Points of Departure

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “All right,” Tazli said, and slid the hazelnut into her pocket. Rikiki stopped trembling. “What’s the matter, Rikiki?”

  “Rikiki has no sense,” Rikiki said unhappily. His tail drooped, tickling her back. “Sorry, Tazli.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tazli said. “You did all right getting us out of the palace.” A thought struck her. “Do you know how to get away from all these canals?”

  Rikiki’s tail lifted. “That way,” he said, and pointed. Tazli hesitated, then stepped out into the crowd once more. At least the wind seemed to be dying down.

  The crowd remained dense, cheerful, and slow-moving. Even with Rikiki’s directions, it took Tazli nearly half an hour to work her way out of the Canal District. At last she found herself on a straight street with no bridges in sight. It was lined with two- and three-story houses which, to Tazli, looked small and cramped. “Where are we?” she said.

  “The Street of Dreamers,” said a matter-of-fact voice behind her. “Are you lost?”

  Tazli turned and saw a slim, dark-skinned woman with wiry hair. Beside the girl stood a small, white-skinned, pale-haired man who was studying Tazli with interest. “She looks lost,” he said. “And if she is, she could—”

  “No,” said the woman. “You are not going to talk a perfect stranger into helping with one of your experiments. You are not going to do any spells at all on Festival Night. We are going to go up on Snake’s roof and watch the fireworks and make sure nobody sneaks anything out of the shop, and that is all we are going to do.”

  “I need someone who is lost to hold the fur,” the white-haired man said to Tazli as if he hadn’t heard a word his companion had said. “Thyan can knot the belts together, but it won’t work if I don’t have someone who is lost to hold the fur.”

  The woman, who was presumably Thyan, rolled her eyes. “I told you, no, Silvertop. He gets this way sometimes,” she explained to Tazli. “Well, most times. Nearly always, in fact.”

  “Oh,” said Tazli. “Um, how do I get to the Levar’s Park from here?”

  “Don’t tell her,” Silvertop said quickly. “If you do, she won’t be lost any more, and—”

  “Straight down this street to Park Boulevard, then turn right,” Thyan said. “We’re headed that way ourselves; you can join us, if you don’t mind Silver here.”

  “Thank you,” Tazli said. “I don’t mind.” At least she would have some idea where she was going.

  “Why did you do that?” Silvertop asked Thyan in an aggrieved tone as they started moving again. “Festival Night is the only time this has a chance of working, and Snake’s roof was the perfect place. All I needed was someone who was lost.”

  “And about six layers of plate armor for when Snake found out,” Thyan said. “You’re lucky she’ll let you up on the roof at all, after you spilled blue paint all over it last year.”

  “I got it off again, didn’t I?” Silvertop said. “Well, most of it.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe that would work.”

  “What?” said Thyan in tones of deep misgiving.

  “If I used paint instead of the feathers, and some gunpowder instead of the six needles, it might work even if I didn’t have someone lost to hold the fur.”

  “No,” said Thyan. “Absolutely, positively not. You’ll blow up the shop, or yourself.”

  “Don’t be silly, Thyan,” Silvertop said. “There are much easier ways of doing explosions; that’s not what I’m trying for at all.”

  “I don’t mean the spell, bubblehead. I’m talking about the gunpowder.”

  “Oh,” said Silvertop. “Well, I suppose I could use fish oil if I had to. But I need the paint.”

  “You don’t need anything,” Thyan said firmly. “You aren’t going to do any spells tonight. You are going to watch the fireworks. And if you are very good, I’ll let you have some of the brandy.”

  They reached a wide, well-paved boulevard and Thyan stopped. “The Levar’s Park is straight up that way,” she said to Tazli, pointing. “Have fun!”

  “That was the original idea,” Tazli muttered. She smiled and thanked Thyan, then turned the corner and left. Silvertop was still babbling incomprehensibly about silver buttons and Zhir fish-knives, but he remembered her presence long enough to nod farewell.

  Slowly, Tazli made her way toward the Levar’s Park. From there it would be easy to get back to the palace. She was cold and hungry and very tired, and she had never been any of those before, much less all three at once. At the palace she could have a fire—a large fire—and she could order date bread and yellow cheese and chocolate for herself and nuts for Rikiki. Nuts for Rikiki…Tazli fingered the hazelnut at the bottom of her pocket. Where had it come from? She turned her head. “Rikiki,” she started.

  The dull boom of the first fireworks cut off the rest of her sentence. Was it midnight, already? Tazli turned back in time to see the blue sparks falling down the sky. Park Boulevard was wide enough to provide a surprisingly good view, and traffic halted almost completely. The crowd murmured as the dim trail of the second and third rockets shot upward from the Levar’s Park, and a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” greeted the dazzling display that followed. Tazli forgot about Rikiki and stared in delight with the rest.

  Since Festival Night was the climax of Festival Week, the fireworks were more spectacular and went on longer than on any of the previous evenings. Rockets flew up from the Levar’s Park and burst into circular patterns of sparks; others rose from the market and left a trail of small, bright explosions; still others shot from the towers of the Levar’s Palace itself in streamers of blue and white fire. The grand finale lit up the street with all the colors of the rainbow, until it was nearly as bright as day.

  Once the fireworks were over, the streets slowly began to clear as people headed home or to private parties. Tazli was able to make better progress, though she found herself jostled and shoved. It was still cold, and she shoved her hands into her pockets. Her fingers brushed the hazelnut.

  “Rikiki, where did this come from?” Tazli asked, pulling the nut out of her pocket to show to him.

  “Put it away!” Rikiki said.

  “All right, but what is it? Why does it bother you so much?” Tazli said as she put the nut back into her pocket.

  “Jinji,” Rikiki said.

  Tazli frowned, trying to remember. “I thought you turned his levars into pecans, not hazelnuts.”

  “I did,” Rikiki said. “The hazelnut is Jinji.”

  Tazli turned and stared. “Rikiki! How—I mean—”

  “I may be stupid, but I’m still a god,” Rikiki said bitterly. “That’s how.”

  “I don’t mean that,” Tazli said. “I meant the way you talk. You don’t sound as-as—”

  “As stupid,” Rikiki said. “I’m not, now. Not quite, anyway.”

  “Oh,” said Tazli. Two half-drunk men looked at her curiously, and she quickened her step. Two blocks later, she reached the Levar’s Way and turned right. A quick look showed no sign of the men, and Tazli turned her attention back to Rikiki. “Is that why you were so bothered about Jinji?”

  “Yes,” Rikiki said in a dull tone. “I shouldn’t have done it. Ten more minutes, and I wouldn’t have done it.”

  The despair in Rikiki’s voice hurt to hear. “If you don’t want Jinji to be a hazelnut, we’ll just find someone to turn him back,” Tazli said firmly. “Liavek has plenty of good wizards, and none of them will turn down a request from the Levar.”

  “There aren’t many who can undo a spell cast by a god,” Rikiki said glumly. He hunched together into a miserable little ball on Tazli’s shoulder. “I should never have gone near the palace.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Tazli said. “It’s my birth luck, and anyway, I’m not sorry it’s happened.” She found, to her surprise, that she meant what she was saying. She was cold and tired and hungry, but she felt better and more alive than she had since the day the garbage-picker had come to the palac
e and taught her how to begin to be happy.

  “This is your birth day?” Rikiki said.

  “I thought you knew,” Tazli said. “Don’t you remember my telling Jinji and Niv?”

  “I…didn’t make the connection,” Rikiki said. “It comes of being stupid.”

  “What connection?” Tazli said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Birth luck,” Rikiki said. “I think…I think we had better go and see the Ka’Riatha.”

  “Who?” Tazli said.

  “The Ka’Riatha. She’s the only one likely to untangle the mess I’ve made.”

  They had reached the bridge over the Cat River and she could see the towers of her palace, ringed with lanterns and silhouetted against the stars. The warmth and food available there held a strong appeal, but she saw no reason why she couldn’t have both comfort and the Ka’Riatha. “All right. We’ll go back to the palace and I’ll tell someone to bring her.”

  Rikiki gave a snorting chuckle that tickled Tazli’s ear. “She wouldn’t come.”

  “Everyone comes to the Levar’s summons,” Tazli said, frowning.

  “Not the Ka’Riatha,” Rikiki said positively. “We have to go to her.”

  Tazli glanced at Rikiki. He was serious, she could tell. She looked at the palace towers again. She had never felt so hollow in her life, her feet hurt, and she would cheerfully have traded the coronation tiara for a wool blanket. She looked at Rikiki again. His tail was quivering with tension; this obviously meant a lot to him. With a sigh, Tazli turned away from the palace. “How do we get to this Ka’Riatha person?” she said.

  “Thank you, Tazli,” Rikiki said in a low voice. “She lives on Mystery Hill; just stay on the Levar’s Way until we’re past Temple Hill, and then we’ll go through Old Town.”

  Following Rikiki’s directions, Tazli skirted the base of Temple Hill to the Two-Copper Bazaar. To her surprise, there were people haggling over tables of feather masks and Zhir shoes, hand-painted pottery and wax candles carved like faces, wooden bowls and tiny marble statues, even this late on Festival Night.

  Several times Tazli found herself exhorted to purchase such useful items as a knotted leather necklace guaranteed to repel trolls, or a set of hooks from which to hang strings of onions in the kitchen. She paused only once, to look more closely at a table filled with dolls and headdresses and bracelets, all woven out of straw. The old man behind the table watched her intently, and as she turned away he caught her hand and pressed a small straw butterfly into her palm. “A Festival gift,” he said when she tried to explain that she had no money with her, and he refused to take it back.

  At the far end of the Bazaar rose Mystery Hill. Light still streamed from the windows of many of the houses, but the Festival lanterns along the streets were beginning to burn out. The people who still remained outside were mostly in groups, some sitting around bonfires, some dancing, some moving slowly but purposefully from one party to another. Tazli climbed the hill slowly, thankful that the streets were relatively straight. When she reached the top, she stopped to rest underneath a huge cypress. “How much further is it?” she asked Rikiki.

  “Not far,” Rikiki said. “The middle of this street.”

  “Good,” Tazli said, and pushed herself away from the tree-trunk.

  The house to which Rikiki directed her was near the center of the hill-top, a small, neat building with a low fence enclosing the garden at the front. A gleam of light showed from one of the windows at the front. As Tazli put out her hand to open the gate, a dark shape with pale, glowing eyes rose hissing from the top of the fence. She gave an involuntary squeak and jumped backward, and the shape settled back, watching her with those strange, unwinking eyes.

  Rikiki made a chirruping noise, then said, “It’s all right now; she won’t scratch.”

  “She won’t what?”

  “Scratch. It’s one of the Ka’Riatha’s cats.”

  Feeling a little foolish, Tazli went back to the gate and opened it. The cat on the fence watched her every move, but this time it remained silent. Tazli stepped into the garden.

  The strong smell of herbs and evergreens rose all around her. She started toward the door, but Rikiki put a paw on her ear. “Go around to the back,” he said. “She’s probably still out there.”

  Tazli gave a half-shrug; she’d followed Rikiki’s directions this far, and there was no reason to stop now. Peering into the shadows, she made her way to the rear of the little house. As she rounded the corner, she stopped short.

  The back garden was even more strongly scented than the front. Beyond it on a low rise was a jumble of huge stones; they reminded Tazli of the abandoned rubble of the Gold Temple that still lay behind the Red Temple, just off Fountain Court. In an open space beside the house was an iron brazier, half full of dying coals, and beside it stood an old woman, leaning on a cane. Her hair gleamed silver in the starlight, but her face was in shadow.

  “Come out where I can see you, or go away,” the woman said. “I haven’t time to waste playing hunt-the-feather.”

  Slowly, Tazli moved forward. She stopped beside the brazier, and found herself being studied by a pair of bright, penetrating eyes. “Are you the Ka’Riatha?” she asked.

  “I am.” The eyes fixed on a point just above Tazli’s left shoulder, and the old woman’s eyebrows lifted. “Rikiki,” she said in a resigned tone. “I might have guessed. And on the busiest night of the year, too. Who’ve you brought with you?”

  “Tazli Ifino iv Larwin,” Rikiki said in a small voice. “The Levar.”

  The Ka’Riatha snorted. “Hmmph. You’ve really made a mess of things this time, haven’t you?”

  “It’s worse than you think,” Rikiki said. “It’s her birth day.”

  There was a moment’s silence. “You’d better come inside,” the old woman said.

  “I would like to know what this is about first,” Tazli said, staring hard at the Ka’Riatha.

  “Would you, indeed.” The Ka’Riatha sounded mildly interested, at most, and entirely unimpressed.

  Tazli tried again. “I am not accustomed to people holding conversations about things I don’t understand.”

  “No wonder you haven’t learned much,” the old woman commented. She turned her back on Tazli and opened the back door of the house.

  “How dare you talk to me like that!” Tazli cried. “I’m the Levar!”

  “Then why did you come here?” the Ka’Riatha said.

  Tazli’s anger and frustration suddenly drained out of her. “Because it was important to Rikiki,” she said. “And I expect it still is.” Sulkily, she moved toward the open door.

  “Hmph,” said the Ka’Riatha as Tazli entered the house. “Perhaps there’s something to you after all.” She gave Tazli another penetrating look, then gestured at a wooden bench draped in a thick wool throw. “Sit down and warm up a little. Don’t mind the cats.”

  Thankfully, Tazli let herself down onto the bench. A large orange cat rose from the opposite end, glared at her, and stalked off. Rikiki jumped off of her shoulder, and Tazli found herself curiously aware of the absence of his few ounces of weight. She picked up the throw and wrapped it around herself. It made her feel warmer, but not happier.

  The Ka’Riatha was doing interesting things with a collection of jars and unfamiliar pottery from a shelf beside a large fireplace. “The tea will be ready in a few minutes,” she said.

  “Ka’Riatha—” Tazli started.

  “Call me Granny,” the old woman said firmly. “Most people do. And while we’re waiting, you can explain how the Levar of Liavek comes to be wandering around the city on Festival night with no one but Rikiki for company.”

  “Is there time for that?” Rikiki said from the end of the bench.

  “There had better be,” Granny said. “Tazli?”

  “It just happened,” Tazli said. She had decided that there was no point in arguing with this strange old woman, any more than there had ever been any point in arguing with he
r Regents. The Ka’Riatha had an even greater air of confidence than they had, and she was clearly unimpressed by Tazli’s position. “Rikiki came up to the tower room and asked for nuts, and I gave him some, and then he said he would take me somewhere for Festival, so we crawled down the outside of the palace. Only I got lost in the canals. Then we ran into a group of people who thought we were pretending to be Ryvenna and Rikiki for Festival, and they took us to a tavern to be in a costume competition. We won, but Rikiki turned the prize money into pecans, and Jinji got mad and tried to hit me, so Rikiki turned him into a hazelnut.”

  Granny’s expression, which had been faintly amused, tightened abruptly. “Have you got the hazelnut?” she demanded.

  “It’s right here,” Tazli said, taking it out of her pocket. She glanced at Rikiki, who looked back at her over his shoulder, then jumped off the bench and vanished from Tazli’s sight. With a mental shrug, Tazli held the hazelnut out for Granny’s inspection. Granny immediately plucked the nut from Tazli’s hand, and Tazli felt a sharp tingle run up her arm as the old woman’s fingers brushed her palm. “Ow!” Tazli said, rubbing her hand.

  Granny was studying the hazelnut, and she ignored Tazli’s exclamation. After a moment, the old woman nodded. “A year and a day—nothing unusual. I’ll keep this; it will be safer.”

  “Safer than what?” Tazli demanded.

  “Then leaving it somewhere where Rikiki can get at it,” Granny replied. “Or would you prefer to let Rikiki eat it?”

  “Can’t you just break the spell?” Tazli said. “That’s what we came for, so you could break the spell and turn Jinji back into himself.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Granny said. “He’ll just have to wait out the year and a day. If he’s lucky, he’ll learn something from it.”

  “Is that all you can do?” Tazli felt dizzy and light-headed, and she was too warm. She dropped the wool throw and stood up, swaying slightly.

  “Rikiki!” Granny said sharply.

  Tazli saw a fuzzy blue blur come toward her from the corner of the room. As it neared her feet, it suddenly sharpened into focus. She blinked and shook her head. “What happened?”