"No, Jez, no!" Orb exclaimed. "I let myself down! I was too eager to believe the false proofs he offered. I should have questioned you!"
"There really wasn't time to get it straight," Lou-Mae said. "Satan is clever, I'll say that for him."
"Fiendishly clever," Orb agreed bitterly.
"But what has happened to the weather?" Betsy asked. "It seems so steamy out, all of a sudden."
"I'm afraid I did it," Orb said. "I was angry and I sang a new aspect of the Llano, the Song of Night, and then it seems I invoked Chaos."
"Chaos!" Jezebel exclaimed. "That dates from before the time of H—of the good place, or of Hell, or mortality. Chaos hates all of it!"
"But Chaos has no power now," Orb said.
"Not unless allowed it," the succubus said darkly. "You know how it is when an evil demon gets summoned? If there isn't proper protection, that demon can't be banished, and a whole lot of mischief can result. If Chaos takes hold—"
"I think I'd better get some advice," Orb said. She turned the page to her mother, Niobe. Niobe was at her residence in Purgatory. It resembled a monstrous spider web, with a home fashioned of silk.
"It's real trouble," Niobe said. "I queried the Purgatory Computer, and it says there is no telling what can result when Chaos starts operating. It could cancel itself out, because there is a lot of randomness in its nature; but it's more likely to run a pretty rough course." She glanced askance at Orb. "Why did you choose to start off your office by invoking such a dangerous thing?"
"You know my temper," Orb said ruefully. "When I discovered that everything I had known of Natasha was false—" She paused. "You did not come to me on the plain of the Llano to warn me of Satan's trap?"
Niobe shook her head. "We had agreed not to interfere."
"So it is true that you made a deal with Satan?"
"It is true. We were caught by the interpretation of the prophecy; no one knew the outcome except perhaps Chronos, and he would not talk. So we concluded that it was better to get the matter settled one way or the other. I had to trust that you would not be deceived."
"I was deceived," Orb said heavily. "I—fell in love with a simulacrum, in part because of challenges made by what I took to be the Incarnations, you included. Then I learned that it was Satan. What was I to do?"
Niobe shook her head. "Every Incarnation has to deal with Satan, and it is always difficult. I had to make a small tour of Hell to find the Magician before I could find the way to stop the threat Satan posed. Mars had to bring the world to the very verge of extinction by war before he could stop the threat Satan posed for him. Now it is your turn. I can not tell you what to do."
"It was Mym—Mars—the facsimile of Mars who finally convinced me that the man I know was not—what he was. All a vision!" Orb sighed. "Does he really have a consort and a demon mistress?"
"He really does," Niobe agreed. "But he would never have led you to Satan!"
"I was completely credulous," Orb said. "When Satan revealed himself, I couldn't believe it. When I did, I just wanted to strike back at something. So I sang. The most potent song I could. I suppose I was motivated by the fact that Satan himself urged me not to do it. Now I don't quite know what I've done."
"No one can know for certain, dear. But Chronos can probably make it right, if—"
"You mean by manipulating time? Isn't that dangerous?"
"Yes. But that may not be the problem in this instance."
"What is the problem?"
"We promised not to interfere until this matter has been decided. If Chronos took action now, it would constitute interference."
"The matter has been decided!" Orb said. "Now that I know the situation, I'll never deal with Satan!"
"It is not decided until Satan concedes defeat," Niobe said. "That is always the way it is in these tests of will."
"What does it take to make him concede defeat?" Orb asked irately.
Niobe spread her hands. "Each case is different. We'll simply have to wait and see."
"Does that mean we can't do anything to stop Chaos?"
"I fear it does. It is like an illness that must run its course. But it might be best to keep a close eye on that course."
"I'll try," Orb said.
She hugged her mother, then turned the page back to Jonah. And was appalled.
The big fish was rocking in a storm. The water no longer hurt him, but the winds were buffeting him back and forth, and the Sludge were hanging on to whatever offered.
"Why doesn't Jonah swim away from the storm?" Orb asked, grabbing hold herself.
"He's been trying to, but it keeps getting worse," Jezebel said. "Never seen weather like this before! It was all the big fish could do to drop Betsy and the organist off at her farm. They left their regards for you."
Orb looked out the transparent scales. It was hard to tell whether there was cloud or water outside, but certainly there was turbulence. She wished that Betsy and the organist had remained with Jonah.
"I'll find out how far it extends," she said. "Meanwhile, it may be uncomfortable here, but safe; weather can't really hurt Jonah." She expanded, becoming swiftly huge and diffuse, searching for the limit of the storm.
There seemed to be no limit, only confused patches of lesser intensity. Rain and swirl were everywhere. It was like a giant sauna. Evidently the rising heat and humidity were responsible.
But if the effect was global, what of the cold poles? Orb expanded to globe-size so she could investigate.
It was hot at the poles. Melt water was pouring from the icecaps at such a rate that she knew that in a few days no ice would remain.
What would that do to the level of the ocean?
What of the seacoast cities? What of the lowlands? The great valleys that could flood?
She oriented on the traveling show in India, where she had first met Mym. She coalesced, assuming her natural form beside a wagon.
The rain of the monsoon was pouring down. But was it monsoon season here? She wasn't sure, and feared that this was an atypical phenomenon. The wagons were parked, for travel was impossible; the road was awash.
Drenched, she forged to the closest wagon. It looked like—yes, it was the mermaid's wagon.
Orb pounded on the door, announcing the presence of a visitor, then pushed it open and climbed inside.
"Orb!" the mermaid exclaimed. "It has been years!"
And what was she to say now? That she had started a process that represented danger for everyone here? That the water level could rise and flood them out?
But if she didn't give warning, what then?
"A lot has happened," Orb said. "There may be danger. I have come to warn you. This rain—it may get worse. I think you should get the wagons to higher ground."
The mermaid shook her head. "There is no road we can travel. We must wait it out here."
"But there may be flooding!"
The mermaid smiled. "That doesn't really frighten me, you know. I won't drown. But I suppose it could be bad for the others and the animals. Still, the wheels are already mired; we'll simply have to sit it out."
Orb saw that she was right. The show would not be moving. "I hope it's all right," she said, taking the mermaid's hand for a parting squeeze.
Outside she had another notion. She concentrated, trying to invoke the elements, so that she could bring coolness and dryness and abate the rain. But she could not; that aspect of her power had been pre-empted by the developing Chaos. She was helpless before the weather.
She turned the page to Ireland, to the place that retained its nostalgia for her: the water oak in the swamp. This time the hamadryad came down to greet her, still grateful for the rejuvenation. But the rain was blasting down here, too, and the wind was tearing at the foliage of the tree.
"I'm afraid it may flood," Orb said.
The hamadryad agreed; she was quite concerned. Already the level of the swamp water was high.
"And it is my fault," Orb continued unhappily. "I—I fell in
love with an illusion and, when I learned, I was angry and I invoked a theme I should not have." The hamadryad touched her hand, briefly, understanding.
That did not make Orb feel better.
"I hope it is not too bad here," Orb said.
The dryad smiled encouragingly.
Orb turned another page, to Tinka's house in France.
Here, too, the rain was pouring. The roof was not tight; water was dripping down inside. Tinka had set out pans to catch it, but was obviously unhappy. Her baby was crying; she was trying to comfort him by singing, but the howl of the wind drowned out her voice.
She smiled gladly when she saw Orb. She was so glad for her sight! But Orb was glum. "I'm afraid there will be worse coming," she said. "Perhaps flooding; can you move to higher ground?"
"No, I must wait here for my husband to return," Tinka said. "Perhaps then we can go."
"I hope it will be all right." But Orb was sickly uncertain that it would be.
She traveled around the globe, finding the rain everywhere. Still the temperature increased; there seemed to be a hothouse effect. The polar ice was diminishing at an alarming rate. The flooding was occurring at coastal cities in the high-tide regions. There was hardly any distinction between day and night; the swirling rain was everywhere.
She returned to Jonah. He had finally given up the battle and swum belowground, where it was calm.
"The same all over?" Jezebel asked.
"All over," Orb agreed grimly. "The polar ice is melting, the sea level is rising, and the rain just keeps coming down. And I can't do anything to stop it; I have lost my control over the elements."
"Then you must rest," Lou-Mae said solicitously. "And eat," Jezebel added. "I just happen to have some blueberry pie here."
Orb tried, but her appetite was small and her rest tormented by thought of the possible consequences of her indiscretion. Before long she was turning the pages again, traveling the globe.
The hamadryad's tree was standing in water; all the swamp was flooded. The nymph was perched in the branches, staring at the coursing muddy water. "The roots—they can't breathe," she said, feeling the pain of her tree.
There was nothing Orb could say. She moved on to India. Flooding was well advanced now. The wagons stood in water up to their hubs, and the rain continued. Was the world to experience another deluge like that described in the Bible? No, surely there wasn't enough water available to do that.
She entered the mermaid's wagon. "I think the wagons must be left," she told the mermaid. "They will be submerged, and the others will drown. But you could help them now, guiding them to higher ground."
"Well, I really don't enjoy brackish water," the mermaid said. "But I think there is no need. The wagons will float."
"They'll float!" Orb exclaimed. "I never thought of that!" But then she reconsidered. "But they'll separate, and some could overturn in the storm."
The mermaid nodded. "You're right. We'd better take precautionary measures now. We can tie them together and build stabilizing outriggers. I'll have to spread the word. If you will carry me outside—"
Orb reached over the tank and put her left arm around the mermaid's upper torso. The mermaid heaved her tail up, and Orb caught it above the flukes. Staggering, she carried the mermaid down and out, almost falling as she set her in the swirling water.
"Ugh!" the mermaid said, grimacing. "Filthy stuff! But I can handle it." She spun about, testing it for depth, then swam with faculty toward the lead wagon.
Orb smiled. The mermaid complained, but she was happy. Not only was she free of her tank, she was serving a useful purpose. Orb waited long enough to be sure that the mermaid could get the attention of the occupants of the wagons, then turned the page to France. The flooding was proceeding here, too. The main street of the village had disappeared. Tinka was peering worriedly out; her husband had not yet returned.
"You must get to higher ground!" Orb told her. "While you can. For the sake of your baby."
"For the baby," Tinka agreed, shaken.
"Maybe I can locate your husband. How can I identify him?" Tinka described the man in sufficient detail. Orb expanded to encompass the region, orienting on the pertinent characteristics, and found them. She coalesced. The man was in the mountains, but the treacherous conditions had caused his wagon to slide off the trail and break a wheel. He was unable to proceed until he got it fixed, and the job was difficult.
Orb introduced herself. "Ah, you are Tinka's friend, the one I never met!" he exclaimed. "I thought she invented you—a fantasy to divert herself!"
"The village is flooding. I will bring her here to you."
"She should not be out in this weather with the baby!" he protested. "She is not used to the outside, for her sight has not long been restored; she would get lost."
"I said I would bring her," Orb said. "No walking."
"Are you some magic creature, that you can do this?"
"Yes." Orb turned the page back to Tinka. "He broke a wheel," she reported. "He is fixing it. I will take you to him. Is there anything you need to take with you? I think you will not be returning here soon."
"Things for the baby!" Tinka exclaimed, dashing about the room. In a moment she had made a bundle of supplies and had donned a waterproof shawl to cover herself and the baby.
Then Orb put a hand on Tinka's shoulder and turned the page to the wagon.
Tinka handed Orb the baby and bundle and went to help her husband. Orb was impressed again at the efficiency of Gypsies when there was a task to be done. She was also struck by the presence of the baby in her arms. If only she could have kept Orlene! But even if she had not had to give up her daughter before, how could she have kept a child while assuming the office of Nature?
She couldn't have, of course. When she had given her decision to Natasha, she had affirmed that conclusion; she had chosen the office rather than the family.
Natasha—ah, Satan! How could she have missed that, before? She had been blinded by love. But oh, if only it could have been real! Her heart felt leaden; it craved the illusion, when the reality was the worst horror she had dreamed of. To marry Satan. She stood in the rain, holding the baby and the bag of belongings, glad for the moment that the incessant rain masked the tears on her face. What a colossal fool she had been!
The Gypsy team labored on the wheel. They lacked the proper tools, but were clever with makeshift; in due course the wheel had been jury-rigged into serviceability. Tinka, bedraggled and dirty, returned to take her baby. "I thank you. Orb," she said.
"It was my pleasure," Orb responded miserably. She found that she hated giving up the baby; he had become a symbol of what she had thrown away.
"For everything."
But if Orb had not yielded to her anger, this hot rain would not have occurred. She was owed no thanks, just condemnation. But she knew that Tinka would not listen to that. "Go uphill," she said. "Until the rain stops."
The man nodded.
They boarded the wagon, and the horse resumed hauling. Orb waved, then turned the page back to Jonah.
The Sludge were sleeping, except for Jezebel. She was in her luscious form, evidently having been sharing with the guitarist. Since she never slept, she emerged to join Orb. "What can I fix you?" the succubus inquired.
"Some piece of mind," Orb said. She found it easy to relate to the demoness, perhaps because she was feeling somewhat damned herself.
"The rain has to stop some time," Jezebel said.
But it did not stop. It went on and on, and the heat continued. Soon Orb was out in the world again, turning pages from one region to another, helpless to reverse the ongoing disaster.
The coastal cities were being flooded out. The water impeded the exodus of the people; highways had been submerged and roads washed out. Most people seemed to have retreated to the taller buildings, moving to the higher floors as the water rose.
But the heat was causing the air to expand and rise; winds were stiffening and with them the waves. Breakers
smashed at the buildings, wearing them down relentlessly. Orb saw some buildings that had collapsed; if there had been people in them, they were there no longer.
The wreckage of boats was being tossed about. This was no safe sea for sailing! But what other way did trapped people have to escape? Could she take any of them and turn the page to higher ground? There were so many in trouble that she could help only a few, but she had to try.
She expanded, searching for the need, and found a building that was being overwhelmed by the waves. She coalesced to it. A woman and two children were standing on the roof, hanging on to the aeration pipes as the wind howled through. "I will help you!" Orb cried. "Take my hands!"
Numbly, the woman and children obeyed, clasping their hands about hers. They did not question her arrival.
Orb turned a page—and found herself alone. She had not been able to carry them with her!
She turned the page back. The three were there, staring, not knowing what had happened. "Maybe one at a time," Orb said, taking the hand of the little girl.
She turned the page—but the child was not with her. She could no longer take people with her! She had done it with Tinka and her baby, but now her magic seemed to have been drained. Maybe the Chaos was absorbing it, drawing on any magic available for its vast effort of demolition.
She turned the page back, determined to find some way to succeed. But this time she found only a massive wave crashing across the top of the building. She expanded and thinned out, so that it did not affect her—but when it receded, the woman and children were gone.
Orb knew that similar tragedies were occurring all over the world. She had merely sampled the horror of it.
What had she wrought?
With fading hope, she turned the page to the water oak in Ireland. The water was now halfway up its trunk, and the hamadryad was perched in the foliage at the top, very much like the woman and children of the building.
Orb joined her. "I can't move human folk any more, but maybe I can move you," she said. "Take my hand, and I will try to take you to higher ground."