by Julie Leung
They were in different frames and shapes—some as tall as Two-Leggers, others as small as their palms. None of them were Merlin’s Mirror, and yet they were clearly magical. Their reflections showed strange, fleeting scenes that came in and out of focus. One seemed to hover over a wooded section of the road to St. Gertrude. Another showed a cave at a beach’s mouth.
All the landscapes seemed to strain against the glasses that contained them. Calib feared that at any second, the mirrors would come crashing down.
“We need to be careful.” Cecily sniffed the air, and Calib thought for a moment that the magic must be so powerful here, even normal whiskers could detect it. “Something’s not right.”
Calib studied one of the reflections. It seemed to flip between a sandy, unfamiliar beach and a cave mouth that resembled the one they’d entered to reach Morgan’s fortress. Saxon ships poured out of the cave like marching ants. The army was on the move.
Another mirror seemed to hover near the craterous top of the Iron Mountains. Cecily’s eyes widened at something behind Calib.
“Look, there it is!” she cried out, pointing at one of the mirrors near the ground, a small oval one with a silver frame. In the reflection, Camelot stood shining and whole.
Calib placed a paw on the glass that separated them from the castle. The glass shimmered, and his paw went straight past the surface of the glass, as if it were water. Calib felt a cool tickle crawl up his paw.
“I think these are portals, like the one the Lady of the Lake created on Avalon.” Calib realized he was whispering, awed by Morgan’s powerful command of her magic.
Slowly, he reached out to Camelot. If this was truly a portal, and he could walk through right then and there, he’d be able to warn Commander Kensington in a heartbeat. All he had to do was summon the courage to take the first step.
From behind him, Cecily let out a startled squeak. Calib turned just in time to see a shadow appear at the balcony door.
Calib’s stomach lurched as Sir Percival Vole stepped forward, brandishing a sword against Cecily’s throat.
“Stay where you are,” the vole snarled, dragging Cecily to the balcony’s railing, “if you value your life.”
“Get your filthy paws off my friend!” Calib shouted, heat in his chest.
“You don’t get to make the demands here,” Percival growled. “The Christophers have been in power long enough. Bossiness must run in the family.”
“Whatever grudge you have against my family, it doesn’t involve Cecily,” Calib said. “Face me.”
“The destruction of all that your family holds dear has been my only goal.” Percival dangled Cecily over the edge of the balcony. “I don’t care who is collateral damage.”
With a flick of his wrists, Percival dropped Cecily off the ledge.
“Cecily!” Calib screamed, running toward where the mouse-maid had fallen.
The vole blocked his path with a parry aimed at his gut. Out of instinct, Calib dodged, trying to remember what he had been taught about dueling from his training. One-on-one dueling was a game of strategy, of mind over might, speed over strength. He needed to plan his moves five steps in advance.
Calib waited until Percival’s sword was just about to strike again, and then twisted to the left. He delivered a cracking blow to the side of Sir Percival’s jaw.
Sir Percival yelped, but recovered his footing fast enough to pivot direction. A flash of steel whirled by, missing Calib’s snout by millimeters.
Sir Percival tried twice more to skewer Calib. His attacks were sloppy and frantic, but they were faster than Calib would’ve expected. With each slash, Calib narrowly jumped out of the way, trying to channel Cecily’s ability to move at the last possible moment.
Behind him, he heard Cecily’s voice from the balcony, as if his thought had summoned her. Horatio must have caught her!
Relieved though he was, the distraction cost him. Percival nicked Calib on his ear and split it open. Calib muffled a yowl of pain and backed away, nearly falling into one of the mirrors. He looked through to the tundra on the other side. A heavy snowstorm swirled around a plain of ice.
It gave him an idea.
“Get back here!” Sir Percival huffed. It was clear he hadn’t gotten this much exercise in years.
“Come and get me,” Calib taunted. “The last Christopher still stands!”
The vole charged again, this time slower.
Calib dodged his sword and hopped to the side. Percival wheeled around to face him, but lost his balance, and Calib delivered a sweeping kick to one of Sir Percival’s knees. The knight lost his balance and toppled into the surface of the magic mirror.
“No!” Percival shrieked as he let go of his sword. It fell out of his paws and skittered across the floor, catching the light as it did so. It was Lightbringer! Calib thought he had lost it forever.
Calib ran for the sword and grabbed it. Turning around, he saw that Percival was hanging on to the edge of the frame with just the tips of his paws.
“My vengeance . . .” he began through clenched teeth. Now he hung on to the ledge by only one paw.
“Will not keep you warm,” Calib finished.
Sir Percival slipped and disappeared into the blizzard.
CHAPTER
35
Calib brought his sword down on the mirror’s wooden frame, hacking it clean through. The mirror froze over, as if it were the surface of a winter lake, and then shattered like ice. He turned to tell Cecily that everything was all right, that Percival was gone, when—
Thwack!
Something hard and feathery slammed into him from behind, sending him flying across the floor. Calib felt a sharp talon scrape down his side. He rolled away, skidding to a stop before he nearly fell through a mirror that showed a rocky island shore.
He clutched at his injury, and his paw came away red. He looked up and stared right into the cruel, hooked beak of Theodora the hawk. In her taloned claw was Cecily, struggling to wriggle free.
The hawk screeched loud and triumphant, “Gotch-aaa!”
“You’ll pay for hurting my friends!” Cecily shouted. “Horatio won’t be down for long!”
“Now, now, Theodora, I know you’re excited to see your old friends again,” said an oily voice. “But that’s no excuse for poor manners.”
At the sound, Calib felt his entire being sag. He’d been foolish. The fight between good and bad was never over. He choked back a cry as the Manderlean emerged from a mirror on the far side of the room, stepping through the glass as easily as if it were fog. He wore a gold, fox-like mask that shimmered beneath a bloodred hood.
The Manderlean held out his gloved paws in a mock welcome. “Even under the layers of grime and dirt, I can still smell a Christopher from a league away.”
His eyes flashed like a hungry predator’s, but there was also a weariness behind them. The scent of raw magic, like fresh tar, rolled off the beast, so strong it made Calib choke. Whatever the Manderlean had just done, he had more magic than Calib had ever encountered.
“You don’t smell so great, either,” Calib said, holding back a gag.
“The price paid for powers such as mine require more than you can fathom, little beast.” The Manderlean strode forward, moving his paws in a continuous circular motion, like he was trying to contain something slippery.
A glowing red fireball formed in the space between his paws, pulsing and crackling.
“The only cowards I see are you and your vermin army hiding away in these caves,” Cecily spat. She was still pinned to the ground by Theodora.
The Manderlean turned his golden face toward Cecily, and though Calib could not see the creature’s expression, he could feel disdain dripping from the creature like a leaky cauldron. “Big words from such a small mouse. But we have no more reason to hide, now that Galahad has joined our side.”
The memory of bright-red blood flashed in Calib’s head, but he banished it quickly.
“I don’t know what you
did to him,” Calib said shakily, “but we’re going to break whatever spell you put him under!”
At that moment, Cecily managed to free one of her arms, and she bit right into the hawk’s right foot. Theodora squawked and flew up in surprise. Cecily sprang to her feet and charged at the Manderlean at full tilt.
The Manderlean tried to dodge, but Cecily was too fast.
“Show us your true face!” she shouted, and then ripped the Manderlean’s mask off.
Where Cecily had expected a creature’s face, there was nothing. Just empty space.
The Manderlean collapsed into a pile of clothes.
Calib had known fear before, but never like this. His insides turned to liquid; his blood turned to ice. A disembodied voice began to giggle.
The spectral laughter surrounded them on all sides, reverberating from every mirror. Calib pulled his ears flat to his head—the sound was making him dizzy. Then slowly, the voice began to change and concentrate to one area.
The Manderlean’s cloak shot up from the ground and hovered above their heads, expanding and changing into a long curtain of red hair. A Two-Legger body began to emerge from the hair, clad in a velvet dress the color of midnight. With a screech, the hawk came to perch on her shoulder, its talons still dripping Calib’s blood onto the floor.
“Wish granted,” the woman said in a cruel voice as Calib stumbled back with recognition.
The Manderlean had been Morgan le Fay all along.
CHAPTER
36
Suddenly, it all made sense.
How easily the Manderlean had traveled from place to place and how quickly Morgan was able to organize animals to do her bidding. She was a shape-shifter like Merlin, who was able to turn into Howell, the great white wolf. But at the same time, she was nothing like the kind wizard who’d helped Calib before.
“My dear little mice,” Morgan said. “Merlin was a fool to trust in your kind.” She cast her blue eyes at Calib, which were so much like King Arthur’s, but colder and harder. “But the old man was never much of a critical thinker. At the end of the day, your earnestness betrays you.”
“Merlin knew better than to trust you with anything,” Calib said.
Morgan stopped smiling. “Did you truly believe I would let you walk in here unchallenged? I can see everything happening in this fortress from my hall of mirrors,” she said. “I even saw your desperate plea to sway Galahad to your losing cause. There are no surprises in my fortress!”
Suddenly, the hawk was knocked off the Manderlean’s shoulder with a surprised squawk. It had been struck by a candlestick. Theodora lost her grip on Cecily.
“There is at least one surprise,” Galahad said as he appeared from one of the mirrors. He ran between the mice and Morgan. He pointed Excalibur right at Morgan’s heart. His left hand was bandaged roughly with a torn piece of cloth.
“Indeed,” Morgan said quietly. Her face was pale with anger. “I must admit this is disappointing. I had high hopes for you. . . .”
“And you call the mice fools,” Galahad said. “Here I am with a sword to your chest.”
Morgan sighed. “So much power in the hands of such children. Oppilo.”
The sorceress waved her hand from underneath her sleeves. The boy froze, and Calib felt his body stop in place too. He tried to run toward Morgan to stop her, but his paws no longer obeyed him. He ground to a halt and fell forward. His limbs were frozen in place.
“Now you’ll all stay here until I come back as the Empress Morgan le Fay of Saxony and Conqueror of Camelot.”
And with one fluid movement, the sorceress snatched up Theodora and dove into the small mirror Calib had nearly entered himself—the one that showed Camelot.
Before Calib could even let out a cry of surprise, the glass froze over and shattered behind her. There was no way to follow the sorceress now.
He turned his attention back to Galahad.
“Whose side do you stand on?” Calib asked. Lightbringer was still unsheathed in his paw, but he could not swing his arm any more than he could move a mountain. Next to him, he heard Cecily trying to break the spell, but she remained in place too.
Galahad looked hurt. “I’m sorry for what I said,” he said softly. “I knew Morgan would be back any second, and I knew that was the only chance to learn how the Grail worked.”
“You betrayed yourself and Camelot!” Calib shouted, the horror of the scene again bearing down upon him. “You hurt an innocent creature—you killed Jasper!”
“Oh, you mean me?”
If Calib had not already been petrified, he would have been stunned, as first one ear, then another, emerged from under Galahad’s tunic, followed by one very disgruntled hare.
“But I saw the blood! You’re dead!” Calib cried.
“News to me,” Jasper said as he wiggled out and hopped onto the floor. Morgan, not knowing that the hare still lived, had not included him in her spell. “That Two-Legger over there”—he pointed his ear in Galahad’s direction—“can speak with animals, and he told me to pretend to be dead.”
“But the blood—”
“Was mine,” Galahad said, wincing slightly. “I cut my hand, but the wound grew bigger when Morgan stabbed herself.”
Calib looked at Galahad’s frozen fist and saw blood slowly leaking out. He scrutinized Galahad’s face, looking for any hint that his Two-Legger friend might be hiding something or still under the influence of a spell. There was a pain in his eyes, and an anxiousness Calib had not noticed before. Galahad looked older—and he looked tired—but he did not look like a liar.
“I’m sorry, Calib,” Galahad said. “It seems we ended up stuck in a sticky situation regardless.”
“Now, isn’t this interesting?” A new Two-Legger voice joined the fray—one that made Calib want to bare his teeth.
Red stepped out from one of the mirrors. “But maybe I can help.”
CHAPTER
37
Galahad’s stomach lurched at the sight of his nemesis, now free of the room he’d locked him in. He commanded his arm to move, to swing Excalibur and protect his friends, but there was nothing he could do. Morgan’s spell held fast.
“Ow!” Red exclaimed, suddenly hopping on one foot. “That hurt!”
Looking down, Galahad saw that Jasper had kicked Red, right in the shins.
“Call off your animals, Du Lac!” Red howled. “I’m here to call a truce!” Red held up his empty hands. “Your command of magic may be better than mine, but I know more. And I’m done trying to be someone I’m not.”
Galahad felt as though Red had sprouted another head—except that would have been less strange than this conversation. “Why should we trust you?” he asked. “How do I know you’re not a spy?”
“For one, I’m helping you get loose.” Red held up both his hands and intoned in a loud voice, “Dissolvo.”
Galahad felt the rigid tensions of Morgan’s spell suddenly melt away, and he saw Cecily immediately run up to Red’s side with her sword brandished.
“What do you want, traitor?” she demanded, seething.
“You don’t have to trust me. I know I haven’t earned it,” Red said, keeping his eyes steady on Galahad. “But perhaps I can prove myself by helping you stop my mother—and in exchange, I want amnesty.”
“I don’t know I can promise that,” Galahad said. “You tried to kill King Arthur, remember?”
Red looked down, and Galahad was surprised to see something like shame on his face. “Yes, well, I’m sure the hero of Camelot could put in a good word.”
Galahad hesitated. His hand wavered. Something about Red’s tone of voice made him curious despite his better judgment.
“One last question,” Galahad said. “Why would you turn on your mother?” he asked.
Red looked uncertain. “That day with the carp. You had somehow transferred its pain into me. It felt awful. I never knew that’s what my mother’s magic felt like to living beings. . . .” His voice trailed off, and his e
yes held a faraway expression, as if he were reliving that moment.
Slowly, he shook himself, then continued, “Mother is brilliant. But she should never be in power. She has only ever thought of vengeance her entire life—of taking back what’s hers. Her heart has no room for anything else—not even me.”
Red’s eyes were bright, and his jaw tightened. Galahad saw much of himself in Red at that moment. He also knew what it felt like to be seen as a tool for someone else’s war. Still, Galahad didn’t fully trust Red. He could sense from Excalibur that Calib was wary as well.
A clacking from the direction of the balcony made them jump and turn. Two bats were perched outside. One wore a crown askew while the other wore a neck ruff and nursed a small rip in his right wing. Sensing their distress, Galahad ran to help them.
“Close the window,” the crowned bat gasped. “Quickly! Before the infernal hawk finds us again.” Galahad obeyed, but before he could tell them that the hawk was gone, along with Morgan, the two bats started attacking him and Red.
“Away, you two-faced Two-Legger!” the second bat wheezed, still out of breath. The crowned bat, meanwhile, had a chunk of blond hair in his mouth and was pulling—hard.
“Stop!” Calib yelled to the bats. “King Mir—it’s all right! Galahad and Red are on our side!”
The bats stopped midsqueak. “Are you sure?” the bat king panted.
“My apologies, King Mir,” Galahad began, “but I—”
“Ahem?”
Startled, Galahad, Red, and all the creatures turned around to see Britta standing in the hallway, tugging on a curl as she took in the room. “I was coming to show the queen the final scroll when I heard shrieks,” she said.
She looked a little pale. “I ran here as fast as I could, but then you—he—I mean . . . Are you talking to the animals?”
