The Mirror of Fate Read Online Free

and tried to wriggle free. “Manmonster! You want to fattenchew me up lightningfast. Oh, agony woe! My painodeath so nearupon, my—”
    “No,” I decided. “Calm down, will you?”
    “You’ll imprisoncage me, then. Touroshow me, as your odditious beast! So more manmonsters can hurlastones at my cage, or pinchasqueal me through bars. Terribulous fate, horribulous end . . .”
    “No!” I tried my best to work the poultice into the wound, but the creature’s constant thrashing made it nearly impossible. Several times he nearly slid off my lap into the water—or into the gorse bushes. “I’m here to help you, don’t you understand?”
    “You? Manmonster? Whenevernever did manmonster do thingany punybit helpfulous for ballymag?”
    “Ballymag?” repeated Hallia, bending lower. “Why, indeed he could be.” Catching my puzzled look, she explained, “One of the rarest beings on the island. I’ve only heard stories—but, yes, this surely looks like one. Though what he’s doing here, I don’t understand. I thought they lived only in the remotest marshes.”
    “In Haunted Marsh itselfcertain,” wailed the ballymag. “Outstraighten your factsattacks! Before you imprisoncage me, crunchabeat me, and cookscald me with a hundreddozen stale potatoes. Oh, woefulous world, disheartenous distress!”
    Shaking my head, I examined the gash again. “Trusting fellow, aren’t you?”
    “Yes, most certainously,” bawled the creature, tears brimming in his round eyes. “My natureborn, that is. Too quicktrusting, too foolgullible. Always eagerready to find happyhope in any situation, I am! Which is why it’s my sorrowfate to shriekadie with stale potatoes. An assnasty turn!”
    The ballymag drew a slow, unsteady breath. “Well, go ahead and killascream me. I’ll crumplego honorously.” For a full two seconds, he kept silent. Then, all at once, he bellowed, “Oh, terrorwoe crampymess! To be cookpotted now! So littleyoung. So bravelystrong. So—”
    “Quiet!” I commanded, working myself into a sitting position on the bank. Baring my teeth, I glared at him fiercely. “The louder you protest, the more terrible your death will be.”
    Hallia looked at me with surprise, but I ignored her. “Yes, oh yes.” I cackled murderously. “The only question is just how to kill you. But this much is certain: The more you fuss, the more painful I shall make it for you.”
    “Trulyreally?” whimpered the ballymag.
    “Yes! Now stop your wailing.”
    “Oh, horribulous . . .”
    “This instant!”
    The beast fell silent. But for the occasional shiver, which made him jiggle from the top of his throat down to the bottom of his belly, he lay utterly still on my lap.
    Gently, I placed my hands over the wound. I began concentrating on the deepest layers of flesh, where the tissue was most badly torn. At the same time, I inhaled deeply. I imagined that my lungs were filling not with air, but with light—the warm, soothing light of summer sun. Here, in the cherished lands of the deer people, where Hallia and I had romped so freely—and would again, I felt certain. In time, the light overflowed into the rest of me, brimming in my shoulders, running down my arms, flowing through my fingertips.
    As the healing light poured into the ballymag’s wound, his body, even his whiskers, began to relax. All at once he moaned again. But this moan was different, sounding less pained and more surprised—even, perhaps, pleased. But knowing how much delicate work lay ahead, I shot him a wrathful glare. Instantly, he quieted.
    I began directing the light into the severed flesh. Like a bard restringing a broken harp, I turned from one strand of tissue to the next, binding and tightening with care, testing the strength of each before moving on. At one spot, I found a tangle of ripped sinews, cut almost to the bone. These I bathed in light for some time just to separate them from each other. At length, I loosened them, then gently reconnected the