Mym shook his head. "You can not retire, Orb. That is a condition of the reversal. You must carry through your office."
Orb spread her hands. "Then I will! Whatever is required to bring my friends back, to restore everyone—"
"What is required is the agreement of all the Incarnations," Thanatos said. "That is the only manner a situation of this gravity can be resolved."
"But don't you all agree? How can any of you deny this?"
"We are not the only Incarnations, dear," Niobe said.
"Oh, of course there are lesser Incarnations, like Eros and Pestilence—none of them would object, would they?"
"None of them do," Mym agreed. "But there are two major Incarnations. One of them can be presumed to agree; He never interferes in the affairs of the mortals, no matter how tempting it may be."
"Oh—God," Orb said. "The Incarnation of Good. Of course. But—"
"But the other is the Incarnation of Evil."
"Satan!" Orb said, understanding. "Who opposes all good of any kind!"
"I heard My name?" a new voice said. Natasha stood there, smiling.
Orb turned her face away, her emotions abruptly raging in contrasts seemingly as savage as those she had loosed upon the world. What he had done—!
"I think you know the situation," Mars said to Satan. "Do you accede to the course we propose?"
"I could be persuaded," Satan said.
Orb was determined not to speak to him at all, but the words came from her before she knew. "How can we believe anything you say? You only want the destruction of man!"
"Not so," Satan said smoothly. "I only want to tilt the balance of power My way, relegating Mine ancient adversary to the lesser role. It hardly behooves Me to allow mankind to be consigned to the Afterlife when the balance is inappropriate."
"And it favors God now?" Orb asked, knowing it was true. "So that if everyone dies now, He wins?"
"Even so."
"Then you have to agree to revert the world!" she exclaimed to Satan. "Because you don't want to lose!"
"No."
She gazed at him, not knowing what to make of this. "But if you have no chance to win, this way—"
"I lose," he said slowly. "But so do you. Do you want your friends, and all the other innocent people of the world, to die, just to spite Me?"
Orb thought of Tinka, of Lou-Mae, of the Livin' Sludge, the mermaid, and all the others of the world. They were surely bound for Heaven, but their lives on Earth were incomplete. Her daughter Orlene was still just a child. "No," she admitted, tears stinging her eyes.
"So you are prepared to compromise, to save your friends."
"I would do anything to undo the damage I have done," Orb said brokenly.
"You would even promote My welfare?"
"What are you getting at?" she snapped.
"I have proposed marriage to you. The offer stands. Do you accede?"
"Oh, God," she breathed. "Your price for letting the world return!"
"True."
"Gaea's power allied with yours, tilting the balance to you."
"In time, that will be the case. This is My objective."
Now at last the full significance of her childhood vision was clear. A wedding—or a devastated world. Her choice.
Orb looked desperately around at the others. "What am I to do? If I align with him. God loses! But if I don't—"
"This is the nature of the decision you must make," Chronos said. "None of us can make it for you."
"But the world loses either way! Is this what you have lived through?"
"No," Chronos said. "But as I intend to explain to you later, my past is malleable. It may be that I will be required to divert it to another course."
"What am I to do?" Orb repeated, distraught.
"We can not advise you, dear," Niobe said. "But perhaps one question will suffice to clarify your thinking."
"What question?" Orb asked hopelessly.
"You now know Satan for who and what he is. Do you love him?"
The implication struck Orb with stunning force. She put the back of her hand to her forehead, reeling. With all her being she tried to deny it, but could not.
"God help me," she whispered brokenly, "for I do love Satan."
"And I love you," Satan said. "I offer you the world."
"But what I say is the truth," Orb protested weakly. "What you say is a lie."
"Perhaps," he agreed. He extended his hand to her. "I ask you again, Gaea: will you marry Me?"
Orb fought, but her heart had betrayed her. She knew Natasha for what he was, for the Incarnation of Evil, but she did love him and wanted to be with him in all the ways that love might dictate.
Slowly her hand moved out to meet his. "I will," she breathed, half sobbing. Was she doing this for the benefit of the world or from selfishness? Was she already moving into his orbit of evil?
Satan held the hand, captive to his success, and faced the others. "Does anyone object to our marriage?" No other Incarnation spoke.
"Then we shall hold the wedding at this moment, in Hell," Satan said. "All of you are invited, as honored guests and witnesses, together with any others who wish to attend. I welcome your participation and support. There shall be no question about the legitimacy of this union."
"This moment will not occur for several days, considering my action," Chronos said.
"Precisely," Satan said. "We shall all return to the time just before Gaea invoked the Theme of Chaos. None of this will have happened, and our memories of it will fade. But the agreement has been made, and all of you are party to it. It will be honored."
"It will be honored," Chronos agreed.
"My objection to your action is withdrawn," Satan said. "We are now unanimous. The world shall be spared the ravage of the Theme of Chaos. Proceed with your action."
Chronos raised his hand, and the Hourglass appeared in it, expanding to greater prominence. The sand within it brightened, flowing in its thin stream between the chambers. The sand turned blue.
Orb was alone on the isle, mulling her situation. Her anger and grief and confusion prompted her to do what she knew she should not: sing the Song of Chaos.
Chronos appeared. His shining Hourglass held a fine ribbon of sand that was turning from blue to red. "Gaea, you must not do it," he said.
Orb was startled. "What?"
"Do not invoke the Theme of Chaos," he said. "It will destroy the world. Do you remember?"
Orb remembered. "The next few days—all my friends, all the world—gone! Is it a vision?"
"A vision, now," he agreed. "A reality that has been abrogated. Instead, you must marry Satan."
"Marry Satan!" she repeated, outraged. But then she remembered that, too. "I—agreed," she said. "I love him."
"You agreed to marry him so that the world could be saved. Now you must carry through the agreement you made. Only because of this am I permitted to change the course of history. Do you understand?"
"Everything is undone?" she asked. "My friends—?"
"The world is untouched."
The relief was immense. "I must marry Satan," she said.
Chronos nodded. He disappeared.
Orb gazed again across the sea. She sighed. "Satan," she whispered.
He appeared. "You have decided?"
"I will marry you."
"You remember?"
"As in a vision. But it stands. You gave me back the world, and I will marry you."
"Is that all?"
She looked at him. He was tall and fair and comely, the picture of the man she had known as Natasha. "How is it that you have no horns or tail, now that your masquerade is off?"
"This is My true form," he said. "My true mortal form, fixed as it was when I assumed the office. My true form as the Incarnation of Evil is as you describe. Both are valid. But this is the one I prefer to use with you. Is that the extent of what you have to say to Me?"
"I love you." He might be the creature of lies, but she had to te
ll the truth.
Satan smiled. "This is what I wished to hear, Gaea. May I embrace you?"
"You have to ask?"
"Yes, this first time. There must be no coercion."
No coercion! But how could she protest? "You may embrace me, Satan."
He took her in his arms, and she thrilled to his touch, even knowing him for what he was.
"May I kiss you?"
She wished she could claim that she detested this, that she was only acting a necessary part, but she could not. She desired Satan's kiss. "You may."
He kissed her, and she felt the same passion for him she had before, despite her self-reproval.
"May I—"
"Not until after the wedding," she said.
He laughed, she laughed, and it was good, in spite of everything. She did want to marry him, heedless of all that portended.
"Am I damned, Satan?" she asked.
"An Incarnation cannot be damned. But even if you remained mortal, your damnation is determined only by your motives and your actions. Are you marrying Me for the good of the world?"
"Yes. But also because I love you."
"Neither the good of the world nor love will damn you."
"But my power added to yours—I am contributing to your capacity for evil!"
"Would you love Me less if I exercised that increased capacity?"
"I—I think I would have to."
"Then I will not exercise it."
"But how can I believe you?"
"You can not trust My words, but you can see My actions. Through them you will know that I love you."
"How I wish it could be so!"
"You shall believe," he said. "In time."
She was afraid he was right.
The wedding was a phenomenal production. This section of Hell was like a monstrous cathedral, with a domed ceiling that reached up so high that there seemed to be clouds drifting within it. Great arches enclosed the main chamber, ornamentally carved with exquisite taste. Stained glass was prevalent, its pictures illustrating scenes from earthly mythologies.
There was a dais in front, with seven elaborate chairs in a semicircle, each of carven ebony invoking aspects of the office of a particular Incarnation. One was in the likeness of a skeleton, with the legs shaped into the seat and arms into armrests and the skull into a headrest. Another was like a large wicker hourglass. A third was fashioned like a spider, the legs paired to form the enclosure for the occupant. Another seemed to be a huge red sword and scabbard. Another was like a tree, its branches twining about to form the appropriate shape.
At the ends of the semicircle were two larger chairs. One was decorated with representations of pitchforks and the faces of demons; the other with halos and angel faces.
Orb noted these details with a certain detachment; she was standing at the back in her wedding gown, awaiting the onset of the ceremony.
Suddenly the benches in the main section were filled: all the people Orb had known in life were there, including many who had died long ago. Childhood playmates, teachers and casual acquaintances; adult associates, friends, relatives, and those she had interacted with in however minor a manner. Everyone she had encountered, ever.
She wanted to go out and talk with them, for she saw her father Pacian and others who had been long gone from her life. But she could not; she was the Bride, and had to play her part in the ceremony. Probably many were illusion, anyway; would God release her father from Heaven to visit a function in Hell?
The Incarnations entered and took their seats: Thanatos, Chronos, Niobe as Fate, Mym as Mars, and Satan. The seat for Gaea was empty; Orb could not be in two places at once, on this occasion.
The seat reserved for God remained vacant. He had been invited, but did not intervene in the affairs of mortals or immortals. In any event. He was unlikely to support the merger that would shift the balance of power away from Him. Orb found herself feeling sorry for God. If only, just this once, He would… Would what? Rain fire down on this ceremony, preventing the marriage? That certainly was not His way! Yet if he did not act, all else would become academic; the final power would no longer be His.
And if He did act, where would Orb be? She had agreed to this, knowing the consequence.
The great chair sat mute. Was God even paying attention? If only He would give some sign! Mym rose from his chair and walked down along the side of the chamber.
It began. A choir appeared, children—no, small demons arranged by height, each in a white robe and holding a songbook. They sang—and the sound in any other setting would have been deemed angelic. Orb had never heard a mortal choir sing so perfectly; every note was precise, every part perfect.
There was a motion in the choir. Something odd was occurring. Orb peered down the aisle and saw what it was: Individual demons were fading out and being replaced by others, who sang as perfectly, so that the song was not interrupted.
Mym appeared. "Are you ready, Orb?" he asked.
"The usual. Butterflies in stomach," she said, smiling bravely. "What is happening with the choir?"
"They are singing angelically," Mym explained. "That is not healthy for demons."
"They are being abolished?" she asked, horrified despite her lack of sympathy for the creatures of Hell. "For singing well?"
"Ordinarily a demonic creature cannot be angelic in any sense. But for this occasion there is a special dispensation. When they perform in a manner that is better than their limit, they cease being demons and become the next stage up: damned souls. They fade out, being unable to remain in the demon choir. Others come in, eager for their chance."
"So Satan really is being decent?"
"So it seems," Mym said. "Everything has been absolutely straight. He doesn't want any objection to this wedding, no quibble, no technicality that might invalidate it."
"Why are you participating, if you don't approve?"
"We did make a deal, and you deserve any support we can provide." She laughed, somewhat shakily. "I suppose we should get on with it." She took his arm.
They walked down the aisle, exactly as in her early vision. The music swelled, but not into the conventional bridal melody. They had decided on a different approach.
Satan walked in from the side and turned to await her arrival. Light shone down on him. He was the most handsome figure of a man she had ever seen. Whatever coercion he had used to bring her acquiescence to this union—and her memory of that and everything else that had occurred during the vision-interim was fading—had been largely unnecessary. She loved him and wanted to marry him.
When she reached the dais, Satan took her hand. Mym went to take the chair reserved for Mars. They turned together to face the guests.
"Gaea and I have elected to make our vows in song," Satan said. He smiled. "There has been a question which of us is the better singer. That question shall now be resolved. The superior singer will be the one whose love for the other is greater. You will be the judges."
He turned to Orb. Her harp appeared in his hand. He bowed to her and held it out. "I yield the first performance to you, the first woman I have truly loved."
Orb took the harp—and almost dropped it. It was her own; she could not mistake that. But how had Satan, the Prince of Lies, been able to handle it? Not only that, he had said he loved her, while holding it. Satan was of course far too powerful an entity for the harp to hurt, but the conflict should have destroyed the harp—if Satan were lying.
She could not pause to consider this at this moment; it was her turn to sing. Satan had gone to his chair. She had the stage.
She sat on the floor, bridal gown and all, and set up the little harp. No problem now about how much leg might be showing; the gown was so voluminous it covered everything and more! She played a chord, then started.
She sang the Song of Evening, the aspect of the Llano concerning love. There were no words to it, but they hardly mattered: the theme itself was the statement.
The sunset came to the cathedral, bringing
out the preternatural color of dusk and the grandeur of the sun behind clouds. She saw the members of the audience staring raptly and knew that they had never in their lives heard a more evocative song than this. The power of love infused the assembly and transformed this section of Hell itself with its delight, comfort, and passion. Orb was truly in love, however unwisely, and this was the expression of that love.
There was a hush when she finished like that of fulfilled love. Orb had not done this in any competitive spirit, but as the most honest expression other feeling, but she knew that there was no way that even Satan could match it.
She got up and went to the chair reserved for Gaea. Satan rose and came forward. He had no instrument; all he had ever used was his voice.
He sang, a cappella—and Orb received another shock. He was singing a hymn! How could that be? It was one of the few things Satan could not do.
"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, That saves a wretch like Me. I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind, but now I see."
Orb listened, mesmerized. This was the hymn "Amazing Grace," exquisitely rendered. She had thought that there was no way Satan could match her presentation of the Song of Love, but he was going into a type of song that exceeded it: a song of the love of God. Yet this was impossible, by definition.
He began the second stanza—and now the demon choir joined in as background. What had been beautiful became transcendent. Orb suspected that no angels in Heaven could have sung more angelically than this. Indeed, the flickering in the choir intensified, indicating that the strain was too much; no demon could sing this way for more than a moment without losing its definition.
As he sang, Satan turned to face Orb. His gaze sent shivers of heat and chill running through her; his aspect and his voice were totally persuasive.
" 'Twas grace that taught My heart to fear, And grace My fears relieved; How precious did that grace appear The hour I first believed."
Satan was a liar, indeed the Prince of Lies. The truth was not in him. Yet Orb found herself unable to doubt his sincerity now; he was addressing her, and when he sang "grace" she heard also "love." He did love her as she loved him; there was no other way it could be.
How could the Lord of Hate love anyone or anything except power? Perhaps that was the explanation: it was the power inherent in the office of the Incarnation of Nature that Satan truly loved. She was fool enough to love him, and he loved what he stood to gain by his alliance.