On a Pale Horse (33 page)

The creature stalked Luna, who took an involuntary step back. Dragons were so constituted that they had to hunt and kill their own prey, so this was more than mere ritual. Why that prey had to be virginal was a mystery the experts had never fathomed, but there was no question it was true. A Hot Smoke dragon would literally starve to death before it would consume either prekilled or non-virginal flesh. The most persuasive conjecture about the origin of this restricted diet was that there had been a bad epidemic of venereal disease a few million years back and that dragons who had consumed infected prey were damaged by the disease themselves, so it had become a matter of survival to eat only guaranteed clean meat. Thus virgins, very few of whom had contracted VD.

Now Zane saw that the dragoness was limping. One foot was weak, though he could not tell whether this was from physical or magical malaise. Sometimes cloddish people hurled curses at wild creatures, considering it great sport. It could take a curse months to wear off, and that could be an inconvenience at best and a fatality at worst. Other clods dumped the refuse of toxic spells in the wilderness, where innocent wildlife could stumble upon the dump and get hurt. No wonder this dragon had come to the feeding station; she could not forage effectively alone—not while burdened by the egg and handicapped by the foot.

Zane caught himself up short. What was he thinking of? It was Luna this beast intended to feed on! The more handicapped the dragoness was, the better! Maybe Luna could, after all, fend off the monster with the knife. If she did that, if she escaped this fate legitimately—

No. Fate could not so readily be cheated. Luna’s death would not be the fault of the dragoness. It would be the fault of—

The dragoness pounced. Luna danced away, slashing in the air with the knife. She might know death was inevitable, but she was not resigned to it. She would fight to live a few extra seconds, as a drowning person gasped for air. She was not a trained knife fighter, though her artistic hands might be more clever than most; in any
event, the dragonfire would negate her efforts. So this was a largely automatic and futile exercise.

The dragoness pumped up her bellows and oriented on the woman. The beast was hot now; she could send forth a searing blast. That would be the end. Of course Luna had no chance!

Zane could not help himself. He stepped in front of the monster. The flame shot out, but bounced off the Deathcloak without hurting him.

“No!” Luna cried. “Let me die this way, Zane! Don’t make me gamble on whatever else Satan has in store!”

To make her gamble on a different death—that concept shook him, though he had thought of it earlier himself. He had gambled compulsively, in past years, and dug himself into a pit from which only Death had finally extricated him. He had no wish to plunge back into that morass! Why, then, should he gamble with Luna’s manner of dying?

The Smokeress was eying him, trying to determine why he wasn’t roasted. He stared back, and she blanched in almost the manner of a human being, beginning to perceive the nature of his office.

“Don’t do it!” Luna cried.

Zane reluctantly moved aside. He knew he had no right to interfere. The dragoness shook her head, as if clearing it of the ashes of an unpleasant vision, and reoriented on Luna. Zane no longer seemed to exist for either of them; as Death, he tended to fade from the awareness of anyone who was not his client.

Yet the dragoness hesitated, for the specter of Death could not lightly be dismissed from the deepest imagination of any creature who spied it. Even the briefest vision of Death tended to make a person or creature conscious of its own mortality, and that was disquieting. Most creatures would go to some lengths to avoid or expunge such awareness, and in this they were generally more successful than was man. Man’s great curse was to perceive his death more clearly than did any other creatures; he could see the end coming, so suffered longer.

The dragoness, shaken, began to unfurl her wings, as if about to depart. “Don’t change your mind now!” Luna
cried. “If you don’t eat me, the life of the poor girl I replaced will be forfeit to the next dragon!”

Oops—that was correct! If Luna fought off the dragoness, she and the girl were free. But if she never actually encountered the monster—because some third party like himself interfered—her gesture would go for nothing. Luna might have argued the case, since the dragoness had fired a blast at her, but she had chosen instead to seek an honest death. Zane would have appreciated her determination more if he had not loved her.

No, that wasn’t right either! He loved her more because of it. Luna was showing her integrity and mettle in the most telling manner possible. He, Zane, had never done that.

Still the dragoness paused. Zane had not realized that the sight of the human personification of Death would have such impact on an animal. The dragoness really should not be afraid of him. Did she know something he didn’t?

Luna charged at the monster, brandishing her knife. Now the Smokeress reacted properly. She pumped up, swung her head about, and issued a jet of pure blue flame that extended a good three meters, with very little smoke. Maybe the dragoness had not been pausing from alarm, but to work up a higher heat.

Luna dodged the jet. It was so narrow, now that the hot-box had become fully operative, that it was easy to avoid. Especially by someone watching the monster’s head. Luna ran right up alongside the dragoness, stepped on the reptile’s smoking snout, and scrambled onto her winged back.

The startled dragoness whipped her head about. The serpentine neck was supple; she had no trouble biting at her own back.

Then Luna got her hands on the egg. She ripped it free and held it like a football, close to her body. “Now sear me with your fire!” she screamed.

Of course the dragoness did not dare do that; she would roast her own precious offspring. She froze for a moment, paralyzed by indecision; she was smart enough to see the problem but not smart enough to figure out a solution.
Luna had made an amazing move and gained the advantage.

Luna slid off the dragoness’ back, holding the egg tucked under one arm. Still the reptile could not attack; the egg was hostage.

The Dragoons saw what Luna had done. “Put down that egg!” the man in charge cried. “It’s invaluable! So few dragons reproduce—”

Luna backed away from the dragoness, holding the egg before her as a shield. The Smokeress switched her tail and snorted dense smoke, but did not attack.

“The reckless use of pesticides has damaged the wilderness environment,” the Dragoon called. “Dragons’ eggs have relatively fragile shells because of this, and many break before hatching time. Until the pesticide residue clears—and that may take decades—the species is flirting with extinction! Virgin, spare that egg!”

Luna looked down at the egg, considering. She nodded. She set the egg down on the sand and moved away from it.

How did this count? Zane wondered. Had Luna defeated the creature, discharging her obligation? If so—

Luna charged the dragoness again, brandishing the silver knife. The fierce head whipped about automatically, the jaws opening.

What madness was this? Luna didn’t have a chance! But it happened so fast that Zane couldn’t act in time to prevent it.

The dragoness wafted out a gust of smoke, not having time to pump up another good fire. The smoke engulfed Luna for a moment.

She screamed, and the sound tore at Zane’s being. In a moment the smoke cleared, blown away by an idle breeze, and Zane realized to his added horror how hot that smoke had been. Luna’s lovely hair and fine clothing were scorched, her skin blistered. She had been blinded and partially flayed by the heat.

The dragoness limped forward and took the reeling woman in her jaws. The teeth crunched down, and rich red blood welled into her mouth and dripped from her chin.

With wild surmise, Zane looked at his watch. The countdown stood at zero. His gems were pointing to Luna.

“You were my client all along!” he cried to the horribly mangled body. “Your good deeds—saving the designated virgin, sparing the valuable dragon’s egg, feeding the dragoness—they squared your balance! You are dying even!”

He ran up to take her soul, for she could not truly die until he claimed it. The flames of Hell could not be worse torture for her than this! But as he came to the terrible scene and saw her body bleeding in the dragoness’ jaws, her head rolled toward him. Her burned eyes opened partway, the tatters of eyelids rising. Somehow she felt his presence. “Take me, Death!” she rasped in agony.

Suddenly Zane rebelled. This was the woman he loved!

He looked into Luna’s suffering face. He had never imagined that he would ever choose to extend such agony by even one second, but now he had to. “No,” he said. He put the Deathwatch on hold.

Then the entire scene froze, for he had punched the button that stopped time itself, not just the countdown. Punched? Unconsciously he had done the opposite, pulling it out. The clouds stopped moving in the sky, the leaves on the stunted bushes stopped quivering in the wind, and the Dragoons were statues. The dragoness remained with her teeth clamped in Luna’s body. Even the smoke hung motionless.

Zane turned about. Sure enough, Chronos stood behind him. “I thought you would come to investigate,” Zane said. “I want you to move us back to just before Luna got—”

Chronos shook his head. “I can do that, Death, but it will not help you. Luna has been designated to die on this day; only the manner of it is optional.”

Zane was grim. “Her death is now in my province. I love her. I know her early demise is illicit, and I will not take her soul.”

A woman walked across the sand. It was Fate, in her middle guise. “You must take her soul, Death, or there will literally be Hell to pay.”

“To Hell with Hell!” Zane exploded. “I will not take her on this basis. You may have been directed to set this
up, Fate, but you can not move her soul. Only I can do that, and I will not. Undo your mischief, for I will not let her die.”

Another figure appeared. It was Mars, the Incarnation of War. “Fate set it up, but as you surmise, it was at the behest of the Powers that Be. She had and has no choice.”

“At the cheating behest of Satan!” Zane cried.

“That may be true,” Mars said. “But you can not war with him.”

“Satan
cheated
!”
Zane
repeated. “I have put in a petition for redress that shall surely be granted when the facts are known. Until that petition is heard, I shall not indulge in any tacit collusion with the Prince of Evil. Luna shall not die.”

One more figure arrived, also immune to the stasis of time. It was Nature, wearing her dress of mist. “Desist this foolishness, Thanatos,” she urged. “You have gotten away with breaking little rules, but this time you are in deeper than you know.”

Zane glared at them. “Are you all against me? Then all of you be damned! I know I am right, I know my power, and I shall not be moved.”

Nature smiled grimly. “We are at the crisis point. It is the occasion to speak plainly.”

“I have heard you speak plainly!” Zane retorted. “But you can not overrule me in my bailiwick. This woman shall not die!”

Fate smiled. “Relax, Death. We are on your side.”

Suddenly Zane had a mental vision of parallel lines, one of the five formations of thought Nature had described to him at their prior meeting:
. It was as if each Incarnation was one of the matchsticks, and all were going the same way. “You’re
all
in this! You all conspired to put me in this hole!”

“We all conspired,” Chronos agreed. “Satan has to be balked, and God won’t intervene. We Incarnations are all that remains to enforce the Covenant of nonintervention.”

Zane spun about, his angry gaze brushing past each of them. “The way I assumed the office of Death—my meeting with Luna, so carefully arranged by her father, who was in on this—my innocent, seemingly coincidental encounters
with each of you other Incarnations—Luna’s present agony—all arranged beforehand!”

“Known, not necessarily arranged,” Chronos said.

“But the details adapted where necessary,” Fate added.

“Because we had to have the office filled by a person of the appropriate nature,” Nature said.

“So that he could lead the battle against Satan,” Mars concluded.

“Damn you! Damn you all!” Zane cried. “I never asked for this onus! What right did any of you have to meddle in my life?”

“The right of necessity,” Nature said. “All mankind will be damned if we don’t meddle.”

“Exactly how can my pain and Luna’s death do anyone any good?” he demanded.

“Her
life
,” Fate corrected. “It is her life we need, not her death.”

“I showed you that,” Chronos said. “In twenty years, Luna will balk Satan’s political takeover of the United States of America, thus preventing him from instituting policies that will render the nation and the world decidedly unamicable and send much of the living species of man directly to Hell. But Luna can not balk him if she dies prematurely.”

Zane’s understanding was coalescing, but he was not pleased. “So you arranged to install a man in the office of Death who you knew would not take her,” he said bitterly. “Because he was fool enough to love what was thrust at him for that purpose. And Magician Kaftan did that to his own daughter—”