Faun and Games (29 page)

celebration, and I assumed it was because of her joy at her deliverance

from the horrors of capture by the harpies.
 
So it was an even more

delightful experience than usual.
 
She kissed me repe atedly, seeming

unable to get enough, even after the culmination. But at last she

relaxed, and I made ready to return to my tree.

"But then I saw that the harpies had returned and utterly befouled it.

Their stinking manure drenched every branch, and the leaves were

wilting, and the sandals were rotting.
 
My brief distraction had allowed

them free access, and they had taken full advantage of it.
 
I looked

back at the nymph, and saw that she was changing form.
 
She was not a

true nymph; she had been changed by a spell of illusion, and now was

revealing her real nature.
 
She was a harpy herself, one of the filthy

flock.
 
'Hee, heee, heeee!" she screeched as she spread her dirty wings,

which had only seemed like arms, and flapped away.

"I was sick.
 
Not only had I failed to protect my tree from befowlment,

I had celebrated with a noxious harpy hen.
 
They had tricked me doubly,

and made me as squalid as my tree.
 
Of course I went to work cleaning

the tree with buckets of water I hauled from a nearby spring; the job

took days, and it was weeks before the smell faded.
 
But I couldn't

similarly clean myself.
 
And thereafter that harpy hen would flap by and

chortle at me, reminding me of my folly.
 
It took me half a century to

live down that humiliation, and I hoped no one would ever again hear of

it."

Forrest stopped talking.
 
He had done what he had to do, telling his

deepest shame.
 
Because of the compulsion of the cross, which would not

be denied.

"It wasn't your fault," Imbri said.
 
"They tricked you."

"I'll tell everyone!" Contrary exclaimed.
 
"What a great story!"

There was definitely something about this juvenile centaur that Forrest

didn't like.
 
So this time he threw his cross at Contrary's mouth.

It worked.
 
The centaur brat got so tongue twisted that he couldn't

speak at all intelligibly.
 
"I think I'm ready to quit this game,"

Forrest said, getting a reasonably smart notion.
 
"Don't you agree,

Contrary?"

"Fftbbabble#ughh."

"That's what I thought.
 
Then we are agreed: this game is done."

At that point his body untwisted, and the missing crosses returned to

their places in the circle.

"That's not what I said!" Contrary protested.

"Oh?
 
It sounded like it to me.
 
I suppose we'll have to play another

game, then."

"You bet!
 
And this time I'll play to win."

"But not crosses," Forrest said.
 
"I have a better game in mind."

"There is no better game than crosses!"

"Yes there is.
 
Let's have a contest to see who can free more folk in

limbo."

"But there aren't any penalties, so that's no fun.
 
They just run off to

their territories."

"We can make our own penalties.
 
If you lose, you must come with us west

untiL you reach age thirty."

"But I told you, I don't go into the green.
 
I stay here in the yellow."

"That's why it's a good penalty.
 
You really don't want to do it,

because you know that filly might catch you and make you disgustingly

adult and responsible."

"Yeah.
 
A horrible fate."

"And of course you might escape it, if you can run back east fast

enough.
 
You don't have to do anything there, just go and touch the spot

where you are thirty."

"Yeah.
 
Then I can close my eyes and gallop back into the From before

the fatal female shows up." Then he glanced cannily at Forrest.
 
"But

what's your penalty, if you lose?"

Forrest gulped.
 
"A day of playing crosses with you."

"A year!"

"A week."

"A month."

Forrest yielded to horrible necessity.
 
"A month."

"Done!
 
Let's go play." Then he paused again.
 
"But how will we know who

wins?"

"We'll take turns questioning limbo folk.
 
Whoever guesses more talents,

so as to free more folk, wins."

"But what if we miss?"

"If one of us misses, he loses a point.
 
Then the other can question

that same person, and if he succeeds, he wins a point.
 
A two point

advantage wins the contest."

Contrary remained canny, seeking the catch.
 
"How much time to question

each?
 
I mean, someone might not be able to guess, so he would just keep

asking questions indefinitely."

"Good point.
 
We need a timer."

There's some baby hourglasses growing nearby.
 
We can harvest one that

goes for five minutes."

"Agreed.
 
When its sand runs out, time is done."

"Let's go.
 
I'll really enjoy tromping you at Crosses for a month

straight."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Imbri murmured as they went to

harvest a minute glass.
 
"If you get stuck for a month, you'll be too

late returning to your tree."

"I know.
 
But we have to get him into her range.
 
I'll just have to make

sure to win the contest."

They reached the hourglasses, which were actually the fruits of a large

thyme plant.
 
They were in all sizes, from two seconds to several days.

Contrary plucked one of the smallest.
 
"This should do for three

minutes."

"How do you know?"

"See, it's got the number on it." He held up the little timer, and sure

enough, there was a 3 on it.

Then they went to the section of limbo, which wasn't far away. "Who goes

first?" Forrest asked.

The centaur considered, trying to figure out where the advantage was.

The one who went first might win and be ahead-or might lose and be

behind.
 
The confidence of youth won.
 
"I'll go first."

"As you wish."

They entered the fog.
 
"How do we decide which one to start with?"

Contrary asked.

"Each of you choose the subjects for the other," Imbri suggested.

Both centaur and faun were startled by the notion.
 
Then both agreed. It

made a certain sense.

So Forrest got to choose for Contrary.
 
He saw a number of statues; it

seemed that they weren't allowed to speak until spoken to.
 
Maybe that

was what gave them their first suggestion of potential reality. One was

a halfway handsome young man of almost princely mien. Forrest shrugged

and indicated that one.

Contrary approached the figure.
 
"Hi, you.
 
What's your name?" As he

spoke, Imbri set down the minute glass, and its sand began sifting to

the lower section.

The figure came to life.
 
"I am Crescendo."

"Whose son are you?"

"I am the son of Prince Dolph and Princess Electra."

That startled Forrest, because he knew only of the twins, Dawn & Eve.

But he realized that a given set of parents could have additional

children-and in any event, the folk here were merely might-he's, who

might never actually be delivered to Xanth parents.
 
There could be

hundreds of such children; there might be no limit.

"What's your talent?" Contrary asked.

It was a clever try, but it didn't work.
 
"I regret I don't know it.
 
If

I did, I wouldn't be here."

"Is there anything about your ancestry that would suggest your talent?"

" Yes.
 
All the descendants of Bink, my great grandfather, have Magician

caliber talents.
 
So I must be a Magician."

"But that's just a matter of opinion, isn't it?
 
There's no way to be

sure how a given talent will be judged."

"True.
 
But mine should be a good one."

Forrest, watching, began to get a notion.
 
That name, Crescendo, sounded

like growing force, or something musical.
 
When he played his panpipes,

he sometimes crescendoed.
 
Could this person's talent be associated with

music?

"Your name sounds like a word," Contrary remarked.
 
"To what does it

apply?"

"As a word?
 
I wouldn't know."

"Why wouldn't you know?"

"I don't know."

"Is it because it relates to your talent?"

"I can't say."

"If it doesn't relate to your talent, you ought to know.
 
So it must

relate to powerful music."

"Why, I suppose so," the figure said, surprised.
 
Forrest saw that

Crescendo had not been able to think of that himself, but could see it

now that it had been suggested by an outside party.

"Can you play music?"

"I don't know."

Contrary looked at Forrest.
 
"May I borrow your panpipes?"

Forrest hesitated, but realized that it would not be fair to interfere.