Satan appeared. He was red, with small flames playing about his limbs, and glowing horns and tail. He turned to gaze at Orb, and his eyes were windows to Hell, flickering with passion and violence. "Now you will marry Me!" he proclaimed.
"Never!" Orb retorted as bravely as she could manage, though fear washed through her. Her mother's warning had been all too true!
Satan sang. It was indeed the Llano; Orb felt its devastating power immediately. Her will left her; she sat and listened, overcome by its compulsion.
Satan gestured, without breaking his song. The second part sounded, complementing the first, as if two men were singing, but there was only one. It added a dimension; now Orb could hardly even think of resisting. The harmony, dreadful and beautiful, governed her will.
Satan beckoned. She got up and walked toward him. Her clothing shifted, becoming a bridal gown, with a train and veil. His aspect changed; a tuxedo now clothed him. He was uncannily handsome despite his color and his horns. Still he sang, and she was aware of almost nothing besides that sound.
She joined him at the altar in the front. He put out his hand, taking her elbow, turning her with him as he turned. Now a demonic shape surmounted the altar: the infernal priest that would marry them. Its arm moved, and something glinted—a sacrificial knife. Orb did not need to ask what was about to happen; she knew. The thing would cut her arm, and cut Satan's arm, to mingle their blood, and they would then be married by the law of this framework.
Satan took her arm, stripping back the white sleeve. He stripped his own sleeve. He grasped her hand and carried her arm forward. The demon brought the blade close.
Orb, horrified, finally broke out of her trance enough to make a sound. She sang the counter theme she had just learned. At first it was faint and unsteady, but in a moment the power of its theme emerged.
Satan was singing, casting about her a web of submission. Orb was singing, fending off that web. She succeeded in freeing her head and arms, so that the demon could not cut her, but she could not free the rest of her body. It was as if she were in a cocoon, able to move within it just a little, but not to escape it. She needed more than she had.
But her song was proceeding, staving off the marriage. Until the first pause. Here she required a response—and there was no one to make that response.
Abruptly all was silent. Satan had ceased his song, but her confinement did not abate. The spell had been set in place. If she did not escape it now, she would never be able to.
There was no answer. She tried to sing again, but her throat locked; she could not resume until appropriately answered. Satan waited, slowly smiling, knowing that the victory was about to be his; her one hope was fading. She felt the surge of madness rising in her as the incomplete theme turned against the one who had invoked it.
Orb focused her will, trying to project whatever magic she had out to the corners of the globe, the curvature of the plain. She felt it going out, carrying the fading melody. Would there be an answer?
Satan nodded. He signaled the demon; the prey had not escaped. The demon brought the knife forward as Satan took Orb's bare arm again. She tried to fight it, but could not; the scant protection made by her song had seeped away. Only her eyes remained free—free to weep.
The knife touched Satan's red arm, and a thin streak of blood appeared. It crossed to Orb's arm.
Then, faintly, she heard it. Was it, could it be—?
Yes! It was the companion theme! Natasha was answering! The barely audible melody caused the walls and floor to resonate, animating with the suggestion of its potency.
That answering passage freed her to resume. She sang her own part, and the infernal church began to waver. Infused by the counter theme, it was losing its power over her.
Satan resumed his song, but now its compulsion was diminished. Orb felt its horrible tug at her being, making her weak and despairing, but she was able to resist it.
She stepped unsteadily away from the altar, out of reach of the demon's knife. She retreated to the spot where her harp was lying and picked it up, never pausing in her singing. She knew she was on the way to her escape, but she felt the looming of the madness, too; if Natasha did not respond again, she would still be lost.
Her passage ended—but the distant voice of Natasha was louder now, and it brought her renewed strength. She marched resolutely to the wall and through it, out to the landscape beyond, while Satan's song faded behind.
From beyond the crest of the low hill ahead came Natasha's voice, singing the alternate theme. She walked toward it, singing in her turn. At the crest she encountered him as he came up from the other side.
He was a well-knit man, sturdy rather than tall, wearing a bright plaid shirt and green denims. His hair was fair, long and wavy, in the fashion of the ancient knights, and his features were ruggedly even. He would not have seemed outstanding in a crowd, except for one thing—his voice.
Not since her father had died had Orb heard the magic by a man. The Gypsy girl Tinka had the magic, but not as strongly, and it wasn't the same. Her father's voice had been passable, but when he touched her, the music of the mighty orchestra had manifested and transformed his voice and her world to splendor.
Natasha had the magic—and his voice alone was as fine as any Orb had heard. Satan had sung at her with a rough bass, both parts; Natasha was a honeyed tenor, of perfect timbre and volume, surely a joy even without the magic. But the magic that he had was potent; it reached out to move her from a greater distance than her own magic could. The combination thrilled her; she felt almost as if she were treading on clouds as she approached him.
They stopped singing and stood for a moment facing each other. There was no sound from behind.
Orb turned and looked back. The obscene church was gone; there was only open field.
"You play a dangerous game," Natasha remarked.
"I didn't choose it," Orb said. "Satan tried to—to marry me."
Natasha pursed his lips. "Then you must be the damsel of the prophecy."
"What has my reputation become!" Orb exclaimed with mock dismay.
He laughed. "When I set out in quest of the Llano, I learned that there was a woman who would sing it as well as I, but that Satan had his eye on her and would try to take her before I met her. When I heard your melody I had forgotten that; I answered only because it had to be answered, lest madness come. I did not know it was you, or that you would be beautiful, or that your voice and magic be so wonderful. I think I had no call for my jealousy."
"Jealousy?" Orb was still adjusting to this abruptly changed situation.
"I was always the most respected singer of my group," he said. "In my pride, I thought that none could be my equal. When I learned that a mere woman..." He shrugged, smiling. "How can I resent one as stunning in every respect as you? I think I never truly understood why it was that others listened so raptly to me, until I approached you just now and was stirred by your voice and your magic. Truly, singing with you has been the high moment of my life—and I do not even know you!"
"I am Orb Kaftan, of Ireland," Orb said, discovering that the thrill he described applied as readily to her. Never before had she encountered her equal in this type of music, and it was indeed a transcendent experience.
"Natasha, of this country," he said.
"If I may inquire—"
He laughed, as he seemed to do readily. "My father wanted a girl. My mother wanted a boy. My mother was victorious, but my father had his revenge. He named me after the girl he had desired—in fact, after a woman he had desired, before he married my mother." He grimaced. "You may call me Nat, if you prefer."
Orb found herself liking him and suspected that she would have, even if he had not just rescued her from a fate or two worse than death. "I am most grateful to you for saving me from Satan," she said.
"I am most grateful to myself for doing it," he said. "There are few better things than earning the gratitude of a woman such as you."
It seemed best to
skirt that subject. "What if Satan approaches me again, when you are gone?"
"Have no fear of that!" Nat exclaimed. "It is the easiest thing to thwart him, when you know the key. I learned it by accident, serendipitously, in a bypath of my quest for the Llano."
"Easy? I was unable to resist! What is this key?"
"Simply sing his alternate part," Nat said. "That nullifies the effect, instead of completing it. When you preempt half of the theme he requires to bind you, you render the whole harmless. I can quickly teach you that part; you need never fear Satan again. He made his play and lost, and for that I am thankful."
He was hardly the only one! "Teach me!" Orb said.
"What, now?"
"I shall not feel safe until I know Satan can not touch me! I knew the prophecy, but thought I could resist it; now I know that I could not. Not by myself."
He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "How can I refuse? I will sing it for you now."
He sang it, his voice rising so fine and clear and full that Orb felt a wash of joy flow through her. She recognized the second theme that Satan had sung, but this time it was beautiful instead of grim. She could have picked it up before, if she had realized how she could use it. As it was, she had been terrified, too desperate to escape to make proper note of such a thing.
Nat finished, and Orb settled down with her harp, improvising an accompaniment, and sang it. She could feel the partial power of it as she did so; this was definitely an aspect of the Llano!
When she was done, he sat beside her. "I had thought your magic was a bit less than mine, but with that instrument it’s more. How came you by that harp?"
"It was given me by the Mountain King," she said. "It enhances my magic, so that I can enchant an audience."
"You have enchanted me," he agreed. "How is it possible that you, hearing a theme once, can sing such a compelling rendition? I required many rehearsals to master it."
Orb shrugged, flattered. "It is my nature."
"I think I am glad I rescued you," he said. "Tell me, if this is not too forward—"
"I am unmarried," Orb said, flushing. "Otherwise I think Satan would not have—"
"Of course," he agreed immediately. "I should have realized. You need never marry until you wish to, now. Let me say candidly that all I know about you now is your appearance and your voice, but that these are sufficient to provoke my interest. May I court you?"
Orb was startled, but held her composure. After all, she had been approached by men before as abruptly. Her reaction was less because of the expressed interest, or the courtly manner of its expression, than because of her realization that she was more than casually receptive. It was true that Nat had just saved her from a horrible fate and perhaps nullified a long-time prophecy: "One may marry Evil." How important that word "may" was! The issue had been in doubt, and the doubt had been resolved. Yet it would be safer to be married, so that Satan had no ready route to that objective. Even if that were not the case, Nat was an extremely interesting and talented man. "You may," she breathed.
"I thank you for that permission. Orb," he said. "Considering that, let me sing you the Song of Awakening."
"I don't think I know that one," she said.
"It is another aspect of the Llano that I have discovered in my questing. I must warn you that, like all the aspects of that song, it is potent."
"I want to learn all of the Llano," Orb said.
"I don't know whether any single person has learned all the parts of it, let alone mastered them," he said seriously. "I understand that its entirety is as complex and varied as life itself. Few are even capable of singing the least of it, though some in moments of special inspiration or need do rise to the occasion."
"So I understand," Orb agreed. "Yet what a challenge!"
"What a challenge!" he echoed, his voice suffused with longing. "If the parts can do what they do, what might the whole accomplish? I have dedicated my life to that pursuit."
"So have I," Orb said.
"Then I will sing you the Song of Awakening, and may the consequence be on our heads," he said with a smile. "I did warn you."
"You did," she agreed.
He stood, took two steps forward, and turned to face down the hill. He breathed deeply, setting himself. Then he sang.
From the first note, the magic manifested, holding her almost breathless, stunned by its beauty and anticipation. She had never heard a finer voice or finer theme! She seemed to become one with the environment, breathing its melody.
The sound spread out like a living blanket, and the world went dark. Orb was surprised, but not alarmed; the feeling was good and more than good. She felt the magic surrounding her, suffusing her, filling all the world about her, building up for what she knew would be a thrilling culmination. She knew already that every story ever told about the Llano was true; its power now seemed infinite.
There was a gleam of light to the side. It broadened and brightened, turning red. It illumined the nether sides of dark clouds, and rays passed between them to touch other clouds, causing them to glow like stately hanging embers. The red became orange, and amber, and the surrounding light spread out to animate the ground. It was the sunrise.
Now Orb recognized the melody; it was the Song of the Morning! The music she had first heard as a child, that had brought her out to the field and the forest and the river for her adventure with the water sprites. She had heard it often thereafter, but in recent years she had been caught up in other matters and didn't go out to the natural country at dawn. What a delight this was, to discover her old friend in this new guise! Of course it was an aspect of the Llano; she had always known that, but had never thought it could be evoked by human voice. Nat had brought her a treasure!
The sunrise broadened to light the landscape, the rays of the slowly lifting sun spearing out past the bank of clouds they heated to touch the ground. At each touch, a secondary glow manifested, the turf and rock developing preternatural clarity and colors, seeming more real than before. Dew glistened, striking delicate fire, forming a field of sparkling gems, seemingly more precious in its transience than any stone could be. Tiny spider webs became chains of miniature beads.
The great, brilliant ball of the sun appeared, that transcendent orb after whose pale sister Orb herself had been named. It was too bright to look at; yet in this vision, she could do so without pain, appreciating its might while shielded from its harm.
A ray came down and touched her directly, illuminating a circle about her. She was bathed in its warm brightness, becoming more colorful herself, feeling more beautiful. It was as if she had come into existence at this moment, or had been renewed in better form. She was—awakening.
The song continued, harmonizing in its fashion with the natural things within its ambiance. The ground stirred before Orb; she watched closely and saw new shoots coming up, breaking through the turf. The stems spread, branching, thickening, reaching, taking in the strengthening beam of the sun, putting out leaves that broadened and angled themselves to catch the slanting light.
Buds formed, expanded, and opened into flowers of all colors. Some suggested roses, some tulips, and some orchids, but they were not; they were simply the magic flowers of the morning, their loveliness for her eyes alone.
Orb looked around. The entire landscape had turned verdant, thickly grown with flowers. She was in a garden, the massed fragrance of the flowers adding to her joy.
Then at last the song ended. It had not been long, objectively; her experience of it had dilated her awareness and delight.
She gazed at Natasha, the source of this wondrous experience. She had not realized how handsome he was! "I never knew it could be sung," she murmured.
"I will teach it to you," he said.
"I think—not now." she said. "I—have had enough experience for one day. I think I had better return home."
"Of course," he said, coming to her and extending his hand to help her stand.
As she stood, the fl
owers faded. The relatively barren landscape returned. Even the hill was gone; they were standing in the featureless plain of the Llano. Far away, near the horizon, she spied Jonah swimming toward her.
"But I will see you again," she told Nat.
"Certainly," he agreed.
She walked toward the big fish. When she paused to look back, Natasha was gone.
Chapter 11 - SONG OF DAY
She told the others, of course, for the pursuit of the Llano was their common mission. Even Betsy, who had known nothing of it at first, had become interested as she realized what it could do for the organist and her folks' farm.
They were also interested in Natasha. "You're the only loose cog aboard, you know," the drummer remarked. "Everyone else has paired off, one way or another. But maybe we should meet this guy, just to be sure he's right for you."
"You have no authority over my social life!" Orb exclaimed indignantly.
"Yes we do," Lou-Mae said. "Because we care."
That undermined her righteous ire. "I really don't know much about him, except that he's the finest singer I ever met and he knows aspects of the Llano."
"And he saved you from Satan," Jezebel added. "That's enough to recommend him by itself. Only—"
"Only what?" Orb asked, aware that the succubus might have an important qualification.
"Well, you know I'm a demon. I didn't ask to be, any more than the rest of you asked to be human. I'm not of Satan's camp; demons come in many varieties, just as mortal creatures do. But some things—are more demonic than others."
"Whatcha saying, woman?" the guitarist asked. "You think Nat's a demon?"
"It is possible," she said. "If I could meet him, I could tell."
"I hadn't thought of that," Orb said, dismayed. "A demon?"
"Demons can do things that mortals can't. Like singing, you know how we can change our forms. Well, some of us can change our voices, too. Our substance is more malleable; and, of course, eternity allows us to perfect something, if we work at it."