The first four candidates were long gone. Their questions hadn't been insulting or stupid at all, yet they had costed them their souls.
What traits would you want your employees to have?
How many souls should we feed the chickens?
What is your relationship with Mother Knitter?
Chickens or souls?
I was terrified. How could I come up, in such a short time, with a proper question to ask such an ancient being, as Death himself? I couldn't even begin to fathom what sort of thoughts could be circling his mind.
I found myself taking deep, silent breaths to calm my thundering heart. Ramses mumbles had gradually turned into shattering gibberish.
Next in turn was the kid at my side. Death's wake of shadows whispered ominous portends as it faded into warped faces behind him.
He stepped in front of the boy--whose face was hid under the robe. "What are you doing here, youngling? You are not strong enough, not smart enough, not ripe enough."
The shoulders of the little reaper moved up and down, and a subtle snickering began to rise from the bottom of his throat. "I'm strong as an ox, smart as an old hunter, and believe me, I'm ripe." His voice was full, and deep. He pulled back his hood and revealed a face full of hair and a thick, long ginger beard.
He was a dwarf.
Death snorted and clattered his teeth in what seemed to be a laugh, but sounded like a rat nibbling incessantly at a bone instead. He held the scythe to his chest, and bent backward. His skull still half-buried in shadows. Seconds later, Death recollected himself. "I'm sorry. I real--” He burst in detuned laughter again. “I-I didn't expect this. Alright now, your question, dwarf?"
"My race is not a matter of laughter," the dwarf said, his green eyes defiant, unafraid. "You've insulted me, and it's only correct I insult you back."
"Perhaps in your little word of iron and steel," Death said, tilting his head and leaning over the dwarf. "But here I make the rules. Understood? Now, your question."
The dwarf clenched his jaw and scowled. He knew, however, that his pride could cost him his life. So he swallowed it whole, "Did you bring your mug?"
Death stared at him. He didn't seem confused nor taken aback. He simply held eyes with the dwarf until the tension made even his shadows cease billowing.
Sweat trickled down my temples, Ramses ceased muttering nonsense, the remaining participants craned their necks, expectant as both Death and the dwarf fought a ravaging war naught but them could truly see.
All of a sudden, silence took over, as if time had decided to hold its breath.
Through the corner of my eye I caught a slight movement in Death's hand gripping the scythe, a little adjustment, a twitch. Hesitation? The dwarf maintained his stoicism in an impressive fashion. He was facing Death himself, and not a feature of his face moved, not even a single hair of his beard.
Death sighed, cursing under his breath. "Damned be your race, dwarf. You are all broken." He swung his scythe to the side and severed a slit in space and time. A mug came out of it, it was black and perfect. Written in white it read, Death Rules.
With another swing, the slit closed and the mug hovered toward the dwarf.
"Is not that we are broken," the dwarf said and dug out a tiny barrel of beer from his robe. He opened it and poured some of it into the mug. "We don't fear bones, nor scythes. We only fear lacking beer."
"Broken like a shattered bone," Death said and the mug flew back toward him. Then, it inclined ever so slightly over the ancient being, making the beer fall into his bony mouth.
Why wasn't he using his other hand? I eyed it, and saw that something bulged slightly out the sleeve.
There was a splash, as was expected. Death was pure bones. He couldn't truly drink beer. However, he nodded and said, "My bones are absorbing the beer right now, dwarf. It's good enough. You might stay for next task."
I didn't know if it was the fact that I was mortal, but none of the interactions I had seen so far had made any sense. In the brief space of time it took Death to come in front of me, I tried to understand them. I was pretty sure that Ramses had hypnotized John to cut the line, as he had hypnotized the chicken before.
But the dwarf's interaction had been pure nonsense. Was Death a fan of good beer? If so, how did the dwarf know? Was it common knowledge around here?
Death stood in front of me. The lower half of his skull shone brighter than moonlight. It forced my eyes into a squint, but at least I couldn't see his hollow eyes.
"A mortal. That’s very curious," Death said, studying me. "You are not ripe enough to snatch your soul just yet, which puts you in some sort of an advantage. However, I know a place that pays good money for young limbs and flesh. Choose your words wisely, mortal. They might be your last."
In that moment, a flood of thoughts swarmed my mind. The problem was that they entangled within each other like a snake curling in the boughs of an oak. And so, the sentences that came out of my mouth lacked logic and structure, and before I knew it, I was stuttering and Death was growing impatient.
"What's in your left hand?" I asked, and sighed a sigh of short-lived relief. For Death’s skull was tilted all the way to his shoulder, and that couldn’t be good.
"A keen eye for a mortal. That's interesting," Death said. "I will, however, give you the chance to change your question. It's a good question, bear that in mind. But perhaps, one you can't face."
"That's my question," I said, faking calm. The truth is that I couldn't think of another one, and the nerves were overwhelming me.
"Very well," Death said, and pulled back his sleeve, revealing another skull. This one, however, was brown and old.
He held it in front of me. "Once upon a time I had to take the soul of a mortal poet. But I wanted his words to live forever, for they brightened up my lonely days. And so I gave him a choice: die or live forever in a skull."
"I chose the latter!" the lackluster skull said, shaking like a kid with a sugar rush. Its voice was high-pitched, borderline obnoxious. "May we battle in a duel of poetry?"
"Before you answer," Death said. "I think it’s only fair that you hear the things I've witnessed the words of this man do. With a single verse he exiled winter back to its cave. With only three whispers, he enamored the forests, and in a proof of their love, they threaded a wreath of lilies for him, and had their most beautiful butterflies deliver it. He told a wilted rose a poem, and before he could finish, the rose had already bloomed and unfurled back to life."
If his words held a sliver of truth, then I was absolutely ruined. I had tried my hand at poetry sometimes, but if this skull had captivated Death with his poems, then there was nothing I could do. Despite my ruinous circumstances, I accepted, as I had no other real choice.
"I will let you go first," I said, in an attempt to understand the structure of this game.
The skull shook and moaned in agreement.
In a fallen sky
There is no blue
And so the boys cry
Fuck you.
Death took a deep, lingering breath, as if savoring the words. It was then when I embraced the thin, yet enlarging possibility of Death being a moron, instead of a wise creature. And so, as the skull giggled, I replied. The words rushed out my burning heart.
Once I met a skull,
It was eroded, brown and filled with rue.
Truth be told the skull was a word-full fool
Surprise, it is you
Death and Ramses gasped. The skull trembled violently, and without hesitation, it replied.
There is snow in the south,
Watch your filthy mouth
You disrespectful piece of sh--
Death rolled his sleeve back down, muffling the skulls last verses. "You already proved your worth. Congratulations mortal, you advanced to the next task."
I breathed a breath of deep relief. I felt all my worries being washed away, and for a moment, I feared I had loosened up perhaps a bit too much. Fortunately, no liquids had leaked down my pants.
Death moved onto Ramses, who to stop his mumbling had decided to hide all his features.
"What are you?" Death asked.
A wide gash appeared on Ramses' forehead, and his mouth popped out of it, spiraling across his face. "I-I am a cr-creature from the de-depths of Hell."
"Why are you so nervous? I should be the one afraid of a monster of your kind. Not the other way around."
"I-I really ne-need this job," Ramses stammered. It was strange seeing him without his exaggerated confidence. "Also, I do-don't handle stress w-well."
"What is your question?" Death asked and sighed. His boredom was visible.
In that moment, all of Ramses features appeared all at once, he straightened his back, and heaved his chest. "What makes a perfect chicken soup?" He eyed me, and grinned, as if he had acted only for the sake of frightening the living shit out of me.
Death seemed pleased with this question, as it could be seen his sundry nods. "Finally, the proper question. Let me tell you. To make a perfect chicken soup you need the perfect chicken. However, the wise man knows that taste is subjective. The wise man also knows he would never know what perfection is until he tastes every breed of chicken and decides which his favorite is.
"Of course, one has to pretend to be the farmer of the chicken, that way you can taste their true flavor. Although it's preferable to raise your own chickens." He paused briefly. "A perfect chicken soup is the apotheosis of knowledge. That who knows the ways of cooking a perfect chicken soup, knows himself to the core, and thus is worthy of reigning Hell."
"Like Mother Knitter!" John added from the end of the line. A second later, he was consumed by scalding shadows.
"Ignorant zombies," Death muttered under his breath. Then he looked at Ramses, "Three of you are more than enough for the next task. The rest, leave now. I don’t have time for more of this shit."
The others were on the verge of complaining, but after seeing John's horrible death, they obliged.
Death gestured for us to follow him. His wake of shadows drifted around us, as if they were a black river and we were boulders amidst their path.
We went up three staircases and past four sets of doors, until we reached an enormous double door, whose surface displayed a beautiful painting of Death standing alone on a mound above endless desperate people crawling toward him. The rest of the ample room, much like the rest of the building, was high-ceilinged and hewn out of bones.
Death turned to face the three of us. The dwarf panted and said, "Couldn't you just have made a portal of sorts instead of making us walk all the way here?"
"Of course I could’ve done such a simple feat," Death said, "But you wouldn't have seen the beauty of my home if I had done that. Either way, beyond this door lay my harvested souls, the entirety of them. They are not tangible. You can't manipulate them in any sort of way." His voice deepened. "Now, listen carefully, and don’t miss anything I say. For an unheard word can be the root of your demise."
Death pulled back his hood.
"Mother of the seven Gods," the dwarf said, aghast. "What is that?"
I restrained myself for making any comments and fought back the endless, whelming sensations writhing inside of me. Ramses, on the other hand barreled away from the room, features hidden.
See, Death's skull wasn't smooth and perfectly round. Or perhaps it was, I wouldn't know, for he was wearing a ginger, bobbed wig. It looked as if he had a red mushroom on his head, a very furious one.
"What's the matter with that monster?" Death asked. "He needs to learn how to handle the stress. Poor soul, so ridiculously dumb."
I counted sheep and imagined puppies. If, for any reason, I focused on the way that fringe fell perfectly over Death's hollow eyes, I would have burst in never-ending laughter.
Ramses came back a minute later, still featureless.
"The previous workers have failed to tether my chickens. Their fucking inability resulted in my chickens flying away," Death said through gritted teeth. "Of course they come back every now and then to consume the souls. They, however, have a voracious appetite, and if they eat more than they should, they grow too fat and big, making their meat harder, and not so tasty.
"Your second task is simple," Death continued. "Tether one of my chickens, only one. If you manage that, then I will hire the lot of you.” He paused and flicked his skull abruptly, accommodating his angry fringe. “I have to go attend more candidates now. Ravren will be watching you if you need anything. Please excuse his stench of broth. Also, you will find the chains beyond the door," Death said, and the shadows surged toward him, wrapping his figure on ravenous blackness.
Once they dissipated, Death was gone. Ravren, the tall being who had greeted us at the entrance, appeared in his place, hands clasped behind his back.
The double door creaked open, revealing a vast land of mingled, opalescent colors that spread far beyond what my eye could see. We stepped out, and at our sides lay two giant pillars of stone with many thick, long chains coming out of their surface.
"You can look," I said to Ramses, and his eyes popped on his face. I stared away. "I have a bad feeling about this. I believe this is a trap of sorts. There's no way we can tether a chicken in a chain so wide. They are literally, at least, forty times the size of a chicken."
"You sure?" Ramses said, and exploded into a lingering, violent laughter. Ravren and the dwarf gazed at us with deep frowns. A minute later, Ramses was clutching at his stomach while on the floor, the veins in his neck bulging out, his mouth wide opened. He had reached the true state of laughter: the soundless one.
I shook my head at him, and headed over to chat with Ravren and the dwarf--who I had overheard was called Vormin--until Ramses composed himself.
"Sorry," Ramses said after quite a long time. "A memory of an angry mushroom came to mind, and I couldn't hold back. Anyway, are you ready to chain some chickens?"
"I suggest the strongest handle the chain, while the other two lure the chicken close to it," Ravren said, maintaining his usual perfect poise.
"Look up! One of them is coming," Vormin yelled, pointing his fat, grease-covered forefinger skyward.
Far into the sky, a beast whose entire body was made of pale-white, naked bones was descending toward us at great speed. Its size was that of mythological monster, gargantuan, colossal even. It had two wings longer than a pirate ship.
That was no chicken.
That was the living skeleton of a dragon.
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