“However,” the centaur said after a moment, “it might be possible to grow a plant that would distract them, even if it were dead. Especially if it were dead.”
“Cherry bombs won’t work,” Grundy said. “They don’t exist in Mundania. They wouldn’t explode outside the aisle.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Irene said defensively. “Once they are mature and ready to detonate, it seems to me they should be able to explode anywhere. I’d be willing to try them, certainly.”
“Possibly so,” the centaur said. “However, I was thinking of resurrection fern, whose impact would extend beyond the demise of the plant itself.”
“I do have some,” Irene said. “But I don’t see how it can stop soldiers.”
“Primitives tend to be superstitious,” the centaur explained. “Especially, I understand, Mundanes, who profess not to believe in ghosts.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Dor protested. “Only a fool would not believe in ghosts. Some of my best friends are-“
“I’m not certain all Mundanes are fools,” Amolde said in his cautious way. “But these particular ones may be. So if they encountered resurrection fern-?”
“It could be quite something, for people who didn’t know about it,” Irene agreed.
“And surely these Mundanes don’t,” Amolde said. “I admit it is a bit of a dastardly deed, but our situation is desperate.”
“Dastardly deed,” Dor said. “Are you sure that counterspell we used with the salve worked?”
The centaur smiled. “Certainly I’m sure! We do not have to do such a deed, but we certainly can if we choose to.”
Irene dug out the seed. “I can grow it, but you’ll have to coordinate it. The wrong suggestion can ruin it.”
“These primitives are bound to have suffered lost relatives,” the centaur said. “They will have repressed urgings. All we shall have to do is establish pseudo-identities.”
“I never talked with resurrection fern,” Grundy complained. “What’s so special about it? What’s this business about lost relatives?”
“Let’s find a place on a road,” Amolde said. “We want to intercept the Mundanes, but have easy travel to Ocna. They will pursue us when they penetrate the deception.”
“Right,” Irene agreed. “I’ll need time to get the fern established so it can include all of us.”
“Include us all in what?” the golem demanded.
“Resurrection fern has the peculiar property of-“ the centaur began.
“Near here!” Smash called, pointing. Ogres had excellent night vision.
Sure enough, they had found a path, a bit worn by the tread of peasants’ feet and horses’ hooves.
“Do you go to Ocna?” Dor asked the path.
“No. I merely show the way,” it answered.
“Which way is it?”
“That way,” the section of path to their west said. “But you’ll have trouble traveling there tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because there is something wrong with me. I feel numb, everywhere but here. Maybe there’s been a bad storm that washed me out.”
“Could the path be aware of itself beyond the region of magic?” Irene asked Dor.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think so-but then, it does know it goes to Ocna, so maybe it does have some awareness. I’m not used to dealing with things that straddle magic and nonmagic; I don’t know all the rules.”
“I believe it is reasonably safe to assume the path is animate only within the aisle,” Amolde said. “In any event, this is probably as good a place for our purpose as any. The soldiers are surely using this path, and will circle around here. It is better to meet them in a manner of our choosing than to risk an accidental encounter. Let us begin our preparations.”
“Right,” Irene said. “Now the fern will grow in the dark, but needs light to activate its magic. The soldiers will have torches, so it should be all right.”
“I have the sunstone,” Dor reminded her. “That can trigger the fern, If necessary. Or we could clear out some trees to let the moonlight in.”
“Good enough,” she agreed. She planted several seeds. “Grow.”
“But what does it do?” Grundy asked plaintively.
“Well, it relates to the psychology of the ignorant spectator,” Arnolde explained. “Anyone who comprehends its properties soon penetrates the illusion. That is why I feel it will be more effective against Mundanes than against citizens of Xanth. Thus we should be able to deceive them and nullify the pursuit without violence, a distinct advantage. All we have to do is respond appropriately to their overtures, keeping our own expectations out of it.”
“What expectations?” the golem demanded, frustrated.
Dor took a hand. “You see, resurrection fern makes figures seem like-‘
“Refrain!” Smash whispered thunderingly. “Mundane!” Ogres’ hearing was also excellent.
They waited by the growing fern. In a moment three Onesti soldiers came into view, their torches flashing between the trees, casting monstrous shadows. They were peering to either side, alert for their quarry.
Then the three spied the five. The soldiers halted, staring, just within the magic aisle. “Grandfather!” one exclaimed, aghast, staring at Smash.
The ogre knew what to do. He roared and made a threatening gesture with one hamfist. The soldier dropped his torch and fled in terror.
One of the remaining soldiers was looking at Irene. “You live!” he gasped. “The fever spared you after all!”
Irene shook her head sadly. “No, friend. I died.”
“But I see you!” the man cried, in an agony of doubtful hope. “I hear you! Now we can marry-“
“I am dead, love,” she said with mournful firmness. “I return only to warn you not to support the usurper.”
“But you never cared for politics,” the soldier said, bewildered. “You did not even like my profession-“
“I still don’t,” Irene said. “But at least you worked for Good King Omen. Death has given me pause for thought. Now you work for his betrayer. I will never respect you, even from the grave, if you work for the bad King who seeks to send Good King Omen to his grave.”
“I’ll renounce King Oary!” the soldier cried eagerly. “I don’t like him anyway. I thought Good Omen dead!”
“He lives,” Irene said. “He is in the dungeon at Castle Ocna.”
“I’ll tell everyone! Only return to me!”
“I cannot return, love,” she said. “I am resurrected only for this moment, only to tell you why I cannot rest in peace. I am dead; King Omen lives. Go help the living.” She moved back to hide behind the centaur, disappearing from the soldier’s view.
“Beautiful,” Amolde whispered.
“I feel unclean,” she muttered.
The third man focused on Grundy. “My baby son-returned from the Khazars!” he exclaimed. “I knew they could not hold you long!”
The golem had finally caught on to the nature of resurrection fern: it resurrected the memories of important figures in the viewers’ lives.
“Only my spirit escaped,” he said. “I had to warn you. The Khazars are coming! They will besiege Onesti, slay the men, rape the women, and carry the children away into bondage, as they did me. Warn the King! Fetch all troops into the castle! Barricade the access roads! Don’t let more families be ravaged. Don’t let my sacrifice be in vain! Fight to the last-“
Dor nudged the golem with his foot. “Don’t overdo it,” he murmured. “Mundanes are ignorant; they aren’t necessarily stupid.”
“Let’s move out,” Irene whispered. “This should hold them for a while.”
They moved out cautiously. The two soldiers remained by the fern, absorbed by their thoughts. Before
