The Wrong Side of Magic (4 page)

There was no use in trying to catch up with them. Hudson stopped running and looked down the path, panting. What did a person do when he was stuck in a magic forest with trolls, giants, and no idea of how to get home? Somehow, none of his schoolteachers had ever covered this topic. Ditto for the stories he'd read.

He would have to retrace his steps, find the missing knob to the compass, and hope he could figure out a way to make it take him home.

He walked back along the path, past pink bushes, tufts of purple grass, and green ferns that seemed out of place for looking so ordinary. Several types of flowers grew along the way: orange ones that shot up like miniature flames on stems, white ones that resembled upside-down jellyfish, and pink striped ones whose petals twirled in the wind like pinwheels. Were any of them catflowers? Then again, catflower might be like cauliflower—something that didn't look like a flower at all.

Hudson stared at the plants, hoping they might produce name tags. Finally, he reached out and touched a white one. The petals immediately drew inward, disappearing into the stem like a sea anemone.

Hudson drew his hand away almost as quickly. Maybe he shouldn't pick random flowers. What if some were poisonous, or venomous, or something equally troubling? It would be safer to go back home, ask Charlotte what catflower looked like, and then come back for some.

He traced the unicorns' footsteps along the path to the place where they'd gone from a trot to a canter. Then he found the spot where he'd knelt on the dirt. At least he thought it was the right place. He slipped the compass into his jacket pocket and crawled around on his hands and knees searching for the knob. His hands kept getting dirtier. Minutes passed by. He would have given up if he could think of anything else to do. What if he couldn't find the knob? What if he found it and the compass still couldn't take him back home? He could be stuck here indefinitely.

He heard a voice coming from down the path. “What curse do you suppose has got hold of that boy? Look, he thinks he's some sort of beast.”

 

3

HUDSON GLANCED UP
and was relieved to see a girl and boy coming around a bend in the path. The two looked to be about Hudson's age. Both had pale green eyes, sleek brown hair, and high cheekbones. Strings of light blue flowers were woven into the girl's long hair, and her dress's scalloped edges mimicked leaves. The guy's hair was tied behind his head in a short ponytail, and he wore a long green shirt, tight yellow pants, and bright blue boots. The sort of clothing forest elves might wear.

As the two made their way down the path, they watched Hudson with a mixture of disdain and humor. “My guess is,” the guy said, “he thinks he's a dirt-sifting badger.”

The girl tilted her head, studying Hudson. “My guess is, he thinks he's a dog, and he sadly never learned how to dig holes properly.”

“We'll ask him,” the guy said, “and see who wins this round.”

Hudson sat up and wiped his hands on his jeans, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “I don't think I'm anything. I'm just trying to find something I lost.”

“You don't think you're anything?” the guy repeated. He was almost to Hudson now. “What would that make you, then—talking air?”

“Well,” the girl said, “we both lost that round, but you lost worse than I did. A dirt-sifting badger wasn't even close.”

Hudson didn't know whether the two were making fun of him or just joking around with him. Judging from the guy's smirk, Hudson suspected it was the first.

The girl scanned the path near Hudson. “What did you lose?”

Before Hudson could answer, the guy said, “His wits.”

The girl shot her companion an exasperated look.

“What?” he asked. “I thought we were still playing the guessing game.”

Hudson ignored the guy and spoke to the girl. “I lost the knob to my compass. It's gold and”—he held his thumb and forefinger close together—“about this big. Do you see it anywhere? I really need to find it.” The girl took a few steps around Hudson, checking among the pebbles that lined the road. The guy didn't move.

“Is it real gold?” he asked, sounding doubtful.

“I don't know,” Hudson said. “It goes to this.” He pulled the compass from his pocket. As he held it up, he noticed that smaller print had appeared in between the lines for
FOREST OF POSSIBILITIES, SEA OF LIFE, GRAMMARIA,
and
GIGANTICA.
The lines read
BEWARE OF TROLLS, BEWARE OF WAVES, BEWARE OF KING VAYGRAN,
and
BEWARE OF GIANTS.
The needle pointed at
BEWARE OF TROLLS.

Hudson scanned the surrounding forest. He didn't see anything suspicious among the trees. “Huh,” he said, and squinted, looking harder.

“Is something wrong with your compass?” the guy asked.

“It says ‘Beware of Trolls.'”

“Oh, I found it.” The girl plucked the compass's knob from the side of the path, where it must have rolled and been hidden in a scattering of yellow leaves. She walked over to Hudson and handed him the knob.

“Thanks!” Hudson got to his feet with relief. He pushed the knob back onto the compass, then moved it to see which direction the trolls were. Regardless of where he pointed it, the warning remained the same.

For a compass, it didn't do a very good job of showing you where things were.

“Maybe it really is broken,” he said. Before the other two could ask why he kept turning in circles, he added, “No matter where I stand, the compass says ‘Beware of Trolls.'” He peered into the forest, trying to see beyond the shifting shadows the trees cast. “Did you see any signs of trolls along the road?”

The guy and girl exchanged a look that indicated they didn't think him to be terribly bright. “What sort of signs do you think trolls leave?” the boy asked.

Hudson shrugged. “Footprints … fleeing animals … troll calls…” He had no idea what trolls sounded like, or even if they made noise, and hoped he hadn't made himself appear stupider.

“I wouldn't trouble yourself about trolls.” The girl took a closer look at the compass. “They're not as bad as everyone thinks.”

“Really?” Hudson couldn't tell if she was serious. “Aren't they dangerous?”

“Everything can be dangerous,” the guy said. “Especially people—but you probably don't worry about running into them.”

Hudson supposed this was a valid point, since he had been relieved when he saw the two of them coming down the path.

The girl brushed some remaining flecks of dirt from her fingers. “That reminds me, we never introduced ourselves. I'm Glamora. This is my twin brother, Proval.”

“She always tells people we're twins,” Proval added, “because she doesn't want anyone to think I'm older.”

“He's not,” Glamora said.

“I am, too,” Proval said. “By three brays of a donkey.”

Glamora turned away from her brother, ending that discussion. “What's your name?”

“I'm Hudson. Hudson Brown.”

Proval cocked his head. “HudsonHudsonBrown. A rather long name. Is that standard in your family, or did your mum not care for you much?”

“It's just one Hudson, and you don't have to say the Brown part. That's my last name.”

Glamora's eyebrows drew together. “If it's your most recent name, shouldn't it be the one you use?”

Suddenly a lot of things about Charlotte became clearer. People in Logos seemed to take what you said literally. “You can call me whatever you want,” Hudson said.

“Yes,” Proval said with a flicker of mockery. “I bet people do.”

Glamora nudged her brother to be quiet. “We're on our way to our village. Do you have a place to stay for the night?”

“I can't stay that long,” Hudson said. “I'd like to find some catflower, and then I have to figure out a way to go back home.” He needed help, and perhaps these two could offer some, so he added, “I'm from a different world. Do either of you know how to travel by compass?”

A smug smile broke across Proval's face. “I knew you were from the Land of Banishment.” He said the sentence as though Hudson had been hiding it. “I recognized your sacred symbols.”

“What sacred symbols?” Hudson asked.

Proval pointed to Hudson's tennis shoes. “The sign of the Nike and”—Proval nodded at Hudson's jeans—“the sign of the Levis.”

“Oh, um…” Obviously, brand names were like trolls, a subject of misinformation between the two worlds. “Those aren't really sacred.” Instead of explaining, he asked, “Do a lot of people travel between our worlds?”

“Not many,” Proval said. “Most people in your world don't have the magic to get here.” He looked over Hudson a bit more closely. “You're pretty young for a wizard.”

Hudson meant to explain that he wasn't, that he'd gotten the compass from a girl at school, but he didn't know how much he should say about Charlotte. She and her father had left Logos to get away from King Vaygran. She probably didn't want Hudson telling people where they'd gone.

“If you need catflower,” Glamora said, “you can get some at our village. It's only a half hour walk from here.” She sent him a knowing smile. “You can buy about anything you want there.”

Glamora and Proval started down the path, clearly expecting Hudson to follow. He stayed where he was, clutching the compass in his hand. “But how am I going to get back home?”

“Oh, getting back home is easy.” Glamora turned to wait for him. “You just have to find a magical exit. There's one in our village.”

A magical exit? Awesome. Hudson joined them, relief making his footsteps light. “Really? It's easy?”

“Well, it's up the thorn tree,” Proval clarified. “You'll have to climb the tree.”

“Are there thorns on it?”

“Yeah,” Proval said. “If it had apples on it, we'd call it an apple tree.”

Suddenly, getting to a magical exit sounded less like something that was easy and more like something that was painful.

Glamora let out an airy laugh. “A wizard like yourself shouldn't be afraid. You can change yourself into an owl and fly up.”

Or he could climb up and get scratched. It looked like Hudson would be stuck with option B.

The three of them kept heading down the path, with Glamora walking next to him and Proval on her other side. They told him about a bonfire their village was having that night, and then they each made guesses about what would be served, who would be there, and who would end up accidentally singeing their hat.

Finally, Glamora looked over at him, including him in the conversation. “You should stay for the party. Everyone loves to meet a new wizard.”

Hudson shook his head. “I need to leave as soon as possible.” His mother would worry about him if she came home and he wasn't there.

Glamora shrugged, and she and Proval went back to guessing things about the bonfire.

Hudson was still holding the compass, and he checked it again. The entire time the three of them had been walking, the compass's needle had determinedly pointed at
BEWARE OF TROLLS.

He glanced around the forest but saw no signs of anything lurking in the trees, no shadows darting between trunks that would indicate that they were being followed. The birds chirped out their pianolike songs as calmly as ever. But still. How could he not be nervous?

During a break in Glamora and Proval's conversation, Hudson said, “I've never seen a troll before. What are they like?”

Proval rolled his eyes. “Are you still worrying about that?”

Glamora waved her hand at her brother to silence him. “Guess what they're like.”

Hudson thought about the trolls in the stories he'd read. “Big, ugly, bad-tempered, slow-moving, stupid—”

“They're actually very clever,” Glamora cut in. “That's what makes them dangerous. Well, that and they can tell—just by looking at you—the things about yourself that you want to hide.”

What an odd ability. What good did it do trolls to know what you were hiding unless you were hiding from them? That, Hudson decided, was probably what Glamora meant. Trolls could find you when you hid from them.

Proval patted Hudson on the shoulder. “You, my friend, lose the guessing game.”

Glamora pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “The important thing to know about trolls is that if you meet some, you should give them whatever they want.”

Hudson considered this advice. “So you're saying I couldn't outrun one?”

Glamora shrugged. “I don't know. I've never seen you run.”

“It doesn't matter,” Proval put in. “We're almost home.”

They'd gone over a bend in the road, and a village came into sight. It was smaller than Hudson had expected. Three or four dozen cottages lined circular streets that ringed an open market area. The wooden homes had green, yellow, and pink vines growing up their walls, twisting and stretching over doors and around windows so they looked as if they had been painted with leaves.

“The plants are so colorful here,” Hudson said, picking up his pace. Glamora and Proval were walking faster now that they were almost home. “Plants are mostly green where I'm from.”

“Why?” Proval asked.

“It has to do with chlorophyll.” Hudson had learned about photosynthesis in science class, and he tried to remember the information. “You know, because plants convert light into … themselves.” He wasn't explaining it right, but Proval and Glamora didn't seem confused.

“Yes,” Glamora said. “And thousands of colors make up the light spectrum, which is why plants are so many different colors.”

“I don't think that's how it works,” Hudson said. He didn't say more. Proval and Glamora were exchanging looks again—the sort that indicated they thought he was an idiot.