Two to the Fifth

  From his low vantage, he couldn’t help seeing her legs. They were ordinary, like the rest of her, but the view under her skirt made them intriguing. He looked away, embarrassed.

  But then he had to look back, because he had to read her printing. This was awkward.

  OH—I’M SORRY, she printed. i wasn’t thinking. She rearranged her legs so that less flesh showed. It seemed she was not trying to vamp him in the manner Andromeda had; she just had not fully adjusted to the perspective of a visitor on the floor instead of on a chair, understandably.

  “Is there any way to manipulate your illusion?” he asked. “So instead of slow print, you could show me what happened?”

  She scribbled: KATRIANA.

  “She is someone who can do this?”

  YES. SHE CAN REPLAY REAL SCENES VIA ILLUSION.

  “That’s what we need,” he agreed.

  ONE MOMENT, PLEASE. She walked out of the house. He remained, getting comfortable on the floor. His metal bones made it easier.

  Soon Layea returned with another woman. Katriana was older, and completely undistinguished. Except when she invoked her talent. She lifted her hands, and something appeared between them. It was a picture. She spread her hands, and the picture expanded between them. It showed the village of Pompos.

  Layea held up a sign beside the picture. WHERE SHOULD WE START?

  “At the beginning,” Cyrus said. “I want to understand the whole story”

  THAT WOULD BE OUR FIRST PROBLEM, AND OUR FRIEND ETTE.

  “Ette?”

  SHE’S A ROC. VERY PRETTY.

  Roc Ette, surely a shapely bird. “Thank you”

  Katriana expanded the picture farther, until it was like a picture window into the scene. It showed a rock mine. Villagers were busily working with picks, hammers, and sieves, extracting small stones from the ground. On the hill above the mine was a huge nest occupied by a giant but quite lovely bird: Ette, prettiest of roc hens, with lovely plumage.

  IT IS ETTE’S MINE, WHICH WE HAVE A DEAL TO WORK, LA-YEA’S SIGN BESIDE THE PICTURE SAID. WE TRADE HER THINGS SHE WANTS, LIKE THE LATEST ROCK MUSIC.

  The scene showed a villager carrying a rock shaped like a musical note up to the roc’s nest: rock music. Cyrus’s memory bank confirmed that rocs did like rock music, rock gardens, and rock candy.

  The scene showed a close- up of the pebbles the villagers were extracting from the mine. They ranged from nondescript to ugly.

  “What kind of stone do you mine?” Cyrus asked.

  UGLY GEMS.

  “I can see that. But who would want those?”

  The picture showed a very pretty young village woman, the kind any village man would want to take home. She put an ugly stone on a cord and hung the cord around her neck, so that the stone dangled before her evocative bosom.

  Suddenly the woman was unpretty, and her bosom was repulsive.

  “Oh!” Cyrus exclaimed. “Not only is the gem ugly, it makes its wearer ugly! But still, who would want it?”

  The young woman took off her stone, and became pretty again. Immediately a dirty young man approached her. He said something that was inaudible to Cyrus, but the girl flushed angrily and walked away. The man pursued her, uttering more embarrassing things. It seemed that he wanted to do things with her that the girl preferred to avoid.

  Finally she put the stone back on. The man took one more look at her, shook his head in wonder, and departed.

  “Oh,” Cyrus said. “It made her unattractive, so she was no longer bothered by aggressive men”

  YES. YOUNG WOMEN FIND OUR UGLY GEMS VERY USEFUL ON OCCASION. SOME WEAR THEM ALL THE TIME, EXCEPT AT HOME WITH THEIR HUSBANDS.

  “Got it,” Cyrus said. “Pompos must have had a prosperous business”

  YES. IT ENABLED US TO BECOME UNBEARABLY POMPOUS. WE COULD AFFORD THE VERY FANCIEST THINGS, AND WE FELT SUPERIOR TO EVERYONE ELSE AND LET THEM KNOW IT. THEREIN LAY OUR DOOM.

  “Oh? Ragna wanted your mine?”

  NO. THE GOBLINS DID. THEY THOUGHT THAT OTHER CREATURES WOULD LIKE THEM BETTER IF THE GOBLINS COULD AFFORD FANCY POSSESSIONS. SO THEY DECIDED TO TAKE THE MINE FROM US.

  Now the scene showed a horde of goblins pouring out of a mountain. They organized themselves into a crude army and marched on Pompos.

  The villagers saw them coming, and were plainly appalled. This was not a warrior village, and they had no way to stop the invasion. What could they do?

  Layea walked up the hill to talk with Roc Ette, who would also be affected by this. Could she help them?

  The roc nodded. There was further dialogue, then Layea and several village men climbed into a large basket outside of the village. Ette flew down and caught its handle in her talons. She lifted it and carried them away. Evidently Katriana did not go on this journey, because the scene did not follow it.

  Meanwhile the goblin horde was rapidly swarming toward the village. Would the special party return in time to stop it? The villagers were horrified, knowing that nothing but death, rapine, and slavery awaited them if the goblins took over. Their prettiest girls were fleeing, because their fate would be awful.

  “But the ugly stones,” Cyrus protested. “Wouldn’t they save the girls?”

  NOT FROM GOBLINS. GOBLINS OFTEN DON’T FIND THEIR OWN WOMEN UGLY ENOUGH.

  Oh, again.

  ANYWAY, THE LADY GOBLINS WANTED THE STONES TOO, BECAUSE MALE GOBLINS ARE VERY AGGRESSIVE. AND THE STONES COULD BE TRADED FOR ALL MANNER OF FINE THINGS. THEN THEY COULD BE AS SNOOTY AS THE HUMAN FOLK HAD BEEN.

  It was making ugly sense.

  In due course the roc returned with the basket, and barely in time, for the goblins were upon the fringe of the village. There was no chance to land, so Ette flew over the swarm. The folk in the basket poured buckets of water out onto the heads of the goblins, thoroughly wetting them.

  The effect was immediate. The goblins were enraged, and turned on each other, madly attacking. They hated everything, including their companions, and laid about them with their weapons.

  “Like mundane rabies!” Cyrus exclaimed.

  HATE ELIXIR, Layea agreed. opposite to love elixir.

  Which made the goblins mad, literally. The result was sheer carnage. Before long there was nothing left but a pile of brutally slain goblins.

  There was an awful mess to clean up, but the villagers went to work in good spirits. They had to wear protective clothing to avoid being touched by any lingering hate elixir, and the growing stench was appalling. They persevered, and Ette carried baskets of pure water to rinse off the contaminated landscape, and in a few days they had the area clean again. Things returned to normal.

  Roc Ette had enabled them to save their village and their mine. They owed her a huge favor.

  “I should think so,” Cyrus agreed.

  Time passed. Then a stranger appeared. He talked with Layea.

  A MINION OF RANGNA ROC.

  Layea listened courteously. Then she did something odd. She invited the Minion in, fed him a nice dinner, put on a dress that greatly enhanced her appearance, and took him to her bed. Her bare body was quite enticing, and the man was clearly enticed. So was Cyrus, who realized that she looked ordinary only when she wasn’t trying. That was an inherent talent many women seemed to have.

  “You really don’t need to show me this,” Cyrus said, embarrassed.

  IT IS NECESSARY.

  In bed, naked, she balked, gently holding him off. There was something she wanted in exchange. What was it?

  I PROFFERED A DEAL. I WOULD DO ANYTHING HE WANTED, ALL NIGHT, IF HE DID SOMETHING I WANTED NEXT MORNING.

  “Of course he wanted something,” Cyrus said. “He’s a man, and you’re naked. Men want mainly one thing.” He winced internally as he said it, remembering how he had learned what it was. “But what did you want of him?”

  THAT HE DRINK FROM A NEARBY SPRING.

  “That seems like an unequal exchange”

  IT IS A SPECIAL SPRING.

  The man shrugged and agreed.
They made the deal. Then he took hold of her and stirred up some stork feathers. The Adult Conspiracy came into play, fudging out the details, but there was no question what was going on.

  Cyrus found it voyeuristically interesting despite the lack of detail, and was ashamed of himself. Why did she regard it as necessary that he witness this private spectacle?

  In the morning the Minion, evidently satisfied with the night, nevertheless returned to business: his gestures showed that he wanted Layea to swear allegiance to Ragna Roc, on behalf of the village. Layea still demurred, evidently protesting that she couldn’t possibly make such an important decision in such a hurry; there would have to be a village meeting, discussion, and so on. When he became impatient, she kissed him and drew him back to the bed. He was nettled, but yielded; she had done well for him in the night, and had evidently not yet exhausted his passion.

  When a full day had passed, and it was the same time it had been when the Minion arrived, her attitude shifted. She begged him to accompany her to a special place not far outside the village. It was a small spring, with a warning sign beside it: BEWARE—LETHE.

  The Minion read the sign, and gesticulated. He wasn’t touching that! But Layea insisted, pointing to the spring, reminding him that he had agreed to do it. He had, indeed, and finally, reluctantly, he lay down beside it, put his mouth down, and drank.

  Then he got up, evidently dazed. Layea was gone and he was alone. He wandered away, remembering nothing. The village had been saved.

  “But how—?” Cyrus asked, bewildered. “He saw the sign. He knew it would wipe out his memory”

  MY TALENT. I CAN MAKE ANY MAN DO MY WILL TWENTY-THREE MINUTES OUT OF TWENTY- FOUR HOURS. SO I KEPT HIM WITH ME THAT TIME, THEN ASKED HIM TO DRINK. I MUST ASK, NOT COMMAND, AND IT HAS TO BE WITHIN HIS CONSCIENCE. BUT HE HAD AGREED, AND IT WAS NOT CONTRARY TO HIS CONSCIENCE, SO MY TALENT WAS ABLE TO MAKE HIM DO IT. A DEAL IS A DEAL.

  Cyrus worked it out. She had to know a man twenty- four hours before her talent became effective on him. So she had done what she had to, keeping him with her, doing what ever it took, until she could invoke her talent. Then she wiped him out.

  “This is ugly,” he said.

  Layea nodded.I HAD TO TELL YOU, EVEN IF IT MAKES YOU HATE ME.

  “I don’t hate you! I’m just—appalled”

  WHAT ELSE COULD I DO?

  He pondered. He had seen the other two villages. The Minions of the Roc were merciless. She had a weapon, and she used it. “Nothing,” he said.

  She looked relieved. She had not wanted to alienate him, but she had had a cruel choice to make. Submission to Ragna, or a desperate use of her power. She had done what she had done, to save her village.

  “Yet my opinion isn’t worth much,” Cyrus said. “You could have simply told me you distracted the Minion, with out showing me exactly how. That would have saved you some embarrassment”

  I FEEL GUILT, AND NEED A LIVING OPINION. THE VILLAGERS OF COURSE SUPPORT ME, BUT YOU ARE MORE OBJECTIVE. I WANT TO KNOW THAT I DID THE RIGHT THING, EVEN IF I HAD TO DO A WRONG THING TO ACHIEVE IT.

  So it was a confession. He wished he could do the same about his own guilt with Rhythm.

  A bulb flashed over his head. “I have a similar confession, requiring similar objective judgment,” he said. “Will you listen?”

  Layea gazed at him, half in surprise, half in gratitude. YES.

  “I was seduced by a Sorceress, a stunning creature twenty-two years old. I love her still. But her real age is twelve. She used magic to age herself a decade, and I knew it, but did it anyway. How great is my guilt?”

  YOU ARE A MAN.

  “Yes. But that doesn’t excuse it”

  MEN DON’T NEED EXCUSES. THEY DO WHAT THEY DO REGARDLESS. YOU COULDN’T HELP YOURSELF.

  “Still”

  THE GUILT IS THAT OF THE SORCERESS, WHO KNEW WHAT SHE WAS DOING.

  “I don’t blame her! I love her”

  YOU ARE A MAN, SHE REPEATED. THE MINION WAS A MAN. ALL A WOMAN HAS TO DO IS SHOW HER PAN TIES OR HER BRA OR EVEN SOMETIMES JUST HER BARE FLESH AND SHE CAN DO ANYTHING WITH HIM SHE WANTS. SHE USED YOU AS I USED THE MINION. YOU ARE GUILTY ONLY OF BEING WHAT YOU ARE.

  “Somehow I’m not relieved”

  AT LEAST YOU LOVE HER. THE MINION DIDN’T LOVE ME; HE USED ME. YOUR GUILT IS MINIMAL.

  He hadn’t thought of it that way. A burden was easing from his conscience. “Thank you, Layea”

  WELCOME. Then they resumed the illusion presentation.

  A month later a second Minion arrived. THEY HAD FOUND THE FIRST, WHO HAD FORGOTTEN HIS MISSION. HE DEMANDED TO KNOW WHO HAD DONE IT.

  “But they couldn’t know it was you,” Cyrus said. “Because of the forgetting”

  THEY KNEW WHERE HE HAD BEEN SENT.

  The second Minion was a canny brute. He wanted Layea to swear fealty, but he also wanted what ever the first had got-ten.

  SO I TOLD HIM. IN FACT KATRIANA SHOWED HIM.

  “Showed him! The way she’s showing me?”

  YES.

  “But then she must have been there, to see it herself!”

  NO. I TOLD HER, AND SHE RE-CREATED THE SEQUENCE.

  Cyrus shook his head. This was desperation indeed. There were women who would literally die rather than expose themselves to the potential humiliation of having their illicit seductions publicized.

  The picture showed a picture within the picture, as the Second Minion watched what the first had done with Layea. The sight evidently excited him greatly.

  WE MADE A DEAL. HE COULD DO THE SAME AT NIGHT. IN THE MORNING I WOULD FILL TWO CUPS WITH WATER. ONE WOULD BE NORMAL; THE OTHER, LETHE. HE WOULD CHOOSE, AND WE BOTH WOULD DRINK.

  “He agreed to that?” Cyrus asked incredulously.

  THE ILLUSION SHOW MUST HAVE TURNED HIM ON.

  As it had turned Cyrus on. It was, as she had said, the condition of being male.

  So the Second Minion had at her all night, and in the morning she fixed two clear drinks. She held them up before him, inviting him to choose.

  He picked one, then gestured: he wanted her to drink first. She put hers to her mouth and sipped. She smiled, not losing her memory.

  Ha. He took her drink from her, and gave her his.

  “Hey!” Cyrus said. “Isn’t that cheating? You should have drunk simultaneously”

  I CHEATED TOO.

  “How? You gave him his choice”

  WATCH.

  Layea was clearly reluctant to drink from the second cup, but he insisted. She evidently reminded him that he must drink too, and her talent was making him conform, so they drank together. One sip each.

  Layea looked slightly confused, affected by a little bit of memory loss. The Minion smiled, then glugged down the rest of his drink, while Layea sipped more delicately.

  Then he stood dazed. He had forgotten everything. She turned him about and sent him walking out of the house and village. He was done.

  “But he switched drinks!” Cyrus protested. “You had the lethe!”

  I FAKED CONFUSION.

  “But if that wasn’t the one—you drank from both”

  I FILLED EACH HALF FULL OF LETHE, AND HALF FULL OF SAFE WATER. THE LETHE IS THICKER, AND SETTLED TO THE BOTTOM.

  “And you never drank down to the bottom, as he did! You tricked him”

  I DID. WAS I WRONG?

  Cyrus considered. The Minion had been so determined to cheat that he had fooled himself. He had thought he had the safe one, and glugged it. “Less wrong than he was”

  THANK YOU. I DO FEEL SOME GUILT.

  “Ragna Roc must have been pretty mad when he lost a second Minion”

  HE DIDN’T NOTICE.

  “Didn’t notice! Then why did he destroy your village?”

  Layea smiled. The illusion picture moved again.

  This time it showed Roc Ette gracefully flying. When she nested on the ground her plumage was drab brown, but when her wings spread they displayed rainbow colors. She was beautiful when she tried
, typically female in that respect.

  One day as she foraged she encountered a male roc. He admired her wings and squawked to her in bird talk. He wanted her to come with him, to be his companion and perhaps more. She was interested, and followed him to his lair, which was beside a huge castle being constructed from rock candy.

  Then she saw three other roc hens nesting, and realized that she had not been invited to be his sole companion, but a member of a harem. Revolted, she wheeled about in midair and departed.

  The three other hens vaulted from their nests and pursued her. They boxed her in, flying before, above, and below her. “Halt, hen!” the one above squawked. “Do you not know who asked you? Don’t be coy.” There was no actual sounds in the picture, but Layea printed the words so that the full scene was re- created.

  “Whoever he is, he has some nerve,” Ette retorted. “You may be satisfied to share, but I am not. We do not practice plural marriage in Xanth.”

  “That’s the old order. He is Ragna Roc, establishing the new order. You would do well to seek his favor, as we do.”

  “Why should I want the favor of a philandering cock bird?”

  “Because otherwise he will delete you.”

  “What me?”

  “Delete you. He will render you into illusion. That’s his talent. He is a Magician Roc, and he will govern, or see the end of Xanth in a mighty battle. He is a god”

  “He’s deluded! There are no gods.”

  “There were no gods,” the hen squawked. “Now there is Ragna. Join him now, while the position remains open.”

  “Hardly,” Ette said with contempt. Then she folded her wings and plummeted past the lower hen. She got a new direction and flew away before the three could re orient. She dodged behind a mountain, turned at right angles, and shot off again, flying barely over the ground, losing them.

  But after that her life was not her own. When she foraged, there were spy rocs that reported her position, and the three hens came after her. It was evident that Ragna intended to capture her for his harem, regardless of her preference. What was she to do? She had to forage, lest she starve, but then she could be spotted in the sky. Rocs are big birds; they can not readily disappear in flight.

  It got worse. Ette made evasive maneuvers whenever she spied another roc, be it hen or cock, but even so they were narrowing down her home range. Soon they would locate her nest, and then she would be doomed.