by Allan Cole
"Now, that’s magic!" she said, holding the coin in one hand and rolling it up and down from finger to finger in one continuous, fluid motion.
"But you didn’t use sorcery at all!" Safar protested. "I would have felt it if you had."
Methydia laughed. "Then how did I do it?"
"I don’t know," Safar admitted. "It must be some kind of trick."
"But it’s a trick that will get a lot more applause than your magic," Methydia said.
Safar thought he understood. "It’s the smoke," he said. "I can make smoke."
He gestured at the cabin deck. A thin stream of smoke boiled out of a spot on the plank. He raised his finger slowly and the smoke became a long stream. Then he snapped his fingers and the smoke vanished. "Like that?" he asked.
"No, no," Methydia said. "It wasn’t what I did, but how I did it. You used magic to make the smoke. I used this -"
She opened her hand, displaying a small green pellet. She made a fleshy fold with her thumb, gripping and hiding the pellet in the fold. Then she rolled her hand over, made a graceful gesture with her forefinger and once again there was crack! and green smoke rose up.
"I used a device," she said, "to cause an effect that looked like magic. You used real magic, but so clumsily it looked more like a device. The audience would have guessed - wrongly, as it may be - that you had something hidden in your hand. The point is, you would have spoiled it for them."
"What about the coin part?" Safar asked.
"Same thing," Methydia said. "You threw it in a corner. People will think you did that to divert their attention away from the real trick. Whereas I threw it up into the air, where it appeared to remain in plain sight while I worked my other diversions."
He remembered the jabbing finger that drew his eyes and the near kiss that clouded his view. "I think I see what you mean," he said. "But you could have used real magic, not fakery, to accomplish the same thing."
"Not for two shows a day, I couldn’t," Methydia said. "Plus two and a matinee on Godsday. You have to pace yourself in this business. You need as much energy for the last act of the last show as you did when you started out. In entertainment, my sweet, that’s what separates the green from the ripe."
But Safar was young and stubborn. "It seems to me," he said, "I did well enough with real magic when I conjured the coin into that little girl’s hand. The crowd certainly acted impressed. And they bought out every seat in the tent to prove it."
"They thought she was a plant," Methydia said. "A part of the show. I overheard some of them talking afterwards."
"Oh."
"It was the spirit of the trick that impressed them," she said. "The poor little waif and her young mother." She smiled at Safar and patted his knee, saying, "Even so, I have to give you credit for the idea. It was a certain crowd pleaser and I think we should make it a permanent part of our act."
Safar was as thrilled as if the praise had come from a master wizard instead of a circus witch.
"You have good instincts, my sweet," she said. "And if you pay close attention to what your Auntie Methydia says, you’ll make a marvelous showman."
* * *
The days that followed were among the most joyful in Safar’s life. His heart was as serene as the skies they sailed through. His troubles seemed far off - like the dark storm clouds edging the horizon behind them.
As a mountain lad he’d spent many a hour perched on high peaks pondering the mysteries of the skies. He’d watched birds wing overhead and dreamed he was flying with them. In Methydia’s Cloudship those dreams came true. Although his fellow passengers of the air could be a boisterous lot at time, especially during rehearsals when there was much joking and leg-pulling, at other times they seemed to treasure silence as much as he did. Hours would pass without a sound.
Each member of the troupe and crew had favorite solitary spots where they could watch the world pass by. Only the occasional hiss of the furnace and pumping of bellows intruded. After a time these faint sounds blended into the song of the winds that carried them above the lands where poor earth-bound creatures dwelled.
Safar was exhilarated by his new life. He threw all his efforts into soaking up everything Methydia and her troupe could teach him. He learned about trick boxes and trapdoors, smoke and mirrors, and wires so thin they couldn’t be seen against a dark background, yet could hold hundreds of pounds suspended above the arena. Methydia helped him work up a mind reading act and he amazed the crowds during intermissions with details of their lives that seemed to be snatched from their thoughts. He used two sharp-eyed and big-eared roustabouts to gather the information before he staged his act.
Along with the illusions Methydia also added to his store of real magic. He learned subtle spells that enhanced his performance. Some caused a grumpy crowd to feel humor. Others heightened wonder, increased tension or stirred romance in cold hearts. She taught him how to make the magical charms and potions they sold after every performance. Safar added his potter’s skills to this job, pinching out marvelous little vials to hold the potions and creating charms made of colorful potsherd necklaces and jewelry.
He learned how to read a fortune in a palm, instead of casting bones. Methydia said this kind of foretelling was more personal and therefore more accurate than "dead bones rattling around and scaring people half to death." Besides palmistry, he was taught how to cast a simple starchart in five minutes, rather than the hours and even days it took Umurhan and his priests.
"Those scholarly castings are so complicated, so ugly with all their mathematical squiggles, only a rich man would want one," Methydia said. "To show he was wealthy enough to hire such a wise dream catcher.
"But ordinary people - real people - want to know now, not days from now. And they want to be able to read the chart for themselves so they can hang it over the mantle and show it off to their friends by pointing out the highlights."
The other members of the troupe also pitched in with his showcraft education. The brawny dwarf, Biner, taught him the delicate art of applying makeup and altering his features so he could play many different kinds of characters. Arlain and Kairo showed him how to do simple acrobatics. They ran him through heart-stopping exercises and plied him with strengthening powders until his muscles vibrated with power. Elgy coached him on timing, getting Rabix to play rhythmic music as Safar performed his acts over and over again until his delivery was as natural as the mental beat Rabix drummed into his head.
To Methydia’s amazement - and his own - Safar’s magical powers increased with each passing day. It wasn’t a gradual strengthening, like his muscles, but leap after leap from one pinnacle to the next. For the first time since he was a boy he actually enjoyed doing magic. The roar of the audiences swept away the shame his father had accidentally instilled in him. He delighted in their amazement. Especially - as Biner had said it would - the wonderment of the children.
As he became stronger and more skilled he even started dispensing with some of Methydia’s tricks. His illusions became almost entirely magical, although he still used showmanship to "sell it," as Methydia would say. True, the performances drained him, just as Methydia predicted. Yet never so much he couldn’t deliver as many encores as the crowd desired.
For a time Methydia kept herself at a slight distance from him. She still teased him and made suggestive jokes that made him blush. But that was her nature. Mainly she behaved like a kindly teacher or mentor, correcting him when he needed it and praising him when he deserved it. Although Safar was powerfully attracted to her, it never occurred to him that she might feel the same. Why, she was old enough to be his mother. Perhaps even older. He ought to be ashamed of himself for thinking of such disrespectful thoughts.
During that time Safar noticed a small tension building among the troupe and crew, as if they were waiting for something long overdue. Occasionally when he and Methydia were out on the deck together - running through a new twist in the act - he’d noticed people glancing at the two of them. Then the
re’d be little smiles, whispered asides and shakes of the head.
Once he overheard the roustabouts wondering aloud if "maybe Methydia’s lost her sweet tooth." Safar didn’t know what that meant. He was doubly mystified when the men saw him and turned away, shamefaced.
* * *
The dreamlike days ended when they reached Kyshaat.
It was a regular stop in the troupe’s circuit. Over the centuries the people of Kyshaat had turned the vast plains surrounding their walled town into wide fields of fat grain. The circus folk expected a large profit from their visit to the region and were dismayed when they saw the desolation of the usually lush fields. It was as if an enormous ravenous beast had swept through, devouring the grain - stalks and all - nearly to the ground.
Hungry and pitiful eyes stared up at the Cloudship as it sailed overhead. To Safar the usually joyful circus music had an eerie edge to it as they serenaded the crowds and Biner’s big booming call of "Come one, Come all," seemed to be flattened and swallowed up by a thick miasma.
"Don’t know what’s happened here," Biner muttered to Methydia. "But maybe it’d be best if we moved on."
Methydia pressed her lips together and shook her head. "We were eager enough for their company when there was a profit to be made," she said. "I’ll not turn away now because fortune no longer favors them."
Biner nodded and turned back to his duties, but Safar could see he was worried. On the ground hundreds of people followed the Cloudship’s shadow, but they were so silent Safar could hear the wails of small children carried in their parents’ arms.
A few minutes later the Cloudship was tied up over a barren patch and the roustabouts were swaying down the equipment.
When Safar’s feet touched ground he turned to face the onrushing crowd. To his amazement they all stopped at the edge of the field. It was as if an invisible barrier had been thrown up. They remained there for two hours while the roustabouts put the circus together. Methydia had them dispense with the tents - the stands were set up in the open.
When she thought all was ready she beckoned to Safar and the two of them advanced on the crowd. About twenty paces away a shout brought them up short:
"Beware, Methydia! Come no closer!"
Methydia’s pose was unbroken. Her eyes swept the crowd.
"Who spoke?" she demanded.
There were mutters in the crowd, but no one answered.
"Come on," Methydia insisted. "We’ve traveled many miles to entertain our friends in Kyshaat. What kind of greeting is this? Speak up!"
There were more mutterings, then the crowd parted and an old man, bent nearly double, hobbled out, supported by a heavy cane.
"It was I, Methydia," he said. "I was the one who cried the warning."
Bent over and aged as the old man was, Safar could see the skeletal outline of once broad shoulders. The fingers gripping the cane were thick, the wrists broad-bladed.
"I know you," Methydia said. "You’re Neetan. The one with the seven grandchildren I always let in free."
Neetan’s wrinkled face drooped like an old beaten dog’s. "There’s only two, now, Methydia," he said. "All the rest have been called to the realm of the gods."
Methydia’s eyes widened. She took a step forward.
The crowd stirred uneasily and once again Neetan shouted, "Come no closer!"
Methydia stopped. "What happened here?" she asked.
"We are becursed, Methydia," Neetan said. "All of Kyshaat is becursed. Flee while you can, or the curse will afflict you."
Safar saw momentary fear register on Methydia’s face. Then her chin came up, stubborn. "I’m not leaving," she said, "until I’ve heard what it is that has brought you to this state."
Neetan stamped his cane. "It wasn’t one catastrophe," he said, "but many. First we were visited by King Protarus."
Safar was startled. "Iraj was here?" he asked.
"Beware how you address him, my son," the old man said. "Do not be so familiar with his royal name."
Safar ignored this. He pointed at the barren fields. "Iraj Protarus did that?" he demanded.
"Only some of it," Neetan said. "And it was one of his generals, not the king, who came. The general arrived with a small troop and demanded our fealty to King Protarus and food for his armies."
"And you granted this?" Safar asked, "without at least asking payment?" It was inconceivable to him that his former friend would not at least offer to pay these people.
"What choice did we have?" Neetan said. "It is well known that King Protarus is not so kind to any who oppose him. Why, several cities have been sacked and burned for defying him. Then the men and old ones were killed and the rest sold into slavery."
Safar was furious. Methydia laid a hand on his arm, steadying him.
"You said this was but the first of many catastrophes," she said to Neetan. "What else has befallen you, my friend?"
"At least King Protarus left us enough to live," Neetan said. "But then we were visited by plague to ravage our homes, birds and locusts to denude our fields and beasts to devour our flocks."
While the old man enumerated the evils that afflicted Kyshaat, Safar caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure at the edge of the crowd. But when he looked directly at the spot the figure was gone. He suddenly caught a whiff of a foul odor. Then the scent vanished.
Meanwhile, Neetan was saying, "We are the most miserable of people, Methydia. The gods have forsaken us. Because we love you, because of all the joy you have brought us over the years, please leave this place. Leave us to our curse. Before you too fall under its thrall."
"Nonsense!" Methydia said. "I fear no curse. The circus will begin in one hour. All who want to come are welcome - free of charge. This is my gift to old friends. So do not insult me by staying away."
Then she turned and marched back to the others, leaving Neetan and the frightened people gaping.
Safar lengthened his stride and caught up to her. "There really is something here," he said." "It’s... some kind of..." and then words failed him.
He gestured, wanting to convey the feeling he had of a cold, greasy breath at the back of his neck. "A presence, is the only thing I can think of.
"It’s watching us."
Methydia suddenly quickened her pace. "Yes, yes," she whispered. "Now I can feel it too.
"I think I made a mistake coming here. We’d better get away."
Safar heard a sound like boulders grating against one another and then the ground heaved up beneath his feet.
"Run!" he shouted, grabbing Methydia by the hand and sprinting for the Cloudship.
Behind him he heard the screams of the crowd and the long tearing rip of the earth itself. Ahead he saw Biner and the others scrabbling for hammers and axes and anything that would make a weapon. Soon as he reached them, Safar released Methydia and whirled around to confront the threat.
He saw the ground coming up, the roots of bushes and small trees ripping away, gravel and earth and stones showering down a gathering hill. Before his eyes the hill became a towering earthen figure with arms and a head and a torso supported by two mighty legs. A hole opened in the place where a mouth ought to be.
The creature spoke, rocks and gravel tumbling from its lips:
"Mine!" it said, voice grating and grumbling like it was formed in a deep cavern.
It waved a huge arm, showering Safar and others with gravel and clods of earth.
"Mine!" it said again, gesturing at the crowd of people.
Then an immense arm came forward, a gnarly finger as long as a man shooting out - pointing at Safar and his group.
"Now, you mine!" the creature said.
It took a slow step forward and the ground shuddered. Small bushes and trees crashed down. Instantly they took life, brushy limbs and hairy roots clawing up dirt, which formed around their woody skeletons to make bodies.
"Mine!" the earth creature howled and its spawn moved toward Safar and his friends, thorny hands reaching out to grasp.
&nb
sp; The creatures fanned out into a half-circle which they tightened around the troupe, their earthen creator urging them on with bellows of "Mine!"
Biner lifted up a huge crate and hurled it at the oncoming horror. The crate crashed into the center of the line, bursting apart three of the monsters. But the others moved on, dragging themselves toward the troupe.
Arlain reared back, drawing in her breath and bracing herself with her tail. Then she jerked forward - long flames shooting from her mouth. There was a series of meaty pops! like termites exploding in a forest fire. One whole side of the advancing line burst into flames.
Then the whole circus charged - Biner in the lead - flailing away with axes and hammers and spars.
Safar gripped Methydia’s hand, holding her back. He was concentrating on the earthen giant.
"Mine!" it roared, sending off more showers of rock and dirt and brush that quickly formed into new monstrosities to replace the fallen.
"Help me, Methydia!" Safar shouted, squeezing her hand tighter.
He grabbed for her power, felt her resist and shrink back. Then the shield lifted and he had it - a strong, slender fist of energy he added to his own.
Safar turned toward the earthen giant. It was almost on them. He saw it reach out to grab for Biner, black maw gaping to expose the rocky millstones that were its teeth.
"No!" he heard Methydia cry.
Safar drew on a cloak of calmness. Everything became exceptionally slow, like the day he’d fought the demons. Even as the earthen giant’s rocky palm was closing over Biner, Safar took his time.
He made a sharp probe of his senses and shot it forward. He felt it slip through the creature’s rubble body, find the path of least resistance and drive the probe upward.
Deep inside he found the husk of an insect’s body. A locust that had been drained of all its juices. And in that locust he found something small and mean. It wriggled when his probe found it, rising up and bursting out of the locust’s corpse.
