The goddess spoke to me with Circe’s tongue. I did not like what she said. It had a dreamlike quality and I was not sure I believed all of it. There are things too strange even for a goddess to convey.
“Two souls dwell in your body, Jason. One will not know life for three thousand years. He would know the truth of my words better than you, who are still half-savage. Hellas will be only a memory to him, and new nations will rule his world. That man, Jason—not yourself—is the man Circe has so foolishly allowed herself to love.
“Well, I cannot control love. But I wish she might have been born three thousand years from now.”
I was afraid. But there was a dizziness in my brain and I thought that—other—that dweller—listened with passionate intensity. I thought he understood.
“Two worlds intersect in this time, Jason. One you know. The other world is my own. In it are those you know as gods and goddesses, but we are not divine. Natural forces made us as we are—the mutation of natural laws.”
SHE was not speaking to me as much as to the other Jason—the man yet unborn—who listened with my mind—the man Circe loved.
Well, perhaps I could use him, I thought, and devious ideas began to shape themselves in my brain.
“Those two worlds intersect at this time and place. It is possible to move from one to the other, where the veil is thinnest. At such places, on Aeaea, temples are raised with gateways, doors that open both ways.
“Apollo’s temple on Helios is a gateway too. Apollo and I are sworn enemies. He has powers that to you seem godlike, but he is no god. The powers are normal powers, for Apollo has mastered principles of science you have not yet learned. To you they seem magical, as my powers seem necromantic. Yet I am no goddess either, though my powers transcend, in a way, time and space.
“We were born long ago, Apollo and I and the others. You have your legends of our lives. Now the twin worlds touch and we can pass from one to another, until the time-streams swing apart again. Then we will pass on beyond your knowledge, and perhaps other gods, or beings like gods, will take our place among mankind. But we ourselves work out our destinies in this farther world no man can enter—without armor.” The voice hesitated. Then it went on more strongly. “I need a man of your world to aid me, Jason. Armed as I could arm him, such a man could win a rich reward of me. I could change your life from its predestined patterns, which are not happy ones. And I think destiny meant you to come to me at this hour, because you know that armor I have in mind for you.
“The Golden Fleece, Jason. The Fleece is armor against Apollo. It was made by another—called him god—whom Apollo slew. Hephaestus, you name him. A man who wears the Fleece can stand against even great Apollo.
“Because we have transcendent powers, Apollo and I can not meet in battle as ordinary warriors do. Only under the certain rare conditions can we meet. The time is ripe now, and I need you, armed with the Fleece, to act as my sword against my ancient enemy. Will you aid me, Jason?”
I did not answer. I was thinking, double-minded, of all she had said. As for the Fleece—I was no fool. I knew it was more than the skin of an ordinary ram. I had held it in my hands and felt the power that trembled among those shining folds. I had taken it from the temple tree in Colchis where it hung guarded by what legend called never-sleeping Python. I knew how much of truth there was in that story, and how much of falsehood.
Boldly I said, “And what of Circe, goddess?”
Through Circe’s lips the goddess said wearily, “She fancies she loves the man she sees beyond you. I have promised my aid to you both. If you swear to help me in my battle, then Circe and Jason, of the double mind, shall share love together—”
Strangely, eerily, Circe’s own voice broke in upon the words of the goddess as she spoke through Circe’s lips:
“But I am no immortal, Mother! I shall grow old and die long before the new Jason—the one I love—is born again upon earth!”
The goddess said in her own voice, “Peace, child, peace! There shall be a Mask made for you, a dwelling place for the soul of Circe. Each priestess who serves me through the generations shall wear it at my altar and you will live again in each of them until Jason comes again.”
And so, in the end, we swore an unbreakable vow together before Hecate’s altar. Jason’s mind was troubled, unsure of his own rewards and unsure of their values. But he had no choice. When a goddess commands, mortals dare not refuse if they value their futures. We swore.
And afterward, Hecate trained me in the uses of the armor made by a god, for gods alone to wear. Often enough my spirit quailed within me as I had glimpses of the world beyond Hecate’s altar, where the gods are so much mightier than men know.
Harnessed demons from Hades I saw—chained Titans shouting in their iron prisons—flames from Olympus lancing through monstrous forests.
Machines, Jason, only machines! The product of another world, another science, another race—not gods.
I did not enter that world. I looked upon it through strange windows Circe opened for me. My other self saw things there that I did not understand.
I had not forgotten the Argo. But she did not come, and I waited and worked, learning the ways of the Fleece, shuddering whenever I thought of the hour when I must use it.
CHAPTER IX
Radiance of Death
CLOTHED in the Fleece, I the first Jason, went to meet Apollo.
High upon Aeaea rises a treeless hill overlooking the blue bay. There, where the veil was thinnest between this world and the world of the gods, Hecate came to us in a web of shadow. I saw her, dimly. She was strange beyond telling, she was far more than human, but she did not rouse in my flesh that instant revulsion which Apollo evoked. They were very different, these two beings.
Circe stood beside me. I wore the Fleece.
And before us the air brightened in a dazzling ring, and within it I saw the Face begin to form.
Feebly I began the ritual that would activate the Fleece. I knew I must, and yet I was not sure I could. For fear was a blindness and a sickness in me, and that terrible Face swept nearer and all my body seemed to shrivel with the revulsion of its presence.
Automatically. I did as I had been trained to do. But a cloud hung before my eyes and my brain was not my own. And then, through a rift in that cloud, I saw below me in the harbor the one thing I had loved with a true, unselfish passion—Argo, my lovely ship.
Argo! When I saw her, I knew suddenly that I cared nothing for Hecate or Circe or all the gods in Olympus. What was I doing here, sick with terror, fighting another’s battles, while Argo lay there in the edge of the water waiting for me?
I ripped off the Fleece. I turned and ran. Flickering lightning and thunders raged behind me on the hill, but I paid no heed to them. Only when a mighty voice rang out behind me from the height did I pause for a moment.
“Run, coward—run for your life!” the goddess cried after me. “There will be no escape for you, however far you run. Living or dying, your oath still binds you. One day you will come back. One day in the far future you will walk the earth again and answer my summons. There is one oath you can never break. Circe will wait until you return, and I will wait.
“Go, Jason—go to the doom I could have saved you from. Go to the one thing you love and wait for its blow to slay you! Go, take your kingdom and die.”
I ran on. Hecate may have spoken again, but I did not hear any more, for there was laughter on the hilltop now, ringing golden above the thunder of the battle. And the sound of it made my heart shrink and my body recoil from its beauty and dreadfulness. Apollo was laughing as I ran . . .
Veil by veil the memories slipped from my mind. The shining light bathed me. But there was a troubling whisper floating through that golden silence. A voice I knew—urgent, summoning.
I dismissed it. I let the veils slip away. Apollo’s light was not the burning blaze of the sun; it was clear and cool, pellucid as crystal water and calm as Lethe.
A veil caught, ripping into ta
tters. Through it I saw the curve of goat-horns and anxious yellow eyes.
“Jason—Jason!”
But the peace of forgetfulness was yawning for me now and I would not answer. I sank into the shining emptiness that was the Eye of Apollo. Infinite peace washed over me . . .
“Jason—Jason!” It was Panyr calling, but I would not answer. What had I to say to Panyr, who was so nearly on the verge of Lethe myself? Let him keep to his troubled world and leave me to my peace . . .
“Jason! Waken or die!”
The words meant nothing. Or—no, they had meaning, but not to me. They threatened someone unknown, someone named Jay Seward, who was—
Myself!
Jay Seward—not Jason. Not superstitious Jason who had betrayed vow after vow. Jay Seward, who had betrayed only Cyane.
From far away I heard my own voice calling. “Panyr—Panyr! Help me!”
“I can’t!” the flat faun voice cried from far away. “You must come to me.”
I WAS blinded by the golden light. But I could move—I had to move. Stiffly, out of a nightmare, I forced my muscles to life. I felt myself stir—I was walking!
My hands touched a surface so smooth I could not be sure it was really there. They slipped, touched again—
“Push the door,” Panyr’s voice called out of the blinded dream. “Push hard! Jason, you’re at the door! Open it! Quick!”
The surface sank away beneath my thrust. And then hairy hands seized mine and dragged me forward. Sight returned to me. We stood in the star-shaped antechamber where I had left Ophion and Phrontis. There was a strange odor in the air—acrid, choking. The smell of blood.
I had no time for that now was looking into Panyr’s eyes, and seeing relief and anxiety there. The sweat of effort was still on his half-human face and he was grinning wryly. I wanted to ask him questions, but my breath still came too unevenly for that. So I stood there motionless, facing the closed wall through which I had just come, waiting for speech to return to me.
By that time my thoughts had coalesced into something like a definite pattern.
“Well,” I said at last, “let’s have it. What happened?”
“Simple enough,” he told me with a great sigh, lifting one hand to push the sweat-soaked black curls from his forehead. “I knew the danger of Apollo’s Eye. I couldn’t get in while the two priests were watching, but a few minutes ago, as soon as they left, I was able to come in.”
“But why?”
Instead of answering, he bent forward to peer deeply into my eyes. “You’ve changed,” he said slowly. “Something happened—what? Are you—Jason?”
“I’ve seen Jason clearly,” I said. “Clear enough to know. I’m not he. I am someone else. Just as three thousand years ago the Jason you knew had a double mind.”
He nodded soberly. “I remember that. Well, are you Jason enough to break your pledges still? Do you know now which side you fight on?”
Apollo’s beautiful, hideous face swam before my eyes. I controlled a violent shudder of sheer revulsion.
I heard myself saying:
“On Hecate’s—if I can rid the world of Apollo!”
Panyr nodded again. “This time you’ll mend the broken oath, then? Well, you returned to us none too soon! I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing when I saved you just now, but perhaps it was fortunate.” He shrugged. “When we first met on Aeaea, the Circe knew you must come to Helios, so I kept you waiting until the men from Helios could capture you. That was strategy. And the Circe knew you had to meet Cyane here in the temple.
“But after that, I acted on my own initiative. Being half a god is sometimes an advantage. Humans laugh at me, but not even the priests of Apollo dare harm a faun. So I can walk freely where I will. Does that suggest anything helpful to you? Call on me if you will, Son of Jason, and this time you can trust a faun!”
“You’re up to your old tricks again, evading the question,” I said. “As for your offer—thanks. I’ll remember it. But first, tell me what’s happened!”
“Phrontis tricked you, of course. You must have expected that. The Eye of Apollo is not a thing to tamper with lightly. Your memories were being stripped from you, layer by layer. In the end—nothing! You would have lost your very soul. When a man looks into Apollo’s Eye, his own eyes are darkened forever.”
“So Phrontis still feared and distrusted me that much!” I said grimly. “Well, now he has reason to fear me! Thanks to you, Panyr. I thought, though—” I glanced around uncertainly, “I thought Phrontis and Ophion were to be here for a ceremony of some sort while I—”
Panyr’s short laugh interrupted me. “You heard me say I waited until it was safe to enter. Safe! I’m still sweating! By Bacchus, I—”
“The priests!” I reminded him impatiently. “Where are they?”
“One of them’s right behind you,” he said strangely.
Startled, I whirled. It speaks eloquently for the physical and mental state I was still in that I had not until that moment looked farther around the room, or wondered about the all-pervading smell of blood.
A MAN in golden robes lay sprawled upon the floor by the entrance, face down upon a lake of bright crimson that was still wet and looked to be spreading a little as I watched.
“Ophion,” Panyr murmured. “No, it’s no good now. You can’t help.”
“Phrontis?” I asked. The faun nodded. “Or, in a way, yourself,” he added. “You killed him as surely as Phrontis drove the blade, when you betrayed Cyane back into their hands.”
“Ophion was the priest who saved her from sacrifice!” I said.
“Surely you might have guessed. Phrontis guessed. But Ophion was still master and he had to act deviously. He used you for that. Perhaps you knew, or sensed it, and in your own turn used him. I’m not sure yet about you. But once Cyane was betrayed, Ophion had to act again.”
The faun looked down at the motionless body, his face expressionless. “I thank the gods we fauns are proof against weaknesses like love,” he said. “It can lead to dreadful things. It can lead a man like Ophion to—this, for instance.”
“He loved her?”
Panyr shrugged. “He did—or thought he did. Ophion was a doomed man from the moment of his crippling. Apollo accepts no imperfect priests. He couldn’t hope to live beyond the Hour of the Eclipse, which comes very soon now. Then Apollo would—reject—him and Phrontis would be master in Helios. So it didn’t much matter what he did—a week early, a week late. You see? I think, at such a time, a man reaches out blindly for human love. Perhaps it was his instinct to save Cyane in propitiation to the Fates, that he himself might in turn be saved. Who knows? Death and love play odd games with mankind. I’m glad we fauns never know either.”
“Why did Phrontis kill him just here and now?” I asked, breaking in upon his rambling.
“To stop him from saving you,” was Panyr’s surprising answer. “I think Ophion reasoned that if anyone alive could help Cyane now, it must be the Son of Jason. It’s true you had betrayed her, but he must have hoped you did it only to save her in the end. You came from Hecate. He counted on that. And without you there was no hope at all. So he tried to halt the progress of your madness before it was too late.”
“And failed?”
“And died,” Panyr corrected me. “Phrontis laughed and came away then, to leave you to your madness. And I got in at last, barely in time. So now you know.”
“Where’s Cyane now?”
“Imprisoned. Safe for the moment. Phrontis will use her for the sacrifice when the Hour of the Eclipse strikes. Very soon now.”
“How soon?”
“To know that you’ll have to ask Phrontis. He keeps the sacred hours and minutes.”
“I’ll ask him,” I said. “Can you lead me to him now?”
Panyr’s bearded jaw dropped. “What!” he demanded. “You must be mad! Phrontis will—”
“He’ll tell me what I want to know, I think. You asked me if I had changed, Panyr.
The answer is—yes.” I grinned at him, conscious of a surge of assurance such as I had never known before. That strange, alien light which had bathed my brain had left an aftermath of clarity, as though I had just now awakened from a long, dim dream. I knew now many of the answers that were veiled before. I no longer walked blind in shadows.
“You lived on Aeaea in the time of the first Jason,” I said, “but I wonder if you know the reason the Golden Fleece is so powerful.”
I saw his momentary hesitation. “The Fleece? It’s powerful, yes. No doubt there are many reasons why.”
“I know them,” I said. “The Fleece is something like a machine. The first Jason thought it sheer magic, but in my world, in my time, I’ve studied the sciences you call enchantments. I’ll tell you this, Panyr—the Mask must be brought to Helios.”
“It’s never left Aeaea.”
“But the soul of the first Circe lives in it. Circe, like Jason, must come again before the cycle is completed, if this deadlock between your gods is ever to be broken.” Panyr looked at me with a dubiety that gradually faded. Suddenly he grinned.
“You speak like a hero,” he said ironically. “In the Hour of the Eclipse your remarkable courage may go out with the sun, but I promised my aid and you shall have it. Come, I’ll take you to Phrontis. And may Hecate help you!”
CHAPTER X
High Priest’s Bargain
JUST an hour later Phrontis was pouring me out another cup of wine. He pushed it across the table, watching me. He thought I was a good deal more intoxicated than I was. This wine was weak stuff compared with the fiery baptisms I remembered from my own world.
“I know. You needn’t repeat it,” I said. “No one ever looked into the Eye of Apollo before and came out sane. Well, I’m from another world. I don’t bear you any grudge for the attempt. You’d have killed me if you could, because you were safer with me dead. But I’m not dead. And the balance has shifted now.”
He nodded. “Perhaps.”
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