“Good enough,” she agreed. She planted several seeds. “Grow.”
“But what does it do?” Grundy asked plaintively.
“Well, it relates to the psychology of the ignorant spectator,” Arnolde explained. “Anyone who comprehends its properties soon penetrates the illusion. That is why I feel it will be more effective against Mundanes than against citizens of Xanth. Thus we should be able to deceive them and nullify the pursuit without violence, a distinct advantage. All we have to do is respond appropriately to their overtures, keeping our own expectations out of it.”
“What expectations?” the golem demanded, frustrated.
Dor took a hand. “You see, resurrection fern makes figures seem like-‘
“Refrain!” Smash whispered thunderingly. “Mundane!” Ogres’ hearing was also excellent.
They waited by the growing fern. In a moment three Onesti soldiers came into view, their torches flashing between the trees, casting monstrous shadows. They were peering to either side, alert for their quarry.
Then the three spied the five. The soldiers halted, staring, just within the magic aisle. “Grandfather!” one exclaimed, aghast, staring at Smash.
The ogre knew what to do. He roared and made a threatening gesture with one hamfist. The soldier dropped his torch and fled in terror.
One of the remaining soldiers was looking at Irene. “You live!” he gasped. “The fever spared you after all!”
Irene shook her head sadly. “No, friend. I died.”
“But I see you!” the man cried, in an agony of doubtful hope. “I hear you! Now we can marry-“
“I am dead, love,” she said with mournful firmness. “I return only to warn you not to support the usurper.”
“But you never cared for politics,” the soldier said, bewildered. “You did not even like my profession-“
“I still don’t,” Irene said. “But at least you worked for Good King Omen. Death has given me pause for thought. Now you work for his betrayer. I will never respect you, even from the grave, if you work for the bad King who seeks to send Good King Omen to his grave.”
“I’ll renounce King Oary!” the soldier cried eagerly. “I don’t like him anyway. I thought Good Omen dead!”
“He lives,” Irene said. “He is in the dungeon at Castle Ocna.”
“I’ll tell everyone! Only return to me!”
“I cannot return, love,” she said. “I am resurrected only for this moment, only to tell you why I cannot rest in peace. I am dead; King Omen lives. Go help the living.” She moved back to hide behind the centaur, disappearing from the soldier’s view.
“Beautiful,” Amolde whispered.
“I feel unclean,” she muttered.
The third man focused on Grundy. “My baby son-returned from the Khazars!” he exclaimed. “I knew they could not hold you long!”
The golem had finally caught on to the nature of resurrection fern: it resurrected the memories of important figures in the viewers’ lives.
“Only my spirit escaped,” he said. “I had to warn you. The Khazars are coming! They will besiege Onesti, slay the men, rape the women, and carry the children away into bondage, as they did me. Warn the King! Fetch all troops into the castle! Barricade the access roads! Don’t let more families be ravaged. Don’t let my sacrifice be in vain! Fight to the last-“
Dor nudged the golem with his foot. “Don’t overdo it,” he murmured. “Mundanes are ignorant; they aren’t necessarily stupid.”
“Let’s move out,” Irene whispered. “This should hold them for a while.”
They moved out cautiously. The two soldiers remained by the fern, absorbed by their thoughts. Before rounding a curve in me path, Dor glanced back-and saw a giant, pretty spider, of the kind that ranged about rather than forming a web. The decorations on its body resembled a greenish face, and it had eight eyes of different sizes.
“Jumper!” he exclaimed-then stifled himself. Jumper had died of old age years ago. He had been Dor’s closest friend, when the two had seemed to be the same size within the historical tapestry of Castle Roogna, but their worlds were different. The spider’s descendants remained by the tapestry, and Dor could talk to them if he arranged for translation, but it wasn’t the same. They seemed like interlopers, taking the place of his marvelous friend. Now he saw Jumper himself.
But of course it was only a resurrection, not the real friend. As Dor reminded himself of that, the image reduced to the standing soldier. How Dor wished it could have been genuine! This new separation, albeit from a phantom, was painfully poignant.
“So the fern resurrects precious memories,” Grundy said as they got clear. “The person looking sees what is deepest-etched in his experience. He really should know better.”
“Oh, what do you know about it?” Irene said irritably. “It’s an awful thing to do to a person, even a Mundane.”
“You looked back, too?” Dor asked.
“I saw my father. I know he isn’t dead, but I saw him.” She sounded choked. “What a torment it would have been if that were all I would ever see of him.”
“We’ll soon find him,” Dor said encouragingly. This, too, he found he liked about her-her human feeling and loyalty to her father, who had always been a large figure in Dor’s own life.
She flashed him a grateful smile in the moonlight. Dor understood her mood; his vision of his long-gone friend had wrenched his emotion. How much worse had it been for the Mundanes, who lacked knowledge of the mechanism? It was indeed a dastardly thing they had done; perhaps the violence of ogre and sword would have been gentler.
Soon, however, they heard the commotion of pursuit. The resurrection fern had perished, or at least had become inactive after the magic aisle left it; there would be no more visions there. The stories of the three affected soldiers would spread alarm, but there would also be many who still followed their orders to capture Dor’s party.
They stepped from the path, hiding in the brush-and the troops rushed on past. A snatch of their dialogue Rung out: “. . . Khazars coming . . .”
It seemed the golem’s information had been taken to heart!
“I think they’ve forgotten us,” Irene said as they stepped back on the path. “The resurrections gave them other things to think about. Now they aren’t even looking for us. So maybe we can travel to Ocna safely.”
“It was a good move we made, strategically,” Dor said. “A dirty one, perhaps, and I wouldn’t want to do it again, but effective.”
“First we must pass Castle Onesti,” Amolde reminded them.
They got past Onesti by following the directions the path gave.
There was a detour around that castle, for peasants had fields to attend to, wood to fetch, and hunting to do well beyond the castle, and the immediate environs were forbidding.
This path angled down below the clifflike western face of the peak the castle stood on, wending its way curvaceously through pastures and forest and slope. Several parties of soldiers passed them, but were easily avoided. It seemed these people took the Khazars seriously!
Beyond the castle the way grew more difficult. This was truly mountainous country, and there was a high pass between the two redoubts. Dor and the ethers were not yet fully rested from their arduous climb to Onesti of a day or so ago; now the stiffness of muscles was aggravated. But the path assured them there was no better route. Perhaps that was its conceit-but they had no ready alterative. So they hauled themselves up and up, until near midnight they came to the highest pass. It was a narrow gap between jags.
It was guarded by a select detachment of soldiers. They could not conveniently circle around it, and knew the soldiers would not let them through unchallenged.