"Don't be a fool," the Magician snapped, running after them. "Crombie refers to the centaur in the sky, not you. You are loudmouthed, not comet-mouthed."
"Um, of course," Chester agreed without complete enthusiasm. He made a visible effort to shake off the annoyance. "Charge!"
They charged for the steps.
"Are you fools crazy?" Grundy yelled. 'There's nothing up there for you!"
Chester glanced at him; Bink saw the change in the shape of the centaur's head outlined against the massed constellations. "I didn't hear Crombie squawk."
"He didn't squawk!" the golem yelled, "I'm speaking for myself this time. Don't go into the sky! It's madness!"
"It's fascinating," Humfrey said. "Firsthand study of animated constellations! There may never be a better opportunity."
"I have to teach that centaur a lesson," Chester said.
Bink's eyes had returned to Chameleon. His need for her became as big as the sky. He continued forward.
"It's the madness," Grundy cried, yanking at the feathers of Crombie's neck. "It doesn't affect me. I see only the facts, because I'm not real. This is hostile magic. Don't go!"
"You're probably right, twerp," Humfrey agreed. "But this offering is too compelling to be denied."
"So was the siren! Don't do it!" Grundy repeated. "Where is your quest, if you let the madness take you now?"
"What do you care?" Chester demanded. "You have no feelings." He put his forehooves on the first step. It was firm, anchored at every corner by a pinpoint star. The lines were like threads, and the panels between them like glass. A translucent staircase, not quite invisible, going up into the sky.
Bink knew it was magic, and not to be trusted. But Chameleon was up there, waiting for him, and he had to go. His talent would not permit it if it were not safe, after all.
"Well, I'm not going!" Grundy screamed. He jumped from the griffin's back, fell into the foliage of a flower-bug bush, and scared up a swarm of flowerbugs. In a moment he was lost in the night
"Good riddance," Chester muttered, mounting the steps. The surfaces bowed slightly under his weight, drawing the anchoring stars inward, but held. Crombie, impatient with this, spread his wings and flew around the centaur and came to rest higher on the stairway. Apparently the ascent was too steep for comfortable flying by a creature of this size, so he preferred to mount by foot. The Good Magician was third, and Bink last
In a line they ascended. The stairway spiraled, so that soon Crombie was climbing directly above Bink. It was an interesting effect, but Bink was more intrigued by the view below. As he climbed above the level of the trees, the nocturnal landscape of the Xanth wilderness opened out below, impressive because of its special nature. Bink had once been transformed into a bird, and once had ridden a magic carpet, and once had flown in human form; magic had given him quite a varied experience. But this slow ascent up through the levels of the forest, with firm footing beneath him-this was different from the various forms of flight, and in a certain respect unique. He was highly aware that he could fall; the steps had no railing to hold him in, no barrier at the fringes of the steps. This seemed to put him right into the situation in a way that flight did not. To be above the ground, yet tied to it
The night forest was beautiful. A number of trees glowed. Some reached bone-white tentacles up; others were balls of pastel hues. Some had giant flowers that resembled eyes, and these eyes seemed to be focusing on Bink. Other treetops formed into mazes of interlocking branches. As he watched, the whole forest assumed the shape of a single human face. DON'T GO it mouthed.
Bink paused, momentarily disgruntled. Was the wilderness really trying to speak to him? Whose interest did it represent? It could be jealous of his escape to the sky. Hungry for his body. Or just mischievous.
Crombie had balked at the tangle tree. Chester had been fortuitously deafened in time to save them from the siren's call. His talent had been operating then. Why was it quiescent now?
He looked upward. The enormous panorama of the sky awaited him-animals, monsters, and people. They were all frozen in place at the moment, awaiting the arrival of Bink's party. Up there lay adventure.
He resumed his climb. He had to hurry, because the others had continued moving, and were now several spirals ahead of him. He didn't want to be late for the action!
As he caught up to the Magician, who was lagging behind the stout four-legged entities, something buzzed in from the darkness to the side. It sounded like a very large insect, one of the exotic bugs. Not another gold bug, he hoped! He waved his arms, hoping to scare it off.
"Bink!" a small voice cried.
What now? He was getting winded from his rapid climb, and had to watch carefully to be sure he didn't make a misstep while absorbing the splendors of the immense canopy above and the broad disk below. He was in the very center of a phenomenal scene, and he wanted to experience every aspect of it with full intensity, and he didn't need any bugs distracting him. "Go away!"
The bug flew near. There was light associated with it. It was a flying fish, propelling itself by a jet of bubbles from its fuselage, so that its rigid wings could provide sufficient lift. The gills were air-intakes, and assorted little fins provided stability and spot maneuverability. Flying fish were swift, Bink knew; they had to be, or they dropped to the ground. This one carried a light on its back like a miniature lantern, and-
"Bink! It's Grundy!" And lo, it was indeed the golem, braced on the back of the fish, guiding it with little reins and a bit set in its mouth. Grundy's free hand held the lamp, which seemed to be a tiny star, captive in a little net "I caught this fish by luring it with fish-talk; now it understands and is helping. I have the spell-reversal wood along." He tapped his saddle with his rein-hand. It was the gnarly fragment that Bink had discarded.
"But how can the fish fly?" Bink demanded. 'How can you translate? The reversal-"
"It doesn't affect the fish because the fish has no talent; the fish is magical," Grundy explained with limited patience. "The wood only reverses exterior magic, not inherent magic."
That doesn't make much sense to me," Bink said.
The wood reversed birdbeak's talent, but did not change him back into a man," the golem continued. "It fouled up the gnome's information, but did not make him a regular man either. It didn't affect you, because-"
The golem was not aware of Bink's talent, but this remained a pertinent question: had Bink's talent conquered the wood-or been reversed by it? The answer could be a matter of life and death! "What about you?" Bink demanded. "You're still translating!"
"I'm not real," Grundy said shortly. "Take away my magic and I'm nothing but string and mud. The wood is just wood, to me."
"But the wood was affecting you before! You were speaking gibberish, until I got you away from it"
"Was I?" Grundy asked, startled. "I never realized. I guess translation is my talent, so " He faded out, considering. "I know! I'm not translating now. I'm speaking for myself!"
And there was the answer. "Well, keep that wood away from me," Bink said. "I don't trust it."
"No. I have to bring it close to you. Put your hand on it, Bink."
"I will not!" Bink exclaimed.
Grundy jerked the reins to one side, kicked the flanks of the fish, and leaned forward. The fish swerved, reared, and accelerated right at Bink. "Hey!" he protested as it grazed his hand.