Wizard of the winds

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

An unseasonable cold snap ended their stay at Deming and they sailed south to warmer climes, storms and blustery winds at their back.

Safar knew from first-hand experience the storms were from out of the seas beyond Caspan. They came regularlyalthough usually not this earlyracing across the northern lands, bursting over the Gods Divide, then rolling down the southern slopes of the Bride's gown to sweep across the wide plains to the mountains beyond Jaspar.

Although the Cloudship was untroubled by the stormsalways staying just ahead of the frontal windsit was moving much faster than before, covering as much as two hundred miles in a day.

With every mile Safar was flung farther from Kyrania and soon, like Nerisa's image, all thoughts of home receded into the background. He was overcome by a marvelous feeling of freedom. They sailed across seas of crystal air, over great fluffy fields of clouds, through flocks of bright-feathered birds and under starry skies where the moon was so close it seemed you only had to turn the ship's wheel and you could fly to it.

They sailed on a loose schedule Methydia kept in her head. Day would blend into delightful day, then she'd suddenly issue orders and they'd prepare to land at a town or village where there was always a crowd to fill the ship's larder and the troupe's purses.

After that first night in Deming Methydia evidently came to some sort of decision and began to teach him her own brand of magic. Her training mocked all the forms and conventions of Umurhan's School of Sorcery. In Methydia's view presentation was more important than the spell itself.

"I suppose it's true that magic is a science, she told Safar one day. There are rules and the scholars tell us there are reasons for those rules."

As she spoke Methydia was sorting through a large wardrobe chest looking for a suitable costume for Safar.

"Personally, she said, the whys and wherefores never interested me. I'm an artist. I don't care why something happens. Only the effect it has on my art."

Methydia held up a dark blue shirt with a plunging neckline and floppy sleeves. It was decorated like a starry night, silvery constellations swirling in the dim light of her cabin's oil lamps.

"This is perfect, she murmured. It'll bring out the blue of your eyes. Methydia set the shirt aside and continued rummaging.

She said, I created a circus to display my art. I didn't have the idea until my lovers made the Cloudship possible. I was an actress, then. Billed as a woman of beauty and mystery. I kept my witchery locked in a box, like my makeup. I only used it to cure a blemish, trouble a rival or heighten my performance by wresting a sob from the audience.

"But soon as I saw the Cloudship the idea came to me'Methydia's Flying Circus of Miracles. My life as an actressand hidden witchsuddenly seemed tawdry. Meaningless. Unfulfilling."

Methydia paused, holding up a pair of breeches that were a near match to the shirt. She studied it, then wrinkled her nose. Too too much, she muttered, tossing the breeches back into the chest and continuing her search.

"Where was I? she asked, then"Oh, yes. My life as unfulfilled actress. Her face turned serious, gestures dramatic. I wanted more, she said, and yes, I admit it, the more was applause. I'm a self-centered bitch, but then what true artist isn't? The circus gave my art purpose. And in that purpose I found my heart. That is the gift I give to my audience now… She laid a light hand on her breast. My heart."

She held the dramatic moment, then went on. I like to please people, she said, to lift away their troubles, to thrill them with danger that is always happening to another, but in the end they know is safe. I like to help them remember how it was to be young, how it was to love, and if they're younghow what might be, may be."

Suddenly Methydia solemn expression dissolved into one of delight. She clapped her hands, making Safar jump with surprise.

"Here's just the thing! she cried, hauling a pair of snowy white breeches from the trunk.

Methydia held them up, looking critical and turning them this way and that.

She tugged at the seat. We'll have take them in here, she said. Then she grinned, So the ladies can see your assets better."

Safar blushed, mumbling something about it not being seemly.

"Nonsense, Methydia replied. If Arlain and I can jiggle about for the lads, the least you can do is give the maids a thrill. That's what makes a show. A little sex, a little comedy, a clown chase. All frosting on the cake."

She placed the breeches next to the shirt. Now all we need is a wide belt and tight boots and you'll have the rubes eating out of your hand."

Then Methydia gave him his first lesson. To his surprise, she started by having him show her the coin spell he'd used on the little girl in Deming.

"That's easy, Safar said, I did that when I was a babemoving bright things around to amuse myself."

"Just show me, my sweet, she said, passing him a coin.

Safar threw the coin into the corner. While it was still rolling he gestured, made it vanish, gestured again, and it fell into Methydia's still-open hand.

"What's this? Methydia said, but in disdain, not amazement. You call that magic?"

She flipped the coin high into the air. Quickly she jabbed a dramatic finger at the deck. Safar's eyes followed. There was the sharp crack! of an explosion. A stream of green smoke bloomed updrawing Safar's eyes with itand the coin appeared to vanish in the cloud. Methydia leaned forward, her face coming so close Safar thought she was about to kiss him. Her lips grazed his, then she drew back, grinning.

She took his nose between finger and thumb, twisting it gently, once, twice, three times. And each time she twisted a coin dropped to his chest and rolled to the floor. She swept them up, threw them into the air, another crack! a stream of smoke and the three coins became one, which she snatched out of the air.

"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 guessedwrongly, as it may bethat 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 offlike 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 peoplereal peoplewant 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 amazementand his ownSafar'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. Especiallyas Biner had said it wouldthe 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 togetherrunning through a new twist in the acthe'd noticed people glancing at the two of them. Then there'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 grainstalks and allnearly 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 tentsthe 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 welcomefree 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 outpointing 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.

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 forwardlong 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 chargedBiner in the leadflailing 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 ita 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.

It was a worm, no more than a finger long. It was maggoty white, with a large black spot on its head that Safar thought was an eye. It was a thing that fed on misery and pain. As Safar probed around, he realized the creature was the infant form of something even more deadly. He could see half-formed legs kicking beneath the worm's skin and an arced tail tipped by a budding stinger.

The little creature blasted him with voracious thoughts. Mine! it shrieked. I want… Mine!"

Safar heard Methydia shout, Hurry, Safar!"

But he took his time. He made the probe into two thick fingers. He reached for the worm, dodging small sharp knives of hunger and hate.

Then he caught it between the two fingers. The worm struggled, fighting back, searing his senses with blasts of sorcery.

He ignored the pain and crushed the worm.

Immediately he was assaulted by the foul stench of death. He staggered back, drawing his spirit self with him.

Safar heard a rumbling sound. Dazed, he looked up and saw the earthen giant crumbling into huge pieces of rock and dirt clods. As it came crashing down Biner leaped away just in time. A thick cloud of dust exploded as it hit, pebbles and debris showering everywhere.

Then the dust settled and there was nothing to be seen but a large mound of rubble.

Safar felt suddenly weak and confused. He turned to Methydia and recognized the look of awe in her eyes. It was the same look Iraj had given him when he'd brought the avalanche down on the demons.

"It was just a worm, he tried to say, but it came out as a mumble. A stupid little"

And he pitched forward on the ground.

The people of Kyshaat got their circus. Many said Methydia and her troupe staged the best performance of their careers. Children would grow old and regale their own disbelieving grandchildren about that fateful day when the creature that had caused so much misery had been defeated. And of the wild celebration that followed.

Safar, the hero of the hour, saw none of it. He lapsed into a coma for nearly a week. When he regained consciousness he was aboard the Cloudship and they were sailing through a storm.

Once again he was lying on a pallet in Methydia's cabin. It was dark and outside he could hear the winds moan through the lines and rain lash the deck.

He was thirsty and fumbled around with a blind hand until he brushed against a tumbler. He drank. It was warm wine and honey.

There was a blast of cold air as the door slammed open. He looked up. Methydia was standing there, a hooded parka covering her from head to ankle. Lightning crash followed lightning crash, illuminating her. She glowed in it, an aura forming around her slender body. Her eyes were glittering wells, drinking him in. A gust of wind hurled the parka aside. She was dressed in a thin white gown, nearly transparent from the rain.

Another gust of wind blasted past her, but the cold seemed to light a fire in him.

"Close the door, he said.

At least he thought he said it. His lips formed the words, but he heard nothing come out.

Just the same, Methydia closed the door.

Then he held out his arms and whispered, Please!"

Methydia floated across the room into his embrace.

He burrowed into the warm heart of her. Found the storm and let it loose. For a long time all he knew was the sensation of their love making and the sound of her voice calling his name.