With intrepid strides, the angel marched for the ascending stairway on their left. He seemed to know exactly where he was going.
“You humans have a saying: ‘There are no dumb questions, only dumb answers.’ Well I’m sorry to break this to you, but there are dumb questions, and the crux of that paradox is a glaring example of one.”
The staircase turned ninety degrees, a short span of level ground marking the corner. On and on it continued in like fashion, as if hugging the interior of a fortress tower, only this tower had no walls. One wrong step might send Corwin over the edge to be dashed against the bricks below, or worse, to fall forever through a dark abyss.
“Like a lunatic’s ravings, your argument isn’t so much a profound question as it is an abuse of the English language,” Ransom went on. “While you’re at it, why not ask: ‘What caused the uncaused cause?’ Or how about: ‘Can God create a triangle with four corners?’”
His melodramatic tone emphasized the absurdity of the argument, and Corwin almost felt embarrassed for bringing it up. He had hoped to lay a trap, but the logic that underpinned his snares was coming undone.
Logic, thought Corwin. That’s it!
“So what if the question is illogical? If god is omnipotent, why should he be bound by the laws of logic? Can your god not define truth as he sees fit?”
“Your mistake lies in thinking of truth as if it were an outside force to which the Father aligns himself. God does not obey truth, nor does he decree it. God is truth. It is intrinsic to his being. Truth, wisdom, power, love . . . These forces find their source, their very definition, in the nature of the Divine.”
“Then answer me this,” insisted Corwin. “Must god remain always as he is now? Can god change?”
A scraping rumble filled the labyrinth and the ground shuddered beneath their feet. Corwin lifted his arms to steady his balance. The whole place was shifting, stone grinding against stone as the stairs bent and revolved.
“Does perfection change?” asked Ransom when the noise at last died down.
“I wouldn’t know,” Corwin replied, climbing to join the others on a corner platform. “From what I’ve seen, perfection is about as illusive as your heavenly father.” His gaze narrowed as he looked out across the newly rearranged landscape. “Wait, am I standing on a flight of Penrose Stairs?”
The bizarre maze made even less sense than before, as now the stairway on which they stood appeared to form an endless loop, rising and folding back in upon itself. It was a trick of perspective, a shape that shouldn’t exist in the real world.
“Separating God from his nature is not your only mistake,” spoke Ransom. “Your reasoning was flawed from the moment that you used the word ‘can.’”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Can God do this? Can God do that? You speak of the Father as though he is some time-bound being that deals in potentialities. God transcends time. He is pure actuality.”
“Not the eternity copout,” groaned Corwin. “Christians always fall back on their god’s magical time-traveling antics when an argument isn’t going their way.”
“I assure you, the point is relevant,” promised Ransom with a chuckle. “God’s relation to time makes a difference in the words we choose. The Father has no potential, because he is the realization of all potential. For him, there is no can or cannot. Rather, God does or does not. He is or is not.”
“It all sounds like semantics to me.”
“Don’t be so quick to disregard language. Words have power.”
“And what about the potential for evil?”
“Any act of evil would constitute an unrealized potential for good.”
“So god cannot do evil.”
“He does not,” the angel pointedly corrected.
“Hey, don’t look at me!” Corwin raised his palms defensively. “Christians were spouting off about what their god can do well before I came along.”
“True,” Ransom admitted, continuing up the stairs. “It’s unavoidable to a degree. Human language is sorely inadequate for describing the fullness of time.”
“How delightful,” spat Corwin. “Another concept that’s beyond my mortal mind! Religions love their mysteries, but what use is an idea that can’t even be comprehended?”
“Mysteries don’t exist simply to be mysterious. If there was nothing to gain from the concept, the Father would never have revealed it to you in the first place.”
“And what have we gained?”
Another tremor shook the ground and the stairway divided between them.
“Perspective!” shouted Ransom as the stretch of stairs on which he and Blue stood pulled up and away.
“Don't just leave me here!”
“I won’t leave you, Mr. Corwin!”
Blue took one look and nimbly leapt down, right over Corwin’s head, landing with cat-like reflexes behind him.
“Meet me at the top of the stairs,” yelled Ransom.
“This place is a damn maze! How are we supposed to get there?”
“Stick with Blue. She knows the way.”
As the upper half of the staircase rose, Corwin and Blue’s half lowered, the stairs leveling out to form a walkway that met flush with two other paths. Picking a direction, Blue hummed along, a spring in her step, her threadbare dress fanning like a ballroom gown with each graceful twirl.
“Of course Blue knows the way,” muttered Corwin under his breath. “Why wouldn’t she?”
He followed his unlikely guide up staircases and around bends, past lamp posts and over sloping walls until he couldn’t tell which way was up.
“Are you married, Mr. Corwin?” asked Blue as they emerged from a barrel vaulted tunnel.
“Not me. Never got the chance.”
“What’s it like where your home is?”
“Well, it’s kind of like the place where you were flying your kite, only with fewer trees and bigger buildings. There are carriages that move without rails and long, snowy winters. Sometimes the sun comes out. And you can find some good people, but only if you look hard enough.”
“Are you going to go back?”
“I don’t think so.”
“But I bet you miss it, don’t you?”
“A little.”
“My husband once told me that nothing good goes away forever. Someday all the good things will be new again. New, he said, but not the same. Never the same, for then there would be no adventure in our reunions.”
Corwin smiled. “I hope he’s right.”
Their walkway intersected with another beneath the quaint brick dome of a gazebo. Blue had begun on a course straight through when something drew her attention to the left. She tilted her head and concentrated, as if listening for an elusive whisper that she alone could hear.
The stop was a welcome respite for Corwin, who propped one arm against a pillar.
“Are we lost?”
Like a bloodhound tracking a scent, Blue’s instincts had thus far sniffed out an invisible trail. Her confidence was infectious, and somewhere along the way Corwin had ceased worrying about where they might end up. But now she looked conflicted.
“Not lost,” she said. “Two ways.”
“Which is the faster way?”
“Straight.”
“But from that look in your eyes, I’m guessing you want to go left.”
“I’m not sure why.” As she stared down the left-hand path, a confused longing came over her. “I just feel I’m supposed to.”
Corwin shrugged off his weariness. “Left it is, then!”
Blue’s expression brightened at his words, though he still spied traces of sadness, shadows stitched in the arctic gems of her eyes.
She kept an ear to the far winds as they made their way. Her steps had lost their bounce, but there was a new type of energy, a hope or conviction that Corwin couldn’t quite pin down. Content to follow, he let his thoughts drift to the many doors that edged the labyrinth roads. One appeared to belong to a
ritzy hotel, Room 1901. Another was iron, eaten by rust and half-covered in peeling paint. Some bore windows, like the porthole in the door ahead, but they offered no glimpse of the worlds beyond. Even when Corwin leaned to inspect it from behind, the door's view was the same, its glass infused with amber light.
To reach out and turn one of the knobs was a constant temptation. He resisted it for the very practical reason that he hadn’t the slightest clue what would happen. Perhaps he could peek through, harmlessly open one of the doors—just a crack—and reseal it when his curiosity was satisfied. Or perhaps it wouldn't be that easy. What if opening a door meant getting pulled into an alternate universe? And what if someone or something was waiting for him on the other side?
Feeding his curiosity with daydreams, Corwin didn't right away notice that he had lost his guide. Alone, his mind raced back to the here and now.
“Blue?”
No answer came, but it took only a second to spot her. Blue stood motionless some yards behind, her gaze glued to a large, stout rectangle of tarnished silver. The door was elaborately engraved, vines weaving a Celtic pattern along its border. In the center rose a tree. Seven stars hung above it, pointy crosses in the sky.
As Corwin drew near, Blue turned, and seeing her face he immediately dropped to one knee.
“Why do you kneel?” she asked, her voice a golden harp.
“It just seemed like the right thing to do . . .” he kept his eyes to the ground, “when in the presence of royalty.”
“But you are not one of my subjects, Corwin. You are a friend. Rise.”
He glanced up, but the vision of Blue was so resplendent, so stunning that he dared not look upon her. Instead of standing, his utmost urge was to dig a hole and crawl shamefully out of sight.
“If it's alright with you, I'll just stay down here.”
Soft hands cupped his cheeks and the gentle warmth of spring poured over him. The scent of tulips perfumed the air as she raised his head, her sapphire eyes meeting his.
“Rise.”
However unworthy he felt, Corwin had not the power to refuse her.
“My true name is Mirielle,” she said. “You and the angel have done much for me.”
“Um, my lady–”
“Please, call me Mirielle.”
“Lady Mirielle, how did you come to be where we found you?”
“There is a place in the Starlight Garden, a meadow with many ponds. By day their halcyon waters glisten clear, but under the stars, the ponds reflect distant realms, worlds far removed from our own.
“One night while my king slept, I walked alone amidst the reflected lands, and there I saw a city mantled in dazzling white. Never before had I seen snow. My king had warned me against swimming in that place, but I thought that if I could just wade by the shore, perhaps I might feel some shadow of that land, know what it was to live as those people bundled in furs lived.”
Her fingers traced the grooves in the silver door.
“That was a long time ago, and now I fear to return. What if my foolishness has brought shame upon my king?”
“No!” The word leapt out, louder than Corwin had intended. “He won't be ashamed of you. I'm sure that more than anything, your husband just misses you.”
She hugged him, this same girl that had wrapped her arms around his neck while he carried her over electrified rails, only now her touch was enough to melt the coldest winter freeze.
“I thank you, Corwin! You will always be welcome in our land. And give my thanks to the angel!”
“About that . . .” he floundered, remembering where he was.
“Left at the next lamp post, then the second flight of stairs on your right.”
She rested a hand on the doorknob.
“Can I ask you one more thing?” Corwin's request stalled her. “How can you tell which way is which in this maze?”
“After I left the Garden, the past faded, but the mists of the future began to clear. I can see where things lead, where time will take them.”
“You can see into the future?”
The revelation struck Corwin like a ton of bricks.
“Only to the next bend in time's road.” Her hand went to his forearm and squeezed. “Beware the one who wears false skin! Beware the whisperers!”
13
The Soulless Stranger
At the top of the stairs, Ransom held a phone to his ear.
“That's what I thought . . . No need, it's already been taken care of . . . Thanks Elsie, and stop worrying. We're ten steps ahead of them. I'll see you.”
“Blue says thanks,” said Corwin. “And her real name is Mirielle, by the way.”
“Queen Mirielle of the Starlight Garden. Perhaps we can pay a visit when this is all over, provided that you're not in Hell, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And that would be our exit.”
Near the corner of the platform stood a blue plastic door. As Ransom pulled its lever, the slider above switched from “occupied” to “vacant.” The labyrinth vanished and the two travelers stepped out into a breezy autumn night. There was dirt underfoot and a full moon in the sky, its glow limning the clouds with a silver sheen. It might have been a pleasant change, if not for the acrid stench.
Cringing, Corwin turned to discover a row of filth-encrusted porta potties. In front of each was a line. At the head of the nearest, a portly man in a Red Sox cap was regarding them with a look of amused disbelief.
Ransom strode right up to him, his aloof demeanor not ruffled in the slightest.
“Whatever you think went on in there, I assure you that the truth is far stranger.”
“Nice choice on the door,” Corwin whispered cynically as they marched towards the colorful lights and blaring pop music of the fairground.
Families were everywhere, mothers clutching their children’s hands and fathers with toddlers riding on their shoulders. Packs of teenagers roamed the trampled grass, navigating between food stalls and game booths, presenting their tickets to vendors and lining up in front of noisy, electric carnival rides that invariably looked more thrilling than safe.
That was the point, Corwin reminded himself, though a few of the rusty rides stood out to him as lawsuits waiting to happen.
He recognized several of the attractions, sights that brought back memories from his childhood. They walked past the Gravitron, a chrome flying saucer that spun in a stomach-churning whirl. Whoops and hollers arose from the bumper cars as they swerved and rammed each other again and again. A Viking ship swung like a great pendulum, its screaming sailors lifting their arms to the sky. It struck Corwin that these were all familiar but different. The painted backboards, the blinking lights, the horned dragon on the prow of the ship—they didn’t quite match the rides that he so vividly remembered.
This place might have been the past, but it wasn’t his past, and that knowledge came as a relief.
Corwin hadn’t been to a carnival since he was ten years old. His parents had taken him then, his father holding his hand as he gleefully dragged them towards one ride after another. How big and strong that hand had felt! And how frail his father had become, reduced to a vacant-eyed shell of his former self in those last days. Corwin clenched a fist and briefly shut his eyes, blocking out the memories.
Ahead rose a huge red-and-white striped tent, its pinions fluttering in the breeze. The interior was aglow, promising hot food and live music, games of chance and a place to rest one’s legs. Ransom’s shadow lengthened as he approached the furled flaps of the entrance.
“It's a shame,” said Corwin. “I bet Blue would’ve loved this place.”
In unspoken agreement, Ransom drew a fresh cigarette from his case. A snap brought a tongue of flame to his index finger, the tobacco’s glow swelling bright as he took a drag.
“Before you start puffing away . . .” Corwin pointed to a sign posted beside the tent’s entrance. A red circle and slash barred the icon of a cigarette.
“No smoking?�
� scoffed Ransom. “Damn communists! They're welcome to try and stop me.”
“You might give a thought to the children, not that I'd expect it from you. For an angel, you’re a terrible role model.”
Ransom gave a loud groan.
“Fine!” Cinders hissed as he crushed the cigarette’s tip between his fingers and flicked its smoking butt into the nearest trash bin. “Happy now?”
His client’s victorious smile was almost enough to make him light up another.
As they stepped inside, the tantalizing aroma of fried dough and cinnamon lured Corwin’s eyes to a nearby stall where a bundle of long, ridged pastries had been set to cool.
“Churros! I haven’t had one of those in forever.”
“I was leaning more towards the funnel cake,” said Ransom.
“Trust me,” urged Corwin. “You want a churro. They go great with bourbon.”
The angel perked up.
“Your arguments are getting more persuasive all the time!”
With a steamy, sugary stick of crisped dough in hand, Corwin launched into his second paradox.
“The Paradox of Omniscience is pretty straight-forward: If god is all-knowing, then he knows the outcome of your every decision before you make it. Given the choice between A or B, god knows that you're going to choose A, and god cannot be wrong. Therefore, you don’t really have a choice. There was never any possibility for you to choose B, because you cannot choose other than as god knows.”
“So either man doesn’t have free will, or God doesn’t know everything,” Ransom summarized. “The Father’s knowledge leaves no room for chance.”
“Correct,” said Corwin. “And just because your god is beyond time, that doesn’t mean that he gets a free pass.”
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