Crewel Lye (22 page)

Pook sniffed the air, then shook his head no. He was smart enough to play along.

“What are gone?” Threnody asked, annoyed by the mystery. I knew the feeling!

“The harpies, of course,” I said.

“There are no harpies in these parts!”

“That's what I said. They seem to be confined to the cliffsides. This flock was probably just passing through, and won't be back.”

She was silent. We settled down for the night. “You take the shelter,” I said. “I'll sleep outside.”

“Aren't you going to hold me?”

“It doesn't do any good,” I pointed out. “You can slip any tie, any grasp. I guess you could have done it anytime when you were riding, but you didn't want me to see.”

“True, barbarian. My talent's more effective when it's secret.” She considered. “Still, you can hold me if you want to. It might give you earlier warning.”

“No, I think I'd better remain outside,” I said, glancing nervously about as if aware of a harpy. Then I put my right hand on the hilt of my sword and lay down.

“Suppose the harpies come, and you're asleep?” she asked.

“There are no harpies in these parts,” I reminded her. But I unsheathed my sword.

She grimaced, then lay down in the shelter. Pook grazed on the slope. I slept; barbarians can nod off instantly and wake instantly, in the manner of other animals.

There was a rustle in the night, as of some winged nocturnal predator. I woke just long enough to identify it as a genuine bird, harmless to us, and slept again. But in a moment I felt a body beside me. “You'd better hold onto me,” Threnody murmured. “I might try something foolish.”

Uh-huh. It seemed my ploy was working. Nobody sleeps well when harpies are about. “Suit yourself, demonspawn.”

She nudged closer, warm and soft. “I'm truly sorry I killed you, Jordan.”

Now she was calling me by my name. “You're also a liar.”

She struck at me. “Damn you!”

A point for me. But her body was delectable, touching mine, and I wished for the umpteenth time that things were otherwise.

“This is a lie, too,” she said after a moment. Her head came over mine, and she kissed me on the mouth, firmly and lingeringly.

The irony was, I knew it was a lie. Threnody cared nothing for me alive. She just wanted to lull me into complacency so she could escape. I'm pretty naive about women, but there are limits to naiveté, and I do learn quickly enough from experience. Yet a part of me wanted to believe that a lovely creature like this, a King's daughter, demon or not, could really care for me.

“I guess I know how it was with King Gromden,” I muttered when she released my lips.

She stiffened, then laughed ruefully. “I swore I'd never do to a man what my mother did to my father. I guess I lied about that, too.” Then she put her face down against my shoulder, and it became wet there.

Could a soulless creature cry? I wondered. Probably could, I decided, but never would. Except to deceive. Still...“You okay?” I asked.

“Oh, I am a cursed creature!” she sobbed.

Literally true. I knew myself for a fool, but I couldn't help it. Sometimes a man just has to be a fool, if he's a man. I put my arms about her and held her close to me, not to prevent her from escaping, but because it was necessary to do.

She cried for a while, and then she slept, and after a while I did, too.

One other thing bothered me, though. I woke, thinking of it, and finally I murmured to the night sky: “There really aren't any harpies here.”

“I know it,” Threnody murmured back. I had thought she was asleep.

But in the morning she was still there. This night she had not tried to escape.

We followed the slope as it curved around to the south and, when we had left the slowsand region behind, we returned to the level land. Normal animal life returned; I had to dispatch a griffin and a river monster that menaced us, but that was routine. In another day we should be at Castle Roogna.

“You know I don't want to go there,” Threnody reminded me, her eyes very big and dark.

“I know.”

“You know Castle Roogna will fall.”

“I don't know. You could be lying.”

“I could get very friendly, if you cared to delay the journey a while. It wouldn't seem like a lie to you at all.”

“I know.”

“I could even get to like you for real, if--”

“I don't know. You'll say anything to get your way.”

“Let me show you how friendly I can be when I try.”

“I'd be a fool.” Of course I was a fool, for I was sorely tempted. She might be a completely selfish, lying demon-creature, but she was beautiful, and barbarians appreciate physical beauty more than they do mental beauty. So I fended off her advances, not because I feared her body, but because I feared what her body could do to my mind. But my resolve was weakening.

“I can still change form and escape you,” she said.

“But without my arm and sword to protect you, you would be vulnerable to the monsters of Xanth,” I pointed out. “That's why you are no longer trying to flee. There may be no harpies here, but there are other creatures.” What little remained of the smart-spell had enabled me to work it out. “When you change form, you may look like some other creature, but you aren't. You can assume the form of a bird, but you can't fly--not unless you become so diffuse as to be as light as the air, and then the wind will blow you away. It takes a lifetime to learn to fly properly.”

She shrugged, not denying it. “Actually, I can do some of the things the animals I emulate do, but it is true that flying is a very specialized discipline, and certainly I would not be good at it; I'd probably blunder into the nearest tree and be easy prey for any winged predator.”

“And you probably haven't practiced it much, because of the danger. You need skill as well as form. So your talent is limited at the moment.”

“When you threatened me with the harpies, I realized that was true. There is always something in Xanth to prey on the unwary or unprotected. You're a primitive man; you have muscle and a sword and you like to fight. You can handle strange territory and slay monsters incidentally. But once you got me more than a day's journey from my home--” She spread her hands. “I may have a heart of stone, but the monsters don't care about that. They'll eat my flesh in a moment--and I can't recover the way you can.”

“So I'm the sword and you're the stone,” I said, conscious of the irony, since part of me really was stone now.

“Yes. If I had your body, I could go right home.”

“You can assume my likeness,” I said.

“I suppose I could,” she agreed, tilting her head in temporary reflection. “But I wouldn't have your skill with the sword or the power of your masculine muscles, or your ability to heal so fast when wounded. So that's no good.”

“If I had your body, I'd be a lovely creature,” I said.

“I'm not beautiful in my soul--if I have one at all.”

I had no answer to that. Threnody was the first pretty woman I had known who was demonstrably ugly in her origin and nature--literally demon-strably--and I still had difficulty reconciling that combination. I kept wanting to believe she was as lovely inside as out and that her evident intelligence translated to good personality. Sometimes I almost succeeded. Certainly she was not all evil, even though she was far from all good. This just isn't the kind of problem a barbarian is fit to cope with. Life is simpler when the alternatives are flat good or flat evil, clearly labeled. And correctly labeled!

At noon we came to a pleasant grove of ances-trees. Each had a solid base that soon split into two major branches, and these split into four, and thence to eight, until at the fringe there were so many little branches that the eye lost track. The bark was corrugated and thus resembled printed words; sometimes I wished I could read, so that I could contemplate my own family tree.

“I can read,” Threnody said. “It's a skill required of royal children. But I don't care to be reminded of my demon branches.”

We went on and came to a pattern of artis-trees, a many-splendored thing, with ornate multicolored leaves and sculptured lines. We paused, awed by the sheer magnificence of this display.

One tree was dead--but its skeletal form was impressive, each branch perfectly contoured, the whole a marvel of symmetry. There was a hole in the base of its trunk, and even this was beautifully arched, so that it resembled a doorway to some sublime realm.

We walked toward it--and suddenly at my feet a small black sword flashed. Quickly it expanded to full-sword size, a thing of glistening, dark iron, suspending itself menacingly before me. I had heedlessly blundered into another of Yang's evil spells! When would I learn to watch out more carefully for them?

My own sword was in my hand, for barbarian reflexes are necessarily swift. “Get clear of me!” I cried to Pook and Threnody. “This thing's dangerous!”

Indeed it was! The black sword slashed viciously at me, and it was all I could do to parry the blade in time.

As it was, the power of its blow drove me back and shook my arm. Nothing was wielding that sword, but it felt as if there were an invisible giant behind it.

I had fended off its cut, but the black weapon recovered with horrible quickness and struck at me from the other side. I parried again, and again felt the shock of the collision. Sparks flew from the place where the two blades met, and mine was nicked. Of course, it was already battered and slightly bent from its fall into the--well, I didn't remember quite where, but it had fallen somewhere. Yet a blade that could so casually nick this one--

The evil sword whirled about in the air, danced over my head, and slashed at me from behind. I threw myself aside, avoiding it, but the moment it missed, it reoriented and came at me again. I fell to the ground, barely getting my blade around to block the thing. Never before had I been subjected to as savage an attack by a sword as this! I prided myself on my expertise with the sword; it was one of those things barbarians specialized in. My sword was the only reason I had no real fear of tangle trees or griffins--albeit a healthy respect for them; I could strike with it before such monsters could get me. Dragons were more difficult, because of their steam or fire and their scale armor, but of course dragons were the top of the predatory chain. So my sword was my strength. However, this was no beak or tentacle I faced; it was another sword. It struck and struck again, and a third time in as many seconds. Then, realizing it could not get me with a frontal or rear attack, it spun to the side and lunged.

I scrambled halfway to my feet, but had to dive clear again, rolling on the ground. The black sword sliced at my feet, missing no opportunity. I jerked them clear, and it struck the ground so hard where they had been it seemed the very land would cleave asunder. I fought my way back to my feet in time to parry the next strike.

I normally have plenty of muscle, speed, and coordination. I had died three to five times recently, but the past three days had enabled me to recover almost completely, except for my stone extremities. (Say--I should have let the sword strike my feet! How could it hurt them?) So I fought very well--but already I knew I was overmatched. This magic sword had a ferocity beyond anything I had encountered before and showed no sign of tiring. One thing I had to say for Magician Yang: his spells were not anemic ones! I had to get away from this thing!

I tried, but it pursued me relentlessly. It wanted my blood, all my blood, and nothing but my blood. It whistled at my left side before I could get my own blade around;

I lifted my left arm and it took the cut.

There was a clang, and the black sword bounced back, shaken. Of course--my left arm, too, remained stone. For the first time, I had occasion to bless the failure of my talent to tackle this detail; it was evident that the evil blade could not slice stone. One hears stories about swords that can do this, but I think this is merely more hype; stone is awfully tough stuff. This was pure barbarian luck: the lingering trace of the last evil spell was helping me fight this one.

The black sword shook itself as if confused, then charged back to the fray. It swept at my neck with a ferocity that threatened not only to sever my head from my body but send it flying to the moon. That would have been awkward for me; it is no easy thing to grow a whole new head. I blocked the swipe, barely. Then the sword dropped down again to my feet, and this time I didn't move them, so it clanged again against the stone.

My luck was holding--but I really needed the magic shield, because the black sword was not letting up and was getting more imaginative about spots to attack. I was tiring from this frenetic activity, and that sword wasn't. Sooner or later it would find or force an opening and get me in a vital spot.

“The spell!” I cried to Threnody. “Get the spell!”

“What spell?” she asked.

Oops--she didn't know about that complication, and might not care to help me if she did. After all, if I died, she was free to go home, and she could be long on the way before I recovered. On the other hand, she could not safely travel alone, so she might have to help me. What choice did I have? I ducked as the black sword whistled over my head. “Any spell! Pook has them!”

Threnody hesitated. I knew she was considering whether it was better to help me or let the black sword take me out. But Pook snorted warningly at her, and she decided to help. She went to him and opened the bag of spells he carried.

Meanwhile, the enemy blade pressed me harder than ever. It wove a perplexing pattern in the air and dazzled my eyes, so that it was increasingly more difficult to parry its sudden lunges. It looped around me, forcing me to turn constantly to protect my flank and rear. I was getting dizzy--and that, too, could be disastrous. I had to have some kind of cover for my back, or I would shortly be wiped out!

I spied the dead artis-tree, with its architecturally shaped hole in the trunk. That would do! I fended off the sword and retreated toward the tree. Soon I managed to wedge my back against it and nudge into the hole. The space was just my height, so was very convenient. The black sword could no longer attack me from behind.

The thing was furious. It chopped at the trunk of the tree, but the deadwood was hard as well as beautiful, and only small chips flew. This protection would last me for a good long time. I was careful not to back all the way into the hole, for that would restrict my motions and work to my disadvantage. I used the tree just enough to maximize my efficiency. Now I was holding my own, resting as the enemy sword wasted its energy on the wood.

All this had taken very little time, the seconds seeming like minutes, while Threnody was fetching the spell. It's hard to describe two separate actions at once, so I'm doing it one at a time, but they were happening together. Now Threnody drew out one of the white objects Magician Yin had given me. “Is this the right one?” she called. “It's a bit of vine with an eyeball tied in. Gruesome thing!”

The eye-queue spell--which had already been expended. So I was sure this one stood for some other spell--maybe the magic shield I needed. “It will do!” I called back. “Throw it here!” And another spark flew as blade met blade. It was a good thing my own sword was a sturdy one, albeit battered; now it had many nicks to go with its dents.

She came toward me, then threw the spell, in the underhanded female way. Her aim was good, however; the spell struck the tree and dropped directly before me. The black sword, sensing danger, sliced at the spell. “Invoke!” I cried.

I saw it glow, just before the black sword struck it. Then the strangest thing happened.

My consciousness seemed to leave my body and fly ghostlike through the air. Had I been abruptly slain by an unseen strike of the evil blade? Was my soul now flying to wherever it was fated to go? But this had never happened before when I died!

Then my awareness approached Threnody as she stood between me and Pook, prettily concerned. Suddenly it dived into her body and settled there.

I heard a hoarse scream. I saw myself drop my sword and hunch back into the dead tree. Immediately the enemy sword lunged, running its blade through my unprotected heart. My blood spouted from my chest as I fell forward, dead.

But the black sword was not finished. It lifted itself high, then struck down on my exposed neck, cutting off my head. The head rolled a few paces away and came to rest in a hollow, staring up with a slightly bemused expression.

Still the evil sword did not desist. It hacked at my right arm, cutting it off, then started on my left, up at the shoulder where it remained flesh. The thing meant to dismember me entirely!

I ran toward it, unable to watch this destruction of my body without acting.

Then I paused. How could I run toward it when I was already dead and decapitated?

I realized that, though my body was dead, my consciousness was not. It was now in Threnody's body. And her consciousness--must be in mine. Presently unconscious. For I had activated the spell of exchange. Well, of exchange-back; the one intended to counter Yang's exchange spell. Since we hadn't been exchanged, we couldn't be un-exchanged; the un-exchange constituted an exchange in itself. I had brought upon myself the very mischief I had hoped to avoid!

When we exchanged identities, Threnody had found herself in my male body, fighting the deadly sword--and she hadn't known how to defend herself. As with the notion of assuming the form of a bird and trying to fly without practice, she was unable to fight like a man simply because she had a man's body. Womanlike, she had screamed and cowered. Thus she had been instantly vulnerable, and the enemy weapon had seized its advantage and gotten her. It didn't realize it had killed the wrong person; how could it know?