Still, those would be eight months that she would be able to spend with Karel.
But what kind of happiness could they have when her growing belly would serve as a constant reminder of the death that awaited her and her child?
On the other hand, perhaps they wouldn't die at all. Perhaps the labor would be normal, and…
"Perhaps" wasn't good enough.
She had to invest her luck.
Not here, though. Rashell might come home at any moment and ruin whatever minuscule chance Mardis might have at success.
Don't try to fool yourself, she thought as she hurried out of the house. You aren't afraid that Mother will interrupt the ritual, because you know you've no chance anyway.
You just don't want her to see you fail.
There was only one other place where she would feel comfortable enough to do what she had to do. Delfor, Brenn, and Karel would be away at the Nin reception by now. She ran toward Merchant's Way, and the bakery. Her legs felt as though they were about to snap.
Windows shattered as she passed.
•
The door swung open before she could take her key from her smock, and she had to blink the sweat out of her eyes to see who was standing in the doorway.
It was Thardik. Rashell stood just behind him. Mardis had run all the way from home to avoid them, and here they were.
Well, I should at least say goodbye to my own mother, shouldn't I? she thought, and wished that there were some way to see Karel again, too.
Thardik pulled her inside. "Where have you b-been?" he said, his voice quaking. "We were s-sure you would be here, and d-didn't know where to look when you weren't."
Rashell shoved the wizard aside and threw her arms around Mardis. "My child, my child!" she cried. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to have a baby? Why didn't you tell me?"
Mardis felt as though she were in the gray jelly of a dream. "How did you know?" she heard herself ask.
Thardik shut the door. "I g-guessed it this afternoon," he said. "After you asked m-me what the sailor could have done to save herself, I saw that there could b-be only one reason why you would seem so anxious to know."
Rashell was sobbing into Mardis's shoulder, mixing her tears with her daughter's sweat. "I didn't know the spell would do this! I didn't!"
Mardis stroked Rashell's tangled, graying hair, and felt a strange calmness filling her with each stroke. "No one did," she said. "But now that we do, I have to try to invest my luck."
Rashell shook her head violently. "There isn't time! I don't even want you to anymore!"
Thardik stepped close. "She d-doesn't have a choice. Otherwise she won't l-live to see her next birthday."
"I only have a little over three hours," Mardis said, gently pushing her mother away. "And I have to be alone, because—" She paused and looked around the room, frowning. All of the racks and trays had been pushed to the walls, and a circle was chalked in the center of the floor. "I see you've tried to save me some time."
Thardik shook his head. "That's for m-me."
Mardis stared at him. "Why?"
Thardik tugged at a tuft of white hair. "After you left, I t-told Rashell what I'd told you, and what I suspected, and r-realized you would have to invest your luck today. We tried to f-find Wizard's Row then, to ask for help, but it was g-gone. The only thing I could think of then was to buy a small bag of g-gold dust—"
"It cost us everything!" Rashell wailed. "All the money I had in the house, plus all that Thardik had saved from teaching!"
Thardik tugged harder at the tuft. "For all I know, any p-powder might work, but the spell as Allarin taught it to me specifies g-gold, sprinkled in a circle around the entire building."
Mardis tensed. "What spell?"
"One to suppress all m-magical activity inside the encircled building—except investiture—for as long as I c-can chant the ritual."
Mardis's calmness returned. "You intend to tame my wild luck, then," she said.
"But we sprinkled the dust before we realized you weren't already inside!" Rashell cried. "It's probably blown away by now!"
Thardik stepped into the chalked circle and sat down crosslegged, his joints popping. "M-maybe believing it's there will be enough."
Mardis looked at him with new respect. "Are you sure you're up to it?"
The wizard rubbed his knees. ''I'll m-manage, as long as Rashell p-prevents anyone from coming in and b-breaking my concentration."
Rashell strode to the main door and stood before it with her fists knotted at her sides. "Let somebody try!" Smiling, Mardis went to her mother and kissed her, then walked toward the kitchen door. Enough time had been wasted. "One m-more thing," Thardik said. "You should know that the suppression spell won't help you w-with investiture itself."
"I understand," Mardis said, and paused at the kitchen door to turn and press her palms to her forehead. "My thanks."
Then she entered the kitchen. She no longer blamed anyone else for where the gods had brought her. If she died now, Rashell and Thardik would know that she bore them no grudge…and, in fact, loved them.
Karel, though, was another matter. She hadn't parted well from him that afternoon, and if her investiture failed, he might go through the rest of his life wondering whether she had died angry with him.
For him, then—and for herself, and the baby—she had to succeed.
She went to the center of the room, where the lard had spilled earlier, and rehearsed the ritual in her mind. That was one thing, at least, that Thardik had taught her well.
And if Thardik succeeded, she thought, Rikiki knows I should be able to. As long as I don't think about the time.
Faintly, she heard the old man's voice begin to drone in the other room.
The kitchen was filled with soft, reddish light as the low sun shone through the windows, and Mardis's damp skin tingled with warmth. The brick ovens surrounded her like miniature castles, and the leftover smell of freshly baked bread filled her like a breathable liquid. The table beside her held a plate of three slightly overdone sweet rolls, and she took one of the soft, sticky pastries in her hand.
She brought it to her lips and touched her tongue to the glaze, then smiled. Karel had done a good, if not inspired, job.
At that thought, her gaze moved to the bracelet he had given her. It was solid, strong, and brilliant…perfect in its simple elegance.
She had forgotten to ask Thardik for his chalk, so she made a large circle on the stone floor with sifted flour. Then she sat down inside the circle, concentrated on her chosen luck piece, and began to chant.
She had three hours. It couldn't be enough.
"Hah!" Mardis said contemptuously, and concentrated harder.
•
Her luck raged about her like a demon, snarling and spitting venom.
"You think you have me trapped in two circles," it hissed. "The one outside, keeping me from my fun … the one inside, holding me close. But I will fly away as soon as your hours have ended, and they are ending soon!"
Salt stung her eyes, but she couldn't let herself blink. She must keep gazing at her luck piece, must keep her parched tongue chanting the ritual.
"You have scorned me for the last time, weakling Mardis!" her luck cried. "You have made your circle too wide, and your ally is too weak, and when I fly away, I shall be gone forever, and you will die!"
She felt a sudden dizziness, and her luck's wildness surged. Thardik was tiring, his spell slipping. Her luck cackled gleefully.
Her lips cracked, and she tasted blood. But still she chanted, reaching, reaching, reaching to grasp the creature by the tail.
"Die'" her luck shrieked as she caught it. "You may think you have me, but I have fooled you again! I have shattered glass in your path, spilled lard on your head, rubbed flour into your bleeding knee! And just as you think I am trapped, I shall spring away and open the ovens, and the fires will leap out to boil your eyes from your head! What will happen to your baby then, when you're blind a
nd in your grave?"
She tightened her grip, and still the thing tried to squirm away. If she were to falter for even an instant, it would be gone, and there would he no time left to catch it again.
She began to pull it down.
"Mardis!" her luck squealed. "It is not you who rule me! It is I who rule you! I am your master! Not your mother, your wizard, your husband, your child!"
"No," she said, her chanting finished at last. "I'm my own master. Always have been."
"You will die!" her luck screamed.
"Oh, shut up," she said.
And pushed it into the waiting vessel.
•
Her nose stinging with the stink of burnt flour, Mardis staggered out of the kitchen into the bakery's front room. The sun had set, and for a moment she thought she was alone in the dimness.
Then the faces of Rashell and Thardik came swimming toward her. and she tried to smile. She doubted that it looked right; she was probably incapable of any expression other than a grimace.
Rashell put her arms around her. "Child, you look terrible," she whispered, and squeezed.
Thardik was standing unsteadily in his circle, staring at them with big, watery eyes. "W-well?" he asked. wheezing. He looked almost as drained as Mardis felt.
Mardis tried to smile again. "It's all right," she said, and was surprised at how hoarse she was. "My luck's invested, and my baby's safe. Or will be as long as Mother doesn't break my ribs."
Rashell's grip loosened slightly. "I was so worried," she said, "and now I'm so proud. I can hardly believe you're finally a wizard."
Mardis disengaged herself from the older woman's embrace. "I've invested my luck, but only because I had to. The fact that I managed to do it—barely, and with help—doesn't make me a wizard." She managed a small chuckle. "Even you said that I look terrible. That's how well magic and I get along."
Mardis could feel her mother's relief turn to disappointment. "But you've a talent for it," Rashell said. "Only a natural-born wizard could manage to invest her luck in so short a time, under such pressure."
Mardis's chuckle became an outright laugh. "Desperation isn't talent. I actually started to see my luck as a monster, as an enemy. I don't think that's the right attitude for a wizard. If not for Thardik—"
Thardik coughed and stepped out of the circle. "Don't s-sell yourself short. M-my spell only subdued the distractions a l-little. Your mother's right: Only someone g-gifted could do what you've done. It would be a shame to throw that gift away."
Mardis rolled her eyes. She was too tired to argue.
"I'll make you a pact, Mother," she said. "Give me until my next birthday. If by then you can't agree that Mardis the Baker is as successful and respected as the average wizard, then I'll give magic a try. One year. That isn't too much to ask, is it?"
Rashell looked as though it was too much to ask, but Thardik said, "She needs to learn for herself what's b-best for her, Rashell. Besides, a truly great wizard, as she will be, is worth waiting f-for."
Rashell still didn't look as though she agreed, but she assented. "Very well," she said. "After all, it's your life, and you nearly lost it. I won't complain that you're wasting your skills…for one year."
Mardis leaned against a display rack and relaxed. She didn't believe the promise, but at least the battle was over for now.
"C-come then, wizard Mardis," Thardik said gallantly. "Allow m-me to escort you and your lovely mother back to your home. You are weary, and your b-bed awaits."
Mardis shook her head, and one of her braids stuck to her damp cheek. "I want to wait for Karel, to tell him the news."
"I'm sure he will be p-proud," Thardik said, taking Rashell's arm.
"The pup had better be proud," Rashell said as she went out to the street.
When they were gone, Mardis reentered the kitchen to find a candie. She was a little irritated that Thardik and Rashell had assumed the "news" she had for Karel was that she had invested her luck—as if that were the only thing in her life of any importance.
But then, they had probably also assumed that Karel was already aware of the news that had made the investiture necessary in the first place.
•
As Mardis had hoped, Brenn and Delfor went home to bed as soon as the reception was over. leaving Karel to cart the used serving trays and utensils to the bakery. And, as she had also hoped, he saw the light of her candle and came into the kitchen to investigate.
She was sitting on the floor. in her flour circle, with a sweet roll on a plate in front of her. She held up her bracelet as he entered.
"Do you want it back?" she asked.
Karel looked startled. "Rikiki's nuts, why would I?"
'Two reasons," Mardis said. "One, I've wanted a baby for a long time, so I've managed to get pregnant. I did it on purpose, without consulting you."
Karel sat down in the circle with her and grinned his usual grin. "I helped a little bit, didn't I?"
"You don't mind?"
"I mind if I didn't help."
"You helped."
His grin broadened. "Then I'm pleased as a boiling pot. Besides, I suspected as much. I figured you'd tell me when you got good and ready." He picked up the sweet roll and took a bite. "So, what other reason might I have for dumping you? Besides the fact that you ate two of the rolls I was saving for myself?"
Mardis put the bracelet back on her wrist. "They were delicious," she said.
Karel wrinkled his nose. "This one tastes a little funny. Now, come on—what makes you think I'd ever let you out of our deal?" He took a huge bite of sweet roll.
"Oh, it's not important now." Mardis said. "I just invested my luck, that's all." She scooted closer and put her arms around him.
Karel made a sour face. "You can't eat luck," he said around a last mouthful.
Mardis began to giggle, and then to laugh, and she couldn't stop, not even when Karel finished the pastry and began kissing her.
It did taste a little funny, at that.
"Green Is the Color" by John M. Ford
ARlANAI HAD GONE two blocks down the narrow, empty lane before she realized she"d missed Wizard's Row. Or it had missed her; sometimes the street vanished on a moment's notice. It was never individual wizards' houses that came and went, always the whole Row. She wondered just who decided the issue.
It was a gray, gloomy spring afternoon, matching her mood. She half hoped for rain, though she wasn't dressed for it, in white cotton shirt and pants and a thin flannel cape. Rain would at least be something definite—she could point to it and say, "Look, it's raining, no wonder we're all unraveled."
No, she thought. She didn't need cheap excuses. She needed Wizard's Row, and that meant she needed someone to give her directions.
There wasn't anyone on the little street, and all the houses seemed to be shut tight. Some of the doors were boarded up. But a little way ahead there was a glow of light, a shopfront, two high narrow windows and a high narrow door.
There was a rattle like bones overhead. Arianai looked up. Hanging from a wooden bracket, apparently as the shop sign, was a puppet on a string. It danced in the slight breeze—didn't just swing, but actually danced, throwing out its elbows and knees. The only sound on the street was a whisper of air. There was something eerie about !he marionette, dancing to no music.
Arianai went inside. It was surprisingly spacious within. The narrow storefront was only a third of the shop's actual width.
There were shelves filled with stuffed animals of cloth and fur, dozens of dolls, some with porcelain heads and arms, little ships with linen sails. More marionettes hung on the walls, and kites of paper and silk. A table displayed boards for shah and tafel and other games, dice, decks of cards; on another, two armies of toy soldiers faced each other in precise ranks, brightly painted in the liveries of Liavek and Ka Zhir four centuries ago. There were smells of sandalwood and hide glue, and a faint taste of raw wood in the air.
A long counter crossed the back of the shop
. Behind it sat a pale-skinned man with long, slender limbs and very black hair. He was working at a piece of wood with a small rasp. Other tools and bits of carving were laid out on the counter within his reach. Behind him were more shelves, more toys; on the topmost shelf was a wooden train, a model of the one being built along the coast from Hrothvek to Saltigos. It had shiny brass fittings and red-spoked wheels.
"Good afternoon," the man said, without looking up. "Browsing is free. The prices are outrageous." His voice was pleasant without being friendly.
Arianai said. "Excuse me, master…I am looking for Wizard's Row. I seem to have gotten lost."
"You, or it?" said the dark-haired man.
"I'm not certain," Arianai said, and laughed, more from the release of tension than the joke.
"Well," the man said, "the Row is either ninety paces to the right of my door, or else it is not. Happy to have been of assistance, mistress." He held up the piece of whittled wood, blew dust from a hole. He picked up a length of braided white cord and ran it experimentally through the hole.
"That's a shiribi puzzle, isn't it?" Arianai said.
"It is."
"I'd always wondered where those came from. You see the White priests with them, but…"
"But you cannot imagine White priests making anything with their hands?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult your faith."
The man laughed. "If I had a faith, that wouldn't be it." He put down the wood and cord, picked up another stick and a file, went back to work. He had long-fingered, spidery hands, quick and very smooth.
Arianai turned toward the door. An arrangement of soft toys drew her eye; in the center was a fuzzy camel as high as her knee, with a ragdoll rider perched on the hump. The rider, dressed in the robes of the desert nomads, had one arm upraised, with a yarn whip coiled down it—an ordinary pose, but there was something about the way the person was bent forward, and the camel's neck was bent back, that let Arianai hear the rider muttering and grumbling, and the camel—most obstinate beast that ever the gods devised—well, snickering. The toy was a perfect little sketch of a stubborn camel and its hapless owner, in cloth and stitches and yarn.
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