Saturday laughed at that. It was a comment Peter would have made.
“You’re beautiful,” said Peregrine.
That, however, was not something Peter would have said. Saturday screwed her face up into a scowl at the compliment in an attempt to mar whatever feature happened to be catching his overly romantic eye.
“And you’re an idiot,” he added.
“The two do tend to go hand in hand,” Saturday pointed out.
“No, they don’t. Being beautiful doesn’t make you an idiot, Saturday. Being stupid does.” She felt the pressure lift as Peregrine pulled the brush he’d given her from her belt. “As a clean Woodcutter once said: You are a complete fool, and I have half a mind to throw this brush at you.”
She wrenched the brush from his grasp and replaced it in her belt. “Stop being ridiculous.”
“You really have no idea, do you?”
Why did they have to talk about this? People’s outward appearance was Saturday’s least favorite subject. “Yes. I know. I can be pretty enough. I’ve been forced to dress up for a ball before, but only because my mother made me.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He turned her face back toward the mirror. “You cannot call yourself a proper warrior if you refuse to use all the weapons in your arsenal.”
“Pshaw,” sputtered Saturday. “Beauty is not a weapon.”
Peregrine squinted at her. “Come now, Woodcutter. I thought you cleverer than that.”
Beauty as power. Was he serious? But she considered Monday’s ability to capture a room with a glance and release it with a wave. Saturday could not deny there was power in that. “Fine. You’re right,” she agreed. “But I’m not—”
“Saturday, I love you. You will always be beautiful to me.”
Betwixt made mewling kitten noises.
It was difficult for Saturday to stay serious. “I’m the only woman you’ve seen in a very long time.”
“You’re the only human I’ve seen in a very long time,” Peregrine corrected.
Betwixt’s voice echoed from the far side of the cave. “The gods work in mysterious ways.”
“Those ways aren’t so mysterious if you’re paying attention,” Peregrine shot back.
“Paying attention is not one of my virtues,” said Saturday. Despite that, she was very aware of how close Peregrine still stood; she could feel the heat of him through her damp clothes.
“Everything happens for a reason,” said Betwixt.
“That’s what Mama always says,” Saturday muttered.
“Then it must be true,” said Peregrine.
“You have no idea.” She could almost see the outline of Mama’s face swimming in the silver glass scolding her back to the task at hand. Peter’s, too, as if he’d come to inspire the rhymes needed to ignite her spell. Saturday’s fingers itched to perform this magic, on purpose, and on her own.
But if any of these mirrors were going to work, there was one face she needed to see above all others. For better or worse, she would know here and now the fate to which she had doomed her little brother.
Mirror, Mirror, Monday’s rhyme had begun, and so Saturday’s would as well. She stared into the one still framing her and Peregrine, but she raised her voice to address the whole room.
“Mirror, Mirror, stones and sticks,
Show my little brother’s tricks.”
Saturday hoped that the looking glasses—if any of them chose to wake from hibernation—forgave her vague request in light of the clever play she’d made on Trix’s name in the couplet. And then she realized she was personifying an inanimate object.
“When I speak a spell like that, who’s really listening?” Saturday asked her companions while they waited. “Certainly not the mirrors themselves.”
“They say gods are the conduits,” said Betwixt. “That is the reason for the rhyme: so the gods know you wish to perform a spell, with their blessing.”
Saturday was skeptical. To the best of her knowledge, she and Peter had never drawn accidental attention with their Wood-born nonsense. And yet, she could easily picture the gods laughing at their witticisms. “The gods do have a sense of humor.”
As if in response to her statement, five mirrors and a shard by the brazier burst into brilliance.
Peregrine cried out and threw his arm over his face. “Gah! You’d think I would have been prepared for that!”
The brightness had pierced Saturday’s own skull as well. As she waited for the glare to die down, she offered another one of those silent prayers to the ether and whatever god she now knew was listening. No matter what the looking glass showed her, she wanted Trix to be alive. Preferably alive and safe.
The five mirrors showed the same vision at the same time, and then a few more joined in. The room began to warm from the magic. The familiar scene before them was the one from Monday’s looking glass, though now Saturday knew what she witnessed. Saturday watched as the earth split below her and water sprayed to the heavens. Mudslides swamped forests. Flocks of birds fled the treetops. Relentless rains flooded houses and farms. Men, women, children, and animals alike were swept away by the angry tides.
Saturday’s shivering now had nothing to do with the cold. “This is what I’ve done,” she said. “This is the chaos I created. I don’t understand how you could love a destroyer of worlds.”
She could not turn away from the images, but she felt Peregrine’s hand slip inside hers.
“The earth brought storms and floods long before you came. It created mountains and valleys and oceans many years ago, without your help.”
“The only constant in this life is change,” added Betwixt.
“But all those poor people . . .” said Saturday.
“I see suffering, but I don’t see death,” Peregrine pointed out. “You don’t know for sure that you’ve killed anyone.”
“I have no right to cause so much pain.”
Peregrine squeezed her hand. “Look at them, Saturday. These are the people of your world. These are the people you will save when you stop the witch.”
“When we stop her,” said Betwixt. She felt the catbird’s reassuring presence at her side.
“And we will,” added Peregrine.
“Yes,” said Saturday. “We will.”
The visions blurred and the cave swam with colors— almost half the mirrors in the room were awake now. The colors resolved to settle on Trix. Saturday gasped.
Her brother’s lifeless body was caught up on the back of a sea serpent. It was violet-scaled and segmented, but its movements were graceful and fluid. Large spines rose up from its head like stiff plumage. As it swam, the serpent tilted its head back so that the spines created a basket in which Trix’s body was easily contained for transport.
Saturday worried about Trix’s body remaining underwater for so long . . . but, too, she wondered at how the monster could swim with his head kept back at such an odd angle. Slowly, more of the scene was revealed. The monster had two more heads. One looked as lifeless as Trix.
Three heads. Saturday knew this beast. She had seen it herself from the deck of her sister’s ship: the mythical lingworm. What had Thursday said to her? No Woodcutter is in danger from that particular lingworm. Her sly pirate sister had seen more than just a creature through that blasted spyglass, but she’d said nothing! She wanted to slap her sister for keeping secrets. Well, at least whatever Saturday was witnessing was not a threat to her brother. That must mean he was still alive. But Saturday hadn’t been on the pirate ship for days now . . .
The mirrors grew bright again. This time when they dimmed, the mirror’s eye looked up from the base of a tree.
“He’s alive!” A dozen Trixes perched on a dozen branches in the looking glasses before her, every one of them alive and well. Saturday screamed in delight and grasped at the consoling arms Peregrine wrapped around her. “That’s Trix! That’s my little brother! He’s alive!” She wanted to weep with the joy of knowing she had not killed him . . . or possibly anyone. Beside her, she heard Betwixt’s wings flutter in happiness.