The High Priestess came over to the couch and sat down next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Shall we prepare for the—sacrifice?”
Forrester sighed again. “Sure,” he said. “Naturally.”
* * * *
When she was locked in his arms, it was as if time had started all over again. Forrester responded to the eagerness of the woman as he’d never dreamed he could respond; all his tiredness dropped away as if it had never been, and he was a new man. He touched her bare flesh and felt the heat of her through his fingers and hands; with his arms around her nakedness he rolled, locked to her, feeling the friction of skin against skin and the magnificence of her.
The sacrifice went on…and on…and on into endless time and endless space. Forrester thrust and gasped at the woman and her head went back, her mouth pulled open as she shivered and responded to him.…
Forever.…
Until finally they lay, panting, in the magnificent room. Forrester rose first, vaguely surprised at himself. He found a towel in a closet at the far end of the room and wiped his damp forehead slowly.
“Well,” he said. “That was quite a sacrifice. What next?”
The High Priestess raised herself on one elbow and stared across the room at him. “There is no need for such familiarity, Forrester,” she said. “Not from a lay acolyte.”
Forrester tossed the towel onto a couch. “My apologies, Your Concupiscence. I’m a little—light-headed. But what happens next?”
The High Priestess reached into the diaphanous pile of her clothing and came up with a small diamond-encrusted watch she wore, usually, on her wrist. “Our timing was almost perfect,” she said. “It is now twenty-hundred hours. The Goddess expects you at twenty-oh-one exactly.”
A hurried half-minute passed. Then, fully dressed, Forrester went with the High Priestess to a golden door half-hidden in the hangings at the side of the room. She made a series of mystical signs: the circle, the serpent and others Forrester couldn’t quite follow.
She opened the door, genuflecting as she did so, and Forrester dropped to one knee behind her, looking at the doorway.
It was filled with a pale blue haze that looked like the clear summer sky on a hot day. Except that it wasn’t sky, but a curtain that wavered and shimmered before his eyes. Beyond it, he could see nothing.
The High Priestess rose from her genuflection and Forrester followed suit. There was a sole second of silence.
Then the High Priestess said: “You are to step through the Veil of Heaven, William Forrester.”
Forrester said: “Me? Through the Veil of Heaven?”
“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “And don’t try to touch the Veil. Just walk through as if nothing at all were there.”
Forrester filled his lungs as though he were going to take a very high dive. He thought: Here goes nothing. That was all; there wasn’t time for anything else.
He stepped into the blue haze, and had a sudden sensation of falling.
CHAPTER FIVE
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!”