Piers Anthony - On a Pale Horse

"She is the Green Mother," Mortis neighed, and there was an undertone of equine respect. "She governs all living creatures. Do not annoy her. Death."

"You had better go," Luna said. "I don't know which of you Incarnations has the most power, but Nature surely is not to be trifled with. You can drop me off anywhere near Kilvarough, and — "

"Do not go near Kilvarough!" Mortis warned. "Operate from the ghost world."

"But I can't leave Luna among the ghosts!" Zane protested.

"Bring her."

"I'd like that," Luna said. "Is it permitted?"

"I'll do it regardless," Zane decided. "I'm not going to leave you in any strange place unprotected." He turned on the Deathwatch countdown. It showed nine minutes. He oriented on the client, using the special gems of his bracelet. He nudged Mortis, aiming the stallion in the right direction. "Take us there," he directed.

The horse leaped away from the carnival. Clouds wafted by, and the cosmos was inchoate. "Ooo, lovely!" Luna breathed, hugging Zane from behind.

Then Mortis landed in a great dance hall in the city of San Diego. Magic clothed the walls with royal trappings and made the floor resemble solid silver. It did not at all look like a place of death.

"So this is what your job is like," Luna murmured. "You must enjoy it well."

"It varies," Zane said. "Parts of it are not fun."

They dismounted, and Mortis stepped into the background. No one noticed that he was a horse, for he was protected by the magic of his own office.

The watch showed four minutes. Zane went to the spot indicated by the gems. It was a section of the dance floor. Dancers crossed it and moved on, doing the Squirm; he could not tell who was fated to be there when the time came.

There were two empty seats beside a young woman who was not dancing. Zane and Luna took them.

Two young men walked along the edge of the dance floor, engaged in animated conversation or moderate debate. They halted abruptly near Zane. "Well, then, let's try it!" one exclaimed. "Random selection, yours against mine."

"Done!" the other agreed. "Winner takes them both. A disinterested judge."

The first turned to a seated youth who was drinking a beverage from a bottle. "Do you know how to play a guitar?"

The youth laughed. He set down his bottle and stifled a burp. "Me? I'm tone deaf! I can't even play a triangle!"

"He'll do," the second man said. He turned to Luna. "Do you dance well, miss?"

"Excellently," Luna said.

"No good." The man focused on the other girl. "Do you dance well?"

"No," the girl said shyly. "I've got two left feet. I only come to watch the others dance."

"She'll do," the first man said.

"Do for what?" Luna asked, annoyed about being passed over for whatever it was.

"And you can be the judge," the second man said to her.

Zane looked at his watch. The countdown timer showed two minutes. Who was going to die here, and how?

The first young man produced a nondescript guitar and pushed it into the hands of the tone-deaf lad. "When I give the signal, play."

"But I told you I can't — "

"Precisely. It's an excellent test."

The second man brought out a pair of dancing slippers. "Put these on and dance," he said to the left-footed girl.

Suddenly Zane had an awful notion. "Luna!" he cried. "Get out of here! It may be your death we're here for!" The watch showed ninety seconds.

"Don't be silly," she said, "You brought me here. That wouldn't have been necessary if I were the client. You could simply have pushed me off the horse in mid-air. Anyway, I'm not in balance; I can make it to Hell without your assistance. I'm not on your calendar."

Zane had to admit that was true. The death belonged to someone else. But to whom?

"Begin!" the first man ordered.

The youth put his fingers to the strings with a what-can-I-lose smirk and played an excellent chord. "See? Pure junk," he said.

"Not so," Luna told him. "That sounded nice."

Astonished, he played again, watching his hands — and a fine melody commenced. His left fingers flew along the frets, while his right hand strummed out an authoritative tune. The hands seemed to possess lives of their own.

The left-footed girl stood up, wearing the slippers. "You'll see," she said. "I'm no good at all." Her right leg did look slightly deformed, perhaps by some childhood injury; it was unlikely she could move it well.

She began to dance — and her feet flashed like those of a ballerina. Her mouth dropped open. "The slippers!" she cried. "Magic!"

Both young men turned to Luna. "Now you watch and listen, beautiful," the first one said. "Tell us which is better — the music or the dancing."

Luna smiled. "I shall. I'm in the arts myself; I can give an informed opinion, though these are two different forms of expression."

The youth played the magic guitar and the girl danced in the magic slippers so well that soon the other dancers paused to listen and watch. Others started to dance to the new music. But none danced as well as the left-footed girl, who fairly flew about the floor, kicking her legs with pretty flourishes and throwing herself into dazzling spins. She had not been a really attractive girl when seated, but now her cleverness of foot lent her a special allure. Physical beauty, Zane realized as he watched, was not entirely in the body; it was in the way the body was moved.

The girl's face became flushed. She panted. "Enough!" she cried breathlessly. "I'm not used to this!" But the newly formed audience was clapping, urging her on, and the guitar was sounding veritable panoramas of notes, almost visibly filling the dance hall. These were two excellent magic items!

Then Zane saw that the youth was no longer smiling. His fingers were raw and starting to bleed, for they were soft, not calloused in the manner of experienced players. But he could not stop playing. The magic compelled him. And the girl — The watch touched zero on the countdown. The girl screamed and collapsed.

Now Zane understood. The magic articles did not consider human limitations. They did not care if a person flayed his fingers playing, or if an out-of-condition girl exercised herself into heart failure. They simply compelled performance.

Zane rose and went to the girl, experiencing a certain guilty relief that the client had not, after all, been Luna. Of course he should have realized what was about to happen and prevented the left-footed girl from donning the terrible slippers. He could have saved her life, instead of merely watching her die. Regretfully, he took the girl's soul and turned away from the body. The other dancers were standing aghast at the sudden tragedy. Luna, too, was horrified. "I should have realized — " she said, her eyes fixed on the now-still feet of the girl. "I've seen enough magic to know the peril inherent in second-class enchantment! You came here on business — "And if you had donned those slippers — " Zane began. "That, too! I'm a Magician's daughter; I know the type of — but I just wasn't thinking."

Mortis approached, and they mounted. No one else noticed. The contest between guitar and slippers had no victor, only a loser.

"On to Nature, Death steed," Zane directed, stopping his timer again. "I guess you know the route."

Mortis did. He leaped out of the dance hall and into the sky.

"I know death is a necessary part of life," Luna said behind Zane. "I will experience it all too soon myself. But somehow it cuts more sharply when you see it personally — when you actually participate — "

"Yes." How well he knew!

"I wish I hadn't agreed to judge that contest. That girl might be alive now!"

"No, she was slated to die. You played no actual part. More correctly, you played a part that someone else would have; your action changed nothing."