A Glimmer of Guile

by Mary Patterson Thornburg

  "And then Father started to say something, and she looked at him and he just stopped. He started to stand up and it was like something pushed him back in his chair. His eyes got strange. Angrier than I've ever seen him, but frightened too.

  "She said, 'That's something new for you, isn't it? I'll bet you didn't think there could be anything new, after all these years.' Then she smiled at him, and she told him she was ready to give him the thing she'd promised. When she said that, Tedor grabbed my hand.

  "That's how I know it's Tedor out there in the bed. He never let go of my hand, and suddenly he fell against me, and when I looked at him he was like he is now. Old. He started to cry, and she made him shut up, the way she'd made Father shut up."

  "What else happened, just then? Did the servant say anything?"

  "He didn't say anything, but he groaned. It was a terrible sound, and she laughed again and said something to him that I didn't hear. And Father was staring at Tedor.

  "'Here you are then, my love,' she said, and her servant groaned again, and it happened the same way, so fast that I couldn't see it, but somehow I did see it. Father was young, younger than when I was little. He did stand up then, and he looked down at himself and looked at her.

  "Then she told us to get out, Tedor and me. I got someone to help me get Tedor up to his room, and I stayed with him all day. The next morning I brought him here. I tried to see Father, but he wouldn't let me in. They've been together ever since. I saw them yesterday, walking in one of the halls, and the servant was limping along after. That's when he dropped the note."

  I knew then that it was illusion after all. Although I didn't know how she'd accomplished it exactly, I had a general idea. I had to get to the court, get to her, in a hurry, if I was going to do any good at all.

  I went back to stand by the bed. "Open the windows," I commanded Afron. To the old man lying there, I said, "Close your eyes, boy. You've been in the dark so long the light will blind you."

  After a moment's hesitation, the girl did as I'd told her. With the first gust of fresh air, the smell of old age disappeared. And, as Tedor moved, trembling, to shield himself from the blast of sunlight, I looked hard and saw a brief shimmer across the back of his hand. Under the shimmer, for just a moment, gleamed the brown glowing skin of the boy.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Orath's spell was powerful, for sure. It affected all senses, a mix of illusion to fool onlookers and influence to persuade Tedor that he was ancient and frail. If I could have weakened either, the other would have faded with it. But Afron couldn't be made to see past the old man, and Tedor couldn't feel anything but the pains and weariness of age.

  Neither of them believed me when I told them it was illusion. Both were convinced that Orath had indeed stolen the boy's youth. As I eventually realized, their conviction was no small part of the spell's strength. There was nothing physically wrong with Tedor. But if he couldn't be convinced of that, he would die of his own belief.

  I'd seen Katra and Raym cure sick people by enlisting the power of their minds to heal their bodies; I'd done it myself. This was just the reverse. Tedor's conviction was draining him of life.

  But their belief wasn't all of it. I should've been able to influence them both to discount Orath's spell, at least a little. I could not. I even tried the old woman Afron had brought to serve Tedor, but that was hopeless. She saw what she saw, heard what she heard, and was too ignorant and stubborn to consider any other possibility. Nor could I perform an illusion to cover the one that was already in place.

  How had Orath accomplished what I couldn't? One possibility, of course, was that she was much stronger in guile than I was. I didn't believe it. More practiced, yes--that, I believed. But not stronger.

  At least, not stronger until very recently.

  I thought I knew something about the way she'd done this. Powerful illusions like the one that made Tedor look old, and probably like the one that made Maltuk look young, are harder to accomplish than they are to maintain, which is why Orath hadn't done them both at once. Once the illusion and the influence are in place, the witch doesn't have to keep them consciously in mind.

  Still, it takes energy to sustain any spell. For two spells this strong--plus whatever Orath might be doing to disguise herself--she must be drawing energy from somewhere. I feared that I knew where she was getting it. I remembered how Riga had used my own strength of guile against me. This, somehow, was what Orath had done. And the strength she'd used, united with her own and magnifying it, was Raym's.

  For the servant she called Frog was Raym. He was in Orath's guilish thrall, and when she was done with him she would kill him.

  At last I gave up trying to help Tedor. By late afternoon I hadn't the time or energy to try any longer.

  "Stay here tonight," I told Afron. "It's too late for you to leave anyway. But keep away from him. You're only making it worse, although I know you don't mean to. Go home to your father's court first thing in the morning. Go out with your ladies. Act bored, ready for some fun. You're tired of looking after this old man."

  She eyed me doubtfully. "She'll know I'm pretending."

  "Not if you pretend well. Orath's not a mind reader, only a witch, as I'm a witch. And she's not interested in you, really. She thinks the fact that you're young means you're easily distracted, and she'll be relieved if you don't give her any trouble. She's got trouble enough without you, Afron. Trust me on that."

  To the old woman I said, "This is what you must do. Feed him all he'll eat, give him water and make him drink it, keep him clean. Treat him as if he were a young boy just getting over a bad illness." I thought of the old cook. "Call him sweetie, honey. Do you understand?"

  She didn't, but she nodded. I had enough influence at least to confuse her, and probably to make her do what I'd said; it was the best I could do.

  Then I turned to Tedor. "Listen to me, young man. Whether you believe it or not, the witch hasn't harmed your body. She's put you into a kind of dream, where you feel what she wants you to feel and look the way she wants you to look. I've told you this before, and I've showed you. Now I'll show you again. Take a look at Afron."

  When he obeyed, I briefly cast an illusion over the girl so that she appeared to be a small evergreen tree growing out of the floor. I took the spell away. "See? What you saw was what I wanted you to see, not what Afron really is. It's the same with you. And when I've dealt with Orath, you'll feel and look like yourself again. Stay strong and don't worry."

  I might as well have been talking to a fencepost. I wasn't even sure he'd seen the illusion, so wrapped up was he in his own.

  "For God's sake," I whispered to Afron as I left, "don't let him look at a mirror." Orath would keep Tedor as he was, I thought, even when Afron returned to court. For if he were restored to himself he, too, would go back to Maltuk, and the witch's house of cards would start to tumble. But in the end, what I knew or could guess about her purpose didn't matter. She was doing what she was doing, and that was the important thing.

  Before I left, I asked the old woman for directions to the nearest healer. There were three, she said--the only three in the city--and they lived together not far away. Following her directions, I went to find them.

  The house was old but not dilapidated. When I knocked at the door I was greeted by a young girl who bowed and ushered me into a decently furnished room.

  "Will you take a seat, lady?" she said. "I'll go tell my mistress."

  I'd asked for Lady Klaar, whom Kenath had named as having treated her brother when the mule kicked him. But the elderly woman who came into the room in a few minutes was followed by two others, equally elderly. The three pulled chairs into a row facing me and, seating themselves, inspected me closely.

  "I am Klaar," said the first after a little while. "You, I believe, are the witch spoken of as Thegan Vivia, who arrived in town yesterday with a great show of wealth and a greater show of glimmer. Or am I mistaken?"

  "You are not," I told her. "My na
me is Vivia." I allowed my glimmer to show a little, as was only polite, and cloaked it again immediately.

  Klaar smiled approvingly. "Allow me to name my colleagues," she said, "Cilla and Merzik." The two women nodded in turn, and I nodded back. There was a short silence as they, too, allowed me to glimpse their guile. Then, "Welcome to Lord Maltuk's city, sister," said Klaar. "Are you by chance here to consult with the great Lady at court?"

  Butter, I observed, would not melt in her mouth. Did she fear Orath? Of course she did; how could she not? Was she, and were the others, in league with the Red Prince's witch? In a sense they must be, or they wouldn't survive. The town, even the court, required the services of healers, and Orath obviously didn't devote herself to such service.

  Thus it was a compromise. Klaar, Cilla and Merzik were allowed to practice their guile within agreed-upon limits. They'd learned to live with these limits. Not, I thought--I hoped--to be happy with them.

  Was it part of their compromise that they'd report to Orath any threat to her wellbeing or sovereignty? I hoped not. In any case, I'd soon find out. "Consult with her?" I said, smiling. "No. I've come to destroy her."

  Klaar's eyebrows went up; Merzik's eyes widened.

  Cilla laughed. "Well, you've got brass, if not good sense. And strength of guile, it seems. At least yesterday, when you were shining it on, your glimmer was near to rivaling hers. Not that glimmer alone says much. What's the Lady done to trouble you?"

  "She killed three friends of mine. And she's doing deadly harm to another. Another person of guile." I decided to leave Tedor and Afron out of it.

  "I'm not making light of your loss," said Merzik, speaking hesitantly but firmly. "But she's killed many, many more than three. Been party to the deaths of many more. Harmed many more. She's made many, many enemies, some of them still alive. What makes you think you can do what no one else--"

  "The Lady is a witch, but she's human," Klaar interrupted. "She won't live forever. Why risk your life--no, why almost certainly throw your life away--on this foolish enterprise? The three of us may not be able to outwait her, but you're young. After your reckless show of glimmer yesterday, you can be sure she knows you're here. No doubt she's having you watched. If she wants you, she'll get you. The best thing you can do is leave as fast as you came. Faster, if possible. If you're lucky, she may decide you're not worth her effort."

  "Thank you," I said. "Of course you're right. But it's not that simple. I don't have that choice now; I've already chosen. So I need to learn whatever I can about her. What I know now is just rumor, reputation, what she is. I want to know who. If anyone knows that, ladies, it's you. You've been here for a while, and you've survived."

  Unfortunately, it turned out that the three of them had had very little direct contact with Orath. "That's how we've survived," Klaar said. "We stay out of her way. We keep our glimmers cloaked all the time, so even though we know she's aware of us, we're not imposing on her."

  Their dealings with the great witch, including the payments she extorted from them in return for allowing them to practice in Tukha, were conducted through intermediaries, servants from the court, all of whom were somehow impaired, mentally deficient or dumb. This told me that Orath was always on her guard, and that she thought nothing of exercising brutality to ensure her own safety.

  But then I'd already known this about her, hadn't I? Raym. Oh God, Raym.

  I'd also known that she must be very old, but not just how old. Raym, who would be close to forty now, had heard of her in his boyhood, and had told me he assumed she was an old woman then. Now Cilla, approaching seventy, said that as a child she'd seen Orath occasionally. "She was already a witch," Cilla said, "and much feared. I think she must have been only a couple of years younger than my mother, and my mother was born a century ago."

  It had been a long time, the women said, since the Lady had ridden out with the Prince, on progress through his land, or on raids, or on parades through the city when people lined the streets bitterly, cheering on command as if their hearts were in it. "Years ago I saw her riding beside him," Cilla said, "on a white mare. He and I are of an age, so he must have been about twenty then. And she didn't look any older. Pretty, too."

  "That was illusion," said Klaar.

  "No, it wasn't. I'd have seen the shimmer, and I didn't. She never used illusion in those days because she knew there'd be a few with true sight to see through it and they'd spread the word. Vain. A vain woman."

  "Well," Klaar told her, "she was using illusion when I saw her, because I did see the shimmer. Maybe you didn't notice it. Sometimes you don't notice things, you know."

  "If she used illusion at all," I said, "and if she's vain, she'd have used it to look younger but not to make any big changes. What did she look like?"

  "Tall," said Merzik. "As tall as the Prince, and dark-skinned. Wide mouth. Straight nose, and the brows met over it." She glanced at Cilla. "Handsome, not pretty. The Prince's wives have all been tiny, childlike women. Some say she chooses them for him."

  More recently, they said, Orath had stayed at court when Maltuk went into battle, something that had happened with less frequency over the years, although he'd remained even in his early sixties a strong man. When he'd made his parades in Tukha, with his guard, she'd been carried behind him in a covered chair. But in the last year or two he'd not ridden out at all.

  "They say he's sick," Cilla murmured. "Or at least not in excellent health. Although his last wife died in childbed six months ago. Maybe the Lady didn't do all she could've done to save her."

  "Did the child live?"

  "No. None of the last few have, and his daughter by his first wife, Celin, died two years ago. Now he has only the one daughter left, Afron. She's sixteen or so. Unless she's stronger than she looks, the kingdom will fall apart when the Prince dies."

  Maybe, I thought. And maybe not, if someone can get rid of Orath for her. I had an idea that Afron might indeed be stronger than she looked.

  Then Merzik cleared her throat. "I talked to a woman yesterday who'd taken some vegetables to the Prince's kitchen. I didn't know whether to believe her or not, so I didn't say anything. But maybe it's worth mentioning now."

  The others looked at her. "Well, go on, mention it. What did she say?" Klaar said impatiently.

  "She said she saw a man and woman walking together in the garden. Close, she said, like lovers."

  "So?" Klaar said.

  "She was frightened, she said, but they didn't see her, so she looked closely. And she's old, but her eyes are still sharp." Merzik paused and frowned. "She said it was the Red Prince and his Lady."

  Klaar rolled her eyes. "So?" she said again.

  "The Prince was tall and straight and his beard was red again, the old woman told me. She swore it was true. And the Lady was as tall as he, and as straight, and her hair hung down her back as black as a crow, as black as jet, the way it was fifty years ago."

  * * * *

  When I got back to my inn, Kenath sprang up from the chair where she'd been dozing. "Vivia!" she cried. "I've kept some supper for you." She started to stumble around, still half-asleep. I laughed and put my hand on her shoulder.

  "Calm down, sister. Did you get something to eat?"

  "Yes. But I did save some for you."

  "Good. Then go back to sleep. In your bed. I'll get myself some food, and I'll talk to you in the morning."

  She nodded groggily and went off to her little alcove on the far side of the sitting room. I ate some cold cheese custard pie with a glass of white wine, soon accompanied by Kenath's gentle snores. I was surrounded by children, it occurred to me, and for about two minutes I felt very mature, very much in charge of all our destinies, and able to meet the challenge, for I knew that I was strong and I knew that Orath was desperate. Then I thought of Orath, ancient, glassy, as Afron had said, and angry. The glassiness, I thought, was the shimmer of illusion. Strong as she was, strong as Raym's stolen guile made her, she was spreading herself so thin that she
didn't bother to hide the shimmer of her pretended youth from someone as unimportant to her as Afron.

  My heart gave a little lurch as I thought again of Raym, who'd taught me to play chess.

  With vast patience, he'd explained the need for strategy. "Yes, Vivia," he said, "it's very satisfying to rush forward and take prisoners, especially when it looks like your opponent's made a mistake. But you may not be playing with someone stupid enough to make mistakes, and in that case you'll lose, because you'll have fallen into a trap. So go slow. Learn to look into all the possible futures that branch off from the move you want to make."

  Now, after napping for an hour and a half, I spent the rest of the night looking as well as I could into those futures. As dawn was showing gray in the east, I took pen and paper and began to write.

  To Orath, First Lady of the Royal Maalian Court, my respectful greetings.

  I am Thegen Vivia of Monsara, late of Ladygate community under the protection of Horok, Monsara's High King. I am of low birth and, until the recent death of my father, the goldsmith Thegen Cyra, of humble circumstance. Thus, except that your ladyship's reach is long and your hearing acute, I think you would not have heard of me. Yet, although there has until now been little reason for someone as insignificant as I to have attracted the notice of someone as significant as you, it would be false modesty on my part to believe you have not noticed my arrival in Tukha.

  I hope my boldness in addressing you will not displease you, but I must risk your displeasure. Not wishing to waste your time, I'll be direct; I want to learn from you. It's said that your guile is the most powerful ever known in the world. Mine cannot of course hope to equal yours, yet it has been judged by Taso Raym and also by Harken of Ladygate, both of whom have been my teachers, to be not inconsiderable. As you may perhaps understand, I am satisfied neither with the merely philosophical teachings of the one nor with the wholly acquisitive guile of the other. Your ladyship is proof that much more is possible, and although I cannot aspire to attain the heights you have attained, I am eager to reach whatever heights I can.