A Shadow on the Glass by Ian Irvine

or parchment, though several were made from a silky brown material that looked like bark.
    Karan lifted down the books, one by one. There were many languages, many scripts, but she could not read them. The books were heavy, the work tedious. One had pages of copper into which the writing had been pressed. She ran her fingers over the back of a page, feeling the shapes of the glyphs, wondering about the one who had made this book so long ago. Nothing came to her and now Maigraith was glaring. Karan slipped the book back in its place and took out the next, looking in the space behind as she did so.
    Finally the bookshelves were done. Karan put back the last volume, wiping dusty fingers on her trousers. Maigraith was going through the drawers of the desk. Her face was haggard.
    “Perhaps he has it with him,” Karan muttered, relieved that it had not been found.
    “I do not think so,” said Maigraith, looking up at the stars again. “He would hardly take it out of the citadel. Check thebench. If it is not there we have failed. There is no more time.”
    Karan sorted through the papers and charts on the bench. Nothing. There was also a heavy scroll wrapped in cloth and three scroll cases. Unwrapping the scroll she found that it was made of verdigris-crusted copper. The coils were corroded together, so that when she tried to prise up a corner it broke off, a green flake with just a thread of copper at the core. Putting the flake hastily back in place Karan wrapped the scroll again and turned to the cases. They were made of lead; two were empty and the third contained a parchment scroll. She turned to Maigraith.
    “Wait! There’s a wrongness here.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well,” said Karan, examining one of the cases closely, “this one looks as though it’s made of lead, but it’s not heavy at all. And though the outside appears smooth, I can feel a pattern on it. Look!”
    Maigraith snatched it from her hand and turned away. Karan suppressed her irritation, peering on tiptoe over Maigraith’s shoulder. Maigraith weighed the case in her hand, stroked it with her fingertips.
    “I see what he has done—a simple concealment. Unworthy of him.”
    Under the force of her gaze it changed slowly, dull lead becoming shiny black metal, chased with an intricate design. Maigraith shook out the contents and slowly it uncoiled to form a single brilliant leaf of black metal.
    Turning it over she saw that on the other side the edge was raised, like a frame. Set inside the frame was something as clear as glass, though not brittle, that enclosed a shiny reflective stuff like gelatinous mercury. It shimmered and shivered, ghosting phosphorescent as though caressed by ripples and eddies of light. The border of the frame wasscribed with the finest silver tracery, glyphs of an unknown language. The Mirror was otherwise featureless save for a symbol in silver and scarlet, impressed in the top right-hand corner. It was like three golden bubbles grown together, enclosed by touching crescent moons in scarlet that were set within a platinum circle, which was infilled with fine silver lines twining and intertwining.
    Maigraith put a tentative fingertip to the symbol. Goose-bumps broke out all over her arm. She bowed her head until her forehead touched the metal. Her hand trembled. She put the Mirror down on the bench, mouthing words to herself. The face of the Mirror went dark, then a fine of silver letters appeared, as fine as wire, glowing bright against the black. Karan tried to see but again Maigraith put herself between, her lips moving. The script flowed.
    Ice formed in Karan’s belly. “He comes!” she said.
    Maigraith did not attend: her whole quivering attention was on the Mirror. A minute passed. “Maigraith!” Karan called again, shaking her by the arm. Maigraith knocked her hand away without thinking. Another minute went by, and another, and another.
    “Maigraith!” Karen cried frantically. “Are you be-spelled? Is it