Faun And Games Part 18

"I am merely curious. You must know that you will age as you go, achieving maturity. Why do you remain here in your youth?"

" 'Cause I don't want to grow up!" Contrary snapped. Then he hurled a cross at Forrest's legs. It struck one knee, and suddenly he was crossing his knees, though he was standing. It was awkward, but in a moment he found he was still able to move about, if he did so carefully.

He wobbled his way to the outside, while Contrary stomped crossly inside. He was catching on to the game, but he still didn't have all the information he wanted. "Why don't you want to grow up?" he asked.

" 'Cause there's a stupid filly out there I don't want to meet. Now throw your stupid cross."

That sounded like Cathryn. Forrest threw his cross at the centaur's arms. It struck and disappeared, and Contrary uttered an illegible syllable and crossed his arms. With luck, he wouldn't be able to throw well.

"Why don't you want to meet her?" Forrest asked as they exchanged places again.

" 'Cause I played a game of crosses for stakes with someone from the far west, and he had seen my future, and he told me that this stupid filly would completely change my att.i.tude on everything, and get me to liking mushy stuff, and make me a responsible adult. Yuck!

So I'm staying right here, sensibly young. What's it to you?" And he kicked his cross with a foreleg, sending it hurtling into Forrest's torso.

Forrest twisted around so that his head faced the opposite way from his hoofs. His body was crossed. This made it even more awkward to stand.

But he was still able to walk, moving his knee-crossed legs backward. He was coming to the conclusion that he didn't really like this game.

At least now he knew the problem. The juvenile centaur didn't want to grow up. So he was able, in the unique environment of Ptero, to avoid adulthood. Because time was geography, and the creatures had freedom of geography. As an adult, in love with a responsible centaur filly, he would become a responsible citizen. Children of any species lacked the experience to appreciate the qualities and satisfactions of maturity. So how could he persuade the errant juvenile to approach his later life?

Meanwhile he was reaching the outside, and Contrary was inside. Where should he throw his next cross? Would the centaur quit playing if struck on the ear? Would that prevent him from hearing? Forrest wasn't sure, but decided to try it. He just wanted to finish this game, so he could recover his faculties and consult with Imbri. Maybe she would have a notion how to get Contrary into his adult territory.

He oriented carefully, and threw his next cross at the centaur's ear. He scored. But nothing seemed to happen. "How are you doing?" he asked.

Contrary looked the opposite way. "Where are you?"

So that was the effect: the centaur was cross-eared, and heard things crossed, so that sounds seemed to come from the opposite direction.

"Look away from my voice," he said.

Contrary turned around. "Oh, yeah," he said crossly. "Crossed hearing.

I should have remembered. Well, get ready, because I'll really get you with the next one."

Forrest didn't like the sound of that, but had to go back into the circle. They had used up only six of the crosses; this game had a long way to go, unfortunately.

Contrary hurled his cross. It struck Forrest on the chest, right over the heart. The feeling was strange, but not bad; it wasn't making his heart malfunction. So what was the point?

"I crossed your heart," the centaur said with satisfaction. "Now you have to tell the truth."

"I always tell the truth," Forrest said, annoyed.

"Not this way. Tell me your most embarra.s.sing experience."

"I don't have to do that!"

"Yes you do. Now talk."

And he found that he did have to do it; his crossed heart compelled him.

The thing he hated most to confess. This game had abruptly gotten worse.

"I was in my tree when a flock of harpies pa.s.sed," he said. "They were noxious creatures with the heads and b.r.e.a.s.t.s of women and the bodies of birds, and foul of aspect and language. They liked to soil the leaves and branches of my tree with their droppings, and s.n.a.t.c.h away sandals, for which they had no use; they just dropped them in the nearest bog. So I did my best to drive them off, throwing sticks and stones at them. I didn't try to curse them, because no one has a mouth as fowl as a harpy.

They love to indulge in swearing contests, and can make an ogre blush with a bad series of expletives. They were just out for mischief, and I just wanted to be rid of them.

"Then I heard a maidenly scream. The dirty birds had gotten hold of a nymph, and were dragging her away. I leaped from my tree and ran to her rescue, beating off the cl.u.s.tered harpies. They cursed me so villainously that the nearby foliage wilted and my poor ears turned bright red. But I rescued her, and the harpies flew away, screeching imprecations. "You'll be sorry!" the last one cried as she flapped skyward.

Meanwhile the nymph was excruciatingly grateful. 'My hero!' she cried, throwing her fair arms about me and kissing me ardently. Naturally I returned the favors, and proceeded to that celebration for which fauns and nymphs are justly known. She was unusually eager to complete the celebration, and I a.s.sumed it was because of her joy at her deliverance from the horrors of capture by the harpies. So it was an even more delightful experience than usual. She kissed me repeatedly, seeming unable to get enough, even after the culmination. But at last she relaxed, and I made ready to return to my tree.

"But then I saw that the harpies had returned and utterly befouled it.

Their stinking manure drenched every branch, and the leaves were wilting, and the sandals were rotting. My brief distraction had allowed them free access, and they had taken full advantage of it. I looked back at the nymph, and saw that she was changing form. She was not a true nymph; she had been changed by a spell of illusion, and now was revealing her real nature. She was a harpy herself, one of the filthy flock. 'Hee, heee, heeee!" she screeched as she spread her dirty wings, which had only seemed like arms, and flapped away.

"I was sick. Not only had I failed to protect my tree from befowlment, I had celebrated with a noxious harpy hen. They had tricked me doubly, and made me as squalid as my tree. Of course I went to work cleaning the tree with buckets of water I hauled from a nearby spring; the job took days, and it was weeks before the smell faded. But I couldn't similarly clean myself. And thereafter that harpy hen would flap by and chortle at me, reminding me of my folly. It took me half a century to live down that humiliation, and I hoped no one would ever again hear of it."

Forrest stopped talking. He had done what he had to do, telling his deepest shame. Because of the compulsion of the cross, which would not be denied.

"It wasn't your fault," Imbri said. "They tricked you."

"I'll tell everyone!" Contrary exclaimed. "What a great story!"

There was definitely something about this juvenile centaur that Forrest didn't like. So this time he threw his cross at Contrary's mouth.

It worked. The centaur brat got so tongue twisted that he couldn't speak at all intelligibly. "I think I'm ready to quit this game," Forrest said, getting a reasonably smart notion. "Don't you agree, Contrary?"

"Fftbbabble#ughh."

"That's what I thought. Then we are agreed: this game is done."

At that point his body untwisted, and the missing crosses returned to their places in the circle.

"That's not what I said!" Contrary protested.

"Oh? It sounded like it to me. I suppose we'll have to play another game, then."

"You bet! And this time I'll play to win."

"But not crosses," Forrest said. "I have a better game in mind."

"There is no better game than crosses!"

"Yes there is. Let's have a contest to see who can free more folk in limbo."

"But there aren't any penalties, so that's no fun. They just run off to their territories."

"We can make our own penalties. If you lose, you must come with us west until you reach age thirty."

"But I told you, I don't go into the green. I stay here in the yellow."

"That's why it's a good penalty. You really don't want to do it, because you know that filly might catch you and make you disgustingly adult and responsible."

"Yeah. A horrible fate."

"And of course you might escape it, if you can run back east fast enough. You don't have to do anything there, just go and touch the spot where you are thirty."

"Yeah. Then I can close my eyes and gallop back into the From before the fatal female shows up." Then he glanced cannily at Forrest. "But what's your penalty, if you lose?"

Forrest gulped. "A day of playing crosses with you."

"A year!"

"A week."

"A month."

Forrest yielded to horrible necessity. "A month."

"Done! Let's go play." Then he paused again. "But how will we know who wins?"

"We'll take turns questioning limbo folk. Whoever guesses more talents, so as to free more folk, wins."

"But what if we miss?"

"If one of us misses, he loses a point. Then the other can question that same person, and if he succeeds, he wins a point. A two point advantage wins the contest."

Contrary remained canny, seeking the catch. "How much time to question each? I mean, someone might not be able to guess, so he would just keep asking questions indefinitely."

"Good point. We need a timer."

There's some baby hourgla.s.ses growing nearby. We can harvest one that goes for five minutes."

"Agreed. When its sand runs out, time is done."

"Let's go. I'll really enjoy tromping you at Crosses for a month straight."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Imbri murmured as they went to harvest a minute gla.s.s. "If you get stuck for a month, you'll be too late returning to your tree."

"I know. But we have to get him into her range. I'll just have to make sure to win the contest."

They reached the hourgla.s.ses, which were actually the fruits of a large thyme plant. They were in all sizes, from two seconds to several days.

Contrary plucked one of the smallest. "This should do for three minutes."

"How do you know?"

"See, it's got the number on it." He held up the little timer, and sure enough, there was a 3 on it.

Then they went to the section of limbo, which wasn't far away. "Who goes first?" Forrest asked.

The centaur considered, trying to figure out where the advantage was.

The one who went first might win and be ahead-or might lose and be behind. The confidence of youth won. "I'll go first."

"As you wish."

They entered the fog. "How do we decide which one to start with?" Contrary asked.

"Each of you choose the subjects for the other," Imbri suggested.

Both centaur and faun were startled by the notion. Then both agreed. It made a certain sense.

So Forrest got to choose for Contrary. He saw a number of statues; it seemed that they weren't allowed to speak until spoken to. Maybe that was what gave them their first suggestion of potential reality. One was a halfway handsome young man of almost princely mien. Forrest shrugged and indicated that one.

Contrary approached the figure. "Hi, you. What's your name?" As he spoke, Imbri set down the minute gla.s.s, and its sand began sifting to the lower section.

The figure came to life. "I am Crescendo."

"Whose son are you?"

"I am the son of Prince Dolph and Princess Electra."

That startled Forrest, because he knew only of the twins, Dawn & Eve.

But he realized that a given set of parents could have additional children-and in any event, the folk here were merely might-he's, who might never actually be delivered to Xanth parents. There could be hundreds of such children; there might be no limit.

"What's your talent?" Contrary asked.

It was a clever try, but it didn't work. "I regret I don't know it. If I did, I wouldn't be here."

"Is there anything about your ancestry that would suggest your talent?"

"Yes. All the descendants of Bink, my great grandfather, have Magician caliber talents. So I must be a Magician."

"But that's just a matter of opinion, isn't it? There's no way to be sure how a given talent will be judged."

"True. But mine should be a good one."

Forrest, watching, began to get a notion. That name, Crescendo, sounded like growing force, or something musical. When he played his panpipes, he sometimes crescendoed. Could this person's talent be a.s.sociated with music?

"Your name sounds like a word," Contrary remarked. "To what does it apply?"

"As a word? I wouldn't know."

"Why wouldn't you know?"

"I don't know."