show of faith, we've got something special in mind for you, eh?» Cobeth turned his head and found himself staring into the pied eyes of Trickster. Cobeth began to laugh wildly. «Something for me?» cried Cobeth gleefully, visions of personal power making him giddy. «Finally, something for me?» «Something for you,» repeated Trickster coldly. Then, without warning, Greatkin Rimble plunged his left thumbnail into the soft flesh of Cobeth's forehead. Like a wasp's stinger, two lancets shot out filling the wound with poison. Cobeth screamed in silence, his face contorted in agony. Trickster withdrew the thumbnail, whispering, «Now we'll see how you like your journey to Neath.» Cobeth buried his face in his arms, his body hunched in a fetal position on the floor. Rhu came running over to him. She shooed a brindle dog away from Cobeth's torso. Cobeth was unable to speak to her, his brain on fire. Rhu peered into his dilated pupils. It looked to her like Cobeth was having an unexpectedly bad reaction to the holovespa in the punch. She called for healers. Several came over. Their diagnosis confirmed her own; Cobeth had overdosed. He was having a toxic response. Antidotes were tried, but nothing worked. With each passing moment, Cobeth sank deeper and deeper into an emotional miasma with no bottom. All of this occurred while Rimble's Nine turned contrarywise. In the center of the room, Kelandris increased her spin once more. She spread her arms, lifting them like wings. Softly she whispered, «So turn the inside inside-out and be sanely mad with me. Master Trickster's turnabout, and come to my ecstasy!» As Kelandris finished speaking, power exploded among the Nine and was grounded into the draw of Saambolin through the capacity of Trickster's daughter for change. The charge rippled outward. The guests of Rimble reacted according to their capacity for change. If they were rigid and afraid, they wept. If they welcomed change, they responded with smiles and joy. Overwhelmed, Cobeth entered a catatonic state of mind. Several healers took him away. Now Kelandris lowered her hands. She folded them once more against her chest, the movement simple and clean. Then Kelandris came to a standstill. The other eight did likewise, and the turn was complete. Yafatah walked slowly toward Kelandris, tears streaming from her eyes. Now the young girl ran headlong into Kel's waiting arms. She clung to the tall woman, her face suffused with a radiant peace. The future of the world was assured now. The Wild Kelandris had bloomed. Kelandris kissed Yafatah's forehead. As she did so, Kel's eyes met Zendrak's briefly. Zendrak nodded. Then the two Greatkin shared a secret smile. The Panthe'kinarok Epilogue The Greatkin finished the third course of their potluck feast with general merriment and banter. Phebene wiped her lips daintily with the corner of her napkin and belched. Jinndaven looked at her in surprise. Catching his expression, Phebene pointed at the little Greatkin who sat between them, saying, «It's his influence.» Jinndaven grunted. «Can't say that it's very flattering, Phebes.» Trickster, who was getting tired of being talked about as though he were not there, started swearing. «My influence, she says! What about what she did to my plans!» Phebene picked her teeth with the prong of her fork. «You haven't a corner on improvements, you know. Love has every bit as much a right to change people as you do, Rimble.» Jinndaven watched Phebene's table manners deteriorate with dismay. «For Presence sake, sister dear—try to be a little more civilized.» «I beg your pardon?» asked the Greatkin of Civilization. «Did you say something to me, Jinn?» The Greatkin of Imagination shook his head. «Nope. Just complaining about Rimble's bad influence on Phebene. I think we should reconsider the seating arrangements.» «I agree!» replied Rimble hotly. «You've meddled enough, Phebes. Meddled and muddled. Zendrak's losing his edge! He doesn't mind me when he should. And Kelandris— she's gone all sweetness and light. It's disgusting!» Phebene blew her nose into her sleeve. Referring to Rimble, she said, «Don't pay any attention to his bitching. Jinn. He loves it. Don't you?» she asked, kissing Rimble on the top of his head. Rimble sank into his chair, putting his napkin over his head like an old woman wearing a newspaper hat. «Love better not be catching.» Jinndaven started laughing. «I think it would be an improoovement if it was, Rimble. You'd be ever so much more manageable.» «Never!» snorted Trickster under his napkin. «Just think of it, Phebes,» continued the Greatkin of Imagination, «Trickster in love—» «Sick, sick, sick,» muttered the pied-eyed little Greatkin. «Say, Rimble,» yelled the Greatkin of Humor at the far side of the round table. Her name was Nessi'gobahn. She wore bells in her hair and had an infectious laugh. «Is it my imagination, or have you grown some?» Jinndaven investigated. «If it's your imagination, then it's mine, too,» he called back. «Rimble's at least a foot taller than when we sat down at the table.» «What do you think it means?» asked Phebene. The Greatkin of Civilization smiled at them all, her eyes twinkling. «It means, my dears, that Rimble is starting to matter again.»
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