Kira nodded. She didn't follow all the mechanics of it but she got the general idea. "In other words, whatever they tell her she is when she wakes up is what the potion takes as true. It then takes whatever the new personality needs from the old and cuts off the rest. It almost sounds alive."
"No, no, merely a wonder of modern chemistry, my dear. Dangerous, too. You could make an army of devoted, soulless killers with the same stuff. I hope Old Hornass hasn't got hold of this." She sighed. "Well, it's gonna be rough. The tricky part is that the only thing that's holding any of her to her old self is the potion. We can get rid of the potion easy enough but then we'll just be stuck with Misa. If we leave it we just get Misa because it's blocking. The worst part is, we can't wait. There's been damage done now, and every day that passes does more. I hope the mighty Akhbreed sorcerer who bills himself as nearly a god can figure a way around this 'cause I sure can't. The only reason we got any crack at it at all at this stage is that marriage spell, which only a magician's court can fully dissolve and provides a connection of sorts with the past, and the link to the Storm Princess. But even they wouldn't matter if she'd been there another couple of months. Better call out the gods on this one!"
"I'm afraid I'll have to do," came a pleasant man's voice, sounding slightly hollow with a trace of echo. It came from even further into the darkness, and from no clear fixed source.
" 'Bout time you showed up, Smartass," Yobi commented.
"I was here. Your analysis was just so interesting I didn't want to interrupt. Kira, give her half the antidote and let's bring her up to a trance state. I can't deal with a zombie and, frankly, that mental blankness only makes that potion's work easier."
Kira got it, poured to the measure in a small cup, then went over to the apparently sleeping fat girl. "Open your eyes, take this cup, and drink all of its contents," she instructed.
"Misa's" eyes opened, she took it, and drank obediently. While they waited for it to circulate through the system, Boolean discussed the problem.
"It appears that we have to take what's left in there and replace that potion with something equally good that doesn't block. If we can, then she may be missing parts of her old self, some permanently and others temporarily—the brain's pretty good at finding alternate routes if given half a chance and some time—but she'll be basically back. You have the formula?"
"I think so," Yobi told him. "Here—catch!" Blue-white sparks flew from her head into the darkness, yet did not illuminate anything around them.
Boolean whistled. "Wow! No human mind ever worked out something that complicated on its own, I'd bet on it. This was developed somewhere in the upper Outplanes, out where they have very big computers for our nasty-minded people to use. It could take months to break this sucker down and understand what's doing what! We're going to have to try some desperation patches, slow and easy, trial and error, and see what we can get. The only way we're going to break through is for her to do it herself. Maybe try and convince Misa that she needs this information. Well, let's see what we can do. Kira, open her up to us."
Kira knelt down. "Misa, listen to me. Just after I say your name again, you will hear two other voices. Hear both voices, answer, and obey them as you would Crim or me."
"Yes, ma'am," came the slightly slurred response.
"Misa—now."
"Hello, Misa," said Boolean gently.
"Hello, sir," she responded, not sounding as blank as before she had the antidote.
Boolean allowed Yobi to repeat the process, then asked, 'Who are you, Misa? Tell us about yourself?"
"Ain't much t'tell," she responded. "We be peasant girl. We helps t'plant things 'n help 'em grow so's they gives t'fruit and stuff, and then we helps pick'n pack 'em so's folks can eat and drink and wear good stuff. It be hard work but when we sees the seeds b'come the trees and give th' fruit we feels real good like magic, almost."
"Do you ever think you'd want to do anything else?" he asked her. "Maybe be on the staff or even somebody important in the Duke's office?"
"Nay, we be happy. For som'thin' else y'gots to get th' schoolin' 'n learn all that readin' and writin' shit. And we's borned t'do what th' gods made us t'do. Ain't no bad thing to grow stuff. We wasn't meant t'be but what we is, an' ain't no shame in bein' no peasant. We's proud of that. If we don' do it then som'body got to or there ain't nothin' to eat."
"What about your personal life, outside of work?" Yobi asked her. "What about boyfriends? Would you like to get married, have children? Tell us the truth, now."
"Oh, we got lots'a frien's. Th' boys they always tryin' t'fuck us, 'n we guess sometimes we'll let 'em, 'cause y'got t'have kids if y'can, y'know. Truth is, though, we don' get hot 'n juicy with th' boys. Dunno why, but we ain't th' only girl what feels like that. Ain't no big deal, nohow, though. We take th' boy 'cause we gotta 'n the girls 'cause we wanna and it's all right."
"There's not enough access to her old self for that to be a factor," Yobi noted clinically. "It's got to be the marriage thing that's holding her."
Boolean thought a moment, then asked, "Wouldn't you like to have riches, all that you needed? Fine, pretty domes and a fancy place to live and servants of your own and the finest foods and wines? Maybe use some of it to help others?"
The fat woman thought that one over. Hypnotized, totally honest, she was giving very plain responses without consideration for her audience.
"No, sir," she responded. "We guess them things might be nice f'r them that needs 'em, and we likes th' pretty things, but we thinks a lot of 'em is not so good as horse shit. They don't really do nothin', ain't good f'r nothin' 'cept givin' the lords 'n ladies ways t'show off to each other. Anybody cares more 'bout how they look than how they act ain't worth shit nohow, 'n all the pretty shit won't make a pig a lord, sir. We's just as soon work a good day 'n be friends with them what does, too, 'n get what we really needs in pay. Ya owns stuff ya got to worry 'bout it 'n keep it 'n try'n be better'n the rest and we don't wants that shit. Horse shit's an honest thing. Ya give it to the ground 'n it gives itself to th' plants and th' plants gives ya food. Ya eats the food and ya gives the shit back. And if y'don't want nothin' but friends 'n food 'n work, ya don't wants nothin' nobody else got. An' any friend who's friends 'cause of what ya got or what ya work at or how ya look ain't no real friend nohow."
"My God!" Boolean exclaimed. "She's been turned into a saint!"
"We're getting some threads," Yobi noted. "Want to go for more?"
There was silence for a moment, and then Boolean asked, in perfect, clear, American-sounding English, "But you're married to a woman, aren't you, Sam? And what about Charley?"
She did not react, and instead looked very confused.
"Looks like the English is cut off, Boolean," Yobi noted. "She's still understanding good Akhbreed, but clearly her mind-set is such that she doesn't believe it's her place to speak or think except in that peasant garbage. She has gone too far."
"She can't," he responded firmly. "There's not enough time left and I need her. They're planning something big, Yobi, and within the year. Something horrible. I haven't quite gotten exactly what—not the full-scale thing at this point—but something so terrible it scares the hell out of even their own who have hints of it. They've just about stopped their small testing, and that means preparations for something more ambitious. I've got to have her!"
"Then you've got to be drastic," the witch responded. "You have to give her something that will force a break through that block."
"I know, I know. I was just hoping we could undo without doing more to her than has already been done." He sighed. "All right, then. Kira, I want you to put the little amulet of mine you carry with you around her neck. That will establish a direct link here. Maybe I can jolt her out of this."
Kira, fascinated by all this, did as she was instructed. The small, green gem was an ordinary-looking stone set in a rather drab setting and fixed to a thin brass chain. It wasn't intended to look like very much, but those who h
ad it, or similar stones, throughout Akahlar were those who had either done Boolean a service in the past or were known to be trustworthy or mercenary enough to call upon if needed.
"Ah! Now I see you, little Misa Susanna Sam," Boolean whispered. "Now I can truly deal directly . . ."
She felt a series of soft blows inside her head, and because of the potion she could do nothing and could not resist.
You are married already, Misa! said a voice.
"No!"
Yes! Look at your hand. See that mark there, the witchmark? See the thread flowing from it, out and away into the night? You must believe what I tell you. You must believe all that I tell you. You are married, and your mate is worried and wants to find you. You know it is true! Now, who is your mate? What does your mate look like? What is that name?
Flashes . . . Intermittent, fleeting visions of a strange, tall, thin woman with short black hair and a painted body . . . The potion fought to suppress these visions, but the belief command together with the reinforcement of Boolean's will was more man it could stand. This was now a part of Misa, required information. A process began.
"Boday," she whispered, sounding amazed. "We's married to a girl named Boday ..."
Who is married to Boday? Picture the marriage. Where was it? Who was there? Who is Boday? Why does she love you? You must answer me. You must find the answers to these questions in your mind! The questions and commands came fast, thick, furious, compelling.
"Susama Boday . . . is Sam. . . ." Scene of her rushing Boday in some oddly half-familiar setting, like a laboratory only not, and when she was knocked down feeding the painted woman something, something . . .
"Artist . . . Alchemist . . . We is married to an alchemical artist . . . Boday . . . Love potion ..." It was like a brick wall that first crumbled in only a spot or two, revealing only a tiny part of the view, but the more view it revealed the more it began to crumble.
"He's a pretty powerful bastard at that," Yobi noted approvingly.
How? Why? All pressure, all commands, no let up. "Save . . . Save—Shar-lay ..." Visions of a pretty girl with artwork around her eyes and on her beautiful body like an azure blue butterfly . . . "Friend . . . Best friend . . . Name was . . . Shari. Yes, but also . . . Char-lee. Charley."
Remember. You must remember. Charley, Boday, Sam . . . Fill it in. Break it down. Remember . . . remember . . . remember!
Things began to fill in quickly now, as her new personality was now told to want, even require, that information. There was too much, far too much. She couldn't sort out the details, or make sense of it all. It was also being filtered through the Misa personality as the controlling one, and evaluations were being made involuntarily as the information was accessed or copied to where it could be accessed. This Sam was parasitic, unhappy with herself, unsure of anything. But she was Sam, but she didn't like Sam very much, either . . .
"Quickly!" Boolean snapped. "The rest of the antidote! All of it and now!"
Kira poured it, praying she wouldn't spill any of it, and said, "Misa—take this and drink it all, to the last drop!"
It was an automatic gesture, and Kira held her breath when it looked as though the girl was going to spill it, but she obeyed, almost absently.
Suddenly her eyes opened wide and she stared out not at them but at something beyond that only she could see. The cup, empty, fell to the ground. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" she said, and then collapsed in a dead faint forward and lay there silently on the ground.
"I'm not sure what we'll get when she wakes up except a woman with a headache," Boolean told them, "but that's as good as I can do by remote control, as it were. It's crazy, though. The most whacked-out part of her was the only way in that I found. If she'd liked boys, if she hadn't gone along with Boday in getting that thing formalized, it might not have been possible. If we had to actually break that stuff down and find an antidote there would have been nothing left at all to grab and hold on to. I owe you one, Yobi, for your analysis, your insight, and for keeping the Hellhounds off. I already owed you for the other two. If Boday had died out there, then the spell would have broken and that would have been that."
"You bet you do," said the witch. "And one of these days when the time is right I'll collect. For now, screwing that madman is enough of an excuse."
"I dare not risk remaining any longer," the sorcerer told them. "Already, even with Yobi's excellent blocking, they know I am roaming the ether and they're trying to track me."
"If you're so all-fired powerful why don't you just will yourself here?" the witch wanted to know.
"Because it would invite a power down that canyon that even I am powerless against and would finish us all," the sorcerer responded. "Why the hell do you think I'm stuck here? In my own hub, I have power to draw on and acolytes to marshal. Outside of it, I'm just another Akhbreed sorcerer no stronger or weaker man the others. Our side's losing, Yobi. It's weak and fragmented while Klittichom grows stronger and bolder. This girl isn't a pawn, she's a last, desperate chance."
"Go, then," Yobi responded. "I'll get them at least on their way."
You could sense almost immediately that Boolean had gone, even those without any magical powers of their own like Kira.
The pretty woman looked at the witch. "What did he mean by that, old one? What are they planning in the cold north? What is it that even ones such as yourself and Boolean fear it? And how does she fit? The Storm Princess has great and unique powers, but hardly of a world-shattering sort—or have I been missing something?"
Yobi cackled. "That's what's so slick about them, my dear. Klittichom is marrying the sorcerer's power to that of such anointed ones as the Storm Princess, each complementing and aiding the other. You. know that the changewinds have been blowing more frequently and a bit more violently of late in certain parts of Akahlar?"
"Yes, but what of it? We have always had to live with them and in fear of them."
"The whole of a world is greater even than a changewind which affects only a small part of it," the witch explained. "Even the changewind is subject to the forces that make up a world, its greater patterns of wind and sun, gravity and centrifugal and magnetic forces. No matter how great a change the winds may wreak on an area, it is relatively small and the rest remains and partly recovers the damage. All the factors that affect weather and climate affect the changewind too, you know. It even enters Akahlar through a combination of transitory weaknesses at that given point. Klittichorn, it is said, has found that combination. He can summon the wind, but he cannot control it. The Storm Princess, however, can influence its local factors, its course, and even to a degree its intensity and duration here. They don't even like each other, but they need each other. Together, they have the potential to be a god of wrath."
Kira nodded. "I can see it as a horrible weapon, but not what good it would do. They still cannot determine what changes the wind will make, nor make good use of it except as a weapon of terror. In the face of it, the armies and sorcerers of the Akhbreed kingdoms could destroy Klittichorn and kill the Princess no matter where they were if they tried to use the weapon as blackmail, and that is all it is good for."
"Perhaps," the witch responded. "But I hardly think that the opposition is stupid, my dear. The Princess's end is politics. Klittichorn sees the politics as a means to a darker end we cannot yet fathom, but will know well to our horror if he manages to pull it off."
Something exploded inside her head. She didn't understand it and it frightened her, but she was helpless to resist it or to cast it out.
At first it was beautiful, like staring into infinite facets of the finest diamond, all colors shimmering this way and that, the triangular shapes turning and twisting, but soon it was all around her, enveloping her, trapping her suspended there in the midst of chaos.
Suddenly, near her, there was a tiny black dot, also suspended, and the dot grew into a long black line and the line suddenly turned and revealed the shape of a man. No—not a man, but the shadow or outline of a man,
all dark and featureless and somehow as thin as paper.
She cried out and thousands of triangular facets seemed to echo her cry and make it something terrible.
"You are right to be afraid," said the figure, "but not of me. I did not make you or have a hand in the destiny you must follow, but I can help save you from it if you'll let me."
"Go 'way! I want nothin' t'do with you!" she shouted, and the twirling facets echoed and mocked her.
"You don't really fear me," said the shadow man. "I'm so thin that if I turn I'm not even here at all. I can't harm you, and I have no wish to do so. You didn't choose to be what you are, but you are what you are and you cannot change that. From the moment you were born you were set on a path that gives you no choice but to follow it or die, and only at the end can you gain your own freedom."
"What—what do you want of me?"
"Look into the center of the gem and see the source of your destiny," he told her.
She looked, and as she did images formed: clear images, as real as if they were there, although something told her that they were not. They could not see her, but they were real . . .
A tall, gaunt figure in robes of sparkling crimson, who either had two cowlike horns growing out of his head or was wearing some crazy kind of crown or cap with them. He was an old man, and there was hatred and bitterness in the lines of his face, in the glare of his cold eyes, in the way his small mouth twisted naturally into ugliness atop a lantern jaw.
"Behold the one who calls himself Klittichom, the Horned Demon of the Snows," said the shadow man, "although he is no demon but a man, a sorcerer of tremendous power and learning but without wisdom. A man from another world and another culture whose intellect was so great that he became almost godlike in Akahlar. He schemes to destroy all Akahlar, all its people, its cultures, all its worlds, and all the other worlds as well. He does not mean to destroy them particularly, but he is beyond caring if he does—and he will. Everyone you know, everyone you have ever known or might ever know, will be destroyed by this one man."
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