Harpy Thyme

  Meanwhile Veleno stopped trying to glide through the shallows and set out to float on the deeps. It did seem to work better, except that the swirling current tended to turn him around. Gloha grabbed on behind, and the current hauled her back, so that she served as a stabilizer. Then the slowmud was able to forge forward.

  They moved slowly on up the river. Gloha hoped it would end soon, so that they could get back on land, but it seemed interminable. The rain kept pouring down, preventing the river from drying up. Fracto probably didn't realize that they were there, or he would have made it much worse. This was just the fringe of his effort to wash out the goblins and harpies elsewhere.

  A dark ugly shape flapped over the chasm. Gloha saw its silhouette against the bleary sky. It looked like a vulture, only worse. It peered down with its beady eyes. It plopped a smelly poop into the water. That enabled Gloha to recognize it: the thing was a vulgar. Probably one of the mountain's mean-spirited creatures. What would happen if it spied them, and told Pin-A-Tuba?

  Then two smaller ugly shapes appeared. "There's one!" the first screeched.

  Harpies! Part of the siege force. Gloha had seldom been happier to see her winged relatives.

  "Well, let's tear it to quivering bits!" the second harpy screeched enthusiastically.

  The two dived for the vulgar. All three shapes disappeared beyond the chasm brink. There was a medley of screeching, and a grimy feather drifted down. The harpies had saved the little party from discovery.

  They followed the chasm river around a turn, and came to a filling pool. Here it was slightly quieter, though the storm was still pounding overhead. They pulled over to the side, where it was shallow enough for them to get some temporary footing and rest briefly.

  Trent looked back. "Trouble," he said mildly.

  Gloha looked around, expecting some new threat. But there didn't seem to be anything. "What is it?" She noticed that the sar-chasm effect was gone; there was no longer a mean-spirited echo.

  "Graeboe is leaving us."

  "What?" But she knew what he meant. She pulled herself around to the side and looked at the elf-giant.

  His pallor was worse. He was conscious, but looked as if he expected not to be so at any moment. The violence of the river travel had depleted his scant remaining strength.

  Gloha was stricken. What good was this trip if the rigors of travel wiped Graeboe out before the trans-plant could heal him? "What can we do?" she asked plaintively.

  "We can do nothing," he said gravely. "You can do much."

  "I don't understand!"

  "Tell him the truth."

  "I haven't lied to him, or to anyone."

  "Except to yourself, perhaps."

  The Magician could be so irritating at times! What was he talking about? "What haven't I been truthful about?" she demanded. "How is it hurting Graeboe?"

  "Your feeling."

  "My feeling? I want him to be cured, so he can live and be a giant."

  "Then tell him that."

  Gloha shook her head, unkindly bemused. Graeboe was dying, and she was supposed to wish him a happy giant-hood? Yet she had to say something.

  "I can't tell him the truth," she said with difficulty. "It would only hurt him, and diminish me. And you."

  "I doubt it," he said with that infuriating mildness.

  "Then you hear it first!" she snapped. "I am-am fascinated by you, and if I had my choice I would become a human woman and do everything with you that you had in mind for Cynthia." There: it was out, for whatever mischief it was worth.

  He seemed unfazed. "I think not."

  "Because you're not interested," she agreed dully.

  "Oh, but I am."

  "So you can just go on being amused by-" She paused. "What?"

  "You are lovely, innocent, caring, faithful, and sincere. You are the kind of woman any man could love. You are a rare prize. And I could readily transform you to a- fully human woman."

  She stared at him. "You-you return my interest?"

  "I do. I am as fascinated with you as you are with me, and for similar reason. You are to your gender what you see me to be in mine. We could have a wonderful time together."

  Gloha shook her heady little head. "Forgive me, Magician, but I am having trouble believing this."

  "Believe it. But understand the whole of it: it would not endure. Because my perspectives are not yours, my friends are not yours, and I am a Magician while you are not. I exist in a different realm, and that would surely alienate us from each other after the first flush of fulfillment faded. You will never be able to match me in magic, and if you join me you will sacrifice the heritage you have. You would come to resent your inability to fly, and you would be ashamed that you gave up the quality that made you unique: the unification in your person of the goblins and the harpies. And so it would be a mistaken affair without a future-even if I were not old and already married. This is not your true desire, or mine."

  She reeled under his harsh and appallingly adult logic. Suddenly she saw her dream for what it was: an utterly foolish fancy. She had known it, but never quite accepted it. Now she could no longer deny it. She could not give up her heritage for any temporary tryst, no matter how handsome, intelligent, or magical the man. And he could not give up his, though he had gone so far as to confess being attracted to both Cynthia and Gloha herself. He was, physically, a young, healthy man; he noticed and responded to pretty women. The difference between them was that he had experience enough to appreciate the truth, and the discipline to be governed by his head rather than his passion.

  "Thank you, Magician," she said at last. "You have marvelously clarified my mind." She wiped away her tears, but more replaced them immediately.

  "Now you must do the same for Graeboe, before he dies."

  "I should set him straight, the way you set me straight? I don't think I could be so cruel."

  "The truth is seldom cruel. I think you owe it to him."

  "Because he-he thinks he feels about me the way I thought I felt about you?"

  "Yes. But there is a difference."

  "Yes. He's dying. I'm not."

  "So there is very little time."

  He was relentless! But what else could she do? She did owe a dying man the truth. She returned to Graeboe.

  She reached out of the water and took his hand under the blanket. It was as cold as hers, but his wasn't wet. The blanket seemed to have a water-repellent quality, so was protecting him from a soaking. "Graeboe, I wish you could hang on just enough longer so that you can be cured, and live your life as an invisible giant."

  "Thank you," he breathed. "I wish you fulfillment in your quest." He closed his eyes. "If you will, ask Marrow Bones to come near."

  She saw that he was about to die. Something burst inside her. "Oh, it's not true!" she cried. "I don't want you to be a giant!"

  Slowly his eyes opened. He was faintly startled.

  "I don't want you to be any other creature," she said, amazed at herself. "I just want you to be mine. I love you, Graeboe, and I wish I could m-marry you, and to h-hell with my quest!" She fetched his hand in to her face and kissed it. "Oh, Graeboe, it's impossible, and I'm so selfish, and you're such a good man, and I have no right, but please, please don't die. Even if it can't be anything between us, because I know I could never endure as a giantess any more than as a straight human woman, I want you to be healthy and happy."

  "But I am not handsome or really smart, and I have no magic talent. A wonderful creature like you can do so much better."

  "You're just a really decent guy, who needs me, as Trent does not," she agreed. "And that's all I ever wanted. My heart knew. Except-"

  His hand warmed. "I'd rather be a winged goblin with you, than a giant without you," he said. "I love you too, Gloha, but did not want to impose."

  "A winged goblin!" she exclaimed. That had never occurred to her. "Of course that's possible. You can be anything, when Trent transforms you. Oh, Graeboe, you are the one I want. I knew you liked m
e, but I never thought you'd be willing to give up your natural form, so I diverted myself with another notion. Just hang on, and be the fulfillment of my quest."

  He smiled. "I think perhaps I can do that now."

  She leaned over him and kissed his little face. "You must, Graeboe. I would be desolate without you."

  "I did not want to live, without you."

  And so he had been fading, having no reason to fight to survive. Magician Trent had known. Now the rest of the truth was out. She had been unblinded.

  Graeboe closed his eyes again, but this time he seemed to be headed for a restorative sleep instead of a final fade-out. He should be able to survive until they reached the transplant.

  They resumed their float up the river. The rain was still coming down, and total gloom covered the landscape, but now things seemed brighter.

  Finally the chasm narrowed and gave out. They emerged on a slanting plain of hardened volcanic rock; the covering of ash had been washed off. What had been the chasm was now a mere indentation. Trent kicked Marrow back to his normal configuration, and they followed the indent around a curving surface until a new and jagged terrain appeared. There were ridges and spikes interspersed with a cracked-glaze pattern of crevices.

  A hulking knuckle-walking brute came around a pile of stones. "Huh?" it exclaimed, spying them. Then it lifted its snout and sounded a howl. "Awooooo!"

  The mountain took note. The rock shuddered. Steam issued from the little crevices. Boiling red lava appeared, flowing in pursuit of the steam.

  "We may have a problem," Trent said mildly.

  "Pin-A-Tuba knows we're here," Gloha agreed. "It's focusing on us. We'll never get through."

  "Metria," Trent said. "Materialize."

  The Demoness appeared. "You realize this means more mischief," she said.

  "If you are willing to act as a decoy, we may be able to proceed."

  She pursed her lips. "Follow the path up to that crack in the cone," she said, pointing. "I'll do what I can."

  Then Metria fogged into smoke, and re-formed as a monstrous toad. "Come and get me, you numbskull!" the toad croaked. Gloha hoped that the mountain was not smart enough to realize that it had to be a fake; frogs, not toads, croaked. But maybe it didn't matter; the mountain would know she was a demoness, and go after her regardless.

  The toad hopped, landing with a plop. "Can't catch me, firesnoot!" she called.

  The lava fairly boiled out of the cracks, hissing as the rain struck it. It formed pools, then began to flow after the toad. Scattered bits of wood and brush burst into fire as the lava touched them in passing. The several runnels formed into one big one, gaining speed. They seemed to have forgotten about the main party, but there was so much lava that it spread out across much of the surface as it flowed.

  Trent led the way quickly to the nearest ridge, so that they could avoid the burning rock flow. It surrounded their elevation like a shallow lake. There was nothing to do except follow the ridge on up.

  The crest became higher and sharper. The lava still prevented them from returning to more level terrain, so they had to stay high. The ridge turned pointed, until the two sides met in a knifelike cut.

  Veleno had no trouble. The slowmud simply slid across one side of the ridge, sticking to it like a snail. Graeboe rode along, firmly fastened in place. Gloha was able to fly just above the ridge, though the rain and gusts of wind made this nervous business. Marrow straddled the crest, having no flesh to be cut. That left Trent.

  But Marrow solved that problem. With a kick he assumed the configuration of a platform across the top, braced by arm and leg bones on either side. Trent sat on this platform, and the skeleton skidded smartly along, carrying him. Gloha was even able to join them, so that she didn't have to fight the foggy winds.

  Then another vulgar flapped by. "Awk!" it exclaimed, spying them. Then it headed directly for the mountain's cone.

  "We had better hurry," Trent said mildly.

  They hurried. The skeleton platform clattered along the ridge, and the slowmud kept the pace. The ridge seemed to lead toward the crack in the cone that Metria had pointed out, but it turned away at the last moment. They were stuck at the end of a long island, with molten rock flowing between them and the cone. There was a crevice that might be used as a path up the side of the cone, but they couldn't reach it.

  Mount Pin-A-Tuba got the word. The cone rumbled. Then a torrent of ash spewed out the top. It was trying to catch them with its ash, but they were too close. The worst of the ash and hot stones were flying too far out.

  Gloha could fly across, though she feared for her wings in the moderate rain of hot ash. But none of the others could. "Transform me into a roc bird. I'll carry you across."

  "No. The volcano could orient on a target of that size, and drop fireballs on your wings. We need to stay small."

  "I can help," Marrow's head said from the platform. "Kick me into a ladder. Then cross on me."

  "Good notion. But how will I stand on this ridge without your support?"

  The slowmud blew a white bubble. Then it slid up until its muddy snout crossed the razor edge. The mud caked up on either side of the ridge, dulling the edge.

  "Thank you," Trent said. He got off the platform carefully and sat astride the ridge, his midsection protected by the hard rounded mud. Gloha hovered nervously near.

  Then Trent hauled the bone platform up, held it over his right foot, and gave it a good kick. It flew apart, and formed into a double line of bones, connected by crossbones. In fact it was a rope ladder without rope.

  There was a skeletal hand at each end. Trent lifted the bundled ladder and put it on the end of the ridge. The fingers felt around the rock until they found good fingerholds, and the hand clenched tightly. Then Trent held the other end up for Gloha. She took the bone-hand and flew across to the base of the cone. The bone rope strung out behind her. It was heavy, but for this short hop she could handle it. She landed on the crevice and bent down to set the hand there. The fingers got a good grip, and the bone ladder drew itself tight.

  The slowmud slid up onto the ladder and started across. Progress was slow because there wasn't much surface for the mud to cling to, but it was getting there, and bringing Graeboe along.

  Mount Pin-A-Tuba realized what was happening. He sounded an enraged honk. "Oompah!" So much ash shot out of the cone, so fast and high, that it didn't come down; it stayed up in the high air and cooled Xanth a degree. But he couldn't stop the crossing.

  Veleno and Graeboe made it across. Then Trent started. He went on hands and knees, gripping the rungs of the ladder as if he were climbing.

  But now Cumulo Fracto Nimbus, the evil storm cloud, came to the volcano's rescue. He huffed and puffed, trying to blow the man down. When that didn't work, he formed a terrible funnel. The funnel seemed to be sucking up everything it touched, and it had a lot of power. Trouble indeed!

  Trent saw it. "Metria!" he called.

  The demoness appeared. "You realize that my appearance here will just draw Pin-A-Tuba's attention to-" She saw the funnel. "Point taken. I'll handle this." She changed into the biggest stink horn Gloha had ever seen; It fairly festered with contained stench.

  The funnel swept in, casting somewhat blindly about for the man on the ladder. The screaming sound of the winds around it drowned out almost all else. The stink horn moved to intercept the mouth of the funnel. In a quarter of a moment the horn was sucked in and up.

  There was a pause. Then the funnel exploded with the foul-smelling noise typical of stink horns. BBBRRR-RRRUMMPPPOOPOOH!" The noise dissipated into a miasmic fog that saturated the region. It was all Gloha could do to keep from choking as the stench reached them. The demoness had certainly found the way to get rid of the evil cloud's mouth!

  Not only that. Fracto himself had been so disrupted by the taste of the fetor weed that he was unable to continue raining. His fragments drifted away, and a beam of sunshine ventured down, though it wrinkled its rays at the lingering reek. E
ven the molten lava below was revolted; it blistered and solidified. Nobody could stand a stink horn.

  The volcano continued to erupt impotently. Trent completed his crossing, then hauled in the ladder after him. They were all on the crevice-path now, and not far from their destination. To keep them safe, Gloha flew up with Marrow's ladder end and helped him catch hold higher on the path. Then the others used the ladder as a guardrail so they weren't in danger of falling off the steep slope.

  But now the mountain used its last weapon. High above them black goo issued from a fissure. It slid slowly down the cone toward them.

  Gloha, alarmed, flew up to investigate. But Marrow's skull, which was in the middle of the bone ladder, called out a warning. “That may be poison!"

  She halted just outside its range. She caught the barest whiff: the same stuff they had encountered at the Magic Dust Village. This was the worst menace yet!

  She flew back down. "We can't handle that. We must flee before it reaches us."

  "I think not," Trent said.

  "But it will kill us all except Marrow and Metria, and they aren't even a couple."

  "It won't kill the trans-plant, because that's one of the mountain's precious possessions. If we join the plant, we should be safe."

  Could it be? Gloha wasn't sure just how logical the volcano might be. It might wipe out the plant to be sure of getting the intruders. But she realized the Graeboe would die if they retreated now. So they had to gamble on the plant, perhaps in more than one respect.

  "Let's hurry," she said.

  Again they hurried, working their way up as the poison blob worked its way down. The first nauseating whiffs of gas drifted down, making them cough. Gloha worried about Graeboe; any little thing could wipe him out, and this wasn't little.

  But as they got closer to the opening in the cone that the crevice was leading to, the terrible odor faded. Gloha looked up. The deadly glob was detouring, sliding away from the cave. Trent was right: the mountain wouldn't destroy its treasure.