Trickster's Touch

by Zorha Greenhalgh

"What kind of inn do this be?" she muttered under her breath. Fasilla stepped back from the oak door and scanned the upper dormer windows.

  Fasilla frowned. Every window curtain was drawn shut. Odd, she thought.

  Putting her hands on her hips, Fasilla decided to just make a nuisance of herself until someone came out to shut her up. Cupping her hands to her lips, Fasilla yelled, "Aunt? Aunt, where are you? It do be your friend, Fasilla!"

  At the mention of the word "friend," the front door of the Inn of the Guest opened. Fasilla peered into the darkness of the building. Glancing over her shoulder at the last soft light from the setting sun behind her, Fasilla hesitated, chills creeping across the back of her neck.

  "If this werena' for me Yafatah, I wouldna' do this thing," she grumbled, and walked into the Mayanabi stronghold.

  Fasilla was met inside by a tall man with a beard and quiet brown eyes named Himayat. He was about forty-five, his temples graying. He wore a pair of brown glasses perched on his large nose. He smiled at Fasilla and welcomed her in her native tongue. From his physical appearance, she judged Himayat to be Asilliwir-born like herself.

  Relieved, Pasilla said, "Well, I do be pleased to meet you, Mr. Himayat. I was fierce scared that—well, never you mind Tis me own fears."

  Himayat chuckled, his brown eyes forgiving. "Be of good cheer. You're among Friends," added the Mayanabi, putting ever so slight an emphasis on

  "Friends."

  Fasilla took a deep breath. "Well, that be good news." She smiled raggedly.

  "I be looking for the Jinnjirri named Aunt. Do you know where I may find her?"

  Himayat's face sobered. He reached for Fasilla's hands. She gave them to him without knowing why she did so. Himayat's eyes grew wet with tears.

  "I am sorry." He paused. "Aunt died early this afternoon."

  Fasilla's face paled. "Died?" she said in a disbelieving voice. Tears sprang to her own eyes now and slipped down her cheeks. "Aunt is dead?" Sobs rose from deep inside her. Aunt had been Fasilla's closest and oldest friend.

  They had shared everything together. Fasilla's knees gave way and she slumped to the floor. Himayat put his arms around her and held her as she wept. After a few minutes, Fasilla coughed back her tears and said, "I came because Aunt told me something in me mind. Something important. It must've been just before she died," added Fasilla, her voice trailing off into a numb silence. Her mind felt empty with shock.

  "We will speak of it, Fasilla. But perhaps not right now? Maybe you would join us for a bite of supper. You may bathe first if you so desire. Our house is yours," he added, opening his arms to include the entirety of the Inn of the Guest.

  "But why?" asked Fasilla, her expression bewildered. "I doon't even know you."

  "You are Aunt's friend. That makes you our Friend."

  Fasilla swallowed. Hospitality as generous as this wasn't known to Fasilla outside her own Asilliwir clan. She closed her eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. Without introduction, she asked Himayat how Aunt had died.

  Himayat replied calmly, "Aunt was stung by a holovespa wasp. She had a lethal reaction to it. It happens sometimes. Even with people who have no previous history of allergies."

  Fasilla pressed her lips together. Not to Aunt, she thought stubbornly.

  Fasilla didn't know how she knew, but she was absolutely certain that Aunt had not died from a toxic reaction to a wasp. Something in the urgency of Aunt's last message made Fasilla feel suspicious—and angry. But why? she asked herself. I have noo reason to think this Himayat a liar. Then she thought, Maybe he didna' know Aunt as well as me. Fasilla nodded quietly to herself. Taking a deep breath, she got to her feet and asked where she could bathe. She would talk to these Mayanabi. She would find out everything they knew and didn't know about Aunt's death. Then maybe she would know why Aunt thought Yafatah was in danger.

  As it turned out, dinner was a preparation for Aunt's burial ceremony—Mayanabi style. The meal was celebrated in the same spirit as a wedding feast. Those cooking for it referred to the Presence as the Beloved and to Aunt as the lover who was now returning to the Beloved's house.

  This was a strange concept to Fasilla, but she held her tongue as she helped decorate cakes and other pastries.

  As evening wore on, out-of-town Mayanabi began to arrive in Window by the droves. It seemed that Aunt had been very well known and well loved by several generations of Mayanabi. Incredible, thought Fasilla, when one remembered Aunt was thirty-six years old at the time of her death.

  Special Dunnsung-born musicians gathered in the cozy eating hall of the Inn of the Guest. As they set up their lotaris and drums, Fasilla overheard the following conversation.

  "I came by way of the Feyborne, how about you?"

  "I'm wintering in Dunnsung. So I rode in from the south. Weather's chill on the peninsula. More chill than I've ever remembered it, Shruddi. Here, let me help you with that case."

  "Thanks," said the first musician, pulling out a ceramic drum with a floral design stained on the leather drumhead. "It was so weird," she added.

  "What was?"

  "What I saw—I mean, what I didn't see on the cliffs."

  "You're not making any sense. Start over."

  "You know the flower the winterbloom?"

  "Sure. They bloom in the dead of winter." He grinned. "When no flower in its right mind would do so."

  "That's right. That's their magic. Their message. Winterbloom flower when nothing else can. And this is their season. Winter." Shruddi paused, her voice slightly tense. "There wasn't a single winterbloom to be seen in the Feyborne."

  The lotari player shrugged. "There's been an awful lot of snow, Shruddi.

  Maybe the blooms were buried."

  She nodded. "That's what I thought. So I got off my horse and dug into the snow. I found the winterbloom. They were dead."

  The lotari player, who was also a Mayanabi Nomad, stiffened. "Dead?" He whistled low under his breath. "What kind of sign is that?"

  "I don't know," said Shruddi anxiously. "But I think we better have a council and discuss it. Nature doesn't act like this. Even during a Jinnaeon, it doesn't act like this. I'm worried."

  Fasilla stopped arranging the dried winter flowers on the table in front of her. She straightened. Now she was more than certain Aunt's death wasn't an accident. She could feel it in her draw and in the uneasy voices of the musicians.

  A few minutes later, Himayat called all the Mayanabi together. He indicated that Fasilla could sit in their circle. The food rested on tables behind the circle near a roaring fire. Fasilla sat in a kneeling position next to Himayat.

  Himayat took her left hand and the Dunnsung musician named Shruddi took her right. They closed their eyes. Fasilla kept hers open, feeling sad and out of place in this strange group. The Mayanabi began an invocation:

  "O Thou, Beloved Guest,

  Be Thou welcome in our midst.

  Enter every wounded heart,

  Lighten every earthly burden,

  For ours is not a caravan of sorrow

  But an abode of joy

  Where all meet at one table

  And give Thee thanks."

  When the invocation was finished, the Mayanabi No-mads sat in silence for a few moments, their bodies still, their breathing regular. Fasilla felt a deep sense of peace emanating from all those seated around her. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes. This was the same peace she had always felt around Aunt. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to keep back the pain of her loss in Aunt as a friend. Since the others held her hands, Fasilla could not wipe her face. Her tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

  Himayat opened his eyes. Seeing Fasilla's distress, he motioned for one of the Mayanabi near Fasilla to hand her a handkerchief. Feeling someone touch her arm, Fasilla opened her eyes, her expression startled. Seeing the handkerchief, she took it gratefully and blew her nose. As she did so, several Mayanabi left the room. Fasilla noted that all of them were wearing white. When this group of six returned, they carri
ed Aunt's body with them.

  Fasilla stiffened. She had not expected to see such disfiguration in Aunt's face from the swelling caused by the wasp venom. Fasilla blinked, mildly horrified.

  At that moment, Himayat leaned toward her and asked, "Would you like to take part in this?" He offered a slip of

  white paper with words written on it. Fasilla accepted the paper weakly, her face pale. "I'll tell you when to speak," he whispered.

  Fasilla nodded, feeling too shocked by the day's events to say anything.

  Himayat got to his feet slowly. He was dressed in a long robe of black. He wore a red belt around his middle. It ended in tassels and tiny bells that tinkled gently like lilting wind chimes as he moved. Bowing to his own people and to Fasilla, Himayat began the burial service saying:

  "Mourn not o'er the death of the beloved, call not back the traveler who is on her journey toward her goal; for ye know not what she seeketh! Ye are on the earth, but now she is in heaven.

  "By weeping for the dead, ye will make sad the soul who cannot return to earth; by wishing to communicate with her, ye do but distress her. She is happy in the place at which she has arrived; by wanting to go to her ye do not help her; your life's purpose still keepeth you on earth. No creature that hath ever been born belonged in reality to any other; every soul is the beloved of the Presence. Doth the Presence not love as we two-leggeds cannot? Death, therefore, doth unite man and woman with the Presence.

  For to whom doth the soul in truth belong, to the Presence in the end is its return, sooner or later.

  "Verily, death is a veil behind which is hidden life that is beyond comprehension of the man or woman on earth. If ye knew the freedom of that world and how the sad hearts are unburdened of their load; if ye knew how the sick are cured, how the wounded are healed, and what freedom the soul experiences as it goes further from this earthly life of limitations, ye would no more mourn those who have passed, but pray for their happiness in their further journey and for the peace of their souls."

  After Himayat finished speaking, a man of Piedmerri draw handed him a golden censer. Himayat lit the cones of woody incense inside. As the pungent smoke spilled into the eating hall, Himayat circled the body of Aunt, going from left to right. He did not swing the censer but carried it motionless in his cupped hands. The smoke followed his movements, swirling into filmy ribbons of gray behind him. Himayat handed the censer back to the Piedmerri. Then he knelt beside Aunt's shrouded form and said his people's Prayer for the Dead:

  "O Thou, the Cause and Effect of the whole Universe, the Source whence we have come and the Goal toward which all are bound. Receive this soul who is coming to Thee into Thy parental arms. May Thy forgiving glance heal her heart. Lift her from the denseness of the earth, surround her with the light of Thine own Spirit. Raise her up to Heaven, which is her true dwelling place. We pray Thee, grant her the blessing of Thy most exalted Presence.

  May her life upon earth become as a dream to her waking soul, and let her thirsting eyes behold the glorious vision of Thy Sunshine."

  Himayat finished speaking and nodded to Fasilla. She remained seated. Her hands shook as she smoothed out the paper and cleared her throat. Her voice hoarse with emotion and nervousness, Fasilla read the following:

  "Heal Aunt's spirit, O Sovereign One, from all the wounds that her heart has suffered through this life of limitation upon the earth. Purify her heart with Thy Divine Light and send upon her spirit Thy Mercy, Thy Compassion, and Thy Peace."

  "So be it," said Himayat. Taking a deep breath, he smiled at Fasilla and the rest of the people sitting in the circle. "Lest this moment become dour, I invite you to dance in celebration. Please stand."

  Himayat remained in the center of the circle near Aunt's body. He opened his arms wide as if to take in the entire circle of people and the universe, too. "It is customary among my people," he said to Fasilla, "to think of death as a wedding."

  Fasilla shrugged, trying to get into the spirit of it, and having difficulty.

  Himayat smiled broadly. "Aunt is dead, but only her body is thus. Her soul is united with the Presence. And to this, we will drink tonight. We will toast Aunt's good fortune. She is the lover returning to the Beloved. But do not think that by our emphasis on joy at this time that we despise the earthly existence. Do not think we eagerly wait to leave here. This earthly life is a good one. And for the opportunity of living it, we give thanks. But we also know that when we are called back to the Presence, we should not complain. Indeed we should leave with happiness in our hearts. Ours is not a caravan of despair or tragedy. Ours is a caravan of knowledge." Himayat nodded at a middle-aged Mayanabi. She was dressed in rough woolens and had very few teeth. Her eyes were strange. One was yellow and one was black. Her step was spry. She entered the circle, carrying a ceramic drum.

  Himayat gave her a rhythm and she began to set the pace of the dance. As she played, Himayat said, "This is a dance of the Universal. This is a dance for all landdraws. And for all times. The concentra-tion is light. See the light in the eyes and countenance of the person on either side of you. Now bow."

  The dance moved slowly to the right. Fasilla had no trouble learning the simple steps to the dance. The chanting and breath control were a little more demanding. Unexpectedly, she felt a surge of joy flood her body and face. Her eyes danced with her feet. This is it, Fasilla thought. This is the way it should be. Dances for all draws for all times. A kind of universal ritual that raised everyone above individual differences and distinctions.

  Tears sprang to her eyes once again. She blinked them back, bewildered at the intensity of her own emotion. She glanced at Shruddi, who stood to her right. To her surprise, she saw that Shruddi had her head turned toward her. Was she staring at her? Fasilla didn't know. Fasilla had no time to conclude anything; Himayat started the next dance a moment later.

  After an hour of this, everyone's spirits were soaring. Himayat finally called the celebration to a close. After a short prayer, several Asilliwir-born Mayanabi fetched food and drink for all to share. Even though Aunt's shrouded body still lay in the center of the circle, the mood was festive.

  Surprised that she could feel hungry with Aunt's body lying in plain view of the table, Fasilla got in line with the Mayanabi. As a Jinnjirri woman handed her a steaming portion of roasted, glazed fowl, Shruddi walked up beside Fasilla and said, "You felt something in our circle, didn't you?"

  Fasilla shrugged lamely. "I was giddy with dancing—"

  "No, you weren't," said Shruddi evenly. "You danced like an old hand. Who is your Mayanabi master?"

  Fasilla stepped backward. "I doon't have one—"

  Shruddi stared at Fasilla. "I can feel him near you. Even as we speak. He's one of the great ones, I think."

  "Oh," said Fasilla with visible relief. "You mean Zendrak. He's just one of my housemates—"

  The people nearest Shruddi and Fasilla stopped speaking, their faces astonished. Shruddi seemed to be feeling the same emotion, for she struggled to find words in the ensuing silence. Finally Shruddi said, " Just Zendrak? Is that what you said?" she added in a shocked squeak.

  Fasilla bit her lower lip. She had gotten so used to Zendrak's presence at the Kaleidicopia, she had forgotten that he was the ranking Mayanabi master in all Mnemlith. Not to mention an incarnate Greatkin. Titles like those meant a great deal to the people in this room, Fasilla reminded herself sharply. Trying to muster up some respect for Zendrak, Fasilla said,

  "I forget who he be sometimes. We had breakfast every morning for the past three months—along with the rest of them misfits at the 'K.' When you see someone pick his teeth with a fork, you don't always remember he be a Mayanabi master."

  Himayat entered the conversation now. "And so you see the human side of a First Rank Mayanabi master. How wonderful. And what a challenge."

  "I beg your pardon?" said Fasilla, not sure she had understood Himayat correctly.

  Himayat chuckled. "Those of us in the room have it easy. We can imagi
ne Master Zendrak being anything and everything. We can create him in our own image. Our own fantasy. But you, Fasilla—you know the reality of the man. You know his bad habits. And his good. You have the opportunity to accept the reality. Not just the fantasy. The legend." He paused. "Do you see my meaning?"

  Fasilla took a deep breath. "I suppose. I mean, I suppose it could be like that." She shrugged. "Only, he doon't be very nice sometimes. Sometimes he loses his temper fierce bad."

  "So much the better," said Himayat, starting to laugh in earnest now.

  "The better for what?" asked Fasilla crossly.

  Himayat grinned. "Don't you realize he's teaching you when he does that?

  Don't you realize he's asking you to learn flexibility?"

  Fasilla said nothing, her face coloring pink. Flexibility wasn't one of her strong suits.

  7

  Ever since the Ritual of Akindo, Kelandris had slept fitfully, her dreams often turning into nightmares. These night terrors were a grim legacy of the trauma Kelandris had experienced in Suxonli. For three nights now, she had cried in her sleep. Private and Tammirring by draw, this was a side to her personality that Kelandris let no one but Zendrak see. And it was only in sleep, when her body relaxed, that she showed him the pain she lived with.

  Their bed was full of secrets.

  The man in green gently woke Kelandris again. She gasped for air as she came out of the dream, her forehead damp with a cold sweat, her unveiled eyes nervous and unfocused. Kelandris sat up. Pressing her back against the wall, she hunched against her knees, pulling the blankets around her tightly. Zendrak said nothing, watching. Among other things, Zendrak was a healer. And among other things, Kelandris had been in his care for the past year. Zendrak rarely spoke of this portion of their relationship to Kelandris.

  Kel knew she needed his help, but she was also proud and would not ask for such help unless she were close to death and certain she could not help herself. Zendrak respected her pride, although admittedly Kel's pride made his healing of her much more difficult. Zendrak continued to watch Kelandris, waiting for her to speak. Finally Kel said, "She's coming for you this time."