Tricksters Touch

by Zohra Greenhalgh

  trail to a cluster of caves whose tunnels interconnected like the corridors of a labyrinth. Rimble, who had visited here many times before, headed for

  the opening of the largest cave and turned right, then left, then two rights, then a sharp left until he found himself in a large underground chamber. You may wonder why Rimble didn't materialize directly into the chamber in the first place. Rimble loved the Mythrrim. He was the father of this particular race. Themyth was its mother. When the Mythrrim had retired to Soaringsea, they wished to prevent the two-leggeds from trailing them there. Gaveralin was their sentry. No one, not even the Greatkin, were allowed to reach the Mythrrim without their knowledge. Thus, by the time Rimble actually arrived at the place where the Mythrrim now gathered, everyone knew he was coming. He was met with a resounding chorus of hellos and wing-flapping. Rimble grinned at their obvious pleasure at seeing Dear Old Dad. Doffing his woolen cap, Trickster said, «I need your help.» The oldest and wisest Mythrrim was named Kindra. She had yellowed teeth and blue feathers that had turned white with age. She inclined her enormous, ugly head toward Rimble. «We're keeping kinhearth, Father. Care to join us?» «Keeping kinhearth» was the phrase the Mythrrim used to describe their practice of remembering the Presence, and the Greatkin. In the large chamber, wood blazed in a huge stone fireplace. Flames leapt as high as ten feet. Around this fire, the Mythrrim gathered and told the great myths of the world. «What're you telling?» asked Trickster. «The Mythrrim of Origin.» Rimble's expression turned wistful. «That's my favorite.» «I know,» said Kindra with a twinkle in her old eyes. «Here. Sit between my paws, and I'll start over from the beginning. We'll cast the spell of Once Upon.» Rimble sighed happily and climbed inside the large, brindle paws of Kindra.

  The ancient Mythrrim Beast cleared her throat. During the telling of the tale she would re-create every sound effect needed to make the story real through her splendid set of vocal cords. Smiling and exposing her yellow teeth, Kindra spoke with authority. > The Mythrrim of Origin Once there was a Great Being. It was a radiant intelligence in which all things were contained. This Great Being was alone, for in all the universes

  there was no other like Itself. It was very lonely. So to amuse Itself, Great Being dreamed.

  It dreamed of civilizations that rose and fell with the seasons of the Ages, of worlds and all the peoples who lived on them: the Two-Leggeds, the Four-Leggeds, the Leafy and the Scaled, the Crawlers, the Winged Ones and the Wild Winds of the Five Directions. And each of these was named kin, for each sprang from the longing of their one Great Parent, sprang and fell back into the silence. There were no witnesses. There was no one to look upon the dreams of Great Being and say, «Good job, Great Being.» Or even, «This one needs a little work.» Troubled and sad, Great Being withdrew into Itself. And dreamed. It dreamed for eons. Finally, the dreams of Great Being became so intelligent that they, too, began to dream. And ask questions. But Great Being could

  not answer their questions, for speech did not exist. Life was still hidden,

  asleep in incubation. Reality was a divine potential waiting to be released. It was a closed universal—a secret garden of fertile splendor without entrance or exit. Finally, the dreams of Great Being became unruly in their captivity. Like fruit too long on the vine, they became a poison that threatened the sanity

  of Great Being Itself. Daily the dreams clamored to be set free. Daily Great Being attempted to do so and could not. The need of both the Dreamer and the Dreams increased a thousand-fold with each Age. Never before had Great Being been beset by such a dire challenge. It thought long and hard about the problem. Then one day, Great Being had a Great Idea. The Idea was called the Real World. The Real World, thought Great Being, would be a clever device through which My dreams might know themselves. And, thought Great Being with pleasure and fear, the Real World might be a device through which I could know Myself as well. For are not My dreams part of Myself? This Idea pleased Great Being very much. It began to feel a little less lonely. But even so, Great Being still lacked the means to make Its dreams real. The desire to make them manifest was there, but the knowledge of how to do it was not. The frustration and despair of Great Being continued to grow along with Its love for Its captive dreams. Great Being tried everything It could think of to release Itself from this bind. It knew It needed to make a change, but change did not exist, either. Thus Great Being could do nothing but wait and hope. In unspeakable sympathy, Great Being suffered the agony of Its voiceless dreams. Still, the pressure increased. The Many and the One reached a terrible impasse. [Since division did not yet exist, either, neither the Many nor the One could see each other. There were no inunctions, no shadows. No plays of light against dark. There was no definition, nor depth perception. All was contained—like a road swallowed by the blinding white of a winter blizzard. Finally, one of Great Being's dreams also had a great idea. This idea was called individuality. The wise little dream decided to practice what it had conceived, and so in time, its small voice grew louder than the rest. Great Being was perplexed

  by the continual chatter of this courageous little nag. Great Being was used to hearing the symphony of the spheres inside Its head—in perfect

  multi-part harmony, of course. This voice was disrupting the perfect pitch of Great Being. Great Being felt annoyed. It called the noisy dream many names—Disharmony, Disorder, Chaos, and Royal Pain. This did not deter the noisy dream in the least. The noisy dream absorbed all the names and added a few of its own—Murphy, Coyote, the Raggedy Man, Uncle Tompa, and Rimble. In this way, the noisy dream became a creator in its own right. Over time, the noisy dream also developed something more than

  intelligence—it developed personality. As Great Being didn't have any of Its own, Great Being finally decided to seek out the Noisy Dream of Many Names and see if Personality was a Good Idea or a Bad Idea. As Great Being drew near to the Noisy Dream, It heard this: «Who am I?» And again. And again. «Who am I?» Great Being could not answer this question, for Great Being could not see the Noisy Dream. In renewed despair, Great Being turned to go. As it did so, the Noisy Dream began to weep. Its small voice trembled with a choking horror: «Am I alone, then?» it asked. The loneliness of the Noisy Dream pierced the pain of Great Being's own cosmic solitude. For a moment, Great Being knew and understood this gabby little dream. Great Being reached toward the sorrowing dream and tried to comfort it. The Noisy Dream felt Great Being's concern. Wailing loudly, the Noisy Dream said: «Is there no other like me? Must I listen to myself for all eternity? What cruelty is this?» Sobbing, it added, «Why me?» Personal melodrama was conceived in this moment. Great Being could not bear to be thought of as cruel by the Noisy Dream, for the simple fact that Great Being knew that It wasn't cruel. Unrealized, perhaps, but not cruel. Great Being decided to Do Something. Great Being concluded that though It might split apart in the process, It would find a

  way to prove Its inherent kindness to this loud, disbelieving little dream. In order to do this, however, Great Being knew that It must make a separation of some kind. It must thrust this Noisy Dream away from Itself so that both might see that the other existed. Great Being wondered if this would hurt. Great Being hesitated. What if the Noisy Dream went into the Real World and forgot that Great Being existed? You see, in a strange way, Great Being had come to value the questions of the Noisy Dream. Secretly, Great Being also valued the daring differentness of the Noisy Dream. Could it be that Great Being loved the deviant little thing? Yes. In a moment of unparalleled generosity, Great Being fought against Its own loneliness so that It might free the Noisy Dream from Itself. It was important, reasoned Great Being, for the Noisy Dream to know without doubt that its nature was identical to that of Great Being—kind. With great bravery, Great Being again resolved to free Its only companion from the void. To do this, Great Being would need to use Short Division. Arithmetic was conceived in this moment. Desire and knowledge united—and still a separation Between Dreamer and Dream proved to be an arduous
task, As the process began, the clamor of all the dreams trapped inside Great Being increased to deafening proportions. The internal push and pull was grueling. Great Being saw that It would have to release everything in order to release the one different dream that had wept in loneliness. Great Being sighed at the enormity of the challenge—so much work for just one dream. Great Being supposed the Noisy Dream was worth all this trouble. Love decreed it. Great Being sighed again—making no sound. Sound, thought Great Being. Perhaps I should make a sound with my sigh?

  And so It tried to do so. At first, the sigh rattled like dry leaves. Then it became smooth like the groan of a distant wind. Now Great Being's sigh

  took on the depth and roar of a thundering ocean surf. It sounded like this: «Whhhhhhhhhooooo.» The universes trembled. Suddenly, the Unmanifest poured into the Real

  World on the vibration of this divine sigh. Emptiness filled. Life spilled forth with exuberance. Shock waves of sound rippled through Great Being and It released all that was within. This was a bright explosion of Being. For the first time, the universes knew a Great Wildness. Dazed by the variety of form dancing before It, Great Being looked upon all the portions of Itself

  and loved. A million billion dreams returned that love a thousand-fold, each according to its own temperament. «There is one of you,» said Great Being shyly. «There is one of you who is sadder than the others—» The Noisy Dream of Many Names cleared its throat. «Well, not exactly—your Presence.» Great Being turned toward the Noisy Dream, regarding it for the first time. The Noisy Dream was a tall, radiant being with an ever-changing face. «You're not sadder than the rest?» «Not exactly.» Great Being felt perplexed. «I thought you—» «Well, I had to make you think I was sadder, see—otherwise you were never going to get off your creative duff and Do Something about the state of things.» «Oh.» said Great Being. «So I was tricked?»

  The radiant being considered the question. After a few moments, it said, «If you wish, you may say that I tricked you. Myself, I prefer to think that I helped you Improoove.» «Improve.» «Yeah. That's my nature, you know. I make Improoovements on your ideas.» Great Being frowned. «Did anyone ask you to do this?» The radiant being became indignant. «Well, somebody had to do something about you. Since it was my idea, it might as well be me who gets the credit.» Great Being nodded. «So you'd like all the credit for all the improvements made in the Real World? Even the evolutionary deviances? And—uh—cosmic experiments?» The radiant being grinned. «Especially those, your Presence. I feel I'd understand that sort of thing, see.» Great Being smiled slyly. «And I suppose I won't need to name you, either. I suppose that being such a creative type you've picked your own?» «Rimble. Greatkin Rimble—at your service. My friends call me Murphy, though. Or rather, they will. In time. When You invent it.» Great Being regarded Rimble with renewed consternation. «There's more of you?» Rimble rolled his pied eyes. «Really, your Presence—you've simply got to stop thinking about things in such isolation. Of course, there are more of my kind. I have twenty-six squabbling brothers and sisters. All of whom want names from You. There. Does that make You happy?» Great Being nodded, Its sly mood returning. «I'm glad I'm needed for something, Rimble. Otherwise, I would get very lonely. And sad. Very, very sad.» Rimble stared at Great Being. «You would?» «Oh, yes.» Trickster though he was, Rimble was not a cruel soul. How could he be? He,

  like all of creation, had sprung from the kindness of Great Being. So Rimble felt a pang of compassion for Great Being—the first in manifest reality. He eyed Great Being carefully out of the corner of his yellow eye, and said, «Well, maybe me and the rest of the family could keep You company or something. Would that help?» «That would help a great deal,» said Great Being, Its moroseness lifting. «So I can always count on you to help me?» «Uh—» «You don't want me to be sad…» «Well—no, your Presence.» «Then it's decided.» «What is?» asked Rimble, who was getting the feeling that Great Being had just duped him. «You and your twenty-six squabbling brothers and sisters will be my helpers. For all time—» «For all time!» Rimble began dancing a hopping jig of fury. «I never said anything about all time!» «Didn't you?» Rimble was so stupefied by the question that he didn't answer Great Being. Great Being smiled broadly. «Do you know what Rimble means?» Rimble spluttered. «I made it up!» «Then let me give the name meaning. It's my nature, you know, to give meaning.» Great Being spoke in perfect mimicry of Rimble's earlier pronouncement about «Improvements.» Rimble paced. Then he said, «Okay. You're on. You give my name meaning.» He paused. «So what's it mean?» Great Being began to laugh. The boom of Its humor resounded in every corner of the known and unknown universes. Rimble bit his lower lip and asked: «You going to tell me who I am, or not?» «What, and spoil all the fun of you finding out?» scoffed Great Being. Then in a moment of unexpected seriousness, Great Being added, «I suspect, Rimble, that when all is said and done, you'll know more about yourself than anyone else. And that's a good thing, Rimble. Self-knowledge is power of the right kind.» Great Being paused. «Should I call you Murphy?» Rimble put his hands on his hips. «Guess that depends on whether You're

  my friend or not. Well, when I decide, I'll get back to You on it. Meanwhile, I'm Rimble.» «The one who will know something of himself,» said the Presence softly. > When Kindra had finished speaking, Rimble sighed happily. Looking upward at the overhang of her canine jowl, Rimble said, «You know, it took me the longest time to figure out that the Presence meant just what It said. About the meaning of my name.» Kindra waited for him to continue.

  Rimble laughed softly. «I'm so full of tricks myself, I thought the Presence was giving more of the same. I thought I'd have to wait centuries before Great Being would tell me what Rimble meant. And there Great Being had gone and told me in the first place. Rimble means 'the one who knows something of himself.'» Rimble sighed. «Not that anyone in Eranossa thinks so.» «How can we be of service to you?» asked Kindra graciously. Rimble stood up. He walked to the center of the Mythrrim ring. In proportion to their great size, Rimble resembled a child's toy. As large as his offspring were, Rimble felt no fear of them. The Mythrrim were a compassionate, intelligent, and good-natured race. It was to these three qualities that Rimble now spoke.

  «Things are bad for me at Eranossa right now. See, I've got this charge from the Presence to go broaden the perspective of the known and unknown universes. Basic panoramic mutation, you understand. Happens every hundred millennia or so when the Presence gets bored. Anyway, as usual, Great Being has come to me to do the job.» Rimble paused, pulling on his black goatee. «Mattermat's blocking me on every level. So are most of the ninnies in Eranossa—Themyth excepted. I'm going to need to go through Neath to get the job done.» The Mythrrim made howls and squawks of dismay. «That's the hard way,» said Kindra. «Are you sure there's no other?» Greatkin Rimble shrugged. «Not unless you can think of one.» Kindra cocked her head to the side. Then, speaking in Oldspeech, she

  conferred with the rest of her family. Tails wagged, wings fluttered. Rimble waited patiently for the Mythrrim to reach a consensus. Since the median age of a Mythrrim Beast was three thousand years, the creatures perceived time in a slower—almost geologic—manner than normal mortals. The family council took three days to reach its decision. At the end of that period, Kindra approached Rimble. The little Greatkin was fast asleep in a nearby cave. The ancient Mythrrim woke the snoring Greatkin gently with her canine nose. «We're ready to resume conversation with you,» she said. Rimble yawned and sat up. «I'm listening.» Kindra hesitated. «You have a great fear, yes? Fear for the future?» «Yeah,» said Trickster. «Great Being says 'change or be changed.' And that means everyone, see. Even the Greatkin. You know how Mattermat is about change. It's not his nature. It's mine.» «And if Mattermat doesn't surrender, all of creation will suffer?» «That's about the size of it,» agreed Rimble with a despondent sigh. Kindra grinned, exposing long teeth, yellowed with age. «How about a jolt of the fantastic. Get Jinndaven to help
you—» «Easier said than done. I've pissed him off recently.» «Nonsense. Jinndaven loves you. What's more he needs you. You're the only Greatkin who'll listen to his wild ideas. The tame ones are fine for everyone else. But he's got nowhere to go with his wild ones—except to

  you, Father.» Kindra purred briefly. «Anyway, we'll do this thing backward.» «Sounds promising,» said Trickster. He loved doing things backward. «We thought you'd like it.» Kindra chuckled. «We'll also do the unexpected. We'll go through the mortals. We'll make the change in them first. When they change, it will affect the Greatkin at Eranossa and Neath. Myth does

  that. It reaches out in all directions. Has its impact on Greatkin and mortal alike.» Rimble pursed his lips. Then he said, «Mattie won't expect this. In fact, I

  don't even think he believes the mortals have any effect on Eranossa at all. Divine Will only goes one way.» «That is his great error,» said Kindra, her expression sage. Trickster started to pace. «And of course the unknown universes interpenetrate the known universes. I likes it, I does. I likes it a lot.» Trickster looked wistfully at Kindra. «They do nothing but criticize me in Eranossa. I'd dearly love to put them in their highfaluted places. Neath style.» Kindra nodded. «Myths aren't short on blood and horror. We'll tell the tale here. You give us the main players, and we'll embellish. As it's told in Soaringsea, the tale will gather momentum. The people involved will feel the pull of the myth and begin to act on it. Myth and mortal will mold each other. One request, though.» «Anything.» «We want a part.» «You have a part,» said Trickster. «You're talking right now—» «Yes, but this is a bit part,» countered Kindra and several of the other Mythrrim. «We want to make an appearance in mortal time and space. We've grown curious during our years of retreat. We want to see the progress of the two-leggeds on the mainland. After all, we were their teachers.» «Progress?» said Trickster dubiously. «That's a kind word for it.» «Nevertheless, we want to visit the mainland, Father.»