Sable Takes Xanth

(The Windwalker of Xanth)

The windgusts grew stronger, more savage in their tuggings. The air grew colder and chaotic gusts threatened to drown the flying elf. Huge grey clous churned through the sky, blocking out most of the light from the sun. No life stirred. Inside the Windwalker was frightened, trying not to panic. His life had been far from easy and his soul was more than a little scarred - he knew what fear was. It was too late to turn back, too late to return to the sea-elves, too late to do anything but hope to make it to shore afore the storm broke. Too slow - the clouds, pregnant to the point of bursting, birthed their waters in a tumultuous shower.

Wind and rain, rain and wind. Rain that soaked through his feathers, draining the life from them. Wind that pushed him closer to the grasping white tipped waves.

Flapping desperately, lungs gasping for air. Spinning. Sky becoming water, becoming sky. Chillness seeping in. Cold, wet. Darkness consuming all. The elf was dragged beneath the waters by greedy, grasping fingers. Panic was replaced by tranquility.

*

"You must waken dear one," soft dulcet tones roused Sable from his slumber. He pried open his bloodshot eyes, then slammed them shut again. For he was still beneath the water, and in a very strange place indeed. For it appeared to be a den, and fairly comfortable. A bed of seaweed, a coral dressing table and a carpet of shells decorated the chamber. The walls appeared to be formed of coral, twisted and lovingly entwined amongst each other. Orange and white fish darted about, circling each other and chasing one another. One appeared to be juggling grains of sand. Sable wisely ignored them, as amusing and entertaining as they surely were. Someone was stroking his hair.

"Oh goodie," the voice exclaimed. "The little one is awake."

Sable managed to open his eyes and focus on her. She had long golden hair and skin pale, with a golden sheen. Although attractive, she was somewhat too human for Sable's liking, despite the fact that below the waist her legs were replaced by a fish's tail. The water rippled around them, and he wondered why he coud breath.

"Where am I?" He asked, amazed how easily the words came. Despite being known as "The Silent One", Sable was not necessarily mute - he had huge difficulty Sending (the only mode of communication for Windwalkers). He could speak, but did not normally do so. But right now he desired answers!

"In Coral Grotto," the strange woman replied. He was resting in her lap, if you could call it that. "The porpoises brought you to me, therefore there must be some great porpoise for you being here."

Something she said made him shudder, although he knew not what.

"I am Megan Merwoman," she continued. "Who might you be, strange winged one from another world?"

"They call me Sable," he stuttered, having still not completely recovered from the pun.

"Who does?"

The question threw him. "Why, everyone who knows my name."

Megan chuckled. "And what manner of creature, be you who fell from the sky."

Again Sable had to pause. "My people call themselves Windwalkers. Why is it I can breath and talk down here?"

The merwoman looked slightly taken aback. "I have never heard of such as you, but then I do not venture out much. My home here is enchanted, so to you it differs little from the surface, except of course for resistance. Now," she continued, "you must be hungry, would you like a sea biscuit?" She proffered him something vaguely circular. It appeared to be some sort of dark animal with many tiny legs. Sable had eaten worse. He accepted it and crunched into it. The taste surprised him, for it was not meat or fish-like at all, in fact tasted nothing like the starfish he had eaten with the Wavedancers. It was crunchy, with a sweet, nutty taste. He gobbled it down. Then he stared into Megan's golden eyes. His eyes were not drawn to her voluptuous breasts, which were naked and bobbed with the water currents. He was an elf, and elves worried little about nudity.

"When can I return to land?"

Megan appeared slightly stunned, as though she had expected her heaving bosom to vamp him and had certainly not expected to be totally ignore. In true Piers Anthony style she inhaled dramatically, making her bosom heave in a way that would have any typical Xanthian male drooling.

"Are you alright?" Sable, not the typical average male, inquired. He appeared not to notice her rewarding glare. Windwalker females were by nature petitie and muscular, and large breasts were not only awkward in flying but downright dangerous. The females Sable preferred were lithe.

"Are you sure you wish to leave so soon?" She asked, fluttering her eyelashes flirtatiously.

He nodded. A clownfish somersaulted in front of his face, before another one chased it away. "I find it disconcerting being below the water."

"Fine," sighed Megan. "I'll have Weedy carry you out of here." She picked up a shell from the table and blew on it.

It emitted no noise, but a few moments later a strange creature swam in. It was large, longer than three humans lying head to toe. It had a long pipe-like snout, mad beady eyes, a plump body and a lizardine tail. Spines adorned its head and tail, and its twin dorsal fins resembled handles.^* Its scales were golden in hue. Turning its mad eyes to Megan, it made a strange bubbling noise.

"This is Weedy Sea-Dragon," Megan grinned as she saw Sable's surprise. "Just cling to his dorsal fins and he shall carry you to shore." She paused, drawing herself closer to him and breathing sexily in his ear. "Although, you can stay if you so desire." Her large breasts pushed against him in a manner designed to be distracting.

"No thank you," Sable replied, seemingly oblivious to her obvious flirtations, "I feel quite strange down here and would feel most comfortable with air around me. I am, after all, a creature of the skies just as you are a creature of the seas."

That comment brought a thought of his daughter to his mind, Seaswallow, for she was a creature both of the sky and the sea. He wondered how she fared, but she was an adult now, and well able to make her own decisions. Sable had seen much and travelled very far, but never this far before, never beyond the World of Two Moons.

Weedy circled around and came to rest beside him, the dragon's bulk took up most of the chamber. As he gripped onto those dorsal fins, and Weedy began to swim, somewhat slowly, away, he heard Megan shout.

"Oh yes, once you leave the grotto you better hold your breath."

Suddenly Weedy shot forward, like an arrow from a bow. Sable had barely managed to get a final gasp of air before the Sea-Dragon entered the unenchanted waters. Hopefully the beast understood his necessity to breath, otherwise things could be most heinous indeed!

The Sea-Dragon shot upwards. He paused infrequently and Sable began to feel light headed. By the time Sable was about to give up and inhale the water, Weedy broke to the open air. Luckily the ocean here was not very deep. The dragon leapt across the waters as effortlessly as one of the Wavedancers dolphin friends. It was nightfall. And there was ust one lone moon hanging in the sky.

Sable was not in the World of Two Moons anymore.

Weedy dumped him on the beach. It was a strange, long beach with golden sand and golden plants. In fact, now Sable began to think about it, everything he had seen so far had been golden - the Merwoman, the Sea-dragon... not the clownfish however. What a strange world this was. He paused on the beach, fanning the water from his wings as he watched Weedy dive back into the ocean. Most of his belongings had gone, for his knapsack had been lost and so had his spear. He was just glad he still retained one of his knives and his small leather belt pouch, although its contents were induitably ruined. Something on the beach appeared to be staring at him. He paused and picked it up. It was a shell, but it looked exactly like an eye. As he looked at it, it blinked, and he almost dropped it in surprise. Probably just a trick of the light, he surmised as he put it in the pouch, removing the sodden tinder. He was pleased to see the Moondisc was still there - the small black stone had been a gift from Skimmer, Seaswallow's mother. The two were Recognised, and although neither loved the other, there had been some affection there - of all the Wavedancers, Skimmer, with her deformed feet, had understood Sable, for they had both been damaged in some way - she physically and he mentally. The Moondisc was magical, for it glowed with a silver light in the presence of ceratin items - you just had to ask it what you wanted, and it would lead you to it with the glow. It would not do to lose that!

When his wings were comfortably non-soaked, he flapped rather eraatically into the first tree he could find. It always felt better to sleep off the ground. The bark of the tree seemed to have a golden sheen, but that could have been a trick of the moonlight. Sleep caught him easily, it had been an exhausting day.

He dreamed of Torturer - the human who had kept him captive in a shed for five years several centuries ago. It had been Torturer that had scarred him, both mentally and physically, for Sable had lost the tip of one ear to the human's cruel knife. Sable despised humans in a fashion that bordered on obsession. The dream awoke him with a start - it was dawn, and he fancied he could see strange mostly circles on the ground beneath the trees, like those of a horseshoe. His muscles were stiff and his mind was in turmoil from the dream. Eventually the golden sun and the merry dawn chorus calmed his nerves and he began to feel quite hungry. The golden sand extended in front of him almost as far as the eye could see, until it met the silvery blue waters of the ocean. All was serene. A small flock of long-legged birds stalked the edge of the water, occasionally pointing their long bills to the sky, making odd calls and chuckling to each other.^* All the foliage was golden in colour.

Hunger gnawed at his belly, and he eyed the wading birds with a hungry glint in his emerald eyes. Within an instance his knife was between his teeth - where Windwalkers always carried them when hunting. He extended his wingarms and soared effortlessly from his perch. As he approached the birds, some of them startled and began flapping away. Several others watched him curiously for a moment too long. He selected his target easily, a plump bird that had been too slow. Swooping on it, he prevented it from properly becoming airborne and forced it back to the ground. Naturally, he overshot, and by the time he had turned about the bird was struggling to be airborne again. So he dived on it again, forcing it earthwards. It was now a battle of endurance and finally Sable was the victor. With a well placed kick (with his hardened toed boots) the stunned bird flopped to the ground, and Sable glided down effortlessly after it, despatching it with the knife.

The meat was rich and tender and Sable was very hungry. He plucked the feathers swiftly, obscuring himself in a cloud of feathers, and quickly polished off the animal, until nothing was left but bones and some of the innards. Sable wished he knew what had happened to Scrag, his raven-friend (all ravens were "Scrag" to Sable), but the poor bird had disappeared during the storm. The beach was now unnaturally quiet. Now what to do? He thought, patting his gorged belly. He knew not where he was, but that had never stopped him before, he rarely knew where he was. Well, the water was out of the question, so it was inland or along the beach. An interesting looking outcrop of rock to what he thought was the south took his attention, why not investigate that? Flapping slowly, and somewhat heavily, he followed the beach along. It was not long before a strange creature caught his eye. It appeared to be a very large hair-comb, but it was moving across the beach as though it were alive. Before it was a huge pile of flotsom and jetsom, being pushed along by the teeth. Ah, a beachcomber, Sable thought, suffering another involuntary shudder. It was of little consequence to him, for he was airborne, until he saw something lying just before it. He dropped before it, scooped up a sodden black bundle and leapt over it and out of the way just in time. Sable's legs were very muscular, for he had perfected the art of becoming airborne from a standing jump, and could jump higher than any other Windwalker he knew. He clutched the bedraggled raven to his chest, broke down and cried.

For an unknown length of time he sat on the newly raked sand, nursing the sodden corpse that had been his only companion in the world.

"Are you ok?" the voice behind him made him jump. He whirled about to find himself facing a petite bird-woman whose appearance was, if anything, weirder than the merwoman. Her head and torso were those of a young, relatively attractive woman, but her wing-arms and below the waist regions were those of a predatory bird. Her eyes were large, and the dark-brown of the damned.

Sable forced a smile. It mattered little, for all his smiles appeared forced. "I'll live."

"Yeah," the bird-woman replied. "Won't we all."

There was something about her tone of voice that made Sable ponder. She sounded about as cheerless as he. "He was my friend," he offered as way of explaination, showing her what remained of Scrag.

She smiled sadly. "Poor thing," she gently patted the bird's lolling head, "I never really had a friend."

"Never?!" Sable was startled, he vaguely remembered his closest elven friend, an elf named Jay. Jay had saved him from the Torturer and had stood by him when he lost his ability to Send. He resisted the urge to pat her on the shoulder.

She shook her head. "They all left me," she muttered in a manner that hinted at self-pity. Her hair was long, thick and a rich chestnut brown. It was also unruly, and fill of tangles and bits of leaf and bark.

"That's sad," he replied, sincerely, finally put an arm around her unusual shoulders. "You can call me Sable," he informed her.

"Ok," she replied, a little more cheer in her voice, "why?"

"Because that is my name," he replied. "Or what my parents named me anyway. And who might you be?"

"My parents named me Hopeless, Hopeless Harpy."

"You are a harpy?" He queried, to his people harpies were a large eagle. "Hopeless is not much of a name, I think I shall call you Hope."

"Yes, I am a Harpy, and you can call me whatever you want. My parents wanted a boy, so I was something of a disappointment to them when the stork delivered me instead."

"Stork?" The elf was confused. To him a stork was a long-necked bird, but perhaps they acted as nursemaids here?

Hope gave him a brief rundown of how the stork delivering service worked in Xanth, with the birds carrying the babies to their parents. This both startled and confused Sable, who told her the Two Moons version. She paled visibly, looking a little green around the gills, which was odd because she had none.

"Ick," she replied, "that sounds horribly painful."

"I would imagine so," Sable replied, for having never given birth himself, he could hardly realise the full agony. It had certainly been difficult for Skimmer, for the wings were always tricky. "I am a Windwalker from the World of Two Moons."

"Two Moons?" She queried. "That sounds vaguely familiar. Then welcome to Xanth, a world as bad as any I guess, and perhaps better than some."

Sable knew his ancestors had come from another world, but he doubted it was this one, this one was just plain twisted! "It is certainly strange," he commented, a vast understatement as he was to later learn, "so far I have breathed beneath the sea and ridden a Weedy Sea-Dragon."

"That's Xanth for you," she grinned ferally. "Perhaps we should bury that black bird of yours and then see about getting you home."

Sable was not used to burying the dead, but Hope led him to a nice bush and scuffed in the dirt with her talons. Following her lead they inhumed Scrag.

"So how do I get home?" He asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know, but I know someone who might, the Good Magician Humphrey. I asked him a question and he told me to wait on the Gold Coast of eastern Xanth. I've been here for near three weeks and now you're here."

"And this magician knows the answers to everyone's questions?"

Hope nodded. "If there is an answer, he will know it."

Sable paused, a dreadful thought forming in his mind. "And this magician, is he human?"

Hope chuckled. "Technically, but he's so old and shrivelled he looks like a gnome. There are a lot of humans in Xanth, and us human derivatives."

The elf frowned. Humans everywhere - he had to get back to Two Moons, although even there there were too many humans. Oh well, needs must and this Humphrey sounded like he was not really human. Sable could cope with not-really humans, but reall humans...

"Could you please take me to your magician?"

Hope nodded. "Of course, I thought you'd never ask."

The land of Xanth unfolded beneath them. Sable tried to remember as many of the landmarks as he could. There was a lot to see - small villages of houses more sophisticated than those he was used to, lakes and even castles. Whilst they flew, Hope told him about Xanth, and he was startled to find that it was, technically, ruled by humans. You could not escape them anywhere. He told her about himself, and his world, but not a lot, for Sable did not like to talk about himself, and was more answering questions.

"Castle at eleven o'clock," Hope shouted.

Sable had no idea what this o'clock business, or even this eleven business, meant, but he could see the castle himself. Suddenly something very large was bearing down on them.

"Dive!" Hope screeched, her voice becoming harsh in true harpy fashion. Sable was not about to ignore her. Both of them pulled up and dove earthwards. And were forced to pull out of their dive as a large, flat rock-like fish snapped its jaws at them.

"Eek," screamed Hope in a most lady-like manner, with only the slightest shrill tinge to it. "Between a Roc and a hard Plaice!"

Again, Sable experienced the involuntary chill. "Where do we go?" He scanned the area. On the ground was the fish, above them the bird. Then he saw a tunnel between them. "In there!" He shrieked and flapped for the tunnel entrance, folding his wings against his chest in order to enter and crawling in as far as possible. Hope followed quickly behind him, transforming the tunnel into darkness. Outside there was a "thump" as the Roc met the Plaice.

"Um," stated Hope, "I forgot to tell you about the challenges." She paused. "And the year's service."

"What?!" Sable yelled. He then realised where he was. Most airborne creatures were mildly claustrophobic and Sable was worse than most - being captive in a shed for five years had the tendency to do that to you. As Hope began to explain, Sable began to panic. He pounded the walls of the tunnel as the fear welled in him. It did not take her long to realise what was happening.

"Shh," she whispered, "you'll be fine." She could not really hug him, as she had no arms, so she kissed him on the forehead instead. It was amazingly calming. Sable took a deep breath and eventually calmed himself down.

"Thanks," he said. The gratitude and relief was obvious in his tone.

"If you're in a hurry to get home, I shall do your year's service for you," she muttered, "it's not as if I have much else of any worth to do."

Sable patted her wing. "A year means little to me," he replied, "I will not trouble you to do my duty for me. Now, let's get out of here."

Hope stuck her head back out the tunnel. The huge Roc was still circling and the flat fish was grinning at her. "Not that way," she muttered.

Sable girdled his loins - whatever that means, and pushed his way further down the tunnel. The claustrophobia was unbearable. He could not spread his wings and the walls felt like they were closing in on him. Realising his fear, Hope muttered calming words, which helped. The tunnel disappeared into darkness, deep, impenetrable. Sable could feel his pulse racing as the fear rose in him, threatening to overflow. Hope dropped back, giving him space.

"Not far now," she whispered. Not that she had any idea, but it still worked on Sable's nerves. He breathed deep and continued. The walls grew slick with moisture and the tunnel slowly headed downwards. The air smelt of water - and something else. Suddenly the ceiling rose and luminous fungi lit the passage. It disappeared directly into a pool of water. The roof above was studded with stalactites, or was it stalacmites? Lime water dripped off them to splash in the waters.

Sable turned quizzically to Hope. "Was the castle like this for you?"

She shook her head, tangled hair flying. "No, it differs for every querant."

"Well,' sighed Sable, "I guess it's flying time." He unfurled his wings, only to find that the walls were too close for it.

"Perhaps we should swim?" Hope asked, "although I don't know how safe the water is."

Bending now, the pale elf sniffed the water. It smelt a little strange but he quickly forgot why. He dipped one finger tentatively into the water. The tip went numb.

"Why, you only have four fingers!" Hope exclaimed, noticing for the first time.

"How very kind of you to tell me," Sable muttered sarcastically, a little worried about his finger. "Although I can only feel three on this hand." He held up the damp hand for her to see.

"No burning or turning black?"

"Not in the least."

"It isn't poison or acid them," she muttered, more to herself. "Maybe something else then."

The feeling gradually returned to Sable's finger. He glanced at the stactites. "Well, if it is better not to swim, I might try something else."

Leaping into the air, he seized a stalactite in each hand. The rock was slick with moisture, but there were circlets about it to stop his hand sliding off. His balance was precarious, but desperate means... Slowly he moved one hand to grip another stalactite, squealing a little as one hand slipped down the rock. Hope stood on the far side, unable to fly for the same reason as he, and unable to climb for lack of hands. Unfortunately for Sable, the stalactites grew further apart the nearer the far shore he got. Soon he was having to swing his body so as to reach the next one. He slipped and one foot splashed in the water, showering him with wet.

Something strange happened then, for Sable suddenly forgot what he was doing. Why was he hanging above a pond? Who was that creature he could barely see on the far bank? Who was he? The only thought that remained in his head was that he could not remain hanging here forever, he had to get across. And since he could not recall if the creature on the far bank was friend or foe, it ws safer to head for the nearest bank. His hands were cold and somewhat reddened from the rough rock. His arms ached in muscles he did not use for flying. But he was on firm ground and there was nothing before him but a door.

He was about to open it when a voice called from the other side: "Sable, don't forget me!"

At that, memories flooded back. But how was Hope to cross? She could neither climb nor fly, and swimming was not advisable. He scanned the room. There was a shelf built into the wall. On it was a blue glass bottle, a piece of wood and a small whistle. Interesting. Sable picked up the bottle, uncorking it. From it oozed a fragrant, almost fruity odour. Holding that in one hand, he picked up the piece of wood. The fragrance immediately changed, becoming a bitter odour that made his eyes water. He quickly recorked the bottle and replaced it on the shelf, choking in the stench. The wood appeared normal, a dull brown with a lighter tinge. He felt heavier somehow. Still holding it, he picked up the whistle and blew it. A tuneless cacophany of notes erupted from it. The inkling of an idea began to form. Sable returned the wood to the shelf, and blew the whistle again. This time it emitted a beautiful melody. The wood changed things. And it could change the water from making you forget to making you remember.

"What are you doing?" Hope was becoming quite shrill, sounding almost obnoxious.

"Trying to get you across," Sable replied, and threw the wood into the water. It splashed, floating roughly near the centre. He dipped his finger in experimentally. It literally tingled with thereness. "You can cross now!" He yelled. Sending was so much more convenient. Hope tentatively waded into the water, letting out a confused squeal.

"Oh no," she whispered, "no, no, no."

Sable waded out to meet her. Memories did not frighten him, for Solitude-lust made him remember everything. He was still shocked at the touch of the water though - remembering the misery he had suffered at Torturer's hands, the alienation from his own flock when he lost the ability to Send, the death of his first child. All of it assaulted him and he hated to think how Hope must feel. She was whimpering, tears streaming down her cheeks as Sable took her wing and guided her to land. She fell sobbing in his arms. He squeezed her a little uncomfortably. Despite his years of life, he was still unsure where females were concerned.

"It was terrible," she whimpered, "my family loathed me - trying to hide their disappointment of my sex. And in Harpy-school I could never get the hang of swearing and the other children mocked me. My only friend was Gloha and she was different too because she was half-goblin. And then she left to find her perfect man and I was all alone."

This was perhaps the first evidence Sable had of how young she was. About the same age as his daughter, Seaswallow. She was 52 turns old, but perhaps they aged faster here, like the humans. The swearing bit confused him, but he dismissed it as a cultural thing. "There, there," he muttered somewhat distantly - in the manner of someone who did not know exactly what he was supposed to do.

Hope shook herself, seeming to shake of the depression. "It was probably a good thing you found the reverse wood," she said, "for otherwise I would no longer remember you."

He grinned. "Would that be such a bad thing?" He asked mischeviously.

"Oh yes," she said. "You're my reason for living."

That took his aback nicely. "What?!"

"That was my question," Hope explained, "how can I find a reason to live. The Good Magician sent me to the Gold Coast, where I met you. Hence you must be my reason for living."

Sable had thought she meant something else for a moment there. He did not know whether to feel relief or sadness.

"Anyway, onward?" Sable queried, throwing open the door.

And reeling back in shock at what lay beyond it. For the world was filled with a crowd of humans. They were seated, facing away from him and seemingly watching a stage. Suddenly one of them stopped before him. It was male and towered before him, looming like a demon. Sable tried to flee, fighting the fear and rage that welled in him, but the door had vanished. Hope looked as nervous as he did.

"Greetings, honoured guest," the human boomed, bowing formally. He was clad in a formal jacket with tails and black trousers. His skin was dark and his eyes glinted with humour. "Welcome to the third challenge."

He had said nothing offensive and made no menacing moves whatsoever, but Sable could no longer fight the hated reek. These were humans, his worst enemies and they all deserved to die. He sprang at the dark-skinned man, reaching for his throat.

Immediately he was seized by two other men, huge men were muscles like wrought iron and grins like snapjaws. He struggled, kicking, as they seized his wing-arms and hauled him away. Hope cursed at him.

"You stupid Windwalker," she shrilled, "how dare you attack that friendly man!"

Sable felt the guilt, but he could not control his hatred. The humans put him in a special chair, clawed hands grasped his wrists and ankles, another one fastened about his throat - firmly but not tightly.

The dark-skinned man knelt before him. "My name is Sherlock," he said, "pray, tell me why you hate our kind so much."

Sable sighed, inhaling deeply, ready to spit in Sherlock's face. Then he saw Hope and she looked frightened - disappointed and frightened. He could remember her saying "you're my reason to live," and strengthened his resolve. He breathed deeply and began his story. The story of how Torturer had caught him, killed the current Scrag and tied Sable up in a shed, keeping him captive for five years. How he had severed the tip of one of Sable's pointed ears, wearing the tip like a pendant and destroyed his soul. Sherlock watched, listening intently, occasionally nodding, but never laughing, never showing any glare at Sable's discomfit. Hope listened too, her dark eyes wide with alarm.

"Truly a tragic tale," Sherlock said when Sable was finished. "But you must realise, not all humans are like your Torturer. Many are decent beings. Remember the girl?"

Sable smiled at the memory of the child that had visited him in his torment, keeping him sane that little bit longer. She had brought him a biscuit. He nodded mutely, his throat sore from the strain of talking. At a nod from Sherlock one of the guards fetched him a glass of water, helping him to drink it.

"She brought you food and kept you company," Hope spoke up. "She was as human as Torturer, but much more humane."

The elf had to agree with that.

"I believe my Curse Friends have a performance for you," Sherlock stated. "Usually the Good Magician does not go into so much trouble for querants, but you are a special case, being from another world. I must confess," he grinned, "we have all benn curious to see the winged elf from the World of Two Moons."

Suddenly Sable was pushed, chair and all, to a position in front of the stage. As he watched, the humans seated behind him fell silent and the curtains parted.

On the stage lay a bird-woman, not a harpy but an actual armed woman. She was smaller than a human, indeed, slightly smaller than Sable. She appeared wounded. Her skin was dark, darker than that of Sable's nearly forgotten sister Aurora. A human wearing a tophat, a black and white suit and a garish peacock tie, walked onto the centre stage.

"Greetings ladies and gentlemen, harpy and Windwalker, welcome to our small stage in the castle of the Good Magician."

He bowed formally, and then resumed speaking, "Gloria the winged goblin had barely escaped from the clutches of the rogue dragon with her life. Now she lay alone in the darkness of the great forest, waiting for some landbound monster to come and eat her up, for she was surely a delicious morsal and so weakened from her wounds that she could barely move, let alone fly." His voice was strong, with the power to extend to the back of the audience. He stepped aside.

"Oh alas," the winged girl cried, sounding pained. "I am so sore and sick that I shall surely perish out here alone." She dragged herself into a sitting position using a fake tree as a support. She gasped in pain.

The stage darkened, hiding her from the audience's eyes. A creature, also winged but obviously a human in a costume, flapped across the stage. It appeared to be some sort of horned, winged lizard.

"Where be that delectable little damsel," the creature, and Sable suspected it was a dragon, hissed. "I can smell her tasty flesh."

The dragon flapped off and a human, clad in a shirt with voluptuous sleeves and tight pants, wandered across the stage from the other side. He was slashing about with a sword. "Oh darn," he muttered to himself (although it was loud enough to carry), "where oh where is the path, I have lost my way in this dark forest." He paused. "What is that I hear? The morbid moans of a mourning maiden?"

Sable gasped. The poor winged woman! She was doomed to death by a dragon or worse-than-death at the hands of the human. Sable knew what male humans did to female creatures of humanoid type - and the poor winged goblin was all but defenceless.

The dragon landed before her, licking its chops with a huge, realistic forked tongue.

"Hello delicious," it hissed.

The goblin girl shuddered, but was too weak to escape. "You are a winged monster," she whispered pathetically, "as am I, yet you break the covenant."

Although he did not really understand what she was talking about, Sable barely supressed a shudder. The poor female, if only someone could help her.

"Stop foul fiend," the human bellowed, waving his wooden sword in a threatening manner.

The dragon turned, drool dripping from its jowls in a manner so realistic Sable wondered if it were real. "Oh, another delectable morsal," the monster hissed. "This is my lucky day."

"I think not," the warrior replied.

Suddenly the two creatures attacked one another.

"Run!" Sable hissed, caught up in the play, but alas, the lady did not. She just tried to move, but fell with a groan of pain.

The fight continued, but Sable paid it little heed. It made no difference who won,the poor girl was still doomed. At least the dragon would finish her off quickly. Even if the slew one another, she would still die, from her injuries and exposure. He felt sorry for her, watching her doom unfold before her.

The human struck a mighty blow and the dragon lurched. Blood gushed from its chest. The human was also obviously wounded, but he staggered up to the winged girl and bowed to her. She shrieked in joy (Sable wondered why, when there was something worse than death about ot occur) and threw her arms around the human's waist, which was about as high as she could reach.

"You saved me from the drake," she said jubilantly.

"Yes milady, and now I shall escort you from this dark, dank forest."

"I thank you sir, and if there is anything I could do in return..." She left the question hanging, but somehow the connotations were obvious, Sable was astounded. She was actually offering herself to this foul beast! He waited for the human to accept her offer, but he did not.

The human shook his head. "No milady, just knowing that I have helped such a beautiful thing is reward enough." Sable gagged.

So he proceeded to escort her from the forest. It did not take long for them to find the path. She was limping and wounded, and so was he, so they leaned on each other and eventually made their way out. He neither enslaved or raped her and somehow, and Sable was not quite sure how, but this was just a story after all, they fell in love. Now that made Sable feel rather ill. Love, with a human?! The play continued for a while, with all sorts of events happening, but the elf was no longer paying attention. The play had made its point - not all humans were quite like Torturer. The madness was too deep seeded in Sable to be displaced easily, but he came up with a compromise. Humans on this world did not seem to be the same as those of Two Moons. They did not destroy what they could not understand. Which was probably good, because it appeared that to understand Xanth, one would have to be quite insane.

The play concluded with a marriage ceremony and the actors vanished backstage, bar the goblin girl. She glided from the stage and embraced Hope.

"Gloha!" Hope shrilled as the girl came to meet her. "What are you doing here without your man?"

Gloha grinned. She was attractive, and petite. "I came to visit Wira and the Gorgon asked if I could help with the Curse Friends play. It sounded like fun, so I agreed to help. I'm letting Graeboe have some time to do whatever it is that men like to do when their wives are absent. Haven't you finished your service? What are you doing here?"

"Trying to find my reason for living," Hope replied, sounding surprisingly cheerful for her. "I missed you at Harpy school."

"Sorry, but I never really fitted in there well, and now we are working on creating our own species. That's what happens when you're unique."

Hope shrugged. "At least you have an excuse for not fitting in, I'm just a hopeless harpy."

Meanwhile, the men freed Sable from his chair and directed him to the door. The desire to kill them had disipiated. These people were not the humans he knew and loathed.

The door opened into a hallway, in which hung a bell. One of the humans - they all looked alike to Sable, rang it and a small, delicate young woman came along the hallway. She curtseyed to him.

"Greetings Sable Windwalker," she smiled, not quite looking at him. It was disconcerting until Sable realised she was blind. This surprised him more than anything else, blindness was a massive flaw for any species, and very few blind elves would survive to this age. Even Snow, a chickhood friend of Sable's father, had not lived long, and he had some vision, had been claimed by his myopia.

"Hello," he said. "I have come to ask a question of the Good Magician Humphrey." The name seemed so silly that Sable wondered if he were any good. But who was he to judge?

"Of course," Wira stated. "Please follow me." She walked with such confidence that it was hard to observe her flaw. After climbing steps, steps and more steps, some of which were very dark, eventually they terminated at a sturdy oaken door. As Wira opened it, he heard a gruff voice.

"Oh, you finally made it I see, about time."

Sable walked into a crowded room - books, glass containers of bubbling liquids, cases with animal parts and all manner of all paraphenalia littered every available surface. He noticed Wira stayed near the door, surely she could not navigate this junkheap! In the midst of it all, a small, ancient, wrinkled man sat at a desk before a huge book. Technically, he was human, but so gnome-like that it did not set off Sable's phobia.

"Well, what do you want? Haven't got all day."

Sable gulped, feeling almost threatened. But what was there to be afraid of? A little, old man? "I want to go home," he muttered. "To the World of Two Moons."

Humphrey sat bolt upright. "Ah, yes," he said, peering over some circular glass discs that were perched across his nose. "I see the resemblance to Jenny now, four fingers, one pointed ear. An elf I would surmise, but an elf with wings. I think she would be most interested in meeting you."

"Will that help me get home?"

The magician frowned. "I have some bad news for you I am afraid. You are not able to return there, it is quite impossible." He did not sound sorry in the slightest.

Sable was shocked, certainly he disliked certain things about Two Moons, but it was his home and this world was too bizarre for words. "But I am told you know the answer to everything," he muttered angrily.

"And this is your answer - you are stuck here. If it makes you feel better and gets you out of my castle sooner, I shall not charge you the year's service." He waved Sable away.

"But..." Sable began.

"Goodbye," Humphrey stated most pointedly.

"Best to leave," Wira added. "Before he gets too grumpy."

But it was too late, Sable had had enough of this man's arrogant manner. He had a low tolerance for obnoxious people. He had low tolerance of practically everyone. Sable sprang athletically onto the table, landing directly on the huge tome, and probably leaving dirty marks on it from his still-damp boots. With one hand he flicked the knife from his belt. Although he did not menace the magician, he did fondle the blade in a meaningful fashion. A look of acute fear crossed the magician's face as Sable's green eyes bore down on him, the madness shining in them like stars.

"What are you doing?" Despaired Wira, she knew something was wrong, but dared not intervene in this crowded room.

"Help me get home," Sable muttered through clenched teeth.

Humphrey was obviously waiting for the elf to bite him. "It is impossible!"

"There must be a way, if you can get in, you can get out!" He waved the knife about and slid the blade across his hand. He had a knife and he knew how to use it.

Eventually Humphrey hung his head. "There is a way."

"Tell me!"

"It might not work - and if it does not it could destroy you. Or," he paused for dramatic reasons, "it could destroy us all."

"Tell me!"

Much to Wira's horror, Humphrey did. Playing with portals was not fun for the inexperienced. Very, very dangerous in fact. If something went wrong there was no telling what might come through. She would have to talk to Hope. If anyone could dissuade Sable from killing them all, and persuade him that Xanth was not too bad, it was her. Perhaps Jenny could help. She had come from Two Moons many years ago and seemed to be happy here.

The magician rattled off a list of items and locations, scrawling them down on a scrap of paper. When he handed it to Sable the elf hastely folded it away in his belt pouch. It was not as if he could read it.

"You must get all of these items for the spell to work," the magician stated slowly and forcefully. "If you miss one, something could go absurdly wrong. If you get something that you think is the right one but isn't, something very wrong could occur. So take care. Now," and there was a tone of despair in his voice, "kindly leave and may the demon Xanth protect us all from your folly.

Sable was momentarily startled at Humphrey's tone. He wondered what exactly was going to happen if it did go wrong. But the Magician did not seem inclined to take questions kindly, so he bade him farewell and quickly left. Wira led him back to the hall, but she was very quiet and ignored any queries he made of her. What had he done to upset them? All he wanted to do was go home!

It was dark outside, but it seemed nobody was going to suggest he stay the night or offer him food, so he appeared to be on his own. Hunger gnawed at him once more so he set about catching something for supper. At least the roc and the land fish had gone. There seemed little life around the castle, but eventually he came across a meal sized lizard. It was drinking from the castle's moat, so Sable dived it from above. It was dead before it knew what had hit it. He dragged it away and skinned it almost blindly - it was too dark to really see clearly, but Sable had skinned so many kills he could do it with his eyes shut. As he ate the meat, which was somewhat salty and not nearly as tasty as the bird he had caught earlier, he thought about the events of the day. It had most certainly been a bizarre day, in a bizarre world, but Hope seemed friendly enough, if a little too depressive. The trials, the amount of humans and those constant cold chills he experienced were somewhat disconcerting though. He wished he were back home in the World of Two Moons where at least he understood most of the things and places and did not have to converse with grumpy humans. The humans here seemed to be an unusual lot though, for there behaviour was just different, they seemed kinder in some ways, but were probably just planning more subtle mischief. Sable finished off the lizard and clambered into a tree. Once he got into the branches a strange calmness enveloped him, a deep inner peace. Everything would be fine, he would be home soon. Purely by coincedence, he had chosen a senreni-tree to sleep in. Quickly the darkness of sleep consumed him and he sunk into a blissful slumber.