Dragon on a Pedestal (22 page)

It had been coincidence, since Irene had not known about this Muse. She had needed a name beginning with
I
that related to plants, since the baby had been a girl. Had it been a boy, they would have settled on a name beginning with D, after his father, relating to the inanimate. But it did not seem politic to make an issue of that now, and perhaps it was less coincidental than it seemed. There were few true coincidences in Xanth.

Meanwhile, why did Thalia keep referring to Ivy as a Sorceress? And what did Clio mean about saving Xanth? Irene had a nasty feeling that these were not idle fragments of news. But she was sure that she would get no clarifications merely by asking. The Muses were as much aware of the future as they were of the past, and did let slip aspects of each, but it seemed they were not supposed to leak the future to ordinary folk. “How can we get to the top of Parnassus quickly?”

Thalia considered. “Some ride a book to the heights.” She indicated one of Clio’s texts, which rose out of the chest and hovered in the air before them. “But this method is precarious, for no one knows which book will rise all the way.”

Irene eyed the floating tome. It seemed very small and uncertain. “I don’t care to trust myself to that, even if the Simurgh permits that sort of flight! I’d soon fall off.”

“Most do,” Thalia agreed. “They have such high hopes, then fall so low, especially when the climate is adverse. Some make it by promotion.” But her too-merry smile suggested that was not a viable option either, in this
instance. “Some do it by sheer luck. But the only reasonable route is that of time and persistence.”

“We don’t have time!” Irene protested.

Thalia paced in a small circle. “Then I suppose you will have to do it the hard way. For you, for this occasion, I think the ivy should do.” She lifted the wreath from her neck and set it at the base of the cliff at the edge of the temple. “I must not employ my power for the benefit of a traveler, but you may use yours.”

Irene caught on. “Grow!” she ordered the ivy.

The ivy grew vigorously. The wreath sent out several shoots, and these quickly found the face of the cliff. They attached themselves to the surface of the mountain, their little suckers supporting the stems. The vines thickened and became sturdy and continued to reach up the mountain.

“But Xap and I can’t climb that!” Chem protested. “Our hooves—”

“I’ll get the feather for you,” Irene said. “You can wait here and talk to the Muses. We’ll have to return this way, and so we shall rejoin you then.”

“I suppose that’s best,” the centaur said without real regret. She had wanted to meet the Simurgh, but she also wanted to talk with the Muses, and the climb was clearly impossible for her. The specialization that made her species fine runners made her a poor climber. “I don’t think Zora should try it, either.”

Irene glanced at the zombie, remembering the Muse’s reference to her. Zora continued to look improved, but this was no minor climb up a ladder to a tree house! “Yes, she would have too much trouble.”

“But
I
can handle it!” Grundy said with zest. He was right; his small weight and tight grasp gave him a real advantage here. Too bad; Irene would have been happier without his smart remarks, which could aggravate the Simurgh.

When the ivy growth was solid enough and high enough, Irene, Xavier, and Grundy climbed up it, finding plenty of footholds and handholds in the twining stems. This was a very luxuriant and strong variety of ivy, as befitted the Muse of Planting, and Irene knew it would offer complete support.

She remembered how she had climbed a plant over a dozen years ago, in Mundania, to help Dor use his talent in a castle. That had taken place in the days when she had been young and impetuous and foolish and fun-loving. The halcyon days, when everyone had been desperate to know what color her panties were. Now, of course, no one cared. Her youth had flown.

“Hey, doll, remember that time in Onesti when Dor was embarrassed to see your—” Grundy began, thinking to tease her.

Irene leaned over and kissed him on the top of his little head. “I remember.”

The golem blanched. “I must be losing my touch,” he grumbled.

It was quite a climb, but Irene was at home with plants, especially this variety, and she kept reminding herself that she was doing it for her daughter. Of course, her daughter was no longer in the witch’s power; but still, the sooner she got this mission done, the sooner she could be on her way to rescue Ivy. According to the Muses, this mission did relate, and it seemed they were in a position to know. Anyway, she climbed, mentally repeating the name to herself with each heave upward:
Ivy! Ivy! Ivy!
It helped motivate tiring muscles.

Grundy had no trouble, as he was forever climbing things. He was like a little monkeyshine. Xavier was eternally robust, his muscles flexing smoothly; he seemed to be enjoying the mild effort of the climb. So they made good progress up the steep face of the mountain. Irene looked down to see how far they had come and experienced instant vertigo; no more of that!

They came to a gentler slope near the top and were able to leave the vine, though Irene made sure she could grab onto it again if she happened to fall. She felt less secure on this mountain face than she had when flying the bird-of-paradise plant, because the drop seemed so much more immediate. Her arms were tired but not numb; she was well enough off.

Again she looked back, saw the surface of Parnassus falling away out of sight, and again felt abruptly dizzy. It was much worse looking down from the precarious top than up from the solid base.
Never look back
, she thought,
when at the height
.

Then she looked forward—and saw the Tree.

The Tree of Seeds was absolutely huge. Its roots dug into the domed top of the mountain, its trunk ascended massively, and its branches spread out as if to encompass the whole of Xanth. The foliage was highly varied, for this was the tree of all species, producing fruits and seeds of every kind that existed. To Irene it was the most wonderful tree that ever could be.

She looked north, to the other peak of Parnassus, and saw the Tree of Immortality. From this distance it looked minor, but she was sure it was similar in size to the one on this peak. Proximity made these trees much more formidable!

She returned her gaze to the Tree of Seeds. There, on a large and high branch, perched the Simurgh, a bird the size of a roc, whose feathers were like veils of light and shadow and whose crested head was like fire. It moved, half spreading its enormous wings, and they were like mist over a mountain.

“That’s some creature!” Xavier breathed.

It was indeed. Irene had expected to be impressed, but the sheer enormity and beauty of the Simurgh threatened to overwhelm her. If the Tree of
Seeds was a monarch among trees, so was the Simurgh a monarch among birds.

“I’ll try to talk to it,” Grundy said nervously. “That’s my job, after all.”

DO NOT BOTHER, GOLEM
.

Irene looked about, startled, and saw Xavier doing the same, while Grundy was literally knocked off his feet. “That’s the bird!” he exclaimed, sitting up. “That’s the Simurgh talking!”

SPEEK YOUR NEEDS
, the Simurgh said in all their minds.

Neither Grundy nor Xavier was able to formulate anything. Irene was the one with the mission, and as the only woman present, she was the natural leader. She gulped and started to speak. “First, we need a fea—”

A WHAT? the monstrous bird demanded.

“A—” Irene began again.

WHO PUT YOU UP TO THIS MORTAL WOMAN
?

There was something ominous about the way the bird projected the concept “mortal”; life was not necessarily long. Abashed, Irene began: “The—”

I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN
!
THAT WITCH XANTHIPPE IS A THIEF FROM WAY BACK. ALWAYS WANTING WHAT SHE DOES NOT DESERVE
.

“Hey, featherbrain, that’s my mother you’re insulting!” Xavier protested in the foolhardy fashion of his sex.

One gigantic and brilliant eye shifted to cover him. Xavier was obviously daunted but held his bit of ground bravely enough. He had been stung by the indictment of the Furies; now he was standing up for his mother.

YOU ASK FOR THIS, TASTY MAN
? This time the accent was on “tasty.”

“Well, sure,” Xavier said nervously. “I never did nothing for my mother before, so it’s time I—”

YOU HAVE PROFITED FROM THE LESSON OF ALECTO
, the Simurgh projected.
YOU WISH TO BECOME A DUTIFUL SON
.

“I guess so,” Xavier admitted. “I know I’m not much, and I can’t say I agree with everything Maw does, but she did try to do right by me, and I reckon it ain’t never too late to start. Those old crones—uh, the three Furies—they really had something to say, you know? So I—”

FILIAL RESPECT IS GOOD, EVEN WHEN THE OBJECT IS NOT WORTHY
, the Simurgh projected.
TO MARRY AND SETTLE DOWN IS GOOD. BUT YOUR MOTHER’S DESIGN ERRS IN ONE RESPECT: YOU MAY NOT TAKE A WOMAN WHO IS ALREADY SPOKEN FOR
.

Xavier glanced at Irene, who found herself blushing for no good reason. The Simurgh could read a person’s thoughts; what had it seen in Xavier’s mind? The young man was taken aback. “I may not? But Maw said—”

FIND ANOTHER WOMAN
.

“Uh, yes, sir. I—”

YES, MA’AM
, the bird corrected him.
ONLY A MALE WOULD NOT REALIZE THAT FEMALES ARE THE KEEPERS OF THE SEEDS
.

“Yes, ma’am,” Xavier agreed, abashed. “Some other woman.”

THEN YOU SHALL CARRY THE FEATHER TO XANTHIPPE
. The Simurgh flicked a wing, and a tiny feather flew out, sailing through the air toward them. As it approached, it seemed to grow larger; what had appeared small on the giant bird was not small elsewhere. It floated directly to Xavier, who hastily raised his hands to catch it.

The tiny feather turned out to be half the length of a man. It glistened iridescently, a beautiful thing in itself, having all colors and no color.

Xavier tucked it into his belt, where it was suspended like a sword. “Gee, thanks, ma’am. I—”

AND YOU
, the Simurgh projected, returning her attention to Irene.
WHAT ELSE HAS THE WITCH CHARGED YOU WITH, AND WHY DO YOU ACCEDE
?

“She—I thought she had my daughter—” Irene said. She felt as if she were five years old and standing before the grandmother of all grandmothers, trying to justify her foolishness. “Now I suppose I don’t have to get those seeds, since—”

WHAT SEEDS
?

“The seeds of—”

WHAT
?!! The bird spread her wings and half lifted from the branch, flashing light and dark bands of fog out from her person.

“Ooo, now you’ve done it, greenpants!” Grundy muttered.

NO MARTAL DARE POSSESS THE SEEDS OF DOUBT, DISSENSION, AND WAR!
the bird thundered mentally.

“Yes, ma’am,” Irene agreed faintly, finding herself relieved. She had had her doubts about delivering such potent seeds to such a person.

“Why not, birdbrain?” Grundy asked, recovering his normal impudence.

“Shut
up
!” Irene and Xavier said together.

AN INTRIGUING QUESTION
, the Simurgh responded. Evidently the appelation “birdbrain” didn’t bother her, as her bird brain was perhaps the most powerful brain in Xanth.
POSSIBLY THE WITCH DOES DESERVE THOSE SEEDS
.

“No, there’s no need—” Irene started.

SHE SHALL HAVE THEM
, the bird decided. She jumped on the branch and the entire tree shook. Several fruits fell down and rolled toward Irene. As they came near, they gained velocity and bounced over the irregularities of the terrain. Irene watched in growing alarm, afraid she would be unable to catch them.

The three fruits landed close and burst apart. Their seeds flew up. One zinged smack into Grundy’s stomach, knocking him down again. Another zoomed at Xavier’s head; he reached up reflexively and caught it in one
hand. The third arced toward Irene; she caught up her skirt, spread it, and captured the seed in it.

“Doubt,” Xavier said uncertainly, handing her his seed. Its outline was vague; it was hard to tell for sure exactly what it was.

“Dissension,” Grundy continued argumentively, passing along his seed. It had sharp spines, making it difficult to handle without getting hurt.

“And War,” Irene finished warningly, fishing the third from her skirt. It resembled a mushroom-shaped cloud.

She put them away carefully in a pocket. She hoped the Simurgh was correct in issuing these. She knew their potential for abuse was staggering.

AND FOR YOU GOOD WOMAN
, the Simurgh projected,
ALL YOU CAN CATCH
. She spread her wings, flapped with a noise like rumbling thunder, rose briefly into the air, then dropped like a boulder. She bounced on the branch. The Tree of Seeds vibrated so vigorously that all its foliage became hazy.

Seeds flew out in an expanding sphere, already freed from their fruits, so thickly that the light of the sun was screened. Patterns of shadow played across the dome of Mount Parnassus, forming fleeting pictures of birds and trees. In a moment the wave of seeds reached Irene, pelting her like sleet. She screamed, half in amazed delight, half in horror—delight at this opportunity to gain wonderful new seeds, perhaps of types never before grown in Xanth; and horror at the loss of the great majority of offerings. At the same time, she realized now how unusual plants could spring up in places where they had never grown before; the Simurgh must have bounced on a branch and flung them loose from the Tree of Seeds. Who could guess where the present rain of seeds would fall and what oddities would manifest in the coming seasons?

Grundy opened his mouth to say something—and swallowed a seed. That shut him up.

Irene spread her skirt again, catching everything she could. Seeds struck her body and slid down into the basin of the skirt, a pitifully small selection from the mass passing her, yet of incalculable value.