She made it to the edge of the facet and crossed the slight bend to the next. The storm still raged, but her night light protected her. When a gust of wind touched her she hunkered down and waited for it to pass, then resumed her tapping and moving. Fracto could not stop her.
At last the evil cloud got disgusted and stormed away. She had beaten him, again, and it was just as much of a pleasure as ever. She dissolved her night light into smoke, and resumed better progress.
The sun ventured to show its face again, no longer fearing the wrath of the storm. The emerald mountain dried, forming pretty mists all around it. They rose like unicorn tails, shining in the slanting sunlight of the closing day. She paused to appreciate the beauty of the scene, and realized that before she got half-souled, she had never had that experience. Now she could enjoy things for their art, instead of for what she could use them for. “If I could get rid of my soul right now,” she said aloud, “I wouldn't do it.” And that was one remarkable confession, for a demoness. She felt wonderful.
'Disgusting,' Mentia muttered, awakened by the feeling coursing through her. Then she tuned out again.
The peak turned out to be a mere foothill, part of a larger mountain. And, amazingly, the larger inner segment of the mountain wasn't green. It was light blue, definitely a distinct shade, beautifully complementing the green rim. She had understood that the whole thing was emerald, but either she had misunderstood, or those who said it was all emerald hadn't seen the inner mountain. Aesthetically, this was even better, so she wasn't complaining.
Metria had to work her way down into the cleft-valley between peaks before starting up the next. And there she paused. She had heard something. More mischief?
No, it was a woman or a girl, a human being, lying between the slanting green and blue facets of the cleft. She had groaned, faintly.
Metria considered. Though she had used the night light, she preferred to climb by daylight, and there was not a whole lot of day left. Should she get involved with this human being, and perhaps get delayed too long?
'Of course not,' Mentia said. 'You have already wasted enough time discouraging Fracto. You don't have all day left, you know.’ That decided her. If her worser half was against it, it must be the right thing to do. She walked over to the woman.
“Can I help you?” she inquired.
The woman lifted her head. Long dark hair framed a lovely face. “I hope so,” she said, wincing. “I sprained my ankle, and don't think I can walk alone.”
'I knew it! She's an albatross. If you help her, you'll never get to the top of the mountain.’ Metria ignored her worser self’s objection, with an effort.
“Maybe I can help you get home. Who are you, and where do you live?” She put her hands on the woman's shoulders and helped lift her to her feet.
“Thank you so much. I'm Mara. I was out bird-calling, and got lost in a storm and some sort of weird darkness. I fell, and couldn't get up, and when it cleared—well, I don't know where I am now.”
So it had been Metria's fault, because the storm had been after her, and she had used the darkness to oppose it. She certainly had to help Mara find her way home. Her conscience would allow nothing less.
'If you hadn't gotten half-souled, you wouldn't have a conscience!' Mentia griped.
“Maybe I can help you cross this green foothill mountain, so you can be on the plain,” Metria suggested. “I'm a demoness, you see, and—”
“A demoness!” Mara cried, affrighted.
“Don't worry; I have half a shoe.”
“Half a what?” Mara inquired, looking down at Metria's feet.
“Footwear, leather, tongue—” She paused. “I mean essence, characteristic, quality, animation, spirit—”
“Soul?”
“Whatever,” she said crossly.
Mara was reassured. “Oh—then you have a conscience, and can be halfway trusted.”
“Yes. If I were an unsouled demoness, I wouldn't have bothered with you at all.”
“True. What's your name?”
“Metria. D. Metria.”
Mara extended her hand. “I am glad to know you, Demoness Metria. But I don't live on a plain, so I don't think going over that green mountain will help. I normally do my bird calls in the forest and glade, where they are comfortable.
That's my talent, you know.”
'Fat lot of use doing bird calls is here,' Mentia sneered.
Metria made another effort to ignore her. “Then maybe if we walk along the crevice here—”
“I suppose,” Mara agreed dubiously. “But I'm sure I didn't walk far before I hurt my ankle.”
Metria supported Mara, enabling her to walk reasonably if wincingly well. They followed the cleft around the slow curve of the mountain. But all they saw was more mountain.
“I don't think this is the way,” Metria said.
“I think you're right,” Mara agreed sadly. “I don't know how I came to be here. I must have gotten caught in a magical vortex or something. Maybe you had better leave me and go on about your business.”
'Take her up on that!’
“No, that storm and darkness were because of me, so I should help you get unlost. All I can think of is to bring you with me to the top of the mountain. Maybe the Simurgh will help you.”
“The Simurgh! Isn't that the big bird who has seen the universe die and be reborn three times?”
“The same. I have to perform a service for her. So if you don't mind coming with me—”
“Oh, I don't mind! I'd love to see the Simurgh. It would be the experience of my life. But—”
There is always a “but”! “But you'll have trouble climbing,” Metria finished.
“Lets see what I can do about that. Suppose I form myself into a long ladder against the slope; could you climb that?”
“I suppose, if didn't have to hurry, so I could favor my ankle…”
'I knew it!' Mentia said silently. ‘This will take forever minus half a moment.’ Metria feared she was right. But her half conscience wouldn't let her go. She formed herself into an extendable ladder, and extended herself up the sloped blue facet until she reached a ridge she could hook on to. She formed a mouth at the foot.
“I'm anchored. Come on up.”
Mara put her hands and good foot on the rungs, taking hold. Then she tried her weak-ankled foot, winced again, but was able to put some pressure on it. Her hands took up enough of her weight to make it feasible.
Fairly reasonably soon Mara reached the top and looked around. “Why, this is just another foothill,” she exclaimed. “There's a yellow mountain beyond.”
Startled, Metria formed an eyeball on a stalk and looked.
It was true: This was just another crest, higher than the green ridge, but lower than the yellow one ahead.
She formed a mouth and sighed. “Hold on.”
She drew up her latter section, and extended her foresection, so that the ladder disappeared behind and appeared before, leaving the top section, where Mara perched, unchanged. When she reached the blue/yellow cleft, Mara turned around and made her way down the rungs. Then Metria shrank the ladder, and got ready to extend it up the faceted yellow slope. It was now getting close to dusk.
“We'll never make it up before nightfall,” Mara said.
“You had better leave me and go alone.”
'Listen to her, dope!’
“No, it wouldn't be right.” Then Metria had a notion.
“Suppose I make an escalator?”
“A what?”
“A moving structure, automatic increase, dangerous clause, elevator substitute, forming steps—”
“Stairway?”
“Whatever. So you could ride up faster.”
“Why, that's a wonderful idea! But do you have the strength to carry me like that?”
“I think so. It's just a matter of leverage.”
So Metria extended herself to the next crest, hooked on, and Mara got onto the bottom of the ladder. Then Metria mov
ed her rungs up, and hauled the woman fairly rapidly to the top. “This is almost fun!” she exclaimed.
But when they looked from the top, there was another mountain ahead. This one was pink. It was very pretty, but dusk was closing.
They got more efficient. This time Metria simply whipped her rungs over the top, and Mara almost slid down the other side. Then they mounted the pink slope—and encountered a white, almost colorless one beyond.
“I hope this doesn't go on forever,” Mara said. “I fear
I have become a real burden to you. Maybe you should Just—”
'Listen to her!’
“No,” Metria said firmly. “This would have been as long a journey alone. We're much higher than we were.” Indeed, they could see the yellow, blue, and green ridges below, like so many shelves, though they hadn't been able to see the higher ridges from below. “It has to end somewhere.”
“You are very kind.”
'You are very foolish!’ They went on. Beyond the white ridge was a deep red one—and this was the final one, because they could see its rounded peak, atop which perched a giant bird, silhouetted against the fading light. The Simurgh, at last!
They escalated down the white slope, and up the red one.
But as they came within hailing distance of the big bird, the bird spread her wings and flew to an adjacent peak rising from what they now saw was a very long mountain range.
Of course it had to be, to circle the world. The Simurgh had never even noticed them!
Metria focused an extended eyeball on the distant bird.
Then she looked down at the endless colorific ridges below.
It would be an awful job to descend and traverse all those, and then to ascend to where the bird now perched—and what guarantee did they have that the Simurgh would wait for them? To her, they were just insects.
“Maybe if I did a bird call,” Mara said.
'Oh, great! Now we'll just serenade the birds!’
“Well, whatever you wish,” Metria said, dispirited. She seemed to be on an impossible mission, because she couldn't even get the attention of the one she was supposed to perform a Service for. Had Humfrey sent her on a wild swan chase?
'Wild what?' Mentia asked.
'Waterfowl, heron, egret, gannet, crane, albatross, canvasback, duck—”
'Gander?’
'Whatever.’
Meanwhile, Mara did her bird call. She made a series of melodic, sweet, piercing, chirping sounds. She was really quite good at it; it sounded just like some exotic bird.
The Simurgh took wing and flew directly toward their peak. WHO CALLS ME? her powerful thought came.
Metria formed a mouth so it could drop open in amazement. Mara's talent wasn't to imitate bird calls, but to call birds—and she had just called the Simurgh herself!
“Uh—I—I—” Mara began.
YES, OF COURSE. BEGONE.
Mara vanished.
“Hey!” Metria exclaimed. “That isn't right!”
'Shut up, fool!’
BY WHAT DEFINITION, DEMONESS? Now the giant bird loomed close. Her feathers were like veils of light and shadow, and her head bore a crest of fire. The beats of her enormous wings were like waves of mist. She was an overwhelming presence.
Metria was seldom cowed by anything in the natural world, but this was supernatural. She dissolved into smoke, and re-formed in her approximately natural approximately human shape. “I was trying to help her. You have no right to banish her just like that! I don't care who you are, it isn't right.”
YOU QUESTION ME? Now the great bird came to light on the tip of the red peak, her mighty talons digging into the glossy stone as if it were wood.
'Let it go, idiot!’
“Yes! Bring her back!”
THERE IS NO NEED.
'Silence, imbecile! She'll destroy you.’
“Yes!” Metria cried, responding to both the Simurgh's query and her worser halts warning.
The enormous head turned, one eye bearing on her. BE AT EASE, GOOD DEMONESS. I ACCEPT YOU FOR SERVICE. THE GOOD MAGICIAN CHOSE WISELY.
'Last chance, stupid! Stifle it.’
But Metria was beyond sensible restraint. “Well, I'm not ready to give service! Not to any creature who does that to an innocent person. Mara never harmed you; she wanted only to go home. I was trying to help her, because—”
The Simurgh twitched one wing-feather. Suddenly Mara was back, exactly as she had been before. “Let it be, Metria; I'm done here.”
“You're safe?” Metria asked, half-stunned.
Mara smiled. “As safe as a figment can ever be.” She vanished again.
'See? She doesn't really exist. You irritated the big bird for nothing, moron!’
NOT so, WORSER SELF, the Simurgh's thought came, this time stunning Mentia, who had thought her thoughts were hidden. HER CONSCIENCE HAS SERVED HER WELL.
Parts of this were beginning to settle into haphazard place.
“This was all a—a test? The woman, the storm, the chain? Like the Good Magician's castle?”
HE GAVE YOU TOKEN CHALLENGES, BECAUSE HE WANTED YOU TO PERFORM THIS MISSION. I VERIFIED YOUR FITNESS IN MY OWN FASHION, AS YOU NOW UNDERSTAND. I REQUIRE A PERSONAGE WHO IS INVENTIVE, DETERMINED, AND COMPASSIONATE.
Metria worked it out. “First a mere physical obstruction or two, of no particular consequence. Then a personal threat that needed to be dealt with. Then a small trial of conscience.
Just to make sure I could do the service you require.”
EXACTLY, GOOD DEMONESS. I AM CAREFUL ABOUT THOSE TO WHOM I ENTRUST IMPORTANT TASKS. I REQUIRE ONE WITH THE POWERS OF A DEMON AND THE CONSCIENCE OF A SOULED PERSON. YOU WILL DO. DO YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS BEFORE COMMENCING?
'Don't ask any, dunce!’
'This mountain—I thought it was supposed to be one big emerald, but—”
YOU ARE OBSERVANT, GOOD DEMONESS. IT IS EMERALD, OR MORE CORRECTLY, BERYL, THE TYPE OF STONE OF WHICH EMERALD IS BUT ONE SHADE. THE WHITE IS ORDINARY BERYL, THE BLUE IS AQUAMARINE, THE YELLOW HELIODOR, THE PINK MORGANTTE, AND THE RED BIXBYITE, THE RAREST BUT FOR ONE.
“One?” Metria asked somewhat stupidly.
BLACK BERYL. The Simurgh twitched her head, and a bag appeared in her beak. TAKE THIS. The bag dropped to Metria's involuntarily outstretched hands.
She opened the bag. It was filled with glistening black disks. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
THESE ARE SUMMONS TOKENS. YOU WILL SERVE ONE ON EACH PERSON OR CREATURE OR THING NAMED, AND WILL GUIDE THOSE WHO NEED IT TO THE NECESSARY SITE.
Metria had never felt so stupid in her existence. “Necessary site?”
THE NAMELESS CASTLE. THAT IS WHERE THE TRIAL WILL BE.
“Trial?” She still had not caught her mental balance.
ROXANNE ROC HAS BEEN INDICTED AND WILL BE TRIED BEFORE A JURY OF HER PEERS A FORTNIGHT HENCE. YOU WILL SERVE SUMMONSES ON ALL PARTICIPANTS: TRIAL PERSONNEL, WITNESSES, JURY. YOU WILL SEE THAT THEY ARE PRESENT AT THE CORRECT TIME. THAT IS YOUR SERVICE TO ME.
“But Roxanne's a decent bird. What did she do?”
THAT WILL BE MADE EVIDENT IN THE COURSE OF THE TRIAL.
“And how do I know whom to serve the summonses on?”
EACH BEARS THE NAME OF THE SUMMONEE.
“But suppose they don't want to come?”
THAT WILL NOT BE A PROBLEM. EACH PERSON MUST KNOWINGLY ACCEPT THE SUMMONS, AND ACKNOWLEDGE THIS TO YOU BEFORE YOU DEPART.
“But—”
'Give it a rest, dope! You are trying her patience.’
TRUE, WORSER SELF. The great eye oriented on Metria again. YOUR INFORMATION is NOW SUFFICIENT. PERFORM YOUR SERVICE, GOOD DEMONESS.
Metria realized that she had been dismissed. She started to change into her ladder form.
YOU MAY POP ACROSS TO XANTH.
“Thank you,” she said, relieved, and popped off, carrying the bag of tokens.
Chapter 3
MYSTERY
Metria popped across to Xanth,
to her home castle, where she made her husband deliriously happy enough to leave him in a trance for several days.
Then she considered. She realized that there could be a good many summons tokens in the bag, and it might take time to use them all up, so she had better get them efficiently organized. She opened the bag and spread the glistening black beryl disks on a table.
Sure enough, there were thirty tokens, and each was inscribed with a name. Most of the names were familiar, but some were obscure, and some amazed her. For example, her old nemesis Demon Professor Grossclout was on a chip.
What in Xanth could he have to do with this? She turned over the disk, and on the other side it said JUDGE. Oh, of course; that was the perfect role for him. Another chip bore the name of the Simurgh herself; on the back it said WITNESS.
She could have served that token at the outset, saving herself a difficult trip. Then she reconsidered: She might need to consult with the Simurgh if she couldn't find one of the people to summon, so she should save the Simurgh's own token as a pretext for that occasion. So she put that one at the end of the line.
One token was blank. That was interesting. Whom was it for? Or was it a mistake?
Then she got marginally smarter, and turned over all the tokens, classifying them by assignment. There was one for Prosecutor, and another for Defense, and others for Bailiff, Special Effects, and Translator. Translator? She turned that one over. It was Grundy Golem. That figured; he could translate anything spoken by any living thing, including plants.
Who was Special Effects? The Sorceress Iris, mistress of illusion. That figured too. Someone had chosen these roles well. Since it must have been the Simurgh herself who marked the tokens, this was no surprise; she was, after all, the wisest creature in all Xanth.
But why did she want Roxanne Roc put on trial? Metria's limited direct experience with the Simurgh suggested that she was a fair-minded creature, and Roxanne was a good bird, quite loyal to her mission. In fact, she was doing a service for the Simurgh herself, in the Nameless Castle—where the trial would be. Was this the way the Simurgh rewarded her?
That didn't seem to make sense.
Well, there was one fast way to find out. She would serve Roxanne's summons first, and ask her. Then she would go after the other important participants in the trial, and finally the Jurors, who were the biggest category and would probably be a nuisance to run down. Her schedule was coming clear.