Their cloudy eyes, reflecting the torchlight, glowed like wicked fireflies in the darkness. The initial pair of eyes had become two pairs, and then six, and then too many to count. Peregrine had stopped moving forward again, but Saturday did not scold him this time.
“Animals don’t swarm like that to attack,” said Saturday. “They’re fleeing something.”
“Or someone,” said Peregrine. Most likely the witch and her spell preparations, particularly if she wanted brownie teeth for her cauldron. “Run.”
They turned together and sped back down the tunnel.
Saturday stayed close behind him, keeping her head down. Peregrine heard her grunt and curse as the brownies caught up with her on their scrambling legs. Some ran past him. He shook his skirt when it grew heavy, shaking loose the one or two brownies trying to hitch a ride. They scratched his legs and nipped at his ankles with those pesky, pointy teeth.
“Is it safe to lead them back to the mirrors?” Saturday called up to him.
He didn’t want to, but he wasn’t convinced they were leading this unstoppable flock of brownies anywhere. “I don’t see that we have a choice.”
“Where do we go from there?” she asked.
That was the next problem. If there was another way out of the mirror cave, Peregrine had yet to find it. “We’ll figure that out when we get there.”
Saturday muttered something about “stupid boys” as a brownie went sailing past Peregrine’s head. It landed with a squeak before him and scurried onward, disappearing into the wall of the tunnel.
Peregrine stopped and turned, catching an armful of Saturday. It was not unpleasant, especially now that she’d bathed, though he was mindful of her dagger.
“What?”
“Look. There.” Peregrine waited until she saw what he saw. Before them lay the cave of mirrors, but there were no brownies inside it. No more of the rodents ran ahead of them. Peregrine lifted a squirming brownie from Saturday’s shoulder and set it on the ground. It ran away from the cave, back down the tunnel to his brethren.
Peregrine lifted his lantern and scanned the wall of the tunnel, into which scores of brownies seemed to be disappearing. There wasn’t an exit; he’d been down this way and back a thousand times with as many mirrors in tow. But he had never noticed that the natural spacing between the two pillarstones here was actually a fissure in the wall to a chamber beyond.
Without disturbing the swarming brownies, Peregrine leaned into the crack. He could feel a draft— only a slight one, but a draft nonetheless. It smelled of warm metal and water and musk; he didn’t sense any sharp brimstone or dangerous gasses. The pillarstones and wall were thick and white with calcite, so the layers upon layers of scratches that the brownies had worn deep into the stones had never stood out.
“We could wait here until they’re gone,” said Peregrine, but he worried about the wisdom of keeping Saturday too close to the mirrors. Her desire to try the looking glasses again would quickly overpower his desire to keep her conscious.
“Or we can find out where they’re going,” said Saturday. She indicated the runesword at his side. “May I?”
Peregrine brightened. “Oh no. Me first this time.” He handed her the lantern and loosed the sword. Its length was awkward in the confines of the tunnel. Silver runes began to creep up his wrists and forearms. “You may want to step back.” Surprisingly, she did exactly as he suggested.
The pillarstones were old and thick, but their age worked in his favor. Years of brownie tracks had worn down the stones enough so that it took only a handful of swings before the white calcite icing of stone shattered. The stragglers of the brownie herd squeaked their displeasure at the mess, hissing and spitting at him as he continued forward.
The wall beyond was a different story. Peregrine pushed the larger remnants of the pillarstones out of the way while Saturday kicked the wall with her booted foot. Peregrine would have warned her about the futility of such a gesture, but this wall proved surprisingly thin. The fissure widened and the wall began to give way. They made short work of the hole, stopping as soon as it was large enough for them to squeeze through.
Saturday barreled ahead, but Peregrine had experienced too many close calls to venture forth into parts unknown without a light. A brownie with a notched ear jumped atop his lantern’s lid as Peregrine pulled it awkwardly through the fissure.
“Peregrine, there are stars here!” Saturday called out to him. “Hurry up and see!”
He couldn’t help but smile to himself as he extracted arm, lantern, and brownie from the fissure. He enjoyed hearing her say his name without malice.
She met him on the other side. The brownie launched itself off the lantern and scurried off to rejoin his pack.
“No, no, douse the light,” said Saturday. She pulled at his skirt, wrapping the material around the iron cage. “Look.”
Above them twinkled thousands of bright golden lights, glittering metals shining their hearts out. But these specks were not reflecting light; they were emitting it.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw a sky like this,” said Saturday. “Can you?”
He avoided the question. “It’s wonderful,” he said, and it was the truth. Peregrine gently lifted Saturday’s hand away and removed his skirt from around the lantern. He held the light high, revealing a large and complex calcite formation glistening white as the driven snow.
“Do you recognize this cave?” Saturday asked him.
“Yes.” Peregrine lowered his voice, out of reverence more than necessity.
“You have names for everything.” Saturday pointed at the massive rock formation. “So what do you call that?”
“The dragon,” answered Peregrine.
Saturday examined the formation more closely, trying to make head and tail of it. It was a little difficult to picture at first glance. Most artists’ renditions showed dragons rearing back while attacking, or in mid-fire-breathing flight, not curled up in peaceful rest. Saturday’s mind began to unravel the sculpture. “Oh,” she said. And then, “Oh.” And then after another longer pause, “Really?”
“Really,” said Peregrine. “Saturday Woodcutter, please allow me to introduce you to the dragon.”
“I’m at a bit of a loss. What does one say when one meets one’s death?” Saturday bowed politely to the dragon. “Enchanted.”
“Very much so,” said Peregrine. “Unlike my father’s plight, the spell on the dragon is a sleeping death. This mountain has been his tomb.”
“A prisoner, like us.” Saturday stepped forward. “May I touch it?” She had already stretched her arm out, but her hand hovered over the glowing stone. “Do we have time?”
“The ceiling of the witch’s lair caved in,” he told her. “It happened right before you arrived. We are currently on the other side of it. It will take the witch a very long while to find us here. Watch your step.” Just as white rock had dripped and crept over the dragon’s body, so too had it grown over the bones of the dragon’s victims.
Saturday lifted a boot and walked precariously through the sea of dead, trailing her fingers along the dragon’s contours. Thankfully, whatever godstuff slept within her remained dormant, as did the dragon. Peregrine let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He watched her pat the dragon’s beak, and what was either a short horn or a pillarstone the cave had grown atop the dragon’s skull.
“I should stay here,” said Peregrine. “Perhaps I can kill the dragon before it fully wakes. You and Betwixt might have a chance then.”
“No,” Saturday said flatly. “If anyone stays on this mountain, it will be me. I will leave no one behind. That’s final.”
Peregrine hoped the spirits of the warriors on whose bones he stood could see the headstrong young woman who walked that last footstep that they could not. “Where have you been all my life?” he asked.