She handed him the pie and reached for another. “Thank you,” he said, fixing his gaze on the pie. But he didn’t even notice what kind it was; he just bit into it and chewed.
They resumed their walk, and after an hour came to an intersection. “There it is!” Chex exclaimed happily, seeming not at all dismayed at this proof of her prior oversight. “The path I missed!”
“But there are two,” Esk pointed out. “Which should we take—the one going north or the one going south?”
“That depends on whether the path we’re on passes north or south of the Good Magician’s castle.”
“I know the Gap Chasm is north, but I don’t know how far,” Esk said. “Maybe if the north path leads there—”
“Then the south one leads to the castle,” she finished.
“So let’s try the south, and if it’s wrong, why, we’ll just go north. It can’t be far now.”
They turned south. The trees grew larger, putting the path in the gloom of perpetual shade; then they grew smaller, letting the sun shine down hotly. “I hope we encounter water soon,” Chex said. “I’m sweating.”
Esk hadn’t realized that females of any persuasion sweated, but certainly her brown coat was glistening. “Maybe if you fanned yourself with your wings—” he suggested.
“Why, I never thought of that,” she said. “I need to exercise them anyway.” She spread her wings and moved them, generating a draft whose fringe he could feel. “Yes, that’s much better, thank you.”
The way opened out further, and now they came to a small lake. The path crossed it, passing right along the surface of the water.
They exchanged a glance. “Can a path go on water?” Chex asked.
“If it’s an enchanted path,” Esk replied doubtfully.
“Well, we’ll see.” She stepped forward—and her front hooves passed through the visible path and sank into the water with splashes.
Immediately, there was a stir in the lake. A wake appeared behind something huge and dark that was speeding toward them. No part of it quite broke the surface, and its outline was obscured by the refraction of the water, but it seemed exceedingly sure of itself.
Chex quickly stepped back. “I think we should go around the lake,” she said. “If it was enchanted to enable travelers to cross over the water, that magic has been lost.”
“Good thought,” Esk agreed.
They started around, but the reeds at the edge twisted and bent toward them, showing moist surfaces that looked somewhat toothy. Esk knocked several away with his staff, and they withdrew with faint ugly hisses—but those on the other side leaned closer.
“Esk, I think we had better move rather quickly through this section,” Chex said. “The footing beneath seems fairly firm; I believe I could carry you, if you would not consider this to be an indiscretion on my part. Then I could gallop—”
“Another good thought!” he said quickly.
He gave her his staff to hold, then she put her right hand back over her torso, and he took hold of it from her left and she helped draw him up onto her back. “Take good hold of my mane,” she advised.
He got a double handhold, up between her wings. Then she moved out, quickly advancing from walk to trot to gallop, while he hung on somewhat desperately. Water splashed up from her hooves.
About halfway around the lake, Chex turned her head around to face him. Esk was startled by the elasticity of her torso; from what would have been the human waist, she was able to twist halfway, and her neck twisted the other half, so that she was abruptly facing him, with her chest in profile. “I wonder if you could take your staff?” she inquired.
Then he saw her concern. Several rather mean looking birds were winging toward them. Their necks were crooked and their beaks curved, and they looked hungry.
“If you go slowly, I’ll try to fend them off,” he said, as he unclenched his fingers from her mane and took back his staff.
She slowed to a walk, using her own staff to knock at the leaning reeds. He balanced himself and squinted at the ugly birds. He thought he could stop them, if they came down singly.
But about five of them folded their wings partway and dived at him together. Their beaks looked very sturdy and sharp.
“No!” he cried as they converged.
It was almost too late for them to change course. Two birds plummeted into the water. Two more swooped just overhead, striving desperately to rise. The fifth did a crazy wiggle in air, using its wings to brake, and barely managed to reverse course before colliding with Chex’s shoulder.
The wake in deeper water was coming toward them again. Esk tucked the staff under one arm and grabbed new holds on the mane. “Resume speed!” he said.
Chex resumed, flapping her wings to assist her progress. They made it around the rest of the lake without further event, rejoining the path.
Esk slid down. “I think we make a fair team,” he said. “You have the go, and I have the stop.”
“That’s a nice way to put it,” she agreed. “I was terrified!”
“Well, you’re a filly; you’re supposed to be frightened of violence.”
“And you aren’t?”
“Yes, I’m not supposed to be.” He smiled. “Just don’t ask me how it really is.”
“No questions,” she agreed.
The more he got to know her, the better he liked her. Despite their differences of culture, she tended to understand the fundamentals well enough.
They walked again. Soon they encountered a mountain. The path went through it, forming a dark tunnel around itself.
They paused. “It’s supposed to be safe,” Esk said. “But after the dragons and the lake, I’m nervous.”
“Suppose we went in—and it wasn’t safe?”
“Let’s not go in.”
“I like your thinking.”
“But how do we get around it? I see tangle trees on the slopes.”
“And dozens more of those birds roosting on the upper slopes,” she said. “You know, I am quite sure there was no such mountain or tunnel on the map my dam showed me.”
“Your damn what?” he asked, disgruntled by her language.
“My dam. My—you would call it mother.”
“I wouldn’t call my mother a damn anything!”
She laughed. “I suspect we have a barrier of communication. I mean that my mother’s map did not have this particular feature of geography on it, so this must be the wrong path.”
“Oh. Yes. Then we shouldn’t have to try to pass this damn—this mother of a mountain.”
She looked at him somewhat curiously. Evidently the barrier was still in operation. But they were agreed. They would turn back and try the north fork. He did not relish the return trip around the lake, but at least that was a known hazard.
Chapter 3. Volney
The lake wasn’t fun, but this time they were prepared, and they made it around without damage. They celebrated by pausing for lunch and drink. Chex had a cup she produced from her pack, with which she dipped water from the fringe of the lake and drank delicately. Then they traveled at a more leisurely pace north. In due course they reached the intersection, and this time proceeded along the north extension.
Yet another little dragon appeared. “I’m fed up with this!” Esk exclaimed. He charged forward, wielding his staff, feeling his ogre strength manifesting unbidden. He struck the dragon on the head, then rammed the staff under its body, picked it up, and heaved it into the forest. The dragon was not actually hurt, but was so surprised that it scuttled for cover elsewhere.
Chex was amazed. “That dragon weighed as much as you!” she exclaimed. “Yet you tossed it like a toy!”
“I told you, I’m quarter ogre,” he said, relaxing. “Every so often something triggers it, and I do something ogreish.”
“Evidently so,” she agreed. “I can’t say I was ever partial to ogres, but I must confess it was a pleasure watching that dragon fly!”
“It would be more of a pleasure
if I could summon that power at will,” he said. “But it’s involuntary, like a sneeze, and it doesn’t last long. My father is much more of an ogre than I am, and my grandfather Crunch—”
“I’m happy with you,” she said quickly. “After all, an ogre’s intellect is inversely proportional to his strength.”
“And his strength is directly proportional to his ugliness,” he added.
“And to his taste for violence,” she agreed.
“Well, of course. A good ogre can make a medium dragon turn tail just by smiling at it.”
“A good ogre would do the same for me!”
“While a good ogress can sour milk by looking at it.”
“And turn it to petrified cheese by breathing on it,” she concluded. “Enough of ogres; let’s see if we can reach the Good Magician’s castle before nightfall.”
They resumed their trek. The path wound onward, finding its way into craggy country that hinted of the great Gap Chasm to come. “This isn’t promising,” Chex muttered.
Esk didn’t comment, because he agreed. Since this was the fourth direction they were exploring, one way or another, and there were no more, it had to be the one.
There was a sound ahead. “Not yet another dragon!” Chex exclaimed impatiently. “Those little monsters are positively swarming!”
“It’s not growling,” Esk pointed out.
“True. But it’s not walking like a man or a centaur.”
They stopped, waiting for whatever it was to come into view. In a moment it did so, surprising them both.
It was a creature larger in mass than Esk, but smaller than Chex. It had a lemon-shaped gray body, a small snout in front, and tiny feet.
“Why, that’s a huge mole,” Esk said.
But Chex’s mouth was striving to fall open. “I thought they were extinct!” she said.
“Oh, no, there are many moles underground,” Esk assured her. “I’ve seen them—”
“That’s no mole!” she said impatiently. “That’s a vole!”
“A what?”
But now the creature had spied them. It lifted its head, showing tiny eyes just beneath its fur. The eyes were brown. “Eh?” it inquired.
“Where are you from?” Chex asked the creature. She did not seem to be afraid, so Esk judged it to be harmless.
“Eh? A ventaur,” it said.
“That’s centaur,” Chex said primly. “I am Chex Centaur. Who are you?”
It peered more closely at her. “I am Volney Vole. Pleav allow me to pavv.”
“Don’t you know you’re supposed to be extinct?” she asked.
“Volev don’t vtink,” it retorted indignantly.
“It has trouble with esses,” Esk said, catching on.
The snout turned toward him. “And who are you, vir?”
“I am Esk.”
“Hello, Evk. Pleav allow me to pavv.”
“We aren’t trying to prevent you,” Chex said. “Just to learn about you.”
“I have important buvinevv with the Good Magivian. Pleav let me pavv.”
“But we’re looking for the Good Magician too!” Esk exclaimed. “We thought he was up this path!”
“Not thiv path,” the creature assured him. “Only the Gap Chavm.”
“But then the Good Magician is nowhere!” Chex said despairingly. “We have looked along all the other paths!”
The vole studied them. “Brown and gray,” it remarked. “Good colorv.”
“That’s right, we all match!” Chex said. “Only you’re brown in the eyes, not the fur.”
“Thiv iv my vurfave vuit.”
Chex paused, translating it. “This is your surface suit?”
“That’v what I vaid, Chekv. I reverve it below.” And the vole performed a sudden convolution, becoming brown. The most surprising thing was that its eyes turned gray. Now the three of them aligned as perfectly as they were able.
“Volney, I think we should have a talk,” Chex said. “I think we are all in trouble, because we can’t find the Good Magician.”
“But I muvt find the Magivian!” the vole said, sounding desperate. “It iv movt important!”
“It’s important to us too,” Chex said. “I think we’ll find him faster if we compare notes and make common cause.”
Volney considered. “Common cauve,” he agreed. Then he convoluted again, changing back to his surface outfit, eyes and all.
“You see, Esk came looking for the Good Magician from the east,” Chex said. “I came looking from the west. We both followed a path to the south, but it wasn’t there, so now we were trying the north path—”
“And I came from the north,” the vole finished. “It iv not there.”
“So we seem to have a problem,” she concluded. “We all need to see the Good Magician, but none of us can find him. Have you any notion how we should proceed?”
“What did you find to the vouth?”
“A mountain with a tunnel. That wasn’t on the map my dam showed me.”
“Your damn what?” the vole asked.
“Never mind! I’m sure the map was accurate.”
“But featurev change.”
“Yes. Still—”
“We muvt go to the end of that path,” the vole decided. “That iv where it hav to be.”
Chex sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But we really don’t find the prospect of going through that tunnel appealing. There have been signs that the enchantment on the path has been impaired, so that it is no longer completely safe for travelers. If the tunnel were to collapse—”
“A vole hole never collapvev,” Volney said with certainty.
“That’s right—you were a burrowing species,” she said. “You must know about tunnels.”
“All about them,” the vole agreed. “If that tunnel iv not vafe, I will vimply make another.”
Chex glanced at Esk. “Do you concur?” she asked. “Shall we try the south path again?”
“I guevv we’d better,” he said.
She shot him a marvelously dark look, and he realized that it really wasn’t very funny. His efforts at humor, like his efforts at original thought, tended to fall flat.
They proceeded back south, Chex leading, then the vole, then Esk. But it was now late in the day, and they realized that it would be night by the time they reached the tunnel, and that did not appeal at all. So they paused at the cross paths and ate some more fruit. Fruit was new to Volney, because he was not a climbing or reaching creature, but he liked it. Then he sniffed out some edible roots that were new to Esk and Chex, but that were similarly palatable after being washed in the fluid from some water chestnuts Chex plucked.
While they ate, they conversed. Esk and Chex told of their backgrounds and missions to the Good Magician, and Volney told of his.
The civilized voles were not, he explained, extinct. They had merely departed for a greener pasture, some centuries ago. The larger family of voles comprised burrowing creatures ranging from the tiny, vicious wiggle larvae to the huge amiable diggles, with many varieties of squiggles between. Because the civilized voles avoided publicity, most other creatures hardly knew of them, and regarded the squiggles as the dominant representatives of the type. The region of Xanth between Castle Roogna and the Gap Chasm had been getting crowded, so the voles had in due course traveled into the wilderness to the east, where they had settled by the meandering shores of the friendly Kiss-Mee River.
“Yes, I saw that on Mother’s map,” Chex said. “The Kiss-Mee River connects Lake Kiss-Mee with Lake Ogre-Chobee. It is an almost unexplored region of Xanth, and little is known about the details of its geography.”
“Which iv the way we like it,” Volney responded. “For centuriev we have burrowed there in private comfort. But now—”
“Something happened?” Esk asked, getting interested. Geography was not his favorite subject, but happenings had greater appeal.
“Divavter,” Volney agreed. “It iv that horror I have come here to ameliorate. I
wav choven to make thiv divreputable journey becauve of my ekvellent command of the vtrange language of the vurfave folk.”
“Yes, you speak it very well,” Chex said quickly, forestalling the somewhat less sensitive remark Esk was about to make.
“However, I note you have vome difficulty with your evvev,” the vole said discreetly.
“Some dif—” Esk started, but was cut off by a flick of Chex’s tail that stung his mouth with uncanny accuracy. The strike was not hard, but made him feel strangely light-headed. Sometimes she understood him almost too well!
“We all must do the best we can,” Chex said gently.
“Even those of us who have difficulty with our esses. Just what is this disaster you have come to ameliorate?”
“The very devtrucvion of the Vale of the Vole,” he pronounced with feeling.
“The Vale of the Vole!” Chex repeated. “What a marvelously evocative name!”
“But the foul demonv devavtated it,” Volney said sadly. Esk lifted his head. “I smell smoke,” he said.
Sure enough, another little smoker was coming along the path from the west. It spied them and let out a hungry puff.
“Get on the south path!” Esk snapped. Chex and Volney scrambled for it, leaving the east–west path clear.
Esk stationed himself just south of the intersection and waited. As the dragon charged up, he murmured “no.”
The dragon tried to stop, but Esk said “no” again. Therefore the creature’s feet kept going, carrying it right on by the intersection. In a moment it was out of sight, still traveling east.
“Very nice,” Chex said. “First you stopped its attack, then you stopped its reversal. It had to keep on going, by which time it had lost track of what it had been after.”
She understood his effort almost better than he did! “That iv uvful magic,” Volney agreed. “I regret I have no vuch talent.”
“Don’t voles have magic?” Esk asked.
“Nothing vignificant. We merely dig.”
Vale of the Vole Page 4