And Eternity (32 page)

She nodded, guarded until she knew their business. “I regret to inform you that your husband is dead. He died honorably …” The voice continued, but she could not make out the words. Her emotion was not numb after all; her last hope had been dashed. She had hung on only for this, for his return, and now her support was gone. The child came to the doorway. She had heard! “Here are his medals,” the officer said. “We can’t eat medals!” Orlene protested. The officer was silent, holding out the medals. Orlene glanced at her daughter, scarred and lame, any potential beauty she might have achieved destroyed before she matured, if she managed to live to adult age. With just the two of them now, without hope, and the fields remaining barren, and the war continuing interminably-what was the point in living at all?

But her daughter, she could still have a chance. “The suicide corps,” she said. “You still need volunteers?”

The officer’s eyes widened. “We do not ask this of you!” he protested. “Your family has suffered enough!”

“For a price,” she continued grimly. “Surgery to fix my daughter’s face, and good care for her well away from the front until she is grown.”

“No!” the child cried, understanding.

The officer looked at the daughter. “You understand, you would not be able to go with her yourself? It is a life for a life, and the government does not ask-”

“What life is there for us here? We’ll both die!”

The officer nodded bleakly. “You will have to come to the station and sign papers.”

“We’ll come now!”

“But Mother!” the daughter cried. “How can I without you?”

“You’ll die here!” Orlene said. “You have been weakening; I have seen it. They will feed you and fix your face, and you will be safe. As for me, my father is dead, my husband is dead, my sons are gone. I have no further need of life, only of vengeance for the ruin brought on us. Only you remain, and you can live this way.”

The girl had suffered much recently. She knew it was true. She did not protest again.

Orlene hauled a cart of fresh vegetables to the gate of the military base. There were a number of others like her, selling their produce each day, eking out their livings. But this was camouflage; under the vegetables was a bomb. It was her mission to take the bomb to the enemy headquarters and detonate it there. She would die in the explosion, but her daughter would reap the reward. This was the quiet, desperation strategy of the war effort.

The gate guard was bored and inattentive. He had evidently spent the night carousing or gambling or womanizing, any of which activities were forbidden by both military and cultural conventions-and wished he could be sleeping at this moment. His glance at her cart was cursory, and she herself was invisible: just one more poor widow among thousands. She did not even have to show her papers, though she had excellent forged ones, or to speak, though she had memorized several key sentences in the enemy’s language. She pulled her cart on through, unchallenged.

Now she had to get to the HQ building. Whether the General would be there at this time was a gamble; his schedule was erratic, perhaps deliberately so, so that it was impossible to predict where he would be at any given time. But there was a fair chance that he would be, and certainly lesser officers would be there, so the bomb would have good effect. She regretted that she would never know the extent of her success. It would be nice to take out the man who had directed the strike against her village which had destroyed her house and killed her elder daughter. But she wasn’t doing this for vengeance; she was doing it for desperation. Her government was meticulous about keeping its word, in this respect; when her bomb went off, her younger daughter would go to the hospital for surgery on her face, and then to a program for privileged orphans, and she might one day be a healthy, pretty girl. She knew better than to let anyone know about the rape she had suffered; that would count against her. But keeping that secret, and motivated to succeed, she would survive. That made it bearable. Near the gate there were many women vendors. She moved away, supposedly seeking a region of the camp that had less competition. In fact she headed straight for the headquarters building. The officers had more money for good vegetables, and hers were the best. Superficially. She hoped nobody approached her to buy any, because she would very quickly exhaust her supply and expose the bomb. She would not be able to turn down a sale without arousing suspicion, unless the offer were plainly too low.

A boy approached. “Here,” he called in accented urgency. He was raggedly dressed, evidently a peasant servant running errands for officers. Naturally they had sent him out instead of doing this chore themselves. She would have to get rid of him.

Then she paused. Could it be? His eyes widened. “Mother!” he exclaimed. It was her eldest son! Captive, he was serving in this military camp! At least he was all right; he seemed healthier than she was. But if anyone here caught on “You must go!” she whispered. But then, unable to help herself, she asked: “And your brothers, are they safe?”

He frowned. “One is. One is dead. And the third, I don’t know; they took him to another camp, and-”

“Hey, boy, don’t dicker with the hag!” a soldier called, spying them. “Take the cart to the mess hall, and the cook will give her its value.”

“Right away!” he replied. He pointed, indicating the way to the mess hall. “We can talk while we go. How did you come to be here, Mother? I thought I’d never see you again!”

“I can’t go to the mess!” she protested. “I’m here to blow up the officers’ building!”

“But they’ll kill you!”

“Never mind that. I’m doing it for you, and your sisters. Where is the officers’-”

“What’s taking so long?” the soldier cried. This time he strode toward them, determined to make an example of some sort.

“That building!” her son said, indicating it with a flick of his eyes. “But you can’t get there!”

“Yes, I can! Denounce me! Don’t let them know you know me!” She started toward the building.

He hesitated as the soldier approached.

“Do it!” she hissed, moving faster.

He realized that this was the best course. “That woman!” he cried loudly. “I think she’s a spy! She doesn’t speak well!”

“What?” the soldier asked, confused.

“That woman, there’s something funny about her! Stop her before she does something bad!”

“You’re crazy!” the soldier said. But then, seeing Orlene running, hauling the cart behind her, he decided to follow up despite being told to by a servant brat. He broke into a run, and stumbled, because the boy hadn’t quite managed to get out of the way in time.

That gave her valuable time. She expended what little strength she had racing for the building. Once she got there, it didn’t matter who else was with her. The more the better,thought grimly.

But as she came to the rise above the officers’ building, the soldier caught her. She whirled and scratched his face, making him let go. Then she shoved the wagon and sent it rolling down the slope toward the building. Would it connect? It was supposed to detonate when the end of it was shoved in, and if it missed the building, or struck glancingly No, its aim was true! It was going to strike squarely.

Then a fist struck her from behind. The soldier was attacking her. She fell as he threw her down. She cringed as his boot swung at her body. It connected, and she felt something snap, and the pain flared. He kicked her again, this time in the face, and she knew her nose was smashed. He was beating her to death!

The world exploded. She thought she was dead, but it was the wagon detonating. It had destroyed the building!

Suddenly there were soldiers everywhere. She was hauled roughly up. “An assassin!” one cried, showing a knife. He thrust. She had thought she was beyond pain, but this was different. She tried to scream, but the blood choked it off.

“Come on out of there,” Mars said. “It is over.”

Orlene came out, screaming, before remembering that it wasn’t really her. She saw the woman dropping, blood leaking from her chest and stomach. They were still beating her, foolishly, for she was already dead. Some distance away her son stood, watching, silent; he could not protest, for that would only lead to his death too. As it was, he would probably be rewarded, or at least commended, for he had cried the alarm, even if not quite in time.

Oh, God, what a mess!
Vita thought, sickened.

Jolie agreed. It reminded her of her own death, centuries before. The horror of it never entirely abated.

“The fools!” Mars said. “They should have kept her alive. Then they could have tortured her for everything she knew. This way, they have nothing.”

“Not even her son,” Orlene said, still reeling.

“Right. I had to prod him to make him denounce her, but he did a decent job of it.”

“You were in him?” she asked.

“First in the father, then in the officer, then in the boy,” he agreed. “Now we go back. Don’t want to keep the ladies waiting.” He lifted his great red sword, and they sailed up into the sky.

“Waiting?”

“For most of an hour. They will chide me.” He hardly seemed worried.

Orlene, numbed, focused on a peripheral detail. “How could I be in that poor woman for several days, and return in only an hour?”

“You were not in her that long. Only the conscious time. Perhaps half an hour at her hut and fifteen minutes at the base. I jumped you forward; it was pointless to go the whole route.”

“But we can’t remain in Purgatory several days!” she protested. “We’ll miss the deadline for, I mean, if each day is a year-”

He smiled. “You had a year of mortal time to play with. We played with some of it. Only an hour of Purgatory time has passed. Fear not, I would not cause you to finish late. I have the same deadline myself, for that important meeting.”

They arrived at the Castle of War. There were the two ladies walking in the garden. “Ho!” Mars called, landing before them.

Lila glanced at Orlene. “Did you learn the nature of war?”

Orlene burst into tears.

Ligeia stepped across immediately and put her arms around Orlene. “It is an ugly business,” she said. “But he does not do it for spite. He wanted you to understand.”

“I don’t! I don’t!” Orlene sobbed. “All that grief and death, what is the point of it?”

“There is no point,” Lila said. “It is the nature of mortal man to fight. The pretext hardly matters. This flare-up was because one side accused the other of violating the truce. They had both been violating it right along, of course.”

“Rights have to be wronged,” Mars said. “Or so the mortals claim. In this case, they will keep on righting wrongs by committing new ones, until at last the entire mortal realm is righted and wronged in our version of Ragnarok.”

“But this is preposterous!” Orlene flared. “Why doesn’t someone do something about it? The Incarnations, I mean? Surely if all of you got together-”

“It is difficult for us to unify,” Mars said. “Satan, for example, generally has a different agenda.”

Satan doesn’t approve this!
Jolie thought.
He uses it to identify those souls that need earliest correction, but he doesn’t like it!

Why doesn’t God, then? Vita thought. “Why doesn’t God do something?” Orlene echoed aloud.

Her father smiled in his grim fashion. “Perhaps you should ask Him, when you encounter Him.”

Startled, she nodded. “Yes, I must see Him. I will ask Him!”

“I will give you the favor you came for,” Mars said. He had read that, too, when he first touched her. “A seed of war. When you have similar commitments from the other Incarnations. I think this is what I would do for any person in your situation.”

“Thank you,” Orlene said faintly. She was aware that this Incarnation, like the others, had indeed put her through an ordeal before granting her favor. She had learned much that she rather wished she had not. What was the point in her quest to salvage her baby, when women were losing their whole families because of pointless wars? Yet what could she do except go on?

“You must stay the night here,” Ligeia said, stepping away. She had held Orlene until she seemed stable.

“We must see Nature next,” Orlene replied. “Then Satan and God tomorrow. We cannot rest yet, but thank you.”

“Indeed, I see you cannot,” Ligeia said. “But may we then help you to reach your next appointment?”

Orlene was tempted, but decided against it. “I have so much to assimilate, to settle in my mind! I think I had better walk.”

“Of course. I am sure Gaea will treat you fairly.” Orlene made her partings and was escorted to the front gate. She hugged each of the understanding women, and then her father, knowing that no matter how the experience had hurt her, he had deemed it necessary. He had been fair with her.

They walked directly to Nature’s treehouse, letting their feelings sort out and settle. The horror of what they had just experienced of war was that they knew it was no isolated case. All over the world similar things were happening. Families were being destroyed, and heroic or unheroic sacrifices were being made, for pointless causes. It seemed that men just had a drive to fight, on any pretext, and that the women were unable to stop them. Why was it so?

Gaea was home. She came out to meet them as they approached. She was an older woman, heavyset, with a rather unflattering brown dress and green hat. “The Purgatory News alerted me,” she said. “You are the ghost my friend Jolie has been working with!”

I never told her your identity
, Jolie thought
. I would not have told you either, but Chronos made it known. Now you must tell her. She is your mother
.

“Yes, it is true,” Orlene said, nerving herself. “I am visiting each of the major Incarnations, to ask their help in recovering my baby. But-”

“But that is not lightly given,” Gaea said. “Come in. I will listen to your plea, because I know Jolie would not be wasting her time. But I make no guarantee to help you.”

They entered the house and sat in chairs of curving, living wood. The interior contours of the tree formed a central loop that had an odd quality: when she looked through it, she did not see the other side of the chamber, but clouds and sunlight.