Bearing an Hourglass (13 page)

Squeeze.

“So I can tell what’s going on by the color-coding of the sand. But how can I be here at all? This is far outside my timeline! No, don’t give me three squeezes; I’ll figure it out in a moment. I’m here—but not solidly. I’m like a ghost here. I can’t touch anything, and probably no creature can touch me or even perceive me. So it’s like looking at a holo—the world is a holograph, less real for me than it seems, and it is not aware of me at all.”

He paced along the paleontological terrain. “I can travel anywhere in time, probably, forward and back. But I can’t
do
anything; it’s just a visit, a sightseeing tour. Only in my own time span—the span of my living life—can I actually affect the world. Once I figure out how.”

Squeeze.

“Good enough. Let’s go home now.” He concentrated.
Back to starting point—but not as fast
.

The Hourglass glowed a little more brightly. The black sand changed color, becoming pink. The world moved.

The sun traveled across the sky, picking up speed as the sand darkened. Night came—and passed in a minute. Day and night, of course! He saw an animal, in the day, but it was gone so quickly he had only a fleeting impression of something reptilian. The creature might have taken
half an hour to pass, but that would have been mere seconds to Norton. Rain came, making the herbiage sparkle momentarily.

The pace picked up. Now it was like an old-fashioned motion picture, the frames flickering; he was able to tune out the dark intervals and see the land as a continuing thing, the plants growing and aging and disappearing. The seasons passed, but there seemed to be no winter here, just a browning of some plants; this was before the day of deciduous trees. Overall, there was very little change.

Faster
, he thought. The sand became a brighter red, and the world buzzed through its paces at accelerated velocity. A fir tree sprouted near him, grew in seconds to a robust specimen, stabilized—and was abruptly gone. A bolt of lightning? Root rot? Life ended so suddenly for plants! But, of course, a century or more had passed.

A hundred million years, he discovered, was a long time, even at the rate of a century a minute; he would have to watch, at this rate, for a couple of years, his time.
Full speed
, he directed, and the grayness of impossible temporal velocity returned.

Then he remembered: he had changed his position! He had walked away from his starting point, looking at vegetation. He would land a similar distance away—perhaps in the middle of a building. In the middle of a wall!

Before he could correct his error, the world firmed. He stood in the vacant lot, on the X. The two figures remained nearby.

“But I moved!” he protested, relieved.

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Again he worked it out. He had moved—but he had been outside his bailiwick, unable to affect that world. So apparently he had not affected himself, either. It might have been a different story, had he traveled only a year or two and walked about. He would have to be very careful in future. Past. Or whatever. This time the nature of the system had saved him from his own folly, but that might not always be so.

“Well, at least I’m learning how to use this thing!”

Squeeze.

“But I still don’t know my job or how to relate to people here. Do you know?”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

“That’s what I thought. You know a lot, but you’ve had no experience with the Hourglass itself. Well, I’ll figure it out.” He smiled. “In time.” Actually, this challenge appealed to his wanderlust; what better form of travel could there be than through time? The horizons were unlimited!

He studied the Hourglass again. The sand was now dull white. He had learned what white, blue, and black meant—and red. Red meant traveling backward, or opposite his normal route. It was like the red shift in astronomy. Now, if he could just find the other colors and understand what they signified—

The two figures began to move. They retreated from the X spot, walking backward. Surprised, Norton watched them until they were out of sight. Now he was alone.

Of course—Norton-normal and Gawain the Ghost had arrived about fifteen minutes before the rendezvous. That time had now expired, backward. His jaunt to the distant past had taken several minutes, his time, which might have passed here, too; he wasn’t sure yet how that worked. But what was he to do, now that he was alone?

He found it awkward carrying the Hourglass constantly, so he set it on the ground. Then he locked his hands behind him and paced in a circle, much the way Gawain had done. Did he really want to take on the immense complexities of this office? He had agreed to it almost casually, but he saw now that it was a most unusual commitment. The chance of a lifetime, as the ghost had said—but also the challenge of a lifetime. It was not too late to reverse the Hourglass and travel back to the time of acquisition; presumably someone else would turn up to take the office if he bounced it. Did he want that?

He turned to look back at the parked Hourglass—and found it right behind him, exactly in the position he had left it—except that it was within easy reach, not several
paces behind. Had he paced in a full circle and returned to it? He didn’t think so.

He walked straight away from the Hourglass and turned again. There it was, right in reach.

He paced backward next, watching the Hourglass. It slid along with him, not rolling or jumping, just remaining exactly in position relative to him.

“You mean I can’t leave it behind?” he asked aloud.

Squeeze.

The question had been rhetorical, but Sning had answered.

Norton picked up the Hourglass, held it a foot above the ground, and let it go. It hung there in the air. When he stepped away, it followed him. When he stepped into it, it retreated. Only when he moved it directly with his hand did it change its position with respect to himself. It was like a satellite, except it did not rotate.

Suddenly frustrated and rebellious, he grasped it and hurled it violently from him. But the moment it left his hand, it stopped, remaining in the air at shoulder height. It had no inertia, no momentum.

He could not, literally, lose it.

“But I don’t want the thing following me all the time like a hatchling,” he remarked aloud. “People will stare.”

Sning squeezed three times, not having any suggestions.

Then a new figure appeared. It was a middle-aged woman. She was walking forward, toward him, from the opposite direction in which the other two figures had departed. She carried a roll of paper.

Forward? Could she be in his time frame?

She waved to him. She saw him! Excited, Norton waved back—but there was no reaction from the woman. Why was that?

“Hello,” Norton said cautiously.

The woman came to stand a few feet from him. She unrolled her scroll. There were words printed on it.
HELLO, CHRONOS
.

“Hello,” he said again. “Can’t we talk verbally?”

She passed her arm across the scroll, and it went blank. Then new words appeared.
WE CAN INTERACT—BUT YOU MUST LEARN HOW
.

“I’m trying to!” he exclaimed. “But no one perceives me!”

She changed her sign again.
I AM LACHESIS—AN ASPECT OF FATE
.

Fate! Gawain had mentioned her. This was an important contact! “How can I talk to you?” he asked. “Can you understand me?”

Her new sign explained.
I AM DOING THIS BACKWARD
.

FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS, AND WE SHALL RELATE
.

“I’ll follow them!” Norton agreed. He realized now that she was only partially aware of him, perhaps could not see him at all, but knew he was there. So she was following a routine to help him, trusting that he was responding. Once they managed to establish a genuine interaction, he would find out why Fate, in whatever aspect, was doing this. For now, he was grateful for her help.

YOU ARE LIVING BACKWARD. I AM LIVING FORWARD. WE ARE BOTH INCARNATIONS, BUT WE DO DIFFER IN THIS AND OTHER RESPECTS. WE MUST ALIGN
.

“I agree!” he said uselessly.

THE HOURGLASS IS THE TOOL. YOU CONTROL IT WITH YOUR WILL
.

“I realize that,” he said as she changed the page.

IT IS VERY STRONG MAGIC. MISJUDGMENT CAN WREAK HAVOC
.

“So I discovered! I’ve been to the Age of Dinosaurs!”

THE COLOR OF THE SAND IS THE KEY
.

“That, too, I have already ascertained.”

WILL IT TO BE BLUE FOR AN INSTANT, THEN GREEN
.

“Okay,” he agreed. He concentrated.
Blue briefly, then green
. It hadn’t occurred to him before to control the Hourglass by orienting directly on the sand color.

The grayness closed as the sand changed color, but altered almost immediately. Now the sand was green.

“Congratulations, Chronos,” Lachesis said.

“Hey, this time I hear you!” he exclaimed.

She smiled. She was perhaps in her forties, her hair nondescript brown and bound in a bun, her face developing lines. She was somewhat heavy-set and generally unimpressive, but her eyes had a timeless, colorless quality that made him know that this was indeed a creature of incalculable power and sublety. “And I hear you, Chronos, and see you clearly at last. We are now in phase.”

“Because the sand is green?”

“Come with me, Chronos, and I’ll explain.” She stepped forward and took his arm. “It’s the least I can do, after what we’ve been to each other.”

He suffered himself to be drawn along with her. “We have?”

She laughed. “Of course you don’t remember! It’s in your future. My past. I envy you! But I mustn’t hold you in phase too long this time; no sense wasting your magic. Ah, here we are.” She paused at a piece of string dangling by a building. “Take my hand, Chronos.”

He obeyed. She tugged on the string—and suddenly they were in a comfortable room, with elegant scenic murals on the walls that looked almost real enough to step into. He remembered Orlene’s puzzle pictures with sharp nostalgia. This was the kind of apartment he would have liked for himself. “Nice place you have, Lachesis.”

“Oh, it isn’t my place,” she said quickly. “It’s yours.”

“Mine?”

“This is your mansion in Purgatory. Here in this edifice time travels your way always; no need to strain the Hourglass. Let it go normal again.”

“Normal?” But as he looked at it, the falling sand turned from green to white.

“When you turned the sand blue for a moment, you jumped backward, in real-world terms, a couple of days.” She glanced at him alertly. “You did do that? It will be two days before the office changes hands, and I have every intention of being there with my signs to get you started, but that’s in my future.”

“You were there, and I did it,” he agreed.

“Good. And when you turned the sand green, you aligned yourself with universal time. You normally live backward, compared to the rest of us, but green turns you about so that your forward matches ours. It is a temporary state for you, requiring magical energy, so you don’t do it unless you need to interact with a normal person. In this case, the need existed. But it isn’t wise to do it too long, because of a possible three-person-limit complication.”

“A what?”

“We’ll go into that technical matter at another time; I don’t want to confuse you at the outset.”

“I’m already confused! Why did you have me turn the sand blue for an instant? Couldn’t I have green-phased at the outset?”

“You could have, Chronos. But that would have carried you on beyond your term of office, since you were so close to its edge. I preferred to give you a couple of days’ leeway to avoid that risk. You see, you can’t travel physically beyond your term; you become insubstantial, unable to interact with us.”

“So I have discovered,” he agreed ruefully.

“Had you turned the sand green then, I would have been leading you here—and you would have vanished from my ken before arriving. You see, to you this is the beginning, but to the rest of us it is the end. To us, your term will expire and that of your successor will commence. Suddenly we will have a vastly experienced Chronos replacing the old novice. He’ll have us all stepping smartly! He will know all our futures in a way none of us can.” She fixed him with her disconcerting gaze again. “Time is power, Norton. You will learn to do things Satan Himself can not handle. No one can touch Chronos in his area of expertise. You will be able to change reality itself. See that you do not abuse that power.”

Norton did not feel powerful at all. He noticed that now she called him by his given name; obviously she did know him from her past, his new future. “I will try to handle the office properly,” he said. “Uh, about Purgatory—”

“Purgatory is not part of the physical world,” she explained. “When you want an extended interaction with a person, bring that person here, and there will be no problem.”

“I don’t quite understand.”

“Of course you don’t! You have just stepped into one of the most complex offices of the firmament; it will take you years to get the full hang of it. Fortunately, you have time—literally. You
are
Time.”

“I think you’d better explain the whole thing,” he said. “I’m pretty much baffled.”

“That’s what I’m here for—this time.” She glanced at him slyly, as if making an off-color allusion. “And I will; I owe it to you, as I said. Only first I’d better introduce myself completely.”

Norton nodded agreement, somewhat in awe of this unprepossessing figure with the knowing attitude and hypnotic eyes. Lachesis walked to the center of the room. She shimmered—and in her place was an old woman. Her hair was gray and curly, her dress conservative—a long dark skirt, antique feminine boots, a frilly but unsuggestive blouse, and a small archaic hat. “Atropos,” she announced, accenting it on the first syllable. “I cut the Thread of Life.”

“I thought Death did that,” Norton said, startled by more than one thing.

“Thanatos collects the souls. I determine when those souls will become available.”

Norton nodded. He was not yet certain of the distinction, but did not feel ready to question it more closely. He had encountered Thanatos in the performance of his office and developed an abiding respect for that entity. In fact, it was really the example of Thanatos that had moved him to accept this perhaps-similar office of Chronos; Thanatos had shown that human concern and caring did not disappear, even in so awful a chore as taking the life of a baby. Death had stopped being a specter to Norton with that encounter.