The Mirror's Tale (Further Tales Adventures)

by P. W. Catanese

  The beasts were resting in a protective circle around the mirror. The nearest one turned a frosted eye toward Bert. Its tongue slithered sideways across the jumble of jagged teeth. A low growl issued from somewhere deep in its throat.

  “W-W-Why did I do all those things?” Bert said through chattering teeth, “Mirror, why d-did you make me do it?”

  He didn’t expect a response. But the surface of the mirror shimmered and clouded. It was like staring into a fog. He saw a dark form nearing the surface. It had done this before, but always stopped before fully revealing itself. This time the form approached until only a thin, transparent veil of mist covered it.

  The thing was shaped like a face and had the color of bruised and rotting flesh. It filled the mirror from top to bottom, as big as a shield, and it was mounted on the end of a long jointed neck that vanished into the depths of the glass. At first Bert saw no features at all—no mouth, no nose, no eyes. Then there were eyes—fist-size, lidless eyes, at least five of them, popping up all over the face, and then sinking in again, like onions in a boiling soup. The strange skin bubbled and shifted and squirmed with a sickening oozy sound. Bert was on the verge of understanding why it moved liked that—what the skin was made of—but he didn’t want to know. He threw his arm across his face to block the sight.

  Why now? he thought. Why didn’t you show me your real face until now? But it was obvious: The mirror fooled him from the start, never revealing its true self. But now that it didn’t need him anymore, it was pleased to show its face. Bert’s shivers grew worse, but it wasn’t just from the chills.

  The mirror spoke. I did not make you do those things, Bertram. Don’t you understand? I only helped you pursue what you really wanted. The voice was different now. Before it was reassuring, loving. Now it dripped with cold contempt. It mocked him.

  “No, never! I’d never hurt my brother!” Bert cried.

  Those things were in your heart. In your soul.

  “No—you put them there!”

  You can tell yourself that if you want. But it doesn’t matter. Now your heart and soul are mine, the mirror said. Like the others.

  My soul? Others? Bert dared to peek out over the top of his arm. He wished he hadn’t. Now the awful face was crystal clear. The skin moved, because it was covered with tiny, writhing worms. No, not covered with them; the skin was made of those things. And as Bert stared, transfixed by horror, the maggoty things wriggled away from the middle of the face, leaving a gaping mouth hole behind. Bert glimpsed transparent figures inside the throat, and heard unearthly moans. Ghosts! It was hard to tell one from the other, the way they faded and blurred together, but they looked like ancient, burly men with long flowing beards. They swam toward the opening with vaporous arms reaching out as if they might escape that maw. But before they reached the surface, the worms wriggled in again. The mouth shrank and closed, leaving a thin, curving smile for a moment before even that was completely erased.

  Bert’s mind went numb. He wished he would faint. That would be merciful. He rolled onto his side and put his back to the mirror.

  He saw one of the beasts cowering against the wall nearby. Even those vile creatures had slunk away from the face of the mirror. Bert heard them whine and saw them look toward the Tunnel of Stars. He heard footfalls on the steps. And his uncle’s words haunted his ears.

  I’ll bring your cowardly brother down as soon as he arrives. Then I’ll choose which one of you I’ll need, and feed the other to my dogs.

  His heart twisted inside his chest as the steps descended. And then his uncle came in alone. Lord Charmaigne strode across the chamber, muttering furiously.

  Bert seized his chance. “Look at the mirror, Uncle Hugh! Look at the face! Don’t you see? The mirror isn’t your friend, it’s a—”

  “Quiet!” his uncle snapped, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword. “That brother of yours is a slippery rat. But I can find him. Wherever he hides.” Uncle Hugh took another stride and stood before the mirror.

  He’ll see the face! Bert thought. Then hell understand. But he cried aloud when he saw that the demon face had vanished, and the mirror’s surface shimmered handsomely once more.

  “Mirror,” Uncle Hugh said. “There’s something I must know.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Aunt Elaine finally slowed so their horses could rest, just as they entered a forest of birch. Will stopped beside her, aching to know what was wrong with his brother. But before he could ask, he heard the sound of pursuit. Horses, pounding the earth, A man shouted orders in the distance.

  His aunts head turned and her face went pale. “What? I don’t understand—we weren’t seen! How could they know?” She bit her lip. Then a fierce look came to her eyes. “Come on, Will!” She kicked at the side of her horse and rode swiftly into the trees.

  Will followed. He looked over the tops of the trees at a high cliff that curved around the forest on either side, and wondered why his aunt led them into a place with no escape. More bad terrain!

  The horses galloped at a reckless pace, threading between the trees. Branches slapped his face and chest. He raised a forearm to shield his eyes. The jutting limb of one birch nearly unseated his aunt—she teetered perilously, one arm flailing, before she regained her balance. Will shot a look over his shoulder and saw men on horses closing in behind—better, faster riders than his aunt and himself. They were soldiers from The Crags—eight, maybe ten of them.

  The nearest had already drawn his sword. He was close enough for Will to recognize. Brocuff bellowed after them: “Stop in the name of Lord Charmaigne!”

  “They’re going to catch us!” Will shouted to his aunt. She veered right suddenly, and Will pulled hard on his reins to make his horse follow. They burst into a grassy clearing with the cliff looming overhead. Will was surprised to see a low stone cottage in an open meadow before them.

  His aunt was already off her horse, running into the tiny building. Will leaped down to follow, just as the mounted soldiers thundered into the clearing. Brocuff rode in front of Will to cut him off from the cottage. The horse reared up as Brocuff pulled back on the reins, and Will darted under the animal’s neck. He felt fingers grasp at his cloak and swatted the hand away. Behind he heard the thump of boots on the grass.

  Will ran into the open doorway. If there had been a door to slam behind him, he would have shut it. What good does this do us? he wondered, looking around the strange little place, with tiny rooms and a ceiling so low anyone bigger than him would have to stoop. There were footsteps close behind him.

  “Here, Will!” his aunt cried. Will saw her head sticking out of a hole in the floor. A trap door! He ran to it as she ducked out of sight. He didn’t wait to see if there was a ladder or steps. He simply jumped in and landed on his feet and fingertips, just a few feet below. From the scant light that fell through the opening, Will could see that he’d dropped into a tunnel. His aunt was in front of him, and she seized his hand and pulled him into the dark passage.

  Voices from above shouted. “Where are they?”

  “Check the other rooms!”

  “Hey, there’s a hole in the floor!”

  Will and his aunt made slow progress in the pitch-black tunnel—slow because it was too dark to see, and because they tried to be stealthy. Will looked back at the opening. He saw one of the soldier’s heads come down through the trap door and stare his way. But he didn’t think the man could see him. Can’t even see my own feet, he thought.

  The voices of the men carried easily down the tunnel.

  “What’s in there?”

  “Can’t see a blessed thing, Brocuff! It’s blacker than coal!”

  “Blasted Dwergh rat hole! Well, you have to follow them!”

  “What, and get knifed in the dark? Why don’t you go down there, you’re so eager?”

  “Because I’m in charge, imbecile! You want to tell Lord Charmaigne we lost him?”

  “I don’t want to tell Lord Charmaigne anything. There’s something
wrong with him, if you ask me. He has the same look in his eye the barons nephew got …”

  The voices faded just as they started to say something Will needed to hear. He stopped and tugged on his aunt’s hand.

  “No!” she whispered. “We have to keep moving. There’s only one way to go. We don’t want them catching up, do we?”

  She didn’t say another word. She just pulled on his hand, and Will followed. He only heard one more thing that was said behind them. It was Brocuff’s deep, blustering voice. “What are you waiting for? Light a torch!”

  CHAPTER 38

  The lightless tunnel was just wide enough for them to walk side by side. There were no turns, no other corridors, no passages to the surface. Aunt Elaine wouldn’t let Will talk at all, so the questions kept burning in his mind. He thought he might scream if he couldn’t ask them soon.

  The ceiling was low—just over his head—with even lower crossbeams. Will kept one hand in front of him and one on the ceiling, so he wouldn’t smack his head on those fat timbers. For a while damp, stringy matter hung down and brushed his hands and face. Roots, he figured. But then that stuff was gone, and the earthy, humid smell turned cool and dry. There were no more wooden supports—the tunnel was bored into solid rock.

  Will tried to remember which direction the passage had led. In the chaos of the chase, he hadn’t paid much attention. But he thought they were headed straight for the mountain. And now we’re under it, he thought just as his outstretched hand touched a solid wall.

  “Is this the end?” Will asked quietly.

  “No,” Aunt Elaine whispered. “There’s a door in this wall. But it has to be opened. I just need to … Yes, here it is.”

  “Here what is?” Will asked. The answer came in a groan of metal that rose and fell in pitch, and was followed by a deep, sonorous clang that made him jump.

  “What was that?” he said.

  “The knocker,” she replied.

  “Knocker? You mean someone’s in there?”

  “I certainly hope so,” Aunt Elaine said. Will heard that rusty screech, followed by another deep clang, four more times. Then a pause, and two more. He pictured something like a door knocker, but bigger, striking a bell embedded in the stone. When he touched the wall he could feel the vibrations. I guess we don’t have to be quiet anymore.

  Will pulled off the servant’s cloak and threw it aside. “Aunt Elaine, tell me what’s happened to Bert,” he said. He heard her sigh deeply. And then she answered him.

  “I don’t really know,” she said. “We got along so well at first. But then a strange transformation came over him, and he stopped talking to me. He became angry. Secretive. There was a frightening look in his eyes, as if he wasn’t really himself anymore. He’d vanish for hours and suddenly reappear. Then something even stranger happened. My husband became his puppet. Your brother would order him around like a slave, and Hugh would obey! You’d have to know your uncle to realize how ludicrous that is. He’s a cruel and arrogant bully. He doesn’t take orders from anyone.

  “Well, I had to find out what was going on. But they were both so stealthy that I couldn’t get near them. Until just a few hours ago—when Bert was in a rage, looking for your uncle. I followed him to his room and saw him go through a secret door that led to a long flight of stairs. I don’t know where the stairs ended. I didn’t go down all the way, because I heard a dreadful snarling and snapping, as if something horrible was below. So I stayed put and listened. I heard your brother and your uncle talk about you. They said you were coming to—” Aunt Elaine cut herself off with a gasp. “Look!” she cried.

  Will turned to look the way they’d come. All was dark except for a tiny rectangle of orange, growing fast.

  “It’s them,” he said. He heard a whisper of cloth nearby and reached out. He found her hand and clasped it.

  The glow had already doubled in size. Will saw torches and the dark shapes of men, hunched over and loping toward them.

  “Will, you’ve been very brave,” Aunt Elaine said. She squeezed his hand.

  “There they are!” Brocuff shouted, now that the torchlight was near. The men broke into a run, as fast as they could under the low ceiling. Their weapons were drawn, flashing yellow when the blades caught the light. Will wished he had his knife, his sword, anything. Aunt Elaine put a hand across his chest and pushed him behind her.

  Will was about to object when he heard a grinding noise. A thick slab in the middle of the stone barrier was rising. And in the narrow gap below, he saw more light—coming from the other side.

  “Will, go under! Now!” his aunt shouted, pushing him down. Will dropped onto his stomach and crawled under the slowly rising stone.

  “Come on!” he screamed to his aunt. She was right behind him. Ahead of him, beyond the slab, he saw a pair of boots. A thick hand reached down, and he took it, feeling rough skin against his palm. He was pulled through, and he spun back on his hands and knees to help his aunt. She looked at him and smiled fiercely, and he grabbed her outstretched hand. He pulled. Everything but her legs had come through. “I’ve got you!” he said. And then someone tugged much harder from the other side.

  She kicked and thrashed, trying to free herself, but was drawn back under the slab. Will held fast to her hand and was dragged back with her.

  Aunt Elaine twisted her hand and wrenched it free from his. “Lower it,” she shouted past Will. “Save the boy!”

  “No! We have to help her,” Will snapped. He didn’t see who raised the door until he turned his head. His mind reeled as he saw a short, wide, brawny being with a sprawling black beard. A Dwergh! Will was stunned for a moment—long enough for the chain on the wheel behind the Dwergh to unwind. The slab of rock boomed down, shearing off his aunt’s pleas to save him.

  A cloud of dust billowed up, and he choked on it. He scrambled to his feet and gaped at the stranger. It was a Dwergh; there could be no mistake. The Dwergh’s broad ax leaned against the wall of the passage, and his lantern hung from a hook in the wall.

  “How could you let them take her!” he shouted. He rushed at the Dwergh and tried to punch him, but the Dwergh caught him by the wrist.

  The Dwergh growled out harsh words, “Holtokh! Ang rekhush!”

  “Let go of me!” Will shouted. With his other hand he grabbed the Dwergh’s beard and pulled. The Dwergh’s expression—what Will could see within that dense beard, anyway—filled with fury. The Dwergh grabbed his arm and squeezed, and Will cried out in pain.

  “Never grab a Dwergh by the beard,” a gruff voice said in a strange accent, “If you want to keep your hand attached to your arm, that is,” It was another Dwergh, coming down the tunnel. An older one with silver hair. Will loosened his grip, and the first Dwergh shoved him away and spat on the floor.

  The old Dwergh stopped in front of him. He panted, and his beard rose and fell like bellows, “How did you know about this place?”

  “I didn’t,” Will cried, “My aunt brought me here. But those men took her! We have to—”

  “Your aunt?” the old Dwergh cried. He talked rapidly with the first Dwergh in their odd language. The old Dwergh’s face grew even grimmer. Finally he turned back to Will.

  “Hamokh says there were too many to fight. Nothing could be done.”

  “But we can’t just—”

  “Please, young man,” the old Dwergh said. “Dwergh do not fear battles, but we know when to choose them. Hamokh is one of our bravest. If he could have helped Elaine, he would have.”

  Will blinked. “You … you know my aunt?”

  The old Dwergh bowed. “And now tell me, though I think I know, which of the baron’s sons are you?”

  Will slid his hands over the top of his head and down across his face. This day was full of surprises: some strange, some horrible, some unfathomable. And everything was backward. He stood before the kingdom’s fiercest enemy, who just saved him from his uncle’s soldiers—the very men who ought to protect him! Friends were foes, foes were
friends, a family castle was a death trap and the enemy’s lair was a sanctuary. He was so bewildered he could barely answer the question. “I’m Will Charmaigne. But how do you know all this?”

  Before the Dwergh could answer, a clanging burst out, many times louder on this side of the door. Will clapped his hands over his ears. He looked toward the source of the sound and saw an enormous iron flower the size of a barrel sticking out of the wall The ringing echoed down the length of the tunnel before them.

  “It’s her—she must have gotten away!” Will shouted over the noise. “Open the door!”

  The old Dwergh shook his head. “It is the men, trying to fool us,” he called out in return. “They do not know the sequence I taught Elaine.” The ringing died away. The Dwergh laid a heavy hand on Wills shoulder. “Come with us, Will Charmaigne. For now, we can only hope your aunt will be all right. She will survive, if that is the will of the earth. There are many things I have to tell you. But we have to get you to a safe place, where the mirror cannot see you.”

  “Mirror?” Will said. “See me? I … I don’t understand.”

  “I know. I will help you understand,” said the Dwergh. “My name is Kholl. And we share another friend, by the name of Par Lee.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Bert was still cold, and his mouth was dry as dust. Thirst would be the end of him, he knew, long before hunger, A few days; that was as long as a person could go without water Someone told him that once.

  As he lay on his back on the floor of the chamber and stared at the daggers of stone above, he heard a quiet sound, not far away. It was almost lost amid the occasional flap of leathery wings as bats flew from place to place overhead, or out through the crack in the wall of the chamber. It was a tiny, wet splat.

  He cocked his ear and waited. It was nearly a minute before he heard it again. Splat. Somewhere to his right. Water dripping from the ceiling, he thought. It might be close enough to reach.

  He looked at the mirror. Its surface shined with a duller light than usual. He didn’t know if the thing inside the mirror was still aware when the glass looked like that. Perhaps it was sleeping. Or maybe it never rested, and watched him even now.