Part 11 (2/2)
The golem started to say something, then thought better of it.
They continued on through a field of creature plants, generally harmless but sometimes startling. Duckweed quacked, an alligator pear ground its teeth at them--naturally it had two jaws for the purpose, an upper and a lower, making the pair--a windmill palm rotated its great blade-leaves, causing wind to gust past them, a pig lily oinked, a p.u.s.s.y-foot crept away on little fog-feet, fish gra.s.s swam away, several toad plants croaked with great displays of mortal agony, and a money plant waved green papery leaves at them. Then the air was filled with the frozen petals from a giant snowflake plant; the petals settled in a maidenhair tree, much to her annoyance. She took a brush from a bottle-brush plant and brushed off the snow, then plucked a powder-puff to restore her complexion.
Chem, distracted by the novel plants, stumbled against a rock. Fortunately, it was a sham-rock, so her hoof wasn't hurt. A real rock would have been much worse. A running myrtle, spooked by the noise, ran off. A nearby punk tree laughed, making the sound by cracking its wooden knuckles and creaking its limbs.
”Yeah?” Grundy demanded, always ready for an argument.
”You ain't so hot yourself, punk!”
A short distance away, a pencil tree was making busy notes on a paper plant. Irene smiled; apparently to these plants, the sight of a centaur, woman, and golem was worthy of note. The visitors were as strange to the plants as the plants were to the visitors. But notes weren't really necessary, as there were several forget-me-not flowers around to remember.
Near the edge of the field, a spider lily was hot in pursuit of a b.u.t.terfly flower, while silver bells rang a warning. That startled a zebra plant who was grazing on some unlucky clover. Chicken corn squawked as the zebra ran past, and a curiosity plant craned its stem to see what was going on.
They must be getting closer to the Tree of Seeds, Irene reflected, for all these unusual plants had to have sprouted from seeds scattered from an unusual source. The thought of that Tree excited her. She would try to fetch the witch's three bad seeds, but she also hoped to garner some exotic specimens for herself. All the seeds of the wilderness would be available!
As they re-entered the deeper jungle, Grundy reached for a feather fern, surely intending some ticklish mischief with it, but a fan palm fanned it aside. The golem slapped at the palm, but it drew back, closing its fingers about itself, and all Grundy struck was a section of a neighboring crown-of-thorns. That plant dropped its th.o.r.n.y crown on the golem's head. What the golem said as he wrenched the p.r.i.c.kly crown off was not comprehensible, since it was in plant language, but a bleeding heart vine blushed, a trumpet lily sounded a retreat, an artillery plant fired off a salute, and a never-never plant wilted.
They halted for a snack, as traveling made them hungry. Xap and Xavier came down; company might not appeal to them, but the food certainly did, and they knew they could separate from the zombie when they landed, at least for a while.
Irene grew a custard-apple plant, a honey plant, and a swisscheese plant for Xavier, Chem, and herself; a hot red pepper for Xap; and a genuine has-bean for Grundy.
Evening was nearing. ”How much farther do we have to go?” Irene asked Xavier.
”Oh, Xap could be there in an hour,” the yellow man replied cheerfully. ”But I guess you'll need more time.”
”Yes,” Chem agreed succinctly. It was evident she was tired from the long run through such varied terrain. Wings were definitely an a.s.set for this sort of excursion.
”So we'd better make camp,” Grundy said. ”And move on to Parna.s.sus in the morning.”
”Yes, I think that's--” Irene started. Then she froze, absolutely horrified.
There, at the base of a barrel cactus, lay the battered body of a child. It looked like a girl, and Irene knew with a sick and awful certainty whom it had to be, for the hair had a green tint.
Her vision, when they approached Castle Zombie--had it come true?
She forced her frozen limbs to move, and ran to the body--and there was nothing. Just undisturbed forest floor.
”Whatever did you see?” Chem asked solicitously. ”I saw nothing out of the ordinary.”
”It must have been--my mistake,” Irene said faintly. ”I saw--Ivy. She was--she looked dead!”
”But your ivy plant remains healthy,” the centaur pointed out. ”So whatever was there, it could not have been your daughter.”
”Yes, of course,” Irene agreed, touching the ivy plant. ”I should have realized. But it had green hair--”
”Oh, that's the fetch,” Xavier said. ”Don't pay that no mind, miss.”
”The what?” Irene asked dazedly.
”The fetch. It's around our place all the time. I told you, it don't mean nothing.”
Chem switched her tail nervously. ”I'm sure that is the case, Xavier. But what exactly is the fetch? An apparition?”
”Naw. It's when you see a live person, only you see him dead. Maw likes the fetch; it suits her sense of humor.”
”It would,” Grundy put in.
”The person you see dead--is really alive?” Irene asked, her horror abating. It was not like her to be so destabilized by such a minor event, but this vision had reinforced her prior vision, reviving a deeper horror, and that was hard to shake.
”Sure. Always,” Xavier said. ”It ain't no fun for the fetch to show a real dead person.”
”Fun!” Chem exclaimed indignantly.
”I don't like the fetch,” Xavier confessed. ”It used to be death to see it, in the old days when Xanth was new; now it's just bad luck. Maw likes bad luck, but I don't.”
Irene glanced sidelong at the handsome young man, liking him better despite his backwardness; ”You don't get along with your mother?”
”Oh, I get along. She tells me what to do, and I do it, so she don't use the eye on me. But I'd rather fly.”
Irene could appreciate why. Any normal person would seek an excuse to spend time away from such a witch. ”Thank you for the information about the fetch,” she told him. ”It's a great relief to me.”
”Well, you're a pretty gal, real pretty, even if Maw does say so,” he said, as if that related.
Irene considered the ramifications of that minor comment before responding. His mother the witch had wanted to match the two of them, and both Xavier and Irene herself had resisted. So he had complimented her, despite the negative phrasing. She rather liked, at the age of twenty-eight, being called a ”pretty gal.” Her days of girlhood were long past, and sometimes she missed them. She had been a showoff and a tease a dozen years ago, and though it embarra.s.sed her to remember it, she had to admit it had been fun. So if someone saw her as that sort now, she was not really displeased. Even if he was an ignorant lout and she was a devoted wife to her distant husband and mother of a precious child. So she behaved recklessly and returned the favor. ”And you're a handsome lad.”
”Aw, don't start on that mush stuff,” he said, disgusted. Irene smiled privately. Xavier was truly a boy at heart! The witch must really have sheltered him from life.
Grundy chuckled, though theoretically he had not been listening.
Xavier grimaced. ”Maybe I better clear up a misunderstanding,” he said. ”I don't need no help from Maw to figure out what to do with a nymph, when it comes to that. It's just that something like marriage is too important to be done offhandedly. I aim to make my own choice of women--and when I do, it'll be forever. Maw don't understand that; maybe you do.”
Irene appraised him again. He made a good deal more sense than she had thought him capable of. ”Yes, perfectly,” she agreed. ”I wish you well.”
”And the same goes for Xap. He knows his own mind; he just hasn't found no fem-gryph he likes yet.”
Irene didn't comment; she was satisfied to let it stand exactly at that. It was not, after all, so bad traveling with this pair of males.
She grew a nice tree house and some cus.h.i.+on cactus for bedding--that kind had spines so soft they hardly even tickled--and swept out the house with some broom she sprouted for the purpose. Xavier watched her at work with open admiration. ”You sure are good at that,” he exclaimed.
”I should be,” Irene murmured. ”It's my talent.” Then, to distract his interest, which she judged to be getting possibly too personal, she asked: ”What is your talent, Xavier?”
”Oh, I zap things,” he said nonchalantly. ”It ain't nothing much.”
”Xap? Your hippogryph?”
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