by Allan Cole
There was much rustling and adjustment as the people all checked to see.
When he was sure they were ready, Palimak said, "Now I want you all to concentrate real hard while I say this spell."
He stopped. Shook his head. "Oh, wait a minute. I almost forgot. First you have to hold on to the amulets. Then concentrate. Got it?"
Nods all around. "Good. Now, listen real close while I say the spell."
He drew his toy sword and raised it high, chanting in his high, child's voice:
"Jester, Jester,
What's the riddle?
Up, or down, or in the middle?
Jester, Jester,
Tell us quick.
Happy, to sad, what's the trick?"
He waved his stubby sword and his eyes turned huge and demon yellow. A cold shudder rolled through the audience and Palimak no longer looked like such a comic figure. He seemed huge and forbidding-a giant child with a frightening grin and alien powers. The clay amulets suddenly turned uncomfortably warm and people tried to let them drop, but their hands had become unwilling fists, gripping the jester talismans tightly.
No one cried out, but there were low moans of fear that tore at Palimak, almost making him lose concentration. He saw his grandfather and grandmother and they were staring at him in terror. He nearly stopped right then, nearly turned to find his father and go running into his arms, begging him not to make him do this. It was awful. Everybody would hate him.
Gundara's voice shrilled in his ear. "Go on, Little Master! You can't stop now!"
And Gundaree added, "This was your idea, remember?"
Palimak bore down and got his focus back. Now, for the last part of the spell:
"I'm so sorry,
I'm so blue.
But a bad spell's got you,
So what else can I do?
Happy to sad,
You're no longer glad,
And I have to make you mad
Because it's good for you!"
He paused, gathering power from the Favorites, then he lashed out with his sword, shouting:
"Begone!"
He cast the spell and the sky immediately dimmed as a huge cloud moved over the arena. It was accompanied by a chill wind that rolled over the Kyranians, wet and clammy and tasting like salty tears.
The villagers groaned as the machine's spell of gladness was swept away and cruel sanity returned.
There was a funeral-like wail as everyone realized they had been living an illusion. Dwelling for awhile in a mirage of happiness, while outside Iraj Protarus and his demon wolves waited, prowling and anxious to feed.
On the platform the golden light had vanished and Palimak was small again, a forlorn little boy, head hanging in shame because he had made his grandparents cry. Then Leiria and his father were embracing him and whispering words of comfort, which made him feel better-but only a little. Then they all took their places again, Safar in the center, raising his hands to address a much different crowd than he had faced only a few moments before.
"There's a lot of things I could say right now," he told them. "Beginning with how sorry I am I was forced to trick you. Such words, however, would be empty of meaning to you now."
His eyes moved from familiar face to familiar face, many of which were flushed and swollen with growing rage.
"Instead I want to caution you," he said. "I can see that many of you are angry with me and I don't blame you. Just be careful you don't turn it on yourselves. Soon you will all feel like fools for allowing yourself to become victims of the machine's spell. For that's all it was-a spell you had no control over. And that spell was caused by the turtle idol you all saw when you entered Caluz. It was the idol-a magical machine-that dulled your wits and feelings and made you insane."
This won some grudging nods from some people and a snort of understanding from his father, who had been glaring at him along with the rest. Of all the Kyranians, Khadji was perhaps the proudest of his ability to reason. To see things as they really are. Only Myrna was his match.
"What I want you to fix on instead," Safar said, "is who you are. Kyranians! The greatest and rarest of people in all the world. Many miles and months ago we set off from our homeland-not in flight. Not in fear. But on a holy mission to save all beingkind."
There were heartening murmurs of approval. Safar pressed on.
"But to accomplish this great deed," he said, "we must first guard our own lives. For if we perish, who will take up our banner? Who will shoulder our cause?"
The murmurs grew louder, especially from the young soldiers like Renor and Seth, who were spurred on by growls of approval from the grizzled Sergeant Dario.
"My dear friends," Safar said, building on that changing mood. "That is why I had to awaken you. We are faced with both the gravest of dangers and the grandest of opportunities."
Safar knew that when good and evil are placed side by side, human nature would instantly grab for the good and give less weight to the evil. So he wasn't surprised when he saw all the faces brighten as hope was suddenly raised from the dead at the news of "the grandest of opportunities."
"In a short while," Safar said, "I will be called to consult with the Oracle of Hadin. This meeting has been our purpose all along. This is why we had to face the terrors of the Black Lands to come here. For we have good reason to believe that many of the answers we seek will be revealed to us by the Oracle."
He saw frowns and knew his people were growing vaguely disappointed. They were expecting an instant pot of gold, instead of a possibly long wait for what might or might not be good news from some mysterious Oracle who might decide to have a cranky day.
Safar smoothly dealt up what they really wanted, saying, "But before that hour comes, my friends, I have a great miracle to show you."
He pointed at Leiria, who held up the long black box. "In there," he said, "is a great gift. A magical gift that will give us the edge we need against Iraj Protarus!"
Prickling with excitement, everyone craned their heads to look as Leiria ceremoniously presented the box to Safar. He opened the lid slowly, heightening the suspense.
Safar stomped his foot and there was a crack! as he set off a smoke pellet with his heel. Purple smoke obscured the platform for a moment, then it dissolved and the crowd gasped when they saw the miniature airship hovering just above his head. Safar gestured and the little furnaces sparked into life and the airship sailed about in ever widening circles, until it came to the edge of the grassy ring where it took up position and skimmed around the edges.
Everyone applauded. Khadji even cried out in recognition. The airship was vaguely similar to magical devices he had helped Safar with many years ago during the demon wars.
"That is only the beginning of the miracle, my friends," Safar said. "In exactly one hour we will cast a spell that will reveal an even greater wonder. To weave that spell I have asked all our circus friends to assist us. When you entered this arena you were promised a show-and a show you shall get!"
Safar raised his arms and shouted, "Let the circus begin!"
And crack! came another explosion of smoke. And boom! went the drums. Music blared and the airship swung about in a long arc. Then the ship plunged through the smoke, lifting it away as it emerged from the other side-as if drawing a curtain.
People rubbed their eyes in amazement. The platform was gone. In its place was a gigantic, blue-speckled egg. There was a low drum roll and the egg began to shake, harder and harder until cracks zigzagged through the shell. Then it burst open and a score of clowns rushed out, colliding and chasing and prat-falling about until the audience was roaring with laughter.
From high above came a wild cry and everyone looked up as Arlain, wearing the filmiest of silk costumes and little under that, swung out of the sky on her trapeze. She breathed long plumes of fire as she plummeted down. Then she was going up, and up, letting go of at the apex of her swing. Then somersaulting, once, twice, three times-shooting flames as she twirled. And at the last mo
ment, hanging there, a breath from a fall to her certain death.
Then the trapeze bar came back and Arlain grabbed it and swung away to safety and thunderous applause.
"Quite spectacular," the Queen said as she viewed the scene through her mirror. "And I must say, the more I learn about our handsome young Safar Timura, the more impressed I become."
She waved at the scene in the mirror-Biner, bared torso rippling, performed an incredible feat of strength. "This is sheer genius!"
"How so, Majesty?" murmured her assistant. "Other than the obvious artistry of entertainment, I mean?"
Hantilia waved a dismissive claw at the mirror. "Oh, that's just a device," she said. "But our Safar is making that device do double duty. Possibly even triple duty, now that I think of it."
Her assistant frowned. "Your Majesty is obviously much wiser than one such as I," she said. "But I would hope my wits weren't so dull that I couldn't see at least one of the three."
Hantilia exposed her fangs in a smile and primped at her hair. "It's a good thing you don't, my dear," she said. "Or I would have to worry about you."
"I don't understand, Majesty."
"The genius I am speaking of," she said, "involves the art of manipulation. Which is what this circus is.
Mass manipulation by a very powerful wizard. It's a good thing for his people that he has their best interests at heart. If he were a despot they would be his slaves."
Light dawned in the assistant's eyes. "I think I see the first, Majesty," she said. "He's using the circus to rebuild their spirits. Their morale, as they say."
"Very good, my sweet," the queen replied. "But there's more to it then mere morale. If you had looked closely at the Kyranians-after he took away their false happiness-you would have seen that many of them were on the verge of rebellion. Of outright mutiny.
"They felt, possibly even justifiably, that much of what they have endured is Safar Timura's fault. And they were ready to turn against the only one who can save them. But by the time this circus is over, they will be ready to charge through the gates of the Hells for him.
"Which is a good thing, considering what we have planned for them in the very near future."
"I can see that, Majesty," the assistant said, "but what else is Lord Timura accomplishing?"
Another gesture at the mirror-Kairo, balanced on a pole, juggling three clubs and his head. "All the acts you see are part of the spell he's building. From the silly to the sublime, he is the weaver, they are his strings.
"The egg was the first part of the spell. Followed by the clown acts to call on the Jester. Rebirth from the egg. Strength from the mighty dwarf. Fire from that marvelous dragon woman. And so forth. As the entertainment goes on you'll see what I mean-if you watch closely, that is, and use your imagination.
"He's also mixing the Kyranians-his audience-into his magical tapestry. So when he casts the spell, they will be wedded to it. Co-creators, if you will, of the final result."
"Which will be?"
Hantilia laughed. "Oh, wait and see," she said. "I don't want to spoil it for you."
Hantilia was only wrong about one thing. She'd imagined the spell as a weaving, but in fact there was no object of any kind in Safar's mind. He was concentrating solely on the image of a person-Methydia.
As the circus continued-one act of amazement followed by another-Safar watched and worked from the sidelines. He was disguised as one of the roustabouts hauling equipment and cables around during scene changes. As each performance reached its climax he lofted a spell on the applause that followed.
In a way they were love missives to Methydia. Safar imagined her in the Afterlife-still the great diva-smiling through tears at all the adulation.
The idea for the spell was drawn from Asper. Long ago the demon sage had written:
"My love, Remember!
If ever I am exiled from your sight,
Know that with my dying breath
I blew one last kiss and set
It free on love's sighing winds … "
To the place where Life and Death
And things that never meet
Are destined to unite."
Safar had often wondered what had caused Asper to write such a song. Who was the object of this great love affair? What was the tragedy that had ended it? Had Asper ever cast the spell buried in the verse? It seemed to Safar there wasn't enough strength in the spell to achieve Asper's goal. Had the old master wizard used some sort of mass gathering to cast it like Safar was doing with the circus? If so, what had been the result?
He saw Leiria waiting in the wings. She was mounted on a fine horse, every inch the warrior ready to do battle-except for her face which was flushed with excitement. And possibly just a little fear. Safar thought, now, isn't it strange? If Leiria were risking her own life, instead of just an audience's scorn, there would not be one mark of emotion upon her face.
Safar conjured a spell of confidence and whispered it in her direction. Then he hurled a light bomb signaling the grand finale and rushed away under cover of its crowd-dazzling glare to join his friends.
Trumpets blared and Leiria charged into the ring, smoke and light bombs bursting all around. The audience cheered wildly when they saw the standard she was bearing-a blue lake framed by cloud-capped mountains. It was the flag of Kyrania, streaming bravely as she raced about the ring.
She was enjoying herself thoroughly, now that the stage fright was gone. The change had occurred so quickly she was sure Safar had something to do with it. One moment she'd been ready to humiliate herself by spewing her guts, then the sick feeling was gone and she was burning with eagerness to show off to the crowd. Except when she'd dressed up as a clown, Leiria had been miserable, fearing at any minute she'd make a fool of herself, ruining the performance and therefore the spell. For some reason, when she was disguised as a clown it didn't seem to matter. Any clumsiness only added to the fun. Soon, even that respite faded, as the moment approached when she would take center ring and lead off the grand finale. The closer it came, the more terrified she became. When she spoke her voice came in a croak and she had to keep a firm grip on her horse's reins to keep her hands from shaking.
Now her nerves were running with a joyful fire and she laughed, sweeping off her helmet and letting her long hair stream out behind her like the flag itself. The Kyranians cheered and stomped their approval-chopped off by the crack of magical lightning. Leiria, playing her part, suddenly reined in her horse. It reared back on its hind legs and another magical lighting bolt blasted into the ground just before it. The horse trumpeted, pawing madly, nearly throwing Leiria from its back.
Caught up in the drama, the crowd shouted a warning, pointing into the sky where thick black clouds had gathered just above the arena. But it was too late, as six figures with faces like snarling beasts swept out of the clouds, swinging down on trapeze bars to within a few feet from her, then letting go-turning once in the air-and landing like cats, instantly crouching, ready to pounce with their gleaming scimitars.
They charged and the crowd groaned as Leiria was forced to drop the banner to draw her sword and defend herself. Steel clashed in time to wild music as Leiria battled the beastmen. One of the black cloaked figures-short, but massive in girth-grabbed up the banner, roaring through his bear's mask. He displayed the flag to the audience, who hissed and booed and shouted threats as he waved the banner back and forth in victory. And, indeed, for a long, agonizing moment all seemed lost as the beastmen encircled Leiria, coming at her from every side. Magical lightning blasting in front of her each time she threatened to break free.
High above, obscured by the black cloud, Palimak peered anxiously through the gaps at the action going on below. Dressed in his soldier's costume, he was standing on a platform, anxiously awaiting his turn.
Safar was beside him, snapping a safety wire to his belt.
"I wish I didn't have to wear that, father," Palimak said. "It doesn't look right!"
Safar chuckled. "
You're sounding like a star already," he said. "Don't worry. No one will see it. They'll be too busy following the action."
Palimak giggled. "More smoke and mirrors, father?"
"That's right, son. More smoke and mirrors. With a hefty dose of magic-applied frequently and liberally."
Safar rubbed the boy's shoulders. "Relax. You still have a little time before you get your cue."
Palimak licked his lips and nodded. Then, "Do you think she'll come, father?"
"I don't know. I hope so."
The boy became suddenly shy, ducking his head and mumbling. "Did you … you know … love her very much?"
"Yes, I did."
His voice dropped lower. "More than … well … you know … my mother."
"Nerisa?"
"Yes."
Safar shook his head. "I can't say," he replied. "I don't know any way to measure such a thing. I hope to never find one."
Palimak relaxed, smiling. "That's good," he said. "Thanks, father." Vague as Safar's answer was, it satisfied him. Now he could turn his full attention on the job ahead.
He patted the stone turtle in his pocket, alerting the Favorites. His father gave him a hug, saying, "It's time, son. Break a leg!"
Palimak laughed, feeling warm all over-because he was now part of the family of entertainers who knew this really meant extra special good luck. You weren't actually supposed to get your leg broken, which the boy thought was a wonderful joke.
Then Safar jerked a chain that shut off the flue of the smoke generator bolted to the top of the pole some seven feet above them. He jerked another chain, which operated a spark machine bolted just below the generator. Sparks showered through the widening gap in the cloud.
"Go!" Safar shouted, casting a spell that formed the sparks into a lighting bolt that crashed into the ground below.
Heart hammering, Palimak stepped out on the cable, which sloped to a lower platform some fifty feet away. He whispered to the Favorites, "Better get to work!"
Then he let go and slid down the wire, shouting a shrill war cry.
Safar was right, no one noticed the wires when he made his entrance. All they saw was a brave little figure in golden armor-a bow clutched in one hand-flying out of the clouds-shouting defiance at the beastmen, who had all but toppled Leiria from her horse.