Dragon on a Pedestal (21 page)

That gave them enough time to stop and get Zora properly mounted. “You saved us again,” Irene told her. “You may have absorbed a double curse of misfortune, but you are certainly lucky for us!” For a moment Irene wondered whether being consumed by the Python was one of the misfortunes the zombie had taken on herself, but realized it could not be, for it had not happened.

“I wonder what misfortune is, to a zombie?” Chem remarked, her mind evidently on the same question that was bothering Irene. “It can’t be the ordinary type. Not a snakebite or a bad fall …”

“That curse might not apply at all,” Irene conjectured. “To us, getting hurt or killed would be a misfortune, but a zombie is already dead, or half dead. Many people would consider that the ultimate misfortune—to become a zombie—but Zora is already there.” She turned her head to address the zombie directly. “What is misfortune to you?”

“Nnoshingg,” Zora replied.

“Nothing,” Irene agreed. So she was correct; Zora was already undergoing the ultimate misfortune. The curse had to be meaningless.

But she couldn’t be quite sure.

“I think we have gotten away,” Chem said. “But now we are going in the wrong direction, downhill.”

“We must have been going the wrong way before, “Irene said. “We probably veered too far north and intersected the territory of the Python.”

“No, we were on our plotted course,” the centaur insisted. “The Python is on the southern peak. He must be testing the boundaries, moving back to his original haunts. We hadn’t allowed for that. It was a long time ago that he was banished, and things change.”

“Well, now we know,” Irene said. “I don’t want to meet that gaze again!” There was just a smidgeon of doubt to that, though. She hated that doubt! “We’ll have to find another path up the mountain. We can intercept our original route above the Python, who will be looking for us down here, so that the boys can find us.”

Chem projected her map. “We can travel past the Oracle’s cave,” she decided. “That’s not too far out of our way.”

They picked their way to the alternate path. Irene planted a creeping fig seed in the path they were leaving, to fool the Python, who she knew would be recovering soon from the effects of the alum. It had been a small alumroot, not enough really to hurt the huge snake; and anyway, alum was not generally fatal. The Python’s hunger would be greater than ever, because of the loss of the contents of his stomach. The fig would creep on down toward the base of the mountain, making it seem that the party had continued that way. Of course, the fig’s smell would be different, but it was still worth the try; maybe the reptile didn’t track by smell.

The crannies in the mountain became more pronounced here and finally opened into crevices and fissures from which intoxicating fumes rose. They hurried by, not wanting to experience any more of this than necessary. “The Oracle sniffs the vapors and makes crazy prophecies, as I understand it, that always come true,” Chem remarked. “We certainly don’t need any of that for our own mission.”

“We certainly don’t,” Irene agreed. “Maybe the powers that be on Parnassus like to go crazy on fumes, but we’re more sensible people.” She hoped this was true.

They made their way above the cave region, where the landscape evened out somewhat, and were soon close to their original course. They saw no sign of Xap’s hoofprints, so they proceeded slowly in order to let the males catch up when they did intersect the path. Irene could not help worrying, however; suppose their companions had fallen into dire straits and did not return?

Then they heard a screaming from the north. “I think that’s more trouble,” Chem said grimly.

Parnassus was nothing but trouble so far! “The maenads,” Irene agreed. “In pursuit of prey. We should have known the males could not touch the winespring without arousing its guardians.” But they had been brave to try, she reminded herself.

“We don’t dare hide until we know whether Xap and Xavier and Grundy need help.”

Irene glanced back. “Oh, no! The Python wasn’t fooled! He’s after us again!”

“Do you have a suitable plant?” the centaur asked nervously. “I don’t want to be caught between two horrors.”

Irene checked. “I’m getting low, but these should help.” She tossed down several seeds. “Grow!”

Plants sprouted rapidly, spreading across a fairly broad area. “What are they?” Chem asked, glancing forward and back.

“Something to distract each threat, I hope—horehounds and snake plants.”

Chem eyed the bristling hound-heads and snake-heads on the plants. “Aren’t they as much of a threat to us as to the enemies?”

“No. Snake plants only bite snakes, and horehounds only bite—”

Now the hippogryph burst into sight, running powerfully, pursued by a crowd of naked women. They were young and healthy and, yes, nymphlike, with fine, firm legs, narrow waists, and voluptuous bosoms. But they were also wild-haired and wild-eyed, and awful imprecations spewed from their snarling red mouths. Several of them carried things that most resembled gobbets of raw flesh.

The Python had been sliding slowly close, tongue flicking with anticipation. Now he brightened further. His jaws worked, and slaver dripped. He accelerated toward the maenads.

“I don’t know which is worse, the male or the female threats,” Irene said, halfway fascinated.

“We’d better gallop!” Chem said, suiting action to word.

They galloped. Chem’s course up the mountain converged with Xap’s, and they ran side by side until it was evident they were not being pursued. Then they reined in and turned to look back.

The Python and the maenads were not, it seemed, on friendly terms. The giant snake was biting one woman after another, while the wild women were tearing with tooth and claw at the serpentine body and gouging bloody chunks out. The snake did not have time to swallow any morsels, but the maenads were no better off, for the huge reptile’s coils were switching too rapidly about for easy consumption. It seemed to be a fairly even
battle—the woman-preying monster against the most predatory women. Now and then a woman would stand frozen, caught by the Python’s terrible stare, but then three more would cut in between, breaking the spell. The reptile had succeeded in fascinating Irene and Chem, but there were far too many maenads to be similarly held.

Meanwhile, the snake plants and horehounds were snapping indiscriminately at both sides, making the carnage even more bloody. Pieces of flesh went flying up, and blood coursed down the channels of the mountain. This was serious business! Irene found her gorge rising and had to avert her face; she really wasn’t much for such violence, however common it might be on Parnassus, and disliked seeing these vicious creatures in action. Their behavior did little for either the masculine or the feminine image.

“Parnassus is a rough place, especially for the natives,” Grundy said, echoing her thought. But the golem was enjoying it.

That reminded her. “Grundy! Have you been cured?”

“I think so.” The golem paused to belch. He did appear to be normal again; certainly the bloat was gone. “That winespring is potent!”

“Everything was quiet until he drank,” Xavier said. “Then the damsels appeared—”

“Damsels!” Irene exclaimed. “Those are bi—uh, bad women!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Grundy said. “I understand wild women can be a lot of fun.”

Irene stifled her retort, knowing the golem was baiting her. He was back to normal, all right!

“Screaming and waving their claws,” Xavier continued. “I didn’t want to zap any of those fantastic creatures, they being of the gentle sex—”

“Hardly gentle!” Irene protested, watching another bleeding hunk of meat fly up above the mêlée.

“Like yourself,” he said. “I just don’t like to—”

“
I’m
like a maenad, a wild woman?” Irene screeched, outraged. Then she had to laugh, knowing she was reacting exactly like a maenad.

“Gentle,” Xavier clarified. “And lovely.” He squinted at her. “In fact, maybe Maw was right—”

“Let’s get on with our mission,” Irene said quickly. She should have kept her mouth shut to begin with. Xavier was really a very nice young man, and she remained privately flattered by his perception of her, but this was as far as it could ever go. She had a husband and child to return to, after all.

They resumed the climb, letting the sounds of carnage fade behind them. Soon the way became steeper, until they were unable to progress farther and had to move around the southern slope of the mountain instead.

“Xap could fly on up,” Xavier said.

“And maybe get exterminated by the Simurgh,” Chem retorted. “That’s not a viable option.”

They came to a kind of palace set into the mountainside. It did not have high towers but did have ornate columns and archways with curlicues of stone and carvings of animals and people. This was no primitive hideout; it was someone’s highly civilized retreat.

In a small court before it, a woman sat at a table, an open chest of books at her side. She wore a floor-length white robe and was of well-kept middle age—the kind of figure of a woman Irene hoped to be when time shoved her into that age bracket.

The woman looked up as the group approached. “May I help you?” she inquired, unalarmed. She spoke with a cultured accent, her voice quiet but thoroughly competent.

Irene dismounted and went to the table, uncertain how much of this to take at face value. The maenads, after all, looked like nymphs, but hardly acted like them. If this were some other kind of trap—but she had to give it the benefit of the doubt. “We are seeking the Tree of Seeds and the Simurgh,” she explained. “We can’t seem to find the path to the top of the mountain.”

The woman nodded. She had curly, dark hair neatly pinned back, and an elegantly straight nose. “And who might you be?” she asked with mild interest.

“I am Irene, and these are my friends Chem, Zora, Grundy, Xavier, and Xap.”

“Ah, so you are the current Queen of Xanth!” the woman exclaimed, brightening. “How very nice of you to honor us with a visit.”

Irene was startled. “How could you know that? As far as I know, no one from Parnassus has been to Castle Roogna, and this is the first time any of us have—”

“I am Clio, the Muse of History. I am naturally conversant with the significant events of the realm.”

“The Muse of History!” Chem exclaimed excitedly, stepping close. “The one who writes the magic texts?”

Clio inclined her head politely. “Some of them, centaur. Most recently I covered the episode of the night mare and the salvation of Xanth from the Nextwave invasion. Your kind has been an excellent customer for such references, and, of course, the Good Magician.”

“Not any more,” Irene murmured darkly.

“He will recover in proper course; your friend will see to that,” the Muse said, glancing at Zora.

“He will?” Irene asked incredulously. “But there’s no fast cure for Youth—”

“But her talent compensates, you see.”

Irene stared at Zora. “Her talent? But she’s a—”

Clio put her hand to her lips. “Oh, my, that’s in a future history text, which I have not yet completed! We have a long lead time, and sometimes I lose track. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

A future history text? There was magic of a high order here! How could Zora Zombie relate to the Good Magician, whom she didn’t even know?

“And are the other Muses here, too?” Chem asked. “Calliope, Erato, Urania—”

“Indeed,” Clio agreed. “This is where we live, here on Mount Parnassus, the home of the arts, the sciences, and memory. The others are resting at the moment, but you may meet them if you wish. We have never intended to be aloof from the public, though we find a certain isolation to be beneficial.”

Chem shook her head regretfully. “If I start talking with all the Muses, it will be years before I stop, and I have a more immediate mission. I shall have to be satisfied just putting your locale on my map. Will you tell us how to reach the summit of Parnassus?”

“I regret to advise you that there is no easy way,” Clio said. “Talent isn’t enough any more. Most talented people never make it; they get consumed by the Python or the maenads, in literal or figurative fashion.”

“So we have discovered,” Irene said. “And we understand it is not safe to fly. But I must rescue my daughter Ivy, and first I must get three seeds from the—”

“Ivy?” Clio asked. “Let me fetch Thalia.” She rose, turned gracefully, and glided toward the palace entrance.

“Who is Thalia?” Irene asked.

“Muse of Comedy,” Chem murmured. “And of Planting.”

“Planting! Well, I certainly can relate to that! But—”

Clio returned with Thalia. The other Muse carried a face mask that was broadly smiling and a shepherd’s crook and wore a wreath of ivy.

“I think the ivy is the key,” Chem said. “See if you can enlist the Muses’ help.”

“No need,” Thalia said, overhearing her. “I know of the Sorceress. But why do you seek her here, when she is in the cave of the Cyclops?”

“The Cyclops!” Irene cried, dismayed. “I thought the witch Xanthippe had her captive!”

“No longer,” Thalia said. “Xanthippe had already lost possession when you undertook her mission. It is a humorous irony.” She lifted the laughing mask to her face momentarily.

“All this—for nothing?” Irene demanded, sputtering. “That witch deceived me?’

“Not so,” Thalia said. “Xanthippe thought she had Ivy. But no person of ordinary talent can long constrain a Sorceress. Ivy and the dragon escaped in a manner that only such a person could arrange. They will in due course be in somewhat greater difficulty, however. Your excursion here does relate.”

“I’ve got to get back!” Irene exclaimed.

“We couldn’t possibly return in time to be of any use,” Chem reminded her. “It shouldn’t take much longer to complete our mission than to abort it. Perhaps the Simurgh will give us useful advice, since that bird knows everything.”

“Yes, we often exchange information with the Simurgh,” Thalia agreed. “Oh, I hate this!” Irene said, stamping her foot. “I just want Ivy back safely!”

“Easier to save all Xanth,” Clio murmured. “Exactly what does that mean?” Irene flared.

“For a child of that name and that power and for a talent like yours, I will help,” Thalia said, touching her wreath. “It was so kind of you to name such a remarkable individual so.”