Classics Mutilated (2 page)

He let go of the mirror and leaned it against the wall of the cave. It teetered twice then stopped. The girl in the mirror had disappeared while they had argued, he noticed, though her chamber remained in view. Curious, he thought. 

He sat on his knees and drew two circles in the dirt. He poked two dots outside the top of the left circle and one dot with a line across the top at the bottom of the right circle. Then he stood up again and walked to the wall opposite the mirror. He raised his pick and cut several slivers of stone from the wall. Then he put the pick down and gathered up the shards of jagged rock. He walked from one brother to the next and handed each a fragment until he had given away six of them, then kept one for himself and threw the remaining pieces into the dark tunnel. 

"You know our way, brothers," he said. "Cast your vote."

They formed a single line and as each walked by the circles, he placed his stone in one of the circles. Redbeard placed his in the circle with the two dots, as did Newbeard and Tallest. Stumpfinger dropped his in the other circle. Then Finder. 

That made two votes for each. 

After Finder, No-Talk dropped his shard into the two-dot circle, then Grunt-Mouth did the same. 

Leader gazed at the circles. Four votes to two. His vote was the only one left. Not that it would matter. 

He sighed, then grumbled and stepped forward and carefully placed his stone fragment in the circle adorned by one dot and a solid line. Then he turned around and addressed his brothers. 

"Let it be as we agreed. When we leave today, the mirror will go with us as a gift to Snow. Whatever danger befalls us and our love, let it be on our heads."

"Here, here," said his brothers. Then they each shook on the decision with open palms and two nods. 

After they were done and finally returned to work, Leader carried the mirror to the mouth of the cave and laid it out in the sun. He slipped out of his tunic and spit on the cloth, then proceeded to wipe the dust and dirt and mud from the mirror and the frame. 

That's when he felt the symbols etched into the iron. 

Old letters. Older almost than his own people. From just after the time of the great wars. The Dark Days, as the humans called them. His own people called them the Time of Great Adventure but even the oldest of them couldn't remember the time. Only that they had been free to live anywhere in the land, not confined to the Deadlands. 

He cleaned vigorously for nearly an hour, passing the time with a tune that Snow had taught him. He had tried to whistle as she had tried to teach him, but he just couldn't get the knack for it, and had to suffice with humming, though even that was difficult for his throat and mouth to conjure. In his own tongue, the old stories and songs were immensely disagreeable to human ears, and he had refrained from making the noises while in Snow's company, but he did enjoy grunting and burping out a story from the old language in private as often as he could. 

Although—and the thought struck him as odd—Snow's songs were growing on him. Far too sweet and kind for his race. He knew that. But still they were pleasant, and they seemed to relax him. 

There was no hurry, and he let the job take him another hour before he was able to at last make out the symbols around the glass. 

Only, he couldn't read them. Not only were they older than his father's father's father, they weren't in his tongue. 

But neither were they in any human tongue he knew. And admittedly he knew them all. The need to barter had dictated that knowledge. 

"'Tis a bad sign, it is," he said, then spit again on his tunic to clean the glass itself. 

Dinner was ready when the little men arrived home, just vegetable soup this time, since her friends had returned so late from the mines. But they didn't mind, and they each smiled at her in an odd way as she greeted them at the door and reminded them to remove their boots at the door. 

"Such a proper woman," the one she called Smiles said as he entered. With a thick red beard and an almost permanent smile, the name seemed to fit him. Not that he'd acknowledge for himself outside her presence, she knew. His name would change among his brothers as often as his beard or disposition. 

The tallest came behind him and she kissed his head. "Good evening, and how was your day at the mine?"

He only grinned and looked away. 

The one who took care of the others entered last and nodded toward her then bowed slightly. "We have a surprise for you after dinner, Snow," he said. 

Another necklace, she thought, or perhaps a new gown from beyond the mountains. That's what had kept them today. 

The gifts were nice, but so inferior to her trifles at the palace. Still, that was a world and a witch away, and there was no use letting it ruin her mood in front of her friends who worked so hard to make her happy. 

"Oh?" she said, feigning an excited squeal. "Perhaps we should skip dinner and just let me see it now."

"If you want to," said the little one she called Grandpa because his blonde beard reminded her of her grandfather's portrait hanging in the hallway outside her chamber at the castle. 

"No," gruffed the leader of the group, a squattish stump of a man she called Squash for no other reason than it seemed to fit him. He coughed then relaxed his voice. "We will wait. Our stomachs are empty, and food and beer will make the giving more enjoyable for all of us."

"I certainly can't argue with that, Squash," she said, curtsying as she spoke, then let him take her lean fingers in his stubby hand and escort her to the table. 

Once dinner was eaten and the dishes cleared away for her to wash, Smiles and Grandpa grabbed her hands and whisked her from the table toward the door. They led her outside, the others following as a group. She couldn't get back without trampling through them, so thickly were they packed around and behind her. Only Squash stood off at a distance, watching cautiously as he smoked his pipe. The foul odor of the ground bitterroot was nauseating from even a distance, but she dared not say anything to him, as it seemed to be his only real vice aside from typical dwarfish issues with hygiene. 

The group led her to the edge of the garden they had dug out for her. Leaning against the rock-hewn gate was a flat package about four feet tall and wrapped in a cloth tarp. 

"Open it," they cried, almost in unison.

Except for Squash, who remained a few feet away, still smoking his obnoxious pipe. 

"Okay," she said and knelt down to unwrap the gift. As she did, her skirt fell away to one side, exposing her knee and she noticed that all the brothers grew quiet at once. When she looked, they were all staring at her smooth, white skin. She quickly recovered her leg. "Sorry about that."

Just as quickly, the little men started to grunt and whisper and jabber with each other as she returned to the gift and lifted the edge of the tarp away from the top corner of the package. 

"Hurry, hurry, Snow."

"Yes, we want to see your smile when you learn what we brought you."

"Hurry, hurry, hurry."

So she did. She ripped the tarp away and exposed the gift, twirling around with a flourish as she did. Almost in a dance, just for the benefit of her little friends. 

Then she stopped.

Cold.

The gift.

It was a mirror. 

A very, very expensive and old mirror. 

Inside the mirror was a young woman, blonde, staring out at Snow with the same intense gaze with which she was staring at the girl in the mirror. 

She'd only seen a mirror this extravagant once before. 

Only once. 

Nearly fifteen years ago. 

In her stepmother's chamber.

It had the same girl inside. 

But the girl hadn't aged a single day.

The girl, Alice thought, the girl, the girl she thought she'd never see again. The hideous little blessed bastards had brought her directly to the stepdaughter of the wretched woman who had imprisoned her behind the glass and left her to die.

Only she hadn't died.

No. She had instead conquered the people in that looking glass world and become the queen of her new domain. It had taken many hundreds of years and cost thousands of lives, but when she found the book and formed an alliance with the elder gods, she had finally defeated and beheaded the evil queen who stole the hearts of her subjects to sacrifice to the dreaded Jabberwock. 

Captive to the Queen, the beast had not been native to the land, but a dumb offspring of the elder gods from beyond. And when they had discovered how one of their own, albeit it one not a god as such, had been enslaved, they tore the life from the land and left it parched and mostly dead. 

But time causes all things to change and when the creatures from beyond had moved on, Alice merely waited, biding her time as the green returned to the soil and the fragrance to the air, and even the creatures of the woodlands and seas forgot of the darkness of the war and saw only the bright new beginning of their new Queen Alice.

Not only that, but she had also used her time in exile to befriend and nurse even that dumb Jabberwock until it would eat live rodents from her hand without so much as drawing a single drop of blood from her human skin. 

It refused to leave with its own kind. It was for the best, she knew. Its presence in her court secured the loyalty of the people. 

And she had reigned for a glorious epoch, it seemed, but even a kingdom isn't necessarily a home, she had learned, and over time, all thoughts of political victory had simply faded away, replaced by the singular focus of returning home to kill the witch responsible for her exile. 

No queen could be slave to another and still be queen, she had said to her subjects many times, and for that, the witch would have to die.

And her own stepdaughter would be the sword to raise against her. 

Only there was the matter of the runes. 

Alice stared at the dark-haired girl, envious for a moment for her pale, young skin. Already thousands of years older than she had been when she had fallen prey to the witch, Alice's own skin looked as young as the girl's but carried the calloused tightness of years of struggle. 

The creatures were helping the girl to her feet again. She had fallen aback at the unveiling of the cursed looking glass and landed in a disheveled heap in the dirty path. Alice laughed. Then thought it best to smile instead. No sense in looking maniacal toward the only person who had a chance of freeing her from the multiple lifetimes of trapped torment.

When the girl was up and steady she returned to the mirror and cautiously placed her hands on the glass. Alice nodded and placed her own hands opposite those of the girl. The girl gasped and Alice said, "It's okay. It's safe," though she knew the girl couldn't hear her across dimensions. 

Using the frame of her matching mirror in her own chamber as a guide, she traced the outer edge of the glass where it met the iron frame. The girl looked at her, confused, and Alice traced the edges again, this time pointing as she did to the characters etched into the iron. 

"Come on, little witch-child, don't be a fool," Alice mumbled, tracing the mirror's edge a third time. "It's not that difficult, child."

The girl shook her head, as if to directly counter Alice's comments, and Alice felt her mouth tense and her anger find a home in her brow. She forced a smile and reminded herself to be patient, that she'd waited for more than a thousand years and a few more minutes or hours or even days more couldn't hurt her further. 

Alice stepped back and settled into her chair. How, she wondered, just how could she get through to this stupid girl and her hideous helpers?

"Ulysses!" she yelled.

In the chamber she waited for the thumping of padded paws. She was not disappointed—nor was she often—and within moments the armored white rabbit appeared in the doorway. 

"Yes, my queen?"

"I need parchment."

"Yes, my queen." The rabbit stood up straight, as straight as a creature of his sort could, and puffed out his chest, pushing the armor out full and gleaming. "May I ask why?"

Alice crossed her legs and puffed out a loud, heavy breath. "This fool of a girl is as dumb as an ox, and can't understand that I need her to read the runes around the mirror's frame."

"Have you asked her nicely?"

Alice cut her eyes at the rabbit, one of the few of her subjects who could get away with such sarcasm. "That's why I need the tablet." She motioned the creature forward and when he was close enough she rubbed his head. "She can't hear me through the portal. I'm going to write her a message, you brainless ball of fur."

Ulysses pulled away and straightened his fur. "You know I despise that," he said. "I am the Captain of the Queen's Guard, not a pet for you to coddle and coo."

Alice laughed. "And I'm the queen you guard, Captain Ulysses, and the one who named you and set you apart from the rest of the forest creatures who grew dumb when the former Queen's magic died with her. If I wish to cuddle and coo you, believe me, I shall."

Undaunted, the rabbit said, "I will return with a tablet, Alice."

Alice smiled, sincerely for her friend, unlike the forced and irritated smile at the dunce of a princess she was dependent upon. "Thank you." She petted his head again, just once, and tussled the fur there. "And I promise to reward you greatly when I escape from this world and reclaim my own homeland."

"And in the meantime, my queen?"

She leaned back in her chair again, uncrossed her legs, then pushed up against the oak arms until she was standing. "In the meantime, my friend, I will return to the mirror and try to educate this illiterate princess."

"By your leave, Alice."

"Do they not educate young women any longer in my homeland?" she mumbled as she took her place in front of the mirror and watched as the girl and her darshve companions did the same to her. 

Third Movement—In a Land of War

Leader gazed at the fair-haired girl, learning her face, remembering it and comparing it to all the faces he had made himself remember during his life. There was no match, but there were faces like it, faces that were etched in lines of sadness and colored with despair. Faces that time had painted with pain and outlined in anger.