The Mirror's Tale (Further Tales Adventures) (24 page)

CHAPTER 40

“Y
ou must put this on,” said Kholl. He held up a thick chain with two hands, so Will could slip it over his neck. Hanging from the chain was a silver disk studded with glittering red and green stones around the edge. It was large enough to cover Will’s palm as he looked at the strange writing engraved in a spiral on its surface.

Will’s head spun from everything he learned these past few hours. Now he wondered why it was so important to wear this thing. He looked at Kholl with one eye squinting.

“This amulet once belonged to a mighty Dwergh sorcerer,” the old Dwergh said, answering the unspoken question. “We have kept it with us all this time, in case of need. It will shield you, and those who stay near you, from the sight of the mirror. And since it is you the mirror has already tried to destroy, you must be the one to wear it.”

Will ducked his head through the chain. He was still getting accustomed to the idea of this Ulgonog: a demon trapped inside a mirror, who could see him wherever he went. A demon that turned his own brother against
him. A demon that existed only to breed misery, and feast on the souls it corrupted. And he’d learned another astounding thing: Years ago Aunt Elaine encountered the Dwergh while searching for rare plants in the mountains behind The Crags, She’d befriended them, and even helped them with her medicines.

And besides all those uncanny developments, there was also the little stone creature with bulging diamond eyes that followed the Dwergh wherever they went, handled many of their chores, and was fed a steady diet of red-hot coals to keep it animated.

Will would have been more confounded by all this if he wasn’t so worried, “What do we do now?” he said to the silver-bearded Dwergh, the only one there who shared his language.

“We wait, until Par Lee and Harth return. To tell us if your father will help us.”

CHAPTER 41

I
t was a dim sensation at first, not enough to rouse him from the cold pit of sleep into which he’d tumbled. But Bert finally became conscious of icy stone pressed against the side of his face, and a whispery voice that called his name. He fought awareness. Even the terrible dreams that stalked his sleep were better than the real nightmare that awaited.

The voice of the mirror pried into his skull.

Bertram. Turn your eyes to me,
it said.

“No,” he mumbled, knowing it didn’t matter. There was no resisting the voice’s command. He hated the mirror for what he’d done under its spell. And he hated himself because, in his heart, he wanted the mirror back. He longed for its magic to be his again. And so he was powerless against it. He lifted his head. When he saw the appalling face again, sour bile erupted in his throat and stung the back of his tongue.

The face hovered on the end of that long, segmented neck. The mass of worms bulged here and there, and the lidless eyes bobbed up and stared at him, quivering.
Bert’s stomach lurched at the awful wet sounds.
Slither. Squish. Slurp.

Do you know what I feed on, Bertram? Do you know what sustains me?
the mirror asked.

“Leave me alone,” Bert said. He squeezed his eyes closed. “Please”

Souls,
replied the mirror.
Souls are my nectar.
Bert’s eyes opened against his will. The mouth was back, a gaping funnel The throat was infested with more of the wormy things, and they stretched and crooked like a thousand beckoning fingers. Bert felt a strange sensation as if something tugged at things beneath his skin. Prickly pain erupted on his forehead, his chest, the palms of his hands—
everywhere.
He gasped, and he would have screamed, but for the moment he couldn’t breathe. His vision darkened, his ears filled with a windy roar, and his fingers went numb. The only thing he felt keenly was stinging pain on his hands and chest. He saw sparkling mist come out of his skin, like vapor off a warm pond on a cool morning. Tendrils of mist drifted across the chamber. They touched the surface of the mirror, passed through it as if the glass wasn’t there, and swirled down the horrible throat.

Very good,
the mirror said when it was done.
I will feed again soon. Yes, once more may do.
The mouth closed, the fat eyes sank into the wriggling mass, and the face vanished into the depths of the mirror. The beasts had retreated to
the far corners of the chamber, and they began to slink back.

Bert looked at his palms and saw tiny beads of red where the mist had emerged. He pulled the collar of his shirt out and saw the same dots on his pale chest. He knew the mirror had taken part of him away—devoured him, feasted on him. Like it must have done to others before him, the myriad ghosts he’d seen deep in the thing’s throat. He moaned and crawled as far from the mirror as the chain would allow. His head dropped to the floor, and the last thought he had was for his brother.

Run, Will Keep running.

Bert woke again to the sound of Uncle Hugh cursing and the beasts growling. Someone else was in the chamber now too, besides his uncle—there were muffled, inarticulate cries. His mind was muddled, and he pinched his cheek to try to clear it. He could barely feel the skin clamped between his fingers and thumb. He opened his eyes, but nothing was in focus. Blinking helped.

Uncle Hugh had a woman with him. He had one hand on her arm and the other across her mouth. Bert stared. He knew her. It was Aunt Elaine.

His uncle took his hand off her mouth. “Scream again, and the dogs will have you,” he said.

Aunt Elaine staggered back when she saw the pack of beasts licking their teeth at the sight of her. Then her glance fell on Bert.

“Bert … is that you? Or is it Will?” she said. Her voice trembled when she spoke. Bert was too dizzy to reply. He lifted a hand, and it fell limply back onto the stone.

“That’s your little friend Bert,” Uncle Hugh said, mocking her. “I’ll have the other whelp soon enough, though. But first I have a special place just for you.”

Aunt Elaine tried to shrug out of his grip. “Hugh—there’s something wrong with you. Can’t you feel it? It’s not too late to make things right. You have to let Bert go—look at him, he isn’t well. He could be dying. He’s your nephew, he shares your blood!”

Uncle Hugh just snorted. “Actually, once I’m sure I don’t need him, I think my dogs will share his blood!” A savage look was on his face: a broad toothy smile and scowling eyes. He pulled Elaine toward the inner chamber. She leaned back and pushed with her feet, trying to stop him.

“Why, Hugh? Why would you want to hurt us?”

Uncle Hugh laughed. “Never fret, my dear. I won’t harm
you.
I need your herb lore to find the ingredients for my spells. But I’ll make a potion for you first—then you’ll happily do whatever I tell you.” He dragged her across the floor, toward one of the tall boxes that stood on end. He threw the latch and pulled the lid open. A pile of yellow-white bones clattered onto the floor, and a
skull tumbled out last. Uncle Hugh swept the bones away with the side of his foot. He shoved Aunt Elaine into the box, slammed the door, and latched it again.

“There now!” he said. He wiped his hand across three red lines on the side of his face, where Aunt Elaine must have scratched him before her hands were tied. “So you won’t tell me where that pest escaped to and who helped him? I’ll find out anyway, Wife.”

Bert watched his uncle walk to the mirror. It felt as if he was watching someone else’s nightmare.

“Mirror!” Uncle Hugh shouted. “Where has my nephew Will gone? And who is with them—men or Dwergh?” A familiar ringing rose from the depths of the shining glass. The mirror took a long time before it answered.
I cannot answer. I cannot see.

Uncle Hugh’s mouth hung open. “What do you mean you cannot see? I thought you could see everything!”

I cannot see this. There is a cloak across the boy. Something hides him from my sight.

Bert looked at the mirror. Dark ripples spread across its face. Its voice had always been so cool and silky, so confident. But just then, he thought he’d heard something different. Was it … fear?

Uncle Hugh raised his hands. His fingers curled up like a dying flower. His fists shook, and his breath hissed in and out through his teeth. The beasts lifted their horned heads and stared at him.

“If you can’t find the boy, then tell me what my
brother is doing!” Uncle Hugh said. He pressed a palm over one eye and clutched his head as if it was aching.

The dark ripples vanished, and the mirror shimmered and rang. The answer came swiftly.
The baron gathers his men in the courtyard of Ambercrest. They prepare to ride to battle. A hundred riders will come to The Crags; hundreds of men on foot will follow.

Bert wanted to exult at this news. Somehow his father found out what was happening and was riding to the rescue. But Bert felt nothing. His heart and mind were cold and dead. Nothing mattered anymore. The mirror had taken the best of him, drawn it right out of his skin and devoured it. All he could truly feel was sorrow and regret. And one more thing, the last thing he wanted to feel: He was craving—still craving—the mirror.

He watched his uncle practically dance his way out of the chamber and up the stairs, “Oh, dear brother, if you only knew that I can see every move you make. What a trap I’ll set for you … what a lovely trap …”

Uncle Hugh’s voice had just faded away when Bert heard his aunt’s tremulous call, “Bert! Tell me what’s happened. What is this place? What was that voice?”

Bert saw her fingers poke through the eye hole. One of the beasts charged at the box, snarling. She pulled her fingers back as the hideous thing reared up, clawed at the hole, and barked savagely: “Death! Death!”

Aunt Elaine didn’t make a sound again. Nor did Bert.

CHAPTER 42

W
ill and the Dwergh huddled in the dim light of the caves, near the protection of the amulet.

It would be another day before the baron arrived, if he agreed to help and didn’t simply toss Harth into the dungeon. Knowing his father, Will feared he might do just that. Still, just before he left Ambercrest, Will caught a glimpse of something he’d never noticed before: his father’s wiser, more understanding nature. Had he seen the true man beneath that belligerent crust?

For now all Will could do was wait. And rest. And talk—with Kholl, anyway. While the rest of the band conversed in their own tongue, dozed, sharpened their axes or mended their armor, Will and the eldest Dwergh spoke about their people, their homes, their families, and their lives.

The more Will learned, the more he felt his hostility and distrust melt away like ice in spring. Kholl showed him how the hair of his ancestors and dearest friends was woven into his own beard, which, it turned out, was why the Dwergh were so touchy about having their beards pulled. He told Will about the great castles of the
Dwergh lords and kings on the far side of the mountains, castles that were half under the ground and half above. He talked about vast, dark lakes under the earth that teemed with blind, glassy fish (the world’s most delicious meal, the old Dwergh insisted).

The revelations seemed never-ending. Perhaps the most amazing thing was that Kholl
knew
Snow White, He was among the seven who saved her! And the rest of that brave band was entombed not far away, in a place Kholl promised to show Will one day. “If it all ends well.”