He had to turn those smiles into grimaces of misery. Then his gaze fell on his father and mother and he saw the merry insanity in their eyes. The machine's spell made them look foolish and his parents would rather be dead-much less miserable-than not to have all their considerable wits about them.
So he steeled himself and when he felt the audience reach its last dregs of energy he threw up his arms and shook his head, urging them to stop, saying, 'Thank you, thank you, my friends. But, please. Please.'
His voice was magically amplified and had the ring of command, not pleading.
Then he brought his hands down and although there was no magic involved, it seemed like sorcery when the crowd noise sank along with his hands. And the people dropped into their seats with happy obedience. Their spirits were like soft clay waiting to be molded by him.
He whispered to Palimak, 'Are you ready?'
Palimak glanced down, checking the two black dots on his sleeve. They weren't dirt specks, but Gundara and Gundaree shrunk to the size of fleas. 'Ready, father,' he whispered back.
Safar nodded and turned back to the crowd. 'I hope you'll all forgive me,' he said conversationally, 'if I seem a little clumsy up here. It's been more years than I like to admit since my circus days.' There were chuckles of understanding from the audience. 'And if you can't find any forgiveness to spare,' he added,
'please don't blame my assistants.' He smiled at Palimak and Leiria. 'Anything that goes wrong will be my fault, not theirs.' More chuckles.
Somewhere close by, Elgy and Rabix started a drum roll-low, but building quickly.
'And so,' Safar said, 'without further ado…' and his voice rose to a shout:
'Let the show begin!'
Drums crashed like thunder and Safar stabbed at the sky with his silver dagger. All eyes jerked up, like puppet heads responding to a string. A single cloud, golden in the sun and ridged like a broken cliff face, floated overhead. A red beam of light leaped from the dagger point, lancing the cloud. Harp music swelled and the audience sucked in air as one, then let it out in a long sigh of wonder as a slender stream of golden light spilled from the cloud, arcing down like a waterfall. It fell on the platform and for a moment all was obliterated by brilliant light. People threw up their hands to shield their eyes. The harp music shifted to teasing pipes that made everyone smile.
Hands came down and wonder of all wonders the light was only a faint shimmer, like curtains of the sheerest yellow silk. Palimak stood alone on the platform, bathed by the golden light. The crowd gaped at him, because instead of a small boy, they were presented with a towering, but childishly slender figure, nearly twelve feet tall.
Palimak giggled nervously, which made the crowd laugh. Big as he was, the giggles made him seem like a harmless boy again.
Cymbals crashed and he shouted: 'Is
'YES!' the crowd roared back.
'How happy are you?' he cried.
'VERY HAPPY!' came the reply.
'That's good,' Palimak said. 'Because I'm going to need your help with this spell. All right?' There was an enthusiastic chorus of agreement.
'Great! Now, do you all have those amulets we gave you?' Everyone shouted that they did.
'Are you all wearing them? I mean everybody-especially the little kids like me, and the babies, too.'
There was much rustling and adjustment as the people all checked to see.
When he was sure they were ready, Palimak said, 'Now I want you all to concentrate real hard while I say this spell.'
He stopped. Shook his head. 'Oh, wait a minute. I almost forgot. First you have to hold on to the amulets. Then concentrate. Got it?'
Nods all around. 'Good. Now, listen real close while I say the spell.'
He drew his toy sword and raised it high, chanting in his high, child's voice:
What's the riddle?
Up, or down, or in the middle?
Jester, Jester,
Tell us quick.
He waved his stubby sword and his eyes turned huge and demon yellow. A cold shudder rolled through the audience and Palimak no longer looked like such a comic figure. He seemed huge and forbidding-a giant child with a frightening grin and alien powers. The clay amulets suddenly turned uncomfortably warm and people tried to let them drop, but their hands had become unwilling fists, gripping the jester talismans tightly.
No one cried out, but there were low moans of fear that tore at Palimak, almost making him lose concentration. He saw his grandfather and grandmother and they were staring at him in terror. He nearly stopped right then, nearly turned to find his father and go running into his arms, begging him not to make him do this. It was awful. Everybody would hate him.
Gundara's voice shrilled in his ear. 'Go on, Little Master! You can't stop now!'
And Gundaree added, 'This was your idea, remember?'
Palimak bore down and got his focus back. Now, for the last part of the spell:
He paused, gathering power from the Favorites, then he lashed out with his sword, shouting:
'Begone!'
He cast the spell and the sky immediately dimmed as a huge cloud moved over the arena. It was accompanied by a chill wind that rolled over the Kyranians, wet and clammy and tasting like salty tears.
The villagers groaned as the machine's spell of gladness was swept away and cruel sanity returned.
There was a funeral-like wail as everyone realized they had been living an illusion. Dwelling for awhile in a mirage of happiness, while outside Iraj Protarus and his demon wolves waited, prowling and anxious to feed.
On the platform the golden light had vanished and Palimak was small again, a forlorn little boy, head hanging in shame because he had made his grandparents cry. Then Leiria and his father were embracing him and whispering words of comfort, which made him feel better-but only a little. Then they all took their places again, Safar in the center, raising his hands to address a much different crowd than he had faced only a few moments before.
'There's a lot of things I could say right now,' he told them. 'Beginning with how sorry I am I was forced to trick you. Such words, however, would be empty of meaning to you now.'
His eyes moved from familiar face to familiar face, many of which were flushed and swollen with growing rage.
'Instead I want to caution you,' he said. 'I can see that many of you are angry with me and I don't blame you. Just be careful you don't turn it on yourselves. Soon you will all feel like fools for allowing yourself to become victims of the machine's spell. For that's all it was-a spell you had no control over. And that spell was caused by the turtle idol you all saw when you entered Caluz. It was the idol-a magical machine-that dulled your wits and feelings and made you insane.'
This won some grudging nods from some people and a snort of understanding from his father, who had been glaring at him along with the rest. Of all the Kyranians, Khadji was perhaps the proudest of his ability to reason. To see things as they really are. Only Myrna was his match.
'What I want you to fix on instead,' Safar said, 'is who you are. Kyranians! The greatest and rarest of people in all the world. Many miles and months ago we set off from our homeland-not in flight. Not in fear. But on a holy mission to save all beingkind.'
