Harpy Thyme (32 page)

“Yes I do. You are a nice person who never did anyone any harm, and you deserve assistance. I'll carry those up.”

Gloha was taken aback. Then she remembered the soul. The demoness had become a caring person. “Thank you, Metria.”

“It's weird, having to be concerned how others feel,” Metria remarked as she carried the pillows. “But this business of love-I'm so afraid I'll do something wrong, or that he'll do something wrong, though I know these concerns are foolish. Sometimes I'm happy and sometimes I'm terrified. I'm just so mixed up. I wish-”

After a moment Gloha realized that the demoness wanted to be asked. This was definitely not the old Metria. “What do you wish?”

“I wish I had a-someone to-to listen-to understand-to advise-I don't know what. This is all so new.”

“You wish you had a friend,” Gloha said in a burst of realization that brightened the passage.

“That must be it. But there isn't-demons don't have friends.”

“Maybe they do if they want them,” Gloha said.

“Who would ever want to be friends with a demon?” Metria asked plaintively.

Gloha saw that the demoness' problem was her problem too. She had gotten Metria into this, and it had saved Gloha from a horrible fate. Maybe the demoness had done it for her own selfish reason, without knowing the full consequence, but Gloha owed her a considerable favor. “I would, maybe,” she said.

Metria paused on an upper landing. “Would what?” she asked cautiously.

“I would be your friend.”

The demoness froze. “Oh, I couldn't ask,” she said. “I-oh, thank you. I feel so much better now.” She was smiling, but tears were flowing from her eyes.

“I haven't experienced love myself, exactly,” Gloha said, touched. “But I think your feelings are normal.”

“I hope they get untangled soon.”

They reached the high chamber. Marrow and Graeboe were there, talking, but they stopped as the others arrived.

Metria set down the pillows. “I have to get back,” she said. “But-”

“Pop in, anytime,” Gloha said.

The demoness nodded, and faded out.

“I will depart now,” Marrow said, and did so.

Gloha arranged the pillows to make Graeboe comfortable. He seemed thoughtful as well as weak, but she decided not to ask what he and Marrow had been talking about. In a moment he was asleep, and in another, so was she.

Something was strange. The floor seemed to be sagging. That was impossible, of course, but Gloha couldn't just dismiss it. She sat up, looking around.

Dawn was brightening. Beyond the barred window a pink cloud was losing its color. The window looked slightly skew. She got up, knowing that it was merely an effect of the magic of perspective, but unable to restrain her curiosity. She touched a bar-and it felt not quite hard. Not soft, certainly, but not metallic. More like wood.

She looked up-and saw a dip in the ceiling. Imagination? She spread her wings and flew up to touch it. And it was slightly soft. And it gave a bit where her finger poked it. It was sagging!

Something was definitely amiss. She dropped to the floor. “Graeboe-I think we'd better get out of here.”

He woke. “I think not.”

“Not?”

“I don't think I can get up. I think my time is coming.”

Something seemed to tear inside her. “No, Graeboe!” she cried. “Not yet. You haven't found your-your answer.”

“I found enough. You must pry open the bars and fly out.”

“Pry open the-! I can't do that!”

"The castle is dissolving. It means that Veleno has found someone who remembers her wedding the following morning. The enchantment is dissipating. You must escape before you are caught in the collapse.

Gloha realized that he had correctly understood the situation. That explained the sagging of the castle. The bars would no longer be strong enough to hold her, and that was the fastest exit. She went to them and wedged them apart as if they were strands of rubber. Looking out the window and down, she saw the entire castle leaning lopsidedly as its foundations lost their solidity.

She hurried back to Graeboe. “I'll take you too,” she said. “Gloha, it isn't worth your effort. I will be gone before the morning is done anyway. This is as good a way as any. But if you would-” He paused, somewhat as Metria had. “What do you wish?” she asked, her heart hurting. “If you would kiss me before you go-”

“I'm not going!” she cried. “Not without you.” She got down, about to pick him up. But as she did so, she realized that the flight down, carrying him, would be perilous; she wasn't that strong a flyer. So she didn't gamble. She put her face down and kissed him on his little mouth.

Something went through her, like a gentle shock. Then the floor tilted, and she had to act. She hauled Graeboe up in her arms, scrambled to the window, and jammed through. It was slanting crazily, and the bars stretched readily. She lunged out, fell, spread her wings, and flew as hard as she could.

But it wasn't enough. Graeboe's weight bore her down, and she was falling too fast to land safely. She struggled to fly harder, but was able only to slow her descent. They were going to crash.

“Drop me!” Graeboe cried.

“No!” she cried back, hanging on to him more tightly. The ground rushed up. Gloha closed her eyes. She struck something soft and springy. She bounced. She opened her eyes. She had landed on a big resilient cushion. It had enabled her to light harmlessly. But how had it come there?

The cushion opened a mouth as Gloha landed the second time. “Don't look so surprised,” it said. “What are friends for, anyway?”

“Metria!” she cried gladly.

The cushion faded, leaving them on the ground. “Must see about Magician Trent,” the lingering words came.

“Why did she save us?” Graeboe asked as she set him down on a nearby hummock.

“We're friends. We agreed to be, on the way up to the room last night. She needs a friend.” Gloha looked up at the melting castle. “And it seems I needed one too.”

“Ah. Because she is new to conscience and love. It must be difficult for her.”

“It is. She has to sort it out all at once. But she must be succeeding, because the enchantment is ending. I'll help her all I can. After all, she saved me from something I very much didn't want.” She glanced at the ground. “Twice.”

“Which perhaps leads into my second question. Why didn't you drop me and save yourself, when it was apparent that you couldn't save us both?”

“I just couldn't!”

He did not pursue the matter. They watched the castle fold in on itself as its substance lost cohesion. Meanwhile the front door opened and nymphs ran out across the drawbridge, their hair streaming behind them. They had been freed, and were going home, where they would surely be welcomed. But where were Trent and Marrow?

Then those two emerged as well. They were the ones who had gotten the nymphs out.

“What about Veleno?” Gloha asked.

Metria appeared. “Are you kidding? I got him Out first, of course. He's waiting over there.”

They looked where she gestured. Veleno was lying on the ground, which accounted for why Gloha had overlooked him before. He had a dreamy smile on his face.

Gloha walked across to him. “Are you all right?”

“Never better,” he replied. “I had to ask her to let me be for a while; there's only so much delirious happiness a man can stand all at once, when he's not used to it.”

“I guess you did meet the demons' requirement,” Gloha said. “You found a woman to love you.”

“Metria's no mere woman. She's something else.” He closed his eyes, and the dreamy smile returned. Evidently he was satisfied.

The castle continued to settle, as if on a very hot surface. Smoke rose from it, fuzzing into the sky. It collapsed into a mound, and the mound shrank into a pile, and the pile bubbled into a molehill. Finally the last of it steamed away, leaving only a bare island in a dirty pool.

“Well, that's it, dear,” Metria said to Veleno. “I was going to bug out after this point, but somehow I no longer want to. Let's go home to your village.”

“Weren't you helping these folk to fulfill their own quests?” he asked.

“In my fashion. But now they're free, so they can go on about their business.”

“That's true,” Gloha said. “Metria has done her part, and helped us a great deal. We can handle things on our own now.”

“All right,” Veleno said. “We might as well go.”

But now Metria demurred. “Maybe I should see them through to the completion of their quests. We can wait, after all; that village doesn't even know we're coming.”

“Or care,” Veleno agreed. “Maybe we should go somewhere else. I really don't care, as long as you're there.”

“You must be ready for some more delirious delight,” the demoness said, advancing on him.

“Well-”

“Perhaps we should find some food, and resume our journey,” Trent said briskly.

“But Graeboe can't travel,” Gloha said.

“We can surely help,” Metria said.

“But why should you take the trouble?” Gloha asked her.

Metria approached her. “Please,” she said quietly. “I have a husband, but I'm new at all this, and I have only one friend. I'm not ready to face it all alone.”

“Oh,” Gloha agreed quickly. “Of course.”

“We may have another concern,” Marrow said, his skull facing the sky.

There were large creatures flying rapidly toward them.

Gloha recognized them. “The flying centaurs!” she cried happily. In a moment four centaurs landed. Two were adult, and two were juvenile. Gloha flew up to make introductions. “Hello, Cheiron and Chex and Che and Cynthia,” she said. “And Gwenny Goblin-why did you come here?”

“Metria said you needed help,” the goblin girl chief said, jumping down from Cheiron's back to give Gloha a hug. “So we arranged for a contingent of goblins to come here to rescue you. Naturally I had to come myself to make sure they behave.”

“And naturally I had to come with her, as her Companion,” Che said.

“And naturally we wouldn't let them go into an unknown and possibly dangerous situation alone,” Chex said.

“But the situation has been resolved,” Gloha said. “Metria married my captor, and got half a soul, and the castle dissolved down to nothing. So we don't need rescue any more.”

“That's too bad,” Gwenny said.

“Too bad?” Gloha asked, surprised.

“Because the goblin forces will be arriving at any moment, and they'll be in a fighting mood.”

“Oh.” Gloha appreciated the problem. Goblin girls were always lovely, sweet, and nice, but goblin men were not like that. If there wasn't some enemy for them to fight, they were all too apt to find something else to fight, such as their friends.

“I wonder how the harpies will react,” Metria remarked.

“They're coming too?” Gloha asked, alarmed.

“I tried to notify interested parties,” the demoness said.

“It's a good thing the giants didn't hear of this,” Graeboe said with a weak laugh.

“Of course they heard,” Metria said. “You were in trouble too, weren't you? They said they'd gather a big force and tramp right over here.”

Gloha was aghast. “Who else did you tell?”

“Nobody except the skeletons of the gourd.”

Gloha was relieved. “At least they can't come out here. They're locked in the dream realm.”

“Not if Trojan deems the matter important enough to give them a pass to the waking realm,” Marrow said.

Trojan was the horse of a different color, who ruled the dream realm. He was a no-nonsense creature. “No danger of that,” Gloha said, relieved.

There was the sound of marching. It grew louder. Not only that; it seemed to be coming from several directions. What was going on?

Gloha and the winged centaurs flew up to investigate from a suitable height. “Oh, no!” Gloha breathed.

For there were four groups converging. From the north came a rabble of goblins armed with clubs, spears, and stones. From the south came a screech of harpies armed with dungballs and explosive eggs. From the east came a crunch of giants; they were invisible, but their footprints could be seen advancing by giant steps. From the west came “a skeleton stiff!” Metria said, smoking into view at the same altitude.

“A skeleton what?” Gloha asked.

“Remains, cadaver, stink, decompose, body-”

“Corpse?”

“Whatev-no, that's not quite it. Band, force, squad, unit, team, crew, troop-”

“Corps?”

“-ver,” the demoness agreed crossly.

“And they're all going to meet by the dirty pond,” Cynthia said. She was flying beside Che Centaur, and they did make a nice couple, though both were still children. Gloha was glad to see that aspect of her adventure working out well.

“We'll just have to explain,” Gloha said.

“That will not be easy,” Chex said. “The goblins will obey Gwenny, grudgingly, but the others won't. They will want to have a big battle.”

“And they are more or less natural enemies,” Gloha said. “It was difficult to stop the goblins and harpies from going to war when my parents got together. I almost wish our captivity had lasted a little longer.”

“Maybe Trent will know how to handle it,” Cynthia said. “He was king for a while, wasn't he?”

“Yes,” Gloha agreed. “He must have faced difficult situations before.”

They flew down to rejoin the ground party. “There are goblins, harpies, giants, and skeletons converging,” Gloha reported to Trent. “We need to stop them from quarreling.” The Magician nodded. “A distraction would be good. Perhaps some temporary quest to take their attention.”

“Yes! But what?”

He glanced over to Graeboe. “I fear you are about to expire. What is your last wish?”

A horrible chill shuddered through Gloha. “Expire? Now?”

“I would like to be taken to some isolated region and transformed to my natural form,” Graeboe said. “And I would like Marrow Bones to have my soul.”

“Oh, I would not take your soul!” the skeleton protested.

“I would not care to have it be wasted, when it expected a longer life,” Graeboe said. “I can not think of a worthier creature to have it.”

“But you can't die!” Gloha cried. “You were supposed to be saved!”

“That appears to have been a vain hope,” Graeboe said sadly. “I want Marrow to have my soul.”

“Perhaps half of it,” Trent said.

The sound of tramping was loud. At any moment the converging forces would appear. “I do not wish to intrude on a sensitive moment,” Marrow said, “but I think that dealing with the assorted contingents should have priority.”

“This is my notion,” Trent said. Then, inexplicably, he addressed Graeboe again. “Did the Good Magician say anything else, except that help would come if you waited in this vicinity?”

“No, not that I recall,” Graeboe said. “Just that I might be transported.”

“Transported?” Gloha asked.

“Shipped, hauled, delivered, moved, carried, conveyed-” Metria said helpfully.

“Surely to the place suitable to my expiration,” Graeboe agreed. “I must have misunderstood the message.”

“That's easy to do, with Humfrey's words,” Marrow said. “I may have similarly misunderstood Professor Grossclout's admonition to tarry near the volcano.”

“I am not sure of that, in either case,” Trent said.

“Humfrey's Answers are always relevant, when understood. So are Grossclout's. Your fates may be linked, along with Gloha's.”

Now the giant steps were so close the ground was quaking, and the harpy flight was appearing on the horizon. Why wasn't Trent paying attention?"

“That word,” Trent said. “Could it have been 'transplanted'?”

“Why, yes, I believe it was,” Graeboe agreed, surprised. “I misremembered it. But that must be merely another way to suggest that I would be moved to another locale.”

“And you, Marrow,” Trent said. “Was there anything else, however seemingly irrelevant, that Grossclout told you?”

The skeleton tapped his skull. “Only that it would be a fair trade. Since I have nothing to trade for a soul, that does not seem to relate.”

The goblin army appeared to the north, and the skeleton crew to the west. The timing seemed perfect: all four groups would arrive together.

Trent turned back to Graeboe. “If you were to trade half your soul for something, what would that be?”

“I am not seeking to trade my soul,” Graeboe objected. “I seek only to give it to a worthy person.”

“Speaking hypothetically: what would be worth it?”

Graeboe made a wan smile. “My life, of course. But-”

“What kind of a transplant would give you life?”

“New blood. Since that is not possible-”

“Where does your blood come from?”

Graeboe shook his head. “I don't understand.”

“I do,” Cheiron Centaur said. “The blood comes from the bones, at least in part. He would need a bone transplant.”

The others laughed at the impossibility of that. Except for Trent. “Or perhaps a marrow transplant?”

“Well, yes, of course,” Cheiron agreed. “The center part of the bone. I thought that was understood.”

The skeleton's jawbone dropped. “You mean I could trade some-of my marrow, to give him life? I would gladly do that, regardless of the soul.”

“But Graeboe's a giant,” Gloha said. “Marrow doesn't have enough in his whole body to provide more than one finger's worth.”

“Not when Graeboe is in his present form,” Trent pointed out. The others stared at him. “That's right!” Marrow said.

“He is small at the moment.”

“Oh, Graeboe, you can be saved!” Gloha said. “Once you get better, you can be as you once were, an invisible giant.” Yet somehow her joy in that realization was tempered.

“Thus perhaps we see the nature of the trade,” Trent concluded. “Marrow for half a soul, and both achieve their objects.”

Now the contingents from the four directions arrived. They drew up and flew down to a stop, forming a perfect square bounded by goblins, giants, harpies, and skeletons. The giants were indicated only by their imprints, but those were huge.

“I shall be happy to make that trade,” Marrow said. “And so shall I,” Graeboe agreed, amazed. “There is just one problem,” Trent said. “As I recall, a marrow exchange has to be facilitated by bloodroot and a trans-plant. Does anyone know where such a plant grows?” There were blank looks all around. No one knew. “I think we have a search to make,” Trent said. “Fortunately, we have a competent search party assembled, capable of checking land, air, and underground. In one of those regions there should be a plant.” He looked around. “But we need to locate it before the day is out, because I think Graeboe will not survive until tomorrow.”

“What does the plant look like?” Gloha asked.

“It is fairly small, with vinelike branches,” Cheiron said. “Its leaves are green, and it has coiled projections terminating in spikes.” He took a stick and made a sketch in the dirt. “Approximately this configuration.” Then he drew an enlarged flower. “You can most readily identify it by its distinctive blossom.”

“Let's see which contingent can find such a flower first,” Trent said.

The word went out to the four groups. Immediately they scattered, seeking the trans-plant. The possible strife had been averted.

Cynthia looked thoughtful. “I dimly remember something about such a plant,” she said. “Of course that was when I was a child, seventy years-” She caught herself. “Seven years ago. It may be gone now.”

“Where did you hear it was?” Che inquired.

She turned a surprisingly competent little-girl smile on him. Che of course knew her origin and original age, but seemed to like her very well regardless. That was perhaps not surprising, for not only was she the only other winged centaur child in Xanth, who was most eager to get along well, she had more than a suggestion of her former and later prettiness. “I'd rather not say. Because if I'm wrong it will make me look even duller than I am. I think I'll just go look.”

“Not alone,” Chex said severely. “Not at your age, in this region.”

“Oh,” Cynthia said, momentarily discommoded. “Yes, of course. It's probably not there anyway.”

“I will go with you,” Chex said. “And you don't look dull.” She was of course speaking literally. Cynthia's mind might be dull compared to that of a normal centaur, but her appearance was bright.

“Oh,” Cynthia repeated, more cheerfully. “Yes.” The two of them took off.

Gloha realized that Che wasn't going, because he was staying with Gwenny, whose companion he was. He never separated from her. It was clear that the two were as close as any two could be, but that this was friendship and not romance. It was a significant distinction. Cheiron stayed also, to give Gwenny a ride, because she couldn't fly. Thus Gwenny was directing the goblins from the back of a winged centaur, and no one seemed to find that remarkable.

Soon the only ones remaining by the pond were Gloha, Graeboe, Marrow, Trent, Metria, and Veleno-and the last two disappeared into the forest, theoretically to search, but probably to have privacy for another dose of delirious happiness. Gloha remained amazed how that had worked out, and a bit jealous. The demoness and the nymphomaniac had turned out to be right for each other, while Gloha had found nothing right for her. If only it had been someone like Magician Trent who had captured her in the castle, but younger and single-but her foolish little fancy was going offtrack again.

“Perhaps we should eat and rest now,” Trent said. “Because when that plant is located, we shall likely have some traveling to do.”

“Could it be brought here?” Gloha asked. “It would be better if Graeboe didn't have to travel.”

“The bloodroot, yes. We need only a sprig of that. But I believe that the trans-plant itself can't be transplanted,” he said. “Just as I can't transform myself. Some magic relates to oneself, and some to others. So we shall have to find a way to move Graeboe comfortably. Perhaps I can transform a volunteer into a form suitable for such service.”

“Transform me!” Gloha said immediately.

“Please, no,” Graeboe said. “I would not have you trouble yourself further on my behalf.”

“But I want to help you. I can't stand the thought of you-” She couldn't finish.

“I have been already too much of a burden,” he said. “You have been more than kind to me already.”

“Perhaps we should accomplish the exchange,” Marrow said. “Then there need be no further concern about burdens, for Graeboe will be healthy and able to be transformed to any form he wishes.”

“Exactly,” Gloha said. “He can be an invisible giant again. And I can help that happen by being transformed to a suitable carrying form.”

“I think it will be better to get some other volunteer,” Trent said.

“Why? When I want to help?”

“It's just an opinion,” he said mildly.

Gloha decided not to argue further. She and Marrow went foraging for nuts and fruits and a blanket for Graeboe, because he seemed to be getting cold. Trent transformed a weed into a flame vine that provided heat. They ate a belated breakfast and rested. Gloha discovered that she was tired; the events of the morning had taken mental as well as physical toll. So she settled down on a cushion beside Graeboe and tried to relax. She knew she wouldn't really be able to rest until there was news of the trans-plant.

She woke some time later, somewhat refreshed. It seemed to be near noon. Graeboe was asleep beside her, wrapped in his blanket, still looking cold. Others were talking some distance away.

Metria popped in before her. “Mixed reports,” she said. “The goblins are scouring the ground and underground. The harpies are checking the mountains and treetops. The giants and skeletons are checking far crannies together. They've found plenty of bloodroot. In fact, here's a sprig.” She showed a blood-red root. “But there seems to be no transplant growing anywhere to be found.”