"You are naturally confused," Nat said. "That is why you must hear my explanation. The attempt to void a valid prophecy can be a treacherous thing. When the Incarnations ascertained that the prophecy relating to Luna's relationship with Death and your relationship with Evil was valid, they were of course horrified. But it was not an absolute. It contained the qualifier 'may.' That meant there was doubt—and therefore room for negotiation."
"Negotiation!" Orb snorted.
"In the course of protecting Luna from My interference, your mother compromised her position on you. She promised to guide your thread away from politics, and I promised never to harm you. It was understood that this represented her acquiescence to My interest in you."
"Mother wouldn't—!"
"Of course, upon reconsideration, she regretted this, as did the other Incarnations, especially Mars, when he learned of it."
"Mars? Mym said you were a good man!"
"Not exactly. At any rate, I naturally inspected you more closely thereafter—and perceived your destiny as the Incarnation of Nature. Then My interest increased. I saw, too, that you were very like your mother, in her prior session as an Incarnation. She was the most beautiful woman of her generation, a terrible thorn in My side, but I confess to becoming somewhat smitten with her along the way."
"Niobe would never—!"
He nodded. "True, true. She would have nothing to do with Me. But when I saw how you resembled her, in appearance and mannerism, I knew I could be attracted to you as I was to her. Then it occurred to Me that a union between the Incarnations of Evil and Nature—"
"No!"
"Would give dominance of the mortal realm to Me. At last I had the opportunity to defeat Mine ancient antagonist. Therefore—"
"No! No!" Orb cried, understanding.
"Naturally the Incarnations opposed this suit. But Niobe had already compromised your thread, and there was the prophecy, whose application had suddenly clarified. Thus it was we negotiated. We set up a compromise, whereby I would be permitted to court you without interference from any other Incarnation—"
"They would never—"
"My dear, they thought I would fail. Because I agreed to court you wholly by lies, which are of course My specialty. I was required to lie to you at every turn, until the end. The end is now, and for the first time I am telling you the truth. I am Satan, the Incarnation of Evil, and I love you and want to marry you."
Orb was unable to accept this. Was Nat testing her love for him by making an impossible claim? How should she deal with this? All she could think of at the moment was to accept his statement as a starting place and explore it until the flaw was revealed.
"You say you are Satan and you lied to me throughout. But the aspects of the Llano you taught me are valid; they do work. I have been healing people, traveling in new ways—"
"I must clarify the levels of deceit I have employed. It is of course impossible to make every aspect of a situation a lie; there would be conflicts and paradoxes that would quickly render it nonsense. A lie has to be structured, internally consistent, so as to have the greatest final impact. Thus a lie is mostly truth, ironically. When the parts of a lie are verifiable as truth, it lends credence to the lie and gives it far more power than it would otherwise have. You might think of it as a mathematical analogy: negative numbers cancel each other out, but a structure of positive numbers that is then assigned a negative value is negative. Lies cancel out, while truth augments itself, but a structure of truth given a false value is the most potent lie of all."
"I think you are leaving me behind," Orb said. "What I told you of the Llano is true. But my purpose in telling you those truths was false. By showing you spot truths, I was deceiving you in a far more fundamental fashion. For one thing, I was encouraging you to believe that I was not Satan. Thus those minor truths were contributing to the greater lie."
"But I tested you! I proved that you could not be a demon or Satan!"
"It was no valid test; it only deceived you."
"Now that I can't accept! I had you touch a silver cross, sing a hymn—"
Nat nodded. "I realize how difficult this is for you, but I must make you understand the truth now. I used a device the Incarnations had not anticipated. I took you into three extensive visions, and the visions were lies though their parts were true. Little within those visions was valid in the real world."
"You are confusing me again!" she said hotly. This was evidently some sort of game, and she liked it not at all, but she had to play it through. "What were these visions?"
"Each was associated with a song: the Song of Awakening, the Song of Power, and the Song of Love. Three of the five major themes of the Llano, the Song of Songs, if you care to call it that. I lied to you when I said I knew only fragments of the Llano; I know all of it, but I can only use fragments."
"Five themes?" Orb asked, distracted for the moment by this information. "What are the other two?"
"The Songs of Loss and Dissolution. You would call them Night and Chaos. But you would not want to sing them."
"Why not?"
"Orb, this is straying from the subject. It is my duty now to make you understand and believe the deceit I have practiced upon you, so that—"
"Teach me those songs," Orb said abruptly.
He looked flustered. "Gaea, I am trying to tell you the truth, and those themes are only mischief! I am the Lord of Mischief; I know! The themes of the Llano equate roughly to the five Elements, or the five Kingdoms, and as you know, some of those are dangerous. There may come an occasion when you have use for the Song of Night, but never for the Song of Chaos, and I would be deceiving you anew if I—"
"Five Elements?" Again the detail distracted her from the main thrust, as her mind sought relief from the awful truth that was encroaching on it.
"And five Kingdoms. But—"
"Animal, Vegetable, Mineral..."
"Demon and Spirit," he finished. "But the correspondence is only apparent, not substantive. Actually, every theme of the Llano aligns with every Element and Kingdom, forming the basis of the enormous power of Nature, once you learn to use it. That will take years, decades, but—"
"You say you are telling me the truth now," she said grimly. "Teach me those songs, then."
He sighed. "How hard it is for Satan to do good even by indirection! If it must be—"
"It must." Orb knew she was grasping at something irrelevant to the main issue, but her need now was to establish some basis for belief, to feel at least partly in control. To make Nat do her bidding, instead of telling her what she abhorred. "Then I will teach them to you. But I beg of you, consult with the other Incarnations before you invoke Night, and never invoke Chaos, for it is forbidden."
"Then why does it exist?"
"Because it is the ultimate weapon against Me," he said reluctantly. "When all else fails—but believe Me, the cost is too great! I love you, Gaea, and—"
"Get on with it."
He sang the Song of Night. Darkness closed about them, like the gloom of absolute negation; nothing was visible or audible, and there seemed to be no sensation of any other kind. Only when he finished did the sensations of existence return.
"But if you sang it, it would not be mere illusion," he said. "It would—"
"And the other?"
He sang the song of Chaos. This time there was no effect; it was just a melody that bore an evident affiliation with the Songs of Morning, Day, Evening, and Night, but had a broken beat that gave it an uncanny awkwardness. Orb did not like it at all, but it was certainly no horror.
"That's it?" she asked, disappointed.
"It has no power for me. Or for anyone. Only for Gaea. Each Incarnation has one weapon against which no other Incarnation can stand, not even Me, not even Mine ancient rival. The Song of Chaos is the Green Mother's weapon. But I urge you, I plead with you, I beg you, Gaea—never invoke it! You have already made a captive of Me."
"But if what you say is true, you are my ultimate enemy!" she exclaimed. "And if it is not—"
"It is true. Every experience you had in association with the learning of the first three songs was part of their visions, and so each was a lie, but this is the truth."
"But the songs worked for me when I wasn't with you! I cured Tinka's blindness, got the Sludge off H—"
"The aspects of the Llano are valid. That lent verisimilitude to the visions. Not much else was true."
Orb felt as if her head were being compressed by the pressure of unwelcome information, and her heart was slowly turning cold. Still she fought the concept. "You are saying that when I first met you, when you helped save me from Satan's forced marriage—"
"That was not Satan. It was a demon playing the role. But the vision began before that."
"Before—" Orb considered. "You can't mean—when I talked to the Incarnations? To Mother and Gaea?"
"They were demons in the semblance of Incarnations."
"But they warned me of the trap and told me how to escape it!"
"By singing a duet with Natasha," he agreed. "A script to introduce Me in a form you could accept. Then there was the vision of the dancing skeletons—"
"A vision? That?" She was appalled anew.
"From the time you woke in the storm, until the time you resumed the trip to Hawaii. There was no storm; it was all the vision."
"But Thanatos and Chronos warned me about you—"
"Demons in their semblance. The real Incarnations would never have served Me in such fashion. The tests were mock; in the vision, My rules govern. In reality, I could not have accommodated those tests."
"You were so angry at me—"
"No. I merely seemed so. The vision had accomplished its purpose."
"And when I sought you—the mixed up Llano—"
"All vision, scripted by Me. In reality, your former lover Mym is Mars, and he has consort and mistress as represented, but you encountered none of these. When I sang, I accomplished no good, for there was no evil other than that of the script."
Belief was forcing itself upon her. "All—"
"All part of the courtship," he concluded. "To cause you to fall in love with Satan, so that you would marry Me, completing the prophecy."
"I—how could the Incarnations have gone along with this?"
"As I said, it was a compromise. They thought that I could not succeed in winning you through any tissue of lies—especially since I had to tell you the truth before I married you. It was their belief that you would at this point turn violently against Me."
Orb's head seemed to be whirling. "I can't believe this!"
But she feared she could.
"I shall be glad to show you My domain. I think you will be convinced. Or you can ask any of the Incarnations."
"But—why? What do you care about the validity of an old prophecy?"
"You believe that I am lying now when I say I love you?" He seemed so earnest and was so handsome that she found herself wanting to believe.
She fought the desire off. "If you are Satan, you are made of lies! I must not believe you!"
"Then I will merely remind you of the power I stand to gain, if allied with the Incarnation of Nature. You and I together can swing the balance toward evil, and Mine antagonist will not prevail in the end. The crisis of power that Luna is to mediate will never occur; My victory will already have occurred."
"Luna! You expect me to betray her?"
"Join with Me, and I will see that no evil comes to her or any other you wish to protect."
"But Satan can not be believed!"
He held out his arm. "Scratch Me. Bind Me by blood. I will take any oath you wish. That you can believe."
She stared at him, becoming convinced. "Then you really are Satan, doing this for power?"
"For love and power, yes."
"Get away from me," she said dully.
He faded out.
For a long time she sat on the isle, staring out across the water. Slowly the sky clouded, and an unnatural stillness developed. The surface of the ocean became like glass. There was a grayness throughout.
At last she reacted. She began to sing the song of Night, and isle, sky, and ocean vibrated to the magic of it. Darkness closed, Stygian, impalpable, oppressive. As she sang, she expanded and discovered that the gloom enfolded all the globe; no one on Earth could see. Even so was the mood of her heart.
But it wasn't enough. She had suffered the loss of her love in the worst possible way, by being completely duped, and grief was not the appropriate emotion. The way those visions had been crafted so artfully to play on her innocence—"Can't you see she loves you?" demanded of Natasha by the pseudo-Mym while she protested that her affair with Mym was over, protested this to Satan!—leading her on, meddling freely with her deepest feelings! No, grief was not what was called for! Rage was the appropriate emotion! And what could she do about it?
Her being reached out and found the heart of the Llano, its most potent aspect—the Song of Chaos, the forbidden theme. Now in her fury she invoked it, starting a reaction that spread throughout the world. Her passion gave it maximum force, though she did not understand its implications.
Her shock at the revelation Satan had made was finding its expression.
Ponderous and subtle forces had been invoked; the elements of Water, Air, Fire, Earth, and Void were in motion. But the initial effects were slight. Some animation returned to the surface of the ocean, and the sun shone down more brightly. The day was warming.
Orb was disappointed. She had vented her outrage in the most effective way she knew, and it seemed to have fallen flat. What use was it to rail at what Satan had done to her, if nothing happened?
The heat increased. Vapor rose from the water. Orb became uncomfortable on the isle, because of the humidity, so turned the page to her tree-house in Purgatory.
Eros was there, looking grim. "What's the matter?" Orb asked.
"I wish you hadn't invoked the Song of Chaos," the youth said. "There is apt to be Hell to pay."
"To Hell with Hell!" Orb exclaimed. "Satan played a hell of a trick on me; I have a right to be angry!"
"To be angry, yes; to unleash Chaos on Earth, no. This is the one process that cannot be abated."
"Good! I don't want it abated! I want a real show!"
"That is irresponsible—" he started to say, but she turned a page and was back aboard Jonah.
The tour had been finished; the others were waiting only for Orb to get settled in her office, before dispersing to their new lives. Jezebel was the first to spot her. "You're back!
How'd it go?" Orb sighed. "I assumed the office and told Nat—but it was a disaster. He—"
Then she was crying, and Jezebel was holding her. Orb hardly cared about the anomaly of a demoness comforting the Incarnation of Nature; she simply needed support.
When she lifted her head, the others were there. Brokenly, she told them: "Natasha—is Satan. All his proofs of mortality were false. He wants me to join him in evil."
"But he touched my cross!" Betsy protested.
"It was a vision. He didn't really touch your cross; we all dreamed it happened."
"But I don't dream!" Jezebel said.
Suddenly something clicked. "It was a dream—the skeletons and touching the cross and singing the hymn and everything!" Orb exclaimed. "And Jezebel doesn't dream! No wonder she didn't remember it! If only we had taken the warning!"
"You mean—she wasn't really there?"
"Of course I wasn't there!" Jezebel said. "Since then I've picked up what you're talking about; all of you had an experience I didn't. But I never thought of Satan—I mean, that he could have arranged it. I let you down!"
"No, Jez, no!" Orb exclaimed. "I let myself down! I was too eager to believe the false proofs he offered. I should have questioned you!"
"There really wasn't time to get it straight," Lou-Mae said. "Satan is clever, I'll say that for him."
"Fiendishly clever," Orb agreed bitterly.
"But what has happened to the weather?" Betsy asked. "It seems so steamy out, all of a sudden."
"I'm afraid I did it," Orb said. "I was angry and I sang a new aspect of the Llano, the Song of Night, and then it seems I invoked Chaos."
"Chaos!" Jezebel exclaimed. "That dates from before the time of H—of the good place, or of Hell, or mortality. Chaos hates all of it!"
"But Chaos has no power now," Orb said.
"Not unless allowed it," the succubus said darkly. "You know how it is when an evil demon gets summoned? If there isn't proper protection, that demon can't be banished, and a whole lot of mischief can result. If Chaos takes hold—"
"I think I'd better get some advice," Orb said. She turned the page to her mother, Niobe. Niobe was at her residence in Purgatory. It resembled a monstrous spider web, with a home fashioned of silk.
"It's real trouble," Niobe said. "I queried the Purgatory Computer, and it says there is no telling what can result when Chaos starts operating. It could cancel itself out, because there is a lot of randomness in its nature; but it's more likely to run a pretty rough course." She glanced askance at Orb. "Why did you choose to start off your office by invoking such a dangerous thing?"
"You know my temper," Orb said ruefully. "When I discovered that everything I had known of Natasha was false—" She paused. "You did not come to me on the plain of the Llano to warn me of Satan's trap?"
Niobe shook her head. "We had agreed not to interfere."
"So it is true that you made a deal with Satan?"
"It is true. We were caught by the interpretation of the prophecy; no one knew the outcome except perhaps Chronos, and he would not talk. So we concluded that it was better to get the matter settled one way or the other. I had to trust that you would not be deceived."
"I was deceived," Orb said heavily. "I—fell in love with a simulacrum, in part because of challenges made by what I took to be the Incarnations, you included. Then I learned that it was Satan. What was I to do?"
Niobe shook her head. "Every Incarnation has to deal with Satan, and it is always difficult. I had to make a small tour of Hell to find the Magician before I could find the way to stop the threat Satan posed. Mars had to bring the world to the very verge of extinction by war before he could stop the threat Satan posed for him. Now it is your turn. I can not tell you what to do."
"It was Mym—Mars—the facsimile of Mars who finally convinced me that the man I know was not—what he was. All a vision!" Orb sighed. "Does he really have a consort and a demon mistress?"
"He really does," Niobe agreed. "But he would never have led you to Satan!"
"I was completely credulous," Orb said. "When Satan revealed himself, I couldn't believe it. When I did, I just wanted to strike back at something. So I sang. The most potent song I could. I suppose I was motivated by the fact that Satan himself urged me not to do it. Now I don't quite know what I've done."
"No one can know for certain, dear. But Chronos can probably make it right, if—"
"You mean by manipulating time? Isn't that dangerous?"
"Yes. But that may not be the problem in this instance."
"What is the problem?"
"We promised not to interfere until this matter has been decided. If Chronos took action now, it would constitute interference."
"The matter has been decided!" Orb said. "Now that I know the situation, I'll never deal with Satan!"
"It is not decided until Satan concedes defeat," Niobe said. "That is always the way it is in these tests of will."
"What does it take to make him concede defeat?" Orb asked irately.
Niobe spread her hands. "Each case is different. We'll simply have to wait and see."
"Does that mean we can't do anything to stop Chaos?"
"I fear it does. It is like an illness that must run its course. But it might be best to keep a close eye on that course."
"I'll try," Orb said.
She hugged her mother, then turned the page back to Jonah. And was appalled.
The big fish was rocking in a storm. The water no longer hurt him, but the winds were buffeting him back and forth, and the Sludge were hanging on to whatever offered.
"Why doesn't Jonah swim away from the storm?" Orb asked, grabbing hold herself.
"He's been trying to, but it keeps getting worse," Jezebel said. "Never seen weather like this before! It was all the big fish could do to drop Betsy and the organist off at her farm. They left their regards for you."
Orb looked out the transparent scales. It was hard to tell whether there was cloud or water outside, but certainly there was turbulence. She wished that Betsy and the organist had remained with Jonah.
"I'll find out how far it extends," she said. "Meanwhile, it may be uncomfortable here, but safe; weather can't really hurt Jonah." She expanded, becoming swiftly huge and diffuse, searching for the limit of the storm.
There seemed to be no limit, only confused patches of lesser intensity. Rain and swirl were everywhere. It was like a giant sauna. Evidently the rising heat and humidity were responsible.
But if the effect was global, what of the cold poles? Orb expanded to globe-size so she could investigate.
It was hot at the poles. Melt water was pouring from the icecaps at such a rate that she knew that in a few days no ice would remain.
What would that do to the level of the ocean?
What of the seacoast cities? What of the lowlands? The great valleys that could flood?
She oriented on the traveling show in India, where she had first met Mym. She coalesced, assuming her natural form beside a wagon.
The rain of the monsoon was pouring down. But was it monsoon season here? She wasn't sure, and feared that this was an atypical phenomenon. The wagons were parked, for travel was impossible; the road was awash.
Drenched, she forged to the closest wagon. It looked like—yes, it was the mermaid's wagon.
Orb pounded on the door, announcing the presence of a visitor, then pushed it open and climbed inside.
"Orb!" the mermaid exclaimed. "It has been years!"
And what was she to say now? That she had started a process that represented danger for everyone here? That the water level could rise and flood them out?
But if she didn't give warning, what then?
"A lot has happened," Orb said. "There may be danger. I have come to warn you. This rain—it may get worse. I think you should get the wagons to higher ground."
The mermaid shook her head. "There is no road we can travel. We must wait it out here."
"But there may be flooding!"
The mermaid smiled. "That doesn't really frighten me, you know. I won't drown. But I suppose it could be bad for the others and the animals. Still, the wheels are already mired; we'll simply have to sit it out."
Orb saw that she was right. The show would not be moving. "I hope it's all right," she said, taking the mermaid's hand for a parting squeeze.
Outside she had another notion. She concentrated, trying to invoke the elements, so that she could bring coolness and dryness and abate the rain. But she could not; that aspect of her power had been pre-empted by the developing Chaos. She was helpless before the weather.
She turned the page to Ireland, to the place that retained its nostalgia for her: the water oak in the swamp. This time the hamadryad came down to greet her, still grateful for the rejuvenation. But the rain was blasting down here, too, and the wind was tearing at the foliage of the tree.
"I'm afraid it may flood," Orb said.
The hamadryad agreed; she was quite concerned. Already the level of the swamp water was high.
"And it is my fault," Orb continued unhappily. "I—I fell in love with an illusion and, when I learned, I was angry and I invoked a theme I should not have." The hamadryad touched her hand, briefly, understanding.
That did not make Orb feel better.
"I hope it is not too bad here," Orb said.
The dryad smiled encouragingly.
Orb turned another page, to Tinka's house in France.
Here, too, the rain was pouring. The roof was not tight; water was dripping down inside. Tinka had set out pans to catch it, but was obviously unhappy. Her baby was crying; she was trying to comfort him by singing, but the howl of the wind drowned out her voice.
She smiled gladly when she saw Orb. She was so glad for her sight! But Orb was glum. "I'm afraid there will be worse coming," she said. "Perhaps flooding; can you move to higher ground?"
"No, I must wait here for my husband to return," Tinka said. "Perhaps then we can go."
"I hope it will be all right." But Orb was sickly uncertain that it would be.
She traveled around the globe, finding the rain everywhere. Still the temperature increased; there seemed to be a hothouse effect. The polar ice was diminishing at an alarming rate. The flooding was occurring at coastal cities in the high-tide regions. There was hardly any distinction between day and night; the swirling rain was everywhere.
She returned to Jonah. He had finally given up the battle and swum belowground, where it was calm.
"The same all over?" Jezebel asked.
"All over," Orb agreed grimly. "The polar ice is melting, the sea level is rising, and the rain just keeps coming down. And I can't do anything to stop it; I have lost my control over the elements."
"Then you must rest," Lou-Mae said solicitously. "And eat," Jezebel added. "I just happen to have some blueberry pie here."
Orb tried, but her appetite was small and her rest tormented by thought of the possible consequences of her indiscretion. Before long she was turning the pages again, traveling the globe.
The hamadryad's tree was standing in water; all the swamp was flooded. The nymph was perched in the branches, staring at the coursing muddy water. "The roots—they can't breathe," she said, feeling the pain other tree.
There was nothing Orb could say. She moved on to India. Flooding was well advanced now. The wagons stood in water up to their hubs, and the rain continued. Was the world to experience another deluge like that described in the Bible? No, surely there wasn't enough water available to do that.
She entered the mermaid's wagon. "I think the wagons must be left," she told the mermaid. "They will be submerged, and the others will drown. But you could help them now, guiding them to higher ground."
"Well, I really don't enjoy brackish water," the mermaid said. "But I think there is no need. The wagons will float."
"They'll float!" Orb exclaimed. "I never thought of that!" But then she reconsidered. "But they'll separate, and some could overturn in the storm."
The mermaid nodded. "You're right. We'd better take precautionary measures now. We can tie them together and build stabilizing outriggers. I'll have to spread the word. If you will carry me outside—"
Orb reached over the tank and put her left arm around the mermaid's upper torso. The mermaid heaved her tail up, and Orb caught it above the flukes. Staggering, she carried the mermaid down and out, almost falling as she set her in the swirling water.
"Ugh!" the mermaid said, grimacing. "Filthy stuff! But I can handle it." She spun about, testing it for depth, then swam with faculty toward the lead wagon.
Orb smiled. The mermaid complained, but she was happy. Not only was she free of her tank, she was serving a useful purpose. Orb waited long enough to be sure that the mermaid could get the attention of the occupants of the wagons, then turned the page to France. The flooding was proceeding here, too. The main street of the village had disappeared. Tinka was peering worriedly out; her husband had not yet returned.
"You must get to higher ground!" Orb told her. "While you can. For the sake of your baby."
"For the baby," Tinka agreed, shaken.
"Maybe I can locate your husband. How can I identify him?" Tinka described the man in sufficient detail. Orb expanded to encompass the region, orienting on the pertinent characteristics, and found them. She coalesced. The man was in the mountains, but the treacherous conditions had caused his wagon to slide off the trail and break a wheel. He was unable to proceed until he got it fixed, and the job was difficult.
Orb introduced herself. "Ah, you are Tinka's friend, the one I never met!" he exclaimed. "I thought she invented you—a fantasy to divert herself!"
"The village is flooding. I will bring her here to you."
"She should not be out in this weather with the baby!" he protested. "She is not used to the outside, for her sight has not long been restored; she would get lost."
"I said I would bring her," Orb said. "No walking."
"Are you some magic creature, that you can do this?"
"Yes." Orb turned the page back to Tinka. "He broke a wheel," she reported. "He is fixing it. I will take you to him.
Is there anything you need to take with you? I think you will not be returning here soon."
"Things for the baby!" Tinka exclaimed, dashing about the room. In a moment she had made a bundle of supplies and had donned a waterproof shawl to cover herself and the baby.
Then Orb put a hand on Tinka's shoulder and turned the page to the wagon.
Tinka handed Orb the baby and bundle and went to help her husband. Orb was impressed again at the efficiency of Gypsies when there was a task to be done. She was also struck by the presence of the baby in her arms. If only she could have kept Orlene! But even if she had not had to give up her daughter before, how could she have kept a child while assuming the office of Nature?
She couldn't have, of course. When she had given her decision to Natasha, she had affirmed that conclusion; she had chosen the office rather than the family.
Natasha—ah, Satan! How could she have missed that, before? She had been blinded by love. But oh, if only it could have been real! Her heart felt leaden; it craved the illusion, when the reality was the worst horror she had dreamed of. To marry Satan. She stood in the rain, holding the baby and the bag of belongings, glad for the moment that the incessant rain masked the tears on her face. What a colossal fool she had been!
The Gypsy team labored on the wheel. They lacked the proper tools, but were clever with makeshift; in due course the wheel had been jury-rigged into serviceability. Tinka, bedraggled and dirty, returned to take her baby. "I thank you. Orb," she said.
"It was my pleasure," Orb responded miserably. She found that she hated giving up the baby; he had become a symbol of what she had thrown away.
"For everything."
But if Orb had not yielded to her anger, this hot rain would not have occurred. She was owed no thanks, just condemnation. But she knew that Tinka would not listen to that. "Go uphill," she said. "Until the rain stops."
The man nodded.
They boarded the wagon, and the horse resumed hauling. Orb waved, then turned the page back to Jonah.
The Sludge were sleeping, except for Jezebel. She was in her luscious form, evidently having been sharing with the guitarist. Since she never slept, she emerged to join Orb. "What can I fix you?" the succubus inquired.
"Some piece of mind," Orb said. She found it easy to relate to the demoness, perhaps because she was feeling somewhat damned herself.
"The rain has to stop some time," Jezebel said.
But it did not stop. It went on and on, and the heat continued. Soon Orb was out in the world again, turning pages from one region to another, helpless to reverse the ongoing disaster.
The coastal cities were being flooded out. The water impeded the exodus of the people; highways had been submerged and roads washed out. Most people seemed to have retreated to the taller buildings, moving to the higher floors as the water rose.
But the heat was causing the air to expand and rise; winds were stiffening and with them the waves. Breakers smashed at the buildings, wearing them down relentlessly. Orb saw some buildings that had collapsed; if there had been people in them, they were there no longer.
The wreckage of boats was being tossed about. This was no safe sea for sailing! But what other way did trapped people have to escape? Could she take any of them and turn the page to higher ground? There were so many in trouble that she could help only a few, but she had to try.
She expanded, searching for the need, and found a building that was being overwhelmed by the waves. She coalesced to it. A woman and two children were standing on the roof, hanging on to the aeration pipes as the wind howled through. "I will help you!" Orb cried. "Take my hands!"
Numbly, the woman and children obeyed, clasping their hands about hers. They did not question her arrival.
Orb turned a page—and found herself alone. She had not been able to carry them with her!
She turned the page back. The three were there, staring, not knowing what had happened. "Maybe one at a time," Orb said, taking the hand of the little girl.
She turned the page—but the child was not with her. She could no longer take people with her! She had done it with Tinka and her baby, but now her magic seemed to have been drained. Maybe the Chaos was absorbing it, drawing on any magic available for its vast effort of demolition.
She turned the page back, determined to find some way to succeed. But this time she found only a massive wave crashing across the top of the building. She expanded and thinned out, so that it did not affect her—but when it receded, the woman and children were gone.
Orb knew that similar tragedies were occurring all over the world. She had merely sampled the horror of it.
What had she wrought?
With fading hope, she turned the page to the water oak in Ireland. The water was now halfway up its trunk, and the hamadryad was perched in the foliage at the top, very much like the woman and children of the building.
Orb joined her. "I can't move human folk any more, but maybe I can move you," she said. "Take my hand, and I will try to take you to higher ground."
"I cannot leave my tree!" the dryad cried, distraught.
Of course that was true. A hamadryad was a creature of her tree, perhaps even the soul of the tree; she could not leave it. "I hope the water stops soon," Orb said, grief-stricken.
The dryad gazed at her without expression.
Orb turned the page to India.
The wagons were floating, but precariously. The occupants were bailing them out, but the constant fall of water was refilling them. A stiff wind was carrying the caravan out toward the widening sea.
Would these good folk survive? Orb, ashamed, did not make her presence known.
She returned to Jonah, who remained deep below ground. "The whole world is being flooded," she reported to the succubus. "I have lost my power to transport other people; I can only watch them perish."
"It can't rain forever," Jezebel said. "There isn't enough water."
Orb, helpless, retired to her chamber and lay down, not expecting to sleep. She did not feel tired and concluded that this was because of her new status as an Incarnation. But she dropped off almost immediately.
When she woke, the situation seemed unchanged—but she realized that this was deceptive, because of the ambiance of Jonah. She turned a page to the water oak—and was appalled, for it was gone. Evidently the waves had undermined it and carried it away, hamadryad and all. An old friend had been lost, and what could Orb do?
She went to India. The lowlands had been replaced by a turbulent ocean, and there was no sign of the floating wagons. The winds were so violent that it was obvious that full-fledged ships could have foundered; the wagons had not had any chance. More old friends were gone.
But the mermaid—she should have survived! Where was she?
Orb expanded, spreading throughout the region, questing for the mermaid. She found her, swimming deep down, where the water was quieter. But she could not greet the mermaid down here, and she worried about the threat of large sea creatures. Suppose one decided that the mermaid was prey?
However, no large predators seemed to be feeding now. The rain and melt that was causing the ocean level to rise was also diluting the salinity of the water at the upper reaches, and that seemed to be distracting the creatures. The mermaid had been making do with fresh water for so long that she had no problem. Perhaps she would be all right.
Orb turned the page to southern France, orienting on Tinka. She found the wagon sloughing through muck, ascending the mountain, its wheel holding. No danger of flooding here, at least.
She was about to return to Jonah, when she paused, noticing something. The mountain slope seemed to have changed its complexion. The ground was furred. So were the trunks of the trees, and even the leaves.
Orb reached out and broke off a twig. She felt a little tug inside her and realized that she was Nature, now, and related ultimately to every living thing, including the twig she had just severed from its tree.
She inspected the twig. It seemed to have sprouted new life. It was covered with something like algae.
Algae were growing on everything, and fungus sprouted, too. The humid, hot ambiance was encouraging the growth of such things. It seemed to be one of the harmless consequences of this weather.
She returned to Jonah—and found him in motion, swimming through the rock. "Where to?" she inquired.
"Oh, good," Lou-Mae exclaimed. "I wanted to say goodbye to you. We—Miami is pretty low, and my folks—I've got to be with them now."
"And I've got to be with her," the drummer said. "So we're getting off and see what we can do."
Orb wanted to caution them about the condition of the coastal cities, but realized that they could hardly save themselves while letting friends and relatives be threatened. "Get them to high ground as fast as you can," she said. But how much high ground was there in Florida?
Not enough, she knew. The entire state would soon be submerged. The relatives would be lost—and Lou-Mae and the drummer.
She had to do something! But what? She had lost her power to transport other people, and in any event, a whole city was threatened, and all the other coastal cities of the world. What could she do to save them?
She was the Incarnation of Nature, wasn't she? She should be able to do something! And she had to!
She turned the page to Purgatory. There was Eros, as if waiting for her. "Just tell me one thing," she snapped. "What powers can I invoke, as Gaea?"
"Any power of Nature," he replied. "To any degree. But you have to know how, and only long experience can make you perfect. I can't help you there; I only know about love."
"Where were you when Satan was corrupting me?" she asked fiercely.
"I did not interfere in that; a lesser Incarnation can not affect a greater one. You came to love him on your own, and I had to accede."
Surely so. "Where can I get the information I need to master my office?" she asked tightly.
"There is no written text, if that's what you mean. You have to master it on your own."
"I don't have time for that! I need instruction! Who can provide it?"
He shrugged. "Only the former Gaea, I suspect."
"But she's in Heaven!"
"No, she's on Earth. She still has some other natural life to live out."
So the former Gaea remained among the mortals! Orb expanded, orienting on her, found her, and coalesced beside her.
"Why, hello, Gaea," the woman said. She looked exactly as she had before—as Satan's emulation of her had looked.
"Why did you give up your office to me?"
"Nothing lasts forever," the woman said. "I was becoming fatigued, trying to keep natural order throughout the world. Any error, and such consequences! It is a nervous business. So when I saw one who had the potential to replace me, I encouraged it."
"You encouraged it? You mean you could have prevented it?"
"Oh, certainly! Not all Incarnations step down involuntarily. When you expanded, I contracted, until finally you expanded all the way and assumed the whole of it, and I let myself slide back into mortality. When you tire of it, and a successor offers, you may do the same and finish out your mortal life in the situation you helped generate."
"But I am making a mess of it!" Orb protested. "I sang the wrong theme, and now Chaos is loosed upon the land!"
"We all make errors at the outset," the woman said calmly. "How well I remember the Black Plague! It was all I could do to prevent it from wiping out the remaining population, but after that I certainly knew more about my office!"
"But I sang the Song of Chaos!"
The woman nodded. "I really didn't think you were ready for that one. But if you can master it, you will have an extremely powerful tool."
"That's why I came to see you! I have no idea how to stop it from destroying the world. If you can tell me—"
"I can and I can't," the woman said. "You see, I did not use music for my command process. So I do not know how that applies. I suspect you would not be able to use the command process I am familiar with."
"What is that?"
"Pseudo gestures."
"What?"
"Gestures that do not reach the level of performance. Patterns of muscle tension. The body has many muscles and many more combinations."
"I know nothing about that! I sing the themes—"
"Which I know nothing about. Therefore I can not provide you with specifics. But I can tell you what I would do, if my system remained operative. I would hasten the cycle of the pattern of Chaos you have invoked, hoping to clear it before its havoc was total."
"Can't I simply nullify it?"
"If there is a way, I do not know it. Other things can be neutralized, but Chaos is different. It has to complete whatever course it runs—which can not be predicted. But the less time it exists, the less damage it is likely to do. It is a calculated risk—but of course there can be no certainties, with Chaos."
Orb was hardly reassured. "How can I use my music to hasten the cycle?"
"You should be able to use the same theme that invoked the cycle, and invoke it again, and again. Each invocation should translate it to a new application. Of course that is dangerous, because it is apt to accelerate its power as well as its velocity. It is possible that you would be best off leaving it alone."
"But people are dying!"
"I realize that. But when you go for double or nothing, or triple or nothing, the result is not always what you prefer."
Orb sighed. She knew the former Gaea was right. A gamble was a gamble. "I thank you for your comment," she said and turned the page back to Jonah.
"I don't think you will be able to save your folks," she said to Lou-Mae. "It is my fault; I set in motion a pattern I can not control. But I may be able to change it. The risk is that I will only make it worse. How do you feel?"
Lou-Mae hardly seemed to consider. "Let's try to save them first. If we can't, then you gamble."
"Then I gamble," Orb agreed, relieved to have the basis for the decision clarified.