Geis of the Gargoyle (14 page)

So I set my face in the direction it was facing and began to march straight ahead.
 
I wasn't sure where I was going, but I was surely going somewhere.

"Child," a woman's voice called me.
 
I paused, orienting on the sound.
 
There was a woman standing by a spreading acorn tree.
 
She wore a brown dress and seemed adult.

At this point my bravado had just about expired.
 
I wanted very much to have an excuse to go back home, or, failing that, to find another home where someone like my mother would feed me and give me a safe place to sleep and take care of me.
 
Of course I couldn't admit that, even to myself, but it may have influenced my reaction.

I went to her.
 
"I-I-could you tell me where the nearest human village is?" I asked politely.
 
"I seem to be- be-"

"Lost?" she inquired gently.

I nodded, abashed.

"How did you come to this region?" she asked me, with that tone of unconscious authority that comes naturally to all adults.

Naturally I had to answer.
 
"I rode my pet zombie dragon.
 
But he went home."

"Perhaps you should go home also," she suggested, with more of that inherent authority, making it somehow seem reasonable.

"I, uh, suppose," I agreed reluctantly.

"Where is your home?"

"I, uh, live at-at Castle Zombie," I faltered, preferring to remain anonymous.

"Oh, you must be the Zombie Master's little boy," she said brightly.

"I'm not little," I protested bravely.
 
"I'm eleven."

She gave me a glance that made me feel nine without actually insulting me.
 
"Of course.
 
What is your name?"

"Hi." Then, as she continued to gaze at me, I realized that my answer was incomplete.
 
"Atus," I added.

"Hiatus," she repeated.
 
"Don't you have a sister?"

"Lacuna," I agreed.
 
"Our names mean the same thing: a gap or a missing part.
 
Our parents thought that was cute."

"That was very clever of them.
 
I am Desiree Dryad." I remembered my rudimentary manners.
 
"Pleased to meet you, Ms.
 
Dryad."

She nodded.
 
"Well, Hiatus, are you ready to go home?"

I scuffled my feet.
 
"I guess."

"I happen to know a nice magic path that will take you there before nightfall.
 
I think you would not care to remain in this forest at night."

I was uncomfortably aware of that.
 
"I guess I'd better take it."

Desiree eyed me again.
 
"But I think not without some food.
 
I wouldn't want your mother to think I had sent you home hungry.
 
I have some hybiscuits and finger and toe matoes." She stepped around the tree and returned in a moment with a plate of these things: exactly the kind of wholesome food I really wasn't much keen on eating.
 
But I knew better than to protest, because that's a sure way to make adults get even more set in their ways, so I reached for the plate.

"But first you had better go to that toiletree and clean up," she said firmly.

"Oh.
 
Yes." I went to the tree and cleaned up.
 
Then I took the plate from her and ate the healthy food, and it was surprisingly good once I got into it, even if I would have preferred dragon steak and chocolate milkweed juice.

I did try to wheedle some, though, in my naive childish cunning.
 
"I'm thirsty!" I exclaimed.
 
"Do you have some tsoda popka or beerbarrel tree juice?" I knew she wouldn't let me have those, but might compromise on flavored milkweed.

"No, Hiatus," she replied gently.
 
"Just some excellent water in the little spring there." She gestured to a pleasant depression I hadn't noticed before, where a spot of clear water showed.

Oh.
 
There was no help for it but to go and glug some straight unadorned flavorless water.
 
Actually it wasn't bad;

I hadn't realized that truly fresh water could quench thirst so well.

I burped and returned to Desiree, wiping my wet mouth on my sleeve.
 
"I guess I better go now," I said.
 
"Where's the path?"

She frowned.
 
"There might be a more polite way to ask a favor," she remarked to no one in particular.

I realized that she meant something.
 
"Huh?"

She made a moue.
 
"Don't you usually say 'please'?"

Oh, that.
 
I obeyed the adult protocol.
 
"Please show me where the path is," I said formally.

She smiled exactly as if she meant it; adults are good at that.
 
"Of course.
 
It is right that way." She gestured.

I peered, but all I saw was a tangle of brush.
 
"Where?"

She was silent, and after a moment I realized that this was a hint that I had used the wrong phrasing.
 
Adults were funny about such things.
 
"I mean, please show me more clearly where the path is, Ms.
 
Dryad."

She smiled again, turning, and I realized that though I was a boy and she was a woman, she was no taller than I was, and she probably weighed less.
 
That surprised me, because adults had always seemed by definition to be larger than children.
 
"It is concealed by foliage, as most private paths are.
 
If you walk directly between those two laurel trees you will find it, and once you are on it you will see it clearly.
 
But be careful not to stray from it until you get in sight of your castle, because the moment you step off it you will not be able to see it again."

"Oh, an invisible path!" I exclaimed, delighted.

"In a manner of speaking," she agreed, seeming to find something amusing.
 
"We prefer to think of it as being visible to those who appreciate nature."

I was about to protest that I appreciated nature, but then I realized that she probably meant things like dull vegetables and plain water.
 
"Thank you," I said somewhat doubtfully, because it sure didn't look like any path there.

"Perhaps I should lead you there," Desiree said.

"Gee, yes!" I agreed immediately.

She walked in the direction she had indicated, and I followed.
 
I marveled again at her smallness, because she certainly had that adult woman way of walking.
 
It's as if their bones are more bendy.
 
When we reached the two laurel trees, suddenly there before us was a nice little path, winding on through the forest.
 
I blinked, wondering how I could have missed it before.

Desiree turned, and saw my confusion.
 
"If you step back a pace, it will disappear," she said.

I stepped back, and the brush closed in, leaving no path in sight.
 
"Oh, it's magic," I said, catching on.

"What we call situational magic," she agreed.
 
Adults always had complicated words for simple things.
 
"I think you would have had trouble seeing it even when on it, if I were not showing you.
 
So it would be better not to be tempted by things like lollipop plants just off the path.
 
Those can be mischief."

"Yeah," I agreed, impressed.
 
"I sure better not get off it till I'm home."