The Night of the Solstice (10 page)

Gently, Alys set the little creature among the piles. “The Weerul Council sent you?”

“Every great house has its serpent guardian. But I have failed … failed both the Council and my lady… .”

A tiny hope which had sprung up in Alys's mind died. “You don't know where Cadal Forge imprisoned Morgana.”

“He seized me first… . I knew nothing, lying before that terrible fire.” The serpent sagged in defeat and exhaustion. “I cannot help you with that. But”—it looked up at her pleadingly—“there is something I can give you. Choose what you will from my treasures. All I have is yours for the asking… .”

Alys shook her head, but the others lost no time in offering suggestions. Charles proffered a crown set with walnut-sized raw rubies, Janie tenderly dusted
off an exquisitely enameled vase, and Claudia dived into a pile headfirst and emerged with what looked like a pair of silver-plated thumbscrews.

But Alys, when she at last realized the serpent was serious, put her hand immediately on the only weapon to be seen in the hoard, a dagger in a stained and battered leather sheath. It nestled in her hand.

“Not
that
,” said Charles. “It's hideous.”

Alys drew the blade.

It shimmered like liquid light in her hand, putting all the other treasures to shame. The sides were very slightly scalloped, with thin diagonal lines running between the scallops, shining bright and pale on the pearlescent background.

“It is a gannelin dagger,” said the serpent quietly. “Made in the Golden Age. There are only three others like it in Findahl.” Utterly depleted by this speech, it sagged down among the piles. “Good-bye, my lady Alys,” it whispered faintly, burrowing into a pile of loose gems. A moment later it had disappeared and there was only a distant hiss of “Thrown or wielded, it will not easily miss its mark… .”

Alys sheathed the dagger again, concealing its brightness, and thrust it into her belt. She was suddenly very tired.

“Come on,” she said. “Let's go home.”

I join the shadows on the wall / To watch with weary silver eyes / Poets who soliloquize …”

“Janie, don't be morbid,” said Alys.

“… About the fate that awaits us all,” Janie finished in a whisper. She was regarding herself in the study mirror, which was so dark and tarnished that it reflected only a dim and cloudy outline of a girl back at her. Having finished the poem, she bit into the sandwich Alys had packed for her. It was nearly nine o'clock on Friday night, and they were waiting for moonrise. They waited in the study because from this window they had a clear view of the driveway—and of any local law enforcement officers who might be coming up it.

“What I'm worried about,” said Alys, “is locked
doors. For every locked door we find in the Wildworld, that means one more trip through a mirror. And we're running out of
time
.”

This started up the old argument about whether or not they should separate in the Wildworld in an attempt to cover the castle four times as fast. Alys had just stated categorically that from now on they all traveled together, with her going first, when Janie did it.

She had been staring into the dark mirror with disfavor since they all sat down, and now she picked up a crumpled napkin and began to rub at the tarnish. This polishing had no discernible effect on the dirt, but as her hand slipped and her finger touched the surface of the mirror there was a blue-green shimmer, a vermilion silhouette, and then there were only three people in the room.

“The moon must have risen!” cried Charles, jumping to his feet. “And she was wearing the amulet!”

Alys spoke through clenched teeth. “She'd better come back,” she said, and then, several minutes later, “She'd better have a good reason for not coming back.”

“We'll have to go after her,” said Charles. They had planned on going through the kitchen mirror and exploring the west wing.

A tense second or two later Alys agreed, and very gingerly she touched the grimy mirror.

She emerged in a room lit by a single great candle on a tall standing candlestick. The light flickered strangely, but it was sufficient to show her that she was entirely alone. Moreover, as she began to move toward the closed door to search for Janie, she found that she
liked
being alone, that she had no particular desire to find her sister or anyone else. She felt strangely light and free. She wanted … oh, she wanted to slip into some dark and lonely place and stay there forever, watching.

“Alyssss …” The voice was eerie, and seemed to come from a long distance, like the music in Morgana's great hall. “Alys, come heeeeere… .”

Alarm cut through the pleasantly forlorn feeling. She turned around and around, but the room was empty of all but flickering candlelight and dancing shadows. Her hand went to the gannelin dagger, which
hung at her belt, but the feel of it was dull. She began to think about dark places again.

“Alys, its meeeee… .”

The shock, when it came, was terrible. As she turned, searching, she found herself looking into the mirror, which in this world was bright and untarnished. It reflected her, alert and wary, and behind her … unmistakably … Charles, Claudia, and Janie.

Wildly she spun around, looking back and forth from the mirror to the empty air behind her, and noticing that the three other reflections were doing this also. The room was filled with ghostly voices.

“I can't believe this—” “Where
are
you all?” “Interesting, isn't it?” “Alys!”

The empty air, she realized gradually, was not empty. If she looked hard she could just discern three vague forms in the moonlight, forms apparently made of very thin darkness.

“We're ghosts,” said the smallest form, lifting insubstantial arms in despair. “Oh, Alys, I don't
like
it.”

Distant laughter sounded in Alys's ear. “Not
ghosts,” said Janie's voice. “Shadows. And what I don't like is this candlelight. Too bright. Let's get out of it.”

“But how do we stop being shadows?” wailed Claudia.

“It's all right,” sighed Janie. “I should think it would be obvious. If we
want
to change, we go through this mirror where we can see ourselves the way we used to be.”

“We'd have to open the window shutter first and let the moonlight in.” Charles's wraithlike form seemed to shudder at the thought.

“We'll worry about it later,” said Alys. The truth was that she had no desire to stop being a shadow. For the first time since meeting the vixen she felt unburdened, absolved of all responsibility. It was a very pleasant feeling, as if no one in the world was real except her. Right now she wanted to find someplace dark, and quiet, and far away.

But when she tried to take hold of the door handle to open the door she found she could not move it.

“We're incorporeal,” murmured Janie. “Bodiless.
We can touch each other but not anything else, not anything solid.”

They could not move the shutter either. Janie thought they should be able to drift
through
solid matter if they willed it hard enough, but no one could manage this.

There were several moments of silence.

“So what do we do now?” said Charles at last, not as if he cared much.

“Nothing,” said Alys calmly. “There's nothing at all for us to do.”

Janie and Charles accepted this without surprise. They settled back against a wall, content simply to wait … and watch. Only Claudia whimpered a little.

“Hush,” said Alys distantly. Nothing seemed very real.

Then Charles said, “Listen.”

They all heard it—a snuffling, scratching noise in the hall outside. The next instant the door burst open.

It struck Alys on the forehead and shoulder, but the blow was softened as she seemed to melt into the wood. Her shadow-indifference was shattered. She fell
backward as much from surprise and horror at the sight of the animal on the threshold as from the impact.

Cats … she had never liked cats. And this was some unnatural combination of leopard and basilisk, with feline head and hindquarters and reptilian snout and claws. Its shoulders were covered by heavy, armored scales that looked almost metallic. It could not see or smell her, she realized, as the unblinking yellow eyes stared right through her, but it could hear her panting breath.

“Move away from it,” hissed Charles, from his kneeling position behind the door. The great head swung toward him immediately, distracted, and from the scaly throat came a whining sound. Trembling, trying not to breathe, Alys inched backward into the safety of the veiling darkness.

An icy hand touched hers, although here she could see no form at all. “Please, let's go home,” whispered Claudia.

The animal turned at even this faint sound, the whine becoming a high snarl of frustration.

“Briony,” said a man's voice in the hall, “what is it?”

Alys's heart leapt into her throat. Everything was all too real now, terrifyingly real. But there was no time to think or move, because he was
there
, framed in the doorway, with the monster-cat turning to fawn on him. He was human, or at least he was a man, but there was a strange similarity of movement between him and the animal, a sinuous, stalking grace. After one long look Alys knew she would much rather face the Groundsler.

“Yes,” said the man, rubbing the cat's hideous head as he gazed around the room. “I feel it too. Something amiss.” He stepped forward and the candlelight played on his face. It was not a bad face, handsome even, until a trick of the light deepened the shadows of lines around the mouth and showed the tightness of skin under the hooded eyes. There was weariness there, thought Alys, and driven purpose, and cruelty.

The next moment the light changed and showed only a tall man with a cropped helmet of dark hair and a remote, abstracted expression. He wore a vaguely military outfit of dark red tunic and leggings. Although his eyes still looked about the room, his
gaze seemed turned inward now, upon some distant scene of pain and amusement.

Even as he stood there, a second man, younger than he, more tired, less assured, stepped into the doorway. This one was garbed in flowing gray robes that gave him a clerical air. Yet despite his youth and tiredness and monkish demeanor, he and the other man had something in common: power. It emanated from them in waves so strong that Alys could almost see it.

“Cadal?” the young man said quietly. “Cadal, we've got her.”

For a long moment Cadal Forge stood unmoving, apparently heedless. At last, he stirred and sighed. Without turning, he said, “That's good, Aric. Bring her to me.”

Aric glanced about the dark and barren room. “Here?”

Cadal Forge nodded, already gone in reverie again, his absent yes barely audible.

As the younger sorcerer departed, leaving the door ajar, Alys felt Janie's panicked hand on her shoulder. “Let's
go
,” hissed Janie's voice in her ear.

“Be quiet,” Alys breathed, for Briony was straining forward, whimpering. “I have to see what happens. It could be Morgana they've got.”

“I don't care
who
it is,” whispered Janie between set teeth, but Alys dragged her farther back into the darkness, and they joined the shadows on the wall as Aric returned.

He was escorting a girl, a very young and delicate-looking girl, who wore a simple white garment, like a Greek chiton, girdled with ribbon. A gold band encircled her hair, which was straight and fine and the color of moonlight. In her right hand she held a bunch of purple loosestrife, still dripping wet; on her left wrist perched a small bright-eyed falcon. The whole room seemed lighter for her presence, and the four shadows shrank back even farther, feeling exposed.

“Hello there,” said the girl, offering Cadal Forge the loosestrife.

“Oh, leave your rubbish!” cried Aric, slapping the bouquet from her hands.

“Softly, Aric, softly,” said Cadal Forge. With complete
gravity he bent and retrieved the flowers, then returned them to the girl. “So you have been gathering blossoms near the marsh, have you, and playing by the water?” His words were courteous, his manner charming, but it was clear that he was speaking as a great king speaks to a half-witted child.

“Well, I have a new amusement for you,” he added, and for just an instant the force of personality, the commanding strength that lay under his mockery, was apparent. Then he smiled, and his voice was almost lilting as he said, “Come, you enjoyed our last venture together.”

The girl laughed musically with him, then stopped. “Yes,” she said, sobering, “but, you see, I'm busy now. I've just caught this sweet thing in my Wood.” And she pursed her lips to the falcon, which hissed viciously. Its talons gripped her wrist cruelly, but she showed no sign of pain or distress.

“Very sweet,” said Cadal Forge dryly. “But what I ask will take your mind off him only for a few moments. Listen to me, Elwyn. You were glad enough
to listen before and make mischief for your shrewish sister.”

What he said next was lost on Alys. So this was Elwyn Silverhair, Morgana's Quislai half sister! This was the person responsible for putting the entire human world in danger, the person who had outwitted the Mirror Mistress and opened the doors for the enslavement of Earth… .

“But I don't
want
to play anymore,” said Elwyn, stamping one small bare foot petulantly. “I already did what you asked me to.”

“Yes, you brought me Morgana. But you neglected to bring that slinking familiar of hers, and I was forced to run it down myself. And while it was loose I believe—I have reason to suspect—that it taught others the secret of the mirrors. What I want of you, Elwyn, is to cross to the Stillworld once more and find out the truth of this. If I am about to have human visitors here I would like to … to prepare some suitable greeting for them.”