Faun & Games

by Anthony, Piers

  “I am not free to explain.”

  “But the zombies are after me!”

  Imbri sighed. “I know, dear, and it is indeed awful. I am not saying that I don’t want to help you. I am saying that I can’t—and I can’t tell you why.”

  Breanna began to cry. She was ashamed of herself for doing it, but just got overwhelmed.

  Imbri was just as sensitive to that as a man would have been, to the girl’s surprise. “Maybe I can compromise.”

  Breanna brightened. “You can?”

  “I will tell you what I can’t tell you, in a dream—but then I must take back the dream. So you will not remember it.”

  “But how can that help me?”

  “I can explain everything, in the dream, so you understand. When you do, and agree that you need to ask the Good Magician, you will wake from the dream and remember only that when you knew the whole story, you agreed. Then you will be willing to do it, and know that I can’t help you, though I want to.”

  This was almost as weird as the madness. But what did she have to lose? “What if I don’t agree?” she demanded.

  “That would be dangerous.”

  Weirder yet. Breanna knew Imbri was her friend, and trusted her. So there had to be something. But whatever could it be? “Okay. Give me the dream.”

  “First I will rehearse the sequence as you experienced it. Then I will fill in the parts you did not see.”

  “Okay.” Breanna was really curious now.

  The forest faded, to be replaced by a scene from Breanna’s memory. There she was, walking out from the Black Village, perturbed about the unreasonable restrictions her Mundanish parents still put on her. Here she was, just fifteen, and still not allowed to date a boy and close the door. Or to wander out into the distant forest alone. They still treated her like a child.

  She wished she could go far away, and have some fabulous adventure, free from parental restriction. Maybe even visit the shore, and see the sea. She had heard of a city there called Attle, where rude creatures retorted “Attle be the day!” to any expression of ambition. She’d love to tell off those creatures of Sea Attle. She’d like to eat a sea-mint, and see whether it really stuck the mouth tight shut.

  She started to get angry. Why couldn’t she go and do these things? What right did anybody have to tell her no? It made her so blankety mad!

  She realized she was on a special path, with another path crossing it. Oh—she had blundered onto a cross walk. No wonder she had gotten so suddenly cross. She stepped off it, and her temper subsided. Still, she felt that some of her ire was justified. It was high time that the Black Village started spreading out and interacting more with the rest of this magic land, which really had so much to offer.

  Then she saw the beautiful black horse. “Oh, you lovely creature!” she breathed.

  Mare Imbri’s head turned. “You can see me?” she asked in a dreamlet.

  “Of course I can see you! You’re pure black. You’re the prettiest horse I ever saw. May I pat you?”

  “I suppose, if you want to.” Imbri was plainly taken aback.

  Breanna approached. She patted the mare on the shoulder. “I didn’t even know there were horses in Xanth,” she said. “Or are you a unicorn, with your horn hidden?”

  “I’m a—well, it is complicated.”

  “Oh, tell me!” Breanna pleaded.

  “I was a night mare for two hundred years, then a day mare, and now I’m a tree nymph, but I can assume my old form when I want, and be solid, and make some dreams. My tree gives me that power. I forgot I was solid; that’s why I thought you couldn’t see me.”

  Breanna was intrigued. “Did you have a night foal?”

  “Not yet. But maybe now that I’m solid, it will happen. I would settle for whatever I could get.”

  They talked, and soon Breanna told Imbri all about herself too. Then they parted, but agreed to meet again, for they liked each other. It seemed that girls and horses were attracted to each other just as strongly in Xanth as in Mundania.

  A week later Mare Imbri asked Breanna if she would like a magic talent. “Oh, yes, I’d love it!” Breanna exclaimed, liking this mental game.

  “If you could have any talent you wanted, what would it be?”

  Breanna thought for a long time—at least a minute. “Not a big one, not a small one. One that’s me. Only I don’t know me well enough yet.”

  “What about the ability to conjure any kind of seed?”

  “I suppose that’s okay, but I’m no gardener. I’d rather change the world.”

  “Or perhaps the ability to choose the breed of your future children.”

  “Future children! I’m only fifteen. I don’t want to even think of having children until I’m an ancient old woman of twenty five.”

  “What about transformation of the inanimate?”

  “I already have enough trouble with living things. Why should I want to mess with dead things?”

  “Then maybe the power to create a small void?”

  That was tempting. “Like the big Void, only under my control?” But in half a moment she reconsidered. “No, it would be too dangerous. I might forget and sit in it, and be half-reared.”

  Mare Imbri considered. “How about the ability to project a spot on a wall?”

  “A black spot? Maybe, but spot-on-the-wall talents are a dime a dozen.”

  “This is a special spot. It’s actually a picture. It improves with time, getting larger and more detailed, until it is a very nice image.”

  “Maybe so, but its not me.”

  “Hearing from a distance?”

  “That’s not me either.”

  “Then perhaps the ability to conjure a geyser at any spot?”

  That was intriguing. But a moment’s thought dampened it. “Still not me. What would I do with all that spouting water?”

  Imbri swished her tail. One might almost suspect she was becoming a smidgen impatient. “What would you consider to be you?”

  Breanna had worked out her answer. “To see in blackness. That would be ideal.”

  “I think I have found a talent like that. I want you to have it.”

  Breanna laughed. “But talents don’t just lie around waiting for folk to take them! You have to be born—I mean, delivered with them.”

  “There are many kinds of magic in Xanth. Come with me, but don’t tell anyone what you see.”

  “I promise,” Breanna agreed, intrigued. Of course she couldn’t get any magic talent, but just imagining it was fun.

  “You will have to ride me,” Imbri said. “It’s some distance.”

  Breanna was delighted by the prospect. “Okay. But though I love horses—especially black ones—I’m not an experienced rider.”

  “There will be no problem.”

  So Breanna climbed onto Mare Imbri’s back, and the horse took off. She galloped somewhat faster than the wind, seeming to pass right through trees, and the girl was entirely at ease, not even close to falling off. That was part of the magic of it. Sometimes they even seemed to be flying through the air.

  Still, she had a doubt to work through. “Do some talents lie around, waiting for folk?”

  “In a manner. For example, there’s the C Tree. Its seeds do marvelous things. If you need a lot of water, you can invoke a C big enough to sail a ship on. Or you could put a C on your eye and C much farther than before. Or if you are afraid of failure, you can put a C seed in your mouth and suck-seed.”

  “I C,” Breanna said. “I mean, I sea—er, see. But that’s not the same as a talent, because you are using something else.”

  “The right C might give you the talent of C-ing better than ever.”

  Breanna shrugged. “I suppose so. Though if I tried to hide one in my bosom, it might C too much. I’d rather have an innate talent.”

  Then, suddenly, Mare Imbri stopped. They were in a towering castle. As Breanna slid to the ground, amazed, the loveliest woman she had ever seen appeared. Her hair was long and
pleasantly greenish, and the rest of her would make a professional model jealous. “Hello, Breanna,” she said. “I am Chlorine. This is my friend Nimby.” She gestured behind Breanna, and when Breanna turned, there was a huge dragon with a silly donkey head. Breanna started to giggle, but managed to stifle it down into half a peep.

  “Nimby would like to share your dreams,” Chlorine said. “Is that all right with you?”

  “You mean, this dragon will appear in my dreams?”

  “Not exactly. He will merely watch.”

  “Well, whatever, it’s okay with me. My dreams aren’t much.”

  “Thank you,” Chlorine said.

  Then Breanna was riding on Imbri again, back the way they had come. She wasn’t quite sure how that had happened, but dreams did tend to be discontinuous, so she wasn’t concerned.

  What did concern her was the lateness of the hour. She realized that the day had passed without her noticing, and darkness was closing. “I’ll be late getting home,” she said. “I’ll catch heaven.” There were times she needed to swear, but that could get her into trouble, so she substituted words.

  “There will be no trouble,” Imbri’s dreamlet image said. “Look around you.”

  Breanna looked—and realized that she could see everything. She could see in blackness!

  That was the beginning of her wonderful private life. She never told anyone else about her visit to the mysterious castle with the beautiful woman and ugly dragon, or about her brand new talent. The castle scene was probably just a daydream, but the talent was delightfully real.

  “That’s the way it was,” she agreed as the memory dream ended. “You, or maybe your friends, found the talent for me. But why can’t I give it back?”

  A new dream formed. This was of Imbri, grazing by a clog tree. Near it was a sandalwood tree, where a faun danced and played panpipes. Then Imbri changed to nymph form and went to tousle the faun’s hair, and he patted her pert bare bottom. Obviously the two got along well.

  A dragon appeared—the one with the silly donkey head. On its back was the fair Chlorine. They stopped before the faun and nymph. “Nimby wants to dream,” Chlorine said.

  “Dragons can dream,” Imbri replied.

  “But demons don’t.”

  “Demons?” the faun asked.

  “Yes, Forrest. Will you keep a secret?”

  Forrest and Imbri glanced at each other. “I think we had better,” Imbri said.

  “Nimby is really the Demon X(A/N)th.”

  Both faun and nymph laughed, thinking this a joke. Then the dragon transformed into a huge glowing demon figure, and the scene turned inside out. After a moment the scene returned to normal, with the dragon back. There was no further laughter.

  “You are the expert on dreams, Imbri,” Chlorine said. “Can you teach Nimby to dream? By himself, without having to view it as done by mortals?”

  Imbri was plainly awed. “I don’t know. No demon has ever dreamed. They don’t have the mortal coils for it. They don’t know what living emotions are. So there’s nothing for dreams to fix on.”

  “Living emotions,” Chlorine said thoughtfully. “Like love?”

  “Yes, that especially. Demons think love is silly. Of course Nimby—” She framed the word with a peculiar emphasis, now that she knew what it signified. “Nimby is not just any demon. So possibly—”

  “Nimby loves. He learned it from Mundanes, among others.”

  “Oh. Then maybe he should start to learn dreaming from Mundanes too. They are less complicated than magical creatures. If he could follow the dreams of one, perhaps a young one, he might be able to pick up the essence. I can’t deliver a dream to one who doesn’t know how to do it. It’s like love: you can’t accomplish it until you learn how.” Imbri glanced at Forrest Faun, and a little heart flew across to bop him on the nose. He smiled.

  “The Mundane family we know returned to Mundania,” Chlorine said. “Fresh Mundanes are hard to come by.”

  “I know one,” Imbri said. “She has been in Xanth almost half her life, but she remembers Mundania.”

  “Bring her here.”

  “But is it wise to let a Mundane know Nimby’s true nature?”

  “It isn’t wise to let anyone know Nimby’s true nature,” Chlorine said firmly. “We have told you only because we need your informed help.”

  “Make her a deal,” Forrest Faun suggested. “Give her what she most wants, if she will share her dreams with you.”

  “What would she want?” Chlorine asked.

  “What would any Mundane want?” the faun asked rhetorically. “A magic talent, of course. Don’t tell her who Nimby is, just make the deal.”

  Chlorine looked at Nimby, who wiggled a long ear. She returned to Imbri. “Bring her to the Nameless Castle.”

  Imbri resumed mare form and galloped swiftly away. Chlorine mounted Nimby, and both vanished. Forrest waved at the space where they had been, and retired to his sandalwood tree.

  The scene faded. Breanna was back in her regular daydream, facing Mare Imbri. “Now you know how you came by your talent. The Demon gave it to you, in exchange for sharing your dreams.”

  “But I haven’t seen that dragon in any dream,” Breanna protested.

  “He merely watches without interfering. If he disturbed your dreams, they would no longer be innocent. It has been effective; he is slowly learning how to dream on his own. But it would be impolitic to renounce the deal now.”

  “Well, he can keep sharing, if that’s what he wants,” Breanna said, though she felt more than a smidgen queasy about having such a creature there. Some of her dreams were rather personal. “Just take back the talent.”

  “Demons don’t work that way. He would not feel free, if he voided the talent. In any event, it’s not smart to jostle any demon, and especially not this one. He has more power than all of Xanth put together. In fact the whole of the magic of Xanth is merely the incidental leakage from his body, in much the way heat leaks from mortal bodies. It is best to stay entirely out of his notice, if at all possible, like a flea on a dragon. Chlorine interprets for him, so that the mere power of his attention does not obliterate much of the surrounding landscape. So it is best by far to let things be as they are—for all of us.”

  “But he is already noticing me, if he is sharing my dreams,” Breanna said. “And now that I know his nature, how can I avoid noticing him?”

  “Precisely. That is why you must not know. Your dreams must continue as they have been. He observes them with only a fraction of his attention, and that won’t change if you don’t change.”

  Now Breanna understood. “I guess you’re right. I can’t give my talent back. So I’d better just go see the Good Magician.”

  “Yes. He always does deliver, and the deals folk make with him are always worth it, even if they don’t think so at the time.”

  Breanna sighed. “Okay. I agree. Take back the dream.”

  She came out of her reverie. She knew that she had just had a phenomenal dream, and learned something that shook the very foundation of Xanth, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Only that now she knew that it made sense to keep her talent and go to see the Good Magician Humfrey for some other solution to her problem with the zombie king. She had agreed to relinquish the dream; she remembered that much.

  “Sleep here,” Mare Imbri’s dreamlet image said. “I will keep watch for the zombies, and advise you if they come.”

  “But don’t you have to go home to Forrest Faun? I’ll bet you had to censor that dream with him in it to avoid violating the Adult Conspiracy.”

  “Of course. But I can remain with you for a while. Forrest understands, and so does my tree. When night comes, you can go to the Good Magician’s castle. You will be able to avoid the zombies, because you can see better in blackness than they can. I would carry you there myself, but it’s too far from my tree. I have substance only within a certain range of my tree, for it is what provides that for me. But I will help guide you and warn
you, in my soul-mare form, and you will get there safely.”

  “Thank you,” Breanna said. She felt better about the prospect, though she didn’t know why. Then she lay down and slept.

  2

  WE THREE KINGS

  Oh, you’re going to get it!” the floor said. “Queen Irene is looking for you.”

  “Then maybe she had better find me,” King Dor replied, unperturbed. He was used to being addressed impertinently by various things, because that was his magic talent: to talk to the inanimate, and have it answer. Such things tended not to be very smart, but they were observant. “Where is she?”

  “Do I look like the Book of Answers?” the nearest wall demanded flatly. “How should I know?”

  Dor rephrased the question. “When did you last see her?”

  “Ten minutes ago.” The inanimate did have to give a straight answer if it had it, when he asked directly.

  “What direction was she going?”

  “Toward the library.”

  He went to the castle library. Queen Irene was just watering the flame vine she had growing there, to make light for reading. It was curled in a rising spiral, with hot little leaves, and the flower on the end was a ball of rose-like petals of red flame. Unfortunately it hated water, so tried to burn anyone who watered it. Irene was the only one who could do it, and it wasn’t always easy. The plant wasn’t smart enough to realize that its roots needed water if it was to survive.

  “Need any help, dear?” Dor inquired. His wife’s talent was growing plants, and she could make anything grow to any size in a hurry. But that did not necessarily make the plants tractable.

  Irene turned to glance at him. She had been a luscious young woman, but now she was safely middle aged and rather beyond lusciousness. It would not be politic to mention that, however. “Yes. Can you distract it a moment?”

  Dor focused on the clock sitting on the far side of the vine. “Is that a time fly flying toward you?” he asked it.

  “A time fly!” it cried, alarmed. It was an alarm clock, that got alarmed by the silliest things. “Don’t let it near me! It will foul up my mechanism.”

  “I think the fish tank just got it,” the shelf said. The fish tank in the neighboring aquarium swung its turret around, searching for the fly. It rolled forward on its treads, but no fly was to be found. It fired off a watery shell, annoyed.