Contrarywise

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 toward Kelandris slowly. He approached her as one might a wild animal, aware that she stood ready to run from him at any moment. He stopped about six feet in front of her, his hands at his sides. His breathing was as ragged as Kel's was, his palms just as damp with the sweat of anticipation and fear. Doogat cleared his throat and asked, «Are you lost? Perhaps looking for a certain street?» Kelandris shrugged, unsure of what to say. The power of the Kindrasul had her tongue-tied. She felt certain that she should flee from this man, and simultaneously she could not, would not leave. It was not that the black beads had paralyzed her will; rather, they had opened her to a possiblity that she could not ignore—namely, heart's peace. Kelandris frowned under her veil. Finally, she, too, spoke—clearly and without the rhyme of madness. «I think I'm where I'm supposed to be.» Doogat nodded slowly. «Are you—are you meeting someone?» Kelandris shrugged again. «Maybe.» Doogat's eyes fell on the black glass beads in Kel's hand. «You hold a Kindrasul,» he said conversationally. «I haven't seen one of those in a long time. They're quite special.» «Oh,» said Kelandris, wondering who this man was and why he insisted on speaking with her. Doogat smiled. «Those aren't made for just anybody. You have to have attained a certain level of spiritual insight to cause a Kindrasul to open the Doors of Remembrance for you. A Kindrasul is a little like a universal translator for certain things.» «What kind of things?» Doogat shrugged. «A greater understanding,» he said quietly. Kelandris snorted under her veil. She didn't like this man's cryptic remarks. They made her feel stupid—as if she ought to know exactly what he was talking about but didn't because he was deliberately withholding the connecting pieces of information that would make his comments intelligible to her mind. It was most irritating—and compelling. Again Kelandris considered leaving the presence of the man in blue and again decided to remain where she stood. There was something about this man that pressed her for recognition. Something about the eyes, she reflected. Suddenly, she realized that Doogat's eyes were the exact color and shape of Zendrak's. Kelandris took a step backward, staring at Doogat's face. He was the wrong height, skin color, age, and build to be Zendrak—yet he smelled like her lover of sixteen years ago. Kelandris inclined her head as a dog might, literally sniffing the air to see if she could make sense of her visual confusion. She was aware of Doogat watching her intently. Kelandris swallowed, still unsure of what she was perceiving. No answers were forthcoming, however, so she gave up in frustration. «Would you like a greater understanding?» asked Doogat, his voice still quiet. «One that might answer your soul ache?» Tears started in Kel's eyes under her veil. The man's question had touched her unexpectedly. She pressed her lips together, praying that the man in blue wouldn't notice how much her hands were shaking. A tear slipped down her cheek. Her breath caught. «Would you like a greater understanding?» asked Doogat again. This time his voice was a little more forceful, a little more direct. Kelandris said nothing, another tear spilling down her cheek and dampening her veil. The man's question was like a gong. Every time he asked it, she felt a stronger answering resonance deep inside herself. It was terrifying. She felt emotions now that she thought were long dead. Stay dead, she told herself wildly. For Presence sake—stay dead! If you don't, it's going to hurt. It's going to hurt bad— Doogat watched her with disguised compassion. He could see that he was having exactly the effect he wanted to have on Kelandris: a thaw. Doogat pursed his lips and said drily, «Every cold spell needs a spring, Kelandris.» She stiffened at the unexpected mention of her name. «Who are you?» Doogat ignored her query. It was his opinion that Kelandris needed to figure out the answer to that question without any help from him. If Kel realized that he was Zendrak, then he would know that her Mythrrim consciousness was fully operant—and that he could at last speak freely to Kel of their shared Greatkin heritage and mortal destiny. Until that time, Doogat dared not risk it. Too much information too soon could frighten Kelandris, thereby undercutting the trust he wished to develop with her. Doogat shrugged, and said, «You could let me be that Spring.» Kelandris crossed her arms over her chest. «I'm not a wasteland!» Doogat arched an eyebrow. «Oh. My mistake. That black veil confused me. I thought you might be barren or something.» Doogat hit his intended mark—Kel's sorest point—the loss of her unborn child at the Piedmerri border. All of Kel's