Incarnations of Immortality 3: With a Tangled Skien
by
Piers Anthony


THEBONNEEBOY

Niobe was the most beautiful young woman of her generation, with hair
like buckwheat honey and eyes like the sky on a misty summer morning
and a figure that was better imagined than described.  But she had her
trifling faults, such as an imperious nature fostered by the ability to
use her beauty to get her own way, and she was of only average
intellect.  Also, though she did not know it, she had been marked for a
more difficult destiny than she had any right to dream of.

"But, Father!"  Niobe protested prettily.  "Cedric Kaftan is but
sixteen years old, while I am twenty-one!  I couldn't possibly marry
him!"

Old Sean raised a pacifying hand.  "Some rivers are harder to cross
than others, and some boats smaller.  These are not easy times, my
daughter, for Ireland or the world.  He belongs to an excellent family,
farmers and scholars, and they take care of their own.  His age is
immaterial."

"Immaterial!"  she snorted.  "He is but a child!  Father, you do me
wrong to marry me to one who is so young!"

The man's jaw tightened.  He had the power of the patriarch, but he
preferred to have harmony.  "Daughter, I did not do you wrong.  It is
true he is young, but he's growing.  He will be a match for you when I
am dead and gone."

"Let him be a match for some little snippet his own age!  I absolutely
refuse to put up with this indignity!"  Her eyes seemed to brighten
with her anger, becoming as intense as the midday welkin.

Sean shook his head ruefully, not immune to the luster of his child.
"Niobe, you are the bonniest lass in the county, and nicely talented on
the loom, but perhaps the most headstrong, too!  Twice you have balked
at excellent matches, and I was weak enough to let you.  Now you are
becoming embarrassingly old for a maiden."

That shook her, but she fought back.  "Oh, pooh!  A fat old moneybags
and an ugly aristocrat!  You call those matches?"

"Wealth is not to be sneered at, and neither is aristocracy.  You could
have had a very easy life, or a very noble one.  Such marriages are not
easy to come by."

"Why can't I have a handsome, virile man of twenty five or so?"  Niobe
demanded.  "Why burden me with a child who probably doesn't know his
nose from his "

Her father's glance stopped her before she went too far.  She could
only balk him to a certain extent, however softly he might speak.
"Because the war has drawn away such men, so that none remain here who
are worthy of you.  I will not give you to a peasant!  You will not
marry beneath your station.  Cedric is qualified and financially
comfortable, thanks to an inheritance, and "

"And he's growing," Niobe finished with disgust.  "And I'm growing sick
of the very notion!  I won't marry such a child, and that's all there
is to it."

But that wasn't all there was to it.  This time Sean's foot was firm.
Niobe raged and pleaded and cried, to no avail.  She was very good at
crying, for her name meant "tears,"I but her father was impervious.  He
was determined that this match be consummated.

And so it was.  The banns were duly published, and the wedding was held
in early summer, when the groom got out of school.  Everything was
accomplished according to form, but Niobe hardly noticed; she was too
chagrined at being married to such a youth.  She wouldn't even look
directly at him.  As the ceremony concluded, he at least had the wit
not to try to kiss her.

Thus they found themselves alone in a cottage, which was his
inheritance.  It was in a glade near a swamp pleasant enough by day for
those who liked that sort of thing, but sinister by night.  That was
perhaps part of the idea: a couple was supposed to be bolted inside
during darkness, huddled together for warmth and comfort.  There were
great romantic possibilities; the locale was conducive.

Niobe had no trouble resisting conduction.  She wrapped her lovely self
up in a voluminous quilt a wedding gift and slept on the bed.  Young
Cedric lay beside the hearth, where there was dwindling radiation from
the embers.  As the quiet chill of the night intensified, neither
stirred.

So they spent their nuptial night, the woman and the boy, in silent
isolation.  In the morning Cedric got up, stoked the ashes in the
fireplace, and went out to relieve himself and fetch more wood.  Niobe
woke to the sound of an axe splitting billets of wood.  It was a good
sound, for the morning air was chill indeed; soon there would be
physical warmth.

Or would there?  She remembered that a fireplace was an ineffective way
to heat a house.  A good stove put six times as much heat into the
surrounding air for the same amount of wood burned.  There was a stove
here; she would see to it.  She might not be a genius, but she was
practical when it suited her purpose.  For one thing, she needed warm
hands to operate her loom properly.

She wrapped her coat about her night robe and went out to use the
outhouse.  There was an old catalog beside the wooden seat, half-used,
and a bucket of ashes.  It was an efficient system, she reflected, for
this was the classic place for reflection; one could read each page of
the catalog before using it, or simply stare at the pictures.  The mind
was edified while the body was cleaned.  The ashes were to sprinkle
over the refuse, cutting down on the smell, and of course there was a
ready supply of them at the house.  The refuse was periodically toted
to the garden for compost.  It was an old-fashioned system, but a good
one; nothing, really, was wasted.  Still, she would have preferred a
modern city toilet.

She emerged in due course, shivering in the cold, but she paused to
watch Cedric at work.  He was not cold at all; the effort of splitting
heated him.  She had to admit he was good at it; he set each billet of
wood on the chopping block and halved it cleanly with a single blow of
the axe, so that the pieces toppled to either side.  He was a boy but a
big boy, with a fine ripple of muscle as he swung the axe.  His blond
hair jumped as the axe struck, and a muscle in his cheek tightened
momentarily.  A bonnie boy, indeed!

He saw her and paused.  "You're cold.  Miss Niobe," he said with a rich
backwoods accent that, like Niobe's form, is better imagined than
rendered.  "Here, take my jacket till I get the wood in.  I'm too hot
anyway."

"Don't call me miss," she protested.  "I am, after all, your wife."  It
grieved her to say it, but it was a truth she could not deny, and
honesty required that she not attempt to.  A marriage, however
ill-conceived, was a marriage.

He paused, half-startled.  "Uh, sure, I guess so.  But you know, ma'am,
it was none o' my notion to get married like this; I'm not even through
school."

She might have guessed!  "It wasn't my idea either," she said.  "At
least not "

"Not to an ignorant kid!"  he finished with a rueful grin, "Come on,
now, take the jacket before you freeze your toes off, miss uh, ma'am."
He approached her, jacket extended.

"Just a moment," she said, constrained to assert her independence even
from this.  "You look a lot more comfortable than I am.  Give me that
axe."

"Oh, that's not no woman's work, ma'am!  I'll do it."

"That isn't woman's work," she said, annoyed by the double negative.

"That's what I said!"  Then he paused, embarrassed.  "Oh you mean the
way I said it.  I'm sorry.  I'm just a backwoods boy, ma'am, and sorry
you had to get stuck with "

"What's done is done, Cedric," she said firmly.  She wrested the axe
from his grip, knowing he could offer no effective resistance to her
because she was an adult.  She set up a billet and swung at it and
caught the very edge of it.  The blade caromed off and plunged into the
ground beside her right foot.

"Uh, ma'am, please " Cedric said, worried.

"No, I can do it!"  she said, hauling the axe up again in a wobbly
trajectory.

He jumped to intercept her.  "Let me help you, ma'am, no offense

"You're afraid I'll break the axe!"  she accused him.

"No ma'am!  I'm afraid you'll chop off a toe, and I'd sure hate to have
anything like that happen to a foot as dainty as that."

She relaxed.  His diplomacy was effective because it was unschooled.
"So would I!  I did come close, didn't

I? All my incidental studies about trees, and I never split a single
blivet of "

"Billet, ma'am," he said quickly.

She had to laugh.  "Of course!  I don't use the language as well as I
supposed!"

"Oh, no, you talk real fine, ma'am," he said.  "Now you take the handle
like this, see, and " He reached around her to put his hands over hers,
setting hers properly on the handle.  His hands were larger than hers,
callused and strong, seeming too big for his body.  She wondered
whether boys, like puppies, had outsized paws if they were still
growing into them.  If so, Cedric would in due course be a young
giant.

"How is it your hands are so rough, when your family is scholarly?" she
asked thoughtlessly.

He snatched his hands away.  "Oh, you know, fighting," he said,
embarrassed.

Fighting.  Well, boys would be boys.  "There shouldn't be cause for
that here," she informed him gently.

"No, 'course not," he muttered, scuffling his feet.

"You were showing me how to chop," she said, taking pity on him.

He got her grip right and her stance right, then guided her through a
swing at the billet.  She felt the strength in his arms and body as he
moved in contact with her; it was amazing how strong he was for his
age.  This time the blade came down cleanly, perfectly centered, and
cleaved the wood asunder.  The halves did not fly apart, as this had
not been a fully powered blow, but they offered no further
resistance.

Niobe tried the next one alone, following the procedure he had shown
her.  Her strike was not sufficient to split the billet, but it was
remarkably close to the center.  It was a victory of sorts.  She owed
that, perhaps, to her coordination with the loom; she could generally
place an object where she wanted to, when not struggling with too much
weight.

But now the axe was stuck in the wood.  She tried to draw it free, but
it wouldn't budge.  "Just turn it over, heave it up, and hit it
backside, ma'am," Cedric advised.

She did so, struggling to haul up the heavy billet, and brought the
head of the axe down on the block.  The wood split itself on the blade
and fell apart.  "Oh, it worked!"  she exclaimed, pleased.

"Sure thing, ma'am," Cedric agreed.  "You got a knack for it."

"I have a knack " But she realized that she did not want to be
lecturing him about language; it was not the wifely way.  "No I don't,
either!  I'm just a duffer.  But it is fun!"

She split wood for several minutes, and soon was warm enough to remove
her coat.  "If I had known how satisfying it is to split wood, I would
have done it long ago," she gasped.

"You sure look good doin' it," Cedric said.

"No I don't!"  she protested, pleased.

"Yes you do, ma'am.  You're one pretty woman."

"And you're one bonnie boy.  But I'm getting tired; let's go in and get
some breakfast."

"No, I mean it, ma'am.  You're the prettiest woman I've ever seen,
specially when you move like that."

She looked down at herself.  She was glowing from the exertion,
breathing hard, and her nightwear was plastered to her bosom.  This was
not her notion of feminine beauty, but she was flattered all the same.
"And I mean it too, Cedric.  You're a young Adonis.  When you get your
growth, you'll be attracting all the girls."  Then she paused,
flustered, realizing what she had said.  Attract girls?  He was already
married to her.  She felt the flush climbing her face.

He did not reply.  He stopped to gather an armful of wood, then carried
it into the cabin.  But she could tell by the flush on his neck that he
felt just as embarrassed as she did.  He was young and socially
inexperienced, but he was a good young man, meaning well.  It was as
awkward for him as it was for her.

"Cedric, I " But what could she say that would not exacerbate the
situation?  Better to let it drop.

Inside, she explained about the stove.  "Sure, ma'am," he said
agreeably.  "We use a stove in winter."  He showed his expertise in
getting it going, making sure the ashes were not clogging the air
vents, adjusting the damper in the stovepipe, and carefully building a
structure of paper, kindling and wood in the firebox.  "Got to start a
cold stove slow," he explained.  "Don't want it to crack."  But soon
enough it was producing comforting heat, and Niobe was making pancakes
on its surface.

"You sure know how to cook, ma'am!"  Cedric said as he wolfed down his
share.  He had a huge appetite, as befitted a growing boy.

"I'm a woman," Niobe said wryly.

"You sure are!"  he agreed enthusiastically.

She changed the subject.  "I gather that you did not want to to get
married?"

"Pshaw, ma'am, I'm not ready for nothing like that!"  he agreed.  "I
don't know nothing about women.  And I wanted to finish school, and get
into the track program, so I could maybe make something of myself, you
know.  But you know how it is when the family decides."

"I know," she agreed.  "I suppose it's no secret that I objected to
this I mean, I didn't even know you, Cedric, just your name and age and
that you came from a good family.  It's nothing personal "

"It's a good family, all right," he agreed.  "And so's yours, which is
why you know."  He shrugged.  "I just wasn't, well, quite ready."

She found herself liking this honest, unassuming boy.  She had an idea.
"Look, Cedric why don't you go to school anyway?  We can afford it, and
if you really want to get an education "

His face brightened.  "Say, you mean it, ma'am?  You'd let me go?"

"I would encourage it, Cedric."

"But you'd be alone here, ma'am, and "

"I'll be safe enough.  There are no dragons in these forests."  She
smiled.

He paused, as if slightly stunned.  Her smile had been known to have
that effect on men.  Then he frowned.  "There is magic, though," he
said darkly.  "Those trees cast spells "

"Not against those who understand them," Niobe said.  "I have been
studying the magic of the wetlands forest.  Those trees and plants only
want to live and let live.  But when you come marching in with an axe
"

He was startled.  "Say, I never thought of that!  If I was a tree, I
wouldn't like it none neither!"  Then he paused.  "Say I know I didn't
say that right.  Ma'am, would you "

"If I were a tree, I would not like it any, either," Niobe said
carefully.  "Eliminate the double negative."

"Were, ma'am?"

"That's the subjunctive mood, used to show supposition.  I'm not a tree
and never could be, but I'm trying to put myself in the tree's place,
so I signal this by saying "If I were a tree."  To say "If I was a
tree' would be to suggest I might have been a tree^ in the past, and
that would be a misrepresentation."

"It sure would!"  He caught himself.  "Certainly would.  It certainly
makes sense the way you tell it, ma'am."

"Cedric, you really don't need to call me 'ma'am,"" she said gently.

"Well, it's a term of respect for an older " He broke off.

Niobe smiled again.  "Now we're even, Cedric.  I mis spoke myself
outside, and perhaps you did the same, now.  We are in a difficult
situation, but we must make the best of it.  In time we shall not
notice the five-year difference in our ages; it is little enough,
really.  Were it reversed "

"Yeah, the men figure sixteen is prime for a girl," he agreed.  "Funny,
isn't it!"

"Perhaps it is a prime age if a person is not interested in getting a
genuine education."

He turned serious again.  "You know, all my family have been smart in
you sure about the school?"  "I am if you are, Cedric."  "I certainly
am! I want to get smart."  "Lots of luck," she murmured.

He winked at her, and she realized he had caught the | irony.  She
blushed, suddenly and hard; he was smart enough to know what she
thought of him.  "I did it again," she said through her burning face.
"I owe you one."

"No, you already paid me when you told me the subjunctive, ma'am.
Oops!"

She started to laugh, halfway hysterically.  He joined her.  They both
knew it wasn't funny, but it cleared the air somewhat.  They finished
their breakfast in silence.

The day warmed rapidly.  Niobe dressed and finished with the dishes and
straightened up the cabin, for she believed in order.  Cedric carried
more split wood inside so that there would be no problem the following
morning.  Then it became awkward again, for they had nothing else to
do. This was not normally a problem for the newly married, Niobe knew,
so no provision had been made.

"I can set up my loom," she said.  But it didn't seem appropriate, this
first day.

"I can go scout a trail to run on," he said.

That was right; he had mentioned being interested in track.  If he
returned to school, he would have the opportunity, so training would be
in order.  But he, too, was doubtful, knowing that this was not what
honeymooners were supposed to be doing.

"Let me help you," she said.  "We can take a walk through the forest,
exploring it.  I'm eager to verify the local magic."

He smiled.  To take a walk together: that was a suitable occupation.
"And leave the axe behind," he said.

"So as not to frighten the trees," she agreed.

They walked, and it was beautiful.  The foliage had not yet been jaded
by the heat of summer, and the bright sunlight kept the mosquitoes at
bay.  They discovered a path that led down into the swamp, where the
bases of the trees became swollen and the green moss climbed high.  Now
Niobe's expertise in wild magic came into play.  She showed him how the
huge water oaks of the swamp extended protective spells for the little
fish who lived among their roots and helped fertilize them with their
droppings, and how the hamadryad, or tree nymph, could be glimpsed if
one had the patience to be still and really look for her.  "She dies
when her tree dies," she explained.  "That's why she's so sensitive to
the sight of an " She paused, then spelled it, "A-X-E."

"She's real pretty," he agreed.  "Almost as pretty as you.  From now
on, I'm not cutting no not cutting any live wood."

Niobe felt a warm wash of pleasure.  It was foolish, she knew, but she
liked being reminded she was beautiful, and nymphs were the standard
against which mortals were measured.  Nymphs were eternally youthful
and supple as long as their trees were healthy.  A woodlands specialist
could diagnose the ills of a tree merely by looking at its nymph.

They went on, getting their feet muddy in the slushy sections of the
path.  "Maybe we could drain this bog and farm this rich soil," Cedric
said.

"Drain the bog!"  Niobe repeated, shocked.  "But it's vital to the
forest!  It's a recharge region for water.  It stores excess rainfall
and sustains the plants when there's a drought.  Without the wetlands,
the land would lose many of its best trees, and not just those that
grow in it.  The water table extends everywhere, and the roots find it
but the wetlands keep the level right."

Then, in her enthusiasm for the wetlands, Niobe burst into song:

"I want to waltz in the wetlands, The swamps, the marshes and bogs (oh,
the bogs).  Yes, I want to waltz in the wetlands With the birds and the
fish and the frogs."

Cedric watched and listened, openmouthed, until her conclusion:

"I want to waltz in the wetlands, a place where nature gets by And I
... will cry .. . will cry when the wetlands are dry.  Yes I ... will
cry .. . will cry when the wetlands are dry."

She was so moved herself that the tears were streaming down her face.
Cedric seemed awed.  "Niobe, I don't want you to cry!

I'll never drain the wetlands.  Never!"

She smiled at him, then accepted his handkerchief to wipe away her
tears.  "It's only a song, Cedric."

"It's only a song," he agreed.  "But you you're special."

"Thank you," she said, touched.  She knew she was not any great singer.
The fit had come on her un expect ediy, and she had half expected him
to laugh.  Obviously he was impressed, and that was very flattering.

They completed their survey of the region and returned to the cabin. It
occurred to her in retrospect that for the first time he had called her
by her unadorned name.  She wasn't certain how she felt about that, but
she had after all made an issue of his calling her "miss" or "ma'am"
and certainly he had a right to use her name.  He was after all her
husband in name.

"I'm going to study the wetlands!"  he declared abruptly.

Ah, the impetuosity of youth!  "They are worth studying," she agreed
carefully.  "But of course you shouldn't restrict your interests."

He just looked at her.  She had seen that look in the eyes of the
family dog when he had been praised and patted.  It was going to take
time to adjust completely to this situation.

Nevertheless, they felt more comfortable with each other now.  Niobe
fixed their meals from the stores in the cabin, and when these were
depleted, Cedric hiked into town to buy more and haul them back in his
knapsack.  He liked to hike; he was a very physical person, with the
burgeoning energy of youth.  But they also played games together,
including a contest of riddles.  She quickly discovered that he had a
remarkably agile mind and could best her readily at this sort of thing.
She fed him the riddle that had stymied her family for years: it
concerned six men trying to cross a river using a boat for two, with
certain conditions.  He solved it immediately, as if it wasn't even a
challenge.  He also caught on to the nuances of correct speaking so
rapidly that he was soon perfect.  She could understand, now, why his
family had a scholarly tradition.

Meanwhile, he showed her how to manage the physical things, such as
stacking wood for the winter so that it wouldn't rot and emptying the
base of the outhouse.  But she continued to sleep on the bed, and he on
the hearth;

there was no physical romance between them.

In two weeks Niobe came to know Cedric very well and continued to be
impressed by his superior qualities.  He was a strong and smart youth,
with an amiable disposition and good potential but he was a youth.  He
was also her husband.  Niobe knew she could not send him away to
college without consummating the marriage.  But how was she to go about
it?  She had no experience in this aspect, and no great inclination.
Still, it was evident that Cedric was not going to initiate the matter;
he treated her with a respect bordering on worship.  So it was up to
her.  "Cedric," she said one pleasant afternoon.  He met her gaze, then
looked away shyly.  "Ah, Niobe, and has it come to that now?"  At times
he seemed almost to read her mind.

"When the honeymoon is over, my mother will ask me,

and your father will ask you.  For the news."

He sighed.  "That they will.  But I am not so naive as to think I could
force my attention on a woman who doesn't love me."

He had an excellent grasp of the fundamentals and he expressed them
well.  "Oh?  You have been loved before?"

He shook his head, embarrassed.  "Never.  I lack experience."

"So do I," she admitted.

"But you are supposed to lack it!"

She had to laugh.  "Cedric, I am sure that had you been permitted to
wait until you could marry at my age, you would have had it.  But I
hardly condemn you for this particular lack.  It means you come to me
pristine."

"I'm only sixteen," he reminded her defensively.  "Aye, there's talk
among boys, but I'll wager I'm not the only one who never " He
shrugged.

"Of course," she agreed quickly.  "A double standard is hypocrisy.  It
is best that a man and a woman come to " She hesitated.  "To learn
together."

"It is hard to " He, too, hesitated.  "If you loved me as I love you,
it would be " He faltered as he saw her react, then blushed.

"What did you say, Cedric?"

""Twas a slip o' th' tongue," he said, slipping back into his idiom as
he reddened further.  "I apologize."

"You apologize for loving your wife?"

"But you know," he said miserably.  "It isn't real!"

"The marriage, or your love?"

He scuffed his foot.  "Oh, you know.  You're such a fine woman, so
lovely I get lightheaded just from looking at you, and you know so
much, you're so poised, you deserve so much better, and you certainly
didn't ask for this.  I don't want to make it worse for you.  I'm just
a kid."

Niobe, her pulse racing, focused on the single thing.  "When?  When did
you know you loved me?"

He shrugged, as if passing it off as something beneath notice.  "That
first day when you sang in the swamp.  When you cried for the wetlands.
I never heard anything so " He spread his hands, lacking a word.

"But I'm not even a good singer!"

"You believe!"" he said seriously.  "You really do love the wetlands
and I do too, now, because of you.  What you love, / love."

"Cedric, you never said "

"And make another fool of myself?"  he asked with mild bitterness. "And
maybe drive you away?  Because here's this gangling boy mooning over
you?  I'm not that stupid."

"Cedric, you aren't stupid at all!  You're a fine lad a fine young man!
I'm sure that "

"Please, can't we just forget it?"

"No, we can't!  Cedric, I can't claim I love you that sort of thing is
more gradual with a woman, and "

"And there has to be a man."

"Cedric!"

He just looked at her, and looked away.  She knew there was no way to
make him lose sight of the truth: that she didn't see him as a man.

Niobe had generally gotten her way, in life.  This time her beauty
acted against her.  It was, she realized, time that she herself grew
up.  She would do what had to be done.

"Cedric, we've been over this matter of age before.  It's a chimaera.
It really doesn't matter.  Love doesn't matter.

We're married."

"Love doesn't matter?"

"I didn't really mean that.  Of course it matters!  I meant that I'm
ready to do what I have to do, without waiting for something that may
never I mean hasn't yet "

"I understand what you mean," he said gravely.

"I do respect you, Cedric, and I am your wife.  There are many women
married to men of mature age who don't who do what is required
regardless of their personal feelings.  It is time we made our marriage
real."

"No!  Not with one who doesn't love me.  It just isn't right!"  She
agreed with him, but had to argue.  "Why isn't it?"

"It would be r " He stalled on the word.  She flushed.  "Rape?"

He nodded.  She felt as if she were in a pit that kept getting deeper
the more she tried to scramble out.  Where were the euphemisms, the
handy oblique references that sugarcoated the unfortunate reality?
Cedric wouldn't lie, and neither would she, and on that jagged stone of
integrity their marriage was foundering before it began.  Where was the
way to make it right?  They were each trying to do the right thing, and
the irony was that they agreed on what the right thing was, yet had to
go counter to it.  Of course there should be mutual love!

And there was not.  She could give him her body and her best wishes,
but not her heart.  Not yet.  She felt the tears starting again.

"Oh, don't do that, please!"  he pleaded.  "I can't stand to see you
sad."

"Cedric, it's not your fault.  You're right, you know.  You need a
woman to love you, and I wish I " Now the tears overflowed, choking her
off. "Oh, miss " he started.  "Missus," she corrected him, forcing a
smile. "I'd do anything to make you happy!  But I don't know how!"

"Then make me love you!"  she flared.  There was a silence as they both
realized what she had said.

He shook his head, baffled.  "Niobe, how ?"  "The same way any other
man does.  Court me!"  He looked at her sidelong.  "You would sit still
for that?"

"Do you think you're some monster, Cedric?  If you love me, prove
it!"

"And that I will!"  he exclaimed.  "Come to the water oak where you
sang to me, and I will sing to you."

"Yes!"  she cried, as if it were a phenomenal breakthrough.  And, in a
way, it was.  The realization that he loved her excited and flattered
her; she had never been loved that way before.

They went to the water oak, and she sat on one of its projecting roots,
clear of the water, and leaned back against its massive trunk.  The
hamadryad peered nervously down from the high foliage, wondering what
they were up to.

Cedric stood before her, then dropped to one knee and struck a pose.
Niobe kept a straight face, determined not to spoil his effort.  He
took a breath and sang:

"Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields, And all the craggy mountains
yields."

His voice was untrained but strong, and he had good pitch and control,
and a great deal of feeling.  It was a nice song, with an evocative
melody, and she was impressed.

"And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their
flocks."

As he sang, he reached forth to take her hand.

"By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals."

At his touch, something happened.  Suddenly there was music, as of a
mighty orchestra, filling the forest with the power of its sound.  His
voice seemed to become amplified, magnificent, evocative, compelling,
beautiful.  She sat stunned, mesmerized by his amazing presence, by the
phenomenal music, and she only came out of it when the song ended.

"..  . If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me, and be
my love."

As he stopped singing, the grand music also died away.  "What's that?"
Niobe asked, awed, still holding his hand.

He looked concerned.  "Is something wrong?"  "That that music!  Where
did it come from?"  "Oh that.  I thought you knew.  It's my magic.  It
runs in our family, off and on.  I'm sorry if I "

"Sorry!"  she exclaimed.  "It's absolutely beautiful!  How do you do
it?"

He shrugged, letting go of her hand.  "It just comes when I sing, when
I touch.  See."  He put his hand on the trunk of the tree, and sang:

"Come live with me and be my love."

Niobe heard nothing special but the tree shuddered as if reverberating
to some potent sound, and the dryad almost fell off her branch.

Niobe put her own hand on the bark, and the orchestra returned.

"And we will all the pleasures prove."

"Cedric it's terrific!  It's an experience!"  She was unable to define
it further.

"It's just the way it is."  He seemed nonplused by her reaction.

"Sing to me again," she urged him.

"But the song's finished.  All that follows is the maiden's
response."

Niobe took his hand.  "Then sing that, Cedric!"

He sang, and the orchestra was with him, buttressing his voice and
elevating it to the transcendence manifested before.  It was not mere
sound or mere music; it seemed to be more than three dimensions, as if
pure emotion had been harnessed into melody.  Could love, she asked
herself, be more than this?

"If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's
tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee, and be
thy love."

These were words of negation, but it didn't matter; the evocative power
remained.  Niobe realized that anything

Cedric sang would have similar effect.  She remained entranced until
the last verse.

"But could youth last and love still breed, Had joys no date nor age no
need, Then those delights my mind might move To live with thee, and be
thy love."

The song finished, and with it the magic.  But now Niobe gazed at
Cedric with a new appreciation.  He did indeed have magic, and love was
possible.  "Take me home, Cedric," she told him.

By the time they reached the cabin, however, Niobe had had a chance to
restabilize.  It was, after all, only magic; Cedric was no different
than he had been, and their situation had not really changed.  It made
no sense to do anything she might be sorry for later.  So she did not
push the matter, and Cedric did not, and their marriage remained
unconsummated.

After another week of this, Niobe realized that time was running short.
They had been given a full month to themselves; thereafter the
relatives would be visiting.  Niobe realized this as she was about to
sleep.

"They'll know," she said, abruptly sitting up in bed.  "Yeah," Cedric
agreed from the hearth.  "Cedric, come over here," she said in
peremptory fashion.  "We must get this done.  We can't face them,
otherwise."

He got up and perched on the foot of the bed.  He seemed to be afraid
of her.  "Cedric, it's really not all that complicated," she said.
"We've both been told about the birds and the bees and we've seen
animals."  "You are no animal!"  he said, horrified.  That set her
back. This remained awkward.  If he had come on like a bull in the
mating pen, she would have been appalled, but would have tolerated it;
that, her mother had warned her privately, was the way men were.

At least the ice, so to speak, would have been broken.  She didn't feel
quite comfortable with that metaphor, but it seemed to apply.  As it
was, they were in trouble.  "Forget the animals," she said.  "Come into
bed with me.  It's ridiculous sleeping apart like this."

He moved up, and stretched timorously beside her on the bed.

"Not in your clothes!"  she exclaimed.

"Oh, ma'am, I couldn't "

She reached across and took his hand.  It was cold and stiff.  "Cedric,
are you afraid of me?"

"Oh, no, ma'am!"  he protested.  But he was shivering.

"Of what we have to do?"

"Terrified," he agreed.

"Cedric, this is ridiculous.  You know I like you, and if you sing to
me "

"That's the magic, not me."

And he wanted her to love him, not his magic.  He had a point.  But she
suspected this was mainly an excuse to justify his fear.  "Cedric, I
know you're no coward.  What's really bothering you?"

"I couldn't just couldn't do that to you, ma'am."

That "ma'am" again!  She was trying to bring them closer to each other,
but was only succeeding in increasing their separation.  "Why not?"

"Because you're so so beautiful and wonderful and " He shrugged, unable
to express himself properly.

"But Cedric, I'm your wife!"

"Not by your choice!"

This ground was too familiar; she had to get away from it.  "But not by
yours either, Cedric.  We are two people thrown together by
circumstance and the will of our families, and they really have tried
to do what was best for us, and now we "

"A woman and a boy," he said.

There it was again.  He felt inadequate and she couldn't argue with
this assessment, privately.  But she knew she had to change that.  "But
you're growing," she said.

"I don't think I'll ever be grown enough for you."

"Oh, Cedric, that's not true!"  she protested.  But she knew she
sounded like a mother encouraging a child.  This dialogue was going
nowhere.  Like all the others.

She considered, while he lay in uncomfortable silence.  After a bit,
she said: "Cedric, maybe we're trying to do things too abruptly.  Let's
start in stages.  Take off your clothes, lie beside me under the quilt,
and sleep, tonight.  Nothing else."

"You promise?"

She laughed.  "I promise, Cedric.  What do you think I

could do to you?"

He had to laugh too, but it was strained.  "What if it gets cold?"

"Then we move together, to share our warmth under the covers.  That's
the idea, isn't it?"

"But you you aren't wearing much."

She sat up and unbuttoned her nightie, pleased at her own daring. "I'll
wear nothing at all."

He actually rolled over and fell off the bed with an awful thunk.
Alarmed, Niobe jumped out, ran around, and bent to help him up.  "Oh,
Cedric, I'm so sorry!  Are you hurt?"

"Please, ma'am your shirt " He turned his face away.

She glanced down.  In the faint light of the dying fire,

she saw that her partially unbuttoned nightie had fallen open, exposing
part other bosom.  "For God's sake, Cedric, you can look at me!  I'm
your wife!"  "It's not right," he said, face still averted.  "Cedric,
look at me!"  she ordered.  But he would not.

Anger flared in her exposed bosom.  She got up and stalked back around
the bed and plumped back down.  What was she to do with this boy?

Then, through her cooling fury, she became aware of something.  She
listened.

He was leaning against the bed and sobbing, trying desperately to
muffle it so that she would not know.

Her emotion spun about in a full turn.  "Oh, Cedric!"  she breathed,
and started across the bed to comfort him.  Then she stopped, realizing
that that might be the worst thing she could do.  She was no mother,
and he no child, and these roles had to be avoided like plague.  She
had thought originally only of her own chagrin at being married to a
boy; now she realized that the problem was far more acute for him.  She
had to find some way to free them both from these perceptions, so that
she would be a woman and he a man.

Tonight was a loss.  She would just have to let it grind itself out and
try to do better on the morrow.

She did try on the morrow.  "Cedric, let's get drunk."

He was taken aback.  "I never touch the stuff, ma'am."

"Niobe," she said firmly.  "Call me by name."

"Niobe," he agreed reluctantly.  "I don't drink, Niobe."

"Neither do I. But there's a bottle of white wine on the shelf."

"I don't know.  Some folks get wild when they drink."

"Yes, don't they!"

He smiled.  He seemed recovered from his distress of the prior night,
and she knew she had been right to leave him alone.  Tonight she would
get him in that bed!

They opened the bottle after the evening meal.  They sat out on the
slope of the knoll beyond the cabin and watched the sunset.  Each took
a small glass of the golden fluid and drank it down.  "Oh, it burns!"
Niobe gasped.

"Sure does!"  Cedric agreed.  "Say, that's good stuff!"  He refilled
his glass, and she refilled hers, but she sipped her second more
cautiously than he did.  She was not, she found, all that partial to
burns, and anyway she didn't need to get drunk, just him.

It did not take long for the wine to reach their minds.  "Hey, my head
feels light!"  he exclaimed happily.

"So does mine," she agreed.  "Maybe we'd better go slow."

"Slow?  Why?  This is fun!"  He refilled his glass, not noticing that
she had not yet finished hers, and downed it at a gulp.

Niobe was getting worried; it was evident that the alcohol was carrying
him away, and she wasn't quite sure where it would take him.  "Cedric,
let's sing!"  she suggested, taking his hand so that he couldn't use it
to take any more wine, yet.

"Sure, Niobe," he agreed cheerfully.  Without preamble, he sang:

"Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine."

The orchestra manifested, because she was touching him.  It added its
grandeur to the simple song.  Again she was entranced.  When she had
first heard the magic, she had realized that there was more to Cedric
than she had supposed.  This time she realized that she had developed a
definite fondness for him.  She could love this bonnie boy, in due
course.  It was easy to believe that, as the music encompassed her.

After that he sang a straight drinking song, Three Jolly Coachmen,
about a trio that was merry for the evening, knowing that they would be
sober and therefore less jolly in the morning.  They pontificated on
the man who drank light ale

"He falls as the leaves do fall, so early in October!"

And on the one who drank stout ale a jolly fellow!  The background
music was becoming somewhat uneven, as his mind was dulled by the wine,
as if the players of the orchestra were getting tipsy too.  Niobe found
that excruciatingly funny.

As it happened, she knew that song, and had a couple of verses to
contribute:

"Here's to the girl who steals a kiss, and runs to tell her mother.

She does a very foolish thing; she'll never get another!"

Cedric, high as he was, laughed with agreement.

Then she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.  He looked startled.
He glanced around, leaned forward, and vomited on the ground.

Oh, no!  He had had too much, and gotten sick.  He was in no particular
distress at the moment, but Niobe knew that this evening, too, was
finished.

She managed to get him inside, and cleaned up, and onto the bed to
sleep it off.  This time she slept by the hearth.

In the morning, grim with hangover, Cedric picked up the bottle and
stared at the remaining wine.  "It looks exactly like urine!"  he said
savagely, and went to the door and flung it outside.  He simply wasn't
cut out to be a jolly coachman.

That evening Niobe tried again.  She sat him on the bed beside her,
took his hand, and asked him to sing again.  She sang with him, and the
magic surrounded them, and it was very like love.  But when it was time
to complete the act of love, Cedric could not.  The magnitude of the
task rendered him impotent.  He was chagrined, but she was in her
secret heart relieved; she had tried her very best, and failed.  It
just did not seem to be time.

"But Cedric," she said.  "You must sleep without clothing in this bed
from now on, and I will too."

He stared at her with dismay.  "But "

"So we can honestly say we slept together," she explained.  "Would
anyone believe that was all there was to it?"

Slowly he smiled, as relieved as she.  He joined her, naked, in the
bed.  It was a cheap compromise, but it would have to do.

COLLEGE

In the fall Cedric went to the local college.  It was not far distant,
but inconvenient to commute to by foot, and it would have been complex
to arrange for a horse.  A magic carpet would have been ideal, but
reliable ones were still so expensive that it wasn't expedient for this
situation.  It was best, all things considered, for him to board and
romantic incompatibility did not even enter the picture.

Niobe sent him off with a kiss and a tear and watched him march away
with his knapsack full of clothing.  He would buy his books there and
pay tuition and board; they had budgeted for it and had a comfortable
margin.

She was depressed when he departed and sorry they had not been able to
make their marriage work.  Cedric was certainly a fine boy with
wonderful magic, and she had become quite fond of him.  Of course no
one knew about the failure of the marriage or at least the relatives
were too discreet to mention any suspicions.  With luck, things would
work out better after Cedric had matured a year or two in college, and
no one would ever know.  As a last resort, she could buy a love potion
and take it herself; but if Cedric caught on, he would react
negatively, and she really didn't want to deceive him anyway.  Love was
not really the problem.

Meanwhile, she was lonely.  She could have gone home to her parents for
the term, but knew that, if she did, her mother would worm the truth
out other, and she couldn't stand the mortification.

She made do alone.  Running the house was simple enough, and she did a
great deal of reading and weaving in the days and cultivated the
acquaintance of the dryad of the water oak in the swamp.  It was an
acceptable existence, for the time being.

She arranged the cabin to suit herself precisely, and it was very
comfortable.  She worked on the yard, and that was comfortable too.
When she had the near portion of the swamp nicely policed, she decided
it was time to visit

Cedric.

She rented a horseless carriage for the occasion.  This was
considerably cheaper than a carpet, but slower, and the wheels bumped
over the rutted track, jolting her uncomfortably.  Nevertheless she
arrived after a day, reaching the college in fair order, though her
prim traveling |

dress was dusted with grime.  I

She spied Cedric walking along a pathway between the S dormitory and a
classroom building.  Only two months had j passed, but he did seem to
have grown.  He was the tallest | of the youths there, though he was a
freshman, and two ' college girls flirted outrageously with him as they
passed.

Then he spied Niobe and smiled.  He had grown more handsome, too!  He
seemed to be in his element here.  But he became diffident and awkward
as he approached her.  The problem between them still existed.

She visited his dormitory room and met his roommate a pudgy, scholarly
type.  Cedric showed her his work so far: projects relating to wetlands
reclamation and natural magic.  It was evident that he took it
seriously and was learning a great deal.  She was sure he was a joy to
his professors.

First she had a little chore to do.  "Give me your cap," she said.

"My cap?"  he asked blankly.

"Your college cap the one you wear to show you're a student.  I believe
you'll find it on your head."

Perplexed, he removed it and handed it to her.  She brought out her
needle and thread and sewed a bright band of silk around it.  "That's
to show the college girls that you're married," she said firmly,
returning it to him.

"Oh.  Sure.  Of course."  He seemed nonplused.

She kissed him chastely, then returned to her carriage.  She found
herself both reassured and disquieted as she rode home, and it took
time to ferret out the sources of her feelings.  But at length she
realized that she was pleased to see Cedric properly established in
college and doing well, pleasantly surprised to see him so tall and
handsome and confident, and jealous of the attention he received from
the girls of his own age.  A married man, after all, had no business
attracting such interest.  So she had done what was necessary, but
still was bothered.  After all, what had she done with him all summer,
when she had had him all to herself?  There was the nagging suspicion
of failure on her part; or, if not exactly that, of imperfection. Would
they have succeeded in consummating the marriage if she had been more
alert to the problem?  If she had been sensitive to his side of it?  If
she had refrained from correcting his errors, from being the perfect
lady, and just concentrated on being a person he could relate to as he
could to a college girl?  Naturally he had been diffident!

Having resolved the mixture of her emotions and gotten them suitably
shelved in her mind, she resumed her ordinary life and produced some
truly fine tapestries depicting forest and wetlands scenes.  One showed
the water oak in the swamp, with the hamadryad perched on its lowest
branch, posing.  It had taken time and patience to befriend the nymph
enough to get her to do this, and Niobe knew that not many human people
could have accomplished this at all; she was quite pleased.  If only
she could have done that with Cedric!

Near the end of the semester she visited Cedric again.  He had been
dutifully sending her letters about his life and progress at the
college, and his writing showed increasing perception and literacy.  He
was gaining mentally and socially as well as physically; the college
experience was indeed good for him.  He was majoring in Wetlands Magic
and already was learning things they hadn't taught in Niobe's day.  He
knew how to test trees for their specific forms of magic and all about
the ecological cycle.  Next term he would take a course in Wetlands
Fauna and their relationship to the vegetation.  He was excited by the
enormous store of information available and determined to master it
all.  But Niobe wanted to see for herself, just | to be sure he wasn't
exaggerating.  The impetuous young { were prone to exaggeration, after
all.  i Cedric was taller yet and marvelously handsome in the sunlight,
and his ready smile charmed her.  He had one class to attend before he
could give her his full attention.  "I'm sorry," he apologized, but his
grin was one of accommodation rather than chagrin.  "I must attend; 1
have a report to give.  Then I'll be with you.  But my Water Magic Prof
wants to talk to you anyway, so you won't be bored."

How his confidence had grown!  Niobe was almost dismayed to see that
her husband was prospering just as well without her as she was without
him.  But she went to see the Prof, who was expecting her.

The Prof was typical of his breed: aging, stooped, with a shock of
white hair and a deeply serrated face from which the eyes fairly
gleamed with intelligence.  "Ah, Mrs.  Kaftan!"  he exclaimed.  "I
recognize you at once by your extraordinary beauty!"

"Oh, come on!"  she demurred, foolishly flattered.

"No, indeed!"  he persisted loudly.  All teachers had voices that
carried to the farthest recesses of the mind.  "I asked Cedric how I
would know you, and he said when I saw the loveliest mortal woman of
this world, that would be Niobe.  Lo, it is so!  He is much in awe of
you, and it is not difficult to perceive the reason.  You are indeed
outstanding!"

"Enough, Professor!  I'm an old married woman!  Why did you wish to
talk with me?  Is something wrong with Cedric's program?"

"Quite the opposite, my dear!"  he protested enthusiastically.  "Cedric
is the most brilliant and conscientious student I have had in a decade.
His work is outstanding for a student!  Do you know, Mrs.  Kaftan, a
mind like his is seldom brought to these, if you will pardon the pun,
backwaters of scholarship like Wetlands Ecology.  I wanted to
compliment you on the good work you have done for our discipline by
motivating him to enter it.  I know that when he matures he will carry
our research forward to new heights, as it were."

Niobe was taken aback.  Evidently the Prof was a creature of
superlatives!  "I only showed him the local I do have some interest in
"

"Indeed you do, Mrs.  Kaftan!"  he agreed.  "He tells me that he owes
it all to you.  He says you took an ignorant hick and showed him the
wetlands in a way he had never seen, and it changed his life.  Mrs.
Kaftan, you are a wonderful woman, and I salute you!"

She found herself halfway overwhelmed by the Profs enthusiasm.  He was
not bad at motivation himself!  "Then

Cedric is doing well?"  It sounded inane, but she couldn't think of an
adequate remark at the moment.

"Straight A's," he agreed.  "And we do not issue those lightly!  But
that does not begin to suggest his potential.  Do you know, Mrs.
Kaftan, if I may be so candid, at first I wondered why a woman as
lovely as you have been confirmed to be would marry such a youngster,
as obviously you could pick and choose among the best the j War has
left us, but as I came to know him, I understood that you had picked
the best.  There is only one like him in each generation.  You will
never regret that decision, I

am sure!"

"Uh, yes," Niobe agreed faintly.  "Cedric worships the ground you
tread, and I am not certain I mean that figuratively.  If you had sent
him to business school, he would have become in due course a tycoon. 
What a loss that would have been for science and magic!  You turned him
instead to the wetlands " He shook his head, then impulsively reached
out to take her hand, lift it to his lips, and kiss it.  "My most
abiding gratitude, Mrs.  Kaftan.  If there is ever any favor you
require of me, do not hesitate to ask."

She found herself back outside in the sun, dazed.  No wonder Cedric was
doing well; the Prof was an amazing catalyst.  Probably he treated
everyone like that, turning each student on.  Still, he had had no need
to call Cedric brilliant unless it was true.  She had known Cedric was
smart; apparently she had underestimated him.  The college environment
had evidently brought out the best in him.  Cedric finished his class
and rejoined her.  He was still a tousle-headed youngster under his
banded cap, but now she fancied she could see the smartness in him,
radiating out from his head.  She remembered the magic of his music.
Yes, there was definitely more to him than youth!

But again, in her private presence, he became shy and awkward.  "I it's
great to see you, Niobe," he said.  "What do you want to do?"

"Well, I will need to check your wardrobe," she said.  "I'm sure your
clothing is wearing out and will need attention."  Which was not at all
what she wanted to say and, indeed, fell comfortably into the major
category of Things Never to Be Said, because she was being motherly.
But she couldn't even conceive of, let alone formulate, what she might
have intended to say.  The Profs remarks had colored her perspective,
and she had not yet completed her readjustment.  She liked to keep
things orderly, like threads in a tapestry, and hated it when a thread
broke.  But mending a thread was a special process, requiring time and
consideration.

"Uh, sure," he agreed somewhat lamely.  "You always take good care of
me."

Damn it!  she thought furiously.  She had definitely done it again,
putting him in the junior role.  How could he ever become a true
husband this way?

So she wended her way home, bearing a burden of tangled feelings
greater than before.  She might be an expert weaver of ornamental
tapestries, but she was plainly inadequate in marriage.  She had
expected to marry a more experienced man and just wasn't competent to
educate a younger one in the necessary way.  If only there were a
college course in

She halted that thought in place.  No, she certainly didn't want Cedric
taking that kind of course!  Not with those colleens!  Marriage was a
private thing.

The winter passed somewhat bleakly, and when the ice melted from the
surface of the swamp, she proceeded again to the college.  This time
the students were out in force, enjoying the first genuinely nice day
in some time.  Some of the more voluptuous girls were in very brief
outfits for sunning, and the youths were in shorts.  Niobe,

conscious of the flattery of the Prof last time, and not wishing to be
taken for a college girl, had garbed herself this time in very
conservative fashion.  She wore an old-fashioned long skirt her mother
had outgrown, and a figure-de-emphasizing jacket.  Her hair was
severely bound back in a bun, she wore no makeup, and She had
button-down boots.  She felt quite dowdy.

She checked Cedric's room, but he was not there, and she wasn't sure
what class he might be in at the moment.  So she sat on a bench near
the dormitory and waited for his return, taking advantage of the time
to do some knitting.  She was good at that too; in fact she was adept
at any type of yarn manipulation.  It really was pleasant enough here,
and of course she had arrived early; he wouldn't be expecting her for
perhaps another hour.

Several college youths came walking along the path.  They had evidently
been drinking; in fact one still carried a bottle of red wine,
half-finished.  Niobe's nose wrinkled;

she detested wine of every type, ever since the disaster during the
courtship.  She was surprised and not pleased that its use was
permitted on the campus.  Was Cedric being subjected to bad
influences?

One of the youths paused as they passed her bench.  "Say, who's the old
lady?"  he demanded half-facetiously, staring at Niobe.  She knew she
looked older than the college girls, as was her intent, but he was
exaggerating.  He was the one with the bottle, showing signals of
intoxication; as he paused, he lifted the bottle and took another swig.
A driblet of pale red fluid ran down the side of his chin; then he
lowered the bottle and burped.

"Somebody's mother," another youth joked.  Oh, that stung, for a
private reason she would never let them know, "Hey, whose mother are
you?"  the first demanded.  "No one's," Niobe replied primly.  "I am
Cedric's wife."

"His wife!"  the youth exclaimed.  "He never let on he was robbing the
retirement home!  He always claimed his woman was beautiful!"  And all
four of them laughed coarsely.

Niobe tried to ignore their gibes, hoping they would go away, but the
wine gave them persistent insolence.  They closed about her, their
wine-soaked breaths fouling the air.  "Please go away," she said at
last.

"But we just got here!"  the bottle-holder said.  "And it's our dorm!
Come on, old lady, you gonna show us a good time?"  He reached for her
jacket and grabbed the lapel, yanking the front open so that a button
popped off.  "I'll bet you got some good stuff hidden away in there!"

Niobe jerked away and slapped his hand.

"Hey!"  he exclaimed as the others laughed.  Then his mouth turned
mean.  "Hit me, will you?  Well, how do you like thisV And he poured
the red wine on her head.

Niobe gave a cry of surprise and dismay and jumped up, trying to get
away from the stream.  But he caught her arm.  "Beautiful woman, hell!"
he said breathily.  "You're just a damned slut!"

She kicked him in the shin and spun away, knowing it was not possible
to reason with drunkenness.  But one of the other youths caught her
about the shoulders from behind and heaved her off the ground.  A third
grabbed her legs.  "Come on, let's see what she's made of!"  he cried.
"Pull her skirt off!"

Niobe struggled valiantly, drawing up her legs and then shoving, but
the youths were too strong for her.  They held her at shoulders and
feet, and the bottle-wielder dropped the spent container and groped for
her skirt, hauling it down over her legs so that her undergarments were
exposed.  "Say, she's not so old!"  he said, pausing to squeeze her
left thigh.

Niobe screamed, but it did no good.  The youth jerked her skirt down to
her ankles, and the one holding her feet let go of one so that the
wadded skirt could pass around it.  She tried to kick him, but he
caught her ankle again and pushed it away, forcing her legs to spread.
"Look at those legs!"  he exclaimed.

"Get her down on the ground," the bottle-youth directed.  "Hold her
still, and we'll take turns."  He licked his lips and loosened his
belt.

"Turns at what?"  a new voice demanded.

Niobe recognized it.  "Cedric!"  she cried.

Indeed it was he, standing tall and dynamic as he flung away his
jacket.  "That is my wife," he said, and it was as if a cloud crossed
his face, turning his normally sunny expression pale and grim.

No pretense was possible, at this stage.  "Get him the bottle-youth
cried.

They dropped Niobe and turned as one to face Cedric.  They closed on
him from four sides, not so drunk as to give him any fair chance
singly.

"No!"  she cried, knowing that Cedric could not possibly prevail
against four.  She tried to get up, but her feet got tangled in her
skirt and she had to pause to get it on again.  As she did, she watched
with dread while the four attacked her husband.

Two took hold of Cedric's arms while a third drew back his fist and
struck Cedric in the stomach.  Niobe winced but Cedric just grinned.
"God, he's like a damn rock!"  the youth exclaimed, amazed.

"Now you have had the first blow," Cedric said.  "I'll have the
last."

Suddenly Cedric brought his arms together in front of him, hauling the
two in from the sides as if they were puppets.  They stumbled along,
colliding with each other.  Then he flung his arms out again, and they
fell away on either side.  Cedric was free.

He stepped forward, his two fists swinging like sledgehammers.  One
connected to the gut of the youth who had struck him, and his stomach
was more like mush than rock.  He folded forward, the wind gushing out
of him just as Cedric's other fist slammed into the side of his head.
The youth's hair flew wide and he staggered and fell, semiconscious.

Cedric whirled and struck the bottle-youth on the chest.  The air
whooshed out of him, too, and he sank to his knees.  But the remaining
two had regained their feet and were charging in again.

Cedric ducked down, caught one of them by arm and leg, lifted him on
his shoulders, and hurled him into the other.

As suddenly as it had begun, the fight was over.  Cedric stood, his
chest heaving, the muscles of his upper arms bulging; the four youths
were spread in various ignominious attitudes about the lawn.  Niobe was
virtually spellbound, looking at him.  Suddenly he seemed twice the
size he had been before.

Then he stepped across to help her up.  "You all right, Niobe?  I heard
your scream and I got out of that class "

"Cedric you never told me you could fight like that!"

He shrugged.  "You told me I'd be through with that."

Now she remembered.  He had liked to fight.  She had presumed it to be
mere mischief.  She looked around at the four.  Some mischief! "Perhaps
I spoke prematurely.  Just what kind of fighting did you do?"

"Well, I was bare-knucks champ of my district, junior division.  But
you were right; I had to put aside childish things when I got
married."

"Childish things!"  she echoed, shaking her head.  In her spot memory
she saw him again, shrugging off a solid blow to the stomach; saw the
two youths almost jerked off their feet as he drew his arms together,
then flung like rag dolls to the ground.  Now she felt the amazing
power of those arms, as he held her steady.  She should have gotten the
hint when he had shown her how to split wood, for his strength had been
there then.  "And I called you a bonnie boy!"

Now a crowd was gathering, and the Prof she had talked to before
appeared.  "What happened here?"

The bottle-youth struggled to his feet.  "He set upon us!"  he cried,
pointing at Cedric.  "For no reason!"

Niobe's mouth dropped open at the audacity of this lie.  But she
realized that there had been no witnesses to the initial part of this
incident just her and the four youths The word of four against the word
of one.

"Shall we see?"  the Prof inquired, as if unconcerned.  He spied the
bottle and picked it up, frowning.  "Good a drop remains.  We shall
invoke the water magic."

He brought out a little dish containing a film of mold, set it
carefully on the ground, and upended the bottle over it.  A driblet of
wine descended into the dish.

There was a pause.  Then a reddish glow developed at the dish.  It
expanded rapidly, and there were roils of vapor in it, as the wine was
vaporized in the magic pattern stimulated by the potent mold.  An
enchantment of water, certainly; Niobe was fascinated.  She had known
of such magic, but had never before actually observed it.

"Move back, give room," the Prof warned.  "We do not want to interfere
with the re-creation."

They all moved back, even the youths, who seemed to be completely
intimidated by the Profs presence.  The vapor diffused into the entire
area, and stabilized, lending a reddish cast to the air.  Then it
swirled and coalesced into a ghostly image: a woman seated on the
bench.  "This is a ten-minute spell," the Prof explained.  "It should
be enough."

"But I don't think the wine was here yet," Cedric said.  "It had to
have come with them."

"That is why the picture is fuzzy," the Prof agreed.  "You did not
suppose my magic was vague, did you, lad?

The wine was distant, but the magic is here; it is recreating a still
scene until further definition is possible."

Several minutes passed.  No one moved.  All were absorbed by the
promise of the water magic.

Then, abruptly, the image brightened.  The woman became Niobe, in
color, though tinged with the red of the wine's eye.  The four youths
barged into the scene, ghostly yet clear.  The early stages of the
molestation were reenacted.  Niobe felt Cedric wince as the wine was
poured over her figure's head; he had the same bad associations that
she did.

"So this is your 'no reason,"" the Prof murmured, glancing at the
youths.

At the height of the struggle, Cedric entered the picture.  Now, seeing
him more objectively, Niobe was even more impressed with his demeanor.
He had indeed been growing; he seemed inches taller than he had been
the day of his marriage, and was now a young giant of a man.  He was so
handsome in his righteous anger that a nimbus seemed to surround him.
Or was that the wine-haze?

Niobe saw now that Cedric had actually invited them to grab his arms,
and had deliberately accepted the first blow.  She saw the youth who
had struck him pull back, shaking his right hand as if it had been
hurt.  Then Cedric started to fight, and in moments it was over.
Bare-knucks champ?  Surely so!

The scene ended and the vapor dissipated into invisibility.  But the
evidence was in.  "Clean out your rooms," the Prof directed the youths.
"You will be discharged from this institution with prejudice; your
illicit wine has condemned you."  They scrambled up and sheepishly
departed.

The Prof turned to Cedric.  "You were intelligent to provide them the
initiation of the combat; now there will be no question of abuse of
your power.  You were aware that folk of your prowess are enjoined from
abusing it?"

Cedric nodded soberly.  "I knew I had cause, but if I

killed anyone "

"You had cause, and you did not kill anyone," the Prof agreed.  "1
commend you on your discretion.  Now take your wife to the guest house;
she is in need of cleaning and comfort."

Indeed, now that the threat was over, Niobe was suffering a reaction.
She had almost been raped and Cedric had been set upon by four men!
Never before in her life had she been exposed to violence like this.
She put her face in her hands, and discovered it wet with tears,
reddened by wine.  She tried to wipe them away, but they just got
worse, and soon she was openly sobbing.

Cedric picked her up and carried her to the guest house.  She felt his
arms like flexible steel, and his chest and stomach like iron; he was
seventeen now, coming into the flush of his physical potential. Growing
.. .

She had locked in the image of a boy, and never observed the emerging
man.

He set her carefully down on the bed of the guest house.  "I will fetch
the nurse," he said, concerned.  "You are hurt."

But she clung to him.  "Cedric, I need you!"  she cried.

"I love you!"

He paused.  "You're upset, Niobe, with reason.  A bath and some rest
"

She drew him down, desperately.  "I've been such a fool, and I reek of
wine!  Forgive me, Cedric!"

"There is nothing to forgive," he said gently.  But he allowed himself
to be brought down to her until he was lying beside her on the bed.
"You have always been perfect, Niobe," he added, murmuring into her
ear.

She rolled onto him, hugging him close.  Her tear-wet lips found his
and she kissed him with a passion that astonished her.  Her breast was
suffused with reaction and emotion; she could not get enough of him. He
responded, as he had to, to the fire other desire, kissing her in
return.

Suddenly she laughed.  Startled, he lifted his head to look at her
questioningly.

She sat up, reached for his shirt, and unbuttoned it.  "There!"  she
said, smiling.  "I have had the first blow."

Slowly he smiled.  "But this is no fight."

"Isn't it?  We have been trying to do this for most of a year, and have
always been defeated by our own reticence.  Cedric, you have fought for
me, most valiantly and effectively, and now you have won me.  Take your
spoils!"

"Spoils!"  he muttered wryly.  "You are the woman I love."

"And you are the man I love!"  she replied gladly.  "I want to be yours
completely."

He kissed her.  Then he undressed her.  Her blouse was sticky with
drying wine, and her hair was matted with it, but she knew better than
to pause for even a minute to clean up.  Now was the time to strike!

Now Cedric looked at her body.  She smiled and reached up to him.  She
knew that her reaction was no more important than his and that their
physical interaction was only a portion of their emotional one.  For
the first time she truly desired him, and for the first time he
believed he deserved her.

Still, he was inexperienced, as was she.  She helped him as much as she
could without seeming aggressive and, when he hesitated, she held him
and kissed him passionately; when he sought to come into her and found
the way obscure and paused in confusion, she thrust herself at him and
abated the obscurity herself.  It hurt but with the pain came an
unutterable pleasure and a closeness she had never before known.
"Cedric .. . Cedric ..."  she whispered, and gently bit his bare
shoulder.

Yet simultaneously she found herself in the bog, by the water oak,
seeing it from three sides.  From one side she viewed it with the
freshness of youth and innocence, as if seeing it for the very first
time.  From another side she viewed it with the cynical eye of
experience, understanding its nature and appreciating it for what it
was.  From the third side she viewed it with the significance of age.
She had an endless memory of it in all its seasons, spun out into an
eternal thread and wound about her distaff, the small staff on which
her yarn was wound for spinning.  She was aware of its entire history.
Yet the three views were one, faceted, neither merged nor separated;
all three views comprised the impression of the whole, like colors or
contrasts.  She understood that tree!

Somehow, too, there was a fourth view, but shrouded, and she knew that
it was one she never wanted to see, for it was completely horrible. Yet
it, too, was part of the whole, the painful aspect of a generally
positive reality.

Then the moment of ultimate rapture passed, fading into a more general
but pleasant awareness.  She remained locked in Cedric's embrace as the
great tide ebbed.  Impulsively, she kissed him again.  "Now I am
possessed," she whispered.  The word had a triple or quadruple layer of
meaning, relating to property, sexual expression, and diabolical
awareness.  Her vision of the water oak seemed to have fragmented her
consciousness, so that what had seemed simple now seemed marvelously
complex.

In due course Cedric, fulfilled, fell asleep.  Now Niobe became aware
of her discomfort.  She got up, carefully cleaned herself, washed her
hair, and applied some healing salve.  She did not want Cedric to think
he had hurt her, though it was a pain that changed her life.  Then she
checked the bed and spied the stain of blood on the sheet;

how was she to conceal that?  Certainly she did not want that going
through the college laundry, betraying to the staff not only what they
had been up to, but that it had been the first time.  So she fetched a
sponge, dampened it, and worked on the stain until it had faded to the
point ofunidentifiability.  Now, at last, she could relax.

She lay down and Cedric stirred.  She took his hand, kissed it, and
murmured a soothing word to him, and he drifted off again.  She was
relieved; she loved him, but right now she wanted to sleep.

In the morning she returned home, leaving Cedric to his studies and his
phenomenal new memories.  But she did not allow much time to elapse
before she visited him again.  It was not that she had suddenly become
a sexual creature she had been advised by her mother that no woman
could match the appetite of any man in this respect but that she missed
him and wanted to be with him as much as possible.  Her tidy house no
longer satisfied her.  She wanted it to be animated again by Cedric's
presence.  She was indeed in love.

They made love again in the guest house, and this time it was easier
because they were slightly experienced.  Also, as she thought wryly,
she was broken in.  Again she responded almost as rapidly and
emphatically as he, despite her mother's cautions, for love propelled
her.  Again, at the climactic moment, she had a vision.

This time, as she stood before the water oak, she saw a spider climbing
an invisible strand.  / can do that, she thought.  She reached up and
caught hold of her own invisible strand and climbed it, for she had
four hands and four feet.  In fact she was a spider, the ultimate
spinner and weaver.  What a web she would make!  But then the ecstasy
abated, and she was human again, relaxing in the embrace of her
beloved.

She thought to ask him whether he, too, had visions in that moment, but
she desisted, fearing that it would seem that she was bored with
lovemaking.  She wasn't; in fact it seemed more likely that her visions
represented a transcendent overflow of pleasure.  When a system was
stimulated beyond its rated capacity, it could short out or blow off;
could this be why the images were so far removed from the present
experience?

She had no decent answer but she would be glad to explore the matter
further.  She liked making love to Cedric, and she liked the visions,
even if the thematic connection between the two was tenuous.  "Oh,
Cedric!"  she exclaimed, hugging him again.  "I'm so glad we found each
other at last!"

"You're still the perfect woman," he said, and fell asleep.

"You foolish man," she murmured fondly, and nibbled on his ear.

Cedric completed his first year of college with outstanding grades and
came home for the summer.  He now knew more than Niobe did about the
wetlands, and she was fascinated by the lore he had acquired.  He would
squat by a stagnant pool and scoop out a handful of glop and show her
how the algae in it emitted little spells of nausea to discourage such
interference.  It was true; when she came close to the handful, she
felt like retching, but when she stepped back she felt all right.  Of
course the smell might account for it but it didn't help to hold her
nose, so she was satisfied that it was, as he said, magic.  He was able
to identify the exact species of water oak near their cabin, and the
variety of hamadryad too.  He knew where the timid forest deer hid and
what their preferred forage was.  "I owe it all to you, Niobe," he said
generously.  "You showed me the wetlands!"

"I'll cry, I'll cry when the wetlands are dry," she agreed, smiling.
How little had she realized what her innocent song would start!

And of course they made love again, for the first time at home, erasing
their prior failures here.  Once more she launched into vision but this
time it was sinister.  She saw the face of a saturnine man and that
man's mouth curled into a sneer, and he winked at her.  She screamed
and snapped from the vision to find Cedric frozen in mid motion
horrified that he had somehow hurt her.

"No, no," she reassured him immediately.  "It wasn't you!  I had a bad
dream."

"You were asleep?"  he asked incredulously.

Then she had to tell him of the visions, for the misunderstanding would
be worse than the reality.  He admitted that he did not have such
visions, but had heard of those who did.  "Mostly women," he
concluded.

"Oh?  How do you know about women?"  she asked archly.

"My text in human biology," he said.  "It's one of the freshman
required courses."

So she was, after all, typical.  "But the awful face why would I see
that, when I'm having such joy of you?"

He shrugged.  "Maybe we should stop those visions."

"Oh, Cedric, I don't want to stop "

"I said visions, not love!"  he said, laughing.  He was no longer shy
about sex; once he had gotten into it, he liked it.  "I'll try to sing
to you, next time."

The notion appealed to her.  The rapture of his magic superimposed on
that of the love play the ultimate experience!

They tried it, and it worked.  He did not even have to sing aloud; if
he ran the song through in his mind, the orchestra played for her, and
no visions came, no matter how transported she was by the experience.

So it went through the summer.  In the fall it was time for college
again, and she packed him off with genuine regret.  But he had a real
future, once he completed his education, and she refused to deny him
that.  She would suffer through the separation and visit him often.

But it was harder on her than she had anticipated.  She felt
chronically out of sorts, and sometimes ill.  Then she got nauseous in
the mornings.  What was wrong with her?

Suddenly she realized: she wasn't ill she was with child.

SHOOTING DEER

She had to tell him, of course.  She did so on the next visit.  Cedric
was amazed at what he had wrought, and pleased.  "I'll be a father!" 
he exclaimed, as if this were a completely unique experience.

"Well, it isn't as if you didn't try for it," she reminded him.

"I guess that will have to stop now," he said regretfully.

"No, not yet.  Just carefully."

They were careful.  The winter passed, and the baby expanded within
her.  When Niobe reached the eighth month, her mother came to stay with
her and midwife the birth if it occurred early, for there was no
convenient hospital.  Cedric was ready to quit college and come home,
but Niobe made him remain to complete his courses; he had gone too far
to throw it away now.  So it was that, before he turned eighteen and
just before he made it home for the summer, Cedric became the father of
a healthy son.

He was pleased but he knew there was a price.  Niobe had been able to
make do alone, but she would no longer be able to do that.  Cedric had
to retire from college and become a full-time family man.  He was ready
but she knew he also regretted it.  It had been clear that if he had
continued his program at the college, he could have become a
professional, perhaps even a professor in due course.  He could still
be one but now there would be a delay, and by the time he could return,
years hence, the situation could have changed.  So it was a calculated
risk for Cedric's career.  Almost, she wished she had not conceived so
quickly.

"It doesn't matter," Cedric said.  "A man's got to do what he's got to
do in the time he has, and I want to be with you."

"That's sweet," she said, and rewarded him with a kiss.  Still, she
felt guilty.

"Prof told me that if he'd had a wife who looked like you, she would
have had a baby just as fast," he added.

"Still, you have such a good career awaiting you; you must return to it
as soon as possible."

"We'll see," he said.

But when she thought of the baby, her mood swung the other way.  Junior
was an absolute joy!  She knew from the first hour that he would be a
genius like his father and he would have proper schooling from the
outset.  Oh, she had such dreams for Junior!

Cedric took care of things, pretty well running the household until she
was back on her feet.  Then, as time opened up, he began spending time
in the swamp.  He was making a chart of the local ecology the trees,
the smaller vegetation, the animals, the insects, the algae, the water
flows and the observable interactions between them.

Hunters roamed the forest, in and out of hunting season, poaching game.
Cedric came across the remains and grew angry.  "If the deer shot back,
the hunters would be less bold!"  he exclaimed.  Then he paused in
realization.  "Maybe I can arrange for the deer to shoot back!"

Niobe laughed but he was serious.  He was a wetlands major, not a magic
major, but he got a tome of spells and searched through it, trying to
find one that could be adapted to his purpose.  If magic could bounce
an arrow or a bullet back on its origin, so that the hunter in effect
shot himself

But magic was no subject for amateurs, any more than science was.  It
required years of study to master the basic precepts and stern
discipline; even then it had its special hazards.  Cedric was smart,
but more than intelligence was needed.  "I just don't have the time!"
he exclaimed, frustrated.

"You're welcome to take all the time you want, dear," Niobe said.  She
was nursing Junior and hated to see Cedric upset.  When he was annoyed,
she tended to echo the feeling involuntarily, and it seemed to change
the milk and make Junior colicky, and if there was one thing worse than
an upset husband, it was a colicky baby.

Cedric paused as if weighing something momentous.  "Of course," he
agreed, and went outside.  Had she somehow offended him?  Her husband
seemed more nervous, irritable, and generally tense than he had been.
Maybe she should try to hire a maid for the chores so that Cedric
could, after all, return to college.  She knew what a sacrifice he was
making and she wanted to set things right.  Their love was so wonderful
that she hated to have any strains put on it.

But when she broached the matter, later in the day, Cedric would have
none of it.  "I'm through with college!"  he declared.  "My destiny is
here."

"But the Prof said you have such potential!  I think he wants you to
become a "

He put his big hand on hers.  She felt a stirring of the music in him,
but this time it was a strange, discordant,

disturbing sound.  "It would not be worth the cost," he said.  "Prof
understands."

She experienced a kind of dread, but could not fathom its cause.  The
flickering image of a demonic face came to her, and one of the water
oak, three of whose views were positive, the fourth an un glimpsed
horror.  What cost?  Separation from her?  Yet Cedric had endured that
before and prospered.  Why had he changed his mind?

"Cedric is something wrong?"

"Of course not," he said quickly.

She didn't believe him, but realized that he would not tell her the
truth.  That disturbed her further, and she had to stop nursing Junior.
She was sure it wasn't any fault in Cedric's love for her; that was
unfailing.  He was a father new, a proven man, yet sometimes even now
she would be working at the loom, and would look up to discover him
watching her with a touching expression of adoration.  No, he loved her
and wanted to be with her.  Still She laid Junior in the crib. 
"Cedric, we could move closer to the college so you could commute "

He took her in his arms and kissed her.  "This is our home.  I love you
and the wetlands.  My life is here."

So it seemed.  She did not try to argue further, and indeed their life
together was good.  They resumed making love as she recovered from
childbearing, and Cedric was enormously gentle and, he sang to her, and
in those moments it seemed that nothing else mattered.

As Niobe grew stronger, she started taking Junior for walks outdoors,
for fresh air was good for babies.  He seemed to like the wetlands,
especially the huge water oak.  Niobe would sit at the foot of the tree
and sing, and Junior would listen.  The hamadryad got used to the new
arrival and came to like Junior.  She didn't quite trust Niobe, for
adults had a long and bad history of cynicism toward wild magic, but
when Niobe set the baby in his carrier by the tree and retreated a
reasonable distance, the dryad would come down and play with him. Niobe
was thrilled; very few mortals could approach any of the wilderness
creatures, either natural or supernatural, and it was a mark of special
favor when one could.  Maybe Junior would grow up to be a world-famous
naturalist!  Certainly there was no threat from the dryad; Cedric had
assured her of that, and she believed it.  In the dryad's presence
Junior was always alert and smiling.

Events elsewhere were not as sanguine.  A developer bought a large
tract of land that included their swamp.  It was theirs in proximity
and spirit, not in the eyes of geographic law.  The company planned to
drain the swamp, cut down the trees, and build a number of identical
houses there.

Cedric exploded.  He trekked to all the residents for miles around and
so impressed them with the need to preserve the wetlands that they
formed a citizen's committee to oppose the development.  They wrote
letters to newspapers and the county authorities; when these failed to
halt the project, they set about constructing dead falls for
bulldozers. They filed suit in court to stop it.  When the company
lawyer tried to suggest the swamp was nothing more than a murky waste
that posed a public health threat as a breeding ground for
disease-carrying mosquitoes, Cedric argued persuasively that those
mosquitoes carried no diseases in this region, being the wrong species
for that, served as food for pretty birds, and wouldn't even bite
people who were sensibly protected by repellent or a spell.  Then he
spoke of the other aspects of the wetlands the fish and amphibians, the
foxes and deer, the trees that could grow nowhere else, the special
interactive magic these living things had developed to get along. 
"There is no bad water coming from this region," he concluded, and he
had documentation to prove it: studies the college had made.  "No
erosion, no bad flooding.  The wet lands keep the water pure and
contained, so that we who live near it can live at peace with nature. 
Too little of this kind of natural paradise remains; how can we pave it
over with another foul city!"  And such was the nature of his eloquence
that the spectators in the courtrooms applauded.  Few had really cared
about the wetlands before;

now they all did.

But man's law remained on the side of the developer, and the judge,
with open regret, ruled in favor of the company.  The bulldozers would
be allowed to forage in the swamp.

"I'm so sorry," Niobe told him, but Cedric only shrugged.  "They will
be stopped," he said grimly.  But he didn't say how.

One foggy morning Cedric kissed her with special tenderness and lifted
Junior out of his crib.  "I'm taking him for a walk down to the oak,"
he said.

She was pleased but somehow alarmed too.  There seemed to be an edge to
his final words: "We'll be there."  Yet they were innocent words, and
the water oak was the safest kind of place for the baby; the hamadryad
was virtually a babysitter now.  In fact, the nymph had begun to teach
the baby some wild magic and if there was one thing rarer than the
company of a dryad, it was the sharing of the magic of a dryad. Junior,
too young to walk or talk, nevertheless did seem to understand and
almost seemed to be able to do a spell.  So why should there be any
concern?  Niobe knew she was being foolish.  There was, she reminded
herself firmly, absolutely no threat to Junior.

She labored at the loom, forming a fine picture of that very tree, and
as her hands moved, largely of their own volition, she daydreamed.  The
image of the tree fogged out and was replaced by that of the saturnine
face.  "Today I come for you!"  it said, grinning evilly.  "My emissary
is on its way and cannot be stopped.  You are doomed, mistress of the
skein!"

Niobe screamed.  The image vanished, and there was only the forming
tapestry.  She was shuddering with reaction.  This was the vision other
lovemaking rapture, but it was quite foreign to love.  Cedric had
banished it by his music, but now it was terrorizing her directly! What
did it mean?

Then she heard a shot.  She jumped.  That was the sound of a gun and it
was from the direction of the swamp and Cedric was there with Junior.
He had no gun!

Horribly alarmed, she rushed outside and ran headlong down the winding
path to the oak.  As she approached, she heard a thin screaming from
the tree.  It was the dryad, hanging by a branch, shrieking with all
her frail strength.  Below her was the carrier, overturned.

"Junior!"  Niobe cried, her horror magnifying.  She scrambled to the
tree and took hold of the carrier.

Junior was in it, his body smudged with dirt, and now he bawled
lustily.  But he seemed to be unhurt.  He had overturned and that had
alarmed him; that was all.

She glanced up at the dryad.  No, of course she wouldn't have tried to
hurt the baby!  In fact the nymph was still screaming, one little hand
pointing away from the tree, to the dark lower side where the gloom of
the swamp was strong.

Niobe looked in that direction and saw Cedric's body sprawled in the
bushes.  Suddenly her premonition of dread had a sharp new focus.  Not
her baby her husband!

She ran to him.  He was face down, and blood welled from the wound in
his belly.  He had been shot!  He was unconscious, but his heart still
beat.

She looked up and the dryad was there, for the moment away from her
tree.  "What who ?"  Niobe asked, forgetting that dryads do not talk.

The nymph took a stick and held it like a rifle, then shook it to
suggest its firing.  But Niobe already knew he had been shot.  "Have
you any magic for his wound?"

she demanded.  The dryad ran back to her tree, ran up it as a squirrel
might, and disappeared into the foliage.  She returned in a moment with
a small branch.

Niobe took this and touched it to the wound.  The flow of blood abated.
The nymph's magic was helping!  "Thank you," Niobe said.  But how was
she to get Cedric back to the cabin and what was she to do with him
there?  He weighed far more than she and would be almost impossible to
drag, and the movement could kill him.  And there was the baby!  The
dryad pointed to the tree.  "You'll help?"  Niobe asked.  "He'll be
safe, there, for a while?"

The nymph nodded yes.  So Niobe struggled to drag Cedric the short
distance to the tree and there she propped him against its healing
trunk.  "I'll bring help!"  she told the dryad as she picked Junior up
and hurried away.

Some hours later, that phase of the nightmare was done.  Cedric was in
the distant hospital, receiving the best care, and his family and hers
had been notified.  Both were quick to respond.  But that was as far as
the good news extended.  Cedric was on the critical list and sinking.
The bullet had damaged his spinal nerve, paralyzing him, and it had
evidently carried an unidentified infection that was now spreading
through his weakened system.  "We can keep him alive for perhaps a
week," the doctor said grimly.  "He has a fine constitution; otherwise
he would be dead already.  Even if we could save him, he would be
crippled below the waist and in constant pain, and there is a chance of
brain damage.  It would, I regret to say, be kinder to let him die."

"No!"  Niobe cried.  "I love him!"  "We all love him," the doctor said.
"He was doing a great thing for the land.  But we cannot save him."

"But we may be able to avenge him," the wetlands lawyer said.
"Obviously the developer arranged to have him assassinated so he could
no longer rally the people against the building project."

"But they had already won!"  Niobe protested.  "Why should they do this
now?"

"They must have been afraid he was planning something new."

Niobe remembered Cedric's confidence that the developer would be
stopped.  Indeed, he must have been planning something!  But that was
no comfort to her now;

she wanted him alive and whole.

"How can I save him?"  she asked, clinging to that hope.

The doctor and the lawyer looked at each other.  "You must appeal to a
higher court," the lawyer said.

"What court is that?"

"The Incarnation of Death," the doctor said.  If Thanatos will agree to
spare him, he will live."

She was ready to grasp at any straw.  "Then I will appeal to Death!
Where can I find him?"

Both men spread their hands.  They did not know.  "We do not go to
Death," the doctor said.  "Death comes to us, at the moment of his
choosing, not ours."

Niobe took Junior and traveled hastily to the college.  There she
sought the old Prof.  "How can I find Death?"  she pleaded.

The Prof gazed at her unhappily.  "Lovely woman, you do not want to do
this."

"Don't tell me that!"  she blazed at him.  "I love him!"

He did not misunderstand.  It was Cedric she loved, not Death.  "And do
you also love your baby?"

She froze.  "You mean I must choose between them?"

"In a manner.  You, perhaps, might reach Thanatos but your baby is
beneath the age of discretion.  He would die.  If you insist on making
this terrible journey, you must in fairness leave him behind."  She
looked at Junior, horrified.  "But I can recover him, after ?"  "If you
are successful," he said.  "But, Mrs.  Kaftan,

you have no guarantee of success.  This is no ordinary person you seek;
he is a supernatural entity.  You may never return from such a
journey."

"Suppose 1 place my baby with a good family?"  she asked with
difficulty.  "So that if I don't don't return he will be well cared
for?"

"That would be an expedient course," he agreed.  "Of course you would
have to take a lactation-abatement spell, and arrange to have him fed
from a bottle while "

"Then you will tell me how to reach Death?"  "Then I will do that," he
agreed reluctantly.  "I did,

after all, make you a promise to help you when you asked."

She drove her carriage hastily to the farm of Cedric's cousin, Pacian.
Pacian himself was twelve years old, six years younger than Cedric, but
his parents were kindly folk with a strong sense of family loyalty.
Yes, they would board Junior; he was, after all, their kin, a Kaftan.
Pacian, a pleasant-faced lad who reminded her eerily of Cedric,

welcomed Junior as a little brother.

Then, with confused emotion and more than a tear or two, she returned
to the college, where the Prof would show her the way to Death.

There was a small lake beside the college, and they had taken an old,
unseaworthy sailboat and spruced it up for the event.  Its leaks had
been temporarily caulked, and its sail was lashed in position.  This
craft could proceed only one way: directly before the wind.  But
physical direction didn't matter; spiritual impulse was what counted.

The small deck was piled with kerosene-soaked brush.  A single spark
would render the boat into a bonfire in an instant.  The sail was
charcoal black and painted with a picture of a bleached skull and
crossbones: not the symbol of piracy, in this case, but that of Death.
Indeed, this was a death boat

Niobe stepped onto the pier.  She wore her most elegant black evening
gown, with black gloves and slippers, and her flowing honey hair was
bound by a black ribbon.  There was a murmur of awe from the assembled
college students, male and female, as she appeared, and she knew that
she had never been more beautiful.  The antilac spell had halted her
production of mother's milk, but her breasts remained quite well
developed.

The Prof stood at the end of the pier by the boat.  He looked old and
hunched, and his face was as pale as bone.  "Ah, lovely woman, it is a
horror you face!"  he murmured.  "Are you quite, quite sure ?"

"If Cedric dies, what life is there for me?"  she asked rhetorically.
She braced herself against his arm and stepped onto the boat.  It
wobbled in the water, and she hastily sat down.

"Perhaps we shall meet again," the Prof said.

"Of course we shall," she said and blew him a kiss.  She knew he had
done his best and she trusted his magic.  But her expression of
confidence papered over a monstrous dread within her, akin to that of
the fourth face of the water oak tree.  She felt like a deer stepping
out before the rifle of the hunter.  It was in this sense a season for
the shooting of deer, and the huntsman was Death himself.

"Remember," the Prof cautioned her, "you can jump off, and a swimmer
will rescue you."  He gestured to three husky young men in swimsuits
standing alertly at the shore.

With a Tangled Skein Hers Anthony 59

"And forfeit my love?"  she asked disdainfully.  "I shall not jump."

"Then God be with you," he said, and it was no casual expression.  He
closed his hands together in an attitude of prayer and lifted them
toward the cloudy sky.

Where was God when Cedric was shot?  she wondered.

But she smiled.  "Cast off, please."

The Prof bent down and lifted the rope from its mooring.  The breeze
caught the sail and the craft moved out into the lake.  Left to its own
devices, it would in due course bump into the far shore but she had a
different plan for it.  She turned and waved to the folk on the shore
behind.

Then she reached into her purse, brought out a big wooden match, and
struck it against the hard surface of the deck.  It burst into life.

For a moment she held the little flame before her.  Then she clamped
her lower lip between her teeth, closed her eyes, and flung the match
forward into the brush.  If it did not ignite this under, would she
have the courage to try it again?

But it caught, and in a moment there was the crackle of spreading fire.
She opened her eyes, and saw the flame and smoke pouring up.  The fire
did not spread instantly;

it took several seconds to infuse the full pile.  Then it intensified,
and the sudden heat of it smote her body.  The sail caught, and became
a bright column.

Now was the time to jump, before fire surrounded her.  She was tempted.
Then she thought of Cedric, lying critically ill on the hospital bed,
and her resolve solidified.  She stood, held her breath, and walked
directly into the conflagration.

Cedric!  Cedric!  she thought as the flame engulfed her.

/ love you!

Her dress caught fire, and her hair shriveled, but she took one more
step, bracing herself against the pain she knew was coming.

It came indeed.  All her world became fire.  She inhaled, and the fire
was inside her, searing her lungs and heart.  The agony was exquisite,
but she endured it, refusing to collapse or even to scream.  Death, I
am coming for you!

The boat was formed of flame, now.  The caulking popped out and water
spurted in, drenching her feet.  But the flame danced above it, and the
smoke roiled about, as if fighting the water for this living prize.
Niobe stood amidst it, her flesh burning, waiting for Death.

A figure came.  It was a great stallion, galloping across the surface
of the water, bearing a cloaked and hooded man.  The horse came to the
boat and stopped, standing on the lake.  The man dismounted and brought
forth a scythe.  He scythed the flames as he would a field of tall
grass, and the flames were cut off at their bases, their tops falling
to one side.  A path was cleared through the conflagration, leading to
Niobe.  Death had arrived.

Thanatos paused beside her and extended his skeletal hand.  Niobe took
it in her own, feeling the cold bones of his fingers.

Abruptly the pain of the fire abated.  Thanatos led her along the
scythed path to the pale horse and boosted her up into the saddle, then
mounted behind her.  The horse leaped into the remaining column of
smoke and through it, up into the sky.

Soon the stallion was galloping through the clouds above, his hooves
sending little divots of fog flying back.  Then they emerged to a scene
above, where the grass was green and the sun shone warmly.  Ahead was a
mansion.  They came to it, dismounted, and Thanatos guided her
inside.

A motherly maid hurried up.  "You brought a mortal!"  she exclaimed
with surprise and perhaps indignation.  "See to her restoration,"
Thanatos ordered gruffly.

"She is not one of mine."

The pain returned when Niobe lost contact with Thanatos, but the maid
hastened to bring salve.  Niobe's skin was charred black, but where the
salve touched, the normal flesh was instantly restored.  The maid
applied it to Niobe's entire body and made her inhale its fumes, and
then no pain remained.  Niobe stood naked and whole.

"My dear, you are beautiful!"  the maid exclaimed, spraying something
on the frizzled hair.  The hair grew rapidly until it too had been
restored to its former golden splendor.  "Why should a creature like
you try to suicide?"

"I love him," Niobe repeated.

"Ah, love," the maid breathed, understanding.  She brought a bathrobe
and new slippers.  It seemed that the salve could not heal Niobe's
incinerated clothing.  "Thanatos awaits you," she said and showed Niobe
to a sitting room.

Death Thanatos did indeed await her.  He was like a stern father in his
manner, despite his skull-face and skeletal hands.  "You have done a
very brave and foolish thing, young woman," he informed her
disapprovingly.  "You were not on my list.  I had to make an emergency
call for you."

"It it was the only way to get your attention," she said, taking the
seat indicated.  "Thank you for coming."

And she smiled.  The skull itself seemed to heighten its color, showing
that Death himself was not immune to beauty.  "It had to be done," he
said gruffly.  "When an unscheduled death occurs, the threads of Fate
tangle."

That was what the Prof had told her.  There was a certain order in the
universe, and the Incarnations saw to its preservation.  "I where am I?
In Heaven?"

Thanatos made a derisive snort, despite having no flesh in his nose.
"Purgatory," he said.  "The place of indecision and of decision.  All
the Incarnations are here."

"Oh.  I haven't been beyond life before."  She was somewhat intimidated
by all this.

"And what brought you, ravishing mortal maiden?"

"Oh, I am no maiden!  I my husband Cedric I have come to beg for his
life.  I love him!"

"Without doubt," Thanatos agreed.  He snapped his bone-fingers, and a
servant hurried in with a file box.  Thanatos opened the box and
riffled through the cards.  "Cedric Kaftan, age eighteen, to go to
Heaven five days hence," he remarked.  "A good man, not requiring my
personal attention."  His square eye-sockets seemed to squint at the
card.  "A very good man!  He loves you well indeed."

"Yes.  I must save him.  You must "

Thanatos gazed at her through the midnight frames of his eyes, and
suddenly she felt a chill not of death.  It had not occurred to her
before that the Incarnation might require a price for the favor she
asked and what did she have to offer?

Then she thought again of Cedric, lying in the hospital, and knew that
there was no price she would not pay to have him whole again.

But when Thanatos spoke again, he surprised her.  "Good and lovely
mortal, I cannot do the thing you request.  I do not cause folk to die;
I merely see to the proper routing of the souls of those who are fated
to die.  It is true that I have some discretion; on occasion I will
postpone a particular demise.  But your husband is beyond postponement;
to extend his life would be only to extend his pain.  He will neither
walk nor talk again."

"No!"  Niobe cried.  It was literal; her tears wet her robe.  "He's so
young, so bonnie!  I love him!"

Even Death softened before that beauteous plea.  "I would help you if I
could," Thanatos said.  "To be Incarnated is not to be without
conscience.  But the remedy you seek is not within my province."

"Then whose province is it in?"  she demanded brokenly.

"At this point, I suspect only Chronos can help him."

"Who?"

"The Incarnation of Time.  He can travel in time, when he chooses, and
change mortal events by acting before they occur.  Therefore if he "

"Before the shot was fired!"  she exclaimed.  "So that Cedric is never
hurt!"

The cowled skull nodded.  "That is what Chronos can do."

The strangeness of talking to the Incarnation of Death was fading.  The
renewed chance to save Cedric recharged her.  "Where how can I find
Chronos?"

"You could search all Purgatory and not find him," Thanatos said.  "He
travels in time.  But if he cares to meet you, he will do so."

"But I must meet with him!  I have so little time "

There was a chime that sounded like a funeral gong.  "That will be
Chronos now," Thanatos said.

"Now?  But how ?"

"He knows our future.  He is surely responding to the notice I will
send him shortly."

A servant ushered Chronos in.  He was a tall, thin man in a white
cloak, bearing an Hourglass.  "Ah, Clotho," he said.

"Who?"  she asked, confused.

Chronos looked at her again.  "Oh, has it come to that?  My apology; it
is happening sooner than I hoped.  In that case, you must introduce
yourself."

He had evidently mistaken her for someone else.  "I I am Niobe Kaftan
a, a mortal woman," she said.

"Niobe," Chronos repeated as if getting it straight.  "Yes, of course.
And you are here to ?"

"Here to save my husband, Cedric."

He nodded.  "That, too.  But that really is not wise."

"Not wise!"  she exclaimed indignantly.  "I love him!"

It was almost as if she had struck the Incarnation.  He blanched, but
then recovered.  "Love is mortal," Chronos said sadly.  "It passes, in
the course of time."

"I don't care, so long as it passes naturally!  Cedric is dying and
he's not yet nineteen!"

Chronos shook his head.  "I could travel to the moment before his
problem commenced and change the event but I hesitate.  The
interactions can extend far, and we interfere at peril to the larger
fabric."

"But I love him!"  she cried.  "I must save him!"

Chronos glanced at Thanatos, who shrugged.  They might be Incarnations,
but they seemed very much like mortal men, baffled by the hysteria of a
mortal woman.

"But you see," Chronos said reasonably, "to change an event, especially
this one, could lead to consequences that none of us would wish."

Niobe began to cry.  She put her face in her hands, and the tears
streamed in little rivulets through her spread fingers.

"Perhaps a female Incarnation would handle this better," Thanatos said,
evidently feeling awkward.  Men tended to, in such situations; they
didn't understand about crying.  Niobe didn't like this situation much
herself, but she couldn't help her reaction.

"I will take her to Fate," Chronos agreed quickly.

He came to Niobe and drew diffidently on her elbow.  "Please come with
me, ma'am."

At the sound of "ma'am," the term Cedric had used early in their
relationship, Niobe burst into a fresh surge of tears.  She was hardly
aware of Chronos taking firm hold other with his left hand and raising
his glowing Hourglass with his right.  But suddenly the two of them
were zooming through the air and substance of the mansion as if they
had become phantoms.  That so startled her that her tears ceased.

They phased across a variegated landscape that was not the world she
had known.  Then they homed in on the most monstrous web Niobe could
have imagined, its pattern of silken strands extending out for hundreds
of feet in a spherical array.  In the center the web thickened, forming
a level mat, and on this they came to rest.  "How what?"  she said,
amazed and daunted.

"My Hourglass selectively nullifies aspects of the chronological
counter spell Chronos explained.  "Enabling me to travel oh, you refer
to the web?  Do not be concerned; this is the Abode of Fate."

"Fate!"  she exclaimed, realizing how this might relate to her.  "It
was Fate who determined that Cedric "

"Indeed," he agreed as they walked to the huge cocoon in the middle of
this resilient plane.  "She should be more competent to satisfy you
than I am."

"But this is a gigantic spider's nest!"  she said.

He smiled.  "I assure you, good and lovely woman, that Fate will not
consume you in that manner.  She is much like you."

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 Pate?  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 front
line 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 we?"

"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.  "/ 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.  0 Cedric!

CLOTHO

The following days were unpleasant, despite the grief abatement 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.  "1, 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!"

"Of course he was," Niobe agreed.  "It's just that once he saw me, he
realized how he missed me.  It's a natural reaction."  But what, she
wondered bleakly, would be his reaction to the permanent loss of his
father?

Indeed, once reassured.  Junior returned to his play with Pace, and it
was obvious that the two liked each other, the baby and the boy, though
about twelve years separated them.  It was more than kinship.  "You are
a truly wonderful family," she told them as she departed with Junior.
"I can never thank you enough."

"Bring him back to visit soon," Pace said, hiding a tear of his own.

Niobe nullified the antilac spell and nursed Junior but he quickly
turned colicky and screamed in pain, and she realized that her grief
for Cedric was in her blood and in her milk, poisoning her baby.  She
had to restore the spell and prepare a formula and return him to the
bottle.  She felt guilty doing it and less a mother, but perhaps it was
for the best.  Certainly she had no right to inflict her pain on him.

And I will cry she sang to herself.  /'// cry when the wetlands are
dry.  It had new meaning now; it was as if her own drying-up was an
echo of the suffering of the forest wetlands when man interfered.

She attended Cedric's wake, and Niobe smiled dutifully, but she had no
taste for festivity.  The ghost did hover near the corpse, reluctant to
depart before the burial, despite the burning candle and ritual eating
of bread.  No one could make it depart until Niobe herself faced it and
tearfully demanded an accounting.  Then the ghost floated to her,
touched her wet cheeks, shook its head, kissed her with the touch of
gossamer but also of music, and faded away.  It seemed to be a message
of reassurance, ironic in this circumstance.

Now it was over, and her life loomed bleak before her.  Come live with
me and be my love, she sang to herself, trying to remember the feeling
of being with Cedric, but she could not.  She knew, too well, that he
was gone.

She set about fulfilling as much of Cedric's ambition as she could. She
talked again with the Prof to see whether it was feasible to develop a
spell to enable the deer to shoot back, but he said that such magic was
beyond his ability.  "The magician who accomplishes that will be a
master," he said.

Cedric's death did accomplish something useful: the suspicion that the
developer had done the deed turned out to be unfounded, but local
sentiment was now so solidly against the project that all such plans
were canceled.  Perhaps Cedric had known that this would be a side
effect of his sacrifice.

There was a death settlement on Cedric which left her economically
comfortable for the time being, but she also returned to her weaving,
producing fine tapestries for sale.  She kept herself' busy but though
she had lived mostly alone for two years while Cedric was in college,
this wasn't the same.  That had been temporary; this was permanent. Now
she knew he wasn't coming home, and that hurt constantly.  It was a
tunnel with no light at the end.

Increasingly she thought about her trip to Purgatory.  She had met five
Incarnations entities she had hardly believed in before.  She had seen
some of their powers and realized that there had to be more that she
had not seen.  They had pleaded inability to do what she asked but they
had enormous abilities nevertheless.  What did they do when they
weren't talking with visiting mortals?

She had no life here on Earth, really.  Even Junior would be better off
with his cousin's family; she knew that.  He was her baby; she loved
him.  But she had no illusions about the long-term life she could
provide for him, alone.

She went to the water oak, set Junior down to play with the hamadryad,
and explored the region near it where she had emerged from Gaea's home.
As she had expected, it was now merely brush.  The magic was from the
other end.  She could not get to Purgatory this way.

Neither could she use the route she had used before.  When she had had
a living love to salvage, she had been able to face the prospect of
incineration in a burning boat but she had no love to salvage now.  She
needed to find another way.

But what did she have in mind to do there, once she got to Purgatory?
Ride Death's pale horse?  Zoom about the cosmos behind Chronos'
traveling Hourglass?  The fact was, Cedric was not in Purgatory,
either; it would be just as lonely there as here on Earth.

She glanced at her baby, now asleep, lulled by the dryad's soundless
lullaby.  Of course she wasn't entirely lonely; she did have Junior. He
was of Cedric's blood, and that was an enormous comfort.  But he was
only a baby.

Increasingly, as the days passed, another emotion rose in her her need
to be avenged on the true perpetrator of this outrage: Satan.  She
wanted to find some specific way to implement her vow.  The Incarnation
of Evil had sought to kill her, and instead had destroyed her
happiness.  She knew that if she had been the one to die, Cedric's
fists would have sought the hide of the one responsible, though Hell
barred the way.  Instead he had chosen to save her.  Could she do less
for her husband than he would have done for her?

But how could she do it?  She was only a mortal woman, caring for her
baby, while Satan was the ultimate bastion of evil.  She had no way to
reach him, and no way to prevail if she could reach him.  It was
ludicrous to believe she could punish Satan yet that was her vow and
her need.  Mars would have understood!

She continued to ponder, for this need was restoring some purpose to
her existence.  Obviously Satan was neither all-knowing nor
all-powerful, for he had muffed the job on her.  Also, she must have
some power he feared, for otherwise he would not have tried to snuff
her out.

What could Satan have feared about her?  Surely he did not try to kill
a person without reason.  He had to be a very busy entity, seeing to
all the wrongdoing in the world, constantly waging his war against God
and the other Incarnations.  She had not thought of interfering in
Satan's designs before and was hardly a threat to him.  She was not
smart like Cedric or magical like the Prof;

she had no great muscles, only her beauty and skill with tapestries.
Yet he had sought her demise now she knew her visions had been the
first suggestion of that evil and the other Incarnations seemed to
agree that Satan had reason.

So she did have some power if only she could ascertain what it was.
Power enough to make Satan notice!  What could it be?  And why should
the Incarnations refuse to tell her of it?  She knew they were not in
league with the Prince of Evil!  It seemed to make no sense.

And Cedric why had he not simply saved her from death?  Surely he had
not been required to go in her stead!  He could have told her of the
plot against her, and they could have gone far away until the danger
was past.  Cedric had had free will and had loved life; it just didn't
make sense for him to seek death.

But it had to make sense!  Cedric had been an extraordinarily
intelligent young man, with a clear notion of his destiny.  He had
talked with the Prof and, instead of telling her, he had sworn the Prof
to secrecy.

The Prof!  He had to know why!  But she knew he would not tell her.
Why?

For days she mulled it over, debating with herself.  She knew she was
not nearly as smart as Cedric had been, but she was sure she could
solve this riddle if she kept at it.  It was like a code puzzle, with
the letters of a sentence changed to other letters so that it seemed to
be gibberish.  But the underlying pattern remained, and bit by bit the
letters could be corrected until the original sentence was restored.
She had a number of hints, if only she could understand their
application.

Bit by bit, she pieced it together.  Satan feared her so she must be
more than mortal.  The Incarnations knew of her, and Chronos knew her
personally; he had called her Clotho.  She had almost forgotten that,
but now in her deliberations it came back.  Chronos had also seemed to
have a personal interest in her welfare; Lachesis had remarked on it,
and certainly he had gone out of his way to help her.  He had jumped
her ahead half an hour so that he could explain things to Mars, who had
then agreed.  Yes, Chronos had known her but the others had not.  How
could that be?  Didn't the Incarnations work together?  Well,
presumably each focused mostly on his-her speciality; Chronos might
know people the others didn't.  Yet Lachesis had acted as if it were
more than that.  She had shimmered and changed into a young, lovely
form, then back, and Chronos had nodded.  He had confirmed what?

Also, Lachesis had called Chronos "my backward friend."  That had
obviously not been an insult.  What did it mean?  Chronos was not
backward, either physically or magically; his power had been as great
as any.  In fact, Gaea had called him a nefarious time-traveler.

But backward also meant to travel in reverse, as in a person walking
backward.  Yet Chronos was not fixed on the past; he seemed rather to
know something of the future.

And then it came to her: Chronos, the Incarnation of

Time, could travel backward in time!  He could know the future, having
been there and back.  In fact he could have come originally from the
future!

He could have seen Niobe there first then recognized her here in the
present.  He had known her as Clotho.  But who was Clotho?  The name
did have a certain familiarity.

She concentrated, focusing on it and placed it.  The Incarnation of
Fate had three aspects: Clotho, who spun the threads of life; Lachesis,
who measured them; and

Atropos, who cut them.

Chronos had remembered her as an Aspect of Fate!  She sat perfectly
still, shocked at the implication.  Herself Niobe as Fate?  How was it
possible?  Yet it explained so much: the diffidence of the Incarnations
and

Satan's effort to eliminate her.  As Pate she could indeed interfere
with Satan!  She wasn't sure how, but was sure she could.  Those
Incarnations had their special abilities!

Yet if that were so if it could be so why hadn't they told her?  The
question brought the answer: they hadn't known, except for Chronos and
they didn't want Satan to know.  It might be that if they had told her,
that would have changed it so that it wouldn't come true.  A paradox.

But Satan had known!  Or had he?  Could Satan see the future?  He was
the Incarnation of Evil, not of Time; his foresight had to be
relatively limited.  More likely he had some crude divination, some
indication that she was going to cause trouble for him, or at least had
the potential.  So he had struck at her.  And the Prof, reading the
same divination, or interpreting her visions which suddenly fell into
place in this connection!  had told Cedric, and Cedric had done what he
had done.

But, again why hadn't Cedric simply told her.  so she could avoid it?
Why had he died, then come to her as a ghost with his gesture of
encouragement?

She wrestled that about and finally concluded that probably Satan's
minion had been told to go out and kill and, if balked, would continue
to try, again and again, until at last successful.  Who could avoid a
demon-spirit forever?  Distance would not have balked it; it would have
flown wherever they could have gone, taken over the body of someone
there, and stalked them.  That would have been a sustained horror, with
only one ending.  But once it completed its mission by making the kill,
it was done and would be no more threat.  Satan's minions did not
survive beyond their missions.  So Cedric had saved her by interposing
himself, by abating the demon's imperative with his life.  Cedric had
not told her, so that neither Satan nor the demon would know of the
ruse.  And so she would not scream and carry on and cry, forcing him to
desist from his sacrifice.  Now it was done, and it seemed that

Satan was unable to attack her again.  That one demon must have been
all that the Prince of Evil could spare.  Or perhaps he simply hadn't
checked and didn't realize that she hadn't died.

It did seem to fit together.  It did account for Cedric's action and
that was a perverse but considerable comfort to her.  Cedric had acted
to abate once and for all the threat to her so that she could fulfill
her destiny which was, apparently, to become an Aspect of Fate.

But how was she to do that?  Again, she knew what the answer had to be.
She would do it; Pate would do it when the time was right.  When,
perhaps, she needed the skill of a mistress of weaving.  Fate the
ultimate worker of thread!  The ultimate weaver of tapestries.

All Niobe had to do was wait.  She was probably safe as long as she did
nothing to attract Satan's attention to her.  Of course the
Incarnations weren't talking; the fewer who knew a secret, the better
it was kept.

But now she had some hope.  She could not bring Cedric back, but she
could tackle Satan.  When she became Fate.

But what about Junior?  Surely she couldn't take him to Purgatory!  She
would have to give him up.

If Cedric had lived, she realized, none of this would have been
possible.  Had he known that, too?

Perhaps he had tried to tell her at the wake: that he wanted her to do
this, to assume the office, that this was part of his motive.  0
Cedric!

She could not turn it down, now.

She continued about her routine, her grief slowly easing.  She took
Junior daily to play with the hamadryad, for he really looked forward
to it and seemed to be learning something, though she was uncertain
what.  She worked hard to complete her current tapestry, lest it be
forever unfinished if she were called suddenly away.  She took Junior
to visit Cousin Pace, because now she knew that one day he would have
to go there to stay.  She did not want to part with him, but knew this
would be necessary and that it had better be done sooner rather than
later, to make his emotional transition easier.  She quietly put her
finances in order, arranging for a trust fund that would pay a stipend
to his guardian, so that he would be no financial burden on others.

Weeks went by.  Almost, she began to doubt.  Then a fat letter arrived.
It was addressed to her but inside was a ticket to a city on another
continent, with another woman's name on it.  One Daphne Morgan.

Niobe looked again at the envelope.  It was definitely addressed to
her.  She looked for the return address and found none.  The postmark
was indecipherable.  Evidently the wrong ticket had been inserted, but
there was no way she could send this letter back.

Wrong ticket?  Why should she receive a ticket at all?

Who was Daphne Morgan?  Had she received something intended for Niobe?
From whom?  Why?  This seemed like total confusion.

Yet someone had prepared the envelope, and mailed it.  It could not be
a complete mistake.

She thought about it.  She nodded.  "Of course!"

She bid farewell to the hamadryad, explaining that she would be going
away for a while and would not be able to bring Junior to the tree. The
dryad didn't answer, but looked so sad that Niobe felt terrible. But
this was a thing she had to do.  "Maybe the family who will be keeping
him maybe they will bring him here," she said.  "I'll ask them to."

The dryad smiled, and Niobe felt better.  She turned Junior over to
Cedric's cousin's family.  She had taken a null-grief spell, but still
it hurt.  "Once before," she told them, "I boarded my baby with you,
uncertain whether I would return.  I am uncertain again.  I

have arranged for regular money to cover his expenses " She could not
continue.

"He is kin," Pacian's father said gravely as his wife took Junior. That
said it all for these good folk.  The Kaftans would do anything for kin
and do it generously, without asking any return.  Niobe could tell by
Junior's reaction to them that he had had loving care here. Wise indeed
had Niobe's parents been when they had her marry into such a family.

Niobe felt her tears starting again.  She kissed her baby farewell and
kissed the good man and good woman, too, and Cousin Pace, who seemed
stunned.  At age twelve, he had never been kissed by a truly beautiful
woman before.  "There is a tree, a water oak near our cabin," she said.
"If well.  Junior has befriended the hamadryad there, and "

"We will take him there," Pacian said eagerly, and the others nodded.

Then Niobe turned quickly away and returned to her carriage.

She rode directly to the train station, bought a ticket, waited for the
train's arrival, boarded, and settled into her seat.  She was on her
way.  She sobbed silently into her hanky.

In due course she was at the port city of Dublin.  She presented the
ticket she had been sent, the one made out to Daphne Morgan, and it was
honored without question.  She was provided a first-class cabin, and
her meals were covered.  As Miss Morgan, she traveled in style.  But
what would happen when she arrived at Miss Morgan's destination?

The ship got up steam and set sail.  As it got out on the larger swells
of the open sea, the captain invoked the proper spells and the wind
manifested and filled the sails.  Some of the passengers turned
greenish as the continual sway got to them and lost their appetite, but
Niobe had sensibly brought along a spell against motion sickness and
had no trouble.

There were men aboard, of several generations, who seemed to view her
as approachable; she declined politely.  "I am a recent widow," she
explained and then had to retreat to her cabin as the tears welled up
again.  0 Cedric!

Thus it was that, five days into the voyage, she had not made any
genuine acquaintances.  She spent much of her time alone, reading.  She
missed her loom and her baby and she tried not to think about Cedric,
without success.

She looked up from her book to discover a spider descending by its
thread.  It reached the floor, then shimmered and became a human woman.
"Lachesis!"  Niobe cried.

"Niobe, do you understand what we ask of you?"  Lachesis asked.

"To become part of you," she replied.  "To be an Aspect of Fate.  I am
ready."

"But we must be sure you understand completely, for this is no simple
thing.  We are three, but we have only one body.  If you join us, you
will never be alone."

"I have lived too long alone!"  Niobe exclaimed.

"Because we are three in one, there is no privacy or separate
identity," Lachesis continued.  "No individual rights.  Each must do
what is needful for the whole, without exception.  If, for instance, it
is needful to dally with a man "

"Oh.  You mean my body might have to "

"To indulge with my man," Lachesis finished.  "The most youthful Aspect
generally bears the onus of such endeavors, because of the nature of
men, just as the middle Aspect bears the onus of household chores, and
the oldest performs grandmotherly functions."

This set Niobe back.  She had never imagined having physical relations
with any man other than Cedric and hesitated even to commence such
imagination.  "But what of the spinning of the threads of life?"

"That, too," Lachesis said.  "But you will have no trouble there.  A
woman is not a single-purpose creature, and most purposes you are
already prepared for.  Our use of the distaff is merely more
sophisticated than what you have known before."  And in her hand
appeared a glowing distaff, the short staff on which thread or yarn was
wrapped, "We have only to keep the skein orderly; it is the social
aspect that can be difficult."

Difficult indeed.  The idea of being with another man another woman's
man appalled her.  Yet she could see that it did have to be a
consequence of joining with other women, when there were not enough
bodies to go around.

"Suppose I decline?"  "My dear, we do not force anyone to join us!  It
may be different with a couple of the male Incarnations though of
course there is no law about that, only custom but we women are more
accommodating.  If you elect to remain mortal, you will return to your
prior life, and we will select another woman for the exchange.  But I
confess that we do like you, and not merely for your beauty; seldom
does a mortal person have the courage to approach

Thanatos as you did."

"I have no courage!"  Niobe protested.  "I had to do it!"

"Oh?  Why?"

"To save my husband, the man I love!"

"And for love you went literally into the fire.  If that is not
courage, it remains a quality we deeply respect."

"And it was all for nothing!"

"Yes, it is an irony.  We could not give you what you desired, then,
and we offer you some of what you do not desire now.  Yet there are
compensations."

Niobe knew she would burst into tears again if they remained longer on
the subject of what she had desired;

she had to focus on new things.  "Compensations?"

"Immortality as long as you choose.  Power as much as you can manage.
Purpose for you will spin the ultimate threads of man's existence.  We
are Fate."

Niobe thought about returning to her former life without Cedric.  Then
she thought of immortality, power, and purpose and the opportunity to
seek to settle her score with Satan.  She would rather have had Cedric,
but she really had no choice as Chronos had known.  She was destined to
accept this role.  "How do I join?"  "Take my hand," Lachesis said,
extending it.  Niobe took her hand.  There was an odd sensation of
flux. She felt simultaneous loss and gain.  Then she saw that Lachesis
had changed to the form of the young, pretty woman who had appeared
momentarily in her Purgatory Abode.

Their hands separated.  "Farewell, Daphne," Lachesis said.  "And
welcome, Niobe."

What?  Niobe looked down at herself and discovered she looked like
Lachesis.

Yes you are with us now, Lachesis said silently to her.  Your body has
gone to Daphne the former Clotho.  Be silent; your day is coming, while
hers is done.

Niobe was silent.  She watched and listened and felt, while Daphne
turned about, verifying her new separateness, then faced them.
"Farewell, old friends," Daphne said, and her own eyes were bright with
tears.  "And thank you, Niobe.  You have given me back my life."  She
opened her arms, and Lachesis embraced her; this time there was no
transfer of personality.

Tell her she is welcome, Niobe thought, feeling an almost overwhelming
surge of nostalgia.  Her body~ changed to that other form gone
forever!

You tell her, Lachesis replied.  Something shifted and Niobe was back
in her own form.  Except that two other minds were with her.

She glanced in the cabin's mirror and there she was, as lovely as ever,
standing beside Daphne.  Fate had assumed her likeness!

"You are welcome.  Daphne," Niobe said.

Then, suddenly, she was crying uncontrollably.  Daphne opened her arms
to her, and they hugged each other, the tears streaming down both their
faces.

At last they pulled apart, looked at each other, two comely young
women, smiled and burst into tears again.  For pity's sake!  the third
mind in her body grumbled.  That was, Niobe realized, Atropos, the
oldest Aspect.

Eventually Niobe and Daphne ran dry.  "I can see you resemble me,"
Niobe said tearfully.  "I hope you have the very best of lives ahead of
you."

"I surely do," Daphne replied.  "Fate pulled a thread."

They had to laugh at that.  Then Niobe turned the body back to
Lachesis, who turned it into the spider, and they climbed nimbly up the
thread to the cabin ceiling, on through the ceiling, and up out of the
steamship and into the sky, suddenly cruising with great velocity along
a cable extending across the world.  In a moment they slid into their
web-home in Purgatory and resumed human form.

"You will not need to learn the way things are by yourself," Lachesis
said.  "We will guide you when you need it and routine home life is
mostly my department anyway.  But you will need to spin the threads."

First Lachesis introduced her to Atropos.  The body assumed the form,
and the old woman went to stand before the mirror so that Niobe could
see her clearly through their eyes.  Atropos was in her sixties
physically, with iron-gray hair, deep wrinkles, and an overlarge nose;
she looked like anybody's grandmother.  "I lived a routine life on a
goat farm," she said.  "I helped my husband milk the goats and I cooked
and washed and bore four children one of them died of smallpox when he
was eight but my two girls and remaining son grew up and married and
moved away.  I felt put out when they made it on their own; I had, I
confess, enjoyed running their lives.  So I concentrated on my husband
and made him sell the farm the market for goat's milk was declining as
the big cow-dairies got established, though of course their milk could
not compare in quality to what we produced and invest the proceeds in a
furniture factory.  But we had been deceived about its prospects; it
went bankrupt, and we lost our life savings.  My husband took sick, got
consumption, got pneumonia, and died broken-hearted, and I knew it was
my fault; I should have left well enough alone.  But meddling in other
people's lives was always my predilection, and when Fate came to me and
asked whether I wanted a real chance to meddle well, here I am!  I've
been at it fifteen years, and I'm satisfied.  And, I trust, I am not
ending people's lives frivolously."

But doesn't Death Thanatos end people's lives?  Niobe asked in thought.
She couldn't talk aloud when she didn't have the body.

"Thanatos sees to it that the souls of those who die go to their proper
appointments Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory.  He must judge the balance of
good and evil in each soul, and tend to the difficult cases personally.
But / determine when each life shall end; I cut the threads."

You cut the thread of Cedric life?

"I had to.  He had arranged to take the place of the thread I was
supposed to cut short, so I had no choice.  I do not have complete
autonomy, especially when there are changes in the existing tapestry. 1
do not act capriciously.  I must operate within parameters so that no
thread extends beyond its proper position, or ends too soon.  Otherwise
the tapestry would be distorted."

Hers Anthony 91

With a Jangled Skein

But why any thread?  Niobe demanded.  Why not let good folk live?

Atropos formed a weary smile.  "Child, that is a common fallacy of
mortals.  They assume that Death is the enemy and that everything would
be all right if only they could live forever.  It's just not true; the
old must pass that the young may come into being.  None of us would
exist today if our elders had not made place for us.  So each thread of
life is given its appropriate term, some being longer than others, and
each must end as it begins, according to the pattern of the tapestry. I
simply tailor the individual threads for the good of the whole
tapestry, facilitating the greatest good.  It is not for any single
thread to decide its own place in the tapestry!  It would be disaster
to live forever!"

What about the Incarnations?  Niobe still felt guilty that she should
have such a future reserved for her, while Cedric, the one with the
most promise, had been cut short.

"The Incarnations are immortal, but not forever," Atropos explained
patiently.  "We maintain our lives without aging, as long as we hold
our offices but we do not hold them for all time.  We have variable
terms.  Your predecessor, Daphne, served for twenty-six years, doubling
her mortal life until she spied a situation that was too tempting to
resist.  She found a good man there's much to be said for a good man!
and he needed a good woman he would not otherwise obtain and she simply
had to have him.  So she has left the office.  Now she will age
normally, until I or my successor cuts her thread, and she will move on
to the Afterlife.  Similarly, the other Incarnations change office, all
in their own fashions.  Thanatos dies when he becomes careless and is
slain by his successor; Chronos assumes office as an adult and lives
backward until the hour of his birth or conception I have never quite
been certain which "

Backward?  This was confirmation of what she had suspected.  How can he
associate with others?

"When you want to talk, here in the Abode, just take over the mouth,"
Atropos advised.  "When we are in the company of others, we maintain
separation of identities, but we can relax here at home.  But to
address your question: Chronos controls time.  He can reverse himself
in order to converse with others, or he can reverse them to align with
him, for brief periods.  At any rate, immortality is not perfection,
and we Incarnations do eventually become bored or tired, and so we
leave office.  Only in mortality can the true guts of existence be
experienced.  Theoretically one of us might continue forever, but it
has never happened, except in the case of God and Satan, and I'm not
entirely sure about Satan."

The old woman seemed to have the answers.  Things did seem to make
sense but still Niobe could not accept the necessity other husband's
death.  "Would it have hurt the Tapestry so much," she asked,
discovering that she could indeed assume control of the mouth without
the rest of the body, when Atropos permitted, "if Cedric had lived?"

Atropos shifted to Lachesis.  "That is my department, Niobe," she said.
"I measure the threads of life, which means I determine their
approximate length and placement.  I don't actually weave the tapestry
it is far too complex for any individual mind to compass but I set the
threads according to the pattern and see that they are properly
integrated.  Mortals tend to blame Fate for their failings and fail to
credit Fate for their successes, which is annoying, but actually my
options are limited.  The overall pattern is determined by the
interactive compromise between God and Satan the macrocosmic balance
between Good and Evil and we other Incarnations simply implement it to
the best of our ability.  Certainly there would have been no harm if
your beloved man had lived;

he was supposed to live.  Then we were forced to substitute your thread
for his and then to eliminate that too, for you are no longer listed
among the mortals, though they are not aware of your departure.  Let me
show you."

Lachesis gestured, and the mirror clouded, then opened onto an awesome
scene.  It was a phenomenal pattern in glowing colors, a Tapestry as
wide as the world, with threads in their myriads like stars in the
nocturnal welkin, forming a pattern of such marvelous intricacy as to
baffle the mind of the beholder.  Niobe had never seen a tapestry as
magnificent as this; she simply stared, entranced.

"Your thread, and Cedric's, are approximately here," Lachesis said,
using the distaff to point to one section, which expanded obligingly to
show a better definition.  It was like descending to Earth from
Purgatory, watching the continents expand until they lost their
cohesion, only this was not land but the enormous and splendid Tapestry
of human existence.  The line of color that Lachesis indicated became a
mighty river of threads, and these continued to be magnified until at
last the individual threads showed like cables, each in its separate
region.  "To this side is the future, and to this side the past,"
Lachesis continued.  "The present is the precise center of the image;
as you can see, it is moving."

Indeed, the cables seemed to be traveling toward the "Past" side, so
that the center drifted steadily toward the future without actually
moving.  The Tapestry was like a river flowing by.  Niobe had to blink
and blink again to avoid being mesmerized but this was futile because
at this moment Lachesis had the body and control of the eyes.

Lachesis indicated two cables in the near past.  They converged from
different parts of the Tapestry and linked, twining about each other.
"Your marriage to Cedric," Lachesis said.  The two continued on,
separating a little to show when he went to college, and touching again
when she visited him there.  There was a sparkle at one point, and
Niobe blushed in her mind when she realized that was their first
lovemaking, a significant point in their relationship.  Then, after a
bit, a new thread started, tied in to theirs: Junior's conception or
birth.  Then the two major threads exchanged places, and Cedric's
ended.  There was his death in lieu of hers.

Finally her thread separated from Junior's and faded out.  It was not
cut off; it just became obscure.  Her assumption of the Aspect of
Clotho.  Its texture changed:

Daphne.  Niobe's mortal flesh had not left the world, only her
spirit.

"So you see, the Tapestry now has one thread where there were two,"
Lachesis concluded.  "And that one differs.  We have tied it in in such
a way that no one who does not inspect this region closely will realize
that any change occurred.  But the Tapestry as a whole is basically
unchanged, no cohesion lost."

"But Cedric "

"Incarnations do not make policy.  We conjecture that Satan anticipated
your assumption of the Aspect and sought to prevent it.  In that he
failed but there generally is a cost when one foils the Prince of
Evil."

"Then Satan can force mortals out before their time?"

Lachesis sighed.  "Niobe, our firmament is not perfect.  God and Satan
made a Covenant of old^ that neither would interfere with the
operations of mortal humanity.  The idea is that each soul is given its
chance in life, to make of it what it will, and those who prove they
deserve to be in Heaven then go there, and those who deserve to be in
Hell go there.  All of mortal existence is merely the proving ground
for the classification of souls, which is one reason why eternal mortal
life cannot be permitted: it would clog the Tapestry and interfere with
its function.  But there was one loophole."

Lachesis turned away from the mirror and went to the Abode's kitchen to
fix a meal.  Niobe was half afraid that the larder of this spider's den
would contain some huge, juicy fly for consumption, but the food was
normal.  She realized that Fate, unlike some of the Incarnations, did
not have a household staff.  As a woman or three women Fate preferred
to do for herself.  Niobe approved.

"God, as the Incarnation of Good, naturally does what is right; He
honors the Covenant," Lachesis continued as she worked.  "Satan, being
the Incarnation of Evil, naturally does what is wrong; he cheats.  So
Satan is constantly interfering in the affairs of mortals, yanking the
threads about, generating no end of mischief.  We other Incarnations,
who are supposed to be neutral, must thus oppose Satan, just to get our
jobs done.  So the answer to your question is: Satan shouldn't take out
mortals before their time, but he does.  We try to prevent this but
your own case is an example of the problems we encounter.  It is no
easy thing to deal with determined evil, as we all know to our cost.  I
am sorry; we would have saved you and your husband if we could, but
Satan has agents in the Purgatory Administration office, and he has
absolutely no scruples.  Your husband's death is a miscarriage of what
was supposed to be but it happened."

And with that Niobe had to be grudgingly satisfied.  It strengthened
her resolve to make Satan pay.  Somehow.

vomIt took a few days for Niobe to get into the routine.  She learned
how to travel on threads she flung out magically at will so that she
could slide quickly to any portion of the globe.  These were
travel-threads, not the same as the threads of life; they appeared when
needed and vanished when done.  She learned how to generate the "Read
Only" threads between her fingers for spot checks on individual lives,
though she could obtain only a fraction of the definition that Lachesis
could; it was a skill that went with the Aspect and experience.  She
learned how to change into spider form for special occasions.  As Fate,
she had an affinity for the web weavers, and no spider would protest
her presence in its web or her intrusion onto its hunting ground.  In
fact, spiderwebs were convenient landing places when she traveled; she
could slip to one much faster as an arachnid, then change to human form
for whatever task required her attention,

She gained confidence: she might appear to be a weak woman, but an
invisible net of web surrounded her, making her invulnerable to any
mortal attack.  She learned where the Purgatory Administration Building
was, and who the key personnel were.  These were not Incarnations, but
lost souls people whose balance between good and evil was so exactly
even that they could not be relegated to either supernatural realm.
They seemed like ordinary folk, which of course they were, and quite
solid, which they were not.  They were really ghosts, able to act only
here in Purgatory.  And she learned to spin souls.

But first she had to fetch the raw stuff of souls, and that was no easy
task.  "It's in the Void," Lachesis explained.

"The Void?"

"In the beginning, the earth was without form and void.  God created
the world from the stuff of the Void, and reality as we know it came
into being.  But not all of the Void was used.  What remains of it
occurs at the edge of Purgatory, and no one can go there except you."

"Me?"

"As Clotho.  Not even we two other Aspects of Fate can go there; we
become tuned out.  This is the one journey you must make alone."

"But I'm so new here!  I know so little about any of this!  I can't "

"There is no one else," Lachesis said.  "Do not be unduly concerned; it
is not a dangerous trip.  It is merely a unique one."

She had to do it; it was a duty of the office.  But she dreaded it. Her
nightmare visions of what was to happen at the water oak had proved to
be well-founded; now she hesitated to go into any truly challenging
situation alone.

Lachesis took her to the edge of Purgatory.  It looked quite normal and
it was but it was the boundary beyond which it was unsafe for any other
person to go.

"And you and Atropos won't be with me, even in my mind?"  Niobe asked
uncertainly.  She had found she liked their company; it abated the
grief in her memory.

We will be with you but unconscious, Lachesis replied in thought, for
they were no longer at the Abode.  It would have seemed strange if any
other person overheard her talking to herself.  Our minds cannot face
the Void.  But we know yours can, for Daphne went many times.  She told
us it became easier each time.

"The first, the worst," Niobe agreed wanly.  "And I must seek the heart
of it?"

Yes.  Only there is the essence pure.  Don't forget to play out the
skein.

So she could find her way back.  This time a temporary, vanishing
travel-thread would not do; she had to be guided by the Thread of Life
itself.  She certainly would not ignore that detail!

She walked on along the road.  If no one could go beyond this point,
for whom was the road?

Some do go beyond, Lachesis replied, more faintly.  Tolerances differ.
But you must go where no other goes.

"Oh?  Who else uses this road?"

Some of the other Incarnations.  Now Niobe had to strain to pick up the
fading thought.  Mars, Gaea.... It was gone.

Niobe walked on, and the road dwindled into a footpath through a dense
forest.  Evidently the vegetable kingdom did not feel limited!  "The
Incarnation of War," she murmured.  "And of Nature.  I wonder what
business they have here?"  But there was of course no answer.  She was
on her own.

The forest darkened and the path narrowed until it was a vague ribbon
through the gloom.  The trees became oppressively large and close, as
if seeking to encroach on the path and squeeze whatever was on it.  She
did not recognize their types; they were simply walls of rough bark,
extending up until the branching foliage closed overhead, sealing off
the light.  But her eyes adjusted, and she could still see.  It was
mostly her apprehension that was affected.

Nervously, she looked back.  Her thread glowed behind, marking the way
she had come.  She was surprised to see that it soon curved out of
sight; she had thought she was going straight.  But it was a comfort to
know she could not get lost, and she continued to hold the distaff so
as to let the thread unwind.  It was a thin thread, and she worried
about its breaking.  But she reminded herself that no one except
Atropos could sever the Thread of Life and that there was no one else
out here to interfere with it anyway.

The path ended ahead.  She stopped, dismayed, then realized that,
though a sullen tree blocked the way, it was possible to go around it.
She squeezed on by and found another tree blocking her off.  It was
just as if they were stepping in front of her, like aggressive men.  A
false impression, surely!  She squeezed around that one, too.  Because
the trees took up more volume of space above, they could not stand
trunk-to-trunk at ground level.

They tried, however.  Their roots spread out of the ground and
interlocked, and their lower branches reached down.  But there was
always a way through, however tortuous.  The trees might try to balk
Fate, but could not succeed.  Probably this path was so devious because
it fitted through the avenue of least resistance, no straighter or
broader than it had to be.

Then the trees seemed to lose cohesion.  They became misshapen, with
trunks either swollen or shrunken, and their foliage

She paused to blink and stare.  The foliage was wrong!  It was no
longer green, but purple, and the individual leaves were formed into
the shapes of stars or squares or triangles.  How could that be?

Obviously it could be, because it was.  She moved on.  The forest
retreated from the path, the trees becoming stranger yet.  Now they
were multicolored blobs of wood and brush, and some were floating.
Apparently the laws of reality were weakening.

The path led her to a slope, and the slope became steep.  She walked
along the contour, and on her left a mountain stretched until the peak
was lost in the brightness of the sun, and on her right the slope
continued down into a valley so deep as to give her vertigo.  As she
proceeded, the slope increased until it was almost vertical but her
feet held the path, which was a level niche cut into the slope.  Then
the slope above actually passed the vertical, and overhung the path,
while that below became undercut, so that the path was no more than a
ledge cut into a horrendously leaning cliff.  One misstep would send
her hurtling down!

Niobe had never been timid about heights or depths, but this daunted
her.  Still, she saw no reasonable alternative other than to continue
on.  It was, after all, supposed to be safe, and Lachesis and Atropos,
her better two-thirds, would not have sent her to her doom.  Their own
identities were in similar peril.

But what did they really know?  Apparently Daphne had never told them
exactly what she had faced here.  Maybe it wasn't possible to convey
the full effect or maybe the attempt would cause needless alarm.  After
all, the soul substance had to be gathered, and this was where it was,
so there was no choice.

She walked on.  The slope became more extreme, until the upper wall
curved down over the path and the lower wall seemed -to curve up under
it; she was walking in a notch or groove cut in the roof of a cave.
There was no floor, just cloudy vagueness.

Then the upper wall curved down until it was below the path, and the
lower seemed to curve above.  She was walking in the eye of a pinwheel!
Who could believe geography like this?

At length she emerged from the strange configuration.  Ahead was a
river no, it was the path, but

She stopped and looked back.  Behind her was the vertical pinwheel, its
walls spiraling outward from the center, which was her path, and
expanding in ever-greater sweeps, until she was unable to trace them
with her eye.  To the sides was open space, with a few faint stars
winking.  Before her was well, it started like a path, but continued
like a stream.  She kept trying to focus on it, but kept not
succeeding.

One way to find out.  She resumed her walk and the path softened.  Soon
she was sloughing through muck.  So she removed her yellow cloak there
was no mandatory color-coding, but it seemed that Clotho traditionally
wore yellow, Lachesis brown, and Atropos gray and laid it on the path.
Then she stepped into it, trying to bring as little mud along as
possible.  There was no problem; the mud did not adhere to her shoes at
all.  It was like soft plastic, slimy and flexible but cohesive,
sticking only to itself.

She settled down cross-legged, feeling exposed in her under-clothing,
though there really wasn't anyone to see.  She set the distaff in her
lap, stretched her hands out to either side, and set her fingers in the
stuff.  She pushed off and the cloak moved slightly forward.  She
pushed again, and it slid farther forward.  After several pushes, the
cloak was sliding along well enough.

Then the current caught it, and she was floating on down the stream.
Her cloak formed into a saucer-shape;

it made a decent if somewhat clumsy boat.  She wasn't sure why it
didn't collapse in on her, but she wasn't sure about much else in this
region, either.  She took hold of her distaff before it could spin out
of her lap, and played out the lifeline of thread.

The stream carried her by a floating tree, which now seemed more like
an island, and on through the starry sky.  Perhaps it was a reflection
in the water except that the only water was the stream that the path
had become.

Then the islands became big puffs of nondescript matter, which fell
apart into lesser blobs that in turn sundered, until she was in a great
cloud of pebbles, and then motes, and then smoke.  The smoke dissolved,
and she found herself drifting in nothingness.

She glanced at her distaff, and discovered that her thread had almost
run out.  But the stream had not yet run its course; it was carrying
her somewhere, which meant that she had not yet gotten where she was
going.  She couldn't stop now, but if she didn't, she would leave her
thread behind, and she was pretty certain that would not be expedient.
She had to have more thread!

She considered a moment, then dipped her hand over the side and scooped
up a handful of substance.  It was like thin jelly or thick water.  She
stretched it between her hands, and it thinned into a taffy like
strand. Could she fashion a thread of this?  Why not; it was part of
the stuff of the Void.  It might not be pure, but it might do for this
temporary purpose.

It was awkward doing it barehanded; she really needed a spinning wheel.
Most yarn or thread was spun into fibers, ranging from the half-inch
long cotton to the infinitely long silk; each type required its own
special technique.  The object was to render the fibers into a
continuous thread that could then be worked into whatever fabric was
required.  The essential process in this conversion was spinning which,
very simply, was the winding of fibers together so that they became the
thread.  It could be done by hand, and she knew how to do it.  She was,
after all, a woman.

She had her distaff and spindle, but nothing to card or comb out the
fibers.  But this stuff of the Void didn't seem to be fiber; it was
more akin to taffy.  Presumably she could stretch it out into whatever
diameter and length she wanted, and fix it in that form by spinning.

She experimented.  She stretched some out between her hands, then used
the distaff to take up a crude skein.  When she had what she wanted,
she used the spindle to twist the line, and she wound it fairly tightly
on the spindle.  The trick was to stretch and twist and coil in just
the right manner to produce an even, strong, and fine thread.  This
stuff was unlike any she had worked before, but Niobe had excellent
coordination and experience.  If anyone could do it, she could.

Indeed she could.  Her body looked and felt exactly like the mortal one
she had left behind, but she was Clotho now, and had magic.  Under her
will and guidance the stuff of the void spun into crude thread, and
this she spun onto the end of the thread she had brought with her,
extending it.  Now she could safely continue.

At last the cloak drifted to a halt.  At least, so she judged; she had
no external reference points, but she no longer had to play out the
thread.  This, evidently, was the heart of the Void, where she had to
collect her month's supply of soul substance.

She had no container, so she used her skill again.  She took a handful
of the stuff she floated in, and processed it in the way she had the
river.  This was almost intangible, so she seemed to be going through
the motions, spinning in a vacuum.  But she felt a slight resistance
and had faith she was succeeding.  Soon she had some crude substance on
her distaff: her skein of soul.  She didn't know how much she needed,
but knew she could come back for more when she ran out.  This had not
been as bad as it might have been.

Now she had to get back.  She had drifted to this region, as it was the
natural direction; things always drifted toward entropy.  Now she had
to go against the current and how was she to do that?

First she tried the obvious and it worked.  She hauled on her lifeline
thread.  She and her makeshift boat moved readily forward as she
hauled; she seemed to have no inertia, no resistance.  And she realized
now that in the Void inertia was as baseless as matter; the rules of
matter were unformed, here.  Her thread was now her only connection to
the material frame if it was fair to call Purgatory that so she was
actually hauling herself in to her anchor.  She hadn't needed the
thread for finding her way, but for making her way.

The floating blobs reappeared, and the river became more evident; it
was a runoff from organized matter, flowing from the organized to the
disorganized.  She had had to get beyond it, because the river was
polluted by some aspects of organization.  For new souls, the substance
had to be as pure as she could make it; Lachesis had stressed that.

She reached the mucky portion of the stream, and finally had to get out
and slough to the solid path.  She was reentering contemporary
reality.

"Hi, babe."

Niobe jumped.  Someone was there, standing in the path, where no person
could be!

"I see you are surprised, sweets," the figure said.  He was hazy in
outline, but seemed familiar.

"No one can be here," she faltered.  "Except Mars, or Gaea, or "

"Or Satan," the figure concluded.  "Where God can go, so can His
Nemesis."

Her whole body stiffened.  This was the Prince of Evil the one who had
arranged for her death!  The one she intended to punish somehow.  "I
hate you!"  she exclaimed.

The figure laughed.  "Of course, you phenomenally lovely creature!  I
am the Incarnation of all Evil, and hate is far from the least of
evils!  Did you realize they have issued a postage stamp in My name? It
says HATE HATE-HATE-HATE-HATE!  Already you are coming into My
bailiwick!"

This gave her pause.  It was true; when she indulged herself in hate,
she drew closer to Satan, even though it was Satan she hated.  A
treacherous situation indeed!  She really couldn't afford to hate
him.

She realized ruefully that Satan had scored against her at the outset.
It was his advantage.  "What are you doing here?"

"I need to clarify certain matters, sugar, as we shall doubtless be
interacting henceforth."

She couldn't help herself.  "Why don't you clarify why you killed my
husband!"

"That is precisely why I have come here, luscious plum," Satan said.
"It is known to Me that you have some misunderstanding about that
matter, and it is not meet for confusion to exist between
Incarnations."

"I have no misunderstanding!  You interfered in my life!"

"Not so, sweet rose!  I specialize in evil; I understand its workings
better than any other entity does.  Evil is everywhere, to greater or
lesser degree, except perhaps in God, who is, frankly, naive in this
matter.  Let me show you the evil that is in the other Incarnations."

Niobe hurried along the path, poking her distaff forward to move Satan
out of the way, but he floated back without moving his legs.  He was
simply fixed in place in relation to her, like a mirage.  She could not
escape his attention.  "I won't listen to this!"  she exclaimed.  "The
other Incarnations aren't evil!"

"Evil is as evil does, love," Satan said.  "From your contaminated
thread on, evil lurks in every mortal creature, and it is not
necessarily expunged by Incarnation."

"Contaminated thread!"  Niobe exclaimed.  "I just fetched it from the
purest essence of the Void!"

"Purity does not exist in the Void, delicious thing," Satan said. "Only
chaos.  What you have is virtually pure entropy that is, complete
disorder.  When you spin it, you are imposing order your brand of order
on the purest chaos you can obtain.  That is because you want to define
its order completely, with no contamination by order from any other
source.  But because chaos is complete, it excludes nothing, not even a
smidgeon of order.  You are necessarily working with imperfect
substance, 0 heart's desire; in fact it is that contamination of order
that enables you to spin it.  Without that, you would not be able to
get a grip on it.  But that is only part of it.  That substance is a
mixture of good, neutral, and evil, and it is impossible to tell which
will prevail in the end.  Therefore we run it through the ultimate test
for its bias: animated free will."

Niobe was trying not to listen, but not succeeding.  The voice of Evil
was insidiously compelling.  "I'm making this thread for life!"

"Exactly, darling.  Animated free will otherwise known as life.  By the
time each modicum of this soul substance runs its course, the nature of
its individual balance between good and evil is known, and final order
can be achieved.  Eventually the last of the Void will have been
processed, and the entropy of the universe will have been reduced to
zero.  All good will be in Heaven, and all evil in Hell.  The job will
done, and the system will be shut down."

Niobe was appalled.  "All life just a a laboratory to classify the
substance of the Void?"

"Indeed.  Beautiful, isn't it?  Just like you, cutie.  On that day of
final reckoning we shall at last know which is dominant: God or Satan.
The score will tell."

"Then what am I doing here?"  she demanded, feeling dizzy.

"You are initiating the sequence, honey," Satan said.  "You are taking
another spoonful of chaos out of the Void.  It is a good and necessary
task.  But evil is in your thread of life; were it not so, we would not
need life at all."

"Well, the Incarnations aren't evil!"  she said stoutly.  "You said
yourself that this task I'm doing is good."

"The task is good, to be sure, doll.  But the Incarnations are human
which is to say, imperfect.  They have human ambitions, weaknesses, and
lusts."

"Lusts!"  she exclaimed indignantly.  "What are you talking about?"

"I'm so glad you asked, precious."  They were passing through the
pinwheel now, the Incarnation of Evil still drifting before her like a
specter, unavoidable.  He was becoming clearer, and more eerily
familiar.  "Indeed the Incarnations do have lusts!  They indulge them
on occasion with mortals, but this is problematical.  You see,
ravishing one, the Incarnations do not age, physically but mortals do.
It is difficult for an Incarnation to maintain a relationship with one
who constantly ages, particularly a romantic connection.  So it is
better to do it with another of his kind."

It had not occurred to Niobe that that sort of thing existed in
Purgatory.  Still, Lachesis had mentioned the possible use of the body;
perhaps that was not merely an extreme occasion.  She herself retained
her grief for Cedric and her anger at Satan for his connivance in that.
She knew from her personal experience already that much of what Satan
told her was true: Incarnations did retain human passions.

"Unfortunately, scrumptious," Satan continued relentlessly, "there are
relatively few Incarnations, and most are male."

"Chronos, Thanatos, and Mars," Niobe said shortly.  "And you."

"Those are the major ones.  Some would consider God to be male too,
though that really doesn't matter.  God is indifferent to mortal
passions other than power."

"The major Incarnations?  There are others?"  She was still trying to
ignore him, but he kept intriguing her curiosity.

"Didn't you know, sweet-buns?  There's Hypnos, who is in charge of
sleep, and Eros, in charge of "

"Never mind.  What's your point?"

"My point, fair creature, is that there is a severe scarcity of
Incarnate young flesh.  Gaea can of course assume any form she wishes,
and she can be a lusty wench indeed, but she lacks one quality that
most males prize in a female."

He paused, as if inviting her query and Niobe was hooked.  She had to
ask.  "What quality is that?"

"Innocence," he replied succinctly.

Niobe mulled that over.  She could think of only one relatively
innocent female in Purgatory: the newest one.  Herself.  "Surely you
don't mean "

"Consider Chronos, beautiful," Satan said.  "He lives backward.  He
remembers the future, and doesn't know the past.  Association with a
mortal woman is, if you will excuse the expression, hellish for him.
They just don't understand."

"But he can change time to coincide "

"For short periods, cutie.  Not for long-term.  Which means that if he
wishes to have a liaison once a week without a hassle, he must find a
woman who understands his situation and is willing to accommodate him.
That means another Incarnation.  Gaea, or " Again he paused,
artfully.

"Are you implying that / ?"  she demanded indignantly.  Again she
remembered how solicitous Chronos had been, and how understanding the
other Incarnations had been during her first visit.  And how
closemouthed.  That gave her an abiding disquiet.

"Chronos surely remembers," Satan said.  "What is to be, has been, for
him."

She was becoming outraged.  "And you claim he I we that I'm here
because Chronos wants "

"And the other Incamative males," Satan agreed.  "Fate is known as an
accommodating woman.  But of course those males prefer her youngest and
firmest Aspect, as perhaps your better two-thirds have already
explained to you."

Niobe could not answer.  She had been told.  Now that notion was
becoming much less theoretical.

"You see, honey pot Satan continued inexorably, "we Incarnations have
to get along with each other.  We are too small a group, and our duties
overlap; if we do not cooperate, the world will revert to chaos and all
will be lost.  We are not antagonists; we are the several Aspects of
the job.  Fate cannot operate without Time so it behooves her to keep
him satisfied, and she has one exceedingly potent mechanism there for

"I can't believe that!"  she cried, beginning to believe.  "You may
verify it very simply, round heels  Ask

Chronos.  He remembers."

"No!"  she said.  "I love Cedric!  I will never " But she had already
agreed when she assumed the office.  What had she thoughtlessly gotten
herself into?

"Ah, yes, Cedric.  Your sacrificial husband, the boy wonder.  Allow me
to clarify the story on that."

"No!"  she said, turning her face away.  But she continued to listen.

"The Incarnations and not just Chronos wanted a new face and body and
innocence in Purgatory," he said.  "I mean, even the sexiest and most
accommodating young woman and Daphne was certainly that!  palls after a
few years or decades, especially when her body doesn't change at all.
Especially when her mind gets too knowing.  She's a good one to visit
don't I know!  but not to stay with.  The novelty is gone, and novelty
is chronically in short supply in Purgatory.  So when Clotho found a
compatible situation among the mortals, she took it.  She was bored out
of her gourd, as the saying will one day go, and "

"How can you know what a future saying will be?"

"Chronos uses expressions he remembers from the future, and some of
them are apt.  At any rate, trixie, the Incarnations did an informal
survey of mortal flesh, and you were the prettiest innocence they
found, and your ability with loom and distaff made it even better.  The
perfect un liberated docile sex object!  So they arranged to bring you
in.  That meant eliminating your man."

This was appalling.  She had to deny it yet could not.  Satan might be
the personification of evil, but he was making sense.  Still, she tried
to fight, weakly.  "But it was me they you tried to kill, not
Cedric."

"So they told you, cheesecake.  But that was a ruse, to shift the blame
to Me.  After all, they could hardly have found a better surrogate for
blame!  So that you would agree to join.  It does, in that limited
sense, have to be voluntary; you have to think you want it.  They have
to remove the one you love, to leave you no further reason to remain
mortal.  They conveyed to your innocent bonnie boy that you were the
target, thus very cleverly tricking him into doing exactly what they
wanted "

"No!"  Niobe cried like a drowning woman.

"And it worked perfectly, as you know, trophy-piece.  Now the most
desirable and innocent morsel of a young woman on Earth is in Purgatory
and available for duty.  The Incarnations are already champing at the
nether bit.  I could hardly have done it better Myself but of course
such evil is Mine anyway, by definition.  I suggest you relax and enjoy
it, toots."

"Relax, hell!"  she screamed.

Satan smiled.  "Exactly."

She peered at him more closely.  His image had been slowly clarifying
as they progressed, and now at the verge of the forest he was at last
recognizable.  He had assumed Cedric's form.

"You utter cad!"  she screamed, trying to push him into a tree.  "You
have no right to to "

He caught her hand.  "Shall I kiss you, sweet lips  he asked in
Cedric's voice.  "I, too, find you desirable, and I can make you forget
"

She struck at him with the distaff she had been rewinding.  He ducked,
and the thread sprang out and settled about him in a tangle.  "Get out!
Get out!"  she screamed.

Satan resumed his normal form, and sighed.  "Another time, perhaps,
when you have been suitably broken in."  He faded away, leaving her
with the tangle.

Niobe stood and cried in rage and grief for some time.  Damn Satan!  He
had changed her promising new existence into a torment of savage
emotion.

But after a while she reasserted such cynicism as she could muster. She
detached the tangled mass of threads, as they were from the borrowed
section of the river, spun the ends together, and resumed her walk. 
She was not a plaything of Fate; she had free will, and she could leave
this position if she wanted to.  They had explained that each
Incarnation, except perhaps Chronos, had a trial period in office,
after which he or she was granted indefinite tenure if suitable.  She
would simply declare herself to be unsuitable and return to mortality.
Certainly she would not serve in the the capacity they wanted!

She wended her way through the trees, her tears drying on her face.
What a monstrous conspiracy she had fallen into!  To think that Cedric
had died in order to make her available for

She was still furious as the forest retreated and thinned, and the path
straightened and became a road.  She was back in structured reality,
now and not one bit pleased.

What's the matter, Clotho?

They were back!  "You should know, you hypocrites!"  she flared.

She was met by a thought of amazement.  Why do you say that?

Niobe let loose a torrent of why.

Wait!  Wait!  We can't assimilate all that!  We can feel your anger,
but you will have to vocalize to clarify the reason.

"Cedric!"  Niobe shouted.  "You conspired to kill Cedric, so I would
would " Her tears started up again, and her emotion was a confusion of
love, sorrow, and fury reminiscent of the chaos of the Void she had
just departed.  Perhaps, she thought in an isolated flash of humor, she
had brought the Void with her in her head.

Cedric?  We explained about him!

"Well, Satan explained it better!  I'll not stay in this job!  You had
no right to "

Satan!  Lachesis' thought came.

That explains it!  Atropos agreed.

"Yes, Satan!"  Niobe agreed.  "He really understands evil!  He was
there in the Void, and he "

And he told you an intricate lie, Lachesis continued.

And you believed him, Atropos concluded.

"Yes, I believe him!"  Niobe cried.  "And I want to go back to
mortality!  At least there my body is my own!"

You believed the Father of Lies, Atropos thought.

It is your right to return, Lachesis agreed.  But first we must hash
this out.  You must know the truth before you act, lest Satan lead you
to tragedy.

"Why should he do that?"

He does not want you in the office.  He knows that somehow you will
cause him great trouble.  That is why he tried to kill you before you
could become Clot ho.

Niobe suffered doubt.  Satan had been persuasive but he was the
Incarnation of Evil, and certainly he would lie to suit his purposes.
She should not believe him without establishing the case thoroughly.
"How can I verify this?"

Perhaps Chronos knows.

"Chronos!"  Niobe exclaimed indignantly.  "All he wants is "

That is a half-truth.

"You admit to half of it?"  Niobe demanded.

Lachesis made a mental sigh.  Satan has poisoned your mind.  You must
cleanse it yourself.  Go to Chronos, challenge him.  We will be silent
until you address us.

That, of course, was the answer.  Chronos was at the heart of this. She
would give him ajagged fragment other mind!

She returned to the Abode, deposited her new batch of yarn she would
reprocess that into much finer thread later, as she spun out the lives
of new mortals assuming she remained in office that long and set off
along the line that connected to Chronos' mansion.  She was awkward in
her use of the travel-thread; it would have been faster and smoother if
one of the other Aspects had handled it, but she needed to master the
techniques herself in order to

To what?  Be a good Clotho?  When she had no intention of retaining the
position?  Unlikely chance!

She made it to the mansion.  She had learned that time reversed when a
person entered Chronos' residence, so that she would actually depart
before she arrived.  She found that aspect of it intriguing.  It
existed so that others could converse comfortably with Chronos;
otherwise each would be talking backward at the other.

She knocked on the door, and was admitted immediately.  Chronos met
her, wearing a pure white robe; he stepped right up, smiling, and took
her in his arms and kissed her.

Niobe was so surprised that she simply froze for a moment.  Then she
recovered, jerked back her head, brought up her arm, and slapped him
smartly across the cheek.  "What kind of nerve do you have, trying a
thing like that?"  she cried.

He turned her loose, a look of astonishment on his face.  "Why, Clotho
what happened?"

"What happened?"  she repeated furiously.  "You just grabbed me and
kissed me!"

"But of course!  As I have always done, here at home."

"Always done!"  she screamed.  "Then it's true!"

Now a look of realization spread across his countenance.  "The time are
you just beginning your cycle?"

"My what?"

"Have you just begun your office?  As Clotho?"

"Of course I have, as you well know!  And if you think

I "

"But I don't know!"  he protested.  "That's in my future, and you have
never said exactly when "

Because he lived backward.  Now she understood.  "You you couldn't have
conspired to because it hasn't happened yet, for you!"

"I would never conspire against you, Clotho," he said.

"I love you."

She felt as if a demonic hand had squeezed her heart.  She reeled, and
sank onto a couch.  It was true they were going to have an affair! This
man she didn't know, and certainly didn't love!

"Ah, Clotho," he said.  "I didn't realize.  You have not done this
before.  You don't remember.  Had I realized I'm sorry.  I should have
known.  Long ago you told me the date of your origin.  I had forgotten.
I apologize for "

"What do you remember?"  Niobe asked dully.

He took a seat opposite her.  "When I assumed my office, thirty-five
years hence in your view, I was bewildered by everything.  I did not
know what to do, or how to do it even the Hourglass was a mystery to
me.  But you, in your three guises, came to me, and took me in hand,
and set me straight.  It was as if you had known me all along, though
we had never before met.  You did so much for me, and I was grateful,
and then you "

He broke off, putting his face in his hands.  "Oh, Clotho!  It's over
at last, and so abruptly!  I owe you so much and I will miss you so
much!"

Suddenly he reminded her of Cedric as he had been at the outset of
their marriage.  So forlorn and lost and unable to come to grips with
what he knew had to be.  She, in her naivete and insensitivity, had
only exacerbated his problem.  How much she regretted that now!

And the magnitude of Satan's lie was manifest: Chronos had never, could
never conspire.  She had initiated their romance thirty-five years
hence.  And now she was blaming him!

If she had known, at the outset other marriage to Cedric, what was to
be, she would have been far more understanding and careful.  Now she
faced a roughly similar situation.  She did not love this man but
neither had she loved Cedric, at first.  The lesson was there.

Did she really want to return to mortality?  Cedric still would not be
there.  If she had to live without him, wouldn't it be better to do it
with the power of the Incarnation of Fate, rather than as a simple
mortal?  Chances were that this job would offer her many distractions.
She could keep herself busy and she could leave whenever she chose to.
She didn't have to make a decision yet.  Yet

Satan had tried to talk her into leaving.  He wouldn't have bothered if
she were not destined to cause him some grief.

Chronos remembered three and a half decades' association with her. That
showed her decision and her future.  What point to rail against it?
Better to take herself in hand and do what had to be done.  Cedric was
dead; he would never live again.  She had to face reality, and the
sooner the better.  This was her moment of commitment.  She did not
relish the prospect, but she had to put the past firmly behind her.

She dried her face, arranged her hair, and stood.  Chronos sat with his
face covered.  He was not pretending;

he was a decent, vulnerable man, and he was mourning a relationship he
knew was past.  Indeed it was, for him.  It was an emotion she
understood.

She crossed over to him and put one hand on his shoulder.  "Chronos, I
understand.  But this is the last time."  He looked up.  "The first for
you."  "For me.  I do not love you, but " She shrugged.  "I misjudged
you, Chronos, and I'm sorry.  I I give you this.  There is only now,
for us.  Such as it is."  "Such as it is," he agreed, lifting his hand
to her.  She took it.  "When next we meet, it will be different.  I
will not remember this.  Or know of it."  "I will not speak of it."  He
drew her down to him.  She tried to conceal her aversion to being
handled by any man not Cedric.  She felt guilty and unclean but,
perversely, she was sure she was doing right.  She was no longer
married, no longer mortal, and she had a job to do here and a role to
fill.  It turned out that Chronos' long experience with her future self
gave him a special touch, and it became easier to cooperate.

When it was done, she dressed and departed, using an exit opposite to
the entrance she had used so that there was no chance of encountering
her arriving self.  She did not want to try to explain or justify what
she had done to that self!

Then, because she also did not wish to return to her web Abode before
she had left it, she elected to spend an hour elsewhere.  That would
allow for the half hour she had spent in Chronos' mansion, and carry
her another half hour beyond.  The net effect would be the same as if
her half hour within had been composed of normal, forward time.

Where would she go in that period?  Where else!  She went to Earth. She
slid down a thread this was good practice!  to the farm where Junior
was.  She walked up to the door and knocked.

They were surprised and pleased to see her, with masked concern.  "I am
only visiting.  My other business is not yet done; I must still leave
Junior with you."

She saw relief in them, and it gratified her.  They really wanted to
keep Junior, and she knew it wasn't for the support stipend.  This was
certainly the place for him.

She picked him up and held him and kissed him, then set him down.  In a
moment he was back playing with Cousin Pace.

"That's a very nice water oak," the woman remarked.  "The dryad came
right down to join him when we retreated."

They were doing it!  At least the dryad was not being deprived.  "She
is teaching him magic," she said with a wink.

"If he can learn it, he'll be some magician!"  the man said.

Yes she had done right here.  The loss of her baby hurt her, but she
could adapt to this, just as she could adapt to the affair with
Chronos.  She was a different person, now, with new and different
commitments.  Even her body wasn't her own, but a construct from the
flesh of Fate, as if formed from the substance of the Void.

But she was no creature of the Void!  She had a new kind of life to
live.  She hoped it would turn out better than the old one.

-6

GENEALOGY

Niobe's life as Clotho settled in comfortably enough, now that she had
made the necessary emotional decisions.  Each Aspect slept for six or
eight hours, and they generally staggered these, so that at any given
moment one Aspect would be dominant would have the body and another
would be keeping her conscious company, while the third would be tuned
out or asleep.  For convenience they generally proceeded from sleep, to
company, to dominant, so that an Aspect could be fully alert and ready
the moment she took over the body.  Thus Niobe, as Clotho, would sleep,
then keep Atropos company for her shift, then assume the office while
Atropos slept and Lachesis kept her company.  Sometimes they varied it,
and special circumstances caused them all to wake or sleep together,
but normally the routine held.

Niobe liked the other two.  They talked with each other a lot,
comparing notes on experiences and feelings.  The other two had
eavesdropped on Niobe's first engagement with Chronos, for this was as
novel to them as to her.

They had indeed not conspired to put her in that position;

they had not been having an affair with Chronos.  Evidently he, in the
progress of his life toward their past, had not been interested in the
to-him new Clotho.  "But the body is only the body," Lachesis said
philosophically, as Niobe spun her Thread of Life from the supply of
yarn she had fetched from the Void.  "You are young, you like to think
that there is only one man for each woman and one woman for each man,
but any combination can occur, and couple, and love.  In this office we
are forced to be less romantic and more pragmatic."

"Yes," Niobe agreed sadly.  "And Chronos is a good person.  But I'll
always love Cedric."

"There is no love like the first," Lachesis agreed, taking over the
lips again.  "I remember mine ..."  And she recounted her own first
romance.  It was not as immediate as Niobe's experience, but it had its
own poignancy, and it did show that the older woman understood.  Men
tended to think in terms of the physical, while woman related to the
social; men focused on bodies and action, while women focused on
character and feeling.  They agreed that woman's way was more sensible,
but on occasion man's way had merit, and it was possible for the two to
relate.

They learned each other's jobs, to a certain extent.  Niobe normally
slept while Lachesis measured the threads, but not always, and of
course she was alert while Atropos cut them.  The cutting was not
merely at the terminal end; the threads had to be started, too.  So
after Lachesis had analyzed, measured, and marked each potential life,
on the endless thread Clotho spun, Atropos would cut and place it.  The
beginning of a cut thread was the conception of a baby; it had to be
tied in to the threads of its parents before moving out onto its own
course in the Tapestry.  The physical, mental, and emotional qualities
of a life were determined by heredity, provided by the parental tie-in,
and its development was influenced considerably by environment.  But
its circumstance the odd coincidences that governed every life was
arranged by Fate.  Some excellently endowed lives were doomed to
disappointment and failure, while some seemingly weak strands were
destined for greatness.  Lachesis planned these threads with an eye to
the esthetics of the larger picture.  Some she regretted, as when a
thread had to be measured short, meaning that a child would die.  But
it had to be done, for stresses in the fabric of the Tapestry could
distort the whole, and lead to the damage of many more innocent threads
unless the correction was made in the key region.  It would not have
been easy to explain to the average mortal why he should suffer, as the
stresses were cumulative and subtle; indeed, tfiere were generally
several ways in which a given stress could be alleviated.  But it was
Lachesis' job to select a course and implement it, and this she did.

Cedric's early death had not really been Lachesis' doing.  Satan had
stretched the fabric in such a way that only the truncation of a
specific thread would alleviate it and Niobe had been that thread until
Cedric abruptly switched places with her.  Lachesis had had to mark it
for elimination, and Atropos had had to cut it but that had been in the
nature of emergency surgery.  They were still adjusting for the
distortion in the fabric caused by that unscheduled removal; it tended
to buckle, and several more distant threads had had to be cut short,
and new ones added elsewhere.  Now Niobe, tracing the pattern and
grasping the stresses on it, understood how complex the matter of Pate
was.  Fate was not all-powerful or capricious; she merely had to
accomplish a purpose that mortal man was not properly equipped to
appreciate.  It would make as much sense for an individual soldier in
battle to break ranks and demand of the general why he should be
subjected to this danger.

But Niobe was no longer a foot soldier.  She had become an Aspect of an
Incarnation.  She was now in a position to grasp the larger picture and
to understand just what Satan had done to her.  She still had a score
to settle with him!

The problem was, she didn't see how.  Satan had no Tapestry; she could
not mess up his threads.  She concluded that whatever it was that made
Satan object to her presence as Clotho had not yet manifested and that
she was on the way to gaining her satisfaction merely by retaining her
office.  Eventually her chance would come and then she would take it
with a will.  Meanwhile, she just had to be patient.

In due course the routine became dull.  Then the interactions with the
other Incarnations, including Satan, became more interesting.  Niobe
did not love Chronos, but he was so grateful for the particular favors
she rendered that it became a kind of pleasure for her.  She did have
to work with him quite a bit, or rather Lachesis did, for only Chronos
could accurately locate the timing of the key events in each life the
kinks in each thread.  The Tapestry would not be right if the threads
were too loose or tight, or crossed each other in the wrong places.  It
was especially important that Atropos inform Chronos of the precise end
of each thread, for Chronos programmed the watch that Thanatos carried.
If Thanatos was not present for particular terminations the souls in
close balance between good and evil those souls could escape and drift
back to the Void, causing the whole effort to be wasted.  No one
approved of wasted lives.

But this, too, became dull.  Therefore the Aspects of Fate were wont to
visit the mortals directly when slack time was available.  They would
merge anonymously with the throngs of people, and pretend to be going
home from work, or taking a vacation, or performing some business.
People tended not to perceive the Incarnations as such,

and to forget them, so it was simple enough to do.  Each Aspect had her
favorite region of the mortal world to visit.  It was a kind of
holiday.

Lachesis liked to go to special restaurants and enjoy good meals.  The
Incarnations did have natural functions, including the need to eat.  If
they did not eat, they would not starve, because of their immortality,
but they would become increasingly uncomfortable.  They had everything
provided in Purgatory, but there was something special about doing it
among the mortals.  The male Incarnations, Lachesis confided wickedly,
sometimes indulged other appetites with mortal women, though they had
to be careful not to change the lie of any particular thread.  An
Incarnation could not sire a baby, because of the freeze on aging a
baby would never develop beyond the single cell stage but that was not
the only way to affect a mortal.  Once Mars had formed a relationship
with a mortal Amazon he had a weakness for violent women and her thread
had changed its course.  This affair superseded one she would otherwise
have had with a mortal man that would have generated offspring.
Lachesis had had to bail him out; she had measured that thread but
found no way to attach it to start the baby.  The necessary interaction
had not taken place.  She had spoken sharply to Mars about that,
requiring him to break off the affair so that the natural order could
reassert itself; then she had tied in the new thread a little farther
down the line.  Clotho had had to sweeten the pot for Mars until he
found a new mortal to dally with.  It was a private scandal.

Atropos preferred to go to orchestral recitals, operas, and plays.
Indeed, she had a reserved box at one prominent playhouse.  Niobe got
to watch these too, and learned to enjoy them.  In this manner she was
able to acquire some culture.  Once, however, a gentleman had
challenged Atropos' credentials; it seemed they had not been able to
verify her social credentials and suspected she was a commoner in
disguise.  At this point Niobe had taken over the body, smiled, and
asked the man what he meant.  He blinked, for she was young and
beautiful instead of old and homely; he had apologized for the
confusion and departed.  Atropos resumed form and watched the opera in
peace.

Niobe herself went to visit her son.  At first she went as she was, but
she soon realized that this could not continue.  For one thing, she did
not age; she was locked at the physical age of twenty-three, and before
long this would be noticed.  Also, she did not want Junior to be
accustomed to her presence; it was better that he forget her and orient
entirely on his new family.  It would be easier on him, in the long
run.  And it was evident that young Cousin Pacian was smitten by her.
This sort of thing happened with adolescents; it was a liability of
beauty.  She deemed it best simply to absent herself.

Still, she wanted some personal interaction with her son.  So she asked
Atropos to pose as a grandmotherly friend who visited relatives in the
area and liked children.  Atropos, with Niobe's silent advice,
cultivated the lad's acquaintance, and in time Pace, ever on guard for
any threat to his little friend's welfare, came to accept her also.  As
the years passed, and Junior became an active child and Pace a tall and
surprisingly handsome teenager, Atropos took them to light operas and
plays of interest to all ages.  Because Atropos had a wide knowledge of
the form, she knew which ones were appropriate, and it worked nicely.
Both boys enjoyed it, and Pace's parents looked with favor on it.
Atropos herself found this to be a rewarding experience, so it was good
all around.

But there was one experience that shook them all.  It happened when
Junior was six years old and Pace eighteen.  It was the day of the
annual fair, and everyone went but the old folks soon got separated
from the young folks in the press of the throng.  Atropos counted as a
young folk; Pace hardly needed supervision, but little Junior did, and
anyway they had long been a threesome for such jaunts.  They cruised
the fair, trying the games of pseudo-skill, eating candy, and riding
the small captive sphinx.  They watched a magic show that was somewhat
faked up to make the magic appear more impressive that it was, and sat
through two choruses of the Nymph-vs.  Satyr dance.  But though it was
suggestive, it wasn't potent; the participants were authentic, but in
the course of a dozen shows a day they lost their ardor.  Nevertheless,
little Junior's eyes almost bugged; he wasn't supposed to be in here,
but enforcement was lax and he had promised not to tell the folks.
Niobe herself had grave reservations, but Atropos had pooh-pooh ed
them: "The lad's interested in magic, and this is an aspect of magic. 
It isn't as if he's never seen a nymph before."  Of course that was
true, because of the hamadryad of the water oak.

Then they passed a prophecy booth.  "Hey, tell my fortune!"  Junior
cried.  This was magic, so he liked it.  "Ah, it's probably fake," Pace
protested.  "I can verify that, if you wish," Atropos said.  What are
you doing?  Niobe thought at her.  The fortuneteller will recognize
you!

"Very well, let's test her," Pace agreed, as he liked to expose
humbugs.  Junior clapped his hands.

So they stopped there, and Atropos paid the seer.  The woman looked at
her, then proffered the return of the money.  "You seek to fool me,
immortal one?"  she demanded.  "You know I cannot read your like!"

"She's authentic," Atropos reported, and pushed the money back.  "Do it
for the two boys; they are mortal."  "You're immortal?"  Pace asked,
looking at Atropos.  "I'm old, but I won't actually live forever."

He wasn't quite satisfied with that explanation, but let it pass. "Very
well.  Do us together, me and my little brother here."  He hefted
Junior up to sit on the counter.

"Who are we going to marry, and will our children be famous?"

Junior giggled at the audacity of the question, not believing that the
present order would ever change, but the seer took it seriously.  "Give
me your hands," she said.

She took Junior's right hand and Pace's left, and closed her eyes.  In
a moment they opened again.  "Hooh!"  she exclaimed, as if letting off
a head of steam.  "A most remarkable pair!"

Niobe became more interested.  What did the seer see?

"Each to possess the most beautiful woman of her generation, who will
bear him the most talented daughter of her type," the seer intoned.
"Both daughters to stand athwart the tangled skein, and one may marry
Death and the other Evil."  She cast loose their hands, seeming shaken.
"More I dare not say."

Pace lifted Junior down, and they moved away from the booth.  "That was
a true telling?"  he asked, awed.

"So it seems," Atropos said.  "Of course interpretation changes things,
so it may not mean what it seems."

"That prophecy is loaded!"  he exclaimed.  "The most beautiful
daughter?"

The tangled skein?  Niobe asked.  That's our business!

"And one may marry Death, the other Evil," Atropos said thoughtfully.
"I'm not sure I like the smell of that."

Niobe had similar doubts.  Death is Thanatos, and Evil is Satan.  Their
daughters will marry Incarnations?

"What's a tangled skein?"  Junior asked.

"Trouble!"  Atropos said.

Trouble, Niobe agreed.

They settled down under a tree and talked it out.  "This is not a bad
prophecy," Atropos told the boys.  "It is no disaster for a man to
possess that is, to marry the most beautiful of women, and to have
talented offspring.  If they stand athwart the skein, that probably
means they are to be very important figures.  As for marrying Death
and

Evil well, remember the prophecy says may.  Any person may get into
trouble if careless!  You have your warning; you must educate your
children to beware of such things as Death and Evil, and there should
be no problem."

"Say, yes!"  Pace agreed, brightening.  "We have been given warning. We
can make it come out all right."

But little Junior, oddly, was more pensive.  "Aren't prophecies un un
"

"Unavoidable," Atropos finished for him.  "Yes, a true prophecy will be
fulfilled, and this seems to be a true one.  But it does provide
leeway."

"I want another," Junior decided.  "A corr corr "

"A corroborative opinion," Pace finished.

Atropos shrugged.  "I suppose it can't hurt."

Asking for a corroborative opinion?  Niobe thought.  My son is smart!

So they went to another seer.  Again Atropos proffered the money, and
again the seer did a double take.  "What do you do here, you sinister
trio?"  she demanded.

"It is for the boys," Atropos said, knowing it had not been the
physical three the seer referred to.  This was another qualified one!
"Do them together.  What is to become of them and their children?"

The seer took the boys' hands, as had the first one and her eyes also
widened.  "One to be savior of deer, his child savior of man; other to
love an Incarnation, his child to be one.  But the skein is tangled
oh!"  The seer tore her hands away.  "I cannot finish; it is too much
for me."  Indeed, she was shaking.

They retreated and discussed this one.  "Deer?"  Junior asked.

His father sought to enable the deer to shoot back at the hunters,
Niobe clarified.  So Atropos explained about that, and the boy was
satisfied.

"I'm going to do it!"  he exclaimed.  "Hama will show me how!  I'll
make the deer shoot back!"

But Pace looked narrowly at Atropos.  "How do you know about that?  My
cousin Cedric died before you met us;"

"I know his wife.  Junior's mother," Atropos said.  "I told you I was a
friend of the family."

"Oh?  Where is she now?  She hasn't visited us in a long time."

"She is locked into a very special project," Atropos said.  "A secret
one.  That is why she couldn't have Junior with her."

"She's the most beautiful woman I ever saw," Pace said dreamily.

"What's an Incarnation?"  Junior asked.

"The Incarnations are human personifications of the important aspects
of existence," Atropos said carefully.  "Love, War, Time "

"Death, Evil," Pace put in.  "That other prophecy "

"I think," Atropos said, "your daughters are going to associate with
some remarkable figures, and perhaps become "

"An Incarnation," Pace said.  "Is that possible?"

"Mortals do become Incarnations on occasion," Atropos said.  "But it is
a very rare thing."

"Which one?"  Junior asked.

Atropos spread her hands.  "As both seers said, it is a tangled skein.
I doubt we can unravel it before the event and it may not be wise to
try."

"Yes, I think we should stay away from prophecies after this," Pace
said.  But Junior didn't seem convinced.

They went on to other distractions of the fair, but the boys were
pensive, and so was Niobe.  As Aspects of Fate, she and Atropos could
trace the threads of life but not far into the future, for the vision
of the Tapestry soon fuzzed.  This wasn't because of hostile magic, but
because the Tapestry itself was so immensely complex that only direct
inspection of its present portion could unravel any of it.  But Niobe
knew that the threads for both Pace and Junior were of normal length;
neither would die young.  After Cedric, she had made sure of that!  But
she could not see their precise interactions in the coming Tapestry.
These prophecies seemed to confirm that the boys, who were already
associating with an Incarnation, would continue to do so.  In that
sense the outlook wasn't as remarkable as it seemed.  But obviously
there was a great deal destined to occur!

Time moved on, and none of them discussed the prophecies further, but
Niobe knew that the boys had not forgotten.  From that point on. Junior
focused increasingly on magic.  He bought a magic kit, and practiced
simple conjurations and transformations.  He wasn't really good at
them, but no other boy his age even attempted genuine magic; it was
easier to hire a professional magician, or to buy packaged spells.
Junior did seem to have a special talent for imprinting stones; it
seemed the hamadryad had shown him that.  He could take a pebble from
the shore of a lake and cause it to glow or make a sound.  Stonemagic
was a specialty that few did well, and his ability was remarkable in
one so young.  Niobe bought an intermediate gemstone, a green
aquamarine, and had Atropos give it to him for his eighth birthday.  He
was thrilled, and indeed the quality stone was much more responsive to
his spells than the crude pebbles were.  He fashioned it into a homing
stone that showed by its glow which way home was, so that he could
never get lost.  "That boy is going to be a major magician, mark my
word," Atropos said.

Pace progressed to other interests, as well as taking over most of the
management of the family farm.  When he was twenty-two he married
Blanche, a schoolmate with hair so fair it was almost white.  Blanche
was a fine person, warm and generous and competent about the farm, but
by no stretch could she be termed the most beautiful woman of her
generation.  Pace gave Atropos a significant glance at the wedding,
showing that he remembered the prophecy and had deliberately avoided
it.

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 Pate 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 Pate 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 Purgatory.  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.

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.

"Someone's thread is to be prematurely cut," Atropos said.

They zeroed in on it.  Sure enough, the thread of a potential future
candidate for the American presidency was to be artificially cut.  That
would seriously distort the Tapestry.  But they weren't sure how bad it
would be.

Niobe consulted with Chronos, who remembered the future.  Her affair
with him had proceeded intermittently for thirty-five years, and she
was really quite fond of him;

he was a decent man.  Because the two of them moved temporally
opposite, there was always a certain novelty in it, and it was a
relationship they found mutually convenient.  It was true: it took one
Incarnation to truly understand another.  But Chronos was unable to
help her in this.  "As you know, I have only been in office a year, and
I have no knowledge of the world's future beyond that."

"I didn't know!"  she said, startled.  "I I suppose I

thought you were eternal, though I'm sure you told me at the outset."
Indeed, now she remembered the reverse situation, when he had forgotten
that her beginning-end was near.  It was easy to do, over such a time
span  "Why, that means we'll have to be breaking you in, soon!"

He smiled.  "You have done that very competently, Clotho; I will always
be in your debt.  I hope someday I

can repay the favor."

"You did, Chronos," she reassured him.

Lacking the perspective of the future, they could obtain more specific
information only by going to Earth to check the living threads.  There
they discovered that a demon had been dispatched from Hell.  It would
drive a car to intercept the senator on a back road at night and crash
into him.  Rather, the demon-spirit was to take over the body of a
Satanist a Satan worshiper for this mission;

naturally the mortal had not been told that he would probably lose his
own life.  He merely understood that, in return for assisting Satan, he
would be richly rewarded.

The old, experienced Lachesis could have twitched the threads expertly
to clear the tangle and prevent Satan from interfering.  But what would
have been simple for her was complex for the new one.  It did take time
to gain proficiency.  They had to take the direct route: a visit to the
senator himself.

The night the "accident" was scheduled, Niobe took the body and slid a
thread to the spiderweb nearest the country house where the senator was
having a private party with his workers, volunteers, and friends. There
was a lot of liquor going around, and many of the attendees were comely
young women.  Niobe didn't approve;

if this was one of the good politicians, what were the bad ones like?
But of course a man could not be judged by his private entertainments;
it was his performance in office that counted.  Women could not be
blamed for being attracted to the focal points of power like bees to
flowers;

that was their nature.  She herself had not loved Cedric until he had
shown his power.  At least this made it easy for her to infiltrate; she
was assumed to be a professional of another type.

She filled a wineglass with water and carried it about so that no one
realized she was not imbibing.  She had never imbibed since that night
Cedric got sick.  She fended off the approaches of interested young men
and worked her way to the senator himself.  "Senator, your life is in
peril," she murmured as she danced with him.

He smiled in that vote-getting way he had.  "You are a Russian
agent?"

"Just a friend of the status quo.  There is a car ready to crash yours.
Do not go driving tonight.  Senator."

He smiled again, but this time there was a certain masked malice behind
it; he did not like to have anyone tell him what not to do. Politically
he stood for the right things, and more often than not did the right
things, but that did not make him a perfect man.  There was, she had
long since learned, a mixture of good and evil in every thread of life
which was the point of life, if Satan was to be believed.  She had
never been satisfied that that was the whole of it, but it was at least
a half-truth.  So he was annoyed at her warning but she was physically
the type of woman the senator did not openly affront.  That was why she
had approached him in her own form, in a revealing gown. In a moment he
would make a pass at her,

"You have something better to offer?"  he asked.

"Your life," she replied evenly.  "This house is protected; the
assassin will not enter.  It must catch you on the road, tonight.
Remain here; by morning the threat will abate."  For they had
ascertained that this particular demon-spirit could not survive away
from Hell for more than a few hours.

"Remain here with you?"

"No, Senator.  I am here merely to warn you, not to entertain you. Heed
my warning, and all will be well."  She turned and walked away.

When she was out of his sight, she changed to Lachesis, so that the
senator could not recognize her, and moved on out of the house.
Outside, she shifted to spider form and sat on the branch of a tree,
watching.

Sure enough, her warning had not sufficed.  Once a thread was
positioned, it was hard to reposition, and this one was locked in a
tangle.  The senator emerged with a young woman; he was going to take
her for a ride.  He was married, but such men did not take such things
too seriously.

Niobe, uncertain what to do, slid down a line to land on the senator's
shoulder.  She would just have to go along and hope she could enable
him to avoid the assassination.  Maybe if he saw the assassin-car
approaching, he would take heed and get off the road in time.  Of
course, then the demon might come after him afoot, but perhaps she
could balk it.  Certainly she had to try.  How she wished that this
tangle hadn't occurred just now, when Lachesis was inexperienced but of
course that was why it had occurred.  Satan never passed up a chance!

The senator got into a small car, and the girl took the passenger seat.
He drove out the back way, avoiding the guard at the front; he
evidently didn't care to be recognized and have news of this tryst
relayed to his wife.  The fool!

Niobe knew the assassin was lurking out there, waiting to spy the
senator's car.  There would be little chance to escape once that
happened.

It was difficult to talk while in spider form, but possible. 
"Senator!" Niobe said near his left ear.  He glanced at the girl to his
right. "Yes?"  "What?"  the girl asked.

"She didn't speak," Niobe said.  "/ spoke.  I'm the spider on your
shoulder."

The senator looked left, startled.  "What sorcery is this?"

"Just a little shape-changing.  I'm the woman who warned you before."

"The lovely one!"  he said.  "I didn't know you were magical!"

"What is this?"  the girl on the other side demanded.

the senator ex There is a spider talking to me,

plained.

"A lovely spider?  I don't believe it!"  "Take warning!"  Niobe cried.
"Get off the road before the assassin spies you!"

Now the senator was doubtful.  "I thought it was a ploy for attention.
But you disappeared.  Now I learn you're a shape-changer.  But why
should you care about me?"

"I don't care much about you personally," Niobe said.  "If I did, I'd
probably tell your wife what you're up to tonight.  But you are one of
the better men in the bad mess that politics is today and you may have
a considerable future, so I don't want an evil force to take you out.
Please, Senator turn about, get back to your party.  Save your little
dalliance for some other night."

"Now / hear it!"  the girl exclaimed.  "How can a spider talk?"

"I'm not sure," the senator said, and Niobe knew he meant about the
situation, not about talking spiders.  That was one of his weaknesses:
the inability to make a firm decision on short notice.  Normally he had
advisers and scriptwriters to put words in his mouth; perhaps he
depended on them too much.  When caught unprepared, he could seem
positively tongue-tied.

"Then play it safe!"  Niobe urged.  "The most you can lose is one
tryst!  The alternative will cost you your life!"

Still he hedged.  "You may be magical, but I don't really know your
motive.  There may be danger at the party."

"Then go somewhere else!"  Niobe cried in her tinny spider-voice. "Take
a walk through the forest!  Anything but a drive along this road
tonight!"

He ground to a decision.  "All right I'll check this out.  Emjay, you
take the wheel.  I'll get out and watch.  If there's an assassin
looking for me, he won't bother you and I'll know him if I see him." He
brought out a pair of tinted glasses and put them on as he brought the
car to a halt.

"But I don't know the way!"  the girl protested.  "Just follow the
road; it dead-ends at the beach.  It's not far; I'll catch up with you
there, once I've verified

Miss Spider's story.  I want to see what else is on this road."

"Well, if you say " the girl said doubtfully.  She moved over and took
the wheel.  She moved slowly on while the senator hid behind the bushes
at the side of the road.

As the car's headlights retreated, the senator addressed Niobe.  "All
right, spider-woman change back to your human form!  You got my
attention, all right!"  "I didn't come here to " Niobe protested.
"Change or I'll squish you where you sit!"  He brought up his open hand
and made as if to slap his shoulder.

Niobe hastily changed.  It wasn't that she was vulnerable in arachnid
form; she was protected by the same web ambiance that kept her safe
when in human form, no matter how exposed she might seem.  Thanatos and
Chronos had their cloaks; she had her web.  But she didn't want to tell
the senator her true nature, so she obeyed his demand.  She leaped off
his shoulder and landed in her own form before him.

"Now that's better," he said, reaching for her.

She skipped away.  "Senator, if you think this was all a device to get
you alone out here shouldn't you be afraid it's a trap?"

"Nope."  He tapped his glasses.  "These show evil.  There's hardly any
evil in you; you're just as lovely through these lenses as you are
without them."

"Well, I'm not evil, but also not " She broke off, hearing something.

He heard it too.  He crouched behind the bushes, peering down the road.
The car came slowly from the direction the girl had gone.  Its glass
was reflective in the night, bfil the motor had an ugly sound.  The
senator stared and gave a stifled gasp.  Niobe put a hand on his
shoulder, cautioning him to silence.  The car passed.  The senator
faced her, removing the glasses, his eyes round in the moonlight. 
"That thing in the car it was a demon!"

"It was a man possessed by an evil spirit," Niobe agreed.  "Now you
know."

"If I'd been out there "

"It would have spotted you, accelerated, and deliberately rammed you.
It doesn't care if it dies; it's already dead, though the living man it
possesses isn't."

He glanced down the road.  "Will it go after Emjay?"

he asked, worried.

"It shouldn't.  It's targeted for just one person: you."  "I'll go
after her anyway," he decided.  "I don't want j her out here while that
thing's on the road!"  He started down the road at a lumbering run.
Niobe paced him.  "It's not safe for you afoot either,

Senator!  That demon will be back, and "

"I'll hide when it comes!"  he puffed, slowing to a walk;

he was in no condition to run the whole way.

The assassin car did return, and the senator did hide in the bushes.
Demon-possessed people were not very alert or observant because it took
most of the demon's energy to operate the host's body, so the thing
never even looked to the sides.  It would have worked better if the
demon spirit merely rode along in the body, letting the living person
follow instructions but when the instructions included a suicide
collision, that was not feasible.  The demon had to retain complete
control so that there would be no last-moment balking.  That was
probably why it wasn't destined to survive long; it took a great deal
of spiritual energy to translate into physical energy.

Why hadn't Satan sent a full physical demon, as he had to the
Magician's wedding?  Probably because that was very awkward to do. True
demons were confined to Hell, and only on very rare occasions could
they be sprung loose.  The mortal plane was a hostile environment for
demons, as it was for angels.  It was easier to spring demon-spirits,
as in this case but they were less reliable.  Probably Satan had not
expected Fate to come to the scene personally; he had forgotten the
score Niobe had to settle with him.

They reached a bridge that crossed a minor inlet of the sea, and
stopped, appalled.  The wooden guardrail had been smashed.  Obviously
the car had gone off the bridge and into the water.

"She didn't know the road!"  the senator exclaimed.  "See the bridge
curves, and she was going straight "

He ripped off his jacket and kicked off his shoes.  He dived into the
water, searching for the car.  In a moment he surfaced, gasping.  "It's
down there!"

He dived again, and surfaced again.  "I can't get it open!"

Niobe sent a magic thread down and slid along it, impervious to the
water.  But in this mode she could only observe, not act on anything
physical.  She saw the car, and the girl inside.

She returned to the shore.  "She's dead," she reported.  "There's
nothing you can do.  Get on back to the house."  Then, sick at heart,
she retreated to Purgatory.

Satan himself awaited her there.  "So you sought to interfere,
sugarplum," he said.  "Well, you did not succeed."

"I saved his life!"  Niobe retorted angrily.  "And exchanged it for
that of an innocent girl," he countered.  "And My purpose has been
served. I don't care whether that man lives or dies; I just want him
finished politically.  That has been accomplished."

Niobe brushed on by, refusing to speak to him again.  But the following
events proved Satan correct.  The senator put out the story that he had
been driving the girl back to town, and had taken a wrong turn and
blundered into the bay; he had fought free of the car but she hadn't.
Some believed that; some did not; after all, his bulk was twice that of
the girl.  How could he have been more agile in escape than she?  There
were too many questions.  The senator had been perhaps the leading
candidate of his party for president; after the scandal of the girl's
strange death, he could not come close to nomination.  He continued as
senator, but he would never be president.  His career had been capped.
All because he had let the girl drive an unfamiliar road alone.

"If I hadn't been inept with the threads ..."  Lachesis said.

"It takes many years of experience to foil Satan," Niobe said grimly.
"He is an infinitely wily and indefatigable opponent.  We thought it
was the senator's life Satan wanted, not merely his career.  It was
probably too late to undo the damage when we became aware of the
tangle."  But her rage at Satan was renewed.  So many times she had
tried to foil him and had taken her losses, as it had been with Cedric,
with Blanche, and now with the senator.  She wished she could skunk
Satan completely.  But the person of goodwill seemed always to be at a
disadvantage before the completely unscrupulous power that was Evil
Incarnate.

Chronos' time was growing short.  He became less confident as he
approached the moment of his changeover.  For him it was the assumption
of his office; for the others, it was the termination of it.  Each
Chronos officeholder took the Hourglass, the single most potent magical
instrument in existence, after a mortal existence.  In this respect
that office was similar to the others.  But from that moment Chronos
lived backward until the moment of his origin, when he had to pass the
Glass on to his predecessor.  It was an exceedingly awkward
adjustment.

Niobe had always been would always be closest to Chronos, and now it
was especially important.  Physically he was twice her age, but in
other respects he was much younger.  There was now a kind of
desperation in their lovemaking, as if he needed reassurance that some
things remained as they had been in his mortal life.  He could change
time itself, but lacked experience, and that made him highly
insecure.

Finally it came to the first time.  Niobe knew it, because she had had
the foresight to ask him, as if playfully, how many times they had done
it, and then she had kept count.  Now he was obviously smitten by her,
but afraid to confess it, and unable to get a proper grip on his job
while this impasse remained.  She seduced him gently, letting him know
it was all right, that she understood.  Indeed she did!  In her mortal
life, so long ago, she would have been appalled to see herself now. But
she was thirty-six years wiser now, and she knew Chronos better than he
could believe at this stage.  He was an old friend, and though she
never had loved him, she regretted no part of their relationship.
Satan, of course, called her a call girl, but it was a calling that had
its self-respect.  The understanding she brought to Chronos was
important, yet she missed the true love she had once had, so briefly,
as a mortal.

The affair was over, or had not yet begun.  It came at last to Chronos'
last first day in his office.  He was so bewildered she knew she had to
take him literally in hand, leading him to his mansion where she could
explain things more comfortably.  Away from the mansion their times
were reversed, making communication difficult, for now he had not yet
learned how to use the Hourglass to control time.  She had to use
printed signboards to tell him how to reverse himself long enough for
her to take him in hand, for the print was comprehensible whether a
person was traveling forward or backward in time.

The place was near an amusement park, where he was standing,
bewildered.  She knew, from what he had told her before, that this was
an hour after his assumption of the office; he had blundered out of the
park by himself, and wished she had found him earlier.  But now she
understood why she had not (would not): she needed that hour to orient
him.  So her printed sign told him how to use the Hourglass to reverse
himself.  When he did that, he was suddenly moving forward in time
again, and they could talk.  Once they were in his mansion they were
still together but now she was reversed, not he.  The half hour of his
reversal canceled the half hour of hers, so that she emerged at the
same time as she had started the dialogue a convenience she had
carefully arranged.  Chronos now understood enough to continue, and was
in the hands of the loyal staff of the mansion; she knew it would work
out, however haltingly, because she remembered that it had.

Now she had to get on with the other part of it: seeing the new Chronos
in.  Chronos was too important to her job to be left to chance, as it
were; she had to know exactly what she had to deal with.  She returned
to the amusement park and explored the situation.

She picked up a few minutes after she had intercepted Chronos with her
printed signs, before.  This time she concealed herself from him.  She
retained her body, because Lachesis was too inexperienced to handle
this, and it was Atropos' off-shift.  She concealed her face somewhat
with a kerchief, so that Chronos wouldn't recognize her if he saw her
not that he had any notion of her identity or nature at this point.  He
hadn't met her yet.  She followed him as he meandered backward into the
park.  No one else paid him attention; mortals seldom noticed
Incarnations, and the backward-living Chronos was difficult to relate
to.  So though they were in a crowd, it was in effect just the two of
them, playing a kind of hide-and-seek.

She felt sorry for him, seeing him so confused and ill at ease.  She
knew what he was feeling, because he had told her about it.  She knew
him better than any other person did, now, and better than any other
person would.  Thirty-six years as associates and lovers did make for
mutual understanding.  Perhaps it would have been better if she had
loved him, for certainly he had loved her.  But, she decided, it had
been necessary for one of them to be objective; that had enabled her to
cope with the backward nature of their association, and not to take
misunderstandings too seriously.  She remembered when they had agreed
to try the act of love in their natural states, moving in opposite
temporal directions.  They had had to coordinate it carefully, before
and after.  It had turned out to be possible and intriguing as a
novelty but, for her, not really much different from the normal act,
because she had been only slightly aroused.  She had simply been there
for him, and for her own curiosity.  So it had been a disappointment
but now she remembered it clearly, for what reason she was not sure, as
she watched him wandering backward through the crowd.  Perhaps, she
thought, this was an analogy of the human condition: each person
blundering along in his own course, trying to relate to others, and
succeeding only fractionally.  Because each person, mortal and
immortal, was traveling along his own unique timeline, unable to tie in
with others perfectly, however much they all tried.

Finally he backed into the horror house.  She followed.  Neither of
them bought tickets, as the park proprietors were no more aware of them
than the other mortals were.  It was not a matter of invisibility, just
of not being noticed.

There, too, she thought, was an analogy of mortality: the key forces
that governed the lives of people were generally unobserved by those
who were most concerned.

The horror house was stocked with ghosts who floated out periodically,
made faces, and yelled "Boooo!"  supposedly scaring the paying
customers.  Only the smallest children were actually frightened; the
others knew that ghosts were insubstantial and therefore harmless.
Still, it was fun, in the sense that playing the rigged gambling games
was fun.  The illusion of fear and potential riches was what this sort
of park was all about.

Niobe paused beside a ghost.  "But what do you get out of it?"  she
asked.  "Don't you feel pretty stupid, playacting like this?"

"Well, it does get dull, and it is stupid, and it contributes to the
prejudice people have against ghosts, but the pay is good," the ghost
replied.  "A ghost can't get a job just anywhere, you know."

"But what use do you have for money?"  "Well, it's like this," the
ghost said, clarifying into the semblance of a woman.  "I was on my way
to work, when I was alive, and I was late, so I cut through this alley.
I knew I shouldn't have, but I'd been late twice before that month,
and I was on notice; I just had to get there on time.  Suddenly a
masked man jumped out at me.  I screamed and ran, but he chased me
down, held a knife to my face, and raped me.  I was screaming all the
time, but no one came to help me and there were others in the alley,
too, who could have helped.  Finally too late I got mad, and I grabbed
his hand and bit it.  The last thing I remember is his knife coming
down at my neck."

"Ah, yes," Niobe said.  This was much more of an answer than she had
sought.

"By the time I recovered consciousness, I was dead," the ghost
continued.  "I guess it took me a few minutes to die, while I was
unconscious.  There was my body,

naked from the waist down, and my throat was a mass of blood, and the
rapist was gone.  Well, I didn't exactly take kindly to that.  So I
stayed around, determined to find out who had done it and make him pay.
But that takes money, because private eyes don't work for nothing, so
here I am, earning money.  Pretty soon I'll have enough to hire one for
a day, and if that doesn't do it, I'll keep working until it does get
done."  She shrugged.  "When you get down to it, gee king isn't so
bad." She paused to jump out at another child, screaming "Booo!"  The
child eeked and giggled, pleased, and went on.  "I wish you luck and
fortune," Niobe said.  "Say how is it you see me as a person?"  the
ghost asked. "I mean, most of the living folk don't "

"You are a person," Niobe said.  "I spun your thread myself.  I'm sorry
it was cut short."  "Oh you're Fate!  I didn't recognize you!"  "Few
do," Niobe said, and proceeded on after Chronos, who had backed up the
passage.

Why, she wondered, had Chronos chosen to make the change here?  It was
the next Chronos who had done it, the one coming from the future.  He
had not been bound to the site of birth, just to his moment of origin.
He picked the place he wanted, and his successor had to come to it and
take the Hourglass.  Exactly how the successor knew where to come she
was not sure; apparently there was a guidance in these things, and not
the normal guidance of Fate.  Lachesis had, of course, measured his
mortal thread, but when that person became Chronos, that deleted the
thread from the Tapestry as if it were an unscheduled demise.  Chronos
the one she had known so long had remarked that his mortal existence
had seemed pointless and dull jejune was the actual term he had used so
that when the opportunity came to become an Incarnation, he had taken
it.  But he hadn't realized that it meant living backward, or battling
Satan.

Well, she was about to learn about the future Chronos.  She watched
from a cranny of the horror house as the Chronos she knew backed to a
dark chamber illuminated only by the glow of the Hourglass.  From the
far side another figure came, walking forward.  The other Chronos!

No it was the one she knew!  She could tell by the way he moved.  He
walked forward, and the other walked backward, and they met in the
center of the chamber.  The

Hourglass flared.  Suddenly, in the glow of the Glass, there were
three:

two young women and a child!  Of all times for horror house customers
to pass through!

But the women looked oddly familiar.  Niobe saw one in silhouette as
she turned: wasp-wasted, hair flowing She stifled an exclamation.  It
was her double!  The double walked right toward her.  "Come with me,
Niobe," she said.  "I'll explain."  She took Niobe's hand.

Bemused, Niobe suffered herself to be led out of the dark chamber,
leaving the other women and the child behind.  What was happening?

Out in the light of day, her double turned to her with a smile.  "I am
yourself, two hours later," she explained.  "You remember how you
double up when you spend an hour in Chronos' mansion?"  Oh.  "Yes.  But
"

"There are three of you then," the other continued.  "Self One is the
one approaching the mansion; Self Two is the one within it, living
temporarily backward; and Self Three is the one living forward again,
after emerging.  You have always avoided each other before."  "Urn,
yes. But "

"Right now you are Self One.  I am Self Three.  Self Two is with
Chronos, living backward."  "But this is not his mansion!"

"He reversed us for an hour.  He wanted company to see him out.  He's
only a child, after all."

"The child I just saw?"

"Chronos can be any age or sex, as can any Incarnation," Self Three
reminded her.  "He'll tell you about it, as he told me.  I'm just
making sure you understand the situation."

Niobe took a deep breath.  "I think so.  But who who explained things
to you when you were Self One?  I mean, if we are all parts of the same
person "

"Self Three explained then, of course."

"But you are Self Three!"

"I am now.  Then I wasn't.  I was you."

"But "

The other laughed.  "Don't try to analyze it, self-sister!  You'll lose
your mind.  There really aren't three of us, just one in three
consecutive roles.  Remember, Chronos is immune from paradox, and so
are we when we interact with him."

Niobe nodded, though she felt dizzy.  "Now I know how Chronos felt when
he started in office, just a few minutes ago.  It's almost too much to
grasp!"

"I know.  But it's hard for the other Chronos, too.  He's afraid.  So
be kind to him; it won't hurt you.  I'm in a position to know."

Then they both laughed; they were by no coincidence very similar
people.

The two of them reminisced for the rest of the hour, finding themselves
compatible.  "We'll have to do this again some time!"  Self Three said,
and Niobe agreed.  "Next time we spend time in Chronos' mansion which I
don't think will be for lovemaking you come early, and I'll wait for
you."

"Agreed."  They shook hands.

Then, as the moment drew near, they returned to the chamber.  "We must
part," Self Three said, hugging her.  She was a very hug gable person.
"It's been nice talking with you."

"Yes," Niobe agreed.  She saw tears on the other's cheeks.  In all the
years she had been Clotho, she had never done this before.  Now she
realized what she had been missing.

Niobe entered the chamber, hesitated, turned and Self Three waved her
on.  So she walked to the center, where the child stood with the other
woman.  "Hello," she said.

",olleH" Self Two replied.

Then Self Two suddenly stepped backward into Niobe.  There was a mild
jolt, and Niobe stumbled forward.

"Hello," Niobe said.

",olleH" the other replied.  But the other was backing away.

"I guess you know I reversed you, Obe," the child said.

Startled, she looked at him.  He was about eight years old, with
tousled sun bleached hair and eyes as blue as her own.  He was indeed
Chronos, for he carried the glowing Hourglass.

"Yes," she agreed.  "You want company.  For the change."

"I've never died before," he confided.  "I just didn't want to do it
alone."

Niobe glanced about, seeing Self Three escorting Self One out or rather
in, as they were moving backward.  She was Self Two, now.  She had
exchanged greetings with her other self, coming and going.  To each, it
had seemed that the other had spoken second, because of the reversed
perspective.  Now she had another job to do.  "It's not death," she
said reassuringly.

"It's the same thing, for me," he said.  "I'll be in Heaven or Hell."

Niobe shifted to Lachesis, who checked her threads.  His was obscurely
looped back on itself, but seemed otherwise unsullied.  "Heaven, I'm
sure."  She changed back.

There were two chairs by the wall.  "I hope," he said as they sat.  "I
know I shouldn't worry, but I'm just a kid.  I'm scared!"  Then his
eyes brimmed over, and he was crying.

Niobe reached across and pulled him in to her bosom.  She had never in
her life been able to resist a person who required comforting, and she
understood tears about as well as anyone could.  "Of course you are,
dear, of course you are!"  she said soothingly.  "Not one of us is
sanguine about that."

Soon his tears abated, but she continued to hold him, much as she had
held his successor.  There were times when men of any age needed the
special favor of a woman's embrace.  It was too bad that people of
either sex tended to confuse this with sex.

"You know, Obe," he said, "when you came in, three years ago I guess it
was, maybe two, I was mad; I liked Lisa.  But when I got to know you, I
liked you even better.  You're prettier."

Lisa, evidently, was her successor two or three years hence.  Niobe
stifled her shock.  She had had no idea her own term was ending.
"Beauty is no indication of merit," she said.  "I'm sure Lisa was a
fine woman."

"Oh, sure.  And when she got mad at me, she'd tease me with that
gibberish language others.  But you "

Niobe changed the subject.  "How did you come to be Chronos?"  she
asked, glancing at the glowing Hourglass which floated before them.  He
had set it there when he started crying, and it remained.

"Oh, you know."  He straightened up, shrugging.

"I don't know," she reminded him.  "I wasn't there, remember?  Lisa
was."

"Oh, yeah.  Well, the Glass was going to be changed, but the guy coming
for it chickened out."  He smiled toothily.  "He saw it, and he ran! He
just got the hoorah out of there.  I was playing in the park, and I
just knew some one had to take it, so I just stepped up and grabbed.  I
was too young to know any better.  And here I am, eight years after.
Before, I mean."

"I'm surprised you were able to handle the job," she murmured.

"Aw, Maw Cheese showed me how.  I got the hang."

"Maw Cheese?"

"You know, Obe.  Your middle third."

Oh.  Lachesis.  The accent was properly on the first syllable, and the
eh was hard: LAKe-sis.  But obviously the child didn't take names
seriously.  Maw Cheese!  Lachesis snorted mentally.  This
whipper-snapper

"But I always liked you best, Obe, after Lisa went, though Atrapose is
okay too.  If I coulda gro wed up, I'da married you."

"Immortality does have its liabilities," Niobe said, smiling.

And so they talked, and Chronos was comforted, and as the hour ended he
was ready for the Afterlife.  In the final minute he lifted the
Hourglass, and Niobe bent to kiss him, and backed off.  As the
Hourglass was taken by the shadowy other Chronos, the spell of reversal
left her, and she moved toward again.

Quickly she intercepted the confused Self One.  "Come with me, Niobe,
I'll explain."  She led the woman' out before their presence could
interfere with the backward dialogue of Self Two and the juvenile
Chronos.  "I am yourself, two hours later," she explained, and went on
to clarify the situation.  Her prior self was duly impressed.  It was
fun, now that she knew what she was doing.

In due course she guided her other self back into the chamber, and
waved her on when she hesitated.  She watched as Self One and Self Two
merged and suddenly they were both gone.  There was only the child
Chronos, waiting nervously for his company.

How had he known she would come to him am to be reversed for that hour?
Obviously she had t( she would do it when the time came.  Nevertheless
a good thing that Chronos was immune to parade

She departed quietly.  She had had enough of this it was time to get
back to her regular business.

One thing stayed in her mind, though.  Three } or two until she left
her office!  To be replaced b

SECOND LOVE

From time to time Niobe checked on her mortal family.  The rawness of
the tragedy of the wedding eased.  Her son the Magician seemed to be
quite happy with his bride Blenda.  She was a schoolteacher, disdaining
to exploit her beauty by going into show business.  Blenda visited her
father, Pacian, often, making sure he took care of himself during his
bereavement.  It was her bereavement too, but she used a spell stone
her husband provided to damp its misery.  This was not, Niobe knew,
from any selfishness.  It was simply that, with a husband and a father
to attend to, and a class to teach, she could not afford to be
incapacitated at this time.  This was one of the benefits of modern
magic; it did make it easier for people to survive such crises.  Pcs'
ps it was for similar reasons Blenda postponed starting her own
family.

But Pacian was not doing as well.  He refused to use magic to
ameliorate his misery, and his suffering did not appear to ease with
time.  He maintained himself with solemn dignity, meeting his
commitments, keeping up his health, but he seemed to be aging too
rapidly.

Niobe was concerned.  As the mother of the Magician whom Satan had
sought to strike down, she felt a guilty responsibility for the tragedy
of the wedding.  Also, as an Aspect of Fate, she knew she should have
been able to balk Satan more effectively than she had.  So it was at
least in part her fault.  Pacian had been her son's best friend in
youth, virtually his brother; it was not right to let him suffer.

She visited him in her own form and apologized.  At first he hardly
listened, but then he remembered.  "You you are the Magician's
relative!  The one who posed with my daughter."

Niobe wrestled briefly with her sense of propriety and decided it
didn't matter.  "I am related to the Magician," she reminded him.
"Closely."

"He has no little sister," he said.  "I am his only cousin,
once-removed, so you cannot be related that way.  Yet you are strangely
familiar.  Exactly how are you related?"

She delayed a moment more, hesitating before the plunge.  "You have met
me before."

"I'm sure I have or someone like you.  It nags me every time I see you!
But I can't place the connection."

"Certainly you can.  I am the Magician's mother."

He laughed.  "Sure, and you're sixty years old!"

"Closer to sixty-two."

"I knew his mother when I was a boy.  She was the prettiest woman
extant!  But after she left Junior with us, she visited for a while,
then disappeared.  She had some kind of important job that took all her
time.  I think she just couldn't stand to stay around where cousin
Cedric had died."  Suddenly his animation deflated.  "I know the
feeling."

"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 for awhile  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
born 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
nodded.  "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 cloud bank 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 de
materialize 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 bone like 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!

"Is that coincidence?"  Niobe asked worriedly.

"Here?  I doubt it," he puffed.  "I don't think we can outrun it."  She
was alarmed.  Pacian ceased rowing.  His face was red from his effort.
"Another challenge?"  he gasped.  "I'm afraid so.  And this time we
can't retreat.  It would catch us in a moment."

He hefted a paddle, pondering.  "I suppose I could try to fend it off,"
he said.  "If it's big enough to take a bite of us, it's big enough to
get a paddle or a pole wedged edgewise in its mouth.  But I don't like
molesting wildlife.  After all, we are intruders on its preserve."
"You're a soft-hearted fool!"  she chided him.  "It runs in the
family," he agreed without rancor.

She was stricken.  He was right.  Once Cedric had taken to the
wilderness, he had refused to harm any of it.  And Junior's long
association with the hamadryad of the water oak had left him with a
profound appreciation of the magic of the wetlands.  She herself felt
the same.  Pacian was very much in that mold.

The leviathan drew near.  Its huge snout broke the surface of the
grass.  The thing was big enough to swallow them whole, raft and all!

"They say that music has charms to soothe the savage breast," Pacian
said.  "That is most often misquoted as 'savage beast."  It just may be
worth a try, rather than futile force."

Niobe liked the way his mind worked, but the leviathan terrified her.
Already its ponderous jaws were cranking open.  "You mean sing it a
song?"

"Sounds silly, I know but it's harmless, at least.  I have sung to the
animals on the farm with some success.  We can always try to fight, as
a last resort.  Have you any idea what it might like?"

Doing requests, for a monster?  Niobe found her mind largely blank.  "I
maybe a round "

He nodded agreement.  He faced the leviathan as if about to deliver a
speech.  He sang, crudely but adequately:

"Have you seen the ghost of Tom?  Round white bones with the flesh all
gone!

0-0-0-0-0-0-O!

Wouldn't it be chilly with no skin on!"

Niobe started to laugh, hysterically.  To sing a Halloween song to a
monster!

The leviathan paused in place.  The jaws stopped opening.  It was
listening, and like some animals, it could not focus its attention on
two things at once.

"Have you seen the ghost of Tom?"  Pacian sang, with greater volume and
confidence.  This time Niobe picked up on it, repeating the first line
as Pacian continued with the second line, for it was indeed a round. It
worked out rather prettily, despite the macabre and foolish words.

They went through it three times, and the leviathan did not move.
Whether it liked the song was uncertain; perhaps mere curiosity held
it.  But that was certainly preferable to an attack.

When they stopped, the jaws slowly resumed motion.  Quickly Pacian
started another song, one long beloved in his culture:

"0 Danny-Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling, From glen to glen and
down the mountainside ..."

Niobe joined in, making the harmony.  She had not sung like this since
her mortal days, and had almost forgotten how grand it was.

"The summer's gone, and all the leaves are falling ..."

Pacian turned while singing, and reached to take her hand.

""Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide."

And Niobe was transfixed as the song abruptly expanded to magnificent
sound.  He had the magic!  The same phantom orchestra that Cedric had
had when he sang.  The same phenomenal magnification of the music!

Of course!  This, too, ran in the family!  Not in every member, for her
son did not have it.  But here and there.  She had never guessed!  No
wonder Pace could pacify animals!

The leviathan was aware of it too.  Slowly, now, its jaws subsided, no
longer menacing the raft.  They had indeed found a way to soothe the
beast.

But Niobe's attention was only partly on that.  She had thought she
would never love again, after Cedric.  Now, suddenly, amazingly, she
knew it was possible.  The prophecy had not been based on what she
knew, but on what she would discover.

They finished the song, and the internal music faded.  The leviathan
did not resume its aggression, but Niobe now had need of more music. 
She clung to Pacian's hand, and started a song.

"In the gloaming, 0 my darling, when the lights are dim and low ..."

He joined the song and the music rose in them and surrounded them.

"Will you think of me, and love me, as you did once long ago?"

Even as she sang, Niobe felt the love expanding from her long-isolated
heart, encompassing her being.  The beginning of her love for Cedric
had come with the magic music.  She had not seized upon it, then, and
so had wasted much of the scant time they had had together.  She was
much older, and perhaps wiser now and she found herself entering into
it as into a primeval sea, gladly giving herself to its tide.  0 my
darling .. .

When the song ended and the music faded again, the leviathan was
satisfied.  It backed off slowly and turned about, and swam away.

"It seems we have navigated the crisis," Pacian said.  "Now we can go
to meet Mother Nature."  He reached for the oars.

Niobe put her hand on his arm again.  "Pace do we need to?"  He
considered, then laughed.  Then he drew her in to him, and they kissed.
The grand music encompassed them.  They reversed course and returned to
her Abode, and then to the realm of the mortals.  As they landed back
in his house, he said: "I don't think I'm going to be lonely anymore.
But let's not act precipitously."

"This is very sudden," she agreed.  "We can afford time to be sure it's
real."  But she already knew it was.

He nodded.  "And if it is " "Then I will retire on schedule, to become
mortal and be your wife."

"Fulfilling the prophecy," he agreed.

She left him without further comment.  The moment she was alone, a
babble broke out among her Aspects.  Did you feel that music?  He's a
rare one!  If that's what your first love was like, no wonder you
waited for his like!  We'll have to locate your successor,
whatshername.  Lisa.

When's the wedding?

"Enough, you hens!"  Niobe exploded.  "It's tentative!"

Lachesis snorted.  As tentative as a pregnancy, girl!  Indeed, all that
developed over the course of the following months was certainty.  Niobe
visited Pacian several times, and each time it was as if another layer
of love was added.  "I do love you.  Pace," she said.  "I must marry
you."

"I thought I would never be whole again, after I lost

Blanche," he said.  "But it is no denigration of her to confess that
now I love you as I did her.  When I was a child I adored you
hopelessly; now I am a man I have reason to live again.  It is as if
you were saved for the time in my life when I would most need you."  He
paused.  "Is that coincidence?"

She shook her head.  "I am an Aspect of Pate but my power is limited.
Lachesis handles the disposition of the threads of life I spin but her
power too is limited.  It was Satan's interference that caused me to
lose my spouse, and you yours.  Fate never planned those horrors, and
now the Tapestry is healing."

"Yet the prophecy "

She sighed.  "Yes, there must be a deeper current of Fate, beyond our
awareness, that the seers drew from.  Maybe our manipulations of the
Threads of Life are only to restore the pattern Satan sought to
disrupt.  It has made for a tangled skein!"

"Which our daughter and granddaughter will stand athwart," he agreed.
"But for the moment, there is only our love."

They kissed, and there was music.  He was right; their offspring might
be destined for horrendous adventures, but at the moment love made all
that beside the point.

In due course, as the time of her departure from office neared, Niobe
made it a point to bid adieu to her friends, the other Incarnations.
First she went to the Green Mother.  This time she had no trouble
reaching the domicile of Nature.  "You knew, didn't you?"  she charged
the woman.  "You arranged that challenge course!"

"Love is one of my Aspects," Gaea admitted.  "I knew your heart and
his.  I only facilitated what was inevitable."

"So we never even consulted you!"

"Not overtly."

"You are devious, Ge."

"Coming from Fate, that is indeed a compliment."

They embraced, and Niobe cried a little, and they parted.  Gaea's face
was serene but when Niobe stepped outside the domicile, she discovered
a gentle rain falling, and knew that Ge was crying too.

A few days later, in the course of routine business, she visited
Thanatos.  Pate worked most intimately with

Chronos, but she also had considerable interaction with Thanatos, for
the threads had to be terminated as well as started.  "I am soon to
return to mortality," she said.  "I pray you do not come too soon for
me or the man I love."

The death's-head smiled.  "I will postpone it as long as your successor
permits.  Who is she to be?"

"I don't know.  We are conducting a search, but no suitable prospect
named Lisa has shown up."

"Will Lisa be as pretty as you?"

"Not quite.  But you are sure to like her."

"I envy you, Clotho.  You are able to step down voluntarily, returning
to life.  I will be assassinated by my successor, even as I
assassinated my predecessor."

"Yet it was to Heaven you sent your predecessor, and to Heaven you will
go."

"That is a comfort," he agreed.

She embraced him, not repulsed by his skeletal hands, and she kissed
his grinning skull-face.  His business was grim, but he was a decent
person.  He was not the same one she had first met, but the office had
made him similar.

Her supply of yarn ran low, and she made her monthly trip to the Void
for more.  She wondered, as she often did, whether this monthly cycle
stood in lieu of the feminine cycle that had abated when she became
immortal.  There were, indeed, patterns she did not understand.

"So you are quitting, cutie," Satan said, appearing before her.

"Go to Hell," she told him shortly.

"You have been a delectable thorn in My side for too long," he
continued blithely.  "It will be an excellent riddance."

"Go damn yourself."

"I really will enjoy working over your successor, scrumptious."

She paused.  "Why so positive.  Lord of Flies?  Can it be that you
don't want me to go?"

He puffed smoke.  "Of course I want you to go!"  he said.

She nodded.  "Because I am fated to produce a mortal child who will be
a real pain in the tail for you."

He did not respond with the derogatory or cynical exclamation she
expected.  Instead he was oddly pensive.  "There are currents of
destiny that perhaps only God comprehends," he said.  "Our glimpses of
the future are fleeting and imperfect.  I have taken a reading on your
daughter and I see only a terrible storm perhaps forty years hence, and
she is caught up in it and so am I. I do not know the outcome."

Niobe suffered a chill.  "And one may marry Death, the other Evil," she
said, again recalling the prophecy.

"I am the Incarnation of Evil!"  he said.  "Why should I ever bind
Myself to a mortal woman?"

"She is to be an Incarnation."

Satan turned and paced in air, his gaze downcast.  He was almost
handsome in that moment of reflection.  "And what woman, whether mortal
or Incarnation, would ever bind herself to Me?"

It was a serious question.  "Only an evil one," Niobe said.

"Are you about to birth and raise an evil woman?"

"Of course not!"

"Of course not," he agreed.  "For you are indeed a good woman, as well
as a lovely one.  She can only oppose Me.  Yet the prophecy "

He was genuinely disturbed!  "Satan, what are you getting at?"

He faced her without any sign of cruelty or mockery.  "Simply this:
there is a tangle coming in your skein that neither of us understands.
Never would I bind Myself to a good woman, nor would she to Me.
Something very strange is brewing.  Let us avoid the whole issue, and
oppose each other on conventional grounds.  Keep your present office, 0
lovely woman!  Do not generate that child."

Niobe was astonished.  "You are pleading with me to do you a favor by
abrogating the fulfillment of my love?"

"I suppose I am, Clotho.  I can proffer inducement if you prefer.  I
could assume the likeness and manner of your "

"You're crazy!"

Satan sighed.  "No, I am evil, not crazy.  I have merely confirmed that
no decent woman would accept Me if she knew My nature, however I might
clothe Myself.  You know Me, therefore you will not do for Me what you
did for Chronos."

Niobe stared at him.  "You desire my favor?"

"I do desire it."

Almost, she felt sorry for him.  Then the memory of Cedric surged back,
and the emotion became anger.  "Well, you will never have it!"

"That I know.  Still I would have you remain in office."

"You should know better!"

"You will not do it?"

"I will not do it!"

Now he flared brightly with his abrupt fury.  "I tried to be
reasonable!  To be honest, though it pains Me!  I'm not good at it, I
know, but I did try.  Now you will feel the brunt of My wrath!"

"Go to Hell, Satan," she repeated mildly.

"And your child will suffer too!"  he cried as he faded out.  "You and
yours will rue this hour!"

He was gone and Niobe found herself shivering with reaction.  Had she
made a mistake by refusing to deal with Satan?  He had seemed oddly
pensive, and his expression of desire for her had seemed honest. Satan,
of course, had all the women he wanted, in all the forms he wanted, in
Hell yet none of them were good, by definition.  Did he have a
hankering for the opposite type?  Was there some good even in the
Prince of Evil?

Surely not!  Satan's designs were always evil, also by definition.  If
she opposed him, she was probably correct.  If he was angry, she should
be pleased.  She was fulfilling the vengeance she had so long sought
against him.

Yet Satan was also devious.  The Father of Lies knew how to deceive by
indirection as well as by direction.  Why had he come to her to make
his plea and why had he shown such obvious anger when she declined it?
That suggested that it was an act, and that she was in fact doing
exactly what he wanted.

She shook her head.  Her safest course was to pursue her course as she
intended, not allowing herself to be influenced in any way by Satan.
Still, it bothered her.  She brooded on it throughout her business in
the Void.  Would she and her daughter be vulnerable to Satan's wrath,
as mortals?

She visited Chronos next.  Mindful of his reversed timeline, she
phrased her farewell carefully.  "Hello, Chronos.  I thought I would
introduce myself, as we shall be working together for the next two or
three years.  I am Clotho, an Aspect of Fate."

"Oh, go on!"  the child snapped.  "You aren't Lisa!"

"Of course I'm not.  Lisa has gone mortal.  I am Niobe."  She smiled.

Chronos was eight years old, physically and emotionally.  He melted
like ice cream in the radiance of that smile.  "Gee, you sure are
pretty, Obe!  I guess you're okay!"

"I guess I am," she agreed.  "I know you and I will get along well."
She tousled his hair.

"Hey, wait a minute!"  he protested.  "You live forward, not backward
like me!  You've already been through it!"

She smiled again, daunting him.  "Smart lad!  Yes, I know you a good
deal better than you know me, though that will change as you advance
into my past.  But when your tenure comes to a close, and you are
afraid, I will come to you and hold your hand.  So don't annoy me,
okay?"

"Geez, it's weird having you come in like this, knowing so much!  Lisa
was sorta timid and sweet, specially at the end when she forgot my
language.  I'll sure miss her."

Forgot his language?  How could that be?  But Niobe preferred not to
discuss it with him.  "Just remember, sport I chose her."

"Yeah, I know.  Yesterday.  Funny thing, you coming up with her."

"What's so funny about bringing in a woman who can do the job?"

He stared at her a moment, then laughed teasingly.  "That's right!  You
don't know her yet.  You'll find out, Obe!"

"I'll find out," she agreed, kissed him on the forehead, shifted to
spider form, and climbed out of his sight.  He always enjoyed that
trick.

This was getting stranger.  First Satan's pointless offer and threat,
then Chronos' reaction.  Chronos knew something she didn't, of course.
They had been searching diligently for Lisa, and still had not found
her, one day before the event.

What would happen if they failed to find her?  Would there be another
snarl in the threads, pinching the Tapestry, and could Niobe find
herself stranded in office, unable to turn mortal and marry Pacian? Was
that the mischief Satan contemplated?

No, it couldn't be, for the change to Lisa had occurred tomorrow;
Chronos remembered it, and Chronos was no tool of Satan's.  She really
didn't need to worry about it;

what would be would be and she would be mortal, tomorrow.

But tomorrow came with no further illumination.  There was no sign of
Lisa even as the hour approached.  Niobe's better two-thirds were as
mystified as she was.  "The thread has to be here in the Tapestry,"
Lachesis said.  "But nothing distinguishes it.  So it is lost until we
find it.  There simply is no signal that Lisa is to step out of life
and into Pate."

"I'll bid farewell to Mars," Niobe decided.  "Then it will be time, and
we'll see."

She sailed down a thread to the spot on Earth where Mars was working.
This was the great double city of Budapest, at the moment torn by
strife.  Huge Soviet tanks were moving in the streets, and buildings
were burning.

She landed on a street beside him.  Mars, too, was different from the
one who had been in office when she first came to Purgatory.  She
wasn't certain what the mechanism for his changing was, but it seemed
to occur irregularly and without warning.  But this one had been in
office for several years, and she liked him well enough, considering
the differences in their philosophies.  "Mars, I came to say
good-bye."

He glanced at her.  "Ah, so soon, lass?  There'll never be a sweeter or
prettier Clotho than you!  Give me a buss!"

She submittted to his embrace and hugged him back.  She had had
liaisons with him on occasion, as appropriate, and so had Lachesis. 
"How's it going.  Warrior?"

He released her.  "Always a novelty!  See that line of refugees?"

She looked where he pointed.  A seemingly endless line of bedraggled
civilians were walking along the side of the street, going north.
Obviously they had been bombed out of their homes and were fleeing to
whatever safety they could find.

Now he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face the other way.
"And those?"

She looked dutifully.  Another line of refugees was traveling south.
"But they're each going where the other's coming from!"  she
exclaimed.

"True.  What do you make of that?"

"It has to be a tragedy!  No hope for either group!"

"Now you have it, lass," he agreed gruffly.  "War is hell."  She knew
better, but she couldn't help herself.  She challenged his rationale:
"How can you encourage such an appalling situation.  Mars?  Those are
living, feeling people there, surely innocent of the causes of this
war!"

Mars, always ready for combat, answered without hesitation.  "Aye,
lass, that they are, by your definition.  But not by mine!  They sought
freedom, so brought this consequence on their heads!"

"Freedom?"

He nodded.  "Freedom to speak, to assemble, to read, to choose their
own work.  They forgot they were a satellite nation.  Those tanks are
here to remind them."

"And you approve of this?"  she demanded incredulously.

"To be sure!  Freedom is the most precious thing man can grasp, and its
price is commensurate.  These people suffer to prove that they are
worthy of what they seek, and I'm proud of them!"

"And what of the tanks?"

"I am proud of them, too."

"Oh, Mars, you're impossible!  I wish I could save even one of those
poor souls!"

Mars made a gesture that included both lines of refugees.  "Take your
pick, Clotho."

"What?"

"If you are exchanging your office in a few minutes, you can do it with
one of these.  She, at least, can be spared."

The incredible boot!  Lachesis thought.

But it may be true, Atropos replied.  "All right, I will!"  Niobe
walked out to the line going north and stopped the first young woman
she spied who seemed to be traveling alone.  She was a dark-haired,
pretty girl of perhaps twenty, toting a large suitcase.  She stared at
Niobe.

"Would you like to become Fate?"  Niobe asked.  The woman's large eyes
looked at her blankly.  "To exchange places with me and be forever free
of this?"

The woman spoke unintelligibly.  Of course!  Atropos thought.  She's
Hungarian!  Doesn't Mars speak all tongues?  Lachesis thought.  "Yes!"
Niobe said.  She took the woman by the hand and tugged her across the
street toward the Incarnation of War.  The woman seemed to have been
stunned by the horror of the violence around her.  Perhaps she thought
Niobe was offering her a place to stay in safety for the night.

"Mars, tell her," Niobe ordered.  "Ask her to exchange."

Mars spoke to the woman in her language, gesturing to Niobe.  The woman
shook her head, not believing it.  Then a shell landed nearby, blowing
out part of a building, and the woman changed her mind.  She nodded
affirmation.  "Any port in a storm," Mars translated.  It was Atropos'
turn to handle the change.  She assumed the body.  "Farewell, Niobe,"
she said.  "It has been a pleasure working with you."

Good-by, sister Aspect, Lachesis thought, giving her a mental kiss.

Atropos took the woman's hand and Niobe found herself standing
separately, in her own body, facing Atropos.  "Farewell, sister
Aspects!"  she cried and as always, tears flowed.

Mars touched one of his pockets and brought out a fragment of reddish
stone.  "Take this, Niobe," he said gruffly.  "It is from my planet. It
will guard you from harm until you can reach your destination." Niobe
took the stone.  She opened her mouth to thank him.  Another shell
burst, close by, momentarily blinding her and causing her to cower.
When she straightened up, both Mars and Fate were gone.  She was on her
own.  Deprived of her two alternate Aspects, she felt abruptly naked.
They and immortality were no longer part of her.  Her tears
continued.

But she could not remain here, crying in the street of the war-torn
city.  She knew where she was going.  She hefted the suitcase and
started walking.

TWIN MOONS

Thanks to the Mars fragment, she made her way safely from Budapest,
across the Iron Curtain, and to Ireland, where Pacian was waiting for
her.  She was tired and bedraggled and felt exceedingly mortal, but she
was ready to marry him.

But first she consulted with her son the Magician.  "Satan swore to
harass me and mine," she said.  "Is it possible to be secure from
this?"

"Satan is constrained to operate somewhat through channels," he
replied.  "My power does not approach his, but I can protect us all
from his mischief."  He gave her a bright green garnet, mounted on a
silver chain.  "Wear this always.  Mother, and you will be secure.  I
will see to the daughters in their turn."

"Thank you, son," she said, smiling.  He was now forty, she
twenty-four, physically.

"And one for Pace," he said, handing her another.

The wedding was in spring, and by summer Niobe was pregnant.  The
Magician's wife, Pacian's daughter Blenda,

turned up pregnant that same summer, after five years of marriage, by
what coincidence or design only Lachesis might know.  Niobe and Blenda
took walks together and compared notes, still seeming like sisters
though Blenda was now five years older physically.

When spring came again, both women gave birth to daughters within a
week of each other.  Niobe named hers Orb and Blenda named hers Luna,
for they were like twin moons.  The Magician presented each baby with a
polished moonstone, to protect her from misfortune.

The two girls were raised together and were amazingly similar even
after allowing for the fact that they were closely related.  Niobe and
Pacian were the ancestors of both; strangers assumed that Orb and Luna
were twins.  The Magician still tended to bury himself in his studies,
and Blenda had retired from teaching in order to assist him, so that
Luna would spend days at a time at Niobe's house.  Pacian, always a
farmer, was now going into tree farming, gradually remaking the
wetlands without destroying it; this took long hours.  Thus most of the
child care fell to Niobe.  She loved it.  She had given up her first
child.  Junior, and now was glad to make up for it by raising two.  It
was her fulfillment as a mother, forty years delayed.

She put them together in a double pram for walks through the
countryside and, when they grew old enough to do their own walking, she
took them through the wetlands to admire the fine magical trees Pacian
was cultivating.  Sometimes they would ride their family carpet to the
place where she and Cedric had lived.  The old cabin had been replaced
by a modern bungalow, complete with electricity and central heating,
but the old water oak remained.  The hamadryad was now a middle-aged
nymph, showing it more by manner than by form, but she remembered
Niobe, once she introduced herself, and came down cautiously to play
with the little girls.  Niobe was as happy as she had ever been,
despite the nostalgia.  But she always made sure both girls were
wearing their protective moonstones, for Satan could be lurking,
awaiting his chance for mischief.

The children reached school age, and Niobe took them there together and
got them enrolled.  She had to wrestle verbally with the clerks who
assumed that two similar children whose surname was Kaftan had to be
sisters if not twins.  "Orb is mine, Luna is my son's child."  They
stared at her, for she was physically thirty.

Both girls were bright as well as pretty.  Niobe's side of the family
accounted for the beauty, and the Kaftan side accounted for the
brilliance.  It was genetics more than merit, but still she was
inordinately proud.

As school progressed, the girls became more differentiated.  They
adopted different clothing and hairstyles;

one would wear pink, the other green, and then they would switch.  One
would grow her hair long, while the other cut it short and again they
would switch.  Luna's hair was clover-honey, like her mother's, and her
eyes were pearl-gray; Orb's hair was buckwheat-honey, like Niobe's, and
her eyes pale blue.  But they could still be very similar when they
chose.

Luna became interested in art, while Orb liked music.  Luna showed real
talent with pictures, proceeding from crayons to pastel chalk to
watercolors and finally to oil;

her efforts were always prominently represented in class shows.  Orb
started with the guitar and gravitated to the piano, then centered on
the harp.  She had genuine talent for it, and when she was ten, she
gave a recital of The Shepherd's Song that sounded so like the magic
music her father and grandfather had had that Niobe was stunned.  She
had the magic and it reached a short way out beyond physical contact to
touch those who listened closely.  The audience, though it heard only
the physical music, was still entranced, and applauded her
enthusiastically.

By the time they were twelve, both girls were almost as pretty as their
mothers had been, and their talents were solidly established.  "It's
time they had better equipment," Pacian said and he took Niobe to see
the Magician.

"The instruments exist," the Magician said.  "But they have to be won.
They are in an annex to the Hall of the Mountain King.  The King
sleeps, but an attempt to steal anything would wake him, and that would
be unfortunate."

"I don't want them stealing anything!"  Niobe protested.  "They're
honest girls!"

The Magician smiled tolerantly.  "To be sure.  Mother.  But you must
understand the Mountain King's definition.  He will freely give the
instruments to any person he deems worthy of them but what he calls
worthy, we might call theft."

"That's preposterous!"

"Not so.  Mother," he informed her patiently.  "A person who can take
the instrument deserves it; the one who cannot, but who tries to, is a
thief."

"There are standards an examination?"

"A series of three challenges to gain entry," he said, "Then a
demonstration of proficiency for the specific instrument."

"Challenges?"  She wasn't sure she liked the sound of it.  Not for
twelve-year-old girls.

"The Annex is deep in the mountain, of course.  There are cliffs,
pitfalls, monsters that sort of thing.  Routine."

"Routine!  I'm not sending my child or yours into that!

Those girls are only "

"Twelve years old," he finished for her.  "Mother, the challenges are
only illusions.  No danger as long as the unworthy person does not
attempt to steal an instrument."

Now it was coming clear.  "They run the course and if they get through
without making an error, then they can try for the prizes?"

"Precisely.  And if they do make an error, they have simply to depart
immediately, without waking the King.  He gets angry when awoken."

"And proceeding on, after an error, wakes him?"

"Yes.  It really isn't wise to do that."

She pondered.  "Exactly what would happen if he wakes?"

"He would turn the challenges real."

"Real pitfalls, instead of illusory ones?"

"That's it.  Mother," he said with the calmness that a person of normal
intelligence assumes when dealing with one of limited intellect.  "And
if that person attempts to steal "

"Then not that our girls would, but ?"

"Then the Mountain King would personally intervene.  I could not
protect them in the King's hall; he is omnipotent there.  The
moonstones protect them from evil, but the Mountain King is not evil,
just tough. But it should never come to that."

"I wouldn't let them take the risk!"

He shrugged.  "Why don't you go along to chaperone them?  Then you can
be sure they don't do anything foolish.  The Mountain King is a fair
man; he will not bother anyone who honors his rules."

"I can do that?  Run the challenges with them?"

"Of course you can.  Mother!"  he said, as if her intellect had turned
out to be below his already-modest expectations.  "The King is not
fussy about details.  I would take the girls in myself, but he wouldn't
tolerate my presence.  Rival magic, you know."

"The instruments are good ones?"

"The best that exist.  Mother," he assured her patiently.  "State of
the art."

She sighed.  "Then I'll do it."

She took them in, parking the car beside the huge sign:

MOUNTAIN KING ANNEX.  They entered the marked aperture, which resembled
a jewel-encrusted cave.  The girls were thrilled and nervous.  They had
heard stories about the nefarious halls of the Mountain King, but had
never hoped to visit them personally.  They had wanted to dress
prettily, but Niobe had insisted on jeans and sneakers.  "This isn't a
fashion show!"  she snorted.

Inside were signs with arrows: TOURISTS CHALLENGES.  They took the
latter direction.

The passage opened into a large cave with a rocky floor.  A painted
yellow line wound around between the rocks to the far side.  Several
motorcycles were parked at the near side.  A big sign said

INSTRUCTIONS.

Niobe moved over to read the sign.  Smaller print on it clarified the
conditions of the challenge.  She read and whistled.  "This really is a
challenge!"

The girls read the sign.  "Mother, we can't do that!"

Orb protested.

"I confess I don't like it," Niobe agreed.  "But remember: the hazards
are not real.  They're illusions."

The challenge was to ride a motorcycle along the line, which was the
only safe route across the minefield.  Because this was the first, one
error was permitted.  Because the mines were illusions, they would
merely flash brightly when set off, rather than blow the transgressor
apart.  "How sweet of the Mountain King," Niobe murmured with a certain
irony.

"But if we set off two," Luna said, "we can't get our instruments?"

"That's right, dear.  Because if we took anything after failing the
challenge of passage, those mines would become real."  It was, she had
to admit, a nice device of selection.  Those who could handle the
challenges would have no problem; those who could not would be absolute
fools to trigger the non-illusory threats.  The Mountain King played a
hard but fair game.

"Ooo," Orb murmured softly.  She was the more reactive of the two,
quicker to turn on or off, quicker to anger or to forgiveness.  "But if
we play the game honestly, we have nothing to fear."

"That's right.  That's a good rule for life."  Niobe looked at the
motorcycles, and at the minefield, and the meandering line.  How much
clearance was there on either side of it?  And the girls neither had
ridden more than a bicycle before.  One would be sure to waver too far.
This was too much of a challenge!

"I'd better take you across, one at a time," Niobe decided.  "The
largest cycle will handle two."

She wheeled out the large motorcycle, started it trusting that the cave
was large enough to handle the fumes of the exhaust and rode it up and
down the side, making sure she had the hang of it.  Obviously the
Mountain King had expected a man to challenge, rather than a woman and
girls.  When she was satisfied, she put Orb on it behind her, the girl
clasping her about the middle, and rode up to the side again.  "Now
lean with me when I make the turn," she said.  "The balance has to be
just so, as with a bicycle."

"Yes, Mother."

"Luna, you have the eye for depth.  You watch us, and cry warning if I
seem to be misjudging a curve."

"Yes, Grandma."  The girls enjoyed their real relationships in private;
in public they preferred to consider themselves cousins.

Niobe nerved herself and started along the line.  The first curve went
well, but when she hit the reverse curve, Orb got confused and started
to lean the wrong way.  She corrected herself in a moment, but it was
enough to nudge the cycle off the mark.  A mine was touched, and a
brilliant flash blinded her.

"I can't see!"  Niobe cried.

"Neither can I!"  Orb screamed.

The motorcycle wavered as she tried to guide it along the course by
memory.  But she knew it was hopeless; by the time her vision
recovered, she would be in the middle of the mines, and thoroughly
disqualified.  Unless

"Luna!"  she called.  "Can you see?"

"Yes," Luna replied.  "You're drifting right."

"Direct me!"

Luna was a smart and levelheaded girl.  She understood immediately.
"Bear left."

Niobe obeyed, maintaining a velocity so the cycle would not waver out
of control.

"Now turn right, slowly," Luna called.  "A little more yes.  And
straight.  Coming up is an acute left turn make it sharp on the mark.
Ready mark!"

Niobe and Orb leaned left, and they made a sharp left turn.

"Now go straight nudge right yes now an S-turn, right then left, not
too sharp more right now edge left more that's it and right again.  Now
straight;

you're almost there."

Thus did they navigate the field without setting off another mine.
Niobe parked the motorcycle, waited a few minutes for her vision to
clear, then rode back alone to fetch Luna.  "You did a good job there,"
she told the girl.  "Your judgment has preserved our chance to win
through."  The girl flushed prettily with pleasure.

The second trip across was less eventful; sight and experience made all
the difference.  They parked the motorcycle and walked down the passage
to the next challenge.

This turned out to be a subterranean river, broad and deep, with a wire
mesh fence bisecting it lengthwise, barring passage across it.  But
there was another explanatory plaque.  "This is a section of the River
Lethe," Niobe read aloud.  "One drop in the mouth will cause a person
to forget for a moment; one swallow will cause forgetfulness for an
hour.  Water in eyes will cause the forgetting of the ability to see.
Beware lethal monster who patrols at irregular intervals."

"That's funny!"  Orb exclaimed.  "The lethal monster swims in Lethe!"

"Not funny if it catches you," Luna reminded her.

"We shall have to swim across," Niobe said.  "The problem is the
barrier in the center we'll have to dive under it.  That means closing
the eyes tightly.  We'd better do it singly, with the others watching
while one dives."

"But our clothing!"  Orb protested.

"You're right.  We'll have to leave it here.  We don't want to carry
the water of Lethe around with us!  Also, wet clothing is no fun."

"But we have no bathing suits!"  Luna said.

Niobe looked at her.  "Dear, soon enough you will be proud to stand
nude for self-portraits.  There are occasions when modesty is
dispensable.  This is one such.  We are all family and female, and the
Mountain King is asleep.  No one will see.  I daresay this is part of
his challenge:

have we the courage to go naked to his lair?  Remember, the danger is
only illusion; if we gulp the water we will not actually forget, we'll
merely disqualify ourselves and have to give up the quest.  The real
test is modesty."  She proceeded to undress, carefully folding her
clothing and setting it well clear of the water.

Luna shrugged and followed her example, not unduly sensitive about the
matter.  After a pause.  Orb followed suit, obviously less at ease.
They were, at this age, in the process of developing, neither women nor
children, and were understandably somewhat reticent about exposure. 
The Mountain King was giving this party a greater variety of challenge
than anticipated.

"Now we can dog-paddle to the barrier," Niobe said.  "Right after the
monster passes.  Who's first?"

Orb shrugged.  "I'll try it.  Someone yell if the monster turns back."
They waited, watching for the lethal monster.  In a moment it appeared
a globular mass of jelly that seemed to have forgotten its original
form.  "Ooh, ugh!"  Orb exclaimed.

"It's only illusion," Niobe reminded her firmly.  "But don't let it
catch you.  Now scoot!"  She slapped the girl on her bare bottom.

Startled, Orb stepped into the water and dog-paddled across, glancing
nervously after the monster.  "Remember no peeking!"  Niobe called.
"Keep your eyes closed after you come up on the other side, until
you're sure the water's clear."

Orb nodded, then took half a breath, squinched her eyes shut, and
dived.  Her legs went up, then slid under.  Both girls were good
swimmers; it was only the special nature of this challenge that made
the swimming awkward.  In a moment she came up on the far side, eyes
and mouth still firmly closed, and resumed her dog-paddling in the
wrong direction.  She was swimming downstream instead of across.

"You're going wrong!"  Niobe called.  "Turn about!"

The girl, still sightless, didn't understand.  She reversed course, now
swimming upstream, making little headway.

"The monster's coming back!"  Luna whispered.

"She'll never avoid it!"  Niobe said tersely.  "I'll go get her clear!"
She waded in and stroked as swiftly as she could without splashing.
Fortunately the monster was slow; she outdistanced it.  She closed her
mouth and eyes and dived, finding the bottom of the barrier and hauling
herself under.  Then she angled for the surface in the direction she
hoped Orb was.  Her head broke water, dripping and she didn't dare open
her eyes.

"To your left!"  Luna called.

Niobe lunged left, and encountered one of Orb's arms.

"But the monster's between you and the shore!"  Luna called.  "You
can't get by it!  It's turning toward you!"

"This way!"  Niobe ordered Orb.  "To the barrier!"  She side-stroked
back, half-hauling the girl along with her other hand.  She found the
wire.  "Climb up it; you don't need to look!"

Wordlessly, the girl obeyed.  Niobe made sure Orb had hold of the wire,
then let go of her and used hands and feet to climb up out of the
water.

Once clear, she used the back of her hand to wipe out both eyes, then
cracked one open.  Orb was beside her, climbing blindly up the barrier.
The monster was below, trying to find them; its limp tentacles flailed
about.

"Up here, idiot!"  Niobe told it.

The monster heard and tried to reach out of the water, but its
substance was too flabby for support.  It could not extend any part of
itself beyond the river.  After a while it gave up and drifted on
downstream.

"Very well," Niobe said.  "Orb, clear your eyes and climb down.  We'll
swim the rest of the way across."

They did so.  Then Luna crossed and, with the help of Niobe's called
instructions, managed to avoid all hazards.  They had surmounted the
second challenge.

Naked, they proceeded to the third.  This one turned out to be awesome;
it was a deep chasm, crossed by a narrow rope bridge.  They would have
to walk or crawl across it.  There was another instruction plaque that
said

BEWARE OF THE VAMPIRE BAT.

That needed no clarification.  Obviously a bite by that bat would
disqualify them and the bat would attack whoever was on the bridge. But
the instructions advised them that one of the magic wands could be used
to fend off the bat.  Sure enough, there was a rack holding three
wands.

One for each of them.  How convenient!  Or was it coincidence?  Niobe
didn't quite trust this, but saw no alternative to proceeding.  They
were two-thirds of the way through; it would be a shame to muff it
now.

Orb stared down into the gulf and shuddered.  "I don't think I can "

"Nonsense," Niobe said, though she herself found the depth of the chasm
awesome.  "Remember it's illusion.  If you lose your balance, you won't
get hurt; you'll just be disqualified."

"Oh, yes," she said, brightening.  "It's just a flat floor, like the
mine caves, and the bridge's a line through it."

"But we'll be careful, anyway," Niobe cautioned them.

"I'll go first," Luna volunteered.  She took a wand, held it firmly in
her right hand, and stepped out on the bridge.  It sank beneath her
weight, startling her, but she kept her balance and walked on.

"Ooo, it's swinging!"  she exclaimed as she moved over the gulf. Indeed
it was, swinging grandly back and forth like a pendulum.

"Compensate!"  Niobe called.  "You're all right!"

Luna did, and continued across.  At midpoint the bat appeared.

The thing was huge and ugly.  Bright red eyes stared at the prey.  The
black wings spread out a good yard.  As it approached, the draft from
those wings blew Luna's hair back and made her lose confidence.

"Fend it off with the wand!"  Niobe called.  "Just stand there, keep
your balance, and point the wand at it."

Luna tried, but she was now quite nervous.  The bat flew at her; she
lunged with the wand.  The bat sheered away.  She lost her balance and
started to fall.

"Grab the bridge!"  Niobe cried.

The girl dropped the wand and grabbed the bridge with both hands,
hugging it.  The wand plunged into the chasm, slowing turning in the
air, taking a long time to fall.  Some illusion!

The bat, seeing the girl helpless, banked and came back.

Niobe charged out onto the bridge.  Her long experience with the
threads of Fate made her competent; she wasn't worried about missing a
step or falling.  TShe almost dived at the bat as it came down, jamming
the end of the wand into its furry body.  There was no resistance; the
wand passed through.  The bat shrieked almost audibly and lurched away,
seemingly hurt.

"Get up, girl," Niobe snapped.  "Go on across."

"I can't!"  Luna cried.  Indeed, she was in tears.  She was a sensible
girl, but she was, after all, only twelve.

"Then crawl across!  I'll protect you."

This the girl could do.  She scrambled on hands and knees, while Niobe
followed her and watched the bat.  The creature tried to come in for
another pass, looked at Niobe's militant stance, and stayed clear.

On the far side, Luna was able to stand again.  She was all right.

"Your turn, Orb," Niobe called.  "Can you make it yourself, or shall I
come to help you?"

Orb looked at the swinging bridge, and at the hovering bat.  "I you'd
better come."

Niobe walked back, holding off the bat with a mere glance.  It had come
to know the difference between a frightened girl and an embattled
woman.  "All right walk ahead of me.  I'll protect your rear.  Just
focus on Luna over there and keep your balance.  It's not hard."

"How can you be so brave?"  the girl asked, awed.

"I'm a mother.  It comes with the office."  It was an offhand quip, but
Orb took it seriously.  "Having a child makes you brave?"

"When you have something you would die to protect, it ceases to be a
matter of courage," Niobe explained.  "You just know what you have to
do and you can't afford fear."

They moved on across.  The bat came at them, and Orb cowered.  "Get
away!"  Niobe screamed at the bat.  "Or I'll ram this down your throat,
batbrain!"

It spun in the air and fled.  Even illusions could be cowed!

"Why is it afraid of you?"  Orb asked, amazed.

"Because I wasn't bluffing," Niobe answered.  "I would wring its neck
if it touched you, and it knows it."

"Oh, Mother!"  "Any parent would do the same.  You will, when you are
one."

They made it across.  Luna shook her head.  "You've had to save us each
time.  Grandma.  We'd never have made it alone."

"It's a cooperative effort.  But I think you'll have to win your
instruments for yourselves."

They walked to the next chapter.  There were two cabinets.  In one was
a paintbrush with a silver handle; in the other was a miniature golden
harp.

"This is it," Niobe said.  "There are your instruments."

"But " Luna said.  "How do we ?"

Niobe looked around.  She saw no instruction plaque.  "I think you have
to figure that out for yourselves."

Luna shrugged.  She stepped up, opened the cabinet doors, and took the
brush.  She made a pass in the air and the brush left a smear of yellow
hanging there, unsupported.

Surprised, she moved the brush again, marking an X across the smear.
Black appeared, a big X in air.

"It makes color from thought!"  Luna exclaimed, pleased.

She went to work seriously, erasing the smear and X with deft strokes,
then painting a picture of Niobe.  Luna, young as she was, was good; it
was a remarkably accurate rendition.  Niobe had never seen the girl
paint so fast and well before.  Of course, she wasn't totally thrilled
to have herself painted nude at the physical age of thirty-six; she had
put on some weight and was no longer the most beautiful woman extant.
The stretch marks from birthing Orb didn't help.  But she wasn't in a
position to protest; she wanted Luna to paint well enough to win the
brush.  The instrument was obviously ideal.

Then Luna added a gauzy halo of almost colorless paint.  "What are you
doing?"  Niobe asked.

"Painting your aura," Luna replied.

"My ?"

"I can see it, so I'm painting it."

Niobe was silent.  If what the girl said was true, she had more talent
than anyone had judged.

Luna paused and stepped back.  "There," she said.  She had painted a
huge seashell partly enclosing the figure.  "Nude Grandmother on the
half-shell."

"For pity's sake!"  Niobe exclaimed with mock annoyance, and Orb
giggled.

Then the picture moved in the air.  It tilted, developed a frame, and
moved into the cabinet.  The glass doors closed.

"I think your picture has been accepted," Niobe said.  "You have earned
the brush."

"Oh, goody!"  Luna exclaimed.  "Thank you, Mountain King!  I'll use it
always!  It's the best brush I ever dreamed of!"

Now it was Orb's turn.  She opened the cabinet and lifted out the
golden harp.  It was small, but exquisitely crafted, surely the finest
instrument of its kind.  She seated herself cross-legged on the floor,
set the base of the harp within the circle of her legs so she could
hold it steady, and touched the strings with her Fingers.  A fine chord
sounded.  "Ooo, it's truly magic!"  she exclaimed.  "I can really play
this!"

Orb paused a moment, mentally selecting a song.  Then she began
singing, accompanying herself on the harp.

"I want to waltz in the wetlands ..."

Niobe was astonished.  She hadn't known that Orb knew that song; she
must have learned it at school.  She was doing it very well, and the
magic harp amplified both the sound and the natural magic she had, so
that the background orchestra sounded loud and clear and
stereophonic.

Twelve years old!  How well would Orb sing and play and project when
she achieved her full proficiency?  Probably well enough to turn
professional, if she chose.

"Yes I will cry I'll cry when the wetlands are dry," Orb finished and
bowed her head.  There were tears on her cheeks, and on Luna's and
Niobe's too; it had been truly beautiful.  Then the song sounded again
but Orb wasn't singing or playing.  The cabinet was doing it.  The song
had been recorded, magic orchestra and all!

The replay ended, and the cabinet doors closed.  This, too, had been
accepted.  Orb had won her harp.

"It's done," Niobe said, relieved.  "Now we can go home."  They started
back.  The bat cave had been turned off,

and was now apparent as a concavely curving floor eighteen inches below
the swinging bridge; the bat was a transparent light projection.  The
wand Luna had dropped lay on the stone; its long fall had been
illusion.  There had, indeed, been no danger.

"To think I crawled on hands and knees!"  Luna said ruefully.

"As a challenge, it was valid," Niobe said, picking up the wand to
replace it in the wand-holder.  "Even illusions can hurt, as when we
were blinded.  Life is like that too;

the unreal can be as important as the real, and sometimes it becomes
real."  She was consciously lecturing the girls, knowing that all too
soon they would enter the arena of social and sexual awareness, where
the pitfalls were indeed of perception.

They crossed, not bothering to use the bridge, and took the tunnel to
the next chamber.  This was unchanged;

there really was a river and a barrier.

"That's a relief," Luna said.  "I'd hate to think I went naked to swim
through water that didn't exist!"

"But now it's just water," Orb said, scooping up a handful and sipping
it.  "And no blubber monster."

They waded in, the girls holding their instruments clear of the water
as long as they could.  There was a momentary flicker of light.  Then
Orb dived under the barrier and came up on the other side.  She took a
breath as she broke the surface and screamed.

Niobe halted at the barrier.  "What is it, dear?"  she called,
alarmed.

"I can't see!"  Orb cried.  "I'm blind!  I'm blind!"  She flailed
about, dropping the harp, which sank to the bottom.

"Wait, dear!"  Niobe cried.  "Relax!  It can't be "

"Where am I?"  Orb cried, still flailing.  "How did I get here?  Why
can't I see?"

Niobe exchanged glances with Luna, whose mouth opened in an appalled 0.
"The Lethe!"  the girl whispered.  "It's on again!"

"And this time it's real!"  Niobe exclaimed.  "Something's wrong!"

The lethal monster appeared, moving slowly toward

Orb.

"Get back out of the water!"  Niobe cried to Luna.  "I'll rescue her!"
She took a breath, closed her eyes, and dived under the barrier.  She
was able to spot Orb by the noise of her splashing.  She took hold of
the girl and used the life-saving technique to haul her along.  Niobe
had to trust that her sense of direction was true and that she was
swimming for the opposite bank.  She did not dare open her eyes, or try
to speak to her daughter; some water would be sure to splash in.  She
had no notion how close the monster was; she just had to keep them
moving.

She made it.  She found the bank and hauled Orb out.  She cleared her
eyes, then shook the girl by the shoulders to get her attention.  "Be
still.  Orb!  You've been dosed with the water of Lethe, so you can't
see or remember, but the effect is temporary.  Soon you will see and
remember.  Just relax.  Relax!"

Slowly the girl calmed.  "Oh, Mother," she cried, and hugged Niobe.
"I'm so scared!"

So she remembered the basic relationship.  Probably it was only the
most recent events that were gone.  "It will pass," Niobe reassured
her.  "You're not hurt, just inconvenienced for a few minutes.  Just
sit here and don't move."  Then she looked across the river.  Luna was
standing on the far side.  "Are you all right, Luna?"  "I'm all right,"
the girl called.  "Should I cross?"  Niobe considered momentarily. 
"No. Go to the other cave and see whether it too has been reactivated.
Don't try to cross it, though!"

"I wouldn't dare!"  Luna said seriously.  She disappeared into the
tunnel.

Orb's tears seemed to help clear the spell from her eyes,

"Mother!  I can see a little!"

"Yes, of course, dear," Niobe said, expressing more confidence than she
had felt.  "Just have patience, and you will soon be back to normal."

After a while that seemed longer than it was, Luna returned.  "It's
back," she reported.  "I knelt at the edge and reached down, and I
couldn't feel the floor at all.  Then the bat came, and I ran."

How did the illusion of a chasm become real, Niobe wondered.  An
eighteen-inch fall could not duplicate the effect of a hundred-foot
fall.  But she was sure that chasm was now there.  The Mountain King's
magic was no illusion!

"You'd better come across, then," Niobe decided.  "It's easier for you
than it would be for Orb, and I think we can handle the mine-chamber
better."

"What happened?"  Orb asked as Luna crossed.  Evidently her memory had
not caught up to the last few minutes.

"We were crossing the river and the magic came on," Niobe said.  "I
don't know why.  It's as if we were suddenly considered thieves instead
of worthy winners."

"But we're not thieves!"  Orb protested.

"Of course we're not!"  Then something occurred to her.  "But maybe
there is a thief, somewhere in here, and he activated the magic and we
got caught."

"But we saw no one else!"

"True."  Niobe sighed; it had been such a good explanation.  Then she
thought of an answer.  "One could have tried the first challenge, and
set off more than one mine, and not retreated.  That might account for
it."

Luna emerged from the water.  "I got it!"  she exclaimed, brandishing
the harp.  "I felt for it on the bottom, and there it was!"

"Oh, thank you.  Moth!"  Orb exclaimed.

"That's okay.  Eyeball," Luna replied, smiling as she handed it to her.
Niobe was startled in a minor way; she had not heard these particular
nicknames before.  She wondered how much of children's activities
inattentive adults missed.

They dressed and proceeded cautiously to the mine cave half expecting
to encounter the thief, but there was none.  The cave was empty.  They
tested it by tossing a stone into the center and hiding their eyes.

The explosion was horrendous.  It shook the whole cave, and several
more rocks dropped from the ceiling.  The hazard was certainly back and
now the mines were truly destructive.  Niobe looked at the one
motorcycle on this side, the one they had ridden across on.  Her mouth
went dry.  She had crossed this cave three times, once while blind but
she was supremely reluctant to do so again.  This time the hazard was
real.  She and the girls could be blown up!  The very knowledge of that
could cause her to waver on the cycle and go astray.  Already her hands
were shaking.

"Where's the thief?"  Luna asked.

Where, indeed!  If the thief had done this by pushing on regardless, he
should be here either alive or dead.  The motorcycle he had used should
be visible, either whole or wrecked.  But there was none and all the
other cycles were still parked in their places.  There seemed to be no
thief.

Well, maybe the Mountain King was cheating.  He might have had no
intention of giving away his precious magical instruments, so he
arranged to balk the girls' escape as if by accident.

That angered Niobe.  "Two can play at that!"  she muttered.  She picked
up another fallen rock.  "Watch yourselves!"  she warned, and heaved
it.

There was another detonation.  Again the cave shook, and more rocks
dropped.  As soon as the cave was quiet, Niobe picked up another rock
and heaved it.

"What are you doing.  Mother?"  Orb asked after the third explosion.

"I am clearing a path through this trap!"  Niobe said grimly.  "A mine
can't explode when it has already been exploded."  She heaved again.

"Oh!"  Orb exclaimed, smiling.  "How smart of you, Mother!  Can I do it
too?"

Why not?  "Yes you may but shield your eyes."

The girl picked up a rock and heaved, then turned away.  She clapped
her hands with delight as the mine went off.  Children of either sex
seemed to have a certain muted passion for violence, Niobe reflected.

Before long they had cleared a broad channel across the cave.  They
tossed in a few more rocks, just to be sure there were no live mines
left.  Then Niobe ferried them across as before.  She wasn't sure what
would happen if they simply walked across and didn't trust it; the
motorcycle was easy enough to use, now.  Safely across, she parked it,
and the three of them turned to the entrance exit passage.

But as they approached, a man came through it from the other direction.
He was huge and hairy and ferocious, he carried a giant sledgehammer,
and his eyes fairly sparked so that they threatened to set fire to his
beard.  "Thieves!"  he roared.  "You would rob the museum of the Vanir?
I will destroy you!"  He lifted the sledgehammer.

"The Mountain King!"  Luna squeaked, falling back.  Something akin to a
berserker rage flooded through Niobe.  She stepped forward, sidestepped
the swinging sledge, and slapped the man resoundingly on his hairy
cheek.  "Leave that girl alone!"  she snapped.  "She's no thief!  You
are!"

The man could hardly have been hurt by the slap, but he paused,
astonished, as he stared at her.  "Clotho!"

"Not anymore!"  Niobe said curtly.  Then she, too, paused.  "How did
you know me?"

He set his sledgehammer down and leaned on the handle.  "How could any
man forget the face of the loveliest creature to grace the pagan realm?
What do ye here, 0

divine one?"  Niobe stifled a flush of pleasure.  "Urn, how long have
you been asleep this time?"

The Mountain King ticked off numbers on his fingers.  "Twenty-five
years or so.  Why?"

That explained it.  He had been asleep all the time she had been
mortal.  "I returned to ordinary life thirteen years ago," Niobe said.
"I'm here with my daughter and granddaughter.  We did not come here to
steal from you."

The man glanced at the instruments the girls held.  "If you speak for
these, Clotho, I'll not challenge them.  Indeed, methought in my dream
I heard the music of my harp, played in a manner it was Grafted to be."
Then he did a double take.  "A granddaughter in thirteen years?  Your
body would madden any man's mind, but "

"By my prior mortality," Niobe said quickly.  She gestured to Luna.
"Your cabinet accepted the picture she painted, so "

"True.  Then why the alarm?"  "That's what I want to know!  We were
halfway out when "

"Tis not of my doing," the giant said.  "I will have the truth of this.
Follow me, Clotho."  He strode into the cave, and his footprints glowed
in his wake.  He was angry.

They followed, not bothering with the motorcycle this time; the glowing
prints were their guarantee of safety.

When the Mountain King came to the middle cave, he stepped into the
water and it evaporated instantly, leaving the floor dry.  When he
reached the barrier, a gate in it swung open to let him pass without
pause.  There was no doubt he was the master of this place.  They
continued to follow, awed.

The chasm was there in the third cave, and the vampire bat alert.  The
King strode into it, and the illusion or reality vanished, leaving the
cave empty.  The tremulous light pattern that was all that remained of
the vampire bat fled.

They came into the display room.  There was a demon with its finger in
the harp-cabinet.  Evidently that evil influence was what was
triggering the thief-alarm; as long as that demon remained, no one
could pass.

"Ho!  Loki's work!"  the Mountain King exclaimed, and hurled his
massive sledge as if it were a toy.

The hammer struck the demon.  The creature puffed into smoke.  The
cabinet exploded.

The Mountain King retrieved his sledgehammer.  The far-flung fragments
of the cabinet imploded, re-forming their original shape, with a hint
of the music Orb had made.

"Go in peace, Clotho," the giant rumbled.  "You and yours.  My apology
for this nuisance."

"Quite all right, sir," Niobe said, somewhat taken aback.  She hustled
the girls out again.  This time there was no problem in any of the
caves.

The instruments were wonderful, and both girls continued to prosper in
their talents.  By the time they completed school, each was as skilled
as any Niobe knew.  She was sure both would prosper in life, if Fate
permitted.

But there was the matter of the tangled skein that had not yet
materialized.

After Blenda died, the Magician Kaftan moved to America with Luna,
apparently unable to face the old country in her absence.  Niobe was
saddened more by Luna's departure than by her son's, for she had
actually been closer to her granddaughter.  But she could not protest.
Luna was a fine, levelheaded young woman, and she would take good care
of her father.

Then, after twenty-two years of their marriage, Pacian died.  He was
seventy-four, by no means young, but it came as a shock; somehow she
had always thought of him as eleven years younger than herself, and she
was only forty-six, physically.  She had lived twenty-three years in
her first mortality, and the same number in her second.  It was as if
she had finally completed the term set for her original love of Cedric.
She still loved Pacian, but the intensity of it had eased over the
years.  Now she had raised her family, and was satisfied to meet the
necessary severance of threads.  She had seen Pace ailing, and had done
what she could for him, never thinking he could actually die.  Satan
seemed to have no hand in this; the cause had been natural.

After the funeral, she tended to retreat from participation in worldly
matters.  Orb went away on tour as a singer; indeed, she had been
traveling about the world from the time she turned eighteen.  There
just wasn't much left for Niobe in the mortal realm.

Then she received news that her son, the Magician, had also died.  This
was entirely unexpected; he was only sixty-three.  Luna wrote to report
that she now lived alone in the Magician's house, carrying on his
business, and that she was dating the new Thanatos, exactly as the
prophecy had foretold.  Niobe had no stomach for that business.  She
kept her letters polite and left the girl alone.  What, after all, had
she expected of mortality perpetual youth, bliss,

S^ r "t ssoait " "V

But the following year, things changed.

LACHES IS

The spider descended before her on a thread of silk, then transformed
into a comely young woman with hair so light it was almost white.  "We
must talk with you," the woman said.  "Do not utter the name of him who
must not know."  She had an accent, but was intelligible.

"Clotho!"  Niobe said, suddenly remembering that moment a
quarter-century before when she had drawn a refugee girl from a line in
Budapest.  "Lisa!"

The woman smiled.  "You have changed; I have not."  Then she patted her
hair.  "Except cosmetically.  I am eternally grateful for what you did,
rescuing me from that city.  It gave me a new existence, and I was able
to help my troubled friends.  They never knew I had changed."

"I understand," Niobe said.  "It is nice of you to let me know."

"But this is not a social call," Lisa said quickly.  "We have something
very important to ask of you."

Niobe smiled.  Privately she was dismayed by the contrast between them.
When she had selected Lisa to be her replacement, Niobe herself had
been a slender beauty, while Lisa had been attractive but less
stunning.  Now, a quarter-century later, Niobe knew herself to be lined
and dumpy; she hadn't seen any reason to maintain herself, the last two
years especially.  Lisa had remained exactly as she had been.  What a
terrible scourge mortal aging was!

"If your question is whether the unnamed one has been interfering in my
life since I turned mortal, I'm not sure.  I can think of only one
instance, when I took my girls to "

"No, no," Lisa said quickly.  "Not a question.  I I have been selected
to ask you this, because I am the only one of us who has met you.
Lachesis and Atropos have changed "

"Terms are getting shorter these days!"  Niobe remarked.  "I was an
Aspect for thirty-eight years!"

"Yes, you were one of the great ones, and you dealt well with the
anonymous.  I we had a difficult time.  He twisted the threads without
license, he confused us "

"He does that," Niobe agreed.  "If I was proof against him later, it
was because I had some hard lessons early!  I'm sure I was no better
than "

"Yes, you have had much experience.  More than any other mortal.  That
is why we must ask this thing of you."

This sounded serious!  "Exactly what is this thing?"

"You must come back."

"What?"

"To be an Aspect of Fate.  We need you again."

Niobe was so surprised she stuttered.  "To to be I, I Lisa, I'm
forty-eight years old, in mortal terms!  Only a young woman can "

Lisa shook her head.  "Not to be Clotho.  To be Lachesis.  That is the
key Aspect the one who governs the Tapestry."

Lachesis of course.  Niobe was now middle-aged in body, and looked it.
Lachesis was the middle-aged Aspect.  Yet

"Lisa, I never dreamed it's never been done before!  Once an Aspect
returns to mortality once any Incarnation leaves the office "

"True.  That is one reason we believe it must be done this time.  The
unnamed will never suspect."

To fool Satan.  That was one way to do it, certainly!  "Lisa, I'm
flattered that you should think of me for this!  But I've had my turn
at immortality, and don't really deserve "

"It is much to ask of you, we know," Lisa said hurriedly.  "But you are
the only one who can do it.  Otherwise "

"Now wait.  Lisa!  New women come into the office all the time!
Everyone lea ms on the job, and Fate is more fortunate than the other
Incarnations, because there are always two experienced Aspects to guide
the new one.  So you certainly don't have to "

"Please," the woman said.  "Perhaps I do not make myself clear.  I
could speak better in my native tongue "

"You are speaking perfectly!  I'm just trying to say "

"Please, I must explain.  We we must depart our Aspects all
together."

"All at once?  That's impossible!  There would be no "

"Yes, we think the unnamed has arranged it.  There has been much
trouble, and your son's child Luna is central.  All of us have had to
help intervene to save her.  He tried to make her die, but Thanatos
would not permit it "

Something clicked in Niobe's mind.  "That period last year, when people
mysteriously stopped dying ?"

"Yes.  Thanatos stopped taking souls so he would not have to take hers,
because he loves her.  Finally he faced the unnamed down.  Luna was
spared, and Thanatos went back to work.  We Lachesis arranged to select
him for the office, so that would happen."

"You interfered in the selection of another Incarnation?"  Niobe asked,
horrified.

"We it was necessary.  This is we think it is the major battle of the
war.  I do not like war."  Lisa paused, and Niobe knew she was
remembering Budapest.  "But when the tyranny of Evil advances, it must
be fought by whatever means.  The battles are terrible, but ... "

Now Niobe saw the tangle of the skein.  Her granddaughter was indeed
standing athwart it and the reason for her astonishing association with
Thanatos was apparent.  Only Thanatos could stop a person from dying,
once that thread had been cut.  Still !

"How did you know about the plot against Luna?"

"The Magician, her father, he knew.  He studied magic all his life and
knew of a prophecy that the unnamed intended to void.  The Magician
planned everything and gave up his life to introduce Luna to Thanatos
in a manner that would deceive the "

"So that's why he died young!  They never told me!"

"They could not, lady.  No one could know until it was done.  The
Magician knew he had to protect his daughter beyond his own time, for
the fate of mankind depends on her."

"So little I knew!"  Niobe lamented.  "I thought he was burying himself
in magic just for for a hobby.  Or business.  But he must have
understood the prophecy far better than "

"Yes.  Then there was something strange.  We think Chronos was
involved, and that he stopped the unnamed from doing something else,
but he won't say.  He knows the future, but if he said, it would
change, so "

"So the Incarnations are all involved in in a major engagement," Niobe
concluded.

"A twenty-year engagement," Lisa agreed.  "The unnamed means to take
political power on Earth.  His agents are at work in every nation, but
America is difficult because its politics are so chaotic anyway.  If he
prevails there, the rest will fall in line, he believes, because of the
economic leverage.  So he must be stopped there, and Luna will cast the
key vote against him if she survives."

"And she wanted to be an artist!"  Niobe exclaimed.

"Now we believe that we, the three Aspects of Fate, are at the center,"
Lisa continued.  "The unnamed means to be rid of Luna, and we know that
"

"That I would give my life, happiness, and honor to protect her!" Niobe
finished.  "Of course I will do it will become the Aspect of Lachesis
if that's what it takes!  But I never performed in that Aspect before,
and what's this business about all three of you changing together?  If
the unnamed is pressing you as you suggest, that would be absolute
folly!  Three novices together " "Yes.  Folly.  That is why we come to
you.  You have experience "

"That part I see!  But you other two would have to remain, at least for
a year or two "

"We cannot," Lisa said.  "We must change now this week."

"That's preposterous, girl!  You know what's at stake!"

"We know.  But we have opportunities that come only once in a lifetime,
if ever.  We cannot turn those down, any more than you could have
turned down your second love.  The chance to have your daughter "

Niobe held up her hand.  "You make your point.  We are all frail human
creatures!  Yet if you know, or suspect, that these opportunities have
been arranged by "

"He has, as you say, sweetened the pot to the point where we cannot
desist.  But it is more than that.  You see,

we do not know what he plans and if we retain our Aspects, he will know
we cannot be fooled, and he will do something else.  Something we
perhaps cannot prevent.  So this trap of his we decided it was better
to fall into it "

"With one experienced Aspect he doesn't know about!"  Niobe concluded.
"To spring his trap and destroy it!"

Lisa smiled.  "I knew you would understand."

Niobe mulled it over.  She had sworn to have her reckoning with Satan
for Cedric's death, but somehow she had never had a satisfying
denouement.  She had told herself that just doing her job, as an Aspect
of Fate, had been sufficient, and seeing to the upbringing of Luna and
Orb was sufficient, since they were integral to the foiling of the
Prince of Evil.  But how much better it would be to foil Satan
directly, personally!

Her mortal life was over anyway.  She had nothing left to live for.  It
was really no contest.  "I'll do it."

Lisa smiled.  "We're so pleased.  We know you will do what has to be
done.  We know that our mortal situations will be protected from evil,
with you in charge."  She extended her hand.

Niobe was taken aback.  "Wait!  I didn't mean right this instant!  I
have to put my mortal affairs in order "

"Lachesis will do that for you," Lisa assured her.  "Before she moves
on to her own situation."

Surely she could trust an Aspect of Fate to know the importance of the
proper disposition of Earthly affairs!  Especially when it was vital
that Satan not know of the change.

Niobe took Lisa's hand.  There was the odd jolt she had experienced
twice before.

Then she was inside Lisa, looking out out through her eyes.  A
nondescript middle-aged woman stood before her: the old Lachesis.

Good-bye, mortal situation!  Niobe thought with abrupt nostalgia.  No
life was easy to leave, even a completed one.

"Take the body," Lisa said, and turned it over to her.

Niobe stood again in her own form, in different flesh.  Her original
flesh had been lost when she had become Clotho, so long ago, and when
she had returned to mortality she had taken Lisa's flesh.  Her pattern,
even to the genes of reproduction, had carried across.  Now that flesh
was subject to the will and image of the prior Lachesis.  Surely Lisa,
too, felt nostalgia, knowing that the flesh that had been hers had just
passed to a third identity.  It was a familiar yet strange business.

Niobe shook hands with the woman who had been Lachesis.  "I think you
already know anything I would say.  Go to your situation and be
happy."

"I can never thank you enough Lachesis," the woman said.  "Do you know
what mortality offers for me now?"

"It's really not my business "

"A title," the woman exclaimed.  "I am in a position to inherit a title
and a grand estate in Europe, and be a lady of quality with servants
and functions and responsibilities.  I always longed for this and
feared it could never come about.  As Lachesis I indulged my propensity
for managing things " "That's a quality of those suitable for that
Aspect,"

Niobe agreed.

"But now it can be real.  I mean, mortal.  And the estate needs me;
without a person of the blood, it will fall prey to greedy distant
claimants and taxes it would be destroyed.  But now it has come to me,
if I claim it in time, and I know so well how to manage it!  If I die
of some disfiguring disease within twenty years, still I shall be well
satisfied!"

Obviously so.  Different folk had different dreams, and the right dream
was worth one's life.  "Bless you, and prosper," Niobe told her
warmly.

"Bless you, wonderful woman!"  the other responded.  Niobe returned the
body to Lisa so that she and Atropos could bid farewell to their
companion.  It was strange, sharing Fate with the woman who had
succeeded her as Clotho, but evidently she had chosen correctly, on
that day a quarter-century ago.  Lisa had done the job.

When the other two were done, they changed to spider form and slid up
the web to Purgatory.  How quickly it all came back!  Niobe did not for
a moment regret her second tenure as a mortal, and she felt a lingering
pang for that suddenly lost life but she also felt an abiding joy for
her return as an Incarnation.  To be an Immortal there was no mortal
experience to match it!

The Abode was unchanged: a cocoon, a house made of silk, the most
comfortable retreat for the spinner and handler of threads.  Still
there was no staff, for the three women of Fate remained too
independent to be waited on.  There was a reasonable supply of
Void-substance for Clotho.  Everything was in order.

"Now it is my turn," Lisa said, and started out again.  "Already?"
Niobe asked.  "But we just got here!"  "Yes to be sure you had your
bearings.  As you can see, I have arranged things for my replacement;
it will be a fortnight before she has to visit the Void."  She paused.
"What an experience, that first time!"

Niobe shrugged, mentally.  It was essentially the business of each
Aspect to choose her successor, and the time other own return to
mortality.  Niobe had become Clotho, in large part, because the prior
Clotho had liked her, and now was Lachesis because the three Aspects
had agreed she was needed.  She would go along with what had been
decided.

Clotho descended a thread toward the western coast of America.  "To
what situation are you going?"  Niobe asked.

"True love," Lisa answered raptly.  "One day last month I was hiking in
the mountains when a young man floated down on a flying carpet to ask
directions.  He had an accent I recognized.  "You're from Hungary!"  I
cried.  He was taken aback.  "My parents were," he said.  "My mother
was carrying me when they fled during the and he shrugged, for in
America few understand how it was in Budapest.  "I'm from there too," I
told him, and I spoke to him in our language.  "Wait!"  he cried.  "I
am not good at it!  All my life has been here."  But he understood
enough. Now he wants to marry me.  He understands about how I am,
almost twice his age.  We did not tell his mother about that she would
not understand so I told her my own mother had told me how it was with
her when she fled, and then I told her in our tongue my own experience
as if it were my mother's and I think it could have been my mother's,
if she hadn't died in the invasion of our homeland and his mother cried
with the memories, and she reminded me so much of mine, I cried too!  I
think she wants me to marry her son twice as much as he does!  I will
move in with them, and I know I will never have trouble with my
in-laws!"

Niobe hated to raise the question, but felt she had to.  "Yet you
believe this is the work of of the anonymous one to get you out of the
way?"

"Yes.  Lachesis the one before you verified how that one had nudged
that thread to place him flying where I was hiking, so we would meet.
So little a thing but though there was manipulation, the person is
genuine.  There is no great evil in him.  The unnamed knows I would not
take an evil man.  An Aspect of Fate cannot be deceived by fool's gold!
So the intent may be evil, but the offering is good.  It is not for me
the evil is intended, but for you."

Yes, surely so.  The ways of Satan were devious but effective.  But
maybe this time the Father of Lies would find himself outmaneuvered,
for the Incarnation of Fate was no innocent mortal to be fooled by
manipulations of chance.  Especially not with a former Aspect
returning, with her firsthand knowledge of Satan's ways.  You have a
surprise coming, 0 Evil One!  she thought.

They came to ground in an unsettled area.  A young woman was walking at
dusk toward the high cliff that descended to the crashing sea.  She was
Oriental and quite pretty.

Lisa intercepted her.  "Where do you go, solitary maiden?"

"What does it matter?  My life is over."  "But you are young and pretty
and intelligent," Lisa protested.  "You have much to live for!"
Obviously Fate had researched this woman's thread.  "No, I have nothing
to live for," the girl demurred.

"My family has cast me out for not following the old ways, for being
too willful and violent, and now I have no family."

Niobe knew that the Oriental cultures could be very strict about their
traditions, and that there were sometimes conflicts with the ways of
the Occidental world.  The girl had probably refused to marry the man
the family had chosen for her.  Niobe could understand, even though her
own arranged marriage had been a good one.  She disliked admitting it,
but parental judgment did seem to be as good as that of the
participants.  But America touted itself as the land of the free, and
it had become unacceptable for girls to heed the judgment of their
elders.  There was more to tragedy than lost romance.

Amen!  Atropos agreed.

"And now you are ready to depart this world?"  Lisa asked.  The girl
glanced at the cliff.  A gust of sea breeze ruffled her black hair. "If
I have the courage."

"I have an alternative."  And Lisa explained about Fate and the role of
Clotho.

It took the young woman a while to grasp it, understandably, but when
she peered over the dark and savage ocean, she decided that this was a
better alternative.  Atropos took over the body, extended her hand, and
it was done.  Clotho had changed.

Lisa now stood in her physical form, just like herself;

all traces of Oriental heritage had vanished.  Niobe had never quite
understood the magic that did this, but of course that wasn't
necessary.  Welcome, Clotho, she thought, and the process of education
began.

They returned to the Abode and relaxed for a few hours.  Niobe, as
Lachesis, took over the body and contemplated the Tapestry, while
Atropos continued to explain things internally to Clotho.  The prior
Lachesis had left the Tapestry in good order, considering the troubled
times, so there was nothing urgent to do at the moment.  Niobe had seen
the job performed during her prior tenure as an Aspect, but now the
responsibility was hers, and that was different.  She hoped Satan would
leave them alone for a few weeks while she got into it and knew he
wouldn't.

Next day it was Atropos' turn^ There had been an accident, and her
mortal great-grandchildren had become orphans.  They would become wards
of the state and be assigned to separate foster homes unless she, their
only remaining blood relative, assumed control.  They were eleven and
nine years old; Atropos believed she had enough mortal years left in
her to get the older one to the age of discretion before she died.  She
had to do it; they were her blood kin.  Satan did not seem to have
arranged this; rather, he had foreseen the opportunity and arranged for
the other two Aspects to leave at the same time Atropos did.  If
Lachesis had not caught the hint in the Tapestry, Satan's ploy would
have been effective.  As it was, no easy time was coming, Niobe was
sure, but at least they had a chance to win.

Atropos slid down a thread to the one she had selected.  This brought
her to a slum area where an old black woman sat in her rocking chair on
a rickety porch, watching children play handball in the street.  She
looked up as Atropos appeared before her.  ""Bout time you got here,"
she remarked.

Even Atropos was taken aback by this.  "You know me?"

"I know you.  I was expecting Death, though, not Fate."

"I have come to ask you to take my place.  If you do, you will meet
Death only as a business associate."

"I thought he already was.  I've buried more kin than I can count on my
hands."  She held up her gnarled spread fingers.

"If you take this office, you will cut the threads on the lives of a
million times that number."  "Somebody's got to do it."  Atropos turned
the body over to Niobe.  "Then take my hand," Niobe said.  "But do not
think the job is always easy."

The old woman hardly blinked.  "No job worth doing is."  She took the
hand.

Then the old Atropos was sitting in the rocker, and the new one was
with Fate.

At that point a child dashed up.  "Grandma!  I made a score!"  Then,
seeing a stranger in the chair, he skidded to a halt.

Niobe gave the body to the new Atropos.  "It's okay, Jimmy," she said.
"She's just visiting."  "Oh."  Suddenly shy, the boy backed away.

"Jimmy, it's time for me to go away," the new Atropos said.  "You do me
a big favor, now, and show this lady to the bus stop.  Tell the folks
I'm gone."

"Gone where?"

"Just gone.  Jimmy.  They'll understand."

"Okay."  The boy, given an important job to do, led the old Atropos
away down the street.

Niobe took over the body again, changed to spider form, and mounted a
thread.  Now that's some trick!  the new Atropos thought.  / always
squish bugs.

"Not anymore," Niobe said in her spider's voice.  "You will master this
trick too."

She brought them to the Abode and resumed her human form.  "In fact, we
had better practice the basic motions right now," she said.  "Because
things may get hectic soon."

Hectic?  both others inquired.

Quickly Niobe explained how Satan had conspired to get three new
Aspects of Fate together.  "Now I am a retread," she concluded.  "I had
several decades experience as Clotho, ending twenty-five years ago.  We
hope Satan doesn't know that."  She felt free to name the Prince of
Evil, here in the Abode, because it was secure from uninvited
intrusion.  Each Incarnation was supreme within his or her home.  "So
we can afford to fumble about at first; that will reassure him, and he
may be careless.  But we have to take care that we don't do too much
damage.  These are human lives we are manipulating, remember."

They practiced using the mouth to speak, assuming the spider form,
climbing the web, and using the travel threads to move about rapidly,
so that any of the three could get about well enough.  Then Niobe
explained the three jobs: how Clotho spun the threads of life, Lachesis
measured them, and Atropos cut them to their lengths.  "I hardly know
my own job," she confessed.  "So I really am learning too.  I'm likely
to mis measure the lengths I

need for particular parts of the Tapestry, which will result in some of
what the mortals take to be odd coincidences.  We won't have to
pretend, to make thinks look awkward."

"But we could use a real bad blunder to start off," Atropos concluded.
She seemed to have a ready grasp of the essentials; the prior Atropos
had chosen well.

Clotho tried some spinning.  She had no mortal experience at this, so
was clumsy.  She had been selected as much for availability and
militant spirit as for dexterity, for the notice had been short.  Niobe
had to guide her carefully, and even so, the thread was somewhat loose
and irregular.  But she could do it, however slowly.

Now it was Atropos' turn to try some cutting.  Niobe measured a thread,
then turned the body over to the old woman.  Atropos took the little
scissors and snipped one end, then the other.  "Oops," she said.  "I
cut it too long!"  She cut a small bit off the end.  "There that's
about right, now."

They prepared about twenty threads, snipping freely to trim them down
to size.  "When we get more experienced," Niobe said as she took them
to the Tapestry for placement, "we'll do them wholesale.  There are far
too many lives on Earth for us to handle individually."  She set the
threads in and they fell out.

That was funny.  "They always seemed to grow right in place for the
Lachesis I knew in the old days."  She recovered a thread and set it in
place again and it fell out again.  "I don't remember her having to tie
them in."  "Maybe I spun them wrong," Clotho said nervously.  "I don't
think so.  But we can try some new ones."  Clotho spun some more, and
Niobe measured, and Atropos snipped, still having trouble getting the
lengths exactly right; more snippets fell to the floor.  But the new
threads also refused to stay in place.

They couldn't figure out what was wrong.  The floor of the Abode was
littered with snippets, but no threads had been successfully em placed
in the Tapestry.

There was a peremptory knock on the door.  Niobe took the body and went
to answer it.

Thanatos stood there, more forbidding in his hooded cloak and skull
than she recalled him.  The off-white bones of his fingers clenched
spasmodically.  Truly, he was Death Incarnate.  "What are you up to?"
he demanded.

Niobe was taken aback.  "I'm just trying to do my job," she said.

Thanatos' square and bony eye-sockets stared darkly at her.  "You have
changed."

"We have all changed," Niobe said, and had Clotho and Atropos show
their forms briefly.  "But we're having some trouble "

"Trouble!"  Thanatos exclaimed, striding into the Abode.  Beyond him,
outside, Niobe saw his fine pale horse, the one she had ridden on, back
at the outset.  "Twenty-six babies needlessly dead!"

"Babies dead?"  Niobe asked.  "I haven't em placed any threads, let
alone cut them short!"

"No?  What do you think these are?"  Thanatos demanded, stooping to
pick up a handful of snippets.  He was angry, and he frightened her
even though she knew he was no threat to her.

"Just the trimmings "

"Trimmings!"  Thanatos roared.  "You don't trim lives from the front
ends!"

Niobe fell back against the silken wall, stunned.  "The the front
ends?"

Thanatos held up one of the full-length threads.  "Here is a Thread of
Life," he said scathingly.  "Here is the front, here the rear.  When
you cut off a segment from the rear " he made a snipping motion with
two bone-fingers "you shorten that life by that amount.  When you cut
it off at the front, you shorten that life by this amount."  And he
dropped the whole thread to the floor.

"Leaving only this."  He held up two fingers, almost touching each
other.

"Oh, no!"  Niobe exclaimed with horror.  "We cut them off after days or
hours!"

"And twenty-six babies died, poisoned in the hospital," Thanatos
continued grimly.  "Because a dietician got the wrong container and put
salt in their formulas instead of sugar!  The mortals think that's a
tragic accident, but I knew it was your handiwork.  / had to take those
babies!"  His fury fairly shook the Abode.

Niobe burst into tears.  She was middle-aged, but it made no
difference.  She was too appalled to react any other way.

It was Atropos who took over the body and the situation.  "Don't chew
her out.  Death," she snapped, "did it, and I'm mortified.  I didn't
know and I sure as hell won't do it again!"

Thanatos looked at her, their situation registering.  "All three new?"
he asked.  "No experience?"  "Not exactly," Atropos began.

Don't tell him!  Niobe urged.  If he knows, Satan will know!

"But all three of us have changed in the last few days," Atropos said.
"And as you can plainly see, not one of us is experienced in her
role."

"How could all three of you change at once?"  Thanatos asked.  "You
lose your continuity!"

"Now he tells us," Atropos said.  "This morning I was sitting in my
rocker, waiting for you to come haul my soul away.  Now I'm apologizing
to you for messing up."

Thanatos relaxed.  "I was new, too, last year, and your forerunners
helped me greatly.  I know how it is; I made mistakes too.  I'm sorry I
ranted at you.  Let's see if we can work this out."  He sat on the silk
couch and drew back his hood.  The face of a rather ordinary young man
emerged.

Atropos did a double take.  "You're a living man!"  Thanatos smiled.
"They didn't tell you?  I suppose they didn't think of it, with all of
you changing so rapidly.  Yes, all the Incarnations are living people,
frozen at the ages when they assumed their offices.  We are the
temporary

Immortals."

"You mean I won't grow older?"

"Not until you return to mortality which you will do only by your own
choice, unlike me."

"You're different?"  There was a lot Niobe had not yet told the other
two, owing to the press of time.  She kept quiet; this was actually
convenient, as she did not have to finesse any questions about
herself.

"I continue until my successor kills me.  Then he will assume my
office."

"But then you're not immortal!"

"Oh, I am immortal until I grow careless.  No person or creature can
harm me, not even Satan himself, as long as I am careful.  The only one
who can kill me is my successor and even he will fail unless I let him.
My cloak is invulnerable to natural attack, and my person to
supernatural menace.  But I cannot step down alive, unlike you."

"That must be a horror!"  Atropos exclaimed.

"No, it's all right.  Much better than the suicide I contemplated as a
mortal."  At this Clotho perked up, mentally; she knew about that sort
of thing.

"But isn't your life sterile?"  Atropos asked.  "No hell raising no
gambling, no women?"

He laughed.  "You don't think much of young men, do you!"

"I think a lot of them!  I've known a few myself, when

I was young and sexy.  But I know their nature.  A man without a woman
is hell-bent for trouble."

Thanatos smiled.  "Well, I have a woman.  She's mortal, but she knows
my nature.  Her name is Luna Kaftan.  I love her and I guarantee she
will not die before her time.  I can't marry her, because I have no
legal mortal identity;

I'm listed as deceased.  But I'll always be with her."

Niobe was glad she didn't have the body now; she would have given
herself away.  She had forgotten, in these last few hours, that Luna
had taken up with Thanatos!  As a mortal, she had disapproved; now,
suddenly, she approved.  This seemed to be a fine young man, committed
to his role.  He could indeed protect Luna from death itself.  That
portion of the prophecy had turned out to be much more positive than
anticipated.

But Atropos was learning rapidly.  "Suppose I I never would, mind you
suppose I cut your girl friend's thread short?"

Thanatos' hood was away from his head, but a shadow of the skull seemed
to pass across his features, and his skin took on the hue of bone.  He
was, indeed.  Death.  "You did that once before your prior person did.
Satan had forced it.  I refused to take her.  You do not end the lives,
you merely schedule them.  Only when I take their souls do they
actually die.  As I took the souls of those twenty-six babies.  I had
to do it; their bodies were ravaged and they would have suffered had
they lived, so I stood aside and let them drift to Heaven.  But I am
the one in charge of that, and by my decree a dying person can live
indefinitely, regardless of his suffering.  We Incarnations have to
cooperate, or it becomes untenable."

Atropos nodded.  "I thought it was something like that.  We won't kill
any more babies, that's for sure!  Let's run through it now and make
sure we've got it right."

Clotho took the body and spun more thread.  Then Niobe measured it, and
Atropos cut it carefully, only once at each end.  Then Niobe took it to
the Tapestry and laid it in the place where she knew it belonged.

This time it took.  The thread anchored, and extended into the fuzzy
future portion of the Tapestry.

"That's the way," Thanatos agreed.  He drew his hood back into place.
"I must go; I have business elsewhere.  If you have doubts about
anything, check with me or another Incarnation, and we'll try to help.
Chronos, especially, must work with you closely; he lives backward, so
he knows the future, not the past."

Thanatos departed, riding into the sky on his pale horse.  The three
Aspects of Fate collapsed onto the couch.  That had been some
session!

But Clotho had a question: if Chronos knew the future, wouldn't he know
about Niobe's prior experience in office?

"Not if we don't tell him some time in the future," Niobe said.  "I
think we had better just forget about my past and carry on in the
present.  But about Chronos there may be something else you should
know, Clotho."

"What's that?"

"He in the past he has been very close to us.  Especially to Clotho."

"Friendship is good, isn't it?"  the girl asked, perplexed.

"Lovers."

Clotho was silent.  Niobe was not sure what was going through her mind,
for the three did not share their thoughts when they chose not to.

"The way I see it," Atropos said, "this isn't our mortal body anymore.
This body must have been through a lot we don't know about."

"Yes," Niobe agreed.

"So maybe it doesn't matter too much what we do with it, as long as we
do our jobs right."

Still Clotho didn't comment.  Niobe remembered how difficult this
particular aspect of being an Aspect had been for her, at first.  Well,
an accommodation would be achieved, in time.  Time?  Chronos!

They fixed themselves a meal from the available supplies and lay down
for a rest.  Then they worked out a regular schedule of operations
which Aspect would take what shift, which would be backup, and which
would sleep.  The body itself was indefatigable; it needed neither rest
nor sleep, but the minds within it did.

Fate, however tenuously, was back in business.

TANGLE

But next day the axe, figuratively, fell.  Niobe was paying a call on
Chronos, because she needed his advice and assistance on the placement
of specific threads.  The Tapestry tended to follow its natural
pattern, but left entirely alone it would soon develop rents and
tangles as threads got crossed.  She had to set the threads properly,
and timing as well as placement was essential.  For example, when a
marriage occurred, the threads of the man and woman intersected but if
the intersection occurred before the mundane ceremony, a new thread
could be started before the term of marriage, which could be awkward.
Chronos could check such things directly; indeed, he knew the timing of
every significant human interaction, though most of the routine was
left to his staff.  Fate, too, had a staff for the routine, but she
could not afford to leave the important matters to underlings.

But first came the introductions.  "I realize that you have known us
for some time," Niobe said.  "But from our viewpoint, this is our first
encounter.  We are all new in our Aspects, in the past few days, and
all inexperienced in our duties.  So allow us to present ourselves, and
for you this will be our parting.  I'm sure you will find our precedes
sors competent."

"Ah, is it that time already?"  Chronos asked.  "I have seen two of you
change "

"Please, we prefer not to know," Niobe said quickly.

"Of course.  Let me only say that all three of you have been kind to me
in my past, and I have a deep respect for you and shall be sorry to see
you go.  I hope I get along as well with your replacements."

"I'm sure you will," Niobe said, and flashed through the Clotho and
Atropos Aspects for him before returning to Lachesis.  "But since none
of us go back to that time as Aspects, we have no firsthand
information.  We're all new, and we are making embarrassing
mistakes."

"Yes, I know," Chronos said sympathetically.

"Those snippets of threads twenty-six babies needlessly dead Thanatos
was in a fury!"  Niobe said.

"Oh, pardon.  I thought you were referring to the UN incident."

"The UN incident?"  Niobe asked blankly.  "But of course that hasn't
happened yet, for you, just as the dead babies haven't for me.  Sorry I
mentioned it."  If we're about to blunder again .. . Atropos thought.
Ask him about it, Clotho concluded.  They had not yet gotten their
shifts down pat, so all three were awake for this interview.  They were
three quite different individuals, but the disaster of the babies had
unified them in their horror.

"Please don't apologize," Niobe said.  "We are eager to avoid future
blunders.  If it is not a violation of your ethics, we would like to
know more about it."

Chronos smiled.  "Incarnations don't have ethics in that sense; all of
us do what we have to do, or we leave our offices.  We assist each
other whenever asked.  After all,

as I believe you explained to me, Lachesis, when I first assumed my
office twenty years hence, it is our common purpose to balk the
machinations of Satan and promote those of God.  The UN incident was
very simple, but it had phenomenal consequences.  It seems that someone
sneaked a psychic stink bomb into the United Nations complex in New
York.  When it detonated, the "

"Psychic stink bomb?"  Niobe asked.  She remembered the time Luna and
Orb, as children, had obtained a physical stink bomb, one of the type
called "little stinkers," and set it off in her kitchen.  The stench
had taken days to clear.  Girls would be girls, she knew, but she had
made them scrub floor, ceiling, and walls anyway.  They had been less
mischievous thereafter but their reputations in school had escalated
dramatically for a while.

"It generated an emotional atmosphere that no one could tolerate,"
Chronos said, suppressing an illicit smile.  "No laughing matter, of
course.  The United States was expelled from the UN and the
headquarters was moved to Moscow "

"Moved to Moscow!"  Niobe exclaimed indignantly.

"Well, you see, the international diplomats had some difficulty
appreciating the humor of the situation," Chronos said.  "Though I
understand that both the Soviet leaders and the American conservatives
suffered some private belly laughs.  It was of course impossibk to
conduct normal business "

"Satan's work!"  Niobe cried with dismay.  But both Atropos and Clotho
were stifling their own amusement.

"Naturally," Chronos agreed.  "It was amazing how much profit Satan
reaped from that simple incident.  There was a steady attrition in
world harmony and a resurgence of evil.  Mars was kept quite busy
managing the wars that later developed "

"We've got to stop it!"  Niobe said firmly.  Atropos and Clotho settled
down enough to agree; this was evidently a major ploy by Satan to
generate disharmony.

"I'm sure the beginnings of the tangle are in your Tapestry," Chronos
said.

"Let's take a look."  Niobe had learned how to generate the image of
the Tapestry, so that she could place the threads properly.  She caused
it to manifest now.  The pattern seemed to be in order.

"If you will permit me," Chronos said.  He lifted his Hourglass; the
sand changed color, and the Tapestry abruptly slid forward.  Niobe kept
her face straight despite the amazement of the other two Aspects; she
knew that Chronos had the power to affect an image she had generated.
The Hourglass was truly the most marvelous of instruments.  "Five days
hence, your time," he explained.

Niobe looked.  There was a monstrous tangle that resulted in a
distortion of the entire Tapestry.  Atropos and Clotho were as appalled
as she was; they would never get that back in proper order once it
occurred!

"We've got to stop it!"  Niobe repeated.  "Once it happens, it's too
late; we have to see that it never happens!"  Then she glanced at
Chronos.  "But if we prevent it, and you've already seen it happen "

"Don't be concerned.  I am immune from paradox.  I change events all
the time, literally, to put right what goes wrong.  I had quite a
campaign with Satan, let me assure you, back when I started!  I had to
traverse eternity itself to get my bearings back.  If you change it,
you change it, that's all; I will remember it merely as one of the
alternate time lines

"Then we shall," Niobe said, relieved.  "If that bomb goes off in five
days, it means we have four days to track down who is to do it, and cut
his thread out of the Tapestry before he does, or reroute it.  Then the
notorious "UN

incident' will never happen!"

"It will never happen," Chronos agreed.  "And we will be spared the
embarrassment of a major tangle," Niobe finished.  "Obviously this is
what Satan set up for us novices to struggle with.  Experienced Aspects
could handle it, but he doesn't think we can."

"A fair assessment," Chronos agreed.  "Satan is devious in the extreme;
one must always be alert for his finesses."

"We'll go home and see what we can do."  "Remember," Chronos said.  "If
you need the assistance of other Incarnations, simply ask.  Any of us
will be glad to do what we can, especially knowing that you are
presently inexperienced."

"We shall," she agreed and rode her thread away.  At the Abode they
held a council of war.  "That tangle is impenetrable," Niobe said.  "A
veritable Gordian Knot.  But we know that the cause is simple: someone
has to plant that bomb and get away so as not to be contaminated when
it goes off.  The thread of life of that mortal has to be in our
Tapestry, here; all we have to do is locate it and remove it."  The
others gazed at the Tapestry through her eyes.

"There are so many threads, so intricately meshed!"  Clotho said.  "We
could search for months and never find the right one!"

"Needle in a haystack," Atropos agreed.  "Woman,

you poked me into a bigger picklement than I knew when you signed me up
for Fate!  I love it!"

"Too bad we don't have a computer," Clotho said.  "There's the
Purgatory Computer," Niobe said.  "It should store everything."

"Well, get moving, gal!"  Atropos said.  "I hope you know how to work
it, because I sure don't!"

Niobe got moving.  She entered the Purgatory front office and asked for
time with the Computer.  Computers had not been widely used during her
term as Clotho, but Purgatory was evidently keeping up with the times.
She had not had a lot of experience, but understood the general
principle.

Fortunately, this one was user-friendly.  GREETINGS, PATE, its screen
flashed when she turned it on.  HOW MAY

I INFORM YOU?

She started to punch the keys, awkwardly.  SIMPLY SPEAK TO ME, the
screen advised.

Oh.  "I need to figure out a tangle," Niobe said.  "I'm new at this,
and "

IS THERE A KEY THREAD?

"Yes.  But I need to locate it and there are millions to choose
from."

CONDUCT A GLOBAL SEARCH.  WHAT ARE YOUR DEFINING

CRITERIA?

"Well, it's some person who will visit the United Nations complex in
New York, on or before a particular date."

PROVIDE THE DATE.

Niobe provided it.  The screen became a blur of lines, then cleared.

THREE

THOUSAND, TWO HUNDRED, FIFTY-SIX THREADS REMAIN.

Well, that was progress.  "Can we get it down to a smaller number such
as half a dozen?"

PROVIDE FURTHER DEFINITION.

Niobe pondered.  The other Aspects helped.  Just how big is that
contraption a psychic stink bomb?  Atropos thought.

"The person will have to carry in a psychic stink bomb potent enough to
foul the entire complex," Niobe said.  "If you happen to know how big
such a package would be "

The screen flickered.  If Niobe hadn't known better, she would have
suspected that the machine was laughing.  A PSYCHIC STINK BOMB?  The
flickering became more pronounced.

"Yes.  Someone is going to leave it to detonate in the UN complex, and
America will be expelled from the UN and the headquarters will move to
Moscow."

TO MOSCOW?  Now jags of yellow showed at the edges of the screen, and
wiggly music sounded in the background.

"Now don't shake off your stand," Niobe cautioned it, annoyed.  "All I
need to know is "

With a seeming effort, the computer got itself under control.  ONE

THOUSAND, EIGHT HUNDRED, FOURTEEN

THREADS REMAIN.

Still too many.  Maybe motive, Clotho suggested.  Does it know who
might want to humiliate the UN?

"Can you eliminate the threads of those who might have no reason to
dislike the UN?"

The screen flickered again, and the words STINK BOMB showed fleetingly,
as if an illicit thought were passing through the machine's random
access memory.  Then it settled down again.  SEVEN HUNDRED,

EIGHTY-THREE

THREADS REMAIN.

Still way too high!  Get practical, woman, Atropos thought.  Ask how
many have access to such a bomb.  They can't be a dime a dozen.

"Eliminate those who have no reasonable access to such a bomb," Niobe
said.

FOUR THREADS REMAIN.

Jackpot!  Atropos thought.  One day to a thread!  Never thought all my
time running down vandals would pay off like this!

Evidently grandmothers did learn useful skills in the ghetto!  Atropos
had been the one to recognize opportunity as a defining
characteristic.

"Please identify those four threads," Niobe said, relieved.

Four names appeared on the screen.  Niobe made a note of them.  "Thank
you.  Computer," she said.

YOU ARE WELCOME, FATE, the screen said.  Then, just before it switched
off, the words STINK BOMB flickered once more.  The machine seemed
unable to clear that concept from its banks.  The devices of Purgatory
seemed to have more personality than those of the mortal realm.

You've got to admit that ol' Satan has a certain sense of humor,
Atropos thought.

"Yes, I'm sure he's laughing as he humiliates us," Niobe agreed
shortly.  Mirth was indeed a characteristic of the Father of Lies.

Back at the Abode, they reviewed the four threads.  "We may do better
if we approach our own kind," Clotho suggested.  "To ascertain whether
they are guilty or innocent."

"We don't want to snip any innocent threads," Atropos agreed.

Niobe sighed.  "True.  We don't want to make a mistake.  Very well, I
will verify one of the white ones today."  She looked at the two white
threads.  One was for an old man, the other for a middle-aged woman
who

"Great balls of fire!"  Atropos exclaimed.  "She's a Satanist!"

There was a prime suspect, certainly.  "I don't want to go charging
into a Satanist shrine!"  Niobe said.

"Let's leave that one till last," Clotho suggested.

Niobe was glad to agree.  She knew of the Satanists by reputation, but
even as an immortal she did not want to get involved with them.

The other white thread was ordinary.  The old man was a retired carpet
salesman named Henry Clogg.  That was about as much as she could get in
detail.  Otherwise she could have solved the riddle of the stink bomber
without leaving the Abode.  That, of course, was what Satan was
counting on: Fate's present inability to read the threads aptly.  This
much of Satan's strategy was working.

She rode a thread down to the old man's home.  It was midmorning here,
and he was out working on his little garden.  ;

Niobe approached.  "Hello, I'm looking for Mr.

Clogg."

"You got him, cutie," the man replied cheerfully.

Niobe found herself blushing.  It had been years since anyone had
called her that.  She wished she hadn't let herself run down so much in
the last few years; she was a good thirty pounds overweight and sagged
in places that hadn't existed in her youth.  Now, as an Incarnation,
she was fixed in this form; dieting would not improve her figure.  Of
course she could change her appearance by means of magic or physics, as
Lisa had done, but she preferred to live with herself with neither
spell nor girdle.  However she might conceal it, the flab was still
there.  Clotho had an easier time of it; all she needed was minimal
magic to shift hair color and length, skin shade, and slant of eyes;

she would be an attractive young woman regardless.

She focused on her mission: to discover whether this man was likely to
be the bomber.  "Mr.  Clogg, I "

"Call me Henry, cutie.  Just plain old Henry.  I'm not ^ anyone
special, you know."  |

Little did he know!  She realized that he must call every | woman
cutie; it had no significance.  It embarrassed her | almost as much to
blush for nothing as to blush for cause.  "Um, Henry, I I understand
you are planning to visit the United Nations complex soon."

He plunged his trowel into the earth so that the handle was left
pointing up so that it wouldn't get lost, and climbed to his feet,
brushing himself off.  "Oh, you heard about that!  Yeah, my son's
treating me to a two-day tour, and I guess that's on the list.  Me, I
don't know much about it, and don't much care.  But he figures the old
man's got to do some things before he kicks Off, so that's it.  Don't
want no ignorant louts in Hell, I guess."

"Oh, you're not going to die soon.  Henry!"

The man grinned.  "/ know that and you know that, but my son don't know
that.  I wish he'd save his money; going to need it soon enough when I
get surgery."

"Surgery?"

"Got this here tumor on my butt," he confided.  Like some old people,
he was not at all reticent to discuss intimate details of physiology
with strangers.  He seemed not to question her presence at all.  "It's
a nuisance, but it's benign.  Just a pain in the rump."  He laughed.
"All those years I talked about that sort of thing, and now I've really
got it!  Good, deep cushion takes care of it, but my son, he worries,
says I got to have it out, and that means surgery and the lab and all,
which is a real pain in the assets, just to prove what I already know.
My son needs that money for his family; I don't want him throwing it
away to doctors for what I don't need anyway."  He squinted at her. "Do
I know you?"

"No," Niobe said.  "I "

"Got an accent, don't you!  You're Irish!  You ever been by to kiss the
Blarney Stone?  Have a seat; you don't have any boil on your bottom, do
you?"

"Uh, no," Niobe said, taking the deck chair he offered.  Henry, true to
his word, had a chair with a fluffy cushion on it.  He eased himself
onto it, wincing.  Evidently the tumor was more painful than he cared
to admit.

"Well, what can I do for you, cutie?"  he asked.

"It's about the United Nations," she said cautiously.  "There's a rumor
that there's going to be trouble, and "

"I told you, I don't care about the UN.  Just a bunch of lefties
soaking up our tax dollars, if you ask me.  We'd be better off out of
it, and tell them to get off our land and go to Russia or somewhere."

He's a candidate, all right!  Atropos thought.

"But the United Nations is perhaps the major force for peace in the
world," Niobe protested.  "It represents a forum for dialogue between
most of the nations, so that they can talk problems out instead of
going to war.  It would be disaster if that forum were eliminated."

Henry shrugged.  "As far as I can see, they mostly talk about how
terrible America is.  While they take our money."

He's got a point, Atropos thought.

"That's a necessary freedom of speech," Niobe said.  "Words will not
hurt this country, but bombs will.  It is far better to "

He nodded.  "That's right, isn't it!  You know about bombs, over there!
I can tell you, I wouldn't live in Ireland today if you paid me to!"

"Well, it's really not like that," Niobe said defensively.  "We don't
see the violence, we only read about it in the newspapers.  The same as
you read about crime in the big cities.  The countryside is as peaceful
and pretty as any in the world."

He nodded again.  "You care about your land.  I like that.  But you
know, if they have bombs going off over there, how come they aren't
talking in the UN?  I mean the IRS and "

"The IRA," Niobe said.

"What's the difference?  Over here they call it the IRS, and it does to
your wallet what those bombers over there do to your buildings.  I wish
they'd all get lost!"

She saw her opportunity.  "You don't like bombers?"

"I don't like bombers," he agreed emphatically.  "Except for maybe the
UN building.  Maybe that could use a bomb!"  Aha!  Atropos thought.

"You can't mean that.  Henry!"  Niobe protested.  "If the UN were
bombed, it could trigger another world war!"

Henry considered.  "Could be.  And we can't afford another war, that's
for sure.  Couldn't afford the last one, when it comes to that.  You
know why inflation's so bad?  Because we're still trying to pay off the
last war!  But still, it's tempting.  If we could have maybe a false
alarm, just to make the UN move out "

"Like a stink bomb?"  Niobe asked.

He laughed so hard he winced from the motion of his posterior.  "Sure!
That'd be great!  Make that bad smell literal!"

Niobe experienced mixed emotions.  On the one hand she was relieved to
have confirmation of his guilt, for it solved her problem of research.
On the other, she hated to do what she knew she would have to do: have
Atropos cut his thread short.  Now that she had talked with Henry
Clogg, she liked him; he was at least an honest man.  It would be a
shame to terminate his life so abruptly.

It is not certain, Clotho warned.  Many people will not do what they
say.

Niobe grasped at that straw.  "Henry, if someone were to come and give
you a stink bomb that you could sneak into the UN complex when you go
there, so that after you leave it would mess up everything and get the
United States of America expelled from "

"Hey, wait a minute!"  he said.  "Why would anyone do that?  A bomb
that strong would cost a lot of money!"

"Yes.  But let's say Satan hoped to promote discord in the world, so he
brought you a "

Henry scowled.  "Satan?  Listen, cutie, I'm a God-fearing man, no
matter what I say about going to Hell!  I wouldn't touch the Devil with
a ten-foot spell!"

"Well, he wouldn't give you his identity, of course.  He might come in
the form of a businessman, offering to pay you enough money to cover
your surgery and not be a burden to your son, if you will just take a
package to the UN complex, hide it from the guards, and leave it there
where it won't be noticed, in a closet or somewhere."

He stared ahead, pondering.  "Satan, eh?  If he wants to be rid of the
UN, I'm not sure / do!"

"Well, as I said, he wouldn't say he was "

"What do I want, taking money from strangers?"  he demanded
righteously.  "Lug a big suitcase around on the tour?  I don't need any
part of that!"

"You mean you wouldn't stink-bomb the UN if you had the chance?"

"Not now that I've thought about it!  When you really get down to it,
stink bombs are kid stuff, not that funny.  And I sure wouldn't do it
for tainted money!  If the Devil wants it done, let him get someone
else to do his dirty work!  Me, I want to go to Heaven when I kick off,
even if I won't find most of my friends there."

Niobe felt mixed relief and regret again, this time reversed.  Henry
Clogg was not the one after all, and she was glad she had not decided
to cut the thread of an innocent man.  But it meant they would have to
interview the others, and that the job had not yet been done.

"Say you want some sherry?"  Henry asked.

"Well, no, I "

"I don't get much company these days," he said.  "It'll be good to
share it.  My wife, bless her soul, she liked it.  It's been three
years now " His face turned sad.

"I'll have some sherry," Niobe agreed.

He eased himself to his feet and went indoors to fetch the bottle and
glasses.  He's a good ol' geezer, Atropos thought approvingly.  Reminds
me some of my old man, before he died.  except mine liked moonshine,

"I normally don't drink " Niobe murmured.

Sherry isn't drinking, woman!  Atropos thought firmly.  It's
socializing.

I don't think the other interviews will be this easy, Clotho thought.

Niobe just nodded.

Henry returned with the sherry.  Niobe sipped the golden wine,
satisfied for the moment to relax.  It was nice being company, however
extemporaneously.  This was the way she should have been with Cedric,
instead of drinking too much.  Alcohol was an evil only when abused as
with so many pleasures.

"My son's already bought me a ticket for the carpet to New York," Henry
remarked.  "That gripes me some.  See, I was a carpet salesman, when I
worked.  We had some pretty fancy models, too.  You know how those
automobile companies always say a carpet's no good in the rain?  Don't
you believe it!  We have models with canopies;

no way you'd get wet on one of those.  Could even close it in tight and
pressurize the cabin for high flying.  And magic doesn't pollute the
air the way gasoline does."

She listened, and nodded agreement.  She was sorry when the sherry was
finished, and she had to go.

"Come again sometime!"  Henry told her cheerfully.

"I will," she promised.  She intended to do that, when she had time
free.

They returned to the Abode and considered.  "One down, three to go,"
Atropos said.  "Who do we tackle next?"

"Well, we have a young black woman, an Oriental martial artist, and the
Satanist."

"Let's take care of the easy one first," Atropos said.  "That's mine
the black girl."

"But let's rest first," Clotho said.  "We want to be fresh so we don't
make mistakes."

The others agreed.  Also, there were some routine threads to spin,
place, and cut; there was no point in letting the job get behind.

They worked on the threads; then all three slept.

* * *

Next morning.  New York area time, Atropos assumed the body and made
her first solo trip along the thread down to the realm of the mortals.
The girl was at home, flirting with two boys.  She was about fifteen,
the boys older.

Atropos burst in upon them like a scourge from Purgatory.  "What's
these boys doing here, girl?"  she demanded, glaring about.  The girl
looked stricken, and the boys abashed.  "You're not 'sposed to have
company at home alone, you know that!  If your grand maw knew "

"Grandma's dead," the girl said defensively.

"She'd roll over twice in her grave!"  Atropos continued without pause.
"And if your maw knew "

The girl gave a little squeal of terror.

"She'd have your li'l black hide hung out on the line to cool!" Atropos
said, fixing her with a deadly stare.

"Ain't that right, girl!"

The girl nodded, unwillingly.  Atropos whirled on the boys.  "Now
scat!"  She took a menacing step toward them.  The two banged into each
other in their haste to exit.  "And if I see you two out here again,
I'll take the cane to you myself!"  she called after their fleeing
forms.

How did you know they weren't supposed to be here?  Niobe thought.  We
didn't read that in the thread!

"I know boys," Atropos muttered.  "And I know girls.  Moment I saw
their faces, I knew what they were up to."  She smiled privately. 
"Same thing / was up to, at that age.  Made me a grandma sooner than I
needed."

She turned back to the girl, who was trying to recover her poise.  "Who
are you?"  the girl demanded.  "You ain't my ma!  You can't tell me
what to do!"

"I'm a friend of your grand maw girl," Atropos said.  "She can't rest
easy till she knows you're going straight, so I'm checking you now.  I
can tell you, I don't much like what I'm seeing!  You going hog-wild
here why aren't you in school?"

"I'm in second shift!"  the girl protested.  "It don't start for two
hours."

Atropos rolled her eyes skyward.  "Lord, I don't know if I can do the
job in two hours."  Then she fixed on the girl again.  "You're in big
trouble, child!"

"Listen, old woman, you got no business coming in here like you owned
the place!  I can do anything I want.  Leave me alone!"

Atnapos sighed.  "I see we're going to have to do it the hard way.  I'm
going to have to enchant you."  "You don't have no magic!"  the girl
said.  "You can't "

Atropos caught her by the arm and flung a thread upward with her free
hand.  She was getting the hang of thread manipulation very quickly. "I
don't like back talk girl!"  She slid up the thread, carrying the girl
with her.

The girl screamed as they passed through the wall and sailed into the
sky.  "Let me go!  Let me go!"

Atropos glanced down.  The rooftops were already receding below.  "You
sure, girl?  If I let you go now, you'll drop like a stone."

The girl considered that and was quiet.  Atropos slid on up to the
cloud bank that defined Purgatory, then paused.  "Now I want you to
come clean with me, girl.  If you lie to me, I'll drop you right out of
this cloud!"  The girl was daunted.  "What are you?"  she demanded. 
"Just someone interested in what's right.  Now talk, or I'll turn into
a big spider and eat you."  Still the girl resisted.  "You can't!" 
Atropos assumed the arachnid form, man-sized.  The girl screamed and
tried to scramble through the cloud substance.  Atropos changed back,
"Change your mind, girl?"

"I din't mean nothing wrong!"  the girl babbled.  "I din't even know
what it was!  This guy tells me here, just sniff this, it'll make you
feel good, so I sniffed it, and in a little bit I felt like I was
floating right off the floor!"  She looked down nervously.  "Only not
like this!"

"Don't sniff anything like that again!"  Atropos told her sternly.
"That stuff 11 be the death of you!"

"I won't!"  the girl promised.  The vision of the huge spider had
finally convinced her that Atropos meant business.

"How are you doing in school?"

"Well, you know how it is "

"Sure I know, girl!  You've got better things to do than study, right?
Figure you'll just slide through, then make it in the big world on sex
appeal?  Girl, you'll lock yourself in the ghetto all your life, same
as your maw, same as your grand maw  Same as me!  You want to be
dependent on a man for everything you need?  It'll cost you, girl!  A
man always takes his payment in kind.  You want to make it on your own,
then you can look about and see what you want from a man.  Then you can
put your own price on it, and that's not money.  What're you doing in
school?"

"Not enough," the girl admitted.

"They take you on any field trips?"

The girl brightened.  "Sure there's this New York trip coming up. We're
going there in a bus, see the sights "

"Something I've got to tell you about that, girl.  This man may come,
maybe offer you money or something to sniff, just to take something to
the UN building.  Know what you tell him?"

Wordlessly, the girl shook her head.

"You tell him to go to Hell!"  Atropos cried.  "You don't take a thing
to New York!  You just go and learn all you can, so you can write up a
good paper on it when you get home."

"That's all?  Just tell him ?"

"That's all.  That, and do your homework.  You haven't ?"

"Not yet," the girl agreed faintly.

"Well, we've still got an hour.  I'll help you this time, but after
this you do it on your own, get your grades up, you hear?  No more lip
to your teachers!  So your grand maw won't roll over."

Again the girl shook her head, offering no resistance.

Atropos took her back down the thread and into the house.  They got out
the homework and discussed it.  Atropos was not conversant with the
technical material, but Niobe and Clotho thought the answers at her, so
she could tutor the girl competently.  It was a fine collaborative
effort.  By the time the girl left for school, they were satisfied that
not only had they eliminated her as a potential carrier for the stink
bomb, they had set her on a much better course of life than she would
have followed otherwise.  "The world needs more aggressive
grandmothers," Atropos remarked as they returned to the Abode.  The
other two could only agree.

-12

BLOOD

As they considered the next case, they had misgivings.  The thread of
the Oriental man showed him to be age thirty, and a significant force
within his culture.  They could not simply cut his thread; that would
lead to serious complications in the Tapestry, not as bad as those
stemming from the stink bomb, but still well worth avoiding.  They
would have to talk him out of it and Niobe was learning to read the
threads well enough, now, to know that this would not be easy.

For one thing, there was a kink in the thread that indicated something
of extreme significance had touched it.  That was surely Satan, making
his offer.  If the man had accepted, how could they stop him without
cutting his thread?

Clotho assumed the body.  "I will try," she said simply.  She pointed
the distaff, extended the thread, and slid down it to the man's
location.  Again, it was morning, in the state of New Jersey, and he
was at his place of business.  This was a dojo, or martial arts
establishment.

We should have guessed, Niobe thought.  His name is Samurai.

"Which means Warrior," Clotho murmured.  "A pretentious title!"

She opened the door and entered.  There was a desk inside with a girl
in a gi, or martial arts uniform.  "You wish to join for the course?"
she inquired politely.

"No," Clotho said.  "I wish to speak to Samurai."

The girl smiled.  "The Master does not sign up students.  But in class
he will give you the same attention he does all students, and if you
have talent you may be able to enroll in an advanced class and receive
special instruction."  She eyed Clotho appraisingly.  "Of course that
is more expensive and requires special dedication."

"I don't wish to be a student," Clotho insisted.  "I have more personal
business with the man."

The girl studied her again.  Suddenly Niobe was aware of the appearance
of their youngest Aspect.  She was well dressed clothing in the Abode
was of the highest quality, fashioned of genuine silk, and fitted with
magical perfection and was an extremely well-formed woman to begin
with.  She was a person to be noticed more than passingly.  "I will
inquire," the girl said and touched a button.

In a moment she received an answer.  She glanced up.  "Take the hall to
the left, through the curtain.  Oh and remove your shoes before you
enter the office.  He's very fussy about that."

"Thank you."  Clotho walked down the hall, then paused to remove her
dainty shoes before pushing through the curtain of thin bamboo.

The office was like a Japanese garden, with decorative plants and
Oriental statuary all around, and a broad mat covering the floor.  At
the far side, seated on a slightly elevated dais, was a handsome man in
a resplendent gi, almost a robe.

Clotho stood bemused at the entrance.  "Oh, it's beautiful!"  she
breathed.  "I have never been to Japan,

but "

"Come forward," the man said.  "Do not be afraid of the tatami."

She stepped with her stocking feet onto the mat, which was soft but
firm.  "Samurai, I want to talk to you about "

"Wait," he said peremptorily, and she paused in place.

"Turn about, woman."

Clotho hesitated, then turned around.

The man got up, seeming to flow effortlessly to his feet.  He strode to
a curtained closet in one wall, moving like a lithe panther.  He
brought out a folded kimono.  "Don this."

"What?"  "I want you properly garbed," he said.  "Go to the changing
chamber there."  He gestured at a door.  "Put this on.  Then we shall
talk."  "Samurai, I don't know what you think I'm here for "

"Not for classes," he said.  "Not for business.  So you mean to be a
geisha."

"A geisha!"  she exclaimed indignantly.

What's a geisha?  Atropos asked.

A Japanese entertainment-girl, high-class, Niobe replied.

Oh, so that's what they call them, over there!  We call them whores.
It's not the same Niobe started, but then external events interrupted
them.

"You had another intention?"  Samurai was saying.  Clotho switched to
Japanese, spewing out a minor torrent of words.  Neither Niobe nor
Atropos understood that language, but they got the gist from her mind;
she was calling him, in eloquent idiom, a male sexist pig.

Oopsy!  Niobe thought.

That girl's got a temper!  Atropos thought, half admiringly.

Samurai's face turned grim.  He took a step toward Clotho.  She spun
about and ran for the curtained door.  She plunged through, paused to
pick up her shoes, and froze.  A man was charging down the hall toward
her.

She turned again and plunged back through the curtain.  Samurai was
there.  She flung her shoes at him.  He caught one and dodged the
other; he had marvelous reflexes.  She dodged to the side and ran
across the room.

Samurai followed.  Clotho reached out, grabbed a potted cactus,
whirled, and hurled it at his head.  This time she scored.  The clay
pot shattered between his eyes, the dirt spreading across his face.

/ wish she hadn't done that!  Niobe thought.

She's one hair-trigger gal!  Atropos responded.  Maybe we'd better just
thread on out of here.

We can't; she's got the body.

You mean we can't take over if we need to?

Not until she lets us and she's not paying attention to us at the
moment.

Atropos mentally shook her head.  Been forty years since the last time
I got raped.  Going to be about forty seconds till the next time!

A mortal can't rape an Incarnation!  Niobe protested.

You sure about that?

Niobe considered.  No.  I know no mortal can hurt us, but I'm not sure
if rape counts as hurting.  It may be just just an interaction, no
blood shed.

No blood for me, no blood for you but what about her?

Again Niobe considered.  She's as innocent as I was when I married, the
first time.  Still

Well, if it happens, let's see if we can change to me in the middle.
That'll sober him.

Niobe thought of that, and of the likely reaction of the man.  She
started to laugh, though she didn't want to; it really wasn't at all
funny.

Clotho, meanwhile, was running down another passage.  She plunged
through the bamboo curtain at the far end and burst into the main work
chamber.  About twenty students in white gi's and white belts and
yellow belts were practicing throws, supervised by a man in a brown
belt.  They paused at the sight of her, for Clotho summer dress was a
complete contrast to their uniforms.  She was in somewhat frilly blue,
with a pink sash and a pink rose on the front, and her hair was bound
in a western ponytail by a pink ribbon.  She was the very picture of
lovely young innocence.

Then Samurai burst out after her, the very picture of masculine
outrage.  Earth stained his pretty robe and smudged his face, and blood
dripped from his nose.  The students gave way as he strode forward and
caught Clotho by the arm.  "Woman, you have no "

Clotho froze for an instant, then tried to tear herself away, but his
grip was like iron.  She spewed more Japanese at him.

Hoof Atropos thought, mentally pursing her lips.  No girl that age
should know concepts like that!

Niobe had to agree.  Liberated women evidently learned things younger
than did the conventional woman of prior generations, whatever the
language.

Samurai's rage turned to something like awe, then to disgust.  He
snapped something back in Japanese.  It seemed to translate to
something like Atropos' concept of the geisha girl.

Clotho swung her hand at his head.  He caught it and drew her in to
him.  He kissed her.  She struggled, but could not escape.  Slowly she
relaxed.

That man sure can kiss!  Atropos thought.

The taming of the shrew, Niobe agreed.

Then Clotho remembered herself.  She bit Samurai on the lip.  Then, at
last, she remembered her powers.  She flung out a thread and slid along
it.

The man's arms were abruptly empty, for Fate was insubstantial when
sliding.  Astonished, he looked about.

There was Clotho, ten feet away.  Samurai started toward her and she
slid through him to the other side.  The watching students gaped.  When
he turned and started for her again, she slid to him, ducked down, and
materialized at his legs, causing him to stumble over her.  Then she
slid another foot, passed through him, materialized again, and kicked
him in the rear.

Samurai took a forward rolling break fall and came smoothly back to his
feet.  "Magic!"  he cried.  "My sword!"

The brown-belt hurried out, to return in a moment with a sheathed
katana.  Samurai took it and drew the gleaming blade.  "I know how to
deal with a witch!"  Get out of here, girl!  Atropos thought at Clotho.
This time the girl heard.  She sailed up a thread, out of the
building.

Then, in air, she paused.  "But this isn't accomplishing my mission!"
she exclaimed.

"Welcome to reality, girl!"  Atropos muttered, using the mouth now that
they were alone.  "If that man wasn't set to do Satan's business
before, he sure is now!"

"But what can I do?  I've cost him face!"

"What?"

"Face.  I've embarrassed him in public, caused him to lose status."

"You mean he won't be reasonable now?"  Atropos inquired dryly.

"He's not a bad man, just arrogant!  I shouldn't have humiliated
him!"

"Didn't he call you a whore?"  Atropos asked, and Niobe realized that
the wise old woman was leading the foolish young one to a
reconsideration.

"He thought I was a geisha.  That's I'm sure he didn't intend it as an
insult.  It is an honored profession."

"Entertainer," Niobe put in.  "Companion."

"Well, then, girl, go back and apologize!"  Atropos snapped, sounding
much the way she had when addressing the black teenager.

"It's not that simple," Clotho said, torn.  "I'm a liberated woman.  I
don't hold with with "

"You'd rather tell him to go to Hell?"  Atropos demanded.

"No!  When it's a matter efface I didn't mean to do that!"

"Didn't mean to jump to a conclusion and bawl him out in
gutter-Japanese?"  Atropos asked.

"I the old ways all my life I've opposed " "Girl, you think your new
ways look any better?"  "No," Clotho whispered.  "I overreacted." 
"Well, we'd better go back and try to explain," Niobe said, "or we'll
have to cut his thread."  "No!"  Clotho cried in anguish.  "She's not
that liberated," Atropos said.  "Well, he is quite a man," Niobe said. 
"Quite a man," Clotho echoed ruefully.  "Look, girl, you go on back
there," Atropos directed

Clotho.  "But this time listen to us.  We'll help you, same's you
helped me with that homework.  Ain't none of us knows it all, if you
want it in my dialect.  We'll get that man re-faced, somehow."  Clotho
laughed, somewhat hysterically.  "It won't work!  It doesn't work that
way!"  "Let's try it anyway," Atropos said.  "He's a man, and you're
one good-looking young woman.  He'll listen.

What've we got to lose?"

Clotho shrugged fatalistically, then slid back down the thread.

The class was already back in session, but the brown belt cried out the
moment Clotho materialized.  She walked by him and into the hall to the
office.

Samurai was there, sponging off his face.  He froze as he saw Clotho in
the mirror.

Apologize, Atropos ordered.

"I I came to apologize," Clotho said.

Samurai turned.  "Only blood will make this right," he said grimly.

"I I can't give you that."

"Who are you?"

Clotho hesitated.  / don't think it would be smart to tell him our
nature, Niobe thought.  It would seem like a threat.

"I I am a supernatural creature," Clotho said.  "That is why I could
not "

"A witch!"  he exclaimed.  "No.  A woman.  But not like others." 
Almost, he smiled.  "Not like others," he agreed.  "Samurai, how can I
make it right?"  Clotho asked.  "I did not mean to you made me angry "
"Because I thought you a geisha?"

"This is America!  Women are independent, not the playthings of men!"

He nodded.  "I mistook you for Japanese."  That stung.  "I am Japanese
but liberated.  I I left my family because I would not follow the
medieval ways."

"Those ways are good ways!"  he said.

"Will you accept my apology?"

"No.  Only blood will scour that humiliation clean."

She spread her hands pleadingly.  "Samurai, I am immortal.  I cannot
give you blood.  But if we cannot work this out, I will have to take
yours."

He touched his nose.  "You have already done that."

"All yours," she said.

"Then take it!"  he exclaimed.  "Bring your champion to meet my katana\
Then will the debt be settled."  Accept!  Niobe thought.

"But "

"Today," he said.  "Here in my dojo.  Before my students, where the
insult occurred."

Accept!  Niobe repeatedly urgently.

"All right," Clotho said faintly.  "This this afternoon."

Samura seemed surprised.  "You accept?"

Now tell him our business, Niobe thought.

"Yes.  I will bring my champion here.  To meet you.  Now may I tell you
why I came here?"

Samurai inclined his head.  "You do intrigue me,

woman."

"Someone will come to offer you something, for a service "

"He already has."

Clotho paused.  We're closer to the deadline, Niobe thought.

"You must not do it!"  Clotho said.

"Why not?"  "It is Satan making the offer.  He means to bomb the

United Nations "

"What do I care about the United Nations?"

"This if this happens, there will be discord among the nations, perhaps
war "

"What's wrong with war?"

Baffled, Clotho stared at him.

He's a martial artist, Niobe thought.  A warrior.  He likes combat.

Ask him if he wants his soul to go to Hell, Atropos suggested.

"If you do this, if you serve Satan, your soul will be his."

"How can you know this?"  Samurai demanded.  "I know."  "Why should I
believe you?"

Better tell him, after all, Atropos thought, and Niobe agreed.

"Because I am Fate," Clotho said.  "Now you are insulting my
intelligence!"  "What proof do you require?"  "No proof, woman!  I will
not be mocked!"  Ask him what Satan offered, Niobe thought.  "What did
Satan offer you, to deliver that package?"  "You cannot imagine the
value of " He broke off.  "It wasn't Satan."

"One of his agents.  It doesn't matter who came to you;

it is Satan's offer."

Samurai considered.  "He offered the secret of the finger death."

"The what?"

"I have searched for it for years.  A blow so light it may be struck
with a single finger that causes death within the hour.  It causes the
autonomic system to malfunction progressively until the body cannot
cope."

"You want to kill someone with one finger?"

"No.  Merely to have the ability to do it."

"And for this you agreed to bomb the UN?"

"No.  Just to carry a package there.  And I haven't agreed; I will
decide tomorrow."

"You must turn it down!"

"That is not for you to say.  Who is your champion?"

Mars, Niobe thought.  He will help if we ask him.

"Mars."

"Who?"

"The Incarnation of War."

"Still you mock me!"  he exclaimed.  "There are no such things as
Incarnations of Fate and War!  I will not tolerate mockery after
injury!"

"But he will come here!"  Clothe said.  "I will allow no stranger here
today!"  We'll bring him anyway, Niobe thought.  Samurai thinks he is
being mocked, but he will believe when he sees Mars!

"We will be here," Clotho said.  Then she extended a thread and slid
away, barefooted.

Back in the Abode, they reviewed what had happened.  They agreed that
Samurai had not intended to insult Clotho by his reference to geisha;
he had honestly mistaken her purpose in approaching him.  Probably he
encountered a number of young women who wished to have a personal or
sexual relationship with a master martial artist.  So Clotho's angry
reaction had been unwarranted.  They also agreed that Samurai was
basically a decent man whose thread should not be prematurely cut, and
that his loss efface had to be compensated for.  But not by blood!

Clotho promised to consult with the other Aspects before she exploded
like that again.  She had been ready to commit suicide after being cast
out other family, and that militancy of reaction remained.  She tended
to go too far.  "After all," she conceded, "some male sexist pigs may
be decent sorts, when allowance is made."

And here was a delicate aspect, "If you could get Samurai to turn Satan
down, by being what Samurai took you for," Niobe asked, "would you do
it?"

Clotho suffered a siege of sheer rage.  Then she calmed, realizing that
she was about to react exactly as she had promised not to.  "I don't
know," she whispered.

As it had been with Chronos, Niobe thought.  When she herself had been
Clotho.  The role of Fate required its sacrifices, not so much of
conscience as of image.  The current Clotho thought of herself as
liberated, but she was bound.

"Now we must recruit Mars," Niobe said.  "I know him of old; he will
help.  But I do not know this particular office-holder, and it is
better that he not know my past;

that is one secret we must keep from all until we deal with Satan.  So
Clotho should approach him her way, and put the matter into his
hands."

Clotho sighed.  "This office and Aspect have many burdens!"

Niobe laughed.  "What else is new?  Would you trade it?"

"No."

Atropos smiled.  "I think we're getting it together."  Clotho rode the
thread to Mars.  He was near the Iran Iraq border, supervising a
locally savage skirmish.  "These folk of Babylon and Persia are really
dedicated to my purpose," he remarked with satisfaction as Clotho
approached. Then he took a second look at her.  "Well, Clotho, you have
changed! Did that sweet Hungarian girl get tired?"

"She fell in love," Clotho said, as if Lisa had died.  Mars laughed.
"That's a liability of your type!  You're all right until you get mushy
about a man, then you sag into "

Clotho's temper flared again.  She spoke a few sharp words in
Japanese.

Mars smiled.  "And you are the mother of a sickly dog," he responded in
the same language.  Niobe and Atropos picked up the meaning from
Clotho's mind.

Clotho was aghast.  "You understood!"

"Sweet stuff.  War knows every language of mankind!  If you wish to
quarrel, you have come to the right party."

Now she was embarrassed.  "I came here to ask your help."

"And right prettily you asked for it.  Flower of the Orient!  What can
I do for you?"

Clotho explained how all three Aspects were new in their roles, so were
having trouble handling Satan's machinations.  "Now I have insulted
this martial artist called Samurai, and must give him satisfaction
before I can persuade him to "

"Samurai!  I know of him!  He's a fine warrior, though perhaps not the
match of those whose reputation he borrows.  A man of the old school,
with that old-fashioned pride.  So he took you for a geisha!"

"Yes," Clotho agreed, embarrassed.

"And you kicked him in the butt before his class."

"Yes," she agreed faintly.

"You will have to give him blood."

"No!  No killing!"

Mars made a gesture with his sword, and the fighting in the region
ceased.  The guns fell silent, and even the moans of the wounded faded
out.  "Woman, you have cost him face.  You know what that means?"

"Yes," she said grimly.

"He is inflexible on matters of honor.  Few like him exist today; he is
steel in an age of rust and plastic a genuine man.  I can satisfy him
on the martial level, but only you can abate his inner pain, and until
you do, he will not do as you request.  Nor should he.  Death before
dishonor, according to the great tradition."

"But we're trying to avoid death, to prevent war " She faltered,
staring at him.

"And I am War," Mars finished.  "Woman, your dainty foot has a
predilection for your mouth.  But I understand.  I am an Incarnation,
and you are another.  I will do what I can for you today, and some
other time you will do what you can for me."

Clotho sighed.  "So all males want only one thing!"

"You will adjust your threads to simplify my situation, when I get in a
bind," Mars clarified.  "This is the manner Incarnations cooperate."

"Oh."  Clotho was flushing as well as she was able.  "The reason women
suppose that men want only one thing," Mars continued blithely, "is
that that is all women are capable of perceiving in men.  Women do not
properly comprehend matters like, for example, honor."  "That's not
true!"  Clotho exclaimed.  "Ah, so?  Then let's discuss honor.  You
have impaired Samurai's honor; if you want to deal with him, you must
yield him yours.  You are of course a virgin " "How can you know that?"
she demanded.  "It is one of the things we male sexists relate to,"
Mars said.  "Now do you understand the blood you must offer to
Samurai?"

Clotho hesitated, appalled.

He's right, Niobe thought.

It's the way men are, Atropos agreed.

"You like him, don't you?"  Mars inquired cruelly.

Clotho launched herself at him, clawing at his face.

There goes that temper again, Niobe thought.

Girl's got spunk, Atropos agreed.

Mars caught her effortlessly.  "I can see we're going to get along just
fine," he said.  "I love to have pretty girls leap into my arms.  Well,
I'll be there, and I'll set it up for you.  But at the finish, it must
be you and Samurai.  You'll just have to decide how bad you want to
square things.  He's one fine man."  He set her down and turned away,
and the battle resumed.

Clotho stood, angry tears on her face, unable to counter Mars'
insolence.

Let's get out of here, girl, Atropos thought.  Numbly, Clotho extended
a thread and slid back up toward Purgatory.  Niobe sympathized with
her. The girl had fought all her life for independence and equality,
and now she was being thrust into the old sexist role.  She was not the
same person Niobe had been in her youth, yet she was close enough so
that Niobe knew better than to interfere.

They had lunch and adjusted a few threads, preoccupied.  Then Clotho
donned slacks, low-heeled shoes, and a businesslike shirt, and rode a
thread back down to the dojo.

Mars appeared as she landed before it.  He was garbed in a white gi.
Niobe had never been certain how Mars traveled, but it seemed to be
related to his sword.  Each Incarnation had a symbol of office that was
imbued with much of the magic, and the red sword was obviously Mars'
symbol.

"Follow me," Mars said, handing her his sword.

Clotho looked at it.  The thing was unsheathed a massive instrument,
with a handle almost too big for her small hand to hold, and a gleaming
double-edged blade that glowed red from some deep layer.  The whole
thing had a magical aura of menace; it made her nervous.  She held it
awkwardly by two hands, the blade pointing straight down.

Even Niobe was astonished.  What's he up to?  He never sets aside his
red sword!

We'll find out soon enough, Atropos thought.

The girl at the desk recognized Clotho.  "Please leave," she said. "You
are not welcome here."

Mars leaned over the desk.  "I am her champion.  Signal your
hirelings."

Two men appeared at the inner doorway.  Both were in gis and wore black
belts.  "The lady has asked you to leave, mister," one said, stepping
forward.

/ think we're going to see some man-style foolishness, Atropos thought
with a certain relish.  When they don't have sex on their minds, they
do like to fight.

"I have an appointment," Mars said.  He stepped into the man, caught
his outstretched arm, spun about, and sent him rolling across the
floor.

The other man turned and Mars' leg shot out and swept the other man's
foot from under him, so that he landed on the floor with a resounding
slap.

"Now go in and announce me," Mars said.  "I expect a full turnout, and
the courtesy of the dojo."  Without further word, the two men hurried
away.  "But you could have hurt them!"  Clotho protested.  Mars walked
back to Clotho and proffered his arm.  "Not with a simple hand throw
and a foot-sweep; they know how to take falls.  I merely showed them a
hint of my competence."

She held his sword out to him, but he demurred.  "I shall not be using
that here, but cannot trust it to the hand of a mortal.  Hold it until
we are done."

Clotho managed to hold the dread sword by one hand, and took his arm
with the other.  She walked with him through the bamboo curtain and
down the hall toward the main chamber of the dojo.  "Are you planning
to fight all of them?"

"Certainly," Mars replied.  "But "

"I will run the line.  Then it will be your turn."  "But "

"Do not be concerned, cutes.  It will be all right."

/ hope so, Clotho thought nervously.

He knows what he's doing, Niobe thought reassuringly.  The three of us
may not know what he's doing, but he knows.

They reached the second curtain.  "Take off your shoes," Mars told her.
He was already barefoot.  She took them off.  They stepped through.
About forty students were lined along the far wall, standing barefooted
on the edge of the big mat.  They seemed to be arranged roughly in
order of rank, with the white-belts at one end and the black-belts at
the other.  There were, she noted, several women among them.

In the center of the mat stood Samurai.  He turned to face them.

Mars stretched out his right arm.  A red cloth appeared in his hand.
Slowly, deliberately, he wound this belt about his middle and tied it
in place with the odd knot that martial artists used.  There was a
murmur of amazement from the line of students.  It was as if they had
never seen a red belt before.

Is something significant happening?  Niobe thought.

Mars stepped up to the mat, and halted, and bent forward at the waist.
He's bowing to the mat!  Atropos thought, finding it funny.

But Clotho had heard of this.  "It's the ritual," she murmured. "Always
bow when joining or leaving the tatami, the mat, for it breaks your
fall and spares your bones.  Always step on it barefooted."

Now Mars stepped onto the mat.  "You assume the belt of a Master Dan,"
Samurai said, as if in challenge.

"You are observant," Mars replied.

Samurai turned and walked to the black end of the line of students.  He
dropped into a cross-legged seated position.

Mars faced the class, and bowed to the line.  The line bowed back.

Then Mars strode forward and took hold of the student at the white end
of the line.  This was a young woman, so small and light that her bare
feet left the mat when he brought her forward.  He can't attack her!
Niobe thought with horror.  Yet no one else protested, or even seemed
dismayed.

They merely watched.

Mars brought her to the center of the mat and held her by the right
lapel and left sleeve other gi.  "Try a throw,"

he told her.

The girl turned and hauled on his jacket.  She got nowhere.  Then Mars
stepped back, drawing her along with him so that she had to step
quickly forward to avoid losing her balance.  At the moment her right
foot touched the mat, his left foot swept against it.  Her foot went up
and she fell backward.  She landed on the mat, her left arm
outstretched, slapping the mat resoundingly, her right arm captive to
his grip.

"De-ashi harai," Mars said.  "The Advanced-Foot Sweep.  Remember it."
Then he let her go, and she scrambled up, bowed hastily, and returned
to the line.

Mars nodded to the next student, a boy in white belt.  The boy came
out, took hold, and tried a throw of his own.  It also got nowhere.

Mars drew him forward, as before, but this time set his left foot
against the boy's kneecap and hauled him into a tumble on the mat.
"Hiza-guru ma Mars said.  "The Knee-Wheel.  Practice your falls, son,
or you'll get hurt."

"Yes sir!"  the boy exclaimed, scrambling up, bowing, and running back
to his place in the line.

Mars nodded to the third student, another woman in a white belt.  Again
he gave her the chance to try to throw him, and she failed; then he
threw her spinning to the mat with a hand-and-foot motion that seemed
to be in between that of the prior two throws.  "Sasae-tsurikomi-ashi,"
he said.  "The Propping-Drawing-Ankle Throw."

There was a murmur along the line.  "He's doing the First Course of
Instruction!"  someone said behind Clotho.  She turned to look.  A
brown-belt had come in behind her, off the mat.  It was the instructor
of the morning beginners' class; evidently he had returned too late to
join this one, so was watching from the side.

"Is that significant?"  Clotho asked.

Now he recognized her.  "You're the "

"The same," she agreed.  "I brought my champion to meet Samurai."

"In a red belt!"  he murmured, amazed.  "That's ninth or tenth Dan!"

"Is that good?"

"Oh you don't know judo?"

"Nothing," she confessed.  "I just came to talk to Samurai, and then
things went wrong."

He pursed his lips thoughtfully.  "Just so," he said after a moment.
"Very well, I'll be glad to explain.  The master grades of judo are the
Dan, as opposed to the student grades, the kyu.  The Dan are black
belt.  But the very highest grades may wear the red belt.  Normally
such grades are only achieved as honors for service to the art, by
masters who no longer compete.  A competitor with a red belt should be
the finest judoka in the world."

"Oh, that explains why the class was so surprised."

"It certainly does.  As far as I know, there is no living, competing
red belt today.  So this man is bound to be an impostor."

"He is Mars, the Incarnation of War."

"Oh?  Then maybe he " The brown-belt shrugged.  He returned to her
prior question.  "There's nothing wrong with the First Course," he
explained.  "They're all good throws.  But once people catch on to the
order, they'll know exactly which throw he's going to do next.  That
makes it much harder.  It doesn't matter for the white belts but he'd
have trouble throwing me with a throw I expected, and it would probably
be impossible with a black-belt."

Mars threw the next student over his right hip.  "There's the fourth
Uki-goshi, the Floating Hip Throw," the brown-belt said.  "I've never
seen it done better.  But I wonder where he could have gotten his
training?"

Mars threw the next backward.  "O-soto-gari," the brown-belt murmured.
"He certainly knows the basics."

The next student fell.  "And 0-goshi," the brown-belt said.  "Didn't he
just do that one?"

"No, that was Uki-goshi, a different throw.  It looks similar and the
footwork is similar, but the feel is quite different.  Uke takes a much
harder fall."

"But I thought Uki was the throw, not the faller."

The brown-belt smiled.  "You really don't know, do you?  The one who
does the throwing is always called Tori, the taker, and the one who
gets thrown is Uke, the receiver.  Anyway, the Uki-goshi is done
stiff-kneed, while 0-goshi flexes the knees, and oh, there's
0-uchi-gari, the Major Inner Reaping!  Beautiful!"

Clotho and Niobe were having trouble distinguishing the throws.  They
were ready to take the brown-belt's word that they were being properly
done.  Clotho took advantage of his presence to ask another question.
"What is this this running the line?"

"Well, a challenger shows his superiority by defeating a number of
others in rapid order," the brown-belt said.  "For example, a
black-belt should be able to run a line of five brown-belts and throw
them all, because his skill is greater.  When the line is mixed, they
do the lowest grades first, the Kyus, and work up to the Dans.  Of
course, by the time someone has thrown twenty or thirty people, he's
apt to be getting tired, so it gets harder both ways.  No one has ever
run our full line victoriously; if your friend makes it, he will have
proved his rank.  Some of ours are Sandans, and one's a Yodan, and of
course Samurai is Rokudan, the sixth level, and the champion of the
eastern states.  He'll be world champion one day, if he decides to go
for it."

"He might not go for it?"

"Well, he's getting old for competition, and judo is only part of his
interest.  He's a master in karate, too, and aikido, and his specialty
is the sword; no one can touch him there.  He's been searching for this
mythical finger-strike, too Say!  Look at that Tsuri-komi-goshi!  I've
never seen a prettier throw!  Did you see how he got full extension?

I've never been able to do that on an Uke my own weight!"

The throw had looked just like all the others to Clotho and the other
Aspects, but evidently there was a difference.

"But now he's into the yellow-belts, and when he hits the green-belts
he'll have to work a little for it.  Oh, nice Okuri-ashi-harai!  That's
not as easy as it looks."

Clotho was willing to take his word for it.

"God, I wish I was in that line!"  the brown-belt said after the next
throw.  "It's a privilege to be thrown by a master like that!  Is he
really the Incarnation of War?"

"Yes, he " "Oh, there's the Uchi-mata."  Samurai himself couldn't have
done it better!"

They watched while Mars moved into the green-belts.  They were trying
to throw him and failing as dismally as the white-belts had, and had no
better success in resisting the return throws.

"That's amazing!"  the brown-belt commented.  "I've never seen someone
give them a chance like that; usually they put them away as fast as
they can.  He's got a lot of confidence."

"He should," Clotho said, though she was amazed herself.

Then she saw Mars drop down.  Someone had thrown him!  But immediately
the brown-belt opponent fell too.  Both of them were lying on the
mat.

" Yoko-otoshi!  The Side Drop!"  the brown-belt exclaimed.
"Beautiful!"

"You mean it's supposed to look like that?"  Clotho asked.

"Of course.  It's a sacrifice throw."

"Oh."

They watched several more standing throws.  Then Mars went down again.
He had his foot in the other's belly, and lifted him over so that he
did a roll and landed on his back.  "Tomoe-nage, the Stomach Throw,"
the brown-belt said.

The throws continued as Mars progressed three-quarters of the way down
the line.  There seemed to be no end to them.  But obviously the class
was highly impressed.

"Soto-makikomi," the brown-belt remarked as both men went down again.
"I hate to take falls on that one!  Of course it's a power-throw;
there's not much stopping it once it starts.  If he can do the next
one, the Ukiotoshi "

It seemed to Niobe that the brown-belt who was Uke at the moment simply
threw himself on the mat, but the one beside her whistled softly.
"Perfect!"

A black-belt came out of the line.  Mars waited while the man tried a
foot-sweep without success, then said, "Try another."  There was a
chuckle along the line.

"What's so funny?"  Clotho asked.

"The situation.  He's up to the thirty-seventh throw in the Basic
Forty.  That's Ushiro-goshi, the Rear Loin.  It's a counter throw
following an attempted hip-throw.  Clyde didn't try a hip-throw."

Clyde tried a sacrifice throw, without effect; it was as if Mars were
an immovable wall.  There was another chuckle.

Then, moving like lightning, Clyde tried a hip-throw and Mars picked
him up and threw him to the mat.  Clyde had gambled and lost.  He got
up, bowed, and smiled; he didn't mind losing to an artist of that
skill.  "And he did it left-side," the brown-belt murmured in awe.
"Clyde tried to fool him, left-side, and he was ready."

"Left-side is different?"

"And how!  I really sweat on them!"

The last man in the line approached and took hold, but declined to try
a throw.  "Randori," he said.

"What does that mean?"  Clotho asked.

"That's our Yodan," the brown-belt said.  "He's a top competitor; he
doesn't like to do stationary throws.  He prefers to counter, or to
seize his opportunity.  He knows your man will try the Yoko-gake, the
Side Body Drop; he wants to make him do it in a moving situation."
"Interesting," Clotho said, unenlightened.  The two men moved about the
mat, almost as if dancing together.  Suddenly the black-belt screamed
piercingly, his foot moving like lightning.  But Mars' foot moved too,
just as fast and they both fell to the mat.

The brown-belt shook his head.  "Beautiful!  He did it!"  "But how do
you know who threw whom?  And why the scream?"

The brown-belt smiled.  "The scream was a kiai yell, to facilitate the
throw.  Didn't work, this time.  And sometimes it can be hard to tell,
on a throw.  I saw a match once where the award was given to the wrong
judoka, before the judges corrected it.  But this one was a perfect
Yoko-gake, no question."

Indeed, the class seemed to know it.  Mars returned to the center of
the mat, and exchanged bows with the class.  It seemed he had
successfully run the line.  "And he's not even tired!"  the brown-belt
murmured.  Then Mars walked to the edge of the mat, stepped off, turned
about, and bowed to it.  "All right, girl," he said gruffly.  "He has
to meet you now."  "He what?"

"As your champion F conquered his class.  I did not challenge Samurai
himself.  It is you who must meet him."  He took her by the elbow,
urging her forward.  "Honor the tatami."  Bemused, Clotho bowed and
stepped onto the mat.

"But I've still got your sword!"  "Precisely.  It's an outrage.  Get
out there."  Like a zombie, Clotho walked across the mat.  The class
watched, unmoving.

Is he crazy?  Atropos thought.  This girl doesn't know anything about
swords, and she doesn't want to shed blood.

It's probably an insult to the dojo to carry a weapon onto the mat,
too, Niobe thought.  But Mars must have a reason.

Samurai bounded to his feet.  In a moment his own sword was in his
hand.  "For this you must die!"  he cried, striding forward.

Are you sure we're immortal?  Atropos thought nervously.

Well..  . Niobe thought, abruptly uncertain.  When she had been Clotho,
she had never faced a test like this.

But abruptly the red sword lifted in Clotho's hand.  It was a heavy
monster, but now it was featherlight.  It assumed a guard position.

"Get out of here!"  Samurai cried, making a threatening gesture.

The red sword moved to intercept his weapon.  Metal clanged on metal.

The enchanted sword has made us expert, Niobe thought, amazed.

Goaded beyond reason by that gesture of defiance, Samurai attacked in
earnest.  He's as hot-tempered as she is!  Atropos thought.

Two of a kind, Niobe agreed.

The red sword moved rapidly to counter the strike against it.  Samurai
struck again, and again the red sword blocked.  He could not get
through that guard.

"But this is not what I want!"  Clotho whispered.  "This will never
bring him to reason!"

Indeed, the longer it continued, the more plain it was becoming that
Samurai, for all his dazzling skill, could not penetrate the guard of
Mars' sword.  Samurai would very shortly look like a colossal fool.

You've got two choices, girl, Atropos thought.  Either attack, which
means you'll probably kill him at one stroke, or

"No!"  Clotho cried.  She flung away the red sword and sank to her
knees before Samurai.  "Take my blood!"

If he strikes, Niobe thought, alarmed, either we'll be dead, or he'll
be ultimately humiliated.

Samurai paused, as surprised as anyone.  "You yield?"

"Everything!"  Clotho cried, the tears streaming down her face.

Samurai paused.  His fighting rage drained out of him almost visibly.
Indeed, Clotho was a piteous figure of a woman.

He held his sword to the side.  A student hastily came to take it away.
"Then I am satisfied," Samurai said, extending his hand.

Clotho took it in both her own and kissed it.

The harder they fall..  . Atropos throught wryly.

"That isn't necessary," Samurai said, embarrassed.  "Do not humiliate
yourself more than is required."  He drew her back to her feet, then
turned and nodded to the class.  Immediately they filed out of the
room, each bowing as he or she stepped off the mat.

Clotho found a hanky and dabbed at her face.  "I'm sorry I "

"Accepted," Samurai said gently.

"I wanted to be liberated, but "

"Liberation has its appeal, when understood," he said.  "This is, after
all, America.  I would not have you other than you are.  Will you join
me for dinner this evening?"

She smiled.  "I will."

They walked to the edge of the mat, bowed as they stepped off, and
smiled at each other.

Samurai glanced at the brown-belt, who remained in the room, standing
beside Mars.  "Convey his sword to the Incarnation of War," Samurai
said.  "It is a remarkable weapon."

The brown-belt bowed himself onto the mat and hurried to pick up the
fallen sword.  But he was unable to; the thing seemed anchored in
place.  He strained to lift it, and could not.

"Permit me," Mars murmured.  He raised his right hand and the red sword
floated up and across the mat, dipped momentarily at its edge as if
bowing, and moved to his hand.  Mars gravely sheathed it.

"And a remarkable man," Samurai said, exchanging bows with Mars.  Then
Mars turned and walked out of the dojo.

Samurai turned to Clotho.  "I regret that I mistook you.  Yet is it
acceptable for Fate to "

Clotho touched his lips with a finger.  "I am just a woman now."

He nodded.  "Tonight, then."

"Tonight."

Clotho walked out of the dojo.  Outside, she extended a thread and
ascended.

"But we never got his commitment on the bomb," Atropos remembered.

"We shall have it tonight," Niobe replied.  "And, unless I mistake
Mars, he will give Samurai the secret of the finger-strike.  As a token
of esteem, not as a bribe."

"I've got a lot to learn," Clotho said.

And it was so on all counts.

-13

COUNTER PLOY

"We needed help on the last one," Niobe said.  "Surely we'll need it on
this one too!"

"Who can help us with a Satanist?"  Atropos asked.  "My guess would be
Gaea.  She's generally considered to be the strongest of the Earthly
Incarnations."  "Nature?  I thought Time was."  "Chronos has the most
potent single instrument, the

Hourglass.  But Gaea " Niobe shrugged.  "Let's ask her,

anyway."  Niobe took the body and slid the thread across to

Gaea's vegetable mansion.  They landed at the door.

Sometimes it was difficult to reach the Green Mother, but that depended
on the situation.  Niobe remembered her journey with Pacian; Ge had
known what she was doing that time!

That's one fancy treehouse!  Atropos thought.  The leafy door opened,
and Gaea stood there.  Niobe froze.  It was the same Green Mother she
had known a quarter-century ago!

"Why, it's Fate!"  Gaea exclaimed.  Then she squinted.  "But a new
Lachesis!"

Gaea didn't recognize her!  Of course Niobe knew she had changed
considerably in the intervening period of mortality, and not for the
better; why should anyone recognize in this dowdy woman the beauty that
once had been?  "And a new Clotho," she said.  "And Atropos, too."  She
changed briefly to the other forms.  Gaea shook her head.  "All three
at once?  Unusual!"  Quickly Niobe explained the circumstances.  "Now
we have one more mortal thread to modify," she concluded.  "Because of
our inexperience "

"You seek help," Gaea said.  "Very sensible of you.  Come inside a
moment while I change."

Inside, Niobe watched while Gaea changed.  She did not do it by
removing her leafy green dress; instead she stood still, and the dress
turned yellow with some red; then the leaves fell off, revealing brown
bark beneath.  Her hair turned white.  She had progressed seasonally
from summer through fall to winter, complete with snow.

She moved and the brown corrugations shaped themselves into the creases
and pockets of a long jacket.  The snow became a white hat; her hair
was not, after all, that far changed.

Gaea brought out a small pair of spectacles, mounted on a rod at one
side.  "You will want these, Lachesis."

"A lorgnette?  Those haven't been used for a generation!"  Niobe
protested.  "Anyway, I don't need glasses!"

"Humor me, Lachesis," Gaea said gently.

Niobe shrugged and accepted them.  "Then you will help?"

"Of course, dear.  We matrons must support each other.  We can't depend
on foundation garments."

Niobe smiled dutifully.  Gaea needed no support from clothing; she
could assume any form she chose, young or old, beautiful or hideous,
animal, vegetable or mineral.

Seldom did she display her power in an obvious manner, but it was as
deep and versatile as that of any Incarnation.  Many mortals thought
they could balk her in the short term, but in the long term she always
had her way.

"I am ready," Gaea said.  "Take me there, Lachesis."

Niobe took her hand, extended a thread, and slid them both along it.
They arrived at an industrialized section of Connecticut, near a large
mall.  They entered and walked to a small booth set between an ice
cream parlor and a mini-dozen movie theater.

Above the booth was a banner saying TO HELL WITH YOU!  Inside it was a
bored-looking woman of about Niobe's own physical age.  "That's the
one," Niobe murmured.  "Elsa Mira, Satanist recruiter."

"Well, we shall allow her to recruit us," Gaea agreed.  "Call me Ge;
I'll call you Lack."  She smiled faintly, as if the sun were masked by
haze, and suddenly Niobe suspected that Gaea did indeed recognize her.
But the Green Mother could keep a secret as well as any creature of the
world.

They approached the booth.  "We really aren't interested in going to
Hell," Niobe said.  "But in fairness we thought we'd look at your
literature."

"Why, certainly," the woman said, coming alive.  "Hell has had a very
bad press, but we are working to alleviate that."  She brought out a
colorful brochure.

Niobe looked at the cover.  Two cute baby devils were on it: the
Hellfire trademarks.  Dee and Dee.  One was male, the other female.  As
she looked, the male Dee lifted one little red hand and solemnly
beckoned.  She was startled, though she knew she shouldn't have been;
naturally the minions of Hell had magic to splurge.

"Perhaps you can read the print more clearly with your glasses.  Lack,"
Gaea murmured.

"Oh, thank you, Ge," Niobe said.  "I keep forgetting."  She raised the
lorgnette and peered through the lenses.

She stiffened.  Instead of the cute picture, she saw a lens.  She was
being recorded on video!

She moved the lorgnette aside.  The little devil was beckoning her
again.

Now she realized why Gaea had asked her to use the glasses.  They were
enchanted to penetrate illusion!  Already she knew that the Satanists
were not merely showing their literature, they were getting a direct
line on anyone who inquired.  They were a good deal more professional
than they cared to seem.  That lens could be making a record of the
complete encounter, and storing her picture in a computer file,
complete with the retinal prints.  Hell intended to have her number,
all the way!

Fortunately, she had never had her retinal prints taken.  She had
existed, as a mortal, in the country, where such things were not
common.  Hell would not be able to trace down her true identity by this
device.

Gaea opened the brochure.  Niobe glanced through the glasses again, and
saw that the pages were mere frames;

the sinister lens remained.  But without the glasses, she saw the inner
material: scenes of happy, healthy people swimming, playing tennis,
skiing, and watching the sunset.  GOTO HELL, the print proclaimed,
AND

LIVE YOUR AFTERLIFE TO THE FULLEST!

"Is there skiing in Hell?"  Niobe asked doubtfully.  "I thought it was
hot."

"Indeed there is skiing!"  the recruiter said encouragingly.  "Hell is
large; it has climates exactly as the mortal realm does.  Some regions
are in perpetual snow."

Actually, Niobe had known that, because of her prior experience as an
Incarnation.  She also knew that poor sinful souls were frozen as solid
as spirits could be, in that snow, and that the only skiers were demons
who delighted in skidding over perpetually horrified frozen faces.  As
with many of Hell's claims, the snow was a half truth it existed, but
was not used as represented.  The whole of Hell's recruitment campaign
was spurious, and only sadly deluded people could fall for it.
Unfortunately, it was evident that many did.

But she was not here to show off her information about Hell.  She was
here to talk Mira out of delivering the bomb to the UN complex, thus
eliminating the last of the potential couriers.  She had to act like an
ignorant skeptic until she had a better notion how to achieve her
design.

"I don't know," she said.  "Skiing, swimming I thought Hell was a place
of punishment."

"Oh, that's not so!"  Mira exclaimed.  "Hell is a place of
rehabilitation!  The evil-soiled souls are reprocessed to be good
again.  There are many incentives for a positive attitude."

And many tortures for the damned, Atropos thought sourly.

"But if people aren't good in life, why should they be good in the
Afterlife?"  Niobe asked.  She knew the answer, but had to play the
part.

"Many people don't really think about it," Mira said.  "They just go
their way until it's too late.  Those are the ones we are catering to
the ordinary, mixed people who are too busy to be absolutely good all
the time.  I mean, it's a lot of work to be good all the time, and
frankly pretty dull, and probably unnecessary, too.  We feel that most
people would really be better off worrying less about the Afterlife and
just getting their mortal lives in shape.  Then, in Hell, they can sort
it all out at leisure."

Leisure?  Eternity!  Atropos snorted mentally.  What a crock!

"But shouldn't they be good in life?"  Niobe asked.

"Well, yes, of course.  But it can be very difficult.  Take the man
whose wife is ignoring him and won't let him touch her.  But she won't
give him a divorce, either.  Now if he finds an attractive young woman
who likes him, is it really wrong for him to have an affair?  His soul
may suffer an accumulation of evil, but is it wrong?  We Satanists
think we should do what is natural and atone later."

Niobe hadn't heard this one before.  "Are you married?"  she asked.

Mira laughed.  "Me?  Of course not!  Not anymore!  I wouldn't put up
with that sort of that is, all the ridiculous things men demand.  But
the principle remains "

"Pleasure first, mortality last," Niobe finished.

"Anyway," Mira said quickly.  "We want you to see for yourself what
kind of place Hell is.  Why don't you come to our demonstration
complex?"

"Your what?"

"We have set up a working mini-model of Hell, so that folk like you can
tour it or sample it and see for yourselves what it offers.  We
Satanists want to spread the truth about Hell."

"Well," Niobe said, glancing at Gaea.  "I suppose we might just look to
be fair."

Mira jumped up.  "Right this way!  I'll guide you on the tour
myself!"

This was exactly what they wanted: a long enough association with the
woman to talk her out of what she was otherwise apt to do.

/ bet they get bonuses or each recruit they sign, Atropos thought
cynically.

Such as a trip to the United Nations building?  Clotho thought.  She
had been fairly quiet, recovering from her experience of the prior
evening; she was in the first flush of something like love, and the
warmth of it tended to spill over and buoy the other two Aspects.  But
she had not forgotten their mission.

"Keep your glasses handy, dear," Gaea murmured like a fussy old lady as
they followed Mira through the door in back of the booth.

They found themselves in an elevator.  There was a wrench.  Then the
door slid open, and they stepped out into an amusement park.  Obviously
magic had been used to transport them to the model Hell; there was no
telling where on Earth it had been constructed.

Niobe stared.  Directly ahead was a towering Ferns wheel, grandly
rotating.  To one side was a bump-car enclosure, with children
squealing happily as the little vehicles crashed harmlessly into each
other.  Elsewhere were miniature choo-choo trains, zoom-rides, and toy
airplanes whirling about a pole.  "This is Hell?"  Niobe asked, raising
an eyebrow.

"Well, the top level," Mira said.  "Very mild entertainments, for those
who are just waiting for friends, or for the children of those on tour.
The ones who really don't have much sin to indulge."

"What's it like for those who do have significant sin on their souls?"
Gaea asked.

"I'll show you," Mira said eagerly, leading the way to stairs
descending below the pavement.  These led to a large hall,
well-lighted, filled with tables.  People were clustered around the
tables, intent on what was there.

They approached the nearest.  On it was a giant roulette wheel.  "Oh
gambling," Niobe said disapprovingly.

"You don't understand," Mira said.  "Watch for a moment."

They watched.  The wheels turned; the ball rolled and landed in a
numbered pocket.  A man made an exclamation of joy.  "I won!  I won!"

There was a smattering of applause from the other gamblers.  The man
collected his winnings and bet them on the next spin.  And won again.

"What?"  Niobe asked.  "Twice in succession?  The odds against that "

"People can be very fortunate here," Mira said.  "They usually do
win."

Gaea nudged her.  Niobe lifted the lorgnette and peered at the scene.

The roulette table was genuine but little else was.  Most of the
players were bored park employees in grubby uniforms, not the
well-dressed visitors they had appeared to be.  There was a control
panel at the croupier's place.  When the spin commenced, the croupier's
fingers touched buttons.  This time the gambler bet on number 19, and
that was the number the croupier punched.  Sure enough, the ball rolled
into that slot.  The game was rigged.

Now Niobe looked at the chips the gambler had piled before him.  They
were genuine.  Where, then, was the catch?  Surely the Satanists were
not really going to let a mark walk out wealthy!

Well, she could inquire, without giving anything away.  "How can you
stay in business, if you let people win too much money?"

"Oh, the chips don't stand for money," Mira said as they moved on to
another table.  "They stand for points.  One thousand points entitles
the player to enter the next level, where the real action is."

"But it seems guaranteed he'll make it."

"No, it's not guaranteed.  Only those people we feel are suitable
prospects are admitted."

"Then you admit it's fixed!"

Mira turned a surprised gaze on her.  "My dear, what do you expect of
Hell?  Of course it's fixed!"

"Ask a silly question," Gaea murmured.

"But you're giving us a tour, and we're not gambling," Niobe
persisted.

"Precisely.  If you don't gamble, you can't win.  That's the
fundamental principle.  You are merely looking but I'm sure that after
you've seen what we have to offer, you'll be eager to participate."
"But isn't there an admittance price?"  "I am glad you asked that
question," Mira said.  "Now we are very candid about this.  Everything
is quite clear.  To participate in our entertainments you must sign a
standard contract " "In blood?"

"It's only a pinprick.  You'll hardly feel it."  "A contract saying
what?"

"Well, everyone knows what Hell requires.  It isn't as if we're
concealing anything."  "You're after my soul!"

"Merely a portion of it, since this is only a model of Hell.
Technically, all we require is a nominal attribution of evil.  Only one
percent, actually.  If you are seventy percent good, our contract would
cause you to be sixty nine percent good.  That's hardly enough to cost
you anything in the Afterlife, or to change your designation.
Considering what we offer, it's a bargain."

They were at the next table.  This one was for blackjack.  Again, the
mark was winning; again, the enchanted lenses showed that the game was
rigged.  Hell wanted the marks to win.

All of the tables were like that.  The methods of gambling differed,
but the system was the same.  "Well, I never did like to gamble," Niobe
said.  "But all of life is a gamble," Mira said enthusiastically.
"Still, there are other routes to Hell.  Let me show you the next
level."  She led the way to another set of stairs.  Niobe paused.  "I
see the others use the elevator."  "Well, yes, but they have to sign
for it."

"Sign for it?"

"Another contract," Gaea said.

"Merely an amendment," Mira put in quickly.

"Another one percent of their souls?"  Niobe asked.  "I thought that
was a general admittance fee.  What's the point in gambling for points,
if you still have to pay to reach the next stage?"

"Well, the general admittance fee gets a person into the park, and then
he plays to determine his eligibility to advance to other levels, but
that's a matter of qualification, not payment.  If there weren't
qualification, some unsuitable people would get into inappropriate
levels, and if there weren't payment, we would not, as you pointed out
a moment ago, be able to stay in business very long.  It's a dual
system, perfectly straightforward.  Naturally the deeper levels have to
be financed, too."

"Just how many levels are there?"

"Well, I really don't know the exact number.  But no one goes to them
all."

Because, Niobe realized, at one percent per level, that person would
lose more than half his soul before he completed the experience,
tipping him into Hell for real.

What a system!  Atropos thought.

What a Hellish system, indeed!  Only a fool would fall into that trap
but there were plenty of fools in the process.

The next level seemed to be a monstrous warehouse for money.  Tables
were piled with currency of many nations, with ingots of gold and
silver and platinum, and with bins of precious stones.  Wealth
galore!

Drawn as by a magnet, Niobe went to a vat of sparkling rubies.  "May
I?"  she asked.

"By all means examine the merchandise," Mira said generously.  "Of
course you can't keep any of it, as a tourist, but if you decide to
join as a participant For one or two percent of the goodness in her
soul!  Niobe grimaced.  Still, the gems were lovely!

She picked up a ruby.  It was a faceted stone, a deep and glorious red,
just about the most beautiful thing she had seen in her life.  She
turned it between her fingers, half-entranced by its luster.  She began
to understand the nature of the temptation.  Such a fine gem, for so
little soul!

"Perhaps if you examined it more closely," Gaea remarked.

Oh.  Niobe lifted the lorgnette and looked again.  The ruby was nothing
more than a cherry pit.  Niobe made her face a mask, lest she give
herself away.  All the rubies were cherrystones!  The diamonds of the
next table were rough lumps of quartz.

Morbidly curious, she verified one of the stacks of gold coins.  It was
made of round slices of carrot.

Now Clotho had to laugh.  Carrots instead of carats!  That Satan had a
devilish sense of humor!  "Devilish," Niobe agreed.  "What's that?" 
Mira asked.

"Devilishly tempting," Niobe said.  She moved on to a table of green
bills.  They were leaves of lettuce.

Lettuce!  Atropos thought, mentally doubling over with mirth.  Literal
lettuce!  That Satan's a card!

"Yes, anyone would be tempted by that," Mira said, mistaking the nature
of Niobe smile.  "It was this room that convinced me to join.  When I
saw all the jewelry " She gestured to a table strung with elaborate and
precious necklaces.

"But you're not a player, are you?"  Niobe asked.  "No, I'm Staff.  But
I started as a player.  Then, when I wanted too much " She bit her lip.
"That is "

So she had been seduced into giving up too much of her goodness!  The
operation of the system was becoming clearer.  Just as a drug-user
became an addict, and the addict had to become a dealer to support his
habit, so those who flirted with the trinkets of Hell got drawn ever
more deeply in.  It was, as Mira said, all perfectly open except that
the actual goods were fakes.  Anyone who believed the Father of Lies
deserved what he got!

That brought her up short.  If the marks deserved to go to Hell for
their greed wasn't Satan actually performing a service to the Cosmos in
ridding the world of them?

But she knew the answer.  Satan did not rid the world of them; he used
his converts to facilitate his further dirty work.  All the shills at
the gaming tables upstairs all overextended gamblers who now had to
work for the house.  How much joy did they have here, today?

And this is only a prettified model of Hell, Atropos thought.  Think
what the real thing must be like!

It was indeed a sobering thought.

"I know that jewelry will not cure what's wrong with me," Niobe said,
letting her tummy sag.  "I have eaten too much, for too many years."

"Then you will love the feasting level!"  Mira exclaimed.  "Right this
way!"

The next level down was indeed a temptation to a woman who liked to
eat.  It was an enormous self-service restaurant.  The tables were
piled with pastries and cakes and fancy desserts.  Many women were
here, and not a few men and children.  All were seated at tables,
stuffing themselves with their favorite repasts.

Niobe paused near a fat man who was cramming cake into his face.  "But
this is horribly fattening!"  she protested.

"No it isn't" Mira said, pleased.  "Our food is absolutely non
fattening and non filling  The taste and texture are there, but all the
calories are empty I mean there are no calories.  You can eat all you
want and never be satiated."

Now that's a kind of Hell in itself, if the fools only realized,
Atropos thought.

Endless stuffing without consequence.  Niobe could appreciate the
temptation, but knew that a person did not have to flirt with Hell for
it; regular food companies were advertising ONE CALORIE PER BOTTLE,
making a seeming virtue of both gluttony and vacuous food while
elsewhere in the world, people were starving.  A little selfdiscipline
would be better.

Then she lifted the lorgnette.  And made a stifled squeak of
revulsion.

It wasn't cake the man was eating.  It was moldy garbage literally.
Most of it managed to shunt itself down his face and front instead of
going into his mouth, which explained why he wasn't getting full, but
still it was an appalling mess.

Mira caught her reaction.  "What's the matter?"  Niobe pondered
momentarily, then handed the glasses to her.

The woman looked through them and gagged.  "You didn't know?"  Niobe
asked.  "I this can't be it's horrible!"  Mira exclaimed.  She walked
to the next table, where a child was swilling ice cream sodas, and
looked through the glasses.  Her face turned greenish.

Gaea took the lorgnette from her hand before her slackening grip let
the glasses drop to the floor.  She returned the magical instrument to
Niobe.

Niobe looked at the boy's drink.  It was a swirling concoction of
sewage.  As with the man, most of the stuff dribbled down the lad's
chin instead of being swallowed, but some did get in.  Probably just
enough to feed him.

"It's a lie!"  Mira gasped.  "Magic lenses that distort "

"No lie," Gaea said.  "I am able to see the truth without glasses.  The
food is garbage.  The jewelry on the other floor was junk."

"But I've got a pass to eat all I want it's one of the benefits of
being Staff " Mira turned and vomited on the floor beside the boy.  It
hardly mattered, for the area was already littered with garbage.

Niobe wrenched the lorgnette away from her eyes.  She saw Mira standing
by the table, eyes downcast as if glancing approvingly at the boy.
There was no sign of vomit.  Still, she did not look well.

After a moment the woman recovered herself somewhat.  "Where did you
get these glasses?"

Again, Niobe considered rapidly.  "From Nature."

"The the Incarnation of Nature?"

"Yes.  She thought I would need them, here."

"I may I borrow them a moment more?"

Niobe gave her the glasses.  "When you're satisfied, I would like to
talk to you."

Mira hurried to another stairway.  "There's one level I've never
indulged myself in, but I just want to see "

They followed her down the stairs, almost running.  Niobe was surprised
to learn that the woman really had not known about the deceit, but
realized it made sense.  Satan could accomplish much more evil, much
more efficiently, if his own helpers were deluded.  How many would
consider an all-you-can-eat pass to be an inducement, if they knew the
food was garbage?

That Satan, he's one sharp liar, Atropos agreed.

The new level appeared to be an elaborate brothel.  Extraordinarily
voluptuous young women in scanty clothing danced slowly on a stage at
one side, their breasts and hips moving suggestively.  This did not do
anything special for Niobe, other than cause her a gentle wash of
jealousy and regret for her own beauty lost, but she saw the effect it
had on two men just emerging from the elevator.  Both charged forward,
their mouths literally drooling.

What pigs men are!  Clotho thought.  Then she reconsidered.  Except for
Samurai .. .

Mira was peering through the magic lenses.  "No," she said
unbelievingly.  "They wouldn't!"

One man dashed up to the stage.  "Hey, honey, you for sale?"  he
demanded, groping for her.  The woman gazed down at him, a languorous
smile crossing her bright lips.  Then she jumped down to the floor, her
anatomy bobbing in several places as she landed.  She took the man's
hand and led him to a curtained alcove.  Evidently she was not for
sale; she was free.

Now Niobe could hear urgent grunting from other alcoves.  It seemed
there were a number of clients busy.

Mira shook her head.  "They are they really are!"  she exclaimed.  Then
she started laughing.  "And to think my ex-husband, the pig, sold his
soul for a permanent pass to this level!"  Her laughter became so
violent that Gaea had to take the lorgnette from her again.

Niobe, perplexed, took the glasses.  She could understand how plain or
even homely women could be recruited, just as Mira had been, to be
enhanced by illusion to serve the passions of potential recruits but
what was so funny about that?  It was, at best, sad.

She lifted the lorgnette.  And gasped.

There were no young women dancing on the stage.  It was a corral of
pigs.  Genuine swine, rooting about in the muck.

And Mira's ex-husband had a permanent pass.

Who says there's no justice in Hell?  Atropos thought.  / know some men
I'd send here!

Mira sobered enough to recover her bearings.  "You're no ordinary
prospects!"  she said.  accusingly.  "You knew what this was like
better than I did.  Who are you?"

It was time for truth.  They sat down on one of the few clean places on
the fence of the sty, and talked.  "I am Fate," Niobe said.  "I came
here to talk to you, and to persuade you "

"Fate!  An Incarnation!"

"And this is Gaea, who lent me the lorgnette."

"Nature!  No wonder she doesn't need glasses to see the truth!"

"We want to persuade you not to do an errand for Satan."

Mira laughed again, this time mirthlessly.  "If Satan wants an errand,
I'll do the errand.  My soul is already lost!"

"It's not lost," Gaea said.

"Don't you understand?  I became Staff because I had no soul left to
give!  They were going to cut me off the food "

She put her hand to her mouth, realizing.  "Oh!"  Gaea gazed intently
at her.  "Your soul has been corrupted, Elsa Mira, but not that far;
there is twenty-four percent good remaining."

"No!  There is none!  I used it all up, and you don't know how
addictive unmitigated pleasure is!  I just couldn't stop!  I "

"I do know," Gaea said.  "It is my business to know."  Mira stared at
her.  "Are you really Nature?"  "I really am.  And my companion really
is Fate.  We can redirect your thread, if you will cooperate to this
extent."

"I don't believe it!  I kept count of every percentage point!"

Gaea frowned.  "You doubt the power of Nature at your peril, woman."
She made a gesture and abruptly the room darkened.  Wind swirled.  Rain
came down, first lightly, then in a pelting torrent.  The pigs
squealed, enjoying it.  In a moment the three of them were soaked.

Gaea gestured again.  The chamber shook.  Now the pigs squealed in
fright.

"An earthquake!"  Mira screamed.  "Let me out of here!"

Gaea held up her hand.  The quaking stopped and the rain vanished.
Sunlight streamed warmly down.

"But we're underground!"  Mira protested.  "The sun can't shine
here!"

"Your fear is gone."  Gaea told her.  "You are happy."

Mira smiled.  "I'm happy!"  she agreed.

"Angry," Gaea said.

Sudden rage twisted the woman's face.  "When I think what Satan told me
"

"Calm."

And the woman was calm.  "I believe you now.  Nature.  I am amazed at
your power, right here in an annex of Hell!  Do I really have a quarter
of my goodness left?"

"You really do.  You have seen how Satan deceives both the clients and
the staff members here.  Why shouldn't he also deceive you about the
percentage of evil charged to your soul?  This is much more efficient
for him;

he caused you to become a creature of his directives when you did not
need to be.  You can still go to Heaven, Elsa Mira."

"No," the woman said sadly.  "I'm still seventy-six percent evil, and I
have no way to recover my goodness.  I'm still addicted to foolish
pleasure."

Again Gaea gestured.  "Not any more."

Mira touched her stomach.  "The hunger is gone!  I'm not famished!"

"You will still have to earn your way by proper living and good deeds,"
Niobe told her.  Niobe herself was impressed by the demonstration of
Nature's power she had just witnessed; Gaea was indeed the strongest of
the Earthly Incarnations.  "But that is the only way any per son gets
to Heaven.  God does not grant free passes.  You do have time, if you
start now."

"But I'm a Satanist!  I signed in blood!  Many times!  I don't belong
to any decent church."

"The contract is meaningless," Gaea said.  "It is only a device to
convince you that you are committed."  She glanced up as another man
came for another pig.  The pig snorted and led him to an alcove.  "It
is your deeds that define you, and your thoughts, and your intentions,
nothing else."

It was like dawn breaking.  "You mean ?"  "Give your heart to God,"
Niobe said.  "Your soul will follow."

"Oh, I will, I will!  I don't want to go to Hell!  It's much worse
there than it is here!  Only I never dared admit the truth "

They got up and walked toward the stairs.  "Satan will ask you to take
a package to "

"Oh, the psychic stink bomb to the United Nations," Mira agreed.
"Tomorrow.  I already have the bomb in my cell.  I agreed to do that
days ago."

"You must not do it!"  Niobe said.

"Of course I won't do it, now!"  Mira agreed.  "I know it's an evil
deed!"

They reached the stairs.  "I will show you how to correct your course
with minimum complication," Gaea said.  "First we must establish you
away from this complex " They moved up the stairs.

Niobe lingered for a moment more.  Now that the job was done, she found
herself morbidly intrigued by the variety of illusion.  It wasn't
merely deception, it was utter degradation.  Any man who later found
out what he had done here would be too embarrassed to file a complaint.
Thus Satan's corrupting operation continued.  Truly, the ways of Evil
were intricate!

She turned again to mount the stairs.  Satan stood there.  "So the
prying Incarnation is here," he said, sneering smoke from his nostrils.
"Corrupting My employees."

"You told me I had zero goodness left!"  Mira cried accusingly from
above.

"Don't believe everything the Father of Lies tells you, you credulous
slut," Satan said.

"I resign from this institution!  I'll do your bidding no more!"

"It is academic.  You are fired.  You never were much use anyway."

"Oh!"  Mira exclaimed.  She wheeled about and proceeded on up the
stairs with Gaea.

Satan contemplated Niobe.  His eyes were like small red fires and his
horns steamed.  "So now you have nullified the last of the four, you
meddling frump," he said.  "You think you have won."

"Evil is never truly defeated," Niobe said grimly.

"This time you haven't even started!"  he said, his body smoking. Niobe
raised the lorgnette, but Satan was unchanged.  He was appearing in his
true form.  "You haven't saved your precious United Nations."

"Out with it, you old rascal," Niobe said.  "You set this up."

"I set up four threads for Fate to unravel," Satan said.  "Now you have
used up your time on them, and cannot stop the delivery of the bomb
tomorrow."  "But who's going to carry it?"  Niobe asked.  "I have a
hundred other carriers.  Did you think only four could do it?"

"But the Purgatory Computer "

"Listed hundreds for you."

"It listed only four!"

"What you perceived was only four, old canine," Satan said.  He
gestured, and the image of a computer screen appeared in the air beside
him.  On it were the four names.  "You supposed that was the real
presentation."

Niobe struck her forehead with the heel of her hand.  "Illusion!  In
Purgatory!"  Of course it was in Satan's power to distort the spoken
and printed material the computer worked with; an illusion was a form
of lie, and the lie was his specialty.

Gaea would have known, Atropos thought.  But she wasn't there.

Satan's illusions are everywhere, Clotho agreed.  "The penalty of being
a novice," Niobe muttered.  "Had you realized how many there were,"
Satan said, "you would have known that individual effort would never
work.  You would have found a more general way, such as alerting the UN
security police, who would have set up psychic sensors to prevent any
such thing from getting through."

"I feel very stupid," Niobe said ruefully.  "You're not stupid, merely
inexperienced," Satan said.  "The stupidity was in your predecessor
trio, who allowed a change of all Three Aspects in the same week.  I
had really expected better from them."  The pig!  Clotho thought
vehemently. He set it up!  Niobe sighed.  "It's not too late.  We can
still alert the

UN."

"Maybe," Satan said.  "It's a chance.  But why take it?  I can offer
you a better deal."  "You're not to be trusted!"  Niobe said.  "Don't
depend on trust," Satan said.  "Depend on common sense.  If I bomb the
UN, there will be a very pretty tangle of Fate's threads, leading to
much disruption in the world.  But no one can know exactly where that
disruption will lead.  Sometimes what seems good turns out evil in the
long run, like the Catholic Inquisition or the Nazi SS cadre. Sometimes
what seems evil turns out good, like the Black Plague."

"The Black Plague!"  Niobe exclaimed.  "What good did that do?"

"It alleviated the European population pressure, decimated the labor
force, and so paved the way for the end of the feudal system," Satan
said.  "You can't keep workers in peonage when there are so few that
their value is great."

Niobe suspected that Gaea's predecessors had had their own reasons for
spawning the Black Plague.  But it was an interesting notion.  "What's
your point?"

"The point is that this whole UN business is a gamble," Satan said. "It
might cost Me more than it is worth.  Only a fool gambles when he
doesn't have to."

"Many people are gambling on your gaming floor!"

"I rest My case.  You do not see Me at the tables."

"What's your pitch, Satan?"  she asked gruffly.

"You want to avoid a big stink.  I want merely a small, harmless shift
in one of Fate's threads.  It seems to Me that we might reasonably
deal."

"I won't deal with Evil!"  Niobe cried.

"Suit yourself," Satan said.  "Be sure to hold your nose as you pass
the UN complex tomorrow not that it will do much good."

He had her there.  "What deal are you proffering?"

"I will cancel the stink in exchange for a simple, shift in employment
in one person.  No harm done to her, no evil on her soul, just an
inconsequential change."

"If it's inconsequential, why do you want it?"  Niobe demanded.

"Inconsequential to you; important to Me.  This woman is to go into
politics soon.  I would prefer to have one of My own in the office she
seeks.  Most politicians are corrupt anyway, so it hardly matters to
you.  I promised this minion well, never mind.  The point is, it's
something I'm willing to trade for.  Are you interested?"

"I don't trust this," Niobe said.

Still, let's see how it looks, Atropos thought.  We don't want to hit
the UN tangle if we can avoid it.  "Who is this person?"

"A young woman, hardly more than a girl, of no consequence, really."

"So you say.  Name the woman."

"Oh, she's named Moon, or some such," Satan said carelessly.  "It
hardly matters."

"How do you expect me to adjust her thread if you don't tell me exactly
who she is?"  Niobe demanded, aware that she was sliding toward
agreement.

He's up to something, Atropos thought.  / wish Gaea had stayed; she's
one savvy lady!

Satan paused, touching his beard as he concentrated.  "She's actually
the child of a former Incarnation, so maybe she had delusions of
grandeur.  Name's let me see Kaftan."

Niobe stiffened.  It was Luna he was trying to eliminate the one the
prophecy said was destined to be the savior of man!  Now it was clear
that this whole UN tangle was merely a false issue, intended to make
his supposedly offhand compromise seem worthwhile.  In fact, the manner
he had arranged to have all three Aspects of Fate change together now
made sense.  All three of the prior Aspects would have known about
Luna, so they had had to be eliminated.  Satan was playing a very
long-range game!

But she would play along, just to get a better picture of his intent
before she balked it.  The three prior Aspects had chosen her to return
because they had known Satan was plotting something devious; they had
chosen better than they knew!  But she wanted to be certain she knew
the whole plot.

"There must be several women with that surname," Niobe said, feigning
perplexity.  "What's her lineage?"

298 With a Tabled Skein

"Oh, not much.  One of My minions spotted her some time back.  Two
girls who look like twins, but a generation apart.  I want the one
who's descended from the former Incarnation.  The one with the darker
hair."

Again Niobe stiffened.  Had Satan made a mistake?  Her granddaughter
Luna was destined to save man; Niobe's daughter Orb was destined to
become an Incarnation, if the prophecy was correct.  Of course Satan
was a busy entity; he probably hadn't paid much attention to Niobe's
mortal affairs.  Obviously he did not recognize her now.  For the first
time she blessed the loss of her youthful beauty!  Perhaps the demon
who had sneaked into the Hall of the Mountain King and activated the
thief defense had confused the two girls easy enough to do!  and re;

ported Luna as the buckwheat-honey girl, and Satan had never thought to
verify the identification.  Luna was in fact the clover-honey girl,
slightly lighter in hair hue.  "You find this unreasonable?"  Satan
asked, noting her silence.  Niobe sighed.  "Gaea told me not to trust
you.  You're up to something."

"My dear associate, there is no call to trust Me!  You can handle it
yourself!  Simply give Me your word that if no bomb goes off at the UN,
you will modify the girl's thread to shunt her away from politics."

Niobe tried to decide whether Satan was confused, or had some double
devious plot in mind.  "No harm will come to the girl?"

"I promise never to harm the girl whose thread you change," Satan said
magnanimously.

"But your promise is worthless!"

"That is true.  I am the Father of Lies," he agreed with pride.  "But
My word is sacred when properly given."

"How is it properly given?"

"In blood, of course."

"You have blood?"

He laughed.  "Of course I have blood!  I'm an Incarnation, like you!"

Niobe remembered.  In her prior Incarnation she had learned things
about the other Incarnations, and one of them was this: that Satan's
blood did bind him, and that the word of one Incarnation to another was
inviolate.  In this particular case, she could trust even the Father of
Lies.

"Then we shall swear on blood," she decided.

Are you crazy, woman?  Atropos demanded, like a conscience.  That's
your flesh and blood you're sacrificing in that girl!

And the salvation of man, Clotho added.  The two of them had picked up
the information from Niobe's strong conscious thoughts.

"Excellent," Satan said.  He held up his hand, and Niobe drew a needle
from a reserve in her clothing and pricked his thumb so that a drop of
blood welled out.  Then she did the same for her own hand.  The blood
of Incarnations could not be shed by anyone, mortal or immortal,
without consent, except perhaps in the case of Thanatos change of
office.  Satan had agreed to have his blood shed, and so had she for
this occasion only.

"An oath between Incarnations," Niobe said.  "Sealed in blood.  You
will spare the UN and respect the life of that woman, and I will adjust
the thread of the life of the darker-haired descendent of Niobe Kaftan
so that she never enters politics."

"An oath, agreed," Satan said.  They shook their bloodied hands.

"I hope it's worth it," Niobe muttered, worrying what mischief Satan
might try to do to Orb, despite his oath.  There were ways to make a
person miserable without doing actual harm.  Yet the language was broad
and the term "respect" covered a lot especially considering the
relevance of the prophecy.  This oath was merely a step in the
implementation of that prophecy.  She was not completely easy about it,
but thought she had done right in a difficult situation.

"It is for Me," Satan said.  "Considering that the matter is academic
anyway."

"Academic?"

"Chronos, curse his backward hide, acted on his own, and warned the UN
security police about the bomb.  They are installing psychic shields
already."

"You knew that?"  she demanded, outraged.  "You cheated!"

"Hardly.  I agreed to spare the UN, and Niobe's nonpolitical offspring.
They will be spared."  Then Satan did a double-take.  "How did you know
that name "Niobe'?  I never uttered it."

"Satan, it is my business to know.  The threads "

But he was already making the connection.  "You I thought you looked
faintly familiar!  You are Niobe once Clotho!"

Niobe shrugged.  "Now I am Lachesis.  But I will see that my mortal
daughter Orb never enters politics.  An oath is an oath."

"Orb?  I meant Luna!"

"Oh, is the matter academic?"  she asked sweetly.  "I swore to keep my
darker-haired descendent free of politics."

Satan considered.  "You came back to deceive Me!"

"Close enough."  Niobe shrugged.  "Had you specified that it was Luna
whom you "

She expected an explosion, but Satan only nodded.  "Sometimes the
Father of Deceit is hoist with his own petard.  I congratulate you,
Niobe, on an excellent counter ploy

"That is a compliment indeed, coming from you."

"But now I know you, and I shall not be deceived again.  There are
other ways."  He vanished.

Niobe was not reassured.  That had been too easy.  Yet how else could
she have played it?  She extended a thread and slid toward home.

BRIBE

Back in the Abode, they rested, then returned to the routine.  They had
indeed foiled Satan, for the UN was not bombed.  Perhaps, as Satan had
claimed, the matter was academic but only because Chronos had been
alerted by their reaction and joined in himself.  Since he lived
backward, his subsequent action would have occurred before their
conversation, but well, that problem had been dealt with.  Niobe's
daughter and granddaughter would continue their lives unobstructed; the
existing course of their threads was unchanged.

What a stroke of luck it had been that Niobe had returned as Lachesis
to deal with this particular matter!  No one else would have known
about the two fair moons, and been able to divert Satan's thrust into a
harmless channel.

Yet was it coincidence or was there a deeper current of Fate that
transcended the efforts even of the Incarnations?  If so, what was the
origin of that current?

"God," Atropos said.

There it was.  God honored the Covenant by not interfering in the
affairs of mortals, while Satan chronically cheated.  Evidently Satan
had not signed that one in blood.  But if God guided the larger
pattern, all of Satan's machinations would became academic.

Was her return merely part of God's will or was it true coincidence?

"We'll never know, for sure," Clotho said.

With that, Niobe had to be satisfied.

Niobe now worked with Chronos more than she had as Clotho.  True, she
had had a long-term backward affair with the earlier Chronos, but that
had been on a different level.  She suspected, by the way this Chronos
glanced at this Clotho, that there would be something of the sort
again, but not for some time, and perhaps not with this particular
Clotho.  The youngest Aspect of Fate seemed to be a magnet for male
attentions, whoever and whenever.  But the main business was between
Chronos and Lachesis.  Only he could locate the specific chronology for
the complex interactions of the threads.  His staff and Fate's staff
coordinated the great majority of events competently enough, but there
was a constant development of situations that required the attention of
the Incarnations themselves.

It was during one such session that Chronos mentioned another thing
that alerted her.  "Periodically Satan has opportunity to free a few
demons from Hell," he remarked.  "I don't know what governs this, and
it happens infrequently, but when a demon is freed, there is always
mischief in the mortal realm."

"Even the spirit of a demon is bad," Niobe agreed.

"Ah, then you know the nature of the problem!  I remember when I had to
run the world backward to eliminate but of course that hasn't happened
yet, for you.  But it seems that such an occasion is about to happen
again has already happened, in your frame.  I suspect it behooves us to
verify exactly what mischief is being done, this time."

"Can't you tell, from your past?"

"That's the odd thing.  There doesn't seem to be any effect.  Yet Satan
never lets such an opportunity pass unfulfilled."

"No mischief?"  she asked.  "That is suspicious!  What mischief could
Satan do that you would not be aware of?"

"Something of limited scope," he said.  "Or something subtle."

"If it's too limited or subtle to affect the balance of good and evil
in the world, it's too limited to be worth his while," Niobe said. "I'm
sure he wouldn't waste a valuable demon on anything genuinely minor." 
She remembered the various demonic attacks on her own family. "There
has to be something."

"Perhaps something that manifests after my term began," Chronos said.
"That way I would not know of it.  Satan is adept at sleepers."

"Yes!  Luna is supposed to be the salvation of man some time in the
future, perhaps twenty years hence.  Satan has enormous cunning and
patience; he can afford to wait, to nullify your perception.  There
must be something the demon does now that will show up then."

"He has done that sort of thing," Chronos agreed.  "Never that
long-term, in my experience, but of course I foiled the shorter-term
efforts.  With difficulty, I confess.  It was quite wearing; if it
hadn't been for your support and Clotho's I mean this one's successor I
might have given up."

Niobe chose to ignore the remark about Clotho's successor, and hoped
Clotho had not picked it up; none of them wanted to know the times of
their departures from office, voluntary as they might be.  "That must
be it.  What could a demon do today, that wouldn't take effect for
twenty years?  A time bomb?"

"Such devices are notoriously unreliable.  More likely it would be some
kind of change in personnel somewhere, so that someone would not be
available to do something to oppose Satan in that time."

"We have pretty well safeguarded Luna," Niobe said.  "So I don't think
the demon can touch her.  She's the only truly critical person I know
of."

"At one point, Satan sent a demon to nullify the accidental poisoning
of the senator she replaced, so that "

"Wait, wait, Chronos!  You're talking of the future!  I wish you
wouldn't do that.  Just speak in generalities, if you please."

"Sorry.  My point is that if Satan can affect people Luna interacts
with, he can affect her indirectly.  If she is to be pivotal in a
political sense, the change of other personnel might transfer the pivot
to another person."

"Now I understand.  You say she's to become a senator?"

"Yes, if you don't mind that information.  A good one."

"So the Senate is the likely arena for whatever it is?"

"I would say so."

"Then I'd-better check potential changes in the makeup of the Senate.
I'm learning how to read the threads better, so I should be able to do
this more efficiently than I did for the stink-bomb carriers.  Did I
thank you for your effort there?"

"Stink bomb?  Oh, there was something in an alternate reality.  The

UN?"

"That's right if I thanked you last month, you wouldn't know it now!"

"I'm sure you did what was proper and I will too."  "Well, thank you
anyway for that and this."  She left the mansion and, as usual, took
time out before returning to her Abode, so as not to meet her self of
the immediate past; that was always unsettling.  She had done it on
occasion by prearrangement during the time of the child-Chronos, and
that had been interesting, but she was too busy for that sort of thing
now.  She slid her thread down to pay a brief call on Luna, just to
advise her of the current situation.  She hadn't seen the young woman
since assuming the Aspect of Lachesis, so it really was time.

She landed at the door of what turned out to be a rather elegant fenced
estate guarded by two fierce griffins.  When they menaced her, she slid
through them on a thread, showing them what they were dealing with.

The door opened, and there stood Luna.  "My dear!"  Niobe exclaimed.
"What have you done with your hair?"

"Grandma!"  Luna exclaimed.  "Come in!"

They had a nice visit, in the course of which Niobe learned that Luna
had used a spell when she moved to America to darken her hair to
chestnut brown.  "My father insisted,"" she said.  "I really don't know
why."

Niobe remembered Satan's confusion, supposing Luna was the one with the
darker hair.  Satan had seen her more recently than Niobe had!  "I
believe I understand why," she murmured.  Her son the Magician had
really been on the job!

In due course she kissed her granddaughter adieu and slid home.  She
had serious business to attend to.

She checked the skein, searching out the threads of current senators.
Of course there would be many changes in twenty years, so nothing much
should show.  But

She was disappointed.  She started with the youngest, who would be most
likely to remain for another twenty years or more, therefore the most
likely targets for Satan's effort.  After all, what use to corrupt a
senator who would not be there for the payoff?  But one after the
other, the threads were normal.  None of them had been touched by the
distinctive stigma turn of Satan's influence.

"Well, it was worth checking," she said.  "It was just a wild guess
anyway."

"Why not check the old ones?"  Atropos asked.  "They'd be replaced
anyway, by then."  "Check them anyway.  I've got a hunch."  Niobe
shrugged and checked the thread of the oldest senator.  She stared.
There was the kink of Satan!

She checked another old one.  There was another stigma turn  Satan had
definitely influenced these men!

"But it doesn't make sense!"  Niobe protested.  "One of these men is
seventy-six years old now, and in failing health; there's no way he's
going to make it another twenty years!"

"Unless he gets a youth potion," Atropos replied.

"A youth potion!"  Suddenly it made sense!  Trust an old woman to think
of that!  An old, corrupt man would gladly give his soul for that,
figuring he was going to Hell anyway.  Satan, in effect, could be
offering these men twenty more years of life, in exchange for their
support at the critical moment.  Since they would otherwise be replaced
by younger and perhaps more God-fearing men, it was to Satan's interest
to do this.

Luna was being bypassed.  That could not be allowed.

She checked more threads.  The four oldest senators were kinked; the
fifth and sixth weren't.  "The demon hasn't finished making the
bribes!"  she said.  "We're not too late to cut short its activity!"

"I don't know about tangling with a demon," Clotho said.  "Samurai's
teaching me self-defense, but he says it won't work against magic, and
a demon can't be killed by mortal means."

"Of course it can!"  Atropos said.  "Just sprinkle some holy water on
it."

Niobe agreed.  "And of course we are invulnerable to injury, as an
Incarnation.  Neither mortal nor demon can shed our blood unless we
concur."

They fetched a vial of holy water, then slid down to the senator's
residence.  As seemed to be customary, the senator had feathered his
own nest considerably; it was an elegant estate, with a broad expanse
of green lawn, sculptured bushes, and assorted outbuildings surrounding
the central mansion.

There was no physical barrier to admission, but a yellow line had been
painted around the senator's property.  Magic, Atropos thought
darkly.

Niobe walked on along the walk, knowing that no magic could harm an
Incarnation.  This was one of the greatest advantages of her prior
experience: she could proceed with confidence because she knew her
powers.  Had there been three new Aspects of Fate, Satan would surely
have convinced them that they were physically and magically vulnerable,
and gained considerable advantage.  Thanatos had mentioned being worked
over that way by the Father of Lies, until at last he had realized the
truth.  Niobe remembered how close Satan had come to convincing her to
resign her office, the first time in the Void.  There were so many
forms a lie could take, and Satan practiced them all!

As she crossed the yellow line, there was an alarm.  A cloud of birds
took off from the roof of the house and came toward her.  They seemed
to recognize her as an intruder, for they didn't hesitate; they folded
their wings and dived like little hunting-hawks.

Ooo!  Clotho thought, mentally ducking.  But Niobe merely flung out a
loop of thread, and another intersecting it at right angles, defining a
sphere about her body.  The birds darted into this sphere and abruptly
slowed.  They lost strength, being unable to penetrate to her body, no
matter how hard they flew.

Like the tatami!  Clotho thought.  She had been picking up martial-arts
terms during her association with Samurai.  The mat is soft, but it
breaks the fall without injury.

"Exactly," Niobe murmured.  "There is nothing more subtle but certain
than the web of Fate.  No mortal creature can avoid it or nullify it."
She walked on, and after a while the birds gave up and returned to
their roosts on the roof.

Nice estate, Atropos thought.  / wouldn't mind working in a place like
this.

You're no servant!  Clotho thought angrily.  You're a free woman!

Of course I am, girl in my mind, Atropos agreed.  But in the real
world, I always did have to earn my living and I never was ashamed of
that.

Niobe smiled ruefully.  She had been neither liberated nor servant, but
had partaken somewhat of both.  Unlike Clotho, she had married the man
her father chose for her;

unlike Atropos, she had never had to go to work for another person. Yet
had she rebelled a little more, initially, she might readily have gone
Clotho's route and then would have had to follow Atropos' route. It was
still basically a man's world.

But we still spin the threads of life!  Clotho put in.

And we still cut them!  Atropos added.

"Well, we are Woman," Niobe said, smiling.  "We possess the sort of
power no man can deny."

As she approached the house, there was a scream from a tree.  It was
partly like that of a great bird, partly like that of a shrewish woman,
and wholly horrible.  Then a great, dark shape rose from the tree,
flapping ponderous wings.

That's a damned harpy!  Atropos thought.  "Oops," Niobe murmured.  "The
magic threads won't stop that; it's immortal."

Maybe I can use self-defense, Clotho thought.  "No good.  You could
strike it or throw it aside, but its filth would still get on you.  It
can't actually hurt us, even if we do nothing, but it could make us
sickeningly unclean."

The ugly creature lumbered toward them through the air.  It had the
face and dugs of an old woman, and the body of a vulture.  The
close-set, wrinkle-shrouded eyes peered out at Niobe.  For a moment the
harpy hovered, surprised, a perfumed stench washing down from the
wingbeats.

"What are you doing here, Lachesis?"  it demanded.  The teeth were long
and yellow.  "This is none of your affair, you meddlesome ilk!"

"It is my affair, you putrid hen!"  Niobe retorted.  "Now give way, or
I'll lasso you with a thread."  It was a bluff, but she hoped the harpy
wouldn't know that.

"No thread of yours will hold me, spider-face!"  the harpy screeched.
"Turn aside, or I'll poop on you!"

It was no empty threat!  But Niobe knew she had to reach the senator
before the demon from Hell did.  She couldn't afford delay.

Give me the body!  Atropos thought.  / know how to handle that sort!

Niobe turned it over.  Atropos took form.  She strode from the walk,
across the lawn to a nearby garden shed.

"Oh, so it's Atropos now!"  the harpy screeched, following.  "Whatcha
think you're doing, you old black slave?"

"I'm going to clear out some trash," Atropos said.  She reached the
shed and took hold of a weathered broom inside it.

"Go sweep it out, like the stupid stoop-labor hag you are!"  the harpy
screeched, its stringy hair flinging out as it whirled to fly above
Atropos' head.  "Here, I'll make you feel right at home by emptying the
pot on you!"

"The white folks used to set the dogs on us when we came to clean their
houses," Atropos said, hefting the broom.  In her competent hands the
broom moved almost like a weapon.  "Know what we did then?"

"You got chewed up?"  the harpy asked with a raucous cackle, following
it with the kind of racial epithet no one but a harpy would use.

"We let those bitches have it in the tail!"  Atropos said.  She swung
the broom in a mighty and accurate arc.  The bristles caught the harpy
in the tail just as it was letting go its poop, and knocked it
spinning.

The creature landed claws-up on the ground, screeching piercingly.
Atropos, undaunted, strode toward it, broom aloft.  The harpy scrambled
to its feet and pumped its wings furiously, launching clumsily into the
air.  It fled, wanting no more of this.

Atropos returned the broom to the shed.  "A woman does learn a thing or
two in the course of a working life," she muttered with satisfaction.

She certainly did!  Niobe resumed the body and proceeded the rest of
the way to the house.

As she came to the door, it burst open and the demon itself charged
out.  It was about seven feet tall, had a hairy body, a long and tufted
tail, horns, and a prominent masculine appendage.  It pounced on Niobe,
wrapping its long arms about her and opening its mouth so wide that the
remaining features were squeezed back into oblivion.  The huge pointed
teeth descended toward her face.

"Oh, come off it!"  Niobe snapped, disgusted.  "You can't bite me!"

Indeed, the demon's teeth came down to touch her forehead, and stopped.
Her flesh was invulnerable.

The demon growled and squeezed her, trying to crush in her ribcage, but
the compression had no effect.  She was proof against that, too.

Then the demon thought of something else.  It brought up its clawed
hind feet and raked along the front of her body.  Her clothing ripped
asunder, but her flesh was un scathed.  "You can't even scratch me, you
fool.  I am proof from physical injury by any creature your infernal
master can send."  .

The demon brought its foot up again, ripping her clothing the rest of
the way.  Now it hung on her by the sleeves, leaving her front exposed.
The demon did not release her, but loosened its grip enough to enable
it to glance down at her body.  It snorted steam.

Then she realized what it was up to.  It intended to rape her!

The thing could probably do it.  She was secure from physical injury,
but not from emotional injury.  As experience had long ago shown her,
she could participate in sexual congress; it represented no physical
abuse of her body.  The demon was stronger than she was; it could hold
her for this act.

Now she struggled, but her arms remained captive at her sides.  She
tried to run, but the demon lifted her off the ground.  Its member was
growing; in a moment it would do what it intended.  At the least, she
would be utterly humiliated.

Maybe I can fight it!  Clotho thought.

How?  Atropos responded.  It's immune to our attack, too; we can't even
bite it.

At least let me try!

Niobe, as desperate as any of them, gave her the body.  The demon
paused, startled at this change, but did not let her go.  Then,
perceiving that the captive had grown more attractive, it renewed its
effort.  Clotho twisted desperately, managing to swing her body away a
little.  Then she brought up her right knee in a savage strike at the
demon's groin.  She scored but the creature did not even gasp.  It was,
as Niobe had warned, invulnerable.

My turn!  Atropos thought.

Clotho turned the body over to her.  Again the demon paused, noting the
change, but again it resumed its design after a moment.  It changed its
grip, to force the body closer, and used its nether claws to grasp the
legs and wedge them apart.

"Damn!"  Atropos swore.  "I thought I could slide away on the thread
but I can't fling out any strand while my arms are pinned!"

The demon grinned.  It had known this.

Suddenly Niobe knew what was required.  We're all fools!  she thought.
Give me back the body!

Atropos gave it to her.  Niobe assumed control just as the demon's hot
flesh nudged hers.

She shifted to spider form.  Suddenly she had eight limbs and was much
smaller.  Fate could be any size arachnid she wished.  She slipped out
of the surprised demon's grasp and dropped to the ground.

The demon tried to stomp her.  Niobe simply stood there and let the
clawed foot come down on her body.  When the foot rose again, she
remained unhurt.  The spider was as impervious as any of the human
forms.

She reverted to her natural form.  The demon grabbed for her again, but
this time she had the vial of holy water out.  As the demon's arms
clasped her, she put the vial to her own lips and sipped the fluid.
"Kiss me, demon," she murmured, putting her face forward.

The demon's head jerked back as it smelled the water, but she pursued
it.  Her arms now clasped its body, preventing its escape exactly as it
had prevented hers before.  She jammed her mouth against its mouth and
spat out the water.

Kiss of death!  Clotho thought.

It was indeed.  The demon's flesh melted where the water touched.  The
lips dissolved and dribbled down the chin, which was rapidly eroded by
that fluid.  The flesh of the cheeks and tongue puddled, leaving the
teeth bare, like those of Thanatos.  Then the gums faded away, and the
jaw fragmented, and one by one the teeth fell out.  The destruction
proceeded up the face, eating away the nose and then the eyeballs.  Now
the thing's brain came into view, smoking at the outer surface as the
effect touched it.  The whole brain blackened, then went up in smoke.

Now THAT is the way to deal with a rapist!  Atropos thought.

After that, the rest of the body went more quickly, dissolving into
vapor from top to bottom, like a gross cigar burning.  At last all that
remained was the noxious cloud of smoke.

But as the smoke dissipated, something moved.  The demon's right foot
remained; it hadn't dissolved, and had been hidden by the swirling
vapors.  Her kiss of death had reached its limit.

Niobe reached for her vial again.  What harm can one foot do?  Clotho
thought.

"Any part of a demon is bad news," Niobe said tersely.  She put some
holy water on her fingers and reached for the foot.

The thing scrambled across the step, using its claws to hitch itself
forward.  It was trying to escape.  Niobe sprinkled it by snapping her
wet fingers outward, and puffs of smoke erupted where the drops struck.
The foot fell off the edge of the step, into the grass.  She pursued
it, sprinkling more water, but the fragment disappeared.

"I hope I got it all," she muttered.

Can't be more than a toe left, Atropos thought.

"Demons aren't like mortal folk," Niobe said darkly.  "Pieces of them
can survive."

Can one toe hurt us?  Atropos thought.  How?

Niobe shrugged.  "I don't know.  But I hope that thing is all gone,
now."

Well, let's see what's inside, Clotho thought.  Like Atropos, she did
not take the toe of one demon seriously, and Niobe had to admit she was
probably a bit paranoid about demons.  One had killed Cedric, another
had killed

Blanche, another had tried to eliminate Luna and Orb, and now one had
tried to rape her.  She had reason but what, indeed, could one demon
toe do?

Niobe pinned her torn dress together as well as she could, and
strengthened it with strategically placed strands of thread.  Then she
walked on into the senator's house.

A young man stood in the hall.  His clothing hung on him, enormously
baggy.  He seemed oblivious to his surroundings.  He was staring at
himself in the full-length hall mirror.

She was too late!

She sighed.  "Senator?"

He answered without looking at her.  "Yes, of course I'll have to
resign my office.  There would be talk, gossip, perhaps an
investigation.  I couldn't afford that!  I might even have difficulty
proving my identity.  After all, I've just lost forty years!"

"You're not staying on?"  This surprised her.  "Of course not.  It just
isn't feasible.  I'll have to make a new life.  But it's worth it!
Forty more years, starting with everything I already know!"  "But don't
you owe Satan?"  "He asked no price.  It's a gift, no strings."  "But
the burden of evil on your soul " "No evil attaches to the acceptance
of a gift freely proffered, when I provide no political favor in
return. And I won't; I'm dropping out of politics."

This amazed her.  If the senators weren't staying in office, how could
they do Satan's bidding, twenty years hence?  It didn't make sense!

At least she had destroyed the demon.  There would be no more bribes of
restored youth.  She extended a thread and slid up it to Purgatory.

They discussed it at the Abode as they rechecked the threads.  As they
fathomed the changing pattern, the situation came clear.  The senators
had been bribed indirectly by being freely given what they most
desired.  In order to enjoy it, they had to vacate their offices.  That
meant there would be appointees to complete the terms and Satan surely
controlled those appointments.  The new senators would all be young and
competent and would give no sign of their true loyalty until that day,
some twenty or so years hence, when Satan required it, to negate Luna's
position and give the final victory to Satan.  A long-term plan, a real
sleeper but it seemed it was already in place.  In a vote as close as
that one was destined to be, four changed votes would be more than
enough.  Five, counting the senator who had just been eliminated
here.

The new threads were not yet in place, however, for the appointees had
not yet been appointed; that process would take a few days.  But,
search the Tapestry as she might, Niobe could find no way to nullify
it.  Satan had made his play, and could readily defend it against any
effort she might take.  The five old senators had already been bribed
to vacate and could not be un bribed youth was already theirs.

"There has to be a way!"  Niobe exclaimed.  "We can't j just give up
the world to Satan, even if it is twenty years ' away."

She checked quickly with the other Incarnations, but none of them had
an answer.  At last she went to the person most concerned: her
granddaughter Luna.

Luna took it in stride.  She was a truly beautiful woman now, despite
the distortion of her hair color.  "My father told me that something
like this might come up," she said.  "He left a message for that
occasion."

"My son anticipated this?"  Niobe demanded, surprised.

"He was a most accomplished Magician," Luna reminded her.  "Perhaps the
best of his generation and he spent the last thirty years of his life
researching this very problem.  He used to apologize to me for his
neglect but he really didn't neglect me.  We were very close."

As Niobe and her son had not been.  But that was ancient history. "What
is the message?"

Luna fetched a small blue topaz, a pretty but not truly precious stone.
She set in on a small shelf before a white screen and turned on a
special light.  The stone fluoresced, sending a pattern of blue shadows
across the screen.

"It's a magic stress on the molecules of the topaz," Luna explained. "I
just need to get it in focus and find the right angle; most of the
facets are nonsense, but the right one will display the message.  The
Magician set it up that way so that no one would accidentally read the
message before it was time.  Premature divulgence would alert Satan,
you see."  She turned the stone, and the pattern on the screen
changed.

She turned it again, and suddenly several lines of fuzzy print appeared
on the screen.  "Ah there it is!  Now for the focus."  She moved the
light, and gradually the print clarified; in a moment it would become
legible.  Then something rolled across the shelf and collided with the
topaz.  The stone slid out of position, and the image was lost.

"The demon's toe!"  Niobe exclaimed.  She brought out the vial and
dumped the remaining holy water on it.  The thing vanished in a puff of
smoke.

Luna recovered the stone.  "Good thing the creature didn't hurt it,"
she said.  She set it in place, and refocused the beam of light.

Only blank blue showed on the screen.  Surprised, Luna turned it to a
new facet, but no pattern showed.  "It's been erased!"  she exclaimed
in dismay.  "The magic is gone!"

"The demon did it!"  Niobe cried.  "Its mere evil touch canceled the
good magic!"

And we wondered what one toe could do!  Atropos thought, chagrined.

Niobe exchanged a stricken glance with her granddaughter.  Now they had
lost the vital message!

"Is there any backup stone?"  Niobe asked after a moment.

"No.  None for this occasion.  The Magician didn't want it to be
obvious "

"That's what I thought," Niobe said heavily.  "Satan must have known or
suspected about the stone and given his demon a secondary instruction
to erase it when it had the chance.  Now it has done so."

"Now it has done so," Luna agreed.

"So now only the Magician knows the message."

"And he is dead."

Niobe embraced the young woman, and they both cried the tears of
hopelessness.

Then Niobe straightened, lifting her chin.  "But I am an Incarnation! I
can go to my son in Purgatory and ask him directly!"

"Yes!"  Luna cried, her gray eyes lighting.  "My father did not know
you would become Fate again!  He focused on me."

They embraced and cried again, this time with renewed hope.  Then Niobe
rode a thread back to Purgatory to seek her son.

But when she checked the computer for the specific location of his
soul, she received another shock.

MAGICIAN KAFTAN'S SOUL IS NO LONGER IN PURGATORY,

the screen said.

"You mean his penance is finished?  He has gone on to Heaven
already?"

NO.  AN ERROR IN HIS CLASSIFICATION WAS DISCOVERED.  HIS

DAUGHTER HAD BORROWED SOME OF HIS BURDEN OF EVIL.  SHE

IS DESTINED FOR HEAVEN, BUT HIS TRUE BALANCE WAS NEGATIVE.

Why would Luna have done a thing like that?  Niofc wondered.  But she
had a more immediate problem.  "Nej ative?  Then "

YOUR SON IS NOW IN HELL.

Niobe stared at the screen in horror.  She was sure this was the real
information, as she had taken steps to se that none of Satan's
illusions interfered this time.

The only person who knew how to nullify Satan's vi tory was in Satan's
power.

MAZE SQUARED

Back at the Abode, they hashed it over.  "We know there is a solution,"
Niobe said.  "We just don't know what it is."

"And chances are, we won't find it on our own," Atropos said.  "Maybe,
if we were all experienced, we'd know it, but by the time we get
experienced enough to know, it'll be too late."

"We're still in Satan's trap," Clotho agreed.

"Not entirely," Niobe said.  "If all three of us were new, that might
be true; but I did have thirty-eight prior years of experience.  I know
Satan's power is not complete.  There has to be something he's hiding
from us."

"The solution!"  Clotho exclaimed wryly.

"Too bad we can't go to Hell and ask the Magician what his message
was," Atropos said.

Niobe pounced on that.  "Maybe we can!  Incarnations have special
powers!"

They checked with Thanatos, who confirmed it.  "I have been there," he
said.  "But only in spirit.  The physical body has to be left behind.
All the things there are spirits, but they seem solid, as they do in
Purgatory.  But Satan wouldn't let you visit anyone there."

"But then how did you go there?"

"I was invited on a tour."

Oh.  She knew about that sort of thing.  Still

"Can he stop a mother from visiting her son?"  she asked.

All three of them paused at that.  Who would know?  Clotho thought.

"Gaea," Niobe said.  "The Green Mother understands everything about
human nature and then some."

They went to Gaea.  "Satan cannot stop you, in this instance," she
said.  "But he will not help you.  This represents a conflict between
Incarnations, and your chance of success would be half."

"But I can do it?"  Niobe asked.

"You can cut off your foot, too, but you might not want to."  Gaea
smiled coldly.

"If I do this if I go to Hell I stand to win the salvation of man or at
least enable my granddaughter to.  What do I stand to lose?"

"Your soul," Gaea said grimly.

"But I'm an Incarnation!  Satan can't touch my soul!"

Gaea shook her head.  "You must put your soul on the line to gain entry
to Hell.  If you win your objective, you keep your soul.  But if you
fail, your soul is forfeit.  Hell is not child's play, Lachesis!"

Niobe sighed.  "It certainly isn't!"

Well, that lets that out, Atropos thought.  A good soul locked in
Hell

"How do I set it up?"  Niobe asked.

Don't do it, Lachesis!  Clotho thought.

What shall it profit a woman to win the whole world, if she lose her
own soul?  Atropos thought.

"That's figurative; this is literal," Niobe said.  "The whole world is
on the line, this time."

"You must choose a referee," Gaea said.  "To ensure fairness in the
proceedings.  Otherwise Satan will cheat."

Niobe considered.  "How about Mars?  He knows how to supervise war and
this is really a battle in the war between Good and Evil."

Gaea nodded.  "Excellent choice.  Go to him and ask."

"Thank you, Ge."

"Every Incarnation must sooner or later confront Satan," Gaea said.
"You did it long ago, in the Void.  Now you are doing it again but the
locale is not neutral and the stakes are higher.  We shall be watching
but none of us will be able to assist you, once you enter Hell."

"I know."  This was, among other things, confirmation that Gaea had
recognized her, the day of the excursion into the model Hell, and had
kept her secret.

"You will leave your body and your two other Aspects behind.  If you
fail, they will have to choose your replacement with no soul to
exchange.  That body will die."

A heavy penalty indeed!  Yet, added to the loss of the world, did it
matter?  She had to make the effort!

"Farewell," Gaea said.  "You are a fine woman, Lachesis."

Niobe slid her thread to Mars' castle.  This time he was at home.
Quickly she explained the situation.  "You have courage," Mars said
gruffly.  "I trust you know that Hell is no picnic."

"I know, but I must go.  Will you serve?"

"I will serve.  But I can guarantee only that the terms are honored.  I
cannot help you or advise you in any way.  Once you enter Hell, you are
on your own."

"But I have no idea what to expect there!"

"As referee, it is my job to help arrange what to expect," Mars said.
He raised his red sword, and it flashed.  "Satan!"

Satan appeared.  "What the Hell do you want.  Mars?  A war?"

"Both," Mars agreed, unperturbed.  "Lachesis wishes to visit her son,
the Magician Kaftan.  You may not deny her that."

Satan turned on Niobe.  "So you learned of that, you meddling female!
But it will cost you your soul."

"The one offer you cannot turn down," Niobe agreed.

"No," Mars said.  "She is not buying the visit with her soul.  She is
putting up her soul as the stake for the game.  That is a different
matter."

"A different matter," Satan agreed reluctantly.  "A technicality."

Already the referee was functioning.  That was some technicality!

"We must select the format," Mars said.

"Aerial combat while mounted on fire drakes Satan said.

"Competitive tapestry weaving," Niobe retorted.

Atropos laughed in her mind.

"Perhaps a compromise," Mars said, smiling grimly.  "An event that
combines elements of both monsters and threads, illusion and reality. A
demon-infested maze."

Satan considered.  "Could be.  Those are fun."

Niobe also considered.  A maze was a bit like a tapestry, with passages
instead of threads.  Demons were monsters but should not be able to
hurt her.  If, as it seemed, she had to navigate some sort of challenge
course in Hell to reach her son, this might be the best type for her.
But "Threads?  Illusion?"

"An illusion-maze is less challenging, physically," Mars said.  "But
more challenging, intellectually."

Niobe knew herself to be no genius, but she did have a flair with the
weaving of intricate threads.  "That sounds good," she agreed
tentatively.

"No way," Satan said.

"Superimposed on a physical maze," Mars said.  "Shall we say, one
hundred illusions of your choice and one hundred reality-threads for
her?  With some of the properties of her normal threads, so she can
travel expeditiously "

"Limited," Satan said.  "I don't want her traveling all over Hell."

"Limited," Mars agreed.  "The maze so constituted that the best course
can be traversed by fewer than fifty threads, the worst by more than
one hundred fifty threads, but centered on one hundred?"

"A fifty-fifty chance," Satan agreed.  "But / set up the maze, and
choose all the configurations."

"And I verify the balance and call the fouls," Mars said.  "I will
inspect the maze before she enters, and there will be no changes after
she enters."

"Done," Satan said.

They looked at Niobe.  She wasn't sure she trusted what those two males
might agree was fair.  But she knew Mars would not betray her, and it
seemed to be the best compromise she could get.  "Very well."

They cleared the remaining details.  Then Niobe sat back in a chair,
waited a moment, and stood and left her body behind.  She was in spirit
form!

She turned and reached out to touch her physical hand.  As she did so,
she felt the other two Aspects.  Give 'em Hell, girl!  Atropos thought.
Find your son!  Clotho thought.  Both sent the emotion of support and
best wishes.

/ shall!  she replied.

She turned again.  Satan stood directly before her, while Mars watched
from the side.  "Come to Me, fool!"  Satan said, and laughed.

She stepped into him and discovered he was a kind of door.  She passed
through it and found herself in Hell.

Hell was a crystalline place.  Bright hexagonal facets surrounded her,
red and green and blue all colors, each facet her own height.  She
stood on another, the same size.

She turned to look back the way she had come.  There was only another
facet there, highly polished, so that she saw her own reflection
clearly.

She looked exactly as she had in life, in her physical body: a
nondescript, middle-aged woman whose once flowing buckwheat-honey hair
was now cut to a less-flattering length, and the honey seemed soiled.
Her dress was a drab gray, and not well-fitted.  That last wasn't
really carelessness; if the dress fitted better, it would show up the
inadequacies other present figure all too clearly.  Ah, for the flesh
of youth!  She could understand how the old senators had found the lure
of renewed youth to be irresistible.

The irony was, she had kept her youthful appearance for an extra
thirty-eight years, and then given it up.  And would do so again, for
Pacian.  And would have given everything up, for Cedric.  She had
understood Clotho exactly, when the girl had yielded "everything!"  to
Samurai.  When a woman loved a man

But now she had to find her son.  She checked her left hand: it clasped
a handful of measured threads.  She was not Lachesis any more; she
could not travel to the ends of the world.  She was merely Niobe, and
every thread she used would be one thread lost.  She had to use them
well; though the worst-case route through the maze would require over
150 threads, she had only 100.  Her mission and her soul would be
forfeit if she used them all without finding her son.

Well, this was a puzzle, certainly.  She reached out to rap a knuckle
on a blue facet.  The sound rang, setting up a sympathetic
tintinnabulation throughout the region.  It was a rather pretty sound,
but it didn't get her through the maze.

She saw that one hexagon was not a facet, but an open space.  She
stepped through it, onto the golden floor tile there

Her foot passed right through the floor.  There was nothing there. With
a scream she fell down past several hexagonal levels, until she fetched
up against another golden tile.  She was unhurt but in a hole,
literally.

There was a puff of vapor at her hand.  She looked and saw the remains
of one of her threads curling as it dissolved into smoke.  That fall
had not hurt her physically, for a spirit could not be injured that
way, but it had cost her a thread.  That was one of the details of this
game.  Now she had ninety-nine threads left, and she had exposed the
first illusion.

She tapped the surfaces about her.  All were solid.  She was in a
nether chamber with no ready exit.  The slick facets offered no
purchase for her fingers; she could not climb out.

She sighed.  She tucked her threads carefully into a pocket, saving out
one.  She flung that upward.

Now she sailed up, following the thread's course, much as she did as an
Aspect of Fate.  In a moment she was back at her original level, facing
the golden floor panel.  An illusion but she had expended two of her
precious threads in making the discovery and recovery.  Two for one;
Satan had gained one on her.

She looked at the golden tile.  It still looked real.  She would not be
fooled again by it, of course, so in that sense it had been expended
but how much better it would have been to identify it without falling
through it!  Then she would have been one ahead, having expended no
threads to identify one of the hundred illusions.

She felt at the edge of the illusion.  She found a small ledge; part of
the golden tile was real.  She could walk on that to get through. There
had to be a way through the maze; that was part of the deal.  She had
only to move carefully, to avoid falling for any more tricks.

But she could not get through without using close to fifty of her
threads.  That meant that she couldn't simply close her eyes and feel
her way the full length of it.  There would be illusions she had to
penetrate before trusting her body to them, and climbs she had to make
regardless of illusion.  She could not hoard her threads; she would not
get through that way.

She completed her circuit of the golden illusion and entered a new
chamber.  This one had a solid floor but no other exit.  She looked up
and saw a high green ledge, out of reach.  Evidently that was the
route.  Not an illusion, just one of the thread-requiring avenues.

She brought out another thread and flung it at the ledge.  In a moment
she slid up it, landing neatly on the green.  Good enough.

Except that it turned out to be a dead end.

She sighed again.  She had been suckered into using another thread,
unnecessarily.

She squatted, touching the edge of the ledge.  It was glassy smooth.
She stood and scraped the sole of one shoe across it.  Then she tested
it with her finger again.

Yes there was faint scratching.  The material was not super-hard.  It
could be abraded.

She scuffed it some more, then lay down.  She nudged her legs over the
edge, sidewise.  She spread her fingers against the roughened surface.
The slope beyond the edge was not vertical; there were no perfect right
angles in this place, just the obtuse angles of the hexagons.  Her body
was sliding down at about a forty-five-degree angle she wasn't sure
what it was for a hexagon, but that was what it felt like.  Maybe fifty
degrees.  Her fingers had some purchase on the roughened level face.

When enough of her body was on the sloping face, it swung down.  Her
fingers were unable to hold; she slid off the surface and dropped to
the floor beneath.  But it was not as long a fall as the one she had
suffered before, and she was better prepared for it.  She landed neatly
on her feet.

She watched the threads in her pocket, but there was no puff of
smoke-vapor.  She had made it down without sacrificing another thread!
She had not "killed" herself this time.

But it was a minor victory, for she had now expended three threads and
discovered only one illusion.  She would have to do better than that.

She checked the golden floor panel again.  The ledge continued around
the other side and there was another open panel.  Had she skirted it
the other way, she would have found it, and saved herself the dead
end.

Well, the bad break had taught her a lesson or two; not to assume a
given route was the only one, and not to expend a thread on a route
just because the route was there.

She got into the new chamber.  This one had two other exits; which
should she take?  Both went far enough so that she could not tell which
was a dead end.

She shrugged and took the one to the left.  It looped around to the
right, over and under crystalline formations of differing sizes it
seemed there was nothing sacred sacred, here in Hell?  about the
full-size ones.  In due course it debouched back into the chamber she
had left.

She went around again, verifying every surface.  No way out.  She had
walked into another dead end, in effect.

She went back to the golden tile, and the rest of the way around it.
Now she was back to her starting point, three threads gone and she had
made no progress through the maze!

Then she had a bright thought.  She returned to the golden tile, got
down on her belly, and put her right arm through it.  She felt for the
surfaces below.

All in reach were solid.  She got up, walked to the far side, and lay
down again.  She reached and discovered that there was an open panel
directly beneath her.

She braced her feet as well as she could against the edge-surfaces and
hunched her body forward over the golden panel until she could put her
head through the illusion.  She peered under.

Sure enough: there was an opening.  There was her true exit!  The
illusion covered a dead-end hole and the way through.  She had fallen
right by it, and passed it again on the way back up.  Satan was
certainly a cunning devil!

She crawled around, letting her body down.  Here she was able to get a
better grip on the edge of the panel but she didn't trust it.  She was
no muscular man, she was a weak-fleshed woman.

She sighed a third time.  Then she brought out another thread and flung
it toward the hole.

Her body followed.  Now she was perched at the edge of a hexagonal
tunnel.  It sloped sharply down and she could not hold her position.
She felt herself sliding.  She tried to spread her legs and brace her
feet against the sides, but this was ineffective.  She was bound for
the end of this tunnel wherever it might lead unless she expended yet
another thread.  She decided to risk the slide.

She slid into a new aspect of the maze.  She landed in a chamber with
transparent walls, and behind those walls were demons in horrendous
shapes.  There were five exits from the chamber but each was guarded by
a monster.  How could she get through?

Obviously at least one of the monsters was illusion, so she could pass
through it without getting "killed."  Because there had to be a route
through, and she couldn't pass a real monster.

She approached the tiger-headed man at the nearest exit and flung a
thread at him.  He disappeared.  Victory she had found the route on the
first try!

She walked into the passage.  It turned at right angles, then turned
again, in the manner of the kind of maze that was printed on paper. She
moved along it cautiously, so as not to fall through an
illusion-section of floor, but the floor was opaque and solid.

She came to a division.  Which should she take, the left or the right?
It didn't seem to matter, as neither would cost her a thread.  She took
the left.

That led to a small chamber containing a man-headed tiger the reverse
of the prior monster.  She tossed a thread at it.

The thread shriveled and puffed into vapor but the monster remained.
This one was real!

"Come here, morsel!"  the tiger man cried.  "You look good enough to
chomp!"

She backed away and retreated to the other part of' the fork.  That one
led her to a man-headed wolf.  It paced restlessly, watching her.

She flung a thread and the monster evaporated with the thread.  Another
illusion.  The way was clear.

But she paused.  She had just expended two threads to uncover one
illusion.  At that rate, she would use up all her threads before the
illusions gave out.  Satan was winning!

But she knew that if she walked blithely into a monster and it was
real, it would chomp her.  That should not hurt her physically, as she
was here only in spirit, but by the laws of the maze it would cost her
double: two threads.  Being "killed" by a monster was like taking a
fall, then having to thread out of the hole.  So it paid her to verify
a monster before stepping within its range.

Or did it?  If she had an even chance that a given monster was real,
then she could assume that half of them would tag her.  Double the
threads and she lost the same number as if she had checked all the
monsters.  No loss but no gain.  She might as well use the threads.

This bothered her.  There seemed to be no way other than sheer chance
to beat Satan, and the chances were against her.  She had she checked
the count used up four threads and exposed one illusion in the crystal
section of the maze; she had used three more threads and exposed two
more illusions here.  That was a cumulative score of seven threads and
three illusions.  Yet her chances of getting through the maze were
supposed to be even.  She was definitely falling behind.

Well, she had been checking every monster.  The problem was that there
could be ten times as many real ones as illusory ones.  She could use
up all her threads without getting anywhere, that way!  There had to be
a better way but what was it?

She set her jaw.  Obviously, checking every monster was a losing
strategy.  So she would check none of them.  Had she followed that
course so far, she would have been chomped by the tiger man and lost
two threads but that was less than the three she had used checking
every monster.

She proceeded on down the passage.  She came to a huge human head from
which five human legs sprouted.  No torso.  A monster indeed!  She
walked right into it.

The thing rolled at her, each foot touching the floor in turn and
kicking her when it arrived.  "Ooo!"  she howled as she got kicked in
the knee.  Then the next foot caught her in the face.  Her nose
exploded in pain, and she fell down.  Then the monster was all over,
tromping her to death.

It wasn't death, of course.  But it felt like it.  In due course,
satisfied, the foot-face withdrew, and she dragged herself back to her
feet.  The pain abated, and she discovered that neither her nose nor
her limbs were broken.  She was uninjured, physically.  The blows had
hurt terribly, but caused no lasting damage.  She had been wrong about
the discomfort of getting chomped!

Two more threads were gone.  Score: nine to three, in favor of Satan.

And she couldn't pass this alcove.  In fact, this whole passage had
been a mistake.  It was a dead end, blocked by monsters.

So much for her new strategy.  She could have saved herself one thread
and some pain by testing the monster for illusion.

She made her way back to the original chamber of this section.  There
were the four other exits with their guardians.

She eyed the monsters.  One was a bird with the head of a fox; another
was a woman-headed snake; another was a man's head with two muscular
arms growing where the ears should be; the last was a pig-headed dog.
This was Hell, all right!  The demons hewed to no normal Earthly
shapes.

Four chances.  She could either use four more of her precious threads
to verify them, or chance walking through them with the odds even that
it would cost her four threads anyway to find the true passage.  If it
was the true passage; the first had not been.

This just wouldn't do!  She needed a strategy of approach, not only to
make her way through, but to do it economically enough to get ahead on
threads.  She needed to expunge two illusions for every thread, instead
of the other way around.  Blundering through by blind chance simply
wasn't going to accomplish that.

Well, she did have time.  There was no time limit on the maze; she was
to continue until she either won through to her son or lost her soul.
If she hesitated forever, she would never escape Hell or save Luna's
position.  Her timing was her own.

There had to be some key she had overlooked.  How she wished she had
Cedric's ready intelligence, or her son's!  Obviously sheer chance was
not going to get her through; only an appropriate strategy would do
that.  But what strategy?

She played her mind over it, knowing there had to be something.  Satan
might have deceived her about the odds, but Mars would not have.  She
had at least an even chance if she could only figure it out.

Slowly it came to her.  She had to ration her threads but Satan had to
do the same for his illusions.  Each was limited to one hundred.  If
she didn't want to throw away threads, he didn't want to throw away
illusions.  Each of them had to calculate a strategy to make the assets
count most.  But while she could change a nonproductive course, Satan
could not; he had set up the maze at the outset, and could not change
it.  It stood to reason that wherever Satan didn't need an illusion, he
wouldn't use it.  He had to use some in key places, because otherwise
she would be able to thread the maze simply by avoiding visible
monsters.  An illusion-monster could seem to block off the one route
through, shunting her into real monsters and trouble.

Here were five exits.  It would make no sense to have several illusions
down one passage if the start of it was blocked by a real monster.  She
couldn't pass the monster, so would never have a chance to be fooled by
the illusions.  The illusions had to come early or along the real
path.

All five of the monsters at this junction had to be illusions.  That
was the only pattern that made sense.  No wonder she had verified the
first illusion she had challenged, here!  She could have saved the
thread.

Furthermore, since Satan's illusions were limited, there were only so
many he could spare for any one segment of the maze.  She had
discovered only one in the crystal section, strategically situated;
that might be all there was there.  Perhaps nine of ten monsters would
be real, because here in Hell monsters were relatively cheap.  In the
mortal world, illusions were cheaper than demons, but here in Hell it
was the other way around.  So the chances were that after the beginning
of any passage, most of the monsters would be real.  If a passage
divided into ten alternate routes, nine of them would be blocked by
real monsters, with only the one that actually led somewhere having an
illusion.  That would give her nine chances to lose threads, regardless
whether she gambled or tested.  That was why she had been falling
behind; she had not perceived the strategy of Satan.

That being the case, what she needed to do was figure out the pattern
of the overall maze, and select the route that was most likely to have
illusions.  The wrong routes would be blocked mostly by real
monsters.

But how could she analyze the maze when she couldn't see it as a whole?
The walls might be of glass, but that gave her no notion of the overall
layout.  She could see many monsters, but could not make out the
convoluted channels of the maze.  t

She looked up, and saw that one tower rose above the rest.  Most of the
maze seemed to be open, and the tops of the walls, in addition to being
too high for her to reach, looked knife-sharp; she could not climb
them.  The tower sported a short diving board.  Into what was she
expected to dive, from there?  The illusion of a lake?  She knew she
couldn't risk that; it would cost her at least two threads.

But the tower was high.  From it, she might be able to see the layout
of the puzzle as a whole.  If so, that would be a useful spot to reach,
even if it was not the correct route.

She selected the passage she deemed most likely to lead to the tower
and walked through the monster that guarded it, the woman-headed snake.
The monster hissed at her, but could not touch her; it was, as she had
surmised, illusion.  She had saved herself a thread; in fact, she had
saved four, for all these monsters had to be illusion.  Just by pausing
for thought, she had brought the running score up to nine to seven, for
once she had identified an illusion she didn't have to waste a thread
on it.  These illusions were fixed in place; they could not follow her
about.  She could check off any she was sure of, and the more she could
discover by deduction, the better off she was.  She found herself
shivering with release of tension; by bracing the monster "blind" she
had not only saved her threads but also had confirmed her analysis. Had
she been wrong .. .

Now there was a snake-headed woman, the inverse of the prior monster,
blocking the passage.  Since there was no alternate route, she knew
this was illusion.  Satan wanted her to be able to navigate this route,
after wasting a thread, perhaps hoping she would indeed dive off the
tower.  She braced herself again and marched through the monster:
illusion number eight.

She came to a coiled staircase.  That fitted in with the serpentine
theme.  She had to admit that Satan had a certain artistic sense.  But
of course all art could be considered a form of lie, because it
differed from reality; that was certainly in the bailiwick of the
Father of Lies.

She mounted the stair, testing each step for illusion so as not to fall
through; that required no threads.  Soon she emerged at the top of the
tower.  It was enclosed by glass that distorted the view of the
surroundings; she had to go out onto the diving board to see clearly.

She went out and was attacked by a siege of aero phobia  The board was
about fifteen feet above the top of the walls of the maze, and
twenty-five feet above the ground.  It gave slightly under her weight
and she shivered.  She had never been a confident diver and was less so
now.  She remembered that she had been bolder when crossing the seeming
chasm in the Hall of the Mountain King, so maybe her courage had eroded
with age.  She got down on her hands and knees and crawled to the end
and peered over.

There was a clearing below.  Five giant cushions sat in it, each one so
fluffy that it was obvious that she could jump down on it, even from
this height, and not get hurt.  But some might be illusion, so she
couldn't risk it without using at least one thread.

Also, she realized, it could be a trap; she might locate a good
cushion, land safely on it, and go on only to discover this was a
dead-end path.  Then how could she return to the starting point?  She
could see that there was no access to the base of the tower from that
yard.  The jump was one-way.

She could use a thread to rise back to the diving board, of course but
that would put her further behind.  Every thread she used that didn't
dispel an illusion was a loss for her.

However, she had not come to jump, only to look.  She had expended no
threads on this path, so was gaining.  She decided to assume that two
of the five cushions were illusions, the two closest; if she had used
her threads to verify her landing, it would have cost her several more
to explore this dead end.  She was learning to figure the odds.

Now she concentrated on the rest of the maze.  It was not as large as
it had seemed from below; the convolutions made the distance seem
greater.  She traced the path of the first passage she had tried, to
make sure she knew what she was doing; then she traced the route to the
tower.  Good enough; she was able to see them clearly from here.

She traced the other three routes very carefully.  All of them had
several splits, but most of the splits dead-ended immediately after
passing monsters.  Obviously they were intended to seem to go on, so
she would challenge the monster and waste either one or two threads.
One route looped back into the other, so that she might win through it
and find herself back at the starting point, perhaps several threads
poorer.  But one route wound its tortuous way all around the maze, with
three separate splits and re joinings and finally exited to a hole in
an opaque wall.  That was evidently the one.  There were a total of
thirteen monsters along it.  She concluded that all but three were
illusions, the three being used to block one arm of each split.  There
was no way to tell which of each pair of monsters was real but it
didn't matter.  The ratio now favored her.  She needed to test only in
the splits, using three threads, and she would pass ten illusions.
Assuming she had correctly analyzed the two cushion illusions, that
would put her running score at twelve to twenty.  Twelve threads for
twenty illusions and perhaps other illusions bypassed in the other
passages.  That was the kind of ratio she liked!

She memorized the route, then backed off the board.  She got to her
feet in the tower and descended, pleased with herself.  If she had
calculated correctly, she was now winning the game.

The passage she wanted was guarded by the head with the muscular arms.
Was that symbolic?  A muscular head, meaning good thinking.  Symbols
were a form of art, and Satan had an insidious sense of humor; it was
possible.

She walked through the illusion and into the passage.  The next monster
was a cat with chicken's legs; she walked through it too.  She reached
the first split, took the left fork, and threw a thread at the
hawk-headed dog that guarded it.  The creature screeched and charged
her;

it was real.  She retreated, took the other fork, and marched through
the headless man whose face was on his belly.

On the next split she caught the illusion the first time.  It really
didn't matter; one thread got her through regardless, now that she knew
how to play it.  She completed the course without difficulty and came
at last to the opaque wall.  She had done it!  Her mind had enabled her
to prevail.

She walked through the doorway in the wall.  In a moment she came to a
blank barrier but it was an illusion.  She stepped through it

First one foot, then the other landed on something that rose up to
fasten about her ankle.  Startled, she looked down and discovered she
was on skis.  They started to move.  She had skied as a child, so knew
how to keep her balance and guide herself down a snowy slope but that
had been seventy-five years ago.  The last thing she had expected to
encounter in Hell was skiing!  Still, she had known it was possible.

She was picking up speed.  She saw two ski poles standing upright on
either side of the track.  She reached out and grabbed them.  Evidently
Mars had ensured fair play for this aspect of the challenge; she had
the necessary equipment.

She shot out of the chamber.  She was on a high mountain, on a steep
slope, accelerating.  Below her were diverging tracks in the snow,
marked by thin columns of fire.  One track led to a towering ski jump,
another to a broad and ice-covered lake.

She skewed into the third track, which seemed to be a slalom: a
twisting path between the fire poles  She was no slalom expert, but
this seemed a better bet than the others.

She passed the first pole and made a wide turn around it, almost losing
her balance.  She was way out of form and she lacked the lithe muscles
of youth.  Who ever heard of a middle-aged woman doing the slalom?

She over corrected and brushed by the second pole, touching it.  There
was a sizzle as it burned her elbow;

her clothing caught fire, and the pain was sharp.  She brought her
other hand about to slap out the flame and the ski pole whirled around,
upsetting her balance, and she spun out of control on the skis.  She
went right through a fire pole this time her face smarted from the
burn, and her hair caught fire.

She flung aside the ski poles and dived into the snow, trying to douse
her blazing head.  The skis twisted sidewise, and her dive became a
preposterous belly flop.  The snow was hard, almost like ice dusted by
a powdery layer.  Now she was sliding on her stomach down the slope,
completely out of control.  One leg was twisted; she felt the pain
shooting along it.

Then she was rolling, her skis tearing free along with one shoe,
leaving the foot bare.  The slope steepened, then became a dropoff. She
fell

Into the lake.  The ice cracked, and she plunged under it, immersed in
the shockingly cold water.  She tried to swim up to the surface, but
she had drifted under the unbroken section of the ice and banged her
head on it from below.  She inhaled to scream and sucked in water.

Her consciousness was fading, but she focused on one thing; the
threads.  She clutched out a thread and flung it as well as she
could.

Suddenly she was moving upward.  She passed through the ice without
breaking it and landed on her feet on the surface.  She had managed to
avoid drowning, thanks to the magic.

She looked about her.  The ice supported her weight, in this region. To
the side was a single ski that had followed her down; the other seemed
to be lost in the snow of the slope.  One ski pole floated in the open
water where she had broken through.  Her bare foot was freezing.  She
was here in spirit only, but only her intellect knew the difference;
she felt every bit of it.  Now she had the proof that those who
suffered in Hell really did suffer!

She looked at her collection of threads.  It had shrunk significantly.
She had destroyed herself several times over, in the course of that
spill!  She was well behind on the running score now.

She limped across the ice, coughing out what remained of the water she
had tried to breathe.  She picked up the lone ski and found it was the
wrong one; it was for the left foot, while her right foot needed the
shoe.  Of course her right foot was the wrenched one, so skiing on it
might be awkward anyway.  But she used the ski as a clumsy pole to
brace against, and started dragging herself up the nearest slope that
could be navigated.  She would have to go the long way around, to get
above the dropoff and find the other ski with her shoe, and it wasn't
going to be pleasant, but she had no choice.

She slogged up.  Her bare foot hurt in the snow, but soon it became
numb which was no good sign.  She tried to hurry, but her left leg also
had been wrenched, it was now apparent, and haste was impossible.  To
make things worse, a wind was coming up, cutting cruelly through her
inadequate clothing.

She was never going to make it this way!  She sighed, and fumbled out
another thread.  She flung it up at the top of the dropoff, and
followed it up.  She had just saved herself perhaps half an hour of
slogging but lost yet another thread.

A white figure loomed before her.  It was a snowman!  "Damn it!"  she
swore.  She swung the ski at the monster.

It passed right through without resistance.  Niobe spun around and fell
to the ground, a victim of her own inertia, An illusion!

She picked herself up and plowed on until she came to the slide-marks
of her own descent.  These she followed up until she spied the other
ski, with her shoe attached.  She hurried toward it and dropped into an
illusion-covered hole.

It was only an ice-pocket, but it cost her two threads.  She got out
and proceeded on to the ski, where she detached her shoe, dumped out
the snow, and put it on.  The stocking was gone.  It hardly mattered;
her whole leg now felt like a dead stick.

Where to, now?  She had to find her way out of this frozen mess!

She decided that the slalom remained her best chance.  She tracked over
to it and tramped down its slope.  She no longer had any trouble
keeping the course; what were impossibly tight turns at speed on skis
were quite simple on foot.  If she had been smart, she would have
gotten off the skis at the outset and walked down.  She was not on show
for skiing here; she just wanted to cover the course.  The whole
ski-setup was probably a diversion; she had allowed Satan to dictate
the mode of play, and naturally this had led to disaster.

She paused to warm herself at a fire pole but it was an illusion.  How
fiendishly clever: the early poles were real, so that they had burned
her, while some key later ones were illusion; probably she could have
skied down the course successfully if she had known which fire poles to
ignore.  This one blocked the direct course, so that the skier had to
make a wide and dangerous turn to avoid it.

She went to the next pole, which was real, and came close to it.  But
it wasn't effective as a heater; the fire was too hot up close, and
inadequate at a distance.  She needed a warm ambience, not a sharply
defined line-source.  She dragged herself on along the track.

There was a termination station at the foot of the mountain.  A ski
lift was there, but it didn't go up the slope she had descended.
Evidently it led to the next aspect of the maze.

She was too cold and tired to debate the merits properly.  She climbed
into the seat.  It was comfortable; it was a blessing to get off her
feet.  She buckled the safety harness.  Imagine that: a concern for
safety in Hell!

The thing began to move.  It hoisted itself into the air, hanging below
its line, and proceeded slowly across the terrain.

Now she counted her remaining threads.  There were just twenty.
Sixty-eight threads she had lost in that fiasco!  That seemed an
impossible number but Mars would not have let her be cheated.  Probably
some had fallen out of her pocket during her slide down the mountain,
and some had been washed away by the water.  How would she ever catch
up now?

But she reminded herself that she didn't have to catch up; she just had
to make it through the maze.  If she used her mind henceforth, she
could still do it.  She had to believe that.

How much more of the maze remained?  She didn't know.  But whatever it
was, she would negotiate it.

She reached down to chafe her cold leg.  Some sensation was returning.
That was good and bad; good because it indicated recovery, bad because
it hurt.  But that would pass; she had been tromped to death, as it
were, by the head foot monster, but had recovered immediately.  It
seemed it took longer to recover from sixty-eight threads worth of
mischief than from two threads worth.  But she would recover.

The lift entered a tunnel.  Light flared and she saw she was in a kind
of factory.  The chairs of the lift moved among robots that used tools
to adjust things.  Obviously if she were in the correct spot, she would
get adjusted and that would not be at all comfortable.  She had to find
a clear route through.

The line overhead divided.  She shifted her weight to the right, and
the seat took the right line.  She could control her travel, to some
extent.

What she evidently could not do was pause in her progress.  The seat
kept moving forward at its measured pace.  That provided her inadequate
time to decide.  The thing would not go backward, which meant she was
committed to whatever decision she made.  She could not change her mind
and withdraw.  She might already have made the wrong choice!

A robot loomed ahead.  It had a roughly humanoid head box and a pair of
articulated metal arms.  One terminated in a giant pincers, the other
in a sharp knife.  Evidently the robot was intended to hold and slice,
trimming off excess material from the subject.  If she was the subject,
she could lose some flesh.  Unless the robot was illusion.

She flung a thread at it.  The thread struck the robot and vaporized.
The robot remained.  So much for that faint hope.

Niobe hastily unbuckled her belt and jumped out of the chair.  She fell
to the floor of the foot-pedestal of the robot.  Vapor wafted up; that
fall had cost her another thread.  This was an ongoing disaster!  She
was sure she couldn't proceed through the maze unless she rode the lift
and this was the wrong line.

But she didn't want to depend on chance at all.  She had to figure out
the pattern, as she had in the maze-and monster section.  Then she
could get through with minimal losses.

She stood and looked at the towering robot.  How could she analyze this
pattern?  She couldn't even see it from below and she perceived no way
to get above it.  Not for a weak middle-aged woman.

She had to use her mind, because her body was inadequate.  She sat at
the base of the robot and pondered, while the seats of the lift
trundled on over her head.  Assume that she had to ride the lift to get
through and that her options were limited once she was on her way.  She
could not fathom the overall pattern, so would have to guess.  Could
she win through?  She had lost what little faith she had in luck, here
in Hell.

What about guile?  Satan was the master of guile; could he fall victim
to his own technique?  He had done so in the Luna-Orb matter, yet

Then she had it.  If this failed well, she probably would have lost
anyway.  If this succeeded, she might win through.

She tossed a thread toward the robot's shoulder, and in a moment she
was there, clinging to her precarious perch.  She took hold of the
robot's head and yanked.  The covering came off; it was a cup-shaped
cap with apertures for the eye lenses.  Underneath were the gears used
to rotate the head on the neck.  She didn't bother with them;

all she needed was the helmet.  And maybe an arm.

She set the helmet-cap on her own head.  It reeked of oil and fit quite
loosely, but she was able to see out of the lens apertures.  She
grabbed for an arm.

The robot felt the contact, or perhaps the pressure on the extremity.
The gears spun in the head, and the lenses swiveled to cover the arm.
Then the hinge-elbow flexed,

and the arm folded back on itself.

She grabbed it and pulled.  It froze in place, and did not move.  All
of her strength could not budge it.

So much for that.  She would have to settle for the helmet.  She hoped
it would suffice.

She watched the seats of the lift as they passed.  When a suitable one
approached, she threw a thread at it and followed the thread onto the
seat.  Quickly she settled herself and fastened the belt.

The robot reached for her.  "Uh-uh!"  she exclaimed, I

facing it with her eye-slits.  Her voice reverberated in her helmet.
"I'm a testing robot.  Clank-clank!"

The robot hesitated, its head-gears spinning as its gaze followed the
motion of her seat, almost as if the gears were brains in operation. By
the time the machine made up its mind, she was beyond it.

The line diverged again.  She picked her course, and moved on to the
next robot.  "Clank!  Clank!"  she cried again in the helmet.  Again
the robot hesitated, its program not quite covering this, and again she
got through.  It was working!

Unfortunately for her, this line was not the correct one;

it dead-ended.  It terminated in a station that went nowhere.  The
seats turned over, folded up, and followed in a line leading back to
the other side of the factory; no way to ride farther.  But nearby a
line seemed to be going somewhere.  She used a thread to reach it and
passed through it, crashing on the floor.  It was an illusion!

She had to use yet another thread to reach another line.  This one was
real but it too dead-ended.

She kept trying.  At- last she made it to a line that went somewhere. A
robot reached for her; she warned it off and it kept coming.  It had
not been deceived by the helmet, and she had no time to scramble free!
She screamed as the pincers took hold of her and passed through her
body harmlessly.  It was another illusion!

That meant she was back on track.  She rode this line to the true
terminus: a walk that led out of the factory.  She removed her helmet
and surveyed her situation.  Her frozen leg had thawed and was
serviceable, but she had only five threads left.  She didn't know how
far she still had to go, or how many illusions remained.  But she was
sure that, one way or another, she was near the end.

-16

ANSWERS

Outside the factory was another hall.  She walked cautiously along it,
alert for tricks.  There seemed to be none.  Soon she came to an
intersection with a hall at right angles.  In the center, mounted on a
base, was a fancy plaque.  She approached this and looked at it.  It
said: WELCOME TO THE FINAL SERIES OF CHALLENGES.  THREADS REMAINING:
5.

ILLUSIONS REMAINING: 10.

She considered this.  Was it genuine, or a trick by Satan?  Certainly
it had her threads correctly listed; if the illusions were also
correct, then she was much closer than she had supposed.  She could
still win this contest!

But it could be a plant, intended to deceive her.  Should she use a
thread on it to verify its accuracy?  No, that would be foolish.  If it
was a lie, it should be a complete lie and obviously it wasn't.  Better
just to assume it was correct and make sure she wasted no more threads.
She would count off the remaining illusions, because, once that total
reached zero, she would know she had won.  But she would not trust it
too far, because, if the plaque were a lie, it could cause her to think
she had eliminated the last illusion when she had not and that last
illusion could wipe her out.  But probably Mars would not have allowed
Satan to volunteer false information, because there should, after all,
be a distinction between illusion and outright lying.

She pondered, then turned right and discovered a dead end.  She felt
along the walls, floor and ceiling, but all were solid.  No exit
here.

She tried the left hall, but this, too, was a dead end.  So she went
straight ahead and found a third dead end.  None of the passages went
anywhere.

She stood by the plaque and pondered.  Could the message be a fake, not
in its accounting of threads and illusions, but in its implication that
the route was here when it was not?  So that she would waste her few
remaining threads looking for what did not exist?  What a fiendish
trap!

She walked around the plaque and saw that there were words printed on
its back.  DO YOU YIELD?

Satan's humor, all right!  "No, I don't!"  she exclaimed.

That plaque could be here to make her think it was a lie, so that she
would write off this annex when it was the correct route.  She had to
make absolutely sure it was not, before she gave up on it.

She explored the halls again.  It occurred to her that an illusion did
not have to be merely sight; it could be sound or touch too.  Some of
the illusion-monsters had roared.  There might be an exit she couldn't
find because her hands missed it as readily as her eye did.  In that
case she would have to use a thread which would leave it at four
threads, nine illusions.  She couldn't afford to trade off one for one.
Not now.

She discovered a slanting connecting passage between the straight-ahead
hall and the left hall, making the overall configuration of passages
resemble the closed figure 4.

Why should that extra passage exist, when it was easy enough to go from
one hall to another via the center?  About all it did was make it
possible to walk down every hall without having to double back.

Something nagged at her.  Some figures had to be "solved" by tracing
them without doubling back.  There were some traffic patterns in large
cities like that, where three right turns substituted for one illegal
left turn.  Could this be one such?

She returned to her starting point, at the base of the 4, then
resolutely marched forward.  She proceeded past the plaque to the apex,
then turned sharp left.  She followed the slant down, then turned
sharply left again.  She walked past the plaque, into the end of the 4
and now the passage opened out into a cave.  She had penetrated the
illusion, without using a thread.  Two left turns had unraveled what
one right turn could not.

Now she saw a straight path leading like a pier into a deep black pool.
The path widened, forming a kind of island in the center of the pool
and on that island a dragon.  The path continued on beyond the dragon,
to terminate in a blank wall.

Obviously she had to pass the dragon to get through.  But through to
what?  There was no exit there!

Ah, but there had to be!  Satan had nine illusions left;

he must have covered the exit through the wall with illusion, and set a
genuine dragon to guard it.  Most of the prior illusions had been of
monsters, guarding real passages; this one was the other way around.
She could probably penetrate the illusion, once she got by the
dragon;

she didn't need to use any thread here.

But how could she get by the dragon?

Well, the dragon could be illusion too.  But if she walked into it, and
it was real, she would lose two precious threads and still not be past.
That was hardly worth the risk.  It would be better to verify it with
one thread

No, she had a better notion.  She approached as close as she dared and
threw the helmet at it.  The metal bounced off the dragon's scaled side
and rolled into the water with a splash.  The dragon snorted fire.  It
was certainly real.

She looked to the sides.  There was a ledge just above water-level
beyond the dragon; it curved around to either side, approaching the
path on which she stood within eight feet before terminating.

She sighed.  A man might have leaped across; she had no such hope.  She
had to find another way.

She saw that there were vines hanging from the ceiling, but they looked
insubstantial.  She took hold of one and jerked; it broke near the top
and came tumbling down.  There were some that looked strong enough to
bear her weight, but they were dangling tantalizingly out of reach.

There seemed to be no other avenue, unless she went back to the
figure-4 annex, which she would only do as a last, last resort.  There
had to be a way; she just had to find it.

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
horrendously toothed 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 be sting 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 demo ness
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 demo ness 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 demo ness

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 demo ness
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 demo ness
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 demo ness 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?"

" Yes," 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 demo ness 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.

She pondered.  She remembered something that might help: a series of
intellectual riddles she and Cedric had struggled with during their
first summer.  He had been uncannily bright, and she knew in distant
retrospect that the foundation of her love for him had been laid when
the power of his mind began to show in such games.  He had seemed like
little more than a boy, then but what a bonnie boy!

She felt the tears starting and shook herself out of the reverie.  She
was, after all, in Hell.

One of those riddles had been the story of a river crossing: three
civilized hunters, with three untrustworthy natives.  They had had to
cross the river, using a two-man boat, without ever letting the natives
outnumber the hunters.  Exactly the problem she faced here!  So she
knew there was an answer

But she didn't remember it.

The others stood there, looking at her the two women and the three
demons.  Yes, this was definitely a test, an aspect of the maze.  She
had been able to unravel the confusions of passages and illusions, and
to survive the rigors of the snowy slope, and to get by the robot
factory, but now the maze was focusing increasingly on her weakness:

intellect.  She had never claimed to have more than ordinary
intelligence, though she had been attracted to smart men.

If she could solve this riddle, she could proceed; if not, she would
shortly commence her Afterlife in Hell with a truly Hellish
experience.

Did Satan know of her prior exposure to this puzzle?  Did it suit his
humor to dangle the prize this close, to see whether she could come
through?  What an exquisite torture it would be, to know she had had
victory within her reach and had been unable to grasp it!  He had even
sent a demon in the guise of Cedric, to remind her!

"Damn you, Satan!"  she swore under her breath.  She thought she heard
a responding chuckle, though perhaps that was merely a ripple in the
river.

She concentrated.  How had that long-ago puzzle gone?  Two women could
cross first no, that would leave the third with all three demons. Well,
one woman and one demon could cross, keeping it even.  Then oops! Who
would bring the boat back?  The woman would have to.  Then there would
be three women and two demons on the near bank, and a lone demon on the
far bank.  Then one woman and one demon could cross and when they got
to the far bank, there would be two demons to one woman there. No
good.

Well, suppose two demons crossed first?  One would bring the boat back.
Then two women no, that left two demons and one woman on the near
shore.

No matter how she tried it, at some point she encountered an imbalance.
It seemed impossible to cross successfully yet she knew there was an
answer!  Cedric had worked it out.

There was a key a special way of looking at it.  Something that the
ordinary person, like her, did not think of.  What was it?

She pictured Cedric's boyish face, the tousled hair tumbling over his
forehead.  He had shown her the key, such a simple, obvious thing, and
she had laughed ruefully.

Cedric!  she thought, her ancient love for him suffusing her.  / need
you!

And then she thought: return.  Perhaps she had heard Cedric say it, her
love bringing back the dear memory of his voice.

The key was in the boat's return trip.  Something surprising,
nonsensical until understood.  The return or Then she had it.  Thanks
to Cedric, Luna's grandfather, she knew how to cross the river and save
Luna.  Satan had gotten too cute, taunting her; she had gotten away
with the bait.

"Two of you take this boat across," she directed the demons.

They didn't argue.  They got into the canoe and dipped their hand-paws
in to paddle, not bothering with the paddles that lay in the bottom of
the craft.  The carnivorous fish swarmed, biting at the hands.  When a
fish took hold, a demon simply drew his hand out of the water along
with the attached fish, brought it to his mouth, and chomped the fish.
In a moment the eater became the eaten, and the paddling resumed.

Soon they were across.  "Now one of you get out; the other bring it
back," Niobe called.  The demons shrugged;

one got out and stood on the bank, while the other dog paddled the
canoe back by sitting in the front and pulling it along.  It wasn't a
smooth trip, but in due course the demon got there.

"Two more of you cross," Niobe said.

Two crossed.  When they arrived, all three demons were on the far bank,
while all three women remained on the near one.

"Now one of you bring it back," Niobe called.

"But if one of us crosses next " Blanche said worriedly.

"Don't worry," Niobe said.

The demon arrived back.  The two on the far shore licked their gross
chops, anticipating something pleasant on the next crossing.

"Now two of us will cross," Niobe said.  "Come on, Blanche."

"But I " Blenda protested.

"You will have the company of one demon," Niobe said.  "No problem."

She and Blanche took up the paddles and started off.  The fish swarmed
in again, but found nothing tender to chomp.  The journey was somewhat
erratic, as neither woman was experienced, and at times Niobe feared
they would tip the craft over in their effort to keep it on course, but
they did eventually make it across.  The fish clacked their teeth
angrily.

Now there were two women and two demons on this bank, one of each on
the other.  Who was going back: a woman or a demon?

"One of each," Niobe said.  "I'll go and you."  She picked a demon.

The demon shrugged and joined her in the boat.  It didn't know what she
was up to, but was sure that sooner or later it would find the women
outnumbered.

It was eerie, riding with the demon.  She knew it could overturn the
canoe at any point, dumping her in the water and costing her a life.
But she also knew the demon wouldn't do it.  It would attack only when
it had the advantage of numbers.  She was finessing Satan, offering him
the chance to penalize her two threads when he wanted three.

They reached the bank.  Now there were four on this side, two on the
other, still evenly divided.

"Two women," Niobe said.

Blenda joined her in the canoe, and they crossed, leaving the two
demons behind.  When they arrived, there were three women to one demon.
"Now you can ferry your friends across," Niobe said.  "We'll be moving
on.  Thank you for your help."  She led the way on down the path,
leaving the demon to scratch his horny head in perplexity.  How had the
three morsels managed to escape?  "That was very clever of you."
Blanche said.

"It was just a fond memory," Niobe said enigmatically.  She knew it had
been a close call.  though and four illusions remained, with the
challenges getting harder.

The path diverged from the river.  It led to a large hall, a virtual
cathedral.

A man sat on a throne on a dais in the center.  He stood as the women
entered.  "So you have come!"  he exclaimed, rising.

It was the Magician!

Blenda was the first to approach him.  "My husband!"  "My wife!"  he
agreed.  They embraced and kissed.  Now Niobe approached him.  But she
remembered those four remaining illusions.  It was possible that she
had bypassed them when she crossed the river, or that the count given
on the plaque in the 4-hall had overstated the number, but she doubted
it.  It was more likely that she would have to fathom every last one of
those illusions before she won through.  She couldn't trust this.

But suppose it was her son, ready with the answer she needed and she
passed him by?  That was as good a way to lose as any!  Wouldn't Satan
laugh if he offered her the solution on a platter and she rejected it,
for that reason.  Exquisite irony.

Well, one day Satan was going to try so hard for that irony that he
would lose more than an encounter.

She brought out a thread and flung it at the Magician.  If this was no
illusion

The thread touched and the Magician became a demon with three faces and
six arms.  Its head seemed to be mounted on ball-bearings, for it
rotated without limit to aim one face at her, then another, and then
the third.  One face was young, one middle-aged, and one old, but each
seemed uglier than the other two.

"So!"  the middle face hissed.  "You doubt me, bag!"  the old one
grated.  "I will perforate you!"  the young one cried.  The demon
stepped toward her.

Blanche and Blenda screamed.  Niobe expected them to run away, as their
challenge was done, but instead they closed in before her.  "You shall
not have her!"  Blenda cried.

"This is my concern, not yours!"  Niobe said.  "Don't "

The three-faced demon grabbed Blenda, using four of its arms to catch
hold of her two arms and two legs.  It picked her up and spun its head
to view her triply.  "You aren't worth bothering with, you prune!"  it
said, and hurled her beyond the throne.

Now Niobe saw a gulf there.  The throne was not in the center of the
chamber; it had only seemed to be, from a distance.  It was perched on
the edge of a void.  Blenda screamed as she fell into this hole and
disappeared.

Again the demon advanced on Niobe.  This time Blanche interposed
herself.  "You can cross, Niobe!"  she cried.  "The landing is hidden
by illusion "

The demon caught her, wrapping two hands about her throat to cut off
her words.  With three more hands it ripped off her clothes.  It
growled with disgust.  "Damned flesh is no good; I want the real thing.
To Hell with you!"  And it threw her also into the gulf.

Niobe was shocked on several levels.  These were demons sacrificing
themselves to protect her.  They were giving her information that she
needed to defeat their master.  That made little sense, unless

Unless Blanche and Blenda were what they had seemed to be.  In which
case

No!  There was no way those two could really be in Hell.  But they
weren't necessarily demons.  They could be other souls, ordered to
impersonate the women Niobe had known or maybe even caused to believe
that they were those women.  Thus they could have acted in good faith,
despite being false and had paid a terrible price for it.

Terrible price!  No they were damned souls anyway.  The fall into the
pit could not hurt them; it merely took them out of this context. Niobe
was alone again.  Still, she regretted their passing, and was sorry she
had not been able to do anything for them.

Meanwhile, the three-faced demon was coming at her again and this time
there was no one to intercede.  She had used a thread exposing it; if
it killed her now, that would make three threads lost, and put her
below the critical threshold as she understood it.  She had to escape
but the void was too broad for her to slide across on a limited
thread.

If she retreated, she would be trapped between this demon and the three
at the river.  She had to go forward.

There was a landing, hidden by illusion if Blanche had been telling the
truth.  If that damned soul had been a true emulation of the blessed
one, she would have told the truth.  Blanche had been one of the finest
people Niobe had known, though she had known her mainly by observation.
Satan had made a mistake, using damned souls to emulate blessed ones;
naturally they had longed to be their roles, as an actor might wish to
be the hero he portrayed, and they had played them too well.  It had
been their closest approach to the illusion of Heaven, of escape from
Hell.

Niobe ran for the void.  She threw a thread ahead of her.

There, just a yard away from the edge, was a platform.  It had been
concealed by the illusion of the void.

She leaped across.  The three-faced demon, following her, tried to
stop, skidded on the smooth floor, and fell into the crevice between
the edge and the platform.  Screaming from all three faces, it
descended.

She was across, and she had three threads left, while Satan had only
two illusions.  It was coming down to the wire, and for the first time
she had a genuine hope of winning.

She set herself and walked on, hardly exhilarated, still regretting the
fate of the two damned souls who had helped her cross.

She came to another large chamber.  Here there were a dozen demons of
the kind she had encountered at the river, all looking alike.  They
stood beside a huge set of balancing scales.

What was she to make of this?  The demons made no hostile gesture; they
seemed merely to be waiting.  This must be the final challenge but how
could she solve it, when she couldn't even tell its nature?

Then something occurred to her.  Pacian, her second husband, had had a
mind very like Cedric's.  Magic music and intellectual brilti&wx ^\vj
had \wsfi cousins, so h was not surprising that they shared traits. 
She had played games of riddles with Pace, too, and he had bested her
readily.  Now she remembered the first, at the sea of grass as they
tried to approach Gaea's residence.  Twelve cpins, a set of scales.
Eleven coins specified to be genuine, one counterfeit but the
counterfeit looked exactly like the others.  Only its slight difference
in weight distinguished it.  The problem had been to discover which one
was the counterfeit, and whether it was heavy or light.

Easy enough; it was necessary only to weigh all the coins in pairs.  If
two balanced, both were genuine; if the scales did not balance, then
one coin was the counterfeit.

368 WUh a Tangled Skein Piers Anthony 369

Then each of these could be balanced against one of the others, and the
counterfeit would be exposed.

Except that only three weighings were permitted.  It was necessary to
weigh them in groups and no combination of group weighings seemed
certain to isolate the lone counterfeit, let alone identify the nature
of its difference.

Here were twelve identical demons and she had just three threads left.
Could that be it?

Satan had two illusions remaining, it seemed.  Two demons could be made
to resemble her son, concealing him but that had not been done.  None
of these demons had been masked.

Then she caught on.  "One of you is my son!"

All of them nodded affirmatively.

"Which one?"

All nodded negatively, refusing to tell.

Why didn't the Magician simply step forward so she could verify him
with a thread?

She considered and realized that, just as her threads were not merely
illusion-disposers but also life-restorers and flying devices, so
Satan's illusions were not confined to the senses.  Satan could have
used one illusion to change the Magician's appearance to that of a
demon and the other to prevent him from identifying himself.

More than that, she realized.  Satan could have bound the Magician so
that once she identified him, he would not tell the truth.  Then she
would have a lie for an answer, and when she applied it, Satan would
win.

Well, then, she would reverse whatever he told her, and have the
truth.

But suppose it wasn't a lie?  Then she would forfeit the game despite
having the truth another delicious irony.

She had to know whether the Magician had been enchanted to tell the
truth or to lie.  A thread would do it but would she have a thread
left, once she found him?

Her son was the counterfeit coin, in this Hellish inversion and what he
told her could be either true or false.  He could be honest, and be
slightly lighter than the demons, or dishonest, and be slightly
heavier, for dishonesty was a sin and sin weighed down the soul.  She
had to know which.

She had three threads and now she knew that each one entitled her to
one weighing.  She had to locate her son among the identical demons,
and determine his relative weight.

It seemed impossible yet Pacian had done it, and shown her how.  But
that had been a quarter-century ago, and she had forgotten the
solution.

This was a tougher one than the river-crossing; she knew that.  She had
barely solved the other; how could she ever fathom this one?  Her
advantage in threads had been nullified by her lesser intellect and
fading memory.  Now she wished she had been the smartest woman of her
generation, instead of the prettiest!

A fireball manifested.  It expanded and became the form of Satan
himself.  "So it has come to this at last, sad sack!"  he exclaimed.

She had been less annoyed during that confrontation in the Void, when
he had called her "cutie" and other such mock endearments.  But she
held her peace.  "I can win, Satan."

"Can you, old her?  Let's see you try!"  He gestured, causing a throne
of fire to appear.  He ensconced himself in it and settled down to
watch.

"Why not invite the whole world to watch?"  Niobe asked, irritated.

Satan shrugged.  "The world?  I think not.  But selected parties,
perhaps."  He clapped his hands, and a wall of the chamber vaporized.
Beyond it was a segment of an amphitheater.  Seated there were all
manner of demons and lost souls, including the two who resembled Cedric
and Pacian, and the two who resembled Blanche and Blenda.  There were
also the five major Incarnations.

Five?  Oh, yes she was not at the moment Fate; she was just the soul of
Niobe perched on the verge of damnation or salvation.  Clotho and
Atropos had the body, and they shifted back and forth as the mood took
them.

"Now perform your miracle of failure, 0 dismal dog!"  Satan said
sardonically.  "Your friends will see your humiliation!"

Still she resisted the baiting.  If she allowed herself to get rattled
or angry, she would certainly lose.  She concentrated on the immediate
problem.  Twelve coins, three weighings how could it be done?

She considered balancing six against six.  One group would certainly
rise but would that mean that a light counterfeit was among them, or
that a heavy counterfeit was among the others?  If only she knew the
weight first!  Then she could take the lighter six, if that happened to
be it, split them into two groups of three, and weigh two of the three
from the lighter group.  If one was light, that was it; if they
balanced, then the odd one out was it.  It would work as well if the
counterfeit was heavier.  Such a simple process!

But without the knowledge of the relative weight, it became a complex
process, a single weighing determining nothing.  She would need a
second thread to weigh the halves of one of the original sides; if they
balanced, then the counterfeit was in the other group, and she would
know its weight.  From that point two more weighings would do it four
in all.  No good.

But as she struggled with it, she began to remember.  That odd-man-out
system could be used throughout!  Weigh four against four, with four
out.  If the eight balanced, the counterfeit was in the four remaining.
Then weigh two against two no, that wasn't it.  Weigh all four against
one of the other groups, now known to consist of good coins (demons);
that would tell whether the counterfeit was heavy or light.  Then no,
one weighing wasn't enough to finish it.

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 ifitwere 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 thirty eight 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 self arranged 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
un fated 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 j
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.

I have what some others would call an obsession with | truth, which
manifests in a lively curiosity about pr acti- j cally everything that
exists or fails to exist, a very strong desire for integrity and
contempt for its absence and an ornery attitude about ascertaining the
facts and making them known.  This attitude has gotten me in a lot of
trouble in the past, but is paying off now, because I am working my way
closer to comprehension of the nature of ultimate reality, and it
helps.  Of course I have a way to go yet, before that comprehension is
complete; let's give it a millennium or two and see where I stand.

Anyway, I suspect that special element in my fiction is the personal
touch.  I am not content to follow the standard rules of plotting,
characterization, and style, though these are good rules; I want my
fiction also to live.  When I succeed, it does live for me, and I hope
for my readers, too.  I do feel what my characters feel and I can cry,
literally, when they hurt.  I can suffer pangs of parturition when I
finish with a novel; of course the words remain, but I am no longer in
it; it has ceased to be an ongoing aspect of my life and has become
part of the record of my achievement.  Its thread has been cut, and I
must proceed to the spinning and measuring of the next one.  But while
I'm in, I am involved.

Sometimes I dream about my characters.  I love Niobe, I love Cedric, I
love Luna and Orb; they live in my fancy much as living people do.  Is
it foolish to care for nonexistent folk?  Then leave me to my
foolishness!  There is too much insensitivity and isolation in this
world; there should be no shame in caring, even if only for constructs
of the imagination.  Indeed, in certain respects, I prefer imagination
to reality and shall explain why.  But this entails some baring of the
nerves and is uncomfortable for some folk, including some writers.  I
happen to be more introspective and expressive than most, so I do get
personal in these Notes.  Bear with me

I was born in Oxford, England, where both my parents had their degrees.
Ours was a Quaker family, and my father worked with the British Friends
Service Committee in Spain, supervising their relief program there
during the Spanish Civil War.  As I understand it, this was largely
concerned with the feeding of hungry children, who had the worst of it
during the ravages of combat.  Generals like to speak of conquering
territory and reducing the enemy's combative ability, but this is rough
on the children whose territory it is; their houses are destroyed and
their families killed and their food disappears.  That is the real
meaning of war, after the generals have played their games and moved on
to new challenges.  I will have a good deal more to say on the subject
of the suffering of innocents in war in the next novel in this series. 
Wielding a Red Sword;

too often it is the blood of children that accounts for the color.

This war in Spain went from 1936 to 1939 and presaged World War II; the
Nazi regime used it as a kind of testing ground for new weapons, then
turned that experience into something that caused the rest of the world
to take note.  Many people were affected by the war in Spain, including
such literary figures as Ernest Hemingway and George Orwell, and
science fiction writer Ted Cogswell .. . and me.

My father was arrested by the victorious Franco government; he
disappeared, in the manner that has more recently been popularized in
Latin America, but was fortunate enough to manage to smuggle out a
note.  It reached my mother, and, armed with that proof, she was able
to get the authorities to admit that my father was in custody;

they had, of course, denied it.  Truth is the first casualty in war and
in its aftermath.  They agreed to release him conditionally: that he
depart the country.  That way the dictatorship did not have to admit to
making a mistake dictatorships just don't make mistakes and got to take
over the stores of food intended for children.  I doubt that much of it
reached those children thereafter.  Thus it was that we came to
America.  It is entirely possible that had this false arrest and
eviction not occurred, I would be living today in Spain, perhaps trying
to write fantasy in Spanish.

I was not aware of such details at the time, but I felt their impact. I
was not in Spain during the actual war; I remained in England with my
sister, cared for by "Nana," a British girl hired for the purpose, as
has been the custom there for perhaps a longer time than America has
been colonized.  Thus it is not surprising that some of my earliest and
fondest memories are of Nana, whose actual name I never knew.  Even my
memory may be skewed;

it was probably "Nanny."  Then the time came for my sister and me to go
to Spain.  I learned to my chagrin that Nana, who I thought was my
mother or equivalent, was not going.  We were to be in the charge of
two other people, who were in fact my parents.  They had spared me the
possible anguish of separation from them, before, by distancing
themselves; they overlooked the discomfort of this separation.

1 don't want to make more of this than it was, but my awareness of that
separation has remained with me throughout my life.  The echo of it is
apparent in the separation of Niobe from her son; the things of my life
do make their way into my fiction, though not in ways that any critic
comprehends.  I suspect the same is true for other writers.

In Spain I adapted gradually to the culture and the language; at age
five I was beginning to speak Spanish.  My sister had a pretty, lacy
Spanish dress.  I would wake in the mornings and see the moving shadows
of palm fronds cast against my wall; I viewed this as an adventure,
trying to guess which frond would dive farthest in the wind.  I saw my
first movie there.  The Three Little Pigs.  My memories of Spain are
more populous and clear than those of England, though not as fond.  But
then, abruptly, we left.  Oh, it was an adventure; we traveled to
Portugal, to Lis bon I remember the hotel room there to board the ship
Excalibur.  No, as far as I know, that name has no connection to my
later taste in fantasy, but perhaps it was a signal.  As it happened,
the Duke of Windsor the former King Edward VIII of England was taking
that same ship to the New World to be Governor of the Bahamas; I
remember seeing his car hoisted out of the hold at Bermuda.  The Nazis
had hatched a plot to kidnap or convert them to their cause, but that
had been botched and he crossed the Atlantic unmolested.

Again, my memories of the time are more personal than historic; I was
seasick, vomiting over the rail into the ocean the Atlantic remains
polluted to this day and I had my sixth birthday at sea on August 6,
1940.  The chef lacked sugar, because of the War, and so I was
presented with a cake made of sawdust, nicely covered with icing and
candles.  It was a surprise when we cut that open!  I was somewhat put
out at the time.  Today, ironically, when I can afford a genuine cake,
I can't have it, because of my mild diabetes.  I think my daughters are
jealous;

they've had many real cakes, but never a sawdust cake.  For a present I
received a harmonica, which I played ceaselessly thereafter; I trust
the Duke appreciated the music.  I have always liked harmonica music
since then;

it, too, appears in my fiction, most notably in the Adept series.

But this was my second uprooting, though not my last, as my family
slowly fragmented and my parents eventually divorced.  Gardeners will
tell you that root-pruning doesn't hurt; I hesitate to agree.  I did
not understand the problem, though in retrospect I do.  I had no
continuing security of situation; both the people and the places
closest to me kept changing.  By day I got along, but darkness brought
nightmare.  I would lie awake at night, staring at the wan lamp that
was my only security from nocturnal monsters.

If I were to personify my closest acquaintance of these years, it would
be Fear; I have known it longer and better than anyone else would
believe.  I began to wet my bed at night, and this persisted, despite
the efforts of others to shame, cure, or punish me, until I was ten
years old;

living folk simply lacked the leverage my nightmares had.  I remember
being in boarding school in first grade, when one of the bigger boys
took off the sheet to expose me in my soaking nakedness.  It didn't
matter; what does one humiliation matter, when one is already in
Hell?

My family moved again, and again, and I attended five different schools
in the course of my three years in first grade.  I learned how to
fight, because I had to; I just couldn't learn how to read and I wasn't
strong in math, either.  That may explain why I was later to be a math
instructor in the U.S. Army and an English teacher and professional
writer in civilian life.  In the throes of this childhood I developed
nervous twitches of head and hands, and I counted things compulsively.
I suspect early tests showed me to be of subnormal intellect.  My
physical growth slowed, then stopped; I became the smallest in my
class, male or female.  I suffered daily stomachaches, and every few
months there would be a real gut-tearer that would incapacitate me all
day.  Not until I had a kidney stone at the age of forty-seven did I
experience worse abdominal pain.

The only thing worse than being with other people, who picked on me
physically and emotionally, was being alone.  I would imagine that it
was all one interminable bad dream and that eventually I would wake up
and be back in England, the land of happiness.  But it never happened,
and in time I accepted the fact that I was in America to stay.  There
is a direct adaptation of this in my three volume novel Tarot: a day in
the life of an eight-year-old boy.  It is literal.  I retain an
interest in Hell, as is evident in this novel.  Skein.  When I was wet
and shivering in my bed in New England, my feet so cold they felt hot,
I decided that if Hell was hot, I had no Tear of going there,

There is no need to detail all of it, though there is a great deal
more.  I have, I trust, presented enough to show that my early life was
not perfect, and that the realm of imagination seemed to have more to
offer me than did reality.  In this, I believe, was the root of my
later passion for writing.  How much better to organize my worlds of
imagination so as to make them meet my needs more completely!  To come
to terms with the monsters that first pursued me and discover the joys
that lay beyond.  A popular song played on the radio while I worked on
this novel, one line going, "My dream is real; reality is wrong."  Oh,
yes\

I finally discovered reading, progressing in a bound from exclusion to
complete inclusion in the world of print.  Suddenly I was in The
Cloister and the Hearth by Charles Reade, a novel of the Middle Ages
written in 1869, about three hundred thousand words long.  It took me
months to get through it, but I read every word faithfully, and I lived
in that world, and was desolate when it ended.  Later I got into
reading fantasy and science fiction, and there were worlds galore for
me to romp in.  I read slowly but deeply to this day I am a slow reader
and tuned out all the world around me in favor of the universe
perceived through the window of the printed page, sometimes to the
annoyance of others who thought I was being perverse.  But I needed
that other universe; in a certain respect I owe my sanity to it, for it
helped me to survive the rigors of the real world.  I had no solid
emotional place to stand in reality; the fantastic genre provided me
with my anchorage.  And so it was perhaps inevitable that I become a
creature of that genre, as I am today.  Piers Anthony is my strength;
it is a pseudonym, but more of my reality is associated with it now
than with my mundane identity.  I

was always a nonentity in Mundania, and remain so, but in fantasy I am
a figure of consequence.

Perhaps ironically, my mundane existence has improved steadily since my
teenage years and is a good one today by any standard.  I have been
married more than a quarter-century, have two bright and healthy
daughters, and a pleasant lifestyle.  Of course, much of this is runoff
from my success in fantasy, for it is mundane money I receive for my
fantastic efforts.  But even the course of an improving life does not
necessarily flow smoothly.  I have shown the foundation of my need to
write; of course it also helps to have some reasonable intelligence and
creativity and perseverance and luck, and these have helped me.  But I
feel in one major respect I came at my career via the monkey's paw.

"The Monkey's Paw" is a famous story by W. W. Jacobs in which a couple
is granted three wishes on a monkey's paw, but each wish is granted in
a manner that makes it horrible.  They wish for money and their son is
killed, so that the benefit comes to them.  They wish him alive again,
and the corpse reanimates and approaches.  At last they wish him dead
again, and are left with nothing.

Well, the mundane world gave me a wife, but I wanted more; I wanted to
be a successful writer.  It was an unrealistic ambition; only one in a
hundred who make the effort ever breaks into professional print.  But
for eight years I kept trying.  Our first child miscarried at four
months add was stillborn; that was not only a personal loss, it
eliminated my exemption from the military draft, so that, before my
first year of marriage was done, I was in the U.S. Army.  Our second
baby was stillborn at five months, at the time when I declined to sign
up for the U.S. Savings Bond program (as I recall, they then paid 2.5
percent interest) and was therefore removed as instructor and set to
weed-pulling and similar duties, as well as being denied promotion
beyond PFC.  It was also the time when I was naturalized as an American
citizen; in the final courtroom ceremony there were forty-nine Army
wives and me.  That event made the local TV news in Oklahoma; you don't
see too many PPCs in uniform getting naturalized.  I also had my first
science fiction story accepted, by a magazine edited by Damon Knight
which folded before payment or publication, washing me out.

Back in civilian life, our third baby was born prematurely at six
months, lived one hour, and died the day I lost my good job at an
electronics company and had a doctor advise me that the mysterious
fatigue I suffered was all in my head.  One day in May 1962, and much
of my mundane world was lost, again.  It looked as if we would never be
able to have a child of our own, my ability to earn a living was shot,
and I was in serious doubt about my health, for I knew that my physical
condition was not imaginary.  It actually was ten years before it was
diagnosed as diabetes; in the interim I was ride red on insurance for
all mental diseases.  No joke and it wasn't funny at the time.  One
company tried to jack up my premium to almost double in addition to the
rider; now I once sold insurance, so I know that was blatantly
unethical, if not illegal.

So we lost three babies, and each loss was associated with dramatic and
generally negative changes in our married life.  But after that Day in
May we gradually reorganized.  My wife went to work, so as to earn our
living while I made a more serious effort to become a writer by putting
my full time into it, instead of writing on the side.  In that year I
succeeded; I sold my first two stories.  I was on my way at last but I
never would have had the chance, had any of those first three babies
lived.  There was the monkey's paw.  My wife had to be free to work,
and our expenses had to be low; a child would have nullified that.  I
would never have sacrificed my babies, had

I known, had I had any way to save them yet their loss enabled me to
achieve my ambition.  Thus it was that I became a writer, by the
devious and often unkind machination of Fate.  Motive had at last been
joined by opportunity.  That sort of thing, too, is reflected in this
novel.

So I had become a writer.  Even then, the devious route had problems
and surprises.  I couldn't earn a living on stories; the word-rates
were too low and editors too fickle.  So I moved into novels, and it
was a struggle, because short fiction was my natural length.  It wasn't
until I sold my fifth novel, Macroscope actually the ninth I had
written, and it had been rejected by five publishers, for book editors
are fickle too that I felt comfortable in that length.  Then I liked it
well, and I gave up on stories; today I have had more novels published
than stories, which is unusual for a story writer.

But by then I had trouble in Parnassus: a publisher was taking in money
for subsidiary rights but neither reporting them on the statements nor
paying me my share.  I protested in a private letter and got summarily
blacklisted.  I protested privately to a writers' organization which
tunneled my letter on to the publisher and advised me that I had acted
rashly and might be guilty of libel.

There were other complications, but the upshot was that I got a lawyer,
got most of my money, lost several publishers because of blacklisting,
and departed in deep disgust from that writers' organization, which was
evidently operating under false pretenses.  I damn well did have the
right of the case and detest such dishonesty.  After that, times were
lean for me, as a writer; my success fell behind that of others who had
come into the picture when I did, and I piled up a total of eight
unpublished novels even as my name was deleted from contention for
awards.  Parnassus is no kinder than the U.S. Army to those who stand
on their rights, and Satan smiles.

But I had not lost all my publishers.  I survived, though my income
from writing was not great.  My wife continued to work.  Another writer
showed me how to sell novels from summaries, rather than writing them
complete; that meant that instead of selling part of what I wrote, I
wrote only what sold.  That one change in marketing caused my income to
triple.  Meanwhile editors were shifting about, publishers were buying
each other out, and most of those who blacklisted me went elsewhere.
Markets reopened.  I can't say this was because the establishment had
any change of heart; Parnassus, like dictators, doesn't admit error.
Mainly it was that I never gave up and I now had an agent to help fight
the war.  It's harder for a publisher to blacklist an agent, because he
represents a number of writers, some of whom are important enough to
have clout.  My leverage had improved.

Two of the editors I had worked with on stories moved into books:
Lester and Judy-Lynn del Rey.  They remained interested in my work. But
there was a problem;

I was writing my science fiction for Avon, who had always treated me
well, and Avon had the option.  That is, in the vernacular, they had
first dibs on my next novel in the genre.  So I expanded into a "new"
genre, one I had had little success with before: fantasy.  It was a
purely tactical move, to take advantage of a new market.  Avon was
generous enough to agree to this, with the understanding that if Del
Rey (technically that imprint didn't exist then, but let's not quibble)
did not like my fantasy, Avon would have the next crack at it.  But
Lester did like it, and thus I came to write A Spell for Chameleon.  It
wasn't perfect, either in summary or in manuscript, but I had the
fortune to encounter in Lester an editor who knew what he was doing.
That, unfortunately, is rare in Parnassus.  I revised the novel per his
advice, and it was published.

I had the additional fortune to encounter in Judy-Lynn an executive who
knew what she was doing; that, too, is rare, but it manifests in the
type of presentation, promotion, and sales push novels get, and this
can make an enormous difference.  Spell took off like magic.  It won
the August Derleth Fantasy Award in England, where they evidently
hadn't gotten word about my bad reputation.  A leading American genre
newspaper got sudden amnesia and failed to list the August Derleth
awards that year, and of course Spell took no American awards.  But it
became one of my most commercial novels, and the Xanth series it
commenced has about as many fans as any.

In this manner I discovered that I liked fantasy.  Oh, I had always
liked it as a reader; it just hadn't scored for me before as a writer.
Now I found that it was easy and fun to write, and the readers liked it
too.  There was then developing a high tide in fantasy, fostered in
significant part by Del Rey, and I just happened to get into it in time
to surf my way to the top through no initial effort of strategy or
timing of my own.  Chance put me into it or, if you prefer.  Fate. Once
I was in, of course, I was quick enough to capitalize on my situation. 
Thus by this devious and seemingly coincidental route my serious career
in fantasy proceeded.  My income tripled again .. . and again.  I now
have a better career in fantasy than I had dreamed of as a writer;
reality has surpassed imagination.  One series led to another. And
that, roughly, is how I came to write this present novel.  Skein. It is
not the path I would have chosen, but it got me here.  For those who
tell me they would like to be just like me and write fantasy the way I
do, I pose this question: do you really?  Then go fetch your monkey's
paw.

Reality has a way of weaving itself into my fiction, whether I will or
no.  I had many notes for minor examples of this for this novel, but I
fear they would become tedious in detail, so I'll go into detail on
only one.  There are several major themes that recur in my novels that
critics seem to be unable to perceive, such as the value of integrity
or my effort to merge the city (science fiction) with the country
(fantasy).  These themes have complex personal bases that I may unravel
at another time; there is a good deal more on my mind than simple
entertainment, though I do feel that clarity and entertainment are
paramount in fiction.  I normally write on more than one level.  The
top level is like the conscious mind, concerned with immediacies; the
reader can buzz through and enjoy it without stretching his mind.  The
nether level gets into symbolism and feeling and meaning and theme; it
puts on record my world view, for those who care to examine it.  As far
as I know, no critic has ever perceived this level in my fiction, but
many of my readers seem to grasp it, and, of course, it is for them I
write.

One of my major themes relates to music.  I believe that man is most
fundamentally distinguished from animal by his art, and an aspect of
that art is music.  I believe in the power of music, as I believe in
the power of the word.  At critical junctures in my novels you will
find music, right back to the first one I had published, Chthon, which
shows a quest for a broken song and the effort to make it whole again;
and Macroscope, where music is the key to the mystery of the universe;
and right on into my fantasy series, this one included.  The heart of
my feeling is in song.  I try to name the particular song I have in
mind, because I want the reader to hear the music too, and share my
experience.  You saw it in Pale Horse in the hymn scene, and the hint
of it in Hourglass as Orlene commits suicide by her piano.  (Did you
note Orlene's honey-hair, the same as Niobe's?  Do you really suppose
that's coincidence?) You will see it in Red Sword, when a stutterer lea
ms to sing, and emphatically in Green Mother, when Gaea sings with
Satan and falls in love.

And of course you see it here.  The song that starts Skein is not
identified in the text.  It is The Bonnie Boy, and the recording I have
of it is sung by the Irish lass Mary 0' Hara.  It tells the story as I
have it in the first three chapters, the romance of a young woman and a
bonnie boy, and its tragic end.  Of course I have embellished it
somewhat but if you like my story, perhaps you will also like the song.
I don't know whether that record can still be purchased.  It is Songs
of Erin, on the London label; I bought it in New York in 1959.

The Shepherd's Song, in various guises and titles, has its own story:
"Come live with me and be my love ..."  In the course of Izaak Walton's
The Complete Angler (sometimes rendered "Compleat"), which dates from
1653, there are two songs presented, and these are the two used here.
Actually, the first one originated with Christopher Marlowe in the
sixteenth century.  As poems they may not seem like much, but with the
music it is another matter.  Seldom, I suspect, has a love song had a
more enduring appeal or a snappier rejoinder.

There is a more recent story on another song.  The Wetlands Waltz.  I
have an interest in nature, especially the wilderness environment, as
also shows throughout my work, and in this case it overlapped my
interest in music.  A couple of years ago one of my daughter Penny's
forest camp counselors stopped by to say hello and meet Penny's horse.
Blue, who also appears in various guises in my fantasy.  The
counselor's name was Jill Jarboe.  This winter she sent Penny a
cassette tape: Songs from the Water World.

It seems that Jill Jarboe had formed a group with four of the boys in
the summer camp, called it The Ecotones, and produced this collection
of ecologically oriented songs.  It's an integrated group; Jill Jarboe
is white, while Mike Carey, Mike Kinsey, Shaun Martinez, and Andrew
Rock are black.  (I support integration, as may also be evident in this
novel.) This group is not a high-powered, big-promotion thing; it's
just an attempt, I think, to popularize the worthy cause of ecological
awareness.  Penny more or less put the earphones on my head one morning
as I was eating breakfast and reading the newspaper, and turned on the
cassette recorder, and there it was.  I was impressed; they were nice
songs, not your Top-Fortytype popular stuff, but pleasant and quite to
the point for those who value Nature as I do.

So I used one of those songs here in Skein, with permission, and anyone
who is interested in obtaining the original cassette should write to
Jill Jarboe at the address listed in the credit behind the title page
of this novel.  My reference to The Wetlands Waltz is actually
anachronistic, as the song did not exist in 1915 where this novel
places it but of course Chronos could have heard it and carried it
back.  This is, after all, fantasy; we are not much concerned with
anachronism.

Meanwhile, as I worked on the several stages of my writing.  Fate
stirred her fickle finger in the ongoing minor maelstrom of my daily
existence in sundry ways.  Life does, after all, go on, and mine is
packed with tokens of my interests and orneriness.  I bought another
Songs from the Water World cassette and sent it to an environmental
organization of which I am a life-member, suggesting that they might
review it in their national publication for other members who liked a
positive approach to ecological awareness.  They never responded.  I
might as well have dropped the cassette into the Void.  Then they sent
me three separate form-solicitations for contributions.  But I had seen
how they answered their mail, and the Golden Rule came to my mind, and
I did not respond.

I bought some of those sonic bug-repelling devices you see advertised
all over, as I don't like hurting bugs if they aren't actually biting
me, but don't like roaches in my food or fleas on my dogs then had a
months-long hassle to get a refund, finally involving a visit to a
lawyer and a stiff note to the balky local Better Business council,
because the devices simply didn't work as represented.  I

queried the "Troubleshooter" column of the newspaper:

is there any objective evidence that any of these sonic devices work?
So far, none has turned up.

Our Basenji dog, who we adopted eleven years ago after he was run over
and the owner never came to claim him or pay the vet's bill for
rebuilding the bone of his leg with wire, died of complications of age
in the quarter-hour that I received the hard backed poster for Dragon
on a Pedestal used at the American Booksellers' Association convention
in Dallas: an unfortunate juxtaposition.  Now that poster graces the
wall near the dread spot.  That was not my favorite dog, but death
disturbs me with an intensity that others do not seem to understand.  I
know that someday I will have to deal with the death of someone a lot
more important to me than that dog, and I don't know how I'm going to
make it.

I went out on my usual three-mile run, and returned to a different
address; the Post Orifice had swallowed our science-fictio ny "Star
Route" and disgorged "Pineleaf Lane" fortunately we had gotten to name
our own street sending us into a tailspin of address-change
notifications, because our daily mail can amount to as much as ten
pounds at a time, We received the notice in March 1984, advising us to
notify all correspondents by the end of December 1983.  The P.O.
expects a lot of an anachronistic fantasy writer.

I got into second-draft typing of Skein and hit a record rate for me
65,000 words in five days, despite a cold snap into the thirties that
forced me to bundle up as if in the arctic, and a jamming tab on my
manual typewriter.  Seems there are only about two writers in the genre
who still use a manual machine, and I'm one of them I think Harlan
Ellison is the other but they don't make manual Olympias anymore, and
this one is ten years and ten million words old, so I may yet have to
vault to the computer word-processing age, getting custom equipment so
I can retain my special keyboard.  You know, word-processing is hailed
as a great boon to writers, but I do more actual writing in pencil and
on the manual typewriter than anyone I know who is in word-processing;
technology does not substitute for imagination and a Dvorak keyboard.

Anyway, after those five days I had to take three days off to catch up
on forty more letters.  Happened again next month in the final five
days typing of the submission draft;

in one day forty-seven items of mail arrived, ranging from packages of
books to fan letters, including one from a hopeful writer asking
whether I would read his 800-page novel and give advice how to get it
published, one from a publisher asking for a favorable comment on its
enclosed advance proof of a novel, and one from another publisher who
sent complimentary copies of a novel I read and blur bed in December.
It's a funny thing, seeing my name printed on the cover of someone
else's novel; too bad they didn't bother to make the corrections of
errors I called out.

I may have noted before the irony that when I had time to read
everything in the genre, I lacked the money to buy the stuff; now that
I can afford it, I lack the time even to keep up with what I am sent
free.  I suppose that's parallel to the cake problem I face as a
diabetic.  And a note from an eight-year-old girl: my youngest fan so
far, the same age as Xanth.  I answered that one immediately; after
all, I was once that age myself.  The other twenty-nine fan letters
from that day I'll tackle right after I finish typing this Note and my
summaries of the final two novels in this series.

I pinched the nerve in my back three times in succession, trying too
hard on my exercises, and had to call a ten-day halt while the sciatica
abated; now I am easing up on those exercises, and that's a significant
private turning point.  Every year at my birthday I note the levels I
do, and at my forty-ninth birthday I broke all my birthday records, but
at my fiftieth I'll break none.  I'm two-thirds of the way through my
life, and the tide has turned during this novel.

You know.  Skein just might turn out to be my fiftieth book to see
print.  The writing of it was punctuated several times by calls from my
agent, setting up the sale of eight of my back books in a package;
those fans who bug me about where to find my out-of-print material may
soon have an answer.

During that sciatica that's a shooting pain in the leg where there is
no injury; the pinch is actually in the spine, but the body thinks it's
in the leg I glanced at the published comment I had made a year before
on Gordon Dickson's Dorsal series (actually it's the Childe Cycle, but
I don't know any better), and saw my reference to "Eileen?"  therein.
Suddenly I had a pain in my mind to match that in my leg, for several
days.  In Dickson's novel Soldier, Ask Not we see the death of an
innocent young man, drafted to fight a war he does not understand on a
far planet.  He revives from his lethal injury long enough to speak the
name of his wife, Eileen, as if trusting her to come and make the hurt
go away.  That tore me up; I have a deep feeling for those who are
taken far from what they have known and loved, and who plaintively wish
for return that is impossible.

But on: we bought a videotape recorder, a great boon to my daughters,
who have more time for TV than I do.  Now they watch the weirdest
stuff, some of it unsuitable for the fathers of teenaged girls.  Sigh. 
We also got a cordless remote phone extension, so that I no longer have
to dash from the study to the house just in time to catch the dial tone
after the last ring; that does simplify my life.  My daughter Penny
finally got her driver's license; whew!  One down, one to go.  My other
daughter Cheryl took second place in a verbal presentation of her paper
on the conservation of soil and water.  That was a fitting topic,
during this novel; I had taken time to help drill her on it,

and suspect she really took first place but that the judges were closet
sexists.  Of course I may not be completely objective.

1 saw a bright triangle of stars in the morning sky, so I ferreted it
out in the star books and discovered it was the constellation Libra the
scales.  Yes, I was writing the coin-weighing scene along about then.
Libra is Penny's sign, because she reads a lot you know, the Library. I
finally got a line on a mysterious, lovely melody I'd heard in
fragments for years; I think it is titled Twin Sons of Different
Mothers.  Reminds me of this novel again, with virtually twin girls,
daughters of different mothers.  I quest for melodies as I do for story
notions; I am haunted by those that flash a few tantalizing notes and
disappear, leaving me longing.

I also continued my quest for the Perfect Ping-Pong Paddle and believe
I have found it.  It's made of graphite, very light and fast, and the
backside has a "long pips" surface that sends the opponent's spin right
back at him, messing him up instead of me.  Lovely!  I used it to
defend the honor of Fantasy at my first S-F convention, NEC RON
OMI-CON, in Tampa, in Oct-ogre 1983, the month that three of my novels
were published.  Of course I took my daughters with me; they loved it,
and now they're con-crazy.  One of my correspondents attended, and when
she introduced herself I didn't make the connection.  I wish I were
better at spot memory of names!

Phone call from Bowker, publisher of Fiction 18761983, in response to
my curt note about the way they listed some of my novels under Anthony
and some under Piers, omitted my first New York Times bestseller Ogre,
Ogre, and listed my mundane name nine times in succession.  I had
suggested that they hire a proofreader, since this volume costs $100
and is supposed to be comprehensive.  They were apologetic, but
noncommittal about the proofreader.  Call from a Colorado fan who
wished to visit me;

he would be traveling with a school group of about twenty people and
needed advice where they could stay cheaply.  My wife phoned about and
finally arranged free camping for them at a local park, and we went out
to talk to the park people and clarify that we had the camping permit
for them .. . and then the group changed its mind and went elsewhere.
But the fan did come to visit me, and I chatted with him for a couple
of hours.  He wrote later that it was the high point of his life.  He
was generous;

I'm a pretty ordinary character in person, really not worth that sort
of effort.

My wife spied a sale on some nice enclosed bookshelves; now we are in
the process of dismantling my rickety prior shelving and setting up the
beautiful new ones.  At last my file copies of my own books are getting
proper treatment!  I keep one file copy of every edition of every book
I have published, hardcover, paperback, British, German, French,
Japanese and so on; at present that makes about 150 volumes, and it's
growing.

In the spring came the mundane political primaries, and I had to watch
the best man in the field, former Governor Reuben Askew of Florida,
bite the dust in New Hampshire.  Once again the political process wends
its inevitable way to mediocrity.  And I heard about a recent survey;

96 percent of Americans believe in God, 90 percent of those also
believe in Heaven and Hell (it's hypocritical to believe in one without
the other); only 4 percent expect to go to Hell.  Oh, yeah?  Well, I
have news for someone..  ..

Thus my mundane life, proceeding in its petty pace from day to day. You
can see that when the fantastic is removed from my life, not much of
interest remains.  If you fell asleep during the last paragraph, I
understand.  Now it is time to separate from this novel, too, and I do
it with a certain muddled mixture of emotions.  In one sense I am
satisfied, for I believe Skein to be a decent novel.  I feel nostalgia
for the experience of it that is now passing behind me.  I am concerned
as I anticipate its coming course through the gauntlet of the
publication process and the cynosure of the great readership beyond.  I
feel advance resentment for the scoffing some reviewers will do about
its merits and demerits and the inevitable sneer at this Note.  A
recent survey shows that the more ignorant a reviewer is, the more
critical he is; any professional writer could have told you that twenty
years ago.  In fact Alexander Pope told us two and a half centuries
ago:

Tis hard to say if greater want of skill Appear in writing or in
judging ill

But he had the answer:

Let such teach others who themselves excel, And censure freely, who
have written well.

I am also apprehensive about the flood of mail this Note may generate
when the novel sees paperback publication.  Oh, yes, I get mail on my
Notes; sometimes the reader doesn't bother with the novel at all, just
the Note.  I had one letter from a person who fished my novel out of a
trashcan, read only the Note, wrote me a fan letter, and (I suspect)
threw the book back in the can.  But he really liked the Note.  Well, I
daresay he got his money's worth.

I do try to keep up with my mail, but after doing 702 letters last year
yes, I remain a compulsive counter I see the handwriting in the
figurative bruises my head makes against the wall, and suspect that my
performance in this respect will turn the tide and begin to ebb, as
with my exercises.  They aren't all simple notes, either; I have to try
to make meaningful responses to those who wish to become instant
successful writers if I had known how to do that, I could have saved
myself eight years!  or who ply me with complex lists of questions for
their research papers, or try to convert me to Jesus (I came to know
Jesus when I put him in Tarot as a character, but I don't think that's
what they mean), or who are contemplating suicide.  This is no joke;
there are some very real problems out there, and I do not feel
competent to address them yet I have to try, because these folk really
do want my input, such as it is.  I remind myself that it is much
better to be relating to my readers than to be emotionally alone.

If Fate is the plot of life, then feeling must be its content.  To be
known, to be needed, to be loved this may be the true problem of our
society.  We see people turning to alcohol, to mind- and mood-affecting
drugs, to gambling, to casual sex both hetero and homo, to violence, to
cults, to self-destructive behavior, when these may be but poor
sublimations for the recognition, interaction, security and love they
truly crave.  Isn't it an awful irony that some of us must even turn to
fantasy to glean some semblance of the companionship we are denied in
mundane existence, and we cannot even cry "Eileen"I  We suffer all
manner of compulsive behavior, in futile reaction to fundamental
inadequacies of emotion we do not comprehend.

As I worked on Skein, a woman was gang-raped on a barroom pool table;
when the rapists were tried and convicted, women of that community
demonstrated in favor of the rapists.  Loveless sex pervades the media.
Preschool children are sexually molested by the staff of the nursery
and this is said to be only a hint of the abuse and incest that is not
rare but is typical today.  Satan's mischief, surely.

Yet there is also joy in the world.  Some find their solace in
religion, in the belief that God loves them.  Some find it in close
family ties.  I myself have gained some share of the Heaven of a close
family life, after emerging from the Hell of the denial of it, but I
remain scarred.  I don't like to travel, for as a child I found that my
travels had no returning.  I don't like to leave my family, because I
remember how fragile family existence can be.  Some regard me as
overprotective as a father, but I resolved at the outset that my
children would never be exposed to what I was and, after losing three,
I know that no life is guaranteed.

I turn down most invitations to be Guest of Honor at conventions, not
from any dislike of people or any fear of public appearances stage
fright, like writer's block, I conquered long ago, and I am quite at
ease among fans but simply because there is nowhere I'd rather be than
home.  I trust that after reading this Note, those who have been
disappointed by my relative isolation from the public will understand
that there is nothing frivolous in this.  It is one of the ways I have
come to terms with the problem of my own existence.  I hope that what I
write helps others come to terms with theirs.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Piers Anthony was born in August 1934, in England, spent a year in
Spain, and came to America at age six.  He was naturalized American
while serving in the U.S. Army in 1958.  He lives with his wife Carol
and their daughters Penny and Cheryl in Florida.  His first story was
published in 1963, and his first novel, Chthon, in 1967.  Through 1984
he has had forty-eight books published, with translations in eight
languages.  His first Xanth novel, A Spell for Chameleon, won the
August Derleth Fantasy Award as the best novel for 1977.  The fifth
novel in that series placed on The New York Times bestseller list, and
his five following fantasies did likewise.  He is currently writing
three novels a year, and answering several hundred fan letters a year.
His house is hidden deep in the forest, almost impossible to find, and
he does his typing in a horse pasture.

