Wielding a Red Sword

  The General shook his head, concluding that it had been an errant thought. Every person had doubts on occasion. "Proceed with the battle plan as outlined," he said gruffly.

  Mym realized that this was not the way either. He had projected his thought into the General's consciousness, but it had not been supported by any apparent logic, so the General had dismissed it. He would have to develop a more comprehensive approach, to actually convince the General that the new thought made sense. That would take time. For one thing, he would need to learn more about the General's frames of reference, so as to devise an approach that would make sense to the man.

  But he didn't have time. The cavalry was already moving out. The battle was being joined.

  Mym gave up in disgust. He exited the General. It felt like shedding an uncomfortable yoke. He much preferred his own identity!

  He mounted his horse, who had waited patiently for his return, and galloped over and through the people to the center of the battlefield. The Maharastra cavalry was meeting the charge with one of its own—plus another element. A unit of trained griffins led the way, spreading their wings and launching themselves at the opposing line. That could be disaster for the Gujarat cavalrymen!

  But the Gujarats were prepared. Precision catapults had been set up, and these now opened fire on the griffins, the object being to knock them out of the air. There was a raucous squawk as a missile scored glancingly on one, and a griffin spun to the ground with a broken wing. But the fight had not gone out of the creature; it laid about itself with beak and claws, and gore flew as it scored.

  In moments the other griffins swooped down on the line, and the carnage was multiplied. "Great!" the Incarnation of Slaughter cried, riding near. "Mix it up! Tear those guts! Spatter that blood! Spread that gore!"

  Meanwhile, the Incarnation of Conquest was urging on the two main armies. "Victory!" he cried to both. "Take no prisoners!"

  And with that the efforts of the armies increased, and the combat became savage. Mym was disgusted. It was all so pointless!

  But he had failed to stop it. What was he to do now?

  Well, he could try a more direct method. He rode to the center of the carnage, climbed a hill of air to gain elevation, and grasped his Red Sword. Maybe it would enable him to manifest. He drew it and held it high, willing himself to be apparent.

  And—it worked! The Sword was the key! He knew he was visible, because the bowmen at the rear lines were staring at him. They had never before seen a man and horse in mid-air.

  Now was his chance. He would tell them all to stop fighting, until they could receive the notice that explained why.

  He took a deep breath. "S-s-s-s-s-s—" he stuttered.

  Damn! He took another breath. "Stop the battle!" he sang.

  There was a moment of amazed silence. Then someone laughed. They could not believe that this noble, golden figure could utter such obvious nonsense.

  "It's a trick!" an officer cried. "Shoot it down!"

  Then the archers of both sides went back into action, firing their shafts at him. Mym remained frozen, furious at himself for not being able to address them effectively.

  The arrows struck him and the horse and bounced off harmlessly. He never even felt them; it seemed he was invulnerable to mortal weapons.

  But he didn't like being a target. He sheathed the Sword—and evidently faded out of sight, for the archers blinked and stopped firing. The officers rubbed their eyes.

  Yet Mym could still see himself and his steed quite clearly. He also saw the other Incarnations. Conquest and Slaughter were exhorting the troops to greater efforts;

  Famine and Pestilence were watching from the sideline, rubbing their hands in anticipation of their turn to come, as supplies were depleted and hunger and disease ran their course.

  A number of arrows had been in flight when he faded out of mortal view. These now passed entirely through him and the horse, without deviating at all. That was another evidence of his change; he truly had become unsolid, as far as mortals were concerned.

  Could he become solid while remaining invisible? Curious, despite the tragedy around him, he touched the Sword and willed himself to be tangible but imperceptible.

  One more arrow was coming. It struck the side of the horse and dropped to the ground, broken. But the archers weren't watching. That was answer enough.

  But the battle continued. It remained as much folly as before, and he still had to stop it. What else could he do?

  Famine had mentioned that Mars could freeze the action. Indeed, the Incarnation of Death had done that when Mym had first encountered him, and surely Chronos, the Incarnation of Time, could do it too.

  He touched the Sword again. Freeze action he thought.

  Just like that, it froze. The armies below him became like statuary, the men and animals stilled in mid-motion, the sounds of battle abated, and the clouds of dust and smoke halted in place. The few arrows that were in flight hovered in air.

  But the other Incarnations were not affected. Slaughter looked up from his grisly work, gore dripping from his fingers. "Something come up. Mars?" he called.

  "Yes," Mym returned shortly. But what was he to do next? He knew he couldn't keep the tableau frozen indefinitely—and the moment he abated it, the carnage would resume.

  Unless he could do something to stop the battle, before allowing the action to resume. He was not frozen. He could go to the capitals, find where the message of termination of the war was stalled, and facilitate its delivery. Was the rest of the world frozen too? He doubted it.

  But how far did the effect extend?

  There was one way to find out. "I have an errand," he told the other Incarnations. "See that the freeze remains until I return."

  "It is your prerogative," Conquest said, grimacing. Obviously he felt this was foolishness.

  Mym urged his horse upward and forward, into the sky to the north. They galloped away from the battle site. Soon he saw people moving again and confirmed that the freeze applied only to the battle. Good enough; he didn't want to interfere with the rest of the world, just to abate the pointless bloodshed.

  He came to Ahmadabad and descended to the Rajah's palace. He passed through the wall, horse and all, and approached his father's private chambers. No one saw him.

  Then he paused. He had thought to manifest and inquire about the order canceling the war—but though the personnel might recognize him, they would be confused because his real self, as far as they knew, was the double Gaea had fashioned to take his place. How could there be two of him? It would not be wise to interfere with that.

  Well, then, he could act through himself. He galloped his horse to the other palace for an interview with his double. The young man was no longer confined, but had seen no need to depart the palace while the arrangements for his journey to the Honeymoon Castle were being made.

  Honeymoon Castle? But there the man's thoughts would be completely open to his betrothed! That would give away his true identity and quite possibly provoke a new war. "Oh, Gaea," he sang under his breath. "You overlooked one vital detail!"

  Mist formed before him. "Foolish man," it breathed. "I shaped his mind as well as his body. He knows his identity, but his thoughts there will only be those of the Prince."

  He stopped, there in the hall, the servants brushing through his substance without ever being aware of his presence or that of the horse. "You can do that?" he asked, amazed.

  "I am Nature," the mist whispered—and dissipated.

  If the powers of Mars were as he had discovered, what then of the powers of Gaea? He could only glimpse them peripherally, but he found himself awed.

  He resumed his ride, entered the suite of his double, and made himself tangible. "How goes it, Prince Pride?" he sang.

  The new Prince looked up, only mildly surprised. "I look upon a life that is more wonderful than any I imagined," he replied in a similar singsong. "I have seen a painting of the Princess I am to marry, and she is lovely."


  Mym had seen the picture and regarded the Princess as relatively plain. But perhaps Gaea had dabbled in that aspect of the man too, so that he was entirely content with his lot. Gaea's favors were subtle but solid. No doubt her anger could be similarly devastating!

  "I have a problem," Mym said. "As you know, I am now the Incarnation of War. There is a battle going on between Gujarat and Maharastra that should not be occurring. The order to halt hostilities seems to have gotten lost in transit. I need to obtain that order and get it to the front—but I do not want to seem to duplicate myself when I get it. So—"

  "I will get it for you," the new Prince Pride said, understanding immediately. "Naturally I don't want lives expended uselessly any more than you do; I will have to manage this Kingdom all too soon."

  He was taking hold very nicely, despite his lack of prior training for the position he had assumed. Gaea's work again, surely.

  The new Prince Pride took a carpet immediately to the Rajah's palace, while Mym paced him invisibly on the horse. The trip was swift, as neither had to wait on traffic below, and in a few minutes they were there. Then Prince Pride asked for a copy of the order requiring the cessation of hostilities and took it with him. The moment he was alone, he held it in the air, and Mym materialized enough to grasp it. "Thank you, Prince," he said. "May you have a long and happy life."

  He galloped back to the battle site, where things remained frozen. He brought the order to a messenger boy, put it in his hand, and phased in to his mind. No thought was proceeding, because of the freeze, but Mym projected strongly: URGENT MESSAGE FOR GENERAL.

  Then he sat back on the horse, touched the Sword, and willed the release of the stasis.

  The scene reanimated. The troops resumed killing each other; blood resumed flowing, and arrows completed their flights. The messenger boy looked startled, evidently not remembering how he had come to possess the urgent message, but knowing his duty. He rushed it to the General.

  The General perused it. He sighed. "Peace has been declared," he said, disgusted. "Cease hostilities. Send a mission under flag of truce to the enemy to acquaint them with this news."

  It took a while to sort it out, but in due course the armies disengaged. The battle was over, and not too many men had been killed.

  But if he had handled the matter more expeditiously, there would have been no carnage at all. Mym knew he had a lot yet to learn about the performance of his office.

  He gathered up his minions and returned to his castle in Purgatory. Conquest, Slaughter, Famine, and Pestilence went their ways, disappointed. They would have only a slim harvest from this day's work.

  Rapture met him at the front foyer. "Oh, beloved, I missed you so!" she exclaimed. "Why did you have to be gone so long?"

  "I have an office to serve," he sang.

  "To supervise violence and rapine?" she asked. "It would be better if you stayed here!"

  "To stop a battle between the armies of your Kingdom and mine," he informed her gently. "Peace has been declared, but the news had not reached the front. I was fortunate to get it stopped before things had proceeded too far."

  "Maharastra—and Gujarat—were fighting?" she asked, appalled.

  "Because of us," he agreed. "We refused to marry the Princess and Prince of Rajasthan, so our Kingdoms went to war with each other."

  "But actual combat? I hadn't realized!"

  "I stopped it. That was my business today."

  "But people died, before—?"

  "Some died, yes. It was complicated to—"

  "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I never wanted people to die because of us! If I had realized—"

  "There was no way to—" he sang.

  But she turned away from him, part of her horror extending to him.

  Disgusted, he left her. It seemed they were having their first quarrel.

  He cleaned up, for though he had had very little contact with mortal things, he had been under some pressure and had sweated under his golden cloak. He changed to informal garb, then went to Rapture's quarters.

  She met him in the hall and flung her arms about him and sobbed. He tried to speak, but she stifled that with a kiss.

  It seemed that their quarrel was over.

  Then they talked, and he learned what was really upsetting her. It seemed that the butler had explained it to her during the day.

  This was Purgatory. No mortals resided here. This was not discrimination, but the simple fact that mortals were of a far more complex physical composition, possessing three physical dimensions instead of two. This was not a precise analogy, but the butler had made it simple to understand. Mortals could visit, when sponsored by an Incarnation, but could not remain.

  "But you have been here a full night and day!" Mym sang, protesting.

  "Yes, and I am starving," she responded.

  "But there is plenty to eat!"

  "For you. Not for me. Not for a mortal."

  "You're my mortal!" he sang angrily. "They will feed you!"

  She shook her head. "They have fed me, Mym. But this is Purgatory food. It looks and tastes real, it feels real—but it has nourishment only for ghosts. A mortal requires a thousand times the substance found in this food. What I have eaten here has been illusion, for me. I have been existing on my own bodily resources. This is easy to do, for a short period, when the stomach seems full—but can not be maintained."

  He stared at her. "Purgatory food—can't feed you," he repeated.

  "Mym, I must return to the mortal realm, if I am to eat."

  He was appalled. "No wonder you were upset! It's so nice here, and now—"

  "Now I must leave. I can visit only a few hours at a time, before hunger and thirst—oh, I feel that thirst, now!"

  Mym shook his head. "Rapture, I never knew about this! I never would have brought you here, if—"

  His distress seemed to ameliorate hers. "I have only to find a mortal home. I can be here each day when you return. I can spend the nights with you. It can be very much the same; I can be gone only when you are gone."

  "But I have no idea where you can go!" he sang. "It can't be Bombay—"

  "The butler says he can arrange something, and I'm sure he can. But—it must be soon, because—"

  "Because you are wasting away!" he finished. "Oh, my beloved—"

  "It will be all right," she said, though he knew she was deeply distressed. She had wanted so much to be with him always and now she could not.

  They went immediately to the butler, who explained that there were those mortals who cooperated in special matters like this and maintained a system of hostels for displaced associates of Purgatory. They were discreet and understanding. "In fact you can stay with Thanatos' consort, Luna Kaftan," he said. "She is in mortal politics, but because of Thanatos, she understands perfectly. You will be fully comfortable with her."

  And so it was arranged for Rapture to stay with Luna, who lived in Kilvarough. Thanatos himself came to escort them down. Rapture almost fainted when she saw the skull-face, but then Thanatos drew back his hood to reveal an ordinary human face, reassuring her. It was all right—for now.

  Chapter 8 - SATAN

  Other nights, Rapture would come to stay with him in the Castle of War. But this night she was back on Earth, for she had a day's eating to catch up on and needed to acclimatize. Mym had known the instant he met Luna, who seemed oddly familiar, that she would take good care of Rapture; she was a beautiful, brown-haired, occidental woman, whose house was filled with artistry and guarded by griffins. It was no palace, but it was the kind of place the Princess could feel at home in.

  So Mym slept alone—and discovered that, though Rapture might be dependent on him, he had become dependent on her, too. He had grown accustomed to sleeping beside a loving woman and felt ill at ease by himself.

  In fact, he was unable to sleep. After more than an hour of restless turnings, he sat up and looked for something to read. There was nothing; evidently his predecessor had not been a literary man.


  He got up and donned slippers and night robe and walked out into the dusky hall. The castle staff had retired; all was quiet. Did the spirits of Purgatory require sleep? Perhaps so, if they required food. As he was coming to understand it, the lives—the afterlives—of these people were similar to those of mortal folk, but more diffuse and extended. If they did not eat, they would not starve—not within a century or so—for they could not die; they were already dead. But they would become uncomfortable. Likewise, probably, with sleep. So let them sleep; it did help differentiate the days, which surely were dull enough. Purgatory was not supposed to be torture, as he perceived this Western mythology; it was merely a state of indecision, a working-off of the debts of an imperfectly lived life. Westerners had no second chance by way of reincarnation to expiate their faults; they had to get it straight in just one life and then pay the consequence in the long stretch of eternity thereafter. He did not envy them their system.

  But, of course, he was part of it, now. He should have been a better Hindu, so as not to stray into this inferior framework. This was really his own next incarnation, the Incarnation of War in an alien framework, and now he was bound by its laws. Punishment enough!

  Yet reward enough, too, for it had solved the problem of his voided betrothal to Rapture and the war between their two Kingdoms. Had this office not come to him when it had, he would have faced disaster. So fate had not been cruel to him; it had been kind. Most kind.

  Also, he rather fancied the challenge of this new position. He had made mistakes on his first day—but what person didn't, when learning the job? He now had a far better notion how to proceed and expected to do better on his next battle. The powers of his office were phenomenal and could be a great force for good when properly applied.

  He came to the garden region that had so enraptured Rapture. Now it was dark; the cycles of Purgatory mirrored those of mortal Earth. The exotic plants seemed larger, the shadowed statues more alive, somehow. He walked on through it; it was indeed a lovely region, the kind that a woman could spend much time appreciating. It seemed almost natural—as if crafted by the forces of nature, rather than those of man.