Shaking her head, she kicked the plate. It skidded across the floor, clacking against a wall. Not until she knew what was going on. The food could be poisoned, drugged, or magicked. She had to know who had brought her here and why.
Another hour passed. A sullen sunset was replaced by a hazy splotch of moonlight behind high clouds. She heard another rustling. It wasn’t coming from her mattress but from the base of the wall where she’d kicked that plate. She stared through the gloom and made out two shapes. Moving shapes. Rats, she realized—investigating the rejected food.
Be careful of that food, she thought at them. It might be bad.
She felt their startled thoughts. Smells good. Hungry.
It could be poisoned or have bad magic.
She felt mental giggles. Live here. Get to know poison and bad magic. This clean.
Well, then, it’s yours. But be careful.
Heather looked at her guests more closely. One was smaller and gray-white. A female, she felt. The male was a darker gray. They shared the food without fighting, stopping occasionally to clean whiskers and muzzles with the back of a paw.
When they’d eaten every crumb, they both nodded toward her, then scrambled off to what must be their hole in the wall, a small chink of greater darkness.
Wait. I’m trapped here. Where is this?
The rats stopped. Big stone fortress, the female answered.
Stone fortress in mountains, the male added. Bad place, but food’s here. Have to be careful or bad things make food of you.
Heather sighed. A stone fortress in the mountains didn’t tell her much. But she could hardly expect rats to know geography. What sort of bad things?
Again, giggles. Every sort. Flying bad things, crawling bad things. Human bad things baddest of all. But you’re a human, right?
I try to be.
Thought so. If flying bad things come through window, don’t let them bite. With that, both rats vanished into their hole.
Uneasily Heather looked out her window and gasped. The hazy moonlight showed a cloud of small black shapes fluttering just beyond the arched opening. Sharp hungry squeakings scratched at her mind. But they didn’t fly in, almost as if an invisible screen kept them out.
For ages, it seemed, she watched the threatening cloud, but nothing changed. Finally, exhausted, frightened, and very cold, she lay down and struggled to fold one end of the thin mattress over herself. But she still couldn’t sleep. She tried to think back over the things she’d read at Llandoylan School, searching for any clue about her whereabouts. The school had collected surviving books from all over, and she’d been perhaps the school’s biggest bookworm, reading almost everything that didn’t fall apart in her hands. Of course, fiction had been her favorite, but sometimes it was hard to tell what the pre-Devastation people thought was true and what they made up, because their real world was so different from hers. But still…
Suddenly a memory jolted into her mind, and she fervently wished it hadn’t. She’d read a book once, set in some place on the Continent. Eastern Europe, maybe. At the beginning, there’d been a stone castle in the mountains. This really scary guy, a count or something, was keeping another guy prisoner there. And there’d been bats. Awful bloodsucking bats. Vampire bats.
Shivering from cold and fear, Heather got only fitful sleep that night.
The fluttering shapes beyond the window disappeared with the pale orange of dawn. Shortly after, the door rattled open a crack and another plate of food slid in before the door slammed closed again. Heather unrolled herself from the prickly mattress and stared at the plate. She was hungry enough now to risk eating just about anything. At the whisper of tiny footsteps, she turned. The rats were peeking out of their hole.
I must eat something, she thought at them. But I’ll share. Half for you, half for me.
They crept fully out and waited patiently while Heather brought the plate back to her mattress. Breaking the bread in two, she used part to scoop up half of the green glop. It tasted like boiled leaves, but her stomach welcomed it, then growled in complaint when she put the remainder of the food down for the pair of rats. But she had said she’d share.
Finally, meal finished, the rats were gone and Heather was alone. She clutched her bracelet, trying to draw comfort from its presence. Then, lying back, she attempted to clear her mind. If only she could hear some of those voices now, that would be some company. But she’d never actually tried to hear them, just waited until they intruded on her. She wished she and Earl had been able to experiment. He’d been so excited by the idea that she could contact people living elsewhere. Well, now she had nothing else to do. She could try.
She closed her eyes and tried to think cool, calm nothing. Reaching out to animal minds came naturally to her, but this was different. She imagined her thoughts stretching out like weeds or tentacles waving around in the water, searching, reaching, trying to catch something. She thought she caught a hint of the voice that talked about jaguars, ancient temples, and annoying sisters. But those thoughts were busy elsewhere, not wanting to talk.
For a moment, there was another voice she hadn’t heard often. It seemed scared and alone too. Aunt Gutra told me to stay quiet in here. There’s danger outside. But it’s dark. Are you someplace happy today?
No, Heather answered back. I’m not. I’ve been taken some where far from home. I don’t know why.
Silence followed. Then, I’m sorry. At least I’m home. And the danger always passes in a little while. Be brave. That’s what Aunt Gutra always says: Be brave.
She lost contact, and Heather found herself drenched in sweat. This was a lot harder now that she was trying to reach the voices than when they just came on their own. From what she remembered feeling when she’d looked at the globe, that particular scared voice was way off in South Asia someplace. It still felt distant, though perhaps not as far away as before, but that gave her no clue where she might be. For a choking moment, Heather was overwhelmed with longing to have Earl with her. He could help her with this; he would know what to do, what was happening. And he could get her out of here, surely. She didn’t even know what to try. Clutching her bracelet, she repeated what the voice had said: Be brave.
Tired from trying to reach out with her mind, she just lay back, closed her eyes, and drifted into a half doze. That’s when a new voice cut into her with painful intensity. Close. You’re close. Why?
Excited, yet cringing against the mental pain, Heather thought back, I’m a prisoner in a stone castle or something. I was kidnapped. I’ve talked to you before, haven’t I?
A couple of times, I think. You sound much nearer now, though. Are you hurt?
No. Not yet. But I don’t know why I’m here.
The voice stayed silent a long while, and when it came back, it was much weaker. Sorry, I’m not good at this. Can’t keep it up. You take care. Nothing more came, and when she tried probing with her thoughts, she found blankness. But at least she’d had some contact. And if this person really was near, maybe he could help, though she didn’t see how. Besides, his idea of close might just mean that he was closer than the guy near the jaguars. Well, anyway, Heather thought, at least she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t very skilled at working this thought-message thing.
The day dragged on. Nothing more touched her mind except fear and boredom. For long spells, Heather stared out the window at the bleak rugged landscape. She supposed these mountains had been forested before the Devastation. Then they wouldn’t have looked so repellent. She wondered if anything lived near here. Were there bands of muties like in the wildest areas of Britain? If a lot of bombs had been dropped in Europe and if this was Europe, wouldn’t the mutations be even worse? And were there any clutches of normal people left? She tried not to think about what was living with her in this castle, if that’s what it was. The stench of magic was obvious, and it wasn’t the good kind.
An occasional bird, or something with wings, traced its way across the steely sky. Earl had always said that
with her magic affinity for animals, transforming herself into one should come easily to her. But that was another one of those things they hadn’t had time to work on, what with all the traveling with Arthur, trying to unify Britain. Earl himself could become a hawk, but he said it was never easy for him. Trying to turn herself into a bird now, when she hadn’t a clue how to do it, would probably be disastrous. The rocks far below looked awfully hard and sharp.
It was mid-afternoon when the door lock clattered once more. Heather had been lying on the mattress again, trying to sleep now that it was less cold. Abruptly she sat up and stared at the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the rats also peering out hopefully. Then the door opened fully, and she saw the face she most feared and half expected.
“Morgan,” she whispered.
“Yes, my dear. Heather McKenna, it’s so pleasant to meet not on a battlefield or in some silly battle of wills. I’m delighted to have you as my guest.”
“Guest, right,” Heather muttered. She’d dealt with Morgan before and knew she had to guard herself against that lulling persuasive voice.
The woman stepped into the room. Again Heather was struck by her perfect beauty. Slender girlish figure, moon-white skin, lustrous black hair. There’d been a time when Heather had pined for a fraction of such beauty, and she’d come close to betraying everything to get it. But that, she knew firmly, was over.
“So sorry about the transportation,” Morgan said soothingly. “It must have been a little stifling. But I hardly thought you’d accept a polite invitation.”
“You got that right.”
“Come, come. We need to put old enmities aside. The world has changed, you know. In fact, that’s what I wanted to talk with you about.”
Heather just stared at the woman, not answering.
“When I last talked with our mutual—acquaintance, Merlin, he told me that you had a newer type of magic, one that was different than what we from the old times wield. I certainly can feel that you have power, and that intrigues me. Power is something to be valued, and with the world changing as it is, it is so important to wield it well. Don’t you agree?”
Heather kept stonily silent.
“You aren’t making this any easier, you know. I am making you a very attractive offer. Magic is the future of the world now. I am suggesting that you join me. With your new powers and my ancient ones, there is so much we could do for this poor battered world.”
Heather was surprised she had the courage to laugh, but she did laugh. Derisively.
“Oh, I know we’ve had our issues,” Morgan continued, unruffled. “But don’t dismiss my offer out of hand. This world is so badly shattered, it needs power—intelligently used—to unite it. That could happen if you joined me.”
Heather stood up and glared angrily at her captor. “Issues? You said we’ve had issues? Trying to kill me and my friends, invading Britain with your loathsome armies, trying to undercut all the good that Arthur is doing—I consider that more than issues. I consider that pure evil, and I want nothing to do with it!”
Now anger edged Morgan’s voice. “You may be powerful, but you’re a fool too. Letting Arthur and Merlin corrupt your mind like this. They have their own agendas, their own visions of the world. But theirs are weak visions, distorted by their outdated ideas. They can’t begin to grasp the enormity of this world and the challenge of reviving and uniting it. Come with me, and I will show you the great potential of what we can do. We, you and I. Old and new powers united, strengthening each other. Not the frayed plans of a couple of has-beens mired in their own dimming dreams.”
Heather felt the warm weight of the bracelet on her wrist and tried to draw strength from it. “Morgan, I would rather work for the dimmest of their dreams than further one of your nightmares. Go look for some other partner, one of your own vile kind, like that werewolf you used to hang out with. I’m not joining.”
“Clueless young fool!” Morgan’s anger manifested in a whirlwind of dust through the room. “I could make you work for me. A willing partner is more useful, but zombie slaves have their value too. You may have power, but you’ve scarcely a clue how to use it. Your supposed friend Merlin was clearly too jealous of you to train a potential rival. I could teach you skills you cannot imagine, give you strength and power and beauty. Or I could crush you like useless vermin!”
With that, she thrust a hand toward the base of the far wall, and with a frightened squeak, a rat was yanked into the air. It was the darker, male rat, and he hung suspended in the air in front of Morgan, his legs and tail flailing.
Help! he called into Heather’s mind, but when she jumped toward him, Morgan flicked a blast of power at her that sent her sprawling against the stone wall. Dazed, trying to shake her eyesight back into focus, Heather watched as, with a cruel smile, Morgan made a small clawed gesture toward the rat. Abruptly his writhing stopped. Instead the body crumpled in on itself. Blood, mushed flesh, and bits of fur dripped onto the floor. Finally the empty rat skin was released from the air and dropped onto the steaming puddle.
“Don’t mistake me, Heather dear. Join me and we can work wonders. Cross me and your end will be far less merciful.”
Sweeping from the room, Morgan slammed the door with the finality of the tomb.
EASTWARD
It took a while for Welly to force his eyes open and even try admiring the view. In the distance beyond the rolling moors was the dark sweep of ocean. This did not increase his comfort. He couldn’t swim, and water in any quantity made him nervous. Though, he realized, if he fell from this height, drowning wouldn’t be the major problem.
Talking might fix his attention elsewhere, but the wind of their passage made that difficult, and anyway, he was keeping his mouth clamped closed. The dragon’s swooping gait churned his stomach, and he didn’t think it looked good for a warrior of King Arthur’s to get airsick.
Then all his attention was fixed on staying aboard. The dragon suddenly pulled in its wings and dropped like a stone for long moments, ignoring its passengers’ cries. Abruptly the wings snapped out again, swooping them into a smooth glide that skimmed along a few feet above the moor. A cluster of dark shapes dotting the grass suddenly scattered, bleating in panic. Without missing a beat, the dragon’s head snaked down and with perfect aim scooped up a fleeing sheep. Its bleating was silenced as fangs clamped together. Rising higher, the dragon continued its course to the coast.
“Hey, those are some poor farmer’s sheep,” Welly called to Merlin. “We shouldn’t let the dragon do that.”
Merlin glanced back at him. “One doesn’t ‘let’ dragons do things. They’re controlled by their instincts and their code of honor. Period.”
“But you’re a wizard.”
“Which is why I know not to meddle with dragons more than I have to. We’re just along for the ride, and lucky to be doing that.”
Riding behind Welly, Troll only groaned and held on tighter. He was very aware that trolls and sheep were about the same size.
The surf-fringed coast was close enough now to throw the sound of crashing waves into the air. Skimming toward the last cliff edge, the dragon suddenly folded its wings and glided to a smooth landing. Dropping the sheep carcass on the grass, it turned a bloody head toward them.
“Breakfast time.”
“It’s afternoon,” Welly objected feebly.
“Hey, fat boy, I haven’t eaten in two thousand years. And my appetite’s a lot bigger than one sheep’s worth—so watch it.”
“Let’s stretch our legs,” Merlin suggested pointedly. “The North Sea has shrunk a lot since the Devastation, but it’s still a demanding crossing.”
“Yeah,” Welly muttered. “And let’s get away from the breakfast table.”
Staggering stiffly onto the ground again, Welly stayed well back from the cliff’s edge. Staring across the gray water, he could just make out a dark line along the horizon. “Is that Europe?”
Merlin nodded. “What’s left of it. Well
, the bare bones of the land should be the same, but the nations that people created there are probably long gone. I only left Britain once before. A trip to what later became France. It was beautiful then. I wish I could keep remembering it that way. But we can’t. Heather’s somewhere in Europe now.”
“Can you still see the trail or whatever?”
“I can sense it, but we must hurry. After ‘breakfast’ is over, of course. We’re lucky this is a baby dragon. Otherwise it might have stopped to eat the whole herd.”
For a moment, Welly thought about their mount, feeling very glad he hadn’t met a grown-up dragon. “But I don’t feel right just calling it ‘dragon.’ Doesn’t it have a name?”
Troll hissed and Merlin put a hand on Welly’s shoulder.
“Never ask about dragons’ names,” he whispered. “Creatures from the Otherworlds keep their true names secret.”
“Oh, so our pudgy little warrior is impolite as well as ignorant,” the dragon said, coming silently up behind them. It paused to wipe its bloody muzzle over a tuft of grass. “But yes, I would prefer you use some name—and certainly something other than ‘Worm.’ How about ‘Blanche’? It suits, I think. Yes, you may call me Blanche.”
“You’re a girl?” Welly said, astonished.
“Doesn’t this kid know anything? It takes boy things and girl things to make baby things. Right? I was kind of hoping that ‘Red’ and I could pair up when we got older. But now he’s probably off in Faerie with bevies of eligible young dragons, and I have to go off on this ridiculous world cruise.”
“I thought Merlin said you and the red dragon were fighting.”
“So? That’s how dragons show interest in one another, numb brain. Better get on now, all of you, before I forget this code-of-honor thing and skip out for Faerie right now!”
Quickly the three scrambled onto Blanche’s back and were soon winging over the gray wrinkled expanse of ocean. Troll had his eyes shut the entire way; Welly kept his open but focused on the opposite shore. Merlin forced himself to look around but unhappily recalled the days when unfiltered sunlight sparkled on the water and when colorful boats and white seabirds skimmed over the waves.
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