The Mirror's Tale (Further Tales Adventures)

by P. W. Catanese

  “But why are we going to that ledge at all?” said Will.

  Andreas looked around to see how close Harth and Kholl were, and lowered his voice. “Harth had an interesting piece of information for us. Centuries ago, before Snow White ever lived there, The Crags and its lands were given to our kingdom as a peace offering from the Dwergh. The Crags was built by the Dwergh, you see. But apparently the Dwergh neglected to mention that there was a hidden chamber beneath the keep—and a secret way into that chamber from the outside. You can imagine that your father had mixed feelings about this news. He was glad to hear there might be a way to penetrate The Crags and save Bert. But he wasn’t pleased that our so-called enemy knew about this vulnerable spot all along—and might have used it in an attack against our people.

  “But nevertheless that’s precisely what we mean to do. Now, each of these Dwergh seems to have a particular area of knowledge. One of them, named Kortz, knows quite a bit about Dwergh castles. Look behind us, Will. Do you see the tallest Dwergh with one silver band and one gold around his wrist? That’s him. Kortz is fairly certain that he can find the hidden entrance on the northern ledges.”

  “Fairly certain,” Parley said with a sigh. “That’s the trouble with this plan. We’re fairly certain the baron will give us the diversion we need. We’re fairly certain we can get to the ledge without being slaughtered. We’re fairly certain what’s-his-name there can find the hidden entrance. And were fairly certain that smashing the mirror will be enough to kill this monstrosity. That’s too many fairly’s for my taste.”

  Harth had been a few strides ahead, but he slowed to allow the three of them to catch up. He slapped Parley on the back. “Never fear, Par Lee. If it is the will of the earth, we will find the mirror and destroy it.”

  Parley’s mouth knotted up. “You Dwergh have good ears.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Bert’s muscles quivered as he pushed himself into a seated position and watched his uncle. There was fire under the cauldron, and smoke rose and pooled between the hanging cones of rock Uncle Hugh consulted the book of spells and potions, and murmured an incantation. He pried open a long-sealed bottle and poured its liquid into the cauldron. Something gurgled and popped, and a thick puff of green smoke billowed high.

  His uncle wiped his hands on his shirt and walked to the mirror. He glanced at Bert as he went by. Bert shivered at the cold look in his uncles eye, the wild, matted hair and the dry white spittle in the corners of his mouth. Is that how I looked? As mad as that?

  “Mirror,” Uncle Hugh said. “Where is my brother now?”

  The familiar ring and shimmer came again. The baron charges with his men at a reckless speed in the dark. He rides ahead, exhorting them. They have had little rest, just before dawn, they will arrive.

  Uncle Hugh crunched his knuckles and smiled. “Very good. And are they lightly armored?”

  Light armor, or none at all to speed their journey.

  Uncle Hugh mumbled happily to himself and peered into the cauldron. He unsheathed the knife at his hip and dipped the blade into whatever simmered inside. A thick, milky liquid dripped off like warm honey. He blew on the blade and carried it to where Bert sat. Crouching low, he waved the knife in front of Bert’s face. “Do you know what I’ve brewed here, Nephew?”

  Bert stared at the knife. The thin coat of liquid turned clear as it dried. There was a lump in his throat, and he had to swallow before he could answer. “M-more … more of the obedience potion?”

  “No, foolish boy. There’s time for that later.” Uncle Hugh brought the tip of the blade near Bert’s nose, almost touching it. “This is poison. And what a poison! Why, even the tiniest scratch will bring a slow, painful death. I’ve brewed a mighty batch, Nephew. A bucketful! And do you know who it’s for?”

  Bert shook his head and closed his eyes. Of course I know.

  Uncle Hugh slid the knife into its sheath, careful not to prick himself on the blade. “This is for the man who stole my barony, that’s who. The trap is set, Nephew. When the baron nears The Crags, he’ll see the gate left open by incompetent soldiers. He’ll watch a small group of men run like cowards. That’s all the bait your father needs. He’ll rush through like the great hero he imagines himself to be, taking the lead as always! And when he charges into the courtyard with his hundred men, three hundred archers will surround him—and every arrow will be tipped with my poison. Three hundred arrows, all aimed at one man! Do you think they’ll miss?” Uncle Hugh let loose a giddy, high-pitched laugh. His bulging eyes looked like they might pop out of his face.

  Aunt Elaine called out from the box in the rear of the chamber, frail and terrified. “Hugh, please. You aren’t yourself. It’s that voice I heard—it’s making you do these things. You have to fight it!”

  Uncle Hugh shook with laughter. “Listen, Nephew—did you hear a mouse? Did you hear its little squeak?”

  “Listen to her, Uncle Hugh,” Bert said. His voice was just a whisper. He couldn’t breathe deep enough to make it louder. “There’s something wicked inside the mirror. It makes you think it’s your friend, but it’s not. It lies. It finds your weakness and uses it against you. And when you die, you’re trapped inside the mirror. I saw them. I saw the ghosts.”

  Uncle Hugh’s smile melted. “You’re the liar. You’d say any foolish thing to get the mirror back. But it’s mine. It wants to be mine. Because it knows how powerful I can become.”

  Bert shook his head. “No, Uncle Hugh. It will make you do terrible things. The mirror twists everything around. It made me think the people I love were my enemies. I almost killed my brother—and now it wants you to do the same to your brother. But you can’t!”

  Uncle Hugh cast a smoldering glare upon Bert. “Do you know what it was like when the king gave the barony to my younger brother? Can you understand the shame, knowing that everyone was talking about me, and laughing? And then Walter sent me here, to let me rot in this pile of rocks, while the stench of the enemy washes down upon me day and night! Do you know what that was like?” His hand strayed to the hilt of the poisoned knife, and for a moment Bert thought he would draw it. But his uncle just growled and turned away With trembling hands he ladled the poison from the cauldron into a bucket. “No time to talk now!” Uncle Hugh said. “There are arrows to treat and a baron to greet!” He carried the bucket up the Tunnel of Stars, leaving behind the dying echoes of his eerie laugh.

  Bert covered his face with his hands and rolled onto his side. Oh Father, he thought. This is all my fault. I am so sorry, so sorry, so sorry.

  And then he heard the voice of the mirror again inside his skull.

  It said, Bertram. Turn your eyes to me.

  Bert shivered so hard that his knees rattled together. When he turned he knew he’d see the slithering face of worms again. It wanted to feed one more time. Maybe for the last time.

  CHAPTER 44

  Will was flat on his stomach with just the top of his head raised above the lip of the ravine where they hid. The moon was still high among the stars, casting silvery light over the landscape. He saw The Crags before them with rugged black peaks at its back Beyond the mountains the sky blushed pink before the rising sun. To the south was the road where the baron would thunder along at any minute. To the north was the open ground they needed to cross unseen—a narrow plain littered with shrubs, boulders that had bounded down from the mountains eons before, and the blackened remains of a village.

  Parley crawled up the embankment next to Will and patted his back. “I wish we left you somewhere safe,” the courier said. “You’ve been through enough.”

  “No choice, remember?” Will said, tapping the amulet.

  “Humph,” Parley said. “You can’t fool me. You want to be here. I can see it in your eyes. You finally broke through your shell, lad. And it doesn’t surprise me a bit that there was a mighty eagle inside all along.”

  Something caught Parley’s attention, and he looked down to see Mokh tugging at his pant leg. The molt
on thumped its chest with its hand, made a long show of mysterious gestures, and finally held out its stone paw to Parley. The courier shook it.

  “What was that about, little friend? I have no idea,” Parley said.

  Harth had seen it* He hesitated before speaking. “The molton tells you to be careful, Par Lee. It likes you, but … fears that it will not see you again after this.”

  Parley grinned and rapped Mokh on the head with his knuckles. “What a funny chunk of stone you are, Mokh. What, have you had a premonition? I’ll be fine, you’ll see.” Will looked at Harth in time to see him exchange a frown with Kholl and a slow shake of their shaggy heads. He was about to crawl over to the elder Dwergh and ask him what it meant when Andreas spoke.

  “Something is strange about this.”

  “What?” said Harth.

  Andreas pointed to The Crags. “They just threw the gate wide open. A minute ago, the walls were full of men—too many, if you ask me. Now I can’t see one. And look at that handful of soldiers outside the open gate. They look like they’re waiting for something, don’t they?”

  “Well, they are waiting for something,” Parley said. “The mirror would know that the baron is coming, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, yes,” said Andreas, pounding the lip of the embankment with his fist. “Then why so few? And why open the gate at all?”

  Will pressed his fingers against his temples. Bert, why are you doing this? “They want my father to ride in,” he said.

  “Yes. It’s a trap. And a clever one, considering your father’s reputation,” Andreas said. “Let’s hope he follows the plan.”

  “We shall know soon enough,” Harth said, jutting his chin southward.

  A mile down the road, where it turned and ran straight for The Crags, Will saw flickering points of light appear. They were torches held high by a hundred riders. The hoof beats came like thunder before a storm.

  “All of you—with me!” said Kholl, and he crawled over the embankment, rose to his feet, and ran as quickly as his short, thick legs could carry him. Andreas pushed Will ahead of him and followed, and Parley and the rest of the Dwergh came behind with Mokh at the rear.

  They ran, following gullies and cracks in the plain whenever they could, and shielding themselves behind boulders and charred buildings. Will and Andreas paused behind the black skeleton of a cottage and waited for Parley to catch up. The baron and his riders drew closer and closer with torches bobbing. Will saw the men in front of The Crags point with exaggerated surprise at the charge. They leaped up and down, clutched their heads, and ran pell-mell through the open gate. Will was sure he heard his father shout something in response. The hoof beats quickened.

  “Don’t do it, Baron,” Andreas muttered. Parley finally reached them, and they ran together toward the ledge.

  Kholl had already reached the slope of rock that would conceal them from nearly all of the watchtowers of The Crags, and he turned and waved to the rest, urging them to hurry. When Will arrived, he leaned out again to see what would happen. He sensed Andreas peering over his shoulder.

  The gate was still wide open, though a man on the wall above it waved his arms madly and shouted for it to be shut. Brocuff, Will thought grimly, recognizing the booming voice. The gate didn’t move an inch. On the road, just a hundred yards away, Will recognized his father by the light of his torch, leading the charge.

  Will’s throat went dry. The baron’s riders kept coming closer to the gate, churning the dirt of the road. It was strangely quiet on the walls of The Crags—not a soul was in sight.

  “Father, please,” he whispered. “Stop. Stop!”

  The baron pulled back on his reins and called for the riders to halt.

  There was a commotion within The Crags: angry shouts, running steps, and clattering weapons. An army of archers appeared at the top of the wall. The baron’s men spun their horses and retreated. Arrows flitted across the night sky, catching slivers of moonlight. But the riders were beyond reach, and the arrows clattered harmlessly on the ground.

  Will was suddenly aware that he hadn’t taken a breath for what seemed like an hour. He filled his chest with warm night air and let it out through a smile, “Come on,” Andreas said into his ear, “Somewhere the general of the east is smiling. Now your father will keep his distance, call out rude threats, and hold their attention as long as possible. Let us do our part as well as he’s done his,”

  Kortz had already ventured onto the northern ledge, a rocky slope that melded into the steep mountainside. It was a havoc of rocks and rubble, with a thousand shadowy holes and crevices. Beyond that was the swampy lake that cut off any hope of escape should they be seen.

  “Oh me. How are we supposed to find the passage in all this?” Parley said, scratching the back of his head. “Do you suppose the Dwergh have better eyes in the dark than us?”

  Kortz pulled something from his pocket—a piece of inscribed metal, shaped like a tear drop, at the end of a delicate chain. A plumb, Will thought, Kortz let it dangle perfectly still, and watched it carefully. Will stepped closer, wondering what it was for. The plumb began to swing back and forth, and Will was sure he saw it pause unnaturally at one end of its swing as if some invisible force held it briefly. Kortz seemed to agree. He pocketed the thing and moved in that direction, scrambling over rugged stones.

  “Some Dwergh magic, you suppose?” Parley said into Wills ear. Will shrugged. They hid behind an outcropping of rock while Kortz led the search. Will leaned out to look back at The Crags. Most of it was hidden, but there was a lone watchtower that jutted beyond the sloping mountainside. He didn’t see anyone in the tower, and hoped it stayed that way. The sky behind the mountain grew brighter, and the dimmest stars began to vanish. “We don’t have much time,” Will said.

  “Come—we should stay closer to Kortz,” Andreas said. They moved from their hiding place and headed for where Kortz and the others crawled over the ledge, peering into crevices. Will turned to look back at The Crags again. This time he saw the inky shape of a watchman in the tower. The silhouette was in profile, eyeing the road where the baron and his men still lingered. But then his head turned. Will saw him lean out toward the northern ledge, freeze for a moment, and then bolt from the watchtower. Andreas cursed under his breath as the watchman’s distant shout drifted toward them.

  “We’ve been seen,” Will said.

  Kholl grunted. He shouted to Kortz, who only threw up his hands and consulted his plumb again. All the Dwergh scrambled like frenzied ants over the rocks. Mokh hopped from boulder to boulder, diving into smaller spaces and crawling out.

  “They can’t find it!” Parley said. “A change of plans may be in order, boys. Perhaps retreat?”

  “We have to find it!” Will cried. Already he heard distant footsteps and metallic clangs—the sound of a small army issuing from the gates of The Crags and coming their way. Will joined the search, sticking his head into a promising gap between the rocks. Nothing! He lifted his head to look for another place to explore, and a fluttering sound passed his ear.

  Bats. The sun was about to peek over the spine of the mountain. Night was ending. Will watched the small jagged shapes—dozens of them—spiral madly across the sky and converge. On a steep part of the ledge not far away, they vanished into a narrow, nearly invisible crack.

  Will shouted. “Hey! Look at the bats!”

  There was a moment of hesitation, and then the Dwergh raced as one for the spot. Mokh scurried after them. Will and Parley and Andreas followed. The crack led to a narrow corridor inside the ledge. The knight was the last to slip through the slender entrance. “Those men hadn’t gotten around the bend yet,” he said. “We won’t be followed immediately. Is this it, Kholl?”

  It was too dark to see, but Will heard Kholl answer. “It almost certainly is.”

  “Then let us smash this mirror,” said Andreas. “And save the boy from its spell if we can. But be careful—if those beasts were part of this sorcery, we will probably meet the
m again.”

  CHAPTER 45

  It seemed to Bert that his body was like the shed skin of a snake: a paper shell that only mimicked its former self with nothing inside. The wormy horror had fed on him a second time. He knew he wouldn’t survive a third feeding.

  The first time the thing in the mirror drew out that misty, sparkly stuff—he had to believe it was his very soul—all the colors he saw faded to the subtlest hues. Now everything was without color at al. It was the same ghostly gray wherever he gazed, as if the world died with him. Only the mirror retained its dazzling beauty. It still glimmered with radiant light, while the voracious thing inside had sunk back into the depths to digest its meal.

  The thing in the mirror took my soul, Bert thought. And my laughter. And my love. And my dreams. And my hope.

  He wondered if it devoured the last scrap of his sanity as well. Because he was surely seeing things. Past the dozing beasts and the box where Aunt Elaine was encased, where the passage to the outside lay, something absurd poked its head into the chamber, and then crept in. It was a little stone creature, knee-high, that walked on two legs like a man. Bert raised his head off the floor to stare at it. He closed his eyes and opened them again, expecting the vision to disappear, but the creature was still there. It looked around with glittering eyes, fixed its gaze on the mirror and the beasts, and then slipped back into the passage.

  I’ve gone mad, Bert thought. A moment later more silent figures emerged: Short but powerful men with long thick beards, holding broad axes. No, they weren’t men. Dwergh! Bert would have been alarmed, but he knew they couldn’t be real. He counted them. Seven, of course. He would have laughed if there was any humor left inside him.