She grabbed him by the ears and heaved him off her innocent lips. She tried to scream, but first had to inhale, and in the time it took to do that she was sitting up so violently that her dark glasses fell off. Blinding day assaulted her eyes, and she had to squeeze them tightly closed. When she shut her eyes, her mouth shut too, stifling her scream. She had never thought to practice screaming with her eyes closed.
By then she realized that maybe a scream was not in order. Who was this man who had taken such advantage of her? It might be better to find out before she took further action. After all, men did have their points, and it behooved a girl not to throw them away carelessly.
She squinted, letting only a little light in. The man was standing there, a somewhat hazy outline. He didn’t look dangerous at the moment. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Why did you molest me?”
“I am King Xeth,” he replied in a somewhat scratchy voice. “I kissed you awake.”
“I know that! What made you think I didn’t want to sleep in peace?” She was irritable, because of her rude awakening from slumber. Her systems were not yet back on track.
“You are in the Pavilion of Love.” His speech was slightly slurred, but she could make it out. Her vision was improving as her eyes acclimatized to the daylight.
“The what?”
He pointed to a sign beside the bed. It said PAVILION OF LOVE.
Breanna drew a blank. “What’s that?”
“When a woman wants to marry, she sleeps in the Pavilion of Love,” he explained. “Only a man of good appearance, character, and breeding can enter. If he chooses her, he kisses her awake. I was so glad to find a sleeping beauty instead of a sleeping bag.”
Things were beginning to come together, but not in a way that reassured her. “But I’m not ready to marry anyone!” she protested. “I’m only fifteen.”
“I am thirty,” he responded. “I love your lustrous black hair and glowing green eyes. I am sure you will make a good wife.”
Breanna realized that she had blundered into real mischief. “It was a mistake. I didn’t see the sign. I was just resting. I can’t marry you.” She got off the bed and began sidling away.
“I will marry you and make you queen of the zombies,” he said. “You are young and healthy and fully alive, so it will be a long time before you rot.”
Breanna wanted nothing so much as to get well away from here, but this made her pause involuntarily. “Queen of what?”
“The zombies. We felt it was time to have our own kingdom, so we held an election, and the healthiest zombie won. Me. But it is a condition of kingship that I marry, so as to summon a suitable heir and continue the line. That’s why I came here, to find a wife.”
“You—you’re a zombie?” she asked, newly appalled. Her hand came up to wipe frantically at her mouth. Her lips didn’t feel zombied, but she wanted to wash them ten times as thoroughly as possible. Was it contagious?
“Yes, of course. How else could I be king of the zombies?”
“This is absolutely impossible!”
“By no means. My mother is Zora Zombie, who married the living man Xavier forty years ago. It took them a while to summon the stork, because not all of her necessary innards were healthy, but—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” Breanna shrieked. Actually she had not meant that she doubted him to be a zombie; she could now see that there were some sagging places on him, incipient flesh rot, and the reason for his slurring was apparent: a mushy tongue. She had meant that it was impossible for her to marry him. She wasn’t ready to marry anyone, least of all a zombie.
“There is no need for you to hear it, if it bores you,” Xeth said equably. “Come with me now to Castle Zombie, where the wedding will be organized. You will want to meet your new subjects.”
“No I won’t!” she cried. “I won’t marry you! I’m just a girl. A living girl. I’m getting out of here!” Now at last she suited action to word, and charged out of the pavilion.
“But it has been decided,” he protested. “You slept here. I kissed you. All the zombie women will be jealous of your lustrous long hair and firm flesh.”
“Let them be jealous of something else!” she flung back. “Find another girl! I’m sure one will come to sleep in the pavilion soon. I’m gone!” She dodged behind a beerbarrel tree and kept going.
“No, you are the one,” Xeth called after her. “I loved you the moment I entered the pavilion, as its magic decrees. I love your burned black color. I love your high emotion.”
She was running, but not out of range of his voice. “What do you know of my emotion?”
“That is my talent: mind reading. I may fudge the details somewhat, but the power of your emotion comes through delightfully. I can tell that you have very strong feelings for me.”
“That’s because I loathe the very notion of being close to you!” she shot back.
“Yes, you love the notion of being close to me,” he agreed. “It will be a perfect marriage.”
She suspected that there was a bit of rot in his ear, too, but she didn’t stay to argue the case. She tried to sneak behind a small tangle tree, but he still pursued her. “Why don’t you marry a nice zombie girl?” she demanded over her shoulder.
“Because they are all too rotten,” he said with considerable accuracy. “While that is no fault ordinarily, it is a fact that the storks don’t like to deliver babies to zombie women. That’s why it took ten years to persuade the stork to deliver me to my mother. So I need a living woman, just as my mother needed a living man. You are just perfect.”
He had given her much too good an answer. She could not refute it logically. So she tried to do it emotionally. “I’m not perfect! I’m too young and immature and unready to settle down. I don’t love you.”
“You will surely grow older and more mature, and learn to settle down. You will be a fine inspiration for our corps d’esprit, our undead army. And I know where there is a fine love spring. The one where my mother learned to love my father.”
He was still out-arguing her. If there was one thing she detested worse than a zombie, it was a smart zombie. So she let fly with the truth. “I don’t want to marry a zombie!” Then she ran as fast as her healthy living legs could propel her, and soon left him out of sight and hearing.
Soon she got smart. She knew he would follow, so she couldn’t rest until she was so far away he would never find her. After that, she would figure out what else to do.
She slowed, so as to let some of her breath catch up with her, and picked her way carefully, so as to leave no obvious trail. When she came to a stream, she waded through it, pausing only to wash her fouled mouth out several times. She followed it upstream, then followed a dragon trail for several paces, before doubling back and wading farther upstream. If the zombie thought she had gone that way, he would encounter the dragon. She wasn’t sure how dragons felt about zombies, but at least it would be a distraction.
At last she spied a branch hanging over the water. She reached up to catch it, and hauled herself up and into the tree. She made her way to a branch on the opposite side, and dropped off into a gully that led away from the stream. It should be just about impossible to track her this far.
But just to be sure, she climbed another tree, and hid herself carefully amidst its thick foliage. She would wait here until the end of the day, very quietly.
She was tired, after all that fleeing. She took a good grip on the branches, and relaxed, physically. She was too excited and horrified to relax mentally. She let her ears be her eyes, listening for any untoward sound.
All too soon it came: the clumsy crashing noise of a zombie in a hurry. She peered out between the leaves, just to be sure. Yes, it was a zombie, not Xeth, but another one, somewhat farther gone. He was headed in her direction.
How could he know? He wasn’t even following her trail! What gave her location away?
Breanna decided to find out. She knew that the average zombie wasn’t phenomenally smart, because its brain was
rotten. “How did you know where I am?” she called.
“Wee cah feeel yooor maghic,” it answered. It was not able to speak as well as Xeth, being farther gone. “Wee are aall loooking.”
“You can feel my magic? What magic?”
“Your maghic tzalent.”
Breanna waited no more; the thing was getting too close. She lurched out of her tree, dropped to the ground, and set off running again. Now she knew two things: they could feel her magic, and there were many zombies out looking for her. Maybe that wasn’t surprising, since Xeth was a zombie king. Maybe they cast about aimlessly—that wasn’t hard for a zombie to do—until one of them happened to come within sensing range of her. Then he oriented on her magic.
She saw another zombie ahead of her. She dodged to the side, but found the way blocked by a five-sided object. She recognized it: a penta-gone. Anything that touched it would be gone, nobody knew where, and she didn’t want to risk it. So she slowed, and stepped very carefully around it.
The zombie behind her was less careful. It blundered right into the penta-gone—and suddenly was gone. That was a relief!
But now Breanna had blundered herself, into a bog. She was in danger of getting her black shoes all gooky. So she had to pick her way through it, going from hummock to hummock.
There was a huge fat monster. Breanna squished to a stop, concerned about just how dangerous it might be. So she asked it: “What are you?”
The monster oped its ponderous and mottled mouth and spewed forth an answer: “I am a hippo-crit.”
“Are you dangerous?”
“No. I am a harmless friendly lovable cuddly creature.”
But Breanna had an intuition that all was not quite right. Then she made the connection: hypocrite. One who said one thing but did another. She couldn’t trust it.
But maybe she could use it. “Well, there’s a really tasty morsel of a man following me,” she said, sidling around the creature. “Too bad you’re so friendly and harmless, because he would have made a nice meal for you.” She found firmer footing beyond a hummock, and was satisfied that she could make a good run for it if she had to.
“Too bad,” the hippo agreed, and shifted its bulk to block the passage of the next person passing this way.
She moved quietly on. She was getting tired, and hungry, but all she saw was some shortening, and she knew better than to eat any of that. She didn’t want to be any shorter than she was. She would avoid largening too; neither food appealed to her. Then she spied a variety of pie tree bearing mun danish; those were tasteless, boring pastries, but she was used to them from her own term in Mundania, so could handle it. She picked several and chewed on them as she went.
Where could she go where the zombies could not? Her mind was blank. So Breanna just kept running, fearing that wherever she stopped, a zombie would close in on her. What an awful mess she had gotten herself into! All because of that inviting bed in the pavilion.
She was getting hot as well as tired. The sun was glaring. “I know I was stupid!” she yelled at it. Mollifed by her admission, the sun eased its glare.
She came across a small village marked Norfolk. Maybe someone here would help her. “Hey, can you block off zombies?” she called to the nearest man, who was digging in a garden.
He paid no attention. Irritated, Breanna ran on to where a woman was washing clothing in a stream. “Can you help me?” she asked. But the woman didn’t even glance at her.
She came to the far edge of the village. The sign there said YOU ARE NOW LEAVING IGNOREFOLK. GOOD RIDDANCE TO YOU.
Oh, that was why they had ignored her! She must have misread the first sign.
A side stitch caught up with her. The only way to get rid of one of those was to slow down until it zoomed on ahead, for they were speedy things. When she slowed, Breanna’s mind began to work a bit better. She got an idea: maybe the zombies couldn’t go into the Region of Madness. She could maybe hide there; it wasn’t far away. That was fortunate, because she was getting too tired to continue much longer.
There was a small patch of it north of the Gap Chasm, though its main mass was south. That little patch should be plenty. But what was the fastest way to it? She wasn’t sure, and didn’t have much time. But she saw a fully living man walking along, so she approached him. “Hi! I’m Breanna of the Black Wave.”
He shook her hand. “I am Ayitym. I absorb one property of anything I touch.” His skin turned dark, like hers.
She wasn’t certain whether he would be pleased or annoyed, so she didn’t mention it. “I’m looking for the Region of Madness. I know it’s close by, but—”
“I don’t want to go anywhere near that!” he exclaimed. “It would make me mad.” He hurried away.
That wasn’t much help. But she saw another man, so approached him similarly. “Hi. I’m Breanna. My talent is to see in blackness.”
“I am Tyler. I have a different talent each day.”
She was impressed. “That must be some fun.”
“No it isn’t, because I can’t choose them, and they are small. Today I have the talent of growing warts on little toes. Do you want a wart?”
Breanna’s toes cringed. “No thanks! I want to find the Region of Madness. Do you—”
“Right that way,” he said, pointing.
She changed course, and walked swiftly toward the nearest loop of madness. She knew its nature, because her girlish curiosity had led her to explore some of its fringes. It was really weird there, and she didn’t care to get far into it. But maybe it would be worse for the zombies than for her. She hoped.
She spied a man walking the opposite way. He looked rather dazed. Beside him was an old small white dog who seemed less confused. The dog paused as they came together, looking up at her, showing a black left ear, and a curled furry tail.
“You look Mundane,” Breanna said. “Hi. I’m Breanna.”
The man became aware of her. “I’m William Henry Taylor, and this is my daughter’s dog ‘Puppy.’ I don’t know what I’m doing here. I was just so sick, for so long—and suddenly everything changed.”
“I know how it is,” Breanna said. “But I guess if Puppy found your way out of the madness, he knows where you’re going. So maybe you should keep going that way.”
“I suppose so,” he agreed. “I hope my daughter is all right.” They went on.
Breanna felt a bit guilty for not trying to help him more, but she was afraid the zombies would catch up with her at any time, while they wouldn’t bother Mr. Taylor.
She saw a ragged doll. But then it moved, startling her. “You’re alive!”
“Not exactly. I’m Ricky. I’m a golem.”
“Oh, a doll who has been animated.”
“More or less.” He moved on before she could ask him to verify that she was going the right way to intercept the madness. But she was pretty sure she was close; the scenery was beginning to think about looking weird, and she had been meeting weird people.
She came to the fringe and plunged in. The weirdness closed in, and for once she welcomed it. Let the zombies try to orient on her magic, when it was overridden by the magic ambiance of this section.
Then, halfway satisfied that she just might maybe be safe, she dropped to the ground and rested. She was so tired that she fell almost immediately into a daze.
“Why child, whatever is the matter?”
Breanna looked up. There was Day Mare Imbri, her friend. Imbri had once been a night mare, but had gotten half a soul and turned too nice to handle the ugly job. Now she had become a tree nymph, and kept nice company with a tree faun. She was pure black; that was what had first attracted Breanna. What could be finer than a black mare?
“Oh, Imbri! I’m in trouble.”
Imbri formed a dreamlet image of a pretty black young woman in a lovely black gown. She always knew how to relate. “I can tell that, dear. I felt your emotion from afar. What trouble?”
“I did something ever so stupid,” Breanna wailed. “I slep
t in the Pavilion of Love, and a zombie king kissed me. Now he wants to marry me.”
“But didn’t you see the sign?”
“I came to the bed just before dawn, from the other direction. I wasn’t looking for any sign. I had been exploring all night, using my talent—and now the zombies are orienting on it to find me.” That gave her an idea. “Say, maybe if I got rid of the talent, Xeth wouldn’t be able to find me!”
“But you can’t do that,” Imbri protested.
Still, Breanna had hold of a desperate notion. “I love my talent, but I hate being chased by zombies. If that’s the price of my freedom, well maybe it’s a necessary sacrifice. Can you take my talent and put it back where you found it?” For that was how she had come by it. Breanna had been born (not delivered) Mundane, and come to the land of Xanth with her Wave. No Mundane had magic. But the day mare had befriended her, and given her the talent she had found, and they had been friends ever since, all six months. So she was the only original Black Waver to have magic. The children who had been delivered (not born) since then did have black magic talents, but none of them were over six years old.
Imbri shook her head. “No, I can’t do that. You had better go to the Good Magician for an Answer.”
“But he charges a year’s service for an Answer—and often it’s so cryptic that it doesn’t do much good anyway. I’m too young to suffer through that.”
“Nevertheless, I think it is your best chance.”
“He’ll probably just tell me to accept my fate.”
“If he does, it will surely be the correct course.”
“But I’m desperate! If that zombie catches me, he’ll marry me and make me queen of the zombies—and I’m only fifteen! It’s a fate worse than death.” That was literal, for zombies were made from dead people. Death was bad enough, but to be forced to drag about after death was surely worse. And to have to summon the stork with a zombie—absolute ugh! She’d rather be chewed by a werewolf or sucked by a vampire any day.
“I know this is awful,” Imbri said. “But I can’t take your talent back.”
“Why not? I’m originally Mundane. The magic can’t stick to me very closely.”
Faun & Games Page 35