Wednesday, July 6, 2011

My Death, 6

Again, Robin recalled this was probably the spirit boy’s private library, yet Robin had the gall to traipse around like it was a museum. She flung the curtain back over the trio and hoped the way it only half concealed its alcove wouldn’t look suspicious. She searched the walls near the fireplace. The more she failed to see another door, the more Robin dreaded being caught in the library. Finally, she decided the only escape was the same way she came in. She turned and ran to the door, but met a dark figure who barred her way. The spirit boy leaned in the doorway. In one hand, his terrible knife-stick leaned with him. Robin unconsciously backed away. He noticed and followed her into the room. He raised an eyebrow like he was sharing some inside joke with her.
“I’m pretty sure,” he began, “you shouldn’t be in here.”
Robin instinctively side-stepped so the short chair was between them.
“In fact,” he continued, “no mortal should be able to get to this side at all.”
He folded his arms and leered down at her a bit. Robin didn’t think about lying. He wasn’t easy to lie to—he was someone to whom lies did not exist, she was surprised to find herself thinking. Besides, Robin remembered her fingers whose feeling was returning with blazing pain. And that had been only his book. She desperately wanted out of the library, to be back home. She tried to plan her words carefully, but it occurred to her that he enjoyed being taller than her. For a moment she forgot her guilt and trepidation.
“Oh, really?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at his elbow. Doing all she could to sound the least sarcastic as possible. “So why are you keeping me here?” Her curiosity was sincere, even though she was buying time while she gauged the distance between her and the door. A quick sprint seemed unlikely.
“I don’t answer questions,” he replied with a long-suffering sigh, “but I can do the asking, if it helps. How did you get here?”
“You told your dogs—”
“To This Side.”
“Oh,” Robin said. “There was this book at the library—”
While she spoke, he walked passed her to the armchair. Could she beat him to the door from here? He hooked his blade over the chair’s back and sunk into the cushions. Never mind, Robin thought, that knife-thing had a far reach. His feet propped themselves on the foot stool before the roaring fire.
“—that’s all about death and how to communicate with…”
He had been rubbing his hands over his closed eyes and massaging his temples while she spoke as if her voice wearied him. Then he stopped, planted his feet on the ground, and leaned forward towards her. Unfortunately, she couldn’t look away from his black eyes this time. Again, he gave her the strange impression that he saw inside her.
“A book?” He asked sharply. Robin noticed his interest and pursed her lips lightly shut as an idea weaved itself in her mind. At her silence, he stood up. She vaguely estimated he was about six inches taller than her.
“What book?” His eyebrows knit together. Robin relaxed slightly when she didn’t hear any anger in his voice. Still she kept her mouth shut. She finally had the upper hand with him and she wasn’t about to let it go. Bravely, she stared into the fire, shoulders square and brow firm. After a pause, during which she was aware of him studying her, he threw his hands up.
“I don’t get you! You’re totally fine to ask me all the questions under the sun, but don’t bother to answer any yourself!” he huffed at her. This made her blink a few times, but she kept her eyes trained on the fire as she answered with lethal softness.
“You don’t answer any either.”
“I can’t!” He almost yelled. “Not directly.”
“Then how I got here isn’t important,” she replied coolly. Her curiosity had been piqued, however, and she couldn’t help asking, “Why not? Oh, sorry…”
At her last question, he sunk back into his chair, nearly grazing his blade on the way down. She almost asked him what that thing was, then quickly stopped herself. He seemed so put out, she almost felt sorry for him. Anyway, when she couldn’t hold information he wanted ransom for answers she needed, her plan to twist her mission here unraveled. Besides, she felt as exhausted as he looked. She pulled the footstool a distance from the chair and plopped onto it. She looked him willingly in the eyes for the first time. No questions, she thought. Right.
“Thing is,” she carefully stated, “I need to get home. Fast.” She had just remembered Tom, who probably arrived home hours ago. He’d kill her when she got in so late. If she got there at all.
The boy, who had been cupping his forehead in his palms, answered, “I know. That’s why I had to bring you here. I had to fulfill my obligations first.” He gave his blade an unloving glance.
Questions bubbled inside Robin’s head. She kept trying to twist them into declarations the boy could either confirm or deny, but none would get her the information she needed. Finally, she stated, “You’re…uh, not a spirit boy.”
He glanced up at this and thought for a moment, probably wondering if it counted as a question, Robin reasoned. Eventually, he seemed satisfied and answered her, “Not exactly. But,” he said, gathering up the folds of his black cloak and raised them to show Robin its webby blackness, “I’m hardly human, either.”
This frustrated Robin, since she mostly knew that already. She wanted to know what he was, but she noted, he could have told her if he had wanted her to know.

There was a brief pause, during which Robin felt sure they were on the same page. Obviously, Isaac wanted to tell her things about himself and she admitted curiosity. She just had to go at it very carefully. She decided to use what she knew.
“You’re nameless,” she said.
“I’m Isaac,” he rejoined. Success, Robin thought, and couldn’t help grinning.
“You’re horse is a spirit, though—a nameless spirit.”
“My horse needs no name,” he nodded, “but he is like me.”
Robin felt like she was grasping at straws. She could only make statements about things she already knew about, which told her very little she didn’t already know. She would have to make statements at random and risk him being unable to answer them at all or avoiding lengthy explanations. Besides all that, Robin felt Isaac’s answers were as carefully selected as her inquiring statements. He was dropping hints. Robin, however, couldn’t tell what he wanted her to know, which made her frustrated. Wildly, she said what popped into her head next.
“Oh… We’re in the land of the dead.”
Isaac gave her a satisfied nod with a distinct not-smile. “Yes, we are in the Realm of Death.”
Robin choked on her next statement. He didn’t just repeat her sentences; he said…
“Realm of…” she murmured. Louder, she replied, “Then this castle belongs to…”
Her mind began to race slightly. She snuck a glance the blade-stick hooked over the chair’s back. She thought of the white horse and the dogs. Isaac stared at her blankly, leaning forward, hands clasped on his bony, thin knees.
“You’re Death!” she cried.

He didn’t respond immediately, except for rolling his eyes to say No, duh! He did visibly relaxed, though, and leaned back in his chair and folded his arms in the satisfied manner Robin was getting used to. But she wasn’t finished yet. She had lots more questions, and finally a way to get answers. She thought about the two chairs and the two beds.
“You live here,” she started, and added quickly, “alone.”
“Yes,” he said, his face turning from smug pride to sorrow, “I am very lonely.” Then he stood up, and to Robin’s surprise, came towards her, sadly looking at his feet. “I never had anyone I could really,” he paused to look Robin in the eyes, “talk to.”
“Well,” Robin said, putting her arms around her stomach. She forgot it didn’t hurt anymore. She tried to say something cool and standoffish, but couldn’t think of anything.
“You know,” he said, making Robin jump as his icy breath tickled her ear, “I could show you the rest. Of my castle. Right now.”
“Well, actually, I think I’d better get home,” Robin streamed loudly as his hand found her elbow and began guiding it towards the door. “Dad, er, doesn’t know I’m here.” —And he wouldn’t want your hand right there, she added in her head.
Isaac didn’t stop leading her to the door, but he wasn’t whispering in her ear when he said, “Of course. You know, I forget you mortals have to run on time. How annoying.”
Robin expected the door to lead back to the bedroom, but as Isaac flung it open, there was nothing there. Robin stupidly peered down. The Castle far below swam in circles. She blinked, trying to focus.
“Ger…hm… Can’t we use the stairs?” She mumbled, her stomach lurching into her throat. “I’m afraid of—”
“This way’s faster,” Isaac said, still holding her elbow while his other arm grasped her firmly around the waist. He jumped.
Robin would have liked to scream, but it caught in her throat and released itself in shudders inside her limbs.
“Don’t worry,” Isaac chuckled, “You’re not falling.”
And they weren’t. It was a slow decent, like an invisible, quick ski lift that gently swooped them down to the castle gates while Isaac’s cloak billowed snake-like around them. They smoothly met the dusty ground and Robin’s knees buckled.
“You’re crazy.” She gasped as she heaved for breath. Apparently, she had been holding it the entire time. Isaac didn’t reply, but walked to his white horse, which stood waiting patiently. It looked up at Robin with its doleful long-suffering face. Robin was even more convinced the horse could look into her, like Isaac could. He mounted the horse and led it to Robin as before. This time, she gratefully took his hand and straddled the horse behind him, and wrapped her arms tight around him.
“Hm. Heights and horses,” Isaac said over his shoulder. “I shall have to remember that.”
“Please do,” Robin grumbled. “Just get me home.”
“Consider it done.”
And it was.

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