Wielding a Red Sword (34 page)

“A lot of discomfort or pain, mainly,” she said. “We really can’t die here, but it would hurt a lot to be chomped up and eaten by a monster, and then you’d be in its belly. I really wouldn’t enjoy that.”

That was something to think about. Could a monster consume Mars? Probably not. But it could consume Ligeia. Could he protect her from such threats? Perhaps he could, by keeping her in contact with him.

“I think I can guard you from that. Are you willing to risk it?”

“At this point it can be no worse than what Satan would
do to me, if—” She didn’t finish, and Mym knew why. If she failed her assignment of trapping him in Hell, for all that she had never agreed to do it, she would be punished in Hell’s worst fashion. There were indeed fates worse than death, and Hell was the place where these were suffered.

“I have a tentative plan of escape,” Mym said carefully. “I can’t tell you exactly what it is, because news might reach Satan.” He flicked his eyes toward the snake without moving his head, hoping that she would understand the signal while the snake missed it. “But it requires that I meet with the various leaders of the souls of Hell—not the ones doing Satan’s business, but the ones who are genuinely interested in human welfare. I presume that, though these souls are damned, they are not totally evil. Can the back route get me to these souls, and can you guide me there?”

Her eyes also flicked toward the snake. “Yes.”

How comprehensive an answer was that? Whatever it was, he had to accept it.

They climbed down out of the cave and to the ledge, and the snake slithered after them. That was fine with Mym; he did not want to get rid of the snake, because then Satan would have to assign some other creature to snoop, and that one might be more effective. Also, the snake served as the pretext for him not to speak his true plan aloud, so that he did not have to share it with Ligeia. He disliked having to distrust her, but she
was
serving as an agent of Satan, and he could not be quite, quite certain of her ultimate loyalty.

It was nervy business, walking down the narrow ledge in the dark, but necessary. They proceeded slowly for hours, winding around the mountain, and finally, as dawn was threatening, they reached the base.

They were both tired, so sought a place to rest and sleep. To be tired in the spirit form was no more anomalous than dawn in Hell. Mym’s body seemed fully physical to him; it even had natural functions, requiring him to borrow the cover of a bush for a minute. It seemed that if one ate in the Afterlife, one also digested and eliminated; if one labored, one became tired.

They formed a bower—a shelter of boughs—under a leaning tree, making a bed of leaves and fern. They lay down to sleep—and the bugs located them. This was Hell, of course; naturally there were obnoxious vermin.

But Mym simply enfolded Ligeia in his cloak, and the bugs could not get to them. Of course this made it more difficult to sleep, because she was very warm and soft against him. He had sought her because he was in need of a woman, but he wasn’t quite sure of her, and of course a princess was not a concubine, so he did not want to move things along too hastily. But that did not mean that he could simply ignore her contact and sleep.

“A penny for your thoughts,” she murmured.

“No sale.”

“Are you sure you don’t desire me?”

“Of course I desire you!” he snapped. “But—”

“That’s nice,” she said. “But don’t worry; I won’t corrupt you.” And she fell asleep.

How nice for her. Did she, as a pampered princess, even know what male desire signified? She had to, for she had been threatened with rape both as a mortal and as a spirit. But probably she assumed that nice men were different and expressed desire only as an intellectual compliment with no physical component. Well, he would try to honor that notion. Certainly if he had really wanted concubinage without content, he could have had it in Lilith/Lila.

Lilith. Lila. Ligeia. He had not before realized how similar those names were. Could it be that—?

No! That was preposterous. Yet, insidiously, he had to wonder. What a fool Satan would be making of him, if he had been tricked into trapping himself in Hell for the same creature he had renounced in Purgatory! If he was now torturing himself with desire unfulfilled for a damned amoral demoness!

He could phase in to her and learn her identity for certain. He knew that he should. But still he refrained. Suppose Ligeia turned out to be genuine, and his intrusion betrayed his distrust? How would she react to him then? He would not blame her for feeling betrayed.

Was he weighing the risk of his actual betrayal against
her mere feeling of betrayal? There could be no question of the appropriate course to take. Yet he could not.

She stirred. “Why are you tense?” she asked.

“Just thinking.”

“Are you sure you won’t tell me?”

“You would not like it.”

“I don’t see how your thoughts could be worse than the rest of Hell.”

She had a point. “I am wondering whether you are who and what you say you are.”

“I am,” she said, then reconsidered. “Oh, you mean you doubt? I suppose that’s sensible. Who else do you think I might be?”

“Lilith, the demoness.”

She became fully alert. “The one who went to the cave with the demons? You think I—?”

“I told you you wouldn’t like it.”

“I don’t! But I suppose you are right to wonder. Demons can assume any form, so she could make herself look just like me. But how can I prove my identity?”

“There is a way,” he said reluctantly.

“That’s what men always say, isn’t it? But I understand that demons are better at it than genuine people are, so—”

“As the Incarnation of War, I have certain powers. One of them is the ability to—”

“To incite violence,” she said. “You are doing a fair job of it now!”

This was exactly the kind of entanglement he had wanted to avoid. But now he was in it and had to slog through. “Also to phase in to people, to occupy their bodies and minds and grasp their thoughts.”

“Oh.” She considered. “I thought you meant another kind of penetration.”

“I would not practice either on you without your consent,” he said stiffly.

“This phasing in, so you can read my mind—does it mean I can also read yours?”

That notion startled him. “I’m not sure. When I have done it with mortals, they were unaware of my intrusion. But I could project my thoughts to them. I suppose, if
one realized what the situation was, he might have read my thoughts on his own.”

“Then phase in to me,” she said.

“But if you should be a demoness—”

“Then Satan will know all your secrets. But you seek to know mine. Turnabout is fair play, isn’t it?”

It did make sense. He had distrusted her; she could distrust him. He wanted to trust her; surely she wanted to trust him. The phasing in would resolve all doubts, one way or the other.

“But do you realize that this can be a more intimate association than any physical one could be?” he asked, still hesitant.

“I would rather be known than unknown,” she said simply.

So he phased in. For a moment he had trouble orienting, and was afraid that it wouldn’t work when there was no mortal body to anchor to. But then he realized that in the mortal realm he had used the physical body to fix the spiritual essence in place; on this occasion it could be done directly.

He overlapped her—and discovered that not only was it possible to do it without the physical bodies, it was much easier, because there was no flesh to get in the way. Just like that, her thoughts were his.

She was genuine. All that she had told him was true. Her mind was so straightforward, and the merging so complete, that there was absolutely no doubt.

So that’s the plan
! he thought with surprise.

No, that’s not your thought, it’s mine
, the thought followed immediately.
Ligeia’s
.

The rapport was so thorough that he had mistaken her thought for his own! He had never anticipated success like this! Why had she even been concerned about—wait, whose thought was this? His or hers?

Does it matter
?

Confused, Mym disengaged. They lay there, both their bodies radiant with the experience, assimilating the enormous impact of the prior few moments. Truly, they had known each other for an instant.

Now Mym discovered that he could recollect greater
detail in Ligeia’s memories than he had been aware of before. He seemed to have acquired part of her mind.

“It was right to let Rapture go, though you still loved her,” Ligeia said.

“You share my memories?” he asked, knowing it was so.

“Your memories become you,” she said. “You are a decent man. I can see why you are wary of the demoness; that business with the talking head—”

“I had no idea that the phase would be that complete, Li!”

“I know, Mym, I know,” she said.

“How well we know each other so suddenly!”

“It was worth it.”

“It was worth it,” he repeated.

“I think we shall very soon be in love.”

“Very soon,” he agreed.

“For the first time in my Afterlife, I am glad I went to Hell.”

“I know.” He kissed her. The acquaintance that should have taken months had been accomplished in seconds.

Now, secure in their knowledge of each other, they slept.

Ligeia did know her way generally about Hell. She had found a map of it in a book Satan had shown her. The book described the various regions and tortures available; the showing of it had not been any favor to her, but a threat. She had been terrified by the threat, but she had remembered the pretty map.

“The River Lethe originates near the center, and that is where Satan’s private retreat is,” she said. “So we should discover its source spring near here.”

“Lethe—the water of forgetfulness?” he asked. “My mythology is not yours, but I seem to remember that.”

“True. If we thirst, we had better not drink that water, for we will not even remember our mission thereafter.”

They walked along, and the snake followed, and they found the spring, and thirst smote Mym, but he knew he could not drink. The clear water bubbled up from the white sand below, forming a lovely pool surrounded by
rich vegetation. There were several canoes on a rack beside it. This was evidently a wilderness retreat.

“Odd that such a thing should exist in Hell,” Mym remarked.

“It’s a trap. Unwary souls who flee the work gangs find their way here and choose to boat and swim in the water, and—”

“I see. Satan does love to torture insidiously.”

“But we can use a canoe,” she said. “It doesn’t matter if we get splashed, as long as none of it gets in our mouths. Of course it might not be smart actually to swim in it.”

“Not smart at all,” he agreed.

“The rivers lead to every major section of Hell. Some of them are pretty nasty. That’s why there isn’t much traffic on them.”

They lifted a canoe and turned it over. It was made of aluminum—or whatever passed for it in the Afterlife—and was light. They set it in the water and climbed carefully in. The snake joined them. There were two aluminum paddles with it, too. It floated very nicely on the water.

“I would hardly need to drink the water to forget,” Mym said. “This is such a pleasant place.”

“Appearances can be deceptive,” she said.

They paddled. Mym had had experience with this sort of thing and had the rear seat; he kept a straight course by sculling, while Ligeia paddled on either side in front.

They guided it to the outlet, where the flow of the river commenced. The water was calm; only the slightest current was felt. The vegetation grew richly up to the shore, and trees overhung, so that the stream seemed to be passing under a green canopy. Small fish swam below, and turtles were at the fringe. It was hard indeed to remember that this was Hell!

But soon the stream entered a marshy region where water plants encroached. The plants seemed innocent—hyacinths—but Mym was cautious. This was, after all, Hell.

Sure enough, as they glided close, he saw little feeler-threads writhing out from the plants, reaching toward the canoe. There seemed to be sap flowing that resembled saliva. Those plants were hungry for more than water.

“Stay clear of those plants,” he warned Ligeia.

“The hungrycinths,” she agreed. “They will leave nothing but bones, if they get the chance to feed.”

Mym wondered how a spirit-person could have bones. But surely he did, here in Hell. He liked this quiet stream less.

They found a channel by the plants, but there were more and more of the things, and soon they could go no farther without forging directly through. “I think we’d better do it rapidly,” Mym said. “If we travel swiftly enough, they won’t be able to get hold.”

They gathered momentum and struck the bank of plants at speed. The drag was immediately felt. The canoe slowed, partly from the sheer clogging mass of plants, and partly from the latching-on of their hairlike tentacles. They continued paddling, but soon became bogged down.

Now the plants seemed to crowd in, extending their thick leaves over the sides of the canoe, reaching in with their feelers. Sap fairly drooled.

Mym lifted his paddle high and brought it down beside the canoe, smashing at the plants. They were crushed down with a sick vegetable squishing sound. He smashed again, at those on the other side, freeing what he could reach of the canoe. “Knock them away!” he called to Ligeia. “Then we can move on through!”

She lifted her paddle and brought it down. But her motion was ineffective and dislodged only a few plants. “Harder!” Mym called. His own plants were crowding in again.

She struck harder—and water splashed up against Mym. He shielded his face instinctively. His right arm was spattered—and where the droplets touched, spots of numbness developed. The water of Lethe was making his very flesh forget!

“Don’t splash!” he cried.

“Oops!” She restricted her effort and managed to get most of the plants unclung.

“Now paddle forward,” he said. “We can do it.”

They both worked hard, and the canoe began to move reluctantly. Now the action of the paddles tended to clear the plants from the sides. But it was a lot of work for excruciatingly slow progress.