The Cup expanded to encompa.s.s him, its radiance spreading out like the sunrise.

Brother Paul felt himself falling into it...

And he was splas.h.i.+ng, swimming in a sea of blood. Thick, gooey, greenish ichor-the blood of some alien creature, perhaps from Sphere Antares, rather than of man. Great, cloying drops of it pelted down, forming slowly expanding ripples in the ocean. The drops fell from other cups: ornate blue vessels, six of them, set about a metallic support that rose from a larger cup resting on the surface of this awful sea. The green goo overflowed from each cup, and especially from the large one. Flowers lay inverted atop each cup, tiger lilies or lotuses; it was from them that the slime seemed to issue. The smell of corruption was awful.

"Thus the Holy Grail is profaned by debauchery," the voice of Therion said. It seemed to come from the largest cup, the seventh one, as though the man himself were immersed in its septic fluid.

"I have no interest in debauchery," Brother Paul protested, gasping. He was weighed down by his armor, trying to tread water, and the stench hardly helped his breathing. "I dealt the Seven of Cups."

"Indeed you did! Note how the holiest mysteries of nature become the obscene and shameful secrets of a guilty conscience."

Brother Paul opened his mouth to protest again, then abruptly realized the significance of the framework holding the cups. It was a convoluted, overlapping double triangle, shaped into the stylized outline of the female generative organs. Womb projecting into v.a.g.i.n.a, the largest cup being the v.u.l.v.a, overflowing with greenish lubrication from the s.e.x organs of the plant Flowers were of course copulatory organs, made attractive so that other species, such as bees, would willingly aid the plants to reproduce. How many prudish women realized the full significance of what they were doing when they poked their noses into bright flowers to sniff the intoxicating perfume? Nature laughs at the pretensions of human foibles.

Still, enough was enough. Brother Paul did not care to remain bathed in these thick juices. "The Waite Seven of Cups!" he cried.

"Oh, very well," Therion said grouchily. "It is one of Arthwaite's better efforts, for all that he misses the proper meaning entirely."

The sea boiled, releasing great clouds of steam. From a distance came Therion's voice: "You'll be sorry!" And it echoed, "Sor-ry! Sorr-rry!"

The sea evaporated into clouds of greenish vapor, leaving Brother Paul standing on a gummy film of green that became a lawn. The cups retained their positions, however, turning golden yellow. The flowers above them dropped inside, mutating into a.s.sorted other objects that showed over the rims. At last he stood before this display of seven cups supported by a gray cloud bank.

"There it is," Therion said, now standing beside him. "Confusing welter of images, isn't it?"

"Are you still here? I thought Waite would- "You chose me as your guide, remember? Way back in Key s.e.x. I mean Six. You may view any cards you wish, but I shall do the interpretations."

So that choice had been permanent, at least for the duration of this vision.

Brother Paul feared he had chosen carelessly. Well, he would carry through, and be better prepared next time. This time, confronted with the choice between Virtue and Vice, it seemed he had chosen Vice. At least he had some familiarity with this particular image, although the Holy Order of Vision did not put much stress on the Minor Arcana.

First, he had to orient himself. Why, exactly, was he here? He had wanted to get out of the careening chariot, of course, and out of the slime-soup of Therion's Seven of Cups, but what was his positive reason?

Answer: he was here to discover the ultimate ramifications of these Animations.

His short-range objective of getting out of this particular sequence was pa.s.se; no matter how he struggled, he only seemed to be getting in deeper, as a man mired in quicksand only worsens his situation by thras.h.i.+ng about. (Though he had always understood that, since sand was denser than water, a man should readily float in quicksand, and so was in no danger if he merely relaxed. Could he float, here in Animation, if he just went along with it?) So he might as well follow through now, on the theory that it was as easy to move forward as backward.

When G.o.d manifested for him, as He had for others, whose G.o.d was it? Questioning the Hierophant had not helped; Brother Paul had first to comprehend the specific nature of the manifestations. Once again he reviewed it, hoping for some key insight. Were the visions purely products of his own mind, or was there some objective reality behind them? This remained a very difficult question to resolve, for how could he judge the validity of material drawn from his own experience? It was like trying to find a test for whether a person was awake or dreaming; he could pinch himself-and dream he was being pinched. If he knew what any given detail of an Animation was, that detail would be authentic; if he suffered from misinformation, how could he correct the image? Yet now it certainly seemed as though there were input from other minds, for Brother Paul had not before known all the details of the Tarot variants he had perceived in this Animation. Some of the concepts this Therion character had put forward were entirely foreign to Brother Paul's belief, yet again, these might be his own suppressed notions coming out, all the more shocking because he had always before denied their existence. The hardest thing for a man to do was to face the ugly aspects of himself.

So maybe he should face those aspects. Maybe the thing to do was to plunge all the way into this vision and grasp his answer before it faded. Surely it was in one of these displayed cups. At any rate, he owed it to himself and to his mission to look.

He inspected the cups more closely. One contained a tall miniature castle, another was overflowing with jewels, and others had a wreath, a dragon, a woman's head, a snake, and a veiled figure. All were symbols whose significance he had reviewed in the course of his studies at the Holy Order of Vision. But never before had they been presented as tangibly as this, and he knew now that these Animated symbols would not submit pa.s.sively to conventional a.n.a.lysis.

The castle was similar to the one he had seen on prior cards, probably the same edifice. Symbolism in the Tarot tended to be consistent; a river was always the stream of the unconscious, originating in the trailing, flowing gown of the High Priestess, and the cup was always a vessel of emotion or religion. The castle represented for him a rallying point, an initial answer. Suppose he entered it now?

Well, why not try! He tended to spend too much time pondering instead of acting.

And the castle expanded, bursting out of its cup, becoming a magnificent edifice with banners flying from its lofty turrets, situated atop a precipitous mountain. Beautiful.

Brother Paul set out for it. Therion accompanied him, humming a tune as though indifferent to the proceedings.

"I've heard that song," Brother Paul said, determined not to let the man escape involvement so easily. "Can't quite place it, though."

"The 'Riddle Song,'" Therion answered promptly. "One of the truly fine, subtly s.e.xual folk expressions."

"Yes, that's it. 'I gave my love a cherry'-but how is that s.e.xual? It's a straightforward love song."

"Ha. The cherry was her maidenhead, that he ruptured. You have led too cloistered a life, and never learned proper vernacular."

"Oh? He also gave her a chicken without a bone, and a ring without end, and a baby without crying."

"The boneless chicken was his boneless but nevertheless rigid p.e.n.i.s, thrusting through her ring-shaped orifice, producing in due course the baby-who naturally was not crying at the time."

That was one way of looking at it. "I should have stayed with the stream of the unconscious," he murmured.

"Oh, yes. That water Arthwaite says flows through the whole deck of the Tarot, starting with the gown of the harlot, yet. What c.r.a.p!"

Here it went again! "I always thought it was a beautiful concept. How do you manage to see, ah, c.r.a.p in it?"

"More ways than one, Brother! It is c.r.a.p in that it is errant nonsense; water symbolizes many things besides the unconscious, and it is ridiculous to pretend that it can only stand for that one thing. But more directly, that euphemism he foists off on his fans-do you really think it is her gown that originates the fluid?"

"Well, that may be artistic license, but-"

"Her gown merely covers the real, unmentionable source, which is her body. A woman is a thing of flowing fluids, as I tried to make clear in my Seven of Cups. Milk from her t.i.ts, and blood from her-"

"Milk and blood are chemically similar," Brother Paul said quickly. "In fact, chlorophyll, the key to plant metabolism, is also surprisingly close to-"

"Flowing out from her orifices, bathing the whole Tarot in its hot, soupy-"

"Let's change the subject," Brother Paul said, not eager to argue the case further. What a case of gynophobia!

"Coming up."

A dragon appeared. Brother Paul whirled, gripping the sword he discovered at his hip. "That's the Dragon of Temptation!" he exclaimed. "It belongs in a different cup; I did not invoke it!"

"You must have invoked it, Paul," Therion said, without alarm. "For I did not do the dastardly deed."

Ha! "I Animated the castle; that was the only cup I emptied!"

Therion smirked. "You know that; I know that. But does it know that?"

Unfunny cliche! But the great Red Dragon of Temptation was charging across the plain. No time now to debate who was responsible; he had to stop it "At least the Knights of the Round Table were mounted," Brother Paul muttered. "A lance and an armored charger-"

"You have to battle Temptation by yourself," Therion reminded him. "It has been ever thus."

So it seemed. Therion wore no armor and carried no weapon; obviously he could not oppose the dragon, and had no intention of trying. Brother Paul retained his chariot armor, although he had lost the chariot itself. So it was up to him.

The dragon had a huge wedge-shaped head from which a small orange flame flickered. No, that was only its barbed tongue. Its two forelegs projected from immediately behind its head, almost like ears, and two small wings sprouted from its neck not far behind, like feathers or hair. It seemed an inefficient design, but so did the design for Tyrannosaurus Rex, on paper. The rest of the monster trailed away into wormlike coils. Only its foreparts possessed a menacing aspect; when this creature retreated, it would be harmless. Which was of course the nature of Temptation, or any other threat.

The dragon was not retreating. It was galumphing directly at him, its serpentine body bouncing like a spring-coil after the awful head.

Brother Paul went out to engage it, his sword s.h.i.+ning like Excalibur. Yet he wondered: he considered himself to be a fairly peaceful man, not a warrior; why should he attack a living creature with a brute sword? This wasn't a living thing; it was an Animated symbol. Still, the matter disconcerted him.

The Dragon of Temptation drew up about two meters away. It glanced contemptuously at him. It had big yellow eyes, and its glare was quite striking.

Its red snout was covered with great, hairy green-and-blue warts, and gnarled gray horns projected from its forehead. Its tusks were twisted and coated with slime. Brother Paul wondered idly if it had been mucking about in one of Therion's gooey cups before coming here.

The barbed tongue flicked about, striking toward Brother Paul like an arrow but stopping short of the target. The small wings flapped slowly back and forth, the thin leathery skin crinkling between the feathered ribs. Brother Paul could not recall ever having seen anything uglier than this.

"Whatsamatter?" the dragon demanded. "Chicken?"

Brother Paul felt a tingle of anger. What right had this filthy thing to call him names? He gripped his sword firmly and stepped forward.

And paused again. This was Temptation-the urge to violence for insufficient cause. So the monster had called him "chicken"; why should he react to the archaic gibe? This was the lowest level of social interaction, and violence was the refuge of incompetence. "I merely wish to visit that castle, for I suspect that the information I need is inside. If you will kindly stand aside, there need be no strife between us."

"Temptation never stands aside!" the creature snorted. It was very good at speaking while snorting. "You must conquer me before you can complete your mission, chicken."

"But I don't want to slay you. I shall be satisfied to pa.s.s you by."

"You can't slay me; I am eternal. You can't pa.s.s me by. In fact, you can't even fight me; you're a natural coward. Why don't you get out of this scene and let the air clear?"

As if he hadn't been trying to do just that! "I would, if I had no mission to perform. I will, after it is done. Now please stand aside." Brother Paul strode forward.

The dragon held its ground. "Temptation cannot be bluffed," it said.

Brother Paul refused to strike it with the sword without some more definite provocation. Though he knew it to be a mere symbol, its semblance of a living, intelligent (if ugly) ent.i.ty was too strong.

He sidled around it-and the dragon was before him again. It had jumped magically to block him. He changed direction again-and it blocked him again.

So that was the way of it; the thing was trying to provoke him into striking.

And if he struck first, he would have succ.u.mbed to Temptation.

This time Brother Paul walked straight into the dragon. And bounced off its warty face.

Therion still stood a little apart, watching with morbid interest. "It didn't bite me," Brother Paul said, surprised.

"Temptation does not attack physically," Therion explained. "It merely offers a more intriguing alternative. Still, it must be conquered."

Brother Paul failed to see anything intriguing in the dragon. He tried again to avoid it, and failed again. He was becoming more than mildly angry, and felt the urge simply to smash the thing out of his way, but he suppressed the impulse.

Instead, he sheathed his sword and tried to heave Temptation out of the way with his hands. But the dragon was too heavy and low-slung to budge. "You can't conquer me by halfhearted measures," it said with a phenomenal yard-long sneer.

Brother Paul found himself sweating. Apparently this thing could balk him if he refused to fight it directly. Yet he remained reluctant to do so. He turned to Therion. "You're my guide. What do you recommend?"

"You must find common ground on which to meet it. Temptation a.s.sumes many guises. Maybe one will suit you."

Brother Paul considered this. Many guises-could that be literal here? Physical?

"I don't care to take the sword to you, beast," Brother Paul told it. "Yet you must be moved. Isn't there some less devastating way to determine the issue?"

"I'll meet you on any front, chicken," the dragon said. Part of its sneer remained, having failed to clear the far end of its long mouth.

"How about barehanded? Can you meet me in human form?"

The dragon vanished. In its place stood a man, huge and muscular, with yellow eyes, a red face, blue horns and a warty nose. And that lingering sneer. "What say now, coward?" the demon demanded.

"I say that if Jacob could wrestle with the Angel of the Lord, I may wrestle with Temptation," Brother Paul replied. He felt better now. This was a judo situation, and he was competent. He could subdue his opponent without hurting him.

"I don't know no Jacob!"

" 'And Jacob was left alone; and there wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day.' It's from the Bible, the first book of Moses, called Genesis, chapter thirty-two." Brother Paul paused, expecting the demon to flinch at the Biblical reference, but was disappointed. But of course this was not a demon of the infernal regions, but the demon that was within every man; it would be conversant with the holy as well as the unholy. Except that it did not seem to know about this particular episode.

"Oh, that Jacob!" the demon said sneeringly. "He was a pretty puny angel, not to be able to beat a mortal man. In fact he would have lost if he hadn't struck a low blow."

Brother Paul remembered. " 'And when he saw that he prevailed not against him, he touched the hollow of his thigh; and the hollow of Jacob's thigh was out of Joint, as he wrestled with him.' But that sounds more like a leglock than a low blow-leverage on the thigh to throw out the hip joint."

"The 'hollow of the thigh' is a euphemism for the crotch," the demon insisted.

"The angel popped Jacob's crotch."

"Perhaps so," Brother Paul admitted. "It is a debatable point. Yet further along it is referred to as 'the sinew which shrank' and since he did sire a good family-"

"Not after he wrestled with the angel!"

Brother Paul spread his hands. He had thought his combat with the demon-dragon would be physical, but he was glad to settle for this Biblical arena instead. He had done a lot of Bible reading in the past few years, being fascinated with it as both religion and history. He was also intrigued by the continuity of the Bible, in the forms of the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha. "At any rate, the Angel did not defeat him, and he won from it a blessing: the name of Israel, meaning 'A Prince of G.o.d,' and founded the tribe of Israel."

"And his daughter Dinah got raped," the demon said, smiling as if with enjoyment.

This creature reminded Brother Paul strongly of Therion. He glanced back, but Therion was still standing there. On second thought, Therion would not approve of rape, not from consideration for the woman, but because he seemed to feel that the s.e.xual act was a male sacrifice bestowed on the unworthy female. Why force this gift on a mere woman? "Rape is too strong a term," Brother Paul continued. "The young man was honorable, and begged to be allowed to marry Dinah formally, and even accepted the requirement of circ.u.mcision although he was a Gentile prince."

"Yeah, they covered up the record," the demon said. "Tried to make it out a good f.u.c.k in the end, so they wouldn't have to stone him for rape or her for acquiescence. A lot of juicy dirt got censored out of the Good Book."

Brother Paul started to make an angry retort, then realized that this was merely another aspect of the battle. Temptation fought with concepts as well as words, and truth was irrelevant. If distortion and vernacular caused Brother Paul to lose his temper, the victory would go to the dragon.

Indeed, these slights on Biblical accuracy were ones that Brother Paul himself had pondered privately. He liked to comprehend the full meaning of what he read, and much of the Bible remained tantalizingly opaque. Jacob's encounter with the Angel of G.o.d-there was an enigma! Why would an angel want to wrestle with a mortal man, and why would anything as pure of motive as an angel ever yield to the temptation? Yet Brother Paul knew he had to challenge the Bible with extreme caution, for it was a doc.u.ment that generations of scholars had not been able to question with certainty. Indeed, archaeological evidence continued to support the legitimacy of Biblical statements. Who was he, a minor novice in a minor Order, to set his puny judgment against the acc.u.mulated wisdom and revelation of the ages?

So he must vanquish Temptation here, too. It was not his place to debate any aspect of Scripture in public. It had been a mistake to invoke it here. What he did was his own responsibility; it should not be justified by reference to the Bible. That was a perversion, to adapt the Holy Book to individual purposes- though so many scoffers and special interests did.

"Enough of this," Brother Paul said. "If you will not let me pa.s.s, I must apply leverage."

The demon laughed. It was taller than Brother Paul, and heavier, and possessed a better physique. But how powerful was it, actually? Temptation could not be measured by external appearances.

Brother Paul stepped toward the castle, and of course the demon moved instantly to block him. This time Brother Paul stepped into it, shoved against the demon's right shoulder, and used his own right foot to sweep the demon's left foot out and forward. It was the o uchi gari, or "big inner reap" of judo.

The demon fell on the sand, as though its foot had slipped on a banana peel.

Brother Paul stepped over it and resumed his march toward the castle. That had been amazingly easy!

And the demon stood before him again. "Very clever, mortal. But Temptation is not so readily put behind you. You could throw me a thousand times, and I would still be before you, for no single act of will defeats me."