Trickster's Touch

by Zorha Greenhalgh

The Obstinate Woman groaned. "Oh, great. Can't wait 'til that translates here. I can just imagine what the New Age community will do with it.

  Probably package 'Third-eye Busters.'"

  Jinndaven considered the possibility. "She may be right."

  "I wish you guys would be more careful at that dinner of yours," the Obstinate Woman complained. "Mortals have it tough enough as it is."

  Phebene winced. "We'll try, dear."

  Rimble scanned the tables around the cafe. All of them were full with talkative and fashionable East Siders. "Can't sit here. This table's for two.

  Let's pay the bill before the manager remembers I'm still here, shall we?

  We can all go back to her house," he added, nodding at the Obstinate Woman.

  "We can?" she asked, trying not to imagine what might happen if she took them into the boarding house where she lived. Like the Kaleidicopia, her home was a trifle on the peculiar side. Many of the members of the household belonged to the Society for Creative Anachronism. They often wore swords and capes. What would the three Greatkin think? What if the Greatkin thought the swords were real? Somebody could get seriously misunderstood, if not hurt.

  Reading her mind, Jinndaven nodded. "Anything's possible with Rimble here. Anything at all."

  Thinking quickly, the Obstinate Woman suggested they visit Lake Michigan instead. "We can sit on the rocks and bake," she added.

  "Bake?" asked Phebene. "Why would we want to do that?"

  Rimble's eyes widened. "My roast!" he yelled. Before anyone could stop him, Rimble returned to Eranossa's kitchen to salvage his forgotten entree for the Panthe'kinarok.

  Phebene bit her lower lip. "I didn't even have time to tell him his son was dying."

  "I think he knows," said Jinndaven. "The kitchen's full of real smoke this time," he added, pointing to the gray clouds now billowing out of the kitchen at the Downer Cafe. Restaurant personnel hurried their customers into the street. Fire engines screamed as they approached the burning building.

  The Obstinate Woman regarded Phebene and Jinndaven earnestly.

  "Zendrak is going to live, isn't he? I mean, what about Kelandris? She'll go after Hennin if he dies. And then where will you be? A story without a love interest will get shelved, guys. Love is 'in' in New York."

  Phebene nodded, watching smoke pour out of the Downer Cafe. "Time to visit Neath, Jinn. Come on."

  "Good luck," said the Obstinate Woman. "Let me know what happens, will you? Otherwise, I won't know what to put in the sequel."

  Jinndaven smiled raggedly and shivered. "Won't be much, I can assure you.

  Neath chills me." Turning to Phebene, Jinndaven added, "Why Themyth thought I should accompany you is beyond my understanding. That Rimble.

  This is all his fault. When we get back—" Jinndaven's monologue broke off as he and Phebene dematerialized in broad daylight in Milwaukee.

  A jogger in pink running shoes, a pair of shorts that barely covered her, and a T-shirt with the words "Udderly Cool" strategically placed over her breasts, shrieked. And fainted.

  People said it must've been the ninety-four-degree heat.

  The Obstinate Woman knew better.

  15

  Poisoned by Elder Hennin's holovespa, Zendrak rapidly slipped into physical and emotional shock. Of the two, the latter was the worse. Zendrak had been alive for more than five hundred years, his Soaringsea landdraw and Greatkin inheritance blessing him with an unusually long life span. It was the Mythrrim in him, however, that made him mortal enough to die. Even though he knew he was mortal, the reality of this fact had never before confronted him with such finality. Zendrak swallowed thickly, his breathing irregular. He tried to smile at Kelandris, who was seated near him, her expression one of growing horror. Zendrak shut his dark eyes. A wave of despair hit him. And again.

  "All for nothing," he whispered.

  "What?"

  Zendrak tried to speak again but found the effort too taxing. He closed his lips and attempted to reach Rimble with his mind. He was met with silence.

  Zendrak tried again. Rimble still failed to respond. Feeling angry and abandoned, Zendrak's despair deepened. Reflecting on his life, he felt dissatisfied with it. He had worked for Trickster for five centuries, acting the role of Rimble's emissary, subordinating his personal needs so that he might better serve the world of Mnemlith.

  Zendrak opened his eyes with difficulty, his gaze resting on Kel's unveiled and anxious face. Seeing Zendrak looking at her, she reached over and stroked his black hair. Tears sprang to her eyes. In silence she took Zendrak's hand and clasped it to her heart. Zendrak felt a devastating pain in his own heart, her feelings reflected in his.

  "Elder Hennin," he whispered.

  "I'll kill her."

  "Get the Mayanabi to help you. Don't try it alone. Clear?"

  Kelandris nodded.

  Zendrak swallowed with difficulty. His body felt bloated and distant. "Ask Po. Contact Himayat. Depend on Po, okay?"

  "Okay."

  Zendrak stopped speaking. His feet felt as though they were asleep. He stared at the ceiling. I'm dying, he thought. Rage at his fate burned in his throat. He grit his teeth, trying to hold on to life. The poison claimed more and more of his body with each passing moment. Turning his head so he could look at Kelandris one last time, he whispered, "You know I love you, don't you?"

  Kelandris nodded, tears streaming from her eyes. A sob escaped her. "How can this be? How can you be dying?"

  "Mattermat," replied Zendrak. "He's winning."

  Kelandris made a fist. "I'll fight him, Zendrak. If I have to go to Neath itself and wrestle Death to the ground, Mattermat won't win."

  "Everyone dies—" began Zendrak.

  "Don't give in! Can't you understand? You have to fight Mattermat! He's the Patron of Inertia. He wants you to think like this. He wants you to give up hope. And you mustn't. You mustn't."

  "This is death, sweetheart. You have to face—"

  "No!" she yelled at Zendrak. "It's Death who'll have to face me!"

  And so, as he had lived, Zendrak died arguing with Kelandris. Kelandris felt life leave Zendrak through the hand she held. One moment Zendrak was touching her, his fingers strong, and the next he was not, his fingers limp.

  It happened so fast, it was hard to believe he was dead. Yet, he undeniably was—his dark eyes open, his chest motionless. With a small cry of despair, Kelandris stood up. She fell over the chair she had been sitting in and scrambled awkwardly to her feet. Yafatah heard the commotion and came running into the room. Seeing that Zendrak was dead, the young girl put her hand to her mouth. Tears filled her eyes. Kelandris knelt beside her.

  "I'm going to Neath."

  "What for?" asked Yafatah through her tears.

  "To bring Zendrak back from the dead."

  "Can—can you do that?"

  "Don't know," she admitted. "But I'm going to try."

  Someone knocked on the door. It was Barlimo. When she saw Zendrak, her hair turned dark blue. She said nothing, her expression sad.

  "Kel's going to Neath," said Yafatah confidently. "She be going to bring Zendrak back from the dead."

  Barlimo touched Yafatah's cheek. "Sure, she will, honey." Glancing at Kelandris as though she thought the Greatkin was crazy, she told Yafatah to join her downstairs. "Kelandris might need some alone time with Zendrak."

  Kelandris snorted. "Zendrak's not here. He's dead."

  "I'm glad you realize that," remarked Barlimo drily. "Come on, Ya."

  Kelandris put her hand on Yafatah's arm. "You think I've lied to the child, don't you? You think I'm giving her hope when I should be giving her reality?"

  "That's right," said Barlimo coolly.

  "You don't believe that I can bring Zendrak back?"

  "Nope. Dead is dead, Kelandris. Everyone has a time for this—even the Greatkin."

  Kelandris bit her lower lip, her hands clenched with anger. Truth to tell, she wasn't sure if she could bring Zendrak back or not. She had
never been to Neath before. She assumed there were rules for death and dying. She had never met Troth, the Greatkin of Death—nor did she relish the prospect.

  Zendrak had once described him to her as "a stern bastard."

  "Well, I'll prove you wrong, then," said Kelandris boldly.

  "Do what you like, Kel," said Barlimo, her voice tired. "You never listen to me, anyway. Why start now?"

  Kelandris raised her hand about to strike Barlimo. Yafatah stepped between the Jinnjirri and the Greatkin. "Zendrak be barely dead. Me ma says we must be respectful of the dead—please. Please doon't fight."

  Kelandris lowered her hand, her green eyes furious.

  Barlimo stood her ground, her arm around Yafatah protectively.

  Yafatah looked up at Kelandris. "I do believe you, Kelandris. I do believe you'll bring him back."

  "Hush, child," said Barlimo.

  Kelandris pulled her veil over her head. When she spoke again, the soft black material fluttered with her breath. "I promise you this, Ya. I'll bring him back physically or in spirit. But I will bring him back."

  As Kelandris walked out of her bedroom, she passed Janusin standing in the hall. Clearly he had been eavesdropping, his hair a frosted sad blue.

  "Well, now you know everything," she snapped at him.

  "Kel, I'm so sorry Zendrak is—"

  "Shut up. Just shut up."

  Running into an open field near the public stables, Trickster's daughter called Further. The blue-black mare answered instantly, her wild heart alive with Kel's passion and the news of Zendrak's death. Kelandris jumped on Further's broad back. Wheeling, the mare jumped the lines of coincidence.

  Horse and rider shimmered. Sparks flew, hoof against stone. There was a whooshing sound, a crushing cold, and finally utter silence. They had entered the Everywhen of the Presence. Soon they would be at the tall black gates of the underworld. Here souls roamed compassionate corridors and waited for their next incarnation. Further slowed, barely winded by the journey. Kelandris dismounted. Turning around to face the gates of Neath, Kelandris came to an abrupt stop. Heart beating wildly, her hands grew cold with fear. She could not believe what she saw.

  It was Cobeth come to greet her.

  Just dead these past three months, it seemed Cobeth had been put through a strict examination of conscience during his stay in Neath. Gone were Cobeth's smug smile and overwhelming arrogance. In fact, this Cobeth looked like the brother Kelandris had once loved as a young child. Kelandris peered at the Jinnjirri shade thoughtfully. It was Cobeth who broke the silence.

  "Hello."

  "Hello."

  "Troth sent me to meet you."

  "Nice of him."

  Cobeth shrugged. "He thought you might want to see me again."

  "Actually, I'd rather see Zendrak," Kelandris said coldly.

  Cobeth stuffed his hands in his black tunic. "He's with Troth. So's Phebene, Jinndaven, and Rimble. They said I was to escort you to Troth's place. You willing to come, or not?"

  "Maybe I could find my own way."

  "Not likely. Neath's a labyrinth."

  "Oh."

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Cobeth cleared his throat. "Kel?"

  "What?"

  "I'm sorry for what happened in Suxonli. Giving you the drugs and all."

  " And ratting on me to Elder Hennin!" Kelandris snapped.

  "Oh, yeah. Forgot about that part." He smiled sheepishly. "I was really mad you got to turn at the revel instead of me. Finding your bloody underwear—I knew you'd broken the Blood Day Rule. Danced on your menses. It was too good an opportunity to miss. For getting even, I mean.

  Hennin was always comparing me to you, and finding me wanting. She knew you were a Greatkin. Wish I had known, too."

  "Would you have acted differently?" asked Kelandris, her voice skeptical.

  "Probably not," he admitted. "Hennin had me going, see. All I wanted was to have her think I was as good as you. Impossible, of course. Made me crazy. Made me want to kill you and your blasted inspiration."

  "Yeah. I remember that part," replied Kel drily.

  There was another long silence.

  "So are you going to forgive me, or what?" asked Cobeth.

  "Don't see why I should."

  Cobeth shrugged. "It would be nice if you did."

  Kelandris rolled her eyes. "Having trouble sleeping, are you?"

  "Ghosts don't sleep much. Don't need to."

  "I suppose."

  Cobeth sighed. "Come on, Kel. We used to be friends."

  "When you were Yonneth. Not Cobeth."

  Cobeth nodded. "So call me Yonneth again. We can start over maybe."

  "You're dead, Yonneth. I think that changes things."

  "I guess I was a pretty rotten person." Yonneth brightened. "Maybe I could be a good ghost."

  Kelandris swore several times. "Look, Yon," she said, her voice as impatient as it used to be when she was Yonneth's sister in Suxonli. "I came here to find Troth. I came here to fight Mattermat. I came here to save Zendrak. In short, I came here to do something. I did not come here to chat with you."

  Cobeth said nothing for a few minutes. When he spoke again, his voice took on more authority. In fact, Cobeth's voice changed so dramatically that Kelandris stared at the Jinnjirri shade, wondering if he really was Cobeth after all.

  "Say that again," said Kelandris.

  Cobeth shrugged. "I said—don't you know every underworld has a guardian whose test you have to pass?"

  "Meaning what?"

  Cobeth's form shimmered. Then it shifted and darkened. In front of her stood Troth, the Greatkin of Death.

  "You aren't Cobeth," she mumbled.

  "No."

  'Why did you trick me?"

  "To see you."

  Kelandris frowned. "And what do you see?"

  "Resentment."

  "So?" asked Kelandris, her expression indignant. "I've every right to feel resentful toward Cobeth. He ruined my life. He tried to kill me."

  Troth shook his head sadly. "How can you hope to find love with resentment in your heart? As Cobeth I would've guided you to Phebene—and to Zendrak. But you refused to forgive. So now you get no guide. Good luck," he added, and disappeared. Literally.

  Kelandris stood speechless in the shadows of Neath. Angry, she kicked a stone. And stubbed her toe. She sat down on a large rock, her head in her hands. She felt stupid. Here she was in Neath to fight for Zendrak's life and she couldn't even get past the front gate. She thought over all the things that Troth had said to her as Cobeth. She sighed ruefully. Troth was quite right. She hadn't forgiven Cobeth for his actions in Suxonli. Worse, she didn't feel like forgiving him, either. As far as she was concerned, the little bastard could rot in Neath's darkest pit. That's what he deserves, Kelandris thought.

  The darkness surrounding Kelandris became so thick, it was palpable. She stumbled around in it for a while. Unable to find her way at all, she squatted against the front gate of Neath, her fists clasped to her stomach.

  She was afraid, and it was all she could do to admit it, much less find a way to corner it. Mist and strange blue lights advanced toward her. Seeing both phenomena, Kelandris shrieked and flattened against the gate. After a few moments of terror, Kelandris summoned the most honest part of herself.

  "I'm leaving," she said brokenly. Turning to the dark maw of Neath, she added, "Zendrak, I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to find you.

  And I can't just forgive Cobeth. It would be nice if I could. But I'm not always very nice." Kelandris bowed her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. Now she faced the reality of returning to the world without a hope of ever seeing Zendrak again. The impact of his absence hit her hard.

  Turning away from Neath, Kelandris called Further.

  The mare didn't respond.

  "Oh, wonderful," muttered the distraught Greatkin. "Marooned as well, I expect."

  "Maybe not," said a friendly voice behind Kelandris. She whirle
d around, this time drawing the knife she kept hidden in her right sleeve. Aunt—or someone who looked a whole lot like the Jinnjirri healer—smiled at Kelandris and added, "It really is me, Kel. No tricks this time."

  "What do you want?" asked Kelandris suspiciously, studying the colorful attire of Aunt. The brightness of the Jinnjirri's clothing stood in sharp contrast to the dark shadows of Neath. "Are you dead?"

  "Quite dead. Hennin got me. Fasilla's on her way to the Kaleidicopia to warn everyone."

  Kelandris shook her head. "Hennin's wasps are already there—"

  "Then we must act quickly."

  Kelandris shrugged. "Can't. I failed Troth's test. He won't let me past the front gate. Wasn't forgiving enough, you know."

  Aunt stepped closer to Kelandris, lowering her voice as she did so. "If you ask me, Death's a bit of a bastard. Thinks he owns Neath. Runs it like a little king." Aunt smiled. "So you failed his test. Well, you haven't failed mine."

  Kelandris raised her eyebrows. "When did you test me?"

  "I haven't given it to you yet. Feeling brave? No? It's okay. I used to test people in all sorts of states when I was a Mayanabi Nomad. Relax. This will be fun."

  After the ordeal of getting through the front gate of Neath was over, Kelandris told Aunt privately that "fun" was not exactly the word she would've used to describe Aunt's test.

  "Well, I didn't want to scare you, Kel," replied Aunt indignantly.

  16

  Akindo was still lurking outside the Kaleidicopia when Fasilla arrived. At the last moment, Himayat had decided to acompany her to the house. He and the other Mayanabi Nomads at the Inn of the Guest had met in council until the wee hours of the morning. After much discussion and debate, everyone present concluded that Aunt's death had not been accidental. No one quite knew what to make of the lack of winterblooms in the Feyborne Mountains.

  Himayat decided to ride to the "K" and ask the only First Rank Mayanabi master in existence, Zendrak of Soaringsea. Surely, he would know what the others did not.

  As Fasilla and Himayat came within half a block of Wise Whatsit Avenue, Himayat reined his Appaloosa to an abrupt stop. Motioning Fasilla to be quiet, the Mayanabi scanned the area with his Mayanabi senses. He couldn't interpret what he received. Shaking his head, the Asilliwir man said, "I don't understand it. I keep getting images of Tammirring landscape.