Fortune's Fool

by Mercedes Lackey

  “throwing” gesture, and a thousand spears flew toward Katya and her charge.

  With a cry of horror, the woman in red flung herself between both of them and the spears, spreading her arms wide and making a shield of her own body.

  “Nyet!” Katya cried, and slashed her hand down.

  Water burst up out of the floor just in front of the woman in red, in a geyser that deflected most of the spears up and to either side. Only one got through, pinning one of the woman’s long sleeves to a pillar.

  Well, now she knew which of the two women the 82

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  witch was. The witch would not have interposed herself, but would have taken the attack on the warlord as an unexpected opening for an attack of her own.

  As the woman in red yanked the spear from her sleeve and cast it aside with a snarl, Katya made a fist and jerked down, and water poured straight down on the witch from the ceiling, exactly as if she were standing under a powerful waterfall.

  It knocked the witch off her feet, giving the woman in red time to make a slashing movement with her fan.

  A line of force split the air between them, sending the witch tumbling. Katya closed off the torrent as her ally made a second slashing motion, this time upward, which sent the witch against the wall.

  But the witch recovered faster than Katya would have thought possible. She whirled, her face contorted with rage, and made a clawing gesture with one hand. It looked as if she was seizing something with that hand, and with the other, she snatched open the neck of her robes. A strange, blue-black gem, oblong, and strung roughly on a cord, gleamed for a moment at her neck before she clutched it and hid it. And now she summoned her demons, with a single screeched word.

  They were like no demons Katya had ever seen before.

  They were nothing but heads. Horrible heads that flew through the air, laughing and howling and spitting curses.

  They had horns, as many as three, curling horns like a ram, nubbins like a young goat, long spikes, ridged, ringed, and spiraling. Some of them had worms for Fortune’s Fool

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  tongues, or snakes, or no tongue at all. Their eyes bulged, red eyes or yellow. Some were fanged, others had the teeth of wolves or sharks. The heads dove at them, and Katya was the first to react.

  She swung at the first head to dive at them, with the flat of her sword, for she was not at all certain she could cut them, but she knew she could certainly hit them. She connected with a solid thud, and with a wail, the head careened into the wall, where it smashed, and vanished.

  And now the woman in red unwrapped her sash. Her robes slid from her shoulders and dropped to the ground, leaving her wearing the same sort of thin, white silk trews and wrapped shirt that Katya had found underneath all the robes she’d been in. She kept the sash though, and passed it around behind her back, wrapping each trailing end around her arm three times, leaving a puddle of scarlet, rust, cream, and burgundy silk on the floor below both wrists. And then…

  Then she began to dance.

  But what a dance!

  She moved like nothing Katya had ever seen before, except, perhaps, her brother and sister in full battle fever.

  She spun, she kicked, she flipped. She tumbled in midair and on the ground. She ran up the wall and cartwheeled off it. She did moves that Katya had never seen anyone do before, and every time she moved, one end of the sash lashed out. When it did, it generally connected with a head. Where the sash struck, it left a bleeding gash. Or took out an eye. Or sliced off a horn, or smashed in teeth.

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  Soon there was not a single one of the demons that were unmarked. They wailed in protest, voices shrill and unearthly, and a glance at the witch proved that she was having difficulty controlling them. Her hands moved in the air in stiff, frantic gestures, and her brow was beaded with sweat. Her hair lifted, as if being pulled by invisible hands, and when Katya squinted her eyes—in between devastatingly effective swats with the flat of her sword at the demon heads—she thought she could make out more of the heads, so transparent as to be just this side of invisible, with strands of her hair in their mouths.

  They were lifting it, tugging at it. Katya wondered why.

  The sash lashed out again, and for one moment, Katya thought it was one of the red-haired woman’s rare misses.

  But…no…

  The end of the sash licked across the witch’s forehead.

  The witch shrieked at the top of her lungs, a blood-curdling sound that made Katya’s hair stand on end. The witch’s hands were a blur of motion, the demon heads were clearly fighting her control, none of them were coming anywhere near Katya now, and the strange stone burned a terrible blue at the witch’s throat.

  And now Katya saw what the demon heads were doing.

  They were holding her, keeping her from running. Did they know that if she got the chance, now that she was losing, she would run and leave them to face the red-haired woman alone?

  But this was providing something else. Something that Katya had been hoping for since this fight had begun.

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  She turned her concentration to the red-haired woman’s dance, tracking the rhythm, the moves. She was still being swarmed by demon heads, and some of them were getting through to her. The white silk of her garments was spotted with red, and not all of it was from the demons.

  But that shot to the forehead was not the only mark that the red-haired woman had put on the witch. So if Katya could time this just right…

  The opening she was hoping for came. The creatures tangling themselves in the witch’s hair gave a pull back.

  The red-haired woman scored a cut to the witch’s cheek.

  The witch screamed again and winced back, her eyes closing involuntarily.

  And Katya dropped her sword and pulled her short dagger—

  She dashed in, seized the stone in her left hand, and lifted her dagger in the right—

  And with a single, swift slash, Katya cut the stone from the witch’s neck.

  A scream literally split the air, joined a moment later by a disharmony of howls from every part of the room.

  The witch made a snatch at her, hands outstretched, turning into claws, into talons, elongating in a way that made Katya gag even as she spun away.

  She fell back rather than trying to run, tumbling over and turning the fall into a roll, with the stone tightly clutched against her chest. She had been afraid that it was some kind of talisman of evil and would hurt her when 86

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  she touched it, but it wasn’t, and hadn’t. In fact, it felt warm and smooth in her hand, as if it welcomed her

  “rescue,” as she used the momentum of her roll to spring to her feet and whirl to face the witch again.

  What she saw, though, was nothing like the elegant, beautiful courtesan who had stood there. The face, skull-like and a cadaverous white, had baleful yellow eyes that glared at her with hate that had a life of its own. In place of the elegant robes, she was swathed in garments the color of dried blood, and the body inside those garments promised not pleasure, but the grave.

  The only part of her that was the same was the long, long white hair, hair that, unbound as it was now, was easily twice as long as she was tall. Like a spider stuck in the middle of its own web, she was trapped in her hair, trapped by the now-visible demon heads that held the hair tight, while she screamed out unintelligible syllables and her claws—not hands anymore, but nasty, scabrous things of bone and talon—moved to form shapes that made Katya’s stomach churn. Even though she had no idea what the witch was invoking, no knowledge of her magic, those sketched shapes somehow twisted the space around the witch into something utterly wrong.

  The demon heads continued to howl, and swarmed the red-haired woman. Katya moved in, swatting furiously with her sword in one hand, the stone in the other. With a look of intense concentration on her face, the red-haired woman su
ddenly unwound the sash from her arms, whipped one end of it over her head in a circle, and let fly.

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  The sash flew across the distance between her and the witch as surely as any arrow from the bow of Katya’s sister.

  The instant it touched the witch, it twisted in midair as if obeying a command, and as if being manipulated by unseen hands. One end whipped around and around the witch’s hands, binding them, mummifying them. The other slung around her neck, then continued to wrap around and around her head, sealing her mouth, until all that could be seen of that wreck of a face were the glaring, hate-filled eyes.

  And the moment the woman in blue had been rendered immobile—the demon heads turned on her.

  They swarmed her.

  Like sharks converging on one of their number, wounded and bleeding, they moved in on her, teeth clattering angrily. Like sharks, they began tearing at her—the witch struggled and staggered backward, struggling with her bonds, flailing at the heads with her bound hands. Blood spattered the wooden floor as the demonic teeth found their marks.

  The red-haired woman shouted a single word, and clapped her hands, and a whirling hole opened in the air above the witch, like a whirlpool in reverse, except that in the heart of this creation was a glow of ominous green.

  The red-haired woman bent to the pile of her garments and snatched up her fan, holding it closed, and pointing it at the witch. For the last time she flicked it open and made a complicated twisting motion with it, the hole became a whirlwind that surrounded the witch and all 88

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  her hideous little helpers, and in the time it took to gasp, sucked them into itself—

  Then it spun itself closed.

  And winked out of existence, taking the witch and all with it.

  Katya sat down abruptly, the stone still glowing softly in her hand.

  Silence filled the wide wooden room, as the splotches of blood faded from the floor, leaving no sign that a struggle had taken place except for the condition of the two that remained. The red-haired woman dropped the fan on her clothing again, and pushed her hair back from her face with both hands.

  Only then did Katya notice the furry, pointed ears poking up from her ally’s hair….and the bushy, red-furred, white-tipped tail that had been half-concealed by the long fall of the red hair down her back.

  Before she could wonder if she had merely exchanged one demon for another, the fox-woman knelt on the floor, rummaged through her clothing, and came up with an elaborately carved box. With shaking hands, she pried it open and shook something small out. Stumbling to the side of the warlord, who still stood like a statue, she pressed the object—a small, glowing stone, much like the larger one that Katya still held—to his forehead.

  Katya bit back an exclamation as the stone in her hand suddenly came to life, flaring with light and power that turned it from blue-black to white in an instant. There was a brief flash, and then the warlord blinked.

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  With a sob of relief, the fox-woman flung herself into his arms. “She almost had you!” she sobbed. “She almost took your spirit! It was in the stone!”

  “Shh, my brave one, my dancing warrior,” he soothed, stroking her hair, then her ears. “It is over. You saved me. You and—”

  Then he looked over the fox-woman’s head and seemed to see Katya for the first time.

  “Tamiko-san,” he said carefully. “Who is this foreign devil sitting on the floor of my house?”

  Katya cleared her throat. “You might not believe this, most honorable Prince,” she said carefully. “But I am the seventh daughter of the King of the Sea….”

  Tamiko resumed her garments, the garb of the courtesan of a prince, and with them the illusion that made her seem like any other mortal. Her hair changed from red to black as well; the warlord watched all this with a calm that told Katya he had seen this particular transformation not once, but many times before. Katya found this reassuring, since it seemed to her that this meant there were no secrets between the warlord and his nonhuman companion. For her part, Katya resumed her own illusion, then Tamiko fetched robes to clothe her. Only then were servants summoned, food and tea brought, and full explanations on Katya’s part made. She was content to wait to hear just what it was that Tamiko was, how she had come to be with the shogun, and why she had defended him.

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  Through it all, the warlord listened, silently, cour-teously, only asking an occasional question. Finally, when Katya was done, he nodded.

  “I believe you, Princess,” he said gravely. “I would have believed you anyway, even had you not aided Tamiko in saving my life.” He chuckled. “My family is prone to attracting the attention of the Spirit Realms. My great-grandfather was rewarded with this very palace and our lands and titles as a reward for his demon-slaying. My father was notable for laying ghosts to rest.

  All but one, that is. That one he returned to her slumbering body, broke the spell that held her, and wedded her. And me—” He smiled at Tamiko. “I seem to have won the heart of a kitsune.”

  Tamiko blushed, and politely hid her smile behind her hand. It was hard to believe that this shy and delicate creature had been the dancing warrior not so long ago.

  “I came to make mischief in the house of the son of a ghost,” she murmured. “I stayed because instead of mischief, I found my love.”

  “So I believe you, Sea Princess,” the shogun continued.

  “Tamiko has said that without your aid, she would not have been able to overcome the witch. For that…there are no words adequate to express my thanks.”

  “What was she doing, this witch?” Katya asked. “All that I know is she was leaving a string of men who were her puppets behind her.”

  Tamiko sighed. “She was stealing their spirits, putting one of her tame demons in its place, and putting the Fortune’s Fool

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  souls in that stone.” She pointed to the glowing stone on the floor mat between them. “From those souls, she gained magic power. From the demons doing her bidding in place of men, she gained temporal power. There is no telling, now that she is gone, but I believe that she intended to make herself Empress here eventually.

  Perhaps even set herself up as the rival to the Good Goddess.” Tamiko shrugged. “If your words are true, and the seabirds were crying ‘doom,’ I can well believe that. If the Good Goddess abandoned us…”

  She and her warlord exchanged a somber look.

  “But it didn’t happen,” Katya pointed out. “My father takes a dim view of that sort of thing going on at the border of his ocean. If I had failed, he would have come himself, with allies.” She raised an eyebrow. “With Godmothers, and more than one if he could. Even a would-be goddess should beware of Godmothers.”

  That made them both laugh. “Then perhaps,” suggested Tamiko, “I might speak to the Twelve-tailed Kitsune, the head of our clan, and she might find a way to keep your father better informed on the matters within Nippon than relying on the gossip of seabirds.”

  “That,” Katya said with satisfaction, “would be excellent.

  My father is always glad of allies, and it is one of the reasons he sends me out to be his eyes and ears, and sometimes his hands. But what about the spirits that are still in this stone?”

  “Ah,” the shogun said with a raised brow. “I think this is where I come in. I have arranged for all of us to take a journey on the morrow.”

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  And so it was. The next day, three litters and an entourage embarked from the shogun’s palace. Runners went out beforehand, looking for men of rank and influence who had suddenly collapsed in the night. This had happened, of course, as the demons controlling them had been ripped from their bodies at the defeat of the witch. Each time one was found, the shogun offered to resolve the tragedy. As the son of the famous Ghost-hunter Prince, he was welco
med warmly by desperate and frightened families.

  Once in the presence of those families, the shogun soothed their fears while the kitsune went to work, taking the stone from Katya—for it seemed to be most

  “comfortable” in her presence—and releasing the spirit held within it back into its proper vessel.

  After a night of hospitality, they would move on. With every soul released, the stone grew dimmer, quieter.

  Finally there was only one left. And this was where they made a slight detour. The shogun diverted them all down a path through the forest, a path so overgrown that Katya wondered how he could find it. And yet, when they came to the end of the path, there, in the midst of forest that seemed to have never felt that presence of man—

  There was a Temple. And not merely a Temple, but an entire complex that included living spaces, smaller shrines, teaching rooms, halls for meditation, and several spaces for the training of martial arts. This was a place full almost to bursting with priests and monks.

  But before they could step onto the grounds of the Temple, a priest appeared before them, holding up his hand.

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  “It devastates me to demand this of you, honorable visitors,” he said, “but only you, Prince, may go forward.

  I beg your companions to remain here.”

  The kitsune looked startled, the Prince frowned, and Katya felt as if she had been slapped.

  “Why?” Katya asked, making no effort to hide the fact that she felt insulted by this. The trek through the forest had been long and tiring and she had been a long time from open water….

  “It is not because you are female, valiant foreign devil,” the Priest said, with a smile that softened the un-flattering term. “Nor is it because you are a foreign devil.

  It is because you are both creatures of magic, and your presence will disturb some delicate magical workings, I fear. That stone you bear, weakened though it is, certainly will affect those workings, and I doubt that you would care to leave it in another’s custody.”