ster anywhere, I suppose. But I think it would be easiest in Tammirring. Especially in Suxonli. Here you and the land understand each other on an intuitive level. Here your seasons are its seasons. Here,» he said moving his hips again, «you're at home.» Kelandris gasped, passion building between them once more. This time, Kel allowed herself to feel the he surge through her psyche. Using Zendrak's energy to stabilize herself, she opened to the complete bisexuality of Greatkin Rimble. It was a wild glory. And Trickster's Emissary and Trickster's he reveled in it. Chapter Thirty-Two Someone pounded loudly on the front door to Doogat's tobacco shop. Jolted out of their shared trance and their remembered lovemaking, Zendrak and Kelandris opened their eyes groggily. Forcing himself to focus on the outside world again, Zendrak stared at the vexed face glaring at him through the window. It was an Asilliwir woman of about thirty-five years of age. Still holding Kel's neck with one hand and the Kindrasul with the other, Zendrak debated what to do while the Asilliwir woman continued to sledgehammer the door. He needed to make sure the transfer of two-legged apperception of reality to four-legged was complete in Kel's mind. Feeling the woman in black suddenly stiffen against him, Zendrak swore softly. Clearly, the beating on the door was frightening Kelandris. Now the muffled voice of the Asilliwir reached him: «You there in green! Doon't pretend I canna see you! Open up!» The unusual accent of the woman broke Zendrak's concentration with Kel. Zendrak squinted in the direction of the clamoring Asilliwir. Abruptly Aunt's mental Mayanabi message returned to him in fulclass="underline" «Need second opinion on 'shift fever' victim. Girl, aged fifteen, a Tammi. Name: Yafatah. Begat during Rimble's Remembrance in Suxonli. Father Jinnjirri, but unknown to either mother or child. Mother's name is Fasilla. Personal friend of mine. Born in southern Asilliwir. Physical symptoms to follow…» «Shit,» said Zendrak angrily. This was Fasilla again and as before her timing couldn't be worse. He bit his lower lip, caught between his duty to Rimble—who wanted Yafatah in Speakinghast—and his caring for Kelandris. Zendrak let go of Kel's neck and placed both of his hands over the Kindrasul. Impressing the black glass beads with his heart's deepest longing for Kelandris, he leaned close to her face and whispered, «Wait here, Kel. I'll only be gone a moment.» Kelandris said nothing, her green eyes bewildered. Zendrak left Kel's side and hurried to the front of the tobacco shop. He flung open the door, blocking the Asilliwir woman's entry with his great height and broad build. «Yes?» he said curtly. «I be Fasilla of Ian Abbi. Be you Doogat of Suf?» «Doogat's out for the afternoon.» Zendrak pointed to the sign in the window. «Shop's closed. Come back tonight. Say—seven bell-eve?» «But—» Zendrak shook his head, closing the door firmly in Fasilla's face. He turned around hoping to find Kelandris still lying on the floor. She was not. Zendrak cursed raggedly. Neither Kelandris nor the Kindrasol were to be found anywhere. Zendrak tore through the scarlet beads that divided the tobacco shop from the kitchen. The door leading outside to the store's back alley stood open. Zendrak stepped into the narrow cobblestone byway. He looked in either direction for some sign of the woman in black. The street was empty. Calling Trickster every four-letter name he could think of, Zendrak ran his hand through his dark hair with frustration. Deciding to track Kelandris via the pull of the Kindrasul on his heart, he opened his mind to receive emotional impressions from the black glass beads of Soaringsea. Without warning, Zendrak slammed into a gleeful wall of psychic static. Opening his eyes in surprise, Zendrak muttered, «What?» «First things first, Zen-boy,» said a familiar voice. Zendrak spun around. «Rimble!» Trickster grinned. «In the flesh, so to speak. Meet Old Jamilla.» Zendrak put his hands on his hips, regarding Trickster with grudging admiration. The little Greatkin was no longer four-feet-seven, but a whopping five-feet-three. Dressed in a tattering of rags, Rimble currently appeared as a pied-eyed, toothless old woman. Zendrak smiled sourly. «You've grown.» «That's what happens when I matter to mortals.» Trickster batted her eyes coquettishly. «And believe me, Zen-boy, I matter ooodles to Yafatah.» «Yeah? Well, Kelandris of Suxonli happens to matter ooodles to me, Rimble.» Zendrak crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at his father. «Where is she? Where is Kel?» «Wandering.» «That's not an answer, Rimble.» Trickster shrugged. Then, before Zendrak could open his mouth, Rimble wagged a disapproving finger in Zendrak's face. «And don't even think of asking Phebene for help. I've had about all I can stomach of that lollipop loony. She's a sugar-coated, meddling, tinsel-tot.» Zendrak chuckled derisively. «Poor Rimble. Such a sad story—sharing the stage with Phebene. Perhaps you just can't manage to swallow all that you dish out at the Panthe'kinarok? Of course, we mortals have been gagging on your meddling for centuries—not that you'd care.» Trickster's pied eyes narrowed. «What an ass you are today.» «Like father, like son.» «With one difference, Zen-boy. I don't get duped by Love.» At that moment, several Saambolin students walked past the two Greatkin. One of them laughed merrily, her eyes kind. Grabbing the hand of the boy closest to her, she tweaked his nose saying, «I'm on to you, sweetie. You kick and scream whenever I mention love. But I know better. You've got a yen for tenderness a mile wide. You're a closet romantic, my friend, and I'm just the one to open your door.» Then, glancing in Trickster's direction, the girl added firmly, «So help me, Phebene.» Catching sight of Trickster's scarlet face, Zendrak started laughing. Speaking softly to the Greatkin next to him, Zendrak said, «Point in Tinsel-Tot's favor. She's talking to you, Dad. Direct.» «All lies,» protested Trickster indignantly. Hearing Rimble's comment, the Saambolin girl looked over her shoulder at the old woman clothed in rags. Beaming broadly, she called, «Smile, grandmother. Nothing can stop true love—not even Trickster himself.» «That does it!» retorted Rimble. Without warning, the Greatkin began spitting expertly at the Saambolin students. Wiping Rimble's phlegm off their fine velvets, the students complained fastidiously and walked away. «Just wait until I return to Eranossa, Phebes,» muttered Trickster. Before Zendrak could retort, Rimble materialized a blue robe out of thin air. It was Doogat's size. Rimble handed it to Zendrak. «You better change.» Zendrak shook his head. «Sorry. I'm busy. I've a lunatic to find.» «Like I said, Zen-boy—first things first. You've an overdue appointment with a young Tammirring girl named Yafatah. Come along,» she added, extending her arm to Zendrak. Zendrak refused it, his expression furious. «If you think I'm going to leave Kelandris 'to wander,' you're sadly mistaken, Rimble.» Trickster smiled cooly. «That's why I'm here.» «Why?» «To make sure you attend to first things first.» Chapter Thirty-Three Staying behind at the caravan camp in the Asilliwir Quarter of Speakinghast while her mother went to check on the availability of Doogat, Yafatah walked slowly back to the red and blue wagon belonging to her mother. She carried a heavy pail of water, the warm water sloshing to and fro as she made her way across the heavily populated caravan park. Before she had left for Doogat's, Fasilla had suggested that Yafatah wash some clothes while the noonday sun still shone high overhead. Yafatah was now doing so. Aunt, for her part, had gone to fetch bread and fruit for snacks, leaving Yafatah alone in the safety of the caravan camp. Borrowing a chunk of gray soap from a neighboring campsite of Asilliwir merchants carrying spices and bolts of bright cloth, Yafatah carefully set the pail of water on the back stairs of the red and blue wagon. She went inside to fetch a pile of her dirtiest laundry. As she pulled a wooden trunk from under her cot, Yafatah sighed. She wished her mother would let her go exploring in Speakinghast. They had passed any number of marvelous stalls and shops on their way to the caravan park. It seemed silly to be surrounded by paradise and not be permitted to smell the flowers of its gardens. Yafatah scowled. She considered taking a walk despite her mother's admonishments to the contrary. Yafatah stopped sorting her laundry. She figured she had at least a half hour before either Aunt or Fasilla returned. A half hour was plenty of time to see the city sights. Yeah, she thought, grabbing a red traveling cape. Smiling, Yafatah escaped. The fifteen-year-old had not gone more than a block when she heard someone call her name. Turning away from a particularly delectable looking pastry shop in front of her—rows of cream and fruit filled goodies teeming in the window—Yafatah stared at an old woman in patchwork rags waving to her from across the busy street. Yafatah's eyes widened in disbelief. «Jammy!» she cried in delight. As the young girl ran to meet Trickster, «Old Jamilla» turned to the man dressed in blue beside her and said, «At least somebody loves me.» Doogat rolled his black eyes. Trickster opened her arms wide to receive Yafatah, saying, «Well, well, kiddo—what a surprise to see you here. I thought Tammirring didn't like these big cities. No headaches or fear of the crowds?» Yafatah shook her head happily, throwing her arms around Jamilla and giving her a ferocious hug. «I do be so glad to see you, Jammy. I looked for you in Piedmerri, but I couldna' find you. There do be queer things—» Yafatah broke off, suddenly suspicious of the man in blue. Trickster smiled at Yafatah. «He's all right. He's with me. In fact, my sweet, this is Doogat.» Doogat, who was still thinking about Kelandris, gave Yafatah a perfunctory bow, his dark eyes distant. The young girl eyed him skeptically. Then she pursed her lips and remarked, «You ought to spend more time in your shop, Master Doogat. You do be making me ma fierce mad with them hours you keep.» «My sincere apologies,» said Doogat, his tone slightly sarcastic. Yafatah nodded briskly. Turning her attention back to Trickster, she said, «Oh, Jammy—I didna' have anyone to talk to. And me blood came early, and we went into Jinnjirri where I got sick. On account of the shift and all. And then—oh, Jammy—and then, this weird willy thing happened.» Glancing at Doogat briefly, Yafatah tossed her head. «I got tangled with another Tammi. Her name was Kel, and she was fierce crazy. But really, Jammy, she didna' scare me overmuch.» «Why not?» asked Doogat, taking an interest in Yafatah's story for the first time. «Because, Master Doogat—she were a true Tammi,» replied Yafatah, her face reverent. «She be like a starry night that goes on forever. She be vast and deep. And ever so dark. But this dark do be a good kind. Like the hidden places inside the oldest mountains. That Kel, see—she touches the heavens but walks the earthy world. She stands between, knowing both.» Yafatah nodded with enthusiasm. «And I shall never be the same again.» Trickster squeezed Yafatah's shoulder. «Mystery is a power of the Fertile Dark. And you have met it well, kiddo.» Doogat said nothing, his heart made unexpectedly heavy by Yafatah's description of her contact with Kel's mind. He turned away from Old Jamilla and Yafatah, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his blue robe. Scanning the bustling street again for a tall woman in black, he sighed painfully. Somewhere out there, a mystery walked. A mystery that he longed to love with all his heart. And soul. Holding the Kindrasul tightly in her hand as she entered the Saambolin Quarter of the city, Crazy Kel muttered wildly to no one. Turning east, she headed for the park grounds of the Great Library of Speakinghast. Kel had seen the tall hedge of the library's central garden from a distance and without knowing why, she felt a need to see it up close. Avoiding several tour groups, she crept closer to the iron gate at the entrance to the twenty-five-foot hedge. A sign in six landdraw languages hung over the gate, announcing the time of the next tour. Kelandris read the Tammirring translation. Her eyes turned thoughtful under her shredded veil. She read the translation again, this time out loud: » 'Welcome to the Great Maze of Speakinghast. The only one of its kind in the world, the Great Maze is famous for the complexity of its unique spiral design and for the twenty-foot statue of a fabled Mythrrim Beast in its very center. The Library wishes to caution you against entering the Great Maze without a guide. We take no responsibility for you if you choose to disregard this warning. It is possible to get lost here—for days. Tours are conducted at one, three, and five bell-eve. An admission price of twenty-five coppers is payable to your guide. Thank you for your cooperation. Master Curator Sirrefene.' « Kelandris, in natural contrary style, ignored the warning completely and entered the spiral labyrinth of boxwood hedges. The sweet scent of the shrubbery delighted her at first, then, after an hour of walking, it became slightly sinister and oppressive. Kelandris sat down on a marble bench to rest. The bells of the city tolled twelve noon, the ones in the Great Library thundering loudly above her. Startled, Kelandris got to her feet and took the first path that opened before her. She ran blindly yelling at unseen accusers. As Rimble's Luck would have it, Kel stumbled upon one of two tracks in the whole maze that led directly to the winged statue in its middle. The Power of Coincidence, it seemed, worked for Trickster's daughter as easily as it did for Trickster's son. Or perhaps the black glass beads in Kel's hand called to the black glass statue ahead, and the statue answered in draw. Whatever the reason, Kelandris found her way to the Mythrrim Beast in impossible record time. She slowed as she caught sight of the squatting, twenty-foot, female legend. Recognition Ceremony. Voices sounded in Kel's mind. Voices that had lived a hundred thousand years, speaking still in generational memory of the Mythrrim Beasts of Soaringsea. Voices and the storyteller's gestures. Whispers and the long sigh of heaven. Such was the power of the Great Ones who spoke through Mythrrim; such was the power of the Greatkin, the beloved of the Presence. And now the Eldest came to Kelandris. The woman in black struggled to hear the murmur of Greatkin Themyth, the mother of Mythrrim. Kelandris reached for the black statue in front of her, her voice strangling in strange whimpering sounds. She was an animal calling to her kin. The statue remained silent, its glistening black eyes open and lifeless. Again, Kelandris called. The statue made no response. Weeping, Kelandris pawed at it wildly. Her fingers slid off the glass. She kicked at the statue, hurting only herself. Rocking back and forth, her fists balled into her stomach, Kel's voice assumed the cry of a hunting bird in distress. She gave a series of soft, high pitched screeches. Then, exhausted, Kel crawled under the folded wing of the obsidian Mythrrim and fell into a sorrowing sleep. Rimble-Rimble. At the east entrance, Rowenaster prepared to take his survey class on an unofficial excursion into the spiral labyrinth. A few of his Jinnjirri students tittered nervously as Rowenaster counted heads. Tree, who happened to be present for this particular field trip and was wishing he weren't, decided to have some fun with his fellow Jinn. Naturally paranoid of all things Saambolin, the Jinn were uneasy to begin with in this enclosed space. Smiling wickedly, Tree announced, «Did you know this is where the city takes its dissidents? Loses them in this place, forever and ever.» At least half the students fell silent, their eyes casting about for some discreet means of escape. The professor took stock of the situation. Watching the Jinnjirri students separate hastily from the rest of the draws, Rowenaster gave Tree a withering smile. «Thanks.» Tree grinned. «You're welcome, roomie.» Rowenaster pursed his lips. «Speaking of the 'K'—I'm thinking we ought to reshuffle the house chores soon. How'd you like to be recommended for garderobes and other stinky things?» Tree rolled his eyes. «Okay, okay. I get the message: shut up.» «Such an excellent pupil,» said Rowen, continuing to count heads. «Hey, professor,» said another student presently. She had just read the warning hanging over the iron gate, and, being a lawful Saambolin, she felt uneasy about walking out of schedule into a place where one could get lost «for days.» Rowenaster had a reputation