by L. J. Smith
“You mean when Elwyn moved the nursery mirror to the bedroom it closed off the Wildworld nursery from this one?”
“Right. Like locking a door.”
“But why didn’t she just break the mirror? Or throw it out the window?”
“Only Morgana can break the mirrors—right?” Janie looked at the sorceress, who nodded confirmation. “And we tried to take a mirror out of the house that night we made the amulet, remember? We couldn’t.”
“The mirrors in this house,” said Morgana, “are not ordinary objects, but Passages, or potential Passages, to the Wildworld. Furthermore, the mirrors on this side control the mirrors on the other side. If you take a mirror off the nursery wall in this world the Wildworld mirror disappears because the Passage is closed. If you then carry that nursery mirror into the bedroom and hang it on the wall you punch a new Passage through to the Wildworld and a mirror appears on the other side. So when my irresponsible sister did this idiotic thing I suddenly found myself trapped in my own nursery with no mirror, no staff, and no hope of escape.”
“That’s right,” said Elwyn, seemingly not bothered at all by her sister’s strictures. “I just let Morgana go through the mirror first, and when she did I took the mirror off the wall as Cadal told me to. He told me to break it, too, but I couldn’t, so I just carried it into another room. It was easy.”
Charles was intrigued. “So a Passage forms wherever you put a mirror,” he said. “What if you put a mirror on the floor and went through?”
“Then you should emerge standing on your head and look extremely ridiculous,” said Morgana tartly.
“Anyway,” said Alys in the silence which fell after this remark, “I think Morgana is right. We did pretty well, considering. The Society is scattered, Cadal Forge is trapped in the mirror, and Aric’s undoubtedly been eaten by now.”
“And, seeing that everyone is happy,” said Elwyn, “I will take my leave. I am very curious about this Southerncalifornia of yours. I want to visit Holly’s Wood.”
Charles’s mouth drooped a little. “You mean—you’re going away?”
“Yes.” Elwyn pulled off the scarf and shook out her starlike hair, apparently all the preparation she was going to make. “Good-bye, all of you. Good-bye, boy. You may kiss me, if you like, as a token of my forgiveness.”
Charles blushed. “Good-bye,” he mumbled, leaning forward to peck the air beside Elwyn’s cheek. “Good-bye, and … and I forgive you, too.”
Elwyn dimpled merrily. “I daresay we’ll meet again.”
And then she was gone, and the house was a little darker and a little colder for her absence.
“But won’t she get hurt?” Charles turned to Morgana in dismay. “I mean, she doesn’t know anything about the modern world. Won’t she—well, cross against a light and get run over by a Greyhound bus or something?”
Morgana laughed. “More likely, within the hour she’ll be playing cruel tricks on some poor unsuspecting human. Never you worry about a Quislai, my lad.
“And now,” she added, “to the reason I summoned you this morning. In the past weeks you have worked very hard, and suffered no little, and received nothing in return.”
“We saved the world,” said Charles softly.
“You saved this world from Cadal Forge. There are many other dangers—equally great—that humans have created for themselves. The story is not all told yet.
“But in any case, I would like to give you a small token of my appreciation.
“You first,” she said to Alys. “Come with me.” Alys and the others followed her out to the back drive. And there, capering about the garden on dainty hooves, was a milk white colt. It was fine and slender and spirited, with large curious eyes and legs much too long for its body. It took one look at them, tossed its white mane, and with a flip of its tail was galloping off in the opposite direction.
“Wild,” said Morgana, shrugging. “Like his mother. Never been touched by human hands. But you ought to be able to catch him eventually if you bring some rope. Every hero should have a horse.”
Charles snorted. “But Alys isn’t a hero.”
“And the colt isn’t a horse—yet,” said Morgana.
Alys was staring after the rapidly disappearing speck of white, electrified. “Are you serious? I can have him? For me? For my own? Oh, but this is the most wonderful—” She stopped, hearing in her mind an echo of Claudia’s tremulous voice, “What do you think is the most wonderfulest, specialest, excitingest thing in the world?”
“Oh … thank you,” she breathed.
“For you,” Morgana was saying to Claudia, ignoring Alys’s raptures as they returned to the house, “the vixen will visit you at her convenience, and you have my permission to enter this house and visit her until such time as you annoy me beyond the limits of toleration.”
“Or prove yourself unworthy of so great an honor,” amended the vixen coolly, but she did not move away from Claudia’s stroking hand.
“For you,” said Morgana to Charles, “this.” Into his open hand she pressed a little glass box that held a lump of whitish rock.
“Gee, thanks. Uh … what is it?”
“Oh, don’t you remember?” broke in Alys, repressing a fit of giggles. “What you told Claudia was the most wonderful, special, exciting thing in the world? When she asked us that night we went to see the vixen? Charles, it’s—”
“Kryptonite,” said Morgana. “Or, to be precise, it is the element krypton; there is no such thing as the other. I advise you not to open the box as krypton is a gas at this temperature.”
“Kryptonite.” Charles turned the box over. “Well . . . what do you know? How nice.”
Alys choked back a laugh. She was still terribly exhilarated. “But what about Janie?” she said. She was rather expecting Morgana to produce the Hope Diamond.
“Oh,” said Janie, as everyone looked at her. “Well, actually, as it happens, Morgana is going back into the magic business. Because of Thia Pendriel being loose, and because—well, because she doesn’t like being so out of practice. And the fact is she needs an apprentice.”
“An … apprentice?” said Alys.
“Yes, and I’m it.” Unable to help herself, Janie grinned outright. “She says I’ve got a talent for magic—a sort of flair, you know. The vixen first noticed it when we were mixing up the incendiary powder.”
“But—but—can humans do sorcery?” asked Charles.
“You’ve already done some yourself, if you recall,” said Morgana. “Although, of course, the amulet spell was just child’s play—literally. I made it that way. But to answer your question, I don’t see why not. The Council wouldn’t like it, but then the Council isn’t here. And desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“You’ll be able to do magic,” said Claudia to Janie admiringly.
“Oh, well.” Janie tried to look matter-of-fact and humble, failed dismally, and grinned again. “Of course, I’ve got to learn the basics first,” she added briskly. “Latin and German and Old English for reading Morgana’s books. Botany and organic chemistry. Metamorphic petrology …”
Charles was horrified. “You want to do this?”
“Oh, yes! I’ve wanted it all my life, without even knowing what it was. Charles, you have no grasp of the tremendous potential involved here, the infinite possibilities, the challenge—”
But Charles had gone back to trying to pry the lid off his box of Kryptonite with his thumbnail.
“Anyway,” said Janie, turning to Claudia, “I can do one thing for you right now, if you like. Morgana and I have been discussing it, and we think it’s a pity that you and the vixen can’t talk while you’re outside this house. So we’re going to whip up a spell—a really old spell, and a hard one, too—that will allow you to understand her anywhere.”
“I’ll be able to talk to animals?” Claudia began to stutter in her excitement. “Like—like Doctor Dolittle? You mean I’ll be able to t-t-t-talk—”
“Not t
o animals,” said Morgana forcefully, pausing by the cellar door. “To the vixen. And only to the vixen. We can’t have you wandering about holding conversations with every stray mongrel you meet. It’s a waste of time and energy and you never know what it might lead to. Do you understand? Not to animals. Now, come along, Janie.”
Claudia blushed and ducked her head. She hadn’t meant to seem greedy. It was enough to be allowed to talk to the vixen, she knew that.
But as the little sorceress and her familiar descended the steps, Janie stopped in the doorway. She turned. Slowly, deliberately, she winked one purple eye at Claudia, and smiled.
“Somehow the idea of Janie and magic together makes me very nervous,” said Charles when the doorway was empty.
“She’ll be supervised,” said Alys vaguely, thinking of her horse. “Morgana won’t let her do anything too awful.”
“Yeah, but just imagine it. Newts crawling out of the woodwork on junior talent night. Bliss Bascomb getting mange. Hey!” He cheered up suddenly. “Maybe she could hex my geometry teacher.”
“Or keep the weather decent for at-home games. Hmmm …”
Musing, they drifted to the back door.
“Coming, Claude? We’re going home to find some rope.”
“I have to stay for the spell,” said Claudia, surprised.
“All right.”
They went outside. Even in midwinter the California sun was warm and bright, and a little breeze blew across the orange grove, stirring their hair.
Alys gazed down dreamily at Villa Park. “All this,” she announced to Charles, “is still here because of us.”
“Yeah,” said Charles cynically, “but nobody knows it.”
“Mom and Dad know. Or anyway they know we did something. And,” she added, struck by a sudden thought, “I’m sure they know in the Wildworld.”
The more she thought about this the more certain she became. The serpent, her own serpent, had undoubtedly told the story to the Weerul Council, and presently word would get around. Perhaps someone would write a song or story about it.
Yes, or an epic poem in heroic couplets. The tale of Alys the Valiant who, heedless of the danger, had single-handedly led a small band of untried warriors against a master sorcerer. Alys the Stalwart, friend of marsh dwellers and Feathered Serpents, conquerer of Quislais, fearless traverser of the mirrors. And why should the story end there? Someday, perhaps, there would be further tales of Alys the Intrepid and her white steed Winter, champions of justice and defenders of the oppressed. Tales of Alys the Undaunted, the gallant, brave, and resolute …
“Hey, Alys,” said Charles, “do you think Morgana would let me trade in my Kryptonite for a dirt bike?”
Alys the Heroically Valiant, Conquerer of Thousands, disappeared and all that was left was Alys the Sensible, everybody’s big sister and confidante. She sighed and then smiled at Charles.
“I don’t see why not,” she said. “Anyway, it couldn’t hurt to ask.”
“I saw an ad for one in the paper the other day, a Kawasaki KX80. Water-cooled motor, front disc brakes, KYB leading axle front air forks, six-speed transmission …”
“Sounds wonderful,” said Alys, thinking of her horse.
“Or maybe a Honda XR500 … only you need a driver’s license for one of those. Hey! Maybe Morgana could get me a driver’s license… .”
They walked on down the hill.
Inside the house a fly buzzed lazily in the sunshine. Claudia opened a window to let it out. The kitchen was drowsy and warm and still, as if keeping its own secrets.
She sat down to wait for the vixen.
THE MAGIC CONTINUES
IN
L.J. SMİTH’S
Heart of Valor
CLAUDIA SENDS A LETTER …
Claudia Hodges-Bradley twisted a strand of mouse brown hair around her fingers and frowned mightily, trying to concentrate on Mrs. Anderson’s review of this week’s spelling words. There would be a test this afternoon, and Mrs. Anderson’s tests always gave Claudia stomach cramps. She knew she needed to pay attention … but she would rather just listen to the birds.
Not that birds, in general, had a great deal to say for themselves. They could sit happily for hours shrieking, “I’m a bluejay! I’m a bluejay! This is my tree! This is my tree!” So it wasn’t that they were very interesting, just much more interesting than school or Mrs. Anderson.
At a steely glance from that lady Claudia jumped guiltily and stopped twisting her hair. Mrs. Anderson disapproved of hair twisting, pencil chewing, and nail biting, all of which Claudia seemed to be doing more of this year than ever before. Claudia was a square, serious child, whose blue eyes always looked a little anxious in class pictures. This year they usually seemed to look that way in the mirror, too.
Since she couldn’t twist her hair, she put a hand to her chest to feel the comforting bump of the charm beneath her shirt. It was so familiar she could see it with her fingers: the broad crescent of silver from which hung three stones: sardonyx, black opal, and bloodstone, each inscribed with spidery writing in the language of the Wildworld. Claudia couldn’t read any of the symbols on the stones, but she understood very well what the charm did. It enabled her to talk to animals.
Perhaps communicate was a better word than talk. Animal language depended as much on body movement—the tilt of a head, the flip of a wing, the quirk of a tail—as it did on mere sounds. Except when the message was meant to be heard and understood over long distances, like the killdeer outside daring anyone to come close to her nest… .
Claudia sucked in her breath sharply. The killdeer had been saying something quite different for several minutes now, and Claudia had just realized what it was. Automatically, she started to raise her hand to tell Mrs. Anderson, then hastily snatched the hand down again. The teacher would think she had gone crazy. Better just to wait it out. After all, there was nothing Mrs. Anderson could do about it. And maybe—Claudia brightened considerably—they wouldn’t get to the spelling test this afternoon.
And then her breath stopped, and her heart underneath the silver charm began to pound violently. Because it was the last week of April and the spring canned-food drive was almost over, and Mrs. Anderson’s class was winning. And the tower they had made with their 246 (as of this morning) cans of food rose high in all its symmetrical splendor against the wall on one side of the room.
Claudia could just see it out of the corner of her eye without turning her head. Remmy Garcia was sitting a foot or so away from it. Claudia liked Remmy. He kept white rats at home. She didn’t much like Beth Ann, who sat behind him, but as her sister Alys would say, that was beside the point.
“Claudia!”
Claudia started. She had twisted around in her seat to look at the cans; now she turned her agonized gaze back on Mrs. Anderson.
“Claudia, if you want to stare at your little friend, recess is the time to do it—except that you just lost five minutes of your recess. Do you understand?”
Claudia scarcely heard the titters of the class. She had to do something to stop what was going to happen, but she had not the first idea what. Even Alys, who was a junior in high school and could fix almost anything, couldn’t fix something like this. But still, she felt a strong compulsion to tell Alys… . No. Not Alys. Janie.
Janie might be able to help. Janie did all sorts of strange things these days. Most of them were of no use whatsoever, but some were. Feverishly, Claudia began rummaging in her desk for pencil and paper. She would write a letter to Janie.
“Claudia! Claudia Hodges-Bradley!” Claudia dropped the pencil. Mrs. Anderson was staring as though she couldn’t believe her eyes.
“Claudia, if you would just learn to pay attention, school wouldn’t be so difficult for you. Now you’ve lost ten minutes of recess.”
As the teacher turned back to the blackboard Claudia stealthily picked up the pencil again. She would have to be very careful; if she lost the last five minutes of recess, she would have no way of s
ending the letter. She wrote with her eyes glued to Mrs. Anderson’s back, only snatching a peek at the paper now and then. Writing was hard work for Claudia under any circumstances, and spelling a hopeless task even when she wasn’t rattled. Letters seemed to have a life of their own, jumping in and out of words and turning themselves upside down. When the note was finished she surveyed it doubtfully. She felt almost certain towwer was misspelled. But Janie was very smart, she told herself comfortingly. Janie would understand.
The recess bell rang. Claudia sat for ten minutes under the forbidding eye of Mrs. Anderson, trying not to twist her hair.
Dismissed at last, she burst out onto the blacktop already scanning the perimeter of the playground. There were lots of dogs in Villa Park and usually one or two could be seen gamboling on the other side of the chain-link fence. Yes—there! But it was so far away, on the other side of the big kids’ playground.
Claudia, a third grader, was not allowed on that playground. She didn’t know what they did to you if they caught you there—possibly suspended you as they had suspended Tony Stowers for hitting another little boy over the head with a bag of marbles. Probably sent you to the principal. She cast a glance at the teacher on yard duty, saw he was looking the other way, and began to slink.
She felt horribly exposed, the only child on an endless field of forbidden grass, and when she reached the fence she hunkered down, making herself as small as possible. She whistled. The dog, a sort of setter-spaniel mix with something vaguely Airedale about the ears, stopped scratching itself and looked surprised. It recovered quickly and trotted over, wagging its whole body and uttering short, sharp barks in an attempt to tell her how eager it was to do whatever she wanted it to do, how proud it was to have been chosen to do it, how valiantly it would try to accomplish the task, how—