Balnachandra's heart pounded a tabla-drum's rhythm. He nervously glanced at the basket resting on the table and considered what he was about to do. Balnachandra smoothed his night-black hair and mustache. Magic had kept his flesh strong and smooth for several lifetimes. He rhythmically filled his lungs with the palace's sandalwood-scented air. Balnachandra straightened the golden pendant that marked him as the eventual successor of Jaram the Unaging, Wizard-rajah of Tellimcherny. The familiar feel of the pendant's smooth curves, cast in a naga's serpentine likeness, helped firm Balnachandra's resolve. Many incarnations of accumulated karma would determine his fate—and Tellimcherny's. Balnachandra strode through the moonstone-beaded curtain separating his ready-chamber from Jaram's court.

The claw-like hands of Jaram, skin the color of cherry amber, clung to the Wizard-rajah's carved throne. No garment save a cloud leopard's skin covered Jaram's nakedness. Balnachandra met his master's gaze, then turned away. Jaram's magic might protect the Wizard-Rajah from age, as Balnachandra's guarded him. But Balnachandra's seventy years of service had seen the Wizard-Rajah—sitting in blazing sun beneath the high arched windows, while the provincial envoys crouched in shadow—grow progressively less human.

Balnachandra eyed the waiting representatives of the provinces. Only those that, in this once-per-generation ceremony, relieved Jaram's boredom obtained respite from the demands for tribute. The bejeweled northern envoys had no advantage over those from the distant south, whose cotton trousers and wide sashes barely distinguished them from beggars.

"Let the audience begin," Jaram croaked, his resemblance to a vulture making Balnachandra inwardly shudder.

Balnachandra turned to the waiting ambassadors. "The emissary of Mumbarna will come forward," Balnachandra intoned, voice resonant with power.

A turbaned envoy with braided beard approached. He carried a strange bronze sphere, with right-angled tubes at either end, set on an axis. Balnachandra halted the envoy. Balnachandra's magic invisibly poured forth. Sweat beaded on the envoy's forehead. Balnachandra's grim expression relaxed. His magic had established that the envoy did not intend to assassinate the ruler. Although Jaram was unaging, the Wizard-rajah could still die.

The envoy sat his device before the throne. The sphere sloshed, indicating that some liquid filled it. The envoy placed a few sprigs of dry wood of the neem tree beneath the cylinder and produced a quartz lens. "Behold the wonder that Mumbarna has produced for Your Greatness," the envoy intoned. He focused the sun through the lens. Soon, orange flames blossomed. The liquid within boiled, and steam shot from the projecting tubes. The sphere spun, first slowly and then faster.

Balnachandra thought that Mumbarna's sages were quite clever to move metal without touching it. No wizard could do that, for magic—that could float a man in the air or break bones without touching—could influence neither inanimate object nor brute beast. But would the device pique Jaram's centuries-jaded interest? Jaram shifted his position, indicating that he had made his decision. Balnachandra, despite his long service, could not anticipate his master's judgment. "An annual tribute of thirty score measures of mica, half that number of living four-horned antelopes, and forty-eight cloud leopard skins will be demanded," Jaram declared. "Twelve measures of gold, half that of silver."

The face of Mumbarna's envoy fell. He had hoped his clever toy would spare his province. It would not.

"The emissary of the Tamnad will come forward," Balnachandra intoned, moving the ceremony ahead.

A bare-chested southerner with polished ebony skin marred by a puckered scar approached. He carried a smoke-hued crystal, carved in a naga's half-serpent, half-human form. "I am called Sri Shanti," the envoy whined. "I bring Your Greatness a wondrous treasure," he continued, waving the crystal. Sri Shanti knelt and crept toward Jaram.

Balnachandra sighed. He needed no magic to know what had happened; he had experienced this many times. Some village holy man, a sadhu who had renounced the world seeking divine favor, had convinced a province's petty ruler that some trinket could negate magic. Well, the sadhus were wrong.

Balnachandra had no choice about what he must do next. He raised his hand and vibrated a word of power. Sri Shanti screamed. The crystal fell to the teakwood floor and shattered. Sri Shanti struggled for a dozen heartbeats. Then his will crumbled. Sri Shanti's trembling hand pulled a poisonous daboia viper from his belt, lethal jaws bound with a knot that a quick gesture could undo. The serpent, magic-immune like all mindless beasts, writhed in his grasp.

"You thought to slay me with that?" Jaram snarled. The magic-bounded Sri Shanti did not respond. "Do your duty," Jaram ordered Balnachandra.

Balnachandra nodded. He pulled a curve-bladed, nephrite-handled khanjar dagger from his belt. He shot Sri Shanti a withering glare and uttered some words of minor magic. Sri Shanti dropped the serpent. Balnachandra bent over. "I take no pleasure in this," he whispered. With a quick blade-flash, he beheaded the viper, causing as little pain as possible. Balnachandra dropped the dagger, then glanced at Jaram. Would Jaram perform the deed, or would the master order Balnachandra to act?

Jaram rose. Magic roared from his lipless mouth, encompassing the cowering Sri Shanti. Sri Shanti's eyes went wide. He flung back his head and lifted the dagger. With a slow, deliberate motion, the magic-bound Sri Shanti opened his throat. His body twitched, spurting blood. Then Sri Shanti lay still. Jaram rose. "Make the province of Tamnad weep for its treachery," he ordered Balnachandra.

Balnachandra bowed, regretting the suffering he must order. The wise man that taught him sammohan, the art of planting thoughts in other's minds, had come from the province of Tamnad. Balnachandra shook his head. Provinces bore karma's weight no less than men. Tamnad had earned its fate.

"The audience has ended," Jaram roared. "All remaining provinces owe twice the usual tribute." Moving with a slow and reptilian gait, he strode from the audience chamber.

"Be gone," Balnachandra ordered the remaining emissaries. "Consider yourself fortunate that the Wizard-rajah did not slaughter you all." He turned and disappeared back into his own chamber.

Balnachandra removed the blanket from the basket that rested there. Within lay an infant, pale skinned with hair like new-sprouted wheat. Balnachandra pursed his lips. Only the boy had survived a foreign spice-trading ship's wreck off the island of Wandoor, a place outside the Wizard-rajah's control. No foreigner would suspect that the child still lived, or come to look for him.

"I shall call you Ignorance," Balnachandra told the child, "for in Ignorance shall half your life pass." A smile crossed Balnachandra's face. "And your ignorance will make me Wizard-Rajah of Tellimcherny."

~*~

"Ignorance! You have been playing in the streets again!" Balnachandra snapped. "And your foot is hurt!"
Ignorance's striped orange cat, Afzal, chose that instant to leap for the wicker-caged chicken that Balnachandra had brought to Ignorance's chamber. The chicken squawked. Balnachandra sat down the cage and clapped his hands. The startled cat darted away. The chicken's raucous calls continued, increasing Balnachandra's irritation.

"But Ved, the sadhu who begs on the corner, has offered to teach me sammohan," Ignorance blurted, eyes blazing with enthusiasm. Ignorance limped about the room, protecting his injured foot. "Ved says that I can learn to hide ideas in people's heads, using only soft words."

Balnachandra clamped his lips together. Might Ved's meddling jeopardize Balnachandra's plan? He considered exiling the old man, but dismissed the thought. Mistreating a sadhu, like old Ved, could generate a heavy karmic debt for his next incarnation. Besides, although Ignorance's sun-darkened skin made him look civilized, he remained a benighted outlander. Ignorance could never learn sammohan's subtleties. Still, it was best to be safe. Balnachandra furrowed his brow. "You will stay away from old Ved. Do you understand?"

Ignorance hung his head. "I am sorry, father." Ignorance had known no father but Balnachandra, so the name came easily to his lips.

"Now," Balnachandra muttered, [expression turning sunnier,] "let me see your foot." Ignorance propped his foot on a three-legged stool. A briar had admitted disease spirits, turning his skin the color of a ripe mango. Balnachandra removed the briar, then muttered some minor words of healing magic. Within a few heartbeats, the redness faded. The boy put his weight on his foot. He smiled at the absence of pain. "We will now continue your education," Balnachandra said.

Balnachandra put his hands together. As soon as Ignorance had learned to talk, Balnachandra's sammohan had divided the boy's mind. While one portion woke, the other slept; what one mind knew, the other did not. "Son of the eastern seas," Balnachandra intoned the phrase that switched between minds.

At those words, Ignorance stood straighter. His eyes glazed as the other personality took command.

"Ignorance," Balnachandra commanded, "tell me of magic."

A cold laugh burst from Ignorance's lips. "No such thing exists."

Balnachandra nodded. With elaborate gestures, he released the chicken from its cage. He placed a sliver of ashwaganha root in the chicken's beak. Soon, the chicken grew quiet from the sedative herb. "Watch closely," Balnachandra ordered. He grasped the chicken's neck. He pulled, then displayed a severed chicken head. With an elaborate gesture, he replaced the head. He shook the bird. The chicken clucked softly, alive and moving. "Is this not magic?" Balnachandra asked.

Ignorance shook his head. "Your sleeve concealed a false head. You feigned beheading the chicken, while hiding the real head. You displayed the imitation head, and then, pretending to re-attach it, shook the bird from its ashwaganha slumber."

Balnachandra laughed in pleasure. He returned the animal to the cage and displayed the false head. "Remember, Ignorance, no matter what you think you see, all magic is trickery. Is that clear?"

Ignorance took a step backwards. "You think me a credulous fool?"

"I think you a boy growing in wisdom," Balnachandra answered. To reassure himself, he summoned a wave of invisible magic, strong enough to send a strong man to the floor in agonizing pain.

Ignorance blinked. "Did you do something?" he asked. "I felt a tickle."

Balnachandra nodded. Ignorance could feel magic's power but, when the appropriate mind controlled the boy, that power had no effect. He crooned, "Son of the eastern seas," awakening Ignorance's other self.

Ignorance slumped. His eyes lit on the false chicken head "Father, what is this object? A toy for Afzal?"

A hard smile crossed Balnachandra's lips. His plan had progressed well. Eventually, it would end Jaram's tyranny. "Yes, for the cat," he said. He turned and stalked out, leaving Ignorance behind.

~*~

The street-crowd parted before Balnachandra, his garb's crimson gems resplendent in the sun. Balnachandra, preparing for today's ceremony, had scarcely had time for Ignorance for the last four moons. Still, was that a reason for Ignorance to go wandering Tellimcherny's teeming streets like a beggar?

Balnachandra spotted the boy—now a young man—and swore an angry oath. Ignorance sat at Ved's filthy feet, listening to the old man's wonder-tales. The street's grime sullied the elaborate Cathayan robes that Balnachandra had given Ignorance to wear today. One might attribute dirty clothes to a long journey. But what if the old sadhu's claptrap had polluted Ignorance's mind?

Balnachandra hesitated. Should he proceed? Ignorance, subject to age and disease, would be worn and weary by the next ceremony, twenty years hence. Balnachandra could not begin again with another boy—his own land's children had magic in their blood, and when would he find another foreign child? If Balnachandra did not act today, his next chance might be centuries away. While he waited, Tellimcherny groaned beneath Jaram's rule.

Balnachandra bit his lip. The good he would do was worth the risk. "Ignorance!" Balnachandra roared, filling his voice with authority. "Come with me! Now!"

Ignorance rose and cast Ved a regretful glance. The old sadhu chuckled, as though at some secret joke. Balnachandra set his jaw and gestured for Ignorance to follow. Balnachandra turned back toward the palace.

The journey to the palace blurred in Balnachandra's mind. Before he knew it, he stood in Jaram's court. He eyed the provincial envoys. Like their predecessors twenty years earlier, the northerners wore ostentatious finery and the southerners resembled paupers. One of the southerners bore a ragged scar down his chest. Another was missing part of an ear. Balnachandra smiled. Those infirmities would provide the first proof that he, alone of all Wizard-rajahs, would rule with benevolence.

For a few heartbeats, thoughts of what he was about to attempt weighed down on Balnachandra. He breathed deeply and regularly, casting fear from his being.

"Let the audience begin," Jaram croaked, yellow eyes glittering in anticipation.

"The emissary of Mumbarna will come forward," Balnachandra intoned. One after another, envoys approached the throne. Some brought toys that pleased Jaram, lightening their provinces' burdens. Some displeased the Wizard-Rajah, bringing their people an even heavier affliction. Finally, all ambassadors, save one, had come forth.

"Another province has come under Your Greatness' benevolent rule," Balnachandra declared. A murmur ran through the ambassadors. Why had none of them heard?

Jaram nodded in approval. "Let that province's representative approach," the Wizard-rajah declared.

"The emissary of Wandoor will come forward," Balnachandra intoned, calling on Ignorance to play his assigned role. Ignorance, wrapped in Cathayan robes, strode toward the throne.

Doubt flickered in Jaram's face, as if he had noticed the lack of fear in Ignorance's eyes. "This man does not look like a Wandooran," the Wizard-rajah snarled. Balnachandra grimaced. Few civilized people had ever seen a Wandooran. But Balnachandra's scheme had begun, and karma alone would decide the outcome.

Balnachandra stood tall. The moment he had spent twenty years preparing for had arrived. "Your Greatness," Balnachandra said, "I assure you that this man is Wandoor's representative. I assure you that this is a…." Balnachandra turned, gaze fixing Ignorance. "… son of the eastern seas."

Ignorance's posture shifted. Balnachandra smiled. Ignorance's other self had awakened.

"I shall prove him your most loyal servant," Balnachandra told Jaram. Balnachandra turned toward Ignorance. He summoned his most powerful magic—invisible or not, Jaram would know if he did anything else. Magic swept ineffectually over Ignorance.

Jaram relaxed. "What do you bring?" he asked.

Ignorance bowed and cast Balnachandra a sideways glance. "I bring what my father instructed." Ignorance's hand disappeared into his flowing Cathayan robes. It emerged carrying a khanjar dagger, iron blade murderously sharp.

"I have many daggers," Jaram asked. His voice showed no nervousness. Why should it? Magic had proved that this emissary intended no harm. "What makes this one special?"

"This dagger can grant a despot a new incarnation," Ignorance replied. A gasp arose from the emissaries. Ignorance shot forward with cobra speed. Jaram rose and released a blast of magic that would have felled a regiment. It passed over Ignorance as wind over stone. Ignorance reached the Wizard-rajah. "As my father demands," Ignorance said, voice devoid of emotion. The khanjar descended. Jaram's frame split from sternum to crotch. Instead of blood, a black, tarry substance oozed out. Jaram tried to speak, but only emitted a harsh hiss. Then Jaram fell from his throne, and moved no more.

Something that felt like distant thunder's vibrations passed from Jaram to Balnachandra. Magic throbbed about Balnachandra's frame as power flowed from his former master. "Balnachandra, Wizard-rajah of Tellimcherny," he gasped. He would be the first Wizard-rajah to rule like a loving father rules a family, and not like a tiger rules the jungle.

But before that could happen, a sorrowful duty remained. As had the previous Wizard-rajahs, Balnachandra must avenge his predecessor, no matter how distasteful that task.

Sages taught that magic affected only humans—but a trip to the province of Tamnad had taught Balnachandra otherwise. Tamnad's man-serpent nagas, like true men, bowed before wizardry. And what separated nagas and men from other creatures? Why, the ability to believe. That was key—only belief allowed magic to defy the natural order. One who, despite all evidence, scoffed at wizardry was as magic-immune as an unthinking stone. And the Ignorance that the key phrase woke was Tellimcherny's only disbeliever. Years of revealed conjurors' tricks had fixed that skepticism iron-solid in one of Ignorance's two minds—the other was another story.

Best to restore Ignorance's belief, and then grant a quick and painless death. "Son of the eastern seas," Balnachandra cried. Balnachandra closed his eyes. He summoned a wave of magic that would still many beating hearts. Then he opened his eyes.

Ignorance stood before him, khanjar still dripping with Jaram's black blood. "Sadhu Ved finished teaching me sammohan several moon-cycles ago," Ignorance said. "I learned enough to understand what you had done to me, and to prevent you from further toying with my mind. You were too busy to notice." Balnachandra shook his head in disbelief. If Ignorance noticed, he gave no response. "I do not fear your sham 'magic'," Ignorance continued.

"Magic is no sham," Balnachandra whispered. Although part of Ignorance's mind disbelieved, the rest had seen proof of magic's power many times over. Perhaps he could reach that part.

Ignorance snarled. He motioned toward the provincial envoys. "They might credit your deceptions. I know better."

Panic filled Balnachandra. Tellimcherny's future depended on him. He produced another wave of unsuccessful magic. Could sammohan save him? Balnachandra flexed his fingers in a rhythmic pattern.

"As Ved taught, sammohan only works on those who do not resist." Ignorance strode toward Balnachandra, khanjar in hand.

Balnachandra could not call on guards. Jaram had long ago had the watch killed, trusting in wizardry and fearing that guards might revolt. "Protect me," Balnachandra demanded of the emissaries. No one moved, waiting for the new Wizard-rajah to, as required, avenge his predecessor.

Balnachandra turned back to Ignorance. Ignorance's knife glistened before his eyes. "You would kill your father?" Balnachandra quivered.

"The father who raised me as nothing more than a tool for his ambitions?" Ignorance snarled.

"The only father you ever knew," Balnachandra answered.

Ignorance stood still a moment. Then he spat on the floor and slipped the dagger back into the robe. He turned and strode away. As he exited, he turned to Balnachandra. "Do not attempt to stop me. Do not have me followed." Then he was gone.

Balnachandra stood in silence for several heartbeats. A murmur arose from the provincial delegates. He could read in their eyes a thousand years of resentment ... for Jaram, for Jaram's predecessor Narayna, and of Narayna's forerunner Devilal, the first Wizard-rajah.

Well, Balnachandra would show the provinces that—Wizard-rajah would be different. Even if he had violated tradition by not slaying his predecessor's killer, Balnachandra would be the greatest Wizard-rajah of all time.

Balnachandra fixed his eye on the scarred emissary. He summoned a wave of curative magic, enough to heal the scar before more than a dozen heartbeats passed.

Nothing happened.

Balnachandra summoned stronger magic, enough to restore the chunk of missing ear, enough to grow back a severed limb. Nothing happened.

Cold sweat beaded on Balnachandra. Why had his magic failed? The envoys could not question magic's reality. Any sliver of belief made one subject to wizardry, and credence, once built, could never crumble so far as to restore immunity.

A horrifying thought struck Balnachandra. Maybe only utter disbelief could render one magic-immune. But how strong a belief did making magic require? He knew that magic worked. But still, his failure with Ignorance had placed a shard of uncertainty in his mind. He could feel it, like a tiny pebble in his shoe. Could that doubt-mote undermine his wizardry?

Balnachandra turned to the provincial emissaries. He could not think with them staring at him, and he needed to ponder what had happened. "You are dismissed," he ordered. The emissaries filed out as ordered, their sullen faces sending a chill down Balnachandra's spine.

Memories were long, and the Wizard-rajahs had inflicted much on the provinces.

How long before Mumbarna or Tamnad or some other province, expecting Balnachandra to rule like his predecessors, sent an assassin? Without magic, how could Balnachandra protect himself?

Balnachandra took the Wizard-rajah's throne. His failure to notice that Ignorance had learned sammohan was the fruit of many incarnations of accumulated karma. Whatever befell him now was also the fruit of accumulated karma. Breathing rhythmically, Balnachandra waited for that fruit to fall.