Yet when Picka tried to put his foot on it, it writhed away from him. He tried again, and it retreated again. Joy’nt tried, and it avoided her also. This was a really odd path!
Then they saw a man walking along the path without difficulty. “How do you do that?” Picka called to him. “We can’t touch the path.”
The man looked at him. “I think I’m getting crazier by the minute,” he remarked. “You look exactly like a walking skeleton.”
“I am a walking skeleton.”
“Now even my hallucinations are talking back. Well, I’ll treat you just as if you are real. This is the Psycho Path. Only crazy folk can use it. You may not be real, but neither are you crazy, so you’re out of luck.”
Now it was making crazy sense. A crazy path for crazy people. No wonder they couldn’t use it. “Thank you,” Picka called as the man wandered away.
It was getting dark. “We’ll never find our way in the night,” Joy’nt complained. “We’d better make camp, and find something for our friends to eat.”
That was right: the animals needed food and rest, even if skeletons didn’t. They located a glade with a blanket tree, and fashioned several blankets into a warm nest. Then they scouted for a pie plant. But when they returned with slices of pizza and quiche, the blankets were gone. The animals hadn’t done it; they were out scouting for water.
There were some drag marks indicating the direction the blankets had gone. Someone had taken them. They went in that direction, and soon discovered a man sleeping on the pile of blankets.
“You took our blankets!” Picka said indignantly.
The man opened an eye. “What?”
“Those are our blankets!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I found these here.”
“You dragged them here. See the drag marks?”
“Maybe someone dragged them here before I came. People are always accusing me of stealing. I don’t know why.”
Again, there was something odd. “Let’s introduce ourselves. I am Picka Bone, and this is my sister Joy’nt.”
“I am Rob.”
Joy’nt angled her head in the way she had when she got an idea. “What is your magic talent, Rob?”
“I have no idea.”
“Could it relate to your name? Rob?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rob repeated. “All I know is neither men nor women seem to like me much. I don’t care about the men, but I’d really like to meet a friendly woman.”
They let him be. Apparently Rob robbed people without knowing it.
Then Picka got an idea. “The Iron Maiden has nothing to lose,” he murmured. “She’s bare.”
“And lonely,” Joy’nt agreed. She faced Rob. “Follow that crazy path,” she said. “I’m sure you can use it. It will lead you to a lovely maiden in need of company.”
“That sounds great,” Rob agreed. He got off the pile of blankets and went to the nearest twist of the path. He stepped on it. Sure enough, it worked for him. Soon he was walking purposefully toward the spot where they had left the Maiden.
“I think we just did a couple of lonely people a good deed,” Picka said.
“And we got our blankets back,” she agreed.
They hauled their blankets back to the original spot. Then Joy’nt dislocated her bones and formed them into a roughly block-shaped framework. Picka heaved the largest blanket over the top, forming a tent. Joy’nt caught hold of the edges with her fingers and pulled them taut. Picka folded the other blankets and placed them on the ground inside the tent. It was ready.
The three animals returned, their foraging finished. They paused at the sight of the tent.
“The tent is for you,” Picka said. “So you can sleep comfortably for the night. Joy’nt made the framework and I put the blankets on. We thought you’d prefer a bit of shelter, after being out in the forest so long. It’s safe; we skeletons don’t sleep, so I’ll be keeping watch for any mischief.”
Surprised, the three checked it. Then Woofer and Midrange settled down beside each other on the blankets, and Tweeter perched comfortably on Joy’nt’s skull. “Tweet!” he tweeted appreciatively.
Darkness closed in. Picka could see well enough without light, as most nightmare spooks could. He and his sister were not in the bad-dream business, despite their ancestry, but their nature remained.
In fact being a walking skeleton was a rather lonely business. There were no others of their kind in Xanth proper, as far as they knew, apart from their parents, which meant that he and Joy’nt were doomed to remain single and have no families. They hated that, but had no choice. They were technically monsters, not wanted around living folk. They made do, but at quiet times like this Picka had occasion to be bothered by it, and he knew Joy’nt felt much the same.
He heard a rumble. It was from the sky. He knew what that meant: Cumulo Fracto Nimbus, Xanth’s meanest cloud, had somehow spied the tent and intended to ruin it with a good soaking.
Picka scrambled into motion. He had seen a tarpaulin tree near the blanket tree. He ran to it, harvested a waterproof tarp, and ran back to fling it over the tent. “Better get under cover,” he warned Tweeter. The bird quickly fluttered down into the tent.
Fracto arrived and was furious at being balked. He loosed a drenchpour that instantly wet the tent and formed a puddle around it. Picka hastily fetched a stick and dug a trench around and away from the tent so that the water could not swamp it. They had pitched the tent on a small rise, so that helped. Fracto sent fierce gusts of wind, but Joy’nt kept firm hold on the edges of the tarp.
Fracto raged, but couldn’t take out the tent. Finally he stormed off, defeated.
In the morning the three pets emerged, dry and rested. Picka pulled off tarp and blanket, and Joy’nt disjointed and reformed in her normal shape.
Tweeter flew to her shoulder and tweeted. She brought out the marker, and Tweeter touched it. “We are getting to like you.”
“We like you too,” she said.
They gave the animals time to forage and take care of whatever natural functions were necessary for living forms. Then they set off again. This time they came across an enchanted path. That made the rest of their journey easy.
They encountered a man walking the opposite way. He was juggling three balls of light. They paused to watch.
After a moment he noticed. The light balls vanished. “Are my eyes deceiving me, or are you walking skeletons?” he inquired. “We don’t see many like you on the enchanted path, but I know you don’t mean any harm.”
“We are skeletons,” Picka agreed. “I am Picka Bone, and this is my sister Joy’nt. Plus Woofer, Midrange, and Tweeter. We are going to Castle Roogna.”
“It’s not far,” the man agreed. “I am Aaron. My talent is to make balls of light.” He smiled. “They are easy to juggle, because they weigh very little.”
“We noticed,” Joy’nt said.
“Good luck in your visit,” Aaron said. A light ball appeared in his hand. He tossed it up, and another appeared. He tossed that, and a third appeared. He resumed walking, juggling the three.
“Which is the thing about the enchanted paths,” Joy’nt said. “No harmful creature can get on one, so travelers know they are safe, and don’t freak out at the sight of us.”
“That does make it easier,” Picka agreed.
Soon they met another traveler. Like the other, he seemed slightly taken aback by their appearance, but not really concerned. “Hello. I am Champion. It is my talent to lend strength of body, substance, or character. But you folk don’t look as if you need any of that.”
“We don’t,” Picka agreed, and introduced the members of their party. “I hope I have a talent, and that I can find out what it is.”
“I regret I can’t help you there,” Champion said.
“Do you know something?” Picka said as they moved on. “Normal human beings seem like nice folk.”
“We just never got to know many,” Joy
’nt said. “They were too busy screaming.”
“Even though we have left the bad-dream business behind,” he agreed. “In fact we never indulged in it. I wish I could somehow have a normal relationship with regular people. But that seems unlikely.”
“We are what we are,” she agreed somewhat sadly.
When they approached Castle Roogna, three animals intercepted them: a dog, a bird, and a cat.
But Picka had seen such tricks before. “Hello, Princesses,” he said. “We are looking for Princess Dawn.”
The animals formed into three blossoming fifteen-year-old girls, almost identical triplets. They all wore little gold crowns. “We knew that,” Melody said. She wore a green dress, and had greenish-blond hair and blue eyes.
“We told her you were coming,” Harmony said. She had a brown dress, hair, and eyes.
“She’s already packed and ready to travel,” Rhythm concluded. She had a red dress, red hair, and green eyes.
“But all we wanted was to ask her where—”
Princess Dawn arrived. She was twenty and as lovely as sunrise. She hugged Joy’nt, then Picka, not at all put off by their form. They were, after all, friends from childhood. “It can’t be told,” she said. “My sister values her privacy. I’ll show you the way.” She glanced around, then dropped to her knees to pet Woofer, stroke Midrange, and lift a finger for Tweeter to perch on. They had evidently met before.
Then Dawn walked purposefully into the orchard. They followed. So simply, they were on their way again.
2
TALENT
“We are private here,” Dawn said, pausing in the center of the orchard. She took a deep breath, which was too bad, because it accented the unsightly mounds of flesh covering her surely sightly bones. “Now I need to explain some things before I take you to Hades.”
“Hades!” Picka protested. “We need to see Princess Eve.”
Dawn smiled. That, too, was unfortunate, because it distorted the skin around the front of her skull. But she couldn’t help it; she was alive. At least it showed her nice teeth. “She’s the Mistress of Hades, ever since she married Dwarf Demon Pluto. They have a castle in Xanth, but she spends a lot of time ministering to the lost souls of Hades. She won’t be back in Xanth for several days. So we’ll see her in Hades.” She looked sharply at Picka. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“No. My eighth of a soul is not damned. But our living friends may.”
Joy’nt held the marker, and Midrange touched it. “No. It’s probably more interesting than Xanth.” Actually, Picka knew, Dawn could have gleaned the cat’s answer directly, because she knew everything about anything alive.
“It is indeed,” Dawn agreed. “Fascinating to visit, but we wouldn’t want to stay there. So pay attention to the ground rules. My pass will deliver us to the River Styx, where there will be a ferry. We will take the ferry, then follow the path to Eve’s castle.” She frowned. “Do not stray from that path. Anyone stepping off it will have literal hell to pay to get back on it. Once we reach the castle, it will be all right; Eve doesn’t let any temptations in there.”
The five of them nodded. They understood.
“Now gather together. We must all be touching when the pass is invoked, going in and coming out. I don’t want to leave anyone behind.”
They gathered together. Picka and Joy’nt held hand bones, while he put a hand on Woofer’s back and she did the same for Midrange. Tweeter perched on Joy’nt’s head.
Dawn brought out a square of colored paper and held it before her. She put her free hand on Picka’s shoulder bone. “Pass, do your thing,” she said. It seemed that no fancy archaic language was required to invoke it.
The scenery around them changed. The assorted fruit trees were gone. They were standing in a desolate dead forest beside a polluted river. Gray smog surrounded them.
There was a ramshackle boat moored at a rickety pier. A male figure sat in it. He looked at Dawn. “You again?” he asked in a tone of disgust.
“You know any other mortal princess with a pass?” Dawn responded archly. “Charon, ferry us across the river.”
“Why?”
“Because I have a pass,” she repeated. “We’ve been through this before.”
“Your pass brings you here,” Charon said. “It doesn’t pay your ferry fee.”
“What ferry fee?” she demanded.
“The one I’m invoking for mortal princesses, walking skeletons, and pet animals.”
“Ridiculous! You have no authority.”
Charon shrugged. “Then find a ferryman with authority.”
Dawn’s fleshly mouth thinned to an almost skeletal line. She was almost attractive that way. “Do you want me to tell my sister, who will tell Pluto, who will whip your arrogant ass?”
“My donkey is elsewhere,” Charon responded, unperturbed, “and unafraid of the whip. This is Hades, remember. Meanwhile you can’t tell your sister if you don’t get to her.”
Dawn considered. “What do you want?”
“Your hand in marriage.”
The princess swelled as if about to burst, especially in the chest area, but managed to contain herself. “I’ll give you half a smile.”
“One good stork summoning.”
“One kiss.”
“And a feel.”
Dawn turned about. “Gather together,” she told the others. “We’re returning to Xanth.”
“Very well, one kiss,” Charon agreed hastily.
“Done, you immortal lecher.” She approached the boat. Charon stood. They embraced, he on the boat, she on the shore. He kissed her ardently.
“It’s an act,” Joy’nt said wisely. “They enjoy bargaining for smooches. Living folk are like that.”
Picka rattled his bones in a shrug. He had never claimed to understand the ways of mortal folk.
Finally the two completed the kiss. Then Dawn turned to the others. “Get on the boat. We have been granted safe passage.” She stepped on herself, as Charon made his way to the rear of the boat. He lifted one hand, and a long pole fell from the sky. It seemed to be clothed in thick flesh, oddly.
“If I may inquire,” Picka said, “what kind of pole is that?”
“It’s a meaty oar,” Charon said. “Its muscle helps me propel the craft. The sky is full of them, if you know where to look.”
“Abysmal pun on meteor,” Dawn muttered. “Something should be done about the puns that infest every section of Xanth; they are now leaking into other realms.”
“Something should,” Charon agreed. “It’s disgusting.”
“That water,” Picka said. “Doesn’t it make you forget things?”
“That’s the River Lethe,” Charon said. “This is the River Styx.”
“It is safe to touch this water,” Dawn said, “but the River Lethe is an excellent example of why we must not stray.”
Joy’nt got on the boat. Then Woofer scrambled aboard somewhat awkwardly. Midrange simply jumped, landing neatly in the center. Tweeter had the easiest time: he flew across to land on Joy’nt’s shoulder bone. Finally Picka stepped on, and untied the mooring rope.
Charon pushed vigorously on his pole, assisted by its muscle, and the boat moved out across the dark water. The surface was quiet except for occasional ripples. Picka, curious, poked a finger into a ripple, and teeth snapped violently at it.
“Don’t do that!” Dawn cautioned belatedly. “The monsters are there to prevent doomed souls from swimming back across and escaping.”
“I have no fear of monsters,” Picka reminded her, “being one myself. They can’t hurt me.”
“But you shouldn’t tease them. They are just doing their job.”
She had a point. He lifted his finger from the water, undamaged. “I apologize, monsters.”
There was an irritated splash. The monsters were not mollified.
“Make yourself useful,” Charon said gruffly. “Use the curse sieve.”
“The cursive?” Picka asked, perplexe
d.
“The curse sieve,” the ferryman repeated. “The River Styx has become polluted with expired curses, making the river monsters uncomfortable. We try to seine out a few each time we cross.”
That made sense. Picka took the sieve and swept it through the water. It fetched in a mottled film of gunk. Picka dumped it in the cursor, which was a kind of sliding, blinking bucket in the boat. It grunted an expletive, but had no choice but to accept the foul stuff. There was an odor of musty rot. Some of the expended curses might have been puns, which would account for the stink. It was really too bad that folk did not take care to dispose of the curses properly, instead of befouling the environment.
Charon continued poling, sometimes rowing with the oar, and before long they came to the opposite shore. They disembarked in fair order.
“Remember,” Dawn said. “Stay on the path.”
Why was she making such a point of it? They had heard her the first time.
“I will see you on the return trip,” Charon said.
“More’s the pity,” Dawn agreed.
He poled away, and they started down the path. Woofer led the way, eager to see and sniff new things. Midrange followed more sedately, and Tweeter was content to ride Joy’nt’s shoulder bone. Dawn walked beside Joy’nt, and Picka was last. He looked at the motions of the two females ahead of him, which had similar sways. It was too bad that Dawn’s pelvis was swaddled in flexing living flesh, instead of being more like Joy’nt’s clean bones. She seemed oblivious to the way that spoiled her appearance.
“Isn’t Charon a Demon?” Joy’nt asked Dawn.
“Yes, he is a Dwarf Demon, less powerful than a full Demon, but still infinitely beyond any person or creature of the mortal realm.”
“He seems to like you.”
“He does. Demons have a certain thing about mortal princesses.”
“He even spoke of marrying you.”
“His master Demon Pluto married my sister Eve. He’d like to marry me and gain equivalent standing, at least in that respect.”