The Wrong Side of Magic

by Janette Rallison

  “Just think about poor Andy. He has to wear it all the time.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Hudson held the mirror down and turned to Charlotte. Only it wasn’t Charlotte anymore. Isabella stood in her place. She wore a burgundy dress with sleeves so long they looked like flags waving around her wrists.

  The surprise made Hudson let out a startled “Arp!”

  “What?” Charlotte asked in alarm. She took the mirror from his hand and checked her face, examining one side and then the other. “I got it right,” she said defensively. “I bet I could fool Isabella’s mother.”

  “Right,” Hudson agreed. “That’s why it’s so freaky.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. Or Isabella’s eyes, anyway. “The Land of Banishment puts way too much emphasis on the way people look.”

  Hudson flicked the tassel on his hat. “Which is why you never see us wearing these.”

  Charlotte handed Hudson the mirror, and they set off along a dirt path. As they walked, she concocted a story to use if anyone asked why they’d come to town without parents. They were orphans going to consult the Cliff of Faces in order to find relatives.

  Hudson kept stealing glances at her, reminding himself that she was still Charlotte. Nice, friendly Charlotte. She wasn’t going to start saying judgmental things like Isabella, or act bored so he’d feel like he was somehow failing as a person.

  When they got close to Scriptoria, the path widened, and the dirt became cobblestone. Rows of squatting wooden buildings with brightly painted shutters and mossy shingles stretched out in front of them. Several people walked through the streets, and a few rode animals. Not horses. One man rode a multicolor-striped zebra. Another trotted by on a miniature giraffe. A stout woman with an enormous feathered hat and a decided air of dignity passed by on an ostrich. Hudson couldn’t stop staring at them.

  “They don’t ride horses here?” he asked Charlotte.

  “They used to.” She sidestepped a woman who was ambling the other way. “King Vaygran made it illegal. He doesn’t want anyone to have something that could outrun his soldiers’ horses. That’s why he outlawed unicorns.”

  “He outlawed unicorns?” Hudson repeated. “We just rode here on criminals?”

  Charlotte nodded. “Vaygran put a bounty on their heads. Although few people would try to kill one. Unicorns have a magic all their own that not even wizards understand.”

  The longer Charlotte and Hudson walked through the town, the better he felt about his clothes. Charlotte was right. Everyone wore outlandish clothing here: puffy shirts, baggy pants, and hats that looked like wandering traffic cones.

  Several guards in red uniforms also strolled around the town. Charlotte eyed them with distaste. “King Vaygran said he sent guards to keep the peace. They’re nothing but spies, though. We’ll have to avoid them.”

  Hudson and Charlotte walked past a bustling post office with a sign that read POSTSCRIPTORIA. A dozen bluebirds flew from windows carrying letters in their beaks. One zoomed near Hudson’s head. “Watch out for the airmail,” Charlotte said.

  It suddenly occurred to Hudson what Scriptoria, Grammaria, and Logos had in common. They were words about words. Or at least script, grammar, and logo were. “Grammaria is the capital of Logos,” he said, figuring it out, “because grammar rules.”

  “Of course,” Charlotte said. “You wouldn’t be able to read without grammar rules. Can you imagine how horrible that would be?”

  He shrugged. He’d never been much of a reader. “Why do the people here love words so much?”

  Isabella’s expression had never looked so earnest, as though what she was saying deeply mattered. “Words have power. People who know how to use them wield that power.”

  The road reached the main marketplace, where dozens of people browsed at the stalls. Smells of baked goods drifted toward them. Scents that reminded him it had been a while since they’d eaten. “Words are just words in my land,” Hudson said.

  Charlotte snorted, a familiar Isabella sound. “Words have power in all lands, even yours.”

  Hudson cocked his head. “No, they don’t. Nobody casts spells in my land.”

  “Haven’t you ever read a book? What do you call that?”

  “Homework.”

  Charlotte and Hudson went around a group of people congregated at one of the busier stalls. “Books can take you to new lands,” she said. “And words can hurt or heal. They also can solve all sorts of problems. That makes them completely magical in any place.”

  A few moments later, they came to a plump woman standing by a food cart. The warm-honeyed aroma drifted toward them, making his stomach feel even emptier. “Do we have enough money to buy something?” he asked, walking closer. A sign tacked to the cart read MADAM LOLA’S SUMPTUOUS WORDS. In smaller print underneath this title was written BAKED GOODS THAT ARE RENOUNED COUNTRYWIDE.

  Hudson reread the sign. “I think you’ve got a spelling mistake. Shouldn’t it say renowned?”

  “Not at all.” The woman gestured to her cart. “Verbs and adjectives become nouns when they’re made into tasty pastries.” She held up something that looked like a doughnut, but instead of being shaped like an O, it spelled out the word luscious. “A half a copper a word. They’re well worth the price.”

  Charlotte gazed at the doughnut hungrily and pulled a coin from her pocket. “I guess we can afford to split one.”

  She and Hudson stepped closer to the spread of food on the cart. A pile of pastry-shaped words lay together on a tray. There was a steaming succulent, a golden-brown epic, and an iced lackadaisical. Hudson didn’t know what lackadaisical meant, but it smelled delicious. “Let’s get a long word.” He eyed a crisp ostentatious. “There will be more to split.”

  Charlotte surveyed the words at the other side of the cart. “You can’t break words any way you like. Succulent might be good, but trust me, succu is going to taste nasty, and lent won’t be much better.”

  That wouldn’t have made any sense back in Texas, but Hudson didn’t question the logic here. He just looked for something that could be split into two reasonably good words. He pointed to a pretzel that spelled out to enjoy. “How about this one?”

  The plump woman made a tsking sound. “Everyone knows you shouldn’t split an infinitive.”

  “Oh, right.” Hudson went back to searching. He needed a compound word. Something like supernatural or honeymoon.

  He noticed that the woman had a picture of a pretty girl taped on the underside of the awning. She looked about twelve years old, with long black hair and large brown eyes. She was smiling, or at least her lips were turned up in an attempt. Her eyes seemed sad and wistful.

  The woman saw Hudson staring at the picture and frowned.

  “Is that your daughter?” he asked, hoping his interest wasn’t rude.

  The woman laughed and relaxed again. “You must be a stranger if you don’t know who Princess Nomira is.”

  The woman leaned toward Hudson, keeping her voice low. “Her name means unseeing, and none of us have seen her for the past year.” The woman touched the picture tenderly. “Some say it’s dangerous to keep a picture of the princess with me, but it reminds me of better times.”

  “Before she left?” Hudson supplied.

  “No.” The woman stroked the edge of the picture again. “When she comes back. Those will be better times.” She dropped her hand and wiped it on her apron. “But it isn’t wise to talk of such things. Have you decided on a word you want?”

  Charlotte picked up a glazed readjust. “We’ll take this one.” She handed the woman a coin, thanked her, and she and Hudson headed down the street. As she walked, Charlotte broke the word down the middle. “Just read,” she said. “Good words and good advice.” She handed him the half that said read and took a bite out of just.

  Hudson sunk his teeth into read. It tasted buttery, sweet, and a bit mysterious. He had to admit reading had never been so good.

  They walked on through the center of t
own, past more people standing at carts or in front of stalls, selling their wares. One man waved people over to his stall, yelling, “Get your rare words here! We’ve got lugubrious, tenacity, and petulant. Impress your friends with a saucy persnickety.” Those words smelled spicy and exotic.

  A little farther off, a crowd of people watched a woman do a demonstration. She held up something that was curved and black. “Never be without the right punctuation again. Some people think an apostrophe is only a comma that’s putting on airs. Others think a comma is an apostrophe that’s feeling down. Not so, friends. This beauty is an all-purpose punctuation.

  “Need quotation marks? Buy two! Don’t let your she’d turn into a shed or your she’ll become a shell. And trust me, folks, you don’t want to be out of apostrophes when you need one for he’ll. Buy a supply now!”

  Charlotte and Hudson ambled by another stall, and a mustached man asked where they were headed. When Charlotte told them they were going to the Sea of Life, the man tried to sell them a bottle of acceleration for their boat. Only the word was spelled excelleration. Whatever it was, the price was too high, and Charlotte didn’t want to pay it. They walked on.

  Hudson wished he could stay longer and explore Scriptoria. He would have liked to see what other odd things were in the shops or go to a café and eat a real meal. He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t stay anywhere for more than a half hour without making the people around him break into boils.

  At the end of town, one lone stall stood beside the road to the sea. The sign read LAST WORDS, which seemed kind of creepy and perhaps a bad omen. Hudson sincerely hoped he wouldn’t be saying his last words for a long time.

  A man with a double-coned hat waved for Hudson and Charlotte to come over. “Take a look at these beauties!” he called. “Everybody wants the last word. For five coppers, it can be yours!”

  Charlotte pointedly ignored the man and walked on. “People who have to have the last word are so annoying.”

  “Um, yeah,” Hudson said, and wondered if Charlotte had felt as confused in his world as he did in hers.

  They walked until the village of Scriptoria lay far behind them, keeping on the road that led to the sea. After an hour, the ground became rocky, the trees grew sparser, and a dark blue sea came into sight on the trail below them. Sunshine glinted off the water like swords flashing in a fight, and waves rippled, racing one another to crash on the shore. An island sat only a mile or so away from the shore, close enough that Hudson could make out a ragged cliff wall. Tall, grayish brown, and imposing. The Cliff of Faces.

  He and Charlotte headed down the trail and went across the sand toward a marina, where three rows of docks stretched into the water. Hudson had gone to the ocean before and expected the beach to have the fishy smell that always loitered around wharfs. It didn’t. This place smelled of salt, danger, and things lurking at the bottom of the sea.

  A sign near the docks read CHOOSE YOUR OARS, CHOOSE YOUR BOAT. CHOOSE WISELY TO STAY AFLOAT. THE SEA GIVES BUT ONE GUARANTEE. YOU’LL MEET WITH WAVES APLENTY. Smaller words underneath continued WARNING TO STRANGERS: THIS SEA IS CALLED THE SEA OF LIFE BECAUSE SO MANY PEOPLE DIE AT THE END OF IT.

  Not the most comforting inscription.

  No one was around to offer any other instructions. Hudson pointed out the smaller print to Charlotte. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to cross to the island?”

  “Oh, that,” she said, dismissing the phrase with a wave of her hand. “The writer was probably joking around. You know what comedians signmakers are.”

  He didn’t. In his world, signmakers just made signs that said things like SPEED LIMIT 55 and RIGHT TURN ONLY. Those weren’t jokes, although his father often claimed speed-limit signs were only suggestions.

  Hudson turned his attention to the docks that lay in front of them. Each was surrounded by a half-dozen wooden rowboats that bobbed up and down in the waves. He and Charlotte made their way to the closest dock and walked down it, their footsteps thunking across the wooden beams. “Have you ever done this before?” Hudson asked.

  “No.” Charlotte peered over the edge of the dock at a weatherworn rowboat with the word valor painted on the side. “My father told me how the Cliff of Faces works, but he never said anything about these boats.” She hurriedly added, “It can’t be that hard to row one to the island. They all seem sturdy.”

  No, they didn’t. They seemed old, battered, and cracked. Each had a word painted on its side. He passed hope and strength and saw love and gratitude rocking in the water on the other side of the dock. The paint on the boats looked as though one good wave would completely wash it off.

  “You think these are sturdy?” Hudson asked. The wind had picked up, and the tassel from his hat kept blowing in his face.

  Charlotte stepped carefully into the valor boat and sat on the bench. “Valor should get us where we want to go.” She picked up an oar from the side of the boat. The paddle was shaped into the word talent. “Should I use this?” she asked, putting it down and picking up a second oar. “Or intelligence?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Never mind. I found the right one.” She held up a third oar. This paddle spelled out the word work.

  Hudson stepped into the boat, steadied himself against the motion of the waves, and sat on the bench beside her. His side of the boat had an identical trio of oars.

  Charlotte threaded the work oar into the oarlock and tested the paddle in the water. “My dad is always saying that talent and intelligence will only take you so far. You need work to get the rest of the way.”

  “That sounds like something adults would say.” And since adults had obviously built the marina, the work oar was the best choice. Hudson untied the boat from the dock, pushed off, and picked up his work oar.

  At first, he and Charlotte didn’t time their strokes right, and the boat veered to the left, went forward for a bit, then veered to the left again as though chasing its tail.

  “We have to work together,” Hudson said, feeling it must be doubly true, considering the oars. “On the count of three.” He was looking at Charlotte, which is why he didn’t notice the water leaking into the boat until it soaked through his shoes. The boat had a hole, and judging by the amount of water pooling around their feet, it wasn’t a small one.

  Hudson let out a stream of words—none of which would have made tasty pastries—while he and Charlotte searched for something to bail out the boat. They had nothing, and even if they’d brought a bucket with them, the water was now rushing in too quickly. The lapping cold surrounded their ankles and was gurgling upward to their calves.

  Hudson looked helplessly around at the waves. “What should we do?”

  “Swim,” Charlotte said, and then the boat sank completely, leaving the two of them flailing in the sea.

  The frigid temperature made Hudson gasp, and the weight of his leather bag pulled him downward. He slipped it off without letting it go. He didn’t want to lose his things.

  The Cliff of Faces was too far away to swim to. They would have to go back to the shore they’d come from. As Hudson turned in that direction, a wave slapped into his face. The water tasted salty and bitter.

  Not far from him, Charlotte treaded water while she unzipped her bag. She pulled out the compactulator, and the next moment her animals bobbed in the sea next to her. The polar bear swam up beside her, and she grabbed hold of his neck, relaxing into him so he could tow her along. The tiger took hold of Charlotte’s bag with her teeth and headed to shore with it. The wolf paddled along behind her, with the squirrel riding atop his head, shaking the water out of his bushy tail.

  Charlotte pointed the compactulator in Hudson’s direction. “Get your penguin out.”

  He opened his bag, felt through the soggy remains of a sandwich, and pulled out the penguin. Seconds later, Pokey was full size and gazing around. “This is more like it,” he said happily. “We’re finally doing something fun.”

  “This isn’t fun,” Hudson spit out. Another wave hit him in the face
. “Here, carry my pack.”

  “I would if I had opposable thumbs.” Pokey held up one wing. “These are only good for swimming.”

  “Use your beak,” Hudson snapped. By this point, Charlotte’s animals were almost to the shore.

  Pokey sighed, took hold of one of Hudson’s bag straps, and dove into the water. Once Hudson was no longer weighed down by his bag, he swam without problem to the shore. Well, mostly without problem. As he reached the beach, an especially large wave crashed into him, pushing him face-first into the sand. Which was probably another reason this place was called the Sea of Life. It was cold and gritty, and just when you thought you were okay, you got knocked down again.

  Pokey made it to the shore ahead of Hudson. The penguin pulled the bag onto the sand, said, “I’ll check and see if anything fell out,” and without waiting for Hudson’s reply, slid back into the water and disappeared into the waves. Pokey obviously just wanted to swim.

  “If you find my hat,” Hudson called, “don’t bring it back!”

  He picked up his soggy bag, noticing that the valor boat had resurfaced near the dock. It propelled water from its insides with a gush, coughed a few more streams of water over one side, then shuffled back to its spot at the dock.

  Hudson slung his dripping bag over his shoulder and headed up the beach to Charlotte.

  She was pulling everything out of her pack and spreading things out in the sunshine to dry. It didn’t look like the sleeping bag or pillow would be usable anytime soon. Hudson emptied his bag and laid his things beside hers.

  “On the bright side,” Charlotte said, “we’ve learned a valuable lesson. Valor alone won’t get you through life.”

  Hudson checked his pocket to make sure the troll mirror hadn’t fallen out. It was still there, a hard, cold disk. “We should have gone with strength.”

  “Blaze and Flash are checking all the docks in the marina to see what the other boats say.”

  Hudson considered the boats at the nearest dock again. Valor, love, hope, strength, and gratitude. “On second thought,” he said. “I bet the right boat is love.”