by Chris Colfer
The field stretched for miles around her and was home to dozens of other white trees, but none of them had as many pocket watches as the tree with Brystal’s name. In fact, most of the other trees’ branches were bare.
As Brystal gazed across the land, she noticed a bright sun hovering over the horizon to her right and a massive full moon hovering over the horizon to her left. Between them was the most spectacular sky she had ever seen. There were hundreds of orbiting planets, thousands of spiraling galaxies, and millions of twinkling stars. Everything was so vivid, the entire universe seemed within reach, and each of the celestial bodies gave off a hypnotic chime—Brystal could hear the stars as much as she could see them. Brystal hadn’t known such dazzling colors and such soothing sounds existed, and she couldn’t think of words to describe all the beauty above her.
Brystal wandered through the field, exploring the peculiar place. Something felt oddly familiar about the strange land—like part of her had always been there. She wasn’t worried or scared as she walked around because, for reasons unknown to her, Brystal knew she was perfectly safe.
All the trees stood at different heights and each of them was engraved with a different name. Their trunks were also embedded with silver clocks, but unlike the clock on Brystal’s tree, the others were working and turning at unique speeds. Some of the names she recognized, like Lucy, Barrie, Emerelda, Xanthous, and Celeste—but there were engravings she didn’t recognize, like John, Lloyd, Alex, Conner, and Ezmia. Curiously, the mysterious names belonged to smaller trees that hadn’t been planted, and their clocks were frozen at 12:00, as if their time hadn’t started yet.
As she continued through the field, Brystal spotted someone moving nearby. She walked toward the stranger and saw that it was Mistress Mara. The witch was aggressively pacing and her face was tense with worry. She was deep in thought and didn’t look up as Brystal approached. After the events in the fortress, Brystal had a million concerns of her own, but the most important question escaped her lips.
“Are we dead?” Brystal asked.
“Not yet,” the witch said.
Mistress Mara never stopped pacing and kept her eyes on the ground.
“Then what are we doing here? What is this place?”
“We’re waiting, obviously,” she said. “This is the space between life and the other side.”
Mistress Mara gestured toward the sun and the moon, and suddenly, Brystal realized they weren’t what she had originally thought. What she had mistaken for a full moon was actually the world, and what she had mistaken for the sun was actually a bright light shining from somewhere beyond the universe. Brystal wasn’t standing on a field attached to a planet but a strip of land that was floating freely through the cosmos.
“What are these trees?” she asked. “Why are there names and clocks on them?”
The witch groaned as if she had more pressing matters to think about.
“Each tree represents a person you’ve encountered or a person you will encounter if you survive,” Mistress Mara explained. “The clocks represent the time each person has left on earth. They spin at different speeds because, well, time is relative. Some people need decades to live a fulfilling life, while others can achieve one within minutes.”
“Still, it seems unfair that some people have more time than others,” Brystal said.
“Everything seems unfair when you measure it with the wrong tools,” Mistress Mara said. “Life isn’t supposed to be measured by time, by luck, or by privilege. Life is supposed to be measured by purpose. Everyone is born with a purpose—whether they choose to believe it or not. Some are meant to learn lessons, some are meant to teach them, while others are simply meant to observe. Naturally, a lot of people resent life when their purpose isn’t easy or when it doesn’t match their hopes and dreams, but no one leaves the world without completing exactly what they were meant to do. That’s the rule of life.”
“And what about the watches?” she asked. “Why are there so many on my tree?”
“The watches represent the lives you’ve saved,” the witch said. “Sometime, somewhere, those people became lost—their trees were unrooted, so to speak. But because of something you said or did, they found the strength to keep ticking. Even though your clock has stopped, your tree will never stop growing because of the lives you’ve touched.”
Brystal glanced back at her tree and was amazed that each of the ticking watches symbolized a person with a beating heart. She knew people liked her, but Brystal didn’t know she mattered so much to so many people. It made her ashamed of surrendering to the Brotherhood and giving up her life so willingly.
Mistress Mara was surprisingly insightful about the space between life and death, and Brystal became curious as to why she was so knowledgeable. But before she could inquire any further, the witch became lost in her own thoughts and began muttering to herself.
“I was such an idiot!” Mistress Mara roared. “Seven never cared about anything but power! I should have known better! I should have seen it coming! But I was so distracted by vengeance I flew right into his trap like a moth to a flame!”
Brystal sighed with disappointment. “I’m partially to blame,” she said. “Somehow, he knew exactly what to say, exactly when I needed to hear it, and I fell for every word.”
“Yes, but you were cursed,” the witch said. “There was no excuse for my stupidity.”
Brystal did a double take—she was certain she had misheard her.
“Excuse me?” she asked. “What do you mean I was cursed?”
For the first time, Mistress Mara stopped pacing and looked Brystal directly in the eye.
“Have you noticed any changes lately?” the witch asked. “Have your thoughts and feelings been unexplainably negative? Have you been distancing yourself from the people you love? Has every problem seemed impossible to solve? Has your self-confidence been replaced by self-hate and self-scrutiny? Have you convinced yourself that you’re nothing but a failure and that the world would be better off without you?”
Brystal couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had never felt more exposed in her entire life and slowly backed away from the witch.
“How—How—How did you know?” she gasped.
“Because I’m the one who turned your mind against you,” Mistress Mara confessed.
“But—But—But why?”
“If you knew we were planning to seek revenge on mankind, you would have stopped us! We had to make you as weak and vulnerable as possible so we could succeed.”
“Are you crazy? This is the first time witches and fairies have been safe and respected by mankind in six hundred years! Why would you jeopardize that?”
Mistress Mara scoffed at her and continued pacing.
“It’s complicated—you haven’t lived long enough to understand,” the witch said.
“And who’s fault is that?!” Brystal exclaimed. “Thanks to you, I’m stuck somewhere between life and death! The least you could do is explain yourself!”
Mistress Mara tried to walk away but Brystal followed her. The witch rolled her eyes and let out a reluctant sigh.
“Fine,” she moaned. “Are you familiar with the story of the Daughter of Death?”
The phrase rang a bell, and Brystal recalled reading a book that mentioned it.
“It’s a legend, isn’t it?” she asked. “Death sent his daughter to earth, hoping the separation would help him understand human grief. Unfortunately for him, she found a way to stay on earth and live forever. The two never reunited and Death entered a state of eternal mourning.”
Mistress Mara gazed at the world with a heavy heart.
“Can you blame me?” she said. “Who wouldn’t want to live forever if they could? There’s music and food and weather and love and laughter—I was addicted to life from the moment I arrived. Most children like to defy their parents when they’re young, and what could be more defiant to Death than a daughter who loved living?”
Brystal assum
ed the witch was joking and laughed at the remarks. Mistress Mara turned to her with a very grave expression—she wasn’t kidding.
“You’re being serious,” Brystal said, and her eyes grew wide. “I suppose it makes sense. Who else could kill people with just their touch? And who else would know so much about this place?”
Mistress Mara nodded. “This place has changed over time,” she said. “All the clocks used to move at the same speed. Before my father sent me into the world, every soul was given a hundred years to live. But when he lost me, he decided to change the rules of death. Instead of monitoring people’s time, my father started collecting souls after their purpose was complete. Since my purpose was to make Death feel grief, and since that purpose was accomplished, he thought the new rules would unite us. However, when my father created me, he didn’t realize I had inherited so many of his traits. Death is timeless and his purpose is eternal—he’s the one thing in existence that can’t be killed. And no matter how many times he tried to take my life, I couldn’t die.”
“Wait a second,” Brystal said. “I heard a rumor that bloodstone came from Death—but it’s not a rumor, is it? He created it for you!”
“Bloodstone, disease, disaster, violence, starvation, plague—anything that can end a life was invented for me,” Mistress Mara said. “It seems like such a ghastly relationship, but it’s actually quite charming when you think about it. A lot of parents do drastic things to reunite with their children.”
“I’m confused,” Brystal said. “What does being the Daughter of Death have to do with seeking revenge on mankind?”
“I’ve been around a very long time, and the hardest part about living forever is losing the people I love,” Mistress Mara said. “But when those people were taken from me in vain, and that savagery went unpunished, the pain never went away. For thousands of years I’ve watched mankind slaughter witches and fairies without consequence, losing friend after friend, and lover after lover. When you legalized magic, you secured peace and acceptance for the magical community, but it didn’t erase the crimes committed against us. So when Seven presented me with a chance to avenge the people I had lost, I had to accept it.
“Seven told me his parents were killed by an angry mob, and as a result, he had developed a hatred for humanity that was equal to mine. He said he wanted to create a Righteous Army of the Dead and finally hold mankind responsible. But first, he needed a witch who was willing to partner with him, and like a fool, I believed his intentions were genuine. I opened the Ravencrest School of Witchcraft to produce a Shadow Beast powerful enough to raise the clansmen from the dead. Then I cursed your mind to feel constant misery, but with one very important exception—the curse was temporarily suspended whenever you were in Seven’s presence. We knew you’d interpret the breaks as fondness for him, that you’d undoubtedly become attached to him, and you’d never suspect he was deceiving you.”
Had Brystal been on earth, the revelation would have made her sick to her stomach. She was furious at Mistress Mara for inflicting such a cruel and manipulative curse on her, but in many ways, Brystal was extremely relieved. Her recent thoughts, feelings, and poor judgment weren’t her fault—learning that it was all due to a curse made Brystal’s shame fade away and her self-confidence return.
“If you can’t die, then why are you here?” Brystal asked. “Why aren’t you back on earth trying to stop him?”
“Because I can’t stop him,” Mistress Mara said. “Seven was honest about one thing—he and I are equally hateful. And you don’t fight fire by adding more fire. To defeat the Righteous Army of the Dead, the world will need someone to unite them like they’ve never been united before. They’ll have to convince mankind, the fairies, the witches, and the talking creatures to work together. And there’s only one person I know of who’s capable of that.”
“Me?” Brystal asked. “But what if I don’t survive?”
“That’s why I’m here,” the witch said. “I have to ensure you don’t cross over. And I’m willing to negotiate whatever it takes.”
Before Brystal had a chance to ask another question, the gray field was suddenly engulfed by an enormous eclipse. Mistress Mara eyed the darkness with suspense.
“He’s here,” the witch said.
“Who?”
“My father.”
The eclipse started to recede and the shade collected into a single shadow across the field. The shadow rose off the ground, gaining dimension and texture as it grew, and transformed into a man who was ten feet tall. His face and body were completely hidden under a pitch-black cloak made from darkness itself. Brystal’s first sight of Death should have been frightening, but she didn’t feel an ounce of fear as she gazed at him. On the contrary, it was like seeing the ship home after a very, very long voyage.
“Hello, Father,” Mistress Mara said with a warm smile. “It’s good to see you again.”
Even though he didn’t say a word or move a muscle, Brystal could sense thousands of years’ worth of tension between the two. Death ignored his daughter’s greeting and walked toward Brystal at a determined pace. The witch stepped between them, placing herself in her father’s path.
“She shouldn’t be here,” Mistress Mara said. “Her purpose is only beginning.”
Death acted as if he couldn’t hear his daughter and kept moving closer.
“You need her alive as much as the world does,” the witch said. “Death is an essential part of life—it’s what makes people appreciate living—but you forget that life is an essential part of you. If you don’t send her back to earth, the Righteous Army of the Dead will destroy so many lives, you’ll become irrelevant.”
Death wasn’t concerned and proceeded forward.
“I made a mistake,” Mistress Mara said. “Someone used my emotions to play me like a fiddle, and I gave them everything they wanted. But if memory serves me correctly, you made a very similar mistake once. Someone blinded you with desire and tricked you into giving them something you regret very much—something that still haunts you to this day. Perhaps if you send Brystal back to earth, she can fix both of our mistakes?”
Brystal had no idea what Mistress Mara was talking about. What sort of mistake had Death made? However, she could tell the witch was getting her father’s attention, because his pace started to slow down. When Death was just a few feet away from Brystal, Mistress Mara took a deep breath and offered her father something she knew he wouldn’t refuse.
“If you send her back, I’ll take her place,” she said.
Death suddenly stopped. He and his daughter glared at each other in silence, as if they were communicating telepathically. After a few moments, Mistress Mara nodded, like they had reached an agreement.
“Very well,” the witch said.
“What’s happening?” Brystal whispered.
“He’s made us a counteroffer,” Mistress Mara said. “If I take your place, my father will send you back to earth on one condition—you must fix his greatest regret.”
“What kind of regret?” she asked.
“Many centuries ago, my father was deceived by a woman,” Mistress Mara said. “The woman claimed she could kill me with an enchantment from an ancient spell book. The enchantment was as old as the earth, and Death had forgotten such a thing existed. In return for her help, the woman asked my father for immortality. By then my father was so desperate to have me back he accepted her proposal with no questions asked. Unfortunately, the moment he granted the woman immortality, she disappeared without a trace and never fulfilled her end of the bargain. This woman—this Immortal—still roams the earth, making a mockery of everything life and death stand for. If you agree to find and terminate the Immortal, my father will send you back to earth.”
“But how do I kill the Immortal?” Brystal asked.
“With the same enchantment she intended for me,” Mistress Mara said. “My father will give you one year to locate and kill the Immortal. But if you haven’t completed the task by then, the agr
eement will expire and your life will end.”
Brystal went quiet as she considered Death’s offer. It was a huge commitment to make, but what choice did she have? She would have given anything for another chance to stop Seven and the Righteous Army of the Dead.
“This enchantment—if it’s powerful enough to kill the Immortal, could it destroy the Army of the Dead, too?” Brystal asked.
Mistress Mara turned to her father, and Death slowly nodded.
“All right then,” Brystal said. “I agree.”
“Then it’s settled,” Mistress Mara said. “Congratulations, Miss Evergreen, you’ve just made a deal with Death.”
Suddenly, Brystal was distracted by the sound of ticking. It was louder than all the clocks in the field put together. When Brystal looked toward the noise, she saw that the clock on her tree had restarted. As soon as she laid eyes on it, Brystal was unexpectedly propelled backward. She rose off the ground and flew through the air as an invisible force pulled her back to the earth. Brystal grabbed hold of a tree branch as she ascended, desperate to ask one more question before she returned to life.
“Wait!” she cried. “What about the curse? How do I break it?”
“There’s only one way to break a curse of the mind,” Mistress Mara said.
“What?!”
“With the mind itself.”
Brystal held on to the branch with all her might, expecting the witch to give her more information, but that was all Mistress Mara said. The Daughter of Death linked arms with her father and rested her head on his shoulder. He walked her into the horizon and the two disappeared into the bright light of the other side—reunited at last.
The branch slipped out of Brystal’s grip.… She flew far away from the field and soared through the universe.… All the colorful planets and galaxies whirled around her.… Brystal started to lose consciousness as she was pulled faster and faster back to earth.… And all the stars faded from sight.…