Apoca Lips

  A XANTH NOVEL

  Piers Anthony

  Chapter 1

  Baton

  Nolan saw it coming: a kind of wand with bat wings. He knew it had no substance because it flew right through the branch and foliage of a nearby acorn tree without colliding. It was imaginary.

  It came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder, but there was no actual contact. Then it hovered close.

  “I don’t know what you’re up to, spook,” he said to it. “But I know I can’t touch you any more than you can touch me. So I will ignore you until you go away.”

  The baton did what looked like a double-take, bobbing in the air. It was surprised?

  Intrigued, Nolan clarified the situation. “Okay, I will explain. I am Prince Nolan Naga, son of King Naldo Naga and Queen Mela Merwoman. Yes, she of the plaid panties. That’s why my hair is plaid, and my scales.” He did a quick switch to his naga form with bright plaid scales, then back to human form. “Yes, I am a crossbreed, half human, quarter serpent, quarter fish. We aren’t supposed to have talents other than changing between our forms, but the stork must have messed up, because I did get a small one. The ability to see imaginary things, like flying batons. So I do see you, not that it does either of us any good. Are you satisfied?”

  The baton had no real head, but it nodded with its upper bulb. So it understood him.

  “So now you can be on your way, because I have no use for you. I have a date to swim with my mother, as we do each afternoon, because she gets tired having to wear feet for too long and needs a good daily splash to refresh. Begone.”

  But the baton continued to hover, not flying away.

  “What’s with you?” Nolan asked. “You have no purpose here, other than maybe to annoy me. The fact that I can see you should be irrelevant, since you are imaginary.”

  The baton shook its nonexistent head no.

  This was arousing Nolan’s curiosity. “You claim you do have a purpose here? What is it?”

  The baton shrugged, unable to answer.

  “Oh, so it’s to be a game of nineteen questions?”

  It nodded.

  Nolan would have been annoyed if he were not getting seriously curious. So he played the game. “You have to tell me something?”

  It hesitated, then shook no.

  “Not exactly tell me? But there is something I might want to know?”

  It nodded yes.

  The mystery was intensifying.

  “Show me something?”

  Again the hesitation, followed by no.

  Nolan got a minor inspiration. “Make me understand something?”

  An emphatic nod. Yes!

  This was getting really interesting. Nolan was reasonably smart for his species, for all that he was a meld of at least three species, and he liked to know what was what. There had to be a reason for this visit by an imaginary thing.

  He kept questioning the baton, but each time he thought he got close to the answer, he lost it. Finally he came to the nineteenth question and knew that if he didn’t get it this time, he would forfeit the answer. His prior questions had established that the baton was not here to give him any special power, or put him in danger, or grant success, or provide enlightenment. The news seemed neutral yet had to be significant. Whatever could it be?

  Then he got an idea so brilliant that the light of its flash illuminated the nearby landscape. “I’m the protagonist!” he exclaimed. “Of an adventure.”

  The baton nodded, evidently relieved that he had finally caught on.

  “You brought me the viewpoint because I’m about to have a significant experience that is story-worthy, so it can be recorded in the annuls of Xanth.”

  Yes.

  “Does this happen to all protagonists? I mean, that you bring it to them? But they don’t know that because they can’t see you?”

  Yes. Yes. Yes. The nineteen questions were over, but once he got the answer, all else was mere detail and dialogue.

  “So you’re going to stick around until my adventure is done, then you’ll move on to the next protagonist?”

  Yes.

  “But you can’t or won’t tell me what my great noteworthy adventure is going to be?”

  Yes.

  “So I might as well ignore you anyway.”

  Yes.

  Nolan walked to the nearby inlet of the sea. He stooped to touch the water with his finger. Sure enough, he felt the familiar vibration of his mother as she swam toward him, right on schedule. He waited, not changing form yet.

  The surface of the sea rippled. Then her head popped out of the water, her greenish hair turning yellowish in air. “There you are, Nolan!” she called. “Why haven’t you changed yet?”

  “I want to talk before we swim.”

  “Oh.” She swam to the shore, formed her flukes into legs, and heaved herself onto land. She was full-breasted, as merwomen were, much better endowed than freshwater mermaids. That didn’t bother Nolan; he was used to seeing his mother natural. “What about?”

  “I’m to be the protagonist of a story.”

  She firmed up her legs and walked to join him, nude of course. She did not come close to showing her age, which was seventy; she claimed that the seawater preserved her, but he suspected that she had found a secret source of youth elixir. “How do you know?”

  “I got tapped by the Baton of Protagonism. It is hovering beside us now.”

  Her awareness of company caused her to inhale, putting on her best front. “Ah. You can see it.”

  “Yes. It took me nineteen questions to ascertain its mission, but it is definitely here. So I must have a big adventure coming up. I’m not sure what to do. I haven’t played this role before.”

  She nodded. “I was a protagonist once. That’s how I met your father.”

  The baton nodded, remembering.

  “After donning plaid panties and freaking out the landscape,” Nolan agreed. That bit of family history was well known.

  She smiled reminiscently. “Don’t demean it. Those panties are reflected in your hair and eyes. They truly impressed your father, and it shows in you.”

  “To be sure. I am properly proud of my heritage. But I doubt that can account for my selection as a protagonist. Apart from my hair, I’m just an ordinary crossbreed, the son of two crossbreed species. That’s not very exciting.”

  “Ordinary folk can make good protagonists. So can crossbreeds, or even aliens.”

  “I suppose. But what great adventure can be approaching me, to warrant my selection for this honor?”

  “Well, you are thirty-two years old. Past time to find a bride and generate grandchildren.”

  Of course she would think of that. She had been after him for a decade to get on with it. It seemed that parents did not feel completely legitimate until they were grandparents. “But I have found no suitable woman,” he protested. “All the viable attractive crossbreed princesses are taken.” He glanced at her slantingly. “Unless you wouldn’t mind if I took up with a sexy commoner? There are some very personable lower-class maidens in the vicinity, not to mention the mermaids who innocently sun themselves within sight of the castle.”

  She froze in horror. “Don’t even joke about it, son! You must have a royal match for the time when you assume the naga throne. She doesn’t have to be naga, just royal. Those mermaids are hardly innocent; they know exactly where the castle is, and who is in it, and they make certain of the line of sight.”

  To be sure. They could also be quite affectionate, off the record. But Mela did have a point: he needed a royal bride. “So how do I find the perfect woman? That is to say, both royal and sexy? That seems to be quite the challenge.” Because of course royals of either gender were not necessarily young or sexy.

  “Indeed,” she agreed. “That must be your coming adventure: finding and winning your ideal bride.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. Still, he argued the case. “Princes find princesses all the time, and they aren’t all protagonists. What’s different about me?”

  She considered. “Maybe you had better ask the Good Magician. All protagonists do.”

  That was another thing he hadn’t thought of. Well, why not? He did want the right woman, and the Good Magician should be able to tell him who and where she was. He glanced at the baton, which still hovered close, its wings slowly flapping. “What do you think?” he asked it.

  To his surprise, it nodded affirmatively. He realized that it might be getting bored here, and wanted to get on with the adventure.

  “Let’s swim,” he said to Mela.

  “I thought you’d never ask.” She launched herself at the sea, her legs reverting to tail in the process. He followed, shifting to his fish form so that he would not have to stay within range of air. He did enjoy these family exercises.

  Nolan approached the Good Magician’s castle at a fast slither. He was in his naga form, with a snakelike body that enabled him to move swiftly through thick brush. That saved him some hassle when traveling. But as he got close, he reverted to human form, delved into his magic pouch to recover his clothes and sword, and paused to consider. He knew there would be three requirements, or Challenges, each navigable provided he figured out its spot mystery, and that he should get through well enough if he kept his common sense. He knew that his talent would not help, and maybe not his shiftin
g forms: he was likely limited to the form he used to enter the grounds. Probably human was best for that anyway.

  The baton had paced him throughout, always hovering close. It didn’t seem to be getting bored. Yet.

  The castle seemed placid, with a pennant flying from the highest tower. That was surely deceptive. It might be peaceful inside, but first he had to reach it, and that could be harrowing.

  “What do you think?” he asked the baton. But it only shrugged. Probably it wasn’t allowed to help him navigate the Challenges. That would be cheating.

  Well, either he would get through or he wouldn’t. So he walked boldly toward the edifice.

  And found himself on what seemed to be a battlefield, level and barren. There must have been a recent battle, because things were strewn around, such as a helmet here, a sword there, and a gauntlet somewhere else. He needed to get across it and out of the way before there was any more action.

  So he had triggered the Challenge but had no idea how to get past it. So much for his commonsense approach. He glanced at the baton. Was it smirking?

  He stepped forth—and almost tripped over a pile of discarded leather armor. It was visible, but he hadn’t noticed it. A soldier must have worn it years ago, then maybe outgrown it and discarded it. Not that it mattered now. Nolan stepped around it.

  But the moment he set foot on the field, he heard a distant cry. “Charge!” He looked and saw a line of soldiers double-pacing toward him. He tried to back off but discovered that somehow he was now in the middle of the tract, too far from the edge to escape before the vanguard caught him.

  “You know, if I don’t make it through the Challenges, I won’t learn who my ideal woman is and won’t have that adventure,” he reminded the baton. “You’ll be wasting your time on a failed protagonist, while the other batons oversee real novelty.” He was guessing that there was a covey of the things, to handle multiple adventures.

  The faceless smirk faded. That confirmed his guess.

  He focused on his situation. Well, the old leather armor was still beside him. Could he don that and fight his way clear? It did look as if it would fit him. He viewed the charging army and knew he would be hacked to pieces in half a moment or less.

  There had to be a way through, if he could only figure it out in time. That was the nature of each Challenge. He knew that if he failed, he would not actually be killed; he would just be washed out of the Challenge and never get in to see the Good Magician. That prospect annoyed him. Maybe he could find his ideal woman without the Magician’s help, but chances were that he would find a lesser creature. He wanted exactly the right one, no substitute, and she could be anywhere or even halfway to nowhere.

  The army was getting distressingly close. In fact, they saw him. There was a “Tally ho!” cry as they oriented on him. Now he was really in trouble. Even the baton looked concerned.

  Well, he could at least fight, and maybe take out a soldier or three before being overwhelmed. There would be some small satisfaction in that, though they wouldn’t die any more than he would. They would merely have balked his passage.

  The armor might help. He scrambled into it, knowing how it should fit. It was complete with boots, gauntlets, and helmet. There was even a scabbard with a serviceable sword, so he put his own sword back in the pouch. But there was something about this whole apparatus that he didn’t understand. Why was it made out of leather instead of steel? Why was it not scarred with prior sword strikes? It seemed pristine. Had it never been used? That seemed unlikely, because it was here on the field, with wear marks and creases. It had to have been used, just not battered.

  The vanguard was almost upon him. Nolan drew his sword, which he did know how to use. He would go down fighting. “Stay clear,” he warned the baton. “I don’t want to accidentally slice you in half.”

  The baton hastily moved out just beyond sword range.

  Still, the situation bothered him. What was the key to escape that he had missed? It had to be here somewhere. He hated being stupid almost as much as he hated washing out of the Challenge. A suit of leather armor, instead of steel, that must have been used yet not battered. Where was the sense in that? The answer was mischievously hiding from him.

  He got half an idea. The mystery of the hide was hiding from him.

  Hide. Hiding.

  Then he got it in a flash he hoped would not alert the converging troops. This was a hide suit. He sheathed his sword, then stood perfectly still. The baton hovered close again, uncertain what he was doing.

  The troops arrived. They milled about, not attacking. “Where did he go?” one asked.

  “He just disappeared,” another said.

  “He found the armor,” a third said.

  “Oh, bleep!”

  Then they all vanished, and Nolan was free to continue across the field. But he remained still, just in case they had hide suits of their own and were trying to trick him into revealing himself.

  Then he found himself beyond the field and without the armor. He had indeed prevailed. “So there,” he told the baton. “I made it.” The baton nodded. Maybe it had known he would.

  He was in what seemed to be a labyrinth of tunnels leading every which way, plus a few extra. Some went up, some down, some crosswise. He probably could navigate any of them if he were careful, but he suspected that few if any actually led out of the chamber to the surface. Maybe he would just have to follow each one, and if it dead-ended, return to follow another. In time he should find the right one.

  There was a line of ants crossing the chamber. A beetle bug challenged their right of way. The lead ant loosed a bolt of fire that burned the bug to a crisp. These were fire ants! Not creatures to mess with.

  But they seemed to have a problem. They were milling about uncertainly. What was the matter? “What’s your take on this?” he asked the baton, but it did not respond.

  Then he saw that there was liquid dripping rapidly from the ceiling, forming a dirty puddle below. Before long the forming pool would overflow its rocky banks and start flooding the lower passages. Then the upper ones. If the correct route out was a lower one, he would need to find it soon.

  So would the ants. Water was anathema to fire creatures—except for fire water—unless they could burn it dry in the manner of salamanders. As far as he knew, ants could not. So why were they staying around instead of moving on out?

  Well, that was not his concern. He needed to select a path and find his way out. But how? There were so many to choose from! He needed better information.

  He looked around some more, knowing that somewhere here there was likely to be a clue. He just needed to pick up on it, and more efficiently than he had the last one. He knew he had lucked out on that battlefield.

  Then he saw a large swing hanging from so far up that the ropes disappeared into the gloom. Who in Xanth would want to swing here?

  The ants were milling directly below the swing. Was that coincidence?

  Now Nolan was curious. That was dangerous, because once he focused on a mystery, he might not be able to let go of it until he solved it.

  “I think I need to talk with those ants,” he told the baton. “I suspect you have some limited telepathy, because you need to understand any protagonist you get sent to, human or inhuman. Who knows, you might even have to associate with a fire ant someday.” Because as he understood it, anyone or anything could be a protagonist. Not necessarily a good one, but still a main character for a while.

  The baton nodded.

  “Now, those ants may have a problem. I am curious to know what it is. Would it be cheating if you helped me converse with them, as fellow travelers, as it were?”

  The baton nodded. Yes, it would be cheating.

  Nolan sighed. He would just have to figure it out for himself.

  He considered the fire ants. It was almost as if they wanted to get to the swing, but there was no way, as they were not a flying variety. They could surely climb the wall, but there was no guarantee that would touch the ropes of the swing. But why would they want to take a swing anyway?

  There was a draft that tousled his hair in passing. Air was passing through the cave, going who knew where. It tugged at the swing, making it move slightly. The ants stirred as if concerned. Were they afraid they could be blown away?