Dragon on a Pedestal (42 page)

There were, it seemed, at last enough. Gradually the circle closed. The wiggles came even more quickly, but that was because this was closer to the nest. The creatures of Xanth were winning!

They forged inward slowly, abetted by the continuing light bulbs that showed every wiggle clearly. Not every ordinary bulb burned well and long, but the Simurgh had brought top-quality seeds for this occasion. The curve of the battle line became clear, showing more of the circle of closure. They had to maneuver to get past a lake whose surface was clogged with ash; something had burned on the water recently, taking some of the wiggles with it. Near that lake, a relevant was using its trunk to smash wiggles, and an allegory was crunching them in its teeth, and so was a hypotenuse, while a parody mimicked them. Irene was glad to see these creatures being of some help; she had never had much use for them before.

Now they were at the fringe of a rough plain beyond a low hill that was riddled by wiggle holes. What a mess the worms made of this land! Irene thought of the whole of the Land of Xanth resembling this region if the wiggles prevailed, and shuddered. The swarm
had
to be contained!

The circle of closure became small enough so that Irene could see across to where the goblins and harpies held their front. They had, after all, responded to the whistle! The goblins were on the ground, lined up in military order, bashing efficiently. The harpies hovered above, holding stones in their claws to squish the elevated wiggles. The two groups held a major segment of the line and were, perhaps for the first time in over eight hundred years, cooperating with each other in useful work. In retrospect, it seemed that her encounter with the harpies had been fortunate, harrowing as it had been at the time.

And there, beyond a crevice, was the nest itself. Irene paused to gaze at the dread artifact. Here was the source of all this mischief!

Near it, this side of a crevice, was a small and odd group—a boy, a little girl, and a small, six-legged dragon. The children—at last! They seemed to have no protection from the wiggles, but they were safe behind their invisible shield, with tiny flying fruits buzzing around.

The wiggles were so thick between the children and the adults that Irene knew no one could reach the trio ahead before the entire wiggle menace was eliminated. There might be a channel, a place free of wiggles where the forget-whorl had blanked them out—but Irene couldn’t see where that was and suspected that there was just enough variance in the paths of the wiggles to fill in that channel. Some wiggles might curve a little in flight, not being able to hew to a geometrically straight line. At any rate, it wasn’t worth the risk, as the forget-whorl could drift the moment the children stopped guiding it, letting the wiggles suddenly through. The children were in sight, but hardly out of danger.

This seemed to be the limit of the contraction of the circle of closure. Any closer and it would be suicidal, because there would not be enough space between individual wiggles to allow a creature to stand. So they were at an impasse; they had contained the menace, but could not abolish it—and they were getting very tired.

They had to make a breakthrough soon, or their line would begin to collapse, and the wiggles would break out and win. All their available forces had been brought into play—and it wasn’t enough.

S
uddenly there was light, as thousands of light bulbs rained from the darkening sky and illuminated the entire region. Ivy blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the new brilliance, and looked about.

The wiggles showed clearly, each casting several little shadows. They were so thick here that it would be risky to poke even a hand out from behind the whorl. But now there was no risk of that, for Hugo’s flying cherries were also quite plain, defining the whorl. The three of them were safe; the onset of night no longer meant doom.

Beyond the immediate scene, the plane of the traveling wiggles extended out across the devastated landscape. Ivy thought she saw some winged shapes at the horizon, but couldn’t be sure; they were too distant and too fleeting. She wondered who had sent the light bulbs; they certainly were useful!

But the children still could not reach the nest! It loomed there in the stark light, monstrous and deadly, like a giant pineapple in a process of a slow explosion. So near and yet so far, just across the crack! How could they cross?

Ivy squared her little shoulders and did what had to be done. “Hugo, think of a way to get across.”

“You’ll be a terror when you grow up,” Hugo muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m trying to think.” He furrowed his brow and thought. “We must fill in the crack,” he concluded, his intelligence operating once again. “We must make a ramp, so we can walk across.”

“Good idea!” Ivy agreed. “What do we fill it with?”

“I haven’t yet worked out that detail,” Hugo confessed.

“Well, work it out, before the bulbs get tired of glowing.” She knew that light bulbs were notoriously unreliable, generally blinking out just when most needed.

Hugo concentrated again. He knew they couldn’t leave the shelter of the whorl to fetch rocks, and if they scraped the ground they stood on into the crack, their position would soon be too low for them to cross. They needed something else—something available and plentiful. What could that be?

“Fruit!” he cried with inspiration as an especially bright bulb burst above his head.

“Fruit!” Ivy agreed, clapping her hands and dodging the falling fragments of the bulb. Probably a wiggle had holed it; if they holed too many bulbs, darkness would return. That was another reason to act quickly.

Hugo conjured a peach and tossed it through the whorl and into the crack. They heard a thunk as it struck bottom.

“We need more than that,” Ivy pointed out. She was a practical girl, taking after her mother in that respect, and perhaps in other respects, too.

Hugo conjured several more peaches and threw them in. There were several more thunks from the unseen depth.

“Something bigger,” Ivy suggested. “The biggest you have.”

“That would be greatfruit,” Hugo said after a moment’s consideration. He conjured one—and the thing was so large it almost crushed him beneath its weight. He eased it to the ground, then shoved it forward. The thing rolled grandly into the crack and disappeared.

SPLAT! “That was a small one,” Hugo said.

“Conjure some big ones,” Ivy said.

“But I couldn’t handle them!”

“Well, think of a way!” Ivy had little patience with excuses; she resembled her mother in that respect, too.

“Maybe if we make a channel—”

Zzapp!
A wiggle holed the fringe of Ivy’s dress. That was too close for comfort! “Watch the whorl!” she cried, alarmed and not a little annoyed about the damage to her dress.

Hastily Hugo conjured another bunch of winged cherries and watched them fly forward. Sure enough, the whorl had-drifted to the right. The party shifted to get squarely behind it again.

Then they got to work on the channel. Stanley, perceiving the need, used his six sets of claws to help, and very quickly hollowed out a fine crevice.

Hugo used more cherries to verify the position of the whorl, making sure it was remaining in place, and then conjured the biggest greatfruit his enhanced talent could command. The thing was as tall as he was—a huge yellow sphere with a dimpled rind. It landed in the channel and rolled slowly into the crack. SPLAT!

After that, it was routine. One cherry-bunch, one greatfruit, alternating steadily, gradually filling the crack. After a while, the fruits stopped splatting and just bounced, and finally one rolled to the brink and balked. The crack was full!

They moved over, carefully, and deposited a few greatfruits to either side to broaden the ramp. They filled in with smaller fruits to even it out. Now at last they had their way to cross to the nest.

Ivy looked around—and saw in the distance a ring of people! Others had come to fight the wiggles! Mare Imbri had gotten through! But the wiggles were zapping so thickly that the people could not reach the nest. So it was still up to the three of them.

“Let’s move across,” Ivy said. “Keep a close watch on the whorl, Hugo. Stanley, blow it over the ramp.”

The little dragon had been resting. Now he revved up his wings and fanned up a small gale. The whorl rolled to the ramp.

Hugo sent a steady stream of flying fruit aloft. Cherries flapped so thickly that they darkened the local region. A steady mass of them went haywire in the whorl and plunged into the crack, helping to shore up the ramp.

The whorl moved slowly and ponderously and invisibly to the center of the crack. They were doing it!

Then an errant gust of breeze passed by. It came from a small gray cloud that had drifted up to observe the strange activity.

“Oops,” Ivy said, dismayed. “That’s Fracto!”

Indeed it was. King Cumulo-Fracto-Nimbus, recognizing them at this instant and not giving so much as a wisp of fog for the threat to Xanth, since the wiggles didn’t hurt clouds, now intended to blow up some trouble. He huffed and he puffed, at right angles to the direction of progress.

“Oh, no!” Hugo cried. “Another vector!”

The whorl nudged to the right. It started to move off the ramp. In a moment it would plunge into the depths of the crack and be lost—and so would they. Already the wriggles were zapping by close on the left, forcing Hugo and Ivy to squeeze to the right. Fracto grinned and heaved out another draft of chilling air.

“Blow it back, Stanley! Blow it back!” Ivy screamed.

But Stanley could not counter the vector of the wind without leaving the ramp himself—and the shelter of the whorl. His right three legs scrambled on the greatfruit rim of the ramp.

Then Fracto gave a nasty extra push, augmented by a dastardly roll of thunder, and the whorl moved to the edge and started to roll down off the ramp. Ivy screamed as the wiggles zapped thickly by the left side, forcing her and Hugo to the brink.

Stanley took the plunge. He scrambled off the ramp, slip-sliding down its sloping side. He got to the right of the whorl, braced himself, and flapped his wings vigorously.

The whorl slowed in its descent, paused, and nudged back onto the ramp, providing better cover for Hugo and Ivy. But the little dragon, off to the right side, was now completely exposed.

Fracto fired out a lightning jag of wrath. He took another breath, ready to blow out an adverse gale. Ivy saw that and pointed her finger in a perfect righteous fury. “Hugo—destroy!” she cried.

Hugo knew better than to argue with that tone. He conjured a pineapple and hurled it with all his force into the hovering cloud. The fruit exploded with a dull boom, and Fracto fragmented. Straggles of gray fog scudded away; the King of Clouds would need time to recuperate. But the damage had been done. Stanley was in deep trouble.

Zzapp! Zzapp!
Holes appeared in the dragon’s wings. He winced but kept flapping. Now that there was no further adverse wind, Stanley’s breeze prevailed. Slowly the whorl, defined by Hugo’s renewed stream of cherries, moved across and onto the far side of the crack.

Zzapp!
A wiggle holed Stanley’s tail, for the dragon remained exposed. He yiped but kept flapping.

“Stanley!” Ivy screamed. “Get back on the ramp, behind the whorl!”

The dragon scrambled up. But as he did so, his wings paused, since he could not concentrate on two complex coordinations at once. The whorl slid back and teetered on the edge of the crack.

Stanley saw the cherries falling and knew what that meant. He stopped, braced himself, and flapped again, vigorously. The whorl resumed its forward motion, despite the opposing slope.

Zzapp!
Stanley’s neck was holed. Dark blood welled out and streamed down his scales. His head dropped, and his wing-beat faltered. The whorl began to backslide again.

“Keep going, Stanley!” Ivy screamed desperately. “I know you can do it!” But water was welling in her eyes in much the way the blood was welling in the dragon’s neck. With a great effort, she compelled her own belief. “You’re too tough to be stopped by worms!”

Perhaps in her maturity, Ivy’s magic would have been enough, but she was only a child. Stanley tried to lift his head, but could not. Still, he flapped his wings as hard as he could. The breeze was off, since he could no longer see the guiding cherries, and the whorl began to go astray.

“Blow left! Blow left!” Ivy cried, and the dragon aimed farther left and pumped desperately, though there were more holes in his wings and his eyes were glazing. The whorl drifted back on course.

It wasn’t sufficient. Stanley was halfway down in the crack, straddling the mound of fruits, while the whorl was beyond it. His draft was losing effect.

“Climb out quickly!” Ivy cried. “You can do it, Stanley! You can do it!” But she could hardly see him through her tears.

Hugo kept the cherries flying, knowing there was nothing he could do.

Stanley made his six legs move. His head dragged on the ramp, getting smeared with greatfruit refuse, but his long, low body moved. He scrambled awkwardly up the slope and out, leaving a trail of blood.

The whorl drifted back, impelled by the slight slope beyond the crack. The vectors never gave up!

The dragon made it to the edge just as the whorl did. “Flap, Stanley, flap!” Ivy screamed, horrified. Cherries were falling all around the dragon, bouncing off his green hide.

Stanley flapped. But he was now in the middle of the whorl and wounded; he had little strength remaining. The breeze he blew was not enough to do more than hold the whorl in place.

Hugo’s smart mind was still working, and now he perceived a new strategy. “Hold your wings out!” he called. “Walk forward!”

The dragon heard him. Feebly, Stanley whomped forward, wings out, pelted by falling cherries.

The whorl moved with him.

“The forget!” Ivy exclaimed, remembering. “It’ll make him forget! He’s in it!”

Hugo looked at her, horrified. “Even if he survives the holing, his memory will be gone!”