Contrarywise

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 favorite dark tea, Doogat made introductions. Hearing the name «Yafatah of Suxonli,» Tree shrieked. His hair lost all pretense of balance, pale green shifting to stark white. Janusin stared at Tree, toothless Old Jamilla, and Doogat. «An explanation would be nice,» said the sculptor to the Mayanabi Master, his expression bewildered. «I'll say,» said Tree warmly. «A nice, cozy explana—» Old Jamilla smiled at this point. Tousling Tree's hair, she interrupted gleefully, saying, «Too many explanations make you stiff, boyo—like wood.» Tree jerked his head away from Trickster, his eyes angry. Doogat gave Trickster a look of disapproval—which Trickster ignored—and answered Janusin by saying, «Seems Tree and Rowen spent part of the day with someone else from Suxonli. Kelandris. The same woman who knifed Po.» Old Jamilla inclined her head, her expression sly. Doogat watched to see what Trickster was going to do. When the old crone continued to drink her tea complacently, Doogat wondered if maybe he had misread the look on Trickster's face. Perhaps Trickster wasn't always up to something. Janusin put his hands on his hips. «Seems everybody in this house has met up with this woman in black—except me! Even Mab's aware of her. Did I miss something?» «I haven't met her,» retorted Timmer from the floor of the commons room. The Dunnsung was busy transposing music on a sheet of brilliant white paper. Humming a few bars to herself and making inky notes with a feather pen, she yelled, «Maybe this Tammirring Terror is Po's soulmate in disguise. Knifing Po was just her way of getting close. Tammi fashion.» Yafatah, who had been listening in silence until now, left the group and walked into Timmer's view. «She do be no terror,» said the girl. «She do be a very sad lady. And I'll thank you not to slur me draw,» added Yafatah indignantly. «Excuse me,» replied Timmer in her haughtiest voice. «And just who are you, anyway?» «Me name be Yafatah. Master Doogat says I will be living here—with me ma, of course.» «Live here!» said Timmer, spoiling the notation she was making. Swearing first at her own clumsiness and then at Doogat's meddling, Timmer got to her feet. She brandished her feather pen like a sword and stormed into the kitchen. «I demand a house meeting. Everyone's here except Rowen, and Barlimo. That's a quorum. And you,» she said pointing the wet pen at Doogat, «will be first on my shit-list!» «I beg your pardon?» said Doogat cooly. Timmer advanced on the Mayanabi Master, her eyes blazing. «You don't live in this house, Doogat—we do! You're Po's teacher, and that's as far as your influence goes here at the 'K.' We accept new members by vote—our vote—and nobody's voted on this little Tammi brat! Or her mother! Do I make myself clear?» «Perfectly,» said Doogat. Trickster started laughing. His mouth was toothless, his guffaws loud, and his pied-eyes wild. Everything about Trickster was an exaggeration, even his humor. Doogat took a deep breath. «Perhaps this would be a good time to tell them, Jammy,» he said to the amused Greatkin. «Tell us what?» asked Po, entering the kitchen. He had been listening to Timmer's tirade from inside his first floor bedroom. He thought Timmer had done an admirable job of taking Doogat down. Smiling, the little Asilliwir took a seat at the kitchen table. Yafatah, who had returned to the kitchen, was standing behind Po's chair. She sniffed the air uncomfortably. «Doon't you bathe?» she asked. Po shrugged. «I'm Asilliwir. We're used to going for long periods of unwash. Caravan life,» he added grandly, expecting Yafatah to know nothing about any of it. Yafatah snorted. «I be kin to Clan Abbiri. We do be one of the oldest caravans in all Asilliwir. And we wash!» Po's face turned as scarlet as his dirty tunic. All of Po's housemates burst out laughing. Timmer regarded Yafatah with grudging interest. «Well, maybe I was too hasty,» she admitted. Then the Dunnsung added, «But can she pay her rent, Doogat?» The Mayanabi took a deep breath. «It doesn't matter if she can or not, Timmer—» «It certainly does,» retorted Janusin. Doogat regarded the sculptor kindly. «No, it doesn't.» Doogat waited to see if anyone else wished to contradict him. Everyone remained silent. Everyone except Old Jamilla. Picking up one of the invitations to the Kaleidicopia's Trickster's Hallows that lay in a neat stack in the center of the kitchen table, Trickster began humming an odd little tune. It got on the nerves of everyone present with the single exception of Yafatah. Janusin grabbed the invitation out of Trickster's gnarled hand, slapping the beautifully calligraphied paper back on top of the pile. Trickster immediately reached for it again. Janusin moved the pile. «Stop snooping,» said the sculptor with