Piers, Anthony – Xanth 21 – Faun & Games – Anthony, Piers

 FAUN AND GAMES

 

BY PIERS ANTHONY

 

Synopsis:

 

The latest Xanth adventure by the author of more than 20 successive New

York Times bestsellers. For Forrest Faun, a young tree faun  searching

for a suitable spirit to save a magical tree, the astonishing

world-within-a-world of the tiny planet Ptero may be the place where he

will find the answer to his quest. Piers Anthony puns his way into

quantum physics in this delightful journey.

 

This is a work of fiction.  All the characters and events portrayed in

this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously

 

FAUN & GAMES

 

Copyright (D 1997 by Piers Anthony

 

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or

portions thereof, in any form.

 

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

 

A Tor Book Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc. 175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

 

Tor Books on the World Wide Web: littp://w.tor.corn

 

TorQ is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

 

Library of Congress Cataloging -.  ,- Publication Data Anthony, Piers.

 

Faun and gaines / Piers Anthony.-1st ed.

 

P.  cm.

 

“A Tom Doherty Associates book.”

 

ISBN 0-312-86162-I acid-free)

 

I.  Title.

 

PS355l,v3F38 1997 97-19362 813′.54-de2l CIP

 

First Edition: October 1997 Printed in the United States of America

 

0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Hey, Faun, how about some fun?”

 

Forrest Faun rubbed what remained of his night’s sleep out of his eyes

and looked down to the base of his tree.  There stood a fetching nymph

with all the usual nymphly features: pretty face, flowing hair, perfect

figure, and no clothing.  But there was something amiss.

 

“What do you mean’?” he asked as he sat up in a fork, still getting his

bearings.

 

,.What do you think I mean, Faun?  Come down and chase me, the way fauns

always do to nymphs.”

 

Then he had it.  “You’re no nymph.”

 

“Oh, pooh!” she swore, pouting.  She dissolved into smoke and reformed

as a luscious clothed demoness.  “I am D.  Mentia, out seeking routine

entertainment or mischief while my better half waxes disgustingly

motherly.  What gave me away?”

 

“If I tell you, will you go somewhere else?” It was usually possible to

get rid of demons if one made a suitable deal with them.

 

“Yes, if you want me to.” Her bright yellow dress fuzzed, showing the

vague outline of her body beneath, with almost a suggestion of a

forbidden panty line.

 

So there was a catch.  “Why wouldn’t I want you to?”

 

“Because I have dreadful information that will puzzle and alarm you and

perhaps change your whole outlook.”

 

That seemed like adequate reason.  Forrest, now fully awake, jumped down

to the ground, landing neatly on his hoofs.  “What gave you away was

your manner.  You were not acting like a nymph.  You were way too

forward and intelligent.  Much of a nymph’s appeal is in her seeming

reticence and lack of intellect.  Now what’s this dreadful information?”

 

“Follow me.” Mentia whirled in place, so that her body twisted into a

tight spiral before untwisting facing the opposite direction, and walked

away.  Her skirt shrank so as to show her legs as far up as was feasible

without running out of limb.  But of course Forrest didn’t notice,

because nothing a demoness showed was very real.

 

She led him across the glade to a tree on the far side.  “See.”

 

Forrest stared with dismay at the clog tree.  It was wilting, and its

clogs were falling to the ground.  That could mean only one thing: it

had lost its spirit.

 

As it happened, the clog tree’s spirit was Forrest’s friend: Branch

Faun.  They had known each other for almost two centuries, because their

two trees were in sight of each other.  Almost every day Forrest would

drop out of his sandalwood tree, and join Branch in the glade between

them to dance a J’lg or two.  With luck, their ‘igging would attract the

fleeting attention of a nymph or three, who would join ill, jiggling.

With further luck, jig and Jiggle would lead to a pleasant chase and

celebration.

 

But this morning Branch’s tree was in a sad state.  It wouldn’t fade so

soon if its faun were merely absent; fauns and nymphs shared an

awareness with their trees that alerted them instantly if harm came to

either.  Let a human forester even come near such a tree with an axe,

and its faun would have a fit.  Let a faun split a hoof, and his tree

would shudder.  Such reactions were independent of distance; a faun

could run far away from his tree, and still be closely attuned to it.

They felt each other’s pain.

 

“Are you trying to ignore me?” Mentia asked warningly.  Demollesses

could handle almost anything except that.

 

“No.  You’re right.  I am puzzled and alarmed by this dreadful scene. Do

you know anythin, about it?”

 

“No.  I just happened to note it in passing, so I looked for the closest

creature who might be tormented by it.”

 

He glanced at her.  “You’re one crazy organism.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, flushing red with candy stripes.  The color

extended to her clothing and hair, and traces of it radiated into the

air around her.

 

The clog tree’s distress meant that Branch was in serious trouble, if

not dead.  What could have happened?  Branch had been fine yesterday. In

fact he had encountered a nymph from a lady slipper tree whose slippers

gave her special fleetness, just as the sandals from Forrest’s

sandalwood tree gave him excellent footing, and the clogs from Branch’s

tree protected his hoofs.  They had had quite a merry chase.  Because

that was what fauns and nymphs did; they chased each other until they

came together, and then they celebrated in a manner that children were

not supposed to see.  Because it did tend to get dull just sitting in

one’s tree all the time.

 

In fact, Forrest now remembered, the nymph, clad only in her slippers,

had led Branch a chase right out of sight.  Meanwhile her friend from an

oak tree, named Kara 0ke, had done some very nice singing to background

music of wind through trees, so Forrest had had his own distraction.

Naturally he had chased her, and naturally she had fled, but not too

swiftly, because she was still singing her oak song. So he had caught

her, and they had celebrated in the usual fashion, while she continued

singing.  That had been interesting, because she had sung of every

detail of the experience they were sharing, making it a work of musical

art.  Then she had returned to her tree, satisfied that her song worked.

There weren’t any other nymphs around at the moment, so Forrest had

returned to his own tree and settled down for the night.  And now his

friend was gone.

 

“So what are you going to do about it?” Mentia inquired.

 

Do?  She was right; he probably should be doing something.  But what?

“What do you think?”

 

“I think you will follow their footprints, so you can find out what

happened to them.”

 

“Now that’s really sensible,” he agreed.

 

The demoness turned smoky black.  “Darn!”

 

He set off in search of them.  He had no trouble following their tracks:

her slipper prints, which were hourglass shaped, in the manner of the

nymph herself, and his clog prints, which were forceful and furred. They

looped around other trees, as she made cute dodges and diversions. It

was the chase that counted; fauns and nymphs loved lo run almost as much

as they loved to dance.  The better the chase, the better the

celebration at the end.  Forrest remembered a nymph once who had been in

a bad mood, because her tree was suffering a fungus infestation, and had

simply stood there.  This was of course a complete turn-off, and no faun

had touched her.  Any nymph who wanted nothing to do with any particular

faun had only to refuse to move, and he would leave her alone. Sometimes

a nymph teased a faun, pretending disinterest, then leaping into pursuit

the moment he turned his back. If she caught him, it was her advantage,

and he had to do whatever she wanted.  Of course that was exactly the

same as what he wanted, but other fauns would taunt him unmercifully for

getting caught.

 

Mentia, floating along beside him, was getting bored.  “Are you ready

for me to depart?”

 

“Yes,” he agreed absently.

 

“Good.” She remained where she was.  He realized that he should have

urged her to stay-, then she would have been sure that he was up to

nothing interesting.

 

The tracks veered toward the Void.  That was the nearby reion of no

return.  Of course every faun and nymph knew better than to enter it,

because there was no way out of it.  Anything that crossed the boundary

was doomed.  Only special creatures, like the night mares, could escape

it, because they weren’t real in the way ordinary folk were.  They had

very little substance.

 

“Don’t float too near the Void,” Forrest warned the demoness.

 

She changed course to approach the boundary, then paused.  “Say, you are

a cunning one!” she said with admiration.  “You knew I’d automatically

do the opposite.  It almost worked, too.  But I’m only a little crazy.

You have to be a lot crazy to venture into the Void.”

 

“Maybe next time,” he muttered.

 

The nymph was clearly teasing Branch, by passing flirtingly close to the

fringe of the Void.  Her prints almost touched the boundary, then moved

away, then came close again.  The menace of that drelid region added to

the thrill of the chase.  Forrest had done it too, and knew exactly the

steps to take to be sure of never straying across the line.

 

Then his sandals balked.  He stopped, perplexed; what was the matter?

His sandals were magic, and protected his hoofs from harm, and if he

were about to step somewhere harmful, they stopped him.  Yet he saw

nothing ahead to be concerned about.

 

“So what’s with you?” Mentia asked.  “Tired of walking?”

 

“I didn’t stop,” he explained.  “My sandals did.”

 

“Say, I’m getting to like you.  You’re almost as weird as I am.”

 

“That’s impossible.”

 

“Thank you.” This time her flush of pleasure was purple with green polka

dots, and it extended down her legs and out across the ground around

her.  “So why did your sandals stop?”

 

“I’m not sure.  Maybe it was a false alarm.”

 

Still, his sandals had never yet been wrong.  So he dropped to his furry

knees and examined the ground before him.  It was ordinary. There were a

few smiling gladiolas, the happiest of flowers, and beyond them some

horse radishes were flicking off flies with their tails. He thought of

asking the nearest horse if it knew of anything harmful here, but he

didn’t understand plant language very well, and in any event all it

would say would be “neigh.” So finally he got up and made a detour

around the place.

 

“Oh, well,” the demoness said, disappointed.

 

But now he couldn’t find the trail.  Both sets of tracks were gone. So

he turned back-and that was when he saw it.  A splinter of reverse wood

on the ground.  He was sure of its identity, because the gladiola

closest to it was drooping sadly.  And right across it was a lady

slipper print.  The nymph had inadvertently stepped on the splinter.  It

hadn’t hurt her directly, because it was lying flat.  But it must have

affected the fleet magic of her slipper, so that she had lost her sure

footing.

 

“You see something,” D.  Mentia remarked astutely.

 

Now he saw the clog-print next to it, and realized the awful truth. The

nymph had lost her balance, because of the reversal of her slipper

magic, and teetered on the edge of the boundary of the Void.  Branch had

collided with her, caught by surprise by her sudden stop.  And the two

had sprawled into the Void.

 

“Yes.  They are gone.”

 

It was a freak accident, the kind that would happen hardly once in a

century.  The reverse wood splinter might have been blown there recently

by an errant gust of wind.  It would have been harmless, except when it

came into contact with something magical.  Then that abrupt reversal

Branch and the nymph were lost.  They would never get out of the Void.

And their trees would suffer, for without its spirit a magical tree

slowly lost its magic and became, dreadful destiny, virtually mundane.

It was a fate, many believed, worse than extinction.

 

“I’m sorry,” the demoness said.  “That means that you won’t be

entertaining me any more.”

 

Forrest had no idea where the nymph’s tree was, but knew it was

suffering similarly.  He hoped there would be another nymph free to join

it and save it.  Meanwhile, he did know where Branch’s tree was. But

what could he do?  He could not care for two trees; the relationship

didn’t work that way.  He was bound to his sandalwood tree.  He knew of

no fauns looking for trees.  There were more trees than amenable fauns

and nymphs, so that some trees that might have flourished magically

became ordinary.  It was sad, because the right trees had much to offer

their companion spirits, but true.

 

Then he thought of something.  It was a vanishingly tiny chance, but

marginally better than nothing.  “You’re a spirit,” he said to the

demoness.  “How would you like to adopt a tree?”

 

“You mean, become a tree dryad, so that I would live almost forever and

always protect it?”

 

“Yes.  It’s a worthy occupation.  It doesn’t have to be a nymph. Any

caring spirit will do, if the commitment is there.  And the clogs would

protect your feet.”

 

“Commitment.  Protected feet.” She tried to look serious, but smoke

started puffing out her ears, and finally she exploded into a hilarious

fireball.  “Ho ho ho!”

 

Then again, maybe the notion had been worse than nothing.  Demons had no

souls, because they were the degraded remnants of souls themselves. They

cared for nothing and nobody.  “Sorry I mentioned It.”

 

Oh, I’m not!  That was my laugh for the day.” The smoke coalesced into

the extraordinarily feminine female woman distaff luscious shape of

girlish persuasion with the slightly translucent dress.  “A tree nymph!

You are a barrel of laughs.” She formed into a brown barrel with

brightly colored pancake-shaped laughs overflowing its rim.

 

Forrest ignored her as well as he could, and headed for his home tree.

How could he have been so stupid as to make such a suggestion to a

demoness?

 

She followed.  “The oddest thing is that my better half well might have

agreed, were she not otherwise occupied.  She has half a soul. But also

a half mortal child, so she’s busy.  I’m the half without the soul.”

 

As if he couldn’t have guessed.  “You could share the soul of the tree.

 

“The soul of a shoe tree,” she exclaimed, her laughter building up

another head of steam.  “A clog sole.  Protecting my feet.  Oh, hold me,

somebody; I think I’m going to expire of mirth.” Her body swelled until

it burst and disappeared, leaving only a faint titter behind.

 

This time, it seemed she really was gone.  But Forrest didn’t chance it;

he walked directly back without looking around.

 

When he returned and looked at the clog tree, his heart sank into his

stomach.  The poor thing was so droopy and sad.  It was all that

remained of his friend Branch.  He had to do something to help it.

 

He walked up and put a hand on the trunk.  “Have confidence, clog tree.

I will find you another spirit.  Just give me time to do it.”

 

The tree must have heard him, because its leaves perked up and became

greener.  It knew him, because he had been near it many times, and was

the friend of its faun.  It trusted him to help it.

 

He had promised, and he would do his best.  Some folk thought that fauns

and nymphs were empty-headed creatures, incapable of feeling or

commitment, but those folk were confusing types.  The creatures of the

Faun and Nymph Retreat had no memory beyond a day, so every new day was

a new adventure.  But that was the magic of the retreat; any who left

there started to turn real, which meant they aged and had memories. Some

preserved their youth by finding useful jobs.  Jewel the Nymph had taken

on the chore of spreading gems throughout Xanth, so that others would

have the delightful challenge of finding them, and later she had married

a mortal man and become a grandmother.  Many others had adopted magical

trees, just as Forrest had.  It was a kind of symbiosis, which was a

fancy word meaning that the two got along great together and helped each

other survive. The trees kept the fauns or nymphs young, because trees

lived a long time and their spirits shared that longevity.  The fauns or

nymphs protected their trees, bringing them water in times of drought

and harassing woodsmen who wanted to chop the trees down.  Nymphs had

very effective ways to distract woodsmen, or to persuade them to spare

their trees. Sometimes a nymph would even marry a woodsman, if that was

what it took. But her first loyalty was always to her tree.  Fauns had

other ways, such as setting booby traps or informing large dragons where

a nice man sized meal could be had near a certain tree.  One way or

another, they protected their timber, as well as enhancing the natural

magic of the trees.

 

But the sudden loss of Branch left the clog tree in trouble.  Such

relationships were not lightly made or broken.  A faun who lost his tree

died, and a tree who lost its faun turned mundane, an even sadder state.

So he had to find a replacement.

 

“If only I had the faintest notion how,” he said in anguish.

 

There was a swirl of smoke.  It formed into a large pot labeled SEX.  “I

should have thought a faun already knew how,” it said. “But I suppose I

could show you, if-“

 

He should have known that the demoness hadn’t really gone.  She was

still hoping he might do something entertaining.  “How to find a

suitable spirit for the clog tree,” he clarified.  “Naturally you have

no better notion than I do.”

 

“Naturally not,” the pot agreed, its label changing to KETTLE as it

turned black.  “I would never think of going to ask the Good Magician

Humfrey.  The last time I suggested that, I had to guide a stupid

gargoyle there, and he wound up saving Xanth from whatever.  Actually

that adventure did have its points; it certainly was interesting.”

 

The kettle formed back into the luscious lady shape.  “So there’s no

point in suggesting it, especially since the Good Magician charges a

year’s Service for an Answer.  So you might as well abandon all hope and

just let the stupid tree die.”

 

“I’ll go see the Good Magician!” Forrest exclaimed.  Then he realized

that she had tricked him into reacting, just as he had tried to trick

her.  He had said it, and the clog tree had heard; its leaves were

becoming almost wholesome.  Now he had to do it.  But a year’s Service?

“I can’t leave my own tree that long,” he protested belatedly. “And I

don’t even know the way there.”

 

“You need a guide,” Mentia said.  “I need to go bother my better half

some more, but I can find a friend to show you the way to Humfrey’s

castle.”

 

“I don’t want any friend of yours!”

 

“Excellent.  You will find her just as lusciously annoying as I am. I’ll

be right back with her.” The demoness popped off.

 

Again, he had said the wrong thing.  But he was now committed to going.

How would the trees fare during his absence?  He didn’t want them to

suffer, but there didn’t seem to be much of an alternative.

 

But there might be a way to get some help on that.  There was a cave

nearby, where a nice cousin of Com Pewter dwelt.  She was ComPassion,

and she loved everybody, because a love spring flowed in her cave.  Her

powers were limited, but she would do any favor she could manage for the

local folk.  Maybe she would be able to help the trees.

 

Unfortunately, there was a complication about dealing with her, which

was why he normally stayed clear.  But at the moment he didn’t seem to

have much choice.  He would just have to hope that it would work out all

right.

 

He fetched his knapsack, which he always used when going far from his

tree, and ran through field and dale until he came to Passion’s cave.

Lovely purple flowers grew at its entrance, and the scent of the air was

sweet.

 

Oh, no!  He had in his haste forgotten something important.  It was

usual to bring a little gift to Passion when visiting her.  It wasn’t

exactly to put her in a good mood, because she was always in a good

mood.  It wasn’t just protocol, either.  It was that a gift tended to

make her feel that she should do something in return-and he really

needed that return favor.

 

What could he find for a gift?  Passion’s main weakness was that she

couldn’t do anything physical.  She couldn’t walk out of her cave and

see the sights or pick the flowers.  So sometimes folk brought her

stories of the things outside, to keep her informed.  But he suspected

he would need more than that.

 

Then he remembered something.  The chips!  Passion loved chips. What she

did with them no one knew, but she truly valued them.  He knew where

some nice chips grew.

 

He ran to the glade where the chips were.  Sure enough, there was a nice

new crop of them.  Chips of every kind grew in profusion. Which ones

would please her most?  He pondered briefly, then went for a Potato

Chip.  The moment he harvested it, he felt the urge to speak, and his

words were really salty.  He also felt extremely thirsty. He quickly put

it into his knapsack and sealed it shut.

 

Across the glade was a brown region.  He went there and harvested a

Chocolate Chip.  It smelled good enough to eat, but he didn’t dare take

time for that now.  If he ate one, he might get a hunger for more, and

be unable to stop.  So he popped it quickly into his bag.

 

One more should do it.  He looked around, and saw an old block in the

center of the glade.  So he went and took a chip off that.  It was very

stubborn and didn’t want to turn loose, but when he touched it he got

stubborn too, and finally did pry the chip off the old block.

 

He nerved himself and entered the cave.  It was very nice inside. He

knew that it was really a rather ordinary cave, but the overflow from

the love spring ran through it, and some of the water evaporated and

suffused the air.  That was part of the complication.  He would have

tried to breathe through a cloth or something, but that would be

impolite, and impoliteness was bad form when one came begging a favor.

So he took it in stride, and his stride was good.  He reached the

center, where reclined a device fashioned of passion wood.  fle stopped

and took a breath.

 

Before he spoke, a screen lighted.  Who is there,?  it inquired in neat

cursive script.

 

“Forrest Faun,” he said.  “From the nearby sandalwood tree.”

 

WHY DEAR BOY HOW VERY NICE TO SEE YOU.  THE SCREEN SAID WITH A SWEET ROW

OF HEARTS ACROSS THE BOTTOM.

 

“Uh, likewise, I’m sure,” he said.  This wasn’t going well.  “Uh, I

brought you a gift.”

 

The screen glowed brightly.  Why how ve thoughtful of you, dear boy! And

the hearts grew larger.  V y If T T y Not well at all!  “Uh, here they

are.” He fumbled in his bag and pulled out the Chocolate Chip.  “A sweet

for the sweet.” He found another chip and fumbled it out.  “A salt for

the salty.” oops; that wasn’t right. So he rushed on to the third: “And

a chip off the old block for the stubborn.” Worse yet!

 

Why dear boy, I believe you are flustered the screen said, smiling.

 

“Uh, yes,” he confessed.  He was two centuries old, but felt like an

adolescent elf.

 

How ve sweet.  The screen turned Valentine pink.  And what is your

request of me, dear boy.”

 

Forrest launched into his story of the fate of Branch Faun and the need

to save his tree.  “So I must go ask the Good Magician what to do,” he

concluded.  “But I can’t even leave my own tree that long, safely.  So I

thought maybe you could, well, sort of change reality to make the trees

all right, for a while, if you wanted to, until I get back.” Suddenly it

seemed rather stupid.

 

So all this is just to help a tree?

 

“Yes,” he confessed, feeling woefully inadequate.  The whole notion was

ridiculous.  He would have to find some other way.  “But I guess you

have more important things to do.  I’m sorry I bothered you.”

 

Dear boy, you have such a generous spirit, I really like you.  Of course

you must save the tree.  I will help you.”

 

“You will?” He was amazed.  He had thought it so trivial, as far as

anyone else was concerned, but now it seemed important again.

 

Yes.  Of course I have my price.

 

Dread surged back.  What changed reality would she require of him?

“Yes.”

 

You kpow I have a romantic nature, bUt that I am a machine.  I can only

dream of love, not actually experience it.

 

“Yes.” This sounded worse.

 

But I can on occasion approximate love, if I have a cooperativ(?

partner.

 

She could?  What was she going to make him do?  But he was stuck for it.

“Yes.”

 

Kiss my mouse.

 

“But you don’t have a mouth, ComPassion.”

 

Not mouth.  Mouse.

 

“What?”

 

I have a mouse, she explained patiently.  I want you to kiss it.  What

term do you not understand?

 

“But-a mouse?”

 

A small living creature, usqfulfor going where I am unable to go.

 

In this case, romance.

 

She thought it would be romantic for him to kiss her mouse?  “I- if I

have to-“

 

Be than1/2f&l I managed to exchange the donkey I had recently for the

mouse.  It was an asinine creature.

 

He certainly wouldn’t have wanted to kiss her asinine creature. “Okay.”

 

Then the cave chamber shimmered, and he knew she was changin(i reality.

It became a lovely glade surrounded by red, green, purple, yellow, and

orange trees, with their assorted round fruits of similar colors, and

flour plants growing in the center.  From the far side came the

prettiest nymph he could remember seeing, with thick lustrous brown hair

that spread out to form a cloak for her body.  But it could not conceal

the elegant curves of that graceful form as she walked.

 

She came up to him as he stood somewhat bemused by the change. He had

not expected a reality shift of this magnitude.  And what was the nymph

doing here.?

 

“I am Terian,” she said.  “Kiss me.”

 

“But I’m supposed to kiss a-a mouse,” he said.

 

“I am that one.  I am the Mouse Terian.  I am older than I look.”

 

“You’re the mouse?” He stared at her.  “But you’re beautiful!”

 

“Thank you.  It has been forty millennia since I have had a compliment

like that.  Others have thought me to be primitive or crude.”

 

“Oh, you are neither of those things!  You are the loveliest creature I

can imagine.”

 

“Thank you.  Now you must kiss me, for I can’t kiss you.  I don’t know

how.”

 

“Like this,” he said enthusiastically.  He folded her lithe and softly

yielding body in his arms and kissed her firmly on her luscious lips. At

first she was hesitant, but then she got into the feel of it and kissed

him back.  What had been a halfway experimental effort became a

full-fledged delight.

 

After a wonderfully long time he felt obliged to break it off.  For one

thing, he had forgotten to breathe.  He looked into her deep brown eyes.

“Oh, Terian, that was the greatest kiss I ever had!”

 

“Thank you.” Then she turned and walked back across the glade.

Astonished, he just watched, not knowing what to make of it.

 

The scene shimmered, and the cave returned.  He was staring at the

screen, where the words Thank you were scripted.

 

“I don’t understand,” he said.

 

Mouse Terian could not stay.  I can alter reali only so much. Perhaps

some day someone will go out into the field and harvest me a cereal port

so that I can make better se of the mouse.  But he did enjoy your kiss.

And so did I He was slowly and uncertainly recovering his grip on

reality. “She-what is she like, really?”

 

A mouse ran up on top of the wooden frame holding the screen and stood

on its hind feet for a moment, facing him.  Here.

 

So Terian really was a mouse.  He truly had kissed a mouse.  Transformed

by a temporarily local change of reality, but nevertheless a mouse.

 

Yet a detail didn’t fit.  “But she spoke to me!  In sound.”

 

I am rather proud of my sound system.  As the words appeared on the

screen, they came in sound too.  I was the one speaking.

 

So it could all be explained.  It had been crafted from sound and

temporary reality.  It hadn’t really been a lovely nymph.  Still, it had

been impressive.  “I think you are getting close to the feeling of

romance, ComPassion,” he said sincerely.

 

Thank you.  Wait until I complete my next upgrade.  Then more than

kissing will be feasible.

 

That was somewhat daunting.  “Is-is that all?”

 

Yes, unfortunately, for now.  Take the two disks beside me and set one

in each tree.  They will alter the trees’ reality slightly, so that your

absence will seem like only a day.  They will not wither or wilt. But

you must be back within a month, or the effect willfade, and then they

will suffer.

 

“Thank you,” he said gratefully.  He picked up the two small wooden

disks and tucked them carefully into his knapsack.

 

Any time, dear boy.  It was a pleasure.

 

He made his way outside.  The fresh air cleared his head of the fumes

from the love spring.  He realized that in that ambiance he had wanted

to experience the romance, and that must have helped the effect.  What a

woman Terian had seemed to be!  Some day she would surely make some male

mouse excruciatingly happy.  And once ComPassion was fully compatible,

she might make the notorious Com Pewter happy too.

 

There was a swirl of smoke before him.  Two parts of it descended to the

ground and formed into feet.  The rest became a smoky nymph figure.

“This must be the faun,” she said.

 

“Of course it’s me, Mentia,” he said.  “Who else would it be?”

 

The dark face frowned.  “I am not Mentia.”

 

oops.  Demonesses could be troublesome when annoyed.  “I apologize.  I

thought any creature that lovely had to be Mentia.”

 

“Oh you did, did you’?  Mentia’s crazy.  Consider this.”

 

The form shifted and reassembled, becoming so exquisite that it was

difficult to look at her without flinching.

 

“You’re right,” Forrest said, shielding his eyes with one hand. “That’s

twice as lovely as she was.”

 

“And only half as lovely as I could be, if I cared to make the effort.

Well, come on, faun; I don’t have all week.”

 

“Come on?  Where?”

 

“To Humfrey’s castle, of course.  Where else did you think?”

 

A dim bulb flickered.  “You’re Mentia’s friend!”

 

“Hmph.  An exaggeration.  But yes, I am Demoness Sire, and I did owe her

half a favor.  So I’ll guide you there.  But that’s all.  No round trip;

that would require a whole favor.  And I’m not going to make you

deliriously happy enroute, so forget about that too.”

 

“I wasn’t even thinking of it.”

 

She looked disappointed.  “You weren’t?”

 

This could be more mischief.  “Well, I was trying to suppress the

thought of it, with imperfect success.  I am a faun, you know.  We’re

related to the satyrs.  We have similar urges, but more self control.”

 

She considered.  “Suppose I looked like this?” She became somewhat more

luscious.

 

“Please don’t, because then I would be thinking of it all the time.”

 

“Suppose I became like this?” The scant clothing on her form shrank,

causing parts of her to bulge dangerously.

 

“Then I would be so overwhelmed I’d be constantly grabbing for you, just

like a satyr, unable to help myself.”

 

She nodded, satisfied, and sagged into a lesser form.  He was learning

how to handle demonesses.

 

“But first I must see to the trees,” he added.  “Then I’m all yoursor

would be, if I weren’t struggling not to think of it.”

 

D.  Sire looked even more satisfied.  She drifted beside him as he

wended his way back to his home glade.  “Is it true that nymphs & fauns

have very little magic, apart from their longevity, emptyheadedness, and

insatiable urge to pretend to summon fleets of storks?”

 

“Flocks of storks,” he responded shortly.

 

“Flocks.  So it is true, cute-horns?”

 

“Not exactly.  The magic of nymphs is to become phenomenally attractive

to males when they run and bounce, so that any male who spies a running

nymph is compelled to pursue her though he knows he can’t catch her. The

magic of fauns is to run fast enough to catch the nymphs, and to make

them desire to celebrate when there is physical contact.”

 

“Fascinating,” she said, sounding bored.  “Does it work on other

females?”

 

“Why, I hadn’t thought of that.  I suppose if they removed their clothes

and ran-“

 

“I mean the animal magnetism.  Do real women get hot when a faun touches

them?”

 

“Well, we don’t chase real women.  They know too much, and they aren’t

as well shaped.  In addition, they often regard fauns as misshapen, and

are repelled.  So there’s no way of knowing-“

 

“So they tend to avoid contact.  But if it should happen, what then?”

She dropped to the ground and put her arms around him.  Her upper

section pressed into his chest in two firm places, and her lower section

pressed his fur in one firmer place.  “Is this sufficient contact?” Then

her eyes grew large and dreamy.  “Oh, it’s true!  Suddenly I want to get

much closer to you.” The three places increased their pressures.

 

Forrest struggled to disengage.  “You’re not a woman, you’re a demoness.

If I tried to celebrate with you, you would just dissolve into laughing

gas.”

 

, ‘True,” she agreed, dissolving into puffs of vapor that spelled out HA

HA.  “But nevertheless also true that your touch inspires a certain

lust.  So I shall make sure not to tease you from too close.”

 

“Thank you.” It had been all he could do to stop from trying what she

had been teasing him to try.

 

“Unless I change my smoky mind,” she said, reforming into something

luscious.

 

He went to the two trees, and tucked a disk into the lowest cleft of

branches of each.  The trees did not seem to change, but he trusted

ComPassion.  They should be all right.  He fetched a spare pair of

sandals, just in case, and put them in his knapsack.  “Now I am ready to

o.  Which way’?”

 

“South.  He lives below the Gap Chasm.”

 

“The what?”

 

“Do-ri’t tell me you don’t remember!  The forget spell wore off it years

ago.

 

“It isn’t that I don’t remember.  It’s that I never knew.”

 

“Oh.  Well, it’s a huge cleft in the ground that is impossible to

penetrate unless you know how.” She pursed her lips as she spoke the

words “cleft” and “penetrate,” as if suggesting something naughty.

 

Forrest had no idea what nuance she was nuancing, so he ignored it.

“Will you tell me how’?”

 

“Of course not.  That’s more of a favor than I owe Mentia.”

 

He had thought as much.  Still, limited guidance was better than none.

Maybe he would be able to ask along the way.

 

Forrest stood at the brink of a monstrous abyss that was yawning despite

the fullness of day.  So this was the dreaded Gap Chasm!  It was indeed

impressive.

 

“So how do you suppose you will get across this impassable abyss?”

Demoness Sire inquired.

 

“I suppose I will have to find a place to climb down into it, cross the

bottom, and find a place to climb up the other side.  We fauns are good

climbers, because of our hoofs.”

 

“Ixnay, faun.  The Gap Dragon ranges the depths, eagerly waiting for

idiots like you to try just that.  He’s a six legged steamer, and chomps

first and asks questions later.”

 

“Well, maybe I can find a bridge across it.  There must be one

somewhere.”

 

“Several.  One’s invisible.  Another is one way.”

 

“One way?”

 

“Whichever way you’re going, it’s going the other way.”

 

Forrest had encountered a one way path in his day, so he knew how that

worked.  “Well, I’ll keep looking.  There must be some way that folk

cross it.”

 

“There is.”

 

“And you won’t tell me.”

 

“That would be a smidgen over my half favor.”

 

So he walked west along the brink.  After an indefinite time, he heard a

scrambling in the brush.  He turned toward it, holding his sandalwood

staff protectively before him.  It would kick anything that turned out

to be dangerous, giving him time to run to safety.

 

In two and a half moments he spied an odd animal caught in briers. It

looked like a male werewolf, but couldn’t be, because that would have

changed to human form to pick away the prickly vines.  As it was, the

poor creature could hardly move, and more beiers were reaching for it.

They would soon coil completely around and prick it to death so they

could feed on its blood.

 

Forrest didn’t like briers much, so he decided to help the animal.

“Could you use some assistance?” he called.

 

The not-werewolf looked at him.  “Arf!”

 

Forrest wasn’t sharp on animal languages, but he had a nodding

acquaintance.  That sounded like canine for “yes.” So he used his staff

to clear a path through the briers.  They whipped around, striking at

it, trying to stab it, but couldn’t hurt the wood.  The staff gave them

increasingly hefty kicks in return, until they gave up.

 

He reached the animal, and carefully pried the briers from its body.

Soon it was free.  “Now follow me out, and stay close to my staff,” he

said.  The animal nodded.

 

When they were safely out of the brier patch, Forrest turned to the

animal.  “If you don’t mind my asking, who are you, and what kind of a

creature are you?  You seem like only half of a werewolf.”

 

“Woof!” the animal replied.

 

“So your name is Woof.”

 

“Oh, come on, you’ll never get it that way,” Sire said, appearing beside

them.  “You are wasting my time.”

 

Forrest hardly spared her a dark glance.  “You could save your time by

telling me how to cross the Gap Chasm expediently.”

 

She ignored that.  “His name is Woofer.  He’s a Mundane dog.”

 

Forrest was amazed.  “A Mundane creature!  I thought they were extinct.”

 

“No such luck.  There’s more than a slew of them north of Xanth.”

 

She faded out in disgust.

 

Forrest looked again at the dog.  “Well, Woofer, I’ve never met a real

dog before.  So you’re Mundane!  I suppose that means you are of limited

intel-urn, that you don’t care to talk much.  So I’ll phrase yes/no

questions.  One bark for yes, two for no.  Okay?”

 

“Woof!”

 

“Are you friendly?”

 

‘Woof.”

 

“Do you have friends?”

 

“Woof.”

 

“Are you lost?”

 

“Woof.”

 

“Can you find your way back to them on your own?”

 

“Woof woof.”

 

“Then I had better help you find them.  I’m not making much progress on

my own anyway.”

 

“Disgusting,” Sire said somewhere in air.  “I’ll never get through this

chore.”

 

“You know what you can do about it, demoness.”

 

“That would be unethical.  Half a favor is half a favor, not half a whit

more.”

 

“Where did you last see your friends?” Forrest asked Woofer.

 

The dog bounded to the brink of the chasm and pointed upward with its

nose.

 

“Over the pit?  Can they fly?”

 

” Woof.”

 

“And you couldn’t keep up with them, running on the ground.  Or maybe

you could, until you got into that brier patch.  And they didn’t realize

you were caught, so don’t know where you are.”

 

” Woof.”

 

“But maybe when they realize that you’re gone, they’ll fly back the way

they came, and find you.”

 

“Woof!” Woofer agreed, brightening.

 

“So let’s wait here until they come.  Then you’ll be all right.  Xanth

isn’t very friendly to a Mundane creature alone.”

 

“Woof.”

 

So they waited by the brink, gazing out, watching for flying creatures,

while D.  Sire faded in and out, her disgust expanding to its farthest

boundaries.  Forrest took some balm from his knapsack and spread it on

Woofer’s scratches and punctures, and they started healing.

 

Then Forrest’s sharp eyes spied two things in the air.  They might be

birds, but they didn’t fly like birds.  “Maybe that’s them,” he

suggested.

 

“Woof!” Woofer wagged his tail.

 

So Forrest waved violently, to attract their attention.  The shapes

veered toward him.  Soon they showed up as two humanoid figures: a young

man and a young elfin woman.  She had wings, while he flew without

wings.  Evidently they were a couple.

 

Woofer bounded across to meet them as they landed on the brink.

 

The young man hugged him, and the young woman kissed his nose.

 

Then they turned to Forrest.

 

“Hello,” he said, feeling abruptly awkward.

 

“Woof!” Woofer said, returning to him.

 

“You helped Woofer”” the man asked.

 

“He was caught in the brier patch.”

 

“Woof.

 

“But those scratch something awful,” the woman said.  “He’s

unscratched.”

 

“Woof woof.”

 

“I used some balm,” Forrest said.  Then, still feeling awkward: “I’m

glad he’s safe now.  I’ll be on my way.”

 

“Woof woof.”

 

“But you are safe now, aren’t you’?” Forrest said to him.  “These are

your friends.”

 

“I think he means that you helped him, so he wants to help you back,”

the man said.  “Let’s introduce ourselves.  I’m Sean Mundane.”

 

“I’m Willow Elf,” the woman said.

 

“I’m Forrest Faun.”

 

“And so you won’t have to wonder, I really am Mundane,” Sean SAId.  “I

vISITED Xanth, and fell In love wIth Willow.  We-well, we ran afoul of a

love spring without realizing it at first.  She’s large for an elf and

flies because she associates with a very large winged elm tree.  I

returned to Mundania with her, and she found it a really weird place.

Then wtien we came back to Xanth, suddenly I could fly.  We don’t know

what happened, but it’s great.  Now we’re just enjoying it. We hope to

marry soon.”

 

Forrest realized that they were as curious about him as he was about

them.  “I’m an ordinary tree faun.  My neighboring tree lost its faun,

so I am in search of a replacement faun for it, so it won’t die or

become-” He hesitated.

 

“Mundane,” Sean said.  “No affront; I know how awful that seems to

Xanthians.  Of course you don’t want that to happen.”

 

“So I’m going to ask the Good Magician for advice,” Forrest continued.

“Though I understand that he charges a year’s Service for an answer, and

I have to be back with my tree in a month.  And I can’t even find my way

across this crevasse.  So I’m not sure exactly what I’m doing.”

 

Sean and Willow exchanged a Significant Glance.  Then she spoke. “You

helped Woofer, and we appreciate that.  So maybe we can do you a return

favor.  I don’t know how to solve your dilemma, but I think I know who

might be able to help.  I’ll call her.” She lifted a whistle she wore

around her neck and blew on it.

 

In barely a moment there was a crashing in the brush as something huge

charged through it.  “A dragon!” Forrest exclaimed.  “You had better fly

out over the gulf.”

 

“A dragon ass,” she corrected him.  “Friendly.”

 

Indeed, now he saw that the dragon was striped and had the head of a

donkey.  It was forging through the brier patch, not even noticing the

briers.  And on it was a young woman half a shade lovelier than D.  Sire

in her seduction mode.

 

“Disgusting!” the demoness agreed, forming beside him.

 

The dragon ass came to a stop before them.  “We heard your whistle,” the

beautiful woman said to Willow.  “How may we help?”

 

“This nice faun helped get Woofer out of trouble,” Willow explained.

“We’d like to help him in return.”

 

The woman turned her graceful gaze on Forrest.  “I am Chlorine. My

talent is poisoning water.  This is my friend Nimby, whom I love more

than anything in Xanth, and to whom I owe everything.  His talent is

making the two of us anything we want to be.  We travel around, looking

for good deeds to do.  Who are you, and why are you worthy of a favor?”

 

“I am Forrest Faun, and I’m not worthy of any favor.”

 

Chlorine glanced at Willow.  “That’s not true,” the winged elf girl

said.  “He’s trying to find a replacement faun for a tree that will fade

or die otherwise.  He needs to get across the Gap Chasm so he can go ask

the Good Magician’s advice.  And he doesn’t have time to serve a year

there, because the tree will last only a month.”

 

The woman’s gaze returned to Forrest.  “I gather you’re not the smartest

faun in Xanth, but you mean well.”

 

That summed it up nicely.  “Yes.”

 

“So we’ll help you,” she decided.  “Won’t we, Nimby?” She leaned forward

to hug the dragon’s neck.  They seemed to be the perfect combination: a

beauty and a beast.

 

Nimby nodded yes.  “I love you,” Chlorine said, kissing his neck. “You

gave me back my tear, and so much more.”

 

Forrest gathered that there was more to that relationship than showed on

the surface.  Why should such a lovely woman care so much about such an

ugly dragon?  But that was the same kind of a question others asked

about uns and nymphs with trees: why did they bind themselves to such

unresponsive plantsT There was no point tryin, to explain the wonders of

the relationships to those who lucked any basis for understanding. Maybe

Nby protected Chlorine from other dragons, though he did not look very

formidable.  Maybe he just had a nice personality.  Or maybe it was that

great beauty was attracted to great ugliness.

 

Chlorine straightened up and looked at Forrest again.  “Get on behind

me,” she said.  “We’ll take you across the Gap.”

 

Forrest looked at the daunting vast void.  “But how?”

 

She smiled, and the local scenery brightened.  “You’ll see.”

 

So Forrest walked to the side of the dragon, and scrambled up on its

back.  But his perch seemed insecure.  The dragon’s small wings were

right behind him, and Chlorine’s remarkably contoured backside was

before him.

 

“Put your arms around me,” Chlorine said.  “And hold on TIGHT”

 

.  ‘But-‘ , She reached back and caught his hands, drawing them forward

until his hands touched across her small waist.  He clasped his fingers

together. His face was almost in her flowing hair, which smelled of new

mown hay.

 

The dragon strode forward, directly toward the brink.  His head dropped

down into the chasm, disappearing from view.  Then the main body crossed

the edge, turning at right angles.  They were going down into the gap!

 

The sky seemed to whirl as they changed orientation.  Terrified, Forrest

clung tightly to Chlorine, expecting to plummet into the awful depths of

the chasm.

 

But it didn’t happen.  He found himself jammed tight against Chlorine’s

shapely back, his thighs against her hips, his face buried in her

fragrant hair-and they weren’t falling.  Instead they were moving down

the vertical wall, as if it were level.  Chlorine’s hair wasn’t even out

of place.

 

“Bye,” Sean said, waving.  He was floating beside them, but angled

differently, because to him down was still down.

 

“It was nice meeting you,” Willow said.  She was flying similarly, her

wings beating with a gentle cadence.  Forrest felt the wind from them,

and knew it was going down, but it was like a level breeze to him.  He

was anchored to the wall, and it had become his ground.  The experience

was weird, but not unpleasant.

 

“You can relax a little,” Chlorine said.

 

Oh.  He loosened the near death grip he had on her body.  It really

wasn’t necessary.

 

Sean and Willow waved again, then flew away.  There was a woof as Woofer

followed them, running along the land beyond the chasm.

 

“Thank you!” Forrest called to them, remembering his manners. “And you,”

he added to the woman and dragon.

 

“It’s just what we do,” Chlorine replied.  “Nimby and I have such good

fortune that we try to share some of it with others, when the others are

deserving.”

 

“But I’m just trying to help a neighboring tree.  That’s not anything

special.”

 

“It’s something generous and nice,” she said.  “The fact that you don’t

regard it as worthy of comment suggests that you are decent and modest.

That’s the type of person we like to help.”

 

He was getting quite curious about her and the dragon.  “If I may ask-“

 

“What’s with the damsel and dragon ass?” she finished for him.

 

m just a somewhat dull, plain, indifferent girl with not much of a

talent.  But Nimby makes me beautiful and smart and healthy and nice,

and now we live in the Nameless Castle where a full staff of servants

takes care of our every whim.  Once a month we go out around Xanth,

looking for good deeds to do, in this minor way sharing out- happiness

with others.”

 

“The dragon lives in a castle?”

 

She laughed, causing his linked hands on her soft but firm belly to

shake.  “Oh, Nimby changes to handsome princely man form for that,

because he wouldn’t fit very well in some of the passages in dragon

form.  And while I love him in any form, when it comes to sharing my

bed, I prefer him as a man.  More cuddly, you know.”

 

She thought the dragon could become a man?  That had to be delusion,

because everyone knew that each creature had only one magic talent, and

Nimby’s was walking along vertical walls as if they were horizontal.  So

she must have a fond imagination.  Her notions about her own body and

personality were the opposite: she credited the dr,igo with- naking her

beautiful, when it was plain that she was stunningly lovely on her own.

Still, she and the dragon were doing him a favor, so it would be best

not to disparage her notions.  “That’s ” he said.

 

nice, “You don’t believe me, do you.”

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

“You didn’t have to.  But you don’t.”

 

“I mean no offense.  But yes, I don’t quite believe you.”

 

“That’s good.  I don’t want to be believed.  Can you believe that Nimby

and I are married, and that we spent a month on the far side of the

moon, reveling in honey?”

 

“I do find that similarly hard to believe.”

 

“Wonderful!  I could probably tell you anything, and you wouldn’t

believe it.  So I can be completely candid.”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

 

“If I told you who Nimby really is, you truly wouldn’t believe me. So I

won’t bother.”

 

Maybe that was just as well.  The farther they rode, the less sense

Chlorine was making.

 

As they continued down, D.  Sire reappeared.  “I trust you are having

fun?” she inquired, glancing significantly at his hands.

 

“Yes, this is a remarkable experience,” Forrest agreed.  “I have never

seen such a chasm before.”

 

“I meant hanging on to Miss Water Poison, who looks good enough to

drink.”

 

Chlorine glanced at her.  “Haven’t you got some better errand elsewhere,

demoness?”

 

Sire smirked.  “No.  I-” Then she looked surprised.  “As a matter of

fact I do.  ” She faded out.

 

They reached the bottom of the gulf, for the dragon’s big feet made for

swift progress.  They turned the corner and walked across the level

bottom.  Forrest looked up, and saw the rim of the chasm impossibly far

above, and a couple of gnat sized specks that might be Sean and Willow.

 

Then he remembered something.  “Isn’t there supposed to be a Gap Dragon

down here, that eats anyone who get caught?”

 

“He’s not in this section at the moment,” Chlorine said.  “Did you want

to meet him?”

 

“No!  I want to avoid him.”

 

“His name is Stanley Steamer, and he eats only folk he doesn’t know.  I

could introduce you.”

 

“Thanks all the same.  I’d rather not.”

 

“He has a really cute son named Steven Steamer.  All the girls swoon

over that baby dragon.”

 

“I’m not a girl.”

 

She laughed again.  “Very well.  No introduction.  But if you should

ever meet him, just say that Nimby sent you, and he won’t eat you.”

 

“Oh-you mean dragons don’t eat the friends of dragons?”

 

“Something like that.  The winged monsters, especially, are very

honorable.  They protect their own, and the friends of their own.  But

don’t abuse the privilege.  They have to make their living, you know.”

 

By eating most folk they encountered.  “I won’t abuse it,” Forrest

promised.  So was this more fantasy on her part, or was it valid?  He

hoped he never had occasion to find out.

 

They reached the far wall of the chasm, which wasn’t far off, because

the gulf was narrower at the base than at the top.  Forrest knew that if

he cared to ponder hard on that, he might conclude that this meant that

the walls weren’t quite vertical.  But that intensity of thought wasn’t

worth the effort, so he didn’t reach that conclusion.

 

The trip up was like the trip down, only now “forward” was toward the

distant sky.  The dragon seemed to have no trouble walking on the wall,

and Forrest did not feel any great pull of gravity holding him back.

Just the supple form of Chlorine’s body as he kept his handslinked.

 

“You must be hungry,” she said after a bit.  “Have a dough nut. They’re

very filling.” She made a quarter turn, and put a big spongy nut to his

mouth so he could take it without letting go of her.

 

He opened his mouth and took it.  It tasted very good, rather like fresh

pie crust, and was surprisingly filling.  “Thank you.”

 

“You are welcome.”

 

Forrest looked ahead and saw a dark cloud approaching.  “That looks like

Fracto, the worst of clouds,” he said.  “I hope he doesn’t decide to wet

on us.”

 

“He wouldn’t dare,” Chlorine said.

 

However, the cloud came floating toward them, growing bigger and uglier

by the moment.  Until Chlorine tapped Nimby on a scale.  “Mischief at

two o’clock,” she murmured.

 

The dragon lifted his head and glanced at the cloud.  The cloud

blanched, and then changed course, scudding swiftly away.

 

Forrest blinked.  Surely he hadn’t seen that.  How could one glance from

a comically stupid looking dragon dissuade as mean a cloud as Fracto? It

must be an illusion.  Maybe the woman’s craziness was spreading to him.

 

They reached the top and bent around it.  Things were on the level

again.

 

The dragon stopped.  “This is as far as we’ll take you,” Chlorine said.

“There is a magic path right ahead.  Follow that, and it will lead you

safely to the Good Magician’s castle.”

 

“Thank you,” Forrest said, sliding down to the ground.

 

“And don’t be concerned about the Year’s Service,” she told him.

 

“Humfrey won’t require it of you.  So you will be back with your tree in

time.”

 

“I will?” he asked, astonished.

 

“Yes.  And I think happier than you have ever been.” She shrugged.  “But

of course I don’t know the future, so I could be wrong.”

 

She seemed so reasonable in her madness!  “Thank you,” he repeated.

“Thank you for everything.”

 

She smiled, lighting up the local scenery again, and waved as Nimby

started off into the jungle.  He didn’t seem to need a path. Forrest

turned and followed the magic path.

 

In a moment he thought of something else, and turned back.  A moment

wasn’t long, so he had plenty of time to catch them and ask his

question.  But when he returned to the brink of the Gap Chasm, there was

no sign of damsel or dragon.  He followed Nimby’s tracks to the jungle’s

edge-and there they stopped.  It was as if the creature had simply

vanished without walking farther.  Could he have flown?

 

No, there was nothing in the sky.  They were simply gone.

 

That was one curious pair of creatures!  How could he query a vanishing

donkey-headed dragon?  Oh, well, he had forgotten his question anyway.

 

“Yes, they are really gone,” D.  Sire said, fading in.

 

“What happened to you?”

 

“I had a sudden urge to busy myself elsewhere.  It didn’t fade until you

got free of Miss Poison.  So I never got to see whether any bumps in the

terrain caused your hands to bump up to her bumps.”

 

Yet another evidence of the odd woman’s power.  She had banished a

demoness!  “Well, I no longer need your guidance, so you can continue

your business elsewhere.”

 

She shook her finger at him, and the shaking progressed down her arm and

through her body.  “Nuh-uh, faun.  I have half a favor to complete.”

 

“You have done so.  I am now on a magic path leading straight to the

Good Magician’s castle.”

 

She nodded, and the nodding spread down too.  “So you are.  But there is

a further complication.”

 

“I don’t want to hear it.”

 

“Good.  The Good Magician always has three preposterous Challenges

preventing a querent from entering his castle.”

 

“Preventing a what?”

 

“A querent.  A person who comes to make a query.  That’s you.”

 

“So how do I handle those Challenges?”

 

“Sorry, that information is beyond my obligation.”

 

He looked at her, annoyed.  Then he realized that that was what she

wanted.  “Thank you.  I appreciate the information.  Now I am better

prepared to handle the Challenges.”

 

“Curses,” she muttered.  “Foiled again.” She faded out.

 

He ran along the path, making excellent time.  By some process he did

not understand, it seemed to be earlier in the day than it had been when

he first reached the Gap Chasm, so that he wouldn’t need to spend a

night halfway there.  He wasn’t hungry; the dough nut seemed to have fed

him for a long time.

 

Indeed, in the afternoon he reached the Good Magician’s castle. This was

an appealing edifice, for those who- night like that type, with red

brick walls, green tiled roofs, and a bright blue moat.  In the moat was

a peculiar monster.  It had the top of a man, and the body of a winged

serpent, and it was huge.

 

There was a drawbridge, and the bridge was in the lowered position,

crossing the moat.  Somewhat hesitantly, Forrest approached the bridge.

 

” You’ll be sorry,” D.  Sire murmured behind him.

 

“Then go away before you enjoy it too much,” he said shortly,

lengthening his stride.

 

Immediately the moat monster swam toward the bridge.  “Come into my

grasp, faun face,” he said.  “I haven’t eaten in days.”

 

Forrest stopped.  The human portion looked fully strong enough to grab

him and dispatch him, and the serpent portion looked capable of

digesting him.  There was no way he could avoid those arms.  on the

narrow bridge.  So this must be a Challenge.

 

He looked around, but the moat seemed to circle the entire castle. He

couldn’t try to swim, because the monster would catch him that much

easier.  How was he going to get past?

 

A nonchalant man of indifferent persuasion came walking around the moat.

“Do I perceive a problem?” he inquired.

 

“I am trying to cross the moat without getting grabbed and gobbled by

the monster.”

 

“Now that is a very interesting statement.  Why do you wish to do that?”

 

“Because I need to talk to the Good Magician.”

 

“Indubitably.  Why do you wish to talk with him?”

 

“I need an Answer to a Problem.”

 

 The man nodded.  “Has it occurred to you that you may be misdirecting

your energies?  You can’t change the circumstance, but you can change

yourself.  Maybe you can solve your problem yourself, just by developing

a better attitude.”

 

Forrest glanced at him.  “Who are you?”

 

“I am the castle psychologist.  It is my business to talk to querents

and try to enable them to solve their problems the old fashioned way: by

themselves.”

 

“If I could solve it myself, I wouldn’t be coming here,” Forrest said

shortly.

 

Now are you sure of that?  Perhaps all you need is an adjustment of

attitude.”

 

Forrest’s mood had not been great when he arrived at the castle, and it

was deteriorating.  “I think all I need is a way across that moat.”

 

“Why do you feel that way?”

 

Forrest’s ire was approaching the blow-off point.  “If you’re not going

to help, I wish you’d go away so I can concentrate.”

 

“I think we need to get at the root of your hostility.  Did you have bad

parenting as a child?”

 

“I never had parents!” Forrest snapped.  “I’m a faun.  We all get

delivered to the Faun & Nymph Retreat, where we stay until we go.”

 

‘.”Do you want to talk about it?”

 

I ‘No!” I The psychologist shook his head.  “I’m afraid we have a

difficult case here.  This may require many fifty minute sessions.  Why

don’t you make yourself comfortable, and we shall proceed.”

 

A bulb flashed over Forrest’s head.  “You’re part of the problem!” he

said.  “You’re another Challenge!”

 

“By no means.  I am a Solution.  But you have to be amenable to It.  Now

I can help you, but you have to really want to change.”

 

“I don’t want to change!  I want to get across that moat!”

 

“This hostility is doing you no good.  I won’t be able to help you if

you don’t develop a better attitude.”

 

Forrest considered.  If what the man said was correct, he was a Solution

rather than a problem.  But how could he help, when he just kept trying

to distract Forrest, or to make him give up his quest?

 

Forrest forced a moderate expression to his face.  “Exactly how do you

help people?”

 

“I encourage them to talk about their feelings, in this manner explating

them.  In the colloquial sense, I am called a shrink: one who shrinks

the head, making it intelligible and less burdensome.”

 

A shrink!  Suddenly Forrest saw a possible way.  “You know, I have

problems.  But as you say, they are complicated and will take a long

time to shrink.  On the other hand,.  I suspect that the problems of

that” moat monster are simpler, and can be shrunk in much less time. Why

don’t you help him first, so that there won’t be a backlog’?”

 

“Why that is an appealing idea,” the psychologist agreed.  He turned to

the mer-dragon.  “say there-let’s talk.”

 

“What for’?” the monster asked.

 

“I can see that you are troubled.  I wish to alleviate your concerns and

enable you to feel good about yourself.”

 

“Of course I’m troubled,” the monster said.  “I’m a monster!  Have you

any idea how dull it gets being confined to a circular moat?”

 

“Yes, I can appreciate that.  But you can’t change the moat, you can

only change yourself.  Perhaps if you developed a better attitude about

it, you would feel less troubled.”

 

“I would?” The monster was interested.

 

Forrest sat back and watched while the two talked.  And as they did, the

monster gradually shrank in size.  The shrink was doing his job.

 

, ,You cunning knave,” Sire murmured behind him.  “You figured it out.”

 

“Well, I didn’t want to get shrunk myself,” he agreed, satisfied. “So I

thought I’d get the monster shrunk instead.”

 

When the monster was too small to reach the bridge, Forrest walked

across to the castle.  He was feeling halfway satisfied.

 

When he arrived at the inner shore, he discovered a set of metal tracks.

Beyond them was a blank wall.  The tracks and wall continued to either

side, with no room around them; they marked the only level ground

outside the castle.

 

So he picked a direction at random, and started walking between the

tracks.  Something swirled before him.  “I wouldn’t do that, if I were

you,” it said.  “Fortunately I’m not you.”

 

“Are you still here, D.  Sire?” he inquired irritably.

 

“I have not yet quite fulfilled my half favor,” she said, taking

luscious shape.

 

He had to stop walking, lest he collide with her form and get pressed in

three places again.  “Why wouldn’t you walk here, if you had the awful

misfortune to be me?”

 

“Because the locomotive is coming, and there’s no way to avoid it.”

 

“Locomotive?” This was a new word to him.  “What is that’?”

 

“A great huge enormous giant crazy machine that thunders along these

tracks, squashing anything in its path.”

 

“Oh-like a big dragon?”

 

“No.  More like a train of thought.”

 

He looked at her.  “You can be pretty irritating.”

 

“It’s the flip side of my nature.  Those who are most capable of driving

a man wild with longing, also are capable of annoying him beyond

endurance.  I suppose I could demonstrate.” Her clothing began to fuzz.

 

Forrest closed his eyes to avoid being freaked out by the sight of her

underclothing.  He knew she had no intention of playing nymph & faun

with him; she just wanted to drive him mad with desire.  That was how

demonesses entertained themselves: tormenting ordinary folk.  “So what

would you do, in my place?”

 

“I would get quickly back to the landing area.  Very quickly.”

 

Forrest heard an ominous rumbling.  The tracks were shaking, and giving

out sounds of incipient power.  He turned, opened his eyes, and saw a

bright light in the center of a black blob coming toward him. He ran

back toward the bridge as fast as he could.

 

The blob expanded into a frighteningly large black onrushing machine.

Jets of white steam sprouted from it, and big puffs of roiling smoke

poured from a chimney at its top.  A piercing whistle came from it.

 

For-rest dived for the bridge.  He rolled and got his hoofs out of the

way just as the monster engine thundered across, as Sire had predicted.

He would have been squished flat, if she had not warned him.

 

“Thank you, demoness,” he said.  “You saved me from an uncomfortable

experience.”

 

She appeared above him, her skirt threatening to show too much of her

legs.  “Well, it would have been a waste, to have you squished into

oblivion when I was only one and a half challenges away from completing

my half favor.”

 

“To be sure,” he agreed.  He forced his eyes away from her knees, or

wherever, and climbed back to his feet.  “Now what would you do, if you

were in my place?”

 

“I would board that train before it gets moving again.”

 

He realized that once it had missed him, the locomotive had puffed to a

stop not far along the tracks.  Behind it were hitched several cars, and

the door to one was open right before him.  It had many windows, in a

row somewhat above the level of his head.

 

So he put a hand on a rail and stepped up the steps, into the end of the

long car.

 

The whistle blew again, and the crazy engine puffed and resumed motion,

struggling to haul the cars along behind it.  The steps folded up behind

Forrest, sealing him in.  He was on his way somewhere.

 

“Of course I am not in your place,” Sire murmured invisibly in his ear.

“Mentia might be able to handle this situation, but I doubt I could.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

But she had faded out.  He was on his own again.

 

There was only one way to go: on into the main portion of the coach.  It

was lined with plush seats, all of which were filled with unmoving human

figures.  They looked like statues, for their eyes never blinked.  That

made him nervous.

 

He walked along the center aisle until he found one seat that was empty.

The coach was shaking and its floor was heaving as it got up speed, so

it was hard for him to keep his feet.  So he sat in that one free seat.

 

He heard a sound beside him.  It was a young human woman, sobbing into a

hankie.

 

Forrest had no good notion how to deal with human women, as he had not

encountered many.  His sandalwood tree was in a part of the forest where

humans seldom wandered.  But it bothered him to be so close to someone

this unhappy.  Since there was no other place to sit, he decided that he

would have to try to deal with whatever was bothering the woman.

 

“Hello,” he said.  “I am Forrest Faun.  Is there something I can do for

you?”

 

She turned her head and looked at him with her tear-rimmed reddened

eyes.  “Eeeeek!” she screamed.

 

This set him back slightly.  “Eeeeek?”

 

“A satyr!  As if I didn’t have trouble enough already.”

 

Oh.  I’m not a satyr,” Forrest said firmly.  “I am a faun.  We are a

related but less aggressive species.  We chase after only willing

nymphs.”

 

Her eyes began to clear, and her sniffles to snuffle out.  “You don’t

pursue innocent maidens?”

 

“Definitely not.”

 

“Well, all right then.  I am Dot Human, and my talent is making spots on

the wall.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

I ‘Sorry?”

 

“That you don’t have a decent magic talent.  Of course I don’t have a

talent at all, being only part human.” He didn’t count his natural faun

traits as a talent.

 

“I have a decent talent.”

 

“But you said-“

 

“I’ll show you.” She focused on the back of the seat before her.

 

A picture formed on it.

 

Forrest stared.  “But that’s not a spot!  It’s a picture.”

 

“It’s lots of little spots.  Dots.  All different colors and

intensities. So, taken together, they make up the picture.”

 

He looked closely, and saw that it was true.  The picture was composed

of a multitude of tiny dots, so closely set that the moment he blinked

they fuzzed back into the picture.  “But that’s a good talent. I thought

you meant spot-on-the-wall as a euphemism for having a worthless

talent.”

 

“No, it’s a good talent.  But it’s not doing me any good.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I’m stuck here behind the locomotive, going crazy.”

 

“Crazy?”

 

“That’s what it does to you.  Didn’t you see all those other folk on

this coach?”

 

“They look like dummies.”

 

“That’s because they have gone completely loco.  There’s no hope for

them; they’ve crashed.  But I’m not completely loco yet, so there’s hope

for me.  That’s why I’m crying.” Her eyes began to brim again.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“By the time you understand, it’s probably too late.  The ei’fect builds

gradually.  Each lap the locomotive makes around the castle makes it

worse.  You’re still fresh; you’re hardly crazy at all.  And I guess

being close to you makes me less crazy, for a while, until we both are

overwhelmed.”

 

Forrest was starting to catch on.  “The longer we stay here, the crazier

we become?  Because of the locomotive?”

 

“Yes.  I was pretty far gone, until you came in.  But it won’t last.”

 

“Then we must get off the train before it gets us.”

 

“We can’t get off.  Why do you think I was crying?”

 

“I wasn’t sure.  But I hoped to help.  Why can’t we get off?”

 

“Because it won’t stop.  The windows won’t open, the doors won’t open,

and even if they did, look how fast it’s going.”

 

He looked out the window, and saw the wall rushing by at blinding

velocity.  He looked across the aisle to the far windows, and saw the

moat passing just as swiftly.  “But it stopped for me.”

 

“It stops to let folk on, not to let them off.”

 

“Why didn’t you get off when it stopped for me?”

 

“I couldn’t.  The seat belt held me.”

 

“What seat belt?” Forrest saw nothing of that kind.

 

“The automatic seat belt.  It clasps you only when the train is

stopping.”

 

“So if someone else wants to get on, I’ll be belted too?”

 

“Yes.  It belts everyone, so no one will get hurt.”

 

“But that’s crazy!”

 

“Precisely.”

 

“Well, we’ll have to get out of our seats while it’s moving, then stop

it.”

 

“I tried that.  The coach is locked up.  No way out of it.  The

locomotive won’t stop unless everyone is secured.”

 

A bulb lighted.  “The Challenge!  It’s to make the train stop.”

 

“I guess so,” Dot agreed.  “But I have no idea how.”

 

“And if I don’t figure it out pretty quick, I’ll go crazy, and become

another crash dummy.”

 

“That’s true.”

 

Forrest pondered.  He was starting to feel a bit unbalanced already, and

he could only have been around the berid once or twice.  But there had

to be a way to get oft the train.  He just had to figure it out. Soon.

 

He saw no way, offhand.  The limited scenery zoomed by unabated. Even if

he could manage to open a window or door, it wouldn’t be safe to jump

out.  He had to get the train to actually stop, without fastening him

down with a seat belt.  That seemed impossible.

 

But there did have to be a way.  That was in the big book of rules, or

whatever.  He hoped.  So what was he overlooking?

 

There hadn’t seemed to be much way to cross the moat, either.  But he

had managed to use the psychologist to change things, so that it became

possible.  Too bad there wasn’t another psychologist, to shrink the

locomotive, until it couldn’t pull them along so fast.

 

Then another bulb started to light, but he managed to suppress it before

the woman saw it.  There was another person, and she was it. She must be

the key to escape.  She wasn’t a fellow trap-ee, she was part of the

Challenge.

 

But her talent was merely spots on a wall.  Very good spots, but how

could spots stop a train?  Unless “Dot, can you make a picture outside

the train?”

 

“Well, if there’s a surface close enough.”

 

“Can you make a picture of a door through that wall?”

 

“I suppose.  But the wall is moving.  It would carry away my dots.”

 

“No, we’re moving.  The wall is still.”

 

“Oh.  I suppose that’s right.” She focused on the wall, and in a moment

a picture formed.  It was a door.  It seemed to be right opposite their

window, unmoving.

 

“Very good,” Forrest said.  “Now can you make that door open?”

 

The door slowly opened, revealing a nice garden beyond.

 

“Now can you make a similar door in our window, and open it?”

 

The dots quickly formed a door, and it opened.

 

“Now all we have to do is go through those two doors, and we’ll be

there,” he said with satisfaction.

 

“It won’t work,” Dot said sadly.

 

But he tried it anyway.  He reached across her and put one hand through

the nearer open door.  And banged his knuckle.  “ooooh!”

 

He brought his hand back.

 

“The window’s still there,” Dot explained.  “So is the brick wall. So is

the motion.  All I do is pictures, not changes.  It just looks

different.” The pictures faded out.

 

Forrest sighed.  The doors were illusion; the window and wall were

reality.  He should have known.  It had been a rather crazy idea.

 

Crazy.  That figured.

 

He sat back and pondered some more.  He didn’t want any more

 

‘deas, he wanted something that worked.  What could he come crazy I   I

up with, before his mind lost its common sense?

 

He still thought it related to Dot, and her talent.  How could her

talent stop the train?  Not with illusion, but reality?

 

What he really needed was information.  Like a manual of instructions,

to know how to stop the train.  But of course that was another crazy

notion, because mere pictures couldn’t provide that.

 

Or could they?  Maybe it was worth a try.

 

“Dot, just how detailed can your pictures be?”

 

“Infinitely detailed,” she said proudly.  “I can make dots so small they

can’t even be seen individually.”

 

“Then let’s make a special picture.  Of a manual.  On the cover it says

I,OCOMOTIVE OPERATING INSTRUCTIONS.  Can you do that?”

 

“Sure.  But that doesn’t require much detail.” The picture appeared in

the window, a book with the required words.

 

“Very good.  Now can you open it?”

 

The cover turned, in much the manner of another door opening, revealing

the title page inside.

 

“Show the contents page.”

 

Another page turned, and CONTENTS showed.

 

Forrest leaned across to read it.  Near the bottom of the page was a

listing for Chapter 10: STOPPING.  “Turn to page fifty,” he said,

reading the indicated page number.

 

The pages flipped across, stopping at 50.  But the print was too small

to read.  “Can you make the page larger?”

 

The image expanded, until it filled the whole window, and the print was

legible.  Forrest read it avidly: TO STOP LOCOMOTIVE IN ITS TRACKS, PULL

THE CORD ABOVE THE SEAT.

 

He looked up.  There was the cord, that he hadn’t noticed before. He

reached up and pulled it.

 

There was a squeal as the train hurtled to a stop.  Seat belts jumped

out to clasp the two of them, as well as all the dummies in the rest of

the coach.  oops-he had forgotten that detail.

 

“You did it!” Dot cried.  “You stopped the train!”

 

“Can you show the contents page again?”

 

The pages turned back.  He found the chapter for SEAT BELTS, and turned

to that page: TO RELEASE SEAT BELT, PUSH BUTTON THEREON.

 

Sure enough, there was a button.  He pushed it, and the belt unclasped

him and disappeared on either side.  Dot did the same.  “You figured it

out,” she said, pleased.

 

“Let’s get off this crazy train before it starts again,” he said,

standing.

 

But she shook her head.  “Thanks, no.  This is your Challenge, not mine.

My job is on this train of thought.”

 

He had suspected as much.  “Thanks for your help, anyway.”

 

“It was a pleasure.  You’re a nice person.”

 

He walked along the aisle to the end of the coach, where the door had

folded down into steps.  He stepped down and off.  As soon as he did,

the steps folded up again, sealing the train, and it started moving

again.

 

“Well, I guess you got through that one,” D.  Sire said, fading into

view.

 

“You can go any time, demoness.”

 

He waited while the train rolled out of the way.  Beyond the tracks was

an open door in the wall just like the one Dot had pictured.  He crossed

the tracks and put out a cautious hand, just in case the doorway wasn’t

real.  His hand didn’t bang.  He stepped through.  He had won the second

Challenge.

 

Suddenly he was horribly frightened.  He reeled, staggering back through

the door.  His fear abated.