The bearers were headed toward the Levar's Highway….
Geth Dys pushed himself to his feet. "If you could search for her and find her, and then get her to ask you for her fortune, I suppose you could restore her beauty. Perhaps you could even create a future that would force her to be your wife." The White priest grinned. "Think about that, Elmutt, as you sit here day after day under the Levar's cruel confinement. Perhaps you can achieve a slight resentment against the one who would keep you here against your will. Understand that Almantia is under no mere spell. She is living her present; the present that you wished upon her. No magician, sorcerer, or Bhandaf spirit doctor can alter her condition. All that can be done is to cloud her mind, making her blind to the horror that she has become."
"Geth Dys, what of another fortune maker? Another fortune maker could—"
"No." The priest smiled. "You are the only fortune maker to come along for over two thousand years, Elmutt. There are no others." Geth Dys opened the door. "Think upon what I have said when next the Levar would have you make her fortune." The priest left the apartment, closing the door behind him.
Elmutt stared at the closed door for a long time. He had no doubt that if he could have made his own fortune at that moment, his death would be such as to make Cankera's end seem like a peaceful passing to a better land.
"Oh, woe! Oh, woe!"
Tavi appeared on the floor, rapidly pacing in a circle, his gaze downcast, his tiny hands pulling at his hair. Elmutt felt like killing the creature. He did not make the attempt, since through many prior investigations he had learned that he could not. There were two other reasons as well. First, the wish of death in his heart shamed him. It was just such a thing that had taken Almantia's beauty. Second, he realized that the troll's words were not mocking him. Tavi was agonizing in earnest.
"Speak, Tavi. What pains you?"
The troll waved his hands in the air and came to a stop facing Elmutt, his right hand scratching his chin, his face wrought in deep thought. "The White priest will be our ruin, Elmutt. He is too clever for our own good." He pointed a finger at Elmutt. "By Narkaan's knees, he would have you do your worst to the Levar!"
"I thought that is what you wanted, Tavi."
Again the troll's arms waved in the air. "Fool! Do you not see that the result of making the Levar's future a horror would end in your own death? If the Levar couldn't order up your nightmare, you can count on the Regent, a Red priest, to dish up disaster." Tavi shook his head. "Most likely, a very slow and very painful death!"
"Again, Tavi, I would think that end would be the kind of entertainment that would set your tiny warted toes a-tapping and your black little heart all aglow."
Tavi placed his hands on his hips. "We need solutions right now, Margrave of Muck, not sarcasm!" The troll folded its arms and glared at Elmutt. "If you die, the Bhandaf dancer will get me. Do you understand now?"
"Oh, yes." Elmutt thought of Zayieri. In another moment the course he must follow stretched before him. "We must escape, Tavi."
The troll clasped his hands behind his back and resumed pacing. "How? There is a guard outside your door, and more guards throughout the palace. They have all been warned by Geth Dys not to give you any opening to use your power. We can be certain that none of those uniformed lumps will ever ask you for a fortune."
The garbage picker managed a slight smile. "Perhaps, Tavi. However you might convince one of them to ask me for a fortune."
"Me? How could I?"
"You underestimate how seductive you can be, Tavi."
•
Guard Private Mandar Lann stood confidently at his noon post in front of the fortune maker's apartments, reviewing his orders. If the fortune maker wanted to go anywhere within the palace grounds, he was permitted, but could go only under escort. If the fortune maker should make an attempt to escape, Mandar would call out the remainder of the guard and restrain him bodily.
The White priest had stressed the importance of never saying any phrase that could be construed in any manner as a request for his fortune. No casual statements, such as, What of it? What will happen? and the like. Especially, he was not to let temptations of wealth or station seduce him into asking for a fortune in exchange for turning his back. Master Geth Dys had said that he had carefully picked the ones who were to stand guard upon the fortune maker. They were all fairly well off financially, and they were loyal soldiers—men and women of trust and honor with comfortably secure futures should they earn the gratitude of the White priest. It was a particular reflection upon Mandar's worth, and the recognition of that worth, to have been given this task. The guard was allowing his chest to inflate with pride when he heard a tiny voice.
"You are Mandar Lann?"
The guard frowned and looked around. "Eh? Who goes there?" He could see no one. Ignoring his ceremonial short sword, Mandar pulled his pistol from its holster, cocked it, and looked again. "Show yourself!"
"Down here."
Mandar looked down to see a tiny creature in a purple suit and yellow cape standing before him. The creature's ugly large head sported a mouth curled into an even uglier leer. "Eh? What are you?"
"You are Mandar Lann, soldier of the Levar's Guard?"
"Aye," Mandar responded warily. "What of it?"
"I am your troll. My name is Tavi."
"What!? My what?"
The troll's eyebrows went up as he held out his hand. "Now, Mandar, don't go making a big fuss. Each troll must be inflicted upon someone, and I have been assigned to you. You'll just make yourself crazy buzzing your head wondering why you. Simply accept your fate, and it will go easier for you." The leer widened. "A little easier."
The guard felt the cold sweat beading over his entire body. "There must be some mistake, creature—"
"Tavi."
"There must be some mistake, Tavi. I am a good man. A good man."
The troll blew on his fingernails and buffed them on the chest of his purple jacket. "And?"
"I am a good man! A true and loyal soldier, faithful to my church and my sovereign, thrifty, honest, reverent, kind to the elderly, helpful to the poor...nice to small animals—"
"Nevertheless," interrupted the troll, "I am yours." The troll reached up and placed a handprint in the center of Mandar's highly polished brass buckle. "Inspections in ranks are going to be much more exciting for you."
Mandar looked in horror at the handprint. Quickly pulling a cloth from inside his blouse, he polished the print from the buckle. "You can't do this to me— " By the time he had finished with the buckle, Mandar saw the troll scratching the polish on his boots with its fingernails. Mandar jumped back, away from the troll, raising his pistol. "No!"
The troll held out his hand, palm up, and a suspiciously oozy brown gob appeared upon it. "You certainly keep your uniform immaculate, Mandar."
"Take a step toward me, troll, and I will fire! I warn you!"
The creature moved toward him and the guard pulled the trigger. When the smoke cleared and the echoes concluded their circuit of the palace, Mandar looked in horror to see the troll still standing, unscathed. The troll was looking with amusement at the huge scar the guard's pistol had made in the Levar's polished marble floor. The troll leered again at Mandar. "Yes, yes, this will be an interesting assignment."
Mandar felt light-headed, and even more so when he noticed that the brown gob was no longer on the troll's hand. He hesitantly glanced at the front of his trousers and almost fainted. As the sound of approaching footsteps came from the Grand Hall, Mandar dropped his pistol, clasped his hands, and sank to his knees. "I have been everything good that a man can be. I do not deserve a troll!"
Tavi vanished and reappeared on the guard's left shoulder. "I can help you there, Mandar. You seem to be under the impression that reality is fair. I am pleased to be able to clear up this matter for you. It isn't." The troll pointed the fingertips of both hands toward his own breast. "I rest my case."
Mandar, still on his knees, his eyes close
d, shook his head and wailed. "What can I do? Great Sarrow, what can I do?" The footsteps and shouts of a guard came closer.
"I suppose, Mandar, that there is only one thing that you can do."
The guard opened his eyes and looked at the troll. Tavi was reclining on the guard's shoulder, raised up on one elbow, his legs crossed. "What can I do? Please, creature, what can I do?"
A door opened and Mandar looked up to see the fortune maker standing in front of him. The guard looked back at the troll. The creature was pointing at the fortune maker with a gnarled thumb. "Ask him."
"What..." Mandar moistened his lips, swallowed, and hung his head. "...will be my fortune?"
The hallway was quiet and deserted, the marble floor unblemished. Mandar stood at his post, frowning. He looked down and confirmed that his uniform was in its usual immaculate condition. He unholstered his pistol, examined it, and confirmed that it was cleaned and loaded. He replaced the pistol in its holster and scratched his head. Something was bothering him, but he had no idea what it was. He looked down again and saw a tiny handprint in the center of his polished belt buckle. Quickly he pulled a cloth from inside his blouse and buffed away the mark. As he replaced the cloth he reviewed the orders he had gotten from the White priest, pleased at the honor of being selected for this important task.
•
"I can make you your fortune. That is my power."
Zayieri and Hidat sat upon their cushions. The dancer stared at Elmutt with her cat eyes. The troll was silently seated on the picker's shoulder. "And you would have us come with you to the land of the Bhandafs to find Yolik's granddaughter?"
Elmutt looked down at his hands on the table. "You would be a great help to me there, Zayieri. I have no knowledge of the Bhandafs and am ignorant of their ways. But more important than that, I need to know my heart. Should I have an opportunity to remake Almantia's fortune, I must do so free of anger, hate, jealousy, revenge, greed...all those things which now rest there." He looked up at her. "Before I make your fortune, and Hidat's, I need to do this. There are great risks, otherwise."
The dancer looked at the musician. "My husband?"
Hidat did not return the look. "You know I cannot go with you. Not to the land of the Bhandafs. Old Ogume would have me mutilated and put to death." Hidat looked at Elmutt, his lips touched by a bitter smile. "Ogume is Zayieri's father. He is a very powerful spirit doctor. I am not a Bhandaf; I only love one. Ogume disapproves." He turned his head toward his wife. "He would disfigure you, then cast you out."
Zayieri reached out and placed a gentle hand on Hidat's forearm. "My husband, our fortune could be to remove this pain between my father and yourself; between us and my people. We could live among the Bhandafs again, our land and position restored."
Hidat leveled his gaze at Elmutt. "We could, if the picker can learn his heart and gain control of his power." The musician glanced down at the table and watched as his fingers drummed there for a moment. The fingers stopped. Hidat took a deep breath, letting the air escape from his lungs slowly. He nodded and held out his hand to the picker. "Very well. We will take you to the land of the Bhandafs. I will arrange for the transportation and provisions."
Elmutt clasped the musician's hand. "I am so grateful, Hidat. To both of you."
Hidat smiled. "Keep in mind, Elmutt, that in associating yourself with the pair of us, whatever we receive at Ogume's pleasure will be shared by you. That is the law."
Elmutt felt Tavi pulling at his ear. He turned and looked at the troll. "What of me?" whispered Tavi.
The picker looked at the dancer, his eyebrows raised. Zayieri smiled warmly at the troll. "Tavi, if Elmutt should die in the land of the Bhandafs, you will not become mine. You will belong to an entire tribe, any individual of which can see and catch you, all of whom believe that trolls are hell demons, and that torturing hell demons brings one further into Bhanda's favor. In the land of the Bhandafs, Tavi, I suggest you devote your every effort toward keeping Elmutt alive."
The picker looked at his troll, and Tavi's face was no longer the color of mud, but was instead the color of ashes.
•
Beginning late that afternoon, and for the next twelve days, the tiny caravan of three camels followed the Levar's Highway east toward the city-state of Saltigos. On the twelfth day, just before reaching the city, they turned their mounts north into the evergreen forests of the Silverspine Mountains. In the forest the travelers would at times catch glimpses of the hideously ugly mountain folk that lived there, but they would jump from the tree branches, extend their membranes, and be gone among the trees shortly after seeing that one of the travelers was a Bhandaf.
The nights were spent by fires with Hidat's drum sounding a quiet beat and Elmutt sleeping with his head nestled between Zayieri's breasts, her arms wrapped around him, her lips whispering into his ear, the picker unconsciously answering her with slurred words and silent tears. At first this bothered Elmutt, thinking that Hidat would certainly take offense. Both of them assured the picker that this was the Bhandaf way of teaching him his heart.
And he was learning his heart. It was mostly good, the blemishes acquired as defenses against a life and existence of want and pain. It was a strong heart, too. Nothing less could have survived the pain, and the greater measure of the pain he had inflicted upon himself. Among many examples was Ghaster. The old man had said the words, but Elmutt had chosen to be hurt by them. His master had administered the beatings, but his bond child had chosen to stand there and take them, hoping that his welts would somehow please the unpleasable. He had even turned his love into pain.
He had learned that there was love in his heart, and not just a small measure. There was the love, of course, for Almantia. But love too for Zayieri and Hidat. Love for the little girl who carried the Levar's mantle. Even love for Ghaster. Even love for Tavi. What was the most incredible, and the hardest to find, was the love he had for Elmutt the garbage picker.
When he understood it, he shook his head in wonder. All of the things he had desired—the power, the friends, the possessions, the titles—were false lodestones, attempting desperately to attract the one thing of which he had an abundance: love. Love of self, and love of works. He found that his work had not degraded him; he had degraded his work. He had been a good—no, a great—garbage picker. He could see finds where others were blind, he could repair what others believed to be unrepairable, he could hold in his mind thousands of details concerning who threw out what at what time of the year or week, and he could make a profit at it. More than that was being his own master, the open sky above his head, the rich sights, tastes, and sounds of the city for a workplace, the countless interesting persons he knew, and the countless more he had yet to meet. But he had taken the joy out of all of it by telling himself that it was not enough. In the same manner, he had taken the joy out of his entire life.
As the caravan reached the crest of a pass that in the language of the Bhandafs was named Forbidden Way, despite the rows of skulls flanking the opening, Elmutt felt a strange peace within his breast. It was strange because it was a peace that had never before existed.
•
At night in the pass:
"Zayieri, what if that which the White priests believe is true?"
"What do they believe?"
"That I am condemned to an endless cycle of births and rebirths. That the only way to escape is to destroy reality itself."
The dancer looked at Elmutt with puzzled eyes. "There are worse things, Elmutt, than being condemned to immortality."
"Not if it is endless pain."
"True. But what if it is endless happiness? With each birth you get anew the choice between pain and happiness. If you choose happiness, your joy will go on forever. Most of us call this heaven. Why would you want to destroy that?"
•
The morning they reached the fertile bottom of the Valley of Bhanda, there was a single outstanding badness in his heart. It was not guilt over the hag. There was noth
ing he could do about Cankera's death. He could not change the past. For that same reason he had accepted his past with Ghaster and let go of what might have been. There was the guilt about how he had acquired his velvet suit. He had put that to rest when he determined to make restitution to the tailor. But still there was the badness of Almantia resting in his heart.
It was still a confusion: guilt for what he had done to her, knowing that making amends by restoring her full beauty would again place her out of his reach, grief at this certain loss, the desire to manipulate her future, shame at the thought. These were the things on his mind as he heard a shout, then an army of voices raised in a spine-vibrating cry.
"Hidat!" he called, Tavi's arms wrapped about his neck. "What is that?"
The musician held up his hand for silence. Before his hand came down they were surrounded by great black feline beasts ridden by springdart-wielding men and women who were clad in skins and red battle paint. All of the riders had the eyes of the cat. One of the warriors reached up and grabbed the reins from Hidat's hands. He grinned, displaying startlingly white teeth.
"Jhaas, Hidat! Jhaas! Re cagthgat te, tyah!"
Elmutt did not need a translator to understand the warrior's sentiment. It fairly radiated from his pores.
"At last, Hidat! At last! We have you now!"
More hands reached out, taking the reins from Zayieri and Elmutt. Weapons and voices upraised, backed up by the howls of the huge cats, it was difficult for Elmutt to hang onto his new sense of serenity, and he didn't.
•
They were taken to a stronghold within a city such as Elmutt had never before seen. The buildings were magnificent despite being made from stone and beaten earth. The largest of these, high atop a barren hill of naked rock with a view commanding the valley, was where they were taken. Deep within its bowels was a huge circular room illuminated by the flames of the pit that occupied the room's center. Six warriors stood behind Elmutt, Zayieri, and Hidat, while a seventh warrior held Tavi by the scruff of his neck. They faced the firepit.
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