Liavek 5 Read online

  "No, I can't imagine," Mardis snapped. "There are many ways to improve oneself without resorting to magic. Better ways, in fact. As Karel says, 'You can't eat luck.'"

  Thardik's shoulders sagged. "If you had been born into m-my family, you might have felt otherwise. In any case, I leaped at the chance to study under Allarin. I didn't think to question why he had left Liavek, or why he had moved to a village as poor as Cabri. I was too blinded by the promise of magic to see the oddness of such things."

  The wizard paused for a long moment, and Mardis hugged herself still more tightly with her crossed arms. She didn't like hearing Thardik speak so softly and sadly, just barely stumbling over his words. It bothered her almost as much as her mother's tears had.

  "I studied under Allarin for eleven years," Thardik continued, "b-buying a lesson whenever I had saved enough money from other labors. Then, having invested my luck, I came to Liavek to make my fortune…which turned out to be a few coppers a week for doing small tricks in the Levar's Park. What the pot-boil simmered down to, you see, was that I simply wasn't a very good wizard."

  "I know," Mardis said, and was surprised at the sympathy in her own voice.

  Thardik didn't seem to hear. "I lived that way for many years," he said. "Then, through a chance conversation with a midwife, I learned that Allarin had taught me a spell no other wizard in Liavek offered: a spell to l-lengthen labor, thus endowing a child with extra birth hours. I had never considered the spell a good one, because it prolonged pain; but the midwife assured me that some women's hopes for their children outweighed their dislike of pain."

  "I know," Mardis said again.

  This time the wizard turned toward her, though his eyes wouldn't meet hers. "Nevertheless," he said, "I found only one woman who was willing to risk it. Her husband had deserted her, but had left t-ten levars on the kitchen table. I took eight of them to perform the ritual.

  "The task was difficult, and the results were not what I had hoped. Your birth hours were only slightly lengthened, and what luck you do have is, as you put it, wild. So I haven't performed the spell since."

  "You're not telling me anything I haven't figured out for myself," Mardis said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  Thardik managed to look her in the eyes now. "Perhaps not," he said. "But there is one aspect of the spell that you d-do not yet know. While in Cabri last month, I learned that Allarin, who died twenty years ago, performed the spell as his final magical act. Apparently he was more skilled than I, for the labor lasted thirty hours."

  At this, Mardis found herself intensely interested. She leaned forward, uncrossing her arms, and asked, "Did the child become a wizard, then?"

  Thardik shook his head. "No. Her luck was wild, like yours, so rather than attempt investiture, she became a sailor. Then she married a shipmate and decided that she wanted a child of her own, and…"

  The wizard's voice died to a whisper, and he turned to gaze out the window again. Mardis stood and grasped his shoulder, digging her fingers into the flesh. "And what?" she demanded.

  Thardik trembled and bowed his head. "The b-baby would have been fine, except…the labor lasted two days, and was violent…and she was at sea, and her shipmates couldn't help her…"

  Mardis, feeling a chill spreading through her body, already knew what he was trying to say. "They both died, didn't they?" she said. "That spell killed them."

  "N-n-no," Thardik said, stuttering badly. "N-not the spell itself. It l-lasted only the length of the labor for which it was cast. But it d-did something to the sailor's luck, imprinted itself s-somehow, and when she herself became p-pregnant…

  "P-perhaps as her contractions began, her baby's initial birth luck was channeled through her, which made it wild as well. Or p-perhaps Allarin's original spell actually caused a physical change in her body. It's impossible to know exactly what happened, because the true n-nature of luck itself is still a mystery. We know of certain ways t-to use it, but no one can say why those ways work and others fail—or what the effects of altering it m-might be. So all I'm sure of is that the sailor's l-labor was much too long, and that by the time her ship reached port, it was too late."

  Thardik stopped talking, but his tremulous breathing continued to rasp at Mardis's skull.

  She wanted to look at the problem as if it were only the sailor's, but a tiny, throbbing knot below her breastbone told her that she couldn't do that. She let her hand fall from Thardik's shoulder, then shuffled backward until she felt the edge of the pallet against the backs of her knees.

  "Maybe the sailor's trouble had nothing to do with the spell," she whispered as she sank to the pallet. "Maybe she and her baby only died because she went into labor at sea, with no midwife or healer to help."

  Thardik put his elbows on the windowsill and held his head in his hands. "I would l-like to believe so. But when I arrived b-back in Liavek yesterday, I searched for answers and found an old volume. A Treatise on Undesirable Magical Practices, in the Market. It discusses the spell, warning that 'p-pain and calamity will follow through generations' if anyone meddles with the nature of birth luck. It also says that using medicinal herbs, physical strength, or force of will to prolong labor will not have this effect, for such efforts d-don't alter the essential nature of a child's luck. A spell, however, is another matter."

  Mardis felt pinpricks on her arms and legs, as if thousands of invisible insects were stinging her. ''I'm even worse off than I've always thought, aren't I?' she murmured.

  The wizard, still holding his head in his hands, said, "Forgive me. I didn't know Allarin was an outcast. I didn't know that one of the spells he taught me had been forbidden. I just d-didn't know."

  He gave a shuddering sigh and finally raised his head. "I d-don't expect you to accept that as an excuse. But whatever you may think of me, and whatever I m-may think of myself, neither of us can undo what has been done. You must live with your luck once every year…and you must never become pregnant."

  The prickling sensation became an intense burning all over Mardis's skin, and her throat and chest began to tighten so that she could hardly breathe. It felt as though the walls and ceiling were about to close in and crush her.

  She jumped up from the pallet, shoving Thardik away from the window. She had to get outside before the house obeyed her thoughts. She had to breathe under the open sky, to get away—

  Thardik grasped her right leg as she began to scramble over the sill. "Child, what are you—"

  Mardis kicked back and struck the wizard in the chest. Then, with a convulsive effort, she wrenched herself outside and fell to the pebbled yard. The distance from the sill to the ground was less than Mardis's height, but the shock of the fall was enough to banish the tightness in her chest. As she stood, she was breathing more easily.

  Looking back through the open window, she saw Thardik sitting on her pallet. clutching his chest with one hand and pulling at his sparse tufts of hair with the other.

  "Are you hurt?" she asked.

  The wizard looked out at her with eyes like an old, tired dog's. "N-not as m-much as I deserve," he said. "I know you will never be able to forgive m-me."

  Mardis forced a smile. "You old goat-bag," she said with false cheerfulness. "I forgive you right now. I have to go to work, and my sweet rolls would sour if I made them while holding a grudge."

  Thardik bowed slightly from his sitting position. "You are too k-kind, dear child."

  Mardis lowered her eyes so that he couldn't see the look that had to be in them. "There's one thing I'm curious about, though," she said, trying to sound casual. "Did the book say anything about how the sailor might have avoided her 'pain and calamity'? What happened wasn't her fault. It doesn't seem fair."

  Thardik remained silent for a long moment, and when he spoke, he didn't stutter. "Magic is under no compulsion to be fair…but the book does refer to one unlikely solution. If the sailor had invested her luck and then destroyed her luck piece, or if she had been sure to be mor
e than three paces away from it when she went into labor, then the taint of her wild luck could not have been in her—and it was that taint, or perhaps the portion her infant inherited, that affected her labor. But investiture would have been impossible because of her luck's wildness. The ritual requires intense concentration, with no distractions."

  Which meant that Mardis had no chance. When she concentrated during her birth hours, all she got were distractions. Exploding apples; bursts of fire; disintegrating chairs. If she attempted investiture, she would try to focus her will on her luck piece only to have it split into a hundred fragments.

  She and her baby were going to die.

  "Mother will be disappointed," she said.

  Then she was running toward the bakery. Karel would be there, and she needed to see his grin more than she had ever needed to see anything in her life.

  As she ran, she saw that the left leg of her new pants had torn in her fall. Blood welled from the bare knee, but she felt no pain, and didn't stop to see how badly she was hurt.

  Ultimately, she knew, it didn't matter.

  •

  A crockful of lard melted and spilled onto the floor of the bakery kitchen as Mardis entered, and Delfor immediately slipped on it, releasing the sheet of unbaked buns he was carrying. Circles of dough smacked against the ceiling, a wall, and a hot oven just before the metal sheet clanged against the floor.

  "How in the name of all the Levar's servants did that happen?" Delfor shouted. He looked up as if expecting an answer, and saw Mardis. "Good," he said, calming. "You can take over the sweet rolls while Karel cleans up this mess."

  Karel, who had been working at a table across the room, came over and gave Mardis a kiss on the cheek.

  "If anything else happens," he murmured, "you'd better leave. Father's so excited about the money we'll take in tonight that he's making enough mistakes without your luck to help him. Say, what happened to your knee?"

  "It's nothing," Mardis said numbly, wishing that she hadn't come, but not knowing what else she could have done.

  Karel grabbed a mop and smeared the spilled lard around the floor while his father gathered up the scraps of scattered dough. The two of them looked so normal, so perfectly like themselves, that Mardis wanted to cry.

  Karel's mother, Brenn, came up and hugged Mardis with long, floury arms.

  "So you said yes," Brenn said happily. "It's a good thing; Karel needs someone to serve as brains. If he starts acting like too much of a child, you let me know, and I'll bash his teeth in. Let's see the bracelet."

  Mardis lifted her right arm, and the band of silver gleamed in the sunlight that shone in through the kitchen's three big windows.

  "It's lovely," Brenn said. "But then, it should be. I hinted at which one to buy." She leaned closer and whispered into Mardis's ear. "I made sure he saved enough money for when the baby comes."

  Mardis's muscles tightened, and a jar of sesame seeds shattered. "All right, then!" Delfor shouted. "They'll be crisp-buns with sesame seeds!"

  Brenn didn't even glance back at the noise. "Oh, don't worry," she whispered. "Karel doesn't know, so you can tell him when you like. But I've suspected for two weeks now, because you've been pausing in your work and touching your belly for no apparent reason. You will tell him before you begin to show, won't you?"

  Mardis swallowed hard, then took a deep breath. The kitchen's air was sticky and sweet. ''I'll tell him," she said. But how can I, knowing what's going to happen? "I'll tell him when I'm sure."

  Brenn thumped her on the back. "Oh, you're sure. I can hear the terror in your voice. But there's nothing to be afraid of, dear. It hurts a little, but it's worth it. Even a knothead child can be a joy. Now, you'd better get to the sweet rolls, and I'd better check my loaves."

  She gave Mardis another hug and then strode toward the ovens, being careful to avoid the lard-slick that Karel couldn't seem to get cleaned up.

  Mardis walked across the room to the table where Karel had been mixing a batch of dough. If she could stay busy, she wouldn't have to think; and if she didn't have to think, maybe the problem would go away.

  The sweet roll dough was too stiff. Karel always used too much flour and not enough milk or cinnamon. That was the trouble with some cooks: they followed recipes slavishly, without using any instinct for what was right, or what might be better.

  That's the trouble with some wizards, too, a small voice inside her said.

  As she thinned and reworked the dough that Karel had nearly ruined, the voice suggested that Thardik was only partially to blame for her dilemma. There was her mother, of course—but Rashell had only behaved in response to her father's desertion.

  So it's really my father's fault … and Allarin's fault … and Thardik's fault…

  She was cutting the resurrected dough into strips now, slashing at it as if it were the fools who were responsible for her impending death.

  … and Karel's fault for getting me pregnant … and maybe even Delfor's fault for fathering Karel!

  Two yelps behind her made Mardis turn her head, and she saw that Karel and Delfor were hanging upside-down in midair. As she watched, Karel's mop jumped up and slapped both of them in the face.

  "What in the name of luck—" Brenn cried. As if that were a magical signal, Karel, Delfor, and the mop all fell to the floor.

  "That does it!" Delfor yelled, sitting up and rubbing his head. "Some wizard's got it in for the Nins' party and is taking it out on us! I don't care how much money's at stake—we're not filling the order!"

  Karel gave Mardis a wry look.

  She felt awful. If either one of them had been hurt—

  "It wasn't a wizard," she blurted. "It's my birthday, and sometimes things happen. I'm sorry."

  Grimacing, Delfor picked himself up from the floor. "Sometimes things happen?" he cried. "By the gods, that's putting it mildly!" His expression softened as his eyes met Mardis's. "Well, you can't help it if that's your luck. But if we're to have any hope of getting this order ready in time, we can't have any more interruptions. You'd better take the rest of the day off. I'll pay you full wages."

  Mardis gestured at the strips of sweet-roll dough. "But I haven't made the rolls, or mixed the glaze, or—"

  Brenn put an arm around Mardis's shoulders and steered her toward the door. "We can take care of all that, dear. Karel, come kiss your wife-to-be and hurry up about it."

  Karel left the kitchen with Mardis. As soon as they were alone in the front room, surrounded by display racks and trays, he held her close.

  He smelled like lard, and Mardis pulled away.

  Karel frowned. "Your birthday 'accidents' aren't really random, you know. That sack of flour exploded when we met because you didn't like me staring at you, and the fire this morning was the result of trying to light a candle. So I can't help wondering about what just happened to me and Father, and whether you're really sorry."

  Mardis turned and headed for the main door.

  "Are you angry with me about something?" Karel asked.

  She paused with her hand on the latch. She wanted to turn back and look at Karel's face, but was afraid of what might happen if she did.

  "Yes," she said. "And no."

  Then the latch clicked open and she was running away again.

  It was only many blocks later, when she was drenched with sweat and panting with effort, that it occurred to her: The fact that she had no idea of how to save herself and her child didn't mean that nobody did.

  Foolish men had gotten her into trouble. Maybe a wise one could get her out of it.

  Maybe she could find The Magician.

  She forced her body into a sprint, dodging the few pedestrians and carts that had ventured out into the afternoon heat. The silver bracelet was brilliant on her wrist.

  If he can help me, she thought, I'll give him all I have—my money, my clothes, my hair, anything—except the bracelet. Even if it means my life, I won't give him that.

  It was a rash promise, but it made
her feel better than she had thought possible. Despite her burning lungs, she began running faster than she had ever run in her life.

  A pair of camels bolted away from their owner and charged down the street ahead of her, their ropes and halters flaming to powder.

  •

  Wizard's Row was gone. Mardis searched for it from every intersecting street and alley for three hours, retracing her steps over and over again, to no avail.

  She wanted to curse, but was afraid to anger the gods, who already seemed to hate her. She had lived all eighteen years of her life only one street away from the Row, and had walked along it countless times—but now, the one time that she had to find it, it had vanished.

  She supposed that she shouldn't be surprised. After all, it was a sunny Luckday, and every magician on Wizard's Row was probably on holiday. Besides, she was still in her birth hours, and there was no reason to expect her bad luck to improve just because she needed it to.

  Finally, exhausted, she found herself behind her own home, and went inside to rest for a moment. Neither her mother nor Thardik was in the house, which was just as well as far as she was concerned. She went directly to her room and flopped down on the pallet.

  Fatigue was good for her, she decided after a few minutes. It was hard to be panicky when she was dead tired. It was even hard to be simply afraid.

  Fear had a nasty way of muddling up her mind so that she couldn't think clearly. She didn't like it, and she resolved that, no matter what her fate, she wouldn't be afraid anymore. It was pointless.

  My baby and I are going to die, she thought, and there's nothing I can do about it.

  Unless…

  It was ridiculous even to think of it. There were only four hours left, which surely wasn't enough time for anyone, no matter how skilled, to perform investiture—let alone someone who couldn't concentrate for ten seconds without the walls crumbling around her.

  And if she were to fail, as she surely would, she would sicken and die.

  "I'm going to die in about eight months anyway," she said aloud. Her voice sounded weird and hollow, as if she were trapped in an empty cistern.