Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  "The feathers don't run the right way."

  "They do too'" The reversed birds all stared at

  Jon-Tom. "Tell us, human, do they look right to

  you?"

  He was slowly repacking his kit. "It's hard for

  me to say. Not really my area of expertise. I guess

  they're okay, for feathers." He started toward the

  beach where they'd left their raft the night before.

  Mudge was right behind him.

  "Oh, you don't have to be an expert." Three vines

  interlocked to block their retreat. "All you have to do

  is bring a fresh perspective, to be a new audience.

  You're the best we've had in a long time. Much too

  long. We can't let you go now. We have so many

  imitations stored up. We need someone new to evalu-

  ate them for us"

  Jon-Tom eyed the intertwined vines and took an-

  other cautious step forward. The vines sprouted

  clusters of six-inch-long, poisonous thorns.

  "What do you think, Mudge?"

  "I don't know, mate. 1 'aven't judged any contests

  in a day or so,"

  "It won't take long," several other vines assured

  them.

  "Our repertoire isn't infinite."

  "We should Finish in a couple of years," said four

  giant rats.

  The rapid changes were making Jon-Tom slightly

  queasy as his brain struggled to keep up with his

  eyes.

  "We'd love to watch you perform," he said slowly,

  Alan Dean Foster

  140

  "but we have important business of our own to attend

  to and I'm afraid we can't quite spare a couple of

  years."

  "Oh, come on," said two versions of himself, using

  their ramwood staffs to push him back toward the

  center of the circle, "you'll enjoy it. Be good sports.

  We'd go hunting an audience if we could, but we

  can't. We're stuck to our trees."

  "Yeah, don't you sympathize with us?" said some-

  thing Jon-Tom couldn't even give a name to.

  "Sure I sympathize," he said quickly. "We just

  don't have the lime to spare, that's all." He spoke

  politely, white wishing he had a family-sized bottle of

  weed killer in his backpack.

  "Just sit back and relax," said five startlingly volup-

  tuous naked ladies from off to one side. "You'll get

  used to it after a couple of months and then you'll be

  with us in spirit as well as body."

  "Be with you in spirit?" Mudge squeaked.

  "The spirit of the performance."

  "Oh." He let out a sigh of relief.

  "I'll start, I'll start'" declaimed one of the women.

  It became, quite remarkably, three fish swimming in

  empty air- This was only the first of countless

  astonishing imitations, as the stage shifted from one

  vine or group to another, the duplications traveling

  around the circle in dizzying profusion.

  If either Jon-Tom or Mudge showed signs of

  boredom, they found themselves rudely jostled back

  to attention by shouts or smells,

  Morning became afternoon and afternoon wore

  on into evening. When night crept over the island,

  the mimevines turned to mimicking creatures capa-

  ble of bioluminescence.

  "This is all very entertainin'," Mudge commented to

  his companion, "but I'd rather not make it me career,

  mate."

  TBS MOMS/IT OF THK SSAGICIAN 141

  "Me neither. There has to be a way out of this."

  *"0w about makin' a show o' inspecting one of

  their bioomin* imitations close-up-like and then makin*

  a break for it between 'em? They're stuck 'ere. Once

  past *em, we ought to be able to make it easy to the

  Wt."

  "I'm not sure what they'd be capable of if agitated,"

  Jon-Tom muttered. "Maybe they can imitate things

  that throw toxic darts. I don't want to find out. Not

  that it matters. They're watching us too closely, and I

  don't think we could surprise them as you suggest.

  Actually, they're pretty decent folks, for a bunch of

  art-obsessed vegetables, but I think this is what's

  meant by a captive audience.

  "They're going to keep us here. judging their

  work, until they've run through a couple of years*

  worth of imitations."

  "We won't be much use as judges if they let us

  starve."

  "I don't think they'll let that happen. But we're

  stuck here, unless,. -"

  "Unless wot?" wondered Mudge, flinching as a

  huge luminous crustacean materialized behind him.

  "That was a good one, wasn't it?" asked the eight-

  pincered crab-thing. The vines flanking it opted to

  become delicate orange anemones.

  "Unless I can get them to imitate a certain

  something." He climbed to his feet and found he was

  the center of attention. Ghostly glowing things eyed

  turn intently.

  "Okay, everybody, listen upl" The vines swayed

  toward him. They'd been nothing short of polite, in

  their childlike fashion, but he didn't think he'd get a

  second chance at this. Better get it right the first

  time.

  "You claim you can imitate anything?"

  "That's right... that's right...!" they chorused back

  Alan Oean Foster

  142

  at: him. "Anything at all. Just name it. Or describe it."

  They rippled and flared in the darkness, displaying

  everything from gymnastic feet linked to, long arms

  to a talking rainbow.

  "Not bad." Jon-Tom showed them his duar. "But

  how are you at reacting to a musical description

  instead of a verbal one? How are you at listening and

  imitating what you hear?"

  "How's this?" said a giant, fleshy ear.

  "That's not exactly what 1 mean. Can you mimic

  only what you hear in the music? Pure music, with-

  out descriptive words? Can you imitate feelings, for

  example?"

  "Try us, try us!" urged a chain of worms.

  So Jon-Tom sang the song he'd selected, a gentle,

  easygoing, relaxing song. He'd sung it once before,

  and it had put an entire pirate crew safely into the

  arms of Morpheus.

  It seemed-to work here, too. The vines slumped,

  resembling for the moment nothing more complex

  than vines. When the song ended, he shouldered his

  backpack and nodded for Mudge to follow.

  They were almost to the edge of the clearing when

  two vines suddenly rose to interlock in front of him.

  They formed a very authentic-looking wall of g^ant

  razor blades.

  "Nice try," said a couple of sarcastic Mudges from

  nearby. "We thought you might try and trick us. It

  won't work. We're as alert and aware of what's goin'

  on around us when we're imitatin' as we are when

  we're not."

  "So you might as well relax and enjoy the show,"

  four Jon-Toms told them. "When you're hungry

  we'll bring you berries. Real berries, not imitation."

  Jon-Tom and Mudge reluctantly returned to their

  seats of honor in the center of the clearing. The

  kaleidoscopic procession of imitation
s resumed.

  143

  THE MOUEHT OF THE MAGICIAN

  Mudge leaned over to whisper to his companion.

  **I like those berries, mate, but if I 'ave to eat *em for

  the next two years, I'll turn into a bloomin' berry

  meself. Unless I go bonkers first. You're goin' to 'ave

  to try some stronger kind o' spellsingin'."

  "I don't know," he murmured. "Next time they

  might take my duar away." He made placating motions,

  raised his voice.

  "Okay, okay, you've convinced me we can't get

  away, just as you've convinced me that we're in the

  presence of the all-time masters of mimicry." Mutters

  of appreciation came from around the circle. "But so

  far everything I've seen you mimic has been alive.

  Almost everything, anyway."

  "Live things," said a three-foot-tall cornflower, "are

  much harder to mimic than not-live things. There's

  no challenge in imitating dead things."

  "Then you haven't been properly challenged. For

  example"—he bent to pick up a piece of feldspar—

  "can you imitate this? Not just any chunk of rock,

  but this specific piece, perfectly?"

  "He asks if we can imitate it," said an irritated

  moose. Instantly Jon-Tom and Mudge were sur-

  rounded by a wall of feldspar slivers.

  "I have to admit, that's pretty good." Jon-Tom

  rose, tossed the fragment of rock aside. "Though I

  do see a little movement here and there. You're all

  supposed to be rock-steady. So you think mimicking

  not-live things is easy, do you? Here's a tough one for

  you." He paused for effect. "Let's see all of you

  mutate water."

  This generated a flurry of uncertainty from the

  encircling vines, mixed with excitement at the pros-

  peo; of a real challenge. They twisted and jerked,

  Struggling with the necessary physical and mental

  contortions demanded by the request, until applause

  sounded from behind Jon-Tom.

  144 ALan Dean Foster

  He turned. Several of the vines were applauding

  one of their colleagues- This vine had vanished. In

  its place was a stable, very narrow waterfall. The

  water never touched the earth, but the illusion was

  remarkably real.

  "Congratulations! That's more like it." Mudge gave

  him a nudge.

  " 'Ere now, mate, let's not go gettin' too interested

  in this business, wot?"

  Jon-Tom ignored him, spoke to the rest of the

  mimics. "Come on, surety that's not the only one

  who can do it!"

  The vines continued to struggle. Soon he and

  Mudge were surrounded by waterfalls, bits of lake

  and pond and swamp.

  "I didn't think you could do it," he told them. "I'm

  impressed, I admit it."

  "Don't stop now," said several of the vines, caught

  up in the spirit of the moment. "We can go back and

  finish our stored illusions anytime. Challenge us

  again."

  "Yes, something harder this time!" said another.

  "I'll try." Jon-Tom rubbed his chin and tried to

  look intense. He already knew what he was going to

  say, but he didn't want his captors to know he'd

  thought it out carefully beforehand. If this was going

  to work, it had to appear spontaneous. Even to

  Mudge.

  "Okay," he said, as though the idea had just oc-

  curred to him. He turned a slow circle, gesturing

  eloquently with his hands as he spoke. "You thought

  water was hard? Try this. I want you all to imitate..."

  and he let it hang tantalizingly for a moment, "emotions."

  That froze the vines. Then they began contorting

  and jerking as they launched into vigorous discus-

  sion among themselves. Jon-Tom heard whispers of

  "Can't be done... never been tried" interspersed with

  THE MOMENT OF TSSK MAOICIAfi 145

  more positive assertions such as "Can we mimic

  anything or can't we?... Can't let the human think

  he's stumped us... Sure it can be done.. -Just takes a

  lot of work..."

  "And 10 make it worthwhile," Jon-Tom went on,

  "no more of this hanging around waiting for one of

  your companions to come up with the solution. You

  all take a chance on it simultaneously or it isn't fair.

  Otherwise you're just imitating the first one of you to

  be successful." He indicated the initial waterfall. "You've

  •got to try and do it together."

  One of the vines fluttered toward him. "Fair enough,

  man. Go ahead and try us!"

  "Right- First emotion is... anger."

  A brief hesitation, and then the vines began to

  darken. They turned deep, violent shades of crim-

  son and yellow and orange. Some sprouted barbs

  and thorns that twitched and cut at the air.

  "Good. Very good," Jon-Tom complimented them.

  The vines relaxed, congratulating themselves and

  conversing as they faded to their normal green hue.

  "No time to relax. I'll go faster now and make it

  harder on you. Next emotion is laughter."

  Vines ballooned, drifting in the air tike pennants

  despite the fact that there was no breeze. Some

  displayed polka dots, others were checkered, some

  boasted stripes like barber's poles, and one enterpris-

  ing vine turned plaid.

  "Sadness!" Jon-Tom barked.

  The laughter vanished as the vines immediately

  went limp and stringy, turning deep pea-soup green

  or mauve or lavender. They began to drip false

  tears, swaying plaintively to an unheard dirge. They

  were getting better with practice and Jon-Tom changed

  emotions with increasing rapidity. Surprise, fear,

  elation, suspense, uncertainty...

  "'Ere now, guv," said Mudge, "this party's lots o'

  Alan Dean Poster

  146

  fun, but don't you think we ought to—?" Jon-Tom

  put a hand on the otter's shoulder and squeezed

  hard, continued to shout suggestions.

  Faith, hope, charity, insanity...

  He spoke the last in the same tone as all the

  others, with the same inflection. The effect on the

  primed and responsive mimevines was shocking.

  For the first time, there was no rhyme or reason to

  their imitations. Colors shifted wildly. Some vines

  expanded while others bulged. A couple shrank all

  the way back down into their underground, hidden

  trees. Two flailed the earth until they came apart,

  beating themselves to pieces on the hard ground-

  He didn't have time to observe all the damage his

  challenge had caused, however, because he was

  running like mad for the beach where their raft lay.

  He had to pull Mudge at first, but the otter

  caught on quickly enough. This time no imitation

  steel materialized to block their retreat. As they

  crossed through the circle, Jon-Tom looked back.

  Those vines that were still intact were slamming into

  each other, beating the air, the ground, whistling

  and moaning and shrieking. The noise was worse

  than the sight.

  "I had
to get them going," Jon-Tom explained as

  he ran panting toward the water. "Had to get them

  to doing their imitations fast, one after the other,

  barn, barn, bami Had to get them working without

  thinking, acting reflexively on my challenges, so that

  it would become a point of pride for each individual

  to keep up with its neighbors.

  "I didn't think my earlier lullaby was going to

  work, but it was worth a try. They'd probably been

  watching out for just that kind of trick on our pan,

  so I figured the worst that could happen was that

  they'd get to show us we couldn't escape. I let them

  believe we were resigned to our fate and then tried

  THB MOMENT OF TVS MAGICIAN

  147

  to make it look like I was caught up in the spirit of

  the contest."

  They were on the raft now, pushing hard on the

  paddles, sliding out onto the water of the Wrounipai

  and putting some distance between themselves and

  the floral asylum they'd left behind.

  Mudge glanced back toward the island. "You think

  they'll ever come out of it, mate?" Distant shouts and

  moans could still be heard, though they were fainter

  now.

  "I think so. Gradually one of them will realize that

  they're doing it to themselves and cure itself. Then

  the others will imitate its return to sanity. Those who

  aren't too far gone. I could've left them with that

  thought, but I'd rather they discover it on their own,

  after we're safely on our way."

  "Right. You sure 'ad me fooled, mate." He frowned.

  Jen-Tom's expression had turned sorrowful. "Hey,

  wot's wrong now?"

  "Oh, I don't know." He turned back to concentrat-

  ing on his paddling. "It's just that... this is silly, I

  know... but while we were trapped back there 1 had

  thoughts of... you remember Flor Quintera?"

  "The dark-'aired lady you brought over from your

  own world? The one who went off with that smoolh-

  talkin' rabbit?"

  "Yeah, that's her. 1 thought for a minute back

  there about asking the mimevines to imitate her.

  That would have been an interesting sight, thirty

  perfect copies of that perfect body all dancing around

  us."

  "Blimey," Mudge whispered, "now, why didn't I

  think o' that? Not to do up your ideal, o' course, but

  some o' me own favorite fantasies."

  'Too late now," Jon-Tom said with a sigh. "Unless

  you'd like to go back. I could wait for you on the

  Taft. Maybe the same trick would work again."

  148 Alan Dean Foster

  "Not bloody likely. No thanks, mate, but I've 'ad