Piers Anthony - Vale of the Vole

Vale of the Vole

Xanth Book 10

By Piers Anthony

Itwasn't always easy, being the son of an ogre and a nymph. Sometimesthe ogre started smashing things just for the joy of it, or squeezingthe juice from stones one-handed, making an awful mess. Sometimes thenymph was rather empty-minded, or threw a tantrum. That was why Eskhad made this cosy hideout that no one else knew about. Wheneverthings became too difficult at home, he came here to relax andunwind. He loved his parents, but there was virtue in solitude too.

Hepaused to look about and listen carefully. He didn't want anycreature of Xanth, tame or wild, seeing him enter, because then thelocation would be no secret, and sooner or later his folks wouldlearn of it, and his privacy would be lost.

Hishideout was in the hollow trunk of a dead beerbarrel tree. He hadbeen lucky: he had been in the vicinity in the month of AwGhost, whenbarrel trees gave up the ghost if they were going to, and had seenthe spirit departing. "Aw, Ghost!" he had exclaimed in theclassic ogre manner, and that had enchanted the tree so that he couldtake over the husk without creating a local commotion. He had cut adoor in the fat trunk that sealed tightly so that it didn't show fromoutside, and made vents so that the steamy beer smell coulddissipate; his mother, Tandy, would never understand if he came homereeking of beer! Then he had set straw in the bottom, and brought inpillows from a nearby pillow bush, and carved decorative scenes inthe walls, and made it perfect. He was rather proud of himself; hisonly regret was that he could not afford to boast of hisaccomplishment, because of the necessity for secrecy.

Allseemed clear. He hooked his nails into the crevice and pulled thedoor open. It was a small door, with an irregular outline, so thatits contour was not obvious. He ducked down to step through, thendrew it carefully closed behind. He stepped across the floor anddropped onto his nest of pillows.

"Ouch!"

Eskjumped. "Who said that?" he demanded.

"Getyour fat mule off me!" The voice came from below.

Helooked but saw only pillows. "My fat what?"

"Yourfat donkey!" the voice snapped. "Pony, horse, jackass,whatever off!"

Eskfinally got a glimmer of the word that was being sought. He gotquickly off the pillows. "Where are you?"

Thepillow shifted outline. A mouth formed in its center. "Here, youoaf! What did you think you were doing, putting gross anatomy likethat in my face?"

"Well,I"

"Nevermind. Just don't do it again, moron."

"Butpillows are supposed to be"

"Oh?Did you ever ask the pillows' opinion about that?"

"Well,actually, no, but"

"Sothere, imbecile! Now get out and let me sleep."

Eskgot out. Then, as he wended his way home, he pondered. How had hebeen able to talk to a pillow? He knew of only one person who couldtalk to an object, and that was the King of Xanth, Dor. Since it wasgenerally understood that talents did not repeat, except in the caseof the curse fiends, that meant that it wouldn't be Esk's talent.Beside that, he already had a talent: that of protesting. Sometimeshis mother said he protested too much, but she did not deny it wasmagic. Since no one had two magic talents, that, too, eliminated thepossibility of talking to inanimate things.

Finallyhe worked it out. He was not the smartest person, being quarter ogre,but he never let go of a problem, being half human, and usually wasable to come to some kind of settlement, however crude. It wasn't hismagic, but the pillow's magic. He must have picked a special pillow,without realizing: one that was alive. All he needed to do was takeit back out to the pillow bush and exchange it for another, and hisproblem would be solved.

Reassured,he continued on toward home, having forgotten whatever problem hadbrought him to his hideout. As he neared it he smelled the deliciousodor of purple bouillon. That meant that his father, Smash, had goneinto his full ogre guise and foraged for the makings. Smash wasactually only half ogre, for Esk's grandparents on that side had beenCrunch Ogre and an actress from the curse fiends. But when Smash gotogreish, no one could tell him from a full ogre; he swelled uphorren-dously and burst out of his trousers. Tandy, however, being ofnymphly stock, preferred Smash as a man, so usually that was what heseemed to be.

Eskcould not voluntarily turn ogre, but when he got mad enough ordesperate enough he did develop some ogre strength. It never lastedlong, but of course it didn't need to; one strike by anogreishly-powered fist could pulverize the trunk of a rock mapletree. Similarly, he was normally inept at acting, but when he reallyhad to he could become temporarily proficient. That was his heritagefrom his curse fiend grandmother. Most of the time it was his humanheritage that dominated, since he was part human through both of hisparents. He was a pretty ordinary person, with gray eyes andnondescript brown hair. He often wished he were otherwise, but reallyhad no choice; he was obviously not destined for any sort ofgreatness.

Butthere was no use worrying about that; there was purple bouillon to beeaten!

Twodays later, being bored, Esk returned to his hideout. He entered andchecked the pillows. They all looked normal. "Which one of youis the live one?" he inquired, but had no answer.

Heshrugged. He picked up the whole mass of them and took them out tothe pillow bush, unceremoniously dumping them beside it. Then hepicked several new ones. He had to do this periodically anyway, sothey didn't get dirty and stale. He carried these to his tree andplopped them down inside.

Hehesitated, then eased himself down on them. Contrary to what theliving pillow had said, his posterior was not fat; in retrospect hewished he had corrected the pillow about that matter. But he alwaysthought up the smart responses way too late. That, again, was part ofhis heritage: neither ogres nor nymphs were known for their quicknessof wit.

Hewas hungry, so he brought out a pie he had picked some time ago. Itwas a humble pie, and they were always best when properly seasoned.This one was decked with sodden raisins, and had a crust that wasrock-like, while its main body seemed to be decomposing. It wasdefinitely ready for consumption.

Hebrought it to his mouth and took an ogreish bite. His teeth camedown, dug inand the pie erupted in his face. Raisins poppedout and flew at his eyes, and the crust writhed against his lips."Get your ugly cat out of here!" the pie exclaimed.

"Myugly what?" Esk asked, startled.

"Yourugly kitten, feline, grimalkin, tabby"

"Oh,you mean my ugly puss?" he inquired, catching on.

"Yourugly whatever," the pie agreed, forming a wide mouth. "Justwhat did you think you were doing, ogreface?"

"Ogreface?"Esk repeated, appreciating the compliment. Then he realized that thepie probably hadn't meant it that way. "I was trying to"

"Ohyou were, were you! Well, don't do it aga'n!"

"But"

"Younever asked the pie whether it wanted to be chewed on, did you?"

"Butit's humble pie! It's meant to be eaten!"

"Alikely story. Now get your dim-witted face out of here so I canrest."

"Listen,pieface, this is my hideout!" Esk said, developing a smidgeon ofheat. "I just tossed out an obnoxious pillow, and I'll do thesame with you! You sure aren't very humble!"

"Youjust try to toss this cookie, and you'll be sorry, bean-brain!"

Thatdid it. Esk carried the pie to the door, pushed the door open, andskated the disk out into the forest. Then he plumped down on his bedof pillows for a snooze.

Itwas a moderately cool day, and while true ogres loved cold weather,Esk didn't. He cast about until he found the tattered old blanket hehad salvaged for this purpose, and drew it over him.

Theblanket writhed and wrapped itself around his feet. Then it squeezedhis legs, and inched up his torso, constricting as it did.