Their progress was slower than before, but actually faster than he might have swum on his own; her flukes were effective. He felt the power of her legs channeling down into the webbed feet, indefatigably. He made a mental note: never annoy a mer person in the water; they were supreme. They were moving through narrowing passages against an increasing current, forcing her to work harder, but she was up to it. He was a well conditioned martial artist, but in this medium he was not close to her match.
They came abruptly into air as the passage hit a pocket. Theme released him so they could walk. Thesis and Stevia were there ahead of them. “You will have to leave your bags here,” Theme said. “The tunnel's too tight."
"But if we need to eat—"
"We can regurgitate some honey for you."
Havoc exchanged a glance with Stevia. He hoped the guirl was joking.
They moved on where the water resumed, and once again Theme possessed him and milked him. He had lost all interest in sex, but her body was able to force an erection and siphon out its content. The experience was on the verge of becoming painful, but he literally had no choice.
The surrounding water warmed. In fact it grew hot. And Theme's body and breath turned cool, enabling him to handle it. He was coming to appreciate the extent of the mer folk's adaptation to their environment. It seemed they could generate body heat or coolness, as required.
A tentacle touched them. Havoc was alarmed, but Theme lifted one hand and made some sort of gesture, and the creature retreated. Whether it was chemical, magical, or some kind of signal of friendship wasn't clear, but it was effective. Score yet another one for the guirl.
They came to another dry section. “One more hop,” Theme announced. “But this one is difficult."
"Can we handle it?” Havoc asked. If she found it a challenge, it was surely formidable.
"I hope so. We'll get the two of you to the site, but then you must accomplish your business within seconds, or be overwhelmed by the effects."
Havoc nodded grimly. He was sure she was not being facetious. “Comprehension."
"Keep us close together,” Stevia said. “I may be able to help him."
"Against the massed magic of the Blue Chroma Volcano?” Thesis asked dubiously.
"Maybe just enough to enable him to perform his task more quickly."
The mer buoy shrugged. “That would help."
They returned to the water, and Theme took possession of Havoc's parts again. She was certainly making sure she got value for her breathing air! If she did not get her second, it would not be because Havoc had held anything back. But he suspected that she had already nailed that aspect, and was merely draining the cup, as it were, so as not to waste a single drop.
The mer folk were right about the difficulty. Not only was the passage tight and the water hot, there was an intensifying blue color in both water and rock. It made Havoc's skin tingle uncomfortably. He knew it was the ambiance of magic flowing from the volcano. He felt a tremor, and worried that the cone was about to erupt, but knew that was unlikely. Any active volcano had continuing effects in its immediate vicinity. Full eruptions were not frequent; months could pass without one. But tremors and spot flows of water, gas, or magma could occur at any time.
Then something unpleasantly odd happened. Havoc knew it was a result of the potent magic, but that did not make it easier to bear. He suffered a vision in shades of red.
He tried to close his eyes, but it made no difference. No only did the vision remain, it developed sound and touch. It felt as if he were alone, no longer attached to the mer guirl, just drifting through viscous plasma, embraced by its encompassing whorls.
It was a storm looming ferociously as it closed in on him. He stood by or in a vast sea, with no place to seek shelter. Tendrils of cloud descended to touch the surface of the water, sucking up fluid, becoming waterspouts. Two of them circled each other, and then three, doing a deadly dance. Then they were shoved aside by a massive funnel that drove across the water, lashing it into red froth. The surface of the sea disappeared; now all was a giant spinning wall of water, keening piercingly. Thin films of spray whipped out ahead, knifelike in their thrust.
It struck. He cowered, unable to help himself—and his feet slipped off an unseen shelf. He dropped down, sinking beneath the surface of the sea, but found no reprieve; the storm was here too, roaring, battering at him without mercy.
The noise of the storm was deafening; he slipped, and slipped again, disoriented as much by the noise as the storm around him. Finally his feet found a ledge with crevices, and his toes dug in, halting the slippage. He spied a dreadful red sea monster coming after him, hissing as it opened its giant jaws. He had to step off the ledge, into the depths. For a sickening moment he plunged.
Then it was as though he floated a hundred feet above the ground, and he could see everything. He saw trees and animals, but they were weird. One was a giant snail with three antenna, sliding along at a respectable speed. Another was a weird creature with five legs, each ending in a wheel. It lifted one or two wheels at a time over obstructions, always having good balance on three wheels on the ground. There was also a flying creature that seemed to have one wing whirling overhead, supporting its flight. He had never seen anything like that on Charm; could such things exist elsewhere on the planet?
It changed again. Now he was a woman, with breasts. Another woman was kissing him, seeking further closeness. She was a strong Translucent Amazon, and had hold of him (her?), and he lacked his male muscle, and could not escape. Nor did he want to. He was female, yet he yearned for sexual fulfillment—with another woman.
Well, love could be eternal, but sex tended to abate when exercised. Woman to woman was not normally his style, for rather more than one reason, but he thought he could do it when he had to. If that enabled them to make it through this siege, why not?
He released his female passion, and kissed the woman back. They clasped each other, and soon were into serious lovemaking. They rolled on the ground, embracing, stroking, squeezing, licking, bypassing clothing, overcome by the passion of the siege. And when the culmination came, they lay for a moment, savoring it.
"Better than a man,” the woman whispered.
He was hardly ready to concede that. Still—
"Havoc!"
It was Stevia, pressing close to him, embracing his head with her spreading gray hair. She was fending off the blue magic, enabling him to recover his equilibrium. The vision of the red storm was gone, and the weird alien creatures were fading, but the female passion intrigued him. “Recovering,” he said. “For the moment."
"Fetch it fast,” Theme said tightly. Her blue form was scintillating, and not with joy; the intensity of magic was paining her.
Havoc looked around. They were in a small cubic chamber, accessible only by the water behind them. There was a kind of alter carved in the blue tuff, with a flat surface from which eighteen buttons projected.
He stepped forward—and immediately the magic swirled about him dizzyingly. He felt stifled by it, unable to breathe. He began to fall.
Then Stevia was touching him again. “Hold my hand,” she murmured. “I can stave it off somewhat, but must be in contact."
Evidently so. He gazed at the altar, but now it was fuzzing into blue vagueness. “My eyes—can you help?"
"I will try.” Stevia lifted her hair and put it over his head, forming a kind of hood. That did help; now he could see clearly again. Her gray magic was potent.
They moved together another step to stand before the altar. He reached out and pulled on the leftmost button. It lifted, bringing up a cover. Beneath was a small chamber. It was empty. He set the lid down and tried the next: also empty. So he continued, trying each in turn—and each was empty. There was nothing in any of the chambers.
"Hurry!” Theme gasped.
Where could it be? There had to be something, yet there was nothing.
Then Havoc got a notion. “Illusion!” He lifted the first lid ag
ain, and this time reached into the chamber with his hand, feeling its sides and bottom. It remained empty, but he did the same with the second, and the third. And the bottom of the seventh chamber was illusory; his fingers found a small stone model of a five-legged insect. He lifted it out. This had to be it.
He had nowhere to carry it, so he popped it into his mouth, storing it between his teeth and cheek. Then he stepped quickly back, colliding with Theme. She knew what to do; she wrapped her arms around him, turned him to face her, put her mouth to his, and jumped feet first into the water.
Then they were moving downcurrent, away from the altar chamber. The mer guirl sought and possessed his member as she propelled them back through the cave tunnel. They were on their way back. His mission was successful—but he knew that he and Stevia would not be having any sexual relations any time soon, whatever her original intention had been. The mer guirl had wiped out any desire he might have had, for at least the next week. It was surely a similar case with Stevia. He knew there was no malice in it; it was just the way of the mer folk. He hoped Theme did get her second by him. But he hoped never to come this way again. He had not properly understood the reluctance of others to deal with the mers; now he did. At least he had the item—whatever it was. He had earned it.
As they moved away from the blue cone, so intimately linked, Havoc's mind returned to his brief vision of the storm, and suddenly he realized that it wasn't himself who had been in it, but Gale, his beloved. She was braving storm and monster—and he was unable to come to her rescue. Someone else was observing the weird creatures—probably Throe. And the female love—that could be Symbol. Their adventures were as challenging as his own.
He had his ikon, and was on his way back to Triumph City. But what of the others? Would they succeed similarly? He was not at all sure.
Chapter 2—Dour
Gale bound her hair back and concealed it under a dusky cap, masking its luxuriant mass. She donned peasant clothing, deliberately baggy so as to hide her firm figure. She put her hammer dulcimer in a ragged basket-purse, similarly obscuring its quality. She intended to come across as exactly what she was: a barbarian wench with a talent for music. Definitely not the consort of the king.
She entered the local office of the Cartography Guild. The man at the desk looked up without speaking.
"Greeting,” she said formally.
"Acknowledgment."
"I must have a guide for a distant and maybe dangerous mission."
"And how do you propose to repay such a service?"
"No fault association.” This bothered her, for she would have much preferred to do it with Havoc, but she was of course familiar with the convention. She could handle it, and this was a proper occasion.
The clerk looked tired. “I think there would have to be something more than that."
"But that is all I have. I'm just a country girl."
"Precisely."
She had evidently masked her beauty a bit too well. “If I can persuade a guide?"
He shrugged, evidently concluding that the best way to get rid of her was to let her try. She could have read his mind to verify that, but it was hardly worth the effort. “Then it becomes a private arrangement."
"Appreciation."
He brought her to a chamber where several men and one woman were at a large table, working on a map. “Distant and dangerous mission. No fault."
They glanced up, surveyed Gale, and returned to their work, uninterested.
Gale walked around the outside of the table, pausing at each person. Now she couldn't read their minds, because anything more than a single person was like several talking at once: a Babel with only fragmentary thoughts intelligible. The overall impression was of mild curiosity and annoyance that she should waste their time.
She considered asking the nearest man, but the dragon seed buzzed in her ear. That functioned regardless of the number of people close by, but was far less specific, in this case merely signaling negation. That was what counted, though; somehow the seed knew, and she relied on it. She came to the woman, and there was another buzz. She was relieved; she was a man-woman, not a woman-woman, though she could play the role if she had to. She got another buzz at the third person, and the fourth, but not at the fifth and last. This was the one.
"Favor,” she murmured.
"Aversion,” the man said without looking.
"Allow me one minute in private to make my case.” She had two reasons to get him isolated: to read his mind to verify his suitability, and to use her assets to win him over.
The man paused, then stood silently and led her to an adjacent chamber. He wore a comprehensive cloak, with an oblong shield slung across his back, a large helmet, and carried a long stout staff. Apparently this was his uniform, though the others were not similarly garbed.
His thoughts clarified as he stood alone. He had tried to turn her down not because of hostility, but because he had little notion how to behave with women. He was intelligent and honest, and his cartographic region was exactly where she needed to go. The dragon seed had indeed steered her correctly.
She faced him. “No fault,” she repeated, and opened her shirt to show her unbound breasts.
His jaw dropped. He stared, not speaking. She did not bother to read his mind; she know what any man would be thinking at this moment. She had one of the finest bosoms extant.
"Deal?” she inquired.
He finally spoke. “Joke?"
"Sincere. I need guidance and protection for a dangerous mission. I am a lovely woman and can not safely travel alone, even if I were able to navigate."
"But I—” He broke off, then tried again. “I am ugly.” He was correct; he was a powerful but homely man.
"Permission.” In a confrontation like this, that meant permission to touch him.
He opened his mouth, but did not manage to speak. She was picking up more of his reaction now. He was not aloof or arrogant, he was in awe of her, afraid to presume that she wasn't cruelly teasing him. Obviously no lovely woman had ever been interested in him.
"I take silence as acceptance,” she murmured, and approached him. She put her hands on his left arm, squeezing the muscle there. She touched his face with her fingers, verifying that it was as it appeared. Magical illusion was unlikely here in the city of Triumph, but not impossible. “May I embrace you?"
"I would faint,” he said, fiercely embarrassed. He looked much like a warrior, but she had already seen that he was extremely shy. “Please, lady, do not tease me further."
"Then let me simply speak to you. I am not teasing.” She put her two hands on his elbows, facing him squarely. “I see you are not accomplished with women, but I believe you are a good and competent man. I can handle this on a no fault basis. I will never intentionally be unkind to you, and will be to you as a traveling companion is. Is this sufficient?"
He worked again to speak. “I—I am no good with women. I would not—not know how."
As she well knew. This put the relationship into her control, making it easier. “I will guide you in this, even as you guide me across terrain. I will make up what you lack, and perhaps leave you better able to deal with other women thereafter. Deal?"
He tried to speak, and this time failed. This was simply too much for him to believe.
"I take silence as acceptance,” she repeated. “I will take you from here."
"I—” But he could not finish. His mind was in turmoil, because though he hated his own social incompetence, what she offered was beyond his wildest dream. Not merely a willing woman, but a lovely one.
She released one of his elbows and turned to stand at his side. She closed her shirt, becoming plain again. She stepped forward, urging him, and he stepped with her. They went out into the main chamber.
The others looked up, astonished. Gale marched the cartographer past them and out the door. She had her guide.
When they were alone in the hall, she broached the next stage. “Introductions."
"Agreed.” He was able to speak when the matter was neutral. About the rest of it he was numb.
"I am Nonesuch, a songstress. That is my traveling identity, for no fault companionship. My mission is private, not to be known by others."
He nodded, understanding that though travel companionship often was no fault, some preferred to hide their real identities to avoid any possible social taint. “I am Dour Cartographer, competent in my district."
"Of course. That is why I chose you.” Actually the dragon seed had selected him, but she trusted it implicitly. His district included her site, and he would be able to do the job.
"Question."
"Acknowledged."
"You pose as a peasant girl, but you are lovely enough to be a king's toy. Why do you come anonymously to me?"
"My mission and my life might be in peril if I were known to be doing this."
He nodded again. He was shy with her, but by no means dull about his business. “Yet you could have taken a more advanced guide."
"Not with anonymity."
"Understood. I will do my best. But as you may suspect, I am not—not socially apt."
That was abundantly clear, even without her mind reading and his prior statement. “I will manage,” she said, smiling.
"As a matter of professional integrity, I must advise you that I am likely to be an embarrassment to you. I urge you to reconsider—"
"Declined."
"But to travel any distance—my company would become wearing. Better to change guides now, before getting committed to a caravan or outdoor trek."
"No."
He hesitated. “I am not sure you properly understand the nature of no fault travel. It—"
Gale caught his arm again, making him stop walking. She caught his head with her free hand, holding it in place. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him lightly on the mouth.
He wavered, seeming about to fall. She took firm hold of both his shoulders, steadying him. In a moment he clarified. “Apology. I fear I suffered a—a vision."
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