Young Wizards
New Millennium Editions
Book 8:
Wizards at War
Diane Duane
Errantry Press
County Wicklow
Republic of Ireland
Copyright page
Wizards at War
New Millennium Edition
Errantry Press
County Wicklow, Ireland
Original edition copyright © 2005 by Diane Duane
Revised edition copyright © 2012 by Diane Duane
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to the following address:
Donald Maass Literary Agency
Suite 801, 121 West 27th Street
New York, NY 10001
USA
Publication history
Harcourt Books hardcover, October 2005
HMH Magic Carpet Books paperback, 2007
Harcourt Trade Publishers ebook, 2010
Errantry Press International ebook edition, 2011
About this edition:
This New Millennium Edition of Wizards at War follows the text of the 2011 Young Wizards International Editions ebook, and has been revised and edited to conform with the new timeline established in the New Millennium Edition of So You Want to Be a Wizard.
Dedication
Once again, and more than usual,
for James White
Rubrics
“Never, never, never believe any war will be smooth and easy, or that anyone who embarks on the strange voyage can measure the tides and hurricanes he will encounter…. Once the signal is given, he is no longer the master of policy but the slave of unforeseeable and uncontrollable events.”
—Sir Winston Churchill
…Moon reflected on the water:
The moon doesn’t get wet,
nor is the water broken.
Although its light is broad and great,
The moon’s reflected even
in an inch-wide puddle.
The whole moon and the entire wide sky
Lie mirrored in one dewdrop on the grass.
—Dogen, Genjokoan
To be the miracle,
Get out of its way.
—Distych 243, The Book of Night with Moon
Time Fix
Late April / Early May, 2010
1: Situational Awareness
In the bright light of an early mid-spring morning, a teenaged girl in faded blue jeans and a white V-necked T-shirt stood in her downstairs bathroom, brushing her teeth and examining herself with a critical eye. Have I lost weight? she thought, pulling the T-shirt a little away from her as she looked down. This doesn’t fit like it did two weeks ago…
The view in the mirror was more or less the usual one: light brunette hair cut just above her shoulders, a face neither unusually plain nor unusually beautiful, a nothing-special figure for a fifteen-year-old. But there were changes besides the fit of her T-shirt. Nita Callahan racked the toothbrush and then leaned close to the mirror over the sink, pulling down the skin above her right cheekbone with one finger. My tan looks pretty good, but are those circles under my eyes? she thought. I look wrecked. You’d think I hadn’t just had ten days off on a planet that was almost all beach. “I think I need a vacation from my vacation,” Nita muttered.
She started to turn away from the sink; then stopped, noticing something in the mirror. Nita leaned close to it again, pushing her bangs up with one hand and eyeing her forehead. Oh no, is that a pimple coming up? She poked it, felt that telltale sting. Great. I really need this right now!
She sighed. “Okay,” she said. Normally she wouldn’t have been enthusiastic about spending any significant part of her morning talking to a zit, but if she talked the pimple out of happening right now, it’d take her less effort than if she waited until later.
“Uh, excuse me,” she said in the wizardly Speech—and then stopped. Wait a minute. I don’t know the word for “pimple.”
Nita frowned. For a moment she considered the tube of facial scrub on the shelf by the sink, then shook her head and reached out toward what looked like empty air beside her. Her arm promptly disappeared nearly to the shoulder into that “empty air” as she dug deep into the pocket of otherspace where she normally kept her wizard’s manual. Nita felt around for a moment—I really have to clean this thing out; there’s way too much stuff in here—and then pulled out what to most people would have looked like a small hardbound library book an inch or so thick.
Nita started paging through it. Let’s see. Pimple, pimple … see “aposteme.” She shook her head, turning more pages. What’s an aposteme? Sometimes I really wonder about the indexing in this thing.
“Nita?” came a shout, faintly, from the other end of the house.
“What, Daddy?” she shouted back.
“Phone!”
Nita raised her eyebrows. At this hour of the morning? Not Kit; he wouldn’t bother with the phone, or he’d just text instead of calling the house phone. “Thanks!”
The word for “phone,” at least, she knew perfectly well. Nita held out her hand. “If you would?” she said in the Speech to the handset in question.
The portable phone from the kitchen appeared in her hand, its hold button blinking. She hit the button, meanwhile balancing her manual on the edge of the sink while she kept paging through it. “Hello?”
“Nita,” Tom Swale’s voice said. “Good morning.”
“Hey, how are you?” Nita said.
“A little pressed for time at the moment,” said her local Senior Wizard. “How was your holiday?”
“Not bad,” she said. “Listen, what’s the Speech word for ‘pimple’?”
There was a pause at the other end. “I used to know that,” Tom said.
“But you don’t anymore?”
“I’ll look it up. You should do that, too. How are your houseguests doing?”
“They’re fine as far as I know,” Nita said. “Probably having breakfast. I was just going to get some myself.”
“You should definitely do that,” Tom said. “But can you and Kit and the visiting contingent spare me and Carl a little time afterward?”
“Uh, sure,” Nita said. “I was going to call you anyway, because I heard some really strange things from Dairine about what went on here while we were away… and the manual wouldn’t say anything about the details. Where did you guys vanish to? Assuming I’m allowed to ask.”
“Oh, you’re allowed. That’s what I’m calling about. I have a lot of people to get in touch with today, but since you two and your guests are just around the corner, we thought we might drop by and brief you in person.”
“Sure,” Nita said. “I’ll let everybody know you’re coming.”
“Fine. An hour or so be all right?”
“Sure.”
“Great. See you then.”
Tom hung up, leaving Nita staring at the phone in her hand. She pushed the hang-up button and just stood there.
“Wow,” she said. She looked down at the manual, which now lay open to one of its many glossaries, and was showing her fourteen different variations on the “aposteme” word. “Kit?” Nita said.
A slightly muffled reply came seemingly from the back of the manual, along with the sound of barking somewhere in the Rodriguez household. “I can’t believe we’re out of dog food,” Kit said. “I leave for a week and a half, and this place g
oes to pieces.”
“We were doing just fine without you,” said another voice from two blocks away: Kit’s sister Carmela. “It’s not our fault you forgot to put dog food on the shopping list before you left. Neets, is it true he destroyed a whole alien culture in just ten days?”
Nita snorted. “Wouldn’t have been just him, ‘Mela. And we didn’t destroy it. We just happened to be there when they were going on to the next thing.”
“‘Just happened’?” Carmela said. Her tone was one of kindly disbelief. “You’re so nice to try to share the blame! See you later on…”
After a moment Kit said, “Am I allowed to think about teleporting her to Titan and dumping her in a lake of liquid methane?”
“No,” Nita said, feeling around under her bed for her sneakers. “It’d upset those microbes there … the ones Dairine’s been coaching in situational ethics.”
“The thought of Dairine coaching anybody in ethics…,” Kit said. “No offense, but sometimes I wonder if someday our solar system is going to be famous for having entire species made up of criminal masterminds.”
“Well, if the Powers That Be have slipped up, it’s too late to do anything now. And speaking of the Powers, you should get over here in about an hour. Tom and Carl want to talk to everybody.”
“We’re not in trouble, are we?”
“I don’t think so,” Nita said. “In fact, I think maybe they are.”
“And here I thought we were going to have a few quiet days before spring break was over,” Kit said.
Nita shook her head. “Guess not. But now we get to find out why nobody could find them anywhere.”
From down the hall, toward the front of the house, she could hear voices in the dining room. “Sounds like they’re having breakfast out there,” Nita said.
“Should I wait to come over?”
Nita shrugged and turned away from the mirror. “What for?” she said. “Might as well come have some breakfast, too, if you haven’t had anything.”
“I have, but another breakfast wouldn’t kill me. Give me ten minutes, though. I have to talk to Ponch.”
“Why? Are all the neighbors’ dogs sitting around outside the house again?” This had been a problem recently, apparently due to what Tom and Carl had described as some kind of wizardly leakage. Diagnosing its source had been difficult with so much wizardry happening around their two households lately… and with the present houseguests in residence, the diagnosis promised to get no easier.
“Nope,” Kit said. “Everything’s perfectly quiet. He just has more questions about life.”
Nita smiled. “Yeah, who doesn’t, lately,” she said. “Take your time.”
Nita paged briefly through the manual, looking at the pimple words. There are too many ways to have this conversation, she thought. And I’m still pooped. If Tom hadn’t called, I’d just go back to bed. She yawned—
In the moment when her eyes closed during the yawn, the darkness reminded Nita of something. Another darkness, she thought. I had a dream… She’d been standing somewhere on the Moon, and it had been dark. Bright lights were scattered all around her, throwing strange multidirectional shadows across the rocks and craters, but the sky was as blank of stars as if the whole thing was a stage set. And something was growling…. Nita suddenly got goose bumps.
She opened her eyes. The bathroom, the morning light, the mirror, all the things around her were perfectly normal. But the memory left her feeling chilly.
It means something, of course, Nita thought. Lately, what doesn’t? Every wizard has a specialty, but the specialty can change. Nita’s initially straightforward affinity to living things was now turning into something more abstract—an ability to glimpse other beings’ realities and futures, or her own, while dreaming or in other similar states. She was struggling to master it, but in the meantime all she could do was pay attention and try to learn as she went along.
Great, she thought. News flash: It was dark on the back side of the Moon. I’ll make a note. Meanwhile, as for the zit…
She looked one more time at the way-too-extensive pimple vocabulary in the manual, shrugged, and shut it. Later, Nita thought, and headed out of the bathroom.
“All right,” her dad was saying from the kitchen as she passed through the living room, and Nita started walking a little faster as she caught the smell of frying bacon. “How many are we for dinner tonight?”
“The usual,” came the reply. “Three humans, one humanoid, one tree, one giant bug—”
“Humanoid king,” said another voice.
“Yeah, fine, whatever.”
“And who were you calling a bug?”
“Or a humanoid? I am the human. You’re the humanoids.”
Nita came around the corner from the living room and paused in the dining room doorway. The room’s slightly faded yellow floral wallpaper was bright in morning sun, and the polished wood of the table was covered with cereal boxes, empty plates and bowls, various cutlery, the morning paper, and several teen-girl-oriented magazines of a kind that Nita had sworn off as too pink and clueless a couple of years ago. At the head of the table, poring over the international-news section of the newspaper, was a slender young man with the most unnervingly handsome face and the most perfect waist-length blond hair Nita had ever seen. He was dressed in floppy golden-colored pants and high boots of something like glittering bronze-colored leather, unusually ornate—but over it all he was wearing a very oversized gray T-shirt that said FERMILAB MUON COLLIDER SLO-PITCH SOFTBALL, and he was sucking on a lollipop. Sitting at the right side of the table, turning the pages of one of the too-pink magazines and eyeing it with many, many red eyes like little berries, was what appeared to be a small Christmas tree, though one without any ornaments except a New York Mets baseball cap. Across the table from the tree was Nita’s sister, Dairine, in T-shirt and jeans, her red hair hanging down and half concealing her freckled face as she paged through the paper’s entertainment and comics section from last weekend. And at the end of the table opposite the blond guy was a giant metallic-purple centipede, reading several different columns’ worth of classified ads with several stalked eyes.
“You’re too late,” Dairine said. “The French toast is history.”
“Knew I could count on you,” Nita said.
At the table, the centipede pointed a couple of spare eyes at the Christmas tree. “You done with that?” the centipede said.
“Yes,” the tree said, and pushed the pink magazine over to the centipede.
“Thanks,” said the centipede. It tore the cover off the magazine, examined it with a connoisseur’s eye, and started to eat it.
“Morning, everybody,” Nita said as she headed through the dining room and around the corner into the kitchen, where her father was. “You all sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you,” said the Christmas tree and the centipede.
“Adequately,” said the slim blond guy, nodding graciously to Nita as she passed.
In the kitchen, Nita’s tall, blocky, silver-haired dad was standing in front of the open fridge in sweatpants and a T-shirt, considering the contents. Nita went to him and hugged him. “Morning, Daddy.”
“Morning, sweetie.” He hugged her back, one-armed. “Didn’t think I’d see you so early.”
“I’m surprised too,” Nita said. “Didn’t think I’d get over the lag so fast. Tom and Carl are coming over in a while. Oh, and Kit.”
“That’s fine.”
Nita rummaged in the cupboard over the counter by the stove to find herself a mug, then put the kettle on the burner for tea. She put one hand on the kettle and said to the water inside it, in the Speech, “You wouldn’t mind boiling for me, would you?”
There was a soft rush of response as the water inside the kettle heated up very abruptly. Nita took her hand off in a hurry. It took only about five seconds for the kettle to start whistling with steam.
Nita stood there and breathed hard for a moment, feeling as if she’d just run a co
uple of flights of stairs. No wizardry was without its price, even one so small as making water boil: one way or another, you paid for the energy.
“You’re getting impatient in your old age,” her father said, reaching into one of the canisters on the other side of the refrigerator and handing Nita a tea bag.
“Yup,” Nita said as she dropped the tea bag into the mug and poured boiling water on it.
She smiled. Her father seemed to have become surprisingly blasé in a very short time about wizardry in general—but Nita and Dairine had between them put their parents through a fair amount of wizardly business in the past couple of years, and the adults’ coping skills had improved in a hurry once they’d come to grips with the idea that the magic in the house wasn’t going to go away. We were lucky, I guess, Nita thought. So many wizards don’t dare come out to their families at all. Or they try it, and it doesn’t work, and then they have to make them forget… She got down some sugar from the cupboard. But look at him now. You’d think everybody had alien wizards living in their basement.
“It’s almost nine,” her dad said. “I should get ready to go, honey.”
“Okay,” Nita said as her dad headed through the dining room and toward the back of the house.
She wandered back into the dining room with her tea and pulled one of the spare chairs over from the wall, pushing it down to the far end of the table between Sker’ret and where Dairine had been sitting. The centipede—Nita smiled at herself. I should lay off that, she thought, it’s so Earth-centric… The Rirhait was carefully tearing out another page from the teen magazine. He then examined both sides of the page with great care before shredding it up with several pairs of small knife-sharp mandibles and stuffing it into his facial orifice.