Chapter 5

There was a tingle like a mild electric shock. Forrester opened his mouth and then closed it again as the tingle stopped, and the sense of falling simply died away. He had closed his eyes on the way into the curtain, and now he opened them again.

He closed them very quickly, counted to ten, and took a deep breath. Then he opened them to look at the room he was in.

It was unlike any room he had ever seen before. It didn’t have the opulence of the High Priestess’s rooms. I am a room, it seemed to say, and a room is what I was meant to be. I don’t have to draw attention to myself like my poorer sisters. I am content merely to exist as the room of rooms, the very type and image of the Ideal Enclosure.

The floors and walk of the place seemed to blend into each other at odd angles. Forrester’s eyes couldn’t quite follow them or understand them, and judging the size of the room was out of the question. There was a golden wash of light filling the room, though it didn’t seem to come from anywhere in particular. It was, in fact, as if the room itself were shining. Forrester blinked and rubbed his eyes. The light, or whatever it was, was changing color.

Gradually, he realized that it went on doing that. He wasn’t sure that he liked it, but it was certainly different. The colors went from gold to pale rose to violet to blue, and so on, back to gold again, while little eddies and swirls of light sparkled into rainbows here and there.

Forrester began to feel dizzy again.

There were various objects standing around here and there in the room, but Forrester couldn’t quite tell what they were. Even their sizes were difficult to judge, because of the shifting light and shape of the room itself. There was only one thing that seemed reasonably certain.

He was alone in the room.

Set in one wall was a square of light that didn’t change color quite as much as everything else. Forrester judged it to be a window and headed for it. With his first step, he discovered something else about the place.

The carpeting was completely unique. Instead of fiber, the floor seemed to have been covered a foot deep with foam rubber. Forrester didn’t exactly walk to the window; he bounced there. The sensation was almost enjoyable, he thought, when you got used to it. He wondered just how long it took to get used to it and settled on eighty years as a good first guess.

He stood in front of the window. He looked out.

He saw nothing but clouds and sky.

It took a long while for him to decide what to do next, and when he finally did come to a decision, it was the wrong one.

He looked down.

Below him there were tumbled rocks, ledges of ice and snow, clouds and--far, far below--the flat land of the Earth. He wanted to shut his eyes, but he couldn’t. The whole vast stomach-churning panorama spread out beneath him endlessly. The people below, if there were any, weren’t even big enough to be ants. They were completely invisible. Forrester took a deep breath and gripped the side ledges of the window.

And a voice behind him said: “Welcome, Mortal.”

Forrester almost went through the window. But he managed to regain his balance and turn around, saying angrily: “Don’t do that!” As the last of the words left his lips, he became aware of the smiling figure facing him.

She was standing in a spotlight, Forrester thought at first. Then he saw that the light was coming from the woman herself--or from her clothing. The dress she wore was a satinlike sheath that glowed with an aura even brighter than the room. Her blonde hair picked up the radiance and glowed, too, illuminating a face that was at once regal, inviting and passionate. It was, Forrester thought, a hell of a disturbing combination.

The cloth of the dress clung to her figure as if it wanted to. Forrester didn’t blame it a bit; the dress showed off a figure that was not only beyond his wildest dreams, but a long way beyond what he had hitherto regarded as the bounds of possibility. From shoulder to toe, she was perfection.

This was also true of the woman from shoulder to crown.

Forrester gulped and, automatically, went on one knee.

“Please,” he murmured. “Pardon me. I didn’t mean--”

“Quite all right,” the Goddess murmured. “I understand perfectly.”

“But I--”

“Never mind all that now,” Venus said, with just a hint of impatience. “Rise, William Forrester--or you who were William Forrester.”

Forrester rose. Sweat was pouring down his face. He made no effort to wipe it away. “Were?” he asked, dazed. “But that’s my name!”

“It was,” Venus said, in the same calm tone. “Henceforth, your name is Dionysus.”

Forrester took a while to remember to swallow. “Dionysus?” he said at last.

There was another silence.

Forrester, feeling that perhaps his first question could use some amplification, said: “Dionysus? Bacchus? You mean me?”

“Quite right,” Venus said. “That will be your name, and you’d better begin getting used to it.”

“Now wait a minute!” he said. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but something occurs to me. I mean, it’s the first thing I thought of, and I’m probably wrong, but just let me ask the questions, if you don’t mind, and maybe some of this will make some sense. Because just a few hours ago I was doing very nicely on my own and I--”

“What are your questions?” Venus said.

Forrester swayed. “Dionysus/Bacchus himself,” he said. “Won’t he mind my--”

Venus laughed. “Mind your using his name? My goodness, no.”

“But--”

“It’s all because of the orgies,” Venus said.

Everything, he told himself, was getting just a little too much for him. “Orgies?” he said.

Venus nodded. “You see, there are all those orgies held in his honor. You know about those, of course.”

“Sure I do,” Forrester said, watching everything narrowly. In just a few seconds, he told himself hopefully, the whole room would vanish and he would be in a nice, peaceful insane asylum.

“Well, it isn’t impossible for a God to be at all the orgies held in his honor,” Venus said. “Naturally not. But, at the same time, they are all rather boring--for a God, I mean. And that’s why you’re here,” she finished.

Forrester said: “Oh.” And then he said: “Oh?” The room hadn’t disappeared yet, but he was willing to give it time.

“Dionysus,” Venus said patiently, as if she were explaining the matter to a small and rather ugly child, “gets tired of appearing at the orgies. He wants someone to take his place.”

The silence after that sentence was a very long one. Forrester could think of nothing to say but: “Me?“

“You will be raised to the status of Godling,” Venus said. “You remember Hercules and Achilles, don’t you?”

“Never met them,” Forrester said vacantly.

“Naturally,” Venus said. “They were, however, ancient heroes, raised to the status of Godling, just as you yourself will be. However, you will not be honored or worshipped under your own name.”

Forrester nodded. “Naturally,” he said, wondering what he was talking about. There was, he realized, the possibility that he was not insane after all, but he didn’t want to think about that. It was much too painful.

“You will receive instructions in the use of certain powers,” Venus said. “These will enable you to perform your new duties.”

Duties.

The word carried a strange connotation. Dionysus/Bacchus was the God of wine, among other things, and women and song had been thrown in as an afterthought. The duties of a stand-in for a God like that sounded just a little bit overwhelming.

“These--duties,” he said. “Will they be temporary or permanent?”

“Well,” Venus said, “that depends.” She smiled at him sweetly.

“Depends?”

“So far,” Venus said, “our testing shows that you are capable of handling certain of the duties to be entrusted to you. But, for the rest, everything depends on your own talents and devotion.”

“Ah,” Forrester said, and then: “Testing?”

“You don’t suppose that we would pick a mortal for an important job like this without making certain that he was capable of doing the job, do you?”

“Frankly,” Forrester said, “I haven’t got around to supposing anything yet.”

Venus smiled again. “We have tested you,” she said, “and so far you appear perfectly capable of exercising your powers.”

Forrester blinked. “Exercising?”

“Exactly. As a street brawler, for instance, you do exceptionally well.”

“As a--”

“How does your face feel?” she asked.

“My what?” Forrester said. “Oh. Face. Fine. Street brawls, you said?”

“I did,” Venus said. “My goodness, the way you bashed that one bruiser with your drink--that was really excellent. As a matter of fact, I feel it incumbent on me to tell you that I haven’t enjoyed a fight so much in years.”

Wondering whether he should be complimented or just a little ashamed of himself, Forrester said nothing at all. The idea that he had been under the personal supervision of Aphrodite herself bothered him more than he could say. The brawl was the first thing that came to mind. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing a Goddess of Love ought to have been watching.