The Sound of Death's Wings
Two brothers, two sisters, and one final conversation with Death
Foreword: A thought experiment which turned into a writing exercise which became just a bit more.
Death comes for Vander and he rises to greet her. This wasn't the first time he had seen death. He had seen death the minute he stepped on the bridge. He had seen death the day he stumbled over the bodies of those who had followed him to war. He had seen death when he buried his friends while their families surround him, demanding why he had stopped fighting, screaming that their sons and daughters, husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, had died for nothing.
The only thing he didn't know was why it had taken Death so long to come for him personally, and why she would still bear a friendly smile. She opens her mouth to explain, but he shrugs her off with a wave of his hand. Hearing it from her would make it harder than it already was.
"Yeah, I know."
He takes a deep breath, the smoke and ashes of the cannery doing nothing to disperse the morning air of the undercity, air so thick it would once clog his throat, cling to his eyes until they had to wash them away.
His eyes water at the memory.
"Can I stay?"
He knows what Death will say next, heads her off before she can argue.
"Just a li'l bit. Please."
She smiles then, the kindest of gestures he knows he doesn't deserve.
"Of course."
He can no longer hear the rain drops falling around them as the edges of his vision begin to blur. But he sits anyway. Because sitting is easy, and his next journey will be hard.
"So what happens now?"
"Now's when I take you, Vander. Judgement comes after."
It arrives anyway.
"I tried. I really tried. Holding everything together. Finding a way out. Cutting a deal with Grayson was the only way to..."
She shakes her head, but he knows this isn't disapproval.
"For later."
He casts around for something else, anything else. His eyes fall on his body, larger than it had ever been. Glowing pink and purple veins curling around his chest and arms, throbbing and pounding as if they were still alive. He shoots Death a rueful smile.
"I grew big, huh?"
She matches his smile with one of her own.
"You really did."
But he sees a small flutter of his chest, hears the faintest of heartbeats. And with that, the cruel glimmers of hope.
"But I'm still..."
"There're many deaths, Vander. This one's yours."
"No, no, no! You don't understand. I'm still there! My body's still..."
Death stands between his body and him with the gentlest shake of her head.
And he knows he has sat beside his daughter for as long as he can.
"But she still needs me."
He looks at Vi, sobbing before him. Their tears, falling together.
Death smiles and takes his hand.
"You've done all you can for her."
Vander hears, briefly, the sound of Death's wings.
.
"I suppose this is the part where I bargain."
Silco paces around his seat, in a corner of the cannery entirely too small for him. He glowers at Death, this woman who smiles an infuriating smile, who partakes in a misjudged attempt to present a kind word, a friendly face.
"No. Judgement comes after."
She offers him a hand. So patronising, as if he could not even follow her.
"But I will accompany you there."
He knows what will come next, he has issued a hundred of them to a thousand Zaunites. A threat, disguised as an invitation, to bring him to heel.
"I do not need a minder to the spirit world."
No. He stands tall, firm. One man fighting against the passage of time, the order of nature.
"Summon it."
"Who?"
Death's pretence infuriates him.
"The Harbinger! The Judge! The one who will decide!"
"That's not the nature of things, Silco. You go to them. They don't come to you."
"I will not waste my time journeying to them for judgement when they can decide here! Now!"
Still the weak little smile, the gentle shake of her head.
"Answer me!"
"What I say won't make a difference, Silco. Your time here is nearly up. There's nothing we can do to change that."
"But you're Death!"
"Death is only ever the beginning of another journey."
But he will not be so easily cowed. Not in the city he built, the nation he birthed. And so, he takes a deep breath, and he tries again.
"Are men so cowardly that they follow you so tamely?"
"They always do. In the end."
"Then they do not deserve to live! All of them wea..."
The word catches in his throat, the memory of a distant night, of fire and ash in the same cannery, rises within him.
He only saw strength that night. Perhaps, in the end, the only display of strength that really mattered.
"Your time's up, Silco."
"No!"
But now she takes a step forward. Her smile, her kindness, finally gone. All she can afford is sadness. All she can give is a small encouraging nod.
And he knows he has stood beside his daughter for as long as he can.
"But she still needs me."
He looks at Jinx, sobbing before him. Their tears, falling together.
Death smiles and takes his hand.
"You've done all you can for her."
Silco hears, briefly, the sound of Death's wings.