Isle Of View (26 page)

“Why are you so sad?” Gwenny asked.

Should she answer? Her situation really did not relate to the problem.

“She is far removed from her home and folk,” Che answered for her. “Just as I am. It is not an easy situation.”

“I wish you could both go home,” Gwenny said. “And that I could go with you.”

“But you are to be a chief!” Jenny protested.

“I'd rather have friends.”

Jenny saw that the goblin girl needed a friend as much as Che did. Che had many friends, back at his home, and so did Jenny at hers; their only problem was that they weren't home. Gwenny was home, but without friends. Her situation was just as bad as theirs.

“Let's go exploring,” Jenny said, changing the subject, because there really wasn't anything she could do with the subject. “I can tell you what I see, and you can tell me what or who it is.”

“I am not sure that is wise,” Che said. “Others will hear you talking, and will realize that Gwenny is not perceiving things directly.”

Jenny hadn't thought of that. “Maybe I could whisper.” But she saw that it was still a problem. “Or if we could work out some code the others wouldn't know. Only I don't think I could remember anything very complicated.”

“I could,” Che said. “That is evidently part of the reason Godiva chose a centaur. It would be relatively simple to devise a mechanism amounting to a veritable language of signals known only to us. They should be auditory or tactile rather than visual, since Gwenny can not see well at a distance. I think tactile would be best, were she riding a centaur; simple flicks of the tail or twitches of the skin could signal affirmative or negative, and more sophisticated combinations for other communications.”

Gwenny considered. “I think that's too complicated for me right now. I do want to go out, but I think I'd feel better waiting until I'm sure I can handle it. If Gobble ever caught on to my infirmities, I would be doomed, and he's so sneaky that I fear he would.”

“Perhaps we could remain here and play with magic,” Che suggested. “Do you have a magic talent, Gwenny?”

“No. That is, not by myself. Goblins only have half talents, and harpies have the other halves, so it's not easy for us to do magic. I will have the magic wand, of course, but not yet.” She peered in his direction. “But you do? I thought centaurs didn't.”

“It was thought that centaurs didn't,” he said. “But it turned out that we do. My talent is making things light by flicking them with my tail; that is why I must be careful what I flick. I can turn it off when I choose, but if I forget it can be awkward.”

“Oh, that seems like fun!” Gwenny exclaimed. “Can you make me light?”

“Certainly. But what is the point?”

“The point is I think it would be fun,” she said. “Mother sometimes lofts me with the wand, but if I had another way to float, I'd like that.”

“Very well. Stand in the middle of the chamber.”

Gwenny went to the middle. They had long since finished brushing Che off. He stood beside her and flicked her on the shoulder with the tip of his tail.

“Oh, it works!” she exclaimed. “I can jump so high!” She bent her good leg to jump.

“Don't do that!” Jenny cried, grabbing for her. She was almost too late; Gwenny was in the process of jumping. Jenny grabbed her arm as she rose.

It was well that she did so, for otherwise the goblin girl would have launched herself headfirst into the stone ceiling. As it was, her body rose and was stopped only by Jenny's hold on the arm. She spun around, squealing and kicking her feet, before Jenny managed to wrestle her back to the floor.

“Oh, that was fun!” Gwenny exclaimed.

“Fun!” Jenny said severely. “You almost banged your head!”

“But I'm so light, it wouldn't hurt.”

“Not so,” Che said. “Your inertia remains intact.”

“My what?”

“Slow to change,” Jenny said, remembering what Godiva had said.

“My slow to change remains intact?” Gwenny asked, confused.

“Not precisely,” Che said. “Inertia can be used in either the social or the physical sense. I mean that your body has the same mass as ever, but feels light, so you can jump higher. But if your head hit the ceiling, it would be like landing on the floor head first.”

“Oh,” Gwenny said. “I wouldn't like that. I'll be careful. But maybe if you flick me again, I could just float. That would be fun.”

“Not in that dress,” Jenny cautioned.

“Why not?”

“Someone might see your panties.”

“Oh!” Gwenny flushed, which was impressive on her dark face.

Jenny had underestimated the seriousness of the warning. She had not meant to embarrass the girl like that. “I thought of another thing to try,” she said, hauling Gwenny down.

“Another thing?”

“Try my spectacles.” Jenny removed them from her face and put them carefully on the goblin girl's face. They looked funny on her, but they curved around to fit her head.

“Oh!” Gwenny exclaimed. “I see you!”

“So they do work,” Jenny said, satisfied. “Except—”

“Except that I don't dare been seen in them,” Gwenny said, taking them off.

Jenny accepted them back. She had been just about blind. She had gotten used to the spectacles, and now felt lost without them. “Maybe we can do something else,” she said quickly. “Like telling stories.”

“Oh, I love stories!” Gwenny agreed. “They are the only way I can travel.”

Jenny realized that with her own magic talent, which she had discovered with Che, she might help the girl travel in a very special manner. But right now she thought that a regular story was enough. “Let's settle down, and I'll tell a tale,” she said. “Then you can tell one, and Che can.”

“Oh, how nice!” Gwenny cast about, finding scattered cushions with her feet and picking them up to form into a pile. She covered quite a bit of territory, but somehow never encountered Sammy, who was sleeping in the very spot that she didn't go. She piled them up in a corner, and they plumped down on them, Che lying on one side, Jenny on the other, and Gwenny in the center.

What tale should she tell? Jenny had heard a number of nice tales of the history of her folk, such as the ones about the former chiefs and their friends, but she wasn't sure a goblin of Xanth would understand these. For example, there was the one about Prey Pacer and Softfoot, who was lame. Gwenny might think she was being mocked. There were the tales of the wolf friends, but Jenny didn't know whether there were wolves in Xanth, and she was pretty sure that if there were, they did not have riders, so that might only confuse the girl.

So she settled on one that was more like Xanth, adapting the terms to fit. Instead of High Ones she could have— what? She wasn't sure what in Xanth would fit.

So she tried something foolish. “Sammy, find me what fits,” she said.

The cat woke, looked around, and went to Che, settling down against the centaur's side. So much for that.

“I think that means I should answer your question,” Che said. “What is it?”

“I need to know the Xanth equivalent of the High Ones.”

Che looked perplexed, but offered an answer anyway. “The Muses, perhaps.”

“Is there a Muse of beauty?”

“They aren't of that type. They are patrons of the arts. But perhaps Erato, the Muse of love poetry, would do.”

“Does she get angry with mortal folk?”

“I don't think so. Maybe Melpomene, Muse of tragedy. She has a tragic mask, a club, and a sword.”

“Maybe she's the one,” Jenny agreed. "Well, one day Melpomene was annoyed, because a woman named Willow had a baby—I mean the stork brought her a baby girl who was so pretty that everyone knew she would grow up to be as beautiful as any Muse. She named the baby Lily, because she was as fair as that flower.

" 'We'll see about that,' Melpomene said. 'Lily shall not see the flower after which she is named. No mortal may look as good as a Muse without suffering tragedy.'

“Willow went out in a field of flowers near the mountain of the Muses, where a flock of birds flew, holding Lily. 'Oh, Muses,' she said, and the tears flowed from her eyes, 'you have given me such a beautiful child, but why have you made her blind?' Then the Muses were sorry, but there was nothing they could do, for once a thing was done it could not be undone.

"Lily grew up to be a fine girl, but she never saw a flower or anything else. She walked out in the field and touched the flowers, including the one for which she was named, but this was not good because flowers could not survive well when they were handled. She began to cry.

" 'Why are you crying?' Willow asked her.

“'Oh, Mother, you have taught me right from wrong and to appreciate what I have, but how can I appreciate the flowers you speak of so fondly, when my touch hurts them?'

"The flowers listened and were sad. 'She likes us so much,' they said to themselves, 'and she is named for one of us. We must find a way for her to appreciate us without hurting us.'

"They discussed it among themselves, and they asked the Muses to help them; and the Muses remembered that they were at fault and agreed. They could not make Lily see, but they could help the flowers change. They gave the flowers the power to describe themselves in odor.

"Each flower assumed that fragrance it felt best described it. Some flowers, like the roses, believed they were extremely beautiful, so they adopted scents that were delightful. Others thought they were ugly, like the geraniums, so they took unpleasant smells. It didn't matter whether they really were beautiful or ugly, only how they thought of themselves, and some had an unrealistic view of the matter. Some were bold and had strong smells, while others were very shy and had little or no fragrance, though a person looking at them might have thought they deserved more. Thus it was that though some fragrances were not very accurate, at least they helped define the flowers and distinguished one from another.

“So it was that Lily at last came to appreciate the flowers, and could tell the rose from the daisy without touching them; and she was happy, and the flowers were happy, and even Melpomene was less tragic. Ever since then, flowers have had different smells, so that anyone can know them by either sight or scent.”

There was a silence as Jenny finished her story. Then Gwenny spoke. “Oh, Jenny, I wish I could see that! I think that must be why flowers have fragrance, but if only I could see Willow and Lily...”

“I believe you can,” Che said. “If Jenny will sing for you.”

“Oh, I couldn't!” Jenny said, abashed.

“Then sing for me,” he said, “and Gwenny can ignore us.”

Jenny understood what he meant, and knew that it was right. She nerved herself and looked at him, for she knew she could sing for him. She knew that though he had suggested it for the goblin girl, he really wanted it for himself, for he was still a foal and a captive deep in the mountain; and no matter how educated he seemed, he was afraid inside.

She hummed a little, and the room slowly faded out. Then she sang, and there was the field of flowers and the mountain of the Muses in the background and Willow holding her baby Lily, the tears on her face. Her hair spread out around and behind her like a soft cape, the way Godiva's did. Indeed, she looked a lot like the Lady Godiva, caring so much for her daughter but helpless to give her the thing she lacked.

Then the baby turned, and Jenny knew it was Gwendolyn, though the name was different here. Gwenny was in the scene!

In the background a centaur appeared, watching but not interfering. Che was here too, now. Near him was a sleeping orange cat.

Time passed in an instant, as it could in a dream or a vision, and the baby grew to look a lot like the goblin girl, but she still could not see. But the flowers changed for her, and assumed their fragrances, and the girl came to know them and was thrilled.

The scene shook. Suddenly it fell apart and dissipated, and they were all back in the chamber. But the shaking continued. Indeed, the whole mountain seemed to be rumbling. “What is that?” Jenny asked, alarmed.

“I don't know,” Gwenny said. “That's never happened before. Something must be wrong!”

There were sounds in the passage outside. “We'd better ask,” Jenny said.

They went to the door and knocked. After a moment Moron opened it. “What's happening?” Jenny asked.

“The winged monsters are attacking the mountain,” he replied.

“My sire!” Che exclaimed. “He has arrived!”

“He sure has!” Moron agreed. "He gave Chief Gouty until noon to give you and the elf back, and when Gouty didn't, the monsters started the siege. Rocs are dropping boulders on us. You had better stay in there, because the tunnels may not be safe.” He closed the door.

“I forgot about your folks!” Jenny said. “Of course they didn't just forget you! What are we going to do?”

“You had better tell my mother to let you go,” Gwenny said sadly. “I shall be sorry to lose your company, but I'm sure your dam cares for you, Che, as much as my mother does for me. They should stop the attack when you are out.”

“They surely should,” Che agreed. “But we must not decide on that basis, for that is duress. We must decide on the basis of what is proper.” He looked at Jenny. “Have you decided yet?”

“No,” Jenny said. She looked at Gwenny. “If we told your mother no, would she let us go?”

"She might. But I'm not sure my father would. He doesn't know why she brought you here—not the real reason, I mean—because he doesn't know I can't see well.

He thinks it's just for company. And he doesn't like anyone telling him what to do. So when your sire came, Che, and demanded your release, Gouty probably—well, there's something he does with a finger, I don't know what it is, but—"

“It's part of the Adult Conspiracy,” Jenny said. “I think it's an impolite way of saying no.” But she suspected it was more than that, remembering what had happened on the With-a-Cookee River.

“It must be. So maybe you can't just leave now. I'm sorry.”

Jenny turned to Che. “Would your sire stop the siege if you agreed to be Gwenny's companion?”

“I fear he would not,” Che said. “I can speak for myself, but I can not speak for him. I believe he would conclude that my agreement was made under duress and was therefore invalid.”