With bundles in arms, the younger couple hurried into the dark room. Silly giggling issued through the open door, along with an orange illumination from a dying gem. The door closed.

Yagi asked Zamani, “Not that you were expected to, young Zheren, but, did you bring a costume?”

Zamani answered with an easy smile, “I did. Xarhn spoke of the matter. Since I make all my own vestments, I simply chose from among my best.”

Xarhn piped in happily, “And, he brought something for me.” She blushed and amended, “I mean . . . I had only a cap; Zami made the rest.”

“Open hands,” answered the Teller with a sage nod.

Before another word could be spoken, the door opened and Tosh pressed her face into the crack to ask, “Are you ready?”

“Come!” commanded Yagi.

The two children paraded eagerly into the classroom, marched along the wall before turning circuitously to reach a spot just in front of the Teller. Tosh ended her march with a flourish to highlight the flow of the silk skirt she wore. It was an attractive garment that reached as far as her brown feet. Unadorned, it had been stained a pleasantly soft red with the juice from ripened berribits. Around her pointed pait sat a tiara of succulent cleg. A mantle of garlanded tay draped her shoulders and covered her breasts. Studding the small, yellowish tay leaves were larger, blue-green zarglenut leaves, sown stem in and point down.

Voytk sported a sedge loin cloth with broad, rounded slats. A sleeveless silk shirt had been pulled over his head, and fit his slender torso like skin. Green milksap leaves adorned the shirt in an overlapping fashion. As if to fence in the soft wattle of his pait, a single band of plain sedge encircled his head.

“Turn,” commanded Yagi.

They slowly turned as one, to give a full view of their costumes to the Teller. They faced him anxiously, awaiting his approval. The Teller smiled; Tosh squealed. She bounced upon her toes, then took Voytk's hands, and, together, they hopped about, laughing triumphantly.

Yagi stilled the two with an upraised hand and announced, “I am pleased. Now, when you are quite done with your bouncing, you may return to your seat.”

Zamani looked at the girl who sat beside him; she met his eyes with unmasked anxiety. Both clever and comely was the costume Tosh displayed. Both in her eyes and in her ample green flooding, Xarhn pleaded jealously for Zamani to have a costume that would beat the competition. Zamani gave her hand a pat and turned again as the Teller cleared his throat.

“Xarhn, Zamani,” Yagi declared, “the turn is yours. Dress quickly and return.”

Xarhn fetched up her sedge cap and skipped excitedly to the back door, where she waited impatiently to proceed. Zamani reached between his legs and withdrew the large shroomsack. Immediately, he rued his choice, as Yagi barely stifled a gasp of painful recognition. The strangled sound danced along his nerves like the sting of the barrier. Unbelief burned in the Teller's fat-enfolded eyes. Beneath the broad white patch on the Teller's forehead, a fire leaped up as their eyes momentarily locked. Zamani braced himself and followed Xarhn.

He swore beneath his breath, “Coosith!”

The bag had given him away. Why had he not taken more care? Thinking to keep his secret, he had formed a wattle on his pait; he had arrived without a cap, just to prove himself one of them. He could have kicked himself for such an oversight. Of course, the elder would immediately associate the shroomsack with the nholas. In all of Phar Sheeth, the shroom grew nowhere else.

“Before even falls,” called Xarhn testily.

He closed the door behind him and said to her, “He knows.”

“Knows what?”

“That I’m not from Zhereen, that I come from the nholas.”

It was his turn to be anxious, and he could see that she both recognized and empathized. She answered softly, “So, tell him the truth, Zami. He will respect you for it. What does it matter where you’re from? I know where you’re from.”

“Yeah, but you’re just a girl.”

Pointedly, she cast her eyes at the bag and answered, “A girl who’s waiting.”

“Oh.”

The small, tight room had a single closed window and a dying pyre gem which sat in its cage on a narrow table. Zamani used the free end of the table. He loosed and removed the stays. He forced his concern to the back of his mind, and brought forth the Liyll gown, shaking it out with a snap.

“Ooh!” exuded Xarhn.

Xarhn's exclamation of delight drew his eyes to her. She stood before him naked, her skirt in a heap at her feet. The burning ache returned; a lump in his throat prevented speech. He stood with her gown in his hands, but why could he not move?

“Give. Now,” she demanded, bringing him around.

Zamani proffered the silken gown, and sighing, Xarhn slid into it, turning to face him with a smile as bright as midday. He folded the flower in front and looped the belt around her slender waist.

She spun happily, the pointed lower ends of the gown billowing.

He freed himself from his loincloth, and Xarhn giggled. Crimson flooding engulfed him like a garment. He stepped quickly into his trousers and hooked his belt with the nhola stay. Calm returning, he pulled the shroom boots over his feet. On, then, went the mantle, and he crossed the breastplate in front with a second nhola stay. He drew the red-stained blue quill cap from the bag and placed it on his head. The ragged lower edges curled down his back and draped his shoulders.

Placing the old vestments in the bag and tucking it beneath one arm, he reached out for Xarhn and said, “Let us go before I lose my nerve.”

Forgetting her own splendor, Xarhn stared at him in wonder. Her mouth gaped. Zamani fetched her cap and placed it in her hands. Absently, her eyes never leaving him for a moment, she fixed it upon her head. He could not abide the staring. They were his best vestments, but they weren’t that good. He opened the door and pushed her through.

A hush fell upon the class as Xarhn stepped into the room. It became so quiet that Zamani could hear the beating in his chest. Tosh, who had been standing, sat heavily and gaped. Voytk's eyes widened in wonder. Yagi turned in his seat, then stood. The Teller stared at the gown intently, but there was no wonder in his old fat eyes. He circled the girl, and with a trembling finger reached out to touch the off-white flesh of the Liyll. He traced a brown rib in it with evident sorrow.

The Teller took a step back and cried out, “The Liyll! Maker of all, girl! You walk in death.”

Xarhn stammered, “What . . . I . . .”

Then Yagi clutched her shoulders and shook her. His voice was harsh and loud, “How dare you wear our Mother Soul! Take it off! Take it off!”

Zamani stepped in and freed Xarhn from the Teller's grip. He pushed Yagi from her and took her into his arms. She hid her face against his chest and sobbed. His eyes were daggers as he met the Teller's gaze.

His words were barely audible as he squeezed them out between gritted teeth. He said, “Touch mine again and die.”

Yagi stepped away, flooding white and yellow. He drew upon the words of power for defense. “Bwabachod, soothe and nod,” said he.

Zamani answered, “You’ve no power over me. I’m stronger than you.”

“Peckish Sith!” cried the Teller.

“What I am, you can see. I am Lord of the Nholas.”

Tosh gasped. Yagi found his seat and fell heavily upon it. He soon calmed himself, white and red making way for neutral blue.

“Pardon my outburst,” he managed at last.

“I do,” replied Zamani.

Yagi's voice grew small and contrite. “Xarhn, child, forgive me. I would never harm you; please believe me.”

Sniffing wetly and raking back tears, she peeked out and answered, “You scared me.”

“Forgive me, please,” he repeated.

Zamani answered him, “She does.”

Yagi took a deep breath and said, “Xarhn, you and Tosh should leave; Voytk, please go with them. I have questions to ask of Zamani.”

Tosh took Xarhn from Zamani's embrace and walked her from the class. Voytk quickly grabbed the bundles and followed them out. As the door snicked shut, Zamani sat, cross-legged, on the cold stone floor just in front of the Teller. He placed his bag beside him.

“Speak,” he said calmly. “Ask your questions.”

The Teller's eyes hardened as he leaned forward and hissed, “Who are you!?”

“One who searches for truth,” was the quiet answer.

“Lord of the Nholas indeed!” sneered the Teller. “When I saw your bag, I knew you were not of us.”

“Despise me if you must. What does it matter when I am only one of so many despised by you? Now, ask your questions, else I leave.”

“My soul is not cruel, boy. I despise those who murdered my father and mother.”

“My mother,” said Zamani, “was also murdered. Should I despise the race of the one who took her life?”

“Yes!” spat Yagi. “Yes, you should. The murderous nature of one is shared by all of them.”

“Sith hands took my mother from me. Shall I despise you?”

Yagi gasped; his mouth chewed on words he could not speak, but at last, he bowed his head and managed, “I presumed incorrectly. Forgive me.”

“I do.”

The old Teller lifted his face, willing, after all, to meet a stranger halfway. He leaned toward the boy on the floor and asked, “Will you share your loss with me? Tell me . . . who are you?”

Zamani answered, “I will, but for Xarhn's sake, not yours.” He pointed to the back room and continued, “In your closet, she told me: ‘tell him the truth; he will respect you for it’. You matter to me less than Xarhn; your respect is of no moment, but I will tell you the truth for her sake.”

He hung his head and took a breath. His trembling told him this was a bad idea. His rainbow was neutral blue; the Teller could not read him. The elder could know neither his fear nor anger. Yes, he hated to admit it, he was afraid, but his anger would push him past his fear.

“Go on,” prompted Yagi.

Zamani lifted his eyes to meet the Teller's and spoke. “My father,” said he, “murdered my mother. I was very young. I fled Zhereen, and in the nholas, I found all I needed to survive. For seventeen seasons I have lived in the forest.”

Yagi protested, “But . . . the barrier is impenetrable.”

“Not so, Yagi. You speak myth, for I pass through as I will. Your own eyes tell you this: the shroomsack, the blue quill cap, the mantle, and breastplate.”

Yagi placed his hand on his head and rubbed as if stung by reality. His eyes searched the void before him. “Yes . . . yes,” he agreed, “you speak the truth.”

“All that lies within the barrier have I claimed as my own; of all the nhola's myth and truth, I am master. My hands have slain the beasts of Dirt.”

“But . . . our Mother Soul belonged to all Shee, and you destroyed it,” accused the Teller with a trembling pain in his aged voice.

“It was but a flower, elder Sith.”

“My father's father planted that most singular of flowers. It came with us in our relocation as a token from him who made our world. It is our heart and soul; there is no other of its kind. Phar Sheeth lives and dies with the Liyll. You’ve destroyed us all.”

“Do we not both sit here, Yagi? I tire of your myths. Things that are, you do not believe; things that are not, you do. You have much to learn.”

Yagi blustered, turning red. “I have much to learn?! I have much to learn!?” He fought for control and returned blue. Distantly, he acquiesced, “Yes, perhaps I do.”

Zamani said, “In the nholas, I would be your Teller.”

“True enough,” responded Yagi, “and yet, for all your seasons among speechless creatures, you address me as equal. How is this?”

“I have learned at your elbow, Yagi, in the garden of Mithal-Moun.”

“No, it cannot be!” gasped the Teller.

“When the Mithal taught you to scan the rainbow, I was there.”

“No . . . but, how?”

Zamani grinned, closed his eyes and vanished from sight. Yagi slumped in utter dismay. He whispered a single word: “Glamor.”

“Yes, Teller. Another myth.” Zamani appeared behind the Teller, giving him a start. He strode to the far end of the room and continued, “Now, you must surely say that I am one of your despised Pecks, for was it not the Pucha who obtained glamor only to lose it in the relocation?” He spread his arms and awaited an answer.

Yagi flooded white, then red; he struggled inwardly and returned blue. “Had I not seen your pait,” said he, “I would swear you are of mixed blood. That and your rainbow convince me, and yet, you are obviously an unnatural boy.” Yagi set his jaw and demanded, “Once before, I asked who you are. Tell me now, and plainly.”

Zamani walked to the door and opened it to the noises of Thletix. He paused with hand to handle, then turned to face the elder. “The one thing that ever made me natural,” he said, biting off the word and spitting it at Yagi, “was the love of my mother. No mother was ever more filled with love; no soul ever sweeter; no heart more alive with kindness. That stolen treasure can never be replaced. No substance, no spirit, can ever fill the emptiness in me. Do not be so quick to claim the torment of loss as your own. Rainbow hands took her from me. They locked around her throat, squeezed the life from her, and yet, you despise the very name of Elimar.”

He could sense the change. The air seemed heavy and dark. Sound fled as rage welled up in Yagi until it had no place to go but out. The old fat hands clenched into small tight fists. The flooding of reds upon the skin of the Teller seemed almost black. The elder shot up from his seat. He stepped forward and spat.

“Gathorne!” he cried aloud. “Son of the undoer. Destroyer. Go from us; return to your nholas. You have no place among the pure.”

“You may not speak for all the Shee,” countered Zamani in a flush of hot anger. “Not everyone can hate as purely as you.”

Yagi's voice could barely be constrained as he trembled with indignation. He said, “Death and destruction walk with you. Gathorne; abomination! You can add no good to us. Leave us. You are unwanted.”

The words of the elder hurt worse than the sting of the barrier. Unreasonably, as if the value of his life depended on the approval of this one Sith, Zamani felt very small. His head knew better, but his heart could not bear the hurtful words. He was crushed.

He cried out, “Why must you hate me? I’m not my father.”

Yagi turned his face to the back wall; he threw his hand up in a gesture of separation. “Go,” he said.