Faun and Games (28 page)

"Actually, we have come on a more serious matter," Forrest said. "We

would prefer to talk."

"Well, I want to play crosses."

Forrest saw that this was in the nature of an exchange of services.

"Suppose we talk while we play crosses?"

"Well, okay, I guess." He sounded just like a human boy of that age,

which was surprising, because centaurs were generally far more

intelligent and adult than humans.
 
How could this be the ideal love for

Cathryn, who was a true centaur in attitude?

"Very good," Forrest said, though he was afraid it wasn't.
 
"I am

FotTest Faun, and my companion is Mare Imbrium."

" so?
 
"

"So what's your name?"

' 'Oh.
 
Contrary."

That figured.
 
"Well, Contrary Centaur, let's play the game and talk.

You will have to explain the rules to me."

So they played the game while Imbri quietly watched.
 
"It's like this,"

Contrary said.
 
"We take turns standing inside the circle of crosses.

The one outside takes a cross and throws it at the one inside, and he

can't dodge or anything."

Forrest was not especially pleased with this.
 
The crosses were small,

but what if one hit an eye?
 
It could hurt.
 
"And what then?"

"That's it.
 
Ends when we run out of crosses."

Forrest remained uneasy, but there was nothing for it but to play the

game so he could talk.
 
He hoped that he could ascertain whether this

was the correct centaur, and he hoped the answer was no.
 
"Who starts in

the circle?"

"You do.
 
You're the challenger."

Forrest stepped into the center and stood still.
 
Contrary walked around

outside, eyeing Forrest from every angle.
 
Then he pulled a cross out of

the ground and threw it at Forrest's face.

If the centaur expected his target to flinch, maybe forfeiting the game,

he was disappointed.
 
The cross struck Forrest between the eyes. It

didn't hurt; in fact it disappeared.
 
But his eyes felt funny.

He looked around.
 
He saw two images of the surroundings, and a lot of

fuzziness.
 
What had happened?

Two young centaurs trotted up.
 
"Okay, your turn."

Forrest knew there was only one centaur.
 
Why did he see two?
 
He made

his way out of the circle as much by feel as by sight.
 
He saw two

Imbri's sitting just far enough from the pine trees so she wouldn't cry.

"What-?"

"You're cross-eyed," she murmured.

Then he caught on.
 
The cross had made him cross-eyed!
 
So he couldn't

properly focus on things.

He turned to face the centaurs.
 
He closed one eye, and one image

disappeared.
 
It would be harder to aim, but he could do it; tree fauns

were good with wood.
 
So now he could throw a cross at Contrary and make

him cross-eyed too.
 
Or were there other choices?

He decided to experiment.
 
He pulled up a cross, aimed very carefully,

and threw.
 
Contrary did not flinch, and the cross struck him on the

back of the head.

Nothing visible happened.
 
Then the centaur spoke, frowning.

"What you do that for?" he demanded crossly.

It had worked: now Contrary was really cross.
 
"I want to know something

about you," Forrest said, as he came in to exchange places. "Do you ever

go west?"

"What's it to you, goat hoof?" the centaur demanded angrily.

"I am merely curious.
 
You must know that you will age as you go,

achieving maturity.
 
Why do you remain here in your youth?"

" 'Cause I don't want to grow up!" Contrary snapped.
 
Then he hurled a

cross at Forrest's legs.
 
It struck one knee, and suddenly he was

crossing his knees, though he was standing.
 
It was awkward, but in a

moment he found he was still able to move about, if he did so carefully.

He wobbled his way to the outside, while Contrary stomped crossly

inside.
 
He was catching on to the game, but he still didn't have all

the information he wanted.
 
"Why don't you want to grow up?" he asked.

" 'Cause there's a stupid filly out there I don't want to meet.
 
Now

throw your stupid cross."

That sounded like Cathryn.
 
Forrest threw his cross at the centaur's

arms.
 
It struck and disappeared, and Contrary uttered an illegible

syllable and crossed his arms.
 
With luck, he wouldn't be able to throw

well.

"Why don't you want to meet her?" Forrest asked as they exchanged places

again.

" 'Cause I played a game of crosses for stakes with someone from the far

west, and he had seen my future, and he told me that this stupid filly

would completely change my attitude on everything, and get me to liking

mushy stuff, and make me a responsible adult.
 
Yuck!

So I'm staying right here, sensibly young.
 
What's it to you?" And he

kicked his cross with a foreleg, sending it hurtling into Forrest's

torso.

Forrest twisted around so that his head faced the opposite way from his

hoofs.
 
His body was crossed.
 
This made it even more awkward to stand.

But he was still able to walk, moving his knee-crossed legs backward. He

was coming to the conclusion that he didn't really like this game.

At least now he knew the problem.
 
The 'llvenile centaur didn't want to

grow up.
 
So he was able, in the unique environment of Ptero, to avoi 'd

adulthood.
 
Because time was geography, and the creatures had freedom of

geography.
 
As an adult, in love with a responsible centaur filly, he

would become a responsible citizen.
 
Children of any species lacked the

experience to appreciate the qualities and satisfactions of maturity. So

how could he persuade the errant juvenile to approach his later life?

Meanwhile he was reaching the outside, and Contrary was inside. Where

should he throw his next cross?
 
Would the centaur quit playing if

struck on the ear?
 
Would that prevent him from hearing?
 
Forrest wasn't

sure, but decided to try it.
 
He just wanted to finish this game, so he

could recover his faculties and consult with Imbri.
 
Maybe she would

have a notion how to get Contrary into his adult territory.

He oriented carefully, and threw his next cross at the centaur's ear. He

scored.
 
But nothing seemed to happen.
 
"How are you doing?" he asked.

Contrary looked the opposite way.
 
"Where are you?"

So that was the effect: the centaur was cross-eared, and heard things

crossed, so that sounds seemed to come from the opposite direction.

"Look away from my voice," he said.

Contrary turned around.
 
"Oh, yeah," he said crossly.
 
"Crossed hearing.

I should have remembered.
 
Well, get ready, because I'll really get you

with the next one."

Forrest didn't like the sound of that, but had to go back into the

circle.
 
They had used up only six of the crosses; this game had a long

way to go, unfortunately.

Contrary hurled his cross.
 
It struck Forrest on the chest, right over

the heart.
 
The feeling was strange, but not bad; it wasn't making his

heart malfunction.
 
So what was the point?

"I crossed your heart," the centaur said with satisfaction.
 
"Now you

have to tell the truth."

'l always tell the truth," Forrest said, annoyed.

"Not this way.
 
Tell me your most embarrassing experience."

"I don't have to do that!"

"Yes you do.
 
Now talk."

And he found that he did have to do it; his crossed heart compelled him.

The thing he hated most to confess.
 
This game had abruptly gotten

worse.

"I was in my tree when a flock of harpies passed," he said.
 
"They were

noxious creatures with the heads and breasts of women and the bodies of

birds, and foul of aspect and language.
 
They liked to soil the leaves

and branches of my tree with their droppings, and snatch away sandals,

for which they had no use; they just dropped them in the nearest bog. So

I did my best to drive them off, throwing sticks and stones at them.
 
I

didn't try to curse them, because no one has a mouth as fowl as a harpy.

They love to indulge in swearing contests, and can make an ogre blush

with a bad series of expletives.
 
They were just out for mischief, and I

just wanted to be rid of them.

"Then I heard a maidenly scream.
 
The dirty birds had gotten hold of a

nymph, and were dragging her away.
 
I leaped from my tree and ran to her

rescue, beating off the clustered harpies.
 
They cursed me so

villainously that the nearby foliage wilted and my poor ears turned

bright red.
 
But I rescued her, and the harpies flew away, screeching

imprecations.
 
'You'll be sorry!" the last one cried as she flapped

skyward.

eanwhile the nymph was excruciatingly grateful.
 
'My hero!' she cried,

throwing her fair arms about me and kissing me ardently. Naturally I

returned the favors, and proceeded to that celebration for which fauns

and nymphs are justly known.
 
She was unusually eager to complete the