"I am not the first Death steed," Mortis neighed. "My predecessors may have seen things that are now clouded. But I understand the office of Death varies considerably with each officeholder. Interpretation is critical. At his height. Death is balked by no force in the firmament."
"I've been balked at every turn!" Zane protested.
"Not when you held the Deathscythe!"
"I was desperate," Zane repeated. But already he looked back at that episode with a certain grim pride. He had been foolish, but he had destroyed the enemy. Death did indeed have power, when Death chose to exert it. Nature had intimated as much. Had he remained confused, in effect acquiescing in his own slaying by the Hellhounds, that would have occurred; but he had not — and they had been helpless against him. Had his predecessor not cooperated in his own murder by being careless, he would have survived and Zane would be in Eternity.
"My own immediate predecessor in the office — what kind of Death was he?" Zane knew the man had gone to Heaven, but that did not necessarily speak well for his competence.
"A mediocre one, or he would not have lost the office."
"I mean how did he perform? I know he was careless at the end, but that does not mean he wasn't a good worker. Did he keep up with his schedule? Did you like him?"
"He kept his schedule better than you keep yours," the horse said. "I can not afford to become emotionally attached to any specific person."
"So you will not miss me when I'm gone," Zane said. "That's best. I appreciate the loyal and competent service you have given me from the outset and know you will be a great help to my successor."
Mortis did not answer.
They landed in the city of Kilvarough. Mortis converted to the Death mobile and drove Zane to Luna's address.
She met him at the door. "Oh, I worried about you, Zane," she said, relieved. "The consequence of opposing Satan — "
"I can handle it," he said, not wanting to burden her with the knowledge that his life was now seriously in jeopardy. Satan would surely bring more potent forces to bear — but if Luna knew that, she might try to do something foolish, such as removing herself from life. "I just came to ask you to stand firm no matter what happens. And to remind you that I love you."
Her relief was turning quickly to social concern. "You have gone on strike! Do you realize what this means?"
"I am being rapidly educated," he admitted. "People are suffering grievously. But — "
"They are stacking up in the hospitals," she said severely. "The terminal cases just won't die, and new patients keep coming in at the normal rate — it's been only a few hours. Can you imagine what it will be after a few days'! The world can't go on this way!"
"I know it is hard," Zane said. "But the alternative — "
"Aren't you the one who smashed up a hospital room to free one client from a pointless and painful life? You believe in death!"
"I believe in death," Zane agreed, seeing it as a revelation. "I really do! Death is the most sacred right of the living; it is the one thing that should never be denied. Yet in this case — "
"It's not as if they can be saved," she continued relentlessly. "The fact that these poor people don't die does not mean they live productive lives. It only means a dreadful prolongation of terminal suffering."
"True," Zane acknowledged weakly. "Death is certainly a necessary service to those whose life is finished. It is best that it be prompt and painless. Yet — "
"I have been painting a picture," she said. She gestured to an easel she had set up in her living room. On it was a partially completed representation of a child whose lower body had been crushed by a car. Nearby was the tangled remnant of a bicycle or miniature magic carpet that the child had evidently been riding carelessly. Zane noted how artistically the elements of both carpet and machine had been integrated to make the device unidentifiable; this was a symbolic example, not a literal one. It had also been hastily done, for Luna had been home only a few hours.
The most compelling thing was the aura of the child. It looked very like a soul half out of the suffering body, and its agony was manifest. What a terrible image this would be when complete!
It was, of course, also a representation of Luna's own state. She had died violently, yet lived — and knew that she was at least in part responsible for the torment of all the people who could not die.
"But if Satan takes over Earth, because you are not there to stop him," Zane said, "millions of souls who might have gone to Heaven will instead be damned to just this type of torture in Hell! I must prevent — "
"I can't believe that!" Luna cried. "Hell is only the place where bad souls are punished. In time, when these souls reform, they are freed — "
"No, they're not! I checked with the Purgatory computer — "
"Zane, I have decided. I want you to end your — " The door crashed open. A brutal-looking man charged in, pointing a handgun at Zane. "Now shall you die. Death, and I shall take your place!" he bellowed.
"How did he get past my griffins?" Luna demanded indignantly. "Where's my moon moth?"
"My Lord Satan spelled them off," the intruder said with an evil grin. "You will be the first booty I take, gorgeous creature, once I have the office."
Zane drew his cloak and hood more closely about him."
"Beware, oaf! I am invulnerable to mortal weapons."
"Not any more. Death!" the thug cried. "You have been declared in violation of your office, and your magic has been turned off." He sighted along the barrel of his weapon, aiming at Zane's heart.
"No!" Luna screamed, lunging at the man.
The gun fired. Blood spattered from Luna's right leg, where the bullet from the deflected gun struck. She crumpled.
Zane had never been much of a fighter, but his berserker temper was invoked again. The red of Luna's blood magnified before his eyes like an exploding star. He launched himself at the intruder as the gun swept back toward him. One of Zane's gloved hands shoved the barrel aside; the other reached for the thug's face.
The man screamed and fell back, dropping the gun. Zane turned to Luna, who was sprawled in her own blood. "I must get you to a doctor!"
"No good!" she gasped. "The hospitals are overcrowded with the undead. No room for minor cases."
"But you could bleed to death!"
She flashed him a smile through her pain. "Then you'd have to take my soul. Death, wouldn't you! And that would — would free all the others."
With renewed horror, Zane realized that this was a two-pronged trap. If he had been assassinated, his replacement would have ended the Deathstrike and taken Luna. If Luna had been mortally hurt, Zane himself might have had to take her, for he could not bear to see her suffer. Either way, Satan won.
"But now that I've seen — " Luna paused to gasp, catching up with necessary breathing, then resumed. " — seen how eager Satan is to get rid of you, I'm not sure I ought to go."
"Some medical attention — I don't even know how to stop the bleeding — "
"Just fetch me the white gem from the mantel there," she said, her voice losing force. "It's a-healing stone — "
Zane leaped to fetch the stone. Luna took it with trembling fingers and touched it to her leg, and the bleeding slowed and stopped. The flesh began visibly to mend around the edge of the wound. "I'm adding more burden to my soul, using this black magic," she said. "But I don't care about me. I think maybe you're doing more than I thought, Zane, and I should support you."
"It's true," he said somewhat ungraciously. "But it's you Satan wants dead; I'm only blocking that. In a few days my petition will be heard, and the matter of your scheduling should be corrected. Then you will be free to live your life, and I can return to the duties of my office."