Looking Glass

by Christina Henry

  “What is it?” Hatcher asked.

  “It’s astonishing how quickly one becomes accustomed to hot meals,” Alice said. “It’s hard to work up an appetite for salted meat and apples.”

  “I could change,” Hatcher said. “I bet I could catch one of those goats, or a rabbit or two. Then we could roast them over a fire.”

  Alice’s mouth watered, and she was about to say it was a wonderful idea when some sharp, sudden instinct warned her against it.

  “No,” she said. She dropped her voice low and shot a quick glance all around. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to show your power.”

  Hatcher’s gaze sharpened. He tilted his head to one side, listening to something Alice could not hear.

  “You’re right,” he said. “There’s somebody near, watching us.”

  “I can’t see them,” Alice said, trying to look about without it seeming like she was looking about. She didn’t want to signal to the watchers—for she was certain now there was more than one—that she knew they were there.

  “There are at least three,” Hatcher said quietly. “By the sound of them they are fairly high above us, scattered over the path.”

  “There must be a settlement of some kind nearby,” Alice said, and thought, the Village of the Pure, but she wouldn’t say it if Hatcher wouldn’t. “Do you think they mean us harm?”

  Hatcher shrugged and picked up one of the apples. “We can’t tell unless they make some move toward us. Best just to eat our lunch as we planned and act like we don’t know about them.”

  Alice agreed, though it was harder than she imagined it would be to pretend that they weren’t being watched. The back of her neck prickled constantly, the sparking feeling that she noticed in the air before a lightning strike.

  This is the shadow, she thought. Or rather, the prologue to it. This is the thing that Olivia saw, the thing that Hatcher and I have dreaded.

  After lunch they packed their things up and continued on the widening path. Alice tried not to look upward if she could avoid it, for she felt that if she saw one of the watchers they might panic and attack. Still, she thought that she caught a flash of fast-moving shadows once or twice, though it might have been her imagination.

  “Definitely only three,” Hatcher murmured. “One of them has just gone ahead.”

  “To contact others,” Alice said in an undertone. “They must be a part of a larger band.”

  “Yes, that’s what I think, too,” Hatcher said. “I don’t hear the sounds of a settlement or village yet, though, so I’m not sure how far ahead they’re aiming.”

  “I hope we reach it before nightfall,” Alice said. “I don’t think I could sleep knowing they were lurking up in the crevices, waiting to kill us in our sleep.”

  “Nobody is going to kill us in our sleep,” Hatcher said. “Have you no confidence in me?”

  Alice hastily patted his shoulder. “Of course I do. I know you’d wake up before anything actually happened. But it’s not very pleasant to think of someone watching us.”

  “That’s because of the hospital,” Hatcher said. “They were always watching us there, you know. Watching through windows and listening at doors. Nothing we ever had was just for ourselves.”

  Alice had never really considered this but realized then that it was true. There had always been someone watching and waiting, someone writing things down in a notebook or waiting for one of them to step out of line—Hatcher, usually—so they could be punished. She’d been drifting in a fog most of the time then—a consequence of the powders the doctors put in her food.

  “Well,” she said. “I’m sure you’re right and the reason why it especially bothers me is because of the hospital, but I don’t think that anyone particularly enjoys being spied upon.”

  They continued on until the sun disappeared behind the peaks of the mountains. Even though it was spring and the days were getting longer the sunlight didn’t last at these higher altitudes.

  “Hatch, is there a village close by?” Alice whispered.

  He shook his head. “I don’t hear or smell one yet. The two above are still lurking, though.”

  “We’re going to have to rest for the night,” Alice said. “It will seem suspicious if we don’t.”

  “And you’re tired,” Hatcher said.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You don’t need to,” he said. “It’s on your face.”

  Alice frowned, which made Hatcher laugh.

  “It isn’t anything to be ashamed of,” he said. “You’ve got a baby inside you and it’s using up a lot of your energy. I remember Hattie slept all the time when she was pregnant with . . .”

  He trailed off, his face contorting in confusion.

  “It’s all right to talk about them,” Alice said. “I’d never begrudge you the life you had before.”

  “That wasn’t it,” he said. “It’s just that I can think of them without it hurting. Or rather, the hurt is almost gone, like a bruise that’s mostly faded.”

  “You should remember the good things about them,” Alice said. “It shouldn’t always be the worst bits.”

  He nodded, but didn’t say anything else, and Alice left him alone. She could always tell when he was in a brooding mood.

  They made camp, and Alice was certain that if the watchers hadn’t been nearby that Hatcher would have gone off running as a wolf. He stalked around the camp restlessly, unable to settle while Alice drowsed in front of the fire, slowly chewing a piece of bread.

  That night Alice dreamed once more, though she thought she would never sleep. She knew the watchers were high above, making her twitch uncomfortably under the knowledge of their gaze. And anyway, she feared what she might see while she slept.

  She was right to fear.

  There was a wooden chair set on a platform. On the arms of the chair were metal chains that connected to a metal rod. The rod was attached to the back of the chair and ran up high into the air, like it was seeking something. There was no one in the chair, but a large group of people had gathered around the platform. Their faces were avid, expectant, and they filled her with dread.

  Inside her dream, Alice thought, I don’t want to see what happens next. I don’t want to know.

  Then a scream pierced the air. Alice turned to see who was screaming.

  It was a young girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen. Her arms were held by two men at least twice her size. They dragged her across the ground in front of the platform, and the crowd around parted the way so the men could pull the girl up to the wooden chair.

  They lashed the girl to the chair with the chains while she shouted and struggled. The men did not acknowledge the girl’s pleading in any way.

  Once the girl was securely fastened to the strange chair the men left the platform. She continued to scream and plead, her eyes swollen with tears. The girl appeared very tiny in the huge chair. Her slender wrists and ankles looked frail, sticks that could easily be broken. The crowd around her was silent. Every one of them met her eyes, and every one of them offered no sympathy for her plight.

  Whatever she’s done can’t be so terrible that it would justify this. What kind of people would punish a child in this way?

  Alice noticed a woman standing alone in the space cleared by the crowd. The woman must have followed the men, but Alice had been so focused on the struggling girl that the woman’s presence hadn’t registered.

  She was a very tall woman, as tall as Alice, but she didn’t have Alice’s sturdy roundness. The woman’s clothes—a plain grey dress and a white apron—hung from her figure in flapping loose waves. Her dark hair was bound tightly to her head, tight enough to see the shape of her skull.

  The woman’s eyes were an unusual shade—almost purple—and they were lit with a strange fire. She spoke, and all turned to listen except the girl in the chair, who continued t
o whimper and struggle.

  “Jane Blackwood, you are condemned to the mercy seat for the crime of witchcraft. The gods will judge your actions.”

  “I didn’t do it!” the girl screamed. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “If you are innocent then you shall not be harmed. If you are guilty then you shall die in the way the gods see fit.”

  At that moment there was a crash of thunder overhead, and Alice looked up to see black clouds circling high above the platform.

  “The gods have spoken!” the woman shouted. “Guilty!”

  “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!” the crowd chanted.

  Alice wanted to close her eyes, to turn away, to wake up from this terrible dream. But it was like she was bound to that spot, unable to stop watching.

  The girl screamed again, and lightning shot from the swirl of clouds above.

  It struck the metal rod attached to the chair. Alice saw the lightning course through it and then flow into the chains attached to the girl’s wrists.

  The girl went rigid, then howled in pain. Alice saw the lightning scorch her skin where the metal chains touched, and there was a terrible smell of burning flesh.

  “Guilty!” the woman screamed, and all around the crowd chorused their reply.

  “Guilty! Guilty!”

  Thunder roiled in the sky, and another flash touched the metal rod. The girl screamed again and again as the lightning struck again and again but nobody could hear her over the sound of the crowd chanting “guilty.”

  After a very long while, the sky and the girl were silent.

  Alice woke in the grey light of dawn and she knew two things.

  First, the woman and her mercy seat were the shadow that Alice had been dreading.

  Second, the woman might punish witchcraft in her village, but only a Magician could call lightning from the sky.

  Hatcher was already awake and warming some bread over a low fire.

  “Did you sleep?” Alice asked.

  He shook his head. “It didn’t feel safe enough to sleep with the watchers above.”

  Hatcher hadn’t modulated his voice at all, and Alice cast a fearful glance around at the cliffs, hoping he hadn’t been heard.

  “There’s nothing to worry over. They’re gone now. I heard them go just before dawn.”

  “I wonder why,” Alice said. This news only made her more uneasy, though she should have been delighted that the watchers were gone.

  “The one who left earlier returned in the night. After that all three went away in the direction we’re heading.”

  “We must be closer to their village now,” Alice said. “They’ve gone to report to that woman, no doubt.”

  “What woman?” Hatcher asked.

  Alice told him of her dream. “Only I don’t think it was a dream,” she concluded. “I think that I was seeing something that really happened, or was about to.”

  Hatcher nodded. “You were sleeping too heavily to hear, but there was thunder in the distance last night, and I saw a flash of lightning.”

  Alice rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. “That poor girl.”

  “It seems you were right to stop me from changing,” Hatcher said. “We’d best be very cautious from now on. I don’t want to risk you or the baby.”

  “Why, Hatcher,” Alice said. “You’re becoming very mature. You used to slash first and ask questions later.”

  “If I had to do it, and you wanted me to do it, I’m certain I could manage even an entire village of people. But you might be taken by them or hurt in the bargain.”

  “We both saw the baby,” Alice said. “In our dreams, or visions, or what have you. We both saw the baby alive and in our arms in that cottage. So we must be able to get through this, whatever peril is ahead.”

  “A vision is only a possibility,” Hatcher said. “Sometimes they are true—especially if they are close in time, like the one you saw last night as it was happening. But our baby is still only a wisp, a thought, a dream. There are many, many days ahead, and any one of them could change the course of the future. So don’t go recklessly throwing your magic about, Alice.”

  “I never would,” she said. “Even with Olivia’s help I still don’t know how to smite anyone, even if they deserve it.”

  As they walked, Alice thought of that woman, that Magician with her burning eyes and the power to call lightning from the sky. If anyone deserved to be smote it was her.

  But until you learn how to call lightning from the sky, Alice, you won’t be doing anything of the sort.

  Alice placed a hand over her belly, in the place where she imagined she felt a tiny little flutter, though it was far too soon for such a thing to happen. It was nice to imagine, though—nice to think that her baby could feel her there and waved a friendly little hello.

  Hatcher was right. It was one thing to take a risk on themselves, but quite another to risk the life of their child.

  I won’t let anyone hurt you, she promised. I can live without my magic long enough to go through this village.

  “I think we should pass through as quickly as possible,” Alice said. “Even if it’s nightfall when we arrive.”

  “I don’t know,” Hatcher said. “That would certainly seem suspicious, and they might come after us.”

  “Why should they care?” Alice asked.

  “Why should they care about travelers approaching at all? Why send the watchers out to follow us? They’re obviously afraid of something.”

  “Not of something—afraid of magic, and anyone who might approach their village bearing it. But if we don’t show them any magic then we shouldn’t have anything to fear,” Alice said. “Anyhow, perhaps we can go around the village. The path is widening. If we’re fortunate we won’t even need to approach it.”

  Hatcher shook his head. “I don’t think you or I have ever been so fortunate. There won’t be a way around, only through.”

  Alice sighed. “Why can’t we have a quiet life? A life like other people, a life without danger and despair?”

  “Everyone’s life has despair, and even danger. For some it is not as close as ours, that is all.”

  “I’m not sure I like your very-wise-man act,” Alice said. “I rather liked it better when you were a wild wolf.”

  “Only because you like it better when no one contradicts you.”

  Alice slugged him in the shoulder.

  They continued at a steady pace until about midmorning, when Alice had to stop and have a rest.

  Hatcher went a little ahead while Alice sat on a large boulder and wondered if she dared take a short nap. A few moments later Hatcher had returned, however, and his words made Alice feel instantly awake.

  “We’re very close now,” he said. “We should be there by this afternoon. And I hear the watchers returning.”

  Alice stood. “Let’s hurry on, then. If we must stay a night with them then we must, but we can be off at first light.”

  They walked close together now, so that they could speak in low tones that wouldn’t be overheard.

  After a little while Hatcher said, “They’ve returned. Five of them now, all on the cliffs above.”

  “Should we worry that there are more of them than before?”

  “I think we have plenty of worry as it is. Let’s not take on any more.”

  The sun shone and the breeze was very warm. Everywhere Alice looked there were charming little white mountain flowers peeking up out of the grass. But it was hard to take any pleasure in the day or the journey. Alice felt the eyes of those who watched from overhead, felt their menace oppressing her.

  Far too soon, it seemed, they crested a little rise and saw the village below. There was a steep downslope from where they stood and then the land leveled out for a bit, allowing just enough flat clearing for the settlement.

  Alice expe
cted the village to be a sparse and dismal place populated by folk with hunched shoulders and suspicious glances.

  But from above, at least, it appeared to be a typical village. Most of the houses were one-story cottages made of stone with thatched roofs. She saw some farm animals roaming inside pens—chickens, pigs, two cows and a horse. The ringing of a blacksmith’s hammer drifted up to them, and Alice smelled wood fires and cooking meat.

  Altogether it would have seemed a warm and friendly place were it not for the sight of the strange wooden chair on its platform in the town square.

  “They’re coming,” Hatcher said.

  This was the only warning Alice had before five men dropped in front of them, seemingly as if they’d fallen out of the sky.

  They were all dressed in homespun wool—grey pants and white shirts, like a uniform. They also wore soft-looking leather boots with thin soles—The easier to sneak up on strangers in the night, Alice thought. Every man had a dagger at his waist. They didn’t draw them, but their posture indicated that this was a distinct possibility.

  The man in the center spoke. There was nothing to distinguish him from the others—in fact, Alice thought all of them rather resembled one another—the same brown hair and eyes, the same shape of the nose and mouth. Perhaps they were brothers, or perhaps the isolation of this village meant that cousins tended to marry cousins.

  “State your name and your business.”

  Alice had been prepared to be cooperative. After the vision of the night before she didn’t want to do anything to antagonize these people. But the man’s peremptory tone raised her hackles.

  “Who are you that I should state my name and purpose? This is not a very friendly welcome for simple travelers.” She felt Hatcher shift next to her, the only indication that he was surprised by her response.

  “You may not pass into the village unless you tell us,” the man said.

  “We don’t particularly want to pass into your village. We are bound elsewhere, so if you’ll let us by then we will circle around it and continue on,” Alice said.

  “Where are you bound?” the man asked. His expression hadn’t shifted throughout the exchange. He was not angry, or frustrated, or eager. He was implacable as stone.