Lavender-Green Magic (15 page)

“You're going the wrong way. It is right—always to the right!” Judy said as Holly made her first turn.

Confident she had not forgotten that one small part of her dreaming, Holly shook her head. “No—it's left—I remember.”

“Widdershins.” Crock spoke and his one word echoed in that dark tunnel as if several people, all safely hidden, but still there, had answered him.

“What does that mean?” Judy asked. She held more tightly to Crock's hand and he appeared content to have it so.

“It's something out of the old times,” he told her. “Widdershins means against the way the clock goes, against how the sun comes up and down. I don't know why I remembered that right now, but I do. There was something else”—he was frowning a little—”no, I don't recall that at all.”

This tunnel did not take on any of the greenness of renewed leaves as they went, though Holly kept expecting it to. She hoped each time she made a fresh choice, and took another left-handed path, that they would see a change coming over the brush. However, though the walls remained starkly dead and leafless, there was a lower growth here also, and that thickened as they went.

There were toadstools, small at first, growing larger and more evil-looking all the time. Some were a dirty gray, and others were scarlet or spotted. There was a bright yellow one more like a thick finger. When Holly's boot brushed one of these, it popped open and there was a very bad smell. Other things grew, too, such as Holly had never seen—queer grayish fat-leaved things which had long stems rising from their
center. These stems supported cuplike heads, which swayed in the children's direction as they passed, as if the plants could sense them.

The stone pavement underfoot was slimed, and small nasty-looking fungi grew in the cracks between. To step on one of these did not bring a good smell, but instead a bad one. The children might as well have been in a pit filled with garbage.

More and more Holly wanted to give up, go back. But she would never admit that to Crock and Judy. Something in her would not allow her to say that she was wrong, that they must stop right here. Even when she tried, it was as if her tongue could not shape those words.

It did not grow warmer as they went, either. On the contrary, it was chill and damp, and they huddled deeper into their coats instead of taking them off as they had on their first trip through the maze. Holly stopped as something moved ahead. It was as gray as the strange flowers (if flowers these were) and it moved without a sound. She gave a little catch of breath. Surely—that had been a snake! Then it was gone, and she could not be certain.

She tried to turn around, no longer ashamed of admitting that she was in the wrong, that they must get out of here as quickly as they could. Then, to her horror, Holly found out that she could not do as she wished, as if something outside herself were pulling her on and on.

They came to another forking, a wider one. The pavement was sunken here and a muddy pool of water filled the hollow. Looming above it was another of the brush creatures.
This was different from the guardians of the gate, but its face was just as frightening, a face which seemed very clear even with no leaves to round out cheeks and chin.

“I want to go home!” Judy cried out suddenly. “Crock, let's go home!”

Holly looked back over her shoulder. Though Judy was plainly upset, she had neither paused nor turned back. It was if that thing which was pulling Holly ahead held her sister also.

Holly heard Crock say unhappily, “I don't think we can, Judy.”

“Why?” His twin's question was shrill. “Don't pull me like that, Crock! Let me go. I'm going back, right now.”

“I'm not pulling!” Crock sounded alarmed. “Judy—I can't let go—honest I can't. You try—”

She must have done so without result. Her voice was even louder then as she cried out, “Please—I can't let go of Crock's hand! Holly, you've got to get us out—you have to! I don't believe this is the way to Tamar. She has good things, these are all bad ones. Holly—get us out!”

Holly tried to stop, to turn. But she could not. “I—I can't, Judy—something won't let me. It's making me go on—”

“Mom—I want my mom!” Judy cried, and then her plea became a helpless sobbing.

Holly had been afraid other times in her life, but she knew she had never been as afraid as she was now. This was a bad dream. Oh, please let it be just a bad dream! If she could only wake up—

There was another fork in the path with one of those horrible
animals looking right at her. She saw big shiny places in the brush where its eyes should be. These were like mirrors. As Holly stared up into them against her will, she could see reflected there the three of them—Judy crying, Crock looking very set of face, and herself—but small, very small. As if that big brush terror were so large it might reach out its upraised paw (for this one had one paw with long claws, too, represented by thick thorns, big as Holly's own finger) and smash them right down into the mud and slime under their boots.

Something very queer happened as Holly continued to look straight into those dull mirror eyes. First, she was not afraid anymore. What was there to be afraid of? Bushes and toadstools, one could see those anywhere at any time. And why was Judy crying? That was stupid, but then Judy often
was
stupid. Judy was a crybaby and she was jealous. She wanted to be the only one who could come into the maze and find Tamar. Now that Holly was proving how wrong she was, she pretended to be afraid, and wanted to go back. Sure, Crock was taking sides with her. He would—because they were twins and both of them always took sides against her, Holly.

Just look at them now in the nearest mirror eye. Why, she was big and clear and they were both small and misty-looking. She was the one who right from the first had had the idea about warning Tamar and making sure the witch was not caught.

She had been a little stupid herself about one thing. Of course a witch lived in the maze—a witch with the power to
wish anything she wanted to happen. Just wait until Holly could have that power, too. And she could. Holly nodded to the big clear reflection in the mirror eye. She, Holly, could do anything—if she wanted to badly enough. Anyone could, if she worked hard enough and did not let anyone else talk her out of it. Like Judy and Crock had tried to talk her out of this.

No, she was right and they were wrong!

Without a backward glance at the twins, Holly turned away from the mirror eyes. Oh, they would follow, she smiled—they had to follow. The witch wish would see to that. And would they ever be surprised! Only she would not. She was Holly, and she was going to have some witch wishes of her own. There were lots of things she could think of wishing right now—things that would make Becky Eames and Martha Torrey sure wish they had never talked about
her!
Now Holly laughed as she thought of several very funny and unpleasant things a witch wish might do.

“Holly, please—don't sound like that!” Judy's voice was faint, as if it came from a long distance away. There was no use paying any attention to her. Judy did not know anything, she was a silly little girl, no bigger really than she had looked in the mirror eyes. A silly little girl of no importance at all. Holly made no answer.

She was walking faster now. Now there
was
a change in the walls, they were turning green after all. Why had she thought those toadstools and ghost flowers so horrible? Really, they were not. They had much more
character
(Holly chose a word she had heard Mrs. Finch use in that fashion)
than just flowers one could see anywhere. Those toadstools were so big they must be the largest ones in the whole world.

The path made one more turn and here there was no brush animal to mark it, rather a tall stone pillar, and on the top of that a skull of some animal with great branching horns. The skull was half-covered with a greenish moss, but Holly had the feeling that it knew her, had guessed she would be coming, and was saying hello in an odd way inside her head, not so she could hear it with her ears.

Then she was out in the open. There was Tamar's house—just as she knew it would be. Of course, it was not summer, but you could see it even clearer with all the flowers and vines gone. And there was a steady coil of smoke from the wide chimney. But this time the door did not stand open—it was firmly closed.

Well, that was all right. Who was going to leave the door wide open on a cold fall day? Holly nodded to herself. You see, if you just thought about anything properly, you had the answer right before you.

The garden was just where it had been before. But now it was all dead, withered stalks of things standing here and there, blackened clumps of plants on the ground. It smelled dead, too, a nasty smell. But how else could it smell when it was dead? She must remember to think clearly, not keep comparing it in her mind with the other time she had seen it. That had been summer, this was fall. Grandma said things died quickly when they got a touch of freezing frost.

In the center of the garden was still the pool, and this had
dull greenish-looking water. There was a dead bird lying on the rim, another floating in the water. What did that matter—they were only birds. People mattered. Animals and birds, they were only in this world for people to use as they pleased.

As Holly came along the walk, heading confidently for the closed door of the house beyond, something she had thought a big lump of frozen mud came to life and writhed away to the pool edge to splash down into the turgid water. A snake? No, she was not quite sure what it had been, and for an instant her step faltered. Then she remembered she was that big confident Holly she had seen in the mirror.

Nothing would happen to her. She was coming on a witch wish, and she was expected. What did she care for dead birds or a crawling thing in a dead garden?

In her mind there came a thought which was not hers.

“Well done, my brave poppet!”

How could someone “talk” into your mind that way? Still, the big Holly she had become somehow did not find this alarming.

“Better and better, my poppet!” approved the one she could not see or hear but who was talking to her. “Of use to my shaping, well chosen indeed!”

She was almost to the door when someone dragged her backward a step or two with a demanding pull at her arm. Hot with anger, Holly looked around.

Crock had her, and on the other side Judy closed in, both trying to keep her here from the door. What was the matter with them? They were mean, jealous! They did not want her
to get the witch wishes. Well, she would—and when she did, just let the two of them look out!

A toad—she'd wish a toad to follow Judy around. To get into her bed—

“Splendid, poppet!” agreed the mind-voice. “And for this venturesome lad who would keep thee from thy pleasure?”

She—she would think of something.

“Let me go!” Holly cried out in a wild, angry voice. “You can't keep me from my wishes, you can't!”

“But Holly, look!” Judy was crying again, tears running down her round cheeks. “This can't be Tamar's house. Look up there on the roof! Tamar would never have
those
on her house. Look up there.”

Holly's gaze reluctantly followed Judy's pointing finger. On the very edge of the roof above the door a row of small gray-white skulls had been fastened. Some were birds' skulls, she thought; others must be those of little animals. But what did a lot of old bones matter? They were only the signs of power—

“Just so, poppet, just so,” agreed the voice in her head.

“Let me go!” She began to struggle against Crock and Judy's hold with all her might. She had to be free, to open that door, to meet face to face the one who had called her, to get her witch wishes so she could do what had to be done.

Holly did not quite know what she was to do, but it was very important and the time was short. If she could just get away from the twins. However, together they were more than a match for her, though she kicked out and tried to pull free. They were dragging her back—back away from the house. She must get free.

“Aye, the time for play be over.” The voice in her head sounded louder, and as if it were a little angry now also. Then Holly saw the door of the house begin to swing open; it moved slowly, as if by its own efforts and from no real push.

Now that voice sounded in her ears instead of in her head, while Crock and Judy stood as if suddenly frozen, so that Holly knew they could hear it also: “In the name of Hecate, I bid thee enter—”

Holly went forward confidently without even glancing around to see if the others were following. At first sight this was the same house they had visited before. But the woman standing by the hearth in much the same way—she was not Tamar!

She was smiling gently, not watching the kettle before her, though her hand still moved to stir its contents with a long-handled spoon. Where Tamar had been plain of face and of clothing, this girl (for she looked much younger than Tamar) was very pretty. She wore the same type of cap, but it was pushed farther to the back of her head. Showing around her face were small curls of hair which were almost silver-fair. The wide skirt of her dress was green and it was kilted up over a second skirt of a darker green, while her long apron and the kerchief over her bodice were both edged with narrow plaiting, also of green.

The lighter green of her dress matched the color of her
eyes. In her face these seemed very large, beneath brows and behind lashes which, in spite of the fairness of her hair, were dark. There was a dimple in her cheek as her smile grew broader.

“Good morrow to thee, my poppet,” she said directly to Holly. “And to thy kin be it also a merry-a-day. Thou art prompt to the bidding, and that be in thy favor, small sister.”

Holly stood tongue-tied. This was not Tamar. Then who was it standing at Tamar's hearth, using her kettle as if this were her home?