Crewel Lye (17 page)

My head and hands dangled on one side of his body and my feet on the other, but he was able to carry me. He took me out of the maze, then on around it, proceeding generally northwest. Probably he knew there was no help where we had been, so he was hoping there would be some where we hadn't been.

As the day waned, I healed partway and began to stir. Pook didn't realize the significance of that; he might not even have distinguished my motion from that of inert flopping.

At last he spied a cabin in a clearing in the jungle. He gave a nicker of relief and headed for it. There, perhaps, there would be human help for me.

I woke in a bed of fragrant ferns. I saw the interior of the cabin, neatly ordered, with shelves bearing spices and herbs. In a corner was a strange, large, hollow gourd with strings stretched lengthwise across it. And sitting in a wicker chair was a quite pretty young woman in a brown dress.

She saw me react and got up to approach me. “So you are recovering,” she said in a low voice. “I wasn't certain you would.”

“Oh, I always did before,” I said. My body ached, but I knew that would soon pass as the healing was completed.

“Your horse brought you in,” she said. “You seem to have been pretty badly burned.”

That was when I realized that the dragonflies had returned. The awareness had faded out, but now I remembered. “Yes.”

“I don't get many visitors,” the woman said. “So I may be rusty on the amenities. Let me just say that my name is Threnody. I live alone and like it, and we'll get along just fine if you keep your hands to yourself and depart as soon as you are able. Your horse is grazing outside.”

So this was a woman who wanted to be left alone. Some were like that; I never did quite understand why. Well, I had never been one to force my attentions on anyone. Barbarians generally encountered enough willing women so that they had little taste for unwilling ones, and I don't care what the civilized folk claim to the contrary.

“I am Jordan the Adventurer, I heal very fast, and I have a mission to accomplish, so I'll be on my way soon enough,” I said. “I thank you for taking care of me while I was unconscious; I must have been pretty dirty.”

“You certainly were! I had to wash you all over. Sand was virtually embedded in your hide. I thought you were dead, but you weren't as far gone as it seemed. I put some ointments on your burns and let you rest. You must have blundered into a dragonfly nest.” She eyed me appraisingly. “I must say, you do have a hardy constitution; you're quite a robust figure of a man.”

“Yeah, I'm a genuine barbarian, mostly brawn, not too much brain,” I said, smiling. Actually, I was pretty smart at the moment, because of the eye-queue spell I had accidentally invoked. “Fortunately, Pook is on hand to take care of me.”

“Pook,” she repeated. “Your horse? Does that mean--?”

“Yes, he is a pooka, a ghost horse. That's why he wears those chains.”

“You tamed a ghost horse?” she asked, surprised.

“No. We're just friends.”

She laughed. She was beautiful when she did that. “Well, he's loyal. He could have dumped you off anywhere and left you to die.” She glanced toward the kitchen corner. “Are you well enough yet to eat?”

“Oh, yes, I'm hungry!”

“You are recovering swiftly! You look better already.”

“Yes, I'm always hungry after a fatal injury,” I agreed.

Again she laughed, taking this as humor. She poured some gruel from the pot on her hearth into a wooden bowl and brought it to me. The stuff was as dark and liquid as her hair, but it tasted good and seemed to be nutritious;

I felt rapidly stronger.

“I have a trouser-tree growing in my yard,” she said. “Never thought I'd need it, as I prefer dresses.” She held up a pair of brown jeans. “These should fit you.”

“Thank you,” I said. I got out of the fern bed and into the jeans, and they did fit tolerably well.

“That's amazing,” she remarked, watching. Evidently she wasn't one of those prudish civilized women, though in other respects she did seem civilized. “Your skin is almost whole again! You were so badly burned--”

I shrugged. “Guess it looked worse than it was.” I could have explained about my talent, but it didn't seem necessary, since I was about to leave. Actually, I wasn't paying full attention to her, as my ensmartened brain was distracted by philosophical insights and intellectual exercises it hadn't been interested in before. Today I can only vaguely appreciate the mental convolutions I indulged in then, for now I am of only ordinary smartness. That is why I am not telling this story in the intelligent way I could have told it then.

Yet I think, in retrospect, that I must have made the error of overlooking the obvious in the course of my pursuit of the esoteric, for I really did not act very smart in Threnody's house. Some extremely smart people are sort of dull about practical details.

“I had no idea you'd be on your feet so soon,” she said. “What is your mission?”

“Oh, nothing that would interest you,” I replied off-handedly. “I have to go fetch an object and bring it back to Castle Roogna.”

“Castle Roogna?” she repeated, interested in a peculiar kind of way. I should have noticed that, but didn't, then.

“Is that still functioning?”

“Oh, sure. But old King Gromden is dying, and there's a problem about the succession. So I--”

“The King is dying?” she asked alertly.

“Yes. And these two Magicians, Yin and Yang, are vying for the throne, so--”

“Yin and Yang--but they--”

“Can't agree on anything,” I finished. “Except on this magic contest, to see whose spells are stronger. So I--”

“I'm beginning to understand! You are working for them!”

“Yes, in a way. I've got to complete my mission so Yin will win, but Yang's spells are interfering. It's been pretty rough, but I think I'm getting close.” I shrugged. “I won't bore you with the details. I'll be on my way now. Thanks for the gruel, girl.”

“Wait,” she said. “This object you have to fetch--do you know what it is?”

“No. I have Yin's finder-spell, but haven't used it yet. But I think the object is somewhere around here, because I'm predestined to--”

“Sit down, Jordan,” she said. “Let me tell you a story that you may not have heard. I'll serve you some wine.”

“Oh, sure. Thanks,” I was always willing to be sociable.

Threnody mixed some fluids in a cup, which surprised me, for I had always thought wine came directly from wineskins grown by wine-lilies. She brought the cup to me, and I drank it while she talked. It was pungent stuff, with a bitter aftertaste but pretty good. Barbarians don't have much taste, anyway.

“King Gromden had a child, a daughter,” Threnody said.

“Oh, sure. He told me.”

“What else did he tell you about her?”

“Nothing much. Just that his wife and child had gone away and he missed them something awful.” I burped; that wine was bubbling up inside me.

“There was a bit more to the story than that,” Threnody said.

“Well, he's pretty lonely now.” Then my intelligence had a flash. “Yang mentioned scandal; maybe that was--”

She was silent a moment, then resumed her story as if she had not been interrupted. "King Gromden's daughter was the apple of his eye, and indeed she was said to be very pretty. His wife grew jealous of the attention the child got and put a curse on her: if she remained at Castle Roogna, the castle would fall. This saddened the King very much, but he had to preserve the capital of Xanth at all costs, so he sent the girl away. Because he was angry with the Queen for putting on that curse, he sent her away, too. But before the Queen departed, she put a curse on him also. That was her talent, of course--curses. She came from cursefolk stock, deep in southern Xanth; some call those folk fiends. She caused him to forget the nature of the first curse.

"So ever after, the King sought his banished daughter, not realizing that he himself had banished her, and for good reason. He finally located her, but she remembered the curse and refused to return with him to Castle Roogna. He could not understand why, for when she told him of the curse, he immediately forgot. A good curse can't be circumvented just by a person's being told its nature; it operates until revoked, or until it just wears out, and the curses of the curse-fiends don't wear out.

“Since he could not grasp the truth and insisted on an answer, she had to tell him a lie instead, cruel as it was: that she preferred to live in the open wilderness instead of in a gloomy old castle. He kept trying to find ways to change her mind, but was never successful.”

“That's very interesting,” I said. “He never said anything to me about the curses.”

“Naturally not. He remembers his daughter's absence, though,” Threnody said. “And he swore he would find a way to bring her back and make her happy at Castle Roogna. In fact, he hoped she would marry his successor, the next King of Xanth, so his line would continue in power. The throne of Xanth is not hereditary, as it goes from Magician to Magician, but sometimes there is a lineage through the female side. His daughter wasn't a Sorceress, of course, but that doesn't matter for wives.”

“Well, I guess that didn't work out.” I set down my empty mug. “His successor will be Yin or Yang, and I don't think either is much interested in marriage right now.”

“They are interested. The people would be more ready to accept a Magician who married the prior King's daughter, and her magic power would help him reign, so she is a moderately valuable property as well as being physically attractive. Men tend to put too much stress on the latter aspect.”

“Um, yes,” I agreed, contemplating Threnody's own figure.

“In any event, they would not have a choice. The King arranged it so that neither could become King unless he married her.”

My head was whirling pleasantly. That was strong wine!

“Maybe he'll spring that detail on the winner, once I bring back the object,” I said. “But it will be too bad, because if her return to the castle means it will fall--”

“Yes, it is a cruel situation,” she agreed. “That girl will never return to Castle Roogna, because she loves her father and loves Xanth, nothing else. She will do anything to prevent her return, no matter who the next king is, though it breaks her father's heart. She has no choice.”

“Well, it's not my business,” I said, standing. “I just have to fetch the--”

I reeled, staggered, lost my balance, and fell against the bed. Something was wrong!

Threnody came to me. “I'm sorry I had to poison you, barbarian,” she said. “But if you should succeed in your mission, and Yin becomes King, he will do what King Gromden wants, and marry Gromden's daughter and keep her at Castle Roogna. I must prevent that, for when Castle Roogna falls, so does the human domination of Xanth.”

“But--” I protested groggily.

“You see, barbarian innocent, I am King Gromden's daughter,” she said. “I felt it only fair to let you understand why I had to kill you. Better that the life of one foolish adventurer be forfeit than that Castle Roogna should fall. It is nothing personal; you seem like a nice person, for a barbarian.”

Then I passed out, and I suppose I died, for the poison had spread all through my system and it was potent stuff. Threnody dragged my body across the floor--she turned out to be pretty strong for a woman--and to a trapdoor in the back of the cabin and shoved me in.

I slid down a dark chute, then out into the light and into empty air. The chute opened into the forgotten Gap Chasm! I dropped a horrible distance and thunked head-first into the rock at the bottom. If the poison hadn't quite killed me, the fall certainly had!

Pook heard the distant thunk. His ears twitched. The edge of the chasm was curved here, and the chasm itself was narrow. Pook found a ledge that overlooked the depth and he peered down. His sharp eyes or nose spied my still remains below, and he gave a neigh of dismay. Maybe he felt responsible, for he was the one who had brought me to Threnody's cabin.

But he was a pretty smart animal, and maybe some of that intelligence spell had rubbed off on him, for he set about getting down to me without hurting himself. He trotted west along the brink of the Gap to where it intersected the sea, then jumped into the deep channel of water. He had a long way to fall and made an awful splash, but in a moment he bobbed to the surface, despite the weight of his chains, and swam into the chasm until the water thinned and he could walk on land. Evidently the Gap Dragon had business elsewhere, for there was no sign of him. After all, the Gap extends all the way across Xanth, as we now know, and no one creature can be everywhere at once. Still, it was a considerable act of courage on Pook's part, unless perhaps he had forgotten about the dragon. On the other hand, he had turned out to be pretty good at Fighting dragons, so maybe he wasn't afraid. Or maybe he remembered, and was afraid, but was determined to go to me, anyway. It wasn't long before he trotted up to my remains.

I was not a pretty sight. My legs were broken, and my head had cracked open and spilled some of its contents out. Nothing important, just some gray matter that I suppose was stuffing or insulation. But it was messy, and there was a good deal of blood spread about. I was as dead as I had ever been. My sword was lying nearby, bent and chipped, too. That makes me sad to contemplate, for that sword had served me well and could not heal itself.

Pook used his hoof to scrape the pieces and gunk into a pile; he pushed the pile onto a big leaf and made as good a bundle as he could manage. There was dirt and garbage mixed in, of course, but that couldn't be helped.

Pook shoved the bag around, trying to figure out how to carry it, but could not. So he cast about for a decent burial spot, believing me to be finished. There was none. He decided to take me to the shore--but that was some distance away. What was he to do?

He managed to get the top of the bundle knotted together somewhat, then hooked one of his chains through it and the sword's guard and dragged them. The bundle bumped across the terrain, getting its contents thoroughly mixed. When Pook reached the small sandy beach where the chasm joined the ocean, he left the bag at the edge and set to work excavating a hole with his hooves. Obviously he intended to bury the remains. He was, after all, a ghost horse; he knew about death and burial.

But when the hole got deep, water seeped in. Disgusted, he moved farther from the sea and started a new hole. He didn't want my remains to get wet; maybe he thought I'd be uncomfortable if I rotted in the water. But the new hole, too, filled with water. He moved yet farther away--but here it was rocky, impossible to dig with hooves.

Pook pondered. Then he got smart again. What about sea burial? He could weight the bag down with a big rock and sink it in the sea. Evidently he thought my remains wouldn't be as uncomfortable in deep water. But there were several problems. For one thing, he had no way to tie a rock to the bundle. Even if he had good vines, he couldn't tie knots in them. And he knew the big wrapping-leaf would soon disintegrate in the seawater, releasing its contents. As he peered out across the water, he saw a lurking sea monster, licking its chops. He knew I didn't like getting eaten by monsters. Good thing that monster hadn't been there when Pook had jumped into the sea!