Karen Lord - Redemption in Indigo

The man dressed as the poet sighed, a harsh sigh of frustration and annoyance. ‘I don't have time to play this farce any more. Let us talk plainly.'

He stretched out his hand with a grasping motion, and stillness seized the night like spreading ice quelling a river current. The popping sounds of the firestars, the screech of the crickets, and the chirp of the tree frogs were all halted in the space of one slow heartbeat. Then he stepped closer to Paama and Neila, his figure blurring, his features changing, his skin becoming a deep indigo under the white glow of a firestar frozen above. Paama, too, was frozen—frozen with deep fear.

'Now I have all the time in the world,’ he said in a chill voice that little resembled the warm tones he had borrowed from the poet. ‘Give me my power back, and I will allow you to forget that this ever happened.'

one star rises, another star sets

Do not think badly of Paama. She had never had any experience of being a heroine, and she was not accustomed to otherworldly beings threatening her loved ones. So it was courage of a sort that made her step in front of Neila, whip out the Stick??nd offer it to the indigo lord.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he took another step closer and stretched out his hand. Neila ran from Paama with another shriek of fear and went straight to the arms of Alton, who was not so dazed that he did not react appropriately, holding her protectively and shielding her face from the awful scene playing out before her. Paama had no refuge; she stood her ground and trembled as that unearthly blue hand closed slowly over the Stick.

The Stick would not move. He tugged it fiercely, she opened her palms wide, but it stuck to her like an extension of her own hand. He stopped pulling and became strangely calm, almost analytical, as he held her wrists gently and turned his head to view the phenomenon from all angles.

'Perhaps if I cut her hands off?’ he mused to himself.

Neila gave a low moan and Paama's breath choked off in the middle of her suddenly constricted throat.

Just when it seemed impossible to be any more shocked and terrified, a new thing happened. A bizarrely shaped figure loomed out of the stilled outside world and casually tore open their little bubble of time, holding the edges apart carefully with sharp-tipped, multiple, hairy legs.

'They're coming,’ it said.

It was half Bini, half the trickster spider. The dead human eyes remained as blank as any mere decoration, but the spider eyes glittered avidly with pure mischief. The indigo lord did not quite show surprise, but his eyes narrowed again and his lips pressed together angrily as if he were thinking, I might have known.

'You'd better clear up this mess before you go,’ the spider continued with infuriating superiority.

The indigo lord looked as if he would have liked to snarl at the Trickster, but from the sudden shadow in his eyes, it was clear that another sense was warning him of the truth of the Trickster's words. He closed his eyes for a moment and looked at Neila and Alton, and then he glared at the Trickster.

'You helped start it; you can finish it off,’ he said, punctuating his curt words with an impatient gesture.

The bubble shrank, pulling swiftly away from the Trickster's snatching pincers, drawing smoothly past and through the tightly intertwined forms of Neila and Alton, and centring at last on Paama and the indigo lord. Far too late, she made a movement to dash away, but he looked at her with an expression of deep satisfaction and gently folded the bubble in with one last, lazy curl of his fingers.

It was as if some small piece of the world had silently imploded and extruded itself elsewhere, and the unseen breach had pinched off and healed itself over like a cell budding off from its parent. When it was done, the Trickster, Alton, and Neila stood staring at the empty space that had held Paama and the indigo lord. The Trickster sighed gently. He would have enjoyed the chase, but the indigo lord had been right. He was bound to help tidy up the loose ends.

Once more ordinary in his form of Bini the majordomo, he looked at Alton's memory, then at Neila's, and grinned at the excellent adjustment that the indigo lord had achieved in the brief seconds before his departure. It would truly be a pleasure to build on this tale.

'My lord, it appears that your disguise has been discovered.'

Alton frowned as if trying to recall something, and then nodded slowly as Neila gazed up at him.

'Are you disappointed in me, love? It was the only way I could get to know you without all this getting in the way.’ He swept his hand to indicate the gorgeous tent, the brilliant firestars, and his own princely attire.

Neila's eyes were adoring. ‘All the qualities I love are together in one man. How could I be disappointed?'

The Trickster smiled and withdrew??ut I am hearing some rumblings from my audience. You are distressed that I have spoiled the moving and romantic tale of how Love's Laureate courted his beautiful wife? You complain that I have turned it into a cobbled pastiche of happenstance, expediency, and the capricious tricks of the djombi? I bleed for your injured sentiments, but to dress the tale in vestments of saga and chivalry was never my intent. A sober and careful reading of history will teach you that both lesser and greater persons have been treated more roughly by fate. Be content. If it was only a djombi's vanity and aversion to human company that caused Alton to become a merchant prince for one night, if it was fear of discovery and capture that made that djombi flee, thus settling a lordly mantle on Alton for all time, how does that come to be my fault? I am only the one who tells the story.

So, while the young lovers kiss under a firestar-filled sky, while the Trickster glides among the guests—ever the discreet servant—and quietly adjusts memories that might contradict what is to become the official version of events, while all these reasonably amazing things are happening, there is something more out there in the night. A ripple, perhaps, in reality; an extra shiver that tingles along the spine that can be attributed to the firestars, or to kisses. Certainly there is nothing else to be seen.

The djombi are coming.

Bini straightens and stiffens as he feels the equivalent of someone tugging at his sleeve.

A voice inaudible to humans rings in his ear. ‘Where are they?'

He shrugs it off, murmurs softly, ‘I may be a trickster, but even I know better than to interfere in affairs of this kind.'

'You interfered quite beautifully when you told him about Paama. Why stop now?'

'I have my orders. Sometimes I even carry them out. I can't stay a trickster forever, you know.'

The djombi swirl away, disappointed, and continue their hunt for their apostate comrade.

I am the last person in the world who should be speculating on the motives of the djombi and the reasons they have for acting as they do, but I cannot help contrasting the Trickster with the indigo lord. I have a suspicion that the Trickster began as tricksters do, delighting in the frailties of humans and exploiting those weaknesses for his own entertainment. The junior tricksters who led Ansige on his merry dance to ruin would have been impressed by some of his earlier exploits, and indeed many of these had become legend. However, of late he had become almost staid and boring. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that he had unwittingly become fond of the creatures he was so accustomed to torturing, and tired of playing the same old practical jokes. He had gradually changed his modus operandi, taking up the greater challenge of turning people to situations of mutual benefit rather than merely gratifying his own sense of the ridiculous.