Liavek 2

by Will Shetterly

  Hidat approached and stopped next to Zayieri, his wary gaze upon Elmutt. "You must try your powers."

  "I must, first, find my luck."

  Hidat shook his head. "Later. Just keep with you what you have right now and you will be safe. You can determine which article it is by elimination, once you know what you can do. Try your powers."

  Elmutt looked up and saw Tavi sitting atop the temple ruin above the alcove. He glanced at Hidat and Zayieri. "What should I try first?"

  The musician held out his hands. "You are the one who studied magic, not I."

  "Very well. I shall conjure fire." Elmutt held his arms out to his sides, parallel to the ground, and muttered the incantation enslaving Daak, the demon stoker of the Devil's Furnace. The incantation completed, Elmutt pointed his finger at the ground between himself and Hidat.

  Hidat waited for a moment. "I don't see anything."

  The garbage picker rubbed his chin and frowned. "It isn't conjuring fire, that's for certain." He noticed that Tavi had come down from above the alcove and was now standing in the court. Elmutt nodded at Hidat and Zayieri. "Levitation."

  There was the incantation to Wheer, the bellows pumper for Karris, god of the winds. The incantation completed, Elmutt gestured with his hands for Zayieri to rise. She remained firmly upon the ground while what little wind there was died out. Tavi moved a little closer.

  Zayieri glanced at her husband and turned back to Elmutt. "Perhaps you can read minds, tell fortunes, create illusions or spells."

  "I'll see." Elmutt shook his head. "I find it difficult to believe that an investiture of such power could produce nothing." He assumed a pose, closed his eyes, and tried to see into Hidat's mind. He opened his eyes.

  Hidat nodded. "Well?"

  "Either you are completely empty-headed, Hidat, or reading minds is not one of my powers." And neither could he see fortunes, or create illusions, or make spells.

  With each failure, Tavi moved ever closer until with the final failure, the troll was again seated upon Elmutt's shoulder. As Elmutt slumped dejectedly in his wet clothing, Tavi leered at him. "Card tricks, Elmutt!" The troll clapped his hands. "Perhaps you can do card tricks! I like card tricks." As Elmutt glared at the troll, Tavi rolled off his shoulder, laughing. "The Wizard of Dung Alley! Show us how you can fall off a log, Wizard!"

  The garbage picker glanced at Hidat, then guiltily cast down his gaze. "Nothing. I have no powers. Somehow I will pay you the balance for the performance. Somehow—" He turned to go but was stopped by Zayieri's touch upon his arm. "I will pay. I promise."

  The dancer stood with her face very close to Elmutt's. "Perhaps it is a sufficient miracle that you survived the lightning. I think it is more. I see something in you, Elmutt. A difference. I cannot tell what the difference is, but it is there. You must be patient until you find out what it is."

  Elmutt shook his head. "No. The only difference is that I have never before made quite this big a fool of myself."

  Hidat placed his hand upon Elmutt's shoulder. "My boy, Zayieri is a Bhandaf. Bhandafs see differently than you or I. Have faith and forget paying us with money. We will wait for the favor."

  "You may have to wait a long time." Elmutt again shook his head, turned, and began trudging through the dark toward the Street of Trees. Behind him, Tavi cackled.

  "Wait, Wizard! Pick a card, any card, any card at all! Ah, hah hah! See, the Wizard conjures mud, he does! And rain! And dark! He can conjure dark once a night! Ah, hah hah haaaah!"

  Elmutt paid little attention to the troll's ridicule. Inside he was telling himself things of a much harsher nature. Once he reached the street he turned his feet east and limped in the direction of Dung Alley and Ghaster's cellar.

  •

  The rooster's crowing the next morning found Elmutt and his sack again on the back streets of Old Town, Tavi upon his shoulder, picking among the rubbish. "Your humility is admirable, Wizard, it is. To think that such a powerful magician as yourself would stoop to crawling through the glop and slime of Liavek as if nothing had changed. It is a marvel, it is. No one can say that your power has gone to your head. My, my, I do think—"

  "Be silent, Tavi."

  The creature laughed as it jumped up and down on Elmutt's shoulder. "Oh, my, mighty Wizard! Have I offended thee? What horror will you inflict upon me for my punishment? Aaaaaargh!" Tavi rolled off and bounced upon the cobblestones of the Street of Scales. "The horror! The horror! The great Wizard of Dung Alley has turned me into a troll! Aaaaaaaarrrggh!"

  Elmutt turned the corner onto Wizard's Row. Almantia had said to see her that morning. In exchange for the pain of being near her, there would be a few coppers. Despite what Hidat and Zayieri had said, Elmutt wanted to pay the balance he owed. It was a goal. The only goal he had remaining. It was something with which to fill his days—to stave off the despair that he knew would take his life if he allowed himself to feel it. His picker's bag was already near to full. His finds that day promised to reduce his debt by ten or fifteen coppers. That in addition to what Almantia would pay him would give him a start.

  He looked up from the gutter to see the buildings. The grand houses of Wizard's Row seemed to mock him. "Look at us, Elmutt! Look at what you will never be; look at where you can only pick garbage! Look at yourself, Wizard of Dung Alley!"

  He glanced at his shoulder. Tavi was back on his perch. "Ah, me, Wizard. If the feeble tricksters that live here only knew the vast powers of He Who Picks Among Them."

  Elmutt paused as Yolik's house came into full view. There were litters and bearers, carriages and drivers crowding the street. On the steps and walk were men, women, and children garbed in finery, laughing, happily greeting each other. It is probably a party or celebration, thought Elmutt. Almantia would hire him at a good wage to help the menials. He closed his eyes, thinking that his heart could not bear to hear any of this laughter and heartiness from rich people, in addition to viewing Almantia's forbidden beauty.

  "Elmutt!"

  He heard his name called. The voice was hers. "Elmutt!"

  He opened his eyes. She stood in the doorway of her grand-father's house wearing a filmy gown of pale blue. She was waving at him. He let a ragged breath escape as he began walking toward her. Tavi snapped his fingers. "This be where Tavi gets off, Wizard. Tavi will find you later, he will, he will." The troll slid off the back of Elmutt's shoulder and vanished. Almantia worked her way through her guests, and as the garbage picker reached Yolik's gate, she met him there.

  "Yes, good lady?"

  She smiled, her face radiant. "My dear little picker, you have come just in time. I can promise you thirty coppers for helping today, and I have such good news. Can you guess what it is?"

  "Good lady, I am no mind reader."

  She didn't notice the bitterness in his words, but prattled on. "Do you remember me telling you about one of my beaus, Brice Abnabas? Do you?"

  Elmutt shook his head. There were so many, how could his memory sort out a single admirer from the herd? "My sorrow, good lady, I cannot."

  "He owns five great sailing ships. Of course, I didn't know that until yesterday. He was only a ship's mate when I knew him years ago, but he is back!" She smiled and placed her hand upon Elmutt's sleeve. "He asked my grandfather for my hand, and today we are to be wed...."

  Elmutt's heart stopped beating. Her words and the chatter of the other guests faded into a numb miasma of meaningless sound. All he could think of was escape, to seek the fetid security of Dung Alley. It was no more than he should have expected. A garbage picker and Yolik's granddaughter! Ridiculous!

  Perhaps, he thought...perhaps the Fifteenth is my birthday. It certainly looks like today is a day of especially rotten luck. He reached out and held onto the gate for support.

  "...it is such a rush because Brice must leave on the evening tide and I am to go with him. There are so many things to do." Her words paused as her eyes studied Elmutt's face. The slightest of frowns marred her perfect forehead. "Is somethi
ng wrong, Elmutt?"

  "It's just that your news is so sudden." He felt light-headed. "I feel a little ill, good lady. I must go."

  "So soon? Rula Verune is one of the guests, Elmutt. She is a fine physician. Shall I call her?"

  "Please do not bother, good lady. I will recover as soon as I can get some rest."

  "Are you certain? It would be no trouble, and I do value my little picker."

  "Please, no." He released the gate and stood up. "My best wishes to you and your..." Another wave of dizziness swept over him. "Your husband."

  "Oh, Elmutt, I am so happy. What do you think will happen? Will I always be this happy?"

  A strange heat shot through his heart. "I hope so, good lady. I must go now."

  "If you're certain you'll be all right." She took his hands in hers and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for being a friend, Elmutt. Be kind to yourself."

  He couldn't remember leaving her. He saw none of the streets and houses as he walked. He did not hear the cries of the merchants or of the animals in the Two-Copper Bazaar. He simply walked without direction, without purpose, until a great tiredness came over him. Then, he stopped where he was and stood weaving, the heels of his hands dug into his eyes. He pulled his hands away and looked at his empty palms. He had forgotten his bag.

  "It must still be next to Yolik's gate," he whispered. For the life of him he could not imagine going back there to retrieve his bag and its contents.

  "Well, if it isn't the Great Wizard of Dung Alley!"

  He realized he was standing at the north end of the alley. He turned. The voice belonged to the hag, Cankera. Her toothless mouth laughed at him.

  "One of these days, old hag, your mouth will cost you."

  "Will it now, Wizard?" she screeched. Again she laughed, her husband Mortice's cackle from the back of the stall joining in. Joining in as well were the several residents of the alley whose attention had been attracted by the exchange. Elmutt's face burned.

  Cankera clasped her hands together and bowed in mock respect. "Oh, powerful one, you must tell me my fortune! Will I become rich? Will I exchange my worn-out piece of a husband for a handsome virile young thing? Oh, please, Great Wizard of Dung, what does the future hold in store for me?"

  A roar of laughter surrounded Elmutt. He faced the hag, his fists at his sides. The alley became silent as that strange heat again shot through his heart. "Hag, may you—"

  He watched as her eyes burst and tentacles snaked from the woman's eye sockets and ears. As she screamed, her skin erupted into boils and weeping pustules. A black clawed thing reached out from beneath her skirt and bit through her ankle, sending her toppling over into her stall. More tentacles came from her nose and mouth, flailing her, choking her, ripping off her arms, tearing her head from her bleeding body. The pieces of her, along with the things that had come from her, began to smoke. There was a bright flash. When the smoke in the stall cleared, there was nothing left of the hag except a memory and a handful of ashes.

  Stunned, Elmutt turned from the stall. The people of the alley were motionless, as though frozen in that instant of time. They stared at him. Their eyes were filled with terror. As they began to back away from him, a painful wail came from the stall. Elmutt turned and saw Cankera's husband, Mortice, helplessly waving his hands at the ashed remains of his wife.

  "Oh! Look at what you've done! Oh, woman, you had the dragon's mouth on you, and you stank!" Mortice looked up at Elmutt, tears filling his eyes. "She was everything horrible, Elmutt. But she did not deserve to die. Bring her back! Bring her back, I say!" The observers in the alley, who fear had edged away, were drawn back by anger.

  Elmutt shook his head. "I didn't, I couldn't, I can't..."

  "This is murder," muttered a voice from the alley.

  "Someone should call the Guard," muttered another.

  Mortice stepped forward and grabbed Elmutt's collar. "Bring her back, monster!"

  All the garbage picker could do was to stand there helplessly absorbing the accusations. Mortice, his anger dissolving into grief, released Elmutt's collar. Still he looked at the picker. "What is to become of me? Now that you have taken my old woman, what will become of me? Do you have a fortune in your bag of vengeance for me?"

  Elmutt spoke as the heat once more shot through his heart, the words pitifully dry and small in his throat. "It will be all right, Mortice. You will see. It will be all right."

  Mortice's eyebrows went up in surprise, then came down in a glare of hate. "All right!" The alley observers, now a crowd, rumbled with the reflection of Mortice's outrage. Mortice held out his hands to the crowd. "I have murdered your wife, Mortice! I turned her into a horrible pain-filled crawling thing before her pieces were consumed with hell fire, Mortice! I have taken away your reason for living, Mortice! But, says Elmutt, it will be all right, Mortice! It will be all right!"

  By this time the crowd had lost its fear and was quite capable of acquiring and administering a length of rope to satisfy its sense of justice. But they quieted as they watched a quizzical look come upon Mortice's face. He nodded at the street once and looked at Elmutt. "She was a spiteful old bitch, wasn't she?" Mortice snickered and shook his head. "Life with her was a continuous tongue-lashing from dawn to dusk." He rubbed his chin and nodded. "And she never let me have any of the coppers that both of us earned." He placed a hand on Elmutt's shoulder. "Ungrateful fool that I am, you do me this good turn, Elmutt, and I spit in your face. Can you ever forgive me?"

  Embarrassed, Elmutt looked at the crowd. He read the same thing in every face. Elmutt had said it would be all right, and now it was. The picker shook his head and backed away from Mortice. "There is nothing to forgive. I am sorry. I am so sorry."

  He ran through the crowd toward the safety of Ghaster's cellar. Just before he entered the doorway that would take him down the stone stairs, he looked back toward Cankera's stall. The crowd buzzed with talk and exclamations of wonder. At the edge of the crowd, silently looking at Elmutt, was a dark figure clad in a white hooded robe, the robe of a White priest.

  Sickness filling his heart, Elmutt scurried down the steps and hid in the cellar's darkness.

  •

  That night Elmutt sat alone amidst the salvage in the cellar, with only Cankera's nightmare for company. Again and again he replayed the horror in his mind, trying to remember exactly what had happened. When the dawn light crept down the cellar stairs, he had sorted out enough to accept that what had happened to Cankera was exactly what his heart had wished upon her. He had not told her fortune. It was bitter upon his tongue.

  "I made the hag's fortune." She was mean, cruel, and ugly, and Elmutt hated her. He shook his head in guilt-embroidered despair. "She did not deserve to die." A thousand times that night he had wished and prayed for things to go back the way they had been; that the hag would reappear in her stall, mouth and all. A thousand times he failed. He looked up. "Is this my gift, then? Is this my power? A limitless capacity for irrevocable evil?"

  The murk above him revealed the edge of a horrible truth. He had not only ended the hag's passage through this life. In addition, what had happened to her had revealed to everyone on the alley what Elmutt carried in his most secret heart. Cankera's death had thrown the evidence for his judgment as a worthy or worthless man upon the public way, for anyone to see. They had seen his hate. They had judged him for it. There was still more. He had told Mortice that it would be all right, and now it was. At least it was all right with Mortice. That, too, had been in his heart. But he had not made it all right with Cankera, or with himself. All he had done was to stop Mortice from blaming him for the crime that he had committed. That act, too, was a judgment upon himself, revealing to everyone who and what he was.

  Upon the cushions where Ghaster used to recline in unwashed splendor there was now a much crueler resident. It was a leather pouch bulging with coppers. Mortice had dropped it by to express some small part of the gratitude he felt toward Elmutt. The garbage picker could not escape that t
he gratitude expressed had been planted in Mortice's heart by Elmutt's desperate desire to evade responsibility for what he had done. "My power is a more burdensome thing than having no power at all." Another instance of Elmutt's luck, he reflected.

  He frowned as a thought presented itself. "If I can make futures for others, can I do the same for myself?" Power, wealth, fame, fine foods, a glorious house, the parades of noble and wealthy persons coming before him for favors.

  Elmutt wished for these things. When he had completed his attempt, he was still Elmutt the garbage picker, sitting in the gloom of Ghaster's cellar. "Elmutt's luck remains intact."

  He looked again at Mortice's bag of coppers. It could make for a comfortable living, being a contract killer. He covered his eyes and huddled on his pallet, the universe too small a container for his shame.

  There was a sound: footsteps. Elmutt did not remove his hand from his eyes. If it was Mortice with another bag of gratitude, he could not bear to face him. If it was a thief after Mortice's coppers, or a killer after the garbage picker's life, it would be good riddance to either or both as far as Elmutt was concerned.

  "You are the one called Elmutt?" The voice was deep and powerful. Elmutt stayed as he was. "Look at me, boy!"

  At the command, Elmutt lowered his hands. Before him stood the White priest he had seen standing in the alley the evening before. The priest's eyes were black and set deeply beneath bushy black brows. On his right cheek, only partially covered by a closely cropped beard, was a long crooked scar. Now that he had Elmutt's attention, the priest glanced around for something upon which to sit. Disgust curled the man's lips. He spread the fingers of his right hand and held his arm forward, holding his palm toward the cellar's earthen floor. Elmutt started as a satin-upholstered throne of gold appeared. The priest lowered himself into it, crossed his legs, and fixed his gaze on the garbage picker. "I am Geth Dys, Vavasor, priest of the Church of Truth and an advisor to Her Magnificence, the Levar."