The Wizard's Dilemma, New Millennium Edition (25 page)

All right.

They made their way out of the dimness and walked through fifteen or twenty new and different universes in fairly rapid succession. It was getting easier for Kit now to imagine these quickly, but all the same he spent a little more time in each one, making sure the small details looked correct.
After all, if these things are going to be here after I’m gone, I should take a little more care.
In one of them he spent a long while under that world’s Saturn-like rings, watching to make sure they behaved as they really should when they rose and set. In another he stood on a long narrow spit of land pushing out into a turbulent sea, while the waves crashed all around him, and waited what seemed like nearly an hour for what he knew was coming: a fleet of huge-sailed ships that came riding up out of a terrible storm and with difficulty made landfall by that strange new shore.

As the last of the strangers came up out of the sea and into their new home, bearing their black banner with its single white tree, Kit glanced down at Ponch, who sat beside him, supremely unconcerned, scratching behind one ear.

The dog looked up as he finished scratching.
Aren’t you done yet? Why don’t you find one you like and
stay
there?

Kit had to laugh.
Like
you
want to.

Well, yes!

Come on, then. Squirrels…

Ponch leaped forward, and the sea and sky vanished as that universe flowed around them, full-formed—a great grove of those huge trees suddenly standing around the two of them as if it had been there forever. A veritable carpet of squirrels shrieked and leaped away as Ponch came plunging down into the middle of them.

Kit chuckled and went strolling off among the trees while the barking and squeaking and chattering scaled up behind him.
Maybe Neets’ll be back by the time I get home,
he thought, heading into the depths of the green shade.
She’s got to see this.

The greenness went darker around him, the trees becoming fewer but much taller, and their high canopy becoming more solid. Kit stuffed his hands into his pockets and gazed down at the grass as he scuffed through it. He was feeling oddly uncomfortable. Until now any thought of Nita would have been perfectly ordinary. But now thinking about her unavoidably brought up the image of her mother. It was as unavoidable as the idea of what might happen to Nita’s mom.

Imagine if it was my mama. Or my pop…

But Kit couldn’t imagine it. His mouth went dry just at the thought.
It’s no wonder she didn’t call me. She’s been completely freaked out.

The shadows fell more deeply around him as he went, and though Kit could still feel the grass under his feet, he noticed that it was becoming indistinct.
At least
Neets is working on an answer,
he thought. But there was no avoiding the thought that no matter what any of them did for Nita’s mother, wizards or not—finally, there was always the possibility that
nothing
would work.

He passed the last of the trees and came to a place where there was only grass left, vague on the ground as if partially transparent against a dark substrate. Kit walked slowly toward the edge of this, and slowly the light around him faded down toward darkness again—a clean plain empty darkness, not like the place where the millipedes had been: simply space with nothing in it. He paused there, turned to look behind him. Distant, as if seen through a reducing lens, all the trees were gathered together in their little halo of sunlight and glowing green grass, and Kit could just make out a small black shape running back and forth, being initially avoided and then chased by many little gray forms.

Kit turned around and looked out into the dark again. Now it was just an innocent void—no millipedes, no ghosts of childhood fears.
I wonder how I got so scared of the dark, anyway?
It all seemed such a long time ago, and that phase of his life had come to an end, without warning, when he was eight. He could remember it vividly, those first heady nights when he
realized
that he wasn’t afraid anymore and could lie there in the dark and stare at the ceiling of his room and not be afraid of falling asleep—not have to lie there shaking at the thought of what lay waiting for him on the other side of dream.

Before that, the sight of this would have left me
scared, to death.
But now there was something intriguing about this imageless emptiness. Kit stood there for a long while, and then felt something cold and wet touch his hand.

He looked down. Ponch was sitting there beside him, gazing up at him.
Bored already?
Kit said.

Bored? Oh, no. But it isn’t good to leave you by yourself a long time. It’s rude.

Kit smiled.
It’s okay. I coped.
He looked back toward the trees. There was a gray line beneath the nearest trees: the squirrels, looking for Ponch.

Ponch looked back, too.
It happened faster that time,
Ponch said,
this world
.

Yeah,
Kit said.

I think it was because you’d seen it before.

Kit looked down at his dog, briefly distracted. It wasn’t as if Ponch wasn’t normally fairly smart. But this kind of thought, or interaction, even when the Speech was involved, wasn’t exactly what Kit would have expected.
Is he getting smarter? Or am I just getting better at understanding him? Or is it a little of both?

There was no telling. Now Kit looked back into the darkness again and found not even the shadows of fear in it. The only things that now seemed to lie hidden there were wonder and possibility. What Kit found inexpressibly sad, considered together with this, was the thought of what was happening to Nita’s mother, the limits of possibility in his own world all too clearly delineated.

Are we done?
Ponch asked after a moment.

Not just yet,
Kit said.
I think I want to take it a little further.

What will you make?

Kit thought about that, and then, for no particular reason, about the millipedes.
If I can make fears real… could I make hopes real,
too?

He looked out into the dark, and found nothing there for the moment but uncertainty.

Kit shook his head.
I don’t want to make anything just yet,
he said to Ponch.
Let’s just walk.

They headed into the darkness. Kit let the light fade slowly behind them, until the two of them went forward together in utter blackness. There was no way to judge how far they went except by counting paces. Kit soon lost count, and stopped caring about it. There was something strangely liberating about not knowing where you were going, just surrendering yourself to the night. Not making anything, either, but just
being
there, and letting the darkness be there, too, not trying to fill it with form but letting it exist on its own terms.

The blackness pressed in around them until it seemed to Kit to almost have a texture, like water, becoming a medium in its own right—not something unfriendly, just something
there.
It slowly became enjoyable.
If I had any scared-of-the-dark left in me,
Kit thought,
it’s definitely cured now.
But after a while he began to lose interest, and once again he prepared to say good-bye to the dark for the time being.

Then Kit paused, for he thought he saw something.

Often enough, on this trip and the last, he’d had the illusion of seeing something in the blackness when nothing was there. Now Kit tried to see more clearly, and couldn’t get that tiny glitter of light—for it
was
light—to resolve.
Not in front of us, though. …Under us, maybe?

He couldn’t be sure.
Ponch, you smell anything?

No. What is it?

Look down there.

Kit got down on his hands and knees. This brought him closer to the minuscule glint of light, but not close enough. He passed his hands over the surface he’d been walking on. The light was underneath it; inches down, or miles, he couldn’t tell.

I wonder…

Kit pressed against the surface. Did it give a little? It hadn’t ever actually felt springy under his feet, but now Kit found himself wondering if this was because he’d been taking it for granted as a hard surface, and it had accommodated him.

He pressed harder against it. A strange feeling, as if the surface was giving under his hands, or under his will.
Let’s see…

Slowly, slowly Kit’s hands sank into the darkness as he pushed. He slipped one out, rested it where the surface was still hard, and concentrated on the other hand, sliding it further and further down into that cool, resistant darkness. Faintly he could see the glow from that tiny spark or grain of light silhouetted against his fingers. He reached even further down, having to lie flat on the surface now, pushing his arm in up to the shoulder.

Got it—

Kit closed his fist on the light, started to withdraw his arm. It was difficult. The blackness resisted him. As he exerted himself, beginning to breathe hard, he felt a faint stinging sensation between two of his fingers. Looking down, Kit saw the spark escape between them and slip down into the dark again.

He pushed his hand down into the darkness once more, recovering the spark. It did sting, a sharp little sizzle like licking the end of a battery. Kit closed his hand again, pulled upward. Once more the spark slipped free, drifting lower, out of his reach.

Kit took a deep breath, not sure why he had to have this thing…
but I’m going to, and that’s all there is to it.
He reached down as far as possible, but couldn’t quite reach it. Finally he took a breath, held it, and pushed his face and upper body right down into that cool liquid blackness. By stretching his arm down as far as it would go, Kit just managed to get his hand underneath the spark. This time he didn’t try to grasp it, just cupped it in his palm, and slowly, slowly brought his hand up through the pliant darkness. After a few seconds Kit dared to lift his face out, gasping, and pushed himself to his knees, while ever so slowly lifting his cupped hand.

The little glint of light almost slipped out of his hand, just under the surface. Kit stopped, let it settle, then slowly pulled his hand up toward him. The liquid darkness drained out of his hand, pouring away, and abruptly the spark flowed away with it…

…into Kit’s other hand, which he’d put under the one that had the spark in it. As the last ribbons of darkness flowed away, there that tiny glint of light remained.

Kit sat down on the dark surface, getting his breath back. He could feel Ponch’s breath on his neck as the dog looked curiously over his shoulder.
What is it?

I don’t know,
Kit said.
But I’m taking it home.

They both gazed at it. It was not bright: an undifferentiated point source of light, faint, with a slight cool green cast to its radiance, like that of a firefly. Kit was briefly reminded of an old friend, and smiled at the memory. On a whim, he leaned in close to the little spark, breathed on it. It didn’t brighten, as a spark of fire would have, but it stung his hand more emphatically.

Kit reached sideways to his claudication, pulled it open, and with the greatest care slipped the little spark in. When he was sure it was safe, he closed the pocket again and got to his feet, wobbling.

You all right, boss?

I think so. That took a lot out of me. Let’s go home.

All right.
The leash wizardry tightened as Ponch pulled Kit forward.
What was that about?

Kit shook his head.
I’m not sure,
he said. The light of the normal world, nearly blinding by contrast to where they’d been, broke loose around them.
I think it was because it was… all alone.

They stood there under the streetlight, and then Kit undid the leash and let Ponch go sprinting down the road. A late blackbird repeated a few solitary notes up in a
tree. Just me,
it sang,
just me.

Kit stood listening in the dark … then went after Ponch.

It was a quiet drive home from the hospital for Nita and Dairine and their dad. It was as if they’d all been hoping that when the tumor was removed, a closer look at it would prove the diagnosis wrong. But it wasn’t going to happen that way.
I can’t waste a minute, now,
Nita thought.
Every second I’m not working on this, those things are multiplying and spreading around inside her. Kit’ll understand. I’ve got to get going, and I can’t wait for him.

Nonetheless she tried to contact Kit before she left. She couldn’t find him; the manual gave her the same subject-is-not-in-ambit message as before.
He never did get a chance to tell me just where he was, or how he’s doing that,
she thought, dropping her transit circle to the floor and watching it flare with the brief shiver of life and light that meant the spell was ready.
Gotta find out…

Along with several other wizardries, Nita had added her invisibility spell to her charm bracelet, as a small dangling ring with nothing inside it. Now she activated it and a moment later stepped through the transit ring, popping out once more in that vacant doorway in Grand Central. This time of day there were a lot more people around, and a fair number of trains coming in and out. It took Nita some minutes to get down to the worldgate end of the platform, as she had to sidestep in one direction or another about every three paces to keep from being run over by commuters who couldn’t see her. At least the gate was idle and ready for her when she reached it. She went through in a hurry.

On the other side she found the platform empty again, and everything quiet. Nita walked down to the gateway on the Main Concourse and paused there to look at the painted sky high above. The figures of all the constellations were strange—the center of the “sky” not a bull, here, but a strange cat-shape, like a jaguar leaping with outstretched paws. Other odd forms shared the ecliptic with it: lizards and frogs and birds with long curling tails. Even this sky’s color was different, a deep violet blue rather than the creamy Mediterranean color of the ceiling that Nita was familiar with.