Bearing an Hourglass

by Piers Anthony

  "Sning?" Orlene asked.

  "That's what I call him. Contraction of Snake Ring. When you gave him to me, two years hence."

  She laughed. "He says it is so! But he seemed to doubt the first thing you said, about the warning. I think he was thinking of something else, not me."

  "Well, it doesn't matter now, since we destroyed the amulet."

  Her brow furrowed. "He's not so sure." She shrugged. Oh, those little familiar mannerisms! "Well, tell me why you came here, if you're going to meet me anyway in a couple of years. Certainly I wouldn't give you Sning if we weren't close friends." She narrowed her gaze with mock distrust. "Surely you're not going to warn me of your bad intentions!"

  Norton started to laugh—and it froze in his throat. What was the distinction between bad intentions and bad results? Now he could tell her the truth—but he found his tongue balking.

  If he told her, developed a relationship with her now, married her, and shared her life—ah, such joy in the mere contemplation!—so that the ghost marriage never took place—discounting any paradox, since he was immune—what kind of a life would it be? He was no longer an ordinary man; he was Chronos, living backward, able to relate to ordinary people only by reversing his own life course temporarily. As a normal man, he could have done it; in his present capacity, there was really nothing he could offer her. He had been thinking only of himself, not of her.

  "I thought I had something," he said. "I fear I do not."

  "Well, what were you going to tell me before you had second thoughts?"

  He breathed deeply. She had asked; he should tell. "I—in the near future—when I was still a normal man—I met you and loved you." There; it was out.

  "I had gathered as much," she replied. "The way you have been watching me, your possession of my ring, and the way you glow so brightly. It had to be love."

  Her candor set him back. "Don't love me!" he blurted. "I was the unwitting cause of your death!"

  "My death!"

  "It—it's a complicated story. I don't want that to happen—but the alternative I had in mind, of taking you away from that course now—that's no good either. I love you, but I can only hurt you."

  "Hurt me? No, you would not do that. The glow—"

  "Ask Sning!"

  She paused. "My ring says no, you would not hurt me. But your ring says yes, you would."

  "They are the same ring—but mine has more experience. Do not associate with me when you meet me in two years. Then perhaps you will have a better life."

  "But if you are the one I am fated to love—"

  "It's a cursed love!"

  She shook her head, perplexed. "You're not making much sense, you know."

  "Look at my choices. If I—if we have a relationship in two years, you will have a baby who dies and you will suicide. But if we have a relationship now, when I am Chronos—I live backward! I could associate with you only for perhaps half an hour at a time, beginning now, and each time I met you, you would be younger. Not only would you not remember me, you would soon be too young for—" He spread his hands helplessly.

  She nodded. "Now you are making sense, and your ring confirms it. I think I would like you, and probably love you, since you do glow; but to keep meeting you for the first time when I was a teenager, and always having it happen when I was younger—I am not at all sure I could handle that. Though I remember meeting a strange man in a white cloak when I was a child, in a park—"

  She shook her head. "It is strange enough talking with you now!"

  "Yes. If there were some way I could start with you now and continue forward—but the maximum that could last is about four years, because after that I became Chronos and turned backward, and I can't step physically beyond my living time frame. I could look at you thereafter, but never interact with you, and you would never see me. It's no good; you deserve so much more! I love you and I want what's best for you, and your best life is without me."

  Slowly she nodded. "Your ring agrees. I am sorry, but I can't argue with your case."

  He sighed. "I—I'm sorry I bothered you. I should have left you entirely alone. Let me go now, and never deal with me again." What a shambles reality had made of his aspiration!

  "Here is your ring," she said, returning one of the Snings.

  Norton took the little snake and let him curl around his finger. "Are you my Sning?" he inquired. Would it make any real difference if this were the other?

  Squeeze.

  Probably the two Snings would merge in Norton's present, anyway. "Farewell, Orlene."

  She smiled. "I don't usually do this sort of thing. But this once—" She came to him and kissed him.

  The sudden contact was ineffably sweet. Norton held himself frozen, knowing that if he let himself go to the slightest degree, he would enfold her in his arms and babble foolishness about somehow making it work, and thereby do her a colossal disservice. But for this timeless instant, his love was back with him, healing the abyss into which his heart had fallen. Orlene lived and, with luck, would pursue her normal, full life. It was better that she do it without him. Believing that, he could bear it.

  She broke away and smiled; he recovered his volition and retreated out the door. Before he could change his mind, he changed the sand and quickly phased away.

  "Well, I bungled that," he muttered aloud. "But I suppose I just had to learn the hard way."

  Squeeze, squeeze. "No?" But as he pondered the implications, he realized Sning was right. He had not handled it as well as he might have—but perhaps he had given Orlene the key that would save her life, and in the process he had immeasurably improved his own outlook.

  Squeeze. "Did you enjoy meeting your other self, Sning?"

  Squeeze. Norton smiled as he moved forward through time. "So maybe it was worthwhile after all. Now I am ready to accept the new reality and do my job as Chronos."

  Then he remembered the time-space address Satan had given him. He had not kept the parchment on which it was written, but retained the information. He had no intention of helping Satan; the dialogue with Orlene had firmed up the resolve. But his curiosity sharpened. Who was this person who commanded a favor from Satan Himself?

  Norton traced down the address. It was not in Kilvarough itself, but in a floating city above it, a traveling shopping center and fair. Flying carpets abounded in its vicinity, and the stores glittered with magic items. Below lay the somber metropolis of Kilvarough, evidently one of the stops on the route of the floating complex. Gypsy cities, they were called.

  The time was about twenty years before Norton's "present." He would be a teenager now—and he had no intention of looking himself up. It had been confusing enough with Orlene! He went to the Mess o' Pottage shop and watched it in his normal mode, the reverse of world time, so that no one was aware of him.

  A man was inspecting magic stones. He had evidently decided on a large Wealthstone, the kind with a floating six-rayed star. As Norton watched, the man checked a Lovestone and then a Deathstone, then retreated from the store.

  Norton jumped ahead to catch the man's recent future, after he bought the Wealthstone. By a series of jumps and pauses, Norton traced the man to his somewhat dingy apartment in Kilvarough. There the man discovered that his stone was not as good as represented; it produced only small change, not riches.

  Norton jumped ahead three more hours, checked the man's apartment—and saw his body lying on the floor, blood pooled from a gunshot wound in the head.

  So Satan was right. The man had made a bad choice and had therefore taken his own life. He had no future on Earth, literally. Satan planned to give him a better future—and what was wrong with that?

  Norton moved back in world time, avoiding the actual suicide; he certainly didn't need to torment himself with that gory killing! More deeply perplexed at Satan's motive, he phased himself back to an episode he had only glimpsed in passing. A pretty young woman had had trouble with her carpet near a billboard advertising the supposed delights of Hell—wh
at would Satan think of next?—and the proprietor of the Mess o' Pottage shop had rescued her. Now Norton was able to re-create the detail: the client had spotted the woman by using the Lovestone, but the proprietor had foisted off a worthless stone and taken the woman for himself. It had been a highly profitable bit of flimflam, for as Norton traced their subsequent lives, he verified that the woman had made a significant difference. She was beautiful, wealthy, loving, and loyal—in fact, she was far better than the conniving shopkeeper deserved. If Satan interfered, so that the client chose the Lovestone to buy, the man would gain the woman for himself and have a deservedly better life—the kind of life Norton himself would have liked to have with Orlene.

  Now Norton was in doubt. Should he, after all, do Satan this favor? He wanted to be fair, and it certainly seemed that Satan had a good cause this time. Maybe Norton could not grant himself a lifetime of romance, but he could do it for this other man and feel a vicarious satisfaction.

  "Should I?" he asked Sning.

  Squeeze, squeeze. "Why not? I don't like Satan, but I do want to be fair. Shouldn't I support him when he's right?"

  Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

  Of course the little serpent could not answer such a comment directly! Well, Norton would think about it. The lives of ordinary people were governed by the threads of Fate; maybe he should ask her why she had allowed so gross an inequity in this case.

  He set his Hourglass and traveled back home to his present time. He hoped Clotho would be awaiting him, but she wasn't. Apparently she had not properly coordinated things this time. Instead, Satan was there.

  "Well?" the Prince of Evil asked.

  "I checked your situation," Norton said. "I see nothing wrong with what you contemplate—but I haven't yet made up my mind."

  "My amulet," Satan said, peering at him. "Where is it?"

  "Oh—it bothered someone I visited, so she destroyed it with holy water. Sorry about that."

  Satan seemed to swell. His face reddened, and a wisp of smoke drifted from one nostril. "Destroyed one of My—!"

  Then Satan got control of himself and settled down. "It is of no consequence; it was only a trinket. So you are still considering My errand?"

  "Yes."

  "Remember, I am prepared to pay well for such minor favors. Here, I will provide another sample."

  "Oh, you don't need to—"

  But Satan gestured, and suddenly Norton was sailing through space, as he had done before, on his way to a contraterrene frame, where time flowed backward. He hadn't protested quickly enough, it seemed.

  Chapter 9 - ALICORN

  He arrived this time at a different location, in a Magic Lantern Cloud, coming to rest on the surface of a lovely Earthlike planet. Here space was not densely crowded with stars, so it was evident that distinct days and nights were feasible. Stately oak trees shaded the greensward, and daffodils grew in pleasant clusters.

  Immediately before him stood a marvelously lovely young woman. Her hair was long but curly, like a mass of golden shavings, and she wore a long and modest dress that could not conceal her aesthetic contours. Her eyes were gray-blue, her lips red, and her hands and feet were quite dainty. She was staring at Norton with an attitude of faint surprise and dismay.

  "Hello," he said experimentally.

  "But I meant to conjure a steed!" she exclaimed indignantly. She held up her right hand, one of whose delicate fingers bore a large and obviously magic ring.

  "It seems your conjuration glitched," Norton said apologetically. "I'm just a man."

  "A demon, belike!" she snorted. She stamped her petite foot angrily. "The magic works but once a day; now it is wasted, and I am stranded afoot. What use have I for a mere man?"

  Why was it that the prettiest young women were the least interested in men? "Uh, maybe I can help you find another steed."

  She studied him appraisingly, as if he might after all be of some use. "Be that a magic ring you wear?"

  He glanced at Sning. "Yes, in a manner of speaking."

  "Then do you use it to conjure me a steed to replace the one you usurped," she commanded imperiously.

  "But it's not that kind of ring."

  Her eyes fairly flashed fire. "What manner of man are you, to tease a maiden so? You owe me a steed!"

  Norton wasn't sure about that, but she was so pretty and sure of herself that he really did not want to disappoint her. He would have to show her the nature of his ring. "Sning—"

  Sning uncoiled from his finger and slithered across his hand and dropped to the verdant ground. He expanded as he did so, becoming a regularly sized green snake, and then a python, and finally a monster a foot in diameter.

  "Sirrah!" the Damsel exclaimed, drawing a gleaming dagger. "Ye shall not consume me without a fight!"

  "Oh, Sning doesn't eat people," Norton said uncertainly. "He's friendly. I think he's offering himself as a steed." He was amazed at this development; he had never suspected that Sning could change size. Maybe it was a talent limited to visits to contraterrene worlds, where the rules might differ.

  "Fool would I be indeed to trust my tender flesh to the back of that fell reptile!" she cried.

  "I'm sure it's safe. Here, I'll show you." Norton approached the monstrous Sning and climbed clumsily onto an elevated loop. The snake's flesh was firm and dry and slightly resilient, quite comfortable, and not slippery. Norton had no trouble maintaining his perch. "See—Sning will carry you anywhere you need to go. Miss—"

  "Excelsia," she said. "And who be ye?"

  "Norton." Fresh from his dialogue with Orlene, he did not care to go into the Chronos business yet. He wondered, irrelevantly, what her rule was for the use of "you" and "ye," as it did not seem consistent.

  "I'll not ride that creature alone, sirrah!"

  Norton shrugged. "I'll ride with you, of course." He had not intended to separate from Sning anyway. "You can take another coil."

  Warily she approached a loop behind his own. She mounted, sitting demurely sidesaddle. "But where are the reins?"

  "I think he's under voice control. Where are you going?"

  She cocked her head prettily. "Why, I had not decided."

  "You wanted to conjure a steed without having a destination?"

  Cute annoyance fleeted across her face. "Well, usually I fetch in a handsome unicorn, and we decide together."

  A unicorn. It figured. Back on Earth such creatures were hideously expensive, and the prospective owner had to show a pedigree as detailed as that of the animal before being permitted the purchase. Unicorns, like dragons, had gone underground during the so-called enlightened period, having their horns amputated, which, of course, robbed them of most of their magical powers. But they still bred true, and now there were some fine breeds openly displayed. It had been a similar story with winged horses. In time there would be greater numbers of them; but at present, rarity put a premium on all such magical steeds. Here, it seemed, such animals were more common.

  "Why not go to the unicorn corral, or whatever, and fetch one now?"

  Excelsia issued a tinkling peal of laughter. "Sirrah, no one fetches a unicorn other than by compulsion of magic charm, and then it can only be accomplished by a lovely virgin like me."

  Oh. Just so. "Well, maybe some other type of steed. One you can keep from day to day so you don't have to conjure a new one each time you want to ride."

  Again she cocked her head, considering. She did not seem to be unusually intelligent, but her beauty made up for that. "There be only one magical steed a person can keep, and that one be already under the spell of the Evil Sorceress."

  "What steed is that?"

  Her face became rapturous. "The Alicorn."

  "The what?"

  "He be a winged unicorn, the finest equine flesh extant, the adoration of every fair and innocent maiden. For that steed I would give anything."

  "Anything?"

  She glanced sharply at him, making a moue. "What was that thought, sirrah?"

  Norton
reddened. "It's just that—as I understand it—if you gave that gift that only you can give, you wouldn't be able to keep the Alicorn."

  "True," she agreed shortly. "But it makes no nevermind; for no one can capture the Alicorn anyway."

  "Well, let's expore this. Exactly what are the barriers to acquisition?"

  She frowned. "What was that word?"

  "Acquisition. That is, capturing the Alicorn."

  "Oh. First there be the Evil Sorceress, who must be slain ere the preserve be approached. Then—"

  He didn't like this. "Slain? Isn't there a gentler way?"

  "Who intrudes on her territory but slays her not, she turns to slime."

  Point made! "One can't reason with her?"

  "Reason with that bi—" She paused. "I fear I know not the applicable term."

  "Of course you don't," he agreed gently.

  "Have you ever tried to reason with a woman?" she demanded challengingly.

  "I'm sure I wouldn't get far," he conceded, and that mollified her. "Assuming we get by the Evil Sorceress, what other barriers are there?"

  "The Evil Estate be fraught with hostile creatures and unkind spells. It be virtual death merely to set foot within it."

  She was serious, and that made him nervous, but he felt obliged to learn whatever he could about this. "We might not set foot," he said. "We could ride Sning in, so only his coils would touch the ground."

  "There be that," she agreed, pleased. "Let's assume we get safely into the Evil Estate. Then what?"

  "The Guardian Dragon," she said.

  "Dragon?" Gawain the Ghost had trained him in dragon slaying, but from that training Norton had gleaned a profound respect for the battle prowess of the species. It was best to avoid a dragon!

  "Huge, enormous, and tremendous," she said, her attractive eyes narrowing with anticipated horror. "A big monster, very large, and of formidable size. He slays all who dast approach. He patrols the region around the Alicorn's pen, and none may pass unchallenged." She glanced obliquely at him. "Unless you, kind sir, perchance—?"

  "As it happens," Norton said unwillingly, "I've had some training in dragon fighting. But of course I've never actually—"