Authors: Piers Anthony
So she tried once more. She pointed up. “This?”
“Warm,” Firenze said.
As in rain? But there was no cloud. She needed a new approach. “Next question: who can best help me get it?”
She pointed to Myst. “Cold,” Santo said.
Then to Win. “Cold,” Squid said.
Then to Squid. “Cold,” Squid said, smiling.
To Santo. “Medium,” Win said.
“I could make a hole down to water,” Santo said. “A well. But it might be pretty deep, and the water could be muddy.”
So Astrid pointed to Firenze. “Hot,” Myst said.
“Me?” Firenze asked, surprised. “I don't know how to get fresh water.”
“Let's figure this out,” Astrid said. “You can be a real hothead. Maybe that relates.”
“Yes!” he said, because it was his turn to speak to the question.
“So how would heat relate to fresh water?” Astrid asked.
“No way,” Santo said. “It just puffs it into steam.” Then he paused, surprised. “And that's hot. I mean, it's close to the answer.”
“Steam is hot boiled floating water,” Astrid said. “Cool it down, and it's wet water again. Andâ” It was her turn to be surprised. “And that water's clean, because nothing else steams. Not dirt, not poison. That's the way.”
“But it floats away,” Firenze said. “We can't drink it.”
“We can if we recondense it. We just need to catch it in something cool. That's part of the magic of steam: it doesn't like to be cooled.”
“But howâ”
Astrid looked around. “Sheets,” she said.
The children looked at her blankly.
“I'll show you.” She went to a bedding bush and harvested a large white sheet. “Now we will hold this over our heads. Santo, fetch a pot and fill it with water.”
Mystified, the boy harvested a pot and dipped it in the stream.
“Firenze, focus on that pot and heat it until the water boils out.”
The boy did as he was told. His head turned color, radiated fireworks, and got red hot. He put it near the pot, and the water started to heat.
“Squid and Win, hold the far corners of the sheet. I'll hold the near corners.”
They did, and as the pot on the ground came to boil, the three of them held the sheet above it, to catch the rising steam. The steam condensed as it found the sheet, soaking it through. It sagged in their hands, dripping.
“Now bring a clean pot,” Astrid said.
Santo did.
“Now we twist,” Astrid said, twisting her side of the sheet while the two girls held the other side. Water dripped into the pot.
“Neat!” Santo said. “But there's not much water.”
“We'll do it again.” They stretched the sheet out over the still boiling pot, catching more steam.
Progress was slow, but after several sheet wringings the pot was beginning to fill. They were getting potable water. Astrid had taught the children a new magic trick.
Finally they were able to drink it. At last they were ready to travel again.
The children linked hands, consulting.
“That way,” Squid said, pointing.
“Good clear route,” Win said.
“With clear water,” Myst said.
“But there is danger,” Firenze said.
Astrid sighed. “What else is new? Is there any feasible way to avoid it?”
“Not really,” Santo said.
“But it may be hard to fight without losing some of us,” Squid said with a shudder.
“Something that my Stare can't stop?”
“No,” Win said.
“Or Santo's holes?”
“No,” Myst said.
“But we won't want to use those weapons,” Firenze said.
“Not use what we've got?”
Santo spread his hands. “It doesn't seem to make sense.”
“So we will be alert,” Astrid said briskly. “We make a pretty good team, after all.”
“You make a good leader,” Santo said.
They moved on. The path was indeed clear, and there were edible fruits and good water along the way. It was pleasant enough. Except for the children's premonition, which Astrid knew better than to ignore.
They crossed a large field with tall weeds that barked when disturbed. “Dog fennel,” Astrid said. “It barks but doesn't bite.”
Fortunately they didn't need to disturb much of it. There were paths crisscrossing it every which way. They followed their chosen one.
Then she saw something ahead. “A wolf!” she said.
“There's more,” Firenze murmured.
Astrid checked. There were wolves at each of the intersecting paths, including the one they had come on, blocking every way out of the field. They had walked into an ambush.
“I'll face forward,” Astrid said tensely. “Santo, you face back. Firenze, you face to our left. Girls, face to our right. If they attack, you know what to do. But don't act until they attack. I will try to negotiate.”
The children quickly moved into the formation she had described. The wolves would face a deadly Stare, or get holed, or burned, or blown away by a fierce wind. But Astrid hoped to avoid mayhem if at all possible.
The wolves advanced on all sides. They were not charging, just coming closer.
“Halt!” Astrid called. “If you understand me, stop in place. We can defend ourselves, and you will suffer if you come any father.”
The wolves halted, to her relief. So they understood at least that much. Many animals did understand human speech, though they could not speak it. But they might think she was bluffing. That would be unfortunate on their part. But neither did Astrid want a pitched battle if it could be avoided.
“I think they're werwolves,” Firenze said. “They have that look about them.”
That was interesting. They did have that look. Astrid remembered meeting Jenny Elf, and how her husband the werewolf had come to pick her up. She hadn't recognized him as a wolf at first, but now she recognized the type. Maybe she could use her feminine charms on the leader, so they could parlay. “Are you werewolves?” Astrid asked the wolf ahead, whom she took to be the leader. “I'm a shape changer myself. Change, and we'll talk.” She stood up straight so that her good human figure showed. Maybe for once that prettiness would get her out of trouble instead of into it.
The wolf just watched her. “I will demonstrate,” she said. She shifted to basilisk form, then back to human. But her clothing did not change with her. It dropped off when she changed, and did not return when she changed back. Now she was naked, except for her dark glasses. However, that well might set a male wolf back. She hoped she wouldn't have to fight off his amorous advance in lieu of his physical attack.
The wolf changed, becoming human. Astrid stared, surprised.
It was a woman. As naked as Astrid was.
“So you are a basilisk,” the werewolf said. She was lean and muscular, but also a fine figure of a female.
“I did warn you that we could defend ourselves,” Astrid said. “But I have not removed my glasses. How about a truce while we talk?”
“Truce,” the woman agreed. “I am Wulfha, bitch leader of the Pack.”
Bitch? Then she remembered that this was the standard term for a female canine. “I am Astrid Basilisk-Cockatrice, surrogate parent to these children. I will protect them against any threat.”
“A basilisk protecting human children,” Wulfha said, bemused.
“You have a problem with that?”
“I am merely surprised. Why are you intruding on our territory? This is Wolf Country. We normally hunt here.”
“We are merely passing through. We got caught in this place through no fault of our own, and are trying to make our way out. Yesterday we were traversing the Dungeons.”
“And what did you find there?”
“Goblins, nickelpedes, and harpies. They were not friendly.”
“Yet you survived.”
“You doubt?”
“I merely marvel. Few emerge from the Dungeons.”
Her skepticism seemed reasonable. “I caught a harpy and reasoned with her.” Astrid touched her glasses meaningfully. “She decided to cooperate, and guided us out. Otherwise we would have roasted and eaten her.”
Wulfha laughed. “You spoke her language!”
“I did. Am I speaking yours?” That was couched as a question, but it was a threat. The truce could end at any time.
“You are. Let's extend the truce a day and night. We will offer you the hospitality of our den and safe passage to the next territory, in exchange for a service you may be able to render us.”
“As long as this service does not imperil the safety of the children, we will agree.”
“My word as a bitch: it does not,” Wulfha said. Then, to the pack members: “Change.”
The wolves shifted into human form, male and female. All were naked, of course. Astrid was sure the children found this interesting. “Werewolves and centaurs don't wear clothing,” she reminded them. Then to the leader: “This service?”
“Involves a young inexperienced cockatrice. We have not been able to approach him to establish guidelines.”
Oho! “That I can do.”
“Then it's a deal. You have nothing to fear from us.”
“It's okay, children,” Astrid said. “The weres are our friends, until we move on tomorrow.
“Okay,” Firenze said, perhaps a bit more heartily than he felt.
“This way,” Wulfha said, walking along a path through the fennel.
They followed, and soon came to the den. This was another grotto, with a fire burning before it. Children stood there expectantly. There were introductions all around, then they settled in a comfortable circle. Assorted fruits were served, and there was even boot rear and tsoda popka, which the children enjoyed.
“You must tell us your story,” Wulfha said. “It is surely an interesting one.”
“That might take some time,” Astrid said.
“We have time. What we lack is news of outer Xanth, which we have not seen in our lifetimes. It's not a bad life, here in Storage, but neither is it very exciting. Sometimes we raid the Dungeons, just for diversion.”
Some diversion! So Astrid dived into the way they had been mysteriously trapped in the Playground, and their adventures in the Dungeons and with Fowler Fiend.
“Oh, him!” Wulfha said. “He caught me once, foraging near his home in my human guise. I was young then and didn't realize his nature, nor did he know mine. He grabbed me and wanted toâ” She hesitated, glancing at the assorted children. “Kiss me. I changed to bitch form and almost bit his head off.”
The children burst out laughing. “Aunt Astrid didn't want to kiss him either,” Squid said. “We set him on fire.”
Wulfha smiled understandingly. “He is more careful of us today.”
“Now about this cockatrice,” Astrid said.
“He came on the scene a few months ago, completely undisciplined. We don't know how to deal with him.”
“Oh, surely you can take down a solo cockatrice, knowing his nature,” Astrid said. “You would have had more trouble with me, because you don't know the talents of our group, but you could have made a good fight of it.”
“We suspected you were not bluffing,” Wulfha said. “There was something about your formation and the way the children focused. If I may inquireâ?”
“We will demonstrate, if you wish.”
“Thank you. It is true we can handle a cockatrice. But we survive as a Pack by making good use of our resources, whatever they may be, and there are times when we could use the Stare of a cockatrice. Such as if the trolls caught one of us, perhaps a bitch, and held her for hostage, she facing troll type abuse if we did not capitulate.”
“I am familiar with troll type abuse,” Astrid said.
“Did he survive?”
“No. But I did make a truce with his associates, and we were able to do each other some good.”
“Exactly. This cockatrice refuses to treat us with respect, and if he doesn't change, we will have to take him out. That would be a shame.”
“A shame,” Astride agreed with a smile.
“He will be foraging in our country tomorrow morning.”
“I will be there.”
Then the children got to show off their talents. Myst fogged out and reformed, delighting the wolf cubs. Win blew a cub harmlessly across the ground without being affected herself. Squid assumed the likeness of a wolf cub, then a patch of nickelpedes, looking so realistic that the cubs skittered back. Santo made a hole through a rock. Astrid could see that the significance of that was not lost on Wulfha; a head was softer than a rock. And Firenze heated his head and emitted a lovely display of fireworks.
“We would have taken losses,” Wulfha conceded.
Just so. Astrid was confident that those losses would have been prohibitive. The truce was better, for both sides, as it had been with the trolls.
They had a pleasant afternoon and evening. The girls were already making friends with little bitches. The wolves set aside a comfortable alcove for the guests. “You are most appealing in your human form. Are you personally attached?” Wulfha inquired quietly.
“I am married to a human man.”
“Then you will be sleeping with the children.”
“Yes.”
“One of our males will be regretful.”
Astrid knew that in some societies favors were not limited to food and conversation, and marriage was no necessary barrier. “My close ambiance is deadly. Only my husband is immune. Any romantic liaison I might have would have to be quite brief, and I am not looking for one.”
“Of course.” Wulfha was politely disappointed for the interested male.
There was one other aspect that Astrid did not care to mention. Truces were fine, but were not always perfectly honored. She did not want to sleep apart from the children, just in case. And when she did sleep, she would assume the basilisk form, a tacit reminder to any male who might happen to forget.
“I met a werewolf briefly in Xanth,” Astrid said. “He was married to an odd elf.”