"So you are quitting, cutie," Satan said, appearing before her.

  "Go to Hell," she told him shortly.

  "You have been a delectable thorn in My side for too long," he continued blithely. "It will be an excellent riddance."

  "Go damn yourself."

  "I really will enjoy working over your successor, scrumptious."

  She paused. "Why so positive. Lord of Flies? Can it be that you don't want me to go?"

  He puffed smoke. "Of course I want you to go!" he said.

  She nodded. "Because I am fated to produce a mortal child who will be a real pain in the tail for you."

  He did not respond with the derogatory or cynical exclamation she expected. Instead he was oddly pensive. "There are currents of destiny that perhaps only God comprehends," he said. "Our glimpses of the future are fleeting and imperfect. I have taken a reading on your daughter and I see only a terrible storm perhaps forty years hence, and she is caught up in it—and so am I. I do not know the outcome."

  Niobe suffered a chill. "And one may marry Death, the other Evil," she said, again recalling the prophecy.

  "I am the Incarnation of Evil!" he said. "Why should I ever bind Myself to a mortal woman?"

  "She is to be an Incarnation."

  Satan turned and paced in air, his gaze downcast. He was almost handsome in that moment of reflection. "And what woman, whether mortal or Incarnation, would ever bind herself to Me?"

  It was a serious question. "Only an evil one," Niobe said.

  "Are you about to birth and raise an evil woman?"

  "Of course not!"

  "Of course not," he agreed. "For you are indeed a good woman, as well as a lovely one. She can only oppose Me. Yet the prophecy—"

  He was genuinely disturbed! "Satan, what are you getting at?"

  He faced her without any sign of cruelty or mockery. "Simply this: there is a tangle coming in your skein that neither of us understands. Never would I bind Myself to a good woman, nor would she to Me. Something very strange is brewing. Let us avoid the whole issue, and oppose each other on conventional grounds. Keep your present office, O lovely woman! Do not generate that child."

  Niobe was astonished. "You are pleading with me to do you a favor—by abrogating the fulfillment of my love?"

  "I suppose I am, Clotho. I can proffer inducement if you prefer. I could assume the likeness and manner of your—"

  "You're crazy!"

  Satan sighed. "No, I am evil, not crazy. I have merely confirmed that no decent woman would accept Me if she knew My nature, however I might clothe Myself. You know Me, therefore you will not do for Me what you did for Chronos."

  Niobe stared at him. "You—desire my favor?"

  "I do desire it."

  Almost, she felt sorry for him. Then the memory of Cedric surged back, and the emotion became anger. "Well, you will never have it!"

  "That I know. Still I would have you remain in office."

  "You should know better!"

  "You will not do it?"

  "I will not do it!"

  Now he flared brightly with his abrupt fury. "I tried to be reasonable! To be honest, though it pains Me! I'm not good at it, I know, but I did try. Now you will feel the brunt of My wrath!"

  "Go to Hell, Satan," she repeated mildly.

  "And your child will suffer too!" he cried as he faded out. "You and yours will rue this hour!"

  He was gone—and Niobe found herself shivering with reaction. Had she made a mistake by refusing to deal with Satan? He had seemed oddly pensive, and his expression of desire for her had seemed honest. Satan, of course, had all the women he wanted, in all the forms he wanted, in Hell—yet none of them were good, by definition. Did he have a hankering for the opposite type? Was there some good even in the Prince of Evil?

  Surely not! Satan's designs were always evil, also by definition. If she opposed him, she was probably correct. If he was angry, she should be pleased. She was fulfilling the vengeance she had so long sought against him.

  Yet Satan was also devious. The Father of Lies knew how to deceive by indirection as well as by direction. Why had he come to her to make his plea and why had he shown such obvious anger when she declined it? That suggested that it was an act, and that she was in fact doing exactly what he wanted.

  She shook her head. Her safest course was to pursue her course as she intended, not allowing herself to be influenced in any way by Satan. Still, it bothered her. She brooded on it throughout her business in the Void. Would she—and her daughter—be vulnerable to Satan's wrath, as mortals?

  She visited Chronos next. Mindful of his reversed timeline, she phrased her farewell carefully. "Hello, Chronos. I thought I would introduce myself, as we shall be working together for the next two or three years. I am Clotho, an Aspect of Fate."

  "Oh, go on!" the child snapped. "You aren't Lisa!"

  "Of course I'm not. Lisa has gone mortal. I am Niobe." She smiled.

  Chronos was eight years old, physically and emotionally. He melted like ice cream in the radiance of that smile. "Gee, you sure are pretty, Obe! I guess you're okay!"

  "I guess I am," she agreed. "I know you and I will get along well." She tousled his hair.

  "Hey, wait a minute!" he protested. "You live forward, not backward like me! You've already been through it!"

  She smiled again, daunting him. "Smart lad! Yes, I know you a good deal better than you know me, though that will change as you advance into my past. But when your tenure comes to a close, and you are afraid, I will come to you and hold your hand. So don't annoy me, okay?"

  "Geez, it's weird having you come in like this, knowing so much! Lisa was sorta timid and sweet, specially at the end when she forgot my language. I'll sure miss her."

  Forgot his language? How could that be? But Niobe preferred not to discuss it with him. "Just remember, sport—I chose her."

  "Yeah, I know. Yesterday. Funny thing, you coming up with her."

  "What's so funny about bringing in a woman who can do the job?"

  He stared at her a moment, then laughed teasingly. "That's right! You don't know her yet. You'll find out, Obe!"

  "I'll find out," she agreed, kissed him on the forehead, shifted to spider form, and climbed out of his sight. He always enjoyed that trick.

  This was getting stranger. First Satan's pointless offer and threat, then Chronos' reaction. Chronos knew something she didn't, of course. They had been searching diligently for Lisa, and still had not found her, one day before the event.

  What would happen if they failed to find her? Would there be another snarl in the threads, pinching the Tapestry, and could Niobe find herself stranded in office, unable to turn mortal and marry Pacian? Was that the mischief Satan contemplated?

  No, it couldn't be, for the change to Lisa had occurred tomorrow; Chronos remembered it, and Chronos was no tool of Satan's. She really didn't need to worry about it; what would be would be—and she would be mortal, tomorrow.

  But tomorrow came with no further illumination. There was no sign of Lisa even as the hour approached. Niobe's better two-thirds were as mystified as she was. "The thread has to be here in the Tapestry," Lachesis said. "But nothing distinguishes it. So it is lost until we find it. There simply is no signal that Lisa is to step out of life and into Fate."

  "I'll bid farewell to Mars," Niobe decided. "Then it will be time, and we'll see."

  She sailed down a thread to the spot on Earth where Mars was working. This was the great double city of Budapest, at the moment torn by strife. Huge Soviet tanks were moving in the streets, and buildings were burning.

  She landed on a street beside him. Mars, too, was different from the one who had been in office when she first came to Purgatory. She wasn't certain what the mechanism for his changing was, but it seemed to occur irregularly and without warning. But this one had been in office for several years, and she liked him well enough, considering the differences in their philosophies. "Mars, I came to say good-bye."

  He glanced at her. "Ah, so soon, lass? There'll never be a sweeter or prettier Clotho than you! Give me a buss!"

  She submittted to his embrace and hugged him back. She had had liaisons with him on occasion, as appropriate, and so had Lachesis. "How's it going. Warrior?"

  He released her. "Always a novelty! See that line of refugees?"

  She looked where he pointed. A seemingly endless line of bedraggled civilians were walking along the side of the street, going north. Obviously they had been bombed out of their homes and were fleeing to whatever safety they could find.

  Now he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face the other way. "And those?"

  She looked dutifully. Another line of refugees was traveling south. "But they're each going where the other's coming from!" she exclaimed.

  "True. What do you make of that?"

  "It has to be a tragedy! No hope for either group!"

  "Now you have it, lass," he agreed gruffly. "War is hell." She knew better, but she couldn't help herself. She challenged his rationale: "How can you encourage such an appalling situation. Mars? Those are living, feeling people there, surely innocent of the causes of this war!"

  Mars, always ready for combat, answered without hesitation. "Aye, lass, that they are, by your definition. But not by mine! They sought freedom, so brought this consequence on their heads!"

  "Freedom?"

  He nodded. "Freedom to speak, to assemble, to read, to choose their own work. They forgot they were a satellite nation. Those tanks are here to remind them."

  "And you approve of this?" she demanded incredulously.

  "To be sure! Freedom is the most precious thing man can grasp, and its price is commensurate. These people suffer to prove that they are worthy of what they seek, and I'm proud of them!"

  "And what of the tanks?"

  "I am proud of them, too."

  "Oh, Mars, you're impossible! I wish I could save even one of those poor souls!"

  Mars made a gesture that included both lines of refugees. "Take your pick, Clotho."

  "What?"

  "If you are exchanging your office in a few minutes, you can do it with one of these. She, at least, can be spared."

  The incredible boor! Lachesis thought.

  But it may be true, Atropos replied. "All right, I will!" Niobe walked out to the line going north and stopped the first young woman she spied who seemed to be traveling alone. She was a dark-haired, pretty girl of perhaps twenty, toting a large suitcase. She stared at Niobe.

  "Would you like to become Fate?" Niobe asked. The woman's large eyes looked at her blankly. "To exchange places with me and be forever free of this?"

  The woman spoke unintelligibly. Of course! Atropos thought. She's Hungarian! Doesn't Mars speak all tongues? Lachesis thought. "Yes!" Niobe said. She took the woman by the hand and tugged her across the street toward the Incarnation of War. The woman seemed to have been stunned by the horror of the violence around her. Perhaps she thought Niobe was offering her a place to stay in safety for the night.

  "Mars, tell her," Niobe ordered. "Ask her to exchange."

  Mars spoke to the woman in her language, gesturing to Niobe. The woman shook her head, not believing it. Then a shell landed nearby, blowing out part of a building, and the woman changed her mind. She nodded affirmation. "Any port in a storm," Mars translated. It was Atropos' turn to handle the change. She assumed the body. "Farewell, Niobe," she said. "It has been a pleasure working with you."

  Good-by, sister Aspect, Lachesis thought, giving her a mental kiss.

  Atropos took the woman's hand—and Niobe found herself standing separately, in her own body, facing Atropos. "Farewell, sister Aspects!" she cried—and as always, tears flowed.

  Mars touched one of his pockets and brought out a fragment of reddish stone. "Take this, Niobe," he said gruffly. "It is from my planet. It will guard you from harm until you can reach your destination." Niobe took the stone. She opened her mouth to thank him. Another shell burst, close by, momentarily blinding her and causing her to cower. When she straightened up, both Mars and Fate were gone. She was on her own. Deprived of her two alternate Aspects, she felt abruptly naked. They—and immortality—were no longer part of her. Her tears continued.

  But she could not remain here, crying in the street of the war-torn city. She knew where she was going. She hefted the suitcase and started walking.

  Chapter 9 - TWIN MOONS

  Thanks to the Mars fragment, she made her way safely from Budapest, across the Iron Curtain, and to Ireland, where Pacian was waiting for her. She was tired and bedraggled and felt exceedingly mortal, but she was ready to marry him.

  But first she consulted with her son the Magician. "Satan swore to harass me and mine," she said. "Is it possible to be secure from this?"

  "Satan is constrained to operate somewhat through channels," he replied. "My power does not approach his, but I can protect us all from his mischief." He gave her a bright green garnet, mounted on a silver chain. "Wear this always. Mother, and you will be secure. I will see to the daughters in their turn."

  "Thank you, son," she said, smiling. He was now forty, she twenty-four, physically.

  "And one for Pace," he said, handing her another.

  The wedding was in spring, and by summer Niobe was pregnant. The Magician's wife, Pacian's daughter Blenda, turned up pregnant that same summer, after five years of marriage, by what coincidence or design only Lachesis might know. Niobe and Blenda took walks together and compared notes, still seeming like sisters though Blenda was now five years older physically.

  When spring came again, both women gave birth to daughters within a week of each other. Niobe named hers Orb and Blenda named hers Luna, for they were like twin moons. The Magician presented each baby with a polished moonstone, to protect her from misfortune.

  The two girls were raised together and were amazingly similar even after allowing for the fact that they were closely related. Niobe and Pacian were the ancestors of both; strangers assumed that Orb and Luna were twins. The Magician still tended to bury himself in his studies, and Blenda had retired from teaching in order to assist him, so that Luna would spend days at a time at Niobe's house. Pacian, always a farmer, was now going into tree farming, gradually remaking the wetlands without destroying it; this took long hours. Thus most of the child care fell to Niobe. She loved it. She had given up her first child. Junior, and now was glad to make up for it by raising two. It was her fulfillment as a mother, forty years delayed.

  She put them together in a double pram for walks through the countryside and, when they grew old enough to do their own walking, she took them through the wetlands to admire the fine magical trees Pacian was cultivating. Sometimes they would ride their family carpet to the place where she and Cedric had lived. The old cabin had been replaced by a modern bungalow, complete with electricity and central heating, but the old water oak remained. The hamadryad was now a middle-aged nymph, showing it more by manner than by form, but she remembered Niobe, once she introduced herself, and came down cautiously to play with the little girls. Niobe was as happy as she had ever been, despite the nostalgia. But she always made sure both girls were wearing their protective moonstones, for Satan could be lurking, awaiting his chance for mischief.

  The children reached school age, and Niobe took them there together and got them enrolled. She had to wrestle verbally with the clerks who assumed that two similar children whose surname was Kaftan had to be sisters if not twins. "Orb is mine, Luna is my son's child." They stared at her, for she was physically thirty.

  Both girls were bright as well as pretty. Niobe's side of the family accounted for the beauty, and the Kaftan side accounted for the brilliance. It was genetics more than merit, but still she was inordinately proud.

  As school progressed, the girls became more differentiated. They adopted different clothing and hairstyles; one would wear pink, the other green, and then they would switch. One would grow her hair long, while the other cut it short—and again they would switch. Luna's hair was clover-honey, like her mother's, and her eyes were pearl-gray; Orb's hair was buckwheat-honey, like Niobe's, and her eyes pale blue. But they could still be very similar when they chose.

  Luna became interested in art, while Orb liked music. Luna showed real talent with pictures, proceeding from crayons to pastel chalk to watercolors and finally to oil; her efforts were always prominently represented in class shows. Orb started with the guitar and gravitated to the piano, then centered on the harp. She had genuine talent for it, and when she was ten, she gave a recital of The Shepherd's Song that sounded so like the magic music her father and grandfather had had that Niobe was stunned. She had the magic—and it reached a short way out beyond physical contact to touch those who listened closely. The audience, though it heard only the physical music, was still entranced, and applauded her enthusiastically.

  By the time they were twelve, both girls were almost as pretty as their mothers had been, and their talents were solidly established. "It's time they had better equipment," Pacian said and he took Niobe to see the Magician.

  "The instruments exist," the Magician said. "But they have to be won. They are in an annex to the Hall of the Mountain King. The King sleeps, but an attempt to steal anything would wake him, and that would be unfortunate."

  "I don't want them stealing anything!" Niobe protested. "They're honest girls!"

  The Magician smiled tolerantly. "To be sure. Mother. But you must understand the Mountain King's definition. He will freely give the instruments to any person he deems worthy of them—but what he calls worthy, we might call theft."

  "That's preposterous!"

  "Not so. Mother," he informed her patiently. "A person who can take the instrument deserves it; the one who cannot, but who tries to, is a thief."

  "There are standards—an examination?"

  "A series of three challenges to gain entry," he said, "Then a demonstration of proficiency for the specific instrument."