The Magician King_ A Novel - Lev Grossman [189]
“Well,” he said stupidly. “Easy come.”
That was the end of Quentin the Magician King, just like that. He was somebody else now. It was a silly thing to be sad about, really. For God’s sake they’d just saved magic, saved all their lives. Julia had found her peace. They had finished the quest. He hadn’t lost, he’d won.
Elaine and the man in the suit had resumed their stations, on their chairs, like a pair of seated caryatids. Job well done. God, he couldn’t believe he’d flirted with her back on the Outer Island. She wasn’t so different from her father, in the end.
He had high hopes for her daughter, anyway.
“Give my best to Eleanor,” he said.
“Oh, Eleanor,” Elaine said in the dismissive tone she reserved for her daughter. “She still talks about the time you picked her up, how far she could see. You made quite an impression on her.”
“She’s a sweet girl.”
“Can’t tell time yet. Do you know, she’s absolutely obsessed with Earth now? She asked me to send her away to school there, and I’m sorely tempted to do it, I can tell you. I’m counting the days.”
Good for Eleanor, Quentin thought. She was getting off the Outer Island. She would be all right.
“Imagine that,” he said. “When she’s old enough for college, drop me a line. I might be able to recommend one.”
It was time to go.
The sea was no longer empty. Something was coming toward them across it: it was Ember, late as usual, trotting neatly across the skim of water. Wouldn’t be like Him to miss a good dethroning.
“So,” Quentin said. “Back to the Muntjac? Or?” Maybe the magic sheep would be good for a ride home. He really did hope so. Ember took His place by Eliot’s side.
“Not for you, Quentin,” He said.
And then Eliot did something Quentin had never seen him do before, even after everything they’d been through together. He sobbed. He turned away and walked a few steps down the beach with his back to them, arms crossed, head down.
“It is a dark day for Fillory,” Ember said, “but you will always be remembered here. And all good things must come to an end.”
“Wait a minute.”
Quentin recognized this little speech. It was the canned farewell that Ember delivered in the books, every time He did what He did best, which was to kick visitors out of Fillory at the end.
“I don’t understand. Look, enough is enough.”
“Yes, Quentin, enough is enough. It is exactly that.”
“I’m sorry, Quentin.” Eliot couldn’t look at him. He took a rattling breath. “There’s nothing I can do. It’s always been the rule.”
Fortunately Eliot had a gorgeous embroidered handkerchief to blot his eyes with. He’d probably never had to use it before.
“For God’s sake!” Quentin might as well get angry, there was nothing else left to do. “You can’t send me back to Earth, I live here now! I’m not some schoolkid who has to get back in time for curfew or fifth form or whatever, I’m a fucking grown-up. This is my home! I’m not from Earth anymore, I’m a Fillorian!”
Ember’s face was impassive beneath His massive stony horns. They curled back from His woolly forehead, ribbed like ancient seashells.
“No.”
“This isn’t how it ends!” Quentin said. “I am the hero of this goddamned story, Ember! Remember? And the hero gets the reward!”
“No, Quentin,” the ram said. “The hero pays the price.”
Eliot put a hand on Quentin’s shoulder.
“You know what they say,” Eliot said. “Once a king in Fillory, always—”
“Save it.” Quentin shook him off. “Save it. That’s bullshit and you know it.”
He sighed. “I guess I do.”
Eliot had himself back under control now. He held something out, small and pearly, pinched in his handkerchief.
“It’s a magic button. Ember brought it. It will take you to the Neitherlands. You can travel back to Earth from