Contrarywise

autonomy. And succeeded. Taken aback by the weight and discipline of Kel's will, Zendrak redoubled his efforts to disarm Kelandris psychically as well as physically. He pressed her for surrender and pressed her hard. Kelandris sucked in her breath, hating Zendrak. Attacking him with the full brunt of the rage she felt for Yonneth, Kelandris managed to break the mental hold Zendrak had on her. Screaming at Zendrak to stop touching her, she struggled to free her head from his hands. Zendrak maintained contact, his body sweating, his concentration fierce. Terrified by the merciless gaze in Zendrak's dark eyes, Kel raked his cheek with the sharp fingernails of her left hand. She drew blood. Zendrak winced but said nothing. Kelandris extended her fingers then curved them like the claws of the Mythrrim she was. She raised her hand to swipe at Zendrak again, a low growl rumbling deep in her throat. Zendrak answered in kind, snapping at the air in front of her veiled face. Startled, Kelandris stared at him, her heart pounding. Mythrrim faced Mythrrim in silence. Zendrak shifted his weight, the collar of his green tunic pulling slightly to the side. Kel's breath caught. Something black and shiny hung around his neck. Kelandris reached tentatively for Zendrak's obsidian beads. Zendrak released his physical hold on Kel's neck and smacked her hand away from the Kindrasul. Kel tried again. Zendrak growled at her, his dark eyes hooded and angry. Kelandris started to attack him, arching her back. Zendrak slapped her face, knocking her against the floor. Kelandris shook her head dazedly. Now she spoke, her voice desperate and pleading. «My pretty thing. Give it!» Noting with interest that Kelandris had momentarily dropped her habitual rhyme of sixteen years, Zendrak said evenly, «My pretty thing.» Kel's voice became more anxious. «Give it. Give it back. If you love, give it back.» Zendrak frowned, momentarily startled by Kel's inclusion of the word love in their conversation. He noted she had said, «If you love, give it back.» Not, «If you love me.» The first statement was typical of Greatkin Phebene, the second of Trickster. Cautiously, Zendrak asked, «Would you like some tea?» He wondered how much baneberry he'd need to use in order to knock her out. Kelandris shook her head. «Not me. T is for thee but not for me. Phebene sez: tea for two, cakes and kin—odds are great, Rimble won't win.» Zendrak said nothing for a moment, reassessing the situation. If Phebene were speaking through Kelandris at present, she might be telling him to disarm Kel through something other than dirty tricks. Quite a challenge. He turned back to the veiled woman lying below him on the floor. Changing his tactics, Zendrak pulled the Kindrasul free from his neck, watching Kel's left hand clench and unclench with greed. Holding the obsidian beads just out of her reach, Zendrak said, «On the other hand, I can see how much my pretty thing means to you. And you've already taken such good care of it, yes?» «Yes. Keeps bad dreams away. Give,» she added, trying to grab the black glass beads from his grasp. Zendrak held the Kindrasul above his head. «I'll give the beads to you, Kelandris. But only on one condition—that you stop fighting me right now. If you don't, I'll hide my pretty thing where you'll never find it.» Kelandris snarled at him under her veil. She made a move to sit up. Zendrak knocked her flat, a terrible growl building in his throat. He meant business. Flexing his fingers in full view of Kelandris, Zendrak let her see the length of his own talon-nails. Kel hesitated then grabbed for the beads again. Zendrak let loose with a fearsome roar, all seven sets of his Mythrrim vocal cords vibrating. Ceramic and glass jars in the back of the shop shook. A few shattered. Kelandris reacted with blind panic and swiped at Zendrak's open neck. As before, she drew blood. This time, Zendrak decided to retaliate. Throwing Kel backward, he shredded her veil. Kelandris howled, putting her hands in front of her face. Zendrak punched her soundly in her unprotected diaphragm. Kelandris groaned, trying desperately to turn her belly away from him. Zendrak prevented her, forcing her to concede dominance to him. Animal to animal, Kelandris understood. Swearing and sobbing, she begged him for the Kindrasul. It was as if she were pleading for his mercy. Zendrak listened to her in silence, trying to assess the true level of Kel's sincerity. After all, like himself, Kelandris was Trickster's own child. Deciding that her tears were genuine, Zendrak gripped the Kindrasul tightly in his hand and flooded the string of beads with the comprehension and compassion of his five hundred years of life. Then he handed them to Kelandris. With a small cry of relief, the woman in black clasped the Kindrasul to her heart. She was so elated by the return of «her pretty thing» that she never felt Zendrak slide his hands around the back of her neck again. Kel shut her eyes, drinking in the emotional warmth of the beads she held. As the true depth of Zendrak's affection filled her body with the sounding of Zendrak's own emotional feeling-tone, Trickster's Emissary quickly sneaked in the back door of Kel's injured mind. Once there, Zendrak pressed Kelandris for the memory of a certain forest glen on the outskirts of Suxonli Village. And the love they had made there. Kelandris opened her eyes, her expression startled through her torn veil. Realizing that Zendrak had breached her psychic defenses, she blasted him with the raw power of her fury. Zendrak stood his ground. Kel's attack failed. The loving power with which Zendrak had invested the Kindrasul had opened Kel's heart briefly. Zendrak only needed a psychic toehold to successfully scale Kel's rage. Now he had one. Kelandris whimpered in distress. She twisted and untwisted the beads in her hand anxiously, her eyes focused on the brown rafters in the ceiling of the tobacco shop. She felt Zendrak's continued, steady intrusion into the darkest memories of her life. Kel gritted her teeth. Zendrak picked his way carefully through her psyche. Kelandris tensed. Zendrak could feel Kel's terror of Suxonli's judgement against her through his fingers. Coaxing Kelandris to match the steady rhythm of his breathing, Trickster's Emissary reminded Trickster's he of all that had preceded the actual revel in Suxonli. Kelandris strained against Zendrak's gentle hands as he probed her neck muscles for a deeper, more personal entry point into her hopelessness. Thorns of Kel's despair cut him. He ignored their pull. He had found what he was looking for: Kel's memory of her love for him. As he edged toward the memory, preparing to make Kel conscious of it again, he noticed Kel's grip on the Kindrasul tighten. Without warning, a moving wall of fear slammed into Zendrak's heart. Cursing Kel for fighting him, Zendrak struggled to maintain his sense of direction in Kel's emotional labyrinth. Pain stung him from all sides. No matter what Zendrak tried, Kel's fear remained unyielding. Taking a deep breath, Zendrak lowered his head briefly, frustration and exhaustion evident in his dark eyes. He cursed Trickster. And again. He did not want to force Kelandris to open to him. Nor did he wish to cram his superior mental training down her throat. Her independence was precious to him as was her formidable fighting spirit. He loved her for her faults as much as for her strengths. Zendrak's dark eyes swam unexpectedly with tears. He needed a way to regain her trust. The memory of the joy they had shared in a forest glen in Suxonli was the only certain ground that he personally held with Kelandris. And it looked like Yonneth had stolen even that. The cruelty of this enraged Zendrak. Feeling at a loss, Zendrak hesitated. There had to be another way through Kel's fear other than by sheer force of will. Zendrak ran through his entire repertoire of tricks, deciding that if he found no other solution than force, he would stop where he was; he would press Kelandris no farther. No matter what Trickster said about it. Zendrak bit his lip very well aware of what would happen if he failed with Kelandris here. Very simply put: the world as he knew it would come to an end. Kelandris was a member of Rimble's ennead, his Nine. Without her, the other eight were powerless. Kel was the ground wire for the psychic charge of the turning ceremony which the Nine would dance in Speakinghast in a few days time. If the Nine did not turn, civilization would falter. There would be no evolutionary leap; Trickster's silent genes would remain silent. And the Greatkin would cease to «matter.» Zendrak swallowed. The temptation to overcome Kel's fear by aggression was tempting. He could've done it as soon as she walked into the little tobacco shop, knife in hand. His was a trained mind, hers was not. Zendrak rolled his eyes. He didn't want the world to end any more than Trickster did. Was the integrity of Kel's psyche worth such a price? Zendrak's hands trembled on the back of Kel's neck. The threat of extinction frightened him. Struggling against his own panic, Zendrak reminded himself sternly that he was not Trickster. It was not his responsibility to save or doom the world. He was merely Trickster's Emissary—and a very mortal, fallible one at that. He raised his dark eyes, meeting Kel's scared green ones. Seeing the fear and helplessness in her eyes, his heart broke. «I can't do it,» he whispered. «I can't get through to her. Rimble—you hear me? I can't do it. Find yourself another Emissary.» Zendrak started to pull his hands away from Kel's neck, but was stopped when Trickster's he grabbed his arms and held them close to her body. Zendrak opened his eyes in surprise to find Kelandris staring sternly at him. Greatkin faced Greatkin. Kel's green eyes glittered cooly. Still gripping the Kindrasul in her left hand, she draped the string of beads over both of Zendrak's exposed forearms. Zendrak said nothing, trying to understand the meaning of her action. Suddenly Kel's expression changed. The power of her Greatkin bloodline was replaced by a strange mortal vulnerability. Kel's hold on the Kindrasul intensified. She resembled a drowning person, the beads her lifeline. A lifeline— A smile broke over Zendrak's face slowly. Keeping one hand on the back of Kel's neck, he reached for the Kindrasul. Resting his palm over Kel's fingers, Zendrak dropped his defenses against Kelandris, using the black glass beads from Soaringsea as a universal translator of the ancient trust they shared as Mythrrim. Like a mneumonic cipher, the Kindrasul allowed Zendrak to communicate with Kelandris at a purely non-verbal level. As love often did, thought Zendrak with chagrin. He swore at himself for being so slow-witted. The way through Kel's fear had literally been under his fingertips. Courtesy of Phebene. Zendrak laughed with relief. Kelandris met his eyes shyly, her madness temporarily at bay. A trace of a smile touched her full lips. Zendrak regarded her with undisguised affection. Kelandris looked away abruptly. She felt blinded by the radiance of what she saw in Zendrak's face. After so many years of deprivation, Zendrak's love