Chapter 1: DragonChapter 1: Dragon

he boy made his way swiftly but carefully through the forest, stepping in patterns reminiscent of a game. He had a staff as tall as he was, that he used to push aside some ferns and fronds. Sometimes he braced on it for short pole vaults. It was as though there was a path that only he could see, and that it was vital that he follow it exactly, lest there be some terrible

consequence. At one point he stopped before a growth resembling a giant cycad and stood as if awaiting permission to proceed. When nothing happened, he stepped cautiously inside the embrace of its tentacular fronds, climbed onto the base of the trunk and worked his way around to its far side.

Then he got off, skirted the fronds, and resumed his travel.

Soon he wound down into a forested depression, an ancient sink hole with a deep pool in the center. But as he reached the water, he froze, his staff

held warily before him. There was a dragon across the path. He had never seen one up close before. He recognized it immediately because of the stories he had heard about these dangerous predators. The creature was long and flat, with sleekly overlapping blue scales, but some were blistered on the upper side. It massed several times what the boy did, but might be dead. No, there was a flicker of animation, a quiver.

T

8 Key to Havoc

After a moment, the boy spoke, keeping a reasonable distance. "Greeting."

There was no discernible response. But the boy tried again: "Dragon.

How were you named?"

There was a larger quiver. Then a patch of flesh at the edge of the upper side rippled and hunched and formed into a tiny tentacle. It waved, weakly.

The boy nodded. This was a signal of communication rather than combat, and could probably be trusted. He took one hand off the staff, lifted a forefinger and moved it in a series of signals. DRAGON HOW NAMED. It was the sign language that he had learned by trial and error with the smarter native species. He hoped the dragon understood.

The tentacle responded with a similar series. LACK NAME. DYING.

Then it sank back, as if tired.

The boy considered briefly. He was immensely gratified that his effort at communication had worked, but that solved only part of the problem.

Then he signaled again, speaking the words as he signaled them: "Dragon, how can I help you live?"

The tentacle lifted and wiggled. The boy spoke the words as he read the signs. He wasn't sure he had every part correct, but thought he had the essence. "No need to help an enemy creature live."

The boy was ready. He signed carefully, for he wanted to make no mistake. The signs did not have tenses or suppositions or other qualifiers, but the context would provide enough. He hoped. "I am enemy to no creature who is not enemy to me. But even if you are an enemy, do you practice honor?"

The tentacle moved with greater vigor. "Yes, with those who understand it. Do you?"

"I think I understand it, though I am young. It means to be honest and fair, even to an enemy."

"It means more than that, but that will do. Your understanding seems sufficient for this purpose."

Havoc controlled a surge of gladness. He had established communication, but the dragon had not promised to spare him harm. "Will you exchange an oath of friendship?"

The tentacle quivered with surprise. "This is complicated."

The boy nodded again. "I know," he signaled. "But I can help you only if I know how, and if we trust each other. You must know that I will not betray you to my people, and I must know that you will not kill me. We are of Piers Anthony 9

enemy species; you are hurt and I am a child. I think only an oath of friendship, given with honor, can provide such mutual assurance. Give me a temporary name for you, and I will give you mine, so we can make the oath. Then tell me what to do to help you survive."

The tentacle waved weakly. "This is a significant commitment. If you enable me to live, I must enable you to live. But you may not like the manner of it. You might better let me die."

"How are you named, for now?" the boy repeated.

The tentacle shrugged. "My name is Mentor, for now. How are you named, for now?"

"My name is Havoc, for now. I offer the oath of friendship." He advanced and slowly extended his finger toward the tentacle.

The tentacle waved. "Oath accepted."

Then the boy's finger touched the tentacle. The tentacle curled around it, for a moment, then let go. In that moment a partial rapport of minds was established, confirming the significance of the oath.

"Say my name," the boy said. This would eliminate the qualifier he had used, making recognition formal.

"Say mine."

"Mentor," the boy said, naming the dragon.

"Havoc." The oath had been completed.

The tentacle waved again, but more weakly. "First, Havoc, water on my burn."

Havoc stepped carefully around the dragon, feeling his footing with the staff, and made his way to the pool. He didn't know exactly how dragons killed people, but was sure this one could have done it if he chose. There was a hollow gourd shell beside the water that he normally used as a cup for drinking. He dipped it full, then poured it over Mentor's back.

The dragon shuddered, but the tentacle waved with increased vigor.

"More."

Havoc poured several more dippers of water, cooling and quenching the length of the dragon. Then he signaled again with his finger. "What next?"

"Cycad seed, powdered."

Havoc paused. Those seeds were deadly to human beings unless carefully processed. But Mentor was not human, and surely knew what he needed.

Yet there was another complication. "I must have help to harvest that."

The tentacle nodded. "I release you from the obligation. I will die."

Havoc waved his finger. "No. I made the oath so I could help you live.

May I bring a trusted friend to help?"

10 Key to Havoc

"Will that friend make the oath of friendship?"

"She will if I ask her."

"Will you ask her?"

Havoc realized that his statement had not been tight. "Yes."

"Bring her."

Havoc started to circle the dragon, then paused again. "Can you survive an hour?"

"A day, if not attacked."

"I will return with her within an hour."

He started moving again, but thought of one more thing. "It would help me to know," he signed. "What gender and age are you?"

"Male. Mature adult."

"Thank you. I too am male. My friend is female, also a child." Then he reconsidered. "Almost a woman."

"Borderline juvenile," Mentor signaled, getting it straight. "Sometimes they understand better than do adults."

Havoc thought of the attitudes of the village adults. "Yes. Sometimes."

Havoc moved back along his unmarked path, hurrying but not skipping any part of his dance-like ritual. He vaulted exactly where he had before, and pushed the same fronds clear. He paused again at the cycad, eyeing its huge cone, but did not speak to it. Then he went on, and soon reached the human village. This consisted of about twenty stone and packed-earth houses, with thatched roofs. They faced onto the street, and behind each was a fenced garden. The fences were stout, with sharply pointed posts and competent gates.

There were classes in progress in the center building, as young men and women practiced martial arts, dancing, decorative weaving, and other useful adult pursuits. Havoc ignored this and went on to a particular house. He went to the side and made a birdlike whistle.

In a moment the window opened and a face appeared. It was a rather pretty girl whose light brown colored hair and dark brown eyes matched Havoc's own in reverse: his hair was dark and his eyes light. Both had brown-ish white skin. She might have been his sister, but wasn't; all the villagers were

similarly bland, compared to the bright colors of neighboring animals and plants, though the shades of their hair, eyes, and skin varied somewhat. "What do you want, stranger?" she asked, smiling.

"Come play," he said.

Her lips pursed. "Sex play?" She eyed his staff as if it were an instrument of such play.

Piers Anthony 11

Havoc did not smile at the humor. "Not exactly. But secret."

She considered, then decided. She liked secrets. "All right. If it's interesting."

"Yes." If only she knew! But he couldn't say anything about the dragon, here where he might be overheard.

"Say my name."

"Say mine."

"Havoc."

"Gale."

"Meet you at the far edge."

He nodded, and moved on. At the end of the village, where the road led away toward distant mysterious civilization, he turned, and walked in bored fashion back the way he had come. Few paid attention to a bored child. They knew that soon enough he would enter the adult realm, and have no further time for the luxury of boredom.

Gale was there at the commencement of the path. She had made her way without being noticed, as she could when she wanted to. She wore a light gray shirt untucked over a dark gray skirt, her legs bare below the knees, without shoes. They were nice legs; in fact she had always been pretty, but now was on the verge of beautiful. She had a short, slender staff of her own, and a small but very sharp knife in an underarm sheath. She stood as if expecting to be fondled. He knew why: someone was watching from a window. They would have to put on a small show.

"Who are you?" he asked.

She put on a brilliant smile. "I'm a Glamor, and I will fascinate you into utter helplessness."

The Glamors were special magicians, mythical entities of enormous powers, who were said to be able to compel instant and total love. It was supposed to be dangerous to speak of them, lest they be summoned. That made it especially tempting for children. "I'm helpless," he agreed.

"You don't show it."

So he approached her, embraced her, and kissed her, then took her by the hand and urged her down the path. She came along, holding back somewhat as if just a trifle diffident. Whoever was watching would be satisfied that the two would get out of sight, then play a childish game of Tickle and Peek.

That was one of several special boy/girl diversions all human beings knew. The boy typically wore a loose shirt and shorts, and the girl wore a knee-length skirt and untucked sleeveless blouse, without underclothing. If 12 Key to Havoc

players were not properly attired, they had to change before they could play, or remove enough clothing to qualify. The subject would lie on the ground, legs together, arms by the sides, facing up. Generally the boy tickled the girl,

in certain prescribed places, and was entitled to Peek at anything she showed or moved while reacting. If she waved her arms, he could see in through the armholes; if she kicked up her legs, he could see inside her thighs. If she curled up or turned over, he had new avenues of vision, and she had to hold the position for a count of ten while he looked. If a girl liked a boy, she could

be extremely ticklish. Thereafter the girl tickled the boy, and he could laugh but not move, no matter where she touched him. She could reach inside his clothing and touch his body anywhere he had Peeked at hers, such as under the arms or between the legs. She would inquire, step by step: "Did you Peek here?" and he would answer "Yes." Then she would tickle him mercilessly for a count of ten seconds. If he said no, she had to stop. Sometimes a girl arranged to let more be Peeked than was strictly necessary, for that reason, and sometimes the boy did not protest if she went beyond anything he had actually seen. Her object was to make him move out of turn, or force him into an embarrassing reaction. It was a mutual license, and they soon became conversant with each other's private anatomy: he by sight, she by touch. Children who were not interested in each other did not agree to play the game, unless dared by others who wanted to watch. Sometimes older children would make a demonstration for younger ones, so they would know exactly how it was done. As a general rule, players had to be of about the same age, so demonstration games were a way to allow a broader range of ages. There could be currents that no one spoke of.

There were variants that got more serious, and the older children enjoyed these, because anything within the rules of the game of T&P was deemed to be technically consensual. That meant that someone might get caught by circumstance and have to show or touch more than was desired, but have no honorable way out of it, so would submit without crying foul. Sometimes the object was to push a game farther than the other would go, winning status for nerve. Girls could be just as nervy as boys, when they chose to be. That in turn gave them a cover for what might otherwise have been considered commitment, and they could pretend that it wasn't really voluntary. The correct balance of desire and deniability was essential, as touches were made by both parties, and with other than the fingers. The distinction between Tickle & Peek or Touch & Touch and full sex play became increasingly indistinct as children grew toward adult status. Adults pretended not to know that. It was all part of the natural order of growing up. No adult ever played the game Piers Anthony 13

with a child, on pain of banishment, because once the nominal threshold of innocence was crossed, it could never be uncrossed. This was one thing children had to explore by themselves.

When boys became men and girls became women, and showed it by their bodies and manner, they were expected to marry and procreate, not wasting time. The world of Charm was always in need of more people, and most families were large. The standard minimum was four surviving children, and no person was exempt from having such a family. This meant that men were fully occupied providing for their families, and women had little time for relaxation. Most children, observing that, were not in a great hurry to commit to adulthood. But the games were fun, and when a girl got pregnant, her days of dalliance were over, even if she was well below the mandatory marriage age of 18. She had to marry either the man who impregnated her, or another, and thereafter be true to him and bear his remaining children,

with certain careful exceptions. Marriages were for the term required to raise four children, and few adults were allowed to remain unmarried even after finishing with the children. Surplus males or females had to leave the village,

to return only if married. When one member of a couple of childbearing age died, the other had a month to a year to remarry or face expulsion. The children, however, would remain with the village. Childless couples were not allowed; they had to conceive or adopt, or be expelled after a reasonable interval. Even single-child families were frowned on, though tolerated for a time; then they had to adopt three more. So while childhood was for games, the approach of maturity was a time for caution, and the often free and many-partnered delights of youth became serious relationships. Some seemed to turn serious well before adulthood, and Havoc and Gale were such a case.

But they had never actually spoken of the future.

When the two got out of sight of the village, they dropped the pretense.

"What is it?" Gale inquired as she followed his dancing steps perfectly, and mimicked his use of the staff. He caught glimpses of her knees under the skirt, and found them intriguing, as always; she had nice knees, and they were getting nicer.

But his answer had nothing to do with knees. "Secret."

"Secret," she agreed.

"A blue dragon in the hole."

"Blue!" she exclaimed, impressed, for that was a color they seldom saw.

"How big?" They had on occasion seen small dragons of other colors, cute but still dangerous.

"Grown."

14 Key to Havoc

"A grown dragon? But it would eat us!"

"He's sick. Injured. As your spider was. We must help him."

"Help a dragon?" she asked, amazed.

"I made an oath of friendship."

"With a grown dragon?" She remained astonished. This whole business was hard for her to grasp, because it was so far out of their ordinary experience. Children were routinely warned never to approach a dragon, and any such creature that entered the village was killed.

"With a grown dragon," he repeated firmly. It might have seemed less remarkable with a baby dragon, because the very young of most species were friendlier and less dangerous.

She whistled. "I guess you know what you're doing. What am I here for?"

"It needs medicine, that I can't get alone. So you must make an oath too."

She paused, and not entirely because they were now before the cycad.

"Are you sure it's not just a trick, because he's too hungry for just one child?"

That made him pause. "I think he's not. He's pretty badly burned. I believe he made the oath in good faith. He even warned me not to help an enemy. I think he's honest, and that his oath counts. But I can't tell you I'm absolutely sure."

"But you do believe."

"I do believe." He never said that in jest.

She pondered briefly, then angled her head in the special way she had.

"I'll chance it."

He turned and kissed her for real. "Thank you, Gale."

"Well, I wouldn't do it if I didn't have a crush on you." She spoke lightly, but they were words she had never before said to him. Their relationship had started well and grown closer with time, but had remained within the bounds of juvenile friendship. This was like the game, wherein some things that were serious were phrased as otherwise, avoiding premature commitment. Probably the significance and danger of his discovery were evoking equivalently stronger emotions. Things somehow seemed more important when there was serious risk.

He pretended chagrin. "You mean I could have Peeked without Tickling? You'd have let me?"

She pretended outrage. "Of course not. Then I wouldn't have gotten my turn."

His feeling was intensifying. "You can have your turn anytime." That Piers Anthony 15

had always been true, and she knew it, but they had never confirmed it verbally.

They moved on around the cycad, but the dialogue would not let go.

"Because I'm helping you, or because you like me?"

"Both." He did not look at her. He had seen every part of her in the past, but this was a new level of commitment. He was beginning to understand the adult belief that attitudes could count more than actions.

"If we were two strangers meeting," she said, "I might say `Joy,' and maybe Àdoration.'"

"And I would say `Wonder' and maybèDesire.'"

She laughed. "Maybe it's a good thing we aren't strangers."

"Maybe it's good we aren't adult."

They continued dancing along the invisible path, and kept talking. "The adults say that children don't know what love is," Gale said. "You're thirteen.

I'm twelve. Do we know?"

"We don't have the adult bodies yet. Maybe that makes a difference."

She glanced down at herself. "I'll have breasts in one more year, I think.

Maybe sooner; they're starting. Will that help?"

"It will make a difference," he agreed. He was feeling the incipient changes in himself, in desire as well as body. "More to Peek at. But I think that's sex,

not love."

"If it doesn't make a difference--not one that counts--do we know about love?"

She wanted an answer, indirect, as in the manner of the game, so that it wouldn't be on record. That avoided embarrassment. She was his tacit oath friend. Was she more? "Yes, I think we know."

She was silent, but the matter was not finished. It had to be digested, as they followed the devious invisible path. When they came to a safe spot, he stopped and turned, holding his staff aside. She embraced him and kissed him. He had not thought of her in terms of love before, because it wasn't a concept he properly understood, but now that he addressed it, he did think it was love. He felt like a man inside, and she felt like a woman. They were still

friends, but this was larger. And immeasurably finer.

"Are we too young to marry?" she asked.

"I think so. The adults would laugh. But maybe we can pledge marriage, for when the time comes."

"I pledge," she said without hesitation.

He could not afford to hesitate either. "I pledge."

They kissed again. Thus suddenly, they were engaged. It might be sev-16 Key to Havoc

eral years before they could make it official, for bodies did not always develop

quickly, but the commitment was there.

"I have no ring for you," he said.

"It can wait. I couldn't wear it anyway, until we want to be open about it."

"When I get one, I will give it to you, and you can keep it until you can wear it."

"Yes."

"Can we play house meanwhile?"

"Yes."

"I mean sexually."

"I knew that. If you can do it, so can I."

And there was another commitment, for full, formal sex, to the extent they could manage it. Havoc was sure they could. He kissed her once more, and she met him with what felt like adult passion. They had already crossed the boundary of desire. When they had opportunity, they would explore its ramifications.

"Maybe I can get a wire," she said after a moment.

He laughed, then broke off, realizing that it wasn't a joke. A wire prevented early pregnancy. She had thought this through farther than he had.

They did not want to end their freedom of youth early. "Yes."

They moved on. Soon they came to the dragon. It lay blue and still, possibly dead. But as they stopped before it, the little tentacle formed and moved. "Wind," Havoc said, translating, for the girl was not as good at signs as he was.

The tentacle twitched. "Not thing. Name."

"He named me!" Gale said, surprised. "But how could he know? Did you tell?"

"No, that would be a violation. I just said a friend. A trusted female child-almost-woman friend."

"Thanks, male child-almost-man friend," she said wryly.

The tentacle moved with more vigor and detail. "The dragon can read our thoughts," Havoc said, amazed.

"Our minds!" she exclaimed. "Oh, no! Did he--?"

The tentacle moved. "Yes," Havoc translated. "Our thoughts were very strong. He knows we are pledged."

Gale blushed. "I never thought anyone would know. Until it is time."

The tentacle moved. "Make the oath," Havoc translated. "A friend will never tell."

Piers Anthony 17

"Oh. Yes." She stepped forward. "How do I oath him, if he can't hear?"

"Lift your finger. Let me guide it. I'll speak the words you sign, so you'll know."

"Yes." She lifted her right forefinger, and he took hold of her hand.

"How are you named, for now?" he spoke. Then, as the dragon answered, "My name is Mentor, for now. How are you named?"

"My name is Gale," she said, and he moved her finger accordingly, with a sharp sideways motion for the strong wind.

"I offer the Oath of Friendship."

"I accept."

Then Havoc guided her finger forward to touch the tentacle.

"Say my name," she said.

"Say mine," Havoc translated.

"Mentor."

"Gale," the tentacle signed.

She turned to Havoc. "I felt his mind! He means it."

"Yes." He was glad for her reassurance, for it vindicated his own belief.

The tentacle wiggled once more. "It does feel like love."

Gale blushed again. She was getting better at that.

It was done. They were oathed. Now they had to go to fetch the cycad seed. This was another type of challenge. For not only were such seeds toxic, the plant defended them. That was why it would take two to make the harvest.

"Mentor needs a cycad seed," Havoc said as they followed the route back.

"But they're poisonous!"

"Not to a dragon, it seems. He needs powdered seed."

"This won't be easy. Those plants are dangerous."

"That's why I brought you." Then, realizing how it sounded, he qualified it. "I mean, I knew I couldn't do it alone, and I had to have help from someone I trusted."

She put on a wry face. "And I thought it was love." But then she laughed.

"I hope you know how to do it."

"I can find out."

"You can find out! Who are you going to ask?"

"The cycad."

"Why should it tell you? It won't want to give up its seed."

"I hope to convince it that this is worthwhile, because Mentor needs it."

18 Key to Havoc

"Why should it care about a blue dragon?"

"I don't think it would care, but it might see the need. All the plants and animals have understandings with their neighbors, and with some others."

"Understandings? If we make one misstep, any of these plants we are passing will sting us or poison us or do something worse. None of them are our friends. Not really. They aren't Mentor's friends either, I think."

"We can walk where we do among the plants because we have learned their natures and come to terms with them," Havoc said. "They know us, so they don't attack us. As long as we follow the rules. If anyone else tried to use this path, if he even knew exactly where it was, they would sting him."

"I know. But letting us pass isn't the same as giving us their fruit."

"I think dragons and cycads have a deal," he said seriously. "They help each other when they have to. I bet a dragon could hurt a cycad, if it had a mind to, especially if it's immune to the poison. So maybe they do each other favors instead of fighting. Sort of a mutual assistance pact."

"Symbiosis."

"I guess. You know those terms better than I do."

"You know nature, I know words," she agreed. "So very well: maybe they cooperate. But will the cycad take your word that the dragon really needs the seed?"

"I think so, to a degree. I'll open my mind to it, so it can feel my oath with Mentor."

"Mentor--that means teacher. That's a funny name for a dragon."

"Well, we all have funny names, when you think about it. Maybe it taught somebody a lesson."

"Dragons have taught plenty of people lessons," she agreed ruefully.

"Like not to mess with dragons. You know, I never saw a blue one before."

Havoc nodded. The local dragons, glimpsed always fleetingly at a distance, were yellow, red, or green, not nearly as handsome. "He must be from far away."

"I hope we can help him live. I want to know his story."

"So do I."

They reached the cycad. "You will have to take the seed," Havoc said.

"While I reason with it." He was not being selfish; he related better to the natural creatures and plants of Charm, so had to be the one to do it.

Gale looked nervously at the huge plant. "I'd rather play Tickle with an ugly stranger."

"So would I! But I promised to help Mentor."

"Take my staff." She handed him her staff so that her hands could be Piers Anthony 19

free. He stretched his right hand so that he could hold the two together.

Both staffs were made of special red wood he had found, that was not only strong, but also struck any object much harder than the wielder could otherwise manage. It wasn't just leverage; it was possible to crack stone without swinging too hard. He had made both of them, after discovering the unusual property of the wood. The staffs were good aids for traveling, for that same extra power helped with the vaulting, but were formidable weapons too. It was a similar story with their knives; they were made from chips of hard green stone he had found, and could cut much more effectively than ordinary metal blades. He had fashioned these tools because there was no getting around the fact that the wilderness was dangerous. That was why most children did not go into it at all; too many had been lost in it. Havoc's mother had

finally given up cautioning him about that, as he had soon shown his competence with nature. She had said something about his being her special child.

He assumed she meant he was her natural child; his younger siblings were adopted. Gale was the only natural one in her family; that was another thing that had drawn them together, at first.

Gale stepped close to the cycad. Its central body towered higher than her head, and its large long leaves writhed, orienting. It was aware of her.

It

had allowed her to climb around its central trunk before, but this was different. She had a mission it wouldn't necessarily like.

Then Havoc addressed the plant. He did not raise his finger, because the cycad could not see, and he did not speak, because it could not hear.

Instead he thought the loudest possible thoughts at it.

O CYCAD! I AM HAVOC, HUMAN BOY. YOU KNOW ME FROM

MY DAILY VISITS HERE. YOU LET ME PASS WITHOUT HARM. I MUST FETCH YOUR SEED FOR MY OATH FRIEND THE DRAGON

MENTOR. READ MY MIND.

He made a mental scene of the injured dragon, and their contact.

The serpentine leaves writhed. Then, slowly, they relaxed. A way was open to the central stalk, with its huge raised seed.

Gale stepped cautiously in toward that seed, lifting her feet over the leaves on the ground.

MY FRIEND GALE IS FETCHING THE SEED. SHE MEANS YOU

NO HARM. YOU KNOW HER; SHE HAS PASSED BY YOU BEFORE.

PLEASE LET HER DO IT.

But the leaves writhed toward the girl. Havoc stepped in after her, intercepting them. Actually their motion was more apparent than real; it was more of a twisting in place, and erection of spines. But it was ample warning.

20 Key to Havoc

Gale froze in place, not trying to conceal her extreme nervousness. Havoc stepped in close behind her and put his arms protectively around her body. I LOVE GALE, he thought forcefully. I WILL HURT IF SHE HURTS.

PLEASE LET HER PASS. IT IS FOR MENTOR. He envisioned the blue dragon again, lying by the pool, suffering.

The leaves relaxed again. The plant was not smart in the way of people, but it understood this type of situation. Havoc felt its acceptance of the dragon's need. "It's all right," he murmured to Gale. "Take another step."

She did so, but the leaves quivered again. Havoc felt his own limbs quiver. His contact with the plant was mental, and it could make his body react. It could send his arms or legs flinging wildly out, to bash into the erect

spines and be poisoned. That was why he always paused when passing the cycad, because his best path was right beside it, within its influence, where no

other plants or creatures held sway. If it let him pass, no other thing would object. But of course it was much more likely to let him pass, than to let him take its seed. The quiver in his body was continued warning. It could do the same with Gale.

"Wait, Gale," he said. She stopped immediately, holding her body in the process of stepping over another leaf. If the cycad made her move her legs, she would get stung on the ankles. If she hit only one spine, there would be a sore that made her uncomfortably sick. If she hit two, she would be deathly ill. Three or more would kill her.

He tried again. O CYCAD! WE MUST HAVE THE SEED FOR THE

DRAGON. HERE IS MENTOR'S IMAGE. He summoned his mental picture, making it as realistic as possible. He showed the blistered upper surface, indicating the dragon's pain.

His body relaxed, and the spines folded back against the leaves. "Go on," he told Gale. "Use your knife to sever the stem." Then, without waiting, he resumed his focus on the cycad and the dragon. He realized that he could not afford to let up for an instant; he had to keep the plant constantly paci-fied. Because what they wanted of it was normally an offense requiring deadly response.

He closed his eyes, trusting Gale to tread carefully enough. He thought to the cycad, filling his image with the blue of the dragon. The color seemed to do as well as the image, so he thought nothing but blue. Every time his fingers quivered, he bore down harder. BLUE BLUE!

It seemed to continue forever. He knew that Gale was climbing the core, making her way toward the seed stem that sprouted from its top. At one point a lance of pain passed through his groin, and he feared he had stumbled Piers Anthony 21

against a spike. He hadn't; the pain was projected, not real. He overrode it with more blue.

Then Gale spoke. "I got it."

Havoc opened his eyes. She was standing before him, holding the huge seed in her arms. She had cut the stem; that was the pain he had felt. The cycad had let its genital be severed. It would grow another. But it was a considerable sacrifice.

THANK YOU, O CYCAD, he thought. YOU HAVE SAVED MENTOR. Then, to Gale: "Turn slowly and come toward me. We are not safe yet."

"I know." She turned, holding the seed, making only slow motions.

Even so, he felt the quiver, and saw the spines erecting. Gale paused.

BLUE! BLUE! BLUE! It was dangerous to relax even momentarily.

The quiver faded, and Gale resumed her motion. She completed her turn. Then she stepped toward him.

Stage by stage, they made it out of the cycad's embrace. Havoc thanked the plant, and promised to go immediately to the dragon. They turned to begin the dance down the path to the pool.

There was a sudden shaking of the ground as something came at them.

Havoc whirled. It was a green bear. The thing was not as tall as he was, but was far more massive, and its six muscular legs had awesome power. Its thick claws curled around its feet, when not sprung out to strike, and were resistant

to the hazards of small plants. Thus it was able to bound across the ground with minimal pain. As it was doing now.

Havoc had only a moment to assess the situation and take action. His survival reflexes took over. The bear wanted the cycad seed, which was wonderfully nutritious for those creatures whose digestion could handle it. It could not penetrate the cycad's defenses, but now saw an opportunity to drive off the children and take the morsel. They could not fight it. It seemed that they had either to give up the seed and flee, or become further food for the bear.

But they had one thing the bear did not: intelligence. The things of Charm were marvelous, but none matched the intellect of human beings. So they could usually be outsmarted. He had a flash notion how to trick the charging bear.

"Gale! Scream and fall beside the cycad. Keep screaming."

She screamed and fell, still holding the seed. She was very good at following directions, especially when in danger.

The bear oriented on the fallen child. It was naturally attracted to terri-22 Key to Havoc

fied prey, and attuned to it before all else. So it didn't look at Havoc at all.

He stepped quickly to a safe spot beyond the cycad, leaving the way open to Gale. He lifted the two staffs, assessing vectors. This had to be done just right. As the bear passed between him and the cycad, he drove forward with both staffs pointed at the creature. He lunged, putting all his power into

it.

The ends of the staffs struck the bear's middle shoulder. Their combined magnified force struck with such power as to shove the bear to the side.

Not far, but enough to cause it to brush the nearest cycad leaf.

The cycad was ready. Several spines drove into the bear's side. The bear howled in pain and turned automatically to face the attack. That was stupid.

It might have survived, had it bounded on out of the way, for it had a very tough hide and evidently could resist the cycad's effort to take over its limbs.

As it was, it lumbered into another leaf. More spines lanced into its head and neck.

"Get out, Gale!" Havoc called.

The girl scrambled up and moved away from the cycad. Then, perceiv-ing herself safe at last, she began to cry. Her screams had been done on order, but had had the authority of conviction; she had believed she was going to die.

He went to her and put his arm around her shoulders, comforting her.

Together they stood and watched the destruction of the bear. Crazed by the poison, it was lashing wildly out at anything near--and each lash fetched in another spine. The cumulative effect was overwhelming. Soon the bear's screams sounded much like Gale's of a moment before. Then it sank down amidst the leaves and died. Its body would become food for the cycad, as it rotted and disintegrated and became rich soil.

Gale recovered rapidly, as she usually did. "Once again, you have saved me and wreaked havoc."

"I had to. I couldn't afford to let the only fiancée I ever got get blown away. Not before I got to Peek at her grown body."

She laughed, but it was as much relief as humor. She trusted him, but knew that he could not save her from every threat.

Havoc addressed the plant. O CYCAD, I PUSHED THE BEAR INTO

YOU. IT WAS GOING TO EAT THE SEED.

The wildly quivering leaves relaxed. Perhaps the plant understood. Certainly it knew that the menace was over and the seed was secure for its purpose. Havoc had acted to save Gale, but also to save the seed, so this was a fair collaboration. The plant had agreed to relinquish its seed, but it was Piers Anthony 23

better to give it something in return. The body of the bear.

Satisfied, they turned to go along the path. Havoc took the seed and gave Gale the two staffs. He led the way, stepping and jumping from point to point, able to do it without his staff, though it was a challenge. The menaces of the small plants were not in the same class with the cycad, but there were many more of them. Missteps would get his feet stung, blistered, burned, stabbed, shocked, poisoned, or greased to become suddenly so slippery that he would be unable to stand, and would take a devastating fall amidst a combination of attacks. But he did not misstep. He had spent his life studying every plant of this route, locating those whose threats were mere bluffs, and making peace with others. Some had been in need of nourishment, and he had brought them handfuls of rich soil cadged from elsewhere. Some had been thrilled to have his chemically rich urine. Some he had intimidated, bringing a burning brand near, making clear that if they did not let him pass, he would singe them horribly. Thus at every step he had prepared his way, and could travel freely as long as he maintained relations. When new plants took root in his way, he addressed them, and either tamed them or destroyed them. It was not necessarily a nice business, but neither was survival. Every so often he rewarded those that maintained the truce, to refresh their awareness of him. He tried to make the trip to the pond at least every other day, because some plants did not have long memories.

No one else could use his trail, except Gale, to whom he had both taught it, and introduced the plants along it. She knew which ones craved special mineral dirt, and which loved urine, and they tolerated her as a non-stranger.

But a real stranger not only would not know where the path was, he would not be able to use it anyway. The plants would not recognize him. The other boys of the village had discovered that early, the hard way, when they tried to

gang up on Havoc and pursue him into the forest. They had thought they could imitate his dance stepping and be safe, but that worked for only three of four plants. Now they never chased Havoc, or Gale.

The two of them made it to the pool, with their special burden. The dragon was there, unchanged. The sight of Mentor made Havoc realize that perhaps he had last met a creature as smart as a person. But he wasn't sure; it

would take time to verify. As a general rule, dragons didn't need intelligence,

because they were so powerful in other ways. This injured dragon was no example of the powers of a well one, which was perhaps just as well. Havoc was not at all sure he could have escaped, had Mentor been healthy and hungry.

The nose tentacle formed and twitched. "I lack your intelligence, but 24 Key to Havoc

have a great deal of memory," Havoc read aloud. Hearing himself, he realized that Mentor had read his mind again. He wasn't used to that, as most of his experience with mind contact had been with plants, which didn't have the same kind of awareness. "But I would not have pursued you, for I am beyond my Chroma, and my magic lacks force."

The children paused, confused.

The tentacle twitched again. "Disregard my last statement, for the present; I see that I spoke nonsense in your terms."

Havoc set down the seed and signaled with his finger. "We brought the cycad seed. How can we powder it?"

"Pound it on a stone. Do not breathe the dust of it." Because that would poison them.

They got to work, clearing a large passive stone--not all stones were tolerant--and fetching a smaller one for the pounding. They braced the seed carefully, and worked together to bring the pounder down on top of the seed.

After several strikes of increasing force, the seed cracked, then fragmented.

The fragments were easier to pound, and some of them did smash into powder. They averted their faces, avoiding the brief clouds of dust. Fortunately the debris settled rapidly.

Following Mentor's directions, they took handfuls of the powder and sprinkled it on his blistered upper surface. Almost immediately the dragon relaxed, and Havoc realized that he had been in severe pain, which was now was easing. This was good medicine, despite being toxic if eaten or breathed by human beings.

"Wash yourselves," Mentor warned them. "This substance is not good for you, even on your skin."

They were glad to oblige. They went to the edge of the pool, in the one place it was safe for them, stripped off their clothing, and squatted or kneeled

in the water. They scooped handfuls of water at each other, laughing as if it were a game. Indeed, in past times they had played such a game, tickling with water instead of fingers.

Gale's breasts were just beginning to bud. She caught him Peeking and spread her arms wide to let him see. Then she lifted her knees from the water and spread them to show her clean crevice. This time he blushed. He could have Asked and she would have Shown, but Peeking without Asking was a misdemeanor. At any rate, it did seem likely that she would be a woman within a year or so. He was not sure he would be a man in that time, though his fascination with her body suggested that he was farther toward it than his body showed. Curiosity was indeed becoming desire.

Piers Anthony 25

They rinsed out their clothing and hung it out in the sun to dry. This was summer, the warmest of the five seasons. Vivid, the bright sun, was larger at this time, so its light and heat were strong; the things would dry rapidly. Void, the dark sun, was farther away. That was just as well, because it

wasn't just the weather that could get complicated when Void was near. The adults said that the dark sun would eventually consume the bright sun, but not immediately. The adults had some convoluted theories that didn't necessarily make much sense. The plain fact was that it was warm when Vivid was near, and weird when Void was near. That was quite apart from the fascinating phases of Mystery, Charm's colorful twin planet.

They squatted naked before the dragon. The tentacle formed. "I am improving," Havoc translated. "It will take time, but if I am not attacked by another predator, I should survive. I owe it to the two of you, and now I must try to return the value. But first we should complete the exchange of names."

"But you will need food," Gale said. "You can't hunt until you are well."

"This is true," the tentacle signaled. "I was not taking a sufficiently large assessment. I am not accustomed to being helpless."

"We can feed you," Havoc said. "We can bring you meat."

"This will be necessary. But it increases my obligation, for you will be preserving my life a second time."

"We share an oath of friendship," Havoc said and signaled. "This negates obligation."

"Technically it does," Mentor agreed. "But friends do not impose unduly. I see only one way to restore balance. I must save each of you from death."

"But we're not dying," Gale protested.

"That complicates it." The dragon paused. "I now have sufficient energy to use another mode of communication. Can you comprehend sonics?"

"Do you mean verbal speech?"

"No. This." Another appendage formed, and emitted a series of rattling whistles.

"No," they said together.

"Yes, I see that is true. No humans do. Yet tentacle signaling is slow."

"You can read our minds," Gale said. "Why don't we just think at you?

That should be fast."

The tentacle wiggled. "I can perceive your most immediate thoughts and emotions, and those directed to me. They focus well when you speak.

Others, such as your interest in each other's exposed bodies, are normally 26 Key to Havoc

indistinct."

Gale laughed, with some embarrassment. "Havoc, you owe me one enormous Tickle! You have Peeked at everything."

"Yes. I have seen you before, and you have seen me, but doing it this way, in the presence of another sapient creature, makes it new."

"Makes it new," she agreed, looking closely at him. But the Peeking of girls at boys didn't really count, in the game, only their touching.

"It is always new," the tentacle signaled.

"We can speak our Name stories," Havoc suggested. "Today. Another day, when you are stronger, you can tell yours."

"Agreed. I will whistle when I have a comment."

So Gale told the story of how she was named. Havoc was familiar with it, but this time it was for Mentor. As she spoke, Havoc visualized it; he was good at picturing things internally. As it turned out, this helped the dragon get a better notion.

It started innocently. Just eight years old and not yet named, she was simply called Girl. Naming was a prelude to adult status, so was not normally rushed. Her father farmed and her mother sang, and her younger siblings were normally in the village nursery, so most days everyone was out of the house and Girl was left on her own. She could go to the day care house, of course, but she was one of the smaller children there, and too often got teased by the larger ones. They ridiculed her because she was too pretty. So she preferred to be by herself, and often instead of going to the other house she hid, waited for her parents to leave, then returned and remained home alone. She would sleep, or sing, imitating her mother, though her voice was but a tiny fraction of that. She would tap her fingers on a board, pretending that it was a fine hammer dulcimer, hearing the phenomenal melodies in her mind. Sometimes she would go outside in the fenced yard, and just lie there, listening to the sounds of the world. That too, was its own kind of music.

One day she spied a tiny yellow spider who was in trouble. It had been injured, and two of its seven legs dragged. She had learned by observation and experience that most wild creatures were friendly if approached the right way, so she tried to help it. She put down her hand before it, then her face.

"A

greeting." She pretended that it answered "Acknowledged." She thought friendly thoughts at it. "How can I help you?" she inquired softly.

The spider paused, perhaps afraid that she was about to squish it. But then a suckerbird flew by, sucking air and insects in through its tubular snout.

It would later blow their dead husks out its exhaust. It spied the spider and swooped low.

Piers Anthony 27

Girl moved her hand to shield the spider. "No," she said firmly. "Not this one. I am befriending it."

The bird, balked, made an angry bloop and jetted on. Girl waited long enough to be sure it was gone, then peered under her hand. The spider was there, unmoving.

"I will help you, if you let me," she said. "If you don't bite me. Will you be my friend?"

The spider seemed doubtful, but made no hostile move. Several of its tiny eyes gazed up at her.

"Go on my hand, and I'll take you inside," Girl said. "It is safe in there.

No suckerbirds." She put her hand down flat against the ground before it.

The spider hesitated, so she sang it an impromptu song: O li'l spider, come to me.

We'll be friends, we'll be free.

She was pleased. The song rhymed and had a nice sentiment. She sang it again, putting more feeling into it.

The spider moved. It approached her hand, then pulled itself up into her palm. It had agreed to be her friend.

"I will call you Yellow," she said. "Because I can see you're from the Yellow Zone." Their village area was a mishmash of not much color, but in the distance there were colors in three directions. One was green, another was red, and the third was yellow. The colors seemed deepest farthest away, and Girl had always wanted to go see them up close, but nobody in the village went that far. Colors, they said, were dangerous. When they traveled to another village, they followed the road, which wound carefully between colors, touching none. Maybe that was why she was attracted to the spider: it was a pure yellow, suggesting that it came fresh from the yellow zone. That made it exotic.

It? Surely this was a girl spider, because it was friendly. Because she was friendly. A boy spider would have bitten her. Boys were like that.

Girl closed her fingers carefully, forming a warm enclosure, and scrambled to her feet. She carried the spider inside and set her on her bed. She rummaged for a box she could close, but then realized that Yellow might not like being confined so closely. So she found a larger, open box, and put the spider there. She set the box on its side, on the windowsill. "You can get out any time you want, Yellow," she said. "But it's safer inside. Here, I'll make you a

nice little yard." She got little sticks and laid them in a pattern before the box.

28 Key to Havoc

"But don't go beyond the yard, or someone will see you and send you to daycare. You wouldn't like that; too many big rough spiders to pick on you.

Because of your pretty color."

But then she thought of a problem. Spiders ate flies, and there weren't many flies inside, and anyway, how would it catch them, with two of its legs hurt? So she fetched the net her mother used to catch bugs that strayed inside, and took it out back. She swooped it through the air a number of times, until she caught a fat nondescript fly. Then she twisted the net shut, trapping the fly, and brought it inside. She set the net over the box and mock yard and straightened it out so that the fly could drop down near the spider.

But the fly didn't drop; it clung to the upper portion of the net. So she settled

the net down until it was almost flat on the table.

Then the spider acted. She moved along with fair alacrity, and caught the fly. She trussed the fly up with yellow thread and dragged it into the box.

Then she took a big bite from one of the fly's faceted eyes. Girl's effort was a success.

Well before her parents and siblings came home, Girl hid the box under her bed. "If they see you, Yellow, they'll kick you out," she explained. "You can go where you want to under the bed, but don't show yourself beyond it.

Not while they're here." Yellow seemed to understand. She didn't come out.

This began a routine that lasted for some time. Every day Girl brought Yellow out for feeding and company, and every night she hid her under the bed. Yellow was indeed good company. She liked the flies, and had interesting ways of eating them. She also liked the warmth of Girl's hand, and would sit there comfortably, listing to Girl's little songs.

The two bashed legs fell off, but new ones grew in their places. They were short at first, but Yellow seemed to manage.

One day Girl put Yellow on her head. The paleness of the spider was close to that of Girl's hair, especially where it bleached from the sunlight, so

she hardly showed. When Gale grew up, her hair darkened into brown, but at this age, with all her time in the sun, it was almost blond. That enabled Girl to

walk around the yard without having to carefully carry Yellow. When she was out there, a stinging fly buzzed her--and Yellow threw up a loop of web and caught it. Yellow could feed herself, now, if she had access to the outside.

"I guess that means you're better," Girl said sadly. "You can go back to your home, if you want to." She lifted her hand, and Yellow climbed on it, and she put her hand down on the ground near the fence.

But Yellow didn't go. She stayed on Girl's hand. Girl was delighted.

"You like it here!" she exclaimed. "You're my friend."

Piers Anthony 29

So it seemed. Yellow remained, and prospered. In fact she grew larger.

As she grew, her color darkened and appetite increased. She could no longer sustain herself on the flies that happened to buzz Girl's head, so had to prowl

the yard herself, routing out bugs wherever they hid. As time passed, that became insufficient, so Girl opened the back gate and let Yellow out when no one was around. The spider returned by nightfall, and hid under the bed again. She was now hardly yellow at all, but her name remained.

Girl wasn't sure what Yellow found to eat out there, for the spider was now quite large: as big as Girl's head. But it must have been enough, because Yellow continued to grow. She got to be as heavy as Girl, and of course was long since past the stage of living in the box. But she was still able to squeeze

under the bed at dusk. Sometimes Girl would wake at night, and put her hand down, and Yellow would touch it with a furry leg. Their friendship endured.

Yellow grew huge. Now she weighed several times as much as Girl. But she was still able to flatten herself enough to squeeze under the bed. She would go out just before dawn, and return after dusk, understanding that no one else must see her.

Girl's folks had to make a trip of several days. "The children will remain at the nursery. You can stay at the daycare house," Mother said. "They have an extra bed."

"No!" Girl protested. "I'm fine right here! I'll stay here!"

Her parents were uncertain, but she convinced them that at age eight she was old enough to manage alone for a few nights. She knew where the food was, and she would be safe.

Still, her father was nervous. "There's been news of a strange man in the area," he said. "Don't let anyone in."

"I won't." Girl knew that strangers of any type were not to be trusted.

Her folks left on their trip. Girl, honoring her promise, went to the daycare house by day, hating it; the older children were as bad as ever. But at

night she returned to the comfort of her house, and locked the front door, and quietly let Yellow in the back way. "They say there's a bad man around,"

she said to the spider. "But I know you wouldn't let him touch me." Yellow lifted a leg and touched Girl's shoulder, agreeing.

Just the same, she kept a faint night-light lamp lit. It was easy to imagine monsters when the darkness was too intense, despite Yellow's closeness.

All was well that night. But the following day Girl saw the man. He was big and unkempt, and his piggy eyes stared at her appraisingly. She didn't like

that at all. She hurried home and locked the door tight.

Late at night she woke. Something was tugging her out of bed. It was 30 Key to Havoc

Yellow. Girl opened her mouth to make an exclamation, for the spider had never done this before. But Yellow stroked her face with the fur of a leg, a signal for silence. So she was quiet. Yellow pushed her to a curtain-closet, so

she stood there and hid behind the curtain. What was going on?

Yellow squeezed back under the bed, hiding too. Why was it so important for Gale to be away from her bed?

Then she heard the sounds. There was a faint scratching at the front door. After a moment it creaked open. Someone had gotten another key!

The door closed. There was the sound of footsteps. The door to her bedroom opened, and a figure loomed in the wan night-light illumination. It was the man! He went right to the bed, where the mussed covers and shadows made it look as if someone were still there. He reached down to grab--

and of course found nothing.

He looked up. "So you heard me coming, you little honey," he said.

"Heard me using the skeleton key, and skipped out of bed. But I'll bet you're here somewhere. You and me, we've got a date." He licked his lips.

He looked around, then spotted the curtain closet. "Gotcha," he murmured. He strode across and swept the curtain aside, exposing her. "Yes, you're the prettiest little girl in the village. I'm a connoisseur. You'll certainly

do."

Girl was for a moment too terrified to scream. Then it was too late; the man hauled her in to him, and clapped a rough hand over her mouth. She tried to bite, but his finger dug cruelly into her cheek, rendering her painfully

silent. He half lifted, half threw her onto the bed. He held her down with the one hand on her head, while his other hand caught at her nightie. He exposed her kicking legs and jammed his fingers in between them. "What a perfect little woman!"

Then Yellow loomed before him. The man was so busy he didn't see, but Girl saw. Two hairy legs passed over his shoulders and caught his head.

Two more hooked around his arms. The spider's head came in to bite him on the neck. The fangs dug in.

Now it was the man's turn to scream, but Yellow flung loops of web around his head and drew his mouth shut, stifling him immediately. It was hardly necessary; the poison was already taking effect. The man's grip on Girl's face and crotch slackened. He fell forward onto the bed as Girl scrambled

off it. Yellow trussed him with more loops, making the capture secure.

Then the spider paused, turning several eyes on Girl. Girl knew that they had come to a crisis. The man was bad. He had come not for any innocent Tickle, but to hurt and maybe kill her. But the villagers pursued and Piers Anthony 31

attacked anything that killed a human being. They would come after Yellow.

The spider knew that.

"You're right," Girl said tearfully. "You've got to go. I saved your life, you saved mine. We're even. Fair parting, Yellow, forever friend."

The spider hauled the man out of the house, dragging him by a line.

Girl ran to open the back yard gate. Yellow hauled the man on out, then paused, turning back.

Girl hugged the huge head, her cheek nuzzling a mandible. "I love you, Yellow. Go! Don't come back. I'll cover for you. They won't know." She let go.

Yellow dragged the body into the night. Girl knew she would never see her friend again. Tears streamed down her face as she closed the gate, swept off the drag marks, and wiped up the stains on the floor of her bedroom.

Then she got back into bed and tried to sleep.

She woke in the morning, her pillow sodden. She cleaned herself up and went to the day care house. She had to pretend nothing had happened, to give Yellow time enough to get completely clear. The men would not pursue her into the yellow zone.

But it wasn't that easy. "What was that noise last night?" the woman asked her. "A neighbor reported hearing something behind your house."

Caught unprepared, Girl didn't manage an instant look of innocence.

She was glad that no one had managed to scream, because that would have brought the neighbor right over. "Just some wind," she said, and cursed the stupidity of it even as she spoke.

Suspicious, the woman sent a man to check. He found evidence of a prowler, and dragging marks beyond the yard, leading into the wilds on the yellow side. But the interior of the house was clean and undisturbed. What had happened?

"A wind?" the woman asked challengingly.

Girl was stuck with it. "A big wind. A--a gale. It blew around the house something awful, scaring me."

They knew she was lying, but couldn't figure out what had happened. So the matter expired, and there was no follow-up. But thereafter Girl had her name, by the consensus of her peers: Gale.

Havoc nodded. He knew the story, of course, for they had exchanged name histories before. His own name story connected.

Mentor's tentacle wiggled, and Havoc translated: "Such friendships are unusual. Not all spiders can be trusted."

"Yellow could," Gale said firmly.

32 Key to Havoc

"Not all dragons can be trusted," the dragon signed.

"Mentor can," Havoc said.

"Knowledge of this experience was in your mind when you befriended me."

Surprised, Havoc realized it was so. He had had a good example of the potential reward for helping a dangerous creature. The plants were not trouble-some unless approached and antagonized, but animals could move and pursue. Yet he had also learned empathy for most living things. So the approach to Mentor had come naturally.

Now it was Havoc's turn. He oriented on the story of his own naming, visualizing the scenes as he spoke. Gale, knowing the story very well, was silent.

It started, really, with Gale. After the mysterious episode of the dragging marks, he became interested in the quiet girl, and after hesitating for some months, cultivated her acquaintance. He had no name; he was just Boy, like a number of others, lacking distinction until something happened to give them identity in the eyes of the community. She was nine; he was ten. He saw that she was not well treated by other children, being a reclusive child, but

there was something about her that appealed to him. She was pretty, but it was more than that.

"Will you walk with me?" he asked her. He spoke somewhat formally, because he found this awkward, and he had never properly mastered informal speech. His time in the wilderness had been at the expense of camaraderie with his own kind. He had been teased, for a time, about his "adult" phrasing.

His younger siblings, in contrast, all were quite social, despite being adoptees.

"To play Tickle?" she asked.

"Yes, if you want."

"No. Let me be."

Surprised, he reassessed the situation. "I wasn't trying to Peek at you. I just meant to talk."

"Boys don't talk to girls. They Peek."

There was considerable justice in her claim. "I'm sorry. I'll let you be."

He turned away.

But then she changed her mind. "Just to talk?"

He turned back, venturing a colloquialism. "Honest."

"No Tickle?"

"I misunderstood. I thought you wanted to. I don't want to do anything you don't. I just thought--maybe we would like each other."

"So you do want to Peek."

Piers Anthony 33

"No!" But then he reconsidered. "You're pretty. I would like to Peek.

But I wouldn't do that if you didn't want to. I just thought we might be friends." It sounded like a stupid notion, now that he had said it.

"Okay. I'll play Tickle."

He was taken aback. "But I didn't mean to do that."

"You told the truth."

"Yes, but--"

"I'll play."

This was perhaps his first lesson in the unpredictability of women. They walked to a private place, and she lay down and put her arms on her head, and he tickled her in the prescribed manner with one finger on the ribs. She laughed and kicked her legs high, giving him a phenomenal Peek under her skirt. She wore no underclothing.

"You didn't have to do that," he said. "I hardly touched you."

"You saw everything," she said.

That was an exaggeration, but he didn't challenge it. "Your turn." He lay down, arms on head.

She reached into his shorts and tickled his crotch. "Did you Peek there?"

"Yes," he agreed, trying to control his extreme ticklishness in that region.

"Did you like it?"

"Yes."

"The Peek, or the Tickle?" she asked cannily.

"Both," he said ruefully.

She withdrew her hand. "So we did it, and now you can go Tell."

"No. That's not--I mean, it's fun, but not what I came for."

She studied his face. "Did you really want to talk?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"There's something about you I like. I don't know what." Again, it was inadequate. "More than your body, I mean. I think I like--you."

"May I kiss you?"

She had surprised him again. "Yes, if you wish." He kept his arms on his head, in the position of noninterference. This was actually a kind of Touch, within the rules of the game.

She lay against him and put her lips to his. Suddenly he felt the longing.

They were children, but it felt like adult business. He kissed her back.

She broke, still lying against him. "You're not just teasing me?"

"No. I like being close to you."

34 Key to Havoc

"You don't mind my being different?"

"If my parents hadn't adopted the children of an exiled widow, I would be a singleton, and different too."

She thought for a moment, then came to a decision. "I will do whatever you want."

That was a considerable offer, but normally there was a consequence.

"What would you want in return?"

"Nothing. I will take off all my clothes, if you want, and you can Touch me anywhere, if you want, and I won't Touch you, if you don't want, and you can Talk about it all you want."

That was as much of a concession as any girl ever gave any boy of any age. It established her sincerity. He brought his arms down, without trying to touch her in any private place. "Kiss me again."

She did, with special passion. He had responded with his sincerity, asking her for affection rather than voyeurism or free license or bragging rights.

He embraced her, gently, tenderly. Then they just lay there and held each other, and talked for a long time. Gale confessed that she had been aware of him before, and been attracted to him, but was afraid of rejection or cruel teasing. Boys had led her on before, only to ridicule her when she responded.

So she had been doubly wary. But when it seemed he was sincere, she had gambled and trusted him.

"Let's tell others only what doesn't matter," he suggested at last.

"What they think we do," she agreed. "Peeking, Touching, laughing."

"We must decide exactly how much to say we have seen or touched, so our stories match."

"Yes. But maybe not say we kissed." Because that implied too much of the truth.

After that they started keeping company, and of course other children teased them about it, but they shrugged it off. Boy showed her the special path he had made into the wildness. He had been alone a lot, from babyhood on; his folks had discovered that he fussed less when left outside, among the plants. He had become attuned to the sights and sounds and smells of the wilds, and liked them, and the wilds seemed to like him. As he learned human speech and ways, he also learned animal and plant ways, developing affinity.

He could tell when a plant or creature was friendly, hostile, or neutral; there

was an ambiance. He could even talk with some, by signs he learned by observation. He discovered that other children could not listen to creatures, or sign, nor did they care; the things of Charm were simply there to be used, eliminated, or ignored. That was the adult attitude, emulated by the children.

Piers Anthony 35

But Gale was ready to learn, and with his guidance she started attuning too, though not as well as he. At least she understood enough to appreciate his attitude. In exchange, she showed him how to attune to music.

He showed her how to win the neutrality of a thistle bush, by bringing it manure. Thereafter they could crawl under it, brushing by its points, without being painfully pricked. But that did not hold for anyone else; the thistle eased its points only for those it appreciated. She taught him the musical scales. He showed her how some animals would come forth to exchange favors, when properly signed, such as a tasty nut from a high tree for a careful

removal of a burr stuck in fur. What she had done with Yellow he had done with other creatures, to a similar degree. The key was the mind: the plants and

animals could distinguish the mind of friend from foe. Gale was amazed, and appreciative. In turn, she showed him how playing even simple notes on a musical instrument could enhance a spoken story, adding effect. He came to appreciate the subtle wonders of melody.

They never played Tickle and Peek again, except in dialogue, pretending they still had wonders to explore. They addressed the matter of physical curiosity early, stripping together and opening each other's bodies for viewing

and handling, in complete silence. They had no secrets from each other.

They reveled in their mutual trust. But when others inquired, Boy would admit that he had seen a lot of her, during Tickling, and not just under her skirt, but not quite enough yet; while Gale confided that she had once felt something solid in his pants but wasn't sure what it was and he wouldn't tell her. Neither told the truth: that they simply talked and studied nature, after voluntarily fathoming all that they cared to in the personal physical sense.

Or

that they kissed a lot, and held hands, and stroked each other's hair. Or that when the urge returned, as it did on occasion, they explored each other's bodies again, without pretext or denial or reservation. The sharing of minds and feelings was more important. No one would have understood. Boys and girls were supposed to be competitively interested in each other, not sharing or caring.

But there was ill feeling in other children. They had learned to be wary of Boy, especially outdoors, and left him alone. Now they resented Gale, who had gone from a shy, frightened singleton girl of nine to a satisfied and increasingly competent companion of ten. The others realized that they could hurt both of them by hurting Gale alone. So one day when a boy got hold of a stink gourd, they sprang their trap. They ambushed Gale as she walked home alone from the farthest garden, right where the forest path passed a pool, too far from either garden or village to attract adult notice. There were

36 Key to Havoc

six of them, ranging in age from thirteen to eight, and they had rehearsed their maneuver, so she was helpless. One to each extremity, one to her head, and the leader with the gourd. The leader had in the past tried to trick her into showing him her nice body, a prelude to more; he was halfway into manhood and was feeling the early passions. He had not appreciated her curt rejection.

They gagged her with a cloth so she couldn't scream, stripped her, held her down with arms and legs apart, and prepared to rape her with the gourd.

The gourd had a slimy surface gel that adhered to whatever it touched, im-parting an almost indelible stench that lasted for days. While the others im-mobilized her, gloating and Peeking avidly, the leader, holding the gourd with his gloved hand, tried to shove it into her. It would be a long time, if ever, before she got over that discomfort and humiliation, not mention the lingering smell.

But Boy, out along his path, was alerted by insects he had befriended.

They buzzed horizontally and vertically, signing "girl" and "pool." He didn't know what was happening, only that it concerned Gale and that it was bad, for insects were not given to false alarms. So he took up a sponge he had tamed; it possessed a formidable defensive mechanism that it did not use against him. He ran for the place it had to be, where the path to her father's field passed a pool, where the commotion was happening.

Boy was eleven, no match in age or size for even one of the elder bullies in any ordinary combat, but he didn't hesitate. He came up behind the clustered boys, who were focusing with fascination on what they were trying to do to the struggling girl, and tossed the sponge into their midst.

The sponge, suddenly among a host of unfriendlies, emitted puffs of smoky pollen that formed a cloud around them all. It touched skin, where it itched intolerably; it smeared eyes, where it smarted so badly it brought temporary blindness; it was breathed into lungs, where it generated gut-wrenching paroxysms of coughing. In a moment the boys were in utter distress, screaming and running anywhere, crashing into each other and whatever else was in the way, heedless of anything other than the awful itching.

Boy fixed Gale's position in his mind, closed his eyes, held his breath, and dived down to catch hold of her. He dragged her out of that region, getting her clear of the settling cloud. He hauled her to the nearby pool and fell into it with her, washing the sponge itch off his skin and hers. Fortunately she had had the wit to hold her own breath and clamp her eyes shut the moment she saw the cloud form, knowing what it was. She had lain without moving, knowing that Boy would do what needed doing. She neither breathed Piers Anthony 37

nor opened her eyes until her head had been dunked under water. Then she ripped off the gag, popped her face up and gasped for breath. Boy did much the same. They thus escaped only lightly scathed. It was worth it, for they knew that it was much worse for the bullies.

After that, there were no further attacks on Gale, and Boy became known as Havoc, for the havoc he had caused. When the adults learned what had happened, they laughed, knowing that the bullies had been well served, but did not simply dismiss the matter. There was broad tolerance in sexual matters, for adults and for children, provided no coercion was involved, but this was attempted rape and humiliation, a serious violation of personal respect.

The ringleader was branded with a V for Villain on his forehead and banished from the village, a pariah. The others had their hands forcibly rubbed with the stink gourd, and were required to strip naked and run the length of the village street, lined by all the female residents. Their physical secrets were thus forever exposed, making their humiliation complete.

"And that is the story of my naming," Havoc concluded.

"I have learned much about your species culture," Mentor signed. "When you come again, I will tell my story."

"We will bring food tomorrow," Havoc promised.

They followed the dancing path toward home. "How can we get meat?"

Gale asked.

"I have an idea. That dead bear."

"But that belongs to the cycad tree."

"We can trade for it."

"But the only thing a plant wants is light and fertilizer and to be left alone."

"The bear will take a long time to melt down into fertilizer. We can give fresh fertilizer."

"Fresh--?" Then she burst out laughing. "What a deal!"

"You agree?"

"Sure. I said I'd do anything for you. I didn't have that in mind at the time, but I'll do it."

"I love you, Gale," he said sincerely.

"I loved you first, Havoc."

He smiled. "When we get to a safe place, I'll let you kiss me."

"I'd rather do it while making fertilizer. Serve you right."

Laughing, they came to the cycad. Havoc addressed it. O CYCAD, NEXT DAY WE WILL TRADE YOU FRESH FERTILIZER FOR SOME

OF THE BEAR. He visualized the nature of the trade.

38 Key to Havoc

The cycad did not react. That meant it had no objection.

"Hold it overnight, if you can," Havoc said as they parted in the village.

"I'll try. This won't seem nearly so funny in the morning."

He nodded. It was not necessarily an easy course.

They met again in the morning. Havoc had not urinated, and was uncomfortably bloated. Gale was surely much the same.

But she smiled. "Want me to hug you tight, Havoc?"

"We'd both burst," he said, shuddering.

"I'd laugh, but I don't dare."

They made their way somewhat awkwardly to the cycad. There Havoc repeated his mental statement, complete with images of the acts. The cycad remained still.

They stepped within the radius of the great leaves, bared their bottoms, and urinated and defecated with gusto. Havoc realized passingly that this could be considered a type of Peeking that went beyond the normal boundaries; he wasn't sure whether anyone had ever seen a girl do that. But she saw him, too, so it was even. Not that it mattered. Then they went to the body of the bear, took out their knives, and cut two large chunks of meat from it. The cycad's leaves quivered, but Havoc intensified his picture of the gift they had

just given it, and the leaves relaxed. A deal was a deal.

Soon they hefted their big slices of green meat and proceeded along the path. They had to hop and jump carefully, because the added weight made them ponderous and changed their balance. It was hard to hold and use the staffs properly, but they managed.

"Next time we bring bags," Gale gasped.

"Yes. Or knapsacks."

At last, tired and soaked with leaks of green blood, they reached the pool. Mentor lay there as before, but seemed somewhat improved; the blisters were further diminished.

Then Havoc had a belated thought. "You're blue," he thought. "This is green meat. Can you eat it?"

The tentacle wiggled. "Yes. Food is food. It will dilute my color, but that is inevitable, until I return to my home Chroma."

"Chroma?"

"I will explain that concept soon. Let me eat now."

They set the meat down before him. Mentor formed a stout maw on a thick stem. There were sharp thin flat teeth above, and a ribbed jaw below. It reached down to address one of the chunks. The teeth crunched through, leaving lines across the surface. Then they lifted and turned at right angles, Piers Anthony 39

and came down again, leaving more lines. Now there was a criss-cross pattern. The maw retreated, losing shape. Another lump formed, becoming a tube. The tube came down on the edge of the meat and sank into it. It lifted, and a section of meat came up. It had been cut into rectangles!

The section of meat was lifted to an opening that formed, and laid into it. It sank down out of sight, and the tube went for another section. The action was faster now, and the second section was set into the aperture, and others after it.

The tentacle formed. "You may prefer to wash in the pond while I take in this substance."

Oh. Yes. The two of them went to the water and stripped again. They washed off the green, and rinsed out their clothing.

Gale stood to peer over at the dragon. "He's not done yet," she said.

She plumped her smooth bottom down onto Havoc's lap, just under the water. "Just think how much fun this would be if I were grown."

She was almost grown already, but he didn't argue the case. Her flesh had electric effect on his flesh. "You owe me a session just like this, when we

are grown," he said, hugging her.

"But I may not be interested then," she said teasingly. "Grown women lose their interest in sex."

"Grown men don't. So you better promise to do it."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll tickle you right there." He touched her belly.

"I promise!" she said quickly, wriggling against him. Which was a fake, because that wasn't one of her ticklish places.

"I wonder if sex will be as much fun as we think it will be," he mused.

He was already fairly sure of it.

"I don't know. I've Peeked on my folks, and it's pretty routine for them."

"Mine, too," he agreed. "It looked rather exciting to me, but they looked bored."

"We won't be like that."

"I hope we won't. But maybe they said that when they were young, too."

"Adults forget so much," she said sadly. "They lose track of what's fun."

They stood and left the water, drying off. Mentor had taken in all of one section of meat, and seemed satisfied. They settled down for his story of Naming. This was slow, because Havoc had to translate for Gale, but they found it fascinating.

"First," the dragon signed, "there are things I must clarify. One is the presence and nature of the Chroma zones, which I perceive you do not un-40 Key to Havoc

derstand. I will rehearse my most recent session, as that should explain much.

Open your minds as far as you can, and I will send meaning-messages that you will translate to make pictures. I think you will be able to see them if you

continue to concentrate, as you are unusually receptive to the ambiance of this world. They will not be exactly what happened, because your minds will interpret them as images and concepts you can fathom. But they will be accurate in essence."

Human beings were not telepathic, but Havoc tried his best, holding Gale's hand. He turned his mind as blank and receptive as he could, opening it to whatever might come. He realized that the dragon had a strong mind, and they were very close, so that maybe they would be able to pick up some of it.

At first there was darkness. Then patches of light formed, and these drifted, and coalesced into a vague scene. There were shapes there, forming into a large circle.

"Ooo, silver dragons!" Gale breathed.

She was right. It was a circle of small silver dragons, all facing inward.

And in the center was a single large blue dragon. That was Mentor, somehow recognizable apart from his color.

In a moment, that was confirmed. The blue dragon made sounds, glowed, and signaled with several tentacles. Havoc did not know these modes of communication, but in this vision he did; Mentor was addressing a class of youthful dragons.

"I am Mentor, from another Chroma," he communicated. "So named because I am a teacher. I am here to teach you the nature of the world, and of the great threat to it. I will set you on the path to survival. Hitherto you have

believed that all of it is silver; now you know, by my presence, that some of it

is blue. There are many colors, and all are similar in some respects and different in others. They are similar in that all have creatures and plants like those

you know, including dragons. They are different in that each represents a different mechanism, or language, addressing the magic of the world."

The young silver dragons were surprised. So were Havoc and Gale, who were now becoming two of those dragons. What was this about magic? There was no such thing as magic; it was a joke concept to explain things whose natural explanations were too complicated for children to grasp.

"The source of the Chroma and magic is the deep well of the world itself," Mentor continued after the little dragons had settled down. "It comes to the surface in long pipes, and bursts out in a number of places around the world. Each species of magic has its typical color: white, gray, green, yellow,

Piers Anthony 41

brown, black, red, silver, blue, purple, orange, translucent, and invisible.

Per-

haps there are other colors we do not perceive, or combinations. Around each major pipe a mound of substance forms, a cone, heavily imbued with the magic of its nature. We do not know whether the dust is magic, or the gas, or some other aspect, just that it is there. These mounds are known as volcanoes, and because their eruptions can be forceful, only a few creatures and plants are close to them. These have very strong magic--far more potent than anything we have seen. We could die if we approach such a cone carelessly, for our systems are adapted to function with only a certain amount of magic. That is why you have not been permitted near the silver cone; it is to protect you from harm."

The little dragons listened and understood. One of the mysteries of their lives had been resolved. This was true for Havoc and Gale too; they had been forbidden to go too far toward any of the colors. Because they were magic, and magic was dangerous. Whatever magic really was.

"The magic thins with distance from the cones," Mentor continued. "At a certain range, it becomes too little to be effective. This is less immediately

dangerous. You could go beyond the Silver Chroma zone and survive. But you would be limited. You would not be able to perform some routine functions, such as generating fireballs to burn opponents, for such fire is magic."

There was a wave of astonishment throughout the class. Fire was magic?

"Clarification," Mentor said. "Fire itself is a basic process, and can occur anywhere that suitable conditions prevail. But fireballs are artificial, generated by a focus of magic. I will now demonstrate this. The center of this ring, where I am, is buttressed to nullify silver magic. Approach in single file

and attempt to generate a fireball here. You will find it impossible."

Obediently but dubiously, the little dragons formed into a line and passed through the blue central section. Each tried to make a fireball, and discovered

that nothing happened. Shaken, they returned to their places. Several fireballs appeared outside the ring, as they verified that their power remained operative there. Havoc and Gale were part of the line, but not alarmed, as they had never been able to generate fireballs anyway. They had not realized that this was an ability of dragons in their home zones. But the mental picture was not to be doubted.

"This, then, is the first lesson," Mentor continued after the pause. "You make use of magic in your routine lives, and it depends on your environment.

Leave that environment, and you are reduced to certain basic purely physical processes. This is why you have not hitherto been allowed to depart the silver zone. Hereafter you will be allowed to go where you wish, having been warned 42 Key to Havoc

of the consequences. You will have the freedom you have been craving, and with it the responsibility for your own welfare that is a natural part of that freedom. If you go abroad, and get in trouble, no one will come to your rescue. Half of you will die in the course of such explorations. The world has no sympathy for foolishness."

There was dismay in the class. This was indeed not the kind of freedom the little dragons had desired or anticipated.

"Should you proceed on into another Chroma," Mentor continued, "you would encounter the normal range of creatures, but of the color natural to that Chroma zone. Those dragons would be able to generate fireballs and do other normal feats of magic, but you would not. You would be at a critical disadvantage, and it could be lethal. You would have great difficulty hunting, and the defensive magic of the prey might harm you. Because you can use only the magic of your own Chroma, Silver--just as I can use only Blue magic." Mentor generated a blue fireball, surprising the class, whose members had supposed that no fire could be made there. Havoc and Gale were similarly surprised; they had not realized that the blue dragon could do that.

"I could burn any or all of you, here. But beyond this blue circle, you could burn me. Color defines us all, and we forget this at our peril."

Mentor waited for that to settle in. "This is enough for you to assimilate at this time. Your assignment is to go out, during the next few days, to the thin fringe of silver, and ascertain the conditions there. Discover the extent to which your magic fades, and learn what does not fade. That last is your inherent ability. This is what will sustain you if you find yourself stranded outside your Chroma. You must be prepared to survive without your magic long enough to return to your zone. If you are not so prepared, you will live in unnecessary peril of continued existence. This is your ultimate lesson in survival."

Mentor paused, becoming receptive to reaction. It came immediately.

"We will never leave our Chroma," a little dragon said. "So we will not need to prepare that way."

"Not so," Mentor replied. "For there is an enemy that may drive you from your Chroma. That is the subject of the second lesson. But first you must thoroughly learn the first lesson. The diminished number of you who attend the second class will be the apt or lucky ones."

The class ended. Mentor took the path that led across the Silver Chroma zone toward the Blue Chroma zone. He would restore himself in home territory, then return for the second class.

But as he approached the fringe of silver, something menaced him. Had Piers Anthony 43

he been in his native Chroma, he would have been aware of it much sooner, and avoided it with ease. But he was in an alien Chroma, dependent on his limited natural abilities. Before he took proper warning, he was in trouble.

It was not any dragon of silver, for mentors were tolerated and welcomed wherever they went. It was worse.

His only chance was to get the help of a native dragon, whose powers were complete. He sent out a mind signal. SILVER! BLUE MENTOR

ATTACKED. NEED SUPPORT.

Immediately the nearest silver dragon responded. SUPPORT INCIPIENT. But it was not close by, and the threat was immediate.

ATTACK COMES TOO SOON, he signaled.

The silver dragon sent a mind map of a possible escape route. Mentor accepted it and turned to go to it. But the enemy intercepted him. Just before he reached the entrance, a fireball blasted him, burning his upper surface. He did not see it coming, so did not identify its color, but his impression was that

it was not silver. This was an alien attack.

Then he was in the escape hole, following the passage underground.

Another fireball came, but missed him and blasted the aperture behind him, collapsing it. He was safe for the moment, but would not be able to emerge the way he had entered.

He followed the route through the ground, his physical senses nullified by the blast. All he could do now was move as far and fast as possible, hoping to outdistance the pursuit and lose himself. He followed the passage for an interminable distance, surely enough to take him well beyond the silver Chroma.

But the long haul was depleting his strength.

He succeeded in escaping, for there was no direct pursuit. But then he became aware of a blockage. The route ended, turning abruptly toward the surface. He had to return to the surface of the land, hoping that it was a safe

haven until he recovered.

Tired, injured, and dying, he dragged himself to that surface and lay on the ground. There was vegetation here, and water nearby. He needed the water, but was afraid that he would fall in and drown if he tried to use it.

This

seemed to be a region of null magic, between Chroma. The enemy would not be able to follow him here, for the enemy's magic would not work. So he was safe, to a degree. Except that he needed help he was not likely to receive. As he had warned the class, those who foolishly got hurt out of their Chroma would pay for their own folly.

Then a creature came. It was one of the enemy males!

He could have retreated into the cave, hiding. But that would mean that 44 Key to Havoc

he would die in darkness. He could have reached out and killed the enemy before it knew. But there was an ambiance of innocence in the creature, and it was not of full size. Not quite. It was a juvenile. Mentor did not like to harm juveniles of any species. The enemy could not truly hurt him, because he was dying anyway. So he did another foolish thing, and let it discover him.

"And so we met," Mentor concluded. "And now, ironically, I must teach you the secrets of survival that should be reserved for the young of my own kind."

"There is an underground passage to this spot?" Havoc asked, amazed.

"The exit is masked by trace magic," Mentor explained. "Illusion. Illusion, like mind reading, requires very little power, so is widespread."

Havoc's belief in magic remained limited. Yet the dragon had shown it in the vision. "Will you show us?"

Mentor formed a tentacle at his far side. It pointed to a moss covered rock.

That rock had been there all along; Havoc used it as a marker to orient on his hidden path. He went there and touched it with a finger.

His finger passed through it. It was as though the rock were made of mist, visible but not feelable. It was in fact a hole in the ground.

"So this is magic," he said, awed. "It was here all the time."

"This is a low magic region," Mentor reminded him. "It is between Chroma. Therefore you have little experience with magic, and do not recognize it when you encounter it. This is part of what I must teach you. The Silver dragons lacked experience without Silver magic; you lack it with all magic. But magic can harm you, so I must prepare you for it."

"You really are an enemy?" Gale asked. "I mean, you would have killed us, if we hadn't shared the oath?"

"I would have avoided you, because it is dangerous to kill human folk,"

Mentor signed. "But if I could not avoid you, I would have killed you. Your kind was pursuing me."

"What if our kind finds you here?"

"They will kill me."

"We can't let them do that," she said.

"The oath of friendship does complicate relations," Mentor agreed. "But I think they will not trace me here. This is a secluded region, and magic humans usually avoid null magic areas. In that respect, it is a good place for me to be."

"Good because we can help you survive," Havoc said.

"And I must now help you to survive. This may not be to your liking, at Piers Anthony 45

first."

"You said that," Havoc said. "But we don't understand."

"We'd rather live than die," Gale said.

"I must clarify. You are saving me from immediate threat of death. You face not an immediate, but a theoretical threat of death. If I recover, I will return to my Blue Chroma and be secure. I can not remain here indefinitely to protect you. Therefore I must enable you to protect yourselves, in whatever situations you find yourselves in the future. Only then can I be assured that my oath of friendship is complete."

"That's nice," Gale said. "But we aren't in any danger unless we do something stupid."

"That is not true. Your ignorance of magic makes you vulnerable, as does the jealousy of others in your community. I must teach you magic, and guide you in nonmagical defense. This will take time, and you will not like aspects."

"What won't we like?" Havoc asked, as curious as Gale was.

"I must direct you to learn skills whose practice will be tedious. I must cause you to go into regions that will be uncomfortable. There may be some pain."

Havoc knew the dragon was sincere; their sharing of minds satisfied him of that. But it was still difficult to understand why learning survival skills

should be tedious or painful. "Can you give us an example?"

"Yes. Your greatest continuing threat is from your own kind. You must learn to defend yourselves from attack by other human beings, so that never again will boys be able to take hold of Gale and torment her, or to do anything similar with Havoc. But I can not teach you those skills, for my ways differ. You must go to your own village martial arts classes and become proficient."

"But all they do is threaten each other without striking," Havoc protested. "And throw each other to the ground."

"And it takes years to get good at that dull stuff," Gale added.

"Exactly. But without those skills, you will remain vulnerable. Elsewhere on the planet, humans are abusing humans, and you must be prepared to survive when attacked by your own kind. You must become proficient with and without external weapons. You must also know how to avoid attack.

You must be able to disappear quickly, and be proof from a search for you.

This means having the ability to mask yourselves among your own kind, as well as the ability you are already developing to go safely into the wildness others can not chance."

46 Key to Havoc

Havoc shared a glance with Gale. This was making sense.

"What about the magic?" Gale asked.

"I see from your minds that the ignorance is deliberate. Your village people have turned aside all inquiries, though they must know more than they tell. Do folk of other Chroma visit your village?"

"The ones with the colored hair and eyes?" she asked.

"No. The Chroma gradually imbue all residents. Lifelong dwellers like me become colored throughout. Temporary dwellers change first in peripheral ways. You have seen none with colored skin?"

"None. Only with colored hair and eyes."

"I mean single-colored: all red or all brown or other color, from skin to clothing, in contrast to the assorted shades of the two of you."

"No," Gale said. "Only animals, like my spider Yellow--and she didn't stay yellow."

"Because she was living out of her Chroma!" Havoc said, realizing. "She lost her magic color."

Mentor signed agreement. "Then your people are denying you that knowledge. I am not party to human conventions, and do not know why they wish you to be ignorant about magic. But your assured survival requires that you learn it. Therefore I will teach you, and you must conceal that knowledge from others of your kind, lest others become suspicious of how you acquired it."

This was considerably more interesting. "How can we learn magic, when there is so little here?" Havoc asked.

"You must go to the neighboring Chroma, where their languages of magic are in force, and learn it there. You will not be able to practice it directly, but you will observe it, and discover how to protect yourselves from it."

"But we're not supposed to go to any of those three colors," Gale said.

"This is a stricture you must violate. And because you must keep your growing knowledge secret, I must begin by teaching you to mask your minds."

"But no one knows another person's thoughts," Havoc said.

"I know your thoughts, and I am sure that many Chroma humans can know them also, when you enter their zones. Your mental security is as important as your physical security. You can not prevail against any opposing creature who knows your thoughts."

"You know my thoughts--even when I am not trying to open my mind to you?"

"To a degree. You assistance makes it much easier, but I would be able Piers Anthony 47

to read your most salient thoughts regardless, now that I know you. Were you to take a weapon and attack me, I would know your intention even as you devised it. The same should be true of a Chroma human--that is, one with a coloration of hair and skin."

Havoc nodded. He did not want to fight any one or any thing that could do that. "Teach us what we need to know."

"That will take time. But we will begin with the thought protection.

When you can mask your thoughts from me, you will be able to mask them from any other creature. You must establish a pattern of interference. Think of music, or some other continuous sound."

"You know music?" Gale asked.

The tentacle wiggled in the sign for laughter. "We know music. In fact one or both of you should learn an instrument. I will give you a cast-off scale, which will serve as well as any made or adapted by humans. This will facilitate your disappearance."

"Music? Disappearance?" she asked blankly.

"You will understand, in due course. But at this time, try to make music in your mind. A strong, repetitive theme, that carries on without your urging."

They tried. After some experimentation, they found tunes that Mentor said began to make interference. "You must intensify these and play them always in your minds. You must learn to hide your important thoughts below the interference. Only thoughts that can safely be public should be left above the tunes."

It seemed far-fetched, but again, the dragon was persuasive, and they could appreciate the importance of keeping their key thoughts private.

"Now I have something easier," Mentor continued. "I will give each of you a warning seed. These are magic, but their range is so limited that those who spy on magic will not be aware of them."

"Spy on magic?" Gale asked.

"Magic makes waves and leaves traces. I can tell when a magical being is in my vicinity, and when an act of strong magic is performed, regardless of its

Chroma, if it is close by. Because you are nonmagical humans, you can not be traced by your magic. That is one of the limited advantages of your lack. But magic is so useful that this much you must have."

Mentor's surface flexed, and disgorged two tiny specks. "Each of you set one of these somewhere on your bodies, where they will not be seen or lost."

They took the seeds. After a moment, Havoc came up with a good 48 Key to Havoc

place: in the fold of one of his ears. He set the seed there, and felt it lodge; it

would not come loose.

"The seed will inform you when there is mischief," Mentor continued.

"It will make a sensation when disturbed. Try to approach a dangerous plant."

Havoc reached toward a nearby sting vine. As his hand approached, there was a faint shock or buzz in his ear, not painful but startling. "It warned

me!" he said.

"Yes. It will warn you when something is amiss. The signal usually means danger. It can not tell you what the danger is, but you can usually locate it by experimentation. It will also warn you when someone is deceiving you. One of you should try to deceive the other."

Havoc glanced past Gale. "There's a nettle bug climbing inside your skirt."

She glanced quickly down, then paused. "The seed buzzed me! Because he was lying."

"It will also alert you if there is some other problem," Mentor signed.

"The seed is not sophisticated, and has only the one signal, but it is unlikely to

be wrong. When you feel it, there is mischief of some sort. When you do not feel it, you may relax, in everything but thoughts. Those who read thoughts can sometimes do so from well beyond the seed's range."

They experimented, reaching for various plants and trying to trick each other. The seeds warned them every time. "But you must learn not to react,"

Mentor warned. "If others learn of the seeds, they will try to take them away from you. You must receive warning, and verify the nature of the threat, without giving any sign."

The children nodded. This, too, made sense. "This alone will go far toward protecting us from danger," Havoc said.

"It will," Mentor agreed. "But it is only the beginning, only a tool you must learn to use automatically, along with the mind protective song. The value of such tools increases greatly when they are properly applied."

"This is great," Gale said. She came to hug Havoc, unable to restrain her joy.

And the seeds buzzed. Both of them felt it.

They drew apart, confused. "You're a threat to me?" Havoc asked.

"You're lying to me?" Gale retorted.

"This is not the case," Mentor signed. "The two of you mean each other no harm or deception. I am sure of this, from your minds."

"But our seeds buzzed," Havoc said.

"There must be some other wrongness," the dragon signed. "Some-Piers Anthony 49

thing neither of you is aware of."

"But what could it be?" Gale asked.

"I do not know. But the two of you should be able to fathom it in due course. It may be something that represents a threat only when you are together."

"Like our trying to do adult sex?" Gale asked.

"We weren't trying to do that," Havoc said. "We were just hugging."

"But we have it in mind to do, when we have a chance."

"I doubt that natural sex play is dangerous to you," Mentor signed. "It is necessary experience for your future reproduction. There must be some other reason."

They experimented, and found that the warning buzz came whenever they first touched each other after being more than a certain distance apart.

Apparently there was something about each of them that represented a problem for the other. It did not seem to be connected to love or sex, for the seeds did not buzz when they kissed or touched each other's sexual parts.

"Not all threats are serious," Mentor signed. "Possibly each seed supposes that the seed of the other represents a complication. You should do your best to ascertain the cause, but I think you need not be immediately concerned."

"Maybe it's love," Gale said. "If one of us is hurt, the other will suffer, so it's a liability."

"That is possible," Mentor agreed. "The seed does not understand sophisticated emotions."

"Could we have the wrong seeds?" Havoc asked. "I got hers and she got mine, so they react?"

"No. The seeds are neutral, warning their associates, whoever they may be."

"So we could switch seeds, and it wouldn't matter," Gale said.

"True. But it will be best never to remove them, and to become unaware of them except when they warn you."

Havoc had a sudden notion. "Gale--I have no ring for you, for betrothal. But I have my dragon seed. I'll give it to you."

"And I'll give you mine," she agreed immediately. She dug into her ear and pried out the seed. He did the same.

"With this seed I thee betroth," Havoc said, setting his seed in the fold of her ear.

"With this seed I thee betroth," she echoed, setting her seed in his ear.

Then they kissed. Havoc's being overflowed with love for her, and in 50 Key to Havoc

the ambiance of the dragon's mind, he felt her returning love. It was the most wonderful emotion he had experienced.

When they separated, Mentor's tentacle was wiggling. "I am satisfied not to have killed you, apart from the unexpected reprieve you bring me.

Your emotion seems worthwhile."

They laughed, agreeing.

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