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Here's another short story. Please enjoy.
Death sat on his pedestal meditating his art. The torches cast their dim, flickering light down upon him, making his shadows dance about the red stone floor. Pillars rose high around him, their tops fading into inky shadows. Beyond the ring of torches, there were shades of the long rows, pillars, punning through the darkness and into the unseen.
And death sat on his pedestal, meditating his art.
A footstep fell. And another. Each reverberated, bouncing from stones older than the memory of men, to reach the ears of Death.
Death smiled inwardly. His temple did not often receive visitors; he made sure of that. He wondered what intrepid soul had reason to make an appointment. Most likely another foolhardy young warrior seeking glory and honor, come to kill Death. He suppressed a chuckle at the notion. They all met swiftly with his blessing.
The footsteps continued to approach. Perhaps it was another sage, come to gain understanding of his art. These he greeted with respect, but he was reluctant to aid. Those who comprehend death are of little use to the living.
There were those who came to see if this was, indeed, the temple of Death, and these, he regarded as the greatest fools of all. To disturb him for the sake of curiosity was an insult, blatantly displaying their ignorance and disbelief. Of course this is the temple, and who else would reside within but Death?
A form coalesced out of the shadows and steadily continued to approach the ring of torches. Slowly, as the flickering light fell more clearly upon the figure, Death could see it was a grey bearded man, limping slowly. He wore chain mail and carried a tattered flag. A sword and scabbard hung at his side, and a shield hung from his back.
“Hail, Death!” The man called. His voice was soft and dark, a voice that should come from one of his age and stature. The whispy tones floated clearly through the expanse, reverberating through the darkness. “Hail blotter of light and drinker of life!” The old man stopped just outside the ring of torches and made a deep bow. Graceful as the gesture was, Death could tell it pained him to do so. “I come to you humbly, and I am requesting a favor. I have journeyed many leagues and have quested for many, many years. Now, I believe I have found the object of my desire in you.” He stopped, still bowed, and waited for Death to respond. There was a brief silence.
“Rise,” Death called, “and go, for I have nothing you desire. I grant but one blessing, old man.”
The man rose slowly out of his bow, leaning on his flag for support. For a moment, he simply stood. Then, with pointed antiquity, he wiped his forehead with the back of his glove and heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m quite aware of this fact.” His eyes slowly raised to meet Death’s gaze.
A small frown pulled the corners of Death's lips. “And still you request it? Under what condition?” His brow furrowed. “Why do you come to me for this? Do you seek enlightenment? Have you discovered the last of life’s secrets? Do you comprehend all you can as a mortal, and now, you come to me, that you may complete your understanding?”
The old man only smiled faintly and gave his head the slightest shake. “No. I merely desire a blessing.”
Death exhaled briefly and sharply through his nostrils. “What then? Do you seek an escape? Has the world grown to dreary for you? To much of what you once knew is lost? Nothing left for you here but the dismal shadows of things that once were but now are gone?”
The old man only smiled faintly again and sighed softly. “No. I simply desire a blessing.”
Death only stared at him, then a smile began to twist the edge of his mouth. “You’re a warrior, coming to me that I may bestow my blessing though combat, and you may have an honorable passing. You’ve lived past the age for dying in conflict, and you believe I can gratify you. This! This is why you have come, is it not?”
The old man only gave the faintest chuckle, and shook his head again. “I fear it is not so. I only come seeking you blessing.”
At the sound of this reply, Death’s eyes narrowed. “You have come to test me, haven’t you? You doubt my identity! You question my power! Or perhaps you question my judgment? Do you come seeking my faults? Do you hope to outwit me somehow? Are you here to cheat Death?”
The old man heaved another quiet sigh. “No. I have come for your blessing. I had hoped you would gladly oblige me in this endeavor. This is a temple, is it not? Its doors are open, and all who whish to enter are free to do so. I have come to this place, this temple, seeking you. Now, you, as the object and subject of this temple, are the only one here for me approach with this request. I seek your blessing, from you, as it is, for the sake of being blessed, by you.”
There was a long silence, in which Death continued to sit, eyes narrowed. Finally, extending a hand toward the old man, he closed his eyes, and spoke.
“You have my blessing.”
A sound like the rushing of air filled the temple. The man’s eyes fell idly shut, and he collapsed on the floor in a heap. His movement, then his breath, then all other functions ceased, and he simply lay there, silent and motionless. Death opened his eyes again, and gazed upon the fallen figure. His eyes traced over his body, his possessions, then finally, the old man’s expression. Beneath the bushy, grey beard, there was the faintest smile. A look of utter satisfaction and peace was set on the grizzled, wrinkled face. Death paused, and could only gaze.
Slowly, rising from his pedestal, he took one of the torches from the ring around him. Quietly, he approached the body of the old man. Gently, he lowered the flame, and touched it to him. Instantly, the body, the armor, the sword, the scabbard, the shield, the flag, the man and all his possessions crumbled to ash and blew away, whirling off through the pillars and into the darkness. Silence again held the temple, then, tentatively, he put the torch back in its place.
Climbing back on his pedestal, Death sat and meditated his art.
 Lokapala · Tue Aug 08, 2006 @ 04:22pm · 2 Comments |
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