Dragon on a Pedestal (26 page)

Once it had been possible to restore a zombie to life, but only two people had known the formula for the necessary elixir—the Zombie Master and the Good Magician. The Zombie Master had forgotten it in the course of his own eight hundred years as a zombie; the information had probably been in one of the portions of his brain that got sloughed away. The Good Magician was now hopeless. So there was no such reward possible for Zora—and if there had been, she would not have wanted it, since she had no reason to live. Irene tried to imagine a greater tragedy than
that, but could not. Why was it that sometimes the best people suffered the worst fates? Was there no inherent justice in Xanth, despite all its magic?

They reached the base of the mountain and crossed the rolling creekbed. This time Irene took the precaution of growing an action plant, which sent its roots throughout the bed and caused all the loose stones to vibrate and roll. Any snakes or other dangerous or annoying creatures would depart in haste! Crossing was now no problem; all they had to do was set their feet where nothing was active, because the action plant guaranteed that anything that could move was already doing so.

Now they were in a more normal region of Xanth and moved rapidly. Irene was glad to leave Parnassus behind; it was no place for civilized mortal creatures, except perhaps at the top. Xap remained on the ground, running beside Chem. It was evident that the hippogryph’s squawked comment about ungentle centaurs had been a compliment, not an insult. He liked her very well.

In gratifyingly short order, they were back where they had made camp last night. It was now late in the day, but they didn’t want to sleep in this particular spot. They had hardly passed it before they heard the screaming of the three Furies.

“We sure don’t need this again!” Xavier said grimly. “They were right about me and Maw—I’ll give the old crones that!—but I’ll take care of it my own way without no other lesson.”

Irene agreed, remembering her own guilt about her mother. “I’m not sure the Furies are strictly fair about their charges,” she said. “Or their curses. If so—I mean, if they’re more interested in cursing and hurting people than in improving their behavior—then they are to some extent hypocrites. It happens I have a seed that should stop them.” She located it and held it ready. “Just charge on by when you see them.”

The three Furies appeared. Irene nudged Chem with her knee, and the centaur swerved toward the dog-faced trio.

“Ho, you vile equine!” Tisi cried, spreading her wing-cloak threateningly. “Does your dam Cherie know what you have been doing with—”

Irene threw down the seed. “Grow!” she cried.

The seed sprouted before the three hags. “What’s this?” Alec cried, alarmed.

“Argh!” Meg screamed. “I know that one! ’Tis an honesty plant!”

“So how have you three harridans treated
your
mothers?” Irene called back.

“That’s awkward,” Chem said. “The Furies never had a mother. They sprang from the blood of their murdered father. That’s why they’re so concerned with—”

The Furies were appalled as they came into the spell of the honesty plant. “Ah, oh!” one screamed. “In truth we have neglected our sire’s grave!”

“We were so busy punishing the sins of others, we neglected our own!” another agreed.

“And we must pay!” the third cried, waving her brass-studded scourge.

“Ooo, what you did!” Grundy said happily. “They’ll have to flog and curse themselves!”

“Honesty does awkward things to people,” Irene remarked smugly. “Yet I’m sorry if they never knew a mother.” It was, she found, difficult to condemn anyone once that person’s situation was understood. The Furies, too, were creatures of tragedy.

They left the Furies behind, then found a secure place near a pleasant stream and made their camp. Irene grew a chain fern around the perimeter, so that any intruder would trip over it and set the sweet-bells plants to ringing a warning. Then she grew several food plants for them to eat and a blanket plant from which to make beds. She didn’t worry about protecting herself from Xavier during her sleep; she now understood his nature well enough to know that he took seriously the warning of the Simurgh not to mess with a spoken-for woman. He would turn his attention elsewhere as soon as this mission for his mother was complete, and whatever girl he found would be fortunate.

How she wished she were back with her husband Dor, who was surely quite worried about her! But he could, if he thought of it, get hold of a magic mirror that would show him she was all right.

Too bad, she thought, as she wound her way toward a troubled sleep, that Dor could not similarly verify exactly where Ivy was. Good Magician Humfrey had been able to tune the mirrors on to anyone or anything, but they would not obey other people as readily. There was a mirror at Castle Roogna that would show either Dor or Irene, whoever happened to be away from the castle, but no one else. They had assumed that Ivy would always be with one parent or the other—indeed, she always had been before, or at least within calling range—so they had not worried about tuning to her separately. That could have made an enormous difference this time! But at least the little ivy plant Irene carried offered its continuing assurance. Without that, she would have been driven to distraction long since.

They resumed travel at dawn, eating halfway on the run. Irene just wanted to deliver the three seeds and the feather to Xanthippe, return Xavier and Xap to her, and get on with the business of locating and rescuing Ivy. They had been lucky so far that nothing serious had happened to any of them, but luck was a fickle ally.

They were not far from the witch’s house when they spied a lovely, small, spring-fed pond and drew up for refreshment. Irene dismounted in order to use the nearby bushes for a private function, while Xap, Xavier, and Zora went to the sparkling pond.

The hippogryph put down his beak and scooped in a mouthful of the clear water, raising his head to let it trickle down his throat, bird-fashion. He glanced across at Chem, making a flick of the wing to invite her to join him, but she was waiting for Irene, helping to shield her from the view of the males.

“If Xap says the water’s good, it’s good,” Xavier said cheerfully. “Not that there was any question; you can see how green it is around here. No dragons in this spring!” He flopped down on the bank and put his mouth to the surface, man-fashion.

Zora, beside him, tripped over a rock and plunged headlong into the pool. “Hey!” Xavier exclaimed, scooting back to avoid the splash. “I meant to drink it, not swim in it!” He was smiling good-naturedly.

Zora got awkwardly to her feet and trudged out of the shallow water. Her sunken eyes seemed to glow as she gazed at Xavier.

“There’s something odd about her,” Grundy remarked. “Do zombies glow?”

“Maybe when they’re in love,” Irene said facetiously as she emerged from the bush. She would have been embarrassed, too, if she had fallen in the pond!

“Love?” Chem asked. “You know, some springs—”

“Don’t drink that water, Xav!” Grundy shouted.

Xavier paused, his mouth just above the surface of the pool. “Why not? I don’t care if she took a dip. It was just her bad luck.”

“Because it may be a love spring!” Irene said. “Look at Zora!”

Indeed, Zora was gazing at the young man with such mute adoration that no one could any longer mistake her transformation. It was the nature of love springs to cause anyone who drank from them to fall hopelessly in love with the first creature of the opposite sex he or she perceived thereafter. If the victim already loved someone else, the new love was superimposed; that person then had two loves, the most recent one being the stronger. Love springs accounted for most of the crossbreed species of Xanth, and there were many funny and tragic tales of this. The effect of a love spring could not be changed by lining up some more promising prospect and taking another drink in his or her presence. That would only add yet another love to the collection, making the situation even more difficult. Like death, love was practically irrevocable.

“The misfortune!” Xavier exclaimed in horror. “The curse that was meant for me! She got it instead!”

That made sense, Irene realized. Obviously the curse of the Furies
had
been slated for Xavier; he had been poised to drink, and only the zombie’s accident had brought it on herself instead. This could have been considered coincidence—but the curse eliminated that explanation.

“What worse misfortune could there be for a zombie,” Chem murmured, “than to fall in love with a living man?”

What, indeed! Especially a zombie who had suicided because of blighted love. Zora’s love for the other man might have faded after she died, but that only left her more vulnerable to this new love.

“Maybe she could go to Mundania,” Grundy said. But Irene knew immediately that that was no solution. It was true that magic did not work in Mundania—that land was extremely backward that way, and she often wondered how the inhabitants could stand it—so that any spell could be broken there. But Zora was not a normal person. She was a zombie, animated only by magic. She would be all-the-way dead in Mundania. So she was caught between hopeless love and death, and doomed to eternal heartbreak.

“Those Furies didn’t mess around,” Chem said. “They could hardly have inflicted a crueler punishment on a more innocent person.”

No one could argue with that. They had agreed that Zora was the nicest of them all, already suffering unfairly—and now her grief had been intensified beyond reason.

“But they intended the curse for me,” Xavier repeated. “For me to fall in love with a zombie.” The horror of that intended fate was now coming home to him.

“We should never have gone near the Furies,” Irene said. “Their punishments really do make people wish they were dead—perhaps even when they are already dead.”

“But the water’s supposed to be good!” Xavier said querulously. “Xap wasn’t affected by it!”

“How about that,” Grundy agreed. “I’ll ask him.”

The golem squawked at the hippogryph. Xap responded. Grundy laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Irene demanded, shaken by what had happened. Compelled love was certainly no laughing matter! Suppose she herself had—

“It didn’t affect Xap, because the first female he saw was Chem,” Grundy explained. “And he was already in love with her.”

Chem smiled, a little sadly. “Of course.”

Irene understood the centaur’s problem. Xap was one fine animal—but he
was
an animal. Chem was half human. She might dally with an animal, and even seek offspring by him—centaurs were notoriously open about
such things, in contrast to straight human conventions. But love? Marriage? That was a more substantial matter. Males could fall in love readily, because their lives were not so much affected by it. They did not have to bear the offspring. Females were more careful, because their necessary commitment was greater. Chem would have to handle this in her own fashion and was surely competent to do so, as most women were.

Zora, however, was not competent. She had not been allowed to make her considered choice. An impossible love had been imposed on her. Irene didn’t know any good way out of that. She had learned that zombies did have feelings, from her association with Zora. But when Zora had already suicided once for love, what remained for her?

“One curse to go,” Grundy said.

Irene wished he hadn’t reminded her. Zora had absorbed two curses of misfortune, one for Xavier, the other for Irene herself. Now they knew these curses did act on the zombie. What additional tragedy was slated for Irene—that Zora would inherit?

How could things possibly get worse for Zora than they were now? Irene felt the sickening certainty that they would soon find out. The curse of unrequited love was now on Xavier’s conscience, thought it was not his fault; the next one would be on Irene’s conscience.

“Make sure Zora understands what happened and why,” Chem told Grundy.

“She understands,” the golem said. “She sort of liked Xav anyway. He’s a decent man, you know.”

“I know,” Irene agreed. Xavier was a much better man than one would have expected the son of a witch to be, perhaps because he did not let his mother influence him unduly. He preferred to go flying—and that, perhaps, had been his chief defense against corruption. The Furies had criticized him for neglect of his mother, but he was probably correct in that neglect. Some mothers did not deserve to be honored too much.

Again Irene reacted to what had happened. The Furies had planned to force Xavier into love with a zombie! The sheer evil of it appalled her. Now she was the one remaining to be cursed, and she knew it would be terrible, all out of proportion to her error—and that it would fall again on Zora. There was no way to view it that offered any positive aspect.

They moved on, but now Zora rode behind Irene. The others tacitly agreed that the zombie should not be with Xavier, who could only be embarrassed by her presence.

They came to a region they hadn’t seen before, because a number of stone figures decorated it. Perplexed, Chem projected her map. “No—this is on our route. I thought I remembered it. See, my map shows us right on the dotted line. These statues weren’t here before.”

“Could
be
the work of Maw,” Xavier said. “She collects strange animals and plants. She never collected no statues before, but she might start.”

“These are very finely wrought likenesses,” Chem remarked. “Look, there are even a number of insects.” She picked one up and held it in the sunlight. It was a henroach, with every leg and two fine antennae perfectly sculptured in stone. “A very fine artisan made this.”

“The elves, maybe,” Grundy suggested. “Some of them are quite skilled. I can ask around—”

Irene spotted a figure walking ahead of them. It looked familiar. It was a tall, rather voluptuous woman. “I think I have another answer,” she said, nudging Chem to trot closer.

The woman apparently did not hear them. When they were quite close, Irene called: “Hey, Gorgon!”

Slowly the figure turned. Chem suddenly balked, and Irene had to hold on to keep her seat. Zora, less able to react, started to fall. Irene grabbed her, looking down.