"One lovely bleak morning during thunderstorm warning me wandered far out beyond hail of a shout. Me was in a good mood just looking for food. No creature stirred this far from home; no dragon, no monster, not even a gnome. Me entered a forest huge and tall; the trees were so big me seemed small. The way was so tangled no walker could pass, but it opened like magic a lovely crevasse, with nickelpedes and more delights, and stagnant water rich with blights, and me tramped up to a hidden castle with shroud for flag and scalp for tassel. The wind blew by it with lovely moans, and all the timbers were giant bones. At entrance slept little dragon called Puk, guarding what left myself awestruck: a fountain packed with purple mud, spouting gouts of bright-red blood. Me stared so long me stood in doze, and me mouth watered so hard it drooled on me toes. But me knew such enchantment would be complete the moment me yielded and started to eat Me wanted to see what further treasure offered itself for the hero's pleasure. And in the center in a grimy sack lay a wonderful ogress stretched on a rack. She had hair like nettles, skin like mush, and she face would make a zombie blush."
"She breath reeked of carrion, wonderfully foul, and she stench was so strong me wanted to howl. Me thought me sick with worm in gut, but knew it was love for that splendid slut. Me smashed she in face with hairy fist, which is ogre way of making tryst Then me picked she up by she left leg and dragged she away, me golden egg. Then whole castle come awake: goblin and troll and green mandrake. They celebrated the union of hero and cute by pelting we with rotten fruit. But on way out we tripped a spell that sounded alarm where evil fiends dwell. They had put castle to sleep for a hundred years, those fiends who hated ogres' rears. They fired a spell of such terrible might we had to flee it in a fright. Me dodged it every way me could, but it caught we good in midst of wood. As it struck me cried 'Me crunch no bone!' and it thought we ogres both had flown. It dissipated in such mighty flash the whole near forest was rendered trash. Now me crunch no bones lest fiends of lake learn they curse have make mistake. Me not want them throw another curse maybe like first and maybe worse. Me love lies stunned within the wood, sleeping away she maidenhood. But one thing now gives me pause: she never did make much applause. All me want to know is this: should me leave or fetch the miss?"
The others sat in silence for a time following this remarkable recital. At last Crombie squawked. "That was a considerable adventure and romance," Grundy said for him. "While I can appreciate the fetching qualities of your lady friend, I must say from my own experience that all females are infernal creatures whose primary purpose in life is to deceive, entrap, and make miserable the males. Therefore--"
The ogre's grunt interrupted the griffin in mid-squawk. "Hee hee hee, hee hee hee!" Grundy translated, interrupting himself. "Me fetch she instantly!" Chester smiled. "Despite my friend's recommendation, I must offer a note of caution. No matter how badly the filly nags the stallion, and how unreasonable she normally seems, there comes a time when she births her first foal. Then the dam no longer has much interest in--"
"She no nag? That is snag," Crunch growled, disappointed.
"But in due course," Bink said, "she is bound to return to normal, often with extremely cutting wit. In any event, I should think some nagging is better than no nagging. So why not rouse your beauty and give her a proper chance? She may make your life completely miserable."
The ogre's eyes lighted like torches.
"I must concur," Beauregard said. "This conversation has been a most intriguing insight into the condition of human, animal, and ogre emotions. What is nagging to humans is applause to ogres. This will do nicely to conclude my dissertation."
"Your what?" Bink asked.
"My doctoral thesis on the fallibilities of intelligent life on the surface of Xanth," Beauregard explained. "I sought information from the human Magician Humfrey, and he assured me that a term of service in his bottle would provide me the insights I required, since a person's nature may best be gauged through the questions he considers most vital. This has indeed been the case, and I am now virtually assured of my degree. That will qualify me to form permanent liaison with my chosen demoness, who would seem to be worth the effort This causes me to experience a certain demoniac exhilaration. Therefore I present you each with a small token gleaned from my researches."
The demon turned to Chester. "I prefer not to inform you of your magic talent directly, for the reason given above, but will provide a hint: it reflects the suppressed aspect of your character. Because you, like most centaurs, have disbelieved in magic among your kind, whole aspects of your personality have been driven as it were underground. When you are able to expiate this conditioning, your talent will manifest naturally. Do not waste a year of your life for the Answer of the Good Magician; just allow yourself more self-expression."
He turned to Crombie. "You can not escape your fate in this manner. When you return from this quest--if you return--Sabrina will trap you into an unhappy marriage unless you arrange for a more suitable commitment elsewhere before you see her. Therefore enjoy yourself now; have your last fling and do not be concerned for the morrow, for it will be worse than today. Yet marriage is not after all, for you, a fate worse than death; you will know that when you do face death."
He left the crestfallen griffin and oriented on the golem. "The meaning of the Magician's Answer to you is this: people care; inanimate objects do not. Only when you experience genuine feelings that pre-empt your logic will you be real. You can achieve this height only if you work at it--but beware, for the emotions of living things are in many cases extremely uncomfortable."
He turned to Crunch. "I say to you, ogre: go fetch your lady. She sounds like a worthy companion for you, in every respect a truly horrendous bitch." And Crunch was so moved he almost blushed.
Beauregard turned to Bink. "I have never been able to fathom your magic, but I feel its operation now. It is extremely strong--but that which you seek is infinitely stronger. If you persist, you run the risk of being destroyed, and of destroying those things you hold most dear. Yet you will persist, and so I extend my condolence. Until we meet again--" He faded out.
The members of the remaining circle exchanged glances. "Let's go to sleep," Chester said. That seemed like the best idea of the evening.
Chapter 6
Magic Dust
In the morning they thanked the ogre and continued on their quest, while Crunch tramped eagerly into the dead forest to rouse his beautiful bride: her with the hair like nettles and skin like mush.
They had new material for thought. Now they knew the cause of the death of the trees--but what of the evil fiends who dwelt in the lake and possessed such devastating curses? Were there Magicians among them, and was the source of magic near them?
Magician Humfrey was particularly thoughtful. Ether he had not been entirely asleep during the evening session, or he had drawn on his informational magic to ascertain the situation. He had to know that the demon Beauregard was gone. "What magic," he murmured, "could devastate an entire living forest by the dissipation of a single curse? Why have I not known of this before?"
"You never thought to look," Chester said undiplomatically.
"We're looking now," Bink pointed out. "Magic should be stronger near the source."
Crombie squawked. "Strong magic is one thing. Magician-class curses are another. Let me get another line on it." And he did his act once more.
They were headed in the right direction. The terrain seemed ordinary; large trees glowered at the trespassers while small ones shied away as well as they were able. Fruit flies buzzed about: berries, cherries, and grapefruits hovered as if in search of another salad bowl. Tempting paths appeared through tangled reaches, which the party avoided as a matter of course. In Xanth, the easy course was seldom best! There was a dragon run, with scorch marks on the trees to show the dragon's territorial limits. The safest place to be, when pursued by a dragon, was a few paces within another dragon's marked demesnes; any poaching would lead to a settlement between dragons.
But soon the way became more difficult. Brambles with glistening points and ugly dispositions closed off large sections, and a pride of ant lions patrolled others. A copse of stinkweeds surrounded the most direct remaining route, and they were of a particularly large and potent breed. The party tried to pass through them, but the stench became so intense that even the ogre might have hesitated. They retreated, gasping.
They contemplated the alternatives: brambles and ant lions. Bink tried to clear a path through the plants with his sword, but every time he made a cut, several more branches closed in, threatening his body. These were exceptionally alert brambles, and the sheen on their points suggested poison. Bink backed off. Once again he was up against the possibility that his talent might protect him while letting his friends die.
He approached the ant-lion section. The lion-headed ants had beaten out good highways throughout, and ruthlessly eliminated all hazards in their way. All hazards except the ant lions themselves.
Bink's sword might dispatch one lion, and Chester's arrows and hooves could handle two or three more, and as a griffin Crombie could take on as many as four--but the creatures would attack a dozen at a time without fear or mercy. Again, Bink himself would probably emerge intact, by some incredible fluke--but what of the others?
He turned back--and his eyes wandered skyward, he saw a path through the trees. The tops of the trees.
He rubbed his eyes. A path in air? Yet why not? With magic, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time, all things were possible. The question was, could men and half-men walk on it? And if they could, where did it lead?
Still, it seemed to be the most promising route. If he rode Chester, his talent would not let them get on the airy path unless it would support them both. The griffin, Magician, and golem weighed much less, so they would be safe if they followed. "I think I see a way," Bink said.
They tried it. They located a place where the magic path looped down within reach of the ground, and Crombie whirled and pointed to discover whether there was any danger along this limited-access highway. There was not. They climbed aboard and followed it up high into the trees. The strange thing about it was that the path was always level, no matter how it looped. The forest turned crazy circles about it, however. At times the sun was underfoot, and at times to one side, while the trees assumed varying angles. Bink, curious, reached out to touch the foliage of one tree whose trunk reached up into the ground above; it was solid. Of course he knew that he was the one who was upside down; the path established its own orientation. Looking back, he could see the griffin marching at a different tilt, and knew that to griffin, Magician, and golem the centaur was the tilted one. Intriguing magic, but harmless. So far.
Meanwhile, he enjoyed the convenience and the view. The path led through the forest, generally high above the ground, and this new view of things was refreshing. Slants of sunlight crossed it, and gently hued columns of mist. It was neither man's-eye nor bird's-eye, but an intermediate and unique perspective. The path passed safely above the ant-lion range, yet below the flying-predator range. Bink observed several small flying dragons, a harpy, and a distant roc, but none flew near the path.
The plants, too, were unusually passive. Constrictor tentacles dangled in the vicinity of the path, but never on it, and no branches reached across to block it. Obviously this path was charmed, and that was suspicious; the best paths were almost by definition the worst ones. Bink remembered how easy it had been to penetrate the forest around Castle Roogna, back when it had been derelict, and how hard it had been to escape it. What were they walking into now?
Crombie's talent said there was no danger in the direction the path went--but Crombie's talent could be too literal. To Bink, anything that might delay the completion of his quest was a threat. One simply could not afford to trust strange magic. He'd better ask the Good Magician.
"Of course it's safe, Bink," Humfrey said with irritation. "Do you suppose I would be riding it otherwise?"
Bink hadn't even asked the question yet! The Magician retained his special talent, though his grumpy refusal to use it for the convenience of the party made his company seem at times to be worth little more than that of a harpy. What point was there in having a Magician along, if he never used his magic to facilitate things? Even the Evil Magician had freely pitched in when danger threatened to--
"That is the point, Bink," Humfrey said. "There is no present danger. When the situation changes, I will expend my carefully hoarded magic. You are young, yet; you dissipate your resources heedlessly, and get into scrapes you should have avoided."
Served him right for letting his thoughts flow carelessly! Bink shut up, mentally, and rode on. In due course the path wound down to a pleasant little village, with houses thatched with hay and daubed with colored muds, and neat walkways connecting places of interest.
"Do you notice," Chester said, "there is no magic in the local construction? Only mundane materials."
"That's right," Bink said, surprised. "If we're approaching the source of magic, on a magic path, shouldn't there be more magic rather than less?" He turned to the griffin. "Crombie, are you sure this is--?"
Crombie squawked. "Birdbeak is sure this is the right direction," the golem said. "But the village may be a mere item on the way, not the destination itself."
A grizzled old harpy flapped out to meet the party as it reached the foot of the path. All of them braced for trouble, for harpies were notorious. But this one, though suitably hideous, was clean and unaggressive. "Welcome, travelers," she said without even bothering to insult them. A most restrained harpy!
"Uh, thanks," Bink said. "We're looking for--a place to spend the night. We don't mean any mischief." He had never heard of a harpy acting polite, so remained on guard, hand over sword.
"You shall have it," she agreed. "You are all males?"
"Yes," Bink said uneasily. "We are on a quest for the source of magic. Your village appears to lie near this. We--"
"Five males," the harpy said. "What a bonanza!"
"We're not interested in your females," Chester said with some of his normal belligerence.
Crombie squawked. "Not their minds, anyway," the golem translated.
Chester's lip curled with almost equine facility. Bink had to speak at once, before another quarrel brewed. "We shall be happy to do some chore for you, in return for food and safe lodging overnight. Then tomorrow, if you have information about magic--"
"You will have to discuss that with Trolla," the harpy said. "This way, please." And she flapped off, muttering once more: "Men!" with hideous excitement.
"Then again, you may have a point," Chester murmured to Crombie. "If we have fallen into a nest of harpies..."
"We may be best advised to get on that aerial path and go back the way we came," Bink finished, glancing back.
But the path was gone. They could not escape that way.
Trolla turned out to be--a female troll. She was almost as ugly as the harpy, but she too was amazingly polite. "I realize you are uneasy, you handsome male visitors," Trolla said. "And you have reason to be. But not because of any of the residents of this village. Allow me to serve you supper, while I explain our situation."
Bink exchanged glances with the others. Both centaur and griffin looked distinctly uncomfortable, but the Good Magician seemed to have no concern.
Trolla clapped her horny hands, and several wood-nymphs came in, bearing platters. Their hair was green, their skin brown, their lips and fingernails red: like flowering trees. But their outlines were human; each was a pert, lithe, full-breasted bare beauty. Each eyed Bink and Humfrey with more than casual interest. "Hunger" might be a better term. The food was virtually mundane: vegetables and fruits harvested locally, and small dragon steaks. Milkweed pods provided the liquid; it was good milk, but in no way special.
"You may have noted we have used no magic in the preparation of this meal," Trolla said. "We use as little magic as possible here, because there is more magic he
re than anywhere else on the surface of Xanth. I realize that may not make much sense to you--"
"Quite sensible," Humfrey said, chomping into another steak.
Trolla focused on him. "You must be a Magician, sir."
"Umph." He seemed to be more interested in his food than in her discussion. Bink knew that was deceptive. Humfrey paid close attention to all things magic.
"If you are--if any of you have strong magic--I must caution you to be extremely careful in exerting it," she said. "Please do not misunderstand; this is no threat. We do not want you to feel at all uncomfortable here. It is simply that all magic--well, permit me to make a small demonstration." She clapped her hands, and a nymph entered, as buxom and bare as the others. "Bring a small firefly," Trolla said.
In a moment the nymph returned with the firefly. It was very small--the kind that generated hardly more than a spark, harmless. It squatted on the table, rather pretty with its folded flame-hued wings and insulated legs. "Now observe what happens when I frighten it," Trolla said.
She rapped the table with a hooflike knuckle. The firefly jumped up, startled, and generated its momentary fire. A burst of light and heat emanated from it, and a ball of smoke roiled up toward the ceiling. A spot on the table a handsbreadth in diameter was charred. The firefly itself had disappeared. "It burned itself up!" Chester exclaimed. "It did not mean to," Trolla said. "This was a normal Xanth firefly, not acclimatized to this region. Here near the source its magic is multiplied a hundredfold. Thus its little spark became a self-immolating fireball. Until you males become acclimatized, I urge you not to practice your magic in this village. We value your presence, and do not wish you to suffer any mishaps."
Bink looked to Humfrey, but the Good Magician continued eating. "Uh, none of us have inflammatory magic," Bink said, realizing that it was up to him to respond for their party. Yet he wondered: what would his talent do if anything threatened? What it might intend to be a mere "coincidental!" amelioration might become much worse. "But it would be best if--if nothing seemed to threaten our welfare."
The Source of Magic Page 12
