Belladonna

to sing and laugh and put aside their troubles for a while. . And I've played tunes for you, when I'm on the road and it's just the two of us. I'm a long ways from home, and maybe you don't know me because of it, but ..."
    Stone rose out of the bog in front of him. Not fist-sized rocks, but a hefty piece of granite that had veins of quartz glinting in the sunlight.
    "Well," he said after a brief hesitation, "that's a good stone."

    A patch of grass covered the area in front of the stone, and the bog under it turned to earth that smelled like fertile ground after a soft rain.
    He laughed, sounding relieved. "Yes! That's the way of it."
    A small heart's hope plant grew in front of the quartz-veined rock.
    Hold, Glorianna commanded as she moved around the box to where he could see her.
    He stood slowly. She kept her eyes on the box that now reflected some of the landscapes of his heart. She didn't need to see his eyes to know they held vulnerability and wariness.
    A good heart shadowed by doubts. A hard life when he deserved something better. A balance of Dark and Light.
    But the test didn't answer one question: What was he?
    "Anger makes stone," she said quietly, pointing to the fist-sized, jagged-edged stones. Then she pointed to the granite. "And strength makes stone. Doubt and fear are bogs in the heart. Fog can come from many things, but despair makes the deserts — and hope the oases." Now she looked into his blue-gray eyes. "You don't understand the meaning of what you see, but you know the world listens to you, that you can make things happen. Don't you?"
    He looked reluctant to admit to anything, but he nodded.
    "What do they call you?" she asked.
    "My name is Michael,"
    She shook her head slowly. "What do they call you?"
    A stronger reluctance. She watched his throat muscles work as he swallowed. "Luck-bringer. Ill-wisher." He paused, then added, "Magician."
    He said the word as if it had been the bane of his life.
    And it has been, she realized. Just as being declared rogue been the bane of my life.
    She studied him a little longer. Then she smiled, "Welcome to the Island in the Mist, Magician."
    There was real warmth in her smile, honest welcome in her words. And the music of her heart ... Bright notes entwined with dark tones, forming a song that held the promise of everything he had searched for, waited for, wanted with all his heart. Love and happiness and home all held within a body he hoped to be kissing by the end of the day — and to keep on kissing for the rest of his life.
    He'd misunderstood, had gotten things tangled up in his own mind. But... No, that wasn't right. He'd gotten here because he'd told people he was seeking Belladonna.
    He watched her smile fade and knew it was because he was staring at her, but the music inside her — and its possibilities —
    held him. Bright notes and dark tones. Could the answer be that simple?
    "Glorianna ... Belladonna?"
    Her green eyes chilled as she nodded. "I am Belladonna."
    Her darkness is my fate. He grinned at her, and got a narrow-eyed stare in return. That was all right. He was here; so was she.
    They would build a grand life together — once they figured out how to deal with die Well of All Evil.
    "What landscape do you call home?" Glorianna asked.
    "My coun —" He stopped. Why bang his head against the wall of stubbornness these people had for refusing to understand the word country? "My landscape is called Elandar. My family comes from a, village called Raven's Hill."
    "Do you know the White Isle?" she asked.
    Not knowing why she had tensed in response to his answer, he nodded. "I know of it. My aunt was a Lady of Light there before she came to live with us when my sister and I were children."
    "Come with me." She turned toward the enclosure.
    Michael started to follow, then stopped so fast he had to pinwheel his arms to keep his balance. "Wait. What will happen if I step out of this box?"
    "Nothing. Your heart doesn't dominate here." Now she looked thoughtful. "But it does resonate here."
    "Is that going to stay like that?" he asked, waving a hand at the bog, fog, and sand — and that little bit that, in his own mind, represented home and hope.
    "No, it's just a playground where Ephemera can safely express itself. It will go back to resting sand when you step out of the gravel box,"
    He stepped out of the box and silently counted. Before he reached "ten," almost everything had changed back to sand.
    "Ephemera," Glorianna said in a warning