Yon Ill Wind (24 page)

“Che and Cynthia Centaur,” she said, introducing them.

“Jim and Mary Mundane.”

“We heard how you turned back to help Xanth,” Cynthia said.  She was a pretty thing, whose brown tresses matched her equine hide.  She was bare-chested, but not (quite) yet developed.

Che looked at the child and pet game.  “This may be an opportune time for a math lesson,” he remarked.

“You're teaching that chick math already?” Jim asked, surprised.

“He is a very bright bird, and he has a great deal to learn,” Che said.

“He has to know everything in the universe by the time he's mature,” Cynthia added.

Jim nodded.  “Agreed.  That is a great deal.  But can you teach math when your judgment is being distorted by the growing madness?”

“Quantum math,” Che said.  “Insanity is an asset to that study.”

Startled, Jim had to agree.  Centaurs were indeed extremely intelligent.

“Say, where's Gwenny Goblin?” Mentia inquired.

“Don't you have to be her Companion?”

“She released me from that obligation,” Che said.  “She is grown-up now, with good vision and posture, and she governs Goblin Mountain, so is in no further danger of awkward questioning.  But we shall always remain close friends, and I expect to visit her often.  Sim should like to meet her, too, in due course.”

“It works for me,” the demoness agreed.

The centaurs went to join the young folk, and Jim and Mary returned to the bonfire.  “Do you think this is going to work?” she asked worriedly.

“If it doesn't, we'll be left stranded on a mesa with no safe way down,” he said evasively.

She did not challenge that.  They came to the fire, which was still burning smokily, but now the wind was so strong that the cloud was being blown away as fast as it formed.

Had it been enough?  There would be no more wood; the winged monsters could no longer dare fly, and were now too crazy anyway.  The madness had them writhing on the ground and growling at nothing.

Actually, Chlorine was looking somewhat distorted, though Nimby seemed unaffected.  Jim kept seeing fantastic things with his peripheral vision, which faded when he looked directly at them.  The madness was laying siege to them all.

“Look!” Chlorine cried.  “Fracto!”

And there, on the horizon to the north, was the edge of a looming black cloud.  Fracto was coming!  The manifestation of a rival cloud had gotten the mean mist's attention.

The magic dust enhanced Fracto, too.  In two and a half moments the baleful cloud expanded to ugly proportions.

Purple blisters swelled and burst.  Gray-green depths turned brown-black.  They became malignant eyes.  A cruel mouth formed.  There was a whistle of wind as it inhaled, getting ready to blow out an icy blast.

It was time to act.  “Fracto!” Jim called.  “Cumulo Fracto Nimbus, King of clouds.  Listen to me!  I have a deal for you.”

The cloud hesitated, surprised.  The blast did not come.

“Xanth is in trouble,” Jim called.  “Xanth needs your help.”

The mouth resumed inhaling.  Fracto did not care about Xanth's welfare.

“We can offer you something really nice,” Jim called.

The cloud paused again.  The eyes narrowed.  A curl of mist formed in the shape of a question mark.

“Romance!  Another storm, only female.” This sounded crazy, but it was a crazy situation.  King Dor had reviewed it carefully with him, and now he retained sufficient sanity to carry it through.  “Not this smoke cloud.  That was only to get your attention.  A real storm, the strongest Xanth has seen.  Ideal for you.”

The spongy face showed definite interest.  Fracto seldom had any prospect for compatible companionship.  He must be really hungry for it.  The mouth formed a perfect 0 and a gust of wind emerged.  He was asking WHO?  .

“Her name is Happy Bottom,” Jim called.  “She's from Mundania.”

The cloud face recoiled.

“No, wait!  She is no longer Mundane.  She has swept up a lot of magic dust and become magic.  But she doesn't understand it, doesn't know how to use her new power.

She is wasting it with random blowing, not realizing her potential.  She's becoming so strong she's going to blow Xanth away.  Then she'll fade, of course.  But with proper instruction she could learn to be the kind of magic storm she could be, with all that magic dust, and turn Xanthian.

But she will need a teacher-—and only you have the capacity to teach her this.  Only you can tame this shrew.

Only you can calm yon ill wind.  If you do, you will have a wonderful female of your kind.  I leave the rest to your imagination.” He wasn't sure just how much imagination a cloud could have, but it was clear that this cloud was conscious.

Fracto considered.  Then the mouth formed another shape, more like OW.  That would be HOW?

“We must work together,” Jim said, relieved that the dialogue was going well.  “We must push Happy Bottom away from the concentration of magic dust, but we can't make her go in any particular direction.  You must do that, by luring her into the Region of Air.  Once she is there she will not know how to escape, until you teach her how.  She will be yours to seduce.”

The cloud considered.  Fracto was definitely interested.

But obviously uncertain about trusting a mortal creature.

The mouth formed a windy 00.  That would mean TRUE?

How could he prove he was speaking the truth?  He couldn't blame the cloud for being suspicious.  Fracto had no friends, and a Mundane mortal was the least likely person to believe.  Fortunately, King Dor had prepared him with this answer too.  “Here is a contract,” he called, unrolling a large poster.  “Signed by the Good Magician himself.”

A gust of wind swept the paper out of his hand.  It fluttered through the air toward the cloud.  But wasn't being lost.  Fracto was reading it.

Then the face changed.  It became less threatening, more agreeable.  The mouth opened.  ESSSS, it blew.

Fracto had agreed to the deal!  Now all they had to do was work out the details.

Jim settled down to those, explaining how they would take Chlorine behind Happy Bottom and use the windbreaker to drive her forward.  Fracto would beckon her toward the Region of Air in north central Xanth.  It would be a job, but they should be able to herd and lure her there, if they made no mistakes.  He was buoyed by the progress already made.  Soon enough they would complete this mission, and then be able to go home to Florida.  He looked forward to the return of familiarity.

Sean stamped out the last of the fire in his section, near the edge of the plateau, and turned to look after the dissipating trail of smoke.  They had done it; they had made the signal and summoned the cloud and done the deal.  Of course, there would still be some work for someone before the ill wind was contained, but the corner had been turned.  Xanth would be saved, and they would go home.  It had been interesting and even fun, but he was ready to return to dull Mundania.

Yet there was something lacking.  Why should he be ready to go home, when lovely Chlorine was here?  And that supersexy demoness, Mentia?  He should want to see as much of both of them as possible, though he knew that neither was for him.  They were just dream material, pinup fancies—but when had unavailability ever stopped him before?  He should want to catch every last glimpse he possibly could.  Yet he didn't; somehow he had lost interest.

Oh, he was showing some interest, but that was because the other members of the family had begun to glance at him strangely, and he realized that they would figure he was sick if he didn't strive for every last glimpse of hidden female flesh.  But his heart was no longer in it.

Was it the rising madness in the air?  It didn't affect Mundanes much, because of their determined unmagicality, but it did have some effect.  He was feeling lightheaded, and some things he knew were straight, like the surface of the ground, seemed wavy or insubstantial.  But that was perception; it shouldn't deplete his normal young man interest in beautiful women.  Neither should it give him an inexplicable sense of loss.

He walked to the far side of a lingering smudge of smoke and used its cover to answer a brief call of nature.

In a moment he faced back toward the RV and the others.

He stepped around a deep hole in the ground that might or might not be illusion.  His job here was done; it was time to rejoin the family.

Then something appeared at the brink of the drop-off, catching the corner of his eye.  He looked, realizing that one of the monsters might be returning from a scouting flight.  For an instant he thought it was a harpy, for it was a winged female, but then he realized that its body was fully human, and clothed.  It was a winged girl!

She rose above the plateau level and moved forward.

Now he saw that she was terminally tired; her wings were fluttering weakly, and her head was lolling.  She had exhausted her strength, flying up to the mesa in this stiffening wind.

Her dainty feet touched the ground.  Her wings folded and she fell to her knees.

Sean went to help her.  She was so delicate, so vulnerable, that he had to do something.

“Are you all right?”he asked, extending one hand.

Her weary head turned.  She looked into his face.

“Sean!” she cried, and collapsed.  Into the hole he had just avoided.

Sean's whole world changed in that instant.  “Willow!” he cried, and leaped in after her.  He caught her as they landed on a pile of soft debris that glowed slightly.  His mind was reeling.

“Oh, Sean, you remember,” she breathed.  “I feared you would not.”

“You called my name,” he said.  “Everything came back.  But how could I ever have forgotten?”

“You walked through a Forget Whorl,” she said.  “I followed you here—”

“Now I know what I was missing,” he said.  “It was you.  Willow.  I love you.” He kissed her, and savored the overwhelming sweetness of the returning memory.

They had stopped where the water flooded the trollway.

The goblins had dammed the Crimea River, causing it to back up and drown out the bridge and road so that the RV couldn't safely pass.  Dad had taken the branch of super cherry bombs down toward the dam, then left them with Sean and Mom while he went ahead to explore the dam for the best place to put the charge.  But he had gotten caught by the goblins.  They had been going to float the bombs down to the right spot, so as to be well clear of the explosion, but when Dad got caught, Sean knew he couldn't wait for that.  David made a distraction so that Sean could do what he had to do.  So he grabbed the whole branch of cherries and made for the dam, and just tossed them on it, and dived for cover.

The blast had thrown him away, stunning him.  But he must have landed in the water, because suddenly he was choking and floundering.  Fortunately he was a good swimmer, so after a moment of disorientation he managed to stroke strongly for the shore.

But he didn't know exactly where the shore was.  Rushing dirty water was everywhere, carrying him along.  There were branches in it, from the blown dam, jostling and getting in the way.  Weakened by the shock of the close explosion, he was tiring.  Where was the shore?

A figure flew above him.  It was a large bird—no, a girl!

A winged girl.  “Here!” she cried, pointing ahead.

She must know.  So he followed her, and soon threaded his way through the maze of debris to the shore.  But in the process he wore himself out.  The adrenaline that had kept him going drained away, and .he sank down in the muck at the edge.

The girl flew down to help him.  “You must get clear, because more is coming,” she said.  She put her little hands under his shoulders and tried to lift him up.  But instead her feet slipped in the mud, and she landed beside him, thoroughly grimed.

“Your wings!” he exclaimed, appalled.  The nice whiteness was hopelessly soiled.

“I can wash them.  Come on.” She tried again to lift him up, putting her arm around his waist.  “Hurry.”

Now he heard a change in the background, noise of the flowing water.  Indeed, the channel was shifting; it was probably cutting a more direct course through the terrain, and would catch him again.  He hauled himself up with her help and staggered on.  Her body was quite slender, and her support was more moral than physical, but he did appreciate it.

They reached a steep bank and used saplings to haul themselves up just as the water surged through behind them.  They were safe for the moment.  “Thanks,” he said.

“I probably would have drowned.”

“Yes.  I didn't know who you were, but it didn't seem right to let you drown, when I could help.” She paused, cocking her head.  “Who are you?”

“I am Sean Baldwin.”

“Sean from where?”

He smiled.  “That's my surname.”

“Your sir-name?  Are you royal?”

He laughed.  “Far from it!  I'm Mundane.”

She shrank away.  “Mundane!”

“Well, that doesn't mean I'm a bad person,” he said.

“It doesn't?”

“You must have heard some bad stories about Mundanes.  We aren't all like whatever you've heard.”

“I hope not,” she said.

He looked at her.  Under the gobs of mud she was a pretty young woman, with fair hair to her waist, tiny hands and feet, and rather well proportioned in between.  Her face was elfin, with enormous green eyes.  “Please, I hope to persuade you that you haven't done wrong to rescue me from the torrent.  Will you tell me who you are?”

“Oh, of course,” she said, flushing.  “I am Willow Elf.”

“You're an elf?  Like Jenny?”

“Jenny?  Where is her elm?”

“Elm?”

“Her elf elm.  All elves associate with particular elms. That's how we are identified.”

“I don't think she has an elm,” he said.  “She's from the World of Two Moons.”

“No elm?  She must be strange indeed.”

“Well, she does have pointed ears and four fingers.”

Willow held up one hand, which definitely had five digits, then touched an ear, which was round.  “It must be a very odd world.  All Xanth elves are like me, except for some things.”

“Oh?  What things?”

“Well, my tree is a winged elm.  So we have wings, unlike other elves.  My tree is very large, so we are very large.”

“Large?  You seem beautifully petite to me.”

“Large for an elf.  Most are far smaller than we are.

They are also bound much more closely to their trees.”

 “Bound to their trees?”

“You don't know?”

“Remember, I'm Mundane.  I am supremely ignorant.”

“Oh, of course,” she agreed seriously.  “All elves are bound to their elms.  Close in, they are very strong, but they weaken as they go away from their trees, until they are too weak even to live.  So they have no territorial ambitions, but even an ogre would hesitate to try to abuse an elf elm, because the elves there would be stronger than he was.”

“You are weak away from your tree?”

“Yes.  But it's not nearly so pronounced for flying elves, so we can go quite far.  I think it's because our tall tree presents a direct line of sight far afield, with no interference by mountains, houses, or vegetation.  Nevertheless, we are subject to the constraints of distance.  At the edge of Xanth I would hardly be able to stand, while beside my elm I could carry you in the air with one hand.  The variation is much less extreme than for other elf species, and it enables us to fly freely.  My elm is in east central Xanth, so I'm in-between here, neither strong nor weak.  Otherwise I might have been able to help you more.”

“You helped me enough,” he said.  “I really appreciate it.  I used cherry bombs to destroy the goblin dam, but got caught by the rush of water.”

“We don't like goblins very well,” she said.

“We don't like them at all.” He looked around.  The rushing water was subsiding.  “I had better get back to my family.”

“And I had better get back to my elm,” she said.

“Thank you again for helping me.  I don't know how to repay you.”

“Oh, I do not seek repayment,” she said, flushing again.

“It was a thing of the moment.  Normally we don't interact with humans at all; we're very shy.  But I couldn't let you drown.”

“I understand.  I would have done the same for you, had you been the one in trouble, and not just because you're a pretty girl.”

“Oh!” she cried, flushing much worse.

“I'm sorry,” he said quickly.  “I didn't mean to be offensive.”

“Nobody ever called me pretty before.  I'm a quite ordinary female of my kind, and I'm covered with mud.”

Oh.  He realized that she had not been joking about being shy.  “Maybe you just look better to me because you helped me.  And the mud is my fault.  Is there a pool or something nearby where we could wash up?  Before going our separate ways, I mean?” He was concerned about returning to his family as dirty as he was, because Mom would throw a fit about the upholstery in the RV, but he also found himself not too eager to leave this interesting creature immediately.  It was a long shot, but he might get to see more of her, if they washed up together.

“I did see a pool close by,” she said.  “If you don't mind the delay—”

“I don't mind.”

So she led the way to the pool she had spied.  It was small but attractive, with sparkling clear water.

Willow began to remove her dress, then hesitated.  “I have heard that Mundanes are very—I don't mean to be offensive, but—do you object if I strip?”

“Not at all,” he said gallantly.  He remembered the time he had skinny-dipped with friends.  Was he going to get to do it with this lovely little lady?  “Do you object if I also—?”

“Of course not.  How else can you get clean?”

He laughed, relieved.  “No way else.  But I warn you, I won't be able to help looking at your body.”

She smiled, and pulled her dress off.  He wondered about her lack of reticence about her panties, but in a moment understood:  she wore none.  In Xanth, it seemed, nakedness was no problem, just underclothing.  Her nudity was not only natural, but exquisite; it was the way he imagined Chlorine would look, only Willow was more, well, willowy.  Suddenly he liked slenderness very.  well.

So he pulled off his clothing, and joined her in the pool quickly, because he did not want to stand exposed and maybe embarrass himself with a male reaction.  The water was just right, neither hot nor cold.  It caressed his bare skin in a special manner, making it feel wonderfully good.

Willow turned to face him, sweeping her hair behind so that her small but perfect breasts were clear.  “Shall I wash your back?” she asked innocently, meeting his gaze for the first time since entering the water.  Then she froze.

Sean froze too.  He had been admiring Willow's body and face; now that admiration exploded into an overwhelming emotion.  Beautiful?  She was ravishing!  It was as if she were framed in glorious light, with the sweetest possible music playing in the background.

“Oh, no!” she cried.  “It's a love spring!”

A love spring.  He had heard those mentioned.  “You mean we're—?” But there was no need to say more, for he already knew it was true.  He loved her.

“I never thought—” she said, chagrined.

“Do—do you feel the same way I do?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, moving toward him.  “I love you. But—this—we can't—”

“And I love you,” he said, meeting her halfway.

“Though we are of two different worlds.”

“We shouldn't do this,” she said, putting her arms around him.  His own arms circled her, passing beneath the feathery softness of her wings.

“I know.” He kissed her.  Half the dreams he might ever have had were realized in that moment.

After an eternity, she drew her face away just enough to speak.  “You are Mundane.  I am magical.  We can not be together.”

“How can we be apart?” He kissed her again, and she met him avidly.

“In time the spell will fade,” she said as they broke for breath.

“How much time?”

She considered.  “About four years.  I think.  But often the magic love is replaced by natural love in that time, so there may be no escape other than separation.”

“I couldn't stand that.” He was about to kiss her again, but this time she beat him to it.

“Neither could I,” she said after another precious pause.

“Oh, Willow, I know this is all magic, but I—don't even want to say what I want to do with you.” That was the other half of his dreams, not yet realized.

“I want to do it too,” she said.  “The storks get a lot of business from love springs.  But I beg you to wait while we consider alternatives.”

“Anything you ask of me, I want to do,” he said.  He made a supreme effort and withdrew from her.  “But I can't stop loving you.”