Incarnations of Immortality

by Anthony, Piers

  Of course she had magic, Zane reminded himself. She was a Magician's daughter! Naturally she had become impressive; it was an artifice! Yet he could not help being impressed, for it was indeed the same girl he had seen before, in a new aspect. Luna's present presence was like a selected precious stone, dull in shadow, suddenly enhanced by the brilliance of a spotlight that caused it to project its awesome luster.

  She had been nude before. Truly, in seeing her uncovered, he had not seen her at all. Not even Angelica could rival—

  "Shall I do a dance for you?" Luna inquired with a charming quirk of a smile.

  "I don't believe it," Zane muttered.

  "Well, you should," she said mischievously. "You saw me nude."

  Zane shook his head. "I don't believe a creature like you can be casually offered to a nondescript character like me. It just doesn't make sense."

  "Oh, she is no gift," the Magician said. "Luna has to be won, and the winning is not straightforward. What you get is the first option to compete."

  "I don't care to compete," Zane said, distrusting this.

  He was aware that the Magician was offering less, now that Luna had manifested as more. Zane didn't like being managed.

  "Suit yourself. The Love stone is here." The Magician indicated a small blue gem on the table beside him.

  "I have no use for Lovestones!" Zane snapped. He now wished he had never seen Angelica; how much grief that would have saved him!

  "Perhaps you misunderstand," the Magician said. "This is not your common locater stone; this one compels love. Merely hold it and look at the woman you desire, and she will be instantly afflicted with overwhelming passion for you. You do not find these on sale in knickknack shops."

  Zane eyed the stone with new respect. If he took that and looked at Luna, she would become his love slave. Probably its effect was limited to a single session; otherwise the user would never be able to get away from the subject. But it meant the man—or woman—possessing such an artifact could take advantage of any other person encountered. What was he to make of the father who openly offered to subject his lovely daughter to such influence, or of the girl who knowingly permitted such enchantment to be used on her? "Thanks, no."

  Luna nodded slightly, perhaps in approval. Had this been a test? The Magician had said his daughter needed to be won, and the use of the Love stone was hardly fair competition. Maybe the stone induced passion but not love. Given the choice between passion and love, Zane preferred the latter.

  The Magician settled slightly in his chair, relaxing. "I must proceed; the spell that extends my life beyond its appointed time is weakening, and I dare not use another."

  "You dare not?" Zane asked, increasingly suspicious. "Aren't you a powerful Magician?"

  "Magic is addictive and often damning. The white magic which has become so popular is generally harmless, but it can lead stage by stage to the more potent black magic, which gradually corrupts and eventually damns the user. All serious practitioners employ black magic, because of its versatility and power. I have used more than enough to damn me to Hell."

  "But you are in balance, or I would not have been summoned!"

  "Technically true. It was necessary that I summon you, and this was the only way possible without alerting the Unmentionable."

  "The—"

  "Do not utter the name, for he is attuned to it. My enchantment protects us from chance discovery, but against his direct inquiry there is no protection, and his name would bring that. This discussion has to be private. Once I talk to you, my fate hardly matters, except that I must stay free of Hell long enough to give the plan a chance to function. The Unnamed quickly picks the brains of his incoming victims. So we had to seem to meet in the normal course, to avoid suspicion."

  "You set up your own death, just to talk to me without a certain entity knowing—when you yourself had gotten Fate to put me in office?"

  "It does seem to be a cumbersome mechanism. But a complex conspiracy is abroad, and devious sacrifices are required."

  "Such as your life—and your daughter's virtue?"

  Luna smiled, taking no offense. "Father is like that. That's why he's a great Magician—one whom even the Incarnations respect."

  Evidently so—"What conspiracy?" Zane demanded.

  "That I may not tell you," the Magician said.

  "How can I help you if I don't know what you want?"

  "I have told you what I want. My daughter's salvation."

  "Some way you have to guarantee it!" Zane said, glancing meaningfully at the Love stone. "Your daughter is obviously only a pretext for some more sinister scheme. What do you really want?"

  The Magician stared at the floor for a moment as if considering. "I want what every halfway decent man wants: the belief that his life has in some small or devious fashion benefited the cosmos. My use of black magic has so weighted my soul that my daughter had to assume a share of my evil in order to put me in technical balance. Now she, too, is in peril. But she should have time to redeem herself, if our ploy is successful."

  "She can take some of your evil?" Zane asked, surprised. "I thought every soul had to be judged on its own merits."

  "It does, ordinarily. But sophisticated magic can alter cases, and this case has been altered. At the moment, both of us are in balance."

  Zane looked at Luna again. Her face was unlined and innocent. He was relieved to know that the evil in her soul was not truly hers; she was basically a good girl. He was well aware that physical beauty bore no certain relation to the condition of a person's soul, but he still felt more at ease when the two matched.

  Now the girl leaned over her father. "It is time. Father," she said. "I'll never know your equal." She kissed him. Then she straightened up and faced Zane. "Death, bring thy sting," she said, and turned away.

  Zane started his countdown timer again. He walked up to the Magician, who had abruptly settled into the final seizure, and drew out his soul. Quickly he folded it and put it away.

  Still facing opposite, Luna spoke. "My father made an agreement with you. I will honor it without the use of the Love stone. You will understand if I do not pretend any personal joy in the matter. Come this way." She walked toward the doorway through which she had entered.

  The Deathwatch was counting down for the next client, but Zane paused. "You father, whom you professed to love deeply, has just died," he said, shocked. "How can you think of a thing like—like that—at this moment? Where is your grief?"

  She halted, but did not face him. "I can do what my father asked me to do because I respect his judgment above that of any other person. When I realized that his death was upon him, I invoked the enchantment he had prepared for this occasion. I put on a gem that eliminated incapacitating emotion. After you depart, I will remove that stone and suffer as much as I can stand before I have to don the gem again. My grief will run its course in measured stages. But my grief is not yours, and while I am with you, I shall not share it with you."

  Zane shook his head, appalled at this explanation. "I don't claim to be a good man or a good Death. Mostly I have been satisfied to take what I can get. I was a fool not long ago and threw away my chance to love and marry a wonderful woman—"

  "Fate arranged that loss, at my father's behest, " Luna said. "You need feel no responsibility there."

  So that, too, had been no coincidence! Zane was shaken, but plowed on. "Now I'm going to be a fool again. I have not done your father any genuine service I know of and, in any event, don't deserve the sort of attention you—"

  Luna turned back to face him. She seemed prettier than ever. Her eyes were pearl as they fixed on his. No, she had not been bluffing about her ability to impress a man! "Yes, you are correct, of course. You don't want false rapture. Use the Love stone; then my passion will be genuine. I should not have tried to avoid that. I will also, if you wish, use it on you, so that your reservations will dissipate."

  "That's not what I meant!" Zane exclaimed, embarrassed. "I don't deserve
the attention or the love of a woman like you. Keep the Love stone; I will not abuse your nature by using it. Maybe when I was a living man I would have done so, but now I am Death, with an important responsibility, and I must honor the dignity of the office as I perceive it. I will leave you to your grief." He turned to the exit, half-cursing himself for his perversity. This was not typical behavior for him; why hadn't he simply taken the proffered payment?

  "Why?" she asked. He could tell by the sound of her voice that she had turned again. They were both facing away, the dead Magician's body between them.

  Zane himself wasn't sure. He had spoken of the dignity of his office—but not long ago he had tried to give up that office. "I—look, I admit you're the kind of woman I like. The kind any man would like. You set out to impress me and you certainly did. You didn't seem like much when—when you weren't trying—well, right now I'm sure you're everything I might want, but—I guess it's what your father said. I want to make something good of my life, or of my office, while I still have the chance. Otherwise, what's the point? If I had been good before, I wouldn't have come to the point of death myself so soon. I'm trying to be good now, for what it's worth, so at least I can think of myself as halfway useful for something. To—to take advantage of you—especially at this time—I know that would—I did something like that once in life, and it remains a blot on my soul—well, it's just not the way I think someone as important as Death should be. So I'm going to try to play the part the way I think it should be played, even though I'm not—I know I'm not a worthy actor."

  "You are going counter to my father's wish," she said. "He scheduled his death to bring you here so you would meet me. Fate took that other woman from you so that you would be free for me. I am owed to you in a very real sense."

  "I have met you. I don't think you owe me anything for what Fate did. Maybe I'm on the rebound from that love I threw away before it started. Maybe I'm just angry at being managed. I think I would—I don't know. Maybe your father misjudged me."

  "Maybe he did," she agreed. "Still, I must acquit my own debts and try to honor his will. I would be false to my father's memory if I did otherwise. Would you settle for a date?"

  "If I start seeing a woman of your quality, I'll soon want too much."

  "You can have too much."

  "I—no, I mean Death should not be distracted."

  "Then come when you're off duty."

  Zane felt guilty, but also sorely tempted, "One time," he agreed. "One time."

  Nothing more was to be said. Zane opened the door, picked up his scythe, and went out to his horse.

  He mounted. "On to the next, steed," he said.

  The stallion leaped into the sky. Dawn was just arriving here, and a bank of clouds to the east was starting to glow. Mortis trotted over clouds as if they were sand, flying without wings, then plunged down through them somewhere on the day lit portion of the globe.

  But it was not land below. The horse came down on the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. His feet touched and held; naturally this animal could run on water!

  Ahead, the cloud cover dipped to intersect the water: a storm. The stallion galloped right at it. Zane viewed the lash-whipped waves with increasing alarm. The person who held the office of Death was immortal only as long as he was not killed. Suppose he drowned? The sea was becoming mountainous, the waves already surging higher than his head, and much higher nearer the storm.

  "I don't like this," he said. "Who will replace me if I drown here?" That wasn't really his worry, however. He didn't care who next assumed the office; he didn't want to vacate it.

  He didn't? Then why had he tried, so ineptly, to get his client to turn on him and kill him? What did he really want?

  He wasn't sure, but suspected it related to some personal aspect. He could accept his own demise more readily if he deliberately handed the office to a chosen successor than if an inanimate ocean washed him out. It was control and self-esteem at the root of his disquiet.

  A spot near the saddle horn blinked. Zane touched it—and the horse became a double-hulled speedboat, cutting through the fringe of the storm.

  Wonders never ceased! "You are some creature. Mortis!" Zane exclaimed.

  But the waves were so horrendous that the craft was soon tilting precariously. The pale boat was steering itself aptly, to avoid being swamped, but the sea seemed determined to outmaneuver it.

  "I prefer you as a horse!" Zane cried as the craft crested a pinnacle and tilted sickeningly forward. He punched the blinking button on its control panel.

  The horse returned, galloping along the shifting contour of the wave. Yes, this was definitely better! The animal could not be swamped or overturned. "I couldn't manage without you. Mortis," Zane said, hanging on desperately.

  Then the client came into sight. It was a young man, clinging to a bit of flotsam. The man saw Zane and lifted a hand weakly. Then he sank into a wave.

  "He doesn't have to die!" Zane protested, speaking as much for himself as for the client.

  Mortis snorted noncommittally. After all, Death had been summoned here to collect the client's soul.

  "I'm going to rescue him," Zane said. "To watch him drown—that would be like murder!"

  The horse did not react, except to come to a halt on the water beside the drowning man. Zane dismounted and found that his feet stood firmly on the surface. Fate had said his shoes would make that possible, but he had not quite accepted it until now.

  He reached down, caught the man's projecting arm, and hauled him upward. The wave was liquid for the client, solid for Zane's feet—and Zane's gloved hand did not pass through the man's flesh when he didn't want it to. His magic accommodated itself to his specific needs.

  But a surge crossed their location, burying the client and almost jerking him away. Irritated, Zane punched the center button of the Deathwatch, seeking to freeze time itself. Nothing happened, and he remembered that this button had to be pulled, not pushed. He pulled.

  The water halted in place: waves, bubbles, and spume. The racing fog stopped as if photographed. All was still and silent.

  Zane got a better grip on the client and hauled him out of the sea. Apparently time did not abate for Death or Death's pale horse, or for what Death touched. What an amazing power Chronos had bequeathed! But it was not enough, for it was evident that the client was far gone; he had inhaled water during his final submersion.

  Zane got the man up on the rump of the horse, arms dangling down to one side, legs to the other. He pressed on the man's back, trying to squeeze out the water from his lungs, but this wasn't very effective. Then Mortis bucked, bouncing the man, and that did it; the water dribbled out of his mouth, and he began to choke and gasp.

  Zane helped him stand. The man's eyes widened. "You are Death—but you haven't killed me!"

  "I will take you to shore," Zane said. "Mount behind me and hold on."

  They mounted. "I don't understand," the man said somewhat plaintively.

  Zane pushed the button in the watch. The storm resumed. The horse walked up the progressing slope of the wave. The wind tore at them, but they were secure against it.

  "Why?" the man asked.

  Zane couldn't answer. He feared he was violating his office and would somehow be punished, but he still had to save this man.

  Soon they exited from the storm. There was an island ahead; the pale horse knew where he was going. They came to a deserted beach, but stray bottles showed it was at times frequented by tourists. There was civilization within range.

  The man got down and stood on the wet sand, still unbelieving. "Why?" he repeated. "You, of all creatures—"

  Zane had to make some response, if only to justify his irrationality to himself. "Your soul is in danger of Hell. Go and do good in the world, to redeem your afterlife."

  The man stared, mouth open. This was the twentieth century; no one took such cautions seriously!

  "Farewell," Zane said.

  Mortis took off, prancing once more
into the sky. Zane realized that more magic must be involved to prevent him from falling off when the horse made such motions. His office was failsafe in various ways!

  He looked back and glimpsed the erstwhile client still standing, staring after him.

  Had he done the right thing? Probably not. For the second time, he had actually interfered with a death, changing the course of a client's life. Maybe he was acting in an irrational manner, allowing his personal hang-ups to affect his office. Yet Zane knew he would do it again. Apparently he was unable to rise above his human limitations to perform the office impartially.

  The Deathwatch was counting down again. Zane punched the STOP button, halting the countdown without stopping regular time. "I've had enough of this for the moment," he said to the horse. "I want to pause and reflect. Do you have a favorite pasture where you graze? Take me there."

  Obediently the horse galloped farther up to a thin cloud layer. As they came level with it, Zane saw the topside open out into a lush, green plain. "So your pasture is in the sky!" he remarked.

  The horse landed on the greensward and trotted across it to a large, comfortable ginkgo tree. Zane dismounted. "You will be near when I need you?"

  The stallion made an acquiescent nicker and proceeded to graze. Zane noticed that the animal was now unfettered by bridle or saddle; these accouterments had simply ceased to exist when not in use.

  Zane sat down and leaned back against the massive trunk of the tree. "What am I doing here?" he asked himself aloud. "Why aren't I doing my job?"

  No answers came. Mortis grazed in the lush field. The light breeze rustled the odd ginkgo leaves. A small spider dangled on a thread before Zane.

  "What's the matter with me, Arachnae?" he asked the spider. "I have a good job here, fetching in the souls of the borderlines. Why am I letting them go, when I thought I wanted to act in accordance with the standards of the office? Am I a hypocrite?"