Bearing an Hourglass

by Piers Anthony

  Norton was confused and unhappy. "To poison a person knowingly—"

  "Have you any notion," Lachesis asked grimly, "how many people will knowingly be poisoned—and tortured, murdered, and literally damned to Hell—if the minions of Satan win political power on Earth?"

  "No," Norton said.

  "With political power, Satan can and will make the worship of God a crime punishable by torture until recantation. Thus all those who are not good enough or strong enough to resist such torture—and that is the majority—will become worshipers of Satan, and the balance of power will shift to Him. He will have His way with both Life and Afterlife, and there will be no reprieve from Evil. On that day, the death of one corrupt Senator will not even be noticed, for Good itself will be dead."

  "But—you are saying the end justifies the means!" Norton was still deeply troubled. "If we do evil in the name of good—"

  "Why don't you step into Hell and see what Satan's power is like?" Gaea asked him. Her eyes were like blue skies with roiling clouds in the background.

  "I can do that? Visit Hell?"

  "You are an Incarnation. You can do what you choose. Even Satan can not deny you that."

  Norton considered—and found that he did not need to visit Hell to know that Satan was evil. He did not like killing, but it was true that the ethics of his revising the past were problematical. Was he guilty of murder if he did not set about revising history to eliminate every death that had occurred during his projected term of office? If he decided to let history stand as it was, deaths included, was it right to allow Satan to make the decision about which person should be spared by a spot revision? Viewed that way, the sacrifice of the Senator seemed to be the lesser of evils. He did not like becoming the instrument of the Senator's demise, but he preferred that to the evil Satan would generate if the Senator lived. It seemed he had to choose among flawed means to achieve the smallest total evil for the society, cutting one thread for the benefit of the majority. He had to respect the judgment of the other Incarnations, who had been in office longer than he had and who had had more experience with the machinations of Satan. "No, I will help you to restore the original past. I will take you back to when the demon changed—" He broke off, remembering the three-person barrier. "Except you tell me I can't go back there, having been there once before as Chronos."

  "There is a way," Gaea said. "But it is not easy."

  "None of this is easy," Norton said.

  "None of it is," Gaea agreed. "You can not return directly to that time. But you can return to a spot on the timeline that is no closer than your elapsed personal time, and anchor yourself then, and—"

  "Wait! Wait! I'm hopelessly confused! No closer than what?"

  Luna came and took his hand. "You are new in office, however long we have known you in it. We keep forgetting, because you have been so knowledgeable in our past. I will explain, while they narrow down the precise coordinates of the demon's interference." She guided him to another huge vine, and they sat down on its resilient surface. She had a remarkably compelling presence and a quiet air of authority and she was, despite her age, a beautiful woman. Norton could understand how Death himself loved her.

  "Time is objective," Luna said, "and subjective. It passes in the world and it passes for you—and though your normal course is opposite to that of the world, time is equally real for both of you. When you live a day, the world lives a day, and this ratio holds regardless of direction. So, since it has been about six hours from when you loosed Satan's minion on Earth, in terms of your life, the same amount of time has passed on Earth since the change. You can no more return to a spot within that six hours than you can duplicate yourself; it is an aspect of the same limit."

  Norton shook his head. "It almost seems to make sense when you say it."

  She smiled. "Almost! It will make more sense to you as you mature in office."

  "Nonetheless, I can't accept all of it."

  "What can't you accept?"

  "First, I can duplicate myself; I have already done so more than once. So—"

  "Duplicate once, yes; it is the second duplication that is the barrier."

  "Yes. But since my original life counts as one, and my present backward life as another—"

  "Did we say that? That was a misunderstanding. Your prior, mortal life is excluded. Only your present Incarnation relates. You have no further connection with your mortal existence; that is one reason you are immune from any paradox involving it. So your normal backward course is one, and your jump to our past is another."

  "But I have doubled up, and interfered with my prior Chronos self—in fact, once I rescued my prior self from destruction."

  She pursed her lips. "That's interesting! But it does not violate the three-person rule. It does not matter whether your doubles are together or far apart; you can not conveniently go triple."

  He nodded. "Yes, I see how it applies now. But the other thing is this business of six hours. It has been a lot longer than that since—"

  "I calculated it," Lachesis called, overhearing him. "Your time in Satan's frame doesn't count for this, only your time in this one. You slept for three hours, talked with Satan for half an hour, and spoke with me for an hour and a half before we realized the problem and went to join the other Incarnations an hour ago. Six hours total."

  "I see," Norton said, surprised at the accuracy of her assessment. But, of course, she was Fate, the Mistress of the Threads of Life; this was her business.

  "At the moment," Luna said gently, "it is enough for you to know that these six hours are barred to you by direct effort, but that you can penetrate them by an extraordinary measure."

  "I land seven hours later and—what?"

  "And turn back the clock," she said. "You must reverse time and take the whole world with you. That will put you in the same category as you were—would be—will be, for you—when you live through that period as Chronos. You will pre-empt that period."

  "You mean, by that device I'll actually erase whatever I was doing in my normal course then?"

  "We believe so. There is a risk, if that normal course covers something important, but Lachesis sees no problem in her threads. Perhaps that period has never happened for you, because of your pre-emption, so nothing is lost."

  Norton's head was spinning again. "How do you know my so-called normal Chronos self will go?" he asked. "Maybe I'll actually be tripling myself. That's theoretically possible, isn't it?"

  "I suppose it is," she agreed with a certain reservation. "There may be an infinite progression, like a picture within a picture, or mirrors facing each other. But it is convenient for us to call it the three-person limit. Our understanding is more restricted than yours will be; perhaps we understand only part of your nature. At any rate, we are reasonably certain that if you reverse time for the world, for those six or seven hours, you will be able to reach the moment the demon acted, despite your prior trip there, and to nullify the demon just before it acts. Then you can relax, with the world returned to its original course, the damage undone—and protected by the same three-person limit that at the moment is causing us so much difficulty. Reversing Satan's ploy."

  "But what, when—?"

  "When you come to that period in your normal life? I believe you will simply jump over it, having already lived it preemptively. The three-person limit should not harm you, but merely cause you that inconvenience—if we judge it correctly."

  "It seems reasonable enough to me," he said. "Thank you. Senator—"

  "Luna."

  "Luna. Now I think I know what I'm doing."

  "Thank you," she said, touching the back of his hand with her cool, delicate fingers. "It is my career you are preserving."

  Norton looked across at the others. Lachesis was facing him. "We have now pinpointed it exactly," she said. "We can give you precise coordinates. Are you ready to save the world from Satan, Chronos?"

  Norton breathed deeply. "I hope so," he said.

  Chapt
er 11 - DRAWKCAB

  They took him to the spot where the deed had been done—not the contamination, but the decontamination of the capsule. The capsule was already in a bottle in the Senator's suburban residence, in storage for later use. It was an irony of the type Satan specialized in that this Senator had acted to block more effective regulation of the production and marketing of exactly such products as this, so that slipshod quality control was practiced in the interests of cost-economy, and many people were harmed by such contamination. But now it suited Satan's purpose to preserve the life of the Senator, so he had acted.

  The demon had simply come, denaturized the capsule, and expired. Norton would have to catch the demon just before it did the job and cause it to expire early. That was all. Gaea had provided him with a vial of holy water for the purpose. Norton had donned a conventional suit, concealing his white cloak, so that he would not seem remarkable among the mortals.

  The room was empty and dusty now; the Senator's house had been sold after he died, and this wing of it was in disuse. Of course, it might remain empty if Satan's ploy worked, for in eight years the Senator could have died of natural causes. Satan didn't care about the Senator; he just wanted to see that Luna was not the person who replaced him.

  Norton concentrated on the Hourglass, turning the sand blue, and zoomed through time to the designated moment. The other Incarnations could not come with him for this mission; they had to maintain their own positions in this historical period so that Satan would not suspect what effort was being made here.

  He arrived at the designated time and slowed to his normal pace. He raised the Hourglass, about to invoke the major magical attempt of his brief career, when he noticed something. He had overshot his target time by a few minutes and come within the six-hour limit. That was readily fixed; he would simply back up till he was clear, before engaging the rest of the world. He had not yet phased in to reality, so there would be no three-person complication. But there was another thing—something that jarred.

  He was in the same room he had started from, a generous eight years hence, but now it was filled with supplies: bottles of bourbon, smoked hams, cans of caviar, and other signals of rich living. The Senator evidently believed in taking care of Number One first. One high shelf was devoted to medicines—more than one man should need in a lifetime. Among these was the bottle; Lachesis had described it precisely, so Norton would know it without fail. All this he had anticipated. But there was another presence, and that was what had made him pause.

  Sitting across from the key bottle and watching it intently was a small demon. The creature was so small it could have been a figurine, with little snub-horns, red shoe-button eyes, and a leathery forked tail. But it was no figurine; it was a living—if that term applied—minion of Satan.

  Had the demon survived its mission? No, the other Incarnations should not have been wrong about a detail like that. This must be another demon, a contemporary one, assigned to guard the capsule until it was used. That could only mean that Satan was aware of this counterplot after all. The Satan of this time, eight years before Norton's present. Since Satan did not live backward, he could not know what his future self had done—but he surely had recognized his minion. So he must have assumed, correctly, that his future self was up to something nefarious and he was seeing that no one interfered with whatever that was. He would not know why the demon from the future had nullified the contamination, but he would know there was good, or rather evil, reason. Satan was evil, but not stupid.

  This posed a problem for Norton. The little demon could not perceive him at the moment, for Chronos was not obvious in his normal state. The demon was existing forward, while Chronos existed backward. Only when he phased in to the world—or made the world phase in to him—was he apparent to others. But when he did reverse the world, he would be apparent to this demon. That would tip off Satan, the Satan of this time, and there could be all manner of trouble. In fact, that might be this demon's purpose—to catch Chronos himself when he approached the capsule and balk his effort.

  Mischief indeed! He had to do something about that guardian demon, for the creature would surely interfere with him one way or another. If it summoned its master to this spot, Norton's little vial of holy water would be relegated to the status of mere annoyance. Holy water destroyed the things of Satan but could not touch Satan himself, just as Satan's minions could spread mischief in the world but not touch God Himself or directly harm other Incarnations. Maybe the demon would not be able to stop Norton, because, of course, the world would be proceeding backward. But he didn't care to take the risk. Why should Satan post a demon, if it couldn't do anything?

  But if Norton phased in and tackled the demon, extinguishing it with the holy water—wouldn't that action alert Satan? Again Norton wasn't quite sure, and hesitated to gamble. Too much was at stake.

  He pondered, then decided that the best thing to do was to avoid the demon. If the creature never knew Chronos was present, it would never give its master the alarm. Satan would assume that all was well (ill)—until it was too late (early). Norton would approach the capsule only at its moment of change, then use his holy water. A swift, surgical strike—and victory.

  He walked away from the chamber, passing through the wall. In his normal mode, the universe was hardly aware of him, and he could ignore it to the extent he found convenient. He was very much like a ghost. He emerged onto a busy street, one of those old-fashioned kinds with concrete sidewalks, asphalt road surface, and ornamental shrubs planted along the sides. Most suburban streets, even on this day eight years in the past, were traveling composition sheets that carried both people and vehicles to and from their residences, just as they did in the nether levels. Evidently the Senator was conservative and had prevented modernization of his region. It was a status symbol to live primitively when the common man lived modernistically; it was also a type of posturing—the humble servant of the people. This should be a good place for Norton to phase in to; he could lose himself in the throng, and the demon in the house would never know.

  Norton reddened the sand and moved fifteen minutes forward in the world's time. This put him safely beyond the six-hour limit. There was a large clock on the facade of a store, another archaic affectation; its hands jumped from 11:03 to 11:18 A.M.

  Now he turned the sand white, for his normal progress backward. And he concentrated—and caused the sand to reverse, flowing up to the top chamber, causing the outside world to match his time flow. He had once thought that the falling sand measured his own passing life, but now knew that was only approximate. The sand measured—everything.

  He willed the magic to include the entire world and felt the massive engagement of magic as the spell of the Hourglass took hold. This was potent sorcery and represented the limit of what the Hourglass could do. A significant portion of the magic power of the planet was being drawn on here, channeled to this purpose. He knew he would have to give the instrument a rest, once this mission was over, so it could cool and recharge.

  The white sand flowed up and the world phased in to Chronos' timeline. The facade clock started to tick backward; the breeze reversed—and so did the people. A car had been approaching Norton on the street; now that car was moving backward. Pedestrians walked backward. Some of them looked startled.

  Startled? Norton had not expected this! These people were aware! They realized that they had reversed, though they were powerless to prevent it. This was a new wrinkle. Would it make a difference?

  He glanced at the Senator's mansion. Was that a face looking out the window? Probably just a perplexed servant—but it could be the demon. Norton decided to get out of sight of the building. He strode down the street.

  Now a problem manifested. He was moving with the flow of pedestrian traffic—but the other people were walking backward. Norton was following a young man—but the man was facing him. To the man, Norton realized, it was as if he, Norton, were striding backward. Certainly Norton differed from others here. />
  How much easier this would have been on a normal moving belt! Then he could simply have stood in place, facing back, and not attracted attention.

  No help for it. The man before him was starting to gawk. Perhaps this one did not realize he was now living backward, so saw Norton, who traveled forward into the past, as a freak. Norton turned about and proceeded to walk backward.

  Unfortunately, this was not his natural mode. The others could walk backward at speed with confidence, because they were reversing a course already traveled; Norton was not. He was new to this scene. He tripped on a crevice and stumbled, wind milling his arms. This was no good either!

  He looked back at the Senator's mansion. Someone was emerging from it, he thought. The little demon?

  Norton ducked into an alley, just wanting to get out of sight. Now he didn't bother to walk backward; that was too much trouble and not much for either safety or concealment.

  He heard a groan. He went to the source—and found an old man lying in a pile of garbage, bleeding from the head. He had evidently been mugged and needed help. Norton started toward him—and suddenly another man charged backward toward them, holding a wallet.

  Norton paused, uncertain what was happening. The running man went right to the fallen one, bent to tuck the wallet into his back pocket, turned him over, and retreated a step while the victim hunched himself back to his feet. The other man brought out a blunt instrument, unclubbing the victim's head. Then he retreated, while the victim, his head unbruised, scalp untorn, proceeded blithely backward after him at a slower pace, just as if nothing had happened.

  Norton, furious, charged the mugger. He caught the man's blunt-instrument arm and swung him about. Startled, the mugger cried, "!yeH"

  "You mugged him!" Norton accused.

  The man stared at him. "!gniog er'uoy erehw hctaW" he exclaimed.

  Norton paused. Backward speech! Another complication ! No doubt the people of the world were able to understand one another, since they were all living backward, but he, Norton, was living forward. Their speech was gibberish to him. He should have anticipated this, but had had no prior experience, since he had to phase in on green to interact with normals. Physical involvement was different from aloof observation!