shall assume it!”
“It had occurred to me that you might feel that way,” Gaea said. “Welcome, then, to our number, Mars.”
And he knew that his commitment had been made.
6
MARS
“First you must know how to travel,” Gaea said. “You have a fine horse named Werre, but he’s mainly for formal occasions. Or you can discorporate, but that has risks. For now, the key is the Sword. There are several modes of its operation, but all are governed by your will. If you choose to appear at the most intense war currently being waged, you simply give it its head and it will take you there, instantly. The Sword likes violence. If you want to go home—that is, to your castle in Purgatory—you give it the mental command
home
.”
“Purgatory?” Mym sang.
“A Western concept, a kind of crude, structured nirvana. It may be easiest to think of it as an island in the sky, a place in the clouds, invisible to mortal folk, but real to immortals. The place where those souls who have not made the decision whether to go to Heaven or to Hell pause. A place of indecision, or of decision, however you see it.”
“Reincarnation is more expedient,” Mym sang.
“We Occidentals are not as sophisticated about the larger scale as are you Orientals,” Gaea murmured, smiling.But he was sure that this benign green woman was as sophisticated as any living person.
“I think first I want to rescue Rapture,” he sang.
“For that, you must use the directed travel,” Gaea said. “Simply point the Sword in the direction you wish to go and will it to proceed. A little experimentation will give you the feel of it.”
Mym looked at the sword he still held, whose glow had diminished to a dull red, as if it were slightly red-hot. He was acquiring more respect for it. “But first I must escape the palace,” he sang.
“The Sword will take you through the walls,” Gaea said.
“That’s what I’m afraid of!”
She smiled. “An Incarnation is only as solid as he chooses to be. You will pass through without disruption.”
Cautiously he pointed the Sword at an interior wall, so that he would not find himself abruptly in mid-air outside, two stories up.
Forward
! he thought.
Slowly
.
The sword moved—and he moved with it. There was no sensation; he remained standing, but traveling, as if on a moving carpet or one of those scientific airplanes. Surprised, he lifted the Sword slightly, so that it angled up—and found himself sliding upward at that angle, his feet leaving the floor. Hastily he angled it level again—and sailed through the wall.
There was a moment of darkness; then he emerged from the other side of the stone. Now he was floating slowly across the next chamber, half a meter above the floor.
He realized that he didn’t have to worry about being outside at a height; the Sword made him independent of support. He could fly, literally, without effort or discomfort.
Gaea appeared in the new chamber, in the form of coalescing mist. “Shall we proceed to Maharastra?” the mist inquired.
Mym was getting to like the Sword very well. “But suppose I drop it?” he asked, still not quite certain about venturing high and far.
“Try it here,” she suggested.
He let go of the Sword. It remained floating in the air—and so did he. “But I’m not touching it!” he sang.
“The Red Sword is yours until you renounce it,” Gaea said. “This is not a matter of physical contact. You could give it to another person, even a mortal, and it would still be attuned to you. You can sheathe it and orient it mentally, and it will not change physically, but will act as you will. It is a symbol as much as an object, and its powers are great.”
Evidently so. Mym took hold of the sword and sheathed it in the great, ornate scabbard that he abruptly discovered at his hip—and remained floating. “Then let’s go!” he sang.
In his mind he aimed the Sword up, at a thirty degree angle, and south. He willed a swift passage.
He got
“It had occurred to me that you might feel that way,” Gaea said. “Welcome, then, to our number, Mars.”
And he knew that his commitment had been made.
6
MARS
“First you must know how to travel,” Gaea said. “You have a fine horse named Werre, but he’s mainly for formal occasions. Or you can discorporate, but that has risks. For now, the key is the Sword. There are several modes of its operation, but all are governed by your will. If you choose to appear at the most intense war currently being waged, you simply give it its head and it will take you there, instantly. The Sword likes violence. If you want to go home—that is, to your castle in Purgatory—you give it the mental command
home
.”
“Purgatory?” Mym sang.
“A Western concept, a kind of crude, structured nirvana. It may be easiest to think of it as an island in the sky, a place in the clouds, invisible to mortal folk, but real to immortals. The place where those souls who have not made the decision whether to go to Heaven or to Hell pause. A place of indecision, or of decision, however you see it.”
“Reincarnation is more expedient,” Mym sang.
“We Occidentals are not as sophisticated about the larger scale as are you Orientals,” Gaea murmured, smiling.But he was sure that this benign green woman was as sophisticated as any living person.
“I think first I want to rescue Rapture,” he sang.
“For that, you must use the directed travel,” Gaea said. “Simply point the Sword in the direction you wish to go and will it to proceed. A little experimentation will give you the feel of it.”
Mym looked at the sword he still held, whose glow had diminished to a dull red, as if it were slightly red-hot. He was acquiring more respect for it. “But first I must escape the palace,” he sang.
“The Sword will take you through the walls,” Gaea said.
“That’s what I’m afraid of!”
She smiled. “An Incarnation is only as solid as he chooses to be. You will pass through without disruption.”
Cautiously he pointed the Sword at an interior wall, so that he would not find himself abruptly in mid-air outside, two stories up.
Forward
! he thought.
Slowly
.
The sword moved—and he moved with it. There was no sensation; he remained standing, but traveling, as if on a moving carpet or one of those scientific airplanes. Surprised, he lifted the Sword slightly, so that it angled up—and found himself sliding upward at that angle, his feet leaving the floor. Hastily he angled it level again—and sailed through the wall.
There was a moment of darkness; then he emerged from the other side of the stone. Now he was floating slowly across the next chamber, half a meter above the floor.
He realized that he didn’t have to worry about being outside at a height; the Sword made him independent of support. He could fly, literally, without effort or discomfort.
Gaea appeared in the new chamber, in the form of coalescing mist. “Shall we proceed to Maharastra?” the mist inquired.
Mym was getting to like the Sword very well. “But suppose I drop it?” he asked, still not quite certain about venturing high and far.
“Try it here,” she suggested.
He let go of the Sword. It remained floating in the air—and so did he. “But I’m not touching it!” he sang.
“The Red Sword is yours until you renounce it,” Gaea said. “This is not a matter of physical contact. You could give it to another person, even a mortal, and it would still be attuned to you. You can sheathe it and orient it mentally, and it will not change physically, but will act as you will. It is a symbol as much as an object, and its powers are great.”
Evidently so. Mym took hold of the sword and sheathed it in the great, ornate scabbard that he abruptly discovered at his hip—and remained floating. “Then let’s go!” he sang.
In his mind he aimed the Sword up, at a thirty degree angle, and south. He willed a swift passage.
He got
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