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 interior. 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 me?”
“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 sacrifices 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.”
Chronos 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 time traveler,” 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?”
“You were the one Satan slated for early demise, Niobe. Your husband asked the Professor about your bad visions, and the Prof, who is a pretty fair magician, investigated. He was grooming the young man to assume a chair at the college and wanted to be sure the background was stable. He discovered the plot and informed your husband. Cedric never hesitated; he went in your place.”
Again, Niobe was stunned. She remembered her visions of dread. “He went—for me?”
“It seems that you are destined to be a real thorn in Satan’s side. None of us can know the details, of course, not even Satan, but he moved to eliminate you. Satan has terrible power, and he is subtle and methodical; we other Incarnations did not realize. Almost before we knew, it was done. The envoy of Hell was loosed—but Cedric took the shot intended for you.”
“How—?”
“The assassin was a hunter possessed temporarily by a demon spirit. The demon’s orders were to shoot the mortal who was singing at a particular oak tree, with a baby. Satan presumed that would be you. That was the loophole.”
“It would have been!” Niobe agreed faintly. “If Cedric had not—”
“He loved you,” Gaea agreed. “And he knew that Satan wanted you dead. So he saved you and balked Satan at one stroke. Seldom has a nobler deed been done.”
“But if I—”
“You cannot make a mockery of your husband’s gallant sacrifice,” Gaea said. “You must accept the gift he gave you, and do what he has enabled you to do.”
“I—but I don’t know what—”
“That is what we may not tell you, though it is little enough we know ourselves. But it is enough for you to know, now, that Satan himself regards you as a dangerous enemy, and surely he is correct. Live—and you will discover your destiny in due course.”
Niobe realized that her quest had come to nothing. Cedric had already done for her what she had thought to do for him. She had no choice, now, but to accept.
She stumbled out of the glade, through the thickly growing saplings, and emerged—beside the water oak near her home. The hamadryad recognized her and waved.
“Oh, Cedric!” Niobe exclaimed. “I was the deer to be shot—and how great was your love for me! Now I must let you die!”
Then she lifted her tear-streaked face to the sky. “But I will avenge you, Cedric!” she swore. “Somehow I will make Satan pay!”
She sank down beside the tree, and cried against its trunk, while the dryad wrung her hands. O Cedric!
—4—
CLOTHO
The following days were unpleasant, despite the grief aba
tement spells she was using. They merely dulled the cutting edge of her sorrow, but did not—could not— should not!—provide happiness in its stead. They enabled her to function in a superficially normal manner, but below, in a cavernous depth of despair, the agony remained. There was only so much that magic could do.
Niobe went to the Prof and asked why he had not told her what Cedric had done. “Because he forbade me,” the man replied sadly. “I hoped—by interceding with Death, you might—but—”
“The murder was willed by Satan,” she said. “It was too late. One of us was doomed.”
“He insisted that you be saved,” the Prof said. “I, selfish as I am, wanted him for the college. He had so much potential! But he—and evidently Satan!—believed that you were more important, and I could not refute that case.”
“He was the one with all the promise,” she agreed. “Cedric was worth two of me. I have no idea what I can do to justify my survival. But for his sake I will carry on, raise our son, and seek my retribution against Satan. If the Prince of Evil suspected that I would cause him trouble, he has surely guaranteed that I will do so now!” But once more she was overtaken by tears. She felt so desolate! Her marriage to Cedric had been, to a large extent, promise—the promise of his maturity. The promise of the life they would have together as two adults. They had just begun to taste that joy—and now it was gone.
She went to the hospital in the city, where the doctor still labored to hold life in Cedric. “Let him go,” she said. “I love him. I will not let him suffer longer.” And she kissed her husband’s unresponsive lips, and wet his face with her tears, and turned away. “May you have joy in Heaven, my bonnie boy,” she whispered. “May I join you there—when my business here is done.”
She went to Cousin Pacian’s parents’ farm, where Junior had been boarded for several days. Junior saw her— and burst into tears. She picked him up, in tears again herself, and held him close.
“But he was doing so well!” Pacian protested. “He was having a good time here, honest!”
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