Contrarywise

by Zohra Greenhalgh

  clear, too! Otherwise, I'll suffocate him with roses! I'll plaster his face with valentines! I'll—» She broke off, searching for the worst possible punishment she could think of for Trickster. The Greatkin of Love smiled. «I'll stuff him to bursting with meaningful glances and cooing candlelit dinners for two. Eat romance, Rimble!» she cried, raising her fist. Then, before anyone could stop her, the Patron of Great Loves and Tender Trysts strode out of the feasting hall, her rainbow gown fluttering like battle banners. Jinndaven looked at Eldest. «Was Trickster expecting this?» Themyth bit her lower lip. «I don't think so.» Jinndaven stroked his chin. «Ah,» he said thoughtfully. He imagined several possible outcomes. «Think Love can outsmart Deviance?» Eldest shrugged, her expression also thoughtful. «Don't know.» Jinndaven grinned. «Well, I'd like to see her try.» Themyth picked up the hem of her long coat of tales and touched one or two of the brightly colored appliques. She chuckled. «Me, too.» She inclined her head. «I better go have that talk with Phebes. And you—» she said pointing a bony finger at the Greatkin of Imagination, «mum's the word. If Trickster finds out we're helping Phebene—» «We!» cried Jinndaven. «We,» repeated Themyth firmly. «Just remember, dear fellow, you and Phebene are sitting next to Trickster for the Panthe'kinarok. That's nine courses, Jinn.» Jinndaven licked his lips, eyeing the table behind them. «We couldn't change the cards around again?» «No, we couldn't,» said Eldest. Jinndaven rolled his eyes and began thinking of ways to help the Greatkin of Love outsmart Trickster. Chapter Fourteen Fasilla reined her roan mares to a stop just outside a small thatched cottage. The cottage was whitewashed, its shutters bright yellow. Rows of orange hollyhocks and royal blue irises fanned the short space between the windows and the dark, rich earth of the Jinnjirri healer's front lawn. Fasilla stared at the flowers in surprise. It was nearly autumn; these flowers were not only out of season, they weren't native to Jinnjirri. Fasilla shrugged. Well, anything could happen in the borderlands of a draw like Jinnjirri's. Especially if a Jinnjirri named Aunt lived on the premises. Fasilla pulled Yafatah to the side of the wagon. Jumping to the ground lightly, the Asilliwir woman coaxed Yafatah to do the same. The young girl did so hesitantly, her eyes half-closed, her face pale. As Yafatah joined her mother on Jinnjirri soil, the door to the cottage behind them opened abruptly. «Hey,» said a young man's voice. «Like—uh—are you expected or anything?» Fasilla turned around. Before her stood an Asilliwir lad of about sixteen. His hair was short around the bottom of his neck, the top crowning his head with a mop of varied lengths and braids. He might be Asilliwir born, thought Fasilla drily, but this young punk had clearly adopted all things Jinnjirri. Especially his mishmash of brightly colored clothing—complete with tiny round mirrors and glass sequins. Fasilla stood closer to her daughter, encircling Yafatah's waist with her tanned arm. «No,» said Fasilla brusquely. «We doon't be expected. I be an old friend of Aunt's.» She paused. «This be me daughter, Yafatah. She do be ill, so if we could be cutting the conversation? Be Aunt about or noo?» The Asilliwir lad ignored Fasilla's question, peering at Yafatah. «Tammirring, huh?» He chuckled in disbelief. «Greatkin—you brought a Tammi through the Northwest Shift? Didn't you read the warning signs?» «There do be none where we crossed!» snapped Fasilla, resenting the boy's suggestion that she might be an idiot. Yafatah had never had serious trouble with Jinnjirri draw in the past. Why should this time have been so different? The boy eyed her with amusement. He bowed grandly to Fasilla and asked, «Whom may I say is calling at this preposterous hour?» Fasilla's face colored. She had been so intent on getting Yafatah to Aunt, she had completely forgotten the time. Fasilla squinted at the newly rising sun. «Five forty-five,» said the boy with an insolent smile. Fasilla lost her temper. «My name do be Fasilla of Ian Abbi. I was one of Aunt's closest schoolmates in Piedmerri. So watch your mouth!» «Hey—like I could care,» retorted the lad. «Seems everybody's related to Aunt one way or another. That's why she's Aunt. So—like why don't you just back off, okay?» he said huffily. «Try camping out here for a couple of hours. That way Aunt can get at least two hours of sleep!» he added with obvious contempt for Fasilla's thoughtlessness. «Two hours of sleep? What—» «Yeah. Two friggin' hours, lady. We've been having some trouble with the border weather. Aunt's been up all night trying to straighten it out. The flowers think it's spring, see. So do the trees. Ever heard a tree scream? Well, you will when Old Man Frost comes through here in about two weeks—with winter catching a free ride on his coattails.» The lad grunted. «We got a name for warm days like these: Trickster Summer.» Fasilla glanced at Yafatah. Her dark-haired daughter had started shivering at the mention of Trickster's name. Fasilla touched Yafatah's cheek reassuringly. She turned back to the Asilliwir lad. «If you would be so kind as to wake Aunt, I will take the consequences of her displeasure.» «What displeasure?» boomed Aunt's voice out of the second floor dormer window. «Fas—you've aged! Get your ass in here and tell me why! Burni,» she yelled at the Asilliwir, «take them to the kitchen. Put a brew on while you're at it. And make it black. I've got to prop my eyes open with something. Might as well be tea.» The window slammed shut. «Your name be Burni?» asked Fasilla as she and Yafatah walked in the front door to Aunt's cheery cottage. «Yeah,» he replied indifferently. «I used to be an arsonist.» Fasilla rolled her eyes, muttering, «Great.» As she and Yafatah found seats in Aunt's tiny kitchen—lifting cut materials and dried herbs out of the way—Fasilla was careful to put Yafatah as far away from Burni as possible; she didn't want her only child coming under the influence of someone as dubious as a former arsonist. Aunt entered the kitchen a few moments later clothed in nothing but a striped cotton nightshirt. Jinnjirri born. Aunt had long colorful hair that sprayed out of her head like a cascade of spiky rainbows. At thirty-six, Fasilla's exact age, Aunt was still a beautiful—if not exotic—woman. Or man. Currently, Aunt was a woman to please Fasilla. She remembered that her Asilliwir friend had been more than a little unnerved by an unexpected (but flattering) gender change on Aunt's part one lazy, hot summer between school terms in Piedmerri. Of course, there had been sexual implications in that change. Fasilla had been firm; she didn't want to introduce such complications into their three-year friendship. And that was final, said Fasilla, at the time. Aunt studied the strain in Fasilla's posture and face. Fasilla had changed in the past twenty years since Herbalist School. Aunt wondered why, glancing at Yafatah. Aunt's eyes widened. Walking hurriedly to the girl's side, Aunt turned accusingly to Burni and Fasilla, saying: «Why did no one tell me she had shift fever?» Burni shrugged, pouring cups of hot cinnamon-spice tea for everyone. «Shift fever may na' be all she has,» said Fasilla slowly. «Otherwise, I would've given her baneberry and comfrey and let her sleep it off.» Aunt nodded her head, her hazel eyes peering into Yafatah's green ones. «I see what you mean. Let's bring her in here,» she added, leading Yafatah into a small bedroom off of the kitchen. «Burni, you be nice to Fas while I examine the child.» «Doon't you want me with you?» asked Fasilla, getting to her feet. «I mean you might have questions. And it do be more complicated, Aunt. It do. Yafatah hasna' been sleeping well—» Aunt shook her head, her thick mop of hair falling forward over Yafatah's slight shoulders. «Fas—you worry too much. You always have. Now sit and drink your tea like a good girl. And let me do my job, eh?» «But—» «Sit,» repeated Aunt, shutting the bedroom door in Fasilla's face. There was an awkward silence between Fasilla and Burni. The boy shrugged. «She's quite good, you know. Especially with this kind of thing. Typical border born. Very opinionated.» He grinned. «Opinions are 'bout the only things that don't shift around here.» Fasilla grunted. She'd forgotten how opinionated Aunt could be. Glancing at the pans and knickknacks hanging on the walls, she said, «Typical Aunt clutter. Just like our old dorm room together. She used to call me an Asilliwir simpleton.» Fasilla laughed. «I couldna' find anything in Aunt's mess. She could, though. Every time.» The bedroom door opened abruptly. Aunt ignored Fasilla's inquiring look and called to Burni, «Get me some of
that fresh wheat juice in the icebox, will you? And a glass.» The door shut again. Fasilla shrugged. Wheat juice was harmless enough. Strong and very green, but harmless. She wondered what Aunt wanted with it, watching Burni rummage in the cold storage of the literal icebox. The boy looked over his shoulder at Fasilla, starting to laugh. «I can't find it—» «Here—let me look,» said Fasilla getting to her feet to help. Several minutes elasped. The bedroom door opened again. Seeing the two Asilliwir with their heads stuck in the icebox, Aunt started swearing good naturedly at them both. Leaving Yafatah for the moment, then Jinnjirri pulled Fasilla and Burni away from the overflowing shelves. She reached in once, and pulled out a tall bottle of thick, green liquid. «Asilliwir simpletons,» muttered Aunt, grabbing a glass and disappearing into the bedroom once more. Burni and Fasilla looked at each other. Chuckles soon followed. Aunt, who was listening on the other side of the door, said, «Good. Can't work in a house full of worry.» Putting the green tonic aside—it had already served its use—Aunt sat very still beside Yafatah. She brushed a strand of dark hair out of the child's damp face and added softly, «You just relax, child. I've got to get a second opinion. It'll just take a moment.» Yafatah nodded and stared wearily at the wall. Aunt closed her eyes. Her breathing slowed and deepened. A short while later, she smiled. There had been an answering tug on the other end of the psychic line; the Irreverent Old Doogat of Suf had received her message. He relayed that he needed a few minutes to consider the problem. Please keep the line open, he said, and he'd get back to her as soon as he could. Aunt leaned back in her chair, waiting patiently for Doogat's long distance reply. This was a convenient method of communication, but it was only possible between Mayanabi of at least Sixth Rank and up. Aunt, like Doogat, was a Mayanabi Nomad. With hard work and application, Burni would become her student sometime in the next year. At present, the boy thought he was merely apprenticing to a master herbalist. He had no idea that Aunt was a Sixth Rank, Twenty-two Degree initiate of the infamous Order of the Mayanabi Nomads. Such rank was no small feat at Aunt's relatively tender age. The Jinnjirri healer straightened in her chair; Doogat's reply was coming in now. Aunt's ready smile faded. She opened her hazel eyes slowly, her gaze falling on the young, dark-haired girl lying on the bed beside her. She studied Yafatah with bewilderment. The Tammirring smiled wanly at her. Aunt masked her present consternation with a cheery grin. She patted Yafatah's clammy hand and said, «Well now, child—seems you and your Ma have a bit of a journey ahead of you. Seems my 'second opinion' wants to see you for himself.» Yafatah struggled to speak. Her head felt as if it might split open from pain, and each word was an effort. «Where—do—he—be—liv—ing?» Aunt leaned over and massaged Yafatah's tense neck, her hands warm and gentle. «Speakinghast, child. Doogat lives in Speakinghast.» Yafatah stiffened. Chaotic images of Trickster masquerading as Old Jamilla overwhelmed her mind, and she began to weep helplessly. Chapter Fifteen Yafatah was too weak to fight Aunt's conviction that she should go to Speakinghast, but Fasilla wasn't. Fasilla listened to what the Jinnjirri healer said with an incredulous expression. She jumped to her feet in Aunt's tiny kitchen, her voice shrill. «That do be near three hundred miles from here! And over fierce bad country, too! Yafatah do be sick, Aunt. What can you be thinking of?» «Hush,» said the Jinnjirri sternly. «Keep your voice down, Fas.» The Jinnjirri inclined her head in the direction of the small bedroom in which Yafatah still lay. «The dose of drugs I gave your daughter was weak. I doubt she's asleep, yet. You don't want to frighten her, Fas.» Fasilla crossed her arms over her chest, staring out of the window at the brilliant Jinnjirri morning. The sky was deep blue and clear. A soft summer breeze rustled the orange and red autumn leaves on the trees standing near the cottage. Fasilla unbuttoned her yellow overtunic. Scowling, Fasilla wondered how long this «Trickster Summer» would last. She wiped sweat off her upper lip. Without looking at Aunt, she tried desperately to come up with a rebuttal to her friend's proposal. «Taking Ya all the way to Speakinghast do be crazy, Aunt. It do be plain crazy.» She shook her head. «I willna' take me daughter through the Eastern Feyborne. Not alone. It be one thing with a full Asilliwir caravan. It do be another alone. Look, if you canna help—we'll leave.» «To catch your clan-kin? They travel the opposite direction from where you must go,» Aunt added, her voice clearly disapproving. Fasilla spun on her old friend. «I know that! Didna' you hear me? I willna' take Yafatah through the mountains!» «She'll be drugged, Fas. Just like she is now.» Fasilla shook her head, her eyes strangely haunted. «I canna do it.» Aunt frowned. Then, glancing out the window she watched Burni remove the harness from one of Fasilla's mares. Aunt had told him to give the roans a rubdown and fresh water to drink. Then Burni was to hobble the two horses and set them free to graze on Aunt's front lawn—making sure they stayed out of the hollyhocks and irises, of course. Aunt took a deep breath, thinking that Burni ought to be outdoors just long enough for her to get through this Feyborne thing with Fasilla. Turning her attention back to the Asilliwir woman sitting at her kitchen table, Aunt said, «Fas—I want you to be honest with me.» She paused, putting a fresh pot of water on to boil for tea. «I want to know why you're afraid of the Feyborne.» Fasilla watched Aunt bend down to stoke the hot coals in the firebox of the kitchen's wood-burning stove. Fasilla shrugged. «There be noo person alive in all Mnemlith who hasna' got a healthy fear of them mountains. And you know that as well as I do, Aunt.» She sipped the remains of her cinnamon-spice tea. «Them mountains be alive with things.» «What kind of things, Fas?» asked Aunt calmly. «Greatkin,» whispered the Asilliwir, her throat constricting. Aunt inclined her head. «You've seen the Greatkin?» Unusual, she thought, for an Asilliwir born. «Not 'the'—just one. I think.» «You don't know?» Fasilla got to her feet and paced. «No, I doon't know. And I doon't want to talk about it, either.» Aunt met Fasilla's eyes sternly. «Exactly where was Yafatah born?» There was a long silence. «Suxonli. It be a tiny village in the Western Feyborne.» Aunt nodded. «I see. So you wintered in the Feyborne sixteen years ago. Unable to leave because you were pregnant with a Tammirring child.» Fasilla nodded. She stopped pacing, her shoulders sagging. «We were close before birth, Ya and I. And I saw things I shouldna' have seen.» «You mean, things you shouldn't have been able to see—as an Asilliwir?» Fasilla nodded again, returning to her seat at the table. She put her head in her hands. «Ya was carnival-begat. It were not my intention to have a child at that time. Especially not a Tammi. We Asilliwir be a kin-loving race. And then Tammi—they do be so cold. So far away in their hearts. I do me best to love the child, but she be so different from me sometimes.» «Inward?» asked Aunt with a reassuring smile. Fasilla nodded, tears streaming down her face. «I havena' said these things to anyone ever before. I doon't want people to think I do be a bad mother.» She raised her head. «I love the child. I love the child fierce, Aunt.» «I believe you.» Aunt paused. «But your love for Ya may not be enough.» Fasilla stared at her good friend. «What can you be meaning?» Aunt took a deep breath, speaking slowly and emphatically. «Just this: Yafatah is a Crossroads Child. Carnival-begat, yes. And carnival time is Greatkin Time. A literal crossroads of possibility—in this case, Rimble's.» At the mention of Trickster, Fasilla swore in Southern Asilliwir. Aunt, who was fluent in the language, smiled, scooping fresh tea into the pot. When Fasilla ran out of expletives, Aunt continued the conversation. «Now most times, Fas, this just means the carnival-begat child is one having unusually strong gifts in some area. Maybe the child becomes a great artist. Or a great teacher. The direction will be determined by landdraw.» Aunt poured steaming tea into Fasilla's cup. The scent of cinnamon sweetened the air. «Sometimes, though, something more comes through during a festival of the kind you attended.» «Something more?» Fasilla didn't like the sound of this. «Yes. It's called a Gift of Spirit. It's a power. Needs training, too.» Fasilla's mouth went dry. «What kind of power.» «Depends on the Greatkin involved.» She poured herself some tea. «Since it's Rimble, we'll have to assume Yafatah's Gif
t of Spirit has something to do with making change possible. Rimble-Rimble, you know.» Fasilla said nothing. Aunt smiled. «How you ever ended up at a rowdy, wanton Rimble's Revel completely eludes me, though. 'Psychotropics' was not exactly your favorite class at school, as I recall.» She waited for Fasilla to explain. Fasilla swallowed. As school chums, they had argued well into the night over the proper and improper uses of mind-altering herbs and potions.