Still, she was sure she was on the right track. Weigh just three coins from the subject group against three good ones; if they balanced, it was the odd one out, and the last weighing would determine its relative weight. If the two sets did not balance, then it would be known that, say, the counterfeit was light. Then a simple weighing would identify it.
But suppose the first weighing of fours did not balance? Then she had the counterfeit somewhere amidst eight coins—too many” for two weighings.
She went over and over it while the audience waited silently. By chance she might win, if the counterfeit fell in the right group. But she was sure that chance would not favor her—not here in Hell. She had to exclude chance and guarantee it in three weighings, regardless.
She was getting a concentration headache. No matter what strategy she tried, she could not be sure of the answer in just three weighings. What was she to do?
The tears started. It didn’t help that Satan spotted them and smirked. He knew he was winning—and the audience knew it too. Her final humiliation was upon her.
Oh, Pace! she thought. How did you do it?
Then, as if it were the answer to her prayer, the solution came. Pace—or something—had responded. Her memory clarified, and she knew the key. “Exchange!” she exclaimed.
She stepped before the scales. “You four—get on this side,” she ordered the nearest demons. They obeyed, (romping to the large plate. “And you four—to this side.” The next four obeyed.
When the eight stood on the two plates of the scales, Niobe released the fastenings and let the plates find their levels. They were not in balance. Slowly the left plate descended. There was a trifle more evil there. This was the hardest case to fathom, of course.
Now came the key step. She gestured to the innermost demon on the left, and to the one on the right. “You and you—switch places.”
The two demons shrugged at this nonsense and exchanged places. There was a murmur in the audience. Satan scowled.
“You there,” she said, pointing to those remaining on the right side. “Get off.” They got off.
“You three,” she said, indicating three of those in the unweighed group. “Get on.” And the three marched on.
Niobe saw the Incarnations shaking their heads. They thought she had lost her common sense. Blanche and Blenda were bowing their heads with regret. Nobody believed in her—but she knew what she was doing. She hoped.
The scales, when the weighing proceeded, remained unbalanced, the left side still down. That told her much of what she needed to know. Had they become balanced, she would have known that the counterfeit was among the three she had removed, and light, because she had taken them from the light plate. Had they become unbalanced the other way, she would have known it was one of the two that had exchanged places; then she could have weighed the light one against a good one and defined it, for if it remained light, it was a light counterfeit, and if it balanced, then the other one would have been the heavy counterfeit. As it was, she knew that the counterfeit was one of the three she had neither moved nor switched, and it was heavy.
“You and you,” she said, pointing to two of those three. “Weigh against each other.” This was her third and final thread.
The two did. They balanced.
Niobe turned to the odd one out. “Hello, Magician!”
The Incarnations, surprised, applauded. Blanche and Blenda looked up in glad surmise. Satan’s scowl deepened.
But Niobe knew it wasn’t over yet. She could ask her son for the answer—but what he would tell her would be a lie. She had used up all her threads getting to this point; she could not make him tell the truth.
She could get the truth by elimination. Only the truth was perfectly consistent; sooner or later, a pattern of lies would trip itself up.
“You have one question,” Satan said.
“One question!” she exploded. “That isn’t part of the bargain!”
“One soul is on the line; one question to be answered.”
That had not been her understanding, but she realized that she hadn’t made it tight. Mars, too, had overlooked this. The Father of Lies had found a loophole. She was stuck with Satan’s interpretation.
One question! Had she been assured of a true answer, she could have asked, “How can I foil Satan’s plot against Luna?” But his lie could be anything else—making that question an exercise in futility. She had to find the question whose lie would be instructive. That was more of a challenge than she had cared for!
Could she phrase a suitable yes-no question so that the lie would give her a direct answer? Only if she pretty well knew the answer already—and she did not.
Had Satan won after all? Not entirely, for she had gotten through to the Magician and identified him. She had threaded the maze. But until she got the answer she had come for and got out of Hell, her soul was not safe. Neither was mankind.
Her gaze passed over the audience again. There were the demons, licking their chops in anticipation of victory. There were some of the damned souls, looking soulful. There was Mars, his face set carefully neutral. He had made sure Satan didn’t cheat, but he could not help her now.
The Incarnations—the personifications of the major factors governing the destiny of man. Thanatos, who had assumed the office and refused to take Luna’s soul, because he loved her. A selfish reason, perhaps—but it had caused him to face down Satan directly, thereby preserving Luna for her eventual role in the salvation of man. One may marry Death...
Chronos, who had similarly fought Satan, in what was the future for the rest of them. She was glad, now, that she had comforted Chronos’ successors in her past; they were all worthy holders of the office, even the child, and had/would do their part in securing the salvation of man.
Gaea, who had helped significantly. Niobe’s daughter Orb seemed destined to assume that office, if the prophecy carried through. Surely she, too, would have to overcome Satan’s evil designs, for the Prince of Evil always pounced on the newest and least experienced Incarnations. And one may marry Evil...
Surely not! That was unthinkable! Yet—she had in a sense given Orb to Satan. It had only been a commitment to keep her out of politics, capitalizing on Satan’s error of identification, but any commitment to Satan was treacherous. What had she let her child in for? But Orb was a sensible and talented young woman, if a bit short on temper, and she well knew the treacheries of the one who had struck directly at her in the Hall of the Mountain King. Orb would never trust Evil!
Yet that prophecy kept coming true, stage by stage, in its own devious manner. Niobe hoped she was misinterpreting its import, here.
Thanatos had balked Satan’s power by using an aspect of his own power over death. Chronos would do it by manipulating time. Each Incarnation fought Satan in his/her own fashion. Now she, as Fate, had to prevent Satan from distorting her threads of life. Some aspect of her power should do it.
She felt a flash of realization. Her power—because it was for her that the Magician had left his message. That limited the range of options considerably! The solution to her problem should not lie in Thanatos’ province, or Chronos’, or any of the other Incarnations. It had to lie with Fate. In some special power that she, as Fate, could invoke.
But what power? She still couldn’t ask what it was!
Yet if it was a power of Fate, it had to be a power of an Aspect of Fate. There were three Aspects; in thirtyeight years she had pretty well learned the powers of Clotho, and none of them related to this situation. Her successor. Lisa, had discovered or developed a power she hadn’t know about, the ability to change her appearance from one pretty young form to another, so perhaps there were others. But Clotho spun the threads; she did not manipulate them after they were in place. So it really wasn’t likely to be Clotho.
Niobe had not been Lachesis long enough to fathom all her powers, but she had made progress. There could be some major power she had not yet discovered, but she doubted it.
That left Atropos. She knew very little of Atropos’ powers. The job seemed simple enough, however—merely to cut the measured threads. Not really enough to warrant a full separate Aspect, when she thought about it. Could there be something they had not realized?
This had become a three-coin problem! One coin she could set aside: Clotho. That left two to weigh. If she knew which one had the necessary power, she could focus exclusively on that, and have a much better chance to discover it. This wasn’t the direct answer she had sought, but it would give her a better fighting chance.
“Magician, here is my question,” she said. “Is it Atropos who has the power to defeat Satan’s present scheme?”
“No,” the demon-figure said.
There was a sigh of disappointment from the damned souls, and a chortle of glee from the demons. They thought she had failed; they didn’t realize that the answer was a lie, or that she knew it was a lie. The Magician had just confirmed her guess, giving her the key to victory.
Satan rose from his throne of fire. “So you have failed, and you are Mine, you wretched woman!”
“Get away from me, you foul fiend!” Niobe snapped. “My threads are done, but so are your illusions. I threaded the maze.”
“But you lost your answer,” Satan said, walking toward her. Now flames appeared in a circle, enclosing the two of them and the twelve demon-forms.
“I got my answer!” she cried. “I knew from my weighings that you had enchanted my son to lie. Atropos is the one!”
“Ridiculous!” Satan said. The ring of fire closed in, burning the demons, who disappeared one by one in puffs of flame as they were ignited. “Everyone knows you lost.” He reached for her, and now his hands were flaming too. “I have desired your soul for sixty years, and now it is Mine!”
“No!” Niobe cried. “I cry foul! I have the answer!”
Mars stood. “Satan, you presume,” he said. His hand descended to touch the hilt of his great red sword.
Satan scowled, but he paused, and the ring of fire paused too. Four demons remained standing, including the one who was the Magician. “Your turn will come, Warmonger!” he muttered. Then, to the audience: “Then let the threadbare one present her answer, if she’s got it. Here and now!”
“Agreed,” Mars said. He remained standing, hand still resting at the sword.
So Mars had now acted directly to enforce the rules of the maze. She had been wise to choose him as referee.
Satan’s head swiveled on around in a full circle and returned to cover Niobe. Now the flames danced within them. “Present your answer, saggy! I call your bluff!”
But Niobe had not worked it out yet; she knew only that she had the key to it. “In due course, stinkhorn.”
“Now—or forfeit!” Satan said.
“There is no time limit, remember?” she insisted. “The maze is finished only when I have the answer—or do not have it. I can take twenty years, if I want to. Isn’t that right, Mars?”
Mars smiled grimly. “That is right, Lachesis. Time is not specified. I lacked authority to agree to Here and Now, so I withdraw it.”
“A blessed loophole!” Satan muttered. “Well, then, I’ll wait—till Hell freezes over.” He gestured, and the circle of flames resumed its contraction. “Which will not be soon.”
Niobe knew that those flames could not hurt her—not as long as the game was unfinished. But probably they could make her quite uncomfortable. Satan was applying a hotfoot to distract her.
She concentrated as well as she could. So it was Atropos who had the power. Therefore it related to the cutting of threads. But Atropos could not cut a thread until it had been measured, and measuring was Lachesis’ province. If the pawns of Satan on Earth could be eliminated by the action of Lachesis, why had the Magician’s answer excluded her? He should have said “yes,” so as to direct her toward Atropos, since he had to lie. So this should not involve measuring.
What would happen if Atropos cut an unmeasured thread? Well, if she cut the front end, it was disaster; they had discovered that the hard way. But it was too late to cut the front ends of Satan’s agents in the Senate. They were already well established in the Tapestry. The other ends—if they had already been measured, cut to length and woven in, it should not be possible to cut them. Yet they could be cut, obviously. Atropos would never do it, because of the harm it would do to the Tapestry, but—
She was on to something here. When Lachesis measured a thread, she determined its potential. But not all threads lived up to their potential. Some broke early and were lost. The mortals thought of that as suicide—a selfarranged cutting. Normally the mortal instinct of selfpreservation prevented that, but when that instinct broke down—
And there it was. Niobe faced Satan. “When Atropos cuts a thread out of turn, after it has been measured and woven into the Tapestry, that thread will end despite the destiny Lachesis has measured for it. An unfated end is a suicide. What Atropos does, in effect, is terminate that person’s impulse to exist—eliminating the instinct of selfpreservation. Without that instinct, the average person will soon get tired of the routine frustrations of life, and decide to try the Afterlife instead. Especially if he believes he is going to Heaven—or has a promise of preferred treatment in Hell.”
“I don’t treat suicides any better than the others!” Satan exclaimed, his flames brightening indignantly.
“But you have promised preferred treatment to those who do your bidding on Earth,” Niobe said. “Such as the ones slated to replace the senators who have returned to enjoy their newfound youth. Well, those folk may come to you sooner than you anticipate.”
“I’ll assign them double torture if they do!” Satan raged. “I need them on Earth!”
“For twenty years or so,” Niobe agreed. “But when Atropos cuts their threads early, so that they lose their indomitable desire to live, they won’t care to waste all that time waiting for their reward.”
“There is no reward!” Satan was almost engulfed in flames now.
“In which case, why should they agree to your bidding?” she asked sweetly. “You will have a lot of trouble garnering the votes you want if those folk realize that your promises are meaningless.”
“You’re bluffing!” Satan cried. “You wouldn’t abrogate your own threads!”
“To save mankind?” she asked. “Perhaps I would not—but I suspect practical old Atropos would.”
“You bet I would!” Atropos cried from the audience. “And without those corrupted votes, twenty years hence, the final decision will be left to the powers that will be—and the swing vote will remain with my granddaughter Luna!”
Satan didn’t answer. He stood there, glowering, as the circle of fire closed in on them both. It ignited the last demon—the one who was the Magician. As the demon- semblance went up in smoke, her son stood there in his natural form. A slow, grim smile was spreading across his face.
Then the flame engulfed her, blotting out the rest of Hell. But Niobe felt no heat.
In a moment the air cleared. Hell was gone, and with it the audience. She stood in Mars’ castle, where she had started this strange challenge. She was back in her physical body, her soul safe as an Aspect of Fate. Mars was standing before her, his smile very like that of the Magician.
You did it! Clotho cried in thought, kissing her internally.
Good job, woman! Atropos thought next.
Niobe laughed with relief and delight. “Upon my soul!” she exclaimed. She knew she had a long and satisfying role ahead of her as Lachesis.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
In the first Incarnations novel, featuring Thanatos, I explored the subject of Death in a manner not commonly seen in fiction. That novel seems to be doing reasonably well, commercially and critically, and my fans have reacted favorably. But I noted in the “Author’s Note” for that book that Death seemed to be lobbing shells at me while I worked on the novel. This was disquieting. Next year I wrote the sequel, featuring Chronos, and explored aspects of Time
that other writers may have overlooked. I was then besieged by problems of time, and really had to struggle to complete the novel on schedule. I don’t believe in the Supernatural—I regard it as fantasy—but I dreaded what I would encounter when I wrote the next, on the subject of Fate.
Well, now it is done, and this is my report on the manner Fate has affected me. I am broadening the scope here, for as I trust this novel shows, Fate is not a matter of a few months or particular episodes; it is an ongoing tapestry of interacting life, fashioned from the tangled skein of reality. So herewith my usual warning: the entertainment portion of this book is over, and this Note is of a more introspective nature. If you are not interested in the musings of anonymous writers, don’t bother to read further; the novel can stand perfectly well without this.
How did I come to write Skein? Well, of course I went the usual route, presenting a summary of the notion to the editor, who put out a contract on it, and in the winter of 1983-84 I settled down to write the first drafts of the third Bio novel for Avon and the third Incarnations novel for Del Rey. You will remember my system: I so arrange my year so as not to have to type in my unheated study in winter, preferring to sit by the warm woodstove and pencil the first drafts of two novels, then type them in spring. This really is no answer, though, because the question is too limited. How did I, an established science fiction writer since 1963, come to be writing fantasy? How did I come to be a writer at all?
Let me start at the beginning, because the true course that took me to Niobe was more devious and difficult than most folks would care to realize. If parts of this narration seem uncomfortably personal—well, this is my nature.
There is an element in my fiction that appeals to certain readers who claim they don’t find it in most other fiction, and much as I might be tempted to call it Competence or Quality or Genius, I really can’t. There are other writers with these traits who are less successful than I am. I regard myself as a good writer, not a great one, and my current success has as much to do with the efforts of the publisher and its sales force as it does with my skill as an author. This isn’t modesty on my part, false or otherwise; it’s observation based on my desire to know the truth, whatever its nature may be.
With a Tangled Skein Page 35