the knife, but Fasilla prevented her. Yafatah fell into a sullen silence at this point and had refused to speak to her mother for the remainder of the evening. Fasilla, for her part, had put her daughter's ill humor down to sleeplessness and the trauma of having nearly been eaten by a pack of wild dogs. If Yafatah needed to make up stories in order to make herself feel better—make herself look braver—then Fasilla would permit it just this once. After the child saw the Jinnjirri healer, however, all this fanciful fibbing would have to stop. Fasilla, like her daughter, was a very honest person. She was also, like her daughter, very opinionated on certain subjects. Lying was one of them. Truth-telling took courage—said Fasilla on more than one occasion—and, by Presence, she'd raised her child to have such courage. Until tonight, Yafatah had never let her down. Fasilla was certain that Yafatah would stop the lying once she felt safe again. Her mother's conclusions had been obvious to Yafatah at the time. And it had made the young girl feel even more isolated than before. «In which direction did Jammy be going?» asked Yafatah. Cass bit her lip. «Your Ma wouldn't like it if I told you.» «Yeah? Well, I willna' like you if you doon't tell me!» Cass lowered her eyes. «You're so mean now, Ya. You never to be this way. Ever since your blood—» «I canna help it, Cass! I canna help it if I doon't be the person I was. Why doon't you see that?» she asked tearfully. Choking on the words, Yafatah added, «Jammy do be the only one who lets me be different. The only one.» Moved by Yafatah's desperation, Cass relented. «Okay. Okay. Jamilla went east. The old Mayanabi went east. Into those woods there,» she added pointing a helpful finger. «But she was cursing, Ya. She was cursing the whole clan.» Cass shrugged uneasily. «You best be careful—she might put the evil eye on you, Ya. And she could do it, too.» Cass was making reference to the fact that Jamilla had pied eyes. «She just be blind in one of them,» replied Yafatah. «That be all.» Then thanking the younger girl with a hasty squeeze on the arm, Yafatah took off at a run, heading into the dark forest. «Jammy,» she whispered as she fought for a path among the brambles, «please let me find you. Please.» But this was not to be. Not tonight. Chapter Five While Yafatah scrambled through the underbrush in the foothills of the Feyborne, Trickster's Emissary dismounted from his mare not six hundred feet from where the young girl travelled. Giving Further her freedom, Zendrak patted the blue-black mare softly on the rump and began to climb the trail that ran above the Springs. Further walked away slowly, her head close to the ground, nibbling contentedly on fallen leaves. Zendrak was in a terrible mood. Crazy Kel was the only woman he had ever truly loved in all the years of his unusually long life. Seeing her again tonight after their sixteen-year separation had stirred feelings he had forgotten about. Passions denied. This was suffering seemingly without end—for both of them. Gritting his teeth, Zendrak continued climbing. As Zendrak reached Crazy Kel's favorite ledge—one that afforded a good view of the Springs themselves and of the caravans that camped in the vale below—Zendrak heard someone's throat clear. Taking a deep breath, Zendrak bowed slightly to the small figure already squatting on the limestone outcrop. The figure grunted, stroking his black goatee. «You're late, Zen-boy,» said Trickster. Trickster's Emissary snorted. «I've had a lot to do tonight, Rimble. As per your orders, I might add.» Trickster grinned in the darkness. «That's what I like about you, Zendrak. You're never afraid of earning my displeasure. Most mortals—» «And I am not most mortals,» said Zendrak tiredly. «As you well know.» Greatkin Rimble chuckled merrily. «Are you still holding that grudge?» «My kind have a long memory,» replied Zendrak, his voice cool. «Hoo-hoo,» said Trickster, rubbing his chin. «I can see what kind of talk this is going to be.» «Short,» said Zendrak. «I've been riding since dawn. And I must still cover the three hundred miles to Speakinghast before ten bell-eve.» Trickster giggled. «Ah, lovely Speakinghast. The eastern culture-capital of all Mnemlith. And Civilization's pride.» He leaned forward. «What a time we'll have there, eh, Zen-boy?» Zendrak said nothing, his expression unreadable. Finally, Trickster's Emissary spoke. «I hope the time in Speakinghast goes more smoothly than the one in Suxonli, Rimble. I truly hope so,» he added, an edge to his voice. «You threatening me?» asked Greatkin Rimble, inclining his head. «No,» replied Zendrak. «But I am warning you. Mortals, you see, take a dim view of gods who make mistakes. Makes them very nervous.» «Well, I'm not a god. Ask Jinndaven, he'll tell you straight out. And since I'm not a god, I don't see what business it is of the mortals if I make mistakes or not. Besides, there's no such thing is a mistake. There's only exploration. Admittedly, some ideas are better than others.» Zendrak's black eyes blazed with anger. «You should've known that before Suxonli! Before you hurt Kelandris like that!» Rimble jumped to his feet, genuinely annoyed now. «You dare blame me for what happened in Suxonli? Let me tell you something, Zen-boy—I am not responsible for what the villagers of Suxonli did to Kelandris. The Trickster's he was prophesied. The villagers didn't recognize the he—or train her. And we both know why.» He grunted. «Physical reality is so clumsy sometimes.» «Kel has a multiple personality, Rimble! That's more than clumsy!» Trickster smiled. «Yes, well. Makes Kel a regular chip off the old block, doesn't it? Relatively speaking, of course. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?» He chuckled. «Much. Oh, cheer up. At least she's alive. That did take some doing. On both our parts.» When Zendrak said nothing, Trickster added, «Sometimes, my friend, madness is the best possible solution for certain kinds of pain. Kelandris does matter to me, you know.» «Nobody matters to you, Rimble,» he retorted. «Nobody but you.» Trickster sighed-and changed the subject. «About the other Tammirring girl. The one called Yafatah—» But Zendrak would not be put off. «My kind, Rimble—we mate for life. Can you imagine that?» he asked bitterly. «Or do you need Jinndaven to imagine it for you?» Trickster's smile turned sly. He had Zendrak exactly where he wanted him. Zendrak paced. «Do you understand, there can be no one but Kel for me?» «Good,» replied Trickster calmly and returned to the previous subject. «About Yafatah—» «What about her!» yelled Zendrak, his voice shaking with the rage of sixteen lost years. Trickster shrugged. «I was wondering if you'd figured out who Yafatah is yet? She has a very definite role in all this, you know.» «I'm hardly in a mood for riddles, Rimble.» «A pity,» replied Trickster. «Self-pity, in particular. It can be so boring. Mortals seem terribly prone to it. Eh, Zen-boy?» Zendrak swore. Trickster had manipulated him into an emotional corner. And managed to indirectly accuse him of indulging in self-pity. Zendrak ran his fingers through his hair, his expression ragged. «Okay, Rimble, you got me. So who is Yafatah? She's not one of your Contrarywise Nine.» «True,» replied Rimble jovially. «Yafatah is something a little bit different. Zendrak is one of the Nine. She's my Crossroads Child.» «Your what?» «My loophole. My Suxonli loophole,» he added firmly. Then Trickster smiled. «She's a gift, you see. A bit of unexpected grace. You must treat her well, Zen-boy. She's important, I think.» «You think! I thought you said she had a definite role to play.» Trickster chuckled softly. «Do you think I control the Presence, then? Do you think I dictate policy to Great Being? Decide the outcome of all things before they happen? What's the exploration in that? I don't know Yafatah's final destiny. How could I? That's something she must discover for herself. But in the meantime—» «You'll just help her along?» asked Zendrak sarcastically. Trickster smiled. «I'll give her a nudge.» «In which direction?» «Speakinghast.» There was dead silence. «Speakinghast?» said Zendrak in amazement. «Why there?» Trickster grinned, looking up at the six-feet-six man towering above him. «Because,» said Trickster playfully, «I'm bigger than you are, and I say so. Will that do?» Zendrak scowled. Trickster clucked his tongue in disapproval. «Such an insolent man. I swear, I don't know where you get it from. Must be the company you keep.» «Must be,» replied Zendrak sourly. Trickster got to his feet. «Well, you'd better be off soon. You've got trouble of your own to cause tonight.» «Thanks to you.» Trickster shook his head. «Where's your enthusiasm, Zen-boy?» «Suxonli k
illed it.» «Well, then,» replied Trickster, patting the tall man on the hand, «we'll just have to remedy that, won't we? We'll just have to inspire you.» Trickster cocked his head to the side and began speaking in a queer, singsong voice, images of change falling from his lips as easily as the copper-colored Yellow Springs fell to the pool below. «Shifttime,» said Trickster softly. «Jinnaeon. The white water of time. Those maddened, careening years that mark the Age of Transition. Shifttime. Trickster's Folly. When good and evil do a jolly two-step across the same dance floor.» Rimble giggled. «And no one can tell them apart. No one except my Nine. The world sleeps, you see. And it's left its backdoor open. Enter Trickster, his yellow coattails flying, his pied eyes flashing. «Welcome,» Rimble continued more forcibly, «welcome riptide at the money-jugular. See the rich scramble? They hear the long scream a-coming and panic. And the poor? The poor learn once again that charity is but a carnival show—a freak phenomenon just passing through. But Greatkin Rimble doesn't care. He strips one and all just the same. Change or be changed, he says. But no one listens. So Trickster dances his reel. And he dances real hard. «Weather goes wild! Summer masquerades as autumn. Lightning bites forest and prairie. Silent mountains heave their guts skyward and blast the land with snowy ash. Rivers gorge, and mud swallows what is precious. Or so it seems.» Rimble rubbed his hands together with glee. «Keen! Keen now for civilization. Someone chortles, Zendrak. Who dares? It is the other. It is the reveller, the shrieker in the street. It is the one who must go farther. And farther still. Speakinghast, Zendrak.» The mare's ears flicked backward. Her pace never faltered as she turned east toward the country of Saambolin. The thrum of her hooves, the beat of his heart, and it was on to proud Speakinghast. Trickster's turning point. Chapter Six In Mnemlith, race, culture and country were synonymous; such was the impact of landdraw. In Mnemlith, land was alive and its draw—its regional character—determined a person's hereditary and psychological composition. It also determined the responsiveness of soul to things like the Greatkin. Physical conception was therefore a three-way affair: mother, father, and landdraw. Boundaries between countries were always reckoned by nature—never by politics. Pregnant women were careful not to cross landdraw borders inadvertently. To do so would cause immediate miscarriage. The Power of Place formed a more potent umbilical cord with an unborn child than the usual one of flesh and blood. Draw was the dominant factor. In utero, a child built its bones and tissue not only from its parents' genes but also from the geological matrix surrounding it at conception. One child might emerge with a personality reflecting the icy remoteness of a nearby mountain range. Another might reflect the placid bounty of a fertile river valley. Furthermore, draw made it possible for two Saambolin-born parents to give birth to a Jinnjirri—provided the mother remained in the country of conception—in this case, Jinnjirri. In certain terms, landdraw could be defined as a responsive geological intelligence. Saambolin, the country in which Speakinghast resided, tended to produce a native population inherently tidy and emotionally precise. Thus, the landrace of this region—also called Saambolin—boasted some of Mnemlith's most capable lawmakers, scholars, and administrators among its number. The City of Speakinghast itself was contained on the east by the vast blue-gray shoreline of one of Saambolin's great lakes: Lake Edu. Situated in a geologically striated area of the world, the landdraw of Speakinghast added a love of organization and systems to the landgift of its people. The
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