So You Want to Be a Wizard, New Millennium Edition by Diane Duane Page A
Authors: Diane Duane
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magic had felt like the weaving of a whole, this one felt like ripping something apart. Their surroundings seemed to shimmer uncertainly, the dark skyline and lead gray sky rippled like a wind-stirred curtain; even that stalking presence seemed to hesitate in momentary confusion. Okay, push, Kit said suddenly, push right there!
Nita felt the torn place that Kit had made in the spell, and she shoved clumsily at it with her mind, trying to enlarge it. It’s, I think it’s giving…
Now, hard! Kit said.
Nita pushed at the tear in the spell until pain stabbed and stabbed again behind where her eyes should have been. At the moment she thought she couldn’t possibly push anymore, Kit said one short sharp syllable and threw the spell wide open like a door.
It was like standing at the core of a tornado which, rather than spinning you away to Oz, strips the roof off your home, opens the house walls out flat as the petals of a plaster flower, and leaves you standing confused and disbelieving in the heart of a howling of smoke and damned voices; like moving through a roomful of people, every one of whom tries to catch your eye and tell you the most important thing that ever happened to him. Nita found herself deluged in fragments of sights and sounds and tastes and feelings and thoughts not her own, a madly coexisting maelstrom of imageries from other universes, other earths, other times. Most of them she managed to shut out by squeezing her mind shut like eyes and hanging on to the spell. She sensed that Kit was doing the same and that their stalker was momentarily as bewildered as they were by what was happening. The whirling confusion seemed to be funneling through the hole in the spell like water going down a drain—things, concepts, creatures too large or too small for the hole fell through it, or past it, or around it. But sooner or later something just the right size would catch. Hope we get something useful, Nita thought desperately. Something bigger than that thing , anyway —
And thump, something fitted into the hole with snug precision, and the crazy whirling died away, and the two of them had company in the spellweb. Something small, Nita felt; very small, too small—but no, it was big, too …
Confused, she reached out toward Kit. Is that it? Can we get out of here now? Before that what’s-its-name—
That was when the what’s-its-name shook itself with a ripple of rage and hunger that Kit and Nita could feel even at a distance. It headed toward them again, its angry speed saying that it was done playing with them.
Uh oh! Kit said. Let’s get out of here!
What do we do—?
What in the worlds—? said a voice that neither of them recognized.
Out!! Kit said, and hooked the spell into the added power that the newcomer provided, and pulled.
Plain pale daylight fell down around them, heavy as a collapsed tent. Gravity yanked at them. Kit fell over sideways in the dirt and lay there panting on the ground like someone who’s run a race. Nita sagged, covered her face, bent over double right down to the ground, struggling for breath.
Eventually she began to recover, but she put off moving or opening her eyes. The book had warned that spelling had its prices, and one of them was the physical exhaustion that goes along with any large, mostly mental work of creation. Nita felt as if she had just been through about a hundred English tests with essay questions, one after another. “Kit?” she said, worried by his silence.
“Nnngggg,” Kit said, and rolled over into a sort of crouch, holding his head in his hands. “Ooooh. Turn off the Sun. ”
“It’s not that bad,” Nita said, opening her eyes. Then she winced and shut them in a hurry. It was.
“How long’ve we been here?” Kit muttered. “The Sun shouldn’t be showing here yet.”
“It’s—” Nita said. She opened her eyes again to check her watch and was distracted by a bright light to her right that was entirely too low to be the Sun. She
Nita felt the torn place that Kit had made in the spell, and she shoved clumsily at it with her mind, trying to enlarge it. It’s, I think it’s giving…
Now, hard! Kit said.
Nita pushed at the tear in the spell until pain stabbed and stabbed again behind where her eyes should have been. At the moment she thought she couldn’t possibly push anymore, Kit said one short sharp syllable and threw the spell wide open like a door.
It was like standing at the core of a tornado which, rather than spinning you away to Oz, strips the roof off your home, opens the house walls out flat as the petals of a plaster flower, and leaves you standing confused and disbelieving in the heart of a howling of smoke and damned voices; like moving through a roomful of people, every one of whom tries to catch your eye and tell you the most important thing that ever happened to him. Nita found herself deluged in fragments of sights and sounds and tastes and feelings and thoughts not her own, a madly coexisting maelstrom of imageries from other universes, other earths, other times. Most of them she managed to shut out by squeezing her mind shut like eyes and hanging on to the spell. She sensed that Kit was doing the same and that their stalker was momentarily as bewildered as they were by what was happening. The whirling confusion seemed to be funneling through the hole in the spell like water going down a drain—things, concepts, creatures too large or too small for the hole fell through it, or past it, or around it. But sooner or later something just the right size would catch. Hope we get something useful, Nita thought desperately. Something bigger than that thing , anyway —
And thump, something fitted into the hole with snug precision, and the crazy whirling died away, and the two of them had company in the spellweb. Something small, Nita felt; very small, too small—but no, it was big, too …
Confused, she reached out toward Kit. Is that it? Can we get out of here now? Before that what’s-its-name—
That was when the what’s-its-name shook itself with a ripple of rage and hunger that Kit and Nita could feel even at a distance. It headed toward them again, its angry speed saying that it was done playing with them.
Uh oh! Kit said. Let’s get out of here!
What do we do—?
What in the worlds—? said a voice that neither of them recognized.
Out!! Kit said, and hooked the spell into the added power that the newcomer provided, and pulled.
Plain pale daylight fell down around them, heavy as a collapsed tent. Gravity yanked at them. Kit fell over sideways in the dirt and lay there panting on the ground like someone who’s run a race. Nita sagged, covered her face, bent over double right down to the ground, struggling for breath.
Eventually she began to recover, but she put off moving or opening her eyes. The book had warned that spelling had its prices, and one of them was the physical exhaustion that goes along with any large, mostly mental work of creation. Nita felt as if she had just been through about a hundred English tests with essay questions, one after another. “Kit?” she said, worried by his silence.
“Nnngggg,” Kit said, and rolled over into a sort of crouch, holding his head in his hands. “Ooooh. Turn off the Sun. ”
“It’s not that bad,” Nita said, opening her eyes. Then she winced and shut them in a hurry. It was.
“How long’ve we been here?” Kit muttered. “The Sun shouldn’t be showing here yet.”
“It’s—” Nita said. She opened her eyes again to check her watch and was distracted by a bright light to her right that was entirely too low to be the Sun. She
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