Roc And A Hard Place (15 page)

She returned with the coats.  “Put these on; they will keep the wild new water off you,” she told Jenny, Arnolde, and Ichabod.

“Oh, a translucent plastic raincoat,” Ichabod said, pleased.

“Exactly.” Metria didn't find it necessary to clarify the precise nature of the coats.

It was just as well they had the rain coats, because, now the giant was striding over Lake Tsoda Popka, and the storm was sucking up water from all the different-flavored little lakelets, so that it was raining popka.  Jenny put out her cupped hands and caught some of it, so that she could drink.

“Oooo, it's extra fizzy!” she said.  “It must have been freshly stirred up.”

Ichabod did the same, but as he drank, he jumped.  “Who kicked me?” he demanded.

Arnolde laughed.  “You happened to catch some boot rear.”

They passed over the With-a-Cookee River.  Now assorted cookies pelted them.  Jenny caught a pecan sandy and threw it away, because she cared to eat neither sand nor the other stuff.  But soon she caught a spiraled punwheel and ate that.

Arnolde caught some chocolate chip cookie crumbs, and Ichabod a piece of gingerbread.  Unfortunately all the fragments were somewhat soggy from the rain.

Fracto stormed on, but could not blow away the giant, who simply forged obliviously on, though his head was in the clouds.  They passed a glittering river formed of tumbling crystals, and a huge mattress whose projecting springs were silver.  “What's that?” Jenny asked.

“Crystal River and Silver Springs, of course,” Arnolde replied.  He was good with geography, as all centaurs were.

“Of course,” Jenny echoed.  “How silly of me not to recognize them.  There's just so much of Xanth I haven't yet seen.  New things keep surprising me.”

Eventually they reached the isthmus.  Jethro gently set them down by a tree covered with mouths.  “This is as far as I can go,” he said.  “My head is starting to poke up out of the magic.”

Now that they were no longer moving rapidly, the smell was catching up.  “That's fine, Jeth!” Jenny called.  “Thanks a whole lot!” Then she stifled a gag.

“Welcome.” The giant strode invisibly away, and the air slowly cleared.

But the mouths on the tree had taken in some of the stench, and were mouthing gasps.  “What kind of tree is that?” Jenny asked.

“A two-lips tree, I think,” Arnolde answered.

Then a mouth opened wide.  “Repent now!” it preached.

“The end is near!”

“My mistake,” the centaur said.  “Those are apoca-lips.”

Metria brought out the token with Kim's name.  “That way,” she said as it tugged.

They moved along as a group, Metria leading the way.

Soon they came to the Interface between Xanth and Mundania.  It had been intangible through most of Xanth's history, Metria understood, but since they had recompiled it last year; it had sharpened up considerably, and was now a scintillating zone of intense magic.  “We had better hold hands as we cross,” Metria said, “so that we'll all return to this same spot when we cross back.”

“Correct,” Arnolde said.  “That will fix us as a party.  But I am surprised that a demoness knows or cares about such intricacies.”

“I helped fix it,” she reminded him.  “It's the Interface that confines the madness in the center, as well as keeping most Mundanes out, so Xanth isn't constantly swamped by hordes of dreary unmagical beings.”

“So it keeps magic both in and out!  We really must talk at greater length, in due course,” he said.

Metria shrugged, hardly interested.  “Maybe someday.”

“However, now that we are about to depart from Xanth, I must caution you that the magic will be limited to a narrow aisle, of which I will be the center.” He smiled briefly.  “Or the centaur, as you prefer.  If you wander beyond that aisle, you will lose your magic, whatever it is.  Ichabod, of course, has little to fear, being naturally Mundane—”

“Except that I might suddenly expire of old age,” the archivist said.

“But you, Metria, could disappear entirely.  So I recommend that you stay quite close to me for this interim.” He smiled.  “Perhaps we shall have that dialogue sooner than anticipated.”

“Whatever,” Metria agreed crossly.

They passed through the Interface.  There was a slight tingle, and that was all; the land beyond was much the same as regular Xanth.  But Metria was keenly aware that she was now dependent for her very existence on the centaur aisle of magic.

“If I may make a suggestion …” Ichabod said.

“By all means, friend,” Arnolde replied.  “This is, after all, your territory.”

“I think it would facilitate things if we had rapid Mundanian transportation.” He glanced at Arnolde.  “You know how they tend to stare at you when they see you, and this time we don't have a spell of invisibility along.”

“Excellent point!  Perhaps your wheeled vehicle?”

“That was what I was thinking.  My pickup truck will carry the full party, and if we put high sides on it, oddities will not be noticed.”

“That's right,” Metria said.  “Centaurs don't exist in Mundania.”

“Nor demonesses,” Ichabod agreed.  “However, if you arrange to be garbed a bit more completely—not that I'm complaining—“

She had left her gown translucent.  She opaqued it.  “Will this do?”

“Actually, your apparel does not closely resemble that of contemporary Mundania,” he said.  “Will you accept my instruction in this respect?”

“Maybe I'd better,” she said.  “But if your hands stray, I'll turn into smoke and choke you.”

He smiled.  “I'm sure it would be delightful smoke.  Please assume a colored blouse, and an opaque skirt extending about halfway to the knees.”

Metria did so.  Then she formed the peculiar pointed-heel footwear Mundanes used, and arranged her hair, and reddened her lips.  “I feel like a clown,” she complained.

“You look like a fine young woman,” Ichabod assured her.  “And, I might add, a remarkably attractive one.”

Metria, about to say something appropriately sharp, suddenly discovered that her tongue had softened to, as Professor Grossclout would put it, something like mush.

Then Ichabod turned to Jenny Elf.  “No offense, but you could pass for a human child of ten,” he told her.  “I think you'd do best in juvenile garb, such as T-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers.” Then he reconsidered.  “No, you would not appear childlike in such a shirt!  Maybe a loose untucked plaid shirt—what's the matter?”

For Jenny was giggling.  “That's the color of Mela Merwoman's—” She dissolved into more giggles.

“A checkered shirt,” Metria said quickly.

“That would do,” Ichabod agreed, perplexed.

“There seems to be something we don't know about,” Arnolde remarked.  “Perhaps we have been too long in the madness.”

“For sure,” Jenny agreed as her mirth gradually subsided.

“Plaid sure isn't the way to appear childlike!  But I can't just make clothing from my own substance, the way Metria does. I'll have to find some.”

“We're not all the way out of the magic yet,” Metria said.

“Have Sammy find a shoe tree, and a clothes horse, and I'll fetch what she needs, and a jacket for you, Arnolde.”

Sammy was off and running as she spoke.  “Bring him back with you,” Jenny said, this time not trying to chase after the cat.

Metria floated after Sammy, who brought her in turn to a shoe tree with a pair of sneakers Jenny's size, a clothes horse with good jeans, shirt, and jacket, and a scarlet ribbon worm that would do nicely to tie her hair.  She gathered these up along with the cat and floated back to the waiting party.

Then she formed herself into a high-sided tent so that Jenny could change clothes without suffering the cynosure of three or four male eyes.  After all, Jenny was not a nymph.

This accomplished, they resumed their travel in the direction the token had indicated for Kim Mundane.  Gradually the terrain changed, with the trees becoming unfamiliar and somehow less interesting, as if ashamed to be without magic.

The very air became dusky and less pleasant, losing its freshness.

Ichabod sniffed.  “The pollution gets worse every year,” he remarked.  “Now we shall have to deviate from the true route, because my residence is to the side.  Fortunately it is not far, and I believe we can avoid contact with the natives.”

Even so, it was a dreary hike.  Metria would have popped back to Xanth for a break, but didn't dare try to cross the dread magicless terrain between.  She was stuck with the party, in her peculiar outfit, for the duration.

At last they came to Ichabod's house, which was a dull wood and stucco structure beside a broad paved path.  Beside it was a funny device with wheels.

But as they approached it, emerging from the forest behind it, a horrible loud monster came zooming along the road.

Jenny drew back in fright.  “Is it a dragon?” she asked.

“No, merely an automobile,” Ichabod replied confidently.

“Do not be concerned; it will not leave the highway.”

Jenny and Metria looked up, but saw no high way, just the low road.  “He means the paved wide path you see,” Arnolde explained, realizing the source of their confusion.

“There are a number of odd terms in Mundania.”

“I will stand behind the house,” Arnolde said, “so that I will not be seen.  I am uncertain how far my aisle extends now; my long time in the madness may have enhanced it somewhat.”

“Let's find out,” Metria said.  “I don't want to step out of it by accident.  Jenny and I can walk slowly to the edge, and when I fade she can pull me back.” The prospect made her nervous, but she did want to know the limits.  It was a matter of existence and nonexistence for her, which was a new and qualmy sensation.

“Meanwhile I will fetch money and supplies from the house,” Ichabod said.  He alone was free to leave the aisle, unless his age caught up with him.

Metria and Jenny linked hands and walked ahead of Arnolde.  “It should extend fifteen paces to the front, and half that to the rear,” Arnolde called.  “And only about two paces to either side.”

Metria looked back.  She judged they were a dozen paces ahead of him.  She took one more, and a second, getting more nervous as she did.

They were now close beside the paved path.  Another noisy block monster zoomed across.  But instead of passing on by, it suddenly squealed like a stuck oink and slewed to a halt right before them.  Metria, nervous about the limit of the aisle, stood frozen.

The monster whistled piercingly.  Then it poked a human head from its side.  “Hey, cutie!  How about a date?”

“I think it's talking to you,” Jenny said.

So Metria responded.  “If your dates taste as bad as your air, I don't want one.”

The thing whistled again.  “Oh, wow, we've got a live one here!” Part of its side opened, and a young man crawled out.

“Beat it, kid,” he said to Jenny.  Then, to Metria, “How about a kiss, sugarlips?”

Metria was beginning to figure this out.  The monster was actually some kind of conveyance, like a magic carpet.  The man was the standard obnoxious young human male.  She knew how to handle that kind.

“Sure, buttface.  Come and get it.”

“Are you sure—?” Jenny asked worriedly.

“We'll find out soon enough.”

The man came up and put his arms around her.  He brought his face down to hers.  Just as his mouth was about to touch hers, Metria turned her-head into a mound of mush.

His lips sucked mush.  His head jerked back.  “What the—?”

She poked an eyeball out of the mush.  “Yes, loverboy?”

“It's an alien thing!” he cried, pulling away.  But her arms were around him, holding him close.

“Then I had better chomp it,” she said, her head forming into the snout of a small dragon.

He screamed as it snapped at his nose.  “Aaaaahhh!”

“Hold still,” the snout said.  “How do you expect me to chomp your face off?” But the man was uncooperative.  He hauled himself away so violently that her arms stretched like toffee.  He spun about, wrenching free, and leaped into his box.  In a moment the box roared, shot out a cloud of gas, and squealed rapidly away.

“I think that thing has indigestion,” Jenny said, giggling.

“Not to mention the man inside it.”

“Well, he shouldn't have tried to get fresh with a demoness,” Metria said, resuming her set Mundane aspect.

“I think he won't try it again,” Jenny agreed.

But already another vehicle was squealing to a stop.  This one seemed to be stuffed full of young men.  “Hey, babe!” one called.  “How about a smooch?”

Metria found that this sort of thing palled fairly quickly.

So she turned her whole body into that of a dragon and roared back at them.  This time no door opened, and the vehicle squealed away as rapidly as it had come.

Now at last they could complete their test of the limits of the aisle.  Metria took one more step, and remained present.

She took another, and still was there.  Then she lost her nerve and retreated.  “The aisle's strong enough.”

Meanwhile Ichabod had gotten his own vehicle loaded.  “I stepped out of your aisle several times,” he said as he returned to Arnolde.  “I felt the difference, but it was tolerable for brief periods.  I believe you are correct:  We are well charged with magic, and it takes time for it to dissipate.  But we had better resolve the current mission expeditiously.”

That was his way of suggesting that they hurry, Metria knew.  But she wanted to do one thing first.  “I was trying to get beyond the front end of the aisle of magic,” she said, “but kept running afoul of Mundanes, or foul Mundanes, and lost my nerve.  But I think I should find out exactly what happens when I enter Mundania proper.  Maybe it's not so bad.  Would you guide me where you have been, and bring me back, if—?”

“I understand,” Ichabod said graciously.  “Rest assured, I would not allow anyone with appurtenances like yours to come to grief if I could help it.  Come this way.”

He meant her legs, mainly.  She followed him around the back of the house, while Jenny remained with Arnolde, who had not moved.  The centaur understood the importance of keeping the aisle exactly as it was, so they could experiment.

“The phenomenon does appear to be significantly more capacious than during its original manifestation,” Ichabod remarked.  “By perhaps fifty percent.  That is, about three paces out, perhaps ten feet.  Observe:  I scuffed a mark by my back door, here, where I noted the diminution of the ambience.”

“Where the magic stops,” Metria translated, stopping just short of the line.  “Would you mind, um, holding my hand as I cross?”

“Mind?” Ichabod said, as if in doubt.  “Dear creature, I would consider it a privilege.”

“Thank you.” Pleased, she gave him her most fetching smile, then took his hand, nerved herself, and stepped across the line.

Everything turned awful.  She was swirling out of control; dissipating in all directions, and losing her mind.

Then, after a yearlong instant, she found herself strewn around Ichabod every which way, in severe disorder.

“Huh?” she inquired intelligently.

“Are you functional?” he asked.

She drew in her extremities from around him and got her head together.  “I think so.  What happened?”

“You dissolved into a dust devil.  That is, a twist of wind, carrying dust and leaves.  I tried to push you back into the aisle with my body, but couldn't quite get hold of you, and feared I was merely disrupting you.  Fortunately Arnolde realized what had happened, and stepped sideways one pace.

That brought the ambience to your locale, and your persona re-formed.”

“A dust devil?” she echoed blankly.

“At times the wind is channeled into a circular vortex, generating a relative low pressure interior, which sucks in dust.  Extreme examples become tornadoes or even hurricanes.  But most dust devils swirl for only a few seconds, then dissipate.  They have no lasting cohesion.  I realized that this was likely to be your fate, if you remained clear of the magic.”

“So you got me back in it,” she said.  “I think you saved my existence, Ichabod.” That explained why she was wrapped around him:  She had been no more than energy in the air, and when he tried to push her back, he had simply stepped into the swirl.  “Thank you.” She shaped her head into its best configuration, made her prettiest face, and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

He looked about ready to faint.  Indeed, he sagged somewhat, so that she had to support him.  But he was not in discomfort; there was a dazed smile in the vicinity of his mouth, and his eyes seemed to glow.  “Thank you,” he breathed.  “But please, if you would …”

“Whatever you wish, friend,” she said obligingly.

“Put your clothing back on.”

Oh.  She had lost that detail, in the confusion of the dissolution.  Hastily she re-formed shoes, skirt, and blouse, in that order.  Then his eyes dimmed back to medium, and he recovered his equilibrium.  He might be old, but his reflexes seemed to be normal.

Arnolde and Jenny were two paces away.  “It seems that we now know the Mundane reversion of demons,” Arnolde said.  “They are the flux that animates the currents of the wind.  In Xanth they possess awareness and control, becoming immortal.  In Mundania they lack these qualities, so rapidly dissipate.”

“And so a long-standing question has at length been resolved,” Ichabod agreed.  “Thanks to the courage of the Demoness Metria.”

“Courage!” Metria snorted.  “I just wanted to know what would happen if I got out of the aisle.  Now I know I'd better not try it.”

“Courage is as one defines it,” Arnolde said.

“Um, maybe I should try that also,” Jenny said.  “I'm not brave, but it does make a difference whether I turn into a regular girl or a swirl of dust.”

“To be sure,” Ichabod agreed.  “Step this way.”

Metria watched as the two approached the line in the dirt, and stepped across it.  The elf girl held her cat tightly in her arms.  Jenny did not disappear, or become dust; she simply became a childlike girl, and the cat did not seem to change at all.

“Oh!  I have five fingers!” Jenny exclaimed.

“And rounded ears,” Ichabod added.  “You have become distressingly normal.”

“Ugh!” Jenny quickly stepped back into the magic.  But then she changed her mind and stepped out again.  “The point is to see whether I can safely function in Mundania,” she said.  “And it seems I can.  That's good to know.”

“I am not certain that is entirely the case,” Ichabod said.

“Why?  What's wrong?”

“The Mundanes will not be able to understand you, outside of the aisle.  You are speaking the magic language of Xanth, which all humanoids know.  But it sounds like gibberish to Mundanes.”