Incarnations of Immortality

by Anthony, Piers

  Norton wasn't sure how serious or relevant this was. "There can't be a literal blood connection—"

  "Yes, there can be—if Nature so decrees. I saw some of her power—I tell you, I wouldn't want to cross that creature!—and as a favor to me, she—"

  "You mean there is a literal Incarnation of Nature, who can change—?"

  "That's exactly what I mean."

  "So Gaw-Two really is of your bloodline—by magic?"

  "I think so. I didn't stick around to watch; I just took Gaea's word. She scared me some; I mean, I'm a ghost, but the things she can do, that any of them can do—it's a completely different kind of power." Gawain wiped his brow, looking pale. "But there's one aspect I forgot."

  "The baby certainly resembles you! I thought it was coincidence."

  "No. Gaea did it. I think she's the strongest of the earthly Incarnations, but I wouldn't want to cross any of them."

  Norton didn't quite believe this, but did have respect for nature. A literal Incarnation of Nature should indeed be formidable. "So why are you worried? She delivered, didn't she?"

  The ghost paced faster. Had he been solid, he would have stirred up dust from the aseptic rug. "There's a family malady, one of those recessive things, that tends to skitter sidewise across generations. My older brother died of it; that's why the estate devolved to me. It usually takes them out young—before age ten, sometimes sooner. And it's getting worse."

  "But you were taken out by a dragon!"

  "An allosaur."

  "Whatever. You didn't die of the malady."

  "No. But I carry it in my genes."

  Norton began to get an ugly suspicion. "You don't mean—?"

  "Yes. I think the baby shows the stigma."

  "But Gaw-Two is healthy! Orlene had that checked out thoroughly!"

  "This malady doesn't show at birth. It's a semipsychic thing that starts as a corruption of the soul and spreads to the physical body. The victim is literally damned—to a short life and a long hereafter in Hell. A doctor wouldn't be equipped to recognize it; even in this modern age, they tend to be skeptical of the supernatural. They think they know everything and that what doesn't show on their charts doesn't exist. But—" He shrugged wearily. Evidently he knew, or supposed he knew, the signs.

  "You say it kills the victims young or not at all?" Norton asked, dismayed despite his uncertainty. "So if you're wrong about the stigma, then Gaw will make it through without getting it later?"

  "Young, yes. Always. Once the stigma becomes evident to a doctor, it's way too late. It's probably too late when the baby is born; it's an incurable, nonreversible progression, like a tree rotting at the core. The victim just wastes away and dies."

  "Surely modern science or magic can—"

  Gawain shook his head. "No. They tried everything to save my brother, but he died at age seven. I was only four at the time, but I remember—" He shook his head. "Oh, I should have kept my finger out of the pie! I've ruined it! There will be no heir! Oh, woe, woe!" He tore his insubstantial hair.

  This looked serious. But Norton had an idea. "Maybe Sning knows."

  "Sning?"

  "A friend of mine." Norton touched the ring, to wake it, though he wasn't sure the little snake ever slept. "Sning, go check Gaw-Two. I want to know if he's got the fateful malady that runs in Gawain's family."

  Sning came to life, slithered off his finger, and zipped across the floor. Gawain stared. "Where did you get that? That's not part of my estate!"

  "Your wife gave it to me. In return for your baby."

  The ghost shrugged. "Oh, well. I'm nervous about reptiles now, since one killed me. Will it hurt the baby?"

  "No. Sning will just check."

  In a moment Sning came back. Norton put his hand down and the snake curled back into ring form. "Does Gaw have the malady?" Norton asked.

  Squeeze.

  Norton felt cold. "You're sure?"

  Squeeze.

  "How long will he live? How many years?"

  Squeeze.

  "Only one year?" Norton asked, appalled.

  Squeeze.

  "It says only one year?" Gawain demanded tightly.

  "That's what he says," Norton agreed heavily. "Of course, Sning could be wrong. He's not good at math."

  "No, it's not wrong. I saw the stigma. It doesn't matter whether it's one year or seven; it's inevitable." The ghost paced in another ragged circle. "That Green Mother! She must have known! No wonder she granted me that 'favor' so readily!"

  "These Incarnations you describe—are they evil creatures?"

  "Well, Satan is the Incarnation of Evil. But God is the Incarnation of Good. Most are neutral, though I think they favor God, or at least the existing order. But Nature—Gaea, the Earth-Mother—if you cross her, she's real trouble, and you don't always know when you cross her. She can be nice, real nice, but she can be real mean too. Oh, she's cost me everything!"

  Norton didn't comment. It seemed to him that even if a personified Nature existed, it would be hard for her to keep track of every detail of the heredity of every baby born on Earth. It had probably been an oversight. But Gawain did not seem to be in any mood at the moment to concede that.

  "We should have this verified medically," Norton said after a pause. "Even though this may be beyond medical competence. There are always breakthroughs, so that what is terminal in one generation becomes curable in the next. Can you direct the estate doctor to investigate your brother's history and compare symptoms?"

  "I'd better," Gawain agreed glumly. "But you'll have to tell Orlene."

  "The doctor can do that."

  "Sure—his way. Look, Norton, I may be crude, but even I can see that's no good. Some of those doctors get their kicks needling people. Better it be done your way."

  Norton thought of the doctor who had tested him for fertility. He sighed. "Yes."

  The ghost vanished. With dread in his soul, Norton went to tell Orlene.

  First she refused to believe it. But when the estate doctor conducted his investigation, using as thorough a program of scientific and magical tests as existed, guided by the case histories of others in the family, and verified the condition, Orlene had to believe. Then she was angry—at Gawain, Nature, Norton, herself—everything. She concocted desperate schemes to undo the damage, to bargain for her baby's life, to arrange somehow divine intervention to save Gaw-Two. But, of course, all this came to nothing, and she sank into a terrible depression. Nothing could console her.

  Norton was helpless, as the baby's health declined. Gawain had been right; the malady had become worse in recent generations, and its course was savage. He could not comfort Orlene, for now it was apparent that her love for Norton was definitely secondary to her love for the baby. He could only accept her as she was, the perfect mother rather than the perfect partner. Gawain the Ghost disappeared.

  The end came with seeming suddenness, though most of a year had passed since the baby's birth. Orlene was sitting, garbed in black, by the crib where the failing infant lay. She was only a shadow of her former self, looking almost as wasted as Gaw-Two. Both science and magic had failed; all they could do was leave the baby alone. It was a death watch.

  Death came, personified. He was a hooded figure garbed in black. Orlene saw him first, issued a stifled scream, and flung her emaciated arms protectively about her baby. The dark intruder paused—and now Norton was able to perceive him more clearly. At first Death had been no more than a shadow, but now he was solid.

  "Must you do this?" Norton demanded of the figure. "Who are you, that you bring such grief?"

  The figure turned to face him. Under his hood was a skull, bare of hair or skin or flesh. His eyes were hollow squares. "I regret the necessity," he said, his voice oddly soft. "I am Thanatos, and it is my duty to collect the souls of those who expire in balance."

  "You are—the Incarnation of Death?"

  "I am."

  "And you get your kicks from stealing innocent babies?"

 
; Thanatos' dark hood turned toward Orlene, then toward the crib, and finally back to face Norton. He drew back one sleeve to expose a heavy black watch. One skeletal finger touched that timepiece. "Come with me a few minutes, mortal, and we shall talk."

  Norton experienced a chilling awe of this somber figure. He had not believed in the so-called Incarnations, despite the ghost's assurances, except possibly as mock presentations. Now conviction was growing. Thanatos was no joke; neither was he callous or indifferent.

  They walked out of the room. Orlene did not move. She stood by the crib, her thin arms extended in a futile gesture of protection. Her face was drawn, her hair dull, with only her eyes still large and beautiful. She did not even breathe. Time seemed to have halted.

  Outside the apartment, in the hall, a gallant pale horse stood. Somehow this did not seem surprising. Norton got up behind Thanatos on the horse. Then the horse leaped.

  They passed through the levels of the city as if these were holograph images. Halls, apartments, service areas—all shot past like so many segments of a cutaway dollhouse as the horse sailed up. In a moment they reached the park at the surface. The animal's gleaming hooves landed without jarring, and now they were riding through the forest.

  They came to a glade where the sun angled warmly down, and the horse halted and the two riders dismounted. The horse fell to grazing while Thanatos and Norton sat on a fallen log and talked. Somehow it no longer seemed strange to be talking with a skeleton in a cloak.

  "I wish to explain about the baby," Thanatos said. "He is not innocent, odd as that may appear to you. He is in balance. Do you comprehend the term?"

  "Balance? Not the way you must intend it. Do you weigh him?"

  Perhaps the skull-face smiled; it was hard to tell, through the fleshless grin it always had. "In my fashion. I have devices with which to measure souls, determining whether the accumulated evil overbalances the good. If the balance favors good, that soul is sent to Heaven; if evil. Hell. A person really does determine the nature of his afterlife by the nature of his life, by exercising his free will. But some souls are in perfect balance between good and evil at the time of the client's demise, and these must remain in Purgatory."

  "You mean there really are places called Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory? I thought they were mere constructs of human imagination."

  "That, too," Thanatos agreed. "They are not precisely places so much as states of being. They exist for our culture, as do the several Incarnations, for here there is sufficient belief in them. In other cultures, other frameworks exist. I have very few clients in those cultures where other beliefs obtain."

  "But I never believed in Heaven, Hell, or Incarnations!" Norton said.

  "Not consciously, perhaps. Do you believe in Good, Evil, and personal choice?"

  Telling point! "The baby—how can there be evil on his soul? He has not harmed anyone. In fact, he's a victim of circumstances manipulated by others."

  "True. Gaea is very sorry about that; she had not been paying full attention, so her gift to Gawain was flawed. By the time she discovered that, it was too late for her to correct it. Ge must obey Ge's laws, too."

  "Gaea—Ge—you mean Mother Nature?"

  "The Green Earth-Mother, yes. She is extremely powerful, but also extremely busy. She thought it a simple favor to one who was trying to do better in death than he had done in life, and she did not look deeply. Even Incarnations make errors—and such errors can be worse than those of mortals."

  "This error destroyed a man's line!" Norton cried.

  "Gawain will be given a second chance," Thanatos said. "Gaea has interceded with Clotho for that. This is her manner of apology."

  "The baby will be cured?"

  "No. That case is lost. Gawain will have the opportunity to remarry, more successfully."

  Norton felt another chill. "Remarry? He's going to divorce Orlene?"

  "No."

  "She'll bear another baby for him? But why, then, should he remarry?"

  "Orlene will have no other baby. This is the major portion of this first baby's accumulation of evil—responsibility for his mother's untimely demise."

  "His mother's demise!" Norton repeated, shocked.

  "I regret to inform you of this. But it will be easier for you if you understand. You bear no share of the guilt for this disaster. The blame is the baby's."

  "But the baby has done nothing!"

  "The baby is about to die. That destroys the mother."

  "But the baby didn't choose to die!"

  "In this case, I regret, the sin of the father is visited on the son. Had Gaea not interfered, the baby would have been healthy. You are of excellent genetic stock."

  "Oh, certainly," Norton agreed. "My family has always been healthy. But still—this transferal of guilt—I was the one who sired the baby! I had a dream—had I not—"

  "I do not profess to agree with every aspect of the system," Thanatos said gently. "I only assure you that it is so. You are blameless, in the case of the son and the case of the mother. You must understand that, while the fate of the baby is in doubt, that of the mother is not; she will proceed directly to Heaven. She is a good woman, as pure in her distress as she was in her happiness, and insufficient evil attaches to her for the manner of her demise to deny her her destiny. I will not be present for her; you will be. I hope your knowledge of the full situation will abate your discomfort. You are a good man and can have a good life, if you can pass this crisis without being corrupted."

  "The concern of Death for my welfare is touching," Norton said bitterly. "You tell me my—Gawain's baby must die, and the woman I love must die, but I should ignore all that and enjoy myself? Why do you bother?"

  "Because I dislike unnecessary pain," Thanatos replied seriously. "Death is a necessary thing and it comes to all living creatures in its proper time; it is right that this be so, for a proper death is the greatest gift to follow a proper life, but the manner of its occurrence differs. I prefer that the transition be accomplished with as little unpleasantness as possible and that no extraordinary measures be taken either to extend the agony of demise or to shorten the natural term decreed by Atropos."

  "Atropos?"

  "An aspect of Fate, who is another Incarnation. Atropos cuts the threads of life. When a person dies, the primary burden always falls on the living; therefore much of my own concern is with the living, as it is with you. I feel compassion for mortals, for their lot is often difficult."

  "Compassion!" Norton exclaimed.

  "I realize this is difficult for you to understand or accept, but it is so."

  Norton stared into the hooded skull-face and discovered that he believed. This Death-specter, Thanatos, really did care. Thanatos was trying to help Norton bear what it seemed had to be borne. "That's all? You use your valuable time just to ease my concern?"

  "No time is passing," Thanatos said. He lifted his arm, showing the solid black watch. "I used the Deathwatch to suspend time so that I could converse with you at ease."

  "Thank you," Norton said, finding it simplest to accept this additional incredibility. He remembered how Orlene had frozen in place and he saw now that nothing in the forest moved, except themselves and the horse. Even the clouds were frozen in the sky, and the shadows had not budged. Truly, a supernatural power was in operation! "Must be nice, having a device like that. To control time itself, at need."

  "You have a similar artifact," Thanatos said. "That may be the other reason I paused for you."

  "Other reason? What is the first reason?"

  "The fact that you were able to perceive me. Few people not directly involved with death can sense my presence."

  "I love Orlene!" Norton said. "Anything that affects her welfare affects mine!"

  "Demonstrably true. And so you saw me—and I saw your ring."

  Norton glanced at his left hand. "Oh, Sning. Orlene gave him to me."

  "Excellent magic can be incorporated in small things," Thanatos said. "Sning, as you call him, is
of demonic origin, and almost as old as Eternity."

  "But he's not evil! How can he be a demon?"

  "Demons, like people, differ. He is good—as long as he remains bound to the service of Good. You are fortunate to command his loyalty."

  This turn of conversation was so surprising that it distracted Norton from the horror of the main topic. "Sning," he asked the ring, "is Thanatos genuine?"

  Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

  "How can you verify this? Do you need to touch him?"

  Squeeze.

  "You object?" he asked the specter.

  Thanatos shook his skull, no.

  "Do it, then, Sning."

  Sning slithered off Norton's finger, into his palm, and toward the hooded figure. Thanatos pulled at the bone fingers of his left hand, and they slid off—in the form of a glove. Beneath it was a human hand, fully fleshed, complete with a smidgeon of dirt under the nails. He extended his hand, and Sning touched it with his tongue. Then the little snake curled back around Norton's finger, while Thanatos donned his glove and the hand became bone again. When in place, the glove did not show at all; the hand seemed to be genuinely fleshless, and Norton was sure it would feel that way.

  "He's genuine?" Norton asked Sning again.

  Squeeze.

  "And all that he tells me is true?"

  Squeeze.

  "You are a good demon?"

  Squeeze.

  It was enough. "You have amazed me," Norton said to Thanatos. "I did not believe in you, but now I do. I appreciate your courtesy—but I'm going to try to save Orlene."

  "Naturally. It is your way. The world is better for your concern." Thanatos stood and gravely extended his hand.

  Bemused, Norton stood also, accepting the hand. It did indeed feel like bare bones.

  "Mortis!" Thanatos called. The magnificent stallion trotted back, and they mounted. Then the animal ran a short distance and plunged down through the ground and the occupied levels of the city. This time Norton could see that all the people there were as still as statues. One, in a rec-room, was caught in mid-leap, hovering half a foot above the floor. Time was indeed frozen.