The path finally left the deep forest and debouched into a halfway open valley. A village nestled within it, and there seemed to be a fair amount of activity therein. From the far side a cloud of dust or smoke wafted up into the sky.
"What are they doing?" Gloha asked.
"I believe this is the Magic Dust Village," Marrow said. "They mine the magic dust and blow it into the air so that it will circulate throughout Xanth, enhancing the magic everywhere."
"The Magic Dust Village!" she exclaimed. "Of course! I have heard of it. The most magical place in Xanth."
"Why, that's right," Trent agreed. "I should have realized; this is indeed the area. I shall have to be extremely careful about performing transformations, because the extra potency of magic in this region can be dangerous."
They walked on down to the village. An elderly troll moved to intercept them. "As far as I know, the natives are friendly," Trent murmured. "They have members of many crossbreed humanoid species living and working in harmony, including goblins and trolls. But perhaps you, Gloha, should stay behind me until we are sure."
Gloha was glad to agree. They had encountered one friendly troll, but that was a rarity. Another would be pulling on their luck.
"Hail, man, goblin, skeleton!" the troll cried. "Do you come in peace?"
"We do, if left in peace," Trent agreed.
"Then I must warn you that our village is about to become inhospitable. You must move on, lest you be exposed to hazard."
"We have had a moderately arduous day's journey, and were looking forward to a relaxed night," Trent said. "We are also on a quest, and it is possible that the object of that quest is to be found here. Let us exchange introductions and see whether it is possible for us to do each other any good."
"By all means. I am Pa, the eldest troll of Magic Dust Village. I am too old to work well, so I walk around and warn away strangers."
"Glad to meet you, Pa Troll. I am Magician Trent, formerly the transformer king of Xanth. This is Marrow Bones, formerly of the dream realm, and this is Gloha Goblin-Harpy, whose quest we are supporting."
"Magician Trent!" Pa exclaimed. "Perhaps you are the one we are waiting for." He paused. "Wait-you are far too young. You must be an impostor."
"I have been temporarily youthened," Trent explained. "I will demonstrate." He pointed to a tiny flowering plant beside the path. It became a monstrous spreading acorn tree whose trunk obliterated that path, shoving them into the surrounding brush. "Oops-I forgot the intensity of magic! That was supposed to be a medium-small acorn tree."
Pa Troll touched the massive trunk. "So it's not illusion. I apologize for doubting you, Magician." He glanced at Gloha. "And a crossbreed harpy-this is most interesting. Come to the village, and we shall see. I am most excited." Indeed, he was quivering in a manner trolls normally reserved for the anticipation of some truly dastardly deed. Gloha didn't need Trent's additional caution to remain on guard.
Trent restored the tree to its original state, this time getting it right. They came to the village square. A throng of crossbreeds of every description quickly gathered there. Not merely trolls, but elves, fairies, ogres, a small giant or two, goblins, gnomes, centaurs, griffins, masked basilisks, and other creatures too numerous or confusing to mention. "Ho, you rabble of low degree!" Pa Troll cried. "Maybe we have our salvation, and maybe not. This is Magician Trent, in the company of a walking skeleton and a honey of a harpy crossbreed." He indicated the three.
There was a muted ooooh of appreciation. Gloha was surprised and discomfited to find most eyes focusing on her. She realized that there were no harpies here, oddly.
"You see, we have a problem," Pa Troll continued, now speaking to the three visitors. "We have been told to carry on until Harpy Time, but no harpy has appeared, and we have only a day or two left before disaster. So if you are not able to help us, the village and all Xanth will be in deep dung."
"Exactly what is the nature of your problem?" Trent inquired. "And how do you think a harpy could solve it?"
"First you must understand the nature of our village mission," Pa said. "This is the site where the magic rock wells up from the unknown depths of magic. We pound it into dust, and our roc bird flaps his wings to blow it high into the sky, where it spreads and circulates and sifts down across all of Xanth. Without this service we render, the Land of Xanth would slowly lose its magic and revert to- pardon the expression-mundane nature. This is why we all work together despite having in our number creatures who otherwise would prefer to quarrel with each other and eat strangers." He glanced at Gloha again and licked his thin troll lips in a reminiscent manner that made half a shiver scramble up her back. "We use little magic, preferring to do the job by hand and foot, because the use of magic is dangerous in this vicinity."
He took a breath. "But recently a new vent opened in a nearby mountain. From it issues not magic stone, but poisonous thick fluid that slowly courses down toward the village, destroying all life in its path. We can not remove or divert it, because the fumes of its surface are also lethal. Our only resort is to remain well away from it. But soon it will ooze into the village itself, and begin to pool here, and then we shall have to flee, our labor will no longer be accomplished. The magic of Xanth will begin to fade, and in time our entire land will be as dreary as the drear region beyond." There was another ooooh from the villagers. Gloha had to agree; the prospect was appalling.
"So we sent a representative to the Good Magician Humfrey, to inquire how we can prevent this disaster. She is now serving her year's Service with him. But we can't say that we are entirely satisfied with his response."
"Whom did you send?" Gloha asked, unable to restrain her irrelevant curiosity.
"A winged monster, of another type than yourself. A glyph."
"I met her!" Gloha cried with dear little delight. "A nice horse/dragon crossbreed. She was one of my challenges on the way in."
"I hope they are treating her well," Pa said in paternal fashion.
"Oh, yes. At first I thought they weren't, but that was part of the challenge. She's really quite happy there."
"What was your Answer?" Trent inquired, more relevantly. “To carry on until Harpy Time?"
"Precisely. I must say that the Good Magician's Answers leave something to be desired, considering their expense."
"But they are always accurate and relevant," Trent reminded him.
Pa glanced at Gloha, this time refraining from licking his lips. "Were you satisfied with your own Answer?"
"Well, no. Actually, he didn't give me an Answer, exactly, so I didn't have to do any Service."
"So you can no doubt appreciate our dissatisfaction."
"Yes, I think I can. And I have to say that I don't think I'm the harpy you're looking for. About my only harpy aspect is my wings; apart from that I mostly resemble a goblin, unlike my brother Harglo. I have no idea how to stop that poisonous flow, because it would affect me too."
"And it is not something I can transform," Trent said. "But why didn't you make a dam to stop its advance?"
"We did, but it oozes between the stones and dissolves them, seeping on along its destined course. The only way we can stop it is to plug its source-if any of us could only get close enough."
"Could a roc bird drop a boulder on it?"
"No. It issues from a fissure in the steep slope. It should be fairly easy to plug, if only any of us could approach it. But our every effort has led only to disaster."
Then something occurred to Gloha. "Marrow, you were immune to the dragon's choking smoke. Would you be able to approach a poison vent?"
"Why, I see no reason why not," the skeleton said.
“Then you are the ones we have waited for!" Pa Troll cried. "You signal the Harpy Time."
"Perhaps," Trent said. "However, it should be clarified that Marrow Bones is also on a quest. He needs half a soul, so that he can remain indefinitely here in Xanth proper. If anyone here cares to-"
It was amazing how quickly th
e crowd dissipated. It seemed that the dedication of none of the villagers extended quite that far. Even Pa Troll had somehow found elsewhere to be. The three of them were left standing in the center of an apparently deserted village.
“These creatures have too much human nature," Trent remarked sourly.
"Yet their need is genuine," Marrow said. "Xanth will profit. I will plug that vent." He set off in the direction Pa Troll had looked when he spoke of the encroaching poison.
Trent shook his head, watching the departing skeleton. "I could almost swear he already has at least half a soul."
"Certainly he doesn't seem to need more than he has," Gloha agreed. "I had a lesson in decency not too long ago. This reminds me of it."
"It may be that souls aren't what they used to be."
"Maybe I'd better see if I can help him." She spread her wings.
"Not too close," he warned. "If you smell anything at all, get away from wherever you are."
"I will," she assured him. She pumped her wings and lifted into the air.
It was good to be flying again, in her own form. Her limber little legs had gotten worn with all that walking, while she was afraid her wings would dissolve with disuse. So maybe her decision to try to help Marrow was as much selfish as unselfish.
In a moment she saw the poison flow. It was like a messy black river flowing from a nearby mountain right toward the village. Every so often it jogged, and she realized that those were the places they had put up rock dams that hadn't quite done the job. No plants grew near it; everything within smelling distance was barren. It seemed to be aiming for the village as if guided by some malignant will. She would have dismissed that notion, except for her memory of how the inanimate things reacted when King Dor talked to them. They tended to be shallow, but they did have opinions and feelings. And of course Marrow Bones was not alive, being animated by magic, and he had an objective and a code of behavior. Then there was Pin-A-Tuba, the angry volcano who tried to stop folk from approaching it closely. So why shouldn't a poisonous flow have an objective too?
In fact, she realized now, that poison was from Pin-A-Tuba! That was the volcano's other slope. They had circled around it without catching on that it could have nasty vents on both sides, or that these could issue either noxious gas or nasty fluid. So they hadn't finished with this evil mountain.
Meanwhile Marrow was walking up the ruined slope toward the vent. But Gloha saw that he wasn't going to be able to reach it, because there was a small cliff in the way. The black poison goo had no trouble dribbling slowly down it, but there was no way for a person to climb up it. However, there was an indirect route, clear only from above.
She flew down to tell Marrow. But he was walking right beside the poison flow, supremely unaffected. The moment she started to think of getting faintly close, her breath began to choke and her vision blurred and her wings got shaky and weak. She plunged away to the side, so she wasn't directly above the flow, and recovered her equilibrium. No, she couldn't go and tell him directly.
But maybe she could signal him from afar. She flew back and forth before him, waving her arms. "Marrow!" she called, sure he couldn't hear her from this distance.
But in a moment he noticed her. He waved a bony arm.
"Go that way!" she cried, zooming to the mountain's right side. "There's a path!"
But he couldn't understand. He moved on beside the flow.
Was there any other way to get through to him? She racked her blank little brain but dredged up nothing. So she just followed along, hoping to be able to help when there was a chance.
He finally trekked to the cliff and stood looking up. It was obvious that he couldn't climb it. He looked around.
Now was the time. She flew to the right again and hovered there, beckoning him. This time he caught on. He walked that way, away from the flow. She led him to the place where a ledge angled erratically up the steep slope. From there it moved back across to the top of the cliff, and the way was followable.
Marrow found it, and made his way up. He was carrying something, and she realized that it was a piece of stone he hoped to use as a plug. It seemed to be an old stalactite that some cave had discarded.
She watched from afar as he went all the way to the vent. He studied the situation, then lifted his stalactite and rammed it straight down into the center of the vent, where the poison started flowing. It went partway in. Then he lifted off his skull-Gloha did a double take at about that point-and used it to pound in the spike.
That was it. He replaced his skull and walked away. Gloha saw that the flow was clearing near the top. It remained below, but there was no more coming out of the vent. He had plugged it.
Gloha thought of something else. Marrow had been too close to the poison. He probably reeked of it now, so that it wouldn't be safe for anybody else to get near him. He would have to get clean before he returned to the village.
She flew back and forth, signaling him as she had before. Then she headed for the nearest stream that didn't originate on Mount Pin-A-Tuba. He followed. The foliage on either side of his route wilted as he passed. The stream was far enough away so that she was able to land beside it. But when Marrow approached, sure enough, he reeked of poison, and she had to fly away before she fainted. "Wash! Wash!" she cried, pointing at the water. Then, afraid he couldn't hear her, she made vigorous scrubbing motions along her body.
He caught on, and waded into the water. He disappeared in it. The plants downstream began to wilt. Gloha was sorry for them, but at least it showed that the water was carrying the poison away from his body. Before too long it should get so diluted that it wouldn't hurt anyone anymore.
She hovered at a safe distance until he emerged. He walked downstream, and when he got beyond the wilted region, there seemed to be no further wilting in his vicinity. So she risked a closer approach. There were no deadly fumes. Finally she landed before him. "You're clean," she announced.
"Thank you for advising me," he said. "It had not occurred to me that I might have become unsanitary, but when you signaled I realized that life in my vicinity was perishing."
"Yes. That poison is very strong."
They returned to the village. Trent had evidently been at work there, because there was now a large pile of fresh food from plants and creatures he must have transformed. The villagers were aware that the poison was no longer flowing. That meant that the existing stream should slowly dry up or sink into the ground, leaving the village clear. They would be able to continue their business.
"I have talked with the villagers, and ascertained that there are no winged goblins here, nor have they even seen any before you," Trent advised her. "As far as they know, you are unique."
"I'm afraid I am," she agreed. "But Crombie wouldn't have pointed a direction if there weren't an answer. It just means it isn't here."
“True. We can rest here the night, and continue southeast in the morning." He hesitated. "I wouldn't judge the villagers too harshly with respect to their unwillingness to yield half a soul. Many are female, making them imperfect for this purpose, or old. Others are simply frightened. There are a number of misconceptions about souls that are hard to eradicate."
"I know," Gloha agreed, remembering her own concern about losing half of hers.
"I would not care to take half a soul from someone who did not freely wish to give it," Marrow said.
"We'll keep looking," Gloha said.
They had a good meal, really a feast, and the villagers were very appreciative of the service Marrow had done for them. "You have benefited all Xanth," Pa Troll said, with an emphasis that hinted that maybe it was all Xanth who owed Marrow the half soul, not the local village.
There was a nice house for them to use for the night, left by a family that had moved out recently in anticipation of a complete evacuation. Gloha had the pleasure of a private room with a nice soft bed. She slept well, despite still wishing that she had a perfect man with warm feet to share it with. She realized that the Good M
agician had been right about a harpy (or part harpy) helping to save the village at the last moment. Maybe his son was right about the direction of the solution to her own quest Meanwhile, she did feel slightly useful.
Chapter 7
MADNESS
In the morning they resumed their travel to the southeast. However, Pa Troll had a warning for them: "The wind currents carry the magic dust everywhere, but they are thickest immediately downwind from the village. Usually this is to our southwest, but at the moment it is to our southeast. Your route may take you through the fringe of it. You would be well advised to avoid that direction, at least until the wind changes and some of the dust can clear."
Trent looked at Gloha. "This is good advice."
She knew it was. She had heard stories about the effects of magic madness. "But is it possible that my perfect man and Marrow's half-soul donor will be found within the Region of Madness?"
"It is possible," he agreed. "I suppose if such quests seem unlikely to succeed in normal Xanth, the abnormal should be tried. But I'm not sure you appreciate just how weird the Region of Madness is likely to be."
"Oh, pooh! It can't be worse than Mount Pun-A-Tub was."
"Which threat you also doubted, at first," he reminded her evenly.
She knew he was making sense, and that she was being an unreasonable teen crossbreed female. Somehow that didn't cause her to become more reasonable. It didn't help that she wished she could make an impression on him as an intriguing adult female, for no legitimate reason, and didn't know how. So her fouled-up little feelings just made things difficult. "Anyway, I'm curious to see just what's so weird about it."
His gaze remained straight, yet somehow she had the impression he was rolling his eyes. "As you wish."
Marrow Bones tilted his skull. His nonexistent eyes were rolling too.
They proceeded southeast. Downwind. There was no problem. The country consisted of rolling hills covered by forest and fields, with an occasional river wandering through. Trent was about to wade through the first river, but the skeleton stopped him. "Kick me," he said.