Yesterday's Magic (6 page)

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.

E
ASTWARD

I
t 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.

He knew the world was slowly recovering. Gradually the atmospheric dust was thinning, giving them more glimpses of blue sky and producing some earlier thaws. Some plants and animals thought extinct had even been seen. But he knew things could never be quite the same. He sighed. Perhaps it was a good thing that there were so few alive who could remember the world as it once was—and truly mourn the loss. There was just himself and Arthur—and Morgan. He wondered, though, if she didn’t really prefer this twisted world as it was now. It certainly gave more scope for her brand of magic.

The European shore was bleaker than the one they’d left. Dry grass covered the ground only in spotty patches. Seaside villages showed up as crumbling ruins, and larger cities were rusted skeletal remains.

But the ruins weren’t totally deserted. A few shapes scuttled into shadows as they passed above. Muties, Welly realized with a shiver. Muties or, worse—creatures from the darker Otherworlds. He’d met some of both with the armies Morgan had recruited to attack Britain.

As the sun was lowering toward the horizon behind them, Blanche banked into a loop and circled down to where a couple of rocky cliffs enclosed a now-dry river valley. Her riders climbed off, already shivering in the coming night.

Welly buttoned his fleece jacket and commented to Merlin, “I’m surprised it wasn’t colder riding up there.”

“Dragon fire. It’s always smoldering inside. Keeps dragons and their passengers, it seems, nice and warm. I guess we have to camp here for the night. Much as I want to, we can’t ask Blanche to fly nonstop.”

“You’ve got that right, magic boy,” Blanche said from behind them. Welly whipped around, astonished that something as big as a dragon could move so silently. She snorted a laugh at his surprised look. Smoke puffed from her nostrils. “And I’m not going anywhere until I get a proper meal. Thought I noticed a herd of something lurking over there. See you.”

With a few beats of her wings, she was up and gliding over the eastern cliff, her white shape astonishingly bright in the dusk.

“Firelit white isn’t exactly made for stealth,” Merlin observed. “But she’s what we’ve got, and anyway, if I can sense Morgan, she can probably sense me. Stealth may not matter.”

Soon he, Welly, and Troll were huddled around a small magically started fire eating rations brought from York. That outpost of civilization seemed awfully far away to all of them now. Emptiness and silence pressed close around them—as did the cold and dark.

Twice Merlin started to say something, then lapsed into awkward silence. Finally he got up, paced around the fire, and abruptly sat down again. “Welly, I’m awfully glad you insisted on coming with me….”

“And Troll too,” their associate added.

Merlin nodded impatiently. “Yes, I’m glad you came too, Troll. But this is something different.”

“Oh, me get it. Private human-to-human talk. Troll go to sleep.” Wrapping himself in the blanket he’d draped over his shoulders, Troll rolled up like a bug on the far side of the fire and immediately began snoring.

Weakly Merlin smiled, then he looked again at Welly. “Like I said, I’m glad you came, but I feel guilty too. Not just for putting you in danger, and gods know there’s certainly enough of that. But because…well, because of Heather. Me and Heather, I mean…Because we’re…”

“Hold it, Earl. Are you thinking that I’m jealous of you two? Of your being a couple?”

“Well, you and Heather were close friends at Llandoylan long before you got tied up with me. You’ve been through a lot together, have risked a lot for each other.”

“And for you, Earl. Hey, Heather and I are
friends.
But she’s more like my sister. I saw that you two were made for each other long before either of you dummies realized that.” Welly stopped and nervously began plucking at a few brittle strands of grass. “It feels sort of weird talking about this kind of stuff, but I’d do anything for Heather, and I want to see her happy. You make her happy.” Welly blushed and flicked a few pebbles into the fire, watching the sparks fly. Then, taking off his glasses, he began polishing them on a sleeve.

“Besides, now that I’m one of King Arthur’s famous warriors, girls come flocking.” He laughed awkwardly. “Well, sort of.”

“True, I have seen you with some very fetching ones.”

Welly’s firelit face turned even more ruddy. “Yeah, well, they’ve been okay, but not really what I’m looking for, I guess. The right one’s out there somewhere, probably. I’m young yet, I suppose.”

Merlin nodded. “You are. But I’m not, not really. One long lifetime and a bit of another, and Heather is the first person I’ve felt this way about. There was Nimue, of course, but that was different—enchantment was involved.” He paused and his voice dropped. “What I feel for Heather amazes me every day. And if I can’t save her from that foul creature Morgan, I don’t feel this life’s worth living anymore.”

He stared silently at the fire for a moment, then continued. “I know what Arthur said about this abduction being a trap. But I can’t help it—I’ve got to try and save Heather. And I’m grateful that you’re here to help…and that you understand.”

“Of course I understand,” Welly said.

“And Troll understand too,” came a squeaky voice from across the fire. “But enough mushy boy talk. Sleep time—before fat white worm come back and burp yucky dinner at us.”

The two boys had no sooner rolled up in their own blankets than the dragon glided back into their camp. Red smeared her white neck and chest, and her noxious burps produced clouds of smoke.

“Wild mutant cattle are not bad, really,” she announced, delicately picking her teeth with a claw. “Those extra heads and legs make them extra crunchy. I suppose you want to be off at dawn, wizard boy?”

“Or earlier,” Merlin replied, trying not to breathe the putrid dragon breath.

“Right, then. I won’t need to stop for breakfast—I brought back a couple of extras. But don’t even think about sharing them. They’re
mine.
”

“Absolutely,” Merlin assured her. “All yours.”

They were in the air again by dawn. To Merlin, the trail they were following still glinted slimily through the sky. Below it, spreading light from the east showed a bleak landscape. Crumbled villages and abandoned towns gave way to glassy plains where cities had disappeared under balls of nuclear fire. Their southeasterly route took them over some of these and skirted others. That evening, they flew longer than planned so they could camp in a relatively less-desolate spot.

Blanche went out foraging again, and the others ate an almost-silent meal around their small fire. Over a dark ridge, the night sky still glowed faintly from radiation, like the ghost of city lights that had once twinkled there.

When the depressing silence grew too heavy, Welly asked Merlin, “Is the rest of the world all like this?”

Merlin sighed. “I can’t believe it could be. Supposedly the nuclear nations destroyed each other’s cities, and social collapse devastated much of the rest. But some countries never had nuclear arms or, like Britain, had abandoned them by the time the war broke out. We know that muties roam the Continent. But tucked away in places, there must be surviving pockets of less-mutated humanity as well. When Morgan brought her armies from here, they included not only muties but also darker creatures from the Otherworlds. So all of those gates between the worlds are not sealed, and that in itself means there must be enough life in
this
world to attract creatures from the Other.”

Merlin took a bite of the dried mutton that made up their dinner and thought about what to say next. “Besides, Heather seems to have moments of mental communication with magic workers elsewhere. There appear to be survivors scattered over the world.”

“What? She never told me about that.”

“No, she really just figured it out in the last few days. If only we’d had time to work with it before…I can only hope that Morgan doesn’t learn about that, or whatever she has in mind for Heather could be even worse.” Angrily he slammed a fist down on the gravelly ground. “That’s why I begrudge even these short rest breaks. But dragons are tricky to work with. You don’t dare push them too far.”

“Dragons!” Troll snorted while huddling closer to the fire. “Don’t know which worse. Riding overgrown worm or sleeping here. This place full of ghosts.”