e alone. I willna' return to Suxonli.» Aunt nodded. «So you keep Ya away from her own kind. You make her Asilliwir so she won't hear the call of her Tammi draw. What love is this?» Fasilla's eyes filled with tears again. She covered her face with her hands, unable to look at Aunt. «I canna' go there, Aunt,» she whispered. «Presence forgive me—but I canna.» Aunt got off the bed. She squatted beside Fasilla, stroking the younger woman's fine, brown hair. «I agree with you. Fas. You cannot return to Suxonli. But, my dearest friend, Yafatah may have to go there someday. None of us truly understands what a Crossroads Child is. In order for Ya to find out, she may have to go where you cannot follow.» «No!» cried Fasilla with sudden despair. «Doon't say this thing to me, Aunt! Doon't say this thing!» Aunt pried Fasilla's hands away from her eyes. «Look at me, Fas.» The Asilliwir met Aunt's even gaze with fury. Aunt nodded, saying, «I think my words come as no surprise to you. You carried this child, Fas.» «I doon't understand what you're talking about,» she said angrily. Aunt pulled a strand of hair away from Fasilla's lips. «I think you do. I think you knew there was something queer about Yafatah before she was born. You're not a stupid woman, Fas. I went to school with you, remember. You've got a good mind. You can put odd things together and see the sense in them.» Fasilla's face paled. «Shut up, Aunt. Just shut up.» Aunt ignored Fasilla's discomfort. «That night in Suxonli was also queer—» «Queer?» shouted Fasilla with rage. «Be that what you call a rape?» Aunt swallowed, her hands sweating, her expression hard. «You weren't the only one who was hurt that night, Fas. As you well know.» There was a stunned silence. Fasilla started to get to her feet. Aunt grabbed her arm and held Fasilla to her previous kneeling position. Fasilla's eyes blazed. «Doon't touch me,» she said in a low, dangerous voice. «You willna' make less of my pain. You willna' do what them Suxonli did to me. You willna say it was Rimble's will—'' Aunt slapped Fasilla, yelling, «It wasn't Rimble's will!» Fasilla blinked, her cheek scarlet where Aunt had struck her. The fight suddenly went out of her. Fasilla gazed distantly at Aunt. «In Suxonli, they say the Presence do be a Trickster.» «Well, they're wrong!» snapped Aunt, the Mayanabi in her disgusted. Fasilla said nothing, her expression disoriented. Then she muttered, «But Rimble do be a Face of the Presence, and even we Asilliwir call this Greatkin by roguish names.» Aunt took a deep breath. She moved toward Fasilla, sitting with her, her back against the wall of the wagon. Aunt stared at the wooden ceiling above her, choosing her words carefully. She glanced sideways at Fasilla and said, «Do you remember what you were like when you were five years old?» Fasilla nodded. «And when you were twelve?» «Yes—so?» «How about when you were sixteen? Do you remember what you thought, what you wore?» Fasilla frowned. «Where do you be taking this?» «Are you a five, twelve, or sixteen-year-old.» «Of course not, Aunt. I do be thirty-six.» «But you were all those ages once, weren't you. And at each one of them, you thought that was all you were. But at thirty-six, you can see that you're actually much, much more. You're every 'face' you've ever had. Every age you've ever been. The Presence is like that, Fas. It's a composite of all times, moods, and expressions of Itself. To say that the Presence is a Trickster is as stupid as saying you are nothing more than a five-year-old. You are that five-year-old, but you're also every age before and after. You wouldn't want to limit yourself by using a child's mind to solve adult problems, would you?» Fasilla stared at Aunt. «But Greatkin Rimble doon't be five, Aunt.» «Of course not. However, Suxonli's idea of him is. Trickster, like any of the other Greatkin, is more than what he appears to be. Although you can't see the other Greatkin when you look at Rimble, his reality, in fact, rests on the entirety of the Presence. Uh—like my Jinnjirri femaleness rests on my maleness,» she explained briefly switching gender. «Just because you can't see my breasts right now—that doesn't mean they're not there, Fas.» To demonstrate the point, Aunt became a woman again. «If you think of me as only a man or only a woman, you miss the bigger picture. Likewise, if you think of the Presence as having but one face, then you understand the Presence with the mind of a five-year-old. That's why Trickster is Trickster, Fas. He's there to remind us that the Presence has many faces. That's why he's changeable. But changeable doesn't mean evil, Fas. It doesn't mean cruel. It doesn't mean deceit. Those are our constructions. That's what we do when we become afraid of change. We say it's Rimble's will when it's really our own. Rimble didn't rape you—Yonneth did. If Yonneth had answered the call of Kelandris—if Suxonli had answered the call of Kelandris—there would've been joy. Not violence. Deny Trickster, and you deny your own need to change. Suxonli denied Trickster that night. In so doing, they denied the Trickster in each of them. And in you, since you were there.» «What do you be meaning?» asked Fasilla slowly. Aunt smiled at her friend. «Look at you, Fas. You're as angry with Suxonli now as you were all those years ago. In school, you were an easy going and merry soul. Suxonli froze you, Fas. Like it did to young Kelandris. You haven't been able to leave the trauma behind. You go over it daily, I wager—not that I blame you. Presence alive, woman—I'm not sure I could've borne the child of a rape. I'm not sure at all. Much less love her—as you clearly do.» A tear slipped down Fasilla's cheek. «I do love Ya,» she whispered. «I know,» replied Aunt gently. «And you must let her change. You must give to her what Suxonli stole from you. And if you can't, you must let others do it in your stead. People die inside when they aren't allowed to change.» Fasilla swallowed. «You think I do be killing Ya's spirit?» Aunt nodded. «I do. And that's not love, Fas. That's fear. Yours.» Fasilla sagged against the wall. «I doon't know how to be different.» Aunt took a deep breath. «You must try, my friend.» «Or?» «Or Doogat has asked me to take you back with me to Jinnjirri.» Fasilla stiffened. «Without Ya?» «Without Ya.» Fasilla's face paled. Aunt got to her feet, offering Fasilla a hand up. «Come on.» «Where?» asked the Asilliwir, standing up without Aunt's help. «To the Jinnjirri Quarter of Speakinghast. To a three storey monstrosity called the Kaleidicopia Boarding House.» Chapter Thirty-Seven As the time neared eight bell-eve, the commotion in the Kaleidicopia's large kitchen subsided. House members and guests filed into the dining room, each carrying a contribution for the table. Conversation was lively between everyone save Yafatah and her mother. The young Tammirring girl felt annoyed with her mother's continued anger over her brief exploration of the city shops and bustling streets. As Fasilla launched into yet another well meant litany of possible dangers, Yafatah slammed the platter of bread on the dining room table and stormed out of the house. She ignored her mother's sharp commands to return «this instant» and sat on the front porch of the Kaleidicopia, her mood sullen. Yafatah heard the door open and close behind her softly. She stiffened, expecting to hear her mother's voice. She was very surprised to hear Barlimo's instead. She looked up as the fifty-year-old Jinnjirri plunked down beside her on the steps. Yafatah shrugged, saying, «I doon't be hungry, so doon't be asking me to come back to the table with you.» Barlimo grunted. «Then nobody gets to eat.» «Why?» Barlimo shrugged. «I like to say grace, and I don't say grace until everyone's seated and silent at the table. Personally, I'm starved—so I'd appreciate it if you got over the sulks as soon as possible.» The Jinnjirri smiled cheerily at the Tammirring. Yafatah frowned. «I doon't be sulking.» «Oh. Well, maybe you Tammis call it something else. Where I come from, when a person goes off on their own feeling sorry for themselves—not to mention misunderstood—we Jinn call it sulking. Especially if it's aimed at making one person uncomfortable. And you've done that royally. Your mother's sitting in there crying.» Yafatah shrugged. «I doon't know what she be doing that for.» «You scared her, Ya—that's all.» Yafatah sighed, staring at a passing happincabby. «I doon't understand why she be so scared of everything, Barl. I mean, she wouldna' have come to the city if Aunt hadna' ridden with us. I like Aunt—Aunt's not scared.» She paused. «I know I should be kind to me ma. But mostly I feel fierce angry with her these days. All I wanted to do was to see a bit of the city—on me own, you know. So I can have me own ideas. And if I run into trouble, then I run into trouble. A girl's got to have some time for thinking and dreaming. I canna' do that with me ma telling me how fierce bad everyone do be here in Speakinghast. Oh—what be the use?» Yafatah added miserably. «Even when she doon't be with me, I hear me ma's voice warning me about this and protecting me from that.» «Some protection is good, Ya— Yafatah whirled on Barlimo. «Not when it means I canna buy a pastry in a shop because the shopkeeper will take advantage of me, or worse, the cream filling might be bad from sitting out too long. By the time I think all these things, I doon't want to eat the pastry. I want to toss it at me ma!» Barlimo nodded. «So your mother needs to change. Aunt and Doogat are trying to help her do that right now, Ya. You must not foil their good efforts by sulking. You must come inside and teach your mother how to let you grow up.» Yafatah's eyes filled with angry tears. «She be the ma—not me. She should know these things already.» Yafatah crossed her arms over her chest. «I do be the child here.» «Oh. I thought you were a girl growing up—a young woman taking on responsibilities of caring for others besides herself.» Yafatah's face blotched with fury. «That doon't be fair. You put me in a corner. I canna' win. I canna' be a child, and I canna' be a woman. That doon't be fair.» Barlimo chuckled. «Welcome to that celebrated malady called 'growing pains.' It's when you aren't one thing or another for a while. And you feel real uneasy inside all the time. You don't know where to stand with yourself. You get a little scared. Then you take it out on everybody around you. You want them to make the scare go away. But they can't, see.» «Why not?» retorted Yafatah. «Because,» said Barlimo kindly, tousling Yafatah's dark hair, «if they take away your scare, they take away your struggle. And they want you to have your struggle.» «Why?» demanded Yafatah. «Because they want you to be that young woman you so deeply wish to be. Sulking is for children, Ya. Helping your ma become a better person is for adults. Now which world do you want to live in? The one that leashes you to your ma like a toddler, or the one that trusts you to explore the city streets using your good mind and clear eyes?» Yafatah put her head in her hands. «You're mean, mistress Barl.» Barlimo laughed heartily. «When I'm mean, child, believe me—you'll know it. Now come on—stop being bored out here by your lonesome and have dinner with some of the strangest, most talented people in all Speakinghast. You want to see the city sights? Well, we're one of them. Ask the Saambolin Housing Commission—they have all kinds of words to describe the Kaleidicopia. The house is famous, Ya. And you're privileged to be spending the night with us.» Yafatah regarded Barlimo warily, her grudge against her mother starting to weaken as her interest in the Kaleidicopia's residents increased. «Well, maybe I might have a little bit of dinner.» «Good,» said Barlimo, getting to her feet. She ushered Yafatah through the brilliantly painted front door. By the time Yafatah and Barlimo returned to the dining room, Fasilla had collected herself. Barlimo smiled at all the curious faces before her and said, «Sit down, please, and we'll have grace.» Timmer rolled her eyes. «Greatkin lover,» she muttered grumpily. Doogat smiled. As dinner progressed at the Kaleidicopia, Kelandris of Suxonli wandered the city streets, Zendrak's Kindrasul clutched tightly in her fingers. She left the Saambolin Quarter and crossed the line into the Jinnjirri portion of the city, squinting at a large lime green and hot pink sign. It read: «Abandon normalcy all ye who enter here!» Kelandris pondered the meaning of the sign and decided that this sector of Speakinghast might be more to her own liking. She fingered the new veil on her head that she had poached from someone's clothesline in a narrow alley. This veil, although black as usual, was not of the homespun variety. It was made of soft, shining silk and crowned Kel's head with elegance. She moved through the evening shadows silently as the full moon above cast soft, silver light on Kel's shoulders and broad back. Her formidable size coupled now with her burgeoning Mythrrim consciousness caused passersby to gape at this physical and spiritual giant of a woman. Kelandris was vaguely aware of their assessment of her, but she found it largely uninteresting. Her attention was focused on the steady heartpull of the Kindrasul that she carried in her left hand. Acting like a homing device of the soul, the Kindrasul brought her closer and closer to the man who loved her—to Zendrak of Soaringsea. Without hesitation, Kelandris turned down a narrow street that would take her to Wise Whatsit Avenue—the location of the Kaleidicopia. The pull from the Kindrasul increased, and Kel stopped briefly, her hand clutched to her chest, her head bowed. She shut her eyes under her veil, puzzled by the pain she felt in her chest. It was not violent, nor was it particularly unpleasant. Still, it was uncomfortable—and she wished to relieve it. Should she continue following the pulse of the Kindrasul? Although Kel was no stranger to pain—emotional or physical—she had no liking for it. Yet, this pain—this ache—seemed different. It was as if something were straining to be born inside her, and as the pressure intensified, as the demand for emergence accelerated, Kel winced, aware of a bearing down sensation in her whole body—particularly her womb. She wondered at this. How could she feel pregnant when she had not made love for sixteen years? She took a deep breath, fighting off a new wave of pressure. The Kindrasul glinted in the pale moonlight. She held the obsidian beads in front of her face, her hidden green eyes studying the queer markings on each piece of glass. She wished she understood what they meant. Or why she felt it so necessary to follow the pull that they emitted. It seemed like it would be a whole lot easier to just throw the beads away and be done with this queer pain. Much easier… Kelandris considered lobbing the beads into a nearby watering trough. As she raised her hand, the beads poised for throwing, Zendrak's face flashed before her eyes. His expression was calm, but she could read sorrow in his dark eyes. Terrible sorrow—the kind born of desperation and need. «And loneliness,» she whispered. Kelandris shrugged. Loneliness had been her constant companion since the Ritual of Akindo. She was used to the feeling; she accepted its continued, unrelenting presence in her life. The thought of living without loneliness struck her as a quaint fantasy—an idle impossiblity. To admit that she might now be faced with a true opportunity to mitigate her own loneliness by joining her life with that of Zendrak's was unsettling. Even as a Mythrrim, Kel experienced loneliness—perhaps more intensely now. She was not surprised by this or dismayed; Kel's loneliness was so integral to her personality that she was almost fond of it—as one might be of a long-time friend. Still, she hesitated to throw the Kindrasul away. Without knowing why she did so, Kelandris began to move in the direction of the Kaleidicopia again, the flash of Zendrak's sorrow haunting her. As she rounded the corner, the Kaleidicopia came into view. Kelandris gasped—not from the wild chaos of the building's construction—but from the burning she now felt in her heart. The hand that grasped the Kindrasul trembled. She felt lightheaded and deeply, deeply afraid of what lay just across the street from her. Kelandris jumped, as the front door to the three storey house opened abruptly. A man dressed in blue stepped out, his dark eyes turning in her direction almost immediately. Kel's heart pounded. She met the gaze of the man uneasily. She did not know who he was, but she felt like she should. Doogat stepped off the front porch of the Kaleidicopia, walking tow