Yon Ill Wind

by Piers Anthony

  “Let's get out of here before he recovers,” Midrange said. The four of them, freed from the machine's power, charged out of the cave.

  There was the striped dragon, with the lovely young woman. She was still leaning forward, evidently just having rolled the ball into the cave. “Hi, fellows,” she said brightly. “The two pieces of reverse wood nullified each other. But when they fell apart, they nullified Sending. He'll be helpless until that wood gets moved out of his cave—which will be hard to do. Now we must hurry, because the moving house is about to start moving.”

  They hurried. All of them ran, following the dragon, who knew where they were going. Snarl came along too.

  They made it to the road, panting. There was the RV, just starting to move. The water had all drained away, leaving the surface drivable. “They don't see us!” Chlorine gasped.

  Nimby snapped up a piece of wood, held it between his donkey teeth, lifted his head, and gave what sounded like a whistle in ducktalk. It was an awful noise. But it worked, the vehicle slowed.

  “Nimby—you can talk!” Chlorine cried as they raced up to it. But the dragon shook his head, and Midrange knew why: he had made a sound, but it wasn't talking.

  The whistle had been artificial, because of air blown past the piece of wood, and meaningless, except in the sense that it signaled the whistler's presence. It was just noise, not talk.

  Chlorine realized that after two-thirds of a moment.

  “You made it, but it wasn't you. I should have realized.”

  She smiled. “So I'm not a whistler's mother. I'll survive.”

  They got there, and Nimby changed back to his manform. Woofer and Tweeter scrambled into the RV, and Chlorine followed. But Midrange paused. “What about you. Snarl?” he asked the dog.

  Snarl hesitated. “Nobody here needs a companion?” he asked plaintively.

  The dog had helped Midrange accomplish his mission in time. Generosity was not really Midrange's forte, but there was an implied deal: companionship for help. “Get on in,” he told the dog. “We'll figure something out.”

  Nimby had paused. Now he picked up Snarl, whose legs were too short to navigate the steep step up, and set him on the floor inside. Then Midrange bounded in, and Nimby came last.

  “You did it!” David cried, picking Midrange up and hugging him. “You rescued them. I knew you could!

  'Cause you're my cat.”

  Disgusting display of sentiment, but somehow Midrange wasn't entirely displeased. He extricated himself after a moment. He had indeed done the job, though perhaps some small credit should be given to the catatonic medicine, and to Snarl, and to Nimby also.

  The RV was moving, gathering speed. Snarl was in Chlorine's lap, peering out a window, fascinated by this magic vehicle. Suddenly he barked. “It's her!”

  What now? Midrange looked out. There was a disconsolate dark-haired girl walking by the edge of the road.

  She seemed to be looking for something. “Who is 'her'?” Midrange asked the dog.

  “My ideal companion! The girl whose hair formed me.

  Maybe she's looking for me.”

  Midrange wasn't sure about that, but it was worth a try.

  He ran up to the front, where Jim-Dad was driving.

  “Meop!” he said, in as plain human as he could muster.

  Jim-Dad looked at him. “You want me to pick up that girl? We don't have room for—”

  “Mneo,” Midrange said. “Meust meop.” He wished his cat tongue could form the clumsy human words better.

  He was trying to say, “No—just stop.”

  Jim-Dad sighed and braked the vehicle. He came to a stop by the girl, who paused to stare at the RV in astonishment. Obviously she had never seen a monster like this before. But at least she wasn't running away from it.

  Snarl leaped to the floor and charged for the front, his stubby legs slipping on the unfamiliar surface. He arrived just as the girl was answering Jim-Dad's question. “I'm Ursa. I'm just looking for my dog. I was distracted and lost him, and I can't find him anywhere. I'm afraid he'll be hurt by the madness if I don't find him and take him home quickly. Have you seen—?”

  Then Snarl launched himself out the door. Ursa saw him and plucked him out of midair. “Snarl! You're here! You're safe!” She hugged him joyfully, and his stubby little tail wagged ferociously.

  So Snarl would not be traveling farther with them; he had found his ideal companion. Midrange looked out the window as the RV resumed motion. The girl waved, and Snarl barked. Then they were gone. Karen wiped away a tear, and Midrange's own eyes were wet, but of course, that was because of the lingering effect of the Crimea River.

  After that, the drive became boring. Jim-Dad was driving fast, trying to get where he was going before the madness made it impossible. There was no other traffic on the road, which helped, but still it wasn't the safest mode of travel. The children were settling down to normal fidgeting, while Sean was oddly subdued, as if he had suffered some great forgotten adventure of his own. Midrange tuned all of it out and catnapped.

  He woke when the RV swerved. No wonder: the flying dragons were back. They were swooping down to strafe the vehicle, and Jim-Dad was trying to dodge their reaching flames. But a flame caught it anyway—and did no harm.

  “Illusions!” Jim-Dad said, disgusted. “Trying to trick me into swerving off the road. Because it's still enchanted, and they can't really attack us here.” After that he drove straight ahead, even when a dragon came right down to smash into the windshield, and there was nothing.

  Midrange sat up and watched, because this was getting interesting. Suppose one of those dragons turned out to be real, and Jim-Dad didn't dodge it? If maybe there were a flaw in the enchantment, letting one monster through. But soon the phantom dragons gave up, probably because it was no fun when the vehicle wouldn't be bluffed.

  Then there was a sign: JUNK SHUN. “What do you suppose that means?” Jim-Dad asked rhetorically. “I don't remember it from before.”

  It soon turned out to be a crossroads where there was a huge pile of garbage, refuse, and junk. Was it real—or more illusion? A lot of that junk was in the middle of the road; the vehicle could suffer damage if it plowed into it at speed.

  “Delay is disaster,” Jim-Dad muttered, and maintained speed. He won: they passed through the junk without contact.

  After that there were various weird images in the sky and on the ground. At times it looked as if the sky was solid, with mountains growing on it, while the land was gaseous, with birds flying through it. The road was a ribbon of asphalt winding between them, now tunneling through the hills and then floating on water. At one point it headed straight out into space, with the ground showing far below. But Jim-Dad just forged on, ignoring all the effects, and in the end prevailed. His natural Mundane disbelief in magic was helping him reject the illusions. As dusk threatened, they reached the turnoff to Imp Erial.

  As they pulled carefully into the village, they saw that the imps were desperate. They were still working, but they looked haggard. Piles of boxes and bags of gems sat on the walks, not yet carried to safety. Obviously they were not going to make it.

  The RV drew to a stop. Quieta appeared, her nice dress sweat-sodden, her nice hair in disarray. “But we thought you were safely out of Xanth by this time,” she cried.

  “We came to help you complete your job,” Jim-Dad said. “Tell us how to do that.”

  Quieta wasted no time on amazement. “You can carry those piles of gems to the cave. Ersonal will show you the way.”

  They trooped out, not bothering with the accommodation spell this time. Each of the humans, including Nimby, picked up a pile and carried it carefully. Each load was perhaps ten times what an imp might have carried. They followed Imp Ersonal along a path that was really too small for full humans, but it had to do, because if they reduced to imp size, they wouldn't be able to carry their burdens.

  They came to the cave. It looked like a rathole, so small that even the imps had t
o crawl into it. They set down their burdens and returned to the village.

  Midrange watched, as did Woofer and Tweeter. They weren't fit for carrying, but they could still help. When the humans returned, each animal showed some of them to a new pile. That way the imps didn't have to carry the piles to the staging region; they could be picked up directly from the buildings. When the imps saw that, they increased their efforts to get their wares out on the steps. There were barrels of beryls, each gem of which was a miniature barrel that would cause anyone who invoked it to bare all. Men liked to give these to innocent women, the imps explained.

  There were lapfuls of lapis, which would cause people to wee-wee unexpectedly; Midrange presumed those were for unfriends or those with certain bodily complications. There were pails of fire opals, which were little 0-shaped pails that would safely carry fire. There were chairs loaded with citrines, which were gems that caused folk to sit, and if they then took up a la-trine, they would sing, and more.

  There were collections of topaz, which were toe-shaped candies, yellow, peach, white, and blue. There were tiger eyes, through which one could catch a view of a tiger. In fact, there were so many kinds of gems that Midrange lost interest long before assimilating them all.

  “What kind of goofy creature are you?” an imp demanded.

  Midrange stared at the imp, who was no larger than Midrange himself. “You must be Olite,” he remarked in animal language, not expecting to be understood.

  “How did you guess, caterwaul?” the imp asked rudely. “Now, get your carcass out of my way so I can set these 0-nix stones down where your fat rump is.”

  Onyx. To be sure. Midrange got out of the way. It was good to know that not all the imps were sickly sweet in the manner of Quieta.

  As David came to pick up the collection here, two more imps passed by. “You know. End, those huge humans have really helped us,” one said. “Too bad this is only the beginning of Xanth's mischief.”

  “You're right, Asse,” the other replied. “They have enabled us to save our wares in time, for which we are deeply grateful, but the fate of the rest of Xantb' seems worse.”

  “I hope that when we emerge from our safe cave, enough of Xanth remains to make existence worthwhile,”

  End said, his tone suggesting that he doubted that would be the case.

  The two walked on, checking the various houses to make sure all the goods had been taken. But Midrange was bothered by their imp-lication. This wasn't the whole job?

  Then what was the point? He didn't like thinking that they had taken all this trouble to accomplish nothing really significant.

  So he ran after David, with whom he could communicate most readily. The boy was just setting down his last load, as dusk became darkness. “Meavid!” he said.

  David saw him and picked him up. “What's with you, hero?” he asked, stroking his fur in the way he tolerated.

  “Merouble.” Confound this clumsy human speech!

  “Trouble?” David asked. “I thought we just took care of it. Now we're going to use the accommodation spell and join the imps in their safe cave and wait for the madness to pass.”

  Midrange wasn't sure of that. But he couldn't get through to the boy fast enough, even if he knew exactly what the problem was. “Meimby.”

  “Ask Nimby? Okay.”

  At that point Nimby approached. He always seemed to know when someone wanted to talk to him. The imps say there is danger for all Xanth, he thought to Nimby, who could read minds. What is it? Can we help? Tell David.

  Nimby wrote a note and gave it to David. “There is danger!” David cried. “And we can help.”

  Chlorine approached. “There is more danger?” she asked.

  David gave her the note. She read it and sighed. “Then I suppose we'll have to tell the others, though I fear this will lead to complications.”

  David nodded. “I guess this isn't great for you, huh? It's more work with the duffers.”

  Chlorine tousled his hair. Midrange saw the effect it had on the boy; if Sean was three-quarters-smitten by her beauty, David was half-smitten. “Really, I don't mind. But how did you know to ask Nimby about it?”

  “Midrange told me.”

  Chlorine looked at Midrange with mock severity. “So you're the one!” She tousled his fur too. And he, too, loved it. There was just something about a stunningly beautiful woman with a nice personality, even if he knew it was all an enchantment made by a donkey-headed dragon.

  And the truth was that this was the best adventure Midrange himself had ever had. It had everything: a dragon, a damsel, peril, magic, mystery, and madness. What more could a bored tomcat desire?

  Chapter 9

  20 QUESTIONS

  Chlorine went to find the adult members of the family. Jim Baldwin was just returning from his final load of gems. She intercepted him. “Excuse me, please—'' She realized that she didn't know how he preferred to be addressed. “Mundane Father—”

  He smiled. “Call me Jim.”

  That made it easier. “Jim, I have learned that there is more danger. Not just for the imps, but for all Xanth. David asked Nimby. Nimby didn't volunteer it, because it wasn't to us personally. But—“

  “We were able to help the imps, but helping all Xanth is surely beyond our power,” he said. “We need to use the accommodation spell now and join the imps in their safe cave until the storm passes.”

  “The imps are afraid that there will not be much left, after it passes,” she said.

  “I'd better talk with Nimby. The way the wind is rising, we can't delay about a decision.”

  “I know where he is.” She led him back to David, Midrange, and Nimby.

  “Nimby, what's this about danger for all Xanth, and how does it concern us?'' Jim asked.

  Nimby had already written a note. He gave it to Jim.

  “’The storm is unique because it is foreign,' “ Jim read. “ 'It will continue to grow in strength, and the magic dust it spreads will devastate all of Xanth if not stopped.

  Those who live underground, or take cover there, will survive, but those who remain on the ground, in the water, or in the air will suffer grievously. Most of the vegetation will be blown away. What remains will be a paltry remnant. But it is possible for this party to ameliorate it, if we take immediate and effective action, at some risk to ourselves.' “

  “Some risk?” Chlorine said. “But I'm supposed to get you safely out of Xanth.”

  “We negated that when we turned back from the border,” Jim remarked wryly.

  The other members of the family had assembled during the reading. “Dad, we have to take that action,” Sean said.

  “Yeah,” Karen agreed.

  He looked at Mary. “Yes,” she said grimly.

  “But that probably means danger,” he said. “Nimby surely isn't fooling about 'some risk.' And we're already tired.”

  “And all the other folk of Xanth face possible extinction,” Mary said.

  He faced Nimby. “What can we do?”

  Nimby was already writing another note. Jim read it. He looked at Chlorine. “It seems we shall have to split up,” he said.

  “But I must see you safely out of Xanth!” Chlorine repeated. “That's my mission. I can't leave you until then.”

  “Nimby believes that you will not be able to accomplish that mission until Xanth itself is secured,” Jim said. “So it seems we shall have to take the risk. You must go with Nimby to fetch the windbreaker; we must go to Castle Roogna to get help in enlisting Fracto Cumulo Nimbus in the cause of saving Xanth.”

  “Wow!” David exclaimed.

  Chlorine was amazed. She looked at Nimby. He nodded.

  “Well, it will be your fault if I fail to complete the Good Magician's service,” she said. “I certainly hope you know as much as you think you do.”

  Nimby nodded again. He was so sure he knew, when obviously he couldn't know everything. That was about the only aggravating thing about him.

  Then he wrote
another note. It said: I know what is going on in Xanth, not what will happen. I know that Fracto and the windbreaker can save Xanth, but not whether they will. I know the best way to achieve these things, but not whether they will be achieved. I do not mean to be aggravating.

  And how could she be mad at him? He was making her beautiful, smart, and healthy, and helping her have the greatest adventure of her life. “I'm sorry for what I thought,” she said, for of course, he had made her nice, too. She knew she wouldn't much care about his feelings in her natural state, but she was glad to be the way he had made her. She felt so much better about herself this way, and not just because of the way others saw her. She owed Nimby everything.

  “Then so let it be,” Jim said. Chlorine suspected that he, too, was beginning to enjoy this adventure, which was surely quite different from his ordinary life in drear Mundania. “We shall drive to—” He glanced at the note Nimby had given him. “Castle Roogna. We should be able to make it by morning.”

  Mary took his arm. “You have driven enough, dear,” she said. “I will drive there, while you get some necessary rest.”

  Karen stared at her. “Mom! You can drive the RV?”

  “Stop teasing me, you little bleep,” Mary said with a third of a smile. Unlike the others, she actually said the word “bleep”; it wasn't a Conspiracy expurgation.

  “But how will we find our way there, without Chlorine and Nimby to tell us?” David asked.

  “Good point,” Jim said.

  Quieta had joined the group. “We really appreciate the way you helped us complete our task in time, at the expense of your own freedom to leave Xanth,” she said.

  “We have not known how to repay you, but now perhaps we can. We shall provide a guide.”

  “But then that person won't be safe in the sanctuary cave,” Mary protested.

  “She will be safe at Castle Roogna, perhaps, especially if you succeed in saving Xanth. Here is my daughter Trenita.” A younger imp woman stepped forward. She looked to be in her mid-thirties.

  “Then we are constrained to accept your kind offer,” Jim said. “Now I think the madness is closing in; you must close your cave, and we must be on our way.”