She found it. She yanked down another weak vine, bunched it and tied it in a rough knot. Then she tied that knot to another hanging vine. Then she swung the knot across to one of the more substantial vines. After several tries she was able to entangle that larger vine and draw it over to her, using the weak vine. Now she had hold of the one she wanted.
She hauled at it with increasing vigor. It held; it was firmly anchored and it was strong enough to take her weight.
She held on tightly, drew back, then ran to the edge of the water. She leaped at the margin, clung for dear life, and swung across to the other path. Something flashed below her in the water as she passed, like a huge shark. She landed heavily but adequately, and the vine swung back behind. It might have been pitiful as a gymnastic feat, but she was across. She was glad she had not tried to swim.
She made her way along the narrow path, her right hand brushing along the wall. The dragon watched her, but could not reach her.
Where the straight path intersected the current one, she found the exit; it was indeed illusion-covered. She stepped through cautiously, alert for a pitfall, but there was none. She was through—and she still had five threads, with eight illusions remaining, if the plaque was to be believed. She remained behind, but her ingenuity had enabled her to gain.
She came into a broad cavern with a wide river running through, reminiscent of one she had encountered in the Hall of the Mountain King. Perhaps Satan had borrowed the concept. If so, she knew how to cross.
But it was not the same. There was no mesh fence in this river, and no sign advertising it as Lethe. Of course it could still be Lethe, as that was one of the rivers of Hell, so she would treat it with caution. There were fish in it; when she dipped her finger in, three horrendouslytoothed little monsters converged. One leaped as she drew her hand quickly away; the fish’s teeth clacked in midair where her hand had been, before it splashed back down. There would be no swimming in this river!
There was a wide path along the bank, originating at the point she entered this section. She walked slowly along it. Obviously her challenge was to cross the river, but there were no more hanging vines; and in any event the river was about fifty feet wide. Well, she would see.
She heard something. She stopped, listening nervously. It was the even footfalls of a striding man. She shrank into an alcove to the side, not wanting to encounter the sort of man she would in Hell.
The man came into view. He was tall and blond, muscular and handsome in a boyish way.
All Niobe’s reserve crumbled. “Cedric!” she cried.
Cedric turned to face her. “Niobe!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms.
Then several things caught up with her. “But you’re dead!” she said, stopping before she reached him.
“Of course I am. But my love for you remains.”
“But what are you doing in Hell? You were a good man in life—a wonderful man!”
He shrugged. “A glitch in the system, maybe. But if you’re here, that’s where I want to be. With the most beautiful woman of her generation.”
“But I’m not beautiful anymore! I’ve gone to seed.”
He shrugged again. “It doesn’t matter. My love is eternal.”
“You’re an illusion, aren’t you!” she said indignantly. “A demon in disguise! I can use a thread on you and expose you for what you are!” She was angry now that Satan should use this particular device to trick her. To taunt her with her long lost love!
Cedric just stood there, not answering. He looked just exactly the way she remembered him, and her love fought in her breast to emerge and take over. There was nothing in life as sweet as first love! That made her angrier yet. “Get out of here!” she screamed. “I’ll not waste a thread on you! You’re just a—a mockery!” Now the tears were flowing. She had been caught entirely off-guard by this specter, and her emotion had to be expressed somehow. “You have no right to—to—”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Cedric said. “But of course your love for me was never as true as mine for you.”
There was just enough truth in that to sting. She rushed at him and struck him with her fist, scoring on the nose.
Blood streamed down his face, but he made no motion to strike back. “I’ll always love you, Niobe,” he said quietly.
Her rage was so great that she was ready to kill. Her fingers curled into claws. She started for his eyes—
And caught herself. Hate was Satan’s way. She was falling into Satan’s trap! If she allowed hate and rage to dominate her, she would remain in Hell forever.
This was a demon in disguise, for it was solid under the illusion. Surely the demon could wipe her out with a single blow! But it had not done so. Instead it was taunting her into rage, baiting the love she could not afford to express. She could have used one thread on it, to expose it—or it could have killed her, costing her two threads. The rules of the maze did not allow monsters to chase her down; they could only hurt her if she made contact on her own initiative. She had made contact—but the thing was trying to destroy her rationality, not her body. To ruin her objectivity about her mission here, so that she would act foolishly and waste her remaining threads. That was the trap she could not afford—the one that would cost her all.
She calmed herself. “I’m sorry, Cedric. I shouldn’t have struck you. Of course your love is true.” She brought out a hanky and dabbed at his face.
Now he became uncomfortable. “Please don’t bother,” he said. “I’ll be all right.”
“Oh, but I must help you,” she said warmly. “It’s so important to love you back as strongly as you love me.”
He jerked away. “I really must be going.”
“Must you—so soon, Cedric?” she asked sadly.
He hurried away without further word.
She knew why. Demons were creatures of violence and hate, and could hardly tolerate gentleness and love, whatever they might say. This demon had been besting her— until she became positive. Then it could not handle the situation. Love defeated hate—with a little management.
She walked on—and encountered another man. “Pace!”
“Niobe!” he replied.
But it had to be another demon, for Pacian, like Cedric, had been a genuinely good man, not destined for Hell.
She headed for it. “Darling, it’s so good to see you again!” she exclaimed.
It hesitated. “Uh, yes, of course. And I know you aren’t really to blame for my being here.”
So that was its ploy! Force her into an angry denial of that outrageous implication. “Oh, but I am,” she replied. “I know you wouldn’t be here now, if it weren’t for me.”
Again it hesitated. This wasn’t following the script! Then it tried again, gamely enough. “Well, actually, you know it’s not exactly me here—”
“Let me give you a big fat kiss, dear,” she said, approaching.
It lost its composure and fled. Niobe smiled. She was learning how to handle demons.
But she wondered whether she had been correct in assuming that her anger was worth more to Satan than her life. She was so low on threads that the two threads a killing would have cost her represented forty percent of her total. Either of those demons could have dropped her total to three threads, putting her critically behind in the terminal stage of the maze. Was her anger really worth more than that?
She stopped where she was, certain that she was on her way to an important realization. Satan was evil, but hardly stupid. Anything he did made sense. So why would he instruct his demons not to attack her, if their taunting was not effective? There had to be some way he expected to gain from this.
Well, suppose there was a way she could get into more than two threads worth of trouble, if not diverted from it by the demons? She had recognized the wrong courses in prior segments of the maze because they were impassable. Now she was encountering demons who could have stopped her, but did not. Did that mean she was heading into more than two threads worth of mischief?
That she was in fact on the wrong route?
If so, she should reverse course and get out of here. But that would mean encountering the two demons she had passed—and they surely would not let her travel that way. She could get killed twice, costing her four threads. These were more sophisticated than the prior monsters; they hadn’t had to kill her as long as she was going in the direction Satan desired. And if she managed to get back past them—where would she find the correct route? She had no idea.
She concluded that she simply had to gamble on this being the right course. It was after all possible that the demons were merely trying to make her think she was going wrong. Wouldn’t that be an irony: for her to turn away from the correct route, simply because the demons let her pass!
Meanwhile, she had an advantage: she knew that Satan was not about to force her to lose two threads. He wanted her to lose at least three. That must be the minimum number she needed for victory. He was willing to throw away illusions; they didn’t matter. It was the threads that counted.
Yet all this had been set up before she entered the maze. How could Satan have known how many threads she would have left?
She resumed her walking, ill at ease. And—another person approached.
It was Blanche, Pacian’s first wife who had been killed by the demon at the wedding. Again, there was no way Blanche could have gone to Hell; she had always been a good woman. This was another demon—or demoness— clothed by illusion. She could be handled as the others had been.
“Blanche!” Niobe cried, approaching her with open arms. “I’m so glad to see you!”
Blanche did not blanch. She came right up and embraced Niobe. She felt completely human and real. “Thank you so much for taking care of my husband!”
This was a new approach! Apparently the creatures of Hell were not always repelled by affection. Maybe demonesses were more gentle, as they were commonly used to seduce men to evil—literally. If they were driven away by love, they would not be able to perform. How, then, could she get rid of this one? “You don’t resent that I married him after you died?”
“Oh, no, dear!” Blanche exclaimed. “He was such a good man, he deserved the best—and you were the best. He always loved you, of course, because of your beauty; it was only right that he have opportunity to enjoy it before it faded.”
The demoness was beginning to get into it! The stilettoes of women were more subtle than those of men, but no less sharp. “I’m so glad you understand,” Niobe said with as much warmth as she could manage. “The prophecy said he would possess the most beautiful woman of her generation, and obviously you weren’t it.”
“All too true!” Blanche agreed without rancor. “I feel privileged to have shared what part of his love I could, while I could, and to have had a lovely child by him.”
“Yes, my son the Magician married her,” Niobe agreed. She seemed to be unable to rattle this demoness, and she was not enjoying the effort. This woman was too much like the real Blanche, always good and giving. “I’m on my way to see him now.”
“Yes, I know. I’ll be glad to help you find him.”
What? For a moment Niobe reeled with doubt. Could this be the real Blanche? She could verify it with a thread...
No! That might be part of the trap. Use a thread on this demoness, verify what she was, and then be killed by her: three threads gone, and Satan’s victory. Qr try to retreat from her, and have to run the gauntlet of two male demons behind. A losing strategy, surely.
Blanche had to be in Heaven. This had to be an illusion/demoness, playing her part the way only a female could. The males had failed, but the females were more adept.
Well, if she couldn’t get rid of this one, she would have to play along. “Why, thank you, Blanche! But this is, after all. Hell. Will Satan permit it?”
“We aren’t completely evil, even in Hell,” Blanche reminded her. “We’re just more evil than good. What good I possess is tied up with Pacian and my daughter and your son. I will help you reach him—but I am not allowed to tell you anything. You understand.”
“I understand.” But she did not understand. This was exactly the way the real Blanche would have acted—but what demoness would help an intruder defeat her master? There had to be a limit to the playing of a part—didn’t there?
Disquieted, Niobe continued her walk, and Blanche paced her. If this was another one of Satan’s traps, it was too sophisticated for her to fathom at the moment.
Unless, she realized abruptly, Satan wanted her to reach her son. Or to encourage her to believe she could reach him. Naturally he would provide her all needed assistance—to go the wrong way.
Well, she was stuck for it. The game was getting more devious, as Satan proceeded from straight maze-challenges to psychological ones, but it wasn’t over until it was over. The outcome hadn’t been decided yet, for she still had five threads.
Another person showed. The next demon—and she hadn’t yet gotten rid of the last one!
It was Blenda, the Magician’s wife, mother of Luna. This was getting eerie indeed!
“Mother!” Blenda cried.
“My baby!” Blanche cried.
The two swept together and hugged each other, shedding tears. Niobe watched, bemused. They had to be two demonesses—yet they acted real in all ways. Blenda was not the perfect beauty she had been in youth, but the somewhat wasted woman who had died of leukemia at age forty-seven, leaving the Magician a widower. His magic had extended her life, but had not been able to cure her. So she, too, had entered the Afterlife—but not Hell. She had at one point been a virtual twin of Niobe’s, and Niobe had known her well—a woman with very little evil.
Then Blenda turned to her. “I’m so glad to see you so well, Niobe!”
So well? Hardly! But compared to Blenda, she was healthy. Niobe didn’t even try to unmask her; she hugged Blenda and exchanged pleasantries.
“So now you’re coming to talk with my husband,” Blenda said.
“My son,” Niobe agreed. “He has the answer I need.”
“I will help you find him,” Blenda said. “I haven’t seen him since I died.”
Surely not! Blenda was in Heaven, the Magician in Hell. But Niobe had to play along. “Why not? He’s been here for two years.”
Her mouth quirked. “We don’t get visiting privileges. That’s part of our punishment.”
Niobe had to admit that made sense. So now she had two demonesses ready to help her find her son. Curiouser yet!
Niobe set off again, paced by a woman on either side. She had five threads, and only four unidentified illusions remained.
“How are the girls?” Blenda asked.
“Orb’s on tour,” Niobe answered shortly. “Luna’s getting into politics.”
“Oh, yes—to foil Satan!” Blenda agreed. “But you need the Magician’s advice.”
Another form appeared. In fact it was three forms: outright demons. Evidently Satan was not about to expend three of his four remaining illusions on these; he had to send them in undisguised. They spied the women and hurried toward them.
“Watch out for them!” Blanche cried. “I know their kind! If they get us outnumbered, they’ll rape us or eat us!”
“Or both,” Blenda amended.
“Or both,” Blanche agreed. “We must stay together; then they won’t try it. They’re cowardly; they must have numerical advantage, or they won’t act.”
Niobe did not comment. As far as she was concerned, she was now in the company of five demons. How was she going to get out of this? Why hadn’t Satan simply sent ten demons?
The demons came close. They had horns and tails and hooves and obvious masculine appendages, in the manner of their kind. They eyed the women. “You need company?” one asked.
“Oh, go away, you foul fiend!” Blenda exclaimed. The demon considered, evidently trying to figure out how to separate the three women so that they would become vulnerable. “Maybe we help,” he said. “You want cross river?”
“Ye
s,” Niobe said. It was, after all, the truth; she could see that the path on this side came to an end a short distance ahead.
“We help. We got boat.”
“Why should you help us cross?” Niobe demanded. With overt demons, at least she didn’t have to pretend.
The demon looked at her. It licked its lips. It shifted its posterior. It didn’t answer.
It hardly needed to. The demons would help one woman cross, so that the three would be separated. Then the three demons would converge on the one or two women, and do their dirty work.
Would one demon actually rape or eat a demoness? Apparently so, by the rules that evidently governed this strange portion of-the maze. Perhaps it was just Niobe who would be attacked, once she was separated from her “friends.”
Well, the answer was simple. They would all cross together. If the women intended to desert her, they would have done so already. It seemed that they would stand by her—for now.
“Show us your boat,” Niobe said.
The demons showed the boat. It was a small canoe, just big enough for two. It was obvious that it would sink if any more got on it.
Niobe looked at Blanche and Blenda. They spread their hands. It was clear that it was not possible for the three of them to cross together.
But if they did not, one or two of them would be left to the appetites of the demons. Niobe might cross alone, but she realized that she could not in conscience leave the other two women to that fate, even if they were demonesses beneath. They had not betrayed her, so far; she was unwilling to be the one to initiate that sort of thing. This might be Hell, but she carried her standards with her.
Perhaps that was the real nature of this test: to ascertain whether she would desert her conscience when it seemed convenient to do so. An ethical standard that bowed to convenience was not worth much.
She considered crossing with one demon, so as to keep it even on both sides of the river. But then that demon could cross back after Niobe went on, making it three to two. Or it could return to fetch across another demon, both of which could pursue Niobe.
She had to arrange to get all three women across— without ever letting any of them be outnumbered, on either side of the river. That was the only proper course.
With a Tangled Skein Page 33