dressed in a brightly colored patchwork
quilt, her gray hair tumbling free from its habitual, elegant bun. Under the quilt, Eldest wore loose mix- matched clothing. No one had ever seen Eldest attired in this fashion. It had been the silent conclusion at the table that Rimble's lovemaking had influenced the Greatkin of Civilization. Everyone hoped this influence would pass. It had been a great relief to some that the place cards on the table had been arranged in such a manner that sat Rimble next to Love and Imagination instead of Greatkin Themyth. The seating arrangements had been Themyth's idea. Bedding Rimble was one thing. Sitting next to him for a nine-course dinner was quite another.
Making love with Trickster would give all the civilizations in all the known universes a small jolt; anything more extended might cause unwanted
anarchy. Mattermat hit the table with his fist. «Do something, Eldest!» Fruit rolled out of a silver cornucopia and teetered on the table's edge. Earthquakes abounded throughout creation. «Mattie, dear, be careful,» said Themyth as she deftly caught the fruit before it hit the floor. She replaced the apple and peach gently. But Mattermat would not be calmed. «I want him stopped! I want him contained! I want him out of this council!» Eldest grabbed the wooden cane that rested against her chair and thwacked it against the wooden floor. The sound resembled that of a very loud and very uncompromising thunderclap. Everyone jumped, including Rimble. Startled for the moment, Trickster broke off his litany for change. «Now,» said Themyth with great dignity, «we'll have no more of that at this table. From either of you. Clear?» Neither Mattermat nor Rimble said anything. Eldest eyed both brothers coolly. Turning again to Rimble, she studied his rather wild appearance. Rimble had painted his bare torso with yellow and black diagonals during the break between the fourth and fifth courses. He had pulled on fur pants made of the skin of coyotes and hung several gourd rattles from a braided belt. Incongruously, Rimble wore a black bow tie around his neck. Eldest cleared her throat. «Do you promise to leave Mattie's things alone for the rest of dinner?»
As if on cue, Trickster jumped on his chair, let out a bloodcurdling shriek, and yelled, «I don't have to stay here!» When Jinndaven had recovered from Rimble's shout, he wiped his brow with a lavender handkerchief several times and said, «I knew this was coming. I just knew it. O sweet Presence preserve us—» Eldest peered at Rimble. «Explain.» Rimble crossed his arms over his painted chest. «Ain't got nothing to
explain, Eldest. Nothing to explain at all. You don't want me here? Fine. I'll go elsewhere.» Themyth frowned. «You can't go out of the universe, Rimble—» Rimble snorted. «I got me the perfect antidote to Mr. Permanence and Resistance over there,» he said, inclining his head toward Mattermat. Mattermat's face was scarlet with outrage. Trickster grinned and said, «I
think I likes changing matter from the inside the best. It's so irrevocable—» «Not in this universe, you don't!» yelled Mattermat. «Exactly,» said Trickster. «Not in this universe at all.» Greatkin Themyth was truly alarmed now. «Rimble—» Trickster cut her off rudely. «And you know how I turns the inside inside out, hmm? Myth. That's how I does it. Myth. See, myth molds matter,» said Trickster, making a pun on Mattermat's creative function. «Myth decides what matters and what don't.» «That's absurd, Rimble,» snapped Mattermat, more fearful than he wanted Rimble to know. «We're the Greatkin. We're the ones who give myths meaning. Not the other way around.»
Trickster sniggered nastily. «Just told a myth called Contrarywise. Told it in a Distant Place. And know what, folks? It's affecting us here.» «Nonsense,» retorted Mattermat. «Just where is this Distant Place?» asked Sathmadd. As the Greatkin of Organization, it was her job to know all the place names in the known universes. «A Distant Place» rang no bells whatsoever. Trickster ignored Sathmadd's question. «Feel another one coming on. Think
I'll call it Trickster's Touch. Might as well take all the credit for all the havoc—seeing as how you folks don't want any. Of course, if everything turns out well, I'll take the credit for that, too.» No one said anything. Trickster went merrily on. «I wasn't finished with Mnemlith. Started the Jinnaeon with the shock of the New. Anchored it through Zendrak and then finally through Kelandris when she turned in Speakinghast town. But that's not enough. Got to do something with the New once it's there. Otherwise, it turns on itself. Especially if something gets to blocking it,» he added, looking directly at Mattermat. «So we improvise a little. We take it elsewhere—where it isn't blocked.» «Im—im—improvise?» asked Jinndaven. He was so nervous about what he imagined Trickster might be up to that he stuttered. «Yeah,» said Rimble gaily. «Improvise. You folks want peace, so you say. Well, I'll give you peace. My way. And that's the way of Neath.» He paused, his voice suddenly menacing. «In Neath, we're not always so nice. In Neath, things go bump in the night.» The residents of Eranossa, principally Mattermat, Sathmadd, and Jinndaven, paled. The residents of Neath, however, chuckled. The Greatkin of Death rubbed his dark hands together with undisguised glee. «This should be fun.» *1* Unlike his less flexible brothers and sisters, Greatkin Rimble had long ago
embraced multiplicity as part and parcel of his divine being. As a result he
alone of all his family was able to exist in more than one reality at a time. So while Greatkin Mattermat, Jinndaven, and Sathmadd criticized Rimble for meddling in the known universes, Rimble defended himself vigorously and slipped out the back door of Eranossa. As the argument between the Greatkin raged, Rimble neatly materialized on one of the northernmost islands belonging to the Soaringsea archipelago of the world called Mnemlith. Here Rimble planned to indulge in one of his favorite pastimes, a game called «Messing with Mattie.» In order to do it effectively, Rimble would need the help of the most fabulous race ever to walk the world of Mnemlith: the Mythrrim Beasts. The Mythrrim of Soaringsea were long-lived and large. They resembled an uncomfortable mixture of falcon, hyena, spiked dinosaur, and lion. They had brindle bodies, magnificent wings, horns that ridged their backs, protruding eyes, and a wildly infectious laugh. They were carnivorous and very fond of
storytelling. Indeed, the landdraw of this particular race had given them the gift of racial memory and mimicry. Possessing seven sets of vocal cords, the Mythrrim could imitate any sound in the universe. They were natural linguists, their native tongue called Oldspeech. It was the Mythrrim who had taught the two-leggeds about the world and about the Presence. It was the Mythrrim who had recited the names of the Greatkin to the cave dwellers at the beginning of time. It was the Mythrrim who had told the Great Stories, the myths, about each Greatkin and instructed the two-leggeds in their rituals of remembrance for each Greatkin. Then the Mythrrim had disappeared. In their place the Mythrrim had left the Mayanabi Nomads, a body of people culled from all the two- legged landdraws of Mnemlith and entrusted them with the Great Stories the Mythrrim had once told. It was time, said the Greatkin, for the two-leggeds to grow up. They needed to be able to teach themselves now. The two- leggeds must make their own mistakes and learn from them. The Mythrrim left sorrowing; they had come to love the two-leggeds as much as their own four-legged offspring. The Mythrrim, however, were ever obedient to the wishes of the Greatkin, and so did as they were bid. Centuries passed. In time, only the Mayanabi Nomads remembered that the Mythrrim Beasts had ever existed in physical reality. To most of the peoples of Mnemlith, the Mythrrim Beasts of Soaringsea were the stuff of fantasy. Rimble appeared on the hillside of the tallest and most willful mountain in all Mnemlith. It was called Mount Gaveralin. Intelligent and dangerous, Gaveralin immediately caused a blizzard to come out of nowhere and buffet Trickster. Rimble, who was still having an argument with the Greatkin of Matter in their ancestral home at Eranossa, scowled at the mountain and said, «I got rights here! I'm a guest of the Mythrrim—» They know you're coming? I don't seem to recall any orders instructing me to let you pass, Greatkin Rimble. Trickster scowled, wiping snow off his black hair. His bare upper torso prickled with goose bumps. Swearing at Mattermat—since the mountain was very definitely one of Mattermat's representatives—Rimble changed his costume. Now he wore furs and leather and snug boots. A multicolored woolen hat covered his small ears. Continuing to speak to Gaveralin, Rimble said, «Let me pass or I'll make you a mutant.» A mutant mountain? There's no such thing— Rimble lost his temper. «I'll blow off your summit!» The snowstorm stopped instantly. Among other things, the mountains of Soaringsea were volcanic. Rimble could make good his threat. «Thank you,» said Trickster through clenched teeth, and stomped up the
trail to a cluster of caves whose tunnels interconnected like the corridors of a labyrinth. Rimble, who had visited here many times before, headed for
the opening of the largest cave and turned right, then left, then two rights, then a sharp left until he found himself in a large underground chamber. You may wonder why Rimble didn't materialize directly into the chamber in the first place. Rimble loved the Mythrrim. He was the father of this particular race. Themyth was its mother. When the Mythrrim had retired to Soaringsea, they wished to prevent the two-leggeds from trailing them there. Gaveralin was their sentry. No one, not even the Greatkin, were allowed to reach the Mythrrim without their knowledge. Thus, by the time Rimble actually arrived at the place where the Mythrrim now gathered, everyone knew he was coming. He was met with a resounding chorus of hellos and wing-flapping. Rimble grinned at their obvious pleasure at seeing Dear Old Dad. Doffing his woolen cap, Trickster said, «I need your help.» The oldest and wisest Mythrrim
