And then, and then... And then, sir...
Walking. I was walking, almost drifting, through a California shopping mall I used to frequent. Knots of kids, couples with infants, women with parcels, passed, words smothered by sounds from a music store speaker. Potted oases sheltered, deli smells drifted, sale signs promised.
Walking. Past the drugstore. Past the shoe store. Past the candy store...
Narrow corridor to the left. I'd never noticed it. Must turn...
Odd there should be a carpet-and candles in high holders, and sconces, and candelabra atop narrow chests. The walls glittered with their re
I turned back.
There was no back. The mall was gone. The corridor ended in that direction at a wall. A small tapestry hung upon it, depicting nine figures who looked back at me. I shrugged and turned again.
“Still something left to your spell, Uncle,” I remarked. “Let's be about it then.”
Walking. In silence now. Ahead. To the place where the mirrors glittered. I had seen this place long ago, I recalled, though its disposition-I suddenly realizedwas not peculiar to Amber Castle. It was right there, on the tip of memory-my younger self passing this way, not unaccompanied-but the price of that recollection would be loss of control here, I knew. Reluctantly, I released the image and turned my attention to the small oval mirror to my left.
I smiled. So did my image. I stuck out my tongue and was so saluted in return.
I moved on. Only after several paces did I realize that the image had been my demonformed self, while my person had not.
A soft throat-clearing sound occurred to my right. Turning in that direction, I beheld my brother Mandor within a black-framed lozenge.
“Dear boy,” he stated, “the king is dead. Long live your august personage as soon as you have assumed the throne. You had best make haste to return for a crowning at the End of the World, with or without the bride of the Jewel.”
“We ran into a few small problems,” I said.
“Nothing worth resolving just now. Your presence in the Courts is far more important.”
“No, my friends are,” I said.
A momentary smile touched his lips.
“You will be in an ideal position to protect your friends,” he said, “and to do as you would with your enemies.”
“I will be back,” I said, “soon. But not to be crowned.”
“As you would, Merlin. It is your presence that is desired.”
“I promise nothing,” I said.
He chuckled, and the mirror was emptied.
I turned away. I walked on.
More laughter. From the left. My mother's.
From within a red frame of carved flowers, she stared at me, a look of vast amusement upon her features. “Seek him in the Pit!” she said. “Seek him in the Pit! “
I passed, and her laughter continued at my back for a time.
“Hsst!” To my right, a long, narrow mirror bordered in green. “Masster Merlin,” she said. “I have ssought, but the
ghosst-light bass not passsed my way.” “Thanks, Glait. Keep looking, please.”
“Yess. We musst ssit together in a warm place by night once again and drink milk and talk of the old dayss.”
“That would be nice. Yes, we must. If we are not eaten by something bigger.”
“S-s-s-s-s!”
Could that be laughter?
“Good hunting, Glait.”
“Yess. S-s-s!”
... And on. Walking.
“Son of Amber. Wearer of the spikard"-this from within a shadowy niche to my left.
I halted and stared. The frame was white, the glass ` was gray. Within was a man I had never met. His shirt
was black and opened at the neck. He wore a brown leather vest, his hair dark blond, eyes perhaps green. “Yes?”
“A spikard was hidden in Amber,” he stated, “for you to find. It conveys great powers. It also bears a series of spells that will cause its wearer to act in certain ways under certain circumstances.”
“I suspected this,” I said. “What is it set to do?”
“Formerly worn by Swayvill, King of Chaos, it will force the chosen successor to take the throne, behave in a certain fashion, and be amenable. to the suggestions of certain persons.”
“These being?”
“The woman who laughed and cried, `Seek him in the Pit. ' The man in black, who desires your return.”
“Dara and Mandor. They laid these spells upon it?” “Just so. And the man left it for you to find.”
“I hate to surrender the thing just now,” I said, “when it's proving so useful. Is there a way to lift these spells?”
“Of course. But it should not matter to you.”
“Why not?”
“The ring you wear is not the one of which I speak.”
“I do not understand.”
“But you will. Never fear.”
“Who are you, sir?”
“My name is Delwin, and we may never actually meet-unless certain ancient powers come loose.”
He raised his hand, and I saw that he, too, wore a spikard. He moved it toward me.
“Touch your ring to mine,” he commanded. “Then it can be ordered to bring you to me.”
I raised mine and moved it toward the glass. At the moment they seemed to touch, there was a flash of light and Delwin was gone.
I let my arm fall. I walked on. On an impulse, I stopped before a chest and opened its drawer.
I stared. There was no way to one-up this place, it seemed. The drawer contained a miniature, scaled-down representation of my father's chapel-tiny colored tiles, diminutive burning tapers, even a doll-sized Grayswandir upon the altar.
“The answer lies before you, dear friend,” came a throaty voice I knew yet did not know.
I raised my gaze to a lavender-bordered mirror I had not realized hung above the chest. The lady within had long, coal-black hair and eyes so dark I could not tell where the pupils left off and the irises began. Her complexion was very pale, emphasized perhaps by her pink eye shadow and lip coloring. Those eyes... “Rhanda!” I said.
“You remember! You do remember me!”
“...And the days of our bonedance games,” I said.
“Grown and lovely. I thought of you but recently.”
“And I felt the touch of your regard as I slept, my
Merlin. I am sorry we parted so, but my parents—”
“I understand,” I said. “They thought me demon or vampire.”
“Yes.” She extended her pale hand through the mirror, took hold of my own, drew it toward her. Within j the looking glass, she pressed it to her lips. They were cold. “They would rather I cultivated the acquaintance
of the sons and daughters of men and women, than of our own kind.”
When she smiled I beheld her fan—
gs. They had not been apparent in her childhood.
“Gods! You look human!” she said. “Come visit me in Wildwood one day!”
Impulsively, I leaned forward. Our lips met within the mirror. Whatever she was, we had been friends.
“The answer,” she repeated, “lies before you. Come see me!”
The mirror turned red and she was gone. The chapel stood unchanged within the drawer. I closed it and turned away.
Walking. Mirrors to the left. Mirrors to the right. Only myself within them.
Then"Well, well, nephew. Confused?”
“As usual.”
“Can't say as I blame you.”
His eyes were mocking and wise, his hair red as his sister Fiona's or his late brother Brand's. Or Luke's, for that matter.
“Bleys,” I said, “what the hell is going on?”
“I've the rest of Delwin's message,” he said, reaching into his pocket and extending his hand. “Here.”
I reached into the mirror and accepted it. It was yet another spikard, like the one I wore.
“It is the one of which Delwin spoke,” he said. “You must never wear it.”
I studied it for several moments.
“What am I to do with it?” I asked.
“Put it in your pocket. A use may suggest itself at some point.”
“How did you come by it?”