“I am Niobe Kaftan,” she said firmly. “What you say is true; I could not remain. I loved my baby son, but I knew I could not raise him as well as your family could, so I gave him up. I have never truly regretted that decision; your folks did a fine job with him—and with you.”
“He was always a good boy,” he agreed. “I was so pleased when he took an interest in my daughter. Of course they are second cousins, but it reunified a family that had been drifting apart.” Then he refocused on her. “The irony is that you do resemble her. But you are no older than my daughter.”
“I never aged, physically,” Niobe explained. “I am still the physical age I was when you were twelve. When I kissed you and departed.”
“That kiss...” he murmured, remembering.
But he was still unable to accept it. Blenda, being younger, had readily acclimatized to the truth and kept her mouth shut, but Pacian at age fifty was too adult to swallow the impossible readily. “The Magician, perhaps, has a spell for eternal youth—but he has never used it, and certainly he did not have it in time for his mother’s use.”
“I became an Aspect of Fate,” she said. “An Incarnation. They are physically frozen; they are Incarnations oflmmortality—forawhile. So, as Clotho, I never aged.”
He looked at her again. “You are beautiful,” he said as if yielding a point. “Probably as lovely as she was. I had a crush on her—”
“I know.”
He sighed. “Very well. I will entertain the notion that you are she, unaged. I’m sure the matter can be verified readily enough; the Magician will know.”
“He does.”
“But I require proof of my own. As I recall. Fate has three Aspects—”
“Yes. I assumed the Aspect of Atropos to continue visiting Junior—and you.”
“Atropos?”
“The oldest Aspect of Fate. She—”
“You can change—just like that?”
“Yes.”
“Do so.”
She gave the body to Atropos.
Pacian shook his head. “No, you are not she.”
“Of course I’m not,” Atropos said. “The Atropos you knew retired to be with you and the boy until she died;
I am her successor.” She gave the body back to Niobe.
“And you were there, too, in the body—all the time?”
“Yes,” Niobe said.
“There is something that happened—”
“The prophecy.”
“Which I voided. I married Blanche. She was the finest woman—”
“But not the loveliest of her generation,” Niobe finished.
“Correct. You were that.”
She laughed. “So I have been told. And Blenda is the one of her generation. She honored the prophecy by marrying—”
She broke off, suddenly making a connection. She stared at Pacian. He stared back with similar astonishment.
Then he turned away. Niobe got up quickly and departed.
Back in her Purgatory Abode, Niobe tried to concentrate on her spinning, but the others wouldn’t let her. “I wasn’t there,” Atropos said. “But what’s wrong with Pacian?”
“He’s my husband’s cousin!” Niobe retorted.
“Your husband died almost forty years ago, didn’t he?” Lachesis asked. “And Pacian’s wife four years ago. You are both free, now.”
“But we never thought of each other in that way!”
“But he had a crush—” Lachesis said.
“And you are the most beautiful—” Atropos put in.
“To Hell with the prophecy!” Niobe cried.
“That is what Satan would like,” Lachesis said snidely.
“To Hell with Satan!”
“Exactly how did that prophecy go?”
“Each boy would possess the most beautiful woman of her generation,” Niobe said, concentrating to remember it accurately.” Each would bear a most talented daughter. One girl would love an Incarnation, and the other would become one. No, wait—there were two prophecies; I’ve got them mixed.”
“That’s all right,” Lachesis said. “Remember all you can.”
“Both would stand athwart the tangled skein,” Niobe said.
“That’s us!” Atropos said.
“One may marry Death, the other Evil,” Niobe said, fishing another fillip from her memory. “One to be the savior of man—the daughter of the savior of deer. I think that’s all of it.”
“Then it’s the Magician’s daughter who will save man,” Lachesis said.
“But he has no daughter,” Atropos pointed out.
“And Pacian’s daughter certainly didn’t marry Thanatos or Satan!” Niobe said. “So it remains a mishmash; it doesn’t—”
“Unless you marry Pacian,” Lachesis said. “And give him another daughter.”
“That’s preposterous!”
“You are leaving us within a year,” Atropos said. “That would be a fine way to do it.”
“You damned matchmaker! I don’t love Pacian!”
“Yet,” both other Aspects said together with her mouth.
It was a month before Niobe could bring herself to face Pacian again. He looked at her with a certain resignation. “Prophecies are difficult to void,” he said.
“And often not understood until too late,” Niobe answered. It was a familiar dialogue.
“I want you to understand that I never—”
“Of course. I’m over sixty years old.”
“And you look younger than my daughter. In addition, your love was Cedric, mine Blanche. I am sure you would not wish to be untrue to your love any more than I would to mine. So we really should dispense with this foolishness—”
Untrue to her love. Niobe sighed. She had been physically untrue to Cedric a thousand times! Yet that had provided her with a better perspective. She had entered a new life, a new role, after Cedric’s death, and it would have been wrong not to fulfill that life and that role in the requisite manner. Her private love had remained sacred, and that was what counted.
“Pace, I’m not sure it is foolishness. Those prophecies have not been voided after all. When you married Blanche—”
“I generated the most beautiful woman my cousin was destined to marry,” he finished. “The skein was more tangled than I realized. But that doesn’t necessarily mean—”
“There have been other signals. It seems I am to leave my office soon. I think I must at least explore the possibility that it is to marry you.” There—she had said it.
“Niobe, you owe nothing to me! That prophecy dates from when I was a teenager!”
“But you see, Satan has evil plans for the world. I suspect that if the prophecy can be voided, that means that the child of my son and your daughter will not be the savior of man. Maybe she will never be bom—unless the full prophecy is honored.”
“That’s ridiculous! Prophecies don’t hold parts of themselves hostage for the performance of the rest.”
“I am Fate,” she said slowly. “A prophecy is a signal of Fate. The threads of our lives run true, and we try to interfere with them at our peril—and perhaps the peril of man. I’m not sure we have the right to toy with such destiny. Pace—I must know!”
He shrugged. “It is not that I have any aversion to you, Niobe. Far from it! I loved you in my secret heart until I came to know Blanche, and I think that feeling remains. But I always knew you were never to be mine. I simply would not tread upon my cousin’s grave.”
“Nor I on your wife’s! But if the prophecy is voided, and there is no savior of man—” She spread her hands. “Pace, I married once because it was destined to be, not for love. Love came after. I would do it again—if I were sure.”
“How can anyone ever be sure about a thing like this?”
“I would like to consult with—an acquaintance. Perhaps she will know.”
“And who is that?”
“Gaea. You would call her the Incarnation of Nature.”
“Nature.” He no
dded. “Yes—such an entity might know.”
“I want you to be with me, so she can see us both.”
He laughed tensely. “Niobe, I can’t enter your realm!”
“Yes, you can—if I take you. Will you do it?”
He pondered, then shrugged. “I agree that this should be settled, one way or another. If you can take me, I will go.”
She held out her hand. “Then we shall do it.”
He was startled. “Now?”
“I have time available now. Don’t you?”
“It’s the weekend.”
She took his hand. “This will be a trip to remember.”
“That is my fear.” But he smiled.
She flung a strand to Purgatory and slid along it, bringing him with her. They passed through the walls and the foliage of a tree, then up into the sky. Pace watched with the wonder only a mortal could have, and that restored some of the wonder for her, too. She had become jaded in thirty-eight years, as was natural enough, and it was good to be reminded of the phenomenal nature other powers. She was not eager to give them up!
They slid through the cloudbank underlying Purgatory and stopped before Fate’s Abode. “This is where I live, now.”
“A giant spiderweb?”
She shifted to her arachnid form, and back to human. “I am no longer an ordinary woman.”
“You were never that,” he said.
“Now I will take you to Gaea’s green mansion.” She flung another strand, took his hand again, and slid the two of them across the pleasant landscape of Purgatory. She remembered how Chronos had taken her from Incarnation to Incarnation, so long ago—his parting favor for her, laying the basis for her eventual understanding. In the interim since then, a significant segment of the Tapestry had moved by!
They arrived at the edge of the Green Mother’s demesne. Before them a hillside slope dropped into a broad valley covered with waving grain. On the far slope of the valley stood Gaea’s vegetable palace. All they had to do was cross.
They started down. “You can’t fling a web across?” Pacian inquired.
“Not here. Ge protects her environment, so it can be a challenge to reach her.”
“You have not been here before?”
“Oh, yes, many times. We often consult. But this time I’m bringing you along, so her defense system has been activated. It’s just her way.”
“Nature does have her way,” he agreed.
“All the Incarnations do.”
He shook his head with mock wonder. “All this—up in the clouds!”
“This is not in the clouds; it just seems that way. Purgatory is between Heaven and Hell, but it is impossible to define their locations. For convenience, we think of Heaven as above. Hell below, and Purgatory between.”
“And I suppose this isn’t really physical, either.”
“It’s indeterminate. You and I are alive and solid, but many of the others who seem that way are neither.”
He paused and turned to her. “Niobe, I am glad after all these years to learn where you have been. I can appreciate now why you had so little time for mortal matters.”
“I had time for mortal matters!” she said defensively. “I was spinning the threads of life!”
“Of course,” he agreed, and she felt guilty for her sharp comment. He was a good and decent man, not looking for any quarrel. It was hardly his fault that she still thought of him, in a sense, as a twelve-year-old boy. She had not changed, physically, but he had.
They reached the level floor of the valley and waded into the grass. At the first step it was knee-high; at the second, waist-high; at the third, chest-high.
They stopped. “Oh-oh,” Niobe said. “I forgot about the challenge. It’s not a matter of just walking across. There’s no telling how deep this valley really is.”
“It could be a V-shaped valley—concealed by level grass?”
“It could be. Ge can do anything she wants with plants.”
“Then we can walk under the grass,” he said. “It’s not far.”
“We’ll have to,” she agreed uncertainly.
They proceeded. The slope continued, while the height of the grass rose until it was taller than they were. Soon it was twice their height, the long, thin stems giving way elastically before them so that the broader blades at the top were undisturbed. The light dimmed as they went deeper; it was like descending into an ocean, toward the utter dark at the bottom.
Niobe put her foot down—and found nothing. “Oh!” she exclaimed as she lost her balance.
Pacian’s strong hand caught her windmilling arm, and he drew her back. Then he squatted to check the ground. “There is a dropoff,” he reported. “About a yard, here— but I suspect that is only the beginning. We need a light.”
Niobe extended a glowing strand of web. Its light was not great, but it was enough. It showed that the even slope was converting to a treacherous pattern of rocks and crevices.
They moved on down, now holding hands for safety. When they reached a dropoff of more than six feet, Niobe spun a strong thread and looped it about Pacian’s waist. Then he braced himself to support her weight while she lowered herself down. After that, he knotted the web to the stout base of a grass-stem and let himself down. She was unable to dematerialize, here.
Now the gloom was Stygian indeed! She had to extend several glowing strands to illuminate the ground clearly, for even a small hole could trap a foot and break an ankle. Even so, it was no fun.
Then the ground shuddered.
They paused. “What’s that?” Niobe whispered nervously.
“The tread of a monster,” he whispered back. “Now I believe in live and let live; I value the wilderness as my cousin did, as the Magician does now. But the denizens do not necessarily feel the same way.”
“No, they don’t!” she agreed. “And we are in some kind of channel or ledge, here in the gloom, without defensive means. Pace, let’s get out of here!”
“Agreed!”
They hastened up the slope the way they had come. Pacian gave her a boost up the line they had left, though she didn’t need it; she climbed her threads magically. But he was being unconsciously chivalrous, and she appreciated the gesture. In a moment he followed, climbing up hand over hand. The thread, so thin it was almost invisible, was spelled not to cut flesh, and he was in good condition for his age. He had no trouble.
The ground shuddered again; the monster was coming closer.
They rejoined hands and hurried up the slope, following the line she had left. There was no way to tell how close the monster was; the shuddering was everywhere. Panting, they scrambled out of the grass and into the sunshine.
“Oh!” Niobe gasped. “I was so frightened!”
“Aren’t you invulnerable, as an Incarnation?”
She laughed. “Of course I am! How silly of me to forget!” Then she frowned. “But you aren’t.”
He smiled, reminding her fleetingly of Cedric. They were, of course blood kin; if Cedric had lived to this age... “Just as well we hurried, then,” he said. Somehow they both knew that they were safe in the bright light;
the monster would not leave the shelter of the deep grass.
She looked across at Gaea’s treehouse, so near and yet so far away. “But we still need to get across.”
Pacian considered. “You know, that looks like a roving ocean. The surface ripples in waves under the wind.”
“Too bad we can’t sail across it,” she joked.
“Can’t we? If this is a magic challenge—”
Her mouth dropped open. “It could be!”
He looked about. “Perhaps a raft. I see some driftwood.” He walked over to the bonelike branches of a dead tree and began collecting them. “This wood is strong and light. If we lash pieces together—”
“I have threads,” she said. “They’ll work for that. Do you really think it will float—on grass?”
“With magic, anything is possible,” he said cheerfully. It was
evident that he liked a challenge. He was more animated now than she had seen him in the past two years.
As Pacian worked, he commented on a river-crossing riddle that this effort brought to mind. Niobe remembered that one from her days with Cedric. “All right,” Pacian said, smiling. “Then try this one: A coin dealer has twelve coins, one of which is counterfeit...” He defined the problem for her, and she struggled without success until he explained the key step in the solution. He had the same joy in such puzzles that Cedric had had.
As they talked, he arranged the larger branches to make a framework, which she bound together with lengths of her thread. Then they tied smaller branches on until they had a raft about six feet square. They saved two long, thin branches to use as poles, and several more for paddles. “But a sail would be better,” he said.
That reminded her of her voyage across the college lake, on the patched-up sailboat. She was not reassured.
There was no suitable material for a sail. With time and a loom she could have woven one from her threads, but of course she had no loom here. They heaved the raft onto the surface of the thick grass—and it floated. “That’s it!” Pacian exclaimed. “It would never work without magic; this isn’t real water. But your friend Nature has enchanted it as a challenge, and we have found the key.”
Had they? Niobe hoped so. Pacian helped her aboard, and they shoved off. The raft floated somewhat uncertainly, and the feel was not the same as for water, but they were on their way.
Poling got them well into it, but then they went beyond the depth the poles could reach. Pacian sat down, hooked his feet into the twisted planking, and set up the two longest paddles as oars. “Um, we need to anchor them,” he said. Niobe saw the problem. She knelt and tied the oars to the edges with more loops of thread, so that they swung on crude fulcrums. Then Pacian started rowing—and the raft moved. The oars tended to slide past the leaves of grass, but there was enough friction to make it work. They were on their way, again.
There was a jet of vapor down the valley. “There she blows!” Niobe exclaimed. Then she had a second thought. What kind of whale would swim in grass?
Pacian had the same thought. He accelerated his rowing, but the clumsy raft moved slowly, while a second plume erupted, closer. The whale was coming toward them!
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