Yon Ill Wind (3 page)

“Oh, yes,” she breathed.  “You are the kind of man I've always dreamed of, but who I knew would never even look at me.” She glanced appraisingly at him.  “Look at me.”

She had the notion that he had to obey her.  That was not the case, but since it hardly mattered, he was not concerned.  He looked at her.

“Embrace me,” she said.  “Kiss me.”

So he held her and kissed her.  She was now mostly as he had Grafted her, and his own form was hardly natural to him, but he found the experience interesting and mildly pleasurable.  This was perhaps because he had Grafted a complete human man form, with its inherent appreciation of any woman who looked and acted the way this one did.

Her exquisitely Grafted human female body elicited certain responses in his supremely healthy human male body.  He realized that for the first time in his long existence he was feeling a tinge of human desire.

She ended the kiss, and sighed.  “Too bad you're really a donkey-headed dragon,” she said.  “If you were a real man, I'd marry you.”

Such illusion!  But it was just as well that she thought of him as the monster, and not as the Demon X(A/N)th.  

“And you're still mute?”

He nodded, appreciating a benefit of this condition:  he couldn't give his identity away.

“Ah, well.  I'll just have to do the talking for both of us.” She paused, considering.  “Obviously I can't go home in this state,” she said realistically.  “My family would never recognize me, and would be jealous if they did.  So I think I'll just disappear for a few days.  They may not even miss me.”

She kissed him again, rubbing close against him, so that his body began to rev up and heat in an alarming though not unpleasant manner, then flirtatiously disengaged.  “So let's take a long walk to unfamiliar places, in our present forms, and when I get bored with that I'll consider what next to do.  Because if this is a temporary state, I want to make the most of it.” She eyed him appraisingly.  “I suspect you haven't had much experience in human romance.”

Nimby nodded.  In fact, he had no idea what she was talking about, and though his awareness tried to grasp her larger thoughts, there was nothing there to which he could relate.  What was romance?  Did it have anything to do with the revving of his body when she kissed him?

Chlorine laughed.  “Never fear.  Nimby.  I'll teach you.  I had no use for it before, but now that I'm beautiful and nice, I appreciate its value.  But it must not be rushed.  So let's set out on our adventure.” She took his hand and led him down the path, away from the thyme plant.

Then she thought of something else.  “You said you could reverse my talent!  How about that?”

That much he could agree to.  In the course of a brief yes-no dialogue they established that she could not just poison water, but purify it.  Actually she could have used her talent this way all along, had she realized it, because her poisoning was temporary, and abolished any bad living things in the water.

Nimby was feeling more positive.  Chlorine had been a mistake, but had become considerably more interesting.

Perhaps it would be possible to find her lost tear.  He knew where it was, of course, but couldn't tell her unless she asked the right series of yes-no questions.  But she was doing exactly what he wanted:  building a relationship.

Meanwhile his wider awareness was informing him that the mischief he feared from the interruption of the Interface was coming to pass:  a significant storm was about to forge from Mundania into Xanth.  Though he could not see the future, he knew from long-past experience what that could mean.  If that storm progressed until it swept up significant amounts of magic dust, there would be trouble like none seen in millennia.  And he couldn't prevent it.

In fact, he now understood how thoroughly the other Demons had fooled him.  They had known that the Interface would waver when he changed form and entered Xanth as a character, and that a storm was moving toward it.  They had timed it precisely, distracting him so that he would be severely limited at the worst time.  And he, intent on his chance to gain significant status, had carelessly let himself be snared,

Karen stared avidly out the window of the motor home, catching glimpses of the roiling surface of the sea.  “Is Happy Bottom here yet?” she asked.

She was seven, and interested in everything but home and school.

“That's Gladys, twerp,” David said.  He was her big twelve-year-old half brother, and he figured he knew everything she didn't.  “Hurricane Gladys.”

But this rebuke brought her other half brother Sean into the fray, as was often the case.  He was seventeen, so ranked David by the same amount David ranked Karen.

“Hurricane Happy Bottom,” he said, chuckling.  “I like it.  But no, she's not here yet; these are only her outskirts. Enjoy them.”

Karen giggled, enjoying the halfway naughty reference.

She saw Mom and Dad, up in the front of the vehicle, exchange one of their Significant Looks.  That was probably because of the business about the bottom and the skirts.

Adults knew what was fun, and avoided it.

“Tropical Storm Gladys,” Mom said.  “She's not yet a hurricane.  Otherwise we couldn't risk this drive across her path.”

Now the kids exchanged a significant glance.  Point made about adults and fun.

“TS HB,” Sean remarked innocently.  Then, after a pause just long enough to make someone wonder just what naughty notions the letters stood for, he clarified it:  “Tropical Storm Happy Bottom.”

“TS,” David agreed with a smirk.  Karen kept her face straight, because she wasn't supposed to know what TS really stood for, though of course, she did know.  Tough Stuff.  Just as she knew that PO really stood for Put Out.

But what about HB, in the naughty lexicon?  Maybe Hard Bone.  She was sure that would set the boys to sniggering, though she wasn't absolutely sure why.

Theirs was a modern blended family.  Mom and Dad had each been married before, and it hadn't worked out.  Karen knew why, of course:  they had been made for each other, so their first marriages had been mistakes.  Likewise their first children, though it wasn't expedient to say that, except in the heat of righteous anger when one of them teased her too hard.  Sean was Dad's son, and David was Mom's son, which led to certain deviously competitive crosscurrents between them.  In this respect Karen ranked them both, because she was both parents' child, and a daughter to boot.  So.  they were all half siblings, but she was the only one related by blood to everyone else.  She liked it that way.  She really belonged.

But there was only so much excitement to be had from watching water, even if it was stirring nicely.  So Karen went back to check on the pets.  They were in crates, to keep them out of mischief while the vehicle was in motion, and not happy about it.

 “Hi, Woofer,” she said, reaching in to pat the big mongrel dog.  Woofer was Sean's pet, but got along with everyone in the family, especially anyone who had food on his person.  His fur was almost black, matching Sean's hair, and through him.  Dad's.  “Hi, Midrange.” She stroked the nondescript tomcat.  Midrange was David's pet, but could be friendly with anyone who sat in one place more than a moment.  His fur was mangy light, matching David's dirty blond hair, which in turn copied Mom's full blond tresses.

“Hi, Tweeter.” The parakeet was Karen's own pet, and was friendly only with her, though he tolerated the others.

His feathers were tinged with brown, which, of course, was to match her own red curls.  That was what came of trying to emulate both Dad and Mom:  in-between hair.

The pets were all glad to see her, because she usually paid them more attention than anyone else did.  The truth was that they were all garden-variety creatures, rescued from pound or flea market according-to the whims of the various family members; nobody else had wanted any of them.  But Karen thought they were all great folk, and they evidently agreed with her.

The vehicle shuddered.  “Damn!” Dad said.  from way up front in the driver's seat.  “Motor's skipping.”

“But we can't stop here,” Mom protested.  “We can't pause at all, or the storm…” She trailed off, with most of what she had to say lost in the ellipsis, as she tended to do when there was something she didn't want the children to overhear.

That meant, of course, that Karen definitely wanted to hear it.  “Sorry, gotta go now,” she said to the animals, and hotfooted it back to her place at the table.

Now she could hear the skipping motor herself.  It sounded like one of David's model airplane engines when it was feeling balky.  The motor home was slowing.

“Passengers will buckle their seat belts,” Sean announced, using his airline-captain voice.  “We are encountering turbulence.  There is no cause for alarm.  Repeat:  no cause for alarm.” He spoke the last words with special emphasis, as if the captain were trying to conceal the strain he was under.

Just then a terrific gust of wind buffeted the RV, giving it a scary push and shake.  David and Karen laughed at the coincidence; it really did seem as if they were in an airplane landing in a storm.

“Must be someplace to pull off the road,” Dad said.

“Don't want to stall out on a bridge.  Where are we?”

Mom looked at the map.  “We're crossing Big Pine Key. You don't think the motor will… ?”

“Not worth risking,” Dad said.  “If this one's big, we're better off here, at least until I can get into the engine.”

“Emergency landing,” Sean announced in an especially worried pilot tone.  “Passengers will remain seated.  Please review the crash procedures and verify your nearest escape hatch.” And sure enough, there was another buffet of wind to add realism.  “Repeat:  there is cause—I mean, no cause for alarm.” As if the captain had repeated without making the statement the first time, really losing it.

Karen giggled, but behind the fun she was beginning to get nervous.  They were on their way home from a weekend visit to friends in Key West, and the approach of TS Gladys had hastened their departure.  They had a lot of long, thin, exposed causeway and bridge to cover before they got home to Miami, and the sea was looking increasingly formidable.  Suppose one of those gusts blew them into the water?

The skipping got worse.  “Can't nurse it along much farther,” Dad said grimly.  “That an intersection ahead?”

“Yes, the other road runs the length of Big Pine,” Mom said, focusing on the map.  “Maybe there's shelter there.”

The RV swung through the intersection, turning north.

The wind pushed at it, trying to make it slew off the road, but Dad managed to keep it on.  Then a blast of rain came down, making the world outside opaque.  Karen couldn't see much of anything through the side window, and doubted that Dad was much better off with the windshield.

This was getting bad.  She had been enjoying this drive, and had been intrigued by the notion of a big storm, but that delight was turning sour.  This was definitely getting scary, and it wasn't even a hurricane yet.  She was beginning to think that such tempests weren't as much fun as advertised.

“Can't see anywhere to stop,” Dad muttered.  “What's that—another turn?”

“There's an intersection with 940,” Mom said, her voice wearing that carefully controlled tone that made Karen especially nervous.  Even the two boys weren't joking now.  It was entirely too easy to visualize the RV as an airplane descending through bad weather, and Karen wished she could get that image out of her mind.

“Intersection?  Can't make it out,” Dad said.  “But there's got to be a big building or something we can use as a windbreak.  I don't dare stop until I have a good place, because the motor may not start again.”

The RV limped on, surviving the buffeting.  Then Mom made a stifled exclamation—the worst kind.  She was scared now, and she didn't scare easy.  “Jim—”

“How did we get back on a bridge?” Dad demanded, seeing it.

“There're two roads,” Mom said.  “I thought we were on the left one, but it must be the right one.  It leads to No Name Key.”

“Well, whatever its name or lack thereof, here we come,” Dad said.

Karen was relieved to see land resume outside the window; it had been a brief bridge.  She peered ahead, out the windshield, and saw a sign saying ROCKWELLS.  Then one saying NO NAME.  They were indeed on No Name Key.

And still no place to find shelter.  Finally the motor gasped its last, and the vehicle came to a stop.  They would stay here for a while, ready or not.  Here on the nameless key.  Mom wouldn't even let Dad get out to check the motor, because now things were flying through the air, the wind making missiles of whatever was handy.  All they could do was wait it out.

“Safe belly-flop landing,” Sean announced.  “In remote country.  Do not panic; we are certain to be rescued before the headhunters locate us.” But the humor didn't get off the ground.

So they made sandwiches and sang songs, pretending it was a picnic, while the wind howled and the night closed around them like some hungry monster.  The RV was shaken so constantly that they came to tune out the distraction.

There was a lull.  Quickly they attended to the necessary things:  Dad went to the motor, and the kids took their pets out on leashes to do their natural business.  Actually Tweeter didn't need any of that, but Karen took him out of the cage and cuddled him in her two hands, reassuring him.  He rubbed his beak against her nose, his way of kissing her.  He wouldn't do that with anyone else, and that was the only trick she had been able to teach him, but it was enough.  The truth was that Tweeter was comforting her as much as she was comforting him.

The winds picked up again, and there was a power about them that indicated that what was coming would be worse than what had been.  Everyone bundled back into the RV.

Dad hadn't been able to fix the motor—big surprise!—but had found rocks to block the wheels, making it a bit more stable.  Mom turned on the radio, briefly, just long enough -to get the weather report.

“Expected to achieve minimal hurricane status within the next twenty-four hours,” Karen heard it say, and she had to stifle a hysterical laugh.  If this was subminimal, she didn'f want to meet a maximum one!  “Twenty-four point five north latitude, eighty-one point three west longitude, proceeding west northwest at ten miles per hour.”

Mom traced the lines on the map, and stifled another shriek.  “That's here!” she said.  “It's coming right here.”

“Well, at least it will be calm in the eye,” Dad said, trying for light reassurance but not achieving it.

There was nothing to do but settle down to wait it out.

They didn't think it was safe to use the beds, so they just buckled themselves into their various seats and slept as well as they could in the circumstances.  There seemed to be no point in confining the pets again, so they were allowed to be where they wished.  Woofer settled down at Sean's feet, and Midrange chose David's lap.  Tweeter, uneasy about Midrange being loose, decided to fly back into the safety of his cage.  Midrange had never actually made a pass at the bird, but Karen understood his concern.

The weather report was right, because in due course the winds died out and there was complete calm.  But they knew better than to leave the vehicle, because the winds could return at any time.  Karen listened to the silence for a while, then lapsed back into sleep.

Karen woke to the winds of dawn.  There was no sun in the sky, just brightening turbulence.  She had a mental picture of puffy clouds circling the RV, firing arrows into it, but since the arrows were made of vapor, they didn't have much effect.  However, the winds were diminishing, so the worst had indeed passed.  The RV had not been tipped over or blown into the sea.  Now she could resume enjoying the experience as an adventure.

The others stirred in their seats as the light penetrated.

They took turns using the bathroom facilities.  Then Mom got to work on breakfast, while Dad went out to try fixing the motor again.

“Yo!” he called, surprised.

Karen, free at the moment, zoomed out to join him, carrying Tweeter perched on one lifted finger.  And stopped just outside the door, amazed.

The outdoors had changed.  They were now near the shore of a huge island.  Not far from the RV was a tree that seemed to be made of metal, and whose fruits seemed to be horseshoes.  And standing not far from the tree was the weirdest horse she had ever seen.  It was male, with regular hindquarters.  But its front rose up into the torso, arms, and head of a man.  It had an old-fashioned bow slung across its back, and a quiver of arrows.

 “What is that?” she asked, too awed to be alarmed.

“That is a centaur,” Dad said, his voice unnaturally level.

“A what?”

“A mythical crossbreed between a man and a horse.  It must be a statue, remarkably lifelike.”

The figure moved.  “Ho, intruders,” it said.  “What are you doing on Centaur Isle?”

Karen looked at her bird.  “Somehow I don't think we're in Florida anymore.  Tweeter,” she said.

Dad seemed too astonished to respond, so Karen did.

“We're the Baldwin family,” she said.  “We must've gotten blown here by Hurricane Happy Bottom.  Tropical Storm, I mean.  But where's this?  I mean, which key is Centaur Isle?”

“Key?” the centaur asked in turn.  “This is a shoe tree, not a key-lime tree.” He reached out and touched one of the dangling horseshoes.

The other members of the family emerged, hearing the dialogue.  “Gee—a horseman,” David said.  “I thought they were fantasy.”

“They are,” Dad said.  “We must have stumbled into a freak show.”

“Perhaps I misunderstand,” the centaur said.  “Are you referring to me as a freak?” Suddenly his bow was in his hand, and an arrow was nocked and pointing right at Dad.

Karen acted before she thought, as she often did.  “Don't do that!” she cried to the centaur, running out between them.  “Dad doesn't believe in fantasy.”

The centaur was taken aback.  “He doesn't?  What about magic, then?”

“That neither,” she said.

“What kind of a man is he?” the centaur asked, bemused.

“Just a regular garden-variety family man,” she said.

“From Miami.”

“From your what?”

Karen tittered.  “Not your ami, silly.  My ami.  Miami.”