offering their protection with dutiful resilience. His family was here: his father, mother, and… and?
No. Only he was there, staring at the green that would never see again. There was too much blood; she looked so small. There was nothing he could do. He was alone. She was gone.
Jim screamed.
Tears blurred the smoky landscape before him. He was still screaming and, it seemed, that the world was screaming back. A vortex of smoke swirled around him, releasing a deafening roar of wind and wails.
The man made of smoke moved close to Jim. “You must be quiet! You must be still!”
Jim listened, hearing the urgency in the man’s voice, and calmed his terrified shout. As he quieted, the vortex mimicked his mood. It was slow to settle but became still and silent as Jim soothed his shaky breathing. Once the motion around him stopped, Jim saw the forms of dozens, if not hundreds, of smoke-made people standing around him. The sight was unsettling. Jim crouched low, his instincts telling him that danger was all around.
“They can feel your life.” The man said, “They know you are wrong, just as I do, and they wish to use you to return. But it’s not that simple, things rarely are. They have become carnal in their desire for life and they cannot control what you will see. But…perhaps I can.”
Jim stayed crouched, listening to the man while keeping his eyes planted on the crowd of fog.
“I can help you return.” The man of smoke said, as the mist around him shimmered and began to dissipate. “But you may lose yourself to my touch.” A form was becoming revealed beneath the concealing smoke. Jim squinted his eyes, trying to see the details of the man who had been speaking with him. “Only one has ever lived through my life. But madness is the first step towards magnificence.” The smoke vanished completely, and Jim shuddered at the man who had taken its place.
Arms covered in blisters and blackened flesh connected to a thin torso which moved with agonized breaths and showed its exposed ribcage. No clothing covered the man, though there was barely enough flesh on his body that would have required coverage. His face was made of charred skin, his lips burned away long ago to reveal his gaping mouth. Jim had heard stories of this man, who shrouded himself in shadows and harbingered those of life to the underworlds and beyond: Death.
"Do you fear me?" Death asked, stepping close to the crouching man. "Do you wish for me to hide the truth of my form?"
"Should I fear you?" Jim asked, calming the shudder that rippled through his chest.
"Ahh, a question of a man who knows that truths are often deceiving." Death took another step. "When you return, will you seek revenge?"
"Yes."
"Excellent. It seems our intertwinement may continue. Your revenge and my imprisonment have a commonality. If I return you to life, will you promise to seek out one from my time? There is much that I wish to ask him, answers that he has discovered that may lead to my true salvation."
"If you return me to life, I'll do anything you ask."
Death chuckled. "Never make that sort of promise. This is how evil men become exalted and deceivers receive immortality. No. What I ask of you, Hero, is a contract. Your payment will be life, given to you preemptively by me, and your mission will be to find the answer of my freedom. Do you accept?"
Jim studied the decrepit figure for a moment. "If I cannot find the answer, will you return me here?"
"Eventually."
"Then tell me, where should I go?"
Death's gaping maw crooked into a smile. "There is a city in the West called Salix, do you know of it?"
"The Willow capitol?"
"Precisely. The man who killed you has residency there. He also has a friend, a priest that has shared a similar fate as you. This is the man that you must find, this is the man who holds the key to my shackles."
"I'll find him."
"Good." Death reached a hand forward formalizing the contract with a shake. "I am sorry for my death. I do hope that you recover from it."
"What do…?" Jim started, but, before he could finish, his world faded into heat.
▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪
My name is…. No. Not now. My life is not important, but my death will return you.
Fire. That’s what I remember most. Flames licked at my flesh and boiled the marrow in my bones: they split like logs beneath a carver’s ax. Can you feel it? I was screaming. I could hear the moisture of my body escape through my pores in whistles of steam. I couldn’t see, the flames had eaten my eyes and taken my sight. I needed reprieve.
I reached forward searching for…something. What was it? Does it matter? No. Maybe. I…no. But I found it. My hand tingles with wonderful distraction. The pain was gone from my fingertips, so I continued to reach forward, numbing my arm and shoulder with the same, beautiful escape. Then, I immerse myself completely, and my world goes dark.
I can see darkness, smoke, shadows. Only now do I realize that the fire was bliss, and this darkness is torture.
We are all connected.
▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪
Jim gasped, pulling drafts of cool air into his lungs. The world around him was bright, colorful, beautiful. The greens of the forest had never looked so wonderful; the darkness was gone. He examined his hands and arms and saw no burns or blisters. He was back; He was alive.
3: Dead man's request
Jim placed the onyx ring on the table for Colter to examine. The contractor studied the ornate jewelry with a practiced eye, a look of admiration unmistakable on his face.
"This is it." Colter said, pocketing the ring. "How do you want your payment?"
"Coin this time." Jim said.
"Not sticking around?" Colter asked.
"No."
Colter shrugged then uncinched the purse from his belt. He pulled thirteen gold coins from the pouch, placing them carefully on the table as he counted. But, when Jim reached forward, Colter covered the neat pile.
"I heard…something." The contractor said, looking away. "A few days back one of my…colleagues passed through here. He told me about a contract that he had priced for some outrageous sum for a buyer richer than the Elken God. A contract that he'd sold to Floydd."
Jim nodded. It had taken him far longer to get to Indrasmos than he'd first expected. When he awoke, it had taken him days to find his bearings. Somehow, after his fall from the Father Tower, after the world made of smoke, he had wound up in the foothills of the Eastern Mountains, more than twenty miles away from the city of Elodin
Still sore and confused, he'd stumbled
