Диана Дуэйн - So You Want To Be A Wizard

Yes, Nita thought desperately, as another cab crashed into the trees and finished itself. And what then? What do we do about— She would not finish the thought, for the sound of those leisurely, deadly hoofbeats was getting closer, and mixing with it were sirens and the panicked sound of car horns. She thought of that awful dark form crossing Madison, kicking cars aside, crushing what tried to stop it, and all the time that wave of blackness wash-ing alongside, changing everything, stripping the streets bare of life and light. And what about the Sun? The Earth will freeze over before long, and he'll have the whole planet the way he wants it— Nita shuddered. Cold and darkness and nothing left alive — a storm-broken, ice-locked world, full of twisted machines stalking desolate streets forever., .

Kit was turning pages, quickly but gently, as if what he touched was a live thing. Perhaps it was. Nita saw him pause between one page and the next, holding one bright-burning page draped delicately over his fingers, then let-ting it slide carefully down to He with the others he'd turned. "Here," he whispered, awed, delighted. He did not look up to see what Nita saw, the wave of darkness creeping around them, unable to pass the tree-wall, passing onward, surrounding them so that they were suddenly on an island of grass in asea of wrestling naked tree limbs and bare-seared dirt and rock. "Here— "

He began to read, and for all her fear Nita was lulled to stillness by wonder. Kit's voice was that of someone discovering words for the first time arter a long silence, and the words he found were a song, as her spell to free the trees had seemed, She sank deep in the music of the Speech, hearing the story told in what Kit read.

Kit was invoking New York, calling it up as one might call up a spirit; and °°edient to the summons, it came. The skyline came, unsmirched by any 'ackness — a crown of glittering towers in a smoky sunrise, all stabbing points nThe parks came, settling into place one by one as they were described, free of the darkness under the night — from tiny paved vest-pocket niches to the lake-set expanses of Central Park, they all came, thrusting the black fog back. Birds sang, dogs ran and barked and rolled in the grass, trees were bright with wary squirrels' eyes. The Battery came, the crumbling old first-defense fort standing peaceful now at the southernmost tip of Manhattan — the rose-gold of some remembered sunset glowed warm on its bricks as it mused in weedy silence over old battles won and nonetheless kept an eye on the waters of the harbor, just in case some British cutter should try for a landing when the colonists weren't looking. Westward over the water, the Palisades were there, shadowy cliffs with the Sifn behind them, mist-blue and mythical-looking though New Jersey was only a mile away. Eastward and westward the bridges were there, the lights of their spanning suspension cables coming out blue as stars in the twilight. Seabirds wheeled pale and graceful about the towers of the George Washing-ton Bridge and the Verrazano Narrows and the iron crowns of the 59th Street Bridge, as the soft air of evening settled over Manhattan, muting the city roar to a quiet breathing rumble. Under the starlight and the risen Moon, an L-1011 arrowed out of LaGuardia Airport and soared over the city, screaming its high song of delight in the cold upper airs, dragging the thun-er along behind— Nita had to make an effort to pull herself out of the waking dream. Kit read on, while all around the trees bent in close to hear, and the air flamed clear and still as a frozen moment of memory. He read on, naming names in the Speech, describing people and places in terrifying depth and detail, making them real and keeping them that way by the Book 's power and the sound of the words. But no sign of any terror at the immensity of what he was doing showed in Kit's face — and that frightened Nita more than the darkness that still surged and whispered around them and their circle of trees. Nita could see Kit starting to burn with that same unbearable clarity, becoming more real, so much so that he was not needing to be visible any more. Slowly-subtly, the Book's vivid transparency was taking him too. Fred, hanging b Aside Kit and blazing in defiance of the dark, looked pale in comparison. Even Kit's shadow glowed, and it occurred to Nita that shortly, if this kept up ;h 6wouldn't have one. What do I do? she thought He's not having trouble, h eseems to be getting stronger, not weaker, but if this has to go on much longer— Kit kept reading. Nita looked around her and began to see an answer Th* darkness had not retreated from around them. Out on the Fifth Avenue sid e r A etree-wall, the crashes of cabs were getting more frequent, the howls of vrvtons were closer, the awful clanging hoofbeats seemed almost on top of the'rn. There was nowhere to run, and Nita knew with horrible certainty that not all the trees in the park would be enough to stop the Starsnuffer when he came there. Keeping New York real was one answer to this problem, but not the answer. The darkness and the unreality were symptoms, not the cause. Something had to be done about him.

The iron hooves paused. For an awful moment there was no sound; howls and screeching tires fell silent. Then metal began to smash on stone in a thunderous canter, right across the street, and with a horrible screeching neigh the rider's iron steed smashed into the tree-wall, splintering wood, bowing the palisade inward. Nita wanted to shut her mind against the screams of the trees broken and flung aside in that first attack, but she could not- All around her the remaining trees sank their roots deep in determination, but even they knew it would be hopeless. There were enough cracks in the wall that Nita could see the black steed rearing back for another smash with its front four hooves, the rider smiling, a cold cruel smile that made Nita shudder. One more stroke and the wall would be down. Then there would be wildfire in the park, Kit, oblivious, kept reading. The iron mount rose to its full height. "Fred," Nita whispered, "I think you'd better—" The sound of heavy hoofbeats, coming from behind them, from the park side, choked her silent. He has a twin brother, Nita thought. We are dead.

But the hoofbeats divided around the battered circle of trees and poured past in a storm of metal and stone, the riders and steeds marble pale or bronze dark, every equestrian statue in or near Central Park gathered together into an impossible cavalry that charged past Nita and Kit and Fred and into the street to give battle. Perytons and cabs screamed as General sherman from Grand Army Plaza crashed in among them with sword raised, closely followed by loan of Arc in her armor, and Simon Bolivar and General fi*aan Martin right behind. King Wladislaw was there in medieval scale mail, galloping on a knight's armored charger; Don Quixote was there, urging poor broken-down Rosinante to something faster than a stumble and shouting weats against the whole breed of sorcerers; Teddy Roosevelt was there, cracking off shot after shot at the cabs as his huge horse stamped them into he pavement; ElCid Campeador rode there, his bannered lance striking

Own one peryton after another. Behind all these came a wild assortment of Matures, pouring past the tree circle and into the street—eagles, bears, huge °§s, a hunting cat, a crowd of doughboys from the first World War with aXoneted rifles—all the most warlike of the nearby statuary—even some not Warlike, such as several deer and the Ugly Duckling. From down Fifth enue came striding golden Prometheus from his pedestal in Rockefeller er)ter, bearing the firehe brought for mortals and using it in bolt after bolt to melt down cabs where they stood; and from behind him, with a stony A like the sky falling, the great white lions from the steps of the Public Librarv leaped together and threw themselves upon the iron steed and its dark rider For all its extra legs, the mount staggered back and sideways, screaming ( n ahorrible parody of a horse's neigh and striking feebly at the marble claws that tore its flanks.