The Wrong Side of Magic (10 page)

“Pity. Some reindeer have atrocious manners.”

“They never let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games.”

Nigel let out a bray. “Who would want to? I just told you those blokes are terrible cheaters. Knaves, every single one of them.”

Hudson couldn't remember the next line. The image of a bunch of reindeer sitting around a table cheating at poker was stuck in his mind. “Um…” he said.

“Listen,” Nigel broke in. “You've given singing a go. Unfortunately, it's not where your talents lie. And aren't carols supposed to be about beautiful things? Who wants to hear about mean-spirited reindeer? If you don't mind, I'll listen to Charlotte for a bit.”

Nigel galloped to catch up with his brother, then trotted beside him quietly. Hudson was only a little offended. He liked hearing Charlotte sing better, too. She matched her tune to the clomping of the unicorns' hooves so they sounded like drumbeats. Several black-and-white-striped birds fluttered over, blending their pianolike chirps with the melody.

The group traveled through the forest for hours this way. While Charlotte sang, she braided Cecil's mane. She knew songs about the beauty of the mountains in Gigantica, the perils of the waves in the Sea of Life, the mysteries of the Forest of Possibilities, and how happy the people were under King Arawn's rule. Those songs made her sad. She sang a ballad about the goodness of unicorns, and Nigel and Cecil made her repeat it a half-dozen times, singing along as she did.

Hudson learned many things about unicorn-back riding. Most of them had to do with how uncomfortable unicorn backs were. Hours of jostling up and down made his legs ache.

The unicorns didn't stop trotting. Not even when night blackened the forest into shifting shadows. Hudson was glad the unicorns could see in the dark, although he sure couldn't. More than once, Nigel went under a low-hanging branch that whipped into Hudson's face. Nigel always called out, “Sorry, young chap,” afterward, but somehow Hudson doubted he was.

Really, with the way fairy tales went on and on about how awesome unicorns were, you wouldn't expect them to hold grudges.

Finally, the trees thinned, and Hudson saw a few lights glowing in the distance. Grammaria.

Charlotte looked at the lights longingly. “I'm home.”

“Home, sweet home,” Hudson said, to let her know he understood.

“No,” she said. “Home, dangerous home.”

 

6

HUDSON AND CHARLOTTE
dismounted at the edge of the forest. Cecil and Nigel wouldn't go any farther toward the city than that. Unicorns had a policy of staying away from places where people congregate. This was why unicorns were never seen in cities, stadiums, or stores on Black Friday.

Charlotte kissed both unicorns on their noses. “We appreciate your help.”

Hudson added, “Thanks for bringing us here.”

Nigel eyed Hudson warily. “Take care of Charlotte. It's the least you can do.”

“I will,” Hudson said. “Seriously, I'm a pure-in-heart sort of guy.”

The unicorn let out a disbelieving whinny. “Conduct yourself that way, then. Remember what I said before: Rude behavior will get you nowhere in life.” With that, the unicorns turned and disappeared back into the tree cover.

Charlotte and Hudson left the forest and tromped in the direction of Grammaria. They still had to cross through farmland to reach the city walls; fields of crops patchworked the land in front of them. It would be at least an hour's walk before they reached the city gates. They headed down a trail that snaked through the fields, and the night seemed oddly quiet now that Charlotte wasn't singing.

A multitude of stars shone above them, and a fat, round moon slept high in the sky, full and self-satisfied. Hudson couldn't tell what sort of plants grew in the fields. They looked dark and stalky. When the wind blew through them, they made a soft hushing sound, like they didn't want anyone to disturb their rest.

Charlotte walked easily, without evident soreness, which told Hudson that she was used to riding horses, or unicorns, or whatever else people rode here. Hudson's legs ached so badly it was hard for him to walk at all. His tailbone felt like someone had kicked it.

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder and noticed he wasn't keeping up. “Do you need some painkiller?”

“Yeah, that would help.”

She pulled the metal box of candy hearts from her backpack, shook one into her palm, and handed it to him. “Here you go.”

He stared at the little heart in disbelief. “Valentine's candy?”

“It's a piece of love. That's the best kind of painkiller there is.”

“Love,” he repeated. She had told him to leave his first-aid kit, and she'd taken candy hearts instead. He made himself walk forward again, even though his legs protested.

“I gave you a pink one. That's a mother's love. It's some of the best.”

He put it in his mouth, even though he didn't believe the candy would do anything. It was sweet with an edge of tanginess, like orange juice and 7-Up mixed together. Surprisingly, the pain in his legs faded.

Hudson took the candy out of his mouth and examined it the best he could in the dark. “I thought this was something from my world, but it's magic, isn't it?”

“Yeah.” Charlotte picked up her pace again. “Love is always magic.”

He put the candy back in his mouth. Part of him thought he should save the rest of it until later, just in case he needed more painkiller. The heart tasted so good, though. It made him think of the times his mom had tucked him into bed and kissed his forehead.

Hudson and Charlotte walked past a few darkened cottages scattered amid the farmland. Some were stone and some were wood. All of them had an abundance of bushes, flowers, and ivy growing up walls and crawling over fences. The leaves rustled in the breeze, gently patting the homes like a mother calming a child at bedtime.

When Hudson and Charlotte were almost through the fields, he realized that the dark stripe that ran in front of Grammaria's walls was a river. It wrapped around the city, keeping out invaders, robbers, and wandering eighth-grade students.

A few minutes later, Hudson and Charlotte's path joined one that led directly to the city gates. A sign there read:

WELCOME TO GRAMMARIA,
the home of
KING VAYGRAN THE MAGNIFICENT,
the leader who brought Logos
peace, prosperity, and unity.

Charlotte scowled at the sign, and her eyes grew hard.

“I've got a pen,” Hudson said. “Do you want me to cross something out?”

“It's all true,” she said, still frowning at the sign. “When King Vaygran took the throne, he decreed that war was unlawful. No one disagreed with that. No one wanted to support war. He declared that all weapons except his own were illegal and had his soldiers gather up the rest.”

“Oh,” Hudson said. He could already tell this story wouldn't end well.

“King Vaygran's next decree outlawed poverty. No one argued with that, either. Maybe because they didn't have weapons anymore. Since poverty was illegal, the poor were rounded up and sent away.”

“And unity?” Hudson asked, with a sick feeling running through him.

Charlotte turned away from the sign and strode down the path again. “He decreed that the country must be unified, which basically means everyone has to agree with him. Anyone else is breeding disunity.”

“No one stands up to him?”

She shook her head. “Some people actually think the king has given them peace, prosperity, and unity.”

“What about the people who don't? Why don't they do something?”

Charlotte let out a grunt, and her speed picked up with her anger. “The Land of Scholars tried.”

“What happened?”

“Now it's called the Land of Desolation.”

They reached the edge of the river. Lights along the top of Grammaria's walls illuminated its crenellated outline and the towers that rose up at the corners.

“The drawbridge has already been raised,” Charlotte said, “so you'll need to take a ferry over.”

On the ride through the forest, when Charlotte had taken a break from singing, she'd given him instructions about what to do once he got inside. He would make his way to the castle, walk across the courtyard, then go to a walled garden on the left side of the castle. A guard stood at the garden's doorway collecting an entrance fee of one silver coin. People came from all over the kingdom to visit the garden and sample the fruit from the compliment trees there.

Hudson was supposed to ignore the trees. Very often, after someone tried one piece of fruit, they wanted another, and another, until they stayed in the garden for hours—days even—listening to compliments. “It's always flattering to find out that the trees think well of you,” Charlotte had said, “but keep in mind that trees think well of everybody. Trees aren't that discerning.”

Magical statues were spread throughout the garden, each one in the shape of a different animal. If a person laid a gold coin near the animal, he could ask it a question, and it would answer.

Many people asked their questions of the owl because he was wise. Others chose the wolf because wolves, living in packs as they did, understood social issues. The deer was a favorite, too. She knew answers to questions about grace and beauty. Mostly, though, people asked their questions to the lion. He was the most powerful animal and sat regally in the center of the garden.

“Don't ask the lion,” Charlotte told him. “Most of the time he doesn't know what he's talking about, but he always thinks he's right anyway. And if he doesn't know the answer, he just makes up something that sounds good.”

“The lion is lying,” Hudson said, committing this piece of information to memory.

“You want to find a tiny statue of a bee. She's near the lion's tail—so small most people don't notice her. If anyone knows where Princess Nomira is, the bee will, and she'll tell you the truth.”

This seemed like a lot of trust to put in an insect. “Why is the bee smarter than the deer, owl, wolf, or lion?”

“Bees aren't showy,” Charlotte said. “They go everywhere, getting their jobs done, without anyone really paying attention to them. My father says bees are like common sense. Everybody takes it for granted, and few people use it.”

Hudson thought this over. “We should ask where the royal scepter is, too. We could use it to free the princess.”

Charlotte shook her head. “We only have one gold coin. And besides, wherever Princess Nomira hid the scepter, she most likely used its magic to ensure that only she could retrieve it. Once we free her, she'll know how to find it, and she can use it to defeat King Vaygran.”

Now Hudson regarded the sprawling city walls and hoped he could locate the magic bee in the darkness. Charlotte had already told him he couldn't use his flashlight. It would brand him as a stranger from the Land of Banishment, and people would ask why he was there. She had no confidence in his ability to come up with a believable alibi.

Charlotte opened her backpack and gave Hudson the silver coin he needed for the guard and the gold coin to lay by a statue. She also took out a small bottle. “Shake it when you need some light. It's full of hope.”

He took the bottle. “I'd feel better if this were full of matches.”

“Matches burn out after a few seconds. Hope lasts longer.”

He turned the bottle one way and then the other. “It looks empty. Does that mean we're hopeless?”

“I hope not.”

While he slipped the bottle into his jacket pocket, Charlotte went through her backpack again, this time taking out the silver bell and two marbles. “These are muselings for the ferry.” She handed him a cloudy red one. “Use this one to return back here.”

Charlotte rang the bell softly, and it made a sound like an airy laugh that tumbled through the night air. In a quiet voice, she called, “We need a ferry to cross the river!”

Or at least he thought that's what she said. He didn't see a boat on the riverbank anywhere. Instead, something small and glowing zipped past him. It flew over to Charlotte and hovered in front of her face.

Hudson gawked at the thing, not quite sure he was seeing right. The image didn't change. A girl who was smaller than his hand floated in the air, her bright white wings fluttering. She had dark blue hair that hung past her shoulders, and her dress looked like it was made from a filmy fishtail. Charlotte had called a
fairy,
not a
ferry
.

A tiny pad of paper and a pen no thicker than a piece of yarn appeared in the fairy's hands. “One passenger or two?”

“One,” Charlotte said. “And he'll be returning tonight.”

The fairy marked something on her paper. “First class or economy?”

“I can pay one museling each way,” Charlotte said.

“Economy.” The fairy made another mark on her paper. When she finished, she slid her pen behind her ear, ripped off the paper, and dropped it into Charlotte's outstretched hand. The pad of paper disappeared from the fairy's hand, replaced by a wand. She flicked it at the marble in Charlotte's palm, and the museling rose up like a soap bubble, shrinking as it flew over to the fairy. When the museling hovered in front of her, the fairy grabbed it and popped it into her mouth. She smiled and glowed brighter.

Still smiling, the fairy zipped over to Hudson. “Welcome to Fairy Riverside Travel,” she chimed. “We hope you have a safe trip and enjoy your time in the city of Grammaria. Remember to watch for predators, mischief, and magic. When you're ready for your return trip, just ring the bell for assistance.”

Charlotte handed Hudson the bell, and he put it in his pocket. “What was that about predators?”

Instead of answering, the fairy waved her wand at him. His vision went foggy for a moment, and he felt himself shrinking, falling. Alarmed, Hudson let out a yell. Instead of his voice, a high-pitched noise came from his throat. He flung his arms out wide to catch himself and found he had no arms. In their place, two dark wings beat against the air, propelling him upward. He was a bird now.
A bird.
No. This absolutely couldn't be happening.