Ghost Writer in the Sky

by Piers Anthony

  Amara put her slipper back on and resumed her walk. And suddenly jumped off with an exclamation. The tile had become burning hot. Another trick.

  She walked past the hot tile section and got on the path again. Only to hear a loud “Ho-Ho! I see your pretty ankles! And that’s not all!”

  Amara looked around but saw nothing. “Who are you?”

  “I am the tile you are standing on. I see your lovely knees, and that’s not all.”

  She jumped off the path again, clearly not much amused. “You know, with an attitude like that, you’re not much use as a path.”

  “Aww. I’m sorry. I’ll behave.”

  She stepped back on the tile.

  “Ho-ho-ho! I see your shapely thighs, and that’s not all.”

  She jumped off again. Obviously these tiles were not to be trusted. Tartan, watching as a ghost, sympathized. No woman would care for this kind of loud crude observation.

  The way was rougher now that she could no longer use the path. To avoid nettles, she had to make her way away from the tiles, though she kept them in sight as a guide to the Ruby City.

  Worse, a storm was brewing. Things fell from it, not rain, but cats and dogs. In fact it was more like a reign, where canines and felines governed. Most of them bounded away the moment they struck the ground. A small dogfish landed next to her. Its body looked like a fish made out of metal plates, but it had legs, tail, and head, all metal. The front of the head was a small flat screen, and the teeth below it resembled a computer keyboard.

  It spied her and swam close, dog paddling.

  Swam? Tartan did a double-take. Well, it was as much fish as dog. So it could swim through air. It was also a he.

  “Growf!” he barked horrendously, making Amara jump.

  “Oh!” she cried, affrighted for half an instant.

  But the dog wagged his tail, seeming friendly as he settled to earth.

  “What are you?” she asked. Then she realized: “You’re a dogfish!”

  More wagging.

  “And you’re a computer, too.”

  A smiley face flashed briefly on the screen.

  A bulb flashed over her head. “And your bark is worse than your byte!”

  The tail wagged so hard it made the whole body bounce.

  “Well, it was nice to meet you,” she said. “Now ta-ta, doggie. I have a fiery Lizard to flee.” She resumed motion.

  But the dogfish swam along beside her.

  “Look, doggie, I’m not looking for a pet. So just be on your way.”

  He still didn’t go.

  Amara sighed. “I guess if I’m Doorthy, you must be her dog. What was his name? Tutu? No, let’s make it Tata, since you are free to go any time you want to.”

  More tail wagging and anther smiley face.

  They came to a field. Tata woofed horrendously. There in the center stood a giant black crow dressed in straw, perched on a small tower. She halted before it, surprised, looking up. “Who are you?”

  “I am the Carecrow,” the creature responded.

  “The what? Scarecrow?”

  “Carecrow. I care for things that need it.”

  Amara laughed weakly. “I think I need it.”

  “Then I care for you. What’s your problem, apart from those naughty tiles I heard?”

  “I’ve got a dogfish I didn’t seek, name Tata, and I’m being herded by the Lizard.”

  The crow jumped off the tower and flew down to the ground before her. She was as big as Doorthy, shaped like a human woman, but with feathers, wings, and a beak. “Tata is cute, except for his voice, but you’re in trouble, for sure. Do you have any idea how to escape the Lizard?”

  “I must flee to the Ruby City and beg the help of the Wazard.”

  “Oh you poor thing,” the Carecrow said. “He makes exorbitant demands for his help.”

  “It must be better than getting toasted by the Lizard.”

  “That depends on your perspective. Some women would rather die. I might be one of them.”

  Amara looked sharply at the crow, whom she now recognized as Tara, in another role in the story. “I’m not interested in lechery.”

  “But it is rumored that he is.”

  “Well, too bad for him.” She shrugged. “So I guess you can return to your perch, Crow. I’ll be moving on.”

  “Wait!” Tara said. “You still need caring. I don’t know how I can help you, but I must try. Do you really think the Wazard can help you?”

  “The Lizard said that he was the only person who could.”

  “The Lizard? The one who wants to toast you?”

  “That’s the one,” she agreed. “Animated by the Wicked Witch of the Vest.”

  “The Wicked Witch of the Vest! She’s the one who cursed me!”

  “Cursed you?”

  “It’s a short nasty story.”

  “Tell me,” Amara pleaded. Tata seemed interested too.

  “I was once an ordinary girl, like you,” the Crow said sadly. “I traveled with a friend, just seeing the sights in new territory, when a flying monkey landed before us. It transformed into an ugly old witch wearing an even uglier vest. ‘Who are you?’ the witch demanded. ‘What are you doing in my forest?’

  “My friend tried to shush me, but I was young and impetuous. ‘Who are you?’ I demanded back. ‘No one owns a forest.’

  “The witch swelled up like a balloon. ‘I am the Wicked Witch of the Vest, and this land is my land. Now get out of here before I throw you out.’

  “But I was having none of it. ‘I’d like to see you try, you prune-faced idiot. And you look like a clown in that stupid vest.’

  “She swelled up even more, somehow. ‘This vest gives me the power to transform myself or others, you ignorant girl.’

  I laughed in her face. ‘So you say. Now fly away, monkeyshines, and stop bothering us. I don’t care about you at all.’

  “She looked so angry that a small storm cloud formed over her hideous head. ‘Well, you look like an ugly bird!’ she screeched. ‘By the power vested in me, I now transform you into exactly that. See how you like that, birdbrain!’ And she touched me with a small bent wand she carried. And poof! I was this crow. ‘Now you can care all you want. You are the Carecrow.’ And she laughed evilly as she changed back into the winged monkey and flew away.

  “And so I was wise too late,” the Crow concluded. “My friend was powerless to help me. I flew to this field and perched on this tower, trying to think of what to do to rid myself of this awful enchantment. Now you have come along, and maybe you have a good idea: go see the Wazard. Maybe he can rid me of my nemesis, even if he is an old lecher.”

  “You are welcome to come with me,” Amara agreed. “Though I dread trying to follow that naughty peeking path.”

  “Oh, I know how to deal with that,” the Crow said. “I will show you.”

  They went to the path. “Well now,” the tile exclaimed. “Two females to torment! I’ll really have a—ooof!”

  Because at that point the Crow stomped hard on it. “One lump or two?” she asked, lifting her foot again.

  Tata’s woof sounded like laughter.

  Evidently the tile decided that one lump was more than enough. It was silent.

  They stepped onto the path, and there was nary a word. The tiles had been tamed.

  There was a sound behind them. Tata woofed warningly. “Oh, no,” Amara said. “The Lizard!”

  “Hurry!” the Crow said. “If it catches me, it will burn off my feathers and I won’t be able to fly. Maybe we can outrun it.”

  Amara doubted that, but what else was there to do? So they ran along the path.

  There came another sound behind them. It was the Lizard, snorting fire.

  “She’s on the talking tiles!” the Crow said. “They must be teasin
g her in Lizard talk!”

  Amara choked down a giggle and Tata practically fell over with mirth. What could the tiles be saying to get the Lizard so upset? That they could see under her tail, and that was not all?

  Then there was a horrendous blast of fire, and the tiles went silent. They did not like getting burned any more than they liked getting stomped. But in that interval Crow and Amara had lengthened their lead, and now could slow to a comfortable walk.

  And there beside the path was an odd shape. It looked like an animated stick figure, formed of wooden head, arms, legs, and a somewhat abbreviated midsection. Tartan was drawn into it, and discovered himself in his role: the wooden man. He was no longer observing as a ghost. He was Tartan, and Demon Ted, and the man made of wood, all in one package.

  The three paused. “If we may inquire,” Amara said. “We are Doorthy, Tata, and Carecrow.” That was to say, the roles animated by Amara and Tara. “What manner of man are you?”

  The figure took note of them. “I am the Trim Woodsman,” he said. He eyed Amara. “I may have chopped the wood to make the door after which you were named.” Which surprised Tartan, though his character said it. So the characters did have elements not contributed by their animators.

  “That is impressive,” Amara agreed. “But why aren’t you chopping wood now?”

  “That is a brief but sad story. I was trying to chop enough wood to beat a woodchuck’s chucking, and swung too hard, and my solid wood heart flew out and was lost in the brush. I can’t find it anywhere. Now I don’t have a wooden heart. I am heartbroken. I don’t have the heartwood to chop any more.” Oh, the puns! Even Tata looked as if a groan was stuck in his circuitry.

  “We would help you look,” Amara said sympathetically. “But we are being herded by the Lizard, and don’t dare dally lest she catch us and torch us.”

  “The Lizard! She’ll burn me up!” Yes indeed, now that he was made of wood.

  “Maybe you should come with us to see the Wazard of Whiz,” Carecrow suggested. “He might find you new heartwood.”

  “The Whiz of Waz? You think? That would really help.”

  There was another bellow from the Lizard, closer. “We’d better get a move on,” Amara said nervously. “None of us want to get burned.”

  They moved on along the tiled path. These were new tiles, and one started to speak, but Amara stomped warningly and stifled it. The noise of the Lizard fell slowly back; it was still herding rather than pursuing.

  Which was bothersome in its fashion. “Why is the Lizard herding us in the direction of the Whiz, after telling me that was where I had to go?” Amara asked the others. “Does the Wicked Witch of the Vest have some sort of deal with the Whiz?”

  “I have heard it rumored that he likes innocent maidens,” Trim said. “But that innocent maidens don’t like him. Maybe he wants one to be dependent on him.”

  “Why?” Amara asked innocently.

  Trim exchanged a glance with Carecrow. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh come on!” Amara said. “I need to know what I’m up against.”

  “I guess you do,” the Crow answered after an awkward three quarters of a pause. “It’s that they don’t stay innocent long.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “There’s a quality about innocence that, well, some men get their jollies from despoiling it. So an experienced girl like me is in no danger.”

  “Danger of what?” Amara demanded.

  “I lost my innocence long ago, so it can’t be despoiled.”

  Not that long ago, Tartan thought. Not that their experience in their own host bodies in Mundania counted for this wacky story.

  “Exactly what am I innocent about, that he wants to despoil?” This was Doorthy speaking, as Amara did have a notion.

  The Crow looked uncomfortable. “What do you know about signaling the stork?”

  “I know all about it,” Doorthy said. “A man and a woman kiss, and it sends out a signal, and after an inefficient delay, the stork brings her a baby. So it’s best not to kiss unless you mean it.”

  For some reason Carecrow and Trim exchanged another glance. Even Tata fidgeted. Could Xanth really be that ignorant? But Doorthy intercepted their glance with one of her own. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “There’s a bit more to it than a kiss,” Trim said. “There’s a secret, um, gesture they make that children aren’t supposed to know about, per the Adult Conspiracy to Keep Interesting Things From Children.” Oh, so that was it.

  “I’m not a child!” She put up her hands to break up the glance the two others were attempting to exchange. “Tell me!”

  “Well,” Carecrow said reluctantly, “it’s—”

  At that point there was a roar just ahead. Tata barked warning. They all paused, and Carecrow’s statement was hopelessly overridden by silence and lost.

  “What is that?” Trim asked nervously.

  “I’ll go see,” the Crow said. She spread her wings and lurched into the air. In a generous moment she was gone.

  “Should we hide?” Amara asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Trim said. “I don’t have the heart to chop trees anymore, but I could chop a roaring beast, I think.” He glanced at Tata. “No offense, dogfish. You’re not so much a beast as a person.”

  Tata put on a smiley face and wagged his tail.

  They walked on along the path. In three more moments the Crow returned, fluttering down for a safe landing. “It’s a scion,” she reported.

  “A what?”

  “A descendant. Someone who has parents, grandparents, etc.”

  “That’s all of us!”

  “In fantasy there can be an implication of nobility.”

  “He’s noble?”

  “No.”

  There was half a pause. Not quite enough to be awkward, but getting there.

  “Then what was the roar we heard?” Amara asked.

  “That’s more complicated. He should tell you himself.”

  “But is he dangerous?”

  “No. That’s the problem.”

  There was three quarters of a pause. Trim broke it up before it could fully form and make mischief. “Let’s talk to him, then.”

  They walked on, and soon came to the Scion. He appeared to be an ordinary man in a lion suit. “These are my friends Doorthy, Trim Woodsman, and Tata,” Carecrow said. “Friends, this is the Cowardly Scion.”

  “Hello,” the three said almost together, and Tata woofed.

  Amara got to the point. “Why did you roar? It frightened us.”

  “It did? Thank you.”

  The pause tried to wedge its way back into the dialogue. “Why thank us?” Amara asked, just in time.

  “Because that’s what I was trying to do. To frighten folk.”

  “You don’t seem very frightening,” Trim said.

  “I’m not. But I have to try.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s complicated.”

  “Let’s go back to the beginning,” Amara said, before pauses and complications could overwhelm them. “How did you get into your present predicament, whatever it is?”

  “Once I was a bold scion, the latest in a long line of bolders.”

  “Don’t you mean boulders?” Trim asked.

  “No. A boulder is a rock. My ancestors were bold, bolder, and boldest. My branch of the family was bolder. We did bolder things than the bolds did, though not as bold as the boldest did. Then one day as I walked through the forest following a new path—”

  “You encountered an ugly old witch in a vest,” Carecrow said.

  “I did. How did you know?”

  “Because that’s what I did, and she transformed me into an ugly talking crow. You have my sympathy.”

  The Scion squinted at her. “Not ugly, really. Y
ou have some nice lines under that feather cloak.”

  “Oh,” Carecrow said, the tips of her feathers turning pink. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  Tartan, observing as the Woodsman, had to remind himself that it was the roles they were animating that were speaking, not the spirits themselves. So it was not really Tara and Prince Dolin exchanging compliments, but Carecrow and Scion. Still, he was moved to put in a word or five. “You do look good, Carecrow.”

  “Oh,” she repeated, evidently struggling to align Tara, DeMonica, and Carecrow. “Thank you.”

  “And the Wicked Witch of the Vest took away my most cherished quality, my boldness,” Scion concluded. “Now I am afraid of everything. So I’m trying to get it back by frightening others, but that’s not working very well. Even if they are frightened, I remain frightened too.”

  “You poor thing,” Carecrow said sympathetically. “Maybe you had better come with us to see the Wazard of Whiz, in the faint hope that he will be able to help you.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Scion said. “I have heard it said that the whiz of Waz—”

  There was a bellow from the Lizard.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Scion said. “Let’s go.”

  They hurried on. But now it was midday and they were hungry, and there were unmentionable calls of nature. They needed to find a rest stop where they could safely take a break.

  Tartan got an idea. “Our hosts—if we can step out of character a moment—Amara, can you tell where a safe stop will be, even if you don’t know where it is now?”

  She looked surprised. “Yes. There’ll be one in fifteen minutes, just beyond the next hill and dale.”

  “Thank you.”

  They walked on, and sure enough, there was a walled enclosure that looked sturdy enough to withstand flames.

  They went up to it and found a solid door. They opened it, and discovered a serene courtyard with several pie trees and a water log. They would not go hungry or thirsty here. They entered and shut and latched the door. They were safe, for a while.