On A Pale Horse (39 page)

The man's face melted. From the dripping flesh emerged the glowing countenance of the Prince of Evil. “I am the Devil, Death!”

Zane was for a moment taken aback. “How can you be out of Hell?”

“I can be anywhere I wish!” Satan exclaimed, a ripple of flame playing across his features. “Evil is inherent in all activities of man. Now bow down before Me and leave off your inane posturings, for your case is lost.”

Uncertainty tore at Zane. He had made short work of Satan's Earthly and beastly minions—but Satan himself was another matter. He looked around—and saw Luna still tied to the chair, the three thugs by her, one holding the electrodes used to torture her. Renewed fury suffused him.

“Then I shall deal with you,” Zane said, facing Satan.

The Prince of Evil smiled sardonically. “With Me? How do you propose to do that? Your magic is gone, and you are but a man.”

“My magic gone? So you claimed before, but it was and is a lie. I received no confirmation from Purgatory. My magic horse remained, and my magic gems, and my invincible cloak. I was never without magic! Lies are all you have. Father of Lies. You suggest you can arbitrarily deprive me of my powers.” Zane stepped toward the Devil. “Satan, it is not your prerogative! Death is inviolate, as it must be, not to be tampered with by the likes of you. Where Death has dominion, the Lord of Flies has none.” Zane took another step. “Now get behind me, Satan, and disperse the ilk you brought here. Stay me no longer from my mission, lest I orient my power on you.”

Satan harrumphed, and his horns glowed. “A month ago you were the least of pip-squeaks scrambling to pay your back rent. The assumption of a cloak and scythe does not convert a nothing-creature to a something-creature. You have delusions of grandeur that will quickly be dispelled. You bluff, mortal man.”

For answer, Zane swept the deadly scythe at Satan's ankles and tail.

The Prince of Evil jumped back, avoiding the cut. He flicked his fingers, and a sparkling globe of energy floated at Zane's face. “Fool! Then feel the wrath of Satan!”

Zane stood still, not even attempting to evade the globe. It settled about his head, blazing high, coloring his vision as if he looked out from an inferno, but there was no heat. In a moment it dissipated harmlessly. The Deathhood had protected him. “The bluff is yours. Father of Lies.”

Satan sneered. “You talk big, mortal man, holding the magic scythe and wrapped in the magic cloak, backed by the magic steed. These are mere tools of the office. Without them you are nothing.”

“You lie again,” Zane said. “You have no power over me, regardless.” He set down the scythe and lifted the cloak from his shoulders.

“No!” Luna cried from the chair. “Don't let Satan trick you into powerlessness, Zane!”

Now it was her faith that was weak, instead of his. Zane smiled and threw the cape aside. Then he removed his shoes and stripped off his gloves and gems.

“You are indeed a fool,” Satan gloated.

“Then all you have to do is stand still,” Zane said, “and we shall make the proof of my prerogatives.” Slowly he reached one bare hand toward the Devil.

Satan nudged back. “What idiocy is this? I can destroy you with a single flick of My finger!”

“Then you had better do it,” Zane said, “for I am about to hook your soul with my own finger.” He extended his hand farther.

Satan moved back some more, staying just clear. “Fool! I am trying to spare you the ignominy of being humiliated!”

“How very kind of you. Father of Lies.” Zane leaned forward, shooting his hand at Satan's midsection.

The Devil puffed into nothingness.

Zane turned to see the Prince of Evil re-form behind him. “So you got behind me, Satan,” he remarked. “I have moved you. Do you think that improves your position? Strike, Lucifer! Do not spare my feelings any further. Humiliate me. Destroy Death while he stands vulnerable. I turn my back on you again, to facilitate your chastisement.” And he turned away.

Satan sighed. “You have prevailed, Death. You called My bluff and forced Me to give way. You have at last realized your full power.”

“What else is news?” Zane picked up his cloak and got dressed again.

“If I may inquire,” Satan asked without sarcasm, “as one Incarnation to another—what gave you the clue?”

“The fifth pattern of matchsticks,” Zane said.

“Intuitive thinking,” Satan agreed, comprehending immediately. “That would do it.”

“I realized that if there were any way for you to meddle in the affairs of Death, or to stop Death from performing his duty, you would have done so long ago. No magic cloak would have stopped you, the Incarnation of Evil, the personification of black magic, whose powers of enchantment are not matched anywhere on Earth. It had to be inherent in the office, not in the paraphernalia. Death has to be inviolable, absolutely certain. Not even God, the Incarnation of Good, acted against Death when I declined to exercise my power in the world. Only Death can determine his business. Therefore you had to be powerless against me in this instance. I cannot defend this by logic; I simply know it is true. I have faith in my office.”

Satan nodded. “You do indeed. Against that faith, even I can not prevail. Yet had you chosen another issue, you would never have been able to oppose Me. Your power is less than Mine, as evil lives after death.”

“I recognize that,” Zane said. “But I met you on my own turf, which is not a matter of physical locale. Never again will you bluff me there.”

“You were a man performing an office,” Satan said. “Now you have become the office.”

“Yes.”

“And who informed you about the formations of matchsticks?”

“Nature,” Zane said, realizing only now the extent of her oblique advice to him.

“That green mother!” Satan snarled with disgust, and vanished.

Zane went to Luna. “Begone, vermin,” he told the thugs, who hastened to oblige.

“But how did you do it?” Luna asked as he untied her and put the Death cloak about her bare torso. “No one is stronger than Satan, except maybe God.”

Zane realized that she had not grasped all the implications of his confrontation with the Prince of Evil. She still thought of him as a man—and indeed, he was a man, with a man's love for his woman. “To be strong is not to be omnipotent,” he explained. “There are seven Incarnations, not five, when we include Good and Evil, rendering them G-od and D-evil. No one can say for sure whether one Incarnation is superior to another, but certainly each is supreme in his own bailiwick. So while Death can not balk Satan's administration of Hell, however corrupt it may be, Satan cannot balk Death's activity either. And no Incarnation can directly harm any other, unless that other accedes by design or ignorance or carelessness. Once I realized that and truly believed it and comprehended its implications, Satan had no further power over me.” He smiled. “Or you. I'll take you by Purgatory now, to verify that Satan has dropped his claim to your early demise. Then I'll resume my job.”

“You are brilliant!” she exclaimed. “Once you had that revelation, Satan himself was unable to oppose you. I see now the wisdom of my father's decision in giving me to you. I'm sorry I lacked the faith in you that you had in me.”

She did not realize how weak his faith had been, before his intuition! “I hoped Satan could not oppose me,” he admitted.

She stared at him. “You mean you didn't know?”

“How can one know an intuition? There is no direct connection between question and answer. I could not be sure of its validity until I tested it.”

“So you deliberately stripped yourself of all your magic and challenged Satan—not sure you were right?”

“That is so,” he confessed, embarrassed.

“Why, Zane, that's the most courageous act I ever saw!”

“It was my final desperation ploy, when I realized that Satan himself was participating. If there had been any other way—”

“I thought I could love you, before,” she said. “Now I am sure of it.”

“It was not, ultimately, for love I did this,” he said. “Love counseled me to let you die and go to Heaven so you would not suffer any more pain. But I had to keep you alive for your role in saving humanity from Satan twenty years hence.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Now I know I will never yield to Satan. I have come to understand him too well.” She paused, turning to Zane. “One other thing—”

He looked at her. The torture had not broken her spirit. Her flesh surely had not recovered, but she was radiantly beautiful in the Deathhood. “Yes?”

Luna flung her arms about him and kissed him with amazing passion. “Those, twenty years until my turn comes,” she said. “You and I—”

“Life and Death,” he agreed.

They mounted Mortis and leaped for Purgatory.

They arrived at the Mansion of Death, and Zane conducted Luna inside. She was mortal, but somehow he had known he could take her with him this time. He could take her anywhere—alive. She was now his acknowledged Death maid.

They settled in the living room, relaxing, and watched the television. “The hearing petitioned by Death has been canceled,” the news announcer said. “The issue has been resolved privately.” The announcer smirked. “It is rumored that the horns of the Prince of Evil are still steaming.”

“That's what I wanted to verify,” Zane said. “You definitely will not die before your time, Luna. Now I can return to my work.”

“You had better,” she murmured. “Thousands of people are suffering. They really need your service.”

“I will have Chronos move me back far enough so that that suffering is erased; there will be no gap for the mortals.”

“Now conjecture is rife about the future status of the new Death,” the announcer continued. “He has virtually turned his office upside down, making substantial waves through both Heaven and Hell. We sent queries to God and Satan, but neither deigned to comment.”

Zane shook his head in rueful admiration. “Purgatory has one sharp news staff,” he said. “Too sharp at times, I think.”

“This is interesting,” Luna said. “I did not realize you were such an important figure in Eternity.”

“I'm not. This news is personalized. I'm sure the other Incarnations get news relating to them. We can turn it off.” He got up and moved toward the set.

“However,” the announcer continued, “we were able to interview several witnesses destined to testify at Death's trial-period assessment.”

Zane's hand paused near the knob. “Witnesses?”

“Incarnations require special handling,” the announcer explained. “Their powers are such that ordinary definitions of good and evil do not necessarily apply. In this instance, the four other Incarnations have pronounced this Death viable. They testify that he has been put to the question, unofficially, and that his answer was sufficient. They are willing to work with him for whatever portion of Eternity relates.”

“Oh,” Zane said. “Naturally they're satisfied. They got me into this.”

“But neither they nor my father picked you for your regular job performance,” Luna said. “Perhaps they did not expect you to be a good Death in that respect.”

“I surely lived up to that nonexpectation,” he said ruefully.

“I wonder.”

“While nothing is certain until the assessment itself has been rendered,” the television announcer said, “we believe it is fair to say that the recommendation of one other key witness will have overwhelming force.”

“What is this?” Luna asked.

“Maybe one of my clients,” Zane replied uncertainly.

“And here he is,” the announcer said. “The key witness, the one who knows whether the burden on the soul of Death will shift toward Heaven or toward Hell as he enters his regular term in the office.”

“Who?” Zane demanded.

The camera swung around to center the picture on—Mortis. The Death steed.

“And what do you say, witness?” the announcer asked.

The horse neighed.

“This is ludicrous!” Luna exclaimed.

“I don't know,” Zane said. “Mortis is no ordinary horse.”

“And there you have it, folks. From the horse's mouth.” The announcer paused. “Oh, the translation? Of course. Mortis says his new master has demonstrated a quality unique among Incarnations, and this alone transforms his errors to assets. He will have a positive freighting on his soul, and will go on to become one of the truly distinguished holders of the office.” He paused, while Zane stood amazed. “Congratulations, Death. We of Purgatory are proud to have you with us.”

“Zane!” Luna exclaimed. “You won!”

“But all I did was try to help make it easier for people to die,” Zane said. “I broke several rules, and often I bungled it anyway.”

Then the television camera swung upward to show the welkin, the lovely dome of the Earthly sky. In a moment it turned from day to night, and the stars scintillated in their myriads, and the images of rafts of angels formed, each angel with a shining halo. All of them applauded politely: the salutation of Heaven. It seemed to Zane that one of them looked like his mother, and others resembled some of his clients.

The camera swung down to show the fires of the nether world, with its massed demons, all of them sticking out their forked tongues. But dimly visible behind them were the condemned souls of Hell, and here and there among these were covert thumbs-up gestures.

Zane smiled, experiencing a joy as deep as Eternity. “Thanks, folks,” he said, and clicked off the set. “I'll settle for the applause of one.” He turned to Luna.

“Always. Forever,” she agreed, kissing him.

“But I wonder what that unique quality of mine is supposed to be?” he said as an afterthought.

“It is why I love you,” she said.

* * *

Zane, back in the routine of his office, saw that the mother was suffering terribly from the first shock of her grief as she cradled her dying baby in her arms. He was still working on the enormous backlog of clients that had accumulated during his strike, but he could not let the bereaved mother suffer more than she had to.

Zane stood before her. “Woman, recognize me,” he said softly.

She looked up. Her mouth fell open in horror.

“Do not fear me,” Zane said. “Your baby has an incurable malady, and is in pain, and shall never be free of it while he lives. It is best that he be released from the burden of life.”