The Mirror's Tale (Further Tales Adventures) (27 page)

Bert heard Will shout. “Look, Parley! Bert’s a prisoner! Bert, are you all right?” Bert raised a hand. He felt a tear run down his face. Or was it only a drop of water from the stony ceiling?

A beast with wide, curving horns on its face charged at Will. The knight arrived too late to help. Will seized the horns and pushed away from the clashing jaws. The creature lowered its head, hooked its long horns under Will’s legs, and tossed him. Will hurtled through the air, hit the ground, and rolled across a dusty pile of bones near where Aunt Elaine was slumped on the ground, away from the fray. Before the beast could attack again, the knight thrust his sword deep into its side, finding a soft place between the thick plates of bone. The beast roared and thrashed about, taking with it the sword and leaving the knight without a weapon.

Closer to the mirror a gap appeared amid the confusion. Parley hobbled through with his teeth clenched and a sword held tight in his good hand. Only Hugh Charmaigne stood between him and the mirror.

“Out of my way, Lord Charmaigne,” Parley cried. “We have to smash it!”

Uncle Hugh laughed. Bert would have covered his eyes if he had the strength—anyone could see that the lame courier was no match for Lord Charmaigne, the seasoned fighter. Parley raised his sword as Uncle Hugh swung his. The clash of metal was harsh, and Parley’s sword was driven to the ground. With his other hand,
Uncle Hugh pulled the knife out of its sheath. Parley saw it coming, and curved his body to avoid the slashing arc. Bert saw the fabric of Parley’s shirt tear across his stomach, and the courier fell onto his back.

The little stone creature darted out from the chaos and raced for the mirror. Uncle Hugh saw it and raised his sword. But before he could strike, one of the beasts leaped at it from behind, seized its legs in its jaws, and dashed it on the hard floor. The stone creature shattered. Its legs and arms tumbled away amid a cloud of ash and sparks. Parley screamed something; it sounded like “mock.”

Bert watched the little stone head roll across the floor and bump into his leg. He reached down and picked it up. It fit easily in his hand, this strange skull with diamonds for eyes. As he watched, the gems twinkled with inner light and went dark.

Bert didn’t know what the stone creature was, but he knew what it just tried to do. What they were
all
risking their lives for—his brother, the men, and the Dwergh. It was what had to be done.

The beasts were winning their battle. Two of the Dwergh were wounded, and some had lost their weapons. Uncle Hugh laughed and screamed at the same time. “Kill them! All of them!” He stepped forward. Behind him Bert could see the mirror, shimmering with cold light.

When he saw it again, Bert realized that the mirror
hadn’t sapped his every feeling. Fury remained. It gave him a final trickle of strength. Bert pushed himself to his knees. The air was thick as mud. He lifted one knee and put his foot flat on the floor. The chain around his leg weighed a thousand pounds. The world tilted and heaved, and dark spots dimmed his vision. He got his other foot under him, and rose unsteadily.

When he lifted the stone head and brought it back behind his ear, he lurched and nearly fell. He took a deep breath and looked toward the mirror again. He paused, trying to gather strength. And yet … part of him didn’t want to do it. Part of him still wanted the mirror back—hoped that it could be his once more. The hunk of stone began to slip from his hand. And then he thought of his brother.

With every last bit of strength he possessed, Bert hurled the stone head, falling as he flung it. The rock soared in a graceful curve through the dark air, slowly turning. Uncle Hugh saw it from the corner of his eye, but not in time. The head struck the mirror, just below the top of the frame, and Bert was sure that the diamond eyes had touched it first.

Uncle Hugh cried out in pain. He dropped his sword and clapped a hand across his face, Bert felt a stab of pain too, as if a blade had pierced his skull. The world flickered and blurred. When he could focus again, he saw Uncle Hugh in front of the mirror. He’d dropped his knife and sword, and pressed his palms against the glass.

“No,” Uncle Hugh cried. “Don’t! Don’t break!
You can’t break!”

On either side of his uncle’s hands, Bert saw jagged lines spreading. There were sharp cracking noises, like ice melting in water.
Tik tik tik.
A new sound arose from the mirror—a high shriek unlike anything Bert had ever heard, growing stronger and shriller by the second. It was too painful to bear. The fighting stopped, and people and Dwergh alike covered their ears. The beasts twisted their heads to and fro, as if the sound could be shaken off, and then they dashed out of the chamber except for a pair that lay dead on the ground.

Even through the unearthly howl and past the thumbs jammed into his ears, Bert heard the splintering cracks of the mirror.
TIK! TIK! TIK!
Uncle Hugh staggered back from the glass. The worm face was there for Bert’s uncle to see at last, its mouth open and screaming, and all its bulbous eyes staring out between the wriggling masses. The cracked surface bulged outward, distorting the face even more.

The old Dwergh shouted. Bert couldn’t catch the words, but he saw what the others did. They dropped to the ground and covered their heads with their arms. Some dove behind the fallen beasts. Aunt Elaine and Will crawled behind the cauldron. Bert curled his body into a ball and put his back to the mirror. He thought he might be screaming himself, but he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t hear it if he was.

CHAPTER 46

O
ne day, years before, Bert and Will were in their favorite hideaway—the abandoned watchtower. They foolishly stayed to watch as a fierce thunderstorm swept over Ambercrest, and lightning struck so close that the clap of thunder arrived in the same instant. They saw a jagged column of white fire and smelled burning air. The sound rattled their bones and stabbed at their ears.

Now, here in the secret chamber under The Crags, when the mirror shattered, it made that bolt seem dim as a firefly and the sound as soft as snapping fingers.

The light of the explosion scorched Bert’s eyes, though he’d turned away and shut them. The blast rang in his brain, like a gong. A wave of air hurled him back with the chain dragging behind him, and he slammed into the wall. He heard pieces of glass shatter on stone, and felt icy slashes of pain across his legs and his back.

He had to remind himself to breathe again. Was it completely dark? No, he’d just forgotten to open his eyes. He opened them. Beside him, on the ground, he saw a bat lying on its back, twitching as it came to its senses. It turned over sluggishly and launched into a
weak and awkward flight. Bert watched it flap past the knight, the first on his feet.

The knight walked unsteadily toward the cauldron, waving at the dust that hung in the air. The Dwergh lifted their shaggy heads and peered toward the mirror.

Bert followed their gaze. He raised his arm to block the sight of his uncle’s ruined body. Uncle Hugh was no more; a glimpse told him that. He sensed, in a strange, detached way, that he should feel something. Sorrow. Pity. Relief.
Something.
But he only knew that he didn’t want to see what the flying shards had done to his uncle when the mirror shattered.

Only a few jagged pieces remained in the frame. Bert squinted and blinked. Behind where the glass once stood, there was …
a deep, black space.
It didn’t make sense to his eye. There shouldn’t have been any depth there. He should have seen the far side of the chamber through the empty frame. But instead there was a dark void, and looming inside it, that awful face. It bobbed weakly on its jointed neck. Worms dribbled off like beads of sweat and splattered on the stone floor. The head sagged onto the spikes of glass on the bottom of the frame, and whatever force held it together withered and failed. The wriggling things spilled onto the floor of the chamber, sweeping the bobbing, senseless eyes with them, and it all dissolved into a noxious, steaming, gray puddle.

Bert heard Will call his name. His brother hopped
toward him, keeping an injured foot off the ground. He kneeled and clutched Bert’s hand. There was a smile on Will’s face at first, but then his expression went grim. Bert could hear his voice dimly. “Bert—what is it? Are you all right?”

Bert stared up blankly. How could he explain what the mirror had stolen from him—that most of him was gone, and he was only a husk of the person he used to be, an egg with no white or yolk inside. He couldn’t bear to look into Will’s eyes, so he stared past his brother. And he saw something come out from the void, and drift across the chamber as if carried by a breeze. It looked like the smoke from a snuffed candle, but it was pure white and filled with the tiniest, twinkling lights.

I’ve seen that before,
Bert thought. It was a struggle even to think; his mind was muddled. He tried to remember when.
Of course. When it left me.

Will gasped as the mist snaked over his shoulder and drifted toward Bert. “Don’t,” Bert said in a whisper as Will tried to fan it away. “Leave it be!” He watched the mist touch his hands and chest, where beads of dry blood still dotted his skin. The mist pooled for a moment, and then seeped inside. A little tail of white was the last thing to vanish.

Will stared, openmouthed. “Bert, what is that?”

“Its … me,” Bert whispered. The other tendrils soaked into him. Bert felt a change inside—a rain after weeks of
drought, a meal after famine, a ray of sun after endless night. His heart bounded. It was coming back. He was coming back. He grabbed Will’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s me!” He found that he could rise, and he got up on his knees and wrapped his arms weakly around his brother. Color seeped back into the world. When he glimpsed his uncle’s body again, there was pain in his heart.

He saw Parley sitting up, not far from the mirror. The courier had the little stone head in his hands, cradling it against his chest. One of the Dwergh came to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

A Dwergh shouted something and pointed at the shattered mirror. They all looked, and gasped as one.

A spectral form emerged from the void. It was a long-bearded Dwergh with a silver crown, wearing a robe and holding a staff. He hovered before the mirror, and Bert was sure that he looked with interest at the Dwergh next to Parley who bowed his head. All the Dwergh did the same, and some of them covered their hearts with their hands as well. The ghostly shape nodded. He shuddered, and then he rose and vanished like smoke from a fire, gone before he touched the stony ceiling of the chamber.

More figures emerged, pale and gauzy. They looked like Dwergh lords of old. Each of them paused to look about, and Bert was sure he saw something in their eyes—a deep satisfaction, an infinite relief—before they too flew up and disappeared.

It was only when Parley fell onto his side that Bert’s attention was torn away from the sight of the spirits.

“Par Lee, what is wrong?” said the Dwergh by his side.

“Don’t know, Harth,” said Parley. He looked confused. His face was an odd, sickly color, and slick with sweat. “I got away without a scratch—almost” He lifted his torn shirt with the hand that wasn’t holding the stone creature’s head. Bert’s heart sank when he saw the red line traced across Parley’s belly.

“No,” Bert said, releasing his brother from the embrace. “Please, no …”

“What, Bert?” said Will.

“Uncle’s knife. It was poisoned!”

“Poisoned? Oh me,” Parley said weakly. He looked down at the little stone head. “You were right, little friend. You and I … wont see each other … again.” The stone rolled out of his grasp onto the floor.

Bert splayed his fingers across his eyes.
Not Parley,
he thought.
Not Parley.

Between his fingers he saw another ghostly form emerge from the mirror. This was no Dwergh. He recognized her immediately. He struggled to his feet. Will helped him with an arm wrapped around his waist.

“Rohesia!” Bert cried. “Don’t leave yet! You can help him!”

Everyone in the chamber was perfectly still: Will, the
seven Dwergh, the knight, and Aunt Elaine, who was leaning on the cauldron. They all stared at the ghost of the Witch-Queen, as beautiful now as shed been in life, as beautiful as she’d been in the portrait Bert saw in what seemed like another age. At first she didn’t seem to hear the plea as she drifted before the shattered mirror. But her head turned slowly, and Bert looked into her pale eyes. He pointed. “Help him! The poison will kill him!” The lovely specter drifted toward Parley with her ghostly dress billowing. The courier’s sweaty face was contorted with pain, but still he gawked up at her, entranced.

Rohesia raised one hand, palm up. A breeze swept through the chamber. Near the cauldron, the scattered sheets of parchment ruffled, and a single piece of paper fluttered high and came down again. Aunt Elaine snatched it from the dusty air and stared, wide-eyed. “This is her writing,” she said. She looked at Rohesia. “
Your
writing.”

The specter smiled. She gestured again, and Bert heard a clatter from the shelves that held the ancient jars and bottles. One of the jars tipped over and rolled forward. Aunt Elaine limped over and picked it up. She read the script on its side, and ran toward Parley as fast as she could. Andreas took her arm and helped her along.