Being a Green Mother

Chapter 14 & 15

Chapter 14 – Forbidden Song
  "You are naturally confused," Nat said. "That is why you must hear my explanation. The attempt to void a valid prophecy can be a treacherous thing. When the Incarnations ascertained that the prophecy relating to Luna's relationship with Death and your relationship with Evil was valid, they were of course horrified. But it was not an absolute. It contained the qualifier 'may.' That meant there was doubt—and therefore room for negotiation."
  "Negotiation!" Orb snorted.
  "In the course of protecting Luna from My interference, your mother compromised her position on you. She promised to guide your thread away from politics, and I promised never to harm you. It was understood that this represented her acquiescence to My interest in you."
  "Mother wouldn't—!"
  "Of course, upon reconsideration, she regretted this, as did the other Incarnations, especially Mars, when he learned of it."
  "Mars? Mym said you were a good man!"
  "Not exactly. At any rate, I naturally inspected you more closely thereafter—and perceived your destiny as the Incarnation of Nature. Then My interest increased. I saw, too, that you were very like your mother, in her prior session as an Incarnation. She was the most beautiful woman of her generation, a terrible thorn in My side, but I confess to becoming somewhat smitten with her along the way."
  "Niobe would never—!"
  He nodded. "True, true. She would have nothing to do with Me. But when I saw how you resembled her, in appearance and mannerism, I knew I could be attracted to you as I was to her. Then it occurred to Me that a union between the Incarnations of Evil and Nature—"
  "No!"
  "Would give dominance of the mortal realm to Me. At last I had the opportunity to defeat Mine ancient antagonist. Therefore—"
  "No! No!" Orb cried, understanding.
  "Naturally the Incarnations opposed this suit. But Niobe had already compromised your thread, and there was the prophecy, whose application had suddenly clarified. Thus it was we negotiated. We set up a compromise, whereby I would be permitted to court you without interference from any other Incarnation—"
  "They would never—"
  "My dear, they thought I would fail. Because I agreed to court you wholly by lies, which are of course My specialty. I was required to lie to you at every turn, until the end. The end is now, and for the first time I am telling you the truth. I am Satan, the Incarnation of Evil, and I love you and want to marry you."
  Orb was unable to accept this. Was Nat testing her love for him by making an impossible claim? How should she deal with this? All she could think of at the moment was to accept his statement as a starting place and explore it until the flaw was revealed.
  "You say you are Satan and you lied to me throughout. But the aspects of the Llano you taught me are valid; they do work. I have been healing people, traveling in new ways—"
  "I must clarify the levels of deceit I have employed. It is of course impossible to make every aspect of a situation a lie; there would be conflicts and paradoxes that would quickly render it nonsense. A lie has to be structured, internally consistent, so as to have the greatest final impact. Thus a lie is mostly truth, ironically. When the parts of a lie are verifiable as truth, it lends credence to the lie and gives it far more power than it would otherwise have. You might think of it as a mathematical analogy: negative numbers cancel each other out, but a structure of positive numbers that is then assigned a negative value is negative. Lies cancel out, while truth augments itself, but a structure of truth given a false value is the most potent lie of all."
  "I think you are leaving me behind," Orb said. "What I told you of the Llano is true. But my purpose in telling you those truths was false. By showing you spot truths, I was deceiving you in a far more fundamental fashion. For one thing, I was encouraging you to believe that I was not Satan. Thus those minor truths were contributing to the greater lie."
  "But I tested you! I proved that you could not be a demon or Satan!"
  "It was no valid test; it only deceived you."
  "Now that I can't accept! I had you touch a silver cross, sing a hymn—"
  Nat nodded. "I realize how difficult this is for you, but I must make you understand the truth now. I used a device the Incarnations had not anticipated. I took you into three extensive visions, and the visions were lies though their parts were true. Little within those visions was valid in the real world."
  "You are confusing me again!" she said hotly. This was evidently some sort of game, and she liked it not at all, but she had to play it through. "What were these visions?"
  "Each was associated with a song: the Song of Awakening, the Song of Power, and the Song of Love. Three of the five major themes of the Llano, the Song of Songs, if you care to call it that. I lied to you when I said I knew only fragments of the Llano; I know all of it, but I can only use fragments."
  "Five themes?" Orb asked, distracted for the moment by this information. "What are the other two?"
  "The Songs of Loss and Dissolution. You would call them Night and Chaos. But you would not want to sing them."
  "Why not?"
  "Orb, this is straying from the subject. It is my duty now to make you understand and believe the deceit I have practiced upon you, so that—"
  "Teach me those songs," Orb said abruptly.
  He looked flustered. "Gaea, I am trying to tell you the truth, and those themes are only mischief! I am the Lord of Mischief; I know! The themes of the Llano equate roughly to the five Elements, or the five Kingdoms, and as you know, some of those are dangerous. There may come an occasion when you have use for the Song of Night, but never for the Song of Chaos, and I would be deceiving you anew if I—"
  "Five Elements?" Again the detail distracted her from the main thrust, as her mind sought relief from the awful truth that was encroaching on it.
  "And five Kingdoms. But—"
  "Animal, Vegetable, Mineral..."
  "Demon and Spirit," he finished. "But the correspondence is only apparent, not substantive. Actually, every theme of the Llano aligns with every Element and Kingdom, forming the basis of the enormous power of Nature, once you learn to use it. That will take years, decades, but—"
  "You say you are telling me the truth now," she said grimly. "Teach me those songs, then."
  He sighed. "How hard it is for Satan to do good even by indirection! If it must be—"
  "It must." Orb knew she was grasping at something irrelevant to the main issue, but her need now was to establish some basis for belief, to feel at least partly in control. To make Nat do her bidding, instead of telling her what she abhorred. "Then I will teach them to you. But I beg of you, consult with the other Incarnations before you invoke Night, and never invoke Chaos, for it is forbidden."
  "Then why does it exist?"
  "Because it is the ultimate weapon against Me," he said reluctantly. "When all else fails—but believe Me, the cost is too great! I love you, Gaea, and—"
  "Get on with it."
  He sang the Song of Night. Darkness closed about them, like the gloom of absolute negation; nothing was visible or audible, and there seemed to be no sensation of any other kind. Only when he finished did the sensations of existence return.
  "But if you sang it, it would not be mere illusion," he said. "It would—"
  "And the other?"
  He sang the song of Chaos. This time there was no effect; it was just a melody that bore an evident affiliation with the Songs of Morning, Day, Evening, and Night, but had a broken beat that gave it an uncanny awkwardness. Orb did not like it at all, but it was certainly no horror.
  "That's it?" she asked, disappointed.
  "It has no power for me. Or for anyone. Only for Gaea. Each Incarnation has one weapon against which no other Incarnation can stand, not even Me, not even Mine ancient rival. The Song of Chaos is the Green Mother's weapon. But I urge you, I plead with you, I beg you, Gaea—never invoke it! You have already made a captive of Me."
  "But if what you say is true, you are my ultimate enemy!" she exclaimed. "And if it is not—"
  "It is true. Every experience you had in association with the learning of the first three songs was part of their visions, and so each was a lie, but this is the truth."
  "But the songs worked for me when I wasn't with you! I cured Tinka's blindness, got the Sludge off H—"
  "The aspects of the Llano are valid. That lent verisimilitude to the visions. Not much else was true."
  Orb felt as if her head were being compressed by the pressure of unwelcome information, and her heart was slowly turning cold. Still she fought the concept. "You are saying that when I first met you, when you helped save me from Satan's forced marriage—"
  "That was not Satan. It was a demon playing the role. But the vision began before that."
  "Before—" Orb considered. "You can't mean—when I talked to the Incarnations? To Mother and Gaea?"
  "They were demons in the semblance of Incarnations."
  "But they warned me of the trap and told me how to escape it!"
  "By singing a duet with Natasha," he agreed. "A script to introduce Me in a form you could accept. Then there was the vision of the dancing skeletons—"
  "A vision? That?" She was appalled anew.
  "From the time you woke in the storm, until the time you resumed the trip to Hawaii. There was no storm; it was all the vision."
  "But Thanatos and Chronos warned me about you—"
  "Demons in their semblance. The real Incarnations would never have served Me in such fashion. The tests were mock; in the vision, My rules govern. In reality, I could not have accommodated those tests."
  "You were so angry at me—"
  "No. I merely seemed so. The vision had accomplished its purpose."
  "And when I sought you—the mixed up Llano—"
  "All vision, scripted by Me. In reality, your former lover Mym is Mars, and he has consort and mistress as represented, but you encountered none of these. When I sang, I accomplished no good, for there was no evil other than that of the script."
  Belief was forcing itself upon her. "All—"
  "All part of the courtship," he concluded. "To cause you to fall in love with Satan, so that you would marry Me, completing the prophecy."
  "I—how could the Incarnations have gone along with this?"
  "As I said, it was a compromise. They thought that I could not succeed in winning you through any tissue of lies—especially since I had to tell you the truth before I married you. It was their belief that you would at this point turn violently against Me."
  Orb's head seemed to be whirling. "I can't believe this!"
  But she feared she could.
  "I shall be glad to show you My domain. I think you will be convinced. Or you can ask any of the Incarnations."
  "But—why? What do you care about the validity of an old prophecy?"
  "You believe that I am lying now when I say I love you?" He seemed so earnest and was so handsome that she found herself wanting to believe.
  She fought the desire off. "If you are Satan, you are made of lies! I must not believe you!"
  "Then I will merely remind you of the power I stand to gain, if allied with the Incarnation of Nature. You and I together can swing the balance toward evil, and Mine antagonist will not prevail in the end. The crisis of power that Luna is to mediate will never occur; My victory will already have occurred."
  "Luna! You expect me to betray her?"
  "Join with Me, and I will see that no evil comes to her or any other you wish to protect."
  "But Satan can not be believed!"
  He held out his arm. "Scratch Me. Bind Me by blood. I will take any oath you wish. That you can believe."
  She stared at him, becoming convinced. "Then you really are Satan, doing this for power?"
  "For love and power, yes."
  "Get away from me," she said dully.
  He faded out.
  For a long time she sat on the isle, staring out across the water. Slowly the sky clouded, and an unnatural stillness developed. The surface of the ocean became like glass. There was a grayness throughout.
  At last she reacted. She began to sing the song of Night, and isle, sky, and ocean vibrated to the magic of it. Darkness closed, Stygian, impalpable, oppressive. As she sang, she expanded and discovered that the gloom enfolded all the globe; no one on Earth could see. Even so was the mood of her heart.
  But it wasn't enough. She had suffered the loss of her love in the worst possible way, by being completely duped, and grief was not the appropriate emotion. The way those visions had been crafted so artfully to play on her innocence—"Can't you see she loves you?" demanded of Natasha by the pseudo-Mym while she protested that her affair with Mym was over, protested this to Satan!—leading her on, meddling freely with her deepest feelings! No, grief was not what was called for! Rage was the appropriate emotion! And what could she do about it?
  Her being reached out and found the heart of the Llano, its most potent aspect—the Song of Chaos, the forbidden theme. Now in her fury she invoked it, starting a reaction that spread throughout the world. Her passion gave it maximum force, though she did not understand its implications.
  Her shock at the revelation Satan had made was finding its expression.
  Ponderous and subtle forces had been invoked; the elements of Water, Air, Fire, Earth, and Void were in motion. But the initial effects were slight. Some animation returned to the surface of the ocean, and the sun shone down more brightly. The day was warming.
  Orb was disappointed. She had vented her outrage in the most effective way she knew, and it seemed to have fallen flat. What use was it to rail at what Satan had done to her, if nothing happened?
  The heat increased. Vapor rose from the water. Orb became uncomfortable on the isle, because of the humidity, so turned the page to her tree-house in Purgatory.
  Eros was there, looking grim. "What's the matter?" Orb asked.
  "I wish you hadn't invoked the Song of Chaos," the youth said. "There is apt to be Hell to pay."
  "To Hell with Hell!" Orb exclaimed. "Satan played a hell of a trick on me; I have a right to be angry!"
  "To be angry, yes; to unleash Chaos on Earth, no. This is the one process that cannot be abated."
  "Good! I don't want it abated! I want a real show!"
  "That is irresponsible—" he started to say, but she turned a page and was back aboard Jonah.
  The tour had been finished; the others were waiting only for Orb to get settled in her office, before dispersing to their new lives. Jezebel was the first to spot her. "You're back!
  How'd it go?" Orb sighed. "I assumed the office and told Nat—but it was a disaster. He—"
  Then she was crying, and Jezebel was holding her. Orb hardly cared about the anomaly of a demoness comforting the Incarnation of Nature; she simply needed support.
  When she lifted her head, the others were there. Brokenly, she told them: "Natasha—is Satan. All his proofs of mortality were false. He wants me to join him in evil."
  "But he touched my cross!" Betsy protested.
  "It was a vision. He didn't really touch your cross; we all dreamed it happened."
  "But I don't dream!" Jezebel said.
  Suddenly something clicked. "It was a dream—the skeletons and touching the cross and singing the hymn and everything!" Orb exclaimed. "And Jezebel doesn't dream! No wonder she didn't remember it! If only we had taken the warning!"
  "You mean—she wasn't really there?"
  "Of course I wasn't there!" Jezebel said. "Since then I've picked up what you're talking about; all of you had an experience I didn't. But I never thought of Satan—I mean, that he could have arranged it. I let you down!"
  "No, Jez, no!" Orb exclaimed. "I let myself down! I was too eager to believe the false proofs he offered. I should have questioned you!"
  "There really wasn't time to get it straight," Lou-Mae said. "Satan is clever, I'll say that for him."
  "Fiendishly clever," Orb agreed bitterly.
  "But what has happened to the weather?" Betsy asked. "It seems so steamy out, all of a sudden."
  "I'm afraid I did it," Orb said. "I was angry and I sang a new aspect of the Llano, the Song of Night, and then it seems I invoked Chaos."
  "Chaos!" Jezebel exclaimed. "That dates from before the time of H—of the good place, or of Hell, or mortality. Chaos hates all of it!"
  "But Chaos has no power now," Orb said.
  "Not unless allowed it," the succubus said darkly. "You know how it is when an evil demon gets summoned? If there isn't proper protection, that demon can't be banished, and a whole lot of mischief can result. If Chaos takes hold—"
  "I think I'd better get some advice," Orb said. She turned the page to her mother, Niobe. Niobe was at her residence in Purgatory. It resembled a monstrous spider web, with a home fashioned of silk.
  "It's real trouble," Niobe said. "I queried the Purgatory Computer, and it says there is no telling what can result when Chaos starts operating. It could cancel itself out, because there is a lot of randomness in its nature; but it's more likely to run a pretty rough course." She glanced askance at Orb. "Why did you choose to start off your office by invoking such a dangerous thing?"
  "You know my temper," Orb said ruefully. "When I discovered that everything I had known of Natasha was false—" She paused. "You did not come to me on the plain of the Llano to warn me of Satan's trap?"
  Niobe shook her head. "We had agreed not to interfere."
  "So it is true that you made a deal with Satan?"
  "It is true. We were caught by the interpretation of the prophecy; no one knew the outcome except perhaps Chronos, and he would not talk. So we concluded that it was better to get the matter settled one way or the other. I had to trust that you would not be deceived."
  "I was deceived," Orb said heavily. "I—fell in love with a simulacrum, in part because of challenges made by what I took to be the Incarnations, you included. Then I learned that it was Satan. What was I to do?"
  Niobe shook her head. "Every Incarnation has to deal with Satan, and it is always difficult. I had to make a small tour of Hell to find the Magician before I could find the way to stop the threat Satan posed. Mars had to bring the world to the very verge of extinction by war before he could stop the threat Satan posed for him. Now it is your turn. I can not tell you what to do."
  "It was Mym—Mars—the facsimile of Mars who finally convinced me that the man I know was not—what he was. All a vision!" Orb sighed. "Does he really have a consort and a demon mistress?"
  "He really does," Niobe agreed. "But he would never have led you to Satan!"
  "I was completely credulous," Orb said. "When Satan revealed himself, I couldn't believe it. When I did, I just wanted to strike back at something. So I sang. The most potent song I could. I suppose I was motivated by the fact that Satan himself urged me not to do it. Now I don't quite know what I've done."
  "No one can know for certain, dear. But Chronos can probably make it right, if—"
  "You mean by manipulating time? Isn't that dangerous?"
  "Yes. But that may not be the problem in this instance."
  "What is the problem?"
  "We promised not to interfere until this matter has been decided. If Chronos took action now, it would constitute interference."
  "The matter has been decided!" Orb said. "Now that I know the situation, I'll never deal with Satan!"
  "It is not decided until Satan concedes defeat," Niobe said. "That is always the way it is in these tests of will."
  "What does it take to make him concede defeat?" Orb asked irately.
  Niobe spread her hands. "Each case is different. We'll simply have to wait and see."
  "Does that mean we can't do anything to stop Chaos?"
  "I fear it does. It is like an illness that must run its course. But it might be best to keep a close eye on that course."
  "I'll try," Orb said.
  She hugged her mother, then turned the page back to Jonah. And was appalled.
  The big fish was rocking in a storm. The water no longer hurt him, but the winds were buffeting him back and forth, and the Sludge were hanging on to whatever offered.
  "Why doesn't Jonah swim away from the storm?" Orb asked, grabbing hold herself.
  "He's been trying to, but it keeps getting worse," Jezebel said. "Never seen weather like this before! It was all the big fish could do to drop Betsy and the organist off at her farm. They left their regards for you."
  Orb looked out the transparent scales. It was hard to tell whether there was cloud or water outside, but certainly there was turbulence. She wished that Betsy and the organist had remained with Jonah.
  "I'll find out how far it extends," she said. "Meanwhile, it may be uncomfortable here, but safe; weather can't really hurt Jonah." She expanded, becoming swiftly huge and diffuse, searching for the limit of the storm.
  There seemed to be no limit, only confused patches of lesser intensity. Rain and swirl were everywhere. It was like a giant sauna. Evidently the rising heat and humidity were responsible.
  But if the effect was global, what of the cold poles? Orb expanded to globe-size so she could investigate.
  It was hot at the poles. Melt water was pouring from the icecaps at such a rate that she knew that in a few days no ice would remain.
  What would that do to the level of the ocean?
  What of the seacoast cities? What of the lowlands? The great valleys that could flood?
  She oriented on the traveling show in India, where she had first met Mym. She coalesced, assuming her natural form beside a wagon.
  The rain of the monsoon was pouring down. But was it monsoon season here? She wasn't sure, and feared that this was an atypical phenomenon. The wagons were parked, for travel was impossible; the road was awash.
  Drenched, she forged to the closest wagon. It looked like—yes, it was the mermaid's wagon.
  Orb pounded on the door, announcing the presence of a visitor, then pushed it open and climbed inside.
  "Orb!" the mermaid exclaimed. "It has been years!"
  And what was she to say now? That she had started a process that represented danger for everyone here? That the water level could rise and flood them out?
  But if she didn't give warning, what then?
  "A lot has happened," Orb said. "There may be danger. I have come to warn you. This rain—it may get worse. I think you should get the wagons to higher ground."
  The mermaid shook her head. "There is no road we can travel. We must wait it out here."
  "But there may be flooding!"
  The mermaid smiled. "That doesn't really frighten me, you know. I won't drown. But I suppose it could be bad for the others and the animals. Still, the wheels are already mired; we'll simply have to sit it out."
  Orb saw that she was right. The show would not be moving. "I hope it's all right," she said, taking the mermaid's hand for a parting squeeze.
  Outside she had another notion. She concentrated, trying to invoke the elements, so that she could bring coolness and dryness and abate the rain. But she could not; that aspect of her power had been pre-empted by the developing Chaos. She was helpless before the weather.
  She turned the page to Ireland, to the place that retained its nostalgia for her: the water oak in the swamp. This time the hamadryad came down to greet her, still grateful for the rejuvenation. But the rain was blasting down here, too, and the wind was tearing at the foliage of the tree.
  "I'm afraid it may flood," Orb said.
  The hamadryad agreed; she was quite concerned. Already the level of the swamp water was high.
  "And it is my fault," Orb continued unhappily. "I—I fell in love with an illusion and, when I learned, I was angry and I invoked a theme I should not have." The hamadryad touched her hand, briefly, understanding.
  That did not make Orb feel better.
  "I hope it is not too bad here," Orb said.
  The dryad smiled encouragingly.
  Orb turned another page, to Tinka's house in France.
  Here, too, the rain was pouring. The roof was not tight; water was dripping down inside. Tinka had set out pans to catch it, but was obviously unhappy. Her baby was crying; she was trying to comfort him by singing, but the howl of the wind drowned out her voice.
  She smiled gladly when she saw Orb. She was so glad for her sight! But Orb was glum. "I'm afraid there will be worse coming," she said. "Perhaps flooding; can you move to higher ground?"
  "No, I must wait here for my husband to return," Tinka said. "Perhaps then we can go."
  "I hope it will be all right." But Orb was sickly uncertain that it would be.
  She traveled around the globe, finding the rain everywhere. Still the temperature increased; there seemed to be a hothouse effect. The polar ice was diminishing at an alarming rate. The flooding was occurring at coastal cities in the high-tide regions. There was hardly any distinction between day and night; the swirling rain was everywhere.
  She returned to Jonah. He had finally given up the battle and swum belowground, where it was calm.
  "The same all over?" Jezebel asked.
  "All over," Orb agreed grimly. "The polar ice is melting, the sea level is rising, and the rain just keeps coming down. And I can't do anything to stop it; I have lost my control over the elements."
  "Then you must rest," Lou-Mae said solicitously. "And eat," Jezebel added. "I just happen to have some blueberry pie here."
  Orb tried, but her appetite was small and her rest tormented by thought of the possible consequences of her indiscretion. Before long she was turning the pages again, traveling the globe.
  The hamadryad's tree was standing in water; all the swamp was flooded. The nymph was perched in the branches, staring at the coursing muddy water. "The roots—they can't breathe," she said, feeling the pain other tree.
  There was nothing Orb could say. She moved on to India. Flooding was well advanced now. The wagons stood in water up to their hubs, and the rain continued. Was the world to experience another deluge like that described in the Bible? No, surely there wasn't enough water available to do that.
  She entered the mermaid's wagon. "I think the wagons must be left," she told the mermaid. "They will be submerged, and the others will drown. But you could help them now, guiding them to higher ground."
  "Well, I really don't enjoy brackish water," the mermaid said. "But I think there is no need. The wagons will float."
  "They'll float!" Orb exclaimed. "I never thought of that!" But then she reconsidered. "But they'll separate, and some could overturn in the storm."
  The mermaid nodded. "You're right. We'd better take precautionary measures now. We can tie them together and build stabilizing outriggers. I'll have to spread the word. If you will carry me outside—"
  Orb reached over the tank and put her left arm around the mermaid's upper torso. The mermaid heaved her tail up, and Orb caught it above the flukes. Staggering, she carried the mermaid down and out, almost falling as she set her in the swirling water.
  "Ugh!" the mermaid said, grimacing. "Filthy stuff! But I can handle it." She spun about, testing it for depth, then swam with faculty toward the lead wagon.
  Orb smiled. The mermaid complained, but she was happy. Not only was she free of her tank, she was serving a useful purpose. Orb waited long enough to be sure that the mermaid could get the attention of the occupants of the wagons, then turned the page to France. The flooding was proceeding here, too. The main street of the village had disappeared. Tinka was peering worriedly out; her husband had not yet returned.
  "You must get to higher ground!" Orb told her. "While you can. For the sake of your baby."
  "For the baby," Tinka agreed, shaken.
  "Maybe I can locate your husband. How can I identify him?" Tinka described the man in sufficient detail. Orb expanded to encompass the region, orienting on the pertinent characteristics, and found them. She coalesced. The man was in the mountains, but the treacherous conditions had caused his wagon to slide off the trail and break a wheel. He was unable to proceed until he got it fixed, and the job was difficult.
  Orb introduced herself. "Ah, you are Tinka's friend, the one I never met!" he exclaimed. "I thought she invented you—a fantasy to divert herself!"
  "The village is flooding. I will bring her here to you."
  "She should not be out in this weather with the baby!" he protested. "She is not used to the outside, for her sight has not long been restored; she would get lost."
  "I said I would bring her," Orb said. "No walking."
  "Are you some magic creature, that you can do this?"
  "Yes." Orb turned the page back to Tinka. "He broke a wheel," she reported. "He is fixing it. I will take you to him.
  Is there anything you need to take with you? I think you will not be returning here soon."
  "Things for the baby!" Tinka exclaimed, dashing about the room. In a moment she had made a bundle of supplies and had donned a waterproof shawl to cover herself and the baby.
  Then Orb put a hand on Tinka's shoulder and turned the page to the wagon.
  Tinka handed Orb the baby and bundle and went to help her husband. Orb was impressed again at the efficiency of Gypsies when there was a task to be done. She was also struck by the presence of the baby in her arms. If only she could have kept Orlene! But even if she had not had to give up her daughter before, how could she have kept a child while assuming the office of Nature?
  She couldn't have, of course. When she had given her decision to Natasha, she had affirmed that conclusion; she had chosen the office rather than the family.
  Natasha—ah, Satan! How could she have missed that, before? She had been blinded by love. But oh, if only it could have been real! Her heart felt leaden; it craved the illusion, when the reality was the worst horror she had dreamed of. To marry Satan. She stood in the rain, holding the baby and the bag of belongings, glad for the moment that the incessant rain masked the tears on her face. What a colossal fool she had been!
  The Gypsy team labored on the wheel. They lacked the proper tools, but were clever with makeshift; in due course the wheel had been jury-rigged into serviceability. Tinka, bedraggled and dirty, returned to take her baby. "I thank you. Orb," she said.
  "It was my pleasure," Orb responded miserably. She found that she hated giving up the baby; he had become a symbol of what she had thrown away.
  "For everything."
  But if Orb had not yielded to her anger, this hot rain would not have occurred. She was owed no thanks, just condemnation. But she knew that Tinka would not listen to that. "Go uphill," she said. "Until the rain stops."
  The man nodded.
  They boarded the wagon, and the horse resumed hauling. Orb waved, then turned the page back to Jonah.
  The Sludge were sleeping, except for Jezebel. She was in her luscious form, evidently having been sharing with the guitarist. Since she never slept, she emerged to join Orb. "What can I fix you?" the succubus inquired.
  "Some piece of mind," Orb said. She found it easy to relate to the demoness, perhaps because she was feeling somewhat damned herself.
  "The rain has to stop some time," Jezebel said.
  But it did not stop. It went on and on, and the heat continued. Soon Orb was out in the world again, turning pages from one region to another, helpless to reverse the ongoing disaster.
  The coastal cities were being flooded out. The water impeded the exodus of the people; highways had been submerged and roads washed out. Most people seemed to have retreated to the taller buildings, moving to the higher floors as the water rose.
  But the heat was causing the air to expand and rise; winds were stiffening and with them the waves. Breakers smashed at the buildings, wearing them down relentlessly. Orb saw some buildings that had collapsed; if there had been people in them, they were there no longer.
  The wreckage of boats was being tossed about. This was no safe sea for sailing! But what other way did trapped people have to escape? Could she take any of them and turn the page to higher ground? There were so many in trouble that she could help only a few, but she had to try.
  She expanded, searching for the need, and found a building that was being overwhelmed by the waves. She coalesced to it. A woman and two children were standing on the roof, hanging on to the aeration pipes as the wind howled through. "I will help you!" Orb cried. "Take my hands!"
  Numbly, the woman and children obeyed, clasping their hands about hers. They did not question her arrival.
  Orb turned a page—and found herself alone. She had not been able to carry them with her!
  She turned the page back. The three were there, staring, not knowing what had happened. "Maybe one at a time," Orb said, taking the hand of the little girl.
  She turned the page—but the child was not with her. She could no longer take people with her! She had done it with Tinka and her baby, but now her magic seemed to have been drained. Maybe the Chaos was absorbing it, drawing on any magic available for its vast effort of demolition.
  She turned the page back, determined to find some way to succeed. But this time she found only a massive wave crashing across the top of the building. She expanded and thinned out, so that it did not affect her—but when it receded, the woman and children were gone.
  Orb knew that similar tragedies were occurring all over the world. She had merely sampled the horror of it.
  What had she wrought?
  With fading hope, she turned the page to the water oak in Ireland. The water was now halfway up its trunk, and the hamadryad was perched in the foliage at the top, very much like the woman and children of the building.
  Orb joined her. "I can't move human folk any more, but maybe I can move you," she said. "Take my hand, and I will try to take you to higher ground."
  "I cannot leave my tree!" the dryad cried, distraught.
  Of course that was true. A hamadryad was a creature of her tree, perhaps even the soul of the tree; she could not leave it. "I hope the water stops soon," Orb said, grief-stricken.
  The dryad gazed at her without expression.
  Orb turned the page to India.
  The wagons were floating, but precariously. The occupants were bailing them out, but the constant fall of water was refilling them. A stiff wind was carrying the caravan out toward the widening sea.
  Would these good folk survive? Orb, ashamed, did not make her presence known.
  She returned to Jonah, who remained deep below ground. "The whole world is being flooded," she reported to the succubus. "I have lost my power to transport other people; I can only watch them perish."
  "It can't rain forever," Jezebel said. "There isn't enough water."
  Orb, helpless, retired to her chamber and lay down, not expecting to sleep. She did not feel tired and concluded that this was because of her new status as an Incarnation. But she dropped off almost immediately.
  When she woke, the situation seemed unchanged—but she realized that this was deceptive, because of the ambiance of Jonah. She turned a page to the water oak—and was appalled, for it was gone. Evidently the waves had undermined it and carried it away, hamadryad and all. An old friend had been lost, and what could Orb do?
  She went to India. The lowlands had been replaced by a turbulent ocean, and there was no sign of the floating wagons. The winds were so violent that it was obvious that full-fledged ships could have foundered; the wagons had not had any chance. More old friends were gone.
  But the mermaid—she should have survived! Where was she?
  Orb expanded, spreading throughout the region, questing for the mermaid. She found her, swimming deep down, where the water was quieter. But she could not greet the mermaid down here, and she worried about the threat of large sea creatures. Suppose one decided that the mermaid was prey?
  However, no large predators seemed to be feeding now. The rain and melt that was causing the ocean level to rise was also diluting the salinity of the water at the upper reaches, and that seemed to be distracting the creatures. The mermaid had been making do with fresh water for so long that she had no problem. Perhaps she would be all right.
  Orb turned the page to southern France, orienting on Tinka. She found the wagon sloughing through muck, ascending the mountain, its wheel holding. No danger of flooding here, at least.
  She was about to return to Jonah, when she paused, noticing something. The mountain slope seemed to have changed its complexion. The ground was furred. So were the trunks of the trees, and even the leaves.
  Orb reached out and broke off a twig. She felt a little tug inside her and realized that she was Nature, now, and related ultimately to every living thing, including the twig she had just severed from its tree.
  She inspected the twig. It seemed to have sprouted new life. It was covered with something like algae.
  Algae were growing on everything, and fungus sprouted, too. The humid, hot ambiance was encouraging the growth of such things. It seemed to be one of the harmless consequences of this weather.
  She returned to Jonah—and found him in motion, swimming through the rock. "Where to?" she inquired.
  "Oh, good," Lou-Mae exclaimed. "I wanted to say goodbye to you. We—Miami is pretty low, and my folks—I've got to be with them now."
  "And I've got to be with her," the drummer said. "So we're getting off and see what we can do."
  Orb wanted to caution them about the condition of the coastal cities, but realized that they could hardly save themselves while letting friends and relatives be threatened. "Get them to high ground as fast as you can," she said. But how much high ground was there in Florida?
  Not enough, she knew. The entire state would soon be submerged. The relatives would be lost—and Lou-Mae and the drummer.
  She had to do something! But what? She had lost her power to transport other people, and in any event, a whole city was threatened, and all the other coastal cities of the world. What could she do to save them?
  She was the Incarnation of Nature, wasn't she? She should be able to do something! And she had to!
  She turned the page to Purgatory. There was Eros, as if waiting for her. "Just tell me one thing," she snapped. "What powers can I invoke, as Gaea?"
  "Any power of Nature," he replied. "To any degree. But you have to know how, and only long experience can make you perfect. I can't help you there; I only know about love."
  "Where were you when Satan was corrupting me?" she asked fiercely.
  "I did not interfere in that; a lesser Incarnation can not affect a greater one. You came to love him on your own, and I had to accede."
  Surely so. "Where can I get the information I need to master my office?" she asked tightly.
  "There is no written text, if that's what you mean. You have to master it on your own."
  "I don't have time for that! I need instruction! Who can provide it?"
  He shrugged. "Only the former Gaea, I suspect."
  "But she's in Heaven!"
  "No, she's on Earth. She still has some other natural life to live out."
  So the former Gaea remained among the mortals! Orb expanded, orienting on her, found her, and coalesced beside her.
  "Why, hello, Gaea," the woman said. She looked exactly as she had before—as Satan's emulation of her had looked.
  "Why did you give up your office to me?"
  "Nothing lasts forever," the woman said. "I was becoming fatigued, trying to keep natural order throughout the world. Any error, and such consequences! It is a nervous business. So when I saw one who had the potential to replace me, I encouraged it."
  "You encouraged it? You mean you could have prevented it?"
  "Oh, certainly! Not all Incarnations step down involuntarily. When you expanded, I contracted, until finally you expanded all the way and assumed the whole of it, and I let myself slide back into mortality. When you tire of it, and a successor offers, you may do the same and finish out your mortal life in the situation you helped generate."
  "But I am making a mess of it!" Orb protested. "I sang the wrong theme, and now Chaos is loosed upon the land!"
  "We all make errors at the outset," the woman said calmly. "How well I remember the Black Plague! It was all I could do to prevent it from wiping out the remaining population, but after that I certainly knew more about my office!"
  "But I sang the Song of Chaos!"
  The woman nodded. "I really didn't think you were ready for that one. But if you can master it, you will have an extremely powerful tool."
  "That's why I came to see you! I have no idea how to stop it from destroying the world. If you can tell me—"
  "I can and I can't," the woman said. "You see, I did not use music for my command process. So I do not know how that applies. I suspect you would not be able to use the command process I am familiar with."
  "What is that?"
  "Pseudo gestures."
  "What?"
  "Gestures that do not reach the level of performance. Patterns of muscle tension. The body has many muscles and many more combinations."
  "I know nothing about that! I sing the themes—"
  "Which I know nothing about. Therefore I can not provide you with specifics. But I can tell you what I would do, if my system remained operative. I would hasten the cycle of the pattern of Chaos you have invoked, hoping to clear it before its havoc was total."
  "Can't I simply nullify it?"
  "If there is a way, I do not know it. Other things can be neutralized, but Chaos is different. It has to complete whatever course it runs—which can not be predicted. But the less time it exists, the less damage it is likely to do. It is a calculated risk—but of course there can be no certainties, with Chaos."
  Orb was hardly reassured. "How can I use my music to hasten the cycle?"
  "You should be able to use the same theme that invoked the cycle, and invoke it again, and again. Each invocation should translate it to a new application. Of course that is dangerous, because it is apt to accelerate its power as well as its velocity. It is possible that you would be best off leaving it alone."
  "But people are dying!"
  "I realize that. But when you go for double or nothing, or triple or nothing, the result is not always what you prefer."
  Orb sighed. She knew the former Gaea was right. A gamble was a gamble. "I thank you for your comment," she said and turned the page back to Jonah.
  "I don't think you will be able to save your folks," she said to Lou-Mae. "It is my fault; I set in motion a pattern I can not control. But I may be able to change it. The risk is that I will only make it worse. How do you feel?"
  Lou-Mae hardly seemed to consider. "Let's try to save them first. If we can't, then you gamble."
  "Then I gamble," Orb agreed, relieved to have the basis for the decision clarified.
Chapter 15 - Chaos
  The level of the ocean had risen fifteen feet. The runoff from the rain across the state of Florida made it worse. Much of Miami was under water, the buildings poking out of the great new lake. The inhabitants were crowding into the diminishing islands of high ground and into the upper stories of the sturdier buildings. Still the rain washed down.
  Orb shook her head. Most of the city's population might be alive now, but the continuing rise of water doomed them. Whatever boats had been serviceable had already gone, and it would be impossible for most of the people to swim what might turn out to be hundreds of miles to truly secure ground.
  Jonah taxied to Lou-Mae's home section. It was under water; the people were gone. Rubble made islands where buildings had collapsed, and garbage floated around them. Lou-Mae stared, her face expressionless.
  "They went to high ground," the drummer said quickly. "They had time; the water rose slowly."
  "Yes..." she agreed, her shock easing.
  "I can find them," Orb said. "Give me a description of a friend or relative, and I will orient."
  Lou-Mae described her mother. Orb expanded, and when she intersected the woman, she coalesced to that spot. It was in a large building being used as a refuge. People were crowded on the upper floors. A number were injured; a makeshift infirmary section had been cordoned off for them.
  Orb saw with horror that the same furry growth she had seen in France was appearing here. The walls were covered with it, and the ceiling, and it was even on some of the clothing of the people. The heat and humidity fostered it, and it was encroaching everywhere. The air itself seemed to taste of it.
  Lou-Mae's mother was a massive woman, but she just about jumped off the floor when Orb materialized before her. Orb was the only white person in the room.
  "I am a friend of Lou-Mae's," Orb said. "She wants to join you here, to try to help you. The rest of her family, her friends—are they all right?"
  "Most—for now," the woman said grimly. "You got a way out of here?"
  "Not for this number of people," Orb said. She wasn't sure that Jonah would admit any person who wasn't part of the Sludge, and certainly not hundreds.
  "Then tell Lou-Mae to stay clear, because she's better off where she is."
  "She won't do that," Orb said. "She wants to be with you. I will have to bring her."
  The woman nodded, understanding. Orb turned the page to Jonah. "I found her," she announced. "She's all right, but she wishes you would stay clear."
  "I know," Lou-Mae said. "I won't."
  "She knows." Orb directed Jonah, and he swam to the building.
  Lou-Mae had a tearful reunion with her mother, introduced the drummer, and caught up on the status of other family members. Then she turned to Orb. "They're never going to get out of here. Go back to the fish. Take the gamble.
  We'll ride it out with them."
  Orb sighed. Lou-Mae knew the risk. But it was obvious that the risk of allowing the present situation to continue was worse. She returned to Jonah.
  Only Jezebel and the guitarist remained there. "I'm going to try it," Orb said. "That's all you can do," Jezebel said. "Maybe the guitar can help?" The guitarist fetched his instrument. "Just tell me what you want."
  "It's like the Song of the Morning or the Song of Day, but different," Orb said. "Start with that and modify as seems right." He nodded.
  Orb set herself, then sang. The Song of Chaos reached out beyond them, beyond Jonah, expanding in the manner of her diffusion traveling, embracing the turbulent world. The chamber faded, and it was as if they were in the rain, becoming part of it, part of the moving air and water. The song took hold of that ambience and stirred it, intensifying it. Darkness came, and light, but the darkness was vast and strong, while the light was limited and weak. Chaos was awakening to new power.
  Orb felt a chill as she sang, not of the body. She was playing with a force she hardly understood. Her first invocation of it had led the world to this watery horror; what would follow now?
  She completed the song, the part of it she could. The rest of it would complete itself in its own fashion.
  "The power of that thing!" Jezebel murmured. "I'm not even human, but I felt it. It would shake Hell itself!"
  "It is a gamble," Orb repeated. "I don't know whether I am doing right or wrong."
  Outside, the rain was easing. Orb expanded and found that this was happening all around the globe. The temperature had stopped rising, and the weather was slowly clearing.
  She coalesced. "I think we have turned the corner," she said, with immense relief. Then she went to her room and collapsed into sleep.
  She woke somewhat refreshed. Jezebel fixed her breakfast. She didn't know what time of the day or night it was, but breakfast seemed appropriate. Jonah was under the ground again, and everything was quiet.
  Belatedly, Orb considered that. "Why is Jonah down?" she asked.
  "He generally has reason," Jezebel said. "I'd better look."
  Orb turned the page to Miami. It was quiet, and the temperature had dropped a little. The water still stood around the buildings, but the worst seemed to be over.
  Still, she checked on Lou-Mae. She remained in the island building with her mother and the others. They had food from the supplies of a restaurant that had been on the lower floor; the flooding and lack of electric power would cause the food to spoil soon, so they were only cutting down on the waste.
  The algae grew everywhere. Someone had evidently tried to scrub down a section of the wall, but already the stuff was growing back. The scent of it in the air was stronger; it was impossible to inhale without breathing it.
  Lou-Mae and her mother were all right, but the drummer lay under a blanket. "He has a fever," Lou-Mae explained worriedly. "Several others have it. One of us is a doctor, but he says it's impossible to tell what it is yet; it doesn't act like the flu."
  "I could take him back aboard Jonah," Orb said.
  "No, he says he wants to stay here with me. I'll take care of him."
  "Maybe I can sing him well," Orb said.
  "Oh, has your power returned?" Lou-Mae inquired, brightening.
  "I don't know." Orb went to the drummer, took his burning hand, and sang the Song of the Morning. The effect of night came, and then dawn, amazing the others in the room, but Orb knew that there was no healing effect. That aspect of her power remained pre-empted by the Song of Chaos.
  "He'll be all right," Lou-Mae said, putting a brave face on it.
  "I'll keep in touch," Orb said. Her heart was heavy, but there was nothing more she could do.
  Then she thought of something. Quickly she removed the necklace she wore, with the moonstone amulet the Magician had given her as a child. As an Incarnation, she no longer needed it. She turned back to Lou-Mae. "Please wear this," she said, putting the chain over Lou-Mae's head.
  "What is it. Orb?"
  "A charm. It will protect you from harm."
  "But—"
  "Please, I want you to have it. Never take it off. Promise."
  Lou-Mae hugged her. "I promise, Orb!"
  Back aboard Jonah, she decided to check quickly on the others. She turned pages, verifying that the calm extended to all the world. Tinka's wagon was safely ensconced on a high slope, the mermaid had found herself a grotto near the new shore, and the fields of Betsy's farm were draining. Much damage had been done everywhere, and many lives had been lost, but the carnage had stopped.
  Could it really be so easy? Orb distrusted this, so she turned the page to Purgatory. This time she went to the castle of War, having a certain female curiosity about aspects of her former lover's situation.
  She was met at the front gate by a hooded figure. "Mym?" she inquired hesitantly.
  The figure drew back its hood. Its head was a writhing mass of maggots.
  Orb screamed.
  "Thank you," the figure said. "What is your business?"
  Orb realized that this was not Mym. "I—I wish to see Mars."
  "And who are you?" The maggots writhed as it spoke, forming a mouth and shaping the words.
  "I—just say a friend." She felt uneasy about revealing her nature or her business to this thing.
  The gruesome figure turned about and moved into the castle. Orb was satisfied to wait outside. What kind of company was Mym keeping, these days?
  Soon a lovely young woman appeared. That was literal; she simply manifested where there had been no one before.
  "Lilith," Orb said, recognizing her.
  The demoness was taken aback. "Have we met before?"
  "Not directly. You are Mym's demon mistress."
  "True. But who are you?"
  "His former lover," Orb said with a certain satisfaction.
  "You are not Rapture of Malachite."
  "Before that."
  Lilith made the connection. "The one who had his baby! I should have recognized you; I have emulated you in the past!"
  "Emulated me?"
  "Assumed your likeness." The demoness abruptly shifted to a mirror like image of Orb. "Mym never stopped loving you, you know, so sometimes I—never mind. I simply wasn't expecting you here. Come in; I know he will want to see you."
  Orb complied. "The figure who—with the worms—?"
  "Oh, that's Pestilence, one of the handmaidens of War, as it were; a lesser Incarnation. He's on duty now, so he answered the door. It takes a while to appreciate him."
  "He's—on duty?" Orb was starting to make a connection of her own.
  "Supervising the breeding of the vermin and diseases and fungi, now that conditions for them are ideal."
  "The mold—the algae—"
  "That, too," the demoness agreed. "Harmless, but the microscopic fungi aren't. There'll be a plague like none seen before, as those new spores infest the human systems. Pest is very proud of his effort."
  The drummer was running a fever, as were a number of others. Now Orb knew that the change in the weather had come too late; the worst damage was invisible. Spores in their trillions, infiltrating every part of the environment, taking hold in animals and people, generating illness that would be tough to fight off even with modern medication, and hellish in the present situation.
  Another woman arrived. "Ligeia," Orb said. "Or should I say Princess?"
  "I'll dispense with your title, Gaea, if you will dispense with mine," Ligeia said. "I can see why Mym loves you."
  "That's past," Orb said, embarrassed. "I came only to talk with him."
  "Of course. Incarnations consult with each other frequently. I have sent a messenger; Mym will be with us shortly. Meanwhile, you must have tea with us."
  "I—yes," Orb said, out of sorts. Ligeia was so poised and gracious!
  They went to the patio in the rear garden. It was exactly like the one Orb had seen before.
  "How is it that you know us?" Ligeia inquired as a servant took care of the details.
  "I met you—in emulation," Orb said. "Satan—"
  "How well we understand!" Ligeia said. "I Was captive in Hell, and Lilith was a creature of Hell, before Mym freed us. The deceptions of Satan are myriad and intricate. The emulations gave you false information?"
  "Mixed. Yet they were so like your reality and were so persuasive—it is as if I have been through this scene before. I—" Orb paused, beset by the notion that this could be another vision. How could she tell the difference between vision and reality, when the emulation was so accurate?
  "And now you are not sure of us," Lilith finished.
  "Would—would you object if I verified—?"
  "Please do," Ligeia said. "We do understand, Orb."
  Orb turned the page to Jonah, fetched her harp, and turned the page back to the castle. "A deceiver may not touch my instrument," Orb explained. "It was a gift of the Mountain King. If you would..."
  Ligeia smiled. She not only touched the harp, she set herself and played a chord on it. "You know the harp?" Orb asked, amazed. "Not well. But as a mortal princess, I was expected to be able to make an impression on a prince, and music is one way. This is a beautiful instrument." Lilith approached. "I am crafted largely of deception," she said. "So this may not—" She reached out and touched the harp. Nothing happened.
  "You are not deceiving anyone now," Orb said. "I have practiced none since Mars saved me," Lilith said, still touching the harp.
  "What, not even when you emulated me that night?" Ligeia inquired with pretend malice.
  "He wanted you, but you were indisposed," the demoness said. "So he asked me to—" Ligeia laughed. "I knew it, Li! I was teasing you."
  "But for your tolerance, I would not exist, Li," the demoness replied.
  Orb shook her head. "This is as it was in the vision. Consort and mistress—friends! I think I would not have understood this before I came to know Jezebel."
  "You know Jezebel?" Lilith asked with interest. "The succubus?"
  "She retired."
  "That isn't possible!"
  Ligeia put her hand on the demoness' arm. "You forget whom you address."
  "My apology, Gaea," Lilith said, abashed. "Of course you, alone of all folk, could enable her to change!"
  Ligeia intercepted whatever awkwardness was developing. "Orb, I'm sure Mym is about to arrive. Would it be too much to ask you to sing for us, since you have your harp with you? I understand there is not your match in all this realm."
  "There is one," Orb said, a shadow crossing her soul.
  "Who might that be?"
  "Satan."
  "Satan? I never realized—"
  "It is true," Lilith said. "He seldom indulges, but I knew him before he assumed his office. As a mortal he was the most moving male singer humanity has produced and knew it. I think that made him easier to corrupt."
  Orb and Ligeia both turned to the demoness. "You corrupted him—as a mortal?"
  "On orders of his predecessor. It was an irony. Satan feared the potential for good inherent in this mortal singer, so he sent me to foster evil in his heart. I succeeded too well. The mortal became corrupted and displaced the one who had sent me. Thereafter I loved the new Satan—until he sent me to corrupt Mars. Now I love Mars."
  "Mars is easy to love," Ligeia said.
  "Amen," Orb said.
  "So glad to find you in such agreement," Mym said from the doorway, startling all three women.
  Ligeia recovered first. "Orb was about to sing for us," she said. "Then she must talk with you."
  "No."
  Again all three were startled. Again, Ligeia recovered. "She came to consult as an Incarnation, Mym. You can not deny her that."
  "That, no," he said. "It is the song I may not hear."
  "You used to like my singing," Orb remarked, perplexed.
  "My love for you never died," he said seriously. "It was superseded, but it remains. I know the power of your music. If I heard it again, I would desire you above this woman and this creature, and that would prejudice our relationship. Talk with me; do not sing to me."
  "I think he is making sense," Lilith said to Ligeia. "She was his first love, and now she is more than she was."
  "We shall leave them to talk," Ligeia agreed.
  "No need," Orb said quickly. "I wanted only to consult about my present situation. I invoked the Song of Chaos, and when it threatened to drown the world, I invoked it again, hoping to cause it to pass more swiftly. It seemed to end, and that worries me; I can not believe that Chaos can be abated simply by reinvocation. Can Chaos cancel itself out?"
  "I doubt it," Mym said. "But I may know whom to ask."
  "Who?" Orb asked, hardly daring to believe that there was a ready source of the information she needed.
  "The Purgatory computer. It knows everything; the only problem is getting it to respond relevantly."
  "I have not had much experience with computers," Orb said doubtfully.
  "It seems to be a demonic device. Lilith should be able to make it behave."
  "I can try," the demoness agreed.
  "I would take you myself, but it is too difficult to be close to you for long," Mym said. "What is past must remain past."
  "Yes," Orb said, flattered. She had embraced the pseudo-Mym of the vision, but this reality left her with a better self-image.
  "This way," Lilith said. "We can walk; it is close by."
  Orb remembered something. "You emulated me—for him?"
  "He is not joking about the effect you have on him," the demoness said. "He would never have left you if he had been given any choice. I emulate any woman he asks me to, but when I did you, he just looked at me with such longing and sadness that even I, who have no true human emotions, was discomfited. He did not touch me then, afraid of what passion might resurge in him that could never be truly gratified."
  "Thank you for telling me," Orb said.
  They entered an impressive building and made their way to the computer room. Lilith activated the machine.
  BY WHAT AUTHORITY DO YOU TOY WITH ME, REFUGEE FROM HELL? the screen printed.
  "I'm helping an Incarnation," Lilith retorted with satisfaction. "The new Gaea."
  AH, THE DAUGHTER OF FATE. WHAT A MESS YOU ARE MAKING OF THE MORTAL REALM!
  Orb found it strange, addressing a screen of print, but she had to respond to this. "I am coming to you for help to alleviate that mess."
  ONLY CHRONOS CAN ALLEVIATE IT, IF HE WILL.
  So there was a way to stop this! "Why wouldn't he?"
  HE HAS A PERSONAL REASON.
  "What is that?"
  A MACHINE DOES NOT PROPERLY COMPREHEND HUMAN MOTIVATIONS.
  "Well, then, I'll just go and ask Chronos to help."
  LOTS OF LUCK, the screen printed sardonically.
  "Ligeia was right," Orb muttered. "It is a demonic device."
  "I'm sure it would do well in Hell," Lilith said.
  LOOK WHO'S TALKING. Then the machine clicked off.
  "Now how do I locate Chronos?" Orb asked. "I presume he has a castle or something here in Purgatory."
  "He does, but others don't go to it unless invited. It is best to put out a call for him and wait until he answers. We can do that for you; I'm sure he will come to you in due course."
  Orb sighed. "At least I know that someone can help. I thank you and Ligeia for your assistance."
  "We remain in your debt," the demoness said. "You helped make Mym what he is, and he is our—" She paused, evidently trying to say a word.
  "Salvation?"
  Lilith nodded. "Sometimes I almost forget my origin. There are words I can not utter."
  "I understand. Another demoness is my friend; perhaps you will be, too."
  "I can see why Mym loves you."
  Orb gave her a hug, and the demoness clung to her for a moment as a lost child might. Then Orb turned the page back to Nature's Abode.
  This time she decided to explore it more thoroughly. She still felt most at home in Jonah, but knew that she would have to get used to her Purgatory residence. Unfortunately the tree-shape of it reminded her of the hamadryad's tree in the swamp in Ireland, and that grieved her. Abruptly she turned another page, to Jonah.
  He was back underground. "The weather is picking up again," Jezebel said.
  Orb went to Miami. The weather was worsening; there was no rain, and the water level had receded somewhat; the ambient temperature was down, but gale-force winds were battering the buildings. The water had eroded the foundations of a number of buildings, and more rubble was in evidence. The city was still in serious trouble.
  She checked Lou-Mae. The room was a disaster area. Most of the occupants, including both the drummer and Lou-Mae's mother, were down with the fever, sprawled across the floor. Lou-Mae herself was unaffected and was working valiantly to attend to those who could not help themselves. Orb suspected that it was not natural immunity, but the Magician's amulet that was protecting her from the ravages of the pestilence.
  There was an odor. The building's sanitary facilities had evidently failed with the loss of power, and this surely fostered the pestilence. But until the water receded and left the building dry, there was nowhere for the people to go. Those who had sought the high ground had retreated to whatever buildings were there, in the face of the rising winds.
  There seemed to be nothing she could do. She knew that Lou-Mae would not desert her mother or the others and she could not transport the group of them to another place. She could only hope that the winds died down before the waves became too violent.
  She turned a page to France. Here, too, the winds were increasing and the temperature was dropping. Tinka and her husband seemed to be all right.
  The level of the sea around India was dropping. This eased the plight of those whose land had been inundated, but the mermaid's grotto was being uncovered. The mermaid would soon be in trouble if she didn't move to deeper water before being isolated.
  The storms were developing all around the world, battering the limited shelters of the people suffering from the plague. Orb understood now that the Chaos had not ended; it had only been changing course. Now the new course was progressing, and the storms might be the result of that change. Air that had been heating was now cooling, and ice that had been melting was reforming. The polar caps, almost depleted, were growing again. The winds were the result of the developing inversions of temperature, as air masses tried to equalize and could not.
  The seacoast cities of the world were getting battered. Buildings that had withstood the rising waters now were collapsing as the wind drove the waves across with new force.
  Orb turned a page back to Miami. The city was like a battle zone. Monstrous waves crashed across, even though the water level was down. The sea was doing more damage to the foundations now than before, because the constant surging and retreating of the waves tore at the ground in ways that the standing water had not. Several fragments of concrete were being thrown into the melee, gouging out more of itself.
  She went to the building where Lou-Mae and her mother and the drummer were. The situation was worse; a number of the patients were dead. Efforts to help the sick had ceased; too few well people remained. In fact, the only one completely free of the malady was Lou-Mae. She was holding the drummer, trying to comfort him, but Orb could see that he had lapsed into unconsciousness or worse. His skin was discolored, his face was swollen so badly that he could not have opened his eyes, and there was blood on his shirt where he had been coughing. The others were no better off.
  Meanwhile, the wind buffeted the building. Every time a wave struck, the room shook. There were sounds of things falling, and Orb experienced the sickening feeling of settling. This building was about to go!
  "Lou-Mae, you have to get out of here!" Orb exclaimed.
  "I can't! Mama's dead, and Danny-Boy's dying! I can't leave them!"
  "But you can't help them! The plague—"
  Lou-Mae just held the drummer, as if she could infuse health back into him. Orb could make no further impression on her.
  A larger wave crashed outside—and the building went. It shuddered, and the floor tilted. The steel supports groaned as they twisted out of place; the ceiling tore from its moorings and sagged down. Things fell down from the story above things like bodies.
  The bodies on this floor started sliding, the drummer with them. Lou-Mae tried to hold him, but only started sliding down herself. The wall buckled and a panel sprang loose; suddenly there was nothing between the interior and the drop-off to the raging ocean several stories below.
  Orb tried to hold the woman, tried to turn the page, but found herself alone; she still could not take anyone with her. She turned back, rejoining Lou-Mae. "Jonah!" she cried. "Here to me!" Then she hung on to Lou-Mae as they all slid down the increasing slope. The bodies were funneling in toward the open panel, jamming against each other; this slowed progress, but not enough.
  Then the head of the big fish appeared, poking through the building. Orb hauled Lou-Mae up physically—she could still do that!—and dragged her into the mouth. When the woman was safely on inside, Orb tried to go back for the drummer, but it was too late; the upper stories were collapsing, and everything was going down in stages.
  "Danny-Boy!" Lou-Mae cried, trying to launch herself back out, but Jonah had closed his mouth. She clawed at the flesh, screaming, but could not get through.
  Meanwhile the building was settling into rubble. Orb watched it through the transparent scales. Another wave crashed through, accelerating the process. Even had the occupants been well, few could have survived this. The drummer was gone.
  Jezebel appeared. "Take Lou-Mae to her chamber and try to get her to sleep," Orb said. "She—the others are dead." She sounded cold to herself, but it was horror inside.
  The succubus put her arm around Lou-Mae. "I wish I could feel what you feel," she said.
  "You wouldn't like it," Orb replied, and turned the page to Betsy's farm.
  Her worst fear was realized. The storms were raging here, too. Something very like a hurricane was blasting across the plain, lifting the drying soil and hurling it in clouds against anything that offered. The day was dusky because of it. Orb had to brace herself against the fierce wind and squint to keep out the particles of grit.
  Betsy's farm was taking a beating. Whatever remained of the crop after the flood was now being swept away by the wind. The house was under siege, as the wind tore at its edges. The gusts were so strong that Orb found herself blown along. She wasn't hurt, as her office made her invulnerable to physical harm, but any other person would have been at risk.
  She made her way awkwardly to the house and knocked on the door. Such was the noise of the storm that she could hardly hear the knock herself; she was sure the occupants couldn't hear it. So she expanded until she was diffuse enough to pass through the wall, then coalesced inside.
  No one was there. Surprised, then alarmed, Orb looked around. Where could they have gone? Surely they hadn't been caught outside by surprise!
  Then she realized that farms on the plains were accustomed to handling storms. There should be a safe place to hide.
  Betsy and the organist and her family were there, waiting out the storm in a small cellar designed for this purpose. There was still water standing on its floor, but this was a small penalty for the security it provided. They seemed to have escaped the plague; this region had not been as good for the multiplication of the spores.
  "I don't know how bad it's going to get," Orb said, "But I'm afraid it will be very bad."
  "We'll ride it out," Betsy said bravely. "How are the others doing?"
  This was the question Orb had dreaded, but she had to answer it. "Miami—is gone. The waves—"
  Both Betsy and the organist were stricken. "Lou-Mae—" Betsy whispered.
  "I got her back to Jonah. But the others—"
  "Oh, damn," the organist muttered, knowing his friend was dead.
  The wind intensified, howling past with frightening force. It seemed to be trying to lift the house off its foundation.
  "You had better get clear," Betsy said to Orb. "Thanks for stopping by." It was evident that she had no intention of leaving, though she knew there was a place for her and the organist in Jonah. This was the family farm; there might have been a time when Betsy wanted to leave it, but now she would stay here.
  Orb turned the page to France. Here the situation was worse; trees were down, and the wind had blown the wagon away. Tinka and her husband and baby were huddled against a firm face of rock, covered by a blanket. The force of the wind was diminished here; the bulk of the mountain intercepted it.
  Orb decided to leave them alone; they were as well off as anyone. She went on to India.
  Here the wind had hastened the outflow of water, and the land all around the mermaid's grotto was dry. Evidently it had happened too swiftly for the mermaid to escape; she was stranded. At first Orb feared she was dead, but she was only avoiding the fierce wind by lying flat.
  "I will help you reach a better place," Orb screamed over the wind. "The sea—"
  "The sea is too turbulent above," the mermaid screamed back. "And too cold below. I need a pool!"
  "I'll find a pool!" Orb agreed. She expanded, searching for one reasonably close by.
  She found it: a deep one used by a wealthy estate, now deserted. The buildings of the estate were battered, but the pool had suffered only the accumulation of debris. Orb fished out what she could, then turned the page back to the mermaid.
  "I will carry you there," she cried. She got her arms around the mermaid's body and heaved her up. She staggered toward the estate.
  What had taken only a moment by magic means was a wearing trek with a physical burden while being buffeted by the wind. Orb had to put the mermaid down and rest frequently, and it required over an hour to traverse the distance. When they finally got there, Orb was so fatigued she fell into the pool herself. Now the roles were reversed, as the mermaid caught her and bore her to the edge, keeping her head above water.
  "Oh, it's good to get back!" the mermaid exclaimed. "Let me fill my gills!" She dived under, expelling the air from her lungs, so that her gills could function.
  Orb, satisfied that she was alt right, foraged in the main building of the estate for some food, which she brought to the pool. The mermaid grabbed it eagerly. "I'll check on you every so often," Orb promised, and turned the page back to Jonah.
  "Maybe you should rest," Jezebel said. "It's too bad that your meeting with Chronos didn't work out better; you should save your strength for what may come."
  "Chronos? I haven't met with Chronos yet," Orb said.
  "But you said—"
  Orb glanced at her sharply. "Has there been another vision, a dream-sequence?"
  "Demons don't dream," Jezebel said. "I remember clearly what you said just half an hour ago—"
  "I have just spent at least an hour helping a mermaid reach a pool. I'm bedraggled and tired now, and am quite sure I haven't spoken to you about Chronos recently."
  The demoness didn't answer.
  "It's getting worse," the guitarist said. "We can feel the rumbling, even through the rock."
  "The winds were gale force and rising in India," Orb said. "But I'm afraid to sing the Song of Chaos again. How is Lou-Mae?"
  "Sleeping," Jezebel said. "I think Jonah is helping. But you know she's not going to be happy when she wakes."
  "If only I hadn't started this!" Orb lamented.
  "I think Satan started it. He led you on, knowing how mad you'd be when he told you the truth. He's collecting souls by the millions now."
  "Damn Satan!" Orb swore, hating the logic of the plot.
  "They say he works over each new Incarnation," Jezebel continued. "He taught you that evil Song, didn't he? He saw you coming, and really—"
  Orb, unable to listen, turned the page to Ireland—and regretted it. The water had receded, but the swamp was a tangled mass of roots and mud, with few trees standing. The hamadryad's water oak was gone.
  Orb stood there in the savage wind and cried. She wished passionately that she could undo the damage she had done, but knew she could not. She had to carry through, but knew that she had already failed so grossly as the Incarnation of Nature that she would have to resign the office the moment things stabilized. She couldn't resign now, because this disaster was not the responsibility of her successor, assuming any successor existed; Orb had to face it herself.
  After a time she turned the page to Betsy's farm.
  And blinked. The house was gone.
  The wind was so savage here that it was impossible to see more than a hundred feet, but there was no question: the house had been blown away. Orb expanded, questing for the cellar, and found it.
  It was empty. In fact, it was simply a gouged-out hole, much larger than the original cellar. It was evident that the storm had spawned a tornado and torn the very stones and timbers out of the ground and scattered them across the landscape. Betsy and the organist and Betsy's family were gone.
  Orb gazed around the horizon. A tornado? By the sound, there was another coming. She expanded and confirmed it; three of them tearing across the plain, spewing out sand and debris, their terrible tails whipping back and forth as if searching for anything not yet destroyed. Farther out were two more, orbiting each other. Indeed, they were everywhere, growing like monstrous trees. Some were so twisted that they seemed to be rolling like elongated barrels along the ground, their funnels impinging on the territory of neighboring tornadoes. Hell had arrived on earth, here.
  She returned to Jonah. "The farm—gone," she said dully. The individual tragedies were losing their impact; they were only samples of what the whole world was suffering.
  Jezebel didn't comment. What was there she could say?
  Orb knew now that it was not going to stop. The flood had been replaced by the storm. If she sang again, what worse could happen?
  She fetched her harp and sang the Song of Chaos a third time. But this time she tried a variation, intuitively; she modified it with the error-nullification theme. If straight repetitions didn't do it, maybe a null repetition would.
  Again she felt it taking hold. But even if it stopped all the trouble this instant, too many lives had been sacrificed.
  When the song was done, she moved to the surface, apprehensive about the result.
  The wind was dying.
  But did this mean an end to Chaos, or only the onset of another aspect of it?
  Where was Chronos? He was the one who was supposed to be able to help! Why hadn't he contacted her before this?
  Orb turned the page to Purgatory, then sought Chronos' mansion. She would brace him directly!
  A maid met her at the door. "The Incarnation isn't in," the woman said.
  "I'll wait," Orb said, pushing past her. She was beyond the point of politeness.
  "It isn't wise," the maid protested.
  "Just send him a signal, or whatever. Tell him Gaea is here. I won't leave until I talk with him."
  The maid spread her hands. "No one can reach Chronos when he's out. He isn't like other Incarnations."
  Orb picked a comfortable couch in the front room and lay down as for sleep. The maid departed.
  To her surprise. Orb did sleep. She woke abruptly when Chronos entered the room. He was a handsome figure in a white cloak. "Ah, Gaea," he said. "In your lovely stage. Had I known you were coming, I would have been here to greet you."
  "I left a message," Orb said curtly. "Why didn't you answer?"
  "What message?"
  "Hours ago! They said it would reach you!"
  Chronos nodded. "Ah, I understand. You are early in your tenure, and do not properly appreciate my nature."
  "The Purgatory computer says that you are the only one who can help me. The world is being demolished by my error, and I have to stop the disaster!"
  "Let me explain," Chronos said. "I exist backwards. The message you left remains in my future, your past. Probably this visit of yours has nullified it, so I have no news of it in my past, your future."
  "Backwards," Orb repeated. "Yes, of course. I didn't realize—"
  "However I'm sure we shall be reconciled, because we have had a long and beneficial association."
  "That can't be. I'm going to resign as soon as I can somehow stabilize the Chaos I invoked."
  "Chaos?"
  "If you live backwards, you have to know all about it, don't you?"
  "Not necessarily. Your future, and therefore my past, is malleable. What you foresee occurring may differ from my experience."
  "But if you have lived through it—"
  "I have lived through a single track of it—one of an infinite number available. I try to avoid interfering with my own track, but sometimes it does change. This is of course an uneasy business for me, though I am immune from paradox."
  "Well, I have an uneasy business outside!" Orb retorted. "Are you going to help me or aren't you?"
  "I would be inclined to help you, for the sake of your beauty and the long association we have had. However—"
  "For the sake of what?" Orb asked sharply.
  Chronos smiled. "I suppose that was not an honest answer. But I do not believe it would be wise for you to know either the source of my inclination or my reason for denying it."
  "You would do something for an attractive woman that you would not for an unattractive one?" Orb demanded. Her frustration and fatigue were telling, and she knew it, but she hardly cared.
  "Well, men do," he said reasonably. "It depends on the relationship. But your case is special. You have generally met me in your assumed guise of age and maturity; to encounter you now in your beauty is—"
  "I suspect that if I understood what you were getting at, I wouldn't like it," Orb said. "So much for the source of your inclination; what is your reason for denying it?"
  "They are linked. Perhaps you had better simply accept my statement that I do not wish to interfere with the present course of history."
  "Even though life on Earth is being wiped out?"
  "Well of course it didn't—won't come to that, exactly."
  "Are you being deliberately perverse? I am not making much sense of this."
  Chronos sighed. "I suppose I had better explain. But I must warn you that to prevent this explanation from changing the very matter of which I speak, I shall have to erase this particular line after experiencing it."
  "Erase it?"
  "I shall set the time back to this point, and our discussion will not have happened in your reality."
  Orb realized that such was the power of this Incarnation, that he was not bluffing. "No! I forbid that! If you have a legitimate rationale for your action or inaction, and it concerns me, I believe I have a right not only to know it, but to remember it. I want you to tell me exactly what is on your mind, and why you seem to be refusing to help me undo the damage I have done."
  "But you see, Gaea, your knowledge would almost certainly change the matter that I relate! Therefore it would become meaningless, and perhaps much worse."
  Orb stifled a sharp retort. She reminded herself that her impetuous meddling with an aspect of the Llano had gotten her into trouble more than once, this time quite seriously. There could be merit in his caution. "Then tell me, and let me judge whether it is proper for me to remember. But you must promise to let me decide."
  "I suppose you do have that right," Chronos said unhappily. "But—would you mind changing to your other form?"
  "My other form?"
  "The mature one. You—I prefer that you change."
  "I hardly know what you're talking about. This is the form I have had since maturity; I know of no other."
  "Again, my vantage betrays me. In your future I have known you in the other guise. The reason for my concern will be apparent when I have explained."
  "Then you had better tell me what form you are asking me to assume and how I should do it."
  "I really don't know how you do it. It is just one of the powers of your office, as it is for Fate."
  "One moment," Orb said. She turned the page to Fate's Abode. The young oriental woman was there. "Could I speak to my mother for a moment?" Orb asked.
  "I'll wake her." There was a pause, then Niobe appeared.
  "What is my other form, and how do I achieve it?" Orb asked.
  "Why I don't know, dear; the prior Gaea had many forms, and I'm sure you will, too. I think you just—choose it."
  "But I have no idea how!"
  "Perhaps if you imagine a progression in your appearance similar to mine," Niobe said. "In my youth I looked like this." She changed to a young and startlingly beautiful woman.
  "Oh, mother, I had almost forgotten!" Orb exclaimed. "You were such a creature!"
  "But I didn't take care of myself," Niobe said, reverting to her middle-aged spread. "I suspect something similar would have happened to you in time, if you had not assumed your office. If you will just imagine it—"
  Orb concentrated, trying to picture herself when she became her mother's age.
  "Yes, that's it," Niobe said.
  "You mean I changed?"
  "Come to the mirror, dear." She led Orb to a full-length mirror.
  Orb was astonished. She was now a solid, middle-aged woman, perhaps twice her normal mass, her hair starting to gray. "Oh, ugh!" she exclaimed.
  "No, it is very good," Niobe said. "You look very much the part of Mother Nature now." She contemplated Orb critically. "Except for the green hair."
  "My hair is not green!"
  "Precisely. The Green Mother traditionally has a green tinge about her."
  Orb concentrated. "Like this?" Now her hair showed greenish in the mirror.
  "Yes, dear. That is very nice."
  Orb realized that she must have chosen—in Chronos' futuristic past—this form for much of her official activity. "I suppose it will have to do. Thank you, mother."
  "Do be careful, dear."
  "It's late for that!" Orb turned the page back to Chronos' domicile.
  "Yes, much better," Chronos said. "You are your familiar self."
  Orb was not completely pleased, but elected to pass over the matter. "Now tell me everything I need to know."
  "It began about fifteen years hence, in your framework," he said. "Perhaps a few more. I was—well, I met a ghost."
  "A ghost! There are millions of them being made right now!"
  Chronos shrugged. "This ghost had an unusual proposition. He wanted me to impregnate his wife. This was a thing he could not do himself, of course."
  Orb realized that this was a highly unusual story. She resolved not to interrupt until it was complete.
  "I met his wife and fell in love with her. I could not marry her, of course, but I lived with her like a husband, and she bore my child, though it was legally the child of the ghost. Unfortunately, the baby had a malady and died, and she committed suicide because of her grief. She was the perfect woman and the perfect mother and she felt she had no life without her baby."
  How well Orb could understand that! If only she had been able to keep her own baby!
  "That left my own life meaningless. With the ghost's help, I assumed the office of Chronos and have held it until this time. As you can appreciate, I would not have come to this had I not met the woman, and had she not died. I think I would give it all up, to live out my life with her, but I can not, and I believe I am a competent officeholder and that my input is beneficial. This is the past that I feel I should not change, the future that you will come to know."
  "I am sorry for your tragedy, of course," Orb said. "But I do not see how it relates to me. Meanwhile, I have a most pressing problem in my present, not my future."
  "But your present affects your future, and therefore my past. The woman I loved, and will always love, is alive today, as a child. Her name is Orlene."
  It was as if cold water had been dashed on her. "Who?"
  "Your daughter—who in her adulthood rather resembles you as you are now. That is why I find your natural appearance so disconcerting."
  Orb thought of her reaction to her encounters with Mym, both real and in emulation. "I understand. But—my daughter?" This was such a surprising development that she was still assimilating it.
  "As a woman of twenty. Old enough to know her mind. She had a magic talent, the ability to perceive the best matches in people, as if the people glowed. I glowed, for her." He leaned over and put his face in his hands. "Forgive me," he said, his voice muffled by his fingers. "It has been long since I have spoken other."
  Orb gazed at him with a certain compassion. Her baby girl—as a woman this man had loved! Now at last she knew Orlene's future!
  And Orlene had died—would die prematurely, in tragedy. That was the second shock. Her death precipitating this man's assumption of his present office. No wonder he was concerned about Orb's reaction! If she acted to save Orlene, by diverting her from the ghost marriage, Chronos might never become Chronos!
  Her eye fell on the ring on Chronos' finger. The one that looked like the ring Mym had given Orb and that she had given to her daughter. Orlene had given it to him, as a signal of her love for him!
  Or was it another imitation? Beset by a sudden intense curiosity. Orb extended her hand to touch the ring.
  It came to life immediately, uncurling and sliding from Chronos' hand to hers. It coiled about her finger.
  "Is it really you?" she asked.
  The ring squeezed once.
  Of course it could be lying—another ring of the type, pretending to be the one she had owned. But she doubted it "What he says is true?"
  Squeeze.
  "You could not help my daughter?"
  Squeeze.
  Orb put her own face in her hands, sobbing silently. For a time she remained thus. When she recovered, the ring was back on Chronos' finger. It was his, now, by the right of the chain of love.
  She found Chronos looking at her. "Now you understand," he said. "I dare not change her future; therein lies paradox."
  "But she has no future, if the weather continues!" Orb protested. "She may already be dead!"
  "That need not be final."
  "Not final! What is more final than death?"
  "Time."
  "But if she dies, your paradox is already upon you! You must save her."
  "No, I may not interfere with the natural order where it concerns my own past. That would risk a disaster worse than we can know."
  "But—but if you have experienced the future—how can this present holocaust be reconciled with that?"
  "It can't."
  "You are talking riddles! You can't meet and love a woman who was killed in her childhood!"
  "There is a way through. That is what I must accept."
  "You live backwards! You have already experienced it! What happens? How can this be undone?"
  "There is no problem about the how. I can act at a later time—an earlier time, for you—and nullify this particular path. The problem is the why. Only with the advice and consent of the other Incarnations will I take such an action, for it affects us all."
  "You don't know whether you did it? Will do it?"
  "Because the action I will take affects my own past, I can not be sure what has happened in my past. There is a region of uncertainty, where the lines of history diverge and tangle. Nothing is absolutely fixed. In one of those lines the decision will be made, and it will guide what I will do in your past."
  "You have no notion at all what is going to happen?"
  "Only that the ultimate decision was yours. I acted as the Incarnations agreed, after you decided. I believe it was the correct decision."
  "So I can save the world?"
  "So it seems."
  Orb realized that this was as much of an answer as she was going to receive. "If I can save it, I will save it," she declared. "No matter what."
  "I am not sure of that," he replied.
  "Not sure—!" But she decided not to react further in his presence. She turned the page back to Jonah.
  Jezebel was there. "Who are you?" she asked, startled.
  "What do you mean, who am I?" Orb said. Then she realized that she was still in her new, mature form. Hastily she willed herself back to normal.
  "You have learned a new trick," Jezebel remarked.
  "Yes, it seems I have."
  "You look tired. Let me fix you something to eat, and you can rest."
  "I don't know whether I'm tired or not, now," Orb said. "After that meeting with Chronos, my mind is spinning!"
  "Chronos is going to help?"
  "He won't commit himself! He says that I will be the one to decide. But—oh, it's all so frustrating!"
  "Well, eat," Jezebel said, setting some toast before her.
  Orb looked at the watch on the wrist of the demoness. Surprised, she looked at her own. "I think your watch has stopped," she said. "It's two hours behind mine."
  "Oh?" Jezebel compared the two, then went for a desk clock. The clock agreed with Jezebel's watch. "I think yours has gained."
  "Gained? How could it?"
  Jezebel shrugged. "You have been traveling all around the world. Perhaps it got jogged."
  "I suppose," Orb agreed. She reset her watch.
  She discovered that she had gulped down her toast in short order. "I can't sit here while that's out there," she muttered, and turned the page to Fate's Abode.
  The oriental woman was there, as before. "May I talk to my mother again?" Orb asked.
  "Again?"
  "Yes, she helped me an hour ago."
  Niobe appeared. "An hour ago? No."
  "What do you mean, no? You showed me how to assume a mature aspect." Orb shifted into it, then back.
  Niobe considered. "You were visiting with Chronos?"
  "You know I was, Mother! And what he told me—my daughter, your granddaughter—"
  "Let me tell you something about Chronos, dear. His mansion reflects his lifestyle. Anyone who enters it lives backwards. I have experienced the effect many times. A visitor emerges earlier than she enters. On occasion I have even met myself arriving. How long were you there?"
  "How long—" Orb repeated, realizing. "You mean—an hour earlier than—?"
  "You are now in your own past, as it were, by that amount. Don't worry, it clears automatically after you catch up. It is like a string that loops back on itself; it may not reach as far, but it's all there."
  "Jezebel!" Orb exclaimed. "She said I'd talked with Chronos—before I did! Only I was in my time, and—oh, it's all confused!"
  "These things happen," Niobe said. "I suggest you go off by yourself until it clears, then proceed normally. I was about to take a nap; Clotho will alert me when you arrive, in your past. But after this—"
  "I'll be more careful with Chronos!" Orb finished.
  "Yes. I'm surprised his staff didn't warn you."
  "I think they tried to, but I—you know how I am."
  Niobe kissed her. "Of course, dear. I will not speak of this, when you arrive again. You understand."
  "So as not to confuse me further," Orb said, already confused enough.
  "Yes. We all have to make accommodations, when dealing with Chronos."
  Orb turned the page to the isle where she had talked with Natasha. She sat on the sand, trying to make sense of it all. Intellectually, now, she understood, but emotionally she remained confused. She had in effect traveled backwards in time, without realizing it! She could appreciate why Chronos was uncertain on some details; she had done it only once, and her confusion was great.
  What was she to do? She had brought on this disaster, so she was responsible. Chronos said that he could help, but only if she decided what should be done, some time in her future. So perhaps what she needed to do now was to decide her proper course. She did not want to make any more mistakes!
  The wind blew past the isle, gouging sand from the beach and hurling it into the ocean. She saw waterspouts all around. If she had not assumed physical immunity from harm with her office, she would be in trouble aow! What had happened to the calm brought about by her third singing of the Song of Chaos?
  Then she realized that she was still in her own past! She had lost about one hour, going backwards in Chronos' mansion instead of forward. That meant that her life was two hours behind where it should be—the one she had retreated; and the one she had failed to go forward. She had labored to India to help the mermaid, then returned to Jonah, then gone to see Chronos—and returned to Jonah an hour earlier, for about half an hour of food and talk. Jezebel had remembered that, when Orb seemed to return half an hour later. Now she was here at the isle, and the moment of her singing must be incipient.
  She remained on the beach, watching. How fortunate it would be, if the Chaos finally abated!
  She considered turning the page to Luna's mansion. How desperately she needed the company of someone who truly understood! But surely Luna had problems of her own, dealing with the storm; better to leave her alone. "Ah, Moth," she murmured. "When I really need you, I dare not go to you!"
  The time came. The wind died. The waterspouts lost momentum, shriveled, and withdrew into their clouds, which in turn thinned. The sun emerged, and the savage waves sank back into placidity. Her song had really cooled things off!
  Cooled? Now she was aware how much it was cooling. Despite the sun, the air was cold.
  She watched, hesitant to travel again until she had a clearer notion what was developing. The air chilled until she knew that the normal person would have had to don heavy clothing. The sky clouded again; ice crystals were forming as the upper reaches chilled and the dew point was reached.
  Now she traveled. She turned the page to India.
  The mermaid's pool was cooling, too. Water was slower to yield its heat than the air, but it was obvious that the mermaid would need some protection before the pool froze. Already she was huddled and shivering. What could Orb do?
  She considered starting a fire. But that would be of only limited value and dangerous; how could the mermaid properly tend it? What would happen when the fuel gave out?
  Yet what else offered? Orb couldn't carry her magically to a better place, and there was nowhere to go physically.
  Luna! Luna could help, by lending one of her many amulets. Just as Orb's own had protected Lou-Mae, another could protect the mermaid. She turned the page to Luna's house, glad of the pretext to go there.
  And stood in shock. The house was a mass of embers. It had been burned down! In fact, all this section had been razed; smoke was still rising from neighboring blocks. What had happened?
  But she knew what had happened. Crazed people had run amok and torched the neighborhood—just part of the savagery unleashed as the natural order broke down.
  Where was Luna? She couldn't have—no, of course not; Thanatos would have protected her. He had probably taken her to his mansion in Purgatory for the duration. Luna was the key to so much of this; she was the one Satan really wanted to eliminate. Thanatos knew that and guarded her constantly; there was no need for Orb to be concerned.
  But oh, the sheer waste of this! Any chance for anyone to take shelter from the cold in this neighborhood was gone, carelessly destroyed. Luna's beautiful house, all her paintings, the two handsome griffins...
  Orb knew that if she allowed herself to dwell on this, she would dissolve into useless tears. All of it, ultimately, was her own fault. But now she had to hold her emotion in check and do what she had come to do.
  She walked through the ashes, stirring them up with her feet. Where had those amulets been? Unable to locate them, she expanded, orienting on what she wanted, and found it a warming stone. It was the only one remaining; the others had either been removed or had lost their magic in the fire. She coalesced and bent to fish it out of the rubble—a red, rubylike gem. She turned the page back to India. "Take this stone," she told the mermaid. "It will keep you warm."
  The mermaid reached a hand turning blue to take the amulet. As she touched it, its effect manifested. "Oh, it's warm!"
  "It's warm. As long as you hold it, you will be warm, too. This is the best I can do for you, until this weather changes."
  "It's enough," the mermaid said gratefully. She dived below the surface, expelling the air from her lungs so that she could use her gills. Now she would survive, even if the surface froze over.
  Orb turned the page to France. Here on the mountain the cold was worse; snow was falling, and Tinka and her husband and baby had insufficient protection.
  What could she do? She had given the only warming charm to the mermaid. Then she knew.
  "Tinka," she said in Calo.
  The blanket stirred. Tinka looked out, her breath fogging.
  "Orb!"
  Orb drew off her own cloak. "Take this. It will become whatever you need to wear, even a thick, heavy blanket."
  "I know," Tinka said. "I saw its magic many times. But you—what will you do without it?"
  "I have no further need of it," Orb said, pushing the cloak forward. Doubtfully, Tinka took it. Then she stared. "But you have nothing else on!"
  Indeed, Orb was now standing naked in the snow. "As I said, I have no need. But you do. Take it, use it, keep it."
  The mound stirred. "What?" the man's muffled voice came.
  Tinka snatched the blanket down over his head. "Nothing out there for you!" Then she focused on the cloak, and it became an enormous furry poncho that settled over the existing blanket. That would keep them all warm, both by its form and its magic!
  The mound heaved. Tinka squeaked and disappeared below. Orb, satisfied, turned the page to Ireland.
  She had forgotten that the water oak was gone. The site was covered with ice and snow. She expanded and found that all of Ireland was slowly freezing. Indeed, all the world; the people who had survived the storms were now squeezing into what structures remained, shoring them against the creeping cold, burning wood salvaged from wreckage, and hoarding blankets. There was no electricity, no oil delivery; the world had been reduced to a relatively primitive status.
  It was better than the storm, Orb told herself. But she wasn't sure. How cold would it get?
  She returned to Jonah. Jezebel eyed her somewhat warily. Orb laughed, experiencing a temporary relief from the horror she felt. "Jez, I owe you an apology. You did hear me talk about Chronos. Let me explain." She explained. "So you see, I wasn't being crazy or perverse. I'm under tension, but it hasn't cracked my mind quite yet."
  "I'm glad to hear it," the succubus said seriously. "Now why don't you put something on, before my man wanders in here."
  Oops! She remained naked, as she had gotten out of the habit of wearing anything but the magic cloak. She had felt no discomfort in the snow, but Jezebel was right; she needed to be clothed. Hastily she donned the blouse and skirt the succubus produced one of Betsy's outfits.
  Betsy, of course, had no further need of it. Now, abruptly, Orb burst into tears.
  The demoness comforted her. She was good at it, perhaps because of her experience with the guitarist. Soon Orb got a new grip on herself. "Thank you. I'm all right now."
  "That's good. We're in enough trouble as it is."
  "Oh? Has something else happened?"
  "Nothing new. We're running short of food. I can get more, but the economic system has broken down, so I can't arrange for proper payment of it."
  "I see your point. I think I can get by without it, now, and so can you, but the guitarist and Lou-Mae—"
  "Yes. And she isn't doing all that well."
  "She has reason. Jez, it's my fault; I started this when I invoked magic I didn't understand. I have tried twice to change it, but each time more people have suffered. Should I try it again?"
  "When I went out last time, it looked pretty cold," the demoness said. "How bad—?"
  "I don't know—but I fear it will just keep going."
  "Then maybe it's better to gamble again."
  "I suppose so. Chronos says I will make the final decision. Maybe one of my attempts will succeed, though I don't see how it can help those who have already died."
  "It seems best to gamble on the living."
  "Yes." Orb fetched her harp and sang the Song of Chaos a fourth time. This time she didn't bother with the null theme; it hadn't helped.
  She knew the moment she finished that it was taking hold. Jonah shook. It wasn't the big fish; something was happening outside. Orb expanded and found that the rock through which Jonah swam was heaving. She expanded further, so as to survey the globe, and found that the effect was global. The whole world was changing.
  What was happening? There seemed to be enormous stresses developing in the crust of the Earth, causing it to quiver in its effort to release tension. Those stresses were building rapidly; what would be their result?
  All too soon she saw it. Huge sections of the ground buckled under the pressure, the tectonic plates being jammed together. Elsewhere new fissures opened up, and lava spewed out. Long-dormant volcanoes came suddenly to life, and new ones erupted. The geology of the world was going crazy!
  Orb quickly coalesced on India, on the mermaid's pool. She was already too late; there was nothing but a fold of lava there. She turned the page to France and saw the mountain toppling over a vast new void beneath it. Tinka and her family were gone.
  She expanded again, distraught. All the world was going, as earthquakes leveled every remaining building and volcanoes buried the rubble in ash and lava. The crust of the Earth was wrinkling like the skin of an elephant, turning over and over, and the smoke and ash was so voluminous that day had become night everywhere. There was no longer any air to breath; the fumes of the convulsion had replaced it.
  She turned the page to Jonah—and found only lava. The huge fish had been crushed and obliterated by the titanic forces of the earth, and all the occupants were gone. Jezebel should have survived it, but perhaps was lost in the Chaos. Orb was alone.
  She hovered in stasis, unable even to decide how she should feel. The calamity was so complete! She had reacted in pique and destroyed the world. What remained for her?