Piers Anthony - On a Pale Horse

Luna got out of the car. "Hello, Molly Malone," she called.

Zane froze. "Oh, no! You — Luna — "

"I can't say I like it," Molly said. "But I remind myself that I don't cause the death, I merely signal it. So really, it's providing fair warning — "

"But if you interact with Luna — "

Molly showed concern. "Oh, I thought she was one of your clients. You mean she's a friend?"

"A friend on a date with me."

"Oh, then it's already been fulfilled. The date with Death."

"Of course," Zane agreed, relieved. "I misread the signal."

"No, you didn't," Luna said.

Zane turned to her with appalled surmise.

"Don't look so horrified, Zane," Luna said. "I knew I was going to die. There are a dozen good Death stones in my house."

"You never told me, I — " Zane protested.

She shrugged. "I only learned of it since our last date. Suddenly the stones were signaling. I took a stiff dose of cheer." She indicated the gems in her headband. "Otherwise I would not be very good company at the moment."

"You are using enchantment — to make yourself good company for me?" Zane asked rhetorically. "I would never have asked you to — "

"Why do you think I wanted a date with Death? If I'm lucky, maybe you will collect my soul personally, so I won't sink to Hell alone." She turned back to the ghost. "It must be very dull for you, Molly, day after day with no customers. Why don't you take a ride with us?"

"That's very nice of you," the ghost said. "Where are you going?"

"We hadn't decided. We're having a date."

"He told me. Then you don't need me along. I have not entirely forgotten the ways of life."

"It's not that intimate. Yet. Where would you recommend we go?"

"If you really don't mind my company, I could guide you to the Carnival of Ghosts. Since you're both marked in one way or another by Death, you're eligible to attend."

"That sounds nice," Luna said. She nudged Zane.

"What do you think?"

Zane came out of his stasis. "You're going to die — within the month! Did your father know?"

"He surely did," Luna said. "Of course he thought I was destined for Heaven. But I have as much as two fortnights and might as well make the most of them. Let's go to the carnival."

"The carnival," Zane agreed numbly.

They loaded Molly's wheelbarrow into the limousine's capacious trunk, then got into the passenger compartment. There was room for three in the front seat, though Molly's presence moved Luna pleasantly snug against Zane's hip.

"Straight ahead two blocks," the ghost directed. "Then turn left and close your eyes. Mortis knows what to do."

It seemed the Death steed had a good reputation in the Afterlife. Zane followed directions, not really caring whether they crashed. Luna fated to die — when he was just getting to appreciate her! What sort of doom was stalking him, even after he had assumed the office of Death? He had been appalled at the way so many people died; now his feeling intensified. Luna was not merely another person. She was a personal acquaintance, and perhaps more. Surely more!

"Come on, enjoy the evening," Luna said. "Do not struggle with the inevitable, wasting what time we have remaining."

She had learned she was to die — so she had prettied herself up for him. In one sense, this was utter foolishness, for she surely had better things to do in her last hours. But in another way, it was very flattering, for she had chosen to do what she chose to do — with him. He felt a warm rush of feeling, composed partly of appreciation and partly of burgeoning grief. He could love her, he realized; she was the kind of woman he had longed for all his life, without ever realizing it. What had Angelica ever been, after all, but the dream of a moment? Luna was the reality. Beauty, intelligence, artistry, courage — but what use was any of it if she died?

She was right; they must not waste what time remained. If she wanted to be happy, to celebrate — to celebrate what — the least he could do was help her do it. "We shall make a night of it," he agreed, taking the left turn. Then they all closed their eyes.

There was no crash. "Here it is," Molly Malone announced.

Zane looked. They were approaching a complex of tents, with colorful banners flying. Loud, off-key music wafted out. People crowded around. It was a carnival, all right.

"These people look alive," Zane remarked.

"To the dead, the dead look alive," Molly said. "But the two of you are the only living creatures here. Don't let that spoil your pleasure."

"We won't," Luna said. "I have always liked ghosts." Molly approached the ticket seller. "These are my guests from the land of the living," she said. "Death did me a favor not long ago, and the woman will save the world from Satan in twenty years. Give them free passes."

"Those are good credentials," the ticket seller agreed, handing out the passes.

They passed through the old-fashioned stile and entered a broad concourse. Circus-type sideshows and knickknack concession stands lined either side. "Come on," Molly said enthusiastically. "The best thing to start with is the historical tour."

Luna took Zane's hand possessively as they both suffered themselves to be led to the embarcation station for the historical tour. Soon the three of them were ensconced in an open car on narrow tracks. It began to move under its own guidance, carrying them through a scintillating curtain.

Suddenly they were in a gloomy cave. "Lascoux," Molly announced. She obviously had been here many times before. "The famous cave paintings." As she spoke, the cave illuminated, as if from a flickering torch, and the walls glowed with assorted wild animals that seemed almost alive despite being crudely drawn. "It's the glimmering light," Molly explained. "It changes what we see, so it is as if the paintings live. That is the genius of these artists."

"Is the genius?" Zane asked. "Isn't this a replica?"

"Oh, no!" Molly protested. "This is the real cave, circa 14000 B.C. We are the ghosts."

"Literal time travel being problematical," Luna said, nudging him. Zane put his arm about her shoulders. She might be using spellstones to lighten her mood, but she was still herself. "Ghosts can go where they want, without paradox."

"See, there is the artist painting the first unicorn," Molly said brightly.

Zane looked. He saw a seemingly vast panoply of crudely sketched animals all along the wall. Most of them were equine or bovine, some overlapping other figures. Yet in the flame of the sandstone lamp, whose crude wick sent out almost as much smoke as light, these figures seemed to be a three-dimensional herd, the overlapping sketches showing not carelessness but the dimension of time. This stag would soon give place to that horse; the double picture showed that clearly enough. This was the great Hall of Bulls; Zane remembered it now from former studies.

The unicorn representation was not apt. It had an enormously sagging belly that almost touched the ground, a severely truncated tail, several huge, hollow spots, and two long, straight horns. "That's no unicorn," he protested. "It's a bicorn."

"We think they evolved into the single horn," Molly explained. "The unicorn must have had both horses and horned creatures as ancestors, and the first crossbreeds would have seemed crude by modem standards. After all, the human figures depicted in these caves are far more primitive than those of the animals; our species has evolved much more rapidly in the last fifteen thousand years or so."

"I suppose so," Zane agreed, surprised at the ghost's knowledge. But of course Molly must have taken this tour many times before, and learned all she wished. He was beginning to understand what ghosts did with their free time.

"Primitive art fascinates me," Luna said, her gray eyes flickering orange in the lamplight. She was especially lovely, here, somehow enhanced by the primitive surroundings. "All true art stems from the depths of the unconscious mind. The men of these caves were close to the natural world and they knew, perhaps better than we do, how to relate to its magic. We can no longer summon prey for the kill by painting its likeness on a wall; we have to use technological weapons or highly refined spells. To primitive man, science and magic were one — and he made them work as one. Only recently have we begun to rediscover the principle of aura that our ancestors understood intuitively. The whole cave is suffused with that awareness."