«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 Nomads 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 carried 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 concentration 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 i
n 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 imagine 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.» «Who?» «Elder Hennin,» she said hoarsely. Zendrak shrugged. «Let her.» «You're not invulnerable,» Kelandris snapped, her green eyes angry.
«I never said I was,» he replied, and ran his fingers through his dark hair. «Elder Hennin is nothing more than a great nuisance—» Kelandris said nothing. Hennin had proved herself to be a formidable adversary to her in Suxonli, certainly more than a simple «nuisance.» Of course, Kel reasoned in silence, Zendrak did not have to go through that. I did. Kelandris sat up in bed, her shoulders hunched with the weight of her memories. Finally she said, «You're a fool, Zendrak, if you think she can't hurt you. You've lived too long. You've forgotten what it's like to hurt.
You've forgotten what it's like when every nerve is alive with pain and every emotion is stirred into anguish.» «I've outgrown those things, Kel. At my age, emotions— all of them—lose their edge. They become almost boring.» Kelandris sat bolt upright. «My pain bores you?» She felt outraged, the desires of her heart made insignificant by the dispassionate sweep of his longevity. She glared at him. «You have outlived your dreams, Zendrak. And so mine become, like Hennin, a nuisance to endure—but not indulge?» Zendrak said nothing for a few moments. «I do not like to see your pain, Kel,» he admitted. «In seeing yours, I have to remember my own.» Kelandris swore and got out of bed. She pulled on a black bathrobe, her motions angry. Turning to look at him, she said, «If you're what I am to
become, then I refuse it. I refuse to live five hundred years like you. Life is feeling. If you don't feel, you're dead.» Zendrak smiled. Then seeing Kelandris stare at him, he sobered. «You find me funny now?» she cried. Zendrak shook his head. «No—I just—well, I've waited a long time to hear you give me that lecture.» Kelandris advanced on him. «Don't you play your Mayanabi games on me, mister. I pack a pretty good punch,» she said, making a fist with her left hand. Kelandris had proved her mastery of fisticuffs on more than one occasion in Zendrak's presence. Even Podiddley had been at the wrong end of Kel's arm once. Zendrak eyed Kelandris cautiously. Then he said, «Do you truly believe I have no feelings, Kel?» She hesitated. Lowering her head slightly, she said, «I don't know.» «Do you want to know?» «I don't know.» Zendrak shrugged. «I have more than enough passion still left in me, Kelandris. And I have a desire for you that the years have not subdued.» Kel's eyes widened a little bit. She took a step backward. Although she and Zendrak slept next to each other in bed, theirs was a purely platonic
relationship at this point. It was all that Kelandris could handle, although she would never have admitted this to anyone—including Zendrak. Now it appeared that Zendrak wanted to change their relationship, perhaps be her lover again, as he had been once in Suxonli, seventeen years ago. Kelandris stiffened involuntarily. She did not know what to do. Her own indecision and vulnerability angered her. Biting her lower lip, she whirled away from Zendrak, announcing over her shoulder, «I'm going to take a shower.» Opening the door to her room, she quickly scanned the hallway to see if she could get to the bathroom without running into anyone else from the Kaleidicopia. At three in the morning, the wide hallway was empty. Kelandris gathered her black bathrobe against her otherwise naked body and ran toward the third-floor bathroom. She ducked inside and shut the door, her heart pounding, her emotions extreme. She leaned against the door, her head bowed and her green eyes closed. Her mind flooded with questions. Would Zendrak still be in their bedroom when she returned? What would he say to her? What would he expect of her? Kelandris gritted her teeth. She didn't want to think about these kinds of questions. She
didn't want to feel these feelings. Despite her brave lecture on the benefits of feeling life deeply, ever since the Ritual of Akindo Kelandris had disciplined herself to feel nothing. It was a survival technique more than anything else. To feel anything was to open a veritable box of emotional trouble. Experience had taught her that passion of any kind put you at the mercy of other people. So to remain in control of her life—such as it was—Kelandris had used her formidable will to numb her emotions. She had promised herself she would never feel deeply again about anything. Or anyone. It was a matter of survival.
«Damn you, Zendrak,» she swore, tears filling her eyes. «Everything was fine between us and then you just had to go and spoil it.» Continuing to swear, Kelandris turned on the water in the shower. She waited for it to warm up. When the room be
came steamy, Kelandris dropped her black bathrobe. It fell to the floor revealing a muscular but surprisingly feminine body. Her bones were long to support her weight, but they were also delicate. Her belly was slightly rounded, her breasts soft and inviting. She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water beat her senses into forgetfulness. Moments later, she felt a draft. She poked her head out of the shower, her long blue-black hair clinging to her face and neck and breasts. Zendrak stood inside the room, closing the door as she stared at him in astonished indignation. «I locked that door!» «And I opened it,» he said. He too dropped his bathrobe. Around his neck hung a necklace of black stones. The necklace was made of obsidian, and it had been forged in Soaringsea. Like Kel, his body was muscular; his chest was covered with fine dark hair. Although his body was considerably older than hers, it was a mirror image except that it was harsher and male. Without asking permission, he climbed into the shower with Kelandris. Kel reacted like a cornered animal. She pulled away from him, cowering against the wall. Zendrak ignored her fear of him and his sex and reached for her. Water streaming down his scarred face, he pulled Kelandris toward him and held her in silence. He kept his hands free of the erogenous places, touching her only as a friend might. Trembling, she made fists with her hands but she did not strike him. She could not. In her heart, she knew he meant her no harm. And had never meant her any harm. He had been ensnared by the events in Suxonli as much as she had. And yet, she could not accept this—not entirely. He had made love with her and left her just before the revel began. And when the night turned from a festival into a trial, Zendrak was nowhere to be found. Kelandris had never found a way to
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