Elephant Song

TWENTY-TWO

It was at night at the peak of the Snake Mountain Gap. Tarzaka the fortune teller prepared her fire and set out her cobit cakes. She sat alone watching the flames from her fire fight back the gap's dark, when a stranger wearing the bullhand's gray and maroon paused by her fire. His hair was black and his frame was gaunt. Hell was in his eyes. She motioned toward her fire. "Come and join me, bullhand. It is a lonely road we travel."

The man studied her for an instant, then shook his head. He turned and continued down the road.

Tarzaka held up her hand. "Wait."

He looked at her. "What do you want?"

She shrugged. "What do you want?"

He almost smiled. "To be alone."

"It is a strange person who wishes to be alone at night in the Snake Mountain Gap. It is said that many ghosts walk these walls." She pointed toward him. "One who wears the bullhand's stripes should know these things."

He laughed. It was a laugh of pain, not humor. He faced away from the fire, toward the night-blackened chasm. He raised a fist. "Damn ghosts! Damn you, ghosts! If you have any power, come to me and use it!"

Tarzaka gasped. "Don't!"

The stranger turned toward her, his face displaying none of the humor of his voice. "You fear ghosts, fortune teller?"

Tarzaka shrugged. "Who does not? Does it pay to tempt fate?"

The bullhand laughed. Still the laugh was a cry of pain. He stopped laughing and pointed at her. "Fate does not kiss the hand of those who pay homage to it, fortune teller. It is just there."

Tarzaka trembled at the bullhand's words. "These are hard things you say. What is your name?"

The bullhand studied the fortune teller for a long time. Then he tossed his wrap of belongings next to the fire. "My name... my name is No One. That is my name." He moved to the fire and squatted next to it. His eyes studied the woman in blue. "Your name, fortune teller?"

She wet her lips. "I am called Tarzaka." She studied the bullhand for a few moments. "Your name is a strange one."

He pulled cobit dough from his wrap and placed it by the fire. When he had finished, he looked at the fortune teller. "No One is my name." He again gave a humorless grin. "Would you share my cobit in exchange for a fortune, Tarzaka?"

She studied the bullhand. "You, No One, do not believe in fortunes."

"I thought it might be amusing." He shook his head. "I believe in them, Tarzaka; I do not believe in yours."

Her eyebrows raised. "And why not?"

"You play games with cards, balls, and wishes, Tarzaka. You do not tell fortunes."

"And did Momus himself whisper this in your ear?"

"I need no advice from myths." The bullhand drew back the left side of his mouth into a half-smile. "Instead, Tarzaka, why don't I tell you your fortune?"

The fortune teller laughed. "There would be no more point in doing so than if I asked you to watch me handle bulls."

The person called No One laughed, stood, and walked to the wall of the road cut. As he scraped mud from the rocks, he called back to the fortune teller. "Then my fortune has no value, Tarzaka." He returned to the fire, packing and shaping the mud with his hands. "And a fortune that has no value, you may have for nothing."

Tarzaka snorted. "Perhaps you should pay me."

No One sat cross-legged across the fire from the fortune teller and placed a ball of mud upon one of the fire's rocks. After he had done so, he motioned with a muddy hand toward his cooking cobit. "I think you might find a bullhand's predictions amusing, but of course you are right. Take your price."

The fortune teller leaned forward, picked up the hot cobit bread, broke it in half, and returned one half to the rock. She felt the other half with her fingers. "It is done. You should take yours before it burns." She looked at No One. The light from the fire danced upon his face, showing it to be painted with stripes of mud. She swallowed. "Your bread, No One. It burns."

No One grinned. "When the spirits are upon me, Tarzaka, I may only eat cinders." He closed his eyes and spoke as he passed his hands over the mudball. "Hugga Bugga, Mumbo Jumbo, and Razzamatazz, come to me that I might see what is to be—"

Tarzaka spat a mouthful of cobit into the fire: "You make free with the friendship of the fire, bullhand! I will not sit still and hear you ridicule my profession!"

No One bowed his head. "I meant no disrespect, Tarzaka. Take the rest of the cobit as my apology."

She took the remaining bread and pointed it at the mudball. "What is the purpose of that?"

"It my crystal ball; my door to the future." The fortune teller opened her mouth to speak. No One held up his muddy palms. "Wait!" His eyes looked up, toward the dark. "I see them. Yes! Now I see them!" He lowered his glance and looked at the fortune teller. "Your name is Tarzaka."

The fortune teller shook her head. "I told you that."

"True. True." He closed his eyes. "And... you come from Tarzak."

She snorted. "You are being foolish!"

No One smiled. "Did I speak truly?"

"That is my name!"

He nodded. "Ah, yes. I see. Please excuse my pitiful performance. I will try to do better." He studied the fortune teller for a long moment. "And there in Tarzak you studied under Shirly Smith, the Great Madam Zelda."

Tarzaka sighed. "Since the Great Zelda was the only fortune teller with the Old Show—"

"I know. I know." Again No One smiled. "The apologies I owe you mount so high I may never be able to repay them."

Tarzaka stretched out by the fire, leaned an elbow against the ground, and propped her head upon her open palm. "You are becoming quite tiresome, No One."

His shoulders slumped in exaggerated despair as his hands fell into his lap. "Ah, me." He cocked his head to one side, and smiled. "And there in Tarzak you live in secret with a roustabout named—"

Tarzaka sat bolt upright. "It is a lie! How—"

"It is no lie, Tarzaka." No One stared at his mudball. "And his name is Ahngarus. He is quite handsome, isn't he? Tall, strong, tanned skin, black hair and gleaming teeth. And his arms. So strong. And his body..."

The fortune teller looked at the mudball, then back at No One. "You cannot know this."

No One smiled. "Your parents would have you marry Vidar the cashier from Sina. He is wealthy; a good catch. But in the secret of the night you and Ahngarus slip away—"

"Enough!" The fortune teller's wonder turned to anger as she placed her palms to her burning face. "You are quite a trickster, No One. But gossip is not fortune telling."

No One grinned. "I see that I fail again. Shall I tell you how he kisses you, or—"

"I am tired of this, No One!"

The bullhand studied the fortune teller. "In your mind you call yourself sham. The lines on hands you know to be nothing more than wrinkles; your cards nothing but paper; your crystal nothing but polished quartz to focus a point of light to keep your customer's mind off of your knees rattling the table."

She stared at him. In her eyes the hate of being discovered was burning.

"But when you were a little girl, the Great Zelda told you many times that bunking the rubes is the entire art of fortune telling. You, of course, remember your first time with a customer. You held his attention while Zelda went through the man's belongings, signaling to you the things that were there."

Tarzaka's color drained from her face. "How many coppers did my fortune bring?"

No One shook his head. "No coppers. He paid you in tungberries. As your master Zelda took half. You exchanged your berries for coppers in the Tarzak market that afternoon. In exchange for the berries, you were paid twenty-one Movills. The Great Zelda ate her berries." No One stared into the fortune teller's eyes. "Is my performance improving, Tarzaka?" He did not wait for an answer. "No? Then let me try again. When you were fourteen, traveling with your father down the Slowdown Cliff Cut, you fell from your horse and were injured. Ever since you have had sharp pains in your belly. You are here tonight because you are returning south from Dirak where you had heard that a healer..."

Tarzaka stood, her eyes wide. She slowly backed away from No One.

He raised his brows. "Am I not improving?"

"You are a devil!"

He held out his hands. "I see that I am not improving." He reached out and picked up the mudball. "Poor Tarzaka." He looked up at her. "There was nothing the healer could do, was there?" He looked back at the mudball. "There is a future for you in my crystal ball, Tarzaka. Do you wish to hear it?"

"A future?" Her voice was rough; her back was against the rock wall of the roadcut.

No One looked back at his mudball. "Of course a good future will take the surprise and wonder out of your life; a bad one will hang a pall of doom over whatever breaths remain to you." He looked up at her. "Shall I tell you your future, fortune teller?"

She turned and ran from the fire, into the darkness of the road toward Miira. She heard No One scream at her back. "Do not stop, fortune teller! The ghosts of Snake Mountain are at your back! Run! Run! Run!"

At the fire, No One looked into the dark, then down at the mudball in his hand. He flung the ball against the rocks and watched it splatter. He sat next to the fire, wrapped his arms around his knees, rested his forehead against his arms, and wept.

The dawnlight had tinted the sky above his head, but it would be almost noon before the rays of sunlight would creep down the eastern wall, warming the bottom of Snake Mountain Gap. No One's head rose from his arms, and he looked at the slit of sky above the gap. Dark clouds were building to the north. He looked at the clouds, finding in them a sense of identity—a reflection of his soul. He looked down at the black wall of the gap opposite the fire. "There, too, is a reflection of my soul!"

He spat into the fire and turned his head to pick up some wood for the dying fire. He saw the fortune teller's pack. Next to the pack was a sling-mounted jug of sapwine. He picked up a few pieces of wood, tossed them on the fire, then reached out his right hand and pulled the jug by its sling until it was next to his leg. He spoke to the jug.

"Shall I now become thief as well as exile?" He placed the jug between his knees and pulled the wooden stopper. Lifting the jug, he placed the opening in the neck to his lips and drank deeply. He lowered the container to the ground. "No." He shook his head. "The exile is Johnjay. And he... is dead. I am No One." He took another drink. "And Tarzaka did not give me fair exchange for my performance."

He stood, holding the jug up by its neck, then he shouted at the opposite wall of the gap. "No One is a thief!" He drank again, and giggled. "And if No One is a thief, then no one can be held accountable."

He laughed at his joke as thunder from the north rumbled through the gap. "Bang! Boom! Bang!" He sang with the thunder, laughed, and drank again. As he lowered the jug from his lips, he walked to the edge of the road and looked down the chasm at the water far below. He felt splatters of rain on the back of his neck and he looked up at the sky. The drops fell on his face, then the deluge began. His eyes closed, and he stood there feeling the chill wetness reaching his skin. The full impact of the wine reached his head. He held out his arms and began to sway to the sounds of the rain, his feet dancing slowly in the mud of the roadbed. "No One is a thief; No One is a thief."

A flash of lightning followed immediately by a crash of thunder made him shy from the edge of the chasm. Suddenly he felt very cold. He looked back at the still-burning fire. Far above it a rocky overhang protected the place below. He took another swallow from the jug, then weaved his way to the dry place. The fire was hot and he tried to dry his gray and maroon striped robe by rotating in front of the flames. On one of his turns, he paused to drink again. As he lowered the jug, he saw the fortune teller's pack. He staggered next to it, squatted, and placed the jug at his side. He studied the pack for a moment, then laughed. "No One's thievery knows no limits."

He reached, undid the pack's ties, and opened the flap. At the top were folds of heavy blue cloth. He pulled it from the pack. It was a fortune teller's robe. And it was dry. "And why not? Am I not a great teller of fortunes?"

He pulled his own robe over his head, and dropped it to the ground. Stooping over, he picked up the dry robe and put it on. He stood by the fire until the chill left his bones, then he picked up his own robe, wrung it out, then began drying it by waving it over the fire.

"Ah, yes, here is No One: bullhand, fortune teller, and laundry man." He laughed, picked up the jug, and took another swallow. He lowered the jug and looked into the flames. "Thief. Exile." He heard the splashes of approaching footsteps. He looked not toward the sound, but continued drying his robe. "I see you have returned, Tarzaka."

The splashing stopped. He turned and looked into the rain.

Tarzaka's trembling voice spoke out of the deluge. "How do you know these things, No One? You cannot see me."

He shrugged and turned back to the fire. "I am a great teller of fortunes."

She walked out of the rain, pushing the hood back from her face. She studied him for a moment, then squatted by the fire, still looking at his face. "You are wearing my robe, bullhand."

He laughed. "It's a dirty job, Tarzaka, but someone must do it." He laughed again as he took his steaming robe from the fire and felt it with his fingers. He looked down at Tarzaka then felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. "I... I apologize. I will return your robe at once."

Tarzaka shook her head. "No."

"No?"

She pushed herself to her feet, walked over to her pack, and squatted down again. From the pack she pulled a red blouse, black skirt, and multi-colored shawl. "This is my performing costume." She whirled her hand at him. "Turn around."

He turned his back to her and hung his head as he remembered the severely depleted jug of sapwine. "How can I repay you, Tarzaka? I meant no—"

"To begin, Johnjay, you can keep still."

His flush deepened as he listened to the fortune teller change. "How do you know my name?"

"Last night I fled toward Miira. On the road I met the Great Goofy Joe and his two apprentice newstellers fresh from Miira. It will not be long before your deed is known all over the face of Momus." She paused. "You may turn back now."

He turned and saw her dressed in her costume. She was bent over, squeezing what water she could from her long black hair. She stood and looked at him. "You are the son of Little Will."

He stared at her for a moment, then looked back at the fire. "If I am?"

"Then you know things that I do not. Things that I want to know."

"I am No One. You may call me No One." He squatted next to the flames. "Since you know who I am, why do you associate with me?"

She squatted across the fire from him. "I want you to teach me to read minds and to see the future."

Johnjay laughed. "Tarzaka, you are older than I am! You would make a strange apprentice."

The fortune teller's eyes narrowed. "I still want you to teach me."

He sat on the ground, picked up the sapwine jug, and took another deep swallow. The jug lowered to his lap, he raised his eyebrows. "What if I cannot teach you? It is said that those who can speak to minds are born with this ability. I do not know if it can be learned."

"You must try. That is my price for the robe and the wine."

Johnjay tried to push himself to his feet, but fell back upon the ground. He looked at Tarzaka. "Anything else?"

Her face went pale. "I want... I want to know what fortune you saw for me in your mudball."

Johnjay stretched out on the ground and laughed until the wine darkened his mind and put his demons to sleep.

Before it happened, Johnjay saw what was to be. The bulls curling their trunks under, the wild-eyed charge, May crushed—

"May!" He stood at the kraal fence watching his sister put the finishing touches on a drawing. He leaped from the fence and ran toward her. "May!" She turned and looked at him.

Was it the vibration of the soil? Gonzo reared her head, then curled under her trunk. The others followed, ponderous legs thundering against the ground, tusks scything at the grass...

His right sandal caught on a half-buried root, sending him sprawling on his face. "May!"

She disappeared in a cloud of dust, her brief scream cut short. Without thinking, Johnjay's mind attacked the bulls with images of legendary Earth beasts: lions, tigers, panthers, leopards. The images panicked the bulls away from May's broken body. The bulls trumpeted and ran around the fence as Johnjay looked down at his sister. He covered his face and sank to his knees. "Oh, oh. She... she hasn't any head!"

He lowered his hands, and looked at the bulls. They were quieting down. The sky and landscape turned red before his eyes as he sent the images of big cats once more against the bulls. The elephants screamed, fled this way and that, each time seeing the path filled with slathering, fanged fury. But there was one path open, and they took it. They came to the cliff. But to them it was a stretch of open grass.

Five plunged over the edge before Little Will's thoughts caused him to black out—

"No One. Wake up." He felt a hand roughly shaking his shoulder. "Wake up."

He opened his eyes and saw Tarzaka's frowning face framed by the ornate edges of her shawl. "What?" He looked at the opposite wall of the cut and saw the sunlight upon it. "Afternoon, the rain's stopped." He looked back at the fortune teller, then sat up, rubbing his temples. "Why did you wake me?"

Tarzaka pointed down the road toward Miira. "Listen."

He listened. Footsteps. Voices. He pushed himself to his feet. "Who is it?" He looked at the fortune teller. "Who is it?"

She gathered her things and stuffed them into her pack. "Goofy Joe, his apprentices, and those who travel with them." She shook the sapwine jug, glared at No One, then tossed the jug aside. She stood and pointed at a bundle she had made out of the gray and maroon bullhand's robe. "Your things are there. Come. We must leave."

"Leave?" He frowned at the fortune teller. "Why should I leave, Tarzaka?" He pointed at his chest. "I have as much right to the road as anyone."

She looked down for a moment, then elevated her gaze until her dark eyes fixed him with a hateful look. "Do you want to hear the news from Miira, bull killer? Goofy Joe was with the old show. Do you really want to hear what he has to say?"

He looked down the road toward Miira, his stomach heaving. Far down the road, from around a turn, walked a figure wearing the clown's orange. Then came two in newsletter's black supporting a third in similar garb. "What will he say?"

Her eyebrows went up. "Is that future blind to you? Can you not see that future, bull killer?"

He stared at the figures on the road for a moment, then turned, picked up his bundle, and began walking rapidly down the road toward Dirak. Tarzaka shouldered her pack and followed.