Mayer Alan Brenner - Spell of Fate

“There are some who agitate for a turn to a strong central leadership.”

“There are some who point out a decided lack of strong leaders. The days of the giants among us are gone.”

“Not necessarily,” said Gashanatantra. “Atsing and her crowd may be burnt out and retired, but that isn’t to say there aren’t some in the current generation who might not be up to the job, given a chance to grow into it. Neither of us are exactly youngsters. Did you know that Byron recruited me? No, I didn’t think you did.”

Phlinn raised the other arm for a change, and was rewarded by a new surging bellow from the multitude. “That is interesting,” he allowed after a moment, “but scarcely germane. As close as I was to him, and as much as I try to keep his legacy alive, Byron was not exactly a great leader himself. He was rather a bit too much given to acting on impulse, and when he did pause for consideration in advance he had a tendency toward convolution over clarity. Perhaps that’s why he liked you. Anyway it’s all moot.”

“We need Byron,” Gashanatantra stated. “He designed the infrastructure; he may be the only one who could still disentangle the state it’s grown into.”

Gash was still leaning on the guardrail with his eyes fixed on the display below, but Phlinn Arol knew better than to assume that he wasn’t still watching his reaction as well. “Byron’s dead,” Phlinn said. “He’s been dead for a long time.”

“No,” said Gash. “No, I’m not so certain he is.”

“Is that librarian woman around?” Shaa asked.

“Why,” said Max, glancing around, “do you see her?”

“Noo,” Shaa drawled. “But since you are obviously up to something, I was nibbling about for hints concerning its nature.”

Max opened his mouth to respond, but just then the volume of sound jumped again. Above them and down at the center of the bridge, the Emperor-designate had mounted his podium of state. Another figure was with him; Phlinn Arol. Together they raised their arms. A nimbus of golden light settled over them in a blare of trumpets, the multitude roared, and then far away down the Tongue Water another wave of commotion began to roll toward them, given by its magnitude and distance the character of an approaching storm. Around the far bend and beyond the next major bridge to the south, in the center of the channel, the water began to mound up and drift toward them. Behind the mound a wave curled toward each shore.

“Look at that,” said Max. “I guess they’re not extinct after all.”

A spray of mist and water erupted into the air from the fore-point of the traveling bulge. “The lure-masters will be the toast of some serious festivities tonight,” Shaa agreed.

“They won’t be the only ones. Can you believe those idiots?”

“They will be the only ones,” Shaa said, “unless these guys are better than they look and somehow manage to survive.” On either side of the huge whale, a small pack of people had appeared, trying to mount the crest of the wave on swim-boards. On the left, two of them collided and went over, sweeping away a third. Several knots of furiously paddling celebrants were attaining the churning wave-top, however, and rising to their feet atop their boards. Then the leviathan passed under the center span of the south bridge.

The wave-riders were frantically scattering to avoid the bridge pilings and the few bottom-protruding elements of architectural substructure. As the head of the whale appeared from the bridge’s shadow, though, something separated itself from the edge of the deck and hurtled toward it. A person? Yes, indeed. He or she landed on the whale’s back behind the blowhole and scrabbled frantically, but somehow managed to hold on.

Behind the leviathan a devilfish broke the surface, its wide leathery wings flapping, and quickly nosed back under. It was followed into view, however, by a pair of breaching swordfish. The swordfish seemed to hang glistening in the air free of the water for an exceptional length of time, before abruptly reversing end-for-end and disappearing again into the water. Behind them now, even further out, were the first of the cuttlefish. “This does have potential of being a reasonable outing, at that,” Shaa acknowledged. “I - Maximillian?”

Max had given him the slip.

Shaa forced his way away from the rail. Four or five people back the crowd thinned out considerably; after all, folks wanted to see, not just hear the cheers of others. Damn Max! - where was he? Or, more to the point, what was he up to? He - what?

Out of the corner of his eye, Shaa spotted someone hurrying toward him from the stairs to the viewing platform, someone not only hurrying but waving. Shaa turned and inclined an eyebrow in lieu of an actual wave back. Well, he had had a hunch she’d be around. Why was it not reassuring to find he’d been right? “Are you enjoying yourself, Madame Archivist?” he greeted her.

“I -” said Leen, but just then the bridge rocked, the roadbed shuddering underfoot. The spectators at the rails hooted wildly at the arrival at their station of the leviathan.

“Yes,” said Shaa, “indeed it is a spectacle. A sorry one to miss, too, seeing as one is already here in the first place. Which is to say, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company at the moment?”

Leen stared at him. “I can’t believe he talked me into this,” she muttered.

“I assume we’re discussing Maximillian? Many’s the time I’ve had that same thought. Just what is it he has talked you into?”

“… It didn’t seem like much,” she said, resting her hand on his shoulder. “He wanted me to stay with you while he went off to meet someone else.”

In point of fact, Max was barely fifty feet away, but was concealed from Shaa’s view by one of the grandstand-level’s support pylons. He was, however, not alone. “Here it is,” Max said.

The other clenched and unclenched his good hand. The other arm was encased in a cast and splint. “Give it to me.”

“You should be able to feel it from where you are, right?” Max told him. “You can tell it’s the real article. And don’t think about double-crossing me and taking it off my body, because I’ve got the safeguards bound to me, just like we said. No, you do your part and I’ll release it.”

The other guy was sweating and appeared clearly the worse for recent wear that extended significantly beyond the busted arm; not at all the sort of picture gods liked to cut, in Max’s experience. Max wasn’t complaining. Whatever had happened to him had apparently pushed him over the edge into agreement with Max’s proposed deal.

The guy’s teeth snapped shut with a clack. “Very well,” he said, with obvious reluctance. He withdrew a small slate from his jacket, jabbed at it with his finger while consulting it closely, made a few final passes, and then shoved the thing back in his pocket. “There, it is done. The curse is removed.”

“What’s the matter?” Leen said.

“All of a sudden I confess I feel rather strange.” The world was abruptly reeling, Shaa’s insides were rippling, his heart was – what was his heart doing? Shaa bent over and put his hands on his knees.

“Is it your heart?”

His head was hurting now, too; he felt drunk. Overloaded with excess oxygen? Leen still had him by the shoulder, but the site of her grip was tingling. Some sort of probe? “Damn you, Max,” Shaa breathed. “What are you up to?”

Leen wasn’t looking at him, though, she was gazing away up the bridge toward the grandstand. And not just gazing, either. Now she was nodding.

“Okay,” said Max. Leen’s gesture toward him should have meant that she’d run the probe he’d given her and had confirmed the status of the curse. He subvocalized his own trigger-word. A small whirlwind and a swirl of heat danced on his palm, then subsided. “Here it is,” he said, and handed it over.