The Series Boxed Set

by Piers Anthony

  And you have me, Sylvie thought. We sirens do have powers, though not in the same league as the sorceress.

  “Powers?” I sub-vocalized.

  We can swim well, she reminded me. We can enchant men. And I can shore you up against being seduced by her.

  “Even if I think she’s the sexiest creature on two legs?” Because I did. “Even if I really would like to be seduced by her?” Because I would. “Even though I know better?” Because when did knowledge that it was dangerous ever stop a man from desiring a beautiful woman?

  Yes. I can run interference to prevent her from seducing you by force, as she must have done with Sinbad. I can sing the anti-summons song, the reverse of our normal lure, to make you averse to such seduction. But there is one thing I can’t do.

  I knew there would be a catch. There always was. “What is that?”

  I can’t stop you from sending me away, if that’s what you decide to do. I occupy your finger by your sufferance. You have to want me here, or at least tolerate me.

  “I do want you here! How could you think otherwise?”

  Aladdin, she thought seriously. If she persuades you to send me away, I will have to go. Then I will not be able to protect you. I must not leave your finger, even for an instant, because then she will strike and you will be lost.

  I appreciated the warning, uncomplimentary as it was to my defensive ability, which echoed my own concern. Medea was more than any mere mortal man could handle alone. “I will not let her persuade me,” I promised.

  I sincerely hope that is the case, for both of our sakes. I dare not swim in the River Styx.

  “Neither dare I,” I agreed.

  One more caution.

  “Another?” I asked, dismayed. “Isn’t our situation bad enough already? I know I must not do what I would so dearly like to do.”

  Indeed. But you have to appreciate that seduction is more than sexual.

  “It is?” I asked, surprised.

  It is. You think it’s like making out with a harem girl, for physical gratification without any larger commitment. But the more dangerous form is emotional. You can be lost without having any sexual connection. Don’t let her seduce you emotionally. Don’t fall in love with her.

  “Love!” I echoed, appalled.

  Dea—that is, Medea—turned to face me. “Love?” she inquired. “Did I hear you correctly, sire?”

  Oops. In my excitement I had forgotten the sub in sub-vocalize and spoken aloud. “I doubt it,” I said. “I suffered an uncomfortable belch I was unable to suppress.” Not that there was anything wrong with a good belch after a meal. It was the nether belch, the breaking of wind, that was such a serious social blunder that men had been known to flee the region, humiliated, after letting one slip out audibly in public. A proper belch was a compliment to the server of a good meal. But it was all I could come up with at the moment.

  “It certainly sounded like love,” she said smoothly, taking my hand.

  Sylvie shot out what felt like a jag of lightning. Dea withdrew her hand, shocked. Literally. She did not seem pleased.

  “No, it was more like gas,” I said, embarrassed. I had not known the siren could do that.

  “If you have indigestion, I’m sure I can help,” Dea said, oozing concern. “I have a potion.”

  Don’t take that potion!

  I was not about to. “Thank you, but I’m sure it will clear,” I said. Then, to Sylvie I subvocalized “I will take Duban’s hand. When we have contact, you update him on what we have discovered.”

  I will.

  Duban was of course standing beside me. I took his hand.

  “Isn’t that sweet,” Dea said with mixed sympathy and irony. “He comforts his son.”

  Dea had not been with us long. With luck she would not realize just how powerful a magician Duban was. That could be another secret weapon. Once he knew the score.

  Done. He says thank you for the secret weapon compliment.

  Oops. She must have relayed my ongoing thoughts along with the background. At least now Duban had been updated. I hoped he could match the sorceress, forewarned. But I feared what her seductive powers could do to him, inexperienced as he was in this respect. Medea was doubly dangerous.

  “I hope the siren slut doesn’t shock him, too,” Dea murmured.

  I’ll let that pass, Sylvie thought. She’s trying to make me get so mad I’ll unwind from your finger and tackle her physically. She would then make short work of me—I’m no sorceress or goddess—and then make shorter work of you.

  Surely so. “Stay with me,” I told Sylvie. “And if you remain in touch with your home base, you should inform them of our situation.”

  I will, she agreed. But sirens are sea creatures; this region is inaccessible to them. They have to be carried, as I am with you.

  Then I had another thought. “The women!” I subvocalized. “Jewel, Myrrh, Nydea. What has happened to them?”

  Bad news, Sylvie agreed. They would not have simply let the sorceress take over. She must have done something with them.

  The three were by no means helpless. Nydea was a Nubile Nymph like Nylon, Myrrh was telepathic, and Jewel was very much her own woman at all times. But they had not known they were up against a sorceress. I had to find out. Would Dea tell me? Well, maybe I could use some subtle male persuasion. “How’s my wife doing?” I asked her.

  “She is—resting,” Dea said. “As are the others.”

  “Resting? Surely not the whole time.” Then, to cover my knowledge of Medea’s identity and nature, I added “I prefer to think that my wife is unable to relax during my absence.”

  She smiled beguilingly, her eyes infinitely more appealing than almonds, and her lustrous hair seemed to ripple like a flowing river. “Surely she dreams of you, you handsome hunk. What woman wouldn’t?”

  Yuck! Sylvie thought, using an expression new to me, but I caught her meaning. Dea was laying it on too thickly, figuring me for the dolt I often am.

  Still, the architecture of her upper torso, now so close under my nose, was compelling. As long as she was playing the role of a sex slave girl, maybe it would be safe to—

  Stop it!

  I sighed again. Sylvie was right, of course, unfortunately.

  “We can’t do much while under the watchful eye of the ferryman,” Dea murmured. “But a kiss or two shouldn’t hurt, if you can muzzle that bitch of a fishtailed ring for a while. It would be a shame to waste slack time.” She inhaled, and I swear her luscious mounds increased one or two sizes. “In fact, we could dance.” She turned into me, and my hand fell naturally to her marvelously slick silk-covered posterior. My hand couldn’t help it; such an artifact was designed to be appreciatively stroked. She moved against me, and I felt an evocatively warm caress wherever her alluring body touched mine.

  This time the zap was so strong there was a crackle as sparks jumped. I did not feel it, but it was evident that Dea did. I almost thought I saw tiny curls of smoke rising from her breasts and bottom.

  “But I think you will have to remove the ring for the time being,” Dea said, not showing her discomfort. “Just put it in your pocket if you don’t care to drop it in the river.”

  Don’t do it!

  “I can’t do that,” I said, with not entirely faked regret. “I promised to take care of the siren while she is in my charge.”

  Dea shrugged as if the matter were of little moment, though I knew she was seething. She was a consummate actress. “Then perhaps another way.” She lifted on her lovely toes and kissed me.

  I was amazed by several things. One was the compelling power of the contact; it was as though a piece of heaven was touching my mouth. Another was the response the siren made. I heard a truly eerie song, and felt the current of a lightning bolt passing between our lips, magnetizing them. Sylvie was shocking Dea, and this time the sorceress was fighting back with her own current. The battlefield was my mouth. I felt as if my very skull was glowing, radiating light.

  Me
dea was trying to seduce me by force, right there standing on the raft on the River Styx, and Sylvie was fighting it. I was almost a spectator. But I felt the rising compulsion of passion. I was being drawn into hopeless love with the sorceress. I tried to resist, but it was like opposing an elephant with a single finger. It was plain that I was vastly over-matched, as Sinbad must have been. This creature had centuries of experience taming rebellious men.

  For eternal moments the combat continued. The sorceress was strong, very strong. But the siren had the home field, as it were, and my cooperation; I was on her side, for what little that was worth. It was an impasse.

  Then Dea broke the kiss. “Or maybe not yet,” she said. “But soon, I think.”

  She’s not fooling, Sylvie thought, and it felt as if she were gasping. I can’t take much more of that. She’s too strong.

  So the contest had been defined. Medea intended to seduce and conquer me, and had the power to do exactly that, and Sylvie could not stand against her indefinitely. I needed to think of some other way to protect myself, or we’d all be lost.

  Now the raft was emerging from the tunnel and coming to the inner shore. I was pretty sure that the closer we got to the Gates of Hades, the weaker our position would be. We needed to do something to turn the tide. But what?

  Chapter Fifteen

  I am Queen Nylon, ruler of the Nubile Nymphs in Djinnland, and bound to King Aladdin of Agrabah. Although I am ruler in another realm, I do not wish to see destruction befall earth. After all, many of my nymph sisters—including the mischievous Sirens—live in this physical plane. Not to mention I desire to one day live life as a mortal.

  To this end, I will stop at nothing to save the earth from those who seek to destroy it or subjugate it with unspeakable horrors and evils. I may not be as powerful as the gods or goddesses, as the sorcerers and sorceresses, but I do possess some skills.

  And I will use them freely and willingly.

  Now, after leading the great three-headed beast away from the others and deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels, I suddenly came to a dead end. The tunnel was narrow—just wide enough for me to turn and face the beast as it wildly rounded the corner.

  As is often the case for me, I had assumed the form of the female desired by a nearby male. I don’t transform automatically. Meaning, the transformation is always a choice—and I’ve spent the greater part of my life embodying some very interesting females. Admittedly, a three-headed bitch was one of the more interesting incarnations.

  Cerberus filled the narrow tunnel, each head hunched low and dripping foam. Muscles rippled along his powerful shoulders and flanks, muscles that I immediately felt a strong attraction for. As is always the case, whenever I embody another woman or creature—if I allow the embodiment—I always feel a powerful sexual attraction to the male desiring me. Now was no different. Three heads suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea—the better to admire my mate. The powerful, sleek, muscular body, with claws big enough to disembowel an elephant—looked majestic, and exciting.

  Cerberus came closer still. His three heads swayed a little, sniffing the air. Foam dripped from his three muzzles. Never had I seen a more powerful creature in all my life. And I found it so very exciting.

  He paused before me and one of his three heads tilted to one side as its ears perked up. The other two heads watched me closely, still growling just under its breath. Its center head was doing the thinking, while the other two remained on guard. Indeed, I closely associated with my own center head. The other two seemed almost independent, although I was aware of everything they were seeing and sensing. A strange sensation, at best.

  But I wasn’t putting much thought into the strangeness of having three heads. In fact, I wasn’t putting much thought into anything at the moment. I was focused on the creature before me. The powerfully perfect canine approaching me, whose deep-throated growls filled the small space.

  He came closer still, his body tense, ready to pounce. I knew my magic was such that I was his ideal female, his greatest love, if possible. Would that be enough to spare my life? I didn’t know, and so I waited.

  His claws clicked on the dust-covered floor. His growling turned into chuffing and snorting. And then the center head dipped forward and his thick ears folded back.

  And Cerberus, the great guardian to the Underworld, nuzzled me affectionately.

  * * *

  The nuzzling didn’t last long.

  Cerberus reared back, growling deeply from his three throats. Words next appeared in my mind, which did not surprise me. Many of the magical and supernatural entities who inhabit the earth and Djinnland alike speak telepathically.

  You are a nymph.

  Indeed I am, Great Cerberus.

  You lured me from my post.

  I did.

  Why?

  Admittedly, I was having trouble focusing. I was fully invested in this incarnation, and the powerful site of Cerberus was making thinking and speaking difficult.

  There are those who seek to unlock the Gates of Hades, I thought. We are here to stop them.

  Fool! It is my job to stop them. No one gets past me unless I leave my post. And thanks to you, I have.

  Heady thoughts of amour quickly dissipated from my thoughts. So much so, that I returned to my regular form. What do you mean?

  The head to my left closed its eyes and the beast grew silent. They are crossing now. I can see them now. Damnation.

  Yes, I quickly thought. My friends are indeed crossing. To guard the gate—

  One of you is very much not a friend. One of you is not who she claims to be. One of you is a god. You have been used and manipulated, and I was just foolish enough to fall for your shapely tail. The three heads growled deeply.

  I did not know—

  Of course not, nymph. Mortals and even immortals should never play in the realms of the gods. Now, climb on my back and let’s go.

  I did as I was told, and soon we were racing back through the tunnels, twisting and winding, and I was suddenly thankful to be riding high upon the great guardian, for I was certain I might have been endlessly lost.

  Cerberus picked up on my thoughts. A good thing for you, too, since the Minotaur that roams these tunnels is not nearly as forgiving as myself.

  Soon, we were back in the massive cavern, where we could just make out the form of a ferry laden with both human and non-human passengers. Cerberus raced along the river bank, following the ferry, but already it was moving further and further out, heading directly toward a dark tunnel in the cavern wall. The river sounds swallowed the great beast’s thunderous barks.

  Cerberus next sent out a powerful telepathic message that blasted through my own skull, but the old man continued to pole the ferry steadily, ignoring the three-headed guardian.

  Damnation. He’s been enchanted.

  I dismounted, frustrated. By who—

  And then I saw her. Dea was standing near the others, looking forward, hands clutched behind her back. She seemed to be playing with a ring.

  Cerberus read my thoughts. Except her name isn’t Dea. She’s Medea, goddess of lust and temptation. And those aren’t rings. Those are mortals, whom she has enchanted.

  Can we swim to them?

  The water is cursed and will quickly drive us insane. My master, Hades, does not appreciate the living entering the realm of the dead. Master will not be pleased. I have failed him.

  We watched from the river’s bank as the ferry moved further out onto the black water, growing smaller and smaller. A cool wind swept over us, except it wasn’t really a wind. It was the many souls waiting impatiently for their time to cross into the Underworld.

  Not all was lost. Not with Aladdin and Sinbad around. Yes, Aladdin played the part of the simpleton wonderfully. In truth, he was a surprisingly resourceful hero, one whose exploits would be sung and written about for years to come. Sinbad was no slouch either, and they had Duban, too. They were a formidable trio.

  Perhaps, thought Cerberus. Excep
t the boy is no match for a goddess and Sinbad has fallen under the spell of Medea.

  Damnation indeed! I suddenly thought of the magical dhow, and just as the image of the flying lifeboat came to me, one of Cerberus’s thick heads began nodding.

  Interesting, he thought. We can’t swim across the water, but we could fly across.

  There were dhows on the Flying Dutchman, but I had no clue where the ship might have anchored, or even if Captain Figurehead would give me permission to board, which I doubted.

  Perhaps the dhows that had transported the women and passengers were still available. They had not returned, which was not surprising. After all, if we never returned for the others, Jewel and company could use the magical vessels to escape the desert, perhaps hopping from one oasis to the next.

  With the river surging nearby, I cast my thoughts out to my sister nymph, Nydea, but got no response. I tried again and again but got nothing.

  Cerberus, who was the offspring of gods himself, turned to me. Or, rather, his center head turned to me. I sense a sleeping spell, nymph. But they are not far. I suggest you climb on and we go to them. At once.

  I did, and soon we were plunging back through the tunnels—and out into the bright sunshine and the heat of the desert sun.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I blinked in the glaring light, getting my vision back.

  I saw that Cerberus was doing the same; all three heads were facing away from the sun and squinting their eyes. Soon all four of our heads cleared and we were able to look around the landscape.

  The dhows were gone, both the one we had used and the one Medea must have used; they had naturally returned to their father ship when no longer occupied. We had only to go to the Flying Dutchman to get one of those life craft.

  On my way, Cerberus agreed, and started running. He knew where the ship was because of his telepathy.

  Or did he? There should be no one aboard the Dutchman now; the girls had been sent away by dhow for their safety, and the rest of us had then entered the cave. But I didn’t question the big dog’s direction; that would soon clarify one way or another.