Tomorrow's Magic

by Pamela F. Service

  Welly squinted at it in the fading light. It did look like a sooty piece of old root. “Yeah, probably part of someone's campfire. Please, let's go.”

  “But I think this is important.”

  “It is, my dear,” said a voice from the passage behind them.

  Welly squeaked and leaped over the stone. Spinning around, he saw a woman standing in the passage, a woman with long black hair and green eyes. A ball of green fire glowed coldly in her hand.

  “Morgan!” Heather gasped. She clutched at her amulet, then snatched her hand away as the stone seared her palm with cold.

  “Ah, you brought back my amulet. Good. I'll take it now.”

  “Your amulet? It is not! My mother gave it to me. It's a family heirloom.”

  “Oh, is that the story she told you? Resourceful woman. She has promise, even if she did muddle the drug in the wine. No, my dear, I told your mother to give that to you in case you should come her way. I thought it might be useful.”

  “You … you mean …”

  “I used it to keep tabs on you all. Every time you played with it, the ties strengthened. Finally they were strong enough for me to call you here.”

  “To call me? I came here because Earl was in danger!”

  Morgan laughed. The chilling sound bounced back and forth in the tiny chamber. Heather and Welly huddled back against the cold, damp stones.

  “And so he will be. But I need you out of the way first. Now, give me my amulet.”

  Reaching up, Heather snapped the chain and hurled the amulet against the fallen stone. It cracked sharply in two. “I should have known it was evil. Only animal power is right for me. I should have guessed.”

  Morgan stared at the broken amulet, her mouth compressed into a thin, hard line. “Breaking that means nothing, fool! It was an old thing, just a tool, and it's done its work nicely. Now, pick up that wood.”

  “No!” Heather glowered back at the sorceress.

  “Don't put on airs with me, brat! I'm not playing at a battle of wills with some barnyard witch. Pick it up!”

  Heather shrank back against Welly. Laughing contemptuously, Morgan hurled her green flame at the stump of wood. The flame smashed on the stone, rocketing the wood up toward the two cowering figures.

  Heather thrust up an arm to ward it off, and the wood grazed her. Everything shattered apart. Her splintered mind screamed for help.

  The world was loud and filled with terrible sensation. Blades of cold seemed to slice their bodies into strips, strips of being that stretched impossibly thin. The strips twisted and coiled, suddenly wadding together and hurtling into bottomless darkness.

  When Merlin failed to join them that evening for supper, Arthur was annoyed. But when the wizard was nowhere to be seen the following morning, he became concerned.

  After questioning several people, he learned that Merlin had been seen climbing down the Hill of the White Horse early the evening before. The King was just considering whether or not to set out after him when his harper stepped hesitantly forward and told him about the note.

  Arthur's face shadowed in remembered pain. Abruptly he turned from the harper and strode out the north gate. Scrambling down the steep hillside, splayed with its giant white horse, he stopped for a moment by the animal's single eye. Below he saw a lone figure, no, two figures, on distant Dragon Hill. The odd square hill rose abruptly from the fringes of the chalk, a last assertion of the downs before giving way to the wide vale below.

  Arthur half ran, half slid to the bottom of the slope. Crossing an ancient road, he struck off toward the flat summit of the hill. Once there, dirty and out of breath, he saw Merlin seated on the ground staring vacantly across the valley. The troll huddled miserably nearby.

  When he saw the King, the creature hopped up and scuttled to him. “Glad King is here. Great Wizard very sad. Not talk, not even eat.”

  Slowly Arthur walked over to his friend and sat beside him. The other never blinked.

  “Merlin, it's me, Arthur. Please come back; please listen to me.”

  As though pulling his mind from some distant dragging sea, the wizard turned a blank, expressionless face to the King.

  “Merlin, I know about Heather and Welly. I understand what you feel. Remember, I was betrayed, too—by a woman.”

  Something flickered in the other's face. “She didn't betray me! I betrayed her. She was a friend, and I demanded more. I dragged her out of the normal, comfortable world and into mine. A young, kind girl, and I dragged her into the cold just to share my loneliness.”

  “No, Merlin, I'm sure it wasn't like—”

  “Oh yes it was. I wanted this life to be different. I wanted not to be alone. I wanted someone to love me honestly this time. And what did I do? I drove the most loving person I've ever met away from me!” The wizard stood up angrily and paced the top of the hill.

  “How could I have been so blind, so egotistical as not to know what would happen? There's nothing human left of me. I'm just an empty shell. Anything that might once have been worth loving in me was eaten up by magic long ago.”

  Now the King jumped to his feet. “That's not true, you crazy old man! Remember me? I'm your friend, aren't I? I've found a few lovable scraps in you.”

  Merlin smiled thinly. “But you're different, Arthur. You've been touched by Faerie since your birth, stubborn human that you are. But to the rest of the world, to the real world, I'm a hollow, useless specter.”

  “You are not useless, not unless you sit out here and let yourself starve to death! We need you, Merlin. Come on back with us. Who knows, perhaps in time there may be other—”

  “No!” The wizard spun around, glaring. “Never any others.”

  “All right, no others. I'm sorry. I'd almost forgotten how I felt about Guenevere … before I met Margaret.” The King blushed and turned aside. “But I do need you, Merlin. And besides, you did promise us something of a prophecy.”

  Merlin looked down at the bowl hanging at his waist. “Yes, I did. Though whether I and this … this toy can still do that I just don't know. I'll try again.” He sighed, rubbing a weary hand over his face. “Have some food sent out if you want. I'll try the bowl here. This is an ancient Hill of Seeing, you know.”

  “No, I didn't.”

  “You wouldn't, lucky, ignorant child!” He smiled wanly. “Maybe I can't read the future, Arthur. But you do deserve a better one this time. So does our world. I'll do what I can.” Arthur laid a hand on his old friend's shoulder, then without a word turned away, beckoning Troll to follow. Once, the King turned and looked back. The thin figure on the hill seemed painfully alone.

  EXILE

  When Heather opened her eyes, it was to bright light and kaleidoscopic color, a dizzy riot of blue and green. She jammed her eyes shut hoping something would settle. Cautiously she opened them again, but the light and colors remained and began forming into shapes.

  She was lying under a tree, a huge oak tree in full leaf. It was lit by brilliant, unfiltered sunlight, and beyond it arched bright blue sky.

  Beside her, Welly's voice said, “Are we dead, do you think? Or in Avalon, maybe?”

  Heather propped herself onto an elbow and looked around. This tree wasn't an isolated giant. There were others, many others, on the hillside around them. All were lushly green, touched here and there with a splash of orange or yellow. And the hillside itself was covered in grass, not coarse gray stuff but long, deep green blades. She combed her hand through them, feeling their cool softness glide between her fingers. Scattered through the grass were tiny white flowers.

  Heather sighed and lay back again. “Well, it sure isn't our world. But I don't think it's Avalon either. When we were there before, it was different somehow, like this but … more so.”

  Cautiously Welly sat up. “Well, then, where are … Look at that, will you!”

  Heather sat up quickly. “A city. Look at the size of that city!”

  “The buildings, they're so tall!”

  �
�And there are no ruins. Welly, do you see that?”

  “I sure don't see any from here.”

  They both stood up. Heather turned around to where the hill rose toward the blue sky. “Let's climb up and look from there. Maybe it'll make more sense.”

  Scrambling up the grassy slope, they realized just how warm the air was. Both were soon sweating under the fur lining of even their light summer jackets and had to stop and strip them off. A warm breeze blew over them in a soft unfamiliar caress.

  When they reached the top, they didn't notice the view as much as the activity around them. People were everywhere on the grassy hilltop, people in bright colors and light, almost skimpy-looking clothes. And there were dogs. Heather felt her stomach tighten, remembering fell-dogs. But these looked very different, both from the dogs they knew and from each other. They barked and ran about in pursuit not of prey, but of balls and sticks people threw for them.

  And children ran among them, laughing children, unafraid of dogs or anything else, it seemed. Several women walked by, pushing smaller children in odd four-wheeled carriages.

  A faint flapping sound came from overhead. Both instantly crouched and looked fearfully to the sky. Sunlight shone through the rainbow streamers of a kite as it dipped and soared through the air. They looked sheepishly at each other, then stood up laughing with relief. They could see now that there were other such specks in the sky, while people below tended their thin, barely visible lines.

  Something else moved through the sky, something much higher. Silver glinted from outstretched wings and thunder trailed behind it. “An airplane,” Welly breathed. “An ancient airplane! Great gods, Heather, where are we?”

  They looked back now at the city. To the south, buildings stretched as far as they could see, their multiple windows glinting with sunlight.

  “What is that?” Welly asked.

  “What is which, young man?” said a voice behind them.

  They turned quickly and saw a pale old man, lightly dressed, with a little curly-haired dog on a leather strap beside him.

  “Ah … those buildings.” Welly pointed vaguely to the mysterious city.

  “Well, that funny-looking one there is the old Post Office tower, and the square tower beyond it, the one with the spires, is part of the Houses of Parliament. Now over there by all those tall new buildings, you can just see the dome of St. Paul's.”

  Heather looked confused. “Eh, I guess we mean, what are they in general?”

  “Well, those there are in Westminster, but the ones around St. Paul's are in the City.”

  “What city?”

  “The city of London, of course.”

  “London!”

  “From Hampstead Heath you're not thinking to see Paris, I hope?” The man seemed slightly annoyed.

  “No. No, certainly not,” Welly mumbled.

  “Thank you,” Heather squeaked out as the man and his dog, eyeing them curiously, continued their walk.

  Speechless, Heather and Welly looked at each other. London. Fallen, fabled London!

  “This is too incredible,” Heather whispered at last. “But why did Morgan send us here? This is hardly durance vile.”

  “Maybe it's a mistake. Maybe she meant to send us back to some dinosaur swamp and ran out of oomph.”

  “Yeah,” Heather said dreamily, then became suddenly practical. “And she might realize her mistake any moment and blast us on again. Let's get a look at old London while we have the chance!”

  Together they ran down the hill toward the distant buildings. But soon they were diverted by the natural beauty around them. Strange flowering bushes. And trees, a whole forest of them. They wandered off among the huge trunks, wondering at their height and the luxuriant greenery below.

  They met other people on the paths, walking with dogs or whizzing by on alarming two-wheeled vehicles. People nodded at them in a friendly, if curious, way. Even with their fleecy jackets slung over their arms and hiding their swords, they felt hot and out of place in leather trousers and heavy wool shirts.

  Emerging from the trees, they entered a lane lined with houses, impressively big houses, two or three stories of brick. All of the windows were glass, and in front of each was a little walled garden brimming with flowers. The colors were dazzling in the bright sun.

  Whistling with delight, Heather saw what could only be a rose, a huge pink flower with delicate open petals like she had seen in pictures. Gently she touched it, tipping it down to her face. Soft wet petals brushed her cheek, and an intoxicating aroma seemed to fill her body. She felt she could spend the rest of her life smelling that one rose.

  Welly gripped her arm. Reluctantly she turned away and saw a motor-driven vehicle rumbling down the street toward them. It pulled up beside the walkway. Doors opened and two people carrying bags made of paper stepped out, then walked into one of the houses.

  “Look at that car!” Welly exclaimed when they had gone. “A real ancient car. And see, there're others down the road there. Fantastic!”

  He walked over to the car and cautiously ran a hand over its smooth red surface. Heather started to join him when she saw something else. On one of the garden walls, an animal lay asleep in the sun. It had thick golden fur and a long tail that drooped off the wall like a fluffy snake. As Heather watched, the creature opened one eye, gave a paw a few quick licks, and rubbed this across its whiskered face.

  Tentatively Heather reached out a hand. Surely this was a cat, but the only ones she had seen were the shadowy feral cats that roamed the wildlands. Those were dangerous things, silent, fierce hunters. She touched the furry side, soft and warm in the sun. Lazily the cat turned its eyes toward her, then began a low contented rumbling.

  “Welly, look at this! A domestic cat, and it's purring.”

  A woman walking by in a yellow dress smiled at her pleasantly. “Old Tom's a good cat, he is. A fine mouser, right enough, but he does like his afternoon nap.”

  The two children smiled self-consciously at the woman. Heather gave the cat a parting rub; then they headed down the lane, which opened into a large, noisy street. Vehicles of all descriptions roared by, and people bustled along the sidewalks. The traffic was alarming, not just the sight of it but the unfamiliar raucous noise and the hot chemical smell. The two stayed well back from the curb. Soon, however, they found that the buildings lining the sidewalk were fascinating enough.

  Huge sheets of glass covered displays of things they had seen only in pictures. Some of the objects they couldn't even imagine a use for. Heather looked at the clothes and wistfully imagined herself wearing them. They were ridiculously impractical, of course—but beautiful. The two progressed slowly down the street, barely pulling themselves away from one window only to be fascinated by the next.

  Outside one shop stood several tables mounded with mysterious fruits and vegetables. The aroma was enticing. For minutes, Heather looked longingly at some round pinkish-yellow fruits. Her mouth was watering so hard that her cheeks hurt. Suddenly Welly appeared beside her again and dragged her to a small shop on the corner. Its window was filled with candies, a dazzling variety. Sweet smells drifted out the door and pulled them in. Inside the cheery shop, glass counters were heaped with candies of rich brown and every possible color.

  “May I help you?” a plump white-haired lady said from behind a counter.

  “Oh,” Heather sighed, “they all look and smell so good. But … I don't know if we have any money.”

  “I have,” Welly said, pulling a leather pouch from his pocket. Pouring several coins into his palm, he looked at them doubtfully. Two were ones Arthur had minted in Keswick, and one was Wessex coinage showing a rough profile of King Edwin.

  “Will any of these do?” He handed the coins to the shop lady.

  She looked them over curiously. “Foreign, aren't they? But I should have guessed from your accent and clothes. Where are you from, then?”

  Heather thought frantically. Geography class. What had the pre-Devastation world be
en like? What countries might be near Britain yet cold enough to explain their clothes? And what about their darker skin?

  Welly had the answer first. “Newfoundland. We're Eskimos here on a visit.”

  “Eskimos. Well, fancy that. You'd better ask your hosts to give you some of our money if you're going to be visiting shops. But my grandson's a coin collector. I'll sell you some sweets for one of these with the animal on it. What is it? ”

  “A dragon, ma'am.”

  “A dragon, how nice. Now, what would you like, duckies?”

  They looked at each other helplessly, overwhelmed with indecision.

  “Suppose I give you a sampling of several?” At their eager nods, she took a white paper bag and began scooping a few pieces from many piles. Finally she handed the bag to Heather and the two remaining coins to Welly. “There you are, duckies. Enjoy your visit.”

  “We are,” Welly said as they slipped out the door.

  Outside, standing on the sidewalk, they eagerly opened the bag and went into ecstasies over every new bite. Heather particularly liked the brown ones. She wondered what they were.

  “We'd better not eat them all now,” she said at last. Tucking the bag into a pocket, she tried wiping the stickiness from her face, only smearing it further.

  After working up courage to run across a street, they looked at shop windows in the next block. The one that most fascinated them had boxes with moving pictures behind glass sides—colored pictures, and with them went voices and music, muffled behind the shop window.

  “I've read about these,” Welly whispered. “Televisions. They run on electricity.”

  “Are those things really happening?” Heather asked.

  “Somewhere. They have machines that send pictures through the air.”

  Several people had stopped in front of the shop now. Welly wandered down the street, but Heather stayed and watched a box showing people on tall horses riding through a beautiful countryside. They stopped in front of a big white building, and several women ran out, all wearing gorgeous colorful dresses, incredibly wide and long.