Man From Mundania (45 page)

had heard of virgin sacrifices and didn't like the sound of

this at all.

"Only truly innocent young girls can serve as Pythia,"

he explained. "That way we can be sure their words are

uncorrupted."

"Uncorrupted?" Ivy still didn't like this, and now

Electra was catching on, and keeping silent.

"The Pythia must sit on the tripod and speak in tongues

for the Client. This is the manner of our oracles."

Oracles! Now Ivy remembered something. "They make

predictions!" she said.

"Certainly. The very best predictions. That is why Cli-

ents come here."

So they weren't to be sacrificed or ravished. Still, there

was too much in doubt. "What happened to the Pythia

you had before?"

"After too many years they grow up and get married,"

the man said. "Then they lose their innocence and are

useless for this work. We have been looking for replace-

ments for some time. You two should do very well, and it

Man from Mundania

207

is an easy life between predictions. You have no other

work to do, and will be well fed and clothed, and of course

never molested. All you have to do is answer the questions

of the Clients."

"Suppose we don't know the answers?"

"That is why you sit above the magic cleft. The answers

are always provided. You will have no difficulty."

"Suppose we'd rather go home?"

He looked blank. "No girl wants to go home after qual-

ifying for this elite position!"

Ivy exchanged the other half of her earlier glance with

Electra. It didn't seem wise to make too much of an issue

at the moment. For one thing, they didn't know where the

Python was. Once they understood the situation better,

they could see about getting away.

So Ivy went out to the tripod, and Electra stood on the

sideline. The Client was there: a centaur from Centaur

Isle, handsome and haughty. She could tell his origin by

his quiver of arrows: the Isle centaurs had the very best

equipment, and their arrows were feathered with a design

that was reserved for them alone. Indeed, non-Isle cen-

taurs could not use those arrows; their heft and balance

and flying properties differed in subtle ways, so that only

true Islers could fire them accurately.

The tripod was perched over a deep dark crevice in the

stone. That made Ivy nervous; she could not fathom its

depth, and heard a faint hissing far down. There was also

a warm updraft issuing from it with a peculiar odor. It

made the hair on the back of her neck tingle.

But this was the place, and this was the job—until she

could get out of the center of attention and see about get-

ting herself and Electra away from here. She had not told

these oracle folk that she was a princess, fearing that would

only make them more eager to keep her. She just wanted

to get along, for now.

She took her seat on the tripod. Now the updraft caught

her filmy white robe, lifting it, exposing her legs. She

tried to hold the cloth down, but this was futile; there was

too much air. Fortunately the skirt was not full circle; it

rose until it formed a bell shape, and stopped there.

208 Man from Mundania Man from Mundania 209

She remembered the mouthy tile at Castle Roogna that

had threatened to tell the color of her panties until Grey

shut it up with his hard-heeled Mundane shoe. Was there

something down in this crevice, gazing up? She had not

much liked this business to begin with; now she was com-

ing to hate it. Her panties were her own business!

The centaur approached. "Ask your question," the old

man said.

"0 Pythia, I am Centurion Centaur. What is the state

of my magic?"

Oops! Ivy knew that was an exceedingly awkward ques-

tion. The centaurs of Centaur Isle did not believe in magic

talents for themselves; they regarded a talent as fit only

for the lower classes, such as human beings. The mainland

centaurs were more liberal and accepted their talents, but

this was not yet the case with the Islers. What could she

say? The chances were that this centaur did have a talent

but would prefer to die rather than acknowledge it, and if

it became known he would be exiled from the Isle. So he

had nothing to gain by the truth. Should she lie and say

he had none, thus satisfying him and securing his future

with his kind? But even though this oracle business was

none of her desire, how could she bring herself to lie?

Thus neither the truth nor the lie was acceptable.

She sat frozen, unable to speak. No wonder the propri-

etors preferred completely innocent girls! No one who was

aware of the trap of this office would accept the job! Even

if she took the expedient course and lied, suppose later

his talent manifested and her oracle was thus proven

wrong? That would discredit the whole business, and

somehow she knew that was no good outcome either.

Then the air wafting from below turned hot, and in-

creased its motion. It pushed on her flaring skirt so hard

she was half afraid she would be lifted into the air. Her

legs were stinging. The fumes became choking; she

coughed and tried to hold her breath but could not. She

inhaled, and the foul stuff flooded her lungs.

Her chest burned, and her head became light. She felt

dizzy. Indeed she seemed to be floating now, though she

hadn't moved. The stone beneath her seemed to turn trans-

lucent, so that she could see through it, down to dim

shapes of goblins and demons far below, going about their

noxious business. The air around her seemed to be going

the opposite way, turning thick, opaque, as if a monstrous

fog were solidifying around her.

"Let me out of here!" she screamed. But only gibber-

ish came out of her mouth, as if she were speaking Mun-

danian.

Then hands were pulling her off the stool. She flailed,

trying to fight them off, but they wrestled her away from

the crevice and its blasting fumes.

"What did she say?" the Centurion demanded.

"She spoke in tongues," the old man explained. "We

must interpret it for you. A moment while we consult."

"Be quick about it," the centaur said with the natural

arrogance of his kind. "The matter is important."

The old man stepped aside to talk privately with the two

old women who operated the premises. They talked for

some time, waving their arms animatedly.

Meanwhile Ivy was coming out of her delirium. The fog

was lifting and the ground was turning solid again. "Are

you all right?" Electra asked anxiously. "You looked aw-

ful on that tripod!"

"The fumes choked me!" Ivy explained. "I tried to call

for help, but it came out gibberish."

"You mean that's what you cried out? It wasn't a proph-

ecy?"

"It certainly wasn't! I had no idea what to say."

"But they are—"

"I know. I think it's all a big—"

She broke off, spying something awful. The Python was

sliding onto the stone floor!

Electra saw him too. "He caught up!" she exclaimed.

"He found us! Don't look at his eyes!"

They retreated from the monster reptile. They ran to-

ward the proprietors. "The Python! The Python!" Ivy

cried to them.

The old man looked up. "Of course. He is your guard-

ian, Pythia. He protects the premises from molestation."

"But he's going to eat us!"

210 Man from Mundania

"Nonsense. He eats^only intruders, not priestesses."

The man returned to his animated consultation.

Meanwhile the Python was still coming after them. "He

doesn't know we became priestesses!" Electra said. "He

knows we came from the mountain path!"

"Maybe the centaur—" Ivy said.

They ran to the waiting centaur. "That serpent is after

us!" Ivy told him.

"But I haven't had my answer yet," Centurion said,

annoyed.

"And you may not get it, if I get eaten!" Ivy retorted.

"Here, here, this won't do!" he said. Suddenly his bow

was off his shoulder and in his hands, an arrow nocked.

"Withdraw, Monster, or it will be the worse for you!"

But the Python merely elevated his snoot and came on.

The bow twanged. An arrow appeared in the reptile's

nose. "That was a warning shot," Centurion said. "I have

ninety-nine more arrows. The next one will be in the eye.

Back off. Monster."

Ivy had always known that centaurs were brave and

skilled warriors, but she was amazed even so. This one

had no awe at all of the Python, and it was evident that

he could fire an arrow exactly where he wanted.

But now the proprietors realized what was happening.

"Don't shoot at the Python!" the old man cried. "He's

our guardian!"

' 'He will be a blind one if he slithers one more slither

forward!" Centurion retorted.

Meanwhile the Python, evidently stung by the barb,

paused. He oriented an eye to fix on the centaur—but dis-

covered the flinty point of the next arrow aimed directly

at the pupil. If the Python had not been aware of the pro-

ficiency of centaurs before, he had had a recent reminder.

He hesitated again.

Two more people burst out of the jungle where the path

exited. A nondescript young man and a luscious nude

young woman. "Grey! Nada!" Ivy exclaimed, thrilled.

The Python coiled around to meet this new challenge.

Certainly it was a better prospect than the nervy centaur!

"Don't look at his eyes!" Electra screamed to Grey.