don't want to advertise," Donald said, "It could complicate things if people thought I was alive again."
Oh. Perhaps so. There could be renewed expectations, maybe debts to be paid, ones that mere silver would not abate. The shade's business was necessarily anonymous, at least so far as the community was concerned.
"See that glint?" Donald inquired, pointing down between two clouds. "That's the silver oak tree. It's so well hidden it can be spotted only from above. But I can tell my boy exactly where to find it. Then I can rest."
"I wish you could tell me where to find a magic talent,'' Bink said wistfully.
"You don't have one? Every citizen of Xanth has magic."
"That's why I'm not a citizen," Bink said glumly. They both spoke through the same mouth. "I'm going to the Good Magician. It he can't help me, I'll be exiled.''
"I know the feeling. I spent two years exiled in that cave."
"What happened to you?"
"I was flying home, after discovering the silver tree, and a storm came up. I was so excited by the thought of riches that I couldn't wait. I risked the trip in high winds--and got blown into the Gap. The impact was so great I landed in the cave--but I was already dead."
"I didn't see any bones."
"You didn't see any hole in the ground, either. The dirt filled in over me, and then my body got washed away by the river."
"But--"
"Don't you know anything? It's the place of death that anchors the shade, not the place of the corpse."
"Oh. Sorry."
"I hung on, though I knew it was hopeless. Then you came." Donald paused. "Look, you've done me such a favor--I'll share the silver with you. There's enough on that tree for both my family and you. Only promise not to tell anyone else where it is."
Bink was tempted, but a moment's reflection changed his mind. "I need magic, not silver. Without magic, I'll be exiled from Xanth, so I won't be able to share the silver. With magic--I don't care about wealth. So if you want to share it, share it with the tree; don't take all its leaves, but just a few at a time, and some of the silver acorns that drop, so the tree can go on living in health and perhaps reproduce itself. In the long run that will be more productive anyway."
"It was a fortunate day for me when you dropped into my cave," Donald said. He banked into a curve, going down.
Bink's ears popped again as they descended. They dropped into a forest glade, then walked half a mile to an isolated, run-down farm. It took that much motion to completely eliminate the fingering cramps in Bink's legs. "Isn't it beautiful?" Donald inquired.
Bink looked at the rickety wooden fence and sagging roof. A few chickens scratched among the weeds. But to a man who had love invested here, love enough to sustain him two years after violent death, it must be the fairest of ranches. "Um," he said.
"I know it isn't much--but after that cave, it is like heaven itself," Donald continued. "My wife and boy have magic, of course, but it isn't enough. She cures feather fade in chickens, and he makes little dust devils. She brings in barely enough to feed them. But she's a good wife, and lovely beyond belief."
Now they entered the yard. A seven-year-old boy looked up from the picture he was making in the dirt. He reminded Bink briefly of the werewolf boy he had left--was it only six hours ago? But that impression was destroyed when this boy opened his mouth. "Go 'way!" he yelled.
"Better I don't tell him," Donald said slowly, a bit taken aback. "Two years--that's a long time for that age. He doesn't recognize this body. But see how he's grown."
They knocked on the door. A woman answered: plain, in a dingy dress, her hair swept back under a soiled kerchief. In her heyday she might have been ordinary; now hard work had made her old before her time.
She hasn't changed a bit, Donald thought admiringly. Then, aloud: "Sally!"
The woman stared at him with uncomprehending hostility.
"Sally--don't you know me? I'm back from the dead to wrap up my
Oh. Perhaps so. There could be renewed expectations, maybe debts to be paid, ones that mere silver would not abate. The shade's business was necessarily anonymous, at least so far as the community was concerned.
"See that glint?" Donald inquired, pointing down between two clouds. "That's the silver oak tree. It's so well hidden it can be spotted only from above. But I can tell my boy exactly where to find it. Then I can rest."
"I wish you could tell me where to find a magic talent,'' Bink said wistfully.
"You don't have one? Every citizen of Xanth has magic."
"That's why I'm not a citizen," Bink said glumly. They both spoke through the same mouth. "I'm going to the Good Magician. It he can't help me, I'll be exiled.''
"I know the feeling. I spent two years exiled in that cave."
"What happened to you?"
"I was flying home, after discovering the silver tree, and a storm came up. I was so excited by the thought of riches that I couldn't wait. I risked the trip in high winds--and got blown into the Gap. The impact was so great I landed in the cave--but I was already dead."
"I didn't see any bones."
"You didn't see any hole in the ground, either. The dirt filled in over me, and then my body got washed away by the river."
"But--"
"Don't you know anything? It's the place of death that anchors the shade, not the place of the corpse."
"Oh. Sorry."
"I hung on, though I knew it was hopeless. Then you came." Donald paused. "Look, you've done me such a favor--I'll share the silver with you. There's enough on that tree for both my family and you. Only promise not to tell anyone else where it is."
Bink was tempted, but a moment's reflection changed his mind. "I need magic, not silver. Without magic, I'll be exiled from Xanth, so I won't be able to share the silver. With magic--I don't care about wealth. So if you want to share it, share it with the tree; don't take all its leaves, but just a few at a time, and some of the silver acorns that drop, so the tree can go on living in health and perhaps reproduce itself. In the long run that will be more productive anyway."
"It was a fortunate day for me when you dropped into my cave," Donald said. He banked into a curve, going down.
Bink's ears popped again as they descended. They dropped into a forest glade, then walked half a mile to an isolated, run-down farm. It took that much motion to completely eliminate the fingering cramps in Bink's legs. "Isn't it beautiful?" Donald inquired.
Bink looked at the rickety wooden fence and sagging roof. A few chickens scratched among the weeds. But to a man who had love invested here, love enough to sustain him two years after violent death, it must be the fairest of ranches. "Um," he said.
"I know it isn't much--but after that cave, it is like heaven itself," Donald continued. "My wife and boy have magic, of course, but it isn't enough. She cures feather fade in chickens, and he makes little dust devils. She brings in barely enough to feed them. But she's a good wife, and lovely beyond belief."
Now they entered the yard. A seven-year-old boy looked up from the picture he was making in the dirt. He reminded Bink briefly of the werewolf boy he had left--was it only six hours ago? But that impression was destroyed when this boy opened his mouth. "Go 'way!" he yelled.
"Better I don't tell him," Donald said slowly, a bit taken aback. "Two years--that's a long time for that age. He doesn't recognize this body. But see how he's grown."
They knocked on the door. A woman answered: plain, in a dingy dress, her hair swept back under a soiled kerchief. In her heyday she might have been ordinary; now hard work had made her old before her time.
She hasn't changed a bit, Donald thought admiringly. Then, aloud: "Sally!"
The woman stared at him with uncomprehending hostility.
"Sally--don't you know me? I'm back from the dead to wrap up my
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