Chapter 20: Demon
There wasn’t time for fear. Floyd simply fell beside the column of water plunging into the ice dome. He was sorry he hadn’t done a better job of the rescue. He was just a village oaf, sadly outmatched.
Yet Faux had believed in him enough to give him the thread and let him tackle his challenge alone. She must have had some reason for faint hope.
Then he felt something holding him back. He wasn’t falling as fast as he should. It was as though a lifeline were gently taking up the slack, slowing his fall. How could that be?
There was a tug on his pocket. The silken thread! It was somehow holding him back. Faux must have anticipated this, and given him some protection from his own folly. He should have known she would not simply send him to his doom.
But he was still falling, albeit more slowly. He crashed into the dome of ice, right beside the entry hole for the water, cracking it asunder and denting it in. Then he slid on through and dropped to the floor below, landing clumsily on his feet amid a shower of ice shards. He saw that the waterfall went right through the center of the dome and down into a hole, surely exiting into the sunless sea.
There was a scream. He looked and saw the damsel holding her dulcimer. Dulcie! She was dark and shapely, with a cute face and long black hair, a lovely young woman in her nicely fitting jacket and skirt. If he understood her situation correctly, she was actually a trapped spirit, so he should be able to talk with her just as he had with Waiter.
“Uh, hello,” he said awkwardly. “Dulcie?”
She calmed somewhat. “Who are you? What is your purpose here?”
So he was right about that. They could talk. “I am Floyd. I have come to rescue you. Waiter sent me.”
“Waiter! The tenter? He remains?”
“For centuries. He loves you. He says you sing and dance beautifully.”
She played a chord on her dulcimer and did a little dance step that multiplied her physical appeal. “He’s nice. But only a mortal can save me.”
“I am that mortal,” Floyd said. He hoped.
“That gives me joy. I have been trapped here far too long.” Now she played a lovely melody, her fingers moving deftly, and danced in a manner he hadn’t seen before. She sang of Mount Abora, surely a wonderful place, as much a paradise as Xanadu itself, where she had come of age. Her homeland, animated by her gestures. It was extremely evocative, and the way she flung her hair and moved her hips—
Then something crashed down behind him. Floyd whirled, sword ready. It was the demon, complete with horns, fangs, hooves, and tail.
“Oh!” Dulcie cried. “I spelled the ice to keep the demon out, but you made a hole in it, and now he’s here.”
“But there was already a hole,” Floyd protested. “For the water.”
“I couldn’t use that hole,” the demon said. “The water would have shorted me out. But you made one I could use, you mortal fool.”
Oops. He had been an idiot again. “Sorry about that.”
“And now at long last I’ve got you,” the demon told Dulcie leeringly. “On honeydew I have fed, and drunk the milk of paradise far too long; it is way past time to have a woman. So how do you want your nooky, you luscious creature? The easy way or the hard way? I prefer the hard way.”
He was talking about her reluctant cooperation versus outright rape. “No way,” Floyd said, menacing him with the sword.
The demon laughed. “You want me to do you too, man-child? Wait your turn.” He stalked toward Dulcie, who screamed and backed away.
Floyd swung the sword, catching the demon at waist level. And the blade passed right through without resistance. Oops, Faux had warned him.
The demon turned and advanced on him, his eyes flashing and his hair floating. “You annoy me, mortal twerp. Cease your antics, or I might do this to you.” He swung his hand at Floyd as if to slap his chest, but the hand passed through his body.
And gave his heart an awful start. That electric squeeze! Floyd fell back, gasping. Faux had warned about this too. Curiously, the demon was shaking his hand as if it had gotten hurt.
But Faux had also given Floyd the key to victory. To weave the electric thread around the demon three times.
The demon had already turned away, satisfied that Floyd was no threat at all. He was stalking Dulcie again. How did he propose to rape her when his body could not touch her physically? Maybe that same electrical squeeze, down in her tender part. She plainly feared it. In her distress she dropped her dulcimer.
Now was the time. Floyd brought out the thin thread—and paused. How could he weave it around the demon three times without anchoring it somewhere?
Then he got a notion. He looped the thread around the hilt of the sword and drew it tight. He held on to the other end with his hand.
“Hey, horntoad!” he called.
The demon glanced back at him, without letting go of Dulcie’s arm. He had just caught her and was about to draw himself close to her. Evidently he could use her body as leverage when he chose to. “You again, pipsqueak? Do I have to put you down to stop this nuisance?”
“You sure do, fangface,” Floyd said. “Hoof it over here so I can dispatch you without getting any of your dirt on the lady.”
A wisp of smoke rose from the demon’s head as his hair floated higher. The insults were getting through! “So be it, moron.” He let go of the damsel and strode toward Floyd.
“Ki-yah!” Floyd cried, and flung the sword at him. It passed right through, of course, and clattered to the floor beyond. He could see the faint luminescence of the thread as it carried its charge. He hoped the demon wouldn’t see it.
“Ho ho ho!” the demon laughed. “Couldn’t even hold on to your weapon, butterfingers!”
“I don’t need a sword,” Floyd said. “I’ll hex you instead.” He made an indecent gesture with one finger.
The demon dived for him, but Floyd nimbly stepped aside, then veered to complete a left-turning circle around the stumbling creature, trailing the glowing thread, which the demon evidently didn’t notice. One loop.
“I’m going to screw you to the wall!” the demon cried, and charged again.
Floyd avoided him, and loped around for a second turn. Now there were two glowing loops circling the demon. “You’d better brush up on your attacks,” Floyd said. “A lame bear is more agile than you are.”
“I will destroy you!” the demon cried, enraged. He charged again, his hands fairly crackling with his own deadly current.
Floyd dodged him again, completing a third loop. Got it thrice! Now would it work?
The demon oriented once more. Floyd jerked on the thread, drawing it closer.
The demon froze. “Oh, no! That’s Faux Fee’s thread!”
“She gets around,” Floyd said, though he was surprised himself about this detail. Faux really had been around. That was why she had known what he needed here. “Well, off with you, fool.” He twitched the thread to be sure it was tight. Then he picked up the sword and tossed it at the plunging liquid column.
“Noooo!” the demon cried as he was pulled after the sword, into the waterfall. In a moment he disappeared in a flash, shorted out by the water.
“You did it!” Dulcie cried, running to hug him. Oh, her joy was sweet! “You beat the foul demon!”
“Well, that was the general idea,” Floyd said modestly. What an armful she was!
“But how do you propose to get me to the real world? I don’t have a host body there, and I’m sure Abyssinia has changed beyond recognition; I would not be comfortable there anymore.”
“We should be able to get you one of the local village girls, who would be glad to exchange her drab existence for your appearance and expertise with song and dance.”
“That would do,” she agreed. She wriggled enticingly in his arms. “And you, Floyd—are you interested?”
Suddenly he was. “But Waiter—I’m rescuing you for him.”
“And a fine man he is,” she agreed. “But you
are the one who rescued me. You have the first pick.”
She was fabulously compelling, and she was on Faux’s list. But would it be right to take her? “I—I don’t know.”
She kissed him on the cheek, then went to fetch her dulcimer. “I’m teasing.”
Maybe so, but it was a tease that could readily fascinate him. She was every ounce a woman, and she knew it. “I—I need to get you across the divide.”
“Yes. That is your realm.”
“I think if I hold you while I change, you will come with me.”
“I certainly will.” She squeezed him excitingly tightly.
Floyd focused on the names XANADU—XANDU. KUBLA—KUBLAI.
The ice cave was gone. They stood back among the barren ruins. They were in a deep gully, maybe the spot where the ice dome was, in the other realm.
“Now you must choose,” Dulcie said, stepping away from him and twirling her skirt appealingly as she played a chord on the dulcimer.
He was nonplussed. “But you don’t have a host here, yet.”
“Oh, but I do, Floyd. I am with your guardian, the Fee. That is temporary, unless you wish it to be permanent.” She spun gracefully about, her skirt rising higher. Oh, those legs! “I will gladly be your paramour, if you choose me. Your decision is upon you.”
That explained it. Faux had intercepted them here, and hosted Dulcie’s spirit immediately. If he chose Dulcie, Faux would continue hosting her indefinitely. But what then of the other girls? Amelie, Trudy, Truly, and Faux herself? What of Waiter, who would be cheated out of his love? That wasn’t right.
“I—I need more time to consider.”
“No. This is your crisis of manhood.” He knew that was really Faux speaking. “Not physical or mental, but emotional. You must decide before we rejoin Waiter.”
He had to decide now that the complete roster was here. That was his final test of manhood.
Damn. He would rather be fighting the demon. There, there was no confusion about good and evil. Here, he had to choose among five girls, all of whom were good. That was qualitatively different. Which one was best for him? Which one was he best for? He wished he could have all of them, but that was not the nature of the choice. Damn, damn, damn.
Chapter 21: Host Fee
“I see where this is going,” said Dulcie, coming to the forefront.
“Y-You do?” asked Floyd. Even he had no idea what was happening.
“Yes, you are leaning toward the Fee, named Faux, my present host. Do you deny it?”
Admittedly, Faux did seem the most obvious prospect. After all, he had gotten to know her well during this past year and a half. Or had it been two years? He had lost track of time, so long was his journey from home.
“I-I’m not sure.”
“Well, she is the obvious choice. And now that I’m here, merged temporarily with her, I see that she has something resembling feelings for you, but be careful with that.”
“What do you mean?” asked Floyd.
“As a Fee, feelings do not come naturally to her, if at all.”
“I don’t understand.”
“For an immortal, feelings are a hindrance.”
“I’m not sure I’m follow—”
“Think about it, Floyd. What use does a Fee have for feelings, when mortals die off? How many has she watched die? Better to not have feelings, and watch the world pass you by, than to continuously feel heartbreak, decade after decade, century after century.”
“But you said she does have something resembling feelings.”
“It’s as close as she can get, Floyd. It is not real love. It is her best approximation at real love.”
“But she’s trying to love me,” he said, hoping he was following.
“She is, yes. But it is not real love. Not in the human sense.”
“And you have loved?” he asked.
“Oh, yes.”
He saw the look in her eye, and the way she glanced back to where the ruins of Xanadu would lie. “The Waiter,” he said, understanding.
She held his gaze, then suddenly crossed her arms under her chest. Her fingernails drummed a staccato upon her upper arms. Floyd knew that drumming anywhere. Faux had come through. “She is not speaking the truth, Floyd. She is in love with the Waiter.”
“Then why does she not go to him?” I asked.
“She feels obligated to you. She is, in fact, bound to you, until you release her.”
That didn’t feel like love to Floyd, either. And neither did it feel like love when a creature—no matter how desirable—had to fake it. Floyd said, “Then I release her.” He corrected himself. “I release you, Dulcie. You are no longer bound to me. You may go to the Waiter. He has, well, he has waited a long time for you.”
She uncrossed her arms and pirouetted a few inches off the ground. Dulcie was back again. As her dress flew up and Floyd appreciated all over again what he was seeing, he wondered if he was making the correct choice. Next, she flung herself into Floyd’s arms and covered his face and lips with kisses. Floyd thought he might have died and gone to heaven. “My hero! Thank you for saving me, and thank you for releasing me. Now, I can go to my one true love!”
And with that, she was gone, and standing in her place was Faux, who had now taken on the guise of Trudy, the simple serving girl of the White Ladies. Seeing her caused a nearly physical reaction in Floyd. After all, he had spent an afternoon kissing her—or who he had thought had been her. Of course, it had turned out that he was kissing Faux all along, who had been emulating Trudy. But that had been nearly two years ago. Two years! Sadly, he could see, despite his body’s reaction, that he was no longer interested in Trudy. Not because she was plain, but because he had nearly forgotten her. Floyd took her hand, kissed the back of it, and wished her well. She was not the one for him. Anyone who could be forgotten would not suit his need for lifelong love.
Trudy faded with a sad smile, and in her place was Truly, now full-sized and as lovely as any woman he’d ever met. Truly looked around her, slightly confused. “I feel like a giant.”
“You would be a giant in your world. In mine, you are normal sized.”
“No, this doesn’t feel right. I feel gangly and heavy. I prefer to be fleet of foot and closer to the ground. But if you choose me, I will give up life as I prefer it to start a new one with you. You are my favorite storyteller. And I would enjoy spending a lifetime listening to your tales.”
Floyd was touched by the compliment. Yes, he wanted to be a teller of tales, but, thus far, he had only written in his journals of his travels, and had only told the one tale, which had, of course, featured Truly in the title role.
But seeing her now, the way her arms hung at her side, the way her hips dragged down, the way her hair hung forward, Floyd knew she would be living in misery to be with him. He took her hands and kissed her cheek and released her as well, and there was a brief instant where Floyd watched her shrink down to her normal six inches. She did a cartwheel and skipped off through the tall grass... and disappeared.
An instant later, Amelie stood before him.
“What of me, Floyd? You will summarily dismiss me as well?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when no words emerged. Seeing her again brought back a lot of emotion in him. Unlike Trudy, Floyd hadn’t gone a day without thinking of Amelie, a girl he barely knew, yes, but had loved from afar, seemingly his entire life. That love had not faded, even after years and months of his Journey. In fact, seeing her now made his heart sing, and he ached to be with her, to love her, to make love to her, to start a family with her. More than anything, he ached to feel her love. Real love. Not a simulation.
Faux, of course, could read his mind, and spoke to him through Amelie’s perfect mouth. “You do not know if she will return your love, Floyd. Whereas, I can promise you something close to it for as long as you live. I will never grow old, unless you want me to. I will be everything you want me to be.”
“But why?” aske
d Floyd.
“You have proven to be interesting.”
“But not because you love me,” he said.
“I do not know this word, I’m sorry. But I will do my best to mimic it.”
Floyd nodded and made his decision. “I choose Amelie. I choose to take a chance on her, for good or ill.”
And just as the words escaped his lips, Amelie leaped forward and threw her arms around him, hugging him harder than any other girl had ever hugged him. He fell to his back, and she showered him with even more kisses than Dulcie.
“I picked Amelie. Not you, Faux!” he managed to say between the onslaught of lips and even the tip of her hungry tongue.
“It is Amelie, you dolt!” she said, then resumed the kissing.
“Wait, what?”
She sat back, straddling him, her thighs smooth and bare, her skirt riding up. “Don’t you get it? Faux isn’t just a Fee, but she’s a Host Fee.”
Floyd sat up on his elbows. His body having already reacted mightily to the shower of her kisses and the press of her body. “A Host Fee? I don’t understand.”
“All of us could come through her, even from afar. We can see what she sees. She hosts us.”
“But...” he said, certain he wasn’t understanding, “but I thought she was only assuming your likeness.”
“You thought wrong.”
“You are really Amelie?”
“I am.”
He thought of a complication. “But what of your Journey? You can’t marry until you have taken it.”
“This counts as that. It is of the mind more than the body, but I have been gathering stories too.” She smiled mischievously. “Some are about you, that you might not care to tell yourself.”
Somehow he wasn’t worried. “And where is Faux?”
“She is here, watching us. Curious as always.”
“Are her feelings hurt?” he asked. “I did not choose her, after all.”
“She feels no love, and no heartache either. But she wants to understand love and hopes that she can by hosting my body, at times.”
“So when we kiss...”
The Journey Page 11