Being a Green Mother

by Piers Anthony

  The twilight came, and the beauty of the nocturnal vision. Clouds became orange. She remembered Nat's comment about the facility with which she picked up the new themes. She had not considered this before, but it was true that she had always learned music at a rate others could not match. Certainly the parts of the Llano worked for her as they had for him, and she had not rehearsed them.

  The drummer screamed.

  Startled, Orb cut short her song.

  "No, go on!" he gasped. "It's working!"

  She resumed the song. Now she saw that the drummer was gyrating in an unnatural way, as if opposing forces were drawing at him. He screamed again, but this time she did not pause. It seemed that a temporary nullification of the craving was painless, but that a complete cure was another matter.

  From him something came. It looked like a ghostly snake, its head rocking back and forth as if seeking something to strike at. But the melody hauled it forth, drawing it on out of the body. It was the H addiction, struggling all the way, inflicting the punishment of its withdrawal. It glared balefully around, remaining hooked in by its tail, like a moray eel. Then the theme became too much for it, and it let go and puffed into smoke. The drummer fell to the ground.

  Lou-Mae ran to him, cradling his head in her arms, as Orb's song ended. "Is it—?"

  "It's gone!" he panted. "It was hell letting go, but it's gone!"

  "We can't be sure of that," Orb warned him. "Only time will tell—time away from Jonah."

  "I tell you, I know!" he said. "H has let go!"

  "I hope so," Lou-Mae said. "Why don't you and I stay out here, and if you can go the day and night without H..."

  He brightened. "Yes! No more unicorns!"

  "Shut your mouth!" But she was smiling.

  Orb and the others retreated to the big fish. "If it really is so—" she began.

  "You can do me next!" the guitarist and the organist said together. "And me," Jezebel said.

  "Meanwhile, I believe I'll rest," Orb said. She went to her room and lay down. But she found she could not truly relax; she was too excited.

  "Nat, where are you?" she whispered.

  He coalesced beside her bed. "Did you speak my name?"

  She sat up and wrapped her arms around his waist. "How did you hear me?"

  "Once I knew that I loved you, I invoked that aspect of the Llano that attunes to your speaking my name. It is akin to Jonah's relaying of talking to the object of the discussion. Thus I heard you immediately."

  "You know about Jonah? How is that?"

  "He is one of the special creatures of this world. I discovered his nature on one of the bypaths of my search for the Llano. But he would not help me on my quest; he knew that I was not destined to complete it."

  "But he's helping me!" Orb said.

  "Because you have the potential I lack."

  "Or because I danced the tanana for him."

  Nat pursed his lips. "Yes, I had forgotten you know that dance! Some time you must dance it with me! But beware; it—"

  "Drives men mad with desire," she concluded, laughing. "I will save it for some suitable occasion." One of the things she liked about Nat was his conduct; he never tried to take advantage of her, either by the straying of his hands or by suggestion. She knew he desired her, but he was too disciplined to allow it to show aggressively. He reminded her of Mym in that respect; that seemed to make Mym's endorsement more significant.

  "I should not remain here," he said, confirming her assessment. "I thought I was tired, but I can't rest," she said. "Is there somewhere we can go?"

  "There is all the world. Perhaps you should visit your friends."

  "I'd like that," she agreed. "But it gets so complicated, expanding to the size of the globe, then orienting on the tiny mote that is my destination. I don't know where all my friends are and wouldn't want to intrude uninvited."

  "But you don't need to expand, or to intrude," he said. "The Llano provides many ways to locate folk and to travel."

  "It does? All I know is the expansion and the tear-sheet settings that occurred when I misused it."

  "I'm sorry, I thought you knew, and traveled as you did from preference. I will show you the other mechanisms."

  "Oh, will you?" Orb clapped her hands in little-girl style, thrilled.

  "For example, the theme I just used to hear you speak my name. You must think of the person to whom you wish to attune, then sing this melody." He sang a brief, strange, evocative tune. "Thereafter you will hear if that person speaks your name or even thinks of you with more than passing interest. Then—"

  "Wait, let me master that first!" Orb exclaimed. "Let me see—on whom shall I orient? I know—my Gypsy friend Tinka!" She focused on the lovely blind girl and sang the melody. She felt the peculiar action of it reaching out, attuning, linking the two of them in a passive bond.

  Nat shook his head. "You never cease to amaze me! It took me a year to perfect that application!"

  "Does it work for nonhuman folk, too?"

  "It works for anyone who cares for you. The bond is already there; the Llano merely activates it."

  "Then I could attune to Jonah, so that I could always return to him without having to search."

  "Indeed—if he cares for you. I'm sure he does, or he would not be serving you now."

  Orb sang the theme again, focusing on the big fish. She felt the reaching, and the body of Jonah shuddered. He was aware!

  "Oh, this is fun!" Orb exclaimed. "I'd better attune to Lou-Mae, so I will know if they need me." She did so.

  Nat shook his head. "Three attunations in hardly as many minutes. One at a time is all I can manage!"

  "Oh, I didn't mean to embarrass you! I didn't realize—"

  "You did not embarrass me, you please me more than ever. I see how much greater your potential is than mine; I never before encountered such a woman. But perhaps you will tire of me."

  She turned and kissed him. "I doubt it, Nat. I do not sing better than you; it is merely the magic that is in my nature, no virtue in me. You have done what you have done the hard way, and I respect that."

  She continued attuning, reveling in this wonderful new power he had shown her. Then she paused, startled.

  "Someone's thinking of me!"

  "Focus on it; you should be able to recognize the person."

  Orb concentrated. "It—it's Tinka! She wants to see me!"

  "Then I must show you the quick-travel theme," Nat said. "Maintain your focus on her and sing this melody." He sang another, similarly evocative.

  Orb held her focus, and sang—and it was as if a page were turning, not tearing, but simply moving aside to reveal the new location. This was the true application of the mechanism she had misused before! She had used the Song of Morning, which was marvelous for its purpose, but ill-suited for travel. Now she had the correct application.

  The new page was Tinka's home. The blind girl stood there, gazing out the window though she could not see the view. Here it was dawn, the rays of the sun struggling to crest the high outline of the mountain range.

  "Hello," Orb said in Calo, the Gypsy language.

  Tinka turned as if unsurprised. She was fuller in the body than she had been, quite buxom. "I wanted to show you my baby." Her baby! Orb had forgotten. She had perhaps enabled the girl to become fertile; of course she should meet the baby!

  Tinka showed her to the crib. There was a healthy baby boy, sleeping. Orb realized that the woman's increase in bosom was because she was nursing. "If you could tell me what he looks like—" Tinka said wistfully. "He's beautiful!" Orb exclaimed. But she felt a siege of her heart, abruptly reminded of her own baby, Orlene. To have been able to keep her, to raise her... "I never really missed my sight, until..." Orb banished her own discomfort. "You must have it!" she exclaimed. She took Tinka's hands and sang the Song of Morning, willing the Gypsy to see what she was seeing.

  The room grew dark. Then the dawn came, with its lovely colors and effects. Tinka shivered as the magic coursed
through her. The morning clouds brightened, becoming gray and white and red and orange, their edges blazing. The beams of the sun spread out in a semicircular splay, illuminating the sky, then dropping down to touch the land, warming it.

  Tinka made an exclamation of wonder. She was seeing it! Orb held on to her and kept on singing. The plants sprouted, and grew, and budded, and flowered. Beauty surrounded them. Then the song ended. Tinka was breathing hard. "I saw the dawn!" she whispered.

  "What do you see now?"

  "It is dark again. But for a while—"

  "You have the magic," Orb said. "Sing with me." She held on to Tinka's hands and began the Song of Morning again. Tinka joined her, for she did have the magic and could pick up any melody immediately. The strength of the pulse going through them doubled, the magic reaching out and in, permeating their bodies. The sunrise manifested with greater intensity, and the flowers seemed real.

  As the song ended. Orb let go of her friend and reached down to pluck one flower. She brought it up before Tinka's face. "What do you see?"

  Tinka blinked. Her eyes focused. "All pretty, with petals—" she said, reaching for it. "Fuzzy—"

  "Sing again!" Orb said. She took hold of the girl's wrist below the flower and sang the Song of Morning a third time. Tinka joined her, and the magic intensified even more than before.

  When it was done, the flower in Tinka's hand had grown into a bouquet, and her eyes were fixed on it. "Now it is clear," she said.

  "Look at your son," Orb said.

  They turned to the crib and looked down. "He is beautiful!" Tinka said. Then she began to cry.

  Orb held her, knowing that she had found another aspect of her developing power. Nature controlled vision; nature could remove it or restore it. The Llano was only a tool; Orb's will and Tinka's readiness had shaped it.

  Then the baby awoke and began to fuss. Tinka picked him up.

  "I will return often, until I am sure you can see always," Orb said. "Call me when you want me." Then she thought the new travel theme and turned the page to her room in Jonah.

  Nat was gone, but she thought his name, and he appeared. "Oh, Nat, I went to her and I saw her baby and I cured her blindness!" Orb exclaimed. "I used a power of Nature!"

  "I am glad for you."

  "I really should rest now."

  "Yes, you should."

  "Let's go somewhere."

  "Anywhere you wish."

  Orb considered. "I—I wish I could see my baby, Orlene. Not to interfere. Just—" She shrugged. "But I don't know how to tune in on someone who doesn't think of me."

  "It can be done," he said. "This variant of the theme." He sang again, and it was similar to the attuning melody, but distinct.

  Orb thought of Orlene and sang the variant. She felt the magic questing out in a search pattern, traversing the world at its own rate. Then it fastened on its object, and the connection had been invoked.

  "But can I really go to her?" Orb asked uncertainly.

  "Exactly as you just did."

  "But I don't want to disturb her life. I just want to see."

  Nat smiled. "If you use the expansion-travel theme, but do not coalesce completely, you will be invisible and inaudible, like a ghost. In fact, that is how ghosts do it, but they are capable of no more, generally. This way." He sang and faded out.

  Orb tried it. Instead of expanding, she simply lost mass, until she stood with too little substance to be visible. Now that she was in this state, she was able to perceive Nat, similarly diffuse. "Oh, there are so many things to learn!" she exclaimed. Her voice was a mere shadow.

  "But you learn them so readily," he said. He was not whispering, but she knew that only she could hear him. They were on a slightly different plane of existence.

  "Come with me to see my daughter," she invited him.

  "As you wish." Orb moved into the page-turning theme, orienting on Orlene, and in a moment was there. Nat stood beside her.

  The little girl was in nursery school, waiting her turn on a swing. She was about three years old, wearing a smudged dress and comfortable little shoes. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, its buckwheat-honey hue matching Orb's hair exactly. She was well fed and seemed contented.

  Then the child raised her hand. Orb saw the serpent-ring on one finger. Evidently the ring was squeezing, telling her something. She looked at Orb, her eyes unfocused.

  "She knows I'm here!" Orb exclaimed. "The ring told her!" Hastily she turned the page, back to Jonah.

  Nat reappeared beside her. "That is a good protective charm your daughter has," he remarked.

  "I can't visit her again," Orb said, upset. "If she knows I'm there, then I'm interfering in her life."

  "But she is your child."

  "Not any more. I must let her have her own life. I can see she is well cared for; Tinka gave her to a good family. No, I must leave her alone."

  Then Orb turned to Nat, put her head into his shoulder, and cried. She could be the Green Mother, but she could not be a mother to her child.

  The tour of the Livin' Sludge continued, and its success continued. The magic enchanted audiences of every type. But the group knew that their association was coming to a conclusion, because Orb had found the Llano and would in due course be assuming the office for which she was destined.

  The abatement of the drummer's addiction held; he was free of H. Orb did the others similarly. Their quest was finished, and they made plans for marriage and regular employment in the future. She sang to Jonah, enabling him to swim in water again; his curse, too, was done. He continued to serve the group, but it was understood that, after the tour, he would go his own way. She sang for Jezebel, making permanent the state that Jonah had enabled on a temporary basis, and giving her the power to control her form by day or night. The guitarist knew that she would never age naturally—but now she could age unnaturally, as desired. After he died of old age, she would go her way, but would never need to indulge men indiscriminately.

  Orb visited the old water oak. The hamadryad recognized her, but would not approach. Then Orb sang a song of renewal to the tree, and the deadwood revivified and the leaves brightened. She had contributed perhaps a century to its life and strengthened the hamadryad accordingly. Then the dryad came down and touched Orb's hand fleetingly in gratitude. It was enough.

  Orb spent much time with Natasha, and her devotion to him became broader and deeper and more intense. He was everything she had wanted in a man, without realizing it until encountering him. He was always there when she needed him, but he never made demands. They visited far places and sang together, and the very heavens seemed to brighten and assume new significance. It had been a long time since she had loved a man, and she was glad that the interim was over.

  Meanwhile, her powers of magic grew. She could make the weather change with little more than the thought of a given melody; a more involved effort had caused the pattern of the climate in the neighborhood of Betsy's farm to become regular, so that there were neither droughts nor floods to destroy the crops. But once she had done favors for her friends, she became dissatisfied; there was too much grief and hunger and misery in the world. The problem of drug addiction was not limited to the Livin' Sludge, and the problem of physical impairment not limited to Tinka's blindness. How could she deal with these things on a spot basis, while neglecting their far worse aspects on the global basis?

  So it was that as the tour came to an end, she arrived at her decision. She was going to take the office of Nature.

  She told her friends aboard Jonah. They congratulated her, unsurprised. "You can still drop in on us, when you have time," Lou-Mae said, giving her a hug. "We'll always be your friends."

  "But have you told Natasha?" Jezebel asked. +

  "He said he could accept whatever I decided."

  "Men do say that, but they don't always mean it. Better tell him soon."

  "I will tell him now," Orb said. She turned the page and was beside Nat, where he waited for her on a tiny tropi
cal island.

  He smiled at her. "You have decided."

  "I have decided. I will give up the family and will assume the office of Nature. I will be the Green Mother."

  "Then I will have something to ask you, and something to tell you," he said gravely.

  "Ask me now, and tell me now," she invited him. He smiled. "These are not minor matters. Assume your office; then I will say what I must say."

  "But you said you could accept my decision!" she said, alarmed.

  "And so I can and will. But I think you must make your decision on me after you make it on the other matter."

  "If you don't want me to be Nature—"

  "Please, I must not discuss that now. There is a thing I may tell you only when you have the office."

  Troubled, she gazed at him. "Suddenly I don't understand you, Natasha!"

  "I may say no more at this time," he said apologetically. "Then I will say more," she said. "I love you and want to marry you. If you can not accept marriage to an Incarnation—"

  "I think we shall have the proof of that soon enough."

  "If only you would tell me what is bothering you, before I—before it is too late to change my mind!" He simply shrugged. Nettled, she turned the page to a far place, the snowy top of the mountain she had visited when her travels had been uncontrolled. There she spread her arms and opened her desire; she would be Gaea.

  She felt herself expanding, not physically but psychically. Her awareness came to encompass all the world, every living thing in it, and every unliving thing. She permeated the globe, partaking of its nature everywhere. She became its nature.

  Now the hunger in Africa was not a concept to her; it was part of her. The cold weather near the poles and the hot weather near the equator were aspects of her being. All the happiness of the world was hers, and all the suffering.

  Now she knew why the prior Gaea had been ready to let the office go. It was such an enormous burden of responsibility! Suddenly the power she had acquired seemed inadequate to the job she had to do. How could one person oversee all the activities of the world? She was overwhelmed.