Chapter 12 – Song Of Evening
Time passed, but Natasha did not return. The Livin' Sludge completed its engagement in Hawaii and made it safely back across the ocean. Now that Orb knew the Song of Day, she had no fear of the dancing skeletons; indeed, she was not certain they existed any more. She was grateful to Nat for teaching it to her, wanted to thank him, and could not. Oh, if only she had not affronted him by testing him! Yet still she did not see what else she could have done, given the warning of Thanatos and Chronos.
Lou-Mae shook her head. "You had better go to him, Orb," she said. "We've got a few days off now; why don't we stop at the Llano plain, and you can look for him?"
"I think he would have appeared by this time, if he wanted to," Orb said sadly.
"He's a man. He has his foolish pride. He wants you to make the first move. Go out and sing for him, and he'll hear."
Orb felt hope. "You think so?"
"I don't know a lot about men, but Jezebel does, and she makes a lot of sense. She says they think they're superior. They really believe that their animal lust is nature's highest calling. Pretend you can't live without him."
"I don't think I have to pretend," Orb said forlornly.
Lou-Mae smiled ruefully. "I know how it is. Pretend you're pretending. There's not a man alive and not too many dead who would turn away from you if you sang and danced and pleaded."
"But I don't want to plead! I have my own pride!"
"What's your pride worth, without him? Same as mine without Danny-Boy?"
"Very little," Orb admitted. "He asked to court me, and I thought it was just opportunism, but every time I hear him sing—"She shook her head. "I just want to be with him."
"That man certainly can sing," Lou-Mae agreed. "I thought no one could match you, but he—" She shrugged.
"He can sing," Orb repeated. "I think I live, now, to sing with him."
Jezebel entered the chamber. "Someone sings as well as Orb? That I don't believe."
"You don't?" Lou-Mae asked. "You were there. You didn't like it?"
"I was where?"
"Down on the ocean, when Orb danced with the skeletons."
"Orb did what?"
Both Lou-Mae and Orb looked at her askance. "You don't remember?" Orb asked.
"I certainly don't! What are you talking about?"
Orb glanced at Lou-Mae. Did the demoness have a short memory? How could an episode like that have escaped her so soon?
"Maybe it was a dream," Lou-Mae said diplomatically.
Jezebel shrugged. "Demons don't dream."
The guitarist wandered in, fuzzy-eyed, for it was still before noon. "Hey, big momma," he mumbled, embracing Jezebel.
" 'Sokay, kid," the demoness said, stroking his head.
Orb almost choked. By day? When the succubus was middle-aged?
Then she realized that their relationship had become more than a nocturnal thing. The guitarist, deeply insecure, had emotional need for a luscious, adoring woman by night and for a mature, supportive mother figure by day. Jezebel was serving both needs. Orb realized that she had no call to feel disgusted; it was better that she understand, just as it was better that she comprehend her own nature.
So it was that Jonah swam to the region of the Llano, and Orb got out and took another walk by herself. It was summer now, and the air was nice.
She sang the Song of the Morning, and the dawn came magically, and the flowers bloomed, but Natasha did not appear. She sang the Song of Day, but it wasn't the same without him.
Then she experimented with a combination—some of the travel theme merged with some of the storm-generation theme and some of the Song of the Morning. The result was strange. The night closed, as it did at the onset of the Song of the Morning, but when the dawn came it was inverted. The land was red-orange, the sky green, and the sunrise blue. The illuminated clouds were bright, while the sun was a dark ball. The bright region seemed to be the coldest, while the shadows were warm.
When the flowers bloomed, they started as blossoms and budded stems and roots. Startled, Orb focused more closely on them, and they came apart into separating circles and ovals and lines, as if reduced to their composites, which were mathematical. A larger pattern formed as the parts of the flowers intersected each other, extending their network into the sky and the ground. The ground became translucent, then lost its remaining cohesion.
Orb found herself standing on a pattern whose reality was shifting. The ground had become the lines of the pattern, and her feet were sliding down between the lines. Her orientation changed, so that she was no longer vertical, but it didn't seem to matter. She was as she was, and reality was around her. Reality? This was no variant of the reality she had known all her life! The pattern fragments of strange flowers were everywhere, filling her world, displacing what she had known. It was pretty in its fashion, but she preferred the normal values. She had stopped singing, but the pattern remained. It seemed she could not simply revert to normality.
She sang again, the straight Song of the Morning, with no admixture of other aspects of the Llano. The fabric of the inverted flowers tore, and curled to either side as if it were paper, and disappeared.
She stood in a kind of channel that contained a single ridge whose cross section was triangular. It seemed to be made of firm plastic, bright yellow. It was high enough for her to sit on. Beyond the channel there seemed to be nothing, no wall, no landscape, just emptiness.
She sighted along the ridge. To one side it narrowed in the distance until it disappeared. To the other, it broadened until it filled everything.
Perspective? No, it was literal; the size of the ridge really did change with its location; only the convention of her prior experience had made it seem to be even.
Then she saw something moving. It seemed to be a spindle or double cone, rolling along the ridge. But as it moved toward her, it expanded in diameter and evidently in mass, for the ridge was vibrating increasingly. It came toward her, gathering velocity.
She remembered her geometry classes, where much effort had been expended in the analysis of conic sections. One formula defined a slice of the cone, with the size and shape of the slice determined by the parameters of the equation. Some sections were perfect circles, others were ovals, and others looped through on the inside but never closed on the outside. If a knife were taken to a physical cone, so that it sliced through the cone at different angles, these were the shapes it could make.
Now, it seemed, she had encountered the original cone. Size was one of its variables; as it changed its location, it expanded to fill the universe as it existed at that site. That meant that there was no room left for Orb; she was an intruder on its space. What would happen when it reached the spot where she stood?
The thing was coming at her with logarithmic acceleration. She was about to find out! Growing rapidly enormous, it rolled upon her. She would be crushed!
She sang again, the start of the Song of the Morning. The fabric of the ridge and double cone tore and curled, exposing the reality beyond.
It was green. A thought gave her momentary hope: the Green Mother, Nature—could she be here? But it faded.
This was a forest, with huge, quiet trees. Moss and ferns grew up their dusky trunks. Vines descended from their branches. Thick foliage grew at their bases.
But it was poison foliage. The surfaces of the leaves glistened with exudation. Orb knew it would be disaster for her to allow that to touch any part of her.
Yet the foliage grew all around. She could not take a step without encountering it. As she watched, it extended visibly, the branches closing in.
This was not the reality she desired! She sang again, and it tore across as the others had, peeling back to reveal what lay beyond.
It was a city, with many tall buildings. Highways cut through it, separating the sections, and walks crisscrossed, reuniting the sections. She was standing in the center of a broad street. A truck came down that street, its tires squealing. It bore down on her. She ran to the side, but the truck corrected its course to intercept her. Now she knew that she was no detached spectator; these settings were trying to eradicate her!
She sang again, and the street carried up, more paper, taking the truck with it. The new reality was revealed below.
This was a plush chamber, evidently an ornate boudoir, with a huge round bed piled with pillows.
In fact, she was in the bed, clad in a sheer night robe, the type calculated to drive any man who saw any women in it to a madness of lust.
A door burst open, and a man entered. No, not a man, he had goat's horns and goat's feet and a caprine beard. His body was furry, his ears were pointed, and his nose projected into a snout. He had one other attribute that was both obvious and shocking. He was a satyr—the original creature of lust. The satyr's blazing eye fell on her. He gave a bleat of anticipation and leaped toward her, his salient characteristic leading. There could be absolutely no question of his intent; it was manifest in his nature and his action.
Orb whammed him in the snoot with a pillow. She rolled off the bed and fled across the floor toward the door. But as she reached it, it closed, merging seamlessly with the wall. She scraped her fingernails across it, trying to gain purchase, but there was nothing. The satyr made a grunt of urgency and leaped again. He was incredibly agile. Orb dodged to the side, but one hooflike hand caught her robe. The material stretched like hot cheese but did not tear; in a moment he was hauling her in, hand over hand, the material molding itself to her backside while it stretched out in a tent before her, bringing her forward in a state worse than nakedness.
She raised a foot to push him away, but he caught her leg and hauled on it, his hoof-fingers hot on her flesh. Drool spilled from his mouth as he brought that salient characteristic into position.
Orb finally remembered her only weapon here, her voice. She sang, and the fabric of the setting tore and curled, the satyr's expression of lust converting to rage as he saw her escaping him.
How had she gotten into this? Could she really have found herself raped by a vision conjured by a modification in the Llano?
Now she stood near the peak of a snowy mountain, the wind cutting cruelly. She still wore the sheer material of the robe; it bagged in front, clung behind, and offered no protection at all from the wind. Already her bare feet were slipping on the icy slope, causing her to lurch toward a clifflike descent.
She sang, and the scene tore away. Now she was in deep night, with stars in their myriads surrounding her. In fact she seemed to be in space, for the stars were in every direction. One was larger than the others, closer, hotter; it drew on her body, hauling her in to itself. Its sphere seemed to expand enormously, its fires reaching out like tentacles. Her gown burst into flame.
She sang—and the scene tore. She stood naked at a shellcovered beach, the waves of a restless ocean surging against it. One wave developed far out, hunching itself into greater mass, looming high and savage as it crashed toward her. She turned and ran from it—but the beach was a narrow island, with no high ground at all, no protection. The wave loomed over her, a white crest broadening at its fringe as its devastating descent commenced.
She sang, and the white crest became a tear. The wave was paper, disintegrating as the tear spread.
She was in a great, dimly illuminated cave, with stalactites extending from the ceiling in toothlike points. All the hues of precious onyx shone from them; lovely swirls and patterns manifested in the dripping stone.
This setting, at least, seemed to offer no immediate threat. Orb cast about for some natural exit, knowing that if she sang again, the scene would tear and thrust her into a new one that might be worse. She had to find some better way out!
She remained naked. It seemed that whatever she lost on one setting remained in that setting; she could not recover it in the next. But perhaps she could find new clothing here and keep it with her.
She walked between the stalactites, finding a path through the cave. The light was brighter downslope; maybe that was the exit to the surface.
It turned out to be the light of a fire. Creatures squatted beside it. She walked toward them, glad for this sign of civilization. "Do you have—?" she began.
The creatures looked up, then leaped up. They were demons, huge and shaggy!
Orb opened her mouth to sing, but paused. The demons seemed afraid rather than aggressive. One of their number remained down, evidently wounded or ill.
"I will—trade you," Orb said, poised to sing herself into another setting if attacked. "Some clothing—for some healing. Do you understand?"
The demons watched noncommittally.
"I—I know a demon," Orb continued. "A succubus. Once I helped her overcome her curse. I think if I sang a regular song—it might help your friend."
Still they stood. They did not seem to comprehend her words. But as long as they did not attack...
She moved slowly toward the sick one. What could she sing that was not the Llano and that might help? Did the song matter, as long as her intent was to help? Why not use one of her old favorites, then?
"By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes, Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond..."
She did not have her harp with her, but the magic came, and it touched the sick demon. The demon stirred, and a light seemed to play about it. It lifted one arm, its paw hesitating in the air.
Orb reached out and caught the paw. With direct physical contact, the channel of magic intensified. She felt the illness in the creature, but already the malaise was retreating before the healing she was making. By the time the song was done, the creature was much improved.
She let go its paw. "I think the tide has turned," she said. "It may take a few days yet."
One of the standing demons moved. It tramped to a pile offers in an alcove. It lifted one and held it out.
They had understood! Gratefully, Orb took the fur. She draped it about her shoulders. It was heavy but warm, reaching down to her knees. It would do.
"Thank you," she said. "Do you know a way out? A way to reach my kind?"
They shrugged. Then there was a rumble. The floor shook, and a stalactite fell. It was a cave-in!
Orb started to sing the Llano, but paused again. She could escape—but what would happen to these demons if she did? Would they be crushed in the rail of rock? Some threat always manifested when she came into a scene; if she had brought this destruction with her, she was responsible.
She could not risk it. "Touch me!" she cried. "Make a chain!" She grabbed at the paw of the ill one and reached for one of the standing ones. "Everyone must touch!"
Confused, they linked paws, as the shaking of the cave increased. Orb sang the Song of the Morning again, and the setting tore apart. A new setting was revealed behind it and she and the demons were in it, standing on a cloud.
Their cloud was floating above a tranquil landscape of crosshatched fields and trees. But the tend was far below, and there seemed to be no safe way down. Meanwhile, then feet were sinking into the stuff of the cloud: it would not support them long.
"Must try again," Orb said, linking hands. She sang, and once again the fabric tore.
They were in what seemed to be giant intestines. Fluids pulsed through the flexing walls, and substances oozed. Thick fluid coursed along the base. Some of it touched the foot of one demon, and the creature jerked its foot away. Digestive add, evidently!
Orb linked and sang again. The intestines tore. They emerged into a landscape of garbage.
Cans, banana peels, coffee grounds, automobile bumpers, and soiled sheets formed a mountain of refuse. The smell was terrible. Even the demons shied away from it.
Orb grabbed their paws and sang again. The garbage tore, and a new scene started to form—but this time she did not stop singing. She knew she had to break the endless cycle of settings somehow; perhaps this would do it.
The new setting tore even as it formed, and the one after that. Now they were in a mixture of settings, as parts of partly formed scenes overlapped other parts. It was like the pages of a picture book being flipped; by the time one scene could be glimpsed, it was gone. Then Orb saw a castle. She stopped singing, trying to catch that scene, and succeeded. They stood in a lush garden replete with statuary, and ahead was a large stone castle. "Maybe we can get help here," she said. The demons, bemused, shrugged and shuffled after her as she marched toward the castle.
They came across three people near the back entrance.
Two women and a man had evidently been relaxing on a stone patio. Both women were supremely beautiful, and the man Orb made a little scream of astonishment. "Mym!" she cried. "Orb!" he replied. He rose gracefully to his feet and, in a moment, was embracing her. "How did you come here?"
"That's a complicated story," she said. "Just where are we?"
"In Purgatory. Didn't you know?" Then he stiffened.
"Don't tell me you're dead!"
"Dead? Why should I be dead?"
"Very few living folk come here."
Then she absorbed what he had said. "This is Purgatory? Where the dead get sorted? What are you doing here?"
He gestured to the demons to make themselves comfortable, then led her to a chair. "I live here, now. I am Mars."
"Mars?" she repeated blankly.
"The Incarnation of War. I assumed the office, after—oh, we have much to catch up on!"
"I should think so," she agreed. "Perhaps you should introduce me to your friends."
"Oh, yes, of course," he said. "But first I must explain that—" He spread his hands, looking embarrassed.
"That our romance is over," Orb said. "Of course." Then she did a double-take. "You aren't stuttering or singing!"
"The Green Mother took my stutter," he said. "We Incarnations do things for each other." He turned to the beautiful fair young woman. "This is Ligeia, my beloved. She is a dead princess; I met her in Hell." He smiled, realizing how that sounded. "Li, this is Orb, my first love."
Ligeia extended her hand. "He has told me much about you," she said graciously.
"And this is Lila, my mistress," Mym said, turning to the dusky woman. "She is a demoness, who can assume any form."
Lila extended her hand. "I can see why he loved you," she said huskily.
Orb's mouth worked twice before she connected it to her voice. "A demon mistress? Do I misunderstand?"
Ligeia laughed. "A prince can not be satisfied by a single woman," she explained. "He is best off with a harem. Since Lila can assume any form, she serves in lieu of a harem. But only when I am indisposed."
"You have been indisposed rather often, Li," the demoness remarked. "Do you think I don't realize that you are releasing him to me when you don't have to?"
"It becomes a princess to be generous, Li," the dead woman replied. "It is also known that no decent woman can match the performance of a damned creature." Both smiled; evidently no insult was intended.
"In my day, it seemed that one was enough," Orb said, deciding to take this lightly.
"After you, no single woman sufficed," Ligeia said.
"You know I didn't leave you voluntarily," Mym said. "I was kept under palace arrest until I agreed to spend a month with the princess selected for a political marriage. She was Rapture of Malachite, and she was no better pleased with the notion than I was."
"I saw a picture," Orb said. "Evidently you worked it out."
"I did not want to love her, but I did," Mym admitted. "Then I became Mars and brought her with me, but this existence wasn't right for her, and she left me. Now I love Ligeia. It is no affront to you, Orb. Had things been otherwise—"
"I understand," Orb said, beginning to. As a prince, Mym had been subject to the peculiar discipline of his office. Now he was filling the role of a prince in the form of an Incarnation, and women were indeed part of it.
"But now you must tell us how you came here in the company of demons," Mym said.
"I was looking for someone, and I sang the Llano incorrectly and got locked into a melange of settings," Orb said. "Each had some threat for me, but I could escape it by singing for the next. The demons were in one; their cave was collapsing, so I brought them along. Now I need to find them a place to be." Lila rose. "I will see to that," she said. "I know their kind."
"Another demon is my friend," Orb said. "I know you aren't necessarily bad folk."
"Not when we come under the influence of good human beings," Lila said. She approached the other demons and spoke to them in gutterals.
They clustered about her. At last someone spoke their language!
"Who were you looking for?" Mym inquired. Orb feared she was starting a blush. "Like you, I have found other company. But we had a—a difference, and he left. So I was looking for him."
"I have no jealousy of your friend," Mym said. "I can have no further relationship with you. Ligeia knows that no demoness could ever replace her in my life, but you—I think I never stopped loving you, but now it must be the love of friendship. So it is best that you have your own companion. Tell me his name, and I will try to find him for you."
"Natasha," she said.
He cocked his head. "It is a man? I never thought—"
It was Orb's turn to laugh. "He is a man. He sings—as well as I do, with the same magic."
"Now I am jealous," Mym said, smiling.
"Of course you must love him." Lila returned. "They will take up residence in our garden," she said. "There is a cave that resembles the one they knew. They say Orb healed one of them."
"He was ill," Orb said.
"I heard you mention Natasha," Lila said.
"Yes. He is the one I—"
"I knew one by that name once," the demoness said. "Before I departed Hell."
"A demon of Hell?" Orb asked. "Surely a coincidence of names."
"I hope so. This was no demon. He was a pseudonym of Satan himself."
Orb's breath caught. Speechless, she stared at the demoness.
"Orb would not have any interest in Satan!" Mym said.
"I realize that. But I have known Satan for millennia. It is hard for any living person to appreciate the levels of his deviousness. If he wished to make an impression on Orb—"
"He does," Orb said. "He tried to marry me. Natasha saved me."
"I would not trust that," Lila said. "Such a scene could readily have been staged."
"But I tested him," Orb protested. "I made him touch the cross, sing a hymn—that's why he was angry."
Ligeia nodded. "Those are good tests. Surely, then, this is a legitimate man."
"Not necessarily," Lila said. "While it is true that no creature of Hell, including Satan, can do these things, Satan can seem to do them when he chooses to. He could devise a cross from infernal material—"
"It was a silver cross, worn by a pure-minded friend," Orb said.
"That would be very hard for him to get around," Lila admitted. "Still, he might wear a glove, or even generate an illusory hand, so that he only appeared to touch it. There are ways and ways, and Satan knows them all."
Orb was becoming increasingly upset. "I—I think I am close to loving this man. I can not bear to think that he could be—"
"Surely he is not," Ligeia said.
But Mym remained doubtful. "It would be better to be absolutely sure," he said. "Is there any way we can set Orb's mind at ease? The notion of her being with Satan is appalling."
"He can generate an illusion for any purpose," Lila said. "Only through his actions can you know him absolutely, for he is the Incarnation of Evil."
"What action could Satan never take?" Mym asked.
"He could never do genuine good or side with right against wrong. Evil must do evil, though he may try to clothe it in a semblance of good."
"Then can we arrange one more test?" Mym asked. "It has become doubly important to me to set Orb's mind at ease. I would not have her hurt in any way, for she was my first love and my salvation. Also, I would not give Satan any satisfaction of any nature whatsoever; he is my absolute enemy."
"I don't want any more tests!" Orb said. "I can't even find Nat now, and if—"
"This is for me more than for you," Mym said. "I must be assured that you are in good company, on a personal and professional level."
"Professional level?"
"I am the Incarnation of War," he reminded her. "If Satan is trying to subvert you, we may be sure it is for nefarious purpose, and it behooves me to prevent it."
Orb was swayed. She knew that Mym would not play her false, even if their romance was over. Lila's words had instilled in her a new doubt, and it was indeed best to have it laid to rest. She did feel guilty, yet still could not see a better course.
She temporized. "I don't even know where he is, now," she said. "Or exactly how I got here. If I sing again, this reality may tear across, and I'll be lost again."
"The Llano is a dangerous tool," Lila said. "You have to use it properly, or reality does get compromised."
"You know of it?" Mym asked her. "I have heard of it, but never had experience with it."
"The Llano can move a person in and out of Hell itself," the demoness said. "It is one of the fundamental tools of magic. The tiniest portion of it can work what some call miracles. When she misapplied it, naturally she was in trouble. But all she has to do is neutralize the imperfection, and the problem will end."
"You know how to do that?" Orb asked, excited.
"That much, yes," Lila said. "Of course it won't work for me, because of my origin, and I don't know the rest of it, but that much I picked up from a former lover, some centuries back. It's just an elementary counter theme that resets things at their nominal values."
"Will you teach it to me?"
"Certainly. It goes like this." She paused. "Just a moment while I assume my singing form." She shimmered, and was abruptly in the form of a stout opera singer, complete with medieval robe.
She sang a rather simple melody that nevertheless had an eerie quality. It lasted only a few bars.
"That's it?" Orb asked.
"That's it," the demoness said, shifting back to her sultry, sexy format. "As I said, it can have no effect when I sing it, but you should be able to make it work. It's the same theme the Purgatory Computer now uses to cancel its own glitches, but it long predates the computer."
Orb sang it, exactly as she heard it. She felt the magic operating, subtly adjusting what was around her, as if something that had been unseated was now settling into its proper place.
"I felt it!" Lila said. "Now you can travel under control."
"You mean I can use the same mechanism to change voluntarily?" Orb asked. "I can go to any of those settings?"
"Of course. Wasn't that what you intended to do before?"
"No. I just got caught up in it."
"That must have been a harrowing experience," Ligeia said sympathetically.
"It was. If I hadn't happened to land here, there's no telling where I would have finished."
"Oh, you would have been all right," the demoness said. "You were just skipping randomly about the globe. You would have come to somewhere you recognized, eventually."
"But there was danger everywhere I went!" Orb said. "Bad waves, cave-ins, or satyrs chasing me in a bedroom—" Now, belatedly, she became aware of her attire: the demons fur draped somewhat haphazardly across her bare body. She must be a sight!
"Probably because of the error in the Llano," Lila said. "It tended to put you at the dangerous fringe of reality. This site is no exception: Purgatory is the brink of Hell for many souls."
"Do you—I'm not properly dressed—" Orb said, embarrassed.
"Of course, my dear," Ligeia said immediately. "I have many suitable gowns. Except—"
"They won't hold up beyond Purgatory," Lila finished. "Because they are of supernatural stuff. Let me make her present material into an outfit." She approached.
"But I can't take it off!" Orb protested, glancing at Mym.
"No need," Lila said. "He's gotten quite enough ogling for this hour." She touched the fur, and it writhed, changing shape on Orb, becoming a snugly fitting sleeveless dress.
"You are a well-formed woman."
"Mym's taste runs to that," Orb said, glancing at each of the other females significantly.
"But only your flesh is mortal," Ligeia said. "Therein lies its special appeal."
"Yours is mortal!" Mym told her.
Ligeia put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, so it is, now! I forgot! I animated a mortal body for you." She turned to him. "So why were you ogling her, dear?"
"She didn't realize what she was showing," he said, shamefacedly.
"And there we have the voyeuristic truth of the male nature," Ligeia said. "Always seeking the illicit thrill. I'm sure he never stared like that when you offered it to him openly, Orb." She frowned. "Do you realize what this means?"
"I'm banished to the harem," Mym said, chastened. Ligeia turned to Lila. "Can you assume the form of a zombie?"
"Of course," the demoness agreed, "Exactly how rotten did you have in mind?"
Then, seeing Mym's look of horror, all three women burst out laughing. "Actually, I can play the role perfectly well myself," Ligeia said. "I was dead a long time before he rescued me from Hell."
Obviously Ligeia was very sure of her man. Orb envied her the relationship, and not just because it was with Mym.
"If I may change the subject," Mym said determinedly, "we do have a test to run. Let me look up this man Natasha." He turned and walked into the castle.
"I tease him, but he is a good man," Ligeia said.
"I know," Orb agreed.
"Is it true you had his baby?"
"It is true," Orb said, surprised. "How did you know?"
"I looked you up in the record, of course. I thought it best to learn his past history. It was terrible, what happened to you."
"I suppose I can't object, since my mother is Fate."
"Do you know why Satan should be interested in you?"
"There was an old prophecy, dating from before my birth, that indicated I might marry Evil," Orb said. "I suppose that attracted his attention."
"It could simply be the challenge of it," Lila said. "Satan has no shortage of women, demon, dead, and mortal alike. But like our Incarnation here, he prefers what is forbidden. A lovely mortal woman, daughter of an Incarnation, forewarned against him—there, perhaps, is the ultimate challenge."
"And so it can remain," Orb said hotly. "I have absolutely no interest in the Prince of Evil!"
"Of course you don't," Ligeia agreed.
Mym emerged from the castle. "I found a listing for a male singer named Natasha," he said. "That must be him. I noted his summoning theme, so Orb can reach him."
"Summoning theme?" Orb asked.
"Every person has one," Mym explained. "That's how we Incarnations locate individuals accurately and quickly. I'm sure Thanatos and Fate couldn't operate without that tool."
"And what of the test, dear?" Ligeia inquired.
"There is an action coming up now," he said. "An encroachment on a reservation that could escalate into bloodshed. I was going to squelch it outright, but it should do for this purpose. The sides of good and evil are solidly established. Satan is unable to associate with good, so if he's involved, it will be clear enough."
"A possible escalation into war—and you wish to suppress it?" Orb asked, surprised.
"An irony," he responded. "As Mars, I try to control war, not incite it. Otherwise much evil would accrue, as Satan well knows."
"And you say I can summon Nat?" Orb asked, not at ease about this. "Yes. I suggest you bring him to the site and ask him for help in righting wrong. A true mortal will be able to do that; Satan will not."
"But if I test him again—"
"I will intercede," Mym said. "He will listen to me." She sighed. "I hope so. I don't want another man taken from me in the manner of the first."
"I think your mother would not do that to you again," he said. "Actually, she was not in the office when it happened.
Now take my hand." She took his hand. A great red sword appeared in his free hand, glowing. Then the scene was moving around them, with blurred rapidity. Suddenly they were standing at the fringe of an American Indian village. Women and children were packing dried herbs, evidently preparing them for sale.
"They are magic herbs," Mym explained. "The native Indian magic remains the most potent; they have had many generations to perfect it. Those herbs are extraordinarily valuable and represent the major source of income for the tribe."
"Why aren't they reacting to us?" Orb asked.
"We are invisible and inaudible. You will become evident to them when you lose physical contact with me; my sword does it. But first I must give you the summoning theme. The action is just about to break."
"But isn't there danger, then?" He brought out a colored stone. "Hold this; it will protect you from physical harm." She took it. "It looks like one of the Magician's charms that Luna inherited."
"It relates," he agreed. "Now here is the theme." He hummed a brief melody.
"That will summon Natasha?" she asked doubtfully. "It will," he assured her. "Be ready; the raiders are on their way." He turned loose her hand. Orb walked toward the Indians. "Hello," she called.
"May I see your wares?"
The Indians turned to her, surprised, for they had not seen her arrive.
Then a carpet sailed in, one of the large utility models, supporting four rough-looking men. They carried rifles and pistols. One of them fired into the air. "That stuff is ours!" he cried.
The Indians were stunned. Their braves were not present; the packing was women's work. They had no weapons.
The carpet landed beside the table. The men began grabbing at the bags of herbs.
A young woman approached them. "Please," she said. "Those herbs—we have labored all season to grow and harvest and prepare them, so their magic would be strong. Our tribe will starve if—"
One of the men whirled on her. "Shut up, squaw!" he said, tossing a bag into a bin on the carpet. Then he took a second look. The woman was lovely, the very picture of the Indian maiden, her black hair braided with bright beads. "Second thought, I'll take you, too."
The maiden screamed, but the man produced a rope and trussed her up and tossed her onto the carpet. "You're going to be a lot of fun, breaking in, before I put you on the slave market," he grunted.
Another man spotted Orb. "Hey, there's one for me!" he exclaimed, stepping toward her.
But Orb had seen more than enough. She sang the summoning melody.
Suddenly Natasha was there, looking startled. "Who why—?"
"I did it," Orb said. "These men are stealing these Indians livelihood, and their women, too. We must stop them!"
"But—"
"It's a plain case of good against evil," Orb said. "Don't you agree?"
"Hey, who's this character?" the first woman-stealing man demanded.
"Is she right?" Nat demanded in return. "Are you stealing what belongs to these Indians?"
"Yeah," the man said, drawing his pistol. "You object?"
Nat looked at Orb, then at the bound Indian woman. "What do you plan to do with the captive?"
The man laughed. "Hey, you a pansy? Whatcha think I'm going to do with the squaw?" He brought the gun to bear. "Then I must ask you to desist," Nat said. "What you are doing is wrong."
"Bye-bye, pansy," the man said, and pulled the trigger. But as he did so, Natasha started to sing. It sounded like another aspect of the Song of Day, but it had more of an edge to it.
The effect was electric. The man froze in place, his finger not quite completing its pull on the trigger. The others also stood where they were, not moving. The sound mesmerized them, as it did Orb; it was impossible to act while it dominated.
Then it intensified. Nat's voice seemed to fill the universe with its power, making the trees shiver and the ground reverberate. He faced the men, and the men crumpled and fell, their eyes staring unblinkingly into the sky. The effect was directed, for Orb did not fall, and neither did the Indian women and children.
Then Nat eased off and finally let the song expire. The four raiders were unconscious, sprawled around the carpet.
"Let's get this trash out," Nat said. He grabbed a man by sleeve and foot and heaved him onto the carpet.
Orb went to the bound woman, quickly untying her. Then the two of them unloaded the bags of herbs, while Nat attended to the other men. Soon all the bags were back on the table, and all the men were piled ignominiously on the carpet.
Then Nat stood on the carpet and sang again. This time it was a variant of the travel theme. The outlines of all of them and the carpet fuzzed and then were gone.
The Indians stared. "I think he's taking them somewhere," Orb said.
Mym appeared. "I apologize for my suspicion," he said. "That man acted for good." He shook his head. "I thought you were being generous when you said he could sing as well as you could, but though his voice is different, it is hardly inferior. He is surely a proper match for you."
Natasha reappeared, coalescing at the spot he had left. He was now alone. "I deposited them in Siberia, the Russian steppe," he said with satisfaction. "They will have a very difficult time getting free of that! Over there, they don't coddle criminals—" He broke off, spotting Mym.
"This is Mars," Orb said quickly.
"The Incarnation of War?" Nat asked, seeming not entirely pleased. "Aren't you a trifle late?"
"He—I knew him before," Orb said.
"You were involved in war?"
"We were lovers," Mym said.
Nat's mouth hardened. "I never inquired into her past history," he said. "It wasn't my business."
Orb saw any possible reconciliation going up in smoke. "Nat, please, let me explain! It was years ago, before I knew you, and it's over! He—he has a princess consort and a mistress now."
Nat's grimness did not abate. "You, an Incarnation, dazzled an innocent mortal woman, then threw her over for a princess?"
"He wasn't an Incarnation then," Orb said desperately. "He didn't throw me over! He was a prince in hiding, and he stuttered, and I had his baby—"
Nat turned to her. "That seems more than a passing flirtation."
Mym nodded. "It was love. I would have died for her. But my father would have had her killed; I had to leave, though I wronged her grievously. Now, as she said, it is over."
"It doesn't look over," Nat said.
"Nat, please!" Orb repeated.
Mym's giant red sword reappeared in his hand. "Do you call me liar, sir?" The Sword brightened ominously, and a trace of blood appeared at his lip.
"No, Mym, no!" Orb cried, knowing what the blood portended. He was a berserker!
Nat considered for an awful moment. "I would not call an Incarnation a liar," he said at last.
Mym relaxed. "Allow me to clarify. I will never stop loving Orb; she is the finest mortal woman I have known. But what was an affair has become a deep friendship, and I have no romantic designs on her, nor she on me. We each have developed other interests. I want only what is best for her."
"I appreciate the clarification," Nat said.
"Can't you see she loves you?" Mym flared.
"No!" Orb cried, appalled.
"No?" Nat asked, turning again to her.
A gulf of sorts opened around her. "Please" she whispered. "I shouldn't have spoken," Mym said. "I shall depart."
He disappeared.
"I thought you thought I was a demon," Nat said.
"I wronged you," Orb said. "I was looking for you, and got lost, and found Mym, and—oh, please, don't go again!"
"I suppose a person has to be more careful about love than about mere acquaintance, especially when a prior relationship has been destroyed."
Orb stood there, feeling naked, feeling the tears on her face. "Nat, you once asked to court me...."
Abruptly he smiled. "And shall again!" he said. "I shall sing you the Song of Evening." Without further preamble he broke into song. It was a theme like the Song of the Morning, and like the Song of Day, but warmer than either and more tender. The melody of it spread out, bringing a kind of twilight that intensified the scene. The Indian women stood rapt, becoming beautiful, the beads in their hair glowing. The trees of the nearby grove were preternaturally green and clear. The sand was golden. The hues of early sunset spread across the sky.
Orb had never experienced a song like this. It lifted her up, warmed her, suffused her with its tender emotion, and made her an utterly feeling creature. Her gaze fixed on Nat as he sang, and he seemed to glow like the sun, so handsome that the pleasure of his visage coursed through and through her. He had called it the Song of Evening, but she recognized its other identification: the Song of Love.
She moved toward him as if floating on a cloud, her arms spread. The doubt in her faded, banished by the delightful fire that was spreading from her heart to her bosom and to her whole being. As the song finished, the seeming night closed in, and she came into his arms.
She did love him.
Chapter 13 – Green Mother
"You found him," Jezebel said as Orb coalesced into the kitchen.
"How did you know?" Orb asked, facetiously, looking at the middle-aged woman.
"The whole fish brightened by two magnitudes when you arrived," the succubus said.
"I'm in love."
"What else is new? Can you eat?"
"Of course not!"
"Try, anyway." And the woman set about the poaching of two eggs in the air, not bothering with stove or pot. Orb found that she could, after all, eat.
The others came in. "When's the wedding?" Lou-Mae inquired.
Orb choked on her egg.
Betsy laughed. "Not this afternoon, then."
"Am I wearing a sign?" Orb demanded. "I just discovered my own feelings, and here all of you—"
"We're teasing," Lou-Mae explained. "You were the only one of the party hunting, and we're so glad it's over."
"Tell us everything," Betsy said eagerly.
Orb raised her hands in surrender. She told them everything. "And now I must tell my mother," she said as she concluded.
A spider appeared, growing as it slid down its thread, transforming into Niobe. "She already knows," she said.
"Oops! I forgot your office! You were watching my thread!"
"Only passingly, dear; it is only one of millions." Niobe smiled. "But a special one."
"Nat's not a demon," Orb said.
Niobe paused, as if something odd had happened. Then she regrouped. "I really came on other business. You see, your thread is now taking a significant direction, and I think it is time for you to be aware of this."
"Is this something that is not our business?" Lou-Mae asked. "We can leave."
"No, my dear," Niobe said. "It may be your business." She shimmered, and her grandmotherly form appeared: a large black woman. "You bet, honey," this figure agreed. Then she changed into a young and very pretty oriental girl. "Yes, true," she said. "We know of youth and love, too."
Lou-Mae took this in stride, having encountered Fate before, as did the three males, but Betsy's eyes grew round.
Orb touched her hand. "My mother is an Aspect of Fate," she explained. "There are three Aspects: Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. They spin the threads of life, measure them, and cut them; they also partake of the different ages of life. It seems that this is a business visit."
Niobe reappeared. "You see, Orb, you are destined to assume the office of the most powerful of the Earthly Incarnations—Nature. You may have noticed your powers increasing."
Now it was Orb's turn to be astonished. "An Incarnation—me?"
"Some come to their office almost randomly, as with Death, who kills his predecessor, or Time, who simply takes the Hourglass. But some are destined for their office because of what they are. Gaea is ready to retire, and you are the one with the capacity to take her place. Your magic operates through music; as you approach the office, your power increases. Already you are able to do much of what the Green Mother does; and soon you will do more."
"But it's the Llano!" Orb protested. "The song is the mechanism; without it I have no special abilities."
"True only to a degree," Niobe said. "The Llano is one of the world's most versatile and potent tools, but only a few possess the ability to use it. You have shown that ability. You can use it, but you can also go beyond it, as you perfect your skill, and apply the principles of natural magic more directly. The song is merely a useful guideline during your learning stage. You are the candidate."
"But I never sought—never imagined—"
"Neither did I, dear. But now it has become plain. You are very near the point of decision; if you choose not to assume the office, you will have to guide your course accordingly."
"But I'm in love with a mortal man!"
Niobe nodded. "Nor do I for a moment disparage that. I was an Incarnation and I came to love a mortal man; I left my office in order to marry him, and you were the result. I have never regretted that decision. But I made it when I was well informed. Now it is necessary for you to be similarly informed, as you make your decision."
"You mean I can't—can't marry and be an Incarnation?"
"Oh, it is possible for an Incarnation to marry," Niobe said. "But there are considerations. An Incarnation is frozen at her present level; she never ages, never dies—and can't have children."
"No children," Orb repeated numbly.
"While her mortal spouse does age and die and could sire offspring—with a mortal woman. That is why I stepped down, dear. I could have married your father and kept my office, but I could never have given him the attention he deserved, and you would not have come into being. Of course I had already borne a child; still—"
And Orb had borne a child. But to be denied the ability to bear another, one she could keep and raise as part of a family—that horrified her. "Are you saying that I must turn down the office?"
"By no means, dear. I am merely trying to impress on you the gravity of your decision. You can marry, you can become Nature, you can do both, or do neither—but the distinctions between the four situations are significant. I believe you should discuss these matters with your friends and take all the time you need to come to your best understanding of the alternatives."
"We don't know anything about this!" Lou-Mae protested. "We would not presume to—"
The grandmotherly Aspect, Atropos, reappeared. "You going to marry your man while he's on H, child?"
"No!" Lou-Mae said, her lip trembling. "But—"
Atropos pointed at Orb. "As Nature, she can take him off H, permanently. That's why this is your business."
Lou-Mae looked at the drummer. "Oh, Danny-Boy!" she exclaimed. "If she could do that—"
The pretty oriental girl, Clotho, appeared. "And you," she said, looking at Jezebel. "As Nature, she could abate your curse permanently and give you control over your form by day and night." The succubus reeled as if struck. "I would sell my soul, if I had one, for that!"
Niobe, the Lachesis Aspect, returned. "And you, dear," she said to Betsy, "could have ideal weather at your farm, permanently, if she chose it—as well as a man free of addiction."
"But I have not been able to do these things!" Orb said.
"Anything I do is only temporary."
"The fact that you can do them even on a temporary basis is indicative," Niobe said. "As Nature, your powers would be enormously increased. You could restore sight to the blind, mortality to those cursed with immortality, and youth to an old tree. Anything within the scope of your office and that is a great deal indeed. It is no minor position you contemplate."
Orb sat back, her thoughts whirling. Such power!
"Consider well, my child," Niobe said. Then she became the spider, and the spider climbed up the thread and disappeared.
"I guess it is our business!" Lou-Mae said. "All those dreams, for all of us! We thought the Llano, but it's you who can do it."
"I've got to think!" Orb exclaimed, tormented. "It's so easy to misuse power, and I know so little about it! I never realized when I sought the Llano—!" She sang the travel theme, and in a moment was on the far, deserted island where she had encountered the traveling sponge.
But in another moment Natasha was there. She flung herself into his embrace. "Oh, Nat, suddenly it's so complicated!" she exclaimed. "I thought the world was mine, when I loved you, but now—"
"I sensed your disquiet," he said. "That's why I came."
"I am to be an Incarnation, like my mother—if I choose. But then I could not have a family and would not age."
"Would not age?" he asked, hardly displeased. "You would always be as you are now?"
Orb had to flush. He was of course a man, much concerned with a woman's form. "But I could not have another baby," she reminded him.
He frowned. "Could you perhaps have the baby, then assume the office?"
"No!" Orb cried in sudden anguish, remembering how she had to give away Orlene. "I want a real family! I want to devote myself to my baby, to raise it to maturity, as my mother raised me!"
"Of course," he said, chastened.
"But oh, there is so much good I might do, if I assume the office!"
"I will love you as a mortal or as an Incarnation," Nat said. "I can not make this choice for you. But I wonder—"
"Yes? You have a notion?"
"It seems to me that you already can do a great deal. Perhaps you can accomplish much of the good you wish, without giving up your mortality."
Orb thought about that. "I suppose I could try. But you know, the Llano gives you similar powers. I wonder—"
"I am not destined for the office of Nature!" he exclaimed, laughing. "I have quested for the Llano since childhood and rehearsed every fragment of it I have found, over and over. I have done all I can with it; progress is always slower than before. I am at my limit. But you—you hear a theme once, and it works for you as well as it ever has for me! Your potential is much greater than mine. I would be jealous, if you weren't so beautiful." Then he sobered. "Or are you saying that you have outgrown me already? I would not try to hold you, if—"
"Oh, no, Nat, no!" she cried, kissing him.
"Then you might try the things you wish to, and that will give you a clearer notion of your choices. I will abide your decision, whatever it may be."
"You are most kind, Nat," she said. "I will try."
She returned to Jonah. "My powers have been increasing," she announced. "Now I know what they are leading toward. I was not able to do some things before, but maybe now I can. Are you willing to experiment?"
The drummer stepped forward. "You know what I want," he said. "If you want to try, I sure do."
Lou-Mae glanced sidelong at him. "You are talking about H?" she inquired archly, and the others laughed.
Jonah swam to ground, and they debarked. The experiment had to be conducted outside of Jonah, to ensure that it was not the big fish's magic operating.
Orb tried the Song of Evening, that she had just learned. The sound of it had confirmed her burgeoning love for Natasha; could it abate the dread addiction, for the sake of love? She willed the craving for H to be banished from her subject, the drummer.
The twilight came, and the beauty of the nocturnal vision. Clouds became orange. She remembered Nat's comment about the facility with which she picked up the new themes. She had not considered this before, but it was true that she had always learned music at a rate others could not match. Certainly the parts of the Llano worked for her as they had for him, and she had not rehearsed them.
The drummer screamed.
Startled, Orb cut short her song.
"No, go on!" he gasped. "It's working!"
She resumed the song. Now she saw that the drummer was gyrating in an unnatural way, as if opposing forces were drawing at him. He screamed again, but this time she did not pause. It seemed that a temporary nullification of the craving was painless, but that a complete cure was another matter.
From him something came. It looked like a ghostly snake, its head rocking back and forth as if seeking something to strike at. But the melody hauled it forth, drawing it on out of the body. It was the H addiction, struggling all the way, inflicting the punishment of its withdrawal. It glared balefully around, remaining hooked in by its tail, like a moray eel. Then the theme became too much for it, and it let go and puffed into smoke. The drummer fell to the ground.
Lou-Mae ran to him, cradling his head in her arms, as Orb's song ended. "Is it—?"
"It's gone!" he panted. "It was hell letting go, but it's gone!"
"We can't be sure of that," Orb warned him. "Only time will tell—time away from Jonah."
"I tell you, I know!" he said. "H has let go!"
"I hope so," Lou-Mae said. "Why don't you and I stay out here, and if you can go the day and night without H..."
He brightened. "Yes! No more unicorns!"
"Shut your mouth!" But she was smiling.
Orb and the others retreated to the big fish. "If it really is so—" she began.
"You can do me next!" the guitarist and the organist said together. "And me," Jezebel said.
"Meanwhile, I believe I'll rest," Orb said. She went to her room and lay down. But she found she could not truly relax; she was too excited.
"Nat, where are you?" she whispered.
He coalesced beside her bed. "Did you speak my name?"
She sat up and wrapped her arms around his waist. "How did you hear me?"
"Once I knew that I loved you, I invoked that aspect of the Llano that attunes to your speaking my name. It is akin to Jonah's relaying of talking to the object of the discussion. Thus I heard you immediately."
"You know about Jonah? How is that?"
"He is one of the special creatures of this world. I discovered his nature on one of the bypaths of my search for the Llano. But he would not help me on my quest; he knew that I was not destined to complete it."
"But he's helping me!" Orb said.
"Because you have the potential I lack."
"Or because I danced the tanana for him."
Nat pursed his lips. "Yes, I had forgotten you know that dance! Some time you must dance it with me! But beware; it—"
"Drives men mad with desire," she concluded, laughing. "I will save it for some suitable occasion." One of the things she liked about Nat was his conduct; he never tried to take advantage of her, either by the straying of his hands or by suggestion. She knew he desired her, but he was too disciplined to allow it to show aggressively. He reminded her of Mym in that respect; that seemed to make Mym's endorsement more significant.
"I should not remain here," he said, confirming her assessment. "I thought I was tired, but I can't rest," she said. "Is there somewhere we can go?"
"There is all the world. Perhaps you should visit your friends."
"I'd like that," she agreed. "But it gets so complicated, expanding to the size of the globe, then orienting on the tiny mote that is my destination. I don't know where all my friends are and wouldn't want to intrude uninvited."
"But you don't need to expand, or to intrude," he said. "The Llano provides many ways to locate folk and to travel."
"It does? All I know is the expansion and the tear-sheet settings that occurred when I misused it."
"I'm sorry, I thought you knew, and traveled as you did from preference. I will show you the other mechanisms."
"Oh, will you?" Orb clapped her hands in little-girl style, thrilled.
"For example, the theme I just used to hear you speak my name. You must think of the person to whom you wish to attune, then sing this melody." He sang a brief, strange, evocative tune. "Thereafter you will hear if that person speaks your name or even thinks of you with more than passing interest. Then—"
"Wait, let me master that first!" Orb exclaimed. "Let me see—on whom shall I orient? I know—my Gypsy friend Tinka!" She focused on the lovely blind girl and sang the melody. She felt the peculiar action of it reaching out, attuning, linking the two of them in a passive bond.
Nat shook his head. "You never cease to amaze me! It took me a year to perfect that application!"
"Does it work for nonhuman folk, too?"
"It works for anyone who cares for you. The bond is already there; the Llano merely activates it."
"Then I could attune to Jonah, so that I could always return to him without having to search."
"Indeed—if he cares for you. I'm sure he does, or he would not be serving you now."
Orb sang the theme again, focusing on the big fish. She felt the reaching, and the body of Jonah shuddered. He was aware!
"Oh, this is fun!" Orb exclaimed. "I'd better attune to Lou-Mae, so I will know if they need me." She did so.
Nat shook his head. "Three attunations in hardly as many minutes. One at a time is all I can manage!"
"Oh, I didn't mean to embarrass you! I didn't realize—"
"You did not embarrass me, you please me more than ever. I see how much greater your potential is than mine; I never before encountered such a woman. But perhaps you will tire of me."
She turned and kissed him. "I doubt it, Nat. I do not sing better than you; it is merely the magic that is in my nature, no virtue in me. You have done what you have done the hard way, and I respect that."
She continued attuning, reveling in this wonderful new power he had shown her. Then she paused, startled.
"Someone's thinking of me!"
"Focus on it; you should be able to recognize the person."
Orb concentrated. "It—it's Tinka! She wants to see me!"
"Then I must show you the quick-travel theme," Nat said. "Maintain your focus on her and sing this melody." He sang another, similarly evocative.
Orb held her focus, and sang—and it was as if a page were turning, not tearing, but simply moving aside to reveal the new location. This was the true application of the mechanism she had misused before! She had used the Song of Morning, which was marvelous for its purpose, but ill-suited for travel. Now she had the correct application.
The new page was Tinka's home. The blind girl stood there, gazing out the window though she could not see the view. Here it was dawn, the rays of the sun struggling to crest the high outline of the mountain range.
"Hello," Orb said in Calo, the Gypsy language.
Tinka turned as if unsurprised. She was fuller in the body than she had been, quite buxom. "I wanted to show you my baby." Her baby! Orb had forgotten. She had perhaps enabled the girl to become fertile; of course she should meet the baby!
Tinka showed her to the crib. There was a healthy baby boy, sleeping. Orb realized that the woman's increase in bosom was because she was nursing. "If you could tell me what he looks like—" Tinka said wistfully. "He's beautiful!" Orb exclaimed. But she felt a siege of her heart, abruptly reminded of her own baby, Orlene. To have been able to keep her, to raise her... "I never really missed my sight, until..." Orb banished her own discomfort. "You must have it!" she exclaimed. She took Tinka's hands and sang the Song of Morning, willing the Gypsy to see what she was seeing.
The room grew dark. Then the dawn came, with its lovely colors and effects. Tinka shivered as the magic coursed through her. The morning clouds brightened, becoming gray and white and red and orange, their edges blazing. The beams of the sun spread out in a semicircular splay, illuminating the sky, then dropping down to touch the land, warming it.
Tinka made an exclamation of wonder. She was seeing it! Orb held on to her and kept on singing. The plants sprouted, and grew, and budded, and flowered. Beauty surrounded them. Then the song ended. Tinka was breathing hard. "I saw the dawn!" she whispered.
"What do you see now?"
"It is dark again. But for a while—"
"You have the magic," Orb said. "Sing with me." She held on to Tinka's hands and began the Song of Morning again. Tinka joined her, for she did have the magic and could pick up any melody immediately. The strength of the pulse going through them doubled, the magic reaching out and in, permeating their bodies. The sunrise manifested with greater intensity, and the flowers seemed real.
As the song ended. Orb let go of her friend and reached down to pluck one flower. She brought it up before Tinka's face. "What do you see?"
Tinka blinked. Her eyes focused. "All pretty, with petals—" she said, reaching for it. "Fuzzy—"
"Sing again!" Orb said. She took hold of the girl's wrist below the flower and sang the Song of Morning a third time. Tinka joined her, and the magic intensified even more than before.
When it was done, the flower in Tinka's hand had grown into a bouquet, and her eyes were fixed on it. "Now it is clear," she said.
"Look at your son," Orb said.
They turned to the crib and looked down. "He is beautiful!" Tinka said. Then she began to cry.
Orb held her, knowing that she had found another aspect of her developing power. Nature controlled vision; nature could remove it or restore it. The Llano was only a tool; Orb's will and Tinka's readiness had shaped it.
Then the baby awoke and began to fuss. Tinka picked him up.
"I will return often, until I am sure you can see always," Orb said. "Call me when you want me." Then she thought the new travel theme and turned the page to her room in Jonah.
Nat was gone, but she thought his name, and he appeared. "Oh, Nat, I went to her and I saw her baby and I cured her blindness!" Orb exclaimed. "I used a power of Nature!"
"I am glad for you."
"I really should rest now."
"Yes, you should."
"Let's go somewhere."
"Anywhere you wish."
Orb considered. "I—I wish I could see my baby, Orlene. Not to interfere. Just—" She shrugged. "But I don't know how to tune in on someone who doesn't think of me."
"It can be done," he said. "This variant of the theme." He sang again, and it was similar to the attuning melody, but distinct.
Orb thought of Orlene and sang the variant. She felt the magic questing out in a search pattern, traversing the world at its own rate. Theft it fastened on its object, and the connection had been invoked.
"But can I really go to her?" Orb asked uncertainly.
"Exactly as you just did."
"But I don't want to disturb her life. I just want to see."
Nat smiled. "If you use the expansion-travel theme, but do not coalesce completely, you will be invisible and inaudible, like a ghost. In fact, that is how ghosts do it, but they are capable of no more, generally. This way." He sang and faded out.
Orb tried it. Instead of expanding, she simply lost mass, until she stood with too little substance to be visible. Now that she was in this state, she was able to perceive Nat, similarly diffuse. "Oh, there are so many things to learn!" she exclaimed. Her voice was a mere shadow.
"But you learn them so readily," he said. He was not whispering, but she knew that only she could hear him. They were on a slightly different plane of existence.
"Come with me to see my daughter," she invited him.
"As you wish." Orb moved into the page-turning theme, orienting on Orlene, and in a moment was there. Nat stood beside her.
The little girl was in nursery school, waiting her turn on a swing. She was about three years old, wearing a smudged dress and comfortable little shoes. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, its buckwheat-honey hue matching Orb's hair exactly. She was well fed and seemed contented.
Then the child raised her hand. Orb saw the serpent-ring on one finger. Evidently the ring was squeezing, telling her something. She looked at Orb, her eyes unfocused.
"She knows I'm here!" Orb exclaimed. "The ring told her!" Hastily she turned the page, back to Jonah.
Nat reappeared beside her. "That is a good protective charm your daughter has," he remarked.
"I can't visit her again," Orb said, upset. "If she knows I'm there, then I'm interfering in her life."
"But she is your child."
"Not any more. I must let her have her own life. I can see she is well cared for; Tinka gave her to a good family. No, I must leave her alone."
Then Orb turned to Nat, put her head into his shoulder, and cried. She could be the Green Mother, but she could not be a mother to her child.
The tour of the Livin' Sludge continued, and its success continued. The magic enchanted audiences of every type. But the group knew that their association was coming to a conclusion, because Orb had found the Llano and would in due course be assuming the office for which she was destined.
The abatement of the drummer's addiction held; he was free of H. Orb did the others similarly. Their quest was finished, and they made plans for marriage and regular employment in the future. She sang to Jonah, enabling him to swim in water again; his curse, too, was done. He continued to serve the group, but it was understood that, after the tour, he would go his own way. She sang for Jezebel, making permanent the state that Jonah had enabled on a temporary basis, and giving her the power to control her form by day or night. The guitarist knew that she would never age naturally—but now she could age unnaturally, as desired. After he died of old age, she would go her way, but would never need to indulge men indiscriminately.
Orb visited the old water oak. The hamadryad recognized her, but would not approach. Then Orb sang a song of renewal to the tree, and the deadwood revivified and the leaves brightened. She had contributed perhaps a century to its life and strengthened the hamadryad accordingly. Then the dryad came down and touched Orb's hand fleetingly in gratitude. It was enough.
Orb spent much time with Natasha, and her devotion to him became broader and deeper and more intense. He was everything she had wanted in a man, without realizing it until encountering him. He was always there when she needed him, but he never made demands. They visited far places and sang together, and the very heavens seemed to brighten and assume new significance. It had been a long time since she had loved a man, and she was glad that the interim was over.
Meanwhile, her powers of magic grew. She could make the weather change with little more than the thought of a given melody; a more involved effort had caused the pattern of the climate in the neighborhood of Betsy's farm to become regular, so that there were neither droughts nor floods to destroy the crops. But once she had done favors for her friends, she became dissatisfied; there was too much grief and hunger and misery in the world. The problem of drug addiction was not limited to the Livin' Sludge, and the problem of physical impairment not limited to Tinka's blindness. How could she deal with these things on a spot basis, while neglecting their far worse aspects on the global basis?
So it was that as the tour came to an end, she arrived at her decision. She was going to take the office of Nature.
She told her friends aboard Jonah. They congratulated her, unsurprised. "You can still drop in on us, when you have time," Lou-Mae said, giving her a hug. "We'll always be your friends."
"But have you told Natasha?" Jezebel asked. "He said he could accept whatever I decided."
"Men do say that, but they don't always mean it. Better tell him soon."
"I will tell him now," Orb said. She turned the page and was beside Nat, where he waited for her on a tiny tropical island.
He smiled at her. "You have decided."
"I have decided. I will give up the family and will assume the office of Nature. I will be the Green Mother."
"Then I will have something to ask you, and something to tell you," he said gravely.
"Ask me now, and tell me now," she invited him. He smiled. "These are not minor matters. Assume your office; then I will say what I must say."
"But you said you could accept my decision!" she said, alarmed.
"And so I can and will. But I think you must make your decision on me after you make it on the other matter."
"If you don't want me to be Nature—"
"Please, I must not discuss that now. There is a thing I may tell you only when you have the office."
Troubled, she gazed at him. "Suddenly I don't understand you, Natasha!"
"I may say no more at this time," he said apologetically. "Then I will say more," she said. "I love you and want to marry you. If you can not accept marriage to an Incarnation—"
"I think we shall have the proof of that soon enough."
"If only you would tell me what is bothering you, before I—before it is too late to change my mind!" He simply shrugged. Nettled, she turned the page to a far place, the snowy top of the mountain she had visited when her travels had been uncontrolled. There she spread her arms and opened her desire; she would be Gaea.
She felt herself expanding, not physically but psychically. Her awareness came to encompass all the world, every living thing in it, and every unliving thing. She permeated the globe, partaking of its nature everywhere. She became its nature.
Now the hunger in Africa was not a concept to her; it was part of her. The cold weather near the poles and the hot weather near the equator were aspects of her being. All the happiness of the world was hers, and all the suffering.
Now she knew why the prior Gaea had been ready to let the office go. It was such an enormous burden of responsibility! Suddenly the power she had acquired seemed inadequate to the job she had to do. How could one person oversee all the activities of the world? She was overwhelmed.
She felt herself tugged. She went where summoned and came to her residence in Purgatory. It most resembled a giant tree, but its appearance was malleable; it could be whatever she wanted. The prior Gaea had left it for her.
A young man was by the entrance. "I represent your staff," he said. "I am a lesser Incarnation; we thought it best that I handle the transition, until you are comfortable in the office. The staff consists of souls trained to serve you; they will continue to serve, or will retire in favor of replacements you may choose."
"Who are you?" she asked, surprised. "You look familiar."
"I should; I have just interacted with you. I am Eros."
"Eros! The—?"
"Incarnation of Love," he agreed.
Orb decided to set aside the implications for the moment. "You know how this office is run?"
"I know how it has been run. All decisions are yours, but we will help in whatever way you require. Perhaps you will want to interview the other lesser Incarnations who work with you, such as Phobos, Deimos, Hope—"
"In due course," Orb said. "I have one matter to settle before I get into it. Can you keep things on an even course for now?"
"If you direct, Gaea."
"Do so. I will return shortly." Orb knew she should get on into the mastery of her office, for it was important, but she simply couldn't wait to settle with Natasha.
She turned the page back to the isle. He was there. "I am Gaea," she said. "Now talk to me."
"Now there must be truth between us," he said.
"There has not been before?" she asked archly.
"There has not. I will explain. You must withhold your answer until you have heard the explanation."
"I will withhold my answer," she agreed.
"Gaea, I am asking you to marry me."
Orb relaxed. She had grown afraid he had changed his mind! But, heeding his caution, she did not answer.
"Now I must tell you that our relationship has been based on a lie. I am not the man I have represented to you. The testing of the prophecy is now upon us."
"The prophecy?" she asked blankly.
"That you might marry Evil."
"But—"
"Spell my name backwards."
Orb pieced it out. "Natasha. AHSATAN."
"And punctuate it. Ah, Satan. That is the realization of the truth. I am an Incarnation, as you are now. The Incarnation of Evil."
Appalled, Orb stared at him. Her worst horror was facing her—in the aspect of the man she loved.
