Trickster's Touch by Zohra Greenhalgh Panthe'kinarok Prologue The Greatkin were a motley, passionate family of twenty-seven. Since they had all sprung from the Presence at the same moment, each Greatkin was exactly the same age. Still, the Greatkin loved to play elaborate, sophisticated games of dress-up which involved the full spectrum of aging. One Greatkin was particularly good at this. His name was Rimble. He was the face of the Presence which represented the impossible, the unexpected, and the deviant. A mischief-maker without peer, Rimble was also called Trickster by many members of his large family. A master of disguise, Rimble might appear as a toothless hag one moment and a youthful, perfumed fop the next. Rimble excelled at many things: one of these was the art of making himself completely irritating to everyone in his proximity. When that failed to amuse him, Rimble would cause mischief on some world or other. At present, Rimble and his brothers and sisters were all seated at a round table which had been elegantly set for a dinner party serving twenty-seven. This was the Panthe'kinarok feast where everything the Greatkin said and did translated instantly into the known universes. The most idle conversation could have the most far-reaching consequences here. Spats or intrigues between dinner partners might cause wars—not to mention indigestion for the Greatkin themselves. Fortunately, Rimble was fond of
his dinner partners, Phebene and Jinndaven. His affection for his sister and brother had spared the family the worst of his unusually abominable table manners. At present, Rimble had punctuated six of the nine dinner courses with only thirteen belches, eight farts, and twenty-six yawns. Greatkin Phebene was especially grateful to Rimble for behaving so well and said so. «When you're polite, Rimble, dear, it makes eating so much more enjoyable.» She was the Greatkin of Great Loves and Tender Trysts and tended to be a little on the syrupy side. Spectacularly beautiful, Phebene wore a rainbow– colored robe and a crown of green roses on her head. She beamed at Rimble now, her voice full of seductive pleasantries and good humor. Rimble, who detested polite conversation, yawned for the twenty-seventh time and grinned as Phebene's smile turned into a reproving scowl. Picking his hooked nose (and eating its contents), Rimble said, «These Panthe'kinarok dinners go on forever. Hates them, I do. Boring, boring, boring.» Greatkin Jinndaven, who was seated on Rimble's right, groaned. If Rimble was feeling bored, he was apt to do something—anything—to relieve the tedium. Jinndaven tried not to think of all the ways Rimble might decide to entertain himself, but since Jinndaven was the Greatkin of Imagination he could not keep from imagining a thousand different scenarios, most of them disastrous. Dressed in mauves and small mirrors, Jinndaven literally sparkled when he moved. Leaning toward Trickster, the light of a nearby candle glinted off Jinndaven's robe and found an answering resonance in one of Trickster's pied eyes. Seeing this, Jinndaven hesitated. «Well?» asked Rimble as nice as you please. «I just hope you don't plan to make the last three courses of dinner as interesting as the first six.» «You still sore about the Jinnaeon?» Trickster asked incredulously.
Rimble referred to a sudden period of transition, a tricksterish shifttime, he had named for his imaginative brother, Jinndaven. In certain terms, this transition period could be seen as a mutation in time. This mutation (or fluctuation) had been necessary to throw space and time off balance for a while. If reality had remained on its usual track, Rimble couldn't have triggered a quantum leap of consciousness that the Presence wanted implemented through all the known universes. The Presence was the one great being to whom the Greatkin owed their allegiance. It was the Presence that all the Greatkin served, even Rimble. It seemed the Presence thought the two-legged races in all the known universes, especially the world of Mnemlith, were too concerned with their day-to-day lives. They were missing the larger cosmological dramas that developed and exploded around them on a constant basis. In the past millennium or so, the Presence felt the two-legged races had grown unbearably small-minded. It was Rimble's task to make them large-minded again.
This task proved more difficult than Trickster could possibly have foreseen. Not only were the two-leggeds of Mnemlith out and out resistant to change, some of the Greatkin themselves acted in like manner, a few of them consciously thwarting Rimble's attempts to do the will of the Presence. Rimble thought this very small-minded of them, and said so often. When Jinndaven didn't answer him immediately, Trickster repeated his question, «You still sore about me calling it the Jinnaeon?» «Well—I—» Jinndaven shrugged. «Yeah. I'm a little sore.» «Jinnaeon sounds better than Rimblaeon.» «That may be,» Jinndaven admitted. «But look at all the trouble you caused on Mnemlith. All in my name. You said it would be a teensy-weensy fluctuation of consciousness. You had drugs, torture, insanity, civil unrest—» «Yes, yes,» snapped Rimble hastily. «Well, it couldn't be helped. That was the resistance to change. Mattie's fault entirely,» added Rimble with a sideways glance at another of his brothers, Greatkin Mattermat. This Greatkin was the Patron of All Things Made Physical: of everything that «mattered.» At the moment, the ponderous fellow had his mouth full of salad. Dressed in earth colors, Greatkin Mattermat smelled richly of caves and loam and fir trees. Rimble grinned and added, «Mattie hates quantum leaps, see. Hates them and blocks them.» Swallowing swiftly, Mattermat glared at Rimble and said, «Did I hear what I think I just heard? Did you blame me for all the trouble on Mnemlith?» Jinndaven pursed his lips and muttered, «At least Rimble didn't name an age of transition after you. The Jinnaeon. The worst period of history that Mnemlith has ever known.» Jinndaven put his head in his hands and rolled his eyes. Rimble returned Mattermat's glare with one of his own. «Trouble? That wasn't trouble. That was an experiment. An improoovement. A remedy for a stagnant situation—» «Mnemlith was getting along fine until you interfered!» retorted Mattermat. Among other things, Mattermat was also the Patron of Inertia. Being the
personification of change itself, Rimble had long ago decided that his divine charge included the subversion of entropy—i.e., Mattermat—wherever he found it. As a result, Rimble had earned the displeasure of his heavyweight brother on countless occasions over the millennia. «I saved that world!» cried Trickster, his boredom vanishing as he warmed to the idea of having it out with Mattermat once and for all. «Furthermore and most importantly, I caused enough turmoil on Mnemlith to make folks
start praying to us again. In order to pray to us, they have to remember our names. Remembering us makes them large-minded. And that, my dear brothers and sisters, is the point.» Moments before the Panthe'kinarok meet and feast were to begin, Rimble had decided that Mnemlith was the sleepiest world in the known universes. According to Rimble, only a quarter of that world's population could recite the names of all the Greatkin. Most had forgotten that the Greatkin had ever existed. And even less than a quarter knew which of the Greatkin lived in sunny Eranossa and which lived in the shadowy, subtle underworld called Neath. Can't have that, said Rimble. Such forgetfulness might spread to the unknown universes. It would be a veritable plague of oblivion. So Rimble had taken Mnemlith by the shoulders and shaken that world. Hard. Mattermat sipped his wine, his eyes never leaving Trickster's. There was a short silence while he drank. The tension in the room increased. Mattermat put his wine goblet down carefully. Before he could speak again, Sathmadd, the Patron of Organization, Mathematics, and Red Tape, interrupted. «Rimble, I've had my fill of your turmoil, as you call it. Chaos and havoc would be more apt,» she said primly. She was a bustling sort of Greatkin, fastidious and orderly to a fault. «I, for one, hope you keep your meddling to a minimum from here on out. We've got three more courses to get through. I vote to have them peaceful.» Several Greatkin nodded and clapped their hands politely in favor of Sathmadd's suggestion. Rimble noted that all of them hailed from tidy, cheery Eranossa. «Where all the bright ones live,» muttered Rimble sarcastically. Troth, a dark-skinned quiet fellow, cleared his throat. Like Rimble, Troth resided in Neath. The beautiful glass beads that adorned his braided hair swung forward now as he changed position. Troth was the Greatkin of Death; when he spoke everyone listened. «Nothing is permanent, Mattermat. Not even us.» «Besides,» said Trickster, «the Presence told me to meddle.» Mattermat snorted. «A likely story.» «Once a liar, always a liar,» chimed in Sathmadd, wagging a finger at Rimble sternly.
«I don't lie,» yelled Rimble. «I'm Trickster. I live in Neath. We're not like you day types. We don't tell everything we know all at once. It's not our nature.» There was a long silence. During it, Rimble slumped in his chair. He crumpled the linen napkin in his lap with frustration. Would no one in Eranossa ever understand that he served the Presence same as the rest of them? He had a divine right to meddle; it was his job, for Presence sake. Rimble licked his lips and whispered in a singsong manner, «Trickster's my name and change is my game. Trickster's my name and change is my game. Trickster's my name—»
Jinndaven interrupted his brother sharply. «Cut that out, Rimble. This is the Panthe'kinarok, when everything we say translates—» «Yup,» snapped Rimble, his pied eyes flashing with fury. «Trickster's my name and change is my game. Trickster's—» Finally hearing Rimble's words, Mattermat jumped to his feet. «Shut up! You just shut up, Trickster! Don't you dare do one more thing to one more world! I tell you, I won't have it! I won't!» Now Mattermat appealed to the Greatkin whom the rest of the family lovingly referred to as Eldest. Her real name was Themyth. She was the Greatkin of Civilization. No Panthe'kinarok could begin without her opening
libation to the Presence. Her word was final in all disputes. Eldest, who had been Rimble's lover recently, was 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 was named Kindra. She had yellowed teeth and blue feathers that had turned white with age. She inclined her enormous, ugly head toward Rimble. «We're keeping kinhearth, Father. Care to join us?» «Keeping kinhearth» was the phrase the Mythrrim used to describe their practice of remembering the Presence, and the Greatkin. In the large chamber, wood blazed in a huge stone fireplace. Flames leapt as high as ten feet. Around this fire, the Mythrrim gathered and told the great myths of the world. «What're you telling?» asked Trickster. «The Mythrrim of Origin.» Rimble's expression turned wistful. «That's my favorite.» «I know,» said Kindra with a twinkle in her old eyes. «Here. Sit between my paws, and I'll start over from the beginning. We'll cast the spell of Once Upon.» Rimble sighed happily and climbed inside the large, brindle paws of Kindra.
The ancient Mythrrim Beast cleared her throat. During the telling of the tale she would re-create every sound effect needed to make the story real through her splendid set of vocal cords. Smiling and exposing her yellow teeth, Kindra spoke with authority. ></emphasis> The Mythrrim of Origin Once there was a Great Being. It was a radiant intelligence in which all things were contained. This Great Being was alone, for in all the universes
there was no other like Itself. It was very lonely. So to amuse Itself, Great Being dreamed.
It dreamed of civilizations that rose and fell with the seasons of the Ages, of worlds and all the peoples who lived on them: the Two-Leggeds, the Four-Leggeds, the Leafy and the Scaled, the Crawlers, the Winged Ones and the Wild Winds of the Five Directions. And each of these was named kin, for each sprang from the longing of their one Great Parent, sprang and fell back into the silence. There were no witnesses. There was no one to look upon the dreams of Great Being and say, «Good job, Great Being.» Or even, «This one needs a little work.» Troubled and sad, Great Being withdrew into Itself. And dreamed. It dreamed for eons. Finally, the dreams of Great Being became so intelligent that they, too, began to dream. And ask questions. But Great Being could
not answer their questions, for speech did not exist. Life was still hidden,
asleep in incubation. Reality was a divine potential waiting to be released. It was a closed universal—a secret garden of fertile splendor without entrance or exit. Finally, the dreams of Great Being became unruly in their captivity. Like fruit too long on the vine, they became a poison that threatened the sanity
of Great Being Itself. Daily the dreams clamored to be set free. Daily Great Being attempted to do so and could not. The need of both the Dreamer and the Dreams increased a thousand-fold with each Age. Never before had Great Being been beset by such a dire challenge. It thought long and hard about the problem. Then one day, Great Being had a Great Idea. The Idea was called the Real World. The Real World, thought Great Being, would be a clever device through which My dreams might know themselves. And, thought Great Being with pleasure and fear, the Real World might be a device through which I could know Myself as well. For are not My dreams part of Myself? This Idea pleased Great Being very much. It began to feel a little less lonely. But even so, Great Being still lacked the means to make Its dreams real. The desire to make them manifest was there, but the knowledge of how to do it was not. The frustration and despair of Great Being continued to grow along with Its love for Its captive dreams. Great Being tried everything It could think of to release Itself from this bind. It knew It needed to make a change, but change did not exist, either. Thus Great Being could do nothing but wait and hope. In unspeakable sympathy, Great Being suffered the agony of Its voiceless dreams. Still, the pressure increased. The Many and the One reached a terrible impasse. [Since division did not yet exist, either, neither the Many nor the One could see each other. There were no inunctions, no shadows. No plays of light against dark. There was no definition, nor depth perception. All was contained—like a road swallowed by the blinding white of a winter blizzard. Finally, one of Great Being's dreams also had a great idea. This idea was called individuality. The wise little dream decided to practice what it had conceived, and so in time, its small voice grew louder than the rest. Great Being was perplexed
by the continual chatter of this courageous little nag. Great Being was used to hearing the symphony of the spheres inside Its head—in perfect
multi-part harmony, of course. This voice was disrupting the perfect pitch of Great Being. Great Being felt annoyed. It called the noisy dream many names—Disharmony, Disorder, Chaos, and Royal Pain. This did not deter the noisy dream in the least. The noisy dream absorbed all the names and added a few of its own—Murphy, Coyote, the Raggedy Man, Uncle Tompa, and Rimble. In this way, the noisy dream became a creator in its own right. Over time, the noisy dream also developed something more than
intelligence—it developed personality. As Great Being didn't have any of Its own, Great Being finally decided to seek out the Noisy Dream of Many Names and see if Personality was a Good Idea or a Bad Idea. As Great Being drew near to the Noisy Dream, It heard this: «Who am I?» And again. And again. «Who am I?» Great Being could not answer this question, for Great Being could not see the Noisy Dream. In renewed despair, Great Being turned to go. As it did so, the Noisy Dream began to weep. Its small voice trembled with a choking horror: «Am I alone, then?» it asked. The loneliness of the Noisy Dream pierced the pain of Great Being's own cosmic solitude. For a moment, Great Being knew and understood this gabby little dream. Great Being reached toward the sorrowing dream and tried to comfort it. The Noisy Dream felt Great Being's concern. Wailing loudly, the Noisy Dream said: «Is there no other like me? Must I listen to myself for all eternity? What cruelty is this?» Sobbing, it added, «Why me?» Personal melodrama was conceived in this moment. Great Being could not bear to be thought of as cruel by the Noisy Dream, for the simple fact that Great Being knew that It wasn't cruel. Unrealized, perhaps, but not cruel. Great Being decided to Do Something. Great Being concluded that though It might split apart in the process, It would find a
way to prove Its inherent kindness to this loud, disbelieving little dream. In order to do this, however, Great Being knew that It must make a separation of some kind. It must thrust this Noisy Dream away from Itself so that both might see that the other existed. Great Being wondered if this would hurt. Great Being hesitated. What if the Noisy Dream went into the Real World and forgot that Great Being existed? You see, in a strange way, Great Being had come to value the questions of the Noisy Dream. Secretly, Great Being also valued the daring differentness of the Noisy Dream. Could it be that Great Being loved the deviant little thing? Yes. In a moment of unparalleled generosity, Great Being fought against Its own loneliness so that It might free the Noisy Dream from Itself. It was important, reasoned Great Being, for the Noisy Dream to know without doubt that its nature was identical to that of Great Being—kind. With great bravery, Great Being again resolved to free Its only companion from the void. To do this, Great Being would need to use Short Division. Arithmetic was conceived in this moment. Desire and knowledge united—and still a separation Between Dreamer and Dream proved to be an arduous task, As the process began, the clamor of all the dreams trapped inside Great Being increased to deafening proportions. The internal push and pull was grueling. Great Being saw that It would have to release everything in order to release the one different dream that had wept in loneliness. Great Being sighed at the enormity of the challenge—so much work for just one dream. Great Being supposed the Noisy Dream was worth all this trouble. Love decreed it. Great Being sighed again—making no sound. Sound, thought Great Being. Perhaps I should make a sound with my sigh?
And so It tried to do so. At first, the sigh rattled like dry leaves. Then it became smooth like the groan of a distant wind. Now Great Being's sigh
took on the depth and roar of a thundering ocean surf. It sounded like this: «Whhhhhhhhhooooo.» The universes trembled. Suddenly, the Unmanifest poured into the Real
World on the vibration of this divine sigh. Emptiness filled. Life spilled forth with exuberance. Shock waves of sound rippled through Great Being and It released all that was within. This was a bright explosion of Being. For the first time, the universes knew a Great Wildness. Dazed by the variety of form dancing before It, Great Being looked upon all the portions of Itself
and loved. A million billion dreams returned that love a thousand-fold, each according to its own temperament. «There is one of you,» said Great Being shyly. «There is one of you who is sadder than the others—» The Noisy Dream of Many Names cleared its throat. «Well, not exactly—your Presence.» Great Being turned toward the Noisy Dream, regarding it for the first time. The Noisy Dream was a tall, radiant being with an ever-changing face. «You're not sadder than the rest?» «Not exactly.» Great Being felt perplexed. «I thought you—» «Well, I had to make you think I was sadder, see—otherwise you were never going to get off your creative duff and Do Something about the state of things.» «Oh.» said Great Being. «So I was tricked?»
The radiant being considered the question. After a few moments, it said, «If you wish, you may say that I tricked you. Myself, I prefer to think that I helped you Improoove.» «Improve.» «Yeah. That's my nature, you know. I make Improoovements on your ideas.» Great Being frowned. «Did anyone ask you to do this?» The radiant being became indignant. «Well, somebody had to do something about you. Since it was my idea, it might as well be me who gets the credit.» Great Being nodded. «So you'd like all the credit for all the improvements made in the Real World? Even the evolutionary deviances? And—uh—cosmic experiments?» The radiant being grinned. «Especially those, your Presence. I feel I'd understand that sort of thing, see.» Great Being smiled slyly. «And I suppose I won't need to name you, either. I suppose that being such a creative type you've picked your own?» «Rimble. Greatkin Rimble—at your service. My friends call me Murphy, though. Or rather, they will. In time. When You invent it.» Great Being regarded Rimble with renewed consternation. «There's more of you?» Rimble rolled his pied eyes. «Really, your Presence—you've simply got to stop thinking about things in such isolation. Of course, there are more of my kind. I have twenty-six squabbling brothers and sisters. All of whom want names from You. There. Does that make You happy?» Great Being nodded, Its sly mood returning. «I'm glad I'm needed for something, Rimble. Otherwise, I would get very lonely. And sad. Very, very sad.» Rimble stared at Great Being. «You would?» «Oh, yes.» Trickster though he was, Rimble was not a cruel soul. How could he be? He,
like all of creation, had sprung from the kindness of Great Being. So Rimble felt a pang of compassion for Great Being—the first in manifest reality. He eyed Great Being carefully out of the corner of his yellow eye, and said, «Well, maybe me and the rest of the family could keep You company or something. Would that help?» «That would help a great deal,» said Great Being, Its moroseness lifting. «So I can always count on you to help me?» «Uh—» «You don't want me to be sad…» «Well—no, your Presence.» «Then it's decided.» «What is?» asked Rimble, who was getting the feeling that Great Being had just duped him. «You and your twenty-six squabbling brothers and sisters will be my helpers. For all time—» «For all time!» Rimble began dancing a hopping jig of fury. «I never said anything about all time!» «Didn't you?» Rimble was so stupefied by the question that he didn't answer Great Being. Great Being smiled broadly. «Do you know what Rimble means?» Rimble spluttered. «I made it up!» «Then let me give the name meaning. It's my nature, you know, to give meaning.» Great Being spoke in perfect mimicry of Rimble's earlier pronouncement about «Improvements.» Rimble paced. Then he said, «Okay. You're on. You give my name meaning.» He paused. «So what's it mean?» Great Being began to laugh. The boom of Its humor resounded in every corner of the known and unknown universes. Rimble bit his lower lip and asked: «You going to tell me who I am, or not?» «What, and spoil all the fun of you finding out?» scoffed Great Being. Then in a moment of unexpected seriousness, Great Being added, «I suspect, Rimble, that when all is said and done, you'll know more about yourself than anyone else. And that's a good thing, Rimble. Self-knowledge is power of the right kind.» Great Being paused. «Should I call you Murphy?» Rimble put his hands on his hips. «Guess that depends on whether You're
my friend or not. Well, when I decide, I'll get back to You on it. Meanwhile, I'm Rimble.» «The one who will know something of himself,» said the Presence softly. ></emphasis> When Kindra had finished speaking, Rimble sighed happily. Looking upward at the overhang of her canine jowl, Rimble said, «You know, it took me the longest time to figure out that the Presence meant just what It said. About the meaning of my name.» Kindra waited for him to continue.
Rimble laughed softly. «I'm so full of tricks myself, I thought the Presence was giving more of the same. I thought I'd have to wait centuries before Great Being would tell me what Rimble meant. And there Great Being had gone and told me in the first place. Rimble means 'the one who knows something of himself.'» Rimble sighed. «Not that anyone in Eranossa thinks so.» «How can we be of service to you?» asked Kindra graciously. Rimble stood up. He walked to the center of the Mythrrim ring. In proportion to their great size, Rimble resembled a child's toy. As large as his offspring were, Rimble felt no fear of them. The Mythrrim were a compassionate, intelligent, and good-natured race. It was to these three qualities that Rimble now spoke.
«Things are bad for me at Eranossa right now. See, I've got this charge from the Presence to go broaden the perspective of the known and unknown universes. Basic panoramic mutation, you understand. Happens every hundred millennia or so when the Presence gets bored. Anyway, as usual, Great Being has come to me to do the job.» Rimble paused, pulling on his black goatee. «Mattermat's blocking me on every level. So are most of the ninnies in Eranossa—Themyth excepted. I'm going to need to go through Neath to get the job done.» The Mythrrim made howls and squawks of dismay. «That's the hard way,» said Kindra. «Are you sure there's no other?» Greatkin Rimble shrugged. «Not unless you can think of one.» Kindra cocked her head to the side. Then, speaking in Oldspeech, she
conferred with the rest of her family. Tails wagged, wings fluttered. Rimble waited patiently for the Mythrrim to reach a consensus. Since the median age of a Mythrrim Beast was three thousand years, the creatures perceived time in a slower—almost geologic—manner than normal mortals. The family council took three days to reach its decision. At the end of that period, Kindra approached Rimble. The little Greatkin was fast asleep in a nearby cave. The ancient Mythrrim woke the snoring Greatkin gently with her canine nose. «We're ready to resume conversation with you,» she said. Rimble yawned and sat up. «I'm listening.» Kindra hesitated. «You have a great fear, yes? Fear for the future?» «Yeah,» said Trickster. «Great Being says 'change or be changed.' And that means everyone, see. Even the Greatkin. You know how Mattermat is about change. It's not his nature. It's mine.» «And if Mattermat doesn't surrender, all of creation will suffer?» «That's about the size of it,» agreed Rimble with a despondent sigh. Kindra grinned, exposing long teeth, yellowed with age. «How about a jolt of the fantastic. Get Jinndaven to help you—» «Easier said than done. I've pissed him off recently.» «Nonsense. Jinndaven loves you. What's more he needs you. You're the only Greatkin who'll listen to his wild ideas. The tame ones are fine for everyone else. But he's got nowhere to go with his wild ones—except to
you, Father.» Kindra purred briefly. «Anyway, we'll do this thing backward.» «Sounds promising,» said Trickster. He loved doing things backward. «We thought you'd like it.» Kindra chuckled. «We'll also do the unexpected. We'll go through the mortals. We'll make the change in them first. When they change, it will affect the Greatkin at Eranossa and Neath. Myth does
that. It reaches out in all directions. Has its impact on Greatkin and mortal alike.» Rimble pursed his lips. Then he said, «Mattie won't expect this. In fact, I
don't even think he believes the mortals have any effect on Eranossa at all. Divine Will only goes one way.» «That is his great error,» said Kindra, her expression sage. Trickster started to pace. «And of course the unknown universes interpenetrate the known universes. I likes it, I does. I likes it a lot.» Trickster looked wistfully at Kindra. «They do nothing but criticize me in Eranossa. I'd dearly love to put them in their highfaluted places. Neath style.» Kindra nodded. «Myths aren't short on blood and horror. We'll tell the tale here. You give us the main players, and we'll embellish. As it's told in Soaringsea, the tale will gather momentum. The people involved will feel the pull of the myth and begin to act on it. Myth and mortal will mold each other. One request, though.» «Anything.» «We want a part.» «You have a part,» said Trickster. «You're talking right now—» «Yes, but this is a bit part,» countered Kindra and several of the other Mythrrim. «We want to make an appearance in mortal time and space. We've grown curious during our years of retreat. We want to see the progress of the two-leggeds on the mainland. After all, we were their teachers.» «Progress?» said Trickster dubiously. «That's a kind word for it.» «Nevertheless, we want to visit the mainland, Father.»
Trickster considered this possibility. «Well, this is a tricksterish tale. The unexpected is the norm. Why not? The more havoc the better. You can visit Speakinghast, the bastion of tidiness, logic, and realism. Ugh,» added Rimble, rolling his eyes with distaste. Kindra flapped her wings with annoyance. «We don't wish to create havoc, Father. We're creatures of peace—»
«Hey, now, wait a minute. Peace isn't my thing at all. There's a Greatkin for that and it ain't me. If it's peace you want, go see—» Kindra interrupted Trickster crisply. «The end of a quantum leap is a new stability, Father. That's a kind of peace. We want a share in it.» Rimble grumbled and swore under his breath. Kindra began to laugh. «Change or be changed, Father.» Trickster stiffened. The Mythrrim roared—literally—with guffaws and giggles. The island shook with the sound of their voices. Trickster put his hands over his ears and wondered if he should dematerialize until the Mythrrim subsided. Finally Kindra stopped rolling about on the ground. Still chuckling, Kindra sat up and said, «Rimble-Rimble on you, Father.» The laughter started all over again. *2* By her own admission, Elder Hennin of Suxonli Village was a world-class villain, and she liked herself this way. Tammirring-born, she had inherited all of the psychic gifts of her native landdraw: prophecy, telepathy, and visualization. The good she could have made of these gifts was inestimable. For her own reasons, however, Hennin had distorted these gifts and bent them to her personal will. A renegade Mayanabi Nomad of considerable rank, Hennin possessed the training to twist anything to her advantage. Interested in enhancing her own spiritual power base in Suxonli, Hennin had done the unthinkable. She had revised the original Mythrrim tales about Trickster told by the Mythrrim Beasts themselves in centuries gone by. The villagers were an uneducated group for the most part, and Hennin had dazzled them with her brilliance and persuasive logic. In time, she had set herself up as an expert on the rituals of Greatkin Rimble, drawing others like Cobeth into her webs of intrigue and deceit. Cobeth was dead now due to an unfortunate accident at a Trickster's Hallows held last year in Speakinghast. Hennin missed his company, not because she had liked him, but because he had done her bidding with eagerness. Cobeth had been her long arm, her menace at a distance. Now she had no one to carry out her schemes—until tonight. Tonight, she had practiced the art of visualization with such mastery that she had not only bent the landdraw of Suxonli to her will, but she had
created a physical form for the draw to use. It was tall, gray, shuffling, and intelligent. She could never have brought the draw under her control if Greatkin Zendrak had not cursed it sixteen years ago. Fortunately for Hennin's purposes, Zendrak's curse had packed tremendous power—after all, he was a Greatkin. Cursed, the landdraw had responded to Zendrak's rage like plants exposed to the conflagration of napalm. The draw had screamed, withered, and become hideous. No children born after this time had survived. As it stood now, Suxonli Village had no future. Hennin decided to change this—not out of the goodness of her heart, of course. She had no compassion for the barren women of the village or the mutant things that were born and died within minutes of taking their first breaths. All Hennin wanted was power. Personal power. Control of the landdraw assured her an unlimited amount. But what was landdraw?
Landdraw was intelligent. In any birth, three factors determined the genetic
and psychological inheritance of the child: mother, father, and draw. Once a child was conceived, the pregnant mother could not cross from one country or draw into another. To do so would abort the child. Each landdraw left a specific psychic imprint of talents on the newborn as well as any number of