Bearing an Hourglass

by Piers Anthony

  A wet squeeze.

  "Close?"

  Squeeze.

  "She screamed?"

  Squeeze.

  "And threw bubbles at you?"

  Squeeze.

  "Anything else to report?"

  At this point Orlene appeared, half-clothed in bubbles. "Don't you dare!" she snapped at the ring.

  Norton laughed, his revenge complete—until she pounced on him, glistening wet and slippery, and doused his hair with bubbles. "So you found out how to use the ring!" she exclaimed severely. "I gave you too much time to yourself!" She jammed bubbles in his eyes, but they were the nonsting kind. "Send him after me again, and I'll drown you both in bubbles!" She stalked off, leaving a trail of dying bubbles.

  "I only wish it could have been that female doctor," Norton muttered rebelliously.

  One other thing he learned about Sning: he was poisonous. His fangs were tiny, of course, but his venom was potent. A single bite could not kill a creature the size of a man, but could make him very sick for several hours, so that he might think he was dying. Sning would bite on order, but then would require a day to restock his poison.

  "That's all right," Norton said. "I have no enemies; you don't need to bite anyone for me." But it was perhaps just as well that he had not known about Sning's poison when encountering the doctor.

  Later, after Orlene had calmed down—her annoyance had been mostly because he had unraveled the secrets of the ring so quickly—he asked her where she had gotten it. It turned out to have been in the family for generations, passed from parent to child or from spouse to spouse.

  "But then it should go to your child!" he said. "I'm not technically your spouse."

  "It's not a technical thing," she said. "I—care for you, Norton. I want you to have it."

  "Then I'm glad to have it." He kissed her.

  The following month she was verified pregnant. Then she changed; her interest in entertainments diminished, and she oriented increasingly on the family-to-be. "But don't go away, Norton," she cautioned him. "I need you more than ever now."

  Norton wasn't sure of that, but certainly he needed her. He hoped that after the baby was born and the estate heir established, he and Orlene could travel again. But if not, then not. He was bound to her regardless. The baby would never legally be his, but the blood was his. However unconnected officially, he still cared. He had never figured himself to be a family man before, but it seemed he was. Orlene made it clear that she continued to need his presence and support, and he was glad to comply. He was a kept man—but, like many a kept woman, he had no interest in breaking free.

  Time passed, and Orlene's girth grew. Norton started handling some of the household chores, simple as they were. It was surprising how readily he had been domesticated—but it seemed the glow had spoken truly. He was good at this. And she did need him—not for the routine, but for his continuing emotional and physical support.

  The ghost stayed away, to Norton's relief. His other association with magic, Sning, was entertaining for a time, but he really had no reason to spy on anyone and had no questions in pressing need of answers, so he didn't use the snake ring for much except decoration. As Orlene's condition advanced, his romantic activity with her diminished and finally ceased; she wanted nothing to interfere in any way with the developing baby. He would have liked to resume his hikes in the park, but she could no longer come along, and he didn't care to leave her alone for any extended period.

  As a result, he took to viewing historical holographs. He had grown tired of contemporary entertainment programs, but the historicals enabled him to indulge his urge to explore in time as well as space. His wanderlust was balked by his commitment to Orlene, but this was a fair sublimation. He also took holo courses in a number of subjects, improving his array of background skills. He learned the geography of the world in greater detail, and of Mars, Venus, and Mercury; he studied that of the Milky Way Galaxy itself, though, of course, most of it was well out of reach. Oh, to explore those farthest stars...!

  In due time the baby arrived. Orlene was radiant. She had done her job; she had produced the heir. He was a robust boy who seemed to resemble Gawain more than Norton and was named Gawain II. Norton was glad for her, but felt somewhat out of sorts. His own service had now been performed, but he couldn't bring himself to leave, and Orlene didn't want him to. "We'll start doing things again," she promised him. "As soon as Gaw-Two is ready for baby-sitting."

  But she didn't use any baby-sitters, human, robot, or golem. She was too attentive a mother for that. That was, of course, one reason she had been selected for the ghost marriage. She paid attention to Norton in a dutiful manner, and very sweet attention it was, but she paid more attention to the baby. She insisted on personally breastfeeding Gaw, because that was nature's way, and on washing his soiled diapers by hand, because she didn't want to risk the chemicals of mechanized washing. She wouldn't put him in the sonic shower, concerned that the sonics could injure his undeveloped nervous system. She supervised every aspect of his little life with loving concern, because that was what she deemed a good mother was for.

  Norton could hardly quarrel with this; he believed in nature. Yet aspects of it bothered him. For he was largely excluded from the process; officially he had nothing to do with the baby. The comprehensive equipment of the estate went mostly unused, and he was part of the equipment. Orlene also took Gaw to visit his legal grandparents, who, she reported, exclaimed in pleased wonder at his resemblance to his ghost-father. Norton, of course, was not invited on that trip.

  He sank into a pointless depression. He was glad for Orlene's success and he had known the nature of his position from the outset. But still he found it difficult to accept. He had somehow supposed that the arrival of the baby would free Orlene to be with him, Norton, as she had been before the conception; now it was apparent that the baby had pre-empted whatever attention she might have been ready to bestow on him. He wished that somehow all this could have been his to share, estate, baby, and Orlene. He had become accustomed to the luxurious lifestyle of Gawain's means and to the constant attentions of a lovely young woman. In fact, he realized, he had been spoiled. He wanted, as Orlene had said at the outset, too much.

  In the midst of one such reverie, the ghost reappeared.

  Norton was almost glad to see him. "Well, sport, you've had a year," Gawain said. "How's it going?"

  "Successfully," Norton said. "You now have your heir."

  "Ah, yes!" Gawain was so delighted he sailed into the air. "I can finally go to Heaven!"

  Gawain was going to Heaven? Norton shrugged. "Only you can decide that. Take a look at your son. He's sleeping in the crib in the bedroom."

  "But I can't go near Orlene."

  "She's in the kitchen now, I believe, taste testing new baby food. She wants Gaw's first solid food to be just right."

  The ghost popped out. In a few minutes he popped back, looking worried. "He resembles me too much."

  "You object to that?"

  Gawain paced the floor. "Something I should tell you, Norton. On my travels this past year I met some interesting people."

  "Why not? I certainly have no objection, and if I did, it wouldn't matter. I like to travel myself."

  "I met some of the Incarnations."

  "The whats?"

  "The Incarnations. Two of them, anyway. War and Nature."

  "I'm not sure I follow you, Gawain."

  "They are personifications of fundamental concepts or forces. There are a lot of them, but only a few major ones. They sort of supervise their functions—Well, my point is, I talked with Nature, the Green Mother Gaea, and she promised to put my essence in my heir."

  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 Natu
re, 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 s
o-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."