Mallara and Burn: On the Road (7 page)

He found none. Whatever door the Troll opened
was well and truly shut.

Burn cursed, long and loud, and then sailed
buzzing after the Mayor.

Mallara opened her eyes.

She stood alone on a wide, flat plain of sand
that glistened and twinkled in the silver day-light. There was no
sun in the grey sky above, nor any clouds -- just heavens the color
of old weathered lead that made Mallara think of caves and
box-lids.

"Hello," she called. Her voice died quickly,
and she was alone in utter silence once again.

Her staff began to whisper."This place is not
a place," it said."It was not, and soon will not be once more."

Mallara sighed."Plain talk, please. Pretend
Burn is here. You meant what?"

"Hurry," said the staff.

"Hurry and what?" asked Mallara.

"Surely you have not forgotten," said the
Troll.

Mallara whirled. Glistening pale sand and a
dead grey sky surrounded her, but the Troll was nowhere in
sight.

"Where are you?" said Mallara."What is this
place?"

"I am near," said the Troll."But nearer still
I may not come. I may look upon you, and hear your words, and speak
my own, but nothing else. Not yet."

Mallara looked away from the sky."I came to
fulfill this vow," she said."And I mean to. But I must confess
this, Troll. To my shame, my folk have forgotten the vow. You must
tell what we promised."

The Troll laughed, softly."There is no shame,
Staff-bearer. You sought me out at the place of the Asking. You are
here in the Place Between. You have done what is necessary. Only
one task remains."

Mallara bowed."Tell me."

The Troll's voice fell, as though the Troll
were aboard a ship slowly but surely drifting away."My folk are
old," said the Troll."We knew the moon before it was scarred; we
knew the empty sky, before the moon. The forests, the seas, the
bright cold places -- all were ours, once."

The dead sky darkened, as though thickening
-- or falling. Mallara shivered.

"Go on," she said, her knuckles white around
her staff.

"Then your folk came," said the Troll."Soon
the world was full of you. Roads pierced our forests, farms crept
across our lands. And then you found the Words, and the power
behind them, and the world was changed, and ours no longer."

"Our folk have lived in peace for hundreds of
years," said Mallara."Surely--"

"The peace began with the Asking," said the
Troll, gently."Our Asking and your Vow."

Mallara frowned and fought back an urge to
look up and watch the sky fall."The peace?" she said."Five hundred
years -- all because of the vow you want me to fulfill?"

"Yes," said the Troll."Are you
frightened?"

Despite herself, Mallara laughed."If Burn
were here, he'd claim we do this sort of thing so often we're bored
by it," she said."And I'd deny it. Of course I'm frightened. And I
still don't know what you asked, or what was promised."

And please tell me quickly, she thought. The
sky is so close.

"We came to one of your folk many years ago,"
the Troll said."We told this person that we would fight no more. We
told this person that we would ask your folk to take our place as
caretakers. We gave this world to your folk, Staff-bearer, in the
hope that your magic will carry on what our hands and hearts began
so long ago."

Mallara shook her head.

"Us?" she asked."My folk?"

"That is what we asked," said the Troll.

"And what did we vow?"

"Your folk swore that, on a day to come, a
Bearer of the Staff would meet my folk here, in this place between.
Your folk swore that the Bearer would make a way from our world --
your world, now -- into another. A world like we once had, Bearer.
A place cool and wild and green."

The sky fell, but Mallara no longer
noticed.

"We give you the old lands," said the
Troll."And you give us new ones. That is fair," said the Troll."You
will grow wise, and we will grow young. That we asked, and that you
vowed. It is time, Bearer. Open the way, and give my folk a new
world to raise. Such was asked. Such was vowed. It is time."

The Troll's voice faded, and Mallara knew he
was gone. Gone to collect his kin.

All of his kin.

Mallara kicked at the sand and threw back her
robes and spared a single precious moment cursing the idiot who,
five hundred years ago, babbled a vow they almost certainly didn't
understand and couldn't possibly fulfill.

"This is the place between," whispered her
staff."Our world lies on one side. What lies on the other?"

"I don't know," said Mallara, through
clenched teeth."But every Troll in the world is about to come here
and ask us. I guess we'd better find out."

Mallara lifted her staff, stared into the
sunless, plummeting sky, and spoke a long, loud Word.

Far away, along every horizon, the world grew
dark and quietly began to end.

"Turn the page," snapped Burn. The shimmer
read.

"Oh, no."

"What is amiss, Sir Burn?" asked the
Mayor."What does it say?"

Burn buzzed."It says your First Mayor made a
deal with the Trolls," said Burn."It's written in flowery
mayor-speak, but in essence you people promised you'd give the
Trolls a shiny new world of their own if the Trolls would just go
away for a long time and leave First Mayor Hohan breathing and in
one piece."

Mayor Frick brushed the right end of his
drooping moustache out of the corner of his mouth."Are you
sure?"

Burn's buzzing sharpened."I'm sure," he
said."I wish I wasn't. I wish I had the slightest doubt. I wish
your First Mayor had promised the Trolls a slice of the Moon or ice
from the Sun, because my Mistress would have a better chance of
producing either than she has of handing the Trolls a new
world."

The Mayor stared."What do we do?" he
said.

"Elect smarter Mayors," said Burn.

"But--"

"You're on your own," said Burn."Good
luck."

Burn vanished. The Mayor looked down, saw a
drawing of a Troll tossing handfuls of armored knights into a moat,
and slammed the Book of First Mayors firmly shut.

Burn hovered in the clock-tower's shadow,
probing the air for hint of magic or musk of Troll. Hours passed,
each marked by the brassy clang of the clock and the slow descent
of the sun.

"I'm a fine one, I am," muttered Burn in
disgust."Just hung here and ogled while the Sorceress held hands
with a Troll and stepped off to who knows where."

A pair of tipsy apple-farmers passing by
below stopped and squinted, faces toward the sky.

"Who said that?" said one farmer.

Burn was about to reply when the air about
him went cold. A sparkling, like fireflies arranged in a neat
sphere, filled the air, expanding in a heartbeat to fill the space
between the clock-tower and the stables across the street.

The apple farmers squawked and fled. Burn
dived for the heart of the chill and, just for an instant, he saw
Mallara. She stood alone on a far, high hill, a hill that fell away
from beneath her, flowing like fine sand into a cold black void.
Mallara's staff was aloft, and fire flashed about it.

Something like lightning broke the sky, and
Burn was back above Tillith's Square, and beneath him Mallara was
falling, robes fuming, down to the dirty cobblestones.

Mallara crumpled. Smoke and the stench of
burning hair rose up. Burn dove to Mallara's side, drew his being
into a single tiny point, and spoke a Word.

The flames on Mallara's cloak died, and her
hair stopped hissing and crackling.

Her long black staff fell from a hole in the
air and clattered on the stones. The staff ends glowed dull red,
and the shaft radiated heat Burn felt from six long human steps
away.

Hesitant at first, passers-by began to rush
toward Mallara. The black staff rolled to her feet and stood
suddenly on end. A ring of knee-high flames sprang up from the
street around the Sorceress, and the crowd pulled back.

"She's hurt," said Burn, his voice so small
and weak only the staff could hear it."Healing words. Now. Say them
yourself; I've said one too many already."

Burn didn't hear the Word, but the glow at
the staff's ends died and the ring of flames guttered and
shrank.

"Mistress!" shrieked Burn."Mistress!"

Mallara groaned, sat up, and threw back her
smoldering hood. Burn fell nearly to the cobblestones, relieved
that the Sorceress might have lost some of the hair-stuff she was
so fond of, but none of the flesh her folk could not grow anew.

"Burn," croaked the sorceress."You spoke a
Word."

Burn made a faint buzzing nod."Had too," he
said."The boss was on fire. I'll live. Will you?"

Mallara tried to grin, but coughed
instead."I'll live," she said."We all will."

Burn searched in vain for a bug-sized thermal
to ride."I read the Book, Mistress," he said, wearily."It claimed
the Vow involved giving the Trolls a new world to scold and
lecture. You're here and trying to smile, so how did you do
it?"

"The Trolls just needed a bridge," said
Mallara."They'd already found their new home. I just helped them
get there, Burn. That's all." Mallara wiped soot and sweat from her
face."So we kept the Vow. There'll be no Troll war tonight, or any
night. They're gone, Burn. All the Trolls, gone forever."

Burn struggled to expand himself enough to
force a few more audible words."All gone?" he said."Really?"

Mallara coughed and nodded."The Trolls spoke
of raising a world like humans speak of raising a child," she said.
"I suppose that makes us parents, now, of a sort. We won't have the
wise old Trolls looking over our shoulders, anymore."

Burn lifted himself up to Mallara's face."Why
did they need us, Mistress? Why you?"

Mallara smiled and cupped her hand so that
Burn might rest."Trolls are magic, Burn. They don't do magic." The
sorceress chuckled."Shimmers share the same quality, to a lesser
extent. You spoke a single minor fire-ward, and now you're no
bigger than a firefly. Imagine speaking a dozen dire Words."

Burn shuddered."I'd rather not."

"The Trolls found a door to another world,"
said Mallara."They could see it, and feel it, and even peep through
the key-hole. But they couldn't open it. Not without help." Mallara
lowered her hand, whispered. The black staff vanished, and her
iron-shod traveling staff fell into her grasp.

Mallara rose slowly to her feet. The crowd,
much larger now, scrambled suddenly back.

"I'm going to miss them, Burn," said Mallara.
The Mayor and a dozen of Tillith's part-time soldiers appeared and
began to elbow their way through the onlookers.

Mallara pulled her blackened hood back over
her singed hair."We're the caretakers now," she said, surveying the
crowd."You and I and good Mayor Frick."

Burn frowned the shimmer frown."All in all,
Mistress, I think the world was better served by the Trolls."

Mayor Frick emerged from the crowd and
stamped to the edge of the dying ring of fire."Sorceress," he
said."What happened?"

Mallara waved, and the small flames
vanished."We have a new chapter to add to your Book, Mayor Frick,"
she said."In fact, I believe we might want to start a new Book
entirely."

The Mayor shook his head."The Troll -- is it
gone?"

Mallara smiled a wide, sooty smile."Oh, no,"
she said."I'm right here, Mayor. Right here." Mallara straightened.
"Walk with me, Mayor," said the Sorceress."We must talk."

The Mayor's expression went from perplexed to
panicked.

"Better do as the Troll says, Mayor,"
whispered Burn from just beside the Mayor's right ear."She's not as
patient as the fuzzy ones were. Did I mention she has a sorcerer's
staff?"

The Mayor trotted toward the Sorceress.

"That's better," muttered Burn."And if you
make any promises, see that you don't forget them this time."

"They won't," said Mallara."I'll see to
that."

"I'll bet you will," said Burn. He shrank to
the size of a gnat, exhausted. Mallara and the Mayor started slowly
down the street through a hastily parting crowd.

Burn sailed after, buzzing too faintly for
anyone to hear.

THE HELPERS

by Frank Tuttle

Mallara danced. She danced well, and she knew
it, even sneaking glances at herself in the full-length ballroom
mirrors just to watch her gown twirl and flow. The music was Old
Kestrian, all violins and harps and sad, lilting melodies; the
ballroom was the Imperial Gala in Vo Sinte, with its floors of
frozen moonlight and glittering chandeliers fashioned from luminous
fountains of ensorcelled mountain snowmelt.

"Wake up, Mistress," said her partner.
Moments before, he had been a tall, dark-haired Prince of Sosang,
who, to Mallara's delight, hadn't said a word all night. Now, he
was a short, pug-nosed courtier with thinning hair and close-set
eyes. "We've got trouble."

A harpist hit a sour note. "Not now, Burn,"
said Mallara. "Go away."

"Sorry, Mistress," replied the courtier, with
a grin."Time to wake up. Nice gown." The courtier whispered half of
a Word.

The Imperial Gala, the Old Kestrian music,
the cool, perfumed air -- all of it fell away, a frail dream
shattered by the courtier's single soft word.

Mallara blinked and yawned and woke. She lay
in the weeds in the sun-dappled shade of a gnarled persimmon tree;
her clothes -- pants, blouse, and vest -- were plain, tough
traveler's garb. Ants scurried up and down her right arm.

A fist-sized blob of air blurred and hummed
before Mallara's nose. "Back from the dance yet, Mistress?" asked
Burn.

Mallara sat up. The sun was bright, the air
hot, and Vo Sinte was a thousand-day march to the east. "I'm awake,
Burn," said Mallara, brushing ants and twigs off her arms. "Start
talking."