Page 83 of Tiger's Trek
“I can’t tell you that, little one. What I can tell you is that you were loved and still are. You did not waste away or die in war. It was an accidental passing. You were younger than most. The most frequent question I get next is, when? As in, when will it happen? In your case, it doesn’t much matter, does it? It’s already done. I try to encourage most people not to ask it anyway. I find that when they know, they just dwell on the time they have left, and they stop living. What’s the point of that? Life is meant to be kept; the purpose of it is to gain experiences, and to feel joy. Why grieve the end of mortality before it happens?”
“But... but there is an afterlife, isn’t there?” Zakhar asked.
“If you want to ask me questions, you’ll have to use the device yourself,” the man said softly, not bothering to look at Zakhar. “But I’m not certain a conversation with Death is what you really want, is it, Priest?”
Zakhar swallowed, and Stacia could almost see him shrinking back.
Death squeezed Zima’s hands. “Do you have any other questions for me, little one?” he asked.
“Yes. What am I supposed to do with your gift?”
Grinning, he said, “Not many would consider it a gift. I’m happy you do. I don’t like to think of myself as a monster. You might be surprised to know that there are many who pray for me to come.”
He turned at that moment, and his eyes connected with Stacia’s.
She gasped as he gave her a small nod.He knows!she thought. Somehow he was aware of the dark thoughts she’d had just after the death of her mother. And when her sister was lost as a tiger, she’d prayed again for Death to take her. Stacia hadn’t even told her sister. She hadn’t been able to. Honestly, even if she had been, Stacia doubted if she could share such feelings. Veru was so sure of herself, so full of life. She didn’t think her sister would understand the dark places Stacia went in her thoughts when she was alone.
Thoughts such as—how could she lead the empire her parents left behind? Stacia knew no one wanted her to lead. They wanted her beautiful sister, not a woman who fought like a man with hair redder than the flag. And besides, who would marry a girl who could outride and outfight them? Not to mention a woman who was a handspan taller than most men. Her mother had always said that it didn’t matter what a woman looked like, so long as she acted like what a man expected, they’d get along just fine.
That was the problem. Stacia didn’t want a man she had to change for. She wanted a man who respected her and one whom she could respect as well. Was it too much to ask for a man worthy enough to be able to look in the eye and not be disappointed? If not mentally, then at least physically? Stacia shook her head. Who was she kidding? She wanted it all. Someone smart, interesting, attractive, and tall. Such a man didn’t exist.
And now, with her parents gone, there was no more time for her to look. A choice would have to be made and soon. Of course, that was assuming there was even an empire in existence, should they be able to return and reclaim it. They had mucked up everything. Royally, it seemed. But what else could be expected of twins who couldn’t even decide which one had been born first?
Death began speaking again and caught her attention, his eyes narrowed as if he were reading her mind, studying her. “Though most think of life as a blessing,” he said, “it is not always a kind or pleasant, easy journey. Yet all mortals must... what is the saying? ‘Suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and take arms against a sea of troubles’?”
Stacia broke eye contact. No wonder she’d been courting Death. Apparently, she found him very attractive. He was just tall enough too. Suddenly, she felt all the sorrow accompanying her father’s death come back, making her heart feel heavy. Was he doing that to her? Playing with her emotions? Reminding her of...
I’m so sorry, Mama... Stacia could hear her own voice whispering the words and see the ground far below as she stood on the parapet atop the highest balcony of the palace, ready to jump. She hadn’t leaped into Death’s arms that long ago day. Life had a way of intervening, as it often did, but she frequently remembered that dark time. In fact, she still had to fight to keep that darkness from consuming her.
The personification of Death laughed in that moment, and the vision disappeared. It seemed Zima didn’t understand his words. “Never mind, dear one,” he said. “What you do is simply what you just did. You use the device to summon me to someone’s bedside. Leave the rest of it up to me. I’ll take it from there.”
He straightened and stood. “Now, as for the two of you. I’ll tell you this once as a courtesy, lest you get any ideas. This gift was given to Zima for a reason. Knowing the details of one’s own demise can be a comfort to those who are truly at death’s door. But for those who are not, it can be... well, let’s call it a millstone.
“The weight of that knowledge will burden a person for the entirety of their lives and can sink them into a dark place, where no one can ever find them again. There is a difference between knowing who you are and where you’re going, between faith and purpose, and just driving toward a dead end. Think about that the next time you want to touch the hourglass.”
Stacia wet her lips, which she found had gone suddenly dry. “We—we will,” she said.
“See to it.” Death stood up, dusted his hands, and winked at Zima. “Farewell, young lady. Use that gift wisely.”
“I will. Spasibo.”
“Thankyou.” He seemed about to leave, but then hesitated. “Oh, and just so the two of you know, there can be a great deal of healing found if one takes advantage of the—what is it called—oh yes, the Seal of the Confessional. In my experience, the roles of priest and parishioner do not need to be strictly adhered to for counseling to remain effective.”
With that, Death disappeared.
“What, um, what do you think he meant by that?” Zakhar asked.
“I have no idea,” Stacia replied. “Unless there’s something you’d like to talk about?”
“No. Nothing on my end. What about you?”
“No. Not at all. Ya v poryadke. I’m in apple-pie order.”
“Good.”
“Khorosho.”
“Otlichno.”
