by S. K. Sayari
“He knew what to do about the people who are sick. I feel helpless, B,” she said. “The harvest has been so bad the last few years. People don’t have time to work because their afflicted family members crave their attention. And the people give much of their food to the ill—so much that they fall ill themselves because they’re starving. I don’t know what to do.…”
The royal family had no idea how much they tortured the men and women living in their kingdom—the world, even. They had sentenced every being on the planet to live in an endless limbo. The sick would not be cured, and the ones who were fit would never stop caring for them. In the end, there would be no one left to keep everything running. The world would fall barren because people would no longer find the time to live. They were forgetting how.
“Avita. My dear. I wish I could help you, but I’m trapped here. If you’d let me out, I—”
“Are you serious? Why do you always bring this up in my moments of weakness?” She let out a deep, exasperated breath. “The doctors have tried for decades. What kind of magic can you possibly have that they haven’t already tried?”
“I can cure the sickness. The reason why the sickness came to the kingdom—the world—in the first place is because your great-grandfather locked me up in this cell. Let me out, and I’ll cure the king.”
A small glimmer of hope shone in her eyes, but it lasted a mere second before it again turned to skepticism and anger. “You have to let go of this delusion, B,” she said, her voice breaking. She stood up and grabbed the tray with unusual temper. “I have to go back and tend to my father.”
Without taking another look at him, she strode away from the dungeons, and he was once again left alone.
Beyond put his forehead against the bars. He could feel the gold sting and burn, making his entire body itch. He knew it could not hurt him, and he could ignore the discomfort when spending time with the princess; however, in his solitude, it was all he could focus on. It weakened him, drew the energy out of him like a leech. Had it only been the bars, maybe he could have gotten out himself, but the previous king had thought of everything—covered the walls, floor, and ceiling in the same metal.
Drained of his strength, he floated back up into the air, the only part of the cell void of the king’s cherished gold.
He remembered a time when he was not bound to a physical body. When his vision extended all over the world. But even though he was banished from the world outside his cage and most of his powers were gone, he could still hear the anguished cries from the souls affected by what they’d decided to call ‘the sickness.’ No amount of gold could break his connection to them. They were calling for him. Please, take me away. Make it stop. Dead souls trapped in a living body—what torment.
“So, you are the man she’s been visiting.” An unfamiliar voice spoke—a man.
Beyond floated on his back, arms stretched out as if he were swimming in a gentle stream. “The princess? Yes. I’m her friend. You must be her husband—Lun, is it?”
When the prince did not answer, Beyond rolled around to see if he was still there. He was. Touching the golden bars, Lun looked mesmerized.
“A waste of precious metal. What did you do to earn such a prison?”
“I did my job, nothing more. And gold is the only metal able to contain me,” Beyond explained, studying the young man. Lun’s footsteps echoed as he restlessly walked alongside the cell, sliding his fingers across the bars.
“An unorthodox prison for someone so obviously affected by the sickness. I’m certain a normal cell would hold you just fine.”
“Have you not heard the poem, Your Highness?” Beyond asked.
The prince looked back at him, and for another silent moment, they stared at each other. “What poem?” he finally asked.
Beyond grinned, then let his voice echo throughout the dungeons:
“It is true what they say;
That whatever your role,
Only one thing matters
When Death wants your soul.
Bread might sate your hunger,
And water your thirst—
But if own ye not gold
Your blood will drip first.
* * *
He cares not for titles
Nor about wealth;
Gold slows him but briefly.
Take care of your health.”
“I find no meaning in this poem,” the prince admitted after a second of trying to comprehend the words. “It must be from before my time.”
“From a time where I was free. Last I heard it was a hundred and fifty years ago. And you are right, it holds no meaning. At least, not as long as I’m trapped here.”
A frown appeared on Lun’s face. “A hundred and fifty?” he repeated, though mostly to himself. “The sickness came to our land—”
“To the world,” Beyond corrected.
“—a hundred and fifty years ago.”
Beyond cocked his head curiously to the side. Was this his chance? He planted his feet on the golden floor, walking over to the finely-clothed prince. Lun backed away with two small steps. For the first time, he looked scared.
“The sickness came when the king locked me up here,” Beyond said, hoping the other man would take a hint.
“People are sick because of you?”
It was not exactly what Beyond had wanted to convey, but he could work around it. “In a way. If I were free, everyone would be cured.” He laid the bait, hoping the prince would bite.
“How is that possible?” In Lun’s voice was a spark of hope that hadn’t been there before. Now all Beyond had to do was blow more life into it.
“Have you ever heard of Death?”
The prince thought, then nodded. “From your poem. I do not know what—or who—it is.”
Beyond pitied the man in front of him, and for a brief moment he imagined that it was the prince who was stuck in a cage. How could any creature appreciate life when to them it seemed endless? Only the ones affected by the sickness now knew the agony.
Beyond knew he had betrayed them by being captured. Many had been trapped for over a hundred years, too exhausted to move their bodies, never satisfied by any amount of food or drink. People who knew they needed something, but could never figure out what it was.
“Death,” he said, “is peace.”
He spoke his own truth, but by the never-ending anguished cries he heard day and night, he was certain it was everyone else’s truth as well. Fear of endless torture or empty space could frighten any soul; but now the only torture they would experience was in not dying, and that vast dark and empty place would never feel anything but peaceful once they were there.
“The people who have the sickness want peace, and I am the one who brings it. The king’s grandfather feared it, so he locked me inside this cell. The current king was fearful, too, so he also refused me freedom. I heard he’s come down with the sickness.”
“Avita feels helpless,” Lun said, his expression revealing his empathy for her.
“I told her I could cure it, but she didn’t believe me. All she has to do is let me out.”
“Why would His Majesty be frightened of peace?” Lun asked, as if he’d just then understood what Beyond had said to him. He took a step toward the cell again, regaining his courage.
“It’s a different kind of peace, Your Highness. It envelops your whole body, it numbs you.” It was difficult to explain such a thing to someone who hadn’t experienced it. “Before they imprisoned me, everyone feared it. Now you’ve all forgotten it—the fear, and the accompanying appreciation of life.” Beyond looked straight into Lun’s eyes, peered into his soul. “It is your birthright to experience peace, but only I can give it to you, the king, the people, and the world. Would you deny every living being such a thing?”
Lun shook his head. “Everyone deserves peace,” he agreed. “But how can I know you’re being truthful?”
Beyond thought for a moment, then reached his hand out between the bars
. “Place your hand in mine. You’ll feel it.”
The prince looked skeptical, but he quickly seemed to decide that an old, sickly man could not harm him too severely from inside a cage. As their hands met, Lun’s breath was knocked out of him; few people had ever touched Beyond and lived to tell the tale. Avita knew the feeling, but she had grown numb to it over the years.
Lun closed his eyes as he slowly but steadily regained his ability to breathe. When it seemed like the prince was about to lose his footing and fall, Beyond let go of his hand.
“No, wait!” Lun cried out, grabbing Beyond’s wrist. Seconds later, he found his senses, releasing his hold with a confused frown. “I’ve never experienced anything like that. It was so…divine.”
“Peace is the cure, Lun. Help me bring it to your people. To the king.”
“I will,” Lun promised.
They had an understanding now, and as Lun turned his back to the golden cell, Beyond knew that he was going to do whatever he needed to free him. Lun loved Avita, and Beyond had just shown him the way to save her father. The prince would never pass on such an opportunity to help his princess.
Left alone once again, Beyond felt a sinking feeling in his chest at the realization that soon he would truly have his freedom back. Was he experiencing fear? Grief? It had to be similar; he was certain. He was used to people’s hatred, but knowing that Avita’s revulsion would soon be directed at him stung worse than gold. The king would be his target, and even though it would be an act of kindness, his beloved would condemn him for it.
His brows wrinkled as he felt something wet trail down his cheek, toward his ear. Avita had made him shed tears, made him feel things he was not supposed to.
Equally a blessing and a curse.
The turn of a key, a cell unlocked. Shadows on the ceiling revealed the door opening. He didn’t know how long he’d been alone, if it had been days or weeks, but Lun was back and had brought freedom with him.
“Please, cure the people of our kingdom.”
“The world,” Death corrected. “I will cure the world.”
He was on his feet in an instant. For a moment all he wanted to do was look, just to make sure the gold hadn’t made him delusional. A small step at first, then another, and another. In the end, he stood firmly planted on the stone floor outside his cell. Waves of energy surged through his veins and almost knocked him off his feet. His body tingled with rejuvenation. His soot-black hair grew, cascading down his shoulders. His skin tightened, making him young and beautiful once more. Now his eyes could see again, past the things directly in front of him; as his presence grew, he could observe the world and every living being roaming it.
Dividing his consciousness to help the afflicted as quickly as possible, he lent a guiding hand to thousands of people at once. They were ready to pass, letting him lead them to the other side without any hesitation. Their peace became his as they were finally able to rest. Mere moments later, only the king’s voice was left plaguing his mind. Avita was there with him, and Death wanted to talk to her before blessing her father with peace well-deserved.
“I’ll see you again, Lun. Hopefully when you’re old and tired. Thank you.”
Lun’s slightly confused expression was the last thing Beyond saw before disappearing from the dungeons.
One second later, he stood outside the king’s chambers. Two guards watched the entrance to the room, but people couldn’t see or hear him unless he wanted them to. Three knocks for Avita and her father to hear.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
He headed inside through insubstantial doors, solid matter that no longer held any meaning to him. Avita sat beside her father’s bed, looking up toward him as he entered the room. Her lips turned down in a frown of uncertainty.
“Beyond?”
He didn’t have to answer for her to come to her own conclusion.
“You don’t look like.… How did you get out?” Her hand gently let go of her father’s before she stood up and walked toward him. “He’s gotten worse, I couldn’t visit you.…”
“I’ve never expected you to come and visit me, Avita,” Death reassured her. Looking at her, he knew that he had broken an ancient promise—to love all beings equally. He was no longer in balance. She had removed the ground from under him, and he had fallen. He had started to envy the mortals, and it was all because of her. Yet, he knew that the feeling was not mutual. It made everything easier, to know that no mortal could ever love him while their souls still clung to life. “I’ve come to cure your father.”
“You didn’t lie to me? You actually know how to make him well?” For a moment, she was the sun, shining like a million lights fueled by hope.
“It will hurt, Avita.”
“How long will he know pain?”
He put her face between his soft hands, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. “It will hurt you, not him. He will be at peace, I promise.”
He leaned in and kissed her forehead before stepping away, walking towards the sick king. He was met by tired, brown eyes. The king’s dry lips opened, as if he wanted to speak, but no words were uttered. Death put a gentle hand on the old man’s chest. One small touch was all it took.
“Who are you?” the king asked. He looked young and strong again. There was pride in the way he carried himself.
“I am Death, the son of our Great Mother, and your servant and guide. You have suffered in my absence. Please forgive me.” Death bowed before the dead, the way he always did.
“Why are you here?”
“To lead you to the land of eternal peace.” Death gestured to the space beside himself. To him it was empty, but he knew the king would see something beautiful. It would be his own paradise, something that would lure him in.
The king’s soul came closer. Death held his hand out in a welcoming manner, ready to lead the way at the king’s command. Then the king stopped, looking around the room as if he’d suddenly become aware of his surroundings.
“Avita. My daughter,” he said, recognizing the face of the seemingly frozen woman in front of him. “She’s been with me every day since I fell ill. She’s a wonderful woman, I’m proud of her,” he remembered. “Will she come with me?”
“Eventually, but right now only I can walk this path alongside you. Come. While we walk, you can tell me your favorite memory.”
The king finally took Death’s hand. “The birth of my daughter. She is my greatest accomplishment. Never have I loved someone so thoroughly.”
As they walked together towards paradise, the king began to smile. From his perspective, he was treading into the most wonderful place he could ever imagine, but all Death saw was a soul slowly turning into a million tiny particles that shone bright like stars.
“Neither have I,” Death mumbled before noticing that he was back in the land of the living.
Avita stood beside him, looking at him with worried eyes filled with unshed tears, like a layer of ice upon water.
“When will he wake up?”
“Avita, your father is dead. He will never wake up.”
Her wandering eyes revealed her incomprehension. She turned to the king, putting her hand on his arm, shaking it gently to seek his attention. With a soft voice, she once again begged for a response. When nothing happened, she turned back to look at Death. The tears that had collected in her eyes had now crawled down her cheeks.
“What did you do? You promised a cure,” she cried.
“Death is the cure. I told you it would hurt, but it’s a bittersweet pain that can only be felt after having loved and lost.”
She turned to her father once again, shaking him more and more aggressively when he didn’t respond. “Father, please,” she called out. Tears rained down from her eyes as she punched the dead man’s chest.
Suddenly, the doors to the bedchambers opened, and a man in a guard’s uniform came bursting in, filled with adrenaline. “Your Highness, hundreds of people from all over the city are standing outside. They say that their s
ick family members aren’t responding—they’re not breathing or moving their eyes, it’s like they’re not here anymore. No one knows what’s going on.”
“The same thing happened to my father,” she said, her voice quivering. She looked towards Death, her eyes red with rage. “This is your doing. You have sent my kingdom into ruin. What kind of magic is this? Undo it!”
“Death cannot be reversed. Your kingdom will prosper now that your people no longer are left caring for the living dead. I promise.”
“Guards!” she called out, and the two sentries came rushing to her aid. “Escort this man back to his cell.” Avita’s command made Death pause. “Put him in golden chains and place guards there day and night. I never want to see him again.”
“My dear Avita,” he said quietly as the guards came towards him, “sorrow clouds your mind. Death is a natural part of life; it happens to everyone. I’m so sorry that your great-grandfather stole your ability to experience and prepare yourself for the grief it causes. However, locking me back up will only hurt your people.”
The guards grabbed his arms and started pulling him towards the doors. As he let them guide him down the path that led to his own personal death, he closed his eyes, placing a part of his consciousness in the king’s chambers. Avita stared at him with big eyes as she turned around and met his gaze.
“How did you…?”
“We are friends, are we not?”
“Not anymore. Leave.”
“Your father was not scared, he welcomed me. Keeping him alive caused him only pain and suffering, I brought him relief. Only the living shun me.” He held his hand out towards her, hoping to feel the warmth of her touch. She took a step back instead, denying him his only wish. “If not for my sake, let me go free for the sake of your people. You are condemning them to a crueler fate than I.”
“In the same breath as I command your freedom, will I not sentence my child to both witness my own demise and for him to experience it himself? What horrible mother would I be?”