Being a Green Mother                                             Piers Anthony

put both hands up on the solid knob and turned it, and after
a brief struggle got the door open.

The summer dawn was cool but not cold. Orb hurried out,
intent on the melody, not caring what time or temperature
it was. The landscape seemed preternaturally bright, better
than real life; this was fun!

She paused before the house, reorienting on the sound.
The farm backed onto a forest, and the sound was from the
forest. She ran across the field, scattering chickens, and
reached the edge of the wood, panting. She was four years
old, and this was a good-sized trek for her to accomplish
alone. She wasn't supposed to come here without an adult,
and that gave her a bad twinge of unease, but the music was
fading, and she knew she had to catch it right away.

The forest loomed thick and dark, and it was girt with
monstrous spider webs and mean brambles and other awful
things, so she scouted along the edge, hoping for a way
through. The music was becoming quite faint, making her
desperate.

She found a path! She ran down it, into the depths of the
wood. But the music was now fading out entirely, to her
horror. She stopped to listen for it, but it was gone.

Except—there was another sound, not the same, but pos-
sessed of its own melody. Maybe that would do. It was ahead
and, as she continued along the path, it grew louder.

The path debouched at the river. Orb had encountered the
river before, but not at this spot. Here it was crippling merrily
over rocks, making its music. She strained to hear the tune
of it behind the rushing noise of water, and it came clearer,
but imperfect.

She made her way along its irregular bank, guided more
by her ears than her eyes. Now she heard another sound,
neither the first melody nor the second, but a kind of tittering
laughter. It was coming from a swirling pool a little
downstream.

Then she spied the source of the mirth. Girls were playing
in the pool! Lovely, lithe, bare girls with long tresses. They
were swimming and splashing and diving and having a terrific
amount of fun, and their trilling laughter made the last
melody she had heard.

One of the nymphs spied Orb and called out to her. "Hello,

child of man! Come join us!" The others laughed anew at
this.

Orb pondered briefly, then decided to do it. She drew off
her nightie and stepped out of her slippers. Naked, she went
down to the pool.

"She heard me!" the nymph exclaimed, astonished.

Orb paused. "Did I do something wrong?"

The nymphs looked at each other. "You see us, child of
man?"

"Yes. Don't you want me to splash with you?"

Again they exchanged glances. "Of course we do!" the
first nymph said. "But do you know how to swim?"

"No."

"But then you might drown!"

Orb hadn't thought of that. She was sure that drowning
would be very uncomfortable. "Then why did you ask me
to join you?"

"We didn't think you would hear us," the nymph
explained.

"Or see us," another added. "We were only teasing, the
way we do."

"Why?"

"Because we are water sprites," a third said. "The chil-
dren of men aren't usually aware of us."

Orb was perplexed. "Why?"

Several sprites shrugged. "We don't exactly know. It just
is so."

There was an instant flowering of laughter. "Oh, you
rhymed!" another cried.

The others splashed wildly at the one who had rhymed,
giggling. Orb really wanted to join in, but she realized that
she would have to learn to swim first.

"Why didn't I hear you or see you when I saw the river
before?" she asked.

The sprites looked at each other, perplexed. "Why didn't
she?" one repeated. "We have seen her before, and she was
oblivious."

Orb didn't know what the big word meant, but judged that
it meant what it was supposed to. "Yes, why?"

"Maybe she changed," one suggested. "Did you change
recently, little girl?"




4              Being a Green Mother

"This morning I heard a song I never heard before. It woke
me up. I was looking for it."

Again the sprites exchanged glances. "She changed,"
they agreed. "Now she can join us."

"How?" Orb asked, eager to participate.

"There's an inner tube someone's forgotten," one of the
sprites informed her, perceiving her dilemma.

"Oh, I can float in that!" Orb agreed. "Bring it to me!"

The nymph shook her head. "Alas, we can not," she said
sadly.

"Why?"

"We can not touch the things of the children of man. At
least, not to affect them. Only mortal creatures can do that."

Orb accepted that. "Then tell me where it is, and I'll fetch
it myself."

"Gladly!" The sprite led her downstream a short distance.
There, hung up on a dead branch, was an inflated inner tube.

Orb waded into the shallow water, her legs tingling with
the chill of it, and hauled on the tube. "Oh, it's heavy," she
complained. "Can't you help me?"

"I don't think so," the sprite said sadly. "I really can't
touch you or it." She demonstrated by reaching out to touch
Orb, and her hand passed through Orb's arm without
sensation.

"Oh, you're a ghost!" Orb exclaimed, not certain whether
to be pleased or frightened.

"No, just a sprite. I can touch natural things like water,
but not unnatural things like the children of man."

Orb decided it was time for introductions. "I'm Orb," she
announced. "Who are you?"

"I'm—" The sprite paused, concentrating. "Oh, I don't
think I have a name! I never realized."

"Oh, that's very sad!" Orb said. "I must give you a
name."

"Oh, would you?" the sprite asked, pleased.

Orb concentrated, trying to think of a name. Beads of
water trailed down the tube as she continued to tug at it.
"Waterbead!" she exclaimed.

The sprite clapped her little hands. She was not much
larger than Orb, though formed as an adult or nearly adult
woman. "Oh, thank you!" Then, focusing on the tube:

"Maybe if you lifted it a little, instead of just pulling ..."

Piers Anthony                  5

Orb lifted—and abruptly the tube came free. She clam-
bered into it, and in a moment was floating.

"If you paddle with your hands. . . " Waterbead
suggested.

Orb paddled, and the tube began to move. Soon she was
out in the pool, moving splashily. The sprites laughed and
splashed back at her. The droplets of water did touch her;

they were natural. This was indeed fun, despite the cold.

Waterbead swam out ahead, making little whirlpools in
the water. Then the other sprites joined in, fashioning a
larger whirlpool. Orb's tube spun around in it, making her
laugh giddily. Oh, yes, this was fun!

They were now at the lower side of the pool, and the cur-
rent was picking up, carrying Orb on down the river.
"Maybe you should paddle upstream," Waterbead said.

"Why?" Orb was enjoying the ride.

The sprites suffered one of their little pauses. "We can't
go too far that way," one explained. "The water goes bad."

Orb didn't like bad water, so she paddled. But now the
current was too strong for her. She made no headway, and
soon her arms were tired, and the tube picked up speed
downstream.

"We can't follow!" a sprite cried. One by one they
dropped back, returning to the quieter pool, until only Wa-
terbead remained.

"Maybe you should go to shore," Waterbead suggested.

"Why?"

"Because the bad sprites are downstream. If you go to
the shore, you can stop before you reach them."

Orb tried to paddle for shore, but the current fought her,
and she could not reach it.

"Oh, I must go back!" Waterbead cried. Indeed, she
looked distressed, her hair turning lank and her skin clouding
up. "Get out of the bad water as soon as you can, Orb!"
Then she stroked swiftly upstream, leaving Orb alone.

The tube spun about, bouncing through the rapids, and
Orb had to cling on for dear life. Then the river smoothed
out in a kind of lake, with a factory beside it. A huge pipe
poured dark fluid into the water.

Indeed, the water was bad here; it was discolored and
cloudy, so that she could no longer see to the bottom, and

6              Being a Green Mother

it stank of something rotten. Orb did as Waterbead had ad-
vised and paddled for the shore away from the factory.

But now more sprites appeared. These were of similar size
to the first ones, but their bodies were twisted and their hair
tangled. "What's this? A child of man!" one cried.

"Drown her!" the others chorused.

"But aren't you sprites?" Orb asked, alarmed.

"She sees us!" the twisted creatures cried as if horrified.

"Of course I see you and hear you, too," Orb said.

The hostile sprites ringed her, staring. "We can still drown
her," one said, scowling. Her eyes were cloudy, as if there
was disturbed weather inside her head.

"Not while she's in that tube!" another pointed out.

"Then get her out of the tube!"

They splashed at her, not playfully as the others had, but
roughly, so that the water stung her face. "Hey, stop that!"
she cried.

They did not. One rushed at her, making a horrible face.
"Out! Out! Out!" the mean sprite screamed.

Orb got angry. "Yah!" she screamed back and struck at
the sprite with her fist. She missed, but made a bad splash
of her own. Then she whipped her arm back and forth, throw-
ing up water so that it flew all over, and screamed so hard
that her face heated.

The nymphs were daunted. Evidently they had never seen
a temper tantrum before. It was a thing Orb was good at;

sometimes she even frothed at the mouth, alarming every-
one. Luna almost never got mad, but Orb made up for both
of them when something set her off.

The sprites withdrew to a safe distance, "We can't touch
her," one said.

"We don't have to," another answered. "There's more
than one way to drown a mortal. Start a swirl."

"A swirl!" the others agreed.

They swam in a circle, stirring up the water, forming a
great whirlpool. The nice sprites upriver had made fun
swirls, but this was an ugly maw. Orb's tube was sucked
into it. Faster she moved, as the sprites accelerated the
water. The tube tilted as the center of the whirlpool dropped
low. Orb was afraid she would topple over. Then she would
have to let go, because her head would be under the fou'

Piers Anthony                 7

water. Her anger was replaced by fright. What could she do
now?

"A boat!" a sprite screamed angrily.

"It can't see us," another said.

"Yes it can!"

Abruptly the sprites left the whirlpool and dived under the
murky water. The swirl eased, and Orb was able to see the
boat. "Daddy!" she cried.

In a moment her father Pace was there, lifting her out of
the tube and into the canoe and wrapping a blanket around
her shivering body. She hugged him, crying, her relief caus-
ing her to let go of all the anger and fear.

But she was young, and in a moment the siege of emotion
passed. Now her curiosity returned. "Daddy, I saw the
sprites!" she exclaimed.

"You saw them?" he asked, repeating her statement in
the way that adults tended to do. He seemed pleased.

"Nice ones in the pool, but mean ones here. Why is that,
Daddy?"

"Because this water is polluted," he said. "The factory
pours its wastes into the water, and that ruins it, and the
sprites who live here become twisted. It is a sad thing."

"Why?"

He did not chide her for her "Why's." Daddy understood
her. "Because the factory can make more money if it dumps
its wastes out instead of paying someone to haul them away.
We have tried to get the factory to stop, but it has a lot of
money and it uses it to prevent us from stopping it."

"But the sprites—"

"It is sad about them," Pace agreed. "But very few peo-
ple can see them, so there is no clientele." He paused, re-
alizing that he had gone beyond her vocabulary. "No one
to try to help the sprites."

"Oh. That's very sad, Daddy. Even if they are real mean."

"Yes, it is. Perhaps when you grow up, you can do some-
thing about it. Then this colony of sprites won't be mean
anymore."

That was too complicated to grasp fully, because Orb
wasn't sure how anything could be other than it was now,
so she asked another question. "How come nobody can see
the sprites?"

Pace shook his head. "Some folk just seem to have more

8 Being a Green Mother

magic than others," he said. "Just as some are taller than
others, or more mischievous. Or have worse tempers." He
gave her a little squeeze. He didn't even mind her tantrums,
which was one of the perplexing things about him. "Magic
has run in my family, and that's part of it."

"What's the other part?" They were at the shore now,
and he was lifting her out.

"Why, you know that, Eyeball," he said with mock
reproval.

Orb considered. Then she smiled. "Your music, Daddy!"

He nodded. "My uncle had it. My cousin had it. I have
it. And maybe you do, too, pumpkin."

"I heard a song," Orb confessed, knowing that her father
would soon get around to inquiring why she was out in the
lake. "When I woke up, I just had to find it. And I couldn't.
It just went. Then I heard the river, and it was singing, too,
only not the same, and the sprites called, and—are you going
to tell Mommy?"

"Will you promise me not to do it again?"

Again Orb considered. "Daddy, I've just got to reach that
song!"

"Dumpling, you just can't reach that song."

"Why?"

"Because it is the Song of the Morning. It fades out when
dawn ends."

"But—"

"It will return tomorrow at dawn. I'll take you out to listen
to it. Now will you promise?"

"Okay, Daddy."

"Then I won't have to tell your mother."

"Okay, Daddy!" she repeated, hugging him. Then: "But
why aren't you mad?"

"Daddies don't get mad at little girls—"

"Oh, Daddy, you fibbed!"

"When they turn up with magic talents," he concluded.

Orb sobered. "I don't think I can make music like you."

"You heard the Song of the Morning. And the Song of the
River. You saw the sprites. Those are signals of our family
magic. It is just manifesting now. I was older than you are
now when I first heard the music, and older yet when I
learned to make it. Give it time, peanut."

"Okay, Daddy." She could tell how pleased he was about

Piers Anthony                  9

her hearing the Song. That was her luck, for she knew she
had gotten herself into a lot of trouble, almost drowning in
the river. Then, just in case he might reconsider, she changed
the subject. "How am I related to Luna?"

She knew by his reaction that she wasn't deceiving him,
but he answered anyway. "You are her aunt, technically."

"But I'm the same age!"

"Age doesn't matter. Niobe and I are your parents to-
gether and Luna's grandparents separately, and you are the
half sister of each of her parents."

"I know!" she exclaimed. "A half and a half is a whole!
I'm a whole sister!"

But he shook his head. "Half sister to her father the Ma-
gician, and half sister to her mother Blenda. Because you
share one parent with each. Two halves. But either qualifies
you as Luna's aunt."

Orb shook her head. "That's too mixed up for me,
Daddy."

They were approaching the house. "I could draw you a
chart, but I don't think you could read the names."

"I'll leam. Daddy!" she exclaimed.

So when they got inside, and Orb had been washed and
cleaned by her mother, who did not ask questions after re-
ceiving a warning look from her father, Pace made a chart
for her.

Cedric = Niobe = Pacian = Blanche

Orb

Magician              Blenda

Luna

Then he went over it with the two girls, because by this
time Luna was up and curious, too. "My cousin Cedric Kaf-
tan married Niobe, back way long, long ago," he explained.
"Their son became the Magician. Meanwhile, I married
Blanche, and our daughter was Blenda. The Magician mar-

10 Being a Green Mother

ried Blenda, who was his second cousin, and they had you,
Luna." He tweaked a strand of her clover-honey hair, and
she smiled. The two girls had been bom only days apart and
had trouble remembering who had been first.

"Cedric died young," Pacian continued, "and later
Blanche died. That was when Niobe and I got together, and
had you, Orb. So you are the Magician's half sister through
Niobe, and Blenda's half sister through me. The two of you
are of different generations, even though you are the same
age and look like twins."

"Why are you so much older than Niobe?" Luna asked.

Pace smiled. "I'm actually eleven years younger than
Niobe," he said. "She was the most beautiful woman of her
generation, and she kept her youth."

The two girls looked at each other, the clover-honey
blonde and the buckwheat-honey blonde, and shook then-
heads. They suspected they were being teased. It was ob-
vious that Pace was much older than Niobe!

"Which relates to the prophecy concerning the two of
you," Pace continued.

"What?" Orb asked.

"A prediction, a divination, a telling of the future," he
explained. "What will happen. I think it is time for you to
know it."

"Yes!" they agreed together, for this had the smell of
mystery.

"It was a complex prophecy and it caused the Magician
to lay a geis on you both, that no further prophecy can be
made for you. It started with your fathers, when we were
young, before we ever married. It was that each of us would
marry the most beautiful woman of her generation and have
a daughter."

"And you did!" Lrna exclaimed. "Our mothers are—"

"Yes. That is part of it. But the rest of it is this: that one
daughter might marry Death, and the other might marry
Evil."

"But we're too young to marry anyone!" Orb protested.

"So you are—at the moment. But when you both grow
up and are as beautiful as your mothers, remember that
prophecy and be careful. No one knows exactly what it
means."

Piers Anthony                 n

"We will!" they chorused, not taking it seriously, for they
never really expected to be other than they were right now.
In later years, however, they were to remember, and Orb
would wonder: did this relate to her vision? A wedding—
and a dead world?




2

HAMADRYAD

Two years later both Orb and Luna could see the sprites and
other magical creatures, and Orb could hear the music of
natural things, while Luna could see their auras. It was a
secret from their mothers but not from their fathers, because
Pace could relate to the magic of nature and the Magician,
Luna's father, knew everything about magic. The mothers
were virtual twins in beauty, though they were, like the girls,
of different generations. But they had no such perceptions
and seemed too busy with practical matters to be concerned
with them. Luna's mother Blenda spent most of her time
assisting the Magician, who was doing ever more obscure
research in magic, while Orb's mother Niobe did the laundry
and shopping and meals and reading stories. Luna came to
regard Niobe as virtually her mother, for Luna spent more
of her time here than at her own home.

Luna tried in vain to show Orb the auras she perceived,
which she said manifested as shimmering glows around and
through all living things, while Orb had the same frustration
when trying to have Luna hear the songs of nature. "It's the
Song of the Morning!" she would exclaim at dawn. "Can't
you hear it, Motheaten?"

12

Piers Anthony                 13

"Look, Eyeball—if you can't see the auras as plain as
day—!"

But the other magic Pace had promised Orb had not ma-
terialized. She could hear the music, but could not make it.
Oh, she could sing, and with fair effect considering her age,
but there was no magic. She was glad that her father had
not told her mother about her misadventure with the sprites
of the river—at least not about the cause of it, which was
her ability to hear the Song of the Morning. She heard that
song every morning now, if she was awake, and it was always
lovely, changing a little with the nature of the land and the
season, so that there was always a refreshing novelty about
it. If only she could make music like that!

"Daddy ..." she pleaded one day.

"Maybe the hamadryad can help you," Pace said.

"The what?"

"She taught the Magician his first magic," he explained.
"She's a tree-nymph, like a sprite for a tree, and she be-
friended the Magician when he was a baby. We used to take
him there to visit her for an afternoon, when he lived with
us. They seldom deal much with our kind, but Luna's the
Magician's daughter, and you are very like her, so maybe
she will meet you. I know your mother will be glad to take
you there, just for a visit."

"Oh goody!" Orb exclaimed, hugging him.

So they went for a day to the cabin near the swamp that
they maintained as a vacation house. Niobe made sure that
both girls were wearing their polished moonstone amulets,
for the Magician had given them these for protection, and
there could be dangers in the swamp.

The swamp was impressive. The trees expanded their
bases near the water as if to embrace as much of it as pos-
sible, and magic surrounded them. Luna kept exclaiming as
she saw the interactions of their auras, and Orb as she heard
their separate yet interactive melodies. Niobe evidently per-
ceived neither, but realized that the girls were not teasing
her.

They came to the giant water oak. "Hamadryad!" Niobe
called. "Do you remember me? You trained my son, the
Magician."

The dryad appeared, perched on a stout lateral branch.
She smiled cautiously; she remembered.

14

Being a Green Mother

At that moment Orb suffered a recurrence of her vision-
dream. She was walking down the aisle with the strange man,
and the globe was turning, dead. Who was the man, and what
had happened to the world, and how did she get involved
with either? She tried to turn her head to see the man and
managed a little, catching a fleeting glimpse of his profile.
He was no one she knew now. And the world—she was
responsible, in some fashion. She knew, and was horrified.

"I have brought the Magician's daughter—and mine,"
Niobe said, jolting Orb out of her vision. "Will you meet

with them?"
The dryad peered down at the two girls. Luna and Orb,

coached on this, smiled like twin moons.

The hamadryad nodded. She would meet.

"I will return in two hours," Niobe said.

Orb turned on her in alarm. "You are leaving us here?"

"The dryad will not approach an adult," Niobe explained.
"Only a child. But you are safe here; she will not harm you,
or let you harm yourselves, if you do what she says."

Uncertainly, the girls watched Niobe retreat. They knew
she would not put them in any danger; she was extremely
fussy about that sort of thing, and her definitions of risk
could be pretty annoying. Such as eating too much candy,
or playing in deep mud. Still, the swamp seemed awfully big

and dank.

When Niobe was gone, the hamadryad came down the
tree. She did not exactly climb down, she walked down. It
was as if her feet were glued to the trunk, allowing her to
walk at a right angle to it. That was impressive.

In a moment the dryad stood before them. Sae was no
taller than they were, but was more finely proportioned,
more like the sprites. Her hair was green and leafy, and her
body, though unclothed, had ridges resembling bark. She
was pretty in the way a tree was pretty, and in the way of

a woman, too.

"Hello," the dryad said tentatively, as if not expecting
any favorable response. She was poised for instant retreat.

"Hello," Orb responded.

The hamadryad responded with a smile so brilliant it was
like a shaft of sunlight reaching down to touch her. "You
are his child!" she exclaimed.

Piers Anthony                 15

"Uh, no, not exactly," Orb said. "That's Luna. I'm
Niobe's child."

'What?" Luna asked, perplexed.

'She got us confused, that's all," Orb said.

'How do you know?" Luna asked.

'You heard her! She called me the Magician's child."

'But she didn't say anything!" Luna protested.

'What?" Orb asked, in her turn.

'She did not hear me," the hamadryad said sadly.

Orb turned to Luna. "You didn't hear her?"

"Hear what? She only moved her mouth."

Now Orb realized. "It's like the music! I can hear it and
you can't."

"Well, you can't see the auras, smarty!" Luna retorted.

"She sees auras?" the hamadryad asked.

"Oh, sure," Orb said. "I hear things, she sees things.
Mommy can't do either. But Daddy can hear the music, so
he said we should come see you."

"Who is your father?" the hamadryad asked.

"He's Pacian Kaftan. He makes magic music."

"Yes. So did Cedric, his cousin. The first time I heard it,
I almost fell out of my Tree!"

Orb pictured the dryad falling out of the tree and she
started to laugh. The dryad laughed, too.

"What's so funny?" Luna demanded.

Orb realized that she would have to translate, or there
would be trouble. Usually she was the one who got mad and
threw a fit, but Luna could do it, too, when she tried. "She
says when she heard Grandpa Cedric's magic music, she
almost fell out of the tree!"

Luna giggled. That was funny!

"But then he died," the hamadryad said. "It was so sad.
The Magician was right here with me, just a baby then."

"A baby?" Luna asked when Orb translated. "My
father?"

"Yes. He could hear the music and see the auras, but he
couldn't make them. But he was very smart and he wanted
to learn, so I taught him the natural magic."

"Can you teach us?" Orb asked. "Daddy can make such
wonderful music, and he says maybe I can, but I can't!"

"Come into my Tree," the hamadryad said. "Perhaps I
can teach you."

26

Being a Green Mother

"Oooo, goody!" Orb cried, clapping her hands.

They scrambled up into the spreading branches of the tree,
unable to walk the trunk in the manner of the hamadryad.
Orb scraped a knee a little, but she was used to that.

Above, the leaf foliage closed in about them, forming a
pleasant bower. The branches twisted this way and that and
had knots and boles that were like chairs, and they sat on
these. Speckles of sunlight came through, making it pretty.

"Ooo," Luna exclaimed. "The aura brightens where the

sun strikes!"

"That's because the light is the life of my Tree," the ha-
madryad said. "Light and water and soil and air—four mun-
dane elements."

Luna's brow furrowed as Orb translated. "I thought there

were five elements."

"Yes. We call the important one spirit, or magic."
"That's why my father studied magic!" Luna exclaimed.
" 'Cause you told him that!"

"Yes. He wanted to help the natural things, as Cedric did.
We dryads are magic, but we don't have much power over
unnatural things, so I thought maybe if he learned ..."

"I guess he's still learning," Luna said. "He and Mommy
spend all their time with it."

"Let's see what we can do with your own magic," the
hamadryad said, diverting the subject to safer territory. Orb
was still relaying her words to Luna, who could not hear
them. "Can you do this?" She made a gesture in the air with
her right hand.

Luna stared at the space defined by the gesture, though
Orb saw nothing. "Ooo, lovely!" she exclaimed.

"Try it yourself," the dryad said.

Luna made a similar gesture. "It's not working," she said,

pouting.

"But the hand is only part of it! You must emote, too."

"What?"

"You must/ee/! Become one with the natural aura, shape
it to your desire. Try it again."

Luna concentrated, gesturing again. Orb saw nothing, but
the hamadryad smiled. "See? There's a little!"

Luna had scrunched up her eyes in her concentration.
Now she looked. "Ooo, uck!" she exclaimed with distaste.

"But it's aura!" the dryad insisted. "You did it!"

Piers Anthony                17

Luna considered, as Orb relayed this endorsement. The
truth was, Orb was tiring of this exchange. "I guess I did."

"But you must practice," the dryad cautioned her. "Art
is not mastered in a day. It takes years to be good."

"Years!" Luna exclaimed impatiently. "I want to do it
now!"

"Most people can't do it at all," the dryad reminded her.
"But you, when you learn, will be able to read the auras of
people and to know whether they are good or evil, because
you will know the types of auras. A person may tell you a
lie with a straight face, but his aura can never deceive you.
That was why I knew the Magician was good, even when
he was a baby, and that he had greatness in him, though
there was a dark side. Because of his magnificent aura."
'Dark side?" Luna asked when all this reached her.
'He was good, but he had the capacity to relate to evil.
Sometimes I still fear for him. If Satan turned him to evil—''
'Satan?" This was Orb's query.
'Oh, maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that," the dryad
said. "Satan isn't nice."

Orb was bored with these proceedings, as they did not
involve her, and words like "capacity" strained her re-
sources. "What about my magic?" she asked.

The dryad turned to her. "Oh, you have been so helpful,
Orb, I didn't realize I was neglecting you. Yes, we must see
about your own magic. Tell your sister to practice her aura-
painting while I work with you."

Orb, pleased with the compliment and the attention, de-
cided not to quibble about the hamadryad's error. Luna was
her niece, not her sister. She relayed the word, and Luna
was satisfied to face away and make her gestures of nothing.

"Do you sing?" the dryad asked Orb.

"Yes, but not the way Daddy does."

"You, too, must emote. You must put your feeling into
it. Magic involves the whole of a person's desire. That may
be why most people don't have magic; they don't really want
it. Not as part of them."

"But Mommy doesn't have magic!" Orb protested, think-
ing that refuted the statement.

"Niobe had more magic than anyone, and gave it up to
marry your father," the hamadryad said. "Now try to
emote."

16

Being a Green Mother

Orb concentrated as she hummed a tune, but nothing hap-
pened. "It's not working!" she said, aggrieved. "Why
should it work for Luna and not for me?"

Before the dryad could answer, there was music from
below. All three of them turned to look, peering down below
the tree.

The music was approaching down the path, getting louder.
It was a violin playing, and the man playing it was dressed
in a bright, light blouse and dark trousers. He had glossy
long hair falling across his shoulders and piercing black eyes.
Beside him danced a woman in a glaringly red skirt and green
kerchief about her hair, and no shirt at all. There were many
rings on her fingers and long earrings dangling by her bare
breasts, so that she flashed constantly as she moved.

Behind them came others, similarly garbed. Some played
mandolins and some played instruments that Orb could not
define at all, and all were dancing in their way. They came
to the foot of the tree and drew up in a circle about it. There
were perhaps a dozen of them, including a number of
children.

An old woman stepped forward. "There!" she said, point-
ing directly at Orb and Luna. "Two magic children!"

"Gypsies!" the hamadryad exclaimed. "I have heard of
them. Beware—they steal children!"

The man who had played the violin stepped up. "The seer
knows," he said. "Come down from there, children. We
wish to see your magic."

"Go away, you ruffians!" the dryad cried. "These chil-
dren are not for you!"

"Oho!" the man said. "A tree-nymph! Well, this is not
your business, oak-spirit. All we want are the children."

"You can't have them," the dryad said.

"Be quiet, dryad, or we'll chop down your tree," the man
threatened. The hamadryad made a little squeal of outrage
and pain, appalled by the threat.

"How come he can hear her when I can't?" Luna asked
somewhat querulously.

"Get up there and bring them down," the man said. Im-
mediately two husky young men ran up and scrambled up
the tree. In moments they were in the branches and reaching
for the girls, who were frozen in shock.

But as the hands of the men reached for Orb and Luna,

Piers Anthony                19

and touched them, both men froze. Their hands never
closed; they merely remained touching.

"Get on with it," the man called from below. "We don't
want to tarry long here."

"We can't," one of the young men gasped, not moving.

"What do you mean, you can't?" the leader demanded.
"They're only children!"

"They've got amulets," the other said.

"Oho! I should have known that children as valuable as
this would be protected. Well, there are other ways. Drop
back down."

The two young men did that literally, dropping from the
big branches to the ground and landing lithely.

The leader smiled up at the girls. "We are the Raggle-
Taggle Gypsies," he announced. "We like children and we
have wonderful times. Magic children have a fine life with
us—the best of all. Come and join us."

But Orb and Luna, heeding the hamadryad's warning,
balked. They simply stared down, unmoving.

"We'll show you!" the Gypsy said. He snapped his fin-
gers. Immediately the others brought out the instruments and
resumed their music. The women danced, and the children
cavorted acrobatically.

"Ooo, that does look like fun," Luna said.

The music intensified, and now Orb heard a suggestion of
the magic melodies of nature. The Gypsies knew that music!

"Don't go!" the hamadryad cried. But in vain; the two
girls, fascinated by the fun the Gypsies were having, just had
to go down and join it. In a moment they were on the ground.
The Gypsy children took their hands and formed a circle,
and they danced, kicking out their legs with sheer abandon.

After a bit, the music stilled. "It's not exactly the Llano,"
the Gypsie leader said. "But we do enjoy it. It's yours, if
you join us."

At the sound of the word "Llano" Orb's pulse did a minor
leap. Something about that word thrilled her. A suggestion
of her dream-vision flashed by the backs of her eyes.

"We can't join them!" Luna protested in a sharp whisper.
"Your mother would be furious!"

But Orb was distracted by the word. "The 'Yano—" she
started, unable to pronounce it the way the Gypsy had.

"Oh, the Llano!" he exclaimed. "You have rare taste in

20 Being a Green Mother

music, child! But no one possesses the Llano, though many
seek it. We Gypsies come as close to it as any, but all we
ever capture is some trifling fragment. Come with us, child,
and we shall search for the Llano together! Our seer says
one of you can see auras, and the other can hear the songs
of nature. With your help, perhaps we can find the ultimate
song!"

"Oh, yes!" Orb exclaimed, clapping her hands.

"No!" the hamadryad cried from the branches of the oak.
"The Llano is a delusion and a cheat! Mortals who quest
too close to it only sicken and die. Don't trust these people!"

"Chop down her tree!" the Gypsy leader snapped.

Immediately his husky youths brought out axes and ap-
proached the tree. The hamadryad screamed and seemed
about to faint.

This was too much for Orb. Her temper had never been
moderate, and now she exploded. "Leave her tree alone!"
she cried fiercely.

The Gypsy leader glanced down at her, amused. "Or
what?"

"Or we won't go look for the 'Yano!" Orb said, striding
toward the trunk.

The first youth was lifting his axe high, about to make the
first chop. Orb charged right into him, trying to reach the
axe. She was prepared to climb right up him and bite his arm
if she had to. Luna followed her lead and grabbed the other
youth.

Both youths froze, their will departing.

"Got to get rid of those amulets!" the Gypsy leader mut-
tered angrily.

That gave the hamadryad her cue. "The Magician made
those amulets!" she cried.

"Of course he did," the leader agreed. "He makes them
and sells them; that's how he earns his living. We trade in
them, too. But people can be separated from their amulets."
Then, to the youths: "Put away those axes; I was only
fooling."

The girls let go of the youths, and the youths retreated.
Now the Gypsy leader addressed Orb. "That is a very fine
amulet you have. May I look at it?"

Flattered, Orb reached for hers, ready to remove it.

Piers Anthony

21

"Don't take it off!" the dryad screamed. "That's your
only protection from evil!"

But the leader evidently had another idea. "It's no pro-
tection at all," he said, gesturing to an old woman. "See,
it's changed into a giant squiggly worm!"

The old woman threw powder toward the girls and ges-
ticulated weirdly and uttered strange words. Orb felt some-
thing wriggling at her neck. Luna screamed—and sure
enough, her amulet had changed into a grotesque worm.

The two girls tore at the chains about their necks, trying
to get rid of the horrible creatures.

"No, no!" the hamadryad cried. "It's just illusion! Don't
take them off!" But the children, horrified, were beyond
reason. In a moment both amulets were off and flung away.

Now the Gypsies pounced on Orb and Luna. "Got you
now, my little treasures!" the leader exclaimed. "Your tal-
ents will add a pretty penny to the pot, once we get you
broken in. You'll learn to beg and steal and dance—you'll
soon be perfect Gypsies!"

The girls, now thoroughly disenchanted, began to cry.

But the hamadryad wasn't finished. "Fie on you, vile crea-
tures!" she screamed. "Turn loose those girls this instant!"

"Or what?" the leader inquired, exactly as he had before.

"Or I'll tell my neighbor dryad what you have done, and
she'll tell her neighbor, and so on till the news reaches the
tree by the Magician's house!"

The Gypsy leader laughed. "Forget it, nymph! The Ma-
gician doesn't watch out for every stupid client of his mer-
chandise! There are thousands of these amulets about."

"He watches out for these ones!" the dryad said. "One's
his daughter, the other his sister."

All the Gypsies froze. "Uh-oh," the old seer said. "She
speaks the truth. I didn't think to check for that before!"

"We'll be far gone from here before the Magician comes,"
the leader said.

The woman shook her head. "Give it up, Raggle. We want
no quarrel with him. He's not just an enchanter of stone.
He's the most potent sorcerer in Ireland and some distance
beyond, and getting stronger every day. He will destroy us;

we can't hide from him."

The leader blanched. "You're sure, Taggle?"

"I'm sure."

22 Being a Green Mother

He sighed. "Then so must it be." He turned to the girls.
"We'll leave you now, children; sorry we couldn't have you
with us, but that's the way it goes."

The troupe began to move out.

"No, you don't!" the hamadryad screamed. "You have
wronged these poor girls! You must make amends!"

"Don't push your luck, nymph!" the leader growled.
"The Magician doesn't protect you. Our axes can still—"

But again the old seer was cautioning him. "I see it now,
as I should have before. The Magician loves this dryad. She
it was who trained him in natural magic when he was a tot.
If anything hurt her or her tree—"

"Damn it, woman!" the leader exclaimed, furious. "Why
didn't you tell me before?"

"We all make mistakes," she said. "I wa' so intent on
the prize to be won, I forgot to look beyond."

"What a mistake!" he groaned. "How are we to get out
of this?"

"You'll make amends!" the hamadryad called. "That's
what you'll do, you scoundrels!"

The leader sighed. "It seems we must." He turned again
to the girls, who had picked up their amulets, which no longer
squiggled. "I hereby abjectly apologize to the two of you.
But let me explain. We are not bad folk, we are Gypsies,
and we follow the Gypsy way. We are always kind to our
children, including those we adopt; not one of them would
trade our way for that of the settled kind. I was stolen and
adopted myself, and I bless my fortune! We are free folk,
as free as any on earth. We sing and dance the day long and
we are happy in what we do. We meant no harm to you; we
merely wanted you to join us, because we appreciate both
music and magic as no other folk do. You would have liked
our life. It is not every child we choose; only those with true
talents. Our approach to you was a compliment, not a
threat."

The girls were six years old and were learning how to be
vulnerable to flattery. But the hamadryad was several
hundred years old and of a less forgiving nature. "Forget
the blarney!" she called. "Get to the amends!"

"I was coming to that, wood-sprite," the leader said, firing
a dark glance in her direction. Then he smiled graciously.
He could be completely charming when he tried. "To make

Piers Anthony                23

amends for our misunderstanding, we shall give you an in-
valuable gift: a True Telling of your fortunes, at no charge."

Orb glanced at the tree, and the dryad nodded affirma-
tively. This was a suitable amend. "Yes," Orb said, and
Luna agreed.

The old woman came forth again. "Give me your hands,"
she said.

The girls extended their hands as if for an inspection before
a meal, and the seer took one of each. She closed her eyes.
"Let us look into your futures," she intoned.

A shadow of the vision touched Orb.

The woman shuddered and dropped the hands. "It's
barred!" she exclaimed. "I cannot read their lives!"

"A likely story!" the hamadryad called.

"No, 'tis true!" the seer protested. "A counterspell has
been laid on these two, rendering their futures opaque. I
doubt that the Horned One himself could penetrate these
lives! Certainly I can not, nor any Gypsy."

Luna looked at Orb. "Daddy," she said.

That made sense. The Magician had evidently protected
them with more than the amulets. Maybe there was some
threat in having their futures told, so he had prevented it.

"You're trying to renege!" the dryad cried, outraged.

"We must offer something else," the Gypsy leader said
quickly. "We always keep our deals."

The dryad snorted at this, but the man was serious. Orb
was quick enough to grasp her opportunity. "Maybe the
'Yano?" she inquired.

The leader shook his head. "Child, I can not give you that!
No mortal person can. The Llano can only be found for one's
self. My playing is but the poorest suggestion of it, anyway;

I have never been able to approach it closely."

"But I really want it!" Orb said.

Luna's curiosity had been roused. "Maybe if you just tell
us about it," she suggested.

"Even that is little enough," the man said. "Our whole
band together hardly knows—"

"Yes, tell us!" Orb said. "It is like the Song of the
Morning?"

The leader pursed his lips. "You hear that? You are a rare
child indeed! Yes, it is said to be like that, only much, much
more. The Song of the Morning is just one of the five major

24 Being a Green Mother Piers Anthony 25

Songs of Nature, or perhaps one aspect of the whole, while
the Llano is the whole. It is the ultimate in music, the song
for which aU Gypsies long, and from which all Gypsies take
their inspiration, however poorly they understand it. When
we die, we hope to join the province of the Llano and listen
to it and play it for eternity." He glanced around. "What
do the rest of you know?"

A young woman, a dancer, spoke up. "I heard a tale of
the Llano, I know not if it be true, but I think it is. It is of
a young woman, a Gypsy like me, who loved a mundane
prince, but he would pay her no mind at all unless she gave
up her band and her wandering and settled forever in his
castle, and that would have killed her, for no Gypsy can
survive such confinement. But she knew she would die, too,
if she did not possess him. So she went to his castle and
stood outside the turret where he stood, and she sang him
a piece of the Llano. And he came down from that tower,
mounted his fine horse, rode out, picked her up, and rode
to her band, and he married her and joined the Gypsies, and
their love was forever, because of the Llano."

Orb listened, entranced. What a song that must be, if just
a little piece of it could do that!

Now an old man spoke. "I know a tale of the Llano. A
Gypsy man like me was caught by the mundanes and sen-
tenced to be hanged for stealing, when he had only pursued
his normal way of life. Seeing that they refused to understand
that he had taken the bread only to feed himself and his
family, and knowing that no help was close by, he gave him-
self up for lost. But then he remembered a bit of the Llano
he had heard once years ago, and now the melody returned
to him clearly. And as they laid the noose about his neck,
he sang that fragment. And they took away the noose, un-
bound his hands, set him free, and gave him money, too,
because of the Llano."

Orb liked that story, too. She wondered if the Llano could
enable her to escape punishment when she did something
wrong. In a way it had already, when she had avoided trouble
by explaining about the Song of the Morning to her father.

A child spoke. "I know a tale of the Llano, too. A child
like me was out in the forest gathering berries, and a big old
wild beast, I don't know what it was, maybe a wolf or a
mountain lion or a dragon or something, it came and was

going to eat him up 'cause it was hungry, and the boy was
scared stiff, but he remembered a bit of the Llano and he
sang it, and that beast calmed right down and became his
pet instead, because of the Llano."

Taming a wild beast with a song? Orb liked that, too.

The Gypsy leader looked around the group, but no other
person spoke. "It seems that's as much as we know about
the Llano," he said. "It is very little, I know, but if we knew
how to find it, we would be seeking it for ourselves and not
dallying here in the swamp. Maybe you, if you can hear the
Song of the Morning, will someday hear the rest of it. We
know of these Songs of Nature, but few of us can actually
hear them. I was adopted by the Raggle-Taggle tribe because
I could hear the voices and songs of the natural ones."

"I guess it's enough," Orb said, mollified. The hamadryad
was silent, so the Gypsies moved away. In a moment the
entire band was gone.

"But is any of that true?" Luna inquired when they were
back in the tree. "Maybe they made it all up."

"They adapted it," the dryad said, and Orb translated, as
Luna still could not hear her. "The originals may not have
been Gypsies, but probably the episodes happened. The
Llano is said to be the ultimate in music. I did not believe
in it, but maybe I was wrong. If only we hamadryads knew
it, we could protect our trees from the depredations of man."

They worked some more on Orb's music, but in only a
moment, it seemed, Niobe was back, and the session was
over. By common consent, the girls did not tell Niobe of the
adventure with the Gypsies, knowing that only mischief
could come of this. They came many times thereafter to the
hamadryad's tree, and slowly Orb learned to make the music
of the kind her father made, and Luna learned to paint with
the aura.

But of the Llano Orb could learn no more. She didn't ask
her folks, because then she would have had to tell them
where she had learned of it, and that could have gotten awk-
ward. Anyway, she doubted they knew. The Magician surely
knew, but he was unapproachable; even Luna, his daughter,
didn't dare bother him when he was deep in magic research,
which was all the time. So Orb endured with private longing.
One day, some day, she would go out herself in quest of the
Llano!







Orb stood at the wake, feeling cold. Blenda, Luna's mother,
was dead, and there was nothing she could do about it. Tech-
nically Blenda had been Orb's half sister, for both of them
were the daughters of Pacian, but she had been easier to
think of as an aunt. Blenda had been the most beautiful
woman of her generation, but she had aged rapidly in the
past few years. Whatever researches the Magician had been
doing had taken the life-strength from both himself and his
wife; now she was dead, and he was old. It was hard to
believe that he was Niobe's son!

Orb and Luna were seventeen, going on eighteen, sup-
posedly at the prime of maidenhood. It was said by others
that they were beautiful, though not as much as their mothers
had been. That was hard to appreciate in this hour of be-
reavement. What was the point of beauty, when a person
still had to age and die?

Abruptly the Magician crossed to Orb. "We must have
music for the wake," he said.

Orb quailed. "Oh, I couldn't—" For though she had never
been truly close to Luna's mother—and Luna herself had
not been as close as both of them were to Niobe—the grief
of this termination was on her.

Piers Anthony                27

"She liked your music," the Magician said. "She will not
hear it hereafter."

Orb glanced wildly about, seeking some escape from this
duty, and caught Niobe's gaze. Niobe nodded. Orb would
have to do it.

She fetched her harp. She had been given this when she
was twelve; it was from the Hall of the Mountain King. It
was magic, and it amplified her talent enormously. Her fa-
ther's music embraced the listener when he touched; hers
extended beyond touch. She had not realized that Blenda
was even aware of it.

She played on the instrument, then sang. She had intended
a sad song, but it came out happy, to her dismay; it seemed
that something other than her own will was guiding her. In
the old days, she understood, wakes had been happy affairs,
all-night parties, but now they were more somber, and cer-
tainly she did not feel festive. But she found herself singing
a song of light and joy, and the Magician was smiling, and
somehow, amazingly, it seemed right.

Then Luna painted a picture of her mother, in her youthful
beauty, and it was the loveliest of portraits. This would go
with Blenda, in such manner as it could. She would travel
to Heaven with treasured things.

After the wake and burial were done, things did not return
to normal. The Magician decided to move to America, and
of course Luna would go with him. This hardly cheered Orb;

Luna had been her closest companion all her life. But what
was to be, was to be. The two girls had a tearful parting,
and then Luna and her father were gone. Oh, they had prom-
ised to keep in touch, and to visit back and forth, but Orb
still felt bereft.

There did not seem to be much point in staying home, now.
Orb's father Pacian was over seventy and was slowing down;

she rather feared that he would be next and she hardly cared
to witness that. So she approached Niobe about the possi-
bility of traveling, apprehensive about her mother's re-
sponse, but to her surprise it was positive. "By all means,
dear," Niobe said. "It is important for a girl to get some
experience of the world, before she has to settle down. Just
be careful."

Now perversely. Orb had a second thought. "But you,
Mother—can you manage without me? I mean—"

28 Being a Green Mother

Niobe hugged her. "I love you Orb, but I can manage.
Here, the Magician left something for you."

It turned out to be a carpet: a beautiful small silken one
that nevertheless supported her weight lightly enough. "Oh,
it's absolutely lovely!" Orb breathed ecstatically. "But that
means—"

"That he knew you would be going," Niobe finished. "He
cares for you. Orb, as he does for Luna; he just doesn't show
it often. He told me where to take the two of you to obtain
your instruments. I think his neglect as a baby caused him
to lose facility for the expression of love, but he feels it."

Orb did not comment. Niobe was the Magician's mother;

if she had neglected him, she must have had good reason.
"I will use it to visit him and Luna!" she exclaimed.

"You will not!" Niobe snapped. "This is not interconti-
nental tapestry! You would perish in some storm far from
land. No, this is strictly a local transport, close to ground.
You'll have to take a scientific airplane to cross the ocean.
But you don't need to visit them so soon anyway; go about
your business and see what you can find."

Orb nodded. She had never spoken to her mother of her
longing for the Llano, but evidently Niobe knew. So she
flung her arms about the older woman and just hugged her,
and that was enough.

But Niobe was not done. She had a gift of her own: a cloak
that would garb Orb in whatever manner she required, so
that she would not need to tote a suitcase of clothing. "Re-
turn when you are ready, dear, and I will be here." Perhaps
significantly, she did not mention Pacian.

Orb hugged her again and shed another tear. Then she
packed some food and her little harp, took a good map of
Eire, and settled herself on the carpet. It lifted with her
thought, being one of the refined modern ones that re-
sponded only to the owner and needed no spoken
commands.

She hovered for a moment, blowing a kiss to her mother.
Then she was off, sailing up to treetop level, the wind taking
her cloak but not threatening her. She was on her way.

She was looking for the Raggle-Taggle Gypsies that she
had met as a child. They had told her what they knew of her
real objective, the Llano, but perhaps they could now tell
her where to look for it.

Piers Anthony                29

First she went to the swamp where the old water-oak
stood, to consult with the hamadryad. She and Luna had
visited often in the summers when they were young, but
seldom in the later years. Nevertheless the dryad welcomed
her immediately, even coming down from the tree to hug her
as she got off the carpet.

"But I'm adult now," Orb protested, pleased. "How can
you approach me?"

"You are still an innocent," the dryad said. "Besides, I
know you. There is no music like yours."

Orb elected to ignore the slight about her experience, for
the dryad had been a precious friend. "What I really want
is to find that song, the Llano," she confessed. "So I'm
looking for those Gypsies, because perhaps they can tell me
where to look."

The hamadryad frowned, not liking the Gypsies who had
threatened to chop down her tree. A threat of that nature
was never forgiven by her kind. But she recognized Orb's
need, so she helped. "We have watched that tribe, my sisters
and I. It is now south, in Cork."

Orb thanked her and resumed her journey, after a parting
almost as poignant as the one with Niobe. The flight was
long, and night was coming, so she ate sparingly from her
stores, then lay down on the carpet and slept while it con-
tinued its travel. Her cloak kept her warm, and she knew no
one would bother a solitary flying carpet; they were, after
all, common enough. This really solved the problem of
nights, for she was as safe here as she could be anywhere—
at least when there was no storm.

In the morning she found herself hovering over one of the
enchanted forests of Cork: the trees that magic enabled this
county to grow for their marvelous bark, providing employ-
ment and income for many residents. She circled until
she spied a park that had good water and facilities; then
she landed and refreshed herself. Her food was running
low; she had money and would have to buy more soon, but
right now she was too eager to locate the Gypsies.

Back aloft, she searched for signs of their presence and
soon spied a motley collection of tents. As she approached
she saw the women with their pots, and the men with their
horses and cattle, and the children playing, all of them wear-
ing bright bits of color. These were they!

30            Being a Green Mother

Piers Anthony

31

She landed, rolled up her rug, and fitted it into her knap-
sack along with her harp. The combined load was fairly
heavy, but she didn't want to leave anything of value un-
tended in this vicinity. Her prior experience with the Gypsies
had taught her this caution.

As she wafted up, the Gypsy children flocked to her.
"You want nice cloth?" one cried. "My mother has the
best!"

"You want fortune told?" another inquired. "My big sis-
ter knows all!"

Then a Gypsy man strode toward her. His hair was mid-
night black and his eyes the same, making his dark skin seem
light in comparison. With a wave of his arm he scattered the
children. "Welcome, beautiful woman!" he exclaimed.
"Come let me show you the wonders of perfect love!"

"Just take me to your leader," Orb said, somewhat
daunted by this approach.

"I am the leader," he proclaimed, putting his arm around
her. Because the knapsack was high on her back, his hand
fell low. He squeezed.

Orb leaped and whirled on him, her face flaming, and per-
haps her bottom, too. "How dare you?" she demanded.

The man laughed. "A woman of spirit!" he said. "What
a joy to bed you!" His dark gaze seemed to transfix her, and
somehow it seemed that the decision about her action had
already been made.

Orb put her left hand on the amulet hanging at her neck,
drawing power from it. She knew the Gypsy couldn't hurt
her. Not physically. But his lewd words and behavior ap-
palled her. She just wanted to get away from him and get
about her business.

The man, pressing what he perceived to be his advantage,
reached for her again. But this time the power of the amulet
manifested, and as his hand touched her, his volition drained
away. These amulets had protected Luna and Orb through-
out, the only exception being when they had invaded the
Hall of the Mountain King, whose power was supreme within
his own demesnes. But she had no onus against the Mountain
King; he was a good man, if man he was, and his magic harp
had vastly enhanced her life.

Why hadn't the amulet protected her from the man's fa-
miliarity before? Because she hadn't known it was coming,

and he hadn't known it would offend her. Now she did know,
and so did he, and the protective magic was operating. A
matter of interpretation, perhaps, but it made all the
difference.

Now that she had him helpless, she had a better idea.
"You're not the leader, are you?" she said.

"No," he agreed. "I just told you that so you would like
me."

"Perhaps you can help me anyway," she continued. "I
am looking for the Llano. What can you tell me?"

"The Llano!" he exclaimed, and his hand fell away from
her. At that point he recovered his volition. "What did you
do to me, woman?"

"I overwhelmed you with my personality," she said
sweetly. "Are you going to answer my question?"

He whistled. "Lady, I think I had better! But all I can tell
you is that we don't know where to find the Llano. I don't
think any of us can, here. I think you would have to ask at
the source of the Gypsies."

"And where is that?"

He looked embarrassed. "We don't know that either. We
think we came up out of Egypt, through Spain; that is how
we derive our name, E-Gypt-sy. But that may be just a
story."

Orb considered. It struck her as an excellent story. "Why
then I suppose I'll just have to go to Spain and inquire
there," she said.

The Gypsy fidgeted. "That may not be wise."

"Why not?"

"Look, lady—you can't just walk into a Gypsy camp and
start asking questions. You'll wind up in somebody's tent,
and—" He paused, evidently remembering her power of re-
sistance. "Well, maybe not. But the Gypsies of Spain are
more—well, they wouldn't let you get off as easily as I am,
and your magic may not protect you there. We're just a
primitive band, but there they know more of the old lore.
You would run a risk."

His words had the ring of sincerity. Orb leaned forward
and kissed him lightly. "I thank you. I shall take care." She
turned away.

"Wait, lady!" he protested.

She turned back. "Haven't you had enough of me?"




32 Being a Green Mother

"I think I will never have enough of you, lady! But I rec-
ognize your power. Please, a boon—the others have seen
me talking to you, and if you just go away they will know I
failed with you. If you would stay a little longer, let me show
you around, be your guide, they would think—"

"Why should I care what they think?" she snapped. "You
tried to—to handle me!"

"I know, and I apologize. But this is the way of a man
with a beautiful woman—the Gypsy way. I would have been
the shame of my tribe if I didn't try! And now—my repu-
tation—"

Orb tried to remain objective, but the repeated compli-
ments about her appearance were getting to her. Perhaps the
Gypsy had a case. Her temper, quick to fray, was also quick
to mend. "I have no intention of—"

"I understand!" he said quickly. "Obviously a woman of
your quality has no interest in riffraff like me! But if you
could just appear to be—I would be so grateful, and if there
is any favor I could do in return—"

He wanted to avoid being shamed before his folk. She
could appreciate that. She melted, some. "Well, I do need
to obtain some food, to travel with—"

"Yes, yes!" he agreed avidly. "I will guide you to the
best we have! The best prices, no cheating! If only—" he
made a partial gesture with his arm.

Orb decided that she was in command of the situation, and
the man might indeed be useful. "Yes, you may touch me—
but no squeezing. And nothing more—there is nothing be-
yond this."

"Yes! But there will seem to be more."

She nodded. The Gypsy put his arm about her waist, below
the knapsack, and he did not even touch her rear, let alone
squeeze. The other Gypsies glanced and nodded apprecia-
tively; the man was scoring again.

In due course Orb resumed her journey, stocked with ex-
cellent food. The man had been as good as his word and had
indeed been useful. He had asked only that he be allowed
to walk her through the forest, out of sight of the others, so
that they would draw their conclusions. She did, and the
Gypsies surely did, and that was all. "But if you ever do
want a man for other purposes—" he said at the end.

"I will know where to find you," she agreed. Indeed, he

Piers Anthony                33

seemed not a bad sort, once reined, and she had learned—
or releamed—that the word of a Gypsy, once honestly
given, was good.

Still, as she left him, Orb suffered a tinge of regret, not
for anything that might have passed between them, but be-
cause she felt she had lost a portion of her innocence.

Orb took an airplane to Spain, heeding her mother's ad-
vice. Indeed, as she looked out the window and saw the mass
of clouds below, she realized that it would have been foolish
for her to attempt this trip on her carpet. Any trifling storm
could have dumped her, and even the fog of harmless clouds
could have caused her to get lost. Magic was grand, but
science had its place, too; they were complementary mech-
anisms of accomplishment.

The plane landed at Granada. Orb made discreet inquiries
and learned that the Gypsy quarter was the Albaicin, on the
hill facing the Alhambra. This was in the larger region of
Andalusia, familiar to her by reputation because Luna's fa-
ther had imported special stones from here for his enchant-
ments, called anadalusite. They changed color with the light,
being green at times and orange at other times—and more
than that, after enchantment. Thus she was glad to make the
acquaintance of this country, on whatever pretext.

"But don't go there alone," the travel agent warned her.
"A tourist can get into trouble. Hire a guide who knows the
language."

"The language?"

"The Gypsies speak their own language among them-
selves. They will cheat you, or worse, if you go alone."

She thanked him. Then she went to a private place,
changed the aspect of her cloak to male apparel, bound up
her hair, and rubbed a little dirt into her cheeks and chin to
simulate the first shadow of a beard. She intended to avoid
the peril of being a lone woman by passing for a man. She
unrolled her carpet, rode it to the Albaicin, and landed out
of sight of the Gypsies. She rolled up her carpet and packed
it away.

She stepped out toward the Gypsy quarter. The hill was
dotted with holes, and it was apparent that the Gypsies lived
in these holes, for music emanated from them. That was one

34            Being a Green Mother

thing about these folk; wherever they were, there was music.
No one who really liked music could be all bad!

She started up the hill. Immediately an old woman ap-
proached her, carrying flowers, speaking in Spanish. Orb
shook her head. "I do not speak that language," she said
gruffly, walking on. She hoped she sounded like a man.

The old woman faded back, and a young one appeared.
"Ah, you are from England," she said.

"Ireland," Orb replied shortly, keeping her voice gruff.

"I would adore being your guide," the young Gypsy said,
unconcerned by the distinction. "There is an ancient Moor-
ish castle close by—"

"I am looking for music," Orb said.

"Music! Why it just happens that the finest Gitano gui-
tarist is my best friend!"

"Gitano?"

She smiled. "This is our name for ourselves. A man is a
Gitano, a woman Gitana. I will tell you all about it—"

Orb concluded that this Gypsy woman did not have the
information she desired. "No, thank you." She moved on.

The young woman brought herself up straight, inhaling to
make her breasts stand out. She caught Orb by the shoulders
and turned her around so that she could stare into her face.
"Senor, are you a hundred years old? Do you not see how
I am longing for you? For years I have been waiting for a
man like you! How can you deny me so cruelly!"

Orb, caught completely off guard, burst out laughing. She
had forgotten for the moment that she was masquerading as
a man.

The Gypsy girl, thinking she was being mocked, reacted
with fury. A knife appeared in her hand.

"No, wait!" Orb cried. "Can't you see that I am a woman,
like yourself? I didn't want to come alone—"

The Ghana's mood reversed as quickly again. Abruptly
she was laughing, too. "Ah, now I understand! You fear the
Gitanos!" The knife was gone.

"I just want to locate the source of Gypsy music."

"I can take you to an old woman who knows songs that
have been long forgotten!"

That sounded promising. "Very well."

"For just a few pesetas ..."

Oh. Of course the girl wanted money. Orb didn't have the

Piers Anthony                35

local currency, but tried a small Irish coin, and the girl ac-
cepted that. Then they were off to see the woman who knew
the forgotten songs.

But when Orb mentioned the Llano, the old woman shook
her head. "If I knew that, I would be there myself!" she
exclaimed. "Only at the source of the Gypsies can that in-
formation be found!"

"But where is that?"

"That, too, I can not tell you. We came from Egypt, but
that may not be the source. Perhaps the Gypsies of the Pyr-
enees . . ."

This was Basque country. The Pyrenees marched to the
water of the Bay of Biscay, and the Basques were on either
side of the border between Spain and Prance, speaking their
own language. Orb made no progress here, speaking none
of the three tongues. She knew the Gypsies were here, but
they were hidden from her, keeping their nature secret.

She refused to give up. She rented a room in a village house
and went out daily to talk with the people, asking about the
Gypsies. No one professed to know anything about them.

Finally she became desperate. She went to the center of
the village square, brought out her harp, and began to play.
In a moment people appeared, listening, as she had known
they would. No true Gypsy could remain aloof from magic
music, and hers was special. Soon virtually all the village
was present, the folk standing in a great circle around her.

She stopped, put away her harp, and walked though the
crowd, back to her room.

It was not long before there was a knock on her door. Orb
answered, hoping that her ploy had been successful.

A dark urchin stood there, dressed in bright rags. "Nicolai
bids you come," the child said.

This smelled like victory. Orb did not question the mes-
sage; she wrapped her cloak about her and stepped out.

"With your music," the child added.

Orb smiled. She fetched her harp, then accompanied the
child out and down the street, to a hidden hovel fashioned
from refuse. She was appalled to think that anyone should
live in a place like this, but so it was.

Inside was an old man. She knew immediately that he was

36 Being a Green Mother

a Gypsy; his whole appearance and manner spoke of it. He
sat on a decrepit wooden chair and held an ancient fiddle.

The man stared at her for a long moment. At last he spoke.
"Teach my child your music," he said.

Startled, Orb glanced around for the urchin, but the urchin
was gone. "I can not do that," she protested. "I only want
to know—"

Nicolai stilled her with an impatient gesture. "Tinka!" he
called.

A buxom young woman appeared, her dark hair bound
under a colorful kerchief. This was evidently his daughter.

But there was something odd about the way Tinka looked
about. Her gaze was random, her eyes not focusing. Orb
realized that the girl was blind.

Nicolai lifted his fiddle and played. The hut seemed sud-
denly to come alive, animated by his evocative music. It was
as if the walls became transparent, and the worid outside
was tinged with gold. The instrument sang of wonders barely
beyond vision.

Abruptly he stopped. "But Tinka—see," he said. He
reached out and took his daughter's left hand and brought
it up. She looked away, but did not resist.

Orb gasped. The hand was shorn of the ends of all its
fingers. Only the first joints after the knuckles remained, and
the thumb. The girl had suffered some terrible accident in
childhood.

"She cannot play," the man said gruffly. "She cannot
dance.'' He glanced down at the girl's feet, and Orb saw that
they were twisted. "Fifteen, and unmarried, and no children.
Yet she is comely. Teach her your music."

"But—" Orb did not know how to get hold of this situ-
ation. "I—what I do, it can't be taught—"

"Take her hand," Nicolai said.

Fighting against her own repulsion, Orb reached out and
took Tinka's mutilated hand. As she touched it, she heard
a faint sound, as of a distant orchestra.

Tinka had the magic!

"I can't teach her," Nicolai said. "My music is all in my
fiddle. But you can."

Sorrow, sympathy, and surmise played through Orb's
emotion. "Perhaps I can," she agreed.

"Take her," he said.

Piers Anthony                37

Numbed by this prospect. Orb obeyed. She led the girl by
the hand from the hut, and out to the street.

People were all around, but they went about their business
with studied unconcern. No one seemed to look directly at
Orb as she led Tinka to her apartment, yet all were aware.

Orb had sought the Llano. Instead she had found a stu-
dent. Somehow she knew that this was her rite of passage.
If she taught the girl, the Gypsies would cooperate.

Tinka was shy, volunteering nothing, merely shrugging
when Orb questioned her. Her clothing was ragged, her
shoes falling apart. Orb realized that it would be pointless
to try to teach her anything in her present state. First she
had to win the girl's confidence, and before that she had to
get her presentable.

"Come on, Tinka," she said briskly. "We're going
shopping."

The girl stared blankly past her.

"For clothing, shoes, whatever," Orb said. "You're a
pretty girl, if—"

Tinka continued to look blank. Orb suddenly realized that
she had not heard the girl speak. Was she dumb as well?
No, for she had answered to her father's call, and a person
who could hear, could speak. If she wanted to.

All in good time, she decided. Surely the girl could sing,
or her father would not have sought Orb's instruction for
her.

Yet why was she so unresponsive? "You do understand
me, don't you?" Orb asked.

Tinka shrugged. Now it was evident that she did not. She
had responded only to the inflection of questioning.

Orb sighed. "Well, come anyway," she said. She took the
girl's hand and led her out. Tinka followed docilely.

They went to a store that sold clothing. "I want this girl
properly dressed," Orb told the proprietor. Because this
store catered to the tourist trade, English was understood
here. "Dress, shoes—and gloves, I think. With—you'll have
to do something for the fingers. But not like a tourist—like
a proper village girl, a pretty one. You'll have to choose the
colors; she can't see. Can you handle it?"

The man brought out his fat wife. They spoke in what Orb
assumed was Basque. The wife took Tinka away. Orb began

38 Being a Green Mother

haggling about payment; she was learning how to manage,
here. She had enough money to cover any reasonable con-
tingency, but those who spent too freely were not held in
high esteem. Even so, the storekeeper was asking too much;

Orb's bargaining became serious.

It took some time, but when the wife brought Tinka back
she was stunning. She was clean, and her hair had been
brushed out and fastened back with nylon combs, and she
wore a bright print dress, white blouse, flowery shawl, and
slippers that made her feet look almost normal. Sturdy gloves
on her hands masked the missing fingers. She was, indeed,
a pretty giri.

The wife stood Tinka before the mirror. Orb thought that
was a mistake, but it wasn't; the woman was verifying the
hang of the dress, making final adjustments.

"Lovely!" the storekeeper exclaimed, and his voice rang
with a sincerity not entirely inspired by the money he had
made on this transaction.

Tinka heard. For the first time she spoke—but her words
were unintelligible to Orb.

"What language is that?" Orb asked quietly.

"Calo," the storekeeper said. "She's a Gypsy wench. I
thought you knew."

"But I don't know Calo!"

"Why would you want to? Teach her English."

Orb took the girl back to her apartment. Again the villagers
affected not to notice, but Orb knew they were watching
more closely than before. Apparel could make a significant
change in the appearance of any woman, but Tinka's trans-
formation was remarkable. The girl even held her chin higher
and walked with more confidence, as if conscious of the
impression she was making.

Orb fixed something for them both to eat, not certain
whether Tinka was conversant with civilized food, but the
girl had no trouble.

At last Orb tackled the problem of teaching. "Can you
sing?" she asked, and when the giri did not react, Orb
brought out her harp and sang a brief song.

Tinka smiled. In a moment she was humming along, pick-
ing up the melody immediately. Her pitch was perfect, her
voice good. She could sing, certainly.

Piers Anthony                39

But that was not what Nicolai wanted from Orb. He
wanted the magic.

Orb put her hand on Tinka's arm. Then she sang, using
the magic. She knew that the girl heard the sound of the
hidden orchestra.

Indeed she did. She spoke a veritable torrent in the Gypsy
language. She wanted to learn this.

"But I can't understand your words," Orb said. "It would
really be better if we understood each other."

Tinka, having heard the magic, was eager to cooperate.
She was not a stupid girl, and soon she was meeting Orb
more than half way. She pointed to herself and said her
name, then touched her new dress and said a word for it,
and a shoe with its word. She was telling Orb her language.

Orb considered only briefly. It occurred to her that if she
wanted to get real information from the Gypsies, it would
help to speak their language. It should be as easy to learn
Calo as to teach Tinka English.

There was a great deal more to it, but that was the point
of decision. Orb proceeded to leam the Gypsy language, and
Tinka learned to invoke the magic orchestra. They went at
both projects with almost total immersion, so that in a day
Orb knew a few basic words and some of the syntax, and
Tinka had succeeded in making the orchestra respond in a
minor way. In a week they were communicating freely with
each other on both the verbal and musical levels, though
with far to go on each.

Orb discovered that the Gypsy language had no words for
what in her own were rendered as "duty" and "possession."
This was because these concepts were foreign to the Gypsy
nature. Gypsies felt something like duty only in the manner
they honored their own culture, and they owned only what
they wore and used. They had no vested property, no es-
tates, no mortgages; they acceded to such things only in
deference to the demands of the other cultures with which
they interacted.

This explained a lot. Others might call the Gypsies
thieves—but how could there be theft, when there was no
ownership? Others thought them shiftless—but that only
meant that the Gypsies felt no need to do anything other
than survive. To hold a regular job, to serve in a nation's
armed forces—this sort of thing simply did not relate to the

40 Being a Green Mother

Gypsy nature. The bad qualities the Gypsies were judged to
have were mostly the misunderstandings of outsiders. Gyp-
sies did have values, and these, when understood, did honor
to them. Music, joy, sharing, love, loyalty to one's own—
the Gypsies were like one huge, scattered family, and Orb
related to that. She had always wanted to belong—to
something.

Tinka stayed with Orb, at Orb's expense. It was obvious
that the Gypsies had no money; this was the only way it
could be done. Orb didn't mind; she had never dreamed she
would be in such a situation, but she felt really fulfilled when
she worked with the Gypsy girl, making steady progress. The
quest for the Llano could wait long enough for this.

One day the urchin showed up again. "Nicolai says come
to the dance."

"Dance?" Orb asked blankly.

But Tinka came alive. "We must go," she said in Calo.
"I know where."

Satisfied with that, the urchin departed. Now Tinka be-
came the instructor, getting Orb properly dressed for the
occasion. This was a special challenge, as Orb had no ward-
robe of her own, only the magic cloak. The girl had to de-
scribe the necessary costume, and Orb asked questions
about detail, and finally they got it right. Orb now looked
very much like a Gypsy woman, and the mirror told her that
this guise became her.

They went out, as evening closed. Tinka led the way, but
was guided by Orb's cautions about steps, buildings, and
traffic.

Hundreds of people were gathered at the central village
square, dancing in pairs, snapping their fingers with mar-
velous precision. The beat was so accurate that Orb sus-
pected that some of her own magic ran in the blood of the
Gypsies—for indeed, these were Gypsies, revealing them-
selves to her at last. She realized that Tinka was her pass;

she had come with the blind girl, and the girl was obviously
in good health and spirits. Perhaps Nicolai had spread the
word—or perhaps it had been enough just to be seen with
Tinka, on those prior days. Certainly it was no liability to
be seen with Tinka now; the girl was radiant, a stunning
beauty.

Soon a young man came for Tinka. Orb didn't know

Piers Anthony                41

whether the girl could dance, but let her be her own judge
of that. It turned out that she could, and quite well, when
guided by a competent partner.

Orb, gazing about the throng, caught the eye of Nicolai.
He was playing his fiddle along with other Gypsies, and their
music was lively and wonderful, but he was evidently not
totally taken up by it. When he had Orb's attention, he nod-
ded, slowly. Then she knew how pleased he was to see his
daughter dancing. Tinka had the skill, but she had probably
not been much in demand, before. Tonight she glowed, and
in the dance it was hard to tell that she was blind.

A young man came to ask Orb herself to dance, but she
demurred. "I really don't know this kind of dance," she
explained. "I would rather just watch."

He left, not pushing it. But soon another came, and she
turned him down, too, as politely as she could. She just
didn't want to get in over her head.

Then old Nicolai came, handsome even in his age in his
worn but elegant dress-up clothing. "If you would be a
Gypsy, you must learn the Gypsy ways," he said, and held
out his hand to her.

Orb could not refuse. She could tell by the reactions of
the others that this was a signal honor. So she danced with
him, and Nicolai was a veteran dancer and made it easy for
her, though she did not know the nuances of this one.

"Tonight there is only one more lovely than my child,"
the old man murmured. Orb smiled; it seemed to her that
none of the other women present looked better than Tinka,
but she was not going to debate the matter.

Before long they stopped, and Nicolai returned to his play-
ing. Tinka returned, breathless with constant dancing; her
feet really were not up to it, and she had to rest. "They say
my father danced with you," she said in Calo. '"He has not
danced in years, not in public. Only when he taught me."

"I know he is pleased with you," Orb said.

"He is pleased with yo«!" Tinka said. "Because you have
helped me. He has given you the mark of favor."

"You have helped me, too," Orb said warmly. "You are
teaching me your language."

The girl found her hand and squeezed it joyously.

"He mentioned that there was one here more lovely than
you, but I did not see her," Orb said, curious.

42 Being a Green Mother

Tinka turned her face to Orb, astonished. She laughed.

"I don't understand," Orb said, nettled.

"Since my mother died, no one has ever been lovelier than
me, in my father's eyes," Tinka said. "Until now. He meant
you."

Orb found herself blushing. She had missed the import
entirely!

Then the pattern of the dancing changed. The music was
similar, but the motions and style were completely different.
Man and woman glanced sidelong at each other, and their
bodies assumed provocative postures. The erotic suggestion
was infinite; it was as if they were indulging in a prolonged
sexual act in public. Orb felt her face flushing for a new
reason.

"That dance," she whispered. "What is it?"

Tinka of course could not see it, but she knew. "It is the
tanana," she said. "Few outsiders are allowed to see it."

Orb watched, fascinated despite her revulsion. She had
never been exposed to such raw invitation, yet it had beauty,
too. The man desired the woman, as men did; but the woman
desired the man, too, and was aggressively leading him on,
assuming postures calculated to inflame his passion. The
whole was stylized, and each couple was coordinated; it was
indeed an established dance. Watching it. Orb could under-
stand why the typical Gypsy girl was sexually active before
menarche, and a mother in her early teens. For children were
dancing, too, exchanging the same suggestive stares. She
saw girls no older than six flaunting their hips and showing
their thighs. It could have been a joke, but was not; every
motion was choreographed, just so, even the most lasci-
vious. Orb could appreciate how a man could be excited by
the youngest of such girls, and she herself experienced a rush
of desire as she watched the men.

Flustered, Orb wished she could leave before her embar-
rassment was evident. But she knew she could not—and a
deeper countercurrent in her didn't want to go. Her own
appetite was stirring, and part of her wanted to participate,
flinging away caution and indulging in the passion of the
moment with complete abandon.

She spent the rest of the occasion in a kind of fog; it was
Tinka who got her safely home. She slept—and in the mom-
ing was disgusted. "Any man could have done anything he

Piers Anthony                43

wanted with me!" she exclaimed, appalled in retrospect. She
spoke in Calo, imperfectly, but the feeling was there.

"No," Tinka said. "My father decreed that you are not
to be molested."

"I mean that I would have welcomed it!" She spoke as
freely as her command of the language permitted, for though
her association with the Gypsy girl had not been long, it had
been intense, and they were becoming confidantes. Three
years separated them, but the Gypsy girl's knowledge of sex-
ual matters was greater than Orb's.

"No shame in that!" Tinka exclaimed, laughing. "For five
years I have longed for a man, any man, but few would touch
me, because of my faults."

Faults: her blindness and her mutilated hands and de-
formed feet. But Orb was aware now that the restriction was
not because men found Tinka unattractive, but because they
deemed her to be unable to perform the role of a Gypsy wife
and mother. Sex was much on a Gypsy man's mind, but it
was not untempered by practical considerations. "Few?"

"My father got some to come. But I knew ..." She
shrugged.

Paid love. What girl of any age wanted that? In Tinka's
case it was evidently more than dating, but the principle
remained. Tinka wanted to be truly accepted and to captivate
the love of a man by her own resources. "I think they are
more interested now."

"Yes. Three asked me to the bush last night, but I
wouldn't go."

"Three!" But Orb had seen how much in demand the girl
had been for dancing, and of course the line between dancing
and complete sex could be fuzzy, as the tanana showed. Orb
set aside her own reservations, knowing that the strictures
of her culture did not apply here. "Why not?"

"Because they were riffraff. After I learn what you are
teaching me, I can get a noble."

She had a point.

The work continued, though it was a pleasure. Before she
knew it, months had passed, and Orb had not only learned
the language, she had learned much about the Gypsy culture.
Tinka taught her the tanana, though Orb had no intention
of ever doing the suggestive dance in public, and other nu-




44 Being a Green Mother

ances of the culture. Meanwhile Tinka progressed on the
evocation of her latent magic and was able to generate the
orchestra at will. Orb noted with interest that for the girl it
was a Gypsy orchestra, not a conventional one. But its
power was as great.

It ended with seeming suddenness. The Gypsies were a
traveling people, and the population of the village was con-
stantly changing. They did not have wealth, as that was not
a Gypsy objective, but some families were in better regard
than others. Tinka encountered a handsome, talented, clever
Gypsy man, danced the tanana with him, and touched him
constantly, and Orb knew she was playing the magic music
for him. This was the one she wanted, and it seemed that it
required only five minutes for her to captivate the man en-
tirely. The man was not concerned about her blindness or
her hands; he recognized her music as a treasure beyond
such matters. Her beauty hardly hurt, however. Before the
evening was done, they had agreed to marry.

Orb was sorry to see her relationship with Tinka end, but
she knew it was time for her to move on. She had learned
as much as she could here and now was far better equipped
to pursue her quest for the Llano. The Gypsies of this region
did not know where it was, but agreed that the source of
Gypsies was the place to look. They were not sure where
that was; perhaps the Gypsies of Northern France would
know . . .




4-

QUEST

Orb no longer had to ask about to locate the Gypsies of the
region she traveled. Now she knew the signals of their pres-
ence and could find them directly. Because she now spoke
their language as well as many of them did—most were bi-
lingual, speaking the local language often at the expense of
their own—she was accepted by them. In fact, her knowl-
edge of Calo enabled her to get along at times when English
didn't, because it crossed national boundaries as freely and
existed where English didn't.

In northern France they told her another story of the
Llano. She sat among the several wives of the local chief-
known to outsiders as his wife's sisters, because polygamy
was not an approved family style here—and listened. The
women had heard this tale before, of course, but enjoyed it
again. It seemed that once in the past a tribe like theirs had
been trapped by soldiers of the hostile government, in one
of the periodic persecutions of the Gypsies. Outsiders didn't
understand about things like stealing food or deceiving the
gullible with fortunetelling or entertaining men for money
with erotic dancing. Orb herself had become more tolerant
in such respects than she would have believed a few months
ago.

45

46 Being a Green Mother

"But today is the day my love and I are to be married,"
a young man protested as the cordon tightened.

"We are trapped and outnumbered and out of bullets,"
the chief said. "Most of our men have already been killed.
In an hour we may all be dead. How can you think of
marriage?"

"I love her! I may have no other chance to marry her."

"We have no food, no wine for the celebration."

"Her lips are wine enough for me!"

The chief realized that he had a point. "You speak like a
true Gypsy," he said. "We shall have the wedding!"

They gathered in a circle for the occasion. But their mu-
sical instruments had been destroyed by the pursuing sol-
diers, and they had no bright clothing to wear for the danc-
ing. The soldiers were approaching; shots sounded, and
bullets struck the trees beside their camp. They couldn't
wait.

One old man among them knew a piece of the Llano. His
voice was weak and cracked, but he began to sing, and the
young couple danced the tanana to that song. The rags they
wore seemed to become bright and new; the tarnished but-
tons on his jacket took on a glow as of fine gold, and her
dull earrings and bracelets seemed to catch fire. The circle
of Gypsy women snapped their fingers to the music, and the
old man's voice became stronger. Now it seemed to fill the
glade and intensify the day; all of them were garbed in color.
The bride had been of passable feature and figure; as the
song suffused her she became beautiful and provocative,
holding all eyes as if magnetized.

The soldiers closed in, firing their guns. Bullets smacked
into the bonfire, throwing up embers. But the Gypsies, mes-
merized, kept snapping their fingers, and the couple danced
with utter abandon. The song expanded to touch the soldiers.
They stared, amazed that the Gypsies should be ignoring
them.

Then a Gypsy girl stepped out of the circle, took a soldier
by the hand, and brought him in to the center to dance. The
song overpowered his will, and he set down his gun, followed
her, and took her in his arms and danced. Another girl took
another soldier, and a third did the same, while the song
continued. Soon all the soldiers were in the circle, their mis-
sion forgotten.

Piers Anthony                47

All night they danced. When the morning came, and the
old man's voice gave out, and the dancers were too tired to
continue, the soldiers looked about, dazed. Each had a
lovely Gypsy girl on his arm, and the last thing he wished
to do was harm her. How would they explain this to their
commandant?

They conferred and decided that there was no way to ex-
plain it. They would be executed themselves if they returned.
So they decided to remain with the Gypsies and marry the
girls they had danced with. The tribe survived, stronger than
before, because of the Llano.

"So it may be that the blood of a soldier runs in my veins,"
the chief concluded. "I do not begrudge it."

But he did not know the Llano itself, or the source of the
Gypsies. "But perhaps the Gypsies of Germany can help
you," he suggested.

In Germany they had a problem. Consumption had taken
out a chief, and the officials had buried his body in a pauper's
grave and driven the wives out of town. The women were
bedraggled and absolutely filthy. "But I can get you water!"
Orb exclaimed.

As one, the three women shook their heads in negation.
"We may not wash or touch water until his body has dis-
integrated completely in the earth," one explained.

So it was that Orb learned of the Cult of the Dead. All
Gypsies followed it, including those of France and Spain;

there had been no death in the vicinity when Orb was there,
so she had not encountered this then. When a Gypsy died,
all his scant possessions were burned along with his corpse;

in that manner his women were freed of their geis and could
be clean again. But when the authorities interfered, then-
plight was severe. "We can not even feed the grave," they
said. For it was the custom to set food on the grave, so that
the spirit of the deceased would not go hungry.

Orb stayed the night with them in their tent, though the
smell was thick. But no sooner had she fallen asleep when
she was awakened by a commotion outside. She scrambled
up with the woman and peeked out.

There stood a bedraggled man, dirt sifting from his beard.
"Faithless wives!" he cried loudly. "Why have you not
brought me food? Are you trying to starve me?"

48 Being a Green Mother

It was the ghost of the dead man. The women fell down
in terror, crying. The ghost advanced angrily on them, mak-
ing as if to strike. Orb stepped out, acting before she knew
it. "It is not their fault, Gypsy!" she cried in Calo. "The
townsmen won't let them near the grave!"

The ghost turned on her. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Just a woman in quest of the Llano," Orb said bravely.
How could she be debating with a ghost?

"Impossible!" he said. "Even I do not know the Llano!
How can you, an outsider, seek it?" He took another step
toward the fallen women.

Orb did not know what else to do, so she sang. She started
a Gypsy tune, projecting her magic with it.

The ghost paused again, evidently daunted. He did not
move till Orb stopped singing.

"There was a man like me, who died," he said then. "His
family could not bum him or his horse, because it was raining
and they had no fire. But one among them knew a fragment
of the Llano, and she sang it, and the pyre heated and
steamed and finally burst into flames, and destroyed it all,
and he rested in peace, and his wives were clean." Then he
faded out.

The women scrambled up. "You saved us!" they
exclaimed.

"Only for tonight," Orb said, troubled. "Will the ghost
really hurt you?"

"Oh, yes, he was always an angry man in life, and death
has not sweetened him. We must feed his grave!"

"Or better yet, burn his body," Orb said.

"Yes! But how can we do this? The police—"

Orb feared that she would get them all arrested, including
herself, but she had to try. "Perhaps he has told us how. I
will try to help you. Can you burn his body if you are given
access to the graveyard?"

"If the police let us. But they will not."

"Perhaps they will. We'll try it tomorrow night."

On the following night they drove the Gypsy wagon to the
town, making as little commotion as possible. They parked
at the edge of the graveyard. The family members set to work
digging at the gravesite, while Orb settled herself with her
little harp and waited.

Piers Anthony                49

The police were alert. Within the half hour they arrived
in force. Burly policemen charged up to the graveyard.

Orb began to sing, accompanying herself on the harp. Her
magic flung out, touching the moving men.

The men stopped, listening. They stood about her, doing
nothing else. The Gypsies, beyond the range of her full
magic, continued working.

Orb sang song after song, keeping the policemen mes-
merized. In due course the corpse was out, and the pyre
built. The fire started, and then blazed high, and the stench
of burning meat wafted out.

The ghost appeared. "That's more like it!" he exclaimed.
Then, as his body crumbled into ash, he faded out.

Orb stopped singing and playing. She rejoined the Gypsies
as their wagon pulled out. The police still stood, bemused,
looking at the open gravesite and the pile of embers.

They went to the nearby river, and the women stripped
and plunged in, desperate to get clean again. Then they set
about washing their clothes.

Finally, shivering, naked, they wrapped themselves in
blankets from the wagon. "You did it!" one exclaimed. "If
that was not the Llano, it was akin!"

"It was not the Llano," Orb said. But she was quite
pleased with herself.

Hungary was the land of Gypsy music. World renowned
composers and musicians were here, and Gypsy orchestras
toured the country. Historically, the top composers of Eu-
rope had drawn upon Gypsy music, popularizing it as then-
own. Schubert, Brahms—the beauty of their music owed its
share to melodies the Gypsies had possessed before them.
The Hungarian pianist Liszt had transcribed Gypsy music
as the Hungarian Rhapsodies.

Here the Gypsies were known as Tziganes. They had been
here before the Magyar conquest, and the Magyars sought
to profit by mingling Tzigane blood with their own. When
the Tziganes resisted, laws were passed requiring Tziganes
to become Christians and to marry only Magyars. This drove
many Tziganes out of the country, into Russia and Poland
and Germany and Prance, in one of their great historical
diasporas. Many did pretend to accept Christianity, deco-
rating their wagons liberally with crosses, but at heart they

50 Being a Green Mother

believed in no religion but their own. They were required to
settle in houses and desert their own language; this caused
another exodus, for no true Gypsy could be anchored in one
place long. They were accused of cannibalism and severely
persecuted for it, their denials being taken as confirmation
of the charge.

Still they survived, and their facility with metal and wood
greatly benefited the sedentary culture around them, and
their music shaped that culture. It seemed that every black-
smith was a Gypsy, and every musician a Gypsy, too. The
greatest of contemporary Tzigane musicians was Csihari, a
violinist who was said to be able to charm the souls of the
living and the dead.

So it was to this Gypsy Orb went. But no Gypsy of the
region would tell where to find him. She was an outsider
they termed "Ungar," or "stranger," not to be trusted. She
realized with flattered bemusement that they took her for a
Gypsy; her command of the language and customs had en-
abled her almost to pass as one of them, despite her honey
hair. Perhaps they took her for a crossbreed, as Gypsies
frequently married outside their culture. Yet it seemed that
they held foreign Gypsies in greater contempt than they did
the mundanes.

She came to a village where the Tziganes were especially
surly—an extremely unusual state for this normally happy
people. "What is the matter?" she asked.

"Csinka defiled the water!" she was informed gruffly.

"What?" Orb asked, startled by the similarity of that
name to that of her friend Tinka.

"She walked over the underground pipe that brings our
water," the woman explained indignantly, taking Orb's ex-
clamation as outrage. "Now we have to forage at great range
for our needs. It's a terrible inconvenience."

Orb sought out Csinka. The woman was almost suicidal
in her chagrin. "I lost my way—I had a big package to carry
and I didn't see where I was going, and before I knew it I
had stumbled over it," she confessed tearfully.

In the Gypsy culture, in some regions, women were fun-
damentally unclean; Orb had learned this along with the lan-
guage, but had not encountered it before. The onus was
worst at the time of childbearing; the woman's clothing of
the time would be burned. But her nether region could be

Piers Anthony                51

suspect at any time. Thus she could not step over copper-
ware without defiling it, and the same evidently applied to
buried water pipes. No one here would drink the water that
Csinka had defiled by her passage over the pipe.

Orb knew better than to argue the merit of such a custom.
Such things varied from tribe to tribe and from region to
region, but were honored tenaciously where they held. But
by her definition Csinka was innocent, and she wanted to
help. "I once helped a woman to burn her husband's body,"
she said. "Perhaps I can help you, too."

For an instant Csinka's eyes lighted. Then despair re-
sumed. "There is no way. We cannot lay a new pipe."

"But if I can banish the defilement on the present
pipe—"

"Are you a sorceress?" Csinka asked with interest.

"No, only a musician, of a sort. I came to meet Csihari,
but they will not let me see him."

"Nobody sees Csihari!" Csinka said. "He sees whom he
will, and only whom he will."

So Orb had gathered. "Perhaps if I sing him a song, he
will come."

Csinka shrugged. "He might. But how can this remove
the defilement from the pipe?"

"It is my hope that the music will do that."

Csinka shook her head, not understanding. But Orb made
her show the place where she had inadvertently stepped over
the pipe. Then, in the middle of the day, Orb set up a chair
at that spot, sat on it, and began to play her harp.

She sang a song of water: of mountain springs, clear flow-
ing streams, shining ponds, and deep pure lakes. She spread
her magic out, not to an audience, but to the water in the
pipe below her, willing it to respond, to assume the purity
of the water of which she sang.

An audience formed, as was always the case when Orb
sang. Gypsy men, women, and children, the Tziganes, stand-
ing and listening. She continued singing, songs of clean
water, rendering them as well as she could in Calo. The au-
dience continued to grow, until it filled the street.

When Orb first touched the water with her magic, she had
felt the defilement of it; anyone who drank it would be sick-
ened, and clothes washed in it would remain unclean. The
soul of the water reeked of its special pollution. But as she

52 Being a Green Mother

sang, interacting with it, it clarified, until it became as clean
as the water she sang about. She had not suspected she could
do this until the need arose and had not been sure until she
actually felt the response of the water, but now it was cer-
tain. The magic of her music had this power.

She paused and gazed across the audience. "The water is
undefiled," she said. "Who will drink it now?"

They merely stood, not accepting this. After all, she was
sitting right over the pipe, continuously defiling it herself.

"I touched it with my song, and it is clean," she said. "It
will not hurt you. Drink of it and see."

"I will drink of it!" Csinka exclaimed. She went to the
tap on the pipe that rose from the main line and filled her
cup and drank.

She stood and was not harmed. The water had not sick-
ened her.

"She is not harmed because she defiled it!" a man said.
The others nodded; it was no test.

"But / am over it now," Orb pointed out.

Point well taken. They glanced at each other, uncertain.

"You need this water," Orb said. "I am a woman; my
body defiles it. But my music counters the ill, and this water
is pure. Who else will drink of it?"

But no one trusted this. No one volunteered to try.

Was her effort to fail, even though the water had been
restored? Orb did not know what else to do. Reluctantly she
got up and put away her harp.

"I will try the water," a man said from the edge of the
crowd.

Heads turned. There was a murmur of awe as a handsome,
well-dressed middle-aged Gypsy marched forward to the tap.
He turned it on, put his cupped hands under, and drank from
them. Then he let the remaining water fall, turned off the
tap, stood untouched. "It is good water," he said.

Then the others came and tried it, too, and agreed that the
water was good. The curse was off it, and they could return
to their normal existence.

"Oh, my lady, thank you!" Csinka cried, tears of gratitude
flowing.

"Thank this man," Orb said. "He believed when the oth-
ers did not. He made them accept it."

Piers Anthony

53

"Because I knew," the man said. "I heard the music, like
none before."

"Thank you," Orb said. "May I know your name?"

"You did not know?" Csinka asked, amazed. "He is
Csihari!"

Orb's jaw dropped. "But you would not meet me!" she
exclaimed to the man.

"I had not heard you play." He put out his elbow. "Come
to my wagon, and I will play for you."

Orb took the arm. They walked down the street, the others
giving way before them, until they reached the musician's
wagon. There he brought out his violin and played an ex-
temporaneous theme, and it was the most beautiful music
Orb had heard. Again an audience gathered, but it did not
matter; Orb had ears only for the singing violin. How well
justified was this Gypsy's reputation!

When he paused, Orb glanced at her own harp. "May I?"

Csihari made a gesture of acquiescence and started an-
other melody. Orb settled herself on the ground, set up her
harp, and played it, making counterpoint to his theme.

The magic spread out, animating the faces of the listeners
in a widening circle. Violin, harp, and the hidden orchestra:

a duet with a mighty accompaniment. Not a person moved;

all were enraptured.

Then Csihari stopped and set down his violin. "Enough,"
he said gruffly. He gestured at the audience. "Leave us."

In an instant, it seemed, the crowd had dissipated, and
the two of them were alone. "You are not Tzigane," the
musician said. "What did you want of me?"

"I seek the Llano."

"Ah, the Llano!" he breathed. "I should have known!"

"I am told that I may find it at the source of the Gypsies,"
Orb continued. "But I am having trouble finding that source.
I thought you might know it."

"I know the source, but not the Llano. I fear that even
there you will not find what you seek."

"But if it is Gypsy music—"

He shook his head. "The Llano is not ours. We only dream
of it, no closer than any other. We long for it as our salvation,
but it is denied to us."

"I don't understand."

"You have not then heard the Story of the Nail."

54 Being a Green Mother

"Nail?"

"It is only a story," he said depreciatingly.

"But it relates?"

"Perhaps."

"Then may I hear it?"

"You know that the Tzigane are only nominally Christian,
just as Gypsies in Moslem lands are only nominally devotees
of Mohammed. We truly honor no belief but our own."

"I understand," Orb said. In this, too, she had learned
tolerance.

"When the Romans set out to crucify Yeshua ben Miriam,
whom others now know as Jesus, they required four stout
nails for his hands and feet. In those days nails were scarce
and valuable and had to be crafted individualy for the oc-
casion. So they sent out two soldiers with eighty pennies in
the currency of that day, to purchase the nails from a local
blacksmith. But the soldiers, being indolent, stopped at an
inn and spent half the coppers drinking the foul wine of Je-
rusalem. It was late in the day before they emerged, having
spent half the money. They were due back with the nails by
dusk and they were half-drunk, so they hurried to the nearest
blacksmith and demanded that he make the four nails. But
the man had seen Jesus, and refused to forge the nails to
crucify him. Angry, the soldiers set his beard on fire, but he
remained adamant. They had to go elsewhere for the nails.

"The soldiers were half-drunk, but they had the sense not
to mention the name of the victim to the next blacksmith.
They simply told him to make four nails for the forty pennies
they had. He protested that he could make only four small
nails for that price. They threatened to run him through with
their lances if he did not get to work. Suspicious, he refused.
Enraged, the soldiers made good their threat, and killed him,
and went on to a third blacksmith.

"This one they gave no choice: he would make the nails
immediately, or they would kill him. Frightened, he went to
his forge—but then the voice of the dead blacksmith seemed
to cry out, telling him that these nails were to crucify an
innocent man, and he threw down his tools and refused to
work. So the drunken soldiers struck him down and hurried
on to a fourth blacksmith.

"This one was a Gypsy, who was just passing through and
knew nothing of the local politics. He was glad to take the

Piers Anthony                 55

money and make the nails. As he made each one, the soldiers
took it and put it in a bag. But as he forged the fourth nail,
the soldiers said that these were to be used to crucify Jesus.
At those words, the voices of the other blacksmiths sounded,
pleading with the Gypsy not to make the final nail. Fright-
ened by this manifestation, the soldiers fled with the three
nails they already had.

The Gypsy finished the fourth nail and tried to cool it, but
the water went up in steam and the nail continued to glow.
Alarmed, he packed away his tent and equipment and fled,
leaving the hot nail behind. But when he sought to pitch his
tent at another place, that glowing nail appeared, still siz-
zling. He fled again—but wherever he stopped, that hot nail
was there.

"But an Arab had a wheel that needed patching. So the
Gypsy blacksmith took the hot nail and used it to patch the
iron hoop. When the Arab left, the wheel carried the nail
away. But months later the blacksmith was brought a sword
to repair, and its hilt began to glow. It had been forged from
the iron nail in the wheel and returned to haunt him.

"He fled, but the nail reappeared wherever he went. All
his life that dread nail pursued him and when he died it
haunted his descendants. Jesus had been crucified with only
three nails, his feet pierced by one instead of two, and the
fourth one pursued the members of the tribe who had forged
them. So it has been to this day, and it is supposed to be
the reason that we must constantly travel, so that it will not
catch up. It is also said amongst us that only the grace of
the Llano can cool that nail and give us peace, for the Llano
is the universal absolver. But I doubt it; I suspect that the
Llano is but an illusion sent to tempt us, like the Grail of
the Christians, having no tangible reality. How could a mere
song abate the crime of making such a nail?"

Universal absolver? That was interesting! "But why
weren't the Romans haunted for doing the deed?" Orb asked.

"How do we know they were not? Where is the Roman
Empire today?"

Orb nodded. "Maybe they did pay. But I think it is time
for the nail to be put to rest. I will keep looking for the
Llano."

"I think you have as much of the Llano as any mortal
person can have. Woman, give up this chase and marry me."

56 Being a Green Mother Piers Anthony 57

Orb stared at him, uncertain whether he was joking.

"You have magic in your music. With you by my side, I
can achieve a closer semblance of the art I crave. Besides,
you are beautiful."

He was serious! Orb had no interest in such a marriage,
but realized that it would not be politic to turn such a man
down arbitrarily. "I am not certain this is wise," she said.
"Perhaps you had better have a seer pronounce on such a
union."

"By all means!" Csihari snapped his fingers, and a Gypsy
boy ran up. "Fetch a seer, the best," he said.

Soon an old woman arrived. "I mean to marry this
woman," Csihari said. "What are the auspices?"

"Give me your hands," the seer said.

Orb presented her hand, and the musician did likewise.
The old woman closed her eyes, peering into the future. But
in a moment, as Orb had known would be the case, the seer
broke off the effort. "It is blank," she said.

"How can it be blank?" Csihari demanded.

"I look, but I see nothing. There is interference."

Csihari looked at Orb. "This is something you know of?"

"My half brother is a magician. He protects my future. I
think I am not meant to marry, yet."

"It must be so," the seer said. "Only the hand of the most
potent of magicians could balk my vision. I think he means
to see that nothing turns aside this woman's quest."

Csihari sighed. "I should have known that this was too
good a prospect to be true. It seems I cannot marry you, fair
maiden."

"I feared that this would be the case," Orb confessed.
The musician was being so polite about it that she was almost
sorry that the marriage had fallen through.

"Go to Macedonia," Csihari said. "This I believe is the
source of the Gypsies of Europe. Perhaps you will have your
answer there."

In Macedonia she found more Gypsies than anywhere
else; it seemed that every second person in the nation had
some Gypsy blood. The Calo they spoke was, by all ac-
counts, the purest version of the Gypsy language extant. The
Gypsies had, she was informed, been brought to this region
by Alexander the Great, for he had recognized their com-
petence in metalworking and desired to enhance the battle
prowess of his army by that knowledge. The Gypsies had
not come as slaves, but as honored guests, and they had been
well treated, and the abilities they taught Alexander's people
had contributed substantially to Macedonia's surge toward
greatness.

Then Rome had risen, and the Macedonian empire had
crumbled. Gypsies had been hauled away to teach the Ro-
mans. The golden age had passed. Gypsies spread out, hiding
in the mountains, fleeing to other lands, clutching their free-
dom. But most remained to serve the new masters. This was,
after all, their home.

But was it their source? Orb doubted it and in time she
learned more of the story. Where had Alexander found the
Gypsies? Not in Egypt, despite the derivation of their pop-
ular name from that land; they were not truly E-Gypt-sies.
No, he had brought them from beyond the Persian empire,
from the land of Hind. That was their most ancient home.

And Hind, Orb knew, was India, or part of it. That was
where she had to go.

She took another scientific airplane, her route proceeding
from Macedonia, across Anatolia and to the coast of Asia
Minor for a change of planes. The next was routed across
Arabia and on to the Kingdoms of India. Orb relaxed, know-
ing it was a long flight; she might as well sleep.

But fickle Fate interfered. Men appeared on the plane,
bearing weapons. One spoke in a language she did not un-
derstand, and several other passengers reacted with horror.
Then another man spoke in English: "This is a hijacking.
We are going to Persia."

"But Persia is at war!" another passenger protested.
"We'll be shot down!"

"No," the hijacker replied. "They know we're coming.
This plane is now the property of Persia. Now we are going
to record your names and nations, so that we can obtain
ransoms for you. Anyone who does not cooperate will be
conscripted into the Persian army."

"But my family is poor!" a third passenger cried. "We
can not afford ransom!"

The hijacker smiled grimly. "Then welcome to the Persian
army! I'm sure you'll like it on the front line."




58 Being a Green Mother

Orb quailed. This was no good for any of them! The war
between Persia and Babylon had been dragging on with in-
ternecine vigor, and both sides were desperate but refused
to make peace. Neither honored international conventions
with anything much beyond lip service. Now it seemed they
were recruiting personnel and money by sending agents out
to steal entire airplanes.

The listing proceeded, as each passenger in turn gave his
or her name and nation, knowing no way to resist. The plane
flew east toward Persia.

But the hijackers had miscalculated, or perhaps the pilot
had deceived them. Another airplane appeared, bearing the
markings of Babylon. Orders were barked on the radio, ob-
viously directions to land in Babylon or be shot down.

"We'll die first!" the hijackers exclaimed defiantly.

There was a warning shot, of the Babylonian type. It put
a hole in the left wing. The plane began to wobble.

Orb knew they would all die if someone didn't do some-
thing immediately—and there seemed to be no one who
could. Except herself, by default. She was no hero, but she
valued her life. She wished she had avoided science and
stayed with her tried and true magic carpet. She had the
carpet with her, of course—but in the baggage compartment.

"Go up and tell the pilot to resume course when I distract
the hijackers," she said to the woman beside her.

"But they will kill you—and me!"

"Perhaps not." Then Orb took out her harp and began to
play.

"Hey!" the English-speaking hyacker said, swinging his
gun about. But he paused as Orb began to sing.

She spread her magic out, pacifying all those in the air-
plane. She nudged her seat companion, who stirred herself
and made her way up toward the cockpit. She continued
playing and singing, knowing that the moment she stopped,
the hijackers would resume their mischief.

But the Babylonian plane wasn't affected by her singing.
Another shot was fired, putting another hole in the wing.

Orb broke off her singing for a moment. "Tell them we're
landing!" she called, then resumed her song before the hi-
jackers could revert.

"That's no good!" the pilot called back. "Babylonia is
just as bad as Persia!"

Piers Anthony                59

"Then lock on the radio!" Orb cried. "I'll sing to them,
too!"

In that time, one of the hijackers lifted his gun and aimed
it. But before he fired, Orb's song resumed, and he remained
as he was, listening, the gun pointing but not firing.

Now she concentrated on the occupants of the Babylonian
plane. Could she move them, too, by her singing? The radio
would carry her voice there, but they were not before her;

she could not see them, and they could not see her. How
much of the magic effect was from proximity? She didn't
know. But she concentrated her mind on that other plane,
singing to its operators, hoping that the magic would carry.

Her own airplane shifted course. At first her heart leaped;

she feared it was going down because of the damage to the
wing. Then she realized that the pilot was doing it, turning
away from the direction dictated by the hijackers. It was also
away from the Babylonian airport. If her music was not pa-
cifying the other plane . . .

No third shot came. The airplane proceeded south to an
emergency landing in Arabia. Orb was able at last to rest.
Fortunately the authorities were embarrassed by the lapse
in airplane security and did not publicize the event, so Orb
was not besieged by reporters. In due course another pas-
senger airplane arrived, and they were carried on to India,
albeit somewhat delayed.

There she had another disappointment. India was huge and
fragmented into many kingdoms, each with its own language
or dialect, none of which she understood. There seemed to
be no Gypsies here. She understood they had come from
northern India, perhaps being the inhabitants before con-
quest imposed the caste system and made them pariahs,
made them flee for their freedom. It was said that their lan-
guage was very similar to Sanskrit. Perhaps there had been
many waves of Gypsies as new oppressions occurred in
India. But until they departed, they were not Gypsies; they
were natives. The source might be here, but not the song.

Well, she would look through all of India, if she had to,
until she found some clue. She would simply tour each king-
dom, asking the natives. Somewhere, someone would know
something about the Llano. She had to believe that.

She started in Calcutta. She knew better than to travel
alone through such a vast and varied land, so she joined a

60 Being a Green Mother

road show that was passing through. She had only to audition
for the master of the show, and he hired her on the spot for
a fee she knew was too low. But her purpose was not money,
but company, and the show promised to wend its way
through much of India in the coming year. She was satisfied.
Her quest continued.




-5-

MYM

Orb fit right in with the show. This was partly because of
her recent experience with the Gypsies; she had learned to
adapt to other ways with grace, and this group was Gypsylike
in a fashion, though a purely commercial venture. She knew
it was principally her music that won the others over.

The master introduced her to those others. "This is Orb
from Ireland," he said. "She will travel with us, and she will
be the main attraction and have the best wagon. Listen to
her."

The others stared stonily at her, angry that an outsider
should so abruptly find favor. Then Orb put her fingers to
her harp and sang. The music and the magic reached out and
embraced them, and they melted, as the master had known
they would.

She completed her song. "How many rupees do you figure
she'll bring in?" the master asked.

Orb saw them nod. The mermaid in her tank of water, the
harpy on her perch, the exotic snake dancer, the illusionist
magician, the assistants and handymen and animal trainers—
all of them recognized that her act would make money for
them all, and that was the point of this show. Anything could
be forgiven if it profited the group.

61

62 Being a Green Mother

Still, Orb intended to get to know each of them personally
and to avoid assuming any airs. She was not in it for the
money, and she needed to foster no private resentments.

The show moved out of Calcutta. The wagons were hauled
by elephants, who were guided by mahouts. At first Orb sat
in front, fascinated by this mode of travel, but soon lost
interest. Most of what there was to see was the enormous
rump of the elephant. So she rode inside her wagon, which
was like a cramped house, with chairs, a bed, and a hotplate
to cook on, and tried to read a book. But the road was
bumpy, and she had read the book before, so she could not
escape boredom that way. She craved human company.

She jumped down from the slow-moving wagon and waited
for the following vehicle to pass. This happened to be the
one containing the mermaid's tank. "May I join you?" Orb
called.

A hand appeared, beckoning her. Orb jumped onto the
wagon and got next to the huge tank. The mermaid lifted her
head from the water, and the water in her lungs spewed out
as she cleared them for air. This was startling, but Orb re-
alized it was natural; the creature had to adapt to the element
she was in at the moment.

"I realize you don't talk," Orb said. "But you do under-
stand, don't you? I am lonely, and I would appreciate com-
pany, if you don't mind."

The creature gazed at her. Her head was that of a human
woman a bit beyond the flush of youth, and her hah- was
greenish and somewhat straggly when out of the water, but
her breasts were quite well formed. The scales commenced
at about the level of the waist, and thickened below, pro-
viding a completely decent covering for her nether portion.
Her tail was strong and healthy, and it swept slowly through
the water, keeping her aloft. There were gill slits along her
neck where it merged with her torso, and some farther down
along her sides; water still flowed from these.

"Forgive me if I am being impolite," Orb said. "I have
never met a mermaid before. The closest I have come was
in childhood, with river sprites. But they were human in
form—I mean they had legs."

The mermaid only looked at her. "A curse on me!" Orb
muttered in Calo. "I'm only affronting her!"

Piers Anthony                63

The mermaid smiled. "You speak the tongue!" she ex-
claimed in the same language.

Orb gaped. "I thought you didn't—"

"I speak—when I choose," the mermaid said. "But few
are worth speaking to."

"But how—I thought you were a creature of the sea!"

"But my father was a man," the mermaid said. "He an-
noyed a magician by luring away his wife. Gypsies are like
that. So the magician put him under a curse that made human
women resemble fish in his eyes, and vice versa. Thus he
found romantic solace thereafter only in the water. My
mother was unable to care for me, because I can't endure
the pressure of the deeps, so my father cared for me as well
as he could on land. Finally he sold me to this show, and I
have been earning back my stake. It is not a bad life; I meet
interesting creatures." Her gills, finally clear of the draining
water, closed up, becoming unobtrusive lines; the portion of
her above the water now looked completely human.

Orb recovered her composure. "But you are being touted
as—forgive me—as a freak. A creature who kisses men for
a fee."

"I like kissing men," the mermaid said. "And more, on
occasion. They are so warm, so dry, so lusty."

"More?" Orb hoped she misunderstood.

"My scales are only external; I am mammalian inside. I
can be with a man if he likes it in the water. The mahouts
know."

She had not misunderstood. "But—why?"

"Why not? I get bored and lonely, too."

Orb nodded, her tolerance advancing another stage. How
bored would she herself get, if confined to a tank of water
all her life? The company of anyone, on any basis, might
become increasingly attractive.

"I—would you like me to read to you? Or do you already
read?"

"Men have not shown interest in teaching me to read,"
the mermaid said. She gave her torso a little shake, sug-
gesting the aspect of her in which men showed interest.

"I—I could teach you, if you would like—but my books
are in English—"

"I know a little English," the mermaid said. "I don't
speak it because they say my pronunciation is fishy."

64            Being a Green Mother

Piers Anthony

65

"Someone is teasing you!" Orb snapped. "That's cruel."

The mermaid shrugged. "The freaks learn to accept such
things."

"You're not a freak, you're a person!" Orb cried.

The mermaid smiled. "Don't tell anyone; I would lose my
livelihood."

Another notion occurred. "The harpy—is she—?"

"Much the same," the mermaid agreed. "If she stopped
cursing people, they would not pay to see her."

"I mean—an enchantment?"

"I think so. It is a favored vengeance of magicians. They
are not concerned about the offspring. A crossbreed could
get bitter, if she pondered overlong on the matter."

"I should imagine so! But I wonder—would the harpy also
like to learn to read? There is a whole world of entertainment
and education in books. No need to—to be with men un-
less—unless a person really wanted to."

"Ask her. Perhaps we could have a class."

Orb made her way to the harpy's wagon. "What do you
want, you simpering slut?" the harpy screeched.

"I—the mermaid—we thought that if you cared to learn
to read in English, I could teach you—"

The creature considered. "You're not putting me on?"

"No. It just seemed—I mean, I get bored myself, with all
this travel, and—"

"When's it start?"

"Why, anytime. Now, if—"

"Well, come on, woman!" The harpy opened her cage by
shoving at the gate with a claw, jumped out, spread her
wings, and flapped heavily out of the wagon.

Orb followed. Soon they were at the mermaid's tank, and
Orb had her book. The lesson began.

Word spread, and next day a mahout joined the class. Be-
fore long there were half a dozen members. They met for an
hour every morning and another every afternoon, while trav-
eling. Progress was slow, but they had time.

Thus it was that the months passed as they crossed the
great continent of India. Orb once again had found herself
in a role she had never anticipated, but again it made sense,
for she liked helping people. She hardly noticed the king-
doms they toured; one was much like another, the crowds
as gawky in each, the thrown coins the only recompense for

the performances. No one seemed to know anything tangible
of the Llano, but this life seemed worthwhile for itself.

A man came to Orb's wagon one evening after a perform-
ance. He was not impressive. He was short, and his face
was swathed in bandages so that only his eyes, nose, and
mouth showed. He wore a dirty gray shawl. She took him
for a laborer, for he wore the mark of the Sudra caste, the
servant class, though his color and mien could have sug-
gested a higher classification.

Orb suffered a feeling of dejd vu, but could not place it.
There was something about this person.

"Yes?" she inquired. She wasn't afraid; few spectators
intended mischief, and the members of the troupe kept alert
for each other; if the man threatened her, there would
quickly be several workers and perhaps a mahout with his
elephant on the spot. What was it about him that nagged
her?

The man opened his mouth, but did not speak. Instead he
gestured, as if helpless.

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

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, her sympathy manifesting. "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."

A stutterer! She should have realized. Now her sympathy
took over entirely. "Come inside."

They sat facing each other. The man did not speak, and
she realized that she had to carry it. "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."

He struggled, and she had the wit not to interrupt him or
try to complete words for him, though his effort of com-
munication was laborious and almost painful. What he
wanted, it turned out, was help to leave the kingdom. He
was not, he claimed, a criminal; he merely needed
anonymity.




66 Being a Green Mother

What should she do? The man seemed sincere, but of
course a criminal would do his best to deceive a potential
helper. Then she remembered one of the special qualities of
her harp. It could not be stolen from her, because it would
not suffer the touch of a dishonest person, and a thief would
be dishonest. If this man could touch it, then she could be-
lieve him.

She explained this. Without hesitation the man reached
out and touched the harp with his finger. There was no
reaction.

Orb smiled with relief. "Now let us be introduced," she
said. "I am Orb Kaftan, and as you may have heard, I sing."

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

"Oh—you mean you are a political refugee?"

"Ap-ap-ap-approx-i-i-mately," he said. His stuttering had
been alleviating slightly as he relaxed, but that word was
difficult.

An indirect answer. But the harp had vindicated him, so
she accepted it. "May I see your face?"

He unwound the bandage. His face was clear and hand-
some, almost aristocratic, in the fashion of the people of
India. Again Orb experienced that feeling of familiarity, as
if she had known him before. She had not, of course. "But
I must not show it openly," he said.

Orb considered. The show was chronically in need of an-
imal tenders and menials. If he were willing to—

He was. She fetched him a clown mask so that he would
not have to wear the bandages, explaining that most of the
entertainers were also workers, every person earning his
keep, so it would not seem unusual for a clown to be seen
cleaning an animal cage. In fact, those who cleaned out the
dragon manure generally did wear clown suits, because the
dragon was less surly when entertained. The master was glad
to have another hand, since the pay for this level was only
board and room—a bowl to share the main pot at meals, and
a spot on a wagon. Thus the stranger joined the troupe, and
Orb was pleased that she had been able to help another
person.

A few days later, he came to her again: he thought he could

Piers Anthony                67

perform. "My mouth may be handicapped, but not my
body," he explained haltingly.

She took him to the tour master, who was large and fat
and no-nonsense. "Strut your stuff," the master said. "I
have no time to waste on would-be stars."

The clown amazed Orb by doing a front flip, a back flip,
and standing on his hands. He was an acrobat!

At the master's behest, he repeated the performance on
top of the horizontal branch of a tree.

"What else?" the master asked, affecting to be unim-
pressed. That was significant; usually the affectation was
unnecessary.

The clown juggled five sharp knives.

"What else?"

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."

Orb was as impressed as the tour master. Who was this
man, who had accepted such lowly status, yet had such tal-
ents? She went about her business as usual, but now she was
aware of Mym, her fellow performer.

When they came to the huge city of Ahmadabad, Orb de-
cided to go shopping. The tour master insisted that she have
protection. Thus Mym, wearing an artificial beard and a non-
descript tunic, accompanied her.

She was delighted with the wares, proceeding from stall
to stall. Such fine material! Such lovely trinkets! But all too
soon Mym caught her arm, signaling that they should depart.
Reluctantly she concluded her purchase and started back
with him.

He seemed nervous. He guided her into an alley. Then she
realized what had been bothering him, as five brutish men
closed in on them. Thuggees—the local cutthroats!

"Hide!" Mym told her beside some old wooden crates.

68 Being a Green Mother

She hastened to obey, knowing that she could do nothing to
help. He took a board and faced the ugly men. It seemed a
pitiful weapon against a single man, let alone five. Orb was
very much afraid that the two of them were in for a robbery
and beating and perhaps worse.

Her amulet! Could it protect them both? No, it could not
protect even one in a case like this, because while she nul-
lified one thug by touching him, the others could strike with
their swords.

She heard the men exclaiming, laughing at Mym. Oh, if
only she could do something! Perhaps if she sang!

Then there was an abrupt commotion.

In a moment Mym was back, bearing his silk handkerchief.
He required her to be veiled, so she could not see. He guided
her out of the crates and out of the alley. Then he unveiled
her, and they resumed their walk back to the caravan. The
thuggees were gone. Evidently he had somehow frightened
them off.

Orb was relieved to make it back safely. She had been
really worried for a moment! Now she understood the tour
master's concern about safety in the big city. The delight of
shopping in the bazaar was not worth the danger.

A few days later the tour master came to talk with her.
"What do you know about thuggees?" he asked.

"Very little," Orb said. "Mym and I were broached by
some in the city, but he persuaded them not to molest us.
Your concern was well taken."

"He persuaded them?" the master asked, wrinkling his
brow. "What did he say to them?"

"Well, he didn't really talk to them. He—he has difficulty
talking, you know."

"Did he signal them in some way? Give them money?
What?"

"I really didn't see," she confessed. "I was hiding, at his
behest. Then he blindfolded me and brought me out. I think
that was so I wouldn't see the thuggees. Perhaps it was part
of the agreement, so I couldn't identify them." But that made
little sense to her as she said it, because she had seen the
thuggees before.

"You saw nothing," the master said, as if making a point.

"Nothing. Why, is something wrong?"

Piers Anthony                69

"I hope not," the master said, and departed, leaving her
perplexed.

On the next reading session, Orb took a moment to inquire
about this matter. "The tour master was questioning me
about thuggees," she said. "Is there something I should
know about?"

"You haven't heard?" the harpy screeched, flapping her
wings with excitement. "Five thuggees were found in town,
hacked into pieces. Blood splattered all over, and—"

"Watch it, birdbrain!" the mermaid snapped.

"Dead?" Orb asked, stunned.

"Probably they went after a berserker and got wiped out,"
the mermaid said. "After they left you."

"A berserker?"

"You don't know about berserkers?" the harpy cried.
"One taste of blood, and they go absolutely wild and just
start killing, like sharks, and nothing stops them! They just
cut and hack and—"

"Finally get killed themselves," the mermaid said firmly,
again cutting off the harpy's joyful description. "So what-
ever happened, it's over now, because the only peaceful ber-
serker is a dead berserker."

"That's horrible," Orb said, shuddering. "I'm glad we
didn't encounter a berserker!"

The harpy fluttered her wings. "Well, I think—"

"Let's get on with the reading," the mermaid said, with
a fierce warning glance at the harpy.

Orb proceeded with the lesson, but she was ill at ease.
There seemed to be something they weren't telling her.

Later, she asked Mym about it. "Did you know that those
thuggees we encountered were found slaughtered? How do
you suppose that happened?"

"A berserker," he said, stuttering so badly that she de-
cided to spare him further talking for a while. Evidently the
matter had come to his attention, too, and disturbed him as
it did her.

They were in her wagon, suffering through a long wait
while a downpour of the monsoon season inundated the land-
scape. Some wagons leaked, but Orb's was tight, and it was
an excellent place to be. "I think we should get to know
each other better," she said. "We're—well, we're fellow
performers now, and—" She shrugged, finding herself un-

70             Being a Green Mother

able to say directly that she very much enjoyed his company.
Mym, so unprepossessing at first, was a handsome, talented,
and decent man, and the mystery of his origin made him

intriguing.

He nodded, agreeable to whatever she wished. That was
another thing about him—he was a gentleman. The mermaid
had hinted to Orb that Mym was quite interested in her, and
Pythea the snake charmer had said the same. Both confessed
to having offered Mym entertainment of the intimate kind,
but he had declined because his interest was elsewhere. Orb
had blushed, then found herself flattered, and was devel-
oping more than an idle interest in Mym herself. She knew
he would never force on her any attention she did not want;

she felt safe with him and comfortable, and that counted for
a lot.

She told him of her history, such as it was: her youth in
Ireland; the acquisition of her magic harp from the Mountain
King; and her quest for the Llano. He listened closely and,
when she came to the song, he said he had heard of it.

"You have?" she asked, excited.

He told her a variant of one of the stories she had heard
before—how a young woman had loved an esteemed warrior
and captured his love by singing the Llano, even though she
was of lesser birth than he, and not beautiful.

Orb smiled, glad to have this confirmation. "Of course it
couldn't happen in real life," she said.

"It could happen," he said haltingly.

She looked at him, understanding that what the girls had
told her was true. The rain beat down, making the wagon
seem more protected and intimate. She wished she could—
what? Embrace him? She had never done that with a man,
in the romantic sense. "But of course you're not a prince.
Not that it matters, Mym. I—have been growing very fond
of you, even—"

"I-I-I-I—" He was unable to get the words out at all.

She put her hand on his. "It doesn't matter, Mym. You
don't need to speak to me in words." But she knew it did
matter, to him.

Then she had a bright notion. "I have heard that some-
times—Mym, can you sing?"

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

"It invokes a different portion of the brain, as I understand

Piers Anthony                71

it. So some stutterers can sing clearly, even though they
can't talk. Come, try it; sing with me." And she launched
into one of her 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 managed
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 exclaimed.
"Oh, Mym, I'm so pleased!" And she flung her arms about
his neck and kissed him.

For a moment he responded. Then he withdrew. "I must
not," he sang.

"Not?" Orb tried not to feel rejected.
Freed of his incapacity in this miraculous way, Mym be-
came far more expressive. "I am not what I seem," he sang.
"I am a prince." He went on to explain how his name was
Pride of the Kingdom, and he was the second son of the
Rajah of Gujarat. He had been confined to the palace be-
cause his father did not want his speech impediment to em-
barrass the family. He had been trained in every royal art,
particularly that of combat, just in case anything should hap-
pen to his brother. Ashamed, Mym had fled the palace and
hidden from his family, aided by a magic charm he pos-
sessed. Until he had attended the show and heard Orb sing.
Then-
He shrugged. It was obvious that he had been captivated
by her from the outset; now he had confessed it. Her heart
went out to him. Then she remembered the other mystery.
"Those thuggees—"

Then he confessed to that, too. As a prince, he hated such
vermin, and when they had threatened her, he had drawn
upon his devastating combat skills and slaughtered them all.
"I blindfolded you," he sang, "so that you would not see
their bodies."

72 Being a Green Mother

Orb turned away, crushed. Her worst concern had been
confirmed. Mym was a killer, perhaps close to a berserker.
How could she associate with him?

When she looked again, he was gone. He had known how
this news hurt her. She saw now that the mermaid had sus-
pected and protected her from this revelation. Orb was at
heart an innocent girl.

She threw herself on her bunk and sobbed.

But as the night passed, and the next day, and the rain
abated and allowed them to proceed to their next station,
her horror ameliorated. The mermaid was helpful, reminding
her of her probable fate had Mym not acted as he had against
the thuggees. "No man who goes beserk at the thought of
a threat to the woman he loves can be called evil," she said.
The others in the class agreed, even the harpy. "I'd love to
have a man mangle bodies for me!" she screeched.

So it was that Orb's horror metamorphosed to an opposite
emotion of similar intensity, and she realized that she loved
Mym. She nerved herself and went to him to apologize.

"Forgiven!" he sang immediately.

She flung her arms around him and kissed him.

After an enchanted moment he drew back. "I am a
prince," he reminded her in his new singsong.

She hardly cared about that; royalty meant little to her.
"I will remain with you here in India, if I need to," she said.

"No, no!" he sang. "You must continue your quest for
the Llano! I would not deny you your dream!"

"But I think I have found my dream, in you," she said.
Her heart, so long her own, seemed to be inflamed, but it
was a wonderful feeling. She had never known such love
before.

"Only part of it, only part," he demurred. "And that 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, savoring the amazing new
emotion.

She drew back her head to look at him, struck by some-
thing. "Turn your head," she said abruptly.

He obliged, uncertain of her intent.

Piers Anthony                73

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "You are he! That's why you
looked familiar!"

"Who?" he sang.

"The man of my dream! I really have found you!"

He shook his head, perplexed. Then she explained about
her childhood vision of walking down an aisle on the arm of
a man she could never quite see, except for a glimpse of his
profile. "You are that man!"

"I should be glad to be in your dreams," he sang. "But
I am not certain how I entered that one!"

"It was a dream of marriage, "she said. "Don't desert it."

"I shall try not to," he agreed.

That night Mym moved into her wagon. The news of their
romance had spread across the troupe at a velocity that left
light somewhat behind, and Mym's belongings had traveled
here before he knew of it.

They lay together, not making love, just simply holding
each other. Mym had, he confessed, known many women
in sexual detail; it was expected of a prince, and concubines
were a rupee a dozen. But he had never been in love. Orb
admitted she had no experience in either love or sex, and
had never felt the lack, until now.

"The touch of your hand is melody to me," he told her.

"That's just my magic!" she reproved him. He laughed,
and they kissed and kissed again.

On other nights they did make love, many times and with
abandon, but it was only an affirmation of their love, not an
end in itself. She just wanted to be with him as closely as
she could.

Meanwhile, the show went on, and the months passed.
They traversed India and crossed the Indus River. The end
of Orb's tour with the carnival was approaching, and she had
not found the Llano, but she didn't care; she had found Mym
instead.

But at the outskirts of Karachi, disaster came riding on
horseback. An officer of Gujarat, Mym's kingdom, ap-
peared. "Prince, we have come for you!" he called. "The
Prince, your brother, is dead. You will return with us."

Orb came out. "You must go," she said. "Your Kingdom
needs you."

"Damn my Kingdom!" he sang.

"I will go with you, my love." She had no need of any

74 Being a Green Mother

royal life, only to be with him. She was sure she could handle
it.

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

Orb felt the clutch of horror on her heart. Was she to be
separated from him?

"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. How
could any monetary payment make up for the outrage and
anguish of such a parting?

"It is here," the officer said, proffering her a small pack-
age. Orb was hardly aware of accepting it; she was numbed
by the awfulness of the situation.

She looked at Mym. He was standing as if dazed, his eyes
staring ahead. A trace of blood showed on his lip.

The officer kneeled before him, proffering 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
Prince. But you will return to the Kingdom."

Blood at Mym's mouth. The berserkers went wild at the
taste of blood. . . .

"Mym!" Orb screamed, understanding. "They are only
doing their duty! You must go with them!"

He heard her. He turned his head to the side and spat out
the blood. It was evident that he could berserk, and the of-
ficer knew it, but that he had it under control. He took the
sword, reversed it, and returned it to the officer.

Then Mym turned to Orb. "I will return to you," he sang.
"Until that time, I give you this." He brought out a ring that
was in the form of a tiny green snake.

"But what is it?" It was as if they were two actors on a
stage, and she was watching from an audience; she could
hardly believe that this was happening.

"Wear it, and it will answer any question. One squeeze
for yes, two for no, three if neither applies. It will also protect
you." And in his hand the ring came to life, the little snake
slithering across from his palm to hers, rearing up and hissing
as if to bite. Then it coiled around one of her fingers and
became cold metal again.

Piers Anthony                75

"Until you return," she said, his face blurring as her tears
sprang forth.

He embraced her and kissed her deeply. Then he went
with the officer. He mounted a fine horse that had been
brought for him, paused to wave to Orb and to the others
of the troupe who had befriended him, and rode away.

Orb gazed after him until no sight of her beloved remained.
Then she swooned.

She woke in her wagon, with Pythea tending her. "Oh,
I'm so sorry!" Orb explained. "I am distraught, but it's not
like me to—"

The snake charmer put out a hand to restrain her. "Orb,
it isn't that. I know the signs."

"What?"

"My dear, you are with child."

Orb fainted again.




6-

ORLENE

The members of the show rallied around her with the wann-
est support. Orb realized that for now her best course was
to continue as she had been, doing her part of the show,
concealing her condition from outsiders. It would be some
time before her pregnancy became obvious. Perhaps Mym
would return before then.

It was several days before she thought to open the bag the
officer had given her. She was amazed; it was filled with the
most precious of stones—emeralds, rubies, sapphires, opals,
and diamonds, all of large size and perfect nature. She took
it to the tour master for an appraisal, and his eyes threatened
to bulge from his head. "I would offer to buy them," he
said, "but there is not money enough in my lifetime to pur-
chase the least of these. You are an excruciatingly rich
woman, Orb."

"But I have no need of wealth!" she said. "All I want is
Mym!"

"I cast no aspersion on your desire. But if his love were
for sale, this would cover it. They have not cheated you,
materially."

"Take the gems," she said disconsolately. "I can not
abide any price for my love."

76

Piers Anthony                77

"Orb, I would gladly cheat a stranger, but never one of
my own, and you are the best of mine. You have a baby to
consider; save this wealth for that child, if for nothing else."

He was making sense. "Then take one of these and sell
it, and use the money for the benefit of the good people of
this show," she said.

"You really want to do this?"

"I do."

He took a blue sapphire. "It will take a while to sell this,
for it must be done privately, without attracting the attention
of the thuggees to us. Hide the others; let no one know you
possess them. I will report soon."

The wagon was unconscionably lonely. She had become
accustomed to sleeping in her lover's arms; now she could
not stand to be alone. But there was no one she could share
with; Pythea had to sleep with her big snake, lest it stray,
and the mermaid was confined to her tank.

Then she remembered her ring. It was supposed to answer
questions. Did it work?

"Ring," she said, addressing it. "Is it true that you can
talk to me by squeezes?"

The ring squeezed her finger, once.

"Can you anticipate the future?"

The little snake squeezed three times.

"Sometimes you can?"

One squeeze.

She took the plunge. "When will Mym return to me?"

The ring squeezed her finger three times.

She said the word she dreaded. "Never?"

Three squeezes.

"Never as—as my lover or husband?"

One squeeze.

There it was; somehow she had known it would be so. Yet
she tried again, unable to let go other dream of joy so readily.
"I'll never touch him again?"

Two squeezes.

Foolish hope! "I will see him again?"

Squeeze.

"But not—as we were?"

Squeeze.

She had done it clumsily, but had learned all that she
needed to know. Why torment herself with advance infor-

78 Being a Green Mother

mation about how she would encounter Mym when he was
Prince, with some lovely wealthy princess on his arm, hope-
lessly married? Even if he still loved Orb, he would not kiss
her or even encourage her then; she knew him and his iron
honor. Oh, surely he would not willingly marry elsewhere,
but if it was necessary for the good of his kingdom he would
do it, and then be true to it.

Her romance with Mym was through. Instead of hope-
lessly suffering, she should turn her face forward to the fu-
ture. At least he wasn't dead! And she did have something
of him—his baby.

What was she going to do with a baby? Certainly she could
not go home to have it; nothing like this had ever happened
in her family. How could she take care of it and raise it? Her
situation was impossible!

Well, not entirely. She had all the money she would ever
need, in the form of the gems. She could buy herself some
private house and hire a trustworthy servant for the shopping
and all. She could get through, economically.

But socially—what of that? She had always been a crea-
ture of companionship, first with Luna, then with Tinka,
then with Mym. Now she realized that part of what had made
her restless at home was Luna's absence; she needed some-
one compatible to be with, to share herself with. How well
Mym had filled that need!

She felt her grief surging forward again and quelled it as
well as she could. She would simply have to see about getting
herself some company. Someone she liked. Maybe—

She paused in her thoughts, taking stock. She had liked
Tinka, the blind Gypsy girl. Of course Tinka was married
now, but Gypsy women went out as a matter of course to
earn money in any way they could. Could she hire Tinka?

She held up the snake ring. "Could I?" she asked.

Squeeze.

She felt a wash of relief and gratitude. Now she had a
notion where to go.

The sapphire brought an amount of money that surprised
Orb; the tour master had done well in the sale. He issued a
quite handsome bonus to all the members of the tour and
had the wagons repaired, starting with the leaky roofs. Orb
had asked him not to identify the source of the money, but

Piers Anthony                79

they knew anyway. When the time came for her to leave the
show, they surprised her with a farewell party that was in-
tended to be cheerful, but where much crying was accom-
plished instead. They did not know other pregnancy; Pythea
had kept her mouth shut, and so had the mermaid, whose
eye for the signals was also keen. Were it not for the im-
possibility of birthing and caring for a baby on the road. Orb
would have felt inclined to remain with the show.

So she left and took an airplane to the Pyrenees. There
she garbed herself appropriately; the cloak Niobe had given
her changed into whatever apparel she needed with so little
thought that she tended to forget its nature. Then she un-
furled her little carpet and set out in search of Tinka.

It did not take long, because the Gypsies of this region
were more sedentary than most. Tinka was in a village near
the one she had lived in before, hiring herself out as a singer
for the tourists. It was sometime work, as the tourist season
waxed and waned, and the girl's opportunities were limited
because of her blindness. Her ideal marriage was under a
certain amount of strain because she had not conceived de-
spite her husband's best efforts.

Orb approached her at her home, where she cooked alone;

her husband was out on a business trip whose nature was
best not inquired into; it could involve smuggling. "Tinka,"
Orb said in Calo. "Do you remember me?"

"Orb!" the girl cried, instantly recognizing the voice. She
came to Orb and hugged her.

It was the simplest thing to arrange. Tinka was, she ad-
mitted privately, somewhat lonely, and would love to have
regular work. Her husband would be pleased by the income.
She advised Orb on the best house to rent and the best places
to shop. It seemed only a moment before two weeks had
passed, and Orb was comfortably situated with a full-time
maid and companion. All she had to do now was get on with
the baby.

But that took time; it could not be hurried. In the interim,
she talked Calo with Tinka, and they sang. Orb had to con-
fess, when Tinka inquired, that she had not made significant
progress in finding the Llano, but had gotten the baby in-
stead. "I would take the baby instead," Tinka said wistfully.

That made Orb consider her future with the baby. What

80 Being a Green Mother

was she to do with it? She had always known she could not
keep it—but how could she let it go?

She asked the ring. "Should I give the baby to Tinka?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Why not?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"Is she likely to be a bad mother?"

Squeeze,squeeze.

"A good mother?"

Squeeze.

"But not right for this?"

Squeeze.

"Then who is right?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Orb explained the situation to Tinka. "My magic charm
tells me that you would be a good mother, but that I am not
to give my baby to you. I don't know to whom to give it."

Tinka was disappointed, but accepted it. "There is still
time for me to have my own baby," she said.

"Indeed there is!" Orb agreed warmly. "You are three
years younger than I am!"

They concentrated on music, for Tinka was still perfecting
her talent, and her status as servant was only nominal; she
was a friend. It was delight to sing together. Tinka also en-
couraged Orb to practice the tanana, though at first Orb felt
deliciously wicked. Even when it was being done by two
women, and one of them only pantomiming the glances, it
was the most suggestive thing conceivable.

"But I can't imagine when I would ever want to do this
for a man," Orb said. "It's positively lascivious!"

"And think how much more so, if you sing your magic,
too," Tinka said.

Orb had to laugh, though her face was burning. "I would
never be so wanton!"

"You must have been a little bit wanton, to get that baby,"
Tinka remarked.

Orb remembered Mym and dissolved into tears.

"I'm sorry," the Gypsy girl said immediately. "I did not
mean—"

"He's a prince," Orb said, forcing herself to talk about
it, to share the burden with one who would understand. "But
he had to marry one of his own, and they took him away.

Piers Anthony                81

He never knew ..." She patted her belly, which was filling
out.

She shared the whole story with her friend, and it did help.
Tinka agreed that there had been no alternative for Mym.
"Just as there was none for us, when the conqueror came,"
she said. "You are now an exile, like the Gypsies."

Oddly enough, that made Orb feel better. The Gypsies
understood about being excluded from society; they had
been persecuted in many places, across many centuries.

The telling reminded her that the magic ring had informed
her that she would see Mym again, though not as a lover.
How could the ring know, if her future was opaque to
divination?

She asked it, having learned how to evoke meaningful re-
sponses from it. "My future can not be read, can it? By any
ordinary means?"

Squeeze.

"But you can read it?"

Squeeze,squeeze.

"Then how do you know I will see Mym again?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"Caught you in a contradiction, didn't I!"

Squeeze,squeeze.

"You can't read my future—"

Squeeze.

"But you just read my future!"

Squeeze, squeeze.

She was enjoying this, perversely. She knew the snake
would come up with an explanation; she just had to ask the
right questions. "Not my future?"

Squeeze.

"Whose future, then?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"Mym's?"

Squeeze.

There it was. The ring had looked into Mym's future and
seen him encountering her; therefore she encountered him,
too. Probably the ring also knew in what connection they
met, but Orb could find no way to evoke that information
from it. She simply could not guess the correct questions.

Because it could look into Tinka's future, and Tinka was
with Orb, the ring could tell Orb her future needs. It was

82 Being a Green Mother

evident that Orb was safe enough in this house and would
birth a healthy baby; after that she would leave, and Tinka
would care for the baby—

"What? You said she could not adopt—"

Squeeze.

"Oh. She is only caring for it, not adopting it."

Squeeze.

"Why do I keep saying 'it'? Is it a boy?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"A girl."

Squeeze.

"I did suspect it would be one or the other. But I have no
intention of just running off and leaving my baby behind! At
least I'll put it—her!—up for adoption myself."

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Ring, you must be wrong! It just isn't my way!"

But the ring was adamant. Orb would depart suddenly,
and the baby would not see her again.

She dropped this line of investigation, as it did not appeal.
She would find out in due course.

Orb tried to tune Mym out other consciousness, to forget
him, but the presence of his child within her made this im-
possible. Even in sleep she did not necessarily get relief, for
Mym came into her dreams. There had been a time, before
they realized that he could sing his words without stuttering,
when he had teased her to marvelous effect. She had been
singing, accompanying herself on her harp, practicing a new
song, and he had begun to mimic her.

Now she saw him again, doing an impromptu but graceful
dance—his stutter had not extended to his feet!—while he
mouthed the words she sang. Soon he was properly into it,
pausing dramatically in time to the song, emoting with rare
conviction as the key passages occurred, his feet striking the
floor as the harp's notes sounded. Others came to watch,
and Mym's emulation was so perfect that it really did seem
as though her voice were issuing from his throat. Orb herself
began to suffer the illusion, feeling as though she were mou-
thing him. But soon laughter overcame her and burst out,
ending the song—and so apt was he that he even emulated
her laughter. That set off the entire audience. The tour mas-

Piers Anthony                83

ter wanted to make it part of the show, but Mym demurred;

he did not want to be seen in public without his costume.

Orb woke laughing—but as she realized where she was,
her mirth turned to tears. Never again, those happy days!

Yet even this experience seemed to help her, as if a little
more of her grief had been wrung out, and she was less de-
pressed thereafter. After all, her memories were all she had
of Mym now, and so were worth treasuring.

Orb had to remain in the house increasingly as her term
advanced, for she didn't want her condition generally
known. This was awkward for Tinka, who was not apt at
shopping alone. Finally they arranged to have groceries de-
livered, unusual as this was for this village. Orb preferred
to be viewed as an eccentric, rather than to have her situation
clarified.

But as the time of birthing drew near, she knew there were
limits to secrets. The ring informed her that she was likely
to need a midwife. Tinka made the arrangement and used
the money Orb gave her to swear the old Gypsy woman to
secrecy, and the midwife took care of the rest.

But as the contractions came, there was pain. Orb had
decided to birth her baby the natural way, taking no medi-
cation, but realized that this was impractical; the pain was
too much. So the midwife gave her medicine—and it had no
effect. The midwife tried alternative medicine—with no bet-
ter result.

"What's the matter?" Orb asked the ring. She did not
actually speak; she had learned to direct her questions sub-
vocally. "Is there something wrong with the medicine?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Wrong with me?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Wrong with the situation?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Then she realized. "My protective amulet! It's protecting
me from the medication! Because that shut could be
dangerous."

Squeeze.

"Should I remove the amulet?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Then how shall I bear the pain?"

84 Being a Green Mother

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

"There is a way?"

Squeeze.

"Something in lieu of medicine?"

Squeeze.

"A spell?"

Squeeze.

Orb asked the midwife for a spell to take her mind off the
pain. The Gypsy woman obliged with a Spell of Analogy.

Orb found herself outside, in the mountain. Rather, she
was the mountain, the air about it, the vegetation on it, and
the water running through it.

But the mountain was in distress. A boulder had formed
within it and was blocking the egress of a deep spring-fed
river. Pressure was building up, and this was the focus of
pain. That boulder had to be gotten out before the pressure
cracked open the mountain.

"This is ridiculous!" Orb exclaimed. "I'm not a
mountain!"

But the vision persisted, and after a time she gave herself
up to it. She became the landscape and labored with its prob-
lem. She heaved—and slowly the boulder moved, squeezing
down the channel, wedging past the constriction. She heaved
again, and it nudged through, first a part of it, then the
breadth of it, the riverbed straining and scratching but not
breaking. A third great heave, and at last it cleared, and the
water burst out and spattered down the slope, free.

She emerged from the vision. Her baby was out, and she
was panting, her pain abating. The spell had gotten her
through.

It was female, as the ring had foreseen, and in perfect
health. Tinka put the baby girl in her arms. "I'll name her
after me," Orb murmured, distracted by the wonder of this
new life. "No, they'll call her eyeball! Make it Orlene
instead."

Then she realized that she was being short-sighted. "I
can't keep her! I have no right to name her!"

"Name her anyway," Tinka said.

The logic appealed.

Orlene was a delight. Orb nursed her and burped her and
changed her diaper and joyed in being a mother. She wished

Piers Anthony                85

she could remain here forever with the baby. And why not?
The gems from Mym's kingdom represented a virtually inex-
haustible fount of money.

But she realized in a moment that it remained impossible.
Orlene would not remain a baby forever; she would become
a little girl, and then a young woman. What kind of a life
would it be for her, with no father, no family, no freedom?
She needed legitimacy, a family, friends, school, a social
life—everything that Orb herself had had, and could not pass
on. The kindest thing she could do for her daughter was to
relinquish her.

Then, abruptly, the ring squeezed her. She hadn't asked
it a question; it was trying to get her attention. "Something
the matter?" she asked.

Squeeze.

Orb's dread returned. "I have to leave now?"

Squeeze.

"But why? Surely a few more days with my child-—"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Where am I supposed to go?" Orb stood and pointed her
finger, turning slowly, and when she came to the proper di-
rection, the ring squeezed.

The direction was north. "Home?"

Squeeze.

"I'm needed at home?"

Squeeze.

"Something has happened?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Will happen?"

Squeeze.

Then suddenly she knew. "Daddy!"

Squeeze.

Her father was old and had been slowly failing. This could
only mean that he was dying.

"But I could go home, then return here—"

Squeeze,squeeze.

The ring had always been right. She had tested it many
times, idly. She believed it. It was better to make a clean
break now and do what she had to do.

"Tinka, the time has come," she said. "I must leave Or-
lene with you, but you cannot keep her. You must give her

86 Being a Green Mother

for adoption to some well-to-do tourist family who will be
able to care for her properly."

"But I would not know who—" Tinka protested. "I can
not even speak their language!" For they were speaking
Calo.

Orb removed the magic ring. "Wear this. It will guide you:

one squeeze for yes, two for no. When it tells you the family
is right, give them the baby."

The ring came to life, and the little snake raised its head
and looked at her.

"Something else to tell me?" Orb put a finger down, and
the snake coiled about it. "What am I forgetting? Something
else I must tell Tinka?"

Squeeze.

"To help Orlene?"

Squeeze.

"My amulet! I'll put it on her, to protect her!"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"Then—?"

Squeeze.

"Then you? Give her you?"

Squeeze.

Suddenly it made sense. "You will remain with Orlene
and guide her throughout her life?"

Squeeze,squeeze, squeeze.

"Or at least until she grows up and can make her own
decisions?"

Squeeze.

"Yes, of course. I know you will do what is right."

Squeeze.

Then she removed the ring again and gave it to Tinka.
"When you find the right family, put this ring on Oriene's
finger. It will fit."

The girl nodded.

"And for you, for the time when you have your own
baby—" Orb brought out her ruby. "This will make you
rich. Your husband is an honorable man? I mean, he
wouldn't cheat you?"

Tinka nodded again.

"Then get his help when you need to market this." Orb
put the gem into the girl's hand, then impulsively hugged
her. "I fear I will never see you again. I love you, Tinka."

Piers Anthony                87

Then the Gypsy girl began to cry, and Orb wept with her.
But what had to be had to be, and in due course Orb de-
parted, riding her carpet to the nearest airport, where she
took an airplane home.

Pacian was indeed dying. Niobe greeted her tearfully.
"Oh, Orb, I'm so glad you came home now! How did you
know?"

"I had a ring that advised me," Orb explained. "It
couldn't see my future, but it could see those who associate
with me. I'm sorry I stayed away so long—"

"You're adult now; you have your own life. But this—"

It was bad, but Orb was glad she had come home. It would
have been so much worse if her father had died in her ab-
sence. The ring had warned her truly.

She put her hand on his arm, and sent him her music, and
felt his own rise in response. "Remember when you told me
of the Song of the Morning," she said.

"Go find your song, Orb," he replied. Then they held
hands and the music intensified, until he lost power and had
to sleep.

Two days later he died. Orb handled most of the arrange-
ments, sparing her mother that.

But after the wake and burial, Orb had no inclination to
remain. Niobe was able to handle the tree farm, and Orb did
indeed have her own life to make. It wasn't that she didn't
love her mother, for she did; it was that the happy years of
their family existence, with Luna really a part of it, were
over, and that was all too obvious.

"Perhaps you should go visit Luna," Niobe said, as if
reading her thoughts. "You could go on tour in Amer-
ica. ..." For of course Orb had written home often, ad-
vising her family of her location. She had omitted a certain
key detail of her past year, not from any desire to deceive
her mother, but because she simply hadn't known how to
cope with the fact of an illegitimate baby. One day she would
tell her mother, but not right now, not when there was grief
enough already.

"I will visit Luna, and see about an American tour," she
agreed. Indeed, the notion appealed to her, for Luna was
her closest companion and friend.

But first she visited her old friend the hamadryad. She

88 Being a Green Mother

approached the old oak tree in the swamp and called out,
but the dryad would not come down.

"But it's me. Orb!" she cried. "Don't you know me?"

"You have lost your innocence," the dryad called from
the branches.

Orb realized it was true. She had loved a man, and borne
a child, and given it away; what innocence remained to her?
Suddenly she was overwhelmed by that loss, not realizing
how she had valued it until this moment. She sank down to
the ground and wept.

Then the hamadryad came down and touched her mo-
mentarily. "It is the fate of mortal women," she said. "My
kind can never know it."

Orb looked up, and the dryad was crying, too, for the loss
she could never sustain. Orb reached out to her, but there
seemed to be a barrier between them, and they were unable
to touch.

"But can't we still be friends?" Orb asked.

"From a distance," the dryad agreed.

That seemed to be the best that could be salvaged from a
mixed situation. Orb blew her friend a kiss and returned to
her own kind. The things of wild magic seemed inevitably
to retreat as a person became older and more experienced.
That was indeed something worth crying about.




-7

LIVIN'SLUDGE

Actually it was some time, a year or more, before she made
the trip to America. She had wanted to go immediately, but
had not felt free to desert her mother right after Pace's death,
and then there had been requests for her music locally, and
one thing led to another, the time frittering away. Then news
had come of the Magician's death, and that shocked her into
action, so that she completed her commitments in good order
and made the trip at last. Perhaps, she thought, she simply
hadn't wanted to let go of the last hope that her old life could
be restored.

Luna lived in Kilvarough, the town that had imported the
famous Irish ghost, Molly Malone. Orb mostly tuned out the
journey across the wide sea, trying to focus on the future to
avoid focusing on the past, and not succeeding any better
than she usually did. Mym, Tinka, Orlene, Niobe, the ha-
madryad—all of these memories were painful because she
knew she could never again know them as she had experi-
enced them before.

But as she drew near, the thought of reuniting with Luna
cheered her increasingly. With Luna, she knew, she could
truly share, because of their closeness and the mutual spells
of protection and immunity to having their futures read. The

89




90 Being a Green Mother

Magician, Luna's father, had gone to a lot of trouble to cloud
their futures; now she wondered why. She also wondered
about the news that Luna was dating Thanatos, the Incar-
nation of Death; that sounded grim indeed, and perhaps was
one of the considerations that had contributed to Orb's
delay. No, that dating had begun after the Magician's death;

she was getting things confused.

Still, she remembered the old prophecy, dating from be-
fore their births: that Luna might marry Death, and Orb
might marry Evil. Nonsense, of course; surely a Gypsy for-
tune telling, and though the Gypsies, as she well knew, could
prophecy with the best, they tended to slough off when the
matter was not important. Probably someone had made up
something dramatic for the benefit of what she took to be a
gullible tourist, and later the Magician, annoyed by that, had
banned any further predictions. Certainly Orb had never had
any truck with evil, and never would! Still, if Luna was ac-
tually doing it...

Luna met her at the airport. At first Orb didn't recognize
her. Then, shocked, she exclaimed: "Luna! What have you
done with your hair?" For Luna's clover-honey tresses had
changed to chestnut brown, completely transforming her ap-
pearance. She was still beautiful, but different.

"Father made me do it," Luna said. "He wouldn't say
why. But this is the way it must be for the rest of my life."

"What an odd thing! And is it true that you are—?"

"Taking up with Death?" Luna laughed. She was ob-
viously in excellent health, not likely to die at all soon. "Yes,
it is true; you'll meet him soon enough."

They took a taxi carpet to Luna's residence, which was
an elegant mini-estate, fenced in, guarded by two lean and
hungry griffins. They charged up as the carpet drew close,
half-spreading their wings, but relaxed when they recognized
Luna. She paid the carpeter, and the two of them entered
the iron gate.

Orb was a bit nervous about the griffins, but Luna merely
introduced her to them, and that was sufficient. It was ev-
ident that they attacked only strangers.

The interior of the house was very nice. "Oh, you are
painting again!" Orb exclaimed, recognizing the pictures on
the walls.

Piers Anthony                91

"It's one way of easing the loneliness since my father
died," Luna said.

"How—if I may ask—?"

"He arranged it so that Thanatos would have to collect
him personally, and then he offered me to Thanatos."

"He whatT'

"He wanted me to be friends with the Incarnation of
Death," Luna said, as if this were routine. "I didn't under-
stand at first, but later I did. It seems that I am to have an
important role in a confrontation between God and Satan
about twenty years hence, so Satan naturally wishes to elimi-
nate me before then, and only Thanatos can protect me."

"But what a cynical—what a horror!"

Luna shook her head. "No. Thanatos is a decent man. I
have asked him to visit later today, so you can meet him."

"So you—you are satisfied to associate with Death?" Orb
asked, accepting this with difficulty.

"I think I would marry him, if that were feasible. But it
seems not to be, so we merely associate."

Orb decided not to question that further. She had known
Luna well, but wasn't sure how well she knew her now.

"And you," Luna said warmly. "What have you been up
to these past three years?"

Orb told her. She found herself hesitant to mention the
baby, but also unable to refrain.

"A baby!" Luna exclaimed. "How wonderful!"

"Illegitimate," Orb reminded her. "Given away for
adoption."

"A baby!" Luna repeated, as if this were the greatest pos-
sible accomplishment!

"Niobe doesn't know."

"I'll say nothing. But how wonderful to have had the
experience!"

Orb realized that Luna faced slight prospect of having a
family. Viewed that way, it was indeed a lucky thing to have
done. Pressed by Luna, Orb described the baby in detail,
and it did seem to make the burden of the loss easier to live
with.

They had a meal, still talking, catching up on things, and
it was generally wonderful. They had been so close for so
many years, almost like twins, and it was good to be close

92 Being a Green Mother

now. Every so often they laughed for inadequate reason,
cried for similar reason, and hugged each other, giris again.

Then Thanatos arrived. He was a black-cloaked figure
whose face was a skull and whose hands were bones. Orb
was awed—but then he laid back his grim hood and mani-
fested as an ordinary young man, quite flesh and blood. "But
he really is the Incarnation of Death," Luna reminded her.
"He collects souls and guides them to their proper desti-
nations, in the difficult cases."

Orb had no comment to make. Thanatos filled in with a
question of his own. "I understand you are musical, Orb.
Do you plan to perform here?"

"I'm really looking for the Llano," Orb said, still reticent
in the presence of this odd figure. "I suppose I might per-
form, too."

"Perhaps you could travel with a group, as you did in
India," Luna said. "One that goes where you want to go."

"I suppose I should," Orb agreed vaguely.

"I encountered a group that might use a competent ad-
dition," he said.

"Oh?" Orb found herself interested. Certainly she had to
travel, and certainly she didn't want to do it alone. "What
group?"

"They call themselves the Livin' Sludge. They started in
Miami, but now they accept engagements elsewhere and
seem to want to go on a tour, but have some difficulty ob-
taining suitable bookings."

"No wonder, with a name like that!" Orb exclaimed.

"Groups run to names like that here," Luna advised her
gently.

Orb shrugged. "Are they good musicians?"

"I am not a proper judge," Thanatos said. "But when they
did a command performance for me, assisted by a girl from
a neighboring choir, it was a considerable production. I sus-
pect they wish to duplicate that experience, but are not sure
how. They seem competent as performers, but it is magic
they seek, and that is harder to achieve."

"I have magic," Orb said.

"So I understand. It is possible that you could be the ele-
ment they need for the type of success they seek. I should
warn you that they have some problems with drugs, which
they are trying to eliminate."

Piers Anthony                93

"Through music?"

"Would this piece you mention—I am not familiar with
it—would it help them?"

"The Llano? I think it would, if they could find it. The
Gypsies call it the universal absolver. But if I knew how to
find it, I would do so forthwith."

"Then perhaps you could search for it together."

"Perhaps we could!" Orb agreed, abruptly liking the no-
tion. To be with a group that was searching for the same
thing she was—that could be wonderful! "Can you put me
in touch with them?"

"I can take you to them, if you wish."

Orb had an abrupt second thought. "You say they are
addicts? Of what?"

"What they call 'H,' enchanted for greater potency. It
isn't really the same kind of thing that is historically known,
but a designer drug that emulates heroin, extraordinarily ad-
dictive. They believe that the right music can relieve them
of the craving. They do not appear to be bad people, merely
ones who have fallen into unfortunate habits."

"But heroin! What real hope for reform can there be?"

Thanatos shrugged. "My own balance of evil approached
fifty per cent when I attempted suicide, but my new mission
has given me strength. I think reform is possible, given the
right motivation and circumstance."

"My own evil threatened to overwhelm me," Luna said.
"Yet it seems that I am fated to play a key role in the sal-
vation of mankind. I, too, find it necessary to believe that
salvation is possible for anyone who really makes the
attempt."

Orb had another thought. "You can judge the amount of
evil in a person? I mean, not a dead soul?"

"I can," Thanatos agreed.

"I—" Now she found herself shy. "Could you—would
you—?"

"Read your balance?" he finished. "This I can do. But I
regard it as a private matter. Are you sure you wish it?"

"I have no secrets from Luna. Can you do it here, now?"

"He can," Luna said.

"I'd really like to know."

"As you wish." Thanatos reached into a fold of his cloak

94 Being a Green Mother

and brought forth two cabochons—polished, half-rounded
stones. One was light, the other dark.

He brought the light one near Orb, passing it along her
body from head to foot at a distance of a few centimeters.
It flickered as it moved. With each flicker it became brighter,
until at last it shone like a little moon.

Then he used the dark one in the same manner. It, too,
flickered, but it became darker as it did so, until it was com-
pletely dull, with no shine at all.

Thanatos set the two stones together, and they merged,
forming a ball. The flat planes of their bottom sides seemed
to curve, forming a yin-yang shape.

He let the ball go. It floated upward, until it threatened to
rise out of reach. He reached up and caught it. "Your bal-
ance is positive," he said. "But there is a significant amount
of evil on your soul. You have done something you should
not have."

Luna was silent, not divulging Orb's secret. But Orb de-
cided to reveal it herself. "I had an affair," she said.

Thanatos nodded. "That is evil, by the current
definition."

"And I had a baby. Illegitimate."

"That is greater evil. But I think not enough to account
for the amount you show."

"I did not tell my mother."

"That accounts for it," he said.

"Do you condemn me for that?" she asked, somehow
wanting his acceptance.

"No. I killed my own mother, and Luna deceived her fa-
ther. We understand these things. But the definitions of good
and evil were set up before our time, and they are the ones
that prevail. It is not necessary for Incarnations to agree with
the prevailing rules; it is only necessary for us to implement
them. By the old definitions, you have sinned grievously,
and your soul is weighted accordingly; by my definition you
have sinned only if you caused unnecessary pain to an in-
nocent person. Did you do that?"

"I caused my lover pain, because he had to separate from
me."

"Were you the agent of that separation?"

"No."

Piers Anthony                95

"Then that sin is not yours, by definition. But my defi-
nition is meaningless; I do not make the rules."

"Still, I feel reassured."

"It is reassuring to know Thanatos and to understand
him," Luna said.

"Yes. I am coming to understand that." For the man who
held the office of Death was evidently a decent person, one
it could be possible to love—and Luna did love him. That
portion of the prophecy seemed to be true: Luna might marry
Death. But the other, that Orb might marry Evil—could this
be the start of the shifting of her balance toward total evil?
She shuddered.

But perhaps if she found the Llano first, she would be able
to avert that horror. That made the search more urgent.
"Let's go see the Livin' Sludge," she said abruptly.

"Take her," Luna said to Thanatos.

He nodded. "Mortis is outside."

"Who?" Orb asked.

"His steed," Luna explained. "You'll like Mortis." She
seemed amused.

"Oh—a horse." Orb was relieved.

She followed Thanatos out. Evidently Luna was not com-
ing along. Maybe the horse could carry double but not triple.
What had Luna found so funny?

A pale sedan was parked nearby. The two griffins lay be-
side it, almost as if guarding it, unless they liked the company
of such machines. Thanatos went to this. He opened the
door.

"This car? But Luna said—" Orb was confused.

"This is Mortis."

"But—"

Thanatos had drawn his cowl back over his head. The
skull-face grinned. "Show her, Mortis."

The car changed. Its wheels stretched down, its hood
stretched up, and its body reconvoluted. In a moment the
vehicle had become a handsome pale horse.

Orb stared. Then she laughed. No wonder Luna had been
amused! She had known about this.

Like all girls and most women, Orb loved horses. She ap-
proached the handsome animal, extending her hand so he
could sniff it. "Hello, Mortis," she said. "May I pet you?"

Mortis' ears perked forward. That meant a favorable re-

96 Being a Green Mother

action. She reached up slowly and petted him on the neck,
on the side away from the mane. Then, unable to restrain
herself, she stepped in close and hugged his neck. A horse
was almost as wonderful as a baby!

Then Thanatos mounted and extended his skeletal hand
to her. She took it, putting her left foot up into the available
stirrup, and swung herself into the saddle ahead of him. It
was an awkward maneuver, but she had learned it young.
His arms came around her, but she trusted Luna to know
her man, and knew that there would be no trouble.

Thanatos held her steady and spoke to Mortis. There were
no reins. The horse took a step forward, paced by the two
now-friendly griffins, and then leaped into the air, again
paced by the griffins. The griffins had huge, beautiful wings,
and the horse did not—yet all three were flying readily.
Rather, the horse was galloping through the air, as if his
hooves found purchase in it.

They charged upward into the sky. The griffins cried out
in parting and turned to descend back toward the residence.
It was evident that they would have loved to travel with the
horse forever, but had guard duty to honor. Had Luna come,
they could have come, too. Well, perhaps another time.

They moved above the occasional clouds, traveling gen-
erally south. Orb saw an airplane passing to the side. The
horse seemed to be outdistancing it, yet no wind ruffled
Orb's hair.

"How is it that we can travel so high and fast, yet feel no
wind or cold?" she asked. "When I ride on my carpet I have
to wear warm clothing." Of course her magic cloak took care
of that, but the point was valid.

"The magic of the Incarnations is of a different order than
that of mortal folk," Thanatos replied.

So it seemed! "And how is it that you are willing to per-
form such a mundane task as taking a mortal woman to see
a mortal musical group?"

"It is not every woman who would love the minion of
Death," he said. "Your cousin Luna is one."

And for Luna he would do anything. Perhaps it made
sense. She concluded that it was best not to pry into that
relationship.

"She says that there is no other like you for music," Than-
atos continued after a pause.

Piers Anthony                97

"I don't know whether that is true, but I do have a talent,"
she said.

"I hope you find the group compatible."
"Thank you, Thanatos," she said, touched.
Then Mortis started down, and the great city of Miami
spread out beneath them.
"How is it that no one stares at us?" Orb asked.
"Few people care to observe the approach of Death."
Answer enough! They dropped down to the streets, and
the horse's hooves touched the pavement.

Then, abruptly, the two of them were sitting in the car.
Mortis had changed form and was now driving along the
street, in traffic.

They drew up at a slummish area of town. Thanatos
opened the door and they got out. Orb heard music from a
practice hall. Guitar, drum, electric organ—that seemed to
be the extent of it, by the sound.

Several shaggy teenagers glanced up as they entered the
hall. "Uh-oh," the drummer said. "He's here again!"
"Is your singer recovered?" Thanatos inquired.
The drummer shook his head. "She's out of it. And we
can't get decent bookings without her." He glanced sidelong
at Thanatos. "You comin' for one of us this time?"
"No. I come to bring you a new member, perhaps."
The teenagers relaxed. "You know, that black chick—
she was something! We never did a hymn before, but—"
The drummer shook his head. "If you gave us her ... "
"No. This is the one I bring." He indicated Orb.
They focused on Orb. "Whatcha play?" the drummer
asked, noting Orb's container.
"A small harp."
"A what?"

Orb turned to Thanatos. "I'm not sure this is right. Maybe
that black girl they mentioned would be better for them."

Thanatos considered. "I will inquire. Meanwhile, play for
them."

Orb shrugged. She brought out her harp, set it up, settled
herself on the floor, and started a song of Ireland. She let
the magic spread out, touching them. But she noticed that
Thanatos was walking out of the hall on his errand, evidently
not touched. Of course he was an Incarnation, not subject
to mortal effects; still, she was disappointed.

98 Being a Green Mother

The members of the Livin' Sludge listened, entranced.
When Orb concluded her song, they closed in about her.
"Sheesh, woman!" the drummer said. "You're a pro! You
want to join usT'

"I want to seek the Llano," she said.

"The what?"

"A magic song," she explained. "It is said to accomplish
miraculous things, when properly sung."

"Like what?"

She told them some of the stories of the Llano she had
heard. They listened attentively.

"This song," the drummer asked finally. "Do you think
it could get a man off the shi—the stuff?"

"The stuff?"

"Spelled H," he said.

"Are you referring to a drug?" Of course Thanatos had
explained this, but she felt it was better to get the news di-
rectly from them, so that there was no question of a violation
of confidence.

"The drug," he agreed.

"I don't know. But I think so."

"Then we want the Llano!" he said.

"I don't know where to find it," Orb said. "I expect to
have to travel."

The drummer glanced at the others. "We'll travel!"

"But we ain't in her class," the guitarist said.

Orb suspected that was an accurate assessment. But she
did want to search for the song, and if these folk had a similar
ambition, she wanted to consider the matter fairly. "Perhaps
we should find out how we are together," she suggested.

"Sure, let's try it," the drummer said eagerly. He glanced
about again. "You guys pick up on her tune?"

The organist touched his keyboard. The theme Orb had
played sprang forth. The guitarist joined in. The drummer
settled down to his drums, sounding a beat.

Orb nodded. These kids looked like the sludge they called
themselves, but they were apt with their instruments. She
began to play and sing herself.

The magic spread out, as before—but this time it touched
the hands of the musicians, and amplified, and now it seemed
that all of them had it. Just as the harp increased Orb's own
magic, the instruments of the Livin' Sludge were providing

Piers Anthony                99

magic for them. Orb had never noted this effect before—but
of course she had never played with other instruments be-
fore. She was surprised and gratified.

The song ended. "Geez," the drummer said. "Like it was
before!"

"I think we could—how do you put it—make it," Orb
said, impressed.

"That's not exactly how we put it," the drummer said.
"But for sure, we could be one hot sound!"

Their eyes were attracted to the entrance as Thanatos
reappeared. The black girl was with him. She was young,
perhaps sixteen, thin and pretty. "This is Lou-Mae," he
said. "She sang with you once before."

"She sure did!" the drummer exclaimed, getting up to
approach the girl.

"I—" the girl faltered. "I sure would like to—I never sang
that kind before, but ever since, all I can remember is how
it felt—"

"We know," the drummer said.

"When the preacher saw Death, he told me right off to go
with him," the girl continued. "He knew I couldn't stay with
the choir no more. But—" She looked at Orb. "You already
got a singer?"

"Is there a limit?" Orb asked.

"Naw," the drummer said quickly. "If it flows with her,
it flows. Let's give it a try."

They gave it a try. The girl did not know the Irish song,
so they found one she did know, which Orb also knew, and
tried it as a group.

It worked. The magic embraced the instruments and the
voice of Lou-Mae, and an ordinary song became miraculous.
Orb's voice had a different tonal quality from that of Lou-
Mae, and the two fused in an intense harmony buttressed
by the instruments.

It ended, after seeming timelessness. Thanatos nodded.
"It seems you integrate," he said.

Lou-Mae looked toward the door. An old black preacher
stood there. "You go with them, girl," he said. "You got
the callin'. I know God wants it that way. I'll square it with
your folks." He departed.

"I guess we've got a group," the drummer said. "You
two chicks want to travel with us, it sure—"

100 Being a Green Mother

"Chicks?" Orb asked. "Baby birds?"

The three boys and Lou-Mae laughed. "Close enough,"
the drummer said. "But you know, we've got to get a gig,
or it's nothing. We—you know, our rep isn't exactly what
you'd call—"

"I will get you a performance," Thanatos said.

"Like before? In the street? That wasn't—"

"A regular engagement. I am sure Luna could arrange it."

"Who?"

"My cousin," Orb said. She and Luna seldom bothered
to clarify the precise relationship between them, and "cou-
sin" was a reasonable approximation. She turned to Than-
atos. "But why should we impose on her? She isn't obliged
to—"

"She asked me to."

So Luna was out to help Orb in a substantial way. Orb
nodded to herself. She would have done the same for Luna.

Thanatos addressed the others. "If you will collect your
instruments, I have transportation outside."

The drummer was startled. "Transport? Are we going
somewhere?"

"To Kilvarough."

"But—"

Thanatos gazed directly at the drummer. The drummer
paled. "Yeh, sure. We're going."

They trooped out to the street, where Mortis waited in
automobile form. The drums and guitars and electric organ
and electronic equipment were stacked in the trunk, which
had ample room for them all, even though it hardly seemed
large enough. Then the three youths got on the rear seat,
and Orb and Lou-Mae took the middle seat, and Thanatos
took the driver's seat.

Orb had not realized that the car had three seats, or that
it was sized to carry six or more people in comfort. But of
course she bad not been paying attention to the vehicular
aspect of Mortis.

The car moved out into traffic. "Ooops," Thanatos said.
"I see I have a collection that should not wait. If you will
excuse me, this will not take long."

No one objected. What could he mean by a "collection"?

The view outside the windows blurred. They seemed to
be speeding through the countryside at a suicidal rate.

Piers Anthony               101

"Geez," one of the Sludge exclaimed. "We're goin'
through stuff!"

So it seemed; trees, buildings, even a mountain passed in
cutaway section as the car zoomed along on an even keel.
Orb and Lou-Mae stared as raptly as did the boys. Orb saw
the black girl cross herself.

As abruptly as it had begun, the blurring ended. The car
was now proceeding along a country road. The scenery had
changed completely.

"Say, where are we?" the guitarist asked, amazed.

"Portland," Thanatos replied.

"Geez! All the way to Maine, just like that?"

"Oregon," Thanatos said, perhaps smiling.

"Must be magic!"

"True."

The vehicle slowed, then stopped. An old woman was
slumped over a table in the front yard of an isolated house.
Thanatos got out, went to her, and put his hand into her
body. He drew something out. It was invisible, but they all
knew he was not pantomiming. He put the thing into a small
bag he carried. Then he returned to the car.

"Heart attack," Thanatos said. "It wasn't right to let her
suffer long."

"You mean she wasn't dead?" Lou-Mae asked.

"Not until I took her soul."

"You mean you have to take every soul of everybody who
dies?"

"Only those in balance. Those who can not readily either
rise or sink."

"Geez," the drummer said. "Guess we don't need to
worry 'bout that. We know where we're goin'. Straight
down."

"Not necessarily," Thanatos said.

"He can read your balance of good and evil," Orb said.

"Then he knows," the drummer said flatly.

The car was phasing cross-country again. "No," Thanatos
said. "Only if I read you, and I do not do that gratuitously."

"You can tell if we're going to be saved?" Lou-Mae
asked.

"No. I can only read the present balance. Your salvation
depends on yourself.''

102 Being a Green Mother

"Would—would you read me?" she asked. "I know I've
sinned—"

Thanatos turned in his seat, ignoring the driving, but the
car seemed to know its own way. He brought out his two
stones and passed them near her. The light one flashed often
and glowed brightly; the dark one flashed only seldom and
hardly darkened at all. "You are about ninety-five per cent
good. You would have to sin continuously for some time
before being in danger of Hell.''

"But I get these real bad thoughts sometimes, and I just
know—"

The drummer laughed. "Sister, if thoughts could do it, I'd
be a cinder now! It only counts if you do it!"

"True," Thanatos said.

"But—"

"Read me," the drummer said. "I'll show you what black
is!"

Thanatos oriented the stones on the drummer. Both the
light and dark ones flashed. When he put them together, die
ball slowly sank. "Your balance is negative, but not strongly
so; right living can rectify it soon enough."

"But I'm into H!" the drummer protested. "Spelled H!
We all are! That's damnation right there!"

"There is no absolute damnation," Thanatos said. "You
must have redeeming qualities. I believe one of them showed
when you helped Lou-Mae to find her place, when she sang
with you the first time."

"Well I had to," the drummer protested. "She's a good
girl! It wasn't right to mess her up."

"And so you appreciated good, and you did good.
Thoughts don't count when they are not acted upon, but
motive counts when you do take action. You helped her,
from altruistic motive. You want to do right, and you do do
it when you have opportunity. That goes far to mitigate the
evil of your lifestyle."

The drummer was amazed. "But I didn't do it because of
my balance! I just—I mean, sometimes you just gotta do
what's right. There's no choice in it, it's just the way it is."

"That is why it counts," Thanatos said, and turned back
to the front.

"I don't get it," the drummer said. "If I had no choice,
how can it count?"

Piers Anthony               103

"I think he means that another person might see it another
way," Orb said. "Another might not choose to do what was
right, or perhaps might not even see what was right. Your
conscience gave you no choice, and that counted."

"Precisely," Thanatos said.

"Geez," the drummer said thoughtfully.

Now the vehicle was slowing again. It stopped—and there
was Luna's estate.

They got out, and the Sludge unloaded their instruments.
Orb had kept her harp with her, as she always did.

Then Mortis reverted to equine form and started grazing
on the lush lawn.

The Sludge stared. "We were in a horse?" the drummer
asked.

"In the rear of the horse," Lou-Mae said, stifling a laugh.
Then her face straightened. "Oh, I shouldn't have said that;

it's not nice."

"Chalk up one smidgeon of evil to your soul," the drum-
mer said, laughing himself. "At that rate, you'll be damned
in only three centuries!"

They trooped into the house, paced by the two griffins.

Luna took over. "I think you will want to clean up," she
said. "And perhaps some new clothing. The facilities are
that way." In a moment she had bustled the three boys off.
The Livin' Sludge had struck Orb as a fairly ornery group,
but the combination of Thanatos' office and Luna's certainty
and their own desire for great music had rendered them doc-
ile. Probably it was their passion for music that accounted
for the greater part of the good on their souls; that was
sincere.

"And you," Luna said to Lou-Mae. "I believe I can put
together a suitable outfit for you. This way." She led the girl
away.

Orb was left with Thanatos. "How can she be so sure this
will work, when she hasn't even heard us sing as a group?"
she asked.

"She told me to bring them back only if it was good,"
Thanatos said. "She has connections; she will get an
audition."

An hour later the group reassembled. The three boys were
clean and in new clothing, their hair combed; they looked




104 Being a Green Mother Piers Anthony 105

amazingly presentable. Lou-Mae was stunning in a bright
red dress, and a sparkling ruby in her hair.

"Oh, I forgot you," Luna said to Orb. "You can wear
one of mine; we always wear the same size."

"Not any more, I fear," Orb said. She had forgotten to
mention the magic cloak and didn't want to do it in public.

Sure enough, Orb's pregnancy had amplified her bosom
somewhat. But Luna was ready to do some quick stitching
on an elegant green dress, until Orb explained about the
cloak, and duplicated it without stitching. Luna gave Orb an
emerald for her hair, to match the color. Gems were one
thing Luna had in quantity, both enchanted and mundane;

she had inherited the Magician's collection. They were en-
chanted to return to her when their use was over, so she had
no concern about loss or theft.

"Now find a suitable piece," Luna said, setting them up
in a larger room. "I will see about the audition."

They discussed it, discovering to no one's surprise that
they had few if any musical tastes in common. The boys
knew modern acid, Lou-Mae knew black spirituals, and Orb
knew Old World folk songs. "You mean to say that none of
you know "Londonderry Air?" she asked in frustration. She
had sung that with Mym, so now it had special meaning for
her; she thought everyone in the world knew it.

"Never heard of it," the drummer said. "Maybe if you
play a few bars ..."

Orb did so. "Oh, 'Danny Boy'!" the drummer said. "I've
heard that!"

"So have I," Lou-Mae said.

"Well, then . . . ?" Orb asked.

So they played with it and worked out an arrangement that
suited them all. They practiced it, experimenting with har-
monies. Orb sat with her harp, and Lou-Mae stood beside
her, their dresses and gems brightly complementing each
other.

"You know," the drummer said, "I heard once that it
wasn't a chick saying good-bye to her man, but his older
father. That sort of changes it."

"It is open to interpretation, of course," Orb said. "I al-
ways preferred to think of it as a farewell by a lady friend
as Danny went off to war, a conscript. But I believe you are
correct. Yet unless we had a male singer—"

"No, 'sokay," he said quickly. "But you know, if we
could sort of act it out a little—"

They tried it. The drummer set aside his drums and posed
as the young man, and Orb confined herself to her harp, not
singing, leaving that to Lou-Mae.

The two remaining Sludge and Orb played a preamble;

then the drummer and Lou-Mae walked into the center. They
paused there, facing each other, and Lou-Mae began to sing.

"Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.
And from the trees, the leaves, the leaves are falling;

'Tis you, 'tis you must go, and I must bide."

There seemed to be an electricity as the song progressed
and the magic took hold. The drummer and Lou-Mae were
staring at each other as if genuinely loath to part. Mountains
seemed to form, and the sound of the pipes that the organist
made seeaied to echo across them. A breeze stirred the imag-
ined trees, and leaves tumbled down, for it was autumn. The
same breeze stirred Lou-Mae's dress and hair, and she was
lovely.

As the song ended, something snapped. The drummer
stepped forward, and Lou-Mae met him halfway, and they
embraced as if drawn together by irresistible magnetism, and
kissed, long and deep. Then he hauled himself away, dra-
matically reluctant, and stumbled down the hill, while she
watched, sobbing. They knew they would never be together
again.

The music ended, and they came out of it. "Geez," the
guitarist said. "I'd a sworn you two was in love!"

"I guess I thought I was, for a moment," the drummer
said, reappearing from the next room. He looked at Lou-
Mae. "Am, maybe."

She dropped her gaze shyly. "Maybe," she agreed, wiping
away her tears. She was evidently shaken.

"I will check her schedule," a new voice said.

Startled, they looked. There stood Luna and an older man.
"This is the director of the Kilvarough Arts Center," Luna
said. "I asked him to come here to audition you, and we
decided not to interrupt."

"We definitely want you," ^e director said. "I believe




106 Being a Green Mother

there is an open date in two months. We are a public service
organization, so we can not afford more than a nominal gra-
tuity, but the exposure is excellent. If your group is ame-
nable—"

"They are amenable," Luna said.

"I shall be in touch shortly," the director said. Luna es-
corted him out.

"Arts Center?" the organist asked.

"That would be a most prestigious engagement," Orb
said. "After a successful performance there, it should be
possible to get bookings almost anywhere else."

"That's great!" the organist said. "But all we got is one
song! How we gonna do a full show?"

"I think we shall have to work out other pieces," Orb
said. "Perhaps some solo renditions, interspersing the group
efforts."

"I guess," the organist said. He looked at the drummer
for agreement, but the drummer was locked in a gaze with
Lou-Mae, oblivious.

"I think we have started something," Orb remarked.

"But we got a gig!" the guitarist said gleefully.

"Let's see to it that we are ready for it."

"But you know, we gotta stay somewhere—I mean, a
month—" .

"I suspect my cousin will arrange something."

Her confidence was justified. Luna found lodging for them
all. They practiced diligently, working out new songs and
new skits, fashioning a variety program from parts that had
just one thing in common—magic. As they worked together,
they came to know each other and to respect one another's
qualities. The drummer and Lou-Mae were definitely a cou-
ple, but Orb made it plain that however much she might
respect the music they were creating, she had no interest in
any romantic attachment with any of the boys.

When the time of the performance came, the audience
chamber was only a quarter full. "This is typical," the di-
rector confided. "There is not any great support for the arts
today, alas."

"It's still a damn sight bigger than anything we've seen
before," the drummer said. Then, embarrassed: "Delete
that; I mean we never had a big crowd."

They started their performance. The audience seemed not

Piers Anthony               107

particularly impressed—until the first note sounded, and the
magic spread out. Then the people were rapt. All coughing
ceased, all motion; it was as if statues sat in every chair.

After the intermission, there were substantially more peo-
ple attending, and more filtered in, until at the end the hall
was better than half filled. "That has never happened be-
fore," the director confided.

Next morning the reviews appeared. It seemed that sev-
eral of the city's critics had hastened to the hall and taken
in at least part of the performance. Orb read, and felt dizzy.
"Can this be us?" she asked.

"It's the wildest praise any local performance has ever
had," Luna assured her. "They felt the magic; mere exper-
tise would never have moved them like this."

In the afternoon the offers started coming in. Cities all over
the country were asking for the Livin' Sludge, and offering
fees that left the boys' mouths hanging open.

The group was on its way.




8

JONAH

Luna was in touch with sundry professionals, and set the
new group up with a bookkeeper who would stay in touch
and handle their bookings and records. She was Mrs. Glotch,
a grandmotherly woman of unquestioned competence and
integrity. She refused to travel, but would be on constant
call, and would update them whenever they called in. If an
emergency arose, she would search them out; Luna gave Orb
a stone that would serve as a beacon, so that Mrs. Glotch
could always locate her geographically.

But how would they travel? The boys had blithely as-
sumed that they would rent a bus and fit it out with beds
and a kitchen, so they could live on the road. "No way I
get in that bus!" Lou-Mae declared. "I'm a good girl!"

Orb was less concerned about her morals or safety, be-
cause of her amulet, but shared the girl's disinclination for
this type of travel. "Why not use commercial transport and

hotels?" she asked.

"You know what they costf" the drummer demanded.
"And I won't trust my organ to shipping," the organist

added, "ft'd arrive broken, in the wrong city."
"It sure would!" the guitarist exclaimed, and he and the

108

Piers Anthony               109

drummer broke into crude laughter, while the organist
looked nettled.

Orb exchanged a glance with Lou-Mae. Had they missed
something? Then Orb realized that there was more than one
meaning of the word "organ," and caught the point.

They did seem to have a case. Money should be no prob-
lem, with the bookings they could now get, but the problems
of shipping were notorious. They needed their own
transportation.

They considered renting a railway car, but the ones they
were shown were ancient and bug-ridden, and the tracks did
not go to many cities, and schedules were erratic. They con-
sidered a private airplane, but the cost was horrendous, and
the chambers crowded; in addition, the guitarist was afraid
to fly. They considered a mobile home, but Lou-Mae de-
clared that to be little more than a mobile bedroom and would
have no part of it.

Luna hated to admit it, but the boys' original notion of a
revamped bus seemed to be the only feasible mode. But Lou-
Mae remained adamant; she had a thing against buses, some-
how believing that she would be confined to the rear if not
actually molested. "But I'll see that no one bothers you,"
the drummer assured her. "You're the one I'm afraid of,
Danny-Boy!" she retorted. Then she kissed him.

The others nodded. Lou-Mae had liked the drummer ever
since that first song together and had dubbed him Danny-
Boy after their success with Londonderry Air. But she re-
garded it a sin to be intimate with a man outside of marriage,
and a lesser sin to have the opportunity for such intimacy,
even if it was scrupulously avoided. She was, perhaps, afraid
of herself. She represented an ideal standard, and the boys
respected that without quite understanding it. The bus was
out. But what else offered?

"There is magic," Luna said. "A big carpet—"

"Not on your life!" the guitarist exclaimed. "We'd be
blown off!" His fear of flying seemed worse with the pros-
pect of an open carpet.

"Or a dragon-drawn wagon—"

"Can't trust a dragon," the organist asserted. "Those rep-
tiles are only waiting their chance to turn and toast you. Half
of 'em hid out in Hell when magic was banned, and the evil




110

Being a Green Mother

never did get out of 'em. Sure, the drivers use safety spells,
but spells can glitch."

"Perhaps unicorns, then."

"They can't be controlled," the drummer said. " 'Cept by
a—" He paused, his eye turning on Lou-Mae. "Then

again—"

"I always adored unicorns," the black girl confessed.
"Yeah, but if she—if something happened to—where'd
we be then?" the organist demanded, looking sternly at the
drummer. "Way out nowhere with a pair of enraged

unicorns!"

"What do you mean, if something happened^' Lou-Mae
exclaimed angrily. "I tell you, nothing could—" But then
she looked at the drummer, who was trying to stifle a blush.
"I mean, nothing would—well, not likely, anyway." Now
she seemed to be attempting her own blush, though her dark
skin protected her. "Maybe we'd better pass on the

unicorns."

"Maybe I'd better consult with the local Gypsies," Orb
said. "They surely know how to travel with baggage."

"You're a Gypsy?" the guitarist inquired. "I always
thought it would be nice to live in wagons and rip off the—

I mean—"

Orb smiled. "Gypsies do what they have to, to survive.
They aren't bad people, but they don't like to be tied down."

"I know the feelin'," he said.

"Come with me, if you want, and we'll see what they have

to say."

"Well, sure, okay!" he agreed, pleased.

Orb's carpet would hold two in a pinch, but there was no
way the guitarist would get on it, so they took a taxi to the
next township, where a band of Gypsies was passing. They
decided to take their instruments along, because Gypsies
always responded to music.

It was a disappointment. These Gypsies wore ragged but
conventional clothes and drove battered cars. On top of that,
they were surly and suspicious of strangers. "Get away from
here, woman," one snapped. "We've got trouble enough."

"But I have lived among you, in Europe!" she said. "I
speak the language!"

"Yeah? Speak the language."

"I am looking for good transportation," she said in Calo.

Piers Anthony               111

They looked blankly at her. Then one old woman nodded.
"It's the old tongue," she said. "But we've almost forgotten
it, here, and the young ones never teamed it."

"Oh." Orb tried to mask her disappointment. "But
perhaps you can help me anyway. All I want is information
on—"

"You can't use a car or carpet?"

"We have a group of five, with instruments. One won't
ride a bus, and one won't fly. We'd prefer to travel together,
if we can agree on how to do it."

"You know Gypsy ways?"

"As I said, in Europe—"

"Can you dance?"

Oh. "I know the tanana," Orb said guardedly. "But—"

The woman laughed. "But you can't dance it! You'd die
of shame. Because you're not a Gypsy, just an observer."

"That's right. But I do respect the Gypsy ways, though
they are not mine. Can you help me?"

'Maybe, giri, maybe. You know of Jonah?"
'Who?"
"The fish that swallowed Jonah."
'Oh, you mean the whale? In the Bible?"
'The fish. He was damned for that, but not in Hell.
Damned to swim the air and earth, but never the water, until
the Llano sets him free of his guilt."

"The Llano! You know of it?"

"Of it. Not much more. You seek it?"

"Yes!"

"Then you're in luck. Jonah may help you. He's sleeping
in Clover Mountain. Call him out, do the dance, and if he
likes you he'll swim for you. Most of the time."

"Afishfldoa't—"

"He's what you want, if you can win him over. We tried
to get him, but we're not pure Gypsies anymore, and—"

"Move!" a man called. "They're comin'!"

Instantly the gypsies, men, women, and children, piled
into their cars, and the cars cranked up, sputtered, and got
moving. As this occurred, three trucks roared in, filled with
men. They had shotguns, and looked angry.

"Get outta here, giri!" the old gypsy woman screamed at
Orb as her car squealed away.

Two of the trucks careened after the fleeing Gypsies, the

112 Being a Green Mother

shotguns firing. The third skewed toward Orb and the
guitarist.

"Run!" Orb cried, realizing the danger they were in.

They ran. They cut across a ragged field, but the truck
pursued, bumping across ruts and churning up turf. "There's
two!" a man yelled.

"Kill 'em!"

"Naw! One's a slut! Lay 'er first!"

They crossed a gully, then a ridge, and half-slid down the
other side. The truck screamed to a halt, balked by the ter-
rain. "Catch 'em afoot!" a man yelled. "They can't cross
th' rapids!"

The rapids? Now Orb heard the sound of spuming water.
Already her breath was rasping, and her side was developing
a stitch. She stumbled, and the guitarist caught her and
helped her along. "How'd we get into this?" he gasped.

"They must," she gasped, "have stolen a horse or a girl.
Now they're scattering. But we—"

"Behind the eight-ball!" he finished. "But we're not
Gypsies!"

"I think one of us will get raped and the other killed before
they find out," she puffed. She was not at all certain that
her amulet would protect her from this; it had never been
tested against more than one person at a time.

He heaved out a laugh. "Wonder which'll get which?"

Then they came up against the rapids. The water charged
past like an express train, throwing out spray. The bank
dropped steeply to it, beset by rocks and boulders. There
was no safe way across.

"The carpet!" Orb cried, wriggling out of her knapsack
and dumping it on the ground. The little carpet unrolled im-
mediately. "Get on!"

"I can't get on that!" he protested. "I can't fly!"

Now the pursuing men crested the hill. "There they are!"

The guitarist stood frozen, petrified by both alternatives.
The men charged down the slope.

Orb grabbed her companion by the shoulders and shoved
him onto the carpet. "Sit down!" she cried in his ear.

Numbed, he obeyed, holding his cased guitar in his arms
before him. She jumped on behind him, spreading her legs
to circle his body, putting her arms around him. She willed
the carpet aloft.

Piers Anthony               113

It lifted as the first man arrived. "Hey!" the man cried as
the carpet with its burden almost banged into him. Then he
grabbed for it.

Orb swung out with her left arm, cracking him on the neck.
She did it without thinking and was appalled at herself even
as the shock ran up her arm. Then she willed the carpet out
toward the river, gaining effective elevation in a hurry as the
land dropped away.

The guitarist stared down. "Geez!" he exclaimed, and
tried to scramble off the carpet.

"Stop it!" Orb hissed into the back of his head. "You'll
overbalance it!" Indeed, the carpet, overloaded, was already
tilting scarily.

The guitarist tried to shrink into himself. "Worse'n a bad
trip!" He shuddered.

"Just shut your eyes and keep still!" Now they were over
the turbulent water, sinking slowly. The carpet was doing
its best, but double weight was too much for it.

"Don't let 'em get away!" a man cried.

Orb didn't dare look back. She urged the carpet on across.
It obeyed unsteadily.

There was a bang. They were shooting! Orb did what she
had to do—she guided the carpet slightly down and forward,
so that it could gain velocity in the descent.

"Aaaahh!" the guitarist cried as the bottom seemed to
drop out. "Geez Keerist!"

Orb clapped her hands over his eyes, as if shielding a baby
from a bright light. "Relax, it's all right, relax," she said.
She felt moisture on her fingers: he was crying. Then she
hugged him.

It worked. He relaxed slightly, feeling somewhat secure
in her embrace.

Another shot sounded. Then the carpet cut through the
spume at the water's verge, seemed virtually to skip the sur-
face, and plowed into the far bank. They tumbled off,
brought up short by the slope.

A third shot sounded, and there was the thud of something
striking the bank nearby. At least they weren't good
marksmen!

"Go there!" Orb cried, hauling on the man, shoving him
in the right direction. He scrambled as directed, and they
dived behind a great spray of water from a boulder in the

114 Being a Green Mother

river, finding cover from the party on die other side. They
were safe for the moment.

The guitarist stared at the river. "You should have left
me," he husked. "I almost got you killed."

"I couldn't do that!" Orb exclaimed indignantly.

"You know I'm worthless, hooked on H. Wouldn't have
been much loss."

"Now stop that!" she snapped. "You—" But there
wasn't much encouragement she could make, because he
really did not have much to recommend him. "You're a fine
musician."

"I'm a zilch musician! Only time I play well is when you're
spreading your magic. That's you, not me." He pondered a
moment. "But I'll make it up to you somehow, I swear! What
little I am, I owe to you, and my life, too."

"I'll be satisfied if you just get off the H."

He rolled over and put his face in the ground. "God! If
only I could!"

"You can't just stop?"

"You don't know what it's like!"

"You're right, I don't. If I wanted to stop a thing, I would
simply stop it, I think."

He lifted his face to stare at her. Dirt crusted it; he looked
almost like a zombie. Then, with a convulsive movement,
he reached into a pocket and brought out a packet. "Then
take it! It's all I've got! Don't let me have it!"

Orb took the packet with a certain revulsion. "Your life
is ruined for this?"

"You got it, sister."

Orb tucked the packet away. "Then I will hold it for you.
I will be pleased if you never ask for it back."

He did not reply. He simply set his face back in the dirt.

After a time the pursuers gave up, as they were unable to
cross the river. Orb heard their truck departing. However,
she had not spent time with the gypsies without learning a
trick or two. "I think we had better not cross back," she
said. "Someone could be lurking."

"Right," the guitarist said, relieved. He did not want to
be airborne again. He recovered his instrument and shoul-
dered the strap.

Orb considered. "I think I might climb this bank, but I
would prefer to use my carpet. If you prefer to climb—"

Piers Anthony               115

"Gotcha," he said, and began to scramble up.

Orb settled on the carpet with her harp and his guitar and
willed herself aloft. Now the carpet responded alertly, hav-
ing recovered from its prior overload. Soon she was at the
top, watching the guitarist catch up.

"Now I am not sure just where we are," she said. "But
it would be foolhardy to try to return to our taxi, even if it
weren't for the river, and I rather suspect that the nearby
town would not be safe for us either. I think we would do
best to go in an unexpected direction."

"Like what?"

"Like Clover Mountain. It must be near here. To find the
fish."

"I'm game," he said.

"Why don't I continue carrying your guitar on the carpet,
leaving you free to walk?" she suggested.

He was glad to agree; he did not want to get on the carpet
again. He dusted himself off, and she floated up to about
head height. "The mountain, slowly," she said to the carpet,
speaking aloud for the guitarist's benefit.

The carpet quivered, reorienting. Then it set off roughly
north. Orb was relieved that this was not toward the river.

"It knows?" the guitarist asked. "Just like that?"

"It can follow simple directives, yes," she said. "I don't
know where the Clover Mountain is, but it can zero in on
any identified location. It's very handy that way."

"Magic is nice," he agreed.

She floated at a walking pace, and he walked. The terrain
was uneven but not rugged, now that they were away from
the river. They made decent progress and in an hour reached
the foot of the mountain. It was now late afternoon; there
would be time to verify whether the fish was here. Orb really
did not know what to expect.

"I suppose I should just call him," she said. "Then, if he
appears, I'll have to, er, dance."

"What's so bad about dancing?"

"It is a rather special sort of dance." She nerved herself,
then put her hands to her mouth and called "Jonah!"

There was a vibration in the mountain. For a moment Orb
was afraid that a tremor or earthquake was starting. Then
something brownish and monstrous swam out of the slope
and into the air.

116 Being a Green Mother

The two of them stared. It was a giant fish—swimming
through rock and air as if both were water. The Gypsy
woman had spoken truly!

The fish slowly circled in the air, then came to hover be-
fore Orb. It waited.

Orb was suddenly abashed. "I never really thought—what
can I do now?"

"Dance," the guitarist said, his voice rough.

She looked at him—and was surprised. He looked hag-
gard. "What happened to you? If I had realized the walk
was so hard on you—"

" 'Snot that. I'm outta condition, but—" he shrugged.

She caught on. "The H! You're suffering withdrawal!"

"You got it, sister."

"You look awful!"

"I feel awfiil. But there's no way to do it but to do it. You
better get dancing before that fish gets mad."

"Oh. Yes. But—"

"You need music," he said. "And you can't play your
harp, 'cause you're dancing. That's where I come in." He
was taking out his guitar.

He started to play, but his hands were trembling so badly
that the notes were horrors of discordance. He concentrated,
but still could not do it. His face was ashen.

"How can you be so far gone, so quickly?" Orb asked,

appalled.

"S-spelled H is fast," he said, his teeth chattering.

It sounded like a stutter, and that did something to Orb.
She had loved a stutterer! "Take it!" she cried, flinging the
packet at him. Her endurance had been less than his, and
she hadn't even been the one experiencing it!

He pounced on it. "Geez, I tried, I tried!" he muttered.
"But H just don't let go!" He took a pinch of the powder
in the packet and brought it to his nose and sniffed.

The effect was remarkable. In a few seconds his counte-
nance cleared, and his breathing subsided. He took up the
guitar and strummed, and the chord was perfect. "What
song?"

"Any song," Orb said. "What I'm about to do is almost
as hard for me as staying off the H was for you."

"Yeh." He played, and the sound was good, though not
with the magic Orb had.

Piers Anthony               117

Yet she needed magic! She knew that she had to do a dance
that would convince the big fish she was a Gypsy, and her
natural resistance to the appalling suggestiveness of the
dance would destroy the effect, for true Gypsies were un-
inhibited about sexual matters. Magic could enable her to
doit.

"Magic!" she said urgently to the guitarist.

He shook his head. "I told you, I'm nothing by myself.
When you're singing and playing, it comes, but—"

"Let it come!" she hissed, taking hold of his shoulder and
shaking it.

Suddenly there was magic in his playing. Her touch had
done it. The notes of the guitar made the very ground res-
onate, and the grass of the slope and the leaves of the nearby
trees swayed to the beat. The monstrous body of the fish
quivered, responding to it.

She removed her hand. There seemed almost to be a band
of electricity connecting them, and the magic continued.
Only one guitar was playing, physically, but it seemed like
a thousand. "Geez," the guitarist murmured under his
breath.

The fish still hovered, watching. Orb arranged her cloth-
ing, hitching up her skirt and tightening her blouse, making
her body more salacious than she cared to. But this was the
way of the tanana, and she had to do it.

Then she went into the dance, treating the fish as a partner,
imagining it to be a dark Gypsy man who matched her moves
with his own. She expected to be stiff, for she was tired and
this was a dance she had never expected to do before any
audience whatever, but the rhythm of it caught her up, and
she found herself performing. She was a Gypsy lass, dancing
to provoke a man to passion!

She thrust out her hip, turned, and shot a sidelong glance
at him, inhaled, whirled, and moved her hips again. Body
and glance, leap and pose, breast and buttock and whirling
hair—the tanana was taking her where it would, inciting the
erotic response. She had never before felt so completely
wanton, not even when in the act of love itself; the sugges-
tion was more potent than the reality. She became shame-
less, inviting, lascivious, assuming poses that would have
completely alienated her if performed by another. It was the
tananal

118 Being a Green Mother

At last, exhausted and exilarated, she finished. She had
done her best and her worst; let the fish make of it what it
might. The guitarist let the last note fade, his eyes locked
on Orb, his jaw slack; he seemed mesmerized.

"And we want to find the Llano," she gasped as she
stopped.

The fish considered. Then it descended slowly to the level
of the ground, and slightly below it, so that its mouth was
flush with the earth. Its body overlapped without seeming
resistance; there seemed to be no reality of soil for it, just
the psychic water in which it swam.

It opened its mouth. Its throat was a vast long cave, dry
and bright.

"We're supposed—to go in?" Orb asked, amazed. "To
be swallowed by the fish?"

Jonah merely waited. "Better do it," the guitarist said.
"The thing could snap us up quickly enough any time it
wanted to." He seemed much less affected by this than by
the spectacle of the dance.

They entered the monstrous mouth, carrying their instru-
ments and the carpet. They walked down the cave.

Deep within, it opened into a lighted chamber. There were
projections that resembled chairs and tables and even
couches.

The guitarist plumped down in one. "Home, James!" he
said.

The fish moved. Orb hastily took a seat by the wall. The
scales here were translucent; she could see out.

The landscape outside was moving. Rather, Jonah was
moving, swimming through air, smoothly traversing the
route.

"We're flying," Orb said. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"We're swimming," the guitarist said. "That doesn't
bother me. I feel safe, here."

Surprisingly quickly, they arrived at the city. Orb peered
out, looking at the people, but the people seemed to be un-
aware of the huge fish. As with Mortis the horse, it was in
effect invisible to ordinary folk.

Jonah nudged up to Luna's estate and stopped. The two
griffins flew up, squawking alarm. The fish ignored them; to
it they were like flies, beneath notice.

Orb walked up the hallway that was the throat. The mouth

Piers Anthony               119

opened, and she stood looking down on the grounds. "It's
all right!" she called.

The griffins recognized her, doing twin double-takes, then
settled down.

The guitarist approached, took one look out the mouth,
and backed away. "Maybe you can have it go down," he
said.

"Oh. Yes," Orb agreed. She had been so intrigued by the
situation that she hadn't thought of the obvious. "Down,
Jonah, if you please."

The fish slowly sank, coming to rest in alignment with the
lawn. They stopped out as Luna appeared.

"Well," Luna said. "You seem to have found your
transportation."

"We seem to," Orb agreed. "Jonah, this is Luna; Luna,
meet Jonah."

"So pleased to make your acquaintance," Luna said for-
mally. The fish made the slightest wiggle of a fin; perhaps
that was acknowledgement.

"The Gypsies told us about him," Orb explained. "He is
looking for the Llano, too."

"Yes. I did some spot research when I realized how you
were approaching. But you know this fish is not completely
reliable."

"But not dangerous?"

"Not to you or those you accept. It's just that this is not
a servant, but rather an ally, and sometimes your interests
may not coincide. I wasn't able to ascertain more than that."

"Sometimes I wish our futures weren't clouded," Orb
muttered.' 'Then we could read them for ourselves and avoid
a lot of mischief."

"It is a necessary protection, I'm sure," Luna said. "My
father seldom made errors in judgment about magical mat-
ters." She contemplated the huge fish a moment more.
"Well, let's get your things moved in."

"Just like that?" Orb inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Mrs. Glotch has bookings piling up; I told her to start
scheduling them, because you have solved the problem of
transportation."

"You have confidence in us, Moth!" Orb said, smiling.

"Of course I do, Eyeball!" Luna agreed. Then they ex-
changed a sisterly hug.

220 Being a Green Mother

They moved Orb's things in. The big fish turned out to
have a number of compartments separated by bony walls
that served nicely as private rooms, and there was a lavatory
region in the tail that had running water and a facility for the
disposal of wastes. It seemed that somewhere along the way,
someone had gone to some trouble to outfit Jonah for human
comfort.

"But how does he eat?" Orb asked.

"It seems he doesn't need to eat. He is magically sus-
pended, until he obtains his release and can die."

"Does that mean we had better not be inside him when
we find the Llano?"

Luna laughed. "Perhaps so! But first find your song."

The boys moved in that evening, the fish moored beside
their apartment complex. No outsiders seemed to notice the
oddity of the procedure. They simply carried their bags and
equipment into the mouth and returned for more, as if load-
ing a moving van. They left it to Mrs. Glotch to settle then-
accounts with the renter; they were checking out.

Orb, fatigued, slept early. Her bed consisted of a section
of her chamber floor that was marvelously soft and com-
fortable and tended to shape itself somewhat to her contours
without being obsequious about it. There were some definite
advantages to traveling in a living creature!

She woke in the night, hearing voices. Still dazed, she lay
still and listened. The voices seemed to be close, yet there
was no one in her room. Soon she realized that the bony
structure of the fish was transmitting them, so that she could
clearly hear what was said elsewhere. Yet that had not been
the case before; the noise of the boys and Lou-Mae setting
up their rooms had been blessedly muted.

"You flewT' the organist's voice demanded incredu-
lously. "On her carpet?"

"I was scared stiff," the guitarist responded. "But like I
said, those townsmen were after us, thinking we were the
Gypsies, and the river—"

"But that carpet only holds one!"

"She sort of put me in front, and she got on behind, and
put her arms around me, and her legs around me—"

"Man!" the drummer exclaimed. "You were between her
legs?"

Piers Anthony               121

"I guess. I was so scared, I never noticed. That
river—"

"Let's get this straight," the drummer said. "You were
hunched up like this, and she was behind you like this, on
that li'l carpet? Her boobs pressed up against your back, and
her thighs—"

"Damn it, don't make it like that! She saved my stupid
life! I was so far out of it, all I saw was that damn river, till
she put her hands on my eyes and sort of calmed me down.''

"Damn, if it'd been me—"

"Yeah?" the guitarist asked challengingly. "And what of
your black chick?"

"Listen, man, don't call her no—"

"Well, don't make like there's any dirt between me and
Orb!" the guitarist retorted. "She don't give a shi' for me,
she just wanted to save my worthless life and maybe get me
off the H. And you know, I was off it maybe three hours,
'cause I was just starting to feel the pang when I gave her
the stuff, and it was a good hour after that. But I couldn't
do it; I couldn't get the shakes outta my hands, and I had
to play. 'Cause she had to dance, and ..."

"She danced?"

"And how! I never saw the like! Seems she had to prove
she was a Gypsy, for the fish, and this Gypsy dance—whew!
I never saw a porno tape better'n that! The way she threw
that stuff around, I like to've busted a string!"

"Her?" the drummer said derisively. "She'd spook if she
even knew how her skirt hikes up when she's on the harp,
showing her gams. She thinks sex appeal's a crime!"

"Just don't forget," the organist said, "we need her. With-
out her, we're nothing. Forget her skirt!"

"You forget her skirt!" the drummer retorted. "I sit right
opposite her when we practice. She's got the best damn
legs—"

"She's got the best damn everything," the organist said.
"Think I'm blind? I'm half behind her, and sometimes I see
down her blouse, and you think I don't drool? But it's ten
times all the luck we ever deserved that she joined us, and
we don't none of us want to do anything at all to sour her.
Keep your hot eyes on your music."

"Yeh," the drummer agreed. "But my point is, we know

122 Being a Green Mother

she'd never do that kind of dance. She's got the body for it,
no doubt at all, but not the mind."

"But she did it," the guitarist insisted. "I tell you, I was
on a new sniff, so maybe you think I saw more'n there was,
but—"

"On a sniff? H don't pack much punch that way!"

"You think I was going to shoot up in front of her? It got
the edge off, anyway, so I could feel my strings and play. I
tell you, she may be dowdy with us, but when she lets go
with it, hang on to the moon! I've seen some real hot dances,
but that one she did—if they could bottle that stuff, man of
a hundred and ten could have the potency of—"

"So our beautiful prude ain't so prudish somewhere else,"
the drummer said thoughtfully. "I wonder why she wants
the Llano? I mean, we need it to get off the H, but she's
already got everythin' any man or woman'd want. What's
she need it for?"

"Just be glad she does want it," the organist said. "She's
one good woman, and we're sludge. Just let her be."

"One good woman," the guitarist echoed. "I'd be dead
now if she weren't."

"So are we going to get this room shaped up, or not?"
the drummer demanded.

The last comment was fading, and thereafter there was
nothing. Orb could hear the bustle of their labors when she
concentrated, but their voices no longer come through to
her.

She lay awake, wondering about that. What a coincidence
that the reception had been so good, just when they were
talking about her! The sound of their voices had awakened
her; perhaps they had been talking for some time before she
listened. Yet it had faded when their subject changed.

Coincidence? She wished she had the little snake ring
again, to squeeze yes or no to that question. She was in
another magical creature, and maybe—

There was a quiet knock at her portal. "You up, Orb?"

"Awake, anyway," Orb said. "Come in, Lou-Mae."

"I hate to bother you," the girl said. "But something
fanny happened, and—"

"You heard voices?"

"How'd you know? I was lying there, drifting off, and
then clear as day I heard the words 'black chick.' I knew

Piers Anthony               123

it was me, and them talking about me. But all they said
was—"

"Not to call you that," Orb finished.

"You heard, too? After that I listened, but I couldn't hear
anything. But it—I mean, if I wasn't dreaming—"

"I think we have just learned another property of the big
fish," Orb said. "When anybody talks about anybody, the
other person hears. They mentioned you in the course of a
conversation about me. So I heard somewhat more than you
did."

"Then I'm not crazy!" Lou-Mae said, relieved.

"And neither am L But it occurs to me that we had best
be quite careful what we say about others, while we are
here."

Lou-Mae smiled knowingly. "Meanwhile, we sure can
listen!"

Orb returned the smile. She liked Lou-Mae. "But tell
me—is it true that my skirt shows too much leg when I play
the harp?"

The girl considered. "I never thought about it, but you
know, when you set cross-legged, I guess it could. You mean
they were peeking?"

"Just noticing. I'd better change to slacks."

"Then they'd know you had caught on."

"Urn. But if I don't—"

Lou-Mae brightened. "I'll give you a pair of slacks! Then
you'll have to wear them, so's not to hurt my feelings, at
least for practice."

"I would certainly not want to hurt your feelings, Lou-
Mae," Orb said gravely.

"I wonder how long it'll be before they catch on?"

"That may depend on us," Orb said. Then they were si-
lent, lest even that reference reach the appropriate ears and
give it away.

Lou-Mae returned to her chamber. Orb lay awake for a
time, pondering this and that. She had mixed feelings about
the boys' assessment of her. Any woman, she realized, liked
being considered beautiful, but not crudely. They saw
"boobs" and "gams" while she would have preferred some
more esthetic and less specific image. Still. . .

Meanwhile, she had learned something new about Jonah.

224 Being a Green. Mother

She liked the big fish very well and was liking him better as
she got to know his qualities.

In the morning the girls were up first, while the boys slept
late. "You know, if we don't watch it, we're liable to wind
up as cooks and housekeepers," Lou-Mae remarked.
"Who's going to do the cooking?"

"Oopsy!" Orb exclaimed. "That never crossed my mind.
We'd better hire a maid."

"We can do that the same time we go shopping."

"Shopping?"

"For slacks."

Orb laughed, remembering. That overheard dialogue did
embarrass her; the notion that her thighs were being ogled
while she played—she knew she should shrug it off, but she
found she couldn't. She wanted to embarrass the boys the
way they had embarrassed her, uncharitable as that attitude
might be. But of course she couldn't.

Actually, they had no supplies for breakfast, so had to
leave Jonah for it. The fish remained moored by Luna's es-
tate. He descended at their behest, and they disembarked.
Then Jonah slowly ascended to rooftop height again.

"But why don't people stare?" Lou-Mae asked.

"They can't see him, dear," Luna said. "He allows only
selected people to see him. You are invisible inside him."

The girl shook her head. "That's hard to believe."

"Jonah," Luna called. "Would you show them how it
works?"

The fish slowly faded from view. Then there was nothing
but sky.

"That's easier to believe," Lou-Mae said.

Luna served them breakfast. Then Lou-Mae went shop-
ping, and Orb went to the employment agency. Luna's con-
nections helped her here, too; the man had a list of prospects
waiting when she arrived.

"But you don't even know what I want!" she protested.

"A female cook and housekeeper, competent, discreet,
and unattractive."

Orb paused, taken aback. That was what she had in mind,
her pique at the boys making her want to bring in someone
whose legs they would not ogle. She was abruptly ashamed
of herself, but not enough to change the specifications. "I
will talk to them."

Piers Anthony               125

"There is only one present at the moment," he said. "In-
terest fell off when the applicants were advised that an in-
definite period of travel with young musicians was entailed."

"I can't think of why," Orb muttered with irony. "Well,
let me see that one."

The woman was about fifty years old and looked worn.
Her hair was straggly and her enthusiasm minimal. "Can you
cook?" Orb asked.

"Fantastically."

"Keep house?"

"Perfectly."

"What kind of salary are you looking for?"

"Nominal."

"You know that we are traveling with three young
musicians?"

"So?"

"And don't know our precise route, or when we will return
here?"

"Yes."

All the answers were right, but Orb felt somewhat out of
sorts. Why was this woman so obliging?

"You know that we will fire you if your representations
prove to be untrue?"

"Yes."

"Why do you want this job?"

"I don't."

"What?"

"I don't."

"Then why did you apply?"

"It's better than nothing."

Such enthusiasm! Orb decided to try to jolt the woman
into some more revealing statement. "We're looking for the
Llano."

"Yes."

"You knew that?"

"Jonah wouldn't take you otherwise."

"How do you know of Jonah?"

The woman sighed. "If you ask me, I have to answer. But
you won't like it."

"All the same, I think I'd better know." The complexion
of this interview had changed entirely.

"I am of demon breed. I seek the Llano. When Jonah

126 Being a Green Mother

moved, I came. I can't find it myself, but maybe someone
else could. I doubt you find it, but I have to look."

"Demon breed!" Orb exclaimed. "You are from Hell?"

"No. Some demons are earthbound. Cursed. The Llano
can abate my curse."

"What is your curse?"

"You will not like my answer."

"Do you intend to harm me, or any of us?"

"No. I can not harm any mortal person."

"Then I can handle the answer."

"I must have relations with a man every hour of the night.
Every hour adds an hour to my age."

"Relations?" Orb was amazed. "You mean—?"

"I am a succubus. I have no choice."

A fifty-year-old succubus! "You don't want to do it?"

"I hate it."

"Then why don't you stop?"

"The curse compels me."

Orb remembered the guitarist's attempt to stop taking H.
For those afflicted, there was no way to stop. "Frankly, I'm
not certain you would make a suitable employee."

"I do not sleep. I do exactly what I say. I am a perfect
employee by day. By night my curse manifests. In the morn-
ing I am ten or twelve hours older. In another century I will
be a hundred years old and still immortal, unless I find the
Llano."

Orb experienced a stirring of sympathy. "How long have
you been at this?"

"One century. By day I seem to age at half the mortal
rate, because of the penalty of the night—but I can not die.
You mortals can not know what a blessing death is."

Orb found that she believed this. "You are fifty years old,
in your body, but still you must seduce a man every hour
of the night?"

"I revert to my original form during those hours. All my
aging is then—but it shows only by day."

Orb found her feelings mixed. She felt genuine sympathy
for this creature, but was appalled by her nature. What would
the three boys do, if—"

Delicious malice took over. "You're hired," she said.
"What is your name?"

"Jezebel."

Piers Anthony               127

The boys were up and hungry by the time Orb returned
with Jezebel. For some reason they had not disembarked to
go to a fast-food station. "I can take care of that," Jezebel
said. She snapped her fingers and a junk-food container ap-
peared in her crooked arm. She handed it to the drummer.
"Gorge," she said.

The three opened the package. Inside were hamburgers
and bottles of cola: the ideal breakfast by their definition.

The drummer glanced at Orb. "How'd she know?"

"Jezebel understands musicians," Orb said. "She is to be
our cook and housekeeper for the tour."

"She housekeeps, too?"

"I suspect you have not experienced her manner of keep-
ing house," Orb said with a straight face.

The boys departed with their breakfast. Orb showed Je-
zebel to her chamber. "Or do you need one?"

"Certainly." Jezebel gestured, and a shelf of books ap-
peared. "My library. I do a lot of reading in the off hours.
I admit it's escapism, but it certainly beats the dull routine
of my curse."

Orb glanced at the titles. They ran the gamut from
the classics to the latest junk romance. A succubus read ro-
mance for escape? Well, why not? A succubus was a
creature of sex, not romance. Like any woman, she was
apt to find the former more readily than the latter, and less
satisfying.

Lou-Mae returned with a package—slacks for Orb, her
gift. "Why thank you, Lou-Mae!" Orb said, as if surprised.
"I shall be sure to wear them!"

Mrs. Glotch showed up with an itinerary; she had set up
a tour that circled the entire nation with reasonable dispatch.
Every three to five days they had an engagement in a new
location.

Mrs. Glotch had not before encountered the fish. Only
with difficulty was she persuaded to visit Jonah even briefly.
She glanced about the interior with vague disapproval and
hastened back to her office in the normal world.

They commenced their tour. Orb bid farewell to Luna,
saddened in much the manner she had been when they parted
in Ireland, and entered Jonah. The great fish lifted high, ori-
ented, and swam vigorously through the air toward the first
city on the list.

128 Being a Green Mother

Orb was about to go to her room for a rest when the gui-
tarist intercepted her. "Yes?" she inquired.

"I just wanted to say, uh, well maybe it's not ..." he
faltered.

"Is something the matter?"

"You know about the H."

"Of course. You know how I feel about that."

"Well, I'm trying to get off it, but—you know."

"I know." What was he trying to say?

"I haven't taken any since I got on the fish," he blurted.

That brought her up short. "I thought you had to take it
every few hours. It has been a full day. Isn't that unusual?"

"Yeh. And the others haven't touched it either. We don't
take it unless we have to, and ..." He shrugged.

"Jonah!" she exclaimed. "Could it be—?"

"That's what I was thinking. Big magic fish, maybe he
don't go for that sh—that stuff in him, you know?"

"If so, Jonah is an unmitigated blessing!" Orb exclaimed.

"That's why we didn't go out this morning. 'Cause if it's
true, when we go out—"

"The craving will return," Orb finished. "I don't blame
you. Fortunately we can remain within Jonah until—"

"Until we gotta perform," he said. "That scares me."

"Still, to be free of your addiction for all the rest of the
time—I am very happy for you!"

He nodded. "And—I just wanted to say—to thank you
for saving my life. I guess I owe you. I guess that's a bad
debt, 'cause there's nothing I have or can do that you need,
but—" He shrugged.

"I appreciate your thanks," Orb said, touched. "I am sure
you will prove worthy. Give it time."

"Well, if we find the Llano—"

"Complete freedom," she agreed.

He left. Then she suffered a wave of doubt and regret. She
had knowingly hired the succubus. When night came, what
would become of the Sludge? At first they might take it as
a blessing, but after a few hours . . .

But what could she do, now? She had hired; she did not
feel free to fire. She should never have allowed her private
pique over a remark about her legs to influence her this way!

Jezebel produced an excellent afternoon meal, wholesome
and balanced. She set it up on the table-bone of the area they

Piers Anthony               129

had designated as the dining room, requiring everyone to
clean up and eat together formally. The boys had to go to
the bathroom to comb their hair and clean their fingernails
and change to better clothing.

Orb refrained from smiling; it seemed that the housekeeper
had old-fashioned values, and they were not out of place
here.

The boys stared at the food disapprovingly. "Potatoes?"
the drummer inquired distastefully. "Milk?"

"And a fresh salad," Jezebel said. "Rule of the house
while I'm here—one meal a day is going to be done right.
The others you can have as you please."

Lou-Mae took the drummer's arm. She was fetching in a
bright green knitted dress. "You can handle it, Danny."

He brightened. "You want it, baby, you got it. In fact, if
you want to housekeep for me—"

"First you get off the H," she said firmly.

"lawofftheH!"

"Off the fish, off the H."

"Yeh," he said, looking crestfallen.

News spread quickly! Already Lou-Mae knew the effect
Jonah had on addiction and was not deceived by it. The
drummer had in his fashion just proposed to her, and she
had responded with her condition—kick the habit first.

The guitarist's willingness to take to the air in Jonah—
that could also be the magic of the big fish! No more phobia.

They proceeded to their repast. Indeed, it was an excellent
meal. They were becoming a family, thanks to what Orb
would have deemed to be the most unlikely agency.

But when night came . . .

Before night came evening—and a storm loomed ahead.
Suddenly Jonah lurched, changing course. "What's the mat-
ter?" Orb cried, as spent dishes slid to the floor. But then
she remembered what Luna had told her: the fish was cursed
to swim through every element but his own. Jonah could not
handle water.

The storm was expanding, and new cells were forming to
the sides and behind. Jonah would soon be trapped in rain.
But the great fish had an answer: he dived. He threshed
powerfully down through the air, entering the ground with-
out pause, and darkness closed outside.

Darkness! Luna looked at Jezebel, who was washing

130 Being a Green Mother

glasses. But the woman was unchanged. Evidently it was
night, not darkness, that did it. Which made sense; otherwise
the simple expedient of keeping the lights on would eliminate
the threat of the succubus.

But night was nevertheless approaching. Orb was increas-
ingly uncomfortable. She knew she had done wrong and felt
guilty. Still, she saw no way out.

The boys had a television set. They set it up in the main
chamber and tuned in on their favorite programs, which to
Orb seemed to consist of unremitting violence and eroticism
with a smidgeon of humor thrown in. Well, maybe they were
about to get what they deserved, after all.

Except that Lou-Mae was with them. If she were present
when . ..

Orb looked at Jezebel—and her worst concern was veri-
fied. One moment the woman had been dowdy and fifty; the
next, as the sun officially set at this spot of the globe, she
was a sultry creature of twenty, in a provocative gown. The
succubus had manifested.

But Jezebel continued washing glasses. Then she started
in on the dishes. Her appearance had changed, but not her
activity.

Orb joined her, drying the dishes and putting them away
on the herringbone shelving that was part of Jonah's archi-
tecture. "Ah, Jezebel—" she began.

"Yes?"

Orb lost her nerve. She was liable to get her answer all
too soon. "Where did all the food and dishes come from?
Did you just conjure them?"

"I conjured the dishes from my collection," Jezebel said.
"You're welcome to use them. The food has to be new,
though, so that comes from local establishments."

"But—but then are we stealing from—?"

"No, Mrs. Glotch gets billed for it. I leave a receipt in
place of the food, and they know where to get the money.
Modern electronics is wonderful!"

They continued talking while they finished up the job.
Then Jezebel paused, glancing down at herself. "Oops—I've
changed! Night's here. I never noticed."

"You changed about half an hour ago," Orb said.

"Oh, I couldn't have! The curse—" She looked at her
watch. "But it is\ How can that be?"

Piers Anthony               131

"You mean you don't have to—?"

"No compulsion at all," Jezebel said wonderingly. "That
never happened before."

"Jonah!" Orb exclaimed. "He nulls the H addiction! He
must null other curses, too!"

"You mean I can actually relax at night? No added hours?
No grimy men?"

"So it seems."

"I knew the big fish was a rare one, but I never knew that!
What a—" She cut off abruptly, choking.

"What's the matter?" Orb asked, alarmed.

"Just certain words I can't say. I get associating with mor-
tal folk, sometimes I forget. I tried to say, you know, that
word you use for something good from a certain party."

"A blessing?"

"That's it. I guess the fish can null the involuntary stuff,
but not the voluntary. I mean, I can choose what to say, so
I don't have to say that word, so I still can't. Still, that's a
little thing. The big thing is wonderful!"

Orb felt similarly relieved, albeit for different reason. She
liked Jonah better yet.

Lou-Mae came out for a glass of water. She paused as she
spied Jezebel. "Who are you?"

"This is Jezebel," Orb said. "Her appearance changes at
night."

The girl's eyes narrowed. Evidently Jezebel reminded her
of something other than a cook.

"I am a succubus," Jezebel said. "Recently retired. I have
no interest in your man."

Lou-Mae's gaze flicked back toward the room where the
boys were. She didn't trust this. "What's a creature like you
want here?"

"I want the Llano. It will free me forever."

"I thought you said you were retired."

"By courtesy of Jonah. Outside I fear that is not the case.
As with your man's problem."

The girl assessed that. "Then when we perform, you stay
here."

"Gladly."

Lou-Mae thawed somewhat. "Why don't you come and
watch the TV?"

"Is it worth watching?"

132 Being a Green Mother

"Hardly."

"Good. That's the kind I like."

They went to the other room. Orb hesitated, then shrugged
and joined them.

The drummer turned to look at Lou-Mae and spied Je-
zebel. His mouth fell open. The other two turned and stared.

"This is Jezebel," Lou-Mae said. "What are you staring
at? Never seen a cook before?"

The drummer put his face back together and returned to
the television. The organist and guitarist hesitated, then did
the same. Jezebel paid them no attention at all; she was defi-
nitely not interested.

The night was quiet. In the morning Jezebel was back at
age fifty, and breakfast was cooking.

"Say, Ms. Kaftan—" the succubus began.

"Orb."

"Very well. Have you noticed—"

"About the sounds here?" Orb finished. "I gather the
boys were talking about you when they were alone."

"For an hour, it seemed! I was reading War and Peace
since I don't sleep anyway; first time in my life I had the
night to myself, and it was strange. Then these voices—those
kids have some big ideas!"

"Are you sorry that your situation changed?"

"Never! All kids have big ideas, but none keep them long
with me, and they aren't very original anyway. It was just
that I couldn't understand why they said them in my
hearing."

"Jonah lets the subject hear," Orb explained. "The boys
didn't know you could hear."

"Nobody told them about this effect?"

"Now who would want to do a thing like that?"

Jezebel smiled. "All I wanted was the Llano. But this tour
is beginning to be fun."

"Just don't talk about anybody," Orb said. "We're lucky
they sleep soundly in the morning, or they would have heard
this dialogue."

The succubus nodded, touching her finger to her lips.

The storm had passed, and Jonah was swimming in the
sky again. He seemed to be doing about fifty kilometers per
hour, which would get them to their first booking in plenty
of time.

Piers Anthony               133

In midmoming they staged a rehearsal. Jezebel listened
raptly from the rear of the room, obviously impressed. The
group really got into it, running through their entire reper-
toire before pausing to consider new additions. They now
had songs of every type, making it a variety show, with a
number of them acted out in the manner of "Danny Boy."
It seemed to Orb that the magic was getting stronger, though
she cautioned herself that she might be imagining that.

Then Lou-Mae glanced out a window-scale. "It's dark!"
she exclaimed.

Orb looked. "We're back underground!"

It took some time to verify it, but it seemed that Jonah
had been listening, too, and had simply tuned out the outer
world and sank blissfully down until they were horrendously
deep under the earth. Yet there was no harm done; when
they stopped their performance, the big fish forged back to
the surface and resumed his travel toward their destination
city.

"I suppose a person or creature has to be able to appre-
ciate music in order to have any interest in the Llano," Orb
said. That seemed to sum it up.




LLANO

They arrived at the site of their first regular booking. The
hall had a fair audience, but was not filled. It seemed that
the news of their talent had not filtered all the way down to
the larger paying public. Still, it was the largest audience
they had faced, and Orb was sure they had drawn a better
crowd than ordinarily attended.

Many of the people seemed bored or cynical, as if refusing
to believe that this out-of-town group could be worthwhile.
Perhaps some were critics expecting to give indifferent
ratings.

Orb smiled privately. She expected that to change.

The performance started—and indeed it changed. The
numbers ranged across the musical horizon, but all were im-
bued with the magic, and the magic held the audience rapt.
The truth was that even poor music would have sufficed with
the magic, and good music would not have without it. But
the music was good and getting better as they refined it.

They gave a second performance the following evening.
This one was a sell-out.

So it went, as they settled into the routine of the tour. Half
a dozen cities into it, the Livin' Sludge had become the hot-
test group on the circuit. Mrs. Glotch reported that at the

134

Piers Anthony               135

rate they were going, every member of the group would be
wealthy by the time the tour concluded.

Recording companies approached them for albums. They
discussed it and decided not to record, because they weren't
sure the magic would come through. Indeed, that seemed to
be the case, because an illicit recording was made of one of
their performances, and later reports were that it was
deemed a fake because it lacked the impact of the live act.

They traveled the eastern part of the nation, then the
southern, and then the southwestern. They had little need
of maps, because Jonah simply swam to each city requested.
Nevertheless, Jezebel liked to know where she was, so she
obtained a map.

"Say!" she exclaimed. "Here's Llano!"

Orb almost dropped her harp. "What?"

"Right here," the woman said, showing the map.

Suddenly everyone was there. They found a region, and
a river, and even a town by that name. "Do you think that's
where—?" Jezebel asked.

"I wonder," Orb said. "It never occurred to me that it
would be on a map! I suppose it could be coincidence."

"Not much coincidence in this world," Jezebel said. "Not
when you fathom how things operate."

"We've got a gig near there," the drummer said eagerly.
"Geez, if we could find that song, and if it works ..." He
looked at Lou-Mae.

The others nodded. They all knew that that romance had
become more serious with every performance of "Danny
Boy," and that only the black girl's adamancy about H pre-
vented it from going further. She would not commit herself
to a drug addict; that was absolute. This only increased the
drummer's desire to get off it, but he could not.

They had their performance in the nearby city, then di-
rected Jonah to swim to the Llano. He set forth, and they
slept.

In the morning they found the fish hovering over a broad,
flat, treeless plain.

"Did he get lost?" the drummer asked. "Not a town or
river in sight!"

"Cursed immortal creatures don't get lost," Jezebel said.
"I know."

The drummer shrugged. By this time everyone knew Je-

236 Being a Green Mother

zebel's nature, and that she was as totally uninterested in
obliging any of their big notions as was Orb. The boys re-
garded it as a phenomenal loss, though it didn't seem to
bother them by day. By night, however, their frustrated con-
versations were a source of continuing amusement to all
three women. It seemed to be the consensus that never in
history had three such attractive and virile young men been
so intimately housed with three such beautiful women with
so little significant action. What a ghastly loss! Lou-Mae was
shocked by some of their notions, Orb was disgusted, and
Jezebel bored. But not one of them ever hinted to the boys
about this aspect of Jonah's nature; it was too much fun to
listen. In fact, they discovered that they could talk freely to
each other, from their individual chambers, simply by doing
it; it seemed that by Jonah's definition, talking to a person
was the same as talking about a person. It was convenient.

They rechecked the map, and found that Jonah had
brought them to the Llano Estacado, or Staked Plain, instead
of to the county, town, or river.

"But maybe he's right," the guitarist said. "Maybe this
is the real place."

"I don't know," Lou-Mae said, teasing him. "See how
all the little counties are real squares, here, straight up and
down. But down next to the County of Llano they're all
jumbled, as if God just took them and shoved them over to
make room for Llano."

He contemplated the map. "Maybe you're right."

"I'm not sure that human boundaries have any meaning
for this," Orb said, though she, too, was struck by the man-
ner that a large section of the counties had been skewed, as
if riding a tectonic plate that had rotated forty-five degrees.
Could that relate?

They decided to accept Jonah's verdict: that the plain was
the correct Llano. The fish descended, and they
disembarked.

Orb walked out on the plain, seeking the song. She did
not know what she was looking for, but she hoped that if
she made herself receptive it would come to her. If this truly
was the place for it. She had been disappointed in India; the
source of the Gypsies had not been the source of the Llano.

The Gypsies. It made no obvious sense, but maybe—

Piers Anthony               137

She looked around. The others were far removed, looking
in their own fashions. No one would see.

She began to dance the tanana, hoping that it would some-
how attract the song to it. She moved her body in the ways
that were calculated to inflame men's minds, and assumed
the poses that no decent girl should know. She was dancing
for neither man nor fish, but for the song. Would it work?

She got into it, the spirit of the dance hauling her body
and mind into it, making her wanton. Then it seemed that a
melody began to come, very faint but evocative. Its theme
was lovely, prettier than any mortal tune, but underneath
was a richness and power that was to any ordinary song what
the ocean was to a lake. The essence of it reached into the
very heart of her, reshaping that heart to its own likeness,
changing her being in an ineffable manner. Ah, the song, the
song . . . !

Then it faded, and she found herself exhausted, standing
alone. Had she tuned in on the Llano? Had she imagined it?
She could not be sure of its source, but there was something;

she felt it within her, like the onset of a pregnancy.

A pregnancy. What had happened to her baby, Orlene?
Would she ever know?

Disheartened, she walked back to the floating fish. She
was not sure whether she had accomplished anything.

The tour continued. They played to larger and larger halls,
always filled to capacity. It seemed that the whole world
now knew of the Livin' Sludge; news items manufactured
from nothing appeared daily in the media. But they were
bound to their quest, telling no one else about it. The
Llano—where was it?

Orb's power of music was growing; there was no longer
any doubt. She could tell this not so much by the way the
Sludge performances mesmerized ever-larger audiences, but
by the way the other members of the group performed. She
no longer had to sing or play; she merely had to be there.
That had not been the case at the outset of the tour. Now
Lou-Mae could sing alone, and the magic reached out; the
drummer could play a solo, and the magic was there. But
the others informed her that when they practiced while she
was out of the fish, it didn't work. They could play well
enough, but there was no magic; they all felt the difference.

138 Being a Green Mother

"When you're with us, it's in three-dee color," the drummer
explained. "Otherwise, two-dee black/white. Without you,
we're just another nobody group."

"Well, we are a group," she responded, trying not to feel
flattered, knowing that her talent was from no virtue of hers;

she owed it to heredity. "We will always perform together."

But she spoke prematurely. They were looping north,
now, and it was winter; storms and snow interrupted com-
munications and transportation. A few days before Christ-
mas the weather was so threatening at the city of their
engagement that they decided to set up at the hall early.
Jonah nudged up to the building, and they unloaded the in-
struments. They no longer needed the mikes and amplifiers
and speakers, because the magic reached the members of
the audience more effectively. That was another evidence
of Orb's increased power. The drummer and Lou-Mae and
the organist remained there to warm up, while Orb and
Jezebel elected to fit in some Christmas shopping. The guitar-
ist hesitated, then decided to return to the fish with them.
Orb knew why; away from Jonah, he was subject to the call
of the H and he preferred to avoid that.

They boarded the fish, and Jonah swam up over the city.
They went downtown, where Orb and Jezebel got off. The
wind cut cruelly along the streets, driving them quickly into
the stores. That was all right; shopping was what they had
come for. Orb intended to get token gifts for all the members
of the group, and Jezebel was interested in new books for
her library.

They forgot the time and were late finishing. Dusk was
closing when they stood on the street with their arms full of
packages, and Orb mentally called Jonah.

Normally the fish arrived promptly, but this time he didn't.
They waited somewhat impatiently, the wind seeming to be-
come more cutting. Orb's cloak automatically thickened,
keeping her warm, and Jezebel was immune to temperature,
but they didn't like getting their hair mussed. Finally they
backed into an alcove for shelter—and found themselves in
the company of several shivering musicians of another kind.
They were of the Salvation Army, and it was evident that
their effort to raise funds had been practically blotted out
by the weather.

Orb set down her armful and reached into her purse—only

Piers Anthony               139

to discover that she had spent all her available cash. She
looked at Jezebel, who shook her head in negation. "They
wouldn't care for demon-offering," she muttered.

"Oh, I don't know," Orb said. "Isn't it the spirit that
counts?"

Jezebel shrugged and brought out a golden coin. She
tossed it in the kettle—and the moment it touched, it burst
into flame, taking with it whatever paper money had already
been there. "Damned money!" the succubus exclaimed,
meaning it literally. "Now look what I've done!"

Appalled, Orb looked at the musicians. How could she
apologize for this? She knew that Jezebel had not intended
evil, but the evil attached to her without her choice.

"I—I'll try to make it up to you," Orb said. She borrowed
a book from the hands of the nearest musician, and opened
it, and began to sing:

"Onward Christian Soldiers, marching as to war,
With the Cross of Jesus going on before."

She did not have her harp with her, knowing that it was
quite safe in Jonah. But the magic was present, and the
melody rang out across the street. Jezebel shrank away, but
the others joined in. The magic spread out to touch them,
too, the effect amplifying.

People hurrying by paused to listen. Others emerged from
the stores. By the time the song was finished, there was a
crowd—and offerings were pouring into the kettle, far more
than enough to make up for what had been lost.

Then Orb saw Jonah nudging in. She hurried to pick up
her packages. "Bless you, soldiers!" she cried. "Come on,
Jez!"

Jonah opened his mouth and they stepped in. No one
seemed to notice. The crowd was beginning to dissipate, but
money was still coming into the kettle. The musicians
seemed bewildered, but pleased.

They had boarded just in time, for now the sun was setting,
and Jezebel became her nocturnal self. "I was afraid I'd get
caught out there too late!" she said. "But you know, Orb,
if you don't have the Llano, you surely have something like
it. What you did was what the Llano does."

140 Being a Green Mother

Orb paused, surprised. "I never saw it that way," she
said. "But I suppose—"

"We got to get moving!" the guitarist said, hurrying up
the throat. "It's almost time for the show!"

"I know!" Orb exclaimed, sweeping on toward her cham-
ber. "We forgot the time, then Jonah delayed. Where were
you going, so far away?"

"Nowhere," he protested. "Jonah was just sitting there
waiting; it only took him a minute, once he started moving.
You mean you called him before?"

"Certainly I called him!" Orb snapped as she picked up
her harp. "A good ten minutes before he came!"

"Maybe he didn't hear you."

"He must have, because he did come—eventually."

Jonah was swimming down again. Orb and the guitarist
stood just inside the piscine lips, ready to jump out the mo-
ment the mouth opened. "I'll have cocoa waiting for you,"
Jezebel said, standing behind them. They had discovered by
experimentation that no drug, alcohol included, had any ef-
fect within the fish, so the boys had gravitated to the more
wholesome snacks that the girls preferred. Even the caffeine
in coffee was nulled. Clean living was the order of the day
and night, in Jonah.

The mouth opened. The tongue flipped, and abruptly they
were out.

"Hey!" Jezebel exclaimed.

Orb looked at her, startled. "But I thought you were stay-
ing in!"

"That's what I thought!" the succubus replied.

"Jonah spat us all out," the guitarist said.

Orb turned to face the fish. "Jonah, she wasn't supposed
to—" But she broke off, for Jonah was gone.

"Where are we?" the guitarist asked.

"Why, at the auditorium for—" Orb broke off again. For
that was not where they were. Instead they stood before the
city hospital.

"Jonah got the wrong address!" the guitarist cried. ''He
never did that before!"

"Did he?" Jezebel asked. "Then why did he spit me out?
You have to watch these demonic types; I know. I think he
wanted to clear us all out of him."

Piers Anthony               141

"I can't believe that!" Orb said, flustered. "All he had to
do was make known his wish, and we would have left."

"Listen, we can't worry 'bout that right now," the gui-
tarist said. "We got a show to make!"

"But the hospital is all the way across the city from the
engagement hall!" Orb said, upset. "The program is set to
begin now; we can't possibly get there on time."

"What about me?" Jezebel asked. "You know what's
going to happen within my hour?"

Orb put her hands to her head. "I don't know what to

dor

"Call the hall, call a taxi," the guitarist said. "I'll do it."

But there was no phone on the street, and no taxis in
sight, and the blustering wind was buffeting them. "Inside,
there must be a phone," Orb said.

They piled into the hospital. But they had entered by a
side door, and there was no desk and no phone. They moved
down an endlessly long series of halls.

A white-gowned doctor emerged from a side hall, almost
colliding with the guitarist. "Ah, there you are!" the doctor
said. "Not a moment too soon! We ran out an hour ago, and
our replacement can't get through till tomorrow."

"This is a misunderstanding," Orb said quickly. "We
don't belong here; we're just looking for a phone."

"You don't have the medication?" the doctor asked, ap-
palled. "The message said an entertainment group was bring-
ing it. We have terminal patients in pain; we don't know how
we're going to tide them through the night! Listen."

They listened. Now they heard a low groaning that seemed
to come from several rooms, punctuated by a sudden
scream. "They are beyond ordinary drugs," the doctor said.
"The pain reaches through and it doesn't stop."

The guitarist swallowed. "Could you use spelled H?"

The doctor looked at him with renewed hope. "You are
the courier!"

The guitarist brought out his packet. "Guess so."

The doctor took it eagerly, weighing it by heft. "This is
potent?"

"Strongest H on the market."

"Excellent! This amount should tide us through the night.
What's the charge?"

142           Being a Green Mother

The guitarist gulped again. "No charge. It's—you know,

gray market."
The doctor nodded. "We certainly appreciate this! A

dozen patients will bless you, sir!" He hurried off.

"You gave away your H?" Orb asked, still hardly be-
lieving it.

"Well, it's, you know, good for killing pain, when the legal

stuff don't work."

"But how will you get through?"
"It was them or me, and what am I worth?"
"About what I am," Jezebel said glumly. "Damn, I hate

what I'm going to do!"

Orb made as if to tear her hair. "Why did Jonah do this
to us? Everything we have had is going to fall apart tonight!"

Jezebel looked at her. "You know, when you sing, your
magic touches everyone near. I wonder—if Jonah can do

it—"
"Yeah!" the guitarist agreed as if grasping at a straw.

"You make us more than we are! Maybe if you sing

now—"
Suddenly Orb remembered her experience in the Llano

Estacado. That feeling of wholeness, of power. Was it

possible?

"Take my hands," she said.

They took her hands, standing there in the hospital hall.
Orb sang the song that came to her, heedless whether it was

relevant.

"You must walk that lonesome valley
You have to walk it by yourself ..."

The magic came, spreading through her body slowly, as
if encountering resistance. She fixed the image of the plain
in her mind, seeing it as the valley of the fate of those with
desperate compulsions. She walked that valley, not by her-
self, but with and for those who could not otherwise get

through it.

"Oh, nobody else can walk it for you ..."

But somebody else could walk it with them, and that was
what she was doing. They walked for themselves, but but-

Piers Anthony               143

tressed by her song, that was spreading slowly to their bod-
ies. It was not the Llano, but it suggested it, as the magic
suggested that of Jonah, stabilizing them. She became a con-
duit for a hint of the enormous power she sought, the power
to put a hold on a curse. The walk of life itself, through
lonesome territory, but not alone. Sustained by the strength
of friendship and commitment.

Orb became aware that the song was over when they dis-
engaged their hands. "It's backing off!" the guitarist said.
"I think I can fight it, now!"

"Yes," Jezebel agreed. "Not as far off as it is in Jonah,
but distanced just enough."

Orb wasn't sure what she had accomplished, or whether
they had merely convinced themselves that she had helped.
She decided not to question it. Certainly something had
passed through her.

They resumed their walk down the hall. Now they came
to a desk. "Ah, you must be the entertainers," a nurse said.
"That ward's about to burst at the seams! We promised them
their kind of music, but with this weather we were afraid
you wouldn't get through. Right this way."

"Their kind of music?" Orb asked. "What is that?"

"They call it 'rusty iron'," the nurse said. "It's horrible."
She paused, glancing back at them. "Uh, no offense, of
course. To each his own peculiar taste."

"You know that kind?" Orb asked the guitarist.

"Some," he admitted. "But listen, that stuff is bad! We
used to try it once in a while, before we got with you, but,
well, that's part of what got our other singer out other head.
You have to be insane to go for it."

"Here we are," the nurse said. "The psycho ward. Go
right in."

"Suddenly it makes sense!" Jezebel said.

"Wait!" Orb protested. "We can't do this! We—"

"You have to," the nurse said, looking harried. "They'll
riot if we renege now! We had to promise—"

"You don't understand," Orb said. "I'm the only one here
with an instrument, and I have no knowledge of—"

" You don't understand," the nurse said. "The season and
the storm have brought the inmates to the point where any
trifling thing can set them off. We're shorthanded for the

144 Being a Green Mother

same reason. Once things get out of control, there will be
absolute mayhem!" She unlocked the door and drew it open.

The sound hit them like the roar of ocean breakers. It was
bedlam. Patients were running around, some in dishabille,
some screaming unintelligibly, some banging against the fur-
niture. Harried aides were trying to attend to the needs of
individuals, but it was evident that they were so tired that
they were hardly better off than the patients. This might once
have been an orderly ward; now it was at the verge of chaos.

"They're here!" the nurse screamed. "Find your places!"

The effect was magical. "Rusty iron!" a patient cried ju-
bilantly, and suddenly every person was scrambling for his
chair. This was evidently intended to be a social setting, with
comfortable chairs and television and assorted board games,
cards, and books; the cards and books were scattered across
the floor, and the television screen was filled with an inter-
ference signal, appropriately. Live entertainment was what
was required.

"We've got to do it, somehow," the guitarist said. "But
you know I can't sing a note, and without my strings—"

"I'm not part of this at all," Jezebel reminded them.
"Cooking's the only mundane skill I ever tackled."

"But I couldn't possibly do this—this rusty iron," Orb
said. "The best I can do is support someone else who per-
forms it. All I can do alone is my kind of song."

"Do what you have to do!" an aide cried urgently.
"Maybe they'll buy it!"

"A skit!" the guitarist said. "Like Danny-Boy and Lou-
Mae! We could act the parts, and you sing."

"Let's get it going!" a patient exclaimed, banging his fist
against the wall beside him. There was a clamor of
agreement.

"Anything!" the nurse hissed.

"I'm no actress," Jezebel protested. "At night I only do
one thing well and I'm damned if I'll do that here."

"Come on," the guitarist said, taking the succubus by the
arm. "You can do this much. Just stand here and look at
me, and I'll look at you, and Orb will sing, and we'll just
follow when we hear. With her magic it can work!"

"Get it on!" the patient cried. He began to stamp his feet
on the floor. This was quickly echoed by the others.

"Shut up, you freaks!" the guitarist yelled. "How can we

Piers Anthony               145

do anything with all this noise, and no amp system? Get it

quiet; then we'll perform!"

The stamping subsided. Quiet came to the ward.
"Okay, Orb," the guitarist said. "Make it come to life."
Orb had her harp in place, her fingers poised. She was

ready—except that her mind had suddenly gone blank. "I—

can't think of any song!" she whispered, horrified.
"Any of the ones we do!" he whispered back. "Maybe

they'll buy it!"

But Orb's mind remained blank; she could not remember
any of their regular numbers. She seemed to have been
struck by a kind of stage fright that depleted her entire store
of music. Too much had happened; Jonah had undermined
her security by stranding them like this, and her effort of
song and will to stabilize her two companions had seemed
to have used up her magic. She was powerless.

"Believe me, if all these—" the nurse said, her gaze scan-
ning the assembled patients nervously. Already the feet were
preparing to resume their stomping. From there it would
surely lead to worse things, for these were not sane people.

Believe me, if all these— Orb thought, as if reading the
words on a sheet of music.

Then her fingers moved on the strings of the harp, and she
began to sing.

"Believe me if all these endearing young charms
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to fade by tomorrow and fleet in my arms
Like fairy gifts fading away ..."

Orb heard herself with new horror. She was launching into
one of the oldest and staidest of the mundane favorites, to-
tally alien to the craving of this audience! Yet it was all she
had, suggested by the chance words of the nurse. All she
could do was throw herself into it and hope that the magic
helped.

But the patients weren't stamping; they were listening,
perhaps in amazement at the irrelevance of this effort. The
guitarist was gazing at the succubus as if she were the most
innocent of lovely young maidens, and she was gazing back
at him as if it were true. How long could this hold?

She continued singing, aware of the audience as if apart

146 Being a Green Mother

from herself. Their astonishment was turning to something
else as the song progressed; every pair of eyes were fixed
on the two standing figures, who continued to look only at
each other. They seemed impossibly young, untried, unsure,
yet loving.

"No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns on her God when he sets,
The same face which she turned when he rose."

It ended, but no one moved. The audience seemed locked
in stasis, looking at the pair on stage, who continued to gaze
at each other. It was as it had been the first time they acted
out "Danny Boy," but more general; every face was a sun-
flower. The guitarist looked devoted and handsome, ani-
mated by his loyalty to his love; Jezebel looked radiant, as
if she had never before received such a look, and was ani-
mated by it.

Jezebel turned. Now Orb saw her eyes. Tears were
streaming down her cheeks. Then, silently, she collapsed.

Startled, the guitarist grabbed, catching her before she
struck the floor.

Then the monstrous nose of Jonah came through the wall.
The mouth opened. The guitarist picked Jezebel up in his
arms and stepped in. Orb scrambled up with her harp and
followed. The audience remained frozen.

Jonah closed his mouth and swam strongly on through the
hospital, passing rooms and people as if they were illusions,
and emerging from the upper level. The fish was on his
way—somewhere.

The guitarist carried Jezebel on down the throat and to
her chamber, where he set her carefully on her bed-region.
"Is she all right?" he asked worriedly.

Orb knelt down and checked the woman as well as she
could. "I think so. She's not mortal, you know; I don't think
she can be killed. She must have fainted. But I can't think
why."

"Look at her face," he said. "She was crying ..."

"I didn't think that demons could cry," Orb said.

"She just looked at me when you sang, and the tears

Piers Anthony               147

started." He shook his head. "God, she's beautiful! I guess
I love her."

"But she's a succubus!" Orb protested. "She's a century
old!"

"I'm going to kiss her."

Somewhat dazed. Orb backed away. The guitarist knelt
down beside the unconscious woman, leaned over, and
kissed her on the lips.

Jezebel stirred. Her arms came up to embrace the young
man, then stiffened. "No!" she said. "I have no right!"

"No right?" the guitarist asked.

"To play such a role. I am not, was never, never can be—
oh!" She turned her face to the side, the tears flowing again.

The guitarist looked at Orb, baffled. "What does she
mean?"

Now Orb understood. "The song—took her. But she's a
demoness, sullied by a century of her nature. She believes
she has no right to pretend to be what you saw in her."

"I know what she is!" he said. "Look at what / am! God,
when you sang—"

"I think demons can weep—when they experience true
emotion," Orb said, working it out. "She may never have
experienced it before, and it overwhelmed her."

"Then she—?"

"Loves you," Orb finished. "To whatever extent such a
creature can. But she feels unworthy."

"She'd have to be a hell of a lot lower than that to be
unworthy of me\" he exclaimed.

Then the fish nudged down. They were at the hall where
the engagement was supposed to be. In fact they were in the
hall; Jonah was delivering them right to the stage. Orb could
see the others there, gazing up.

"We have to go," Orb said.

"Yeh." The guitarist got up. But he pointed a finger at
Jezebel. "This isn't over," he said.

She just looked sadly at him.

Orb and the guitarist hurried on out, stepping from the
mouth directly onto the stage. They took their normal places,
and the show went on.

In a few days there was an item in the local newspaper
describing the mysterious manner in which a contingent from

148 Being a Green Mother

the Livin' Sludge had pacified the psychotic ward with a
single song. The patients had shown much improvement, and
many had taken to painting pictures of sunflowers.

Similarly the scheduled concert had started off uncer-
tainly, but developed into a rousing success when the absent
members reappeared. Only two of the early numbers had the
magic, but all of the later ones did. The reviewers were un-
certain why, but Orb and the others worked it out when they
compared notes.

Orb had sung twice in that period: once to stave off the
awful hungers of her companions, and once for the psycho
ward. At the times she had done that, the remaining Sludge
had come alive. The magic had reached out to them, too,
enabling them to thrill the audience.

She also had private conversations with Jezebel and the
guitarist. Nothing had been said to the others about that as-
pect of recent developments.

"This is ridiculous," the succubus said. "Demons can't
love!"

"And you do?"

"Even if I were mortal, I'd be four or five times his age!"

"And it makes no difference?"

"I've always hated my nature! I did it because I had to.
When I got free of that, here in Jonah, I knew I'd never do
it again, as long as I had any choice!"

"And now you want to?"

"Not by day. But by night it's driving me crazy! Not the—
that hasn't changed. But I just want to be with him, to please
him, and if that pleases him ..."

Orb remembered how it had been with Mym. "Then why
don't you go to him?"

"And corrupt him? I'd rather die! Anyway, what future
can there be in it? How could I face him by day, with the
others knowing?"

Orb shook her head. She didn't know.

But when she talked with the guitarist, the answer came
clearer. "I know she swore off that stuff the moment she
could, but God, I wish I could be with her, you know, just—
I mean I wouldn't have to touch her, I don't want to make
her hate it, but if I could just be with her at night..."

"What about the day?" Orb inquired.

"Yeh. That's rough, too. I wish it could be like now. I

Piers Anthony               149

mean, nobody knowing. She's just the cook. But at night—
you know, secret love. Nobody knowing that either."

Orb took a deep breath. She felt responsible, because her
song had triggered this. "Go to her at night. She will keep
your secret."

"But she doesn't want—I mean—"

"Yes she does. She feels about you as you feel about her,
the awkwardness and everything. Secret love—that seems
best."

"You mean it?" he asked incredulously.

"You did a very nice thing, when you gave away your H.
Perhaps this is your reward."

"But—"

"Go to her," Orb said firmly.

He looked as if he had just received news of a phenomenal
inheritance. "If you're sure—"

"Just remember her nature. We won't be in Jonah forever,
and then she will revert to her normal state. What I did was
only temporary. Even if you stay with her then, you will
have to share her, in her fashion."

He nodded soberly. "Better a little time than none," he
said. "I do know her nature."

Orb was left to her own thoughts. Back in Ireland, she
would never have thought she would send any man to a suc-
cubus, not even a drug addict. But she had learned something
of the ways of life and love and had become less judgmental.
Every person was caught in the web of circumstance, and
right and wrong became matters of opinion. If a man who
thought himself worthless had found someone who thought
otherwise, and if a creature who had been a slave to sex now
was discovering the positive side of it, where was the evil?

Evil. That reminded her of the prophecy—she might
marry Evil. Others had taken that to mean she would be the
bride of Satan. Orb doubted that; as far as she knew, Satan
had never married, and certainly she would never do such
a thing. So the obvious interpretation had to be wrong, and
some more devious one would eventually manifest.

And what would that be? That she would marry an evil
man? Why would she do that? She was getting over her loss
of Mym; time had passed, after all, and she had another life
now. But he set the standard for her; she could not get in-
terested in a lesser man.

250 Being a Green Mother

Ah, but interest had not been specified. Suppose she mar-
ried for some reason other than love? Yet what could that
be? She would not do it for money, certainly!

But perhaps she would do it for good. If she discovered
that she could do a great deal of good in the world by making
a token marriage with an evil man—

She shook off the notion. The prophecy simply didn't
make much sense, so the sensible thing to do was to dismiss
it. What would be, would be, and surely the truth would turn
out to be other than the implication.

Already there were strange aspects, though. She was a
musician, utilizing her natural talent of magic projection to
amplify her trained talent of music. But now her magic was
spreading to the whole group she was with, and sometimes
even when she was not close by. This most recent series of
events, where she had seemingly put a hold on both the suc-
cubus' nature and the drug addict's craving—that was more
than music! She knew, in a way, what she had done; she
had borrowed from Jonah, copying the manner he held those
urges in abeyance. She didn't understand the mechanism,
but somehow her magic had read it and brought it to them.
Still, that was a power she either had not had before or had
not known she had.

Jonah—why had the big fish deserted them for that pe-
riod? He had spit them out at the wrong place, then come
for them later. Could that be coincidence?

Hardly! That session had put Orb on the spot and forced
her to extend herself, drawing on her magic. The fish's late-
ness in picking them up from their shopping trip had had a
similar effect; she had done some good for those who were
trying to collect money for a good purpose. Jonah must have
known!

Was the big fish trying to guide her? Why?

Then, perhaps, she understood—the Llano. They all
wanted to find that magical song. There must be some way
to do that, which Orb could use—if she first mastered the
full powers of her own magic. If she found the Llano, so
would Jonah.

"Very well, Jonah," she murmured. "I will seek to ex-
plore and develop my full potential. You help me when you
can."

There was no response by the big fish, but Orb knew she

Piers Anthony               151

had in him an ally and perhaps a friend. She needed that
support, for though she was back in a group, with constant
activity, she was lonely. If only Mym had been able to—
Orb found herself crying, for no apparent reason.

Some months later Orb happened to see a picture on a
page of a newspaper. She froze. That was Mym!

She read the caption. PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF
INDIA VISIT, it said.

Now she looked at the woman in the picture. She was
indeed a princess, regal and stunningly beautiful.

This was the marriage they had arranged for her beloved.
Orb forced herself to read the article and learned that the
Princess was his betrothed, called a complex Indian name
that translated to "Rapture of Malachite," and indeed she
wore malachite, costly green stones. The Prince had a speech
affectation, so the Princess did most of the talking, elo-
quently expressing the sentiments that he unobtrusively sig-
naled to her. They had come to negotiate a loan for their
nations, and their prospects were very good, for the Prince
was forceful and clever despite his affectation, and the Prin-
cess most persuasive. When she leaned forward to make one
of the Prince's points, even the most cynical official paid
close attention.

Orb noted the woman's evident cleavage. Of course the
official paid attention!

But this was a showcase liaison, intended to appeal to
westerners. Was there any genuine feeling involved?

Orb stared at the picture and into the picture, feeling her
magic reach through it and to the reality beyond. The picture
was old; she felt that now; it was a dated newspaper. But
still she felt the reality behind it. There was love there. Mym
did love her, and she loved him.

Orb felt something breaking in her. Of course she was
happy for Mym, she told herself. She wanted him happy,
whatever his situation. The woman was blameless and good;

no fault in her. But oh, the hurt, even after all this time!

She had to get away from here for a time, to be by herself.
Far away!

Her vision blurred. Her mind seemed to blur, too. Some-
where in the far distance she heard a melody, and she knew

152 Being a Green Mother

it was a fragment of the Llano. She tuned in on it and felt
her whole body blurring.

She seemed to expand, diffusing across the chamber, then
across the giant body of the fish. She remained herself, but
larger, and her substance thinned as her dimensions in-
creased. She seemed to be no more than fog, now as large
as Jonah, now larger.

She continued to diffuse, becoming so large that Jonah
was only an object intersecting her torso. There was no dis-
comfort; she seemed to occupy a different plane, able to
overlap without contact. There was wind, but it did not
bother her either. There were clouds, and her substance
phased through them without resistance. Simultaneously it
extended down to the ground and beneath it, completing a
phenomenal sphere. No, not a sphere—a shaped represen-
tation of herself. She grew and grew, and thinned and
thinned, yet her identity remained. She was the most mon-
strous of invisible giants!

Her center remained within the fish, but the fish was now
a minnow, entirely contained within her body. Near her geo-
graphic center, which was—never mind! Still she expanded,
her legs plunging down through the globe that was the world,
her head reaching up beyond the sky. She was increasing at
a greater rate, a geometric rate, doubling her size every sec-
ond or so, as fast as she might want.

She became so vast that the globe itself began to seem
confining. Her feet poked out through the bottom of it, and
she stood with it slowly turning around her legs and getting
smaller, casting its shadow into space. She was larger than
all the world!

But she had been in quest of something—a sound, a
melody. Where was it? She bent to peer down, cocked her
ear, and tuned it in, faintly. It was from the surface of the
great Pacific Ocean, a spot just within her right thigh. She
put her finger on it. "Here," she said.

Her word did not sound, for her head was beyond the
effective atmosphere, but it had meaning, for it was backed
by her will. She began to shrink, but not as she had grown.
Her center of awareness was at her finger now, and she was
coalescing about that. The world expanded much faster than
it had shrunk, and she closed precipitously on the spot.

Then, abruptly, she was there. She stood on a tiny isle in

Piers Anthony               153

the sea, beside an inlet, and in the inlet was a single lovely
sponge, growing just beneath the water's surface. It was
from it that the evocative sound came.

Orb squatted. A musical sponge?

Then she came to her senses. What was she doing here,
and how had she come? She was alone on a Pacific isle, with
no other land in sight, no civilization. She might have imag-
ined her diffusion and condensation, but this was real!

She walked around the island, finding only sand and rocks.
Wind blew back her hair. The sun shone down. She picked
up a stone and tossed it into the water. It splashed. Reality.

Well, she had wanted to be alone. The melody had come
from an alone-place. She had sought it and found it. Now
what was she to do?

What had caused her to seek isolation? Oh, yes—the pic-
ture ofMym. But already that jolt was passing; he was happy
with his new life, and she was no part of it, and that was the
way it had to be. The little snake-ring had informed her truly;

she had seen him again, but not as before. That aspect of
her existence was done.

It was amazing how quickly she found herself accepting
that. She must have been ready for it, merely awaiting the
signal. She was free of Mym, to the extent she needed to
be; she could now seek other romance.

With Satan? She kicked the sand with sudden anger. No!
That prophecy could have no validity! She would seek her
own, and to Hell with Satan!

Well. So nice to have decided. Now how did she get back
home to Jonah?

She came again to the inlet. She peered into the calm
water. There was the sponge, its faint music continuing.

"That music brought me here," she said aloud. "It must
be part of the Llano. Magic. But how do I return?"

She tried to remember what she had done before, but could
not. She had just, somehow, expanded—and contracted
here. Thus she had in a few seconds traveled thousands of
kilometers.

Now she was stuck here, no longer wishing to be alone.
The wind was picking up, stirring the waves. Clouds were
shaping overhead, possibly considering a storm. She had no
shelter, no umbrella, no mackintosh. No food, no company.
Except for the sponge.

154           Being a Green Mother

She peered down at it. The water was becoming turbulent
here as the wind whipped the waves across. "What are you
going to do when your water starts frothing?" she asked it.
The music of the sponge intensified. It began to grow.
"You!" Orb exclaimed. "I emulated that technique from

you!"

The sponge continued to grow, fading as it did so. It be-
came an expanding shadow of itself, projecting a gauzy por-
tion above the water. Soon it enlarged itself out of sight;

there was only thinning mist where it had been, and then

nothing.
"Wait for me!" Orb cried. She concentrated, tuning in on

the music, joining it, becoming part of it.

She expanded. This time the process was much faster than
before. In a moment she was towering invisibly over the isle,
shooting out in all directions. She grew to encompass the

world.
Where was Jonah? She reoriented and found him, cruising

along over the continent. This time she did not need to put
her finger on the target; she merely coalesced about that
portion of her that included the big fish. She could solidify
at any site within her expanded body; all it required was the

melody and her attention.

Soon she was back inside Jonah. Her targeting was im-
perfect, and she solidified within the wrong chamber.

Jezebel and the guitarist were locked in a most passionate

embrace.
Embarrassed, Orb puffed into whale size, then reco-

alesced about her own chamber. She was glad that things
had worked out so well for that couple, but she had never

intended to snoop on them!

Then, solid, she marveled at what she had done. Just like
that, she had enlarged, then contracted, changing her lo-
cation silently and efficiently.

She had caught a part of the Llano and traveled across the

world!

But her exploration of the fragments of the Llano was far
from complete. Perhaps her most significant progress oc-
curred because of a deceptively irrelevant item.

The drummer and Lou-Mae were, as they put it, an item;

the guitarist had his secret love to sustain him, and that con-

Piers Anthony               155

tinued to be the way he wanted it. The organist had a girl
friend with whom he communed via a tiny magic mirror he
had bought for the purpose. She had been a Livin' Sludge
fan and had sent her picture, nude to the waist. That had
been enough for him; their correspondence had intensified.
But she declined his frequent invitations to join the tour; her
family needed her on the farm, she said.

The organist had discussed the matter freely with his com-
panions, Orb and Jezebel included. Was Betsy stringing him
along? Was her picture faked up, so that her assets were not
as represented? Did she just want a distant association with
him for the purpose of notoriety? She seemed like a really
nice girl—and that led to another question. What would a
nice girl want with a creep like him?

"Sometimes a nice girl can get to like a creep, if he has
redeeming qualities," Lou-Mae said, looking at the
drummer.

"Gee, thanks," the drummer said, smiling. He was poring
over fan mail, methodically working his way through a mon-
strous pile of it. "How about getting a nice girl to answer
some of these for me?"

"I've got my own pile to answer!" Lou-Mae protested.
"They never told me that success would bring so many
letters!"

"We need a damned secretary," the guitarist said.

"Don't look at me!" Jezebel said. "I've got all I can do
to keep up with the housework!"

"An undamned secretary," the guitarist amended himself,
smiling.

"I wonder," Orb mused. "Does Betsy do that sort of
work?"

The organist looked at her. "You mean—?"

"Why don't you visit her," Jezebel said, "and take Orb
along, and sing your girl a song? Then she'll come here."

The organist nodded. He looked at Orb.

"If she is as represented ..." Orb agreed. "But I have
one question: does she know about the H?"

"What I thought," the organist said, abashed, "was if she
came here to Jonah, there wouldn't be any problem about
that. I know she wouldn't go for H, but maybe when we find
the Llano that won't matter any more."

156 Being a Green Mother

"But if we don't find the Llano, you may have trouble
trying to fit into her world."

"We've got to find the Llano!" he said fervently.

They happened to be within range of Betsy's farm, though
there was an engagement scheduled for the following day.
"We'll do it now," Orb said. "Jonah can drop us off, then
take the rest of you to the city, where you can set up. Then
Jonah can come back for us in plenty of time."

"Uh, remember what happened last time," Jezebel re-
minded her. "Sometimes Jonah doesn't come on call."

"He seems to have reason when he doesn't," Orb replied.
"If he strands us this time, it will surely be for the best."
But she hoped they would not be stranded; that had been
an uncomfortable adventure, despite its net benefit.

Jonah obligingly deposited the two of them at the farm.
Orb had her knapsack with her harp and her carpet, just in
case. When they were safely on the ground, the big fish swam
away, quickly disappearing.

The farm did not look healthy. Rows and rows of plants
were wilting in the baking heat. There were channels for
irrigation, but they were dry.

They approached the house. A young woman in coveralls
was cleaning manure out of stalls. The horses did not look
well fed.

"It's /w!" the organist whispered, terrified.

"Then let's introduce ourselves," Orb said, taking the in-
itiative. She strode forward, and the organist had to follow.

The girl paused as she spied them coming. She was grimy
and sweaty, and her hair was matted against her head, but
she had an excellent superstructure. It seemed that her pic-
ture had been an honest representation. "What can I do for
you?" she inquired tiredly. "You come to buy a horse?"

"Not exactly," Orb said. "I am Orb, a singer for the tour-
ing group called the Livin' Sludge, and this is—"

"It's you\" Betsy exclaimed, recognizing the organist.
"Oh, I'm a sight!"

"You're beautiful!" he said.

She paused as if straight-armed. "You think so now?"

"Sure! I mean, I never knew a girl before who really
worked."

She flushed, flattered. "I'm not reaHy working, I'm just
filling in. I need to get out on my own. But—"




Piers Anthony               157

"But not on some freak show," he said.

"I didn't say that!" she protested.

"I thought maybe you were some groupie, you know, or
maybe just stringing me along. Why'd you send your picture
like that?"

She grimaced. "Well, I guess it was more or less of a joke.
Farm life—it's like this. I wanted to seem different. And I
really like your music. And when I got to know you—" she
shrugged. "I didn't think you were serious. I mean you mu-
sicians have a girl in every city, don't you?"

"No," Orb said. "You're the only one he's kept in contact
with. He asked me to help convince you to join us on the
tour."

"But I can't sing or play!" she protested. "All I know is
farm life, and not a lot of that."

"We need a secretary," Orb explained. "It really isn't
professional work. It's just that there is a lot of mail coming
in, and we'd like to answer it, but with the rehearsals there
just isn't time to do it properly. We need someone who can
go through it on a full-time basis, and sort it out, and call
our attention to the important letters, and—do you type?"

"Oh, sure, I do that. But—"

"We could pay you, of course. We have a housekeeper
already. But you would have to travel with us."

"Now wait!" Betsy said. "I sent that picture, sure, but
I'm not that kind of—"

"We can see that you aren't," Orb said. "This is a legit-
imate offer. It is true that this man would like to have you
with him, but there would be no commitment apart from that
of the job."

Betsy looked at her. "You know, I don't think I'd believe
him, even though I like him a lot. But you—you I believe."

"Then you'll do it?" the organist asked, hardly daring to
believe it.

"I don't know. It would be like a dream come true, to
travel with the Livin' Sludge and see the whole country. But
with the farm drying up like this, I'd sure feel guilty about
walking out."

"I saw that you had irrigation ditches," Orb said. "But
why aren't you running water in them?"

"What water? They're taking it all for the poison gas plant,

158 Being a Green Mother

drying up our river. If we don't get rain soon, we're finished!
Us and every other farm in this area!"

"For what kind of plant?" Orb asked, appalled.

"Well, they claim it's a chemical plant. But there was a
leak—I mean a news leak, not the other kind, thank God!—
and we found out it's making poison gas for the next war.
And it uses an awful lot of water—something about the re-
finement process. We got up a petition to close it down, but
they went to court and they had the money, and now they've
got first call on the water. In this drought—" She shrugged.
"Nothing anyone can do. If only it would rain!"

"A poison gas plant!" the organist exclaimed, horrified.
"I wish we could get rid of that!"

"Oh, enough rain would do it," Betsy said. "Enough to
wash right down that channel of theirs and flood the thing
out! That would do us some good, too."

"Rain," Orb said, a farfetched idea coming to her.

"Bring us a deluge, and I'll go anywhere with you!" Betsy
said, laughing somewhat bitterly.

The organist spread his hands. "I wish we could! But
that's not the kind of magic we're into."

But Orb was tuning in on what she believed to be another
fragment of the Llano. She concentrated, seeking it out. It
was similar to the melody for traveling, but different, too;

it involved expansion, but not of her own body. Contraction,
of something else. A summoning and intensification—

"Say, Ms. Orb, are you all right?" Betsy inquired.

"Hey, wait!" the organist cautioned her. "I think she's
caught a piece of the Llano."

"The what?"

"It's the magic song we're all looking for, to get us off
the—I mean, it's like nothing you ever heard. It—she got
some of it a few months back, and—" He faltered, not want-
ing to speak of either H or the succubus.

"Is there something I ought to know about?" Betsy asked
alertly. "Just what's going on on your tour?"

Orb was concentrating on the elusive melody of summon-
ing, ferreting it out, strengthening it in her mind. But it
wasn't enough. "Get—harp," she gasped, not looking at
him.

The organist scrambled to obey. In a moment Orb's harp
was in her hands. Still she clung to the tail of the melody,

Piers Anthony               159

resonating to its enormous power without quite being able
to grasp it. "Set me up!" she snapped, unable to spare the
attention to do this for herself.

They took her by the arms and guided her to the ground.
They drew up her legs—she felt the organist's hands on her
knees, but knew he was not being familiar. The harp came
back into her hands.

"She epileptic?" Betsy asked, worried.

"No. It's the song. It—"

"Tell her the truth!" Orb said, as her fingers sought the
proper strings. She couldn't start playing until she found the
precise place, but she had to be ready.

"We're into H," the organist said reluctantly. "We want
the Llano to get us off it."

"You're all drug addicts?" Betsy asked, shocked.

"Not her. Just us, the original Sludge. Once she sang my
friend free of it for a while. But she can do it only a little;

she needs the Llano to do it all. Meanwhile, Jonah holds it
down."

"Who?"

The organist went into his answer, but Orb tuned out. She
had zeroed in on enough of the melody to amplify! Her fin-
gers moved, playing chords on the harp, and its magic am-
plified the effect. It was strange music, unlike anything she
had played before, but its power manifested increasingly as
she grasped it, the feedback providing her more and more
of it. It was the melody of the operating system of the Ele-
ments! With it she was moving the Element of Air, stirring
it—but not enough. All she could generate was a light
breeze; the leverage simply wasn't there.

She needed something else. And she thought she found it,
in a distant variation of the theme. The Element of Air related
to what she had done when traveling: diffusion and concen-
tration. This other related to heat. In fact, it was the Element
of Fire. She pursued this melody, her fingers dancing over
the strings of her harp. More quickly than before, she caught
it; she was learning how.

She tuned in on Fire, juxtaposing it with Air, at the site
she watched with her mundane eyes. The air was now being
heated. But it was already hot; she was doing only what the
sun was doing—and doing no good for the parched crops.
It was water she needed, not fire.

160

Piers Anthony               161

Being a Green Mother

She quested for the Element of Water, scenting its melody.
More quickly yet, she traced it down, caught hold of it, tuned
it in. Using it, she summoned water. She knew the humidity
was rising.

But that was not enough for rain. The air would simply
drift onward, retaining its moisture. She needed to make it
yield that water, to precipitate it. To do that, she had to cool
it—but all she had was heat, not cold. She had the melody
of intensification, but not of alleviation. Should she quest
for the rest? She risked losing what she had, for her mind
was already overflowing with these vast and potent new
themes. How long could she retain them?

No—she could do it with the tools she had acquired! Air—
Fire—Water. She concentrated her attention, fixing it on a
large region of air. Then she summoned water into it, raising
the humidity. Then she summoned the heat, heating the
moist air. This increased its capacity to support water. So
she summoned more water.

The process accelerated as she became conversant with
the separate themes. She was, indeed, tuning in on the
Llano: the great processes of nature, the wind and sun and
moisture, that together shaped the weather. She continued
the intensification, building up an enormous mass of hot,
moist air above the parched fields. Something would soon
have to give!

It did. The heated air was less dense than the cooler air
surrounding it, and began to rise. Air swept in from the great
geographic torus, displacing the heated mass, squeezing
under it. Orb continued to heat the region, so that the in-
coming air warmed and followed the prior air up.

The process accelerated further. The outer air swept in
with greater authority, and the warm mass rose faster. The
original mass expanded as it achieved elevation, and cooled
as it did so, bringing itself to the dew point. Precipitation
occurred; the air now carried too much water to support,
and the water emerged as tiny droplets. The circulation of
the air carried positive and negative charges into the cloud,
mostly positive above, mostly negative below, and so the
droplets became charged in positive and negative layers.
These charges built up, until intra-cloud lightning occurred
to nullify the disparity. But the process was constant, so
more lightning was needed, and more. The lightning, instead

of causing the precipitation to ease off, increased it a
thousandfold.

Now Orb could relax. The storm had become self-suffi-
cient, drawing in its own air and water and ionized particles.
It would continue until it dropped some of its water on the
parched ground.

Betsy and the organist were staring at the thickening
storm. What Orb had done at the start had been invisible to
ordinary senses, but now there was no doubting the effect.
A phenomenal deluge was in the making.

Soon the rain came. Quickly Orb put away her harp. The
three of them stood there, getting soaked.

Betsy, her clothing plastered to her body, was neverthe-
less radiant. "I think our farm is saved," she said and turned
to embrace the organist.

So it was that the last of the Sludge got his woman. But
Orb realized that she had stepped into a new dimension of
potential. She had used her music and the power of a frag-
ment of the Llano to influence the course of nature itself.
She realized that this was just the beginning. If a poorly
grasped fragment could do this, what could the fall melody
do? Suddenly her reasons for pursuing this song seemed triv-
ial; she might as well have gone naked into the jungle to
pursue a tiger.







NATASHA

The Sludge continued to tour, and Orb continued to explore
the powers of the melodies that had come to her. They re-
hearsed while traveling in Jonah and discussed her discov-
eries, for they were all interested. They knew that, if she
mastered the Llano, she could do for them permanently what
she had done temporarily—abate their addictions to H, abate
the curse on Jezebel so that she could be faithful to the one
man she cared for, and bring regular rain to Betsy's farm.

In fact, if she mastered the Llano, she could abolish all
addiction and compulsion and vagaries of weather, im-
mensely improving the world wherever she went. They could
continue their tour, but in addition to bringing music to the
masses, they could bring all manner of other good things.
They were dedicated, now, to this aspiration. They realized
that only Orb had the capacity to find the Llano, but that
her success would benefit them all in both selfish and un-
selfish ways. They had sought personal gains, but had found
a higher mission.

Orb tried to perfect the powers of the music, but all she
had were fragments. She could keep the boys free of H while
she was with them, but not when apart from them, unless
they were in Jonah. She could keep the intolerable lust of

Piers Anthony               163

night from Jezebel on a similar basis. There had been a mix-
up once, and the succubus had gotten separated from Orb's
vicinity for an hour. Jezebel had barely made it to the gui-
tarist in time, abating that hour with such dispatch that there
could be no doubt of her demonic drive. He never com-
plained about the episode, but agreed emphatically that they
should never allow such an accident to happen again.

There was better success on the matter of traveling. Orb
practiced and in due course was able to make her way to
any spot of the globe in seconds, by expanding to world size
and contracting swiftly at the new site. The travel was silent,
almost unnoticeable to others; she simply faded gradually
from view and reappeared when she returned. She visited
Luna, who seemed only moderately surprised, and even her
old home in Ireland, but her mother had disappeared. That
brought her quickly back to Luna; what had happened?

"She has found another occupation," Luna said. "Don't
worry; she's satisfied."

"And didn't tell me?" Orb demanded. "Didn't even bid
farewell?"

"She felt it better to leave you out of it," Luna said.

Orb's temper frayed. "She told you and not her
daughter?"

"She meant to tell you herself, at the proper time." But
Luna saw the way Orb was reacting and relented. "I suppose
it won't hurt if I tell you. Do you remember how she used
to be an aspect of Fate, before she fell in love with Pace?"

"Well, that was a bit before my time—" Orb stiffened.
"You mean—?"

"She went back. She's Fate again."

"But she couldn't—I mean, Clotho is young and—"

"As Lachesis."

"The middle Aspect!" Orb exclaimed. "But why?"

Luna shrugged. "If you had a chance to be an Incarnation,
wouldn't you take it? Especially if you'd had a few decades'
experience in a similar role? Her Earthly life was over."

Orb cooled as abruptly as she heated. "Yes, I suppose it
was. I'm glad for her. I will be seeing her again?"

"Yes. At the proper time. I gather that a certain party has
been as active as ever, so she's been really hopping to keep
down the mischief. She doesn't want his attention to focus

764 Being a Green Mother

on you—you know why—so she's been staying clear for
now."

Now Orb understood. That prophecy! That she might
marry Evil! Naturally her mother wanted to avoid that if at
all possible. So she was staying away from Orb, hoping that
Satan would never think of her. It made sense.

They agreed not to discuss the matter further, because
even the mention of Satan's name could attract his attention
and bring him visiting. Orb departed, expanding and con-
tracting back to Jonah. She had much to think about!

She also visited Tinka, the blind Gypsy girl in the Basque
country. Tinka could not see Orb's form, but was aware of
her in a moment. "Orb!" she exclaimed gladly.

They hugged. "I thought of you and thought I'd drop in,"
Orb explained in Calo, and that seemed sufficient. "How are
you doing?"

"I did as you asked," Tinka said quickly. "I gave Oriene
and the ring to a nice American tourist couple. I know they
are taking good care of her."

"I'm sure they are," Orb agreed, feeling a pang for her
lost baby girl.

"If only I could have my own ..."

Orb pondered. She had abated addiction and passion in
others; could she—? "One moment," she said.

She expanded back to Jonah, picked up her harp, and ex-
panded back to France. "Let me sing for you," she said,
setting up the harp. "I can't promise, but there is a chance—
perhaps a small, foolish one—that—"

"That I could have my own?" Tinka asked, catching on
immediately.

"If this works," Orb agreed.

Then she played and sang, seeking another fragment of
the Llano. Need seemed to enhance her chances, and she
saw this as legitimate need. Tinka deserved her own.

She sensed an aspect of the melody, tuned it in, overtook
it, caught it, and made it her own. She sang it, serenading
her blind friend, and the music permeated Tinka's body,
working its subtle magic.

"Oh! I feel it!" the Gypsy exclaimed.

Orb concluded her song. "Of course it can't be certain,"
she warned. "Your husband has his part to do—"

Piers Anthony               165

"He'll do it! He'll do it!" Tinka exclaimed. "If I have to
dance the tanana on his belly, he'll do it!"

Orb smiled. Tinka was an attractive woman, and the Gyp-
sies were lusty folk. She would probably come on like a
succubus, with equal success.

They talked, embraced, and parted. "But I will visit you
again, often," Orb promised. "I have ready means of trans-
port, now."

But the most challenging aspect of her approach to the
Llano was the storm. She had generated a spot thunder-
storm; periodically she duplicated that, expanding to Betsy's
farm and causing more rain there. But the power she drew
on was far more massive and complex, and she knew that
she grasped only a tiny part of it. The melody of the fragment
of the Llano gave her the ability to manipulate the funda-
mental processes of the Elements, but it was like riding a
dragon—could she really control it?

She learned. Bit by bit, with many errors, she increased
her command of the weather, until she was able to generate
a broad, gentle rain or a tight, small storm. But those errors
could be critical; once she let one get away from her, and a
tornado formed and ravaged a farmstead. She was lucky no
one was seriously hurt. When she traveled, she affected only
herself, harmlessly; when she focused on a person, she af-
fected only that person. Her ability to protect the boys from
their hunger for H was growing; similarly, Jezebel was able
to range farther from Orb's immediate vicinity, and Tinka
did indeed get pregnant after enticing her husband to ap-
propriate labors. But the weather could kill, and that risk
haunted her. She had to understand it better—and to do that,
she had to continue experimenting, though this entailed in-
creasing risk.

In due course, the tour brought them again to the Llano
region of the country. Here was where she had had her first
true encounter with the magic song, she believed in retro-
spect. Thereafter she had been able to do things through her
music that had been impossible before, to become a sorcer-
ess of sorts. She had dreamed of finding the Llano, as if it
were a simple tune she could hear and understand at one
sitting; now she knew that it was phenomenally more com-
plex than that. Even if the whole of it were spread out before
her at once, she would not be able to assimilate more than

166 Being a Green Mother

a tiny bit of it. She had to master it bit by bit; there was no
easy way.

Jonah settled to the plain, and Orb stepped out on it, as
she had the year before. She walked alone, seeking a greater
understanding. Her quest for the Llano had not eased as she
approached it; it had intensified, until now the tour and the
shows they gave were of peripheral interest to her. She
craved the Llano in much the manner she might have craved
a lover; indeed her interest in men had not been great after
she lost Mym, while the magic song promised things she
could hardly imagine.

She walked, carrying her harp and opening her awareness
to whatever offered. In this manner she had found that first
vital suggestion of the magic; could she find more?

A spider appeared, dangling from an invisible thread. Orb
paused, admiring it. The spider expanded, becoming fist-
sized, then soccer-ball-sized, and finally medicine-ball-
sized. It changed its form, two legs extending and thickening
to reach the ground, two more becoming human arms, and
the rest shrinking until they disappeared. In a moment the
spider had become a human being, a middle-aged woman.

"Mother!" Orb cried, abruptly recognizing her.

The two hugged. "I thought it time to visit you," Niobe
said.

"Luna said you had become Lachesis!" Orb said. "That
you would come to me when the time was appropriate."

"True. Matters have been complex, but now we must
talk."

"I never expected to see you here now," Orb said. "I
was—did Luna tell you of my quest for the Llano?"

"She did, dear," Niobe said. "And your quest is good.
But there are pitfalls along the way—"

"So I have found!" Orb agreed. "An imperfect mastery
is dangerous! This song—it enables me to change the
weather, to travel—"

"Yes, of course. The Llano is the most potent theme of
this realm. But I was thinking of one particular danger that
you may not have anticipated. Do you remember the
prophecy?"

"How could I forget it! That Luna might marry Death,
and I might marry Evil. When I saw Luna associating with
Thanatos—"

Piers Anthony               167

"Exactly, dear. I had a concern about that, but I discov-
ered that Thanatos is a good man, firmly on the side of good
and, I think, worthy of my granddaughter. But the same can
not be said for Satan—and it seems it is Satan whom you
are destined to encounter."

"I would never associate with Satan, let alone marry
him!" Orb exclaimed.

"But he is the master of deception and treachery," Niobe
said worriedly. "Remember when I took you and Luna to
the Hall of the Mountain King, and a demon almost got us
wiped out?"

"I remember," Orb agreed. "If you had not been with
us—"

"I can't always be with you now," Niobe said. "In fact,
the requirements of my present office are such that I can
seldom be with you at all. Important matters must soon claim
my attention again; I have only a few minutes now to give
you warning."

"Warning of what?"

"Satan has set a trap for you. He means to complete the
prophecy and marry you, regardless of your will."

"But he can hardly marry me against my will!" Orb
protested.

"My dear, you underestimate the power of the Llano. You
have employed it to change the nature of others, nullifying
compulsions they can not overcome themselves. The Llano
has similar power over you, if used against you—and he
means to use it. He will stun your will, so that you must
acquiesce to the marriage and be his love-slave. This is the
trap."

"I don't believe it!" Orb exclaimed. "I would never—"

Niobe cut her off with a sad headshake. "You always were
headstrong, Orb! Don't let it lead you into this disastrous
mischief! Accept my warning, so that you may escape the
trap."

Orb stifled her outrage. "How can I escape it?"

"I wish I knew. But I know who does know. I must go
now, but I will send Gaea to you. Listen to her, Orb!"

Then Niobe metamorphosed back to the huge spider,
shrank, climbed up her thread, and disappeared.

Orb walked on, troubled. Could Satan really enslave her
by using an aspect of the Llano against her? She had indeed

168

Being a Green Mother Piers Anthony 169

seen its power over others; why should she be immune? Her
mother would not mislead her; she had to play it safe and
leam how to nullify this trap before she fell into it.

A mist formed before her. It coalesced into human form,
becoming a stately woman. "I am Gaea," the woman said.

So Niobe had sent the Incarnation of Nature, as promised!
Orb had never met a female Incarnation before and now sud-
denly was meeting two, one of them her own mother!

"Mother said—"

"That I would tell you how to deal with Satan's ploy,"
Gaea finished. "I shall indeed! None of us can afford to have
Satan complete the prophecy. If he means to use the Llano
on you—and if Lachesis believes that is so, it must be so!—
your only recourse is to nullify it with another aspect of the
Llano. Every function of the Llano has its counter, if you

can but find it."

"You don't know the counter?" Orb asked, worried.

"Child, I know it, but I am uncertain how much it will
help you. I will do what I can, but there is risk."

"Risk in avoiding the trap?"

"The Llano is no children's plaything, girl! When you in-
voke it, you are starting a fire that can do much damage, if
mismanaged. Satan can not be harmed by it; he is already
damned. But you—" She shook her head.

"But if I do not invoke it, I became a slave to Satan!"
Orb protested. "What could be worse than that?"

"Madness," Gaea said succinctly. "Satan would use you
and forget you in due course; you might not even be damned,
if you never submitted in your heart. Once the prophecy was
fulfilled, he would have little further concern for you. But
if you try the counter and fail, there would be no end to the

madness."
"Are you suggesting that I should—should submit?" Orb

asked, appalled.

"Of course not! But you must be aware of the risk entailed
in the tool you use. Only then can you make the proper

decision."

Orb thought of being made subject to Satan's will, a love-
slave. "I'll take the risk! How can I escape?"

"He will sing the will-null aspect of the Llano. It is the
only aspect of it he has mastered; such magic does not come
easily to him, for he is the Prince of Lies, with no true power.

You must counter it with the will-null-null aspect. I can teach
you part of this."

"Part of it?"

"It is a duet. Satan, being supernatural, can sing both parts
together; you, being natural, can not. I can teach you one
part; the other must come from another."

"Someone else knows the Llano?" Orb asked, interested
on another level. "Who?"

"His name is Natasha. He—"

"He? Isn't that a female name?"

"Evidently not. Natasha may be the finest mortal singer,
if it is not yourself. If he joins you and sings the comple-
mentary theme, then you can escape Satan's trap. But if he
does not—the single theme, unsupported, will destroy your
mind."

Orb did not like the sound of that. "How do I know he
will sing the duet? Or that he is even near?"

"He need not be near; he can use the Llano to travel, as
you do. He will hear you sing. But as to whether he will join
you—that no one can say. He may, if he chooses. But he
may not."

"Is there no other to fill that role?" Orb asked
despairingly.

"Few can sing any part of the Llano," Gaea said gravely.
"Fewer can sing it well. Only Natasha can sing it well enough
to counter Satan's rendition."

"This Natasha—what kind of man is he?"

"The best of men," Gaea said. "But he has been questing
for the Llano so long and finding aspects of it, that he may
not take your recitation seriously. He might take it to be a
trap of Satan's—a trap for him. Satan has tried that sort of
thing before."

"I think I'll just avoid the whole issue," Orb said, turning
abruptly about.

"You can not, child. Satan was not truly aware of you
before, but now he is. He will seek you wherever you go
and spring his trap there. It is better to tackle it at a time of
your choosing than at a time of his."

"I can choose the time?"

"You can, now—by moving it up. Satan seems to be not
quite ready. But soon, in days or perhaps hours, he will be."

"How can I choose it?"




170 Being a Green Mother Piers Anthony 171

"By starting to sing and play the Llano. He will fear that
you are mastering the countertheme and be prompted to act
immediately."

Orb sighed. "Teach me that theme, then."

"I can not sing it," Gaea said. "But I can write the
music." She raised her left hand, and a parchment appeared
in it; her right hand now held a quill pen. She wrote the
music, swiftly, with sureness and elegance, and handed the
parchment to Orb.

Orb took it. Then Gaea faded. Orb was alone.

She looked at the music. It was clear enough, an unusual
melody, but singable. There were pauses written into it to
accommodate the companion voice. She was sure it would
be beautiful when properly done, but she saw no particular
magic in it.

She brought out her harp, settled down on the ground, and
propped the music against a tree before her. It would take
her only a short time to memorize this; the parts of the
melody seemed to follow naturally from each other, so that
there was no problem here. She began to play it, but did not
sing, heeding Gaea's warning.

The song took her, its magic manifesting. There was in-
deed power here; the theme shook her to the core. If she
were to sing it—

The scene changed. Instead of the bare plain, there was
now a kind of church, except that, instead of religious sym-
bols, there were demonic ones; and instead of comforting or
esthetic stained-glass scenes, there were depictions of tor-
ture and misery.

Satan appeared. He was red, with small flames playing
about his limbs, and glowing horns and tail. He turned to
gaze at Orb, and his eyes were windows to Hell, flickering
with passion and violence. "Now you will marry Me!" he
proclaimed.

"Never!" Orb retorted as bravely as she could manage,
though fear washed through her. Her mother's warning had
been all too true!

Satan sang. It was indeed the Llano; Orb felt its devas-
tating power immediately. Her will left her; she sat and lis-
tened, overcome by its compulsion.

Satan gestured, without breaking his song. The second
part sounded, complementing the first, as if two men were

singing, but there was only one. It added a dimension; now
Orb could hardly even think of resisting. The harmony,
dreadful and beautiful, governed her will.

Satan beckoned. She got up and walked toward him. Her
clothing shifted, becoming a bridal gown, with a train and
veil. His aspect changed; a tuxedo now clothed him. He was
uncannily handsome despite his color and his horns. Still he
sang, and she was aware of almost nothing besides that
sound.

She joined him at the altar in the front. He put out his
hand, taking her elbow, turning her with him as he turned.
Now a demonic shape surmounted the altar: the infernal
priest that would marry them. Its arm moved, and something
glinted—a sacrificial knife. Orb did not need to ask what
was about to happen; she knew. The thing would cut her
arm, and cut Satan's arm, to mingle their blood, and they
would then be married by the law of this framework.

Satan took her arm, stripping back the white sleeve. He
stripped his own sleeve. He grasped her hand and carried
her arm forward. The demon brought the blade close.

Orb, horrified, finally broke out of her trance enough to
make a sound. She sang the countertheme she had just
learned. At first it was faint and unsteady, but in a moment
the power of its theme emerged.

Satan was singing, casting about her a web of submission.
Orb was singing, fending off that web. She succeeded in
freeing her head and arms, so that the demon could not cut
her, but she could not free the rest of her body. It was as if
she were in a cocoon, able to move within it just a little, but
not to escape it. She needed more than she had.

But her song was proceeding, staving off the marriage.
Until the first pause. Here she required a response—and
there was no one to make that response.

Abruptly all was silent. Satan had ceased his song, but her
confinement did not abate. The spell had been set in place.
If she did not escape it now, she would never be able to.

There was no answer. She tried to sing again, but her
throat locked; she could not resume until appropriately an-
swered. Satan waited, slowly smiling, knowing that the vic-
tory was about to be his; her one hope was fading. She felt
the surge of madness rising in her as the incomplete theme
turned against the one who had invoked it.




172 Being a Green Mother

Orb focused her will, trying to project whatever magic she
had out to the corners of the globe, the curvature of the plain.
She felt it going out, carrying the fading melody. Would there
be an answer?

Satan nodded. He signaled the demon; the prey had not
escaped. The demon brought the knife forward as Satan took
Orb's bare arm again. She tried to fight it, but could not; the
scant protection made by her song had seeped away. Only
her eyes remained free—free to weep.

The knife touched Satan's red arm, and a thin streak of
blood appeared. It crossed to Orb's arm.

Then, faintly, she heard it. Was it, could it be—?

Yes! It was the companion theme! Natasha was answer-
ing! The barely audible melody caused the walls and floor
to resonate, animating with the suggestion of its potency.

That answering passage freed her to resume. She sang her
own part, and the infernal church began to waver. Infused
by the countertheme, it was losing its power over her.

Satan resumed his song, but now its compulsion was di-
minished. Orb felt its horrible tug at her being, making her
weak and despairing, but she was able to resist it.

She stepped unsteadily away from the altar, out of reach
of the demon's knife. She retreated to the spot where her
harp was lying and picked it up, never pausing in her singing.
She knew she was on the way to her escape, but she felt the
looming of the madness, too; if Natasha did not respond
again, she would still be lost.

Her passage ended—but the distant voice of Natasha was
louder now, and it brought her renewed strength. She
marched resolutely to the wall and through it, out to the
landscape beyond, while Satan's song faded behind.

From beyond the crest of the low hill ahead came Na-
tasha's voice, singing the alternate theme. She walked to-
ward it, singing in her turn. At the crest she encountered
him as he came up from the other side.

He was a well-knit man, sturdy rather than tall, wearing
a bright plaid shirt and green denims. His hair was fair, long
and wavy, in the fashion of the ancient knights, and his fea-
tures were ruggedly even. He would not have seemed out-
standing in a crowd, except for one thing—his voice.

Not since her father had died had Orb heard the magic by
a man. The Gypsy girl Tinka had the magic, but not as

Piers Anthony               173

strongly, and it wasn't the same. Her father's voice had been
passable, but when he touched her, the music of the mighty
orchestra had manifested and transformed his voice and her
world to splendor.

Natasha had the magic—and his voice alone was as fine
as any Orb had heard. Satan had sung at her with a rough
bass, both parts; Natasha was a honeyed tenor, of perfect
timbre and volume, surely a joy even without the magic. But
the magic that he had was potent; it reached out to move
her from a greater distance than her own magic could. The
combination thrilled her; she felt almost as if she were tread-
ing on clouds as she approached him.

They stopped singing and stood for a moment facing each
other. There was no sound from behind.

Orb turned and looked back. The obscene church was
gone; there was only open field.

"You play a dangerous game," Natasha remarked.

"I didn't choose it," Orb said. "Satan tried to—to marry
me."

Natasha pursed his lips. "Then you must be the damsel
of the prophecy."

"What has my reputation become!" Orb exclaimed with
mock dismay.

He laughed. "When I set out in quest of the Llano, I
learned that there was a woman who would sing it as well
as I, but that Satan had his eye on her and would try to take
her before I met her. When I heard your melody I had for-
gotten that; I answered only because it had to be answered,
lest madness come. I did not know it was you, or that you
would be beautiful, or that your voice and magic be so won-
derful. I think I had no call for my jealousy."

"Jealousy?" Orb was still adjusting to this abruptly
changed situation.

"I was always the most respected singer of my group,"
he said. "In my pride, I thought that none could be my equal.
When I learned that a mere woman ..." He shrugged, smil-
ing. "How can I resent one as stunning in every respect as
you? I think I never truly understood why it was that others
listened so raptly to me, until I approached you just now and
was stirred by your voice and your magic. Truly, singing
with you has been the high moment of my life—and I do not
even know you!"

174 Being a Green Mother

"I am Orb Kaftan, of Ireland," Orb said, discovering that
the thrill he described applied as readily to her. Never before
had she encountered her equal in this type of music, and it
was indeed a transcendent experience.

"Natasha, of this country," he said.

"If I may inquire—"

He laughed, as he seemed to do readily. "My father
wanted a girl. My mother wanted a boy. My mother was
victorious, but my father had his revenge. He named me after
the girl he had desired—in fact, after a woman he had de-
sired, before he married my mother." He grimaced. "You
may call me Nat, if you prefer."

Orb found herself liking him and suspected that she would
have, even if he had not just rescued her from a fate or two
worse than death. "I am most grateful to you for saving me
from Satan," she said.

"I am most grateful to myself for doing it," he said.
"There are few better things than earning the gratitude of a
woman such as you."

It seemed best to skirt that subject. "What if Satan ap-
proaches me again, when you are gone?"

"Have no fear of that!" Nat exclaimed. "It is the easiest
thing to thwart him, when you know the key. I learned it by
accident, serendipitously, in a bypath of my quest for the

Llano."

"Easy? I was unable to resist! What is this key?"

"Simply sing his alternate part," Nat said. "That nullifies
the effect, instead of completing it. When you preempt half
of the theme he requires to bind you, you render the whole
harmless. I can quickly teach you that part; you need never
fear Satan again. He made his play and lost, and for that I
am thankful."

He was hardly the only one! "Teach me!" Orb said.

"What, now?"

"I shall not feel safe until I know Satan can not touch me!
I knew the prophecy, but thought I could resist it; now I
know that I could not. Not by myself."

He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "How
can I refuse? I will sing it for you now."

He sang it, his voice rising so fine and clear and full that
Orb felt a wash of joy flow through her. She recognized the

Piers Anthony               175

second theme that Satan had sung, but this time it was beau-
tiful instead of grim. She could have picked it up before, if
she had realized how she could use it. As it was, she had
been terrified, too desperate to escape to make proper note
of such a thing.

Nat finished, and Orb settled down with her harp, impro-
vising an accompaniment, and sang it. She could feel the
partial power of it as she did so; this was definitely an aspect
of the Llano!

When she was done, he sat beside her. "I had thought
your magic was a bit less than mine, but with that instrument
it (s more. How came you by that harp?"

"It was given me by the Mountain King," she said. "It
enhances my magic, so that I can enchant an audience."

"You have enchanted me," he agreed. "How is it possible
that you, hearing a theme once, can sing such a compelling
rendition? I required many rehearsals to master it."

Orb shrugged, flattered. "It is my nature."

"I think I am glad I rescued you," he said. "Tell me, if
this is not too forward—"

"I am unmarried," Orb said, flushing. "Otherwise I think
Satan would not have—"

"Of course," he agreed immediately. "I should have re-
alized. You need never marry until you wish to, now. Let
me say candidly that all I know about you now is your ap-
pearance and your voice, but that these are sufficient to pro-
voke my interest. May I court you?"

Orb was startled, but held her composure. After all, she
had been approached by men before as abruptly. Her re-
action was less because of the expressed interest, or the
courtly manner of its expression, than because of her real-
ization that she was more than casually receptive. It was
true that Nat had just saved her from a horrible fate and per-
haps nullified a long-time prophecy: "One may marry Evil."
How important that word "may" was! The issue had been in
doubt, and the doubt had been resolved. Yet it would be safer
to be married, so that Satan had no ready route to that objec-
tive. Even if that were not the case, Nat was an extremely
interesting and talented man. "You may," she breathed.

"I thank you for that permission. Orb," he said. "Con-
sidering that, let me sing you the Song of Awakening."




176 Being a Green Mother

"I don't think I know that one," she said.

"It is another aspect of the Llano that I have discovered
in my questing. I must warn you that, like all the aspects of
that song, it is potent."

"I want to leam all of the Llano," Orb said.

"I don't know whether any single person has learned all
the parts of it, let alone mastered them," he said seriously.
"I understand that its entirety is as complex and varied as
life itself. Few are even capable of singing the least of it,
though some in moments of special inspiration or need do
rise to the occasion."

"So I understand," Orb agreed. "Yet what a challenge!"

"What a challenge!" he echoed, his voice suffused with
longing. "If the parts can do what they do, what might the
whole accomplish? I have dedicated my life to that pursuit."

"So have I," Orb said.

"Then I will sing you the Song of Awakening, and may
the consequence be on our heads," he said with a smile. "I
did warn you."

"You did," she agreed.

He stood, took two steps forward, and turned to face down
the hill. He breathed deeply, setting himself. Then he sang.

From the first note, the magic manifested, holding her al-
most breathless, stunned by its beauty and anticipation. She
had never heard a finer voice or finer theme! She seemed to
become one with the environment, breathing its melody.

The sound spread out like a living blanket, and the world
went dark. Orb was surprised, but not alarmed; the feeling
was good and more than good. She felt the magic surround-
ing her, suffusing her, filling all the world about her, building
up for what she knew would be a thrilling culmination. She
knew already that every story ever told about the Llano was
true; its power now seemed infinite.

There was a gleam of light to the side. It broadened and
brightened, turning red. It illumined the nether sides of dark
clouds, and rays passed between them to touch other clouds,
causing them to glow like stately hanging embers. The red
became orange, and amber, and the surrounding light spread
out to animate the ground. It was the sunrise.

Now Orb recognized the melody; it was the Song of the
Morning! The music she had first heard as a child, that had
brought her out to the field and the forest and the river for

Piers Anthony               177

her adventure with the water sprites. She had heard it often
thereafter, but in recent years she had been caught up in
other matters and didn't go out to the natural country at
dawn. What a delight this was, to discover her old friend in
this new guise! Of course it was an aspect of the Llano; she
had always known that, but had never thought it could be
evoked by human voice. Nat had brought her a treasure!

The sunrise broadened to light the landscape, the rays of
the slowly lifting sun spearing out past the bank of clouds
they heated to touch the ground. At each touch, a secondary
glow manifested, the turf and rock developing preternatural
clarity and colors, seeming more real than before. Dew glis-
tened, striking delicate fire, forming afield of sparkling gems,
seemingly more precious in its transience than any stone
could be. Tiny spider webs became chains of miniature
beads.

The great, brilliant ball of the sun appeared, that tran-
scendent orb after whose pale sister Orb herself had been
named. It was too bright to look at; yet in this vision, she
could do so without pain, appreciating its might while
shielded from its harm.

A ray came down and touched her directly, illuminating
a circle about her. She was bathed in its warm brightness,
becoming more colorful herself, feeling more beautiful. It
was as if she had come into existence at this moment, or had
been renewed in better form. She was—awakening.

The song continued, harmonizing in its fashion with the
natural things within its ambiance. The ground stirred before
Orb; she watched closely and saw new shoots coming up,
breaking through the turf. The stems spread, branching,
thickening, reaching, taking in the strengthening beam of the
sun, putting out leaves that broadened and angled them-
selves to catch the slanting light.

Buds formed, expanded, and opened into flowers of all
colors. Some suggested roses, some tulips, and some or-
chids, but they were not; they were simply the magic flowers
of the morning, their loveliness for her eyes alone.

Orb looked around. The entire landscape had turned ver-
dant, thickly grown with flowers. She was in a garden, the
massed fragrance of the flowers adding to her joy.

Then at last the song ended. It had not been long, objec-

178 Being a Green Mother

lively; her experience of it had dilated her awareness and
delight.

She gazed at Natasha, the source of this wondrous ex-
perience. She had not realized how handsome he was! "I
never knew it could be sung," she murmured.

"I will teach it to you," he said.

"I think—not now." she said. "I—have had enough ex-
perience for one day. I think I had better return home."

"Of course," he said, coming to her and extending his
hand to help her stand.

As she stood, the flowers faded. The relatively barren
landscape returned. Even the hill was gone; they were stand-
ing in the featureless plain of the Llano. Far away, near the
horizon, she spied Jonah swimming toward her.

"But I will see you again," she told Nat.

"Certainly," he agreed.

She walked toward the big fish. When she paused to look
back, Natasha was gone.




11-

SONGOFDAY

She told the others, of course, for the pursuit of the Llano
was their common mission. Even Betsy, who had known
nothing of it at first, had become interested as she realized
what it could do for the organist and her folks' farm.

They were also interested in Natasha. "You're the only
loose cog aboard, you know," the drummer remarked.
"Everyone else has paired off, one way or another. But
maybe we should meet this guy, just to be sure he's right
for you."

"You have no authority over my social life!" Orb ex-
claimed indignantly.

"Yes we do," Lou-Mae said. "Because we care."

That undermined her righteous ire. "I really don't know
much about him, except that he's the finest singer I ever met
and he knows aspects of the Llano."

"And he saved you from Satan," Jezebel added. "That's
enough to recommend him by itself. Only—"

"Only what?" Orb asked, aware that the succubus might
have an important qualification.

"Well, you know I'm a demon. I didn't ask to be, any
more than the rest of you asked to be human. I'm not of
Satan's camp; demons come in many varieties, just as mortal

279




180           Being a Green Mother

creatures do. But some things—are more demonic than

others."
"Whatcha saying, woman?" the guitarist asked. "You

think Nat's a demon?"
"It is possible," she said. "If I could meet him, I could

tell."
"I hadn't thought of that," Orb said, dismayed. "A

demon?"
"Demons can do things that mortals can't. Like singing—

you know how we can change our forms. Well, some of us
can change our voices, too. Our substance is more malleable;

and, of course, eternity allows us to perfect something, if

we work at it."
"But not all demons are bad," the guitarist said, evidently

sensitive about this matter.

Jezebel smiled. It was night now, and she was in her sultry
stage. "That depends on how you see it. To some, I am the
most evil of creatures, because—"

"Well, they don't know anything!" he said. "You just
never had a chance, before you got aboard Jonah."

"True. But still, it is not wise to trust a demon before you
know him well. We don't know what motivates this Natasha,

and if anything happened to Orb—"
"But it's only speculation that he's a demon!" Orb

protested.
"Still, maybe it would be better to be sure," the drummer

said. "We don't want to interfere, but if we could just get
to know him, maybe ..." He trailed off.

"I will ask him to come and meet you, next time I see
him," Orb promised, knowing there was justice in their

doubt.
Meanwhile, she practiced the Song of Awakening, which

she knew as the Song of the Morning. The others were awed
as the miraculous sound filled the fish and caused the cham-
ber to darken, then brought the beautiful dawn and the
sprouting of plants and blooming of flowers. It was illusion,
of course, that faded slowly after the song was done, but a
marvelous one. As Orb perfected it, the effect intensified,
so that it was hard not to believe in its reality.

"You know," Betsy said, "the time may come when you
do it so well that it will become real, and dawn will come a
second time in one morning." She was a farm girl and really
appreciated nature.

Piers Anthony               181

Orb laughed, but privately she wondered. The Song of
Awakening was the human version, while the Song of Morn-
ing was nature's version. There were surely ramifications
that she did not know, but if she perfected them, so that her
version more closely approached the natural one, it might
indeed have that effect. After all, the Song of Travel enabled
her to jump across the globe. The magic music did relate to
real things, when properly executed.

She thought also about Natasha. It had not been coinci-
dence that he had rescued her from Satan, for she had sung
a portion of a fragment of the Llano, and he was attuned to
the Llano. But it had been a most important event in her
life, for Satan had indeed trapped her and almost completed
the prophecy. She had a common interest with Natasha in
the Llano, as she did with the members of the Livin' Sludge
and with Jezebel and Betsy—and with Jonah. That interest
bound them all together, however diverse their origins and
natures. But it was more than that, for Nat was a handsome
and talented man, and she was without a man. She had not
felt deprived, but now her interest was quickening. His Song
of Awakening, presented as courtship, had indeed moved
her.

Now she remembered her childhood vision. A wedding!
She had never thought of it in the excitement and horror of
Satan's attempted forced ceremony; and indeed, that had
not been the wedding of the dream. Mym had not been there
to conduct her down the aisle. But if she—with Natasha—
could it be? Then what of the other part of the dream, the
devastated world?

And if Natasha were nonhuman—what then? She could
not dismiss Jezebel's warning. The succubus was in a po-
sition to know. A demon was a creature of a different order
from the human. The sprites were of the demon kind, and
the dryads, different phyla of the Demon Kingdom. They
varied as widely as did the creatures of the Animal Kingdom,
or the plants of the Vegetable Kingdom, or the stones of the
Mineral Kingdom. Just as she could love a pretty flower or
a sparkling gem, she could love a demon like the hamadryad
of the water oak. No, demons were not by definition evil!
But to develop a romantic relationship with one—that was
another matter.

Was she prejudiced, she asked herself. The guitarist had
a romantic relation with the succubus, and Orb could not

182           Being a Green Mother

fault it; Jezebel was a good woman in every human sense of
the word, as long as her passions were under control. Why
should Orb feel that the kind of relationship that was good
for a fellow human being should be bad for her? She couldn't
answer that, except to acknowledge that she could not ac-
cept it for herself with equanimity. Perhaps a relationship
was possible, but she would first have to know for certain
exactly what Nat was. If human, fine; if demon, she would
have to consider longer before deciding how or whether to

proceed.
Yet when he had sung the Song of Awakening—ah, what

a stirring there had been in her breast! There had been a
seeming dawn within her awareness, as well as in the world.
Who could say where this day might lead?

"Mrs. Glotch has scheduled us for Hawaii," Betsy an-
nounced brightly, looking up from the pile of correspondence
she was handling. "I've always wanted to see their pineapple

farms."
Orb pursed her lips. "I'm not sure that's wise. Jonah

doesn't like to pass over large bodies of water."

"Oh? Why not?"

"He is cursed. He can not swim in water, and if anything
should happen over the ocean, he would be in terrible

trouble."
Betsy's brow wrinkled. "Why? What could happen to

him?"

"Well—" But Orb found herself stumped. "What could
happen to a creature cursed to be immortal until his punish-
ment was terminated?"

"Probably a lot of pain," Lou-Mae said.

Orb nodded. That would be enough. "I suppose we'll just
have to see whether Jonah will take us," she said. "If not,
it's understandable, and we'll simply have to cancel the

engagement."

When the time came, they asked the big fish to go. Jonah
hesitated at the verge of the ocean, then lifted high and
braved it. They were on their way.

At first it was intriguing, swimming above the great ocean,
for they had never done this before. But it was a long swim,
and soon the novelty dulled. They settled down to the routine
of rehearsing, eating, talking, and sleeping.

Piers Anthony               183

Lou-Mae came to wake Orb. "Something's wrong," she
whispered urgently.

Orb rubbed her eyes. "You quarreled with—?"

"No, I mean with Jonah!"

Now Orb was alert. "Jonah! How do you mean?"

"He's swimming crazy. I think he's sick."

What would it mean to be inside a sick fish? "Oh, I hope
not!" Orb said sincerely. She flung on a housecoat and dug
her toes into her slippers.

Now it was evident: the big fish's course was erratic. He
seemed uncertain where to go and kept changing course.

"I wish we could talk to him!" Lou-Mae said nervously.
"Ask him what's wrong ..."

But Orb had discovered it. "There's a storm out there; I
can see the lightning flashes through his scales," she said.

"He don't much like storms!" Lou-Mae said.

"He's trying to avoid the rain," Orb said. "But it has
closed in all around. He's cornered, as it were."

"But he can dive down underground and—oops, we're
over the ocean!"

"Now we know why he doesn't like to swim over the
ocean," Orb said.

"What happens if he gets rained on?"

"I don't know. He is cursed to avoid water. I suppose it
would be a violation of the terms of his curse. But what that
means in a practical sense ..." She shrugged.

Jezebel appeared, in her ravishing nocturnal aspect. "I
have a notion. It strikes me that Jonah is much like a demon,
during his curse. Demons don't die, but they can hurt. Prob-
ably every drop burns like fire. A moral would die pretty
soon and be out of his pain, but for a demon it goes on and
on."

"How would that affect us?" Orb asked.

"Well, he's sure to thrash around. You would, too, if
someone kept poking you with a red-hot poker. It won't be
too comfortable in here."

The guitarist showed up, looking green. "Can't we get this
tub out of the rollers?" he asked plaintively. "I get seasick."

"Cheer up, lover, the worst is yet to come," Jezebel in-
formed him maliciously. The news of their liaison had of
course circulated quickly enough; the secret was only main-
tained against outsiders.

184 Being a Green Mother

"You're a demon!" he said.

"I had noticed. Can I help you?"

"Just pull out your blouse so I have somewhere to vomit,"
he said miserably.

"Mortals have odd tastes," the succubus remarked as she
pulled out her blouse, showing her full breasts. Others
laughed appreciatively, but the guitarist for once had no in-
terest. "Come on, sailor." She herded him off toward a
bathroom.

Orb gazed out through the scales. "We've got to do some-
thing," she said. "It's our fault Jonah got caught here."

The organist appeared, with Betsy. "You conjured rain,
Orb; can you make it go away?"

"I could try. But I don't know the proper theme. I might
just make things worse."

"Better not risk it," he agreed. Then he had another no-
tion. "You can keep us off the H when you have to; can
you get Jonah off his problem with water? So he can swim
in it again?"

"Again, I could try, if I knew the theme. But if I got it
wrong—"

"Well, it's the Llano he's looking for, same's us. Maybe
if you—I mean we could all try the Song of Morning, and
maybe—"

"I don't know," Orb said. Then the fish lurched, throwing
her against the wall. "But then again—"

They tried it. The guitarist was too sick to participate,
but the drummer and Lou-Mae and the organist joined. Orb
sang the Song of Awakening, and Lou-Mae made a harmony,
and the others accompanied. The magic spread out strongly,
animating them all, and it developed into the best rendition
yet, with the darkness closing in so absolutely that stars ap-
peared above.

Jonah's lurching stopped. He relaxed, slowly sinking
down through the turbulent atmosphere.

But what would happen when he touched the restless sur-
face of the ocean?

Orb peered through the scales as the magic sunrise formed.
She could see that it was raining now, outside, and the rain
was washing across Jonah's surface. That meant that their
song was enabling the fish to tolerate water. Perhaps the sea
would be tolerable, too.

Piers Anthony               185

They completed the rendition. Flowers bloomed across
the floor, and the chamber was fragrant.

"Sheez, we should do this number on the tour!" the drum-
mer exclaimed.

Lou-Mae considered. "Why not? So it's a piece of the
Llano; it's the greatest music we know. Everybody should
hear it."

Orb nodded. "I suppose we could try it." She walked to
the wall, to get a better view of the exterior.

Jonah made a shudder. "Maybe we better sing it again,"
Lou-Mae said.

"Try it without me," Orb said. "I'll try to help you with
the magic. If we can do it in relays, maybe we can keep him
quiet without wearing ourselves out."

Lou-Mae and the drummer and the organist tried it by

themselves. It wasn't as good as before, but it did quiet the
fish.

Orb watched as Jonah sank slowly toward the heaving
ocean. The key point would be when he touched. If he could
do that without damage, they would be all right.

The fish shivered. They felt it as if it were an earth tremor:

minor motion, but significant alarm.

Jezebel reappeared. "Jonah's afraid," she said.

Orb pointed down. "Of that?"

"I don't think so. The song's calming him. It doesn't seem

that he can't touch water, just that he's afraid to. The Llano

helps quell his fear, but not all the way."
"What could a creature like him be afraid of?"
"I don't know, but I think we'd better not dismiss it till

we know what it is."

Jonah settled onto the water. His nervousness increased
despite their music. Yet the water did not seem to be hurting
him. He floated like a ship, rocking gently to the swells.

Then the big fish jerked into motion. His side fins raked
through the water like oars, and the bottom portion of his
tail threshed the liquid into foam. He was not swimming, so
much as stroking across the water.

"Something's out there!" Jezebel said. "I'd better take a
look." She strode to the wall and through it, startling Orb.
But of course she was a demoness, able to dematerialize and
walk through walls so she could reach her prey. She just
hadn't done it openly before.

186           Being a Green Mother

Piers Antnony

187

Almost immediately the succubus reappeared. "There's
something ugly out there," she reported. "There's a glow,
and what look like ghosts, and Jonah's trying to get away
from them. You'd better look."

"I can't go out there," Orb protested. "I'd drown!"

"I can take you to the top of the fish," Jezebel said. "It's
pretty flat there, and you can hold on to a fin. I really think
you should go."

Orb trusted the succubus' judgment. She took Jezebel's
hand, and they walked through the wall and up, coming out
on the fish's broad back. The rain was pelting down, but the
skin was rough, offering good traction, and Orb had no trou-
ble keeping her feet.

"There," Jezebel said, pointing.

Orb looked. She saw the glow, and it was not a healthy
illumination. Grotesque shapes moved within it. She
squinted, brushing the spray from her face. "What is it?"

"I think it's demonic," Jezebel said. "But there are dif-
ferent kinds of demons, as you know, and some in-between
forms like zombies that—"

"Zombies?"

"Well, I'm not sure. What do they look like to you?"

Orb continued peering. The fish was slowing, and the
shapes were gaining, spreading their unhealthy light.
"Skeletons."

"Same thing, maybe. Do you think that's what Jonah's
afraid of? Looks to me he can handle water, maybe not to
swim in, but to float on, but those things are walking on it,
which means they're supernatural, and I'd guess they're
after him. If he knew it, he'd stay well clear if he could."

"We've got to stop them!" Orb exclaimed.

"The supematural's hard to stop, when it's in its element.
I don't want to scare you but—"

"With the Llano!" Orb cried. "I've got to try!"

The succubus shrugged. "I'd help you if I could, but you
know my talent isn't singing."

Orb started singing herself, trying the Song of the Morning,
the only significant fragment of the Llano she knew.

The skeletons marched right on, their bone legs walking
across the water, their skulls facing Jonah. The song had no
effect.

"Worse," Jezebel murmured. "Now I see why he slowed.
There're more on the other side."

"Maybe if I had my harp," Orb said doubtfully.

"I can fetch it for you."

"Thank you." Orb was too distracted to say more.

The dancing skeletons closed in inexorably. Jonah's shud-
dering became more violent. Orb had no reasonable doubt,
now; this was the menace the big fish feared. "Jonah, I will
try to protect you," she said aloud.

The shuddering eased. Jonah had heard and understood.

But could she do it? The Song of the Morning hadn't
worked; what would? Sometimes the magic had worked with
other songs—but what applied to skeletons?

Their forms were coming clearer as they approached. They
were not simply dancing; they were doing a crazy sort of jig.
She would have thought it random, if they were not all doing
it together, perfectly synchronized. Their bone legs moved
this way and that, and their bone bodies seemed to lose bal-
ance and almost fall over before abruptly snapping back to
the vertical. The effect would have been eerie, even if per-
formed by fully fleshed folk.

Jezebel reappeared, leading the drummer by the hand. Orb
realized that she had done an absent-minded doubletake
when the succubus chuckled. "No, I'm not two-timing my
man," Jezebel said. "We figured you could use help, and
there's no way to plug in the organ up here, so I brought the
drummer instead." She handed Orb her harp.

"But the rain will ruin the drums!" Orb protested.

"No more than it will your harp," the drummer said.
"What use will either be, if Jonah gets wiped out?"

Orb acknowledged the validity of that. "I tried the Song
of the Morning, but it didn't work."

The drummer stared at the advancing horde. "Know any
songs about skeletons?" he asked with a certain bravado.

"Just one my father used to sing me," Orb said. "A joke,
a Halloween kind of round."

"Try it," he said, setting up his drums.

"This is ridiculous!" Orb muttered as she took up her
harp. But then, so were the dancing skeletons.

"Say, isn't that the Drunken Sailor's Hornpipe?" Jezebel
asked, gazing at the dancers.

"The what?" the drummer asked.




188           Being a Green Mother

Piers Anthony

189

"It's a dance. I learned it about fifty years ago, when I
worked a dancing group."

"You were a dancer?"

"I didn't say that."

"Oh." He was disgruntled.

Orb started to sing and play, and the drummer picked up
the beat and amplified it powerfully. "Have you seen the
ghost of Tom? Round white bones with no skin on!" It was
a humorously grisly song, but it held nostalgia for her, taking
her back to the years of her childhood when Pacian held her
and tickled her and sang to her, and the orchestra of his
magic presence filled her limited universe. Oh, she loved her
father! Now he was gone, and if there were skeletons where
he was, surely he was singing to them, too, and making them
laugh.

Orb was uncertain how much of the wetness on her face
was rain and how much was tears.

But the song wasn't stopping the skeletons. They were
coming quite close, in seeming phalanxes, and the first phal-
anx was now quite near Jonah's huge tail.

Orb tried another song, one from their repertoire, with no
better effect. Music simply wasn't doing it.

One skeleton separated from the lead phalanx. It danced
crazily forward, toward the tail, its bone feet treading the
water as if it were completely solid.

"That is the Drunken Sailor's Hornpipe!" Jezebel said.
"See, it's one of the few dances I can do." She went into
the jig, and it was the same motion, lean and lurch as the
skeletons were doing. "You step here and here, around and
back, and that off-balances you, so you switch feet, so," she
explained as she did it, her flesh heaving dynamically.

The closest skeleton paused, its skull facing the succubus.

"Hey!" the drummer said. "They're dancers! So they
tune into dancing!"

The skeleton resumed its forward motion. It came to the
tail and reached out to embrace it. But at the touch, Jonah
jumped as if receiving an electric shock, and indeed there
was a flash at the point of contact.

Then the skeleton was gone—and one section of Jonah's
tail had become skeletal.

"Geez," the drummer said.

"I told you he'd have reason to fear demons," Jezebel

-and I'll bet

said. "They want to make him one of them-
there are enough of them to do it."

Another skeleton detached itself from the phalanx and
danced forward.

"I've got to stop this!" Orb said, handing the succubus
her harp and striding along the back of the fish. Part of her
mind remarked on the confidence with which she gave her
invaluable harp to a demoness—but she knew the harp
would not tolerate the touch of a deceitful or evil creature,
and Jezebel was neither, despite being of demonic stock.

"Hey, don't!" Jezebel cried, following. "It'd only take

one skeleton to convert you! I think they take out their own
mass!"

Orb paused. Obviously there was justice in this notion.
What could she accomplish, if she became an instant skel-
eton? Yet how could she let this horror proceed without even
challenging it? She was afraid and angry.

"They're dancers," the drummer called, coming up be-
hind them. "Orb, you know a dance that'd stop anything in
its tracks."

Orb stiffened. But now a realization came: the huge fish
had accepted her after she had danced the tanana for him.
Was this the reason? Insurance against these awful dancers?

The second skeleton was approaching the tail. "Beat the
cadence for the Song of the Morning," Orb said tersely to
the drummer. "I'm going to dance to it."

"Got it," he said, scrambling to set up his drums again.

"I'll tell the others," Jezebel said, stepping down through
the fish's flesh.

He started the beat, and it was good, but not good enough.
"With the magic," Orb said, touching his shoulder.

As she did so, the magic came, her power transferring to
him. "Got it," he repeated.

The beat took hold, and there was indeed magic to it, cre-
ating the semblance of the song. Orb began to dance. She
was conscious now of her housecoat plastered to her body,
and dragging at her legs. Impatiently she struggled out of it
and threw it aside, wearing only her nightie. She was aware
that this was clinging to her torso like a wrinkled second
skin, worse in its fashion than nakedness, but she had no
choice; she had to have freedom of motion.

She danced the tanana to the beat, addressing the skel-




190 Being a Green Mother

eton. The thing paused, then matched her, switching from
its hornpipe to the tanana. It coordinated with her motions,
completing the dance. It leaped and spun and gazed sidelong
at her with its bony sockets. There was no doubt that she
had found the key to making the skeletons react. But where
could this lead?

Well, if the others did not advance until this one was
through, and she distracted it long enough, the storm might
clear, and Jonah would be free to swim back into the sky,
escaping the skeletons.

The beat of the drums intensified, seeming to pound
against the entire universe. Boom, boom, BOOM, BOOM!
The skeleton danced more wildly, matching the increasing
emphasis—and then began to fall apart. The violence of this
dance was becoming too much for it, and it was self-
destructing!

The bones flew off randomly, leaving the skeleton without
part of one arm, then part of the other, then its skull. Finally
the rest of it collapsed and fell into the water, sinking out of
sight.

Orb breathed a panting sigh of relief. They had done it!
They had stopped the skeleton from touching Jonah!

A new skeleton detached itself from the phalanx and
danced toward the tail.

Oops! The job wasn't finished! Orb set herself, the drum-
beat resumed, and she began to dance again. She addressed
the second skeleton, and it reacted as had the first. They
danced together, and the skeleton was a marvelously fine
dancer; she found herself picturing it as a handsome Gypsy
man, strutting and posturing and turning on in the timeless
manner.

Then the beat intensified; the man flew apart, and his
pieces sank into the rain-wet waves, his magic gone.

But the storm had not abated, and the skeletons had
massed until they were closing in on every side. Another
emerged from the phalanx near the tail, but now others were
stepping out from other phalanxes, to approach the large fins
on either side and the head. Jonah's nervousness increased.

"We're in trouble," the drummer said. "You can't dance
forever, and you can't go one-to-one with three or four at
once."

Jezebel emerged with Lou-Mae on one hand and the or-

Piers Anthony               191

ganist on the other. "Maybe each of us can address one
skeleton, and hold them off each section," she suggested.

They tried it, but the others did not know the tanana and
the skeletons responded to nothing else well enough to make
a difference. There was not time to teach them; it had taken
Orb hours of practice, many days in succession, to perfect
it. Even had there been time, she doubted that Lou-Mae
could leam it; the dance appeared indecent to outsiders.
Meanwhile, the skeletons were marching in on every side.

"We have to have stronger medicine," Lou-Mae said.
"You said your friend Nat knew strong songs—"

"Natasha!" Orb called, hoping he could hear. The skel-
etons were about to touch on every side; if the man did not
come—

There was the distant sound of a sustained note, as of
someone singing an extraordinarily powerful melody. The
very surface of the ocean seemed to quiet as the music
stroked it. The skeletons paused in their dancing, exactly as
they were, canted to one side. Natasha had heard!

The note became a melody, growing louder. The song
spread out to fill the region, beautiful and resonant and pro-
foundly moving. "That man can singV Jezebel murmured.
There was no response; the others were mesmerized by the
song, human beings and skeletons alike, listening.

Natasha approached, still singing, his voice holding the
horde in stasis. He appeared on the surface of the water,
walking on it in the manner the skeletons did. He passed by
them and stepped onto the skin of the fish, climbing the steep
side until he reached the relatively flat back where Orb and
die others stood.

He paused in his singing, standing before them. The skel-
etons resumed their dancing and advancing.

"They're trying to make a skeleton of Jonah!" Orb ex-
claimed. "Can you stop them?"

"With the Song of Power," Nat replied. "You may know
it as the Song of Day."

"Quick, before they touch!" Orb urged.

"Give me a beat," he said, spotting the drummer.

The drummer settled down to his drums and started the
beat. It was a standard pattern, as he did not know what was
wanted.

Natasha resumed his singing. It was the same song as be-

192 Being a Green Mother Piers Anthony

193

fore, but more forceful; the sound seemed to make the very
atmosphere reverberate. The night lightened, then became
day, the sun riding high and striking through the mass of the
storm cloud, vaporizing it and turning the black waves green.
The light became intense, causing the white bones of the
skeletons to shine.

Nat gestured to the drummer, and the beat picked up. The
song became louder, the feeling in it so intense that Orb felt
as if she were riding a muscular stallion through an endless
fire. Her nightie dried and became diaphanous.

The skeletons felt it, too. They started to move, but not
in their dance. They were trying to escape, but could not;

the sun's beams bore pitilessly on them. Theywere rocking
to the drum beats, as if shaken by some invisible hand. Then
they were falling apart, their bones disassociating and drop-
ping into the water with little splashes. In a moment, all the

skeletons were gone.

Nat brought his song to a close. As he did so, the day
faded, and the night of reality returned. But the storm was
gone, and so were the skeletons; those abolitions had not

been illusions.

Orb flung her arms around him and kissed him on the
cheek. "You rescued me again!" she exclaimed.

"It was my pleasure," he said gallantly.

Then Orb remembered her situation. She was in her scant
nightie, on the back of a monstrous fish, and her friends were
watching. She let go and drew back a little.

Somewhat awkwardly, she performed introductions.
"Nat, this is Lou-Mae . . ." She went through the names;

Natasha acknowledged them gracefully, and the others were

polite.

"Maybe we should go inside and let Jonah swim back into

the sky where he likes it," Jezebel suggested.
Nat looked about. "Just how did you get up here?" he

inquired.

"Jezebel brought us," Orb said. "She—"
"No secret," Jezebel cut in. "I'm a demoness. Take my
hand; I'll lead you in."

Orb, knowing the succubus' suspicion about Natasha,
kept quiet. Nat took her hand, and Orb took the other, and
they walked down through the flesh and into the fish's com-
fortable interior.

Jezebel turned them loose and went back for the others.
"Not to appear unduly critical," Nat said, "but are you
sure you can trust a demon?"

"This one, yes. Demons vary as widely as do living crea-
tures; they fit no single mold."

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

Abruptly, the scene froze. All sound and motion ceased,
leaving Orb alone untouched. Natasha stood like a statue,
three-quarters of the way through his shrug.

Then two new figures appeared. They did not enter; they
simply became present. One was cloaked in black, the other
in white.

"Let me guess," Orb said. She glanced at the black figure,
then at the white. "Thanatos—and Chronos." Of course it
was no guess for Thanatos; she had interacted with him be-
fore, when he put her together with the Livin' Sludge.

"Even so," the Incarnation of Death agreed, with a hid-
eous smile on his skull-face. This time he did not lay back
his hood, so the effect continued, but Orb now had no con-
cern about it. Any person Luna trusted was worthwhile.
"Chronos has stopped time so that we may converse. We
fear you are being deceived."

"I hate being deceived," Orb said. "My mother warned
me of a trap before, and even with that warning I barely
escaped it. Is there more trouble coining?"

"There may be," Thanatos said. "It is our concern that
this individual may be demonic, perhaps an agent of Satan.

It is not safe for you to be involved with him if this is the
case."

"Involved!" Orb exclaimed. But of course she was, in the
general sense; for the second time, Natasha had saved her
from a very bad situation. "What gives you the notion that
Nat could be demonic? He was just saying that—"

"We believe that your objectivity is vital to certain future
events," Thanatos said. "Satan is aware of this and may be
trying to influence you by sending a minion. The realms of
time on Earth and of the Afterlife may be subject to com-
promise. We would not want your future to be distorted by
any agent of Satan."

"My future? If one of you is the Incarnation of Time,
surely you can readily check my future and satisfy your-
selves as to its adequacy!"




194           Being a Green Mother

"Not readily," Chronos said, speaking for the first time.
He looked like a normal living man, once allowance was
made for his office. "The future is not fixed; it is multiple,
and it is constantly changing. There are variants covering a
spectrum of alternatives, some of which are positive, some
negative. It is our interest to encourage the positive."

"But surely you can see whether Satan has any influence
on many of those variants, and whether Natasha has any
involvement," Orb protested. "Intact, you can follow Nat's
life forward and back, and discover whether he is human or

demon, can't you?"

"Not readily," Chronos said. "Satan is adept in his ma-
nipulations and can clothe reality with illusion so cleverly
that it becomes almost impossible to separate the two. The
real Natasha could have been replaced by a demon who em-
ulates him perfectly, and I would have to devote far more
of my attention to tracing this down than I can spare from

my duties."
"Needle in the haystack," Orb said, seeing the problem.

It had not occurred to her that a real man could be replaced
by a demon, but of course it was possible. "In that case,
you, Thanatos, should be able to test this man and verify
his nature directly. After all, you can read souls, and demons
don't have souls, do they?"

"It is true that they don't," Thanatos agreed. "But for a
deception of this nature, it would be relatively simple for
Satan to provide a demon with the simulation of a soul. My
tools for measuring souls are relatively crude; I am not

God." He smiled grimly.

"You are saying that with all the powers the two of you
possess, you can not tell whether a given entity is human or
demon?" Orb asked incredulously.

"Ordinarily it would be no problem," Thanatos said. "In

this case, it may be."

Orb whistled internally. Obviously she had overrated the
powers of the Incarnations! "How then should I tell whether

Natasha is human or demon?"

"I suspect you will have to fall back on the old-fashioned
devices," Thanatos said. "Demons are not subject to certain
limitations of human beings, such as their fixed forms, but
do have limitations of their actions that living people lack,
such as what they may touch or say."

Piers Anthony               195

"You mean the Christian Cross? A demon can't touch it?"

"And holy water, or any sanctified relic. Neither can a
demon say the name of God or sing a hymn. He may un-
dertake enormous convolutions to avoid exposure by such
means, to divert the subject, perhaps to ridicule the neces-
sity, but when directly challenged, he can not do these
things."

"But not all demons are creatures of Satan!" Orb pro-
tested. "Some can be quite decent folk."

"The limits do not reflect decency," Thanatos said.
"They reflect origin. We concede that a good demon may
be a better friend than a bad human being—but the bad
human can touch the Cross, while the good demon can not.
The barrier is absolute. That is why such tests have been
established; it is not possible to cheat such identification."

"So you want me to test Natasha? To see whether he is
of human or demonic stock?"

"Correct," Thanatos said.

"And if I do, and he turns out to be a demon—what does
that prove? As you said, a good demon may be better than
a bad human being—and a bad man could be an agent of
Satan, too."

"Unlikely, in this case," Thanatos said. "The original Na-
tasha is a good man; Chronos has already checked his time-
line and verified this. He would never align with Satan;

indeed, he would oppose Satan with all his power. Only
Satan could arrange to replace such a man with a demon
simulacrum. Therefore, if this is a demon, it has to be Satan's
minion. We hope this is not the case, but we believe it must
be tested."

Orb sighed. Their logic seemed tight. "Very well; I will
test him—in my own time. If he should turn out to be a
demon, I certainly shall have nothing to do with him. But
I'm sure this is not the case; after all, he has twice rescued
me from severe distress and he has taught me part of the
Llano."

"What he claims is the Llano," Chronos said, gesturing
with his left hand.

Orb saw that there was a ring on one of his fingers. It
looked just like the one Mym had given her: a tiny coiled
snake.

196 Being a Green Mother

"That ring!" she said. "How did you come by it,
Chronos?"

He glanced at it, as if startled. "Oh, this charm? It is of
demonic nature, but aligned with the forces of good. There
are many of them, all very similar."

"Luna has some," Thanatos said. "I'm sure she would
give you one, if you asked."

Disgruntled by this revelation of the commonness of a
charm she had thought unique, Orb retreated. "No, of
course not; I was just curious." For an instant she had almost
had a bad vision of someone stealing the ring from her baby;

but of course, that was impossible; the ring could not be
stolen or taken by force; it had to be honestly given. Her
daughter would keep her ring until reaching the age of dis-
cretion; then she could do with it as she chose.

Unless Tinka had not put it on Orlene's finger, but instead
had sold it...

No! Orb knew her friend would never have done such a
thing. She adjusted her emotion and addressed the present
situation. They had been talking about the Llano—and there
was another body blow to her certainty. "You mean that
was not part of the Llano Natasha taught me? The Song of
the Morning?"

The two Incarnations exchanged glances. Both shook their
heads in perplexity. "I'm afraid neither of us knows that
song," Thanatos said after a moment. "The Llano is a dif-
ferent kind of magic from that we utilize. Perhaps what he
has taught you is valid. That would not necessarily exonerate
him; if it is not a religious piece ..."

"It's a—a natural piece," she said, lacking a proper de-
scription. "It makes the dawn come, and the day brighten,
and it destroyed the dancing skeletons that threatened us.
Would an emissary from Satan sing such a song?"

"That does seem doubtful," Thanatos admitted. "You say
it actually banished demonic creatures?"

"It actually did."

"I don't see how a creature of Satan's would do that."
Thanatos shrugged. "But of course that is not my specialty.
Mars would know the answer; he is the expert in combat,
especially against demonic forces."

"Well, at such time as I encounter Mars, I will ask him,"

Piers Anthony               197

Orb said. "Meanwhile, I can certainly make the other tests;

that should make the matter academic."

"We appreciate your cooperation," Thanatos said. Then
Chronos lifted his other hand, which now held a large, glow-
ing hourglass, started to tilt it—and abruptly the two were
gone, and Natasha resumed animation.

Orb scrambled feverishly amidst her thoughts. What had
they been talking about, before the stasis? She hated de-
ceiving the man, but until she was sure of his nature—

Ah—about demons. They had agreed that not all demons
were evil. That seemed ironic, in view of the timing of the
arrival of the visitors.

"I can show you how nice Jezebel is," Orb said.

Then Jezebel reappeared, with Lou-Mae and the drummer
at her hands.

"Jez, would you mind very much if I performed a test on
you?" Orb asked, feeling embarrassed.

"Welcome," the succubus said. "Just let me fetch in the
last pair." She disappeared through the wall and soon re-
turned with Betsy and the organist.

They assembled in the main chamber. "What was this
test?" Jezebel inquired.

"Well, I have been warned that—" Orb hesitated, but saw
no diplomatic way to say it. "—that Natasha might be of
demonic origin. So—"

Nat straightened. "How's that?"

"So I need to run a test," Orb continued doggedly. "But
I need a—a control person, to verify that the indications are
valid. That the test works."

"Who made such a suggestion?" Nat asked, becoming
nettled.

Orb forced herself to face him. "Chronos and Thanatos.

They told me that—well, never mind that. I hope you're
willing to—"

"I hardly expected a reception of this nature," Nat said.
"It would seem to me that—" But now he broke off, for the
others were gazing at him.

"You know," Jezebel said, "if there is one thing that
demon skeletons would respect, it would be an agent of

Satan's."

Nat stared at her angrily. "You ought to know,
demoness."




198           Being a Green Mother

"They told me that my—my destiny was important," Orb
said. "That Satan might try to influence me. So I really have

no choice."

Nat grimaced. "You insist on this—this trial?"

"I'm afraid I do," Orb said miserably.
"Then let's have the test," he snapped. "What do you

have in mind?"

Orb addressed Jezebel. "Please repeat after me the words
I say." The succubus nodded. The others were silent; they
were embarrassed by this scene.

"Demon," Orb said.

Jezebel smiled. "Demon."

'Person."
'Person."

ezebel shook her head. "You know I won't say that."

'But could you if you wanted to?"
'Want to? I wish I could! But it's impossible."

'Hell," Orb said.
Betsy jumped. Jezebel smiled. "She's not swearing," she

explained. "Hell."
"Earth."
"Earth."

"Heaven."
Jezebel balked. "If only ... " she said sadly.

"Satan."
"Satan."
"God."

Jezebel spread her hands, defeated.
"Thank you," Orb said. She turned to Natasha,
"Angel. Heaven. God," he said, disgusted.
Orb felt guilty. "Does someone have a cross?"
"I do," Lou-Mae said quickly. She drew on a thin gold
chain at her neck and brought up a fine silver cross.
"Give it to Jezebel," Orb said.
"Please, no," Jezebel said. "Its approach would damage

me."

"I'll take it," Nat said. He extended his hand and took

the cross. He glanced at Orb. "Satisfied?"
"Almost," Orb said, wishing she had never gotten into

this. "I would like to sing a hymn."
"Let's spare the demoness the pain of attempting that,"

Piers Anthony               199

Nat said grimly. He handed back the cross, then inhaled,
and sang;

"I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger,
A-traveling through this world of woe;

But there's no sickness, toil nor danger,
In that bright world to which I go."

As he sang, the walls of the chamber faded, and the gloom
of the exterior night developed. The darkness was not total;

rather, it was the murk of a dismal twilight, through which
the man seemed to be trudging. The world of woe.

He proceeded through it, concluding:

"I'm going there to meet my Savior,
To sing his praise for evermore,
I'm just a going over Jordan,
I'm just a going over home."

As he did, the light increased, as from the overflowing
brilliance of a transcendent realm ahead. Then, at the seem-
ing point of realization, the effect faded, and the walls of the
chamber reappeared.

Natasha glanced once more at Orb, then faced about, and
stalked toward the wall.

"Wait!" Orb cried. "I had no choice—"

But already he was fading out. She picked up the har-
monies of the traveling theme and knew he was going to some
other point on the globe. She tried to match it, but could
not. He was gone, and she had no way of telling where.

"I guess I'd be mad, too, if someone accused me of being
a demon, and I wasn't," Jezebel said.

"Especially after he helped someone out of a jam," the
drummer added.

"You're not helping much, you know," Lou-Mae said.

Orb fled to her bedroom, where she flung herself down
sobbing. She was hardly aware as the big fish resumed swim-
ming, moving up through the air, reorienting on the original
destination.

What else could she have done?




Piers Anthony               201




12

SONG OF EVENING

Time passed, but Natasha did not return. The Livin' Sludge
completed its engagement in Hawaii and made it safely back
across the ocean. Now that Orb knew the Song of Day, she
had no fear of the dancing skeletons; indeed, she was not
certain they existed any more. She was grateful to Nat for
teaching it to her, wanted to thank him, and could not. Oh,
if only she had not affronted him by testing him! Yet still
she did not see what else she could have done, given the
warning of Thanatos and Chronos.

Lou-Mae shook her head. "You had better go to him,
Orb," she said. "We've got a few days off now; why don't
we stop at the Llano plain, and you can look for him?"

"I think he would have appeared by this time, if he wanted

to," Orb said sadly.

"He's a man. He has his foolish pride. He wants you to
make the first move. Go out and sing for him, and he'll

hear."

Orb felt hope. "You think so?"

"I don't know a lot about men, but Jezebel does, and she
makes a lot of sense. She says they think they're superior.
They really believe that their animal lust is nature's highest
calling. Pretend you can't live without him."

200

"I don't think I have to pretend," Orb said forlornly.

Lou-Mae smiled ruefully. "I know how it is. Pretend
you're pretending. There's not a man alive and not too many
dead who would turn away from you if you sang and danced
and pleaded."

"But I don't want to plead! I have my own pride!"

"What's your pride worth, without him? Same as mine
without Danny-Boy?"

"Very little," Orb admitted. "He asked to court me, and
I thought it was just opportunism, but every time I hear him
sing—"She shook her head. "I just want to be with him."

"That man certainly can sing," Lou-Mae agreed. "I
thought no one could match you, but he—" She shrugged.

"He can sing," Orb repeated. "I think I live, now, to sing
with him."

Jezebel entered the chamber. "Someone sings as well as
Orb? That I don't believe."

"You don't?" Lou-Mae asked. "You were there. You
didn't like it?"

"I was where?"

"Down on the ocean, when Orb danced with the
skeletons."

"Orb did what?"

Both Lou-Mae and Orb looked at her askance. "You don't
remember?" Orb asked.

"I certainly don't! What are you talking about?"

Orb glanced at Lou-Mae. Did the demoness have a short
memory? How could an episode like that have escaped her
so soon?

"Maybe it was a dream," Lou-Mae said diplomatically.

Jezebel shrugged. "Demons don't dream."

The guitarist wandered in, fuzzy-eyed, for it was still be-
fore noon. "Hey, big momma," he mumbled, embracing
Jezebel.

" 'Sokay, kid," the demoness said, stroking his head.

Orb almost choked. By day? When the succubus was mid-
dle-aged?

Then she realized that their relationship had become more
than a nocturnal thing. The guitarist, deeply insecure, had
emotional need for a luscious, adoring woman by night—
and for a mature, supportive mother figure by day. Jezebel
was serving both needs. Orb realized that she had no call to




202           Being a Green Mother

feel disgusted; it was better that she understand, just as it
was better that she comprehend her own nature.

So it was that Jonah swam to the region of the Llano, and
Orb got out and took another walk by herself. It was summer

now, and the air was nice.

She sang the Song of the Morning, and the dawn came
magically, and the flowers bloomed, but Natasha did not
appear. She sang the Song of Day, but it wasn't the same

without him.

Then she experimented with a combination—some of the
travel theme merged with some of the storm-generation
theme and some of the Song of the Morning. The result was

strange.
The night closed, as it did at the onset of the Song of the

Morning, but when the dawn came it was inverted. The land
was red-orange, the sky green, and the sunrise blue. The
illuminated clouds were bright, while the sun was a dark ball.
The bright region seemed to be the coldest, while the shad-
ows were warm.

When the flowers bloomed, they started as blossoms and
budded stems and roots. Startled, Orb focused more closely
on them, and they came apart into separating circles and
ovals and lines, as if reduced to their composites, which were
mathematical. A larger pattern formed as the parts of the
flowers intersected each other, extending their network into
the sky and the ground. The ground became translucent,

then lost its remaining cohesion.

Orb found herself standing on a pattern whose reality was
shifting. The ground had become the lines of the pattern, and
her feet were sliding down between the lines. Her orientation
changed, so that she was no longer vertical, but it didn't
seem to matter. She was as she was, and reality was around

her.
Reality? This was no variant of the reality she had known

all her life! The pattern fragments of strange flowers were
everywhere, filling her world, displacing what she had
known. It was pretty in its fashion, but she preferred the

normal values.
She had stopped singing, but the pattern remained. It

seemed she could not simply revert to normality.

She sang again, the straight Song of the Morning, with no
admixture of other aspects of the Llano. The fabric of the

Piers Anthony               203

inverted flowers tore, and curled to either side as if it were
paper, and disappered.

She stood in a kind of channel that contained a single ridge
whose cross section was triangular. It seemed to be made
of firm plastic, bright yellow. It was high enough for her to
sit on. Beyond the channel there seemed to be nothing, no
wall, no landscape, just emptiness.

She sighted along the ridge. To one side it narrowed in the
distance until it disappeared. To the other, it broadened until
it filled everything.

Perspective? No, it was literal; the size of the ridge really
did change with its location; only the convention of her prior
experience had made it seem to be even.

Then she saw something moving. It seemed to be a spindle
or double cone, rolling along the ridge. But as it moved to-
ward her, it expanded in diameter and evidently in mass, for
the ridge was vibrating increasingly. It came toward her,
gathering velocity.

She remembered her geometry classes, where much effort
had been expended in the analysis of conic sections. One
formula defined a slice of the cone, with the size and shape
of the slice determined by the parameters of the equation.
Some sections were perfect circles, others were ovals, and
others looped through on the inside but never closed on the
outside. If a knife were taken to a physical cone, so that it
sliced through the cone at different angles, these were the
shapes it could make.

Now, it seemed, she had encountered the original cone.
Size was one of its variables; as it changed its location, it
expanded to fill the universe as it existed at that site. That
meant that there was no room left for Orb; she was an in-
truder on its space. What would happen when it reached the
spot where she stood?

The thing was coming at her with logarithmic acceleration.
She was about to find out! Growing rapidly enormous, it
rolled upon her. She would be crushed!

She sang again, the start of the Song of the Morning. The
fabric of the ridge and double cone tore and curled, exposing
the reality beyond.

It was green. A thought gave her momentary hope: the
Green Mother, Nature—could she be here? But it faded.

This was a forest, with huge, quiet trees. Moss and ferns

204           Being a Green Mother

grew up their dusky trunks. Vines descended from their
branches. Thick foliage grew at their bases.

But it was poison foliage. The surfaces of the leaves glis-
tened with exudation. Orb knew it would be disaster for her
to allow that to touch any part of her.

Yet the foliage grew all around. She could not take a step
without encountering it. As she watched, it extended visibly,

the branches closing in.

This was not the reality she desired! She sang again, and
it tore across as the others had, peeling back to reveal what

lay beyond.

It was a city, with many tall buildings. Highways cut
through it, separating the sections, and walks crisscrossed,
reuniting the sections. She was standing in the center of a

broad street.
A truck came down that street, its tires squealing. It bore

down on her. She ran to the side, but the truck corrected its
course to intercept her. Now she knew that she was no de-
tached spectator; these settings were trying to eradicate her!

She sang again, and the street curied up, more paper, tak-
ing the truck with it. The new reality was revealed below.

This was a plush chamber, evidently an ornate boudoir,
with a huge round bed piled with pillows.

In fact, she was in the bed, clad in a sheer nightrobe, the
type calculated to drive any man who saw any women in it

to a madness of lust.

A door burst open, and a man entered. No, not a man-
he had goat's horns and goat's feet and a caprine beard. His
body was furry, his ears were pointed, and his nose projected
into a snout. He had one other attribute that was both ob-
vious and shocking. He was a satyr—the original creature

of lust.
The satyr's blazing eye fell on her. He gave a bleat of

anticipation and leaped toward her, his salient characteristic
leading. There could be absolutely no question of his intent;

it was manifest in his nature and his action.

Orb whammed him in the snoot with a pillow. She rolled
off the bed and fled across the floor toward the door. But
as she reached it, it closed, merging seamlessly with the wall.
She scraped her fingernails across it, trying to gain purchase,

but there was nothing.
The satyr made a grunt of urgency and leaped again. He

Piers Anthony               205

was incredibly agile. Orb dodged to the side, but one hooflike
hand caught her robe. The material stretched like hot cheese
but did not tear; in a moment he was hauling her in, hand
over hand, the material molding itself to her backside while
it stretched out in a tent before her, bringing her forward in
a state worse than nakedness.

She raised a foot to push him away, but he caught her leg
and hauled on it, his hoof-fingers hot on her flesh. Drool
spilled from his mouth as he brought that salient character-
istic into position.

Orb finally remembered her only weapon here, her voice.
She sang, and the fabric of the setting tore and curled, the
satyr's expression of lust converting to rage as he saw her
escaping him.

How had she gotten into this? Could she really have found
herself raped by a vision conjured by a modification in the
Llano?

Now she stood near the peak of a snowy mountain, the
wind cutting cruelly. She still wore the sheer material of the
robe; it bagged in front, clung behind, and offered no pro-
tection at all from the wind. Already her bare feet were slip-
ping on the icy slope, causing her to lurch toward a clifflike
descent.

She sang, and the scene tore away. Now she was in deep
night, with stars in their myriads surrounding her. In fact
she seemed to be in space, for the stars were in every di-
rection. One was larger than the others, closer, hotter; it
drew on her body, hauling her in to itself. Its sphere seemed
to expand enormously, its fires reaching out like tentacles.
Her gown burst into flame.

She sang—and the scene tore. She stood naked at a shell-
covered beach, the waves of a restless ocean surging against
it. One wave developed far out, hunching itself into greater
mass, looming high and savage as it crashed toward her. She
turned and ran from it—but the beach was a narrow island,
with no high ground at all, no protection. The wave loomed
over her, a white crest broadening at its fringe as its dev-
astating descent commenced.

She sang, and the white crest became a tear. The wave
was paper, disintegrating as the tear spread.

She was in a great, dimly illuminated cave, with stalactites
extending from the ceiling in toothlike points. All the hues




206 Being a Green Mother

of precious onyx shone from them; lovely swirls and patterns
manifested in the dripping stone.

This setting, at least, seemed to offer no immediate threat.
Orb cast about for some natural exit, knowing that if she
sang again, the scene would tear and thrust her into a new
one that might be worse. She had to find some better way

out!

She remained naked. It seemed that whatever she lost on
one setting remained in that setting; she could not recover
it in the next. But perhaps she could find new clothing here
and keep it with her.

She walked between the stalactites, finding a path through
the cave. The light was brighter downslope; maybe that was
the exit to the surface.

It turned out to be the light of a fire. Creatures squatted
beside it. She walked toward them, glad for this sign of civ-
ilization. "Do you have—?" she began.

The creatures looked up, then leaped up. They were de-
mons, huge and shaggy!

Orb opened her mouth to sing, but paused. The demons
seemed afraid rather than aggressive. One of their number
remained down, evidently wounded or ill.

"I will—trade you," Orb said, poised to sing herself into
another setting if attacked. "Some clothing—for some heal-
ing. Do you understand?"

The demons watched noncommittally.

"I—I know a demon," Orb continued. "A succubus.
Once I helped her overcome her curse. I think if I sang a
regular song—it might help your friend."

Still they stood. They did not seem to comprehend her
words. But as long as they did not attack . . .

She moved slowly toward the sick one. What could she
sing that was not the Llano and that might help? Did the
song matter, as long as her intent was to help? Why not use
one of her old favorites, then?

"By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,
Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond ..."

She did not have her harp with her, but the magic came,
and it touched the sick demon. The demon stirred, and a

Piers Anthony               207

light seemed to play about it. It lifted one arm, its paw hes-
itating in the air.

Orb reached out and caught the paw. With direct physical
contact, the channel of magic intensified. She felt the illness
in the creature, but already the malaise was retreating before
die healing she was making. By the time the song was done,
the creature was much improved.

She let go its paw. "I think the tide has turned," she said.
"It may take a few days yet."

One of the standing demons moved. It tramped to a pile
offers in an alcove. It lifted one and held it out.

They had understood! Gratefully, Orb took the fur. She
draped it about her shoulders. It was heavy but warm, reach-
ing down to her knees. It would do.

"Thank you," she said. "Do you know a way out? A way
to reach my kind?"

They shrugged. Then there was a rumble. The floor shook,
and a stalactite fell. It was a cave-in!

Orb started to sing the Llano, but paused again. She could
escape—but what would happen to these demons if she did?
Would they be crushed in the rail of rock? Some threat al-
ways manifested when she came into a scene; if she had
brought this destruction with her, she was responsible.

She could not risk it. "Touch me!" she cried. "Make a
chain!" She grabbed at the paw of the ill one and reached
for one of the standing ones. "Everyone must touch!"

Confused, they linked paws, as the shaking of the cave
increased. Orb sang the Song of the Morning again, and the
setting tore apart. A new setting was revealed behind it—
and she and the demons were in it, standing on a cloud.

Their cloud was floating above a tranquil landscape of
crosshatched fields and trees. But the tend was far below,
and there seemed to be no safe way down. Meanwhile, then-
feet were sinking into the stuff of the cloud: it would not
support them long.

"Must try again," Orb said, unking hands. She sang, and
once again the fabric tore.

They were in what seemed to be giant intestines. Fluids
pulsed through the flexing walls, and substances oozed.
Thick fluid coursed along the base. Some of it touched the
foot of one demon, and the creature jerked its foot away.
Digestive add, evidently!

208           Being a Green Mother

Orb linked and sang again. The intestines tore. They

emerged into a landscape of garbage.

Cans, banana peels, coffee grounds, automobile bumpers,
and soiled sheets formed a mountain of refuse. The smell
was terrible. Even the demons shied away from it.

Orb grabbed their paws and sang again. The garbage tore,
and a new scene started to form—but this time she did not
stop singing. She knew she had to break the endless cycle
of settings somehow; perhaps this would do it.

The new setting tore even as it formed, and the one after
that. Now they were in a mixture of settings, as parts of
partly formed scenes overlapped other parts. It was like the
pages of a picture book being flipped; by the time one scene

could be glimpsed, it was gone.
Then Orb saw a castle. She stopped singing, trying to catch

that scene, and succeeded. They stood in a lush garden re-
plete with statuary, and ahead was a large stone castle.
"Maybe we can get help here," she said. The demons, be-
mused, shrugged and shuffled after her as she marched to-
ward the castle.

They came across three people near the back entrance.

Two women and a man had evidently been relaxing on a
stone patio. Both women were supremely beautiful, and the

man—
Orb made a little scream of astonishment. "Mym!" she

cried.
"Orb!" he replied. He rose gracefully to his feet and, in

a moment, was embracing her. "How did you come here?"
"That's a complicated story," she said. "Just where are

we?"
"In Purgatory. Didn't you know?" Then he stiffened.

"Don't tell me you're dead!"

"Dead? Why should I be dead?"

"Very few living folk come here."

Then she absorbed what he had said. "This is Purgatory?
Where the dead get sorted? What are you doing here?"

He gestured to the demons to make themselves comfort-
able, then led her to a chair. "I live here, now. I am Mars."

"Mars?" she repeated blankly.
"The Incarnation of War. I assumed the office, after-

oh, we have much to catch up on!"

Piers Anthony               209

"I should think so," she agreed. "Perhaps you should
introduce me to your friends."

"Oh, yes, of course," he said. "But first I must explain
that—" He spread his hands, looking embarrassed.

"That our romance is over," Orb said. "Of course." Then
she did a double-take. "You aren't stuttering or singing!"

"The Green Mother took my stutter," he said. "We—
Incarnations do things for each other." He turned to the
beautiful fair young woman. "This is Ligeia, my beloved.
She is a dead princess; I met her in Hell." He smiled, re-
alizing how that sounded. "Li, this is Orb, my first love."

Ligeia extended her hand. "He has told me much about
you," she said graciously.

"And this is Lila, my mistress," Mym said, turning to the
dusky woman. "She is a demoness, who can assume any
form."

Lila extended her hand. "I can see why he loved you,"
she said huskily.

Orb's mouth worked twice before she connected it to her
voice. "A demon mistress? Do I misunderstand?"

Ligeia laughed. "A prince can not be satisfied by a single
woman," she explained. "He is best off with a harem. Since
Lila can assume any form, she serves in lieu of a harem. But
only when I am indisposed."

"You have been indisposed rather often, Li," the de-
moness remarked. "Do you think I don't realize that you
are releasing him to me when you don't have to?"

"It becomes a princess to be generous, Li," the dead
woman replied. "It is also known that no decent woman can
match the performance of a damned creature." Both smiled;

evidently no insult was intended.

"In my day, it seemed that one was enough," Orb said,
deciding to take this lightly.

"After you, no single woman sufficed," Ligeia said.

"You know I didn't leave you voluntarily," Mym said.
"I was kept under palace arrest until I agreed to spend a
month with the princess selected for a political marriage. She
was Rapture of Malachite, and she was no better pleased
with the notion than I was."

"I saw a picture," Orb said. "Evidently you worked it
out."

"I did not want to love her, but I did," Mym admitted.

210           Being a Green Mother

"Then I became Mars and brought her with me, but this
existence wasn't right for her, and she left me. Now I love
Ligeia. It is no affront to you, Orb. Had things been other-
wise—"
"I understand," Orb said, beginning to. As a prince, Mym

had been subject to the peculiar discipline of his office. Now
he was filling the role of a prince in the form of an Incar-
nation, and women were indeed part of it.

"But now you must tell us how you came here in the com-
pany of demons," Mym said.

"I was looking for someone, and I sang the Llano incor-
rectly and got locked into a melange of settings," Orb said.
"Each had some threat for me, but I could escape it by sing-
ing for the next. The demons were in one; their cave was
collapsing, so I brought them along. Now I need to find them

a place to be."
Lila rose. "I will see to that," she said. "I know their

kind."
"Another demon is my friend," Orb said. "I know you

aren't necessarily bad folk."

"Not when we come under the influence of good human
beings," Lila said. She approached the other demons and

spoke to them in gutterals.

They clustered about her. At last someone spoke then-
language!

"Who were you looking for?" Mym inquired.
Orb feared she was starting a blush. "Like you, I have
found other company. But we had a—a difference, and he

left. So I was looking for him."

"I have no jealousy of your friend," Mym said. "I can
have no further relationship with you. Ligeia knows that no
demoness could ever replace her in my life, but you—I think
I never stopped loving you, but now it must be the love of
friendship. So it is best that you have your own companion.
Tell me his name, and I will try to find him for you."

"Natasha," she said.

He cocked his head. "It is a man? I never thought—"

It was Orb's turn to laugh. "He is a man. He sings—as

well as I do, with the same magic."
"Now I am jealous," Mym said, smiling. "Of course you

must love him."
Lila returned. "They will take up residence in our gar-

Piers Anthony               211

den," she said. "There is a cave that resembles the one they
knew. They say Orb healed one of them."

"He was ill," Orb said.

"I heard you mention Natasha," Lila said.

"Yes. He is the one I—"

"I knew one by that name once," the demoness said.
"Before I departed Hell."

"A demon of Hell?" Orb asked. "Surely a coincidence of
names."

"I hope so. This was no demon. He was a pseudonym of
Satan himself."

Orb's breath caught. Speechless, she stared at the
demoness.

"Orb would not have any interest in Satan!" Mym said.

"I realize that. But I have known Satan for millennia.
It is hard for any living person to appreciate the levels of
his deviousness. If he wished to make an impression on
Orb—"

"He does," Orb said. "He tried to marry me. Natasha
saved me."

"I would not trust that," Lila said. "Such a scene could
readily have been staged."

"But I tested him," Orb protested. "I made him touch
the cross, sing a hymn—that's why he was angry."

Ligeia nodded. "Those are good tests. Surely, then, this
is a legitimate man."

"Not necessarily," Lila said. "While it is true that no
creature of Hell, including Satan, can do these things, Satan
can seem to do them when he chooses to. He could devise
a cross from infernal material—"

"It was a silver cross, worn by a pure-minded friend,"
Orb said.

"That would be very hard for him to get around," Lila
admitted. "Still, he might wear a glove, or even generate an
illusory hand, so that he only appeared to touch it. There
are ways and ways, and Satan knows them all."

Orb was becoming increasingly upset. "I—I think I am
close to loving this man. I can not bear to think that he could
be-"

"Surely he is not," Ligeia said.

But Mym remained doubtful. "It would be better to be
absolutely sure," he said. "Is there any way we can set Orb's




212 Being a Green Mother

mind at ease? The notion of her being with Satan is
appalling."

"He can generate an illusion for any purpose," Lila said.
"Only through his actions can you know him absolutely, for
he is the Incarnation of Evil."

"What action could Satan never take?" Mym asked.

"He could never do genuine good or side with right against
wrong. Evil must do evil, though he may try to clothe it in
a semblance of good."

"Then can we arrange one more test?" Mym asked. "It
has become doubly important to me to set Orb's mind at
ease. I would not have her hurt in any way, for she was my
first love and my salvation. Also, I would not give Satan any
satisfaction of any nature whatsoever; he is my absolute
enemy."

"I don't want any more tests!" Orb said. "I can't even
find Nat now, and if—"

"This is for me more than for you," Mym said. "I must
be assured that you are in good company, on a personal and
professional level."

"Professional level?"

"I am the Incarnation of War," he reminded her. "If Satan
is trying to subvert you, we may be sure it is for nefarious
purpose, and it behooves me to prevent it."

Orb was swayed. She knew that Mym would not play her
false, even if their romance was over. Lila's words had in-
stilled in her a new doubt, and it was indeed best to have it
laid to rest. She did feel guilty, yet still could not see a better
course.

She temporized. "I don't even know where he is, now,"
she said. "Or exactly how I got here. If I sing again, this
reality may tear across, and I'll be lost again."

"The Llano is a dangerous tool," Lila said. "You have
to use it properly, or reality does get compromised."

"You know of it?" Mym asked her. "I have heard of it,
but never had experience with it."

"The Llano can move a person in and out of Hell itself,"
the demoness said. "It is one of the fundamental tools of
magic. The tiniest portion of it can work what some call
miracles. When she misapplied it, naturally she was in trou-
ble. But all she has to do is neutralize the imperfection, and
the problem will end."

Piers Anthony               213

"You know how to do that?" Orb asked, excited.

"That much, yes," Lila said. "Of course it won't work
for me, because of my origin, and I don't know the rest of
it, but that much I picked up from a former lover, some
centuries back. It's just an elementary countertheme that
resets things at their nominal values."

"Will you teach it to me?"

"Certainly. It goes like this." She paused. "Justamoment
while I assume my singing form." She shimmered, and was
abruptly in the form of a stout opera singer, complete with
medieval robe.

She sang a rather simple melody that nevertheless had an
eerie quality. It lasted only a few bars.

"That's it?" Orb asked.

"That's it," the demoness said, shifting back to her sultry,
sexy format. "As I said, it can have no effect when I sing
it, but you should be able to make it work. It's the same
theme the Purgatory Computer now uses to cancel its own
glitches, but it long predates the computer."

Orb sang it, exactly as she heard it. She felt the magic
operating, subtly adjusting what was around her, as if some-
thing that had been unseated was now settling into its proper
place.

"I felt it!" Lila said. "Now you can travel under control."
"You mean I can use the same mechanism to change vol-
untarily?" Orb asked. "I can go to any of those settings?"
"Of course. Wasn't that what you intended to do before?"
"No. I just got caught up in it."

"That must have been a harrowing experience," Ligeia
said sympathetically.

"It was. If I hadn't happened to land here, there's no tell-
ing where I would have finished."

"Oh, you would have been all right," the demoness said.
"You were just skipping randomly about the globe. You

would have come to somewhere you recognized,
eventually."

"But there was danger everywhere I went!" Orb said.
"Bad waves, cave-ins, or satyrs chasing me in a bed-
room—" Now, belatedly, she became aware of her attire:

the demons' fur draped somewhat haphazardly across
her bare body. She must be a sight!

"Probably because of the error in the Llano," Lila said.




214           Being a Green Mother

"It tended to put you at the dangerous fringe of reality. This
site is no exception: Purgatory is the brink of Hell for many

souls."
"Do you—I'm not properly dressed—" Orb said,

embarrassed.
"Of course, my dear," Ligeia said immediately. "I have

many suitable gowns. Except—"

"They won't hold up beyond Purgatory," Lila finished.
"Because they are of supernatural stuff. Let me make her
present material into an outfit." She approached.

"But I can't take it off!" Orb protested, glancing at Mym.
"No need," Lila said. "He's gotten quite enough ogling
for this hour." She touched the fur, and it writhed, changing
shape on Orb, becoming a snugly fitting sleeveless dress.

"You are a well-formed woman."
"Mym's taste runs to that," Orb said, glancing at each of

the other females significantly.
"But only your flesh is mortal," Ligeia said. "Therein lies

its special appeal."

"Yours is mortal!" Mym told her.

Ligeia put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, so it is, now! I
forgot! I animated a mortal body for you." She turned to
him. "So why were you ogling her, dear?"

"She didn't realize what she was showing," he said,

shamefacedly.

"And there we have the voyeuristic truth of the male na-
ture," Ligeia said. "Always seeking the illicit thrill. I'm sure
he never stared like that when you offered it to him openly,
Orb." She frowned. "Do you realize what this means?"
"I'm banished to the harem," Mym said, chastened.
Ligeia turned to Lila. "Can you assume the form of a

zombie?"
"Of course," the demoness agreed, "Exactly how rotten

did you have in mind?"

Then, seeing Mym's look of horror, all three women burst
out laughing. "Actually, I can play the role perfectly well
myself," Ligeia said. "I was dead a long time before he

rescued me from Hell."

Obviously Ligeia was very sure of her man. Orb envied
her the relationship, and not just because it was with Mym,

"If I may change the subject," Mym said determinedly,

Piers Anthony               215

"we do have a test to run. Let me look up this man Na-
tasha." He turned and walked into the castle.

"I tease him, but he is a good man," Ligeia said.

"I know," Orb agreed.

"Is it true you had his baby?"

"It is true," Orb said, surprised. "How did you know?"

"I looked you up in the record, of course. I thought it best
to learn his past history. It was terrible, what happened to
you."

"I suppose I can't object, since my mother is Fate."
"Dp you know why Satan should be interested in you?"
"There was an old prophecy, dating from before my birth,
that indicated I might marry Evil," Orb said. "I suppose
that attracted his attention."

"It could simply be the challenge of it," Lila said. "Satan
has no shortage of women, demon, dead, and mortal alike.
But like our Incarnation here, he prefers what is forbidden.
A lovely mortal woman, daughter of an Incarnation, fore-
warned against him—there, perhaps, is the ultimate
challenge."

"And so it can remain," Orb said hotly. "I have absolutely
no interest in the Prince of Evil!"

"Of course you don't," Ligeia agreed.

Mym emerged from the castle. "I found a listing for a male
singer named Natasha," he said. "That must be him. I noted
his summoning theme, so Orb can reach him."

"Summoning theme?" Orb asked.

"Every person has one," Mym explained. "That's how
we Incarnations locate individuals accurately and quickly.
I'm sure Thanatos and Fate couldn't operate without that
tool."

"And what of the test, dear?" Ligeia inquired.

"There is an action coming up now," he said. "An en-
croachment on a reservation that could escalate into blood-
shed. I was going to squelch it outright, but it should do for
this purpose. The sides of good and evil are solidly estab-
lished. Satan is unable to associate with good, so if he's
involved, it will be clear enough."

"A possible escalation into war—and you wish to sup-
press it?" Orb asked, surprised.

"An irony," he responded. "As Mars, I try to control war,




226           Being a Green Mother

not incite it. Otherwise much evil would accrue, as Satan

well knows."
"And you say I can summon Nat?" Orb asked, not at ease

about this.
"Yes. I suggest you bring him to the site and ask him for

help in righting wrong. A true mortal will be able to do that;

Satan will not."

"But if I test him again—"

"I will intercede," Mym said. "He will listen to me."
She sighed. "I hope so. I don't want another man taken

from me in the manner of the first."

"I think your mother would not do that to you again," he
said. "Actually, she was not in the office when it happened.

Now take my hand."
She took his hand. A great red sword appeared in his free

hand, glowing. Then the scene was moving around them,
with blurred rapidity. Suddenly they were standing at the
fringe of an American Indian village. Women and children
were packing dried herbs, evidently preparing them for sale.

"They are magic herbs," Mym explained. "The native
Indian magic remains the most potent; they have had many
generations to perfect it. Those herbs are extraordinarily val-
uable and represent the major source of income for the

tribe."
"Why aren't they reacting to us?" Orb asked.

"We are invisible and inaudible. You will become evident
to them when you lose physical contact with me; my sword
does it. But first I must give you the summoning theme. The

action is just about to break."
"But isn't there danger, then?"
He brought out a colored stone. "Hold this; it will protect

you from physical harm."
She took it. "It looks like one of the Magician's charms

that Luna inherited."
"It relates," he agreed. "Now here is the theme." He

hummed a brief melody.

"That will summon Natasha?" she asked doubtfully.
"It will," he assured her. "Be ready; the raiders are on

their way." He turned loose her hand.
Orb walked toward the Indians. "Hello," she called.

"May I see your wares?"

Piers Anthony               217

The Indians turned to her, surprised, for they had not seen
her arrive.

Then a carpet sailed in, one of the large utility models,
supporting four rough-looking men. They carried rifles and
pistols. One of them fired into the air. "That stuff is ours!"
he cried.

The Indians were stunned. Their braves were not present;

the packing was women's work. They had no weapons.

The carpet landed beside the table. The men began grab-
bing at the bags of herbs.

A young woman approached them. "Please," she said.
"Those herbs—we have labored all season to grow and har-
vest and prepare them, so their magic would be strong. Our
tribe will starve if—"

One of the men whirled on her. "Shut up, squaw!" he
said, tossing a bag into a bin on the carpet. Then he took a
second look. The woman was lovely, the very picture of the
Indian maiden, her black hair braided with bright beads.
"Second thought, I'll take you, too."

The maiden screamed, but the man produced a rope and
trussed her up and tossed her onto the carpet. "You're going
to be a lot of fun, breaking in, before I put you on the slave
market," he grunted.

Another man spotted Orb. "Hey, there's one for me!" he
exclaimed, stepping toward her.

But Orb had seen more than enough. She sang the sum-
moning melody.

Suddenly Natasha was there, looking startled. "Who—
why—?"

"I did it," Orb said. "These men are stealing these In-
dians' livelihood, and their women, too. We must stop
them!"

"But—"

"It's a plain case of good against evil," Orb said. "Don't
you agree?"

"Hey, who's this character?" the first woman-stealing
man demanded.

"Is she right?" Nat demanded in return. "Are you stealing
what belongs to these Indians?"

"Yeah," the man said, drawing his pistol. "You object?"

Nat looked at Orb, then at the bound Indian woman.
"What do you plan to do with the captive?"

218           Being a Green Mother

The man laughed. "Hey, you a pansy? Whatcha think I'm
going to do with the squaw?" He brought the gun to bear.
"Then I must ask you to desist," Nat said. "What you

are doing is wrong."

"Bye-bye, pansy," the man said, and pulled the trigger.
But as he did so, Natasha started to sing. It sounded like

another aspect of the Song of Day, but it had more of an

edge to it.

The effect was electric. The man froze in place, his finger
not quite completing its pull on the trigger. The others also
stood where they were, not moving. The sound mesmerized
them, as it did Orb; it was impossible to act while it

dominated.

Then it intensified. Nat's voice seemed to fill the universe
with its power, making the trees shiver and the ground re-
verberate. He faced the men, and the men crumpled and fell,
their eyes staring unblinkingly into the sky. The effect was
directed, for Orb did not fall, and neither did the Indian

women and children.

Then Nat eased off and finally let the song expire. The
four raiders were unconscious, sprawled around the carpet.

"Let's get this trash out," Nat said. He grabbed a man
by sleeve and foot and heaved him onto the carpet.

Orb went to the bound woman, quickly untying her. Then
the two of them unloaded the bags of herbs, while Nat at-
tended to the other men. Soon all the bags were back on the
table, and all the men were piled ignominiously on the carpet.

Then Nat stood on the carpet and sang again. This time
it was a variant of the travel theme. The outlines of all of
them and the carpet fuzzed and then were gone.

The Indians stared. "I think he's taking them some-
where," Orb said.

Mym appeared. "I apologize for my suspicion," he said.
"That man acted for good." He shook his head. "I thought
you were being generous when you said he could sing as well
as you could, but though his voice is different, it is hardly
inferior. He is surely a proper match for you."

Natasha reappeared, coalescing at the spot he had left. He
was now alone. "I deposited them in Siberia, the Russian
steppe," he said with satisfaction. "They will have a very
difficult time getting free of that! Over there, they don't cod-
dle criminals—" He broke off, spotting Mym.

Piers Anthony               219

"This is Mars," Orb said quickly.

"The Incarnation of War?" Nat asked, seeming not en-
tirely pleased. "Aren't you a trifle late?"

"He—I knew him before," Orb said.

"You were involved in war?"

"We were lovers," Mym said.

Nat's mouth hardened. "I never inquired into her past
history," he said. "It wasn't my business."

Orb saw any possible reconciliation going up in smoke.
"Nat, please, let me explain! It was years ago, before I knew
you, and it's over! He—he has a princess consort and a mis-
tress now."

Nat's grimness did not abate. "You, an Incarnation, daz-
zled an innocent mortal woman, then threw her over for a
princess?"

"He wasn't an Incarnation then," Orb said desperately.
"He didn't throw me over! He was a prince in hiding, and
he stuttered, and I had his baby—"

Nat turned to her. "That seems more than a passing
flirtation."

Mym nodded. "It was love. I would have died for her.
But my father would have had her killed; I had to leave,
though I wronged her grievously. Now, as she said, it is
over."

"It doesn't look over," Nat said.

"Nat, please!" Orb repeated.

Mym's giant red sword reappeared in his hand. "Do you
call me liar, sir?" The Sword brightened ominously, and a
trace of blood appeared at his lip.

"No, Mym, no!" Orb cried, knowing what the blood por-
tended. He was a berserker!

Nat considered for an awful moment. "I would not call
an Incarnation a liar," he said at last.

Mym relaxed. "Allow me to clarify. I will never stop lov-
ing Orb; she is the finest mortal woman I have known. But
what was an affair has become a deep friendship, and I have
no romantic designs on her, nor she on me. We each have
developed other interests. I want only what is best for her."

"I appreciate the clarification," Nat said.

"Can't you see she loves you?" Mym flared.

"No!" Orb cried, appalled.

"No?" Nat asked, turning again to her.

220

Being a Green Mother

she

A gulf of sorts opened around her. "Please

whispered.
"I shouldn't have spoken," Mym said. "I shall depart."

He disappeared.

"I thought you thought I was a demon," Nat said.

"I wronged you," Orb said. "I was looking for you, and
got lost, and found Mym, and—oh, please, don't go again!"

"I suppose a person has to be more careful about love
than about mere acquaintance, especially when a prior re-
lationship has been destroyed."

Orb stood there, feeling naked, feeling the tears on her

face. "Nat, you once asked to court me. ..."

Abruptly he smiled. "And shall again!" he said. "I shall
sing you the Song of Evening." Without further preamble

he broke into song.
It was a theme like the Song of the Morning, and like the

Song of Day, but warmer than either and more tender. The
melody of it spread out, bringing a kind of twilight that in-
tensified the scene. The Indian women stood rapt, becoming
beautiful, the beads in their hair glowing. The trees of the
nearby grove were preternaturally green and clear. The sand
was golden. The hues of early sunset spread across the sky.

Orb had never experienced a song like this. It lifted her
up, warmed her, suffused her with its tender emotion, and
made her an utterly feeling creature. Her gaze fixed on Nat
as he sang, and he seemed to glow like the sun, so handsome
that the pleasure of his visage coursed through and through
her. He had called it the Song of Evening, but she recognized

its other identification: the Song of Love.

She moved toward him as if floating on a cloud, her arms
spread. The doubt in her faded, banished by the delightful
fire that was spreading from her heart to her bosom and to
her whole being. As the song finished, the seeming night
closed in, and she came into his arms.

She did love him.




13-

GREEN MOTHER

"You found him," Jezebel said as Orb coalesced into the
kitchen.

"How did you know?" Orb asked, facetiously, looking at
the middle-aged woman.

"The whole fish brightened by two magnitudes when you
arrived," the succubus said.

"I'm in love."

"What else is new? Can you eat?"

"Of course not!"

"Try, anyway." And the woman set about the poaching
of two eggs in the air, not bothering with stove or pot. Orb
found that she could, after all, eat.

The others came in. "When's the wedding?" Lou-Mae
inquired.

Orb choked on her egg.

Betsy laughed. "Not this afternoon, then."

"Am I wearing a sign?" Orb demanded. "I just discovered
my own feelings, and here all of you—"

"We're teasing," Lou-Mae explained. "You were the
only one of the party hunting, and we're so glad it's over."

"Tell us everything," Betsy said eagerly.

Orb raised her hands in surrender. She told them every-

221




222

Being a Green Mother

Piers Anthony

223

thing. "And now I must tell my mother," she said as she
concluded.

A spider appeared, growing as it slid down its thread,
transforming into Niobe. "She already knows," she said.

"Oops! I forgot your office! You were watching my

thread!"

"Only passingly, dear; it is only one of millions." Niobe
smiled. "But a special one."

"Nat's not a demon," Orb said.

Niobe paused, as if something odd had happened. Then
she regrouped. "I really came on other business. You see,
your thread is now taking a significant direction, and I think
it is time for you to be aware of this."

"Is this something that is not our business?" Lou-Mae
asked. "We can leave."

"No, my dear," Niobe said. "It may be your business."
She shimmered, and her grandmotherly form appeared: a
large black woman. "You bet, honey," this figure agreed.
Then she changed into a young and very pretty oriental girl.
"Yes, true," she said. "We know of youth and love, too."

Lou-Mae took this in stride, having encountered Fate be-
fore, as did the three males, but Betsy's eyes grew round.

Orb touched her hand. "My mother is an Aspect of Fate,"
she explained. "There are three Aspects: Clotho, Lachesis,
and Atropos. They spin the threads of life, measure them,
and cut them; they also partake of the different ages of life.
It seems that this is a business visit."

Niobe reappeared. "You see, Orb, you are destined to
assume the office of the most powerful of the Earthly In-
carnations—Nature. You may have noticed your powers

increasing."

Now it was Orb's turn to be astonished. "An Incarna-
tion—me?"

"Some come to their office almost randomly, as with
Death, who kills his predecessor, or Time, who simply takes
the Hourglass. But some are destined for their office because
of what they are. Gaea is ready to retire, and you are the
one with the capacity to take her place. Your magic operates
through music; as you approach the office, your power in-
creases. Already you are able to do much of what the Green
Mother does; and soon you will do more."

"But it's the Llano!" Orb protested. "The song is the
mechanism; without it I have no special abilities."

"True only to a degree," Niobe said. "The Llano is one
of the world's most versatile and potent tools, but only a
few possess the ability to use it. You have shown that ability.
You can use it, but you can also go beyond it, as you perfect
your skill, and apply the principles of natural magic more
directly. The song is merely a useful guideline during your
learning stage. You are the candidate."

"But I never sought—never imagined—"

"Neither did I, dear. But now it has become plain. You
are very near the point of decision; if you choose not to
assume die office, you will have to guide your course
accordingly."

"But I'm in love with a mortal man!"

Niobe nodded. "Nor do I for a moment disparage that. I
was an Incarnation and I came to love a mortal man; I left
my office in order to marry him, and you were the result. I
.have never regretted that decision. But I made it when I was
well informed. Now it is necessary for you to be similarly
informed, as you make your decision."

"You mean I can't—can't marry and be an Incarnation?"

"Oh, it is possible for an Incarnation to marry," Niobe
said. "But there are considerations. An Incarnation is frozen
at her present level; she never ages, never dies—and can't
have children."

"No children," Orb repeated numbly.

"While her mortal spouse does age and die and could sire
offspring—with a mortal woman. That is why I stepped
down, dear. I could have married your father and kept my
office, but I could never have given him the attention he
deserved, and you would not have come into being. Of
course I had already borne a child; still—"

And Orb had borne a child. But to be denied the ability
to bear another, one she could keep and raise as part of a
family—that horrified her. "Are you saying that I must turn
down the office?"

"By no means, dear. I am merely trying to impress on you
the gravity of your decision. You can marry, you can become
Nature, you can do both, or do neither—but the distinctions
between the four situations are significant. I believe you
should discuss these matters with your friends and take all




224           Being a Green Mother

the time you need to come to your best understanding of the

alternatives."

"We don't know anything about this!" Lou-Mae pro-
tested. "We would not presume to—"

The grandmotherly Aspect, Atropos, reappeared. "You
going to marry your man while he's on H, child?"

"No!" Lou-Mae said, her lip trembling. "But—"

Atropos pointed at Orb. "As Nature, she can take him off
H, permanently. That's why this is your business."

Lou-Mae looked at the drummer. "Oh, Danny-Boy!" she
exclaimed. "If she could do that—"

The pretty oriental girl, Clotho, appeared. "And you,"
she said, looking at Jezebel. "As Nature, she could abate
your curse permanently and give you control over your form

by day and night."
The succubus reeled as if struck. "I would sell my soul,

if I had one, for that!"

Niobe, the Lachesis Aspect, returned. "And you, dear,"
she said to Betsy, "could have ideal weather at your farm,
permanently, if she chose it—as well as a man free of

addiction."
"But I have not been able to do these things!" Orb said.

"Anything I do is only temporary."

"The fact that you can do them even on a temporary basis
is indicative," Niobe said. "As Nature, your powers would
be enormously increased. You could restore sight to the
blind, mortality to those cursed with immortality, and youth
to an old tree. Anything within the scope of your office—
and that is a great deal indeed. It is no minor position you

contemplate."

Orb sat back, her thoughts whirling. Such power!
'^Consider well, my child," Niobe said. Then she became

the spider, and the spider climbed up the thread and

disappeared.

"I guess it is our business!" Lou-Mae said. "All those
dreams, for all of us! We thought the Llano, but it's you who

can do it."

"I've got to think!" Orb exclaimed, tormented. "It's so
easy to misuse power, and I know so little about it! I never
realized when I sought the Llano—!" She sang the travel
theme, and in a moment was on the far, deserted island
where she had encountered the traveling sponge.

Piers Anthony               225

But in another moment Natasha was there. She flung her-
self into his embrace. "Oh, Nat, suddenly it's so compli-
cated!" she exclaimed. "I thought the world was mine, when
I loved you, but now—"

"I sensed your disquiet," he said. "That's why I came."

"I am to be an Incarnation, like my mother—if I choose.
But then I could not have a family and would not age."

"Would not age?" he asked, hardly displeased. "You
would always be as you are now?"

Orb had to flush. He was of course a man, much concerned
with a woman's form. "But I could not have another baby,"
she reminded him.

He frowned. "Could you perhaps have the baby, then as-
sume the office?"

"No!" Orb cried in sudden anguish, remembering how she
had to give away Orlene. "I want a real family! I want to
devote myself to my baby, to raise it to maturity, as my
mother raised me!"

"Of course," he said, chastened.

"But oh, there is so much good I might do, if I assume
the office!"

"I will love you as a mortal or as an Incarnation,"
Nat said. "I can not make this choice for you. But I won-
der—"

"Yes? You have a notion?"

"It seems to me that you already can do a great deal.
Perhaps you can accomplish much of the good you wish,
without giving up your mortality."

Orb thought about that. "I suppose I could try. But you
know, the Llano gives you similar powers. I wonder—"

"I am not destined for the office of Nature!" he exclaimed,
laughing. "I have quested for the Llano since childhood and
rehearsed every fragment of it I have found, over and over.
I have done all I can with it; progress is always slower than
before. I am at my limit. But you—you hear a theme once,
and it works for you as well as it ever has for me! Your
potential is much greater than mine. I would be jealous, if
you weren't so beautiful." Then he sobered. "Or are you
saying that you have outgrown me already? I would not try
to hold you, if—"

"Oh, no, Nat, no!" she cried, kissing him.

"Then you might try the things you wish to, and that will




226 Being a Green Mother

give you a clearer notion of your choices. I will abide your
decision, whatever it may be."

"You are most kind, Nat," she said. "I will try."

She returned to Jonah. "My powers have been increas-
ing," she announced. "Now I know what they are leading
toward. I was not able to do some things before, but maybe
now I can. Are you willing to experiment?"

The drummer stepped forward. "You know what I want,"
he said. "If you want to try, I sure do."

Lou-Mae glanced sidelong at him. "You are talking about
H?" she inquired archly, and the others laughed.

Jonah swam to ground, and they debarked. The experi-
ment had to be conducted outside of Jonah, to ensure that
it was not the big fish's magic operating.

Orb tried the Song of Evening, that she had just learned.
The sound of it had confirmed her burgeoning love for Na-
tasha; could it abate the dread addiction, for the sake of love?
She willed the craving for H to be banished from her subject,
the drummer.

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

The drummer screamed.

Startled, Orb cut short her song.

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

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

From him something came. It looked like a ghostly snake,
its head rocking back and forth as if seeking something to
strike at. But the melody hauled it forth, drawing it on out
of the body. It was the H addiction, struggling all the way,
inflicting the punishment of its withdrawal. It glared balefully
around, remaining hooked in by its tail, like a moray eel.

Piers Anthony               227

Then the theme became too much for it, and it let go and
puffed into smoke. The drummer fell to the ground.

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

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

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

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

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

He brightened. "Yen! No more unicorns!"

"Shut your mouth!" But she was smiling.

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

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

"And me," Jezebel said.

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

"Nat, where are you?" she whispered.

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

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

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

"You know about Jonah? How is that?"

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

"But he's helping me!" Orb said.

"Because you have the potential I lack."

"Or because I danced the tanana for him."

Nat pursed his lips. "Yes, I had forgotten you know that

dance! Some time you must dance it with me! But beware;

it—"

"Drives men mad with desire," she concluded, laughing.
"I will save it for some suitable occasion." One of the things




228           Being a Green Mother

she liked about Nat was his conduct; he never tried to take
advantage of her, either by the straying of his hands or by
suggestion. She knew he desired her, but he was too dis-
ciplined to allow it to show aggressively. He reminded her
of Mym in that respect; that seemed to make Mym's en-
dorsement more significant.

"I should not remain here," he said, confirming her

assessment.
"I thought I was tired, but I can't rest," she said. "Is

there somewhere we can go?"
"There is all the world. Perhaps you should visit your

friends."
"I'd like that," she agreed. "But it gets so complicated,

expanding to the size of the globe, then orienting on the tiny
mote that is my destination. I don't know where all my
friends are and wouldn't want to intrude uninvited."

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

travel."
"It does? All I know is the expansion and the tear-sheet

settings that occurred when I misused it."

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

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

thrilled.
"For example, the theme I just used to hear you speak

my name. You must think of the person to whom you wish
to attune, then sing this melody." He sang a brief, strange,
evocative tune. "Thereafter you will hear if that person
speaks your name or even thinks of you with more than

passing interest. Then—"

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

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

"Does it work for nonhuman folk, too?"

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

229

Piers Anthony

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, I didn't mean to embarrass you! I didn't real-
ize—"

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

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

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

"Someone's thinking of me!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tinka turned as if unsurprised. She was fuller in the body




230           Being a Green Mother

than she had been, quite buxom. "I wanted to show you my

baby."
Her baby! Orb had forgotten. She had perhaps enabled the

giri to become fertile; of course she should meet the baby!

Tinka showed her to the crib. There was a healthy baby
boy, sleeping. Orb realized that the woman's increase in

bosom was because she was nursing.
"If you could tell me what he looks like—" Tinka said

wistfully.
"He's beautiful!" Orb exclaimed. But she felt a siege of

her heart, abruptly reminded of her own baby, Orlene. To
have been able to keep her, to raise her ...
"I never really missed my sight, until. . ."
Orb banished her own discomfort. "You must have it!"
she exclaimed. She took Tinka's hands and sang the Song
of Morning, willing the Gypsy to see what she was seeing.

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

warming it.

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

the dawn!" she whispered.

"What do you see now?"

"It is dark again. But for a while—"

"You have the magic," Orb said. "Sing with me." She
held on to Tinka's hands and began the Song of Morning

again.
Tinka joined her, for she did have the magic and could

pick up any melody immediately. The strength of the pulse
going through them doubled, the magic reaching out and in,
permeating their bodies. The sunrise manifested with greater

intensity, and the flowers seemed real.

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

Piers Anthony               231

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

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

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

"Look at your son," Orb said.

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

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

Orb's will and Tinka's readiness had shaped it.

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

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

Nat was gone, but she thought his name, and he appeared.
"Oh, Nat, I went to her and I saw her baby and I cured her
blindness!" Orb exclaimed. "I used a power of Nature!"
'I am glad for you."
'I really should rest now."
'Yes, you should."
'Let's go somewhere."
'Anywhere you wish."

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

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

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

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

"Exactly as you just did."




232           Being a Green Mother

"But I don't want to disturb her life. I just want to see."
Nat smiled. "If you use the expansion-travel theme, but
do not coalesce completely, you will be invisible and inau-
dible, like a ghost. In fact, that is how ghosts do it, but they
are capable of no more, generally. This way." He sang and

faded out.
Orb tried it. Instead of expanding, she simply lost mass,

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

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

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

"As you wish."
Orb moved into the page-turning theme, orienting on Or-

tene, and in a moment was there. Nat stood beside her.

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

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

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

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

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

"But she is your child."

"Not any more. I must let her have her own life. I can
see she is well cared for; Tinka gave her to a good family.

No, I must leave her alone."

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

The tour of the Livin' Sludge continued, and its success
continued. The magic enchanted audiences of every type.

Piers Anthony               233

But the group knew that their association was coming to a
conclusion, because Orb had found the Llano and would in
due course be assuming the office for which she was
destined.

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

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

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

Meanwhile, her powers of magic grew. She could make
the weather change with little more than the thought of a
given melody; a more involved effort had caused the pattern
of the climate in the neighborhood of Betsy's farm to become
regular, so that there were neither droughts nor floods to
destroy the crops. But once she had done favors for her
friends, she became dissatisfied; there was too much grief
and hunger and mysery in the world. The problem of drug
addiction was not limited to the Livin' Sludge, and the prob-




234           Being a Green Mother

lem of physical impairment not limited to Tinka's blindness.
How could she deal with these things on a spot basis, while
neglecting their far worse aspects on the global basis?

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

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

your friends."

"But have you told Natasha?" Jezebel asked.
"He said he could accept whatever I decided."
"Men do say that, but they don't always mean it. Better

tell him soon."

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

island.

He smiled at her. "You have decided."

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

"Then I will have something to ask you, and something

to tell you," he said gravely.

"Ask me now, and tell me now," she invited him.
He smiled. "These are not minor matters. Assume your

office; then I will say what I must say."
"But you said you could accept my decision!" she said,

alarmed.

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

"If you don't want me to be Nature—"

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

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

you, Natasha!"

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

"I think we shall have the proof of that soon enough."
"If only you would tell me what is bothering you, before
I—before it is too late to change my mind!"
He simply shrugged.
Nettled, she turned the page to a far place, the snowy top

Piers Anthony               235

of the mountain she had visited when her travels had been
uncontrolled. There she spread her arms and opened her
desire; she would be Gaea.

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

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

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

She felt herself tugged. She went where summoned and
came to her residence in Purgatory. It most resembled a giant
tree, but its appearance was malleable; it could be whatever
she wanted. The prior Gaea had left it for her.

A young man was by the entrance. "I represent your
staff," he said. "I am a lesser Incarnation; we thought it best
that I handle the transition, until you are comfortable in the
office. The staff consists of souls trained to serve you; they
will continue to serve, or will retire in favor of replacements
you may choose."

"Who are you?" she asked, surprised. "You look
familiar."

"I should; I have just interacted with you. I am Eros."

"Eros! The—?"

"Incarnation of Love," he agreed.

Orb decided to set aside the implications for the moment.
"You know how this office is run?"

"I know how it has been run. All decisions are yours, but
we will help in whatever way you require. Perhaps you will
want to interview the other lesser Incarnations who work
with you, such as Phobos, Deimos, Hope—"

"In due course," Orb said. "I have one matter to settle
before I get into it. Can you keep things on an even course
for now?"

236

Being a Green Mother

"If you direct, Gaea."

"Do so. I will return shortly." Orb knew she should get
on into the mastery of her office, for it was important, but
she simply couldn't wait to settle with Natasha.

She turned the page back to the isle. He was there. "I am
Gaea," she said. "Now talk to me."

"Now there must be truth between us," he said.

"There has not been before?" she asked archly.

"There has not. I will explain. You must withhold your
answer until you have heard the explanation."

"I will withhold my answer," she agreed.

"Gaea, I am asking you to marry me."

Orb relaxed. She had grown afraid he had changed his
mind! But, heeding his caution, she did not answer.

"Now I must tell you that our relationship has been based
on a he. I am not the man I have represented to you. The
testing of the prophecy is now upon us."

"The prophecy?" she asked blankly.

"That you might marry Evil."

"But—"

"Spell my name backwards."

Orb pieced it out. "Natasha. AHSATAN."

"And punctuate it. Ah, Satan. That is the realization of
the truth. I am an Incarnation, as you are now. The Incar-
nation of Evil."

Appalled, Orb stared at him. Her worst horror was facing
her—in the aspect of the man she loved.




14-

FORBIDDEN SONG

"You are naturally confused," Nat said. "That is why you
must hear my explanation. The attempt to void a valid proph-
ecy can be a treacherous thing. When the Incarnations as-
certained that the prophecy relating to Luna's relationship
with Death and your relationship with Evil was valid, they
were of course horrified. But it was not an absolute. It con-
tained the qualifier 'may.' That meant there was doubt—and
therefore room for negotiation."

"Negotiation!" Orb snorted.

"In the course of protecting Luna from My interference,
your mother compromised her position on you. She prom-
ised to guide your thread away from politics, and I promised
never to harm you. It was understood that this represented
her acquiescence to My interest in you."

"Mother wouldn't—!"

"Of course, upon reconsideration, she regretted this, as
did the other Incarnations, especially Mars, when he learned
of it."

"Mars? Mym said you were a good man!"
"Not exactly. At any rate, I naturally inspected you more
closely thereafter—and perceived your destiny as the In-
carnation of Nature. Then My interest increased. I saw, too,




238 Being a Green Mother

that you were very like your mother, in her prior session as
an Incarnation. She was the most beautiful woman of her
generation, a terrible thorn in My side, but I confess to be-
coming somewhat smitten with her along the way."

"Niobe would never—!"

He nodded. "True, true. She would have nothing to do
with Me. But when I saw how you resembled her, in ap-
pearance and mannerism, I knew I could be attracted to you
as I was to her. Then it occurred to Me that a union between
the Incarnations of Evil and Nature—"

"No!"

"Would give dominance of the mortal realm to Me. At last
I had the opportunity to defeat Mine ancient antagonist.
Therefore—"

"No! No!" Orb cried, understanding.

"Naturally the Incarnations opposed this suit. But Niobe
had already compromised your thread, and there was the
prophecy, whose application had suddenly clarified. Thus it
was we negotiated. We set up a compromise, whereby I
would be permitted to court you without interference from
any other Incarnation—"

"They would never—"

"My dear, they thought I would fail. Because I agreed to
court you wholly by lies, which are of course My specialty.
I was required to lie to you at every turn, until the end. The
end is now, and for the first time I am telling you the truth.
I am Satan, the Incarnation of Evil, and I love you and want
to marry you."

Orb was unable to accept this. Was Nat testing her love
for him by making an impossible claim? How should she deal
with this? All she could think of at the moment was to accept
his statement as a starting place and explore it until the flaw
was revealed.

"You say you are Satan and you lied to me throughout.
But the aspects of the Llano you taught me are valid; they
do work. I have been healing people, traveling in new
ways—"

"I must clarify the levels of deceit I have employed. It is
of course impossible to make every aspect of a situation a
lie; there would be conflicts and paradoxes that would
quickly render it nonsense. A lie has to be structured, in-
ternally consistent, so as to have the greatest final impact.

Piers Anthony               239

Thus a lie is mostly truth, ironically. When the parts of a lie
are verifiable as truth, it lends credence to the lie and gives
it far more power than it would otherwise have. You might
think of it as a mathematical analogy: negative numbers can-
cel each other out, but a structure of positive numbers that
is then assigned a negative value is negative. Lies cancel out,
while truth augments itself, but a structure of truth given a
false value is the most potent lie of all."
"I think you are leaving me behind," Orb said.
"What I told you of the Llano is true. But my purpose in
telling you those truths was false. By showing you spot
truths, I was deceiving you in a far more fundamental fash-
ion. For one thing, I was encouraging you to believe that I
was not Satan. Thus those minor truths were contributing
to the greater lie."

"But I tested you! I proved that you could not be a demon
or Satan!"

"It was no valid test; it only deceived you."

"Now that I can't accept! I had you touch a silver cross,
sing a hymn—"

Nat nodded. "I realize how difficult this is for you, but I
must make you understand the truth now. I used a device
the Incarnations had not anticipated. I took you into three
extensive visions, and the visions were lies though their parts
were true. Little within those visions was valid in the real
worid."

"You are confusing me again!" she said hotly. This was
evidently some sort of game, and she liked it not at all, but
she had to play it through. "What were these visions?"

"Each was associated with a song: the Song of Awak-
ening, the Song of Power, and the Song of Love. Three of
the five major themes of the Llano, the Song of Songs, if
you care to call it that. I lied to you when I said I knew only
fragments of the Llano; I know all of it, but I can only use
fragments."

"Five themes?" Orb asked, distracted for the moment by
this information. "What are the other two?"

"The Songs of Loss and Dissolution. You would call them
Night and Chaos. But you would not want to sing them."

"Why not?"

"Orb, this is straying from the subject. It is my duty now




240           Being a Green Mother

to make you understand and believe the deceit I have prac-
ticed upon you, so that—"

"Teach me those songs," Orb said abruptly.

He looked flustered. "Gaea, I am trying to tell you the
truth, and those themes are only mischief! I am the Lord of
Mischief; I know! The themes of the Llano equate roughly
to the five Elements, or the five Kingdoms, and as you know,
some of those are dangerous. There may come an occasion
when you have use for the Song of Night, but never for the
Song of Chaos, and I would be deceiving you anew if I—"

"Five Elements?" Again the detail distracted her from the
main thrust, as her mind sought relief from the awful truth
that was encroaching on it.

"And five Kingdoms. But—"

"Animal, Vegetable, Mineral..."

"Demon and Spirit," he finished. "But the correspon-
dence is only apparent, not substantive. Actually, every
theme of the Llano aligns with every Element and Kingdom,
forming the basis of the enormous power of Nature, once
you leam to use it. That will take years, decades, but—"

"You say you are telling me the truth now," she said
grimly. "Teach me those songs, then."

He sighed. "How hard it is for Satan to do good even by

indirection! If it must be—"

"It must." Orb knew she was grasping at something ir-
relevant to the main issue, but her need now was to establish
some basis for belief, to feel at least partly in control. To
make Nat do her bidding, instead of telling her what she

abhorred.
"Then I will teach them to you. But I beg of you, consult

with the other Incarnations before you invoke Night, and
never invoke Chaos, for it is forbidden."

"Then why does it exist?"

"Because it is the ultimate weapon against Me," he said
reluctantly. "When all else fails—but believe Me, the cost
is too great! I love you, Gaea, and—"

"Get on with it."

He sang the Song of Night. Darkness closed about them,
like the gloom of absolute negation; nothing was visible or
audible, and there seemed to be no sensation of any other
kind. Only when he finished did the sensations of existence

return.

Piers Anthony               241

"But if you sang it, it would not be mere illusion," he
said. "It would—"

"And the other?"

He sang the song of Chaos. This time there was no effect;

it was just a melody that bore an evident affiliation with the
Songs of Morning, Day, Evening, and Night, but had a bro-
ken beat that gave it an uncanny awkwardness. Orb did not
like it at all, but it was certainly no horror.

"That's it?" she asked, disappointed.

"It has no power for me. Or for anyone. Only for Gaea.
Each Incarnation has one weapon against which no other
Incarnation can stand, not even Me, not even Mine ancient
rival. The Song of Chaos is the Green Mother's weapon. But
I urge you, I plead with you, I beg you, Gaea—never invoke
it! You have already made a captive of Me."

"But if what you say is true, you are my ultimate enemy!"
she exclaimed. "And if it is not—"

"It is true. Every experience you had in association with
the learning of the first three songs was part of their visions,
and so each was a lie, but this is the truth."

"But the songs worked for me when I wasn't with you! I
cured Tinka's blindness, got the Sludge off H—"

"The aspects of the Llano are valid. That lent verisimi-
litude to the visions. Not much else was true."

Orb felt as if her head were being compressed by the pres-
sure of unwelcome information, and her heart was slowly
turning cold. Still she fought the concept. "You are saying
that when I first met you, when you helped save me from
Satan's forced marriage—"

"That was not Satan. It was a demon playing the role. But
the vision began before that."

"Before—" Orb considered. "You can't mean—when I
talked to the Incarnations? To Mother and Gaea?"

"They were demons in the semblance of Incarnations."

"But they warned me of the trap and told me how to es-
cape it!"

"By singing a duet with Natasha," he agreed. "A script
to introduce Me in a form you could accept. Then there was
the vision of the dancing skeletons—"

"A vision? That?" She was appalled anew.

"From the time you woke in the storm, until the time you

Being a Green Mother

242

resumed the trip to Hawaii. There was no storm; it was all

the vision."

"But Thanatos and Chronos warned me about you—"

"Demons in their semblance. The real Incarnations would
never have served Me in such fashion. The tests were mock;

in the vision, My rules govern. In reality, I could not have
accommodated those tests."

"You were so angry at me—"

"No. I merely seemed so. The vision had accomplished

its purpose."

"And when I sought you—the mixed up Llano—"
"All vision, scripted by Me. In reality, your former lover
Mym is Mars, and he has consort and mistress as repre-
sented, but you encountered none of these. When I sang, I
accomplished no good, for there was no evil other than that

of the script."

Belief was forcing itself upon her. "All—"
"All part of the courtship," he concluded. "To cause you
to fall in love with Satan, so that you would marry Me, com-
pleting the prophecy."
"I—how could the Incarnations have gone along with

this?"

"As I said, it was a compromise. They thought that I could
not succeed in winning you through any tissue of lies—es-
pecially since I had to tell you the truth before I married you.
It was their belief that you would at this point turn violently

against Me."
Orb's head seemed to be whirling. "I can't believe this!"

But she feared she could.

"I shall be glad to show you My domain. I think you will
be convinced. Or you can ask any of the Incarnations."

"But—why? What do you care about the validity of an

old prophecy?"

"You believe that I am lying now when I say I love you?"
He seemed so earnest and was so handsome that she found
herself wanting to believe.

She fought the desire off. "If you are Satan, you are made
of lies! I must not believe you!"

"Then I will merely remind you of the power I stand to
gain, if allied with the Incarnation of Nature. You and I to-
gether can swing the balance toward evil, and Mine antag-
onist will not prevail in the end. The crisis of power that

Piers Anthony               243

Luna is to mediate will never occur; My victory will already
have occurred."

"Luna! You expect me to betray her?"

"Join with Me, and I will see that no evil comes to her or
any other you wish to protect."

"But Satan can not be believed!"

He held out his arm. "Scratch Me. Bind Me by blood. I
will take any oath you wish. That you can believe."

She stared at him, becoming convinced. "Then you really
are Satan, doing this for power?"

"For love and power, yes."

"Get away from me," she said dully.

He faded out.

For a long time she sat on the isle, staring out across the
water. Slowly the sky clouded, and an unnatural stillness
developed. The surface of the ocean became like glass. There
was a grayness throughout.

At last she reacted. She began to sing the song of Night,
and isle, sky, and ocean vibrated to the magic of it. Darkness
closed, Stygian, impalpable, oppressive. As she sang, she
expanded and discovered that the gloom enfolded all the
globe; no one on Earth could see. Even so was the mood of
her heart.

But it wasn't enough. She had suffered the loss of her love
in the worst possible way, by being completely duped, and
grief was not the appropriate emotion. The way those visions
had been crafted so artfully to play on her innocence—"Can't
you see she loves you?" demanded ofNatasha by the pseudo-
Mym while she protested that her affair with Mym was over,
protested this to Satan!—leading her on, meddling freely
with her deepest feelings! No, grief was not what was called
for! Rage was the appropriate emotion! And what could she
do about it?

Her being reached out and found the heart of the Llano,
its most potent aspect—the Song of Chaos, the forbidden
theme. Now in her fury she invoked it, starting a reaction
that spread throughout the world. Her passion gave it max-
imum force, though she did not understand its implications.

Her shock at the revelation Satan had made was finding its
expression.

Ponderous and subtle forces had been invoked; the ele-
ments of Water, Air, Fire, Earth, and Void were in motion.




244           Being a Green Mother

But the initial effects were slight. Some animation returned
to the surface of the ocean, and the sun shone down more
brightly. The day was wanning.

Orb was disappointed. She had vented her outrage in the
most effective way she knew, and it seemed to have fallen
flat. What use was it to rail at what Satan had done to her,

if nothing happened?

The heat increased. Vapor rose from the water. Orb be-
came uncomfortable on the isle, because of the humidity, so
turned the page to her tree-house in Purgatory.

Eros was there, looking grim. "What's the matter?" Orb

asked.
"I wish you hadn't invoked the Song of Chaos," the youth

said. "There is apt to be Hell to pay."

"To Hell with Hell!" Orb exclaimed. "Satan played a hell
of a trick on me; I have a right to be angry!"

"To be angry, yes; to unleash Chaos on Earth, no. This
is the one process that cannot be abated."

"Good! I don't want it abated! I want a real show!"

"That is irresponsible—" he started to say, but she turned
a page and was back aboard Jonah.

The tour had been finished; the others were waiting only
for Orb to get settled in her office, before dispersing to their
new lives. Jezebel was the first to spot her. "You're back!

How'd it go?"
Orb sighed. "I assumed the office and told Nat—but it

was a disaster. He—"

Then she was crying, and Jezebel was holding her. Orb
hardly cared about the anomaly of a demoness comforting
the Incarnation of Nature; she simply needed support.

When she lifted her head, the others were there. Brokenly,
she told them: "Natasha—is Satan. All his proofs of mor-
tality were false. He wants me to join him in evil."

"But he touched my cross!" Betsy protested.

"It was a vision. He didn't really touch your cross; we all

dreamed it happened."

"But I don't dream!" Jezebel said.

Suddenly something clicked. "It was a dream—the skel-
etons and touching the cross and singing the hymn and every-
thing!" Orb exclaimed. "And Jezebel doesn't dream! No
wonder she didn't remember it! If only we had taken the
warning!"

Piers Anthony               245

"You mean—she wasn't really there?"

"Of course I wasn't there!" Jezebel said. "Since then I've
picked up what you're talking about; all of you had an ex-
perience I didn't. But I never thought of Satan—I mean, that
he could have arranged it. I let you down!"

"No, Jez, no!" Orb exclaimed. "I let myself down! I was
too eager to believe the false proofs he offered. I should have
questioned you!"

"There really wasn't time to get it straight," Lou-Mae
said. "Satan is clever, I'll say that for him."

"Fiendishly clever," Orb agreed bitterly.

"But what has happened to the weather?" Betsy asked.
"It seems so steamy out, all of a sudden."

"I'm afraid I did it," Orb said. "I was angry and I sang
a new aspect of the Llano, the Song of Night, and then it
seems I invoked Chaos."

"Chaos!" Jezebel exclaimed. "That dates from before the
time ofH—of the good place, or of Hell, or mortality. Chaos
hates all of it!"

"But Chaos has no power now," Orb said.
"Not unless allowed it," the succubus said darkly. "You
know how it is when an evil demon gets summoned? If there
isn't proper protection, that demon can't be banished, and
a whole lot of mischief can result. If Chaos takes hold—"
"I think I'd better get some advice," Orb said.
She turned the page to her mother, Niobe.
Niobe was at her residence in Purgatory. It resembled a
monstrous spider web, with a home fashioned of silk.

"It's real trouble," Niobe said. "I queried the Purgatory
Computer, and it says there is no telling what can result when
Chaos starts operating. It could cancel itself out, because
there is a lot ofrandomness in its nature; but it's more likely
to run a pretty rough course." She glanced askance at Orb.
"Why did you choose to start off your office by invoking
such a dangerous thing?"

"You know my temper," Orb said ruefully. "When I
discovered that everything I had known of Natasha was
false—" She paused. "You did not come to me on the plain
of the Llano to warn me of Satan's trap?"
Niobe shook her head. "We had agreed not to interfere."
"So it is true that you made a deal with Satan?"
"It is true. We were caught by the interpretation of the




246           Being a Green Mother

prophecy; no one knew the outcome except perhaps
Chronos, and he would not talk. So we concluded that it was
better to get the matter settled one way or the other. I had
to trust that you would not be deceived."

"I was deceived," Orb said heavily. "I—fell in love with
a simulacrum, in part because of challenges made by what
I took to be the Incarnations, you included. Then I learned
that it was Satan. What was I to do?"

Niobe shook her head. "Every Incarnation has to deal
with Satan, and it is always difficult. I had to make a small
tour of Hell to find the Magician before I could find the way
to stop the threat Satan posed. Mars had to bring the world
to the very verge of extinction by war before he could stop
the threat Satan posed for him. Now it is your turn. I can

not tell you what to do."

"It was Mym—Mars—the facsimile of Mars who finally
convinced me that the man I know was not—what he was.
All a vision!" Orb sighed. "Does he really have a consort

and a demon mistress?"
"He really does," Niobe agreed. "But he would never

have led you to Satan!"

"I was completely credulous," Orb said. "When Satan
revealed himself, I couldn't believe it. When I did, I just
wanted to strike back at something. So I sang. The most
potent song I could. I suppose I was motivated by the fact
that Satan himself urged me not to do it. Now I don't quite

know what I've done."
"No one can know for certain, dear. But Chronos can

probably make it right, if—"

"You mean by manipulating time? Isn't that dangerous?"
"Yes. But that may not be the problem in this instance."

"What is the problem?"

"We promised not to interfere until this matter has been
decided. If Chronos took action now, it would constitute

interference."
"The matter has been decided!" Orb said. "Now that I

know the situation, I'll never deal with Satan!"

"It is not decided until Satan concedes defeat," Niobe
said. "That is always the way it is in these tests of will."

"What does it take to make him concede defeat?" Orb
asked irately.

Piers Anthony

247

Niobe spread her hands. "Each case is different. We'll
simply have to wait and see."

"Does that mean we can't do anything to stop Chaos?"

"I fear it does. It is like an illness that must run its course.
But it might be best to keep a close eye on that course."

"I'll try," Orb said.

She hugged her mother, then turned the page back to
Jonah. And was appalled.

The big fish was rocking in a storm. The water no longer
hurt him, but the winds were buffeting him back and forth,
.and the Sludge were hanging on to whatever offered.

"Why doesn't Jonah swim away from the storm?" Orb
asked, grabbing hold herself.

"He's been trying to, but it keeps getting worse," Jezebel
said. "Never seen weather like this before! It was all the big
fish could do to drop Betsy and the organist off at her farm.
They left their regards for you."

Orb looked out the transparent scales. It was hard to tell
whether there was cloud or water outside, but certainly there
was turbulence. She wished that Betsy and the organist had
remained with Jonah.

"I'll find out how far it extends," she said. "Meanwhile,
it may be uncomfortable here, but safe; weather can't really
hurt Jonah." She expanded, becoming swiftly huge and dif-
fuse, searching for the limit of the storm.

There seemed to be no limit, only confused patches of
lesser intensity. Rain and swirl were everywhere. It was like
a giant sauna. Evidently the rising heat and humidity were
responsible.

• But if the effect was global, what of the cold poles? Orb
expanded to globe-size so she could investigate.

It was hot at the poles. Meltwater was pouring from the
icecaps at such a rate that she knew that in a few days no
ice would remain.

What would that do to the level of the ocean?

What of the seacoast cities? What of the lowlands? The
great valleys that could flood?

She oriented on the traveling show in India, where she had
first met Mym. She coalesced, assuming her natural form
beside a wagon.

The rain of the monsoon was pouring down. But was it
monsoon season here? She wasn't sure, and feared that this

248

Being a Green Mother Piers Anthony

249

was an atypical phenomenon. The wagons were parked, for
travel was impossible; the road was awash.

Drenched, she forged to the closest wagon. It looked
like—yes, it was the mermaid's wagon.

Orb pounded on the door, announcing the presence of a
visitor, then pushed it open and climbed inside.

"Orb!" the mermaid exclaimed. "It has been years!"

And what was she to say now? That she had started a
process that represented danger for everyone here? That the
water level could rise and flood them out?

But if she didn't give warning, what then?

"A lot has happened," Orb said. "There may be danger.
I have come to warn you. This rain—it may get worse. I
think you should get the wagons to higher ground."

The mermaid shook her head. "There is no road we can
travel. We must wait it out here."

"But there may be flooding!"

The mermaid smiled. "That doesn't really frighten me,
you know. I won't drown. But I suppose it could be bad for
the others and the animals. Still, the wheels are already
mired; we'll simply have to sit it out."

Orb saw that she was right. The show would not be mov-
ing. "I hope it's all right," she said, taking the mermaid's
hand for a parting squeeze.

Outside she had another notion. She concentrated, trying
to invoke the elements, so that she could bring coolness and
dryness and abate the rain. But she could not; that aspect
of her power had been pre-empted by the developing Chaos.
She was helpless before the weather.

She turned the page to Ireland, to the place that retained
its nostalgia for her: the water oak in the swamp. This time
the hamadryad came down to greet her, still grateful for the
rejuvenation. But the rain was blasting down here, too, and
the wind was tearing at the foliage of the tree.

"I'm afraid it may flood," Orb said.

The hamadryad agreed; she was quite concerned. Already
the level of the swamp water was high.

"And it is my fault," Orb continued unhappily. "I—I fell
in love with an illusion and, when I learned, I was angry and
I invoked a theme I should not have."
The hamadryad touched her hand, briefly, understanding.

That did not make Orb feel better.

"I hope it is not too bad here," Orb said.

The dryad smiled encouragingly.

Orb turned another page, to Tinka's house in France.

Here, too, the rain was pouring. The roof was not tight;

water was dripping down inside. Tinka had set out pans to
catch it, but was obviously unhappy. Her baby was crying;

she was trying to comfort him by singing, but the howl of
the wind drowned out her voice.

She smiled gladly when she saw Orb. She was so glad for
her sight! But Orb was glum. "I'm afraid there will be worse

coming," she said. "Perhaps flooding; can you move to
higher ground?"

"No, I must wait here for my husband to return," Tinka
said. "Perhaps then we can go."

"I hope it will be all right." But Orb was sickly uncertain
that it would be.

She traveled around the globe, finding the rain every-
where. Still the temperature increased; there seemed to be
a hothouse effect. The polar ice was diminishing at an alarm-
ing rate. The flooding was occurring at coastal cities in the
high-tide regions. There was hardly any distinction between
day and night; the swirling rain was everywhere.

She returned to Jonah. He had finally given up the battle
and swum belowground, where it was calm.

"The same all over?" Jezebel asked.

"All over," Orb agreed grimly. "The polar ice is melting,
the sea level is rising, and the rain just keeps coming down.
And I can't do anything to stop it; I have lost my control
over the elements."

"Then you must rest," Lou-Mae said solicitously.
"And eat," Jezebel added. "I just happen to have some
blueberry pie here."

Orb tried, but her appetite was small and her rest tor-
mented by thought of the possible consequences of her in-
discretion. Before long she was turning the pages again, trav-
eling the globe.

The hamadryad's tree was standing in water; all the swamp
was flooded. The nymph was perched in the branches, star-
ing at the coursing muddy water. "The roots—they can't
breathe," she said, feeling the pain other tree.

There was nothing Orb could say. She moved on to India.
Flooding was well advanced now. The wagons stood in




250           Being a Green Mother

water up to their hubs, and the rain continued. Was the world
to experience another deluge like that described in the Bible?
No, surely there wasn't enough water available to do that.

She entered the mermaid's wagon. "I think the wagons
must be left," she told the mermaid. "They will be sub-
merged, and the others will drown. But you could help them
now, guiding them to higher ground."

"Well, I really don't enjoy brackish water," the mermaid
said. "But I think there is no need. The wagons will float."

"They'll float!" Orb exclaimed. "I never thought of that!"
But then she reconsidered. "But they'll separate, and some

could overturn in the storm."

The mermaid nodded. "You're right. We'd better take
precautionary measures now. We can tie them together and
build stabilizing outriggers. I'll have to spread the word. If

you will carry me outside—"

Orb reached over the tank and put her left arm around the
mermaid's upper torso. The mermaid heaved her tafl up, and
Orb caught it above the flukes. Staggering, she carried the
mermaid down and out, almost falling as she set her in the

swirling water.

"Ugh!" the mermaid said, grimacing. "Filthy stuff! But
I can handle it." She spun about, testing it for depth, then
swam with faculty toward the lead wagon.

Orb smiled. The mermaid complained, but she was happy.
Not only was she free of her tank, she was serving a useful

purpose.
Orb waited long enough to be sure that the mermaid could

get the attention of the occupants of the wagons, then turned

the page to France.
The flooding was proceeding here, too. The main street

of the village had disappeared. Tinka was peering worriedly
out; her husband had not yet returned.

"You must get to higher ground!" Orb told her. "While
you can. For the sake of your baby."

"For the baby," Tinka agreed, shaken.

"Maybe I can locate your husband. How can I identify

him?"
Tinka described the man in sufficient detail. Orb expanded

to encompass the region, orienting on the pertinent char-
acteristics, and found them. She coalesced.
The man was in the mountains, but the treacherous con-
Pliers Anthony                251

ditions had caused his wagon to slide off the trail and break
a wheel. He was unable to proceed until he got it fixed, and
the job was difficult.

Orb introduced herself. "Ah, you are Tinka's friend, the

one I never met!" he exclaimed. "I thought she invented

you—a fantasy to divert herself!"
"The village is flooding. I will bring her here to you."
"She should not be out in this weather with the baby!"

he protested. "She is not used to the outside, for her sight

has not long been restored; she would get lost."
"I said I would bring her," Orb said. "No walking."
"Are you some magic creature, that you can do this?"
"Yes." Orb turned the page back to Tinka. "He broke a

wheel," she reported. "He is fixing it. I will take you to him.

Is there anything you need to take with you? I think you will

not be returning here soon."
"Things for the baby!" Tinka exclaimed, dashing about

the room. In a moment she had made a bundle of supplies

and had donned a waterproof shawl to cover herself and the

baby.

Then Orb put a hand on Tinka's shoulder and turned the
page to the wagon.

Tinka handed Orb the baby and bundle and went to help
her husband. Orb was impressed again at the efficiency of
Gypsies when there was a task to be done. She was also
struck by the presence of the baby in her arms. If only she
could have kept Orlene! But even if she had not had to give
up her daughter before, how could she have kept a child
while assuming the office of Nature?

She couldn't have, of course. When she had given her
decision to Natasha, she had affirmed that conclusion; she
had chosen the office rather than the family.

Natasha—ah, Satan! How could she have missed that,
before? She had been blinded by love. But oh, if only it could
have been real! Her heart felt leaden; it craved the illusion,
when the reality was the worst horror she had dreamed of.
To marry Satan-
She stood in the rain, holding the baby and the bag of
belongings, glad for the moment that the incessant rain
masked the tears on her face. What a colossal fool she had
been!

The Gypsy team labored on the wheel. They lacked the




252           Being a Green Mother

proper tools, but were clever with makeshift; in due course
the wheel had been jury-rigged into serviceability.

Tinka, bedraggled and dirty, returned to take her baby.
"I thank you. Orb," she said.

"It was my pleasure," Orb responded miserably. She
found that she hated giving up the baby; he had become a
symbol of what she had thrown away.

"For everything."

But if Orb had not yielded to her anger, this hot rain would
not have occurred. She was owed no thanks, just condem-
nation. But she knew that Tinka would not listen to that.
"Go uphill," she said. "Until the rain stops."

The man nodded.

They boarded the wagon, and the horse resumed hauling.
Orb waved, then turned the page back to Jonah.

The Sludge were sleeping, except for Jezebel. She was in
her luscious form, evidently having been sharing with the
guitarist. Since she never slept, she emerged to join Orb.
"What can I fix you?" the succubus inquired.

"Some piece of mind," Orb said. She found it easy to
relate to the demoness, perhaps because she was feeling
somewhat damned herself.

"The rain has to stop some time," Jezebel said.

But it did not stop. It went on and on, and the heat con-
tinued. Soon Orb was out in the world again, turning pages
from one region to another, helpless to reverse the ongoing

disaster.

The coastal cities were being flooded out. The water
impeded the exodus of the people; highways had been sub-
merged and roads washed out. Most people seemed to have
retreated to the taller buildings, moving to the higher floors

as the water rose.

But the heat was causing the air to expand and rise; winds
were stiffening and with them the waves. Breakers smashed
at the buildings, wearing them down relentlessly. Orb saw
some buildings that had collapsed; if there had been people
in them, they were there no longer.

The wreckage of boats was being tossed about. This was
no safe sea for sailing! But what other way did trapped people

have to escape?
Could she take any of them and turn the page to higher

Piers Anthony               253

ground? There were so many in trouble that she could help
only a few, but she had to try.

She expanded, searching for the need, and found a build-
ing that was being overwhelmed by the waves. She coalesced
to it. A woman and two children were standing on the roof,
hanging on to the aeration pipes as the wind howled through.
"I will help you!" Orb cried. "Take my hands!"

Numbly, the woman and children obeyed, clasping their
hands about hers. They did not question her arrival.

Orb turned a page—and found herself alone. She had not
been able to carry them with her!

She turned the page back. The three were there, staring,
not knowing what had happened. "Maybe one at a time,"
Orb said, taking the hand of the little girl.

She turned the page—but the child was not with her. She
could no longer take people with her! She had done it with
Tinka and her baby, but now her magic seemed to have been
drained. Maybe the Chaos was absorbing it, drawing on any
magic available for its vast effort of demolition.

She turned the page back, determined to find some way
to succeed. But this time she found only a massive wave
crashing across the top of the building. She expanded and
thinned out, so that it did not affect her—but when it re-
ceded, the woman and children were gone.

Orb knew that similar tragedies were occurring all over
the world. She had merely sampled the horror of it.

What had she wrought?

With fading hope, she turned the page to the water oak in
Ireland. The water was now halfway up its trunk, and the
hamadryad was perched in the foliage at the top, very much
like the woman and children of the building.

Orb joined her. "I can't move human folk any more, but
maybe I can move you," she said. "Take my hand, and I
will try to take you to higher ground."

"I cannot leave my tree!" the dryad cried, distraught.

Of course that was true. A hamadryad was a creature of
her tree, perhaps even the soul of the tree; she could not
leave it. "I hope the water stops soon," Orb said, grief-
stricken.

The dryad gazed at her without expression.

Orb turned the page to India.

The wagons were floating, but precariously. The occu-

254 Being a Green Mother

pants were bailing them out, but the constant fall of water
was refilling them. A stiff wind was carrying the caravan out
toward the widening sea.

Would these good folk survive? Orb, ashamed, did not
make her presence known.

She returned to Jonah, who remained deep below ground.
"The whole world is being flooded," she reported to the
succubus. "I have lost my power to transport other people;

I can only watch them perish."

"It can't rain forever," Jezebel said. "There isn't enough
water."

Orb, helpless, retired to her chamber and lay down, not
expecting to sleep. She did not feel tired and concluded that
this was because of her new status as an Incarnation. But
she dropped off almost immediately.

When she woke, the situation seemed unchanged—but
she realized that this was deceptive, because of the ambiance
of Jonah. She turned a page to the water oak—and was ap-
palled, for it was gone. Evidently the waves had undermined
it and carried it away, hamadryad and all. An old friend had
been lost, and what could Orb do?

She went to India. The lowlands had been replaced by a
turbulent ocean, and there was no sign of the floating wa-
gons. The winds were so violent that it was obvious that full-
fledged ships could have foundered; the wagons had not had
any chance. More old friends were gone.

But the mermaid—she should have survived! Where was

she?

Orb expanded, spreading throughout the region, questing
for the mermaid. She found her, swimming deep down,
where the water was quieter. But she could not greet the
mermaid down here, and she worried about the threat of
large sea creatures. Suppose one decided that the mermaid
was prey?

However, no large predators seemed to be feeding now.
The rain and melt that was causing the ocean level to rise
was also diluting the salinity of the water at the upper
reaches, and that seemed to be distracting the creatures. The
mermaid had been making do with fresh water for so long
that she had no problem. Perhaps she would be all right.

Orb turned the page to southern France, orienting on
Tinka. She found the wagon sloughing through muck, as-

Piers Anthony               255

cending the mountain, its wheel holding. No danger of flood-
ing here, at least.

She was about to return to Jonah, when she paused, no-
ticing something. The mountain slope seemed to have
changed its complexion. The ground was furred. So were the
trunks of the trees, and even the leaves.

Orb reached out and broke off a twig. She felt a little tug
inside her and realized that she was Nature, now, and related
ultimately to every living thing, including the twig she had
just severed from its tree.

She inspected the twig. It seemed to have sprouted new
life. It was covered with something like algae.

Algae were growing on everything, and fungus sprouted,
too. The humid, hot ambiance was encouraging the growth

of such things. It seemed to be one of the harmless conse-
quences of this weather.

She returned to Jonah—and found him in motion, swim-
ming through the rock. "Where to?" she inquired.

"Oh, good," Lou-Mae exclaimed. "I wanted to say good-
bye to you. We—Miami is pretty low, and my folks—I've
got to be with them now."

"And I've got to be with her," the drummer said. "So
we're getting off and see what we can do."

Orb wanted to caution them about the condition of the
coastal cities, but realized that they could hardly save them-
selves while letting friends and relatives be threatened. "Get
them to high ground as fast as you can," she said. But how
much high ground was there in Florida?

Not enough, she knew. The entire state would soon be

submerged. The relatives would be lost—and Lou-Mae and
the drummer.

She had to do something! But what? She had lost her
power to transport other people, and in any event, a whole
city was threatened, and all the other coastal cities of the
world. What could she do to save them?

She was the Incarnation of Nature, wasn't she? She should
be able to do something! And she had to!

She turned the page to Purgatory. There was Eros, as if
waiting for her. "Just tell me one thing," she snapped.
"What powers can I invoke, as Gaea?"

"Any power of Nature," he replied. "To any degree. But




256 Being a Green Mother

you have to know how, and only long experience can make
you perfect. I can't help you there; I only know about love."

"Where were you when Satan was corrupting me?" she
asked fiercely.

"I did not interfere in that; a lesser Incarnation can not
affect a greater one. You came to love him on your own,
and I had to accede."

Surely so. "Where can I get the information I need to
master my office?" she asked tightly.

"There is no written text, if that's what you mean. You
have to master it on your own."

"I don't have time for that! I need instruction! Who can
provide it?"

He shrugged. "Only the former Gaea, I suspect."

"But she's in Heaven!"

"No, she's on Earth. She still has some other natural life

to live out."

So the former Gaea remained among the mortals! Orb ex-
panded, orienting on her, found her, and coalesced beside

her.

"Why, hello, Gaea," the woman said. She looked exactly
as she had before—as Satan's emulation of her had looked.

"Why did you give up your office to me?"

"Nothing lasts forever," the woman said. "I was becom-
ing fatigued, trying to keep natural order throughout the
world. Any error, and such consequences! It is a nervous
business. So when I saw one who had the potential to replace
me, I encouraged it."

"You encouraged it? You mean you could have prevented
it?"

"Oh, certainly! Not all Incarnations step down involun-
tarily. When you expanded, I contracted, until finally you
expanded all the way and assumed the whole of it, and I let
myself slide back into mortality. When you tire of it, and a
successor offers, you may do the same and finish out your
mortal life in the situation you helped generate."

"But I am making a mess of it!" Orb protested. "I sang
the wrong theme, and now Chaos is loosed upon the land!"

"We all make errors at the outset," the woman said
calmly. "How well I remember the Black Plague! It was all
I could do to prevent it from wiping out the remaining pop-

Piers Anthony               257

ulation, but after that I certainly knew more about my
office!"

"But I sang the Song of Chaos!"

The woman nodded. "I really didn't think you were ready
for that one. But if you can master it, you will have an ex-
tremely powerful tool."

"That's why I came to see you! I have no idea how to
stop it from destroying the world. If you can tell me—"

"I can and I can't," the woman said. "You see, I did not
use music for my command process. So I do not know how
that applies. I suspect you would not be able to use the com-
mand process I am familiar with."

"What is that?"

"Pseudo gestures."

"What?"

"Gestures that do not reach the level of performance. Pat-
terns of muscle tension. The body has many muscles and
many more combinations."

"I know nothing about that! I sing the themes—"

"Which I know nothing about. Therefore I can not provide
you with specifics. But I can tell you what I would do, if my
system remained operative. I would hasten the cycle of the

pattern of Chaos you have invoked, hoping to clear it before
its havoc was total."

"Can't I simply nullify it?"

"If there is a way, I do not know it. Other things can be
neutralized, but Chaos is different. It has to complete what-
ever course it runs—which can not be predicted. But the
less time it exists, the less damage it is likely to do. It is a

calculated risk—but of course there can be no certainties,
with Chaos."

Orb was hardly reassured. "How can I use my music to
hasten the cycle?"

"You should be able to use the same theme that invoked
the cycle, and invoke it again, and again. Each invocation
should translate it to a new application. Of course that is
dangerous, because it is apt to accelerate its power as well
as its velocity. It is possible that you would be best off leav-
ing it alone."

"But people are dying!"
"I realize that. But when you go for double or nothing,




258

Being a Green Mother

or triple or nothing, the result is not always what you

prefer."

Orb sighed. She knew the former Gaea was right. A gamble
was a gamble. "I thank you for your comment," she said
and turned the page back to Jonah.

"I don't think you will be able to save your folks," she
said to Lou-Mae. "It is my fault; I set in motion a pattern
I can not control. But I may be able to change it. The risk
is that I will only make it worse. How do you feel?"

Lou-Mae hardly seemed to consider. "Let's try to save
them first. If we can't, then you gamble."

"Then I gamble," Orb agreed, relieved to have the basis
for the decision clarified.




15

CHAOS

The level of the ocean had risen fifteen feet. The runofffrom
the rain across the state of Florida made it worse. Much of
Miami was under water, the buildings poking out of the great
new lake. The inhabitants were crowding into the diminish-
ing islands of high ground and into the upper stories of the
sturdier buildings. Still the rain washed down.

Orb shook her head. Most of the city's population might
be alive now, but the continuing rise of water doomed them.
Whatever boats had been serviceable had already gone, and
it would be impossible for most of the people to swim what
might turn out to be hundreds of miles to truly secure ground.

Jonah taxied to Lou-Mae's home section. It was under
water; the people were gone. Rubble made islands where
buildings had collapsed, and garbage floated around them.
Lou-Mae stared, her face expressionless.

"They went to high ground," the drummer said quickly.
"They had time; the water rose slowly."

"Yes . . ." she agreed, her shock easing.

"I can find them," Orb said. "Give me a description of
a friend or relative, and I will orient."

Lou-Mae described her mother. Orb expanded, and when
she intersected the woman, she coalesced to that spot. It




260           Being a Green Mother

was in a large building being used as a refuge. People were
crowded on the upper floors. A number were injured; a
makeshift infirmary section had been cordoned off for them.

Orb saw with horror that the same furry growth she had seen
in France was appearing here. The walls were covered with
it, and the ceiling, and it was even on some of the clothing of
the people. The heat and humidity fostered it, and it was en-
croaching everywhere. The air itself seemed to taste of it.

Lou-Mae's mother was a massive woman, but she just
about jumped off the floor when Orb materialized before her.
Orb was the only white person in the room.

"I am a friend of Lou-Mae's," Orb said. "She wants to
join you here, to try to help you. The rest of her family, her

friends—are they all right?"
"Most—for now," the woman said grimly. "You got a

way out of here?"

"Not for this number of people," Orb said. She wasn't
sure that Jonah would admit any person who wasn't part of
the Sludge, and certainly not hundreds.

"Then tell Lou-Mae to stay clear, because she's better off

where she is."
"She won't do that," Orb said. "She wants to be with

you. I will have to bring her."

The woman nodded, understanding. Orb turned the page
to Jonah. "I found her," she announced. "She's all right,
but she wishes you would stay clear."

"I know," Lou-Mae said. "I won't."

"She knows." Orb directed Jonah, and he swam to the

building.

Lou-Mae had a tearful reunion with her mother, intro-
duced the drummer, and caught up on the status of other
family members. Then she turned to Orb. "They're never
going to get out of here. Go back to the fish. Take the gamble.

We'll ride it out with them."

Orb sighed. Lou-Mae knew the risk. But it was obvious
that the risk of allowing the present situation to continue
was worse. She returned to Jonah.

Only Jezebel and the guitarist remained there. "I'm going

to try it," Orb said.
"That's all you can do," Jezebel said. "Maybe the guitar

can help?"
The guitarist fetched his instrument. "Just tell me what

you want."
"It's like the Song of the Morning or the Song of Day,

Piers Anthony               261

but different," Orb said. "Start with that and modify as
seems right." He nodded.

Orb set herself, then sang. The Song of Chaos reached out
beyond them, beyond Jonah, expanding in the manner of her
diffusion traveling, embracing the turbulent world. The
chamber faded, and it was as if they were in the rain, be-
coming part of it, part of the moving air and water. The song
took hold of that ambience and stirred it, intensifying it.
Darkness came, and light, but the darkness was vast and
strong, while the light was limited and weak. Chaos was
awakening to new power.

Orb felt a chill as she sang, not of the body. She was play-
ing with a force she hardly understood. Her first invocation
of it had led the world to this watery horror; what would
follow now?

She completed the song, the part of it she could. The rest
of it would complete itself in its own fashion.

"The power of that thing!" Jezebel murmured. "I'm not
even human, but I felt it. It would shake Hell itself!"

"It is a gamble," Orb repeated. "I don't know whether I
am doing right or wrong."

Outside, the rain was easing. Orb expanded and found that
this was happening all around the globe. The temperature
had stopped rising, and the weather was slowly clearing.

She coalesced. "I think we have turned the corner," she
said, with immense relief. Then she went to her room and
collapsed into sleep.

She woke somewhat refreshed. Jezebel fixed her break-
fast. She didn't know what time of the day or night it was,
but breakfast seemed appropriate. Jonah was under the
ground again, and everything was quiet.

Belatedly, Orb considered that. "Why is Jonah down?"
she asked.

"He generally has reason," Jezebel said.
"I'd better look."

Orb turned the page to Miami. It was quiet, and the tem-
perature had dropped a little. The water still stood around
the buildings, but the worst seemed to be over.

Still, she checked on Lou-Mae. She remained in the island
building with her mother and the others. They had food from
the supplies of a restaurant that had been on the lower floor;

the flooding and lack of electric power would cause the food
to spoil soon, so they were only cutting down on the waste.




262 Being a Green Mother

The algae grew everywhere. Someone had evidently tried
to scrub down a section of the wall, but already the stuff
was growing back. The scent of it in the air was stronger; it
was impossible to inhale without breathing it.

Lou-Mae and her mother were all right, but the drummer
lay under a blanket. "He has a fever," Lou-Mae explained
worriedly. "Several others have it. One of us is a doctor,
but he says it's impossible to tell what it is yet; it doesn't
act like the flu."

"I could take him back aboard Jonah," Orb said.

"No, he says he wants to stay here with me. I'll take care
of him."

"Maybe I can sing him well," Orb said.

"Oh, has your power returned?" Lou-Mae inquired,
brightening.

"I don't know." Orb went to the drummer, took his bum-
ing hand, and sang the Song of the Morning. The effect of
night came, and then dawn, amazing the others in the room,
but Orb knew that there was no healing effect. That aspect
of her power remained pre-empted by the Song of Chaos.

"He'll be all right," Lou-Mae said, putting a brave face
on it.

"I'll keep in touch," Orb said. Her heart was heavy, but
there was nothing more she could do.

Then she thought of something. Quickly she removed the
necklace she wore, with the moonstone amulet the Magician
had given her as a child. As an Incarnation, she no longer
needed it. She turned back to Lou-Mae. "Please wear this,"
she said, putting the chain over Lou-Mae's head.

"What is it. Orb?"

"A charm. It will protect you from harm."

"But—"

"Please, I want you to have it. Never take it off. Promise."

Lou-Mae hugged her. "I promise, Orb!"

Back aboard Jonah, she decided to check quickly on the
others. She turned pages, verifying that the calm extended
to all the world. Tinka's wagon was safely ensconced on a
high slope, the mermaid had found herself a grotto near the
new shore, and the fields of Betsy's farm were draining.
Much damage had been done everywhere, and many lives
had been lost, but the carnage had stopped.

Could it really be so easy? Orb distrusted this, so she

Piers Anthony               263

turned the page to Purgatory. This time she went to the castle
of War, having a certain female curiosity about aspects of
her former lover's situation.

She was met at the front gate by a hooded figure. "Mym?"
she inquired hesitantly.

The figure drew back its hood. Its head was a writhing
mass of maggots.

Orb screamed.

"Thank you," the figure said. "What is your business?"

Orb realized that this was not Mym. "I—I wish to see
Mars."

"And who are you?" The maggots writhed as it spoke,
forming a mouth and shaping the words.

"I—just say a friend." She felt uneasy about revealing
her nature or her business to this thing.

The gruesome figure turned about and moved into the cas-
tle. Orb was satisfied to wait outside. What kind of company
was Mym keeping, these days?

Soon a lovely young woman appeared. That was literal;

she simply manifested where there had been no one before.

"Lilith," Orb said, recognizing her.

The demoness was taken aback. "Have we met before?"

"Not directly. You are Mym's demon mistress."

"True. But who are you?"

"His former lover," Orb said with a certain satisfaction.

"You are not Rapture of Malachite."

"Before that."

Lilith made the connection. "The one who had his baby!
I should have recognized you; I have emulated you in the
past!"

"Emulated me?"

"Assumed your likeness." The demoness abruptly shifted
to a mirrorlike image of Orb. "Mym never stopped loving
you, you know, so sometimes I—never mind. I simply
wasn't expecting you here. Come in; I know he will want to
see you."

Orb complied. "The figure who—with the worms—?"

"Oh, that's Pestilence, one of the handmaidens of War,
as it were; a lesser Incarnation. He's on duty now, so he
answered the door. It takes a while to appreciate him."

"He's—on duty?" Orb was starting to make a connection
of her own.

264 Being a Green Mother Piers Anthony

265

"Supervising the breeding of the vermin and diseases and
fungi, now that conditions for them are ideal."

"The mold—the algae—"

"That, too," the demoness agreed. "Harmless, but the
microscopic fungi aren't. There'll be a plague like none seen
before, as those new spores infest the human systems. Pest
is very proud of his effort."

The drummer was running a fever, as were a number of
others. Now Orb knew that the change in the weather had
come too late; the worst damage was invisible. Spores in
their trillions, infiltrating every part of the environment, tak-
ing hold in animals and people, generating illness that would
be tough to fight off even with modern medication, and hel-
lish in the present situation.

Another woman arrived. "Ligeia," Orb said. "Or should
I say Princess?"

"I'll dispense with your title, Gaea, if you will dispense
with mine," Ligeia said. "I can see why Mym loves you."

"That's past," Orb said, embarrassed. "I came only to
talk with him."

"Of course. Incarnations consult with each other fre-
quently. I have sent a messenger; Mym will be with us
shortly. Meanwhile, you must have tea with us."

"I—yes," Orb said, out of sorts. Ligeia was so poised and
gracious!

They went to the patio in the rear garden. It was exactly
like the one Orb had seen before.

"How is it that you know us?" Ligeia inquired as a servant
took care of the details.

"I met you—in emulation," Orb said. "Satan—"

"How well we understand!" Ligeia said. "I Was captive
in Hell, and Lilith was a creature of Hell, before Mym freed
us. The deceptions of Satan are myriad and intricate. The
emulations gave you false information?"

"Mixed. Yet they were so like your reality and were so
persuasive—it is as if I have been through this scene before.
I—" Orb paused, beset by the notion that this could be an-
other vision. How could she tell the difference between vi-
sion and reality, when the emulation was so accurate?

"And now you are not sure of us," Lilith finished.

"Would—would you object if I verified—?"

"Please do," Ligeia said. "We do understand, Orb."

Orb turned the page to Jonah, fetched her harp, and turned
the page back to the castle. "A deceiver may not touch my
instrument," Orb explained. "It was a gift of the Mountain
King. If you would ..."

Ligeia smiled. She not only touched the harp, she set her-
self and played a chord on it.
"You know the harp?" Orb asked, amazed.
"Not well. But as a mortal princess, I was expected to be

able to make an impression on a prince, and music is one

way. This is a beautiful instrument."
Lilith approached. "I am crafted largely of deception,"

she said. "So this may not—" She reached out and touched

the harp. Nothing happened.

"You are not deceiving anyone now," Orb said.
"I have practiced none since Mars saved me," Lilith said,

still touching the harp.

"What, not even when you emulated me that night?" Lig-
eia inquired with pretend malice.

"He wanted you, but you were indisposed," the demoness
said. "So he asked me to—"
Ligeia laughed. "I knew it, Li! I was teasing you."
"But for your tolerance, I would not exist, Li," the de-
moness replied.

Orb shook her head. "This is as it was in the vision. Con-
sort and mistress—friends! I think I would not have under-
stood this before I came to know Jezebel."

"You know Jezebel?" Lilith asked with interest. "The
succubus?"
"She retired."
"That isn't possible!"

Ligeia put her hand on the demoness' arm. "You forget
whom you address."

"My apology, Gaea," Lilith said, abashed. "Of course
you, alone of all folk, could enable her to change!"

Ligeia intercepted whatever awkwardness was develop-
ing. "Orb, I'm sure Mym is about to arrive. Would it be too
much to ask you to sing for us, since you have your harp
with you? I understand there is not your match in all this
realm."

"There is one," Orb said, a shadow crossing her soul.

"Who might that be?"

"Satan."




266 Being a Green Mother Piers Anthony 267

"Satan? I never realized—"

"It is true," Lilith said. "He seldom indulges, but I knew
him before he assumed his office. As a mortal he was the
most moving male singer humanity has produced and knew
it. I think that made him easier to corrupt."

Orb and Ligeia both turned to the demoness. "You cor-
rupted him—as a mortal?"

"On orders of his predecessor. It was an irony. Satan
feared the potential for good inherent in this mortal singer,
so he sent me to foster evil in his heart. I succeeded too well.
The mortal became corrupted and displaced the one who had
sent me. Thereafter I loved the new Satan—until he sent me
to corrupt Mars. Now I love Mars."

"Mars is easy to love," Ligeia said.

"Amen," Orb said.

"So glad to find you in such agreement," Mym said from
the doorway, startling all three women.

Ligeia recovered first. "Orb was about to sing for us,"
she said. "Then she must talk with you."

"No."

Again all three were startled. Again, Ligeia recovered.
"She came to consult as an Incarnation, Mym. You can not
deny her that."

"That, no," he said. "It is the song I may not hear."

"You used to like my singing," Orb remarked, perplexed.

"My love for you never died," he said seriously. "It was
superseded, but it remains. I know the power of your music.
If I heard it again, I would desire you above this woman and
this creature, and that would prejudice our relationship. Talk
with me; do not sing to me."

"I think he is making sense," Lilith said to Ligeia. "She
was his first love, and now she is more than she was."

"We shall leave them to talk," Ligeia agreed.

"No need," Orb said quickly. "I wanted only to consult
about my present situation. I invoked the Song of Chaos,
and when it threatened to drown the world, I invoked it
again, hoping to cause it to pass more swiftly. It seemed to
end, and that worries me; I can not believe that Chaos can
be abated simply by reinvocation. Can Chaos cancel itself
out?"

"I doubt it," Mym said. "But I may know whom to ask."

"Who?" Orb asked, hardly daring to believe that there
was a ready source of the information she needed.

"The Purgatory computer. It knows everything; the only
problem is getting it to respond relevantly."

"I have not had much experience with computers," Orb
said doubtfully.

"It seems to be a demonic device. Lilith should be able
to make it behave."

"I can try," the demoness agreed.

"I would take you myself, but it is too difficult to be close
to you for long," Mym said. "What is past must remain
past."

"Yes," Orb said, flattered. She had embraced the pseudo-
Mym of the vision, but this reality left her with a better self-
image.

"This way," Lilith said. "We can walk; it is close by."

Orb remembered something. "You emulated me—for
him?"

"He is not joking about the effect you have on him," the
demoness said. "He would never have left you if he had
been given any choice. I emulate any woman he asks me to,
but when I did you, he just looked at me with such longing
and sadness that even I, who have no true human emotions,
was discomfited. He did not touch me then, afraid of what
passion might resurge in him that could never be truly
gratified."

"Thank you for telling me," Orb said.

They entered an impressive building and made their way
to the computer room. Lilith activated the machine.

BY WHAT AUTHORITY DO YOU TOY WITH ME, REFUGEE FROM

HELL? the screen printed.

"I'm helping an Incarnation," Lilith retorted with satis-
faction. "The new Gaea."

AH, THE DAUGHTER OF FATE. WHAT A MESS YOU ARE MAKING OF
THE MORTAL REALM;

Orb found it strange, addressing a screen of print, but she
had to respond to this. "I am coming to you for help to
alleviate that mess."

ONLY CHRONOS CAN ALLEVIATE IT, IF HE WILL.

So there was a way to stop this! "Why wouldn't he?"

HE HAS A PERSONAL REASON.

"What is that?"




268           Being a Green Mother

Piers Anthony

269

A MACHINE DOES NOT PROPERLY COMPREHEND HUMAN
MOTIVATIONS.

"Well, then, I'll just go and ask Chronos to help."

LOTS OF LUCK, the screen printed sardonically.

"Ligeia was right," Orb muttered. "It is a demonic
device."

"I'm sure it would do well in Hell," Lilith said.

LOOK WHO'S TALKING. Then the machine clicked off.

"Now how do I locate Chronos?" Orb asked. "I presume
he has a castle or something here in Purgatory."

"He does, but others don't go to it unless invited. It is
best to put out a call for him and wait until he answers. We
can do that for you; I'm sure he will come to you in due
course."

Orb sighed. "At least I know that someone can help. I
thank you and Ligeia for your assistance."

"We remain in your debt," the demoness said. "You
helped make Mym what he is, and he is our—" She paused,
evidently trying to say a word.

"Salvation?"

Lilith nodded. "Sometimes I almost forget my origin.
There are words I can not utter."

"I understand. Another demoness is my friend; perhaps
you will be, too."

"I can see why Mym loves you."

Orb gave her a hug, and the demoness clung to her for a
moment as a lost child might. Then Orb turned the page back
to Nature's Abode.

This time she decided to explore it more thoroughly. She
still felt most at home in Jonah, but knew that she would
have to get used to her Purgatory residence. Unfortunately
the tree-shape of it reminded her of the hamadryad's tree in
the swamp in Ireland, and that grieved her. Abruptly she
turned another page, to Jonah.

He was back underground. "The weather is picking up
again," Jezebel said.

Orb went to Miami. The weather was worsening; there
was no rain, and the water level had receded somewhat; the
ambient temperature was down, but gale-force winds were
battering the buildings. The water had eroded the founda-
tions of a number of buildings, and more rubble was in evi-
dence. The city was still in serious trouble.

She checked Lou-Mae. The room was a disaster area.
Most of the occupants, including both the drummer and Lou-
Mae's mother, were down with the fever, sprawled across
the floor. Lou-Mae herself was unaffected and was working
valiantly to attend to those who could not help themselves.
Orb suspected that it was not natural immunity, but the Ma-
gician's amulet that was protecting her from the ravages of
the pestilence.

There was an odor. The building's sanitary facilities had
evidently failed with the loss of power, and this surely fos-
tered the pestilence. But until the water receded and left the
building dry, there was nowhere for the people to go. Those
who had sought the high ground had retreated to whatever
buildings were there, in the face of the rising winds.

There seemed to be nothing she could do. She knew that
Lou-Mae would not desert her mother or the others and she
could not transport the group of them to another place. She
could only hope that the winds died down before the waves
became too violent.

She turned a page to France. Here, too, the winds were
increasing and the temperature was dropping. Tinka and her
husband seemed to be all right.

The level of the sea around India was dropping. This eased
the plight of those whose land had been inundated, but the
mermaid's grotto was being uncovered. The mermaid would
soon be in trouble if she didn't move to deeper water before
being isolated.

The storms were developing all around the world, batter-
ing the limited shelters of the people suffering from the
plague. Orb understood now that the Chaos had not ended;

it had only been changing course. Now the new course was
progressing, and the storms might be the result of that
change. Air that had been heating was now cooling, and ice
that had been melting was reforming. The polar caps, almost
depleted, were growing again. The winds were the result of
the developing inversions of temperature, as air masses tried
to equalize and could not.

The seacoast cities of the world were getting battered.
Buildings that had withstood the rising waters now were col-
lapsing as the wind drove the waves across with new force.

Orb turned a page back to Miami. The city was like a battle
zone. Monstrous waves crashed across, even though the




270 Being a Green Mother

water level was down. The sea was doing more damage to
the foundations now than before, because the constant surg-
ing and retreating of the waves tore at the ground in ways
that the standing water had not. Several fragments of con-
crete were being thrown into the melee, gouging out more
of itself.

She went to the building where Lou-Mae and her mother
and the drummer were. The situation was worse; a number
of the patients were dead. Efforts to help the sick had ceased;

too few well people remained. In fact, the only one com-
pletely free of the malady was Lou-Mae. She was holding
the drummer, trying to comfort him, but Orb could see that
he had lapsed into unconsciousness or worse. His skin was
discolored, his face was swollen so badly that he could not
have opened his eyes, and there was blood on his shirt where
he had been coughing. The others were no better off.

Meanwhile, the wind buffeted the building. Every time a
wave struck, the room shook. There were sounds of things
falling, and Orb experienced the sickening feeling of settling.
This building was about to go!

"Lou-Mae, you have to get out of here!" Orb exclaimed.

"I can't! Mama's dead, and Danny-Boy's dying! I can't
leave them!"

"But you can't help them! The plague—"

Lou-Mae just held the drummer, as if she could infuse
health back into him. Orb could make no further impression
on her.

A larger wave crashed outside—and the building went. It
shuddered, and the floor tilted. The steel supports groaned
as they twisted out of place; the ceiling tore from its moorings
and sagged down. Things fell down from the story above-
things like bodies.

The bodies on this floor started sliding, the drummer with
them. Lou-Mae tried to hold him, but only started sliding
down herself. The wall buckled and a panel sprang loose;

suddenly there was nothing between the interior and the
drop-off to the raging ocean several stories below.

Orb tried to hold the woman, tried to turn the page, but
found herself alone; she still could not take anyone with her.
She turned back, rejoining Lou-Mae. "Jonah!" she cried.
"Here to me!" Then she hung on to Lou-Mae as they all
slid down the increasing slope. The bodies were funneling

Piers Anthony               271

in toward the open panel, jamming against each other; this
slowed progress, but not enough.

Then the head of the big fish appeared, poking through
the building. Orb hauled Lou-Mae up physically—she could
still do that!—and dragged her into the mouth. When the
woman was safely on inside, Orb tried to go back for the
drummer, but it was too late; the upper stories were col-
lapsing, and everything was going down in stages.

"Danny-Boy!" Lou-Mae cried, trying to launch herself
back out, but Jonah had closed his mouth. She clawed at the
flesh, screaming, but could not get through.

Meanwhile the building was settling into rubble. Orb
watched it through the transparent scales. Another wave
crashed through, accelerating the process. Even had the oc-
cupants been well, few could have survived this. The drum-
mer was gone.

Jezebel appeared. "Take Lou-Mae to her chamber and try
to get her to sleep," Orb said. "She—the others are dead."
She sounded cold to herself, but it was horror inside.

The succubus put her arm around Lou-Mae. "I wish I
could feel what you feel," she said.

"You wouldn't like it," Orb replied, and turned the page
to Betsy's farm.

Her worst fear was realized. The storms were raging here,
too. Something very like a hurricane was blasting across the
plain, lifting the drying soil and huriing it in clouds against
anything that offered. The day was dusky because of it. Orb
had to brace herself against the fierce wind and squint to
keep out the particles of grit.

Betsy's farm was taking a beating. Whatever remained of
the crop after the flood was now being swept away by the
wind. The house was under siege, as the wind tore at its
edges. The gusts were so strong that Orb found herself blown
along. She wasn't hurt, as her office made her invulnerable
to physical harm, but any other person would have been at
risk.

She made her way awkwardly to the house and knocked
on the door. Such was the noise of the storm that she could
hardly hear the knock herself; she was sure the occupants
couldn't hear it. So she expanded until she was diffuse
enough to pass through the wall, then coalesced inside.

No one was there. Surprised, then alarmed, Orb looked

272           Being a Green Mother

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273

around. Where could they have gone? Surely they hadn't
been caught outside by surprise!

Then she realized that farms on the plains were accus-
tomed to handling storms. There should be a safe place to
hide.

Betsy and the organist and her family were there, waiting
out the storm in a small cellar designed for this purpose.
There was still water standing on its floor, but this was a
small penalty for the security it provided. They seemed to
have escaped the plague; this region had not been as good
for the multiplication of the spores.

"I don't know how bad it's going to get," Orb said, "But
I'm afraid it will be very bad."

"We'll ride it out," Betsy said bravely. "How are the
others doing?"

This was the question Orb had dreaded, but she had to
answer it. "Miami—is gone. The waves—"

Both Betsy and the organist were stricken. "Lou-
Mae—" Betsy whispered.

"I got her back to Jonah. But the others—"

"Oh, damn," the organist muttered, knowing his friend
was dead.

The wind intensified, howling past with frightening force.
It seemed to be trying to lift the house off its foundation.

"You had better get clear," Betsy said to Orb. "Thanks
for stopping by." It was evident that she had no intention
of leaving, though she knew there was a place for her and
the organist in Jonah. This was the family farm; there might
have been a time when Betsy wanted to leave it, but now
she would stay here.

Orb turned the page to France. Here the situation was
worse; trees were down, and the wind had blown the wagon
away. Tinka and her husband and baby were huddled against
a firm face of rock, covered by a blanket. The force of the
wind was diminished here; the bulk of the mountain inter-
cepted it.

Orb decided to leave them alone; they were as well off as
anyone. She went on to India.

Here the wind had hastened the outflow of water, and the
land all around the mermaid's grotto was dry. Evidently it
had happened too swiftly for the mermaid to escape; she was

stranded. At first Orb feared she was dead, but she was only
avoiding the fierce wind by lying flat.

"I will help you reach a better place," Orb screamed over
the wind. "The sea—"

"The sea is too turbulent above," the mermaid screamed
back. "And too cold below. I need a pool!"

"I'll find a pool!" Orb agreed. She expanded, searching
for one reasonably close by.

She found it: a deep one used by a wealthy estate, now
deserted. The buildings of the estate were battered, but the
pool had suffered only the accumulation of debris. Orb fished
out what she could, then turned the page back to the
mermaid.

"I will carry you there," she cried. She got her arms
around the mermaid's body and heaved her up. She stag-
gered toward the estate.

What had taken only a moment by magic means was a
wearing trek with a physical burden while being buffeted by
the wind. Orb had to put the mermaid down and rest fre-
quently, and it required over an hour to traverse the distance.
When they finally got there, Orb was so fatigued she fell into
the pool herself. Now the roles were reversed, as the mer-
maid caught her and bore her to the edge, keeping her head
above water.

"Oh, it's good to get back!" the mermaid exclaimed. "Let
me fill my gills!" She dived under, expelling the air from her
lungs, so that her gills could function.

Orb, satisfied that she was alt right, foraged in the main
building of the estate for some food, which she brought to
the pool. The mermaid grabbed it eagerly. "I'll check on you
every so often," Orb promised, and turned the page back to
Jonah.

"Maybe you should rest," Jezebel said. "It's too bad that
your meeting with Chronos didn't work out better; you
should save your strength for what may come."

"Chronos? I haven't met with Chronos yet," Orb said.

"But you said—"

Orb glanced at her sharply. "Has there been another vi-
sion, a dream-sequence?"

"Demons don't dream," Jezebel said. "I remember
clearly what you said just half an hour ago—"

"I have just spent at least an hour helping a mermaid reach




274           Being a Green Mother

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275

a pool. I'm bedraggled and tired now, and am quite sure I
haven't spoken to you about Chronos recently."

The demoness didn't answer.

"It's getting worse," the guitarist said. "We can feel the
rumbling, even through the rock."

"The winds were gale force and rising in India," Orb said.
"But I'm afraid to sing the Song of Chaos again. How is
Lou-Mae?"

"Sleeping," Jezebel said. "I think Jonah is helping. But
you know she's not going to be happy when she wakes."

"If only I hadn't started this!" Orb lamented.

"I think Satan started it. He led you on, knowing how
mad you'd be when he told you the truth. He's collecting
souls by the millions now."

"Damn Satan!" Orb swore, hating the logic of the plot.

"They say he works over each new Incarnation," Jezebel
continued. "He taught you that evil Song, didn't he? He saw
you coming, and really—"

Orb, unable to listen, turned the page to Ireland—and re-
gretted it. The water had receded, but the swamp was a tan-
gled mass of roots and mud, with few trees standing. The
hamadryad's water oak was gone.

Orb stood there in the savage wind and cried. She wished
passionately that she could undo the damage she had done,
but knew she could not. She had to carry through, but knew
that she had already failed so grossly as the Incarnation of
Nature that she would have to resign the office the moment
things stabilized. She couldn't resign now, because this dis-
aster was not the responsibility of her successor, assuming
any successor existed; Orb had to face it herself.

After a time she turned the page to Betsy's farm.

And blinked. The house was gone.

The wind was so savage here that it was impossible to see
more than a hundred feet, but there was no question: the
house had been blown away. Orb expanded, questing for the
cellar, and found it.

It was empty. In fact, it was simply a gouged-out hole,
much larger than the original cellar. It was evident that the
storm had spawned a tornado and torn the very stones and
timbers out of the ground and scattered them across the land-
scape. Betsy and the organist and Betsy's family were gone.

Orb gazed around the horizon. A tornado? By the sound,

there was another coming. She expanded and confirmed it;

three of them tearing across the plain, spewing out sand and
debris, their terrible tails whipping back and forth as if
searching for anything not yet destroyed. Farther out were
two more, orbiting each other. Indeed, they were every-
where, growing like monstrous trees. Some were so twisted
that they seemed to be rolling like elongated barrels along
the ground, their funnels impinging on the territory of neigh-
boring tornadoes. Hell had arrived on earth, here.

She returned to Jonah. "The farm—gone," she said dully.
The individual tragedies were losing their impact; they were
only samples of what the whole world was suffering.

Jezebel didn't comment. What was there she could say?

Orb knew now that it was not going to stop. The flood had
been replaced by the storm. If she sang again, what worse
could happen?

She fetched her harp and sang the Song of Chaos a third
time. But this time she tried a variation, intuitively; she mod-
ified it with the error-nullification theme. If straight repeti-
tions didn't do it, maybe a null repetition would.

Again she felt it taking hold. But even if it stopped all the
trouble this instant, too many lives had been sacrificed.

When the song was done, she moved to the surface, ap-
prehensive about the result.

The wind was dying.

But did this mean an end to Chaos, or only the onset of
another aspect of it?

Where was Chronos? He was the one who was supposed
to be able to help! Why hadn't he contacted her before this?

Orb turned the page to Purgatory, then sought Chronos'
mansion. She would brace him directly!

A maid met her at the door. "The Incarnation isn't in,"
the woman said.

"I'll wait," Orb said, pushing past her. She was beyond
the point of politeness.

"It isn't wise," the maid protested.

"Just send him a signal, or whatever. Tell him Gaea is
here. I won't leave until I talk with him."

The maid spread her hands. "No one can reach Chronos
when he's out. He isn't like other Incarnations."

Orb picked a comfortable couch in the front room and lay
down as for sleep. The maid departed.




Being a Green Mother

276

To her surprise. Orb did sleep. She woke abruptly when
Chronos entered the room. He was a handsome figure in a
white cloak. "Ah, Gaea," he said. "In your lovely stage.
Had I known you were coming, I would have been here to

greet you."
"I left a message," Orb said curtly. "Why didn't you

answer?"

"What message?"

"Hours ago! They said it would reach you!"

Chronos nodded. "Ah, I understand. You are early in your
tenure, and do not properly appreciate my nature."

"The Purgatory computer says that you are the only one
who can help me. The world is being demolished by my
error, and I have to stop the disaster!"

"Let me explain," Chronos said. "I exist backwards. The
message you left remains in my future, your past. Probably
this visit of yours has nullified it, so I have no news of it in
my past, your future."

"Backwards," Orb repeated. "Yes, of course. I didn t

realize—"

"However I'm sure we shall be reconciled, because we
have had a long and beneficial association."

"That can't be. I'm going to resign as soon as I can some-
how stabilize the Chaos I invoked."

"Chaos?"

"If you live backwards, you have to know all about it,

don't you?"

"Not necessarily. Your future, and therefore my past, is
malleable. What you foresee occurring may differ from my
experience."

"But if you have lived through it—"

"I have lived through a single track of it—one of an infinite
number available. I try to avoid interfering with my own
track, but sometimes it does change. This is of course an
uneasy business for me, though I am immune from

paradox."

"Well, I have an uneasy business outside!" Orb retorted.
"Are you going to help me or aren't you?"

"I would be inclined to help you, for the sake of your
beauty and the long association we have had. However—"

"For the sake of what?" Orb asked sharply.

Chronos smiled. "I suppose that was not an honest an-

Piers Anthony               277

swer. But I do not believe it would be wise for you to know
either the source of my inclination or my reason for denying
it."

"You would do something for an attractive woman that
you would not for an unattractive one?" Orb demanded. Her
frustration and fatigue were telling, and she knew it, but she
hardly cared.

"Well, men do," he said reasonably. "It depends on the
relationship. But your case is special. You have generally
met me in your assumed guise of age and maturity; to en-
counter you now in your beauty is—"

"I suspect that if I understood what you were getting at,
I wouldn't like it," Orb said. "So much for the source of
your inclination; what is your reason for denying it?"

"They are linked. Perhaps you had better simply accept
my statement that I do not wish to interfere with the present
course of history."

"Even though life on Earth is being wiped out?"

"Well of course it didn't—won't come to that, exactly."

"Are you being deliberately perverse? I am not making
much sense of this."

Chronos sighed. "I suppose I had better explain. But I
must warn you that to prevent this explanation from chang-
ing the very matter of which I speak, I shall have to erase
this particular line after experiencing it."

"Erase it?"

"I shall set the time back to this point, and our discussion
will not have happened in your reality."

Orb realized that such was the power of this Incarnation,
that he was not bluffing. "No! I forbid that! If you have a
legitimate rationale for your action or inaction, and it con-
cerns me, I believe I have a right not only to know it, but
to remember it. I want you to tell me exactly what is on your
mind, and why you seem to be refusing to help me undo the
damage I have done."

"But you see, Gaea, your knowledge would almost cer-
tainly change the matter that I relate! Therefore it would
become meaningless, and perhaps much worse."

Orb stifled a sharp retort. She reminded herself that her
impetuous meddling with an aspect of the Llano had gotten
her into trouble more than once, this time quite seriously.
There could be merit in his caution. "Then tell me, and let

275 Being a Green Mother

me judge whether it is proper for me to remember. But you
must promise to let me decide."

"I suppose you do have that right," Chronos said unhap-
pily. "But—would you mind changing to your other form?"

"My other form?"

"The mature one. You—I prefer that you change."

"I hardly know what you're talking about. This is the form
I have had since maturity; I know of no other."

"Again, my vantage betrays me. In your future I have
known you in the other guise. The reason for my concern
will be apparent when I have explained."

"Then you had better tell me what form you are asking
me to assume and how I should do it."

"I really don't know how you do it. It is just one of the
powers of your office, as it is for Fate."

"One moment," Orb said. She turned the page to Fate's
Abode. The young oriental woman was there. "Could I
speak to my mother for a moment?" Orb asked.

"I'll wake her." There was a pause, then Niobe appeared.

"What is my other form, and how do I achieve it?" Orb
asked.

"Why I don't know, dear; the prior Gaea had many forms,
and I'm sure you will, too. I think you just—choose it."

"But I have no idea how!"

"Perhaps if you imagine a progression in your appearance
similar to mine," Niobe said. "In my youth I looked like
this." She changed to a young and startlingly beautiful
woman.

"Oh, mother, I had almost forgotten!" Orb exclaimed.
"You were such a creature!"

"But I didn't take care of myself," Niobe said, reverting
to her middle-aged spread. "I suspect something similar
would have happened to you in time, if you had not assumed
your office. If you will just imagine it—"

Orb concentrated, trying to picture herself when she be-
came her mother's age.

"Yes, that's it," Niobe said.

"You mean I changed?"

"Come to the mirror, dear." She led Orb to a full-length
mirror.

Orb was astonished. She was now a solid, middle-aged

Piers Anthony               279

woman, perhaps twice her normal mass, her hair starting to
gray. "Oh, ugh!" she exclaimed.

"No, it is very good," Niobe said. "You look very much
the part of Mother Nature now." She contemplated Orb crit-
ically. "Except for the green hair."

"My hair is not green!"

"Precisely. The Green Mother traditionally has a green
tinge about her."

Orb concentrated. "Like this?" Now her hair showed
greenish in the mirror.

"Yes, dear. That is very nice."

Orb realized that she must have chosen—in Chronos' fu-
curistic past—this form for much of her official activity. "I
suppose it will have to do. Thank you, mother."

"Do be careful, dear."

"It's late for that!" Orb turned the page back to Chronos'
domicile.

"Yes, much better," Chronos said. "You are your fa-
miliar self."

Orb was not completely pleased, but elected to pass over
the matter. "Now tell me everything I need to know."

"It began about fifteen years hence, in your framework,"
he said. "Perhaps a few more. I was—well, I met a ghost."

"A ghost! There are millions of them being made right
now!"

Chronos shrugged. "This ghost had an unusual proposi-
tion. He wanted me to impregnate his wife. This was a thing
he could not do himself, of course."

Orb realized that this was a highly unusual story. She re-
solved not to interrupt until it was complete.

"I met his wife and fell in love with her. I could not marry
her, of course, but I lived with her like a husband, and she
bore my child, though it was legally the child of the ghost.
Unfortunately, the baby had a malady and died, and she
committed suicide because of her grief. She was the perfect
woman and the perfect mother and she felt she had no life
without her baby."

How well Orb could understand that! If only she had been
able to keep her own baby!

"That left my own life meaningless. With the ghost's help,
I assumed the office of Chronos and have held it until this
time. As you can appreciate, I would not have come to this

280 Being a Green Mother

had I not met the woman, and had she not died. I think I
would give it all up, to live out my life with her, but I can
not, and I believe I am a competent officeholder and that
my input is beneficial. This is the past that I feel I should
not change, the future that you will come to know."

"I am sorry for your tragedy, of course," Orb said. "But
I do not see how it relates to me. Meanwhile, I have a most
pressing problem in my present, not my future."

"But your present affects your future, and therefore my
past. The woman I loved, and will always love, is alive today,
as a child. Her name is Orlene."

It was as if cold water had been dashed on her. "Who?"

"Your daughter—who in her adulthood rather resembles
you as you are now. That is why I find your natural ap-
pearance so disconcerting."

Orb thought of her reaction to her encounters with Mym,
both real and in emulation. "I understand. But—my daugh-
ter?" This was such a surprising development that she was
still assimilating it.

"As a woman of twenty. Old enough to know her mind.
She had a magic talent, the ability to perceive the best
matches in people, as if the people glowed. I glowed, for
her." He leaned over and put his face in his hands. "Forgive
me," he said, his voice muffled by his fingers. "It has been
long since I have spoken other."

Orb gazed at him with a certain compassion. Her baby
girl—as a woman this man had loved! Now at last she knew
Orlene's future!

And Orlene had died—would die prematurely, in tragedy.
That was the second shock. Her death precipitating this
man's assumption of his present office. No wonder he was
concerned about Orb's reaction! If she acted to save Orlene,
by diverting her from the ghost marriage, Chronos might
never become Chronos!

Her eye fell on the ring on Chronos' finger. The one that
looked like the ring Mym had given Orb and that she had
given to her daughter. Orlene had given it to him, as a signal
of her love for him!

Or was it another imitation? Beset by a sudden intense
curiosity. Orb extended her hand to touch the ring.

It came to life immediately, uncurling and sliding from
Chronos' hand to hers. It coiled about her finger.

Piers Anthony

281

"Is it really you?" she asked.

The ring squeezed once.

Of course it could be lying—another ring of the type, pre-
tending to be the one she had owned. But she doubted it

"What he says is true?"

Squeeze.

"You could not help my daughter?"

Squeeze.

Orb put her own face in her hands, sobbing silently. For
a time she remained thus. When she recovered, the ring was
back on Chronos' finger. It was his, now, by the right of the
chain of love.

She found Chronos looking at her. "Now you under-
stand," he said. "I dare not change her future; therein lies
paradox."

"But she has no future, if the weather continues!" Orb
protested. "She may already be dead!"

"That need not be final."

"Not final! What is more final than death?"

"Time."

"But if she dies, your paradox is already upon you! You
must save her."

"No, I may not interfere with the natural order where it
concerns my own past. That would risk a disaster worse than
we can know."

"But—but if you have experienced the future—how can
this present holocaust be reconciled with that?"

"It can't."

"You are talking riddles! You can't meet and love a
woman who was killed in her childhood!"

"There is a way through. That is what I must accept."

"You live backwards! You have already experienced it!
What happens? How can this be undone?"

"There is no problem about the how. I can act at a later
time—an earlier time, for you—and nullify this particular
path. The problem is the why. Only with the advice and
consent of the other Incarnations will I take such an action,
for it affects us all."

"You don't know whether you did it? Will do it?"

"Because the action I will take affects my own past, I can
not be sure what has happened in my past. There is a region
of uncertainty, where the lines of history diverge and tangle.

282 Being a Green Mother

Nothing is absolutely fixed. In one of those lines the decision
will be made, and it will guide what I will do in your past."

"You have no notion at all what is going to happen?"

"Only that the ultimate decision was yours. I acted as the
Incarnations agreed, after you decided. I believe it was the
correct decision."

"So I can save the world?"

"So it seems."

Orb realized that this was as much of an answer as she
was going to receive. "If I can save it, I will save it," she
declared. "No matter what."

"I am not sure of that," he replied.

"Not sure—!" But she decided not to react further in his
presence. She turned the page back to Jonah.

Jezebel was there. "Who are you?" she asked, startled.

"What do you mean, who am I?" Orb said. Then she
realized that she was still in her new, mature form. Hastily
she willed herself back to normal.

"You have learned a new trick," Jezebel remarked.

"Yes, it seems I have."

"You look tired. Let me fix you something to eat, and
you can rest."

"I don't know whether I'm tired or not, now," Orb said.
"After that meeting with Chronos, my mind is spinning!"

"Chronos is going to help?"

"He won't commit himself! He says that I will be the one
to decide. But—oh, it's all so frustrating!"

"Well, eat," Jezebel said, setting some toast before her.

Orb looked at the watch on the wrist of the demoness.
Surprised, she looked at her own. "I think your watch has
stopped," she said. "It's two hours behind mine."

"Oh?" Jezebel compared the two, then went for a desk
clock. The clock agreed with Jezebel's watch. "I think yours
has gained."

"Gained? How could it?"

Jezebel shrugged. "You have been traveling all around the
world. Perhaps it got jogged."

"I suppose," Orb agreed. She reset her watch.

She discovered that she had gulped down her toast in short
order. "I can't sit here while that's out there," she muttered,
and turned the page to Pate's Abode.

Piers Anthony               283

The oriental woman was there, as before. "May I talk to
my mother again?" Orb asked.

"Again?"

"Yes, she helped me an hour ago."

Niobe appeared. "An hour ago? No."

"What do you mean, no? You showed me how to assume
a mature aspect." Orb shifted into it, then back.

Niobe considered. "You were visiting with Chronos?"

"You know I was, Mother! And what he told me—my
daughter, your granddaughter—"

"Let me tell you something about Chronos, dear. His man-
sion reflects his lifestyle. Anyone who enters it lives back-
wards. I have experienced the effect many times. A visitor
emerges earlier than she enters. On occasion I have even
met myself arriving. How long were you there?"

"How long—" Orb repeated, realizing. "You mean—an
hour earlier than—?"

"You are now in your own past, as it were, by that
amount. Don't worry, it clears automatically after you catch
up. It is like a string that loops back on itself; it may not
reach as far, but it's all there."

"Jezebel!" Orb exclaimed. "She said I'd talked with
Chronos—before I did! Only I was in my time, and—oh, it's
all confused!"

"These things happen," Niobe said. "I suggest you go off
by yourself until it clears, then proceed normally. I was
about to take a nap; Clotho will alert me when you arrive,
in your past. But after this—"

"I'll be more careful with Chronos!" Orb finished.

"Yes. I'm surprised his staff didn't warn you."

"I think they tried to, but I—you know how I am."

Niobe kissed her. "Of course, dear. I will not speak of
this, when you arrive again. You understand."

"So as not to confuse me further," Orb said, already con-
fused enough.

"Yes. We all have to make accommodations, when deal-
ing with Chronos."

Orb turned the page to the isle where she had talked with
Natasha. She sat on the sand, trying to make sense of it all.
Intellectually, now, she understood, but emotionally she re-
mained confused. She had in effect traveled backwards in
time, without realizing it! She could appreciate why Chronos

284 Being « Green Mother

was uncertain on some details; she had done it only once,
and her confusion was great.

What was she to do? She had brought on this disaster, so
she was responsible. Chronos said that he could help, but only
if she decided what should be done, some time in her future.
So perhaps what she needed to do now was to decide her
proper course. She did not want to make any more mistakes!

The wind blew past the isle, gouging sand from the beach
and hurling it into the ocean. She saw waterspouts all
around. If she had not assumed physical immunity from harm
with her office, she would be in trouble aow! What had hap-
pened to the calm brought about by her third singing of the
Song of Chaos?

Then she realized that she was still in her own past! She
had lost about one hour, going backwards in Chronos' man-
sion instead of forward. That meant that her life was two
hours behind where it should be—the one she had retreated;

and the one she had failed to go forward. She had labored
to India to help the mermaid, then returned to Jonah, then
gone to see Chronos—and returned to Jonah an hour earlier,
for about half an hour of food and talk. Jezebel had remem-
bered that, when Orb seemed to return half an hour later.
Now she was here at the isle, and the moment of her singing
must be incipient.

She remained on the beach, watching. How fortunate it
would be, if the Chaos finally abated!

She considered turning the page to Luna's mansion. How
desperately she needed the company of someone who truly
understood! But surely Luna had problems of her own, deal-
ing with the storm; better to leave her alone. "Ah, Moth,"
she murmured. "When I really need you, I dare not go to
you!"

The time came. The wind died. The waterspouts lost mo-
mentum, shriveled, and withdrew into their clouds, which
in turn thinned. The sun emerged, and the savage waves sank
back into placidity. Her song had really cooled things off!

Cooled? Now she was aware how much it was cooling.
Despite the sun, the air was cold.

She watched, hesitant to travel again until she had a
clearer notion what was developing. The air chilled until she
knew that the normal person would have had to don heavy

Piers Anthony               285

clothing. The sky clouded again; ice crystals were forming
as the upper reaches chilled and the dew point was reached.

Now she traveled. She turned the page to India.

The mermaid's pool was cooling, too. Water was slower
to yield its heat than the air, but it was obvious that the
mermaid would need some protection before the pool froze.
Already she was huddled and shivering. What could Orb do?

She considered starting a fire. But that would be of only
limited value and dangerous; how could the mermaid prop-
erly tend it? What would happen when the fuel gave out?

Yet what else offered? Orb couldn't carry her magically
to a better place, and there was nowhere to go physically.

Luna! Luna could help, by lending one of her many amu-
lets. Just as Orb's own had protected Lou-Mae, another
could protect the mermaid. She turned the page to Luna's
house, glad of the pretext to go there.

And stood in shock. The house was a mass of embers. It
had been burned down! In fact, all this section had been

razed; smoke was still rising from neighboring blocks. What
had happened?

But she knew what had happened. Crazed people had run
amok and torched the neighborhood—just part of the sav-
agery unleashed as the natural order broke down.

Where was Luna? She couldn't have—no, of course not;

Thanatos would have protected her. He had probably taken
her to his mansion in Purgatory for the duration. Luna was
the key to so much of this; she was the one Satan really
wanted to eliminate. Thanatos knew that and guarded her
constantly; there was no need for Orb to be concerned.

But oh, the sheer waste of this! Any chance for anyone
to take shelter from the cold in this neighborhood was gone,
carelessly destroyed. Luna's beautiful house, all her paint-
ings, the two handsome griffins . . .

Orb knew that if she allowed herself to dwell on this, she
would dissolve into useless tears. All of it, ultimately, was
her own fault. But now she had to hold her emotion in check
and do what she had come to do.

She walked through the ashes, stirring them up with her
feet. Where had those amulets been? Unable to locate them,
she expanded, orienting on what she wanted, and found it—
a wanning stone. It was the only one remaining; the others
had either been removed or had lost their magic in the fire.

286           Being a Green Mother

She coalesced and bent to fish it out of the rubble—a red,

rubylike gem.
She turned the page back to India. "Take this stone," she

told the mermaid. "It will keep you warm."

The mermaid reached a hand turning blue to take the amu-
let. As she touched it, its effect manifested. "Oh, it's warm!"

"It's warm. As long as you hold it, you will be warm, too.
This is the best I can do for you, until this weather changes.''

"It's enough," the mermaid said gratefully. She dived
below the surface, expelling the air from her lungs so that
she could use her gills. Now she would survive, even if the

surface froze over.

Orb turned the page to France. Here on the mountain the
cold was worse; snow was falling, and Tinka and her hus-
band and baby had insufficient protection.

What could she do? She had given the only warming charm
to the mermaid. Then she knew.

"Tinka," she said in Calo.

The blanket stirred. Tinka looked out, her breath fogging.

"Orb!"

Orb drew off her own cloak. "Take this. It will become
whatever you need to wear, even a thick, heavy blanket."

"I know," Tinka said. "I saw its magic many times. But
you—what will you do without it?"

' 'I have no further need of it," Orb said, pushing the cloak

forward.
Doubtfully, Tinka took it. Then she stared. "But you have

nothing else on!"

Indeed, Orb was now standing naked in the snow. "As I
said, I have no need. But you do. Take it, use it, keep it."

The mound stirred. "What?" the man's muffled voice

came.

Tinka snatched the blanket down over his head. "Nothing
out there for you!" Then she focused on the cloak, and it
became an enormous furry poncho that settled over the ex-
isting blanket. That would keep them all warm, both by its

form and its magic!

The mound heaved. Tinka squeaked and disappeared
below. Orb, satisfied, turned the page to Ireland.

She had forgotten that the water oak was gone. The site
was covered with ice and snow. She expanded and found
that all of Ireland was slowly freezing. Indeed, all the world;

Piers Anthony               287

the people who had survived the storms were now squeezing
into what structures remained, shoring them against the-
creeping cold, burning wood salvaged from wreckage, and
hoarding blankets. There was no electricity, no oil delivery;

the world had been reduced to a relatively primitive status.

It was better than the storm, Orb told herself. But she
wasn't sure. How cold would it get?

She returned to Jonah. Jezebel eyed her somewhat warily.
Orb laughed, experiencing a temporary relief from the horror
she felt. "Jez, I owe you an apology. You did hear me talk
about Chronos. Let me explain." She explained. "So you
see, I wasn't being crazy or perverse. I'm under tension, but
it hasn't cracked my mind quite yet."

"I'm glad to hear it," the succubus said seriously. "Now
why don't you put something on, before my man wanders
in here."

Oops! She remained naked, as she had gotten out of the
habit of wearing anything but the magic cloak. She had felt
no discomfort in the snow, but Jezebel was right; she needed
to be clothed. Hastily she donned the blouse and skirt the
succubus produced—one of Betsy's outfits.

Betsy, of course, had no further need of it. Now, abruptly,
Orb burst into tears.

The demoness comforted her. She was good at it, perhaps
because of her experience with the guitarist. Soon Orb got
a new grip on herself. "Thank you. I'm all right now."

"That's good. We're in enough trouble as it is."

"Oh? Has something else happened?"

"Nothing new. We're running short of food. I can get
more, but the economic system has broken down, so I can't
arrange for proper payment of it."

"I see your point. I think I can get by without it, now,
and so can you, but the guitarist and Lou-Mae—"

"Yes. And she isn't doing all that well."

"She has reason. Jez, it's my fault; I started this when I
invoked magic I didn't understand. I have tried twice to
change it, but each time more people have suffered. Should
I try it again?"

"When I went out last time, it looked pretty cold," the
demoness said. "How bad—?"

"I don't know—but I fear it will just keep going."

"Then maybe it's better to gamble again."




288 Being a Green Mother

"I suppose so. Chronos says I will make the final decision.
Maybe one of my attempts will succeed, though I don't see
how it can help those who have already died."

"It seems best to gamble on the living."

"Yes." Orb fetched her harp and sang the Song of Chaos
a fourth time. This time she didn't bother with the null-
theme; it hadn't helped.

She knew the moment she finished that it was taking hold.
Jonah shook. It wasn't die big fish; something was happening
outside. Orb expanded and found that the rock through
which Jonah swam was heaving. She expanded further, so
as to survey the globe, and found that the effect was global.
The whole world was changing.

What was happening? There seemed to be enormous
stresses developing in the crust of the Earth, causing it to
quiver in its effort to release tension. Those stresses were
building rapidly; what would be their result?

All too soon she saw it. Huge sections of the ground buc-
kled under the pressure, the tectonic plates being jammed
together. Elsewhere new fissures opened up, and lava
spewed out. Long-dormant volcanoes came suddenly to life,
and new ones erupted. The geology of the world was going
crazy!

Orb quickly coalesced on India, on the mermaid's pool.
She was already too late; there was nothing but a fold of
lava there. She turned the page to France and saw the moun-
tain toppling over a vast new void beneath it. Tinka and her
family were gone.

She expanded again, distraught. All the world was going,
as earthquakes leveled every remaining building and vol-
canoes buried the rubble in ash and lava. The crust of the
Earth was wrinkling like the skin of an elephant, turning over
and over, and the smoke and ash was so voluminous that
day had become night everywhere. There was no longer any
air to breath; the fumes of the convulsion had replaced it.

She turned the page to Jonah—and found only lava. The
huge fish had been crushed and obliterated by the titanic
forces of the earth, and all the occupants were gone. Jezebel
should have survived it, but perhaps was lost in the Chaos.
Orb was alone.

She hovered in stasis, unable even to decide how she
should feel. The calamity was so complete! She had reacted
in pique and destroyed the world. What remained for her?




16

WEDDING

After an indeterminate time, Orb became aware of company.
A spider was hovering before her.

"Mother!" she exclaimed, knowing that no mortal spiders
existed anymore.

Niobe manifested in her natural form. "I think we should
talk, dear," she said.

"Isn't it late for that?" Orb asked dully. "I've ruined
everything."

"Not necessarily. Chronos can help."

"Chronos said I would have to decide for myself."

"And so you shall, dear. Come with me."

Orb suffered herself to be guided, and found herself in
Chronos' mansion, along with the other Incarnations.

"We are at a critical pass," Mym said without preamble.
"The war between good and evil hangs in the balance. As
I see it, Gaea has three choices. She can allow the present
condition of the mortal world to remain—"

"No!" Orb cried. "I killed everyone! I want only to undo
as much of the damage as can be arranged and retire in shame
from this office."

"Or she can sing the final copy of the Song of Chaos,"
he continued as if she hadn't spoken.

289




290 Being a Green Mother

"Each repetition is worse than the prior one!" Orb said.
"What will the final one do?"

Thanatos leaned forward, his skull-face showing beneath
his hood. "You invoked the Elements of Chaos, each ren-
dition turning it to another form. First Water, then Air, then
Fire—"

"Elements!" Orb said. "Water—when the flooding came!
Air—when the storms came! I never realized! But Fire—I
never invoked that!"

"Nulled," Thanatos explained. "That brought chill rather
than flame."

"Oh." Now Orb remembered what she had learned be-
fore: that every Song of the Llano interacted with any of the
Elements or Kingdoms. She had tried to negate the Song of
Chaos, but had only reversed the invocation of Fire. "Then
I invoked Earth, and it destroyed everything. What can the
fifth Element do, worse than that?"

"That is the Void," Thanatos said. "It will reset the uni-
verse to its original state, without form and void."

"Total Chaos," Niobe said. "Destiny reversed."

"So that God and Satan have to start their eternal war
again, from scratch?" Orb asked, appalled anew. "All of
what has happened before counts for nothing? All of what
all of you have done—undone? How could I let that hap-
pen?" Now she understood why Satan had said this was the
ultimate weapon against him—but that its cost was too great.

"Or she can vote to allow me to reverse the course of
recent time, restoring the world to its state just before she
started the Song of Chaos," Chronos concluded.

"Yes!" Orb exclaimed. "If you can do that—"

"There is a catch, dear," Niobe cautioned her.

"It doesn't matter! If all the damage I have done can be
undone that simply, of course that's what I want! Then I can
retire without singing and let someone more balanced and
competent assume the office."

Mym shook his head. "You can not retire. Orb. That is
a condition of the reversal. You must carry through your
office."

Orb spread her hands. "Then I will! Whatever is required
to bring my friends back, to restore everyone—"

"What is required is the agreement of all the Incarna-

Piers Anthony               291

tions," Thanatos said. "That is the only manner a situation
of this gravity can be resolved."

"But don't you all agree? How can anybfyou deny this?"
"We are not the only Incarnations, dear," Niobe said.
"Oh, of course there are lesser Incarnations, like Eros and

Pestilence—none of them would object, would they?"
"None of them do," Mym agreed. "But there are two

major Incarnations. One of them can be presumed to agree;

He never interferes in the affairs of the mortals, no matter

how tempting it may be."

"Oh—God," Orb said. "The Incarnation of Good. Of

course. But—"

"But the other is the Incarnation of Evil."
"Satan!" Orb said, understanding. "Who opposes all
good of any kind!"

"I heard My name?" a new voice said. Natasha stood
there, smiling.

Orb turned her face away, her emotions abruptly raging
in contrasts seemingly as savage as those she had loosed
upon the world. What he had done—!

"I think you know the situation," Mars said to Satan. "Do
you accede to the course we propose?"

"I could be persuaded," Satan said.

Orb was determined not to speak to him at all, but the
words came from her before she knew. "How can we believe
anything you say? You only want the destruction of man!"

"Not so," Satan said smoothly. "I only want to tilt the
balance of power My way, relegating Mine ancient adversary
to the lesser role. It hardly behooves Me to allow mankind
to be consigned to the Afterlife when the balance is
inappropriate."

"And it favors God now?" Orb asked, knowing it was
true. "So that if everyone dies now, He wins?"
"Even so."

"Then you have to agree to revert the world!" she ex-
claimed to Satan. "Because you don't want to lose!"

"No."

She gazed at him, not knowing what to make of this. "But
if you have no chance to win, this way—"

"I lose," he said slowly. "But so do you. Do you want
your friends, and all the other innocent people of the world,
to die, just to spite Me?"




292 Being a Green Mother

Orb thought of Tinka, of Lou-Mae, of the Livin' Sludge,
the mermaid, and all the others of the world. They were
surely bound for Heaven, but their lives on Earth were in-
complete. Her daughter Orlene was still just a child. "No,"
she admitted, tears stinging her eyes.

"So you are prepared to compromise, to save your
friends."

"I would do anything to undo the damage I have done,"
Orb said brokenly.

"You would even promote My welfare?"

"What are you getting at?" she snapped.

"I have proposed marriage to you. The offer stands. Do
you accede?"

"Oh, God," she breathed. "Your price for letting the
world return!"

"True."

"Gaea's power allied with yours, tilting the balance to
you."

"In time, that will be the case. This is My object."

Now at last the full significance of her childhood vision
was clear. A wedding—or a devastated world. Her choice.

Orb looked desperately around at the others. "What am
I to do? If I align with him. God loses! But if I don't—"

"This is the nature of the decision you must make,"
Chronos said. "None of us can make it for you."

"But the world loses either way! Is this what you have
lived through?"

"No," Chronos said. "But as I intend to explain to you
later, my past is malleable. It may be that I will be required
to divert it to another course."

"What am I to do?" Orb repeated, distraught.

"We can not advise you, dear," Niobe said. "But perhaps
one question will suffice to clarify your thinking."

"What question?" Orb asked hopelessly.

"You now know Satan for who and what he is. Do you
love him?"

The implication struck Orb with stunning force. She put
the back of her hand to her forehead, reeling. With all her
being she tried to deny it, but could not.

"God help me," she whispered brokenly, "for I do love
Satan."

"And I love you," Satan said. "I offer you the world."

Piers Anthony               293

"But what I say is the truth," Orb protested weakly.
"What you say is a lie."

"Perhaps," he agreed. He extended his hand to her. "I
ask you again, Gaea: will you marry Me?"

Orb fought, but her heart had betrayed her. She knew Na-
tasha for what he was, for the Incarnation of Evil, but she
did love him and wanted to be with him in all the ways that
love might dictate.

Slowly her hand moved out to meet his. "I will," she
breathed, half sobbing. Was she doing this for the benefit of

the world or from selfishness? Was she already moving into
his orbit of evil?

Satan held the hand, captive to his success, and faced the
others. "Does anyone object to our marriage?"
No other Incarnation spoke.

"Then we shall hold the wedding at this moment, in Hell,"
Satan said. "All of you are invited, as honored guests and
witnesses, together with any others who wish to attend. I
welcome your participation and support. There shall be no
question about the legitimacy of this union."

"This moment will not occur for several days, considering
my action," Chronos said.

"Precisely," Satan said. "We shall all return to the time
just before Gaea invoked the Theme of Chaos. None of this
will have happened, and our memories of it will fade. But

the agreement has been made, and all of you are party to it.
It will be honored."

"It will be honored," Chronos agreed.

"My objection to your action is withdrawn," Satan said.
"We are now unanimous. The world shall be spared the rav-
age of the Theme of Chaos. Proceed with your action."

Chronos raised his hand, and the Hourglass appeared in
it, expanding to greater prominence. The sand within it

brightened, flowing in its thin stream between the chambers.
The sand turned blue.

Orb was alone on the isle, mulling her situation. Her anger
and grief and confusion prompted her to do what she knew
she should not: sing the Song of Chaos.

Chronos appeared. His shining Hourglass held a fine rib-
bon of sand that was turning from blue to red. "Gaea, you
must not do it," he said.

Orb was startled. "What?"




294

Piers Anthony

Being a Green Mother

295

"Do not invoke the Theme of Chaos," he said. "It will
destroy the world. Do you remember?"

Orb remembered. "The next few days—all my friends, all
the world—gone! Is it a vision?"

"A vision, now," he agreed. "A reality that has been ab-
rogated. Instead, you must marry Satan."

"Marry Satan!" she repeated, outraged. But then she re-
membered that, too. "I—agreed," she said. "I love him."

"You agreed to marry him so that the worid could be
saved. Now you must carry through the agreement you
made. Only because of this am I permitted to change the
course of history. Do you understand?"

"Everything is undone?" she asked. "My friends—?"

"The world is untouched."

The relief was immense. "I must marry Satan," she said.

Chronos nodded. He disappeared.

Orb gazed again across the sea. She sighed. "Satan," she
whispered.

He appeared. "You have decided?"

"I will marry you."

"You remember?"

"As in a vision. But it stands. You gave me back the
world, and I will marry you."

"Is that all?"

She looked at him. He was tall and fair and comely, the
picture of the man she had known as Natasha. "How is it
that you have no horns or tail, now that your masquerade

is off?"

"This is My true form," he said. "My true mortal form,
fixed as it was when I assumed the office. My true form as
the Incarnation of Evil is as you describe. Both are valid.
But this is the one I prefer to use with you. Is that the extent
of what you have to say to Me?"

"I love you." He might be the creature of lies, but she

had to tell the truth.
Satan smiled. "This is what I wished to hear, Gaea. May

I embrace you?"
"You have to ask?"

"Yes, this first time. There must be no coercion."
No coercion! But how could she protest? "You may em-
brace me, Satan."

He took her in his arms, and she thrilled to his touch, even
knowing him for what he was.

"May I kiss you?"

She wished she could claim that she detested this, that she
was only acting a necessary part, but she could not. She
desired Satan's kiss. "You may."

He kissed her, and she felt the same passion for him she
had before, despite her self-reproval.

"May I—"

"Not until after the wedding," she said.

He laughed, she laughed, and it was good, in spite of
everything. She did want to marry him, heedless of all that
portended.

"Am I damned, Satan?" she asked.

"An Incarnation cannot be damned. But even if you re-
mained mortal, your damnation is determined only by your
motives and your actions. Are you marrying Me for the good
of the world?"

"Yes. But also because I love you."

"Neither the good of the world nor love will damn you."

"But my power added to yours—I am contributing to your
capacity for evil!"

"Would you love Me less if I exercised that increased
capacity?"

"I—I think I would have to."

"Then I will not exercise it."

"But how can I believe you?"

"You can not trust My words, but you can see My actions.
Through them you will know that I love you."

"How I wish it could be so!"

"You shall believe," he said. "In time."

She was afraid he was right.

The wedding was a phenomenal production. This section
of Hell was like a monstrous cathedral, with a domed ceiling
that reached up so high that there seemed to be clouds drift-
ing within it. Great arches enclosed the main chamber, or-
namentally carved with exquisite taste. Stained glass was
prevalent, its pictures illustrating scenes from earthly
mythologies.

There was a dais in front, with seven elaborate chairs in
a semicircle, each of carven ebony invoking aspects of the




296 Being a Green Mother

office of a particular Incarnation. One was in the likeness of
a skeleton, with the legs shaped into the seat and arms into
armrests and the skull into a headrest. Another was like a
large wicker hourglass. A third was fashioned like a spider,
the legs paired to form the enclosure for the occupant. An-
other seemed to be a huge red sword and scabbard. Another
was like a tree, its branches twining about to form the ap-
propriate shape.

At the ends of the semicircle were two larger chairs. One
was decorated with representations of pitchforks and the
faces of demons; the other with halos and angel faces.

Orb noted these details with a certain detachment; she was
standing at the back in her wedding gown, awaiting the onset
of the ceremony.

Suddenly the benches in the main section were filled: all
the people Orb had known in life were there, including many
who had died long ago. Childhood playmates, teachers and
casual acquaintances; adult associates, friends, relatives,
and those she had interacted with in however minor a man-
ner. Everyone she had encountered, ever.

She wanted to go out and talk with them, for she saw her
father Pacian and others who had been long gone from her
life. But she could not; she was the Bride, and had to play
her part in the ceremony. Probably many were illusion, any-
way; would God release her father from Heaven to visit a
function in Hell?

The Incarnations entered and took their seats: Thanatos,
Chronos, Niobe as Fate, Mym as Mars, and Satan. The seat
for Gaea was empty; Orb could not be in two places at once,
on this occasion.

The seat reserved for God remained vacant. He had been
invited, but did not intervene in the affairs of mortals or
immortals. In any event. He was unlikely to support the
merger that would shift the balance of power away from
Him. Orb found herself feeling sorry for God. If only, just
this once, He would—

Would what? Rain fire down on this ceremony, preventing
the marriage? That certainly was not His way! Yet if he did
not act, all else would become academic; the final power
would no longer be His.

And if He did act, where would Orb be? She had agreed
to this, knowing the consequence.

Piers Anthony               297

The great chair sat mute. Was God even paying attention?
If only He would give some sign!
Mym rose from his chair and walked down along the side

of the chamber.

It began. A choir appeared, children—no, small demons—
arranged by height, each in a white robe and holding a song-
book. They sang—and the sound in any other setting would
have been deemed angelic. Orb had never heard a mortal
choir sing so perfectly; every note was precise, every part

perfect.

There was a motion in the choir. Something odd was oc-
curring. Orb peered down the aisle and saw what it was:

Individual demons were fading out and being replaced by
others, who sang as perfectly, so that the song was not
interrupted.

Mym appeared. "Are you ready, Orb?" he asked.

"The usual. Butterflies in stomach," she said, smiling
bravely. "What is happening with the choir?"

"They are singing angelically," Mym explained. "That is
not healthy for demons."

"They are being abolished?" she asked, horrified despite
her lack of sympathy for the creatures of Hell. "For singing

well?"

"Ordinarily a demonic creature cannot be angelic in any
sense. But for this occasion there is a special dispensation.
When they perform in a manner that is better than their limit,
they cease being demons and become the next stage up:

damned souls. They fade out, being unable to remain in the
demon choir. Others come in, eager for their chance."

"So Satan really is being decent?"

"So it seems," Mym said. "Everything has been abso-
lutely straight. He doesn't want any objection to this wed-
ding, no quibble, no technicality that might invalidate it."

"Why are you participating, if you don't approve?"

"We did make a deal, and you deserve any support we

can provide."
She laughed, somewhat shakily. "I suppose we should get

on with it." She took his arm.

They walked down the aisle, exactly as in her early vision.
The music swelled, but not into the conventional bridal
melody. They had decided on a different approach.

Satan walked in from the side and turned to await her

298 Being a Green Mother

arrival. Light shone down on him. He was the most hand-
some figure of a man she had ever seen. Whatever coercion
he had used to bring her acquiescence to this union—and
her memory of that and everything else that had occurred
during the vision-interim was fading—had been largely un-
necessary. She loved him and wanted to marry him.

When she reached the dais, Satan took her hand. Mym
went to take the chair reserved for Mars. They turned to-
gether to face the guests.

"Gaea and I have elected to make our vows in song,"
Satan said. He smiled. "There has been a question which of
us is the better singer. That question shall now be resolved.
The superior singer will be the one whose love for the other
is greater. You will be the judges."

He turned to Orb. Her harp appeared in his hand. He
bowed to her and held it out. "I yield the first performance
to you, the first woman I have truly loved."

Orb took the harp—and almost dropped it. It was her own;

she could not mistake that. But how had Satan, the Prince
of Lies, been able to handle it? Not only that, he had said
he loved her, while holding it. Satan was of course far too
powerful an entity for the harp to hurt, but the conflict should
have destroyed the harp—if Satan were lying.

She could not pause to consider this at this moment; it
was her turn to sing. Satan had gone to his chair. She had
the stage.

She sat on the floor, bridal gown and all, and set up the
little harp. No problem now about how much leg might be
showing; the gown was so voluminous it covered everything
and more! She played a chord, then started.

She sang the Song of Evening, the aspect of the Llano
concerning love. There were no words to it, but they hardly
mattered: the theme itself was the statement.

The sunset came to the cathedral, bringing out the pre-
ternatural color of dusk and the grandeur of the sun behind
clouds. She saw the members of the audience staring raptly
and knew that they had never in their lives heard a more
evocative song than this. The power of love infused the as-
sembly and transformed this section of Hell itself with its
delight, comfort, and passion. Orb was truly in love, how-
ever unwisely, and this was the expression of that love.

There was a hush when she finished like that of fulfilled

Piers Anthony               299

love. Orb had not done this in any competitive spirit, but as
the most honest expression other feeling, but she knew that
there was no way that even Satan could match it.

She got up and went to the chair reserved for Gaea. Satan
rose and came forward. He had no instrument; all he had
ever used was his voice.

He sang, a cappella—and Orb received another shock.
He was singing a hymn! How could that be? It was one of
the few things Satan could not do.

"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,
That saves a wretch like Me.
I once was lost, but now am found
Was blind, but now I see."

Orb listened, mesmerized. This was the hymn "Amazing
Grace," exquisitely rendered. She had thought that there
was no way Satan could match her presentation of the Song
of Love, but he was going into a type of song that exceeded
it: a song of the love of God. Yet this was impossible, by
definition.

He began the second stanza—and now the demon choir
joined in as background. What had been beautiful became
transcendent. Orb suspected that no angels in Heaven could
have sung more angelically than this. Indeed, the flickering
in the choir intensified, indicating that the strain was too
much; no demon could sing this way for more than a moment
without losing its definition.

As he sang, Satan turned to face Orb. His gaze sent shivers
of heat and chill running through her; his aspect and his voice
were totally persuasive.

" 'Twas grace that taught My heart to fear,
And grace My fears relieved;

How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed."

Satan was a liar, indeed the Prince of Lies. The truth was
not in him. Yet Orb found herself unable to doubt his sin-
cerity now; he was addressing her, and when he sang
"grace" she heard also "love." He did love her as she loved
him; there was no other way it could be.

300 Being » Green Mother

How could the Lord of Hate love anyone or anything ex-
cept power? Perhaps that was the explanation: it was the
power inherent in the office of the Incarnation of Nature that
Satan truly loved. She was fool enough to love him, and he
loved what he stood to gain by his alliance.

Satan turned back to the guests as he sang the next stanza,
and they seemed as rapt as was Orb herself. What Satan was
doing was impossible, yet he was doing it. The demon choir
was flickering so rapidly that it seemed unreal. Satan himself
seemed to be developing a glow.

Could this be another vision? That would account for the
effects; Satan was not really singing a hymn, not really ut-
tering words that were forbidden to him. It was all a dream,
crafted for maximum effect.

But if this were the case, the wedding was not valid. That
was where the notion foundered. Satan might fool her into
believing she had married him and, in that manner, have his
will of her in any way he chose. But he could not fool the
other Incarnations: not Chronos, who had lived through fu-
ture history; not Fate, who was her mother; not Mars, who
had loved her. They would not accept the marriage unless
it was real; and if they did not accept it, the alliance was
suspect. It had to be real for Satan to achieve his purpose.

This ran through her mind as she listened, entranced.
Satan was doing what he could not do, and she believed it,
and the guests and other Incarnations believed it. Perhaps
there was no proper explanation. Meanwhile, her doubts had
run their course and faded like mist; she believed the Prince
of Lies and she loved the Lord of Hate.

The choir flickered into nonexistence; all the available de-
mons had been upgraded to the status of damned souls. For
the final stanza, Satan sang alone. He turned again to Orb,
and the glow about him intensified. He had become godlike
in the nobility of his countenance. He met her gaze and sang
with an eamestness that transfixed her.

"Must Jesus bear the cross alone
And all the world go free?"

The light about him became so bright that it resembled
flame. Orb's eyes were smarting from the effort of looking
at him. What was happening to him?

Piers Anthony               301

"No, there's a cross for everyone
And there's a cross for Me."

As Satan concluded the hymn, the light turned blinding.
Orb squinted, then blinked—and he was gone!

She lurched to her feet. "Satan, my love!" she cried.
"Where are you?"

Mym stood. "He is gone, Gaea," he said.

"But—"

"He was doomed the moment he took up his cross. He
knew it, but he had to do it. He has left you at the altar and
given you back the world."

"What cross?" she asked, horrified.

Niobe stood and walked toward Orb. "The cross of his
true love for you," she explained.

"Then he wasn't lying," Orb said. "He really did—"

"He really did, dear. He knew he could never truly marry
you, but he had to come as close as it was possible to do.
To love you, to have your love in return, and to complete
the vows of marriage. But you are now a widow."

"The glow—" Orb said, numbed.

"It was the brightness of the redeemed souls being re-
leased from Hell. He could no longer hold them, once he
invoked the forbidden song. He truly loved you, as he had
never loved before, and he gave up everything for you."

Orb looked at the empty chair that had been reserved for
God. Had God really elected not to attend? Surely He had
known...

Then the magnitude of her own loss struck Orb. She fell
into her mother's arms and sobbed with her private
heartbreak.

"Not too much, dear," Niobe murmured. "When you cry,
Gaea, the world cries with you."

Indeed, it was raining throughout the world. But no dam-
age was being done, and in time the sunshine would return.
Now it was time for her to leam the office she had assumed
and so far neglected—to concentrate on being a Green
Mother.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

As I wrote each of the prior novels of this series, their themes
tended to impinge on my own life. Thus Death became prom-
inent during Pale Horse and Time during Hourglass and Fate
during Tangled Skein and War during Red Sword. Perhaps
it is a matter of interpretation as much as of reality; you can
be the judge. Green Mother concerns Nature, and I was in-'
deed aware of the things of Nature.

To begin with, as I completed the prior novel in this series,
my shoulder began to hurt. It worsened over the months,
and finally the pain cut off all my exercises except running.
I had been doing about thirty chins on my study rafter, and
75 Japanese push-ups in under four minutes, but the pain
took no note of physical condition. When it began to manifest
as I reached for my keyboard, I saw the doctor; I can live
without the exercises, but this affected my livelihood.

It turned out to be tenonitis. Not "tendonitis"; there is
no such word, contrary to public belief. It is an inflammation
of the tendon that manifested, in my case, when I tried to
stretch out my arm. When I was bitten by a deerfly and
swatted it, the pain of the effort was so sudden and intense
it had me reeling. I could not reach my back pocket or lift
my hand above my head. I learned how to be left-handed in

302

Piers Anthony               303

most respects; fortunately I am already left-handed in a num-
ber of ways, such as eating. Sleeping was a problem because
there was no position in which my right arm remained com-
fortable; I had to undertake contortions to avoid being awak-
ened by a jolt of pain. Sometimes by day I would simply
pick up my right arm with my left hand and put it where it
needed to be. I'd rather not discuss the effect this ailment
had on my love life.

Pills had no effect. Finally the doctor gave me a shot in
the tendon, and that turned the corner. The inflammation
gave ground as slowly as it had advanced; six months later
it hardly bothers me, and in a few more months it should be
gone entirely. I don't know whether I'll resume my arm ex-
ercises then; after about a year's layoff, I have lost what it
took me ten years to develop, and I suspect I'll call it a day.
The truth is, those exercises were pretty grueling, and I feel
more relaxed in their absence. Thus I learn about my own
nature; now that I am on the downhill side of 50, I'm more
inclined to relax a bit.

In this period I also learned more about equine nature. We
moved to the forest when my daughter Penny reached horse-
craze age, and each daughter got a horse. I liked Penny's
horse Sky-Blue from the start; she was a registered Hackney,
a former racer, then twenty years old, which would be some-
thing like sixty in a person. Blue had raised her former owner
from age ten to fifteen, and had raised Penny through the
same range. The former owner is now married, and Penny
is in college, so you can see how well Blue did her job.

Cheryl's horse Misty was another matter. She was arro-
gant, not acceding readily to the directives of her rider, and
taking any feed she could get at. We had to fence Blue off
during feeding time so that she could eat in peace; otherwise
Misty would take it all. That is why Blue became the model
for two of my creatures in other series, while Misty was
unrepresented. I knew which kind of horse was better.

But in this period Misty developed severe foot problems.
She saw the vet more times than I saw the doctor. The es-
sence is that the bones in her front feet warped, so that she
could no longer stand normally; she had to bend her legs just
above the hooves back at a thirty degree angle when she
stood, and was in obvious discomfort. She lay down for most
of the day. This is the stage at which horses are shot, but




304

Being a Green Mother

Piers Anthony

305

we are not a horse-shooting family. We accommodated her
as well as we could, bringing her food and water to her.

Blue, however, had a different notion. Realizing that the
mighty had fallen, she took to stealing Misty's food. Now I
had to fence Blue off to protect Misty. At one point I brought
some hay to Misty that Blue hadn't deigned to touch, and
opened the gate, figuring Blue wouldn't try to steal that. I
was wrong; Blue charged in so detenninedly that Misty
lurched to her feet to avoid her. Blue bit at her anyway and
stood outraged guard over that hay until Misty had hobbled
far away and lain down again, hungry. Then Blue left the
hay—still untouched. She had never wanted it; she wanted
only to establish her dominance. We had wondered why
Misty was losing weight, while Blue got fat; now we knew.
My illness was reversible; Misty's will be terminal.

Thereafter I fenced them apart for the full day, opening
the gate only at night. I had seen to my regret that horses
are no better than people; when the underdog finally gets
power, he can be just as mean as the overdog was. Might
makes right. Human beings, at least, can sometimes rise
above their instincts and act in a more generous manner-
but I think not often enough. This is the nature of creatures
of whatever kind.

Another aspect of nature is the weather. Here around Flor-
ida the summers get hot and humid—on occasion our high
temperature for a day has been two degrees above the high
for the nation for that day—and those who have read this
novel know how that can lead to trouble. There has been
tremendous overbuilding along the shoreline by those who
apparently assume that hurricanes are a myth. It was time
for a warning blow. It came in the form of storm #4 for the
season, at the end of AwGhost—Hurricane Elena. She was
just passing by, heading for Alabama or Louisiana; when she
was safely by our latitude, I relaxed and turned in for the
night.

I should not have. Elena took that opportunity to make a
right-angle turn and headed straight for us. Now hurricanes
are allowed to go ashore where they choose, but not right
where / live! I worked up some magic and straight-armed
that storm, pushing her off. But it takes an awful lot of magic
to stop a hurricane in full advance, and I had been caught
off guard. Elena slowed, but wouldn't turn away. For two

days she hovered there, building up strength; she had been
a minimal blow of about 90-mile-per-hour winds, but she
swelled to a hundred, then to a hundred ten, and finally be-
came a major hurricane of a hundred twenty-five, still de-
termined to land on our house. The entire Florida shoreline
in this region was taking a beating. Then, finally, the magic
prevailed and shoved her back on course toward Alabama.
What a struggle! But of course I should have known better
than to relax before the storm had actually landed elsewhere.

The season kept throwing storms at us, but none of the
others got that close. One was called Juan (pronounced
Wan), that wandered all over. I could have told them that
would happen; it was predicted in the operetta The Pirates
ofPenwnce, in the song "Poor Wandering Juan." The path
of storms can be predicted; you merely have to know the
proper key.

But these were just warm-ups for the coming novel. Once
I got into the actual writing, things intensified. Not all can
be lightly dismissed. For example, the person who arranged
to buy this novel, Judy-Lynn del Rey, Publisher of DEL
REY BOOKS, was on the phone in SapTimber, spending an
hour talking with me in an effort to straighten out a problem
that had come up between the publisher and me about this
series. In OctOgre Judy-Lynn had a stroke that put her in a
coma. In FeBlueberry she died. She and her husband Lester
had put me on the map as a bestseller in fantasy, along with
Steven Donaldson and David Eddings and Terry Brooks;

they had done more to make fantasy a big-time operation
than anyone else I know of. I fear that thus suddenly a golden
age is waning. There were other deaths in this period: Theo-
dore Sturgeon, perhaps the best writer the genre has seen;

Frank Herbert, author of one of the most successful science-
fiction novels ever, Dune; L. Ron Hubbard, who left the
genre for thirty years to found Dianetics and then Scientol-
ogy, then returned; I have no brief for Scientology, but Hub-
bard was certainly a figure to be reckoned with.

Let's move on to a gentler aspect of nature: the nature of
women. This novel was delayed because I came down with
a flu-like illness, running a fever of a couple of degrees for a
couple of days. Then it dropped to normal, the same day,
FeBlueberry 4, that Blue drove Misty from the hay. I relaxed
and turned in with a book; I always read myself to sleep. I




306           Being a Green Mother

Piers Anthony

307

was out of paperbacks at the moment, so I was in a hard-
cover: The Gentle Art of Verbal Self-Defense by Suzette
Hayden Elgin, who is also a genre writer. The essence of
the book is that you can defend yourself from verbal abuse
if you are alert. The first thing is to recognize when you are
under such attack; it is obvious if someone calls you a
@#$%&*!! of a Censored/Blank, but not if the person says
"I don't understand why you don't try to be fair." Beware
of words like "even" and "really," as for example "If you
really loved me, you wouldn't be such a jerk." Recognizing
the state of siege, you may then respond in a guarded or
diversionary manner, so that you don't wind up feeling like
a C/Blank. I found it interesting; I took judo classes for three
years and learned that you can't throw a person who retains
his balance; similarly, Suzette shows, you can't verbally
damage a person who retains verbal balance. I had a cough-
ing fit that delayed my sleep for an hour or so; then when I
finally nodded off, the book fell from my hand and smote
me on the mouth, comerwise.

Now this did not seem quite fair of Ms. Elgin, considering
the doctrine she was preaching. I would have continued
reading her book on the morrow, after all. Wide awake again,
I resumed reading, and in another hour I nodded off a second
time. Whap! Suzette smacked me again. What a temper! It
took me yet another hour to nod off, this time with the book
propped so it couldn't hit me, making four hours in all. Next
day my fever shot up to new heights, peaking at 102.5°. My
mouth felt like bruised cheese rind. Thus it was two more
days before I could resume paying work, and yes, I did finish
reading the book. Suzette, dearest, if you really loved me,
you wouldn't even want to publish in hardcover. . . .

The nature of computers and their programs also figured
heavily in my life at this time. Those readers who object to
this sort of discussion are encouraged to skim on down the
page until I return to something interesting, if ever. The fact
is, though I resisted getting computerized for a long time,
just as I resisted getting involved with girls throughout high
school, when I finally did get into it, I fell in a big way. For
me, being on the computer is like starting a fine automobile
or mounting a dynamic horse: it seems alive and exciting,
with limitless potential. But it can also be omery, and the

challenge, frustration, and joy of it was never more evident
than when I wrote this novel.

You see, I got a new program in No-Remember. I like
FTP, the text processor I was using, but it had two weak-
nesses: it could use only half my computer's memory, so
that I had to keep chopping chapters in half because they
wouldn't fit, and it had no windows, so I could look at only
one file at a time. My wife spied this ad for a text processor
named Edward that solved both these problems, so we sent
for it, just in case. And Edward changed my life. It addressed
all my computer's memory, so I no longer had to divide files,
and it had fourteen buffers, or places where files could be
called up, as it were, in parallel. I could call up Chapter 1,
Chapter 2, Chapter 3, etc. without exiting Chapter 4, and
flick back and forth between the buffers to compare, or I
could move material from one file to the other, or make a
change in one and save it and close down the buffer. I spent
a week getting into it, not because it was that complicated,
but because it opened up such new horizons for me and made
me appreciate new qualities about the programs I already
had. For example, Edward had a squintillion places to put
macros, those keys that do simple or complicated chores
with single keystrokes, such as typing out my entire address-
block. I rechecked SmartKey, which is a macro program,
and discovered it would put macros in those new places, too;

I never realized! Thus I could set fifty macros if I wanted,
instead of the twenty-two I had before. I could embed ma-
cros within macros, putting a SmartKey macro in an Edward
macro. And Edward allowed me to move its functions about,
putting them on any keys I want. That meant I could place
them to match the equivalent functions on FTP and not have
to retrain my reflexes. What ftm!

But Edward had some horrendous holes, too. At one point
it filled our hard disk with garbage; at other times it blew
the memory, which was a frightening experience, rather like
a pressure cooker exploding, only the effects were non-
physical. We had to figure out exactly where those holes
were, because they were like mines waiting for someone to
blunder into them. More hours I lost, defusing mines! There
were also some formidable problems. Edward couldn't
underline, and I use underlining frequently. The wonderful
Edward macros could not be saved for future use: some




308           Being a Green Mother

glitch in the routine that was supposed to save them. Ed-
ward's printing program was of the "batch" type, which was
90 completely unsuitable to my need that I never even loaded
it into my machine. I discovered by experimentation that
PTP would print an Edward file, and that I could use "es-
cape" codes to put in underlining. That saved Edward; I
could use it after all. I decided to write a novel with Edward
and see how I liked it. Yes, this novel.

Thus, on-schedule DisMember 1,1 started writing on Ed-
ward. I had to use special escape codes to underline, and
FTP to print, and to set up my macros each time. But before
the month was out, I knew I wanted to stay with Edward.
It was those buffers. I had worked things out with FTP to
accommodate my [brackets] system of writing; with Edward
I didn't have to do that, because I could set up an entire
separate buffer for my ongoing notes. And another for an
ongoing Table of Contents. And one for a list of characters,
so I didn't have to search through past text for names I'd
forgotten. Plus any temporary notefile for stray notions
about other novels that occurred to me while working; I
could write them and save them with no fuss. Thus every-
thing changed; my —>arrow<— macros disappeared, and
my brackets. I had a better system. Just about the time I
worked it out, we got hold of a collection of public-domain
programs that do marvelous little things that the regular pro-
grams never thought of, such as un-erasing a program you
erased by accident that contains irreplaceable material, or
scrambling a file so nobody else can read it without the code
word—and these, too, had their glitches that could and did
blow the memory. After much struggle I figured out how to
debug the major glitch and sent a letter to the public domain
folk, who evidently hadn't known; they did not respond.

ditchers never do; that's human nature.

No need to go into detail about the myriad little refine-
ments I worked out to integrate PTP and SmartKey and Ed-
ward; suffice to say that the three programs now seem like
one, overlapping marvelously. But the doing took time,
much time, and that coupled with other interruptions such
as horses and illness and correspondence—I wrote 1206 let-
ters last year, and am doing over a hundred a month so far
this year—have run this novel into overtime, putting me be-
hind schedule. Aspects of the novel do reflect the nervous-

Piers Anthony               309

ness and wonder of the computer experience, such as Orb's
first traveling by turning the pages on reality, and the manner
that mysterious codes or sequences can do truly remarkable
things. Just getting the page number in the right place took
us three months to figure out; PTP vindictively shoved the
page numbers for Edward text so far to the right they some-
times went off the page. The breakthrough? I now put non-
printing symbols in the heading. The printer just eliminates
them and closes up the line, sucking the page numbers in
several columns, and PTP never even knows, heh, heh. It
can take real cunning to outsmart a stupid machine, but what
a satisfaction!

In the middle of it all, our hard disk crashed. The human
equivalent would be complete amnesia; all our programs
were lost when we replaced the unit. Except that we had
been careful throughout to back up almost everything of
value. But it was another harsh lesson in the nature of com-
puters, and of course it cost its share of time.

I don't attend many fan conventions—maybe one a year—
and the one for 1985 was Fall-Con (a pun on Falcon, I think)
in Gainesville, Florida, in OctOgre. (The Ogre does tend to
make public appearances in that month, of course.) These
affairs typically have one Guest of Honor, plus appearances
by a number of other genre writers, and are good places to
meet writers, artists, and fans, and to shop for genre books
and art and artifacts. I spent several hours autographing cop-
ies of my books and chatting with whoever was interested.
I don't go public much, but when I do, I try to do it properly.
Rumors to the contrary notwithstanding, I have never ac-
tually been an ogre at a convention, as anyone in the know
will verify. My memory for names and faces is sievelike, but
I do recall some of the other writers there. Martin Caiden,
author of the story that became TV's "Six Million Dollar
Man." Robert Lynn Asprin, of the punnish Myth-Begotten
series. (His wife is also Lynn, and I have contributed an
Elfquest story to their volume Blood of Ten Chiefs; if any
trouble occurs, I'm tempted to say "Take two Asprin and
call me in the morning.") David Palmer, author of Emer-
gence, a finely crafted post-holocaust novel. There are two
Haldemans, and I met one of them, and my daughters met
his daughter. Robert Adams, of the Horseclan series. Mer-
edith Ann Pierce, author of the delightful Darkangel trilogy,

320           Being a Green Mother

who reminds me ofRapunzel because her hair reaches nearly
to the floor. The following week, collecting a daughter or
two from Tampa's Necronomicon, I renewed acquantance
with Andre Norton, the Grand Dame of the genre, and Roger
Zeiazny, author of the Amber series, and met Robert
Bloch—remember Psycho^ Florida is not a complete back-
woods region for the genre!

Thus went my life during this novel. It's a pretty mundane
life, overall, and I'm a pretty ordinary character. I suffer
increasingly from allergies that can turn my nose into a faucet
for hours or days at a time, and slobs cut in front of me in
lines, and the phone glitches when I try to make a call. I
presume these things happen to every nonentity, in this
world. That is surely a major reason I seek respite in the
realms of fantasy, where I have the illusion of importance.
Yet even the mundane life has its minor compensations.
When I walk out around the grounds I see the little cedar
trees we planted as seedlings; now some of them are my
height, and some are taller. I have paths that go to them, for
I love paths. I know the little wild flowers that grow nearby;

there was a violet beside a cedar tree that came up just for
me each year. Then, abruptly, it was gone; evidently a horse
had stepped on it. That saddens me every time I pass that
spot. Nature can be cruel. There was a little pine tree grow-
ing, just rising into adolescence, and then the wind took
down a big old dead oak, and that oak caught the pine tree
and snapped it off. That, too, I mourn, even years later,
though we have thousands of pine trees growing.

In fact we set up a region for Penny with pines, called
Penny's Pines, with one for each year of her life. Then when
we fenced it for the horses it was less accessible, so we
moved Penny's Pines to a new spot. Since that time no new
pines have appeared at the old site, but a score of new little
ones have seeded in the new one; they knew! Penny and I
are special; I have short brown hair and she has long blond
hair, but one day we discovered that we match exactly at a
given length; if I wore mine as long as hers, I'd be blond,
too. Which explains why my mother always thought I was
blond, and I thought she was color-blind. Our eyes match,
also; Penny's my daughter through and through. We live and
leam constantly about nature; even the little things aren't
always what they seem.

Piers Anthony               311

When we built the bam and stalls for the horses, two huge
spiders moved in, one with about a four and a half inch leg-
span, the biggest web spinner ever seen, and the other was
larger. Fine; they trapped the flies that bother the horses.
Then the larger drove out the other and took over that site.
Then one morning that one was hanging from its web, dead;

I never found out what happened. Whole life histories are
available for our consideration, in Nature, if we but watch.

Death is integral to Nature, of course. It was my preoc-
cupation with death that started this series, and I have had
many letters from readers who say they were helped over
personal crises of death by that novel. I always read and
respond to these with mixed emotions: glad to have been of
help, however distantly, but sad that the crisis had to come
at all. Meanwhile, the Deathwatch, which I bought at the
time of that first novel, I finally retired during this novel; in
four years its functions had declined to the point where
it simply wasn't worthwhile to use it. I set it aside with a
special sadness. I shouldn't personalize machines, I know;

still . . .

Death can strike at the least expected times. In this period
of Green Mother the Tyienol crisis redeveloped, causing the
company to discontinue capsules, because some grisly joker
was putting cyanide in them. I have little brief for big drug
companies, but this one strikes me as a singularly upright
one, paying a singularly unjustified penalty for someone
else's misdeeds. We may thus have seen one of the new
forms that world terrorism will take, bringing death and ruin
to innocent parties.

There was also the case of a most foolish challenge of
Nature that resulted in tragedy. A launch of the Challenger
shuttle was set, but the night was cold. We live at the same
latitude, and our morning low was the coldest of the winter,
sixteen degrees Fahrenheit. It wasn't quite as cold on what
in my lexicon is called the Isle of Illusion, but there were
long icicles on the equipment. Engineers were worried about
the ability of the sealing rings to function in cold weather,
but the powers that be overruled them and fired off the rocket
anyway. Thus seven lives and a billion dollars thrown away
needlessly, and the space program severely damaged, be-
cause people did not yield to Nature. That horrifies me on
several levels.




312           Being a Green Mother

Piers Anthony

313

While delving through my old papers in search of some-
thing else, I came across material relating to my researches
for Macroscope, one of my earlier novels. It was an article
in a 1967 issue of Saturday Review, by John F. Wharton,
and I had highlighted significant passages. Now I find those
passages relevant to my present thinking. They describe the
nature of man; his enormous capacity for self-delusion, and
his propensity to bully others. Thus, in the name of a com-
passionate faith, fanatics slaughter those who have done
them no harm, and we race recklessly toward destruction.
Religion doesn't stop it, it merely finds ways to forgive sin.
This explains, part of my cynicism about that subject; I prefer
prevention to forgiveness.

Which brings me to my conclusion. I make no claim to
any special depth in these novels; they are entertainments
that merely flirt with the deeper concepts that underlie our
superficial reality. Just as the screen of the computer is a
window to an aspect of its inner workings, so is the human
eye a window to an aspect of mundane reality. Codings and
buffers enable the computer to present portions of its content
as if they were all of it, and if you don't know how to use
those controls, you will never see the rest. I see this as an
analogy to the deeper nature of our existence. We see only
the superficial aspects, the skin of a person, the paint on the
wall, and extrapolate to perceive the larger situation. But
even so, do we grasp it all? Or are there entire worlds that
we can not perceive, alternate realities that are present but
beyond our ken unless we leam the keys to their revelation?
So far, this concept has been evoked mostly in science fiction
and fantasy, but now science is approaching it, suspecting
that we perceive only a tenth of the mass of the universe.
What about the other nine-tenths? What is the key to its
perception? Can science devise some magic spell to reveal
it? Is the universe, seen and unseen, truly random, or is there
some higher organization, some ethic superior to what we
practice?

This leads us to considerations of God, which I shall define
as the source of that higher organization. Some readers send
me letters ofproselytization, assuming that I have somehow
lived my life without becoming aware of Jesus. I had a report
that a fundamentalist school was banning my books on the
grounds that I was a Satanist. (I wrote them a stiff letter,

reminding them that Jesus would not have lied like that. I
am at this writing approaching my thirtieth anniversary of
marriage to a minister's daughter.) One reader wrote at
length arguing that either Jesus was a stark, blithering lunatic
who should have been put away, or he was correct when he
claimed to be the son of God, with all that implies. No; this
is a fallacy of limited thinking. The world is not black/white,
it embraces all the shades of gray in between. Jesus did not
have to be one or the other; he could have been a man who
felt a strong need to reform the evils of the world, and whose
parables were misunderstood by those who took them lit-
erally instead of grasping their messages. What mischief is
wrought by those who take Jesus' words in vain—without
realizing it! Jesus claimed to be the son of God? Of course
he was. We are all children of God.