Wielding a Red Sword (27 page)

Mym was sure by Lila’s attitude that she wanted him to get involved with Ligeia, so he reacted negatively. “I agree,” he said, and caught up a trailing strand of hair and lifted the head by it and swung it into the chest. “Now how do I ship this to Hell?”

“Simply address it for the destination,” the head said. The words were somewhat muffled, because the face was now down.

“To Hell with you!” Mym said.

The chest and its contents exploded. A dense cloud of smoke puffed out. When it dissipated, the chest was gone.

The next call for the supervision of Mars was in Ireland. When Mym arrived with his grim entourage, he surveyed the situation in his usual fashion and learned that the Hibernian Army, a revolutionary organization, had used gene-splicing technology to develop a virus that affected only Protestants. They were about to loose a plague that would either kill or greatly debilitate those it infected. The HA would not even have to fight; they would simply take over after the plague had done its grisly work.

“Isn’t this phenomenal!” the Incarnation of Pestilence exclaimed. “It has been long since I have had the opportunity to supervise a dread plague!”

“Gene-splicing,” Mym murmured thoughtfully. “I have a feeling Gaea will be on this, if I don’t check it with her first.” He put a hold on the action, mounted Werre, and headed for the residence of the Incarnation of Nature.

But when they reached the Green Mother’s estate in Purgatory, they encountered an enormous moat that shielded it from intrusion. Mym sought to have Werre simply hurdle it or trot across it, but the palomino shied away.

“What is this?” Mym asked the horse. “There is nothing in the world that you can’t traverse.”

But Werre simply neighed in negation. Mym remembered that this was not the world; it was Purgatory, a region of different rules. This moat might be enchanted to balk equines.

He dismounted and stepped to the bank. Immediately a weird sort of fish swam close. No, not a fish; it had the legs and lower torso of a man. But above the waistline it possessed the fins and gills of a fish, and its mouth was full of teeth.

“A manmer,” Mym murmured. He had never seen one in the flesh before, but there was no mistaking the crossbreed. A merman had the top section of a man and the tail of a fish; the manmer was the opposite. While it was possible to get along with mermen and mermaids, and maidmers could be tolerably good company if one’s interest was not in faces, manmers were said to have the worst elements of each species. They were brainlessly vicious, existing only to tear apart victims.

Mym made as if to touch the water with his boot, and the manmer snapped at it so violently that a spray of water and sparks went up. No question, this monster meant business.

He pondered, then touched the Sword. “Gaea,” he sang.

The woman did not appear. Instead a colorful parrot flew in. “Who seeks? Who seeks?” the bird demanded.

“Mars seeks Gaea,” Mym replied, annoyed.

“Prove it! Prove it!” the parrot squawked.

“You birdbrain, don’t you see me?”

“I see a hundred like you every day,” the parrot replied. “All fakes sent by Satan to pester my mistress.”

A hundred like him a day? Suddenly Mym realized that Satan was up to more mischief, trying to infiltrate his demon minions into Nature’s domain by imitating the Incarnations. No wonder Gaea had instituted defensive measures. “Go tell Gaea and she can verify for herself my validity.”

“The Green Mother is busy with her own concerns; she can not waste her time exposing every imposter.”

That, too, made sense. “How can I prove my identity to you, so that you will advise her of my presence?”

“Get in to see her yourself,” the parrot squawked. “Only a true Incarnation can do that.” And it flew away.

Mym sighed. Right when he needed to consult with Gaea, Satan had set up an interference pattern. Unfortunate timing.

Unfortunate? No, maybe Satan had planned it that way, to prevent Mym from completing the consultation, so that Gaea would not be alerted, and the plague would not be halted before it ravaged the Protestants.

That meant that it was doubly important that he get through. He was really opposing Satan, not Gaea.

But the manmer waited with eager teeth. Though Mym knew himself to be invulnerable to mortal attack, he was not at all sure about the present situation. If an immortal were invulnerable to the teeth of the manmer, the demons would be able to get through. Certainly Werre didn’t trust his flesh to that water, and there was evidently a spell to prevent the horse from leaping or flying over the moat. Mym didn’t care to risk his flesh that way.

Well, he could still pass. He drew the Red Sword. “I regret this, Manmer,” he said. “But I’m going to have to slay you in order to pass.”

But still he hesitated. Demons could wield swords, too, and would certainly be willing. Why hadn’t they done so?

The more he considered, the less easy he became. Finally he picked up a loose stone and threw it across the moat.

At the far bank, the stone exploded. Something had destroyed it.

That something was apt to do the same thing to a man or a demon. Again, it wasn’t worth risking. Also, he really didn’t want to slay a creature, the manmer, who was only doing the job it had been assigned.

But how was he supposed to pass, if a demon could not? There had to be a way, or this was no valid test for his identity.

He considered, and decided that he would have to do some perhaps unpleasant research. He got down beside the water and, when the manmer snapped at him, he put
one discorporate hand into the creature itself. Startled, the fishman paused in place, and Mym dropped the rest of his body onto it and into it. His arms aligned with the fins, his head with its head, his legs with its legs. He had phased in, physically.

He adjusted his brain, getting it aligned with the brain of the monster. He had become accomplished at this maneuver, but this was a special challenge, for this was the brain of a fish. Only the most primitive aspects of his brain could align properly; there simply was no higher center in the fish’s head to match his own.

Fortunately very little identification was required. The instructions for the manmer were uppermost in its limited mind, and Mym assimilated them before he got fairly into the rest of the creature’s identity.

There was a grating in the bottom of the moat. When the water turned cloudy, that grating became permeable; it was possible to swim through it. Of course Cutefoot would consume any person or creature who tried—except for the one who addressed him by his name. That one, and that one only, he would suffer to pass.

That sufficed. Mym withdrew from the manmer and splashed through the water, back to shore. It took the manmer a moment to realize that someone was there; then he acted. But Mym was already scrambling clear.

Werre was waiting for him. “Loyal steed, I must proceed alone from this point,” Mym informed him. “Return to the Castle of War; I will summon you when my business here is done.”

Werre neighed, wheeled about, and galloped away. That was one intelligent steed; the like hardly existed in the mortal realm. Mym realized that this was a significant part of what he liked about this office—the possession of truly competent accoutrements like the Sword and Warhorse.

Mym gazed into the moat. Yes, deep down he spied the grate; the water was clear, so he could see it. All he had to do was wait until it clouded.

There was the sound of hooves. Mym glanced back, and saw a golden palomino approaching, bearing a golden-cloaked rider.

That was Mars! Rather, it was a demon disguised as Mars; Mym was in a position to know that it was not the genuine Incarnation. He had better get past this moat before the demon arrived.

But the water remained clear. He could not afford to enter it yet. He could stop the manmer by speaking his name, but would not be able to pass the grate. He had to wait.

Another figure galloped up, just like the first. The parrot had been correct: there were demons all over. No wonder the Green Mother had gotten fed up with it. He had to move on through, before a crowd of them gathered and made that impossible. But still the water was clear.

The first demon arrived. “Ho, miscreant!” it cried challengingly. “Dare you assume my image? Begone, imposter!”

The sheer audacity of this challenge put Mym into an instant rage. Suddenly the Red Sword was in his hand and whistling through the air. The demon-horse’s head flew off, then a segment of its neck, then the top half of the rider. As with Lila, there was not blood; it was as if the sections had been fashioned separately and set together, and now were falling apart again. The demon’s upper body splashed into the moat and sank.

The water swirled as the manmer went after the fragment. The vicious teeth slashed out, cutting the demon substance into lesser fragments. The action moved down as the fragments sank; the manmer meant to consume it all. The muck of the bottom was stirred up, clouding the water.

“Ho, miscreant!” the second demon challenged.

Mym looked up. The thing was charging down on him, sword swinging. Behind it, three more were coming, all identical.

Damn them! Literally! Mym lifted the Sword—and paused.

The water of the moat was cloudy.

He turned, sheathing the sword. He dived into the water. “Cutefoot!”he cried just before he splashed.

The manmer froze in place, letting him pass. He stroked down to the nether grate and through it, the bars seeming
insubstantial. He passed into a submarine cave that extended forward.

There was no surface here, so he could not take a breath, but he was in no discomfort. He realized that as an Incarnation he could not drown, for he could not be killed. Breathing was now mere reflex and convenience, as was eating.

In due course, the cavern surfaced, and he emerged into the garden estate of the Green Mother. It was lovely. Shrubs and trees of every description flourished, and flowers abounded. Squirrels jumped from branch to branch, and a chipmunk nibbled at a nut atop a boulder. This would be a most pleasant place simply to remain.

But he had business. Mym forged on, following a path that led toward the center of the estate.

Soon he came to a narrowing of the way. Rocks rose up on either side, squeezing the path between them. In the center of the narrowest section stood a small lizard.

Mym paused. There was something about that little creature. It was not afraid of him, and it eyed him with a disturbing alertness. It was dull red, actually rather pretty, and reminded him of—

Of fire. This was not necessarily any lizard; it could be a salamander.

He reached to the side and found a section of an old branch. He heaved this toward the creature.

The tiny reptile leaped up to intercept the branch, biting at it. As contact was made, the wood burst into flame. It burned explosively. By the time it struck the ground, it was a mass of charcoal and ash that quickly smoldered into dust.

That was a salamander, all right. A creature who set fire to whatever it touched, other than the ground it stood on—fire that burned until only ash remained.

If he tried to pass that creature, and it bit him, he would burn similarly.

Of course he was an Incarnation, he reminded himself, immune to mortal threats. But again he remembered that this was not the mortal realm; this was Gaea’s garden, where other rules governed. If this creature could prevent a demon from passing, it might as readily prevent an Incarnation too.

“But there are no demons here,” he muttered in singsong.

A figure appeared behind him. “Ho, miscreant!” it cried.

“How the hell did you get here?” Mym demanded, startled and angry.

“I said the same magic word you did, so the fishman let me pass,” the Mars-demon replied. “Now defend yourself, imposter!” And it charged, sword swinging.

Mym ducked. The demon stumbled over his hunched body and tumbled into the salamander.

There was a flare of flame. “Aiii! I burn!” the thing cried. Then the form became a structure of ashes and collapsed.

“One demon, returned to Hell,” Mym sang. He felt no regret, knowing that these beings lacked any aspect of humanity, apart from their outer semblance.

But how foolish he had been, to utter the manmer’s name in the presence of a demon. Naturally the demon had heard, copied, and gotten through.

Well, the demon was gone now. All Mym had to do was figure out how to get by the salamander.

“Ho, miscreant!”

What, another demon? Mym realized belatedly that what one could copy, another could. There could be any number of demons here in the garden, thanks to his carelessness. It was a good thing that the Green Mother had had the foresight to place a second barrier.

The demon charged. This time Mym dodged out of the way, squeezing by so that the demon found itself advancing directly on the salamander. Let the demon be destroyed the way the other was!

“So, salamander!” the demon cried. “I shall deal with you!” And it swung the blade of the red sword down.

Mym waited for the flash of fire—but it didn’t come. The sharp sword cut the salamander in two. The tail twitched back and forth, while the head coughed out a spurt of fire and expired. The salamander had been slain.

This shook Mym’s confidence. If a demon could kill one of the defenders of Gaea’s estate, then the demons could get through, and this was no valid separation of
intruders. Should he be trying to enter himself, if the Green Mother’s power was so uncertain?

The demon Mars strode on along the path—and was struck by a bolt of lightning from a hovering little cloud. Nothing was left of the creature except a whiff of sulphurous gas.

Mym was reassured. The Green Mother’s defenses were tight after all! Demons could no more pass this spot than they could the moat, without the proper credentials. The salamander was only part of it.

A second salamander crept out from behind a rock. Things were back as they had been.

Mym took another stick and poked at the little creature. When it sprang and bit, igniting the stick, Mym reached down with his free hand and grabbed it. He phased himself in to it as well as he could, channeling his identity down through his own arm. He had not realized that Mars could do this until it was done—yet he realized that he must have known it in some other aspect of his being, because this would have been a suicidal gesture otherwise.