by Andre Norton
The noonday sun shone benignly upon the pandemonium of people, animals, and wares on the third to the last day of the fair. The odor of foreign foods and spices wafted about, engulfing the multicolored inhabitants, causing them to eagerly anticipate the new fares.
The city was much more alive than when last Lisandra had been in it, throbbing with sounds that were both unfamiliar and enchanting. She guided the horse to her assigned position between ten pillars at the edge of compound two. The animal stopped before Lisandra could command it. Dismounting, Lisandra stroked the horse, the feel of his velvety fur as satisfying to her as the sight of a sunrise is to a portrait-maker.
She whispered, “I know, my friend, you need no command. As always, you anticipate me.” The animal snorted and shook its mane.
Lisandra made the cart ready for business, pulling down one side to reveal crude shelves jammed with casks of differing sizes and colors of fragrances. The fingers of her left hand played over the rows of bottles until they found the preselected purple vial containing her most exquisite perfume. Dropping it into a skirt pocket, Lisandra picked her way slowly through the groups of people to the temple entrance.
As she climbed the marble steps, she sensed the wizard’s presence. Although she was relieved that he was close enough for her to keep track of, she could not allow him inside her aura, so she expended a little of her store of energy to strengthen the field.
Moving between twin pillars into a gigantic hall, Lisandra was conscious of her slow pace as the clunk, clunk of her clogs drew the curious stares of the dozen or so fellow worshipers.
At one time she had thought her patience to be an asset. No more. Now she thought her inherent deliberations to be more a matter of body over mind than patience. Outside Ithkar she had meandered across the steppes and over the mountains, letting the surroundings condition her thinking. Creeping in the vastness of wilderness, loping among the hustle bustle of fair tradespeople, and dragging once again in the atmosphere of lingering temple pilgrims, her thinking processes altered accordingly.
Resisting the languor, Lisandra hastened to place the purple vial of perfume, her offering to the Three Lordly Ones, into the outstretched hands of a fair-ward. She must not allow atmosphere to fool her into believing excess time remained to confront Thera. Of the three tentative successors she had chosen years ago, Thera was the only one left. Call it patience or call it cowardice, when it came to inflicting pain on others, Lisandra always procrastinated. And yet she knew that change would not come about without pain. The other two intendeds had died before she could bring herself to . . . She sighed, knowing full well that by sparing them a few moments of discomfort, she had cost them their lives.
She had tarried too long. She had only ‘til fair’s end, three days, to succeed . . . or fail. And she was beginning to feel the weight of her 110 years.
As Lisandra turned and hurried from the temple, she felt the presence of Thera scraping the edges of her field for a weak spot.
Lisandra sent her eclectic sight toward the prober. It showed her a wooden-latticed portico overhead where Thera was observing a peasant making what she felt was a paltry offering to the gods. The young woman’s lips curled in distaste as she wheeled about and descended into her personal suite in the students’ dormitory.
The eclectic sensor followed, hovering over the priestess, gathering details that would aid Lisandra in the future. The young woman was studying her image in a full-length looking glass. Hair, the color of burnished copper, was piled atop Thera’s head and held at bay by a ribbon. The subtle gem-green hue of her dress reflected the color of her eyes. While practicing a demure smile, she looked the part of a priestess studying the Three Lordly Ones instead of what she was—a secret follower of Thotharn. Then the image changed. The corners of Thera’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile, her head went back, and she burst out laughing. A few strands of hair floated loose, and in wild abandonment, Thera loosened the green tie and shook her hair rapidly from side to side. Finally she realized that if any of her teachers should see her admiring herself, they would dismiss her from the study group.
After swiftly retying her hair, Thera applied a pale makeup which restored her studious air. She completed her toilet in preparation for sight-seeing in Ithkar. The green dress, indicative of her rank as apprentice student of the Three Lordly Ones, rustled as she swept from the room.
Calling the eclectic sight to her, Lisandra strode back to her cart. There she arranged small bottles in the front rows and larger containers toward the back. Then, removing a drab vial from the middle section, Lisandra replaced it with a multifaceted, lead-crystal flask filled with a rose-scented fragrance.
She had just taken up her position in a makeshift chair with her eyes shut and her face and body relaxed—as if she were asleep—when the voice she was waiting for drifted into her ears.
Lisandra’s head jerked up, and she began to call out in a husky voice, “Perfume! A fragrance to please everyone and to accomplish anything. Replenish your husband’s desire; entice your lover to . . .”
In a tone of voice rich with the confidence of youth and beauty, Thera asked, “Old woman, what can you do for me?”
Laughter broke out amongst the small group of friends that had encircled the perfumer and the priestess.
“My dear,” replied Lisandra, her fingers deftly uncapping the vial positioned adjacent to her red crystal one and dabbing the scent of apples upon Thera’s wrist, “I only pray that I may have a fragrance delicate enough to complement your regal bearing and attire.”
Before Thera could answer, the old perfumer shook her head, muttering, “Much too wild. Perhaps this one?” Her fingers trailed over the red bottle to a pale blue one flanking its opposite side. From this container she smeared several drops on Thera’s left cheek.
Thera’s nose wrinkled at the odor of cinnamon, and her eyes followed Lisandra’s fingers to the stained apron where they were dried.
As Lisandra reached out to choose another sweet bouquet, Thera jumped back a step. “No, no, old woman! You have no nose for what pleases me,” she said, snatching up the rose vial and dampening both inner elbow folds with the cloying sweetness.
“Now this, old woman,” said Thera, dropping a few coins on the shelf, “is more fitting, don’t you agree?”
“Whatever pleases you, my dear,” muttered Lisandra under her breath. She chuckled.
Corking and dropping the vial into a pocket, Thera wandered off, chatting and giggling with her friends.
Lisandra waited patiently until the priestess had left the area before closing up the cart for sleep and beginning her meditation. Thera’s faith in herself was very strong, and Lisandra would need all her strength for the upcoming battle of wills. Integrity of conviction was necessary, for a lukewarm faith will remain weak while evil converted to good has the toughness of a sword tempered in flames. Somehow Lisandra had to convince the power-hungry girl of the importance of becoming a guardian who lets the secret be tapped but who will die trying to prevent its unfolding. Or . . . Thera must die because after absorbing the knowledge of Thotharn, she might become powerful enough to analyze the secret by herself.
Just before Lisandra entered the peace of deep trance, a pounding upon the side of the cart alerted her to the wizard’s presence.
“Lisandra,” called the wizard, “I feel that you have entered Ithkar for false reasons, and therefore, I should report you.”
Without rising, Lisandra sent her voice through the tiny window near the top of the cart. “It is too late for you to interfere.”
His shrill voice rising another octave, the wizard shrieked, “You will think it is too late when the fair-wards come marching in to drag you from Ithkar.”
Lisandra sighed, knowing she must give him more information—or he would make good his threat. “I have chosen my successor. The process has started.”
“Successor to what? Do not talk in riddles, Lisandra. I warn you.”
“Why, successor t
o me, of course. Thera shall be the next guardian of the secret of the Three Lordly Ones.” She wished she had the sureness of her words.
Her eclectic sight showed her the blanching of the wizard’s face and the repetitive squeezing of his chin by his right hand. In spite of his obvious reluctance to cause any disfavor with the gods, however, he continued the interrogation, demanding that she open the cart and step out.
Lisandra groaned, knowing she could tell him no more. She would have to resort to magic, and there would not be enough time to replenish it. If only she had not used so much on the other two novitiates. Regretfully she implanted the image of the eldest and most powerful of the Three Lordly Ones into the wizard’s mind.
Standing out against the fast approaching dusk, an iridescent blue shaft of light emanated from Agor’s face and struck the ground at the wizard’s feet. Jumping back and choking down a cry, the wizard commanded, “Stop it, Lisandra! I believe you. For two days I will not intrude in your quest. But if you are still here at fair’s end, I will notify the fair-wards.”
Evening drifted lazily in upon the city like the slowly falling veil of a woman disrobing, muting the many sounds and slowing down the frantic pace of the people.
Thera was sauntering through the animal compound when she felt her back shiver violently and begin to hunch. Using her magic, she forced herself straight again. Within seconds she was bent even more. A sudden fear that she had not experienced since childhood squeezed her ribs, making it difficult to breathe. Why was this happening to her? Why now, when she was so close to leeching the power of the Three Lordly Ones?
A passing man gave Thera a lingering look. She was used to the admiring glances of men, but the pity in this stranger’s eyes made her want to hide. Like a wounded animal she crept along the shadows of wagons, makeshift shelters, and houses until she was back in her room.
She stared in disbelief at her image in the mirror. For a few moments she was an orphan again. A hunch-backed orphan around whom the other children were forming a circle and chanting, “Hunchback! Hunchback! What’s your dirty deed? Hunchback, hunchback, what makes you face the dirt?”
It can’t be happening. It cannot be happening to me. It’s not fair! Unheard moans issued from her mouth.
Wasn’t she one of the chosen ones? Hadn’t she, little by little, taught herself how to use the magic to straighten her defective frame? Unbidden, the thought struck her as it had when she’d first realized her growing powers. Is somebody helping me? Unanswered as before, the question dissolved in her anger.
Damn it! She could not stand to see the pity on people’s faces. Why should they pity her when she pitied no one? Pity made you weak.
Hour after hour Thera forced herself through the painful beginning exercises, calling on her magic to help. But each time she let up for an instant, her back curved slowly and resolutely until she was again facing the wretched floor.
Finally, exhausted, she crept into bed.
When she first awoke the next morning she had forgotten the events of the night before. She jumped out of bed and nearly fell on the floor from the lopsided weight. Again she expended much energy in trying to overcome the defect. Revolted by and ashamed of her deformed figure, she closeted herself all day in her room.
By afternoon, she had decided that the wizard whose many advances she had spurned was getting even with her. Impatient, but relieved at finding an answer, she waited for the obscurity of night before confronting the wizard-of-the-gate at his private quarters.
Challenging him, she yanked off her cloak, turned her back to the wizard, and demanded, “Look at me! Look at what you have done to me! How could you be so cruel—I thought you liked me.”
The wizard’s frog eyes grew larger, expressing his shock. He spun her around and shook his head wildly, saying, “No, no! I would not twist this lovely body that I have longed to possess.”
Thera felt her anger growing out of control. Her lips curled and her eyes expressed her disgust at his physical appearance. Her voice dripping venom, she said, “Were Ito remain bent for a thousand years, I would never let your talons near me!”
Squeezing his jaw, the wizard said, “Think, Thera. Who has greater power than you? Not me!” The premonition and uneasiness he had felt the day -before suddenly returned, and all the many fragments became one picture of awesome proportion. “Wait! I think I know who did this monstrous thing to your beautiful body—Lisandra!”
“Who?”
“Lisandra, the perfumer.”
Thera’s mind flashed back to the temple, to the ugly old lady whose link to the Three Lordly Ones she had sensed earlier in the day. That afternoon, she remembered, she had bought a crystal bottle of perfume from her. Connecting the two events, she seethed with anger. “I will destroy her! No one—not even Thotharn, who lusts after me—will I permit to touch my body.” Brushing aside the wizard’s offer to help, she rushed away.
Immediately upon leaving the wizard, Thera felt a relief of weight and realized she was suddenly standing straight once again. To her surprise, she felt extremely weary. Her emotional discord must have drained her more than she had thought. Too sleepy even to talk with anyone, she returned to her suite and plunged naked under the warm quilts.
While Thera slept the deep sleep of very early childhood, Lisandra’s psychic fingers eased through the newly formed enactive memory until she located the information the wizard had supplied Thera. Gently, as if erasing a penciled error from onionskin paper, she brushed away her own name. Thera would find her soon enough. But first she must be initiated. How painful or deadly the rites would become would depend solely on Thera.
But knowing how well the girl would resist, Lisandra sighed, simultaneously wishing there were an easier way and knowing there never had been and there never would be.
Dawn was a vampire lover kissing the slumbering city awake as Thera sat up screaming from images of mud-caked bodies oozing blood from every pore and silver flakes falling from dismembered limbs as they floated eerily through a greenish-purple sky.
Beads of perspiration formed on her upper lip and forehead. And in place of her usual calm demeanor were trembling hands and a puckered brow.
She stood before the window willing the soft breeze to cool her mind as well as her face. After a while she felt almost normal. The nightmare images had faded into forgotten demons of the night. Under control once more, Thera performed her usual morning tasks and left her suite. As always, her outward appearance was serene and beautiful.
Sauntering toward the trades compound, Thera was horrified to notice that each person she encountered was wearing or growing macabre living masks. At first she was struck by the novelty of it. But by the fifth image she was seething inside at her inability to control it.
Sometime between late afternoon and sunset, the lady time who cools tempers and soothes worries as she brings the workday to an end caused Thera to discover that if she covered her eyes with her hands, the terrible visions that had plagued her all day would disappear. Her mind raged to find their cause, but no answer came forth. Patience was not part of her, she thought. Not since the day magic became hers. Was she maybe projecting her uneasiness from the nightmares onto the fairgoers? What else could it be?
Finally the gross features made her so anxious, she felt she would surely strangle the next one she saw. Instead of going to the study room, as she had intended, she swiveled about, hands over her eyes, and slunk back into her suite.
There she tried to discover-the reason for the hallucinations. She shook her head at the futility of it. Like leaves adjusting to seasons, the faces constantly shifted, never staying the same long enough for her to get a hold on them. It was almost as if someone were using her impatience against her.
How foolish, she thought, springing from her chair and going to the mirror to reassure herself that at least her beauty remained the same. Then, for the first time since she had claimed magic as her own, a feeling of helplessness began to build in her. Horror re
flecting from her eyes, she watched an ever-shifting pattern of distorted features. The change began on her left side, spreading so slowly that one change melded into another until her whole face looked like a wax caricature deliberately placed too close to the heat of a fire. Each change was accompanied by an intensifying pain as tissue stretched and eventually split, exposing the raw flesh to the air.
Thera did not know how long she watched the parade of strangers in the glass. When her powers had no lasting effect on the grotesque reflections, a coldness spread through her mind, freezing her thoughts and keeping her from the madness that called to her.
Night was squatting once again upon Ithkar when Thera began to feel that the walls were closing in on her. The chill in her mind was replaced by panic. She had to get out before the room smothered her. She flung a shawl over her head and draped it about her lower face and shoulder before bolting from the room. She did not stop until she reached the edge of the animal compound. Panting, she felt a strange kinship with the animals that she had never felt for her own kind. She inhaled the odors of their food and excrement and shared in the wildness of their coupling. For a few moments she felt safe. Suddenly the combined desire of the caged cats for freedom screamed from their throats in one cascading emotion.
And Thera knew terror.
Screaming like an injured animal, clamping her eyelids with her hands to shut out the monstrous faces, not seeing her surroundings, she ran into a surging group of merrymakers that linked her in their chain. A living chain that swung first one direction, then another as it wound itself through the square.