Yesterday's Magic

by Pamela F. Service

  Troll’s gaze was fixed more on the back of the train. “And two big wagons. Lots more prezzies. Maybe Troll should get married so people bring him lots of prezzies too.”

  Heather laughed. “Maybe Troll should find a lovely lady troll first and think about the presents later.”

  The creature snorted. “Not really want wife. But prezzies good.”

  Ignoring their banter, Merlin remarked, “I don’t quite like the feeling of this bunch. Maybe it’s just that they were associated too long with Morgan and her Otherworld and mutie friends. But they have an unsettling aura about them.” Frowning, he said, “I’m going to the Manor so I can be with Arthur when he greets them.” Hurriedly he descended a narrow flight of stone steps.

  Troll followed, but Heather stayed a moment, studying the newcomers for herself. From above, she couldn’t see or sense anything clearly threatening, but there were definitely various degrees of mutations in the party. That wasn’t saying much, she knew. All modern horses, due to radiation exposure, had mutated back to an earlier, three-toed form. Even the warhorses Arthur had been breeding for size retained the three toes. And after the destruction of Earth’s protective ozone, the humans most likely to survive all had darker skin. The palest people she’d ever met were Merlin and Arthur—and Morgan—all of whom had originally lived long before the Devastation.

  Still, although she didn’t have Merlin’s sensitivities, there was something about the party now passing through the gate beneath her that left Heather uneasy. There was some sort of mental stench about them, like when cooks use spices but fail to cover up the taste of rotting meat. Perhaps the fact that King Douglas had once been an ally of Morgan’s was enough to explain it. Everything Morgan brushed against had a smudge of evil about it. With a shiver, Heather turned and hurried after the others. Behind her, Rus jumped up and stuck both heads out through an embrasure. He growled as the last of the Norfolk party passed underneath. Then with a whine he turned and trotted after his mistress.

  PREPARATIONS

  York’s narrow cobbled streets twisted between buildings showing many centuries of architecture. Usually Rus would range widely, darting up alleys and smelling every cornerstone. But now he trotted close to Heather as she quickly threaded her way to the Manor. The sprawling building had known many uses in its days. It now served as the residence of Basil, Duke of York, and the temporary guest residence for King Arthur of Cumbria and Margaret, Queen of Scots.

  Admitted automatically by the guards, Heather hurried through the now-bustling courtyard. She patted Rus’s heads and gestured for him to go to the kennels. Instead of going, he whined and pressed against her legs.

  Sorry, Rus, she thought at him, but you really freak out those girls I’m rooming with. We can stick together once we’re away from York. Arthur’s party is a lot more used to you, after all. He kept whining, but she pushed him firmly in the direction of the Duke’s kennels, then hurried up the back stairs toward the rooms she shared with three ladies of Duke Basil’s court.

  The three were all now in the common room primping to look their best for the new arrivals. Heather figured she’d better at least change into a dress. She went into her own small room and pawed through a couple of crumpled linen dresses in her trunk before settling on a plain gray wool. She’d given up thinking that clothes could do much for her appearance. No matter what she wore, her body was still skinny, her face long, and her muddy blond hair thin and wispy.

  She returned to the common room and studied herself in the room’s one cracked mirror. Her frown slid away. She didn’t care about all that so much now. She had once, but not anymore. She felt the new happiness bubble through her. She wasn’t just the homely misfit lucky to have a couple of friends. Somebody loved her. Somebody she loved so very much.

  She smiled at the other girls, who were giggling among themselves. They were several years younger than she and were all looking for husbands or already engaged. Heather knew that the dangers of her world and the difficult childbirths brought by lingering radiation meant that girls needed to marry far earlier than in pre-Devastation times. But plain and impoverished as she had been, she’d never held out much hope for being anything but an old maid at age fifteen, and well beyond. Now everything had changed.

  When she’d first started rooming next to these girls several weeks ago, they’d acted both slightly afraid and wildly curious about her. They couldn’t help asking what it was like to be not only magical but the girlfriend of the wizard Merlin. Not that they would have given him a second glance had he been just plain Earl Bedwas, as Heather had first known him. He was too gangly and skinny with far too hawklike a face to meet their definition of attractive. But power had its own attraction, Heather was learning, and these girls seemed to view her now with a mix of awe, pity, and envy.

  “Come on,” Heather said, undoing her braids and running a brush through her limp hair. “Down to the audience chambers. It looked like there were a few kind of cute guys in this last batch who might interest you. I saw them coming in.” The fact that the party had also felt distinctly creepy she kept to herself.

  Downstairs, the audience chamber was crowded with members of Duke Basil’s court as well as with various guests. In addition to Arthur and Margaret’s party, there were other dukes and kings and their followers who had come to York to acknowledge Arthur as High King, or at least to attend his wedding to Scotland’s queen.

  Heather slipped onto a small balcony just as Duke Basil walked onto the raised dais at the end of the room. Immediately he was joined by Arthur, Margaret, and other nobility in attendance. She saw Earl standing in the back to one side, a seeming teenager looking oddly out of place among bearded battle-scarred men.

  As the host, potbellied little Duke Basil took center stage. However, clearly most eyes were fixed on the two beside him, the pair around whom old and new legends already whirled. Arthur, blond, bearded, and youthful, would catch attention anywhere even had the comparative paleness of his skin not made him stand out. But equally striking was the tall woman beside him. Margaret, Queen of Scots, had a head of flaming red hair and, as Heather and others knew, a temper to match. Though with her brilliant smile and flashing green eyes, she could be equally good-humored, and Heather was glad to call her a friend.

  A trumpet sounded, and the crowd in the main part of the hall turned their attention from the dais to the doorway, where a dozen men marched in. Heather recognized some of those she’d seen earlier, including the crowned man who must be King Douglas. She tried, briefly, to be unbiased, but the man definitely made her uneasy. Most of her own magic had to do with animals, and she fought down a smile when she realized what animal Douglas made her think of. Weasel. Pointy whiskery face, close-set beady eyes. Even his walk had a sneaky, slinky quality to it.

  “Duke Basil,” the newcomer said in a high sharp voice, “thank you for welcoming My Majesty of Norfolk and my esteemed party to your noble city of York. Greetings too to the other worthies present here and most particularly to King Arthur and Queen Margaret. I know, Your Majesties, that we have not always agreed on the best future course for Britain, but events have unfolded as they have and must be accepted. I come to wish you happiness in your upcoming union and to bring you gifts and friendship from Norfolk.”

  Arthur stepped forward. “Thank you, Douglas. It is our hope that all enmities of the past can be forgotten and that all of Britain can once more be united in peace and friendship. Your presence here is surely a fine token of that future.”

  The speeches went on as every duke, king, and general present seemed to feel a need to proclaim something, but Heather soon lost interest. She saw Welly in the crowd below her busily scanning the assembly, taking his soldier duties seriously. When she glanced at Merlin, he looked severe, but that was his usual expression in a crowd, as if trying to seem wizardly even though he looked like a gangly teenager.

  Finally the crowd adjourned for a meal and more speeches, but Heather skipped the beginning so she cou
ld check on Troll. She’d seen him slip into the room where Norfolk’s wedding presents had just been unloaded onto tables with the rest.

  “Now, Troll, just looking—no touching,” she reminded him from the doorway.

  He sighed. “Always just look. But sure Great King and Queen not need all this treasure. Maybe loyal retainers get share too. A little share?”

  “Maybe. But none of it will be worth much if you drool all over it. The guards will keep it safe, so come on and let’s get something to eat.”

  That idea seemed to please him almost as much as the gifts. He scuttled off to the dining hall with Heather following.

  When she slipped into a seat beside Merlin at one of the long tables, she whispered, “I didn’t realize trolls were so greedy about treasure. In the old stories, I thought that was just dragons.”

  He laughed. “True, nothing can beat a dragon for treasure lust, but they go for fine things like gold and jewels. Trolls just like stuff, the more glittery, the better. They never build up very big hoards because they’re always stealing from each other. I’m sure that after the wedding, Arthur and Margaret will give away most of that haul. Troll will get his share.”

  After the meal, Heather was tired and would gladly have gone up to bed, but Merlin asked her to come with him. Arthur had called a few of his closest advisors to his upstairs room to discuss Norfolk and other matters. Heather didn’t know what she could contribute but was happy just to be with Merlin. She settled into a chair by the fireplace. Despite the June thaw, a small fire fought off the biting evening cold.

  “Notice how Douglas didn’t actually say that he was offering you allegiance as High King,” commented Otto, Arthur’s burly general from Keswick.

  Clarence, Duke of Carlisle, added, “How did he put it? ‘Events must be accepted.’ And he offered you gifts and friendship. Period. No allegiance.”

  Arthur nodded. “That’s a start. At least he’s here and not off across the channel with Morgan.”

  “Do you really think she is trying to regroup her forces there?” Margaret asked. “We did beat her rather decisively.”

  “Merlin?” Arthur said. “You’re the expert here. What do you think our dear old friend is up to now?”

  Frowning, Merlin touched his chin, then gave up, finding there was still no beard worth tugging at. “It’s hard to read. She’s expending a lot of energy cloaking her activities—that I can sense. But I don’t feel there is any new army amassing. She still hates everything you stand for, Arthur—peace, unity, hope for a better future. But I expect she’ll try some new tactic. It may not be for some time.”

  “And is her old ally Douglas any part of it?”

  “He still has Morgan’s stench about him. His very presence here troubles me. But I don’t think he’s directly involved in a plot. Still, it would be wise to detail men to shadow everyone in his party.”

  Otto laughed. “Do you take me for an amateur, boy? I’ve already done that—even without a shred of magic. Now, let’s talk about your plans for Nottingham, Arthur, since it’s the next stop on your tour.”

  Heather was no longer listening. Otto and Merlin’s bantering about the relative merits of “magic versus might” was an old joke. The fire dancing and crackling before her seemed far more compelling. And so did the voice. It blew into her mind like a crisp dry wind.

  The temple building is almost complete, it whispered excitedly. Tomorrow is the ceremony, and I’m supposed to carry the of fering of milk to the statue, to the great bird who carries our prayers to the gods. What if I trip? What if the chosen cow refuses to give milk? The priestess says I’m a favorite of the spirits, but I’m not sure. Are you a spirit?

  “No,” Heather said aloud. “I’m just a girl. But where are you?”

  The voice in her head laughed. Here; I’m here.

  At the same time, another voice answered. “Here. Heather, I’m right here. Where are you?”

  Heather shook herself and looked up at Merlin. The rest of the room was silent. “Oh.” Heather blushed, looking at the staring faces. “Here, I guess. But there was someone else here too.”

  Several of the others looked around nervously. But Merlin shook his head. “Don’t worry. Whatever magic Heather is tapping into, it’s nothing to do with Morgan. It’s something…bigger, I think.”

  “Bigger magic than yours and Morgan’s?” Otto exclaimed with mock dismay. “Gods preserve us. The world was a lot simpler when people could just fight each other straight-out.”

  Merlin smiled grimly. “And look where that got the world.” He gestured out the window as though at the blasted world beyond. “There’s new magic about, and Heather’s onto some of it. We just have to sort it out.”

  He smiled down at her, and Heather sleepily smiled back. She hoped they would sort it out—and soon. Having imaginary friends visit when you’re a lonely kid was one thing. But having mysterious voices make her look like a lunatic during meetings of state was quite another. At the very least, she realized, she had to learn not to respond to the mental voices out loud.

  Standing up, she excused herself to go to bed. Still, she thought as she left the room, thinking about jaguars or the girl with milk for the sacred bird was far better than dwelling on the weaselly, evil-shadowed King of Norfolk or the horrid, mind-warping sorceress Morgan Le Fay.

  In the most recent of her fifteen years, Heather had seen more evil than she’d once imagined the world could contain. Sent to a boarding school when her mother remarried, all the adventure and all the evil she’d known as a lonely studious child had been in books. But events had thrown her life in first with schoolmate Welly’s and then with Merlin’s and Arthur’s and with the forces that swirled around them. She liked to think now that she’d seen a lifetime’s worth of evil, but a nagging ache in her bones told her that evil would always be entwined with her life. Still, unrealistic or not, she just hoped to keep it at bay awhile longer.

  The entire town awakened extra early the next morning, the day before the Royal Wedding. Excitement vibrated in the air. Heather tried to ignore it, but tendrils burrowed under her blankets until she too had to get up and throw herself into preparations.

  She knew Margaret and Arthur were embarrassed about making such a big deal of this, but the wedding was as much a political act as the union of two former enemies who had, despite everything, fallen in love. As Merlin had pointed out when the royal pair balked at all the ceremony, it conferred pomp and glamour on the concept of uniting. And that was what Arthur and Margaret needed to do first and foremost—unite Britain.

  At first Heather helped in the kitchens. But she’d never had a smidgen of talent for cooking, so she figured it was better for all concerned if she did something harmless, like cleaning. Probably deciding she was more trustworthy than some, the head housekeeper assigned her to sweeping and dusting the room where the royal wedding gifts were displayed. She wasn’t surprised to find Troll there too, crouched froglike on a window ledge gazing longingly at the ladened tables.

  “Me not touch,” he hastily assured her. “Just look.” But Heather could almost feel him caressing everything with his eyes. She’d nearly finished her sweeping when Queen Margaret entered the room with Merlin and Welly staggering behind, arms laden with a new batch of gifts from a number of York’s merchants.

  The Queen looked at the full tables and shook her head. “I haven’t a clue what we’re going to do with all this stuff. How many goblets and knickknacks do two people need?”

  “Give stuff out to loyal retainers,” Troll piped up, his broad mouth stretched into a smile he clearly hoped looked very loyal.

  “Obviously the answer,” Margaret laughed. “And perhaps some very loyal retainers should have a gift now to keep them from bursting. Anything here, Troll, you’d like to wear at the wedding to show everyone what a valued courtier you are?”

  Instantly Troll leaped down from the window and onto one of the tables where Merlin and Welly were trying to make room for the late
st batch. With surprising delicacy, he picked his way through the piles until suddenly exclaiming and diving for something glittery. In moments, he’d adorned himself with a chain of rare ancient plastic beads, glinting in many colors.

  “Perfect, Troll,” Merlin said. “You look like a walking rainbow.”

  “No,” Margaret said firmly, “it’s a chain of office. The Order of Royal Bridge Protectors. Go on now and impress the masses.”

  Troll happily galloped off as the Queen said to the others, “I think we won’t distribute the rest of this until most of the guests are gone, so we don’t offend anybody. Oh, but wait, there was something that came in yesterday that’s just perfect for you, Heather. It’s around here somewhere. Ah, there it is.”

  From the clutter on another table, she pulled a pink plastic box with a white handle. On the side of the box was a faded picture of a white unicorn with a flowing rainbow tail. Carefully she handed it to Heather.

  “It’s beautiful,” the girl whispered, “but I can’t take it. That much ancient plastic is worth a fortune.”

  Margaret smiled. “But it’s obviously meant for you. Look at the name stuck on the top.”

  Heather studied the gold decals. Some of the letters were partly missing, but there were enough left to clearly spell HEATHER.

  Welly moved closer. “I know what it is. I saw one in an old book. It’s a box that schoolchildren used to carry their lunch in.”

  “And before the Devastation,” Merlin added, “it must have belonged to a girl named Heather. Obviously it is meant for you.”

  Margaret nodded. “Enjoy it. But now I’d better get back. And, Merlin, as one of those who thought that a big splashy wedding was a good idea, you clearly deserve no gifts for the rest of your life. I’d rather be in a five-day battle than put up with this. But I’m sure it will seem better once I can look back on it—far back.” Sweeping her cape around her in mock anger, she strode from the room.