May her life upon earth become as a dream to her waking soul, and let her thirsting eyes behold the glorious vision of Thy Sunshine.» Himayat finished speaking and nodded to Fasilla. She remained seated. Her hands shook as she smoothed out the paper and cleared her throat. Her voice hoarse with emotion and nervousness, Fasilla read the following: «Heal Aunt's spirit, O Sovereign One, from all the wounds that her heart has
suffered through this life of limitation upon the earth. Purify her heart with Thy Divine Light and send upon her spirit Thy Mercy, Thy Compassion, and Thy Peace.»
«So be it,» said Himayat. Taking a deep breath, he smiled at Fasilla and the rest of the people sitting in the circle. «Lest this moment become dour, I invite you to dance in celebration. Please stand.» Himayat remained in the center of the circle near Aunt's body. He opened
his arms wide as if to take in the entire circle of people and the universe, too. «It is customary among my people,» he said to Fasilla, «to think of death as a wedding.»
Fasilla shrugged, trying to get into the spirit of it, and having difficulty. Himayat smiled broadly. «Aunt is dead, but only her body is thus. Her soul
is united with the Presence. And to this, we will drink tonight. We will toast Aunt's good fortune. She is the lover returning to the Beloved. But do not think that by our emphasis on joy at this time that we despise the earthly
existence. Do not think we eagerly wait to leave here. This earthly life is a good one. And for the opportunity of living it, we give thanks. But we also know that when we are called back to the Presence, we should not complain. Indeed we should leave with happiness in our hearts. Ours is not a caravan of despair or tragedy. Ours is a caravan of knowledge.» Himayat nodded at a middle-aged Mayanabi. She was dressed in rough woolens and had very few teeth. Her eyes were strange. One was yellow and one was black. Her step was spry. She entered the circle, carrying a ceramic drum. Himayat gave her a rhythm and she began to set the pace of the dance. As
she played, Himayat said, «This is a dance of the Universal. This is a dance for all landdraws. And for all times. The concentration is light. See the light in the eyes and countenance of the person on either side of you. Now bow.» The dance moved slowly to the right. Fasilla had no trouble learning the simple steps to the dance. The chanting and breath control were a little more demanding. Unexpectedly, she felt a surge of joy flood her body and
face. Her eyes danced with her feet. This is it, Fasilla thought. This is the way it should be. Dances for all draws for all times. A kind of universal ritual that raised everyone above individual differences and distinctions. Tears sprang to her eyes once again. She blinked them back, bewildered at the intensity of her own emotion. She glanced at Shruddi, who stood to her right. To her surprise, she saw that Shruddi had her head turned toward her. Was she staring at her? Fasilla didn't know. Fasilla had no time to conclude anything; Himayat started the next dance a moment later.
After an hour of this, everyone's spirits were soaring. Himayat finally called the celebration to a close. After a short prayer, several Asilliwir-born Mayanabi fetched food and drink for all to share. Even though Aunt's shrouded body still lay in the center of the circle, the mood was festive.
Surprised that she could feel hungry with Aunt's body lying in plain view of
the table, Fasilla got in line with the Mayanabi. As a Jinnjirri woman handed her a steaming portion of roasted, glazed fowl, Shruddi walked up beside Fasilla and said, «You felt something in our circle, didn't you?» Fasilla shrugged lamely. «I was giddy with dancing—» «No, you weren't,» said Shruddi evenly. «You danced like an old hand. Who is your Mayanabi master?» Fasilla stepped backward. «I doon't have one—» Shruddi stared at Fasilla. «I can feel him near you. Even as we speak. He's one of the great ones, I think.» «Oh,» said Fasilla with visible relief. «You mean Zendrak. He's just one of my housemates—» The people nearest Shruddi and Fasilla stopped speaking, their faces astonished. Shruddi seemed to be feeling the same emotion, for she struggled to find words in the ensuing silence. Finally Shruddi said, «Just Zendrak? Is that what you said?» she added in a shocked squeak. Fasilla bit her lower lip. She had gotten so used to Zendrak's presence at the Kaleidicopia, she had forgotten that he was the ranking Mayanabi master in all Mnemlith. Not to mention an incarnate Greatkin. Titles like those meant a great deal to the people in this room, Fasilla reminded
herself sharply. Trying to muster up some respect for Zendrak, Fasilla said, «I forget who he be sometimes. We had breakfast every morning for the past three months—along with the rest of them misfits at the 'K.' When you see someone pick his teeth with a fork, you don't always remember he be a Mayanabi master.» Himayat entered the conversation now. «And so you see the human side of a First Rank Mayanabi master. How wonderful. And what a challenge.» «I beg your pardon?» said Fasilla, not sure she had understood Himayat correctly. Himayat chuckled. «Those of us in the room have it easy. We can imagine Master Zendrak being anything and everything. We can create him in our own image. Our own fantasy. But you, Fasilla—you know the reality of the man. You know his bad habits. And his good. You have the opportunity to accept the reality. Not just the fantasy. The legend.» He paused. «Do you see my meaning?» Fasilla took a deep breath. «I suppose. I mean, I suppose it could be like that.» She shrugged. «Only, he doon't be very nice sometimes. Sometimes he loses his temper fierce bad.» «So much the better,» said Himayat, starting to laugh in earnest now. «The better for what?» asked Fasilla crossly. Himayat grinned. «Don't you realize he's teaching you when he does that? Don't you realize he's asking you to learn flexibility?» Fasilla said nothing, her face coloring pink. Flexibility wasn't one of her strong suits. *7* Ever since the Ritual of Akindo, Kelandris had slept fitfully, her dreams
often turning into nightmares. These night terrors were a grim legacy of the trauma Kelandris had experienced in Suxonli. For three nights now, she had cried in her sleep. Private and Tammirring by draw, this was a side to her personality that Kelandris let no one but Zendrak see. And it was only in sleep, when her body relaxed, that she showed him the pain she lived with. Their bed was full of secrets. The man in green gently woke Kelandris again. She gasped for air as she came out of the dream, her forehead damp with a cold sweat, her unveiled eyes nervous and unfocused. Kelandris sat up. Pressing her back against the wall, she hunched against her knees, pulling the blankets around her tightly. Zendrak said nothing, watching. Among other things, Zendrak was a healer. And among other things, Kelandris had been in his care for the past
year. Zendrak rarely spoke of this portion of their relationship to Kelandris. Kel knew she needed his help, but she was also proud and would not ask for such help unless she were close to death and certain she could not help herself. Zendrak respected her pride, although admittedly Kel's pride made his healing of her much more difficult. Zendrak continued to watch
Kelandris, waiting for her to speak. Finally Kel said, «She's coming for you this time.» «Who?» «Elder Hennin,» she said hoarsely. Zendrak shrugged. «Let her.» «You're not invulnerable,» Kelandris snapped, her green eyes angry.
«I never said I was,» he replied, and ran his fingers through his dark hair. «Elder Hennin is nothing more than a great nuisance—» Kelandris said nothing. Hennin had proved herself to be a formidable adversary to her in Suxonli, certainly more than a simple «nuisance.» Of course, Kel reasoned in silence, Zendrak did not have to go through that. I did. Kelandris sat up in bed, her shoulders hunched with the weight of her memories. Finally she said, «You're a fool, Zendrak, if you think she can't hurt you. You've lived too long. You've forgotten what it's like to hurt.
You've forgotten what it's like when every nerve is alive with pain and every emotion is stirred into anguish.» «I've outgrown those things, Kel. At my age, emotions— all of them—lose their edge. They become almost boring.» Kelandris sat bolt upright. «My pain bores you?» She felt outraged, the desires of her heart made insignificant by the dispassionate sweep of his longevity. She glared at him. «You have outlived your dreams, Zendrak. And so mine become, like Hennin, a nuisance to endure—but not indulge?» Zendrak said nothing for a few moments. «I do not like to see your pain, Kel,» he admitted. «In seeing yours, I have to remember my own.» Kelandris swore and got out of bed. She pulled on a black bathrobe, her motions angry. Turning to look at him, she said, «If you're what I am to
become, then I refuse it. I refuse to live five hundred years like you. Life is feeling. If you don't feel, you're dead.» Zendrak smiled. Then seeing Kelandris stare at him, he sobered. «You find me funny now?» she cried. Zendrak shook his head. «No—I just—well, I've waited a long time to hear you give me that lecture.» Kelandris advanced on him. «Don't you play your Mayanabi games on me, mister. I pack a pretty good punch,» she said, making a fist with her left hand. Kelandris had proved her mastery of fisticuffs on more than one occasion in Zendrak's presence. Even Podiddley had been at the wrong end of Kel's arm once. Zendrak eyed Kelandris cautiously. Then he said, «Do you truly believe I have no feelings, Kel?» She hesitated. Lowering her head slightly, she said, «I don't know.» «Do you want to know?» «I don't know.» Zendrak shrugged. «I have more than enough
