The Color Of Her Panties

Xanth 15 - The Color of Her Panties

Mela Merwoman swam restlessly around her sea cave garden, brushing the treelike seaweeds that formed the walls and canopy.  Her hair swirled greenly behind her, and her flukes caused little eddies that toyed with whatever strands of hair they could catch.

She swooped down near the glowing colored stones of her floor, so that her breasts almost brushed them.  Then she halted at the central fireplace and stoked up the waterlogs so that her fire blazed more brightly.  “Oh, brimstone!” she swore, severely out of sorts.  “I need a husband!”

She brought out her mirror and stretched the glass out to full length so she could see all of herself.  It merely reflected what she already knew:  she was a splendiferous creature, with fuller breasts than any mere mermaid and a flashier tail than any fish could boast.  About her neck she wore a necklace supporting two precious glowing firewater opals, surely sufficient to attract the best quality husband.

So why wasn't she married?  It wasn't as if she were choosy.  All she wanted was the nicest, handsomest, most manly and intelligent unmarried prince in Xanth, who would be pleased to let her do anything she wanted.

Such as swimming in the salt sea for hours and eating raw fish, and who would love to brush out her hair for her.  Once she had captured Prince Dolph, but he had been a trifle young at the time, nine years old.  She had traded him off for her opals, and later he had grown up and married a girl of his own species whose endowments weren't nearly as impressive as Mela's own.  Human men just didn't have much sense.

The problem was that there weren't many males who met her modest standards, and most of those were already married.  She had scoured the seas and found nothing worth her while.  So what was she to do?

She sighed, and the effort sent ripples down through her fabulous flesh.

There was no help for it:  she would have to go ask the Good Magician.

That meant doing him a year's service, which would surely be a colossal bore, but if he landed her a suitable husband it just might be worth it.

No time like the present.  Mela gathered together the few useful spells she had collected during her explorations of the bypaths of the sea and tucked them into her invisible purse.  Then she swam out of her cave and up toward the surface of the sea.  She didn't worry about the fire spreading during her absence, because fire could not burn under water without the magic presence of the merfolk.  Only if another merwoman or merman came would it flare up, granted no one would intrude on her private premises.

Mela's undersea cave was near the Isle of Illusion, by sheerest coincidence, so she came up in sight of the isle which had once appeared to be the most illustrious of regions.  Her hair yellowed as it broke the surface.  She remembered again how she had captured Prince Dolph here, despite the objection of his skeletal companions Marrow Bones and Grace'l Ossein.  They had in the end turned out to be decent folk despite their gauntness; indeed, they had helped her get her opals.  She wondered how they were doing; they had made a nice if somewhat emaciated couple.

The Isle of Illusion no longer had much illusion, because the Sorceress of illusion, Queen Emeritus Iris, had long since departed it.  But a faint tinge of great fancies still surrounded it, suggesting the greatness of past imaginings.  Perhaps some day another great illusionist would inhabit it, and once again no one would know its rather pedestrian reality.

She swam directly to the shore where the Gap Chasm debouched into the eastern sea.  She came as close to the small beach as she could without getting out of the water.

Then, when the sand threatened to abrade her satiny skin, she sat up, her tail folded before her.  She concentrated, and her beautiful flukes became misshapen lumps, while the main portion of her tail turned a sickly pink.  A lengthwise crease appeared, which deepened, until the entire tail split into two ungainly limbs.

Mela bent these limbs at their knobby knees and set the bony feet firmly against the sand.  Then she heaved herself up, until she balanced precariously on those awkward legs, knee-deep in the surf.  It had been a long time since she had gone on land, and it was hardly her notion of fun, but it was the only way.  The Good Magician lived on land, and would not come to the sea.

Once she was sure of her equilibrium, she waded on out to the dry sand.

Her new legs were getting stronger as she got the hang of them, and her balance was improving.  She did know how to do this; she was merely out of practice.

But when she walked away from the water, the sand grew hot, burning her feet, and little sharp stones-tried to cut her soles.  Her extremities might be ugly, but they were also tender.  Fortunately she knew where there was a lady's slipper patch; she had seen it from the water.  She limped to it and picked two slippers.  Naturally they fit perfectly, and they protected her feet so that she could walk in comfort.

She came to the edge of the Gap, where the way turned steep.  Now she had to climb, but she could do that too, and clambered up across the rocks and slopes without much trouble.  She knew that she had to get out of the chasm immediately, for two reasons.  First, the sides became considerably steeper farther in-everyone knew that! and second, there was the Gap Dragon.  Only a few folk knew that, because most of those who had encountered the dragon had been eaten.  There had been a Forget Spell on the chasm for a long time, but now it was gone and so it was possible to know things about the Gap.  That was just as well, because she would not have wanted to try to run from the dragon on her wobbly legs.  She wondered how the land folk ever endured such an ungainly mode of travel.

She came to the brink and climbed over.  Now the land was reasonably level, and she could walk upright.  She understood that the Good Magician's castle was slightly south of the Gap, so she walked generally westward.  There were supposed to be enchanted paths, and once she found one of those she would be able to proceed to the castle without having to worry about stray monsters.

Unfortunately she was still in the wilderness.  “Ho!” someone shouted to the side.  “A nymph!  Hit her!”

Mela looked, alarmed.  She was no nymph, for they were mostly brainless creatures who kept company with similarly brainless fauns.  For some reason human men seemed to like nymphs, while lacking interest in the fauns.  She saw that the shouter was a man the size of an elf, standing hardly taller than her knees.  His hands were relatively huge.  She didn't have to worry about him.

Then about six more like him appeared.  “Hit her!  Hit her!” they cried, charging toward her in a messy mass.

Now she recognized their nature:  these were hit men!

Their hands were huge because they used them to make tremendous fists, the better to hit innocent folk.  They were erupting from a blackjack bush, which was a plant that liked to be hit.  It was always exclaiming “Hit me!” and “Hit me again! “ though its leaves were so thin and flat that they could hardly stand up long to such abuse.  Maybe that was why they had all those little red and black marks on them in the shapes of things like spades and hearts and clubs.  But hitmen were notorious for making hits on anything that came within reach, and a luscious bare female like herself was a prime target.  They certainly wanted to hit on her.

Mela quickly took stock.  She was too far from the sea to reach it before the obnoxious little men caught up with her.  Maybe in time her clumsy legs would be able to carry her swiftly, but she was still concentrating on things like balance and locomotion.  If she tried to run fast, she would fall on her face, and they would swarm all over her.

Could her magic stop them?  She had a spell to splash water into the eyes of a person, but that only worked on one person at a time, and she doubted it would discourage even a single one of these hit men for long.

She had a small waterlog, but that would burn only in water.  There was her mirror, but that had very limited power.  Not much hope there.

However she also had a little magic manual that was supposed to list many of the useful things of Xanth, as well as the things best avoided.

She snatched it out of her purse and checked quickly through it.  She saw pictures of various creatures and plants, including the hit men and blackjack bush.  “Well, I already knew about those!” she snapped.  “How about something that will help me that's close by?”

The manual showed a picture of a mitten bush, with neat little white mittens.  A mitten bush?  Mela rolled her eyes.  She was no kitten, and she needed no mitten.

Then she spied a mitten bush close by.  Well, that might not be what she wanted, but she would have to make do with it.  She hurried to it, not quite managing to lose her balance in her haste.  The hit men were now almost upon her, their big ugly hands forming into bigger uglier fists.

She dodged around the bush.  The hit men piled into it-and its mittens expanded to swallow their fists.  In a moment the hit men were all caught by their hands, unable to get them from the tight mittens.  They cursed, swore, and obscened, turning the air bilious blue, which was an unusual effect.  Bilious green or yellow were the normal hues.  But even with the blue they couldn't get free, because the mittens were firmly tied to the bush.

Mela went blithely onward.  Sometimes all it took was a little luck and the common sense to use it.  Plus a little help from a manual.  This was, after all, the Land of Xanth, where almost everything was magic, and the rest was probably lying about it.  The land was more dangerous than the sea, because she was used to the sea, but she could manage.

In due course she came to a river.  This was wonderful; it gave her a chance to wet her tail.  She waded in-and right out again.  It was fresh water!  What a horrible sensation.  She would have to make do on dry legs until she could return to the sea.

Rather than touch the bad water again, she walked upstream.  It stood to reason that if she went far enough, the river would give up and fade out, and then she could proceed without touching it.

Soon she encountered an odd little creature.  It had pinkish hairy skin and a squared-off snout, which it used to nose around in the ground.  She brought out her manual again and sifted through the pages until she found a picture and managed to recognize the thing:  it was a pig.  The description was reassuring:  they were harmless if not bothered.  So she ignored it and walked on.

She came across another pig, and a third.  In fact there was half a slew of pigs along the bank.  It was a piggy bank!

She moved away from the bank and found a path.  This expanded as if glad of her attention to it, and became a paved road.  She knew that some paths were treacherous, because they led to dragon lairs or tangle trees, but this was not that type.  It was a straight road that liked to be, used, and she was happy to oblige it.  It would enable her to get farther faster, with less wear on her tender extremities.

Suddenly there was a huge honking, and a tremendous, pig came charging down the road.  Mela had to leap into the brush to avoid it.  She got no thanks.  “Outta my way, nymph!” the huge pig grunted as it passed.

Mela did not like being called a nymph, when anyone could see she was a merwoman on legs.  “Hey, do you think you own this road?” she demanded angrily.

The pig halted, and turned its porcine snout to look at her.  “As a matter of fact, I do,” it said.

“What kind of creature are you?”

“I'm a road hog, of course.  Now stay out of my way.”

It resumed motion, and in a moment was out of sight.

A road hog.  That figured.  When the piggies of the bank grew large and arrogant, naturally they became hogs.  She should have checked another page in the manual and found it before it found her.

Mela shrugged and tried to get back on the road.  She discovered that she was stuck in the foliage of the most ugly and useless tree she had encountered.  Its leaves were misshapen, its bark was falling off, and its fruit was rotten.  It just seemed to have grown all wrong.  It was a good thing she wore, no clothing, because the erratic thorns would have caught in it.  As it was, she was smarting from two mentionable places and one unmentionable place.

She extricated herself, and brought out the manual.

There it was:  a lemon tree.  Anyone who got one of these was supposed to get rid of it in a hurry, because it was no good.  She had already caught on to that fact.

This was wearing.  Did she really need a husband?  But Mela decided that there was almost as little point in turning back now as there was in moving on forward.  She might as well plow on and see what the Good Magician had to say.

The road wound on through the forest, passing some nice pie trees.  Mela paused to have some watermelon pie.

Farther along she found water chestnuts and watercress.

That was the best that offered, as the land did not seem to have seaweed soup or sea cucumbers.  She could tell by the taste that fresh water had been used, but that was all right for food.  It was swimming and bathing that required salt water.

However, time was sneaking by, and the shadows were taking advantage of it to grow longer.  Mela was intrigued by this phenomenon, because there were not many shadows on the sea floor, but she realized that this was a magic signal that night was approaching.  She did not feel at ease traveling in the dark, and anyway, her new legs were tired.

She needed a safe, comfortable place to sleep.  Now where would that be?

She checked the manual.  It showed a picture of a beerbarrel tree.  Mela wasn't sure about that; she didn't like the notion of swimming in beer much better than that of swimming in water.  Then she realized that it was a dead, hollow beerbarrel tree it meant.  So she looked around as she walked, and sure enough, in due course she found one.

She went to the tree and examined it.  She found a crevice that led to a crack that led to a fissure that became the square outline of a door.

This was the place!

She felt along the edge until she found a latch.  She worked it, and the door opened.  There inside was a dark abode girt about by fluffy pillows.  Not as appealing as salt water, but ideal in terms of roughing it on the land.