“Helidon?” I gulped audibly. “If you’re going to accuse a man, even a woman for that matter, nevermind which life-system they’re from, you always bring up your accusations in their presence.”
“But Your Majesty. It might give the game away if we—”
“Boremasta!” He shouted. A crisp and clear note rang out across the building. Thousands if not more who worked hereabouts would’ve heard.
He must have rolled his way here, he’d arrived that fast. Either Boremasta was skulking in the reception room outside or he was fortunate enough, so to speak, to be passing by. Either way, the King called and he answered in less than fifteen seconds. His office was after mine, more than two hundred meters away from the throne room.
“Helidon here has something to tell you. Or should I say about you,” said His Majesty and went back to doing whatever it was he was doing looking out the open window, holding something before him.
Do or die, as they say. I politely but assuredly shared my suspicions of Boremasta to Boremasta. He looked taken aback, pretended to say something, mouthed the words but only ended up gobbling like a turkey. His fat face made strange expressions and his chubby body twitched in weird places.
“What Boremasta the speechless is trying to say is that you, Helidon, should have consulted me or him about this matter before you started to play detective. If you had asked, you’d have learned that I appointed Boremasta to spend time with the Von Heisens so he could act as my spy in their midst and learn for himself if the vampires are indeed planning something as stupid as a coup. Even I, Helidon, need to have eyes and ears everywhere. I have to plant them where I need them.”
“He didn’t tell me anything,” I said in my defence.
“Of course Boremasta wouldn’t. He is sworn to secrecy, but you had a chance to ask your King about it at the parlor.”
“I wanted to do something independent, sire, to make you proud of me.”
“Now you’re getting all emotional. If I wanted such childish behavior, I’d have allowed women at court. Boremasta, you have been foolish in revealing yourself. If Helidon can figure this out, imagine who else can know.”
“I wasn’t told he was involved, My King.” His voice no longer sounded charming and refined but small and squeaky. “I would’ve been better prepared if I’d been given—”
The King turned and gave us a piece of his mind. It was loud, there was actual heat coming off him and both Boremasta and I thought we were being barbecued. And of course everyone heard. I was starting to understand that King Death had two volumes and no control over either one. “You won’t be told anything. What is this, play school? You are not life-forms living in corporeal bodies anymore. Your subconscious no longer protects you from zilla-bytes of memory. You can know it all now, with training. You are dead, gone by your own hands, and I am here paying for it. I could have made things much worse for you ignorant lot but I chose to give you something, which I believe is better than nothing. You have a city when nightmares are your due, you bunch of complaining suicidal worms. Be grateful and not just inside your damned souls but in deed. I want to see your gratitude in action. Bear in mind and never forget this. Nobody will tell you anything. You have to ask if you want to know. If you keep your mind shut you can very well stop waiting, the answer will never come. It is your job to seek it out. Get out, both you idiots! You better have the paperwork ready by day’s end, Helidon. All of us, you courtier sods included, have a festival to attend. If I’m late to meet the people, heads will roll.”
Boremasta relied on that incredible speed of his and, yes, he actually tucked himself inside his fat folds and rolled ahead, beating me to the so called finish line. I ran out sweating and panting. Boy, was it hot in there. I think the hem of my coat was on fire. As soon as I entered my office, I shoved Krell to one side.
“You left the Open Cases tab empty,” I screamed at him. “I know you did it on purpose, but even if you didn’t that still left me looking like a complete incompetent in His Majesty’s eyes.”
“Sir, with all due respect, and a little intentional insult,” I glowered at him, he glowered back, “I can only file what you have completed. And since you haven’t been in office for a good amount of time...sir...I had nothing to put under the Open Cases tab. Before I could tell you anything about it...sir...you ran out the office and right into His Majesty’s throne room where I, unless summoned, can’t enter...sir.”
“If you say anything about this to anyone, I’ll drag you down with me if I take the fall.”
“Even if you don’t fall, your blame is equally shared with me, who is you assistant. I’ll do my best to notify you ahead of time next time, sir.”
“Reliably selfish Krell.”
“I prefer the term political.”
“Well, don’t just stand there, help me collect a bunch of approval papers. I’ll take as many with me as I can and work on them during the festival.”
13
Each consecutive fifth month of His Majesty’s Solar Year was a day for celebration. As with most grand traditions that have gone on for centuries, we had no idea what started it or what the day really stood for. All we knew is that Death ordained and we obeyed. This was my first year in Quadrant City and today marked my first fifth-month. I had only been inside the government building for an hour but when I stepped outside to supervise my designated locale, I found the whole city at work. They were building stalls, stitching banners, unloading massive quantities of supplies for the Moo-Day Festival. We did eat vegetarian as well as non-vegetarian meals and I often wondered where animals came from on such short notice. Quadrant ran on a strange ecosystem where forests flourished without fauna. There were in fact no animals anywhere to be found, as I recalled during my walk in the forest.
I came to learn that animals were shipped in on special cargo-express vessels. They were immediately put to use, because any animal that entered this dimension had to be souls and animal souls couldn’t survive here for more than twenty-four hours. They came, were put through a fleshification process to make them solid in a way, and they were put to work on heavy-duty tasks and eaten afterwards or simply butchered and eaten, or stored in deep freezes if needed. Either way any animal that lived past twenty-four hours instantly vanished, leaving a pile of ash behind. I don’t know where they go but I do know that one of Captain Charon’s cargo vessels brings them over from other dimensions where beast souls are reared. It’s a crazy after-world, I’ll tell you that.
Anyway, from what various life-forms are talking about this festival, it usually begins with bulls and ended with balls. Let me explain and please don’t close your eyes, there’s nothing graphic about what I’m going to tell you, except the part about the bulls. The festival begins with a parade where the King is introduced first. We begin in the Human Quadrant and move clockwise through some of the life-system quadrants and a festival event is held in each one. The King’s government buildings and offices occupy the central region of Quadrant so the parade begins at His Majesty’s residence in the posh Everdead Lane and flows from there.
The first event has, according to the records I’ve read, almost always been a bull fight. That’s what I meant when it starts with bulls. The day goes on with fetes, stalls, operas, dances and music performances, feasts and drinks, and ends with a game of ball. That’s what I meant about the other thing, a game, that’s all, which I’ll explain in due course. The finale involves me offering His Majesty the list of approved reincarnaytes. With his lightning reading he will tick or cross accordingly, Lady Life would come to the Grand Imperial Harbor and reincarnate the souls into the life-systems they were in when they took their lives.
Now, nevermind the festivities but I haven’t even one soul to bring up for approval. Death will instantly read my failure and he’ll never let me hear the end of it, that’s if I’m alive, in a manner of speaking, to hear it. His detection skills have something to do with auric imprints and energy lastations, meaning how long energy has be
en in contact with someone or something. This is why it is very nearly impossible to lie to the King.
Three hundred fifty courtiers stood outside His Majesty’s residence, which we found to be imposing but also lonely and silent, a mansion set atop a hill. We didn’t come from up there, but waited at the foot of the hill where Death himself stood point and gave the marching band their cue to begin. Fireworks went off, music played, drumbeats rolled and King Death led his three hundred fifty courtiers forward in a casual stride. His shoulders lit up and the fire coursed along his back. His hooves smoldered and flames licked his hocks as he clip-clopped along the tar road. He grew in size and his wings spread to either side. The fire on his back played against the wind and made the metal blades of his wings glimmer dangerously.
We courtiers knew the frightening effect such a transformation had on us when he became himself in the office during hard rebukes. But here in the bright light of day he looked like a sun god, minus the beautiful countenace but plus the mysterious life-form appeal. King Death’s unprecedented change made the audiences who’d crowded up to see him applaud and shout his name, chanting in a speedy tempo, “Long live the King, long live the King, long live the King.” It matched the drum beat fine.
We made our way along the main thoroughfare. The marching band went first, King Death had a space all to himself and he walked on two hocked hooves with fire trailing along their sides and back. All we courtiers came next, and parade-makers joined behind us. There were feathered dancing girls from all life-forms grooving and bending in what most of the people would’ve considered scandalous, which is why they loved it.
Large wheeled machines rolled their way forward. They had gigantic, and unbelievably so, theme park rides, pop culture displays and more from all life-systems. I recognzied a few choice ones from Earth and some modern ones that I had obviously died too early and missed. Following them came a massive volcano that spewed flower petals; flowers from all life-systems were used. The ships must have come loaded to the point of sinking if this many supplies were going into one festival. Music blared and food was distributed pending the Mega-Feast, as the people called it, where everyone would eat, drink, dance and be merry.
I was starting to understand how our King, despite the normal lifestyle he demanded of citizens in Quadrant and the strictures he placed on them, kept their loyalty, even the poorest in the land. He could have gone on saying no to any kind of happiness and levity and kept us in veritable strait jackets and torture chambers if he wanted to. But this was hope, today was hope. A festival like this showed that King Death, the most feared in the Universe, had mercy—or should I say pity—on us suicides. Granted, for the injustice of taking our own lives before our time we shouldn’t really be living in the lap of luxury in the afterlife. But there’s a little good in the world so who cares if we’re pitied as long as we’re spared some cruelty in our immortal soul-existence. I wondered all this as I strode a few meters behind Death. I was at the head and center of the courtier throng because, well, I was the Reincarnator.
Come to think of it, why should our suicides be considered a bad thing anyway? How is it unjust compared to, say, a person dying of cancer with no hope of cure? A family being murdered or accidentally killed? Women and men alike being raped or emotionally tortured to the point that they develop psychosomatic illnesses and perish from them? Children being abused, old people being taken advantage of? All this was a form of death, yeah? All this was a form of decadence and decay, proof that life was devolving instead of going the other way. Anyway, who cares what I think. I’m here in Quadrant City celebrating Moo-Day. Yipee-yahoo, and all that jazz.
My arms hurt. I’ve been waving to the crowds for a whole hour and a half. My feet are killing me. I’ve been keeping pace with the parade for the same time. I’m hungry and thirsty and I need to use the washroom. A soul fleshified is a soul distressed. But we need a body to do anything or we’d just pass through it all, always sensing, never settling, and in a constant state of flux. And we all know the Universe wants nothing better than order and living forms suffering to keep it going. Keep calm and carry on, they said. It was more like carry on and if you’re lucky, calm will come to you; it must have misplaced my address.
Looming before us was the pride and joy of the Human Quadrant. The enormous coliseum constructed in early Roman style but with modern-day seating. The place was so big it could hold five hundred thousand life-forms and the acoustics were ideal enough for everyone to hear and they had small adjustable seat-oculars for people who sat at the outer fringes to see the events in the main stadium space. Death had inaugurated this massive edifice a few centuries ago, give or take, I don’t know the exact date. It went through some renovations but the name and basic design still carried through.
The Bull-a-Rena was the place where our first event was going to be held. Appropriate staff had already taken care of seating arrangements—the costliest seats were up front and the price gradually reduced the farther you went. Anyone who couldn’t be part of it could see it on live telecast on the screens put up all over Quadrant City. Betting was legal and no matter the sport people gambled their credits. It benefited the economy and filled the coffers of His Majesty’s treasury. The only sacrifice was the many underground organizations whom Death didn’t much care about because, and I’m assuming this, he might have stakes in that world he wanted to safeguard. Whatever they won or made they wouldn’t pay tax on it because, er, they’re the Underground.
The band entered the vast arched pathway that led into the arena. Petals of all kinds fell like rain. People screamed, shouted, hooted and hollered. The crowd was multi-versal and comprised all sorts of life-forms. So many... It was all I could think of. So many had put their faith in suicide in the hope that it would take them away from their problems, inabilities and losses. “Long live the King, long live the King, long live the King.” Even a crowd as immense as this matched the drumbeat and fanfare music as they welcomed His Majesty into the Bull-a-Rena.
King Death flew on wings of fire and gold and alighted on his single elevated throne of filigreed crystal. The sun shone directly on him and set him in a magnificent light. It was as if his fire had turned a chair made of sand into fine sculpted glass. He raised his hand in a wave and the audience went wild. Meanwhile the courtiers shuffled through a side entrance, up a few flights of stairs that smelled rather musty and occupied seats positioned lower and behind the King’s. The view was great and we felt a regular breeze. The day was fast becoming a hot one, though. Didn’t they predict rain? I wanted to invest some time before the fight began and so I fished out some papers and assessed them for reincarnation approval. I was glad they gave Krell a back seat; I wouldn’t want to see him sneer at me. But then I had Boremasta come park his big behind in the seat next to mine.
“Doing your homework, I see.”
“Stop it, Boremasta, I’ve had a long few days.”
“We’ve all experienced this pressure, Helidon, so don’t think I’m talking smack to you. Go ahead, nobody’s judging.”
“You make it sound so sweet and considerate, Boremasta.”
He grinned his weird life-form grin. “Just doing my part.”
I scribbled some notes, bought a cool drink from the vendor who walked past, and grew increasingly grateful for the music; it helped me focus. In the next five minutes or so, I completed three forms, with brief notes in the ‘reasons for reincarnation’ section instead of my usual lengthy quotes. The event was about to begin and Death will not be pleased if he caught me working during a bullfight.
“His Majesty, King Death. Ladies and gentlemen. Life-forms of all systems.” The voice boomed over several loudspeakers and was intentionally showy. “I present to you the Master of the Roundhouse, the Tamer of Horns, BullFighter extraordinaire... Alejandro Guerra!” The crowd went ballistic. I admit it was hair-raising to see a human being more than six and a half feet tall walk out with both arms raised to high heaven. He was built like a Russian b
ear but walked with the grace of a ballet dancer. It was uncanny to say the least.
He made his way from the far end and when he reached the center, the Spaniard bowed graciously to His Majesty. Death looked pleased to see him. Even those of us who had yet to watch him perform heard the gossip that said he’d be here ready to rumble on Moo-Day. Rumor also taught me that the man, humiliated that he couldn’t win a bullfight back in his homeland, in the human world, took arsenic and killed himself. He had written a note to the seven sisters he left behind saying ‘I, Alejandro Guerra, cannot live with the shame. I go now to find lasting battle in the realm of bulls.’ He ended up in Quadrant City. While he has remained in Quadrant for a long time, Captain Charon ferried the bulls needed for the fight.
“In His Majesty’s honor and to the glorious nature of his name, we give you Moo-Day’s debut event.” Shouts, cheers, flower petals, fist-pumping. “Not one bull. Not two. Not three. But this master fighter’s many achievements in life all rolled into one in his afterlife.” Ooh’s, aah’s, gasps, gossip. “His Majesty King Death. Ladies and gentlemen. Life-forms of all systems.” The voice got showier. “I present Alejandro Guerra and the Seventy-Five Stampede.” The crowd turned ballistic. “All the kills and conquers of his lifetime, a simultaneous thrill fest unlike any other. Your Majesty, with your blessing, sire...” King Death raised a palm. He retracted it and threw a ball of fire that hit the padlock precisely. The massive doors at the far distance of the stadium crashed open and a gaping emptiness stared back at the coliseum. The crowd hushed. The breeze rattled the looser woodwork.
The ground rumbled. It sounded like rain but from underground. The pitter-patter grew into a growl and then a roar as bull after bull sprinted out the open door and ran along the hem of the arena space as if they were circus trained. These bulls were animal souls and had but twenty-four hours left from the moment they set hoof inside this dimension. They must have run right from the ship, along an underground tunnel and all the way here into the Bull-a-Rena, for the sake of saving as many seconds as possible. It was a veritable stampede. These hellish bulls of muscle and steel nerves puffed and actual smoke left their nostrils. It must have been tough to find the exact souls of the bulls Alejandro had conquered over a forty-year career.
Long Live Death: Welcome To The Afterlife Page 12