“Did you now?” Mrs. Carlyle said wonderingly. “Never have, myself. But I’ve been a supporter from the get-go.”
“Uncle Alexander seems to know her from years ago,” Oona said. “Apparently, she and my mother were friends.”
“Well, isn’t that something,” Mrs. Carlyle said earnestly. “Speaking of your uncle, is he all right, too? I saw that bit of magic you two performed just before I turned and ran. I hope he’s okay.”
“He’s fine. I just left him and Samuligan in the entryway.”
Mrs. Carlyle glanced around suspiciously.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Oona said. “Samuligan isn’t here. He disappeared as soon as we entered the house. Most likely preparing for my next battle test.”
This news did not seem to appease Mrs. Carlyle, who continued to look nervously around.
“The test is to take place in the front gardens,” Deacon said in a clear attempt to settle the maid’s nerves.
Oona furrowed her brow. “I meant to ask him to help me find a book on the battle tests so that I might prepare as well, but he disappeared before I could do so . . . and now he doesn’t respond to my calling him.”
Deacon adjusted his position on her shoulder. “How convenient.”
“Precisely,” Oona said. “He doesn’t want to give me any advantage.”
“Well, that’s not very gentlemanly,” said Mrs. Carlyle.
“Samuligan isn’t really a gentleman,” Oona said.
“I should say not,” said the maid, and then, with a twinkle in her eye, she added: “But speaking of gentlemen, that young Mr. Iree is quite the catch.”
“You think so?” Oona asked brightly.
Deacon cawed his disapproval. “Come now. Let’s see if we can’t find a book in here that will give you a hint of what to expect for this third battle test.”
Oona peered around the forest of books and began to shake her head. “Good luck finding anything in here without Samuligan’s help.”
“Don’t you know of any spell that might locate the book you want?” Deacon asked.
Oona considered this. She did not know offhand of any spell that would do the trick, especially since she didn’t even know the name of the book they were looking for. But all at once an idea came to her.
“Perhaps I do know a spell,” she said, though it was not specifically a spell that was used to find things.
“Well, it must be worth a shot,” Deacon said.
Oona thought of the words she had recited yesterday in the park: the spell that would connect her own magic with the magic of the house. The thought of doing the spell without the Wizard made her nervous, but she had a feeling she would be able to do it all the same.
With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she uttered: “Profundus magicus.”
And just like that, she was plugged in. The house’s magic filled her up like warm water, and she knew what she needed to do. She concentrated on her desire: a book containing information on the battle tests.
She snapped her fingers and the sound was like cannon fire. Deacon was startled from her shoulder and Mrs. Carlyle dropped her feather duster, but Oona hardly noticed these things. Her gaze narrowed in on the large book that presently slid out from one of the knottier oaks near the swamp. It hovered off the shelf and then shot across the room straight into Oona’s hands.
“Look out!” Deacon shouted, as it seemed the book was moving too fast.
Oona did not so much as wobble as she caught the massive volume and then turned to set the book on top of a table. The words Apprenticeship Magica were embossed upon its dark leathery cover, barely legible to the eye. Oona waved her hand over the cover, and the book opened to the exact page she desired.
The instant she found the page, Oona could feel the extra magic disconnect, as if the house had done its duty and now retreated of its own accord.
“Extraordinary,” she said, marveling at the house’s intelligence even more than its powers.
“Rather,” Deacon said excitedly as he landed upon the book and began scanning the open pages. “This is exactly what we were looking for. You found it.”
“The house found it,” Oona corrected, and then thought: Now, let’s just hope it’s helpful.
***
One hour later, Oona stood in the front garden along with her uncle and Samuligan. Deacon stood resolutely upon the ironwork fence that surrounded the extensive grounds. He seemed more confident today than he had before the previous tests, and Oona guessed that it was because of what they had read in the book. Deacon put a lot of stock in what was found in books. Perhaps too much.
Oona wasn’t so confident. The book had not given her any information to feel confident about.
She recalled Deacon reading the book entry aloud in the library: “The third battle test given to the Wizard’s apprentice shall take him or her deeper into the world of magic than they have ever traveled before. The apprentice will enter into it wholly and from there must find their way back.”
Oona had nodded. “Yes, go on.”
Deacon shook his head. “I’m afraid there is nothing more to read.”
Oona’s mouth had flattened into an incredulous line. “Well, that isn’t very helpful.”
Deacon had seemed to think that it was quite helpful, explaining that it at least told her what to expect. But Oona had plopped down in a chair feeling quite disappointed. Deacon may have found it helpful, but he was not the one who was going to be tested. The entry had been exceedingly vague, and now, an hour later, she felt more anxious than ever.
Peering around at the chaos of the front garden, Oona began to wonder what the book had meant by: “The apprentice will enter into it wholly and from there must find their way back.”
The overgrown plants loomed all around her, shading her partially from the sun. At her feet, thick strings of thorny vines and blankets of dry leaves covered the dark earth. The front yard was not a place she regularly visited, save for venturing to and from the front gates.
Unlike the inner garden, which existed within the walled courtyard inside Pendulum House, magical plants did not inhabit the front garden. Here the plant life was of a nonenchanted variety, and yet, to Oona, the overgrown oak trees and thorn-filled blackberry bushes had always seemed more ominous than any of the enchanted plants in the inner courtyard. And though the Wizard sometimes trimmed his rosebushes, the rest of the garden had not been tended in a very long time.
Her uncle shook his sleeves back from his wrists. “Today we will test your ability to tell illusion from reality. It is a skill that will come in handy if you should ever find yourself facing the likes of a faerie warrior.”
He gestured toward Samuligan, who gave a tip of his hat.
“Sometimes,” the Wizard said, “an illusion can seem more real than reality itself.”
Oona frowned at this. She did not like the idea of something that was not real appearing to be more real than something that was.
To her further confusion, Samuligan grinned at her and added: “And, of course, in the end, the illusion is a part of reality; otherwise, you would not be able to experience it.”
The Wizard shook his head. “Now, now, Samuligan, you’re only going to confuse her.”
Samuligan stood up straight and clicked the heels of his boots together. “I thought that was my job.”
“I . . . oh, yes . . . so it is,” the Wizard said, and shrugged apologetically at Oona. “Whatever you do, just don’t panic.”
“Panic?” Oona said, already feeling a bit panicky. “Why would I panic?”
Uncle Alexander placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Just keep your head. Your job is to find your way back here, to me, in the garden. Back to where you are now. Remember that. Link with the house’s magic. It will guide you, but you must trust the magic . . . not Samuligan’s illusion. Remember, just find your way back to me, in the garden.”
Oona shook her head, quite confused. “But why? Where am I going?”
&n
bsp; Samuligan all at once raised his hands above his head and said: “To Faerie!”
He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the garden was gone, and so was the house, and so were the Wizard and Deacon. Only she and Samuligan remained.
The two of them stood facing each other in some kind of large stone entrance hall, like the entrance to a castle. To her left, an enormous set of double doors rose to meet the high ceiling. Two sets of thick beams set in metal brackets barred the doors shut.
To her right, a short stone stair case led up to another set of doors, these much smaller than the ones to her left. Though the doors at the top of the stairs were closed, Oona did not get the impression that they were locked. She did not know how she knew this, but she did.
As if to prove her correct, the doors to the right swung open and the sound of murmuring voices spilled through. A tall man in a black evening jacket stepped across the threshold. He held a tall metal staff in his right hand, and when he banged it against the floor, the sound was like an enormous church bell had been rung.
It was then that Oona noticed the figure’s pointed ears, which were like Samuligan’s. This was no man, but a faerie. Oona’s mouth fell open as she looked from the faerie with the staff to Samuligan and back again. It was astonishing. Samuligan the Fay was the only faerie Oona had ever seen. Indeed, he was supposedly the only living faerie this side of the Glass Gates . . . unless . . .
Oona’s brow furrowed. Was it possible—truly possible—that Samuligan had actually transported them to the Land of Faerie?
No, it’s an illusion, Oona told herself, and yet, despite the thought, she did not believe it. What she believed was what she saw.
“The queen will see you,” the faerie with the staff announced.
“The queen?” Oona asked.
Much as Samuligan had done in the garden, the faerie clicked his heels together and said: “All hail the all mighty Queen Mimm the Second, Absolute Ruler of Faerie. You may enter.”
Oona’s mouth went dry. She tried to swallow, but found it momentarily impossible.
It’s an illusion, she told herself, but once again she did not believe it.
“After you,” Samuligan said, and for once he was not wearing his sly smile; instead, he showed an expression of utmost seriousness. It made Oona feel even more nervous than she already did.
Samuligan extended his hand toward the open door, and the two of them began to make their way up the stairs to be received by the queen.
***
The room was like no other Oona had ever been in. The ceiling soared high above and seemed to be made entirely of light. Enormous stone pillars supported the roof, and yet the stone seemed to glow, casting iridescent light upon the walls, walls that moved like water. Oona could see thousands of sparkling beings swimming within the walls, like tiny underwater pixies.
As Oona and Samuligan made their entrance, she became aware of other faeries in the room . . . and yet all Oona could see of them were their hands and their heads. It was both peculiar and startling to behold.
Catching sight of Oona’s startled expression, Samuligan leaned down and whispered: “Invisible clothing. It was the height of fashion some five hundred years ago in the Faerie Royal Court. Many of these courtiers have very little to do. They are a lazy bunch of faeries, and they have grown quite fat. So they wear clothes that make their bodies invisible to hide their excessive weight.”
Oona ran a nervous hand through her hair, looking around at the floating heads and hands. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Samuligan raised a finger to his lips. “Don’t let them hear you say that. They believe that invisibility is the paramount of fashion.”
Speaking of fashion, Oona noticed that many of the male faeries wore cowboy hats similar to the one Samuligan wore. Even more curious was the fact that no one seemed to have noticed Oona and Samuligan’s arrival. Despite the fact that the two of them were the most visible people there, it was as if Samuligan and Oona were the ones no one could see.
“Wait a minute,” Oona said as the two of them walked down the center of the long throne room. “This is the past, isn’t it, Samuligan? This is how you remember Faerie.”
Samuligan did not answer but instead picked up his pace. Oona hurried to keep up with the faerie’s long strides. The room seemed to go on for miles, and yet their pace was much faster than Oona could normally have managed. It was as if some force were speeding them along. The floating heads and hands of the courtiers began to blur past.
They walked for what might have been ten minutes before Oona saw any indication of an end. Her breath suddenly caught in her throat as the throne came into view, though calling it simply a throne did not do it justice. It was in actuality a tree . . . a massive tree whose limbs and branches glowed with the same intensity as the ceiling above.
And then it occurred to Oona that the ceiling actually was the branches and limbs of the tree, which weaved a giant canopy of beams high overhead. The result was breathtaking, giving the effect that the throne, or more aptly the person sitting on the throne, was the source of all of that immense light.
Quite suddenly, Oona found herself standing before the Queen of the Fay in all of her terrible beauty. Unlike her courtiers, the queen’s attire was clearly visible and startlingly simple. Her long black dress appeared blacker than was possible, and Oona took a step back at the sight of it for fear that she might tumble into it and be lost forever within its darkness.
From her high throne, the queen stared down upon them with eyes as bright as stars, her expression one of imperious indifference. And though Oona would have easily admitted that the queen was the most beautiful being she had ever laid eyes upon—her facial features appeared perfect, her posture relaxed and regal, her dark skin unblemished in any way—Oona also couldn’t help but feel that there was something quite disturbing about her. It was as if she were too perfect.
“As if she were not real . . . ,” Oona said beneath her breath.
Samuligan knelt before the throne. “Your Majesty,” he said, and even in just those two words Oona could hear the reverence he held for this awe-inspiring figure.
“Samuligan,” the queen replied, her voice smooth and full of power. “My most loyal general. I see you have brought the girl.”
“I have,” he said.
“She looks so . . . small.”
Oona opened her mouth to protest, but the queen held up one hand, and Oona found she could not speak.
“Is she ready?” the queen asked
“We shall see,” Samuligan said.
The queen nodded her agreement and turned her gaze upon Oona. Her eyes were like two monstrous beasts, dark and terrible to behold. Oona could not have said why, but holding the queen’s gaze was the hardest thing she had ever done. Strange that it should be so . . . and yet there was no denying the truth of it. It seemed to Oona that the queen could see all the way into the bottom of her, to where her greatest fears slept in the shadowy corners of her mind. She felt them all stir at once, and panic seized hold of her chest.
She wanted more than anything to look away from those dark, cruel eyes, to close her own eyes from the terror that lived there, but she could not look away. She was trapped like a fly in the faerie queen’s web. She tried to scream, but no sound came from her lips.
Just when Oona felt she could not take one single second more, the queen turned her gaze away, almost as if she were bored. Oona felt her breath fill her chest in a great gasp, and her knees shook unsteadily beneath her own weight.
“She is full of fear, this one. I think she needs to grow.” The queen clapped her hands twice, the sound like dueling thunderclaps. Without warning, the tree throne upon which the queen sat came alive. Its enormous limbs began to descend from the ceiling like hundreds of fingers reaching out for Oona.
Oona screamed and turned to run. She had to get out of here. But the instant she spun around, she found that the invisible courtiers blocked her way. She
tried to push past them—pushing against what looked like nothing at all, but felt like large, heavily clad bodies—and found it impossible. They muttered incoherently, shaking their heads as if she should know better.
Her heart began to pound heavily in her chest as she whirled around, looking for some other place of escape. Her eyes caught on a door to her left. The door was closed, but she rushed to it nonetheless, certain that at any moment she would feel the grip of those wriggling tentacle-like tree branches clap hold of her arms.
She threw herself at the door and hammered down the latch. To her surprise, it opened, and she shoved blindly through, slamming the door shut behind her. Her breath heaved in her chest as she took in her new surroundings. To her horror, she found that she had pushed her way through the doorway only to find herself standing in the very same room she had just left.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “This is not good at all.”
Samuligan stood to her right, near the queen, while the partially invisible courtiers closed in from her left. The tree limbs continued their horrifying descent from the high ceiling, now mere feet from her.
“It’s like a bad dream,” she said to no one in particular . . . and then a thought occurred to her.
It is exactly like a dream. And dreams, of course, were nothing but . . .
“Illusion,” she said.
“Don’t be so sure,” Samuligan said with a casual tip of his hat.
But this time Oona was sure. It had to be an illusion . . . all of it. The Glass Gates had been closed for more than five hundred years, barring the way to Faerie. Not even Samuligan could travel between the worlds . . . despite the fact that it all seemed so real.
“Whatever you do, don’t panic,” her uncle had said, which was exactly what she had done. She had panicked and pushed through the door, and it had gotten her exactly nowhere. Oona couldn’t help but wonder if there was a lesson to be learned in that.
She felt a moment of defiance, and it occurred to her that she might just stand there and let the descending tree branches take her. If they were an illusion, surely they could not hurt her. But that thought passed just as quickly as it had come. Her mind believed that what was happening was real, and doing nothing was not an option.
The Magician's Dream (Oona Crate Mystery: book 3) Page 13
