Humfrey woke with a start "You equine menace!" he cried grumpily. "Watch what you're doing!"
"I am watching," Chester said. "That's not my arrow. See, it has stardust on it"
Humfrey drew the arrow from the dirt "Why, so it does." He squinted up into the sky. "But stardust is not supposed to be down here. What's going on?"
Now Crombie stirred. "Squawk!"
"You're the Magician," the golem said. "You're supposed to know about things."
"About stellar constellations coming to life? It's been a long time since I reviewed that particular magic."
Humfrey stared up into the sky. "However, it would be a worthwhile study. Crombie, where's the most convenient access to that realm?"
Crombie pointed. Now Bink saw a pattern of stars resembling steps coming down to the horizon. They looked increasingly solid, and they seemed closer as he looked, descending almost to the rim of bones. Maybe it was possible after all to ascend!
He looked up into the stars again. They were even more brilliant than before, and the lines between them were stronger. The stick figures had assumed shadings that made them quite realistic. He saw Chameleon again, beckoning him. "I'm going up!"
"Squawk!" Crombie agreed. "I'm always ready for a good fight, and that comet-mouthed centaur needs a lesson."
Chester was already on his way to the steps, but at this he paused.
"Don't be a fool," the Magician snapped, running after them. "Crombie refers to the centaur in the sky, not you. You are loudmouthed, not comet-mouthed."
"Um, of course," Chester agreed without complete enthusiasm. He made a visible effort to shake off the annoyance. "Charge!"
They charged for the steps.
"Are you fools crazy?" Grundy yelled. 'There's nothing up there for you!"
Chester glanced at him; Bink saw the change in the shape of the centaur's head outlined against the massed constellations. "I didn't hear Crombie squawk."
"He didn't squawk!" the golem yelled, "I'm speaking for myself this time. Don't go into the sky! It's madness!"
"It's fascinating," Humfrey said. "Firsthand study of animated constellations! There may never be a better opportunity."
"I have to teach that centaur a lesson," Chester said.
Bink's eyes had returned to Chameleon. His need for her became as big as the sky. He continued forward.
"It's the madness," Grundy cried, yanking at the feathers of Crombie's neck. "It doesn't affect me. I see only the facts, because I'm not real. This is hostile magic. Don't go!"
"You're probably right, twerp," Humfrey agreed. "But this offering is too compelling to be denied."
"So was the siren! Don't do it!" Grundy repeated. "Where is your quest, if you let the madness take you now?"
"What do you care?" Chester demanded. "You have no feelings." He put his forehooves on the first step. It was firm, anchored at every corner by a pinpoint star. The lines were like threads, and the panels between them like glass. A translucent staircase, not quite invisible, going up into the sky.
Bink knew it was magic, and not to be trusted. But Chameleon was up there, waiting for him, and he had to go. His talent would not permit it if it were not safe, after all.
"Well, I'm not going!" Grundy screamed. He jumped from the griffin's back, fell into the foliage of a flower-bug bush, and scared up a swarm of flowerbugs. In a moment he was lost in the night
"Good riddance," Chester muttered, mounting the steps. The surfaces bowed slightly under his weight, drawing the anchoring stars inward, but held. Crombie, impatient with this, spread his wings and flew around the centaur and came to rest higher on the stairway. Apparently the ascent was too steep for comfortable flying by a creature of this size, so he preferred to mount by foot. The Good Magician was third, and Bink last
In a line they ascended. The stairway spiraled, so that soon Crombie was climbing directly above Bink. It was an interesting effect, but Bink was more intrigued by the view below. As he climbed above the level of the trees, the nocturnal landscape of the Xanth wilderness opened out below, impressive because of its special nature. Bink had once been transformed into a bird, and once had ridden a magic carpet, and once had flown in human form; magic had given him quite a varied experience. But this slow ascent up through the levels of the forest, with firm footing beneath him--this was different from the various forms of flight, and in a certain respect unique. He was highly aware that he could fall; the steps had no railing to hold him in, no barrier at the fringes of the steps. This seemed to put him right into the situation in a way that flight did not. To be above the ground, yet tied to it...
The night forest was beautiful. A number of trees glowed. Some reached bone-white tentacles up; others were balls of pastel hues. Some had giant flowers that resembled eyes, and these eyes seemed to be focusing on Bink. Other treetops formed into mazes of interlocking branches. As he watched, the whole forest assumed the shape of a single human face. DON'T GO it mouthed.
Bink paused, momentarily disgruntled. Was the wilderness really trying to speak to him? Whose interest did it represent? It could be jealous of his escape to the sky. Hungry for his body. Or just mischievous.
Crombie had balked at the tangle tree. Chester had been fortuitously deafened in time to save them from the siren's call. His talent had been operating then. Why was it quiescent now?
He looked upward. The enormous panorama of the sky awaited him--animals, monsters, and people. They were all frozen in place at the moment, awaiting the arrival of Bink's party. Up there lay adventure.
He resumed his climb. He had to hurry, because the others had continued moving, and were now several spirals ahead of him. He didn't want to be late for the action!
As he caught up to the Magician, who was lagging behind the stout four-legged entities, something buzzed in from the darkness to the side. It sounded like a very large insect, one of the exotic bugs. Not another gold bug, he hoped! He waved his arms, hoping to scare it off.
"Bink!" a small voice cried.
What now? He was getting winded from his rapid climb, and had to watch carefully to be sure he didn't make a misstep while absorbing the splendors of the immense canopy above and the broad disk below. He was in the very center of a phenomenal scene, and he wanted to experience every aspect of it with full intensity, and he didn't need any bugs distracting him. "Go away!"
The bug flew near. There was light associated with it. It was a flying fish, propelling itself by a jet of bubbles from its fuselage, so that its rigid wings could provide sufficient lift. The gills were air-intakes, and assorted little fins provided stability and spot maneuverability. Flying fish were swift, Bink knew; they had to be, or they dropped to the ground. This one carried a light on its back like a miniature lantern, and--
"Bink! It's Grundy!" And lo, it was indeed the golem, braced on the back of the fish, guiding it with little reins and a bit set in its mouth. Grundy's free hand held the lamp, which seemed to be a tiny star, captive in a little net "I caught this fish by luring it with fish-talk; now it understands and is helping. I have the spell-reversal wood along." He tapped his saddle with his rein-hand. It was the gnarly fragment that Bink had discarded.
"But how can the fish fly?" Bink demanded. 'How can you translate? The reversal--"
"It doesn't affect the fish because the fish has no talent; the fish is magical," Grundy explained with limited patience. "The wood only reverses exterior magic, not inherent magic."
That doesn't make much sense to me," Bink said.
The wood reversed birdbeak's talent, but did not change him back into a man," the golem continued. "It fouled up the gnome's information, but did not make him a regular man either. It didn't affect you, because--"
The golem was not aware of Bink's talent, but this remained a pertinent question: had Bink's talent conquered the wood--or been reversed by it? The answer could be a matter of life and death! "What about you?" Bink demanded. "You're still translating!"
"I'm not real," Grund
y said shortly. "Take away my magic and I'm nothing but string and mud. The wood is just wood, to me."
"But the wood was affecting you before! You were speaking gibberish, until I got you away from it"
"Was I?" Grundy asked, startled. "I never realized. I guess translation is my talent, so..." He faded out, considering. "I know! I'm not translating now. I'm speaking for myself!"
And there was the answer. "Well, keep that wood away from me," Bink said. "I don't trust it."
"No. I have to bring it close to you. Put your hand on it, Bink."
"I will not!" Bink exclaimed.
Grundy jerked the reins to one side, kicked the flanks of the fish, and leaned forward. The fish swerved, reared, and accelerated right at Bink. "Hey!" he protested as it grazed his hand.
But at that moment his outlook changed. Abruptly the stars were mere stars, and the stairs--were the branches of a latticework tree. Above him the others were near its summit, about to step onto the thinning twigs that could not support their weight. Crombie was already supporting much of his mass by flapping his wings, and Chester--
Bink shook his head in amazement. A centaur, climbing a tree!
Then the fish buzzed out of range, and the madness returned. Bink was on the translucent stairway again, climbing toward the glowing constellations. "It's crazy, I know!" he cried. "But I can't help myself. I have to go on up!"
The golem guided his fish in close again, "You can't throw it off even when you know it's doom?"
"It's mad!" Bink agreed, suffering a measure of sanity as the wood passed near again. "But true! But don't worry about me--I'll survive. Go get Chester off that branch before he kills himself!"
"Right!" Grundy agreed. He spurred his mount and buzzed upward. Bink resumed his climb, cursing himself for his foolishness.
The fish disappeared in the night. Only the caged star--that Bink now knew was nothing more than a glowberry--showed Grundy's location. That light moved up near the centaur.
"Good grief, golem!" Chester exclaimed. "What the horsefeathers am I doing in a tree?"
Bink could not hear Grundy's side of the conversation, but could guess its nature. After a moment Chester started backing down the stairway steps.
"Hey, oaf!" the Magician cried. "Get your ass's rear out of my face!"
"Go down," the centaur cried. "This is no stair, it's a tree. We're climbing to our doom."
"It's information. Let me by!"
"It's madness! Grundy, take your wood to him."
The light descended. "Great galloping gizzards!" Humfrey cried. "It is a tree! We've got to get down!"
But now the centaur was climbing again. "I haven't finished my business with that constellation centaur," he said.
"You equine fool!" Humfrey exclaimed. "Desist!"
The fish zoomed down toward Bink. "I can't handle them both," Grundy cried. "I've only got the single piece of wood, and there are four of you."
"The griffin can fly; hell be all right for now," Bink said. "The stair--I mean the tree--is narrow. Give Chester the wood; no one can pass him. Then you search for more wood."
"I had already thought of that," the golem said. The fish zoomed off. In a moment Chester reversed his course again. The Good Magician cursed in most un-Magician like vernacular, but was forced to retreat in the face of the centaur's rear. Soon they were right above Bink--and he too cursed as his ascent was balked
The constellations, seeing the retreat, exploded in rage. The sky centaur cried silently. At his summons, the other monsters of the heavens gathered: the dragon, the hydra, the serpent, the winged horse, the giant, and in the river the whale.
The madness remained upon him, but Bink no longer wanted to climb the stairway. The monsters were converging, clustering about the top of the stair-spiral. The serpent was starting down, its sinuous body coiling along the spiral, while the winged ones flew down. Bink was not certain whether they were real or illusion or something in between--but remembering the arrow-strike at the dogwood tree, he was disinclined to gamble. "We've got to get under cover!" he cried.
But Crombie, highest on the stair and unaffected by the spell-wood, flew up to do battle with the winged horse. "Squawk!" he cried.
"Neigh!" the horse replied.
Grundy buzzed by on his steed. "Oooh, what they said!"
Wings spread, griffin and horse faced off, claws swiping, hooves striking. Contact was made, but Bink couldn't tell from the whirling, flapping silhouettes which creature was prevailing.
Then the serpent arrived. Chester could not use his bow effectively, since no arrow would travel a spiral path, so he waited with his sword. Bink wondered what the centaur saw, since he had the wood and so perceived reality--or something. Probably it was not a serpent, but an equivalent threat. Meanwhile Bink had to interpret it as he saw it.
As the huge snake-head came close, the centaur bellowed a warning and struck it across the nose. Blade met fang. The serpent's teeth were large, reflecting starlight, and they gleamed with what might be poison. There were two projecting ones, and they moved with the precision of a fencer. Chester was compelled to retreat, since he had only one sword.
Then Chester took a cue from the winged horse, and used his front hooves. He bashed the serpent on the nose, one-two, one-two, while dazzling it with the sword. His front feet did not have the power of his rear ones, but his hooves had sharp fighting edges and a cumulative impact that could splinter bark from a tree, or scales from a serpent
What would happen, Bink wondered, if the wood were to touch the serpent? Would it give the serpent a different view of reality? Would the centaur then seem to be something else? How could anyone be sure what magic was real, and what false?
The serpent hissed and gaped its jaws so widely that its mouth became as tall as the centaur. Its sinuous tongue snaked out to wrap around Chester's sword arm, immobilizing it, but Chester shifted his weapon to his other hand, and efficiently lopped off the tongue. The serpent made a hissing howl of agony and snapped its mouth closed, the tusks clanging against each other. Chester took a moment to unwrap the segment of tongue from his arm, then resumed slashing at the nose. He was holding his own.
The dragon arrived. It zoomed in at the Good Magician. Humfrey might be captive to the madness, but he was not a fool. His hand dived into his jacket and came out with a vial. But so swift was the dragon's onslaught that there was no time to open the container. Instead, Humfrey flipped it into the opening mouth. The dragon snapped at it automatically. The vial crunched under its bite. Vapor exploded, expanding into a cloud that jetted out between the dragon's teeth and coalesced about its head. But it did not form into anything else--no demon, no smoke screen, not even a sandwich. It just clung there in hardening gobs.
"What is it?" Bink cried. "Did the vial misfire?"
"I had to grab randomly," Humfrey replied. "It's--I believe it is foaming insulation."
"Slavering what?"
"Foaming insulation. It foams up, then hardens in place to keep things warm--or cold."
Bink shook his head. The Magician was mad all right
How could anything act to keep things hot or cold? It either had to be like fire, heating, or like ice, cooling. And why would anyone bother with such magic?
The dragon, however, was not taking it with equanimity. It flexed in midair, and shook its head violently from side to side, trying to rid itself of the clinging stuff. It chewed and gulped, seeking to eliminate the foam. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Humfrey told it.
The dragon ignored him. It roared. Then it huffed and puffed, working up a head of fire in its belly. It looped about, its flapping wings throwing off chunks of hardened foam. Then it oriented on the Magician and blasted out its terrible fire.
Only a thin jet of flame emerged. Then, surprisingly, the dragon's body began inflating. It swelled up like a balloon, until only the legs, tail, wing tips and snout projected from the ball.
"What--?" Bink asked, amazed.
"The insulation
hardens in place immediately in the presence of heat," Humfrey explained. "Thus the dragon's own fire had solidified it. Unfortunately that particular type of insulation is also--"
The dragon exploded. Stars shot out in every direction, scorching the jungle foliage below, zooming by Bink to the side, and making a fine display above.
"--explosively flammable when ignited," Humfrey finished.
They watched the upward-flying stars rise to their heights, then explode in multicolored displays of sparks. The whole night sky became briefly brighter.
"I tried to warn that dragon," Humfrey said without sympathy. "One simply does not apply open flame to flammable insulation."
Bink, privately, hardly blamed the dragon for misunderstanding that caution. He would have made the same mistake as the dragon had. If his talent permitted it. But this did impress on him one thing: should he (perish the thought!) ever have a serious disagreement with the Good Magician, he would have to watch out for those magic bottles! There was no telling what might come out of them.
Now a monster found Bink. It was the hydra. It had no wings, and could not have used the stairs because they were blocked by the serpent The hydra seemed to have descended by hanging from a thread--but no such thread was visible.
Bink swung at the monster with his sword. He was in excellent form; he caught the nearest of the seven heads cleanly, just behind the horns, and it flew off. Gore spouted out of the neck with such force that the jet separated into two channels. If this was all it took to beat this monster, Bink would have no trouble!
The two jets coagulated in midair, forming into twin lumps still attached to the neck. As more gore emerged, it splashed over these lumps, hardening, enlarging them. Excrescences developed, and the color darkened, until--
The lumps became two new heads! Each was smaller than the original, but just as vicious. Bink had only succeeded in doubling the menace he faced.
This was a problem. If each head he cut off converted into two, the longer and better he fought, the worse off he would be! Yet if he did not fight well, he would soon be consumed in seven--no, eight chunks. "Catch, Bink!" Chester called, throwing something. Bink didn't appreciate the interruption to his concentration, but grabbed for it anyway. In the dark his sweeping fingers merely batted it aside. In the moment it touched him, his sanity returned. He saw himself on a branch of the tree, pointing his sword at--