Troth grinned. "Give a little, get a little."
"What?"
"Let's ask them, shall we?" said the Greatkin of Death, going to stand in the shadows. He made a swift gesture with his hand several times as if he were drawing something up from the ground. In moments, the eight villagers who had participated in the fateful turn sixteen years ago in Suxonli arrived.
Recognizing their faces, Kelandris stepped backward, her expression horrified. She expected them to accuse her anew of her crime. Instead, one of the dead handed her a written scroll. Kelandris took it gingerly. She opened it and stared at the words, her face paling with shock.
"What's it say?" asked Zendrak.
"It says that I am pardoned. In big letters," she added.
Cobeth smiled. "I'm glad, Kel. I'm really glad. It was a stupid business all the way around. Mostly you were an okay sister to have. You deserved better than what happened in Suxonli."
Zendrak tousled Kel's dark, damp hair. "How does it feel?"
"How does what feel?"
"To be pardoned?"
Kelandris shrugged. "I don't know. I'll have to get used to it, I guess." She paused. "It's a little like going into a wardrobe and finding out that all the clothes one wears most often have suddenly fallen apart at the seams—with no hope of repair. Makes me feel a little naked," she added, her posture clearly uncomfortable with the idea.
Zendrak smiled at her, his dark eyes kind.
Kelandris turned toward the eight shades who were still standing around her in silence. Gazing at each of them, Kelandris said, "Thank you."
The shades bowed to Greatkin Kelandris and departed.
There was a long silence.
After a few moments, Kel asked Zendrak if he was alive or not. And if he wasn't going to get a new body, she added to Troth, would it be possible for her to remain in Neath, too?
Rimble answered Kelandris. "He's about as dead as he's ever going to be.
And about as alive as he's ever going to be. By this, I mean, Zendrak is mostly Greatkin. Being mostly Greatkin, Zendrak can decide if he wishes to incarnate again and in what form. And at what age." Rimble gestured at his son. "It's up to you, see. You want to go back with Kelandris?"
Zendrak nodded. "There's this little inn I know..." He wig-wagged his eyebrows.
Kelandris, who had been living like a celibate for the past six months, stiffened. "Uh—are you sure? Maybe it's too soon—"
Zendrak glared at Trickster's daughter. "You want me to stay in Neath?
Without you?"
"Well, no, but I—"
Watching this exchange, Rimble broke into peals of laughter.
18
Dressed in his usual greens and Kel still in black, Zendrak and Kelandris rode back toward Speakinghast in silence. They had traveled the distance between the plane of Neath and the land of Saambolin in a matter of a few minutes. Further walked slowly in the moonlit open road that would eventually lead to the North Gate of Speakinghast, the mare's coat shining in the silver light from above the two riders. Zendrak rode with his arms snugly wrapped around Kel's waist. Feeling weary from the physical shock of having gone swimming in the river of Neath, Kelandris leaned against Zendrak's chest, her eyes closed, rocked by the gentle motion of the mare's dawdling pace. Zendrak leaned forward and whispered, "You asleep?"
"No, but I'd like to be," she said, stifling a yawn. Sleep in a comfortable bed felt very appealing to both Greatkin. Zendrak stabled Further at the next inn they passed. It was a large place with beds for twenty and ample food and pasture for the Greatkin mare. Zendrak jumped off and helped Kelandris down. The two Greatkin approached the front desk of the inn called "Mother's Milk and Breakfast." It was a cheery establishment run by a husband and wife team of Piedmerri-born.
The innkeeper took the pertinent information, Piedmerri style. "Any children traveling with you?"
Kelandris stiffened involuntarily. Zendrak put his arm around her waist protectively. Kelandris had said precious little
about her feelings about never having had children, but he suspected she was feeling the loss of that opportunity deeply.
"No, no children," said Zendrak.
"Are you ringfasted?"
"No," said Zendrak. Then he smiled. "We're soulfasted."
The Piedmerri scratched his large belly, inclining his head. "So does that mean you'll be wanted a double bed? I mean, are you legal?"
Zendrak was taken aback by the bluntness of the question. "Since when do legalities interest the Piedmerri-born, sir?"
"We're in Saambolin, mate. And in Saambolin, you play by their rules or you get trounced—if you know what I mean."
"I know what you mean," said Kel unexpectedly.
"So are you legal?" continued the plump fellow.
Zendrak rolled his black eyes, wondering if they should've spent the night in Neath. "No," he said gruffly. "We're not legal."
The wife of the innkeeper, who had been listening to this conversation as she tidied a nearby closet, turned around and asked, "But are you in love, sir?"
"Now, Melli, what's that got to do with it?" demanded her husband.
"Everything," she said, grinning broadly, her plump cheeks as rosy as a blush apple. She toddled over. "So? Are you?" she asked, looking first at Zendrak and then at Kelandris. "Are you in love?"
Zendrak nodded his head. "Yes. But I don't know if—"
Kelandris cut him off. "Yes, we're in love. May we have the double bed, please?"
Zendrak stared at Kelandris, his expression a mixture of astonishment and undisguised delight. He paid the innkeeper the sum he required and added a little extra to cover their indiscretion. As Zendrak and Kelandris turned to go up the winding staircase, Zendrak said in a low voice that only Kelandris could hear: "What made you say that?"
Kelandris shrugged. "It just sort of popped out. Maybe Neath had something to do with it. I don't know."
"Neath?"
Kelandris nodded almost shyly. "Phebene told me she wanted us to get along. She wanted things to work out between us. She said she'd help.
Maybe she just did."
Some time later when both Kelandris and Zendrak had scrubbed the grit out from behind their ears in a long, luxurious bath, the two Greatkin retired to their comfortable bedroom at the inn. The walls were covered with a delicate, floral wallpaper and dotted with pictures of calm countrysides hung with a decorator's eye for placement. Dried flowers adorned a small wooden dresser while the large bed was softened by the presence of a generous eiderdown comforter. A wood-burning stove crackled happily in the corner, a supply of wood and kindling stacked neatly beside the cast-iron fixture. Zendrak lit a candle, then, snuggling down into the bed, he opened his arms to Kelandris, who was still wandering about the room drying and combing her long black hair. She smiled slightly and came to the corner of the bed, a large yellow towel wrapped around her bosom and torso.
"Won't you come to bed now?" asked Zendrak gently. Kelandris shrugged, fiddling with a fold in the towel. She said nothing, her posture slightly stiff.
She was clearly ambivalent about doing anything more than sleeping next to Zendrak. Seeing this, Zendrak said, "You know, Kel—nothing has to happen."
"I know."
There was a long silence.
"Aren't you cold?" asked Zendrak. "The air in this room is hardly that of summer—even with the stove."
"Yes, I'm cold," said Kelandris, making no move to come any closer to her brother and old lover. Her lips parted, her eyes downcast. A tear slipped down her cheek.
"Would you like to talk for a while?"
Kelandris nodded dumbly. "You start."
Zendrak took a deep breath and brought the candle closer to the corner of the bedside table. He sat up in bed, propping several pillows behind him, the comforter pulled up to his neck. "Well," he said slowly, debating what to
discuss with his sister. Finally, he decided to risk everything and speak of the time they had made love in Suxonli. But rat
her than have Kelandris get lost in the terrible things that happened later that night at the hands of Elder Hennin and Cobeth, he chose to remind Kelandris of the feelings of love he had had for her so long ago. "Kel?"
"Yes?"
"Things got very messy in Suxonli sixteen years ago. But before that happened, you and I shared something very special. Do you remember what that felt like?"
Kelandris turned to look at him, her expression wild and accusing. "I have never forgotten it."
Zendrak said nothing for a few moments. "You make me cold to look at you, Kel. Will you get under the covers?"
Kelandris, who was close to shivering now with both cold and fatigue, consented grudgingly. She slipped between the sheets and jumped when Zendrak reached for her and pulled her close to his warm body.
"You're like ice," he said.
"I didn't use to be," she snapped.
"I remember."
Kelandris met his eyes for a moment and looked away.
"I do remember, Kel. I remember a warm, loving woman who trusted me."
"I remember that, too," she said in a choked whisper, tears tumbling from her eyes now. Emotions that she had not felt in sixteen years welled up in her, and she collapsed sobbing against Zendrak's bare chest. While she cried, he kissed away her tears, his expression tender.
"Let's give ourselves a second chance, hmm?" he whispered.
"I don't know how," she bawled. Then she collected herself and said, "I mean, what if I don't know how? It's been so long—" She broke off, her eyes genuinely anxious.
Zendrak chuckled. "Well, there's one way to find out."
Kelandris swallowed.
Zendrak kissed her on the mouth. She responded only marginally. He pulled away, his expression thoughtful.
"Well?" she asked nervously.
"A little rusty," he agreed. "Better try again."
So they did.
"Well?" she asked, a bit more breathless this time.
"Needs improvement," he said, starting to chuckle again.
Kelandris swore and kissed Zendrak a third time. Suddenly there was emotional fire. Zendrak felt the change in her body. Gone was her wall. Her lips softened and her face flushed. Zendrak pulled away from her, his dark eyes impish.
"Well, that's enough for tonight," he said. He blew out ife candle and turned over on his side.
Kelandris sat in stunned darkness, the faint light of the s:ve playing across her perplexed features. "I thought you wanted—"
"Changed my mind," said Trickster's son.
"I was that bad?" she asked, scandalized.
Zendrak glanced at her over his shoulder. "Too rich for my blood."
She grabbed him by the shoulders and made him face her. "Zendrak, did I do something wrong?"
"No, no, my dear. The fault's not in you. Not at all. That last kiss was scary."
"Scary?" Kelandris was having difficulty believing her ears.
Zendrak nodded. "I don't think I'd survive making love you. The passion would be too much for both of us—"
"Speak for yourself!"
Zendrak shrugged unenthusiastically. "Really, Kel, I think it's best that we don't—"
"Zendrak," she said, her voice trembling with confusion, "what're you doing?
I mean, are you refusing to make love with me?"
Zendrak turned over on his side again. "Remember, I only just started being alive again a few hours ago. I need more time to get used to my body."
"Sonofabitch," she muttered. There was a long silence. "Well, you could kiss me good night."
"I don't see what good—"
"Oh, Zendrak—just one kiss isn't going to kill you."
So Zendrak kissed her, and it was as passionate as the last time. When both had come up for air, Zendrak played with her mouth and said, "I think you'd like making love with me, Kelandris. Forget your bad memories of Suxonli, hmm? Forget the nightmare. Come into the present."
Tears started to her eyes as she lay against the pillow; making love was a pleasure she had given up after Suxonli. She had been convicted as a murderess; murderesses didn't deserve joy. Or second chances. Kelandris shook her head, the impression of the past still too strong upon her.
Zendrak caressed her breast slowly. "The judgment against you has been reversed. Give up the past, Kel."
"I'm afraid something will go wrong again. That you'll leave me."
"I know. That's the chance you'll have to take. And me? I have to take the chance that you won't bolt and break my heart into a thousand painful pieces." He traced a tear with his finger. "So is it a deal? My risk for yours?"
Kelandris winced, her heart beating with fear. She shut her eyes for a moment, trying to gain control of her emotions. She couldn't do it. "I'm so frightened," she whispered. Zendrak nodded and put her hand on his chest so that she could feel how quickly his heart was pounding. Kel opened her eyes, a flicker of compassion on her face. Then she said, "Okay. I promise.
I'll leave Suxonli behind. For good."
Zendrak nodded, his face now contorting with the power of the emotions that he felt and had always felt toward Kelandris. His love and passion rose for her simultaneously. Kelandris met his feelings with her own. As they settled into a playful, physical exchange, Zendrak said, "One thing we'll have to be careful of, Kel."
"What's that?" she asked huskily.
"We mustn't,"—kiss—"set this place"—kiss—"on fire."
Kelandris smiled. "I love you," she whispered. "I always have."
"I know," he said matter-of-factly, and lowered himself on her gently.
Panthe'kinarok Interlogue
Greatkin Rimble returned to Eranossa with Phebene. Jinndaven met them at the front door. On Trickster's orders, the Greatkin of Imagination had parted company with Phebene and Rimble when Kelandris failed to get past Troth it the gate of Neath. Rimble had sent Jinndaven to Eranossa to see what was going on. Until that moment, Rimble had been under the impression that he had salvaged his roast and silenced Mattermat. Kel's refusal to forgive Cobeth indi-cted otherwise. Earth was the element that held the emotion of resentment. If Kelandris was still feeling resentment, then this meant Mattermat was talking to her—and she was listening. Still, Zendrak's recent return to the living should distract Kelandris, thought Rimble. Make her stop listening to Mattermat altogether he hoped.
"So?" asked Rimble jauntily. "Everything's okay, right? Kelandris and Zendrak are sharing the sheets, the univer'silsilia are beating the crap out of Hennin's holovespa—"
Jinndaven stepped outside the house, pulling the door to him hastily. It was spring at Eranossa. The sweet smell of
flowering trees filled the air. Balmy breezes ruffled Phebene's wonderful rainbow robe. Sunlight glinted off the top of Rimble's black hair. Birds soared in gentle ecstasy above them, lifted by the winds that played across the mountain's
sheer face. The Greatkin of Imagination gestured at the outdoors, his expression grim. "Don't let all this fool you, Rimble."
"But it's spring," interjected Phebene. "Just look at it," she added, pointing to a cluster of purple hyacinths near her feet.
Jinndaven shook his head. "He's faking everybody out. Only Themyth and I are on to Mattie. The rest of the family thinks we're nuts—"
"I can see why," retorted Phebene. "This is the best imitation of spring I've ever seen, Jinn. You sure you and Eldest haven't been swilling too much wine at dinner?"
Jinndaven groused at Phebene, crossing his arms over his chest. The mirrors on his mauve robe shimmered in the early morning sun. Finally Jinndaven added, "Mattermat is steamed, Rimble—"
"His vegetables, too?" quipped Trickster, suddenly remembering that Mattermat's dish for dinner was a hefty platter of steamed vegetables.
"Of course," snapped Jinndaven. "How do you think I was able to find out what I know? I went into the kitchen, and there on the counter—not on the stove—were Mattie's veggies cooking away. Steaming."
"How's my roast?" asked Rimble with sudden c
oncern.
"Fine, for the moment. But don't think Mattie's through with you, Rimble, because he's not. He's furious with everyone in Neath, too. Especially Troth. As far as Mattie's concerned, Troth doesn't owe you any favors: Zendrak should've stayed dead."
"Well, Troth does owe me some favors," snapped Trickster. "Besides, Zendrak's got Mythrrim blood in him. They're the original phoenix prototype, you know. It's almost impossible to kill off a Mythrrim. Only way to do it is to silence the myths they tell. Since that's not likely to happen—"
"Don't bet on it," retorted Jinndaven. "Ever heard of writer's block?"
"What?" asked Phebene.
"I said, don't bet on Mattermat keeping his ill-will away from your project in that Distant Place. Themyth's very worried. You should be, too, Rimble.
After all, it is your brainchild."
Trickster said nothing, pulling thoughtfully on his black goatee. Trickster smiled slowly and slyly. "To market, to market, to sell a fresh tale. Home again, home again, I've just made a sale. In New York, that is," added Trickster. Then he began to laugh.
Phebene and Jinndaven stared at their little brother.
Finally Phebene said, "Rimble, dear—are you all right?"
"Yes, indeed," said Rimble, doing a small jig on the doorstep of Eranossa.
"Yes, indeed. I've got Mattie on the run, my sweets. On the run."
Jinndaven gestured helplessly. "Haven't you been listening, Rimble? I'm telling you, Mattie's up to something. Something nasty—"
"Yes. And I've got just the cure for it. Just the remedy. Just the improoovement," he said, giggling like a maniac. "May the message of God reach far and wide, guys. Far and wide."
"God?" asked Phebene.
"What's God got to do with this?" asked Jinndaven.
"Plenty," replied Trickster. "At least in Milwaukee."
As Trickster turned to go, Jinndaven caught him by the arm. "Where are you going? I mean, we've got an emergency in there and you—"
"Milwaukee," said Trickster.
"Again?" asked Phebene, straightening the pink, wide-rimmed hat she still wore.
Trickster's Touch Page 14
