“This is the Coventree,” Pia said. “Or rather, its root system. We can camp safely here for the night.”
“But we saw no big tree above,” Breanna protested.
“Illusion can conceal as well as appear,” Justin reminded her.
“So what do we do,” Edsel asked. “Can we talk to it?”
“No, this just proves how it is getting flooded out. That water in the passage will rise, unless we stop the mountain melt.”
“You mean those pictures are of this area?” Breanna asked. “Or the valley part of it?”
“Yes,” Justin said. “They illustrate the problem.”
“And we’re supposed to somehow stop nature?” Edsel asked.
“Stop the melting in the mountains,” Pia said patiently. “That will stop the slow flooding, and save the trees.”
He found this hard to believe. “And for this, you will give me—?”
She stepped into him, very soft and exciting. “Yes.”
“Then bring on the mountains,” he said.
They found nooks, spread out the blankets, and settled down for the night. Pia joined Edsel, and if she had ever been more desirable or ardent, he could not remember when. All this, to save some trees? He had to be missing something. But meanwhile, he had a piece of heaven.
In the morning, by his watch—the fungus light down here was unchanged—they stirred and got organized. They ate more pizza for breakfast and prepared to set out on their new mission.
Overnight, perhaps in his dreams, Edsel had pondered the flooding problem. Evidently it was a chronic thing, not merely seasonal. Mountain glaciers normally melted some in summer and re-froze in winter, staying in balance. Only a larger pattern of heating, a climate change, could make them melt continuously. What was causing that?
Pia had brought him into this, but now he was getting into it in his own fashion, as a challenge. He liked solving mysteries, and perhaps this was a worthy one.
Justin went to touch one of the square roots. “We will try to address the problem,” he told it. “We will do our best.”
Pia went to another root. “We really will,” she said. Then she leaned forward and kissed its rough bark.
The faint glow around the cave brightened. Whether that was in response to the promise or the kiss Edsel wasn’t sure; both were surely potent.
They turned to the exit passage—and there across it was an illusion picture. It showed the valley, with no lakes or ponds, the sun shining brightly. The Coventree understood their mission, and was acknowledging in its fashion. Edsel realized that the tree could not respond in animate fashion, but could at least make pictures, which it probably had to grow in the course of hours. It must have been working on this one overnight.
They walked through it, suffering no blindness, as this illusion was paper thin. Beyond it was another. This one was a map, showing the local lay of the land, and the placement of the snowy mountains. Now they knew exactly where to go.
They made their way out through the passages and illusions, and emerged to the daylight above. The castle was gone; the region was flat. With one significant exception: there was the Coventree, rising above the region where they had seen its great central root. It was a huge tree, larger than Edsel had ever seen before, stretching toward the clouds. The illusion castle must have been formed around it, concealing it at night. But by day, freed of its protective illusion, it stood out in all its grandeur. It would indeed be a shame to let such a tree die.
They got in Para, and the boat set off. Justin and Pia rode in front, eager to see the way ahead, leaving Edsel and Breanna to the rear.
“So did she do you last night?” Breanna inquired.
“Am I allowed to answer without violating the Adult Conspiracy?”
She laughed. “That’s answer enough. You know, I can see how Justin would relate to the welfare of trees, and I don’t blame him at all. But Pia surprises me; I never figured her for the type.”
“She surprises me too,” he admitted. “I love her, but she has always been self-centered. I don’t see any way in which this intermission can profit her personally.”
“This what?”
“Intermission. A mission inside a larger mission.”
She considered that. “Quest.”
“What?”
“It’s a quest rather than a mission. More éclat.”
“Quest,” he agreed, liking the concept. “But not her type. If there were the promise of a bag of pretty gemstones at the end, I could see it. But just to save some trees: She never cared about trees before.”
“There must be a reason.”
“There must be,” he agreed. They had speculated about enchantment, but it didn’t seem to fit.
A shape flew out of the background. It was large, and somewhat clumsy. “Beware,” Breanna said. “That’s a harpy.”
“Have no concern,” Justin called back. “That’s Handi. I know her. She’s clean and intelligent.”
“Trees get to know many flying creatures,” Breanna said. “I suppose I shouldn’t be jealous.”
The harpy had the wings and talons of a buzzard, and the head and breasts of a woman. Edsel had understood that they were always ugly, but this one wasn’t.
“What is the nature of your quest?” she called. Her voice was not a screech, either.
“Hello, Handi,” Justin called. “Come and perch for a bit.”
The harpy was surprised. “You know me?” She hovered doubtfully.
“And you know me,” Justin said. “I’m Justin Tree, in manform.”
“Justin!” she cried. “That is your voice.” She came in to perch on the side of the boat. “But what are you doing with three Mundanes?”
“Two and a half Mundanes,” Breanna said, nettled. “I’m a permanent Xanth resident. Breanna of the Black Wave. And Justin’s my man.”
Handi turned to eye her. “Well, he used to be my tree. He had the nicest foliage. I would perch on his firm warm branch and we discussed nature.”
“We are going to the mountains to find out why the snow is melting,” Justin said.
“That’s important?”
“The melt-water is drowning out the Coventree.”
Handi nodded. “That’s important. That’s the finest tree in all these parts.” She preened a feather. “Well, I must be off.” She spread her wings and lifted into the air.
Breanna watched her go. “Was I too bleepy?” she asked.
“Not at all,” Edsel reassured her. “You hardly spoke.”
“I hate being jealous. But the thought of Justin talking about nature with bare breasted birds just drives me crazy.”
“She does have nice—” He caught himself. “Completely under standable. But how could a man have any future with a creature with no human legs?”
She considered. “I never thought of that. He really couldn’t, well, whatever. I don’t have to be jealous of harpies at all.”
He spied another creature. It might be a dragon, but it wasn’t threatening them. “What’s that?”
She looked. “Oh, that’s a firedrake. They have iron lungs.”
That made sense, he realized.
The level floor of the valley tilted, providing some leverage so the river could rise toward the distant mountain range. Edsel had never been much for watching scenery, but there wasn’t much else to do. Justin and Pia were chatting amiably at the other end of the boat; they seemed to be really hitting it off, after their exploration of the underground gallery. Edsel hardly minded talking with Breanna; she was cute and vivacious. But there was absolutely no prospect of a romantic association there, and he had never had much to do with girls who were not romantic prospects. So he was stuck with the scenery. Fortunately it was varied and interesting.
They passed a woman who was working in a vineyard. But the vines were odd. They seemed to have eyeballs. “What are those?” he inquired.
Breanna looked. “I think they are eye-queue vines. Put one on your head, and i
t makes you smart.”
“Really?” he asked, amazed.
“Well, I’m not sure. Maybe they only make you think you’re smart. I’ll find out.” She waved to the woman. “Hi! I’m Breanna of the Black Wave, my talent is seeing in blackness, and I have a question.” The duck-footed boat obligingly drew to a halt so she could have the dialogue.
“You wish to know whether these vines provide the illusion or the reality of high intelligence,” the woman said.
“That’s right! How did you know?”
“Because I am Jeanie Yus, and long association with the eye queue has made me quite intelligent. In fact, that’s my talent.”
“Intelligence, or cultivating vines?” Edsel asked.
“Yes. And you are evidently a lascivious Mundane.”
“Only when looking at lovely women,” he said. Actually Jeanie looked smart rather than pretty, but he was a fair hand at dialogue with women.
She nodded. “False flattery can indeed be charming. The answer to your original question is that the effect of these vines varies with the person. They do enhance the appearance of intelligence, but only in restricted ways relating to observation of details rather than substance, obscure vocabulary rather than effective communication, spot memorization of numbers backwards, superficial analysis of pictures, general information of a selected cultural nature, and trick questions. But not only do they make those who use them think they are more intelligent than they are, they also make school administrators think so.”
“They have schools in Xanth?” Edsel asked.
“Indubitably. We have a fine school of fish right here in the Melt River.”
Breanna was interested. “What effect would such a vine have on someone like me?”
“They tend not to greatly enhance the seeming strengths of folk like you,” Jeanie said. “On a basis of one hundred, they would make you seem like eighty five.”
“But how can they do that?” she asked, annoyed.
“They relate only to the qualities to which they are crafted to relate. They ignore all others, such a creativity, artistic ability, musical sensitivity, special qualities of character like integrity or compassion or perseverance, or specialized knowledge in diverse areas. They assume that intelligence is an entity represented by a single figure, and that that figure is the only relevant one.”
“But why would they assume that?” Breanna asked.
“Because if they did not, their prophecy would not be properly self fulfilling.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Naturally not,” Jeanie said with a superior attitude.
Breanna seemed about to jump out of the boat to tackle Jeanie. Edsel grabbed her, getting a faceful of her lustrous black hair. “Para!” he cried. “Get your feet moving.”
The boat lurched forward, carrying them away from the vineyard. He hung on to the struggling girl until she relaxed. Then he released her, aware that his embrace could be misinterpreted. Justin and Pia were looking back in surprise, but then returned to their dialogue.
Breanna looked at him. “I guess you didn’t do that to grab any quick feel.”
“True,” he agreed. Then, to defuse it: “Oh, I don’t mean to imply that you don’t have things worth feeling. You are a very nice little package. If I ever had a legitimate excuse, I’d revel in feels.”
It worked. She smiled. “For sure. That woman made me so mad—”
“I think it was unconscious arrogance. She called out the weakness in her vines without realizing that it applied to herself. She really does think she is smarter than you.”
“But why?”
“Because you are of the Black Wave. That is most of what she felt she needed to know about you.”
“Self fulfilling prophecy,” she said musingly. “If you figure the color of your skin makes you better than someone else, the tests you make will reflect that.”
“You will make sure they do,” he agreed. “In the name of objectivity, ironically. But it’s not worth arguing with an attitude like that. It would be like getting into a mud fight.”
“I used to like mud fights.”
“You know what I mean.”
She considered. “What do you think of zombies?”
He was startled by the irrelevance. “Why, I don’t know any zombies, but I wouldn’t want to embrace one.”
“For sure,” she said, turning away.
Edsel found himself vaguely nettled. “Am I missing something?”
“Those eye queue vines would make a zombie be about ten on a scale of one hundred. Their brains are rotten.”
He was baffled. “I am missing something. I feel sort of stupid.”
“No, just from another culture. Maybe some time I’ll tell you about zombies. Meanwhile, I’ll apologize for confusing you. It wasn’t fair.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” he said, still wondering what was going on in her mind.
Then she caught him about the shoulders, drew him close enough to be well aware of those things she had worth feeling, and kissed him so soundly that it felt as if the boat were tipping over the brink of a waterfall.
When she released him, he put his hands on the sides of the boat to maintain his balance. “Why?” he gasped after a moment.
“Two reasons. First, you saved me from making a fool of myself, back there. Second, those two up front owed us a kiss. And maybe a feel, but I think you got that too.”
Indeed. “Owed us a kiss?”
“Your woman kissed my man, underground, and gave him a feel. I can tell. Now that score is even.”
He wasn’t sure of the logic, but it had been such a good kiss that he didn’t question it. Breanna kept her own particular social accounts. She had kissed him in the O-Xone, because she had said that someone else had done it and it showed. Someone else had: Kim, and Pia. Apparently if anyone else got a kiss, Breanna felt entitled. “You said something about an apology, then you kissed me. Is there a connection?”
“Yes. I gave you a gourd apology. That’s like that.”
“I think I could get interested in the gourd.”
“For sure!” she laughed. “All in good time. You know, I think I could get to like you, if I tried.”
“Ditto here. But I think we had better not try too hard.”
“We’re pushing it,” she agreed. “Maybe we’re a little jealous of them.” Her gaze flicked momentarily toward the front of the boat.
“They have found a common interest,” he agreed. “Pia has become an environmentalist. I would never have expected that.”
“Justin is already. Because of his several score years as a tree. I like that in him, but I have sort of left it to him, same as he has left civil rights to me.”
“Xanth has a civil rights problem?”
“It does with zombies.”
“You’re representing the zombies!” he exclaimed, catching on.
“Yeah.”
“How did you get into that?”
“Well, it started with King Xeth. He—”
She broke off, because at that point they were approaching an odd couple. It was a centaur, the first Edsel had seen in the flesh, and on its back a girl. The girl had brown hair, wore blue jeans, and would have been rather short if seen standing on the ground. But as it was, her head was high enough.
“Hello,” Justin called from the front. “I am Justin Tree. Is this the best way to the snowy mountains?”
“Hi,” the girl replied. She wore a hat that said Tom, but maybe she had borrowed it. Unless she was a tom boy. “I’m Heather. I’m ten, and my talent is relating to dragons. I’m looking for one who’s not hungry at the moment. I don’t know the best way to the mountains, but I’m sure Shaunture does.”
The centaur seemed reluctant to talk. He merely pointed upriver.
“My concern is that the river may meander, and we would like to reach the mountains expeditiously,” Justin said.
Heather looked down. “I guess you’ll have to answer, Shauntu
re,” she said.
Now the centaur spoke. “The river does not measure, but—” He paused, for a measuring tape had appeared in his hands.
“Meander,” Heather said. “It does not meander.”
“Thank you.” The tape disappeared. “But you will want to avoid the colored people.”
Breanna sat up straight. Edsel put a cautioning hand on her brown arm.
“What is the problem with colored people?” Justin asked.
“Their talents. They were originally Mundanes, and their form of greeting is to shake hands. When they got magic, thanks to the curse of a passing demon, it was inconvenient. They are named White, Green, Brown, Black, Grey, and other collars, and—”
He paused, for a huge horse collar had appeared around his neck.
“Colors,” Heather said. “Other colors.”
“Thank you,” the centaur said, as the collar faded out. “Not only are they those colors, but anything they touch becomes those colors too.”
“So they really are colored people,” Edsel murmured. “Literal Xanth strikes again.”
“For sure,” Breanna murmured back. “I should have known.”
“I appreciate the problem,” Justin said. “We shall not wish to shake hands with these people.”
“Yes,” the centaur agreed. “Their Mundane costume is quaint, but—” He paused, for now a clownish costume had formed around him.
“Custom,” Heather said. “Their Mundane custom of touching hands.”
“Thank you.” The costume dissolved.
“I begin to see why he doesn’t like to talk,” Breanna said. “Every time he makes a mistake, it takes form.”
“Is there a detour we can take to avoid them?” Pia asked.
“If you take a slightly different angel, you can—” The centaur paused, for an angel had appeared hovering before him, complete with glowing halo and white wings.
“Angle,” Heather said. “A slightly different angle.”
“Thank you.” The angel faded. “You may then pass the home of a center Magician who—” Now a small building appeared before him, with arrows pointing to it, making it the center of the illustration.
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