Crewel Lye Page 12

  I took a deep breath. “So if I just keep this bag of spells handy, I’ll be able to counter each of Yang’s spells and complete the mission. That seems straightforward enough.”

  “Well, there are always unexpected details of situation,” he said, “and also complications of terrain.”

  “I’m a barbarian. I’m used to handling terrain.”

  “And on the return trip you will be burdened with the object. That may distract you. You must be especially careful once you have the object, for the difficulty of the challenge may increase exponentially then.”

  “There is that,” I agreed, wondering what “exponential” meant. I assumed it was just a highbrow Magician term for “a lot.” “Just what is this object I’m supposed to fetch?”

  Yin looked moderately embarrassed. “I’m afraid I am not permitted to tell you that. King Gromden decided that some things should be held as surprises to make the contest more, er, sporting. I have informed you of the nature of the spells and counterspells, giving you a certain advantage; some unknowns are necessary to counterbalance that. Perhaps Yang will tell you more. However—” His face darkened. “You must not believe everything Yang tells you. I am a Good Magician; he is an Evil Magician. Therefore I must always use my magic positively and speak the truth. He uses his magic negatively, and …” He let the words fade out.

  “You mean he always lies? Then I’ll just believe the opposite of what he says.”

  Yin looked further embarrassed. “It is not quite as simple as that. Truth is not necessarily the opposite of Untruth. For example, you could ask a liar what direction the nearest pillow-bush was, and he would tell you it was east when actually it was south; if you went the opposite way, you would go west and still be deceived.”

  “Well, at least I’d know one direction it wasn’t—east. That would be some help.”

  “Not necessarily so. Yang does not lie, precisely; he seeks to deceive. If he can best deceive by indirection, or even by telling the truth in a way you will doubt, he will do that. Thus the bush might indeed be east—the one direction you would not go after asking him.”

  I began to appreciate the ramifications. The civilized folk had evidently developed lying into a sophisticated art! We barbarians were straightforward liars, when we lied at all.

  “I really would prefer that you not talk to Yang at all,” Yin said. “But the rules of this contest give us equal access. So all I can do is warn you not to trust him, either to speak the truth or to lie, for he will surely mislead you to his advantage. He is insidiously clever.”

  I shrugged. “Thanks for the warning, Magician. I’ll be careful.”

  He smiled. “Do be that. And farewell, Hero; I hope to see you again at the conclusion of the mission.”

  “Sure thing, Yin.” I left him and took the bag of spells to my room.

  The rest of the day was frankly dull. The serving woman fixed me a decent lunch and hurried off to attend to the sick King. I amused myself by exploring the castle, which was big and empty. In one upstairs room was the magic tapestry, showing scenes of Xanth during the last four hundred years. There had been a long succession of kings, some of them pretty good. I rather liked King Roogna, who had supervised the construction of the castle; he had used centaur labor, and Evil Magician Murphy had tried to interfere, but a barbarian had arrived to help King Roogna. Trust a barbarian to show up in the nick of time, when the civilized folk couldn’t manage! I was of that heroic mold myself, as I may have mentioned.

  But somehow it seemed that the power of man had faded in Xanth, slowly over the centuries, and the once far-reaching activities of the castle had contracted, until today old King Gromden was about all that remained. Gromden meant well and was a good man, but people lacked confidence in him. Maybe it was that there just weren’t enough human folk left in Xanth to hold back the jungle.

  The woman appeared. “The King asks for you,” she said disapprovingly.

  I went to Gromden’s room. He was sitting up in bed, evidently somewhat recovered, though he did not look at all spry. “Feeling better, King?” I asked brightly. “Maybe the prune juice helped?”

  “My malady comes and goes,” he said, “and each siege is to a new nadir. It derives as much from the soul as from the flesh. How I wish my wife and daughter were here! But—” He shrugged with deep regret. “A man can pay a lifetime for a moment’s folly.”

  “That’s for sure, King!” I agreed. “I remember when I found this tangle-seed and thought I’d plant it in our garden—”

  “I summoned you in this period of my lucidity, because it may not last long. I have something important to tell you that I fear you will not believe.”

  “I’m just a barbarian, King,” I reminded him. “I can believe almost anything.”

  He smiled tiredly. “That is surely why the prophecy named you for this mission; you have no preconceptions. But I fear you are being deceived unnecessarily, so simple fairness requires me to set some things straight.”

  “Sure, King.” I nodded. “What’s crooked?”

  “This contest between Yin and Yang is not precisely what it seems. It is not really a trial to determine which Magician shall assume the throne of Xanth after me, but rather which one shall serve the other.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?” I asked. “The one who loses doesn’t get to be King, so—”

  “No, not the same,” he asserted. “And that object you are supposed to fetch has certain qualities that will greatly complicate your task. This is no simple matter, Barbarian! Yin and Yang don’t realize that I know any of this, but—”

  “How do you know it, King?” I asked.

  He smiled again. “I see that you, like they, question my remaining mental acuity. Indeed, I found the truth difficult to believe myself. Perhaps it will be more convincing if I demonstrate how I ascertained my information.”

  “I guess so,” I conceded doubtfully. The old boy did seem a little confused. But that was what happened to sick people sometimes.

  “If you would be so kind—fetch me an object from the grounds.”

  “Sure King,” I agreed amicably. Might as well humor him. I turned my back, left the room, went down and out, and looked about. What would be suitable? A fruit? Maybe a prune? A stick of wood? No sense going to a lot of trouble, since he’d probably be asleep when I returned.

  I spied a chip of stone, fallen from the castle wall. That should do. I picked it up and went back inside.

  King Gromden remained awake. I handed him the chip. He held it before him, staring at it. “This is a fragment of stone from the outer wall of this castle,” he said. “It was quarried by centaurs and hauled to this site four hundred years ago.”

  “What do you know,” I remarked. It really didn’t take any magic talent to know that; all the castle rocks were quarried and hauled in at that time. If that wasn’t common knowledge, the magic tapestry showed it to anyone willing to watch, as I had been.

  “The centaur who hauled this particular stone had a speckled hide and gray tail,” he continued. “He struck one hoof against a root and issued a bad word, for which he was duly reprimanded by his superior on the crew.”

  “Sure,” I agreed noncommittally, convinced he was making this up.

  “Later, before the castle was finished, the goblins and harpies attacked,” he continued. “A harpy hen laid an egg that detonated close by, cracking the block, but the mortar held it in place. Then the goblins stormed the castle, and their dead piled up against the wall; the eyeball of one was wedged against this chip, somewhat to the chip’s disgust.”

  I chuckled obligingly. I’ll say this for the old boy: he could spin a yarn! Maybe not as fancy as the yarns of the tapestry, but still good enough.

  “Then the goblin bodies were melted down, and some of the stain soaked into the chip. And it endured that way for centuries, until recently a bird brushed it, and the chip was finally dislodged and fell to the ground. There is a spell on this castle to keep it in repa
ir, but age and neglect may have weakened that spell. You picked up the chip between the wall and the moat, near a yellow flower.”

  “Hey, I did!” I exclaimed, remembering. “How’d you know that, King?” For there had been no window covering that region; he could not have peered out and seen me.

  He smiled. “It is my talent, the magic of Magician caliber that made me eligible to assume the throne. I can hold any object and see and hear its history. That is how I discovered the deception of Yin and Yang. A button fell from Yin’s clothing; I picked it up and read it to determine whose it was, and found that it was his, but also—”

  I glanced at him. He was looking worse; the effort of sitting up and talking was bad for him. “I’d better let you rest now, King,” I said.

  “But I must warn you,” he protested weakly. “It is important for you to complete this mission, for Yin—”

  He coughed and spat up some phlegm, and his words were choked off. I didn’t want him to pass out while trying to talk to me, so I beat a hasty retreat. Barbarians don’t really understand illness. “You sleep it off, King,” I said at the door. “I’ll talk to you again tomorrow.”

  It certainly was dull here at the castle. I was eager to get going on the challenge; at least that promised to be halfway interesting.

  Next day Magician Yang showed up. He wore black cloak and looked forbidding, but his features were just like Yin’s. “I can see you are twin brothers,” I said observantly.

  “Naturally,” he agreed, unsmiling. “We two represent the Good and Evil aspects of magic. Let’s get on with this. Where are the spells?”

  “Huh?” I replied, perhaps not displaying my full intelligence, such as it was.

  “Yin’s spells, yokel. I need to check them so I know which ones to match.”

  “Oh.” I had somehow thought he knew which spells, since the King had specified them in advance. Evidently I had misunderstood. I went to my room and brought down the bag.

  Yang grabbed it and opened it and peered in. “The usual garbage,” he said. “Yin never was one for much imagination.”

  “I think King Gromden selected the—”

  “Him too. Dullards, all! No wonder Xanth is sliding to the depths in a basket case.” He reached in and hauled out the eye-queue vine. “I can match this idiot-string readily.”

  “Well, sure, since your spells are equal and opposite.”

  “And this airhead,” he said, bringing up the white skull, then dropping it back into the bag with a clunk. “And this freak.” Now he had the white monster figurine. “And the old magic shield gig, yet! Yin’s got no spunk at all!”

  “Well, as I said, the King—”

  “And as I said, him too! Now this one had possibilities,” he said, bringing up the doll. “You ever been in someone else’s body, bumpkin?”

  “No, not exactly that way—”

  “And the stone-age ploy,” he continued, holding the white stone. He peered at me. “Take my advice, would-be hero; save yourself a lot of grief. Take a dive!”

  “A what?”

  “Just go out there and don’t come back. Vanish from the scene.”

  I had trouble grasping this. “But the mission—”

  “The mission is to determine whether Yin or Yang should be the next King. If you fail to bring back the object, that determination will be made. Yang will be King.”

  “But—not even to try—”

  “Well, you have two ways to go, ignoramus. You can go out there and get yourself killed, or you can go out there and take it easy and survive. Either way, the result of the contest will be the same—but your own situation will differ. You have to consider your personal stake in this.”

  “I couldn’t—I said I’d make an honest try, and—”

  “You fool!” he cried indignantly. “Don’t you know the contest is rigged? You can’t bring back the object! The whole deal is a cruel lie, set up to appease the masses.”

  Masses? I wondered where they were. “But King Gromden said—”

  “That old fool is in his dotage, simpleton, and sick to boot! Look how Castle Roogna has deteriorated under his administration. We don’t need more scandal in the castle. It’s past time for a strong hand to take the reins and restore the throne to its proper glory.”

  There was some sense to that. “But Magician Yin could—he has similar magic—”

  “Yin is constrained by his foolish notions of ethics. He places the means before the ends. No person can accomplish anything if he worries more about how he does it than what he is doing. That’s why Yin is doomed to lose this contest.”

  I have never regarded myself as a clever man, and I saw right away I was outclassed here. I couldn’t argue with someone as smart and ruthless as Yang. Still, I had stupid doubts. “I don’t know—”

  “Of course you don’t, rube,” Yang agreed. “So I will tell you. When I am King, I will reward you handsomely. Do you like nymphs? I will give you a barrel of nymph spells, each nymph good for a day and willing to do anything you say. Do you like food? I will arrange a feast every night. Creature comforts? The most comfortable creatures shall be yours.”

  “—whether I should accept the mission,” I continued doggedly, “if I’m not even going to try. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you were trying to bribe me to—”

  “The light dawns at last, oaf! What is your price?”

  “Besides, it sounds like a good adventure, and that’s what I really came here for.” I certainly didn’t much like Yang!

  “What kind of adventure is it to get your head bitten off by a monster? Dead men can’t enjoy life!”

  Actually, for me there was life after death; evidently he didn’t know that. In his arrogance he hadn’t bothered to check out my talent. I decided not to mention it. “Yin said you would try to deceive me.”

  Yang laughed loudly. “How do you know he’s not lying, hick? Naturally he doesn’t want you to listen to me!”

  He had a point. Now I didn’t know whom to believe. “I guess I’d just better go ahead with the mission, and do my best, and see how it turns out.”

  “Fool!” Yang dropped the bag of spells on the floor and stalked out.

  I wished I could get some good advice, but there was no one with any sense around here except maybe the King, and he hadn’t heard this conversation and might not believe it. Then I remembered his talent. He could evoke the dialogue or whatever from a button on my clothing; then he would believe!

  I went to his room, but he was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake him. He might go into another coughing fit. Well, what could he have said, anyway, except for me to do the mission as planned. Actually, he might already know about Yang’s dishonesty, for he had been trying to tell me something the day before. Now, maybe, I knew the nature of his warning: that Yang would try not merely to deceive me, but also to corrupt me. Fortunately, I was not clever enough to be corrupted.

  Chapter 7. Mountain of Flesh

  I set out the next morning ready for action, with the bag of spells tied to Pook. I had my good sword and a knife I had picked up at the castle. The woman had also found a good sturdy replacement bow and a quiver of arrows in the armory. I had plucked some cherries and pineapples from the trees of the orchard, as well as some edible fruit to consume along the way. I wore light body armor consisting of leather strips magically pickled and hardened. There was a lot of good stuff at Castle Roogna; too bad there were not more people to enjoy it.

  I was at last starting my adventure! This buoyed my spirits, despite the aspects that puzzled me, and I feared that it would not be as exciting as I hoped. All I knew of the object I had to fetch was that it was vaguely northwest of Castle Roogna, but that was enough to get me started. I could invoke my finder-spell anytime, but preferred to wait until I had passed the loser-spell I knew was in my path. Then I could nullify the black spell completely, hoping enough of the white one was left over to enable me to pinpoint the object when I reached its general area.

>   Was it possible that all the evil spells were in a straight line to the object? In that case, I would be better off meandering somewhat, so as to avoid most of them. Then I could invoke the white compass when I was close and nail the object quickly. After that, it wouldn’t matter what the black compass did; it would be too late. So my not using the white spell was like saving my last arrow until well within range of the target—plain common sense.

  Except that Yin had assured me that I could not avoid the black spells; they would be set in my predetermined path. If I meandered, they would be set along that meander. I found this difficult to accept. After all, I could keep changing my course randomly. But magic has strange aspects that are beyond the comprehension of louts like me. I’d just have to see what happened.

  The band of aggressive trees tried to give me a hard time, as they had done before; I wondered why they didn’t like me, since I was here to do some good for Castle Roogna and have a nice adventure. Maybe they, like Yang, figured I’d fail. But in that case, their obstruction just made it more likely that I would fail. At least they should be glad to see me going; they could oppose me again on the way back in, if it were just me they didn’t like. This made no sense. But what can you expect of blockheads? So I just made my little statement and held my sword aloft, and Pook charged through. The branches trembled with rage, but did not strike. Sometimes force is the only feasible alternative, especially for those who possess it.

  We trotted along, making good time, and soon came to a range of mountains. I pondered whether to go around them, but I didn’t know their extent and was afraid I would have to go far out of my way and perhaps lose track of my general direction. So I took the simple barbarian course—over the top.

  Naturally, the obvious course is not necessarily the easiest one, as the firebird discovered when he tried to romance his reflection in the water and got his flame doused. But it was in the middling-rear of my mind that no one would have expected me to be dumb enough to go right over the top, so maybe there would be no evil spells there. This was really a test case—whether I could do the unexpected and mess up the predetermined path. If I couldn’t be smart, I could at least be cunning.