by John Shirley
Fourth Movement—And She Lived Happily Ever After
No sooner had Snow uttered the runic incantation than did the Queen’s army top the mountain. The Queen led the charge, sitting across the neck of her dragon, a monstrous black and gold brute with a wingspan of several cottages and claws like broadswords. Beneath them her army marched toward the Deadlands, their boot steps resonating in unison so loudly that they could be heard all the way to the cave.
Even with the battle still nearly seven king’s acres away.
Leader didn’t care, though. He was busy dragging Snow away from the mirror, which had begun to pulse like a ring of water, flickering in ripples of glass and light and color. After a few moments, the glass grew still again.
“Is that it?” she said.
“Sadly, no.” He stood between her and the glass, facing away from her, puffing out his chest to guard her from as much as his squat stump of a body would allow. “Remember this,” he said, almost in a whisper. “This was not the best way, but it was the only way to save you.”
“I don’t under—” she started, but stopped.
A hand emerged from the glass.
Then the crown of a fair-haired head.
Then finally, the girl herself rose from the mirror and stepped away from it onto the ground.
She smiled at Snow, then glanced down at the surface of the mirror. Leader leaned in but saw nothing in its face but his own reflection.
The girl didn’t look away. “Farewell, Ulysses. I shall miss you, old friend.”
He couldn’t resist the urge to peak again to see what he was missing. His whiskers itched from the need to see. Still, nothing returned his gaze but his own confused stare.
The girl turned, took a deep breath, looking into the sky.
“Home at last,” she said and strode toward Snow.
Leader held his ground between them.
“If you’ve come to harm her …" he said, deciding the threat was just as effective if unfinished.
“Harm her?” The girl laughed. “She saved me from an epoch of captivity. I’ve come to thank her.”
She took another step toward Snow, but he held his ground.
“What did she open?”
“Just a portal for me to return home. I lived in this kingdom long before you were born, not long after your people were created from the mountains. Before your kind was banished to the Deadlands.”
“I thought as much.”
“It was my father, little darshve, who drove your kind away and made the land safe for humans.”
“That was many, many years ago. Why return now, princess of ancient times?”
The girl lowered herself and knelt so that her face almost pressed against his own. “Because, creature of greed, this kingdom is my home, and was mine before it was stolen from my father by the one who now plays at being its Queen.”
“Your time has past. You have a new kingdom.” He pushed his face so that it touched hers, and she wrinkled her nose and backed away. “This is no longer your world.”
“It will be,” she said and sidestepped him, reaching for Snow’s hand. “Regardless, my name is Alice, and I am in your debt, princess.”
Snow took her hand, and Leader glared at her. “Should I know you?” Snow asked. “I feel like I should somehow.”
Alice laughed. “Had time not been stopped for me, I might have been your grandmother of many ages past. But as it stands, we will have to be satisfied being half-sisters.”
He saw Snow’s legs about to give way, and he steadied her.
“Sisters?”
“Yes. The witch who thought she killed you is also the one who stole my father from me. She killed him after she married him. Then trapped me inside the world beyond the mirror so she could have the throne to herself.”
Leader could stand no more, and he tore Alice’s hand from Snow’s. “Enough. That witch, the Queen, comes now with an army to murder your half-sister. What can you do to stop that, Ancient Queen Alice?” he sneered.
She laughed again. “More than is needed, little beast man.”
She pushed him aside and stood over the mirror, then recited a verse of runic tongue, and the mirror flickered and rippled again.
This time however, it did not stop.
Nor did a human hand emerge.
Instead a tendril rose above the glass, tapering into a mouth full of knifelike teeth, followed by another, then another, nearly thirty in all, and then a sinewy leg of muscle and visible bone, then two arms of similar makeup, each thin like tree limbs but taller than a full-grown oak, each ending in a tangle of claws long as Norse boat oars. Protruding from its back were two massive wings of thickened, dried blood.
When at last the beast stood completely in the world Leader knew as real, it towered over the cave and rivaled the mountain in height.
Leader and his brothers scrambled in the creature’s shade for whatever cover they could find. Alice merely stood between the behemoth’s gigantic legs and helped Snow regain her footing.
“Beware the Jabberwock,” Alice said. “The bastard child of the elder gods.”
High atop the Jabberwock, Alice watched as the foot soldiers of her ancient enemy ran for their lives. None survived, of course. Those who weren’t trampled beneath the feet of the elder gods were gathered up by the biting tendrils and consumed alive, their screams blanketing the mountainside until only the Queen and her dragon remained.
She had tried to escape, flying away to the Northern lands, but the Jabberwock had been a mere trifle among the creatures of the oldest world, and kingdoms were but a footstep for the largest of them, and there was no place in the world she knew to escape their reach.
In the end, Alice simply waited for the elders to return from across the sea with the beast and the witch in their grip.
When they did return, the ancient creature tore the wings from the dragon and fed them to the youngest among them. Then they lay the beast on the ground before Alice and placed the half-dead form of the witch-queen beside her steed.
“What are these magnificent creatures?” the defeated woman asked.
Alice smiled. “They are my allies.”
“They will destroy this world like they destroyed the one beyond the mirror.”
“All worlds return to the green in time, witch.”
The witch spit in Alice’s face. “But you’ll be long dead, girl. There’s no magic here to keep you young.”
“I’ve lived long enough, more than anyone should be allowed. It’s enough for me to die in my homeland.”
The witch shook her head. “I don’t think so. You’re corrupt now, just like me, just like your father would have become if I hadn’t killed him.”
Before she realized she had moved, Alice’s hand snapped like a vine and struck the woman full in the face. “Don’t mention my father, bitch!” she spat.
“Just like me now,” the witch said again, wiping the blood from her lips with the back of her hand then tasting it. “You can’t be satisfied with killing me. You have to conquer. Is that not what you’ve promised your allies?”
Alice looked up to see most of the elder gods already moving across the face of the land, some heading into the lands past the mountains and others walking toward the sea.
Someone tugged at her sleeve.
“Sister?” asked Snow. “Is it true? Have you promised our kingdom to these monsters?”
Alice grinned.
“I have. But I don’t intend to keep that promise.”
“You have a plan?”
Of course I do, Alice thought. But she said nothing.
“You were always a dim child, Snow,” said the witch-queen. “You cannot trust your half-sister. Listen to the dwarves you’ve chosen to live with. They'll tell you.”
Alice watched as the stubby darshve who had tried to protect Snow from her stepped forward. “We all have our parts.” He pointed at the Queen. “Even her.”
“Well said, little man.”
Alice gazed up at the Jabberwock, her eyes seeing something she knew the rest of them couldn’t see, her words entering places the rest of them couldn’t go. Then she broke the stare and frowned at her stepmother.
The Jabberwock struck her with its claws, slicing the witch into three slivers of human pulp. Alice knelt down and picked up the first piece, the center cut, and cocked her head sideways. “Goodbye, stepmother,” she said and tossed the flesh into the mirror, where it disappeared.
“You there,” she said, motioning toward the darshve with a short blonde beard. “Help me, and I’ll give you position and wealth in my new kingdom.”
“I don’t trust you,” he said.
“Do you trust gold?” she asked.
“How much gold?”
“Newbeard!” her half-sister shouted.
“Enough.” Alice stretched. “And human women, none so lovely as my sister, but the choicest females from lands far and near.”
The little darshve stroked his beard for a moment, then looked at the old one, then at Snow, then back to Alice.
“And we'll be safe from those things?”
“Yes.”
The creature looked at Snow again, then back to Alice.
“Make up your mind.”
He nodded, and grabbed the left portion of the dead Queen. As he dragged it toward the mirror, the tallest of the darshve went over to help him. Alice watched as they lifted the flesh and tossed it into the mirror.
“Blood seals the magic.”
She walked among the remaining darshve. “What of you, little ones? Would you prefer to live off the mountain dust or dine like princes in my palace with your beautiful wives from exotic lands?”
The others said nothing. But neither did they step forward to help dispose of the Queen’s corpse.
Damn them, Alice though. Very well.
She locked eyes on the beast above her. Asked it for another favor, and instantly four of the little men lay dead, gutted at her feet.
“You chose poorly, little darshve.” Alice looked at the dead darshve, then to Snow. “There’s only one way to save this world, my sister.”
The girl said nothing, only shuddered behind the old one.
“You can call them back to their own world, but only from inside the looking glass.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“How many can enter?”
Alice took another deep breath. “I love this home air. Even filled with death, it calms me and helps me remember the way the land used to be.”
“How many, Alice?” Snow tightened her gaze and it seemed to Alice that the girl had finally found some courage. Far too late, but an admirable discovery nonetheless.
“As many as who dare,” Alice said. “So long as they go before you. Once you enter or I throw you in, the portal will close. Blood seals the bargain, not just my stepmother’s blood but also the royal blood in your veins.”
The girl knelt on her knees and called out, “Aspen! Come here, Aspen.”
In a few moments, a dirty white dog ran from the edge of the forest to her and leaped against her chest to lick her face.
“Good dog, Aspen.” The girl gathered the dog in her arms and carried it toward the mirror. “I’ll join you in a moment.” Then she set her pet on the mirror’s face and it slid into the glass as though it were water.
Alice sighed. “Happy now, half-sister?”
“You’ll die a normal death now.”
Alice laughed and shook her head. “I’ve learned a lesson or two from the bo—” She stopped herself. “Damn! The book. I’ve left the book.”
When she gathered her wits after a few seconds, she noticed the girl squatting down and whispering something in the old one’s ear. He nodded. Then they clasped each other’s hands and stepped onto the mirror.
In a moment, all Alice’s allies began to moan in a low tone that shook the mountains. Then they simply faded away as if they had never been in the land at all.
“This isn’t the end,” the girl said.
“Wait!” Alice said, reaching for them too late as they disappeared through the glass. She turned to the two darshve who remained. “I want that damned mirror hidden in the mountains again and buried beneath a rockfall. No, two rockfalls. She is never to escape.” She tightened her glare at the little men. “Never. Even if she learns the power contained in that volume.” She bit down on her frown. “Do you understand me?”
She was certain they did.
Snow stared out the window of her chamber at the peaceful green and blue of the castle grounds.
The winters in the new kingdom were moderate, with little to no snow, and the temperatures remained just warm enough to enjoy the cold without freezing, but it wasn’t home.
Back home, the trickster, the conniver, Alice, sat in her father’s castle, entertained guests in her father’s banquet hall. But that wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. She would see to that. The ancient leather book Alice had left behind would help her, even if she couldn’t yet comprehend it. But she had time to learn.
Footsfalls thumped softly behind her.
“Snow?”
“Squash?” she asked. “How was the hunt?”
“Productive. I must admit that I enjoy this new land. And Aspen delights in the fields around the castle. He’s like a pup again.”
“But it’s not home,” she said.
“Alas. It is not.”
“What did you bring us?”
“Four harts and a boar. Enough to feed all the castle servants well.”
Snow nodded. “Tell the cook that I will prepare the stew tonight. I’ve missed cooking for someone all these years.”
“I will,” Squash said and turned to go.
But he stopped when she cried out.
“Again?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Don’t fight it.”
She shook her head. “I’ll always fight her.”
The pain in her gut twisted and burned, and her throat constricted.
The air above her rippled and spoke in the hateful voice of her half-sister. “Mirror, mirror on the wall….”
Little Women in Black
By Louisa May Alcott and Rick Hautala
Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, sitting on the rug before the fire. She had a ball of yarn in her lap and, like her sisters, was busily knitting socks to send to the soldiers. Her hands moved somewhat clumsily because of the linen gloves she wore to cover up the scars, scabs, and open wounds on her hands. Even now, a few of them were bleeding through the thin fabric, making random blossoms of bright scarlet.
“It’s so dreadful to be poor,” sighed Meg, looking down with frustration at her old dress.
“It’s not fair for some girls to have pretty things, and other girls nothing at all,” added little Amy, with an injured sniff.
“We’ve still got Father and Mother … and each other,” whispered Beth from her dark corner by the fireplace.
The three young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words so faint they could have been a thought in each one’s mind, but their expressions darkened again when Meg said sadly, “But we haven’t got Father … and the other dear one we lost and miss so much.”
“We haven’t lost Father,” remarked Jo. “He’s just away at the war.”
“But we shan’t have him for a very long time,” added Amy, staring at the fire wistfully.
She didn’t have to add the phrase "perhaps never,” but each girl silently did as they paused to think of Father, far away down South. He was serving as a chaplain in Mr. Lincoln’s Army, so he wouldn’t see battle directly, but there were many other dangers of war he must face daily. How, each of them wondered, would all of that have changed him when he returned? How could it not help but change him from the kind, loving father they all knew and loved so much?
Nobody spoke for several minutes, the only sound the rhythmic clicking of kn
itting needles. Then Meg said, “You know the reason Mother proposed us not having any Christmas presents this year is because it is going to be a dreadfully hard winter for everyone, not just our troops. She thinks we ought not to spend any money for trinkets or silly pleasures when our soldiers are suffering so.”
“We can’t do much,” added Jo, “but we can make little sacrifices and ought to do so gladly, I suppose.” She paused, and then added sullenly, “But I’m afraid I don’t do it gladly. I miss Father so.”
Meg shook her head as she thought regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted and might never have.
“I don’t think the little we would spend would do any good for the soldiers,” said Amy. “We’ve each got a dollar, and the army wouldn’t be much helped by our giving that away.”
“I agree not to expect anything from Mother or you this season, but I so much want to buy Mr. Hawthorne’s newest novel,” Jo said.
“I had hoped to spend mine on some new sheet music,” said Beth with a low, wistful sigh that no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle holder. Her pale face floated in the darkness like the moon, obscured by clouds, wavering and dimming. Meg cast a glance in Beth’s direction and shivered as though she had caught a draft.
“Well, I shall get a nice new box of Faber’s drawing pencils,” declared Amy. “I really do need them.”
“Mother didn’t say anything about our money,” cried Jo, “and she won’t wish us to give up everything. Let us each buy what we want for ourselves and have a little fun. I’m sure we work hard enough to earn it.”
“I know I certainly do, teaching those tiresome children all day when I’m longing to enjoy myself at home,” said Meg.
“You don’t have half such a hard time as I do,” said Jo. “How would you like to be cooped up for hours on end with a fussy old lady like Aunt March, who keeps me trotting back and forth, is never satisfied, and worries me till I’m ready to fly out the window or break down and cry?”
“Don’t fret,” said Beth with a deep sigh that, when it ended, filled the room with a hush.