Trickster's Touch

by Zorha Greenhalgh

  This is Speakinghast, a Saambolin city." Himayat tried again. "Well, whatever it is," he muttered, "something is dreadfully wrong around here. I suggest we arm ourselves," he added, reaching for a blowgun and pack of lethal darts. The blowguns were called akatikkis.

  Fasilla removed hers, studying the busy streets carefully. Livestock ambled down an alley. As the sheep reached the corner of Wise Whatsit Avenue, they began to act in an agitated manner. The shepherd eventually lost control of the nervous animals, his sheepdogs bolting along with the sheep.

  "Odd," said Fasilla under her breath.

  Himayat suddenly whipped his head around. "We're being watched, Fasilla.

  We need to get rid of these horses. I don't like being in the open like this.

  Come on," he said hastily.

  The two Asilliwir put away their blowguns and rode their mounts to a nearby public stable. They paid overnight charges, and hailed a happincabby. This was a carriage drawn by horse and driven—for the most part—by Saambolin drivers. Before the man turned the happincabby on Wise Whatsit Avenue, Himayat told him to stop the horse. Giving the fellow a handful of coppers, Himayat and Fasilla jumped out and walked the rest of the way to the Kaleidicopia.

  Every sense alert and armed once more, Himayat kept strict silence as he walked toward the three-storey monstrosity known as the "K." Peering upward at the gables, the tricolored roof, and the asymmetrical additions, he winced. "Very Jinn," he said.

  "Think we should go in?" asked Fasilla.

  Himayat frowned. "Someone has died."

  Instantly thinking of Yafatah, Fasilla's face paled. Without considering her own safety, she tore across the street toward the Kaleidicopia. As she reached the lowest end of the front steps, Akindo loosed another holovespa wasp. As before in Kel's case, the holovespa was intercepted by the new breed of wasp from the south, the univer'silsila. Akindo loosed another holovespa, and another, and another. Soon the sky was buzzing with the furious creatures. They were met by more univer'silsila. The two swarms ripped into each other. Fasilla could not reach the top of the stairs leading to the Kaleidicopia. The sound of the wasps increased. Himayat pulled Fasilla away from the wasp swarm. Neither was stung.

  The front door of the Kaleidicopia flew open. It was Yafatah. The holovespa fell on her, stinging the child venomously. She screamed, fighting off the attacking insects with her hands. Reaching blindly for the door, Yafatah off the last of the holovespa and stumbled into the of the Kaleidicopia. The door of the "K" slammed shut.

  Unlike last time she was stung, Yafatah did not react to the stings of the holovespa wasps. Barlimo was surprised by this and said so. The rest of the house members gathered around Yafatah.

  Examining Yafatah's head, Podiddley remarked, "Maybe they saved her life."

  "What?" asked Barlimo.

  "Immunized her," explained Po, reexamining Yafatah's ' stings. Each sting was red and had what healers called a local swelling. "But how would they know to do that? And do it to Yafatah?"

  No one had an answer for this.

  Outside in the street, Akindo shuffled and drooled.

  Hundreds of dead holovespa wasps crunched under his feet.

  A battle had been waged. The holovespa wasps had lost, and at Eranossa, Greatkin Mattermat was no longer laughing at Rimble and his burnt roast.

  Why?

  Because Rimble had salvaged it; the next generation of Rimble's own, represented by Yafatah, would now survive the Jinnaeon. Yafatah was immune to the despair of her Age.

  17

  Kelandris followed Aunt in silence. The Jinnjirri shade walked effortlessly over the rough terrain of dark Neath. Watching Aunt negotiate a particularly steep incline with ease, Kelandris began to feel as though Aunt might prove to be a reliable guide in the "test" to come. Kelandris rolled her eyes. When she took her place at the Panthe'kinarok table, Kelandris decided she would propose the outlawing of Greatkin tests. They offended her sense of fair play. Kelandris sighed. Nevertheless, her rather strong feelings on the subject were not going to get her out of the ordeal ahead of her. Although Aunt had said the test to get into Neath would be fun, Kelandris suspected it would be anything but. After all, this was Neath. Nightmares came from Neath.

  Aunt led Kelandris down a rocky ravine. As they reached a tiny rivulet at the ravine's bottom, Kelandris said, "I thought Troth said Neath was made up of corridors. Not open places."

  "You're not in Neath proper yet, Kelandris. When you get inside, you'll see the corridors."

  Kelandris stopped. "Then where are we going?"

  "To the River of Memory."

  "What are we going to do there?"

  "Who knows?" said Aunt cryptically.

  Kelandris swore, but continued to follow Aunt along the bank of the rivulet.

  In time, she heard a roaring sound. Probably waterfalls, she decided. And indeed they were. As Kelandris and Aunt slipped through a narrow place in the ravine, they came face-to-face with a thundering dark waterfall that was lit from within by blue-black light. The spray of the water dampened Kel's hair. The falls themselves were comparatively low—perhaps no more than ten feet in height. Kelandris frowned. How could such low falls make so much noise? She asked Aunt.

  "When souls fall over the edge, they fall a great distance—morally speaking. Hence the sound."

  "When what souls fall over—"

  "Watch," directed Aunt, her voice crisp. The Jinnjirri healer pointed toward something bobbing up and down in the swiftly moving water. Squinting, Kelandris suddenly realized she was watching someone's head bobbing in the water. The man fell over the edge, his body lifeless. When he hit the pool below, he sank and did not rise.

  "What happened?" asked Kelandris, wondering if she should dive in after him. Aunt held her back.

  "That soul's future is of no concern to you."

  "Maybe. Maybe not," snapped Kelandris. "I'm not going to stand on this bank and quibble over my responsibility or lack of it while someone drowns." She pulled away from Aunt.

  "Stop!" commanded Aunt with such force that Kelandris came to a dead halt. Aunt pointed again to the waterfall. Another head bobbed up and down. This time it was a woman. She flailed helplessly and fell over the edge as the man before had done. Unlike her predecessor, the woman did not sink. She continued to float downstream.

  "At least she can swim," muttered Kelandris.

  "One's ability to swim is of no consequence in this river. The reason the woman did not sink is this: someone has forgiven her the thing that has made her forget herself. Someone has forgiven her the thing that has made her fall off the edge. No one has forgiven the man."

  Kelandris stiffened. "That wasn't Cobeth, was it?"

  Aunt shook her head. "No. But Cobeth will be along."

  Kelandris stared at Aunt. "What do you mean he'll be along? Where?"

  "There," said Aunt, pointing to the river again. "He falls off the edge several times a day. We can wait here and watch.

  Kelandris said nothing. She saw what Aunt was doing; she saw only too clearly. And it angered her. If what the Jinnjirri shade said was true, then Cobeth would fall over the waterfall—and sink. It would be up to Kelandris to save him or not. Not that it really mattered, she reminded herself. After all, Cobeth was already dead. Drowning several times a day was simply anticlimactic. It was nothing to worry about. Of course, said Kelandris to herself, Cobeth had always had a terrible fear of water. Always. Kelandris winced. She turned to Aunt and asked, "What happens if don't stay and watch?"

  "Nothing. I go back to creating my next body and you return home to the Kaleidicopia."

  "Without Zendrak."

  Aunt nodded. "Can't be helped, I'm afraid. You can't save Zendrak without speaking directly to Troth and Phebene. True love is one of the few ways death can be overcome in this world." Aunt shrugged. "You see the situation, I think."

  Kelandris crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't want to forgive Cobeth for what he did."

  "Fine. Don't fo
rgive him. I don't care. You can save his life without forgiving the bastard. You can save it not because he's Cobeth, but because he's a two-legged in trouble. You nearly did that for a stranger only moments ago."

  Kelandris shrugged. "Cobeth's no stranger."

  "But he is a two-legged. One who is lost and drowning—" Aunt broke off.

  Pointing, she added, "Here he comes now."

  Kelandris swallowed, anger in her throat. Cobeth was screaming for help, his terror of the water surrounding him evident. Kelandris covered her ears.

  Cobeth's yells penetrated her fingers. "Shit," she said. " Shit."

  Unable to ignore Cobeth's pain, Greatkin Kelandris jumped into the River of Memory as Cobeth went over the edge of the falls. Water filled her mouth, she began to cough. In horror, she realized her long robe was pulling her down. She fought for her own life as Cobeth came crashing down on top of her. As is the habit of most drowning persons, Cobeth latched on to Kelandris with a stranglehold. Kelandris started to kick him off her. She could not dislodge the Jinnjirri actor. Panic shot through her body. Unlike Cobeth, she was not dead. Summoning her will to live—the very will that Cobeth had tried to extinguish sixteen years ago—Kelandris thrashed toward the bank of the river, Cobeth clinging to her back like a barnacle.

  Coughing and gasping, Kelandris threw herself toward the muddy bank.

  Hands reached down to help her. They belonged to Troth and Phebene.

  Looking up, Kelandris muttered, "I've hardly saved his life, my dears. All I've really done is save my own. Surely I can't have passed the test."

  Phebene laughed merrily. "Come, come, Kelandris. You could've thrown him off if you had wanted to do so. You're a Greatkin. Your strength far outstrips his. Remember, we're Greatkin, too. So you saved his soul—whether or not you want to admit it."

  Troth grinned. "She's been living with two-leggeds so long, she thinks we're thick like them. How amusing."

  Kelandris shut her eyes and lay in an exhausted heap on the riverbank.

  Cobeth crawled away from her, his mind suddenly filled with memories of his previous life. After a few moments, he said, "Where in Neath am I?

  What is this creepy place?"

  Troth's laughter boomed out across the water. Aunt, who stood on the opposite bank, joined him with laughter of her own.

  Kelandris was still wet when she was taken to Zendrak. Trickster's emissary stood up. He was no longer wearing green. Now he wore black, the color of the shades of Neath. She became unexpectedly shy upon seeing him. She wondered if he was angry with her that she had come to fetch him from Neath. Maybe he wanted to die, she thought suddenly. After all, he was over five centuries old. Before Kelandris could think about it further, she heard Zendrak's voice inside her head.

  Of course, I didn't want to die, Kel. Why would I want to leave you? Akindo had slipped into my heart, that's all. He got me once, but he won't get me again. I am indebted to you, sweetheart. So's the world. What you've done here took more courage than anyone will ever know. Now we must return to the lands of light and finish the shuffling bastard. Even now, he sucks hope and all other good things from the city. So we must hurry and save our hellos and kisses for tonight. We will attack Akindo and Hennin on the morrow. I must rest my body—assuming Troth gives me a new one.

  He extended his hands toward Kelandris. Kelandris took them hesitantly, expecting his fingers to be cold like the grave. To her great surprise, Zendrak's fingers and palms were warm.

  "How can this be?" she whispered. "Weren't you dead?"

  "Your love for me has brought some warmth to my veins." He smiled reassuringly. "I know it sounds trite. But love often is on the surface.

  Really, nothing could be simpler than love. The desire of the heart is the strongest

  remedy there is. Nothing can block it. Not even Death."

  "And not Mattermat!" cackled a familiar voice. It was Rimble come to join them. He looked insufferably pleased himself. Clapping Kelandris on the lower back— because that was as far as he could reach—Trickster congratulated Kelandris on passing Aunt's test. Kelandris rolled her eyes and reiterated the fact that she had not wanted to save Cobeth. She just hadn't been able to make herself throw him back into the river. "Where's the heroism in that?" she demanded.

  Zendrak extended his arm. As he did so, Cobeth walked into the room. This was the real article. The Jinnjirri regarded Kelandris thoughtfully. Licking his lips, he said, "I can't believe you saved my soul."

  "Me neither," she snapped, wanting to conclude her business in Neath, wanting to put her arms around Zendrak and cover him with kisses.

  "I appreciate it," said Cobeth humbly.

  "Who cares?"

  "No—I really do appreciate it."

  Kelandris said nothing, oddly moved by Cobeth's grati-tude. She shifted her weight, hoping she wasn't losing her edge. Or her intelligence. The last thing she wanted to feel was generosity toward the man who had ruined her life in Suxonli.

  Cobeth regarded Kelandris steadily. "You still don't trust me, do you?"

  "Nope."

  He shrugged. "Can't say as I blame you. I fucked things up for you pretty royally." Before she could retort, Cobeth added, "You sure took on a lot for us in Suxonli, Kelandris. I could never have done what you did. It's a good thing you turned instead of me."

  Kelandris snorted. "Now he tells me! After sixteen years!"

  Cobeth shrugged. "Maybe I didn't see it to tell you before now. So I'm slow, okay?"

  Kelandris shook her head, her expression furious. "This apology is supposed to make everything all better?" she asked Zendrak. "Do you accept this muck he's speaking?"

  Zendrak reached over and pulled a wet strand of dark hair out of Kel's face.

  Then he said, "You don't have to love who Cobeth was. You just have to let him be sorry for what he did. That's his healing, Kelandris. Surely you can grant him that."

  Kelandris took a deep breath. "I don't want him doing this kind of thing again—when he next incarnates. Who will stop him if he starts to do so?

  Who will protect the innocent?"

  Rimble spoke now. "Well, actually we don't have someone to do that job.

  Unless you want to take it, of course," he added, giving his daughter a bored look.

  Kelandris studied Trickster. "Meaning what?"

  Rimble shrugged. "Nah. It was a dumb idea—"

  "What was?" Kelandris demanded.

  Rimble sneered at her. "To let you be the Patron of Innocence and Purity.

  For one thing you've taken to wearing black again. Like you're dead or something. For Another, you don't believe in your own innocence—"

  "But I wasn't innocent in Suxonli!" she shouted, tears irting to her eyes. "I killed eight people. I spoke the Mythrrim called The Turn of Trickster's Daughter. I know," added with more emotion than she wanted anyone to see or hear. " Shit!" she muttered and averted her face, tears coming to her eyes.

  "Perhaps you would repeat that particular verse for us, Kelandris," said Troth, who had been standing unseen in the shadows.

  "Leave me alone!" she replied, her voice hoarse. Zendrak touched the back of her shoulder. "Speak it, Kel. You might discover something worth knowing."

  Kelandris swore. Then she shut her eyes, turning herself over to the Mythrrim consciousness in her being. Time fell away. Words rose in her mind. She coughed and cleared her throat. Finally, Kelandris said:

  "Stumbling, the he lost control of Rimble's line; Eight were too few to ground Yonneth's rage.

  'Twas a bad beginning for Rimble's first nine.

  As the minds of his circle began to cook and burn, All Suxonli was swept into the searing rogue turn Of Trickster's injured daughter."

  There was a long silence.

  Finally, Troth said, "I don't see anywhere in that verse where it says you intentionally killed eight people, Kel."

  "I was supposed to hold the line!" she cried. "The draw got away from me."

  Cobeth started laughing.r />
  Kelandris stared at him. "I ought to slap your face!"

  Cobeth immediately sobered. "I was laughing because you're being so stupid for a Greatkin. You still don't get it, do you? You still don't understand that the draw of Suxonli was under Elder Hennin's control even at that time. What happened in Suxonli was political, Kelandris. Hennin needed you to break the rhythm of the draw so she could get it under her control. When the power got loose and pandemonium erupted at Revel Rock, Hennin was ready for it. While everyone was blaming you, she grabbed the draw. No one noticed. I didn't find out myself until the following year. Of course, I played into it by discovering you had turned on your menses. Even if you hadn't gotten your bloodcycle that night, you would've lost control of the power. It was all rigged. You didn't have a chance. You were guilty with or without a trial, Kelandris. Hennin wanted power. She knew you had an overabundant supply. She used yours to secure her own." Cobeth shrugged. "So you see it's really stupid for you to keep thinking you killed all those people. You did—but only superficially. It was Hennin's will that caused the draw to run wild like that. You were young and untrained—she had seen to that. I know because she told me in later years when I used to go and apprentice with her in the summer.

  Despite the fact that you were a Greatkin, it was a fairly easy matter for her—a trained Mayanabi Nomad—to wrest control of the draw away from you."

  Kelandris said nothing, her mind scrambling to make sense of all Cobeth had said. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and said, "You're saying I killed eight people, but I'm not to blame."

  "He's saying it was an accident," replied Troth. "Your part, that is. Hennin's part was deliberate, of course."

  "So I'm not a murderess?"

  Rimble shrugged. "Not as far as the Greatkin are concerned. Especially us folks in Neath. Suxonli? Well, village laws are slow to change. And village justice is slow in coming. If I were you, daughter, I'd forget about the judgment at Suxonli."

  Kelandris met Trickster's eyes evenly. "That's all very well, but you're forgetting one thing, aren't you? You're forgetting the eight people who died. Surely they would rather have lived. Surely they can't have forgiven my part in this."