Air Apparent by Piers Anthony
First she had to get clothed. She waded back into the water and fetched the reverse wood chip. She carried it out and put it back where she had found it. The water reverted, the flames flickering across its surface. Good. She held her wet clothing up to that heat, getting it dried rapidly. She could make mistakes, she could get in trouble, she could get really depressed, but she didn’t have to be stupid. So maybe this wasn’t a regular part of the Challenge; she was bleeped if she’d go naked any longer than she had to.
Once she was clothed, she stood beside the pond and spoke loudly to the glade: “All right, Good Magician: I have played your game and made my way through your silly Challenges. I came here to seek your help, not to play a pointless game. If you can’t or won’t help me, I wish you would simply say so, instead of wasting my time and yours with such nonsense. If all you have for me is foolishness instead of common courtesy, then I have come to the wrong place. If you’re just trying to discourage me so I’ll go away, well, you have succeeded, because I don’t respect a person who lacks the nerve simply to say No. So either talk to me now, or I’ll go and seek help somewhere else.”
She paused. There was no answer. She was disappointed that her statement of principle hadn’t worked, but she didn’t regret it. She turned and started back the way she had come.
And discovered that the scene behind her had changed. Now there was an open door leading into an inner chamber. Was this the true inner castle, or another trick? Well, she would find out. She stepped through the door.
A woman met her. “Well spoken, Debra,” she said. “I am Wira, the Good Magician’s daughter-in-law. I will take you to see his wife, the Gorgon.”
“The Gorgon! The one whose face turns people to stone?”
“She wears a veil,” Wira assured her. “Please, this is important.”
It could also be another trick. But there seemed to be no harm in playing along for the moment. “I came to see the Good Magician, not to socialize.”
“This is business,” Wira assured her. “This way, please.”
The woman led her to what appeared to be the castle kitchen. There was a woodstove that somehow wasn’t burning itself up, an icebox whose ice somehow was not melting, and a table with appetizers. It looked rather mundane despite the magic of the equipment.
A tall veiled woman with extremely odd hair stood by the table. In fact her hair looked snaky. “Mother Gorgon, this is Debra, the querent,” Wira said.
“I’m not queer!” Debra snapped.
The Gorgon smiled under her veil. “Naturally not, dear. That’s querent as in a query, normally magical in nature. It’s a technical term we find useful. No offense is implied.”
“Oh.” Debra found herself blushing. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. If there is any embarrassment to be had, it is ours rather than yours. I will explain in a moment.” She gestured to the table. “Have some refreshments, Debra. You must be hungry.”
Actually, she was; she hadn’t eaten since raiding a pie plant in the morning before approaching the castle. But she remained cautious, because there was something about this situation that didn’t quite jibe. “I don’t know what to take. What do you recommend?”
“Well, there’s boot rear, which is good though you will get a kick out of it.” The Gorgon took up a paper cup brimming with brownish liquid.
Actually Debra knew about boot rear, having encountered it before. It was clearly a pun on root beer, with a magical quality. She accepted the cup and took a sip. Sure enough, she got lightly booted in the rear. Some drinks made a person dizzy; this one, as the Gorgon said, had a kick to it.
“And biscuits with monster cheese,” the Gorgon continued, proffering one. “Monsters have the very best taste in cheese.”
Debra nibbled at it. Again the woman was right: this was excellent cheese. Soon she was eating and drinking freely, rather enjoying the boots to her bottom. Boot rear was an acquired taste, and she was acquiring it. But she was also comfortable with the amitea and the punwheel cookies. Wira sat at the table with them, silent.
“Normally Magician Humfrey grants a querent an Answer, and requires her to perform a year’s Service, or equivalent,” the Gorgon said as Debra ate. “But we have a crisis that requires a different mode this time.”
“Something happened to the Good Magician?” Debra asked, alarmed.
“Not directly. His Book of Answers got scrambled, and he is deeply embroiled in putting it back in order. Until he accomplishes that, it is useless. So he will be unable to give you your Answer at present.”
“You mean I went through all this nonsense for nothing?” Debra demanded.
“We hope not,” the Gorgon said. “We may have an alternative.”
“But nobody has answers as good as the Good Magician’s,” Debra protested. “Even if they don’t seem relevant at first.”
“Dear, I know exactly what you mean,” the Gorgon said. “Some time back I was smitten with Humfrey, and I came to ask him whether he would marry me. Do you know, he made me serve a year’s Service keeping his castle before he gave me his answer?”
“He what?” Debra asked, almost choking on a piece of monsterella cheese.
“But you see, it did make sense. Humfrey is chronically grumpy, even at times irascible. By the time I had worked for him a year I was thoroughly familiar with his nature. He was giving me a chance to change my mind. When I didn’t, his Answer was Yes. And here I am today, still keeping his castle, one month in five and a half. He’s grumpy, but he’s also a near genius, and kind at heart, and of course I know how to manage him. Yes, his answers can be like that, but they always make wonderful sense when you fathom them.”
“So I understand,” Debra said. “But mine is very simple, and I’m hoping for a simple answer.”
“What is your Question, dear?”
Debra took a breath. “It connects to my name. Debra. It’s a curse I discovered when I came to Xanth. Every time a man learns my name, he takes it literally.”
The Gorgon’s veil furrowed. “I don’t believe I understand. No one can take your name; it’s yours.”
“De-Bra. He tries to take off my bra. It’s most embarrassing, and makes for very bad relations with the male gender. So my Question is, how can I nullify this curse?”
“How old are you, dear? You look young.”
“Thirteen.”
“Then you are covered by the Adult Conspiracy. No one can say anything or do anything that might give you any hint about how storks are signaled. Bras and panties relate; that’s why they’re so naughty.”
“I’m from Mundania. I know how storks are summoned, as you put it.”
The Gorgon nodded. “Maybe that fudges the proscription. Do you know why men are interested in bras?”
“Same reason they freak out at the sight of panties. It turns them on, and they want to—to do something about it.”
“Exactly. Of course they don’t freak out when they see bare naked nymphs, unless the nymphs put on panties or bras. That makes them seem human, and it is human flesh that does it for human men.”
“But they don’t even have to see my bra. Until they hear my name. Then suddenly they get this Idea, and I’m in trouble.”
“May we verify this, Debra? To understand exactly what we face?”
Debra shrugged. “If you must.”
The Gorgon glanced at the woman. “Fetch Opti and Pesi, please, Wira.”
Wira departed silently. In little more than a moment and a half she returned with a boy and girl who looked like twins.
“This is Opti Mystic,” the Gorgon said. “She sees only the good things about the future, when she focuses.” The girl smiled. “And this is Pesi Mystic, who sees only the bad future things. We are very cautious about asking them to look.”
“She’s got a wild and wonderful future,” Opti said as she looked at Debra.
“But there’s something about her that will ruin it,” Pesi said.
“Tell them your n
“Debra.”
Opti did not react, but Pesi stepped toward her. “Suddenly I have this need to get hold of your—”
“Dismissed!” the Gorgon rapped, and her little snakes hissed warningly.
Both Opti and Pesi hastily departed.
The Gorgon nodded again. “It is a worthy curse, dear. One you certainly want abated. My husband surely has the Answer. Unfortunately he can’t look it up in the book of Answers at the moment. So we need an alternative.”
“An alternative? What alternative can there be to simply stopping the curse?”
“A postponed Answer. If you will agree to perform your Service first, I will guarantee to make Humfrey provide your Answer once he has the Book in order again.”
Debra considered. That did seem fair, and was a lot better than no chance of an Answer. “What would I have to do? If it involves working with men, that’s no good.”
“This requires more background. I must ask you not to reveal what I am about to tell you.”
“Okay,” Debra agreed, curious.
“We have a murder mystery to solve. A body turned up in the cellar, and Wira’s husband, my son Hugo, disappeared. We think he saw the murderer, and got transformed or relegated to some unkind place. Wira is desperate to find him. But Wira can’t search for him alone.”
“She can’t? Why not?”
“Because I am blind,” Wira said.
Debra stared at her. “But you led me through the castle with no misstep!”
“I am familiar with the castle. I am not familiar with the outside.”
Now Debra saw that there was a certain blankness to the woman’s gaze. She really was blind. “I’m sorry.”
“I am long accustomed to it,” Wira said. “But now I need help. Someone must go with me to be my eyes. Someone I can trust.”
“You want me to—to go with you? But you don’t even know me. Anyway, I hardly know Xanth myself. I wouldn’t be much help.”
“Do you lack the nerve simply to say no?” Wira asked.
Debra was caught. The woman was quoting her own words back to her. She couldn’t say no. “I just don’t want to get us both eaten by a dragon. Surely there are many far more competent people to do this.”
“Surely there are,” the Gorgon agreed. “But none of them came on this day as querents. You are the one we have. We may have a way to enable you to protect yourself from dragons.”
Debra was trying not to feel sorry for the blind woman. She did want to help, if she could. “Okay, I’ll make that deal. I’ll help, and get my Answer later. But how can I protect myself from dragons, let alone anyone else? I’m just a poor weak young inexperienced girl with no magic. None that I want, anyway.”
“We have a potion that will transform you into a winged centaur.”
Debra stared at the Gorgon. “But—but they’re—bare breasted!”
“No problem about a bra,” the Gorgon agreed.
“But I couldn’t possibly—to show myself like that—” Then she saw Wira’s silent disappointment. She couldn’t say no. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you,” the Gorgon said. “I will fetch the potion.” She got up and left the room.
“Thank you,” Wira echoed. “This gives me my chance to solve the mystery and recover Hugo.”
“You’re welcome,” Debra said, feeling faint. What had she gotten herself into?”
3
CLOUDS
The Gorgon brought the potion in a small vial. “Drink this, and the transformation should occur in the next few minutes.”
Suddenly Debra was beset by doubts almost as bad as the Giggles had been. “Should occur? You’re not sure?”
“Well, it’s an old potion. But they’re supposed to keep indefinitely.”
“But what if it goes wrong? What will become of me?”
“Are you saying no?”
That got to her. Debra was beginning to regret her extemporaneous little speech. She took the vial, uncorked it, and gulped down the potion before she could change her mind.
It tasted good, and it had a kick like boot rear, only all over her body. Something was definitely happening.
“You took it so quickly,” the Gorgon said. “I was going to suggest that you remove your clothing first.”
Debra was halfway distracted. “Why?”
“Because the potion doesn’t affect clothing, just the body. And centaurs are—”
“Larger,” Debra said, catching on. She tried to remove her shirt and skirt, but she was already changing, and they were caught tight. All she could do was let them be.
Her belly and rear were ballooning. Knobs protruded from her hips, extending into hairy sticks that dropped down to touch the floor. Her buttocks swelled big enough to burst her panties, pushing back and back, carrying her hind legs along with them. Her chest remained much the same, but her breasts overflowed her bra, then snapped its strap and pushed victoriously forward. Now she remembered: centaurs were better endowed than humans. She had a bosom that would have made her an instant starlet in Mundania. The split shirt and torn bra hung uselessly from it. Her skirt and panties were stretched across the solid rump of a horse. And her hind hooves were jammed precariously into the remnants of her shoes.
Indeed, she should have removed her clothing first. She just hadn’t been thinking.
“Let me help,” the Gorgon said. She worked with the shirt and bra, tugging loose the tatters. But she had to use a small knife to get the hideously stretched panties off. Meanwhile Wira found her hind feet and pried off the shoes. That was more comfortable.
Now Debra stood suitably bare. She wasn’t concerned about her hindquarters; she had always admired horses. But her front—how could she parade in plain sight with these monstrous bare mammaries?
“Could—please, could I have a mirror?” she asked.
The Gorgon produced one. Debra took it and held it up before her.
Her head, arms, and torso down to the waist looked exactly like her, and suddenly the enormous breasts seemed to be in proportion. She was a centaur; that was the way they were. That also alleviated her concern about exposure; centaurs had no sensitivity about their bodies. Her face was identical, and her hair was the same, except that it had filled out in back to form a mane.
Actually, she was a good-looking woman, up front. And a handsome mare, behind. This would do.
“You will want to be cautious about your first flight,” the Gorgon said. “You don’t want to crash.”
Then Debra noticed the wings that sprouted from the forepart of her barrel-shaped torso. They were folded but enormous, like great white feathered quilts half covering her back. They were white and beautiful. “Oh, yes,” she sighed.
“Let me explain,” the Gorgon continued. “Winged centaurs don’t fly by the sheer power of their wings. They flick themselves with their magic tails to make themselves light. Then the wings can handle the reduced weight. The effect gradually fades as time passes, but can be renewed as required, on land or in flight. It’s a convenient system. But at first it can be awkward.”
Debra discovered she could switch her tail. “Like this?” she asked, flicking it toward her own back.
“Don’t do it yet!” the Gorgon said.
Too late. The tip of the tail connected solidly. And Debra’s rear section floated into the air. It hauled the rest of her up until it came against the ceiling. She was left suspended from her own hindquarters.
“I see your point,” she gasped. “Now what?”
“Flick your fore section, lightly,” the Gorgon said. “Until it matches your rear, restoring your balance. Then wait for the lightening to fade.”
“Lightning!” Debra exclaimed, alarmed. “Is there a thunderstorm?”
“Lightening,” the Gorgon said, accenting the center syllable. “Making yourself light. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”
“I’m hanging,” Debra agreed ruefully.
“Whil
“I’m learning,” Debra agreed. “I never had voluntary magic before.”
“And you will need this,” the Gorgon said, bringing out a large bow and quiver of arrows.
Debra was aghast. “I can’t use that thing! I never shot an arrow in my life!”
“All centaurs, male and female, are expert archers,” the Gorgon said. “They can fetch their bows from their backs in an instant, loose an arrow, and it will score. Other creatures know that, and are wary.”
“But I hardly know which end of the arrow to notch!”
“Nock.”
“Whatever. It’s ludicrous to expect me to hit the ground from ten feet.”
“Then perhaps you will have to bluff. That should be effective.”
“I can’t bluff! This is disaster.”
“The form may bring some ability,” Wira said. “Just as it brings the lightening magic.”
“Oh, I hope so! Because I’m starting from zero, or a minus quantity.”
“It might help to discuss it with another human-to-centaur convert,” the Gorgon said. “Like Cynthia Centaur. But you can’t, because this mission has to be secret. If the murderer learns what you’re up to, he may kill Hugo. But I’m sure you’ll be able to manage.”
Debra did not share her sureness, but it seemed pointless to argue the case. She would simply have to do the best she could.
Slowly her lightness faded, and her four hooves came to rest on the floor. Now the Gorgon conducted her to a courtyard open to the sky. “Keep yourself heavy, and try your wings.”
Debra tried. Her wings spread beautifully, every feather perfect. When she pumped them, they sent air washing down, trying to heave her body into the air.
“You will have to use your tail as a rudder,” the Gorgon said. “You don’t want to spin out of control. Try a very brief flight now.”