Tricksters Touch

Jinnjirri fellow. Janusin followed her in silence. Both Jinnjirri knew that all of Tree's family had been killed by an earthquake while on a picnic in Jinnjirri one summer. They hoped Tree would come out of hiding when they called him. Barlimo and Janusin investigated every cubby and crawl space they could think of on every floor of the house. They found no trace of Tree. They returned to the larger group, their expressions and their hair color dour. Mab said, «You didn't find him.» «Nope,» said Janusin. «Try outside,» said Himayat. «I can feel him nearby. I just can't place him. Seems he's elevated on something—» «A tree?» said Yafatah suddenly. «There do be one you can reach outside my window.» «Well, that explains a lot,» said Barlimo drily. During Fasilla's absence, Barlimo had been left in charge of the young Tammirring girl. On several occasions, she had found Yafatah's door locked and the girl strangely silent inside her room. Yafatah hadn't been sleeping; she had been out exploring the city streets. Barlimo rolled her eyes, but said nothing more. Yafatah gave Barlimo a quick hug. «Sorry. Anyway, come on. I bet that be his hideaway.» It was true. When everyone had piled into Yafatah's small room on the second floor, the sixteen- year-old ran to the open window. Yafatah poked her head out. There on the innermost branch, huddled next to the trunk of the maple that grew beside the Kaleidicopia, sat Tree. His hair was ashen, his eyes shut. He was trembling. Yafatah told the others. Janusin opened the window wider and climbed out. He called Tree's name. Tree said nothing. Swinging carefully to a strong branch, the master sculptor inched toward Tree. Hearing twigs break, Tree looked up. His eyes were wild with fear. He began screaming at Janusin to get away from him. Janusin licked his lips. «Tree, I mean you no harm. You know that.» «I don't want your help, Janusin. Stay the fuck away!» Janusin looked helplessly at Barlimo, who now had her head outside the window. Barlimo called softly to Tree, putting all the mothering she could muster into her voice. Janusin felt cheered by her words himself. He turned back to Tree, expecting the younger Jinnjirri to respond in kind. «Go away! Go away, all of you!» Zendrak, who was still in Mythrrim form, heard Tree's yells. Circling overhead, Zendrak squawked. Tree was so startled that he lost his grip on the trunk. Janusin grabbed his arm as Tree nearly fell off his perch. Feeling the strength in Janusin's hand and seeing the genuine concern in Janusin's eyes, Tree started crying. Janusin, whose arms and back were hard with muscles made powerful through hours of sculpting, pulled Tree toward him roughly. Moving back toward Yafatah's bedroom, Janusin pushed Tree into Barlimo's waiting hands. Once Tree and Janusin were inside, Yafatah shut the window. Tree collapsed in a small, skinny heap on the floor, his face buried in his arms. He made no noise. Now his hair turned stricken blue-black. It frosted with gray. Barlimo sat down next to Tree. She spoke quietly to him. «Hey, you in there.» «What?» came the muffled reply. «Life goes on.» «Shut up, Barl.» Barlimo remained undeterred. «Hey.» «What?» «I'm making cocoa. You want some?» Tree raised his head. «You're not making cocoa. You're in here talking to me, stupid.» Barlimo nodded. «Well, I'd like to be making cocoa—» «So go away. I told you to go away before. So go away.» Barlimo shrugged. «You going to stay inside?» «Who cares?» «I do,» said Barlimo. A round of voices echoed her words. Barlimo smiled. «Well, will you listen to that? They all care. Must be sick, huh, Tree?» «Yeah,» said Tree, his hair starting to lighten imperceptibly. Barlimo got up. «I'm going to make cocoa. Anybody who wants any should follow me into the kitchen.» Everybody left the room. Seeing that he was alone— finally—Tree let out a sigh of relief. He glanced at the closed window. He considered going back out on a limb— literally. As the thought crossed his mind, Zendrak pressed his ugly Mythrrim head—teeth, protruding eyes and horns—against the closed window and screeched. Startled, Tree got to his feet hastily and tore down the stairs after his housemates. Outside the house, Zendrak lifted into the air and flew toward Suxonli. In the kitchen of the Kaleidicopia, conversation was merry. This surprised Gadorian. After all, he had just served everyone their eviction notice a scant hour ago. The Saambolin official watched Barlimo throw the eviction papers aside as she readied mugs for cocoa. Uncomfortable with the good humor in the room, Gadorian said, «Well, I'll be leaving now.» «Why do that, Gad?» asked Rowenaster. «We'll be having lunch soon. You might as well stay.» «'Why are you being so hospitable to me?» Rowenaster shrugged. «We're alive, aren't we? Seems like a good moment to act friendly. Even to you. After all, we want the same thing as you. We want the city to survive the Jinnaeon.» Gadorian scowled. «I was going to ask you about those prophesies the other day at the university. Sirrey said I should.» Rowenaster grinned unexpectedly. «So, sit.» Timmer grumbled as she poured milk into a large saucepan. «This isn't going to be boring, is it? I mean, this isn't going to be one of your religious lectures, is it?» Yafatah grinned happily and interrupted before Rowenaster could reply. «They be Tammi prophesies, doon't they?» «Yes, child. Now, pay attention, all of you. You, too, Timmer. These prophesies affect everyone in this room, this city, indeed, in the whole world. You can close your ears if you dare. Some people like surprises, of course.» Properly chastised, Timmer swore and sat down at the round kitchen table. Tree, Janusin, Barlimo, Fasilla, Yafatah, and Mab soon joined her. Rowenaster stayed on his feet. He was about to give one of his favorite lectures. For this he would pace in his best professorial style. Clasping his hands behind his back, the seventy-year-old man began. «The Jinnaeon is named for Jinndaven, the Greatkin of Imagination. Jinnaeon is a transition period of creative, imaginative turmoil when doomsday stories proliferate and everyone's worst fears will be realized— At Eranossa, Jinndaven started protesting vigorously. Panthe'kinarok Interlogue «I am the patron of good ideas!» yelled the Greatkin of Imagination at the top of his lungs. All conversation at the table stopped. Raising his fist in the air and glaring mightily at Rimble, Jinndaven added, «You see what they're saying about me? You see what you did—» Mattermat roared with laughter as Rimble turned scarlet. Jinndaven continued his tirade. «I told you they'd blame all your chaos on me. The Jinnaeon. Just because you wanted to cause a mutation in a rose gives you no right to bastardize my name, Rimble!» Jinndaven's body trembled with frustration. «Well, well, Rimble,» said Mattermat silkily. «You just lost one of your main supporters here. Feeling a little vulnerable, are we?» Trickster had just materialized a blanket. He was currently hiding under it. What Mattermat didn't realize was that the blanket was one made by a Native American tribe in a Distant Place. While Rimble hid, he thought. After a few moments—during which Mattermat continued to deride him—Rimble threw off the blanket. Dressed in furs and feathers and mud, Trickster announced, «Fine. You guys don't like me? I don't care. I don't like you, either— Themyth tried to interrupt but was unsuccessful. «Furthermore,» said Trickster, standing on his chair, «I don't have to stay here at this blasted dinner. I can leave. I can go live elsewhere.» Rimble paused, delighting at the stunned expressions on the faces of his twenty-six brothers and sisters. «No one would have you,» snapped Mattermat. «Hoo-hoo, brother dear. You're so wrong. I've been marketing. And it's paid off. A new name has been born in a Distant Place. Mine. They've added it to their list. I'm not just Coyote. I'm Rimble. I'm Ubiquitous. I'm National. I'm Dancing in the Streets.» Trickster laughed like a Mythrrim. Hearing the familiar sound, Themyth steepled her fingers on the table. Trickster was up to something, that was certain. Or he had already been up to something and the Greatkin were about to find out what it was. She decided the latter was probably the case; Rimble was looking too smug to be bluffing. Themyth cleared her throat. «What streets are you dancing in, dear?» «Milwaukee. And D. C. And Pittsfield. And New York. And Boston. And San Francisco. Hey—I'm even dancing in Kenya. I'm not just national, folks. I'm international. Ta-da! My name means Transformer.» «No, it doesn't,» said Sathmadd. «It means The-One-Who-Knows-Something-of- Himself. I know. I have it catalogued right here,» she added, pointing at her head. «It also means Transformer,» said Rimble. «Since when?» asked the Greatkin of Organization, her voice skeptical. Sathmadd knew all the names of everything in the known universe. As it turned out, however, the Distant Place was in a universe unknown to the Greatkin. Until recently. Greatkin Mattermat frowned, his burly eyebrows resembling a ridge of briars across his broad forehead. «If you leave this universe, Rimble, you'll cease to 'matter' here. I'll see to it personally.» «I'm sure you will, Mattie,» replied Rimble, his voice pleasant. «You don't sound very concerned,» said Themyth. She, on the other hand, felt quite concerned. «Why matter to people who don't appreciate my improoovements? Even I get tired of hitting my head against mountains,» Trickster added, looking directly at Mattermat. Mattermat smiled. «I'm sure you do, little brother. And we can do very well without you here. If there's another place that needs you more than us—» Jinndaven interrupted unexpectedly. As much as he felt justified in complaining about Trickster's mutation of a rose into a winterbloom, Jinndaven knew full well what would happen if Rimble left the Panthe'kinarok table for good. Matter would sclerose; ideas would become mediocre; habits would never be broken; life would stagnate. If Rimble did not exist, Jinndaven knew that the world—the universe—would in time cease to exist also. Trickster was the face of the Presence who kept things moving and growing. Entropy and inertia would set in immediately if the little ruffian stopped meddling in reality. Waving his hands, Jinndaven said, «Don't be hasty, Rimble. I'm sure there's plenty of reasons for you to stay here.» «Can't think of a one,» said Rimble, and shrugged. Bowing to Mattermat, Trickster said, «It's been a real pain knowing you. Hope things run more smoothly with me gone. I really do.» Themyth stood up. Was Rimble serious? «Rimble? You can't leave here. Without you, everything will go out of balance. We need the tension you create— «We do not!» cried Mattermat. «Yes, we do,» chimed Phebene. «No one will ever fall in love if you're not here to create the impossible possibility.» Trickster shook his head. «You'll do just fine without me, Phebes. Good-bye,» he said to everyone. Then without another word, Trickster vanished. There was a long silence. Mattermat peered into the physical space Trickster had just occupied. «Do you suppose