the Patron of Exceptions. And he's Zendrak's father. So I've nothing to worry about,» snapped Phebene, leaving her seat and going to stand beside Themyth. The Greatkin of Civilization motioned Phebene to come closer. Phebene did so. Whispering in her right ear, Themyth grinned and said, «Whatever Rimble decides—count me in. Oh, and take Jinndaven with you, hmmm? He could use the exercise.» And this was how Love and Imagination came to Milwaukee in the 1980s. *14* Trickster and the Obstinate Woman were still at the Downer Cafe when Jinndaven and Phebene arrived. At present, Rimble was doing his best to reassure the restaurant manager that he'd only been trying to illustrate a point by ordering Benedict Oscar in the middle of the afternoon. So far, the manager remained unconvinced. The fellow was just on the verge of asking Rimble to leave the cafe when Phebene sidled up to the manager and reminded the poor man that he had forgotten to buy his wife an anniversary present. In actual fact, the manager's anniversary wasn't until next week, but momentary confusion had its uses. The thin little man's face turned ashen. Without further comment to Trickster—who looked visibly relieved—the cafe manager hurried away, intending to use the office phone downstairs. Grinning at Love and Imagination, Trickster said, «Just in the nick of time, kiddos. Just in the nick of time. These third-generation types have no sense of humor. I prefer the natives.» «Now you're really in trouble, Rimble,» said the Obstinate Woman. «You think anybody's going to want to read about you when you say things like that? Milwaukee is a very fine, old city. Lots of third-generation folks settled around this lake. You better apologize.» Trickster rolled his eyes. «Okay, so like I'm sorrrry. Okay?» The Obstinate Woman took a deep breath of exasperation. Turning now to the two Greatkin standing on either side of Rimble, she asked, «Who are these people?» «Phebene and Jinndaven.» Rimble wagged a finger in the face of the Obstinate Woman. «You should know that. You wrote about them—» «Where's her garland? And where are his silver slippers?» «I threw my garland in Mattermat's face and Jinn lost his slippers in the Everywhen,» replied Phebene. «We thought we'd try for something a little more contemporary,» she added, pointing to her wide-brimmed pink hat and the Birkenstock sandals on Jinndaven's feet. «Sorry we made it hard for you to recognize us.» Rimble interrupted her. «You threw your garland in Mattie's face?» Trickster cackled with glee. «Oooh, I would've liked to see that.» «It was a good throw,» reported Jinndaven. «Hit him square in the forehead.» The Obstinate Woman groaned. «Oh, great. Can't wait 'til that translates here. I can just imagine what the New Age community will do with it. Probably package 'Third-eye Busters.'» Jinndaven considered the possibility. «She may be right.» «I wish you guys would be more careful at that dinner of yours,» the Obstinate Woman complained. «Mortals have it tough enough as it is.» Phebene winced. «We'll try, dear.» Rimble scanned the tables around the cafe. All of them were full with talkative and fashionable East Siders. «Can't sit here. This table's for two. Let's pay the bill before the manager remembers I'm still here, shall we? We can all go back to her house,» he added, nodding at the Obstinate Woman. «We can?» she asked, trying not to imagine what might happen if she took them into the boarding house where she lived. Like the Kaleidicopia, her home was a trifle on the peculiar side. Many of the members of the household belonged to the Society for Creative Anachronism. They often wore swords and capes. What would the three Greatkin think? What if the Greatkin thought the swords were real? Somebody could get seriously misunderstood, if not hurt. Reading her mind, Jinndaven nodded. «Anything's possible with Rimble here. Anything at all.» Thinking quickly, the Obstinate Woman suggested they visit Lake Michigan instead. «We can sit on the rocks and bake,» she added. «Bake?» asked Phebene. «Why would we want to do that?» Rimble's eyes widened. «My roast!» he yelled. Before anyone could stop him, Rimble returned to Eranossa's kitchen to salvage his forgotten entree for the Panthe'kinarok. Phebene bit her lower lip. «I didn't even have time to tell him his son was dying.» «I think he knows,» said Jinndaven. «The kitchen's full of real smoke this time,» he added, pointing to the gray clouds now billowing out of the kitchen at the Downer Cafe. Restaurant personnel hurried their customers into the street. Fire engines screamed as they approached the burning building. The Obstinate Woman regarded Phebene and Jinndaven earnestly. «Zendrak is going to live, isn't he? I mean, what about Kelandris? She'll go after Hennin if he dies. And then where will you be? A story without a love interest will get shelved, guys. Love is 'in' in New York.» Phebene nodded, watching smoke pour out of the Downer Cafe. «Time to visit Neath, Jinn. Come on.» «Good luck,» said the Obstinate Woman. «Let me know what happens, will you? Otherwise, I won't know what to put in the sequel.» Jinndaven smiled raggedly and shivered. «Won't be much, I can assure you. Neath chills me.» Turning to Phebene, Jinndaven added, «Why Themyth thought I should accompany you is beyond my understanding. That Rimble. This is all his fault. When we get back—» Jinndaven's monologue broke off as he and Phebene dematerialized in broad daylight in Milwaukee. A jogger in pink running shoes, a pair of shorts that barely covered her, and a T-shirt with the words «Udderly Cool» strategically placed over her breasts, shrieked. And fainted. People said it must've been the ninety-four-degree heat. The Obstinate Woman knew better. *15* Poisoned by Elder Hennin's holovespa, Zendrak rapidly slipped into physical and emotional shock. Of the two, the latter was the worse. Zendrak had been alive for more than five hundred years, his Soaringsea landdraw and Greatkin inheritance blessing him with an unusually long life span. It was the Mythrrim in him, however, that made him mortal enough to die. Even though he knew he was mortal, the reality of this fact had never before confronted him with such finality. Zendrak swallowed thickly, his breathing irregular. He tried to smile at Kelandris, who was seated near him, her expression one of growing horror. Zendrak shut his dark eyes. A wave of despair hit him. And again. «All for nothing,» he whispered. «What?» Zendrak tried to speak again but found the effort too taxing. He closed his lips and attempted to reach Rimble with his mind. He was met with silence. Zendrak tried again. Rimble still failed to respond. Feeling angry and abandoned, Zendrak's despair deepened. Reflecting on his life, he felt dissatisfied with it. He had worked for Trickster for five centuries, acting the role of Rimble's emissary, subordinating his personal needs so that he might better serve the world of Mnemlith. Zendrak opened his eyes with difficulty, his gaze resting on Kel's unveiled and anxious face. Seeing Zendrak looking at her, she reached over and stroked his black hair. Tears sprang to her eyes. In silence she took Zendrak's hand and clasped it to her heart. Zendrak felt a devastating pain in his own heart, her feelings reflected in his. «Elder Hennin,» he whispered. «I'll kill her.» «Get the Mayanabi to help you. Don't try it alone. Clear?» Kelandris nodded. Zendrak swallowed with difficulty. His body felt bloated and distant. «Ask Po. Contact Himayat. Depend on Po, okay?» «Okay.» Zendrak stopped speaking. His feet felt as though they were asleep. He stared at the ceiling. I'm dying, he thought. Rage at his fate burned in his throat. He grit his teeth, trying to hold on to life. The poison claimed more and more of his body with each passing moment. Turning his head so he could look at Kelandris one last time, he whispered, «You know I love you, don't you?» Kelandris nodded, tears streaming from her eyes. A sob escaped her. «How can this be? How can you be dying?» «Mattermat,» replied Zendrak. «He's winning.» Kelandris made a fist. «I'll fight him, Zendrak. If I have to go to Neath itself and wrestle Death to the ground, Mattermat won't win.» «Everyone dies—» began Zendrak. «Don't give in! Can't you understand? You have to fight Mattermat! He's the Patron of Inertia. He wants you to think like this. He wants you to give up hope. And you mustn't. You mustn't.» «This is death, sweetheart. You have to face —» «No!» she yelled at Zendrak. «It's Death who'll have to face me!» And so, as he had lived, Zendrak died arguing with Kelandris. Kelandris felt life leave Zendrak through the hand she held. One moment Zendrak was touching her, his fingers strong, and the next he was not, his fingers limp. It happened so fast, it was hard to believe he was dead. Yet, he undeniably was—his dark eyes open, his chest motionless. With a small cry of despair, Kelandris stood up. She fell over the chair she had been sitting in and scrambled awkwardly to her feet. Yafatah heard the commotion and came running into the room. Seeing that Zendrak was dead, the young girl put her hand to her mouth. Tears filled her eyes. Kelandris knelt beside her. «I'm going to Neath.» «What for?» asked Yafatah through her tears. «To bring Zendrak back from the dead.» «Can—can you do that?» «Don't know,» she admitted. «But I'm going to try.» Someone knocked on the door. It was Barlimo. When she saw Zendrak, her hair turned dark blue. She said nothing, her expression sad. «Kel's going to Neath,» said Yafatah confidently. «She be going to bring Zendrak back from the dead.» Barlimo touched Yafatah's cheek. «Sure, she will, honey.» Glancing at Kelandris as though she thought the Greatkin was crazy, she told Yafatah to join her downstairs. «Kelandris might need some alone time with Zendrak.» Kelandris snorted. «Zendrak's not here. He's dead.» «I'm glad you realize that,» remarked Barlimo drily. «Come on, Ya.» Kelandris put her hand on Yafatah's arm. «You think I've lied to the child, don't you? You think I'm giving her hope when I should be giving her reality?» «That's right,» said Barlimo coolly. «You don't believe that I can bring Zendrak back?» «Nope. Dead is dead, Kelandris. Everyone has a time for this— even the Greatkin.» Kelandris bit her lower lip, her hands clenched with anger. Truth to tell, she wasn't sure if she could bring Zendrak back or not. She had never been to Neath before. She assumed there were rules for death and dying. She had never met Troth, the Greatkin of Death—nor did she relish the prospect. Zendrak had once described him to her as «a stern bastard.» «Well, I'll prove you wrong, then,» said Kelandris boldly. «Do what you like, Kel,» said Barlimo, her voice tired. «You never listen to me, anyway. Why start now?» Kelandris raised her hand about to strike Barlimo. Yafatah stepped between the Jinnjirri and the Greatkin. «Zendrak be barely dead. Me ma says we must be respectful of the dead—please. Please doon't fight.» Kelandris lowered her hand, her green eyes furious.
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