I shrugged. “Guess it looked worse than it was.” I could have explained about my talent, but it didn’t seem necessary, since I was about to leave. Actually, I wasn’t paying full attention to her, as my ensmartened brain was distracted by philosophical insights and intellectual exercises it hadn’t been interested in before. Today I can only vaguely appreciate the mental convolutions I indulged in then, for now I am of only ordinary smartness. That is why I am not telling this story in the intelligent way I could have told it then.
Yet I think, in retrospect, that I must have made the error of overlooking the obvious in the course of my pursuit of the esoteric, for I really did not act very smart in Threnody’s house. Some extremely smart people are sort of dull about practical details.
“I had no idea you’d be on your feet so soon,” she said. “What is your mission?”
“Oh, nothing that would interest you,” I replied offhandedly. “I have to go fetch an object and bring it back to Castle Roogna.”
“Castle Roogna?” she repeated, interested in a peculiar kind of way. I should have noticed that, but didn’t, then. “Is that still functioning?”
“Oh, sure. But old King Gromden is dying, and there’s a problem about the succession. So I—”
“The King is dying?” she asked alertly.
“Yes. And these two Magicians, Yin and Yang, are vying for the throne, so—”
“Yin and Yang—but they—”
“Can’t agree on anything,” I finished. “Except on this magic contest, to see whose spells are stronger. So I—”
“I’m beginning to understand! You are working for them!”
“Yes, in a way. I’ve got to complete my mission so Yin will win, but Yang’s spells are interfering. It’s been pretty rough, but I think I’m getting close.” I shrugged. “I won’t bore you with the details. I’ll be on my way now. Thanks for the gruel, girl.”
“Wait,” she said. “This object you have to fetch—do you know what it is?”
“No. I have Yin’s finder-spell, but haven’t used it yet. But I think the object is somewhere around here, because I’m predestined to—”
“Sit down, Jordan,” she said. “Let me tell you a story that you may not have heard. I’ll serve you some wine.”
“Oh, sure. Thanks.” I was always willing to be sociable.
Threnody mixed some fluids in a cup, which surprised me, for I had always thought wine came directly from wineskins grown by wine-lilies. She brought the cup to me, and I drank it while she talked. It was pungent stuff, with a bitter aftertaste but pretty good. Barbarians don’t have much taste, anyway.
“King Gromden had a child, a daughter,” Threnody said.
“Oh, sure. He told me.”
“What else did he tell you about her?”
“Nothing much. Just that his wife and child had gone away and he missed them something awful.” I burped; that wine was bubbling up inside me.
“There was a bit more to the story than that,” Threnody said.
“Well, he’s pretty lonely now.” Then my intelligence had a flash. “Yang mentioned scandal; maybe that was—”
She was silent a moment, then resumed her story as if she had not been interrupted. “King Gromden’s daughter was the apple of his eye, and indeed she was said to be very pretty. His wife grew jealous of the attention the child got and put a curse on her: if she remained at Castle Roogna, the castle would fall. This saddened the King very much, but he had to preserve the capital of Xanth at all costs, so he sent the girl away. Because he was angry with the Queen for putting on that curse, he sent her away, too. But before the Queen departed, she put a curse on him also. That was her talent, of course—curses. She came from cursefolk stock, deep in southern Xanth; some call those folk fiends. She caused him to forget the nature of the first curse.
“So ever after, the King sought his banished daughter, not realizing that he himself had banished her, and for good reason. He finally located her, but she remembered the curse and refused to return with him to Castle Roogna. He could not understand why, for when she told him of the curse, he immediately forgot. A good curse can’t be circumvented just by a person’s being told its nature; it operates until revoked, or until it just wears out, and the curses of the curse-fiends don’t wear out.
“Since he could not grasp the truth and insisted on an answer, she had to tell him a lie instead, cruel as it was: that she preferred to live in the open wilderness instead of in a gloomy old castle. He kept trying to find ways to change her mind, but was never successful.”
“That’s very interesting,” I said. “He never said anything to me about the curses.”
“Naturally not. He remembers his daughter’s absence, though,” Threnody said. “And he swore he would find a way to bring her back and make her happy at Castle Roogna. In fact, he hoped she would marry his successor, the next King of Xanth, so his line would continue in power. The throne of Xanth is not hereditary, as it goes from Magician to Magician, but sometimes there is a lineage through the female side. His daughter wasn’t a Sorceress, of course, but that doesn’t matter for wives.”
“Well, I guess that didn’t work out.” I set down my empty mug. “His successor will be Yin or Yang, and I don’t think either is much interested in marriage right now.”
“They are interested. The people would be more ready to accept a Magician who married the prior King’s daughter, and her magic power would help him reign, so she is a moderately valuable property as well as being physically attractive. Men tend to put too much stress on the latter aspect.”
“Um, yes,” I agreed, contemplating Threnody’s own figure.
“In any event, they would not have a choice. The King arranged it so that neither could become King unless he married her.”
My head was whirling pleasantly. That was strong wine! “Maybe he’ll spring that detail on the winner, once I bring back the object,” I said. “But it will be too bad, because if her return to the castle means it will fall—”
“Yes, it is a cruel situation,” she agreed. “That girl will never return to Castle Roogna, because she loves her father and loves Xanth, nothing else. She will do anything to prevent her return, no matter who the next king is, though it breaks her father’s heart. She has no choice.”
“Well, it’s not my business,” I said, standing. “I just have to fetch the—”
I reeled, staggered, lost my balance, and fell against the bed. Something was wrong!
Threnody came to me. “I’m sorry I had to poison you, barbarian,” she said. “But if you should succeed in your mission, and Yin becomes King, he will do what King Gromden wants, and marry Gromden’s daughter and keep her at Castle Roogna. I must prevent that, for when Castle Roogna falls, so does the human domination of Xanth.”
“But—” I protested groggily.
“You see, barbarian innocent, I am King Gromden’s daughter,” she said. “I felt it only fair to let you understand why I had to kill you. Better that the life of one foolish adventurer be forfeit than that Castle Roogna should fall. It is nothing personal; you seem like a nice person, for a barbarian.”
Then I passed out, and I suppose I died, for the poison had spread all through my system and it was potent stuff. Threnody dragged my body across the floor—she turned out to be pretty strong for a woman—and to a trapdoor in the back of the cabin and shoved me in.
I slid down a dark chute, then out into the light and into empty air. The chute opened into the forgotten Gap Chasm! I dropped a horrible distance and thunked headfirst into the rock at the bottom. If the poison hadn’t quite killed me, the fall certainly had!
Pook heard the distant thunk. His ears twitched. The edge of the chasm was curved here, and the chasm itself was narrow. Pook found a ledge that overlooked the depth and he peered down. His sharp eyes or nose spied my still remains below, and he gave a neigh of dismay. Maybe he felt responsible, for he was the one who had brought me to Threnody’s cabin.
But he was a pretty smart animal, and maybe some of that intelligence spell had rubbed off on him, for he set about getting down to me without hurting himself. He trotted west along the brink of the Gap to where it intersected the sea, then jumped into the deep channel of water. He had a long way to fall and made an awful splash, but in a moment he bobbed to the surface, despite the weight of his chains, and swam into the chasm until the water thinned and he could walk on land. Evidently the Gap Dragon had business elsewhere, for there was no sign of him. After all, the Gap extends all the way across Xanth, as we now know, and no one creature can be everywhere at once. Still, it was a considerable act of courage on Pook’s part, unless perhaps he had forgotten about the dragon. On the other hand, he had turned out to be pretty good at fighting dragons, so maybe he wasn’t afraid. Or maybe he remembered, and was afraid, but was determined to go to me, anyway. It wasn’t long before he trotted up to my remains.
I was not a pretty sight. My legs were broken, and my head had cracked open and spilled some of its contents out. Nothing important, just some gray matter that I suppose was stuffing or insulation. But it was messy, and there was a good deal of blood spread about. I was as dead as I had ever been. My sword was lying nearby, bent and chipped, too. That makes me sad to contemplate, for that sword had served me well and could not heal itself.
Pook used his hoof to scrape the pieces and gunk into a pile; he pushed the pile onto a big leaf and made as good a bundle as he could manage. There was dirt and garbage mixed in, of course, but that couldn’t be helped.
Pook shoved the bag around, trying to figure out how to carry it, but could not. So he cast about for a decent burial spot, believing me to be finished. There was none. He decided to take me to the shore—but that was some distance away. What was he to do?
He managed to get the top of the bundle knotted together somewhat, then hooked one of his chains through it and the sword’s guard and dragged them. The bundle bumped across the terrain, getting its contents thoroughly mixed. When Pook reached the small sandy beach where the chasm joined the ocean, he left the bag at the edge and set to work excavating a hole with his hooves. Obviously he intended to bury the remains. He was, after all, a ghost horse; he knew about death and burial.
But when the hole got deep, water seeped in. Disgusted, he moved farther from the sea and started a new hole. He didn’t want my remains to get wet; maybe he thought I’d be uncomfortable if I rotted in the water. But the new hole, too, filled with water. He moved yet farther away—but here it was rocky, impossible to dig with hooves.
Pook pondered. Then he got smart again. What about sea burial? He could weight the bag down with a big rock and sink it in the sea. Evidently he thought my remains wouldn’t be as uncomfortable in deep water. But there were several problems. For one thing, he had no way to tie a rock to the bundle. Even if he had good vines, he couldn’t tie knots in them. And he knew the big wrapping-leaf would soon disintegrate in the seawater, releasing its contents. As he peered out across the water, he saw a lurking sea monster, licking its chops. He knew I didn’t like getting eaten by monsters. Good thing that monster hadn’t been there when Pook had jumped into the sea!
Finally he shrugged and resumed dragging the bundle. He intended to get it to a suitable burial place, no matter how much effort it took.
He hauled and he hauled, finding paths up the steep slope to the higher ground. He was panting and sweating, but would not desist till nightfall made it too dark to continue without risking a misstep and a tumble back to the beach. Pook was used to night, but this was treacherous terrain, and the bundle was awkward to manage. So he parked it in a niche, then braced himself below it and slept on his feet. He was tired and hungry, but he refused to quit until he had done the burial properly. Pook was one faithful friend in death, as he was in life.
But in the night, the creatures of the nocturn emerged to forage. Unseen things slithered along the slope, and there were sounds of scuttling and scratching. Insects set up a persistent chirruping. Pook stirred himself to stomp anything that approached the bundle. A hatch opened a short distance below, and a goblin’s head poked out. Pook nudged a stone to roll down and scare the goblin back into his hole. As he knew, goblins could be very bad in quantity, but this place was evidently out of the main goblin country. A solitary goblin could be dealt with more readily than a mob.
Then a smell developed. Pook sniffed and snorted, disliking it. For a moment he might have been afraid the stuff in the bag was decomposing. Then he heard crass flapping and realized it was a harpy. The ugly-faced avian crone loomed near, sensing her type of prey: namely, something helpless. But Pook squealed warning and reared up, milling his forehooves and clanking his chains, and she reconsidered. “I didn’t know that carrion was yours, pooka!” she screeched. “Most nags don’t eat meat. Next time, let a girl know, you blippety blip!” I doubt I am repeating the exact words she used, as they weren’t nice words; they flattened Pook’s ears against his head and caused the scuttlings in the vicinity to curl up and die.
In this manner the ghost horse guarded the bag during the night, and never was there a more loyal and forlorn service rendered. Pook thought he was protecting the remains for decent burial; actually, he was giving me time to heal. My talent had both poison and the fatal fall to nullify, and that was a considerable task. I doubt that I had ever before been killed quite so dead. But all my pieces were there, plus some dirt for good measure; I had been granted a day and a night without disturbance and I was indeed on the mend. As the light of morning peeped hesitantly over the brink and crept into the chasm, I stirred.
Pook had been horsenapping. The motion in the bag brought his ears straight up in shock. Had a predator sneaked inside to guzzle out the goodies? He investigated immediately, pulling the bag open.
I looked out at him. “Hi, Pook,” I said. “Was it bad this time?”
He almost fell off the slope.
I stretched and climbed out of the leaf. I was weak but whole. It’s rough, recovering from two deaths simultaneously! I would need to eat and rest to replenish the formidable energies expended in the reconstruction.
“Say, didn’t I hear a harpy in the night?” I inquired. “You shouldn’t have driven her off; you should have used her for stork fodder.”
Then I paused, appalled, while Pook looked at me as if I had sprouted demon’s horns. What was I saying? Nobody got that close to a harpy! How could I have spawned such a dirty thought?
Actually, it’s clear now, though it was muddy then. Some of that dirt had gotten scooped up with my remains and tied in the bag—that dirt had gotten caught in my cracked head as it healed, and now I had a dirty mind. Too bad—but, of course, it had been a very difficult feat of healing.
After a moment, Pook recovered from his amazement and disgust, decided it was really me back alive, and came to nuzzle my hand. “Oh, didn’t you understand about me?” I asked him, realizing that he hadn’t actually seen me heal before, not all the way from death. He had always been away, avoiding dragons or searching for an exit from callicantzari caves or battling a tarasque. “My magic talent is to heal rapidly from wounds or whatever. If I lose part of my body, I regrow it; if I am killed, I recover. You must have collected everything together for me, so I could recover most rapidly. Thank you, Pook; that was very nice of you.”
He just stood there, embarrassed. I petted him on the neck. Horses have excellent necks for petting; chickens don’t. “I see you brought the bag of spells along also. And my sword. That’s good; those spells may be jumbled, but I’ll probably need them. I still have my mission to complete.” I looked around. “But how did we get here on the slope? Last I remember, Threnody had given me poison—but it shouldn’t have taken me a day and a night to recover from that.” I glanced at my body. “And that wouldn’t account for the destruction of my clothing and all the new flesh I have grown. I’ve just been through a major healing.”
Pook gestured with his head, indicating the chasm. “You mean
she dumped me down there?” I asked. “I must have splattered like a broken egg!” He nodded agreement. Now I understood just how much he had done for me, and what it had meant when he gave me his friendship. I knew I owed him a big one.
We climbed on up the slope, slowly, for I was weak and he was tired. As I moved, I remembered what Threnody had said just before I died. She was King Gromden’s daughter, cursed to stay away from Castle Roogna lest it fall, and afraid that Magician Yin would marry her and make her return if he became King. I could see her concern—but it seemed somewhat extreme for her to murder me so abruptly just for that. I had nothing to do with it, really. Well, not quite true; if I succeeded in my mission, then Yin would become King, and the heat would be on Threnody. But why couldn’t she simply refuse to marry him, or refuse to return to Castle Roogna? She had said no to her father the King; she could say no to Magician Yin. She didn’t have to kill me to prevent Yin from winning; she could have asked me not to mention her whereabouts, or she could have moved to some other, hidden place before I returned to the castle. Thus her action didn’t seem to make sense, and that bothered me, for she was a most attractive woman. A woman I would have been happy to—
Then I wondered just how much sense my own thoughts were making. But I had an excuse—the dirt mixed up with the other gunk in my head. For all I knew, some rich, brown dirt was a good substitute for the useless gray stuff that had spilled; still, my head wasn’t quite the way it had been. Of course, as I said, I didn’t realize this at the time, for I hadn’t seen myself splat in the Gap Chasm. Nevertheless, my mind did feel somewhat like an egg scrambled in sand. For one thing, I seemed to have lost most of the advantage of the intelligence spell, since no more complex philosophic thoughts churned about inside my skull. Maybe the eye-queue spell had compensated for the mixing my skull-innards had received, resulting in approximately normal intellect. Had I been really smart, I could have figured out exactly what made sense about Threnody and maybe saved myself an extraordinary amount of grief. But the eyeballs of the eye-queue must have been pointed every which way, so they couldn’t quite focus on the obvious. I can’t say, even now, how my thoughts ran then; I guess I hadn’t properly appreciated the extent of my injuries, since I had been dead at the time. I really didn’t want to believe that a woman as lovely as Threnody could have done as much damage to me as she had. I wasn’t nearly as sensible as a barbarian should have been.
Crewel Lye Page 17