Until now Jude hadn't contemplated the possibility of Sartori's demise. Even in the tower, knowing Gentle had gone in pursuit of his brother intending to stop his malice, she'd never believed he'd die. But what Celestine said was undoubtedly true. There were countless claims upon his head, both secular and divine. Even if Gentle was forgiving, Jokataytau wouldn't be; nor would the Unbeheld.
"You're very alike, you know, you and he," Celestine said. "Both copies of a finer original."
"You never knew Quaisoir," Jude replied. "You don't know whether she was finer or not."
"Copies are always coarser. It's their nature. But at least your instinct's good. You and he belong together. That's what you're pining for, isn't it? Why don't you admit it?"
"Why should I pour out my heart to you?"
"Isn't that what you came in here to do? You won't get any sympathy out there."
"Listening by the door now?"
"I've heard everything that's gone on in this house since I was brought here. And what I haven't heard, I've felt. And what I haven't felt, I've predicted."
"Like what?"
"Well, for one thing that child Monday will end up coupling with the little virgin you brought back from Yzordderrex."
"That scarcely takes an oracle."
"And the Oviate isn't long for this world."
"The Oviate?"
"It calls itself Little Ease. The beast you had under your heel. It asked the Maestro to bless it a little while ago. It'll murder itself before daybreak."
"Why would it do that?"
"It knows when Sartori perishes it'll be forfeit too, however much allegiance it's sworn to the winning side. It's sensible. It wants to choose its moment."
"Am I supposed to find some lesson in that?"
"I don't think you're capable of suicide," Celestine said.
"You're right. I've got too much to live for."
"Motherhood?"
"And the future. There's going to be a change in this city. I've seen it in Yzordderrex already. The waters will rise—"
"—and the great sisterhood will dispense love from on high."
"Why not? Clem told me what happened when the Goddess came. You were in ecstasies, so don't try and deny it."
"Maybe I was. But do you imagine that's going to make you and me sisters? What have we got in common, besides our sex?"
The question was meant to sting, but its plainness made Jude see the questioner with fresh eyes. Why was Celestine so eager to deny any other link between them but womanhood? Because another such link existed, and it was at the very heart of their enmity. Nor, now that Celestine's contempt had freed Jude from reverence, was it difficult to see where their stories intersected. From the beginning, Celestine had marked Jude out as a woman who stank of coitus. Why? Because she too stank of coitus. And this business with the child, which came up again and again: that had the same root. Celestine had also borne a baby for this dynasty of Gods and demigods. She too had been used and had never quite come to terms with the fact. When she raged against Jude, the tainted woman who would not concede her error in being sexual, in being fecund, she was raging against some fault in herself.
And the nature of that fault? It wasn't difficult to guess, or to put words to. Celestine had asked a plain question. Now it was Jude's turn.
"Was it really rape?" she said.
Celestine glanced up, her look venomous. The denial that followed, however, was measured. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," she said.
"Well, now," Jude replied, "how else can I put it?" She paused. "Did Sartori's Father take you against your will?"
The other woman now put on a show of comprehension, followed by one of shock.
"Of course He did," she said. "How could you ask such a thing?"
"But you knew where you were going, didn't you? I realize Dowd drugged you at the start, but you weren't in a coma all the way across the Dominions. You knew something extraordinary was waiting at the end of the trip."
"I don't—"
"Remember? Yes, you do. You remember every mile of it. And I don't think Dowd kept his mouth shut all those weeks. He was pimping for God, and he was proud of it Wasn't he?"
Celestine offered no riposte. She simply stared at Jude, daring her to go on, which Jude was happy to do.
"So he told you what lay ahead, didn't he? He said that you were going to the Holy City and you were going to see the Unbeheld Himself. Not just see Him but be loved by Him. And you were flattered,"
"It wasn't like that."
"How was it then? Did He have His angels hold you down while He did the deed? No, I don't think so. You lay there and you let Him do what the hell He wanted, because it was going to make you into the bride of God and the mother of Christ—"
"Stop!"
"If I'm wrong, tell me how it was. Tell me you screamed and fought and tried to tear out His eyes."
Celestine continued to stare, but said nothing.
"That's why you despise me, isn't it?" Jude went on. "That's why I'm the woman who stinks of coitus. Because I lay down with a piece of the same God that you did, and you don't like to be reminded of the fact."
"Don't judge me, woman!" Celestine suddenly shouted.
"Then don't you judge me! Woman. I did what I wanted with the man I wanted, and I'm carrying the consequences. You did the same. I'm not ashamed of it. You are. That's why we're not sisters, Celestine."
She'd said her piece, and she wasn't much interested in a further round of insults and denials, so she turned her back and had her hand on the door when Celestine spoke. There were no denials. She spoke softly, half lost to memory.
"It was a city of iniquities," she said. "But how was I to know that? I thought I was blessed among women, to have been chosen. To be God's—"
"Bride?" Jude said, turning back from the door.
"That's a kind word," Celestine said. "Yes. Bride." She drew a deep breath. "I never even saw my husband."
"What did you see?"
"Nobody. The city was full, I know it was full, I saw shadows at the window, I saw them close up the doors when I passed, but nobody showed their faces."
"Were you afraid?"
"No. It was too beautiful. The stones were full of light, and the houses were so high you could barely see the sky. It was like nothing I'd ever seen. And I walked, and I walked, and I kept thinking, He'll send an angel for me soon, and I'll be carried to His palace. But there were no angels. There was just the city, going on and on in every direction, and I got tired after a time. I sat down, just to rest for a few minutes, and I fell asleep."
"You fell asleep?"
"Yes. Imagine! I was in the City of God, and I fell asleep. And I dreamed I was back at Tyburn, where Dowd had found me. I was watching a man being hanged, and I dug through the crowd until I was standing under the gallows." She raised her head. "I remember looking up at him, kicking at the end of his rope. His breeches were unbuttoned, and his rod was poking out."
The look on her face was all disgust, but she drove herself on to finish the story.
"And I lay down under him. I lay down in the dirt in front of all these people, with him kicking, and his rod getting redder and redder. And as he died he spilled his seed. I wanted to get up before it touched me, but my legs were open, and it was too late. Down it came. Not much. Just a few spurts. But I felt every drop inside me like a little fire, and I wanted to cry out. But I didn't, because that was when I heard the voice." .
"What voice?"
"It was in the ground underneath me. Whispering."
"What did it say?"
"The same thing, over and over again: Nisi Nirvana, Nisi Nirvana. Nisi... Nirvana."