by L. A. Kelley
“You’re perfectly sane—one mad Frog King allowed in the bayou at a time.” The elephant blew a playful gust of air. Clovis patted the trunk. “The difference between a lie and a spell, Peter, is that a lie must be believable for people to accept the words as truth. No matter how good a liar you are, you could never convince an audience of the existence of pink elephants. The lie dies immediately after leaving your lips. On the other hand, a spell simply has to be believable to the shaman. Think of it as another rule.”
The elephant thrust his trunk into my shirt pocket poking about for treats. Startled, I batted it away. “I don’t understand.”
“A skillful liar can tell a story, but a skillful shaman can lie one into rock-solid belief. Et voila…a pink elephant real enough to touch.”
“The wall you made yesterday…?”
“Was step one.” He scratched the elephant’s ear. “Static illusions like the wall don’t require much power. Desperate situations often need a shaman to act quickly. They function well as a short-term solution, but the magic can be breeched easily compared with the energy holding together my pink friend here. Necessary to both a magical illusion and a magic spell, however, is the complete and utter faith of the shaman in the fundamental lie itself.”
Rule Seven: For magic you can feel, you must believe the lie is real.
I gaped at the huge animal placidly munching on grass. The ear flapped, batting at a buzzing fly. “The fly thinks the elephant’s real, too.”
“Of course. The animal will be perceived by anyone, human or not.”
“How long will the spell last?”
“Once my concentration wavers, the lie collapses. Before my journey to the Lower Worlds, I could keep one this big going for months, but now, perhaps, a day or two. I am terribly out of practice.” He heaved a disappointed sign. “Already, the color has faded to cotton candy.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. The magic is spectacular.”
“Thank you,” he said proudly. “Yet, the essence is merely a lie.”
“One heck of a whopper. I’ve never concocted a living breathing lie another can see and touch.” I wrinkled my nose. “And smell.”
“You will. For someone self-taught you’ve already made considerable inroads.” Clovis settled on the stump. “For the first challenge, break this spell.”
“How?”
“See beyond the visible. Find the lie hidden within.”
I sucked in a breath. “Okay, I’ll try.”
How hard can it be to convince yourself what you see, hear, touch, and smell isn’t real? Surprisingly, it’s darn near impossible. The senses want to believe and fight you all the way. I stroked the elephant’s hide expecting an electric shock like in the cabin with Clovis. Only the rough feel of animal hide met my fingers. I stood for a long time in the clearing, running my hands across the elephant. The sun beat down, trickles of sweat pooled in the small of my back.
“How can I find the lie,” I complained, “if everything feels perfectly normal?”
“Really?” Clovis examined his fingernails. “How interesting. Exactly how should a pink elephant feel?”
The shaman’s words struck home. How can the elephant feel normal when nothing about the animal was real?
The elephant is a lie. Find the truth.
With the realization, came a tiny spark dancing around my fingertips. Ignore me, the flicker seemed to say. Move along. Nothing of interest here, but the more I focused attention on the spark, the greater the heat. The truth practically slapped me in the head—the spark is the lie. With understanding came action. I knew what I had to do. Catch the spark. Pin it down. Snuff it out.
Click.
The other sense activated, flexed like an underused muscle, and tried to corral the spell, but the tiny flame fluttered away each time. Again and again the maddening little spark came within a hair’s breadth of capture. Clovis chuckled. I suddenly realized what he did.
“Hey, that’s cheating. You’re moving the spell around to hide the truth.”
“Adjusting to the attack,” he admonished. “What? Did you think victory would come without effort?”
“Well, yeah. Feu De L’enfer’s spell was simple to pin down, compared to this. So was Pike’s spell on Mrs. Hart.”
“Both the demon and the conjuror never expected anyone to challenge their powers, so neither made an attempt to disguise their spells. In point of fact, any spell, even a small one, can be tricky if hidden well enough.” He made himself comfortable on the stump. “Try again.”
In an invisible game of hide and seek, the little flame successfully dodged my every twist and turn. Frustration mounted until I sensed the faint remnants of a heat trail. Although barely strong enough to follow, the spark definitely traced a circular pattern. This time I anticipated the direction of movement and pounced.
“Hah!”
Easy-peasy. The spell was cornered at last, batting futilely at my mental prison. Capture wasn’t so hard after all. Now to close in for the kill…
A blast of water from the elephant’s trunk hit me in the face. My concentration broke. The spark escaped. The elephant trumpeted in triumph.
“No fair.” I sputtered, wiping my face with my shirt.
“A conjurer will not sit idly by while you attempt to remove a spell. Try again—and don’t be cocky.”
I grumbled under my breath and returned to the hunt. The next time I cornered the spark, I didn’t stop to gloat. “A big thumb,” I muttered. The supernatural finger slammed down and immediately snuffed the spark. With a mournful bellow, the pink elephant disappeared.
“A little theatrical,” Clovis grunted, “but not bad.”
“Not bad? I think I did pretty good—”
Wham! Something hit me like a roundhouse punch. My knees buckled. I plopped in the dirt at the shaman’s feet.
Clovis nudged me with his toe. “Magic has quite an after-kick. If you don’t pace yourself, a spell can drain enough strength to give an enemy the upper hand. Now try again.”
I swallowed a groan and staggered to my feet. Clovis and I worked all morning on detecting lies. He conjured an assortment of pink elephants, hippogriffs, and fire-breathing dragons. As I finished evaporating a particularly fat cupid in a soiled diaper, I heard a snicker behind me. Amelie arrived with a lunch basket.
“I’m not sure you should be rewarded for snuffing out the God of Love.”
“He pooped in his diaper and deserved to die.” I snatched at the basket and she slapped at my hands. “Come on,” I whined. “I’m starving.”
Amelie spread a blanket on the grass. “Sit and wait your turn.”
I settled beside her. As she unpacked the food, I noted with concern deep scratches on her arms and legs.
She shrugged them off. “Odile gave me an ointment for the pain. Trust me nothing is fun about coaxing blood from an angry gator. And you really don’t want to know how we harvested the boar’s testicle hair. He was a most unwilling donor.”
Amelie was right. I preferred not to know. I watched her set out lunch and couldn’t help but think even with a bedraggled appearance she was ten times prettier than all the girls in New Brunswick. They’d spend hours fussing over hair and makeup and still not be half as beautiful as Amelie in a loose pony tail, wearing ragged cut-offs.
As she leaned over to hand me a plate, her bare leg brushed against me. I tugged at my shirt collar. The temperature suddenly felt much warmer.
“Are you okay?” she said. “Your face went all funny.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I stuffed a sandwich in my mouth. For some reason, Clovis found the whole scene amusing.
After lunch, the shaman decided I should attempt to change a lie into a solid spell. Amelie pleaded to stay and watch.
“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, an audience is too distracting.” To my own ears, the excuse sounded weak. In truth, the idea of Amelie observing my screw-ups bothered me something fierce.
“Nonsense,” Clo
vis said. “Learning to block distractions will be good for you.” His eyes twinkled. “Unless you can think of another reason you don’t want Amelie around.”
For once my lying ability failed and couldn’t devise a credible argument. Amelie took a seat on the stump as I rose reluctantly to my feet. “Where do I begin?”
“With the lie, of course. See it. Hear it. Smell it. Give it life. My advice is to start with something small. How about a frog?” He beamed. “I am partial to them, you know. Hold a picture in your mind. The animal doesn’t have to be perfect the first time, simply frog-like. We can work on details later.”
Frog-like, eh? “Green…warty skin…” A prickly tingle formed at the base of my skull. “Bug eyes, gangly legs, twitchy tongue…” The tingle spread outward to my fingertips. “See the frog,” I commanded, pointing at the ground. “See the frog right there.”
A hazy mist formed into a ball. My confidence grew. The ball trembled and wavered. Slowly the blob stretched and reshaped into the form of a frog. Amelie clapped her hands in delight.
I didn’t often get a rise from Amelie. Her pleased reaction initiated a decidedly pleasant thrill. Not bad, not bad at all. I puffed with pride. Spells are a snap.
Tightening my focus, I eased out a row of warts down the back. The frog shape held together nicely. Now for the head…facial features were harder and required more detail. Doing two things at once was extremely difficult. As I concentrated on the face of the frog, the body faded.
“Concentrate on the face,” Clovis blared.
The outburst startled Amelie, and she gasped. I broke my concentration on the frog and glanced at her. Big mistake. Suddenly, the spell snapped together into the perfect replica of a little green frog wearing Amelie’s face.
The mouth opened. A tongue flicked out. “Ribbit?”
Daggers shot from Amelie’s icy green eyes. “You think I have bug-eyes and gangly legs?”
“No…I didn’t mean…” I got defensive. “You distracted me.”
Amelie gritted her teeth. “So the monstrosity is my fault?”
“Yes…no…you don’t say things like a real girl,” I roared. “You get me all confused.”
She rose from the stump. “Now I’m not a real girl?”
Clovis stepped in as peacemaker. “Perhaps for now Peter should practice alone.”
“Fine with me. I’m sure I have no interest in more childish behavior.” Amelie stormed off, boiling mad. I half expected little piles of lava to puddle in her footsteps.
I practiced with Clovis the rest of the afternoon. I was relieved Amelie left, since everything conjured afterwards had her face. The more I tried to forget her indignation, the more she popped into my thoughts and messed with my concentration. If Amelie was in an ill humor about being a frog, I could imagine how she would have felt about being a rattlesnake, a chicken, and a gator. We finally called the lesson quits when Marie rang the dinner bell.
Clovis clapped me on the shoulder. “We’ll start again in the morning.”
“I’ll do better,” I vowed. “Amelie gets on my nerves, is all.”
“I can see that.”
“It’s not like I care what she thinks,” I added quickly.
“Obviously.”
“I’m serious. She appointed herself my bodyguard, not that I wanted her to. Not that I need one. Now she’s always hanging around, looking over my shoulder. Not that she isn’t nice and all.” I had the horrible feeling I babbled. Talking about Amelie made me very uncomfortable. “Most of the time she’s a little nuts, but then everyone is here. I blame the heat.”
Clovis elbowed me in the ribs. “You really like her.”
“No, I don’t,” I protested, turning beet red.
His voice softened. “You forget, I can also spot a lie.”
“My feelings don’t matter,” I sputtered. “Amelie is rich and classy and all, and I’m an orphan nobody. I don’t have a single thing to offer someone like her.”
Clovis gazed off into the distance as if recalling something bittersweet from long ago. “You have friendship, a good enough start for a young man. I had a friendship like that once.”
“What happened?”
He roused himself from memory. “The magic became more important. I let her slip away, although not without regret. Don’t make the same mistake.”
At that moment Esther and T. Chris appeared on the path and I clammed up. I had no desire to talk about Amelie, especially with Esther’s big ears and equally big mouth nearby. She announced Renny and Chris returned from another shrimping expedition and Marie had a large pot of étouffée on the table.
After dinner Esther dragged me outside to play catch with the younger children. I threw a few lackluster pitches and then begged off and handed the ball to T. Chris. In truth, I was beat to the bone. Working with spells drained every last bit of energy.
Amelie trailed us outside. She passed on the games and instead sat under the old cypress tree to watch. She hadn’t talked much during dinner. Oh, she was polite enough, but the few times I said something she cut the conversation short. Maybe, I thought, she was embarrassed to have flown off the handle at me for nothing. I sidled over nonchalantly to let her see I didn’t hold a grudge. I know. I can’t believe I was that stupid, either.
“Oh, hi. I didn’t see you.” I acted all surprised to find her sitting underneath the tree.
“I’ve been in this spot all evening. I realize I’m not as memorable as other girls, but even you should have noticed.” Amelie wasn’t one to hide her feelings, but I got the distinct impression something other than my bonehead attempt at spell casting bothered her.
“Heck, you’re plenty memorable,” I insisted cheerfully, “what with the dagger and all. I don’t know any other girls who can use one.”
“Like the girls up North, you mean?”
“Yeah. They’re all the time wearing party dresses and afraid of getting dirty, not like you. You’re practically a guy.” I meant the words as respectful, but they didn’t come out right.
Her angry glare confirmed my suspicion that I should have kept my mouth shut. “Now I’m not only dirty, but a man, too.”
“No, no.” I backpedaled frantically. “You’re not a man or dirty. I mean, you’re sitting in the dirt now, but sandy dirt. You can brush your pants right off.” That didn’t sound any better.
“Because I am not as pretty and ladylike as the girls you’ve known is no reason to be insulting.”
The conversation wasn’t going at all well. Quelling a rising tide of panic, I tried to explain. “I didn’t mean that.”
Amelie would have none of it. “First you think I resemble a frog, next you say I’m a dirty man.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
She rose to her feet, steaming. “The world is full of hidden perils. The women here are taught to take care of themselves. To be of service when danger calls is a matter of family pride. If our beliefs make me manly and unfeminine in your eyes then so be it.”
Amelie tried to walk away, but I grabbed her hand. “Let go,” she hissed, “or you’ll see what my knife can really do.”
I held on. Clovis was right. Amelie had given me her friendship, but I had ruined everything. The thought of losing her bothered me more than I could say.
“Listen to me,” I pleaded. “I didn’t mean you’re manly. Being able to handle yourself in a fight is great. The girls I knew would all scream and run if they saw as much as a cockroach in their path. You’d never be able to drag them into a swamp, and they faint dead away for sure at the thought of facing a demon. But you’re brave and stuff and…” Without thinking, I jabbered, “…real pretty—prettier than any girl I’ve ever known. Beautiful even.”
The confession stunned me into silence, but stopped Amelie dead in her tracks. “You think so?”
I was hot and flustered. I hadn’t meant to say she was beautiful, but she was. Was it strange to admit to a friend who happens to be a girl? Should I not have said it? Do I
take it back? What do I say? What do I do? While my internal debate raged, my brain grew tired of waiting and babbled the first thought that popped inside. “Well, sure, you know. Even when you’re all, you know, sweaty and stuff you look, you know, really great.”
Oh, geez.
A glint of amusement shone in her eyes. “Peter Whistler, you are the strangest young man.”
“Are you gonna kiss her now?”
I jerked my head around at the sound of Esther’s taunting voice. She and T. Chris had snuck behind us with all the younger Benoit’s in tow. Amelie and I simultaneously became aware of holding hands and dropped them self-consciously.
“Go on,” T. Chris urged. “Give her a big fat juicy one.” His brothers and sister let loose with a chorus of hysterical laughter.
An impish grin spread across Amelie’s face. She cupped her hand around her ear, pretending to listen. “I hear a hungry gator calling in the swamp. So sad the poor thing has nothing to eat. Isn’t that right, Peter?”
I could have shouted for joy. We were friends again. Instead, I said, “You’re right. Luckily, they are partial to little kids.” With a roar Amelie and I raced forward as Esther and the others squealed and bolted in every direction.
****
Clovis and I trained daily. After the fiasco with Amelie’s face on the frog, we returned to fantasy creatures like the pink elephant. Within a week, I could cast a darn good spell. Imaginary creations were a lot simpler than realistic animals. You didn’t have to be picky about details. I mean, who’s to say what an ogre is like? I was excited about my progress, but observed a distinct lack of enthusiasm in Clovis.
“Good,” he noted flatly after I proudly materialized a particularly hideous troll.
“That’s all? Just good? He’d scare anybody.”
“For a second. Until your subject realized you produced a spell.” Without warning, he scooped up a pebble and chucked it at my head.
The stinging impact broke my concentration and the troll disappeared. I yelped and rubbed the sore spot. “What you do that for?”
“Imaginary creatures are French Market tricks, strictly third-rate abracadabra for the tourists. If you attacked an expert conjurer with a troll, you’d more than likely get a bullet fired at your head instead of a rock. The success of a lie depends on no one recognizing the lie. The success of a spell is the same. As long as the enemy can’t pin down the magic, the shaman is safe.