Chapter 19
Semati stood on a hill overlooking the ending of the battle of Lessanri. He wore only a light kilt, sandals, a bag slung over one shoulder, and a sort of loose cape which appeared to be made of fine fishnet. The cape was an important item, however; while wearing it, he was invisible to most viewers. He took a bright red cap from his bag and put it on. Now, with a little concentration he could see through the smoke and murk, and for longer distances than was normal. Its main drawback was that after about an hour's use, the wearer would suffer an incapacitating headache for about three hours.
He began to peer into the smoke, beginning at the nearest point and sweeping across the field, gradually looking farther and farther. The force that had broken the grenadier line had been left in the midst of the enemy to defend itself with the help of five guns and a regiment of cavalry, all that Hoysen would spare them.
Hoysen had not followed up the first attack, but had concentrated his forces elsewhere while Marshal Grichen rushed to reinforce the endangered section of his line. The upshot of it was that after a hard fight, the Surcan Army of Pratogla drove the Eastern Empire from the field.
The grenadiers redeemed themselves in a fiercely fought rearguard action which, while it nearly annihilated them, allowed Grichen to pull out most of his cavalry and a bit of his infantry. All the artillery, however, and the bulk of the infantry, were taken or destroyed.
Now, as Semati saw the field it was a wreck of bodies, equipment, horses wandering riderless, men wandering aimlessly, looking for their units, looking for plunder, or all three. A few groups were gathering the wounded as well. Semati found his quarry at last, where he had hardly expected to see him, in the midst of those who had, unintentionally, served as a diversion for Hoysen's main attack.
He surveyed the little group, not more than a battalion in strength now, many of them wounded, all begrimed with smoke and dirt, and weary to death. Whiskeyjack was one of the few unwounded, though his uniform showed signs of wear and tear. He sagged slightly in his saddle, and Semati felt sure of his triumph. He removed the cap and began to make his way towards what seemed to be Whiskeyjack's destination.
In long and careful strides he crossed the field. Most did not see him, and the few who did thought him to be an apparition from the gods. There was, for some time after, a Society of the Apparition of Lessanri, a society which believed that the Apparition was a spirit which would come again, ushering in a New Age, the Age of the Perfect and Prosperous Society.
Semati knew nothing of this, nor did he care. It took him some time to reach the area to which Whiskeyjack had been going, and longer still to find the Trickster. He was unsure as to the limits of Whiskeyjack's abilities, but he would be unsurprised if the Trickster were one of those who could not be deceived by the Cape of Invisibility. The approach must therefore be one of stealth.
And that stealth must be accompanied by speed, for there were too many people around, and sooner or later one of the few who could see him would decide to do something about him, and the attention attracted by getting Whiskeyjack away would be bad enough. The attention attracted in fighting free of a bunch of soldiers, no matter how easy for the ex-Keeper of the Sixth Portal, would be too much. He had to wait until Whiskeyjack, after purchasing some blankets from some of the soldiers, moved a little way off from the rest. By now it was nearing full dark, which made it much easier to move unseen. Even as he went, Semati felt a strange feeling, almost a premonition of something about to happen. But there was no definable shape to it, so he pushed it to the back of his mind.
Then he came over the hill to find Whiskeyjack, still in uniform, sitting cross-legged on the ground. Before him were a series of small pieces of paper, and he looked up at Semati with no surprise whatever. "Hello, Semati. Who's looking after the Sixth Portal?"
Semati, knowing that he had only one chance, leaped forward. In mid-leap, however, he felt something wrap around him and he fell heavily to the ground. He found himself wrapped in a thick and ornately woven rug, tied with three loops of rope. Whiskeyjack spoke again. "It's undignified, but it'll keep either of us from getting killed for a bit. You must have been demoted; I can't imagine a Portal Keeper all alone, on a hunt for me."
Semati gave up what was obviously a useless struggle against his wrappings, and settled down to save his life by his wits and his tongue. "You know how it is in heaven. If you'd stayed in Amen-Ra's jail like you were supposed to, he would have just reprimanded and ridiculed me. But you escaped from him, too, and every time he thought about punishing me, he got mad because he hadn't been any more successful than I. So I got demoted to bloodhound. If I can bring you back, I might be able to work my way back up again. Can I ask how you happened to be so ready for me?"
Whiskeyjack waved a negligent hand. "I kind of expected that someone might notice me before the battle was over, so at odd times I made a few sketches to allow me a little advantage if and when they caught up. I'd sort of played with the idea before, but never done anything with it. Imagine a whole deck of cards, with drawings for a number of situations, and you just pick the right one for the right time.
"But there's something else going on here too. Had you noticed a feeling almost of premonition, just a while ago?"
"Yes, but I don't understand it either." Semati was a little confused; most other people would already have killed him, but the Trickster was just talking. He remembered hearing that Whiskeyjack was a strange one.
Suddenly around and through them was a loud and resounding chant, a woman's voice, echoing and re-echoing so intensely that the words were unintelligible. As the chanting ceased abruptly, it was as though a great axe of light had been swung down between them. They were momentarily blinded, then as their sight returned they saw her standing there.
Whiskeyjack recognized her at once. "Halula!" She looked around a little dazedly, then saw him and ran to him. The Trickster caught hold of her and walked to the still-captive Semati.
"She's a beginner at this kind of thing, and what she's just done is to sent a personal invitation to a lot of heavens. You can feel them turning out way already. I don't suppose you'd care to bet on who'll get here first, so I'm going to try to get us all out. All I ask is that you don't jostle my elbow until I'm through."
He waited for no answer, and Semati could indeed feel the eyes turning to them, feel recognition flaring. Whiskeyjack flung Halula onto his weary horse, bundled Semati over the saddle, and fumbled for one of his pieces of paper.
A squat, red-bearded man stood before him suddenly, clutching a short-handled mallet in one furry, freckled hand. At nearly the same time another man in ornate armour and spiked helmet, with bare brown lega, carrying a long bow, was there as well, wide dark eyes turned to the Trickster. Others came too; a robe-wrapped one with a tall crown, riding a cloud, bearing lightnings in his fist; one in full bronze panoply, and more and more.
Whiskeyjack laughed at them all. "You're too late! I have here the ultimate weapon!" He waved a hand and was suddenly holding a shiny black silk hat. In an unhurried motion, he reached into in and drew out a bunch of flowers. He present them to the crowd with a low bow, and suddenly they were a flock of pigeons flying among the assembled deities.
As they ducked and dodged the fluttering birds, he reached again into the hat and drew forth the end of a brightly-coloured scarf, which he tossed into the air. A seemingly unending stream of colour, it floated over the heads of the assembled gods, who had just now realized that the birds were only birds.
As the end of the scarf floated free from the hat, the whole of it forming an arc over the heads of the gods, they moved in again. In that same instant he tossed the hat into the air, closing his eyes and flinging his jacket over the horse's head. The eyes of the gods followed the ascent of the hat, until it suddenly blossomed into a white flare of light.
While the gods were still blinded, Whiskeyjack was moving. Leading the horse, he sprang onto the arch of cloth and went nimbly along it. The horse, a little nervous, followed when Whiskeyjack insisted, and at the top of the arch, just as the gods were regaining a little of their sight, the whole group disappeared into the air.
Then they stood on a hillside, overlooking a deep coulee, with dawn coming up in the east in glory. He helped Halula down, then unloaded Semati, whom he laid down very carefully. "Don't be deluded into thinking that I trust you, O You-Who-Make-Righteous. I am a rover of the plains, a hunter of the woods, and this is my land. I am not invulnerable here, but the area is so full of tricks and traps that I feel confident of being able to escape from anyone or anything. And I shall see to it that you are deposited somewhere reasonably safe after we have talked.
"And now, what brings you, Halula?"
She looked numb, as one who has seen too many frightening things happen too swiftly. She was quiet for a moment, then spoke without expression. "You warned me that they might not like it if they found out about my power. I practised it in secret, carefully, learning a bit more about how to use it. Yesterday I was picking berries away from the village with Larissa.
"Around sundown, just as we had decided to go home, she stepped on a rotten log that broke apart under her, and I heard her ankle crack as she fell. We tried walking, but she could hardly manage at all. We knew there had been rain up-country, and we were afraid it might get to flooding where we were.
"So I got down and sang a little song over her ankle, and a minute or two later it was well enough for her to walk on. I pretended to believe that she must have just twisted it a bit, and now the pain was subsiding, but she insisted that I'd magicked it well.
"But after we got back to the village I found I couldn't laugh it off any more. Some of the villagers are pretty dogmatic about magic, but all they did was avoid me like a witch all day. Then, when they were raising a roof-beam this afternoon, it slipped and crushed Oggi's foot. Some of the real sour ones insisted that it was because the village was harbouring a witch, and only bad luck could come of that.
"Things went from bad to worse. Rumours started to go 'round about me, that I'd been heard singing strange songs just before bad things happened to certain people. It wasn't long before some of them were thoroughly convinced that the only thing to do was to get rid of me.
"Father and some of the others tried to defend me, but this lot wasn't accepting any decisions but their own, even when the Preacher tried to show that the only times they could be sure I'd used my power it was for help, not for harm. So they started making preparations to burn me.
"I decided I'd better try to get free, and I thought I'd best get in touch with you. So I made a little song to that effect, and started singing it. When I'd gone through it twice, I sort of felt a flash of light, and there I was beside you."
Whiskeyjack nodded. "You noticed the crowd that formed there just after you arrived? That's the reason I warned you about any massive displays like that, except in emergency. Mind you, you did have an emergency there, but remember that somebody's always watching. When you do something, use as little power as you can manage. You did all right, though, for your experience, and I'll do what I can to look after you."
He turned back to Semati. "Semati, I offered you a job once. I'd like to re-open negotiations. And don't think about getting loose and turning the tables on me; I've got a few things ready just in case."
"So tell me about the job; I won't promise to take it, but there's no harm in listening."
The Trickster nodded. You know about the Unborn Ones of Arsh? They appear to be more than an ordinary Spontaneous Generation; they're highly malevolent, and they seem to be aiming at conquest. I want to put a spoke in their wheel, and I could use some help."
"Mm. You know that simple altruism is not one of my faults."
"I know. But just as I can use your help, I'm sure you could find a dozen ways to use my help."
"Mm. Let me think about it a bit."
"Right. I can let you have a lot of time, but I can't promise to be as easy on you the next time we meet. I have a job to get back to."
"You're going to make a career of the Pratogli army?"
Whiskeyjack laughed. "No, I came into a situation where I didn't dare try a fast getaway, so I thought I'd arrange myself a Staff job. Then after all my care Halula brought all the gods down on me anyway; it was a good thing I'd had the time to make some preparations."
"And a good thing they came all at once; nobody wanted to make the first move at you, in case somebody else mistook his intentions."
"True enough. Look, I'm going to send you off now. You'll end up loose in a place where I hope you won't be in any immediate danger. What you do then is your business. If you decide to take my offer, you could try to get hold of al-Khwarizmi and leave word with him. He could arrange for some kind of neutral meeting-place for us."
When he had sent Semati off, he turned to Halula. "I'll have to take you along for a while; I haven't time to get you to safety. And I'll try to help you learn to use your powers a bit."
Still somewhat dazed, she nodded.