The Feast of the Trickster

  "I'll get a stretcher," he told Remarr. "You wait here."

  "What do you suppose a 'stretcher' is?" Vihena asked. "I don't think I could bear to stretch, now."

  The man returned, then, with others in white livery and towing a rolling bed. They put Vihena on the rolling bed and wheeled her inside. In panic, Remarr climbed over the seat and flung himself out the back way. The man in green livery stared.

  "Wait!" Remarr said. "Where are they taking her?"

  "Inside to get treatment. Now, why don't you just come along with me? I've got some questions to ask you."

  "I must go with her," Remarr protested. The man's hand closed around his arm—none too gently.

  "Not so fast. I said I had some questions. You can see your friend after you've answered them."

  Remarr struggled, but the man held him. After a moment, the minstrel allowed himself to be guided into a small room, where he was set in a chair. The man closed the door behind them.

  The man took a small book out of a pocket and flipped it open. "Name?"

  "Remarr."

  "And your first name, Mr. Remarr?"

  “I don't understand. I am Remarr the Minstrel. What other name do you want?"

  He looked up from his writing, staring at the young man. Then he shrugged. "Let's leave it for now. Your address?"

  "My what?" There was something wrong with the language the gods had given them: there were too many words that were mere sound. Remarr's hands grew clammy.

  "Where do you live?"

  "We were camping by the old fort."

  "I know that," he said patiently. "Where do you live when you aren't camping by the Blocktower?"

  Remarr gazed at the big man's face while his mind cried out, Ychass, help me! "In the loft," he answered slowly, "over the silversmith's stable."

  "What town?"

  YCHASS!!

  Patience, she scolded. Vihena's having troubles, too.

  What should I say?

  Say you don't understand.

  "I don't understand."

  "You know: town. Like a city. Like Barre. Like Plainfield."

  "I don't understand."

  "Like Waterbury!" the man said, his temper fraying.

  Remarr frowned. "I thought that Waterbury was a madhouse."

  "It's a town, with a madhouse—I mean, a mental illness treatment facility—in it. You must have escaped from there," he added in a mutter.

  "No. I swear it."

  "Great. Well, let's try another tack. Why did your friend attack me?"

  "She thought you were hostile," Remarr offered.

  "Hostile? Oh, good Lord. I'm a trooper, not some crazy vigilante. I don't shoot except in self-defense!"

  "What is a 'trooper'?"

  The trooper stared. "What planet are you from?"

  "Planet?"

  He raked his fingers through his hair. "God," he muttered.

  "Which one?" Remarr asked.

  Before the trooper could pose further questions, the door swung open.

  "Raymond?" Another man in white livery poked his head in the door. "You know anything about that woman you brought in?"

  "Nothing about her background. She rushed me—with a sword, no less. I had to shoot her."

  "Will she recover?" Remarr put in anxiously.

  "She's stable. The bullet's been removed and the bleeding has stopped. Blood loss wasn't too severe, and the bullet didn't hit anything vital."

  "Bullet?" Remarr repeated.

  The white-coated fellow smiled, stuck his thumb up as he pointed his index finger at Remarr. "From the gun. K’pow."

  Remarr's eyes shifted to the strange implement in the case at the trooper's waist. "May I see my friend?" he asked at last.

  "Sure. She's heavily sedated, but I'll take you up to see her. Want to come along, Ray?"

  Together, they went out into a hallway lit with a strange white light that did not flicker or cast shadows. The white-liveried man led them through a maze of corridors. He pushed a door open, and waved Remarr inside.

  Vihena lay on a bed. Her veil was gone and her lashes were dark against her pale cheeks. Beside the bed, a metal tree supported a pouch like a wineskin, with a long tentacle attached to the swordswoman's arm. He pointed. "What is that?"

  "An IV," was the cryptic reply. "We're replacing some of the fluid she lost."

  Remarr went to the bedside. "Vihena, can you hear me?" Her eyelids fluttered, but she made no other sign.

  '' Vihena?"

  The white-liveried man laid a restraining hand on Remarr's shoulder. "She's sleeping. She's pretty doped up; we gave her pain meds and a tranquilizer. Don't try to wake her."

  "When will she wake? I need to talk with her."

  He shrugged. "It may be several hours."

  "Who are you?" Remarr asked him, while he cried out silently to the shapeshifter. Ychass?

  "Sorry!" the fellow laughed, pointing to a badge on his livery. "I'm Dr. Kemper. Peter Kemper."

  "Are you a trooper, too?"

  "No. I'm a doctor. Come on."

  Go with him. He means well. And don't ask questions. They both think you are very peculiar. I'm going back to Iobeh and Karivet. They tell me that one of the children from this morning has returned; we will all take counsel together. Be of good courage, and if you need me, call; I will be listening.

  Remarr went with the doctor and the trooper, leaving Vihena to her dreams.

  NINE

  As Brice approached the Blocktower, his heart sank. He saw no signs of life; even the turfs had been replaced in the firepit. What a letdown if it turned out to be a mass hallucination. Then, Princess shied violently; Brice brought her around in a tight circle to make her face the tower. One of the twins—Karivet, he thought—emerged, his white robe flapping in the breeze.

  "Greetings," Karivet began. "It's Brice, no?"

  Brice smiled and nodded. "And you're Karivet? I brought the clothes we promised; I was the only one who could get away. So far, the plan is for you to camp here tonight—" he broke off at the look on Karivet's face. "Is something the matter?"

  "Yes. You and your friends were not the only people who came up the hill today."

  "Oh-oh. Didn't you hide? Angel told you to."

  The flicker of a smile touched Karivet's face. "Vihena doesn't hide. There were two—'dirt bikes?'—and after she had driven them off, a—'state trooper.' Vihena couldn't frighten him away, and when she made to attack him, he pointed an object at her that barked and spat fire, and she fell down—hurt."

  Brice gripped the front of his saddle. "He shot her," he whispered. "Is she—Karivet, is she dead?"

  "No. The trooper took her away. Remarr went with him, and Ychass followed in bird-shape. They took her to a big castle on a hill, full of people in white livery. And they are making her better. Ychass says she is sleeping."

  "Ychass says—" he repeated, feeling stupid. "But how?"

  "She speaks with her mind. She doesn't have to be terribly close. She is returning, now. Iobeh called her when she saw you coming. Come within. Can you tether your horse?"

  Brice slung the stuffed laundry bag down to Karivet, then dismounted. "Princess won't go anywhere as long as she can eat. Maybe we could all sit out here?" Almost before they were settled with their backs against the tower, there was a thunder of wings and a hawk landed on the grass. It became the shapeshifter, who joined them.

  "Vihena is—'stable'," she told them. "But she is sleeping. Remarr remained there with her; the trooper wanted to question him, but the one called 'doctor' suggested he wait and question them both when Vihena wakes."

  "Can you talk to Remarr right now?" Brice asked.

  "Yes."

  "Tell him not to answer any questions, and especially not to try to say that he's from another world."

  "I have told him to say he doesn't understand," Ychass said. ''What will happen if he tries to explain?"

  "They'll think he's crazy and ship him off to Waterbury or something." Brice's mouth
went dry as the weight of responsibility settled on him. "Listen: we have to get them out of there! How seriously is Vihena hurt?"

  Ychass concentrated. "Remarr tells me the doctor said she had not lost too much blood, and that the bullet didn't damage anything vital."

  "Well, that's a relief. We've got to spring them." A hundred science fiction movie plots spun in his brain. What would Angel do? he thought. A daring abduction by car—Mark can drive—that's it! "I've got it," he said aloud. "Ychass, we'll need you, but you others had better stay here. Mark, Angel, and I will work out details. We'll meet you, Ychass, at the hospital with Mark's car. When we arrive, you signal to Remarr, and he brings Vihena to the car. Vroom!—off we go into the sunset: no questions, no more police officers. Just a mystery for the hospital computer. Oh yeah," he added. "Can you hear my thoughts, Ychass?" I'm thinking about the toe of my left boot.

  I can tell—the shapeshifter's thought-voice rang in his mind—though it seems an ordinary boot to me.

  "All right!" he said. "Then you can relay messages. When I get back, I'll think at you to confirm the plan. Okay?" At their nods, he jumped up. "Good. I've got to go. Put on the clothing so you won't arouse curiosity if other people come." He swung into the saddle and started for home at a brisk trot.

  Ychass sighed. "If even half the things Brice was thinking are true, Vihena and Remarr are in great danger. But he is difficult to read. He looks like a young man, but his thoughts are childlike. He was worried that he would be late returning and that his mother would be waiting. These people are odd."

  Perhaps they think we are the odd ones, Iobeh signed.

  Ychass nodded. "There is absolutely no doubt that they do, Iobeh; none whatever."

  ***

  Vihena's sleep was restless. Her body resisted the strange compounds that coursed through her veins while her mind was troubled by dreams. The Weaver came to her as she slept, his face worried. "There is a force," he told her, "which bars me from 'Tsan's mind. It must be of the Trickster's making, though I cannot find her mark upon it. I came to warn you that your quest may be more difficult than we had thought."

  Vihena had questions, but her dreaming mind drowned her in a sea of images: magic carts that lured people within to be devoured; carnivorous metal trees, which used spiked tentacles to suck people into desiccated shells; strange devices that exploded into pain. She fought the nightmares, thrashing against the bedclothes; fought the metal tree, ripping its clinging tube from her arm; fought the white-clad women who came to soothe her; fought; fought; fought!

  ***

  The doctor and the trooper escorted Remarr to a waiting area. Remarr thought the trooper Raymond would go back to questioning him, but instead, the trooper ordered him to stay at the hospital, and went away. The doctor went away as well, promising to have Remarr called when Vihena awoke. So Remarr waited, as the afternoon waned slowly toward dusk. Others in the waiting area stole looks at him, but no one spoke. When Remarr found himself wishing for the tenth time that he had brought his harp, he resolved to cast the day's experiences into a ballad. He had composed a melody and nearly three stanzas when Ychass relayed Brice's plan to him; by the time one of the nurses told him Vihena was awake, he had composed eight stanzas.

  They had tied Vihena to the bed; when Remarr entered, she was shouting abuse at two cowering nurses.

  "Remarr!" she snapped. "They have bound me! Release me!"

  "We had to restrain her," one of the nurses whispered. "She kept tearing her IV out."

  "Surely, now that she is awake, she will listen to your advice," he said, loudly enough for Vihena to hear. He moved to the bedside. "You know they are only trying to help, Vihena. Say that you will behave, and I will ask them to untie you."

  "Behave?" she began, but subsided when he took her hand and squeezed a warning. "Of course I will behave," she added meekly. "I was having nightmares, but now I am in my right mind."

  "There," Remarr said to the nurses as he untied the restraints. "You see? It is as I said."

  "Well, then; we'll leave you to your visit," one nurse said, then rather spoiled the effect by almost scuttling away.

  As soon as they were gone, Remarr explained the plan to Vihena and asked whether she thought she could walk unaided.

  "Who knows? They have given me so many strange potions that I cannot even feel my shoulder, much less tell how badly it is damaged. I will try. If I can't, carry me. I will not spend a night in this unchancy place."

  Remarr, Vihena, Ychass spoke in their minds. Our three allies are approaching. Pay attention. There is a small door at the end of the hall where they have put Vihena. It will take you directly outside. Mark will stop his magic cart just outside, and I will be perched on top of it so there can be no mistaking it. When I give you the signal, and not before, come outside and get in as quickly as you can. We must not waste time; someone may try to stop us.

  Wait, Vihena thought to the shapeshifter. They took my sword. I must retrieve it.

  Don't be a fool. A sword is not as important as escaping, the shapeshifter responded.

  Remarr, who could only guess at Vihena's thoughts by Ychass's reply, hastened to reassure the swordswoman. "The trooper did not take your sword. He flung it away after you fell—no doubt he was afraid I would take it up."

  "If you are lying to me—" she began, but Remarr's fist struck the metal bedframe, jolting her silent.

  "I am tired of being treated like a beast without honor because I do not carry a blade!" he whispered passionately. "I do not fit the role in which my form would cast me. Of all people, Vihena, you should understand that!"

  She was shamed by the scalding bitterness in his voice. "Forgive me. I spoke without thinking."

  "You speak without thinking far too often! Just because you can wield a sword doesn't mean you need not use your judgment."

  Taut silence stretched between them until Ychass' s summons. Vihena pulled the IV out of her arm. When she stood unsteadily, they made a terrible discovery: the clothing the castle provided was very skimpy; it did not even reach to her knees, and there was barely enough material to wrap around her. Remarr ripped off his veil and tied it around her waist; even so, she felt indecently clad as they slipped into the hallway.

  Other patients ambled along the hall. Striving not to look furtive, they made for the doorway about which Ychass had told them. They found themselves in a small alcove with another doorway and a flight of ascending stairs. A flat metal bar, inscribed with strange symbols in red, held the door closed. Remarr gave it a mighty push. As the door swung open, the air was rent with a shrill ringing.

  Over here! Ychass urged. Hurry!

  Remarr heard running feet behind them. He swept Vihena into his arms and made a dash for the magic cart. Angel hauled them inside and Remarr slammed the door as the magic cart roared forward. They charged down the drive and out into the road, leaving a bevy of nurses gaping after them.

  "A good thing we pasted cardboard over your license plate," Angel commented, to the bafflement of Remarr and Vihena. "As soon as we're out of sight, pull over and I'll take it off."

  "Just say: 'I think of everything,' and be done with it," Brice suggested.

  The magic cart stopped, Angel hopped out, returning a moment later brandishing two rectangular boards. "Disguise removed! The Rescuemobile returns to civilian usage. Don't worry about your clothes," she added to Vihena. "You were far too conspicuous in those robes; we brought some normal stuff up to the Blocktower."

  "I hate to be a spoilsport," Mark put in, "but how can we get Vihena up to the Blocktower? This thing's no Land Rover, but I wouldn't think Vihena's up to walking over a mile—especially without shoes."

  I will carry her, Ychass thought at them. I can take horseshape to do it. We owe you three a debt of gratitude; you have proved good friends and resourceful indeed.

  "Oh, hey! All in the line of duty." Angel laughed, grateful for the darkness that hid her blush. "But listen, about tomorrow: we're going to have to do s
ome serious talking. We'll ride over for a real powwow. We've got to get you away from the Blocktower before the troopers go back to look for you. Do you think you could hide, this time, if anyone else came up there?"

  "I think we could," Remarr said. "We are unfamiliar with the hazards, here, and must rely upon trusted advice."

  "Very well," Vihena agreed grudgingly.

  When Mark halted the magic cart, they waited until Ychass caught up to them and then all climbed out. The three kids' breath caught as Ychass became a beautiful, pale gray mare. Remarr boosted Vihena onto her broad back.

  "You know how to get there, don't you?" Mark asked.

  I know the way, Ychass assured them.

  After goodbyes and thanks, the two parties set off for home.

  The quiet of the nighttime woods surrounded the shapeshifter, the swordswoman, and the minstrel as they made their careful way back to the Blocktower.

  ***

  Eikoheh groaned, more than half with relief. Events had escaped her guidance, and it had been taxing indeed to realign the course of her Fate. Spanning the void with her pattern was hard work. Events moved quickly, and she could assert control only sporadically and with great effort.

  "It's as though I were swimming in honey," she said to herself, "while everyone else moves through open air."

  She got up. Ohmiden was asleep in a nest of cushions by the hearth. She laid another log on the fire, then climbed the ladder to her waiting bed. She slept deeply, too deeply to hear the distressed noises Ohmiden made once he began to dream.

  ***

  The Blocktower was quiet. All the occupants, save Ychass, were asleep, looking odd and vulnerable in their unfamiliar clothing. As Ychass's anxious gaze lit on Vihena, she smiled wryly. It hadn't been easy to convince the swordswoman to don the strange apparel.

  Though Ychass was weary, she was not ready for sleep. All day, off and on, she had been casting for 'Tsan's mind. And all day, she had felt mired in minds: more people than she had dreamed could exist, all busily thinking of mundane things. She believed she had touched 'Tsan, once or twice, but then had lost the unique shape of her mind in the whelm of others' thoughts. She hoped that the night would aid her, as sleep stilled thoughts, leaving 'Tsan's mind exposed by the ebb like a shell on the sand. When Ychass sent her mind questing yet again, she found her, almost immediately. 'Tsan! It is Ychass. We are here, searching for you.