Crewel Lye (14 page)

Somewhere among my remaining white spells was the true finder compass. But which one was it? If I invoked one and guessed wrong, not only would I be wasting another spell that I would certainly need later but I could be getting myself into immediate trouble, as I had done atop the mountain.

I had supposed this adventure was going to be slightly tame for my taste. Abruptly it had become slightly too challenging. Elsie had tried to warn me that there could be days like this; naturally I hadn't listened. A barbarian who thinks he can interact on an equal basis with Magicians is a fool, indeed!

Well, Pook had been farther from the black compass than I had been, so wasn't affected as much. Perhaps he, being equine, had not been touched at all. I would just have to trust his horse sense to get me where I was going. I suspected that Evil Magician Yang had not realized that I would have a sensible friend along.

With that modestly renewed sense of comfort, I slept.

In the middle of the day, the heat forced us awake. Pook had been grazing in his sleep; that's a talent his kind has that I was coming to envy. I foraged for bread sticks, picking them off a stale bread tree; they were better than nothing. Then we went on.

We were in hilly country now, but there were no more mountains, for which I was duly grateful. I had climbed the mountain in part to avoid the predestined route and the evil spells on it; obviously this had been ineffective, so there was no point in bothering with such efforts henceforth. Pook proceeded northwest, which I was sure was the wrong direction, but I didn't argue. I hoped he had some inkling where the object was, though I despaired of either finding it or bringing it back to Castle Roogna. How could I, with my own spells loaded against me? Magician Yang had really fixed me, but that ol' barbarian oink-headedness prevented me from quitting. If there's one thing worse than blundering, it is admitting the blunder.

As evening dawned--well, you know what I mean--we spied a region of caves and considered using one of them for the night. Barbarians, of course, are not far removed from cavemen. But in the shadows we heard myriad clicking sounds and saw little pincers lifted in eager anticipation of our flesh. Nickelpedes! No, these were smaller, but twice as fierce; they were dimepedes. They had ten little legs, and silvery pincers that could readily gouge out serrated disks of flesh. They couldn't do much to Pook's hooves, but all they had to do was scuttle to the flesh above and begin work. Certainly we were not about to lie down there!

So we found a little lake with a littler island and leaped across to that. The dimepedes could not swim--in fact, they sank in water like so many bits of metal--so we knew they would not bother us in the night. And since they would be foraging in this region under cover of darkness--they could not tolerate the full light of day, because that showed up the dirt on them--no other creature would be in this vicinity. We had an ideal nocturnal retreat.

But as darkness closed, the fish came to the surface of the lake, and they were strange ones. One had little gauzy wings, so that she could fly just above the surface, and a little halo of light formed above her head. “What are you?” I asked, not expecting an answer, for few fish talk.

“She's an angelfish, man-visitor,” a voice at the shore said. There was a fat-faced fish there, and it seemed that one could talk. “She will dance for you, if you wish. Angelfish are very nice creatures.”

“Well, sure,” I agreed, seeing no harm in it. Some civilized folk think there is nothing good in the wilderness, but we uncivilized folk know that there are fewer threats to man among wild creatures than there are among our own violent kind.

The angelfish stood on her tail just over the water, buzzed her wings, and did a pirouette. Then she leaped and circled and splashed lightly against the lake; the light from her halo was enough to make her reflection visible in the still water, so that there seemed to be two of her. One was upright, above the surface, and the other was inverted, below. It was a pretty effect.

Then another fish appeared, his motions sending ripples that broke up the reflection of the first, spoiling the effect. He hoisted himself up; he lacked wings, but somehow was able to walk the surface. He was reddish and had little horns, and his tail curved back behind him as he stood, ending in a barb.

“And there's the devilfish,” the fat announcer said. “He always shows up to spoil things.”

Indeed it was so, for the angelfish made a little bubbly scream and fled, the devilfish chasing her with an evil leer on his gills. But she could not leave the region of the water, and the lake was small, so they went round and round in circles.

Suddenly I jumped. Something had cut my foot, which was near the water. I looked--and saw a cuttlefish, its tentacles like knives, brandishing those little blades at my tender toes. I had taken off my boots to air my stinking feet--barbarian feet can be pretty bad when confined, and when the stench gets so thick it squishes, it's time to let it out--so now they were vulnerable. “Get away from me, you creep!” I snapped, grabbing a boot and flailing with it.

The fish dived below the surface. My boot struck the fringe of water--and stuck. Now, I knew boots could get pretty gunky, but they had never stuck to water before! I yanked--and found that something had clamped onto the boot's toe. It had giant dull pincers--and when I hauled harder, the whole thing came up, and I saw it was nothing but pincers, broad serrated things. “What's this?” I demanded.

“A shellfish, of course,” the other fish replied.

“How do I get it off my boot?”

“Well, it's afraid of starfish--”

I looked into the dark sky. There was a star in the shape of a fish, but it was out of reach. Some starfish shine brightly in the water, while others hover in the night sky; I suppose there is enough water up there for them. But my animal cunning was operating. “Let go, shellfish, or I'll fetch down that starfish,” I threatened.

Immediately the shellfish dropped off my boot and sank back in the water. I had bluffed it.

“You should have eaten it instead,” the other fish said. “And the cuttlefish too.”

“They wouldn't have liked that,” I said.

“Who cares what they like? They don't count! Nobody counts but Number One!”

My brow creased. “What kind of fish are you?”

“I thought you'd never ask! I am a sel-fish, of course.”

“Sell fish? What do you sell?”

“Instant gratification--that's the selfish way. Don't worry about the welfare of others!”

“Don't listen to him!” the angelfish called, pausing in her flight. Then she screamed, for in that moment of distraction the devilfish had caught up with her. He wrapped his fins about her quivering body and bore her down despite her struggles. The two disappeared under the surface, and only her little halo remained floating on the water.

“He always wanted to catch an angel like her,” the selfish said smugly. “She won't be needing that halo any more--not after he's through compromising her.”

I was angry about the fate of the pretty angelfish. “Something's fishy about your attitude,” I said. I fished the halo out of the water, but it disintegrated in my hand. Halos were not for such as I.

“You're a fool,” the sel-fish said witheringly and swam away.

“I surely am,” I said under my breath. People like me were always getting victimized by clever, unscrupulous people like Magician Yang, just as the angelfish was ravished by the devilfish. Yet somehow I didn't care to trade places with the obvious winners. I couldn't make much sense of my own attitude; it was simply the way I was. Just an ignorant barbarian. I slept, discontented.

Next day we left the island and set off again. We came to a kind of gateway in the forest, formed by two large trees linking branches above. I didn't like this; it reminded me of the trees guarding Castle Roogna, the ones that didn't like me. But there was so much thorny bush around that the portal appeared to be the only practical way to go. Pook didn't like it any better than I did, but also saw no better way; it seemed that was the direction we were supposed to be going in, by his reckoning.

So we went. Pook nudged through the gate, and I kept my hand on my sword. Nothing happened. But Pook sniffed the air nervously, winding something unpleasant, and I experienced a feeling of claustrophobia. This was definitely ugly territory!

Yet the sun shone pleasantly, there were playful little breezes, the footing was good, and there did not seem to be any bad animals in this region, so we moved along well. I did notice that the trees interlinked, forming veritable walls of foliage, but these were intermittent, so that we had no trouble passing through the spaces. Both of us remained nervous about the confinement, but all we needed to do was trot along until we got out of the region. Certainly it was better than climbing a snow-topped mountain.

Then there was a buzzing. I didn't like the sound of that, and Pook switched his tail nervously. Horses tend to dislike buzzing things generally, but some buzzes are worse than others, and this was bad buzzing. The sound loomed louder, and then the source manifested--a swarm of huge flies.

I muttered a repeller-spell. Some people claimed spoken spells didn't work in Xanth, but in my opinion those folk hadn't given them a fair trial. I used spells to make fire, put myself to sleep, abolish warts, adjust my eyes to sudden changes of light, ease pain, and the like; that sort of magic generally worked for me. Of course, it helped to have two magic stones to strike together for the first spark for the fire and to relax properly before using the sleep-spell; the magic took weeks or months to work on the warts and several seconds on the eyes; and there was only so much that incidental magic could do for pain. But weak magic was better than none at all, I always said, knocking on wood. Sometimes, when I was very tired and really needed to sleep, the sleep-spell zonked me out instantly, and that was a blessing. One simply had to understand the natural limitations of magic; then it worked just fine. Once in a while one encountered a burn spell, one that simply did not perform as advertised; then it was simply a matter of reporting it to the Barbarian Better Business Bureau, so that no one else would be deceived into using that spell.

Anyway, I used the fly-spook-spell, but that swarm came right on at us. Then I saw that these were not ordinary flies; they were dragonflies, resistive to such little magic. Normally dragonflies did not deign to bother people, but buzzed about their own business, preying on other bugs and keeping company with real dragons. On occasion, a dragonfly would adopt someone's garden, keeping it clear of bugs. But these ones were different; they were wild, not tame, and they were out after us.

Pook broke into a gallop, but the dragonflies were faster than we were and quickly overhauled us. I flailed my arms and Pook swished his tail violently, but to no avail. The flies came at us head-on, jetting fire, and veered away only at the last instant. Thus their fire continued on at its target. One of those little scorches scored on my bare forearm; it hurt!

This seemed ludicrous, but I drew my sword and sliced the air with it, swiftly. I cut a fly in half and winged another; the first fell with smoke trailing from its fuselage,. and the second plunged out of control because of the loss of its wing, crashed into the ground, and exploded. A mushroom cloud of smoke roiled up from the site of the impact.

That made the others pause for a moment. Then they formed into a wedge and charged us together. I put up the flat of my blade to deflect their massed firepower, and their flame reflected back at them, scorching several. You would think dragonflies would be immune to their own heat, but as with many creatures, they can't take what they give out. There were three more spins out of control and two more explosions. The third just fizzled, sending up a few sparks before melting down.

Now the flies withdrew into a huddle, consulting. I didn't like the look of this. If they charged us all at once, from all sides, Pook and I would get badly burned. But instead they retreated.

“What do you make of that?” I asked aloud. Pook twitched an ear, as mystified as I. Some of his hide was scorched, and he had surely expected worse to come. These flies had seemed more ornery than that and certainly no cowards; their abrupt departure was as ominous as their approach had been.

But there was nothing better to go on. “Maybe they ran low on fuel,” I said. “The way that last one fizzed, maybe he lacked the oomph to blow.” But I didn't really believe that.

Then Pook stepped over an object on the ground. There was a flash of something awful.

“The next evil spell!” I exclaimed with dismay. “We triggered it! The dragonflies knew it was lurking here!”

But what spell was it? Nothing seemed to have happened. So I leaned down to peer more closely at whatever it was, before it faded out. The dragonflies would not have veered away from an innocuous spell!

It was in the shape of a black monster.

I needed the monster-banishing-spell, and I had it in my bag--but did I dare invoke it? It was possible that not all the white spells had been garbled, but I decided not to risk it. For one thing, no monster had appeared. Maybe this particular spell had malfunctioned.

We heard a gleeful buzzing returning, and with it the thunk-thunk of the footfalls of some massive creature.

“Now I could be wrong, but that sounds like large trouble to me,” I said.

Pook agreed. He took off at a gallop, leaving the ponderous noise behind. It's always best to avoid trouble, if possible, especially when it's bigger than you are. I know that sounds unbarbarian, but there are a number of myths about barbarians I've been trying to dispel. When the only safety is in flight, the sensible man flees.

But we came to a curve in the path, and the vegetation was too thickly intertwined to permit any ready egress; we had to follow that curve in a loop back. The pursuing thing made a shortcut and gained on us. We just didn't have time to hack through the meshed trees and brush; we had to keep moving. That was, of course, why that spell had been placed here; it was a very bad place for me. Fortunately, we had developed enough of a lead so that we were still well ahead of the creature. We took off down a new path and again left the thunk-thunk-thunk behind.

And again we encountered a curve. This was inconvenient, annoying, and perhaps dangerous, for it allowed the thing behind us to catch up once more. This time the snout of the thing showed around the curve before we left it behind. It had whiskers and a feline aspect.

As we left it behind this time, I wondered: What had a feline aspect and six legs? For that was the number it had; I could tell by the triple thunk. I was long accustomed to identifying animals by their traces and sounds. Two-legged creatures have an even beat when they run; four-legged have double beat, as the two forelegs and two hind legs strike. This was triple. I had not so long ago encountered a six-legged creature, I couldn't quite remember where, but it had been so low-slung as to whomp rather than run. This was different.