Wielding a Red Sword

by Piers Anthony

  "I thank you for the invaluable help you have provided me," Mym sang. "I hope I shall not disappoint you in the office."

  "Only if you allow yourself to be deceived by Satan," she said, and dissolved into vapor.

  Mym put his arm around Rapture, touched the Red Sword, and willed them to his castle home in Purgatory.

  He found himself in the entrance-foyer of a castle as seemingly solid as any he had encountered. Huge gray stones rose up to an enormous height. He tapped one and found it solid. "If this is a castle in the sky, it is nevertheless quite substantial," he sang.

  There was a stir within the castle. Several gaunt figures came to the foyer. Rapture shrank away from them.

  Mym recognized one in a black cloak. "Famine!" he sang.

  Famine nodded. "And you are Mars," he replied.

  Mym turned to the others. "And you are—?"

  "Conquest," a big, hearty man in a white cloak said. He smiled, and his teeth showed like polished white ivory.

  "Slaughter," the one in the blood-red cloak said. There were ragged slashes across his face that dripped fresh blood. Rapture shuddered and averted her gaze.

  "Pestilence," said the one in the dirt-brown cloak. His face was a squirming mass of maggots. Rapture screamed and shrank away.

  "My companion is distraught," Mym sang. "Do not take offense."

  "Offense?" Pestilence asked, a maggot spraying out as he pronounced the S. "I am flattered!"

  They passed on into the castle proper. The castle staff was lined up, ready for inspection by the new master.

  "Do you know how to serve royalty?" Mym sang.

  "We do," the head butler replied.

  "Then see to the needs of the Lady Rapture," Mym sang. "And provide me with a person who can tell me what I need to know."

  The butler snapped his fingers. Immediately two maids stepped up to Rapture. "We shall see you to your suite," one said. "There is a bath waiting and a change of dress."

  Rapture hesitated, glancing at Mym. She didn't want to be separated from him in this strange place.

  "Did you meet the lesser Incarnations?" the other maid asked. "Aren't they simply awful? I had bad dreams for days after I saw Slaughter, and as for Pestilence—!"

  Rapture tamed her gaze to the maid, discovering companionship. She relaxed. These people might be all right after all. She went with them.

  "These are marvelously accommodating personnel," Mym remarked.

  "This is our station in the Afterlife," the head butler said. "To know and serve your needs. The Lady Rapture will be made at ease."

  "Afterlife?" Mym sang.

  "We are not among the living," the butler said.

  "But you seem quite solid."

  "Here in Purgatory, sir, everything seems solid, but only you and the Lady Rapture have physical substance beyond these environs. The rest of us—and the castle too—are only solid in a qualified sense."

  "I have some difficulty accepting this."

  "We are as pictures on a sheet of paper. When you confine yourself to that frame of reference, the pictures are sufficient. But when you exert yourself in the three dimensional frame, we no longer have relevance. You have mortal substance that we lack."

  "Purgatory—is a picture on a sheet of paper?"

  "In a manner of speaking. A facet of existence limited to a plane. From the surface of the Earth, mortals see right through that plane. But when you come to it, you join it and interact with us in what may seem to be a normal manner."

  "I can't believe that you don't really exist!"

  "We exist, sir. But only in a limited sense. Heaven and Hell are similarly limited; only mortals have the full range of experience."

  "Isn't this horribly restrictive? Don't you feel imprisoned?"

  "This is eternity. Though we lack the freedom to affect our destinies that mortals possess, we are freed from the concern about pain and termination that they suffer from. We comprehend the shape of our existence. Our reality is as if it were stretched out in an infinitely narrow but infinitely long path, unlike that of mortals."

  "To be a butler—for eternity? No reincarnation?"

  "Not for eternity. Only for a few centuries, until the inevitable shift of the ratio of good and evil in us permits departure to Heaven and everlasting peace."

  "A few centuries!"

  "It is worth it, sir. We have only to do our jobs—and these are not unpleasant jobs. It would be my pleasure to serve you even if my destination were not dependent on it."

  Mym would not have been satisfied with such a situation—but of course he was a mortal—or was he? "What is my status, now? Will I age and die in this office?"

  "By no means, sir. You will remain fixed as you are now, for your full term, which will terminate only when war on Earth abates. You are an Incarnation of Immortality—a temporary immortal."

  "Who else is in this situation?"

  "There are five, or perhaps seven, major Incarnations. Death, Time, Fate, War, and Nature, in addition to Good and Evil. There are a greater number of lesser Incarnations, such as the associates of War whom you met in the foyer. But the only ones you need be concerned about are the major ones, who will generally cooperate with you."

  "Generally?"

  "God, the Incarnation of Good, does not involve Himself with mortal matters, in accordance to the Covenant. Mortals must choose their own denouements. Therefore He will neither help nor hinder you, though He does watch you."

  Mym was glad that he had picked up a smattering of Western mythology; otherwise this would have been very confusing. "What of the Incarnation of Evil?"

  "He is Satan, and because he is evil, he freely violates the Covenant. He will seek to do mischief, turning your efforts to his designs. He wishes to gain power by acquiring a greater number of souls than God possesses."

  This aligned with the warning Gaea had given him. Satan would cause trouble. "But how can he do this, if I am alert against it?"

  "Satan is devious, and the master of misdirection. It is customary for him to, if you will pardon the crudity of the expression, work over new Incarnations, You will be a target, sir."

  "It is true that Satan conspired to eliminate my predecessor?"

  "It is true, sir."

  "What did the former Mars do to arouse Satan's wrath?"

  "He supervised a challenge that the present Fate made to Satan, ensuring that it was fairly conducted. This enabled Fate to balk Satan's design."

  "But that's unreasonable!" Mym sang. "A fair contest—"

  "Satan is not a reasonable entity, sir. He is interested only in his own design."

  "And Mars—surely he was not helpless in his own defense?"

  "He tolerated the ploy."

  "Why would he do that, knowing that this would be to Satan's advantage and that he himself would perish?"

  "He did not perish. He went to Heaven. That is a consummation devoutly to be desired. The cessation of war had been his most devout wish."

  "But that's a conflict of interest! If he abolishes his job—"

  "Not if one's wish is to go to Heaven, sir."

  Mym considered that. "So Mars wanted to go to Heaven and could only get there by having his job end in a positive manner—so Satan facilitated that, and it behooved Mars to cooperate."

  "Exactly, sir."

  "But now Satan has a new and inexperienced Mars to, as you put it, work over."

  "Exactly, sir."

  "And I will not get to Heaven unless I succeed in abolishing war."

  "Admirably phrased, sir."

  "There's only one catch."

  "Sir?"

  "I don't want to go to Heaven."

  "Sir?" The butler was visibly startled.

  "I am a Hindu. Not a good one, obviously—but my desire is not for Heaven but for nirvana."

  The butler made a moue. "Then it would seem that Satan does not have the inducement to proffer you that he proffered to your predecessor."

  "Correct."

 
"This should be a most interesting encounter, sir."

  Mym smiled. "Let's hope so."

  Chapter 7 - BATTLE

  The next day, as Mym perceived it, he received news of a battle that required his attention. He had spent a pleasant night with Rapture in the excellently appointed castle;

  they had made love and talked and watched the scientific television, which by coincidence was concerned with news of the recent change in officeholders for the Incarnation of War and seemed to be quite current. Rapture had perked up to hear herself mentioned as the mortal consort of the Incarnation and to see herself smiling prettily for the camera, though there had been no such interview. But in the morning that same television set turned itself on with the announcement of the battle, and Mym had to rouse himself for his new duty.

  "But what of me?" Rapture cried. "I cannot go to battle with you, yet I fear to remain here alone."

  Mym began to perceive a disadvantage of complete dependence in a woman. "Let me investigate," he sang.

  He went into the elaborate lavatory, then snapped his fingers. Immediately the head butler appeared. The man did not enter; he just appeared. Now that Mym understood his nature, he was not surprised. "The Lady Rapture is concerned about being alone in this strange place," he sang.

  "Conduct her to the East Wing," the butler recommended.

  Mym wasn't sure how this would help, but he had already seen the competence of the staff here, so he didn't argue.

  After his toilet, which included the donning of a shining golden cloak of office, he emerged to rejoin Rapture. She had meanwhile been attended to; now she was stunningly lovely in a silken outfit of malachite green, with the lovely polished stones set in her hair. Princess indeed!

  "After we eat, I must show you the East Wing," Mym sang.

  She raised a fine dark eyebrow.

  "You have already explored the castle?"

  "The butler told me you would like it."

  In due course they repaired to that Wing—and Rapture gasped with delight. It was very like the palace she had used on Earth, with glass windows and fountains and associated gardens filled with familiar plants. A high canopy even protected it from the torrential rains of the monsoon. In a lower reach a tame elephant waited.

  "I must go to work," Mym sang.

  She hardly heard him. "Oh, how delightful!" she exclaimed, walking through the Wing, gazing at the lovely statuary.

  Mym decided to depart; she would not miss him for some time.

  Now he went to the front foyer. There were his associates, Conquest, Slaughter, Famine, and Pestilence, in their colored cloaks. "You know the way?" he inquired. "Our steeds know the way," Conquest said. Steeds. He hadn't thought of that, but of course they should be mounted. Gaea had told him that he had a horse—what was its name?—Werre. He went on out, and there in front were five excellent horses. There was no difficulty judging which one belonged to which rider, for they were color coded.

  "Werre," Mym sang, and one came immediately to him. He mounted the great golden palomino and knew from the outset that this was a steed such as man dreamed of. The animal was powerful and supple and responded to his cues so readily that he could virtually guide it with a thought. This stallion was like an extension of himself.

  The others were mounted and drew up beside him. Conquest was on an albino stallion, with totally white hide and blazing red eyes. Slaughter was on the red one, the color so intense it was almost gore. Famine was on the black animal, whose body glistened in such a way as to make the gloss seem like a skeletal outline. Pestilence rode the dirty brown horse, with patches of discolor that made it look diseased, though it was healthy. Mym remembered, now, that four grim horsemen were traditionally associated with War, but he wasn't sure that these were the particular four he remembered. It hardly mattered; Purgatory and the Incarnations evidently had their own rules.

  They rode out across the cloudscape, and the steeds did know the way. They galloped to the sudden edge and leaped over into the sky below, landing on air, and charged swiftly across the seeming map of the globe far beneath. The colored capes fluttered in the wind. In short order they had come to India, where they descended, touching the ground at last at the eastern edge.

  Mym surveyed the region—and discovered that he was familiar with it. This was the border between Gujarat and Maharastra! This battle was to be fought between his own Kingdom and that of Rapture.

  But he had arranged with Gaea to eliminate that quarrel. His double was to marry the Rajasthan Princess, and Rapture's double to marry the Rajasthan Prince, unifying the three Kingdoms by alliances. How could they be fighting now?

  When he thought about it, he knew how. This was only one day after those rearrangements had been made. The news had not yet gotten out to the battlefield, where the two armies were preparing to clash. With modern scientific communications systems the word should have been virtually instant—but the bureaucracy remained as ponderous as ever. The notice was probably still sitting among the papers on the desk of a minor functionary, waiting for disposition. Meanwhile this completely pointless battle was about to happen.

  He had to stop it, of course. Mym was not one to be squeamish about necessary bloodshed; he was, after all, a prince. Or had been... But this was not only unnecessary, it was disastrous; neither Kingdom could afford to throw away its resources like this.

  Already the two armies were spread out on the battlefield, their cavalry, archers, elephants, and foot soldiers ranged like chess pieces, ready to play their roles. The forces were about even, so the skill of the generals would count for the victory—except that there could be no victory, in this wrongheaded match.

  How was he to stop this folly? He had no idea.

  "Famine," he called, and the black figure moved close. "This battle is not supposed to occur. How do I stop it?"

  "Stop it?" Famine asked, his deathly gaunt face showing dismay. "We do not stop conflict, we reap it!"

  And what a grim reaping that could be! "Nevertheless," Mym sang, "this conflict must be stopped before it starts. If I am truly the Incarnation of War, surely I have the power both to generate and to dissipate conflict."

  Famine issued a ghastly sigh. "You do. Mars. But it is a sad day when your power is exerted to—"

  "Never mind that!" Mym sang angrily. "How do I exert my power?"

  "Why, there are several ways. You can enter the mind of a pivotal participant and change it, or you can freeze the entire battle in place—"

  "If I freeze it, what happens when I unfreeze it?"

  "Then it resumes exactly as before."

  "How do I enter the mind of a pivotal participant, and how do I know which one is pivotal?"

  Famine considered. "That's really not my department. I deal with my clients after the combat has ravaged the land and wiped of it most of the food supply. I've never been sure exactly how Mars selects his key figures."

  If Famine didn't know, the others probably wouldn't know either. He would just have to work it out by himself.

  He guided his golden horse toward the banners of the Gujarat army. If he could manifest and be recognized by the general there, he might be able to cause that army to decline battle.

  He approached, and no one reacted. That was right—no one could see an Incarnation, ordinarily. He rode right up to the front line and through it, and the horse's gleaming hooves made no contact with the mundane objects. It was as if the artifacts of the world were ghosts. Or he was.

  He came to the general's tent. He saw immediately that this was a man he knew only by name; he had never encountered him personally before. This one had a reputation as a competent workhorse, one who had no special flair or elegance, but who followed orders and got the job done.

  The general should recognize Mym, if he manifested.

  But how did he do that? Mym himself had seen the Incarnations before becoming one himself, but no one else had, until Gaea manifested to Rapture. Gaea knew how to do that, but Mym didn't.

  B
ut he could enter the General's being and change his mind, according to Famine. That should be just as good.

  If he could just figure out how.

  Well, maybe if he simply overlapped the General, so that his mind occupied the same space as the General's mind...

  He tried it. He dismounted and stepped into the General—

  And found himself in a maelstrom of impressions and thoughts and emotions. He could not make head or tail of it all; indeed, he was getting nauseous, as from motion sickness.

  He ripped himself out. Now he was standing before the General, who seemed to be unaffected. But Mym himself felt dizzy. Surely this was not the way it was supposed to be!

  But the battle would not wait forever. Mym tried again.

  This time he kept a firm mental grip on himself as he phased in to the General's space. He realized that what he was encountering was the confusion of an unfamiliar system. The General's mind differed from his own; there were different memories, different habit patterns, and a different outlook. Recognizing that, Mym was able to keep better equilibrium. He phased in more accurately, so that his own eye-nerve impulses were not trying to read the General's ear-nerve impulses. He got the senses aligned and felt only slightly motion-sick.

  Now he could tune in on what the General was perceiving and understand it. It was not a perfect alignment, because the General's senses were of slightly different strengths than Mym's own and so tended to feel slightly wrong. But that was minor.

  His major problem was the General's thoughts. It was evident that the General's brain was wired differently from Mym's, and the resulting patterns were alien. He could not make sense of them.

  Well, yes he could. The wiring might differ, but the end results were similar. He did not need to use the General's wiring to grasp the General's conclusions. He simply needed to tune in on those conclusions. And then impose his own.

  He tried. CALL OFF BATTLE, he thought strongly.

  "What?" the General asked, pausing in his contemplation of the map of the battle site.

  The other officers looked at him, perplexed. None of them had spoken.