Part 15 (1/2)
”Exactly what does that mean?” Irene flared.
”For a child of that name and that power and for a talent like yours, I will help,” Thalia said, touching her wreath. ”It was so kind of you to name such a remarkable individual so.”
It had been coincidence, since Irene had not known about this Muse. She had needed a name beginning with I that related to plants, since the baby had been a girl. Had it been a boy, they would have settled on a name beginning with D, after his father, relating to the inanimate. But it did not seem politic to make an issue of that now, and perhaps it was less coincidental than it seemed. There were few true coincidences in Xanth.
Meanwhile, why did Thalia keep referring to Ivy as a Sorceress? And what did Clio mean about saving Xanth? Irene had a nasty feeling that these were not idle fragments of news. But she was sure that she would get no clarifications merely by asking. The Muses were as much aware of the future as they were of the past, and did let slip aspects of each, but it seemed they were not supposed to leak the future to ordinary folk. ”How can we get to the top of Parna.s.sus quickly?”
Thalia considered. ”Some ride a book to the heights.” She indicated one of Clio's texts, which rose out of the chest and hovered in the air before them. ”But this method is precarious, for no one knows which book will rise all the way.”
Irene eyed the floating tome. It seemed very small and uncertain. ”I don't care to trust myself to that, even if the Simurgh permits that sort of flight! I'd soon fall off.”
”Most do,” Thalia agreed. ”They have such high hopes, then fall so low, especially when the climate is adverse. Some make it by promotion.” But her too-merry smile suggested that was not a viable option either, in this instance. ”Some do it by sheer luck. But the only reasonable route is that of time and persistence.”
”We don't have time!” Irene protested. Thalia paced in a small circle.
”Then I suppose you will have to do it the hard way. For you, for this occasion, I think the ivy should do.” She lifted the wreath from her neck and set it at the base of the cliff at the edge of the temple. ”I must not employ my power for the benefit of a traveler, but you may use yours.”
Irene caught on. ”Grow;” she ordered the ivy. The ivy grew vigorously. The wreath sent out several shoots, and these quickly found the face of the cliff. They attached themselves to the surface of the mountain, their little suckers supporting the stems. The vines thickened and became st.u.r.dy and continued to reach up the mountain.
”But Xap and I can't climb that!” Chem protested. ”Our hooves--”
”I'll get the feather for you,” Irene said. ”You can wait here and talk to the Muses. We'll have to return this way, and so we shall rejoin you then.”
”I suppose that's best,” the centaur said without real regret. She had wanted to meet the Simurgh, but she also wanted to talk with the Muses, and the climb was clearly impossible for her. The specialization that made her species fine runners made her a poor climber. ”I don't think Zora should try it, either.”
Irene glanced at the zombie, remembering the Muse's reference to her. Zora continued to look improved, but this was no minor climb up a ladder to a tree house! ”Yes, she would have too much trouble.”
”But I can handle it!” Grundy said with zest. He was right; his small weight and tight grasp gave him a real advantage here. Too bad; Irene would have been happier without his smart remarks, which could aggravate the Simurgh.
When the ivy growth was solid enough and high enough, Irene, Xavier, and Grundy climbed up it, finding plenty of footholds and handholds in the twining stems. This was a very luxuriant and strong variety of ivy, as befitted the Muse of Planting, and Irene knew it would offer complete support.
She remembered how she had climbed a plant over a dozen years ago, in Mundania, to help Dor use his talent in a castle. That had taken place in the days when she had been young and impetuous and foolish and fun-loving. The halcyon days, when everyone had been desperate to know what color her panties were. Now, of course, no one cared. Her youth had flown.
”Hey, doll, remember that time in Onesti when Dor was embarra.s.sed to see your--” Grundy began, thinking to tease her.
Irene leaned over and kissed him on the top of his little head. ”I remember.”
The golem blanched. ”I must be losing my touch,” he grumbled.
It was quite a climb, but Irene was at home with plants, especially this variety, and she kept reminding herself that she was doing it for her daughter. Of course, her daughter was no longer in the witch's power; but still, the sooner she got this mission done, the sooner she could be on her way to rescue Ivy. According to the Muses, this mission did relate, and it seemed they were in a position to know. Anyway, she climbed, mentally repeating the name to herself with each heave upward: Ivy! Ivy! Ivy! It helped motivate tiring muscles.
Grundy had no trouble, as he was forever climbing things. He was like a little monkeys.h.i.+ne. Xavier was eternally robust, his muscles flexing smoothly; he seemed to be enjoying the mild effort of the climb. So they made good progress up the steep face of the mountain. Irene looked down to see how far they had come and experienced instant vertigo; no more of that!
They came to a gentler slope near the top and were able to leave the vine, though Irene made sure she could grab onto it again if she happened to fall. She felt less secure on this mountain face than she had when flying the bird-of-paradise plant, because the drop seemed so much more immediate. Her arms were tired but not numb; she was well enough off.
Again she looked back, saw the surface of Parna.s.sus falling away out of sight, and again felt abruptly dizzy. It was much worse looking down from the precarious top than up from the solid base. Never look back, she thought, when at the height.
Then she looked forward--and saw the Tree.
The Tree of Seeds was absolutely huge. Its roots dug into the domed top of the mountain, its trunk ascended ma.s.sively, and its branches spread out as if to encompa.s.s the whole of Xanth. The foliage was highly varied, for this was the tree of all species, producing fruits and seeds of every kind that existed. To Irene it was the most wonderful tree that ever could be.
She looked north, to the other peak of Parna.s.sus, and saw the Tree of Immortality. From this distance it looked minor, but she was sure it was similar in size to the one on this peak. Proximity made these trees much more formidable!
She returned her gaze to the Tree of Seeds. There, on a large and high branch, perched the Simurgh, a bird the size of a roc, whose feathers were like veils of light and shadow and whose crested head was like fire. It moved, half spreading its enormous wings, and they were like mist over a mountain.
”That's some creature!” Xavier breathed.
It was indeed. Irene had expected to be impressed, but the sheer enormity and beauty of the Simurgh threatened to overwhelm her. If the Tree of Seeds was a monarch among trees, so was the Simurgh a monarch among birds.
”I'll try to talk to it,” Grundy said nervously. ”That's my job, after all.”
DO NOT BOTHER. GOLEM.
Irene looked about, startled, and saw Xavier doing the same, while Grundy was literally knocked off his feet. ”That's the bird!” he exclaimed, sitting up. ”That's the Simurgh talking!”
SPEAK YOUR NEEDS, the Simurgh said in all their minds.
Neither Grundy nor Xavier was able to formulate anything. Irene was the one with the mission, and as the only woman present, she was the natural leader. She gulped and started to speak. ”First, we need a fea--”
A WHAT? the monstrous bird demanded.
”A--” Irene began again.
WHO PUT YOU UP TO THIS, MORTAL WOMAN?.
There was something ominous about the way the bird projected the concept ”mortal”; life was not necessarily long. Abashed, Irene began: ”The--”
I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN! THAT WITCH XANTHIPPE IS A THIEF FROM WAY BACK, ALWAYS WANTING WHAT SHE DOES NOT DESERVE.
”Hey, featherbrain, that's my mother you're insulting!” Xavier protested in the foolhardy fas.h.i.+on of his s.e.x.
One gigantic and brilliant eye s.h.i.+fted to cover him. Xavier was obviously daunted but held his bit of ground bravely enough. He had been stung by the indictment of the Furies; now he was standing up for his mother.
YOU ASK FOR THIS, TASTY MAN? This time the accent was on ”tasty.” This time the accent was on ”tasty.”
”Well, sure,” Xavier said nervously. ”I never did nothing for my mother before, so it's time I--”
YOU HAVE PROFITED FROM THE LESSON OF ALECTO, the Simurgh projected. YOU WISH TO BECOME A DUTIFUL SON.
”I guess so,” Xavier admitted. ”I know I'm not much, and I can't say I agree with everything Maw does, but she did try to do right by me, and I reckon it ain't never too late to start. Those old crones--uh, the three Furies--they really had something to say, you know? So I--”
FILIAL RESPECT IS GOOD, EVEN WHEN THE OBJECT IS NOT WORTHY, the Simurgh projected. TO MARRY AND SETTLE DOWN IS GOOD. BUT YOUR MOTHER'S DESIGN ERRS IN ONE RESPECT: YOU MAY NOT TAKE A WOMAN WHO IS ALREADY SPOKEN FOR.
Xavier glanced at Irene, who found herself blus.h.i.+ng for no good reason. The Simurgh could read a person's thoughts; what had it seen in Xavier's mind? The young man was taken aback. ”I may not? But Maw said--”
FIND ANOTHER WOMAN.
”Uh, yes, sir. I--”
YES. MA'AM, the bird corrected him. the bird corrected him. ONLY A MALE WOULD NOT REALIZE THAT FEMALES ARE THE KEEPERS OF THE SEEDS. ONLY A MALE WOULD NOT REALIZE THAT FEMALES ARE THE KEEPERS OF THE SEEDS.