Faun & Games

by Piers Anthony

  She stood. “Oh, I feel far more secure! These sandals are helping even now.”

  He had already come to that conclusion. “I'm glad.” Actually he could have lived with the exposure of her legs, but there didn't seem to be much point in saying that.

  She looked around. “I'm supposed to guide you, and I haven't done a good job. Maybe we can ask someone.”

  That seemed like a fair idea. “All right. Is there anyone to ask?”

  “There are countless slews of folk here. I'm sure one of them must be close by. Let's walk along the beach and see.”

  So they walked along. After a time Forrest noticed that there was something odd about the air. It smelled all right, but it had colors.

  It seemed to be green ahead, and blue to their right. But there didn't seem to be any source.

  He paused, turning around. “Do you see colors?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Imbri said, surprised. “It is yellow behind us, and red over the sea.”

  “Do you think it means anything?”

  “It must. But I don't know what.”

  “And there just doesn't seem to be anyone to ask,” he said, frustrated.

  “If there are so many folk here, where are they all?”

  Imbri pondered, then brightened. “I think I remember, from one of the dreamers: folk have to be requested. Otherwise they stay away. If they are courteous. So that no one gets crowded.”

  “But how do we request someone, when there's no one to ask?”

  “I think you just do it.”

  He shrugged. “Okay.” He stood straight. “I hereby request the company of someone.”

  There was a sound, and in a moment a large figure appeared, flying over the trees. It came to a solid landing on the sand before him.

  “Yes?” It was a winged unicorn.

  Taken aback, Forrest looked at Imbri. She looked as baffled as he.

  So he turned to the unicorn. “Hello. I was just wondering-”

  “With no introduction?” the unicorn asked. He spoke without moving his mouth.

  “Uh, I am Forrest Faun.”

  “I am Kero Unicorn.”

  “I was just wondering-”

  “What service do you have to trade?”

  “What'?”

  “You are impaired of hearing?”

  “No. I just don't understand. What service?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I don't understand.”

  The unicorn looked more closely at him. “You are impaired of intellect?”

  Forrest was getting frustrated. “I am just new to this region. I don't know what you mean.”

  “Oh. You must have traveled far, to be so out of touch.”

  “Very far,” Forrest agreed.

  “I suppose I can explain that much without violating protocol. In this region we trade services. So if you want to know something I can tell you, you must trade me a service for my service in abating your ignorance. What service do you offer?”

  This was new to him. “What service do you want?”

  “I have no idea. You summoned me, so I assumed you had something in mind.”

  “I had a question in mind.”

  “That's not a service. My answer is a service. What other service will you trade for it?”

  This wasn't getting anywhere very rapidly, so he tried something silly.

  “An entertaining jig.”

  “Done. What is your question?”

  “What do the colors of the air mean?”

  “They indicate direction, since we have no sun or moon or stars to mark it. Blue is north, because it is cold; red is south, because it is hot; green is To; and yellow is From.”

  Forrest waited, but that appeared to be the extent of the answer. So he brought his panpipe from his knapsack, played a lively melody, and proceeded to dance his jig. Fauns were good at jigs, so he knew it was competent. The unicorn watched with seeming interest.

  When he thought he had jigged enough, he stopped. Kero nodded, satisfied, then spread his wings and flew back over the forest.

  “I guess we learned something,” Forrest said, watching the creature disappear.

  “Yes,” Imbri agreed. “We learned two things: that colors indicate directions, and that it is necessary to trade services on Ptero. So we got the better bargain.”

  “Maybe so. But what is this To and From business?”

  “I suppose we could trade for that information. But maybe we'll figure it out for ourselves, soon. Let me see if I can trade for useful information.”

  Forrest shrugged. “I hope you can.”

  Imbri faced the air. “I request someone to trade with.”

  A dark creature faded into view. It was a black centaur mare. “Yes?”

  What startled Forrest was that she spoke both physically and mentally.

  Imbri's delicate jaw dropped. “You're a night mare!”

  “Not exactly. Are you curious about my derivation?”

  “Yes!” Forrest and Imbri said together.

  “I am Chemare. It all started when my sire, who was horribly prejudiced against zombies, was scheduled to have a bad dream in which he and a really rotten female zombie drank from a love spring. But somehow the night mare who was carrying the dream got confused, or maybe she had a secret thing for the centaur, who was rather handsome for his kind, and she fell into the dream herself and drank from the spring instead. The elixir overwhelmed them both, and they promptly indulged in an encounter of love that heated the spring so much it almost evaporated. Then the mare departed and the dream dissipated, leaving the centaur considerably more satisfied than the authentic dream would have left him. In due course the mare bore a foal with half a soul, black as night but with the form of a centaur. That was me. But because I derive from an illicit dream, I came not to Xanth proper, but to Ptero, where I bring bad dreams to those residents who deserve them. It's not the best existence, but 't will do.

  “Oh, Chemare!” Imbri exclaimed. “How well I understand. I was a night mare for many decades.”

  “I thought you looked somehow familiar. But you're in human form.

  “Yes, so I can be substantial for my companion, Forrest Faun, whom I am trying to help. Would you like to exchange a service?”

  “I would love to. But I'm not sure what we could do for each other.

  “Is there anything you need?” Forrest asked.

  “No. I came only because I was closest when the call went out.

  So I truly regret this, because it's so rare to encounter someone with experience nightmaring, but I must go.” She faded out.

  “Wait!” Forrest cried, too late. She was gone.

  “We are slow on the uptake,” Imbri remarked. “We had better be prepared to render some service before the next one disappears.”

  “Yes. They don't seem to wait around long without reason.”

  There was the sound of running hoofs. A centaur came galloping from the green direction, followed by two centaur foals. She had a white mane and white body, but blue eyes. Forrest tried not to stare at her rippling bare chest, knowing that centaurs paid no attention to certain effects, but he was impressed.

  She came to a stop before Imbri. “Hello, mare in human form. I am Ilura Centaur, and these are my foals. We apologize for our tardiness.”

  “Tardiness?”

  “We were some distance when we heard your call, and the foals couldn't move at adult speed.”

  Forrest realized that more than one creature had answered Imbri's call.

  But Imbri was already handling it.

  “I am Mare Imbri, and this is my companion.”

  “What have you to trade?”

  “A pleasant daydream.”

  “What do you wish in return?”

  “Information on the person on Ptero who can best help us to find what we seek.”

  “What do you seek?”

  “A faun for a vacant tree.”

  “That would be Cathryn Centaur. She is the one w
ho best knows where to find fauns.”

  There was a pause. Then Imbri, realizing that she had her answer, looked directly at Ilura. The centaur's eyes went blank in a manner Forrest recognized. She was having a daydream.

  He looked at the two foals. One was a dark furred male, the other a light furred female. The male was stoic, while the female was impatiently stamping her feet. “Hello, foals. I'm Forrest Faun. You must be dissimilar twins.”

  The female looked quickly at him. “I'm in a hurry,” she replied.

  The male looked slowly at him. “I'm in no hurry,” he said.

  “Well, I'm sure your dam will be finished here soon.”

  The female reacted rapidly. She used a forefoot to scratch letters in the sand. THE HURRY TWINS: IMINA AND IMINO.

  Oh. “My apology for misunderstanding,” Forrest said.

  “Don't be,” Imina said quickly. “It happens all the time.”

  “We're used to it,” Imino added slowly. “It's probably a good thing we don't exist.”

  “But how can I be talking to you, if you don't exist?”

  “ We're might-be's, “ Imina replied rapidly. “It would take a freakish set of circumstances to make us real. For one thing, our dam isn't real either.”

  “Only our sire, Hurry Centaur, is real,” Imino said tardily.

  Forrest was starting to catch on. “Your sire lives in Xanth proper, and the rest of you don't.”

  “That's it exactly,” Imina agreed swiftly. “We can only come to exist if our dam gets real, and encounters our sire, and performs a certain ritual that makes human folk uncomfortable to contemplate. All that seems extremely unlikely.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “It doesn't really Matter,” Imino said deliberately. “There are far too many might-he's for Xanth to accommodate.”

  Ilura had completed her daydream. “Come foals; we must be off.”

  “Already'?” Imino asked.

  “About time!” Imina said.

  “I had a very nice dream of your sire,” Ilura said. “I think he may be almost ready to consider something.”

  They galloped off into the yellow color. Forrest and Imbri watched them go. “Those were might-he's,” he said.

  “Yes. It's a shame they aren't real.”

  “How do we find Cathryn Centaur?”

  “I think we just ask for her.”

  “Can we just ask for the faun I need?”

  She turned to him, startled. “We could certainly try.”

  He faced nothing. “I want to trade with the faun I need.”

  Nothin, happened.

  “I suspect he isn't close enough to hear,” Imbri said. “Have you noticed that all the creatures we have encountered here are equine crossbreeds?”

  “I hadn't noticed,” he said, surprised. “Could it be coincidence?”

  “It could be. But I think there must be sections of Ptero for different types of creatures, and this happens to be the equine section. That would explain why we landed here: I'm equine, so was drawn here. So there would be no fauns close by. Cathryn Centaur must know where they are.”

  “That makes sense to me. Very well, let's trade with Cathryn.”

  Imbri stood facing nowhere. “I would like to trade with Cathryn Centaur.”

  Another lady centaur appeared, emerging from the forest. She was brown of mane and fur, with large white wings. “Why hello, mare,” she said.

  “I never expected to be summoned.”

  “Why not?” Imbri asked.

  “Because there is no service anyone can do me, so I can't trade. Didn't you know that?”

  “I am from far away. I know very little about this region.”

  “But the conventions are similar throughout our world. You don't mean to say-” She broke off, looking startled.

  “Yes, we are from Xanth,” Imbri said.

  “That is extremely unusual, as there is virtually no physical contact between Xanth and Ptero.”

  “But considerable emotional contact.”

  Cathryn nodded agreement. “All we might-he's long to achieve Xanth proper. But so few of us ever do. Now I suppose if you offer me some way to go there, then we can indeed deal. But as it is impossible to travel there physically, I suspect that your mission is of some other nature.”

  “Yes. We need to locate a suitable faun to become the spirit of a vacant tree.”

  “Ah. That's why you summoned me: because I know the best route to the faunhold.”

  “Yes.”

  “I am really sorry that we can't exchange services, because I can certainly start you on your way there.”

  “Start us? You can't direct us all the way there?”

  “Correct: I can't. It is beyond my range.”

  “Range?”

  “Oh, I see,” Cathryn said sympathetically. “You are from afar, and don't understand our system.”

  “Yes, I don't. But I am willing to trade, if it's a matter of that.”

  “I'm afraid it is. We are unable to interact significantly without the exchange of equivalent services.”

  Forrest stepped into the dialogue. “There must be some service you need or desire, that we might do.”

  Cathryn glanced at him. “I doubt it. I am really quite satisfied, apart from my natural longing to become real. This is a pleasant enough realm, and far better than utter nonexistence. I would gladly show you around it, If-”

  “If we could do you some service in exchange,” he finished.

  “Exactly. But as it is, I see no cause for further association. So if you will excuse me, I shall take off.” She spread her wings.

  “Walt!” Imbri cried. “There must be something!”

  Cathryn paused. “I would be pleased if there were, for you seem like interesting folk, and I’m sure your need must be extreme, for you to make the great effort to come here. But it would be unkind to pretend there is anything feasible.”

  “Every creature has some secret deep desire,” Imbri said. “I am in a position to know.”

  The centaur seemed genuinely curious. “How could you be in such a position?”

  “I was a night mare for a hundred and seventy years, punishing folk for their darkest desires, and a day mare for thirty years, rewarding their brightest desires. I have never encountered anyone who was wholly satisfied with his lot. Some don't know their deepest desires, but all have them.”

  “And maybe some demons prey on that,” Forrest said, thinking of D. Sire.

  “Then I think I must be the exception,” Cathryn said, “because I am satisfied, as satisfied as it is possible for a might-be to be.”

  They seemed to be getting nowhere. But Forrest remembered something.

  “The Good Magician's list,” he said. “Maybe that has the answer.” He dug into his knapsack and brought it out.

  Now he thought he could almost read the first two words of the Good Magician's illegible scribble. “Dear Horn,” he said, squinting. “Does that make any sense?”

  “Oh!” Cathryn said, putting a hand to her ample breast.

  “You have found your secret desire,” Imbri said.

  “I suppose I have,” the centaur confessed. “I never realized it before.”

  Forrest put the paper away. “What is the dear horn?”

  “It is a special horn that when blown will locate a person's True Love.

  I have no True Love; I did not realize until you spoke that I missed him.”

  “Then we must find this horn for you,” Imbri said.

  “That may be no easy thing. I have no idea where it may be. I understand it tends to get left wherever last used, forgotten. So though you have indeed discovered a service you might render me, I fear it is an impossible service.”

  Forrest found himself becoming canny. “Suppose we agreed to help you find that horn. Would that be a sufficient service so that we could talk freely while we were doing it“

  “Why yes, I suppose it would be. But you may still be wasting your time, because it m
ay not be possible to find it, and in that case I will not be able to guide you toward the region of the fauns.”

  Forrest shrugged. “We'll take that chance. Are we agreed?”

  “Yes,” Cathryn said, smiling.

  “Then let's proceed. I'm not much, but Mare Imbri can tune in on dreams, and that may help, as the dear horn is surely an instrument for the fulfillment of dreams.”

  Both mares looked at him. “You're not as empty headed as the average faun,” the centaur remarked.

  “It's a luxury I can't afford at the moment. I must save that tree, and return to my own tree.” Forrest turned to Imbri. “Can you orient on some person who knows where the dear horn is?”

  “I'm not sure. But I suppose the Good Magician wouldn't have asked me to guide you, if he didn't think I had some way to do it. Let me concentrate.” She closed her eyes. She looked much like a nymph that way, except that she was clothed. “Yes-I am getting a faint glimmering.

  It's like the colors of the directions, only it's more like light from a distant flickering candle. I think I will be able to find it. But we will have to go straight to it, because it's very faint, and I may lose it if we delay or deviate.”

  “Then let's go!” Forrest said, gratified.

  They set off to the north, and slightly to the east. There were numerous tracks, all hoofmarks. That reminded him of the conjecture they had made about regions. They had encountered only equine folk in this region: a unicorn, a centaur, and a winged centaur. That could be coincidence, but he doubted it, because in regular Xanth he had seldom seen such creatures. “Is this equine country?” he inquired.

  “Yes,” Cathryn answered. “Creatures of a kind tend to congregate, being more comfortable with similar types. There's no rule; it just happens.”

  “So elsewhere there will be regions of dragons, or of elves, or of human folk?”