On a Pale Horse by Piers Anthony Page A

The baby is probably the child of incest or rape, so carries the burden of intensifiedOriginal Sin. Such children, conceived in evil, do not commence life with a clean slate.”
    “Original Sin!” Zane exclaimed. “I thought that was a discredited doctrine!”
    “Hardly. It may not be valid in non-Christian parts of the world, but it is certainly operative here. Belief is fundamental to existence, and guilt is very important to religion; so guilt does carry across the generations.”
    “I don’t like that!” Zane protested. “A baby has no free will, especially before it’s born. It can’t choose the circumstances of its conception. It can’t sin.”
    “Unfortunately, you do not determine the system; you only implement it. All of us have objections to aspects of it, but our powers are limited.”
    “And I don’t know where to take the baby soul. I don’t know how to get to Purgatory, assuming that is the proper place.”
    Chronos laughed. “It is the proper place, and it is simple enough for you to reach. You reside there.”
    “I do?”
    “When not actively pursuing souls. You have a fine Deathhouse, a mansion in the sky.”
    “Well, I’ve never seen it,” Zane said, nettled. “How do I—?”
    “You ride your fine pale horse there.”
    “My pale horse?”
    “Death rides a pale horse. Surely you were aware of that. Mortis is always with you.”
    “Of course I know about Death’s traditional steed! But I don’t know where any such horse is!”
    Chronos smiled indulgently. “You know where; you don’t know what.” He patted the dash panel. “This is Mortis.”
    “The car?” Zane was baffled. “I know its plate says MORTIS. But it’s a machine!”
    “Press this button.” Chronos indicated one on the dash that Zane hadn’t noticed before. It had an embossed motif of a chesspiece—the knight, the image of the head of a horse.
    Zane pressed the button—and found himself astride amagnificent stallion. The hide of the horse was as pale as bleached bone, his mane was like flexible silver, and his hooves were like stainless steel. He lifted his great equine head, perked his ears forward, and snorted a snort of pale vapor.
    Zane had daydreamed of owning a flying horse. Now he knew his dream had been amply fulfilled. This horse had no wings, but he could go anywhere!
    “Anything else you need to know?” Chronos inquired wryly. He was seated behind Zane now.
    “There must be volumes of information I need to acquire,” Zane said, awed by the transformation of car to animal. He had known magic and science were allied, but had never seen anything like this before. He felt the warm, powerful muscles of the horse beneath him and was as thrilled as any child. “Somehow it doesn’t seem important at the moment.”
    “The moment is frozen, in a certain respect,” Chronos reminded him. He dismounted. “I will leave you now.” The hourglass in his hand flashed, and he vanished.
    “Time flies,” Zane muttered. He shook off the mood and patted the horse. “You and I will get along just fine, I know. But I haven’t had much experience riding, so I suppose I had better use your car form for routine city calls. Unless we should go to Purgatory now—”
    The stallion issued a snort of negation. Zane decided the horse knew best, so he did not argue the case.
    He looked at the saddle and discovered a button on it. “Is this what turns you back into the pale sedan?” he inquired, touching it.
    Abruptly he was back in the car. Good enough! He would have more to say to Mortis the horse, much more, in due course. But now duty called. He punched the START button on the Deathwatch, noting that half an hour now registered on the hours dial; he would have to make up that time. At least he was getting to understand the system.
    He oriented the Deathmobile and put it in hyperdrive. Animal to machine—amazing but convenient! Was the horse a robot, or was the car alive? He would have to inquire later. At least