Wielding a Red Sword (12 page)

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

“Purgatory?” Mym sang.

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

“Reincarnation is more expedient,” Mym sang.

“We Occidentals are not as sophisticated about the larger scale as are you Orientals,” Gaea murmured, smiling.
But he was sure that this benign green woman was as sophisticated as any living person.

“I think first I want to rescue Rapture,” he sang.

“For that, you must use the directed travel,” Gaea said. “Simply point the Sword in the direction you wish to go and will it to proceed. A little experimentation will give you the feel of it.”

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

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

“That’s what I’m afraid of!”

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

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

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

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

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

Gaea appeared in the new chamber, in the form of coalescing mist. “Shall we proceed to Maharastra?” the mist inquired.

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

“Try it here,” she suggested.

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

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

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

In his mind he aimed the Sword up, at a thirty degree angle, and south. He willed a swift passage.

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

“But you must guide it, when the destination is not familiar to it,” a cloud said.

Mym experienced
deja vu
. “Were you at the Honeymoon Castle?” he sang.

“Not specifically,” another cloud replied. “I am in all things, but I don’t interfere where I don’t need to.”

“A cloud talked to me, there,” he sang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tune in—on Rapture?” he sang. “But her privacy—I don’t like to—”

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

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

Nothing happened.

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

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

He found himself looking at an ornate feminine dagger.

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

It had been Rapture’s dagger he had seen.

She was contemplating suicide.

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

Then her gaze wandered vacantly to the mirror, and he saw her forlorn reflection. Her lustrous tresses had dimmed, and her green-malachite eyes were rimmed in red. She was so lost without him! She had been dependent on her father and now she was dependent on Mym; stripped of that support, she was collapsing into herself. He had loved her because of that fundamental vulnerability; she truly did need him.

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

He grasped the Sword.
Out
he directed.

He sailed out through the wall and around the palace. There in an upper window on the north side was a speck of green. He homed in on it, then passed in through the window to land on the floor. “Rapture,” he sang.

She jumped, spun about, recognized him, and collapsed.

He jumped forward and caught her as she fell. “Beloved!” he said, not stuttering for the moment. He held her, kissed her, and held her some more, and in a moment she revived.

“Beloved!” she echoed.

“I have come to claim you,” he sang. “But there is much to explain.”

“Just hold me,” she breathed. “I—without you, I—”

“I saw the dagger,” he sang. “No need for that now.”

Then, holding her, he sang his explanation: his assumption of the office of the Incarnation of War, by grasping the great Red Sword; the new powers and responsibilities that provided him; and his ability to take her with him—if she chose to come.

“Take me with you!” she cried without reservation.

“But it will mean a complete change in your life,” he warned. “You would not be a princess any more.”

She just looked at him, and he knew that nothing else mattered to her except being with him.

“Well, let’s see how well we can travel together, then,” he sang. He touched the Sword.

“A consideration,” a wisp of mist said, forming in the room.

Rapture jumped again, but Mym reassured her. “That is Gaea, the Incarnation of Nature,” he sang. “She is helping me get started. She showed me how to reach you.”

“If you take her away without explanation,” Gaea said, “her father will assume that she has come to some foul end and he will blame your Kingdom, Prince, with which he is at war. That would lead to much mischief that I think you would prefer to avoid.”

“I would prefer to stop this idiotic war entirely, by marrying Rapture!” Mym sang. “But my father—”

“Perhaps we can achieve your desire, with a little effort,” Gaea said. “All that is needed is the apparent acquiescence of the principals. What would make your marriage to the Prince of Rajasthan acceptable to your father, Rapture?”

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

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

Mym was beginning to comprehend. “I am sure the Rajah of Rajasthan would be amenable to that; he expects to pay an exorbitant dowry. But certainly I’m not going to—”

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

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

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

“That would be the one who doubles for me on boring parades.” Rapture said. “But up close, she does not resemble me very well.”

“Bring her here.”

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

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

Bit-of-Honey shrugged. “I have done so before.”

Gaea smiled. “For the rest of your life.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “But she is to marry the Prince of—” Her gaze flicked to Mym “
Was
to marry—”

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

“But I am only a common girl!” Bit-of-Honey protested.

“You will be the Princess—if you are willing to give up your present life in favor of that one, and keep the secret.”

“But—the Prince—I could never be more than a concubine to—”

Gaea touched her, and the girl’s protestations abated. “You can be what you choose to be. I will provide you with the voice and the appearance; you must provide the will and the action. But you must choose now.”

The girl looked wildly at Rapture. “Oh, Mistress, I would never betray you, but this—”

“Do it,” Rapture said. “You know I have no life without Prince Pride of the Kingdom. You are welcome to the Prince of Rajasthan.”

“To be a princess …” the girl breathed, beginning to believe.

Gaea touched her again—and her appearance dissolved and changed and became that of Rapture. Even her clothing conformed. “Speak,” Gaea said.

“What shall I say?” the pseudo-Rapture asked. She sounded exactly like Rapture.

“You know what to do,” Gaea said. “If you slip or falter, it will be over.”

The woman looked in the mirror at herself, amazed. Then her shoulders straightened. “I will not falter,” she said.

“But what of
my
disappearance?” Mym sang.

“We shall take care of you now,” Gaea said. “Will yourself back to the place where the Sword came to you; it is familiar with that site. Make sure you have a good grip on Rapture.”

Mym touched the sword with his left hand and put his right arm about Rapture’s slender waist.
To the place of our meeting
, he thought.

And they were there.

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

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

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

Now they were free to depart the mortal realm.

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

“I thank you for the invaluable help you have provided me,” Mym sang. “I hope I shall not disappoint you in the office.”

“Only if you allow yourself to be deceived by Satan,” she said, and dissolved into vapor.

Mym put his arm around Rapture, touched the Red Sword, and willed them to his castle home in Purgatory.

He found himself in the entrance-foyer of a castle as seemingly solid as any he had encountered. Huge gray stones rose up to an enormous height. He tapped one and found it solid. “If this is a castle in the sky, it is nevertheless quite substantial,” he sang.