Knot Gneiss

  “I have heard about goblin females too,” Hilarion said. “It is said that some are so beautiful that a man must wear protective glasses when looking at them, lest he suffer eye damage.”

  Ida laughed. “Surely an exaggeration. But it is true that the females are both lovely and nice, in considerable contrast to the males. Gnomes are similar in such respects, but less so.”

  Conversation lapsed as they moved on toward the root. Would they find the Door there? Wenda was not at all sure they would. But where else was there to look?

  Then she became aware of an increasing nervousness among her fellow passengers. Oops—it had been more than a day since the last reverse-wood shell update. The Knot was making its nasty power felt.

  Wenda got up and touched the net shell. “I wood knot dew that to yew,” she said. “That wood bee cruel.” Sure enough, the shield was almost gone. The words had meaning only as a test of the shield’s effect.

  Quickly she got out new seeds to replace the old ones in the net. She felt the brooding anger of the Knot. It had perhaps hoped to drive the people off the roc, then make the roc himself panic and crash. Fortunately Wenda had been at least belatedly alert. The bad feeling faded as she completed the replacements.

  Thank you, Jumper thought. It was becoming uncomfortable.

  “You are welcome,” Wenda murmured, noting that the dialect spell was functioning again.

  She settled back into her place and relaxed. She hoped the Door would be found soon, but knew she couldn’t count on it. They would simply have to keep slogging on until they somehow found it.

  Hello, Wenda.

  “Hello, Eris,” Wenda murmured. She was coming to like these occasional private dialogues with the Demoness.

  Thank you. I believe I am making progress in my study of friendship. I discover that I like conversing with you. That is a pleasure I had not imagined before I came to know you. Now I would talk to you even if Jumper were not near. He has become irrelevant in this respect.

  “Thank you,” Wenda said. “But I am nothing special. I’m just a wouldwife with a job to do.”

  And you are doing it well. You have kept your mind on your mission, and maintained the organization necessary to accomplish it.

  “I have just muddled along, unable to do anything else.”

  You are an effective leader. The others depend on your constancy.

  “Thank you,” Wenda repeated, unable to think of anything else to say, though she felt she was being given more credit than was due.

  Jumper learned much of humanity from you, and I am doing the same. The others need you. So do I.

  “But you’re a Demoness!”

  A Dwarf Demoness. I do not need you physically or intellectually. I need you emotionally. You have the simple, honest, nice feelings that made you the best of friends for Jumper. Feelings I want to share.

  “You’re welcome to them.” Wenda still felt overcredited.

  Your very contact enhances my mood. Now that I have discovered you, I do not wish to lose you.

  “Oh, I will not reject you!” Wenda protested. “I just think I am not the only one who could help you.”

  Perhaps, the Demoness agreed, and faded.

  The Demoness was becoming familiar, but Wenda suspected she would never lose her awe. She was keenly aware that even a Dwarf Demon had power beyond anything imaginable by mortal folk. The only constraints on it were the powers of other Demons, in their Demon Protocols that governed their interactions. That was perhaps fortunate for mortals.

  It is, Jumper agreed. I have come to know her to an extent, and her full powers are miraculous. I occupy only about one percent of her attention, and that’s more than I can compass. Yet I know she is merely one of a great number of minor demons.

  “One percent!”

  You occupy a similar amount of her attention. She is really taken with you. I understand that; you are worthy.

  “Thank you,” Wenda said once again. It was obvious she knew next to nothing about Demons.

  I value my friendship with you above all else. I think that is what first attracted her attention to you.

  Eris had said much the same. Wenda still felt unworthy.

  In due course they reached the root section of the tree. Jumper glided down to a suitable landing place. He found a valley with brown plants growing thickly. That would do.

  The moment Jumper touched ground, he transformed to a female roc, slightly smaller, with glossier feathers. I’m a chick, he thought. That confirmed the nature of this region.

  The others removed their shoes and set bare feet on the ground. Ida became a man, with her dress ill fitting, loose around the chest and hips. Meryl put her tail down, transformed, picked up a chip of wood, and flew back into the air, retaining her transformation. Angela touched and did not seem to change. But that was because her body was invisible. Hilarion became a lovely woman, his clothing tight where Ida’s was loose, his/her hair growing down to her waist. Jumper changed to manform, and was a handsome bare woman. What had been mere flashes before as they worked with reverse wood was now permanent for the duration, and that was less comfortable.

  Wenda of course would not be affected, but she put her bare foot on the ground to join the others. And felt something uncomfortably strange. What was happening?

  “You’re changing!” Jumper told her.

  “But I can’t be,” she protested. “I’m immune.”

  “You may be immune to chips and branches, but not an entire landscape,” Ida said. “This is the reverse-wood heartland, surely the most potent environment of all. In fact I suspect it is more than wood, but the reverse soil from which the wood springs. The root essence of the tree and this world.”

  That seemed to be the case. Wenda’s chest and hips shrank, her shoulders and arms turned muscular and her body became lean and hard where it had been rounded and soft. The hair of her head shortened drastically, and a mustache sprouted on her upper lip. Her delicate human feet had become hard hooves. She was now not a nymph but a faun. Physically; she would never be male in spirit. “Ugh!” she exclaimed.

  The others laughed. “That does sum it up,” Meryl agreed, glancing down at her own blank chest.

  Hilarion glanced at Ida. “Would you like to exchange clothing?”

  “Yes, I believe I would.” Ida went to Hilarion, and the two removed their awkward clothing and donned each other’s outfits. They did fit reasonably well, for Ida had gained stature as a man, and Hilarion had lost some as a woman. Wenda noted that they had become comfortable enough with each other to make such an exchange without retreating to private areas. They were what they were, reversed.

  Then Wenda produced Jumper’s clothing from her purse, donned it, and handed him hers. Again the fits were reasonable, considering. They were decent again.

  They scattered to separate groves to dump potties and such. Wenda had to get used to the male hardware that had replaced her female software; it was awkward, physically, esthetically, and emotionally. Then they organized for a search for the Door.

  “I don’t suppose you could conjure it with the humidor?” Meryl inquired.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Ida said. “The humidor conjures only the Door going out, not the one returning. We have to find an existing Door.”

  Jumper transformed into a female quack and flew out to canvas one outer quadrant. Meryl flew to check another. Angela covered a third. Ida, Hilarion, and Wenda spread out and paced the closed-in area. It seemed hopeless, but they knew there was a Door. They would simply have to keep looking until they found it.

  “Hello, faun.”

  Wenda jumped; she had been so focused on looking around that she had not looked ahead. There was a gnome, short, knobby, dour in the gnome fashion. He bore a gnarled wood staff, but did not seem unfriendly. “Hello, gnome,” she replied.

  “I am Gnever Gnome, chief of the Gnarly Gnomes. What brings you to our territory?”

  “I am Wenda, from Xanth. We came here by accident, an
d are seeking the Door home.”

  “Ah, a world traveler. You will not find the Door here.”

  “You know where it is?” Wenda said eagerly.

  “Perhaps,” he replied cannily. “Your party will want to visit for a while; perhaps you will elect to remain here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There are not many of us, and we have a heavy burden of demand for our carvings, which are exported to many other worlds. We would like to augment our numbers. Perhaps we can persuade you to stay.”

  Wenda realized that it might not be expedient to deny him directly. They needed the gnomes’ cooperation. “Possibly,” she agreed. “But how is it that you speak our language? We are from worlds away.”

  Gnever smiled. “We colonized this world from Xanth, generations ago, to set up a viable trade with reverse-wood artifacts. Naturally we retain our home language, and are eager to have news from the old world. But we do need more colonists.”

  Oh. That did make sense. “We will be happy to share whatever news we have.”

  “Call in your several minions, and we will treat you to a visitors’ welcome. We can get to know one another.”

  “That seems fair,” Wenda agreed cautiously. How had he known she was the leader of this party? Unless he had been observing them before making himself known.

  Wenda lifted her voice and called, using her forest voice. “Folk, come in! We have a contact!” She sent a separate thought to Jumper, knowing he would read it in her mind. She was slowly becoming acclimatized to this leadership business.

  Soon the others gathered, and Wenda introduced them to Gnever. They seemed suitably impressed. Jumper, in female manform, caught her eye in passing; he had gotten her message. He would conceal his several special abilities until they were better acquainted with the gnomes.

  Then Gnever tapped the ground with his staff, and a hinged portal opened, with solid wood stairs leading down. He led the way down into the depths. It seemed that they had landed almost on top of this access, coincidentally.

  Wenda distrusted coincidence. There was usually magic involved, and not necessarily friendly magic.

  I knew there was something here, so I oriented on it, Jumper thought. I hoped it was the Door. But it seems to be the wrong door.

  The wrong door. Wenda hesitated, not liking the idea of getting trapped underground. But gnomes did generally live below, so this made sense. She followed, and the other members of her party followed her.

  The stairs led to a subterranean hall, which led in turn to a larger chamber. Here there were a number of gnomes and gnomides, the female of the species.

  Gnever introduced them, having an uncanny memory for names. In barely three moments each member of their party had a friendly gnome companion. Had the gnomes somehow been expecting them? They had been on the world for a while now, so news must have spread.

  Wenda’s companion was Gnaughty Gnomide, a remarkably fetching little creature. Now that Wenda was male, she was better able to appreciate such qualities in a female. “Come this way,” Gnaughty said, leading Wenda to another chamber where there was a huge banquet table.

  The others were there with their guides. Wenda noticed that each guide was of the opposite gender, and attractive. The meal was wonderful, with tasty courses and drinks. The gnomes were going to an extraordinary length to make the visitors welcome. Why?

  Gnaughty did not keep her in doubt long after dessert. “We want to persuade you to stay. We need new blood. We can make you happy here.”

  “So Gnever said. But we have other business and must move on.” Wenda saw similar conversations occurring around the table.

  “We can offer you so much,” the gnomide pleaded. She turned to Wenda, and her robe came slightly open, showing her marvelously bare bosom beneath.

  This electrified Wenda. She was appalled in more than one respect. First, because she reacted so strongly to the exposure, which she knew was intentional; her male body was reacting in a fully masculine manner. Second because it signaled how far the gnomes would go to convince their visitors to stay. She had no doubt that Gnaughty would eagerly oblige her in any way she desired, and of course her body had only one desire at the moment. And she couldn’t afford that.

  “I see what you offer,” Wenda said carefully, “but I am human and you are a gnome. I am twice your height, and about four times your mass. Such a liaison is not physically feasible.”

  “We have accommodation spells,” Gnaughty said, inhaling.

  Wenda almost freaked out. She had always been privately amused by the way men foolishly freaked at the sight of women’s panties or breasts. Now it was not funny at all; it was dangerous. “Those are temporary effects. They don’t actually change the nature of the folk.”

  “But they do make stork summoning feasible and enjoyable,” Gnaughty said. “Yet I hope to satisfy you that we won’t even need a spell, once we get private.” She shifted her position slightly to provide a better view.

  Wenda knew she couldn’t afford to freak out; she would be lost, with or without the spell. The gnomide already had her in thrall, and surely the other companions were doing the same to the other members of the Quest, of whatever gender. This was a choreographed campaign.

  She clapped her eyes closed. “Gnaughty,” she said urgently, “I’m married.”

  “On another world? That doesn’t count on this one.”

  “And I am female.”

  “Not here.”

  “I may have the body of a man here, but I am really a woman. That will always be true. I couldn’t marry another woman even if I were free to do so.”

  “And I am male,” Gnaughty said, unfazed.

  Wenda’s eyes popped open involuntarily, and were trapped. The view remained, locking her gaze in place. “What?”

  “We are all reverse-gendered here. We make the best of it. If any of us ever leave the root, we’ll change to our true genders. So we won’t leave.”

  “You’re all—” But of course it was true. How could it not affect the natives? “But then—”

  “Understand, it takes place at birth or before; we don’t know. So I have always seemed female, to myself and others. But I would be a male gnome away from here. So if we married, and departed, we would change together. We will always be of opposite genders.”

  This was almost overwhelming. “Well, I am used to being a woman. I mean to return to being one as soon as possible. I can’t help you. We can’t help you. We must go now.”

  “Please,” Gnaughty said desperately. Tears began to form in her lovely eyes.

  But Wenda knew she could not afford to relent. Tears were another female weapon that could demolish her male resistance. She had used them herself when necessary. She had to act immediately.

  She stood up. “Folks, we are departing now. The Door is not here.” This was a desperate guess, but necessary. The gnomes were not about to let them find or use the Door. “We must go look elsewhere. Now.”

  The others, having caught on similarly, did not hesitate. They knew they were on the brink of disaster. They stood up and made their way to her.

  “You can’t do this,” Gnever protested.

  “It is not that we feel you are bad folk,” Wenda said, still trying to be careful. “You could surely make us very comfortable here. But we have a mission to accomplish. We thank you for your hospitality, and will now resume our search for the way home.”

  “I appreciate your phrasing,” Gnever said, “but I was speaking literally. You can’t do this, because we will not let you out until you are properly committed to our community. Our access is closed.”

  Wenda didn’t argue with him. She led the way through the chambers to the hall to the stairs, and up the steps.

  The portal was locked shut, with a magical bond. They could not open it.

  “We ask you to reconsider,” Gnever said.

  Now each gnome companion approached his or her guest. Gnaughty flashed her décolletage, effectively freezing
Wenda in place, then stood on a step that brought her face to the level of Wenda’s face, and kissed her. It was no amateur effort.

  Wenda freaked out, overwhelmed by little flying hearts.

  When she recovered, she and the others were locked in a bedroom chamber. They had all been similarly captured.

  “What a creature,” Ida remarked, brushing away a heart that clung electrostatically to her shirt. “If I had a quarter of that expertise, I would have been married long since.”

  “I can only hope that my bethrothee has some similar ability,” Hilarion said. “And that when I am male again, I can impress her in the manner my gnome impressed me. He may be short of stature, but he’s one romantic figure.”

  “What do we do now?” Meryl asked.

  Wenda had come to a realization during her freaking-out. “We wait.”

  “We what?” Angela asked.

  “I think they will let us go in the morning.”

  The others stared at her in perplexity. Then Jumper smiled in a fetchingly female way, having read her mind.

  They used the suite bathroom to wash up, and settled onto the various beds.

  The nuptial party appeared, and promptly changed genders. “Oh, my!” Charming said as his clothing bulged in particular sections.

  Demon Beauregard was similarly confused as he discovered himself to be a demoness. Angela took hold of him. “I have a surprise for you, you ravishing creature,” she said.

  And Eris was now male. Wenda knew that the local reversal could not affect her; she was merely going along with it. “You look very pretty, Jumper,” she said, and took hold of him.

  Wenda caught Charming and hauled him into the suddenly curtained bed. She gave him no chance to protest. And in seven minutes she was sound asleep while he remained amazed and awake. It was glorious.

  In the morning the chamber door opened. Gnever stood there. “It seems we have a problem,” he said.

  Wenda affected innocence. “Whatever can that be?”