Read Online Dragon on a Pedestal by Piers Anthony - Free Book Online
Authors: Piers Anthony
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“I thought you’d never ask! I’m a yak, of course, the most talkative of wild creatures. I will talk your ear off, if you don’t figure out how to stop me.”
Ivy put a hand to her delicate little ear. It seemed to be securely fastened, so she relaxed. “How do I stop you?” She was rather pleased with her ability to assemble a question correctly; after all, she wasn’t very big. But she had discovered that she could do a lot more than she thought she could, if she only believed she could. She had decided to believe she could talk as well as a grown-up person, and now she could, almost. But she didn’t do it when her folks were present, in case they should object. Grown-ups had funny notions about what children should or should not do, so she had learned caution.
The yak shook his head. “Not so readily, cute human child! That is the single thing I won’t tell you! It is my nature to talk as long as I have areceptive ear—an indifferent ear will do in a pinch—regardless how anyone else feels about it. You can’t shut me up unless you know how. What do you think of that?”
Ivy looked up at him. “You’re a real pretty beast. I like you.”
The yak was taken aback. “You aren’t annoyed?”
“You talk to me. Most people don’t. They don’t have time. My folks don’t know how well I can talk, fortunately.”
The yak seemed uncertain whether she was joking. He twitched his horns. “Well, I have time. I have nothing better to do than talk. I’d rather talk than eat.”
“Eat.” Ivy realized she was hungry. “I want to eat.”
“I will talk about eating, then. But first we must introduce ourselves more formally. What is your given name?”
“Ivy. I’m King Dor’s child.”
The yak’s mouth curved into a tolerant smile. “Ah, royalty! You will surely have royal tastes!” He was humoring her, not believing her parentage. “What do you like?”
Ivy considered. It was not that it took her any great cogitation to come to a conclusion, but that she enjoyed this particular type of consideration. “Chocolate cake.”
“I never would have guessed! As it happens, there’s a chocolate moose in the vicinity, but it doesn’t like getting nibbled. Once a bunch of ducks started nibbling, and it said—”
“I don’t want to hurt anything,” Ivy said, sad for the moose. “Now I don’t know what to eat.”
“Then we’ll just have to explore. There’s lots of succulent grass in this glade; do you like that?” By way of illustration, the yak took a mouthful of it.
Ivy bent down and took a similar mouthful of grass. She chewed a moment, then spat it out. “No. It’s too much like spinach.”
“There are also leaves,” the yak said, reaching up to pull down a leafy branch. Ivy took a leaf and chewed it. “No. Too much like cabbage.”
“You are hard to please!” the yak lamented cheerfully. “Let’s look around more widely.”
They walked back the way Ivy had come. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the metallic plant with the pickle smell that had refused to identify itself before.
“Why, that’s an armor-dillo,” the yak said. “It grows the best armor, but it stinks of the brine used to store it. Some creatures like the odor, though.”
Ivy wrinkled her cute little nose. “Ugh. They must be dillies.”
“They are indeed! They get pickled every night.”
They moved on to a plant whose huge limbs terminated in delicate human hands, each finger manicured and with bright polish on the nail. “What’s that?”
“A lady-fingers plant, naturally,” the Yak said. “You have hands; you can shake hands in the typical human fashion if you wish.”
Ivy tried it, extending her right hand toward the nearest branch. She could tell her right hand from her left because her hands lined up the same way her feet did, and her shoes were marked
R
and L. The nearest lady-fingers grasped her hand immediately. But then all the other hands clamored for attention by snapping
Ivy put a hand to her delicate little ear. It seemed to be securely fastened, so she relaxed. “How do I stop you?” She was rather pleased with her ability to assemble a question correctly; after all, she wasn’t very big. But she had discovered that she could do a lot more than she thought she could, if she only believed she could. She had decided to believe she could talk as well as a grown-up person, and now she could, almost. But she didn’t do it when her folks were present, in case they should object. Grown-ups had funny notions about what children should or should not do, so she had learned caution.
The yak shook his head. “Not so readily, cute human child! That is the single thing I won’t tell you! It is my nature to talk as long as I have areceptive ear—an indifferent ear will do in a pinch—regardless how anyone else feels about it. You can’t shut me up unless you know how. What do you think of that?”
Ivy looked up at him. “You’re a real pretty beast. I like you.”
The yak was taken aback. “You aren’t annoyed?”
“You talk to me. Most people don’t. They don’t have time. My folks don’t know how well I can talk, fortunately.”
The yak seemed uncertain whether she was joking. He twitched his horns. “Well, I have time. I have nothing better to do than talk. I’d rather talk than eat.”
“Eat.” Ivy realized she was hungry. “I want to eat.”
“I will talk about eating, then. But first we must introduce ourselves more formally. What is your given name?”
“Ivy. I’m King Dor’s child.”
The yak’s mouth curved into a tolerant smile. “Ah, royalty! You will surely have royal tastes!” He was humoring her, not believing her parentage. “What do you like?”
Ivy considered. It was not that it took her any great cogitation to come to a conclusion, but that she enjoyed this particular type of consideration. “Chocolate cake.”
“I never would have guessed! As it happens, there’s a chocolate moose in the vicinity, but it doesn’t like getting nibbled. Once a bunch of ducks started nibbling, and it said—”
“I don’t want to hurt anything,” Ivy said, sad for the moose. “Now I don’t know what to eat.”
“Then we’ll just have to explore. There’s lots of succulent grass in this glade; do you like that?” By way of illustration, the yak took a mouthful of it.
Ivy bent down and took a similar mouthful of grass. She chewed a moment, then spat it out. “No. It’s too much like spinach.”
“There are also leaves,” the yak said, reaching up to pull down a leafy branch. Ivy took a leaf and chewed it. “No. Too much like cabbage.”
“You are hard to please!” the yak lamented cheerfully. “Let’s look around more widely.”
They walked back the way Ivy had come. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the metallic plant with the pickle smell that had refused to identify itself before.
“Why, that’s an armor-dillo,” the yak said. “It grows the best armor, but it stinks of the brine used to store it. Some creatures like the odor, though.”
Ivy wrinkled her cute little nose. “Ugh. They must be dillies.”
“They are indeed! They get pickled every night.”
They moved on to a plant whose huge limbs terminated in delicate human hands, each finger manicured and with bright polish on the nail. “What’s that?”
“A lady-fingers plant, naturally,” the Yak said. “You have hands; you can shake hands in the typical human fashion if you wish.”
Ivy tried it, extending her right hand toward the nearest branch. She could tell her right hand from her left because her hands lined up the same way her feet did, and her shoes were marked
R
and L. The nearest lady-fingers grasped her hand immediately. But then all the other hands clamored for attention by snapping
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