Child of the Prophecy (15 page)

"And now," said the henchman, apparently buoyed by his success, "the Master himself will demonstrate the use of the new, all-effective love philter. Made with his very own hands, this potion of power will transform the most reluctant sweetheart into . . . dear friends, you cannot imagine. It must speak for itself. Good folk, here is ... the Master."

We were supposed to cheer, I think. I still could not see properly. But if I moved any closer, I would be right in the crowd, and folk would look at me and press up against me and maybe talk to me and . . . My fingers clutched the amulet for reassurance. Use the Glamour, child, said my grandmother's voice, somewhere in my head. Be what you like.

I did it quickly, before I could change my mind. Peg and Molly weren't there. Darragh was busy. Nobody would notice a thing. I chose the form I judged least likely to draw any attention, a much older version of myself, a woman of middle years, in plain working clothes, shawled and scarved and straggle-haired. I could have been anyone. Indeed, there were many others just like me in the throng. Not a soul noticed as I moved quietly down to stand near the front, where I could see the man who called himself the Master scanning the crowd, while maintaining his pose of disdain.

"The Master's looking," said his assistant portentously. "Looking, searching for a fellow that's lonely; for some poor soul with no sweetheart. What about you, sir?"

"He's taken!" retorted a sharp female voice from the back of the crowd. Everyone laughed.

"Ah," said the assistant as the Master pointed a bony finger. "Here's a fellow. What is your name, sir?"

The man was red with embarrassment, but grinning at the same time. "His name's Ross," offered a helpful friend, spluttering with laughter. "A few sheaves short of the full stack, but a fine man for all that." It sounded as if they'd made an early start on the ale.

"You'd like a pretty sweetheart, now, wouldn't you, Ross?" asked the assistant as he hauled his victim up on the cart steps where all could view him. "Let's see if we can find one for you. Which of you ladies wants to test our new elixir, now?"

There was a shuffling of feet, and a silence. Seemingly there were no takers. I was not surprised. The man they had chosen was skinny and none too clean-looking, and he had a bulbous nose with a drip on the end.

"Come, now," coaxed the henchman. "Who'll try it? There must be a lovely lady here who'd like a bit of fun? No? Then the Master himself must beg."

The black-cloaked man had already descended from the cart, and had begun to pace along the front where folk stood close-packed. I had been watching him, while others had all their attention on the fellow who was doing the talking. The Master had in his hand a fine gold chain with a small, shining object strung on it, and he was dangling it to and fro, to and fro.

"There might be a little something in it, for the girl that's bold enough," hinted the assistant. The Master paced back and forth. The little chain swung left and right, left and right. He halted. He paused. He stretched out a finger and pointed.

"Ah!" exclaimed the assistant. "We have a willing taker. Come up, my dear, come up and sip this exquisite potion, made from carefully selected herbs and berries and just—a—little" he made a circle with his thumb and first finger, "of the most secretly guarded of ingredients. Just a tiny sip."

The girl they had chosen was very young, certainly younger than myself, and poorly clad, with a gown much mended. For all that, there was a delicate bloom about her that might catch a man's fancy. Nobody raised an objection when the men led her forward. It seemed she was there alone. Nobody noticed the way she stared at the little gold chain swinging to and fro, to and fro, as if that were all she could see. Nobody but me. I felt anger building in me.

The Master put the gold chain away in his pocket. The young girl stood there before him, her pure features blank of expression. On the other side, the man with the bulbous nose leered across at her, then rolled his eyes back to his friends in the crowd, who sniggered and poked each other in the ribs.

The Master bent over and whispered in the girl's ear. All that I heard was "Drink this, my dear." But there had been more. I could guess what it was.

She took the little cup in her hand and drank. There was a hush of expectation. For a moment, nothing happened. Then she turned, expressionless, and took a step over to the man, Ross. She twined her arms around his neck, and pressed her body against his, and planted a long kiss on his lips. The crowd cheered and applauded. I watched the way the man's hand groped at her skirts, and the way his tongue

went, disgustingly, in her mouth. I waited for the Master to click his fingers or wave his hand before the girl's eyes, and undo what he had done. Instead, he watched the fellow lead the young girl down the steps and away through the crowd. A rush of other men clustered around the cart, eager to buy. I was outraged. It was nothing but a sham, an old trick, easy as long as you picked a susceptible subject. Simply done. Simply undone.

But this man had not undone it. He had let that little girl go, with that fellow, and—as I said, you are what you are. Sometimes you just have to act. The rainbow bird sat on its perch just by the Master's shoulder, still shrieking abuse, as well it might do. I looked it in the eye, and spoke a word in my mind.

The tether that held it broke apart. Nobody saw. The bird shrank, and swelled, and changed. For a moment, in the commotion of jostling buyers, nobody noticed. Bright feathers became shining scales. Claws and beak disappeared. I used my imagination. The creature grew long and slender and sinuous. The serpent coiled around the perch, feeling the strength in its muscular neck, feeling the venom in its forked tongue. Feeling the almost forgotten power of freedom.

A child spoke up again. "What's that, Mam?"

The Master froze in his place as a creeping, twining presence flowed across his shoulders and around his neck, above the tattered black cloak.

"Aaah . . ." he managed, a mere thread of sound. His assistant backed away. The crowd retreated. Amongst them, the man Ross halted and stared back, still clutching the girl by one arm. I took a step forward, making sure the Master could see me.

"Undo it," I said very quietly.

His eyes bulged at me. His face was purple. Maybe the coils were tight. I did not care.

"Call that girl back here and undo what you did," I said again, softly so that only he and his assistant could hear me. "Do it now or you're dead. Don't think I care what happens to you."

"Aaaah . . ." the Master gasped again, rolling his eyes toward his assistant. The serpent shifted its grip, and its tail slid off the perch to curl neatly around the Master's arm. Now he was bearing its full weight. The small, triangular head was poised just in front of his eyes.

The assistant moved, called out. "You! You there! Bring her back!"

The crowd parted for the man and the girl. Terror held folk away from the cart; fascination kept them close enough, for this fair's entertainment would be the stuff of fireside tales for many a long winter to come. The assistant grabbed the girl's other arm and wrenched her away from the leering Ross. He didn't have to pull very hard. Ross had blanched at the sight of the serpent's wicked little eyes. He faded back into the crowd.

The girl was led up close. Her expression was quite blank; the terrifying creature might just as well have been a hedgehog or a sheep.

"Undo it," I hissed. "Hurry up. Or I'll make it bite." I was not at all sure I could do this, but it sounded good. The Master raised a shaking hand, and clicked his fingers once before the girl's blank face. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Then she saw the snake, and screamed.

"It's all right," I told her, under cover of the crowd's excited response. "Go home. Go on. Find your family, and go home."

"Dad," she said in a panicky voice, as if remembering something. "Dad'll kill me." She looked around wildly, spotted someone away toward the horse lines, and was off at a run.

"Erggh . . ." came a strangled sound. I had not forgotten the Master. Not entirely. And I must act fast, and then disappear, for I caught a glimpse of Roisin on the edge of the crowd, and knew the others must be there, and would be searching for me.

I looked the serpent in its small, bright eye. I'd been quite pleased with this creation. But a serpent could not fly, after all. I spoke the word, and it changed. The Master gave a yelp of pain as the rainbow bird clamped its claws momentarily on his shoulder, and then it spread its gaudy wings and rose somewhat unevenly into the air, circling the crowd with a scream of derision before it flew off eastward. Everyone was looking up, craning to see the phenomenon. I hadn't long, but I was good at this sort of thing. Cage doors sprang open, latches fell apart, bolts dropped from their fastenings. Not all could be safe; some I had to change. The hare became a fine, healthy little pony, which I slapped on the rump and sent in the general direction of the horse lines. He'd do well enough. The clawed, furry creature transformed into a squirrel, that streaked across the open ground and straight up into the oaks, where it proceeded to make itself quite at home. The finches, the doves, they would be all right. Perhaps they had not been captive long, for they flew off quickly to take their chances with the winter, and the trapper, and the hawk. But there was one captive left. The little owl, whose cage was open, whose path to freedom lay before it, stood quivering on its perch, lifting one foot and then the other, unable somehow to make that first move. And now folk were noticing, pointing, staring, and the Master and his henchman were advancing on me where I stood willing the creature to move its wings and fly. I fancied I heard Peg's voice somewhere beyond the oaks, calling my name.

Fly, stupid, I told the bird. I could not transform this one; it was too fragile and too terrified to survive that. A quick decision was required. I turned to the Master.

"Give me this owl. Or I'll tell all these people what a fraud you are. How all your remedies are fakes. I can do it."

He looked down his nose at me. "You?" he hissed, quiet enough for folk not to hear. "A farmer's wife? I don't think so. Now clear off, or I'll have you whipped for ruining my performance and stealing my animals. Go on, off with—" He stopped abruptly as I fixed my gaze on his neck and applied another little spell.

"Ah ... aaagh . . ."

"You see?" I said sweetly. "The serpent is just a fancy touch. I've no need of that, to kill you gradually from strangulation. Give me the bird."

He gestured wildly with one hand and clutched his throat with the other. The assistant lifted down the small cage and its inhabitant, and I took it.

"Good," I said calmly, and released the spell. The Master staggered back, chalk-faced, as his assistant was besieged by gesticulating, confused spectators. Now that they were sure the serpent was gone, they had questions they wanted answered.

The Master was staring at me.

"Who are you?" he breathed with real fear in his eyes.

"I am a sorcerer's daughter, and more of a master than you will ever be, with your cheap tricks," I told him. "Don't try that again, fooling a little girl into behaving like some wanton for hire. Don't even think of it." I gestured toward my own neck, as if to warn him of the consequences. Then I caught sight of Molly, and beside her Roisin, and I made myself vanish into the crowd, where I was just another farmer's wife out for a day of amusement.

I retreated to a quiet corner behind an empty cart, and sat down on the grass. I spoke the words in silence, and was myself again, a little traveler girl, striped dress, blue-bordered kerchief, long red plait, limping foot. A girl wearing the most beautiful shawl at the Cross, a shawl with a proud pattern of wonderful creatures of all kinds. A girl bearing a broken cage, with a crazy owl in it. Clearly, that part would not do.

I spoke to the creature very quietly. It seemed near-stupefied with fear, its only movement the strange, mechanical lifting of its feet, left and right, left and right.

"Don't be scared," I told it, quite unsure of whether it could even hear me, let alone understand. "You can go now. Fly. Fly away free." I reached very slowly into the cage, expecting at the least some serious damage to my fingers. The bird made no move but its mindless pacing. Perhaps it really was mad. Maybe it would be kinder to wring its neck. I could hear Peg's voice again, over the noise of the crowd.