The Man Who Would Kill Death Page 2

frustration and failure. The years slowly passed under ponderous study, no matter how long ago Lady died it felt like a new wound to him, it just would not heal, and he would cry himself to bed every night. In the morning he would wake up crying, keeping his eyes clear long enough to study a way to defeat Death before he finally came for Durel, he wanted to be ready when he did come. The oldest magi known to Durel had been four hundred years old before her death. Durel knew he could make it to at least five hundred with his mind intact, after that it would be a gamble. Durel was four hundred and eleven when the breakthrough came to him.

  Buying yourself that much time comes at a steep price, no matter who you are. Durel was constantly in pain, wracked with the ailments of the elderly. Time and its partner Death were slowly gaining on Durel, removing the time slow spells he weaved. No longer able to sit down due to tailbone pain and only able to stand for short periods, Durel would constantly move between his desk, spell board, and the floor. Nothing could help his pain, yet it was the one thing he wanted, the one thing driving him forward. When he hurt, he knew he was still alive and fighting for his little Lady. 'Death cannot win,' he thought constantly. 'Not after I have fought so long.'

  The breakthrough was an unassuming little spell he had discarded long ago as useless in this quest. While lying on his side one evening to calm his screaming back nerves Durel looked up, the first time he had in forever while on the floor stretching. It was a miraculous event. There it was, crumbled and laying under the dusty crystal lectern. He reached out a bony hand and pulled it to him, unscrambling it was like a revelation. 'Why didn't I see this back then?' He thought, checking and rechecking the spell three times to make sure he was seeing what was, not what he wanted to see. It was true; it was there, in this spell over two hundred years old. Durel had to laugh or he surely would have started crying. He spent what now seemed to be unnecessary centuries searching for a way to contact Death and it had been lying crumbled under his feet the whole time. 'Just like my life,' he thought ironically. The spell, when read backwards was the first line in an unspoken language used by higher beings, Death included. Durel was the only living person to understand the language; the other two died long ago. It was not just any sentence in the unspoken language. It was summoning Death himself as if a person. Though just reading it would do nothing, accompanying materials were needed for bringing Death into this world. Living humans were not meant to speak with Death, which is why this particular spell was so hard to find and then actually understand to perform.

  Durel hopped up with all pain gone from his body. Feeling a surge of adrenaline made him feel like a young man of two hundred again. In a blur of motion Durel flew around his tower, spinning from room to room, floor to floor, gathering the necessary materials and preparing the chamber of summoned dread.

  In the center of the room he placed a three legged golden stand in the shape of dragon heads, perched atop these, balanced in the middle he placed a large, translucent green orb. No one else would have been crazy enough to attempt the spell. However, five hundred years of magical experience not only had driven Durel insane with physical pain, unbeknownst to himself he was mentally insane. So without fear he recited the spell, the things needed were a willing participant, the Golden Dragon stand, and the green orb.

  "Phosphonate in Abu sheave

  suborder latching of my cranium

  about a duel Kinne Somma from Ashiaun

  say a Somma no cool for this Somma will enough honest."

  This was the translation using the common tongue, which obviously does not work. But for posterity those were the sounds translated, what they mean or what they sound like in the death language, who can say? All we need to know is that it worked, Durel succeeded where everyone else has failed in history. He turned Death from an abstract, untouchable subject, revealing him to be the person he is, evil and tangible, Durel pulled the curtain back, he removed the mask, and it would cost him everything. Durel must have lived long enough and been the right person to recite the spell because the room lit up like a green noonday sun. Durel didn't care about the burning of his eyes. They ceased to provide vision adequately decades ago, so he kept watching. In the center of the orb appeared a scene of carnage, a field strewn with dead and dying men, broken spears and shields mingled together. Hovering over this battlefield was an octagonal doorway, glowing green with a red tinge on the outline. Ignoring the battle Durel willed himself up to the doorway, through the octagonal entrance, and onto the other side.

  Now it was black all over, before the universe black. There was no sense of time or space, up could not be distinguished from down, left could not be distinguished from right, and Durel knew he was in the correct place. In the formless black an outline began to appear, not of a person, but of a throne. The outline itself was black, where he thought a Kingly chair would appear, instead another doorway. Durel took a step, his head swam and he fell as if fainting, when he woke he found himself on the inside of a tavern, the room was lit by candles and an old stone hearth, cheerful drinking people filled the open room, singing and chatting filled the air, every worn or ruddy wooden table and stool was occupied by a merry reveler.

  "What are you drinking sir?" It was a balding, round in the middle, angry looking innkeeper.

  Durel had known his share of innkeepers over the last five hundred years and to the best of his recollection they were all balding and round in the middle.

  "What?" Durel answered fatherly in slow motion, as if he already had one too many drinks.

  The room began to turn red and spin, first slowly and increasing in speed. The laughing, cheerful people melted away like candle wax onto the floor. The melted remains began forming in the center of the room, coalescing together rising like some great undulating beast. The walls fell away, and the wind began to blow so fiercely Durel felt like he was in the middle of a tornado, in the past failed spells taught him what a tornado feels like. From this formless beast the likeness of that balding and round innkeeper appeared, except hideous and misshapen. Durel could only stand silent, watching and waiting for the next move, he felt frozen as in a dream. The innkeeper’s eyes were very different than before, now black and filled with malice towards life. Any other man would have died of fright. Durel is not like anyone else alive or dead.

  "Durel!" Came a rushing wind that formed into the sound of his name, instantly he felt awake.

  "You know my name?" Durel asked to be sure he was speaking to Death himself, and it was not another one of Death’s tricks. There was a laugh that increased the wind speed followed by another change in appearance through a bubbling and melting, the resulting form was only a skeleton.

  "Name? What is a name? You think your name is Durel? You are a speck of dust on the wind, you float for a few centuries and you think you know truth. I have never understood names among mortals, why name a creature that only lives for an inconsequential amount of time?" Death spoke dismissing the existence of humanity. Durel was angry at the dismissal but vindicated in his patience.

  "You are wrong creature, I am me, and my name is Durel. Though you don't show it on your exterior I know you are afraid. You have probably never felt fear, so you don't understand the sensation. I will make sure you become well acquainted. All that you know is someone finally broke through to reach Death after hiding for so long." There was an awkward space of silence that could have been a few thousand years.

  "All this trouble over one small dog? You can have her back you know; you can have them all back." Death hissed in a voice as pleasing as a crackling flame.

  For a moment Durel wanted to believe him, forgetting that Death will tell any lie to accomplish his goal. There is no mercy, there is no leniency, and there is no compassion in Death. Durel came to his senses just in time to see the giant black scythe rising from the pool of ever-changing forms.

  "No not for one, for everyone!" Durel said raising his voice, a magical staff appearing in hand.

  "You fool; you actually have hope of h
arming me in some form? You don't even know why you are here! Some twisted idea of revenge without even understanding the offense!"

  "I understand you Death; I understand all I need to know. You are right; I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know if I can kill you, and I don't know if I can banish you. Whether or not I succeed is of no importance to me, because of what I achieved simply contacting you, I have earned immortality."

  "I will show you why you are here, and not immortal. Yes you have broken a barrier by coming here, they want to know if you will be able to go further, can you reach them as well?"

  "Them? I came for you because of the bitterness you have caused, and the grief you bring. I come for you alone."

  "Then come and get me." Death opened his ever-changing, melting arms wide in a mock embrace to Durel.

  Without thinking Durel rushed forward with a primal scream, staff held high, and the vigor of youth feeding his old bones strength. He summoned all the might, all the will he ever had, every power he had uncovered, every memory he had lived, all focused at one point, Death. Death stood still, arms held wide, the smile of a skull welcoming the rage of Durel. Plunging into Death Durel fell