Zombie Lover

by Anthony, Piers

  “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 slept 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.”

  “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?”

&nb
sp; 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.