, that doesn't mean he's ours! I mean, Rimble's not even real!» Rowenaster got to his feet, beginning to pace again. Everyone watched in silence. As he walked, the woman in black on the other side of the hedge played idly with Zendrak's Kindrasul. She fingered each of the marked beads haltingly, reading the inscriptions on the black glass through the tingling in her thumb and forefinger. Shadowy images formed in her mind. Kelandris blinked, her expression surprised. Rowenaster stopped pacing. Turning to face the mutinous but captive class in front of him, he asked, «How many of you believe in the Presence?» Thirty-six out of a possible eighty-nine raised their hands slowly. «And how many believe in the Faces of the Presence? I'm talking about the Greatkin, of course—including the Wasp,» he added drily to Torri. Half of the hands raised stayed up. Tree's was one of them. «I see,» said Rowenaster, his shoulders sagging. Torri interrupted here. «Tell me, professor—was it your intention to convert us into believers through this class?» Rowenaster shook his head. «No. Nothing that simple.» A few of the more sympathetic students tittered. «Then, what was your intention, Rowen?» asked Tree unexpectedly. Rowenaster smiled sadly at him. «I was hoping to expose you to Mystery. I was hoping to bring you into contact with something larger than yourselves. I was hoping to move you to wonder.» The professor paused, looking toward the direction in which he had sent the chastened Widdero. «Perhaps I should send you all home. Clearly, no one has entered the Great Maze this afternoon free of their everyday 'strings.'» «You make this field trip sound like an initiation rite!» Torri protested. «Do I? Well,» said Rowen thoughtfully, «maybe it is.» «You're also creating mystery where there isn't any,» Torri continued. «Perhaps—perhaps not. I certainly didn't create the mystery standing on the other side of this hedge. Obsidian is not natural to our draw, Torri. A solid block of cut glass. We 'moderns' can't duplicate it. Think of that.» Tree did, and it gave him chills. At that moment, Kelandris squawked like a bird. The woman in black stared wildly at the glass bead held between her thumb and forefinger. She had just found Zendrak's Mythrrim perspective on the events in Suxonli sixteen years ago. Voices. Images. Kelandris shook her head, her green eyes dazed. Here was the whole story. Kel's animal exclamation surprised and perplexed Rowenaster. He turned around. He walked cautiously toward the central chamber of the spiral, his students scrambling to their feet and following him in curious silence. Jaws dropped at the sight of the twenty-foot winged statue. As Rowen's class assembled behind him, Kelandris stood up, the feet and chest of the Mythrrim Beast framing her tall body. Rowenaster frowned, his expression bewildered. Themyth's daughter bowed to the group, saying, «Welcome, O my kin. Gather round, and you shall hear a Mythrrim of old made new in the telling of this time and place. Come, come—don't be afraid. I speak for us all.» Rowen's class hesitated, waiting to see the professor's reaction. Tree nudged Rowen. «That's her,» he whispered. «Who?» «The woman that scared Doogat. Po drew me a picture of her.» Tree paused. «She's crazy as a loon, Rowen. What do you think we should do?» «Humor her,» said the old man and proceeded to sit down. The rest of the class followed suit—all except Tree. Seeing that he was the only one standing, the Jinnjirri squatted beside the professor and asked, « Are you nuts? Po says she's got a knife—» «Yes,» replied Rowen cooly. «And there's something odd in all this.» «What's that supposed to mean?» asked Tree, wondering if Rowenaster was addling right in front of him. «It means, sit down and shut up!» replied Rowen in a low, urgent voice. Tree snorted but did as he was told. Kelandris smiled beatifically at them all. Then, clearing her throat, she proclaimed, «We shall call this Mythrrim by its proper name. Now listen and attend.» Chapter Thirty-Four The Turn of Trickster's Daughter In the winter, in the dead of winter In the mountains, in the snowy mountains In a warm cave, in a warm, wet cave, Civilization gave birth To Trickster's maverick daughter. She was the bloom of Story, She was the flowering of earth, She was the wild seed of Heaven. In a warm cave, in a warm, wet cave, No one hailed the impossible birth Of Trickster's dark-haired daughter. In Suxonli for seventeen years, The Wild Kelandris slept In waiting silence for seventeen years, Wild Kelandris kept covenant With the cave, with the warm, wet cave: She was Trickster's dormant daughter. Until one sacred eve when Greatkin power readied, Until one sacred eve when Greatkin power called A stranger to touch her blessed loins and heart In a forest bed, when Greatkin power made Her warm cave wet with fertile blood And roused Trickster's randy daughter. But while the Wasp Queen coupled with her mate, A boy cheated at the King's testing fire. While the Wasp Queen loved her chosen mate, Yonneth inflamed himself with deviant desire. Soaring drunk on Rimble's Remedy— Yonneth lusted for Trickster's lovely daughter. His penis cruel from thoughts of raping, Yonneth hunted the wood for the Wild Kelandris' flower. While his sister's dewy bloom was sweet lovemaking With the velvet touch of dark-eyed night, Yonneth hunted, he hunted the wild, wet wood For the rosy petals of Trickster's smiling daughter. But deviance itself foiled Yonneth's brutal desire: While the Queen learned kindness from the giving green, Yonneth stumbled under spell of the holovespa liar And railed against the power of unrequited dreams. Weeping, he wandered lost in phantasmagoric mire Far from the blush of Trickster's blossoming daughter. Now the Queen rose from her forest bridal bed, Now the Queen danced to the droning village drum, Now the Queen turned to the rise of her own ecstasy, Spinning alone, spinning free, the Queen soared On the passionate wings of her Greatkin female-he. All hail, Trickster's hermaphroditic daughter. Calling the Hive, she summoned Suxonli's mind, Pricking herself, she summoned eight more in kind. This was the nest for the shock of the new, The fate of the many rested on these few. Here was a Tammirring revel, not a Jinnjirri one Here was an ecstasy to which Yonneth could not come. So Yonneth was angry with Trickster's Daughter. Someone will pay, the Jinnjirri said Someone will come to my raping bed. So Yonneth took foul pleasure behind a silent tree From a young girl dazed on Rimble's Remedy, Yonneth forced Fasilla to his brutal bed. He smiled as her screams drowned out the repeating call Of Trickster's turning daughter. The Queen spun faster, the dance blurred round the fire! Hive mind united; suddenly rage and rape were the Queen's own mire The Queen's mind fell through Yonneth's shifting maw. Shock! Shock entered the Queen, shock entered the draw! Power surged and streamed, power screamed and Faltered… Inside Trickster's disoriented daughter. Stumbling, the he lost control of Rimble's line; Eight were too few to ground Yonneth's rage T'was 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. Flesh blackened as eight innocents fell dead, What power was this? Why was the Queen still alive? Then a boy emerged from the autumn wood Bearing the wrong answer for the questioning Hive: With glee, he threw bloody underwear at the masked face Of Trickster's menstruating daughter. Outraged, the meanest Elder of all proclaimed: «You have broken the Blood Day Rule, Suxonli's daughter has broken village law, Like a child, you played with maverick power, Like a child, you tampered with Tammirring draw. You knew the rule, You knew the law. Like an adult, you shall be punished For all Suxonli's sake.» Then, they bound Trickster's taboo daughter. The ropes charred, they fell away In unspeakable sympathy, the ropes would not stay. The spirit, hands, or heart Of Suxonli's Wild Kelandris, The ropes would not take part in Suxonli's rejection Of Trickster's Greatkin daughter. Now Kelandris spoke her mind: «You took a drug as you drummed the fire, You swallowed yellow holovespa liar. Weak, O my people, weak is this Hive— Were you stronger of will, eight might be still alive! Suxonli is Tammirring's disgrace, You have averted your eyes from Trickster's Face. You are lazy and soft, O village mine, Yet, stand ready to assault The only one soaring at the ancient fire Without the straw wings of holovespa liar!» So said Trickster's defiant daughter. The Hive swarmed, the Hive hissed Against the insolence of Kelandris. The sting of a whip cut open her back As each conscience lashed out With the cruel whine and cruel crack Of Suxonli's village law. Beware you wasp-tongued Daughters! Sick with the toxin of repeated stings, Kelandris wept, searching the night For her green-robed King. He answered by mind, appalled at her pain. Returning through time while the murderous Hive Gave Kelandris the very drug she decried To silence Trickster's truthful daughter. Begging Trickster to allow her to die, Kelandris fell to the ground, barely alive. Now something shimmered in blue and black, Thundering hoofbeats of the Green King come back. He knelt by his mate, he beat away the Hive And protected Trickster's savaged daughter. The Hive pressed forward. Smelling the drug on their breaths, Zendrak spat and cursed the spot. Unafraid of masks and revel, torchlight, He stared into their eyes, And promised the draw of Suxonli would rot For the crime commited against Kelandris tonight, Such was his love for Trickster's only daughter. Touching her battered body with a lover's care the King lifted the Queen to the back of his mare, Riding in silence, they left Tammirring. Now Zendrak crossed the border shift and wilds. Listening to the Queen's frantic whimpering— He realized she would lose their unborn child. Zendrak wept for Trickster's sad daughter. His beloved entered a private world of pain For sixteen years at the Yellow Springs, His love made the dark journey of the insane. Under the watchful eye of a certain Aunt By the water, by the iron medicine water, Zendrak left Trickster's mad daughter. The journey was long, and longer still, Healed of body but not of heart, Crazy Kel refused the daylight of sunlit climes, Preferring the dark gray of her shadow rhymes Instead of her Green King's summer thaw: Such was the despair of Trickster's wounded daughter. There would be no renewal for any draw, No common ground of change, No life-giving fertility From the woman in mourning black; Such was the supposed sterility Of Trickster's akindo daughter. Like father, like daughter, She's contrary but not always wise, And she'll continue to masterfully block The schemes of the one with pied eyes. Unless Rimble turns her heart—there'll be no dance Of remembrance by Trickster's ice-queen daughter. Meanwhile, the Green King waits for the new bloom, Meanwhile, the Green King warms the winter soul Of Trickster's frozen ground Like patient time knowing spring will come again, Zendrak collects a new circle of more seasoned kin For Trickster's winterbloom daughter. Staring very hard at the mesmerized faces of both Rowenaster and Tree, Kelandris broke off suddenly. Then she whispered, «And you shall be outcast one and all if you heed the heresy of Trickster's wild call.» Eyes locked between the three in silent, astounded recognition of their naturally occurring deviant nature. Kelandris swallowed hard, covering her mouth with a bewildered hand. Then, shaking her head violently, Kelandris muttered sharp cries of denial. Before Rowenaster or Tree could say anything, the woman in black climbed out from under the obsidian legs of the Mythrrim statue and fled down the path that had brought her into the Great Maze of Speakinghast. Torri broke the stunned silence. «Hey, professor—that was a good one! You really had me going there for a while. I mean, on our way in here I was thinking maybe you'd gone stark raving or something.» She and the rest of Rowen's class grinned with renewed appreciation for the professor's off-beat teaching methods. «And all the time, you had this wild actress waiting to speak poetry to us—Mythrrim style. Hey, and now I see why Widdero had to go. He was going to spoil everything, wasn't he? I mean, what if we'd decided to leave in a huff or something? That ball of yarn—well, we could've found our way out with that.» Torri beamed at Rowen. «Pretty amazing piece of street theater, professor. Wait till I tell Widdero how he nearly messed everything up. He'll stop being sore right then and there. He'll be amazed—and sorry he missed the fun. Wow, professor,» she added breathlessly. «You're brilliant.» Rowenaster blinked, then, realizing that Torri was expecting him to answer her, he smiled woodenly. Feeling suspended between some ancient place and the present, Rowen muttered, «Thank you.» Chapter Thirty-Five Neither Tree nor Rowenaster spoke much on their way out of the spiral labyrinth. Excusing himself from the professor's company, Tree headed for the comforting walls of the Kaleidicopia. He arrived in time to see Janusin open the door to Doogat, Trickster disguised as Old Jamilla, and a young Tammirring girl. Tree stopped where he was, wondering if Doogat would talk to him about the woman in black who had spoken poetry in the maze. Tree licked his lips, desperately wanting some answers. He felt light-headed and very nervous about something. He knew the woman in black was responsible for some of it, but he didn't understand why or how. He ran his fingers through his frosted Jinnjirri hair, his hand shaking. Tree decided to enter the 'K'. Seeing the color of Tree's hair, Doogat walked toward Tree, his expression thoughtful. When he reached the Jinnjirri, he said, «What happened to you?» Tree shrugged. «That woman—the one at your place this morning?» Doogat stiffened. «Yes?» he asked intently. «Well, she's—she's very strange, isn't she?» Doogat pursed his lips. «Where did you see her?» «In the Great Maze. Rowen took his class in there. Field trip.» Tree cleared his throat uncomfortably. «That woman was in there. Under the Mythrrim statue. She—she started talking. Uh—speaking. Kind of formal like. In verse.» Tree shook his head, tears coming to his eyes without warning. He fought for emotional control. «She told such a sad story. I can't get it out of my mind. Doogat—I'm—so scared. I don't know what's going on,» he whispered, his voice catching. «Please—I want it to stop.» Doogat grunted, gratified to learn that Kelandris had spoken as a Mythrrim. It meant his operation of psychic release on her had been successful. Turning his attention back to the trembling Jinnjirri before him, he said, «Where is the woman in black now?» Tree shrugged. «She stared very hard at Rowen and me at the end of it all. I guess she didn't like what she saw because she started cursing Greatkin Rimble and this fellow in the poem. Zen—something.» Doogat winced. «Go on,» he said unhappily. Tree nodded. «Then she ran away. And this stupid Saambolin girl started jabbering at Rowen. Something about him being a brilliant teacher. It was real hard to even understand what the girl was saying. I felt like I was two people at once—a student on a field trip and someone I didn't know. I knew things, Doogat. Weird things.» «And you felt older than your years?» asked Doogat calmly. Tree started sobbing in earnest now. He nodded his head several times, unable to speak. Doogat regarded him with compassion and pulled the twenty-one-year-old to his chest. He held him close while Tree bawled. Hearing the sound of Tree's crying, Janusin poked his head out of the kitchen. Seeing the terrified frost of Tree's hair, the sculptor walked toward Doogat hastily. When he reached the two men, Janusin said, «Sweet Presence, Tree—what happened!» Doogat handed Tree a green handkerchief from inside his pocket. Frowning at the telltale color, he handed it to Tree and wondered if Trickster had planted a green handkerchief in his change of clothes for a reason. On the other hand, he thought, Tree's favorite color was green. Perhaps «Old Jamilla» had known Tree would show up at the house—with the information he needed about Kel's well-being. Rimble-Rimble. «Tree's all right,» said Doogat quietly to Janusin. «Or he will be in a bit. Nothing that a cup of Barlimo's black brew won't fix,» he added. «Shall we?» Doogat asked, pointing Tree toward the Kaleidicopia's swinging kitchen door. «Good idea,» said Tree when he'd caught his breath. Tree's calm was short-lived, however. While Janusin poured steaming cups of Barlimo's