Yon Ill Wind

by Piers Anthony

  But she suspected that there was something important she was missing.

  Jim Baldwin saw his daughter's cute confusion, and wished he could ease it, but this was not the occasion.

  She had done far better work than she knew.

  “I think we must be on our way,” he said. “We thank you. King Dor, for your assistance.”

  “It is we who thank you for yours,” the King replied graciously, and his buxom green-haired wife smiled agreement. “You did not need to risk your family to help Xanth.”

  Jim glanced at Trenita Imp, who now sat on Queen Irene's shoulder. “I think we did, after the hospitality of the imps, which presaged yours.” Trenita smiled.

  “It still will not be easy,” the King said. “Our best hopes go with you.”

  “Yeah, we don't want to get blown away,” the King's crown remarked.

  “Let's go,” D. Mentia said, floating toward the exit.

  She had finally managed to get her clothing on straight, which was just as well; a demoness might not mind what she showed, as long as it wasn't her underwear, but it could be distracting.

  They followed her out. The madness had intensified; Jim could feel its oppressive effect despite the protective ambiance of the castle. Indeed, this was unlikely to be easy, despite their seeming assurance that they would succeed.

  The King had made that plain. Ordinarily such a trip, with a demon guide, would be routine, but with the stirred-up magic dust changing things, nothing was certain.

  That applied to Ida's reassurance, too. Princess Ida's Sorceress-class talent was the Idea; whatever she believed was true. But the Idea had to come from elsewhere—from someone who didn't know Ida's magic. That was what limited it. The elf girl Jenny had cleverly solicited Karen's innocent endorsement of their mission, and Ida had agreed, which meant that they would indeed succeed—if the rising madness didn't interfere. No one knew exactly how the madness might affect Ida's talent. So the outcome was not, after all, sure. But he did not care to tell the children that.

  Mary and Sean knew, but they would keep silent too.

  They got into the RV, with the demoness taking the front passenger seat so she could show him the way, as Nimby had before. The sultry creature was now in a tight clingy sweater and a too-short skirt. He wasn't sure whether she was trying to flirt with him, or provoke Mary, or if this was her natural manner of appearance among humans. “South along the main enchanted path,” she said.

  “And move rapidly, because the dust is getting worse.”

  “How can you tell?” he asked her. “Not that I doubt you, but with the effects of the dust, could that lead you astray?”

  “No. This is why they summoned me. You see, I am only half a demoness. I am Metria's worser half, and normally I am slightly crazy, as you may have noted. But I have been in madness before, and found that it reverses my nature, making me increasingly sane. I feel that sanity closing in now. You are Mundanes, so aren't much affected by it, but the surrounding effects will bring mischief. It is best to avoid as much of it as you can.”

  Half a demoness, who got sane while others got mad.

  This land never ceased to produce novelties. “How did you come to separate from your better half?”

  “Metria was always a mischievous creature. Then she got married to a mortal, inherited half his soul, and fell in love, in that order. I, her soulless crazy aspect, couldn't stand it, so I fissioned off and had my own adventure.

  Unfortunately it led me into madness, and I suffered sanity.

  I came to accept Metria's situation, and must confess her half-demon baby son is cute. So we two halves have reconciled. But because I alone among regular Xanthly creatures can handle the madness, the King asked me to help, and because the rising dust makes me unconscionably sensible, I agreed. You will be able to trust my judgment, when you can't trust your own.”

  “Well, I am becoming accustomed to trusting the judgment of inscrutable creatures, after Nimby.”

  “Who?”

  “Nimby is a striped dragon with the head of a donkey who knows what is going on. He assumes human form and travels with Chlorine, a beautiful young woman who was sent to guide us by the Good Magician.”

  “I don't know her either. What's her talent?”

  “Poisoning water.”

  “Garden variety. But that dragon you describe—there must be some mistake. He might be able to turn human, or to know things, but not both. There's a pretty strict limit of one talent per person.”

  “I think he said that one was a talent and the other was inherent.”

  “Maybe. But I'm pretty sane now, and that sounds wrong. There is something strange about Nimby.”

  Jim laughed. “There is something strange about this whole land!”

  “Better than the excruciating dullness of Mundania.”

  To that he had no answer.

  They made good time, and in due course Mentia indicated the turnoff road. “Now we're leaving the enchanted path,” she reminded him. “It may get nasty.”

  “I know.” There had been a time, two days or two millennia ago, when he would have laughed at magic. Now he felt a dread respect for it.

  But instead of turning ugly, the scenery turned beautiful.

  “Hey, look at the flowers!” Karen cried, peering out her window.

  “Those look like carnations,” Mary said. “A whole field of them.”

  Mentia looked. “Uh-oh. Those look like re-incarnations.

  Growing wild and strong in the madness.”

  Jim experienced a chill. “What magic will they do?”

  “Regular ones aren't too bad,” the demoness said seriously. “Folk sniff one, and have a strong memory of a loved one. If they sniff several together, they may actually see and hear the loved one. But this is a whole broad expanse, strengthened by the magic dust. I think you should try to avoid smelling them.”

  “Close the windows!” he called back to the others. But he was too late; David had opened his. The thick perfume of the flowers was circulating in the vehicle.

  Suddenly Jim saw his father standing by the road, waving. He slowed to pick him up; he hadn't seen his father since five years ago, when—

  “Keep moving!” Mentia said. “Don't stop. Get on out of here.”

  “But that's my father,” Jim protested.

  “Drive on—or I'll drive for you.”

  That jolted him out of it for a moment. “A demoness can drive an RV?”

  “Metria learned how, last year, so I know it too. This thing is similar to a pickup truck. Keep moving.”

  His father had disappeared, and he realized that it had indeed been an illusion. His father was dead.

  “You didn't stop for Grandpa,” Sean said. “Go back, Dad!”

  “He's dead!” Jim said.

  Sean was set back. “I forgot. That's weird.”

  “Oh, like a wraith,” Karen said. “Don't believe them.”

  A woman appeared on the road. “Oh, there's my godmother,” Mary said. “I must talk to her.”

  Woofer growled.

  “No,” Jim said grimly.

  “But we can't leave her here!” she said, releasing her seat belt and getting up.

  “She's not real,” he said, accelerating.

  “Jim! I'm surprised at you. How can you say such a thing?”

  “He's right, Mom,” Karen said. “It's the magic. Don't be fooled.”

  Then they drove beyond the field of flowers, and the fragrance faded. Mary returned to her seat. “Of course that couldn't have been her,” she said. “But she seemed so real.”

  “They do,” Mentia said. “But if you stop for them, at this strength of fragrance, you might never get away again.

  As soon as you escaped the ambiance of one flower, another would get you. Probably they would have gotten you anyway, had you been afoot; but in your rapidly moving truck you were too fast for them. That's why I said not to stop.”

  “You were indeed the sensible one,”
Jim agreed. Mary nodded, appreciating the ability of the demoness. Sense was likely to be what they needed most in the next few hours.

  A mountain loomed before them. “That's it,” Mentia said.

  “We can't drive up that!” Jim protested, glancing at her, and catching a considerable eyeful of her burgeoning cleavage. Where had her sweater gone? Apparently she had changed into something more comfortable, in her magic fashion. “This is a recreational vehicle, not a tank!”

  “The demon path is inside. I will guide you to it. That is why I am here.”

  “Sorry, I forgot.” Was that another effect of the dust of madness? No, probably merely the distraction of her changingly provocative form. “Where's the entrance?”

  “Follow me.” She floated from her seat, through the windshield, and ahead of the RV.

  “Keen creature,” Sean remarked, peering ahead.

  “Not your type,” Mary said, a bit sharply.

  Sean did not argue, but it was clear that he believed that anything that looked like that was his type. Jim couldn't blame him; the demoness was about as well endowed a creature as was possible without stretching the masculine imagination beyond repay. Those entities who could choose their appearance usually seemed to choose impressively. Chlorine's appearance was chosen, after all.

  Actually, he was glad to have Sean's reaction, because the boy had been unnaturally quiet since his close call with the goblin dam, not evincing much interest in anything.

  Jim was afraid he had suffered a concussion or some other hidden injury when the water swept him away. Now he was reverting to normal, an excellent sign.

  Mentia led them to a large old tree. She pointed to its trunk. Jim, now having had some experience with such things, drew the RV slowly up to that trunk, which seemed to expand, and into it. Sure enough, it was an illusioncovered aperture. An entry into the mountain.

  They entered a dark tunnel. Jim turned on the headlights. They speared through Mentia's clothing, silhouetting her shapely body. Then the clothing thickened, and the effect was lost. The demoness floated back through the windshield and into her seat. “This spirals up inside the mountain. Just keep going.” She paused. “Those bright lights caught me by surprise. Did you see—?”

  “Outline, no panties,” Jim said quickly.

  She relaxed. “We do try to honor the conventions. We don't show panties to anyone we aren't prepared to seduce.”

  “It's nice to have standards,” Jim agreed. She didn't show panties—but she did show everything else. It seemed that in Xanth the underclothing counted for more than what it covered. “How is it that the demons maintain this tunnel, when you can float wherever you wish to go?”

  “Actually it's an old vole burrow,” she confided. “But we find it handy when we want to spy on the ceremonies of the winged monsters. They can see us in the outer air, but not in here.”

  “There must be mighty big voles in Xanth.”

  “As big as this truck, in the old days,” she agreed.

  “Today only the diggle is this big, and it normally doesn't make tunnels; it simply phases through the rock without disturbing it.”

  The passage ahead came to a halt in a pile of rubble.

  So did Jim, perforce. “There must have been a cave-in,” he said regretfully.

  “Let me check.” She floated out again. She phased through the rock. Then her arm came back, beckoning him forward. So it was more illusion.

  He nudged forward, and passed through the seeming pile of stones. Beyond, the tunnel opened up again, curving up and out of sight. The long climb was upon them.

  Mentia floated back. This time she didn't pass through the windshield, but came to the far door. She gestured to come in. Her cleavage was so full it threatened to burst its boundaries.

  “I'll get that,” Sean said, coming forward. He opened the door, and the demoness started to enter.

  Then a second demoness appeared. This one shot through the windshield. “Close that door!” she cried.

  Startled, Sean paused, looking from one to the other.

  Both looked the same, except for the lower décolletage of the one at the door. “Two of you?” he asked.

  Then fangs sprouted in the mouth of the one at the door.

  She hissed and her head dived for Sean's arm.

  The one inside extended one arm to twice its natural human length. The hand intercepted the fanged face and shoved it back out the door. “Close it!” she repeated.

  “That's a hostile phantasm.”

  “But it looked just like you,” Sean said, shaken, closing the door. “Except—”

  “No need to explain,” Mary said tersely.

  “It can be dangerous to judge by appearances.” Mentia drew her body up to her arm, so that all of her was by the seat, and sat down.

  “Yeah,” Karen said from behind.

  Jim realized that the demoness had inadvertently taught Sean a good lesson. He hoped the boy would heed it in more normal circumstances.

  “What's the difference between a wraith and a phantasm?” Karen asked. She was the one who had been led astray by wraiths, so naturally she was concerned.

  “They are similar, but phantasms are more versatile— and malignant,” Mentia said. “And they have some substance.”

  “How come the spook had to come in the door, while you go through the window?” David asked.

  “King Dor arranged to have a protective spell put on this vehicle,” the demoness said. “I'm on your side. Or on Xanth's side, so it lets me pass, but the phantasms are enemies of the natural order, so they are barred. But if you let them in—”

  “Why not simply lock the doors and ignore all creatures outside the RV?” Mary asked.

  ' 'Because you might want to let in a friend, and the spell has no way to tell friend from enemy, being unintelligent, so has to go by your judgment. If you decide to let something in, then you overrule the spell. Sean was letting in that phantasm.” She glanced back at the young man.

  “Don't let anything in unless your father or mother tell you to. Especially if it has unusual sex appeal, or anything else that's evocative. Your lives may be at stake.” Her sculptured décolletage had been replaced by a conservative but still quite attractive blouse.

  “Got it,” Sean agreed, shaken.

  “But we were fooled too,” Mary said.

  “The first time.”

  Good point. Adults learned well from experience. But Jim had a concern of his own. “When you go out, we can't tell you from the imitations. How will we know it's really you signaling us ahead, and not a phantasm? They could hurt us by misdirecting us and causing the RV to wreck.”

  “Um. Let me ponder.” The demoness became thoughtful, her head swelling to twice its normal size. Then she returned to regular beauty. “I think you will have to come out with me, next time. Then you will know it's me.”

  “But then I'll be at risk, outside the enchantment.”

  “I will try to protect you. A demon has more power here than the phantasms do, because they are intruders.”

  “Perhaps in normal times,” Jim said. “But these are not normal times. The dust is strengthening aberrant elements.”

  She glanced sidelong at him. “You may be Mundane, but you are catching on well.”

  He realized that this was a compliment, and he was unwisely flattered. Of course, appearances were not to be trusted, but she looked just like a supremely beautiful young woman, and her favor sidestepped his rational mind to register on a deeper level. “Mundane physics can develop some strange aspects, particularly at the quantum level,” he said. “I am accustomed to thinking rationally in seemingly irrational settings.”

  “In my normal state I would not admire that,” she murmured.

  Implying that in her present artificially sane state she did. If Mary had been concerned about Sean's fascination with Chlorine, now she would have a similar concern about her husband's reaction to Mentia. With perhaps some reason. He had learned to tune out the
occasional wiles of lovely coeds who tended to admire intelligent men, or who merely wanted higher grades, but the magic ambiance was laying siege to his judgment, and his fancy was testing its limits. The phantasms were not the only threat this mission posed.

  The endless turn of the upward spiral brought them suddenly to a division in the tunnel. One fork curved away left, the other right. “Which one?” he asked.

  “I've got to check,” Mentia said, floating out of her seat.

  “And a phantasm will imitate you and signal wrong,” he said. “Even if I see you, I won't know which one is the real you.”

  “Oh. Right. You will have to come out with me. And we shall have to maintain contact.”

  “Contact?”

  She smiled, evidently well aware of his concerns.

  “We'll hold hands.” She extended her left hand to take his right. Then she floated through the windshield, with only her forearm and hand remaining inside.

  Jim knew Mary was watching but holding her peace.

  There was, after all, good reason to hold Mentia's hand, however incidentally suggestive it might be. He opened the door and slid out, and her arm slid with him, through glass and metal without impediment. Yet her hand remained solid and warm. It was amazing how she could do that; he would have thought that a solid hand could not be supported by an insubstantial wrist or arm. Curious, he paused to pass his other hand through her seeming arm flesh, verifying that it was insubstantial. Indeed, the laws of magic were not those of regular physics.

  Then the arm abruptly firmed. “Is there more of me you wish to touch?” she inquired dulcetly, her blouse becoming translucent.

  “Ah, no,” he said quickly, embarrassed. He closed the door and stepped out into the glare of the headlights, still holding her hand. He knew she was smirking; She might be increasingly sane, but her basic mischievous nature remained.

  They advanced to the fork. He expected the left one to be the one, because the spiral had been counterclockwise.

  But there was solid rock there; the passage was illusion.

  He stroked his left hand across the cold hard surface, amazed; it still looked open. It was as if a perfectly clean glass wall barred them from a real tunnel. “I would have driven into this one,” he said, chagrined.