Man From Mundania

by Piers Anthony

  Electra considered. “Gee, I don't really know. There's the Simurgh on the Tree of Seeds at the top, and the Python and the Wild Women.”

  “And the Tree of Immortality on the other peak,” Ivy added. “But this path's going down, so it must be to somewhere else. I just want to be sure it's better than what we're hiding from.”

  “Anything's better than that horrible monster!” Electra exclaimed. “I mean, I suppose it's pretty bad getting eaten, but that awful gaze—somehow I knew that what the Python planned was worse than eating.”

  Ivy shuddered reminiscently. “I hate to say it, but if that thing fights with the Maenads, I favor the Wild Women. But this path—there's something about it I don't understand. I wonder if we should follow it any farther.”

  “Well, if the Python doesn't follow—”

  There was a crash above, as of a bush getting ripped out of the ground, nettles and all.

  Wordlessly, they resumed their flight down the path.

  Abruptly it debouched in a valley hollowed from the side of the mountain. Huge stone ruins stood there, the remains of some vast ancient temple. Rounded columns reached toward the sky, the roof they once supported gone.

  Sunlight angled across the stones, making the scene totally bright and stark.

  “What is this?” Electra asked, stepping onto the stone platform that must once have been a beautiful floor.

  Before Ivy could answer, a robed, bearded old man appeared from behind a ruined wall. “Pythia!” he exclaimed. “Just in time!”

  “What?” Electra asked.

  “You are the new priestesses. It was foretold you would come, but we were afraid it would be too late. Come this way!”

  “But we aren't priestesses!” Ivy protested. “We are merely innocent maidens who—”

  “Of course. We shall have to clean you up, and you can serve immediately.'‘ “We're tired and hungry,” Electra said. “We have no intention of—”

  “We have excellent food and drink for you.”

  Ivy exchanged half a glance with Electra. They were both hungry. They decided to hold their protest until after they had eaten.

  Part of the ancient temple remained roofed. Here there were several chambers, and there really was good food.

  The girls feasted gluttonously on hayberry longcake and ice chocolate drinks. A quiet old woman brought a basin of water and sponges and cleaned them off while they were eating, then presented them with rather pretty white robes to don in place of their soiled and torn clothing.

  Without even quite paying attention, they found themselves garbed like, well, priestesses, with pretty diadems on their heads and sylphlike gowns. Ivy was surprised to see how pretty Electra looked. “You're growing up, 'Lectra!” Ivy remarked appreciatively.

  Electra grimaced. “I'm in no hurry. All too soon after I come of age, so will Dolph, and then he'll have to choose, and then—”

  Ivy knew why she didn't finish. They both knew that Dolph would choose Nada to marry, and then Electra would die. She was safe only as long as she remained betrothed to Prince Dolph; when that ended, her nine hundred or so years would catch up with her, and she would shrivel into extinction. Unless they found some way around the dilemma.

  “Hark, the Client is arriving,” the original old man announced. “We had better use the older one first. Do either of you have any idea how this is done?”

  “No!” Ivy and Electra said together, resuming their nervousness about the proceedings.

  “Excellent! Have either of you ever had relations with a man?”

  “We are both betrothed,” Ivy said a bit stiffly.

  “What—”

  The man was taken aback. “But you are so young! We require virgins. Why didn't you tell us this before?”

  “You didn't ask, dodo!” Electra said with her usual asperity. “Anyway, who said we're not—”

  Ivy tried to caution her, but was too late, as was usually the case when dealing with Electra.

  “Ah, so you haven't been with a man!” he exclaimed.

  “What difference does it make?” Ivy demanded. She had heard of virgin sacrifices and didn't like the sound of this at all.

  “Only truly innocent young girls can serve as Pythia,” he explained. “That way we can be sure their words are uncorrupted.”

  “Uncorrupted?” Ivy still didn't like this, and now Electra was catching on, and keeping silent.

  “The Pythia must sit on the tripod and speak in tongues for the Client. This is the manner of our oracles.”

  Oracles! Now Ivy remembered something. “They make predictions!” she said.

  “Certainly. The very best predictions. That is why Clients come here.”

  So they weren't to be sacrificed or ravished. Still, there was too much in doubt. “What happened to the Pythia you had before?”

  “After too many years they grow up and get married,” the man said. “Then they lose their innocence and are useless for this work. We have been looking for replacements for some time. You two should do very well, and it is an easy life between predictions. You have no other work to do, and will be well fed and clothed, and of course never molested. All you have to do is answer the questions of the Clients.”

  “Suppose we don't know the answers?”

  “That is why you sit above the magic cleft. The answers are always provided. You will have no difficulty.”

  “Suppose we'd rather go home?”

  He looked blank. “No girl wants to go home after qualifying for this elite position!”

  Ivy exchanged the other half of her earlier glance with Electra. It didn't seem wise to make too much of an issue at the moment. For one thing, they didn't know where the Python was. Once they understood the situation better, they could see about getting away.

  So Ivy went out to the tripod, and Electra stood on the sideline. The Client was there: a centaur from Centaur Isle, handsome and haughty. She could tell his origin by his quiver of arrows: the Isle centaurs had the very best equipment, and their arrows were feathered with a design that was reserved for them alone. Indeed, non-Isle centaurs could not use those arrows; their heft and balance and flying properties differed in subtle ways, so that only true Islers could fire them accurately.

  The tripod was perched over a deep dark crevice in the stone. That made Ivy nervous; she could not fathom its depth, and heard a faint hissing far down. There was also a warm updraft issuing from it with a peculiar odor. It made the hair on the back of her neck tingle.

  But this was the place, and this was the job—until she could get out of the center of attention and see about getting herself and Electra away from here. She had not told these oracle folk that she was a princess, fearing that would only make them more eager to keep her. She just wanted to get along, for now.

  She took her seat on the tripod. Now the updraft caught her filmy white robe, lifting it, exposing her legs. She tried to hold the cloth down, but this was futile; there was too much air. Fortunately the skirt was not full circle; it rose until it formed a bell shape, and stopped there.

  She remembered the mouthy tile at Castle Roogna that had threatened to tell the color of her panties until Grey shut it up with his hard-heeled Mundane shoe. Was there something down in this crevice, gazing up? She had not much liked this business to begin with; now she was coming to hate it. Her panties were her own business!

  The centaur approached. “Ask your question,” the old man said.

  “0 Pythia, I am Centurion Centaur. What is the state of my magic?”

  Oops! Ivy knew that was an exceedingly awkward question. The centaurs of Centaur Isle did not believe in magic talents for themselves; they regarded a talent as fit only for the lower classes, such as human beings. The mainland centaurs were more liberal and accepted their talents, but this was not yet the case with the Islers. What could she say? The chances were that this centaur did have a talent but would prefer to die rather than acknowledge it, and if it became known he would be exiled from the Isle
. So he had nothing to gain by the truth. Should she lie and say he had none, thus satisfying him and securing his future with his kind? But even though this oracle business was none of her desire, how could she bring herself to lie?

  Thus neither the truth nor the lie was acceptable.

  She sat frozen, unable to speak. No wonder the proprietors preferred completely innocent girls! No one who was aware of the trap of this office would accept the job! Even if she took the expedient course and lied, suppose later his talent manifested and her oracle was thus proven wrong? That would discredit the whole business, and somehow she knew that was no good outcome either.

  Then the air wafting from below turned hot, and increased its motion. It pushed on her flaring skirt so hard she was half afraid she would be lifted into the air. Her legs were stinging. The fumes became choking; she coughed and tried to hold her breath but could not. She inhaled, and the foul stuff flooded her lungs.

  Her chest burned, and her head became light. She felt dizzy. Indeed she seemed to be floating now, though she hadn't moved. The stone beneath her seemed to turn translucent, so that she could see through it, down to dim shapes of goblins and demons far below, going about their noxious business. The air around her seemed to be going the opposite way, turning thick, opaque, as if a monstrous fog were solidifying around her.

  “Let me out of here!” she screamed. But only gibberish came out of her mouth, as if she were speaking Mundanian.

  Then hands were pulling her off the stool. She flailed, trying to fight them off, but they wrestled her away from the crevice and its blasting fumes.

  “What did she say?” the Centurion demanded.

  “She spoke in tongues,” the old man explained. “We must interpret it for you. A moment while we consult.”

  “Be quick about it,” the centaur said with the natural arrogance of his kind. “The matter is important.”

  The old man stepped aside to talk privately with the two old women who operated the premises. They talked for some time, waving their arms animatedly.

  Meanwhile Ivy was coming out of her delirium. The fog was lifting and the ground was turning solid again. “Are you all right?” Electra asked anxiously. “You looked awful on that tripod!”

  “The fumes choked me!” Ivy explained. “I tried to call for help, but it came out gibberish.”

  “You mean that's what you cried out? It wasn't a prophecy?”

  “It certainly wasn't! I had no idea what to say.”

  “But they are—”

  “I know. I think it's all a big—”

  She broke off, spying something awful. The Python was sliding onto the stone floor!

  Electra saw him too. “He caught up!” she exclaimed. “He found us! Don't look at his eyes!”

  They retreated from the monster reptile. They ran toward the proprietors. “The Python! The Python!” Ivy cried to them.

  The old man looked up. “Of course. He is your guardian, Pythia. He protects the premises from molestation.”

  “But he's going to eat us!”

  “Nonsense. He eats only intruders, not priestesses.” The man returned to his animated consultation.

  Meanwhile the Python was still coming after them. “He doesn't know we became priestesses!” Electra said. “He knows we came from the mountain path!”

  “Maybe the centaur—” Ivy said.

  They ran to the waiting centaur. “That serpent is after us!” Ivy told him.

  “But I haven't had my answer yet,” Centurion said, annoyed.

  “And you may not get it, if I get eaten!” Ivy retorted.

  “Here, here, this won't do!” he said. Suddenly his bow was off his shoulder and in his hands, an arrow nocked.

  “Withdraw, Monster, or it will be the worse for you!”

  But the Python merely elevated his snoot and came on.

  The bow twanged. An arrow appeared in the reptile's nose. “That was a warning shot,” Centurion said. “I have ninety-nine more arrows. The next one will be in the eye. Back off. Monster.”

  Ivy had always known that centaurs were brave and skilled warriors, but she was amazed even so. This one had no awe at all of the Python, and it was evident that he could fire an arrow exactly where he wanted.

  But now the proprietors realized what was happening.

  “Don't shoot at the Python!” the old man cried. “He's our guardian!”

  “He will be a blind one if he slithers one more slither forward!” Centurion retorted.

  Meanwhile the Python, evidently stung by the barb, paused. He oriented an eye to fix on the centaur—but discovered the flinty point of the next arrow aimed directly at the pupil. If the Python had not been aware of the proficiency of centaurs before, he had had a recent reminder. He hesitated again.

  Two more people burst out of the jungle where the path exited. A nondescript young man and a luscious nude young woman. “Grey! Nada!” Ivy exclaimed, thrilled.

  The Python coiled around to meet this new challenge.

  Certainly it was a better prospect than the nervy centaur!

  “Don't look at his eyes!” Electra screamed to Grey.

  Meanwhile Ivy got a clearer look at the girl behind Grey.

  That wasn't Nada—that was a Maenad! What had happened?

  Grey, true to his sometimes infuriating nature, ignored the warning. He stared the Python right in the eye.

  Ivy froze, appalled. So did everyone else, for their own assorted reasons. So did Grey—and the Python. The two were locked into that deadly gaze.

  Then the Python moved. His head sank slowly to the ground. His coils thrashed aimlessly.

  Ivy felt her mouth hanging open. She looked around and saw that the jaws of the proprietors were similarly slack.

  Grey walked forward. “Are you all right. Ivy? We were afraid maybe the Python—”

  “You—you stared him down!” Ivy exclaimed.

  “Of course he did, dummy!” the Maenad said. “He's a Magician!”

  “Well, not exactly that,” Grey said, abashed.

  Electra hurried up. “Where's Nada?”

  There was a motion at Grey's breast pocket. A snake's head poked out. Grey put up his hand, and the snake slid up into it and around his arm. Then Nada manifested in her human form, her feet landing neatly on the stone as her arm was steadied. She was naked, of course, because she was unable to transform her clothing when she changed form. “But something very like it, I think,” she said.

  “Do you know, Ivy, he nulled their wine spring, then restored it more potent than before?”

  “He has a talent! He has a talent!” Electra exclaimed, jumping up and down. “I knew it! I knew it!”

  “What is this Maenad doing here?” Ivy demanded, focusing on the lesser matter because she wasn't quite prepared to tackle the greater one.

  “Well, this is, uh, Mae,” Grey said. “She—I—we—”

  “Oh?” Ivy inquired, looking more closely at the creature. Mae Maenad was just as nakedly wild and voluptuous as before, surely quite intriguing for those who liked that type.

  “The Magician needed a guide,” Mae explained. “So I showed him the off-trail the Python uses and sniffed your scent thereon, so he could find you.”

  “It's a good trail for serpents,” Nada put in. “But there was an uprooted nettle bush there that really had it in for serpents, and I had to return to his pocket. Then the nettle couldn't touch me.”

  “But how did he tame you?” Electra asked. “Everyone knows that Maenads can't be—”

  “Well, I don't really like blood,” Mae confessed, abashed. “When he made our spring blood—”

  “Now I have to reward Mae for her help,” Grey said.

  “But I'm not sure, uh, how.”

  Ivy realized that she had better figure out a suitable reward soon, because she didn't trust whatever the Maenad might think of. That Wild Woman was entirely too well formed!

  “What happened to our guardian?” a proprietor demanded.

&
nbsp; “Nothing bad,” Grey said. “I just, uh, nulled him so he wouldn't hurt anyone. Here, I'll revive him for you.”

  He walked across to the Python and touched the huge head.

  The thrashing stopped. The head lifted. The eyes blinked. “Go about your business,” Grey said. “We are visitors here, not intruders. Here, I'll pull out that arrow for you.” He put his hand on the shaft.

  “You can't dislodge that arrow,” Centurion said. “It has a magic point. Only a centaur can—”

  He broke off as the arrow came loose. The point was red with blood but intact.

  The Python quivered as if recovering from a fundamental shock, then slithered away across the stone.

  “I guess it did hurt,” Grey said. “Here is your arrow back, centaur.”

  “Thank you. Magician,” the centaur said, looking much the way the Python had. He accepted the arrow.

  The old man approached. “What is your business here, Magician? We have no prior knowledge of you.”

  “Well, I, uh, just came to rescue Princess Ivy and Electra. It was nice of you to take care of them.”

  “Nice?” Ivy and Electra demanded together.

  “Princess?” the proprietor demanded at the same time.

  “Uh, yes,” Grey said innocently. “This is Princess Ivy of Castle Roogna, and this is Princess Nada of the Naga. Didn't you know?”

  The old man looked somewhat out of sorts. “We did not inquire,” he said gruffly.

  “Well, they'll be leaving now,” Grey said. “Thank you again.”

  “Wait—what about my oracle?” Centurion asked.

  “We have interpreted the message,” the old man said quickly. “It is: 'no Centaur has less magic than you.' “

  “Oh.” The centaur nodded, quite satisfied. “Yes. Quite. Thank you. I shall be on my way.” He suited action to word, in the fashion of his kind.

  “But we need our Pythia!” another proprietor cried.

  “If you take these two away. Magician, what will we do?”

  Ivy stepped in. “Mae, how would you like to have the Magician arrange for you a new situation with a hard stone room, a dismal white gown, no raw meat at all to eat, and regular sessions with fumes that really drive you wild?”