“Sorry,” said Rikiki.
“And well you should be,” Granny said. “Be more careful in the future.” She looked at Tazli. “Sit down, and I’ll get you some tea.”
“What happened?” Tazli repeated.
“Rikiki got too far away from you for comfort, that’s all,” Granny said, handing her a plate containing a slice of buttered nut bread, a wedge of paper-white cheese, and two small, puffy pastries that smelled as if they were stuffed with crab.
Cats materialized from all the corners of the room and converged on Tazli. “Watch out, Rikiki!” Tazli said, momentarily distracted.
“They won’t bother him,” Granny said. “They know better. Cream and sugar?”
“Yes,” Tazli said. “What did you mean, Rikiki got too far away from me?”
“Festival night is his luck period,” Granny replied. She gave the chipmunk a dark look. “Thanks to his carelessness, his birth luck has gotten tangled up with yours.”
“Gods have birth luck?” Tazli said.
“Rikiki does,” Granny said. “Why do you think he’s been getting smarter all night? Or hadn’t you noticed?”
“Well, all right, but then what did you mean about our luck getting tangled?”
“What I said,” Granny replied. “It’s a little like what happens when a wizard invests his birth magic in a luck piece.”
“That’s impossible,” Tazli said. “You can’t just invest your luck without training!”
“You can’t,” Granny said. “And you didn’t. Your luck isn’t invested in anything at all, right at the moment; it’s simply caught in Rikiki’s luck. Since Rikiki is a god, his luck is stronger than yours, and when he moves away from you he takes your luck with him. That’s why you felt dizzy a minute ago.”
Tazli took a large swallow of tea and lifted her plate out of reach of the cats. “How long will this last?”
“Until the end of your luck period,” Granny said. “If we haven’t done something about it by then, your luck will dissipate the same way a wizard’s luck does if he’s unsuccessful at investing it.”
“But…but if a wizard tries to invest his luck and fails, he dies!” Tazli said. “That’s why the Levar is never allowed to do magic.”
“It’s one reason, and a pretty poor one, if you ask me,” Granny said. “But you’re going to do some tonight. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to die young and let that fifth cousin of yours in Saltigos take over the city.”
“No!” Tazli said, angered as much by the thought of Esveri Aranda iv Larwin, Chancellor of Saltigos, running her city as by the thought of dying. “What do I have to do?”
“Follow directions,” Granny said. “First of all, when is the exact moment of your birth?”
Tazli hesitated, but the old woman already knew that this was her birth period; knowing the exact moment couldn’t make much difference. “Seven fifty-six in the morning,” Tazli said.
Rikiki gave a surprised squeak. Granny looked startled, then thoughtful. “We’ve four or five hours to mend matters, then. Just as well; this is going to be trickier than I’d thought.”
“Why?” Tazli demanded. “What’s so special about seven fifty-six in the morning?” The old woman did not answer, but Tazli persisted. “It’s my life. I ought to know.”
“The peak of my luck-time is then,” Rikiki said. “That’s why the Ka’Riatha said untangling your birth luck from mine would be tricky.”
Granny stood up and crossed to a shelf on the opposite side of the room, where she picked up something Tazli could not see. “What are you doing?” Tazli demanded.
“I’m going to lock the gate so we won’t be disturbed by visitors,” Granny said. “Fortunately, Jehane is a sound sleeper and has learned to limit her snooping.”
“Who’s Jehane?” Rikiki said worriedly.
“My apprentice in weaving. Don’t fret; she has no interest whatever in magic.” She went out through the front door and returned a moment later to replace the gate key on the shelf.
“What kind of magic is this going to be?” Tazli asked uneasily.
Granny looked at her. “I’m going to guide you through the process of investing your luck.”
“Will that get it untangled from Rikiki?”
“Probably, but it doesn’t matter,” Granny said. “If your luck’s successfully invested, being without it won’t kill you, and it won’t matter if a little of it stays stuck to Rikiki.”
“This is impossible,” Tazli said. “One person can’t help another invest her luck, or there wouldn’t be so many deaths when people try.”
“Normally, you’d be right. This time you’re not.” Granny sighed and picked up a lamp and a handful of unspun wool. “This is going to be a joint investiture. It’s my birth day, too. Now, come along; we haven’t much time. You’d better carry Rikiki. It’ll be safer for both of you.”
Feeling rather stunned, Tazli picked up Rikiki and followed Granny out the back door and down a flight of stairs into the cellar. They paused only long enough for Granny to wave her cane over an area of the floor, which melted into a second set of steps, leading downward. Below was a large cave, empty except for a set of heavily laden shelves carved into the stone and a wine rack near the foot of the stairs. “Wait here,” Granny said.
The old woman crossed to the shelves and began selecting things: a wooden drop spindle, six small brass lamps, a box of colored chalks, a smooth-surfaced, irregularly shaped lump of black stone, and two new candles. With the chalk, she drew an intricate diagram on the floor of the cave, positioning the brass lamps at carefully spaced intervals. The black stone, the wooden spindle, and the unspun fleece she had brought down to the cave from upstairs went in the center of the diagram.
“It’s ready,” she said at last. “Tazli, come here and listen carefully. You are going to have to follow my instructions exactly, or we’ll probably both die.”
Tazli swallowed hard and nodded. Granny handed her a candle and began explaining what she was to do. It did not seem very hard—Tazli would have to walk behind her through the maze of the diagram, lighting every other lamp from the candle she held and thinking about birth luck. When they reached the center, she was to put Rikiki down and concentrate as best she could on the drop spindle, which Granny would make use of until the end of the ritual. She was to ignore everything else that went on; Granny was particularly firm about the necessity of making no sudden moves or unexpected noises.
“What about the rock?” Tazli asked, looking at the black stone in the center of the diagram.
“That’s for me,” Granny said. “Ignore it. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Tazli said. She felt completely incapable of saying anything more. If this did not work, she would be dead within four hours and Liavek would have a new Levar. She thought about the straw butterfly in her pocket and wondered whether the new Levar would understand about Liavekans like Ishvari and Jinji and Silvertop and Daviros and the old man at the Two-Copper Bazaar. She did not think she understood them herself.
“Good. Another minute or so, and—” The old woman stopped and swayed as if something had struck her, and the black rock in the center of the diagram began to shimmer.
“What was that?” Tazli said. “Are you all right?”
“That was my luck returning to me,” Granny said. She sounded tireder than she had a moment before.
Tazli looked at the glowing rock. “I thought a wizard’s spells collapsed when his luck time came.”
“They do,” Granny said. “That’s not my doing, nor is it a wizard’s spell. It’s a gift to keep me going until my luck’s re-invested.”
“Keep you going?”
“I’m older than I look,” Granny said shortly.
“Ka’Riatha,” Rikiki said, “are you sure you want to—”
“Of course I’m sure,” the old woman snapped in a more normal tone. “Light your candle and let’s go. Remember, once we’re started, don’t stop for anything. And don’t smear the
diagram.”
Granny lowered the wick of her candle to the flame of the lamp she had brought with her, and Tazli did likewise. The fire dimmed, then rose high and smoky as the two candles caught. Without another word, Granny started into the chalk maze. Tazli took a deep breath, thought of her birth luck, and followed.
At first, nothing seemed to happen. Tazli walked slowly and steadily along the narrow, twisting path marked out on the floor in blue chalk, and tried to think of birth luck. It was more difficult than she had expected; thoughts of Rikiki, of Granny, and of Liavek itself kept intruding. She found it strange that a god would have a luck period. Were gods born the way people were, or did they come into being in some other fashion that determined their luck-time?
Granny paused to light the first of the brass lamps, and Tazli blinked. As the wick caught, a flicker of red light ran across the surface of the diagram. Birth luck, Tazli thought, forcing her mind back toward the subject she had been told to think of. Is all birth luck red? Granny passed the second lamp, and Tazli stopped to light it herself. This time the light was orange, and a little stronger than before. Ignore it and think of birth luck, Tazli told herself firmly.
The lighting of the third lamp made a clear yellow light shine from the diagram when Granny lit it; the fourth, which was Tazli’s, brought a bright green glow. Tazli began to feel light-headed. The fifth lamp produced a medium-blue flare of light and the mental sensation of having lost something and then having forgotten what it was that was lost. The sixth and last of the lamps lit the cave with a dark blueish-violet light. The sense of loss intensified. Tazli staggered, and her foot nearly scraped one of the chalk lines.
Granny reached the center of the diagram. Turning to face Tazli, she set her candle on the floor beside the rock and picked up the spindle and fleece. Tazli set down her own candle and let Rikiki jump off her hand to crouch beside it; then she turned to watch the spindle as she had been instructed.
Granny had tucked the spindle under one arm and was teasing one end of the fleece into a peak. There were beads of sweat on her upper lip, but her expression was merely intent, not grim. She twisted the wool and pulled, twisted and pulled, and a six-inch strand of yarn hung from the end of the fleece.
With a practiced motion, Granny flipped her arm so that the fleece wrapped itself around her wrist and out of the way. Her other hand brought the spindle forward, and she quickly knotted the end of the yarn to a short nub at the base of the spindle. She twisted and pulled at the fleece again, and brought the additional length up and around to wrap twice around the top of the spindle. Then, with a quick, strong snap of her fingers, she set the spindle turning and let it hang free from the end of the fleece.
Tazli felt something pulling at her, tugging her in all directions at once. The revolving spindle seemed to turn with considered slowness in the air before her eyes, and the cave turned with it. The spindle slowed further, or the cave spun faster, until it seemed that the spindle was a still center around which Tazli, the cave, Liavek, and all the world beyond swung in steady, solemn circles.
The pull intensified, and Tazli feared she would be torn apart. Then the pull shifted and came together, until it seemed to come from the spindle itself, drawing part of Tazli’s self out of her to wrap around the wooden shaft, twisting and winding and binding a piece of her soul in with the lengthening yarn.
With a soft click, the spindle hit the floor of the cave. Everything stopped; then there was a last sharp tug, and Tazli fell backward, gasping. Her hand slid against a dry chalk line, and she looked at Granny in horror, afraid that she had ruined everything.
Granny’s face was shiny with sweat, but she was smiling. From her left hand a slim wool thread, faintly glowing, stretched down to the spindle.
The spindle stopped turning and the glow vanished from the thread. “Well done!” someone said beside Tazli.
Tazli looked up. An unfamiliar young man dressed in blue silk was standing next to the puddle of wax that had been her candle. His hair was light brown, and his eyes were the same bright blue as Rikiki’s fur. He smiled and put out his hand to help her to her feet. “Who are you?” Tazli demanded.
“Rikiki,” said the young man. He sounded apologetic and rather sad. “If you’ve got any questions, you’d better ask them quickly. I’ve only got about five minutes before I turn back into the stupidest god in Liavek.” He looked at Granny. “At least you’ve managed to negate the results of my latest muddle-headedness. My thanks, Ka’Riatha.”
“It’s my job,” Granny said. “But the thanks are welcome nonetheless.” She detached the yarn from the drop spindle and wrapped it around her wrist.
“Is that what my luck is invested in?” Tazli asked.
“It is, and if you were going to ask for it the answer is no,” Granny said. “You don’t know the first thing about using it, and letting an untrained magician loose in the Levar’s Palace is a recipe for an even bigger disaster than letting Rikiki loose there.” She paused to give Rikiki a grim smile. “Although this time I may have salvaged more from the mess than you think.”
“What do you mean, Ka’Riatha?” Rikiki said warily.
“I’d been wondering whether it wasn’t time for me to find someone to train to succeed me,” Granny said. “Now I won’t have to. As for the rest—we’ll see.”
“You’re going to make the Levar an apprentice Ka’Riatha?” Rikiki said.
“Why not?” Granny said. She began picking up the various items that had been used in the ritual of investiture. “She’s got S’Rian blood; all the Levars have, from the very beginning. Her luck period is a better match for your birth hours than any Ka’Riatha’s since Vesharan, and she’s got a certain amount of natural talent. And it’s about time this city was run by someone who knows the difference between herring and mackerel.”
“The Ka’Riatha has always stayed clear of politics.”
“Things change.”
“I—” Rikiki stopped and gave Tazli an uncertain look.
“Do you have any objection?” Granny said. “If you dislike her, of course, it’s out of the question.”
“No,” Rikiki said. “I don’t dislike her.”
“Then it’s settled.” Granny looked at Tazli. “Don’t stand there like a beached whale; pick up the lamps on your side. If you’re going to be my apprentice, you’ll have to learn where things go.”
“Don’t I get any say in this?” Tazli said. The idea sounded interesting, but she knew that the way something sounded was not a reliable guide to how enjoyable it would actually be. “What does this apprentice Ka’Riatha business mean, anyway?”
Granny looked at her approvingly. “It means that in addition to your duties as Levar, you will have a great many lessons from me, mostly in regard to the use of magic, at least at first. You need training so that next year you can invest your luck for yourself. There will be occasional ceremonies I shall expect you to participate in, and later you will learn a good deal about the gods that their priests won’t admit to, and a considerable amount of history that you won’t find in the palace library. If you succeed, you will become extremely powerful; in return, you will have the responsibility of safeguarding the people of S’Rian, who have become the people of Liavek, and of untangling some of the unfortunate results of having too many gods interested in the same city. You will also be charged with keeping an eye on Rikiki in various ways. Is that a sufficient explanation?”
“It’s all I’m going to get, isn’t it?” Tazli said, and Granny smiled slightly. “What happens if I don’t want to be your apprentice?”
“You go back to the palace and give your Regents whatever explanation you think appropriate for your whereabouts all night. Next year on Festival Night, your birth luck returns to you; if you are reasonably intelligent, you will not attempt to invest it, since you will have had no training. It’s unlikely that you’ll see me again. Rikiki—” Granny shrugged. “Rikiki is another matter.”
“You’ll see me again,�
�� Rikiki said. “Though I can’t promise”—his body shimmered like smoke and shrank in on itself; an instant later, a blue chipmunk sat where the brown-haired man had been standing—“that when you do I’ll be able to hold an intelligent conversation,” the chipmunk finished. He blinked, and his head snapped in Granny’s direction. “Ka’Riatha! What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Granny said. She sounded extremely smug.
“Then why doesn’t he sound as…as silly as he did when he was a chipmunk before?” Tazli demanded.
“Because there’s still a tiny bit of your luck mixed up with his,” Granny said. “It’s no problem for you, but I wasn’t sure what the effect on Rikiki would be. I must say that this is most satisfactory.”
“Will it last?” the chipmunk said anxiously.
“As long as luck does,” Granny reassured him. She glanced at Tazli. “Well? Made up your mind yet?”
Tazli looked from Granny to Rikiki and back. She thought about returning to the palace and her Regents, and what she would tell them. She thought about the amount of time it took just to be the Levar, and of how much more it would take to be both the Levar and the Ka’Riatha’s apprentice. She thought about the way the whole world had seemed to whirl around the spindle. She thought about the people she had seen and met during the course of the night, greedy and generous, kind and self-absorbed, quarrelsome and cheerful and, above all, varied. She thought about Liavek.
Then she bent and picked up the nearest of the brass lamps. She blew it out and walked to the next one. “Where do these belong?” she asked, and Granny, with an amused and understanding expression, told her.
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Points of Departure Page 37
