Yon Ill Wind (35 page)

“I called you,” Chlorine said in a somewhat quavery voice.  “I understand you—you like succulent young maidens.”

The dark vampire brightened.  “Indeed I do.  Come into my den, succulent damsel, and we shall share a rare delight.”

Tweeter moved closer.  The button was now fully exposed, and he could see a strand of thread behind it.  There was his target!

“But I don't like dingy interiors,” Chlorine said.  “I prefer the bright outdoors.” She moved in her saddle, so that her skirt sort of accidentally fell askew, revealing a well-fleshed thigh.

“But the delights I offer are best savored in shadow,” the vampire said.  His eyes seemed to play about her neckline more than her skirtline.

“Well, maybe if we meet halfway,” she suggested, adjusting herself again.  This time her blouse got accidentally disarrayed, so that some of her fair white column of a neck showed.

“Maybe so,” the vampire said, licking his thin lips thirstily.  He walked out toward them—and coincidentally past Tweeter's hiding place.

Tweeter nerved himself with what little nerve he had- he was a small bird, so it wasn't much— and flew around and behind the figure, coming in on the button.  He landed on it, snatching for the thread with his beak.

Unfortunately, the thread did not give way.  The vampire felt the tug.  “What's this?” he demanded, glancing down.

“This is a tender panty!” Chlorine cried, snatching up her skirt to show it.  Then, remembering, she reversed course and snatched open the front of her blouse to reveal her pulsing neck, and somewhat more.  “I mean a silken bos—uh, neck!” Old habits died hard.

But she was too late.  The flash of silken panty hadn't stunned the vampire, just as Nimby had warned it wouldn't, and by the time her tender neck showed, the vampire's gaze had departed her body.

His hand was no slower.  It dropped down and closed about Tweeter.  “We have an avian creature,” he exclaimed, surprised.  “Someone is giving me the bird.”

“Pay no attention to that bird,” Chlorine cried desperately.  “He doesn't have more than a drop of blood, while I have half a slew, uh, wash, uh, jug!” She ripped open the rest of her blouse, showing her entire delectable front, which indeed had not one but two ample jugs.

But the Vampire Gestalt, canny in his fashion, would not be distracted.  “All in good time,” he told Chlorine without looking.  “What were you after, bird?  My button?

Are you a button hooker?” He held Tweeter up before his face, helpless.

“No he's not!” Chlorine screamed.  “He's just a stupid little bird, while I'm a delectable heaving-bosomed maiden girl damsel with a stunning pair of pan—uh, breas—uh, I mean, soft tender neck!”

But all her valiant efforts were for naught.  “I think you are up to something, bird,” the vampire said.  “Things always occur as aspects of wholes, and I don't understand your part or your whole.”

“Stop talking dirty!” Chlorine cried.  But it was a fading ploy.  The vampire ignored her, turned around, and swept back into his hut.

Inside, he closed the dismal door, checked the dirty windows, and let Tweeter go.  “You can't escape this horrendous hovel, bird, so you might as well confess,” Gestalt said.  “What were you really after, and why?”

Tweeter thought fast.  Maybe he had half a chance, if he used his little noggin well.  Should he tell the truth?  No, because the vampire wouldn't believe it.  Nobody would believe that a stupid little bird came from the future, on a mission to save Xanth from destruction.  But what else was there?

“Did someone send you?” Gestalt demanded.  “Understand, bird, I really don't care much about you; as the damsel says, you have only a drop of blood in you, while she is relatively luscious.  But I like to understand the big picture.  Tell me, and I'll let you go.”

Tell him what?  That they had to have his reverse thread, to fashion a new story line before the old one broke?  He wouldn't believe that either.  None of this was really believable.

“Come, come, bird,” Gestalt said impatiently.  “I don't have all day.  My last several victims have escaped, and I'm really pretty hungry.  If that luscious damsel is gone by the time I settle with you, I shall be most displeased.”

He stretched his mouth, showing his fangs.

Then a little light flashed over Tweeter's little head.  It was only a faint light, not at all matching the lights that flashed over Chlorine's head when she got good ideas, but it did illuminate his little mind.  Suddenly he knew what to tell Gestalt.

“Ah, I see you have decided to cooperate,” the vampire said.  “Then let's get on with it.  One nod for yes, two for no, three for further definition.  Agreed?”

Tweeter nodded once.  Gestalt did seem to grasp the whole of things readily.

“You came for something?”

Nod:  yes.

“The button?”

Nod nod:  no.

“Surely not my cloak!”

Yes—no.

Gestalt understood.  “Bad phrasing.  But what else could—the thread?”

Yes.

“But this is a very special thread.  It reverses—”

Yes.

“Ah, so you know its qualities.  I need this thread to hold my recalcitrant button.”

Nod nod nod.

“There's more?  How could you persuade me to part with this magic thread?”

Nod nod nod.

Gestalt smiled.  “True.  I need to get specific.  Can you honestly say I would benefit from—”

Yes.

“Yes?  Parting with this thread would do me good?”

Yes.

Gestalt stroked a fang.  “This intrigues me.  It would do me good with my cloak?” He saw Tweeter's negation.

“My house?  No.  My sleep?  No.  My food?  Yes.” Then the vampire did a double take, or at least a one and a half take.  “Are you telling me that this thread interferes with my feeding?”

Yes.

Gestalt stroked his other fang.  “Let me see whether I can figure your rationale.  This thread was made by Joshua, the famed Reverse Magician, with whom I share a reasonable portion of a friendship.  It reverses things.  It reverses the contrary nature of my button.  Are you saying it does not stop there?”

Yes.

“So what else would it reverse?  My fortunes?  My—”

Then a big bulb flashed over his head.  “My prey!  When I get close, it reverses the nature of my victims, and they become unamenable.  Instead of being lulled by my aura, so that I can sip of their blood without their resistance, they become alarmed, and flee.  Since all they have to do is step into the sunshine, I am unable to pursue them far.

And so my fortune is changed—by the presence of this reverse thread.”

Yes.  He had fathomed it with marvelous precision, once given the clue.  That was exactly the thought that Tweeter's little bulb had illuminated.

The Vampire Gestalt smiled.  “We made a deal, and you have delivered.  You have shown me why I do not want to retain this thread.  You need it, I do not.  Accordingly I will give it to you and let you go, on one condition.”

Nod nod nod?

“That you take it so far away that it will never be near me again.  Agreed?”

Yes!

The vampire unwound the thread, releasing the button, which promptly became balky again.  He extended the thread to Tweeter.  Tweeter took it in his beak.  It gave him a funny feeling.  He spread his wings and tried to fly, but just sank down against the table.

“It is reversing you, now,” Gestalt said.  “I think you will have to walk out of here, rather than fly.” He opened the door.  “I trust you can make it on the ground.”

Tweeter tried to nod, but shook his head instead.  He walked unsteadily out the door.

Nimby was there, with Chlorine.  The dragon extended the tip of his tail, and Tweeter climbed up on it.  Then without giving him a chance to scramble up to Chlorine, Nimby trundled rapidly away from the hut.

“Wait!” the vampire cried.  “I have business with the succulent damsel!”

“Not anymore,” Chlorine cried back.  “I showed you my almost everything, but you spurned me.  I'll take my pan—bos—jug—my whatever elsewhere, thank you all the same.”

“Ah, well,” Gestalt said philosophically.  “I should have no trouble, now, finding a replacement.” He headed purposefully in the other direction.

Another little bulb flashed over Tweeter's head.  He realized why Nimby was not letting him approach Chlorine.

He had the reverse thread, and it was reversing him to a degree; if he took it to Chlorine, it would mess her up too.

So he had to stay here far from the main action, to carry the thread without doing any damage to the others.  Well, that was what he would do.  He had succeeded in his mission.  Now all Nimby had to do was get them back in time.

Or forward in time, before their time ran out.

The Demon X(A/N)th was half-satisfied.  He had enabled Chlorine and Tweeter to fetch back the reverse story thread, which had taken effect the moment it reached the present time.  Now Sending's ploy had been reversed, and the story was back to normal.

Happy Bottom was confined in the Region of Air, and Hurricane Fracto was romancing her, or taming the shrew, as Jim Baldwin put it in his Mundanish way.  Xanth had been saved from one threat.

But the other threat remained.  If Chlorine did not shed one tear of love or grief for Nimby, the bet would be lost, and then X(A/N)th would be demoted to the least of Demons, and the Land of Xanth would be forfeited.  That meant it would probably be destroyed.  That would be too bad, because X(A/N)th had recently come to know this land well, and it had grown on him.  He had largely ignored it for millennia, but he would do so no longer.  Becoming a character within it had entirely changed his outlook.

“What are you thinking of.  Nimby?” Chlorine inquired brightly, interrupting his reverie.  What a delight she had turned out to be!  But she would not shed her last tear for him, because then she would be blind.  That was the ultimate cost of his inattention that had allowed him to choose the wrong companion:  defeat.

Of course, he couldn't answer her, but he twitched an ear in acknowledgement.  That satisfied her; she patted his hide and rode on.  He liked it when she did that, which was a signal of how his attitude had modified.

Now they were nearing Castle Roogna for the big celebration of victory over the Ill Wind.  Everyone was to be there—everyone who cared to be.  Including Chlorine and her silent companion Nimby.

They came to the Mundane RV, or moving house.  The child Karen spied them first and dashed out.  “Hi, Chlorine!  Hi, Nimby!” She threw her arms around his donkey head and kissed him on the striped pink and green snout.

He liked that, too.  “Glad you could make it!” She dashed back in to notify the others.

“That little girl belongs in Xanth,” Chlorine remarked, dismounting.  “With her own dragon.”

True.  Karen had not yet properly learned the arts of dissembling; her actions mirrored her thoughts.  She liked Xanth, and she liked Nimby, not caring half a whit how odd he looked.  Her greeting had been sincere.  Which was why he appreciated it.

The others came out.  “Glad to see you again.  Nimby,” Jim Baldwin said.  “We'll be going tomorrow, but we wanted you to know that we couldn't have done it without you.” Of course, he knew that Nimby already knew that, but his Mundane protocol required him to make a formal statement.  That, too, he liked.

Mary approached.  “But perhaps it would be better if you attended the festivities in your human form,” she murmured.

“Yes,” Chlorine agreed immediately.  “In formal clothing, too.  And I hope you know how to dance.”

Of course he could dance; be had learned that in the course of his survey of the land and people and things of Xanth.  So he changed to human form, in a royal robe.

Sean and Willow emerged.  They were somber; they had not resolved their impasse.  They were in love, and could not bear to be separated, but they were of different realms, neither suited for the other realm.  In Sean's mind was a notion of separating from his family to remain in Xanth, but he was held back by the knowledge that this would so greatly hurt the other members of the family as to mire him in perpetual guilt.  In Willow's mind was the thought of going with him to Mundania, where she thought she would die, but at least she would have a little more time with him.  But she realized that this would be worse for Sean than separation.  So she would bravely bid him farewell, and when he was gone she would do what she should have done at the outset, and fly to Mount Rushmost were they had reunited, tie her wings together so she could not fly, and throw herself off the precipice.  Then she would be at peace, and Sean would never know, so would suffer no additional grief.

Nimby knew these things, but could not speak them and did not care to write them.  He also knew that good news was on the way for them.  So that affair would have a happy ending, and perhaps that was best.  Just as it was best that all the folk of Xanth be happy this day, not knowing …

“Very well,” Chlorine said, not knowing the nature or velocity of his thoughts.  “Put me in a lovely party gown and hairdo for the party.”

“Gee, are you going to change right out here?” David asked, his twelve-year-old pupils dilating.  The presence of Chlorine accelerated his race toward maturity, especially since Big Brother Sean had lost interest.

“Right out here,” Chlorine agreed, smiling.  Suddenly her complete outfit shifted, as Nimby changed her according to her wish, in somewhat less than an eye-blink.  Naturally David had blinked in that moment, so saw none of what he had hoped to.

“Aww,” the boy said, disappointed.

Chlorine turned to Nimby.  “You know, he's Mundane,” she murmured low.  “Would it be too great a violation if he caught half a glimpse, considering the spirit of the occasion?” Her mind made clear the nature of her request.  She knew that she would not have this beautiful body much longer, because the adventure was almost over, and she wanted to leave a lasting impression on someone without actually being tried for Violation of the Adult Conspiracy.  She also wanted to give the boy a treat, and she did not hold the Conspiracy in as much awe as was proper, because of her background as a woman nobody much looked at anyway.

So Nimby removed her dress for one full blink, at a time when only David happened to be looking, so that she stood in eyeball-numbing yellow-green bra and panties.

Then he restored the outfit, as if it had never lapsed; there was no evidence and no other witness, so there would be no case even if someone suspected.

David's brown eyes turned yellow-green and his jaw dropped.  Brief as it was, it had still been too much of a dose; he was stunned, and about to fall.  But Nimby caught one arm, and Chlorine the other.  “Promise not to tell,” she whispered in the boy's ear.

David nodded numbly.  He would recover, because he was Mundane and not quite of age for the full effect to register.  But it was a close call.  Mundanes, it turned out, weren't all that different from Xanthians.  As it was, the boy would start pursuing girls a full year earlier than he would have otherwise; the secret glimpse had advanced his thyme-table that far.

“David!  Are you all right?” Mary inquired, with a mother's instant awareness of any passing indisposition in her child.

David's mouth worked.  “Jus—just great,” he said, awed.

Mary glanced somewhat suspiciously at Chlorine's low and curvaceous décolletage.  “Go with your sister,” she said.  She suspected that the boy had seen a bit too much, so was moving him away from it.  Fortunately she suspected only about a quarter of the reality.

They walked as a group toward Castle Roogna.  But David, still glazed, stumbled.  Mary caught him and looked in his face.  “Your eyes!” she exclaimed.  “They're green!”

Now she suspected half the reality.  But being Mundane, she had an abiding disbelief of magic, so couldn't bring herself to suspect the whole of it.  That was just as well.

The boy's eyes had been stained permanently green by what he had seen.

Castle Roogna came into view, gloriously magical.  And there, coming out to greet them, was a lovely princess they didn't recognize.  “Who is that creature?” Jim inquired.

Then Karen spied a freckle.  “That's Princess Electra!” she squealed.  “Looking princessly!”

She was correct.  Nimby had known, of course, but hadn't been asked.  Normally Electra ran around in blue jeans, but on formal occasions she suppressed her nature and played her royal role.  Clothes made all the difference.

Karen ran up to the princess.  “How can you stand being so regal?” she demanded.

Electra made a careful royal moue.  “It isn't easy,” she confessed.  “But somebody has to do it.  After the official greetings are over, let's get together with Jenny Elf and sneak away to pig out on chocolate pie.  We can wear—” she glanced around to be sure no one else was in earshot “—shorts and tank tops.”

“Ooooo!” Karen squealed, delighted.  “It's a date.”

Then Electra put her royal face back on and turned to the others.  “So nice to meet you again, good people.  But I believe I have not met one of your number before.”

“This is Willow Elf,” Sean said quickly.  “Her winged elm tree is very large.”

“So I see,” Electra said.  “So nice to meet you.  Willow Elf.” She extended her hand in princessly manner. Willow bowed, and her wings quivered.  “Thank you, Princess.”

“And how did you come to join this party?” Electra inquired.  “I had understood that the winged elves seldom associate with ground-bound folk.”

“Sean and I washed in a love spring, before we realized,” Willow explained.

“Oh, I understand!” Electra said with instant sympathy.

“When Prince Dolph kissed me awake, after my several centuries of sleep, the magic made me love him instantly.

But he didn't love me.  At least you were together.”

“But didn't he marry you?” Willow asked.

“Oh yes, eventually.  But at first he was more interested in Princess Nada Naga.”

“How could any man not be most interested in you?” Willow asked, amazed.

“When you see Nada, you will understand.” Electra paused.  “Oh, there are the winged centaurs arriving.

Come, Willow, I must introduce you to them; I'm sure you'll like them.” Then, remembering her royal duties, she paused again.  “But first I must conduct all of you to the castle in style.” Yet it was evident that she wanted to greet the centaurs first.

Mary was the one to find a way to alleviate the problem.

“We'll be glad to wait until the centaurs can join us, Princess.  Then we can all enter together.”

“Oh, thank you!  Come, Willow!” The princess hurried toward the field where the centaurs were landing, and Willow went with her.

Sean remained behind.  “I think they have girl things to discuss,” he said.  He was right; Electra wanted to compare notes on magic love, having met another woman who had encountered it.

The Baldwins and Chlorine waited while Electra and Willow met the centaurs and exchanged more introductions.  Then that group returned to join the family.  There were four centaurs:  Che, Cynthia, Chena, and Crystal.  The family had met them before, of course; indeed, Chena and Crystal had helped significantly in the effort to herd Happy Bottom north.  It was a nice reunion.

But there was a nicer one coming.  As the princess was about to conduct them all to the castle.  Nimby nudged Chorine and gave her a note.  Her eyes widened.  Then she spoke.  “Princess, could we wait just a bit more?  Nimby says other centaurs are coming.”

Electra looked blank.  “More centaurs?”

“The Good Magician invited them.”

The princess nodded.  “Then we had better wait for them.  But I hadn't realized that any more centaurs had participated in the Ill Wind venture.”

Now they heard the beat of galloping hooves.  “Two ground-bound centaurs,” Che said.  He could tell by the sound.  “They don't normally care.  to associate with our kind.”

“They certainly don't,” Chena agreed.  “Are you sure—?”

Then the two came into view:  a male and a female.

Chena screamed.  “Carleton!” She galloped out to meet them.

“Her brother,” Jim said, remembering.  “We promised to relay his greeting to her, and we did.”

“And Sheila,” Sean said.  “I'd recognize that bosom anywhere.” Then, conscious of Willow beside him, he added:  “Not that I care.”

“I'm not jealous,” Willow said.  “I could show you something similar, if I dared.” She meant that it was not safe to risk an exposure that might cause them both to forget the danger of summoning a stork, since they could not be a family.  Her words were also an invitation of a sort, because she expected to be dead long before any stork found her, so she might as well do it—if he agreed.

“You already did, in the love spring,” he reminded her.

“I almost wish we had—” Then he remembered that they were in the company of his family, and stifled it.  But Jim and Mary were already exchanging a knowing glance, They well understood the invitation and the tentative acceptance.  Indeed, Jim was inclined to give them leave, and Mary was weakening.  It was evident that the love of the two young folk was complete, but that they would have to separate soon.

Meanwhile Chena Centaur collided with her brother, hugging him.  “I thought I'd never see you again!” she cried through her tears of joy.

“I had a similar concern,” he admitted.  “I feared for your safety on the brutish mainland.” He drew back a little.  “But you seem to have changed.”

“I have joined a new species,” she said.  “I am now a winged monster.” She spread her wings.

“So I see.  I suppose it is for the best, if you are satisfied.”

“Yes I am.  Except for one thing.  Two things.”

“One?  Two?”

“I miss my family.  And I would like to find some winged stallions.  Do you suppose that any on Centaur Isle—?”

He smiled.  “I suppose it is time to confess.  I found myself dissatisfied with things on Centaur Isle, and thought that if you had found a suitable situation, I might join your group.  In fact, I know of some others who also might wish to join, if it were clear that they would be welcome.”

“Ooooo!” Chena cried, just like a human maiden.  She hugged him again, then turned to Crystal.  “Would you welcome a new stallion from Centaur Isle, if he put on wings?”

“We are among human folk,” Crystal said.  “Therefore the Adult Conspiracy prevents me from answering in detail.  But I think a very general affirmative would be in order.”

Carleton glanced at her.  “You have not been a centaur long, I suspect,” he remarked.  “You are speaking as you think a centaur would speak.”

Crystal blushed.  “Is it so obvious?  I'm trying so hard.”

“I think a centaur stallion would be glad to exchange elocution instruction for flying instruction.”

While this dialogue was occurring, Sheila Centaur was renewing her acquaintance with the family and Chlorine, and David was staring at her front.  “Why, David,” Sheila remarked, “your eyes are green.” Centaurs were observant, and had good memories as well as good mammaries.