wish ill on the child. The rape be not her fault.» Fasilla's voice was weary. «I tried to cross them Feyborne just to get free of Suxonli. Not Tammirring. But the draw wouldna' let me leave, Aunt. I swear it. The draw of Suxonli wouldna' let me leave.» Aunt frowned. She had never heard of such a thing. The Jinnjirri healer rubbed the back of her neck wondering if Fasilla had her facts straight. A rape on a hallucinogenic drug would have been a very traumatic, very terrifying thing. Aunt cleared her throat and said gently, «The villagers gave you no help after the revel? No healing?» Fasilla laughed coldly. «They were too busy nursing their own wounds to be bothered with mine, Aunt. Besides, I wasna' Suxonli born. I be an Asilliwir outsider.» Fasilla spat against the far wall. «Me clan? We wouldna' do such a thing to a person—be they outsiders or noo. We do be civilized, we Asilliwir. Not like them foul Tammi.» Fasilla took a deep breath. «What healing I got, Aunt, I got from me own people—nine months after the revel.» «You left after Ya's birth?» Fasilla nodded. «And I willna return there—ever. 'Tis a cursed, wretched place.» Aunt regarded Fasilla steadily. «And if Ya wishes to see her draw?» Fasilla swallowed, her eyes downcast. «Then she will journey there alone. I willna' return to Suxonli.» Aunt nodded. «So you keep Ya away from her own kind. You make her Asilliwir so she won't hear the call of her Tammi draw. What love is this?» Fasilla's eyes filled with tears again. She covered her face with her hands, unable to look at Aunt. «I canna' go there, Aunt,» she whispered. «Presence forgive me—but I canna.» Aunt got off the bed. She squatted beside Fasilla, stroking the younger woman's fine, brown hair. «I agree with you. Fas. You cannot return to Suxonli. But, my dearest friend, Yafatah may have to go there someday. None of us truly understands what a Crossroads Child is. In order for Ya to find out, she may have to go where you cannot follow.» «No!» cried Fasilla with sudden despair. «Doon't say this thing to me, Aunt! Doon't say this thing!» Aunt pried Fasilla's hands away from her eyes. «Look at me, Fas.» The Asilliwir met Aunt's even gaze with fury. Aunt nodded, saying, «I think my words come as no surprise to you. You carried this child, Fas.» «I doon't understand what you're talking about,» she said angrily. Aunt pulled a strand of hair away from Fasilla's lips. «I think you do. I think you knew there was something queer about Yafatah before she was born. You're not a stupid woman, Fas. I went to school with you, remember. You've got a good mind. You can put odd things together and see the sense in them.» Fasilla's face paled. «Shut up, Aunt. Just shut up.» Aunt ignored Fasilla's discomfort. «That night in Suxonli was also queer—» «Queer?» shouted Fasilla with rage. «Be that what you call a rape?» Aunt swallowed, her hands sweating, her expression hard. «You weren't the only one who was hurt that night, Fas. As you well know.» There was a stunned silence. Fasilla started to get to her feet. Aunt grabbed her arm and held Fasilla to her previous kneeling position. Fasilla's eyes blazed. «Doon't touch me,» she said in a low, dangerous voice. «You willna' make less of my pain. You willna' do what them Suxonli did to me. You willna say it was Rimble's will—'' Aunt slapped Fasilla, yelling, «It wasn't Rimble's will!» Fasilla blinked, her cheek scarlet where Aunt had struck her. The fight suddenly went out of her. Fasilla gazed distantly at Aunt. «In Suxonli, they say the Presence do be a Trickster.» «Well, they're wrong!» snapped Aunt, the Mayanabi in her disgusted. Fasilla said nothing, her expression disoriented. Then she muttered, «But Rimble do be a Face of the Presence, and even we Asilliwir call this Greatkin by roguish names.» Aunt took a deep breath. She moved toward Fasilla, sitting with her, her back against the wall of the wagon. Aunt stared at the wooden ceiling above her, choosing her words carefully. She glanced sideways at Fasilla and said, «Do you remember what you were like when you were five years old?» Fasilla nodded. «And when you were twelve?» «Yes—so?» «How about when you were sixteen? Do you remember what you thought, what you wore?» Fasilla frowned. «Where do you be taking this?» «Are you a five, twelve, or sixteen-year-old.» «Of course not, Aunt. I do be thirty-six.» «But you were all those ages once, weren't you. And at each one of them, you thought that was all you were. But at thirty-six, you can see that you're actually much, much more. You're every 'face' you've ever had. Every age you've ever been. The Presence is like that, Fas. It's a composite of all times, moods, and expressions of Itself. To say that the Presence is a Trickster is as stupid as saying you are nothing more than a five-year-old. You are that five-year-old, but you're also every age before and after. You wouldn't want to limit yourself by using a child's mind to solve adult problems, would you?» Fasilla stared at Aunt. «But Greatkin Rimble doon't be five, Aunt.» «Of course not. However, Suxonli's idea of him is. Trickster, like any of the other Greatkin, is more than what he appears to be. Although you can't see the other Greatkin when you look at Rimble, his reality, in fact, rests on the entirety of the Presence. Uh—like my Jinnjirri femaleness rests on my maleness,» she explained briefly switching gender. «Just because you can't see my breasts right now—that doesn't mean they're not there, Fas.» To demonstrate the point, Aunt became a woman again. «If you think of me as only a man or only a woman, you miss the bigger picture. Likewise, if you think of the Presence as having but one face, then you understand the Presence with the mind of a five-year-old. That's why Trickster is Trickster, Fas. He's there to remind us that the Presence has many faces. That's why he's changeable. But changeable doesn't mean evil, Fas. It doesn't mean cruel. It doesn't mean deceit. Those are our constructions. That's what we do when we become afraid of change. We say it's Rimble's will when it's really our own. Rimble didn't rape you—Yonneth did. If Yonneth had answered the call of Kelandris—if Suxonli had answered the call of Kelandris—there would've been joy. Not violence. Deny Trickster, and you deny your own need to change. Suxonli denied Trickster that night. In so doing, they denied the Trickster in each of them. And in you, since you were there.» «What do you be meaning?» asked Fasilla slowly. Aunt smiled at her friend. «Look at you, Fas. You're as angry with Suxonli now as you were all those years ago. In school, you were an easy going and merry soul. Suxonli froze you, Fas. Like it did to young Kelandris. You haven't been able to leave the trauma behind. You go over it daily, I wager—not that I blame you. Presence alive, woman—I'm not sure I could've borne the child of a rape. I'm not sure at all. Much less love her—as you clearly do.» A tear slipped down Fasilla's cheek. «I do love Ya,» she whispered. «I know,» replied Aunt gently. «And you must let her change. You must give to her what Suxonli stole from you. And if you can't, you must let others do it in your stead. People die inside when they aren't allowed to change.» Fasilla swallowed. «You think I do be killing Ya's spirit?» Aunt nodded. «I do. And that's not love, Fas. That's fear. Yours.» Fasilla sagged against the wall. «I doon't know how to be different.» Aunt took a deep breath. «You must try, my friend.» «Or?» «Or Doogat has asked me to take you back with me to Jinnjirri.» Fasilla stiffened. «Without Ya?» «Without Ya.» Fasilla's face paled. Aunt got to her feet, offering Fasilla a hand up. «Come on.» «Where?» asked the Asilliwir, standing up without Aunt's help. «To the Jinnjirri Quarter of Speakinghast. To a three storey monstrosity called the Kaleidicopia Boarding House.» Chapter Thirty-Seven As the time neared eight bell-eve, the commotion in the Kaleidicopia's large kitchen subsided. House members and guests filed into the dining room, each carrying a contribution for the table. Conversation was lively between everyone save Yafatah and her mother. The young Tammirring girl felt annoyed with her mother's continued anger over her brief exploration of the city shops and bustling streets. As Fasilla launched into yet another well meant litany of possible dangers, Yafatah slammed the platter of bread on the dining room table and stormed out of the house. She ignored her mother's sharp commands to return «this instant» and sat on the front porch of the Kaleidicopia, her mood sullen. Yafatah heard the door open and close behind her softly. She stiffened, expecting to hear her mother's voice. She was very surprised to hear Barlimo's instead. She looked up as the fifty-year-old Jinnjirri plunked down beside her on
the steps. Yafatah shrugged, saying, «I doon't be hungry, so doon't be asking me to come back to the table with you.» Barlimo grunted. «Then nobody gets to eat.» «Why?» Barlimo shrugged. «I like to say grace, and I don't say grace until everyone's seated and silent at the table. Personally, I'm starved—so I'd appreciate it if you got over the sulks as soon as possible.» The Jinnjirri smiled cheerily at the Tammirring. Yafatah frowned. «I doon't be sulking.» «Oh. Well, maybe you Tammis call it something else. Where I come from, when a person goes off on their own feeling sorry for themselves—not to mention misunderstood—we Jinn call it sulking. Especially if it's aimed at making one person uncomfortable. And you've done that royally. Your mother's sitting in there crying.» Yafatah shrugged. «I doon't know what she be doing that for.» «You scared her, Ya—that's all.» Yafatah sighed, staring at a passing happincabby. «I doon't understand why she be so scared of everything, Barl. I mean, she wouldna' have come to the city if Aunt hadna' ridden with us. I like Aunt—Aunt's not scared.» She paused. «I know I should be kind to me ma. But mostly I feel fierce angry with her these days. All I wanted to do was to see a bit of the city—on me own, you know. So I can have me own ideas. And if I run into trouble, then I run into trouble. A girl's got to have some time for thinking and dreaming. I canna' do that with me ma telling me how fierce bad everyone do be here in Speakinghast. Oh—what be the use?» Yafatah added miserably. «Even when she doon't be with me, I hear me ma's voice warning me about this and protecting me from that.» «Some protection is good, Ya— Yafatah whirled on Barlimo. «Not when it means I canna buy a pastry in a shop because the shopkeeper will take advantage of me, or worse, the cream filling might be bad from sitting out too long. By the time I think all these things, I doon't want to eat the pastry. I want to toss it at me ma!» Barlimo nodded. «So your mother needs to change. Aunt and Doogat are trying to help her do that right now, Ya. You must not foil their good efforts by sulking. You must come inside and teach your mother how to let you grow up.» Yafatah's eyes filled with angry tears. «She be the ma—not me. She should know these things already.» Yafatah crossed her arms over her chest. «I do be the child here.» «Oh. I thought you were a girl growing up—a young woman taking on responsibilities of caring for others besides herself.» Yafatah's face blotched with fury. «That doon't be fair. You put me in a corner. I canna' win. I canna' be a child, and I canna' be a woman. That doon't be fair.» Barlimo chuckled. «Welcome to that celebrated malady called 'growing pains.' It's when you aren't one thing or another for a while. And you feel real uneasy inside all the time. You don't know where to stand with yourself. You get a little scared. Then you take it out on everybody around you. You want them to make the scare go away. But they can't, see.» «Why not?» retorted Yafatah. «Because,» said Barlimo kindly, tousling Yafatah's dark hair, «if they take away your scare, they take away your struggle. And they want you to have your struggle.» «Why?» demanded Yafatah. «Because they want you to be that young woman you so deeply wish to be. Sulking is for children, Ya. Helping your ma become a better person is for adults. Now which world do you want to live in? The one that leashes you to your ma like a toddler, or the one that trusts you to explore the city streets using your good mind and clear eyes?» Yafatah put her head in her hands. «You're mean, mistress Barl.» Barlimo laughed heartily. «When I'm mean, child, believe me—you'll know it. Now come on—stop being bored out here by your lonesome and have dinner with some of the strangest, most talented people in all Speakinghast. You want to see the city sights? Well, we're one of them. Ask the Saambolin Housing Commission—they have all kinds of words to describe the Kaleidicopia. The house is famous, Ya. And you're privileged to be spending the night with us.» Yafatah regarded Barlimo warily, her grudge against her mother starting to weaken as her interest in the Kaleidicopia's residents increased. «Well, maybe I might have a little bit of dinner.» «Good,» said Barlimo, getting to her feet. She ushered Yafatah through the brilliantly painted front door. By the time Yafatah and Barlimo returned to the dining room, Fasilla had collected herself. Barlimo smiled at all the curious faces before her and said, «Sit down, please, and we'll have grace.» Timmer rolled her eyes. «Greatkin lover,» she muttered grumpily. Doogat smiled. As dinner progressed at the Kaleidicopia, Kelandris of Suxonli wandered the city streets, Zendrak's Kindrasul clutched tightly in her fingers. She left the Saambolin Quarter and crossed the line into the Jinnjirri portion of the city, squinting at a large lime green and hot pink sign. It read: «Abandon normalcy all ye who enter here!» Kelandris pondered the meaning of the sign and decided that this sector of Speakinghast might be more to her own liking. She fingered the new veil on her head that she had poached from someone's clothesline in a narrow alley. This veil, although black as usual, was not of the homespun variety. It was made of soft, shining silk and crowned Kel's head with elegance. She moved through the evening shadows silently as the full moon above cast soft, silver light on Kel's shoulders and broad back. Her formidable size coupled now with her burgeoning Mythrrim consciousness caused passersby to gape at this physical and spiritual giant of a woman. Kelandris was vaguely aware of their assessment of her, but she found it largely uninteresting. Her attention was focused on the steady heartpull of the Kindrasul that she carried in her left hand. Acting like a homing device of the soul, the Kindrasul brought her closer and closer to the man who loved her—to Zendrak of Soaringsea. Without hesitation, Kelandris turned down a narrow street that would take her to Wise Whatsit Avenue—the location of the Kaleidicopia. The pull from the Kindrasul increased, and Kel stopped briefly, her hand clutched to her chest, her head bowed. She shut her eyes under her veil, puzzled by the pain she felt in her chest. It was not violent, nor was it particularly unpleasant. Still, it was uncomfortable—and she wished to relieve it. Should she continue following the pulse of the Kindrasul? Although Kel was no stranger to pain—emotional or physical—she had no liking for it. Yet, this pain—this ache—seemed different. It was as if something were straining to be born inside her, and as the pressure intensified, as the demand for emergence accelerated, Kel winced, aware of a bearing down sensation in her whole body—particularly her womb. She wondered at this. How could she feel pregnant when she had not made love for sixteen years? She took a deep breath, fighting off a new wave of pressure. The Kindrasul glinted in the pale moonlight. She held the obsidian beads in front of her face, her hidden green eyes studying the queer markings on each piece of glass. She wished she understood what they meant. Or why she felt it so necessary to follow the pull that they emitted. It seemed like it would be a whole lot easier to just throw the beads away and be done with this queer pain. Much easier… Kelandris considered lobbing the beads into a nearby watering trough. As she raised her hand, the beads poised for throwing, Zendrak's face flashed before her eyes. His expression was calm, but she could read sorrow in his dark eyes. Terrible sorrow—the kind born of desperation and need. «And loneliness,» she whispered. Kelandris shrugged. Loneliness had been her constant companion since the Ritual of Akindo. She was used to the feeling; she accepted its continued, unrelenting presence in her life. The thought of living without loneliness struck her as a quaint fantasy—an idle impossiblity. To admit that she might now be faced with a true opportunity to mitigate her own loneliness by joining her life with that of Zendrak's was unsettling. Even as a Mythrrim, Kel experienced loneliness—perhaps more intensely now. She was not surprised by this or dismayed; Kel's loneliness was so integral to her personality that she was almost fond of it—as one might be of a long-time friend. Still, she hesitated to throw the Kindrasul away. Without knowing why she did so, Kelandris began to move in the direction of the Kaleidicopia again, the flash of Zendrak's sorrow haunting her. As she rounded the corner, the Kaleidicopia came into view. Kelandris gasped—not from the wild chaos of the building's construction—but from the burning she now felt in her heart. The hand that grasped the Kindrasul trembled. She felt lightheaded and deeply, deeply afraid of what lay just across the street from
her. Kelandris jumped, as the front door to the three storey house opened abruptly. A man dressed in blue stepped out, his dark eyes turning in her direction almost immediately. Kel's heart pounded. She met the gaze of the man uneasily. She did not know who he was, but she felt like she should. Doogat stepped off the front porch of the Kaleidicopia, walking toward Kelandris slowly. He approached her as one might a wild animal, aware that she stood ready to run from him at any moment. He stopped about six feet in front of her, his hands at his sides. His breathing was as ragged as Kel's was, his palms just as damp with the sweat of anticipation and fear. Doogat cleared his throat and asked, «Are you lost? Perhaps looking for a certain street?» Kelandris shrugged, unsure of what to say. The power of the Kindrasul had her tongue-tied. She felt certain that she should flee from this man, and simultaneously she could not, would not leave. It was not that the black beads had paralyzed her will; rather, they had opened her to a possiblity that she could not ignore—namely, heart's peace. Kelandris frowned under her veil. Finally, she, too, spoke—clearly and without the rhyme of madness. «I think I'm where I'm supposed to be.» Doogat nodded slowly. «Are you—are you meeting someone?» Kelandris shrugged again. «Maybe.» Doogat's eyes fell on the black glass beads in Kel's hand. «You hold a Kindrasul,» he said conversationally. «I haven't seen one of those in a long time. They're quite special.» «Oh,» said Kelandris, wondering who this man was and why he insisted on speaking with her. Doogat smiled. «Those aren't made for just anybody. You have to have attained a certain level of spiritual insight to cause a Kindrasul to open the Doors of Remembrance for you. A Kindrasul is a little like a universal translator for certain things.» «What kind of things?» Doogat shrugged. «A greater understanding,» he said quietly. Kelandris snorted under her veil. She didn't like this man's cryptic remarks. They made her feel stupid—as if she ought to know exactly what he was talking about but didn't because he was deliberately withholding the connecting pieces of information that would make his comments intelligible to her mind. It was most irritating—and compelling. Again Kelandris considered leaving the presence of the man in blue and again decided to remain where she stood. There was something about this man that pressed her for recognition. Something about the eyes, she reflected. Suddenly, she realized that Doogat's eyes were the exact color and shape of Zendrak's. Kelandris took a step backward, staring at Doogat's face. He was the wrong height, skin color, age, and build to be Zendrak—yet he smelled like her lover of sixteen years ago. Kelandris inclined her head as a dog might, literally sniffing the air to see if she could make sense of her visual confusion. She was aware of Doogat watching her intently. Kelandris swallowed, still unsure of what she was perceiving. No answers were forthcoming, however, so she gave up in frustration. «Would you like a greater understanding?» asked Doogat, his voice still quiet. «One that might answer your soul ache?» Tears started in Kel's eyes under her veil. The man's question had touched her unexpectedly. She pressed her lips together, praying that the man in blue wouldn't notice how much her hands were shaking. A tear slipped down her cheek. Her breath caught. «Would you like a greater understanding?» asked Doogat again. This time his voice was a little more forceful, a little more direct. Kelandris said nothing, another tear spilling down her cheek and dampening her veil. The man's question was like a gong. Every time he asked it, she felt a stronger answering resonance deep inside herself. It was terrifying. She felt emotions now that she thought were long dead. Stay dead, she told herself wildly. For Presence sake—stay dead! If you don't, it's going to hurt. It's going to hurt bad— Doogat watched her with disguised compassion. He could see that he was having exactly the effect he wanted to have on Kelandris: a thaw. Doogat pursed his lips and said drily, «Every cold spell needs a spring, Kelandris.» She stiffened at the unexpected mention of her name. «Who are you?» Doogat ignored her query. It was his opinion that Kelandris needed to figure out the answer to that question without any help from him. If Kel realized that he was Zendrak, then he would know that her Mythrrim consciousness was fully operant—and that he could at last speak freely to Kel of their shared Greatkin heritage and mortal destiny. Until that time, Doogat dared not risk it. Too much information too soon could frighten Kelandris, thereby undercutting the trust he wished to develop with her. Doogat shrugged, and said, «You could let me be that Spring.» Kelandris crossed her arms over her chest. «I'm not a wasteland!» Doogat arched an eyebrow. «Oh. My mistake. That black veil confused me. I thought you might be barren or something.» Doogat hit his intended mark—Kel's sorest point—the loss of her unborn child at the Piedmerri border. All of Kel's most savage emotions piled to the fore: rage, resentment, self-pity, and soul-wrecking despair. The emotions were so violent that—like the evils flooding out of Pandora's Box—they obscured the quiet, radiant voice of hope that now quickened in her heart. She railed in silence against Doogat's thaw. Doogat reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded yellow piece of paper. It was one of Janusin's invitations to the Kaleidicopia's annual Trickster's Hallows. Doogat opened it slowly, saying: «Well, if you're through mourning—perhaps you'd consider coming to this. It'll be held at that house,» he continued, pointing to the fuschia door of the Kaleidicopia with his right hand. «Invitation only, you see. It's a masquerade. You won't get in without a costume—the more outrageous, the better,» he added with a small smile. Kelandris grabbed the invitation out of his hand, reading it swiftly. She stiffened as soon as she realized it was a Rimble's Revel. She threw the paper on the ground and replied haughtily, «I'm akindo. I don't get invited to parties. I'm alone in the world.» Doogat picked up the paper, watching that Kelandris didn't try to kick him as he leaned over. When he had straightened, he said matter-of-factly, «Then, you are a wasteland.» Kel's eyes blazed. She saw that this man—whoever he was—had cornered her expertly. If she agreed that she was a wasteland, she felt as though she would be giving in to the horror of the Ritual of Akindo all over again. Suxonli Village had tried to kill her and failed. Their failure had been a source of compensation to her over the years—and a source of perverse, stubborn pride in her ability to survive no matter what the conditions. On the other hand, if Kel agreed to the possibility of a real Spring, she agreed to the possibility of change. And two-legged contact again. The Mythrrim in Kel balked at this. «I have no need of kin.» «All beings have need of kin, Kelandris,» replied Doogat evenly. «Murderers and prophets alike. Why, even Mythrrim Beasts have need of kin. We are the creaturely source of kinhearth for the world. We are the ones who light the sacred fires. We tell the stories of Remembrance, hmm? Like the one about Trickster's Daughter?» Kelandris stiffened. Although she had spoken the Mythrrim of The Turn of Trickster's Daughter, she had done so in a trance state and now recalled precious little of it in her conscious mind. Kelandris eyed the man in blue warily. «What is this we crap?» «Oh—did I say we? How silly of me. Everyone knows Mythrrim don't exist.» There was a short silence. Kelandris narrowed her eyes under her veil, watching the play of shadows on Doogat's face. The veil made it difficult to see him clearly, so she raised it. Doogat gave her a startled look but said nothing. Kelandris stared at Doogat, unable to figure out how it was that this short, round-bellied man could possibly remind her of raven-haired, six-feet-six Zendrak. Perplexed, she again sniffed the air. The scent of her lover filled her senses. Without warning, the Mythrrim in Kel took over. The woman in black snapped at Doogat playfully. It was a lover's nip—invitational and rowdy. Doogat took a step backward. He longed to respond in kind, but he wanted Kelandris to realize who he was from the perspective of her conscious mind as well as from the purely instinctual. Otherwise, the power Kelandris commanded as a Greatkin might remain out of her control. She had already killed eight people during her last «turn» in Suxonli. Doogat did not wish the same to happen at the Kaleidicopia three days from now. «See you at the party?» he said amiably. «What?» asked Kelandris, bewildered by the sudden change of subject. «Remember—wear a costume,» he continued. «Makes it so much more f
un for everyone, I think. Oh, and by the way—Zendrak will be there.» Before Kelandris could respond, Doogat whirled away from her. He walked swiftly to the Kaleidicopia. The door slammed shut behind him. Kelandris stared at the startling color of the door. Feeling disoriented and in some mild state of psychic shock, Kelandris pulled her veil down over her face again. Then, swearing softly, she slipped into the shadows. She would watch this house, she decided. She would watch it closely. Chapter Thirty-Eight By the time Doogat returned to the house, dinner was almost over. A few of the denizens of the Kaleidicopia sat sprawled in the commons room, their stomachs warm and full. Conversation was minimal as Janusin stoked the fire in the hearth, his handsome profile silhouetted against the dancing flames. To his right, Timmer strummed her lotari softly humming a lilting melody to herself and scribbling the notes down on paper as soon as she had them figured out. Feeling contrary tonight, Po decided to do the opposite of what people expected of him; he decided to be magnanimous. In truth, this was less Po's decision and more the growing influence of Greatkin Phebene upon Rimble's Nine. Still, it was a pleasant change and all welcomed it. Po walked into the room carrying a tea service for the entire dinner party. He set it on the round, low table in the commons room just as Doogat closed the front door to the house. Catching Doogat's strained expression out of the corner of his eye, the little thief turned to his Mayanabi Master and said, «You look lousy. Are you feeling all right, Doogs?» Doogat nodded and ducked into the first floor bathroom. He shut the door swiftly. Po's eyes narrowed. He poured tea for everyone, and, when he was satisfied that all had been served, he crossed the room to the bathroom. He knocked gently, saying, «Hey, Doogs—you want mint tea?» Doogat's answer was unintelligible. «Doogat?» asked Po, suddenly becoming concerned for the old man. In his opinion, Doogat had been acting extremely nervous all evening. Extremely tense. Perhaps Doogat was ill? Po tried the door. It opened easily. Po's eyes widened in surprise. Doogat sat hunched against the wall of the bathroom, his sixty-two-year-old face streaked with tears. Doogat raised his head sharply. «Get out of here, Po!» «Nope,» replied Po, coming into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him softly. «Something's been eating you all night. I want to know what it is.» «Not now.» Po hesitated. He knew he was treading dangerous ground. He wondered if he felt up to being punched out by Doogat tonight. Deciding that he and his ear could take it, Po pursued his line of questioning firmly. «Doogat—I'm not a total ass you know. I got eyes. Come on,» he said squatting beside the Mayanabi, «even masters need friends. Talk to me.» Doogat rested his head against the bathroom wall, his dark eyes shut. «It's a very long story, Po,» he whispered. «Your stories are always long, Master Doogat. And I got all night.» Doogat opened his eyes slowly, genuinely touched by Po's unexpected concern for him. He smiled at the little thief through his tears. «You know, Po—you might make eighth rank yet.» Po scowled at Doogat. «Don't change the subject.» Doogat chuckled. « All right,» he whispered, his voice hoarse. «The problem is very simple, Po—I'm in love with the woman who ripped up your right hand.» There was a short silence. Po cleared his throat. «Simple,» he said drily. «Interesting use of the word, Master Doogat.» Doogat smiled, wiping the tears off his face with the sleeve of his blue robe. «As I'm always telling you, Po—things are not what they seem on the surface. Someday, you may consider the scar across your knuckles an honor. Proof, as it were, of your direct contact with the divine.» Po took a deep breath. «I doubt it.» Doogat was silent. «I wonder,» he said finally, «what would you do if you came face-to-face with a Greatkin?» «Run like Neath.» Doogat smiled. «What do you think the others would do?» Po cocked his head. «This a test?» Doogat shook his head. «No. I'm just curious to hear your opinion.» «Well, that's a first,» grumbled the little thief. Then, sitting down beside Doogat, the Asilliwir contemplated each member of the household. «Okay,» he said, «I think it would go this way. I think Barlimo would take it in stride. She's a funny one, that Jinn. Nothing ever seems to unseat her. You may be the owner of the 'K,' Master Doogat—but you and I both know who really runs the place. And we're a pretty rowdy bunch of people to deal with on a daily basis. So I don't think a Greatkin would do much more than cause Barlimo to smile. She told me once that her life was touched by grace—that's why she insists on saying it at every meal.» Doogat nodded. «She told me that, too.» Po pursed his lips. «Let's see—Timmer. That's a rough one. Her music is very, very inspired—I mean, the stuff she writes and won't play for anyone. I caught her out in the studio one day, singing her heart out to the Presence. Greatkin, she was pissed. It was like I had caught her having sex or something.» Doogat raised an eyebrow. «Was she singing to a particular Face of the Presence?» Po nodded. «Yeah. Jinndaven—the Greatkin of Imagination. It wasn't a petition or anything like that. She was just singing his praises. I think she'd just written a song that had popped out right on the first try. And she was thankful for the inspiration. Anyway, I'm not sure what Timmer would do is she suddenly found herself in the company of an actual Greatkin.» Po grinned. «Course, if it was Jinndaven—she'd probably invite him to her bed. But I digress.» Doogat smiled. Podiddley scratched his dirty earlobe. «Now, Janusin—I think Janusin would go all to pieces. The way he's worked on that Trickster statue day and night—talk about pure out and out devotion to his craft. Or perhaps even to Trickster himself. I know I wouldn't have worked on that statue like that.» Doogat chuckled, agreeing. «Hard work isn't exactly your most intimate friend, Po.» Podiddley scowled at Doogat. «That's not the reason I wouldn't have worked on the statue. I wouldn't have worked on it because it wears Cobeth's face. And if I had loved Cobeth as much as Janusin did, I wouldn't have had the heart to complete the fucking piece. But Janusin did. He finished it despite his grief. And it's not even a half-assed job, you know. I mean, Jan's so good he could've done a half-assed job, and the Great Library would've bought the statue anyway. Cobeth's a jerk for ever leaving Jan.» «I don't think Cobeth wants to be a sculptor, Po.» Po shrugged. «Yeah—that's how Janusin explains it, too. But just learning the craft isn't the whole picture, see. Janusin had other things to teach besides the right placement of a chisel.» «Like what?» «Oh—devotion. Commitment.» Po averted his eyes suddenly from Doogat's intense gaze. «The kind of shit you're always trying to teach me, Master Doogat.» He coughed, adding, «Anyway, I think Janusin would start bawling like a baby in the presence of a Greatkin. He'd probably change gender a lot, frost his hair, and start sketching like mad.» «Sketching?» «Sure. The face of the Greatkin—for his next statue.» Po started to pick his nose, but Doogat interrupted him with a handful of privy paper. «Disgusting habit, Po.» The little thief glared at Doogat. «Hey—I wasn't planning to eat it. At least not with you sitting here,» he added impishly. He blew his nose with great fanfare. Doogat rolled his eyes, thinking how much Po reminded him of Trickster at this moment—with a difference; Trickster would have eaten the contents of his nose. With great lip smacking and delight, no doubt. Po cleared phlegm out of his throat and spat into the nearby privy. Then he continued with his evaluation of the Kaleidicopia's reaction to discovering a Greatkin in its midst. «Rowenaster. Shit—he'd probably have a heart attack, Doogs. And go out smiling. The old professor's loved the Greatkin all his life, I think. How else could he stand to teach first year students for fifty years? I mean, first year students are nice and all—but let's face it, Doogs, Rowen's an intellectual genius, and not one of those students can keep up with him. Not one. So he's got to be teaching for some other reason. I think it's out of love for the Greatkin.» Doogat nodded. «Yes.» Po licked his lips, counting off the house members on his fingers. «Let's see—did I miss anyone? Oh, yeah. Treesonovohn.» Po winced. «Boy, that's a hard one. Tree's a weird sort of fellow. Even for a Jinn. Tell you the truth, Doogs—I think Tree would handle it the worst. I think he'd come undone. He's funny around surprises—he doesn't like them much. Must be because of that accident in Jinnjirri—the one where everyone in his family got swallowed up by an e
arthquake. Everyone except him, of course. He told me he climbed a tree during the shift—that's why he looks like one. Kind of an homage to the one that saved his life. Anyway, I think Tree would be scared to death.» Po paused. «On the other hand, Tree has been different recently. Ever since Mab got better. In fact,» added the little thief, «in some ways, everyone's been different recently.» «How so?» asked Doogat, starting to feel a little calmer. Po shrugged. «I'm not sure. This is going to sound crazy, I suppose, but it's almost like we've all been waiting for something to happen. And now it is—something, I mean.» Po shrugged, running his grimy hands through his unkempt hair—what there was of it. «But see, I don't know what the 'something' is. Maybe it's the Trickster's Hallows. Maybe we've all been a little tense, and now that the thing is almost upon us, we can afford to relax. Except I don't remember it being like this last year.» Po shrugged. «Janusin should've had an all-out Jinnjirri fireworks display of temper at the table tonight. And he didn't.» Doogat frowned. «What're you talking about?» «Oh, yeah—you were outside when it happened. Well, seems that old biddy who visited her this afternoon made off with Janusin's invitations to the party. You remember how edgy he was when the hag kept fingering them in the kitchen? I mean, wouldn't you expect Jan to blow up when he found out they were missing?» Doogat inclined his head. «Yes. I wonder why he didn't?» «I asked him that very question.» «And?» «And he said it was in Rimble's hands. Weird, huh?» Doogat said nothing. Something about this interested him—something about the synchronicity of Janusin's relaxed response occurring at the same time he was talking to Kelandris outside in the street. Could it be that she really was going to turn after all? Doogat's heart filled with a wild hope, his previous mood of despondency slowly lifting. He regarded Po with undisguised affection, thanking the presence in silence for Po's unwitting reassurance. The little thief squirmed under Doogat's steady gaze. Then Po said, «That only leaves Mabinhil. Oddly enough, Doogs—I think she'd be overjoyed to see a Greatkin. I don't even think she'd cry—except maybe from happiness. I don't know what you did to her back at your place, but she's really different. I mean, I know you said you were just telling her bedtime stories every night, but I think maybe you might have been doing something more. Some kind of healing thing.» Doogat smiled. «It's very possible,» he agreed cryptically. Po rolled his eyes. «So did I pass?» «Pass what?» «The test?» Doogat gave the little thief a hug. «Yes, Po—you did. Welcome to seventh rank, thirtieth degree.» Po stared at Doogat. «Uh—Doogs—now don't get me wrong, but aren't you skipping a bunch there?» «Am I?» asked Doogat with a gentle smile. «You would've been seventh rank long ago, Po, except for one thing—your own spiritual ambition. As you progress in rank through the Mayanabi Order, you are given a certain amount of power—and with that power comes responsibility. Until tonight, you had not demonstrated to me that you were willing to serve anyone but yourself. I could not let you advance until you gave without thought of reward—O My Thief,» he added formally. «Oh,» said Podiddley, his face scarlet with embarrassment. «Well—uh—thanks, Doogs. I mean for the new rank.» «Yes, but don't let it go to your head, will you?» said Doogat drily. Po swallowed. «Yessir. What I mean is—I'll try not to. Well, you know how I am.» Doogat nodded, and sighed. Chapter Thirty-Nine The next day, as Janusin and Timmer wheeled the statue of Greatkin Rimble out of the studio toward the brick patio behind the Kaleidicopia. Timmer asked Janusin to stop. She inclined her head, listening intently. She scanned the row of hedge between the property of the main house and its private stable. Janusin watched Timmer for a moment, frowning. «What is it?» asked the sculptor impatiently. The Trickster's Hallows would begin in less than three hours, and he still had some last minute stitching to do on his lavender costume. He wiped sweat off his brow. «Timmer—come on. I want to get this statue in place.» Timmer ignored him, walking toward the bushes. She knelt down. The startled cry of a hurt dog soon followed. Janusin forgot his hurry and went to investigate. Timmer looked up as Janusin came up behind her. «Looks like a stray—maybe a year old at best,» said Timmer. Janusin peered into the hedge. Before him lay a medium-sized hound with brindle markings, ugly ears, and pied eyes—one yellow, one black. The dog was panting heavily and seemed to be protecting her left front paw. «Careful he—oops—she doesn't bite you, Timmer,» said Janusin as the bitch showed her teeth when Timmer tried to examine the hurt leg. Timmer nodded. «Aunt's a healer—think she's any good with animals?» «I'll go ask.» While Janusin ducked inside the Kaleidicopia, Timmer soothed the dog with a gentle song. The dog's ears pricked up. The bitch made a feeble attempt to wag her striped tail. Timmer smiled at the dog, her eyes drifting toward the statue of Trickster. Having nothing better to do, Timmer talked to the dog about the upcoming party. «Your timing sucks the royal,» she informed the bitch. «We're having a huge party here tonight. So, where are we going to put you? The stables will be filled to bursting, as well as every guest room in the house. And I don't dare put you in the library or the greenhouse. Pups like you eat books and dig holes. And there'll be nothing but strange people about, dog—which'll just make you nervous.» Timmer pursed her lips. «We don't want you to bite someone—assuming that we even get you into the house without you sampling one of us first.» The dog started panting again. Someone laughed behind Timmer. The Dunnsung musician looked up to find Aunt standing a few feet from her. Janusin, Mab, and Tree followed closely. Timmer frowned at Aunt. «What're you laughing at?» Aunt knelt beside Timmer. «This dog smiles when she pants. Look at the upturn of her lips. I've never seen anything like it.» Aunt reached toward the brindle hound. «Careful—» Timmer started to say. The dog did not growl this time. Aunt lifted the dog's injured paw, feeling it expertly. The dog whimpered but did not resist the examination. Timmer was impressed at Aunt's skill and said so. The Jinnjirri healer smiled. «Truth is, I'm more partial to animals than I am to two-leggeds. But the Presence seems to send me mostly two-leggeds to help. This bitch is a welcome change.» The dog's tail wagged. Aunt smiled at the brindle stray. «Look at those wild eyes. Maybe we should call you Pi, eh? Short for pied? How would you like that?» Aunt asked the dog. Trickster—for of course it was Trickster—wagged her tail with more enthusiasm. «Pi it is,» said Timmer. «Okay,» said Aunt, slipping her hands under the fifty-pound body of the stray and lifting her carefully. Glancing at Janusin and Tree, Aunt said, «You Jinnjirri gents finish putting the statue in place. Timmer, you go and make a strong poultice of green patchou bark and sirridian. There's a jar of each in the pantry—Barl gave me the grand tour yesterday. Mab, honey, you fetch that stinking bottle of black antiseptic.» Mab's eyes widened. «Hope this mutt's not rabid. Aunt. She'll for sure bite you when you put that stinging stuff on her paw.» «Let's act positive, shall we?» replied Aunt with more confidence than she actually felt. Working with animals was always a risk, and Aunt had endured her share of bites, kicks, and scratches in her time. The Jinnjirri eyed Trickster and whispered, «I want to have a good time at this party tonight, old girl—so I'd appreciate it if you didn't reward my efforts to help you with a nip or worse, hmm?» The dog's lips curled back into a smile. Aunt, Mab, and Timmer walked slowly back toward the Kaleidicopia, Trickster nestled in Aunt's strong arms. Tree and Janusin watched the women disappear into the house. Tree sighed. «Shit,» he muttered. «I think we've just been adopted.» «If Barlimo says it's okay,» replied Janusin, crossing the grass toward the statue of Greatkin Rimble. «Come on, Tree. Let's put this fellow where he belongs.» «In full view of the city street?» asked Tree drily. «Cobeth will love this. He'll take it as a compliment. Can't wait until he's installed in the park at the Great Library. Cobeth will become legend then,» added Tree with a sour smile. «Why you had to use his face for a model, I'll never understand.» Janusin shrugged. «The ways of the artist are inscrutable.» «Not to mention those of Trickster himself,» retorted Tree, recalling his encounter with Kelandris three days earlier. «You know—by having a Rimble's Revel, I think we sort of invite Trickster into our mids
t—if you know what I mean.» Janusin nodded, sighing deeply. «Working on this statue has been more trouble than you can imagine, Tree. There were some mornings when I could hardly bring myself to sculpt it. And not because of Cobeth, either.» «Why, then?» asked Tree starting to push the statue. Janusin shrugged. «Rowen talked to me about it once. He says that whatever Greatkin his class studies, the force or the patronage of that Greatkin enters into his life and that of all his students. So if it's Phebene or something, everyone starts having torrid love affairs. When it's Trickster—nothing goes according to plan.» Janusin paused. «That's how it's been with this statue. And some mornings, I needed for things to go according to plan. And of course they never did. Trickster's a bitch of an archetype to work for,» he added, wheeling the statue into place in the center of the brick patio. «Funny,» said Tree wryly, patting the erect penis on the black marble from Tamirring, «I would've said Trickster's a prick.» Guests began arriving as much as two hours ahead of time. Barlimo swore as the doorbell rang for the third time in fifteen minutes. She told Rowenaster to answer it, as she was not yet done with food preparations in the kitchen. Janusin stopped in briefly to sample the punch that Fasilla was making. As the sculptor poured himself a ladleful of orange and pommin juice, Barlimo paused from cutting brown bread. «Jan—do you realize those invitations must've traveled as far as three counties? There's people coming from outside the city to this thing. And they all have an invitation in hand.» Fasilla looked up. «Yafatah says Old Jamilla do be a Mayanabi Nomad. This means, she do travel far and wee.» Janusin complimented Fasilla on her punch and turned now to Barlimo. «Well—like I said. It's in Rimble's hands. Should be interesting to see who turns up.» «Yes,» said Doogat, coming into the room. He had just been thinking about Kelandris and was again wondering if she would indeed come. He refused to think of the consequences if she didn't. «Hey,» said Po, walking out of the pantry, his arms laden with cheeses. «Doogs—you're not in costume.» Doogat looked over his shoulder. «Neither are you.» «But I will be,» said Po, beaming. «Mine's a surprise.» Barlimo nodded. «I think I'm going to be sick of that word 'surprise' by the end of this evening.» She backed away from the bread. «This bread's not cooked all the way through. And that, my friends, is impossible.» «Rimble-Rimble,» said Rowenaster as he also dropped in to sample the punch. «Mmm—sweet. Very nice, Fas. Very nice.» He wiped his lips and asked, «Where's Yafatah?» Fasilla shrugged. «She's not speaking to me at the moment.» «I see,» said Rowenaster. «Sorry.» «Doon't be,» replied Fasilla evenly. «The child do be going through fierce bad times—that be all. It be her age.» Po dumped his load of cheese on the cluttered kitchen table, making everyone jump. He started to unwrap one of the yellow bricks, but Barlimo stopped him. She wagged a finger in the little thief's face, saying, «Wash you hands.» Po gave her a disgusted look and went to the sink. As he turned on the water, he looked back over his shoulder and said, «So, Doogs—how come you're not in costume. Aren't you coming to our little carnival?» «No.» All motion and conversation in the kitchen came to a full stop. Rowenaster was the first to speak. «You're not coming? You said you thought that woman in black might show up. What're we to do if she does?» «You'll know.» Barlimo said nothing. She was the only one of Rimble's Nine who knew that Doogat was in fact Zendrak. She did not know, however, that Zendrak was Trickster's son. Barlimo intentionally dropped a pan on the floor. The attention shifted to her. As it did so, Doogat smiled at her and ducked out of the kitchen. Rowenaster turned back to speak to Doogat. «Where'd he go?» The front door to the Kaleidicopia slammed. Doogat stood for a moment on the front porch of the Kaleidicopia. His Mythrrim senses told him that Kelandris hid nearby. Doogat had come and gone from the house freely for the past three days. The fact that Kelandris had not approached him during this time did not bode well. Doogat stuffed his hands in his pockets. It was imperative that Kelandris recognize him as Zendrak while he still wore Doogat's «face.» Kelandris must not be unconscious when she turned tonight—if she turned tonight, he reminded himself sourly. He shut his eyes wearily, his head bowed. Kelandris was strong, stubborn, and committed to survival—her own. What else did he need to do to convince the woman in black that more was at stake here than her personal pain and grief? Would she ever stop wearing the clothes of mourning? Doogat swore softly. He was angry with Kelandris now. Very. The woman's narcissism was beyond belief. If she had been a mere mortal, he would've been more sympathetic toward her. But Kelandris of Suxonli was Trickster's daughter. And my sister, thought Doogat. He scowled,
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