Out of Phaze

4. Magic

At the foot of the mountain Fleta showed the way to a tree that bore huge and delicious-looking apples. Eagerly, Mach reached for one, but she put her hand on his arm, cautioning him. "That be no joke even I can abide," she said.

"Joke? I'm hungry!"

"Bane, that apple be poison! Mayhap thou dost mean to denature it before thou dost eat, but this be not humor I abide."

Mach paused. "Mach, not Bane. I can't denature anything, I told you!"

"Mach," she repeated, again stifling her mirth. Then she sobered. "But tease me not further; take of the good fruit."

Mach reached for a different apple, and glanced at her; when she nodded, he plucked it. "You promised to tell me why you think I could heal myself or conjure food."

She plucked an apple of her own, and nibbled at it delicately while she spoke. "We have known each other since I was a foal and thou a baby," she said. "Thy father, Stile, and my dam, Neysa, be oath-friends, and so she raised me near the Blue Demesnes, and I did learn the human tongue even as thou didst. We wrestled together when little, and later I carried thee all around Phaze. Only these past three years, when we became grown and thou studied the magic and I the antimagic of my kind, have we been separate, and though it had to be, I missed thee, Bane. Now for a moment we romp again, and ne'er would I have it end."

She had a funny way of referring to herself! "But what about magic?"

"Thou'rt the son of the Blue Adept!" she exclaimed. "One day thou willst be lord of the Blue Demesnes thyself. That be why thou hast been studying thy magic. Already thou canst do conjuration no ordinary person can match. Hard be it for me to understand why thou didst not summon a sword and stab those roach-heads, or transform them to slugs."

Mach stared at her. "You're serious! You think I can do magic!"

"Bane, I have seen thee do magic many times," she said. "E'en when we were little, thou wouldst tease me with thy conjurations, but always I forgave thee. My dam likes magic not, but I have no aversion to it, for how could I love thee and not thy nature?"

Mach shook his head. "Fleta, you must understand this: I am not Bane. I can't do magic. The first time I met you was last night."

"Thou certainly dost look like Bane, and sound like him, except for thy funny affectation of speech, and smell like him," she said. "Else would I not have come to thee."

"I'm in Bane's body. But I'm from the other frame. My name is Mach, and science is all I have known."

"If thou wouldst have me believe thee, let me touch thee," she said.

"Touch me?"

She came to him, and took his hand, and brought it

to her forehead. She pressed it against the gem in her forehead. "Speak," she said.

"I am Mach, from Proton," he said firmly. "I exchanged bodies with my other self in Phaze, with Bane. Now I am here and he is there, and I'd like to change back."

She lifted his hand away from her head and brought it down before her, staring at him over it. "Truth!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed. "No joke!"

"No joke," he agreed.

"Thou'rt not the man I know!"

"I am not."

She dropped his hand and backed away. "And I spent the night with thee!" she said, appalled.

He had to smile. "Nothing happened, Fleta."

"And I kissed thee!" she continued. "Oh, had I known!"

"And a nice kiss it was, too," he agreed.

"And now I stand naked before thee!" she said, seeming shocked.

"It's the natural way."

"Not for grown folk!" she said. In a moment she had gotten back into her robe.

"But you're no Citizen!" Mach said. "If anyone catches you in that-"

"This be not Proton!" she snapped.

He had to smile. "Touché! No Citizens here."

"No science here." She squinted at him as if trying to penetrate his disguise. "But if thou really canst not do magic-"

"I really cannot," he agreed.

"Then there be hazard here," she concluded. "Best if I change form and carry thee back to the Blue Demesnes before any learn!"

"Change form?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

She hesitated. "Ah, now I remember! Thou dost not like-Oh, what must I do?"

Mach spread his hands. "I don't know why you're so upset. Why don't you just show me where these Blue

Demesnes are, and maybe there I can learn how to return to Proton. Then you'll have your friend Bane again."

She still seemed doubtful. "Bane-Mach, this be no garden within thy demesnes! Here there be monsters, and as we be-we cannot travel through the fell swamp."

Mach remembered the swamp. He realized what she meant. If it had not been for the unicorn, he would have been lost.

That unicorn! What had been its intent-and where had it gone? What would it do when it returned and found him gone? "Is there any other route? One that doesn't go through the swamp?"

"None we would care to take," she said.

"Worse than the swamp?"

She nodded soberly.

"But how did you get here, last night?"

"Thou really dost not know!" she said, as if verifying something she couldn't quite believe.

"All I know is that I slept, and when I woke, you were beside me. You must have had some safe route."

"Not one I care to use at the moment."

"I don't understand."

"Surely thou dost not," she agreed. "But mayhap we have another way."

"Another path?"

"Another way. Thou must use thy magic."

"But I told you, I have no magic!"

"How dost thou know?"

"I come from a scientific frame. I don't even believe in magic!"

"Well, I don't believe in thy science," she retorted. "But if I were in thy land, I would at least try thy way."

Mach realized that there was some justice in her position. "Very well, tell me how to do magic. We'll see what happens."

"Always before, thou hast sung a ditty."

"Sung a ditty?" he asked incredulously.

"A little rhyme, and it happens." "This is ridiculous!"

"Thou didst promise to try," she reminded him, pouting.

So he had. "What ditty do you want me to sing?"

She shrugged. "Try some simple spell, first."

"No spell is simple, to my way of thinking!"

"Conjure a sword, mayhap. That can slay a monster."

"A sword." Now Mach shrugged. "I just make a rhyme, and sing it?"

"About what thou dost want."

Mach's experience in the Game on Proton had made him apt at quick challenges. He could sing well, and he could write poetry, including nonsense verse. That last was an achievement he was proud of, for no other robot he knew of could do it. In a moment he had fashioned some doggerel verse: "I'll be bored, without a sword," he said.

Nothing happened. "Nay, thou must sing it," Fleta reminded him. "And I think thou must concentrate, make a picture of it in thy mind."

Mach pictured an immense broadsword. "I'll be bored, without a sword!" he sang.

There was a puff of smoke and an acrid smell. Something was in his hand. As the air cleared, he looked at it.

It was a toy sword.

"Dost thou still mock me?" Fleta demanded. "What canst thou fight with that?"

But Mach was amazed. "I conjured it!" he said. "I actually did conjure it!"

"Of course thou didst conjure it!" Fleta agreed acidly, stamping a foot in rather cute frustration. "But I did mean a real sword!"

"I tried for a real sword," Mach said. "But I really didn't believe it would work."

"It did not work, numbskull! In years of yore, thou wouldst have wrought a truly adequate blade."

"In just a day of yore, I wasn't even here," he retorted, nettled.

She softened. "Aye, sirrah, I forget! Well, try again."

That seemed sensible. Mach set down the toy, concentrated on an image of a yard-long blade formed of stainless steel, and sang: "I'll be bored without a sword!"

There was a swirl of fog before him. It dissipated, leaving-nothing. Not even a toy sword.

"Art sure thou art really trying?" Fleta asked.

"I thought I was," Mach said, baffled. "The first must have been a fluke."

"Canst not get through without a weapon," Fleta said.

"I could make a weapon."

"And conjure another toy? This be tiresome!"

"I mean by hand."

"By hand?"

"To craft it from a natural object. A stone, or a piece of wood." He looked about as he spoke. There were many stones along the slope they had just descended, and old branches littered the ground between the trees.

"An thou dost try to bop a dragon on the snout with a mere stone, thy hand and half thy arm will pay the forfeit," she pointed out.

"Unless I threw the stone."

"Then thou wouldst not have thy weapon anymore."

"Um. Maybe an axe, then." He walked back to the slope, peering at the offerings. He found several nicely fragmented stones with sharp edges. When he found one of suitable shape, he kept it and started his search for a handle. "Are there any vines around here?"

"Vines? Thou meanest to tie up the dragon?"

He laughed. "No. To tie on my axehead." He found a stout stick of suitable size.

She wended her way among the trees, and soon found a vine. She tugged at it, but it would not come free from the tree. He joined her, setting his hands above hers and hauling down hard, but only succeeded in hauling himself up. He lost his balance and fell into her. She let go, and they both tumbled to the ground.

"Clumsy oaf!" Fleta exclaimed, trying to extricate herself from his involuntary grasp. "Willst tear my cloak!"

"Sorry." He helped her get free, somewhat diffidently, because she kept reminding him of a Citizen. Nevertheless, the brief contact reminded him forcefully how nicely endowed she was, in the feminine sense. His breakup with Doris in Proton still stung; it would be nice to-

But of course he knew almost nothing about this pretty young woman. She seemed to know a lot about him, or about Bane, so lacked that disadvantage. She had come to join him in the crater, apparently intentionally, because she took him for her old friend. Yet there were ways in which that association seemed other than ordinary friendship. She had kissed him, and gone naked for him though it was not her normal state. Yet again, she had not signaled any actual sexual involvement between them. It was almost as if she were his sister, or perhaps half-sister, close enough to have no secrets or shame, yet distant enough to be aware of him as a male. Of Bane; this intimacy obviously did not extend to Mach. Mach found himself jealous of that intimacy, of whatever nature.

Meanwhile they had a challenge in this vine. It was good that it was tough; he needed strength. But how could he get a suitable length of it for his purpose?

Aha! He brought over his axehead stone. He held the vine firm with one hand, and sawed with the sharp edge of the stone. In a moment the vine parted. He had his cord.

He used the stone to split the end of the stick, then wedged the stone into that cleft, so that the sharp edge was at the side. He wound the vine around and around this joining, drawing it tight. He pulled the tag-end into the crevice below the stone, so that it was caught firmly.

Fleta surveyed the result dubiously. "That be an axe?"

"A crude one. It will have to do."

"It will take more than that to stop a dragon."

"Then I will use it to make more than that." Mach took his axe and chopped at a sapling. The head started to work out of its cleft, and the cord tried to unravel;

he had to rework both more carefully. But he managed to fashion a pole about two and a half meters long. "A staff," he announced.

"A dragon would chomp it off," Fleta said. But she seemed halfway impressed.

Mach checked the ground again, picking up a number of smaller stones. "And what be these for?" Fleta inquired.

"For distance operations. I'll throw them to keep a monster away."

"Canst throw well?"

"In my own body I have perfect aim; it comes from long experience in the Game," he said.

There was a swirl in the air, and vapor formed. But in a moment it dissipated. "What was that?" Fleta asked, alarmed.

"It resembled the effects when I tried to do magic," he said. "But I wasn't-"

"Thou didst speak in rhyme!" she exclaimed.

"ơim, Ƈame," he agreed, remembering. "But I had no magic in mind; it was an accident."

"If thou canst do magic by accident, why canst thou not do it on purpose?"

"But I tried to do it on purpose, and got nowhere."

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "There be things we know not about thy magic. Many a time I heard Bane conjure, but when I copied him, it worked not. Methinks it be a matter of person and of form, and if thou beest not he, yet dost thou possess the talent. Thou didst not even sing that time, yet the magic tried to come."

Mach sighed. "I'll try it again." He held up his hand. "I thirst; I think-I want a drink," he singsonged, visualizing a nutra-beverage.

The fog swirled, and the tall cup appeared in his hand. "It worked!" he exclaimed.

"It doth look more like mudwater," Fleta commented.

"Nutra is opaque." He brought it to his mouth and sipped.

He spat it out. "That is mudwater!"

Fleta laughed. "I told thee!"

"So I bungled it again. But I did conjure it!"

"Methinks there be much learning to thine art," she said.

"Surely so! Maybe I should practice." He set down the cup, held his hand up again, and repeated his incantation.

This time the fog swirled, but all that came to his hand was a splat of mud.

Fleta laughed again. "What a clumsy Adept thou beest!"

Mach flipped the mud at her. He did not intend to have it hit her, but his aim was better than intended; the mud scored on her neck just above her robe, and slid down her front.

"Thou monster!" she exclaimed, scooping up a handful of moist dirt where the mudwater had spilled.

"Now wait! I didn't mean to-"

Her heave caught him on the forehead. "Now we be even," she said with satisfaction.

Mach decided to let it go at that. "But how do we get clean?"

"We wash in the stream," she said. She showed the way down through the forest to a tiny stream. There was a pool just big enough to dip a hand into.

Fleta hesitated, then shrugged and pulled off her cloak. "Methinks I was foolish to react as I did, when I learned thou wast not the man I knew. I have no need for modesty before thee." The mud had soiled the skin between her breasts. She cupped her hands and scooped up water, splashing it against her torso. Mach had found her more alluring when she had donned the cloak, because in Proton covering was the mark of power and privacy; now he reacted even more to her renewed nakedness. There was something about the water and the way she washed herself off.

Fleta, clean, shook herself. Her breasts seemed to move independently of her torso. Then she paused, looking at him. "And what be that?" she asked, smiling impishly.

Mach abruptly felt himself flushing. He turned away.

"I said not it was wrong!" Fleta exclaimed. "Methought I moved thee not, Bane, since we achieved maturity."

"I am not Bane," he said tightly. How could this have happened to him? As a robot he reacted sexually only when he chose to, never by accident.

"Aye, that thou art not," she agreed softly. "I thought to tease thee as we did each other, when we were young. We-Bane and I-played games we ne'er told the adults."

"And we of Proton," he agreed. "But I did not mean to-I did not realize this would happen."

"Nor I, Mach. But would I offend thee if I confess I be not grieved it did?"

His flush, by the feel of it, seemed to be fading, but not the rest. "Fleta, I really don't know. Exactly what was the relationship between you and Bane?"

"Friends," she said. "Good friends, as good as can be, though we ne'er made oath on't. Secrets we had, only with each other. But then we grew apart."

"Friends-so close you even-?"

She came and set her cool hand on his shoulder. "Mach, there be naught that human man and woman can do together that we did not do, or try. But we were too young; it meant naught. Today it would be another matter, for we are grown."

"So I should not-react this way-to you," he said with difficulty.

She sighed. "Thou shouldst not," she agreed. "We be too old for such games now, methinks. But Mach, fear not; ne'er will I tell."

"We-you and Bane-are related?" he asked.

She burst into laughter. "Related!" She reached around him from behind and hugged him. This did not help his condition, for her breasts pressed hard against his back. "Thou dost not know, really?"

"Of course I don't know!" he said, trying to be angry, but wishing he could turn and embrace her. How could he be so far out of control?

"Then shall I tell thee not," she said, releasing him.

"You said you would not tease me!"

"This be other than teasing," she said. "I fear thou wouldst like not the truth."

"I always like the truth!"

"Then accept this, Mach: now I understand somewhat better the case with thee, and I be flattered, not annoyed, and would preserve it a little longer. Come, face me as thou art; I have seen thee thus before, and will speak of it not further, an that please thee."

He seemed to have no choice. He turned, and she neither laughed nor frowned, though she did look. He knelt by the pool and dipped out water to wash off his face.

"We be not related," Fleta said after a moment. "But naught more than games between us was e'er possible."

"I wish you would tell me why!"

"When I tell thee, thou willst be angry with me, and that I seek not."

"I promise I won't be angry! I just want to know."

But she shook her head, knowing better than he. "Methinks thou wouldst be more comfortable in clothing," she said in a moment. "It be the custom here."

He realized that she was correct. To go naked in a culture where clothing was the norm was not sensible. He would have to suppress his natural aversion to misrepresenting his status, and become a normal person of this frame, at least until he learned how to return to his robot body. Likewise, he could not afford to presume too much on the fact that she had seen Bane in a state of sexual excitement when young; obviously Fleta was no such playmate now.

Suddenly he realized why he was having trouble controlling his reactions: he was in a living body! He breathed, he had a heartbeat, he had to eat and drink and eliminate-of course he reacted sexually too! This was not, he now understood, entirely voluntary; when a stimulation came to him, his body reacted even when he did not wish it to. He had assumed that he would have no special interest in sex until he chose to, as was the case in Proton, but the sight of Fleta's wet and moving anatomy had bypassed his intellect and made his body react. Thus his surprised embarrassment. The circuits of living creatures were to an extent self-motivating.

No wonder the folk here wore clothing! Not only did it prevent unwanted stimulation, it concealed unwanted reaction.

"I'll wear clothing," he agreed. But still he wondered: if Fleta was, as she said, flattered rather than embarrassed by the evidence of his reaction, why did she say that there should be no such action between them? If they had done it as children, and they were not related (and why had she found that notion so hilarious?), why was it wrong now? Were they promised to other partners? Yet she had not said that; she acted as if there were some more fundamental reason why nothing serious between them was possible. And she feared he would be angry when he learned.

He cast about, looking for something that could be fashioned into clothing. All that he could see that had any such prospect at all was the large leaves of some trees. Well, they would have to do.

Fleta helped him gather some good leaves. Then they used his axe to make slits in a vine, and passed the stems of the leaves through, with long-stemmed leaves overlapping short-stemmed ones, forming a kind of skirt. They wrapped the vine about his waist, and the leaves hung down to cover him to an extent.

But already there was another problem. His shoulders were turning red. "Sunburn!" Fleta said. "I forgot-thy kind suffers from that; it be another reason you wear clothing."

His kind? Wasn't her kind the same?

"I suppose we could make a collar to suspend a shirt of leaves," he said, not enthusiastically. As it was, the leaves brushed constantly against him, stirring awareness of a region he preferred to tune out.

"Mayhap thou couldst conjure some cloth."

He tried: "I'll be wroth, without some cloth," he sang, visualizing an enormous bolt of cloth.

He got a fragment of cloth about the size of a Citizen's handkerchief.

He grimaced. "And if I try it again, I'll get a thread or two," he muttered. "It never works the second time."

"Mach! That be it!" Fleta exclaimed. "Ne'er did I hear Bane use the same spell twice!"

"Good for only one shot," he said, gratified by the revelation.

"Canst try the same, with other words?"

"Why not?" He pondered a moment, then sang: "Cloth: I implore, bring me some more." He visualized an even larger bolt.

And the fog swirled, and deposited twice as much of the same type of cloth as it had before.

Now they understood the system. Mach invented a number of rhymes, garnering needle and thread and more cloth so he could sew a shirt. Fleta seemed to have no knowledge of sewing. He found that variation of melody also facilitated the conjurations, and that he got more of what he visualized if he built up to it by humming a few bars first. He was learning to be a magician!

It was close to midday by the time they were ready to travel. Mach had considered trying a spell to move them directly to the Blue Demesnes, but decided not to; he would probably drop them in the swamp instead. If the magic was going to foul up, let it foul up on details that didn't affect their living processes!

He now wore crudely fashioned sandals, and a ragged broad-brimmed hat, to protect his feet from abrasion and his head and neck from the sun, and in between was as strange an assemblage of clothing as he could have imagined. Swatches of cloth, leaves, vines and even a patch of leather, all fastened together haphazardly. But it covered him, protecting him from both the burning of the sun and the embarrassment of possible involuntary reactions. He would get out of the costume the moment he returned to Proton, of course; rather, Bane would, for Bane would be back in his own body, and surely would recover his normal clothes. In fact, Mach himself would recover those clothes when he got back to the glade he had started from.

Mach spied a huge shape in the sky to the south, where the horizon was a ragged purple range of mountains. Those mountains existed also in Proton, of course; the natural geography of the two frames was supposed to be identical. "What's that?"

"A dragon," Fleta said. "Hide if it come near."

"They are in the air as well as the water?"

"Aye, everywhere, and always hungry. Few other than an Adept fear not their like."

Mach could appreciate why. He kept a wary eye on the sky thereafter.

The path reached the swamp. Now Mach hefted his crude weapons nervously, remembering the dragon that had been here. Maybe it would be asleep.

They had no such fortune. Fleta knew the path, and led him along it without misstep despite the murkiness of the water, but when they were too far along to turn readily back, the monster reared up.

Gazing at it, Mach abruptly wished he were elsewhere. His axe and staff seemed woefully inadequate. The dragon was so huge!

"I can help, if-" Fleta said.

"My job. You get on to safety while I hold it off." That sounded a good deal bolder than he felt. Still, his Game experience had acquainted him with different modes of combat, mock-dragons included. This was more nervous business than that, as it was real, but the same principles should hold. The dragon should be vulnerable in a number of places, and a bold enough challenge should dissuade it. The thing was, after all, an animal.

First he tried his stones. He fired the first at the dragon's left eye. His aim was good; he knew his capacity here. But the monster blinked as the stone flew in, and it bounced off the leathery eyelid. So much for that.

Mach threw the second stone at the dragon's teeth.

This one scored, but the tooth it struck was too large and strong; a tiny chip of enamel flew off, but the damage only aggravated the creature without hurting it.

The third stone he aimed at the flaring nostrils. It disappeared inside-and the dragon sneezed. The target was too big and spongy, and the stone too small, to do sufficient damage. But it did verify what Mach wanted to know: that the tissue there was soft, not hard. Few animals liked getting their tender tissues tagged.

Vapor swirled as the dragon warmed up. Mach hoped his clothing would shield him from the worst of the heat if he got blasted by steam; meanwhile, he would do his best to prevent the dragon from scoring with it.

Mach lifted his long staff. As the dragon's head loomed close, he poked it with the end of the pole. Surprised, the dragon snapped at the pole, but Mach swung it free. He was accomplishing his intent: he had the dragon trying to attack the weapon instead of the man.

When the dragon's teeth snapped on air, Mach reversed the pole and smashed it into the nostrils. The dragon reared back; that blow smarted!

Then the dragon heaved out steam. But the range was too great, and the aim was bad; no steam touched Mach. He aimed the pole at an eye and rammed; again the dragon blinked, but the pole scored, and pushed in the eye before rebounding. This time the eye was hurt; some blood showed as the dragon jerked back and the pole fell away.

"Thou'rt beating it!" Fleta exclaimed, amazed.

"I intended to," Mach puffed, discovering that this effort was tiring him. He had forgotten, again: this living body lacked the endurance of the machine.

The dragon, hurt, vented a horrendous cloud of steam, then charged back into the fray. So sudden was the thrust that Mach didn't have time to swing the cumbersome pole back into position. The dragon bit at it sidewise and chomped it in two.

Mach drew his axe. Suddenly he was worried; he hadn't wanted to resort to this, because of the close contact required. But apparently the dragon had forgotten to use the steam, and just charged in with jaws gaping.

Mach stepped aside, and bashed his axe violently down on the dragon's nose as the jaws closed on the spot he had occupied. The stone blade sank into the right nostril, hacking through the flesh. Blood welled out.

But Mach was now on uncertain footing, and his step and blow had put him off balance. He took another step-and found no path. He splashed headlong into the water.

The dragon was thrashing, really hurt by the blow to its nose, but it remained alert enough to spot the sudden opportunity. It whipped its snout about to pluck Mach out of the water. Fleta screamed.

Without purchase on the path, Mach could not strike another blow, or even escape. He was helpless before those descending teeth.

"Without aplomb, bring me a bomb!" he sang with sudden inspiration.

Fog swirled. The bomb appeared in his hand. He heaved it into the opening mouth. In a moment it detonated.

The dragon paused, closing its mouth. Vapor seeped out between its teeth. Mach realized that he had again failed to conjure what he really wanted; the bomb had been a dud, or at least too small and weak to do the job. The one he had imagined would have blown the monster's head apart.

The dragon lifted its head. Thick vapor jetted from its uninjured nostril. Its near eye bulged. The bomb had not really hurt it, but evidently the vapor bothered it. Mach remained in the water, watching.

Then he caught a whiff of the vapor. It was insect destructant! He knew the smell from the times he had visited one of the garden domes in Proton, where they had occasional insect infestations, and flooded the domes with this vapor. It was supposed to be harmless to larger creatures, but human beings tried to avoid breathing it.

Instead of a real bomb, he had gotten a bug-bomb. Now it was spewing its noxious vapor into the dragon's mouth-and the dragon didn't have the wit to spit it out!

In a moment the dragon plunged under the water, but a trail of evil-smelling bubbles showed that the monster still hadn't let go of the bomb. Mach smiled as he clambered back to the path. His bomb had done the job after all!

"Oh, Mach, I feared for thee!" Fleta exclaimed, coming into his arms as he stood. She kissed him, then drew back. "Oh, I should have done that not!"

"Why not?"

"I think I like thee too well."

"But you won't tell me why that's wrong?"

"Aye," she agreed with a rueful smile.

"You're stubborn!"

"My kind be that."

"Well, I like you too," he said. "I think you're a great girl, and I wish-" But he had to break off. What did he wish? That he could stay with her? That he could take her with him to Proton? Neither was possible, as far as he knew.

She drew away. "I was minded to-to do what I had to to save thee, but it happened so suddenly, and then thou didst vanquish the dragon alone. Thou art a hero, Mach!"

"Well, I wasn't going to let it eat you," he said.

"Yes, thou didst urge me to safety, whilst thou fought. No man of Phaze would have done that for my like, except perhaps the Blue Adept, and that be different."

The Blue Adept. Mach's father had been that before transferring to Proton, where his magic didn't work. She referred to the other one, of course. But the two were alternate selves, and yes, either would have done the same to save a damsel in distress.

"We must go on, before more come," she said.

"There are more water dragons?" he asked, alarmed.

"Many more," she agreed.

He hurried after her, anxious to depart this swamp.