Part 8 (1/2)
The baby paused in its swinging. ”They fled beyond the witch's tree,” it said. ”By the time we made a forced-march there, the trail was cold. We've got better things to do than hunt for dummies.”
”One of those dummies was my daughter!” Irene exclaimed angrily.
”Tough s.h.i.+ft, sister,” the infant retorted.
”I'll tough-s.h.i.+ft you, you fat brat!” Irene cried. She threw down a seed. ”Grow!”
The seed sprouted into a cowslip plant. In moments it was depositing slippery and smelly cow-chips all around. Next time the infants marched, they would find themselves slipping in truly s.h.i.+ftless stuff.
”That wasn't nice, Irene,” Grundy said smugly. He appreciated dirt, no matter who flung it.
”Just tend to your business, golem, or I'll grow a wart plant on your head!”
Grundy shut up and tended to his business. But the trail was indeed cold. The witch's tree was distracted by an infestation of large bugs or wild animals in its foliage and wouldn't answer Grundy's query. Apparently the bugs had been confined and recently released, for they were raising havoc in the upper foliage. The gra.s.s below the tree was washed out. So the party simply had to go on, casting about as before, hoping to find a plant or tree that remembered a child and a little dragon.
They got beyond the region where it had rained, but still there was no clue. Irene was too stubborn to admit they had lost the trail entirely and were probably going in the wrong direction. Her daughter had to be out here somewhere!
They came to a bleak area, yellowish overall, where normal trees gave way to strange, thick-trunked growths from which grew long, thin, gra.s.slike leaves with upright spikes at the top bearing whitish flowers. Grundy queried one and discovered it was a gra.s.stree named Xanthorrhoed.
”Now this is interesting,” Chem said. Centaurs were chronically fascinated by unusual fauna and flora. ”Xanthorrhoed is one of the really primitive, fundamental plants of Xanth, as can be told from its name.”
”Xanthorrhoed?” Irene asked. ”I don't have any seed for that.”
”Perhaps you should add some to your collection. I believe this type of plant is a.s.sociated with--”
”Witches,” a new voice said. Irene looked around to see a sallow, yellow, old woman. Distracted by the gra.s.stree, she had not seen the woman approach. ”What are you creatures doing in my garden?”
”I'm looking for a child,” Irene said shortly. ”Have you seen her? Three years old, perhaps accompanied by a small dragon--”
”Ah, so,” the witch said. ”I just may have news of those. They belong to you?”
”My daughter,” Irene said. ”Where is she? I must reach her before--”
The witch looked Irene in the face. The witch was an ugly old crone, hunched and dirty, with a wart on her nose. ”Go to my hut yonder, enter the cage there, and lock yourself in,” she said.
Irene tried to resist this ridiculous directive, but found herself compelled. The witch's talent was instant hypnotism, or something stronger; Irene had to obey.
She walked to the hut, entered it, and found the cage inside. She got into it and drew the door closed, hearing the click of its lock.
Now that she had done the witch's bidding, Irene found the compulsion relieved. She was in control of herself again. But she was locked in, and the wooden bars of the cage were too strong for her to break. She had a knife, but knew it would take a long time to saw through one of these bars.
Well, she could cope with that! She dropped a seed on the floor. ”Grow!”
The seed sprouted brightly. It was a fire fern. In moments it had set fire to the cage and was burning through several bars.
While she waited, hunched in the corner farthest from the blaze, Irene kept busy. She grew an octopus plant, which she knew would do her bidding. When the witch entered the hut, she would become captive herself. As an added precaution, Irene sprouted a club moss so she could arm herself better.
A few minutes later, the witch entered the hut. The octopus wrapped its tentacles about her, and Irene menaced her with a club. ”Now, you illicit creature, I want to know--” Irene began.
The witch looked her calmly in the eye. ”Put down the club. Tell your creature to release me.”
”Oh, fudge!” Irene swore. ”I forgot about the hypno-stare!” But she put down her club, then directed the octopus plant to release the witch. She had some limited powers over the plants she grew, though she still had to be careful with the most aggressive ones. A tangle tree, for example, did not take many orders from anyone. She resolved to turn her back to the witch as soon as the compulsion left her, so that she could not be hypnotized again.
But before that happened, the witch did hypnotize her again. ”Sit down, woman. Listen to what I say.”
Irene sat down on a rickety wooden chair and listened, seething. She had made such an obvious mistake, letting the witch look her in the eye a second time!
”I shall introduce myself,” the witch said. ”I am Xanthippe, the wicked witch of the wilderness. I a.s.sociate with the Xanthorrhoed trees, the root plants of Xanth, as their name suggests. You have intruded on my property and you are in my power. I see you are a sorceress yourself, and that pleases me more than you may presently appreciate, but you remain subject to my will. Because I have your daughter.”
Irene could not speak, since she had been ordered to listen. But the news electrified her, and she strained forward attentively.
”She and the little dragon are captives of my thyme plant,” the witch continued. ”They intruded on my premises, as you did, and indulged in much mischief before they were restrained. They loosed my collection of gargan-tuons. There are tuons rampaging all over my coven-tree, where I keep my most valuable exhibits. So they had to be punished. They will remain enchanted forever, until I decide to free them, or at least a century, whichever comes first.” She eyed Irene speculatively.
”Oh, to be sure, with your clever control of plants, you could free them, too--but only I know where my thyme plant is hidden and what menaces are guarding it. I can have your child destroyed before you can rescue her. You must have my cooperation, if you wish to save her--and you shall have that only at my price.”
Now Irene could speak. ”You have the nerve to hold my daughter hostage? Do you know who I am?”
”No,” the witch said. ”Who are you?”
Irene suddenly realized that this old crone could be much worse to handle if she learned she had the Queen of Xanth in her power. Better to leave her in ignorance. Irene found that the old hag's power could compel her actions but not her words--except when words were actions, as in directing her plants to grow or let someone go--so she didn't have to say more than she chose. ”I am--Irene. What do I have to do to get my child back?”
The witch studied her appraisingly again. ”That's the proper att.i.tude. You strike me as a fine, healthy young woman, with good magical power and some practical skills, such as making your own clothing from towels. You should make an excellent mate for my son, and your talent with plants would a.s.sist my own collections.”
Irene was aghast. ”A m--m--!” She couldn't get the word out. ”But I'm married! I have a child! That's why I'm out here looking for her!”
”Yes, I want a woman who can breed. I want my son to settle down, to be a family man. To be under the influence of a competent woman and a proven breeder. You'll do.”
”I will not do!” Irene flared. ”You may be able to make me do something for five minutes, but you could never get me to stay with a man I don't love!”
”There is much a knowledgeable woman can do with a man in five minutes, with or without love,” Xanthippe remarked. ”I can see that you do that, and do it again on another day, as many times as are necessary--and once you carry my son's child, you may not be quite so eager to leave him.”
Irene was shocked again at the witch's directness and unscrupulousness. ”This is impossible!”
”I a.s.sure you it is possible. How do you think I got my son?”
How else, indeed! Even when young, Xanthippe must have been too ugly to attract a man. But her magic made attraction unnecessary; the man would perform at her behest. Irene tried again. ”I mean my husband would--”
”What would he do, after he learned you carried another man's child?” the witch inquired.
Irene didn't like to contemplate that, so she didn't. ”You can't be serious! The moment you aren't watching me, I'll destroy you!”
”And what, then, will happen to your daughter, who remains in my power?” the witch asked. ”You may have her back only after a sibling is on the way.”
”A sibling!” Irene found it hard even to grasp the enormity of the witch's design. ”I'll never--”
”You were unable to locate your daughter before; can you do so now?”
Irene was silent. She couldn't stand the thought of putting Ivy into any unnecessary jeopardy. She couldn't risk wiping out the witch until she had gotten Ivy out of danger.
”I will introduce you to my son Xavier,” Xanthippe said. ”Perhaps you will like him, though that really doesn't matter. It would simply make it easier for you. Come this way.”