Incarnations of Immortality

by Anthony, Piers

  Niobe was trying not to listen, but not succeeding. The voice of Evil was insidiously compelling. "I'm making this thread for life!"

  "Exactly, darling. Animated free will—otherwise known as life. By the time each modicum of this soul substance runs its course, the nature of its individual balance between good and evil is known, and final order can be achieved. Eventually the last of the Void will have been processed, and the entropy of the universe will have been reduced to zero. All good will be in Heaven, and all evil in Hell. The job will done, and the system will be shut down."

  Niobe was appalled. "All—life—just a—a laboratory to classify the substance of the Void?"

  "Indeed. Beautiful, isn't it? Just like you, cutie. On that day of final reckoning we shall at last know which is dominant: God or Satan. The score will tell."

  "Then what am I doing here?" she demanded, feeling dizzy.

  "You are initiating the sequence, honey," Satan said. "You are taking another spoonful of chaos out of the Void. It is a good and necessary task. But evil is in your thread of life; were it not so, we would not need life at all."

  "Well, the Incarnations aren't evil!" she said stoutly. "You said yourself that this task I'm doing is good."

  "The task is good, to be sure, doll. But the Incarnations are human—which is to say, imperfect. They have human ambitions, weaknesses, and lusts."

  "Lusts!" she exclaimed indignantly. "What are you talking about?"

  "I'm so glad you asked, precious." They were passing through the pinwheel now, the Incarnation of Evil still drifting before her like a specter, unavoidable. He was becoming clearer, and more eerily familiar. "Indeed the Incarnations do have lusts! They indulge them on occasion with mortals, but this is problematical. You see, ravishing one, the Incarnations do not age, physically—but mortals do. It is difficult for an Incarnation to maintain a relationship with one who constantly ages, particularly a romantic connection. So it is better to do it with another of his kind."

  It had not occurred to Niobe that that sort of thing existed in Purgatory. Still, Lachesis had mentioned the possible use of the body; perhaps that was not merely an extreme occasion. She herself retained her grief for Cedric and her anger at Satan for his connivance in that. She knew from her personal experience already that much of what Satan told her was true: Incarnations did retain human passions.

  "Unfortunately, scrumptious," Satan continued relentlessly, "there are relatively few Incarnations, and most are male."

  "Chronos, Thanatos, and Mars," Niobe said shortly. "And you."

  "Those are the major ones. Some would consider God to be male too, though that really doesn't matter. God is indifferent to mortal passions other than power."

  "The major Incarnations? There are others?" She was still trying to ignore him, but he kept intriguing her curiosity.

  "Didn't you know, sweet-buns? There's Hypnos, who is in charge of sleep, and Eros, in charge of—"

  "Never mind. What's your point?"

  "My point, fair creature, is that there is a severe scarcity of Incarnate young flesh. Gaea can of course assume any form she wishes, and she can be a lusty wench indeed, but she lacks one quality that most males prize in a female."

  He paused, as if inviting her query—and Niobe was hooked. She had to ask. "What quality is that?"

  "Innocence," he replied succinctly.

  Niobe mulled that over. She could think of only one relatively innocent female in Purgatory: the newest one. Herself. "Surely you don't mean—"

  "Consider Chronos, beautiful," Satan said. "He lives backward. He remembers the future, and doesn't know the past. Association with a mortal woman is, if you will excuse the expression, hellish for him. They just don't understand."

  "But he can change time to coincide—"

  "For short periods, cutie. Not for long-term. Which means that if he wishes to have a liaison once a week without a hassle, he must find a woman who understands his situation and is willing to accommodate him. That means another Incarnation. Gaea, or—" Again he paused, artfully.

  "Are you implying that I—?" she demanded indignantly. Again she remembered how solicitous Chronos had been, and how understanding the other Incarnations had been during her first visit. And how closemouthed. That gave her an abiding disquiet.

  "Chronos surely remembers," Satan said. "What is to be, has been, for him."

  She was becoming outraged. "And you claim he—I— we—that I'm here because Chronos wants—"

  "And the other Incamative males," Satan agreed. "Fate is known as an accommodating woman. But of course those males prefer her youngest and firmest Aspect, as perhaps your better two-thirds have already explained to you."

  Niobe could not answer. She had been told. Now that notion was becoming much less theoretical.

  "You see, honeypot," Satan continued inexorably, "we Incarnations have to get along with each other. We are too small a group, and our duties overlap; if we do not cooperate, the world will revert to chaos and all will be lost. We are not antagonists; we are the several Aspects of the job. Fate cannot operate without Time—so it behooves her to keep him satisfied, and she has one exceedingly potent mechanism therefor."

  "I can't believe that!" she cried, beginning to believe. "You may verify it very simply, roundheels. Ask Chronos. He remembers."

  "No!" she said. "I love Cedric! I will never—" But she had already agreed when she assumed the office. What had she thoughtlessly gotten herself into?

  "Ah, yes, Cedric. Your sacrificial husband, the boy wonder. Allow me to clarify the story on that."

  "No!" she said, turning her face away. But she continued to listen.

  "The Incarnations—and not just Chronos—wanted a new face and body and innocence in Purgatory," he said. "I mean, even the sexiest and most accommodating young woman—and Daphne was certainly that!—palls after a few years or decades, especially when her body doesn't change at all. Especially when her mind gets too knowing. She's a good one to visit—don't I know!—but not to stay with. The novelty is gone, and novelty is chronically in short supply in Purgatory. So when Clotho found a compatible situation among the mortals, she took it. She was bored out of her gourd, as the saying will one day go, and—"

  "How can you know what a future saying will be?"

  "Chronos uses expressions he remembers from the future, and some of them are apt. At any rate, trixie, the Incarnations did an informal survey of mortal flesh, and you were the prettiest innocence they found, and your ability with loom and distaff made it even better. The perfect unliberated, docile sex object! So they arranged to bring you in. That meant eliminating your man."

  This was appalling. She had to deny it—yet could not. Satan might be the personification of evil, but he was making sense. Still, she tried to fight, weakly. "But it was me they—you tried to kill, not Cedric."

  "So they told you, cheesecake. But that was a ruse, to shift the blame to Me. After all, they could hardly have found a better surrogate for blame! So that you would agree to join. It does, in that limited sense, have to be voluntary; you have to think you want it. They have to remove the one you love, to leave you no further reason to remain mortal. They conveyed to your innocent bonnie boy that you were the target, thus very cleverly tricking him into doing exactly what they wanted—"

  "No!" Niobe cried like a drowning woman.

  "And it worked perfectly, as you know, trophy-piece. Now the most desirable and innocent morsel of a young woman on Earth is in Purgatory and available for duty. The Incarnations are already champing at the nether bit. I could hardly have done it better Myself—but of course such evil is Mine anyway, by definition. I suggest you relax and enjoy it, toots."

  "Relax, hell!" she screamed.

  Satan smiled. "Exactly."

  She peered at him more closely. His image had been slowly clarifying as they progressed, and now at the verge of the forest he was at last recognizable. He had assumed Cedric's form.

  "You utter cad!" she screamed,
trying to push him into a tree. "You have no right to—to—"

  He caught her hand. "Shall I kiss you, sweetlips?" he asked in Cedric's voice. "I, too, find you desirable, and I can make you forget—"

  She struck at him with the distaff she had been rewinding. He ducked, and the thread sprang out and settled about him in a tangle. "Get out! Get out!" she screamed.

  Satan resumed his normal form, and sighed. "Another time, perhaps, when you have been suitably broken in." He faded away, leaving her with the tangle.

  Niobe stood and cried in rage and grief for some time. Damn Satan! He had changed her promising new existence into a torment of savage emotion.

  But after a while she reasserted such cynicism as she could muster. She detached the tangled mass of threads, as they were from the borrowed section of the river, spun the ends together, and resumed her walk. She was not a plaything of Fate; she had free will, and she could leave this position if she wanted to. They had explained that each Incarnation, except perhaps Chronos, had a trial period in office, after which he or she was granted indefinite tenure if suitable. She would simply declare herself to be unsuitable and return to mortality. Certainly she would not serve in the—the capacity they wanted!

  She wended her way through the trees, her tears drying on her face. What a monstrous conspiracy she had fallen into! To think that Cedric had died in order to make her available for—

  She was still furious as the forest retreated and thinned, and the path straightened and became a road. She was back in structured reality, now—and not one bit pleased.

  What's the matter, Clotho?

  They were back! "You should know, you hypocrites!" she flared.

  She was met by a thought of amazement. Why do you say that?

  Niobe let loose a torrent of why.

  Wait! Wait! We can't assimilate all that! We can feel your anger, but you will have to vocalize to clarify the reason.

  "Cedric!" Niobe shouted. "You conspired to kill Cedric, so I would—would—" Her tears started up again, and her emotion was a confusion of love, sorrow, and fury reminiscent of the chaos of the Void she had just departed. Perhaps, she thought in an isolated flash of humor, she had brought the Void with her—in her head.

  Cedric? We explained about him!

  "Well, Satan explained it better! I'll not stay in this job! You had no right to—"

  Satan! Lachesis' thought came.

  That explains it! Atropos agreed.

  "Yes, Satan!" Niobe agreed. "He really understands evil! He was there in the Void, and he—"

  And he told you an intricate lie, Lachesis continued.

  And you believed him, Atropos concluded.

  "Yes, I believe him!" Niobe cried. "And I want to go back to mortality! At least there my body is my own!"

  You believed the Father of Lies, Atropos thought.

  It is your right to return, Lachesis agreed. But first we must hash this out. You must know the truth before you act, lest Satan lead you to tragedy.

  "Why should he do that?"

  He does not want you in the office. He knows that somehow you will cause him great trouble. That is why he tried to kill you before you could become Clot ho.

  Niobe suffered doubt. Satan had been persuasive—but he was the Incarnation of Evil, and certainly he would lie to suit his purposes. She should not believe him without establishing the case thoroughly. "How can I verify this?"

  Perhaps Chronos knows.

  "Chronos!" Niobe exclaimed indignantly. "All he wants is—"

  That is a half-truth.

  "You admit to half of it?" Niobe demanded.

  Lachesis made a mental sigh. Satan has poisoned your mind. You must cleanse it yourself. Go to Chronos, challenge him. We will be silent until you address us.

  That, of course, was the answer. Chronos was at the heart of this. She would give him ajagged fragment other mind!

  She returned to the Abode, deposited her new batch of yarn—she would reprocess that into much finer thread later, as she spun out the lives of new mortals—assuming she remained in office that long—and set off along the line that connected to Chronos' mansion. She was awkward in her use of the travel-thread; it would have been faster and smoother if one of the other Aspects had handled it, but she needed to master the techniques herself in order to—

  To what? Be a good Clotho? When she had no intention of retaining the position? Unlikely chance!

  She made it to the mansion. She had learned that time reversed when a person entered Chronos' residence, so that she would actually depart before she arrived. She found that aspect of it intriguing. It existed so that others could converse comfortably with Chronos; otherwise each would be talking backward at the other.

  She knocked on the door, and was admitted immediately. Chronos met her, wearing a pure white robe; he stepped right up, smiling, and took her in his arms and kissed her.

  Niobe was so surprised that she simply froze for a moment. Then she recovered, jerked back her head, brought up her arm, and slapped him smartly across the cheek. "What kind of nerve do you have, trying a thing like that?" she cried.

  He turned her loose, a look of astonishment on his face. "Why, Clotho—what happened?"

  "What happened?" she repeated furiously. "You just grabbed me and kissed me!"

  "But of course! As I have always done, here at home."

  "Always done!" she screamed. "Then it's true!"

  Now a look of realization spread across his countenance. "The time—are you just beginning your cycle?"

  "My what?"

  "Have you just begun your office? As Clotho?"

  "Of course I have, as you well know! And if you think I—"

  "But I don't know!" he protested. "That's in my future, and you have never said exactly when—"

  Because he lived backward. Now she understood. "You—you couldn't have conspired to—because it hasn't happened yet, for you!"

  "I would never conspire against you, Clotho," he said.

  "I love you."

  She felt as if a demonic hand had squeezed her heart. She reeled, and sank onto a couch. It was true—they were going to have an affair! This man she didn't know, and certainly didn't love!

  "Ah, Clotho," he said. "I didn't realize. You have not done this before. You don't—remember. Had I realized—I'm sorry. I should have known. Long ago you told me the date of your origin. I had forgotten. I apologize for—"

  "What do you remember?" Niobe asked dully.

  He took a seat opposite her. "When I assumed my office, thirty-five years hence in your view, I was bewildered by everything. I did not know what to do, or how to do it—even the Hourglass was a mystery to me. But you, in your three guises, came to me, and took me in hand, and set me straight. It was as if you had known me all along, though we had never before met. You did so much for me, and I was grateful, and then you—"

  He broke off, putting his face in his hands. "Oh, Clotho! It's over at last, and so abruptly! I owe you so much and I will miss you so much!"

  Suddenly he reminded her ofCedric, as he had been at the outset of their marriage. So forlorn and lost and unable to come to grips with what he knew had to be. She, in her naivete and insensitivity, had only exacerbated his problem. How much she regretted that now!

  And the magnitude of Satan's lie was manifest: Chronos had never, could never conspire. She had initiated their romance—thirty-five years hence. And now she was blaming him!

  If she had known, at the outset other marriage to Cedric, what was to be, she would have been far more understanding and careful. Now she faced a roughly similar situation. She did not love this man—but neither had she loved Cedric, at first. The lesson was there.

  Did she really want to return to mortality? Cedric still would not be there. If she had to live without him, wouldn't it be better to do it with the power of the Incarnation of Fate, rather than as a simple mortal? Chances were that this job would offer her many distractions. She could keep herself busy—and she
could leave whenever she chose to. She didn't have to make a decision yet. Yet—

  Satan had tried to talk her into leaving. He wouldn't have bothered if she were not destined to cause him some grief.

  Chronos remembered three and a half decades' association with her. That showed her decision and her future. What point to rail against it? Better to take herself in hand and do what had to be done. Cedric was dead; he would never live again. She had to face reality, and the sooner the better. This was her moment of commitment. She did not relish the prospect, but she had to put the past firmly behind her.

  She dried her face, arranged her hair, and stood. Chronos sat with his face covered. He was not pretending; he was a decent, vulnerable man, and he was mourning a relationship he knew was past. Indeed it was, for him. It was an emotion she understood.

  She crossed over to him and put one hand on his shoulder. "Chronos, I understand. But this—is the last time."

  He looked up. "The first—for you."

  "For me. I do not—love you, but—" She shrugged. "I misjudged you, Chronos, and I'm sorry. I—I give you this. There is only now, for us. Such as it is."

  "Such as it is," he agreed, lifting his hand to her. She took it. "When next we meet, it will be different. I will not remember—this. Or know of it."

  "I will not speak of it." He drew her down to him. She tried to conceal her aversion to being handled by any man not Cedric. She felt guilty and unclean—but, perversely, she was sure she was doing right. She was no longer married, no longer mortal, and she had a job to do here and a role to fill. It turned out that Chronos' long experience with her future self gave him a special touch, and it became easier to cooperate.