The next day, as Mym perceived it, he received news of a battle that required his attention. He had spent
a pleasant night with Rapture in the excellently appointed castle; they had made love and talked and
watched the scientific television, which by coincidence was concerned with news of the recent change in
officeholders for the Incarnation of War and seemed to be quite current. Rapture had perked up to hear
herself mentioned as the mortal consort of the Incarnation and to see herself smiling prettily for the
camera, though there had been no such interview. But in the morning that same television set turned
itself on with the announcement of the battle, and Mym had to rouse himself for his new duty.
"But what of me?" Rapture cried. "I cannot go to battle with you, yet I fear to remain here alone."
Mym began to perceive a disadvantage of complete dependence in a woman. "Let me investigate," he
sang.
He went into the elaborate lavatory, then snapped his fingers. Immediately the head butler appeared. The
man did not enter; he just appeared. Now that Mym understood his nature, he was not surprised. "The
Lady Rapture is concerned about being alone in this strange place," he sang.
"Conduct her to the East Wing," the butler recommended.
Mym wasn't sure how this would help, but he had already seen the competence of the staff here, so he
didn't argue.
After his toilet, which included the donning of a shining golden cloak of office, he emerged to rejoin
Rapture. She had meanwhile been attended to; now she was stunningly lovely in a silken outfit of
malachite green, with the lovely polished stones set in her hair. Princess indeed!
"After we eat, I must show you the East Wing," Mym sang.
She raised a fine dark eyebrow.
"You have already explored the castle?"
"The butler told me you would like it."
In due course they repaired to that Wing-and Rapture gasped with delight. It was very like the palace she
had used on Earth, with glass windows and fountains and associated gardens filled with familiar plants.
A high canopy even protected it from the torrential rains of the monsoon. In a lower reach a tame
elephant waited.
"I must go to work," Mym sang.
She hardly heard him. "Oh, how delightful!" she exclaimed, walking through the Wing, gazing at the
lovely statuary.
Mym decided to depart; she would not miss him for some time.
Now he went to the front foyer. There were his associates, Conquest, Slaughter, Famine, and Pestilence,
in their colored cloaks. "You know the way?" he inquired. "Our steeds know the way," Conquest said.
Steeds. He hadn't thought of that, but of course they should be mounted. Gaea had told him that he had a
horse-what was its name?-Werre. He went on out, and there in front were five excellent horses. There
was no difficulty judging which one belonged to which rider, for they were color coded.
"Werre," Mym sang, and one came immediately to him. He mounted the great golden palomino and
knew from the outset that this was a steed such as man dreamed of. The animal was powerful and supple
and responded to his cues so readily that he could virtually guide it with a thought. This stallion was like
an extension of himself.
The others were mounted and drew up beside him. Conquest was on an albino stallion, with totally
white hide and blazing red eyes. Slaughter was on the red one, the color so intense it was almost gore.
Famine was on the black animal, whose body glistened in such a way as to make the gloss seem like a
skeletal outline. Pestilence rode the dirty brown horse, with patches of discolor that made it look
diseased, though it was healthy. Mym remembered, now, that four grim horsemen were traditionally
associated with War, but he wasn't sure that these were the particular four he remembered. It hardly
mattered; Purgatory and the Incarnations evidently had their own rules.
They rode out across the cloudscape, and the steeds did know the way. They galloped to the sudden
edge and leaped over into the sky below, landing on air, and charged swiftly across the seeming map of
the globe far beneath. The colored capes fluttered in the wind. In short order they had come to India,
where they descended, touching the ground at last at the eastern edge.
Mym surveyed the region-and discovered that he was familiar with it. This was the border between
Gujarat and Maharastra! This battle was to be fought between his own Kingdom and that of Rapture.
But he had arranged with Gaea to eliminate that quarrel. His double was to marry the Rajasthan
Princess, and Rapture's double to marry the Rajasthan Prince, unifying the three Kingdoms by alliances.
How could they be fighting now?
When he thought about it, he knew how. This was only one day after those rearrangements had been
made. The news had not yet gotten out to the battlefield, where the two armies were preparing to clash.
With modern scientific communications systems the word should have been virtually instant-but the
bureaucracy remained as ponderous as ever. The notice was probably still sitting among the papers on
the desk of a minor functionary, waiting for disposition. Meanwhile this completely pointless battle was
about to happen.
He had to stop it, of course. Mym was not one to be squeamish about necessary bloodshed; he was, after
all, a prince. Or had been...But this was not only unnecessary, it was disastrous; neither Kingdom could
afford to throw away its resources like this.
Already the two armies were spread out on the battlefield, their cavalry, archers, elephants, and foot
soldiers ranged like chess pieces, ready to play their roles. The forces were about even, so the skill of the
generals would count for the victory-except that there could be no victory, in this wrongheaded match.
How was he to stop this folly? He had no idea.
"Famine," he called, and the black figure moved close. "This battle is not supposed to occur. How do I
stop it?"
"Stop it?" Famine asked, his deathly gaunt face showing dismay. "We do not stop conflict, we reap it!"
And what a grim reaping that could be! "Nevertheless," Mym sang, "this conflict must be stopped before
it starts. If I am truly the Incarnation of War, surely I have the power both to generate and to dissipate
conflict."
Famine issued a ghastly sigh. "You do. Mars. But it is a sad day when your power is exerted to-"
"Never mind that!" Mym sang angrily. "How do I exert my power?"
"Why, there are several ways. You can enter the mind of a pivotal participant and change it, or you can
freeze the entire battle in place-"
"If I freeze it, what happens when I unfreeze it?"
"Then it resumes exactly as before."
"How do I enter the mind of a pivotal participant, and how do I know which one is pivotal?"
Famine considered. "That's really not my department. I deal with my clients after the combat has
ravaged the land and wiped out most of the food supply. I've never been sure exactly how Mars selects
his key figures."
If Famine didn't know, the others probably wouldn't know either. He would just have to work it out by
himself.
He guided his golden horse toward the banners of the Gujarat army. If he could manifest and be
recognized by the general there, he might be able to cause that army to decline battle.
He approached, and no one reacted. That was right-no one could see an Incarnation, ordinarily. He rode
right up to the front line and through it, and the horse's gleaming hooves made no contact with the
mundane objects. It was as if the artifacts of the world were ghosts. Or he was.
He came to the general's tent. He saw immediately that this was a man he knew only by name; he had
never encountered him personally before. This one had a reputation as a competent workhorse, one who
had no special flair or elegance, but who followed orders and got the job done.
The general should recognize Mym, if he manifested.
But how did he do that? Mym himself had seen the Incarnations before becoming one himself, but no
one else had, until Gaea manifested to Rapture. Gaea knew how to do that, but Mym didn't.
But he could enter the General's being and change his mind, according to Famine. That should be just as
good.
If he could just figure out how.
Well, maybe if he simply overlapped the General, so that his mind occupied the same space as the
General's mind...
He tried it. He dismounted and stepped into the General-
And found himself in a maelstrom of impressions and thoughts and emotions. He could not make head
or tail of it all; indeed, he was getting nauseous, as from motion sickness.
He ripped himself out. Now he was standing before the General, who seemed to be unaffected. But
Mym himself felt dizzy. Surely this was not the way it was supposed to be!
But the battle would not wait forever. Mym tried again.
This time he kept a firm mental grip on himself as he phased in to the General's space. He realized that
what he was encountering was the confusion of an unfamiliar system. The General's mind differed from
his own; there were different memories, different habit patterns, and a different outlook. Recognizing
that, Mym was able to keep better equilibrium. He phased in more accurately, so that his own eye-nerve
impulses were not trying to read the General's ear-nerve impulses. He got the senses aligned and felt
only slightly motion-sick.
Now he could tune in on what the General was perceiving and understand it. It was not a perfect
alignment, because the General's senses were of slightly different strengths than Mym's own and so
tended to feel slightly wrong. But that was minor.
His major problem was the General's thoughts. It was evident that the General's brain was wired
differently from Mym's, and the resulting patterns were alien. He could not make sense of them.
Well, yes he could. The wiring might differ, but the end results were similar. He did not need to use the
General's wiring to grasp the General's conclusions. He simply needed to tune in on those conclusions.
And then impose his own.
He tried. CALL OFF BATTLE, he thought strongly.
"What?" the General asked, pausing in his contemplation of the map of the battle site.
The other officers looked at him, perplexed. None of them had spoken.
The General shook his head, concluding that it had been an errant thought. Every person had doubts on
occasion. "Proceed with the battle plan as outlined," he said gruffly.
Mym realized that this was not the way either. He had projected his thought into the General's
consciousness, but it had not been supported by any apparent logic, so the General had dismissed it. He
would have to develop a more comprehensive approach, to actually convince the General that the new
thought made sense. That would take time. For one thing, he would need to learn more about the
General's frames of reference, so as to devise an approach that would make sense to the man.
But he didn't have time. The cavalry was already moving out. The battle was being joined.
Mym gave up in disgust. He exited the General. It felt like shedding an uncomfortable yoke. He much
preferred his own identity!
He mounted his horse, who had waited patiently for his return, and galloped over and through the people
to the center of the battlefield. The Maharastra cavalry was meeting the charge with one of its own-plus
another element. A unit of trained griffins led the way, spreading their wings and launching themselves
at the opposing line. That could be disaster for the Gujarat cavalrymen!
But the Gujarats were prepared. Precision catapults had been set up, and these now opened fire on the
griffins, the object being to knock them out of the air. There was a raucous squawk as a missile scored
glancingly on one, and a griffin spun to the ground with a broken wing. But the fight had not gone out of
the creature; it laid about itself with beak and claws, and gore flew as it scored.
In moments the other griffins swooped down on the line, and the carnage was multiplied. "Great!" the
Incarnation of Slaughter cried, riding near. "Mix it up! Tear those guts! Spatter that blood! Spread that
gore!"
Meanwhile, the Incarnation of Conquest was urging on the two main armies. "Victory!" he cried to both.
"Take no prisoners!"
And with that the efforts of the armies increased, and the combat became savage. Mym was disgusted. It
was all so pointless!
But he had failed to stop it. What was he to do now?
Well, he could try a more direct method. He rode to the center of the carnage, climbed a hill of air to
gain elevation, and grasped his Red Sword. Maybe it would enable him to manifest. He drew it and held
it high, willing himself to be apparent.
And-it worked! The Sword was the key! He knew he was visible, because the bowmen at the rear lines
were staring at him. They had never before seen a man and horse in mid-air.
Now was his chance. He would tell them all to stop fighting, until they could receive the notice that
explained why.
He took a deep breath. "S-s-s-s-s-s-" he stuttered.
Damn! He took another breath. "Stop the battle!" he sang.
There was a moment of amazed silence. Then someone laughed. They could not believe that this noble,
golden figure could utter such obvious nonsense.
"It's a trick!" an officer cried. "Shoot it down!"
Then the archers of both sides went back into action, firing their shafts at him. Mym remained frozen,
furious at himself for not being able to address them effectively.
The arrows struck him and the horse and bounced off harmlessly. He never even felt them; it seemed he
was invulnerable to mortal weapons.
But he didn't like being a target. He sheathed the Sword-and evidently faded out of sight, for the archers
blinked and stopped firing. The officers rubbed their eyes.
Yet Mym could still see himself and his steed quite clearly. He also saw the other Incarnations.
Conquest and Slaughter were exhorting the troops to greater efforts; Famine and Pestilence were
watching from the sideline, rubbing their hands in anticipation of their turn to come, as supplies were
depleted and hunger and disease ran their course.
A number of arrows had been in flight when he faded out of mortal view. These now passed entirely
through him and the horse, without deviating at all. That was another evidence of his change; he truly
had become unsolid, as far as mortals were concerned.
Could he become solid while remaining invisible? Curious, despite the tragedy around him, he touched
the Sword and willed himself to be tangible but imperceptible.
One more arrow was coming. It struck the side of the horse and dropped to the ground, broken. But the
archers weren't watching. That was answer enough.
But the battle continued. It remained as much folly as before, and he still had to stop it. What else could
he do?
Famine had mentioned that Mars could freeze the action. Indeed, the Incarnation of Death had done that
when Mym had first encountered him, and surely Chronos, the Incarnation of Time, could do it too.
He touched the Sword again. Freeze action he thought.
Just like that, it froze. The armies below him became like statuary, the men and animals stilled in mid-
motion, the sounds of battle abated, and the clouds of dust and smoke halted in place. The few arrows
that were in flight hovered in air.
But the other Incarnations were not affected. Slaughter looked up from his grisly work, gore dripping
from his fingers. "Something come up. Mars?" he called.
"Yes," Mym returned shortly. But what was he to do next? He knew he couldn't keep the tableau frozen
indefinitely-and the moment he abated it, the carnage would resume.
Unless he could do something to stop the battle, before allowing the action to resume. He was not
frozen. He could go to the capitals, find where the message of termination of the war was stalled, and
facilitate its delivery. Was the rest of the world frozen too? He doubted it.
But how far did the effect extend?
There was one way to find out. "I have an errand," he told the other Incarnations. "See that the freeze
remains until I return."
"It is your prerogative," Conquest said, grimacing. Obviously he felt this was foolishness.
Mym urged his horse upward and forward, into the sky to the north. They galloped away from the battle
site. Soon he saw people moving again and confirmed that the freeze applied only to the battle. Good
enough; he didn't want to interfere with the rest of the world, just to abate the pointless bloodshed.
He came to Ahmadabad and descended to the Rajah's palace. He passed through the wall, horse and all,
and approached his father's private chambers. No one saw him.
Then he paused. He had thought to manifest and inquire about the order canceling the war-but though
the personnel might recognize him, they would be confused because his real self, as far as they knew,
was the double Gaea had fashioned to take his place. How could there be two of him? It would not be
wise to interfere with that.
Well, then, he could act through himself. He galloped his horse to the other palace for an interview with
his double. The young man was no longer confined, but had seen no need to depart the palace while the
arrangements for his journey to the Honeymoon Castle were being made.
Honeymoon Castle? But there the man's thoughts would be completely open to his betrothed! That
would give away his true identity and quite possibly provoke a new war. "Oh, Gaea," he sang under his
breath. "You overlooked one vital detail!"
Mist formed before him. "Foolish man," it breathed. "I shaped his mind as well as his body. He knows
his identity, but his thoughts there will only be those of the Prince."
He stopped, there in the hall, the servants brushing through his substance without ever being aware of
his presence or that of the horse. "You can do that?" he asked, amazed.
"I am Nature," the mist whispered-and dissipated.
If the powers of Mars were as he had discovered, what then of the powers of Gaea? He could only
glimpse them peripherally, but he found himself awed.
He resumed his ride, entered the suite of his double, and made himself tangible. "How goes it, Prince
Pride?" he sang.
The new Prince looked up, only mildly surprised. "I look upon a life that is more wonderful than any I
imagined," he replied in a similar singsong. "I have seen a painting of the Princess I am to marry, and
she is lovely."
Mym had seen the picture and regarded the Princess as relatively plain. But perhaps Gaea had dabbled in
that aspect of the man too, so that he was entirely content with his lot. Gaea's favors were subtle but
solid. No doubt her anger could be similarly devastating!
"I have a problem," Mym said. "As you know, I am now the Incarnation of War. There is a battle going
on between Gujarat and Maharastra that should not be occurring. The order to halt hostilities seems to
have gotten lost in transit. I need to obtain that order and get it to the front-but I do not want to seem to
duplicate myself when I get it. So-"
"I will get it for you," the new Prince Pride said, understanding immediately. "Naturally I don't want
lives expended uselessly any more than you do; I will have to manage this Kingdom all too soon."
He was taking hold very nicely, despite his lack of prior training for the position he had assumed. Gaea's
work again, surely.
The new Prince Pride took a carpet immediately to the Rajah's palace, while Mym paced him invisibly
on the horse. The trip was swift, as neither had to wait on traffic below, and in a few minutes they were
there. Then Prince Pride asked for a copy of the order requiring the cessation of hostilities and took it
with him. The moment he was alone, he held it in the air, and Mym materialized enough tograspit.
"Thank you, Prince," he said. "May you have a long and happy life."
He galloped back to the battle site, where things remained frozen. He brought the order to a messenger
boy, put it in his hand, and phased in to his mind. No thought was proceeding, because of the freeze, but
Mym projected strongly: URGENT MESSAGE FOR GENERAL.
Then he sat back on the horse, touched the Sword, and willed the release of the stasis.
The scene reanimated. The troops resumed killing each other; blood resumed flowing, and arrows
completed their flights. The messenger boy looked startled, evidently not remembering how he had
come to possess the urgent message, but knowing his duty. He rushed it to the General.
The General perused it. He sighed. "Peace has been declared," he said, disgusted. "Cease hostilities.
Send a mission under flag of truce to the enemy to acquaint them with this news."
It took a while to sort it out, but in due course the armies disengaged. The battle was over, and not too
many men had been killed.
But if he had handled the matter more expeditiously, there would have been no carnage at all. Mym
knew he had a lot yet to learn about the performance of his office.
He gathered up his minions and returned to his castle in Purgatory. Conquest, Slaughter, Famine, and
Pestilence went their ways, disappointed. They would have only a slim harvest from this day's work.
Rapture met him at the front foyer. "Oh, beloved, I missed you so!" she exclaimed. "Why did you have
to be gone so long?"
"I have an office to serve," he sang.
"To supervise violence and rapine?" she asked. "It would be better if you stayed here!"
"To stop a battle between the armies of your Kingdom and mine," he informed her gently. "Peace has
been declared, but the news had not reached the front. I was fortunate to get it stopped before things had
proceeded too far."
"Maharastra-and Gujarat-were fighting?" she asked, appalled.
"Because of us," he agreed. "We refused to marry the Princess and Prince of Rajasthan, so our
Kingdoms went to war with each other."
"But actual combat? I hadn't realized!"
"I stopped it. That was my business today."
"But people died, before-?"
"Some died, yes. It was complicated to-"
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I never wanted people to die because of us! If I had realized-"
"There was no way to-" he sang.
But she turned away from him, part of her horror extending to him.
Disgusted, he left her. It seemed they were having their first quarrel.
He cleaned up, for though he had had very little contact with mortal things, he had been under some
pressure and had sweated under his golden cloak. He changed to informal garb, then went to Rapture's
quarters.
She met him in the hall and flung her arms about him and sobbed. He tried to speak, but she stifled that
with a kiss.
It seemed that their quarrel was over.
Then they talked, and he learned what was really upsetting her. It seemed that the butler had explained it
to her during the day.
This was Purgatory. No mortals resided here. This was not discrimination, but the simple fact that
mortals were of a far more complex physical composition, possessing three physical dimensions instead
of two. This was not a precise analogy, but the butler had made it simple to understand. Mortals could
visit, when sponsored by an Incarnation, but could not remain.
"But you have been here a full night and day!" Mym sang, protesting.
"Yes, and I am starving," she responded.
"But there is plenty to eat!"
"For you. Not for me. Not for a mortal."
"You're my mortal!" he sang angrily. "They will feed you!"
She shook her head. "They have fed me, Mym. But this is Purgatory food. It looks and tastes real, it
feels real-but it has nourishment only for ghosts. A mortal requires a thousand times the substance found
in this food. What I have eaten here has been illusion, for me. I have been existing on my own bodily
resources. This is easy to do, for a short period, when the stomach seems full-but can not be
maintained."
He stared at her. "Purgatory food-can't feed you," he repeated.
"Mym, I must return to the mortal realm, if I am to eat."
He was appalled. "No wonder you were upset! It's so nice here, and now-"
"Now I must leave. I can visit only a few hours at a time, before hunger and thirst-oh, I feel that thirst,
now!"
Mym shook his head. "Rapture, I never knew about this! I never would have brought you here, if-"
His distress seemed to ameliorate hers. "I have only to find a mortal home. I can be here each day when
you return. I can spend the nights with you. It can be very much the same; I can be gone only when you
are gone."
"But I have no idea where you can go!" he sang. "It can't be Bombay-"
"The butler says he can arrange something, and I'm sure he can. But-it must be soon, because-"
"Because you are wasting away!" he finished. "Oh, my beloved-"
"It will be all right," she said, though he knew she was deeply distressed. She had wanted so much to be
with him always and now she could not.
They went immediately to the butler, who explained that there were those mortals who cooperated in
special matters like this and maintained a system of hostels for displaced associates of Purgatory. They
were discreet and understanding. "In fact you can stay with Thanatos' consort, Luna Kaftan," he said.
"She is in mortal politics, but because of Thanatos, she understands perfectly. You will be fully
comfortable with her."
And so it was arranged for Rapture to stay with Luna, who lived in Kilvarough. Thanatos himself came
to escort them down. Rapture almost fainted when she saw the skull-face, but then Thanatos drew back
his hood to reveal an ordinary human face, reassuring her. It was all right-for now.

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