But when Thanatos spoke again, he surprised her. "Good and lovely mortal, I cannot do the thing you request. I do not cause folk to die; I merely see to the proper routing of the souls of those who are fated to die. It is true that I have some discretion; on occasion I will postpone a particular demise. But your husband is beyond postponement; to extend his life would be only to extend his pain. He will neither walk nor talk again."
"No!" Niobe cried. It was literal; her tears wet her robe. "He's so young, so bonnie! I love him!"
Even Death softened before that beauteous plea. "I would help you if I could," Thanatos said. "To be Incarnated is not to be without conscience. But the remedy you seek is not within my province."
"Then whose province is it in?" she demanded brokenly.
"At this point, I suspect only Chronos can help him."
"Who?"
"The Incarnation of Time. He can travel in time, when he chooses, and change mortal events by acting before they occur. Therefore if he—"
"Before the shot was fired!" she exclaimed. "So that Cedric is never hurt!"
The cowled skull nodded. "That is what Chronos can do."
The strangeness of talking to the Incarnation of Death was fading. The renewed chance to save Cedric recharged her. "Where—how—can I find Chronos?"
"You could search all Purgatory and not find him," Thanatos said. "He travels in time. But if he cares to meet you, he will do so."
"But I must meet with him! I have so little time—"
There was a chime that sounded like a funeral gong. "That will be Chronos now," Thanatos said.
"Now? But how—?"
"He knows our future. He is surely responding to the notice I will send him shortly."
A servant ushered Chronos in. He was a tall, thin man in a white cloak, bearing an Hourglass. "Ah, Clotho," he said.
"Who?" she asked, confused.
Chronos looked at her again. "Oh, has it come to that? My apology; it is happening sooner than I hoped. In that case, you must introduce yourself."
He had evidently mistaken her for someone else. "I— I am Niobe Kaftan—a, a mortal woman," she said.
"Niobe," Chronos repeated as if getting it straight. "Yes, of course. And you are here to—?"
"Here to save my husband, Cedric."
He nodded. "That, too. But that really is not wise."
"Not wise!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I love him!"
It was almost as if she had struck the Incarnation. He blanched, but then recovered. "Love is mortal," Chronos said sadly. "It passes, in the course of time."
"I don't care, so long as it passes naturally! Cedric is dying and he's not yet nineteen!"
Chronos shook his head. "I could travel to the moment before his problem commenced and change the event— but I hesitate. The interactions can extend far, and we interfere at peril to the larger fabric."
"But I love him!" she cried. "I must save him!"
Chronos glanced at Thanatos, who shrugged. They might be Incarnations, but they seemed very much like mortal men, baffled by the hysteria of a mortal woman.
"But you see," Chronos said reasonably, "to change an event, especially this one, could lead to consequences that none of us would wish."
Niobe began to cry. She put her face in her hands, and the tears streamed in little rivulets through her spread fingers.
"Perhaps a female Incarnation would handle this better," Thanatos said, evidently feeling awkward. Men tended to, in such situations; they didn't understand about crying. Niobe didn't like this situation much herself, but she couldn't help her reaction.
"I will take her to Fate," Chronos agreed quickly.
He came to Niobe and drew diffidently on her elbow. "Please come with me, ma'am."
At the sound of "ma'am," the term Cedric had used early in their relationship, Niobe burst into a fresh surge of tears. She was hardly aware of Chronos taking firm hold other with his left hand and raising his glowing Hourglass with his right. But suddenly the two of them were zooming through the air and substance of the mansion as if they had become phantoms. That so startled her that her tears ceased.
They phased across a variegated landscape that was not the world she had known. Then they homed in on the most monstrous web Niobe could have imagined, its pattern of silken strands extending out for hundreds of feet in a spherical array. In the center the web thickened, forming a level mat, and on this they came to rest. "How—what?" she said, amazed and daunted.
"My Hourglass selectively nullifies aspects of the chronological counterspell," Chronos explained. "Enabling me to travel—oh, you refer to the web? Do not be concerned; this is the Abode of Fate."
"Fate!" she exclaimed, realizing how this might relate to her. "It was Fate who determined that Cedric—"
"Indeed," he agreed as they walked to the huge cocoon in the middle of this resilient plane. "She should be more competent to satisfy you than I am."
"But—this is a gigantic spider's nest!" she said.
He smiled. "I assure you, good and lovely woman, that Fate will not consume you in that manner. She is—much like you."
Now they were at the entrance. Chronos reached up, took hold of a dangling thread, and pulled on it. A bell sounded in the silk-shrouded interior, and in a moment a middle-aged woman clambered out of the hole, very spry for her age. "Why, Chronos!" she exclaimed. "How nice to see you, my backward associate!" Her gaze turned on Niobe. "And a mortal woman who shines like the moon!" She glanced slyly back at Chronos. "What are you up to, sir?"
"Lachesis, this is Niobe," he said. "She comes to plead for the life of her husband, who suffered a recent accident. I—am unable to assist her in this."
Lachesis' eyes narrowed as if he had said something of special significance. Then she studied Niobe with a certain surmise. "Come in, child," she said at last. "We shall examine your thread." She glanced once more at Chronos. "You, too, honored associate."
They followed her through the hole, which was a finely woven mesh-tunnel that opened into a comfortable inte- rior. Everything was made of web, but it was so thick and cleverly crafted that it was solid. In fact, it was the ultimate in web—silk. The walls were woven in a tapestry that was a mural, showing scenes of the world, and the floor was a rug so smooth a person could have slept on it without a mattress.
Niobe took a seat on a plush web couch, while Lachesis stood before her, set her hands together, drew them apart, and looked at the lines of web that had appeared magically between her fingers. "Oh, my!" she exclaimed. "That is a strange one!"
Niobe's brow furrowed. "Do you mean—me?"
"In a moment, dear," Lachesis said, preoccupied. She looked at Chronos. "Tell me, friend, is this—?" she asked. Then she shimmered—and in her place was a woman of perhaps twenty, quite pretty, with a nimbus of black hair, and cleavage showing. Her dress was yellow, and very short. Then she changed again, and was the middle-aged woman in brown.
Chronos nodded slowly, affirmatively.
Lachesis seemed dizzy. She plumped into another couch. "Oh, my dear!" she exclaimed. "This is a pretty snarl!"
"I don't understand," Niobe said.
"Of course you don't, dear," Lachesis agreed. "Neither did I. But Chronos knew, of course." She mopped her forehead with a bright silk handkerchief. "What am I to tell her, sir?"
"I suppose the truth, to the present," he said.
Niobe was increasingly bothered by their attitude. "Of course the truth!" she exclaimed.
Lachesis came to join her on the couch, taking her hand. "My dear, truth can be a complex skein, and often painful. I have looked at your thread, and—"
"Look at my husband's thread!" Niobe exclaimed. "I must save him!"
Lachesis disengaged, put her hands together, and stretched another gossamer thread between them. "Cedric Kaftan," she said as if reading from a text. "His thread—" She clapped her hands together, causing the thread to disappear. "Oh, my dear, my dear!"
"You really are Fate? You can
save him?"
Lachesis shook her head. "I am Fate—an Aspect thereof. I determine the length and placement of the threads of human lives. I arrange for what befalls each person, in a general way. But this is a special case—a very special case. I cannot do what you ask."
Now Niobe's sorrow turned to anger. "Why not?" she demanded. "You—you arranged his death, didn't you?"
"I arranged his death; I did not decree it," Lachesis agreed sadly. "I remember the case now. I did not want to do it, but I had to. Now, thanks to Chronos, I begin to understand why."
"Then tell me why!" Niobe cried. "I love him!"
"And he loves you," the woman returned. "More than you can know. My dear, it would only bring you further grief to know more. Some deer must die, that the herd prosper."
Some deer! That hurt her anew, for Cedric had tried to protect the deer. "You refuse to tell me?"
Lachesis sighed. "I know how difficult it is for you to understand, Niobe. You are a brave and good woman, and your love is great, but you are mortal. I would help you if I could, but I cannot." She raised a hand to forestall Niobe's objection."To a child, life seems a series of arbitrary constraints; the child longs for the freedom of adult existence. But when the child becomes adult, she finds that the constraints remain; they only change their nature, becoming more complex and subtle. Even so, we Incarnations appear to have greater freedom of action than do mortals—but our constraints exist also, of a nature few mortals are equipped to comprehend. I can only assure you that a situation beyond your control and mine decrees that your husband must die. I can only say I'm sorry."
"Sorry!" Niobe flared. "Sorry! What possible justification can you have for arranging the death of a man as noble as Cedric?"
"I have two," Lachesis said. "One I may not tell you, and the other I will not."
"Then send me to someone who will tell me!"
Lachesis shrugged. "Perhaps Mars; he is aggressive—"
"I will take her to him," Chronos said.
Lachesis glanced at him sidelong again. "You have a special interest, Chronos?"
"I owe—Clotho," he said.
Lachesis nodded, knowingly. "It is a tangled skein we work from," she said. "A tangled tapestry we weave. Thank you for informing me, Chronos."
Chronos nodded and stood, and Lachesis stood, and they kissed briefly. This startled Niobe, but she was too distracted by the frustration of her own situation to ponder theirs.
Chronos took her elbow again, lifted his Hourglass, tilted it—and they were moving again, in their immaterial fashion.
They came to a mighty stone fortress, with armored turrets and embrasures and battlements and massive walls. It stood on a mountaintop in Purgatory and looked impregnable—but Chronos landed lightly before its main gate. "Ho, Mars!" he called.
A tiny window opened. "He's at work," a helmeted head said. "Down in France, you know."
"Oh, yes, the war," Chronos agreed. He tilted his Hourglass again, and they slanted down through the ground and the cloud and the air beneath. Looking down, Niobe saw lands and waters passing by at supernatural velocity; she felt dizzy, and had to close her eyes. Chronos might be a man, but he had astonishing power!
As did Thanatos, she reflected. That business with the scything of the flames, and that magnificent horse, and a body made of bones without flesh that nevertheless had voice and strength. Lachesis, too—that business with the threads, and the way she had changed momentarily to another woman—no mortal talent, that! They were all phenomenal beings—yet strangely helpless to aid her. She sensed that all three of them really wanted to help her, but were unable—and could not tell her why.
They slowed as they approached the landscape of France. At last they landed at the edge of a great trench, part of a messy series of fortifications that seemed to extend endlessly. This was the frontline of the war, she knew—the war that had drawn away most of the eligible young men and left her to marry a sixteen-year-old youth. She had cursed that war; now, perversely, she blessed it, for without it she would not have known Cedric.
A man in Greek or Roman armor—she was not enough of a military scholar to distinguish between them—stood between the trenches. This was evidently Mars.
"Ah, Chronos," Mars said, waving his red sword in greeting. "What brings you here—with such a lovely creature?"
"This is Niobe, a mortal. She came to see Thanatos, to plead for her husband's life, but the matter is complex and we are able neither to help her nor to explain it to her."
"Naturally not," Mars agreed as a shell detonated nearby. Shrapnel shot through the area, but none of them were hit. Niobe realized that there was a spell to protect them from such incidental mischief. Power, indeed! "Mortals are not equipped to understand."
"Of course I don't understand!" Niobe said hotly. "Fate pulled her string to seal my husband's doom, and Death will come to take him, and Time refuses to change it! I can't say I expect anything better from you!"
If she had thought to shame him into some favorable action, she failed. Mars merely smiled. "A woman after my own heart!" he said, pleased. "A fighter. All right, Chronos, I'm curious too. I obliterate thousands in a single battle, and there is scant justice in their passing, and often great irony, and you other Incarnations tend to glance askance at my work. So why are you killing in seemingly arbitrary fashion now? That is not normally your way. I should think that if this woman had the courage to brave Thanatos himself, she deserves some consideration. Where is your chivalry?"
Suddenly Niobe liked this gruff man better.
Chronos touched his Hourglass—and the world blinked. Now he and Mars were standing in different positions, and the sun shone from farther along in the sky.
"You did something!" she accused Chronos. "You changed time! Why?"
"I had to explain to Mars," he said. "I merely set you forward half an hour, while we talked."
"Why not explain to we?"
"Do not blame him," Mars told her. "He has reason, as has Lachesis. It turns out to be an unusual case."
"Then you won't tell me either. Mars?" she demanded. "You Incarnations must feel pretty big, teasing mortals—" She was overtaken by tears of frustration, a sudden torrent.
"She does that," Chronos murmured, embarrassed.
"Oh, come on, woman," Mars said. "I have delivered similar tears to tens of thousands of women, though none as pretty as you. What are you made of?"
A blind fury took her then. "And tens of thousands of similar griefs to you, you unfeeling ilk!" she cried. "I hope you choke on your own sword!"
Mars smiled. "Lovely!" Then he sighed. "I will try to clarify it for you, in a general manner. You see. God and Satan are at war, and there are countless skirmishes, occasional major engagements, and some devious nexuses. We Incarnations favor God, who is the Incarnation of Good. At times it is necessary to make small sacri- fices in the pursuit of eventual victory, and it seems that your husband is such a case. Therefore, in the larger picture—"
"A small sacrifice? Cedric?" she demanded. "I love him!" She had said that many times, and would say it many more, if it could get him back.
"And he loves you," Mars agreed. "Indeed, he has proved it. And it may be that because of this sacrifice, our side will win the war. You should be proud."
Suddenly she remembered how Cedric had been before the shooting. Almost as if he had anticipated what was to come. "He—knew?"
"He knew," Mars agreed. "He went voluntarily to that mission, and great glory accrues to him therefore. I salute him!" And he raised his red sword.
Cedric had known he was going to die! Stunned by this realization, she hardly knew what to do next. Then she stabilized. "Then I will take his place!" she said.
"You cannot," Mars and Chronos said together.
"Can't I? What do you care? One way or another I will save my husband, despite all of you!"
Mars shook his head. "You had better take her to Ge," he told Chronos. "She will know what to do."
Ch
ronos took her elbow. Niobe jerked it away, but he caught it on the second try. Then they were flying again, leaving the trenches of France below.
"I think you're all a bunch of—" she started, but couldn't think of a suitable conclusion. These Incarnations seemed to be in a conspiracy of silence! Yet she remained shaken by what she had learned about Cedric, confirmed by her memory. He had known, or suspected. But why should he have gone, then? It didn't make sense!
They came to a dense copse of small trees. They passed through it in immaterial fashion and came to rest in a pleasant interior glade.
An ample woman sat on a chair shaped like a toadstool. No, it was a toadstool, huge and sturdy. There were flowers in the woman's hair and they too were alive, their little leaves and roots showing. The woman's dress was green, formed of overlapping leaves, and her shoes were formed of earth that somehow flexed with her feet without crumbling. This was surely the Incarnation of Nature!
"So you bring her at last to me, you nefarious timetraveler," Nature said to Chronos. "Begone, you callous male; I will do what you could not."
"As you wish, Gaea," Chronos said, seeming relieved. He tilted his Hourglass and disappeared.
"You—you knew I was coming here?" Niobe asked.
"Mortal woman, you have generated quite a stir in Purgatory," Gaea said. "I suspected those men would muff it."
"But Fate—Lachesis—"
"Lachesis knows—but cannot tell. And I will not tell either; trust the Green Mother to have some discretion! In time you will understand. But I will explain to you what you need to know at this time, and with that you will have to be satisfied."
"Gaea, I want to take my husband's place!" Niobe exclaimed. "Let him survive, healthy, so he can have his career, and I will die!"
The Green Mother gazed at her with understanding. "Yes, of course you feel that way, Niobe. You are a woman in love. But that cannot be."
"It must be! I would do anything to save him!"
Gaea shook her head. "Niobe, you cannot—because he has already sacrificed himself for you."
"He—what?"
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