"Why would you want her younger?" Trent inquired, as if merely curious.
"I had this foolish notion-our foal Che-it was a wild presumption, for which I apologize. I was just so startled to see another winged centaur."
Trent didn't even need to swap glances with Cynthia. "We have some youth elixir. She can readily become a decade younger, physically."
"But why? She's already been through her childhood. She would hardly want to do it again."
"She might, if she could be with her own kind." Chex looked at Cynthia.
"You were human, before you were transformed?"
"Yes," Cynthia said. "I was sixteen. I've been a centaur less than a year, in living time. I learned to fly. But I was the only one of my kind. The real centaurs-they-" She clouded up, evidently suffering an unpleasant memory.
Chex stepped quickly forward. She put an arm about Cynthia's shoulders. "I know the feeling. They reject crossbreeds. Even my own grandsire and granddam refused to associate with me, at first. If you would like to join us-"
"Yes!"
"Do you know centaur lore?"
"I'm afraid I really don't," Cynthia said, abashed.
"Would you be willing to learn it? It would take several years. You see, a human being of your age is the equivalent of a centaur of eight or nine, intellectually. Our foal Che is eight."
"I want very much to learn it."
"Che isn't here now; he's at Goblin Mountain. We-" Chex looked momentarily pensive. "We miss the children."
Cynthia looked at Trent. He held out the tiny vial of elixir. She took it, opened it, and gulped down its few drops of liquid.
Suddenly she was a physical eight year old. The dose had halved her age. In a unicorn that would have been full grown, but centaurs paralleled humans, and she was half grown. Her jacket hung baggily on her. "Oh!" she exclaimed faintly. "I didn't realize it would be so quick."
"First centaur lesson," Chex said. "You don't need clothing, unless the weather requires it. As you see, I have no concern about exposing my body." She helped the filly remove the material. In a moment Cynthia stood bare. Her formerly ample breasts had vanished, leaving her human section boylike, but they would grow again in due course. Her hair had dwindled into a ponytail.
"I think our business here is done," Trent said.
"I guess it is," Gloha agreed. She flew up to give Cynthia a parting hug, for the centaur child was now just about the height of a grown goblin girl. "Maybe we'll meet again soon."
"Oh, I hope so!" the young Cynthia agreed. "We have known each other for half of my life."
Gloha had to laugh through her tears. The statement was perhaps technically correct in a way that most others would not understand. Cynthia had lost half the age she had been during their acquaintance. Then they separated.
Cynthia looked at Trent. There was something in her demeanor that suggested that she had not entirely forgotten her adult feelings, but she did not speak. Gloha remembered Jana and Braille Centaur, for some irrelevant reason.
The Magician pretended to be oblivious. "Farewell, centaur filly," he said.
"Thank you-for whatever," she replied.
Chex led Cynthia into the house. The door closed. Gloha knew that this clean break was best. She turned resolutely away. There would be other times. Meanwhile she had her own quest to fulfill.
Chapter 6
MARROW
They walked back the way they had come, away from the house. Gloha saw Cynthia's hoofprints and blinked back tears of nostalgia. It had been only an interim episode, but she liked the winged centaur filly and missed her already.
"This isn't the same path," Trent remarked.
"But it has to be, because we're retracing our steps."
"The scenery's different. We're no longer on Com-Pewter's magically direct route. See, there's a volcano."
"A what?"
"A mountain that magically catches fire and dumps its ashes all around." He gestured, indicating the oddity.
She looked, and saw it. The thing was cone-shaped, with smoke issuing from its narrow tip. As she watched, it belched out a cloud, and the cloud spread out and settled across the landscape. Gray particles drifted down like snow. She put out a hand to catch one. Sure enough, it was a bit of ash.- "Marvelous," she said.
"That depends on the volcano's attitude. If it doesn't like us passing too close, we'll have to find another path."
"But we don't want to leave the enchanted path. We wouldn't be safe then."
"We may not be safe now," he said. "This may no longer be an enchanted path."
That seemed odd to her. "Let's follow it anyway. If it gets dangerous, then we can look for another."
"I can't transform an inanimate threat," he reminded her. "I would be helpless against that mountain, if it got angry."
"Then we'll just have to hope it doesn't get angry," she said, hardly concerned. Imagine a mountain with a temper! The mountain rumbled warningly. More smoke plumed from its top. But Gloha still couldn't take it seriously. Mountains were inanimate, after all; they couldn't have feelings. They couldn't resent anyone passing close to them. Maybe stones had personalities when King Dor talked to them, but a mountain was a feature of the landscape. So the rumble was coincidence.
"I think this is Mount Pin-A-Tuba," Trent said. "I heard of it once. When it gets mad, it breathes out so much ash and vapor that it shades the whole of Xanth so the sun can't get through, and the land cools."
"What a weird name for a mountain," she remarked. The path was headed right to the base of the volcano. Trent was right: this wasn't the way they had come. Cynthia's hoofprints no longer showed. The way had magically changed. With magic, anything could happen, but this was slightly strange. She must have spent too much time in the air, so had never become properly familiar with the routes of the land. Of course she could fly away at any time, but Trent couldn't so it was easiest just to stay aground.
There was another rumble, and more smoke. This time the ground itself shook. It did seem as if the mountain were reacting like an irritable sphinx. Yet that had to be her imagination.
"I don't like this," Trent muttered.
"Could you transform a creature into something that could carry us swiftly past it?"
He looked around. "There don't seem to be any living creatures or plants within range." Indeed, the region was covered by a layer of gray ash, like off-color snow.
"Then maybe transform me into a roc bird, and I'll carry you over it."
"That would be even more dangerous. I believe that mountain dislikes big birds, and fires hot boulders at them with unpleasant accuracy."
There was a larger rumble. A boulder shot out of the mountain's mouth. It arced high through the sky, and landed with a thunk to the side. More and thicker smoke poured out, blotting out much of the sky. The ashfall became stronger. Ash was getting in her hair and coating her wings. She was increasingly uncomfortable.
"I guess you're right," she said. "We'd better go back and find another path."
"It may be too late for that." It was unusual to see him so gloomy.
"Let's hurry," she said, as yet another rumble built up inside the mountain, getting ready to come out.
They turned and started away from the volcano. But the rumble only built up power and vigor, and burst forth in a cloud of swirling black smoke. The day darkened, and ash descended so thickly it was hard to see and breathe.
They tried to run, but the ground shook so violently that it was hard to keep their footing. Gloha spread her wings to fly, but hot ash came down to burn them speck by speck and feather by feather, and gusts of hot wind threatened to blow her away. She quickly folded them again, so as to minimize exposure. She was stuck on the ground, for now.
Then a boulder crashed into the path ahead, gouging out a crater. "It's got our range," Trent said.
"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't listen to you before!" she cried with a certain dismal little dismay.
"I didn't think it would be this bad.
We'll have to change our course erratically, so it can't catch us." He dodged off the path to the side, running through the thickening layer of ash. His forming tracks were almost immediately covered by newly falling ash.
Gloha followed. The swirling winds buffeted her, and the gloom and ash almost made her lose sight of him. Then he ducked back and caught her by the wrist. "I can transform you to something safe, at least," he said.
"But that won't help you!" she protested.
"Maybe I don't deserve help."
"What?" she demanded, appalled.
"Never mind. Just keep clear of falling boulders."
She didn't need to worry about that, as he was hauling her along, preventing her from getting lost in the terrible ash storm. "Why don't you deserve it?"
"Because I was reacting in a manner unbecoming for my age and marital status."
"What are you talking about?" Another shower of ash came down, but most of it missed them. The volcano couldn't catch them as long as they kept moving erratically. "You have behaved perfectly throughout."
"I wanted to transform Cynthia back into a human woman."
So he had not been impervious to her interest! Gloha, half human herself, though without a human parent, had understood enough of Cynthia's feelings to perhaps comprehend Trent's. More than enough! "Handsome and pretty people find each other attractive," she yelled over the ash wind. "It's what they do that counts."
"Not what they feel?"
She found she couldn't debate that. "Maybe there is some guilt. But you did the right thing. You maybe wronged her when you transformed her to a winged centaur, but you righted her when you didn't change her back. She'll be happy now, with her new kind. And I just know Che Centaur will like her, when he meets her. Maybe you are helping him to achieve his destiny, which is to change the history of Xanth."
"Perhaps," he said, seeming slightly more positive. She had reassured him. But it was odd, because he had surely had many times her total experience with male/ female interest, in his life that was five times as long as hers. He had been married twice, and had at least one child. He had to know volumes about love and passion. How could her limited perspective help him in any way?
There was a series of boomings behind them. Mount Pin-A-Tuba was sounding off almost musically. But it wasn't musical business; Gloha knew that it was spitting out more boulders and ash. If they didn't get out of its range quickly, one of those rocks might score. "Well, now."
Gloha looked. There was a swirl of smoke that wasn't quite like that of the mountain. "Metria!"
"You mortals have a funny idea of entertainment," the demoness observed.
"We are not amused," Trent said. "We're trying to get out of range of the volcano."
"You can't," Metria said confidently. "You'd do better to get under cover."
"If I thought you knew of any close cover, I'd ask you," Trent said contemptuously. His urbane manner was deteriorating under the pressure of this threat that was beyond his ability to handle. For the first time she was seeing him unguarded. For what obscure reason she couldn't fathom, she found she liked him better for it.
"I do too know of it," the demoness retorted, becoming smoky and getting her vapors riled.
"I don't believe it," he said. Gloha was appalled; why was he vexing the demoness right when they needed her help?
"Right in the next unclean," Metria said.
Suddenly Gloha caught on. The demoness meant to tease them, but Trent was making her give them the information. "The next what?" she asked.
"Dirty, smirch, sully, violate reputation, character assassination-"
"Defile?" Trent asked.
"Whatever," Metria said crossly, fading into the swirling ash.
"We must find that sully," Trent said. "I mean gully." He forged on, still hauling Gloha along. She felt his male man strength as she practically flew behind him, but his grip on her arm was not painful; he was being careful not to hurt her despite his aggravation. This, too, impressed her.
"But a gully will just fill up faster with ash," Gloha protested. "And boulders will roll down into it."
"Metria always speaks the truth, in her fashion," he replied. "There's shelter of some sort nearby. We just have to find it."
"I hope so," she agreed weakly.
They crossed a rise, but the depression beyond seemed to be filled only with more choking smoke and the sound of falling rocks.
Then she saw something. She blinked, trying to get her aching little eyes clear of ash dust. "I think I saw a house made of bones," she said.
"Must be the remains of an animal who perished here," Trent said.
"Must be. Maybe I'm hallucinating."
"Where did you see it?"
"Over there." She pointed blindly.
He leaned into the awful wind and tramped in that direction. Suddenly he stopped. "You're right! A bone house!"
"Please don't tease me," she begged. "I'm already miserable enough."
He moved forward again. Abruptly the bones loomed close. There really was such a house!
"Anybody home?" Trent called.
A door opened. A skeleton stood there. "Flesh folk!" it exclaimed.
"Marrow Bones," Trent said. "It must be you. I'm Magician Trent, and this is Gloha Goblin-Harpy. We need shelter."
"Then come in," Marrow said. He extended a bone-hand to help. In a moment they were both inside, and the tumult of the flying ash cut off as the door closed.
Gradually Gloha's eyes watered clear, and she got a good look at the interior of the house. It really was made of bones. They were so cunningly fitted together, and so securely bound with tendon, that the walls and roof were ash-tight. The demoness had been right: this was the cover they had needed.
"Thank you, Marrow," Trent said. "It is fortunate for us that your dwelling was here."
"What are you two fleshy creatures doing in a fleshless region like this?" the skeleton inquired.
"Gloha is on a quest to find her ideal man, and I'm helping her."
"That is nice of you." The skull angled, the eye sockets peering at him. "I must say you look younger than I expected. Aren't you Prince Dolph's grandfather?"
"I am. I am old, but under the influence of youth elixir at the moment. I appreciated the way you helped him on his quest to find the Good Magician, even if he succeeded only in getting himself betrothed to two girls at once."
"He was young," Marrow said. "The young can have maladjustments of emotion."
"So can the rejuvenated," Trent murmured.
"But he had excellent magic," the skeleton continued. "Similar in respect to yours, I believe."
"Yes. I am proud of my grandson, and of my granddaughter, the Sorceress Ivy."
"What are you doing here, Marrow?" Gloha asked. "I thought you had a family now."
"I do, I do," the skeleton agreed. "I married Grace'l Ossein, and we have two little bone-buckets, Joy'nt and Picka Bone. But I do not have a soul, and without it I shall shortly fade away, for I am a creature of the dream realm. So I agreed to participate in the demons' Game of Companions if they would give me some indication how I could acquire a soul. I was not selected to be a Companion, but for my service the Demon Professor Grossclout told me that though my head lacked even mush, I might acquire half a soul if I camped beside the volcano long enough. So while I waited here, I foraged for animal bones and made this house, because I didn't like being constantly pelted with pieces of ash. Do you happen to know how I might acquire half a soul?"
Trent considered. "I have heard of the Demon Grossclout. He's so arrogantly intelligent that not even many demons can stand him. But he always knows what he's talking about. I suspect he meant that you could get half a soul from some mortal passerby. I would offer you half of mine, as they normally regenerate if properly treated, but it is so old and withered that I fear the halves would fall apart and do neither of us any good."
"I suppose you could have half of mine," Gloha said doubtfully. "Does it hurt to lose half you
r soul?"
"It does not," Marrow said. "But I couldn't take yours. It would serve only briefly, because you are female. I need half a young, vital male soul, if it is to be healthy.
"Then we do not seem to be the ones you have been waiting for," Trent said. "Yet your presence here has Helped us, and we appreciate it, and would like to repay the favor. Is there any way to do that?"
"I don't think so. Your kind and mine do not have a great deal in common. But I thank you for the offer."
"Maybe there is a way," Gloha said. "Maybe what the Demon Professor meant is that if you were here, and you helped someone, that person would then help you to find a soul somewhere else."
"This is possible," Marrow agreed, surprised. "Certainly this region seems inhospitable to souled folk."
"So maybe you should come with us, and along the way there will be a chance for your own quest," she said. "At least it's worth a try."
"Perhaps it is," the skeleton said. "If you do not object to my company."
"Any friend of my grandson's a friend of mine," Trent said.
"And you are a friend of Chex Centaur too, aren't you?" Gloha asked. "It seems to me I heard something like that."
"We have interacted compatibly on occasion," Marrow agreed with gaunt conservatism.
"Then let's travel together, at least until you find a suitable lead on getting half-souled." Gloha was a small little wee bit surprised at herself for making the offer, because she had never before associated with a walking skeleton. But she was still in the early pangs of loneliness after losing Cynthia Centaur as a companion, and she knew that Marrow had not merely been a companion for Prince Dolph, he had been a truly good and dedicated adult at a time when a nine-year-old boy really needed guidance. Gloha had encountered Prince Dolph often enough in the interim, being the same age, and had had the story from him. It should even be fun, because the skeletons had unusual powers that could be quite helpful at times, especially to an already groundbound companion.
"Is there any living thing here?" Trent inquired, combing the last ash out of his hair.