity and concern. In the back of his mind, he knew it was none of his business. It’s not like he hadn’t come across ‘prophecy children’ before; figures who were tasked with incredible burdens and bound for greatness. There was no point in asking her why she too believed she was ‘The Alice’ and not some other Alice who mistakenly got caught in a war she wasn’t supposed to be in. From his experience, these ‘prophecy children’ were rarely in the wrong place, at the wrong time. They were always exactly where they needed to be.
“Hmm. An’ the fact that you ended up ‘ere when you were supposed t’be in Wonderland,” Samhain thought aloud, tapping his chin with one ivory finger. “Per’aps Sundown thought it best we met before ye went on yer way to battle.”
He could tell she was a little shaken by the thought, especially if she hadn’t killed anything before. It was then Samhain decided he could take no part in the ordeal - it was not his battle after all. But the very least he could do was offer Alice his advice should she seek it, and his help should she ask for it.
Nearly impossible to do. Alice could tell he meant it in a lighthearted way, and it did earn a slight smile, though her embarrassment lingered. “Yes, well. Wonderland is rather fond of impossible things.” A sigh of relief left her at the reassurance she wasn’t dead. Wonderful. One less thing to worry about.
Why did Alice believe she was ‘The Alice’? Mostly because if calling her ‘The Alice’ was simply a cruel joke, then it seemed like many, many people were in on that joke. Every resident that Alice encountered in Wonderland, to be precise. Including her friends. Also, if she’d learned anything during her time there, it was that residents rarely lied outright. They simply twisted the truth into all manner of shapes.
Alice didn’t consider herself weak, of course. She could do many things. She could make tea and braid hair and recite poetry. She could climb trees and catch frogs, though her mother scolded her for trailing dirt into the house afterward. She could annoy her sister. She was rather good at that. She could listen and daydream and explore. Someday, she was going to be an explorer like her father, and sail across the ocean to discover new lands.
But… slaying a monster? Alice had seen drawings of the Jabberwock. All teeth and claws and leathery wings and a slithering black body with gleaming scales. Like a dragon, but even more frightening. It bit with poison fangs and breathed white hot fire. And it was much, much, much larger than Alice.
She took another sip of tea as she listened — it had gotten a bit cold, with how distracted she’d been, but she didn’t mind. “… I suppose, maybe.” In truth, Alice did want to ask for advice. She hummed, finding it difficult to put her thoughts in order, then looked at Samhain again. “Have you ever had to slay something?” The question slipped out before she thought it through, and she quickly went on. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not.”
Samhain was a good listener. In fact, he considered himself a better listener than talker most days. He was an observer; a shadow who preferred to stand by the sidelines than involve himself beyond what was necessary. Though there were the exceptions, such as when people were whisked away to his foggy patch in the unknown. He listened and, once the water had boiled, readied the tea and placed Alice’s cup as well as the sugar-cubes closer to her side of the table. The tea was dark but it had a light, flowery taste and was not at all bitter. He waited till Alice was done before he spoke his turn.
“Ah, Wonderland,” he said, recognizing the name. “I know of it, though I’ve never been. An’ yer right about two things. One: I am indeed from Ireland,” he chuckled, crossing one leg over the other while both his hands held onto the arching knee. “An’ two - this place is somewhat similar to Wonderland but not quite.”
“This island calls itself Sundown. Like Wonderland, it’s considered an in-between place built entirely on magick. It is in Ireland though ye won’t find it on any map known to man. Even if ye rode out to sea, ye wouldn’t see it an’ you’d jus’ pass through it like a mirage. At the same time, it’s anywhere an’ everywhere all at once. This tree-house right now is surrounded by forests, an’ the island itself is disconnected from any other land mass. However, Sundown is spiritually connected to every forest, every labyrinth, every path or garden maze ye could think of. There’s a chance that if ye kept walkin’, ye’d either find yerself at the edge of the island or in a completely different place.”
“It’s got a mind of its own. It’s favorite past-time is spiriting away lost souls in hopes I’d lead them back to where they need t’be. Most o’them are dead souls mind you, but we receive living guests once in a while. Usually weary travelers or children who get lost in an unknown wood, or sailors caught in a storm lost at sea.” He smiled at the fact Alice called him nice and peculiar, which he didn’t mind at all. “Ah’m jus’ a ghoul who happened to be at the right place at the right time. A self-appointed keeper o’the island an’ guide to the lost. That’s just some o’the things I do but I’d like to think that’s who I am as well.”
The tea was lovely; different from Wonderland tea, but in a nice way. Strangely, it reminded Alice of England. And she appreciated the sugar cubes.
She listened closely to his explanation. At first, she took sips of tea every so often as he spoke, but his words fascinated her so much that she soon forgot about the drink. Sundown sounded marvelous. A mind of its own… it seemed like it had good intentions, though. Keeper of the island, a guide to the lost. In the right place at the right time. A soft laugh left Alice at that, and she smiled. “Well, I think you’re rather brilliant at it. I’m always in the wrong place at the right time. That’s how I ended up in Wonderland, you see. I… fell down a hole.” Her face flushed with embarrassment, and she stared into her tea. “Chasing a rabbit. A rabbit-hole.” It had been rather clumsy of her, but she’d never admit that.
Something about his wording flickered back through her mind, and she paused. He’d said he was a ghoul. Then… didn’t that mean he was dead? Alice only vaguely remembered the meaning of ‘ghoul,’ from scary stories she’d heard back in England. Samhain didn’t frighten her, though. It seemed terribly rude to mention it, so Alice swallowed hard and went on.
“Well, I’m not a dead soul.” She faltered again, and now her face paled. “I certainly hope not, at least.” Surely she’d know if she had died. Her confidence returned. Mostly. “And I’m not a lost soul. I mean, now I suppose I am, in this forest. But I’m not lost in Wonderland.” The more she considered it, though, the more she realized she was lost there. She disliked thinking of herself as lost. It was much easier to consider Wonderland home; a strange home, but a home nonetheless. She had friends there, after all.
“I need to be in Wonderland,” she continued, looking at her tea again. Her hands gripped the cup a bit tighter. “I’m supposed to slay this terrible monster, you see. The Jabberwock.” For a child her age, the task seemed impossible. True, her father had told her she could achieve anything she set her mind to. But, despite everything she’d experienced, Alice still struggled to believe impossible things. “Everyone there tells me it’s awfully important, and I’m the only one who can do it because I’m ‘The Alice.’” There was a hint of weary bitterness in her tone, but then it softened, her words a little shaky. “But… well, I’m certain I couldn’t kill anything. Even a monster.”
Still, she had to try. Her brow furrowed, and she went on, her voice determined. “It’s alright, though. They have this scroll that tells Wonderland’s future — the Oraculum — and it says I manage it. I suppose… I suppose it’ll turn out alright, then.”
Glasswinged butterflies are a South American species known for their transparent wings. They look fragile but can carry up to 40 times their own strength. The pink butterfly in the first picture is an Amazon variety that has a “blush” shade to its clear wings.
Alice inhaled shakily and blinked in the bright sunlight, fingers pressed against the soft grass beneath her. One moment she was wandering through a field in Wonderland; the next moment she had stumbled, fallen, looked up, and found herself… here. Her immediate response was a brief flutter of hope. Was she… back in England? Perhaps, but… no… no, this wasn’t her home. It didn’t feel like England, at least; nor Wonderland for that matter. This felt like someplace entirely different.
She pushed herself upright, somewhat unsteady on her feet, still dizzy from the sudden change in scenery. It was beautiful, though — the sky a lovely, clear blue, the green hills sloping away in the distance. The long grass swayed in the gentle breeze, brushing against her hands.
It didn’t strike her as a dangerous place. Quite the contrary — it seemed pleasant and peaceful. She was still disoriented, of course, but she wasn’t frightened. Still, staying in one spot wouldn’t accomplish anything. Just like in Wonderland, she needed to keep moving to learn more. She brushed some dirt from her dress, took a deep breath of fresh air to calm her nerves, and started walking. Hopefully she would find someone more familiar with the area.
Eventually, she came across a trail and spotted a figure up ahead. She hesitated, stopping a safe distance away from the stranger, then gathered her courage and called to him in a soft, timid tone. “Um… I beg your pardon, sir, but would you please tell me where I am? I’m afraid I’ve lost my way.” She was trying to be as polite as possible. No matter how lost she was, she always remembered the importance of good manners, especially around strangers.
In which Laura posts an unprompted essay (which she may or may not have written last night at three in the morning) about literal language in Wonderland and the behavioral differences between the Caterpillar, the Hatter, and the Cheshire Cat in the original Alice in Wonderland book, especially regarding their treatment of Alice.
