The Magic Mirror

Dear Diary,

I wrote another short story. Here it is:


The Magic Mirror

Snow began to fall lightly on the knight and his apprentice as they approached the cave. Clouds began to mask the night’s early moon. It had suddenly become eerily quiet.

“What are we doing here again?” the apprentice asked, trying to mask his shivering fear.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” the rugged knight replied. “Legend has it that this cave was once the lair of a powerful wizard, and an exceedingly wealthy one at that.”

“And an exceedingly evil one …”

Smoke bellowed from the knight’s mouth as he laughed in the cold night air. “You need not fear, my young apprentice, he is long since gone from this place. Yet his treasure remains, and I intend to take it.”

The apprentice, though, remained nervously sceptical, now looking over his shoulder, now peering into a nearby shrub. “And what of the magical device, that which the wizard poured all his evil into, that which still haunts this place?”

The knight laughed again. “Fairy tales, apprentice, fairy tales. Even if such a device exists, it cannot harm us if we do not touch it, and I have no intention to. No, I am here for something altogether different …”

“The magic mirror …?”

“Yes, the magic mirror. If the legend is true, it will grant my every wish.” A broad smile crept across the knight’s face. He looked formidable riding atop his steed, some might even say, kingly.

“And what will you wish for, Sire?” the apprentice wondered aloud.

“All in due time, all in due time.”

*
Torchlight bathed their faces in a warm glow as they explored the dark, mysterious cave. An unexplained, cloudy mist covered the floor of the cave, hiding their feet from view. For the past several hours they had explored the cave to no avail. It seemed to be nothing more than an ordinary cave, save for the peculiar mist.

Finally, though, the knight believed he had found his quarry. He and his apprentice cautiously approached a black, unadorned door. It certainly did not look like anything one would naturally find in a cave such as this, and there seemed to be mist coming from under it.

“How will we get in?” the apprentice asked, secretly hoping they would have to give up and go home.

“I suppose we will need a magic password,” the knight thought aloud. He had not anticipated any magically sealed doors. He sighed and rested an outstretched hand on the black door. It burned cold to the touch. The knight quickly removed his wounded hand. Then, there was a click. The next moment, the door slid up rapidly, revealing a small chamber.

The knight smiled to himself. He quickly walked into the chamber, still nursing his injured hand. He bade his apprentice to join him. Reluctantly, the younger entered, and the door shut swiftly behind him.

The room was lit in a dim yellow light that, somehow, seemed to be emanating from the stone walls themselves. Mist seemed to cover the floor here as well, though its source was not evident. There was little else of note in the chamber — an old table and chair, a few dirty blankets — and a curious old wooden chest.

The knight rushed to the chest and fell on his knees in front of it. It was not even locked. Without hesitating, he threw open the lid and peered inside the old container. It contained but one object — an old, plain mirror.

The knight quickly grabbed the old mirror and held it high to look on it in the dim yellow light. The metal handle was cold but it did not hurt his hand. He looked at his face in the small round mirror — he needed to bathe badly, but he paid that no heed.

“Is that it?” the apprentice asked uneasily.

“There’s only one way to find out,” the knight smiled eagerly. “Magic mirror …” he began.

The handle became warmer in the knight’s grip. The mist on the floor began to swirl and rise. The mirror’s face seemed to melt and it became like liquid water. The liquid began to violently swirl like a whirlpool as it sucked the cyclone of mist into it. The knight struggled to keep a grip on the handle. Within a minute, though, it was over. The mist was gone, revealing the stone floor at their feet.

The knight looked again into the strange mirror. He could no longer see his face — it was blocked out by the peculiar white mist which now floated about slowly inside the mirror.

“Maybe we should just go,” the apprentice suggested hopefully.

“Go? Now?” the knight sounded shocked at the very thought. “Don’t you see? This is the magic mirror.”

The mist in the mirror began to swirl faster at the knight’s words. He cleared his throat and looked directly into the mystical object. “Magic mirror …” he began again.

The mist began to move again inside the mirror. It seemed to almost be taking the shape of a human face, but it was too fluid, always shifting and changing. Perhaps it was only the knight’s imagination? Perhaps it was only his face showing slightly through the mist?

He opened his mouth to speak again, but he was interrupted by an odd, low, almost sleepy voice. “Yes …?” the voice said.

The knight fell back. He looked amazedly into the mirror. He had always hoped that the legend was true, but perhaps he had never really believed it could be. He looked up at his apprentice, who somehow looked even more nervous than before.

The knight looked back again at the mirror and tried to gather himself. Clearing his throat, he spoke again, “Magic mirror, is it true that you can grant me any wish?”

The mist swirled slowly inside the mirror. The color seemed to be more of a gray now than a white. Finally, then, after a long pause, the mirror answered, “I can grant thee any wish that thy heart desires.”

The knight did not try to hide his smile. Without hesitation, he said, “Make me the most handsome man in the kingdom, one that all will wish to see.”

The mist swirled more violently now, coming out of the mirror and filling the entire chamber. Then, after a few moments, it quickly returned to its place in the mirror. Now, though, the mist was an unmistakably darker gray in color.

The knight turned to look at his apprentice. “So, did it work?” the knight asked him quickly.

For the first time, the apprentice smiled. “Yes Sire,” he said happily, “you are indeed the most handsome of men that I have ever seen. Surely no maiden will be able to resist you, Sire.”

The knight smiled and quickly looked back at the mirror. “Magic mirror,” he said in an unpleasant voice that rather shocked his apprentice, “I wish to be the richest man in the kingdom.”

Again, the mist swirled violently and filled the chamber with a dark gray smoke. Once again, however, after only a few moments, it had returned to the mirror. This time, though, the mist (or was it smoke) in the mirror was as black as the night.

The knight looked around. The entire chamber was filled with gold, diamonds and fine jewels. He began to laugh delightfully with an evil glee. “Hahaha, I’m rich, I tell you, rich! There will be no bounds to my glory. Why … I could be king. Why not? Magic Mirror …”

“Sire …” the apprentice began.

“Silence!” the knight commanded. “Insolent fool, you will be my chief knight, if your foolish tongue doesn’t get in the way first. Go, prepare the horses with all the gold and jewels you can load onto them.”

The apprentice swallowed hard. He had never seen the knight behave in such a way. Still, there was nothing he could do. “Yes, Sire,” he mumbled as he clumsily left the chamber, now filled with wealth beyond imagination.

When the apprentice had finally gone, the knight looked longingly back into the dark mirror. “Magic mirror …” he began.

“Yes,” the mirror spoke in a much fouler voice than before, “what is thy command, o great master?”

The knight smiled evilly. “My beauty and my wealth are matched by none,” he boasted, “yet there remains one in the land with still more power. Make me king, o magic mirror, and none shall rival me.”

Yet again, the mirror swirled and the black smoke filled the chamber for a moment before returning again to the mirror. All semblance to the mirror found in the chest was now gone as lighting began to spark and erupt inside the thick black smoke.

The knight reached slowly for the top of his head. His hand clasped onto the object resting on it. He pulled the object off and looked at it with a wicked smile — a beautiful golden crown adorned with magnificent jewels. He was king.

*
“Are we about ready to go?” the king asked grumpily. “I want to get back to the castle and take what is rightfully mine!”

“Yes, Si … your Majesty,” the apprentice corrected himself. “But I don’t think the horses can carry this much. Perhaps we should leave some of this and come back later.”

“Are you questioning me, fool?”

“No, no, of course not your Majesty.”

So, with the morning sun rising, the apprentice finished loading the horses and they were off, albeit quite slowly, being laden with much wealth. The king beat his horse mercilessly, but it was no use, it could not go any faster bearing such a heavy weight.

“Come on, you old mule!” the king screamed angrily as the horse slowed down even further.

“Your majesty, with all due respect,” the apprentice began, “these are the finest horses in the land, none could do better.”

“Really?” the king asked mockingly as he dismounted. Pulling out his mighty broadsword, and without the slightest hesitation, he chopped the great steed’s head clean off. The stallion fell to the ground with a mighty crash. “We’ll see about that,” the king said menacingly.

He reached into the pouch hanging about his waist and pulled out the magic mirror. He paid no heed to his apprentice, running like a mad man into the nearby forest in utter fear and disbelief. He also paid no heed to the band of orcs approaching silently from the south.

“Magic mirror …” he began evilly. This time, however, he did not get to finish the sentence — an orc arrow skewered through his throat. The mirror fell from his hand as he choked, battling for breath.

He fell to his knees, searching feebly for his beloved mirror. If he could just get to it, he thought, he could wish a horrible death onto his unseen assailants.

Then he saw it out of the corner of his eye, resting gently on the grass. Even as he breathed his last breaths, he only had thoughts for the mirror. He reached out for it, and took it firmly in his grasp.

Looking into the dark mirror for the last time, he tried to speak, but he could not — the arrow in his neck choked every word. He groaned longingly at the mirror, hoping that it would somehow understand — but then something strange happened — the mirror began to laugh.

The cold, mocking laugh of the mirror was the last thing the shocked king ever heard. An orc axe promptly cleaved his head from his body.

“Orc! Orc! ORC!” the green beastmen cried.

The orc chief then slowly approached the dead king. He grunted and snarled at the dead man at his feet. Then, he noticed something lying on the grass. He picked up the strange object and studied it closely. Black smoke swirled inside it. An image faintly formed — it seemed to be … smiling.

“Orc?” the chief grunted.

“What does thy heart desire?” the magic mirror asked.