Finally one of Strega’s blows connected. He buried an axehead beneath Ransom’s chest, hurling him into a tree so hard that its bark was blasted off. The angel slumped forward, eyes closed and arms hanging limp at his sides.
Strega spoke in a deep voice that resonated from the dark hollows of time.
“Do you think you’ve changed anything?” he asked. “Where the feast is, there will the revelers be. We merely gather at the table that man has set.”
Ransom exhaled—a long, low hiss—and opened his molten eyes.
“This feast is over.”
Wrapped in blackest gloom, he took on the form for which he was named, and what had been an even fight became an execution. Strega glimpsed his leg sailing free before he even realized that he’d been cut. He toppled to one side and bellowed in rage as Ransom crossed his scar with another.
Strega’s body sank to the ground, his foul spirit expelled, and Ransom looked once more to the bandits.
“For a moment, their eyes were opened. They felt doubt, perhaps even a flicker of remorse. But that moment passed. Their leader steeled his gaze and I knew that Strega had been right, that it would all happen again.”
The savage man snapped the reins and his destrier, believing the worst had passed, trotted hesitantly forward.
“Angels are strictly forbidden from slaying mortal men, or so I’d heard.”
Anxious stares probed the forest’s forbidding shadows. No man would breathe easy until they were well away from this accursed place.
The wind had died and an eerie silence hung in the air. Between the trees, a pair of eyes glimmered like silver coins. With a bloodthirsty growl and a flash of fangs, the black-furred beast emerged from the brush.
“You took the form of a wolf?” asked Corwin.
“Sometimes we wear masks,” said Ransom. “Sometimes more than one.”
The shadows came alive with eyes and sharp teeth. A ferocious pack of wolves, more than a match for the bandits’ numbers, descended upon them.
“I left a trail of blood and corpses a mile long. The neighboring townsfolk would call it divine retribution, but I’m not so sure that the Father saw it that way.”
Quiet returned to the wood, the somber hush of death, and in the east, the horizon bloomed with dawn’s coming. Crimson dirt glistened in the early morning light.
“As penance, my true form was sealed and I was assigned to a new department, providing last counsel to souls like yourself.”
“So I’m your punishment?”
“Well you’re certainly not a reward!”
“And you’re alright with that?” Corwin stared into the lifeless eyes of a bandit who lay eviscerated, his chain mail torn by razor jaws. “If you ask me, your only crime was having a sense of justice.”
“God sees farther than you or I.”
“You said once before that this job is only temporary. How many more years have you got?”
“The hour of my atonement is for the Father to decide. Whether it takes another day or another thousand years, it is not my place to question his judgment. Speaking of which, we’re still not done preparing for yours. Your fifth and final paradox yet remains.”
The rising sun crept over the treetops, rimming the sky in fire, and Corwin limbered up his back with an arching stretch.
“Heaven awaits,” he said. “And what would Heaven be without a few atheists to keep things interesting?”
20
Enslaved to Happiness
“You’re looking spry,” noted Ransom. “That’s good, because we’ve got a bit of a climb ahead.”
Golden sunbeams striped the forest, illuminating patches in the dirt trail. Ransom marched over to the nearest. As he lifted his foot, the ray began to bend. Its perfect slant sprouted ridges, a staircase ascending into the sky.
Corwin felt a song coming on.
“And it’s whispered that soon
If we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason”
Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” continued to play in his head as he mounted the steps, each smooth and clear as a sheet of glass. The light which gave shape to them intensified ever so slightly, so that the beam’s pathway was distinct even beyond the window of leaves that framed it.
“This does go to Heaven, right? Not the surface of the sun?”
“Depends who’s climbing it.”
As they rose above the beech trees, the forest’s dense canopy spread forth like an otherworldly meadow. Butterflies bobbed and birds nested in its green and yellow folds. The treetop plains rolled towards distant hills in the east, but to the north, Corwin spied the march of civilization. A clearing had been carved into the land, dotted with crop fields and farm houses. Past a river bank, the walls of a medieval castle town arose and fortress towers thrust their parapets stark against the horizon.
They climbed higher and higher until Corwin could glimpse the sea. There he paused, raising his head to ward off a momentary dizzy spell. The thought of falling wasn’t nearly as terrifying as it would have been a day ago, but that didn’t make looking down any less hypnotic. Ransom waited a few steps ahead. Shading his eyes, he gazed skyward. The stairway appeared to stretch on forever.
Just then the sun pulsed, sending forth a ripple of light that pealed across the heavens. Corwin crossed his arms to guard against the blinding shockwave, but he felt only a static tingle as it passed. When he opened his eyes, the world below had changed.
The forest had receded, with highways and railroad tracks cutting efficiently through the trees. Modern skyscrapers replaced the fortress towers of old and suspension bridges spanned the river. The city had spilled over to both shores, growing like an inkblot on a fresh sheet of paper.
Corwin continued to climb as hundreds of cars sped along the roads beneath him, and soon he reached such a height that the traffic seemed to flow in slow motion. The sun pulsed a second time.
A boundless cityscape now carpeted the earth, with only a few green islands of woodland remaining. City walls had returned as if recalling the medieval age, only these soaring, metallic barricades were many times taller. They divided the opulent inner city from the outlying slums, where a jumble of buildings from different eras stood in various states of disrepair. Mega-structures loomed behind the walls, towers stacked atop towers and an enormous trapezoidal pyramid that dwarfed the skyscrapers of Corwin’s day.
Another pulse, and the world became a glittering reflection of the blue sky. The seas had risen, reclaiming the land, and where once the sprawl of the outer city had been, only a scattering of eroded buildings now jutted from the waves. Mangrove trees dug their roots into the crumbling concrete and moss hung from windowsills. The great walls had endured, as had the inner city, though its rusty spires no longer shone as proudly.
“Is this—are we moving into the future?” asked Corwin.
“Into a future,” Ransom replied.
Again the shockwave swept away what was. A curtain of amber draped the heavens, and Corwin’s first thought was that day had faded to sunset, but when he looked ahead, he found that the sun still hung in the very same spot. However, this sun was larger and orange-tinged. The ocean had retreated and a forest of scarlet-leafed trees had sprung up vengefully in the wake of civilization’s fall. Yet humanity lived on. Farmers penned livestock in the foundations of ruined buildings and horse-drawn wagons rolled atop cracked and beaten pavement. Inside the walls, the monolithic pyramid had become a fire-lit temple. Technology’s clock had been turned back, or so the Earth proclaimed, but among the stars which poked through the day’s thinning firmament were constellations new and unnatural. They twinkled in tight formations, patterns that spoke of intelligent design. Perhaps Earth hadn’t abandoned technology, but rather those who commanded technology had abandoned Earth.
Corwin had little time to wonder about it before the next pulse flashed and the world was made anew. A biting-cold wind whistled and he hugged his arms with a shiver. The
land had brightened, but only because sheets of glacial ice now stretched as far as the horizon. Glass panels domed the ancient inner city, a warm bastion of life that stood alone against the frozen tundra. Streaks of light darted like shooting stars between the manmade constellations, and a red sun burned dimly in the sky.
The sun mustered one final pulse, transporting Corwin and Ransom to the misty gray heart of a cloud. Corwin glanced down to check that the steps were still there. The stairway was only faintly visible. He could see the shadow of Ransom’s back farther ahead, along with a dull glow where the sun had been.
“Ransom, I’ve had some time to think about things, and I’ve decided that I’d rather not go to Hell.”
“Well that’s a start.”
“However, I’m not really sure that I want to go to Heaven, either. When it comes right down to it, there’s more than enough wonder and mystery in my own universe, without the need for any heavenly fantasy realm. Why not let me be reincarnated as part of some karmic cycle?”
“Beware of karma,” warned Ransom. “In the strict sense, it means that in all things, everyone gets what they deserve.”
“Sounds like a nice thought,” Corwin remarked.
“Far from it. Judging by karmic laws, one might say that an abused child is simply receiving payback for some sin committed in a past life. One might look at the Holocaust and declare that the Jews had it coming. With karma, there are no victims.”
“Then to hell with karma! But even if I can’t reincarnate, I’d still rather haunt the earth as a ghost than spend eternity prostrated on my knees, stroking some god’s infinite ego.”
Ransom’s laugh echoed through the fog.
“You humans sure have some odd ideas about Heaven.”
From above the clouds came a soft hymn that steadily grew louder and more triumphant.
“Allow me to tell you something that, as an atheist, I think you’ll be glad to hear,” said Ransom. “There are no religions in Heaven. Road maps lose their use once you’ve arrived at the final destination.”
The sunbeam led through a gap in the clouds and there the stairs ended. Corwin stepped off onto the fluffy, white cloud top. A pearlescent gate swung open to greet the two travelers, admitting them to a land where fluted columns rose, upholding nothing, and slender bridges arched between sky islands. The whole place was bathed in celestial light and filled with the sound of the joyous hymn. Winged angels in flowing robes sat atop nimbus puffs, their fingers plucking harp strings, while a great multitude of humans knelt humbly and raised their hands, singing praise to a glowing figure enthroned above.
“For a moment there you were starting to get my hopes up, but this is just what I was afraid of,” grumbled Corwin. “Is Heaven really like this?”
“I should hope not. Could you see me singing in a choir?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Corwin said in an encouraging tone. “Maybe if you quit smoking, took a few classes . . .”
Ransom hopped onto one of the drifting nimbus puffs. Once Corwin had climbed aboard, the cloud began to rise, flying out over the singing congregation.
“What you see is no more than a popular conception of Heaven,” said the angel. “I assure you that it falls well short of the reality.”
“Yet isn’t this exactly the sort of slavish devotion that your god demands?” asked Corwin. “He clearly has self-esteem issues.”
Ransom tapped his cigarette case and the lid flipped open.
“Who stands to benefit the most from religion, God or man?”
“Going by your theology, it’s man who has everything to lose.”
“And everything to gain. So it is with worship. God doesn’t need the praise, but man needs the humility.”
“What you call humility looks a lot like groveling.”
“Only to one who can’t tell the difference between awe and cowardice.”
They set down on one of the smaller islands where a line of boxy contraptions spat out reams of paper. The sign above them read: “Incoming Prayers.”
“I might have a higher regard for prayers if your god actually answered them with any degree of consistency,” mentioned Corwin.
“Answered them with a ‘yes,’ you mean.”
“There are thousands of religions in the world with billions of followers sending up god-knows how many prayers every day. If any of them were the one true faith, shouldn’t we see a preference for that group’s prayers getting granted more frequently than the rest?”
“Perhaps you were looking for the wrong signs,” replied Ransom. “When it comes to God and requests, religion’s role isn’t to get you everything you want, but to teach you what to want.”
Grabbing up a length of loose paper, he stretched it before him as if reading a scroll. The usual prayers were all in evidence. Corwin spotted pleas for success in romance, for financial security, for good health in the face of illness or injury.
Unmoved, Ransom let the list fall.
“Many pray to be millionaires. Few pray to be saints.”
At the island’s edge, a dock extended into a current of wispy cirrus clouds that snaked through the air like a river. A gondola was tethered to one of its posts. Standing at the stern, a white-robed woman waited with an oar shaft in hand.
“But enough about prayers,” said Ransom as he strode onto the dock. “Your Paradox of Heaven raises an altogether different concern.”
“The problem is that the Christian conception of Heaven rests upon two conditions that simply aren’t compatible,” Corwin asserted. “Heaven is supposed to be a place without sin, yet Christians insist that we still have free will. The result is an illogical, unsustainable state of affairs.”
They sat down in the gondola and the woman gracefully pushed them off from the dock. Her brown hair was gathered into rings that swung about the sash at her waist.
“Given all eternity,” continued Corwin, “what’s to keep me from sinning if I can do as I please?”
“It certainly wouldn’t work in the mortal world,” concurred Ransom. “Down there, doing what you please and doing what will bring you happiness are not always one and the same.”
Since entering this realm, not once had the sound of music ceased. Profound and solemn and jubilant at the same time, the harmonious melody would have humbled even the greatest Renaissance composers. But as Corwin listened closely, a disturbance reached his ears. From the broad, stepped clouds below, a discordant note arose. Someone was singing out of tune.
Sporting a goatee and a shiny bald head, the man in question was either oblivious or supremely confident in his baritone voice. However, the fellow to his right was rapidly running out of patience. He gave the man a nudge, but it had no effect. An angry vein bulged on his forehead and he nudged harder.
“Hey now, what’s the big idea?” the bald man thundered as he turned on him.
Abruptly the melody broke.
“You’re not singing in tune!” the skinny fellow complained.
“You got a problem with my voice?”
“Now hold on!” said another. “There’s no need to be unkind.”
“But he’s right,” someone else chimed in. “That oaf was singing to his own piper!”
“Maybe a little variety is just what this choir needs!” yelled a rebellious hippy.
“No!” the skinny fellow shouted back. “What we need is harmony!”
The bald man’s blood boiled.
“I’ll show you harmony!”
Tearing off his robe like a pro wrestler, he roared and threw himself at the fellow with the tenor voice. In moments, the whole choir transformed into a roiling mosh pit. Fists flew and a few unfortunate souls rolled right off the clouds in a tangle of grappling limbs.
Ransom watched it all with a shameless smile on his face.
“What does it mean to sin?” he asked.
“To defy god’s will—whatever that is—and choose to do evil instead of good,” replied Corwin.
“What if I told
you that most sin isn’t a matter of choosing outright evil over good, but rather of choosing a lesser good over a greater one?”
“For example?”
“Take adultery,” offered Ransom. “Sexual pleasure is a good thing, but not when it means being unfaithful to one’s spouse, for the sanctity of marriage is something greater.”
“You’re saying that sin is a case of bad priorities.”
“Most sin, yes. Acts of pure evil do happen, but humans usually need a little help to pull that sort of thing off.”
A place could be seen up ahead where the river divided. Mountainous thunderheads narrowed the sky into canyons, their walls soaring gray and white with swaths of lilac and opal blue. The two branches of the river were fast lost to the cumulous billows.
“Miss, if you would take us left at the fork,” Ransom said to their gondolier.
“As you wish, sir.”
“You can call me Ransom, and this is my friend Corwin.”
“Julia,” she said in return.
“Tell me Julia, have you ever felt inclined to strike my friend over the head with that oar of yours?”
“Why would I want to do such a thing?” she asked, her expression bemused.
“Imagine that we rode your gondola a million more times. Might it ever occur?”
“What is time to me?”
“Point taken, but how about if we carried on in a most obnoxious manner?”
“Would you want to carry on in such a manner?”
“Well, no,” admitted Ransom.
Julia giggled.
“You ask amusing questions, sir.”
Their gondola yawed gently as they turned starboard and followed the twisting river into a deep cloud ravine. Lightning bolts leapt across the sliver of sky above and the airy walls rumbled like the belly of a great beast, but the lower reaches of the ravine were mostly calm, if a bit claustrophobic.
A pair of torches marked a short dock that stood downriver.
“That would be our destination,” said Ransom.
They drew up beside it and the gondola glided to a stop.
“Shall I await your return?” asked Julia as her passengers disembarked.
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