particular Greatkin being honored. In a very real sense, a properly done Remembrance causes a kind of spiritual quickening. It prepares people for the experience of kinhearth—for direct contact with the Presence. Rimble—being a curious fellow—watched the doings of the Mayanabi with great interest. Then he made an improvement. He devised a backup system. After all, he said, there was nothing to prevent two-leggeds from becoming deaf to the Mayanabi. Furthermore, there was nothing to prevent the Mayanabi from becoming deaf to each other. So, Rimble caused a little fluctuation in two-legged genetic coding. He inserted a small transposable element deep in the biology of our race. This element would cease being «silent» only if triggered by an external stimulus—a certain wasp venom. Not to be confused with the current so-called «Rimble's Remedy» of Suxonli. The venom would be given by a carrier or emissary at a particular moment to nine carefully selected people—the emissary being included in this nine. The selection of these individuals would be based on the person's tolerance for ambiguity, multiplicity, and general contrariness. At least one of each draw would be represented by Rimble's Contrarywise. Nine was the minimum number needed to sustain the «shock» of Rimble's fail-safe. They would not appear, however, unless the world at large was in some kind of dire spiritual straits. The Nine would be under Rimble's direct guidance and protection. At least, this was the idea. No one counted on Suxonli's stupidity, however. No one believed for a moment that Suxonli would reject Trickster's he. The he was a girlchild of great spiritual sensitivity and capability, and was the responsibility of Suxonli to not only recognize this girl but also to train her. If they failed to do this, disaster would strike when the girl reached puberty and danced for Trickster at his Festival of Remembrance. Basically, Rimble's power would enter the Revel Queen, and if she didn't know how to release it into the draw of Tammirring, she would be psychically cooked. So would the other people in the ritual. The girl, you see, would be Trickster's literal common grounding for the psychic charge. If she succeeded in sustaining the charge, then Rimble's Nine would come together at a certain time in a certain place and «keep kinhearth» for the world. Kind of a booster shot for the Mayanabi. An infusion of renewal. However, if the Tammirring girl failed to discharge the psychic potential of Rimble, then the Nine would lack the grounding needed to generate fresh kinhearth and so would fail in their purpose. Sixteen years ago a tragedy occurred in Suxonli, one that you witnessed, Fas—so I don't need to describe it to you. But Suxonli's tragedy is the least of the bad news. If the Greatkin were to cease to matter to us, we would literally cease to matter—quite literally. Kinhearth, you see, is the stuff of landdraw. It is what forms the geological matrix of Mnemlith. It literally holds the earth together. The Mythrrim, despite their great adoration of the Presence, would not be able to offset the situation. They would not be able to counter the effects of akindo—the opposite of kinhearth. In this way, our forgetfulness would cause our world to end. The weave of the world would literally pull apart, and there would be no one present who could reweave it into a new design. Or pattern of consequence. Pray that we come to our senses. Pray that Trickster's he does the same. Prey that she remembers
who she is, Fas, and soon, for she is Trickster's turning point. I tell you, all the dreams of all the years depend on it. This is the Jinnaeon, the prophesied white-water of time. Now we change. Or we are changed. Period. Aunt ended the story here. She stretched slowly, rubbing her eyes. She looked over at Fasilla. The Asilliwir herbalist was sitting in her chair, her knees under her chin. Her face was very, very pale. Aunt touched her friend's arm gently. Fasilla jumped, Then, seeing Aunt, she said, «Them fools in Suxonli. They didna' train the girl.» «I know.» There was a long silence. Fasilla cleared her throat. «And me Ya do be mixed up in this, yes?» «Yes.» «How?» «I'm not sure,» said Aunt reaching for the remains of her cold tea. «Doogat says she may be one of Rimble's infamous loopholes. A fail-safe fail-safe.» Fasilla nodded. She was silent for a few moments, then glancing in the direction of Yafatah's room, Fasilla said calmly, «We go today, Aunt. Soon as me horses have rested. We go east to Speakinghast. You'll come with us, of course?» «Me?» said Aunt with surprise. She started to say more but was cut short by a strange rumbling sound. Eyes widening. Aunt grabbed breakable knickknacks off the walls of her cottage, yelling at Fasilla to protect Yafatah from falling objects in the tiny bedroom. Fasilla crossed the shaking floor with difficulty, her heart in her throat. So this was a «shifttime,» she thought—the Jinnjirri equivalent to an earthquake. She ducked a shelf of books as it came crashing to the floor right in front of her. Fasilla swore, deciding she much preferred the sandstorms of her native Asilliwir than this sliding and shaking of Jinnjirri. You could see a sandstorm coming in the desert, and you could take precautions. But when the earth itself moved, where was one to go? Fasilla threw open the bedroom door. Drugged, Yafatah was still sleeping comfortably. Gathering her daughter into her arms, Fasilla started to return to the kitchen with Yafatah. As she neared the thick doorjamb of the small bedroom, Aunt cried out: «Stay exactly where you are, Fas. Doorways are good during a shift.» Aunt grinned. «Like I said, change or be changed.» A few moments later, Fasilla heard Aunt swear. She followed the Jinnjirri's irritated gaze. Fasilla's terrified, hobbled mares were making for Aunt's hollyhocks—with Burni in hot pursuit. «Welcome to shifttime,» grumbled Aunt. «Rimble-Rimble.» Fasilla met Aunt's eyes. «You'll come with us to Speakinghast? Say you will.» Glancing at the broken knickknacks on the floor, Fasilla added, «I haven't the courage to go alone. Not after this.» There was a long pause. Aunt rolled her eyes, muttering, «Well, well, Doogat. Or shall I call you Zendrak? We'll meet again. Let's hope it's under better circumstances.» Sixteen years ago, Zendrak of Soaringsea had brought Kelandris to Aunt and entrusted the healing of her savaged mind and body to this capable Jinnjirri healer. Kelandris had been a terrible patient, trying to commit suicide whenever Aunt relaxed. It had been a long ordeal. However, Aunt was a Mayanabi and Zendrak was her commanding elder, so the Jinnjirri had stuck with it. And so Kelandris had lived. Chapter Sixteen As the earthquake in the northwest border of Jinnjirri reached its height, Mab woke with a start at the Kaleidicopia. Her long years spent in the shifting landdraw of Jinnjirri had heightened her sensitivity to its earthquake activity whether she lived there or not. This was a childhood legacy that Mab wished to forget. Mab grabbed the sides of her single bed out of habit, looking fearfully around her room for evidence of fallen objects. Seeing none, the Piedmerri sank back into her pillows, her breathing ragged. «You don't live there anymore,» Mab told herself firmly. «It's over with Jinnjirri. It's over. And whatever's going on there right now—it can't touch you. You're in Saambolin.» Mab swallowed, closing her eyes thankfully. «Saambolin,» she repeated, a trace of a smile on her lips. Suddenly, a passionate argument exploded on the stair landing just outside her room. It was Timmer and Tree; Timmer sounded furious about something. Mab pulled the brown blanket on her bed over her ears. This, too, reminded her of her life, in Jinnjirri. Moody silences and tempers. Mab's fingers clenched the bed so hard that her knuckles turned white. Nothing in Mab's life had been stable. Not her family life, not her friends, and not the land. She tried to tell herself she had been stupid to move into the Kaleidicopia, but she knew better. With all her heart, Mab wished she could live in an orderly Saambolin household, but she knew from experience that it would never work. «I'm just too weird,» she whispered. «You don't grow up in a Jinn artist's colony and not come out weird.» Mab scowled. «So I end up living at this house. Because I understand it. I don't like it,» she yelled in Timmertandi's general direction, «but I do understand it!» Voices out in the hall reached a fevered crescendo. Rolling her eyes, Mab got out of bed and stumbled blearily to the door of room two. She poked her head into the second floor hall. Scowling at both Timmer and Tree, the Piedmerri asked crabbily, «Do you have to do this now? And do you have to do it right outside my room?» She peered out the windows on the second floor landing. «I bet it's not even seven bell-morn yet.» «It's not,» said an equally crabby voice. Janusin lounged next to the open door of room six, his violet nightshirt crumpled, his hair dark blue with pronounced streaks of red. He looked as if he had hardly slept at all. The sculptor yawned and added, «So what's this about? Now that you've drawn an audience.» Timmer, who was dressed smartly in pastels and soft cottons, put her hands on her hips. Her long blonde hair tumbled backward over her slender shoulders. «It's about that scum-bum Podiddley. Not only did he leave his curry dish in the sink last night—some influence that Doogat is!—Po left all the spoons of the house in his bedroom. And then he locked it! Po could be gone for weeks. There's no telling what might flourish in his pigsty.» «Great gobs of mold probably,» muttered Mab. Janusin eyed Timmer and Tree with a baleful look. «You woke me up on account of dishes? That blasted house meeting went until one bell-morn!» «Oh, Jan—who're you trying to kid?» snapped Timmer. «My room is right across the hall from yours. You bawled most of the night.» Janusin's hair shot with brilliant red. «Shit,» muttered Tree, «now we've got fireworks for sure.» Before Janusin and Timmer could make a real go of it, however, they were interrupted by a remarkably fresh looking Rowenaster. Ignoring the color of Janusin's hair, he beamed merrily at the disgruntled Kaleidicopians as he joined them from the third floor. Doffing his feathered academic hat at Timmer and Tree, the Professor asked, «What's this? An early morning second floor landing party?» Tree swore. «Somebody wipe that frigging smile off his face, will you? It's too hard to take at this hour.» Rowenaster chuckled. « 'This hour' is the one at which I normally rise, Tree. Perhaps you'd like to accompany me to the Great Library. I could introduce you to a new concept: studying.» «That's it!» snapped Tree. «I'm leaving! And Timmer, I don't care who cleans up Po's room for the house inspection. You want to make it my job—fine! Meanwhile, I'm going out for breakfast!» Tree started down the stairs then wheeled around, his eyes meeting Mab's hopefully. «Want to come, too? I'll wait.» Timmer snorted. «Smitten,» she
