A Wizard Alone yw[n&k-6

by Diane Duane

  Dairine shook her head. “Nita,” she said. “It’s nearly three in the morning. And I’m wrecked. It’s a strain holding that thing open.“ She looked miserable at having to admit such a thing. ”I have to get at least some sleep, because I have to go to school tomorrow morning. Of course, I’d rather blow school off, but I promised Dad. You know I did. You know what’U happen if I don’t go, or if I fall asleep in class.“

  Nita was so angry that she had to put her hands over her face to keep from screaming, or otherwise letting Dairine see how she felt. After a few seconds she felt sufficiently in control to uncover her face again.

  “Okay,” she said. “You’re right. I have an early morning, too. We’ll try it again tomorrow.” And she let out a long breath. “But thanks, Dair. You did good.”

  “Well do better tomorrow,” Dairine said. “We’ll find him then, and get him home. G’night.”

  She wandered off toward her room, closing Nita’s door behind her.

  Nita lay there for a while more. Kit? she said silently, out of desperate hope, nothing more.

  Of course, no answer came.

  She tried to sleep again, normally, but that was impossible for her now. All Nita could do was think about what Kit’s parents must be going through, and wait for six-thirty to come…

  Reconstructions

  The mirrors went on forever.

  Kit and Ponch stood in a brittle glory of reflected light. Overhead was a bright gray sky, featureless. All around them, mirrors stood, as many mirrors as trees in a forest, set at a thousand different angles: tall ones, small ones, mirrors that reflected clearly, mirrors that bent the reflection awry; shadowy mirrors, dazzling ones, mirrors reflecting mirrors reflecting mirrors, until the mind that looked at them began to flinch and sicken, hunting something that wasn’t just another reflection of itself.

  Kit and Ponch wandered among them, searching for something, but Kit had forgotten what it was they were looking for, along with everything else. Ponch wasn’t sure what his master wanted—

  wasn’t even all that sure, anymore, why they were there. Together the two of them wandered through the glittering wasteland, seeing their shapes slide and hide in the mirrors, images chasing images but never meeting, never touching, fleeing one another as soon as any got close enough to make contact. “—don’t want to—” “—when do you think he might—” “—that hurts, why do you have to—” Splinters of conversation and fragments of personality hid in the reflections and fled from mirror to mirror. Kit and Ponch moved slowly among them, looking in some, avoiding others.

  Some had too many eyes to look into comfortably. Not all the eyes seemed human. It was as if alien logics looked out of some of them, either irrational or briefly revealing rationalities that were more painful than the human kind, and these were the glances that made Kit and Ponch shy away most hurriedly, looking for somewhere to hide. But there was nowhere. Light and merciless reflection filled everything; and everywhere the two of them walked, a soft rush of sound ran under all other sensation, like water running under the mirrored floor, a river of words and noises trapped there under the unforgiving ice. All they could do was walk and walk, the thoughts in their minds being washed away as fast as they formed by the relentless flow of sound. They could hear the voices of other wanderers, elsewhere in the maze, but there was no way to find them, no way even to tell where they were.

  “—have to get out, if they don’t they’ll—” —find him, and when I do find him I’ll—“ They walked for a long time, seeking those other voices but never finding them. Finally, exhausted, Kit sat down against the ”trunk“ of a mirror-tree, leaned back, and closed his eyes. His mind was full of the painful rush of voices and noise; it was a relief just to sit here, his eyes closed so that he didn’t have to see the eyes in the mirrors, his body rocking a little and letting the motion distract him from the myriad other distractions around him that were fraying the fabric of his mind. Ponch sat down next to him, on guard and frightened, but not so frightened that he would leave his friend.

  Finally someone came. Kit didn’t open his eyes; every time he did, he saw other eyes staring at him, and he couldn’t bear the invasiveness of their gaze. But he heard the footsteps even through the rush of noise.

  Whoever it was stood there, not looking at them straight on — that much Kit could feel on his skin, even without looking.

  “I asked you not to come,” it said.

  But he had to

  , said Ponch. And so I had to.

  “I’ve filled this whole place with one version of what happened to me,” said whoever was speaking. “The Other followed me right in here, the way It always does… and now what happened to me has happened to It.” There was a kind of sorrowful amusement about the speaker’s voice. “I did a really good job this time. I don’t know how long It’ll be stuck in here. But no one can get out from inside: It’s sealed.”

  We have to stay here forever, then

  , Ponch said.

  “I don’t know about you,” the voice said. “Your eyes aren’t anything like his, or the Other’s.

  You’re something different. But me, and him, and the Other… yes, we’ll have to stay forever.“

  If he has to stay forever

  , Ponch said, then I’m not leaving.

  And he lay down beside Kit, huddling close to him, and started to wait for forever.

  Nita got her dad up at the usual time. She was already dressed for school at that point, having been unable to get to sleep. “Anything?” he said.

  Nita shook her head. “I’ll call you,” she said, and she couldn’t bring herself to say much of anything else. Her dad hugged her and went to work.

  She made her own breakfast and ate it, thinking over what had happened the night before. If Darryl put up that wall

  , she thought, who’s he shutting out?

  Or shutting in? There was always that possibility— that the Lone Power was in there with him again, right then, trying to destroy him one more time. And Kit and Ponch are stuck in there with them

  …

  Nita shuddered. But another problem had occurred to her, one that kept nagging at her now, though it wasn’t specifically about any kind of danger. How’s Darryl getting the kind of power he needs to do this kind of wizardry? Nita wondered. Especially since he’s not even a full wizard yet? Is it something to do with being an abdal — with the fact that there can be two of him? If there really are

  It was a good question, whether co-location really did mean there were two of you, or just one of you in two places at the same time.

  Even the manual hadn’t been as clear as Nita would have liked on the subject; the terminology got very dense. Or maybe I did…

  She drank about half of a mug of tea, put it down. Anyway, that universe seemed farther away than the last one, somehow. He’s withdrawing. He’s doing it on purpose.

  Why?

  Nita mulled that over, but no clear answer suggested itself. Well, she thought at last, even when I do get in again this afternoon, it’s possible that brute force won’t work against that wall. I may have to try to get myself directly in sync with Darryl, the way I did before, when he was a clown.

  The danger, of course, is that if I get too well synced with Darryl’s mind, then what’s happened to Kit will happen to me, too. And neither of us will ever get out…

  That thought left Nita morbidly considering what would happen afterward in such a case. Both of them would simply have disappeared without a trace. What remained of their families would wind up going through endless anguish as the police investigated the disappearances… and they would never be able to share with anyone that they all knew exactly what had happened to their kids—

  Nita pushed that idea away hard. That’s not an option, she thought.

  Fine. So what is?

  That endless wall was very much on her mind. If I’m going to do anything about it, anything that’ll let me get through it in time to find Kit, I’ve got to fi
nd a way to get there without walking forever and ever

  ! The problem was that, from the feel of it, Darryl’s interior space wasn’t allowing quick transits — just long slogs through forbidding or sterile terrain. It might even be intentional, Nita thought. Maybe he’s set it up that way so that every time the Lone Power comes after him, It gets drained by the effort… has to stay in there longer, and take longer to find him —

  There Nita stopped abruptly, staring at her mug of tea, which was rapidly going cold. In either a real physical universe or an interior space, there were ways to briefly change the laws that ran that space. And the best of these was to get your hands on the universe’s “kernel,” the little tight-wound wizardly construct that encapsulated that universe’s physical laws. Lately Nita had had entirely too much experience manipulating those. Her work with the kernel of her mother’s personal universe had bought her mom a few extra months of life.

  A stab of pain answered that thought almost immediately: It wasn’t enough to buy her anything else

  But Nita pushed the pain aside for the moment. If she could get into Darryl’s interior world and find its kernel, she could at least temporarily make changes to the way its physical characteristics worked… enough to get her where she needed to be in a hurry: the wall. Maybe even beyond it.

  Other changes would probably require Darryl’s permission before she could make them. But this would do for a start.

  Nita glanced up as Dairine came downstairs, showered and dressed for school, but still looking fairly terrible.“Did you sleep at all?” Nita said, going to the fridge to get Dairine a glass of milk and a banana.

  “Yeah,” Dairine said miserably. “I couldn’t help it.”

  She stared at the milk. “Drink it,” Nita said. “I’ll be back home at three-thirty. We have to try again.”

  “Yeah,” Dairine said.

  “Will you have enough power?”

  “Yeah,” Dairine said. “But— Neets, it should have worked last night! We were all set.”

  “We didn’t realize how far there was to go to the wall,” Nita said. “I missed a trick last time: I’ll make better time today. And I’ll go more heavily armed. Now finish that stuff up and then go on.

  You’re going to be late.”

  Dairine nodded, finished her breakfast, and left. Nita was left in the quiet again, alone, a state that she preferred for the one task she had to do before she left: call Kit’s mother.

  The phone there rang only once before someone answered. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Rodriguez,” Nita said. “Hi.”

  “Nita. Have you got any news?”

  She had been hoping against impossible hope that Kit’s pop would tell her that Ponch had brought Kit home. Hearing the carefully controlled desperation in his voice, Nita felt even lower than she’d felt when she’d picked up the phone. “Not yet,” she said. “I tried to find him last night. I know sort of where he is, but I couldn’t get through to him. I’m going to try again this afternoon.”

  Kit’s pop paused for a long moment. “Are you able to tell anything about whether he’s all right?” he said.

  “Not yet,” Nita said. “I’m sorry. I’ll call you right away this afternoon, as soon as I know something. Bye.”

  She hung up, heartsore, put on her boots and her coat, and headed off for school.

  Nita went to her Monday morning meeting with Mr. Millman full of dread. He’s not blind: He’s going to see that something awful’s wrong with me

  , Nita thought, and I’m not going to be able to tell him what it is. And then I’m going to have to do stupid card tricks. Can anything be worse than this?

  She found him in the little bare office, on time as usual, stuffing a magazine back into his briefcase. In front of him were the remnants of the bagel with cream cheese that he’d brought along for his breakfast before their appointment. “Nita,” he said, “good morning.”

  She didn’t answer immediately. He glanced up from closing his briefcase.

  “I hate to say this,” he said, “but you look awful. I won’t insult your intelligence by asking if you’re all right.”

  Nita raised her eyebrows in mild surprise at this opening gambit. “Thanks.”

  “Dairine acting up again?”

  “No, actually, she’s fine,” Nita said.

  Mr. Millman just looked at her quizzically. Abruptly Nita wondered if near-total honesty might possibly be of some use.

  “I really don’t feel like talking to you this morning,” Nita said. “I wish I could make up some dumb story and tell you that, instead.”

  Mr. Millman shrugged and sat back in his chair with his arms behind his head. “Everyone else does. Why shouldn’t you?”

  Entirely against her will, Nita had to smile at that. “Just as long as you don’t expect me to come up with something original.”

  Mr. Millman allowed himself just a breath of laughter. “That’s the last thing I’d expect. Ten or fifteen billion of us, now, must have lived on this planet, and the more you look into the stories we tell one another, the more like each other they look. Everybody repeats the same basic themes.”

  Nita said nothing.

  Mr. Millman raised his eyebrows. “But maybe that’s how we know humanity is still in its childhood. You know how it is when you’re little, you want to hear the same story over and over again?”

  “My sister used to do that.”

  “So did mine. Partly it’s because they know how the story ends. There’s always tension when you’re not sure about the ending, and little kids don’t want too much of that tension… but they do want some. So this is a solution to the problem. When you know the ending, you get the tension of the middle and the relief at the end… theoretically. Did you have a book like that, that you kept wanting to hear at bedtime?”

  Nita nodded. “It had a horse called Exploding Pop-Tart in it,” she said. “My dad said he wanted to explode every Pop-Tart he saw after a while, because he was so tired of that book.“

  Millman nodded. “Mine was the one about the bat that wouldn’t go to bed,” he said. “My mother told me she hated bats for the next twenty years. Fortunately she didn’t see a lot of bats in her line of work.”

  “What was her line of work?”

  “She was a concert violinist.”

  Nita had to laugh.

  “One laugh, one smile,” Millman said. “Not bad for the way you looked when you came in.

  Look, don’t bother to tell me any story if you don’t want to. You’d probably just repeat one of the favorite themes. Life, love, death…”

  “Death,” Nita said softly.

  The image of the Lone Power was suddenly before her eyes. She glanced at Millman then, wondering if she’d had time to cover over her expression.

  “The same story,” Millman said. “And the only one we all know the end of, once we’re older than about three. But, boy, the way people behave, you wouldn’t think so! Adults refuse to talk about it… even with people your age, who really want to hear about it, and about the other important things — the beginning of life, the relationships in the middle. We try to distract ourselves by wasting our time on all the other less important stories, the incidentals — who ‘failed,’ who ‘succeeded.’ It’s a pity.” He shook his head. “We hardly ever do right by kids. All you want from us is to tell you how life works. And one way or another, the issue of life and death makes us so uncomfortable that we find a hundred ways to keep from telling you about it, until it’s too late.”

  Nita swallowed. “My mom was good about telling me the rules,” she said. “She— My mom said…”

  Nita stopped, waiting for her eyes to fill up. But it didn’t happen. And for a weird, bitter moment, that it wasn’t happening felt strange to her.

  She looked up. Mr. Millman was simply looking at her.

  “My mom said it was important to die well,” Nita said at last, “so she wouldn’t be embarrassed later.”

  Mr. Millman just nodded.


  For a few moments they sat there in the quiet. “She had it right, I think,” he said. He paused, then, looking at Nita. “Now it makes sense to ask. Are you all right?”

  Nita thought about it. “Yeah,” she said. “For the time being.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s cut it short for today. One thing, though.”

  “What?”

  “What about the card tricks?”

  In the face of the more important things that were presently on her mind, the question seemed so annoying that Nita nearly hollered at him, “Don’t you think I have better things to do than card tricks

  ?” But she caught herself.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ve got one here…”

  She fished around in her book bag and got out the deck of cards. Nita slipped it out of its packet and began to shuffle, hoping that the motion would help her hide the fact that her hands were actually trembling with rage. Okay, she thought. Calm down. You knew he was going to ask.

  But Kit—!

  “Am I supposed to pick a card or something?” Mr. Millman said.

  “In a minute,” Nita said. She shuffled, then said, “Okay, name one.”

  “The five of clubs.”

  Nita knew where that one was because the deck had been stacked when she took it out of its little packet. She put the shuffled deck down on the desk, wondering whether she’d protected the back end of the deck well enough. Then she realized she should have asked him what card he wanted before she started shuffling. The trick wasn’t going to work.

  I don’t care if it does or not

  ! Nita thought, I should make him play Fifty-Two Pickup with the whole deck.

  She controlled herself, though with difficulty. She finished the shuffle and cut the cards into three piles. Then she narrowed her eyes and did a single small wizardry that she had sworn to herself she wasn’t going to use.

  Mr. Millman turned over the third card. It was the five of clubs.

  “That was fairly obvious,” Mr. Millman said, “that anger. And fairly accessible. We were talking about the stages of grieving earlier, how they don’t always run in sequence. Let me just suggest that when anger runs so close to the surface that it’s easily provoked by unusual circumstances, you’re quite possibly not done with it yet.”