Being a Green Mother (32 page)

The carpet landed beside the table. The men began grabbing at the bags of herbs.

A young woman approached them. “Please,” she said. “Those herbs—we have labored all season to grow and harvest 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 summoning melody.

Suddenly Natasha was there, looking startled. “Who—why—?”

“I did it,” Orb said. “These men are stealing these Indians’ 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?”

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 reverberate. 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 attended 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 somewhere,” 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 coddle criminals—” He broke off, spotting Mym.

“This is Mars,” Orb said quickly.

“The Incarnation of War?” Nat asked, seeming not entirely 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 mistress now.”

Nat’s grimness did not abate. “You, an Incarnation, dazzled 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 portended. 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 loving 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.

A gulf of sorts opened around her. “Please …” she 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 relationship 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 intensified 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 –

“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 everything.
“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 before, 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 Incarnations—Nature. You may have noticed your powers increasing.”

Now it was Orb’s turn to be astonished. “An Incarnation—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 increases. 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 the 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
the time you need to come to your best understanding of the alternatives.”

“We don’t know anything about this!” Lou-Mae protested. “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.”