Harpy Thyme (12 page)

“This is not a place to swim,” Trent said. “I gather the fur monster does not leave the water. That means that the goblins don't need to fear it coming after them. They just have to stay clear of its pool.”

“Yes, that would explain the simple warning sign,” Gloha agreed. “Goblins are lazy; they don't do anything they don't have to. If there's no need to block off a tunnel, they won't bother. So they just posted the warning and let it be.”

“But this doesn't look like enough to back off a whole goblin tribe,” Cynthia said. “The creature is hardly half as massive as I am. That's enough to gobble up any goblin that might fall in the water-”

“Or be thrown in,” Trent suggested.

“But the tribe could gather and throw a barrage of spears at it from the edge,” Gloha finished. “You're right; goblins are lazy, but in a case like this their meanness should make up for it. They should take pleasure in attacking it from the safety of the shore, just because it's there. There must be something more.”

“And we had better find out what it is,” Trent said, his mildness fading now that there was no one close by who needed deceiving. “Now I can transform this creature into something innocuous. But I don't know whether it's the only one, or what else may be lurking near. I am not comfortable with this.”

The man was a master of understatement! “I suppose you could transform me into something that shouldn't fear the furball,” Gloha said. “Like maybe an allegory. Then I could explore the depths of the pool to see if there's any exit from it. There doesn't seem to be any above or around it.”

“Let's not act too quickly, if we don't have to,” Trent said. “I have learned to be careful about what I don't understand. There is a mystery about this pool that the presence of a monster doesn't satisfactorily explain.”

Cynthia leaned forward over the water and dipped the tip of a finger. Immediately the furball shot through the water and snapped at her hand. “Oh!” she cried, whipping it away.

“That thing is fast,” Gloha said.

“It's not that. That water stings.” She brought her finger to her mouth.

“Don't do that!” Trent snapped, startling her. “That water may be poison.”

“Oh!” she repeated, staring at her hurting finger.

Gloha brought out a handkerchief. “There is a bit of healing elixir in this,” she said. She used it to wipe off the finger, which she saw was already blistering. Poison indeed!

“Oh thank you,” Cynthia said. “That feels so much better.”

“So now we know another reason why the goblins avoid this pool,” Trent said. “It is poison water. The fur monster must be specially adapted to it. Still I'm not sure we have fathomed the whole of this unpleasant mystery-and I think we shall have to, if we want to pass through this pool to escape this region.”

“How can we know there is any way out under the pool?” Gloha asked. “There might be underwater caves that don't go anywhere.”

“I see no water dripping down from the dome above it. Yet the pool is not brackish or cloudy. It seems to be fresh water, such as it is. That suggests that there is a wellspring somewhere below the surface. If we find that inlet, it may be our outlet.”

“I suppose,” Gloha said dubiously. “We certainly don't seem to have any other way out.”

“But we can't go through poisoned water,” Cynthia protested.

“I wonder,” Trent said thoughtfully. “It seems unlikely that it would be poisoned by contact with the local rock, because then other waters in the region should suffer a similar effect, and we have not noted this. That river we diverted was quite pure. I think the goblins would not have poisoned it, because that just makes it useless to them. That suggests that this pool is magically poisoned.”

“Magically poisoned!” Gloha exclaimed. “You mean, like some pools are love springs, and some are hate springs, and some are youth springs, or healing springs, and so on-this one is a poison spring?”

“Something like that,” he agreed. “If it did not wish to be molested by goblins, this device would be effective.”

“It certainly would!” Gloha agreed. “But that stops us from molesting it too.”

“But perhaps we can make a deal with it. Sometimes the inanimate has special desires.”

“You mean things that aren't alive, like pools, want things?” Cynthia asked.

“My son-in-law Dor has the ability to talk with the inanimate. It is clear from his experience that inanimate things have concerns, just as animate ones do. We lack the ability to communicate as he does, unfortunately, but maybe we can handle it.”

“We can talk to water?” Gloha asked, as doubtful as Cynthia. Stones might be considered individual entities, but water was just fluid.

“Perhaps. I suspect that the fur monster understands the pool, and perhaps it will tell us what the pool desires that we might provide.”

Both girls looked at him, not trusting this.

“Suppose I transform one of you into a similar furball, also immune to the poison,” he said. “I can do this, despite not really knowing its nature, because my talent takes care of the details. Then you could communicate with it, get some answers, and perhaps make a deal.”

“You transformed Cynthia last time,” Gloha said. “It's my turn.” She hardly believed that this would work, but what other hope was there?

The Magician approached her and gestured. Suddenly she was a hairy furball. She rolled into the pool with a satisfying splash. The water felt wonderful.

The other furball charged aggressively across, its teeth leading the way. “Wait, furface!” she cried in its language, which wasn't exactly verbal but which came naturally to her. “I'm your kind. Let's talk.”

“You're female!” the other said, amazed. “I'm male. Let's-”

“Talk first!" she insisted. She hadn't expected this particular complication.

“What about?” he demanded impatiently.

“About this pool. Is it magically poisoned?”

“Of course. Isn't it great? No one else bothers me. Of course I do get lonely. So let's-”

“Can the magic be nullified? So regular creatures could pass through it without -getting dissolved?”

“Sure, if Aqui wants. But what's the point? Now let's-”

“That's the pool? Aqui?”

“Sure. And I'm Fur. We get along great, but we get bored with just each other's company, you know? So let's-”

Gloha realized that Fur had a one-track mind. She probably wouldn't get much help from him until she got his concern settled. Well, she was of age. It was more of a sacrifice than she had anticipated, but they did have to find a way out of the underworld. “Exactly what is it you want to do?” she asked guardedly.

“I want to play, of course. I haven't had a playmate in years. Neither has Aqui. We're getting bored with each other.”

“Play? Just how do you mean?”

“You know. Racing around the pool. Splashing each other. Playing hide-and-peek down below. All that fun stuff.”

Gloha realized that though she was of age, Fur wasn't. He was still a child, and wanted childish play. She could readily oblige him in that. “Catch me if you can!” she cried, and took off through the water at a zoom. She didn't know exactly how she did it, as she had no arms or legs or tail; she just moved.

“Great!” he responded, and zoomed after her.

She dived. Immediately she saw that there was an exit: water was flowing in from a hole well below the surface, and filtering out through a lattice on the opposite side. This was indeed fresh water, that surely was as fresh and pure as ever, the moment it left the magic ambience of the pool. Trent had been right about it. He seemed to be right about most things.

But she should make sure. So as Fur was about to catch up with her, she dodged to the side and shot into the spring. “Hey, no fair!” he cried. She paused in the current. “Why?”

“Because that doesn't go anywhere fun. Just straight up to the outside world. I don't want to go there.”

“I'm sorry,” she said apologetically. “I didn't realize.” She shot back down with the current so swiftly that Fur wasn't able to tag her before she was past him. “Pokey Fur! Pokey Fur!” she cried.

“Am not! Am not!” he retorted. “Anyway, you're worse.”

“How?”

“Because you're a gurl!” The term was neither written nor verbal, but he managed to misspell it anyway.

She paused as if stricken. “Oh, my, you're right! How can I ever live it down?”

He was immediately contrite. “Aw, I didn't mean it. You can't help it I'm sorry.”

“That's okay,” she said generously. Then, seizing the moment: “If you two had a nice new playmate to stay here, would you let three funny creatures go by?”

“A playmate to stay? Gee, yes!”

“Then check with Aqui, while I check with my folks,” she said. She realized that it was best to be positive and assertive when dealing with children and the inanimate.

“Okay.” Fur zoomed somewhere down in the depths of the pool while she zoomed for the surface.

She went to the edge. “Transform me back,” she cried.

But she saw the Magician hesitate. Then she realized why. He didn't know which fur monster she was. So she moved in a pattern across the water. G-L-O-H-A she spelled, then zoomed back.

This time there was no hesitation. The Magician gestured, and she was the winged goblin girl again.

“We can make a deal!” she gasped. “There's a river out! Right to the surface. But we need to give them a playmate to keep. I was thinking maybe you could transform an ant or something into another furball, and-"

“We may not need to do that,” Trent said. “We have with us a creature who loves fresh water in what he wishes to be his natural form.”

“We do?” she asked blankly.

“Swiftmud!” Cynthia exclaimed. “I had almost forgotten him.”

“But he's not the same species,” Gloha said. Trent looked around. “We three are of different species, or even five or six species, depending how we count it, yet we get along. Swiftmud is quite a character in his natural form, when you get to know him. Let's inquire.” He brought out the lightning bug, set it carefully on the floor, and suddenly the giant mud bank was there, taking up the tunnel behind them. “Swiftie, we have a lonely Aqui pool and a lonely kid furball,” he said. “If you can get along with Aqui and Fur you may stay here, your service to us done.”

Swiftmud promptly slid into the pool without making a splash. He seemed to have no trouble with the poison.

Fur appeared. The two would have sniffed noses, if either had a nose. Then they began frolicking in the water. Swiftmud, no longer constrained by having to stay on the surface carrying other folk, dived and swirled, became a cloud of dirty water, then formed back into a mud bank. Fur circled around him, then rolled over him and splashed back into the water on the other side. The ball was having a ball.

“I think we have our answer,” the Magician said. “Of course we'll have to make our way by foot and wing when we reach the surface. But I had told Swiftmud that if he served us loyally, I would see that he found a compatible situation. He really does like fresh water. He'd take all of it if he could.”

“How will we get through the lake and the underground river?” Cynthia asked. “Our wings won't be effective, and we won't be able to breathe.”

“You two will have no trouble; I'll change you to fish. It is myself I am worried about.”

“Maybe we could help you, if we were the right kind of fish,” Gloha said. “Lungfish, maybe, for breathing.”

“Lungfish,” he agreed. “That would do it.” He leaned down and touched his finger to the water. “It is safe now; Aqui is satisfied with the deal.”

Gloha and Cynthia verified that the water was no longer poisonous. Then Trent transformed them both to lungfish and they flopped into the water.

Gloha discovered that she liked this form, too. Each form that she assumed had its own virtues, and there was much to be said for being a fish in water. Cynthia seemed similarly satisfied.

Then Trent dived into the pool. He swam down to the river hole, and into it, the two fish showing the way. Then Cynthia swam up to his face and put her mouth to his. It looked like a very solid kiss, and maybe Cynthia thought of it that way, but it was more. She used her lungs to breathe some fresh air into him. Her gills were enough for herself.

They swam on upstream. Gloha took her turn, planting her mouth on the man's mouth and giving him another lungful of air. She found it was fun thinking of it as a deep kiss. Of course she would never admit to enjoying such illicit contact with a male of another species, any more than Cynthia would. But its secret nature added to its appeal.

In this manner they continued until the light of day showed ahead, and the Magician reached the surface.

He clambered out, then reached over the water to transform them to their regular forms. They came out, shaking their wings dry. Their clothing would take longer.

They were by a small river that tunneled into a gully. Now they knew where it was going. Meanwhile they were back on the surface of Xanth. It was wonderful.

“I've lost my direction,” Gloha said, dismayed, as they dried in the sun. They had agreed that technically they were of three different species, so need have no concern about each other's exposure; nevertheless, they studiously avoided looking. Gloha's sneak peeks indicated that Trent, at least, was honoring that tacit agreement. “I got all turned around on the way out of the underworld, and don't know which way Crombie pointed.”

“It was southeast,” Trent said. “Back toward Lake Ogre-Chobee.”

“Oh-maybe that's why he pointed you out to help me,” she said. “Because you would remember.”

“That must be it,” he agreed with part of a smile.

“Then this must be where we part company,” Cynthia said, seeming not completely pleased. “Because I must go find the winged ”centaur family."

“Not yet,” the Magician said. “I undertook to get you safely to a compatible situation. Since I know where that is, I believe I should complete that task before seeing to Gloha's more mysterious quest.”

“Yes,” Gloha said quickly. She liked Cynthia and wanted to be sure she was all right. Also, she was a bit wary of her quest, and not as eager to get on with it as she thought she should be. She wasn't quite sure she should travel alone with Trent, and this wasn't because she thought he would do anything untoward. Not at all. So this was an excellent pretext for delay.

“You are very kind,” Cynthia said. She would have been clearly relieved, but her eyes were tearing a bit, so she was cloudily relieved.

“It is the least I can do, for someone who has kissed me as often and firmly as you have.”

Cynthia seemed to be learning how to handle his teasing, because her flush progressed to no more than pale pink this time, and no farther down than her (temporarily) bare breasts. Gloha was glad the remark hadn't been directed at her, so she didn't have to flush similarly despite being as guilty of such kissing as Cynthia.

“The winged centaur family is north of the Gap Chasm,” Gloha said. “The two of us could fly there, but that won't work for you, Magician.”

“I regret being such a drag on this party,” Trent said. “It reminds me of when I traveled with Bink and Chameleon, when they were young. I rather interfered with their progress too, for a while.”

“Well, you were evil then, weren't you?” Cynthia inquired.

“So I was called. But I think I don't need to hold you folk back. I can transform one of you into a roc again, and you can carry me there.” He glanced at the sky. “It's about noon now; I lost track of time below, but we can make better progress now and be there before the day is out.”

Cynthia sent a wavering glance out Gloha intercepted it and sent it back. Suddenly she realized that neither one of them was quite ready to end this segment of their journey. It wasn't exactly uncertainty about their respective futures, though that helped, and not exactly that the youthened Magician Trent was pleasant company, though that also helped. They just weren't yet ready to end this interlude, for reasons that were surely best left unfathomed.

“Let's just remain with our own forms for a while,” Gloha said. “Cynthia needs practice in today's Xanth.”

“As you wish,” he agreed. “I merely did not wish to delay either of you. We can proceed north at my limited pace.”

In due course their clothing was mostly dry, and they took turns dressing while the others tried not to peek too much. Their packs remained damp, but would probably survive.

They set off, following the stream, which moved generally north and northwest. Cynthia and Gloha remained on the ground, since they were the ones who had declined the chance to become big enough to carry the Magician through the air. There turned out to be interesting things down here, such as colored stones in the streambed and pretty flowers along the bank. Each of them picked a pink flower to put in her hair, then they picked two blue flowers for Trent's hair. “So no one will confuse you with a girl,” Gloha explained, lightly kissing his left ear to make the flower stay in place.

“Or a winged monster,” Cynthia added, kissing his right ear, for a similar reason.

“If I did not know better, I'd suspect one of you of flirting with me,” he responded. “Unfortunately I can't tell which one.”

“We'll never tell,” they said together, not even bothering to blush.

The stream climbed a hill, then relaxed by filling in a pool. There by a ledgelike bank in the pool were three young female human heads. One was blond, with her long fair tresses artfully obliterating her right eye on their way down. One was red, with her hair spreading out across the ledge in front. The third was dark gray-brown, with hanks of hair swirling tantalizingly across her heaving bosom. All three had eyes as deep and blue as the very freshest water.

“Eeeek! People!” the blond screamed cutely, not sounding frightened.

Then, as Gloha and Cynthia crested the hill, the redhead clarified it. “Two half people. Female. I can tell by their pink flowers." She sounded disappointed.

“And one straight human man,” the brunette said. “I can tell by his blue flowers.” She sounded interested.

“And who are you?” Trent inquired in friendly fashion. But Gloha saw that he was casually moving to within transformation range. He was not the most trusting person, which was just as well.

“Merely three beautifully bored mermaids,” the blonde said as the three lifted their tails behind them. “Ash, Cedar, and Mahogany. I'm Ash, of course. Who are you, who come to us with your ears kissed?”

“Trent, Gloha, and Cynthia,” the Magician said. “I'm Trent.”

“You are named for trees?” Gloha asked.

“For colors,” Cedar said, making an appealing moue. “The local wood nymphs got all the water colors, so we had to take wood colors.”

“We would love to give you a wonderful time, Trent man, but you seem to be already well attended,” Mahogany said. “We see that your mouth has been rather soundly kissed, too. However, should you too be bored with overly familiar things-”

“We are just rapidly passing through,” Cynthia said, just possibly not quite pleased by the presence of three more pretty crossbreeds.

“Still, diversions are seldom and slow,” Ash said. “Can we not persuade you to dally a moment?” She gave Trent a wonderfully liquid look as she lowered her tail and lifted her marvelously full bare breasts from the water.

“Only if you have something interesting or useful to offer,” Gloha said somewhat disparagingly. Her tone was sheer bluff, because she knew that never in her wildest fantasy dreams would she have a bosom as globular as that. Water folk were able to wear more flesh than air folk, because it helped them float and didn't help them fly. That was one of the unfairness of reality.

“Well, we do have one talent between the three of us,” Cedar said, performing a similar maneuver with slightly better exposure. “As your brightly kissed eyes may see, if you wish.” She inhaled.

“But do you have a magic talent?” Cynthia inquired, knowing that crossbreeds often did not, and if they did, it was likely to be related to their survival as crossbreeds. Such as flying, for the winged ones.

“Why, yes,” Mahogany said, taking her turn at the maneuver and managing a truly double-barreled (as it were) display. All three of them were distressingly well endowed in that particular respect. “We read tides.”

“Titles?” Trent asked. He had, perhaps diplomatically, stayed clear of much of the prior dialogue, though he had kept a firm eye on the proceedings. Most of the firmness had been elsewhere, however.

“Whatever tide is written, we can read,” Ash explained. “The three of us have to do it together, and we can't read any more than the title, but it can nevertheless be interesting.”

Trent shook his head. “We are more interested in making progress toward our destination than in reading tides.”

But now Gloha, perversely, was intrigued. “What kind of adventures are we in for?” she inquired.

Trent considered. “It's hard to know, since none of us happen to have a talent for seeing the future.”

“But sometimes you can get a hint by checking the chapter title of the Muse of History's ongoing series on the history of Xanth, can't you? If we could glimpse the current chapter, it might save us some complications.”

The Magician seemed bemused. “In theory, yes. But that presumes that she has already written the chapter. I suspect she waits until the action has been finished before describing it.”

“But maybe she describes it, and then the action happens,” Gloha said. “Doesn't an event have to be scripted before it can happen?”

He shrugged. “We can try.” He faced the three mermaids, who inhaled in unison at that moment, perhaps coincidentally. “Can you read the title of the current chapter of the current volume of history?”

“We can try,” one or more of them echoed with a winning smile. They swam together, linked hands, closed their eyes, and concentrated with perfect coordination. Their three flukes lifted and slapped the water as one.

In a moment they separated. They swam back to their ledge bank and resumed their former display. They fixed the Magician with three well-tempered gazes.

“Did you find the right volume?” he asked after a moment. “Yes,” Ash breathed fetchingly. Gloha sent half a glance of disgust to Cynthia.

“And did you read the right title?”

“Yes,” Cedar agreed as the surface of the water formed a marvelously rounded decolletage. Cynthia's returning glance was tinged with envy.

“And will you tell us what it is?”

“That depends,” Mahogany murmured as innocent little currents in the water managed to carry her decorative tresses away from her heaving bosom so that nothing obscured the view. Neither Gloha's nor Cynthia's glance was able to nudge those tresses back into place.

“And on what does it depend?” Trent asked, hardly seeming to be bothered by such irrelevancies as breathing or tresses.

“On how long you care to stay to hear it,” Ash said, propping her chin on her right hand without interfering half a whit with the view of her left upper quarter.

“That certainly sounds like fun,” the Magician said. “But I feel I should advise you that I am somewhat older than I may appear.”

“We like mature males,” Cedar said, her pupils alluringly large.

“In fact I am an old man, recently youthened by youth elixir.”

Mahogany began to grow cautious. “How old?” The wayward currents were now carrying her hair back into place.

“Ninety-six.”

All three heads descended into the water before the mermaids recovered equilibrium. They emerged with their lustrous hair somewhat matted and their expressions somewhat dissolved. “True?” Ash asked.

“True,” Gloha and Cynthia said together.

The mermaids' torsos seemed to deflate. “The title is meaningless,” Cedar said.

“How so?” Trent asked, seeming as oblivious of their deflation as he was of their prior inflation.

“It's just 'Xxxxxxx,' no words,” Mahogany explained.

Trent shook his head. “I was afraid of this. It's like trying to inquire about Bink's talent. Something always interferes. The Muse evidently knew we would look at the title, so left it blank.”

“We are so sorry you have to go so soon,” Ash said.

“Yes, so sorry,” Cedar agreed.

“Why couldn't you have been younger?” Mahogany asked rhetorically.

“I didn't realize I would be meeting three such intriguing females,” Trent said, walking on past the pool.

“Just as well,” Cynthia muttered.

Gloha could only agree.

They followed the stream onward. It wound around as if trying to lose them, but wasn't successful. Then a small mean dragon emerged from the brush. It eyed them hungrily, breathing rapidly to stoke up its fires.

“Dragon, allow me to show you something,” the Magician said. He gestured at a small burr-weed that was about to stick a burr in his sock. It became a cacklebird. The bird, almost as astonished as it was dismayed, took flight without even remembering to cackle.

“Now your turn, if you wish,” Trent said. He strode purposefully toward the dragon.

The dragon reversed course so suddenly it almost left its tail behind. In only part of a fraction of a moment it was gone.

“But that dragon could have given you an awful hotfoot before you got within transformation range,” Gloha said.

“The aspect of confidence can be deceptive,” the Magician remarked mildly.

After a time the stream changed its mind about running in gullies or valleys and diverged up into a mountain pass. But there was a suitable path through the forest which seemed interested in getting somewhere. As evening thought about setting in they found a pleasant glade. “I think we should camp for the night here,” Trent said. “Perhaps tomorrow we shall reach an enchanted path and make better progress.”

Then they saw a crude shelter under a nut and bolt tree, with a fire by it. “Someone else is here,” Gloha said, alarmed.

“It's a centaur!” Cynthia exclaimed, quickly touching up her hair.

It turned out to be two people: a male centaur and a female human. They were glad to share their accommodations in return for some pie from the pie tree Trent made by transformation. They ate pies by the fire and agreed to exchange stories.

“I am Braille,” the centaur asserted. “I have a forbidden love.”

“I am Jana,” the young woman confided. “I am that love.”

"You met at a love spring?” Gloha asked, surprised.

“No, we just happened to get to know each other, living nearby,” Jana said. “His magic talent is transcribing documents, so that those who can't read can sense their meaning. He did some work for us, and I got to know him, and I realized that no man I know was half the creature of this centaur.”

“Of course intellectually I knew this was folly,” Braille said. “But emotionally I found no centaur to match the qualities of Jana. The situation is distinctly awkward.” He glanced at Cynthia. “I gather you are in a similar situation.” Cynthia blushed halfway between pink and red. “Oh, this man and I are not a couple! We are merely traveling together.”

“Same for me,” Gloha said quickly. “I am looking for a male of my kind, and Magician Trent is helping me search. Cynthia is going to join a winged centaur family.”