With a Tangled Skein

by Piers Anthony

  Niobe was uneasy. The prophecy had said “possess” rather than “marry”; if he did not marry the most beautiful woman, how would he associate with her? But she kept her misgivings to herself.

  The following year, when Junior was eleven, Blanche gave birth to a baby girl. From the start, Blenda was dazzling, certainly the prettiest baby in the vicinity. She grew into a stunning child. If Pace hadn’t married the prettiest woman, he seemed to have fathered her, and in that sense possessed her. Blenda was the talk of the county.

  Junior was now an only child, for Pacian and Blanche lived separately. It was a considerable adjustment for him at first, for his cousin/brother had been much of his family. He knew that his natural father was dead, and his natural mother absent, but his identity was with his cousin’s family. He turned inward, focusing even more on his pursuit of magic. Niobe hated to see him lonely, but could do nothing; she had given him up, and, anyway, it was the sort of adjustment a person had to make in life. But Atropos seemed to take it harder than Niobe herself did. The old woman had really come to like the boy and missed the threesome adventures. Perhaps by no coincidence, Atropos decided to retire from her Aspect. “I’ve had enough of immortality,” she said.

  Lachesis searched the Tapestry, and located a widowed grandmother who would do. They went to visit her, in the form of Atropos. The woman listened gravely while Atropos explained her nature and her desire. “But if what you say is true, I will become immortal and you will die of old age!” the woman pointed out. “Why would you seek such a bargain?”

  “It is true that I will not survive long as a mortal,” Atropos agreed. “But I have lived fifteen years beyond my time, and I have no fear of the Afterlife. I know I have done well enough and will see Heaven and I am ready for it.”

  They showed the woman their other two forms, and she was duly impressed. “Do you mean that I can be young again, and be like that? I have never seen a woman as beautiful!”

  Niobe had the body now. “You can share with me,” she explained. “But I will govern; you will be an observer, just as I will be an observer when you govern. But after a while we seem to overlap; we become in effect a single person with alternate forms. In that sense you can become me, if you wish.”

  The woman shook her head. “I am astonished. Let me think about it.”

  She thought about it for a week, then put her affairs in order and joined Fate. No complexities of meeting were necessary, as this was not a person Satan opposed; Niobe had been a special case. This time Niobe watched from inside as Lachesis took the woman’s hand, and her essence entered them, while the old Atropos departed. In a moment the Atropos they had known stood before them, a separate person, molded from the flesh of the mortal woman. Again there were tears; however voluntary the transition was, there was sorrow in it too. They separated.

  It took time to break in the new Atropos, and to get to know her well. Now Niobe knew what the others had gone through when she had joined. It wasn’t good or bad, it was mainly a lot of work and adjustment, for the personality of the total entity of Fate had made a significant shift. The fascination with opera was gone; new interests took its place. It was months before they were really comfortable as a group. But the process did serve to distract Niobe’s attention from Junior for a while, for she was too busy to visit the mortals on any but a strictly business basis.

  When Niobe did go to visit Junior again, she had to do it in her own form, for the new Atropos had no interest in this matter. Lachesis would have helped, but they decided it was better to save her as a reserve, in case it should be necessary to change identity quickly. So Niobe donned a wig and applied makeup to make herself look older.

  She discovered that the prior Atropos, the one she had known in office, had settled in Ireland, and was now visiting Junior as a mortal. They still enjoyed attending plays together, and she was able to provide magical materials for him that he could not otherwise obtain. They went regularly to visit the hamadryad of the water oak.

  Niobe considered that situation, and decided to let well enough alone. Atropos really did like the boy, and would see that no harm came to him. “Bless you,” Niobe murmured to herself. Then she reconsidered, and visited the old woman privately to repeat the sentiment aloud.

  “Well, you know my own kin wouldn’t know me anymore,” Atropos said. “They think I died fifteen years ago. I’m a grandmother; I need to practice my art.”

  Evidently so. But Niobe kissed her anyway.

  Time passed. Junior grew to adulthood. He specialized in magic when he attended the same college Cedric had, and showed similar brilliance. He progressed beyond the level of his professors. For his Ph.D. project he developed the spell that enabled the deer to shoot back: any missile discharged, whether from bow, gun, or hand, swung around to score on the hunter. Suddenly hunting lost its appeal, not only in the local wetlands, but in all wetlands and most of the remaining wilderness of the world. Similarly developers were balked; their bulldozers tended to crash back on their starting points, unable to penetrate far into the living wilderness. Junior made an A for the project, and the construction industry filed a lawsuit against the college. In the end they had to compromise: the deer-magic would be applied only to those regions officially designated as parks. But the closest one was so designated immediately. Junior had fulfilled his father’s ambition. The hamadryad was so thrilled she gave him a kiss, then hid in the deepest foliage for three days, blushing.

  Junior became Magician Kaftan, a professional enchanter of stones. His business increased; soon he was filling orders from all over the world. He did not become famous because he maintained a low profile; the lawsuit against the college had taught him caution. The stones were merely a business to support his continuing researches into magic. He was fast becoming the most formidable magician in the world. Magic was all he cared about, especially after Grandma Atropos passed away. He would disappear into his laboratory and not reappear for days.

  Concerned, Niobe went to visit him. She wore her wig and makeup, but he recognized her instantly. “Hello, Mother! How is Fate treating you?”

  She sighed. Her son the Magician was now thirty-four years old, eleven years older than she, physically, and he was a genius in his trade. Perhaps she should not have been surprised; his father had been brilliant, and Junior had had unique schooling along the way, beginning with the hamadryad. Naturally he had researched his own lineage, and discovered exactly what had happened to his mother.

  “I am doing well,” she said. “But you. Junior—I wish you would not seal yourself off from the world so much. It’s not healthy.”

  He smiled, prepared to indulge her in small matters. “What would you have me do. Mother?”

  “Socialize a little, at least with your friends and relatives! How long has it been since you visited the water oak?”

  “Five years,” he confessed.

  “And how long since you’ve seen Pacian?”

  He counted off on his fingers. “A decade. It wasn’t the same, after he married.”

  “Well, go see them,” she urged. “You owe a lot to the hamadryad, and Pacian is a good man, with a nice family.” She studied him with motherly solicitude. “Speaking of which—when are you going to marry?”

  “When I encounter the most beautiful woman of her generation,” he said, smiling. “According to the prophecy.” It was evident that he no longer credited the prophecies. Possibly he had researched them, too, using his superior magic, but she doubted it. That wasn’t his type of magic, and it was difficult for any person to research his own destiny; paradox closed in rapidly.

  “Well, all in good time. I want you to visit your cousin, at least,” she said firmly. “He was very good to you.”

  He nodded, remembering. “He was, indeed. Very well, Mother, I will visit the water oak and Pacian.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “And soon,” she said, and changed into arachnid form and slid up her thread to Purgat
ory. There was no point in concealing her magic from him anymore.

  The Magician was as good as his word. The following day he phoned Pace, and later that week they had a reunion. In the interim he visited the water oak. The hamadryad was glad to see him, though the passage of years made her diffident. “Mother tells me I should get married,” he said, and she nodded agreement. “But where on Earth will I find a mortal woman as beautiful as you?” She shrugged and blushed, forgiving him his five years neglect; even immortals were subject to flattery.

  At the reunion he met Blenda. He had seen her as a baby and occasionally as a child. Now she was twenty-three, the same age as Niobe’s body, and she was so beautiful she seemed to light the room she entered. It would have taken an expert to judge between her and the hamadryad—but she was mortal. She smiled shyly at the visiting Magician—and worked on him a magic more fundamental than any he had studied.

  They were married the following year. Niobe attended the wedding, at her son’s request, doing it in her own guise, as no one would recognize her now. After all, she was fifty-eight years old, chronologically; who would ever believe she could be the mother of the groom? But Pacian, the father of the bride, gave her a single piercing look, then shrugged, not able to believe the wild thought that had touched his mind.

  It was a lovely wedding. Niobe sat alone in the crowd, in the section reserved for the groom’s relatives, and cried. When the two exchanged vows, she could hardly contain herself. “I am losing my son!” she sobbed. More than one head turned to face her, perplexed.

  Between the wedding and the reception, they posed for pictures. The groom could not present any proud parents for this; the family he had known belonged to his cousin, the father of the bride. “Indulge me, dear,” he murmured to Blenda, and beckoned to Niobe. She approached uncertainly, stifling tears.

  “This is a blood relative; she can pose in lieu.”

  So Niobe stood beside Blenda and smiled, and Blenda smiled—and there was a murmur of awe through the assemblage. “Look at them!” a woman exclaimed. “Like twins in beauty!”

  Niobe realized it was true. She had been said to be the loveliest of her generation, and Blenda of hers. Niobe’s hair was dark amber, like buckwheat honey, while Blenda’s was light amber, like clover honey; with both, it flowed loose to the slender waist, and both sets of eyes were bright blue. They were a match of feature and figure, like two scintillating gems. It was a remarkable coincidence.

  The photographers went on to other subjects, and Niobe and Blenda had a moment together. “Please,” the girl begged. “Tell me who you are! Kaf said he had a beautiful relative, but I never suspected—”

  Niobe had of course checked Blenda’s thread of life, and knew she was a fine person all around, as her mother was. She could be trusted, and she deserved to know. “You will find this hard to believe—”

  “After seeing Kafs magic, I can believe much!”

  “I am his mother.”

  Blenda’s perfect mouth dropped open. She looked across the room at her new husband, who nodded gravely, though he could not have overheard their dialogue. Then she recovered. “Oh—a youth spell! Of course! He said his mother was the most—but you know that, of course!”

  “And his father was as handsome and intelligent as any,” Niobe said, feeling the tears begin again. “Like yours. It is not a youth spell, precisely. I never aged. I became an Incarnation. That’s why I had to give up my baby.”

  “An—?”

  “Fate.”

  “Fate!” Blenda’s eyes widened in realization. “Did you arrange—?”

  “For my son to marry you? Not in that manner! I simply told him to get back in touch with his closest friend, his cousin Pace, and the rest happened. I confess I wasn’t even thinking of you, but I’m glad it happened. You are worthy of him, dear, and it does fill the prophecy.”

  “Prophecy?”

  “That my son would possess the most beautiful woman of her generation, and have a daughter who would be the most talented of her type and love an Incarnation.”

  “My father mentioned a prophecy,” Blenda said. “But he said he foiled it.”

  “Prophecies are hard to foil,” Niobe said. “Certainly it seems to be coming true for my son, and if the rest follows, your daughter will consort with the Incarnation of Death or Evil. That is not necessarily bad, horrendous as it may sound. But she is also to be the savior of man and to stand athwart a tangled skein. Since there is an entity who objects to the salvation of man, she could be in danger.”

  Blenda made a soundless whistle. “I shall do my best to protect her! In fact, I will consider carefully before I bear her. I thank you for telling me of this prophecy. I had not known the full nature of it.”

  “No one ever knows the full nature of a prophecy— until it is too late.”

  They kissed, then moved on to the reception chamber, where Blenda had to rejoin her husband and cut the monstrous cake. She picked up the knife, and the groom put his hand on hers, and they brought it to the outer layer.

  “Hold!” the Magician exclaimed. “There is evil here!” He drew his bride back and brought out a stone.

  There was a hush. The Magician held the stone high and moved it in a circle. When it approached the cake, it glowed brilliantly. He nodded; there was the focus of evil.

  “Go to your parents,” the Magician said tersely. “This may be messy.”

  “I knew cake was fattening, but...” Blenda murmured. She went to join Pacian and Blanche, and the three watched anxiously from one side, while Niobe and other guests watched from the front. What was wrong with that cake?

  The Magician brought out another stone and held it carefully before him. Suddenly a beam of light speared out from the stone, into the center of the cake.

  There was a crackle of scorching frosting. Then the cake exploded. Splotches of icing sprayed out, plastering ceiling. Magician, and guests. Someone screamed. From the cake leaped a demon. The thing had red skin, a barbed tail, and a horrendously horned head. With an inchoate roar it leaped at the Magician—and bounced away from an invisible shield. Naturally the adept had seen to his own protection.

  “So you refuse to die. Kaftan!” the demon cried, its voice so guttural that it was barely comprehensible. “But it takes two to make a child!” It whirled on Blenda, making a prodigious leap.

  The Magician threw a stone at his bride. “Catch it!” he cried.

  Blenda, almost frozen in terror, moved automatically to catch the stone just before the demon landed. The demon bounced again, for now she had the protection stone. The monster rolled off the side of the invisible sphere—and came down on Blanche. Its outsized mouth opened, and its terrible fangs closed on the woman’s throat. Blood spurted.

  “Mother!” Blenda shrieked in absolute horror.

  Then the Magician brought another stone into play. Blue radiance spread from it to encompass the demon— and the demon screamed and melted into a bubbling puddle.

  But it was too late. The bride’s mother was dead. The demon had gotten neither its primary nor its secondary target, but had wrought terrible mischief in its failure.

  —7—

  CHANGES

  Niobe was an Incarnation, but she could not do anything about the tragedy. She had not thought to check Blanche’s thread. Satan had scored a partial evil again. As it had been when he tried to strike at Niobe herself, he had been balked, but an innocent party had suffered. “I should have seen it coming,” Lachesis said with deep regret. “Perhaps I could have rearranged the threads in that part of the Tapestry—”

  “But I’m the one who cuts the threads,” Atropos said. “I’ve been with you long enough to know—”

  “That thread was cut by your predecessor,” Niobe said. “But I’m sure I checked it when Pacian married her, and it was of normal length. When Satan strikes, we all make mistakes. No one was supposed to die at that wedding; Satan interfered by sending his demon to—” She shrugged and swallowed, then continued.
“And now we simply have to patch the Tapestry on a makeshift basis, as we have done before.”

  “Still, it could not have happened if I hadn’t become careless,” Lachesis said. “When Thanatos gets careless, he gets killed by his successor; when I get careless, innocent mortals suffer. It is time for me to retire.”

  Naturally Niobe protested. But they all knew it was true: Lachesis, as the measurer of the threads, should have been alert to Satan’s interference in her measurement. No Incarnation could successfully interfere with another, if the other was on the job. Satan prospered by deceit—and Lachesis had been deceived. She had erred.

  They located a suitable prospect, a woman of middling age who had no close family and had a talent for managing things, and approached her. She agreed, and the change was made. This time Niobe, as the senior remaining Aspect, handled it. She took the woman’s hand, and the woman’s essence entered while Lachesis’ essence departed. Again it was done—and they had a new Aspect to break in.

  Unfortunately, the change of Lachesis-identities did not make Fate’s job easier. Satan took this opportunity to yank the threads about to his benefit. Once again it was a struggle to stave off disaster, and once again the staving was not complete.

  The political scene was constantly in flux across the world, whatever nominal form of government a country had, and Satan was adept at the corruption of politicians. At any given moment, the representation of good and evil in politics was about even, worldwide. Every time an evil power-wielder was ousted, another developed. It was evident that Satan was really trying to gain a clear political advantage that he could use to gain a social advantage. Nowhere was the war between good and evil shown to better advantage than in politics.

  Quite a number of Niobe’s countrymen had emigrated to America, and now they were achieving political representation there. Whether this was good or bad depended on the particular men, but she tended to favor her own. Thus when, in trying to clarify the nature of the job for the new Lachesis, she discovered a Satanistic tangle of threads in the Tapestry, involving one of this lineage in America, she investigated. Satan was certainly up to something; tangles never occurred naturally. But she could not make it out clearly, and Lachesis was as yet too inexperienced to do so.