The Rebirth of Wonder (15 page)

For a moment the two of them sat silently
side by side, as Art considered this.

It sounded terrifying –
all that magic would cause chaos, everything would be changed,
everything disrupted. Somehow, though, it didn't seem real. After
all,
magic
?

Finally he said, “Sounds dangerous.”

“
It probably is,”
Maggie agreed.

“
So why are you
doing it?”

“
Because the alternative is worse, of course. If
we
don't
do it, magic is going to die. Forever.”

“
But can't you open
one of these wells any time you want?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not,” she
said. “It takes magic to make it work, to plant the seed. When
Sedona goes – that's it. That's all, for all of time; no more
magic, ever. And the old ones, Baba and Myrddin and... well,
really, everybody but me, magic is all that's keeping them alive.
When the magic goes, they'll die, too.”

Art blinked. “They will?”

She nodded, not looking at him.

“
Why'd they leave it
until the last minute, then? Why didn't they start a new one a long
time ago? If it's been thousands of years...”

“
Well,” Maggie said,
“there's a trick to it.”

“
What kind of a
trick?”

“
The spell we're using, the play – it needs to
include
all
of the surviving magicians in the world. If any
magician, anywhere in the world, doesn't take part, it will fail –
not just big-shot wizards, if there's
anyone
else, anywhere, using magic,
then it won't work. And there's always been a holdout, some kind of
a problem – some hedge witch or tribal shaman somewhere who
wouldn't go along, or someone who couldn't come to the right place.
That was the big problem, for about the last thousand years –
Myrddin was imprisoned in a cave in England. It was just recently
that the spell holding him got weak enough, and the rest of us got
organized enough, that we could get him out.”

The idea of Innisfree being some ancient
wizard who had spent centuries in a cave struck Art as patently
ridiculous, and he snickered.

“
Really!” Maggie
insisted.

“
He got that tan
sitting in a British cave?”

“
No, he got that tan
in North Africa,” Maggie said. “First thing he did when he got out
was go get warm and dry. Wouldn't you? And that's why he picked
that name, Innisfree – he's free again. That's why he's so cheerful
about everything, and nervous at the same time – he's glad to be
out, but he doesn't really understand how the world works
anymore.”

“
He hides it
well.”

“
It's all
bluster.”

Art still doubted the whole thing, but every
time he looked at the world around him, at the black door in the
hillside, the wildflowers all around, the huge sun settling on the
horizon when he had already seen the sun set once that day, he had
to believe that something utterly incredible was happening, and
Maggie's explanation seemed to make just as much sense as anything
else.

Maybe it was real.

And if so, shouldn't he be frightened?

“
So let's see if I
have this straight,” Art said. “Magic is dying out, and there are
only twelve real magicians left.”

Maggie nodded.

“
You have a way to
bring magic back, big time, but you have to do it before the end of
the year, and here in Bampton.”

“
Before the winter
solstice, to be exact,” Maggie agreed.

“
You found this
theater sitting in exactly the right place, so Innisfree rented it,
and you're planning to stage your big ritual on the thirtieth, and
for now you're all practicing up for it. And you didn't want any
outsiders around because you didn't want them
interfering.”

“
Right.”

Art nodded. “So if magic is so weak, what are
we doing sitting in this field? Where'd that door come from?”

“
Well, magic isn't
always linear,” Maggie explained. “It can spill back and forth
through time. And it's already started here, because we're planning
the ritual. Also, I think it started on Lammas Night, when you
people put on that play, with the fairies in it – that play, on
that night, in that place, it probably started loosening things up
a little. And all those things in the cellars, charged with
imagination and excitement and youthful fervor – the theater's a
natural storehouse for magic. Not to mention that it used to be a
church. I'll bet I've seen more real magic in the week we've been
here than I'd seen in the last ten years.”

Art mulled that over, then asked, “So if it's
spilling back in time, does that mean you're going to perform the
ritual, and it's going to succeed, and nothing can stop you?”

“
No.” Maggie shook
her head. “If something stops us, then that magic will all just be
a fluke, a passing whim of the universe, a taste of what might have
been. If we don't perform our spell when the moon's back in the
same phase it was in on Lammas Night, then our chance is gone. I
don't know if we'll have another before the
solstice.”

“
What's Lammas
Night?”

“
August first. One
of the four nights of power every year. Candlemas, Beltane, Lammas,
and Halloween.”

“
But if I leave you
people alone, you'll work your spell, and magic will
return?”

Maggie hesitated, then said, “No.”

Startled, Art demanded,
“Why
not
?”

“
That's why we needed you in the building, Art; that's
why we're here now, I think. You're all tangled up in the magic.
Maybe it's just because you were there when we started, or maybe
it's something more than that, some connection between you and the
mystic-place-to-be, but our spells don't work when you're not here.
If you aren't in the building when we perform
The Return of Magic
, it won't work. And it's even worse than that, now that I've
told you all this. It isn't just all the magicians in the world who
need to work the spell; it's everyone who knows the spell is being
attempted. You asked about magic and belief – belief isn't all that
important, but
knowledge
is. You know about it, now, and if you don't
participate, if you don't act out your consent, it won't
work.”

She turned and looked him straight in the
eye. “Now that I've told you, Art, it's up to you. If you help us,
magic will be loose in the world, new, fresh, powerful magic, magic
everywhere, magic dripping from the eaves and shining from the
windows of every house in Bampton, blossoming and singing, wild and
uncontrolled.

“
And if you don't
help us, all magic will be gone from the world forever, and eleven
of us will die.

“
So...” She
swallowed nervously. “So, will you help?”

Chapter Fifteen

Art stared at her for a moment, then got to
his feet. He brushed off the seat of his pants and looked
around.

“
What happens to all
this, though?” he asked. “Isn't this all magic?”

“
Of course it is,”
Maggie agreed, rising. “And if the ritual fails, it'll be gone
forever. I'm not sure if it will all cease to exist, or whether it
has an independent reality of its own and will just be closed off
from Earth forever, but whichever it is, the effect will be the
same – that door there will be gone, it'll just be a stone wall
again, with nothing on the other side but dirt and
granite.”

“
You're sure of
that?”

She shrugged. “As sure as
I can be,” she said. “'The essence of magic is deceit' – that's
what Heliophagus of Smyrna said. I think maybe he overstated the
case, but it's a tricky business, and we're hardly ever sure
of
anything
.”

“
So you aren't
sure
that Innisfree would
die?”

Maggie sighed. “Art,” she said, “Myrddin is
sixteen hundred years old. It's magic that keeps him young. When
the magic's gone, he'll die.”

“
How? Turn to dust,
like in a vampire movie?”

“
Maybe.” Maggie put
a hand on his arm. “We don't know. There's always been magic in the
world, ever since history began; how can we know what the world
will be like without it?”

He turned to face her, startled. “You mean
things could be different? For everybody, not just magicians?”

“
Art, I
don't
know
.”

He looked her in the eye, and noticed that
her eyes were deep and green. He pulled away.

“
You can cast
spells, can't you?”

“
Some,” she
admitted. “More here and now than ever before.”

“
And you want me to
help you with this play of yours?”

She nodded.

“
So why don't you just enchant me, and
make
me do what
you want?”

Maggie hesitated. “We
could,” she admitted. “
I
could. But Art, magic isn't like electricity or
something, it isn't all the same, regardless of where it came from
or how it started. Each of the mystic places in the world has its
own flavor – or
had
, anyway – depending on how it was created. And Art, we want
this one to be clean and wholesome. We want white magic – and
believe me,
you
want it to be white magic, if it happens at all. There's been
black magic in the world before, too much of it, too often. It's
gone now – the Sedona source is clean, almost pure white – but we
know what black magic is, what it's like. We don't want
that.”

“
So
what?”

“
So if there's
dissension, if there's coercion, the Bampton source will be
tainted. It can never be better than gray, it might be
black.”

“
You don't want
that?”

“
Well, most of us
don't.” She admitted, “I think a couple might not
care.”

Art immediately thought of Granny Yeager; he
doubted she would hesitate an instant over whether the magic was
white or black.

“
Besides,” Maggie added, “we're not sure it would work.
An enchantment isn't
really
consent.”

Art nodded.

“
Let's go back,”
Maggie said.

Art nodded again, and together they stepped
back through the door into the theater basement.

Art paused, and turned back for a final look.
The sun was almost down, the trees black silhouettes before it, the
first star just visible in the east.

He closed the ancient door and felt the latch
click into place. He stared at it for a long moment, ran a finger
over the rough, crumbling finish.

“
Hard to believe
this isn't real,” he said.

“
It's real,” Maggie
said. “It's magic.”

He glanced at her, then back at the door. “It
looks so old,” he said.

“
It probably
is
old,” Maggie agreed. “It was
probably somewhere else before.”

“
Is that how it
works?”

She spread empty hands. “Who knows?” she
replied. “The essence of magic is deceit.”

The cellars seemed exceptionally dank and
gloomy after the fresh air and vivid sunlight of Faerie, and Art
hurried to turn off lights and lock up, so as to get back outside.
A hot New England night was scarcely going to be as pleasant as
twilight in Faerie, but it would be better than the basement.

Maggie accompanied him silently.

There was no sign of the other Bringers when
they finally made their way back upstairs; that was no surprise.
Art set out to make sure that the air conditioning was turned off
and everything as it should be.

When at last he was satisfied, he found
Maggie waiting by the stage door. She looked troubled.

“
Will you help us?”
she burst out.

He stepped past her without answering and put
his hand on the knob, then paused.

“
I don't know,” he
said. “I need to think about it.” He turned the
knob.

Light spilled in, and he blinked in
astonishment.

He swung the door wide and looked out at
morning light sparkling on the dew in the fields beyond the parking
lot.

“
We weren't...” he
began, but he could not finish the thought.

“
You aren't up on
your fairy tales, are you?” Maggie asked. “Time in Faerie isn't the
same as time on Earth. That's what the stories all say, and I guess
they were right.”