Tomorrow's Magic

by Pamela F. Service

  When they reached Welly, he was near hysterics. They gathered that in his wild slide, his glasses had flown off. Without his glasses, Welly was so helpless he could not even look for them. So he sat miserable and blind while Heather and Earl crawled up the glassy surface searching. At last, halfway up, Heather found them, a glint of metal and glass on a field of ice. They were unbroken.

  The rest of the day was spent scrambling over the ice-slicked landscape. As the bruises and cold built up, tobogganing lost its appeal. When in late afternoon they made it to the top of another rise and saw an inhabited farmstead beyond, it was as though they had glimpsed paradise.

  Heather stood for a moment gazing at the stone house, a gray column of smoke curling from its squat chimney. “I don't care if the place is peopled by a whole family of stonewraiths. Let's visit.”

  “Wraiths don't need fires,” Earl told her. “But at the moment, I'd hardly care if they did, so long as they shared.”

  In minutes, three bedraggled children stood knocking on the low wooden door. A shuffling inside, and the door cracked open. A man's bearded face, set in cautious curiosity, peered out at them.

  After a second, he threw the door wide. “Martha, John Wesley! Come here; it's all right. It's rare we have visitors, but I can tell children needing a warm fire when I see them.”

  The three were hustled inside. Their sodden coats were removed, and they were plumped down on benches before the fire. They were just beginning to thaw when mugs of steaming hot soup were thrust into their hands. They drank eagerly while the farm family smiled and watched them.

  Earl put down his mug. “Sir and madam, I can't tell you how grateful we are to be taken in and fed like this.”

  “Well, it's only human charity,” the man said. “And you looked like you could use it. But we're not ‘sir and madam.’ We're the Penroses. I'm Josiah, and this is my wife, Martha, and our son, John Wesley.”

  After their introductions, Welly's and Heather's eyes widened at Earl's account of how they'd gotten to the Pen-roses' door. “We all three were students at a school in Glamorganshire, but last month the school had a fire and had to close. Since Heather and Welly haven't any family, they're coming with me to my home in Cornwall. But we ill-advisedly took a shortcut over the moors and have had some rough days of it.”

  “I shouldn't doubt you have, poor lambs,” the woman said. “But you'll stay the night with us now. We've extra bedding to spread by the fire. I don't imagine you've been sleeping too well out there, what with the cold and wet and the strange things on the moors.”

  “No, madam … Mrs. Penrose, we haven't.”

  The motherly woman was soon bustling about, laying out extra ticking and blankets by the broad hearth. As she helped them out of their dank clothing, she commented, “You may have to stay over with us an extra day just so I can wash your clothes. They're so stiff, they almost stand by themselves.”

  That night, sleeping dry by the fire, tucked into clean, warm blankets, they seemed, indeed, very close to paradise.

  In the morning, Welly woke up hot and shaky. Everything around him seemed oddly distant. Mrs. Penrose proclaimed that he was sick and shouldn't budge from his bed and that, anyway, it was a mercy they weren't all down with fever after what they'd been through.

  Welly got steadily worse. For days, his skin was hot and dry, and he developed a wracking cough. He swam in and out of consciousness, always followed by a swarm of images. There were smoky wraiths and trolls dancing on mountains of water, and a beautiful pale woman with black hair and green eyes who alternately offered him gooseberry preserves or ripped off his glasses and stamped on them.

  Heather and Mrs. Penrose cared for him, keeping him covered as he thrashed about, bathing his forehead with damp cloths, and making him swallow bitter medicinal concoctions.

  Earl was worried for his friend, and he was toweringly frustrated. He had been a fair master of healing magic, but he was afraid to try it now for fear he'd kill rather than cure.

  Heather noticed how glum Earl had become, and guessing the problem, she told him over and over again that he wasn't to blame. But he wouldn't be comforted. He was ashamed of his impotence, and for a time tried to avoid her, the one person who knew he should be able to help.

  He threw himself instead into helping Josiah and little John Wesley around the farm. The Penrose lands were on the edge of the moor and, except for a considerable kitchen garden, were devoted to livestock. When the snow cover was light, the dark-wooled sheep, shaggy ponies, and shaggier cattle were let out onto the moor. When it was heavy or an icefall sealed off the grass, the stock was kept in pens and barns and fed on the red succulents, or “blood-plants,” the travelers had seen on their way.

  “These are wonderful plants,” Josiah told Earl one day as they shoveled the dried leathery pods into a bin. “The minister calls them ‘God's Mercy on the Survivors.’ They say that when everything else stopped growing after the Devastation, the blood-plants and moor grass just took over. The stock'll eat blood-plants dried or fresh, and they make fine fuel. When times are hard, people can eat 'em, too, though if you ask me, they taste like rancid pickles.”

  Working in the stock barn or on the moors, Earl often found seven-year-old John Wesley tagging along. The boy was small for his age. On one side, his arm was shriveled and his spindly leg was too short, giving him a rolling limp. Yet he seemed irrepressibly happy. He had no schooling and wasn't likely to get any. But he understood his world.

  When the two were alone, Earl told the younger boy stories, some from reading at Llandoylan and others well-disguised adventures of his own. In return, John Wesley taught the things he knew, natural things that the wizard Merlin had known but that in this world had changed almost beyond recognition. Earl learned the new weather signs, and the names and natures of those few new plants and creatures that had replaced the many old.

  On his bed by the fireplace, Welly lay ill for a week. But at last the fever broke. He was tired and very weak, but the coughing was down to a rasp, and he could sleep without those fever-conjured companions.

  His first real food was bread soaked in vegetable broth. Heather brought him a bowl and sat down by his bed to talk. She told him what she and Earl had been doing and about the little newborn lamb John Wesley had shown her.

  Welly licked up the last drop in his bowl. “These folks sure have been good to us. Leave it to me to get sick and be a burden.” He sighed. “I've held up Earl's plans, too. Is he mad?”

  “No, not mad. Not at you, anyway. But he's upset that he wasn't able to help you.”

  “Well, that's not his fault. He would've if he could. I'm not blaming him.”

  “I know. But convincing him not to blame himself is another matter.”

  Welly sighed again and looked down at his hands, plump and dark against the white sheet. “Well, something good ought to have come of this. But look, a week of not eating, and I'm as fat as ever. It's not fair!”

  “Welly!” she admonished. “We're so happy you're better; nobody cares what you're shaped like!”

  Later that night as Welly was sleeping peacefully by the fire and Josiah and the two boys were out tending to the stock, Heather echoed what Welly had said and what she had been thinking. “You know, Mrs. Penrose, you've all been very kind to us. There's no way we can ever repay you.”

  “Lord's mercy, child, you've been repaying us every moment you're here. If the Lord had allowed it, this house would be full of children. But that hasn't been His choice for us. We've only little John Wesley now.”

  The woman sighed. “I'm sorry you never met our older son, Charles. He was a good lad, and strong. He was born healthy and stayed that way until he got the bone sick and right away died. Poor little John Wesley has had afflictions since he was born. So maybe that's enough; maybe he'll stay with us.”

  “I hope so, Mrs. Penrose. He certainly is a cheerful boy.”

  “He is, and he loves your Earl. Follows him around everywhere. Not surprisin
g. That Earl is a fine lad, and very bright. He's sure to make something of himself someday.”

  “He has … I mean, he has been told that.”

  “And he's been such a help around here. Since Charles died, it's been hard on Josiah, running this place. And you've been a help to me, too, Heather, you know that.”

  The woman dried the last bowl and put it in the cupboard. “What I'm saying is that we've been very happy having you here. You can stay as long as you wish, and … And if any of you wanted to stay longer and kind of make this your home, well, that would be fine, too.”

  Heather felt her insides knot with yearning. This woman wanted her. She wanted her here to share this home.

  Heather closed her eyes and swallowed a lump that had risen in her throat. “Mrs. Penrose, sometimes I think there is nothing I want more than to stay here. But we can't. Earl has things he must attend to, and Welly and I are bound to go with him.”

  “I know. You three are very close,” the woman said with a sigh. “But think on it.”

  Welly's recovery was steady. After another few days, though still weak, he was walking about. Heather and John Wesley took him to the barn to meet the newborn lamb. Welly, seldom comfortable with animals, had to be coaxed to pat the wooly head. But once he had, the baby was soon licking mashed bloodplant from his hand. Its small pink tongue lapping his fingers was flannelly and warm.

  At last Welly was well enough for the three to consider resuming their journey. But it was a decision that day after day they put off. There were things to do around the farm, and Josiah was showing them the basics of horseback riding. Conversation only skirted around their departure.

  One afternoon, Welly was outside exercising his new vigor by shoveling manure into trays where it would be dried for fuel. The clouds were swollen yellow-brown with coming snow. John Wesley was in the barn trying to convince the lamb to wear and not eat the braided grass collar Heather had made for it.

  Inside the farmhouse, Heather and Mrs. Penrose were rewinding tangled skeins of yarn. Seated on the floor in front of the fireplace, Earl and Mr. Penrose were repairing a broken yoke. As they worked, Josiah told Earl what he hoped to trade for this year when the roads to the market towns were passable.

  Suddenly Welly burst through the door. Startled, they all looked up. “There's something awful out there!” he gasped. “It's got John Wesley cornered against the barn!”

  Instantly Earl was out the door. He ran into the yard but skidded to a halt when he saw what waited. The animal was the size of a deer and slender. But its legs ended in wicked-looking talons, and its tail was long and whiplike. Short reddish fur on the body lengthened into a mane. Black eyes glinted from behind a cruel beak.

  This was no natural mutation, Earl knew. There was something too bizarre, too intentionally evil about it.

  The thing swiveled its head and gave Earl a cold, appraising stare. Then it turned back and continued its step-by-step advance toward John Wesley. The boy stood pinned with terror against the barn door.

  Without pausing, Earl hurled a magic attack at the creature. The only effect was a strong odor of roses and a melted patch of snow. The beast kept stalking the boy. Earl tried again, this time producing only a sound—the jangled discord of a falling harp.

  He screamed in frustration, and at least the creature stopped a moment and looked at him, beady eyes snapping in annoyance. Well, Earl decided, if all the magic he had left was personal defense, he'd use that as a shield!

  Several bounding steps, and he stood between the creature and the boy. The animal crouched and opened its beak. Shrieking, it lunged at Earl. He threw up an arm, and the beast recoiled. Cautious now, it advanced more slowly, making little feints and jumps. Not turning around, Earl grabbed John Wesley's arm and moved backward, always keeping the boy shielded. Hissing in its throat, the creature leaped again. The air cracked, and again it was rebuffed. Earl continued stepping back. The beast kept pace, lunging and snapping, but never closing.

  The retreating dance went on and on until, behind him, Earl felt the barrier he sought. A waist-high stone wall ran across one corner of the yard, cutting it off from an old quarry hole.

  Still clutching John Wesley behind him, Earl taunted the beast. He poked and kicked toward it. Reaching down, he grabbed a handful of pebbles and threw them at its face.

  Its eyes blazed. The creature hissed and rumbled ominously in its chest. Feigning indifference, Earl turned away and looked toward the farmhouse and the four people watching in frozen horror. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the beast crouch. Muscles rippled under the smooth red fur. With a piercing shriek, it leaped at Earl's head. Instantly he threw himself and John Wesley to the ground.

  The animal sailed over their sprawled bodies, its talons missing them by inches. The note in its cry rose sharply. It flailed the air, then tumbled into the rocky pit to lie twitching and broken at the bottom.

  In seconds, the others were with the two boys, helping them up. Mrs. Penrose hugged her boy to her, murmuring endearments. Josiah slapped Earl on the back. “I don't know how you did it, boy, but that was wonderful! You certainly had that creature fuddled.”

  Heather and Welly peered over the wall at the form splayed on the rocks below. Even dead, its strangeness made them shiver. They wondered what it had been or, more disturbing, where it had come from.

  Mr. Penrose echoed their thoughts. “No question about it, that's the strangest creature I've ever seen, and we've known some odd things on these moors.”

  They took the boys into the house and fussed over them some more. John Wesley, rapidly rebounding, chattered about how wonderful Earl had been in fooling the “birdcat.” Earl said very little.

  After supper, as Mrs. Penrose stood to remove the plates, Earl spoke up. “Mr. and Mrs. Penrose, I think the time's come for us to be on our way again, or at least for me to be on mine. We've been a burden to you long enough.”

  “Oh, lad, don't say that,” Mrs. Penrose said, sitting down. “You've been anything but a burden. Why, you just saved our boy's life!”

  “But if I hadn't been here, his life would never have been endangered. You are good people, and this is a fine, peaceful home. But the longer I stay, the more of a threat you're all under.”

  Mr. Penrose cleared his throat. “Well, now, I can't exactly see how that can be, lad. That mutie beast just chanced upon the place, drawn by the sheep, I should think, not by any of us.”

  “I can't expect you to understand it. But I attract that kind of trouble the way a lightning rod attracts lightning. Welly and Heather would agree, I think.”

  The two looked unhappy, but reluctantly nodded their heads.

  Earl continued. “So I really have to go. It would be best to leave now, tonight.” The others looked startled. “But I'll wait until morning. I think it might be best if Heather and Welly did not come with me, but I'll leave that to them.”

  “Of course we're coming with you,” Heather protested, twisting a braid.

  “Certainly. We have to,” Welly added.

  “No, you don't have to! You would be a good deal safer if you didn't. But you make your own decisions.” Abruptly he excused himself to go pack his rucksack.

  Breakfast the next day was not a happy meal. Earl was brooding and silent, and Mrs. Penrose seemed on the verge of tears. Heather felt she was tearing down the middle, and looking at Welly, she knew he felt the same. Only John Wesley seemed unaffected, chattering about what he'd do the next time any sneaky old birdcat came their way.

  Mrs. Penrose substituted several of the children's old, frayed blankets for warm ones of her own making, and she stuffed food in every cranny the three packs provided. Finally the three stood outside the farmhouse door, coats on, hoods pulled up, and packs once again on their backs.

  After Mrs. Penrose had kissed them all and lavished them with tearful good-byes, Earl pulled his hand from a pocket and extended it to her.

  “This isn't payment. There's no way to repay your kindness
. But it is beautiful.”

  He rolled onto her palm a large opal the size of a pigeon egg. Holding the stone to the morning light, she gasped. It was alive with fire and color, as though all the world's sunsets were captured in its depths.

  John Wesley jumped to see, and his mother brought it down to him. “Oh, that's the prettiest thing in the world!”

  “I hope you enjoy it,” Earl said, tousling the boy's hair. “Just don't play marbles with it and lose it down a rat hole. Your folks might enjoy it, too.”

  Together the three children walked out the farmyard gate. They stopped several times to wave, the last as the road topped a hill. The farm seemed small and safe in its little valley. The three Penroses stood at the door, waving.

  As they dropped down the crest, Heather whispered, “Perhaps we'll come back someday.” Welly swallowed and nodded, but Earl strode ahead saying nothing.

  Snow had fallen during the night, dusting the world in fresh whiteness. The road wound through it, a smooth ribbon of white on white, making its way south to the old coast. They had walked in silence for several miles when suddenly Earl stopped and turned back to them.

  “No, it's no good. I can't let you come with me.”

  “What!” Welly exclaimed.

  “I'm putting you in too much danger. What I said to the Penroses goes for you, too. Where I am, there's danger. And I haven't the power to protect you.”

  “But that creature …,” Heather began.

  “That creature was no common mutation. I don't know if Morgan sent it, but it's odd she's left us alone this long. It's been a wonderful respite, and I almost fooled myself into thinking it could last. But she'll never rest until she destroys me and anyone helping me.”

  “But, Earl,” Heather protested, “we have to go with you.”

  “You do not! I've been too cowardly and self-centered to say that. Long ago, you discharged any obligation you had to me. It's I who've an obligation to you, to keep you safe. I said last night the decision was yours. But it's not. I knew the decision I had to make, and I didn't want to make it! Go back; go back to the Penroses. I'm sorry I've dragged you so far from your homes. But they'll be good to you. If I find Arthur—when I find Arthur—I'll try to come back.”