Knot Gneiss

  But she did not remember the betrothal.

  Meanwhile in another part of the heart-shaped picture, Prince Hilarion undertook the considerable training required of a prince. He studied weapons and combat, and letters and literature, and logic and diplomacy. He became the very model of a royal scion. Everyone was proud of him.

  When the day for his marriage came, there was just one hitch: his betrothee did not show up. What had gone wrong? So he did what he had to do: he set out to find her.

  He searched for some time. He had a brush with a forget whorl—perhaps the same one, meandering through the territory—and it wiped out most of his memory of the search, so that he did not realize it was twenty years instead of one year. This meant that he was looking for and kissing twenty-one-year-old maidens, and not having any success.

  Until this moment, when enough of his memory returned to identify his betrothee at last.

  The kiss was one minute in one frame, and forty years in another. At last it broke, and the two parties separated. Slowly the heart and colors faded, and the other members of the party resumed breathing.

  “You are the One,” Hilarion told Ida. He was now showing his true age. He was a handsome man of forty-two. In fact he looked exactly like the fun house picture.

  “I had that impression,” she agreed.

  Wenda glanced down at herself. The explosion of love light had melted her clothing and imbued her hollow front with a gentle warm glow.

  Then Wenda heard a ticking sound behind her. “The Knot!” she exclaimed. “The love was too much! It is about to blow! Get under cover!”

  The others threw themselves behind any cover available. Wenda stood facing the Knot, her arms spread wide, to shield the others to the extent possible. The ticking increased in volume.

  Then it blew. The Knot exploded into fragments that blasted the ground, the trees, the sky, and the remains of the floating heart. It piled into Wenda’s frontside, hurling her backward. The landscape darkened with the force of the blast.

  When it seemed safe, the others emerged from their refuges. Everything was peppered with embedded specks of petrified wood. Wenda herself was … filled, from face to feet. She had caught the brunt of the detonation.

  “Maybe we should have kissed with less force,” Hilarion said. But he did not seem particularly regretful. Ida did not comment, but she looked vibrant.

  “You are whole again!” Jumper said. “But the detonation must have reversed it, because you seem to be shapely flesh, not packed petrified sawdust.”

  Wenda checked her frontside. It seemed to be so. Her shapely bosom had been restored, and her limbs were rounded and whole. Even her hollow head was now solid, with a fully functional face. Jumper was right: she felt like living flesh, rather than shaped sawdust. How could that be?

  “But I have lost the Knot,” she said. “How can I deliver it to the Good Magician?”

  “We will go with you to explain,” Hilarion said. “It was my fault it happened.”

  “And mine,” Ida said. “We should not have kissed so close to the Knot.”

  “We all will go,” Jumper said.

  That seemed to be all they could do. The party resumed travel toward the Good Magician’s Castle, pulling the empty wagon. Progress was rapid, without that weight.

  The scenery had changed. The trees, bushes and rocks seemed somehow enhanced, as if painted with a brighter brush. They also seemed to be making sounds, or at least the colors felt audible. Some were loud, some soft; some strong and bold, others pale and weak. Wenda even heard the footsteps of running colors. Even the ground was strangely colorful, with its own shades of sounds. But there were shadows of normal ground beyond the rocks and trees. There was also a subdued aura of fading menace, yet nothing tangible. They hadn’t been that way before; what had changed?

  Yet the effect was one-sided. The opposite sides were normal. Why were the odd sides all facing the travelers, as if orienting malignantly on them?

  “The Knot!” Meryl said. “It exploded and sent tiny fragments into everything nearby. But only on the surfaces that were line of sight.”

  That was it, of course. Every surface in sight of the Knot when it detonated had been sprayed with petrified reverse-wood powder.

  Now that they understood the pattern, it was rather pretty. The near side of everything scintillated with slight malice. Diluted like this, it wasn’t really scary, but merely tangy.

  Wenda realized that when she looked at a peppered surface, she saw reversed colors. When she listened to it, she heard those colors. They were not speaking or singing, just sounding off. The reversal had extended into another sense. That was curious.

  “I think I understand,” Jumper said, divining her thought. “The Knot exploded and spread its powder right after the kiss.” He did not need to specify which kiss. “So now the two are mixed on all the surfaces they struck: the love from the kiss, and the malice from the Knot. They must cancel each other out. Except for the competitive interface between them, which generates the colors and sounds. So it is harmless and interesting.”

  “My frontside is neutral,” Wenda said, relieved. “It was bathed with the light of the kiss, before getting filled by the exploding Knot.”

  “It must be,” Jumper agreed. He eyed it with three or four eyes. “Yes. It is harmless and interesting. Prince Charming should notice.”

  That reminded her. “I must dress!”

  “I have a spare dress,” Ida said, coming to help put it on Wenda. But in a moment she shook her head. “That is the wrong one; I don’t know how it got in the collection.”

  Wenda looked at it. The dress was covered with ads for different things. EAT AT SLURPEES, OLD SPELLS TRADED, CURSES ENHANCED. “What is it?” she asked.

  “It is an ad-dress. It consists of assorted ads for things, constantly changing. Some young women like the attention it generates. But it’s not right for you.”

  “Not right,” Wenda agreed.

  Ida got out another dress. That one made Wenda look like a princess. But of course she was one.

  “Now you look complete, even a trifle salacious,” Ida said as she applied the finishing touches. “Your restored front is very nice.”

  “But is it flesh?” Wenda asked, concerned. “I wood rather have real flesh to offer Charming.”

  It is, the Demoness Eris’s thought came. I arranged it.

  “Yew what?” Wenda asked, startled.

  It was part of a Demon wager I made, which fortunately I won. That your lost substance be restored, in full rondure and fleshiness. Because it was my fault you lost it.

  “But yew saved my life!” Wenda protested.

  But still cost you some of it. That needed to be remedied.

  “A Demon bet—just for that?”

  And for a Status Point. That made it worthwhile for other Demons. Demons don’t make wagers for nothing.

  “What was the wager?” Jumper asked.

  That Prince Hilarion and Princess Ida would discover each other before the Knot was delivered to the Good Magician’s Castle.

  “But that was sheer chance!” Hilarion protested. “Had not the Maiden Taiwan mentioned my contact with her a decade ago, I would not have realized how long I had been searching.”

  Yes. An even chance. Most Demon wagers are perfectly balanced. But fear not: the Good Magician planned to tell you at the completion of the mission, as a reward for your assistance.

  “He knew, and did not tell?” Ida asked, her lip curling in what in a less nice person might have been taken for annoyance.

  He has his ways.

  That was certainly true. The Good Magician’s grumpiness and obscurity were legendary.

  “But why?” Wenda asked. “I can understand the Status Point, but why add to the risk like that? Yew really did knot owe me anything.”

  For friendship.

  Wenda could not refute that. “Thank yew,” she breathed weakly.

  As they walked, the effect thinned, because there
were fewer avenues for the flying debris. Finally it was gone.

  But Wenda remained troubled. Finally she realized what was bothering her. “That bet,” she murmured, knowing the Demoness would hear. “What wood yew have lost, if yew lost it?”

  A Status Point.

  She was not fooled. “What else?”

  And Eris had to answer. Forfeiture of all further association with mortals.

  “But what of Jumper?”

  He is now immortal.

  “But that wood have meant yewr association with me … yewr friendship—”

  Would have been sacrificed. It would have been horrible. But I had to risk it, to get the wager.

  “Yew risked yewr friendship—for the sake of friendship?”

  The scales had to balance. It was the only way. Demons do not kittenfoot.

  “I am knot worth it.”

  Oh, but you are, Wenda. Before I got half of Jumper’s soul, which included part of yours, I never experienced love or loneliness. Now I need your friendship. You alone of all mortals, understand. You do not care that I am a Demoness, any more than you care that Jumper is a spider. You care only about the personal relationship. I can find that nowhere else.

  And Wenda did understand. It was true: the origin or nature of her friends did not matter to her. Only her contact with them. The tears were streaming down her face. “Please—dew knot dew that again. I need yewr friendship too.”

  Not again, Eris agreed.

  And that was where it had to be left. The Demoness had taken an appalling risk, for the sake of friendship. What better proof of it could there be? Not that Wenda had ever sought proof.

  No one else commented, though they had heard her side of the dialogue and understood the general nature of it. It was something they knew she had to handle on her own.

  Now Wenda realized something else. They were nearing the end of the mission, having done what they could. The several members of the group would be going to their various lives, most of them significantly enhanced. Wenda would be returning to the castle with Prince Charming. That was fine; she loved him and loved his passion for her. But it wasn’t enough.

  She had no friends at the castle. There were servants galore, but servants were not friends. There were royal visitors, but they were not friends either. She had not realized how lonely she had become, ensconced in her life of splendor.

  But on the mission, with Jumper, Meryl, Angela, Ida, Hilarion, and Eris, she had had friends again, just as she had when on Jumper’s mission. That had buoyed her despite the tribulations. That was almost over.

  At least now she could continue her association with Jumper and Eris. That would make an enormous difference. Two friends were infinitely better than none.

  Yes.

  “Yes,” she breathed. And walked on with a jauntier step.

  Not far from the castle, they came across a young woman. She was sitting on a stone, sobbing. Wenda could not simply walk by a person in trouble, so she paused.

  “Please—I dew knot like to see sadness,” she said. “I am Wenda Woodwife, on the way with my companions to see the Good Magician. Is there anything I can dew for you?”

  “The Good Magician!” the girl repeated, and her sobbing increased.

  “This is odd,” Hilarion murmured.

  “Are yew having trouble finding him?” Wenda asked. “We can show yew. His castle is almost in sight.”

  “I’ve been there!” the girl wailed. “That’s my problem.”

  Wenda glanced around. “Let us take a break,” she suggested.

  The others smiled, knowing her soft heart. They settled down to rest.

  “Tell me about it,” Wenda said.

  “I … my name is Liz. I went to the Good Magician because I was afraid for my little girl.”

  “She is in danger?”

  “Not exactly. Well, maybe. You see, my talent is to sniff souls. I can smell the difference between them. I can even identify people blindfolded, when I know them, because of the odors of their souls.”

  “That is an interesting talent,” Wenda said encouragingly.

  “It isn’t much, really, because it’s easier just to look at people. But then I noticed something. When my little girl lost her first baby tooth, I smelled it.”

  “It had a soul?” Wenda asked, surprised.

  “Yes, or part of one. It had a fragment of my child’s soul. I realized that the soul infuses all the body, and when part of the body is lost, so is part of the soul. So my little girl was losing a bit of her soul with her tooth. That bothered me.”

  “I never thought of that,” Wenda said.

  “So I went to see the Good Magician, to ask him if this was really doing my daughter harm. She has many teeth to go, and I didn’t want her soul to be depleted.”

  “That makes sense,” Wenda agreed.

  “But I never made it through the Challenges,” Liz wailed, “so I couldn’t ask him. Now I’ll never know.”

  Wenda looked around, at a loss to help. Ida stepped up. “Souls regenerate in living people,” she said. “So your daughter will not suffer. She is probably replacing the parts of her soul as fast as she loses them.”

  “Oh, that’s such a relief to know!” Liz said.

  “What happens to those lost teeth, and their bits of souls?” Meryl asked.

  “The Tooth Fairy collects them,” Ida said.

  “But what does she do with them?” Angela asked.

  “Why, I don’t know. She must pass them on somewhere. Especially if they have attached soul fragments.”

  “Where? Who would want them?”

  That made them all wonder. “Maybe Liz could sniff out where her daughter’s tooth-soul went,” Angela suggested.

  “That should work,” Ida agreed.

  And of course now it would work. Liz got up and sniffed. “It’s close,” she said. “I never thought to trace the tooth fragment.”

  They followed Liz to a slope with a cave. It looked like a lion’s den.

  “No, it is a tiger’s den,” Jumper said. “I will investigate.”

  Because he remained invulnerable, one of Eris’s temporary gifts to him for the mission. Except that that could end at any time.

  “When dew those gifts expire?” Wenda asked nervously.

  Oh, not long now. A century or two.

  “A century! I thought it was any day, any hour, any minute.”

  A century to a Demon is like a minute to a mortal.

  So it seemed. They had run afoul of differences in perspective.

  Jumper stood at the den entrance. “Ho, tiger!” he called. “I would like to talk with you.”

  The tiger emerged. He had bright orange stripes and tremendous long tusks. “You and who else?”

  “Me and my friends here. We come in peace. We merely want to know, what does a tiger want with baby teeth?”

  “I am the Save-a-Tooth Tiger,” the creature said. “I collect teeth that would otherwise be lost, and their soul fragments. It is my business.”

  “What do you do with the soul fragments?”

  “I save them for otherwise worthy babies who may be denied souls by glitches in the process. Sometimes the storks or the soul-assignment demon foul up. It happens. That’s when I enter the picture, to be sure wrong is not done.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Wenda said.

  The tiger glanced at her. “Thank you. You look good enough to eat.”

  Hilarion stepped forward, drawing his sword.

  But Wenda recognized it as a compliment. “Thank yew.”

  “Eris,” Jumper murmured.

  I am here, beloved.

  “Your concern about our baby. The tiger may relate.”

  “What’s this concern?” the tiger asked.

  Now the Demoness addressed the tiger. It is that I want to have a baby with Jumper. But I am a Demoness with only a borrowed half soul, and he is a spider whose soul was cobbled together from sharings by his friends. I now appreciate the value of a soul
, and want our baby to have one. But considering the sketchy nature of our souls, I fear that the effort of sharing with our baby will stretch it beyond reason, and it will dissipate and become nothing. So I don’t dare risk it.

  The tiger oriented on her, evidently having no trouble perceiving her. “Your soul is indeed a patchwork. But fear not. If it doesn’t take, I will provide a soul for your baby. It fits the profile for my service.”

  “Yew can tell just by a look?” Wenda asked.

  “Souls are my business. Just as your friend can smell them, I can see them. They are affected by the way a person lives. Some souls get stained by bad decisions. The spider’s composite soul has been enhanced by seriously positive actions the past year, and the Demoness’s share of that has been enhanced by high risks taken for friendship. There can hardly be a better recommendation. A child of such a union is worthy of a soul; that soul will not be abused.” The tiger paused. “Another tooth is being lost; I must fetch it before the silly Tooth Fairy loses it.” And he was abruptly gone.

  “That is amazing,” Liz said.

  Amazing, Eris agreed.

  “I thank the group of you for your reassurance and assistance,” Liz said. “Now I will go home, reassured.”

  So will I.

  “I am so glad things worked out well,” Wenda said.

  “It was because of your soft heart,” Jumper said. “That did several of us some good.”

  They resumed their trek to the Good Magician’s Castle. Wenda remained worried about the loss of the Knot; she could think of no way to replace it.

  But when they got there, Humfrey was unconcerned. “I wanted the Knot brought here to be sure it was safe, and could not be exploited by unworthy parties. You nullified it instead. That will do. Your mission is done.”

  Wenda was relieved. Now at last she could go home. “I am eager to start my own family,” she confided to Rose of Roogna.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Rose said sadly.

  “Bad? I dew knot understand.”

  “Humfrey asked me to tell you. You have paid a subtle price for your adventures. Your origin as a woodwife, followed by your reversion, and then the unusual manner you regained your lost substance, have left one detail imperfect. Your signals will not reach the stork.”