Concerned by what Fate had told him of Satan's designs, Mym tried to talk to Rapture about it that night.
"I think you would be better off with Luna in the mortal realm," he sang. "Since you can still readily
spend the nights with me, here, the separation is really not that onerous."
"With the cousin of the woman you loved before me?" she inquired bittersweetly.
Ouch! "Who informed you of that?"
"Lila, of course."
"Lila-the creature of Satan."
"She's an interesting woman. She will make you an excellent concubine."
"I'm not so sure I want a demoness for a concubine. She surely serves the interests of Satan before
mine."
"You don't like the notion of any woman serving any interest before yours?" This was not the type of
question Rapture had asked before this.
Mym wasn't sure he liked the change. "I don't like the notion of being that close to a creature provided
by the Incarnation of Evil."
"Oh, pooh!" she said. "Lila isn't evil! She's an educated woman."
"What is she doing in Hell, then?"
"She says it was a bum rap."
"A what?"
"A bum rap. A false charge. A misunderstanding. Before she realized, she was in Hell and couldn't get
out. So she makes the best of it."
"It still sounds suspicious to me. She's a demoness."
"Oh, don't be such a fuddy-duddy!"
"A what?"
"An old-fashioned bore."
"It sounds like reduplicating echoism to me. This occidental slang does not become you. Rapture. Don't
forget you are a princess."
"Was a princess. Now I'm a woman. And so is Lila. Oh, the things I am learning from her!"
"Like what, apart from gossip and slang?"
"Like this," she said, and kissed him in a fashion that made his skin heat.
"You're coming on like a concubine!" he protested.
"I'm coming on like a woman who is learning what it's all about."
"A princess does not need to know what it's all about!"
"But a woman does. Lila is certainly right about that."
"I really think you would be better off with Luna Kaftan."
"Luna is a fine woman, and I like her-but now that I know how similar she is to your former love, I
prefer to keep my distance from her-and your distance too. It's enough trouble adapting to this new
lifestyle without having to worry about what's going on in your mind."
He found that concern singularly difficult to address. He felt no romantic attraction for Luna, but it was
true that his new knowledge of her relation to Orb worked a subtle effect on him. Where was Orb now?
How had she fared, after he had deserted her? Had the ring enabled her to cope adequately? She had
been a western woman, and he had loved her; now Rapture was assuming some western attributes, and
he did not find them appealing in her. Perhaps there was justice in her disinclination to remain with
Luna.
"Well, perhaps you could stay with another mortal woman," he suggested.
"Why? I like it here. The food is good, the grounds are beautiful, and Lila is a fine companion. Soon she
is going to take me to visit Hell."
"To visit Hell!" he exclaimed in singsong, almost choking. "I don't want you going near that place!"
"You prefer that I sit in the castle all day, sewing handkerchiefs?"
He sighed. It was true that there was not a lot for her to do here in Purgatory. "Perhaps you could find
something to do in the mortal realm to keep you busy. I'm sure Luna would-"
"Her, again. She seems much on your mind."
Unfortunately true, after the dialogue with Fate. He had never expected to be thrown into the company
of Orb's close relatives. But because he had known Orb well, he trusted those relatives. And he wanted
to get Rapture away from the insidious influence of Satan. "I just feel that Satan means to do you some
mischief, and it would devastate me to have that happen."
She softened. "That's an unprincely thing to say. Why don't you just order me to do what you wish?"
"Because I love you."
"You know that's a decadent Western concept." But she could not suppress her pleasure. "I will seek
some mortal employment."
"That pleases me."
Then they made love, and all was good.
The next situation requiring the personal attention of Mars was in Latin America. Conquest, Slaughter,
Famine and Pestilence were eager to get to work, but Mym lacked proper enthusiasm. Increasingly he
was wondering whether he was the proper man for this office. He had been trained for command and for
war, but he took no special joy in it, especially not in pointless bloodshed. He would prefer to abolish
war. But there was the conflict of interest, because, if he succeeded, he would lose the office-and where
would he be then? Locked into this alien Afterlife, his mortal life completed. What chance at the
ultimate relief of nirvana would he have then?
He had learned that new Incarnations had a period of apprenticeship or trial, after which they could
voluntarily give up the offices. Perhaps it would be best for him to do that-to step down when that
chance came. Would that return him to mortal status? He suspected so. But what offered then? Would he
have to resume his position as Heir-Prince to Gujarat, displacing the man he had established in his place
and marrying the Princess of Rajasthan? That would be horrible!
Suppose he could step into the mortal world in some other capacity? Become a new person in the
occidental world? That had its appeal. But what would he do? He was trained to be a prince, and that
was not a preferred employment in the west. Also, he was a stutterer. He had made it on singsong well
enough, but that was in large part because he had held positions of extreme power, both as Prince and as
the Incarnation of War. Others did not laugh at the powerful; they accommodated their idiosyncrasies.
But if he tried to assume an unpowerful position-
No, he would have to make do with the situation he had, try to be the best Mars he could be and, if he
succeeded in abolishing war, to retire to whatever the Afterlife offered. This was not a bad existence,
really. He could emulate Musashi, author of Five Rings, learning to prevail through humility and hard
work.
That book spelled out the Way to learn the author's strategy very simply and directly, in the section on
the Ground: to think honestly; to train, to learn every art and know the Ways of all professions; to
distinguish between gain and loss, develop intuitive judgment, perceiving what could not be seen; to pay
attention even to trifles, and to do nothing that was of no use; in sum, to be honest and perceptive and
purposeful throughout life. So easy to read and to agree with, but sometimes so hard to honor! How
would Musashi have handled the situation with Rapture?
Mym sighed. As far as he could tell, the great Japanese Samurai had never married or formed any
significant relation with a woman. Perhaps he had been most practical of all in that!
They arrived at the site. It was a jungle. Lush tropical growth spread all about. "What's the situation?"
Mym asked.
"Muddled," Conquest replied. "This is a guerrilla war, festering for a number of years. I was surprised
when it died down at the time of your ascension, because the underlying causes had not changed."
"Satan had a hand in that," Mym sang. "He didn't like my predecessor."
"True. But Satan's grudges are legion."
"So we don't really know how things are faring, here, because guerrilla warfare is not open and
measurable," Mym said. "We only know that there will be bloodshed, much of it by innocents."
"Yeah!" Slaughter said raptly.
"But there is a strong indication that something of extreme significance is about to occur at this site,"
Conquest said. "That's why this action requires our personal supervision."
"I should have known there would be more to it than mere routine destruction and killing," Mym sang
sourly. "Just what kind of development is this?"
"We don't know," Pestilence said. "But I feel it in my flesh, so it must relate to me."
Mym looked at him. The figure's flesh writhed with maggots and mold and leggy things; and when he
moved, flies buzzed up. If a man was known by the company he kept, Mym thought, he would have
preferred other company.
Again he thought of the Book of the Ground, in Five Rings. Pestilence was like a rotting segment of
ground! But this was an erroneous association, for Musashi did not talk of decay, but of the importance
of basic organization and proper timing in all things, the groundwork for success, and of ascertaining the
reality, so as to have one thing but to know ten thousand things. Knowledge-there was a prime key. The
warrior who knew all things did not waste his effort on what was of no use.
Information! That was the first requirement here-to perceive that which could not presently be seen.
"I will investigate," Mym decided. He dismounted and looked about. What should he look for? He didn't
want to identify with another eleven-year-old boy!
"There is a government outpost there," Conquest said, pointing.
"That will do." Mym strode toward the building. As he came near, four men emerged. They were rough-
looking types, wearing unkempt uniforms, carrying sidearms and knives. Mym paced himself to overlap
the evident leader and phased in.
Again he suffered disorientation, but he was getting the hang of this and soon he was using the soldier's
perceptions. This man was reasonably well fed and healthy, but dirty and dissatisfied. He had little
formal education and owed his position of limited leadership to his muscle and general insensitivity to
the plight of others. Mym did not like him at all, but stayed with him because it would have been too
much of an investment in time and energy to phase in to another body. This overlapping was not
pleasant for him, but it seemed to be the best way to get a real feel for the situation. If a person wanted
to know how to deal with worms, there was nothing like being a worm for a while!
This squad was on a mission. The host was barely literate in Spanish, his native language, but one of his
henchmen could read well. "It's the farm across the stream, there," the man said. "We'll have to watch it;
he's got dogs."
"We know how to deal with dogs," the host said, and the others laughed coarsely.
They trekked to a small wooden bridge across the river. Two emaciated children were sitting there. They
stretched out their thin arms in a gesture of supplication as the party approached. "Candy?" the little boy
begged in Spanish. Mym could understand this language now, because he was tuning into the sense of it
as rendered by the host's brain.
"Get out of our way!" a henchman grunted. He lifted his boot, set it against the boy's shoulder, and
shoved. With a scream the boy tumbled backward into the river.
"Death Squad!" the little girl cried, struggling to her feet. "Bad men!" She started to run away.
"Don't let her go!" the host cried. "Can't have her telling anyone we were here."
A henchman strode after the girl and caught her. He hauled her back by one spindly arm. "What do we
do with her?"
"Kill her," the host said.
"But she's just a kid," the henchman protested.
"She's a witness," the host clarified.
"But we can't just-"
"Where are your guts?" the host demanded. "We've gotta job to do." He drew his knife. "We don't want
noise. I'll show you how to make it quiet."
He took hold of the girl's straggly hair, hauled her head up, and brought the knife to her exposed throat.
Mym acted. He exerted his will and paralyzed the man's arms. The little girl dropped from the
slackening grasp and lay on the ground, unmoving. She had fainted.
"See? No noise," Mym forced the man's vocal apparatus to say. It was difficult, because Mym had to
focus the thought without language, forcing it through the brain so that it came out in the proper words.
"No noise," the henchman echoed, relieved. "For a minute I thought you were going to kill her!"
Mym eased up on his control. The host found himself in the awkward position of having done a
senseless thing by his definition. He had indeed intended to kill the child. Now he had to explain his
action.
It was easier for him to pretend that things had gone as planned. "Now you know," he said gruffly and
turned and moved on across the bridge.
Mym had navigated that crisis. But had he done it by proper planning and decision or by simply
muddling through? He still had a lot to learn of the Way of Strategy!
They proceeded on toward the farm. Mym now knew that this was a killer group that went
surreptitiously to murder individuals who opposed the policies of this nation's government; he had read
about these during his military studies. Thousands or tens of thousands had been killed in this manner-
but instead of securing the government's power, this had generated a backlash that had become a full-
fledged guerrilla revolution. This government was at war with its own people and would have fallen
long ago if not generously supported by powerful outside interests.
Mym had no sympathy with terrorism, whether practiced by the government or against it. If this was the
way this government operated, his sympathies were with the opposition.
But it was not his job to dictate the political system of a nation or the manner it maintained its base of
power. It was his job to supervise the violence that resulted.
Well, perhaps he could redefine his job. He had succeeded in drastically changing the configuration of
the war between Babylonia and Persia; was there a way to eliminate these Death Squads here?
Aside from arranging another elimination of a head of state, he wasn't sure how. And when he started
practicing assassination himself, how did that differ from what the Death Squads were doing? It was no
easy decision.
Now the men were near the farmhouses. The dogs spotted them and charged. A henchman tossed down
bits of meat that he removed from a special package. The dogs, poorly trained, paused to snap up the
meat-and in moments they were writhing on the ground. The bait was poisoned, of course.
"He's supposed to be alone today," the literate henchman said. "His wife's off at the big celebration."
Mym wasn't able to grasp the exact nature of the celebration; it was tied in too closely with cultural
values that did not align with his own.
"We'll play it safe, anyway," the host said. "We'll surround the house. I'll challenge him from the front;
you be ready to catch him when he tries to sneak out the back."
They deployed accordingly. But as the host came to the front, the figure of a woman appeared in the
doorway.
The host cursed under his breath. Mym read his thought: the intelligence had been wrong. The wife was
home. Now it would be messy, and they would have to kill her too. They would charge extra for that.
The woman disappeared inside the house, slamming the door. The host charged, knowing that time was
now of the essence. He would have to catch and kill the woman, because his weak-kneed cohorts
wouldn't want to do it. He couldn't have her escaping and bearing the report of the identity of the killers;
that would embarrass the employer, who preferred anonymity.
He lifted his boot and kicked at the flimsy door. It crashed inward. He stepped over it and into the house.
There was the woman, speaking into a telephone.
A telephone! There was another vital detail the intelligence report had overlooked! If he had known
about that, he would have taken time to cut the wires before approaching the house. It was a nuisance,
but had to be done. Now it was too late; she had already made the call.
He strode across and swept the phone out of her hand. The woman screamed and spun away from him.
He caught at her, getting hold of her shawl. It came free, and he threw it down and grabbed again, this
time catching her blouse. That tore as she fought to escape, exposing her haltered bosom. Evidently she
had been less formally garbed and donned her blouse over the halter when she heard activity near the
house.
The host paused. This was a well-shaped woman! Of course he had to kill her-but it would be a shame to
let a form like that go to waste. The henchman would catch the escaping man; he could spare a few
minutes.
He got both hands on her and bore her back against the wall. She screamed, so he knocked her in the
face. Blood welled at her lips, but the scream cut off.
He caught at the halter and yanked. The thing was sturdier than it looked; instead of coming away it
stretched out and down, baring one of her breasts. The sexual passion of the host was magnified by this
sight. He stared at the breast, then reached for it.
Mym, bemused at the proceedings, had failed to act in time to abate the host's violence. Now he exerted
himself, fighting to control the sudden lust of the man. But though he had been successful in saving the
girl-child, he was now up against a greater determination. The host had not really wanted to kill the
child, but had intended to do it as a necessary thing; in contrast, he was inflamed by desire to possess
this woman before he killed her. Perhaps with more experience, Mym could have assumed control. As it
was, he could not. While he tried, the host opened his own clothing and brought his body up against that
of the woman.
Mym gave up the struggle and withdrew. He had possessed a hundred different and lovely young
women in his life as a prince, but had raped none. He refused to share a body engaged in such an act.
Now he stood beside the man and woman, watching the commencement of the rape. He was angry.
He touched his Sword. Suddenly he was solid. He reached out and grasped the thug's collar and hauled
him back. But the man was heavier than Mym, and this pull was not enough.
Mym touched his Sword again. If the instrument could make him solid, it could make him solider! He
reached out a second time, caught the collar, and made a terrific exertion.
The man was lifted back and away, and hurled at the opposite wall. He collapsed to the floor,
unconscious. It was as if a giant had thrown him!
Curious despite the situation, Mym turned and struck the wall with his fist. His fist punched right
through it.
He had indeed become more solid! Ordinary matter was now of a lesser density, so that his flesh had the
relative mass of a sledgehammer, and his force was magnified many times. No wonder the thug had
flown!
The woman was staring right through him. Mym remained invisible; she had no notion what had saved
her. Then she recovered her wits and scrambled up and away, simultaneously hauling her halter back
into place.
The thug had been right about one thing; she was an attractive woman. But now Mym had to attend to
the other members of the Death Squad, to prevent them from killing the wealthy farmer.
He looked through the house, but saw only the woman, hiding behind the stove. The farmer must
already be outside.
But when he went outside, he found the three other Squad members waiting. The farmer had not
emerged.
The woman must have been alone. That intelligence was really fouled up!
Then Mym heard something. It was a kind of scuffling down the drive leading to the house. Something
was coming. More killers from the government?
He summoned his horse with a thought, and the animal appeared. Mym mounted, and the horse
staggered.
Oh. That extra mass. He touched the Sword and willed himself back to masslessness. The horse relaxed.
They galloped toward the new sound. In moments they spied the source and paused, astonished.
It was a troop of ghastly people shambling along. Their eyes were staring, their mouths hung open, and
drool fell across their chins. Their hair was wild, their clothing haphazard. Their arms and legs moved as
if operated by marionette strings, jerking up and forward and slapping down. Each one of them seemed
about to collapse, but somehow did not.
These were not ordinary people! They were zombies! What were they doing here, roused from their
ground?
From the ground? There was that theme again!
Mym watched as the zombie troop shuffled along toward the farmhouse. The members of the Death
Squad saw them and yelled. The leader staggered out, still woozy from his fall. The zombies continued
without pause.
This could not be coincidence! The woman must have summoned the zombies when she phoned. But
that explained only part of the mystery of this occasion. Where had the zombies come from, and how
had the woman known about them? Where was the man of the house? Why had he left his lovely wife
unprotected?
Shots were fired. The zombies proceeded without pause. The Death Squad members fired again, taking
better aim-but still there was no visible effect. They were baffled.
Now the woman appeared in the doorway. She yelled at the zombies and pointed to the Death Squad
members.
The zombies understood. They pursued the men.
Too late, the men realized what they were up against. They tried to scramble away, but the zombies
surrounded them. Dangling hands flopped against the men, and slack jaws worked. The attack was
inefficient, but it was apparent that the zombies felt no pain, so that nothing the men could do to them
had any effect. Each of the men was soon buried under a clumsy mass of bodies, and slobbering mouths
labored to bite at living flesh.
Mym might have interfered, but found he had no inclination. He knew firsthand the evil of the Death
Squad members; they were not worth saving. Also, he had no desire to make physical contact with the
zombies, who were about as repulsive as creatures of human form could be. He realized now that they
were not refugees from a graveyard, for none of their flesh was rotting and there was no earth on them;
rather, they were like almost total idiots.
Another horse galloped down from the sky. At first Mym thought it was one of his own companions, but
then he realized that the color of the horse did not match those he knew. It wasn't any color; it was pale,
though the rider was caped in black. Certainly it was supernatural, however.
The horse landed and trotted to him. Now Mym saw the skull-features of Thanatos, the Incarnation of
Death. "What are you doing here, Mars?" Thanatos called.
"I think I am supervising a battle," Mym returned in singsong. "Of precisely what nature, I hardly
know."
"Of an illicit nature!" Thanatos said. "Those are zombies!"
"I had come to that conclusion," Mym agreed. "But they seem to be serving a good cause."
Thanatos was obviously agitated. "Do you know what a zombie is?"
"An undead," Mym replied. "We have them in India, too, though I have never seen them fight a battle
before."
"A zombie is a living man whose soul has been removed."
"Yes, I suppose so, since life departs with the soul. If the mortal body does not lie still, it is called a
zombie."
"But these bodies have not been killed!" Thanatos said. "They are not on my schedule."
"They are evidently on mine," Mym sang. "They are doing a necessary job, summoned in defense of that
young woman."
"You may organize a battle as you choose," Thanatos said, his bone-jaw grim. "But you may not
impinge on my prerogatives. You may not interfere with the souls of mortals before their deaths."
"I don't know how these zombies came to be," Mym sang. "But if they are what it takes to set matters
straight, I'm amenable."
"If you do not eliminate the zombies, I will!" Thanatos said angrily.
This sounded like a challenge, and Mym was not in the mood to be challenged on his own turf.
Evidently Thanatos represented the Ground, but that did not give him leave to interfere with Fire. "Show
me how to make a zombie, and perhaps I will know how to eliminate one," he sang.
"Like this!" Thanatos said, and reached his skeletal hand into Mym's body. The fingers passed right
through his flesh, which wasn't surprising while he was insubstantial. But then they caught on something
within him and pulled on it, and he was abruptly in mortal agony.
Thanatos had grasped his soul and was pulling it from his body!
Mym reacted involuntarily. He stepped into Thanatos, overlapping him, and exerted his will to take over
the other man's mind. That transferred some of his agony to the host-to Thanatos.
Thanatos immediately let go of Mym's soul, as now he could only hurt himself. Mym stepped out of the
body.
They looked at each other. "Incarnations should not quarrel with each other," Thanatos said after a
moment.
"Agreed," Mym sang. He knew he should not have reacted so imperiously and was glad to accept the
truce. The Way of the Warrior was a resolute acceptance of death. Here he had Death literally before
him and should have accepted Death's concern. "But if only you can draw out the soul from a living
body, how did these zombies come to be? Certainly I did not create them."
"We had better find out."
"The young woman summoned them; perhaps she can answer."
They went to the woman, and Thanatos spoke to her. "You must inform us how the zombies came
about," he said.
The woman seemed startled, as if she hadn't realized that anyone was near. She started to turn to face the
cloaked figure.
"Do not look at me," Thanatos said quickly. She hesitated, then spoke in Spanish. Mym, now
disassociated from the thug host, was unable to understand it, but Thanatos did.
"I am the Incarnation of Death," Thanatos replied to her. "But I have not come for you, only to discover
the truth about the zombies."
She spoke again, with some force.
"The Death Squad thug tried to rape you?" Thanatos asked. He was speaking in English, yet the woman
seemed to hear him in Spanish. Mym wondered how that was accomplished, but knew that matter was
not worth pursuing at the moment.
The woman spoke again.
"So you asked the guerrilla connection to send help, but you did not know the nature of what would
come," Thanatos said, and the woman nodded.
"Give me that number that you called," Thanatos said.
She protested; it was a secret she could not divulge.
"Look at me, now," Thanatos said.
The woman turned to stare into his face. She quailed, then spoke a number.
"Thank you," Thanatos said. He gestured to Mym, and they went into the house.
Thanatos picked up the phone and dialed the number. When the connection was made, Thanatos turned
to his fine pale horse. "Mortis, orient on that location," he said. Then he hung up the phone.
They went back outside. The zombies were still working on the thugs, and the woman was watching
with a certain horrified pleasure. It was not every woman who got such a chance to see an attempted
rape and murder so obnoxiously punished.
They mounted their steeds. "To that location," Thanatos told his horse.
The animal took off. Mym's own mount followed. They galloped swiftly through the air. Soon they
came down in a small jungle clearing and trotted to an isolated cabin.
This was the place, all right: a number of zombies shuffled about. A trainer was instructing them,
evidently teaching them how to walk without falling and how to follow a road. A truck was parked,
hidden under a tree-the primary transportation for the zombies. "They drove them to the vicinity of the
farm, then pointed them toward it," Mym said. "That must have been all that was necessary."
"Yes. But my concern is with the crafting of them." They dismounted and walked to the cabin. It was
closed, its windows boarded, so they walked through the wall to enter.
A man was inside, using mortar and pestle to work up a white paste. That was all.
Thanatos manifested before him. "Look at me, Mortal."
The man looked up-and stiffened. He recognized Death.
Thanatos questioned him, and Mym picked up the essence; the man had been seeking a better way to
purify cocaine and had stumbled upon a savage variation. This product affected the subject so deeply
that he passed right through a trance state into somnambulance, and could not be aroused. His body
lived, but his mind was almost entirely gone.
Thus, the zombies-living people deprived of their souls, proceeding without personal volition, doomed
to degenerate shortly from neglect. Hence the connection with the Incarnation of Pestilence; in days,
those bodies would be riddled with disease, the prey of flies and worms.
Certainly this related to War, for these zombies were being used to oppose the Death Squads. In fact, the
woman's husband, the man the Squad had come to assassinate, was involved with this project; when he
had gotten news that he was to be hit, naturally he had arranged to test the zombies in action. His brave
wife had remained at the house to alert him when the Squad arrived. She had been supposed to phone
him and hide in the attic, but the premature break-in of the Squad leader had cut off her escape. The
zombies would have wrapped things up anyway, but only Mym's intercession had spared her from rape
and possibly murder before their arrival.
However, Mym realized that it was the development of the zombies that had brought him here, so
perhaps that was not coincidence. Nevertheless, there was no question that it also overlapped the office
of Death, since people were being killed, and in a manner that was supposed to be reserved for
Thanatos. They were going to have to work this out.
Where did they get the people to de-soul by means of this drug? From captive government troops. It
made perfect sense, to the guerrillas and to Mym, who had just seen how the government operated. But
it didn't make sense to Thanatos. "If mortals learn how to handle souls, there will be no end of mischief,"
he declared. "This knowledge must be abolished."
Mym thought of the way the zombies had shuffled into battle and concluded that Thanatos was correct.
Killing was bad enough, but de-souling would give unscrupulous people a motive for more of it. They
would generate armies of zombies, and no person would be safe. It would transform war, making it
uglier than it already was, because the killing would be done before the battles ever started.
"But how can knowledge be abolished?" he sang.
"We shall have to get help," Thanatos decided. "Chronos could do it."
Because Chronos controlled time, Mym realized. He could tilt his Hourglass and cause time to freeze,
and-No, that wouldn't work. Both Mars and Thanatos had the ability to freeze scenes-but the scenes
resumed unchanged later. Chronos would have to run time actually backwards to undo the discovery of
the drug. That would complicate the world in other ways. "There must be an easier way," he sang.
"Maybe Gaea-"
"Yes, Gaea would be best," Thanatos agreed. "She knows how to do things with least disruption. I will
summon her." He lifted the heavy black watch he carried to his face and spoke into it as if it were a
microphone. "Gaea."
Mist coalesced, thickening and forming into ghostly, then solid, shape. Mym, still conscious of Five
Rings, recognized this as the manifestation of Wind-or Air. Musashi also called it Tradition.
"I was waiting for your call," the voice of Gaea said, slightly before her appearance was complete.
"We have knowledge to eliminate," Thanatos said.
Gaea frowned "To eliminate!" she exclaimed. "Since when have you become regressive? Satan thrives
on ignorance."
"I shall explain," Thanatos said.
Mym heard something outside. He signaled the others that he would investigate while they clarified the
issue and walked through the wall.
Military trucks were pulling up. What was this? More victims for de-souling being brought in? The
Incarnations were taking action none too soon!
"The government!" the trainer of the zombies cried.
The first truck screeched to a stop, and soldiers piled out of the back. "Take them alive!" an officer
called.
The trainer and the zombies fought as well as they were able, but in minutes all were captive, for the
government forces were overwhelming. "Spread out!" the officer cried. Mym wasn't sure whether he
was speaking English, or whether Spanish was becoming intelligible now. "Secure all property! Destroy
nothing!"
They were after the secret of making zombies! They must have traced the zombie-truck back to its
source and mounted a mission to capture both the site and its personnel.
Mym stepped back into the building. "The government is coming after the secret!" he exclaimed in
singsong.
"Too soon!" Thanatos said. "We have not yet decided on a way to abolish it."
Gaea smiled. "Perhaps we can delay them somewhat," she said. She stepped to and through the wall.
Mym and Thanatos followed.
Outside, the government troops were combing through the jungle and the clearing, hundreds strong,
poking at the ground with bayonets. Before long the line would intersect the cabin. There did not seem
to be any way to stop it.
"I think fire is best," Gaea said. She raised her hands, her fingers spread, and jags of electricity radiated
from them. The jags touched the ground-and fire erupted. It spread between the points of its origin,
formed a line, and swept toward the troops.
The soldiers were quick to realize their peril. "Fire!" they cried. "They've torched it!"
"Beat it out!" the officer cried. "Save that shack!"
But the troops were demoralized by the fire. They retreated from it.
Gaea turned about. More current flared from her hands. The cabin burst into flame.
"But the man inside!" Mym sang.
Gaea shrugged. "Rescue him, then."
Mym strode through the flames and the wall, feeling neither. The man inside was standing, alarmed.
Mym caught him by the arm, then touched the Sword.
The two of them flew up, through the roof, and into the sky. The man's mouth hung open; he could not
believe this was happening. Mym brought them down beside Gaea and Thanatos.
The woman turned to the man. "Who besides you knows the secret for making the drug?" she asked.
"N-no one!" the man said, his knees seeming to weaken.
A streamer of mist poured from Gaea's right hand. Snakelike, it slid toward the man's head, and into it.
"No one," she repeated.
The man's expression changed. "I-have forgotten how!" he said.
"And you will never remember or rediscover it," Gaea said. "Now depart, before the troops apprehend
you."
"But-but the fire-"
"Will not touch you," she finished.
The man walked, neared the line of fire that enclosed the cabin, and walked through it. He was
magically protected-for the moment. Soon he was out of sight.
The officer had succeeded in restoring some discipline in the troops, and they were now attacking the
fire with shovels, beating it out. A gap was forming in the fireline.
"With the material and equipment destroyed by fire and the memory of its process gone, they will not be
able to fathom the secret," Gaea said. She fuzzed, became vapor, and dissipated.
Mym exchanged a glance with Thanatos. "It seems our problem has been solved," Thanatos said. "I have
no further interest in the proceedings." He made a signal, and his pale horse appeared at his side.
"Wait!" Mym sang. "Your friend Luna-did you know that I once loved her cousin?"
Thanatos paused. "I did not know." I have not met her cousin, but I understand she is easy to love."
"Now I love Rapture-and I don't like the influence that Satan is having on her. I want her to be more
with Luna, a better influence. But she-she fears any contact I might have with Luna, because of her
similarity to Orb-"
Thanatos smiled. "I will deliver Rapture between Luna's estate and your castle," he said.
Mym grasped his bony hand. "I thank you, Thanatos! If I can ever repay the favor-"
"We Incarnations must help each other to oppose Satan," he said. "When I help you, I help myself, for
now you will oppose Satan's designs on Luna."
"I will certainly do that! But what is it Satan means to do to Luna? Lachesis told me that Luna is
destined to balk-"
"She is to cast a decisive vote against Satan's political power on Earth, some years hence. Satan means
to remove her from political office, or in some way circumvent her, so that his will shall govern, and he
shall be able to corrupt the mortal realm and gain a majority of souls for himself. This would represent
his final victory over God."
"Satan can do that? Change things about on Earth to suit himself? Why doesn't God stop him?"
"The two made a Covenant of noninterference," Thanatos explained. "God is good, therefore he honors
it and allows free will among the mortals, wherever it may lead. But Satan, being evil, violates it and
seeks always to win more power."
Mym remembered that Gaea had said the same. Still, he found it hard to accept. "But then-what is to
prevent Satan from winning?"
"The other Incarnations," Thanatos said. "And the war is now coming to you. Wage it well."
"I will try," Mym sang. "But I remain new in this office and still have much to learn."
"That is why the next battle must be yours. Satan always attacks the weakest point."
Which made sense, Mym realized. But he had little comfort in the realization. Five Rings recommended
attacking the enemy's strongest point first--but had the author ever come up against Satan directly?

6516 words