Ghost Writer in the Sky

by Piers Anthony

  “Yes,” Emerald said. “Why would anyone take a black rose?”

  “That would bring immediate, painless death to the one who truly desired it,” Rose of Roogna said. “On rare occasion there is that need.”

  “How could that be?” Tara asked.

  “One could be the realization that a person’s romantic love is not returned.”

  “Oh. I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Or that a close friendship is false?” Emerald asked.

  “That, too,” Rose of Roogna agreed. “It depends of course on the friendship. Most are only casual, but some are as committed as love itself. The roses know.”

  There were no more questions.

  “Then take your turns,” Rose of Roogna said. “Each of you must take a rose.”

  Tartan stepped forward, and the roses oriented on him. He faced a red one. “I love Tara.” He put his hand to the stem. It broke, yielding the lovely flower. He handed it to Tara. “For you, my dear.”

  “Thank you,” she said, plainly touched. She threaded the stem through her hair so that the rose became an ornament. “My turn.” She addressed another red rose. “I love Tartan.” She plucked the rose and handed it to him.

  “Thank you,” he said, and tucked the stem into his shirt pocket so that the rose was on his chest.

  Ted came to the fore. “I am the host, Demon Ted. I am Tartan’s friend.” He reached for a yellow rose and plucked it without difficulty. He tucked it into his other shirt pocket.

  Monica came to the fore. “I am DeMonica. I love a person I will not name.” She plucked a red rose without mischief.

  The others looked at her. She was in love? The rose confirmed it. But who?

  Dolin approached the roses. “I am Emerald’s friend.” He took a yellow rose and gave it to her.

  Then Emerald the dragon princess did the same, giving Dolin a yellow rose.

  “I am Prince Dolin’s host. I hope he finds his romance, for I will anonymously share it.” He took a pink rose.

  “I am Amara. I have no interest in romance.” She took another pink rose. Tartan realized that the rose did not require romance itself, merely the truth about it.

  “I am the Goddess Isis. I am totally different from my host, but I am her friend.” She took a yellow rose.

  “I am Bernard, the Magician of Time. I love Kelei.” He took a red rose.

  Now Mera stepped up. “I love someone who doesn’t know it.” She took a red rose.

  “Mera’s in love!” Tartan said to Ted. “She never gave a hint!”

  Tata stepped up. “Woof.”

  “I can translate that,” Amara said. “He is professing friendship for me.”

  The dogfish bit at the stem of a yellow rose, and it came away without injuring him.

  “Now it is Princess Eve’s turn,” Tartan said.

  “Woof!”

  “That’s Princess Eve,” Amara said. “Friendship for her brother Dolin.”

  The dog bit the stem of another yellow rose and fetched it in.

  Thirteen roses had been collected without mishap. All of them had demonstrated their sincerity.

  “One other minor thing,” Rose of Roogna said. “The roses you carry are invisible to all but yourselves and those who most love or value you. So you don’t need to be concerned about awkward questions.”

  “What if we accidentally lose one?” Emerald asked. “I would be chagrined, but such things do happen.”

  “That won’t be a problem. You will always know where your rose is, and will be able to track it and recover it.”

  “That’s a relief,” Emerald said.

  “However, since some of you have exchanged roses, you need to be aware that it is your own rose you can track. That means you will know where your partner is, too. If your partner prefers privacy, you should exchange back.”

  A glance tried to get started, but dissipated without circling. No one changed back.

  They were ready for the Book of Lost Answers.

  But what new mysteries they were encountering! Monica loved someone, and so did Mera, and Mera had a secret answer to look up.

  “We’ve got more on our collective plate than just getting home,” Tartan murmured to Tara.

  “We do,” she agreed.

  Chapter 13

  Book of Lost Magic

  “We wanted to be sure the Book of Lost Magic would never be found by incidental mischief makers,” Rose of Roogna said. “So one night I sneaked out with it alone, though contact with it soiled my dress, and hid it in the dark recesses of a book cellar. Unfortunately I missed the pun, and I think it drifted into the hands of a book seller. He sold it, and now there’s no telling where it is. But with your abilities to track and to sense the right thing to do, you may be able to locate it. If you do, you should bring it back to us, so that we can try again to hide it effectively.”

  “Show us the book cellar,” Tartan said.

  “This way.” She led them to an outbuilding with a slanting cellar door. They pulled open the panels to reveal wooden steps descending into darkness. “I set the book on the top step, intending to return later with a light so I could see to put it in the deepest cellar, but when I returned it was gone. I’m sure it wasn’t taken by an outsider, because I locked the door, and the locking spell was undisturbed. The book seller came from below. There might be another access to the surface, but that seems unlikely because we know of none, and we have lived here for years.”

  Dolin peered into the cellar. “This is the right way.”

  Tata came up and sniffed. “Woof!” he said, and scrambled down the steps.

  “Wait, Tata!” Amara cried, but as with the person she had parodied, Doorthy of Waz, she was too late.

  “We need to follow him,” Dolin said.

  “Not without light,” Amara said. “There could be nickelpedes.”

  “I can freeze them in time,” Bernard said.

  “I can help,” Emerald said. “With both light and nickelpedes.” She turned dragon, long and sinuous, and half walked, half slid into the dark hole. Then she breathed a bit of fire, and it lighted the way. If they encountered nickelpedes, that fire could scorch them.

  “On our way,” Dolin said, and followed the dragon.

  “Thank you for your help,” Tartan told Rose of Roogna. “We will try to bring the Book back to you when we find it.”

  “I know you are sincere,” Rose of Roogna said. “I wish you success.”

  “Close the door after us,” Tartan said. “Lock it. But check every so often. We’ll knock when we return.” If they returned; he had his doubts about the success of their mission.

  They piled on in, in single file, following the retreating dragon light. Fortunately it reflected some from the walls and ceiling, so that they could see the steps. Rose of Roogna obligingly closed the door panels behind them, sealing them in.

  “This is eerie fun,” Tara said. “As long as I’m with you, Tartan, and my friends.”

  The subterranean stairway curved as it wended ever downward, far beyond the level where the cellar should have been. “I think this is an access to something other than a cellar,” Tartan said.

  “So do I,” Dolin said. “But it is right that we pursue this course.”

  The stairway opened out into a larger chamber. But it was foggy, so that they could not see its extent.

  “There’s something odd about this,” Bernard said. “I don’t trust it.”

  “Odd, but not threatening,” Amara said.

  “I feel giddy,” Tara said. “As if we’re sort of turning sideways or upside down, only that’s not exactly it.”

  “I feel much the same,” Amara said.

  “If you become nauseous,” Tartan said, “we can retreat.” He was halfway hoping they would, because he was feeling stra
nge himself.

  “I prefer to move on,” Tara said grimly. “We need that Book.”

  They moved on, and soon left the cave and were in a renewed tunnel with steps. These finally led to another door. Fortunately it was not locked. They pushed it open, and gazed on a decidedly strange scene.

  It appeared to be a decorated dance floor, with a giant punch bowl in the center. Raucously loud music was playing. But it was for the birds: all manner of fowls flocked there, strutting in formations, clucking at each other.

  Tata ran quietly through to sniff the punch bowl, unnoticed in the bedlam.

  Then they were spied. “Fresh meat!” someone screeched. Immediately several dirty birds flew toward them.

  “Oh, no,” Mera said. “Harpies.”

  Indeed they were: crossbreeds between humans and buzzards; they had human heads, arms, and breasts, while their lower sections had the legs and tails of barnyard fowl. They were filthy in body and language.

  Emerald, still in dragon form, reared up to shield the party from this threat. She breathed a warning bolt of fire.

  “Oh, come off it, dragon lady!” a harpy screeched, hovering in place. “We just want to dance with the men. This is the Fowl Ball, after all.”

  “There are very few harpy males,” Amara said. “About ninety-nine percent of them are female. That puts a premium on any males they catch, human or avian. They want to breed.”

  “You got that right, doll butt,” the harpy screeched. It seemed that screeching was their normal mode of speech. “I am Heebie Jeebie Harpy, dance committee slattern. We need three volunteers to dance. You, you, and you.” She indicated Tartan, Dolin, and Bernard. “The rest of you sluts can drink yourselves to oblivion for all we care.” She indicated the punch bowl.

  “This, oddly, is the right thing,” Dolin said, surprised. “We men will rejoin you women on the far side, in due course.”

  “Woof!”

  “But that punch is spiked,” Tartan said, understanding the warning. “It will do filthy things to our morals.”

  “You bet it will, hunk pelvis,” the harpy screeched. “One taste of that lust elixir and you’ll never get enough of us, though you die trying. I mean that in the most randy way.”

  That was exactly what Tartan was afraid of. “I, uh, already have a girlfriend.”

  “Well, now you’ve got a dozen more! You have a problem with that?”

  “Yes. I am true to my original girlfriend.”

  “We’ll soon fix that!” Heebie screeched. “We’ll string her up by her bra straps and make her glug a gallon of punch. She’ll go hog wild. You won’t even recognize her then, let alone want her. Which one of these tarts is she?”

  “Me,” Amara said before Tartan could protest. “Let me at that punch.” She strode across to the huge bowl, picked up a giant mug, dipped it in the brew, and drank. She jumped as if punched—of course that was an effect. A small mushroom-shaped cloud formed over her head.

  “But—” Tartan said belatedly.

  “It is right,” Dolin murmured. “Surprised as I am to sense it.”

  Then Tartan remembered: Amara was immune to love elixir, surely the major component of the drink. She was interceding to save the men from a fate somewhat more degrading than death. But how could she? She might be proof against its potency, but they weren’t.

  Yet Dolin seemed unperturbed. Did he have reason? Or was getting blind drunk and servicing a dozen harpies part of what was the right thing to do? Tartan had a problem with that.

  Amara returned to them, somewhat wavy on her feet, bearing the refilled mug. “This shtuff is great,” she slurred. “I can’t wait to get into action.” For a moment the Goddess Isis manifested, nodding, making her ooze basic sex appeal. “Try it. You’ll like it.” She thrust the mug at Dolin.

  And Dolin took it and gulped a mouthful. He too jumped as if punched, and the mushroom cloud formed. “Whoo! Try it!” He unsteadily held the mug out to Tartan.

  What could he do but trust them? Tartan took the mug and gulped a gulp. The punch rocked him, causing him to slop much of the rest of the drink, and he saw the cloud form. But these were only peripheral effects.

  The liquid in the mug was plain dull water.

  Amara took the mug from him and gave it to Tara, who was standing transfixed. Tara tried a taste, practically radiating disgust, and looked surprised. She passed the mug on to Bernard.

  Then Tartan caught on. Amara wasn’t simply immune to lust elixir; her touch had nullified it. They were safe from it as long as the harpies didn’t catch on.

  “Wow!” Tartan said belatedly. “Let’s dance, you seductive creature!” He stepped forward and grabbed hovering Heebie by her well-endowed bare front. Any ordinary girl would have screamed and smacked him.

  “That’s more like it,” she screeched, pleased, flapping her wings to maintain the position. “Hover through the fog and filthy air!”

  He put his arms around her upper body and hauled her in close. “Oh how we danced on the night we were wed,” he sang loudly off-key, remembering a naughty parody. “If you think we danced you got rocks in your head.”

  “Lovely!” his partner screeched.

  Dolin was dancing similarly with another harpy, even slushily kissing her, putting on a good act. So was Bernard. They all knew what they had to do. Meanwhile the other members of their party had quietly faded out. The three men were the distraction, covering for the escape of the others. They had to make it good.

  “Lesht get somewhere halfway private,” Tartan said.

  “Woof!” Tata was standing by a tunnel leading out of the ballroom.

  “Over there,” Dolin said.

  “Not there,” Heebie screeched, alarmed. “That’s the kraken pool!”

  “Kraken?”

  “The huge seaborne weed,” she explained. “With tentacles that wrap you so it can feed.”

  “Good. Then we won’t be disturbed there.”

  She looked at him, impressed. “You really are crazy! I like that in a man.”

  Tartan just hoped the dogfish knew what he was doing. With the Sorceress Eve along he should. Still, it was worrisome. The kraken did not sound like any creature to fool with.

  The three men danced into the cave with their partners, right up to the edge of the pool. Several tentacles snaked out and grabbed them. “Eeee—!” Heebie screeched, just like a normal girl.

  Then the kraken went still. So did the three hovering harpies, remaining fixed in midair. “I froze them in time,” Bernard said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Woof!”

  They followed the dogfish along the narrow ledge around the pool. It was in easy reach of the kraken, but the weed was not grabbing at the moment. When they got to the far side of the pool there was a larger tunnel going on.

  “Now I’ll release them,” Bernard said.

  “—eeek!” Heebie’s scream finished behind them. “The kraken got them!”

  That was a natural misunderstanding. One moment the tentacles had been reaching; the next, the men were gone. Into the water for lunch, as far as the harpies could tell. So they were free of the dirty birds without complications.

  “I’m glad you’re along,” Tartan said to Bernard.

  “Amara did her part; I did mine,” the Magician of Time said modestly.

  They caught up to the women further along. They were lighted by the glow of the dragon’s fire. Tartan hurried to join Tara. “I’m so glad to be with you again.”

  “What?” she screeched. “Did your harpy girlfriend dump you?” Then she dissolved into laughter.

  “I should grab you by your front,” he complained. “See how you screech then.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not bare.”

  “You can’t bare it?”


  “Not here,” she said and kissed him. “Not yet.”

  “I’ll wait,” he agreed.

  “Seriously, we really appreciated how you men distracted the dirty birds so we could escape. We know you didn’t like having to touch them.”

  “Well, Amara did her part too, nullifying that punch. But the harpies did have some interesting portions.”

  She glared. “Oh?”

  “Their wings. The way they hovered.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  They went on. Soon the tunnel opened out into a truly huge cavern that extended upward as far as they could see by the flickering dragon light. The ground angled down until it came to a brightly lighted floor. It was rock hard to touch, and there seemed to be a reflection of blue sky and white clouds, though there was nothing but darkness above. Was it glass?

  “Woof!”

  “What?” Amara asked the dog, amazed.

  “Woof.”

  “Okay, I’ll touch you,” Amara agreed. “So I can better pick up on what you’re trying to tell me.” She picked Tata up and held him in her arms. “Oh, my!” she said, astonished.

  “What’s the problem?” Tartan asked.

  “This—this is almost beyond belief. But Princess Eve knows.”

  “Knows what? That we’re deep underground and finding a phantom reflection of the sky?”

  “It’s not phantom. In fact it’s not a reflection.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s a huge TV screen,” Tartan said.

  “It’s not. It’s—it’s less believable.”

  The others gathered around. “You’re not being clear,” Tara said.

  Amara struggled to phrase it. “It’s reality.”

  “Still not clear,” Tara said.

  “It’s really the sky down there. And rock here. We’re—we’re inverted.”

  They looked at her. Emerald shifted back to girl form and Dolin gave her her clothes. “I’m having trouble understanding you. Maybe my dragon form has trouble processing information. What does inverted mean?”

  Amara tried once more. “When we passed through that foggy cave and felt funny, that was because we were shifting orientation. On one side stone is stone and air is air, as we are used to. On the other side it’s reversed. Stone is like air, and air is like stone. Also, up is like down, and down is like up. We changed from being solid creatures passing through air to gaseous creatures passing through stone. Instead of having the main part of the planet below us, it is the sky below us. We feel the same with respect to each other, but we are now quite different than we were.” She took a breath. “That’s not the floor. Not glass. It’s the open sky. We’re like holes opening in the rock, which is porous to us, while the air is solid. Inverted.”