Being a Green Mother (25 page)

“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 invoke 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 complementary 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?”

“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 indeed 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 symbols, there were demonic ones; and instead of comforting or esthetic stained-glass scenes, there were depictions of torture 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 devastating power immediately. Her will left her; she sat and listened, 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 answered. Satan waited, slowly smiling, knowing that the victory 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.

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 answering! 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 diminished. 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 Natasha’s voice, singing the alternate theme. She walked toward 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 features were ruggedly even. He would not have seemed outstanding 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
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 treading 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 forgotten 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 wonderful. 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, smiling. “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!”

“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 desired, 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 approaches 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.”