He shrugged. "I suppose. I haven't done it since May... since my sister and I were children. The feeling is unpleasant."
Tarzaka stared at No One. "Unpleasant," she repeated. She spat into the fire. "What a waste, you are, No One! What a terrible waste you are!" She stood and turned to go to her sleeping place.
"Mind your tongue!"
She faced him. "What will you do, No One? What will you do, bull killer? Will you hurt me again? Is that all you can do with your wonderful gifts: kill bulls and hurt people?"
She stood next to the fire. "What I could do if I but had one of your gifts! What I could do!" She shook her fist at him. "For all the use you make of your gifts, it would have been no loss had that monster torn off your head!" She lowered her arm to her side, turned, went to her sleeping place, and stretched out in the highgrass, her back toward No One.
"It is good that you paint your face, No One. You are truly more clown than fortune teller."
No One glared at the fortune teller's back. A score of excuses rushed to his mouth, but he stopped them and looked down into the flames.
I will develop my powers, Tarzaka. A bull named Reg and I have a date.
He turned and faced the shadows, closing his eyes. It had been so long. Slowly the feelings of his body dropped away, one by one. Then he could again see the shadows. The mind alone is so lonely.
He let his mind drift upwards, above the light and shadows, above the trees, far, far above the swamp. He looked up at the sky.
Can I fly to those other worlds? Do I have the power? Up he went, faster and faster. The stars became very bright, their twinkle ceased, then the full light of the sun washed him. Still the stars remained visible. He looked down. The edge of the planet toward the sun was brightly lit. Beyond that edge, where the Great Muck should have been, was nothing but darkness. Lost! Lost! He began toppling down toward the darkness, a fall that he could not control. Down and down, a sickness called fear opened his mouth and forced out a child's scream of terror at the unknown.
No One opened his eyes to find himself back at the fire. He glanced at the fortune teller, but her back was still toward him. The scream, he guessed, had been in his mind. He stretched out and watched the flames until the sleep drifted over him.
"Johnjay. Johnjay. Can you hear me?" He floated in gray aether, the threads of the voice speaking at him, a breath against his mind. "Who... Mother?" "I've been searching for you, Johnjay. For so long—"
His gray turned to black. "You have nothing to say to me."
"Wait!" A ghostly white swirl ate at one edge of his blackness. "Johnjay, wait!"
"Is Reg dead?"
"... No."
"Call for me when Reg is dead. Until then, you have nothing to say to me." He began forcing the white swirl from his blackness.
"Johnjay, it's your father."
He paused. "What... what about him?"
"Johnjay, he's dead. He's—"
"Then you are alone, too." That which should have been grief glittered before him—a shining altar of hate. "Good."
"John—"
"Call me when Reg is dead, Mother. That's all I want to hear."
"Johnjay, I lo—"
"Call me when the bull is dead."
His eyes opened. He sat up and looked at the fire's smoking embers, then up at the few stars that had yet to be washed from the sky by the morning's light. He felt something touching the outlines of his thoughts. He placed a wall of coldness against the something, then looked down at the fortune teller. "Tarzaka." He shouted. "Tarzaka!"
She turned over and looked at No One. "What is it?"
He pushed himself to his feet. "Get ready. We are going now."
She looked at the sky, then back at No One. "Now?"
"Now!" He hefted his pack. "We have a lot of swamp to search. The sooner we start, the sooner we find Waco's eggs."
TWENTY-SIX
Little Will sat in Turtlehead's house as the shelled priest held up a paper. "This is the letter of which I spoke, Little Will. I think it may be a clue as to the location of Johnjay. But I cannot be certain."
"Please. Go ahead and read it."
Turtlehead's tiny red eyes scanned the paper as he spoke. "It is from my first apprentice, Noodlebrain.
" 'I am writing this to you from the town of Porse, enroute to Tarzak to learn spieling from Great Motor Mouth, as you instructed. To be frank, I hold little hope that the addition of patter will increase the fees priestly acts receive when performing. It is not that our acts cannot stand improvement. Instead, perhaps it is that the average Moman priest does not have enough grifter in his soul.
" 'For example, as I was returning from Miira to join the other apprentice priests from Arcadia at the Porse Cutoff, I made camp upon the road for the night. There I was joined by Trouble, an exiled magician from Dirak. He is on the road attempting to earn sufficent funds to replace those that he stole, causing his exile. Trouble did not look like he was a very interesting magician, but out of sympathy for his plight, I bought a performance from him for five movills. The trick he did was mildly interesting; however, in turn he purchased nothing from me! Instead he presumed to lecture me on the fundamentals of separating a fool from his coppers!
" 'Whilst this gratuitous palaver was being endured, two fortune tellers—named No One and Tarzaka—entered the camp and exchanged cobit. The one called No One was male and had his face curiously made up in clown white. Tarzaka appeared to be much older than No One; and she remained silent and cross during their entire stay in camp. Both of their robes were torn and soiled from the swamp.
" 'I inquired into No One's strange make up, and learned that his answer would beggar the Great Mootch Movill himself! He wanted a thousand coppers for his answer! My curiosity regarding No One's paint rapidly cooled.
" 'Trouble, the magician, then asked the fortune tellers if they wished to see some magic. Tarzaka shook her head, but No One agreed to a performance and requested the trick Trouble had just performed for me. I cannot imagine how No One could have known what trick I had just seen; but what angered me was that, had I waited, I could have witnessed the trick for nothing! At least, that was what I thought.
" 'When Trouble attempted the trick, however, it was almost as though unseen hands kept rearranging his cards. He tried the trick four times, each time failing. Tarzaka watched this sorry spectacle without once registering surprise. Exasperated, Trouble gave up and No One kept his coppers.' "
Little Will held out her hand. Turtlehead, let me read the rest for myself."
The priest paused for a moment, then handed her the paper. Little Will eagerly took the paper and began reading.
I asked No One if he would like me to recite history for him, explaining that I am becoming known for my "Epic of the City of Baraboo." He wanted to hear no lengthy recitations. But No One did offer me ten movills for the answers to three questions a Moman priest should be able to answer. However, to obtain the amount, or any part of the amount, I must be able to answer correctly all three questions. I agreed.
"You have recently returned from the town of Miira?"
I nodded. "Yes."
"Then, Noodlebrain, does Shiner Pete of the Miira Harnessmen still live?"
I smiled, for I had made the entry in the Miira Book myself. Since it was no longer news, but history, I could answer. "No. Shiner Pete was killed by a horse the 20th of last month." I sensed, rather than saw, an enigmatic emotion go through the fortune teller's body.