Ghost Writer in the Sky

by Piers Anthony

  “I’ll fix you a sandwich, when.”

  “Thank you.”

  They held hands and stood before the picture. And paused, jointly surprised.

  “Did you see that?” she asked.

  “The letters under it changed. Now I can read them. They say THE LAND OF XANTH.”

  “That’s what I see too,” Tara said. “When we look at it while touching, the letters align.”

  “But where is this land ‘Xanth’? I never heard of it.”

  “It must be what is in the picture.”

  “It must be,” he agreed. “On with it, then.”

  They put their feet through the frame. They jostled together awkwardly, which he didn’t mind at all, before straightening up inside.

  “Oh, my,” Tara breathed.

  Because now they stood in both scenes. The jungle glade had become a rose garden without eliminating its trees.

  Then Tartan realized something else. “I heard you.”

  “And I hear you. Now that we’re both on the same side of the portal.”

  “And we’re solid,” he added, squeezing her hand.

  “Are we?” She reached for a rose. Her hand passed through it.

  He reached for a leaf, with no better result. “We’re still ghosts.”

  “This makes me nervous.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  They exited the picture and were back in Tara’s apartment. “I’ll fix those sandwiches,” she said, letting go of his hand. “The bathroom’s that way.”

  “Thanks.” Because his innards had indeed become a bit unsettled. It didn’t help that now that he was no longer touching Tara, the letters under the picture had become nonsensical again.

  In due course they put a cover over the portal and settled down to eat the sandwiches and sort things out. “So there is another realm on the other side,” Tara said. “This ‘Land of Xanth.’ But only as we see it.”

  “And we are ghosts there,” Tartan said. “We can see, hear, and touch each other, but nothing else. Except the ground, so we don’t fall through.”

  “It’s as if only our spirits cross.”

  “Yes. But in that case, what happens to our real bodies? Where are they?”

  She nodded. “I think we need to experiment one more time today.”

  They experimented. First he went through and looked back. This time he saw his own body sitting beside Tara. He pointed to it, and she looked, surprised.

  “I never realized that you were still there,” she said. “Until you pointed.”

  Then she went through, and they verified that she was actually still sitting beside him. It was as if their bodies were invisible until noticed. Indeed, only their spirits were passing through the portal. Their bodies were alive but without awareness.

  They also discovered that they could see, hear, and feel each other in the portal realm only when their two physical bodies were quite close, preferably touching. “Maybe it’s like telepathy,” Tartan said. “When our bodies are in contact, then our minds can read each other. Since our spirits are in touch with our bodies, that means our spirits can relate to each other too.”

  “I think that makes sense,” she agreed.

  “This also means that if one of us wants to seriously explore that realm, the other had better make sure the physical body left behind is safe,” Tartan said.

  “But I don’t want to explore it alone, even if I know my body is safe.”

  “Neither do I. So what do we do?”

  “We go together. We lie down side by side on the bed and sleep, in effect.”

  “But we can’t do that indefinitely. Our bodies have to be aroused every so often to—for—”

  “Natural functions,” she agreed.

  “But suppose we get caught in the other realm and can’t return promptly?” Because they both knew they were going to explore.

  “I think we need to try one more experiment,” she said. “To see if we can rouse our bodies without actually leaving the other realm. Because if we can, then we can explore to our hearts’ content, only pausing to tune out there and tune in on our bodies for necessary functions.”

  “You realize this entails considerable trust?”

  “And lying on the bed unconscious holding hands doesn’t?”

  He laughed. “Got me there. But I was thinking that one person roused while the other sleeps, well . . .” He shrugged.

  “And we hardly know each other. So we should give it time, preferably months, to build up that knowledge and trust.”

  “The same kind a married couple develops.”

  She looked sharply at him. “This is of course vastly premature, but yes, like marriage. Time is essential. It would be foolhardy to rush.”

  “Shall we start the exploration tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  He laughed again. “I think we’re going to get along. We’re compatible.”

  “We’d better be.”

  They entered the picture again, one at a time, and verified that by a significant effort of will they really could rouse their bodies, their ghosts becoming senseless at the time. “But it does seem better to do it in turns,” Tartan said. “So that one ghost can keep an eye on the other, just in case.”

  “Yes. But it will entail our losing partial contact, because our bodies will separate when using the bathroom.”

  “We’ll keep it brief.”

  “I guess it’s time for you to go home. Unless you prefer to stay here overnight.”

  Tartan considered the implications, either way. “I think I’d better go home. It could be a long day tomorrow.”

  “Fortunately tomorrow is Sunday. Whatever we have to do needs to be finished then, because we have jobs on Monday.”

  “We do,” he agreed.

  “Will you trust me with the portal?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Then I will trust you. Kiss me.”

  He hesitated. “Some candor here. I haven’t had any regular girlfriend; I’m just too ordinary. I could get to like you a lot, in a hurry, because you seem to be very much my type. So maybe it’s better not to encourage that.”

  “Ditto here. Encouragement at this stage would be foolish.”

  So they came together and kissed, chastely. It was nevertheless a phenomenal turn-on for him. She was a real live girl!

  Tartan walked out to the nearest bus stop. He had a lot to think about, and not just the portal. He hoped Tara was reacting similarly.

  By morning he was sure he wanted to pursue the portal as far as was feasible, if not farther. He wanted to know all about this mysterious Land of Xanth. He was also a little bit in love with Tara. But he remained cautious, knowing that there were battalions of things that could go wrong with either association.

  Tara welcomed him at the door. “Oh, Tartan, I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

  “But we agreed I would.”

  “I know we did. But the events of yesterday were a little overwhelming, and that could have scared you off.”

  “That portal does make me nervous,” he agreed. “But you’re the one I want to tackle it with.”

  “We should reconsider carefully before we get serious about that. It could be dangerous.”

  “Yes. Baby steps are best.”

  “Definitely.”

  They lay side by side on the bed, took hands, and plunged into the portal.

  There were the blue roses, and the path through the jungle. “I wonder,” Tartan said, looking around. “Could the portal be designed to appeal to us?”

  “But we see different things.”

  “Exactly. I’ve always been intrigued by paths in forests. I want to know where they go. Whereas you like exotic gardens.”

  Tara nodded. “Actually I like fo
rest paths too.”

  “And I like blue roses.”

  “But they don’t really exist.”

  “As of my acquaintance with you.”

  “Which seems to be no problem,” she said, evincing a faint blush. It seemed that she felt the increasing impact of their association, as he did. “Because when we’re here together, we both see both settings.”

  “Let’s follow the path. Maybe there are candy stripe roses.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Oh, I just thought: probably we don’t have to hold hands here, because we’re already doing it in real life.”

  “We are,” he agreed.

  Cautiously, they released their hands. Both of them remained tangible.

  “That’s a relief,” she said. “Not that it’s bad holding hands with you, but I wouldn’t want you to disappear if I let go.”

  “Yes. I wonder, if we twitched, out there, and our hands separated, would we become invisible to each other, or worse?”

  “It didn’t happen when we tried rousing our bodies separately,” she said. “We just sort of went inert, here. But maybe it would be safest to hold hands here when we do take turns out there, just to be sure.”

  “Yes. And if one of us seems to fade when we’re both here, the other should grab a hand. That might reestablish the connection.”

  They walked along the path through the jungle. They rounded a bend, came to a glade, and stopped, chagrined.

  “Do you see what I see?” Tara asked.

  “I see a—a dragon.”

  “A huge sleeping serpent-like creature with wisps of smoke rising from its nostrils?”

  “And iridescent scales,” he said. “And maybe two hundred glossy teeth.”

  “Let’s get out of here before it wakes.”

  They hastily backed off. “That was close,” he said. “We could have stumbled right into it.”

  “Or could we? If we’re effective ghosts?”

  “I forgot about that. Still—”

  “The sensible thing to do is get on out of here,” she said.

  “Let sleeping dragons lie,” he agreed.

  So they held hands tightly and marched back toward the dragon.

  The monster stirred.

  They froze in momentary alarm. But it seemed it was only a sleeping twitch, a shifting of position, and the dragon continued its slumber.

  “You know, if we’re really ghosts, it can’t see or hear us anyway,” Tara said.

  “So if we shouted at it, it would make no difference.”

  “But we shouldn’t gamble on that.”

  “We shouldn’t.”

  “On three,” Tara said.

  “Hey, dragon!” they shouted together.

  The dragon did not react.

  They walked up to it and kicked at its tail. Their feet passed though the tail without contact. They were definitely ghosts.

  They pushed on through the dragon’s massive tail. There was slight resistance, as if they were walking through thick fog, before they emerged on the other side.

  “Oh, look,” Tara said. “A sign.”

  Sure enough, a little sign said DRAGON.

  “Now they tell us,” Tartan muttered.

  “That’s curious. Why have a sign?”

  “I sure don’t know. I wouldn’t think the dragon would stay here long anyway.”

  “Unless it’s for us.”

  “Like a guided tour? I guess it’s possible.”

  “I’m thinking it is.”

  “I believe we have confirmed two things,” Tartan said. “One, that Xanth is a fantasy land, because dragons don’t exist in real life. Two—”

  “That we really are effective ghosts, here,” Tara said.

  “I’ve never been much of a fantasy or ghost story reader.”

  “Neither have I.”

  He sighed. “Sometimes I fear that we are too similar.”

  She laughed. “I can stand it for a while if you can.”

  They walked on. Soon the path led them to a huge bare mound. “That’s the biggest, ugliest ant hill I ever saw,” Tartan said.

  Then several things erupted from holes in the mound. “Those aren’t ants!” Tara exclaimed.

  “They’re grotesque little men, with big heads and big feet.”

  “Not men. Goblins, I think.”

  He paused. “Well, this is a fantasy land. It can have goblins if it wants to.”

  “Do you think they’re friendly?”

  “Goblins? I doubt it. But they shouldn’t know we’re here.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot we’re ghosts. Let’s look more closely.”

  They walked right up to the mound, invisible to the denizens. The goblins were about half human height, but looked twice as mean.

  Then a goblin woman came out, with her child. She was exquisite, as pretty a person as Tartan could ever remember seeing, and the child was cute. “Wow.”

  “She’s too small for you,” Tara said, amused. “And already married, I think.”

  “I am merely amazed by the contrast. Their women are as lovely as their men are ugly.”

  “And there’s the sign.”

  He looked. Sure enough, it said GOBLIN MOUND.

  They walked on, and soon came to a pit that threatened the path without quite damaging it. Tara peered down into it. “Oh!”

  Tartan looked. The pit was swarming with giant centipedes that bore huge claws. A pinch from one of those would be extremely painful. Now they found the sign: NICKLEPEDE CREVICE.

  “Nickelpedes?” he asked blankly.

  “Oh, I think I get it. It’s a pun on centipedes. These look about five times their size.”

  What a groaner. “Let’s move on.”

  They did. “I’m nervous about bugs, and those are the worst I’ve seen,” Tara said.

  “Maybe their females are lovely.”

  She swatted his hand. “You’re vulgar. I mean that in the nicest way.”

  “Thank you,” he said, smiling.

  They came to a small tree that made them both halt in place. It looked ordinary, with bark and leaves, except that instead of fruit it had assorted shoes. “A shoe tree,” Tara said.

  “Another pun,” Tartan said. “But maybe a useful one, if you’re shopping for shoes.”

  The next thing they came to was signed OGRE’S DEN. As they passed, a figure like a giant gorilla emerged. It pulled up a sapling and twisted it into a knot before throwing it away.

  “Ogres make me nervous too,” Tara said.

  They hurried on. “I wonder,” Tartan said. “That ogre didn’t see us, yet he seemed to be showing off for us. Does that make sense?”

  “No. But hardly anything seems to make sense here.”

  “I am wondering whether this path is really a guided tour, showing us what this world of Xanth has to offer.”

  “Or trying to scare us away from it.”

  “Either way, why bother? Why set up a portal if you don’t want folks to use it?”

  “A guided tour,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Maybe that makes some sense after all. We’re supposed to look, and either be scared away, or decide to stay. As if somebody wants us for something.”

  “I am getting mighty curious. We’re two quite ordinary people, nothing special about us. Why would anyone or anything be interested in us?”

  “That is the question,” she agreed.

  There was another glade ahead, with a small hill. And on the hill—

  “Oh, my!” Tartan said. “That’s the most beautiful creature I ever saw.”

  “I agree, though maybe for different reasons.”

  “That, I believe, is a centaur. With splendid—wings. And that’s not all.”

  “Female,” she agreed. “Bare through
out.”

  The centaur filly leaped forward, spread her wings, and launched into the air. In a moment she was gone into the sky.

  “And there’s the sign,” he said. “WINGED CENTAUR.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “I’m mightily intrigued, and not just by her, um—”

  “No human woman has a bosom like that.”

  “This path must be leading us somewhere. I want to find out where.”

  “Let’s go,” she agreed.

  They walked on at a faster pace. Soon there was an unusual tree, with green tentacles instead of leaves. The sign said TANGLE TREE.

  “It doesn’t look tangled to me,” Tartan said.

  Then a deer-like creature bounded by. It brushed the tree.

  Suddenly the tentacles came alive. They whipped around the deer. It was hauled into the interior of the foliage. There was a loud crunching sound.

  “Now we know,” Tara said, shuddering. “Don’t get tangled in it.”

  Tartan was halfway sickened. “Let’s move on.”

  A small dark cloud appeared in the path ahead of them. “There’s something interesting here,” it said.

  They stopped. “A talking cloud?” Tartan asked.

  “I heard that,” the cloud said. It changed shape, becoming a pretty dark haired woman in a scant halter and skirt. “Whose conversation?”

  “Who’s what?”

  “Dialog, emoting, expressing, pontificating, lecturing—”

  “Talking?”

  “Whatever,” the woman agreed, crossly. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Tartan. Who are you?”

  “And I’m Demoness Metria.” The woman’s hair lengthened, her figure became more alluring, and her costume shrank. “Are you alone?”

  “Uh, hello,” Tara said. “There are two of us.”

  The woman seemed to look right through her. “Where are you?”

  “Right here,” Tara said. “Can’t you see me?”

  “I hear you but I don’t see you. What are you, ghosts?”

  “Uh, yes, in a manner. We are Tartan and Tara, from the real world.”

  “You mean Mundania?”

  “We are pretty mundane,” Tartan agreed wryly.

  “And pretty dull, by the sound of you. I like interesting things.”

  “Sorry about that,” Tara said, amused.

  “So I’ll be on my way.” The demoness faded out.