Anthony, Piers - Tarot 2 - Vision of Taror

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Vison of Tarot by Piers AnthonyPiers Anthony

Vision of Tarot

Book II: The Miracle Planet Explored

Dedicated to the Holy Order of Vision

Acknowledgments

Company, Inc. Used by permission of the author's agent Kirby McCauley.

Inc. Used by permission of the publisher.

Citadel Press, a division of Lyle Stuart, Inc. Used by permission of the

publisher.

Moore, Jr. Published by Beacon Press. Used by permission of the publisher.

Legman. Published by Grove Press, Inc. Used by permission of the publisher.

Educational Publishing, Inc., a division of D. Van Nostrand Company. Used by

permission of the publisher.

George Rainbird Limited for American Heritage Press. Used by permission of The

Rainbird Publishing Group.

Author's Note:

This is the second volume of the three-part, quarter-million word novel of

Tarot. Though this segment is unified around the religious and social theme, it

is not a complete story in itself, and it is hoped the reader will be interested

enough to read the first and third volumes. The first is God of Tarot,

concerning the nature of the challenge; the third is Faith of Tarot, concerning

the nature of Hell. Some reprise of the first volume may be helpful for those

who have not seen it:

Brother Paul is a novice in the Holy Order of Vision, a liberal religious sect

dedicated to the improvement of the state of man. His superior in the Order, the

Reverend Mother Mary, sends him on a mission to Planet Tarot to determine

whether the Deity manifesting there is or is not God. Brother Paul discovers

numerous schismatic sects on the planet, often at odds; yet the rigors of colony

life require all people to cooperate closely or perish. They must identify the

true God. Brother Paul becomes the guest of the Reverend Siltz of the Second

Church Communist, whose son has taken up with a Scientologist: a local scandal.

Brother Paul encounters Amaranth, an extraordinarily pretty and forward

worshiper of Abraxas, the snake-footed god. Brother Paul experiments with the

notorious Animation effect, controlling it by means of tarot cards, but gets

trapped in full-scale visions relating to his own base nature and past

experiences that led to his conversion to the religious life. He realizes that

his own soul may be likened to compost: the raw stuff of transition from death

to renewal.

The present volume commences with Brother Paul's emergence from that play-like

vision.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

I. Discipline: Triumph 9

II. Nature: Triumph 10

III. Chance: Triumph 11

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IV. Time: Triumph 12

V. Reflection: Triumph 13

VI. Will: Triumph 14

VII. Honor: Triumph 15

VIII. Sacrifice: Triumph 16

IX. Change: Triumph 17

X. Vision: Triumph 18

XI. Transfer: Triumph 19

Appendix: Animation Tarot

Discipline: 9

...he found himself reflecting—not for the first time—on the peculiarities of

adults. They took laxatives, liquor, or sleeping pills to drive away their

terrors so that sleep would come, and their terrors were so tame and domestic:

the job, the money, what the teacher will think if I can't get Jennie nicer

clothes, does my wife still love me, who are my friends. They were pallid

compared to the fears every child lies cheek and jowl with in his dark bed, with

no one to confess to in hope of perfect understanding but another child. There

is no group therapy or psychiatry or community social services for the child who

must cope with the thing under the bed or in the cellar every night, the thing

which leers and capers and threatens just beyond the point where vision will

reach. The same lonely battle must be fought night after night and the only cure

is the eventual ossification of the imaginary faculties, and this is called

adulthood.

—Stephen King: 'Salem's Lot, New York: Doubleday and Company, 1975.

The landscape of Planet Tarot formed about them. They stood in a kind of scrub

forest. A few large trunks rose from the underbrush, but these were dead and

charred. Some fire must have swept through the area a decade past, destroying

most of the large trees and all of the small ones, forcing the forest to start

over. This was not necessarily an evil thing; after many years of fighting

forest fires back on Earth, the authorities had realized that forest fires were

part of nature's cycle, literally clearing out the deadwood to make place for

fresh growth. The big stumps, here, might resemble buildings in the half light,

and the forest was like a city, here was the raw material of the Animation just

past.

Brother Paul looked behind him. They were actually in a hollow beside the

clifflike face of a rocky ridge. Here was even more direct raw material; a

moment ago it had seemed like a brick wall, and his companion—"

Brother Paul turned to the man. "I am not certain I know you," he said. Not in

this world, anyway.

His companion was a colonist he had not encountered in the village, a tall,

thin, handsome young man, bronzed and healthy. "I am Lee, Church of Jesus Christ

Latter Day Saints," he said. "I am one of the Watchers."

"Ah—Mormon," Brother Paul said. "At one time I mistook you for—" He broke off,

not wanting to mention the Fed narc. "But that's irrelevant."

"Let's move out before the rent in the Animation fills in," Lee said. "We would

not want to be trapped again." He led the way, walking briskly. But in a moment

he added: "What we experienced appears to be a hitherto unknown aspect of

Animation. I was once called a member of your sect, though I really can not

claim to know anything about your religion. I gather this was a reinactment of

the experience that brought you into that Order."

"Yes," Brother Paul agreed, surprised. "I was partially blind for several days,

because, they said, I had stared into the sun too long. I think it was more

subtle than that; my namesake the Apostle Paul was similarly blind after his

conversion. Perhaps the drug and my general condition complicated it. The Holy

Order of Vision took care of me, and treated me with the memory drug and

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kindness, phasing down the dosage of the one and phasing up the dosage of the

other until I was stable again. I never did recover all my memories. But by then

I knew my destiny. I have never regretted that decision."

Lee smiled, grasping the concept. "As the Apostle Paul joined the Christians he

had persecuted—"

"So I joined the Order I had wronged," Brother Paul agreed. "In the process I

became a Christian in the truest sense. I regret exceedingly that Sister Beth

had to die in order to facilitate my conversion—"

"I am sure you have filled her place admirably," Lee said. "We can not know the

meaning of God's every act. We only know that there is meaning. Why did God

allow the Apostle Paul to stone Stephen? Had I been there, I would surely have

deemed Stephen a better spokesman for Christianity than a lame epileptic

Pharisee Jew." He smiled. "Which shows how little I would have known. Only God

is omniscient."

"Amen," Brother Paul agreed, discovering new insight. "The Apostle Paul made

Christianity what it is, to a considerable extent. He opened it up to the

gentiles. That seemingly minor though controversial change made all the

difference."

"It did indeed," Lee agreed. "Perhaps you also will benefit your sect and the

world as the Apostle your namesake did."

"A ludicrous dream," Brother Paul said. "Only God knows what an imperfect vessel

I am. How much of my Animation did you share?" Brother Paul found that he liked

this man, and hoped the horrors of his personal Animations had not been shown to

him. Some secrets were best kept secret.

"Just fragments of it, I think. A game called Tarot Accordian—I do not use cards

for entertainment, but I do not pass judgment." He paused. "Do all these

episodes represent past experiences in your life or are some allegorical?"

"Some are real; some are sheer fantasy," Brother Paul said, embarrassed. If Lee

had seen any of the nightmare visions, he was evidently too discreet to admit

it.

"I inquire," Lee said with a certain diffidence, "because something very strange

happened to me, and I wonder whether you might explain it. I felt—it was as

though another personality impinged on me. An alien consciousness, not inimical,

not unpleasant, but rather an exceedingly well informed mind from a distant

sphere using my body and perceptions—"

"Antares!" Brother Paul exclaimed.

Lee looked at him, startled. "How did you know?"

"I—cannot explain. But I met a creature from Sphere Antares. He said he might

visit me here, or at least I wanted him to—" Brother Paul spread his hands. "A

foolish expectation; I apologize."

"Foolish, perhaps. Yet it is an experience I seem to have shared. I don't

profess to understand it, but I do not regret it; the alien has a cosmopolitan

view I rather envy." He pointed ahead. "Look—there are the Watchers."

And there they were: Pastor Runford, Mrs. Ellend, and the Swami. "But where are

the others?" Brother Paul asked. "The ones drawn into the Animations, as you

were? We can't leave them..."

"No, we can't," Lee agreed as they came up to the Watchers. "Watchers, did you

perceive the nature of the Animations we have experienced?"

Pastor Runford shook his head. "We did not."

Brother Paul was relieved. "We have—seen things too complex to discuss at the

moment. Several people remain. We need to get them out before—"

Pastor Runford shook his head again, more emphatically. "We can not enter the

Animation area. The young woman you call Amaranth went in to warn you about the

storm, and—"

"I understand," Brother Paul said. "I'll go back and find them."

"I, too," the Swami said. "We had to retreat during the storm, but for the

moment the effect seems to have abated."

Lee was already on the way. The three spread out, searching the landscape that

had been a metropolis moments ago—and might be again if the Animation effect

returned. Speed was essential.

They found Therion first. He was sitting beneath a tree, looking tired. "That

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was some scene you folks cooked up," he called.

"I did not arrange it," Lee protested. "I merely played roles assigned to me by

the playwright. Some were diabolical—therefore I assumed they originated with

you." He did not smile.

"I gather you two do not get along well," Brother Paul said.

"Few of us get along well with rival sects," Lee admitted. "That is the problem

of this colony. It is the same all over Planet Tarot; our village is typical.

Everywhere we co-exist with ill-concealed distemper. This man is a devotee of

the nefarious Horned God—whom I would call Satan."

"A Devil-worshiper!" Brother Paul exclaimed. "That explains a lot!"

"The Horned God was great before any of your contemporary upstarts appeared,"

Therion maintained, walking with them. "You call him Satan—but that is your

ignorant vanity. He is a God—and perhaps the true God of Tarot."

"Sacrilege!" Lee cried. "The Prince of Evil!"

"Listen, Mormon—your own sect is none too savory!" Therion snapped. "A whole

religion based on a plagiarized fairy tale—"

Lee whirled on him—but Brother Paul interposed himself. "Doesn't your Covenant

forbid open criticism of each other's faiths?"

"I never subscribed to that Covenant," Therion said. "Anyway, I don't find fault

with all this hypocrite's cult-tenets. Take this business of polygamy—that's a

pretty lusty notion. A man takes thirty, forty wives, screws them all in

turn—"that's religion!"

"I have no wives," Lee said stiffly. "Because there aren't enough girl—Mormons

on this planet, and none free in this village."

"But if there were, you'd have them, wouldn't you?"

"The matter is academic," Lee replied.

"But if it were not—if you had the chance to wed just as many young, pretty,

sexy, healthy women as was physically possible, how many would you take?"

"One," Lee said. "Plural marriage is an option, not a requirement. A single

woman, were she the right one, would be worth more than a hundred wrong ones. I

will marry the right one."

"You're a hypocrite, all right," Therion said. "I wish I could conjure a hundred

wrong women and show you up for—"

Further discussion was cut off by their discovery of Amaranth. She was standing

by a streamlet, looking dazed. "Amaranth," Brother Paul said, struck by her

beauty, afresh, though of course he had now had opportunity to appreciate her

charms unhampered by any clothing. (Or had he...?) It had once been said that

clothes make the man, but it seemed more aptly said that clothes make the woman.

"Come on out before the Animation effect returns."

She looked at him with evident perplexity. "I don't know—don't know my part. Am

I still the fortune teller?"

She was confused! "No," Brother Paul said. "We are back in the mundane world.

You have no role to play."

"She is always playing a role," Therion muttered.

"What's this about roles?" the Swami asked.

Lee answered him. "It was as though we were in a play, each with his script.

Each person could ad-lib, but had to stay within the part. We do not know who

the playwright was."

The Swami seemed intensely interested, despite his former cautions about

Animation. "To whom did the scenes relate?"

"Well, I seemed to be the central character," Brother Paul said. "Perhaps the

others had scenes to which they were central in my absence—"

"No," Amaranth said. "I played my roles only for you. Between roles I—seemed not

to exist. Maybe I was sleeping. I thought I had died when I jumped from that

copter—"

Brother Paul was uneasy. "Perhaps we should not discuss it in the presence of

those who were not involved."

"You must discuss it," the Swami said, his gaze fixed. "You are searching for

the God of Tarot, for the colonists of this planet."

"It seems I got distracted," Brother Paul admitted.

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"I agree with Brother Paul," Lee said. "We have experienced a remarkable joint

vision whose implications may never be fully understood, just as the meaning of

a person's dream may never be clear. We should maintain our separate

experiences, like the members of a jury, until we are ready to make a joint

report."

"Yes," Therion said.

The Swami looked from one to the other. "The Devil Worshiper and the Righteous

Saint agree?"

"And so do I," Amaranth said. "No one not in it can understand it."

"An extraordinary unanimity," the Swami commented. "But I may have an insight.

Is it not possible that the power of Kundalini—"

"Remember the Covenant," Therion reminded him gently. Yes, it was evident that

these people had little patience with each other's philosophies! Therion had

said he did not subscribe to the Covenant and had called Lee a hypocrite. It was

becoming clear who the actual hypocrite was.

"I have not forgotten it!" the Swami said with understandable irritation. "But

this power, however it may be named—call it the magic of Satan if you prefer—may

be the controlling force of your visions. Brother Paul has the strongest psychic

presence of your group, so it seems the play orients on him."

"Aura," Lee said. "He has aura."

"This is uncertain," Brother Paul said. "The reality of all we have experienced

in Animation is speculative—"

"No, I think he's right," Amaranth said. "There is something about you—"

"We forget the child," Therion said.

"One of the Watchers is a child?" Brother Paul asked.

"There was a child in the Animation, but I assumed she was a creature of

imagination." Those Dozens insults...

"There were to be five Watchers," Lee explained. "Two outside, and three inside

the Animation, representing poles of belief. The child was the third inside."

"I will search for her!" the Swami said, alarmed.

"We all will search, of course," Lee said. "We have wasted time; the Animation

may close in at any moment."

They spread out, striding through the valley. Therion was farthest to the left.

Then Lee, then Brother Paul, then Amaranth, and the Swami on the right. There

was no sign of the child.

Therion and Lee drifted further left as the slope of the land changed; he could

hear them exchanging irate remarks about each other's religious practices,

faintly. The Swami disappeared behind a ridge. This region was more varied than

it had seemed to be before; the mists had tended to regularize the visible

features in the distance. Brother Paul and Amaranth were funneled together by a

narrowing gully. Here the trees were larger; the fire must have missed this

section.

It was dusk, and as the sun slowly lost its contest with the lay of the land the

shadows deepened into darkness. Flashing insects appeared. They were not Earthly

fireflies, but blue-glowing motes expanding suddenly into little white novas,

then fading. In that nova stage they illuminated a cubic meter of space and were

a real, if transient, aid to human navigation.

"What are those?" Brother Paul inquired.

"Nova-bugs. No one knows how they do it. Scientists shipped a few back to Earth,

when they first surveyed this planet, but the lab experts said it was a mistake:

the bugs possessed no means to glow. So—they don't exist, officially. But we

like them."

"Isn't that just like an expert!" Brother Paul exclaimed. "He can't explain it,

so he denies it." Yet this was true of people generally, not only experts. "Do

you catch them and use them for lamps as the people used to do with fireflies?"

"We tried, but they won't glow when prisoned," she said. "They tend to stay away

from the village, too. This is an unusually fine display; some nights they don't

show at all."

"Smart bugs," Brother Paul said. Obviously if the novas performed when tamed,

there would soon be no wild ones left.

"You know," Amaranth said somewhat diffidently, "I was caught in the—the play

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accidentally. I was only coming to warn you of the approach of the storm when

you didn't answer the intercom. Then—"

"I understand. You were not an assigned Watcher. I'm sorry you got trapped."

"That's what I wanted to say, now that I've got you alone. I'm not sorry it

happened. I got to show off my own Tarot deck in spite of the Covenant, and my

fortunetelling skills—"

"I believe you have omitted some material between those two," Brother Paul said

dryly. "I must apologize for—"

"No, don't apologize! I wasn't fooling when I said there's something about you,

aura or whatever. Was it during the Animation that I said that? Anyway, I meant

it. I have to study you to learn how you tamed the Breaker, but that's become

more of an excuse than—well, you're quite a guy, in and out of Animation."

"I should hate to think that all those scenes were under my control," Brother

Paul said. "Some were all right—"

"Like Sister Beth," she agreed. "I am not of your religion, but after that I

wonder whether—"

"But others—well, that one in the castle." He was forcing himself to clarify the

worst. "Did I rape you?" As though it were a casual matter!

"You never touched me," she assured him. "More's the pity. You can't rape a

willing woman."

Never touched her... That was worse yet. "Still, if it was my will that dictated

your participation—"

"I improvised some. It was my role to tempt you, and I tried, I really tried,

but Therion kept getting in the way. I like to dress and undress. I like

men—well, not men like that stuffed shirt Lee or the fake Swami, but men with

guts and drives and—"

"Fake Swami?"

"He's not Indian. I mean not Indian Indian. He's American Indian. So all this

talk about Kundalini—"

"His origin doesn't matter," Brother Paul said, conscious again of his own mixed

ancestry. "If he sincerely believes in his religion—and I'm sure he does—"

"He's still a fake," she said.

"He's not a fake! He showed me the force he has—"

"How did we get on this subject?" she inquired, turning to him. "Let's kiss, and

see where we can go from there."

Brother Paul was taken aback. Freed from the limits of her Animation roles, she

was fully as forward. "Are you always this direct?"

"Well, yes. Haven't you noticed the way I dress? I've got the physical assets,

and I want it known before I get old and saggy and lose my chance in life. But I

don't turn on to many men like this. I'll admit there aren't many eligible men

in this village, maybe not on this planet. Most are like that old bore Siltz,

dull and married and guarding his son's virginity like an angry crocodile."

Suddenly it was clear to Brother Paul what her real irritation with Siltz was:

his withholding of an eligible young male from the matrimonial market. There

were evidently a number of such families here so that young men and women could

not find each other. "The religious factor complicates it so terribly—but even

so, you're special. There's something about you—maybe it is the aura the Swami

talks about. The way you handled the Breaker! I mean to seduce you, if it's not

against your religion, and maybe you'll like it well enough to want more. Once I

have you hooked I'll see about landing you permanently. Is trial sex against

your religion? I can be more subtle if it is absolutely necessary."

"Well, the Holy Order of Vision does not specifically prohibit—it's regarded as

part of our private lives. But there is a certain expectation—well, as Sister

Beth said—"

Amaranth sighed. "She was a nice girl. Not like me. Was there really such a

woman in your past?"

"There really was," Brother Paul agreed. "She was not as pretty as you, but the

guilt of her death changed my life. I wish that change had been possible without

such a sacrifice—but I always come back to the fact that I can not pretend to

comprehend the will of God."

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"That's what the Jehovah's Witnesses say when someone chides them about the end

of the world not arriving on schedule. 'Don't second-guess Jehovah!' I think

it's a copout. My religion is I.A.O., and no priestess of Abraxas is afraid of

serpents, literal or figurative, or the opinion of a sexist God. So if you ever

change your mind, I do give samples."

There was something at once horrifying and refreshing about her candor. It

helped to know exactly where one stood. "Maybe Abraxas will turn out to be the

God of Tarot," Brother Paul said. This conversation made him nervous, because

Amaranth was simply too attractive, in Animation and in life. More trying was

that she had seen him in his elemental being, as a lust-laden male, as a

fringe-legal gambler, as a drug addict. She had smelled the shit. She had seen

the mask stripped from what he once had been, now hidden behind the facade of a

gentle religion—and she did not condemn him. Was there another woman in the

human sphere who, perceiving his psychic nakedness, the filth of his essence,

would not recoil? He had no present intention of indulging her offer—yet he

obviously had not felt that way in Animation! Which was his true mind?

There was a scream—an extraordinary, unearthly, nape-prickling effort

reverberating around the landscape. Some wild animal—or worse.

"Bigfoot!" Amaranth exclaimed. Then, in dawning horror: "The child!"

Both of them broke into a run toward the sound. The terrain was rougher here, as

if to balk them now that they were in more of a hurry. There was a thick

undergrowth on the slope—tall weeds, small trees, dense bushes, and root-like

projections whose affinities he did not know. Nettles caught at his trousers and

made tiny gouges in his skin. He dodged to avoid a small glowing cloud at knee

height, then discovered it was only the flowering portion of a forest weed. One

foot dropped into a hollow, sending him stumbling headlong—until he fetched up

against a horizontal branch he had not seen in the dark.

"No—around this way," Amaranth gasped. "I know this area—some. I've come here

with the Breaker, when the Animation retreated. I'm healthy—but I can't run like

you."

Naturally not. Few men could run like him, and no women he knew of. This was a

problem. She knew the land, but could not keep up. He had power to spare, but

was wrecking himself in this unfamiliar dark. They both had to slow down.

There was another scream, worse than the first. "Great God Abraxas!" Amaranth

cried. "Save the child—"

Brother Paul lurched ahead, electrified by alarm—and caromed off a dead tree.

Bark tore away in his face, the sawdust momentarily blinding him, making his

eyes smart fiercely. He couldn't accelerate; he'd never get there.

"Go up that gully," Amaranth gasped, creditably close behind. She was a good

runner—for a woman. "But watch for a rock at the ridge—"

Brother Paul stepped close to her, reached his left arm about her waist, and

hauled her up on his hip. He plunged on up the slope, carrying her. "There's the

rock!" she said. He saw nothing, but climbed out of the gully. "Now the ridge—it

drops a yard—we'll have to jump—"

He slowed, confused. "Oh—a meter." He found the ridge, let her down, and they

both jumped into the black shadow. It could have been a bottomless crevasse,

like those on the volcano, as far as his sight was able to tell; without her

assurance he would not have dared risk it. But his feet struck firm ground.

"Short steep slope, then a level place," she said. "Then another hill."

At the foot of the ridge he put his arm about her again, for she was still

panting. "I can go some... but God, you've got power!" she cried. "It's not all

physical... Just take some weight off my legs—here." She adjusted his arm to fit

higher about her torso, under the arms. When he took her weight, she drew close

to his side, close and very soft. But he had to keep moving.

They crested the next hill—to confront a vision. On the plateau ahead the

nova-bugs scintillated in their myriads, their brief explosions like an

intermittent galaxy. To the left was a faerie city, with tall turrets and flying

buttresses and minarets glowing inherently: obviously an Animation conjured by

some one. That meant the Animation effect was returning, sweeping in from

whatever source it had, like malaria through the body. Soon it would engulf

them. To the right, the direction of safety from Animation, stood a monster.

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The creature was about three meters tall, burly and hairy. It had the claws of a

bear and the gross snout of a boar. Its feet were human, but disproportionately

large.

"Where is the child?" Brother Paul asked.

"Somewhere else," Amaranth said, turning to look. That brought her left breast

under his hand. She was still breathing hard. "Those were Bigfoot's screams, not

hers; I was afraid it was—"

Now a reaction that had been held in abeyance finally registered. "Bigfoot! You

mean there really is a Bigfoot, not just noise and footprints? A tangible,

visible—?" He dropped his arm.

"There," she said. "It hangs out near Animations."

Meanwhile the curtain of Animation was sweeping forward. The faerie city was

beautiful, but horrifying in its implication as it expanded toward them. They

could enter it merely by standing still—but how would they exit from it?

"I think the child is either safe—or beyond our help," Brother Paul said. "The

former, I hope. I don't see any blood on Bigfoot's paws. We'd better save

ourselves—and hope the others are doing likewise. Can you run on the level well

enough?"

"I'd better!"

They started across the plateau. But Bigfoot spied them. With another horrendous

scream it charged to intercept them. In moments it had placed itself in their

path, menacingly. The nova-bugs were concentrated in its vicinity, illuminating

it almost steadily.

"I'll try to distract it," Brother Paul said. "You move on by."

"But it'll kill you! Bigfoot's terrible!"

"If you don't move, the Animation will catch you," Brother Paul snapped,

advancing on the monster. He was not at all sure he could handle it, but he had

to try. The thing was not going to let them pass unchallenged, and there was no

room to escape without getting caught by the Animation.

Amaranth looked after him with dismay. Then she put two fingers into her mouth

and emitted a piercing whistle.

Bigfoot reacted instantly. It charged her. Brother Paul launched himself between

them, catching the side of the monster with his shoulder. It was like ramming a

boulder. Bigfoot swung about, swiping at him with a paw, and Brother Paul was

hurled aside. This thing was agile as well as massive!

As he scrambled to his feet, shaken but unhurt, Brother Paul saw the Animation

curtain extending visibly toward them, seeming to accelerate. The faerie city

was sprouting suburbs, and a broad, tree-lined avenue was unrolling head-on.

Time was disappearing fast. Yet Bigfoot still cut Amaranth off. If only she

hadn't attracted its attention by that foolish whistle!

Now the nova-bugs clustered about a new subject. Apparently they were attracted

to anything that moved. Brother Paul saw with dismay that it was the creature he

had first encountered on this planet: the Breaker. Worse yet!

The Breaker bounded rapidly toward them, its tail propelling it like a fifth

leg. But it had not come to renew the fray with Brother Paul. It launched itself

straight at Bigfoot. But Bigfoot was wary of the Breaker, circling about, never

staying still for the attack. Evidently these two were natural enemies, but the

Breaker seemed to have the advantage.

Then, abruptly, Bigfoot whirled and charged directly into the Animation city, so

near. It ran right up the avenue, as though entering a picture. The Breaker did

not pursue. Every creature of this planet knew better than to enter Animation

voluntarily! Except Bigfoot.

The Breaker now oriented on Brother Paul. Unfinished business? He braced to meet

it. He was not about to follow Bigfoot into Animation! Now that he knew the

Breaker's mode of attack, he should be able to foil it.

But there was no need. Amaranth ran across and set her hand on the Breaker's

back, and the creature was passive. "This is my Breaker," she explained. "I

whistled for him to come help us. I wasn't sure he'd hear, or that he'd come, or

what he might do—but I couldn't let you face the monster alone."

She had tamed the predator, all right! "Your strength is greater than mine,"

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Brother Paul said. Then, seeing the city almost upon them: "Now let's run!"

They ran, the Breaker bounding beside Amaranth. The Animation curtain was moving

more slowly; soon they left it behind. Now, perversely, Brother Paul grew more

curious about what he might have found had he entered that city: an Arabian

Nights' fantasy? And he realized that Amaranth and the Breaker had,

coincidentally (or was there such a thing as coincidence, when Animation was

involved?), just enacted another Tarot card: the one variously termed Strength,

Fortitude, Discipline, or Lust, wherein a fair young lady pacified a powerful

lion. Was there more than casual meaning in these occurrences?

Lee and Therion had made it out. There was no sign of either the Swami or the

child. "Maybe they found another route?" Mrs. Ellend suggested hopefully.

"Pray that it be so," Pastor Runford agreed.

One thing was sure: Brother Paul would never again underrate the potentials of

Animation! This was no laboratory curiosity; it was a ravening force.

The party made its way to the village, and Brother Paul returned to Reverend

Siltz's home. "There will be a meeting tomorrow," Pastor Runford said as they

separated. "There you will make your report. Please do not discuss the matter

with others prior to that occasion."

Brother Paul would have been happy never to discuss it with anyone ever. In

fact, he would have felt considerably more at ease had he never entered

Animation.

Reverend Siltz was at home alone, eating a cold supper. "I hoped you would

return safely, and feared you would not," he said. "You must be hungry."

"Yes. I haven't eaten in two days."

Siltz glanced at him, surprised. "When the occasion is proper, I hope to learn

of your experience. I understand time can be strange, in Animation."

"The rest of the planet can be strange, too. We encountered Bigfoot—and were

saved by the Breaker. I believe I can tell you about that much, since it

happened outside of Animation, if you are interested."

Siltz was interested. He was fairly affable. "We shall have to extend our

guarding radius. Normally the Breaker will not approach the Animation area, so

it is safe to travel there alone, provided one does not actually enter

Animation. We did not realize we were subjecting the Watchers to this threat."

"The Breaker did not come on his own. Amaranth whistled for him—and he came to

help her. Your colony's decision to try to tame the Breaker instead of

eliminating him seems to be paying dividends already."

"So it would seem. She has made far more progress than we realized. Perhaps we

shall tame this planet yet!" Siltz turned up the wood-oil lamp and gave Brother

Paul a chunk of wooden bread. "I regret there is no better food since the

communal kitchen is closed at this hour. But this is nutritious."

"You know," Brother Paul observed, his gaze passing from the lamp to the unlit

wood stove, "with woodheat so critical in winter, I'm surprised you do not use

it more efficiently."

Siltz stiffened slightly. "We use it as efficiently as we know. The Tree of Life

is exactly that to us: life. Without it we die. What magnitude of improvement

did you have in mind?"

"About four hundred per cent," Brother Paul said.

Siltz scowled. "I am in a good mood tonight, but I do not appreciate this humor.

We utilize the most efficient stoves available from Earth, and we use the wood,

sparingly. Even so, we fear the winter. Each year some villagers miscalculate,

or are unfortunate, and we discover them frozen when the snow subsides. To

improve on our efficiency five-fold—this is an impossible dream."

"I'm serious," Brother Paul said. It was good to get into this thoroughly

mundane subject after the horrors of Animation! "Maybe my recent experience

shook loose a memory. You should be able to quintuple your effective heating, or

at least extend your wood as much longer as you need. It is a matter of

philosophy."

"Philosophy! I am a religious man. Brother, but the burning of wood is very much

a material thing, however it may warm the spirit. Such an increase would

transform life on this entire planet. If you are not joking: what philosophy can

make wood produce more calories per liter?"

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"Oh, the wood may burn less efficiently. I was speaking of its usefulness to

you, in extending your winter's survival. You are presently wasting most of your

heat."

"Wasting it! No one wastes the wood of the Tree of Life!"

"Let me explain. In the Orient, on Earth, there are regions of extreme climate.

Very hot in summer, savage in winter. The Asiatic people developed racial

characteristics favoring these conditions: fatty tissue buffering face and body,

a smaller nose, yellowed skin, and specially protected eyes. But still the

winter was harsh, especially when over-population denuded the resources of the

land. Wood and other fuel for heating became scarce, so they learned to use it

efficiently. They realized that it was pointless to heat space when it was only

the human body that required it. So—"

"One must heat the space of the house in order to heat the body," Siltz said.

"We can not simply inject wood calories into our veins!"

"So they designed low, flat stoves, set into the floor, that consumed the fuel

slowly, emitting only a little heat at a time," Brother Paul continued. "The

family members would lie against the surface of that stove all night, absorbing

the heat directly, with very little waste. The room temperature might be below

freezing, but the people were warm. And so they avoided the inevitable heat loss

incurred, by warming a full house, and extended their fuel supply—"

"I begin to comprehend!" Siltz exclaimed. "Heat the body, not the house! Like

those electric socks, when I was a lad on Earth. By day we exercise here; we do

not need the stove, even in winter. It is at night, when we are still, that we

freeze. But no one would freeze on an operating stove, getting slowly cooked by

it! It would require major reconstruction of our stoves, but it would extend our

most valuable asset and save lives. And in the summer, with less wood to haul,

we could grow more crops, make more things." He looked at Brother Paul, nodding.

"I did not approve your mission here, Brother; but you may have done a

remarkable service for our planet this night."

"Not the one I anticipated," Brother Paul said wryly. "But I'm glad if—"

There was an abrupt pounding on the door. "Reverend Siltz, I will talk to you!"

a female voice cried.

Siltz's affability vanished. "I am not available!" he called.

"Oh yes you are!" she said, pushing open the door. "I demand to know—"

She broke off, seeing Brother Paul. She was a slip of a girl with dark hair

flaring out like an old style afro though her skin was utterly fair, and she

fairly radiated indignation. She was not beautiful, but well-structured, and her

emotion made her attractively dynamic.

"My house guest, Brother Paul of the Holy Order of Vision," Reverend Siltz said

with ironic formality. "Jeanette, of the Church of Scientology."

"The investigator from Planet Earth?"

"Your son's—?" Brother Paul spoke at the same time as the girl.

"The same," Reverend Siltz agreed, answering both. "Now, since we may not

discuss religion, and I do not choose to discuss private affairs—"

"Well, I choose to discuss both!" Jeanette flared. "What did you do with him?"

Siltz did not answer.

"I am not leaving this house until you tell me where you sent Ivan!" she

exclaimed. "I love him—and he loves me!"

The man remained silent. "This does not seem to be an opportune moment to

discuss your concern," Brother Paul said to the girl. "You see, you place

Reverend Siltz in the position of violating either his hospitality or his

commitment to avoid discussing religion in my presence. I am not supposed to be

influenced by—"

Jeanette turned on Brother Paul. "Well, maybe someone should speak Church to

you! How do you expect to do anything for this colony if you don't know anything

about it?"

Siltz looked surprised. "She has a point."

"She may, at that," Brother Paul agreed. "But as long as this Covenant of yours

is in force, it behooves us to honor it."

"I will bring up the matter at the meeting tomorrow," Siltz said. "One does not

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