The Feast of the Trickster

by Beth Hilgartner

  "Do not be too quick to name events," the Namegiver warned. "Even the Mother and the Arbiter do not see all ends; and not even you can unravel Fate."

  "This is your way of saying we won't know how it turns out until it's over?" the Dreamer jibed gently. "Yschadeh, how profound you are."

  "I have a question," the Weaver put in. "We know the Trickster has bound herself not to interfere with 'Tsan; but the Wanderer does not respond to our attempts to reach her. Scrying doesn't work; 'Ren touches her dreams, but can awaken no response. How can even the Trickster flout her own vow so?"

  "She cannot," the Namegiver said softly, her eyes troubled.

  "She must be! What other power could possibly restrain the three of us?"

  "I do not know."

  "But you've guessed something?" the Dreamer demanded.

  "Yes. But it is only a guess."

  "Well?" Elgonar prompted, when she fell silent.

  "I think it must be 'Tsan herself who holds us at bay," the Namegiver admitted.

  "But why?" Irenden asked. "Why would she?"

  "She doesn't want to come back." There was aching sadness in the Weaver's voice.

  "It may be something else," the Namegiver said. "We do not see all ends."

  "Surely there is some help we can give them, the Five, or their allies? So much rides on this!" The Weaver's face was anguished. "There have been murders in the City; the Tame Khedathi are turning feral, and the Vemathi are rediscovering ruthlessness. For the first time in nine generations the Priestess of the shapeshifters has called for a blood sacrifice. The Orathi—the gentle Orathi!—are building walls around their enclaves." The Weaver swept a hand toward the Loom. "The Dreamweaver guides the pattern, and I must not interfere, but the Loom is weak, and Fate yearns toward chaos! I cannot sit idly by and watch!" He buried his face in both hands for a moment; then he looked up at his siblings. "Send me across the void. If we pool our power, we can do it. Send me! I can divert the Trickster—keep her away from the Five. I will lead her a merry dance, the sort of punishment she deserves. Please. I cannot sit idle."

  "Elgonar. You'd leave the Loom?" the Dreamer was shocked.

  "My hands are bound! I can do nothing while the Dreamweaver chooses the pattern. The Loom needs no other guide. Eikoheh is capable, gifted, and brave beyond measure."

  "She is also mortal," the Namegiver said sharply, "and old. Were she to die while you were across the void, there would be no guiding hand, no subtle mind behind the Loom's agency."

  "That might be no ill thing," Elgonar said bitterly. "The world I weave is very ordered; perhaps that makes it an irresistible target for entropy."

  The bower was silent. After several moments the Namegiver turned one hand palm upward. "You have never given me reason to doubt your judgment, Elgonar. If you are determined to go, I will lend you my aid."

  "Thank you."

  The Dreamer spoke then. His voice was harsh, as though the words fought to remain unspoken. "I will not. You must not go." The Weaver's brilliant eyes filled with tears. "I see it: we will need you here."

  Elgonar gripped his brother's wrists. "What do you see?"

  The brimming tears spilled down the Dreamer's cheeks as he wrenched his face away from his brother's demanding eyes. "Don't ask!!! Do not ask me."

  The Weaver made himself release the Dreamer's arms. "Very well," he conceded. "I will stay and somewhere I will find the strength to watch."

  TWENTY-TWO

  That evening, Brigid summoned Angel, Mark, Brice, and the Five (minus Ychass) and explained the predicament: Alexandra lost, the Trickster found, Ychass trapped in horse-shape and bereft of the magic that allowed her to understand the language. Even Angel couldn't find any encouraging words when Brigid was done.

  "So now what?" Brigid cast the question into the silence.

  Angel rallied. "First off, we've got to come up with a way to explain Ychass as a horse—before she gets noticed, or caught."

  Vihena frowned. "Brigid said Ychass was in hiding on her family's land. Why not simply remain there?"

  "No way," Angel responded. "It's hard to hide something that size—and she'll get hungry, too, I'd imagine. Grass is all well and good, but it's not grain. Horses are not wild animals around here; people will demand to know who owns her, and if no owner is found"—Angel made a gesture of helpless horror—"some do-gooder animal lover is apt to want to 'adopt' her and take her far, far away. We have to come up with some way to make Kelly—or Mrs. Chandler, even—believe Ychass belongs to someone, and belongs here. Now, I have an idea. Brigid, don't you have some dressage-rider friends who want their horse worked while they are away in Europe?"

  Brigid began to smile; just watching Angel's imagination at work made her feel easier. "I might have."

  "Then listen up," Angel went on. "You tell your mother: this friend wants you to look after the horse; wouldn't Mother like to be supportive and board the animal so you can ride her?"

  "Can we possibly come up with a plan that doesn't involve my mother? I'm sure she'll feel she should at least have heard of a buddy good enough to entrust a horse-baby to me."

  "Okay. Run the same story past Kelly."

  "Right," Brigid agreed. "And who's going to pay the board?"

  "Your friend, of course."

  "Angel. " Brigid laughed, exasperated. "Said friend is a figment of your febrile brain!"

  "Oh yeah."

  "We could all chip in," Mark suggested. "I could probably spare fifty dollars without Mom getting alarmed."

  Brice nodded. "So could I."

  "I haven't got a cent," Angel confessed, "but I'll do Ychass's stall to keep the board cost down."

  Brigid relented. "Let me call Kelly and see if there's room. Maybe I can take Ychass to Wellesley instead of Rex." She shot a look at Vihena. "Wellesley isn't too far from Boston. If Ychass is there, she can help keep us in touch with those of you who go into Boston to look for your friend." She went into the kitchen to make the call. While she was gone, the others continued the discussion.

  "You said Ychass was the first situation to confront," Remarr said. "What is next?"

  Angel sighed. "Boy, I don't know. Is there anything we can do to protect ourselves from this Trickster character?"

  "We probably shouldn't be meeting here," Mark offered, "since she knows where Brigid lives."

  "A little late for that advice, surely?" Vihena put in.

  "I don't think it will matter. If she applied herself, I'm sure she could find the rest of us." Remarr sounded tired.

  "What about finding 'Tsan?" Brice asked. "Should we organize another field trip to Boston?"

  "Not unless you take Iobeh," Karivet said. "Remember what Ychass told us, that 'Tsan was afraid of her, probably under some spell of the Trickster's. It won't do us any good to find her unless Iobeh is there to soothe her."

  I am willing to go to this big City, Iobeh signed. Perhaps that is what we should do next?

  Brigid came back. "Kelly's got room. I told a whopper to Mother: I said I wanted to practice driving the trailer and could I take it tomorrow. So it's all arranged. I'm off to fetch Mari Llwyd from Shelley tomorrow."

  "Mari who?" Angel demanded.

  Brigid adopted a superior air. "Don't parade your ignorance, child. Mari Llwyd is the Gray Mare in Celtic mythology—a creature of nightmares. I thought it suited our shapeshifter rather well—especially if you saw the performance she put on in the street outside this very window! Shelley, by the way, isn't in Europe after all; she's pregnant and not riding. I thought that would give us more flexibility—you know: people tend to plan when they are coming home from a European trip."

  "You're brilliant," Brice said with a laugh, but Brigid denied it.

  "Angel's brilliant. In case anyone asks, Ychass is visiting friends in Montreal. Now, what else can we do for excitement?"

  Remarr looked up at her. "How do you feel about another 'field trip' to Boston?"

  Brigid grimaced. "I was afraid someone would sugg
est that. I really can't take any more time off from work. The earliest I could possibly take anyone to Boston would be next Friday. But if you all go to Wellesley as grooms, a few of you ought to be able to—I don't know, scout the territory?—while the rest of us are riding."

  "That's nearly a week away," Vihena said, then clamped her teeth together.

  "It is," Mark agreed, "but if we work on it, we may be able to get there sooner. It's possible my mother would let me take the car—and she'd probably be more agreeable if she thought Remarr or Vihena were going, too. I'll ask her tonight; she'll need some time to think it over, but I ought to get a definite answer out of her by tomorrow. Then we could go on Tuesday."

  "Good," said Brice. "I think Remarr and the twins ought to go—that will look the most natural, since they haven't been."

  "Rema—" Vihena cut off the scornful name midsyllable and modulated her tone. "I would like to go," she said reasonably.

  "You've been," Angel pointed out. "The others haven't."

  "It's such a fascinating place; I'd love to go again."

  Remarr matched her colorless, polite tone. "If we don't find 'Tsan on Tuesday, you'll have another chance."

  A muscle jumped in Vihena's jaw. Though she made no further protest, she resolved to be included in the next expedition, no matter who tried to keep her out of it.

  ***

  It was hard, Alexandra found, to use the bank card when her hands were shaking. The little buttons kept slithering out from under her fingers. That last cup of coffee must have been a mistake. Finally, she wadded up the crisp bills and shoved them into her pocket; then she headed for the train station. She had more than enough money to buy a ticket to New York. Rolly Castleman, her late father's literary agent, had helped her before; no doubt he would again.

  ***

  The Dreamweaver groaned. There was more loose in the pattern than she could control. Ychass—what was wrong with her? Try as she might, she could not use the shapeshifter's thread in the way her pattern demanded. And now 'Tsan's color was moving away from the others, slinking along the underside of the fabric instead of the front where her vivid red could be easily identified and manipulated. She was dreadfully tired; but there was no time to rest, and no refreshing cup of ifenn pushed into her hands by a gruff old man.

  Eikoheh blinked back tears, and bent her will to the pattern beneath her hands. It seemed the only thread that would obey her will was that of the Trickster—a fact which frightened Eikoheh more than she could admit.

  ***

  Early the next morning, Brigid hitched the horse-trailer to the truck, and clattered off. She sent a mental call to the shapeshifter, with the image of a place to meet; when she arrived there, the big gray mare was waiting for her. Brigid snapped a lead to the halter and guided Ychass on board.

  Loading sure is easy when you can explain what you want, she thought.

  You never know, Ychass responded, her thought-voice quivering with mirth. I might decide to panic, just like a real horse.

  Despite Ychass's teasing, the trip went smoothly. Ychass's mental complaint told Brigid if she took a curve too quickly, or stopped or started too abruptly. When the trailer reached the stable, swarms of children came to see the new horse.

  "Gracious," Brigid said aloud. "It's camp week. I'd forgotten." When Ychass nudged her, hard, she repeated herself mentally; while she readied Ychass to unload, she explained about the horse-mad, beginner campers.

  "Easy there, big girl," Brigid murmured. Under the automatic words, she thought, Back up slowly, and watch your head.

  The big gray horse eased off the trailer, to the oohs and ahs of the kids. Ychass looked around at them all. Gods. You weren't exaggerating.

  Indeed, no, Brigid agreed fervently, as she and Ychass started down the hill toward the barn. Kelly watched the big horse move.

  "That's quite an animal, Brigid; what's her name?"

  "Mari Llwyd," Brigid replied. "It means Gray Mare in Welsh. Shelley calls her Mari—Nightmare when she's naughty." She walked Ychass around in the arena, then put her in her stall.

  Aren't you going to ride me? Ychass thought at her, a little forlornly.

  Brigid lingered, one hand on the velvet nose. Later. You need to settle in—or if you were a horse you would. I'm going to ride Rex first.

  Ychass moved her nose out of range, with a slight toss of her mane. As Brigid moved off toward Rex's stall, Angel sidled up to her. "She's impressive," she whispered. "And I'm not sure I envy you having to ride her."

  Brigid only smiled.

  An hour and a half later, when Brigid led her new acquisition into the arena, she discovered that almost everyone had invented a reason to loiter in the vicinity. Torn between irritation and amusement, she mounted, admonishing Ychass to hold still. The two of them went over the basic gaits and aids in a workmanlike manner. Gradually, the campers drifted off to find something more interesting. The working students, the Five, and Kelly all remained.

  Now, Ychass suggested. Now can I try something spectacular?

  No rearing.

  Of course not. An image accompanied the thought: the springy half-tempo trot-in-place called piaffe.

  Where did you learn about that? Brigid demanded.

  Ychass's thought-voice was smug. A couple of weeks ago, I asked Kelly to explain the point of dressage, and she made me watch a videotape. The horses performed many impressive feats.

  Go ahead, Brigid suggested as she asked for a slower, more collected trot, and then, Ychass was airborne. It was an indescribable feeling, as though the horse were suspended in the air too long. Ychass kept it up for perhaps half a minute, then moved forward in a perfect collected canter. Brigid's approving enthusiasm rang in her thoughts.

  "My God, Brigid," Kelly said, awed. "She's spectacular."

  They like me, Ychass thought, pleased.

  I'll say, Brigid agreed.

  After a time, Brigid dismounted, ran the stirrups up, and loosened the girth. Kelly came toward her, shaking her head. "I can't imagine why your friend hasn't been able to lease that mare. She's gorgeous."

  Brigid felt her friend's anxious eyes on her. "Shelley said she had some quirks. I guess I just haven't hit them yet." She gave Ychass a friendly thump. "I'd better go hose her off; she's pretty sweaty."

  As Kelly nodded, Brigid led the shapeshifter outside to the wash rack. She picked up the hose, cranked the faucet, and splashed water onto the gray back.

  It's cold! Ychass's thought-voice shrieked, outraged. Heads all over the stable yard turned in her direction; with a sick, sinking feeling, Brigid realized Ychass hadn't bothered to shield her thoughts from others.

  Ruthlessly, she turned the spray from the hose on the mare's underside. Whinny or something! she thought desperately.

  Mari Llwyd's voice shook the walls of the barn. She pinned her ears back and bared her teeth at Brigid. Brigid, it's cold! she thought more moderately. Stop.

  Hold your breath. I'll be quick.

  Ychass stood in incoherent, stiff-legged rage until Brigid shut off the tap, squeegeed the excess water off with an aluminum sweat-scraper, and led the mare back to her stall. "Cheer up," Brigid said aloud. "I'll bring you an apple tomorrow."

  Apparently, Ychass was able to follow her thoughts on that one, for she replied, I'd rather have a cup of coffee.

  Brigid laughed as she pictured herself trying to hold a cup to that large, equine mouth.

  You're heartless, Brigid, Ychass accused, but her ears pricked forward, and she whuffled softly. Brigid patted her nose and walked off.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Sunday evening, as the Newcomb family and Vihena gathered around the dinner table, Mr. Newcomb announced that on Monday he had to go to Boston.

  "Would you and Vihena like to go with me, Angel? I'll be tied up in meetings, but I'm sure you can amuse yourselves."

  Angel's face was a model of dismay. "Oh Dad, I'd love to go, but I promised Kelly I'd work all day Monday. It's Beginner Camp week. I guess
we'll both have to take a rain check."

  Mrs. Newcomb smiled. "It's nice to see you taking your responsibilities seriously, Angel, but there's no reason Vihena can't go if she wants to." Mrs. Newcomb turned to her. "Not everyone is as horse-crazy as our Angel. You might enjoy a day away from the horses—and the kids!"

  "I'd like to go," Vihena responded, "if you're sure I wouldn't be a nuisance."

  "Oh Vihena, you can't abandon us!"

  "Angel," Mr. Newcomb chided. "Don't be selfish. If your friend wants to walk the Freedom Trail, you shouldn't try to hold her back."

  "You're right," Angel capitulated, hoping to hide the misgivings she felt. She knew her aliens wanted to get back to Boston, but as Karivet had said, another trip to Boston only made sense if Iobeh was along—and Angel knew her parents. If her parents had decided Vihena deserved a break from the kids, she doubted she could convince them otherwise. "I'm just jealous." She went on with a little laugh. "You know, Vihena, I bet the twins would enjoy going along."

  "Yes," Vihena agreed. "I'm sure they would."

  Mrs. Newcomb reacted just as Angel had feared. "I know you're too kind to say so, but I'm sure you'd like a break from looking after them."

  "They're no trouble," Vihena said. "Really. I don't mind taking them, and they would have such fun."

  "Now, Vihena," Mr. Newcomb said with the bluff heartiness that Angel knew and dreaded, "the reason I proposed this trip was so that you could enjoy yourself, not to saddle you with your siblings."

  Angel intervened, hoping to salvage something. It would be disastrous, she feared, if Vihena went alone; and it would look very peculiar if she didn't go at all, having said she wanted to. "I can't go, Vihena, but you'll have more fun if you've got company. I bet Remarr would like to go, too. He was talking about Boston just yesterday."

  "Now that's a good thought," Mr. Newcomb said, approving. "Why don't you give him a call after supper?"

  "I will," Angel replied. With a sinking feeling, she saw the swordswoman's face go blank with outrage. What could she have in mind that Remarr's presence would hinder?