MIME

It was a traveling show, the kind that drifted from village
to village, performing for thrown rupees. There was a
chained dragon who would snort smoke and sometimes
fire when its keeper signaled, a harpy in a cage who
flapped her wings and spat curses at the audience, and a
mermaid in a tank who would, for a suitable fee, bring
her head out of the water to kiss a spectator. Standard
stuff, hardly impressive, but fun for the children. The
dragon was old and flabby, the harpy was ugly, and the
mermaid, though pretty enough, evidently spoke no local
dialect. But at least this show was convenient and cheap,
and the crowd was thick.

The man who watched was undistinguished. He was
slightly below average height, wore a faded gray shawl,
and he kept his mouth shut. He had evidently suffered
some abrasion of the face, for it was to an extent swathed
in dirty bandages, so that only his eyes, nose, and mouth
were exposed. He had the mark of the Sudra caste, though
he could have been taken for an Aryan in race. Since none
of the twice-bom would mix voluntarily with the more
lowly merchants and laborers of the once-bom, his iden-
tity had to be taken at face value.

2             Wielding a Red Sword

Of course, caste had been legally abolished in most of
the kingdoms of India. But what was legal did not nec-
essarily align with what was actual. One had only to watch
the reaction of anyone who inadvertently brushed by a
Pariah to understand that!

Now the main show developed. A stage magician per-
formed sundry acts of illusion, causing the faces of de-
mons to manifest in smoke and a flock of birds to startle
out of his hat. One of the birds let a dropping fall on the
head of a spectator, who complained loudly, whereupon
the magician gestured and changed the bird into a shining
gold coin, which tumbled to the ground and rolled. The
spectator pounced on the coin—but it converted to a ven-
omous snake that hissed and struck at him, while the other
spectators laughed. Good magic!

Then there was an exotic dancer, who undulated in the
company of a giant python. Her performance was partly
artistic and mostly erotic, and the percentage of men in
the throng increased. Then the python opened its mouth
and took in her left hand. The dance continued, and the
reptile swallowed her arm and then her head, and finally
the rest of her body. There was strong applause as her
two kicking feet disappeared into the maw and the snake
slithered heavily back into its curtained cage.

Now a startlingly lovely young woman took her place
on the small stage. Her skin was so pale as to be almost
white, and her hair was the color of honey. She had a little
harp and she set herself and began to play and sing. The
song was in English, a language generally but not uni-
versally understood in this region. This was a novelty,
and the audience was quiet.

The song and music spread out to captivate the lis-
teners. There was a special quality to it that caught them
up, even those who could not follow the words. It was
as if a mighty orchestra were playing and a chorus ofdeific
beings singing—yet there was only the one woman and
her instrument. This was a phenomenon beyond what had
been presented before, and all stood entranced.

When the song was done, there was a hush. Then the
rupees began flying, landing at the woman's feet, fairly
burying them in metallic brightness. All that the audience
had came forth, begging for another song.

Piers Anthony                  3

The woman smiled and sang again, and it was as before:

every person within range was transported. Even the old
ones were rapt. Now those of the ^aishya caste, the hus-
bandmen and merchants, entered the throng, heedless of
propriety, listening. When the second song was done, the
shower of money from these higher-class listeners over-
whelmed the prior contributions. Applause enough!

The Sudra man stood transfixed, even after the woman
had taken up her harp and retired to her wagon and the
next show had come on. Jostled by his neighbors, he re-
covered enough to walk away, his gaze almost vacant.
He had evidently been smitten and hardly knew how to
cope with it.

He found his way to a wall that offered some slight
seclusion and leaned against it. Then he reached into an
inner pocket and brought out a ring in the form of a coiled
little snake. He set this ring on his smallest finger and
brought it covertly to his bandaged face.

"She?" he whispered in English.

The snake-ring came alive and squeezed his finger once.

The man removed the ring from his finger and returned
it to his hidden pocket. He paused, considering. How was
he to approach this lovely and talented woman, and how
would she receive him? He could get more specific advice
from the ring, but he preferred to work it out for himself,
as his possession of the ring could identify his nature if
it were seen by others.

In the end, he waited till dusk, when the throng dissi-
pated and the traveling show was closing up for the night.
He approached the covered wagon he had seen the woman
with the harp enter. He stood by it and clapped his hands,
gently, so as to attract attention without generating too
much of it.

The woman appeared. "Yes?" she inquired. Now her
lovely fair hair was bound in a heavy kerchief, and she
wore a functional skirt and jacket, but her beauty over-
came these restrictions.

The man opened his mouth, but did not speak. He ges-
tured helplessly.

"I am sorry," the woman said. "I can see that you have
been injured, but I do not speak the local dialect. Do you
know English?"




4             Wielding a Red Sword

The man tried again. His mouth worked, and finally the
sounds came out. "Ah—ah—ah—I do," he said.

She glanced sharply at him, tilting her head. "You are
shy?" she inquired. "There is no need to be. What is it

that you wish?"

The man struggled again to speak. "N-n-n-not sh-
sh-shy," he said. "I st-st-stu-stu-stutter."

She did not even smile. "Come inside," she said.

He followed her into the wagon. Inside, the space was
tight, but well organized; there was room for two to sit
facing each other, and this they did.

"I do not know you," the woman said. "I have not
before talked directly with a person with your problem.
Forgive me if I am clumsy; I don't quite know how to

help you."

Again the man tried. It took time for him to get the
words out, but the woman was patient and did not try to
interrupt or to fill in the words for him. Digested, what
he said was this: "I need help to leave the Kingdom."

"But if you have committed some crime, and are fu-
gitive from justice, I shall not help you," the woman said.

He asserted that he was not a criminal; he just had need

to depart anonymously.

"Forgive me again," she said, "but I must ask you to
touch my harp. This will advise me whether what you say

is true."

He touched her harp. Nothing happened.
She smiled. "Thank you. Now let us be introduced. I
am Orb Kaftan of Ireland, and I sing for my supper. My
harp is a gift of the Mountain King and it will not suffer
the touch of a dishonest person. I am sorry I had to doubt

you before."

"I—must not tell you my identity," the man said halt-
ingly. "I am not injured; I wear the bandage to conceal

my face."

"Ah—a political refugee?"

"Approximately." His stutter was diminishing as her
warm attention helped him, but that word remained a con-
siderable challenge.

"May I see your face?"

He unwound the bandage. His face was clear and hand-

Piers Anthony                 5

some, almost aristocratic. "But I must not show it
openly," he said.

"I think we might help you, but I am not sure you would
like the manner," Orb said. "We always have need of
inexpensive labor, tending the animals, cleaning the
cages, menial chores. I think you are of higher birth than
that."

"I am. I will do the work."

"Perhaps we can improve upon your camouflage," she
said. "Let me fetch you a mask."

She set him up with a clown-mask. She assured him
that it would not seem unusual, as long as he remained
with the group, as most of the members had more than
one task, doubling as entertainers and workers.

And so he joined the group and shoveled dragon manure
and cleaned the harpy cage and fed fish to the mermaid.
He was paid only with food, a bunk in a wagon, and his
right to be anonymous.

The group moved slowly from village to village, on wa-
gons hauled by rented elephants, and put on its show at
every stop.

After several days, the man approached Orb again. "I
think I could perform," he explained haltingly.

"But everybody laughs at the clowns!" she protested.

"They laugh with the clowns," he clarified. "And I
could do other things that don't require speaking. I could
be a mime, a juggler, an acrobat."

"These things are not as easy as they may appear,"
she protested.

"But I have some natural ability and some training,"
he said. "My mouth may be handicapped, but not my
body."

"Well, if you're sure, I can take you to the tour mas-
ter," she said doubtfully. "But he is an exacting man."

"Take me to him."

She did. The tour master was large and fat and, when
he wasn't playing to a crowd, he tended to scowl. "Show
your stuff or get out," he said gruffly.

The clown did a front-flip in the air, then stood on his
hands, then flipped back to his feet.

"So-so," the master said, unimpressed. "Can you do
it on a high platform?"




6             Wielding a Red Sword

The clown nodded. There was no platform handy, so
he scrambled lithely up a tree and took his stance on a
horizontal branch. He repeated his flip and handstand,
then swung himself down, around, and back to the top of

the branch.
The master became more interested.  No fear ot

heights, eh? What else can you do?"
"He says he can juggle," Orb explained.
"Jugglers are a dime a dozen. He'd have to be some-
thing special."                       .

The clown pointed to a collection of knives, used by a
sometime knife-thrower. Then, with permission, he took
five, tossed them up singly, and juggled them. The blades
flashed as they twisted in the air, but no knife dropped

to the ground.

"What else?" the master asked, impressed.

The clown had evidently prepared for this. He went into
a mime act, doing a clever imitation of a warrior whose
sword kept getting in his way. He had no costume and
no sword, but it came across clearly. When he managed
to spear his own foot, the master smiled. When he tried
to sheathe the blade rapidly and passed it through his
crotch instead, the master laughed.

"You got it, mime! Work up a complete act; I'll put
you on pay. We'll call you—urn, let's see." The master
stroked his chin. "The Mime. No, Mym. Mym the Mime!
You've got a talent, boy. Wish I'd known before."

And so he joined the paid performers, leaving the
dragon dung behind. "I had no idea!" Orb told him
warmly. "You are a very talented person, Mym."

It was merely coordination and training, he informed
her, as much by gesture as by words, for he did not like
to embarrass them both by constant stammering. Orb was
always understanding, but still it represented an imposi-
tion, and the last thing he wanted to do was burden a
woman as lovely, inside and out, as she.

But her interest in him had been aroused, and his as-
cension to performer status brought them into closer nat-
ural association. Though the group was casteless—which
made it technically Pariah—it did have its own type of
stratification, with the master at the top, the performers

Piers Anthony                  7

next, and the menials at the bottom. Orb, as the main
attraction, was second only to the master in importance—
but as Mym refined his act and the flow of rupees in-
creased, his status ascended correspondingly. At first the
others had been condescending or diffident, because of
his speech impediment and his inexperience, but no one
laughed at him, because all were outcasts in their own
fashions. The mahout who tended the lead elephant had
a clubfoot, and the dragon-trainer was an alcoholic—the
dragon liked the smell of alcohol—and the cook was so
grossly fat that he expected in due course to assume per-
former status as a freak. None of them were inclined to
laugh at something as minor as stuttering.

In fact, Mym discovered that the group was a kind of
family; it looked out for its own, and he had become a
part of it. This became clear one day when they were
setting up for a show in a village not far south of Ah-
madabad, the giant capital ofGujarat. He was helping the
exotic dancer, Pythia, prepare for her act. She had to strip
and spread a special protective grease over all her body,
so that the digestive acids of the python would not damage
her skin. She had a magic pill she would gulp just before
the snake swallowed her head that enabled her to stop
breathing for twenty minutes or so; that and the salve
enabled her to perform her act once each day. But the
girl who normally helped her and who reached into the
python's open mouth to haul her out by the feet when the
act was over, had run away with a handsome drifter, and
a replacement had not yet been recruited. So Mym, whose
act was done before hers, helped her with the preparation
and the conclusion.

He was spreading the salve on her body, making sure
to catch every spot, when they were interrupted by a party
of armed, uniformed officers of the Gujarat law-enforce-
ment staff. "Stand where you are, masked man!" one
snapped at Mym, holding his sword ready. "Identify
yourself."

Mym, of course, was unable to respond, in part because
of the stutter. Had they found him? He had thought he
was free ...

The dancer, knowing his problem, faced the troops. Her




8             Wielding a Red Sword

breasts shone with grease and became more pronounced
as she inhaled. "This is a private dressing room!" she

protested in the local dialect.

The chief officer contemplated her assets. "This is
Kingdom business, woman," he said gruffly. "We are in
pursuit of a party of thuggees. They may have passed this
way—and this man is masked."

"This man is my assistant!" she exclaimed, taking a
really significant breath. "He is no thuggee! He has been
with me all day!" She shook herself, and all three officers
struggled not to gape. "He wears a mask so the fumes of
the python won't hurt his face." She snapped her fingers,
and the great snoozing snake woke and lifted its snout,

hissing.
The men backed away. "To be sure," the leader said.

"If you speak for him—"
"Of course I speak for him!" she said. "I couldn'tfunc-

tion without him."

They departed, and Mym relaxed. He resumed spread-
ing the salve. "Certainly I spoke for you," Pythia said.
' 'I didn't even have to lie, really, but I would have. I know
you're no thuggee, and whatever you did do to make you
hide is no business of mine. We cover our own, here."
He continued with the salve, not trying to speak.
"You do a good job," she added reflectively. "Your
hands are clever. You get me covered much faster and
better than I could do myself, even in the easy places.
That girl I had before never was much good; she'd tickle
me in one place and skimp on another."

Which meant that she had been at risk for burns from
the stomach acids. Mym knew she didn't like that!

"Do you know why I asked for you to help me?" Pythia
ontinued. "It wasn't because you are good. It was be-
ause I can get any ten men to do this, but their hands
would be sweating hot and their eyes would be hotter. I
don't like having a man do it—never since one got carried
away two years ago and tried to rape me." She smiled
reflectively. "The only reason he missed was because the
salve made me too slippery to hold. Actually, I'd have
given it to him, if he'd asked; I can take a man or leave
him, anytime. What's a little thing inside me for a minute,

Piers Anthony                 9

compared to what I go inside of for my act? But I don't
like to be forced. So I told the master, and he made a
eunuch of that man. I was the lead act, then, you see.
Don't misunderstand; I'm not jealous of Orb. I'm in this
for the money, and she brings in three times as much as
we ever had before, and the master is generous when the
takings are good. And you, too—you're bringing it in
nicely, too, and that's so much the better. But that's what
I'm saying; when you're with us, we take care of you,
and you take care of us. The master took you on because
Orb asked him to—and now he'd do anything you asked,
too, because you're good for the show, Mym, you really
are. But I asked for you because I knew you could handle
me without making a move." She meant the handling
physically—his hands rubbing salve into every part of
her, public and private.

He was finished, now, and her act was almost due. She
turned to speak directly to him, as she slipped into her
scant costume. "I know you get hard when you stroke
me; any man who's a man does. When he doesn't, I'll
know it's time for me to retire. But you wouldn't try to
force me, because you're the most disciplined man I ever
met—yes, you are, even if you try not to show it!—and
because, even if you weren't, you're in love with Orb and
you wouldn't touch another woman if you thought there
was any chance at all you might one day touch her, be-
cause you know she's a one-man woman and expects the
same in return. So I'm safe with you, Mym. That's why."

Mym stood there, chagrined. Had it been so obvious?

She answered, not needing the question. "No, you hide
it well. But Orb—what I can do to a man by showing my
body, she can do just by being herself. I'm dried fish;

she's caviar. So I knew what to look for."

She stepped toward the stage, bringing the python along
with her, but paused once more. "And you know, you
just might," she said, winked, and went on out.

If Pythia understood him that well, then perhaps she
also understood Orb. If she thought he had a chance . . .

He watched the dance and consummation, half-dazed.
But he snapped out of it as the python slithered back,
bearing its burden, because he had to get Pythia out before




10

Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony

11

she suffocated. The trained snake opened its mouth,
which had been defanged, and Mym reached in and caught
the dancer's bare feet. He hauled, and the greased body
slid out. The skimpy dress had already dissolved away,
leaving nothing to impede the motion. Of course this
would never have worked with an ordinary python or a
fully clothed and ungreased woman, but that didn't mat-
ter; it was a decent show, and as long as it never played
twice at the same place, the seeming horror of it remained.

He got her clear and hosed her down, getting the acids
away. The salve combined with the acid, so that both were
neutralized, but, as long as she remained inside the snake,
more acids were forming, so it was important to get the
refuse off. After the hosing, he set her up, took a clean
cloth to her face, cleaned her closed eyes and mouth care-
fully, then did the same for her genital region. Then he
snapped his fingers at her ear, waking her from her trance.

She shuddered, then resumed her breathing. Her eyes
opened. "You do such a good job," she said. "With you,
there's never any smarting, no bad patches. I'm com-
pletely clean." She leaned forward and kissed him. She
put her arms around his neck, set her face into his shoul-
der, and sobbed for a moment. Then she lifted her face.
"Thank you. I am back from the abyss. This, too, is very
fast with you."

Mym nodded. The act, spectacular as it was, was not
accomplished without cost. Pythia risked death, and the
trance that stopped her breathing was halfway to death;

though she had been through it many times, each time she
knew it could be the last, and each successful recovery
was a profound relief. Most others, even in the group,
were not aware of the full nature of the experience she
undertook.

"Should you ever need me, you won't even need to
ask," she said. "You are the best of men, Mym."

Had his heart not already been committed, he would
have taken her up on that. Yet Pythia's acceptance of him
was only a manifestation of the acceptance of the group.
He felt as good as he could remember.

It was the monsoon season, and daily the winds and

showers intensified. The master had a spell to ward off
rain during the actual show, but it was too valuable to
waste during travel, when there was no money to be
reaped. The dragon did not like getting wet, but was too
big to cover, so he was increasingly surly. Mym had a
good way with the animals, so had to be out cajoling the
monster forward, getting soaked himself.

Then one of the wheels on the mermaid's wagon got
mired in mud, and all other hands were committed, so
Mym went to take care of that. He used a pole to lever
it out, but got thoroughly muddied in the process. When
the wagon was finally clear, the others were far ahead.

The mermaid poked her head out of her tank. Naturally
the rain didn't bother her. "Come, ride with me, Mym,"
she called.

Startled, he looked at her. He hadn't realized that she
spoke English. Normally she didn't speak at all, because
it was difficult to do when her lungs were full of water.
But she could drain it from her gills and breathe air when
she chose, as she was an amphibian.

She patted the side of the tank. "Here," she said, smil-
ing. "You must be tired; you deserve a rest."

He was tired, as well as being soaked and dirty. He
, climbed up on the wagon, holding onto the edge of the
tank. The mermaid clicked to the mahout, and the mahout
urged the elephant forward. The wagon began to gain on
the others.

Mym's hands were occupied, holding on as the wagon
bumped along, but the mermaid's hands were free. She
took hold of his head and turned it to please her. Then
she kissed him. "My thanks for your service, sir," she
said. "Should you ever require something novel—"

He blushed, and she laughed. "I'm only teasing,
maybe. But you are a good man."

Finally the wagon caught up to the others, and he
dropped off, for his help was needed elsewhere. But his
mind was whirling, for this was the second time an at-
tractive woman had made him an offer. He had no prej-
udice against halflings, and the mermaid had known this;

had his situation been otherwise, he would have been in-
terested. But what intrigued him most was the evident




12            Wielding a Red Sword

fact that he had sex appeal for these women. He had
known many women before—more than he cared to
count—but had never considered himself attractive in
that sense. The others had been made available to him
because of his position; he had assumed that they would
not have offered so from their own personal choice. But
here in the group, women were making themselves avail-
able by choice. True, he had done them favors of a sort;

but he had not acted with the thought of such reward.
Their interest had to be genuine, and that flattered him
in a profound manner. Perhaps his stutter was not the
barrier he had supposed. If so, this group had already
given him more than refuge.

They came into Ahmadabad, a sprawling city of more
than a million inhabitants. Here they expected to have
large and generous crowds, for the city folk were more
sophisticated than the villagers and more interested in
oddities. Indeed, their first show was a great success, and
the master was so pleased that he issued bonus payments

to the performers.

Naturally Orb, typical other gender in certain respects,
wanted to go shopping. The master could not deny her,
but insisted that she have some protection. "Thieves are

thick in cities," he muttered.
"Mym can come with me," Orb said brightly.
The master scowled, but evidently remembered the
way Mym had juggled knives. "But stay out of trouble,"
he admonished. "I don't like risking two star performers

together."

So Mym went shopping with Orb, glad for the oppor-
tunity to be with her, however slight the occasion. He
wore a nondescript tunic and an artificial beard that com-
pletely changed his appearance. Still, it was risky for
him—but perhaps no more so than performing in this city

as a mime.

Orb was delighted with the wares set forth in the open
market. She went from stall to stall, exclaiming at the
bright woven materials and pretty baubles, choosing first

one and then another.
But Mym was nervous. He felt a motion in his inner

13

Piers Anthony

pocket, so he quietly put his hand in, found the snake-
ring, and put his finger through it. "T-t-t-trouble?" he
murmured, as if to himself.

The ring squeezed once.

That was all he needed. He tried to draw Orb aside to
warn her; but she was distracted by her shopping, and his
effort to speak was inhibited by the stutter, so that he
could not get through to her.

He sighed to himself. His hand remained in the pocket,
out of sight. Accident? he thought at the ring, but it
squeezed twice. Malice? That brought a single squeeze.
Robbery? Three squeezes. And rape? he thought, and got
a single squeeze. And murder? One squeeze. The thug-
gees? One squeeze.

Now he tried again to warn Orb. He caught her arm
and squeezed, somewhat harder than would ordinarily
have been necessary. She paused, looking at him, real-
izing that something was amiss. He made a motion with
his head, signaling toward the region from which they had
come.

"Time to go home?" she asked, and he nodded
affirmatively.

"Very well," she said. "Just let me find one more
thing."

He tried to signal no, but she didn't understand. Rather
than make a scene, he waited, though the ring was pulsing
warning.

Orb completed her purchase, and they started back.
Mym guided her along a route they had not taken before,
hoping to give the thuggees the slip, but soon he saw the
subtle pursuit developing. They were watching, closing
in—three, four, five of them. They wanted the money the
woman evidently had to spend and her body, and they
were not the type to leave witnesses behind. The King-
dom had made an effort to eliminate the criminal class,
now called the thuggees, though these were not actually
connected to the original guild of assassins. They were
just common cutthroats, always on the prowl for vulner-
able wealth, not trained killers but dangerous when they
banded together.

Mym's teeth bared in an unconscious snarl. He hated




14            Wielding a Red Sward

the thuggees, of whatever stripe! But he hao not brought
a weapon, for complex reasons that now seemed invalid,
and the fact that Orb was the obvious target made it
worse. Alone, he could have given them the slip, but there
was no way she could do that. This was going to be ugly.

What way? he demanded of the ring in his pocket. Then
he ran through a mental list of alternatives, beginning with
straight flight and ending with mayhem. The ring
squeezed at mayhem.
Where? he thought next.

The ring signaled as they passed a deserted alley. This
was the best place to meet the thuggees.

Mym did not question this; he trusted the ring. He took
Orb by the elbow and guided her into it.

The thuggees were jubilant at this break. This was ex-
actly what they wanted—the prey secluded, so that the
dirty work could be done without witnesses. Killing could
be accomplished quickly, but it took longer to rape a living
woman—and it wasn't any fun when she was dead—be-
cause they had to take turns. Here in the alley, setting
two of their number as guards for the occasion—

They closed, one of them blocking off the far exit, the

other four advancing from behind.

Mym took Orb to a niche between buildings, where
some dilapidated crates were piled. "Hide!" he directed,
his stutter not manifesting during his distraction. Seeing
the tough-looking men, she obeyed, frightened.

Now Mym stood before the crates, holding a board with
a nail protruding, facing the thuggees.

The five closed in. As one, they laughed, pointing at
his inadequate weapon. They were armed with knives of
various descriptions, and their leader had a short sword.

Mym bit his tongue, deliberately. In a moment he tasted
the blood. His eyes glazed, his breathing quickened, and

his dark skin paled.

"Hey, he's freezing!" one of the thuggees exclaimed

in the native tongue.

"Trying to imitate a berserker," another said,

unconcerned.
The blood in Mym's mouth continued to flow. His body

began to shake. The breath whistled out through drawn
lips.

Piers Anthony                 15

"Well, I'll berserk him!" the leader said, stepping for-
ward and raising his sword. "He's shaking in his boots!"
A thin line of reddish froth appeared at Mym's mouth.
"Hey, I don't know—" another thuggee began,

worried.

Then Mym moved. The board dropped.

The leader saw no more than a blur, before his sword
was expertly .wrenched from his grasp. Then that sword
whirled demonically, slicing at the thuggee to the right.
A line appeared at his neck, below the left ear, and he
collapsed. The sword lifted and came down on the head
of the thuggee farthest to the left, splitting his face open
from forehead to nose.

The leader, disarmed, gaped. "He is—" he began.
Then the sword whistled across with such force that his
head lifted from his neck and tumbled to the ground before
the body fell.

The two remaining thuggees tried to turn and run, but
one was caught by a thrust to the bowel, and the other,
starting away, got the point of the sword through his skull
from the rear. The tip of the point showed through at the
front as he fell.

Mym glanced back at the crates, where Orb still hid.
He pondered a moment, then reached for his ring again.
Can she handle this?

The ring squeezed twice.

Best way to get her through? He ran through several
notions in his mind and stopped when the ring squeezed
once. He had his plan.

Mym drew out a silk handkerchief he normally used in
his mime act. He went to the woman. Orb's head was
ducked down, and she was shivering, evidently afraid of
the violence and of what was about to happen to him and
to her.

"V-v-v-v-veil,'' he got out, giving her the handkerchief.
She glanced up. "You mean—to hide my face? That
won't fool the robbers!"

She did not know they were dead. "Qu-qu-quickly,"
he said. "Ey-ey-eyes too."

Frightened and mystified, she tied the handkerchief
across her face, covering even her eyes. Then he urged
her up and out of the crates and guided her from the alley.




16            Wielding a Red Sword

Once they were clear of it, he removed the veil. "But
why didn't they follow?" she asked, perplexed anew.

He shrugged, allowing her to think that the matter was
too complicated for an immediate stuttering explanation.
They hurried on back to the group's camp.

There was an ugly taste in Mym's mouth, and not from
the blood he had invoked. He had deceived Orb, and he
did not like that one bit. But he believed the ring; she was
not ready for the truth. He had done what was necessary
to save her life; that knowledge had to suffice.




2

PRINCE

They returned safely, and Orb secluded herself in her
wagon to recover from the shock of the near escape. Mym
got busy on routine tasks, helping organize for the eve-
ning's show.

They had several shows at different sites in Ahmada-
bad, because in this city a few blocks put them into an
entirely new neighborhood, generating a fresh audience.
The take was excellent, and news of Orb's singing spread
so that the master received an invitation to do a private
showing for a noble. Stunned, the master accepted.

All were delighted—except Mym. He went privately to
the master. "Sir, I cannot perform before nobility," he
said, though not nearly as smoothly as rendered.

The master heaved his paunch about and focused di-
rectly on Mym. "Do you know, I had a visit from the
police," he said. "There has been a particularly bad
bunch of thuggees operating in this region, leaving a
messy trail of dead. Some officers even checked this
group, a while back, but of course we harbored no
thuggees."

Mym nodded, knowing what was coming. How much
had the master pieced together?




18            Wielding a Red Sword

' 'It seems that a beautiful woman had an encounter with
them recently, but she managed to escape," the master
continued. "The police realized from the description that
she was from our group, so they came to inquire. Indeed
it was our Orb, and she confirmed that the encounter had
taken place. Five brutish men, armed with knives and a
sword. But it seems that you managed to dissuade them

and escape unharmed."
Mym nodded again, for once glad that he was unable

to speak with facility.

"The five were found slaughtered in an alley. The pat-
tern of their bodies is typical of that left by a berserker
warrior. You know—the kind who tastes blood and goes

crazy."

Mym shrugged.
"But something doesn't match," the master said. "A

true berserker would have slaughtered the woman too,
then gone out through the city and killed and killed until
overwhelmed by a force of twenty armed, trained men.

This did not happen."

Mym waited.
"Orb reports that you had her don your handkerchief

to hide her face and that you led her out of that alley. She
doesn't know how you persuaded the thuggees not to fol-
low. There was no one else—just you."

Again Mym shrugged.
"Now I never heard of a temporary berserker," the

master said. "Obviously you are not one; you weren't
even armed. So I must assume that either a berserker
happened upon the premises at that moment, destroyed
the thuggees, and expired from a lucky retum-thrust be-
fore he got to you—which makes no sense, as no other
body was found—or that a highly trained warrior who

hated thuggees did the deed."
He had obviously caught on. Mym's hand went to his

inner pocket, and his finger found the ring. Lost? he

thought.

The ring squeezed twice.
"You are very handy with knives," the master was

saying. "But I have never seen you juggle anything except
weapons. This suggests that you were never an enter-

19

Piers Anthony

tamer before. You merely have learned to handle weapons
with an extraordinary facility. I can think of only one class
of person who would have access to training like that—
a noble."

Still Mym waited.

"And now you tell me you cannot perform before a
noble. Because you would be recognized?"

Mym nodded.

"Well, let me tell you something about concealment,"
the master said briskly. "The best concealment is that
which the observer never suspects. That is the secret of
the legerdemain I practice. Misdirection. The very last
place any noble would expect a noble to be hiding would
be onstage before other nobles. I want you to do your
act; I guarantee you will be secure from discovery."

Mym shook his head negatively.

"Ah, but there is the stutter," the master said, as if
just remembering it. "Now it occurs to me that that might
indeed be an identifying trait. I have no deep knowledge
of the nobility here; I travel too much to keep current. I
have heard of no stuttering noble, but that may be just
my ignorance. Suppose we were to add some words to
your mime act? Under your mask and makeup, no one
can see your mouth move. If at key points a voice-mimic
behind the stage were to throw his voice, so that it seemed
to emanate from you . . .?"

Mym, vastly relieved, reached out and clasped his
hand.

"But though there is no need for me to know details
that do not concern me," the matter concluded, "I think
there is one who must be advised. I would not have her
hurt for all the world, and nobles are notoriously casual
about romantic liaisons. I think, before things proceed
further—"

Mym nodded affirmatively. It was indeed time.

They talked, as the caravan waited out one of the mon-
soon downpours north ofAhmadabad. It was pleasant in
Orb's wagon as the sound of the rain beat loud, for her
covering did not leak the way some of the others did. First
she told him her history, for she wanted him to know




20            Wielding a Red Sword

about her. She had been born in Ireland twenty years
before and raised with a kind of sister she called Luna.
Mym wasn't quite clear on the relationship, but it seemed
that Orb's parents were Luna's grandparents, and that the
two girls seemed very like twins. Luna painted with a
magical brush she had received from the Mountain King,
and Orb sang with the harp from the same source. It was
the golden harp that extended her power, so that the au-
dience could experience it. Her father had had the same
talent, but it only manifested when he was touching the

person to whom he sang.
But what was she doing here in India? Mym wanted to

know. For it was obvious that she could enchant audi-
ences anywhere in the world and had no need to wander

in such uncivilized reaches as these.
Well, she was looking for a song, she explained. It was

titled the Llano, and it was the most marvelous song ever
to be sung on Earth, but it was highly elusive. For one
thing, it was very challenging to sing, so that only a few
people in each generation could perform it successfully.
She thought she might be able to sing it well enough and
wanted to try. For another thing, it was said to be the
most compellingly lovely song that the human voice was
capable of rendering, and that intrigued her too. But
mainly, she believed that her destiny lay with the song,
for whoever traced it to its source would discover the
avenue to a wholly new fulfillment. Orb, dissatisfied with
her mundane existence, sought that fulfillment.

"I have heard of it," Mym said haltingly. And he ex-
plained how the manifestation of the Llano had been said
to accomplish miraculous things. Once a young woman
had loved a great warrior, but she was of lesser birth, and
the warrior was not aware of her. So one day she sang
him a segment of the Llano, and he was instantly capti-
vated and loved her from that moment.

Orb adored the story. "Of course it couldn't happen in

real life," she said regretfully.
"It could happen," he assured her.
She looked at him, understanding. "I—but of course

you're not a prince." She was trying to mitigate the pos-
sible cruelty of the situation. '^Not that that matters,
Mym. I—have been growing very fond of you. Even—"

Piers Anthony                21

He cut her off before she could say anything she might
prefer to retract later. "I-I-I-I—" But the stutter over-
came him completely; he could not get the words out.

Orb put her hand on his. "It doesn't matter, Mym."

He shook his head. It did matter! But he couldn't say
it.

Then she brightened. "I have heard that sometimes—
Mym, can you sing?"

"S-s-s-sing?" he asked blankly.

"It invokes a different portion of the brain, as I un-
derstand it. So some stutterers can sing clearly, even
though they can't talk. Come, try it; sing with me." And
she launched into one other Irish songs: "0 Danny boy,
the pipes, the pipes are calling, / From glen to glen, and
down the mountain side."

Doubtfully, he joined her: "And from the trees, the
leaves, the leaves are falling, /Tis you, 'tis you must go
and I must bide."

They both paused, astonished. He had not only man-
aged to sing it without stuttering, he had sung it clearly
and well.

"You could make it as a singer!" she exclaimed.

"I-I-I-I could!" he agreed, awed.

"No—sing it," she urged him. "You don't need a song;

just hold the note, any note."

"I can!" he sang in a level note.

"Now you can say anything you want to!" she ex-
claimed. "Oh, Mym, I'm so pleased!" And she flung her
arms about his neck and kissed him.

He let her do it, but did not respond. First he had to
acquaint her with his own history, and he wasn't sure she
would be pleased.

"I am not what I seem," he sang on a single note, re-
veling in this sudden new ability while he dreaded what
he had to say. "I am a prince."

Orb sobered rapidly. "Go on," she said with sudden
reserve.

In singsong, he did. He was the second son of the Rajah
ofGujarat and had been raised in a palace, his every whim
obliged. His older brother was slated to become the new
Rajah when their aging father died. Mym's real name was




22            Wielding a Red Sword

a complex construction that translated, loosely, as "Pride
of the Kingdom." Of course, he explained ruefully, he
had been named before it was realized that he had a
speech impediment. He was of course no pride, and the
name had become an irony, one that he never used. His
confinement to the palace had been as much to conceal
him from public awareness as to cater to his needs, for

indeed his father was ashamed of him.

But a prince remained a prince, and care was taken to
bring him to the necessary level in every princely art. For
if anything should happen to his brother, before there
were issue, Mym would, to the consternation of all who
were in the know, still assume the throne. How he could
do this, when he could not even give a cohesive directive,
no one dared speculate. It was vital that his brother be
married early, so as to alleviate the possibility of disaster.
His brother had married early—but both his wife and
his leading concubine had proved to be infertile. This was
an embarrassment of another nature. They were maneu-
vering to obtain a fertile wife, but such matters were com-
plex. Meanwhile, Mym—and the kingdom—remained at

risk.
Mym had finally had enough of this. He did not want

to assume the throne any more than his father wanted him
to. He wanted only one thing—to be able to talk normally.
But neither magic nor science had been able to help him;

stuttering simply wasn't properly understood. So he had

run away.

It was perhaps a signal of the family's degree of con-
cern, he sang wryly, that his escape had been accom-
plished so readily. It was true that he was an accomplished
infiltrator, who could slide past guards as if almost invis-
ible—that was one of the talents useful to a Rajah, when
rebellion threatened—but he was aware that only the
most cursory attempt had been made to locate him. The
truth was that his family knew that it would be better off
without him. With luck, his older brother would carry the
line on through, and the stutterer could be expunged from

the records.

And so he had slipped about and spent his money cau-
tiously, learning how to merge with the population and

Piers Anthony                25

get along without having to speak. For a time, the chal-
lenge of surviving had kept him occupied, but then the
tedium had begun to encroach. Skulking around the
streets ofAhmadabad had not been much more rewarding
than being waited on as a prince. He had not dared show
his princely skills, lest he betray his nature, and he lacked
nonprincely skills. He had ranged beyond the city, seek-
ing what he could not define. A magic charm had helped
guide him and keep him from serious mischief.

Until he had seen and heard Orb sing and play. Then
all the rest had faded away, becoming unimportant, and
he had known the face and form of his ideal. And so he
had come to her, revealing to her his handicap at the out-
set so that she would not be deceived, and had taken ser-
vice with the group.

Orb, amazed at first, was evidently acclimatizing as his
narrative continued. "So you are a prince," she said.

"Not by choice," he sang. "I desire nothing more than
to remain here and be with you."

"But I am not a regular part of this tour," she protested.
"I joined at Calcutta and will leave at Karachi, in Sind,
where a ship will take me elsewhere in the world. It is
the song I seek, the Llano."

"Then I would go with you and be your bodyguard,"
he sang.

That reminded her. "Those thuggees—as a prince you
must hate them."

"They are a bane to our fair kingdom," he agreed.
"They are vermin, to be exterminated wherever found.
Most particularly when they threaten a woman like you.''

"You—trained in weapons. You can juggle five knives
in the air without cutting yourself. Surely, then, you
could—"

This was the other thing he had dreaded to tell her. "I
could kill them," he agreed. "And I did—and blindfolded
you so that you would not see their bodies."

Her face stiffened, and she turned away. He got up and
went outside, knowing that the thing he had feared had
come to pass. Orb was a lovely and somewhat innocent
woman; she was revolted by physical violence. She was
not temperamentally equipped to understand why or how




24            Wielding a Red Sword

a prince would master the secret art of controlled ber-
serkery, the ability to kill swiftly without losing his sanity.
Yet the master had been right—he had had to tell her,
before she began to share the emotion he had for her.
There was no way he could bear to hurt her—and if her
interest in him hurt her, then it had to be abolished.

But two days later Orb approached him. "I apologize
for my reaction," she said. "I realize that if you had not
acted as you did, those thuggees would have killed you—
and me—and then gone on to do the same to other in-
nocent people. They did have to be destroyed. I—I simply
have a problem adjusting to—to this sort of thing. I know
you are not a violent man, Mym. I know you did what
was necessary. I remember that you tried to get me away
from harm before the thuggees showed, and I delayed to
make another purchase, so it was really my fault, too.

Will you forgive me my ignorance?"

"Forgiven!" he sang in a faint monotone, greatly

relieved.

She came close, evidently intending to kiss him. But

he shied away, for they were in the open. "People are

watching!" he sang.

"Let them watch!" she exclaimed. She flung her arms

about him and kissed him most soundly.

For a moment he savored the sheer delight of the ex-
perience, for she was all he had ever dreamed of. Then
he broke somewhat. "I am a prince," he reminded her.
He knew that was no recommendation for her; she did

not really believe in royalty.
"I think I loved you before I knew," she replied. "I

feared you were a criminal or a renegade, so I fought
against it, but really I knew you were not. You are a re-
markable man, who has been taunted by circumstance,
and now that I understand you better, I do want to be
with you. I would remain here in India, if I had to—"
"No, no!" he sang. "You must continue your quest for

Llano! I would not deny you your dream!"
"But I think I have found my dream in you," she said.
"Only part of it, only part," he demurred. "And that

Piers Anthony                25

part you can have without sacrificing the other. I will go
with you, wherever your quest leads."

She smiled. "You are truly the most wonderful of
men." Then she kissed him again.

Naturally the news was spread throughout the group
before their dialogue was done. "I am sorry to lose you,"
Pythia said as he prepared her for the evening show.

"But I will continue helping you!" he protested in his
new singsong.

"The master has already scheduled a replacement,"
she said. "Your belongings are being moved to Orb's
wagon. It is not meet for you to handle me after today."

"But I am not—"

"Oh yes you are," she said, smiling. "The mermaid is
threshing the water angrily with her tail; she had hoped
you would work it out with Orb at a sufficiently later
date."

He had to laugh. "Thank her for me," he sang. "You
and she have done more for me than perhaps you realize.''

"Oh, we realize," she said. Then it was time for her
act.

That night he spent in Orb's wagon. Contrary to the
popular impression, they did not make love; it was enough
simply to talk, getting to know each other in pleasant new
detail. When at last they slept, they slept embraced, but
that was all—and more than sufficient. The very touch
of her caused him almost to vibrate with melody. What
made it even more delightful was his realization that she
reacted similarly to him. The love of the ideal woman—
for the first time, his awareness of his handicap became
secondary. It had helped bring him to this, and he would
not have had it otherwise.

On another night they did make love. It was the first
time for her, for she was truly a chaste woman. He had
explained that aspect of the life of a prince, fearing that
this would dismay her, but she only said: "You never
loved before." And that was true and it made the rest as
inconsequential as his stutter had become.

In fact, his thorough experience enabled him to do the
most that he could for her, so that there were no awkward
confusions or embarrassments or discomforts. "But all




26            Wielding a Red Sword

of this, with any other woman, would not compare to the
merest touch of your hand," he told her sincerely,         i
"What, even the most beautiful of women?" she in-    !

quired archly.
"You are that."

She laughed. "How can you know?"
"I do know. The most beautiful concubines of all the

kingdom were culled for my pleasure in the palace."       ;

She sighed, not perturbed. "I realize this is true. It is    ;

surely a rare compliment."

"They might as well have been oxen," he sang.

"So I am the best of all the oxen you have known?"
"They were beautiful women!" he repeated quickly,

and they both laughed.
So it continued, for the long months of the monsoon,

as the group wended its slow way northwest toward Sind.
Geography hardly mattered to Mym; his delight was
wherever Orb was. She had a rare talent in her singing,
but even that no longer mattered; he cared nothing for

talent, only for her.
They crossed the Indus, taking a slow ferry, and did

their show for the folk of another language. It didn't mat-
ter; the appeal of the show was universal.

But still Orb did not discover the thing she looked for,

the Llano. This did not frustrate her; she was content to
seek it in this fashion for a lifetime, with Mym beside her.

But as they reached the outskirts of Karachi, an armed,
mounted party descended on the group. The march came
to an abrupt halt. The cavalrymen wore the livery of Gu-
jarat, and this was beyond the territory of that kingdom,

but the group was in no position to protest.

An officer consulted with the master, then strode di-
rectly to Orb's wagon. "Prince, we have come for you,"

he called.

So they had known all along where to find him! Mym

was dismayed but not really surprised. Probably that busi-
ness with the thuggees had given them the hint, and they
had simply kept track of the touring group thereafter. But

why were they acting now?
There was no way to avoid them; they had the group

Piers Anthony                27

surrounded, and they were alert. They were also first-
class cavalry; he knew which was which. He stepped
down out of the wagon. "What is your business?" he
sang.

The officer did a double-take. Evidently he had not
been advised of this detail. Mym wore the whiteface
makeup that he used for more than the mime act, and of
course they had expected him to stutter.

But in a moment the officer recovered. "The Prince,
your brother, is dead," he said formally. "Pride of the
Kingdom, you are now the Designated Heir." He made
a formal token bow. "You will return with this honor
guard to the captital, where the Rajah awaits you."

Disaster! Mym had never been close to his brother,
indeed, hardly knew him, but this sudden death was a
shock to all the family, himself included. His elevation to
Designated Heir was a worse shock. "H-h-how did he d-
d-d-die?" he stammered, forgetting to singsong.

"Sir, he died in battle against Rajasthan, honorably."

"But we are not at war with Rajasthan!" Mym pro-
tested in singsong.

"It was a routine incursion."

Just a border skirmish—and naturally his bold brother
had. gone out personally and gotten himself killed and
brought this mischief on them all.

Orb came out. "You must go," she said. "Your King-
dom needs you."

"Damn my Kingdom!" he sang.

"I will go with you, my love."

"No," the officer said firmly. "The Prince alone must
come. He will marry a princess of the Rajah's choosing."

"N-n-n-never!" Mym cried.

"We are instructed to pay the woman an adequate
sum," the officer said. "She will not be in want. But she
is not to see the Prince again, by order of the Rajah."

"An adequate sum!" Orb exclaimed indignantly.

"It is here," the officer said, proffering her a small
package.

They were quite serious. Mym knew that there was no
way to talk them out of this; the Rajah's word was ab-
solute. He bit his tongue.




Wielding a Red Sword

28

Orb, bemused, accepted the package, but did not look

at it.

"You will be given a few minutes to make your parting

with the woman," the officer said. "You will not need to
take any belongings, Prince; we shall provide you with

suitable raiment."
The blood flowed in Mym's mouth. His skin paled. Tiny

bubbles appeared at his lips.

The officer kneeled before him, pitfffering the hilt of
his sword. "If it pleases you, Prince, strike off my head
first, and any others you wish. We shall not take arms
against our leader. But you will return to the Kingdom."

"Mym!" Orb screamed, understanding. "They are

only doing their duty! You must go with them!"

He paused. She was correct—but even if she had been
in error, he realized that he would not expose her to this.

She was not a creature of mayhem.

He turned his head and spat out the blood. Then he
took the officer's sword, reversed it, and handed it back.
"A moment," he said, in this instance not stuttering.

"As my lord wishes," the officer said, seemingly un-
ruffled. He sheathed the sword.

Mym turned to Orb. "I will return to you," he sang.

"After I persuade my father that I will not serve. Until
that time, I give you this." He brought out the ring that

was shaped like a little snake.
"But what is it?" she asked, her eyes glistening with

tears.
"It is a royal charm. Wear it, and it will answer any

question. One squeeze means yes, two mean no, and three
mean it can not answer in that fashion. It will also protect

you, if you ask it to."

"Protect me?"
He put the ring on his own fingei. Demonstrate, he

thought.
The little snake came to life. It slithered into his palm;

then, as he brought it to Orb's hand, across to hers. It
reared up momentarily, issuing a tiny hiss, then coiled
around one of her fingers and went metallic again.
"You mean—it bites?" she asked, amazed.
"Deadly," he sang. "But only on command. This you
can always trust. Wear it and be secure."

Piers Anthony                29

"Until you return," she said.

He nodded. Then he took her in his arms and kissed
her deeply. Some of his makeup smeared on her face, but
that didn't matter. She was too lovely for any smear to
alter.

He stepped to the officer. "Now I will go with you."
he sang.

They brought up a fine horse, and Mym mounted. He
paused to wave to Orb and to the others who had be-
friended him. Then he rode out.







-3-

PRINCESS

The Rajah was older than Mym remembered him. Of
course, Mym had been no closer to his father than to his
brother; it was not the royal way. He had encountered
the man, physically, perhaps no more than a dozen times
in his life, and most of those during his childhood, before
his mother had had the bad judgment to bear a daughter
and had been divorced and dismissed from palace life.
Mym had had no close family life thereafter, and realized
now that this had been a considerable part of what he had
sought and found in Orb—true love and closeness be-
tween individuals. He was not about to give it up.

Still, the sight of his father was something of a shock.
It was not just that the man was old, but that he was both
grand and ill. He was elegantly robed, of course, which
was his normal state, with golden embroidery and a neck-
lace of bright rubies, but his bearing was a thing beyond
dress. The Rajah could have been naked and still radiated
authority. His illness showed in the sallowness of his com-
plexion and the hollowness of his cheeks. Obviously
magic had buttressed his health, but there were limits
even to magic, and the man was inevitably descending

Piers Anthony                31

toward his release of this body. No wonder he was con-
cerned about the state of his Heir.

"It is necessary for the Heir to have an heir," the Rajah
said. "You will be betrothed to a princess of the royal
house of Maharastra, a politically suitable alliance. We
are now negotiating the dowry."
"Sire, I will not be betrothed," Mym sang.
The Rajah gazed at him, nodding. "So it is true. The
wench taught you another mode of speech. This is an
improvement, though still not ideal."

"The wench," Mym sang between his teeth, "is the
only one I will marry."

The Rajah considered. "Do your duty by the princess,
and in due course you may recover the wench as a
concubine."

Mym turned his head and spat.

The courtiers jumped, and a royal guard went so far as
to touch his sword, but the Rajah did not react. After a
moment he made a tiny gesture with one hand, dismissing
his son.

Mym bowed and backed away, departing the Presence.
It had not been a very positive encounter.

He was put under house arrest at an attractive palace
on the outskirts ofAhmadabad. Naturally he was not tor-
tured or imprisoned or coerced by magical means; he was
the Heir. But neither was he given his freedom. He knew
he would be freed the moment he gave his word to co-
operate, but he would not give that word. The word of a
sovereign was inviolate and never given insincerely. So
he languished in total comfort, provided with gourmet
meals, phenomenal entertainment, and expert instruction
in any art that might interest him.

Two weeks into his confinement, he tried to escape.
He was unsuccessful, as he had known he would be; he
was merely testing the defenses. In the past, his father
had not cared about his whereabouts; now the Rajah did
care, and that made all the difference. Mym could not
escape.

After the first month, an ambassador from the Rajah
came to pose the question: would he now consent to the




32            Wielding a Red Sword

betrothal? Mym turned his head again and spat, and the

ambassador departed.
But the Rajah's wish was not lightly scorned. Two days

later a beautiful concubine was ushered into the palace.
Her hair was lustrous midnight, and gems sparkled in it
like stars. "The Rajah bids me be yours," she said.
"You will never be mine," Mym sang curtly.
Her lovely face stiffened. The palace guards hustled her

away.

One hour later the chief of the palace guards ap-
proached. "Prince Heir, the Rajah bids you witness what

we have done."
Curious, Mym accompanied the man to the front gate

of the palace. There, mounted on a tall spike, was the
head of the concubine. The gems still sparkled in her hair.

A month later another concubine arrived. This one was
a creature of the northlands, with bright blue eyes and
hair like finely wrought silver, bound about by threads of
gold. "The Rajah bids me be yours," she said.

Mym hesitated. He realized that this was a game in
which his father's resources of persuasion dwarfed his
own powers of rejection. At best, his adamance could lead
to a chain of lovely heads upon the spikes of the front
gate; at worst, the Rajah would obtain and present Orb

herself in this manner.

"Remain," he told her curtly. "I will summon you at

need."

That sufficed for the moment. But when the week ex-
pired, and he had not made use of her, this woman's head
abruptly appeared beside the first, on the gate.

The third month another concubine arrived. Her hair
was the color of burnished copper and buckled in place
by combs of fine green jadeite, and her eyes mirrored the

jadeite in hue.

Mym closed his eyes. Forgive me. Orb! he prayed. I

can not be the murderer of these lovely women. They are

too much like you.
Then he took the hand of the concubine, and brought

her to his bed, and dispatched her maidenhead that hour.
In this manner did the Rajah slowly bend his son to his
will. But still Mym refused to agree to the betrothal. His

Piers Anthony                33

body was captive, but his heart remained his own, pledged
to Orb.

Two years later the Rajah himself came to the palace.
The ravages of his illness had intensified, but his will had
not abated. "If you care not for your own interest," the
Rajah said, "consider that of your Kingdom. I will pass
within three years, and our enemies conspire against us,
but the Heir is not ready. Your presence, and the alliance
with Maharastra, can secure our frontier against serious
incursion. This is necessary for the welfare of all citizens
ofGujarat."

"Adopt a worthier heir," Mym sang. "Let me rejoin
my beloved."

"The Princess of Maharastra is beautiful and accom-
plished, completely worthy of any man. Accept the be-
trothal and all else is yours."

"I will not marry any woman but my beloved. Release
me and all else is yours."

"Fairness is a virtue, even in a prince," the Rajah re-
sponded. "Spend one month with the princess at the Hon-
eymoon Castle. If, thereafter, you still decline to betroth
her, I will grant you your freedom."

Victory, so suddenly! "Agreed," Mym said. What was
one month's temptation, compared to the two years he
had survived?

The Honeymoon Castle was situated in remote moun-
tains. It was a phenomenally attractive estate, with sculp-
tured hedges, gardens of infinite color, picturesque ar-
chitecture, and every likely luxury. No grounds-crew
maintained it; an enduring spell kept it in perfect condi-
tion, with an ideal climate independent of what existed
beyond. Favored nobles were granted weekends here
when they married, and the Rajah himself retired here
when in need of restoration. But for one full month it was
to be Mym's residence.

Of course a person could get bored with even the most
wonderful accommodations, in the absence of human
company. That was why there were always two people
here—and only two. For the most remarkable property




34

Piers Anthony                35

Wielding a Red Sword

of the Honeymoon Castle was the magic it performed on
the minds of those who came into its ambiance.

The emotion and conscious thoughts of any person here
expanded, in a fashion, beyond his body, and became
manifest to any other person present. There were no se-
crets of feeling, here. That was why it was so potent for
those who were freshly in love—and why it was no place
for those who were no longer in love.

However, Mym was forewarned and prepared. He had
never before been to the Honeymoon Castle, but he
doubted that its magic could shake his enduring love for
Orb. If there were any question, his close contact with
what might well turn out to be a simpering, spoiled south-
ern princess would eliminate it. He had in Orb a standard
of excellence that no other woman could match. What
was her name? He had almost forgotten it already!

Rapture of Malachite—that was it, as though there
could be delight in cold green stone. It was surely as ironic
a designation as his own, Pride of the Kingdom. No, he
knew he would emerge from this encounter victorious and
be free at last to rejoin his only true love.

He stood alone at the landing patio, awaiting the arrival
of the princess' carpet. There were no servants, of course;

no other minds could be permitted to snoop on the naked
thoughts and feelings of royalty. The two of them would
be truly alone for the duration, until the carpets returned
in a month to pick them up.

It arrived on schedule, first a speck above the mountain
pass in the distance, then a floating shape, flat below,
lumpy above. Finally it coasted in for the landing, a broad
carpet bearing a cushioned, curtained cage.

It settled gently to the tiles. The cage opened, and the

princess stepped out.

Mym stood in the shadow of the gate and gazed at her,
this nemesis of his love that he had never seen before.

The Princess Rapture of Malachite of Maharastra was
a spectacular figure of a woman. She wore a belted robe
that caressed a figure reminiscent of an hourglass, with a
sash of shining pale gold mesh, and buttons that were deep
red rubies. Her hair was a lustrous flowing river of blue-
black that whorled and swirled its way down about her

shoulders and framed her face most prettily. Her eyes
were like those of oxen of the lowland breed, great and
dark and liquid. Her tiny ears showed at the edge of her
coursing hair like shells at the fringe of a lake, sparkling
iridescently. Her mouth was a perfect dainty crimson
bow, too delicate for anything approaching a coarse word.
Her breasts beneath the robe were like twin fawns, firm
and perfectly rounded, surely as soft to the touch as man's
desire could wish. Her hips—

She turned to face him. Stay your lascivious thoughts,
ruffian! she thought fiercely at him. Have you forgotten
already where you are?

Indeed, he had, for the moment! Her amazing beauty
had smitten him unprepared, disrupting his anger at her
presence before it could be fairly settled. Now he felt
himself blushing, and that infuriated him—and made his
face burn more hotly.

She laughed, satisfied to be one up on him. He had
broadcast his impressions as openly as any schoolboy
might have, while she had maintained her reserve.

But now she sobered. "Know, 0 Prince ofGujarat, that
this union is no more my wish than yours," she said
clearly, and now her emotion came at him, controlled
anger. "I love another and will always love him; but for
the will of my father, I would be with him this moment
and forever. You are but an obstacle in my way, and we
shall pass this trial most readily if you keep your body
and your mind well clear of mine."

Mym could hardly believe it. "You are against this be-
trothal?" he sang. "That I did not know."

"There is surely much you do not know. Prince of the
tongue-tied. And much you had best never learn. Now
come into the open so I can see the image of my enemy.''

Embarrassed anew, Mym stepped out into the light.

Why, he is a handsome man, she thought with surprise.

That is immaterial, he responded in the same manner,
and now it was her turn to blush. She had been caught
the same way. It was one thing to know that their thoughts
would be completely open to each other, and quite an-
other to experience the reality.

"True, Pride of the Kingdom," she replied, and that




36            Wielding a Red Sword

set him back again. Even as it happened, he kept

forgetting!
Choose what quarters you prefer, he thought quickly,

to cover up whatever else he might otherwise think. I shall

take quarters on the opposite side.

"There is nowhere on the premises that we can avoid
each other's minds," she said. "Only mental discipline

will suffice."

That will suffice, he agreed grimly.
So they selected suites on opposite sides of the castle.
But that proved to be impractical, because there was nei-
ther food nor water in the suites; they had to emerge to
obtain these things. There was a kitchen section, stocked
with all manner of delicacies, but it was so constructed
as to require the simultaneous action of two parties. One
person had to hold open the pantry door, while the other
reached for the food; it could not otherwise be obtained.
It spoiled rapidly outside the magic pantry, so that it was
not feasible to cooperate for one big raid; two people had
to be present for every fresh meal,

The water was even more of a problem. It issued from
an old-fashioned pump with a long red handle. One person
had to pump, while the other held the cup in place; there
was no other way. Each served the other for a cupful—
but even this evaporated the moment it was taken from
the dining chamber. They were stuck together for meals.
That was the least of it. "But I want to wash!" the

Princess said annoyed.
Mym pondered. "I could pump while you sat under the

spout," he sang.
She turned on him a withering look. "Or I could pump

while you sat under it."

He appreciated the problem. Believe me. Rapture, I
have no desire to gawk at your fair flesh, he thought.

"You lie, Pride," she gritted.

True, he realized. He did not love her and had no wish
to be corrupted by her, but he was a man and enjoyed the
sight of voluptuous female flesh wherever it occurred—
and hers was as voluptuous as such flesh came. He was

a voyeur at heart.

"And I have no wish to corrupt you," she retorted.

Piers Anthony                37

You lie, he thought back at her, for beneath her overt
anger at the situation was a covert pleasure at his as-
sessment of her body. She was a true woman, subject to
fits of vanity; she wanted to be almost irresistibly ap-
pealing to all men, while obliging only that one she chose,
at her convenience.

Damn you! she thought, and her sudden rage was like
a crack of thunder.

He smiled, somewhat bitterly. This is the nature of this
castle, he reminded her. To force us together, to set up
feedback. To make me desire you, and you to appreciate
that desire, until we both are lost in mutual admiration.

"But we are royalty, not animals," she pointed out.
"We have no need to succumb slavishly to feedback."

He decided to change the subject, for it was treach-
erous. They were disciplined human beings, and she was
evidently as dedicated to her other love as he was to his—
a trait he admired in her—

"Watch your thought!" she snapped.

So it behooved them to cooperate to avoid the obvious
temptations. He must not look at her flesh, or think any
appreciative thoughts about it, no matter how luscious—

Animal! He wasn't sure whether that was her savage
thought or his. This business was trickier than he had
anticipated!

"True," she agreed.

"I will turn my back and pump while you wash," he
sang, having a bright notion. "Then you can do the same
for me. We need never gaze upon each other's flesh."

She considered. She didn't like it—her feeling was con-
sistent with her thought—but saw no better alternative.
"Let's experiment. You pump while facing away, and I
will wash my hands."

"A-a-a-agreed," he stuttered, then cursed himself for
forgetting to sing.

"Prince, we can surely discover significant things to
detest in each other," she said, sympathetic. "We need
not be ashamed of that which we have no power over.
Speak as you will; it is not an issue between us."

She forgave him his stuttering! Mym was for the mo-
ment overwhelmed by a surge of gratitude. So few of
either sex ever bothered to understand—




38            Wielding a Red Sword

Stop that! she thought fiercely. / don't want your

feeling!

She was trying to do the proper thing, which was to

maintain her alienation from him. He understood per-
fectly and was trying to do the same himself. But her
compassion for his handicap cut through to his deepest
self-image; he could mask but never quite abolish his

gratitude.

"Oh, pump the pump!" she cried in frustration, strug-
gling with imperfect success to stave off that gratitude.

He turned about, reaching behind him to grasp the han-
dle, awkwardly. His gaze fell on the wall he now faced.

It was a wall-sized mirror.

Mym sighed. The builder of Honeymoon Castle seemed
to have thought of everything. Well, he could simply close

his eyes.

"Better a blindfold," she said.

They tried that. He draped a blanket over his head and
pumped, while she set about her business.

"Oh!" she exclaimed abruptly.

Cold water, no doubt. He kept pumping—but now his
thoughts focused determinedly on speculations about
what flesh the flowing water must be touching to evoke
such reaction. He tried to divert his mind, but there was
no way now not to think about what he shouldn't. Clear

water, glistening breasts—

"Oh, this is worse than just plain looking would be!"
she exclaimed in frustration. "Take off that blanket!"

But I'm trying to control my—

She reached across and tore off the blanket. Mym
blinked. There before him was a bare bosom every bit as
grand as the one he had been trying not to imagine.

"Might as well get this over with," she muttered, her
spoken words almost blotted out by the underlying anger
she broadcast. She stripped the rest of the way, while
Mym, bemused, watched, ashamed for the admiration he
was unable to suppress. She was indeed the perfect

woman.
In due course she finished and dried and dressed.' 'Now

it is your turn," she said ferociously.
Mym quailed. Fair was fair—but naturally he had suf-

Piers Anthony                59

fered the masculine reaction; if he stripped, this would be
all too evident.

Rapture blushed. "Some other time," she decided, and
fled.

Of course his thought had been about as revealing as
his body would have been. He blushed himself; he had
not meant or wanted to expose her to that. She was a fine,
discreet woman, who had probably never seen a man in—

Enough! her thought came, undiminished in intensity
despite the distance she had put between them.

At that he had to laugh, ruefully. The Castle was making
fools of them both.

Rapture reappeared. She was trying to maintain her
anger, but the perverse humor of it was spreading to her.
"We must escape this castle!" she exclaimed.

"Y-y-yes!" he agreed fervently.

"Y-y-yes," she echoed, and she was not mocking him.

But neither of them had much of an idea how to do it.
The estate was girt by a high enchanted wall that could
not be scaled, with a lake on the back; the only approach
was by magic carpet, and they had none. They agreed to
ponder during the night and compare notes in the
morning.

They got through the evening meal, and then Rapture
shut her eyes and pumped while Mym washed. If she
peeked it didn't matter, for she could not help but read
his physical state through his mind. She merely flushed
and continued pumping, while he counted numbers back-
wards constantly to drown out what he could of his own
thoughts. He was glad when it was over.

They separated, each going to the appropriate suite. But
Mym had hardly entered his when her scream resounded
through his mind. He charged to her section, threw open
the curtain—naturally there were no doors—and found
her standing with her delicate fist in her mouth.

"Something was there!" she cried.

From her mind he got the image—some shadowy, skel-
etal, demonic figure that had sought to sneak up on her,
but retreated when she turned to look.

"But there are no other people or creatures on the
premises," Mym reminded her. "We would intercept
their thoughts."




40

Piers Anthony                41

Wielding a Red Sword

"I saw it," she insisted, and he knew she had—or be-
lieved she had.
Which left open the possibility of something other than

a person or a creature, he realized. Was this Castle

haunted by demons?

"Demons!" she exclaimed, horrified.
But why would there be anything like that in a castle

intended for lovers?

"To ensure that they are together," she said.
And that, of course, was it. Those who insisted on
sleeping apart would discover company of an unpleas-
antly alien nature. Rapture was obviously extremely ill at
ease; he felt it throughout her mind. What were they to

do?
"I will ignore it," she said bravely. But though she

intended to make the effort, he read her deep fear of the
demonic. She would not be able to sleep.

It was a man's business to protect a woman from what-
ever threats existed, in whatever way he could. Mym
knew that his sword would not be effective against a
demon—but that was not the point. / will stand guard,

he thought.

"I couldn't ask you to do that!" she protested. "We
must sleep apart!" But she wished he would do that, for

she was genuinely afraid.

I will sleep by the door, he decided, amending his no-
tion. That will be no hardship.

Her relief was manifest. "I wish I could thank you,

Prince Pride," she said.
They both knew why she could not. "I prefer Mym,"

he sang.
"Mym—the name they gave you at the sideshow," she

said, reading the context. "Where you met the woman

you love."

Where I was happy, he agreed.

She retired to her large, soft bed of feather pillows and
colorful quilts, and he settled down in the doorway and
slept in the way a warrior did, alert for any intrusion. They
left the lamp on, so that nothing could enter unseen.

In a moment he jerked awake. A horrendous demon
was tiptoing toward the bed. Rapture turned and saw it,
and screamed.

Mym leaped up, his sword whipping from its sheath—
but the demon charged through a wall, making no sound,
and disappeared.

He turned back to the bed, where Rapture was shaking
with reaction. Her emotion was a tangled mass of loa-
thing, fear, and shame, for she knew she was imposing
on Mym despite her resolve to cause him no more trouble.

He went to her, sat on the bed, and took her into his
arms. // is the nature of the innocent to be afraid of evil,
he thought soothingly. He felt no fear himself, of course,
merely disgust that he could have allowed an intrusion of
this nature. He had been on guard, had he not?

She sobbed into his shoulder. Then, buoyed by his
lack of fear, she calmed. "I—I apologize for my weak-
ness, that so inconveniences you," she said. "I never
meant—"

/ know. The Castle made deception impossible; she was
not practicing any artifice in her fear, and he practiced
none in his lack of it. They had been trained for different
things.

"But this is exactly what the Castle means to do!" she
said. "To force us into each other's arms—"

"There is no love in it," he said. "I would hold a fright-
ened child so."

That abashed her further, yet she could not deny it. "If
child I must be, then so let it be," she said. "My weakness
and my humiliation are laid open to you, and I deserve
your contempt."

You showed no contempt when I stuttered, he reminded
her.

"But you couldn't help that!"

"And you can not help this."

She paused, considering. "I showed none because I felt
none," she said slowly. "But had I felt it, I would have
changed my opinion by now. You are a brave man and a
kind one."

/ am a Prince. I am what I am trained to be.

The bravery, yes, she thought back at him. The kind-
ness, no.

The best ruler tempers justice with mercy, he thought,
echoing what he had been trained.




42 Wielding a Red Sword

But with you the mercy is stronger than it should be.

This was true, he realized. He had mastered the phys-
ical abilities required of his office, but not the emotional
ones. Had he possessed proper discipline, he would not
have been swayed by the fate of the concubines he re-
jected or by the subservience of the cavalry officer who
had come to bring him back. He was weak—and his father
the Rajah had played upon that weakness with an expert
touch.

"Oh, Mym!" she cried, reading his mind. "I did not
know!"

/(was not your business to know. Was not similar pres-
sure put on you to come here?

"Not exactly. My father simply shipped me here. I had
no choice."

Being a woman, he agreed. A prince must accede; a
princess must obey.

"Physically," she agreed. "But my heart is my own."

Or his whom you love.

"Yes," she agreed. But now another aspect of her em-
barrassment was spread out involuntarily for his percep-
tion—she had no other love. The man she had been in-
terested in was not the equal of Mym and no prince; that
interest had evaporated like vapor in the past few hours.
She had resisted coming here simply because she did not
like being played like a pawn, assigned to a man for the
sake of a political liaison. She was no concubine!

J never thought of you as a concubine! he thought.

"Oh, I wish I could keep my thoughts to myself!" she
wailed. "All my secrets are leaking from me!"

Your secrets become you, he responded.

"I would rather lie naked to your gaze!"

She had already stood naked to it when she washed.
But he understood exactly what she meant. A woman,
more than a man, was a creature of dainty privacies, of
hidden places, and it was cruel to expose these.

"Thank you," she said.

Lie here. Sleep. I will remain alert,

"It is our separation that emboldens the demon," she
said. "Keep your arms about me and sleep yourself; the
demon will not come."

Piers Anthony                43

^SK^r^^'K
tess^'8be"her ^M-te" '•» ^.y

deSSn'" "waflte ""' '""*• te •I'0"'1" "•t
"Tomorrow," ahe mreed. Then, slowly, they «lept.







STORM

In the morning they got up, and Mym faced away while
Rapture changed into fresh apparel; then they went to his
suite, where she faced away while he changed. But it
hardly mattered; the enforced openness of their minds and
feelings made physical concealment pointless.

They had breakfast. Then they took a walk by the placid

lake.
Mym stood at the shore and removed his clothing. Two

times two is four, he thought intensely. Two times four is
eight. It pretty well drowned out whatever else he might
have been thinking.

Rapture looked askance, then nodded. She was bright
enough. Two times three is six, she thought as she re-
moved her own dress. Two times six is twelve.

Their two sets of computations tended to interfere with
each other, making concentration difficult. They simply
started over, when an error was made.

Naked, they entered the water and swam for the far
shore. Mym had not dared to ask directly whether Rap-
ture swam, for that would have betrayed his intent. It was
evident that she did indeed swim well; in fact she was
especially lovely as she stroked along beside him. He re-

44

Piers Anthony                45

membered the mermaid in the tank—but Rapture was far
prettier than the halfling had been.

Two times twenty-four is forty-eight! Rapture thought
emphatically, reminding him to keep his mind on his own
computations. Half-guiltily, he did.

In that manner they crossed the lake, making excellent
progress. But as the farther shore approached, there was
a swirling in the water around them. and small fish of
many hues glided by in schools.

Then four fish poked their snouts up in front, chanting:

"If your father knew, he would fall into a deadly rage!"

Rapture gulped a mouthful of water and spluttered. For
a moment she thrashed inelegantly, before recovering her
equilibrium. "My father!" she exclaimed, upset.

Mym was treading water, making sure she was all right
before resuming the swim. The speaking of the fish had
been a shock, but this was evidently a harmless manifes-
tation. He glanced back—and saw a huge fin cutting the
water toward them.

Now he felt dread, for he was weaponless and ill-
equipped to defend himself in the water. Rapture, of
course, was even more vulnerable. She screamed.

The fin circled and cut between them and the shore
ahead. There it remained, awaiting them.

Mym considered. The talking fish had made it clear that
their attempt to escape had not gone unnoticed, and the
fin suggested rather strongly that it would not go unpun-
ished. He sighed.

He pointed back to the Castle. They began to swim back
the way they had come—and the fin did not follow.

They spent the rest of the day touring the lovely gardens
and alcoves of the premises, remaining close together, and
it was pleasant enough. The Castle did not threaten them
as long as they tried neither to escape it nor to separate
from each other. But this proximity continually caused
Mym's thought to dwell on the obvious virtues of the Prin-
cess, and she felt flattered, though she tried to fight it,
and this feeling came back to Mym, encouraging further
thoughts.

They sat in a pretty stone patio, sharing the feeling of
captivity. "What are we going to do, Mym?" Rapture
asked. "You know where this is leading."

46            Wielding a Red Sword

"Iknow," he sang. "But perhaps if we knew each other
better, the result would not be what is intended."

"It would not?" She was perplexed.

"Every person has faults. My impediment of speech is
obvious. You have been gracious, but I think you would
tire of it soon enough."

"Then stop singing and speak!" she exclaimed, un-
derstanding immediately.

"Y-y-y-yes," he stuttered.

"And if you understood my faults better," she said,
"you would surely find me less interesting."

"W-w-w-what f-f-f—?" But his thought had been clear
long before the word could get out.

She felt pensive. "I had hoped to conceal—but of
course that's foolish. I have three great faults, and the
first is quite as obvious as yours."

He gazed at her, baffled. "It is n-n-n-not ap-ap—"

"It is apparent," she said. "I was a terrible disappoint-
ment to my father, because I was bom a—" Here she
balked, but her thought came through.

A girl! he thought. But that's no fault!

"It is if a male heir is needed," she said grimly.

"I w-w-would n-n-not c-c-c-call—"

"Then you are more generous than my father," she

said.

He would not have had her otherwise! He could not
imagine this absolutely lovely woman as a male. What a
sad commentary on the state of contemporary values that
such a creature should consider her gender to be a fault!

"You're not cooperating, you know," she said.

He made a mental laugh. / hate the situation, but I
cannot hate you. Rapture of Malachite. There is no fault
in you I have yet seen, other than the fact that you are
slated to replace the woman I love.

"And none in you, Mym," she said.

In the evening the demon showed again, terrifying Rap-
ture. Mym was perplexed; by day she was a self-reliant
woman, competent in whatever way required, yet by night

she was helpless.
"It is true," she confessed. "I am, as I said, a woman;

I have no strength to stand up to malice or ugliness. From

Piers Anthony                 47

my childhood, I have been terrified of demons. I deeply
regret being this burden to you."

There was indeed, he realized, some fault in being fe-
male. No man he knew of would have permitted anything
like a demon to dismay him. But of course men were
trained to fight. Women were trained to be dependent. It
was still not truly a fault, but rather an aspect of the cul-
tural expectation.

And if women were destined to be vulnerable, so were
men destined to protect them. He lay on her bed with her,
as before, and put his arms about her, and slept.

His dreams had always been chaotic, but this time they
were more so. He dreamed he was holding a beautiful
woman and knew that the dream was true. He dreamed
that he rejected her—and saw her head mounted upon a
spike.

He woke to the sound of screaming. The demon was
leaning over them, leering, reaching out. Mym grasped
his sword—but the demon faded back and away.

It was Rapture who had screamed. She had read his
dream, and felt the spike.

We have to get out of here! he thought, and she agreed.

Next day they explored the premises more thor-
oughly—and found a brass ring set in the ground in the
comer of a chamber seldom used. Mym wedged it up, and
it was the handle of a metal slab, and beneath the slab
was a deep hole. Stone steps descended, curving out of
sight.

Rapture fetched a lamp, and they descended. The steps
ended somewhere under the wall, and a squared passage
led onward beyond the wall. This was a secret tunnel, a
possible escape!

The air became cool, and the walls clammy. Rapture
shrank away from contact, but stayed close beside him.
They did not bother with the mental sums this time, as it
was evident that they had not concealed the prior day's
escape attempt. At least this time they were on their feet,
and Mym had his sword.

They came to a chamber wherein were several stone
altars, and on each altar was an object. The first had a




48            Wielding a Red Sword

bright gold ring, the second a burnished copper lamp, and
the third a calf molded from gold.

Rapture, always intrigued by jewelry, paused to pick
up the ring. She tried it on one finger, and then another,
but it fit none of them, so she put it back.

Mym picked up the lamp, to see whether it would serve
better than the one they had, but it had no fuel. It was
merely a decoration, of no practical use. / wonder whether
I should rub it? he thought.

"Or make a wish on the ring," Rapture added.

They considered, then decided that these artifacts were
likely to be traps for the unwary. What horror might be
invoked, if they tried to summon the powers of ring or

lamp? Better to pass quietly by.

But as they passed the gold calf, it lifted its head and
said: "If your father knew, he would slaughter a woman

an hour!"

Mym jumped, appalled. That spoke to his own weak-
ness, his dislike of unnecessary killing.

Then there was a sound from the tunnel ahead, a series
of thuds that jarred the chamber, as of some creature strid-
ing toward them. Mym drew his sword—and there was
a horrendous roar, and a blast of smoke came from the

tunnel.
"That's a dragon!" Rapture squeaked. "You can't fight

that!"

Surely not. The fire it breathed would bum them both
to death before the thing came close enough to be stabbed.

Mym sighed, again. "We must retreat," he sang, and
set the example, turning and walking back the way they
had come. Rapture followed close behind, carrying the
original lamp. The dragon did not pursue.

Back in the castle proper, they talked again, and Rap-
ture confessed her second great fault. She had, once in
her childhood, permitted a man to touch her. She had
found her way out into the city, sneaking away while her
nurse was preoccupied, and did not yet realize that all
children were not princesses, or that there were different
castes. She had come upon a laborer and touched his hand
to get his attention. Then her nurse had caught up with

her.

Piers Anthony                49

The man had been an Untouchable—one of the caste-
less. There had been a serious row, and she had been
subjected to a horrendous series of cleansings and ablu-
tions to purify her from that hideous touch. The laborer,
of course, had been summarily executed, and his family
clubbed to death. But what she remembered most was the
rage of her towering father: TWICE YOU HAVE
FAILED ME!

And Mym suffered another vision of a lovely head set
on a spike. No! he thought. You did not know! You meant
no harm!

"That hardly mattered," she said. "Ignorance is no
valid excuse." But emotion surged up within her bosom
because of his supporting thought, and she had to fight it
back down, for it was not what they sought.

They spent the night together as before. This time Mym
dreamed that he held her in his arms, as he was doing in
reality, but the dream continued farther. He kissed her,
and then he began to undress her, and her flesh was warm
and silken-smooth, and he sought to possess her—

And wrenched himself awake. Reality had been mir-
roring his dream, and her body was open to his touch.

Why did you not stop me? he demanded.

"I tried—but couldn't," she whispered.

/ never forced a woman in my life!

"Couldn't—make myself protest," she confessed.

We must escape this place!

"Of course," she agreed.

But it was several more days before they discovered
another way to make the attempt. High in the Castle, on
a turret, birds of every description landed to take the pure
water offered there. On occasion a very large bird came—
a roc.

"That bird could carry us over the wall," Mym sang.

"But wouldn't it consume us?"

"Not if we let it know our nature. Man-eating rocs have
been hunted to extinction; only safe ones remain."

And so they climbed the myriad stairs to the high turret
and brought there a large bag fashioned of net. When the
roc came, they stood in the net, and Mym hurled the tie-




50

Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 51

rope out to snag in a claw. The startled bird took off with
a great downdraft of air and hauled the bag up with it.
They dangled precariously below, airborne.

The roc climbed rapidly to the clouds. As they ap-
proached a cloud bank, a great face formed, and wintry
air whooshed out of the mouth-hole. "If your fathers
knew, they would blame each other," the cloud thun-
dered. "Their Kingdoms would go to war, decimate each
other, and become so weakened that the alien Mongul
horde would sweep down, enslave both, and use their fair
young women to satisfy the lusts of prize bulls and their
men as flesh for dogs. Furthermore—"

"Enough!" Rapture screamed, voicing Mym's thought.

"Roc, set us down!"

The big bird obligingly descended and settled back on
the turret, where they cut away the net and retreated.
They had failed again.

"Tonight," Rapture said with grim determination,
"and every night following, we must sleep apart."

"But the demon—" he sang.

"I fear the demon now less than I fear what will happen
if we are together. I am weak, and you are merciful; we
are at the limit of our resistance."

And this was true. Surely the demon would not actually
hurt her; it existed only to frighten her into obeying the
design of the Castle.

Rapture retired alone, but her fear spread throughout
the Castle. Mym remained in his own suite, determined
not to go to her unless she called. It was difficult.

Yet what were they fighting? he asked himself. Their
physical contact was urging them on to sexual fulfill-
ment—but that was not the same as love. He had sex
with concubines; he loved Orb. Wouldn't it be easier to
treat Rapture as—

No. She was, as she had said at the outset, no con-
cubine. She was a Princess. She was not to be used and

set aside.

He thought about Orb— but now she seemed far away.
Of course he loved only her—yet the cutting edge seemed
to have been blunted. This Castle was working its sinister
magic despite all he could do!

It was not that Rapture was unworthy. She was, ob-
jectively, the equal of Orb. She was a Princess, as Orb
was not, but Orb was self-assured, as Rapture was not.
Orb could stand alone by day and by night; Rapture was
forever vulnerable. That was a mark against her. What
man wanted a totally dependent woman?

He became aware of something else. He focused on it,
and realized that it was Rapture's suppressed thought.
She was trying to shield it, to prevent him from reading
it—and that made him curious.

THREE TIMES YOU HAVE FAILED ME!

Mym saw another head upon a spike, and this time there
was no doubt about its identity. It was Rapture's.

He leaped up and charged to her suite. She was there,
sitting naked on the bed, a knife at her breast. Now the
muffled thought was clear to him. She was about to kill
herself!

"No!" he cried. "You must not!" He ran across and
grabbed her hand just as the sharp point touched her flesh.
A streak appeared, as she fought to complete the act.

He forced her arm away, outward, but she clung to the
knife with the strength of desperation. "Three times I
have failed!" she cried.

They fell to the bed, his left arm against her right, fight-
ing for the knife. His face banged into her bosom, and he
tasted the blood.

Then a storm formed within him, as the blood brought
on the berserker madness, bereft of his conscious control.
He squeezed her wrist, causing the knife to fall away, and
clutched her to him as the storm hurled them both into a
chaos of passion.

The madness spread to her own being, for they were
inextricably linked in emotion as well as body. Her lips
drew back from her pearly teeth and her eyes slitted.
Something like the whine of a chained killer-animal
sounded in her throat. Her jaws parted, and those strong
teeth snapped at his shoulder. In a moment she had drawn
his blood and tasted it. Reddish froth bubbled between
her teeth.

Then the storm intensified in their minds as their bodies
strove against each other. Never before had Mym fought




52

Wielding a Red Sword

Piers Anthony

another berserker. Her strength and speed matched his,
and her rage matched his. Whirling funnels developed,
gouging out segments of the atmosphere, their ferocious
winds screaming like banshees. His funnel advanced on
hers, and hers met it eagerly, and the two danced about
each other, seeking devastation.

Then the two aspects of the storm charged together,
while his teeth and hers attacked their physical targets.
Their snarling mouths met and struggled for purchase, but
could find none. Locked together, tooth against tooth,
nullified, they paused. Now their tongues sought battle,
wrestling against each other. The two storm-funnels
merged, and their winds formed into an overlapping pat-
tern, doubling the force.

The coursing winds expanded, forming a larger funnel,
a larger eye, bringing a new kind of order to the chaos of
the storm. Steadily the air became organized into a huge
circular pattern, savage in its force. And steadily their
mouths, gnashing against each other, modified into a dif-
ferent kind of contact.

In this whirling intensity and stasis the thoughts that
were the most focused aspects of their feelings and ex-
perience were stripped of their clothing of qualification,
and stretched out in full view before being dissipated. /
expected a tough, callous, overbearing brute, who would
ravish my body but never touch my soul, she thought
involuntarily.

And I expected a cold, aloof woman who would never
risk her heart, he thought.

Their lips were softening into a sustained, deep kiss.

Or an inconsequential courtier type, of no practical use,
perhaps more interested in young boys than in genuine
women.

Or a seductress, set to vamp any man regardless of his
merit—a concubine in the likeness of a princess.

The kiss intensified, and their bodies slowly relaxed
against each other.

But I found a decent and caring man, who tried to treat
me with courtesy, though he loved elsewhere.

And I found a woman who was competent and beautiful
by day and vulnerable by night.

I could have despised the brute or ignored the courtier.
I could have ignored the aloof or used the seductress.
And so she had discovered in him a man she could gen-
uinely respect. But because of that, she did not wish to
corrupt him. He had another love; she would not attempt
to interfere with that, despite her mandate from her father.
But her good intention was subverted by her female na-
ture. When he protected her at night, she came to appre-
ciate him more than she wished. Unable to prevent the
development of what she strove to avoid, she had finally
set out to solve the problem in the only way possible.

That is why I have to die, her thought concluded. // is
the only decent thing to do. I could not face my father,
after failing him for the third time, but I could not allow
myself to corrupt you.

And he had discovered in her a woman the equal of the
one he loved, and one he might have loved had he met
her first. But because he did love another, he had no right
to compromise this one. He had exerted his discipline to
act with propriety, despite the devices of the Castle.
When she had required protection at night, he had done
what was required—and no more.

But I could not allow you to die, his thought concluded.
That was no decent thing to do.

And so their dilemma was upon them, for both knew
that if she did not die, she would corrupt him. The am-
bience of the Castle made that inevitable.

He did not like that term, "corrupt."

And even if you did not love elsewhere, I would not be
worthy of you, she thought. The one you love is strong,
while I am weak.

She is strong, while you are weak, he agreed.
Therefore I must be sacrificed, that you may return to
her.

But Orb, he realized, could survive without him—be-
cause she was strong. A woman like her could have any
man she chose. She had blessed him with her love and
done more for him than any woman before had done—
but she did not truly need him. While Rapture could not,
at this stage, survive without him.

So let me die! she pleaded.




54            Wielding a Red Sword

Rapture loved him; this could no longer be concealed.
So she chose to die, solving her problem and his. She had
never sought the selfish way that would bring her the
praise of her grim father; she had never tried to capture
him, despite her emotion and her need of him.

He considered her, while their bodies remained locked
in the kiss and their emotions swirled in a monstrous pat-
tern about them. Rapture was the perfect woman, except
for her single great weakness, her dependence on him.
She was terrified of being alone. Yet she had had the cour-
age to do what she felt necessary—to abolish her own
life, to free him. This had been no pretense, no play for
sympathy; she had made her decision and sought to im-
plement it. He was assured of this, for no false thoughts
were possible here. The courage she lacked for herself,
she had risen to in her effort to protect him.
It is already too late, he realized.
/ would be dead now, if you had not prevented me! You
would have been safe from corruption.

I prevented it because I was already corrupted. Then
he laughed, mentally, at the irony of the term.

Even now, let me go andyou will be free! she persisted.
How can I be free by letting you die—when I love you?
Like startled birds, her thoughts and emotions swirled,
finding no anchorage. But I am weak where she is strong!

Therefore you need me more than she does. No woman
ever truly needed me before.

But this made no sense, she protested. No one would
choose another to love because of a weakness!

No woman would, he agreed. But a man—desires a
dependent woman. Whatever he might say to the con-
trary. A man wanted his woman all to himself. It wasn't
nice, it wasn't generous, but that was what he most truly
desired—when his illusions were stripped away. A lovely,
talented, and completely dependent woman.

And while her confusion swirled about them, he shifted
his body, encountering no resistance, and took her in the
manner they both desired. The storm intensified, obliter-
ating all else, carrying them both into the rapture of their
passion, the physical expression of their love.

Then they emerged into the center of the storm—and

55

Piers Anthony

it was completely calm, a region very like nirvana. For a
thousand years they floated there, gently sharing their
unbound love. The intense ecstasy of the breakthrough
had become the enduring pleasure of complete accep-
tance, physical, emotional, and mental, and the latter was
more wonderful than the former. Then it was morning.

They spent the remainder of the month as true hon-
eymooners, going hand in hand by day, sharing a bed by
night. They shared thoughts, coming to know all the de-
tails of each other's existences. They agreed that they
would be married as soon as was feasible, but would keep
company in the interim. It had been a desperation mea-
sure of the two Rajahs, sending them unwed to the Hon-
eymoon Castle, because of course it guaranteed that the
bride would not be virginal—but this was, after all, the
twentieth century, and the rulers of nations did what they
deemed expedient, regardless of the ancient proprieties.
A contraceptive spell would keep Rapture from becoming
prematurely pregnant; that would suffice.

"But Orb," she inquired, concerned. "What of her?"
"I gave her my magic serpent-ring," he sang. "It al-
ways informs its user of the truth, if asked. I have no
doubt she knew of my defection long before I did. She
had only to ask it 'Will Mym return?' and it would squeeze
twice. Two years have passed; she may already have
found another man. I sincerely regret putting her through
this business, but she knows that I loved her when I was
taken from her, that I intended to return to her, but was
prevented."

"By another love," Rapture said pensively.
"That I would prefer to spare her—but surely she knew
it also, if she wanted to. My respect and feeling for her
has not really been changed; it has merely been
superseded. But I think it will be best if I do not see her
again."

"Perhaps I should see her, to explain—"
"No. She knows—if she wants to. We must leave her
to her own life, which will surely be a rich one. With the
ring, she may be able to find the Llano, the song she
sought; that much, at least, I may have done for her."




56            Wielding a Red Sword

"If you are sure—"

"You fought to protect her, to avoid diverting my love
from her," he reminded her. "You meant to kill yourself.
But it happened anyway, because you are what you are,
and I am what I am, and the Castle is what it is. We have
a new reality, and I would not change it now if I had the

power."

"Still I feel guilt—"
"And I feel it when you feel it. But I think it will pass."

And by the time the month was done, it had passed.




58            Wielding a Red Sword

drawn up. In the interim, Gujarat and Maharastra were
allied, and this well served the political interests of both.
Mym plunged into the business of the Kingdom, for .
with his commitment to the betrothal had come his par-
ticipation in contemporary matters. He would be the next
Rajah and he had only three years to gain some solid ex-
perience. He talked in singsong, to avoid the stutter, and
if any person thought that was funny, that person con-
cealed his opinion most carefully, for the Rajah had issued
a notice that any person caught making light of any other
person's manner of speaking would be summarily be-
headed. On the first day Mym had gone out, a man had
laughed at a comment made by another, probably on some
unrelated subject; the cavalrymen had charged into the
crowd, knocking down those who failed to scurry clear,
and lopped off the laugher's head—and that of his com-
panion for good measure. Now no one found any subject
the slightest bit humorous while Prince Pride was in the

area.
Gujarat was not in ideal shape. There was a great deal

of poverty, and some starvation in the nether castes. The
problems were dual; a bad drought in the central region
that had disrupted the rice harvest; and overpopulation
along the coast. It would have been difficult to feed all
those people if the harvest had been good; as it was, it

was impossible.
Mym floated his royal carpet to the most distressed

region. There he saw people spread out on the ground,
having no place to go and no ability to work. Officers of
the Kingdom were dispensing soup, but it was thin and
insufficient; it only extended lives, without reversing then-
course. The distribution was being done in a fair and or-
derly manner; there simply was not enough soup to do

the job.
Mym thought of the two years he had spent confined

to the palace. He had been served the rarest delicacies,
which he had not appreciated, and all his servants and
concubines had been excellently fed. Now he cursed him-
self for his selfish neglect of the Kingdom, where the
present situation had been developing. Had he done his
duty earlier and been on the job where he belonged, he

Piers Anthony                59

might well have been able to accomplish some amelio-
ration of misery. How many good citizens had starved to
death, while Mym had taunted his father with his refusal
to do his duty?

As he stood surveying the ugly situation, he saw a figure
walking among the dying. He signaled a minister, who
hurried forward. "Who is that man?" Mym inquired.

The minister looked, but was baffled. "Prince, whom
do you mean? I see none but the dying on their pallets."

"That man in the ebony-black cape," Mym sang.

The minister gazed again, his brow furrowed. "I see no
such man."

Mym had had enough of this. He strode forward, the
minister scurrying after him. He approached the caped
figure, who was leaning over one of the pallets. "You!"
he called in his fashion. "Identify yourself!"

The figure ignored him. Angry at this contempt, Mym
confronted him face to face. "Speak, or suffer the con-
sequence!" he sang.

Slowly the figure raised his head. Under the cowl, the
face took form. It was emaciated beyond belief, a virtual
skull, the eyes sunken and the teeth protruding. "You
perceive me?" the strange man asked.

Mym was taken aback. This was obviously no ordinary
person! "Of course I see you! I want to know who you
are and what business you have here!"

The hollow eyes seemed to focus more specifically on
him. The mouth-orifice opened. "I am Famine."

"Famine!" Mym exclaimed. "What kind of a name is
that?"

"The name of my office."

"Office?" Mym demanded. He turned to the minister.
"What do you know of this?"

The minister looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Prince
Heir, certainly there is famine. This is why we are here.
I confess I do not understand your reference to an office.''

"The office this man who calls himself Famine refers
to!" Mym sang angrily.

The discomfort intensified. "My Lord, I see no man."

"Th-th-this one h-here!" Mym exclaimed, forgetting to
sing. He reached out to touch the gaunt finger, not caring
that the man was probably casteless.




60

Piers Anthony                61

Wielding a Red Sword

His hand passed through the figure, encountering no

resistance.
Mym paused, taking stock. "You are an apparition?"

he asked Famine.

"I am the Incarnation of Famine, the associate of War,
on a temporary mission for Death," the figure said.

"And no one else can see you?"

"I do not know why you can see me," Famine con-
fessed. "Normally no mortal can perceive an Incarnation,
unless he has intimate business with that Incarnation."

"Well, I am concerned about the starvation occurring
here," Mym sang. "I need to ascertain the extent of the
problem and decide how best to alleviate it. Do you have

advice on that?"

"Feed your people," Famine said, with a grisly grin.
' 'How? We have neither food nor sufficient distribution

facilities."
"I do not give advice; I merely invoke the

consequence."

"Well, put me through to your superior, then," Mym
sang, angrily, while the minister backed surreptitiously
away, deeming him crazy.

Famine made some kind of magical gesture, "I have
summoned Thanatos," he said. Then he faded, until there

was nothing to see.

Mym glanced about and saw the minister retreating.
"Hold!" he snapped, and the minister, still greatly ill at
ease, paused. "I have just spoken with the Incarnation
of Famine and am about to speak with the Incarnation of

Death. You will remain."

"As my lord wishes," the minister said nervously. It
was evident that he would have preferred to be anywhere

but here.
There was a flurry in the sky, and a figure appeared.

Quickly it approached. It was a beautiful pale horse, gal-
loping through the air without benefit of wings, bearing a
cloaked rider. The horse drew to a halt before Mym,
snorting vapor, and the rider dismounted.

If Famine had been gaunt, Thanatos was completely
skeletal. His bone-fingered hand extended. "Greetings,
Prince," the skullface said.

Mym took the hand. The bones were bare but firm.
"Greetings, Thanatos. Um—would it be too much to ask
that you make yourself visible to the minister, here? He
thinks I'm hallucinating."

Thanatos turned to the minister. "Greetings, Minis-
ter," he said.

The minister's mouth sagged open. "G-G-Gre—" he
began.

"Try singing it," Mym suggested in singsong.

Thanatos faced again toward Mym. "My associate
asked me to speak with you."

"I am concerned with the suffering here," Mym sang.
"I want to alleviate it, but am bound about by circum-
stances I can not adequately control. I thought that, since
you have an interest in this matter, you might proffer
advice."

Thanatos lifted his skeletal wrist and touched a heavy
watch there. Abruptly the scene froze. The minister's
look of shock remained unchanging on his face; the clouds
in the sky stopped moving. Smoke from a distant fire be-
came stationary. Nothing moved, except for Thanatos,
Mym, and the great pale horse.

"The fact that you are able to perceive Incarnations
suggests that you relate to us," Thanatos said. "There-
fore I will explore this matter. Chronos will know." He
touched his watch again—and suddenly a figure cloaked
in white stood with them, holding up a large, glowing
hourglass.

"Yes, Thanatos," the new figure said. He appeared to
be a normal man. "And Mars. Good to encounter you
both again."

"Mars?" Mym asked.

"Mars?" Thanatos echoed, seeming equally perplexed.

"Oh, hasn't he taken office yet?" Chronos asked. "I
regret my slip. I travel in the opposite direction, you
know. I will erase the episode."

"No!" Mym cried, in his stress not stuttering. "Ig-
norance has brought enough mischief already! I will keep
the secret, if that's what it is. What has Mars to do with
this?"

Chronos exchanged a glance with Thanatos, then




62

Piers Anthony                63

Wielding a Red Sword

shrugged. "Your problem here is war. War diverts nec-
essary resources wastefully, so that food is destroyed in-
stead of feeding the hungry. To alleviate misery like this,
you must first abolish war. Since you are to become Mars,
the Incarnation of War, you should be in a position to deal
with this."

"I—become Mars?" Mym asked, dumbfounded. "But
I have a Kingdom to run, a bride to marry!"

"Well, I suppose you could turn the office down,"
Chronos said. "Nothing is fixed, and certainly the reality
I remember can become another reality. But if you are
serious about alleviating suffering in the world—"

Mym looked out over the pallets, each bearing a starv-
ing person—men, women and children. "I must stop
this!" he said.

"Then the opportunity will be yours," Chronos said.
"I am glad that the future is not to change in this respect;

I have enjoyed working with you and will be sorry to see
you depart—though of course that is not the way you
perceive it."

"You—live backwards?" Mym asked, returning to his
singsong as the stutter threatened. "From the future to
the past?"

"True. You would think that after a decade or two, I
would remember that things are opposite for the rest of
you—but every so often I slip." He turned to Thanatos.
"Just how long ago was the change in the Mars office
made? I have been absorbed by other matters and entirely
overlooked the event."

"It hasn't happened yet," Thanatos said.

Chronos grimaced. "There I go again! Of course you
have not_yet seen the change. I've been jumping about
so much, including an interaction with Mars, here,
that—" He shook his head. "What was the reason you
summoned me?"

"I believe you have answered the question already,"
Thanatos said. "I was curious why this mortal could per-
ceive Incarnations. Since you advise us that he is to be-
come one, this becomes clear."

"Glad to have been of help in that case." The hourglass
brightened, and Chronos disappeared.

"If he lives backwards," Mym asked, "why aren't his
words backwards?"

"He controls time," Thanatos explained. "He simply
reverses it for himself, so as to align with our frame, for
a short period. But as you saw, these constant reversals
can lead to confusion at times. He's a good man and an
effective Incarnation, but Fate is the only one of us who
really understands him. Now if your question has been
answered—"

"Wait! No! It hasn't!" Mym sang. "I don't know any-
thing about becoming the Incarnation of War some time
in the future! I only want to alleviate the suffering I see
here and now!"

"You are taking the short view," Thanatos cautioned
him. "When you become Mars, as Chronos said, you will
be in a position to accomplish the alleviation you seek."

"But that won't help these starving folk now!"

Thanatos nodded. "True. In the interest of good rela-
tions between Incarnations, I will summon one who may
help you now." He faced into the sky. "Gaea—will you
answer?"

"Gaea?" Mym asked. All of this was highly confusing.

The air seemed to be thickening about them. Thin mist
formed. It became fog, then a smokelike formation that
coalesced into a vaguely human shape. The details clar-
ified into those of a large, solid woman dressed in green.
"Thanatos," she answered.

"This man, at the moment mortal, is to assume the
office of Mars at a later date," Thanatos said. "Chronos
mentioned it. But right now, there is a concern about the
folk here who are starving."

Gaea considered Mym. "In that case, it behooves me
to oblige him. I can improve the local climate, so that the
crops flourish—"

"That would require at least a season," Mym sang.
"These here will all be dead by then."

She considered. "Then I will provide manna."

She stretched out her arms, became fog, and dissipated.
"Manna?" Mym sang, even more perplexed than he had
been.

"Gaea's ways can be strange," Thanatos said.




64            Wielding a Red Sword

The thinning fog settled to the ground and coalesced.
Mym stooped and scooped up a bit of the residue on a
finger. He put it to his mouth, tasting it. "Manna?" he

repeated.

"Perhaps the concept is not in your legends," Thanatos

said. "In the Judeo-Christian mythos, it is a nutritious
substance that appears on the ground. I suspect it is some
kind of rapidly reproducing fungus."
"Food," Mym breathed, understanding.
"I suspect you owe Gaea a favor," Thanatos mur-
mured. Then he mounted his pale horse, touched his
watch, and rode off into the sky.

The scene returned to life. "Set men to collecting the
manna," Mym sang to the minister. The man did not even
try to argue; he got on it, evidently understanding very

little of this development.

In this manner a number of starving people were fed.
The manna came every day and fed them all, and no one
quite understood this phenomenon, except perhaps Mym
himself. But he had a number of serious questions about
the larger picture. He—to become the Incarnation of
War? Not if he could help it! He had business to complete
as a mortal. Yet the plight of the starving people had
touched him deeply, and if there were some way to elimi-
nate this kind of misery in the future—

Time passed, and no further supernatural manifesta-
tions occurred. He began to believe that his encounter
with Famine, Death, Time, and Nature had been a hal-
lucination, and the manna a coincidence. Rapture of Ma-
lachite remained loving and dependent, and he took hold
of the reins of government with increasing competence as
his direct experience grew. The Rajah sent him on mis-
sions to other nations and to other parts of the world, so
that he could work on the broader scale to benefit his

Kingdom.

He discovered himself to be surprisingly effective at
this type of endeavor. He took Rapture with him to speak
for him, literally. She was beautiful, so that none of the
old men who ran the other nations objected to her pres-
ence, and she was trained in all the graces of royalty, so

Piers Anthony                65

that the old men's wives found her compatible. But
mainly, she understood Mym; he could convey his mean-
ing to her by a few gestures and facial expressions and
some faintly hummed words, and she would translate
these to exquisitely rendered English. Since international
dialogues often required the intercession of translators,
no one found it remarkable that this handsome young
prince of a nation of India used one, and some did not
even realize that it was because of his stutter, not his
ignorance of the language, that this was so.

But Gujarat's most pressing need was for moderniza-
tion, and for that it required money. This meant a loan
from Uncle Sugar to the West.

Mym pondered the matter. He realized that even Uncle
Sugar expected some minimal quid pro quo. What did a
poverty-stricken, backward kingdom like Gujarat have to
offer in return for money?

Mym came to a conclusion. He took Rapture and went
to brace the Rajah. "My beloved says he can get a loan
of one billion dollars from the West," she announced
brightly.

The Rajah almost did a double-take. He had evidently
not appreciated just how well Mym and Rapture worked
together. Normally women did not speak on matters of
government, as they were, in the Rajah's view, incom-
petent for such matters. But after all the effort he had
gone to gain Mym's agreement to the betrothal, he was
glad to tolerate Rapture in whatever manner she mani-
fested. "And how should this miracle be achieved?" he
asked.

She glanced at Mym, who hummed, "Base."
"There is a military base that—" she began.
"Absolutely not!" the Rajah stormed. "We have never
tolerated foreign military equipment on our terrain!"

Mym was already signaling and humming to her. "Oh,
honored father-in-law-to-be," Rapture said dulcetly,
flashing a winning smile at him. "My beloved well un-
derstands that. But this is the modern day, and the modern
world is not a thing we can safely ignore. It would be
better to accept the base and let them hire our people at
their ludicrously high wages, and we can have our spies




66            Wielding a Red Sword

there to report on their secrets. It would represent a sim-
ple way to watch them."
The Rajah paused, considering. It was more than the

logic that impressed him, Mym knew; it was the manner
that Rapture converted Mym to a brilliant negotiator. Of
course most of the words were her own, based on the
discussion Mym had had with her beforehand; but be-
cause they were nominally from him, he had the credit.
Mym's handicap of speech had been a sore trial to the
Rajah's pride, and this apparent eloquence had to be
deeply satisfying to him. "Still, the base would represent
an aggravation to Uncle Vinegar to the North—"

Mym hummed and gestured. "Which may be no bad
thing, Oh great Rajah," Rapture said, sending him a smile
to melt ice. "It will help establish Gujarat's independence
from the influence of that power."

"But—"

Mym hummed again. Rapture leaned forward persua-
sively. The Rajah was an old, old hand at women, but
even his eyes glinted a smidgeon as they took in her de-
colletage. He recognized the finest vintage when he saw
it. "And since Uncle Sugar will be obliged to grant us a
loan of one billion dollars for the privilege of establishing
that base, our independence will be further enhanced,"

she said.
The Rajah shook his head. He sighed. "Do it, then,"

he grumbled.' 'A prince must be allowed to make his own

mistakes."
Mym knew that the Rajah would never have agreed,

had it not been for Rapture. The old man was not getting
soft; he simply realized that the logic was good enough
to stand and that if this was the way Mym and Rapture
could operate in the West, they would almost certainly
get that loan. More than anything else, the Rajah wanted
a truly effective leader of his own blood to succeed him,
and Mym had just demonstrated how that could be.

They took a royal carpet to the outdated airport and
caught one of the few international flights to the West.
Magic was fine for local transport, but science prevailed
on the global scale. Rapture was a little awed by the huge
airplane with its blazing jet engines, but she liked the plush

Piers Anthony                67

first-class seats and the petite uniformed stewardesses.
"We should have them on the carpets," she murmured.

"They're better than eunuchs," Mym sang agreement.

The airplane angled up, up, far into the sky, above the
clouds. "But why doesn't the air get thin?" Rapture in-
quired, worried. "I never was able to take a carpet this
high without suffocating, and it got cold, too."

"Pressured cabin," he advised her.

"Isn't science wonderful!"

In due course they reached the fabulous West. Their
plane landed at Washington, and they were met by a high-
level functionary with a limousine. They were set up in
a fine hotel, where every room had scientifically heated
water, electrical lights, and color television sets. Rapture
just shook her head in wonder. She knew what these
things were, of course, for her kingdom was not entirely
backward, but had never seen them so freely bestowed
on the populace.

They met the President of Uncle-Sugar-land and made
their presentation. After he and his Cabinet Ministers had
gazed at Rapture, they agreed that this was the diplomatic
thing to do; they really needed that base, and it was only
neighborly to make the loan. Of course they preferred
that the loan be spent on goods produced by the loaning
nation . . .

Rapture agreed, turning on one of her winter-banishing
smiles. Of course there were complications to be handled,
but the understanding had been reached. Mym placed or-
ders for modem scientific fertilizer, harvesting machin-
ery, and trucks to haul the produce to market, and the
industrialists of the West were pleased. The moderniza-
tion of Gujarat was proceeding.

Meanwhile, the complex negotiations for Rapture's
dowry were nearing completion, and the royal marriage
was almost ready to be scheduled, two years after the
month in Honeymoon Castle. "Soon you will be mine!"
Mym sang.

"I have always been yours," she replied. "Soon we
can conceive the Heir."

But the ways of fate and politics were treacherous. The
world nearly always had war somewhere, ranging from




68 Wielding a Red Sword

global conflicts that spread across entire continents to tiny
brushfires in isolated spots. At the moment everything
was quiet except for Gujarat' s smoldering border war with
the eastern neighbor, Rajasthan. This expended resources
that Mym preferred to use for agriculture, so that he could
see to the abolition of starvation in his Kingdom, so he
turned his attention to it. He took Rapture to Delhi and
met with the high Ministers of Rajasthan.

The negotiation proved effective, for Mym and Rapture
were by now a highly polished team. Indeed, the Ministers
seemed hardly to realize that Mym was not the one speak-
ing, so effectively did Rapture translate for him. They
arranged to establish a demilitarized zone and to allow
unarmed peasants to cross the border freely for purposes
of trade and fraternization. Many of the peasants of that
region were of the same ethnic tribe, and the war had been
a special hardship to them; they would be glad to coop-
erate. The two Kingdoms exchanged lavish gifts, and
peace was declared.

Thanks to Mym's effort, the last festering spot of war
in the world had been extinguished. There was a great
celebration, and a special holiday was declared. But in
this, ironically, was the seed of Mym's destruction.

The Rajah of Rajasthan was so impressed with Mym's
demeanor and skill as a negotiator that he decided to ce-
ment the new order with a marriage alliance. This was to
be expected; and, indeed, the Rajah had a serviceable son,
and Mym's sister was of nuptial age now and would make
a suitable wife, provided the nuisance of a proper dowry
could be negotiated.

But the Rajah did not want just a royal marriage; he
wanted Mym himself. "My son, while adequate in all nec-
essary matters, lacks the particular genius you possess,"
he explained. "I want you in charge when I assume an-
other incarnation." For of course people did not really
die in India; they merely cast off worn bodies and rein-
carnated in new ones, better or worse as their prior lives

justified.

Mym, appalled, could not even stutter. "But Prince
Pride is betrothed to me!" Rapture protested.

"Set it aside," the Rajah declared. "My son will marry
you. But my daughter must wed Prince Pride of Gujarat."

Piers Anthony                69

Mym opened his mouth. "We shall consider your gen-
erous offer," Rapture said quickly, and urged him out of
the hall.

In private, Mym was shaking. "I can't marry her!" he
sang in agitation. "I love you!"

"And I love you,'' she returned.' 'But we can not throw
the Rajah's offer in his face. Rajasthan is a good, strong
Kingdom; we dare not aggravate it so soon after making
peace. We must return to our Kingdoms and consider how
to turn this down without bad feeling."

She was right, of course. They returned to Ahmadabad
and presented the situation to the Rajah of Gujarat.

"An alliance with Rajasthan?" he asked. "Wonderful!
It shall be arranged forthwith!"

"But I am to marry Rapture!" Mym protested in
singsong.

"Do not be concerned. I hereby null the betrothal; she
shall be free for Rajasthan's prince."

"But I want to marry her!" Mym sang.

The Rajah squinted at him.'' Since when did your desire
have anything to do with it?" he inquired.

"But when I resisted Rapture, you sent me to the Hon-
eymoon Castle with her!"

"You shall go again with the Princess of Rajasthan.
This is a better alliance than the one with Maharastra."

Mym realized that it was useless to argue; his father's
decision had been made. Almost steaming with chagrin
and fury, he retreated.

They sent a message to Rapture's father. His reaction
was opposite to that of Mym's father. "We have nego-
tiated the dowry! It is too late to null the betrothal! It
must be consummated!"

But Mym's father was adamant. The new betrothal
would stand. Mym was abruptly confined to his palace.
and Rapture was shipped back to Maharastra.

The Rajah of Maharastra, furious at this open snub,
declared war on Gujarat.

Mym, alone except for the guards and servants and con-
cubines, strode wrathfully around the palace. His impo-
tent rage floated about him like a foul cloud. He absolutely
refused to be cheated of Rapture—but he knew of no way




70            Wielding a Red Sword

to avoid it. His father might be dying and getting senile,
but while he lived, he ruled, and Mym was subject to his
will. He would shortly find himself back at Honeymoon
Castle, with a new princess, and if he did not come to
love her, he would be forced to marry her anyway.

He faced the great front window overlooking the en-
trance. Guards marched there, ensuring that no one
passed by without authorization. Mym bit his tongue.

His body made a slight anticipatory shiver as he tasted
the blood. He would not be confined here much longer!

But as his berserker rage developed, something strange
happened. Outside, in the night sky above the lighted

court, a glowing object approached.

Mym stared at it. It was a great red sword, angled up
at a forty-five degree angle, floating unsupported. The
blade was shining steel, and Mym somehow knew that
nothing that sharp edge touched could remain whole. This

was a magic instrument.

Still his rage governed him. Refusing to be distracted
longer by the manifestation, he got ready to move.

The red sword swung in toward him. It passed through
the glass of the window without breaking it.

Mym swung to face it, ready to destroy whatever came
against him, whether natural or supernatural. Red froth

bubbled between his lips.
The sword came to a halt immediately before him. Its

glow increased. It was challenging him!

"Then damned be you!" he cried, spewing bloody spit-
tle, his stutter absent in his rage. He reached out and

grasped the hilt of the sword.

The glow of the sword magnified. Now it surrounded
Mym, lighting the room. But greater than the physical
glow was the emotional glow, for suddenly his awareness
of himself was far more intense than he had ever before
experienced. He felt strong, invulnerable, omnipotent.
Strange power surged through him. His berserker rage
was suspended by the wonder of this new power. What

was happening?

There was the suggestion of a whisper of a sound. Mym
turned, and saw a thin mist forming. It coalesced into a
cloud, from which the figure of a mature woman shaped.

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71

Her eyes were as blue as the summer sky, and her hair
was vaguely green.

"Gaea!" he exclaimed, recognizing the manner of the
Incarnation of Nature.

"You have now assumed the office of the Incarnation
of War, known as Mars, Aries, or whatever you prefer,
as Chronos advised," she said, coming clear. "I thought
it best to be on hand, in case you had a question."

Now he remembered. Chronos, living backwards, had
indeed said it; Mym had somehow let his awareness slide.

"B-b-but—" he started, then shifted to singsong: "But
I don't want to be the Incarnation of War! I only want to
marry Rapture!"

"Of course," she agreed noncomnuttally. "But you
stand in need of information. You don't have to accept
the office; if you simply renounce the Red Sword and turn
it loose, it will seek the second most qualified applicant,
and you will remain mortal. I am here to help you decide.''

Mym remembered how she had brought the manna for
his starving people. Gaea had extraordinary power. "I am
grateful for that."

"You see, the Incarnation of War exists only as long
as war exists," she said. "Wherever war is being fought,
there Mars goes to supervise. There must be some order
in the world, after all. On those rare occasions when there
is no war. Mars dissipates, and his soul travels to Heaven
or Hell, as the case may be, according to its balance of
good or evil. Recently war ended, and so your predeces-
sor vacated the office and the Red Sword was retired. But
now war is resuming, so the need for the office has been
restored, and the Sword is seeking the appropriate officer.
It can not be just any person; only one who is proficient
in weapons and martial arts and in the strategies and man-
agement of war is eligible. In addition, he must desire the
position; that is, he must be the most warlike of all those
eligible in the region of the resumed war."

"But I do not desire—"

"The desire for war is defined by the emotion of the
candidate," she explained. "The one with the most per-
vasive anger. That anger attracts the Red Sword as a mag-
net attracts iron. The Sword can not be in error about
that."




72 Wielding a Red Sword

No, it had not been in error. There was no rage like
that of a berserker, even a controlled one like Mym. So
the Red Sword of War had sought him out.

"But you say I can decline," he sang. "So I can remain
mortal and marry Rapture."

"You may decline," she agreed. "But if you remain
mortal, I doubt that you will wed Rapture. You will be
subject to the conditions of your situation and will be re-
quired to marry the Princess of Rajasthan unless you su-
icide first. On the other hand, if you accept the office,
you will wield considerable power. You will be in a po-
sition to take Rapture, if that is your desire."

"But she will remain mortal!"

"True. But she may join you, and her life will not be
shortened. She would have to leave her kingdom, but if
she chose to join you—"

"She would choose to," he sang with certainty.

"Then it seems you have nothing to lose by accepting
the proffered office," she said. "However, I am obliged
to warn you of one significant contraindication."

"The catch," he sang.

"The catch," she agreed. "It seems that Satan has his
evil hand in this. He had a grudge against the former Mars
and wanted him to be replaced. Thus Satan worked as-
siduously in what was, for him, an unusual cause—that
of peace on Earth. He succeeded, for a moment—and that
retired Mars. Now Satan surely believes that the new In-
carnation will be easier to manage, because of his lack of
experience."

"I have no truck with Satan!" Mym sang. "I hardly
believe in him! I am Hindu!"

"Nominally," she said. "As a prince, you are naturally
skeptical about religion."

To that he had to agree. In his private heart, he sub-
scribed to no religion. Thus it seemed that his rage had
been the determining factor, not his belief in any partic-
ular supernatural framework.

"Now, with that warning, you may decide," Gaea said.
"If you fear the mischief of Satan—"

"Fornicate Satan!" he sang. "If I can have Rapture by

Piers Anthony

73

assuming the office of the Incarnation of War, then I shall
assume it!"

"It had occurred to me that you might feel that way,"
Gaea said. "Welcome, then, to our number, Mars."

And he knew that his commitment had been made.

Piers Anthony

75




MARS

"First you must know how to travel," Gaea said. "You
have a fine horse named Werre, but he's mainly for formal
occasions. Or you can discorporate, but that has risks.
For now, the key is the Sword. There are several modes
of its operation, but all are governed by your will. If you
choose to appear at the most intense war currently being
waged, you simply give it its head and it will take you
there, instantly. The Sword likes violence. If you want to
go home—that is, to your castle in Purgatory—you give
it the mental command home."

"Purgatory?" Mym sang.

"A Western concept, a kind of crude, structured nir-
vana. It may be easiest to think of it as an island in the
sky, a place in the clouds, invisible to mortal folk, but
real to immortals. The place where those souls who have
not made the decision whether to go to Heaven or to Hell
pause. A place of indecision, or of decision, however you

see it."

"Reincarnation is more expedient," Mym sang.
"We Occidentals are not as sophisticated about the

larger scale as are you Orientals," Gaea murmured, smil-

74

ing. But he was sure that this benign green woman was
as sophisticated as any living person.

"I think first I want to rescue Rapture," he sang.
"For that, you must use the directed travel," Gaea
said. "Simply point the Sword in the direction you wish
to go and will it to proceed. A little experimentation will
give you the feel of it."

Mym looked at the sword he still held, whose glow had
diminished to a dull red, as if it were slightly red-hot- He
was acquiring more respect for it.' 'But first I must escape
the palace," he sang.

"The Sword will take you through the walls," Gaea
said.

"That's what I'm afraid of!"

She smiled. "An Incarnation is only as solid as he
chooses to be. You will pass through without disruption."

Cautiously he pointed the Sword at an interior wall, so
that he would not find himself abruptly in mid-air outside,
two stories up. Forward.' he thought. Slowly.

The sword moved—and he moved with it. There was
no sensation; he remained standing, but traveling, as if
on a moving carpet or one of those scientific airplanes.
Surprised, he lifted the Sword slightly, so that it angled
up—and found himself sliding upward at that angle, his
feet leaving the floor. Hastily he angled it level again—
and sailed through the wall.

There was a moment of darkness; then he emerged from
the other side of the stone. Now he was floating slowly
across the next chamber, half a meter above the floor.

He realized that he didn't have to worry about being
outside at a height; the Sword made him independent of
support. He could fly, literally, without effort or
discomfort.

Gaea appeared in the new chamber, in the form of co-
alescing mist. "Shall we proceed to Maharastra?" the
mist inquired.

Mym was getting to like the Sword very well. "But
suppose I drop it?" he asked, still not quite certain about
venturing high and far.

"Try it here," she suggested.

He let go of the Sword. It remained floating in the air—
and so did he. "But I'm not touching it!" he sang.




76            Wielding a Red Sword

"The Red Sword is yours until you renounce it," Gaea
said. "This is not a matter of physical contact. You could
give it to another person, even a mortal, and it would still
be attuned to you. You can sheathe it and orient it men-
tally, and it will not change physically, but will act as you
will. It is a symbol as much as an object, and its powers

are great."

Evidently so. Mym took hold of the sword and sheathed
it in the great, ornate scabbard that he abruptly discovered
at his hip—and remained floating. "Then let's go!" he

sang.
In his mind he aimed the Sword up, at a thirty degree

angle, and south. He willed a swift passage.

He got it. He shot upward at the angle, passing right
through the building and into the nocturnal sky. The pro-
cess was exhilarating. Up, up he sailed, feeling no wind,
no change of temperature. The magic of the Sword kept

him secure.
"But you must guide it, when the destination is not

familiar to it," a cloud said.

Mym experienced deja vu. "Were you at the Honey-
moon Castle?" he sang.

"Not specifically," another cloud replied. "I am in all
things, but I don't interfere where I don't need to."

"A cloud talked to me, there," he sang.

"They do, on occasion," the cloud he was now passing
agreed. "You may wish to steer inland."

He looked down and discovered that he was high over
the surging Indian Ocean. He directed the Sword south-
east, and his direction of travel changed accordingly.

He accelerated, and the sea and dark shore moved by
at a phenomenal pace, but still Mym himself stood cas-
ually upright, feeling no wind resistance. Though it was
dark, he was able to see around him; either his night vision
was sufficient, or the Sword was lending him enhanced
powers of observation. He flew in toward the giant city
of Bombay, where he knew Rapture had been sent.

Lights shone all across the city, and the palace was
brightest of all. Mym had no trouble reaching it. He simply
flew in through a stone wall and landed lightly on an upper

floor.

Piers Anthony                77

But the palace was huge, and there were many cham-
bers and suites. How could he locate Rapture, without
causing a stir while he searched?

Gaea's mist appeared, like vapor condensing. "Use the
Sword again," she advised. "I understand that it can tune
in on the identity of any person and enable you to share
that person's awareness. It is one-way; the subject is not
aware of you. But it can be quite useful on occasion."

"Tune in—on Rapture?" he sang. "But her privacy—
I don't like to—"

"You have changed since the Honeymoon Castle. This,
however, need not be that intimate. Merely avail yourself
of her perceptions, to identify her location; then go to it."

Oh. Mym touched the Sword. Rapture of Malachite,
Princess of Maharastra, he thought.

Nothing happened.

"Titles mean nothing to it," Gaea advised him gently.
"It perceives only the essence."

Mym tried again. This time he thought of the woman
he loved.

He found himself looking at an ornate feminine dagger.

He blinked—and he was still standing in the chamber,
his finger touching the Red Sword.

It had been Rapture's dagger he had seen.

She was contemplating suicide.

He looked again, this time tuning in on the peripheral
aspects of her vision. She was in her private bedroom,
alone—but where was that? He was not familiar with the
layout of this palace; that room could be anywhere.

Then her gaze wandered vacantly to the mirror, and he
saw her forlorn reflection. Her lustrous tresses had
dimmed, and her green-malachite eyes were rimmed in
red. She was so lost without him! She had been dependent
on her father and now she was dependent on Mym;

stripped of that support, she was collapsing into herself.
He had loved her because of that fundamental vulnera-
bility; she truly did need him.

Behind her reflected face, a portion of a window
showed, and beyond it was a fragment of green. She had
set a green handkerchief at the sill, perhaps to dry after
being soaked with her tears. That was so like her!




Wielding a Red Sword

78

He grasped the Sword. Out he directed.
He sailed out through the wall and around the palace.
There in an upper window on the north side was a speck
of green. He homed in on it, then passed in through the
window to land on the floor. "Rapture," he sang.
She jumped, spun about, recognized him, and

collapsed.

He jumped forward and caught her as she fell. "Be-
loved!" he said, not stuttering for the moment. He held
her, kissed her, and held her some more, and in a moment

she revived.

"Beloved!" she echoed.
"I have come to claim you," he sang. "But there is

much to explain."

"Just hold me," she breathed. "I—without you, I—"
"I saw the dagger," he sang. "No need for that now."
Then, holding her, he sang his explanation: his as-
sumption of the office of the Incarnation of War, by grasp-
ing the great Red Sword; the new powers and responsi-
bilities that provided him; and his ability to take her with

him—if she chose to come.

"Take me with you!" she cried without reservation.
"But it will mean a complete change in your life," he

warned. "You would not be a princess any more."
She just looked at him, and he knew that nothing else

mattered to her except being with him.

"Well, let's see how well we can travel together, then,"

he sang. He touched the Sword.

"A consideration," a wisp of mist said, forming in the

room.
Rapture jumped again, but Mym reassured her. "That

is Gaea, the Incarnation of Nature," he sang. "She is
helping me get started. She showed me how to reach

you."
"If you take her away without explanation," Gaea said,

"her father will assume that she has come to some foul
end and he will blame your Kingdom, Prince, with which
he is at war. That would lead to much mischief that I think

you would prefer to avoid."

"I would prefer to stop this idiotic war entirely, by

marrying Rapture!" Mym sang. "But my father—"

Piers Anthony

79

''Perhaps we can achieve your desire, with a little ef-
fort," Gaea said. "All that is needed is the apparent ac-
quiescence of the principals. What would make your mar-
riage to the Prince ofRajasthan acceptable to your father,
Rapture?"

"I would not marry—" Rapture began angrily, but
Gaea held up a finger, and the Princess was silenced. Mym
suspected that more magic was involved. "A reduced
dowry," Rapture said, after a pause.

Gaea turned to Mym. "And if you acceded to marriage
with the Princess of Rajasthan, proffering the acceptance
of a reduced dowry if the same were accepted for your
former betrothed?"

Mym was beginning to comprehend. "I am sure the
Rajah ofRajasthan would be amenable to that; he expects

to pay an exorbitant dowry. But certainly I'm not going
to—"

"Would one of your handmaidens like to take your
place?" Gaea asked Rapture.

Rapture smiled. "Any handmaiden would like to take
the place of any princess! But—"

"Summon one you feel is worthy, who would be able
to act your part, if she had the appearance and
opportunity."

"That would be the one who doubles for me on boring
parades." Rapture said. "But up close, she does not re-
semble me very well."

"Bring her here."

Rapture reached out and drew on a tassled cord. In
moments a young woman appeared at the door. "Bit-of-
Honey, there is a task we may require of you," she said.
"Listen to this woman."

Gaea, who was now completely solid, addressed the
young woman. "The Princess Rapture of Malachite must
go away. But she wishes to appear to remain. If you will
consent, I shall fashion you to the likeness of the Princess,
and you shall take her place."

.Bit-of-Honey shrugged. "I have done so before."
Gaea smiled. "For the rest of your life."
The girl's eyes widened. "But she is to marry the Prince
of—" Her gaze flicked to Mym "Was to marry—"




80            Wielding a Red Sword

"She is now to marry the Prince of Rajasthan," Gaea
said. "But she loves the Prince ofGujarat, so she is going
away with him. She would like you to assume her identity
and marry the Prince of Rajasthan. Are you willing to do

that?"
"But I am only a common girl!" Bit-of-Honey

protested.

"You will be the Princess—if you are willing to give

up your present life in favor of that one, and keep the

secret."

"But—the Prince—I could never be more than a con-
cubine to—"

Gaea touched her, and the girl's protestations abated.

"You can be what you choose to be. I will provide you
with the voice and the appearance; you must provide the
will and the action. But you must choose now."
The girl looked wildly at Rapture. "Oh, Mistress, I

would never betray you, but this—"

"Do it," Rapture said. "You know I have no life with-
out Prince Pride of the Kingdom. You are welcome to the

Prince of Rajasthan."
"To be a princess . . ." the girl breathed, beginning to

believe.
Gaea touched her again—and her appearance dissolved

and changed and became that of Rapture. Even her cloth-
ing conformed. "Speak," Gaea said.
"What shall I say?" the pseudo-Rapture asked. She

sounded exactly like Rapture.
"You know what to do," Gaea said. "If you slip or

falter, it will be over."
The woman looked in the mirror at herself, amazed.

Then her shoulders straightened. "I will not falter," she

said.
"But what of my disappearance?" Mym sang.

"We shall take care of you now," Gaea said. "Will
yourself back to the place where the Sword came to you;

it is familiar with that site. Make sure you have a good

grip on Rapture."
Mym touched the sword with his left hand and put his

right arm about Rapture's slender waist. To the place of
our meeting, he thought.

Piers Anthony                81

And they were there.

Gaea's cloud formed. However she traveled, it wasn't
the same way Mars did. "Now we need a young man to
assume your identity," she said.

Mym considered. "I had a sparring partner of royal
birth, for my weapons training," he sang. "He knows the
ways of princes, and he likes wealth and power. I believe
he could and would play the part."

They summoned the man; after a dialogue similar to the
one that had occurred in Bombay, the man assumed the
likeness of Mym, and was afflicted with his stutter—but
was happy to marry the Princess of Rajasthan and carry
the privileges and responsibilities of the position.

Now they were free to depart the mortal realm.

"The staff of your castle will assist you hereafter,"
Gaea said. "I shall encounter you in the line of business.
I wish you well."

"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 never-
theless 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.




82 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 85

"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 com-
panionship. 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 situ-
ation—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 Immor-
tality—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 Incarna-
tions, such as the associates of War whom you met in the




84            Wielding a Red Sword

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 Him-
self 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 ac-
quiring 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 en-
abled Fate to balk Satan's design."

"But that's unreasonable!" Mym sang. "A fair con-
test—"

"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 con-

Piers Anthony

85

summation 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 be-
hooved 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 abol-
ishing 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."







7-

BATTLE

The next day, as Mym perceived it, he received news of
a battle that required his attention. He had spent a pleas-
ant 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 Incar-
nation 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 pret-
tily for the camera, though there had been no such inter-
view. 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 bat-
tle with you, yet I fear to remain here alone."

Mym began to perceive a disadvantage of complete de-
pendence 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 under-
stood his nature, he was not surprised. "The Lady Rap-
86

Piers Anthony                 87

ture is concerned about being alone in this strange place,"
he sang.

"Conduct her to the East Wing," the butler recom-
mended.

Mym wasn't sure how this would help, but he had al-
ready 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 as-
sociated 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 ex-
claimed, 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 asso-
ciates, 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




88            Wielding a Red Sword

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. Con-
quest 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 re-
membered, now, that four grim horsemen were tradition-
ally associated with War, but he wasn't sure that these
were the particular four he remembered. It hardly mat-
tered; 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 Rap-
ture'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 modem sci-
entific 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,

Piers Anthony                89

waiting for disposition. Meanwhile this completely point-
less 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 unnec-
essary, it was disastrous; neither Kingdom could afford
to throw away its resources like this.

Already the two armies were spread out on the battle-
field, 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 vic-
tory, 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 show-
ing dismay. "We do not stop conflict, we reap it!"

And what a grim reaping that could be! "Neverthe-
less," 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 0]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




90            Wielding a Red Sword

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 gleam-
ing 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 en-
countered him personally before. This one had a repu-
tation 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 In-
carnations before becoming one himself, but no one else
had, until Gaea manifested to Rapture. Gaea knew how
to do that, but Mym didn't.

But 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

91

Piers Anthony

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 per-
ceiving 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 contem-
plation of the map of the battle site.

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

The General shook his head, concluding that it had been
an errant thought. Every person had doubts on occasion.
"Proceed with the battle plan as outlined," he said
gruffly.

Mym realized that this was not the way either. He had
projected his thought into the General's consciousness,
but it had not been supported by any apparent logic, so
the General had dismissed it. He would have to develop
a more comprehensive approach, to actually convince the
General that the new thought made sense. That would
take time. For one thing, he would need to leam more
about the General's frames of reference, so as to devise
an approach that would make sense to the man.

But he didn't have time. The cavalry was already mov-
ing out. The battle was being joined.

Mym gave up in disgust. He exited the General. It felt




92            Wielding a Red Sword

like shedding an uncomfortable yoke. He much preferred

his own identity!
He mounted his horse, who had waited patiently for his

return, and galloped over and through the people to the
center of the battlefield. The Maharastra cavalry was
meeting the charge with one of its own—plus another ele-
ment. A unit of trained griffins led the way, spreading
their wings and launching themselves at the opposing line.
That could be disaster for the Gujarat cavalrymen!

But the Gujarats were prepared. Precision catapults had
been set up, and these now opened fire on the griffins,
the object being to knock them out of the air. There was
a raucous squawk as a missile scored glancingly on one,
and a griffin spun to the ground with a broken wing. But
the fight had not gone out of the creature; it laid about
itself with beak and claws, and gore flew as it scored.

In moments the other griffins swooped down on the
line, and the carnage was multiplied. "Great!" the In-
carnation of Slaughter cried, riding near. "Mix it up! Tear
those guts! Spatter that blood! Spread that gore!"

Meanwhile, the Incarnation of Conquest was urging on
the two main armies. "Victory!" he cried to both. "Take

no prisoners!"
And with that the efforts of the armies increased, and

the combat became savage. Mym was disgusted. It was

all so pointless!
But he had failed to stop it. What was he to do now?

Well, he could try a more direct method. He rode to
the center of the carnage, climbed a hill of air to gain
elevation, and grasped his Red Sword. Maybe it would
enable him to manifest. He drew it and held it high, willing

himself to be apparent.
And—it worked! The Sword was the key! He knew he

was visible, because the bowmen at the rear lines were
staring at him. They had never before seen a man and

horse in mid-air.
Now was his chance. He would tell them all to stop

fighting, until they could receive the notice that explained

why.
He took a deep breath. "S-s-s-s-s-s—" he stuttered.

Damn! He took another breath. "Stop the battle!" he
sang.

Piers Anthony

93

There was a moment of amazed silence. Then someone
laughed. They could not believe that this noble, golden
figure could utter such obvious nonsense.

"It's a trick!" an officer cried. "Shoot it down!"

Then the archers of both sides went back into action,
firing their shafts at him. Mym remained frozen, furious
at himself for not being able to address them effectively.

The arrows struck him and the horse and bounced off
harmlessly. He never even felt them; it seemed he was
invulnerable to mortal weapons.

But he didn't like being a target. He sheathed the
Sword—and evidently faded out of sight, for the archers
blinked and stopped firing. The officers rubbed their eyes.

Yet Mym could still see himself and his steed quite
clearly. He also saw the other Incarnations. Conquest and
Slaughter were exhorting the troops to greater efforts;

Famine and Pestilence were watching from the sideline,
rubbing their hands in anticipation of their turn to come,
as supplies were depleted and hunger and disease ran their
course.

A number of arrows had been in flight when he faded
out of mortal view. These now passed entirely through
him and the horse, without deviating at all. That was an-
other evidence of his change; he truly had become un-
solid, as far as mortals were concerned.

Could he become solid while remaining invisible? Cu-
rious, despite the tragedy around him, he touched the
Sword and willed himself to be tangible but imperceptible.

One more arrow was coming. It struck the side of the
horse and dropped to the ground, broken. But the archers
weren't watching. That was answer enough.

But the battle continued. It remained as much folly as
before, and he still had to stop it. What else could he do?

Famine had mentioned that Mars could freeze the ac-
tion. Indeed, the Incarnation of Death had done that when
Mym had first encountered him, and surely Chronos, the
Incarnation of Time, could do it too.

He touched the Sword again. Freeze action he thought.

Just like that, it froze. The armies below him became
like statuary, the men and animals stilled in mid-motion,
the sounds of battle abated, and the clouds of dust and




94            Wielding a Red Sword

smoke halted in place. The few arrows that were in flight

hovered in air.

But the other Incarnations were not affected. Slaughter
looked up from his grisly work, gore dripping from his
fingers. "Something come up. Mars?" he called.

"Yes," Mym returned shortly. But what was he to do
next? He knew he couldn't keep the tableau frozen in-
definitely—and the moment he abated it, the carnage

would resume.
Unless he could do something to stop the battle, before

allowing the action to resume. He was not frozen. He
could go to the capitals, find where the message of ter-
mination of the war was stalled, and facilitate its delivery.
Was the rest of the world frozen too? He doubted it.

But how far did the effect extend?

There was one way to find out. "I have an errand," he
told the other Incarnations. "See that the freeze remains

until I return."

"It is your prerogative," Conquest said, grimacing. Ob-
viously he felt this was foolishness.

Mym urged his horse upward and forward, into the sky
to the north. They galloped away from the battle site.
Soon he saw people moving again and confirmed that the
freeze applied only to the battle. Good enough; he didn't
want to interfere with the rest of the world, just to abate

the pointless bloodshed.
He came to Ahmadabad and descended to the Rajah's

palace. He passed through the wall, horse and all, and
approached his father's private chambers. No one saw

him.
Then he paused. He had thought to manifest and inquire

about the order canceling the war—but though the per-
sonnel might recognize him, they would be confused be-
cause his real self, as far as they knew, was the double
Gaea had fashioned to take his place. How could there
be two of him? It would not be wise to interfere with that.

Well, then, he could act through himself. He galloped
his horse to the other palace for an interview with his
double. The young man was no longer confined, but had
seen no need to depart the palace while the arrangements
for his journey to the Honeymoon Castle were being

made.

Piers Anthony                95

Honeymoon Castle? But there the man's thoughts
would be completely open to his betrothed! That would
give away his true identity and quite possibly provoke a
new war. "Oh, Gaea," he sang under his breath. "You
overlooked one vital detail!"

Mist formed before him. "Foolish man," it breathed.
"I shaped his mind as well as his body. He knows his
identity, but his thoughts there will only be those of the
Prince."

He stopped, there in the hall, the servants brushing
through his substance without ever being aware of his
presence or that of the horse. "You can do that?" he
asked, amazed.

"I am Nature," the mist whispered—and dissipated.

If the powers of Mars were as he had discovered, what
then of the powers of Gaea? He could only glimpse them
peripherally, but he found himself awed.

He resumed his ride, entered the suite of his double,
and made himself tangible. "How goes it, Prince Pride?"
he sang.

The new Prince looked up, only mildly surprised. "I
look upon a life that is more wonderful than any I imag-
ined," he replied in a similar singsong. "I have seen a
painting of the Princess I am to marry, and she is lovely."

Mym had seen the picture and regarded the Princess as
relatively plain. But perhaps Gaea had dabbled in that
aspect of the man too, so that he was entirely content
with his lot. Gaea's favors were subtle but solid. No doubt
her anger could be similarly devastating!

"I have a problem," Mym said. "As you know, I am
now the Incarnation of War. There is a battle going on
between Gujarat and Maharastra that should not be oc-
curring. The order to halt hostilities seems to have gotten
lost in transit. I need to obtain that order and get it to the
front—but I do not want to seem to duplicate myself when
I get it. So—"

"I will get it for you," the new Prince Pride said, un-
derstanding immediately. "Naturally I don't want lives
expended uselessly any more than you do; I will have to
manage this Kingdom all too soon."

He was taking hold very nicely, despite his lack of prior




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97

training for the position he had assumed. Gaea's work
again, surely.

The new Prince Pride took a carpet immediately to the
Rajah's palace, while Mym paced him invisibly on the
horse. The trip was swift, as neither had to wait on traffic
below, and in a few minutes they were there. Then Prince
Pride asked for a copy of the order requiring the cessation
of hostilities and took it with him. The moment he was
alone, he held it in the air, and Mym materialized enough
tograspit. "Thank you, Prince," he said. "Mayyouhave
a long and happy life."

He galloped back to the battle site, where things re-
mained frozen. He brought the order to a messenger boy,
put it in his hand, and phased in to his mind. No thought
was proceeding, because of the freeze, but Mym projected
strongly: URGENT MESSAGE FOR GENERAL.

Then he sat back on the horse, touched the Sword, and
willed the release of the stasis.

The scene reanimated. The troops resumed killing each
other; blood resumed flowing, and arrows completed their
flights. The messenger boy looked startled, evidently not
remembering how he had come to possess the urgent mes-
sage, but knowing his duty. He rushed it to the General.

The General perused it. He sighed. "Peace has been
declared," he said, disgusted. "Cease hostilities. Send a
mission under flag of truce to the enemy to acquaint them
with this news."

It took a while to sort it out, but in due course the armies
disengaged. The battle was over, and not too many men
had been killed.

But if he had handled the matter more expeditiously,
there would have been no carnage at all. Mym knew he
had a lot yet to leam about the performance of his office.

He gathered up his minions and returned to his castle
in Purgatory. Conquest, Slaughter, Famine, and Pestil-
ence went their ways, disappointed. They would have
only a slim harvest from this day's work.

Rapture met him at the front foyer. "Oh, beloved, I
missed you so!" she exclaimed. "Why did you have to
be gone so long?"

"I have an office to serve," he sang.

"To supervise violence and rapine?" she asked. "It
would be better if you stayed here!"

"To stop a battle between the armies of your Kingdom
and mine," he informed her gently. "Peace has been de-
clared, but the news had not reached the front. I was
fortunate to get it stopped before things had proceeded
too far."

"Maharastra—and Gujarat—were fighting?" she
asked, appalled.

"Because of us," he agreed. "We refused to marry the
Princess and Prince of Rajasthan, so our Kingdoms went
to war with each other."

'But actual combat? I hadn't realized!"
'I stopped it. That was my business today."
'But people died, before—?"
'Some died, yes. It was complicated to—"
'Oh!" she exclaimed. "I never wanted people to die
because of us! If I had realized—"
"There was no way to—" he sang.
But she turned away from him, part of her horror ex-
tending to him.

Disgusted, he left her. It seemed they were having their
first quarrel.

He cleaned up, for though he had had very little contact
with mortal things, he had been under some pressure and
had sweated under his golden cloak. He changed to in-
formal garb, then went to Rapture's quarters.

She met him in the hall and flung her arms about him
and sobbed. He tried to speak, but she stifled that with
a kiss.

It seemed that thejr quarrel was over.

Then they talked, and he learned what was really up-
setting her. It seemed that the butler had explained it to
her during the day.

This was Purgatory. No mortals resided here. This was
not discrimination, but the simple fact that mortals were
of a far more complex physical composition, possessing
three physical dimensions instead of two. This was not a
precise analogy, but the butler had made it simple to un-
derstand. Mortals could visit, when sponsored by an In-
carnation, but could not remain.




98            Wielding a Red Sword

"But you have been here a full night and day!" Mym

sang, protesting.
"Yes, and I am starving," she responded.

"But there is plenty to eat!"

"For you. Not for me. Not for a mortal."

"You're my mortal!" he sang angrily. "They will feed

you!"
She shook her head. "They have fed me, Mym. But

this is Purgatory food. It looks and tastes real, it feels
real—but it has nourishment only for ghosts. A mortal
requires a thousand times the substance found in this
food. What I have eaten here has been illusion, for me.
I have been existing on my own bodily resources. This is
easy to do, for a short period, when the stomach seems
full—but can not be maintained."

He stared at her. "Purgatory food—can't feed you,"

he repeated.
"Mym, I must return to the mortal realm, if I am to

eat."
He was appalled. "No wonder you were upset! It's so

nice here, and now—"

"Now I must leave. I can visit only a few hours at a
time, before hunger and thirst—oh, I feel that thirst,

now!"
Mym shook his head. "Rapture, I never knew about

this! I never would have brought you here, if—"

His distress seemed to ameliorate hers. "I have only
to find a mortal home. I can be here each day when you
return. I can spend the nights with you. It can be very
much the same; I can be gone only when you are gone."

"But I have no idea where you can go!" he sang. "It

can't be Bombay—"

"The butler says he can arrange something, and I'm
sure he can. But—it must be soon, because—"

"Because you are wasting away!" he finished. "Oh,

my beloved—"

"It will be all right," she said, though he knew she was
deeply distressed. She had wanted so much to be with
him always and now she could not.

They went immediately to the butler, who explained
that there were those mortals who cooperated in special

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matters like this and maintained a system of hostels for
displaced associates of Purgatory. They were discreet and
understanding. "In fact you can stay with Thanatos' con-
sort, Luna Kaftan," he said. "She is in mortal politics,
but because of Thanatos, she understands perfectly. You
will be fully comfortable with her."

And so it was arranged for Rapture to stay with Luna,
who lived in Kilvarough. Thanatos himself came to escort
them down. Rapture almost fainted when she saw the
skull-face, but then Thanatos drew back his hood to reveal
an ordinary human face, reassuring her. It was all right—
for now.




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101




8

SA3AN

Other nights, Rapture would come to stay with him in the
Castle of War. But this night she was back on Earth, for
she had a day's eating to catch up on and needed to ac-
climatize. Mym had known the instant he met Luna, who
seemed oddly familiar, that she would take good care of
Rapture; she was a beautiful, brown-haired, occidental
woman, whose house was filled with artistry and guarded
by griffins. It was no palace, but it was the kind of place
the Princess could feel at home in.

So Mym slept alone—and discovered that, though Rap-
ture might be dependent on him, he had become depen-
dent on her, too. He had grown accustomed to sleeping
beside a loving woman and felt ill at ease by himself.

In fact, he was unable to sleep. After more than an hour
of restless turnings, he sat up and looked for something
to read. There was nothing; evidently his predecessor had

not been a literary man.

He got up and donned slippers and night robe and
walked out into the dusky hall. The castle staff had re-
tired; all was quiet. Did the spirits of Purgatory require
sleep? Perhaps so, if they required food. As he was com-
ing to understand it, the lives—the afterlives—of these

100

people were similar to those of mortal folk, but more dif-
fuse and extended. If they did not eat, they would not
starve—not within a century or so—for they could not
die; they were already dead. But they would become un-
comfortable. Likewise, probably, with sleep. So let them
sleep; it did help differentiate the days, which surely were
dull enough. Purgatory was not supposed to be torture,
as he perceived this Western mythology; it was merely a
state of indecision, a working-off of the debts of an im-
perfectly lived life. Westerners had no second chance by
way of reincarnation to expiate their faults; they had to
get it straight in just one life and then pay the consequence
in the long stretch of eternity thereafter. He did not envy
them their system.

But, of course, he was part of it, now. He should have
been a better Hindu, so as not to stray into this inferior
framework. This was really his own next incarnation, the
Incarnation of War in an alien framework, and now he
was bound by its laws. Punishment enough!

Yet reward enough, too, for it had solved the problem
of his voided betrothal to Rapture and the war between
their two Kingdoms. Had this office not come to him when
it had, he would have faced disaster. So fate had not been
cruel to him; it had been kind. Most kind.

Also, he rather fancied the challenge of this new po-
sition. He had made mistakes on his first day—but what
person didn't, when learning the job? He now had a far
better notion how to proceed and expected to do better
on his next battle. The powers of his office were phe-
nomenal and could be a great force for good when prop-
erly applied.

He came to the garden region that had so enraptured
Rapture. Now it was dark; the cycles of Purgatory mir-
rored those of mortal Earth. The exotic plants seemed
larger, the shadowed statues more alive, somehow. He
walked on through it; it was indeed a lovely region, the
kind that a woman could spend much time appreciating.
It seemed almost natural—as if crafted by the forces of
nature, rather than those of man.

The clouds parted to allow a shaft of moonlight down,
and the leaves and statues turned silvery. A gentle breeze




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105

wafted through, stirring the trees. The smell of the wild
came through more clearly, luring him on. The path
twisted about, taking him past increasingly intriguing

exhibits.

He paused to examine one statue more carefully. It was
a representation of two figures, male and female, both
naked, locked in close embrace. In fact they were engaged
in the act of physical love. Such representations were
common enough in India, but this one was unusually spe-
cific. The figures almost seemed to move.

In fact, they were moving. Mym thought he was being
deceived by the play of moonlight, but now he heard the
sounds of their exertions. The figures were alive!

Impossible. Statues did not come to life!

Yet there was definite sound and movement, as the act
progressed. Mym inspected the representation closely,
and finally touched the shoulder of the man. It was cold
stone. So this was some kind of mechanical device, sim-
ulating human mating. Interesting.

He moved on. The breeze picked up, ruffling his hair.
The moonlight brightened. The trees were larger and pret-
tier, and the smell of their naturalness intensified. Now
there was sod underfoot, slightly springy.

He turned to look back, but could not see the castle;

he seemed to be in a forest. That didn't bother him; he
was pleased with the extent and verisimilitude of this gar-
den. No wonder Rapture had been delighted!

He came to another statue—and this one was larger,
more animated, and more intimate than the first. These
could have been real people, and their technique was quite
interesting.

The man turned his head and saw Mym. "Ah, the mas-
ter of the castle arrives," he said.

Startled, Mym stepped back. It talked!

The woman disengaged and sat on the pedestal, dan-
gling her long, bare legs over its edge. She was extremely
full-breasted and full-hipped, but slender in other re-
spects. "Come, join me," she invited Mym, opening her

arms.

A concubine? "Who are you?" Mym demanded. Then
he paused, surprised, for he had spoken without
stuttering.

"I am Satan, the Incarnation of Evil," the man said.
"This is one of My innumerable consorts, each of whom
is more luscious and tractable than the last."

"Satan?" Mym repeated, again amazed at his lack of
stutter. "Here in my castle?"

"Not precisely your castle. Mars," Satan said. "You
have wandered from your garden into a section of My
realm, where reality is more intriguing. But have no con-
cern; you are welcome here. I have wanted to interview
you."

"Aren't you the occidental figure of evil?" Mym asked.
"I have been warned to be wary of you."

"Indeed I am, and indeed you have," Satan agreed ex-
pansively. "My name is Nefarious—and rightly so."

This was not precisely the approach Mym had antici-
pated. He had been led to expect a creature with hooves,
tail, and horns, who breathed fire. This man was none of
these. He seemed entirely human, even to the act he had
been performing with the woman. "Why have you chosen
to contact me?" he asked, once again marveling at his
lack of a stutter.

"Why, isn't it the neighborly thing to do?" Satan asked.
"It is no easy thing to step abruptly into the office of an
Incarnation, and it behooves others of us to facilitate your
adaptation in whatever ways we can."

Mym shrugged. "I appreciate that effort. But other ac-
counts indicate that you bear mostly malice to others. As
the Incarnation of Evil, this makes sense. So you should
be trying to make this more difficult for me."

Satan grinned in disarming fashion, and the woman
smiled. "This shows the importance of personal contact.
As you can see, I am not as intractable as others may
depict Me. Come, let us converse." He jumped off the
pedestal, not at all concerned about his nakedness, and
the woman followed. She was robustly constructed, and
her breasts bounced magnificently as she landed. What a
concubine she would make!

As they walked, the welkin brightened, not from any
dawn but from a surrounding luminescence. The trees
glowed, and the ground, and even the three people, as if
animated from within. This provided a preternatural clar-




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105

ity of vision, for there were no obstructive shadows. The
garden was almost ecstatically beautiful, a true paradise.

The woman took his arm. Mym glanced at her, sur-
prised. The enhancement of vision applied to her, too,
and made of her physical form a thing of perfect splendor.
She smiled at him.

"You like Lilith?" Satan inquired. "She was the model
for all the statuary, and she will gladly pose for you, in
any manner you desire. She has more experience than
any mortal woman."

So she was of the spirit world; he should have realized.
"Thank you; I already have a woman."

"But not a suitable concubine, here in Purgatory,"
Satan said. "A man of your stature needs more than one
woman."

"True," Mym said. "But a prince does not take a used
woman."

"Readily fixed," Satan said. He snapped his fingers,
and Lilith vanished. Satan snapped again, and a new
woman appeared. This one was just as lusciously con-
structed, but possessed a greater innocence of demeanor.
"Lila, here, has never been touched by man."

Lila smiled at Mym. She was every bit as pretty as the
concubines the Rajah had provided.

Still Mym had a doubt.' 'But I don't know how Rapture
would feel about a spirit concubine."

"Well, you can ask her," Satan said. "Lila will be
available whenever you wish." He waved one hand neg-
ligently, and Lila vanished. "How did you like your first
day's work?"

"It sufficed," Mym said guardedly.

"I understand that you had the privilege of supervising
a battle in your own bailiwick."

"I was trying to end it!" Mym exclaimed.

"End it? Whatever for?"

"Because it was pointless. There was no need for men
to die on that field; peace had been declared."

Satan smiled. "Now I can see how that might be con-
strued as an embarrassment. Still, a good battle is a good
battle, whatever the circumstances. Why didn't you sim-
ply enjoy it?"

"Enjoy it!" Mym cried. "Outrageous!"

"How so. Prince? War is an honorable pursuit, and
there is much challenge and glory to be had in battle."

"That is the kind of remark I should expect from Siva,"
Mym muttered. "War is the root of endless evil. Slaugh-
ter, Famine, and Pestilence ride right with me when I go
out."

"Siva—your God of Destruction," Satan said. "I like
that. But consider where the world would be if there were
no war. We know that mortals have faults; they are dis-
satisfied with their lots, whatever their lots may be, so
they seek to better those lots at the expense of their neigh-
bors. Men take advantage of each other, they steal from
each other, they enslave each other and will not give over;

whole societies have been enslaved by other societies, or
by their own repressive leadership, and suffering is en-
demic. I know these things, for I receive the souls that
are degraded and finally damned by such circumstances.
Human beings are not fair to each other; each wants more
than his fair share and will take it if he has the power.
What mechanism exists to restore fairness to humanity?
Reason? Man is not a rational animal, no matter what he
chooses to call himself. He remains governed by his sel-
fish emotions. He uses reason only as a means to an end—
the end of self-aggrandizement. When reason suggests he
is wrong, he dispenses with it and keeps his ill-gotten
gains. No, Prince—in the end, there is only one answer,
and that is to restore fairness by force. That is what we
call war."

"But war does not restore fairness!" Mym protested,
taken aback by this rationale. "It is noted in the spread
ofunfaimess!"

"Only if abused," Satan said smoothly. "That is why
there is an Incarnation of War—to see that it is correctly
used."

Mym thought of his day's work. "I did not handle it
well today."

"You will improve with experience, of course. We all
do. No blame attaches to you for that."

"I would prefer to abolish all war, so that no battles
needed managing."




Wielding a Red Sword

106

"Then you would be neglecting your office. Some war
is necessary. It is like burning off a fallow field, to clear
it of a tangle of brush and to fertilize it with ashes, so as
to facilitate new growth. The process of burning may seem
violent, but it is in fact quite beneficial. Likewise one must
not be deterred by the seeming violence of war; it is but
a means to a necessary end."
"Some means are not justified, and war—"
"Or like the surgeon's knife, that cuts away cancerous
growth. It is true that some healthy flesh must be touched,
but this is a small sacrifice in view of the advantage to be

obtained."

"But war is not surgery," Mym protested. "It is butch-
ery! I saw the carnage, today, when—"

"Anything can be harmful, if it is allowed to proceed
uncontrolled. Fire is an excellent example; it can be man's
greatest enemy or his greatest friend. One simply needs
to learn how to manage it. Likewise the process of cutting;

what is butchery in the bad form remains excision in the
good form. It is not the agent that is to be condemned,
but the abuse, as I said before."

There was an insidious logic here that Mym distrusted.
"I would prefer to abolish war entirely."

"You can not," Satan said. "Nor would you want to,
if you truly understood it."

"But you will explain my abilities and motives to me,"
Mym said sourly.

"Naturally. As I said, it behooves one Incarnation to
assist another. You can not abolish war entirely, because
it is not a cause; it is a symptom, the tangible manifes-
tation of a more fundamental malady. Only by dealing
with that underlying problem can you hope to eliminate
war. As it is, all you can do is fan it into greater activity
or damp it down, shaping it somewhat to your design."

Mym remembered the extreme difficulty he had had in
turning off the battle between Gujarat and Maharastra;

certainly there had seemed to be an imperative to combat
that defied common sense. "And what is this underlying
problem that I would not want to abolish if I could?"

"It is the nature of man," Satan said. "Man is not a
perfect creature; were he so, there would be no need of

Piers Anthony

107

Heaven or Hell, of God or Me. Man is a composite of
good and evil, and the whole of his existence as a mortal
being is designed to determine the extent of those ele-
ments within him, so that he can be classified and sent to
his appropriate locale in the Afterlife. Naturally his mortal
span is rife with tensions and disturbance; it is good and
evil that are tugging him this way and that. When men
band together in the larger societies they call nations or
kingdoms, those larger units assume the attributes of the
individuals of which they are composed. There is a fabric
of social tension, a pattern of complex and subtle pres-
sures. Inevitably these mount until they manifest in overt
war, the most drastic form of competition. You could not
stifle that without stifling the society's most effective
mode of expression. If all such interaction could be truly
suppressed, man would never be properly defined, and
there would be no point in mortality. So it is not your
position, as the Incarnation of War, to prevent war; in-
stead you want to shape and guide this visible aspect of
social stress and use it to reduce social inequities and
facilitate the emergence of more effective leadership. You
want to fashion war into the truly useful tool for redress
of inequity that it can and should be."

Mym did not trust Satan, but this was a most compelling
rationale. "I'll think about it," he said grudgingly.

"Of course you will, Mars; that is your office. I am
satisfied to have helped clarify it for you."

"To be sure." The ease with which he spoke reminded
Mym of another question: "How is it that I am not stut-
tering, now?"

"You are visiting an aspect of My domain," Satan ex-
plained. "This place is not governed by natural laws, but
by My laws. I see no need for a person of your status to
be afflicted with an impediment of speech; therefore there
is none."

"But I have stuttered all through life, and in Purgatory
too!" Mym protested.

"That is the difference between life and Purgatory and
My realm," Satan said. "There is much I can offer you,
and not merely suitable concubines."

"Offer me—in exchange for what?"

108 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony

109

"Merely amicable relations," Satan said blithely.
"Bring Rapture here tomorrow, and I will show her also
what is available. She will be delighted."

"She needs no demons for amorous companionship!"

Satan laughed. "Of course not. Mars! What she craves
is nourishing food—without having to travel all the way
to Earth for it every day, depriving you of her company."

"You have mortally nourishing food?" Mym asked, ab-
ruptly interested. "Here?"

For answer, Satan waved a hand. A table appeared,
heavily laden with a sumptuous repast.

"But the food of Purgatory looks and tastes real," Mym
said. "How can we tell whether your food is solid?"

"By eating it," Satan said. "The truth will become ap-
parent soon enough."

Mym nodded. Satan seemed to have little reason to
deceive him on this score. His offerings were attractive.
Pleasant surroundings, the abolition of the stutter, and a
way for Rapture to remain with him. If this were truly for
the sake of neighborliness, Mym was amenable.

He turned about and made his way back toward the
castle. The shrubbery became more normal, and the stat-
uary became stone; it was like moving from the super-
natural to the natural.

As he entered the castle, he tried an experiment. "H-
h-h-hello," he said to himself. Yes, the stutter was back.

In the morning he touched the Sword and willed himself
to travel to Luna's mortal residence, where Rapture was
staying. One moment he was standing in the castle; the
next he was at the entrance to the house. It was a trifle
unsettling to travel so far so readily, but he liked it well
enough. He knocked on the door.

Rapture herself opened it, expecting him. She threw
herself into his arms. "Oh, it is wonderful here!" she
cried. "I missed you so much!"

Luna stood beyond. Mym caught her eye, over Rap-
ture's shoulder, and she nodded knowingly.' 'It is the way
of woman," she said. "To suffer pleasure and pain

together."
"I will bring her back soon," Mym sang. Then he

touched the Sword, and he and Rapture stood in the
castle.

Rapture disengaged and started for the bedroom, but
he restrained her. "Contrary to appearances," he sang,
"there is sometimes more on a man's mind than that. I
want to show you something."

Perplexed, she accompanied him to the garden. They
walked down the path and into the extension of Satan's
realm.

"But this wasn't here yesterday!" Rapture exclaimed.
"There was a wall, the far end of—"

"True," he said. "But this is special."

"It must be! These plants are—" She paused. "Did
you say something?"

"Not a thing," he said.

"You did!" she exclaimed. "You didn't stutter!"

"I told you this was special."

"But a moment ago—why did you sing, if you have
conquered the stutter?"

"I haven't conquered the stutter. This is a gift of this
garden. Here I can speak normally, nowhere else."

"Here? What is this place?"

Satan appeared, with Lila at his side. This time both
were clothed. "It is an extension of My domain," he said
grandly. "I thought you would like it."

Rapture turned to Mym. "Who is he?"

"Rapture, meet Satan," Mym said. "The occidental
equivalent of Siva."

"Siva!" she cried, retreating.

"And Satan, meet Rapture of Malachite, my be-
trothed," Mym concluded.

Satan bowed. "My pleasure, lovely mortal woman."

"But Siva—God of Destruction and of—"

"Of sex," Satan finished. "Which brings us to Lila,
here, a demoness of My realm. It occurred to Me that
your betrothed is short of concubines, here in Purgatory,
and if you approve, Lila will be happy to serve."

Rapture did a rapid reassessment. Western nations had
different and peculiar standards, but in India the Rajahs
and noblemen were expected to have plenty of concu-
bines, who were subservient to the wife. It would be a




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Wielding a Red Sword

111

sorry Rajah who lacked concubines, and his wife would
suffer loss of status, too. People would think he was im-
potent. On the other hand, this was not India, and it was
a trifle early for Mym to be needing a regular concubine;

it would be better for Rapture to get gravid with a son
first. Thereafter, it was a relief for her husband to have
plenty of concubines; it provided the wife more time to
herself. But Rapture was a dependent person, who didn't
want to be left to herself too much.

"Let's let that wait a few months," Rapture decided.
"By all means," Satan said. He gestured negligently,
and Lila vanished; only a faint puff of smoke remained

where she had been.

Mym made no comment, but he was privately relieved.
Concubines still made him remember his father's lesson
in obedience: they tended to find their heads on spikes
when declined. Since Rapture had turned this one down—
or at least postponed her—he didn't have to worry about
that this time. Also, he was far from ready to trade Rap-
ture off for other women in his bed; he loved her and
wanted to make the most of her while the emotion re-
mained high. Evidently she felt the same, and that pleased

him deeply.

Now the table laden with food reappeared. "This is a  I
feast for you, honored Lady," Satan said grandly.        |

"But I can't live on—" she protested.               \

"Satan says that you can be sustained on this food,"   "
Mym said. "Just as I can talk here without stuttering."

Slowly, she smiled. "Then I can remain here with you,
always!" she exclaimed.

They fell to, and the food was excellent. But privately
Mym had a reservation. Satan was doing him favors here,
and he did not trust this occidental version of savage Siva
not to make some inconvenient claim on him at some later
date. But as long as Rapture was happy, he would not
interfere.

Later, alone again, he pondered further. He knew that
Satan was tempting him, offering gifts it was difficult in-
deed to decline. He distrusted this; but, when the alter-
native was to be without Rapture or to have her unhappy,

what choice did he have? So he knew he would not in-
terfere with this offering, but he knew he had to some
minor degree compromised himself. How could he ensure
that no offering of Satan's subverted his ability to perform
his office?

He wandered the bare halls of the Castle of War, nom-
inally exploring its reaches, but actually exploring his own
disquiet. Mym was a prince; he had received expert train-
ing in the administrative as well as the physical aspects
of government. He knew he was treading on treacherous
ground, and he wanted to find some way to improve his
position without sacrificing anything he valued. It was not
necessary for him to turn down Satan's offerings; it was
only necessary for him to shield himself from subversion
by them. If he could do that, Satan would not have the
leverage he thought he had. But since Satan could with-
draw the benefits of the garden at any time, any overt
denial would be costly.

Perhaps he should simply inform Satan that he refused
to be influenced by any such gifts, so that Satan was wast-
ing his effort. That would be the honest course, and it was
important to be honest, because Satan was the Father of
Lies. Any lie would be playing into Satan's hands. But if
he told the truth, and Satan still thought the gifts would
subvert him—

Mym came to a chamber he had not seen before. He
had been following an unfamiliar hall, and it had termi-
nated in a flight of stairs that evidently mounted a turret,
and here was a closed wooden door. Curious, Mym
pushed at it with his hand, but it would not budge. He
was sure the chamber beyond was not intended to be
barred to the master of the castle; it had to be sealed
against intrusion by the servants or visitors. Why?

He explored the door, tapping it here and there. It was
solid. There was a large keyhole—but he had no key.

He touched the Red Sword. He could hack through the
door—but he didn't want to do that, for that would be
admitting some kind of defeat. Or he could render himself
into ghost status, and walk through it—but again, that
implied defeat. He should be able to obtain access legit-
imately, without special measures.




112           Wielding a Red Sword

He touched the Sword again, considering. Then, ab-
ruptly, he snapped his fingers. He drew the Sword and
willed it to change its form to that of a key.

The Sword shimmered and changed. Now a large key
was in Mym's hand. He inserted this into the keyhole,
and turned it. If he had guessed correctly, this should be
the right key. The tumblers clicked, and the lock gave

way. Victory!                                       I
He opened the door and entered the chamber. It con-
tained only a table, and on the table was a book. Mym

crossed over and picked up the book.

The volume had symbols on the cover and symbols in-
side. Mym recognized these as Chinese or Japanese, but
could not read them. Then, as he watched, the symbols
shimmered, as the Sword had, and became words, iden-
tifying the book. Its title was Go Rin No Sho. But he still

couldn't read it.
Then the words shimmered and became English: Five

Rings—A Book. The volume had finally zeroed in on a

language he could use.
Mym had seen this book before; he had read it years

ago. It was a very well known reference for Kendo, or
the Way of the Sword, and was studied by serious martial
artists everywhere. It seemed that the prior Mars had val-
ued it too; evidently the man had come here often to re-
view it, for the volume was well-thumbed.

He opened it randomly, and read a passage. In strategy
make the gaze broad. Learn to see to the sides without
shifting the eyeballs. Use this gaze always, whether in

battle or in ordinary life.
Interesting. Mym had forgotten this—or perhaps he had

understood it on another level before. Of course it was
literal—but it was also figurative. A warrior did not want
to give away the focus of his attention by shifting his eyes
about; he needed to take in everything while looking at
nothing, to spy the enemy to the side, without seeming
to, so that the enemy would not have the advantage of
surprise he thought he had. That much was literal. But
also in the mind—a person should grasp concepts without
seeming to and fathom deceptions while focusing on or-
dinary matters—just as he was trying to do with Satan.

113

Piers Anthony

He flipped randomly again, and read another passage.
Become the enemy. Merge with the enemy's situation. In
this manner you will gain understanding to prevail over
him.

Again, that seemed both literal and figurative. If a war-
rior considered his enemy's situation, really getting into
it, he could more readily fathom that enemy's likely re-
actions. That could be a valuable tool for victory. But, in
the more subtle interpersonal relations, it was just as use-
ful. Satan was not threatening him physically; Satan was
trying to modify his attitude. If he could just comprehend
Satan's motive, he could judge it and work out an effective
counter.

Mym closed the book. He was impressed. If two ran-
dom glances offered this much insight, what would the
entire volume provide? The random passages had not
given him answers, but had suggested alternate ways of
considering the problem. He felt that his awareness had
been broadened already.

Mym sat at the table and commenced reading the vol-
ume from the beginning. Though he had read it before,
this time it was as if he had an entirely new text, because
he was absorbing it on a different level.




Piers Anthony               115




9

IACHESIS

A few days later another battle was shaping up, and the
grim horsemen gathered again at the front of the castle.
Rapture shuddered as she saw them in their impressive
white, red, black, and brown cloaks, their matching
horses stamping their hooves and snorting with eagerness.

"Must you associate with those ruffians?" she asked.
"I realize that you have a job to do, exactly as you would
have had as a Rajah, but these casteless creatures—!"

"I fear I must," he sang. "I did not choose them, but
I did choose to assume the office of War, and they are

the handmaidens of war."
She laughed, somewhat hysterically. "Handmaidens!"

"But I will try my best to minimize the conflict I su-
pervise today," he continued. "War may be inevitable,
but it doesn't have to be totally destructive, if properly
managed. Then those subsidiary Incarnations will not

have much benefit from it."
She had to be mollified. "Return as soon as you can,

my beloved. I don't like being here without you."

"Well, you can return to Luna's house in the mortal
realm," he reminded her. "Or you can go to the garden
and have something to eat."

"You would have to take me to Luna's house, and,
anyway, she's busy. She's nice and always polite, but she
is engaged in local politics, and I don't like to take up her
time. But the garden ..." She trailed off.

"I'm sure nothing there can hurt you," he sang. "I
wouldn't trust Satan unduly, but he is currying my favor
and he knows that what pleases you is likely to please
me. You could go and talk to Lila, to see whether she is
worthwhile."

Rapture brightened. "Yes, I must find out how well she
sews and weaves, and whether she dances."

Mym smiled inwardly. What a neat solution to her prob-
lem! Concubines did a lot of sewing and weaving in their
off hours, supervised by the wife. Sometimes the King-
doms of modem India had contests between the harems
of their ranking nobles to see which produced the finest
tapestries, and great honor accrued to the wives who or-
ganized the winning shows. It was said that the wives
were more interested in the harems than the husbands
were, though there was a snide side to that remark.

But this exchange reminded him of Satan's influence
on his present existence. Satan was helping to make Rap-
ture happy and Satan could help to make her unhappy.
That remained awkward.

He had read Five Rings, and it had provided him with
much upon which to cogitate. But he had not yet digested
it sufficiently to apply it to Satan.

The heart of the book, as he now understood it, was
the five great rings, which equated on one level to the five
elements: Ground, Water, Fire, Wind, and Void. None
of these were simple concepts, and complete understand-
ing would require long experience and contemplation. But
it was as if it were a chart for his future understanding.
Once he comprehended the full nature of each of the rings,
he should possess sufficient understanding of the universe
to know his true course. He intended to work on it.

He donned his golden cloak, mounted his palomino, and
rode out with the others. This time they descended on the
border between two so-called Middle-Eastern nations,
whose long-dragged-out war had broken out again after
the breakdown of a truce. Persia was preparing a massive




116           Wielding a Red Sword

assault on the entrenchments of Babylonia, and the scale
was far larger than that of Gujarat and Maharastra had
been. There was no single spot that Mym could settle on   ;

for effective supervision; there were thousands of troops   ;

deployed along a front hundreds of kilometers long.       !

Last time, he had sought to enter the mind of a general   I
and had made little progress. This time he wanted to act   (
with better effect. He had to gain a proper understanding   j
of what was going on here. Then he could devise some   |
strategy to diminish the wastefulness of it. Perhaps it   ;

would be better to phase in to the situation of one of the   |

common troops.

"When is Persia's attack scheduled to be launched?"
Mym inquired of Conquest, whose business it was to

know such details.

"Not for several hours yet," the white-caped warrior
replied. "That will give us opportunity to plan for the  •

greatest harvest."
"Then I shall make my own investigation during that

period," Mym sang. "See that nothing starts

prematurely."
Conquest nodded. War's word was law to those others,

for he was the primary Incarnation here.

He rode to the lines of Babylonia first. He saw in a
moment that the defenses were formidable. Behind tow-
ering masses of barbed wire there were extensive mine
fields, and beyond these were concrete abutments and
hardened emplacements for machine guns. Any human
attack on these fortifications would commence at the cost
of many, many lives. If it broke through, only a small
fraction of the attacking troops would survive.

Obviously the Persian military command was aware of
this. What kind of an attack did it contemplate? There

had to be something special.

Mym rode to the other side. None of the mortals saw
him or his horse, of course. He rode through the barbed
wire without being touched and into the Persian forma-
tion. There were only a few armed men at the front; the
majority were in special camps, getting ready for the

assault.

Piers Anthony               117

Who would be best to identify with for the ground-level
survey? Mym pondered momentarily and decided on a
random sampling. He would enter the camp, count off
heads, and take the tenth soldier he found.

He found a large, crude temporary barracks building.
He rode through the wall. There were the troops, massed
for a preparatory briefing. Mym counted heads, identified
the tenth, and dismounted. "Be near when I need you,"
he directed the horse. Then he strode to the soldier he
had identified, stood before him, and backed into the man.

In a moment he overlapped him and felt the confusion of
double identity.

Slowly his eyes caught the focus, and his ears became
those of his host. The sensations of the body became his
own. He was still himself, but also, gradually, the soldier.
He concentrated solely on tuning in, on aligning the sen-
sations of the mortal body with his own, so that his iden-
tification clarified. This took some time; while it occurred,
the body was going about its own business, but this was
a necessary delay. For one thing, the body used an alien
language; the only way that Mym could understand it was
to orient on the meaning as registered by the brain, rather
than the actual sounds of it. He made steady progress in
this, but the process could not be rushed.

The first significant thing he realized was that this body
was young. This was no man; this was a boy of about
eleven! Yet he was definitely a soldier; he had the military
garb and a rifle and he had been drilled in its use. He was
now being exhorted to go into battle for the honor of his
country. It was, the instructor was assuring him and the
other boys of this command, a great honor to fight for
one's country and a greater honor to die for it in this Holy
War. He must go out and destroy the infidel enemy!

A child, Mym thought. They were all children, some
younger than this one. All garbed in ill-fitting military uni-
forms, bearing archaic rifles with limited ammunition, and
steeped with the ferver of fanaticism.

He thought of the formidable Babylonian emplace-
ments he had viewed. These children would be crucified
against those defenses! He probed in the mind for some




118           Wielding a Red Sword

comprehension of what lay ahead, but none of that in-
formation had been provided. This young boy was very
like an occidental cow in the corral, moving with the herd
toward the slaughterhouse. Cows were never treated in
that barbaric fashion in India, of course.

It seemed that Persia, having largely exhausted its ex-
perienced adult personnel, was now throwing the lives of
its children into the breach. They would die like flies—
but perhaps they would force an opening in the enemy
line that the experienced troops could then exploit.

It made sense on one level. It was pointless to throw
away seasoned troops on an impossible assault and leave
the children to carry the major part of the action. Better
to confine the heavy losses to those who were least
trained, then use the effective troops where and when

they could count.

But Mym was sickened by this tactic. What barbarism
threw away the hope of its future, its children, in such

manner?
But he drew on his own memory to fill in more of the

picture. This war had started when Babylonia, perceiving
an opportunity to take advantage of its weakened neigh-
bor, had invaded, seeking to add territory and acquire
important seaports. Babylonia had acted with complete
indifference to international law, grabbing at anything it
supposed wasn't nailed down. Persia had fought doggedly
back with inadequate personnel and resources and turned
the tide, driving the invader back out of its territory. Nat-
urally the losses had been substantial. Had Persia con-
fined itself to conventional recruitment, it would not have
had the personnel to do the job. So it had reached into
its reserves—the reserves of its future—in order to guar-
antee that there would be a future for its national identity.
Outsiders like Mym might condemn such desperation—
but what would he have done, as the leader of Gujarat,
if his -Kingdom had found itself in a similar situation?
Some evils were simply not to be tolerated, and among
these was capitulation to brutal conquest.

He explored the attitude of the boy and found some
justification there. The internecine war, dragging on as it

119

Piers Anthony

had, had decimated the population of the region. The
boy's family had been ruined by the passage of the troops,
both directions; the crop had been destroyed, the father
drafted and killed, the brothers driven away, the mother
forced to work at starvation wages in a failing effort to
sustain her remaining family, one sister raped and killed
at age twelve, and the other simply stabbed by the bayonet
of an enemy soldier when she screamed in fear and pro-
test. This boy, eleven, had joined his nation's military
service in order to get money for his mother, who was
working herself to death; this removed from her the bur-
den of sustaining him and made it possible for her to buy
some additional food and pay rent in a temporary camp
for refugees. This boy had taken the part of a man during
desperate times—as had the other boys of this unit. If he
died in battle, a death benefit would accrue to his mother;

if he survived, he could continue contributing to her sup-
port. He was proud to do this—and Mym was forced to
echo this pride. Given the situation of this region, the boy
had done what he had to do, with honor and courage that
would have befitted a man of any age.

No, Mym could not condemn that. Neither could he
condemn the nation of Persia for using boys of this age;

there was almost nothing else they could be used for, in
this place and this time, and using them made it possible
for them to serve both themselves and their nation. If this
boy were discharged at this moment from this service, it
would not be a victory for what was right and good; it
would be disaster.

Mym found himself both glad and sad that he had cho-
sen to share this young soldier's experience. How true it
was—a man had to walk a distance in the shoes of another
to understand the other's situation.

Now he understood enough of the local situation; he
could withdraw from this host and return to his own form
to supervise the coming battle. But now he knew this
boy—and he found he could not simply desert him at this
stage. He knew that the boy was headed straight for
death—and not an honorable, hard-fought death. For a
slaughter.




120 Wielding a Red Sward

He had to do something. But what? This war had been
grinding on, with brief intermissions, such as the one that
helped eliminate Mym's predecessor, for years. Its mo-
mentum was inexorable, and the damage it had already
done was staggering. Even if he managed to abolish it this
moment, the carnage it had wrought would remain.

Mym struggled with this, as the preparation for the ons-
laught proceeded. Could he remove this boy from the lo-
cale, at least saving his life? But that would cause him to
be branded a deserter—and how would the lad fare then?
Looking into the boy's mind, Mym saw that this was no
solution; the boy had to be allowed to complete his mis-
sion in whatever manner he could.

Could he manage to get this battle called off? Not b'.
any action of this boy; he had chosen the wrong host for
that. Now it was too late to phase in to another; the boy's
unit was being marched directly to the front. The attack
would commence within the hour.

There was nothing Mym could do—yet still he did not
leave the boy. He had to find some way!

The unit formed at the top of a small hill. Other units
formed to either side. There were thousands of youths in
this action! Most of them would be dead an hour from
now—and what would they have accomplished?

The order to attack was given. Bravely, the boy charged
over the brim of the hill and down toward the enemy line.
His associates ran beside him, their faces grim, but also
charged with the unholy joy of the mission: they were
engaging in the Holy War! They were half-drunk with the
glory of this combat as harangued into them by the in-
structors. Theirs, as the words of another culture had
phrased it, not to reason why, theirs but to do and die.

For moments there was nothing from the enemy. Then
the big guns fired. Shells detonated in the midst of the
charging line. The Babylonians had this section zeroed in,
awaiting this very charge. One went off not far from Mym,
and he felt the blast of it. He turned his head to look and
saw something flying at him. It landed before him—a
human arm, severed at the shoulder.

Now, suddenly, the truth hit home to the boy. This was
a deathfield! Whether he lived or died had no relation to

Piers Anthony               121

his personal merit. It was random. If a shell landed on
him, he was gone; if it didn't, he was free to keep running.
Nobody cared. There was nothing he could do to save
himself; it all depended on the shells.

The boy froze. He was a boy; he had not been hardened
to the reality of his own complete impotence. He had
thought that somehow things would turn out all right, if
he just did the best he could and obeyed orders. Now he
knew that was not true. The realization paralyzed him.

The sounds of the slaughter became loud in the boy's
ears. Not all of the victims of the shells were dead, but
many were dying. Scattered anguished exclamations
projected from the over-all noise. "My foot—it's hanging
by a flap of skin!" "I can't seel My eyes—my eyes are
all blood!" "Where did those intestines come from? Allah
preserve me—they're minel" "My friend—his shoulder
is gone—and half his head." The boys, stunned, simply
did not know what to make of the horrendous carnage;

they were reacting like sightseers, in these first moments
of horror. But very soon they would get down to the se-
rious business of bleeding to death. The charge had been
broken, but still the shells came.

Mym, with his training in the military arts and his ex-
perience as a commander, automatically analyzed the pat-
tern of the detonating shells. There were five big guns
oriented on this region, and they were firing sequentially
so that it was possible to judge the approximate locations
of the forthcoming blasts. One was due for this spot in a
few seconds.

Mym extended his will and took over the boy's para-
lyzed muscles. He had not realized he could do this; per-
haps he could not, had the boy been operative, but under
this immediate pressure, he did. He plunged directly for-
ward, getting as far away from the critical location as he
could.

The shell landed behind him. The blast of it half lifted
him, throwing him forward.

In that moment he spied an Incarnation. He knew it
was one, because he saw a large spider slide in from some
celestially anchored thread and convert to a middle-aged
woman whose eyes were fixed on him.




122           Wielding a Red Sword

He willed the Sword to still the scene. The action of
the battle froze, with boys locked in place in mid-stride,

and pieces of boys paused in mid-air.

"Mars, whatever are you doing?" the woman

demanded.

"Who are you?" he demanded in return, using his nec-
essary singsong.

"I am Lachesis."
"Ah, Lakshmi, Goddess of Fortune," he agreed.

"What?"
He smiled. "There seem to be parallels between your

mythology and ours. I recognize your nature."

"But I am only one aspect of three," she said, non-
plused. She wavered and was replaced by a beautiful
young oriental woman, then by an old negroid woman.

Then she was back to her original form.

"Yes, Lakshmi has an aspect for each of Vishnu's in-
carnations, to be his consort in each. When she manifests
with only two of her four arms, she is the most beautiful

of women."
The lovely oriental reappeared, intrigued. "Oh?"

Then the original Lachesis reasserted herself. "Stop
this nonsense! I'm not part of your pantheon! I am the
Incarnation of Fate, whose threads govern the lives of

mortals."

"Those lives are ending," Mym pointed out. "No one

can govern them now."

"All human events are arranged by Fate," Lachesis

said firmly. "Like the tide, I will have my way."
The tide. Something connected in Mym's mind. "W-

Water!" he exclaimed.

"What?"
"In the organization of the book. Five Rings, one of

the five major strategies is based on water. But we five
Incarnations may relate to this framework. War is Fire;

Fate is Water."

"Perhaps," she said, nonplused. "I will debate theol-
ogy with you some other time. Right now I must have an
answer. Just what do you think you're doing here?"

Mym was still a bit bemused by this abrupt encounter
with the occidental Pate with the spider web. "I am trying
to manage this battle," he sang.

123

Piers Anthony

"By using children!"

"One must work with the resources one has," he sang
uncomfortably. "I don't like this, but it seems to be
necessary."

"I have very little concern for what you may consider
to be necessary," Lachesis said severely. He could see
that, though she was past her physical prime, she had the
underlying structure of a supremely beautiful woman. It
would have been interesting to have seen her in her youth.
"You are using children in war and, while I recognize
that you have certain prerogatives, this use is not some-
thing I am prepared to tolerate."

Mym did not like the use of children in war himself,
but this put him on the defensive. "Exactly what business
is this of yours. Fate?" he demanded.

"It is my business to handle the Threads of Life,
Mars," she repeated with some asperity. "In my several
Aspects, I spin them, I measure them, and I cut them to
proper length. When you put them into a suicidal war and
kill them off wholesale, you are disrupting the pattern I
am setting up. I can not sit idly in my Abode while you
shear off those early threads!"

There was something about Lachesis that seemed fa-
miliar, though he could not identify it. He was sure he
had not encountered her before. He had been bothered
the same way about Luna. "But war is my business, and
these are soldiers."

"Lives are my business, and these are children!"
"Why didn't you route these young threads elsewhere,
then?" he demanded, still bothered by the feeling that he
should know her from somewhere. "This situation was
in the making long before I assumed this office. I don't
like it, but I must make the best of it. I see no better way
than to complete this battle and try to send the survivors
home with honor."

"With honor!" she exclaimed, outraged. "What honor
is there in pointless death?"

"This boy I am studying now is earning his own support
and that of his mother in the only way available to him,"
Mym sang. "He is serving his nation. There is no other
way for him. He must do what he has to do, or worse evil




Wielding a Red Sword

124

will befall him and his companions. I regret this situation
deeply, but if this battle could be made to disappear, it
would not bring back this boy's father or his brothers, or
provide food or shelter for him. I am trying to discover
how to minimize the ill effect of this battle and this war,
but the situation is complex, and simplistic protests by
the uninformed will not accomplish anything useful."

"Simplistic protests!" she exclaimed furiously. Now,
in her wrath, she seemed more than ever familiar. Her
fair hair, the bones of her face . . . "Uninformed?! You
can't talk to me like that! I am Fate!"

"I don't care if you're Devi herself! This is my

business."

"I don't have to put up with this," she said. She shim-
mered, became the large spider, and disappeared.

Mym was about to free the stasis and permit the battle
to resume, when Lachesis reappeared. This time she had
a woman with her.

Mym stared. It was Rapture!

Rapture stared about her, appalled. "The blood!" she

cried. "Where am I?"

"You are on the site of Mars' business," Lachesis said.
"I thought you'd like to join him at work."

"She doesn't belong here!" Mym cried.

"Oh?" Fate inquired. "She is a mortal, and the thread
of her life is subject to my manipulation. I thought it ap-
propriate to allow her to participate in your activity. When
this battle of children resumes, she will be among them."

Mym was stricken. Rapture would be killed in short
order, and, even if he managed to rescue her from the
carnage, her mind would be profoundly affected. "Take
her back!" he cried.

"Are you ready to deal. Mars?" Lachesis demanded

sternly.
This was coercion, but he was vulnerable to it. "Yes,"

he sang grimly.

Pate shimmered, changed, and vanished with Rapture.
In a moment she reappeared, alone. "I arranged for a
similar scene to appear on the television program she was

Piers Anthony               125

watching," she said. "Later, she will believe that it was
only a bad daydream sponsored by that program." Her
gaze oriented on him. "Now I expect you to abate this
war forthwith, so as to give me opportunity to route the
children out of it."

"I would prefer to have the children out of it!" he ex-
claimed. "But I haven't found any way!"
"Then we shall find a way," she said. "Right now."
"These children are here because Persia needs them

for its war effort," he said.

"I really don't see the point in war, anyway."
"It is a product of the natural tensions and inequities
of society," he explained. "Without war, there would be
no redress for certain wrongs. War is only harmful when
it is poorly managed."

"Oh, pooh!" she snorted. "That sounds like something
Satan would say."

That set Mym back. Satan hod said it. "Have you any
strategy in mind to alleviate this battle or this war?"

"Surely it is the result of some misunderstanding," she
said. "If we can ascertain what that misunderstanding is,
and clarify it, the need for combat should be eliminated.
What started it?"

"Babylonia's misunderstanding about Persia's ability
and will to defend its territory," Mym sang grimly.

She frowned. "Babylonia is a bit out of my regular ter-
ritory; but from all I understand, it is no shining example
of decency. But then, neither is Persia. It was an awful
mess, extricating the captive threads of over a hundred
western hostages from that country. A pox on both their
houses."

"Why are you so eager to save their children, then?"
"I could say that it is because some of those children
are mine, holding western beliefs in their secret hearts.
That, certainly, is what first alerted me to this problem
and brought me here. But once I saw the full horror of
it, I knew I had to act to protect all those children; I don't
care what their beliefs are. They don't deserve to die in
a stupid war fashioned by fanatic adults. I don't care how
complicated it is, those children have to be saved."




126           Wielding a Red Sword

Mym discovered that he was coming to like this wom-
an's attitude. He had never had much to do with children,
but certainly they represented any nation's hope for the
future. "I agree that the children are not responsible for
this war," he sang. "I would prefer to see those who
cause wars have to serve on the front lines."

Lachesis laughed. And suddenly he placed that nagging
recognition: he had known someone who laughed like
that! "That would end this war in a hurry, wouldn't it!"

"Are you from Ireland?" Mym asked.

She glanced at him, surprised. "This Aspect is. Of
course, now I serve a wider clientele. Why do you ask?"

"I knew a woman from Ireland, a beautiful and good
woman, and your hair, your face—I think in youth you
must have looked very much like her."

"I have come to distrust coincidence, since assuming
this office," she said. "Did Satan have a hand in your

ascension?"

"He helped eliminate the former Mars, if that's what

you mean. But he didn't have any hand in my actual

selection."
"Are you sure? Why were you ready for this office, at

the appropriate time?"

"I had been denied my fiancee, owing to an abrupt

change of political circumstance, and—" He broke off.
"Does Satan dabble in politics?"

"Does a fish breathe water?" She fixed her gaze in-
tently on him. "That woman you knew—did she sing?"

Mym spread his hands. "I never heard more beautiful
music. She had a little harp—"

"Orb!"
"Orb," he agreed. "You know her?"

"I am her mother."

Mym was stunned. Now the hair, features, accent, and
laugh all came clear—like mother, like daughter. But
what an amazing coincidence, that he should encounter

the mother of his former lover!

Coincidence? "You said you distrust coincidence," he
sang. "Because you arrange much of what to mortals ap-
pears to be coincidence. Do others do the same?"

"They shouldn't, but one does."

127

Piers Anthony

"Satan."

"Satan," she agreed. "I very much think he has been
interfering again. What reason could he have had to want
you in this office?"

"Apart from my inexperience that he might take ad-
vantage of, I can think of none."

"But you know my daughter."

"I loved your daughter. But circumstances forced our
separation, and now I love Rapture. This was no design
of mine, or fault in Orb; it—" He shrugged. "It
happened."

"And Orb loved you?"

"Yes. But she knew why I had to leave her, and I think
by now she has made her own life. She was—is a won-
derful person."

"Is it possible that Satan was jealous of you?"

Mym broke into a stuttering laugh. "For what possible
reason?"

"Because my daughter loved you."

That sobered him. "Satan—has an interest in Orb?"

Lachesis pursed her lips.' 'Possibly, in his devious fash-
ion. Satan—well, he once expressed interest in me, when
I was young and attractive. I was said by some to be the
most beautiful woman of my generation, and males are
attracted to that sort of thing. Orb is not far off that stan-
dard and she inherited that phenomenal musical talent
from her father's side of the family. Satan tried to prevent
her from getting her harp, and her cousin Luna from—"

"Luna!"

"My granddaughter."

"Your—! But—"

She smiled. "I bore Luna's father in my youth, and
Orb later. It is complicated. We raised the two girls to-
gether, and they were like sisters. Now—"

"But Luna does not resemble Orb! Both are beautiful
women, but the manner, the bones, the hair—" But he
knew as he spoke that the two did resemble each other,
and that was the undefined thing he had been aware of in
Luna.

' 'Luna dyed her hair brown and adopted different ways.
That, too, is complicated to explain. At any rate, Luna




128           Wielding a Red Sword

is slated to balk Satan's grand design to assume greater
power on Earth, and Satan has been laboring mightily to
eliminate her. But she is protected by Thanatos, so he
must be roundabout. Orb, however, is not so protected,
so he may have mischief in mind for her, to put pressure
on me and on Luna. And—I dislike saying this—he may
have a certain personal interest in Orb, because it seems
he is partial to that type of woman. That might be a ruse,
of course. At any rate, if any of this conjecture of mine
is true, Satan might resent whatever man Orb took an

interest in and act to eliminate that man."
Mym was appalled. "Could—could Satan arrange to

have a prince killed?"
"Surely so. Satan can arrange evil for any person not

protected by another Incarnation."

"It was my brother's untimely death that caused my

separation from Orb,'' Mym sang, shaking with shock and
anger. "He was to be Rajah: when he died, I had to as-
sume that office. So I was denied Orb and given Rapture,
against my will. The circumstances of my love for—"
"No mystery," Lachesis said. "Rapture is lovely."
"And you were going to km her!" he sang, suddenly

enraged at her.

"No. .It was a bluff to make my point."
"You made it! I would not allow Rapture to be hurt."
"And Orb—if Satan threatened her, now—?"
Mym spread his hands. "I did not lose my feeling for

her, when I came to love Rapture. I—would be

vulnerable."
"Well, don't worry. I am watching Orb's thread. Satan

can not interfere directly with it without alerting me, and
if I can't protect her, the other Incarnations will help me.
Satan knows that. I suspect that it was the other way
around; he was trying to use you to hurt her. I wasn't
watching your thread, and certainly not your brother's

thread."
"And Satan was pretending to be my friend!" Mym

gritted.
"He does that. Never trust him; he always has some

devious scheme brewing."
"But—once he had taken me away from Orb—why

would he try to separate me also from Rapture?"

Piers Anthony               129

"To make you angry enough to qualify for the office
of the Incarnation of War."

"But why would he want me in that office? I could not
do him much mischief before, but now—" Mym consid-
ered, and realized that he didn't know how he might harm
Satan. "Surely I am, or will be, more of a threat to him
now, as an Incarnation."

"One would think so. But of course you weren't sup-
posed to know about his machinations in your life—if,
indeed, we have conjectured correctly. Only our meeting
here has clarified that."

"He had to know I would in time recognize the mother
of the woman I once loved!"

She sighed. "Yes, I suppose so. I suspect that we have
not yet properly fathomed Satan's mischief. We must be
alert for it. Satan never exerts himself without bad rea-
son." She smiled briefly. "But we have drifted from the
topic. How can we abate this battle or this war?"

"By putting the one who started it on the front line,"
Mym sang. "We had agreed on that."

She considered. "I had thought we were joking. But
now I wonder. Why not put that man here?"

"Because it would be murder. You don't approve of
that."

"And you do?"

"I would call it an execution. If the life of that one guilty
man could cause the lives of the remaining children to be
spared, I would gladly destroy him."

She grimaced. "Then I leave it in your hands." She
converted to her spider form and vanished.

So quickly! Yet they had come to an agreement, and if
she, like many of her sex, lacked the stomach for what
was necessary, it made sense to leave it in the hands of
one who could handle it.

Mym withdrew from the boy and mounted his horse,
leaving the battle frozen. They galloped across the terrain
ofBabylonia, seeking the palace of the ruler of the nation.
This took time—but it didn't matter, for the battle was
not operative. Mym located the man and, without cere-
mony, set a hand on his shoulder. This brought the man
into Mym's magic frame; he disappeared from the eyes




150           Wielding a Red Sword

of mortals and was carried through the air, through the

walls, and into the sky.

Mym set him down on the battlefield, directly in the
path of the boy he had inhabited before. Then he released

the stasis.

The battle resumed. The pieces of bodies completed
their flights through the air and socked into the ground.
The boy, boosted by the blast behind him, stumbled,
caught his balance—and spied the gesticulating enemy

before him.
The boy reacted automatically. He stopped, raised his

rifle, sighted, and fired.

Whether his bullet scored was doubtful; good marks-
manship was unlikely in such circumstance. But his action
alerted the other boys of this region. They stopped, raised
their rifles, and fired. Several bullets tore into the man,
and he screamed and fell.

The boys charged up, saw the man's face, and ex-
claimed with amazement. They had seen that face before;

it had been on posters used for hate training. They cried

the name.

A Persian officer spied the commotion and chanced his
hide by coming to investigate. He, too, recognized the cas-
ualty. He gave orders, and the boys took hold of the
corpse and dragged it back up the hill. The body was
heavy, but there were many hands; few were slow to re-
alize that this detail was taking them away from the worst
danger. The battle, such as it was, dissolved.

Mym watched from his steed, invisibly. He saw them
get the body into a bunker. He saw the boy he had oc-
cupied identified as the soldier who had killed this hor-
rendous enemy. The boy was an instant hero, given a
commendation and sent to the rear to report to higher
authorities. He would be safe—and neither he nor his
mother would suffer further privation.

Persia had said, publicly and often, that it would carry
on the war until this enemy leader was deposed. Suddenly
the man was dead. The stated reason for the war had been
eliminated. The attack was called off, and a de facto truce

developed.
No more children would die for a while. Perhaps the

Piers Anthony               131

war would now be allowed to end, and the recovery could
begin.

Mym wasn't sure what the final judgment might be on
his method of stopping this war, but he was satisfied. He
had not only accomplished his objective, he had learned
another way to make his position effective.




Piers Anthony




-10

THANATOS

Concerned by what Fate had told him of Satan's designs,
Mym tried to talk to Rapture about it that night. "I think
you would be better off with Luna in the mortal realm,"
he sang. "Since you can still readily spend the nights with
me, here, the separation is really not that onerous."

"With the cousin of the woman you loved before me?"
she inquired bittersweetly.

Ouch! "Who informed you of that?"

"Lila, of course."

"Lila—the creature of Satan."

"She's an interesting woman. She will make you an

excellent concubine."

"I'm not so sure I want a demoness for a concubine.

She surely serves the interests of Satan before mine."
"You don't like the notion of any woman serving any

interest before yours?"
This was not the type of question Rapture had asked

before this. Mym wasn't sure he liked the change. "I don't
like the notion of being that close to a creature provided

by the Incarnation of Evil."

"Oh, pooh!" she said. "Lila isn't evil! She's an edu-
cated woman."

"What is she doing in Hell, then?"
"She says it was a bum rap."
"A what?"

"A bum rap. A false charge. A misunderstanding. Be-
fore she realized, she was in Hell and couldn't get out.
So she makes the best of it."

'It still sounds suspicious to me. She's a demoness."
'Oh, don't be such a fuddy-duddy!"
'A what?"

'An old-fashioned bore."

'It sounds like reduplicating echoism to me. This oc-
cidental slang does not become you. Rapture. Don't forget
you are a princess."

"Was a princess. Now I'm a woman. And so is Lila.

Oh, the things I am learning from her!"
"Like what, apart from gossip and slang?"
"Like this," she said, and kissed him in a fashion that

made his skin heat.

"You're coming on like a concubine!" he protested.

"I'm coming on like a woman who is learning what it's
all about."

"A princess does not need to know what it's all about!"
"But a woman does. Lila is certainly right about that."
"I really think you would be better off with Luna
Kaftan."

"Luna is a fine woman, and I like her—but now that
I know how similar she is to your former love, I prefer
to keep my distance from her—and your distance too.
It's enough trouble adapting to this new lifestyle without
having to worry about what's going on in your mind."

He found that concern singularly difficult to address.
He felt no romantic attraction for Luna, but it was true
that his new knowledge of her relation to Orb worked a
subtle effect on him. Where was Orb now? How had she
fared, after he had deserted her? Had the ring enabled her
to cope adequately? She had been a western woman, and
he had loved her; now Rapture was assuming some west-
ern attributes, and he did not find them appealing in her.
Perhaps there was justice in her disinclination to remain
with Luna.

"Well, perhaps you could stay with another mortal
woman," he suggested.




234 Wielding a Red Sword

Piers Anthony               135

"Why? I like it here. The food is good, the grounds are
beautiful, and Lila is a fine companion. Soon she is going
to take me to visit Hell."

"To visit Hell!" he exclaimed in singsong, almost chok-
ing. "I don't want you going near that place!"

"You prefer that I sit in the castle all day, sewing
handkerchiefs?"

He sighed. It was true that there was not a lot for her
to do here in Purgatory. "Perhaps you could find some-
thing to do in the mortal realm to keep you busy. I'm sure
Luna would—"

"Her, again. She seems much on your mind."

Unfortunately true, after the dialogue with Fate. He
had never expected to be thrown into the company of
Orb's close relatives. But because he had known Orb
well, he trusted those relatives. And he wanted to get
Rapture away from the insidious influence of Satan. "I
just feel that Satan means to do you some mischief, and
it would devastate me to have that happen."

She softened. "That's an unprincely thing to say. Why
don't you just order me to do what you wish?"

"Because I love you."

"You know that's a decadent Western concept." But
she could not suppress her pleasure. "I will seek some
mortal employment."

"That pleases me."

Then they made love, and all was good.

The next situation requiring the personal attention of
Mars was in Latin America. Conquest, Slaughter, Famine
and Pestilence were eager to get to work, but Mym lacked
proper enthusiasm. Increasingly he was wondering
whether he was the proper man for this office. He had
been trained for command and for war, but he took no
special joy in it, especially not in pointless bloodshed. He
would prefer to abolish war. But there was the conflict
of interest, because, if he succeeded, he would lose the
office—and where would he be then? Locked into this
alien Afterlife, his mortal life completed. What chance at
the ultimate relief of nirvana would he have then?

He had learned that new Incarnations had a period of

apprenticeship or trial, after which they could voluntarily
give up the offices. Perhaps it would be best for him to
do that—to step down when that chance came. Would
that return him to mortal status? He suspected so. But
what offered then? Would he have to resume his position
as Heir-Prince to Gujarat, displacing the man he had es-
tablished in his place and marrying the Princess of Ra-
jasthan? That would be horrible!

Suppose he could step into the mortal world in some
other capacity? Become a new person in the occidental
world? That had its appeal. But what would he do? He
was trained to be a prince, and that was not a preferred
employment in the west. Also, he was a stutterer. He had
made it on singsong well enough, but that was in large
part because he had held positions of extreme power, both
as Prince and as the Incarnation of War. Others did not
laugh at the powerful; they accommodated their idiosyn-
crasies. But if he tried to assume an wnpowerful
position—

No, he would have to make do with the situation he
had, try to be the best Mars he could be and, if he suc-
ceeded in abolishing war, to retire to whatever the Af-
terlife offered. This was not a bad existence, really. He
could emulate Musashi, author of Five Rings, learning to
prevail through humility and hard work.

That book spelled out the Way to leam the author's
strategy very simply and directly, in the section on the
Ground: to think honestly; to train, to leam every art and
know the Ways of all professions; to distinguish between
gain and loss, develop intuitive judgment, perceiving what
could not be seen; to pay attention even to trifles, and to
do nothing that was of no use; in sum, to be honest and
perceptive and purposeful throughout life. So easy to read
and to agree with, but sometimes so hard to honor! How
would Musashi have handled the situation with Rapture?

Mym sighed. As far as he could tell, the great Japanese
Samurai had never married or formed any significant re-
lation with a woman. Perhaps he had been most practical
of all in that!

They arrived at the site. It was a jungle. Lush tropical
growth spread all about. "What's the situation?" Mym
asked.




136

Piers Anthony               137

Wielding a Red Sword

"Muddled," Conquest replied. "This is a guerrilla war,
festering for a number of years. I was surprised when it
died down at the time of your ascension, because the un-
derlying causes had not changed."

"Satan had a hand in that," Mym sang. "He didn't like
my predecessor."

"True. But Satan's grudges are legion."

"So we don't really know how things are faring, here,
because guerrilla warfare is not open and measurable,"
Mym said. "We only know that there will be bloodshed,
much of it by innocents."

"Yeah!" Slaughter said raptly.

"But there is a strong indication that something of ex-
treme significance is about to occur at this site," Con-
quest said. "That's why this action requires our personal

supervision."

"I should have known there would be more to it than
mere routine destruction and killing," Mym sang sourly.
"Just what kind of development is this?"

"We don't know," Pestilence said. "But I feel it in my
flesh, so it must relate to me."

Mym looked at him. The figure's flesh writhed with
maggots and mold and leggy things; and when he moved,
flies buzzed up. If a man was known by the company he
kept, Mym thought, he would have preferred other

company.

Again he thought of the Book of the Ground, in Five
Rings. Pestilence was like a rotting segment of ground!
But this was an erroneous association, for Musashi did
not talk of decay, but of the importance of basic orga-
nization and proper timing in all things, the groundwork
for success, and of ascertaining the reality, so as to have
one thing but to know ten thousand things. Knowledge—
there was a prime key. The warrior who knew all things
did not waste his effort on what was of no use.

Information! That was the first requirement here—to
perceive that which could not presently be seen.

"I will investigate," Mym decided. He dismounted and
looked about. What should he look for? He didn't want
to identify with another eleven-year-old boy!

"There is a government outpost there," Conquest said,
pointing.

"That will do." Mym strode toward the building. As
he came near, four men emerged. They were rough-look-
ing types, wearing unkempt uniforms, carrying sidearms
and knives. Mym paced himself to overlap the evident
leader and phased in.

Again he suffered disorientation, but he was getting the
hang of this and soon he was using the soldier's percep-
tions. This man was reasonably well fed and healthy, but
dirty and dissatisfied. He had little formal education and
owed his position of limited leadership to his muscle and
general insensitivity to the plight of others. Mym did not
like him at all, but stayed with him because it would have
been too much of an investment in time and energy to
phase in to another body. This overlapping was not pleas-
ant for him, but it seemed to be the best way to get a real
feel for the situation. If a person wanted to know how to
deal with worms, there was nothing like being a worm for
a while!

This squad was on a mission. The host was barely lit-
erate in Spanish, his native language, but one of his hench-
men could read well. "It's the farm across the stream,
there," the man said. "We'll have to watch it; he's got
dogs."

"We know how to deal with dogs," the host said, and
the others laughed coarsely.

They trekked to a small wooden bridge across the river.
Two emaciated children were sitting there. They
stretched out their thin arms in a gesture of supplication
as the party approached. "Candy?" the little boy begged
in Spanish. Mym could understand this language now,
because he was tuning into the sense of it as rendered by
the host's brain.

"Get out of our way!" a henchman grunted. He lifted
his boot, set it against the boy's shoulder, and shoved.
With a scream the boy tumbled backward into the river.

"Death Squad!" the little girl cried, struggling to her
feet. "Bad men!" She started to run away.

"Don't let her go!" the host cried. "Can't have her
telling anyone we were here."

A henchman strode after the girl and caught her. He
hauled her back by one spindly arm. "What do we do
with her?"




138 Wielding a Red Sword

"Kill her," the host said.

"But she's just a kid," the henchman protested.

"She's a witness," the host clarified.

"But we can't just—"

"Where are your guts?" the host demanded. "We've
gotajobtodo." He drew his knife. "We don't want noise.
I'll show you how to make it quiet."

He took hold of the girl's straggly hair, hauled her head
up, and brought the knife to her exposed throat.

Mym acted. He exerted his will and paralyzed the
man's arms. The little girl dropped from the slackening
grasp and lay on the ground, unmoving. She had fainted.

"See? No noise," Mym forced the man's vocal appa-
ratus to say. It was difficult, because Mym had to focus
the thought without language, forcing it through the brain
so that it came out in the proper words.

"No noise," the henchman echoed, relieved. "For a
minute I thought you were going to kill her!"

Mym eased up on his control. The host found himself
in the awkward position of having done a senseless thing
by his definition. He had indeed intended to kill the child.
Now he had to explain his action.

It was easier for him to pretend that things had gone
as planned. "Now you know," he said gruffly and turned
and moved on across the bridge.

Mym had navigated that crisis. But had he done it by
proper planning and decision or by simply muddling
through? He still had a lot to leam of the Way of Strategy!

They proceeded on toward the farm. Mym now knew
that this was a killer group that went surreptitiously to
murder individuals who opposed the policies of this na-
tion's government; he had read about these during his
military studies. Thousands or tens of thousands had been
killed in this manner—but instead of securing the gov-
ernment's power, this had generated a backlash that had
become a full-fledged guerrilla revolution. This govern-
ment was at war with its own people and would have fallen
long ago if not generously supported by powerful outside
interests.

Mym had no sympathy with terrorism, whether prac-
ticed by the government or against it. If this was the way

Piers Anthony               159

this government operated, his sympathies were with the
opposition.

But it was not his job to dictate the political system of
a nation or the manner it maintained its base of power.
It was his job to supervise the violence that resulted.

Well, perhaps he could redefine his job. He had suc-
ceeded in drastically changing the configuration of the war
between Babylonia and Persia; was there a way to elimi-
nate these Death Squads here?

Aside from arranging another elimination of a head of
state, he wasn't sure how. And when he started practicing
assassination himself, how did that differ from what the
Death Squads were doing? It was no easy decision.

Now the men were near the farmhouses. The dogs spot-
ted them and charged. A henchman tossed down bits of
meat that he removed from a special package. The dogs,
poorly trained, paused to snap up the meat—and in mo-
ments they were writhing on the ground. The bait was
poisoned, of course.

"He's supposed to be alone today," the literate hench-
man said. "His wife's off at the big celebration." Mym
wasn't able to grasp the exact nature of the celebration;

it was tied in too closely with cultural values that did not
align with his own.

"We'll play it safe, anyway," the host said. "We'll sur-
round the house. I'll challenge him from the front; you
be ready to catch him when he tries to sneak out the
back."

They deployed accordingly. But as the host came to the
front, the figure of a woman appeared in the doorway.

The host cursed under his breath. Mym read his
thought: the intelligence had been wrong. The wife was
home. Now it would be messy, and they would have to
kill her too. They would charge extra for that.

The woman disappeared inside the house, slamming the
door. The host charged, knowing that time was now of
the essence. He would have to catch and kill the woman,
because his weak-kneed cohorts wouldn't want to do it.
He couldn't have her escaping and bearing the report of
the identity of the killers; that would embarrass the em-
ployer, who preferred anonymity.

140 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 141

He lifted his boot and kicked at the flimsy door. It
crashed inward. He stepped over it and into the house.
There was the woman, speaking into a telephone.

A telephone! There was another vital detail the intel-
ligence report had overlooked! If he had known about
that, he would have taken time to cut the wires before
approaching the house. It was a nuisance, but had to be
done. Now it was too late; she had already made the call.

He strode across and swept the phone out of her hand.
The woman screamed and spun away from him. He
caught at her, getting hold of her shawl. It came free, and
he threw it down and grabbed again, this time catching
her blouse. That tore as she fought to escape, exposing
her haltered bosom. Evidently she had been less formally
garbed and donned her blouse over the halter when she
heard activity near the house.

The host paused. This was a well-shaped woman! Of
course he had to kill her—but it would be a shame to let
a form like that go to waste. The henchman would catch
the escaping man; he could spare a few minutes.

He got both hands on her and bore her back against the
wall. She screamed, so he knocked her in the face. Blood
welled at her lips, but the scream cut off.

He caught at the halter and yanked. The thing was stur-
dier than it looked; instead of coming away it stretched
out and down, baring one of her breasts. The sexual pas-
sion of the host was magnified by this sight. He stared at
the breast, then reached for it.

Mym, bemused at the proceedings, had failed to act in
time to abate the host's violence. Now he exerted himself,
fighting to control the sudden lust of the man. But though
he had been successful in saving the girl-child, he was
now up against a greater determination. The host had not
really wanted to kill the child, but had intended to do it
as a necessary thing; in contrast, he was inflamed by de-
sire to possess this woman before he killed her. Perhaps
with more experience, Mym could have assumed control.
As it was, he could not. While he tried, the host opened
his own clothing and brought his body up against that of

the woman.
Mym gave up the struggle and withdrew. He had pos-
sessed a hundred different and lovely young women in
his life as a prince, but had raped none. He refused to
share a body engaged in such an act.

Now he stood beside the man and woman, watching
the commencement of the rape. He was angry.

He touched his Sword. Suddenly he was solid. He
reached out and grasped the thug's collar and hauled him
back. But the man was heavier than Mym, and this pull
was not enough.

Mym touched his Sword again. If the instrument could
make him solid, it could make him solider! He reached
out a second time, caught the collar, and made a terrific
exertion.

The man was lifted back and away, and hurled at the
opposite wall. He collapsed to the floor, unconscious. It
was as if a giant had thrown him!

Curious despite the situation, Mym turned and struck
the wall with his fist. His fist punched right through it.

He had indeed become more solid! Ordinary matter was
now of a lesser density, so that his flesh had the relative
mass of a sledgehammer, and his force was magnified
many times. No wonder the thug had flown!

The woman was staring right through him. Mym re-
mained invisible; she had no notion what had saved her.
Then she recovered her wits and scrambled up and away,
simultaneously hauling her halter back into place.

The thug had been right about one thing; she was an
attractive woman. But now Mym had to attend to the
other members of the Death Squad, to prevent them from
killing the wealthy farmer.

He looked through the house, but saw only the woman,
hiding behind the stove. The farmer must already be
outside.

But when he went outside, he found the three other
Squad members waiting. The farmer had not emerged.

The woman must have been alone. That intelligence
was really fouled up!

Then Mym heard something. It was a kind of scuffling
down the drive leading to the house. Something was com-
ing. More killers from the government?

He summoned his horse with a thought, and the animal
appeared. Mym mounted, and the horse staggered.




Piers Anthony               143

142 Wielding a Red Sword

Oh. That extra mass. He touched the Sword and willed
himself back to masslessness. The horse relaxed.

They galloped toward the new sound. In moments they
spied the source and paused, astonished.

It was a troop of ghastly people shambling along. Their
eyes were staring, their mouths hung open, and drool fell
across their chins. Their hair was wild, their clothing hap-
hazard. Their arms and legs moved as if operated by mar-
ionette strings, jerking up and forward and slapping down.
Each one of them seemed about to collapse, but somehow
did not.

These were not ordinary people! They were zombies!
What were they doing here, roused from their ground?

From the ground? There was that theme again!

Mym watched as the zombie troop shuffled along to-
ward the farmhouse. The members of the Death Squad
saw them and yelled. The leader staggered out, still woozy
from his fall. The zombies continued without pause.

This could not be coincidence! The woman must have
summoned the zombies when she phoned. But that ex-
plained only part of the mystery of this occasion. Where
had the zombies come from, and how had the woman
known about them? Where was the man of the house?
Why had he left his lovely wife unprotected?

Shots were fired. The zombies proceeded without
pause. The Death Squad members fired again, taking bet-
ter aim—but still there was no visible effect. They were
baffled.

Now the woman appeared in the doorway. She yelled
at the zombies and pointed to the Death Squad members.

The zombies understood. They pursued the men.

Too late, the men realized what they were up against.
They tried to scramble away, but the zombies surrounded
them. Dangling hands flopped against the men, and slack
jaws worked. The attack was inefficient, but it was ap-
parent that the zombies felt no pain, so that nothing the
men could do to them had any effect. Each of the men
was soon buried under a clumsy mass of bodies, and slob-
bering mouths labored to bite at living flesh.

Mym might have interfered, but found he had no in-
clination. He knew firsthand the evil of the Death Squad

members; they were not worth saving. Also, he had no
desire to make physical contact with the zombies, who
were about as repulsive as creatures of human form could
be. He realized now that they were not refugees from a
graveyard, for none of their flesh was rotting and there
was no earth on them; rather, they were like almost total
idiots.

Another horse galloped down from the sky. At first
Mym thought it was one of his own companions, but then
he realized that the color of the horse did not match those
he knew. It wasn't any color; it was pale, though the rider
was caped in black. Certainly it was supernatural,
however.

The horse landed and trotted to him. Now Mym saw
the skull-features of Thanatos, the Incarnation of Death.
"What are you doing here, Mars?" Thanatos called.

"I think I am supervising a battle," Mym returned in
singsong. "Of precisely what nature, I hardly know."

"Of an illicit nature!" Thanatos said. "Those are
zombies!"

"I had come to that conclusion," Mym agreed. "But
they seem to be serving a good cause."

Thanatos was obviously agitated. "Do you know what
a zombie is?"

"An undead," Mym replied. "We have them in India,
too, though I have never seen them fight a battle before."

"A zombie is a living man whose soul has been
removed."

"Yes, I suppose so, since life departs with the soul. If
the mortal body does not lie still, it is called a zombie."

"But these bodies have not been killed!" Thanatos
said. "They are not on my schedule."

"They are evidently on mine," Mym sang. "They are
doing a necessary job, summoned in defense of that young
woman."

"You may organize a battle as you choose," Thanatos
said, his bone-jaw grim. "But you may not impinge on
my prerogatives. You may not interfere with the souls of
mortals before their deaths."

"I don't know how these zombies came to be," Mym
sang. "But if they are what it takes to set matters straight,
I'm amenable."




144           Wielding a Red Sword

"If you do not eliminate the zombies, I will!" Thanatos

said angrily.

This sounded like a challenge, and Mym was not in the
mood to be challenged on his own turf. Evidently Than-
atos represented the Ground, but that did not give him
leave to interfere with Fire. "Show me how to make a
zombie, and perhaps I will know how to eliminate one,"

he sang.

"Like this!" Thanatos said, and reached his skeletal
hand into Mym's body. The fingers passed right through
his flesh, which wasn't surprising while he was insub-
stantial. But then they caught on something within him
and pulled on it, and he was abruptly in mortal agony.

Thanatos had grasped his soul and was pulling it from

his body!

Mym reacted involuntarily. He stepped into Thanatos,
overlapping him, and exerted his will to take over the
other man's mind. That transferred some of his agony to

the host—to Thanatos.

Thanatos immediately let go of Mym's soul, as now he
could only hurt himself. Mym stepped out of the body.

They looked at each other. "Incarnations should not
quarrel with each other," Thanatos said after a moment.

"Agreed," Mym sang. He knew he should not have
reacted so imperiously and was glad to accept the truce.
The Way of the Warrior was a resolute acceptance of
death. Here he had Death literally before him and should
have accepted Death's concern. "But if only you can
draw out the soul from a living body, how did these zom-
bies come to be? Certainly / did not create them."

"We had better find out.''

"The young woman summoned them; perhaps she can

answer."
They went to the woman, and Thanatos spoke to her.

"You must inform us how the zombies came about," he

said.
The woman seemed startled, as if she hadn't realized

that anyone was near. She started to turn to face the

cloaked figure.

"Do not look at me," Thanatos said quickly.
She hesitated, then spoke in Spanish. Mym, now dis-

Piers Anthony               145

associated from the thug host, was unable to understand
it, but Thanatos did.

"I am the Incarnation of Death," Thanatos replied to
her. "But I have not come for you, only to discover the
truth about the zombies."

She spoke again, with some force.

"The Death Squad thug tried to rape you?" Thanatos
asked. He was speaking in English, yet the woman
seemed to hear him in Spanish. Mym wondered how that
was accomplished, but knew that matter was not worth
pursuing at the moment.

The woman spoke again.

"So you asked the guerrilla connection to send help,
but you did not know the nature of what would come,"
Thanatos said, and the woman nodded.

"Give me that number that you called," Thanatos said.

She protested; it was a secret she could not divulge.

"Look at me, now," Thanatos said.

The woman turned to stare into his face. She quailed,
then spoke a number.

"Thank you," Thanatos said. He gestured to Mym, and
they went into the house.

Thanatos picked up the phone and dialed the number.
When the connection was made, Thanatos turned to his
fine pale horse. "Mortis, orient on that location," he said.
Then he hung up the phone.

They went back outside. The zombies were still work-
ing on the thugs, and the woman was watching with a
certain horrified pleasure. It was not every woman who
got such a chance to see an attempted rape and murder
so obnoxiously punished.

They mounted their steeds. "To that location," Than-
atos told his horse.

The animal took off. Mym's own mount followed. They
galloped swiftly through the air. Soon they came down in
a small jungle clearing and trotted to an isolated cabin.

This was the place, all right: a number of zombies shuf-
fled about. A trainer was instructing them, evidently
teaching them how to walk without falling and how to
follow a road. A truck was parked, hidden under a tree—
the primary transportation for the zombies. "They drove




146           Wielding a Red Sword

them to the vicinity of the farm, then pointed them toward
it," Mym said. "That must have been all that was

necessary."

"Yes. But my concern is with the Grafting of them."
They dismounted and walked to the cabin. It was

closed, its windows boarded, so they walked through the

wall to enter.
A man was inside, using mortar and pestle to work up

a white paste. That was all.
Thanatos manifested before him. "Look at me,

Mortal."
The man looked up—and stiffened. He recognized

Death.

Thanatos questioned him, and Mym picked up the es-
sence; the man had been seeking a better way to purify
cocaine and had stumbled upon a savage variation. This
product affected the subject so deeply that he passed right
through a trance state into somnambulance, and could not
be aroused. His body lived, but his mind was almost en-
tirely gone.

Thus, the zombies—living people deprived of their

souls, proceeding without personal volition, doomed to
degenerate shortly from neglect. Hence the connection
with the Incarnation of Pestilence; in days, those bodies
would be riddled with disease, the prey of flies and

worms.

Certainly this related to War, for these zombies were
being used to oppose the Death Squads. In fact, the wom-
an's husband, the man the Squad had come to assassinate,
was involved with this project; when he had gotten news
that he was to be hit, naturally he had arranged to test
the zombies in action. His brave wife had remained at the
house to alert him when the Squad arrived. She had been
supposed to phone him and hide in the attic, but the pre-
mature break-in of the Squad leader had cut off her es-
cape. The zombies would have wrapped things up any-
way, but only Mym's intercession had spared her from
rape and possibly murder before their arrival.

However, Mym realized that it was the development
of the zombies that had brought him here, so perhaps that
was not coincidence. Nevertheless, there was no question

Piers Anthony               147

that it also overlapped the office of Death, since people
were being killed, and in a manner that was supposed to
be reserved for Thanatos. They were going to have to
work this out.

Where did they get the people to de-soul by means of
this drug? From captive government troops. It made per-
fect sense, to the guerrillas and to Mym, who had just
seen how the government operated. But it didn't make
sense to Thanatos. "If mortals leam how to handle souls,
there will be no end of mischief," he declared. "This
knowledge must be abolished."

Mym thought of the way the zombies had shuffled into
battle and concluded that Thanatos was correct. Killing
was bad enough, but de-souling would give unscrupulous
people a motive for more of it. They would generate ar-
mies of zombies, and no person would be safe. It would
transform war, making it uglier than it already was, be-
cause the killing would be done before the battles ever
started.

"But how can knowledge be abolished?" he sang.

"We shall have to get help," Thanatos decided.
"Chronos could do it."

Because Chronos controlled time, Mym realized. He
could tilt his Hourglass and cause time to freeze, and—

No, that wouldn't work. Both Mars and Thanatos had
the ability to freeze scenes—but the scenes resumed un-
changed later. Chronos would have to run time actually
backwards to undo the discovery of the drug. That would
complicate the world in other ways. "There must be an
easier way," he sang. "Maybe Gaea—"

"Yes, Gaea would be best," Thanatos agreed. "She
knows how to do things with least disruption. I will sum-
mon her." He lifted the heavy black watch he carried to
his face and spoke into it as if it were a microphone.
"Gaea."

Mist coalesced, thickening and forming into ghostly,
then solid, shape. Mym, still conscious of Five Rings,
recognized this as the manifestation of Wind—or Air. Mu-
sashi also called it Tradition.

"I was waiting for your call," the voice of Gaea said,
slightly before her appearance was complete.




148

Piers Anthony               149

Wielding a Red Sword

"We have knowledge to eliminate," Thanatos said.
Gaea frowned "To eliminate!" she exclaimed. "Since
when have you become regressive? Satan thrives on

ignorance."

"I shall explain," Thanatos said.

Mym heard something outside. He signaled the others
that he would investigate while they clarified the issue
and walked through the wall.

Military trucks were pulling up. What was this? More
victims for de-souling being brought in? The Incarnations
were taking action none too soon!

"The government!" the trainer of the zombies cried.

The first truck screeched to a stop, and soldiers piled
out of the back. "Take them alive!" an officer called.

The trainer and the zombies fought as well as they were
able, but in minutes all were captive, for the government
forces were overwhelming. "Spread out!" the officer
cried. Mym wasn't sure whether he was speaking English,
or whether Spanish was becoming intelligible now. "Se-
cure all property! Destroy nothing!"

They were after the secret of making zombies! They
must have traced the zombie-truck back to its source and
mounted a mission to capture both the site and its

personnel.
Mym stepped back into the building. "The government

is coming after the secret!" he exclaimed in singsong.

"Too soon!" Thanatos said. "We have not yet decided
on a way to abolish it."

Gaea smiled. "Perhaps we can delay them somewhat,"
she said. She stepped to and through the wall. Mym and

Thanatos followed.

Outside, the government troops were combing through
the jungle and the clearing, hundreds strong, poking at
the ground with bayonets. Before long the line would in-
tersect the cabin. There did not seem to be any way to

stop it.

"I think fire is best," Gaea said. She raised her hands,
her fingers spread, and jags of electricity radiated from
them. The jags touched the ground—and fire erupted. It
spread between the points of its origin, formed a line, and
swept toward the troops.

The soldiers were quick to realize their peril. "Fire!"
they cried. "They've torched it!"

"Beat it out!" the officer cried. "Save that shack!"

But the troops were demoralized by the fire. They re-
treated from it.

Gaea turned about. More current flared from her hands.
The cabin burst into flame.

"But the man inside!" Mym sang.

Gaea shrugged. "Rescue him, then."

Mym strode through the flames and the wall, feeling
neither. The man inside was standing, alarmed. Mym
caught him by the arm, then touched the Sword.

The two of them flew up, through the roof, and into the
sky. The man's mouth hung open; he could not believe
this was happening. Mym brought them down beside Gaea
and Thanatos.

The woman turned to the man. "Who besides you
knows the secret for making the drug?" she asked.

"N-no one!" the man said, his knees seeming to
weaken.

A streamer of mist poured from Gaea's right hand.
Snakelike, it slid toward the man's head, and into it. "No
one," she repeated.

The man's expression changed. "I—have forgotten
how!" he said.

"And you will never remember or rediscover it," Gaea
said. "Now depart, before the troops apprehend you."

"But—but the fire—"

"Will not touch you," she finished.

The man walked, neared the line of fire that enclosed
the cabin, and walked through it. He was magically pro-
tected—for the moment. Soon he was out of sight.

The officer had succeeded in restoring some discipline
in the troops, and they were now attacking the fire with
shovels, beating it out. A gap was forming in the fireline.

"With the material and equipment destroyed by fire and
the memory of its process gone, they will not be able to
fathom the secret," Gaea said. She fuzzed, became vapor,
and dissipated.

Mym exchanged a glance with Thanatos. "It seems our
problem has been solved," Thanatos said. "I have no




150 Wielding a Red Sword

further interest in the proceedings." He made a signal,
and his pale horse appeared at his side.

'' Wait!'' Mym sang.'' Your friend Luna—did you know
that I once loved her cousin?"

Thanatos paused. "I did not knowi I have not met her
cousin, but I understand she is easy to love."

"Now I love Rapture—and I don't like the influence
that Satan is having on her. I want her to be more with
Luna, a better influence. But she—she fears any contact
I might have with Luna, because of her similarity to
Orb—"

Thanatos smiled. "I will deliver Rapture between Lun-
a's estate and your castle," he said.

Mym grasped his bony hand. "I thank you, Thanatos!
If I can ever repay the favor—"

"We Incarnations must help each other to oppose
Satan," he said. "When I help you, I help myself, for
now you will oppose Satan's designs on Luna."

"I will certainly do that! But what is it Satan means to
do to Luna? Lachesis told me that Luna is destined to
balk—"

"She is to cast a decisive vote against Satan's political
power on Earth, some years hence. Satan means to re-
move her from political office, or in some way circumvent
her, so that his will shall govern, and he shall be able to
corrupt the mortal realm and gain a majority of souls for
himself. This would represent his final victory over God."

"Satan can do that? Change things about on Earth to
suit himself? Why doesn't God stop him?"

"The two made a Covenant ofnoninterference," Than-
atos explained. "God is good, therefore he honors it and
allows free will among the mortals, wherever it may lead.
But Satan, being evil, violates it and seeks always to win
more power."

Mym remembered that Gaea had said the same. Still,
he found it hard to accept. "But then—what is to prevent
Satan from winning?"

"The other Incarnations," Thanatos said. "And the
war is now coming to you. Wage it well."

"I will try," Mym sang. "But I remain new in this office
and still have much to leam."

Piers Anthony               ^5

^^A'^SS""8'be ^«". ^ -







11

CHRONOS

Rapture, having made a genuine effort to find a place for
herself in the mortal world, had found one. She was to
be a part-time consultant on Indian Culture for the Uni-
versity of Kilvarough. Luna, when asked, had been of
considerable help, and Rapture was pleased. She was well
qualified for this position, as she spoke both English and
the languages of several Indian Kingdoms and was ex-
cellently versed in the conventions and artifacts of them.
The money she would earn would enable her to pay a
nominal rental for her stay at Luna's house, which gave
her a sense of independence that she had never enjoyed

before.
Thanatos, true to his word, brought her to and from the

Castle of War each day. At first she had been leery of the
skeletal figure, but acquaintance with Luna had reassured
her. "Zane," Luna had told her—that was the name she
called Thanatos— "is not really the Grim Reaper. He is
an ordinary man with a difficult job and a great deal of

compassion."

Compassion. It was, in its way, a magic word. A de-
pendent person valued that quality in others. So she came

152

Piers Anthony               153

to respect Thanatos, without being any more thrilled by
the nature of his employment than she was with Mym's.

And that employment was a continuing wedge between
them. Rapture did not argue the case or make demands
on him, but he could feel the tension in her whenever the
subject of his work came up. He learned not to tell her
of the details of his day's work, because that made her
uncomfortable, and she grew cold without being con-
scious of it. Their lovemaking became awkward. Yet what
could he do? He had reservations of his own about his
office, but had thrashed it out with himself and concluded
that his best course was to stick with it. It was ironic that
the same office that had enabled him to rescue himself
and Rapture from the heartbreak that had awaited them
in the mortal realm was now inexorably separating them.

There came a night when Rapture did not appear. It
seemed that there was a special late seminar at the Uni-
versity that required her presence, so it was easier to stay
over at Luna's so that she would not be late the following
morning. She would see him the next evening.

This was all clear and sensible—but Mym did not like
being alone at night. Out of sorts, he walked again in the
garden.

There was Lila, of course. "I think you are ready for
a concubine," she said. "Give me leave to enter your
premises, and I will serve in any manner you desire."

Mym looked at her. She was garbed in a slightly iri-
descent, slightly luminescent, slightly translucent robe
that enhanced a figure he knew was crafted in Hell. Her
face was classic in its perfection, and her lustrous hair

flowed down across her shoulders like a midnight river
of silk.

But he had seen—and possessed—beautiful women be-
fore and he still distrusted the motives of the creatures of
Satan. He did not want any of them having access to his
Incarnation premises. "You," he said shortly, again able
to speak without stuttering in this region. "You were the
one who gave Rapture notions of independence!"

Lila's eyes widened innocently. "Why, we talked, and
she inquired about the ways of western women," she pro-
tested. "I told her nothing that was not true."




154

Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony

155

"Such as the relationship between Luna and Orb?"

'They are both good women."

"And you are not."

"And I am not," she agreed.

"You told Rapture that you were in Hell on a 'bum
rap.' I am sure that's not true."

"She misunderstood. I was speaking of another. I am
a demoness. I never had a mortal existence. But for that
reason, I lack the modesty of true spirits. I can provide
you with the kinkiest types of passion that a decent
woman would never—"

Angry, he caught her by the arm, not certain what to
do with her. She came readily in close, the musky perfume
of her body manifesting. "You may hit me if you wish,"
she murmured. "Or whatever else may please you. Any-
thing at all ..."

He cast her loose. "Nothing about you pleases me!"
he snapped, turned about, and stomped back toward the

Castle.

"Each lie you tell," she called dulcetly after him,
"brings you closer to Satan, the Father of Lies."

He ignored that gibe. But as he returned to his solitary
room and tried to settle down for sleep, the barb returned
to haunt him. Five Rings had advised him not to think
dishonestly, but he had lied, for Lila's body, if not her
nature, pleased him quite well. And actually her nature,
her willingness to be with him and to serve his needs, was
also quite tempting. He was not looking for a wife, just
a concubine; why hadn't he taken her?

Because of what Lachesis had said about Satan. If
Satan had really conspired to deprive Mym first of Orb,
and then of Rapture—the second plot foiled only by
Mym's accession as Mars—then Mym wanted no further
association with the Incarnation of Evil. Indeed, Satan
had been using his agent Lila to subvert Rapture's mind,
putting female-suffrage notions in her head; he was glad
he had gotten her away from Lila. Was he now to be with
Lila himself? Obviously not.

Finally he slept—and dreamed that Lila had come
to his bed, her flesh quivering lusciously. He woke, an-
gry, and found himself alone. And could not get to sleep
again.

*   *

The next action requiring his attention was in Cush, a
kingdom in Africa. It seemed that a tribe of Nubians in
its northern section were rebelling and that the govern-
ment was using its troops to combat this uprising.

Of course it was more complicated than that, because
Mars did not need to supervise every battle personally,
any more than Thanatos needed to supervise every death
personally. It was only when something special was hap-
pening that he had to attend. Wars and battles were going
on continually in scattered regions of the world; if they
ever all stopped at one time, Mym would be retired.

"So what's the situation, this time?" he asked Con-
quest as they rode to the site.

"Interesting that you should say 'this time,'" the
white-cloaked Incarnation replied. "It does seem to in-
volve time, though we aren't sure how."

The subsidiary Incarnations never seemed to have full
information; Mym realized that that was probably one
reason they were subsidiary. It would be up to him, again,
to ascertain the precise situation and decide what action
should be taken. If it really involved time, he would have
to consult with Chronos.

They came down to Earth and galloped across the hot
terrain. The earth was sere and barren; there had been a
bad drought, destroying the crops. What a time to fight
a war!

They arrived at the site. The battle was about to begin;

the government troops were converging on a rebel site.
There were mounds and trenches around the village, so
it was evidently defended. But there was no sign of any-
thing unusual.

"I will investigate," Mym said. He dismounted and
strode across to the village perimeter.

He stepped down into the first defensive emplacement
he saw and phased in to the man there. The initial con-
fusion was milder and shorter than before; he was learning
how to minimize this, as he gained experience. In just a
few minutes he identified reasonably well with the man
and could understand what the man heard in his own lan-
guage, though it was foreign to Mym himself.

This man had been a small farmer, doing not well but




156

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Wielding a Red Sward

adequately, back in the years when the weather was better
and the crops grew satisfactorily. Then the government
had been taken over by the Communists and American
aid had stopped and the drought had come, making it im-
possible to farm effectively. This man's farm had not
made its quotas and had been expropriated; rather than
serve as a laborer on what he had once owned, he had
joined the opposition. Many others had done the same.
But the same government that said it lacked the resources
to hire magic for rainmaking to save the crops seemed to
have plenty of resources to send troops to harass the com-
mon folk who tried to stand up for their rights.

The only weapon this man had was a spear, while the
soldiers had rifles. He was hungry, while they were well
fed. But he knew he was right, while they were wrong,
and he had nothing left to lose. His children had starved
to death, and his wife had died of dysentery. He had sur-
vived only because, as part of the rebellion, he had been
in a position to capture and pillage a government outpost.
He had carried two pounds of grain back to his wife, only
to discover that the weeks he had been in the field had
been too long, and she was dead. Friends had taken care
of the disposition of the body, and for that much he was
grateful. He had seen what dysentery did to others—the
pain, the vomiting, the blood-suffused diarrhea. The
thought of seeing his wife like that, and of being unable
to help her—no, it was better that he had been spared

that.

But the troops that were to come at him! He would glory
in their blood! He hoped to take several with him before
he died. He knew that their bullets would make holes in
his body, but he also knew that the first shot was seldom
immediately fatal. He steeled himself to keep going, no
matter what the pain, until he could ram his spearpoint
into the eye of the enemy, and into the eye of a second
if he could, and a third. Whatever he could manage before
he dropped, that would be good enough. He knew that
on either side of him his companions in the defense of
their common soil were similarly determined. Their last
supplies of food had been exhausted the day before, de-
spite fractional rations; honorable death was all that
remained.

Now the first soldier appeared, a head bobbing near the
ground, coming toward him. If only he had a gun, he could
put a bullet through it now, if he had a bullet. If he knew
how to work a gun.

The bobbing head was joined by another and a third.
They were coming rapidly; now they were almost upon
the trench. The man braced himself for his final effort,
offering up a prayer for the souls of his dead wife and
children and for his own.

A stone flew from the right, striking the lead soldier on
the shoulder. The hit was a nuisance, no more, but the
soldier turned to fire at the source—and didn't watch
where his feet were going. As a result, he stumbled right
into the trench, issuing a cry of dismay as he fell.

This was so unexpected that the defender did not know
what to do. He squatted there, staring at the soldier. The
soldier, disheveled but not hurt, hauled his face out of the
dirt and brought his rifle around.

Mym acted. He lifted the spear and jammed it in the
soldier's exposed ear, hard. The point broke off, for it
was a flimsy, homemade weapon, but the effort sufficed;

the soldier gave one hoarse scream and collapsed, blood
welling out around the wound.

Mym stepped forward and caught the rifle. His expe-
rienced eye identified it as of obsolescent design, of such
ancient vintage as to suggest the Czarist Empire, but ser-
viceable nonetheless. He whipped it about and fired it at
the next soldier coming at the trench, holing his heart.
The soldier plunged, dead, into the trench. A third one
appeared, and Mym put a bullet up his nose.

Then he stood and peered out across the field. More
soldiers were coming, but the defensive farmers were giv-
ing a decent account of themselves and causing the sol-
diers to move with greater caution. "Take their rifles!"
Mym called to the trenches to either side of him, forcing
his thought through the brain and mouth of his host.' 'Get
the ammunition from the bodies! Quickly! We can hold
them off!" And he shot another soldier, by way of
example.

"But we don't know how to use them!" one farmer
protested.




158 Wielding a Red Sword

"I have figured it out!" Mym responded. "Come singly
to my trench, and I will show you. It's not hard and it's
better than dying! There may be food—rations—on some
of those bodies!"

Food! That thought cut through to the deepest need of
the hungry farmers. One scrambled to join Mym, who got
out new ammunition, set up his rifle, showed the man the
trigger, and gave it to him. "Bring it back here when it's
empty," he said; it was too complicated to explain the
loading mechanism.

In this manner they soon formed a formidable cell of
resistance that expanded as more rifles came on-line. The
farmers were terrible shots, but the fact that there was
return fire caused the soldiers to lose courage, and they
began a disorderly retreat. The farmers were winning the

day!

Then, abruptly, it happened. The battlefield froze. No
one moved. Even the bullets became anchored in air.

Mym looked about with confusion. He had not stilled
the battle! How had this come about?

Obviously this was the reason he had been brought
here—someone else was using a supernatural method to
stop the battle. And that party was the enemy, for now
he saw a helicopter flying away. It was above the battle-
field, evidently too high to be affected by the stasis. Per-
haps it had dropped a time bomb, freezing time.

Mym phased out of his host, for he had to be able to
move. He was not affected by the stasis, because he was
an Incarnation, but his host was. He touched the Sword.
"Chr-Chronos," he said, his stutter back now that he was
using his own vocal equipment.

Chronos appeared, sailing down from the sky, holding
his glowing Hourglass aloft. He landed beside Mym.
"You have a problem. Mars?"

"When an aspect of death was used without Thanatos'
approval, he objected," Mym sang. "Now an aspect of
time is being used without my approval; is it with yours?
If so, I must inquire why you choose to interfere in my

business."

"I would not interfere," Chronos said somewhat
stiffly. "I assumed it was your stasis. I have no memory
of such violation."

Piers Anthony               159

"This is the first time it has happened," Mym sang.

"My memory is of your future," Chronos reminded
him.

Oh. "And this has not happened henceforth? It must
be a fluke."

"Hardly. The supernatural is not incurred as a fluke.
Some mortal has discovered how to interfere with time."
And, indeed, Chronos was angry, now.

"Can you discover who has done this and eliminate it?"
Mym asked. "That way, you will have no memory of it
because it never happens again."

"That will be an awful chore," Chronos grumbled. "I
can deal with the discoverer of the stasis effect when I
identify him, but that's a needle in a haystack."

"You can't just trace the time bomb itself back to its
origin?"

"I will have to, though it's not the bomb I want, but
the person behind it—and that person will be most care-
fully hidden. There may be deliberate false leads. They
may not have expected Chronos to be tracing it down,
but their mundane security provisions will be devious
enough."

Now trucks rumbled up to the battle area. These ones
did not freeze; they parked and disgorged active men.
These men advanced on the village defensive positions.

"Spot nullification!" Chronos exclaimed indignantly.
"Another infringement!"

Now the strategy of it was clear to Mym. The govern-
ment, having located a point of stiff resistance, had time-
bombed it into stasis, then sent in special troops to nullify
the enemy. Already the new troops were passing among
the defenders, taking away their weapons, and restoring
them to the government troops. It was obvious that when
the battle resumed, the advantage would be all with the
attackers. "That's outrageous!" Mym sang. "The de-
fenders won't have any chance at all!"

"A minor matter," Chronos said. "What's important
is their infringement of supernatural prerogatives."

"Oh, forget the prerogatives!" Mym snapped in song.
"It's a clean device to conclude a battle without blood-
shed. If it weren't so unfair, I would hardly be
concerned."




160 Wielding a Red Sword

"Well, I am not concerned with the 'fairness' of any-
thing as appalling as physical combat," Chronos retorted.
"But when mortals start interfering with—"

"I should think your effort would be better spent ar-
ranging for food for the starving," Mym sang, nettled by
this slight on his office.

"Without your effort, and that of your cohorts, few
would be starving," Chronos reminded him. "Look at
Famine over there, eager to reap his bitter harvest!"

"I'm trying to reduce his business," Mym sang. "But
there is starvation here because of the drought, not be-
cause of the war."

"We are drifting from the point," Chronos said. "We
have a problem here."

True. Mym didn't want to argue with yet another In-
carnation. "I was caught by surprise by this manifestation
of the Void."

"The void?"

Mym smiled, "My predecessor left me a book, Five
Rings, that aligns the basic concepts as Ground, Water,
Fire, Wind, and the Void. I find myself thinking of them
as the Incarnations, with my office being the fire of War,
and yours being the void of eternity—no beginning and
no end. It is the most difficult concept to grasp. I meant
no offense."

Chronos returned the smile. "None taken. Mars. I like
that concept. I shall have to look at that book, unless it
has ceased to exist."

"Ceased to exist?"

"To you, a book may be published at a certain date,
and exists thereafter. To me, that same date represents
its cessation."

"Have no concern, Chronos! That book was written in
1645."

"Then it should indeed be available to me for some time
yet. When I have leisure, I shall peruse it."

"You are welcome to borrow my copy."

"By the time I get to it, I suspect, I shall have to ask
your predecessor."

"I'm sure he will agree." Mym considered for a mo-
ment. "I think I could do something to locate that man

Piers Anthony               161

you want, because I can phase into minds and learn then-
thoughts."

Chronos brightened. "Yes, I had forgotten! If you
would do that—"

"It might take a little time, no pun intended."

"I can give you time," Chronos said with a smile. "In
fact, I could arrange for a shipment of grain to be delivered
here, by changing the time frame."

"Then why don't I try to spot your man, while you see
to the grain?" Mym sang, pleased. "We can do each other
some good, which is the way it should be."

"The way it should be," Chronos agreed. "But
first—" He lifted his Hourglass, and Mym saw the trickle
of sand within it change color. The moving men froze,
joining the already-frozen ones. There would be no action
here until the Incarnations were finished.

Mym mounted his steed, and they trotted after the de-
parted helicopter. The horse climbed the air as if it were
a mountain; when they had sufficient elevation, Mym was
able to see the flying machine in the distance. "Follow
that scientific device," he told the horse.

Werre accelerated, churning up fleeting contrails as he
galloped. Mym wondered whether any mortals were
watching this part of the sky from below; what would they
think of those cloudlets? But probably the divots were no
more visible than the horse and rider were. Mortals simply
couldn't see the supernatural, ordinarily.

They overhauled the helicopter and entered it. Werre
stood on its deck, part of him overlapping the wall. Of
course it didn't matter; the horse related only casually to
the mortal world. Otherwise his weight would have
caused the helicopter to skew and lose altitude.

Mym sat in the pilot's lap and sank into his body, phas-
ing in. Soon he was reading the thoughts. The man had
no knowledge of the nature of the bomb he had dropped;

he thought it was some kind of gas to immobilize the
enemy. Where had he picked up the bomb? From a
guarded military truck that had driven onto the military
airport and departed forthwith.

Dead lead, there. But Mym knew how a military op-
eration worked. There would have had to be clearance




262 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony

for that truck, and the officer in charge of airport security
would know about that. So he disengaged from the pilot,
remounted Werre, and headed for the airport.

As it happened, the security officer was on one of his
frequent coffee breaks when Mym found him. That was
no problem; Mym phased in and drank spiked coffee with
him. He introduced the thought: What about that truck?
Had the clearance been tight? Yes, it had been; that truck
had come directly from the New Devices Lab, and all was

in order.

And what did he really know about that Lab, Mym
mused, inserting the thought. Well, not much, but its
clearances were of the highest nature. The General in
charge of it brooked no interference by any other de-
partment and was a very bad man to cross.

Mym got the name and address of the General and rode
there. He didn't know how long this would take, and there
was a fine green lawn outside the building—there might
be a drought in the farmlands, but they found plenty of
water for the military premises—so he turned Werre loose
to graze and used the Sword to move himself inside.

The General was watching the battle. He had a closed-
circuit television system, with pickups stationed beyond
the freeze-zone, and was using his controls to switch from
one camera to another. Even with telephoto lenses he was
having trouble getting a clear picture; nothing seemed to

be happening.

Mym phased in and tuned in to the General's thoughts.
The man was frustrated. Obviously the bomb was work-
ing—but why weren't the backup forces moving? They
had nullifiers! Curse this inadequate equipment!

Mym had no sympathy for the man's frustration; he
only wanted the source of the technological breakthrough.
He shaped a thought and adapted it to the General's train
of thoughts so that it seemed a natural bypath. Could there
be some flaw in the system? What did he know about the
designer? Could the man really be trusted? If the equip-
ment had some secret liability—

The General was of a naturally paranoid turn of mind,
so this thought took hold readily. He plunged into a review
of what he knew about the somewhat oddball genius who

had abruptly come up with the time bomb, when the hor-
rendously financed laboratories of nations far, far wealth-
ier than Cush had been unable to make this breakthrough.
The time bomb promised to be the key to suppression of
the Nubian rebels now and conquest of the world to-
morrow. But only if it worked perfectly. The individual
who had devised it was, ironically, a Nubian himself, a
refugee from the drought who had sought whatever em-
ployment he could get and turned out to be extraordinarily
clever with electronics meshed with magic. No one else
really understood what he was doing; indeed, the device
seemed impossible on the face of it. But they had tested
it on an isolated peaceful village, and it had worked: the
villagers had remained in absolute stasis for six hours,
then abruptly resumed activity as the effect wore off.
They had been amazed at the sudden jump forward by
the sun, not realizing that the world had lived through six
hours in the seeming blink of an eye. Then came the com-
panion discovery—how to protect men from the stasis.
That had worked too.

But now they were using both for the first time in the
field—and something was wrong. The protected troops
seemed to have succumbed the same as the unprotected
ones. If this were betrayal—

Mym phased out, having gotten what he wanted—the
identity of the scientist who had made the breakthrough.
The General had no notion of the technology; all he knew
was that the devices worked—up to a point. The scientist
was the real key.

The man was not in the lab today. He had been granted
leave to work at home, because that was where he worked
best. They had tried to keep him at the lab full time, but
that had led to no accomplishments. Because the erratic
genius was his, they had to let the man operate in his own
fashion.

Mym went to the man's home. It was unpretentious,
not even in the better section of the city.

The man looked just like an unemployed farmer. He
was in patched, baggy clothes and he was asleep on his
battered couch. This was the genius scientist?

Mym hesitated. Should he try to phase in to the sleeping
man? He had never tried that before.




164           Wielding a Red Sword

Piers Anthony

165

He lay on the man, sank into him, and phased in. He
was getting expert at positioning himself so that all senses
aligned, but still it always took a while to get the complete
mind tuned in. The mind was much more than the physical
brain, and the brain was no simple mass of tissue! Each
brain had its own idiosyncratic patterns, no two even re-
motely similar in the cellular detail of the routines, and
he simply had to discover the way of each one by guess
and error.

And this one was different, not in configuration, but
because it was asleep. Sleep was a whole new mode. Fur-
thermore, it was dreaming. It was hard enough to adjust
to the particular brain and mind, but harder yet to grasp
that alternate reality that was the dream state. Some folk
presumed that dreams were simply an alternate con-
sciousness, governed by the same rules as those of the
waking state, as if the person merely stopped from one
room into another. It was not so!

Mym was the man—and the man was walking through
a section of a park. There was an overhanging tree, its
branch seeming very large and heavy. Then there was a
face, the face of a woman, eclipsing the tree; in fact the
tree was gone, sloughed off without further attention. The
woman was the man's mother. But she was dead—and
now there was a gravesite, and across it walked a bird of
some sort. And now a bowl of rice, but there was not
enough; the bowl was almost empty. Memory of hunger
surged up—years of hunger. A dog appeared—and a
stone flung out, catching the dog on the rump, and it ran
away. Anger; the animal had escaped. Poor aim; the stone
should have struck its head, knocking it out. Water, a
large lake, remembered from long ago, a wonder redou-
bled in this time of drought.

Mym realized that he was seeing the cuttings from an
idling consciousness—those snippets of information and
memory and feeling that bobble about just below the sur-
face of thought, as if awaiting their opportunity to be
drawn to full examination, and sometimes breaking
through when the critical mind was relaxing. The con-
scious mind tried to make sense of these almost-random
bits, forming them into dreams, but that sense was non-
sense, like forming a story from random words, meaning
sometimes seeming to manifest, but illusory. He could
not afford to drift along with this; he had to discover how
this man had made the time bomb breakthroughs.

So he inserted his own thought of the bomb and
watched while it had its effect on the melange. The
bomb—a dream, in this case a dream within a dream, a
memory of that. Sleep, and dream of hearing a call and
walking toward it and discovering a door in the wall, one
that had not been there before. Opening that door, en-
tering a passage with a glow at the far end. This was work-
ing beautifully; it was a familiar memory, that played itself
off when triggered. Walking toward that glow, discovering
it to emanate from a book. Success, written in some un-
known language, but in the dream he could read it as if
it were his own, realizing that the pages of this book con-
tained all that a man might need to know about improving
his condition. He put his hand to the cover—and drew it
away, for the cover was burning hot. Indeed, flames sur-
rounded the volume; it was from them that the glow came.
But he knew that there was no other way to read the book,
and that if he did not do so now, he might never have
another chance. So he nerved himself and touched the
cover again, and lifted it, and the flame wrapped about
his hand and burned it hideously, destroying it, but now
the book was open, and there were the words that would
facilitate his destiny of success. And they were the words
of the formula for the time bomb.

He read them, though he was illiterate, and they burned
their impressions on the inner surface of his skull, never
to be forgotten. He retreated and in a moment he was
back in his own room. The dream faded out, and his hand
was whole again, but the seared image in his skull
remained.

Mym pondered, slightly shaken by the intensity of this
borrowed experience. He was not illiterate; that was the
farmer. But what was the true source of the information?
The farmer could not have developed it from his own sub-
conscious; the/ technical information was far too
sophisticated.

But the formula for the time bomb was only part of it.
What of the spot nullifier?




Piers Anthony               167

166           Wielding a Red Sword

Mym nudged the sleeper toward that, and the remem-
bered dream returned. It was similar to the first. The call
came in the dream within a dream, and the door in the
wall appeared. He entered and walked down the sinister
passage—and his right hand became a charred mass, its
malady restored. He came to the dread book. Success,
the alien word intelligible even to the illiterate, fire reach-
ing up from it. The right hand was useless; he had to use
the left to lift the cover, and when he did that, the flame
scorched it into charcoal. But the words were there, dif-
ferent words, and the fire of their formulation reached in
through his eyeballs and singed their imprints on the in-
terior of his skull. Now he possessed the nullifier, and the

magic was complete.

He backed away and emerged again, and once more his
hands were restored, and he was awake, with the letters
of fire against his pulsing brain. All he had to do was
repeat those twin formulas to those who could interpret
and apply them, and success was his.

Mym knew that the man had done so. He now had the
excellent life he had desired. Yet now that he had it, it
seemed somehow inadequate. He could not tell anyone
beyond the secret project of his significance, because that
would make him a target for enemy agents, so he had to
pretend to be no more than a simple farmer who had come
into wealth. That was unsatisfying. He desired acclaim.
He wanted beautiful women to seek him for his personal
attributes and charm. He wanted the heads of state to
consult him, to take him seriously, and to compliment him

on his knowledge.

Mym recognized the problem. The farmer had been bit-
ten by the worm of desire for fame and could not be sat-
isfied with only part of it. He was driven to seek more

than he had, more than success.

Perhaps stirred by Mym's realization, the dreamer en-
tered a new phase. The dream within a dream formed.

"I wouldn't do that," Mym said in the dream. But the
dreamer shrugged him off. The worm of ambition was too
strong; its poison had spread too far. It could not be

denied.
. Mym withdrew himself from the dreamer. He watched

as the man made walking motions with his legs, and door-
opening motions with his hands. Then more walking—
and the two hands curled up as if de-nerved, becoming
useless claws.

There was a pause, and Mym realized why; the man
was trying to figure out how to open the magic volume
of Success when both his hands were useless husks. After
a moment, one leg stirred; he was lifting the cover with
a toe.

Mym did not stay. He could see the progression: each
additional piece of information would cost a part of the
body. After both feet were gone, the man would have to
open the book with his teeth, and his head would be in-
cinerated. That would be the end of him; his mundane
body might seem unchanged, but his mind would be dead.

Mym summoned Werre, mounted, and returned to the
site of the battle. Chronos was there, waiting for him.

"I thought you were going to go facilitate a shipment
of grain!" Mym sang, half-challengingly.

"I did—last week," Chronos replied.

"But it has only been a few hours!"

"You forget my nature."

Now Mym remembered Chronos was the Incarnation
of Time. Chronos could step into last week and return to
the present. "Where is the shipment, then?"

Chronos sighed. "I did what I could do, but found my-
self balked by a greater power."

"What power is that?" Mym asked, alarmed.

"Human corruption." And Chronos explained. He had
found the bottleneck, manifested, and by dint of some fast
talking gotten the train moving toward its destination—
only to have it held up at the next station by officials who
were determined to collect a decimating tax on its wares.
This was a relief train, not taxable, but they affected not
to understand that, and unloaded a segment of its cargo.
The same thing happened further down the line. At every
stop, more was taken, until the train was empty—before
reaching its destination. Corrupt officials had stolen the
entire cargo. Against this, Chronos was powerless; he
could manipulate time, but time was not the problem here.
Human greed was. Greed had defeated Time. The grain




168           Wielding a Red Sword

was now being sold on the black market; none of it would
reach the starving folk for whom it had been intended.

"But the government!" Mym protested. "It should be
protecting the train, not robbing it!"

' 'When the train is destined for a segment of the country
that is in rebellion against that government?" Chronos

asked.

There, of course, was the underlying reason. The gov-
ernment would not permit a rebellious province to be fed,
for that could strengthen the rebellion. So it permitted the

graft while protesting innocence.

Mym clenched his fist. "There is justification in war!"
he sang. "To abolish governments like that!"

"Perhaps so," Chronos agreed. "It is athesis you have

made to me before."

"I have?" Mym asked, startled.

Chronos smiled. "In future years, your framework."
Then he frowned. "I regret I have not fulfilled my part
of the bargain. Therefore if you—"

"No, you made an honest effort," Mym sang. He was
learning more about the limitations of the Incarnations
when meddling in human affairs. Mortals could be so de-
terminedly short-sighted and wrong-headed! Were they
really worth helping? "I have discovered the source of
the technological breakthroughs on the manipulation of
time—or part of it. A man had a series of visions or
dreams that revealed the key formulas to him. Eliminate
that man slightly before he eliminates himself, and there
will be no breakthroughs."

"Not a scientist?" Chronos asked, surprised.

"Not a scientist. He dreams of a special chamber in
which is a fiery book labeled Success, and it bums him
when he takes the information."

Chronos frowned. "All in a vision? That seems

familiar."

"Oh? How?"

Chronos shook his head. "I—suspect I should not bur-
den you with my conjecture, as I am drawing on memories
in your future. Let me just say that I am not sanguine

about this."
Mym sagged. Chronos' incidental revelations about

Piers Anthony               169

the future had confused him before; probably it was in-
deed best to let this matter drop.

But what was he to do about the battle that remained
frozen? He chewed on his lip as he looked out over it.

"Do not be concerned," Chronos said. "When I elimi-
nate the breakthrough, none of this will have happened.
You may supervise the battle as you choose."

Mym wasn't sure quite how that would work, but was
willing to find out. "Very well." He described the lo-
cation of the key man.

Abruptly the battle resumed—but not as it had been.
This time the defending farmers were getting the best of
it, and no time bomb dropped.

"You prefer this?" Chronos inquired.

Obviously the man had been at work, traveling back
and forth in time. Now reality had changed, at least for
this region. The breakthrough had never happened.

Mym shook his head. "I think I have had enough of
battle for today—even if none of it happened. I'm going
home."

"This is the way it often is in my domain," Chronos
said.

Mym wondered how the man maintained his sanity.
Who could guess what convolutions Chronos had en-
dured—that never happened? He made a gesture of ca-
maraderie and mounted Werre.







-12-

GAEA

Rapture was away increasingly as time passed. She was
very positive about her mortal job and seemed to be doing
well, but it apparently made considerable demands on her.
Mym was glad that she had adjusted so well, but the fre-
quent nights alone bothered him.

Naturally Lila was available. When he couldn't sleep,
he took walks in the garden, and she was always there.
Of course she was ready, willing, and able to serve as his
• concubine, but a complex of considerations prevented
him from exercising this option. For one thing, she was
from Hell, and he still distrusted the creatures of Satan
on general principle. For another, he was becoming un-
certain of Rapture, and that made him less rather than
more inclined to use another woman. Had Rapture been
solidly established and pregnant, it would have been vir-
tually his duty to use a concubine, so as not to place de-
mands on the bearer of his Heir; as it was, a concubine
was premature. His seed needed to be saved for the Heir,
rather than expended frivolously. So to use a concubine
at this stage might be to suggest that he did not desire
Rapture or seek an Heir, and that was not the case. Also,
and this was an insidious consideration, he was not certain

Piers Anthony               171

that Lila was a virgin. It was, of course, necessary for a
man to know a number of women, as no single woman
could provide essential variety, but it was important that
a woman know only one man. It would demean his
princely heritage if he were to consort with an unchaste
woman. The creatures of Satan, by all accounts, were of
questionable pedigree, and their forms here in the spirit
realm were malleable, so Lila well might be a pseudo-
virgin

His pride kept him from making application to the Pur-
gatory front office for a legitimate concubine, because of
the problem with Rapture. Thus he was caught without
adequate service in this respect. That was what made Lila
so infernally tempting, as well she knew.

"Alone yet again tonight?" she inquired dulcetly, ap-
pearing ahead of him as he passed the copulating statue.
"Maybe you should bring your fiancee back here."

"Where she can be corrupted by your occidental no-
tions of female suffrage!" Mym snapped. As always, he
found pleasure in the ability to speak without stuttering,
here.

"But Mym, she's a mortal," Lila said. "You brought
her out of her oriental situation and planted her in the
West. Things are different here. Women are supposed to
have minds of their own."

"For what?" he demanded. "Rapture was already well-
versed in what she needed to know."

"For pleasing a man and bearing a son," she agreed.
"But what about her own fulfillment?" She stretched her
arms out and up, so that her gown opened in front to
reveal the perfect globes of her breasts, lifting with her
motion. She was very like a statue in contour.

"That is her own fulfillment!" he retorted.

"Not in this hemisphere," she said, coincidentally
touching one of her own. "It would be grand for a creature
like me, but not for a mortal like her. She needs to assert
herself, to branch out, to explore her larger potential."

"So speaks a creature of Hell."

"I may be damned, Mym, but I'm not ignorant. I have
learned common sense the hard way." She bent to adjust
her fastenings, in the process exposing one leg up through
the plush buttock.

172

Piers Anthony               173

Wielding a Red Sward

"Not as I see it!" he said, and strode out of the garden.
But alone in bed, he did curse himself for foolishness.
Why should he allow the words of a Hell-slut to bother
him? The opinions of women mattered little, and those of
a pseudo-woman even less. Why hadn't he simply used
her for her explicit purpose and not listened to her at all?
Discussion, after all, was no necessary part of sexual

fulfillment.

Of course he could return to the garden and do that now
or simply summon Lila here to the castle. He could do
anything he wanted with her and banish her without no-
tice. That was the obvious and sensible course. That flesh
she had arranged to show him—he knew that though she
was of the spirit world, that body would feel completely
solid and alive. She was, indeed, designed to satisfy the
lust of a man.

But that would mean a kind of capitulation, and that he
could not abide. So he suffered alone. He was Mars, an
Incarnation, dedicated to settling the quarrels of mortals
efficiently, yet he could not settle his own.

When Rapture showed up again, the change was more
apparent. She was not satisfied to remain placidly in bed;

she wanted to converse about unrelated things. She was
full of detail about the students she was helping to educate
and their interest in the quaint customs of the Orient,
where science was little practiced. She now had classes
at all levels, ranging from adult to juvenile. She loved the
experience of independence, of being able to make de-
cisions based purely on her own preferences. She was
developing a confidence in herself and her individual
worth she had never before experienced. She was ac-
quiring an occidental wardrobe, so that she could avoid
being taken for an Indian at times when she preferred to
be herself. She even wore jeans in public.

"What?" Mym demanded.

"Trousers fashioned of denim material, blue in
hue," she explained. "Very convenient and comfortable

for—"
"For laborers!" he exclaimed in singsong. "Not for

princesses!"

"I am no longer a princess," she reminded him, quite
undisturbed by the demotion.

1/    "I have seen the occidental women in those abomi-
nations!" he sang. "Their posteriors practically rip open
the fabric!"

"Yes, that is one of the appealing aspects," she agreed.

"For every passing male to see!" he concluded
indignantly.

"They don't object," she pointed out. "In fact, I have
received some compliments."

"You are my woman!" he raged. "Only I should see
such detail in you!"

She laughed. "Where do you think you we, Mym? In
archaic India? In the western world, the wealth is
shared."

"Are you sure you haven't been talking with the
demoness?"

"Lila? No, I haven't seen her since I moved to the
mortal realm. But I have been learning about the real
world, Mym."

"I think you had better resign that job and return here."

"I will do no such thing!" she exclaimed. "I am su-
premely happy with my new life. For the first time, I feel
genuinely independent and useful, and I know they need
me at the museum."

"I need you heref

"Oh, pooh! You have everything you need without
me."

"I do not! I spend too many nights alone."

"Alone? What happened to Lila?"

"I haven't touched her."

"Whyever not, Mym? She's your concubine."

"I don't want a concubine, I want you!"

She smiled. "That's sweet. But no need to go to ex-
tremes. When I'm not here, use the damned concubine."

Mym was shocked, at her language as much as her sen-
timent. He wasn't certain whether she was swearing in
the occidental fashion, or referring to the status of a crea-
ture of Hell, or both.

"Well, let's get this over with," Rapture said, and
moved her beautiful body against him.




Wielding a Red Sword

174

Get this over with? What did that imply? But he realized
that further dialogue might only result in his having to
spend another night alone, so he let it pass.

The business of Mars became routine. Mym remained
somewhat dissatisfied with the details of it and with the
passions of the lesser Incarnations he had to associate
with, but he was satisfied that, to an increasing extent,
he was bringing war under control and permitting it to
wreak less havoc among the mortals than would have
been the case without his supervision. There were indeed
causes that deserved promotion and that could achieve it
only by violence. War, properly managed, was certainly
better than the alternatives of oppression or disposses-
sion. But how much better it would be if the causes of
war did not exist! If mortal man could simply exist in
peace and harmony and plenty, requiring no Incarnation
to supervise his violence.

But the mortal realm was as it was, and human nature
was intractable. Therefore the various Incarnations were
required, and Mym was satisfied to perform this neces-
sary office. It was not his job that bothered him, but his

home life.
That proceeded from unsatisfying to disastrous, in a

single step.

Rapture appeared and dropped it on him. "Mym, I'm
leaving you," she said abruptly.

"W-w-w-what?"

"I have found a nice mortal man, and I'm going to move

in with him."

"Y-y-y—" Mym remembered his singsong and in-
voked it. "You're marrying a mortal?"

"No. I am moving in with him. If it works out, then
maybe I'll marry him, but there are no commitments yet."
"But you are my woman!" Mym protested.
"Not any more, Mym," she said. "We have grown
apart, since you became Mars; you have your life, and I
have found mine. It is best that we recognize this and take
proper action now."

"I won't let you go!" he protested. "I love you!"
"What will you do—make war on me?" She smiled

Piers Anthony               175

compassionately. "Mym, you never loved me; you loved
my body and my complete dependence on you. I loved
your appreciation of me. But I don't love your present
position, and if I am to be a sex object, I prefer to be it
as an independent agent. So it is better with John than it
is with you, and I am simply recognizing that fact. I hope
this parting of our ways can be amicable, but amicable or
not, it is occurring."

If Rapture had been dependent, she was so no more!
Mym was so angry at this betrayal that he could not even
speak in singsong.

"Well, farewell," she said, and turned and walked
away. Now Mym saw Thanatos in the adjacent chamber,
ready to convey Rapture back to the realm of the mortals.
She had come only to inform Mym of her decision.

Mym tasted blood in his mouth. In his rage he had bitten
his tongue. Now that blood was triggering a rage of a
different nature. He would deal with this "John" others!

He grasped the Red Sword and willed himself to the
mortal realm. He knew where Rapture worked and where
she lived; from there he should be able to trace this mortal
man John.

But then he paused. Was he, the Incarnation of War,
to exert his power in a purely selfish, negative way? To
hurt the one he loved, or had loved, or thought he had
loved? How much of his ideal of peace would he be
spreading that way? And this John—surely an innocent
young man, for Rapture would not have told a mortal
about her relation to an immortal. A man who liked Rap-
ture very well, who probably needed her more than she
needed him, and wanted to get to know her as well as he
could.

Mym reversed his course. No, he had no need and no
desire to hurt Rapture or her friend. He would set the
example that he wished mortals would follow and accept
the inevitable with what grace he could muster.

He returned to his castle and walked in the garden,
severely out of sorts. It was true that he and Rapture had
been growing apart, and her initiative had been valid. But
he had discovered the joy of loving and being loved with
Orb and rediscovered it with Rapture; he could no longer
countenance being alone.




176

Piers Anthony               177

Wielding a Red Sword

Orb. Where was she now?

Lila appeared. "So she dumped you," she said.

Damn her! Except that she was already damned. "No
thanks to you, demoness," he said.

"She wasn't right for you anyway," Lila said. "Maybe
she was when you were playing the Prince-Princess game
among the mortals, but not for this situation. You need
a woman who understands about Incarnations."

"True. I shall look for one."

She smiled, inhaling. She now wore one of her trans-
lucent outfits that were more maddeningly suggestive than
full nudity would have been. "No mortal will do, Mym.
You need one who is committed to the Afterlife."

"Thanatos seems to do well enough with a mortal."

"Thanatos has a quite remarkable mortal. There is not

another like Luna."

"You err, demoness. There is her cousin Orb."
Lila shrugged eloquently. "That's right. You had an

affair with her, didn't you! But that's long over, and you

can't go back."
"I'm not so sure. I loved her before, and she loved me.

I could love her again."

Lila paced in front of him, allowing her flesh to quiver
provocatively. "You finished that relationship when you
deserted her for another woman."

"That was not my choice!"

"Nevertheless, you left her in a rather difficult situa-
tion. You see, she was gravid."

"Gravid?"

"With child. It happens to mortals, you know."

"Pregnant? She couldn't have been!"

"Verify it in Fate's threads, Mym. She was carrying
your baby girl and she bore her after you left and gave
her up for adoption. That rather finished that aspect of
your romance. I doubt very much that she would choose
to go through that again."

"But she never said anything to me!"

"She didn't know it when you deserted her."

Mym was stricken. "If I had known!"

"Fortunately, creatures of the Afterlife don't get
gravid. With them, it's all pleasure, no consequence. So

why don't you become sensible and do what you have
been longing to do for so long?" She shimmered, and her
clothing dissolved into mist. She opened her arms. "I can
be most accommodating, Mym, and I make no demands."

He looked at her. This creature of Hell seemed on the
verge of victory at last. Her body was beautiful, but her
nature demonic. He trusted her to serve her master, and
her master was Satan.

He tasted the blood in his mouth again. This time he
let the berserker reflex take over.

Abruptly he was moving. His great Red Sword was out
and whistling. It lopped off her head. The head flew up,
its face surprised; the body remained standing. There was
no blood.

The Sword whistled back. It lopped off the upper arms
and the top of the torso cleanly at the line of the breasts.
The shoulders rose, and the neck and the tops of the two
breasts, also bloodlessly. The nether sections of the
breasts resembled two bowls filled precisely level with
gray stuffing. Both sections of that bosom were expand-
ing, for Lila had been inhaling at the moment of his attack.

Again the Sword passed through, severing the body at
the slender waist. And again, at the genital region, and at
the knees. Five swift cuts, and the body was tumbling in
six major segments, which in turn were fragmenting as
the separate arms and legs fell skew. In a moment there
was simply a collection of items on the ground.

"In this manner, too, I am ready to serve you," the
head said. It was lying to the side, where it had bounced
and rolled. The truncated neck was up, th? face inverted.

"I just want to be rid of you!" Mym gritted.

"Then stuff my parts in a trunk and ship it straight to
Hell," the head said.

"I have no trunk." Mym was looking at his Sword and
finding no blood on the blade. His berserker rage had
faded, being replaced by bemusement. He had known that
demons differed from people, but had not been quite pre-
pared for this.

"Use the base of the statue."

Mym went to the copulating statue and hacked off its
figures. The pedestal now manifested as a hollow cham-




278

Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 179

ber. He sheathed the Sword and wrestled this zip. It was
indeed about the configuration of a coffin.

He picked up a piece of torso and dumped it in the
chest. The piece was like warm wax, firm but slightly soft,
the flat cut side no different from the exterior. Obviously
Lila had had no digestive apparatus, no circulatory sys-
tem, and no respiratory system. She was simply a shape
formed of pseudo-flesh, a body without a person.

Yet she had walked and talked and seemed alive. She
had sewn mischief with Rapture, and much of what she
said made infernal sense. She was not a person, ob-
viously—yet she was also not inanimate matter. What,

then, was she?

He paused, with the upper and lower sections of a leg.
He tried fitting them together. They fused, forming the

fall leg.

"You may put me together again if you wish," the head
said. "One more section, and you will be reaching inter-
esting territory."

Mym dropped the leg into the chest. He picked up the
pieces of the other leg, and the arms. Then he got to the
section of the torso from the waist to the mid-bosom. It
was amazing how full and firm those half breasts were,

as far as they went.

"Or you could reassemble just that portion of me you
wish to use," the head suggested.

He dumped the half bust in. "I prefer a genuine

woman."

"A genuine woman would dump you in favor of a mor-
tal man," the head retorted. "Here in the Afterlife, you
need a woman of the Afterlife."

There was that insidious logic of hers. What she said
made more sense than he cared to accept. He had to try
to refute it. "I am not of the Afterlife; I am a mortal in
temporary residence. I need a woman in similar

circumstance."

"That, too, can be provided," the head said.
Mym finished dumping the rest of the body in the chest,
but hesitated to pick up the head itself. So he talked to it
a moment more. "How can such a thing be provided?"
"You could take up with a female Incarnation. The

youngest aspect of Fate, called Clotho, is known to be
obliging."

Mym visualized the young, pretty Oriental, Clotho. The
notion appealed. But then he remembered the far more
mature Lachesis, actually the same Incarnation in differ-
ent form. Surely the minds of Fate were the same, though
the body changed. In that sense, she was no better than
the demoness. A young and innocent body with an ex-
perienced and cynical mind was not what a man really
desired in a woman. Also, Fate surely had associations
of her own and would not necessarily be eager to take up
with a man like him.

"Then there's—but, of course, you wouldn't be inter-
ested in her," the head remarked.

An obvious ploy! But Mym still was not eager to pick
up the talking head, so he accepted the ploy. "Who?"

"She's a damsel, a princess, locked in a castle of frozen
mist, unable to escape because no one cares about her.
But, of course, that's none of your business."

"Who is she?"

"Her name's Ligeia. But—"

"Why was she put there?"

"It's her penalty for the mischief she did in life."

"Oh—she's another demoness."

"No. She's a damned soul."

"There's a distinction?"

The head laughed. "Certainly there is! Demons are
creatures of Hell, who serve My Lord Satan implicitly.
They are constructs of ether with no living processes,
exactly as you see in my flesh here. Souls are the immortal
essences of mortal beings; they share the consciousness,
intellects, and feelings of mortals, but no longer have mor-
tal existence."

"Like the staff of the Castle of War," Mym agreed.
"But since they aren't mortals, they are hopelessly com-
mitted to the Afterlife and are no better for my purpose
than are you demons."

"True. But Ligeia is a special case. She was improperly
damned, and if she could only get a fair hearing, she might
be reclassified."

"Why can't she get a hearing?"




180           Wielding a Red Sword

"A. fair hearing. There are hearings aplenty in Hell, but
they aren't fair. Every time she tries to present her case,
they laugh at her. She must be pretty upset by now. I
think she'd really be appreciative if someone with some
power were to take up her case. But of course, if she got
her fair hearing, and won reprieve, she'd only go to
Heaven, so that would be the end of that. There's no point
in someone like you getting involved with her."

Mym was sure by Lila's attitude that she wanted him
to get involved with Ligeia, so he reacted negatively. "I
agree," he said, and caught up a trailing strand of hair
and lifted the head by it and swung it into the chest. "Now

how do I ship this to Hell?"

"Simply address it for the destination," the head said.
The words were somewhat muffled, because the face was

now down.

"To Hell with you!" Mym said.

The chest and its contents exploded. A dense cloud of
smoke puffed out. When it dissipated, the chest was gone.

The next call for the supervision of Mars was in Ireland.
When Mym arrived with his grim entourage, he surveyed
the situation in his usual fashion and learned that the Hib-
ernian Army, a revolutionary organization, had used
gene-splicing technology to develop a virus that affected
only Protestants. They were about to loose a plague that
would either kill or greatly debilitate those it infected. The
HA would not even have to fight; they would simply take
over after the plague had done its grisly work.

"Isn't this phenomenal!" the Incarnation of Pestilence
exclaimed. "It has been long since I have had the op-
portunity to supervise a dread plague!"

"Gene-splicing," Mym murmured thoughtfully. "I
have a feeling Gaea will be on this, if I don't check it with
her first." He put a hold on the action, mounted Werre,
and headed for the residence of the Incarnation of Nature.

But when they reached the Green Mother's estate in
Purgatory, they encountered an enormous moat that
shielded it from intrusion. Mym sought to have Werre
simply hurdle it or trot across it, but the palomino shied
away.

Piers Anthony               181

"What is this?" Mym asked the horse. "There is noth-
ing in the world that you can't traverse."

But Werre simply neighed in negation. Mym remem-
bered that this was not the world; it was Purgatory, a
region of different rules. This moat might be enchanted
to balk equines.

He dismounted and stepped to the bank. Immediately
a weird sort offish swam close. No, not a fish; it had the
legs and lower torso of a man. But above the waistline it
possessed the fins and gills of a fish, and its mouth was
full of teeth.

' 'A manmer,'' Mym murmured. He had never seen one
in the flesh before, but there was no mistaking the cross-
breed. A merman had the top section of a man and the
tail of a fish; the manmer was the opposite. While it was
possible to get along with mermen and mermaids, and
maidmers could be tolerably good company if one's in-
terest was not in faces, manmers were said to have the
worst elements of each species. They were brainlessly
vicious, existing only to tear apart victims.

Mym made as if to touch the water with his boot, and
the manmer snapped at it so violently that a spray of water
and sparks went up. No question, this monster meant
business.

He pondered, then touched the Sword. "Gaea," he
sang.

The woman did not appear. Instead a colorful parrot
flew in. "Who seeks? Who seeks?" the bird demanded.

"Mars seeks Gaea," Mym replied, annoyed.

"Prove it! Prove it!" the parrot squawked.

"You birdbrain, don't you see me?"

"I see a hundred like you every day," the parrot re-
plied. "All fakes sent by Satan to pester my mistress."

A hundred like him a day? Suddenly Mym realized that
Satan was up to more mischief, trying to infiltrate his
demon minions into Nature's domain by imitating the In-
carnations. No wonder Gaea had instituted defensive
measures. "Go tell Gaea and she can verify for herself
my validity."

"The Green Mother is busy with her own concerns;

she can not waste her time exposing every imposter."




182           Wielding a Red Sword

That, too, made sense. "How can I prove my identity
to you, so that you will advise her of my presence?"

"Get in to see her yourself," the parrot squawked.
"Only a true Incarnation can do that." And it flew away.

Mym sighed. Right when he needed to consult with
Gaea, Satan had set up an interference pattern. Unfor-
tunate timing.

Unfortunate? No, maybe Satan had planned it that way,
to prevent Mym from completing the consultation, so that
Gaea would not be alerted, and the plague would not be
halted before it ravaged the Protestants.

That meant that it was doubly important that he get
through. He was really opposing Satan, not Gaea.

But the manmer waited with eager teeth. Though Mym
knew himself to be invulnerable to mortal attack, he was
not at all sure about the present situation. If an immortal
were invulnerable to the teeth of the manmer, the demons
would be able to get through. Certainly Werre didn't trust
his flesh to that water, and there was evidently a spell to
prevent the horse from leaping or flying over the moat.
Mym didn't care to risk his flesh that way.

Well, he could still pass. He drew the Red Sword. "I
regret this, Manmer," he said. "But I'm going to have to

slay you in order to pass."

But still he hesitated. Demons could wield swords, tocf,
and would certainly be willing. Why hadn't they done so?

The more he considered, the less easy he became. Fi-
nally he picked up a loose stone and threw it across the

moat.
At the far bank, the stone exploded. Something had

destroyed it.

That something was apt to do the same thing to a man
or a demon. Again, it wasn't worth risking. Also, he really
didn't want to slay a creature, the manmer, who was only
doing the job it had been assigned.

But how was he supposed to pass, if a demon could
not? There had to be a way, or this was no valid test for

his identity.

He considered, and decided that he would have to do
some perhaps unpleasant research. He got down beside
the water and, when the manmer snapped at him, he put

Piers Anthony               183

one discorporate hand into the creature itself. Startled,
the fishman paused in place, and Mym dropped the rest
of his body onto it and into it. His arms aligned with the
fins, his head with its head, his legs with its legs. He had
phased in, physically.

He adjusted his brain, getting it aligned with the brain
of the monster. He had become accomplished at this ma-
neuver, but this was a special challenge, for this was the
brain ofafish. Only the most primitive aspects of his brain
could align properly; there simply was no higher center
in the fish's head to match his own.

Fortunately very little identification was required. The
instructions for the manmer were uppermost in its limited
mind, and Mym assimilated them before he got fairly into
the rest of the creature's identity.

There was a grating in the bottom of the moat. When
the water turned cloudy, that grating became permeable;

it was possible to swim through it. Of course Cutefoot
would consume any person or creature who tried—except
for the one who addressed him by his name. That one,
and that one only, he would suffer to pass.

That sufficed. Mym withdrew from the manmer and
splashed through the water, back to shore. It took the
manmer a moment to realize that someone was there; then
he acted. But Mym was already scrambling clear.

Werre was waiting for him. "Loyal steed, I must pro-
ceed alone from this point," Mym informed him. "Return
to the Castle of War; I will summon you when my business
here is done."

Werre neighed, wheeled about, and galloped away.
That was one intelligent steed; the like hardly existed in
the mortal realm. Mym realized that this was a significant
part of what he liked about this office—the possession of
truly competent accoutrements like the Sword and
Warhorse.

Mym gazed into the moat. Yes, deep down he spied
the grate; the water was clear, so he could see it. All he
had to do was wait until it clouded.

There was the sound of hooves. Mym glanced back,
and saw a golden palomino approaching, bearing a golden-
cloaked rider.




184           Wielding a Red Sword

That was Mars! Rather, it was a demon disguised as
Mars; Mym was in a position to know that it was not the
genuine Incarnation. He had better get past this moat be-
fore the demon arrived.

But the water remained clear. He could not afford to
enter it yet. He could stop the manmer by speaking his
name, but would not be able to pass the grate. He had to

wait.

Another figure galloped up, just like the first. The parrot
had been correct: there were demons all over. No wonder
the Green Mother had gotten fed up with it. He had to
move on through, before a crowd of them gathered and
made that impossible. But still the water was clear.

The first demon arrived. "Ho, miscreant!" it cried chal-
lengingly. "Dare you assume my image? Begone,

imposter!"

The sheer audacity of this challenge put Mym into an
instant rage. Suddenly the Red Sword was in his hand and
whistling through the air. The demon-horse's head flew
off, then a segment of its neck, then the top half of the
rider. As with Lila, there was not blood; it was as if the
sections had been fashioned separately and set together,
and now were falling apart again. The demon's upper
body splashed into the moat and sank.

The water swirled as the manmer went after the frag-
ment. The vicious teeth slashed out, cutting the demon
substance into lesser fragments. The action moved down
as the fragments sank; the manmer meant to consume it
all. The muck of the bottom was stirred up, clouding the

water.

"Ho, miscreant!" the second demon challenged.
Mym looked up. The thing was charging down on him,

sword swinging. Behind it, three more were coming, all

identical.
Damn them! Literally! Mym lifted the Sword—and

paused.

The water of the moat was cloudy.

He turned, sheathing the sword. He dived into the
water. "Cutefoot!" he cried just before he splashed.

The manmer froze in place, letting him pass. He stroked
down to the nether grate and through it, the bars seeming

185

Piers Anthony

insubstantial. He passed into a submarine cave that ex-
tended forward.

There was no surface here, so he could not take a
breath, but he was in no discomfort. He realized that as
an Incarnation he could not drown, for he could not be
killed. Breathing was now mere reflex and convenience,
as was eating.

In due course, the cavern surfaced, and he emerged into
the garden estate of the Green Mother. It was lovely.
Shrubs and trees of every description flourished, and
flowers abounded. Squirrels jumped from branch to
branch, and a chipmunk nibbled at a nut atop a boulder.
This would be'a most pleasant place simply to remain.

But he had business. Mym forged on, following a path
that led toward the center of the estate.

Soon he came to a narrowing of the way. Rocks rose
up on either side, squeezing the path between them. In
the center of the narrowest section stood a small lizard.

Mym paused. There was something about that little
creature. It was not afraid of him, and it eyed him with
a disturbing alertness. It was dull red, actually rather
pretty, and reminded him of—

Of fire. This was not necessarily any lizard; it could be
a salamander.

He reached to the side and found a section of an old
branch. He heaved this toward the creature.

The tiny reptile leaped up to intercept the branch, biting
at it. As contact was made, the wood burst into flame. It
burned explosively. By the time it struck the ground, it
was a mass of charcoal and ash that quickly smoldered
into dust.

That was a salamander, all right. A creature who set
fire to whatever it touched, other than the ground it stood
on—fire that burned until only ash remained.

If he tried to pass that creature, and it bit him, he would
bum similarly.

Of course he was an Incarnation, he reminded himself,
immune to mortal threats. But again he remembered that
this was not the mortal realm; this was Gaea's garden,
where other rules governed. If this creature could prevent
a demon from passing, it might as readily prevent an In-
carnation too.




186

Piers Anthony                187

Wielding a Red Sword

"But there are no demons here," he muttered in

singsong.
A figure appeared behind him. "Ho, miscreant!" it

cried.

"How the hell did you get here?" Mym demanded, star-
tled and angry.

"I said the same magic word you did, so the fishman
let me pass," the Mars-demon replied. "Now defend
yourself, imposter!" And it charged, sword swinging.

Mym ducked. The demon stumbled over his hunched
body and tumbled into the salamander.

There was a flare of flame. "Aiii! I bum!" the thing
cried. Then the form became a structure of ashes and

collapsed.

"One demon, returned to Hell," Mym sang. He felt no
regret, knowing that these beings lacked any aspect of
humanity, apart from their outer semblance.

But how foolish he had been, to utter the manmer's
name in the presence of a demon. Naturally the demon
had heard, copied, and gotten through.

Well, the demon was gone now. All Mym had to do
was figure out how to get by the salamander.

"Ho, miscreant!"

What, another demon? Mym realized belatedly that
what one could copy, another could. There could be any
number of demons here in the garden, thanks to his care-
lessness. It was a good thing that the Green Mother had
had the foresight to place a second barrier.

The demon charged. This time Mym dodged out of the
way, squeezing by so that the demon found itself ad-
vancing directly on the salamander. Let the demon be
destroyed the way the other was!

"So, salamander!" the demon cried. "I shall deal with
you!" And it swung the blade of the red sword down.

Mym waited for the flash of fire—but it didn't come.
The sharp sword cut the salamander in two. The tail
twitched back and forth, while the head coughed out a
spurt of fire and expired. The salamander had been slain.

This shook Mym's confidence. If a demon could kill
one of the defenders of Gaea's estate, then the demons
could get through, and this was no valid separation of

intruders. Should he be trying to enter himself, if the
Green Mother's power was so uncertain?

The demon Mars strode on along the path—and was
struck by a bolt of lightning from a hovering little cloud.
Nothing was left of the creature except a whiff of sul-
phurous gas.

Mym was reassured. The Green Mother's defenses
were tight after all! Demons could no more pass this spot
than they could the moat, without the proper credentials.
The salamander was only part of it.

A second salamander crept out from behind a rock.
Things were back as they had been.

Mym took another stick and poked at the little creature.
When it sprang and bit, igniting the stick, Mym reached
down with his free hand and grabbed it. He phased himself
in to it as well as he could, channeling his identity down
through his own arm. He had not realized that Mars could
do this until it was done—yet he realized that he must
have known it in some other aspect of his being, because
this would have been a suicidal gesture otherwise.

The salamander's mind was small and vicious, but again
it was easy to read, because the operating instructions
were uppermost. Its name was Sweetbreath, and it would
not attack the one who spoke that name. When smoke
clouded the region, a hole would open in the wall.

Mym phased out and dropped the salamander, stepping
hastily back before it could snap at him. Then he glanced
about, perceived no other demon, and fetched an armful
of slightly damp leaves from the adjacent forest floor. He
dumped these on the salamander's head.

Of course the creature fired the leaves. A dense cloud
of smoke and steam puffed up, covering the path.

Now Mym spoke the name: "Sweetbreath."

The salamander froze in place. Mym stepped into the
smoke, deliberately breathing and keeping his eyes open,
and verified that he was unaffected. There were certainly
compensations to being an Incarnation! His vision was
impaired because of the thickness of the smoke, but there
was no personal discomfort.

He felt along the wall, but found no opening. Had he
misunderstood? The smoke was beginning to thin.




188

Piers Anthony

Wielding a Red Sword

189

Then he realized that there were two walls here. He
lurched across to the other, and passed through it and into
the ground. Success after all!

He was in another cave, this time a dry one. He touched
the Sword, and it emitted a glow that enabled him to pro-
ceed without stumbling. The cavern wended its way
through the hill and emerged at the other side.

A lovely valley opened out before him, with ornate
bushes and colorful grasses. From above, the pattern of
vegetation resembled a labyrinth, but there were no teeth
in it, for it was easy to pass around the bushes. Here,
too, it would have been pleasant to remain and relax—if
he only had time.

He strode on through—but as he proceeded he discov-
ered that the bushes were getting denser and thornier,
closing off the routes around them. He had to pick out an
appropriate route, and finally found himself channeled
into one, that led to a central glade at the deepest crevice
of the valley. Above, on the far side, stood the Green
Mother's fancy tree house, not far away at all. At last!

But in the glade was a single item of standing deadwood,
a petrified tree, and on a branch of that tree perched a
harpy. He would have recognized her by the smell alone.

Well, challenges seemed to run in threes. He would
have to phase in to her and leam the correct way past.

"Ho, miscreant!"

Another demon! "How did you get through?" Mym
demanded, frustrated by this pursuit by his likenesses.

"I masked myself as a piece of stone and watched what
you did," the demon said. It was evident that these crea-
tures lacked the subtlety of their master. It didn't occur
to them not to answer a direct question. "Then I did like-
wise. Now I shall watch you again."

"Oh, no, you shan't!" Mym returned, drawing the

Sword.

The demon showed no fear. It drew its own sword,
which looked identical, and met him at the edge of the
glade. The two blades touched—and the demon's was cut
in half. It was no more than normal demon substance,
having no super-hardness.

But how, then, had the other demon slain the sala-
mander? There had to be more to the weapon than this!

The demon leaped at him, striking with the remaining
part of the sword. Mym dodged and ran his own point
through the other's torso. The blade slid through and
emerged on the other side, but the demon did not stop;

it walked on up the Sword and struck again at Mym.

There was a clang as the demon's weapon stuck Mym's
cloak and rebounded. Mym felt the impact; that sword
certainly did have substance!

He twisted his own weapon about and lifted it in an
upward sweep. It cut the demon in half, from the belly
up through the head, but the creature did not fall. Mym
brought his blade down and chopped from the side, and
half of the upper torso of the demon, including its left
arm, fell off, cleanly severed along horizontal and vertical
lines. But the right side continued to fight.

Mym increased his effort and hacked the demon to
pieces. Now at last it was finished. This business of fight-
ing demons was strange. They seemed to feel little or no
pain or fear, had no blood, and they talked and fought
freely while intact. What motivated them? They could
seem most human at times, yet most alien at other times.

He turned again to the harpy, who had watched this
without reaction. He was sure he could deal with her—
but how could he be sure that more demons weren't
watching? If they could mask themselves as stones or
other items, they could be all around. It would be better
to wait a bit before making his move.

"How are you?" he asked the harpy.

Now she reacted. "Unsssex me here!" she exclaimed,
spitting at him.

"I gather you are not very sociable," he said with a
smile. He had hardly expected otherwise.

"I have given sssuck!" she screeched indignantly.

Mym still saw no other demons, so he proceeded. He
picked up one of the destroyed demon's arms and tossed
it to her. The harpy caught it with one claw and tore into
it with her teeth; in a moment the demon-substance was
being shredded. But while she was partially distracted
with that morsel, Mym reached up to touch her wing,
channeling his identity quickly through the connection
and phasing in with her as well as he was able.




190

Wielding a Red Sword

Piers Anthony

191

She was Lady MacBeth, and when a cloud of dust ob-
scured the region, a hole would open in the ground. That
was all; this was just another variant of the usual device.

He disengaged and picked up a larger morsel of demon.
He heaved it at the harpy, but it fell low, so that she could
not catch it. In a fury she flapped her wings so hard that
a cloud of dust was stirred up.

Now he spoke her name: "Lady MacBeth." The harpy
froze, and Mym walked into the dust and found the hole
in the ground. He stepped down into it and found himself
in still another cave.

This time he did not proceed forward. He turned and

waited.

Sure enough, a demon followed. Mym lopped off the
thing's head, then sliced up the rest of the body, until the
pieces lost their animation.

Another demon appeared. Mym dispatched that one

too.

He waited, but no more demons came. This, then,
should be the end of them; as far as he could tell, demons
were not bright creatures and acted the moment they saw
reason to. Any who were able to follow should have done

so by now.
He turned and went on down the passage he was in. It

brought him to a nether gate. He opened this and found

stairs leading up. At the top of the flight he found a green

and brown room.

"Why, fancy meeting you here," Gaea said.
"The approach was more difficult than I expected,"

Mym said, realizing that he had at last entered her

domicile.

"Those demons are a nuisance," she said. ''Permit
me." She gestured, and a swarm of flies seemed to issue
from her hand. They buzzed about Mym and landed on

his cloak.

Suddenly there were puffs of smoke all about him.' 'W-
w-w-what?" he asked, startled.

"They are stinging the remaining demons into obliv-
ion," Gaea explained.

Mym was dismayed.' 'You mean I brought some in with
me?" he sang.

"Indeed," she agreed. "But I have dealt with them
now."

"But then your barriers—they didn't work!"
Gaea smiled. "They worked, Mars. They showed me
which of the thousands of false images was the real Mars.
I have no fear of demons here; I merely dislike being de-
ceived. I would have had no rest at all if I had watched
every image; as it is, I have to watch only you. What
brings you here?"

"I am supervising an engagement in which one side
means to use gene-splicing to create a virus that infects
only the folk of the other side. I thought you would have
an interest."

Gaea pursed her lips. "Indeed I do. Mars! I thank you
for bringing this to my attention!"

"Well, I have been encountering so much difficulty
with the other Incarnations that I thought—"

The Green Mother smiled. "I appreciate your consid-
eration, Mars. Certainly I could not have let such a ploy
pass. I shall straighten this out for you—but in return you
must give me an intimate part of yourself."

"I must give you—?" Mym sang indignantly. "I came
here to—"

"Indulge me. Mars," she said.

"Oh, take what you want!" he sang angrily. He should
never have expected gratitude from another Incarnation!

"In due course."

She questioned him closely, then lifted her hand to her
face. She leaned forward and touched one eye with her
right forefinger, and her left with her left forefinger. Two
glistening tears fell to the fingers and clung there in glob-
ules. She put the globules into separate little sponges.
"Take these to your battle zone," she said. "Put them
together there."

"T-t-two t-t-tears?" he asked, astonished.

"Not ordinary tears, Mars. When these merge, they
will form a compound that nullifies what Satan has done
in Ireland. Their virus will expire and be beyond recovery.
No one will die of this particular plague."

"What Satan has done?" he sang.

"Obviously Satan has been behind all the mischief you




192           Wielding a Red Sword

have encountered," she said. "He caused the drafting of
children for battle, revealed to another party the secret
substance to make zombies, sent a vision to yet another
to reveal the technology of the time bomb, and gave the
secret of the Protestant plague to another. He has been
working you over. Mars."

Mym formed an angry fist, knowing that this was true.
Why hadn't he seen it before? That vision in Cush—ob-
viously Satanic! "D-d-d-d-damn him!" he swore.

"Which means you must deal with him directly," Gaea
said. "Only then will you be free of his interference."

"I shall challenge him now!" Mym sang.

"He will not meet you on a field of your choice," she
warned. "Be careful. Mars; you can nullify the Incar-
nation of Evil only by properly understanding him. Bide
your time; you will know when your opportunity comes."

Mym knew she was right. "I shall," he sang. "Now,
will I be able to leave here without going through all the

challenges again?"

She laughed. "Of course, Mars! But first—" She
touched him with one hand. He felt a peculiar wrenching
and knew that something vital was indeed gone from him.
Nature had taken her payment.

Then he stepped out of her front doorway, which was
an opening in the trunk of the great tree she lived in, and
saw the Castle of War just across the open valley. There
were no barriers at all.




13-

UGEIA

If Mym's nocturnal restlessness had been bad before, it
was worse now. He had been frustrated by Rapture's re-
peated absences, but had known that she would return.
Now he knew she would not. His hope for future satis-
faction had been negated.

He walked in the garden. There was Lila.

"Hello, Mym," she said in familiar fashion. She wore
one of her slinky, form-fitting robes that seemed to reveal
more of her than would have been seen if she had been
nude.

"I chopped you up and sent you back to Hell!" he pro-
tested. "What are you doing here?"

"I am trying to serve your needs," she said. "You are
welcome to chop me up again, if it gives you pleasure."

"I just want to be rid of you!"

"Now don't be that way, Mym. You know you can't
manage without an obliging woman, and I am most oblig-
ing. You can torture me, and I won't be hurt; you can cut
me in pieces, and I can be reassembled. But I really think
you would prefer to love me."

"I hate you! You are a creature of Evil!"

"Well, then, you can hate me," she agreed, stroking

293




194 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 195

her own torso suggestively. "Summon me to your bed
and revile me freely while you—"

"Get out of here!" he cried, clenching his fist.

"Make me, Mym," she suggested, striking another se-
ductive pose.

He paused. He knew that if he took hold of her, she
would twine against him, trying to seduce him. If he cut
her up, she would reconstitute, in due course. She was a
demoness, not subject to the ordinary limitations of mor-
tals. So he avoided those alternatives and confined him-
self to words. "How can you intrude here, against my
will?"

"Is it against your will, Mym?" she inquired, taking a
step toward him.

"Of course it is!"

"Do I not tempt you with my flesh and my
willingness?"

"No!"

She shook her head. "Every lie you tell brings you
closer to Hell, Mym. Then you will be mine indeed."

"This is my castle! You have no right to intrude!"

"This is not your castle, Mym. This is an intermediate
ground, where mortals, immortals, and the damned may
meet."

"This is the garden annex to the Castle of War!"

"This is an extension of your garden annex. You are
no longer on your own turf. Mars. Otherwise you would
not be able to speak without stuttering."

That gave him pause. It was true that only in this region
could he speak normally, avoiding both singsong and stut-
tering. That was one of the things that attracted him to
it. But such speech was a gift of Satan, and he should not
allow himself to be affected by it.

This reminded him of another aspect of the region.
"Rapture was able to eat, here. How was this possible,
if this is merely a compromise aspect of Purgatory?"

"It extends to overlap the mortal realm," Lila ex-
plained. "The table of viands is actually at one of our
mortal locations, topologically convoluted to appear
local."

"So she wasn't really remaining here!" he exclaimed.

"That depends on your definition of 'here,' Mym. Real-
ity is as one perceives it."

"Or so Satan would like to have others believe—that
lies are reality, because he is the master of lies."

"Master of Illusions," she said, as if clarifying a care-
lessly employed term. "Once one believes an illusion, it
becomes reality. If you were to accept me as a real
woman—"

"I know you are not!"

"But I could make it easy to forget. For example, if I
assumed another form—" she shimmered and became the
likeness of Rapture.

"Get out of that form!" Mym shouted.

"Why—doesn't it appeal to you?"

"I don't want you in that form!" he could only say, not
wanting to give her the satisfaction of inciting his further
anger. It was evident that demons did not have human
emotions, but only emulated them.

"Then I shall offer you another form." She shimmered
again and assumed the likeness of Orb.

"No!" Mym cried, half in anguish.

The Orb-image shook her lovely head.' 'You are a chal-
lenge to please, Mym. Do you crave slightly less licit de-
light?" And she became the likeness of Luna.

"I don't want any likeness!" Mym said, appalled.

"I am sure you have noticed how attractive Thanatos'
woman is," the Luna-likeness said. The insidious thing
was that she also sounded exactly like Luna and had what-
ever mannerisms he had noted in her. "Now you can have
her, without stirring up trouble with another Incarnation.
You can relish her most private parts—"

"How can I be rid of you?" he demanded.

The Lila form reappeared. "Well, there are several
ways, but I think two are most feasible for your situation.
One is to retire to your Castle of War, where I can not
intrude without your express invitation, and live alone,
never emerging to this garden. I dare say that would en-
hance your prowess as Mars, for you would get pretty
violent after a while."

She spoke truly. That was one of the things that an-
noyed him most. Lila always spoke the truth—the truth
he did not want to hear. "And the other?"




196 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 197

"You could fiad yourself another woman. Once I see
that you are fully satisfied, I will leave you alone, for there
will be no hope for me."

"Demons have hope? Isn't that a mortal feeling?"

"A mortal illusion," she said, again correcting him.
"But also an immortal one. There is no mortal hope like
that of a damned soul who dreams of eventual release to
Heaven."

"But you are not a damned soul; you are a demoness."

"True. I spoke figuratively. I exist only to corrupt
you, in any form I can." She wavered again and became
Lilith.

"You—are she?" Mym asked, appalled again.

"The distinction is meaningless, Mym. I am the de-
moness assigned to torment you into doing my Master's
will. There is no individuality among demons, and form
is but a convenience."

"So when Satan sent Lilith away and brought you in
her place—"

"I only exchanged forms," she agreed. "It doesn't
matter."

"But she was represented as an ancient succubus, the
companion of evil men since time began, while you were
represented as a virgin!"

"Representations are but another form of illusion. For
you, I would have been a virgin."

"But that was a lie! I thought you always told the
truth!"

"Truth is meaningless to a demon," she reminded him.
"It is only a tool to be used as convenient. But this was
not a lie, for there can be neither virginity nor non virginity
in a demoness. She has no mortal flesh. The only dis-
tinction is in your perception—as is the case with mortals,
too. Virginity has always been a figment of mortal male
imagination."

What bothered him most was that she was making
sense. Perhaps what he deserved was a creature like her,
who could meet both his physical and intellectual needs,
for she was beautiful and intelligent. But that was the
nature of Satan's trap.

"Then I will find myself a woman!" he said, and
stomped away.

"Find Ligeia," she called after him.

He paused, then turned back. "Why do you advise me
like this? Isn't this to your disadvantage?"

She was Lila again. "Mym, you are an honest man and
a good man. I am only a creature of Hell. But while I am
with you, I am shaped by your expectations, and I become
what you would have me be, for that is the way I serve.
Thus I help you in whatever way you ask."

"But I detest you! I only want to be rid of you!"

"No. You only want to be rid of the demon aspect of
me. You deceive yourself when you say otherwise, and
because I serve in the way you wish, I become your con-
science and correct you on that. Eventually, you will ac-
cept me, as you have molded me to be."

Mym shook his head. "Woman, you are dangerous!"

"I am dangerous," she agreed. "Because once you ac-
cept me, I will subvert you, and you will serve Satan,
though you deny it."

"And you claim you have no emotion?" he asked.
"You do not care at all for me, you only labor to subvert
me?"

"True."

"I think you are lying, Lila."

She averted her gaze, not answering. He looked closely
at her and saw a tear at one eye.

He started to speak, but stopped. He reached out to
her, but stopped. Her human emotion—this was the true
lie!

And it had almost worked.

He turned away and hurried on down the garden.

The farther reaches of the garden became rougher, as
he passed beyond the presentation section. Instead of
trimmed hedges, there were unruly bushes, and the ani-
mated statues were replaced by irregular pylons of stone.
The original pathway deteriorated into a rut, and the flow-
ers that had bounded it now were weeds. Even the
weather changed, losing its balmy glow and becoming
cold and gloomy.

Mym realized that he should turn back, for this was no
place for a man to be. But his cloak protected him from
environmental extremes, so he suffered no physical dis-




198

Piers Anthony               199

Wielding a Red Sword

comfort and, of course, he didn't have to walk if he didn't
want to. He could simply use the Red Sword to travel—

Or summon his good steed.

"Werre!" he called.

Immediately he heard the sound of hoofbeats. There
was the horse, galloping in from the side. "How glad I
am to see you!" Mym cried, hugging Werre about the
neck as the animal drew up. Then he mounted. "Take me
to Ligeia," he said, uncertain whether the horse would
be able to respond to such a directive.

Werre took off, galloping across the wilderness land-
scape. Evidently he did know where it was. Soon they
reached a barren plateau, a kind of snowy tundra, as des-
olate as Mym's romantic prospects. Werre galloped
across, and ahead there came into view a sparkling palace,
as pretty in its symmetry as the plain was dull.

But the palace came no nearer, though the horse was
moving at a velocity no mortal steed could match. Per-
plexed, Mym sighted carefully at it and discovered that
it was like a mirage, keeping a constant distance from
them. "Whoa, Werre," he said, using the occidental term
the horse preferred. "I think we have here a special

effect."

He dismounted and walked toward the palace. Now he
made progress; it was closer. He called to the horse, but
as Werre approached him, the palace receded.

"Now that's curious," Mym said. "It is keeping its
distance from you, not from me. Well, you have brought
me close enough; I'll use the Sword to take me in the rest
of the way. Return to the castle, Werre, and I will rejoin
you later."

Obediently, the horse galloped away. Mym regretted
losing him, but if this were the only way to approach this
equine-shy domicile, then so be it. He touched the Sword,
and in a moment he was standing at the outer wall of the

palace.

The structure was larger and prettier than it had seemed
from a distance. The wall was of glistening ice and tow-
ered up some ten meters before giving way to the first
embrasure. Mym tried to climb it, but the ice was trac-
tionless and he could make no headway.

He touched the Sword. "Up," he murmured.

The Sword lifted him up along the wall to the embra-
sure. But when he got there he discovered it was halfway
illusory; invisibly transparent ice covered it, so that there
was no entrance. The turrets were the same; the ice sealed
everything in. This castle was tight, iced all over.

He returned to the ground and considered. Though the
ice seemed transparent, diffraction increased with depth,
so that the interior became opaque. But he was sure this
was the right place, because Lila had described it as a
castle of frozen mist, and this was that, albeit somewhat
more solid than anticipated. Also, Werre had been headed
here. He needed to get in, to rescue the damsel in distress.

Mym drew the Sword. "I hate to do it," he murmured
to himself. "But I'll have to cut my way into the beautiful
structure."

He braced himself and swung at the wall, knowing that
the Red Sword could cut through any substance, and
could be damaged by none.

And almost fell on his face as the blade passed through
the wall without resistance. It was mist indeed!

He recovered his balance and touched the ice again. It
was absolutely solid. He knocked at it with a knuckle,
and it was hard.

But then how had the Sword—?

He lifted the Sword and poked the point slowly at the
wall. It sank in without contact. He moved the blade
about, and it swept through the wall without affecting it.
What was this?

He set his left hand against the cold wall, then passed
the blade slowly down through it until the edge touched
his hand. The Sword did not cut him, of course; the magic
of his office protected him from his own weaponry. The
edge nudged him and stopped.

His hand was firm against the wall, while the Sword
felt nothing except his hand. To his hand, the wall was
solid ice; to the Sword, it was mere mist.

How could he carve an entrance out of mist?

Mym remembered how this palace had been unap-
proachable by the horse. Now it was untouchable by the
Sword.




200

Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 201

He retreated a few paces, then unstrapped the harness
and set the Sword and scabbard on the snow. He had no
concern about losing the weapon; it would come at his
beck, and no other person, mortal or immortal, could use
it without his leave. It was not physical contact that bound
the Sword to him, but the office.

He located a hefty stone, picked it up, and carried it to
the wall. The stone weighed about four kilograms and had
a ragged point at one side; it would do as a sledgehammer.

He smashed the stone into the wall. The ice cracked,
sending radiating lines out in all directions. He struck
again, and a chip of ice flaked off. Several more blows
gouged out a small crater, then a larger one. Continuing
effort broke a hole in it. He bashed away at the edges,
until he was able to step through the opening and stand

within the palace.

It was as lovely inside as out. There were halls and
chambers and stairs, all silent and clean. Light emanated
from the ceiling, resembling the Northern Lights. Carpets
of ice hung on the walls, with snowflake patterns within
that formed pictures of snowscapes.

He walked along those eerie halls, studying it all.
Though this palace was cold and would be horrible for a
normal person, he found it pleasant. But why had it been
constructed? Solely to punish an errant soul? That seemed
to be an awful amount of design and effort for a soul that
could be made miserable by far simpler means. Yet it did
seem to be the case.

He found the central chamber. There, on a kind of ped-
estal, was a box, formed of transparent ice, and in the
box was a bed, and in the bed was a lovely young woman,
protected by a coverlet of puffy white snow.

Something about this situation nagged at Mym's mem-
ory. He paused to search it out, and had it: the occidental
children's story of the Slumbering Lovely. She had been
enchanted to sleep for a century or so, until a prince of
a later generation rescued her.

Apparently it had been a mechanism for merging two
lines of royalty when one was not eligible at the appro-
priate time.

Well, he was, or had been a prince, and the demoness

had called this one the Princess Ligeia. It seemed appro-
priate to rescue her. Certainly she was beautiful, and
seemed to be about his own age, though of course there
was no telling how long she had been here; she might be
of his grandmother's generation. Did that matter? Not
really; not if she had slept unaware for the intervening
time, so remained young in outlook.

He touched the box, discovering that a dome of ice
covered the top, sealing in the Princess. Well, he could
break it so as to be able to get to her and—how were
slumbering lovelies awakened? By a kiss, as he recalled.
Probably a euphemism for a rather more intimate contact.
He could accommodate that.

He tapped on the glassy dome. It rang, but did not
break.

The girl stirred. Her eyes opened. They were green,
like deep ice. She saw him. Her mouth opened, and her
bosom heaved so violently that the snow blanket bounced
off, but there was no sound.

"Don't worry," Mym said in English, as he doubted
that this Nordic woman spoke his native language. "I am
about to rescue you."

But she sat up, throwing off the remaining cover, and
kneeled on the bed opposite him. Sh&wore a fetching pink
nightie that only enhanced the delightful contours be-
neath. Her hair was so fair as to resemble frozen water,
and her skin almost translucent. Lovely, indeed!

Her bosom heaved again and her mouth worked, but
still there was no sound. Evidently the ice enclosure was
a perfect sonic barrier. She seemed to be violently pro-
testing something.

"But I'm not here to harm you," Mym shouted back.
"I have come to rescue you! I am a friend." He put his
mouth almost on the ice and repeated: "A FRIEND!"

But still she seemed not to understand. She shook her
head violently back and forth in negation, her silken
tresses flying out like fancy skirts. Her mouth formed ex-
aggerated Os. 3he seemed to be speaking English, crying
"No! No!"

Could he have encountered a captive Princess who
didn't want to be rescued? A moment's consideration




202

Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 203

convinced him that that was not the case. Probably she
had been tormented by demons in the forms of rescuers,
much in the manner Gaea had been, so assumed that he
was another such. Naturally she didn't want to be grasped
by a demon.

"I'm Mars, the Incarnation of War!" he cried, mouth-
ing the words carefully. "The real one!"

She seemed to understand. "Mars," she mouthed. But
then she shook her head in even more violent negation.
"No! No!"

Mym reconsidered. If she knew he was genuine, why
did she remain negative? Had Lila deceived him about
this Princess's desire to be rescued? Did Ligeia dislike
him personally? Neither seemed likely. The demoness
seemed never to have lied to him before, and this partic-
ular deception would be pointless. And the Princess could
hardly dislike a man she didn't know. Also, her reaction
did not seem to be one of dislike, but rather one of

concern.

Aha! If he broke into the box, as he had the palace itself,
the flying shards of ice might cut her. Also, the box might
protect her from the cold, and a sudden opening might
freeze her. He could not be sure that her blanket really
was snow; it might have been fashioned to look that way
for artistic effect. That could certainly concern her.

But he could warm her with his cloak. He demonstrated
that to her, opening the cloak, showing that there was
room in it for two.

She nodded, again seeming to understand. But then
again she shook her head in negation.

He tapped again on the ice. It was solid, but if he broke
it at the end, the shards should not reach her. She could
even shield herself with her blanket.

He struck the ice harder. It rang, but did not break.
The princess watched, seeming unalarmed by this. Good
enough.

He found a solid ice lump and used it to bash at the
box. The contact was hard, but the ice would not crack.
So he returned to the entrance he had broken and picked
up the sledge-rock. This would do it!

He returned, hefting the rock. Ligeia remained sitting

on her bed, now passive. He slammed the rock into the
ice—but this ice was harder than that of the palace wall,
amazingly, and neither cracked nor flaked.

After several attempts, he realized that this was not
going to do it. He could not break in this way.

Mym set down the rock and paced about the chamber,
trying to think of his next step. How could he rescue a
woman from an unbreakable container? There had to be
a way; after all, she had been sealed into it, so unless it
had been constructed around her, there was a way to get
by it.

She was, he reminded himself, not a mortal person, but
a damned soul. Obviously Satan intended to see that no
one got her out and gave her a fair hearing. But how could
physical substance imprison a bodiless spirit?

Obviously it was possible, both because she was cap-
tive and because the structures of the Incarnations could
serve as a barrier to demons, who were evidently as ver-
satile as spirits in physical movement. Perhaps there was
some spiritual barrier that seemed solid to souls, though
mortals didn't notice it. But he, as an Incarnation, should
be able to pass it, and to convey her past it, when she
was in contact with him. It was the physical barrier that
balked him, not the spiritual one.

That being the case, how could he circumvent the phys-
ical barrier, without breaking it?

Abruptly the answer came to him. He could make him-
self either visible or invisible to mortals, solid or vapo-
rous. He could do the same here.

He reached down to touch the Sword—and remem-
bered that he had left it outside in the snow. Careless of
him!

"Sword," he murmured, holding out his hand.

The great Red Sword appeared in it, scabbard and all.
Then Mym willed himself insubstantial and put his hand
to and through the icy cover.

Ligeia's eyes widened as she saw this. Mym extended
his hand toward her, holding it open, pausing.

The Princess hesitated, then slowly extended her own
little hand. The two hands touched—and passed through
each other without resistance.




204 Wielding a Red Sword

Here was another dilemma! Though Mym could make
himself as insubstantial as a ghost, and Ligeia was a ghost,
the two of them were not in the same frame. Maybe in
the residences of the Incarnations spirits could seem as
solid as mortals, but this was open territory, and such
interaction was not possible. So he was physically barred
when he was solid, and spiritually barred when he was
insubstantial. He still could not really touch her and,
therefore, could not rescue her.

Mym shook his head. Surely Satan was laughing now!
What a fiendish situation! To have the damsel in distress
so near to rescue, yet untouchable. Would he have to go
home, leaving her unrescued?

No, he refused to do that. There had to be a way to
bring her out of that box, and he intended to find that
way.

He paced the floor some more, pondering. She was a
spirit, a damned soul. He was a mortal, but he had a soul
of his own. If he could just set his body aside for a mo-
ment, much as he had his horse and his Sword—

And there it was. As an Incarnation, he could do that,
he knew. Gaea had mentioned something about the ability
to discorporate. She had said there was a risk, but of
course there was an element of risk in most things, some-
times directly proportional to their benefit. Whatever the
risk, if this could do the job here, it should be worth it.

He sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall,
so that he needed no effort for support. Then he willed
himself out of his body.

And he did rise out of it, with no trouble at all. He stood,
stepped forward, turned about, and saw his body propped
there, unbreathing, lifeless for the moment. But it would
reanimate the moment he returned to it, and the returning
would be as easy as phasing in to any other body, as he
had done so often before. That phasing had to be a variant
of this; his physical body made impalpable, while his soul
intergrated with the other.

He turned again and approached the box. The Prin-
cess's gaze passed from his body to his soul, perceiving
both—and abruptly her agitation redoubled. "No! No!
No!" she cried soundlessly, gesturing frantically.

Piers Anthony               205

"But this is the way I can rescue you," he replied. "I
will just take your hand and bring you out. You will have
your chance at last."

She put up her hands, spread out in a stop-stop gesture.
She shook her head so violently that her hair became a
whirling halo. Her whole aspect cried denial.

Mym paused, perplexed. "Are you afraid of me again?
you weren't a moment ago!"

When he paused, she paused. But still she pushed him
back, figuratively, with her hands. She did not want him
to come to her.

"Don't you want to be rescued?" Mym asked, knowing
she could not hear the words.

But it seemed that she did understand the gist. Her
hands spread in a gesture of helplessness. She seemed to
want to convey something to him, but lacked the means
to do it.

"Then let me enter, so I can hear you," he said rea-
sonably. "Then you can tell me. If there is good reason
for me not to rescue you, then I will certainly not force
it upon you. I'm only trying to help." He took another
step.

Again she reacted with desperate negation. But this
time he did not pause; he had to get close enough to ex-
plain his position to her, to ease her concern. Perhaps she
did have reason not to be rescued; he would consider it
carefully. His leading hand passed through the ice without
resistance, then his arm to the shoulder. It was working.

She screamed—and as his head passed through, the tail
end of that scream suddenly manifested.

He reached out and took her hand, and this time the
contact was real. They were two spirits now, and felt to
each other exactly the way two solid mortals would, for
they were equivalently solid. "Ligeia," he said. "Please,
listen to me. I shall not force anything upon you."

She burst into tears.

Mym sat on the bed and took her in his arms. She was
warm and very soft; she smelled of spring flowers and
new-mown hay, and her tears were wet against his shoul-
der. It was amazing how physical the spirit realm seemed!
He patted her on the back. "There, there," he said. "It's
all right, now. I have come to take you away from this."

206 Wielding a Red Sword

Suddenly she raised her head and her flowing green
eyes met his. "But you can't!" she exclaimed.

"I won't—if you don't want me to," he said reassur-
ingly. "Just explain how you feel, and I will honor it."

"Oh, I tried to stop you!" she wailed. "But you
wouldn't listen!"

"I couldn't hear you," he explained. "But now I can.
Just tell me what—"

"Oh, you don't understand," she said. "You just don't
understand^

"But I'm trying to," he said reasonably.

"Oh, you poor man!" The tears resumed their flow.

"I have no problem," he protested. "Come, let's step
out of here, and then we can talk."

He leaned forward, extending one hand to the ice wall
of the box to get his balance. The hand banged.

He looked at it, then tried again. It banged again. The
ice was now solid to him.

"But only my spirit is here!" he said, wonderingly. "I
just passed through it!"

"That's what I was trying to tell you," Ligeia said.
"It's one-way ice. A soul can enter, as I did, as you did—
but it can't leave. We can't get out. I tried so hard to warn
you!"

"Can't get out?" he asked, bemused.

"This is Satan's trap," she explained. "This is a cap-
sule of Hell. No one can escape it, except into the rest

of Hell."

"I'm trapped in Hell?" Suddenly Gaea's warning re-
turned to him—Satan would not meet him in an arena of
his choosing. Now he would have to meet Satan in the
arena of Satan's choosing—Hell itself.

The capsule began to move. It descended through the
floor, carrying the two of them with it.

They were headed for Hell proper.




14

HELL

The capsule stopped at a facility very like an airport, com-
ing to rest beside a large glassy building. An accordion-
pleated ramp extended out to touch the capsule; there was
a click, and the ice dissolved at the point of contact.

"We're here," Ligeia said. "Oh, I wish—" But she
didn't finish, and Mym understood why. What use were
wishes in Hell?

"You knew this would happen?" Mym asked as they
set foot on the walk.

"The moment I saw you," she agreed, her tears in the
process of being replaced by fatalism. "Satan told me I
was going for a—oh, never mind. I was a fool, yet again."

"A hearing?" Mym asked. "And instead you were bait
for a trap."

She nodded grimly and preceded him to the building.

He realized that she could be lying. But what was the
point? Whether demoness or genuine damned soul, she
had done the job, and he had been caught. He preferred
to believe that she was as much a victim of Satan's de-
ception and cruelty as he.

Satan was waiting in the terminal. "Welcome to Hell,
Mars!" he said jovially, stepping forward with his hand

207




208

Piers Anthony               209

Wielding a Red Sword

extended. Mym considered refusing the hand, but con-
cluded that civility was better than antagonism, even in
Hell. He shook the hand.

"I can't say I am completely pleased to be here," Mym
said. "What is the point of this device?"

"Merely to get your attention, my dear associate,"
Satan said, smiling. "I am sure that you and I shall come
to a perfect understanding."

"I hope so," Mym said. "It has been my impression
that one Incarnation does not interfere with the business
of another on a casual basis; there could be a

consequence."

If Satan reacted to the thinly veiled threat, he gave no
sign. "Incarnations should always cooperate," he agreed.
"Come, share the hospitality of My domain, and we shall

converse."

"If I may go, now—" Ligeia murmured.
"By no means. My dear," Satan replied. "This man is
a prince; we shall not foist off on him the company of a
woman beneath his station. You shall be his escort while

he visits."

"But I really would prefer not to—"

"Your preference, My dear, is a matter of indifference
to Me. I suggest that you put a suitably fair face on the

matter."

Evidently reluctant, she nevertheless nerved herself
and smiled at Mym. "It seems I must," she said. "I assure
you, sir, that my reticence does not reflect on you. Are
you really a prince?"

"I was, in life," Mym agreed. "That is behind me, now.
Are you really a princess?"

"In life," she echoed.

"Excellent," Satan said. "The Old Smoky House has
palatable fare; shall we dine there?"

"It seems we shall," Mym said. He was sure that Satan
could not hold him in Hell against his will, but not sure
how he was to escape it. He was still too new in this office,
so did not yet know how to use his Incarnative powers
to their full extent. Until he figured out his best course
of action, it was best to make no dramatic and possibly
pointless gestures.

Ligeia took his arm, and they followed Satan to another
chamber. This was set up like a contemporary occidental
restaurant, with dim lighting and soft music and elegantly
garbed waiters and waitresses. It surprised Mym to see
such an establishment in Hell, but obviously it belonged.
He was sure that neither demons nor damned souls re-
quired food for sustenance, but if it made them more com-
fortable to honor the amenities of life, that was all right.
Of course, most of the souls resident in Hell probably did
not actually get to eat; probably Satan tortured them by
allowing them only to smell the good food.

"Shall we have steak?" Satan inquired, surveying the
menu.

"The flesh of a cow?" Mym asked.

"Urn, true," Satan said. "You are from India. Perhaps
a nice fancy curry then?"

While they dined on curry and the other aspects of an
excellent Indian meal, Satan made his pitch.

"You and I seem to have been working at cross pur-
poses, Mars," he said. "When actually we may have a
common purpose."

"I doubt that," Mym replied. "My sympathy is with
the force of good, while you represent the force of evil."

"We each represent forces of expedience," Satan said.
"Just as you understand that there must be violence in
mortal affairs, so I understand that there must be evil.
Sometimes violence abates evil; sometimes evil abates
violence. But the two can go together."

Mym didn't like the sound of this, but he confined his
reaction. "In what way?"

"It is My duty to harvest the souls where evil prepon-
derates. But too many souls are shades of gray, with the
good and evil so hopelessly intertwined that Thanatos
himself can barely distinguish them. The situation is too
complex; I wish to simplify it by generating more action."

'More violence?"

'Yes. One does not get dirty laundry clean without
agitation. Since this aspect falls under your—"

'So you want me to stir up more war," Mym said.

'Yes. Not too much, just enough to enable the souls
to settle out more rapidly."




Wielding a Red Sword

210

Piers Anthony

211

"In other words, to have more people die."
"That is one way to put it. This activity would of course

enhance your position."

"And yours," Mym said. "Because you would reap an
earlier and greater harvest of souls. Because the stresses
of war would generate famine and slaughter that would
not otherwise have existed."

"Well—"

"Not interested," Mym said, rising from the table.

Satan hastened to stay with him. "Of course there could
be lagniappe. For example, this borderline soul, the Prin-
cess Ligeia, could be made available to you in

Purgatory."

"No!" Ligeia cried.
Satan glanced darkly at her, and she shrank back,

silenced.

Now Mym looked at her. "Satan requires that you re-
main with us; I do not. I came to help you, not to oppress
you. Certainly I would not take you to the Castle of War

if you objected."

"Oh, no, Mars," she protested. "It's not that! You are
a prince, and there are things that only nobility under-
stands. I am sure you would be compatible, and I would

gladly go with you, but—"

"But not at the behest of Satan, as part of a corrupt

bargain," Mym concluded.

Mutely, she nodded.

Mym liked her attitude. She was correct: there was a
camaraderie among those of royal status that commoners
accepted but seldom truly grasped—things like the im-
portance of appearances, the routines of palace existence,
and the use of concubines. There was much that he would
never have to explain to Ligeia, just as he had not to
Rapture, and much that she would not have to advise him
of. But more than that, it was fitting that royalty consort
with royalty. This was one thing that had kept him from
dealing with Lila or any other woman. He had to establish
a relationship with one of his own station first; then the

rest would fall into place.

Certainly Ligeia was loath to establish any relationship
with him by Satan's directive. Only her father had the

authority to make such a commitment for her. Or, since
her father was in another realm, herself. She would make
her own commitment, in her own fashion, or make none
at all.

"We can arrange other habitation for you, woman,"
Satan said. "Your mortal rank carries no significance
here."

"Let her be," Mym said gruffly. Satan had just dem-
onstrated the ignorance and insensitivity of the com-
moner. "Isn't it enough that you hold her here illicitly,
and that you used her against her will to bring me here?
Why try to force further corruption on her?"

"This is my domain. Mars," Satan said evenly, "The
determination of treatment is Mine. This slut is overdue
for a touch of flame."

Slut? Mym controlled his blaze of anger. There would
be a reckoning for such insults in due course.

Satan raised his hand. Ligeia shrank away from him,
terrified. Satan pointed, and flame appeared. The fire fol-
lowed the line traced by his finger, moving toward the
woman. Mym stood abruptly, flinging the chair to the
rear, and stepped into the path of flame. The fire touched
his cloak and turned back, unable to penetrate. "Let her
be," Mym repeated.

"You accept my offer?" Satan asked. "The woman's
consent does not matter; she fears the flame and will co-
operate without limit to avoid it."

"I reject the offer," Mym said.

"Then you may remain the guest of this establishment
indefinitely—and she will bum while you reconsider."
Satan gestured, and a sheet of flame appeared. Ligeia
whimpered.

Mym put his arm about her, enfolding her within his
protective cloak. The flame leaped up about them both,
harming neither. "I believe it is time to see that this
woman has a fair hearing," he said.

"You may not be touched," Satan said. "But she is
Mine. You can not hold her." He lifted one hand and
snapped his fingers.

Huge, menacing demons appeared at the entrance to
the restaurant. Some had horns and tails and snorted fire;




212           Wielding a Red Sword

others had huge crab claws in lieu of hands. They closed
in on Mym and the girl.

"Get a good hold on her," Satan directed them. "His
substance is not subject to our power, but hers is. Take
hold and pull; he will let her go, lest she be torn apart."

Mym bit his tongue. He was here in spirit only, but he
felt the pain and tasted the blood. "Do not touch her,"

he warned the demons.

"No, I will go with them!" Ligeia protested. "It is an-
other trap for you, Mars! Satan means to—"

Six demons pounced, converging. Two grabbed for her
feet, hauling them up and apart. Two more grabbed for
her hands, doing the same. One grabbed for her silver
hair, pulling cruelly on it. The sixth, slavering, opened its
tusked face to take a horrendous bite of her bosom.

That sixth received Mym's fist in its teeth. The tusks
broke off and the teeth were jammed back into its throat.
The demon fell, choking on ivory. It was evident that the
powers of Mars remained with him, even in spirit form.

But the strength of the other demons was hauling the
girl away from Mym's other arm that held her about the
waist. Mym realized that to deal with the demons, he
would have to have both hands free—which meant letting
her go. He didn't trust that; she could be whisked away
in an instant, the moment he lost physical contact. How
would he ever locate her again in this fell region?

But even though he retained his hold on her, it was no
good, because the five demons were trying, literally, to
pull her apart. The two on her arms were bracing to haul
in opposite directions, the one on her hair was yanking
so hard that her eyes were being drawn wide open, and
the two on her feet were wedging her legs so far apart
that they were spread almost a hundred and eighty

degrees.
Mym used his free fist to club one of the arm-holding

demons on the skull. The skull caved in and the demon
fell. Then, moving with the blinding rapidity available to
him in the berserker state, he swung his hand across,
caught the hair of the hair-pulling demon, and yanked the
entire demon up into the air and down against the floor,
breaking its hold and body in the process.

Piers Anthony               215

But the three remaining demons had not left off. Taking
advantage of Mym's own effort, they succeeded in getting
Ligeia free of his grasp. He leaped at one of the leg-hold-
ing demons, grabbed one of its own legs, lifted it, braced
one of his feet against the other leg and forced a split that
went into an obtuse angle before the demon's leg broke
off.

Mym whirled—and saw the two remaining demons
dragging Ligeia across the room. Rather, one was drag-
ging, its hands locked under her shoulders and about her
bosom, while the other was using its pincers to clasp her
thighs apart while it walked into her. In a moment its
evident demon lust would—

Ligeia screamed.

Mym had never before heard a sound of that nature. It
pierced the atmosphere of Hell, like a power saw cutting
through metal, and stunned the demons. They fell away,
leaving her collapsed and sobbing.

Mym was unaffected, protected by his office. So was
Satan. "Now you see what she is," Satan said. "You
don't want to get involved with a creature like that."

"What is she?" Mym demanded.

"A siren, of course. One who destroys with her voice.
The secret shame of her royal family; such defects are
not supposed to run in royal lines. That's what got her
sent here."

Secret shame? Mym, the stutterer, understood very
well about that sort of thing.

Satan shrugged. "Well, might as well wrap this up;

she's of no further use to Me." He raised his hand.

Mym leaped across, again intercepting the flame with
his cloak. "I don't care what she is; she's a decent soul!"

"Another reason you can't have her," Satan said.
"Had she been willing to cooperate, I would have let her
be with you. As it is, I shall treat her unkindly." He
glanced about, noting the sprawled demons. "But first I
had better gag her." He gestured, and a snake appeared,
wrapped about Ligeia's head, its body wedging into her
mouth so that she could not speak.

Mym realized that there was no way to protect her from
Satan's direct mischief. Not here in Hell. Unless he could
manage to hide her, somehow.




214

Piers Anthony

Wielding a Red Sword

215

He took hold of the woman, heaved her up and ran out
of the restaurant. Beyond it was a flat, bare plain—no
place to hide!

But he was Mars, he reminded himself. He could
change his aspect, and the aspect of anyone with him.
Simply by touching the Red Sword.

Oops! He had left that with his body.

Still, physical separation did not cut off the Sword's
attachment to him. He should be able to do the magic of
the office regardless, even here in Hell. All he had to do
was will it.

He rendered himself invisible. He hoped. He could still
see himself and Ligeia, but—

Several more demons charged out of the restaurant.
"And tear her apart!" Satan's voice came after them. "Or
you'll be torn in her stead!"

The demons paused, peering about. They saw nothing,
though Mym and Ligeia were standing near, she with the
snake still wrapped about her head. The three of them—
man, woman and snake—could be perceived only by each
other, for the moment.

Except Satan himself. As another Incarnation, Satan
would not be subject to the illusion. Mym knew he had
to get Ligeia away before Satan emerged.

He ran across the plain, carrying her, for she was not
moving voluntarily. He knew why; she did not want to
be either a drag or a corrupting influence on him. She was
a decent girl who meant no harm, yet had been required
to be the agent of much mischief. Probably she would
have let the demons take her away to the torture, had one
not threatened to rape her on the spot.

Suddenly the plain ended. Mym stopped abruptly. This
was not a plain, it was the level top of a mesa! The drop-
off was sheer and seemed to extend a kilometer. It was

awesome.

The demons were spreading out, going over the entire
area, searching. Satan had not yet emerged, but could do
so at any moment.

Mym hurried along the brink, searching for some way
down. He didn't want to have to jump. He was a soul,
and Ligeia was a soul, so they couldn't be killed, but he

was sure the fall would incapacitate her for a time and be
extremely painful. He might suffer himself; he wasn't sure
whether his office protected him from acts of sheer folly
in Hell.

There was a path, a niche, a crevice leading down! Mym
walked down it, getting them out of the line of sight to
the restaurant. For the moment, Satan would not be able
to spy them; that was all that counted.

Ligeia struggled, still unable to speak. "Don't do that!"
Mym warned. "Look where we are!"

She craned her head to look, stiffened, and went slack.
She didn't like that sort of height any better than he did.

"They've got to be here somewhere!" Satan's voice
came. "If not on the mesa, then on the slope. Did you
check the slope?"

Mym knew that in moments this scant path would be
swarming with demons. They would not be able to see
the fugitives—but would they be able to feel them? In
life. Mars could make himself intangible, invisible, or both
at once. But this was not life, and he feared that one spirit
could not be made insubstantial to another spirit. After
all, Ligeia had become tangible to him when he encoun-
tered her in spirit form in the capsule in the palace of ice.
He could not afford to risk contact with a demon.

Yet the invisibility ploy was working, so maybe—

Now the silhouette of a demon showed at the rim of
the mesa. The demon started down the path.

Mym looked ahead. The path wended on down and
around the mountain. He had to follow it; there was no-
where else to go. He would not risk contact with any
demons unless he had no other alternative.

"I'm setting you down; stay with me," he whispered
to Ligeia.

She shook her head in negation, still unable to speak
because of the snake.

Mym reached across and took hold of the snake.
Quickly he caught its head, and squeezed it just hard
enough to make the reptile realize that it was in his power.
Then he unwound it, freeing the woman. "You have been
very good about this, wanting to spare me further trou-
ble," he whispered. "But now I'm in trouble, and so are




216

Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony

217

you. Neither of us has anything to gain at this point by
having the demons capture you. If you leave me now, all
it could do would be to give away my location. Do you
want that?"

She shook her head no.

"Then follow me," Mym said. "As long as you stay
close, you will remain invisible." He turned, holding the
snake with one hand, and proceeded down the path.

A short distance down, the path widened, and an ov-
erhang developed. This was a relief, because any slip
would send them tumbling off the mountain. Mym saw
that there was a hole in the overhang; perhaps this was
the remains of an ancient cave. But the path continued
on down, and the demon had been joined by others be-
hind, so Mym didn't pause.

Then he heard something. Demons—ahead! They were
coming up the path from below!

"We're trapped!" Ligeia moaned. "But I can scream

at them—"

"And alert the whole of the rest of Hell to our loca-
tion!" Mym returned. "Keep your mouth shut!" He con-
sidered momentarily. "We'll have to try that cave."

"Oh, I hate caves!" she said.

He ignored that. They moved back up the path, and to
the cave. The demons above were getting close.

"I'll boost you up," he said. "Then I'll follow." He
wished he had the Red Sword; with that he could have
flown right off the mountain.

Well, maybe he could do that anyway. After all, if the
invisibility worked—

He tried it, willing himself into the air, while Ligeia
made her way cautiously up the rock. Nothing happened.
Evidently he could change his appearance by himself, but
had to have the Sword right with him in order to travel.
Perhaps it needed to see exactly where he was going in
order to operate. Or maybe he simply didn't have the right
mental key for remote control. Too bad.

He boosted her by the pert bottom, and she scrambled
up into the hole. "Very well—here's the snake," he said,
handing up the reptile. Ligeia seemed less than eager to
handle it again, but took it. Then he fitted his hands to

the edges of the hole and heaved himself up. She was there
to help him navigate the edge.

It was a small cave, hardly more than an etching in the
mountain, but large enough to hold them comfortably.
The snake settled down to the side, seeming satisfied.

The demons reached the overhang, talking gruffly
among themselves. "Oh, I'm afraid!" Ligeia whispered.

Mym put his arm about her shoulders. "Remember,
they can not see us. Just be quiet, and they'll pass."

She was quiet, though her body shivered. The demons
tromped by from the upper path, grumbling; evidently
they felt that this search was so much foolishness. Mym
wondered how they could be so similar to mortals in their
minor reactions, if they were soulless constructs of ether.
They should have no personality, but that was obviously
not the case. Perhaps demons were crafted in Satan's
image, much the way man, according to the occidental
mythos, was crafted in God's image. Of course that was
illusory; how could such imperfection come from perfec-
tion? Man had a delusion of grandeur. Mym was glad that
he did not share such confused thinking. Reincarnation
made so much more sense that any sensible person should
be able to understand it.

The upper demons met the lower demons. There was
an outcry, and the sound of a brief skuffle; then a de-
scending wail as one of them fell or was thrown off the
ledge. Irascible creatures, demons!

Now the demons tromped back up the path. "Not on
this ledge," one was muttering. "I don't care what His
Foulness says! We'd have found them, if—"

"The cave—did you check the cave, you moron?" an-
other demanded.

"What cave, imbecile?" the other asked.

"That cave, idiot!" the other retorted. "The one we
use to entertain that demoness in our slack time."

"Oh, that cave," the first demon said. "Where is that
demoness, now? I haven't seen her in a century."

"She's on sunside duty," the second replied. "Seduc-
ing some mortal."

"Some mortals have all the luck," the first muttered.
His tusked face poked into the cave from below.




218           Wielding a Red Sword

Piers Anthony

219

Ligeia stiffened, for the demon was staring right at
them. But the creature's gaze passed through them, and
it saw nothing but the cave. They truly were invisible.

Then the demon spotted the snake, which was separate
from Mym, and just beyond the ambiance of his power.
The demon reached for the snake, but the snake rose up
hissingly and opened its jaws wide, and the demon
thought the better of it. His head ducked down. "Nothing
but wildlife here."

"Well, let's go back," the other demon said. "Either
they fell off the mountain, or they never were on this path.
I don't know why Satan's so hot to get them; they can't
escape Hell anyway."

"He wants to torture the woman, rotface," the first
said. "She was supposed to corrupt the Incarnation, and
she tried to bug out, so she's in for it."

"Yeah, I hope Satan gives her to me to play with," the
second said as they resumed their tromp up the path. "I'd
bring her right back here to this cave and really work her
over! Did you see those legs others when we held her?"

"I was on one of those legs, snotpuss! I saw all the way
up ..." The sound faded as they departed.

"Oh, I hate those demons!" Ligeia whispered. "All
they think about is lust and torture!"

"Well, Hell is supposed to be an unpleasant place,"
Mym responded, "to make the damned souls regret their
crimes in life."

"But I don't belong in Hell!" she exclaimed.

"I think we'd better wait here until the demons give up
the search," Mym said. "That could be some time. Why
don't you tell me how you came to be here? I came here
to help you and I still hope to do so."

"You can't help me," she retorted. "I can only hurt
you. You should get away from me right now."

"Why? You seem like a nice young woman, apart from
your obvious virtue as a princess."

"I am a nice young woman, apart from that virtue.
You'd probably like me if you knew me, especially since
you seem to be immune to my scream. That's why you
need to get away."

"Maybe I'm being dense. I don't follow the logic."

"Because that's what Satan wants!" she exclaimed.
"He wants you to—to—"

"To treat you as the demons would? I wouldn't do that,
Ligeia."

"To fall in love with me," she blurted.

Mym smiled. "I have been in love before and I
can't say that that is a fate worse than death. They were
good women, very good women. If you are a good
woman—"

"Because you're an Incarnation, Satan can not hold
you any longer than he can fool you, which shouldn't be
long. But I'm a damned soul, and he can hold me; if you
fall in love with me, then you won't leave without me and
so you won't be able to leave at all and you'll be trapped
forever in Hell and Satan'11 have his way with the mortal
realm!" she exploded.

So that was Satan's plot! No wonder Lila had told him
of the imprisoned Princess! And was it Lila that the de-
mons had taken to this same cave? An interesting coin-
cidence that they should happen to mention it just when
he was here to hear.

Coincidence? Deception, more likely! Wasn't it pos-
sible that Satan knew exactly where he was—and had
instructed the demons to leave him here, because he was
doing what Satan wanted—being with Ligeia? And Lig-
eia, by all the signals, was a genuinely loveable woman,
no part of this plot. Had she been in on it, she should not
have warned him of its nature.

Yes, this was very interesting. The demons had gotten
Ligeia away from Mym and could have removed her to
some far reach of Hell so that he could never have found
her. But they had paused, seemingly foolishly, and threat-
ened to rape her. That had triggered her devastating
scream, so that Mym had had a renewed chance to rescue
her. It was possible that the demons had been stupid and
had given away to their lusts prematurely—but Satan had
merely stood and watched. Satan had not started organ-
izing the pursuit until it was too late. Satan was no fool;

therefore his lack of initiative must have been deliberate.
He had wanted Ligeia to scream, so as to enable Mym to
rejoin her.




Wielding a Red Sword

220

That scream—that was a most remarkable thing. Oth-
ers might consider it an ugly thing. But Mym, who had a
problem with his own voice, was in a position to under-
stand a liability like that. He felt some empathy. He
wasn't stuttering now, but he was in Hell, where Satan's
power eliminated it; his consciousness of it remained. Lig-
eia was a fellow sufferer—and Satan had wanted him to
see that. Naturally a man who had suffered because of a
problem with his voice would be attracted to a woman
with another type of voice problem. A cunning trap

indeed!

"You are silent," Ligeia said. "Now you understand.
I thank you for being the man you are and now I shall do
what I must do and leave you." She started to move to-
ward the cave entrance.

Mym held her back. "I am not leaving without you,"

he said.

"But I told you why that can't be! You have a respon-
sibility on Earth!"

"I came to Hell to rescue you—and rescue you I shall,"
Mym said. "This has nothing to do with love, but with
what is right. If I should fall in love with you in the pro-
cess, perhaps you will agree to be with me after you have
had your hearing and are free of Hell. If not—I still mean
to do what I know to be right."

'You're a fool!" she said.

'I'm a man."

'A prince," she said, more gently.

'An Incarnation."

'I could—get very pleased with that kind of a fool,"
she confessed: "But I can't let you do it. I am only one
soul; your work affects millions. So—" She got up again

He hauled her back, held her down, and kissed her.

She sighed. "You know you really aren't being fair
about this," she said. Then she kissed him back.

"Let's get to know each other," he said.

"You already know my curse. When I get excited—"

"I know about curses. I'm a stutterer."

She laughed. "Not that I've noticed!"

"In life. Here in Hell I am spared it. I think it's Satan's
way of subverting me. He offered me a demon concubine
and free speech, but I prefer to make my own way."

Piers Anthony               221

"But if your curse is gone in Hell, why does mine re-
main?" she asked plaintively.

"Perhaps because Satan isn't trying to subvert you.
He's trying to degrade you. He probably would not bother
to abate my stuttering if I weren't an Incarnation."

"The Incarnation of War," she agreed. "You rate spe-
cial treatment."

"So if stuttering bothers you, you will not want to as-
sociate with me, once we get out of Hell."

"When I saw you, there in the Palace of Ice, you looked
so bold and handsome, really like a prince coming to res-
cue me," she said. "I knew it was a trap and I tried to
warn you away. But you wouldn't go, and now the trap
is sprung, and maybe the second one too, because you
still won't go. I suppose it's academic, because I'll never
get out of Hell, but if I were out, and you got me out, I'd
always know that it was the stutterer who did it and I
wouldn't care what you looked like or sounded like; I'd
want to be with you. But you really didn't come to the
Palace of Ice just to pick up a woman, did you? Not when
you had a demoness at your beck?"

So Mym told her about Orb, about Rapture, and his
desire for a woman of that level, rather than a protean
demoness whose ultimate loyalty was to Satan. "Though
Lila did shed a tear," he said at the end. "I don't know
why a demoness would do that."

"Because it was her business to corrupt you or to send
you to Hell; either way, she knew you would be doomed.
Demons do t^ave some little emotion, otherwise they
couldn't enjoy the base desires. They can't animate the
human form without picking up a bit of human nature, so
as to act well enough to fool real people. She probably
liked you a trifle, or maybe liked her assignment in Pur-
gatory, which is a better place than Hell, so was sorry
when she knew it was over. Her will is subservient to
Satan, but, when it doesn't conflict with her assignment,
she can afford some emotion. Especially if showing it
might cause you to react in a manner helpful to her
mission."

"You seem to know a lot about demons," Mym said
ruefully.

222           Wielding a Red Sword

"I have had recent experience." Then she told him how

she had come to Hell.

Ligeia had been a European princess. When she came
of age and was versed in the things needful for her role,
her father the King had begun shopping about for a suit-
able match for her. "These things are seldom left to in-
dividual choice, you know," she said.

"I know," Mym agreed.

Part of that shopping entailed showing the wares. Con-
temporary monarchs had become canny, as their sons ac-
quired modernistic notions of independence, and facili-
tated cooperation by seeking brides who were not only
advantageously connected, but who were personally at-
tractive. In fact, it was often possible to use a young
prince's idealistic notions to keep him in line, because,
once he was smitten by the beauty of the prospective
bride, he paid little heed to anything else until it was too

late. He was trapped by love.
"I know," Mym repeated, remembering how well that

ploy had worked with Rapture.
"Well, you don't have to agree so readily!" she said.
"I am already blinded by your beauty," he said. He
intended it as humor, but realized as he spoke that it was
not. Ligeia evidently had a similar realization, for she
blushed. It was dark in the cave, but he knew she was
blushing because her whote body seemed to radiate heat.
The embarrassment of royalty was a more potent thing

than that of ordinary folk.

So, she continued after a delicate pause, she was to be
shipped to a Mid-East kingdom for a visit, nominally a
routine courtesy, actually a demonstration of exactly
what her kingdom had to offer. Her father knew there
was no princess currently on the market to match her
appearance. She was, of course, under strict orders to
prevent her liability from being exposed.

But international terrorists had seen their chance to
strike. They managed to skyjack the airplane she was on.
They demanded a phenomenal ransom for her, even while
the plane was still in flight—one billion Eurodollars, re-
lease of all political prisoners, a public apology for mis-
government, that sort of thing. If the King paid, they

Piers Anthony               223

would land the plane in a neutral country and let her go;

if not—

The King refused to acknowledge their demands. The
money was easy, the release of prisoners problematical,
and the apology impossible, of course.

"Of course," Mym agreed, understanding perfectly.

The King approached the matter forthrightly. He put
out notice that a reward would be given for the severed
heads of the conspirators.

They arranged to show their determination by putting
her image on a magic mirror. They set up the mirror, but
Ligeia refused to perform; she would not demean herself
by begging her father to buy her freedom.

Balked for the moment and running low on fuel, the
hijackers decided on a more direct demonstration. They
stripped her naked, and one of them prepared to rape
her—on camera, as it were. It was evident that they had
had some such notion in mind ever since seeing her, for
they were men.

"Not all men are like that," Mym protested.

"You don't desire my body?" she inquired chal-
lengingly.

Mym sighed. There was no respectable answer he could
give to that.

Seeing that practically all was lost, and with the fell
pirate almost upon her, Ligeia had screamed. After all,
submission to public rape was no more possible for a prin-
cess than a public apology was for a king. In private, a
different standard obtained. After a princess got married,
both rape and apology were likely, perhaps even
necessary.

But not desirable, Mym remarked.

Every other person aboard the plane had lost con-
sciousness. Ligeia, of course, did not know how to pilot
it. So the plane crashed, and all aboard were killed, in-
cluding her.

"And so I found myself in Hell," she concluded.

"But you did nothing worthy of damnation!" Mym
protested.

"That is my claim," she agreed. "Technically I did
commit suicide—but it was to protect my virtue. And I

224           Wielding a Red Sword

was responsible for many deaths—but it was self-defense,
and they were evil men. I feel that if I could only get a
fair hearing, the powers who be should agree that I should
go to Heaven. But it seems that my scroll was charged
with both murder and suicide, and so I was damned. Of
course I would have been damned had I submitted, too."
"Damned if you do and damned if you don't," Mym

agreed.
"And then Satan had the temerity to force me to—I

tried to warn you away, but—"

"The thing to do," Mym said firmly, "is to turn Satan's
trap against him. To get out of Hell. That would serve

him right."

"But I keep telling you, that can't be done!" she pro-
tested. "Only you alone can win free, if you know how.
I can only do it if I get my hearing, and Satan will never

allow that."

"How can he prevent it?" Mym asked, nettled.
"Doesn't God have anything to say about it?"

"God doesn't interfere in the affairs of mortals or with
the Incarnations," she said despairingly.

"Well, I am under no such restriction," Mym said. "I
shall get you out."

"That is exactly what Satan wants you to try," she

reminded him.

"I am disinclined to disappoint him." Mym considered.
"Do you think Satan is listening to us now?"

"Well, we're hiding from him—"

"It is in my mind that Satan permitted us to reach this
place," he said. "He surely can tune in on us. This is,

after all, his domain."

"I hadn't thought of that," she confessed. "But Hell
is a very big region. I'm sure he can't devote his attention
to every little detail all the time. Once he knew we were
together, he probably went on to other business."

"Probably," Mym agreed. "So we can consider our

conversation private."

She shrugged. "I suppose so. But it doesn't matter. I
can't get out and, as long as I prevent you from getting
out, I am serving his purpose. I don't like that, though I
do like being with you."

Piers Anthony               225

She was probably correct, Mym thought. She had
served as the lure to bring him in, and now served as the
chain to keep him here. Satan had no need to watch them.

Yet it was hardly unpleasant, being here with Ligeia.
She was a nice girl, with compatible values, and extraor-
dinarily pretty, and he had always been fascinated by that
-type.

He changed his position, as the stone was not really
comfortable. His eye fell on the snake.

The snake was watching him.

Mym completed his adjustment as if he had not noticed,
but his mind was suddenly awhirl. Surely it was true that
Satan had worse things to do than watch two people get
acquainted. But Mym was an Incarnation, and, though
Satan could penetrate the veil of invisibility Mym had
invoked, he probably couldn't do it from any distance.
One Incarnation could not interfere with another from a
distance. So Satan probably wasn't tuning in on them
directly.

But Satan would not want to let an Incarnation move
about Hell unsupervised. He would have to have some
way to keep track. And what better way would there be
than to assign a lesser minion?

The snake was that minion. It would report on Mym's
location at all times and on any important activity Mym
indulged in. That would certainly be a convenient way to
keep track.

He could touch the snake, phase in with it, and learn
for sure. But that might alert Satan that he, Mym, had
caught on. Better to seem not to have caught on.

But how could he tell Ligeia, without the snake hear-
ing? And how could he get away from the snake, without
alerting it and Satan?

Well, he could phase in to Ligeia and plant a thought
in her mind. But at this point he preferred not to do that,
because it would be an invasion of what little privacy she
might have, and because she was, indeed, a young woman
he was quite ready to like and perhaps love. Too great an
intimacy could spoil such a relationship.

Or was he afraid that if he phased in to Ligeia he would
discover that she was merely another agent of Satan's?

226           Wielding a Red Sword

It was a possibility he had to consider. If she was, not
only would he be disappointed, but his verification of her
could betray his suspicion to Satan himself. That would
leave him with nothing.

He considered some more and decided that he would
have to keep whatever escape plan he might have to

himself.

For, abruptly, he realized that he did have a plan—a
bold, wild one that only he had any chance of imple-
menting. If he could implement it successfully, not only
would he rescue Ligeia, he would be able to rescue many
other unfairly damned souls. In addition, it would amply
repay Satan for his audacity in trying to trap another In-
carnation in Hell and force him to do Satan's will.

It wasn't the nice way and certainly it wasn't the easy
way. But Mym was Mars and he felt that the honor of his
office was at stake. He wanted to teach Satan a lesson
about interfering with Mars.




When night fell in Hell, they were satisfied that the pursuit
had ended. They had talked and slept and now were eager
to get out of the cramped cave.

"I believe there is some way out of Hell," Mym said.
"I intend to find it. Do you have any idea where it might
be?"

Ligeia considered. "For you, many ways. For me—"
"For us both. Maybe you could not use the exit by

yourself, but I could enable you to use it."
She brightened. "Maybe—oh, dare I hope?"
"It is better to hope than to have no hope."
"I have hoped many times and always had my hope

dashed."
"There's always hope that this time your hope won't

be dashed."
She smiled. "For you, I will entertain that hope. But

I really don't know where an exit would be. The River

Styx circles all of Hell, and only the ferryman Charon can

take a soul across. That he will not do, except by the order

of Satan."
"But Hell is three dimensional!" Mym protested.

"How can one river surround it all?"

228

Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 229

"I don't know," she said, surprised.
"And we came down from above, so there must be a

route there," he persisted.

"Yes, there must be," she agreed. "Funny that I never
thought of that. But I still don't know how to use such

an exit."

It occurred to Mym that if Hell were like Purgatory, its
apparent three dimensionality could be an actual two di-
mensions, so that one river could indeed enclose it all.
The descending capsule could have carried them right
through the River Styx, charmed by Satan's order. But
he saw no point in bring up such morbid speculation.
"What we need to do is inquire," he said. "There is sure
to be someone who knows and will tell us. But we can't
question the damned souls openly, or Satan will shut off

any exit that we find."
"We could use the back route," she said. "The demons

don't go there, because—"

"Back route?"

"There are roads and things for the front route, but the
demons use those, so anyone who doesn't belong would
be challenged and caught very soon. Of course, if we were
invisible, it might work—but we'd have to become visible
to talk with anyone, and then the demons might see. But
the back route is through the wilderness—the marshes
around the rivers, mainly. But though there aren't de-
mons, there are other things, like monsters and natural

hazards. I don't know whether—"
"What happens to a person caught by a monster or a

natural hazard?"

"A lot of discomfort or pain, mainly," she said. "We
really can't die here, but it would hurt a lot to be chomped
up and eaten by a monster, and then you'd be in its belly.
I really wouldn't enjoy that."

That was something to think about. Could a monster
consume Mars? Probably not. But it could consume Lig-
eia. Could he protect her from such threats? Perhaps he
could, by keeping her in contact with him.

"I think I can guard you from that. Are you willing to

risk it?"
"At this point it can be no worse than what Satan would

do to me, if—" She didn't finish, and Mym knew why.
If she failed her assignment of trapping him in Hell, for
all that she had never agreed to do it, she would be pun-
ished in Hell's worst fashion. There were indeed fates
worse than death, and Hell was the place where these
were suffered.

"I have a tentative plan of escape," Mym said care-
fully. "I can't tell you exactly what it is, because news
might reach Satan." He flicked his eyes toward the snake
without moving his head, hoping that she would under-
stand the signal while the snake missed it. "But it requires
that I meet with the various leaders of the souls of Hell—
not the ones doing Satan's business, but the ones who are
genuinely interested in human welfare. I presume that,
though these souls are damned, they are not totally evil.
Can the back route get me to these souls, and can you
guide me there?"

Her eyes also flicked toward the snake. "Yes."

How comprehensive an answer was that? Whatever it
was, he had to accept it.

They climbed down out of the cave and to the ledge,
and the snake slithered after them. That was fine with
Mym; he did not want to get rid of the snake, because
then Satan would have to assign some other creature to
snoop, and that one might be more effective. Also, the
snake served as the pretext for him not to speak his true
plan aloud, so that he did not have to share it with Ligeia.
He disliked having to distrust her, but she was serving as
an agent of Satan, and he could not be quite, quite certain
of her ultimate loyalty.

It was nervy business, walking down the narrow ledge
in the dark, but necessary. They proceeded slowly for
hours, winding around the mountain, and finally, as dawn
was threatening, they reached the base.

They were both tired, so sought a place to rest and
sleep. To be tired in the spirit form was no more anom-
alous than dawn in Hell. Mym's body seemed fully phys-
ical to him; it even had natural functions, requiring him
to borrow the cover of a bush for a minute. It seemed
that if one ate in the Afterlife, one also digested and elim-
inated; if one labored, one became tired.




Wielding a Red Sword

230

They formed a bower—a shelter of boughs—under a
leaning tree, making a bed of leaves and fem. They lay
down to sleep—and the bugs located them. This was Hell,
of course; naturally there were obnoxious vermin.

But Mym simply enfolded Ligeia in his cloak, and the
bugs could not get to them. Of course this made it more
difficult to sleep, because she was very warm and soft
against him. He had sought her because he was in need
of a woman, but he wasn't quite sure of her, and of course
a princess was not a concubine, so he did not want to
move things along too hastily. But that did not mean that
he could simply ignore her contact and sleep.
'A penny for your thoughts," she murmured.
'No sale."

'Are you sure you don't desire me?"
'Of course I desire you!" he snapped. "But—"
"That's nice," she said. "But don't worry; I won't cor-
rupt you." And she fell asleep.

How nice for her. Did she, as a pampered princess,
even know what male desire signified? She had to, for she
had been threatened with rape both as a mortal and as a
spirit. But probably she assumed that nice men were dif-
ferent and expressed desire only as an intellectual com-
pliment with no physical component. Well, he would try
to honor that notion. Certainly if he had really wanted
concubinage without content, he could have had it in Lil-

ith/Lila.

Lilith. Lila. Ligeia. He had not before realized how
similar those names were. Could it be that—?

No! That was preposterous. Yet, insidiously, he had to
wonder. What a fool Satan would be making of him, if he
had been tricked into trapping himself in Hell for the same
creature he had renounced in Purgatory! If he was now
torturing himself with desire unfulfilled for a damned amo-
ral demoness!

He could phase in to her and learn her identity for cer-
tain. He knew that he should. But still he refrained. Sup-
pose Ligeia turned out to be genuine, and his intrusion
betrayed his distrust? How would she react to him then?
He would not blame her for feeling betrayed.

Was he weighing the risk of his actual betrayal against

Piers Anthony               231

her mere feeling of betrayal? There could be no question
of the appropriate course to take. Yet he could not.

She stirred. "Why are you tense?" she asked.

"Just thinking."

"Are you sure you won't tell me?"

"You would not like it."

"I don't see how your thoughts could be worse than
the rest of Hell."

She had a point. "I am wondering whether you are who
and what you say you are."

"I am," she said, then reconsidered. "Oh, you mean
you doubt? I suppose that's sensible. Who else do you
think I might be?"

"Lilith, the demoness."

She became fully alert. "The one who went to the cave
with the demons? You think I—?"

"I told you you wouldn't like it."

"I don't! But I suppose you are right to wonder. De-
mons can assume any form, so she could make herself
look just like me. But how can I prove my identity?"

"There is a way," he said reluctantly.

"That's what men always say, isn't it? But I under-
stand that demons are better at it than genuine people are,
so—"

"As the Incarnation of War, I have certain powers. One
of them is the ability to—"

"To incite violence," she said. "You are doing a fan-
job of it now!"

This was exactly the kind of entanglement he had
wanted to avoid. But now he was in it and had to slog
through. "Also to phase in to people, to occupy their bod-
ies and minds and grasp their thoughts."

"Oh." She considered. "I thought you meant another
kind of penetration."

"I would not practice either on you without your con-
sent," he said stiffly.

"This phasing in, so you can read my mind—does it
mean I can also read yours?"

That notion startled him. "I'm not sure. When I have
done it with mortals, they were unaware of my intrusion.
But I could project my thoughts to them. I suppose, if




Wielding a Red Sword

232

233

Piers Anthony

one realized what the situation was, he might have read
my thoughts on his own."

"Then phase in to me," she said.

"But if you should be a demoness—"

"Then Satan will know all your secrets. But you seek
to know mine. Turnabout is fair play, isn't it?"

It did make sense. He had distrusted her; she could
distrust him. He wanted to trust her; surely she wanted
to trust him. The phasing in would resolve all doubts, one

way or the other.

"But do you realize that this can be a more intimate
association than any physical one could be?" he asked,

still hesitant.
"I would rather be known than unknown, "she said

simply.

So he phased in. For a moment he had trouble orienting,
and was afraid that it wouldn't work when there was no
mortal body to anchor to. But then he realized that in the
mortal realm he had used the physical body to fix the
spiritual essence in place; on this occasion it could be
done directly.

He overlapped her—and discovered that not omy was
it possible to do it without the physical bodies, it was
much easier, because there was no flesh to get in the way.
Just like that, her thoughts were his.

She was genuine. All that she had told him was true.
Her mind was so straightforward, and the merging so
complete, that there was absolutely no doubt.

So that's the plan! he thought with surprise.

No, that's not your thought, it's mine, the thought fol-
lowed immediately. Ligeia's.

The rapport was so thorough that he had mistaken her
thought for his own! He had never anticipated success
like this! Why had she even been concerned about—wait,
whose thought was this? His or hers?

Does it matter?

Confused, Mym disengaged. They lay there, both then-
bodies radiant with the experience, assimilating the enor-
mous impact of the prior few moments. Truly, they had
known each other for an instant.

Now Mym discovered that he could recollect greater

detail in Ligeia's memories than he had been aware of
before. He seemed to have acquired part of her mind.

"It was right to let Rapture go, though you still loved
her," Ligeia said.

"You share my memories?" he asked, knowing it was
so.

"Your memories become you," she said. "You are a
decent man. I can see why you are wary of the demoness;

that business with the talking head—"

"I had no idea that the phase would be that complete,
Li!"

"I know, Mym, I know," she said.

"How well we know each other so suddenly!"

"It was worth it."

"It was worth it," he repeated.

"I think we shall very soon be in love."

"Very soon," he agreed.

"For the first time in my Afterlife, I am glad I went to
Hell."

"I know." He kissed her. The acquaintance that should
have taken months had been accomplished in seconds.

Now, secure in their knowledge of each other, they
slept.

Ligeia did know her way generally about Hell. She had
found a map of it in a book Satan had shown her. The
book described the various regions and tortures available;

the showing of it had not been any favor to her, but a
threat. She had been terrified by the threat, but she had
remembered the pretty map.

"The River Lethe originates near the center, and that
is where Satan's private retreat is," she said. "So we
should discover its source spring near here."

"Lethe—the water of forgetfulness?" he asked. "My
mythology is not yours, but I seem to remember that."

"True. If we thirst, we had better not drink that water,
for we will not even remember our mission thereafter."

They walked along, and the snake followed, and they
found the spring, and thirst smote Mym, but he knew he
could not drink. The clear water bubbled up from the
white sand below, forming a lovely pool surrounded by




234

Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 235

rich vegetation. There were several canoes on a rack be-
side it. This was evidently a wilderness retreat.

"Odd that such a thing should exist in Hell," Mym
remarked.

"It's a trap. Unwary souls who flee the work gangs find
their way here and choose to boat and swim in the water,
aad—"

"I see. Satan does love to torture insidiously."

"But we can use a canoe," she said. "It doesn't matter
if we get splashed, as long as none of it gets in our mouths.
Of course it might not be smart actually to swim in it."

"Not smart at all," he agreed.

"The rivers lead to every major section of Hell. Some
of them are pretty nasty. That's why there isn't much
traffic on them."

They lifted a canoe and turned it over. It was made of
aluminum—or whatever passed for it in the Afterlife—
and was light. They set it in the water and climbed care-
fully in. The snake joined them. There were two aluminum
paddles with it, too. It floated very nicely on the water.

"I would hardly need to drink the water to forget,"
Mym said. "This is such a pleasant place."

"Appearances can be deceptive," she said.

They paddled. Mym had had experience with this sort
of thing and had the rear seat; he kept a straight course
by sculling, while Ligeia paddled on either side in front.

They guided it to the outlet, where the flow of the river
commenced. The water was calm; only the slightest cur-
rent was felt. The vegetation grew richly up to the shore,
and trees overhung, so that the stream seemed to be pass-
ing under a green canopy. Small fish swam below, and
turtles were at the fringe. It was hard indeed to remember
that this was Hell!

But soon the stream entered a marshy region where
water plants encroached. The plants seemed innocent—
hyacinths—but Mym was cautious. This was, after all-,

Hell.

Sure enough, as they glided close, he saw little feeler-
threads writhing out from the plants, reaching toward the
canoe. There seemed to be sap flowing that resembled
saliva. Those plants were hungry for more than water.

"Stay clear of those plants," he warned Ligeia.

"The hungrycinths," she agreed. "They will leave
nothing but bones, if they get the chance to feed."

Mym wondered how a spirit-person could have bones.
But surely he did, here in Hell. He liked this quiet stream
less.

They found a channel by the plants, but there were
more and more of the things, and soon they could go no
farther without forging directly through. "I think we'd
better do it rapidly," Mym said. "If we travel swiftly
enough, they won't be able to get hold."

They gathered momentum and struck the bank of plants
at speed. The drag was immediately felt. The canoe
slowed, partly from the sheer clogging mass of plants, and
partly from the latching-on of their hairlike tentacles.
They continued paddling, but soon became bogged down.

Now the plants seemed to crowd in, extending then-
thick leaves over the sides of the canoe, reaching in with
their feelers. Sap fairly drooled.

Mym lifted his paddle high and brought it down beside
the canoe, smashing at the plants. They were crushed
down with a sick vegetable squishing sound. He smashed
again, at those on the other side, freeing what he could
reach of the canoe. "Knock them away!" he called to
Ligeia. "Then we can move on through!"

She lifted her paddle and brought it down. But her mo-
tion was ineffective and dislodged only a few plants.
"Harder!" Mym called. His own plants were crowding
in again.

She struck harder—and water splashed up against
Mym. He shielded his face instinctively. His right arm
was spattered—and where the droplets touched, spots of
numbness developed. The water of Lethe was making his
very flesh forget!

"Don't splash!" he cried.

"Oops!" She restricted her effort and managed to get
most of the plants unclung.

"Now paddle forward," he said. "We can do it."

They both worked hard, and the canoe began to move
reluctantly. Now the action of the paddles tended to clear
the plants from the sides. But it was a lot of work for
excruciatingly slow progress.




236 Wielding a Red Sword

At last they forged out of the band of plants and into
clear water. But there were more hungrycinths ahead.
Mym peered about, trying to spy the route of least resis-
tance, but all looked equally bad. No matter which way
they went, there would be a struggle.

They made the struggle, navigating interminable rafts
of vegetation, and at last came to a weather-worn landing.
"This is our first stop," Ligeia said breathlessly. "Why
don't I wait in the canoe while you talk to the man?"

He glanced at her, surprised. He was sure she did not
want to be separated from him, here in the hind region of
Hell. Then he saw the snake and realized that they could
not afford to have it reporting on the true nature of his
dialogue with the leader of the damned souls. He trusted
Ligeia completely now, and she trusted him—but neither
of them trusted the snake. So she was volunteering to
keep the snake here, providing him the necessary privacy.
This was a brave and good gesture on her part.

"Yes, I can see you are tired," he said. "You stay here
and rest, and I will return as soon as I can."

Then Mym went and found the leader of the damned
souls, who was engaged in shoveling muck out of a canal-
ditch. Naturally the muck seeped back in almost as fast
as he got it out; that was the nature of Hell.

Mym introduced himself briefly, then phased in to the
skeptical man. The contact, as it had been with Ligeia,
was instantly perfect, and the man understood the full
nature ofMym's plan and acquiesced. Much sooner than
would otherwise have been the case, Mym was back at
the canoe.

"We'll have to ask the next," Mym said shortly. That
was for the benefit of the snake, who would think that
Mym had not gotten what he wanted—news of a secret
exit from Hell.

They paddled on downstream, and in due course the
River Lethe debouched into a river of an entirely different
nature. This one was largely frozen. Ice rimmed its shore
and closed in on the center current, leaving only a narrow
channel. Icicles hung from the neighboring trees.

"What in Hell is that?" Mym inquired, surprised.

"The River Kokytus," Ligeia informed him. "The
waters of lamentation."

Piers Anthony

237

"I lament the moment I committed myself to this voy-
age," Mym muttered. "We'll freeze!"

"Doesn't your cloak protect you?"

"It should. But what about you?"

"I may have to help you paddle from the rear seat."

They nudged the canoe into the frozen Kokytus. Im-
mediately a cutting crosswind developed, shoving the
canoe sidewise toward the ice. Ligeia had to put her pad-
dle out to stave off a collision, and Mym did the same.
Now the wind tore at the woman, whipping her hair across
her face, quickly chilling her.

"Come back here with me!" Mym cried. "Before you
freeze."

"But then the ice—"

"You can't endure that cold wind long!"

She had to agree. She made her way back to him, and
got under the cover of his cloak.

But now the canoe was weighted down at the back, and
lifting out of the water at the front. The wind turned it
about so that the front overrode the ice. They were unable
to paddle it forward.

"I'll have to go back to my seat," Ligeia said, shivering
with the expectation. "It's the only way we can—"

"No! I won't have you freezing!"

"But you have to talk with—"

But Mym had a notion. "Let's see if we can travel on
the ice!" he exclaimed.

They tried it. They paddled madly and rammed the
canoe up farther on the ice. When it would go no farther,
they moved up to the front end, overbalancing it and lift-
ing the rear out of the water. Then some scraping and
shoving with the paddles got the remainder onto the ice.

After that it wasn't hard. They simply poled the canoe
across the ice, downstream. The liability had become an
asset.

But when they came to the landing for the next meeting,
the problem of cold resumed. If Ligeia remained with the
canoe, she would freeze. But if she did not—

"Actually, that snake's torpid," Mym said. "It's cold-
est m the bottom of the boat, where it touches the ice."

Ligeia checked. The snake was curled up, trying to hus-

238 Wielding a Red Sword

Piers Anthony               239

band some warmth, but obviously not succeeding. "The
poor thing," she murmured. "I'd better get it to some-
where warmer."

"That reptile is—" Mym started, but couldn't finish,
because he didn't want the snake to know he knew.

"Cold," she finished. "I don't care what kind of crea-
ture it is, it shouldn't be allowed to freeze." She reached
into the canoe and carefully picked up the snake.

Mym was disgusted. He would have been glad to be rid
of the snake in a coincidental manner, so that Satan would
not catch on. At the same time, he appreciated the softer
nature of Ligeia, who, however foolishly, was being
caring.

So they walked away from the frozen river, and Ligeia
carried the snake along, warming it.

The souls of this region resembled snow monsters as
they struggled to carry baskets of snow through the drifts.
Obviously they had been assigned this work for the same
reason the others had to slop muck endlessly—pointless
misery. The demons in charge were in a high tower, ev-
idently warmed by a stove, because smoke issued from
its chimney. That meant that the workers were not closely
supervised—but it seemed the demons kept track of the
deliveries, for as Mym watched, a snow-bomb was lofted
from an automatic catapult. It arched through the air and
landed on a laggard worker, burying him in snow.

Another worker saw the two of them. "New recruits?"
he asked. "Here, I've got an extra coat for the lady." He
paused to strip his outer layer, a furred jacket, battered
but good.

"But you need that yourself!" Ligeia protested.

"Not as much as you do," the man said, handed her
the jacket, and resumed his plodding.

It was a help, for now she was able to walk alone. Mym
located the leader and matched his step, speaking briefly
to him while Ligeia walked some distance behind. Then
Mym phased in with the man, and in a moment the un-
derstanding was complete; the man would spread the
word, and these people would cooperate. Mym disen-
gaged, walked along for another minute, then broke away,
trusting that neither the supervising demon nor the snake

Ligeia carried had comprehended the true nature of his
contact.

They returned to the canoe. "They don't seem like bad
people," Mym remarked as they resumed their skid along
the ice.

"They really aren't," she agreed. "Of course I am
bringing you to the best groups, the ones who were only
marginally evil to begin with and who have probably ex-
piated enough of their sin to qualify for Heaven, except
that Satan never does let anyone go, regardless. I under-
stand some of the damned souls in other regions arc reallv
bad."

"That man gave you his coat," Mym persisted.
"Shouldn't that count on his balance card, a good deed?"

"It should," she agreed. "But he didn't do it for that,
because they all know Satan won't let them go anyway."

"Which is the truest positive act—sacrifice without
hope of reward."

"I wish we could help these people, somehow," she
said.

"If we find our avenue of escape, some of them may
use it too," he reminded her.

She now understood exactly what he had in mind.
"Yes."

The snake, recovered from its lethargy of cold, perked
up. It was now coiled about one ofLigeia's legs, warmed
by her body without interfering with her use of the paddle.
Mym wondered how it reported to Satan, whether it had
to make periodic check-ins, or whether it was telepathic.
Probably the former; the latter would have betrayed them
already, for it would have read their minds and not have
to listen to their words. Perhaps it was a variety of demon
that could vaporize at will, zip away to report, and return
while they were sleeping. That was what Mym was count-
ing on.

The Kokytus debouched into a broad and quiet river,
and the ice gave way to polluted water. This was easier
to canoe through, but unpleasant to see and smell.
"Which one is this?"

"The Acheron," she replied, removing her jacket, as
the air had wanned. "River of Sorrows."




240 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony

241

"That figures," he said. "The clear, clean spring water
is forgetful. The frozen stream is lamenting. And the pol-
luted one has sorrows."

"What greater sorrow is there than the destruction of
what once was lovely?" she asked.

He sighed agreement. "Yet the mortals are doing their
best to make all their rivers like this."

"The mortal world is going to Hell. Anybody can see
that, from this vantage. But it's sad."

"If only they would understand and change course!"
he said. "Maybe if mortal people could only see Hell or
hear about how it really is, before ..."

"But, every mortal person has to die before seeing Hell,
and then it's too late."

That was the crux of the problem. It meant that Satan
stood a fair chance to prevail, because of the ignorance
of mortals.

The river narrowed and the current accelerated. "I
hope there aren't rapids!" Mym muttered.

"I don't think there are, but—"

The river forked. "Which way do we go?" Mym asked.

"I don't know. They probably rejoin after a bit, so \
maybe it doesn't matter."                             \

Mym steered the canoe into the left channel, which  ;

seemed to be the more navigable of the two. All went
well—until they came up against a fallen tree. It hung  '
slantwise over the water, blocking progress.             I

"We can duck under it," Mym said.                i

They coasted up to it, and both squeezed down low,  |
and they passed under the trunk. But as they did, several  '
objects dropped from it into the canoe. Mym thought they
were bits of bark, but then he saw them scuttling. They  (
were little crablike things, with pincers. They waved little
antennae in the air, then headed purposefully for the near-   l
est delicacy, Ligeia.

"Trouble," Mym said. "Get your legs up!"

She looked back—and screamed. She tried to get her
legs up, but got a foot caught under the seat. The first
crab reached that foot and took an experimental pinch.
Ligeia screamed again.

Mym took his paddle and pounded at the crabs with it.

Then he jumped—one had pinched him on the ankle. It
hurt terribly.

Then the canoe ran up against a submerged log and
stalled.

First things first. Mym got to work cleaning out the
crabs. He discovered that he could stun them momen-
tarily with a blow, then use the blade of the paddle to lift
them up and dump them out. One by one he pursued them,
until all were gone.

Next, he considered their external predicament. He
could not see the log, but he could not move the canoe
off it. "I'll have to get out and lift it off," he said.

"No, no, don't do that!" Ligeia protested. "Any part
that touches this water—the sorrows—"

He didn't need to have sorrows in his feet, legs, and
however far up the water extended when he stood in it.
Hell could make things uncomfortably literal. He looked
for some other way.

"Oh, no!" Ligeia said.

Mym looked. There in the water was an alligator. It
looked hungry.

Desperately, he paddled, trying to boost the canoe off
the hang-up, but all he succeeded in doing was to shove
his end around until the canoe was sideways, being
pushed by the current but not getting anywhere.

That gave him a notion. He continued paddling, with a
watchful eye on the alligator, until his end swung the rest
of the way around. The canoe was now backwards, facing
upstream, still stuck. But Mym's end was beyond the bar-
rier. "Come back here with me, and we can budge it,"
he called.

Ligeia moved back. As her end lightened, they were at
last able to shove off the log, just as the alligator closed
in. They took off backward, unable to turn around. So
Mym stroked backward while Ligeia moved back to po-
sition. The alligator watched, disgusted, but did not
pursue.

After that, they knew how to get over the submerged
logs. They struggled on to the next landing and got out.
This time, again, Ligeia remained in the canoe with the
snake, letting Mym handle his business alone.




242 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 243

Shortly after they resumed their journey, the river wid-
ened and joined a truly horrendous tributary. The water
of the other river smelled of oil, and small blue flames
played across its surface.

Ligeia pointed to it. "The River Phlegethon," she said.

Mym was appalled. "You mean we have to go up
thatT'

She nodded. "The next good group ..."

So they stroked up the River of Fire. Mym could feel
the heat of the flame on it; when his energetic paddling
splashed droplets of water into the canoe, they ignited as
they landed. Had the canoe been of wood or bark, it would
soon have been ablaze! As it was, it grew hot, and the
snake crawled up to the seat beside Ligeia to avoid the
discomfort of the metal hull.

Then they came to rapids, and the vapor thrown up by
the spuming liquid was burning, making a curtain of fire
extending several meters above the surface. "No way we
can go through that," Mym said. "We'll have to
portage."

They guided the craft to the side, found a reasonably
firm section of the bank, and got out. Then they hauled
the canoe out and picked up each end. It was heavy and
clumsy, seeming much more so than it had when they first
put it into the water. This was an indication of how they
were tiring.

Then their feet started sinking down into the marshy
ground. Each time Mym took a step, there was a sucking
sound, and muck coated his boots, and an odor reminis-
cent of overripe eggs wafted up. Ligeia, wearing only del-
icate slippers, was worse off.

"Maybe I can haul it!" Mym exclaimed. He set down
his end, slogged to the front, took hold, and hauled. The
canoe moved, reluctantly. He stepped forward and hauled
again. It was feasible. This allowed Ligeia to pick her way
more carefully, sparing her slippers and feet further
degradation.

But the marsh got worse. It started making sucking
sounds of its own, and holes appeared that were not
caused by feet. They looked like pursed mouths. Mym
accidentally put a foot in one; it sank in halfway to his
knee, and the mouth-hole closed about it and hung on.

He wrenched, but the boot remained captive and he
was in danger of removing his foot without the boot.
Meanwhile there was a kind of hissing and steaming in
the hole, as if digestive juices were being squirted about.
So he reached with difficulty into the canoe, fetched out
a paddle, and used it to jam into the hole and wedge out
his boot. It was awkward, clumsy business, but at last he
got it free, somewhat degraded on the outside.

He resumed the hauling, now being more careful where
he set his feet. His breath was short as he labored, and
he was sweating, but he made progress. Again he won-
dered idly about the physiological effects here in the spirit
realm; had he not known where he was, he would have
had no way to tell that he was not in the mortal realm.
To a spirit, the spirit world seemed just as tangible as the
physical world did to a mortal.

They came in above the fire-rapids, launched the canoe,
and paddled on upstream. In due course they reached the
fourth encampment and made the connection. Then all
they had to do was proceed on back down the River of
Fire.

Dusk was at hand as they reached the foul Acheron
again; instead of entering it, they landed the canoe and
made camp at the fringe of the fire zone. There was noth-
ing to drink except some of the firewater, and nothing to
eat except tubers they were able to scrounge from the
scorched soil. But they stuck the tubers on the ends of
long sticks and toasted them at the fire on the river; the
tubers were edible if not enjoyable. The firewater did not
properly slacken their thirst, but it soon caused them to
cease to worry about the matter. They talked, laughed,
rolled together, and decided it was time to get serious
about sex ... and discovered they could not. The fire-
water had not only inflamed their desire, it had made one
or the other of them impotent. Ligeia found that hilarious,
but Mym suspected that in the morning, when he was
sober, he would not be laughing. Unrequited lust—trust
Hell to be the place for that sort of experience!

Indeed, when the morning came, he was not laughing.
His body ached from the exertions of the prior day, and
his head felt as if he had soaked it overnight in the stench-




244 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 245

water of the Acheron. Ligeia seemed little better off; her
beauty was now overlaid by grime and fatigue. "Oh, my
clothing!" she fussed. "No one would take me for a prin-
cess now!"

"True," Mym muttered. "They would take you for a
woman."

She glanced at him. "Are you making fun of me?"

"No. I never really cared for princesses, but I have
known some fine women." Actually that was a confusion,
perhaps spawned by his hangover. He did care for prin-
cesses, and needed one to share his life. But at the mo-
ment he really craved a woman of the nature of Orb, who
had brought him up when he had been low and loved him
without questioning his nature. Ligeia was both princess
and woman—but the woman aspect was becoming more
important to him.

"Oh." She considered for a moment. "But don't you
prefer pretty women?"

"Second only to caring ones."

"You are making fun of me!"

"Come read my mind." He took her hand and drew
her in to him. She came, making only token resistance.
He phased in to her—and discovered a kind of tinder that
ignited explosively as it encountered the developing flame
of his emotion. There was a dialogue, occurring in an in-
stant; parsed into its components it might have been ren-
dered like this:

"But I'm not ready to love!" she protested.

"You don't need to," he responded. "I'm on the
rebound."

"This sort of thing is supposed to take time!"

"We'll give it time."

"Too late! I'm already raging with desire!"

"That's my desire!"

"Not any more!"

They disengaged and looked at each other. "I'm not
sure we should have done that," Mym said.

"I'm not sure we should be doing this," she replied.

"Be doing what?"

"What we couldn't do last night." She began removing
her clothing.

Mym realized that they had no secrets from each other.
It did make sense to complete what they had started in
their minds. On the prior night it would have been largely
wasted in their besotted state, but now they could ap-
preciate it to its full extent with their minds clear.

He removed his own clothing. "Afterwards, we can
wash up in firewater," he remarked.

That set her off again, laughing. Her whole body jiggled
with her mirth.

There was a sound from the river. Mym looked up—
and saw a great fiery shape emerging from the water.
"What's that?" he asked, alarmed.

Ligeia looked. "The Fireman!" she shrieked.

"The what?"

"The denizen of the River of Fire! I thought he was a
myth! We must flee!"

"I'll fight him!" Mym said, getting to his feet.

"You can't!" she protested. "He bums everything!"

Mym faced the emerging monster and reached for the
Red Sword. But of course the Sword was gone, along with
the rest of his clothing. Gone? He had never brought it
into Hell! He had no weapon.

The Fireman pointed at a small tree. A jet of flame came
from his hand, and the tree burst into fire. The Fireman
pointed at the river; the jet touched it, and the water
boiled into a cloud of vapor. The Fireman pointed at
Mym.

Mym snatched up his cloak and dodged to the side. The
ground where he had been standing jumped as if struck
by a bomb, and smoke roiled up.

"Flee!" Ligeia cried, terrified.

Mym concluded that this was good advice. He grabbed
her hand and fled.

They ran to the shore of the Acheron, and the Fireman
did not pursue them there. He hovered for a moment
where they had camped, then marched back into the
Phlegethon.

When they returned to their campsite, they found only
slag and ashes. Their clothing and the canoe had been
destroyed. The only other survivor was the snake.

They stood there. "Maybe we shouldn't have," Ligeia
said.




246 Wielding a Red Sword

"We didn't." Mym reminded her.

"Well, we were going to."

But now the mood was gone. It would have to wait for
another time.

They resumed their trip, walking carefully in their bare
feet. Fortunately, Ligeia said, their next and final stop
was not far ahead. They proceeded to the juncture of the
rivers and walked along the bank of the Acheron; in an
hour or so came to the merger with the greatest of all
Hell's rivers, the Styx. It was so vast as to seem like an
ocean in itself, and its waters were inky black and seemed
deep beyond imagination. Out across its somber surface,
near the horizon, strange waves developed, as if some
massive and sinister creature swam below. Mym would
not have wanted to take a canoe out there!

In another hour they reached the encampment of the
final group. There were women here—indeed, it seemed
to be an Amazon community—and they looked at Mym
appraisingly, as if judging whether his flesh would be bet-
ter for soup or for pot roast. But Ligeia spoke up, telling
them that Mym was Mars, the Incarnation of War, and
needed to meet with their leader privately. They were
impressed, for they were warlike women, and soon Mym
was closeted with the head Amazon. He explained in a
few words, then phased in with her.

"Lovely!" she exclaimed as they disengaged. "You
may count on us."

The Amazons provided them with clothing and a tent
to stay in and fed them well. "We shall coordinate the
signals," their leader assured Mym. "Give us a day, while
you rest."

Then Mym and Ligeia retired to their tent, at last having
the chance to do what they wished without intrusion—
and found themselves both so tired that they simply
flopped on the fragrant straw and slept.




16

REVOLT

In the morning things were ready. Mym and Ligeia and
the snake emerged from the tent to find the Amazons in
full combat dress. Each stood tall and proud with her bow
and quiver of arrows, her left breast full and perfectly
molded, her right breast absent. The right one was, of
course, burned off in childhood, so that it never developed
and thus could never interfere with the drawing of the
bowstring. "But we have two problems," Diana, the Am-
azon leader, said. "First, we lack efficient means of
travel. Only the demons can use the front routes, and the
back routes, as you know, are slow and treacherous.
Since it is necessary for you to be at all the key
sites—"

"What is the second problem?" Mym asked.

"There is a demon spy among us."

"Don't hurt the snake!" Ligeia exclaimed. "Ithasdone
us no harm!"

"Except to report of your whereabouts every night,"
Diana said.

"We knew its mission," Mym said. "We saw to it that
it did not know our actual plan."




248 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony

249

"Still, now that plan must be revealed, and surprise is
of the essence. That demon must be abolished."

"It's not a demon, it's a snake," Ligeia protested.' "The
soul of an animal."

"How do you know?"

"It got cold. A demon would not have been affected."

Mym glanced at the snake, startled. It was true; demons
had no vulnerability to extremes of temperature, as they
had to function in all the climes that made souls suffer.
Yet, that being the case—

"It must still be a spy," Diana said. "We must hack it
to pieces, so that it can not report on our activity."

"But you can't kill a soul," Mym said.

"But we can do the equivalent," she said. "When we
do to it what would be the killing of a mortal, it becomes
nonfunctional for a day, just as the demons do. That is
all the time we need."

"But we can't even be sure it is a spy," Ligeia said.
"It's just a snake Satan used to gag me, and then it stayed
with us. Maybe it had no choice."

"I can settle this," Mym said. "I will phase in to it."
He approached the snake and put his hand on its body.
The snake did not try to avoid him.

In a moment he knew two things, and one of them as-
tonished him. The snake was a spy for Satan-—and the
snake did not want to be. It had spied because it knew
that Satan would have put it into perpetual torture if it
did not cooperate. So it had reported each night to a
demon who came to meet it. But it wished there were
some other choice. When Ligeia had warmed it, it had
been grateful to her, for no other creature had shown it
such consideration during its life or its Afterlife. But it
had had no way to escape its assignment.

But now you have a way, Mym thought to it. Join the
revolt.

The snake was amazed. You would have me?

The revolt is open to anyone or anything who shares
its precepts.

Then I join it.

Will other animals join it? Mym inquired.

If they knew they would be accepted and rewarded as
the human souls are.

Mym disengaged. "The snake will join us, if we will
accept it. Other animals may do the same. Do you see
what this means?"

"The animals—will join us?" Diana asked incredu-
lously. "Even the hellhounds?"

"We can but inquire," Mym said. "It is a risk of be-
trayal, but if successful—"

"You are the leader, Mars," Diana said. "If you are
ready to take that risk—"

"I believe I am. 1 believe the snake speaks for its
kind and perhaps for others. If we offer them the same
terms—"

Diana shrugged. "Then we shall not protest."

Mym phased in to the snake again. He thought the terms
to it. Bring those animals who accept this here, he
concluded.

The snake slithered away. "Now we wait," Mym said.

It was a painful process, waiting until the animals re-
sponded. But the benefit could be critical. Hours passed.

Then two hellhounds bounded toward the camp. The
Amazons raised their bows, arrows nocked. Hellhounds
were hard to put out of business, because they were so
large and tough, but arrows through the eyes and paws
could do it.

The hellhounds slowed and paused, then walked slowly
on toward the group, tracked by the arrowheads. When
they reached the center, Mym approached. He touched
one and phased in.

The animals were willing. They hated Hell as much as
the human souls did. Most animals retired at death to their
own Afterlives, but some few were caught up in the
human system, particularly those who had been pets or
associates of man. They wanted to be free of it just as
much as the human souls did.

Then we shall include you in the reckoning, on the same
basis as the human souls, Mym thought to it. /, the human
Incarnation of War, pledge this.

I, the representative of the animals, accept this, the
hellhound thought back. How may we serve you?

We require transportation.

We can provide it.







250 Wielding a Red Sword 251

Piers Anthony

So the pact was made. The two hellhounds loped away.

In an hour, two wild horses galloped in. Their dark
manes flung out and their nostrils snorted steam; they
were killer equines, damned for killing men. But for this
they were tame.

Ligeia, being a princess, knew how to ride well. She
and Mym mounted. "You know whatto do," Mym caBed
to Diana as they rode away.

The horses galloped to the nearest ford and crossed the
Acheron. People afoot would not have been able to do it,
because of the foulness of the water, but these horses
were toughened to it. Then they carried Mym and Ligeia
to the checkpoint of their region of Hell.

This was simply a guard station at the intersection of
several paved roads. A demon guard stood there, holding
a flamethrower. It was obvious that any soul who tried
to pass this-point would get burned. Spiked fences ex-
tended from the checkpoint away across the terrain, and
Mym knew that those would not be subject to passing,
either; Hell surely had ways to make a fence tight. The
only interruption of such a fence would be a river, which
explained how the canoe had gotten them through.

They rode up on the wild horses and dismounted. The
demon's gaze followed them, and its flamethrower was
ready. Mym took a step toward the checkpoint, then
seemed to hesitate. "I don't think we can go this way,"
he said to Ligeia.

"Oh, and I did so want to be alone with you," she said,
speaking the line they had rehearsed.

They started to turn away. "Halt!" the demon cried.

They paused. The thing had taken the bait! "Oh, don't
let that demon get me!" Ligeia cried.

"Where were you going?" the demon demanded.

Ligeia turned, evincing a fright that was not wholly
feigned. "I just—nowhere," she said, trembling.

The demon's red eyes glowed more brightly as he sur-
veyed her body. Drool dribbled from a tusk. Demons
might be incapable of such human emotions as love, but
they could compass lust, and Ligeia's figure incited that.
"You can be alone with me, wench, and I don't care who
watches!"

"No!" she cried.

The demon aimed the flamethrower. "Come here,
wench—or fry!"

Reluctantly, Ligeia approached the demon. Then, just
as it was about to grab her, she screamed.

The demon dropped like a clod of manure. Mym hurried
in and hauled it out of the box. Then he took the flame-
thrower and fired it, playing the flame over the de-
mon's body. Foul smoke went up as the body burned and
vaporized. In a moment, nothing was left.

Mym waved his arm in a signal across the field. Im-
mediately the hidden Amazons rose up, running toward
the checkpoint.

A demon was coming down the road, evidently off duty
from some mission of malice. "Hey, get back to work,
you sluts!" it cried. But the Amazons charged right at it
and, in a moment, had overwhelmed it and hacked it to
pieces. The revolt was on!

Diana arrived at the checkpoint. "Take over," Mym
told her, presenting the flamethrower.

"No demon shall pass. Mars!" she said, thumping her
chest on the flat right side with her fist. "We'll mop up
those remaining in this sector, never fear!"

They led the wild horses through, and Mym and Ligeia
remounted on the other side of the checkpoint. They gal-
loped toward the next one.

Mym was pleased. This first mission had gone
smoothly, and the upper echelon of Hell had not been
warned. If they could take out the other four as readily,
the revolt would succeed before Satan even knew it was
in progress.

For it was no secret exit from Hell that Mym had
sought. He knew there was none. He had acquainted the
leaders of the major sections with his plan for an organized
rebellion, occurring virtually simultaneously in several re-
gions, so that the demonic forces would be unable to con-
centrate on any one. There were a thousand damned souls
for every demon, and only the tight organization and re-
pressive tactics of the demons kept the souls cowed. As
long as the major sections of Hell were sealed off from
each other, no revolt could succeed, because the demons




252

Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 255

would wipe it out by concentrating their force. The other
sections would be unable to assist, if they even knew what
was going on. Then, of course, there would be a brutal
extra ration of torture for all those who had participated
in the uprising. The thing about torture in Hell was that
there was no necessary end to it; what would cause a
mortal to die in agony merely caused the agony here.
Those who did the equivalent of dying woke again the
following day, for a resumption of the torture. And the
demons were adept at easing up just shy of that momen-
tary relief, so that there was. no period of unconscious-
ness. No, it really wasn't worth it, making trouble in Hell!

Of course they could not come at the next checkpoint
from the central road; the demons would know immedi-
ately that two souls mounted on wild horses did not belong
there. They had to cross at the rear and approach from
inside. This checkpoint had merely gotten them into the
region of fire; it had not given them freedom of Hell's
highways. But since they did not have to follow the de-
vious river channel, they did gain time.

The wild horses, out of their territory, were not familiar
with this region, but Ligeia had enough of a notion of it
to guide them. They skirted the worst of the blazes and
found the camp of the damned souls of this region. "It's
on!" Mym called as they galloped through. "Prepare the
ambush! The Amazons are in control of their sector!"

There was immediately activity in the camp, as the
souls moved out. They would remain hidden until Mym
and Ligeia did their job, as would the Amazons.

In due course they emerged from a region of smoldering
grass to come in sight of the checkpoint. Here the demon
had a firehose, for a flamethrower would hardly stop those
who were acclimatized to fire. The water that the hose
would squirt was poisonous and would cause any flesh it
touched to die and rot. This was just as effective in its
fashion as the flamethrower at the other site.

At this station there were two female demons. The vul-
nerable-girl ploy would not work here; demonesses were
no less lustful than the males, but their tastes differed.
So for this one Mym made himself invisible and walked
up alone. He carried a sharp knife that the Amazons had

given him, fashioned from a fragment of bone. Again he
wondered how there could be bones where there was no
mortal flesh and no true dying; he could only conjecture
that Hell was stocked with all manner of repulsive things,
including bones.

His foot struck a pebble, and the nearer demoness
looked up. She opened her mouth—but Mym leaped at
her and cut her throat before she could speak.

Mistake! The slash drew no blood. The mouth screamed
warning to the other. Mym hacked away at the rest of the
neck, severing the head more readily than he would a
human head, for demons possessed no bones. But the
severed head continued to scream, even as it rolled on
the ground, and the arms flailed at him.

The other demoness caught up the water hose and
turned on the water. She swept it in an arc, to catch what-
ever was there. The blast of it caught Mym dead center
and knocked him back. But he retained his invisibility.
Because he was an Incarnation, he was immune to the
poison. He grabbed the decapitated demoness, used her
as a shield, and advanced on the other.

Demons were not noted for spooking, but this sight of
her beheaded companion advancing purposefully on her
caused this one to stare. Then she dived for the alarm
signal, to summon help.

Mym let the headless one go and flung himself on the
other. She could not see him, but now she could feel him
and she fought savagely, scratching at him with her claws
and biting at him with her teeth. Tusks were just as dan-
gerous on a female as on a male, but his cloak protected
him from injury. He got her down and held her there.
"Firefolk!" he yelled. "Here to me!"

In a moment the damned souls closed in and quickly
tore apart both the whole and the partial demoness. An-
other sector had been liberated.

They mounted the wild steeds again and headed for the
next. So far there was no general alarm in Hell—but that
last had been close.

They proceeded to the next checkpoint. This one had
a mate and a female demon. Mym and Ligeia approached
them together, but before they got close enough to act,




254           Wielding a Red Sword

Piers Anthony

255

the male did a double take. "Hey, didn't I see you at the
mesa?" it demanded. "You were—"

Mym charged. He managed to take out me male, but
not before the female had struck the alarm button. Then
Mym dispatched her, and the damned souls took over the
checkpoint.

But the damage had been done. The alarm had been
sounded, and now the demons would be alert. Three sec-
tors in rebel hands were not enough; they needed five, by
Mym's judgment. Five would stretch the demon forces
out thin enough to resist; four was doubtful, and three
insufficient.

"But maybe if we strike where unexpected," Mym
said.

They entered the sector of perpetual snows. The de-
mons knew they would try for its opposite checkpoint
next. Therefore they planned to go for the one by the
region of forgetfulness instead.

To do this they had to cross the Acheron, the River of
Sorrows. The fence went right up to the bank and down
into the river, and the horses balked at entering the water.
There was no shallow ford here; the fluid was deep and
ugly. Mym was sure there would be much sorrow to the
horses if they ventured there; the various boundaries of
Hell were effective. But there had to be a way to cross;

after all, the river was not that broad.

They tracked down the stream and found a region
where the water coursed shallowly past a series of project-
ing stones. The horses stepped across these, practicing
inhuman balance, and reached the farther shore. Then
they followed it up past the region of the fence—and dis-
covered that it was an island. They had not yet crossed
the River of Sorrows.

They walked along the island, trying to find a way to
cross the rest. They came upon an old, deserted building.
It had a steeple with a cross on it.

"A church!" Ligeia exclaimed, astonished. "What is
that doing in Hell?"

Mym, of course, was not a Christian. "I suppose ar-
tifacts of any type can be here. If a church happened to
be—what do you call it, excommunicated—"

"I suppose so," she said doubtfully. She opened the
door and went in, and Mym followed, curious about this
anomaly.

Inside it seemed empty—but Mym's sensitivity to
minds alerted him. "Something is here," he said.

Ligeia passed along the central aisle, feeling the air
above the pews with her hands. "Yes, there is some-
thing—ghostlike—some presence—"

"Ghosts—in Hell?" He touched a region she had in-
dicated and felt it. "No, not exactly. These are mere
thoughts. Instead of people, or spirits, there are only
thoughts here. One thought per person."

"Each thought in lieu of a person," Ligeia repeated.
"I wonder why? And why do they stay here, alone and
quiet?"

Mym phased in to a thought. It was of suicide.

"I think these are people who committed suicide," he
said. "They aren't quite damned, but Heaven doesn't
really favor them, so they are here in limbo."

"But 7 committed—" she said.

"And you were damned for your other crimes—killing
the other people in the airplane. Rightly or wrongly.
Otherwise you might have found yourself here."

She nodded, agreeing. "It really isn't a bad place. Or
a bad situation, being a thought."

"But we can't stay," he reminded her. "We have other
business."

"Yes ..." Almost reluctantly, she followed him out
of the church.

They found a fallen tree that spanned the stream. The
horses walked up it, employing their uncommon balance,
and jumped down at the other shore. They were across
the river and through the fence, too.

"The suicides," Ligeia murmured as they rode away.
"In a church on an island in the River of Sorrows. I sup-
pose that's fitting, somehow."

"If they had reason to do it, it doesn't seem right to
send them to everlasting torture," Mym agreed.

She seemed satisfied with that, but remained pensive
as they rode on.

Now they were in the region of forgetfulness, bounded




256           Wielding a Red Sword

Piers Anthony

257

on the other side by the River Lethe. The demons at the
checkpoint, true to form for this region, had forgotten to
be watchful, and Mym took them out without trouble. The
damned souls of this region took over the checkpoint.

Four down; one to go. This one was in the frozen re-
gion, bounded by the River of Lamentation, Kokytus.
They had no trouble crossing its ice—but they knew they
would not have the advantage of surprise this time.

"If we make this one, we shall be successful," Mym
said. "If not—"

"I love you, Mym," Ligeia said. "If I never get out of
Hell, I will still be better for that."

"I will not leave you in Hell," he said. They leaned
over, each riding a wild horse, and kissed.

The final checkpoint was indeed expecting them. De-
mons were ranged along the fence on either side of it,
standing in the snow, each bearing a flamethrower.

They drew up at a distance, concealed by snow-covered
trees, and considered. "No way we can get there un-
challenged," Mym said. "If I approached invisibly, my
footprints would show in the snow; in any event, I
couldn't overcome several hundred demons."

Snowbeard, the leader of the snow movers approached.
"You have the other four regions secure?"

"True," Mym agreed. "But without this one, I doubt
the revolt can be successful."

"But we're committed anyway, now," the man said.
"All the souls in the other sections will be tortured, after
the demons crush them one by one, and us too. So we
might as well go for broke."

"What are you thinking of?" Mym asked.

"Charging them outright. I know it's crude, but we do
outnumber them, and—"

"That checkpoint is protected," Mym said. "You
might eliminate every other demon, but you couldn't get
close to that one, and you wouldn't have the checkpoint.
You would be throwing away your lives for this day with-
out hope of success, and adding to the torture to be heaped
upon you in the following days. I would not ask you to
do that."

"But if you made yourself invisible, and took out that

checkpoint while we distracted the demons by our
charge—"

Mym looked at him appreciatively. "When you made
your commitment to this effort, you really meant it," he
said.

"We all did," Snowbeard agreed.

"Then make your charge," Mym said. "I will go in
invisibly and, when I have taken out the key demon, I
will manifest and let you know."

"Right, Mars." They shook hands.

The damned souls charged in a mass. The demons
waited for them, then fired their flamethrowers when the
men came within range. There were screams of anguish
as the men were set on fire, but those behind passed by
the scorching bodies and continued the charge. These,
too, were tagged with the flame—but the third rank con-
tinued. As each rank fell, the next surged closer; though
the carnage was horrible, soon the remaining men were
grappling with the demons, and the flamethrowers were
no longer effective.

"If I could have had an army like that when I was a
mortal prince . . . " Mym murmured.

But he had a job to do. He turned invisible and ran
across the scuffled, partly melted snow toward the check-
point. His footsteps did not show now, for the snow was
no longer clean.

He reached the checkpoint. This was in an elevated
tower, more formidable than the others, for this was a
major intersection. The main reinforcements of the tyr-
anny of Hell would be passing through this point. Flame-
throwers, hoses, and pellet guns were mounted at its
embrasures, capable of wiping out any attack on the tower
itself and of preventing any soul from passing below.

But Mym was invisible, and protected by his Cloak of
War. He approached the tower, unobserved amidst the
tumult, and took hold of its nether struts and hauled him-
self up. Soon he was climbing over the battlement.

A solitary demon was there, holding a gleaming trident.
Though Mym was invisible, the demon had a disturbing
focus and seemed to be looking right at him.

"So we meet again. Mars," the demon said. "I admit
I underestimated you. But I shall settle this now."




258 Wieldimi a Red Sword Piers Anthony 259

That was no demon—that was Satan himself!

Satan advanced on him, the three-pronged spear ready.
"Your little devices are useless against Me, naturally,"
he said. "I knew you would be turning up here in due
course. I can not actually slay you, but I can put you out
of commission long enough to enable My minions to put
down this insubordination you have provoked against Me.
After that you might as well depart these My demesnes,
for you will never have another opportunity to make mis-
chief here."

Mym knew he was in trouble. He was facing the Lord
of Evil in Hell, weaponless. The fate of his program de-
pended on him—but how could he overcome another In-
carnation on that Incarnation's own turf?

He dispensed with the invisibility, as it was of no fur-
ther use. Then he bit his tongue.

"Ah, you desire blood?" Satan inquired. "Perhaps I
can accommodate you." He thrust the spear viciously at
Mym's body.

Mym dodged aside, and the thrust missed him. He knew
that Satan had intended it to miss; like the figure of evil
he was, he preferred to play with his prey before destroy-
ing it.

But the blood was in Mym's mouth, and his berserker
rage was coming upon him. No mortal man could match
the reflexes and power of a berserker; the fact that Mym's
rage was controlled did not change that.

"Isn't that quaint," Satan said. "He berserks. Perhaps
this will be at least minimally entertaining." He thrust
with the spear again, and Mym dodged aside again, but
the miss was narrow. "Perhaps he will even be able to
avoid getting stuck for a few more seconds."

Satan was baiting him, but Mym was immune to that
sort of thing. While he waited for the berserk rage to be
complete, he surveyed the surroundings. There was a rack
of weapons at one side of the open chamber, and among
these was a sword.

Satan thrust again, and Mym moved again—but this
time with the blinding speed that only his type could man-
age. He leaped past Satan and to the weapons rack. He
took up the sword and whirled to attack. All this was so

fast that an ordinary person would have seen nothing
more than a blur before the sword lopped off his head.

But Satan smoothly countered the sword with the shaft
of his trident, and sparks spun out from the contact. "Lit-
tle slow, aren't you, Mars?" he inquired. Then he stabbed
again with the points; when Mym used the blade of the
sword to block it, there was another spray of sparks—
and the blade was melted. Satan's weapon was enchanted,
of course, and the ordinary ones were not.

"Too bad," Satan said with mock sympathy. "That
would not have happened with your Red Sword."

Of course it wouldn't have happened; the Sword of War
was invulnerable and irresistible. Mym now appreciated
how cunningly Satan had schemed to divest him of it be-
fore bringing him in to Hell; had Mym come armed with
it, he could have used it to cut apart any entity of Hell,
including Satan himself. Mym also would not have had
to sneak through the back route io travel about Hell; he
could have used the Sword to convey him to the check-
points directly.

But Gaea had warned him that Satan would not meet
him in a neutral arena. Satan had arranged to strip him
of much of his power and lure him into Hell—and he had
been fool enough to permit it.

Mym leaped to the embrasure where the flamethrower
was emplaced. He whipped it about to bear on Satan and
fired.

The flame bathed Satan completely, sending up murky
roils of smoke. But Satan only stood there and laughed,
unaffected, though the wooden wall beyond him caught
fire and burned vigorously. "Do you expect Me to be
damaged by fire. Mars? I am the ruler of the fiery realm!"

The trident was similarly unaffected. From the volu-
minous flame it poked out, forcing Mym to jump away.

He circled, and Satan stalked him. Mym realized that
the battle outside had abated; the damned souls and the
remaining demons were now watching the combat in the
tower. And what was he accomplishing? Nothing except
his own humiliation!

' 'Well, I musn't disappoint My fans,'' Satan said.' 'This
is, after all. My show." And Mym knew that the next
thrust of the spear would be for business.




260 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 261

Too bad he couldn't phase in with Satan, the way he
could with other creatures, and put a defeatist thought in
his head! But of course Satan could not be fooled by any-
thing like that.

What other recourse was available to him? He was on
the verge of defeat, and Satan knew it.

In this moment he remembered Five Rings. The book
had faded from his consciousness during the excitement
of his experience in Hell, and that had perhaps been un-
fortunate. As Musashi had warned, it was easy to stray
from the Way. What did the Way of the Sword have to
tell him now?

Cut your opponent as he cuts you. To strike as the
enemy struck, defeating him even as he thought the vic-
tory was his, even as Satan thought at this moment.

To abandon one's own life, to throw away fear—that
was necessary for the final confrontation.

To treat one's enemy not as a thing apart, but as an
honored guest.

Then Mym recognized his opportunity. He could defeat
Satan after all!

Satan thrust. Mym did not attempt to move; he phased
out to unsubstantiality, letting the prongs pass through
his body harmlessly. "Satan, your weapon can not harm
me any more than these others can harm you," Mym said.

' 'Ah, so he catches on to an aspect of his power," Satan
said. "But he can not displace Me here while he remains
insubstantial, and therefore this tower remains in My
hands."

"For the moment," Mym said. "Until we meet
barehanded."

Satan threw aside the trident. "You are not in your
bailiwick Mars, but in Mine. You can not overcome Me
barehanded." He spread his arms in a grappling motion,
smiling.

"I had understood you to be more perceptive," Mym
said. "I am not going to grapple with you, Satan. I am
going to phase in with you."

"A foolish ploy! You can not govern my mind. I will
remain in control while you dance about in futile vacuity.
The victory is Mine, Mars, when you but have the wit to
perceive it."

"And when I phase in with you, I will instantly know
all your secrets," Mym said. "All the bypaths of Hell.
All your private techniques. All your embarrassments. All
your bluffs. You can not stop me from knowing all that
is in your mind. Then, when I disengage, which you also
can not prevent, I shall advertise that information in what-
ever manner pleases me." He smiled. "Now, with that
understanding, shall we grapple, Satan? Shall we become
one, honored enemy?"

Satan stared at him. "You have been reading that
book!"

"It is a good book, Satan. It advises me that proper
understanding is much the same as power. Let me un-
derstand you, so that there is no further misunderstanding
between us."

Satan literally ground his teeth.

Mym advanced. Satan retreated. Mym leaped—and
Satan vanished.

Mym had used the one weapon he retained that Satan
feared— information. Satan could not tolerate the truth
being known, any kind of truth, even in Hell. Especially
not in Hell! For Satan was the Father of Lies, and upon
lies he had built his realm. The exposure of those lies
would result in the inevitable destruction of that nether
kingdom. The only way Satan could preserve his lies was
to refuse contact with Mym—which he could not do if he
remained here, for Mym would stalk him until he could
not avoid contact.

Mym walked to the battlement. "The tower is ours!"
he cried. "Satan is gone!"

A cheer went up from the damned souls. The demons
fled. It was victory.

The damned souls poured out through the checkpoint,
and now the souls in charge of the other checkpoints came
to join them. Amazons and muckrakers, snow haulers and
fireworkers generated a massive celebration. But soon
they sobered.

"You know," Diana said, "we aren't out of Hell. We
just have a less restricted region of it."

"You knew there was no escape from Hell by vio-
lence," Mym reminded her. "But now we have the lev-
erage to bargain—and that was the real object."




262 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 263

"That's right!" Snowbeard exclaimed. "I near forgot!
The Hearing Panel!"

A single demon approached, walking toward them
along the highway, "That will be the negotiator," Mym
said.

The demon came up to Mym. It turned out to be a
demoness. "Lila!" Mym exclaimed, recognizing her.

"Satan proffers terms," she said.

"We are reasonable," Mym said. "All we want is what
was supposed to be. The hearings on borderline souls, so
that they can be judged and reassigned as their merit de-
serves, beginning with Ligeia, here."

"Ligeia to be heard," Lila agreed, giving the woman a
somewhat competitive look. "In return, you, Mars, shall
vacate Hell."

"Not so fast!" Mym protested. "There shall be a thou-
sand souls heard each day, until the backlog is caught
up."

"Ten souls," Lila said.

"A hundred."

"A hundred," she agreed. "Satan shall institute a
board."

"No. The board shall be composed of souls in
Purgatory."

She sighed. "And the remaining souls shall vacate the
checkpoints and return to their labors."

"And there shall be no reprisals."

"And no reprisals."

This seemed too easy. Where was the catch? "And I
shall have free access to Hell to verify that the terms are
being honored."

"But you shall not interfere further, having verified
that," she said.

Mym looked around. "That seems tight to me," he
said. "When I come again, I shall be bearing my Red
Sword and riding my palomino steed. I shall know with
whom to talk. I can not lighten your normal loads, but I
can see that these terms are met." Because Satan would
not give Mars any further pretext to make the kind of
trouble that was the speciality of the Incarnation of War.

The others nodded. "We shall make nominations from

our own groups," Snowbeard said. "And the animals
shall have the same privilege. We shall report to you on
any violations."

Ligeia approached. "I suppose you have to go now,"
she said.

Mym embraced her. "I believe I have freed you," he
said. "You will go to Heaven^"

"I think I would rather be with you, Mym."

Mym sighed. "And I would rather have you with me,
Li. But I shall not leave you in Hell and I can not visit
you in Heaven. Accept your just reward; I will survive."

"Maybe I could go to Purgatory, and—"

Mym kissed her. "I know you are destined for Heaven.
I would not interfere with that if I could."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," she agreed. "Fare well,
Mym." She retreated, so that he could make his partings
with the others.

Mym kept a smile on his face, but now he felt dead
inside. Of course he did not want to deny her Heaven!
But he wished her journey there could have somehow
been delayed a decade or two. In the few days they had
been acquainted, they had come to know each other about
as well as two people could, and he knew she was the one
for him. If only she hadn't died before he met her!

Lila was watching him. "/ am not going to Heaven,"
she murmured.

"The Hell with you," he muttered. But he wondered—
was this what he was to be left with? His recent victory
over Satan did not seem very wonderful, now.




Piers Anthony               265




17-

WAR

There was no problem about leaving Hell; Satan was
eager to facilitate his departure. The capsule that had en-
closed Ligeia descended from the sky, and Mym stepped
into it. The capsule rose swiftly and soon was back in the
palace of frozen mist. It came to rest exactly where it had
been.

Mym got off the bed and stepped out, finding the ice
now pervious. He walked to his unconscious body and
phased in.

He found himself cold and stiff, despite the protective
cloak. Apparently what he had worn in Hell had been only
a spirit cloak. He climbed to his feet and stretched. He
looked back at the bed, remembering Ligeia. If only there
had been some way . . .

No point in torturing himself. He turned resolutely and
walked out through the ice-passages to the broken en-
trance. He stepped out. Then he touched the Red Sword
and willed himself back to the Castle of War.

The personnel of the Castle greeted him as if his ab-
sence had been routine, but Mym knew that the mortal
world had not halted in place during the past few days.
Satan had wanted him out of the mortal picture, had taken

264

trouble to keep him u Hell as long as possible, and per-
haps had paid more of a price than intended. What had
Satan been up to on Earth?

He knew one way to find out. He turned on the tele-
vision set. Its news always related to Mars.

"All hell is breaking loose on Earth," the announcer
said. "There has never been a period of greater unrest,
short of all-out war. The mysterious absence of Mars, the
Incarnation of War, has contributed to the general con-
fusion. Exactly who is managing this violence?"

Satan was, surely. But what was his purpose? Certainly
increasing violence in the world would not deprive Mars
of his power; it would enhance it.

Yet Satan had tried to make a deal with him before to
facilitate just such unrest, because it would generate the
problems of war, which in turn would generate conditions
that would cause increasing suffering among the mortals,
and turn more of them to evil. But could that be all?

It seemed to Mym that Satan had gone to an extraor-
dinary amount of trouble to get him out of the way. It
hardly seemed worth it, just for a few more souls. Satan
might lose as many souls from the hearings as he would
gain from the disturbances among the mortals.

The more Mym thought about this, the less he trusted
it. When he couldn't properly fathom the nature of the
evil Satan did, that was apt to be because he had missed
the true point. He was still new at his job, and he sus-
pected he was missing the point now.

But there was one who should be able to give him the
answer. He touched the Sword. "Chronos," he
murmured.

There was a shimmer, and the Incarnation of Time ap-
peared before him. "Yes, Mars; I caught your signal."

"Your memory is of my future," Mym said. "I need
to know what Satan is up to, and I suspect it will show
there. If you will tell me—"

"Tell you what? My memory covers a great deal."

"What Satan has done."

Chronos frowned. "You may misunderstand my na-
ture. I remember your future, true—but I remember it
only as it happened, not as it might have happened. So if




266

Piers Anthony               267

Wielding a Red Sword

as you say Satan has done something, then this is the way
I remember it, and I don't know how it differs from what
you feel it ought to be. If you can be more specific—"

Mym remembered that Luna was supposed to play a
key role in foiling Satan's major scheme, and that Satan
had been trying to get around that before it happened.' 'Is
Luna—does she remain all right?"

"Why, certainly, though her disappointment has been
serious."

"Her disappointment?"

"She had hoped to foil Satan; but, of course, that be-
came impossible."

"Impossible? Why? Isn't she active in politics?"

"She was. But that's academic."

"Academic? Why? Doesn't she cast the key vote
against Satan, when the time comes?"

Chronos smiled sadly. "How could she? There was no
issue to vote on."

This sounded very much like what he was looking for.
"At what point did the matter of issues and voting become
academic?"

"Very recently, actually. When martial law was de-
clared in America and the civilian government temporar-
ily suspended. Of course there is nothing so permanent
as a temporary—"

"Martial law? Whatever for?"

"Because of the unrest. It was simply impossible for a
democratic government to cope, so the military had to
take over. I viewed this with extreme regret, myself, but
I must admit that the alternative would have been worse.
There could have been complete anarchy."

"How long ago—for you—did this martial law de-
velop?" Mym asked.

"Only a week ago. But it was inevitable; the violence
in the world is already too great to be contained, as I come
to perceive it now. The lesser of evils had to be
embraced."

"Thank you, Chronos," Mym said. "You have told me
what I need to know."

"Any time. Mars," Chronos said. He tilted his Hour-
glass and vanished.

Mym paced the floor, his head seeming to spin. Here
he had been concerned about his own lost love, while the
world really was going to Hell! Now he understood Sa-
tan's plot—to foment violence in the world to such a de-
gree that the civilian governments fell by the wayside.
Military dictatorships were things Satan could shape to
his own ends—and of course Luna would have no way
to cast her vote against Satan, when there was no civilian
government.

Well, he could put a stop to that. He would quell every
battle before it happened, restoring relative peace.

Mym touched the Sword. "War's minions," he
murmured.

They appeared, in their bright capes. "Rich harvests!"
Conquest said, rubbing his hands together.

"No," Mym said. "We are going to suppress these.
Provide me with a list of the most serious situations, so
I can go to each."

Conquest brought out a scroll and unrolled it. The thing
seemed to be endlessly long.

Mym looked at it. "But there are thousands here!" he
exclaimed.

"Yes," Conquest agreed heartily. "And more devel-
oping every moment. We have never had as potentially
rich a harvest." Slaughter, Famine, and Pestilence
nodded.

Mym shook his head.' 'I can't possibly get to all of these
in time, let alone defuse them!"

"Why try?" Slaughter asked. "This is our chance for
greatest glory!"

Satan's plot was coming clearer. In only a few days,
the Incarnation of Evil had sown so much dissent in the
world that it was now virtually impossible to stop. Had
Mars been here, he would have taken note of the inter-
ference and cut it off, for this was his domain. But Satan
had distracted him in the infernal region, thus having free
rein on Earth, and had really made it count. No wonder
Mym had seen so little of Satan in Hell; Satan had been
very busy elsewhere!

Mym didn't try to answer Slaughter.' 'I have other busi-
ness." He went outside, summoned Werre, and mounted.




268 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony

269

"No supervision of battles today," he called shortly, and
started the horse moving.

They went to Thanatos' mansion. Mym could have sent
out a call for the Incarnation of Death, but he preferred
to have a little time to think on the way. If Satan had
already stirred the world up to too great a turmoil to be
abated before martial law set in, what could he do? But
the time did him no good; he still had no idea.

The door opened as he approached the Mansion of
Death. Thanatos met him. "Chronos advised us yesterday
of your problem—and ours," Thanatos said. "We are
here to try to help."

And they were. Lachesis and Gaea were there—and
Luna, brought to Purgatory for this occasion. They all
greeted him warmly.

"But I only talked to Chronos an hour ago!" Mym ex-
claimed. "How could he have told you yesterday, while
I was still in Hell?"

"You forget the direction of his life," Lachesis said.
"He spoke to us a day after he spoke to you."

Mym nodded. He kept forgetting! "Maybe he can go
on back and tell me before I even go to Hell!"

"He is reluctant," Gaea said. "It seems that there can
be serious consequences when he acts to change the
course of events that are in his past. On occasion he will
do this, but he prefers to keep the compass quite limited,
so that the result is fully defined."

Mym realized that it would indeed be a hazardous busi-
ness, changing past events; people, including perhaps
some Incarnations, could be eliminated. Certainly there
should be no haphazard dabbling.

"In any event," Lachesis said, "this seems to be your
problem, Mars. Satan makes things difficult for each new
Incarnation at the outset, and it is necessary for that In-
carnation to demonstrate that he can prevail. Then Satan
knows better than to try again. If Chronos were to rescue
you from your dilemma, Satan would merely try another
ploy and another, until successful."

"But the whole world is at stake!" Mym protested.
"All of you will lose, too!"

"That is why it is so important for you to prevail,"

Thanatos said. "We must take the risk of letting you op-
pose Satan alone, even as each of us must, so as to es-
tablish that not one of us is a weak spot."

"But I don't see how I can prevail!" Mym cried. "I
thought I had won in Hell—only to leam that I had lost
in the mortal realm. And according to Chronos, that loss
stands."

"Not necessarily," Luna said. "Chronos can report
only on the aspect of history he has lived through. If that
is changed, he will live a different life, and that will be as
valid as the first. Probably his reality is being constantly
changed in little ways by the actions of the rest of us, and
he is not aware of it."

"That sounds like paradox to me," Mym said.
"Chronos is immune from paradox," Thanatos said.

"This may be difficult for the rest of us to understand,

but it must be accepted."

"So I can change future reality—if I can only figure
out how," Mym said. "I can take Satan's victory away—
somehow."

"That is a thing we have to believe," Lachesis said.
"Unless there is no way!"

"There must be a way," Thanatos said. "Otherwise
Satan would not have attempted to keep you so long in
Hell. He knew it was only safe for him if you remained
there until after his move on Earth was complete. You
won free too soon, so now it must be in your power to
prevail."

"Certainly you must seek it," Luna said.

"Certainly I must seek it," he agreed morosely. "The
fate of the world, left to one confused stutterer!"

Then he did a double-take. "I'm not stuttering!"

"Fancy that," Gaea murmured.

"But I didn't stutter in Hell, because—I thought—how
can this be?" Then he remembered. "Green Mother—
you took something from me and did not tell me what it
was. You took my stutter!"

"We do have some power over each other—if we agree
to it," Gaea said. "I felt you could spare it."

"And I never noticed!"

She shrugged. "Surely you have other powers you
haven't noticed. One of them may yet foil Satan."




270 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony

271

Shaken, Mym departed. This seemingly minor dem-
onstration of the special power of an Incarnation im-
pressed him more than all the other wonders he had seen.
He had agreed to let Nature take something of his. Now
the other Incarnations had agreed to let him affect then-
futures. He had to come through for them!

Yet the way eluded him. He returned preoccupied to
the Castle of War and ate and slept fitfully and ate again,
remaining confined. No revelation came. One day passed,
and two, and three, and the situation among the mortals
intensified, yet he remained helpless. He simply saw no
way to do what he knew he had to do.

He found himself walking again in the garden. There,
when he reached the nether extremity, was the demoness.

"So nice to see you again. Mars," she said, stretching
languidly. She wore another of her semi-exposive gowns,
and her breasts moved almost liquidly as her torso shifted.

"Get out of here, slut!" he raged.

"Nuh-uh, Mars," she said, smiling. "This is a neutral
zone, remember? You would not have come here if you
hadn't wanted to see me, now would you!"

"I came here to figure out how to defeat your foul mas-
ter!" he snapped.

"That is not easy to do, Mym. Why don't you just bow
to the inevitable and relax? Since you have inadvertently
served Satan's design, you might as well accept your
reward."

"What reward?" he demanded.

"Me, of course." She stretched again, spectacularly.
"I really do want to serve you, Mym, and I am very good
at what I do. I can return to you what I denied you in
Hell."

"What do you mean?" he asked, sure that he would
regret the question, but unable to pass it by.

She fuzzed out, slowly changing shape. "Why, the
Fireman. Don't you remember?"

"The fire monster in Hell?" he asked blankly.

"You were just about to possess your beloved, and I
was jealous, so I sent the monster to break it up. Now it
is of course too late; you can never possess her."

"You—?" he began, outraged.

Herformfirmed. She looked exactly like Ligeia. "What
does she have that I can not emulate?" she inquired in
Ligeia's dulcet voice.

Mym found the Red Sword in his hand. But he froze,
not striking. How could he slay the facsimile of the woman
he loved?

"I don't suppose you would believe that one of my kind
could truly care for you," she said.

"True," he said between his teeth.

She shifted back to her presumably natural form. "I'm
not even one of the damned. I'm just a construct of ether,
existing solely at my Master's discretion. I have no reality
other than my assignment. My assignment is to please
you. If I fail in this, I will have no existence at all. You
have but to instruct me in those things you require of the
ideal woman, and I will be those things as perfectly and
as long as you desire them. Will you deny me my only
chance to emulate that state of grace?"

Even with his rage at her, Mym was struck by the seem-
ing sincerity of her words. How could a genuinely soulless
creature speak in this fashion? He knew it was foolish,
but he found himself beginning to appreciate her position.

He was without a woman. For the third time he had
lost his love. Perhaps it was time for a concubine he didn't
need to love or make any pretense of loving.

"The ideal woman serves her man absolutely," Mym
said. "Whatever he asks of her, she does without ques-
tion. Any question he has, she answers honestly and to
the best other ability. Loyalty—that is the salient quality
I require. Loyalty to me, before all else."

"I would give you that," Lila said.

"Before Satan?"

She moved back as if struck. "Oh, immortal mortal,
you know not what you ask!"

"I think I do. Since it is obvious that you can not give
me what I require, you might as well leave me alone."

"But then I will have failed to please you, and the pen-
alty—"

"I am familiar with the penalty," he said, remembering
the fate of the lovely concubines he had rejected when
his father had kept him prisoner. Satan would surely be




272

Wielding a Red Sword

273

Piers Anthony

no more merciful. Those grisly deaths had hurt him; he
steeled himself not to be hurt by this one.

He saw the tear at her eye again. There really was no
point in artifice at this point; she surely was experiencing
whatever emulation of emotion she was capable of. "If I
am to perish, then it behooves me to choose the manner
of it," she said. "I would rather let my final act be an
expression of my true private will than a lie. Therefore I
will agree to this."

This set him back. He had expected her to admit defeat.
But of course she could be lying, as she had no concern
for truth, only for convenience.

Or had she? He had never caught her in a lie. Satan
was the Father of Lies, but did that mean that all of his
constructs were liars too? It might be that Lila, sent to
subvert an honest man, had been fashioned to be honest
and would remain so until Satan changed her.

Still, this was suspect. He needed proof of her com-
mitment. He knew of a way to get it—but the problem
was that this would require a commitment from him, too.

Yet what did his relationship with one demoness mat-
ter, compared to the fate of the world? It would be selfish
of him to put his own preference for a woman with a soul
before the welfare of the world.

"Give me your absolute loyalty, and I will take you as
my concubine," he said. "But you will have to prove it."

"I will prove it," she said.

"Tell me how I may foil Satan's plot and save the world
from his dominance."

"That is simple," she said. "Precipitate the
holocaust."

Mym's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Gotterdammerung. Ragnarok. Day of Doom. World
War Three. The final confrontation between Good and
Evil. Whatever it is termed in your mythology."

"But that would destroy mankind!"

"Yes."

"I ask you how to save the world, and you tell me to
destroy it!" he exclaimed incredulously.

"You asked me how to save the world from Satan. I
have told you how."

Mym shook his head, disgusted. "I should have known
that a demoness would not give me any answer I could
use!"

"I gave you truth," she said. "I can explain."

"Don't bother!" he said, turning away.

"But you agreed to take me as your concubine if I
proved my loyalty!" she cried. "I have proved it! Are
you not a man of honor?"

He whirled on her. "You had to know that that is no
answer at all! It would only swamp the Afterlife with all
the remaining souls of the mortals, in a few savage min-
utes. To give an answer you know is useless is no signal
of loyalty!"

"But it is a good answer!" she protested. "Why won't
you hear my explanation?"

"Then give your explanation," Mym said through his
teeth. She had betrayed him, but the terms of his agree-
ment required that much of him, that he hear her rationale.

She spoke. Gradually the sense of it penetrated.

"Lila, I apologize," he said. "Now that I understand
it, I see that it is a good answer."

"Take me now, Mym," she said. "Because when Satan
leams what I have done, he will abolish me."

True, again. She had shown him how to save the world,
but she could not save herself. She had given up her ex-
istence for the sake of a few hours of acceptance by him.

He took her in his arms. "Now that it is too late, Lila,
I regret that I mistrusted you. You shall have my thanks
and my passion, while you exist."

"That is all I desire," she said, meeting him with a
fierce kiss.

The day before the last civilian governments on Earth
were to fall, Mym emerged from the Castle of War. He
summoned his lesser Incarnations, and the five of them
mounted. "To the Doomsday Clock!" Mym cried.

At that Conquest, Slaughter, Famine, and Pestilence
looked askance. But their steeds knew the way, for the
Clock was one of the artifacts of Mars. It was the time-
piece that marked the incipience of the Final War that
would destroy mankind on Earth.




274

Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony

275

They drew up before it. The Doomsday Clock stood on
its mounting, fifty meters tall, and its huge hands were
set at three minutes to midnight. This, in the metaphor of
eternity, indicated the proximity of that War; it was not

far off.
Mym dismounted and drew the Red Sword. "Let there

be War," he said.

Power radiated from the Sword. It bathed all the
world—and all about the globe the tensions that led to
conflict and violence intensified. Nations that had con-
sidered war now declared it; armies that had been in po-
sition to do battle now began it; individuals who had been
bluffing each other down now called their bluffs and en-
tered combat.

For this was the ultimate power of the Red Sword. It
could not pacify violence, it could only enhance it. But
what it enhanced, no other power could deplete; only the
cessation of its own activity could abate the terrible mal-
ice of its nature. When allowed to radiate freely, it would
amplify the warlike passions of man until they erupted in
the greatest conflagration ever to occur—Doomsday.

The four subsidiary Incarnations stood taller and more
imposing as the effect of the Red Sword was felt. Their
colors brightened, and their steeds paced eagerly. Con-
quest's white cape commenced a secondary radiation;

Slaughter's red became the texture of flowing blood; Fa-
mine turned so black that he was no more than a dark
blot; and Pestilence's entire body became a brown mass
of vermin. They were approaching the moment of their
greatest fulfillment.

Mym's Cloak of War, too, was intensifying, the golden
hue suffusing the region. Even his horse, Werre, was as-
suming a preternatural glow of strength.

The hands of the Doomsday Clock were traveling to-
ward midnight at a visible rate. The two minutes became
ninety seconds, then sixty.

Satan appeared. "What are you doing, Mars?" the

Lord of Evil demanded.

"I am finishing what you started, Satan," Mym replied
evenly. "You fomented unrest during my absence; I am
bringing it to climax."

"But you will bring on the holocaust!"
"Yes, this will be the moment of my greatest glory,"
Mym agreed.

The Clock had moved to thirty seconds. "Wait!" Satan
cried. "Are you sure you want to do this. Mars?"

Mym lowered the Sword, and the Clock halted at
twenty-four seconds to midnight. "You have a consid-
eration, Satan?"

"I merely wish to point out that, once the final earthly
reckoning occurs, you will have no further job, because
all the mortals will be dead. Is this what you want?"

"Why, I believe it will do," Mym said. "Why should
I limp along piecemeal, when I can accomplish my pur-
pose in one glorious burst? All mortal cares abated in a
single effort!"

Now the other Incarnations appeared. Thanatos rode
up on his pale steed Mortis, the woman Luna behind him.
Chronos coasted in obliquely, holding his Hourglass, fac-
ing away, oddly. No, not oddly; this was his departure,
by his backward's reckoning; he would reverse his per-
ception to phase in to mortal time. Fate, in the form of a
giant spider, descended a thread from nowhere. And Gaea
coalesced from a cloud of vapor. All knew that this was
the showdown.

"But you have always tried to preserve the lives of the
mortals," Satan reminded him. "To ease the suffering
brought about by war."

"That was before I realized the extent of my power,"
Mym replied. "Now I prefer to exercise it in full mea-
sure." He raised the Sword again.

Satan glanced about at the other Incarnations. "You
tolerate this?" he asked. "You, who have always sought
what was good for mankind?"

"Each Incarnation is supreme in his own bailiwick,"
Gaea said. "Our preferences do not matter; this is Mars'
show."

Satan shrugged. "Well, certainly if none of you are in-
terested in doing what is good, it ill behooves Me to do
it for you. I will receive more souls in one batch than ever
before."

"And God will receive even more," Mym said. "Since




276

Wielding a Red Sword 277

Piers Anthony

the balance of this world is currently positive—as it will
not be after your folk assume political power among the
mortals." The hands of the Clock resumed their motion
toward midnight.

"You would destroy the world—merely to deny Me a
few souls?" Satan asked. "That is very shortsighted."

"Well, the whole matter of war is shortsighted," Mym
agreed. The sweep-hand passed fifteen seconds.

"Wait!" Satan cried desperately.
* The hand paused. "I wish you wouldn't keep inter-
rupting me with inconsequentials," Mym said. "I'm sure
we all want to get this matter expeditiously completed."

"If the world ends now," Satan said, "God will win,
for the balance will be in his favor at the Final
Reckoning."

"Fancy that," Mym agreed. "Since I have no interest
in your victory, this does seem to be the appropriate time
to make my play. Then I can retire from this office and
go to Heaven to join my love who is there. Now, if you
have no other observations—"

Small flames crackled about Satan's body. He knew
that Mym had found the key to victory. The Lord of Evil
could not afford to have the world end in holocaust while
the overall balance of living souls was in God's favor,
however marginally. "How did you leam of this?"

"Does it matter?" Mym asked. "All that should con-
cern us is that it is true. Now, of course, if you should
happen to choose to give up your plans for dictatorships
and martial law on Earth—"

"Lila!" Satan exclaimed. "That demoness betrayed

Me!"
Lila appeared. "I no longer serve you, Satan," she

said.

Satan stared at her, considering. Then he seemed to
come to a private conclusion. "There is something that
may interest you. Mars," he said. "You mentioned join-
ing a certain party in Heaven. Did you know that your
companion in Hell did not go to Heaven?"

"She didn't?" Mym asked, dismayed. "But I know her
balance was good! The hearings—"

"She is good—but she declined to go," Satan said.

"For some reason she wished to return to mortality,
though it would seem that she had little to gain and every-
thing to risk by that."

"But she's already dead!" Mym protested. "She
couldn't—"

"She could—with the help of one of your kind," Satan
said, glancing meaningfully at Gaea.

"This much is true," Gaea said. "The woman wanted
to be with you, Mars, so at the hearing she petitioned for
a body among the mortals. There are some few soul-dead
bodies, so I made one available to her. I did not realize
that Satan had an involvement in this. I think she had in
mind a surprise for you."
"I—I never dreamed—" Mym said, amazed.
"And here she is," Satan said, gesturing.
A woman appeared. Her appearance was not that of
Ligeia, but she approached Mym as if she knew him. He
put out his hand and touched her, and knew immediately
that it was her soul. Now the body began to assume some
of the traits of her former one, as her personality animated
it. She was young and comely, and her love for him was
manifest.

"But it seems she did not realize that you had made a
deal with the demoness," Satan said.

Ligeia gazed at Mym with hurt questioning.

Satan, with uncanny insight, had brought about the con-
frontation Mym least desired. To have his lost love ab-
ruptly returned to him—after he had made the pact with
the demoness! What was he to do now?

"But of course your choice is clear," Satan said. "You
did not know that your true love was returning to you.
Therefore any arrangement you made with the demoness
is null and void. I will take her off your hands." He raised
one arm, pointing a finger at Lila.

"No," Mym said.

Satan arched an eyebrow. "No? You intercede for this
soulless slut? That does not become you. Mars."

"I accepted her help," Mym said with difficulty. "I
agreed to accept her as my concubine. I can not go back
on my word."

"And so you reject your true love, who gave up her




278 Wielding a Red Sword

place in Heaven itself only to be with you?" Satan made
a gesture of dismissal. "You would not do that. Mars."

"What are you bargaining for?" Mym demanded.

''All I ask is that you allow the world lo stand, Mars.
As you can see, if it is destroyed now, your re-mortal
girlfriend will have made her gesture for nothing. She will
be returned forthwith to Heaven, and you will be left with
the demoness. For I do not believe that you will be bound
for Heaven after you have treated the mortal realm so."

The notion of losing Ligeia a second time, after her
phenomenal sacrifice to be with him, appalled Mym But
if he backed off now, Satan would have his way with
Earth.

"And you have no need to be concerned about this bit
of nothing," Satan said. "I will eliminate her memory of
you and put her to another assignment. That will leave
your situation clear."

It was still a sort of betrayal of the creature who had
helped him, Mym realized. He had given his word.

"I want nothing from you but your agreement to abate
your plot against the mortal realm," Mym said. "Other-
wise I will destroy it. What happens with the women is
incidental."

Satan shrugged. "You have My agreement," he said.
"You have won this showdown. Mars."

Mym almost gaped. Victory—just like that?

"And I will take care of this minor business for you,
as a gesture of amity," Satan said. He turned again to
Lila.

Ligeia moved suddenly to throw her arms about the
demoness. "Leave her alone!" she cried.

"Do not be concerned," Satan told her. "This is for
your own good. Mars needs no concubine when he has
you."

"You understand nothing about the ways of princes,"
Ligeia said. "Mym gave his word. She did her part."

Satan looked at Mym. "Does this make any sense to
you, Mars? Why should the woman you love want com-
petition from a demoness?"

Why, indeed! Mym did not know what to think. He
looked at the other Incarnations, but all of them were
mute. It seemed that he had a decision to make.

Piers Anthony

279

There was something about this that he didn't under-
stand. It was as if this were far more important than just
a decision about a demoness whose presence had become
an embarrassment. But what was the significance? He had
won, hadn't he? Why should he concern himself over such
a trifle as the existence of a demoness whom all parties
knew had never expected to survive beyond this point?

A trifle? Why, then, was Satan taking the matter so
seriously?

Pay attention even to trifles. So said Five Rings.

He focused his whole attention on that question—and,
slowly, it came to him.

"You shall not have Lila," Mym said firmly.

The demoness turned her head to look at him, sur-
prised. Ligeia remained holding her.

"Because your friend has a soft heart?" Satan asked.
"That will not change the nature of a demoness! Believe
me, you will be better off without the spawn of Hell in
your household."

The Father of Lies could hardly have spoken more di-
rect truth! Therefore Mym rejected it.

Mym turned to the Clock. He raised the Sword. The
seconds resumed their tickoff.

"This is crazy!" Satan protested. "You risk the whole
world for this damned bit of ether?"

The sweep-hand passed ten seconds to midnight. Now
the hint of the wailing of the world could be heard, as the
anquish of the dread finale approached. Missiles rose from
their silos, ready for launching. Monstrous destructive
spells were being chanted.

Satan turned to the other Incarnations. "Can't you see,
Mars is crazy!" he cried. "All this, for a creature who is
beyond damnation!"

But no one responded. The others had yielded the de-
cision to Mars. Five seconds, four, three. The wailing
swelled into the final keening.

Satan vanished. He had defaulted.

The sweep-hand stopped at one second to midnight.

Lila stared at Mym. "But why?" she asked. "You did
not owe me this! You know my nature and you do not
love me. You had already fulfilled your bargain."

280 Wielding a Red Sword

Mym lowered the Sword. The hands of the Doomsday
Clock resumed their motion—in the other direction. They
retreated slowly from midnight, then accelerated as the
forces that had incited violence faded. They passed thirty
seconds and kept moving.

"I did what I realized I had to do," Mym said.

"My memory has changed," Chronos remarked.
"Satan has been defeated. Soon I will forget that alternate
reality I knew before; I did not live through it, now."

"But you had your victory!" Lila persisted. "And I
was—am—now a liability to you."

"No," Ligeia told her. "As a princess, I know that a
prince needs concubines, and it is better to have them
known and subservient. He will use you when I am in-
disposed. And you made it possible for him to find me
and for him to find the way to face Satan down. We would
not let you be abolished for that. Quite apart from the fact
that the word of a prince is inviolate, not to be sullied or
compromised, no matter what the cost."

"But to risk the whole world in war—merely because
you interceded—"

"No," Mym said.

Now Ligeia was surprised. "No?"

"I love you, Li," Mym said. "And I owe Lila. But I
did not do this for either of you, or to sustain my word."

"But that does not make sense, then!" Ligeia
protested.

"I'm not sure whether I can explain," Mym said. "The
key I perceived is from the book Five Rings. It has taught
me the Way of Strategy. It advises me that, if I am trying
to follow the Way and allow myself to diverge even a little,
then this will later become a greater divergence, and I will
lose the Way. I feel this is most especially true when deal-
ing with the Incarnation of Evil himself. I must not diverge
even the most trifling amount from the Way, lest I lose
all. But it is hard to make that plain to those who have
not been studying that book."

"I believe I understand," Luna said. "This matter is
larger than any single person or any single episode. Satan
is an insidious corruptor who never rests and he is most
dangerous in seeming defeat, as all of us know. It is his

Piers Anthony               281

speciality to proffer a large reward for a very small com-
promise, for his resources are infinite. But he who accepts
the first compromise has made a precedent, and it then
becomes easier to accept the next, and the next, until at
last Satan has after all won. Only by refusing any com-
promise at all, no matter how grotesquely uneven the
stakes seem to be, can a person be proof against the in-
sidious devices of the Master of Evil. Mars has refused
that first compromise, and thus shown Satan that he is
not to be corrupted. This, more than the threat of the
holocaust, is the true measure of his victory."

Mym met Luna's gaze, nodding. She did understand!
And now he understood how it was that she could be at
the center of this titanic struggle between Good and Evil.
When the time came for the critical decision to be made,
Luna would be there, and would understand, and would
have the courage to do what had to be done.




Piers Anthony

283

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Part I: Technical

Remember, this Note is a somewhat separate entry that
need not be read to appreciate the novel. In life, the au-
thor's mundane existence tends to influence the fiction
he writes; in fantasy, his fiction may influence his mun-
dane existence. In my case, there can be alarming inter-
actions and feedbacks, both ways. As I believe I have
remarked before, I have absolutely no belief in the su-
pernatural; therefore it plagues me incessantly, as if trying
to force me to change my attitude.

The theme of this novel is war, with its related aspects
of violence and distress and wasted effort and sacrifice
of life. I do not like war; naturally it fascinates me in the
fashion of a snake with its prey. When I wrote of Death,
death impinged on my life; when I wrote of Time, time
was my problem; when I wrote of Fate I felt obliged to
explain how deviously fate had brought me to this pass.
Now I am writing of War, and of course I shall now de-
scribe the manner that violence touched my life at this

time.

But first news of a more technical nature. If you happen
to be one who is sick of hearing about how yet another
innocent soul has computerized, and his joys and horrors

282

thereof, skip this section and go on to Part II of the Note,
because here is more of the same, only worse.

I have been among the last major holdouts against the
computer age and have taken a certain pride in writing
my manuscripts with a pencil on paper—sometimes on
the back of someone else's discarded computer paper,
read what delightful irony you will—and typing them on
a manual Olympia, and still outperforming the great ma-
jority of computerized writers. Fancy machinery does not
a writer make. But then they stopped making good manual
typewriters, and mine was ten years old, with ten million
words on it, about due for replacement. So, perforce, I
surveyed the situation. I discovered that they don't make
a Dvorak disk for the print-wheel typewriters, and the
element typewriters are too limited for my needs. So I

decided to go all the way to the twentieth century and
computerize.

Of course I had qualms. I tend to trust most that which
is least complicated, and a computer is hellishly more
complicated than pencil and paper. Could I compose on
the machine? I concluded that I probably could, because
I was able to compose fiction on the typewriter sixteen
years earlier, before my newbom daughter converted me
to pencil. (She was hyperactive, so I had to be constantly
mobile to keep her out of mischief. The typewriter wasn't
mobile. Yes, I was the one who took care of her; my wife
was out earning our living, in those days.) After all, it is
my mind that generates my fiction, and it matters little
by what route that fiction is expressed: verbally, penciled,
or typed. The computer is a different creature than the
typewriter, but why should my fingers care what happens
after they have performed at the keyboard? So I ration-
alized and hoped.

There was one problem: that modified Dvorak key-
board I use. I converted to Dvorak before the computer
industry did, so I use the original version, not the bas-
tardized computer version, and of course I added my
lower-case quote marks, making my version unique to me.
Several years ago when I surveyed the situation, I found
that no computer was able or willing to provide me with
this option, though it should have been the easiest thing




284

Wielding a Red Sword

Piers Anthony

285

for them to do. I would have had to do it on my own, and
there I ran into the catch-22 that I could not hire a spe-
cialist to modify my computer without violating the pat-
ent, and the complexities of designing my own conversion
program were such that it wasn't worth it.

But by this time, the market for home computers was
beginning to get saturated, so that companies were some-
what more interested in accommodating the needs of the
buyer; and technology had progressed. Companies like
Apple and Wang had Dvorak as an option, but for com-
plex but valid reasons I elected to do business with nei-
ther. (I could say ten times as much about computers as
I am saying here; let's just say that I did my homework
in this as in other things, and the decisions I have made
were not frivolous.) A commercial program existed that
would make all the keys programmable. That is, with this
program I could change 5 to 0 and D to E and F to U,
and all the other exchanges required for my keyboard. I
would be happy to say, "F to (/"; my problem had been
solved. I proceeded to look for the most versatile and
reliable computer system on the market, because I work
hard and do not like to be balked by equipment failure.

I will spare you the story of our search and of the fits
and starts once I got my computer; it seems that just about
every writer who has ever computerized has written an
article on it, and I refer you to any of those articles for
that story. I shall just touch on a few aspects that made
my experience different from the norm. It seems I don't
do much of anything in the normal way, which is one
reason you are reading this material. (We understand each
other, don't we, you and I?) (The prior parenthetical note
does not apply to reviewers.)

For hardware we bought the DEC Rainbow 100+.
That's a heavy-duty home system with enough memory
(256 Kilobytes) to handle my needs, enough storage (10
MegaBytes) for several novels, and the best designed key-
board on the market. For software we got SmartKey to
redefine the keyboard so that I could have it exactly the
way I wanted it. And PTP—Professional Text Proces-
sor—for the word processing. With twenty-two little ma-
cros for my special needs. .

Oh, I see I'll have to clarify this a bit. Very well: the
hardware is the stuff you can see—the keyboard, monitor,
disk drive, printer, cables and such. It has a masculine
aspect; you can manhandle it about, with caution. The
software is the programming, or the instructions that
make the hardware operate so it doesn't just sit there and
ignore you. It has a feminine aspect; you can't manhandle
it because it will vacate the premises if you do. The firm-
ware is what contains the software, naturally. "I dreamed
I ran a computer in my maiden firm ware." In this case,
what is called floppy disks. Yes, they are round and firm,

and you can use two of^hem simultaneously, and no, they
really don't sag.

The macros are keys that are programmed to do special
tasks that would otherwise take a number of keystrokes.
For example, it normally requires five keystrokes for me
to save my material to the hard disk, where it won't be
lost if the power fails and shuts down the system, and
twice that many if I want to mark my place and find it
again after the save. My macro does it with a single stroke,
returning me to my place and setting a little » symbol
in the margin so I know it's been done. Also, because I
switched over from pencil, I brought my little arrows with
me: ----> to indicate the resumption of my text after a
bracket note (you learned about those brackets in On a
Pale Horse—one reader wrote to tell me that this device
had solved his problem with that dread malady. Writer's
Block); --> to indicate the resumption of the main
bracket note after a parenthetical interruption (oh, yes, I
have notes within notes, as my disorderly ongoing stream-
of-consciousness runs the rapids of my creativity); and a
vertical down-arrow to show that there is a long inter-
ruption in the text, so when editing I can skip down to
the next page or so to find the resumption arrow.

The pencil is more versatile in this respect than the
typewriter, but the computer is able to keep pace with
the pencil, a fact that goes far to endear it to me. That
vertical arrow requires twenty-two strokes, several of
which are multi-key—two or three fingers striking si-
multaneously. That's a real pain to assemble by hand, but
one stroke of the macro does it all.




Wielding a Red Sword

286

But here: to show you how it works in practice, I shall
not edit out the brackets and arrows of the second and
third paragraphs following this one. No, I did not set those
brackets up just for you; it happened just the way it is
presented. But what I did do was insert this explanation
ahead of it (which is one of the convenient things a com-
puter can do for a writer: insert material without retyping
the prior text) because otherwise those interruptions and
arrows would be pretty confusing. So this paragraph is
faked up, but not what follows. (I always try to be fair to
my readers, even the unworthy ones.) Several prior
bracket-notes relating to mysterious phone calls that in-
terrupted my typing of this Note have been edited out,
however.

But there was another problem. The original keyboard
had the period and comma on both upper and lower case,
as many typewriters do. Some bright character in the
hardware division had elected to save effort by having a
default on those keys, so that only the lower-case char-
acters got through to the screen. Thus when a capital pe-
riod or capital comma was typed, the lower-case one was
actually represented. Who would ever know the
difference?

(Editor's Note: The following two paragraphs are in-
dented to permit setting Author's symbols. Author does
not indent, but sets these beyond the margin, but this is
not feasible in the case of book margins. This is a purely
mechanical device and has no other significance.)

Well, I knew the difference. Because
1          [callback at 4:15 saying that they have a
major problem with the line and asking me
not to use the phone for another day. I told
the man I could not distinguish between a
legitimate request and a practical joke, so I
would phone the company and inquire. He
said fine, and he would call back in twenty
minutes. So I called—and the operator
pointed out (UPS delivery, three parcels—
I didn't hear the truck, but heard the dogs
- - - » barking) that we are served by United Tele-
phone, not Southwestern Bell, so they

Piers Anthony               287

would not be calling us about any local line
problem. She agreed that it sounded like a
practical joke. Good enough; I doubt that I
--- -----.» win hear from that guy again.] in my

changed layout, those keys are where my W
and V are. So when I typed those capitals,
I actually got them uncapped. DEC—Dig-
ital Equipment Co.—didn't know any so-
lution to that problem, and neither did
SmartKey. How can you get around a de-
fault when it is built in to the keyboard?
(Later we realized the explanation might be
simpler: SmartKey simply translates one
symbol to another, not caring how the first
symbol is generated. Because a capital pe-
riod is the same as a lower-case period,
SmartKey translates both the same way.)

I am an ornery cuss. I refused to take no
for an answer. I discussed the matter with
my wife, and she did some research in the
computer manuals and discovered that the
Rainbow is more sophisticated than it
seems. It is an international computer, with
fifteen different keyboards, so that the
needs of foreign languages can be served.
[5:15 after horsefeeding, etc. That guy did
not phone back, as I thought would be the
case. I looked at the Waldenbooks interview
transcription and can see how imprecise my
speech is; I'm much better as a writer. But
the one doing the transcription isn't much,
either. When I said "inversely proportional
to its merit," it was transcribed as "in-
.--..--.-,-» versedly fortunal towards marriage."] Any
of those foreign keyboards could be set up
on our system, merely by going through the
proper procedure—and several of them had
different symbols on the lower and upper
cases of those two keys.

Well, now. Why not change over to a foreign keyboard,
then change that to Dvorak via SmartKey? It seemed pos-




Wielding a Red Sword

288

sible, but there was a problem. (There's always a prob-
lem!) Those foreign keyboards didn't have all the same
letters as the American one. Instead they had things like
<;• and 0 and h and £. How could we put our letters in a
keyboard that didn't have them all? Well, there was a
way; we would have to bring our letters across, exchange
them with the foreign ones, and then rearrange them into
Dvorak. My wife believed she could manage that. She's
the computer expert in the family, having once earned
our living as a computer programmer, back before home
computers existed. (Such recollections tend to make us
feel unconscionably old.)

But there was another problem. Some of the foreign
keys were set to their own private programs, and could
not be changed. Thus we might get our capital Ws and
Vs, but lose other letters entirely. So I did some research
of my own, poring over the representations of the fifteen
keyboards, and discovered three whose programmed keys
were not in any critical place. I chose the Finnish key-
board, whose special keys were in the upper comers,
bracketing the numbers row. We could work around
these, as the symbols there were not critical. We would
have to move the American +/= key in one space, be-
cause that was in the upper right comer and we needed
it, and leave the Finnish T key in its place. Also, there
were two Finnish keyboards: one for the Correspondence
Mode and the other for the Data Processing Mode. The
one with the symbols I needed was the Data Processing

Mode.

Then I went to work compiling an exchange chart for
every letter on the keyboard, as capital and lower-case.
Ninety-six exchanges in all—about half of the total on the
keyboard. It took me hours. Then my wife got into the
guts of the reprogramming of the keys and made the
changes, and lo! it worked! We had what was probably
the first complete Dvorak keyboard on the Rainbow. No
longer did I have to head out into the hinterlands of the
Function Keys to find where they had put my capitals.

So I am now typing this Note on the Data Processing
Mode of the Finnish keyboard, with certain letters im-
ported from the American keyboard, configured to my

Piers Anthony               289

special version of the Dvorak layout. Naturally I sent a
smug letter to SmartKey telling them how to do likewise.
I love it when I, an ignoramus, can tell the experts how
to do the job that stumped them—and be right. (No, they
did not reply. For some reason I can't quite fathom, ex-
perts don't seem to like having me show them up. I won-
der whether they will give us credit, when they revise their
procedure and their manual? Don't be concerned; this
self-congratulatory Note will be seen by the folk who
count. Namely, you readers.) (Except for that reviewer
who fell asleep early in the Note. No, don't jog his elbow;

let him suffer. His face is in the book, and the print is
transferring itself to his cheek, backwards. You will be
able to recognize him by the steam rising from his review
of this book.)

One other thing, before the next reader falls asleep. I
mentioned power failures. We have them here by the
gross, as we are deep in the forest, at the very end of the
line, literally. I broke into the computer by typing let-
ters—I have them by the gross, too—and when the power
bunked twice in one hour, erasing me both times, my
blood pressure made like Old Faithful. "I can't work this
way!" I told my wife, who had been showing me how to
work the buttons. So we quit in disgust and retired to the
house. A storm was building; evidently lightning strikes
farther up the line were responsible. And in the next hour
that lightning found the range and struck right by us and
sent a devastating surge along the line. It blew out our
good color TV set, and a burner of the electric stove,
sending a shower of sparks at my daughter Cheryl; and
the timer on our water heater (trees overgrow our solar
water heating system, and it sprang a leak, so we had to
go back to electric, but we turn it on by the timer only
two hours a day); and several components of the Atari
computer system my daughters use for games and (before
the Rainbow and that lightning strike) for word pro-
cessing; and all the light bulbs that happened to be on. It
put splotches of color on the screen of the Atari monitor
and another TV set that weren't even turned on. It raced
up the two-hundred-foot extension to my study and put
my two all-wave radios halfway out of circulation (there




290

Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony

291

after they would tune in only the closest, loudest stations).
At the very, very end of that line was my new, three-day-
installed Rainbow system, the obvious target.

And the surge petered out just at that point. Having
wastefully expended its energy taking out all the side-
pieces, it lacked the strength to do the job it had come
for. Ten thousand dollars' worth of computer emerged
unscathed. I think. It is true that it tends to garble the
recorded size of files, claiming they are bigger than they
are, which has caused me some problems in judging the
length of novels. But I think that's a software defect.

But the only reason that system had been turned off—-
for it surely wouldn't have survived if it had been on—
was my disgust at getting erased twice in an hour.

I may be a slow learner, but that got through to me.
Forthwith we ordered a UPS box—Uninterruptible
Power Supply. Not only did that protect us from power
failures, by providing ten or more minutes backup power,
it also protected us from power surges. And that box has
saved us many times since. In fact, now we own three of
them. At $500 per, they aren't cheap, but we do need

them.

Actually, my computerization isn't as isolated a phe-
nomenon as this may have made it seem. There is a fan-
nish and a social aspect. Back in OctOgre of 1983 I was
co-Guest-of-Honor with Richard Adams (Horseclans) at
the science fiction convention NECRONOMICON. I re-
ceive about one invitation to a convention a month, and
I turn them down because I'm busy writing and I don't
like to travel; Del Rey Books got me to the ABA con-
vention in Dallas in 1983 by bringing my whole family
along, but that Satanish device is unlikely to work again
and I think that niore or less covers my out-of-state trav-
eling for this decade. NECRONOMICON, however, was
in Tampa, where we often go anyway, so I agreed to at-
tend, and I brought my daughters, then aged thirteen and
sixteen. Naturally they got hooked on conventions, and
thereafter they attended them without me.

Well, the fan GOH was Bill Ritch, an expert in DR
WHO, video cassette recorders (VCR's), computers and
such. Bill is a huge, harmless, teddybear of a man who

likes people. I met him and talked to him about this and
that, and evidently my daughters did too, for two months
later, the night before Christmas, he showed up for a visit.
He was just passing through on his way to Miami. But he
had come down from the north—that is to say, Atlanta,
Georgia—and naturally he brought the cold weather with
him. The temperature dropped steadily and was freezing
by the time he got ready to go. He had it in mind to drive
overnight in his unheated car.

At this point our parental instincts got the better of us,
and we prevailed on him to stay the night and resume
travel in the morning. Indeed this was wise, for it dropped
to Florida-record levels that night: the coldest December
ever, for the state. By morning it was 15°F on our carport.
We were comfortable, of course, for we have a good wood
stove. As it happened. Bill had a VCR with him that he
was taking to his folks in Miami. So he hooked it up to
our TV and showed us Thriller and Blade Runner and
such. That was our first direct experience with a VCR.
Later Bill sent us literature on the subject, and we bought
a Sony 2700 Betamax. Thus it was Bill who got us into
video, and that has certainly brightened a number of what
otherwise would have been dull TV evenings. More re-
cently we got a video camera, using it to record the talks
I give at local schools and such. For the first time I have
been able to see myself as others see me, watching myself
on our own TV. I'm sort of angular, and my voice seems
somewhat nasal; believe me, I come across better in an
Author's Note than I do in person. (Sigh.)

Bill showed up periodically thereafter. I told him how
I was unable to computerize because of the keyboard
problem, and he told me ofSmartKey and the Digital com-
puters. Thus he was directly responsible for the manner
I obtained my present setup, which I suspect is the best
currently available for a serious writer. No, I promised
not to go into tedious detail, and please don't deluge me
with letters claiming that IBM or Kaypro are better; I was
late coming into this equipment, but I knew what I
wanted, and my needs are specialized. Computer com-
panies have very little notion of the needs of novelists,
which is why it is necessary to pick and choose carefully.




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Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 295

Even the reviewers of software are ignorant in this regard.
I read one who condemned a program because it defaulted
to overstrike. That is, when you want to correct a typo,
you can simply strike over the error, anywhere in the text,
without messing up anything else. That's vital for a typo-
prone writer like me—but you can't readily do it with the
type of program that reviewer recommended. My pro-
gram can readily be changed to a different default, when
I want it.

The software program affects the computer the way
personality affects a human being. What counts is not
merely what is done, but how it's done. The term "user-
friendly" is no joke; if you think of the computer for a
moment as a big dog, the user-friendly program will cause
that dog to wag his tail and slurp your hand when he meets
you, while the other type of program would cause him to
consume your left buttock. Some programs are menu-
driven, and some are command-driven. With the former
you can't do anything without having to get into the menu,
which is a list of available tasks to choose from. That can
get annoying when all you want to do is correct a typo
you happened to see in the prior sentence. With the latter
you can do it directly by typing the correct code—but
that means you have to memorize a squintillion complex
codes. That, too, is annoying. I suspect the best programs
are compromises, with simple commands buttressed by
simple menus for the less-frequent tasks. I started out
with what came with the system: The DEC-approved Se-
lect-86 word processor, menu-driven. I typed my first
novel on that, which happened to be But What of Earth?
that I was restoring to its original condition for republi-
cation, together with twenty-five thousand words of com-
ment on the nature of the (abysmal) editing it had received
before. I soon discovered what DEC didn't know about
the holes in its own program; whoever approved it had
never, for example, tried to use the double-spacing setting
or tried to follow the written instructions on how to re-
move a hard-carriage-return. But the same user-friendly
DEC man who had put me on to the amber screen mon-
itor—that's the one that doesn't give you eyestrain—put
me on to the FTP text processor, and I composed (as

opposed to retyping) the first novel, Golem in the Gears,
with that one. Then we figured out the Finnish-keyboard
device, and I composed the first science fiction novel (as
opposed to fantasy), Politician, with that.

Now I hear some of you clamoring about why should
I settle for a text-processing program no one ever heard
of, instead of going first-class with WordStar or Word
Perfect. Well, here is another thing that the industry has
been slow to understand. The ideal word processor is not
the one that tries to do all things for all users, in the pro-
cess becoming monstrously complex and burdening most
users with complicated peripheral features they seldom
or never use. That's like selling a Mack truck to a house-
wife for her weekly shopping. The ideal is the one that
does the basics readily, is easy to learn and understand,
and allows the individual to program his own specialized
functions. PTP is the easiest of all the programs I have
considered to learn and use, and its macros enable me to
set up just exactly those specialized features, like down-
arrows or my bibliography boilerplate, that I want—and
no others. Thus it is simple and sophisticated and per-
sonalized, exactly as I am. Oh, I admit there are a couple
of things it lacks that I would like, such as "windows"
(those enable you to call up another file and view it while
keeping the current one on a parallel screen, so you can
verify whether you said something in a prior chapter that
you are about to say here) and the ability to address my
full 256K memory (it addresses only half of it). Every so
often I bug the maker, and I suspect that in due course
he'll come through with improvements. But basically I
feel that I have here a setup, hard, soft, and firm, that
would be the first choice of any newcomer who could
afford it, if he but knew its features. Oldtimers are lost;

once a person has taken six months to master WordStar,
he's not about to throw that away and spend two days to
master PTP.

Meanwhile Bill Pitch phoned. A store in Atlanta was
having a half-price sale on Rainbow 100's. Were we in-
terested? We were. We sent him the money, he bought
Rainbows for us and his own projects, and we set up the
duplicate system at the house, where it would be warm




294

Piers Anthony

Wielding a Red Sword

295

in winter. Thus the fourth novel. Red Sword, is the first
on that second system. Thus, within nine months of com-
puterization, I have done three and a half novels (the first
being a rework), which is a fair pace even for me, and
yes, I am now thoroughly addicted to the computer. But
you can see how closely it ties in with personal
connections.

One thing I considered for this novel was changing the
operating system. You see, there are levels and levels of
these things, even in software. The computer system
might be likened to a car, with wheels, engine, doors and
such. The software can be likened to the controls that
direct the progress of that car. But obviously you don't
do things directly; there is a series of linkages between
your hands and the engine, and between the engine and
the wheels. So I think of the word processor as the layout
of the steering wheel, gearshift (or automatic shift), ig-
nition key, dials and such, while the operating system is
the gearbox below, the steering mechanism, the clutch
and such. You can have a similar layout and the same
type of engine as another car, but the intermediary link-
ages may be quite different, and the kind you want for
Sunday morning driving might not be suitable for the race-
track. So with computer operating systems; they are
largely invisible, but they are important, and some suit
particular purposes better than others.

The operating system I use is CP/M, obviously an ab-
breviation for an old retired naval man called Captain
Manager. Captain M supplements his income by renting
his house, which is a fine old edifice of some fifteen sto-
reys (as he spells it) and a capacious cellar. Each floor
contains six rooms and is provided with all the amenities
of the domicile. Because the Captain never saw fit to ad-
just all the way to civilian life, he calls his boarders
"Users" and he assigns them numbers. Thus User 1 oc-
cupies the first floor, and when he enters the building he
must step into the elevator and punch out the code USER
1, and instantly he is there. Similarly for User 2, and on
up to the one on the top floor, User 15. Some of these
boarders sublet individual rooms, and these they reach
by pausing in the elevator to punch out A, B, E, F, G, or

H, which are the designations the Captain has coded for
this building. Now you might suppose that this was an
aggravating nuisance, but in fact it is very much to the
advantage of the boarders, for each one had absolute pri-
vacy within his number and letter. All the furniture is set
up exactly as he wants it, and the rooms are completely
individualized. It is as if the rest of the building doesn't
exist. The elevator has a Directory that can be flashed on
a screen by typing the secret code word MAINT, and it
will show a complete inventory of everything in the des-
ignated room on that floor. There may be hundreds of
other items in the various other rooms and floors, but this
Directory ignores them; they have their own Directories.

What this means is that the Captain provides the ideal
situation for a writer who has a number of projects going
simultaneously and wants to keep them all distinct, with-
out accidentally erasing one, but who also has teenage
offspring that wish to borrow the machine for word-pro-
cessing homework. For the House of CP/M is my com-
puter, as organized by that operating system. I had night-
mares of a daughter turning on the computer, touching
the wrong button, and erasing my past week's work. So
I set us up with the House, and now the cellar (User 0)
contains the assorted software programs including the
good Captain M himself, while I have reserved floors 1
through 9 for business purposes, and two floors each for
wife and daughters. Penny, who likes the view from the
heights, has the top two floors, for example, and when
she uses the computer she punches in User 14 or User 15
and there she is, with her margins set the way she left
them, her macros ready, and all the files she has saved
ready for her. When she punches the Macro 7 button she
gets whatever she has put on it; when I punch the same
button, down on User 1,1 get my down-arrow. On User
3 that same button evokes my About-the-Author boiler-
plate. (A boilerplate is a set passage that can be inserted
into a letter or other text without retyping; it can be very
handy for answering the same question from different
fans.) I would be quite lost on her floors, because I don't
know her macros and don't understand the contemporary
teengirl way of doing things. And she would not be at




296 Wielding a Red Sword 297

Piers Anthony

home on my floors, should she go to one by accident. And
we don't snoop on each other; I visit her floors only by
invitation, so she has privacy of correspondence, and of
course she's not interested in my correspondence. Nei-
ther of us can affect anything on the other's floor from
our own floor, so accidents are impossible. A family with
fifteen or even sixteen Users could give each a floor, and
each one could program each of the six rooms (four sec-
tions of the hard disk, plus the two floppy disk drives)
differently, to allow for an infinite number of variations.
Yes, infinite, because there is no limit to the number of
floppy disks that can be used in turn in their drives, and
the defaults are stored on the disks themselves. If a daugh-
ter takes one of my floppies by mistake and uses MAINT
to check what's on it, it won't tell her, because it answers
only to my User number. So it is as if we have several
computers, and it's beautiful. We even have color-coded
cases for the disks: Blue for Penny, Green for Cheryl,
Red for my wife, and Black and Yellow for me. I suppose
what I'm saying is that we have a family computer system
in the most compatible way, and we all like it, and visitors
(yea, even Bill Ritch) are impressed by our setup. Bill
even took home a disk containing my macros, so that he
can get little arrows and things, though I can't imagine
what he does with them. (I picture him running about
Atlanta, poking people with little arrows . . .)

But the Captain is not the only operating system. There
is MS-DOS, obviously the abbreviation for a somewhat
prim lady of uncertain age and marital status. Ms DOS
distrusts apartment buildings, having perhaps had some
bad experience there, but she likes to garden. So her lay-
out is in the form of a garden with paths leading to the
various entries. When you enter this garden you encoun-
ter a Directory with several diverging paths; pick a path,
and it leads to another Directory with several more, and
each one of those paths leads to its own sub-Directory of
files. So each occupant of the garden can have privacy,
with his own selection of flowers and such, but by a dif-
ferent mechanism. Our computer is equipped to handle
both CP/M and MS-DOS, so I thought I'd try the latter
for this novel. But I found that the Captain and the Lady

don't get along together all that well; if I want both at
once, I have to split my hard disk into two halves, one
for each, and the two hardly speak to each other. And it
seems that the Lady doesn't have the MAINT feature that
puts all my files in alphabetical order and allows me to
change titles, delete files or take a quick peek at any file
without disturbing it, and gives me the space used by each
file and the total space used by them all. Those are house-
keeping features I use constantly, for every day's work
is a separate file and there may be sixty of them for a
novel. FTP has both CP/M and MS-DOS versions, and
so does SmartKcy, so I can have my keyboard layout and
macros and things with either, but the Captain's type of
organization just seemed to be better for me. So my apol-
ogies to those of you who know and like Ms DOS, and
wish I had used her for this novel. Maybe some other
time.

Part II: Personal

But enough (more than enough!) of computers; I realize
that the relatively gentle rivalry between the Captain and
the Lady is not the type of violence you want to see in
this Note. You want to know exactly how violence and
war struck at me while I was writing Red Sword. Well, I
started this just after the turn of the year. Jamboree 2,
1985, in the Ogre Calendar. Penny, whom we taught to
drive two years ago in Hourglass, now drives to school,
taking two friends with her, because they have early
classes that the schoolbus doesn't catch. You might sup-
pose that there are no hazards of the road, on that twelve-
mile trip through the sparsely inhabited countryside. But
one day some truck left a tangled mass of metal just over
the brink of a hill that Penny encountered—flat tire,
phone call, we got out there to rescue her, discovering
one of her teachers changing the tire, and I drove her car
in to get the tire fixed. Since I had never even been in
that car before, I had to figure out how to operate it, which
was an uncomfortable business, because it has little fea-
tures that didn't exist in my day. You might say the ma-
cros and defaults are all wrong. But that was before; now,




298

Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony

299

in Jamboree, came a more serious call. That's right; there
had been an accident, and she was phoning from the
hospital.

Periodically in this region, the forestry folk do what
they call controlled bums, burning off regions of the state
forest in the slack season so that there will not be un-
controlled forest fires at other times. The policy makes
sense, but sometimes the burners lack common sense.
This winter has been generally dry, and there have been
a number of uncontrolled bums. This time they started a
bum adjacent to the highway Penny drives to school, and
the wind blew it out of control. We passed it in the eve-
ning, as we came home from an archaeology meeting; the
fires raged for a mile or more beside the road, and the
region resembled a section of Hell. (I happen to know
what Hell looks like.) The next morning was foggy, and
the fire was still smoldering. We cautioned Penny about
driving through that region. "If there is thick smoke there,
you don't dare slow down too much, because the car be-
hind will ram you," I said. But we doubted that it was
bad, because there had been no news of smoke, and the
road was open. However, it was bad, and Penny, driving
in to school alone for the first time (the two other girls
coincidentally had other business), found herself caught
in dense smog. All night, owing to an inversion, that
smoke had accumulated by that road. Penny, mindful of
my warning, slowed to 25 mph—and rammed into a truck
that was moving at walking speed. The truck was hardly
damaged, but our little car suffered a $2,600 repair bill.
They pushed the car off the road, and Penny, shaken up
but not really hurt, thanks to the use of her seat belt (I
taught her, remember; I taught her right. Anyone who
drives or rides in a car without using the seat belt is a
fool; I don't care how educated he may consider himself
to be in other respects.), went out to try to flag down
other cars before they collided. Her friend, who normally
rides in with her, was next to arrive; she recognized Penny
and stopped, then started to maneuver to get off the road.
And a fourth car came up and crushed the friend's car
against the original truck. So there it was, a four-car ac-
cident—and it was obvious that had Penny not driven the

speed she had, she would have been rear-ended by that
fourth car, or crushed between the two. As it was, she
was technically at fault—but alive. A person has to con-
sider not only the law, but common sense.

That smoke, all told, accounted for nine cars that morn-
ing, and several more that were peripheral. It was the
worst traffic situation in the history of the county. An
ambulance was dispatched; when it encountered the
smoke, it had a man walk ahead of it to show the way,
and then that man had to slow down because the vehicle
couldn't keep up with him. The police said that they had
never seen worse driving conditions; that visibility was
zero. Now they closed off the road; why they had not
done so before is an unanswered question. Penny's name
appeared in the accounts of three newspapers. Our car
was out of commission for the rest of the month. Now
Penny is afraid to drive in fog, understandably; the day
I started typing this Note, we had to drop breakfast and
head out to rescue her because she didn't dare drive into
it. The fog gets pretty thick some mornings, and we un-
derstand. This is what families are for. I got gun-shy about
driving after my roll-over, back in 1956, and I still don't
really like to drive. One morning when there was light
fog, Penny braced herself and drove anyway. Came a
phone call: "Daddy, this is Penny, calling from the bank."
Oops; where was she caught now? "The bank? What
bank?" "The fog bank," she replied. She had made it
through. Oh, what about the real culprits in this mess, the
forestry and highway departments who burned recklessly
and never told the public about the hazard? It seems they
are immune from fault, and our insurance paid.

That was Jamboree: fire and collision. But this novel
required two months to write, even with the computer.
I'm not really a fast writer; I'm a steady one. An average
of two thousand words a day for two months covers a
one hundred twenty thousand word novel. Actually, I
work faster, then suffer interruptions. So what violence
occurred in FeBlueberry?

I was awakened at 3:40 A.M. by the phone. It was a
neighbor—the high school was burning to the ground.
Both my daughters go there. As it turned out, only part




300 Wieldim a Red Sword Piers Anthony 301

of the school burned, but that was enough to eliminate
normal functioning. So the freshmen and the seniors had
to take their classes elsewhere—and we have one of each.
It may never be known whether the fire was natural or
arson; it seemed to start with an explosion, but whether
it was a bomb or a faulty heater can not be ascertained.
Classes will be affected the rest of this year and next year,
while they see about rebuilding. Unfortunately the library
was lost, with all its books, including some of mine. So
we donated a thousand dollars to the library fund; after
all, it behooves a writer to support both libraries and the
school his children attend. I had a thank-you note from
a teacher on another matter, and sure enough, the en-
velope was scorched. Good thing I knew the cause, or I
might have feared it was a letter from Hell.

And more news: a local company asked permission to
explore the entire state forest that we live against for pos-
sible limerock mining. Now this sort of mining is open-
pit, and it leaves a landscape reminiscent of that of the
Moon. Reclamation is a joke; the trees and animal ecology
are gone. We bought land where we did in order to have
a guarantee that the natural land could never be denied
us. But it seemed that while the state owned the land, the
national government retained the mineral rights, which
meant it could license the land for strip-mining. (It is said
that profits can run as high as a million dollars per acre.)
Ah, but was there lime-rock there to mine? Yes, indeed;

it was under our own land. Was the acreage we owned
to become an island of wilderness next to a wasteland
that was once the state forest? If this was not war, it
seemed very like it. The outlook was grim. But then, be-
fore the battle was joined, new information came to light;

the state forest had been designated for public use only,
back when it had been set aside, and could not be signed
away for private mining. Satan had been balked by a tech-
nicality—about the time I wrote the final chapter.

Let's narrow the focus to the more personal aspect.
How am I doing, these two months of this novel? Well,
I can write well enough, unless distracted by other calls
on my time, such as letters and manuscripts and research
for other projects. What was the story there?

Life continued at its frenetic pace. I made notes on
items I might mention here, but the inclusion of all of them
would render this Note much longer than anyone would
have patience for. So, just the more significant ones, and
briefly. My major concern was research for a mainstream
novel relating to the situation of the American Indians of
this region of Florida at the time Hemando de Soto passed
through. Every Sunday we went out to the Indian mound
being excavated, where my daughter Cheryl worked. Our
involvement is intimate; there will be more on that else-
where in due course. For now it suffices to say that sig-
nificant finds are being made and that the matter has been
taking up a significant amount of my time. Associated
with this, before the turn of the year, our whole family
joined an archaeological canoe trip, with Cheryl and I shar-
ing one canoe. It was a kind of nightmare. So I enhanced
the details and put it into this novel. Those who wonder
where I get my ideas may take due note; I do more ad-
aptation from life than most readers realize.

Just about this time, my right shoulder began bothering
me chronically. It hurts when I stretch or reach too far.
We'll check with the doctor when we have time, but
meanwhile it is progressive and worrisome. I have lost
partial use of both knees, and it doesn't please me to have
me same thing happen to a shoulder. I'm still doing my
exercises, such as the chins on the study rafter, but it is
now painful to get my grip, and I can't descend all the
way. I still do thirty, operating in the restricted range,
but, if the shoulder gets worse, that exercise may be de-
nied me. Since I have always felt that the end of my phys-
ical exercise program will mark the beginning of the end
of my life, this is not a minor matter to me. I now do
seventy-five Japanese pushups in under four minutes,
sometimes under 3:30; my best time is 3:03, beating the
time that evoked the kidney stone in Pale Horse by more
than a minute. I hate doing them, but I would hate even
more to have to give them up. My runs are slowing, too,
and I am no longer able to break 21 minutes for three
miles, or 22, and usually can't break 23. I am minded of
the line from W.B. Yeats: "The hour of the waning of
love is upon us." I love my physical fitness, perhaps the




302

Wielding a Red Sword

Piers Anthony

303

final relic of my youth, and I feel the hour of the waning
of it. I fear that even the Ping-Pong will be ended by this
particular incapacity. Well, I'm past fifty now; the war
against age and death is one that every person is fated to
lose. But I am conscious of a significant loss, right at this

time.

In one week in this same period, I addressed three dif-
ferent school classes. I don't like taking the time, but I
do support education, so I give these local talks when
requested. One was to Penny's college-level English
class, and Penny took our brand new video camera and
recorded me, as I think I mentioned in Part I of this Note.
By coincidence, it was in the homeroom of a different
teacher (the school fire jumbled these things)—one who
had angrily told her classes that "Piers Anthony is
wrong." That dated from a prior address I had given,
when I had stated "You no more need to know the names
of the parts of speech in order to use the English language
correctly than you need to know the names of the muscles
and ligaments of the legs in order to walk correctly." I
was once an English teacher, you see, and I take excep-
tion to much of what is currently being taught. I believe
that less effort should be expended on irrelevant material
like parts of speech, and more on relevant material like
how to balance a checkbook or understand mortgage in-
terest—things a person could use in today's world. So I
repeated my statement—and this time received applause
for it. Of course the teacher who objects to my attitude
was not there; I did take the trouble to greet her when
she arrived. I am not, of course, wrong. Another presen-
tation was for a selected group in a different school in the
county, the attendees being students who were fans of
mine. But the challenge was the third, to a second grade
class. The youngest fan I have had a letter from was eight
years old; these were in the seven-year-old range, and
none of them had read any of my books, but they were
interested in writing. They were doing books of their own,
as a class project. I wanted to be sure not to overshoot
their level of interest, so I told them about how the baby
ogre in Crewel Lye foiled the dragon and about the mons-
ter-under-the-bed, and these were things they related to,

Then they had an Author's Reception with refreshments
they had prepared, so it became a social occasion. I think
it was a success. That, too, is on the videotape. Certainly
it was an interesting experience. But this sort of thing does
take time, and is one of the reasons I failed to complete
this novel within the two-month period I had allotted.

And in this period the question of a motion picture op-
tion was settled. In 1984, interest in the Xanth series de-
veloped, stipulating a payment of $300,000 for each novel
made into a movie, with the possibility of using all nine
Xanth novels. But there was also interest in Germany for
cartoon adaptation for the first three Xanths, for $500,000.
Which was the better bet? The American de^l might peter
out after the first novel, so was not necessarily better,
and of course there was no telling what quality of movie
might be made. We pondered, and finally gambled on the
American deal, and I signed the option contract. Time
passed, and finally it was apparent that the option was
not going to be exercised. So it goes.

This was also the time of the Shaxon/Time magazine
and Westmoreland/CBS libel suits, both resolved some-
what indecisively, as wars often are. Freedom of the
press—I believe in it, but it does get abused, and I think
it is best that an accounting be made periodically. And
on a lighter note, this was the time when the war between
men and women erupted on a new front. Ann Landers
conducted a survey and reported that 72% of her women
would rather be cuddled than have sex. Furor followed.
Mike Royko conducted a hilarious counter-survey, get-
ting the men's side of it. I, of course, have a fairminded
solution: let the women wear placards bearing the num-
bers 72 or 28 so that the men can make more informed
decisions about dating, marriage, etc. Any man who pre-
fers Cuddles can probably have her. The divorce rate
might drop precipitously. Not to mention the marriage
rate. (And to think they call me a sexist!)

And Bantam Books ran a five-page promotional ad in
various periodicals, showing reproductions of bestseller
lists with their books thereon. But Anthony got shown
five times in that ad for the Del Rey novels On a Pale
Horse and Bearing an Hourglass, the first two volumes




304 Wielding a Red Sword Piers Anthony 505

in this series. I'm sure Del Rey joins me in thanking Ban-
tam for the free publicity.

I typed a record 125 letters in the month of Jamboree,
and in FeBlueberry I had a manuscript and a book to read
and blurb, sent by two publishers with whom I am not
doing business, and another expected from a third pub-
lisher. No, this is professional courtesy; I do for other
writers what other writers did for me when I was in need,
though I am a slow reader and it takes me days to get
through a book. But about the letters: most of them were
cards, as I have become adept at reducing my responses
to that length, though each remains individual. Most other
writers, I understand, do not bother to answer their mail;

certainly I could save a lot of time if I did not. But those
are living, feeling people out there, and I feel that they
deserve answers, so as long as I can, I am answering. I
have no secretary; I bash them out, with typos, strikeov-
ers, and all, on my manual typewriter. (The computer
printer can't handle cards.) By going wholesale to the card
format, I have managed to keep up.

One day I received fifty letters: forty-four in a package
from Del Rey, six from elsewhere. Next day I typed thirty
cards, and the following day twenty mixed cards and let-
ters, and the third day, seven, saving the complicated
ones for last. Only then did I get back to work on Sword.
But you know, I don't suffer from Writer's Block, while
many other writers do. I can not prove this, but it is my
suspicion that those writers who are callous about social
responsibilities, so do not answer letters, also tend to be
callous about their business commitments, so suffer
Block. Those who take all commitments seriously, in-
cluding the need to consider the feelings and rights of
others, do a better job at meeting those commitments:

correspondence and books. If this is true, it is poetic jus-
tice. At any rate, I believe I write about as many letters
and as much fiction as anyone in the genre, and I would
like to think the two are linked. There are those who have
called me naive about this sort of thing, though.

And you know, those letters can be interesting. Let me
give a couple of examples, positive and negative. One
letter in that bunch of fifty informed me that a fan had

named her prize colt after me: Piers Anthony Jacob. She
says he is the prettiest horse alive. That seems only nat-
ural to me. I have asked the publisher whether we can
run a picture of that horse on the back flap of this book.
Might as well improve that .aspect of the volume, after
all. Another letter, received as I worked on this Note, is
anonymous—no name or address, so I can't answer it. I
regard anonymous missives as fair game, so I'll quote
excerpts here: "It is becoming abundantly clear that your
endless, thoroughly boring rants, diatribes and disserta-
tions 'justifying' (through the many scenes you have de-
picting them) violent, humiliating [undecipherable word
here] and soul-destroying sexual assaults against women
are just thinly (very!) disguised versions ofapologiae of
the same sorts of assaults on children of either sex." It
confines in similar vein, psychoanalyzing me and con-
cluding that I am trying to expiate guilt for similar things
done to me as a child, and finishes: "Do you really want
the whole world to remember you as 'Piers Anthony, the
Battered Child'?" No novel of mine is named; those fa-
miliar with my work are free to make their own conjec-
tures about the accuracy of this charge. Yes, I answer
this kind of mail too, when able, though I am not as polite
as I am to more positive fans. But as you can see, my
mail is not boring.

In FeBlueberry it slacked off, with only thirty-nine let-
ters, but the books-to-be-blurbed took up what slack there
might have been. Still, by the end of the month I was two
days from completing the editing of the novel. The editing
consists of reading it through on the screen, printing out
my bracket-notes relating to other projects, deleting both
bracket notes and marginal symbols (I have special ma-
cros to facilitate that, such as one that locates and high-
lights all the material between the next set of brackets,
so I can check it before deleting it), correcting my own
typos and spelling errors (yes, we have a spelling-checker
program, but it's easier to do it myself), revising awkward
sentences, and adding new material where required. This
editing replaces the second and submission-draft typings
I used to do and takes about a quarter the time. So I knew
I would wrap it up just a couple of days into Marsh.




506

Piers Anthony               307

Wielding a Red Sword

And on Marsh oneth (1th) came a package from Del
Rey Books containing eighty-six fan letters dating back
to Jamboree and Dismember. I should have known that
if I used Ogre Months I'd get ogrish mail! There was noth-
ing to do but read them (which alone took about six hours)
and answer them (six days). So by the end of the Seventh
I had answered eighty-seven of those eighty-six letters.
(Apparently they were starting to reproduce in the pack-
age.) Then I got on the letters that had come in separately.
As I type this paragraph, which is being inserted in the
middle of this text, I have done 102 letters, as of the Ninth.
This novel has been delayed that week. I think the pace
is about to slack off, maybe, I hope. But this feels very
like a war!

Again, I hear someone muttering: why do I bother?
Why not call it quits and stick to my paying work? Or
perhaps answer only the most serious ones and let the
others go. Ah, yes, I hear the siren song of expediency.
I understand that only two writers in the genre answer
large volumes of mail personally; the other is Isaac Asi-
mov. But again, I know of only two who never suffer
Writer's Block, and the other is Isaac Asimov. My An-
tiblock Theory gains credence.

But let's consider some of these letters individually.
Perhaps some are dispensable. Two from this last bunch
were from people who are confined long-term by accident
or illness and use my books to ease their solitude and pain.
It seems that mine have better effect in this respect than
those of most other writers. In the past I had letters from
a young man who used my books to divert his mind from
the unpleasantness of chemotherapy for cancer. Another
in the present group is from an oncology (cancer) nurse
who thanks me for taking death seriously in On a Pale
Horse. Ignore these letters? I just can not; they must be
answered.

Well, some of the others, then. Yet they evoke startling
bits of individual personality. There is the lady who an-
nounces that I have stolen her heart. The righteously in-
dignant teenager who isn't sending me any PUNS. (You
see, most of these are in response to Crewel Lye, just
published, whose brief Note explains that Xanth is no

longer in the market for puns. That didn't stop a number
of fans from sending me full pages of them.) The mother
who thanks Xanth for doing what nothing else did—hook-
ing her learning-disabled son on reading. (I raised an L-
D daughter; I understand about this sort of thing.) The
coed who was hooked on Xanth by her boyfriend; she
gave up the boyfriend but remained addicted to Anthony
and, when my novels ran out, she had to get into Don-
aldson, Eddings, Moorcock, and McCaffrey. (Those
other writers may not realize how much of their success
is thus owed to me . . .) The man who brings up seeming
inconsistencies in my novels, then proffers intelligent ex-
planations for these that I can use to fend off other critics.
The one who wishes to convert me to Jesus. (I am apt to
refer these well-meaning people to my three-part novel
Tarot, which is perhaps cruel. The point is, I am not ag-
nostic from ignorance, but from preference; I suspect I
have done more research on religion than most.) The
young woman who begins: "I'm 19 yrs. old + I don't
want to be a writer. I want to be an editor." (That one
popped my eyes open! But why not? Editing is a dirty
job, but someone has to do it.) The man who met a college
professor of mine and relays that professor's regards to
me—along with the news that the professor is dead. (I
hadn't realized, so this was a jolt. That prof had been my
counselor; I remember him with preternatural clarity.)
The woman who relates somewhat graphically her ex-
perience in being assaulted by a masked male who put a
gun to her head, and her thoughts on death and On a Pale
Horse. And from the interim mail: a "fan" letter in the
form of a fan, that opens out to reveal the writing. And
an invitation to a convention, that I turned down, as usual.
Which of these do I file without answering?

Well, why not cut off the repeats? Answer each fan
once, and not again? Two considerations, there. First, I
have found that a kind of universal inverse ratio applies,
so that only about half of the first-timers respond again,
and only half of the second-timers, and so on, so that the
correspondence tends to damp out. That enables me to
keep it down without actually having to cut people off,
and I prefer that method. Second, some of those fans have




308

Piers Anthony               309

Wielding a Red Sword

excellent continuing input, and an arbitrary limit would
be unfortunate. Third, (my difficulty in keeping count has
been noted before) there are special cases.

I wrote about sixteen letters to one girl in Jamboree,
ranging from cards to a six page missive. Yes, this is a
very special case, and illustrates as well as any the levels
on which wars are fought, the conflict between good and
evil, and the difficulty of telling the two apart. This was
a suicidal teenager who said she loved me. Now I was at
this writing fifty years old, with two daughters older than
this girl, so the matter had points of awkwardness.

You see, though I was never a 'battered child' I was a
disturbed child, with compulsive mannerisms and com-
prehensive fear. Another impression I have is that a per-
son does not have to be totally fouled up to be a successful
writer, but that it helps. Today I have a life that is about
as comfortable as any life gets, with supportive wife and
daughters, an income in the top percentile, and success
in the one type of work I always wanted to succeed at. I
don't crave the adulation of the masses, but I know I could
experience it any time I choose to attend a fan convention.
I should be deliriously happy. But I am not. I suffer from
chronic depression and I think about death on a daily
basis, perhaps an hourly basis. (Yesterday I buried our
last hen; we had had twelve, and as time progressed they
died off individually; the last survivor had been with us
a year and a half after the death of the next-to-last. Call
me foolish if you will; I grieve for her, as I do for any pet
who dies. Death is much larger in my life than in that of
most other people.) I am not suicidal and never have been,
but every morning I ask myself whether life is really worth
it, and I am uncertain. As the day progresses I become
more positive, and by evening I am pretty satisfied with
life. Since no economic or social reason exists for this
depression, and it is cyclical by the day, and steadfast by
the year, I conjecture that it is a fringe benefit of my mild
diabetes; my cells are generally slightly hungry for en-
ergy, and that chronic discomfort translates into mild
depression.

The point is, I do have a basis to understand the situ-
ation of a fouled-up child, because of my memory of my

own childhood; and I understand also how depression can
be. My depression relates to this girl's depression about
the way my adult-onset diabetes relates to the savage ju-
venile-onset form of it. What I have is token; what she
has is serious. So while I only wonder whether life is
worthwhile, she thinks seriously of suicide. I, being what
I am, »-an not simply tell her to quit bothering me.

Oh, objectively the situation is clear enough. This girl—
I will not identify her here, of course, but let's give her
an obvious pseudonym. I shall name her after a suicide
I have in this novel, Ligeia, though there is no other par-
allel that I know of between the two. "Ligeia" was not
aware of having experienced love in her home and she
longed to be a part of a family where love exists. That is
to say, my family. She wanted to love and be loved, which
is perhaps the deepest human need. She could not simply
invoke that love from others, but she could contribute her
part of it. Thus she loved me, because she knew me from
my novels and Notes, and because I answered her letters
seriously, as I do with all letters. I had been treating her
in the way I would a daughter and a child, partly because
I was conscious that she was not exactly either. My teen-
age readers may find this confusing, but I trust that my
adult readers will understand. This is not a "childish"
matter; Ligeia wanted from me a good deal more than I
could afford to give on either the fatherly or the man-
woman level. I of course explained that, and she of course
refused to accept it. Thus I found myself in a kind of
ethical war, and it was difficult indeed to distinguish the
nuances of right from wrong.

Why didn't I simply tell her that her interest was mis-
placed, and reject her letters? Two reasons. First, be-
cause I try to follow the Golden Rule, treating others as
I would have them treat me, with fairness and compas-
sion. Second, because it was possible that she would have
died if I cut her off that way. In that sense this was a kind
of emotional blackmail. It happens to be a kind I am vul-
nerable to. If this be a failing, it is hardly my only one. I
have to say that I really would not care to know a person
well who was not similarly vulnerable. This does not mean
being mush-minded; it just means that the consequence




320

Piers Anthony               311

Wielding a Red Sword

of one's actions should be a concern of every person, on
the social as well as the legal level.

Our correspondence began when she wrote a fan letter.
It grew more serious with time. Her letters came in en-
velopes decorated with cute little butterflies, unicorns,
rainbows, balloons and hearts, signifying a sweet and
happy little girl, but inside they were desperate. She told
of slashing her wrists in an attempt to commit suicide, of
turning on her heater and closing the windows tight, of
similar things. She spoke of feeling lonely and tired, of
the foreboding of evil. She felt trapped, like being in a
box with the sides closing in, and was afraid that after
she died she would be similarly trapped, as if in a shell.
All that enabled her to survive was love. The love I could
not return. She believed she was going mad, but that there
was no need to worry: her death would stop only her
body, for she felt she was already dead in the ways that
mattered. She said that suicide might be considered a cop-
out, but that for her it would only hasten the inevitable.
She expressed difficulty relating to an emotion that sprang
from her heart instead of her mind. She saw love as a
lifeline, while hate was worse than anything.

Another letter was smeared, as by tears. She had had
a good day that then became bad. A discussion with a
friend about love and sex and politics and religion and
feeling—the things this bright girl really liked to ex-
plore—had lifted her. Then there had been a singulariy
bad episode at home that threw her back into the depths.
She said she needed love so much, yet it eluded her; she
couldn't wait to die wholly. She concluded with the words
"I'm so cold," trailing off with a jerky line as if abruptly
interrupted, the letter unsigned.

I think it is evident that my objective, sensible state-
ments were largely wasted here. I had a deep sympathy
for Ligeia's plight, but I could not call this love. I tried
to help her in various ways, putting her in touch with
supportive correspondents and even checking with the
authorities, but to no sufficient avail. Ligeia could not
escape her situation that way. I saw her swirling down
and down in the maelstrom, and I could not rescue her
from that without going well beyond permissible bounds.

So 1 wrote to her, with the unhappy suspicion that this
was a war that was being lost.
Hence the letters of Jamboree. I tried an experiment:

in addition to the fewer, longer letters, I sent her a series
of light post cards, saying nothing thereon that other eyes
could not see. The heart of them was the Ogre Tail, tran-
scribed chapter by chapter, fourteen chapters on separate
cards. The first Tail was "The Ugly Unicorn," and I think
it is worth reprinting here:

Chapter One: Once upon a time, there was a

little unicorn. She lived in a shell.
Chapter Two: There was a funny thing about

this shell. No one else could see it.
Chapter Three: But to her, it was very heavy,

as if an elephant were on it.
Chapter Four: Sometimes that shell just

seemed to crush all the happiness right out

of her.
Chapter Five: Of course, she wasn't really a

unicorn, because little unicorns don't live in

shells.
Chapter Six: She was really an alicom, which

is a flying unicorn. Her mane was brown.
Chapter Seven: Alicoms live in shells, be-
cause they like privacy. When anyone

comes near, they close.
Chapter Eight: Of course that means that

hardly anyone ever sees an alicom, which

is unfortunate.
Chapter Nine: Because alicorns are really

very special creatures, when they come out

of their shells.
Chapter Ten: But the little unicorn didn't

know she was an alicom. She wanted to die.
Chapter Eleven: This is because a magical

creature who stifles her magic is in deep

trouble.
Chapter Twelve: No one else understood

about this, because no one else could see

the shell.




322           Wielding a Red Sword

Chapter Thirteen: Except for maybe one old

centaur—but he was too far away to help.
Chapter Fourteen: He hoped the little unicorn

would leam to fly, before she learned to die.

Ligeia loved the chapters, and they buoyed her mo-
mentarily, but then her depression resumed its hold. She
wrote me a letter signed with her blood.

In one of her letters, she described a dream she had
had, involving a cemetery where instead of people there
were thoughts. She had not intended it as a suggestion,
but I liked the notion and put it into this novel; this is the
notice of credit.

Of such stuff was my life made, as I wrote this novel
and this Note. My humor is obvious, but privately war
and death and injustice were much on my mind.

You may wonder why I have used the past tense. That
is because the enchantment that links these novels to my
life remains; the theme is War, and so war came to the
publication of the novel. The publisher took exception to
this inordinately long Author's Note, stating that it was
in the business of fiction, not nonfiction, and requested
the Note's deletion. I refused. This was no minor matter;

fundamental rights were at issue. The publisher is not re-
quired to publish material it deems to be unsuitable for
its imprint—but the author must give permission for any
significant changes. I feel that these notes are important
to a sizeable segment of my readership and I do care about
that readership. Neither side backed off, while the novel
remained in limbo, unable to be published.

My agent, caught in the middle, spent many hours
trying to negotiate a cease-fire, but for months the war
continued. At last we came to a compromise. Part of the
publisher's concern was about Ligeia: I had presented
poignant excerpts from two of her letters. I had cleared
this with her directly, showing her the material and mak-
ing corrections she asked for. But she was a minor; there-
fore she lacked the legal capacity to give permission for
my use of this material. That had to come from her par-
ents. But she had made plain throughout that her parents
did not know the things she told me, and she did not want

Piers Anthony               513

them to know. It would be a violation of her confidence
even to ask them for such permission, as her secret love
and death wish would be exposed. Thus I could not obtain
permission, and risked a lawsuit for the violation of a liv-
ing person's privacy if I ran the letters. So, with deep
regret, I revised that portion of the Note. I can not even
tell you what happened to Ligeia in the intervening year,
because that might serve to identify her. Thus do I lose
the battle for part of my text, but win the battle for the
rest of it by the somewhat heroic measure discussed here,
and the war for Ligeia's life grinds on.

As I write this revision, I am midway through the next
novel in the series, the one concerning Nature. Yes, the
enchantment continues; Nature is making herself felt em-
phatically. I will cover that in the next Note.




ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Piers Anthony was born in August, 1934, in England,
spent a year in Spain, and came to America at age six.
He was naturalized American in 1958 while serving in the
U.S. Army. He now lives in Florida with his wife Carol
and their daughters Penny and Cheryl. His first story was
submitted to a magazine in 1954, but he did not make his
first story sale until 1962. Similarly, he submitted his first
novel, which was also his thesis for his B.A. degree from
college, in 1956, but did not sell a novel until 1966. In 1985
his 50th book was published. His first Xanth novel, A
Spell for Chameleon, won the August Derleth Fantasy
award for 1977. His novel Ogre, Ogre may have been the
first original fantasy paperback ever to make the New
York Times bestseller list, and all his fantasies since then
have been bestsellers. He is currently writing three or four
novels and answering seven or eight hundred letters a
year. His house is hidden deep in the forest, almost im-
possible to find, and he now has a computer in the horse
pasture.