"Excuse me?" I asked. She looked at me with her sad brown eyes.
"I told you, we need your skills as a demi-human. Whether you like it or not, you are a part of our war now. You can't leave," she said.
"I want to go home. I can't leave my friend alone," I whispered. I was utterly defeated, pulling my knees to my chest and closing my eyes. I wanted her to leave. I wanted to leave.
Yeah, I was a wimp, huh? How could I pass up on being a weapon in a reapers' war for my friend back home? Well, who knows. Me! Ha! Not you!
"I believe that I have to take you to the King now," the woman said. It occurred to me that I didn't know her name.
"What's your name?" I asked.
She considered for a moment. "You can call me Eyes," she said at last. I looked at her.
"I asked what your name is, not what I should call you," I said, smirking.
Eyes? Yeah, right. You can see that I'm finally beginning to show that sarcastic humor characteristic of... Well, me. Aren't I clever?
"My name is Fiery Eyes, who came forth from Letopolis, she who judges crookedness," she mumbled, rattling off the name like she'd recited it many times before but felt no meaning in it.
I recognized the name, strangely enough. "A Hunter, huh? Aren't you one of the gods of the tribunal?" I asked.
Okay, so I get that you have no idea what the tribunal is. I hate explaining stuff, but they're making me, so here you go. The tribunal is the forty gods in Egyptian mythology that the newly dead person protests his innocence to. I say his because the Book of the Dead was written with a man in mind, I think. Sexist ancient peoples, you know. She actually recited it well. The name, I mean.
O Fiery Eyes, who came forth from Letopolis, I have done no crookedness.
Yes, I am a fervent reader of the Book of the Dead. What did you expect?
"From the Book of the Dead? That Fiery Eyes?" I asked. I knew that there probably weren't many people named Fiery Eyes, but I had to make sure. It was like I was meeting a celebrity!
"Yeah. All of the reapers are death gods and such from different mythologies. There was this giant battle to see who would-" she began, but her eyes widened and she clamped her mouth shut. "Let's go see the King," she said, avoiding the rest of the sentence.
"Okay, Eyes," I said, following her out of the room. Who was the King? If all of the reapers were gods of death, did I really want to meet this guy?
Wimp.
She led me down hallway after hallway, until we reached a giant black door. She pushed it open and waited. I gulped. "A-alone?" I asked, my voice cracking. She nodded. I gulped.
Off to meet the king of the dead, then.
YOU ARE READING
Death
FantasyMortician hates her name, loves her father, misses her mother, and is obsessed with the idea of death. Then again, who wouldn't be, with the relationship with death that comes from having such a name? She has one good friend, a girl with a name that...
