A Barrow Man Does What He Can

“Who am I?  I have a thousand names; your kind has feared and worshiped me from the moment of your conception.  I am the wolf and the raven, the silence of the night so thick you could slice it with a knife.  I have witnessed the history of creation and will bring about its end.  I am within and without everything, shepherding them ever closer to their terminal ends.”  He paused, petting the crow idly.  “But my friends call me Sam,” he added as an afterthought. 

“Melodramatic much?” I murmured, struggling to tame my amazement.  I stumbled to my feet, brushing twigs and leaves from my dew-damp jeans.

“Well, at least I don't swoon.”

“I didn't swoon!  It's just that this,” I said, motioning to his face, “was not what I expected.”

“So what did you expect?  A mouldering cadaver?” he laughed, blue-black hair cascading down his face.  He grinned, and I realized my jaw had dropped open in awe.  Flustered, I sealed my lips shut and stared firmly up at him.

“If you're the Angel of Death, then where are your wings?” I retorted.  “You look more suited for nightmares than heaven, unless God's lowered his standards.”

Corpseboy smiled with amusement.  “You can't hide behind your sarcasm forever, little mortal.  I know you're terrified- I hear your heart beating wildly, smell your fear on the air as cortisol races through your veins.  It's all very endearing, like a kitten mewling for help in the clutches of a wolf.”

“You're avoiding my question,” I said, voice wavering.  His gaze was penetrating- there was nothing else to see beyond his haunting face.  The rest of the night tunneled to blackness, losing its faint color in the cold light of his skin. 

“You know, angels were depicted with wings in religious art to symbolize their connection to the divine.  Somewhere along the way, people mistook metaphor for fact, and the belief that angels are winged was born.  The word itself- angelos- means messenger- they supposedly conveyed divine messages and connected mortals to God.”

 “Well, I don't believe in an all-knowing God that's watching my every move, invisible and omnipresent.  That's what I call a serious case of paranoia.”

“Is it?  Humans are wired for religion- it's embedded in your neurons. You crave belief like a drug.  Religion is the opiate of the masses.  It gives them hope, helps them stave off their fear of death, I suppose.  How else could mortals come to terms with their own transience, little human, without the promise of an afterlife?”

“I hate philosophy.  Look, if you're an angel, riddle me this: which religion is right, then?  Christianity?  Hinduism? Scientology?”

Amusement flickered across his face.  “All and none of them.”

“That's helpful.”

“Think on it.  Everyone has their own truths- my reality isn't the same as yours.  The way we see the world is inherently different. But that doesn't mean that because your perceptions differ from mine, they're wrong.  They're just different.  In the end, it's all a story.  A dance”

“So you're saying that all gods ever imagined exist?”

“Am I?” he asked, smirking at my confusion.  “Or perhaps gods are actors, assuming different personas to suit the cultures they work with.  Perhaps deities are more interested in some societies than others, and one religion's god is another religion's demon.”

“That doesn't sound very godlike to me, just like you don't seem very angelic.”

“And you seem like a fool- but are you?”

“What- no!”

“Then why do you wander around the woods unprotected?  Why are you threatening Death?  Are you reckless?  Suicidal?”

“No, I just...” my voice trailed off and I sighed in defeat.  “You know why?  It's because I'm crazy- that's the only explanation for my 'reckless' behavior and why I actually think I'm talking to the Grim Reaper.  I've been hallucinating ever since I sat down in that church.  I've finally lost it; the chemicals in my brain are piss-drunk and shooting dopamine like vodka.  I'll wake up in the morning, moaning and clutching my head, then go home and commit myself to a mental ward.”

“Or perhaps,” he said slowly, “this is real.  You've met Death, intrigued him, and now you're cursed for the rest of your life as a member of his mortal collection.  You see, Callie, things are not always as they seem.  Reality is stranger than fiction.  There are fiendish angels, noble demons, and gods that are anything but holy.  What would you rather have: madness, or a world that itself is insane?”

“Neither,” I said.  “You're forgetting that this could all just be a dream.”

“Definitely impossible.  I'm too grand for a single dream to contain,” he said, smiling with arrogance and coaxing the crow into flight.  It cawed as it flew away.  A single black feather spiraled after its wake.  He caught it gently to run his fingers down the onyx tufts.

“I'm afraid that this is all very real, and you've had the misfortune of catching my attention.  I usually ignore people's calls, their desperate pleas for vengeance and mercy.  And of course, there are the ever popular suicides.  But you, you're different.  So different,” he said, studying my face keenly.  I shivered, wishing I was back home, safe and warm under cozy blankets and as far away from the creeper as possible. 

But no.  I had to go on these idiot escapades.  He was wrong; I was insane.

“Look, I hate to break it to you, but I'm just your run-of-the-mill teenager.”

“Stop lying to yourself to deflect my attention.”

“I'm not!  You're wasting your time with me. I can't offer you anything, and once again, I swear on my undug grave that I did not call you.  I don't know your number or whatever flaky chant invokes you.  You creep me out.  I do not want to be your friend.  I do not want to be your acquaintance.  I hope to never meet you again, or at least for a very long time, when I'm a ripe old geezer with a vegetable garden and a dozen cats!” I said, throwing my hands up in exasperation.

He cocked his brows in interest.  “Cats?  I pinned you as more of a dog person.”

“Actually, I have a rat, but that's besides the point.”

“A rodent!  See, Callie, that's exactly what I mean.  You're interesting.  You fascinate me.”  He paused, eying the bruises marring my arms.  “You could be quite useful to me,” he murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“Useful?  Are you joking me?  I would never do anything for you.”

“Why- what have I done to offend you?”

“Everything!  You threatened to slice me open with a scythe and waxed poetic about my corpse.  You abducted me in a hearse, and to top it all off, you're Death.  Is it really any wonder that I want nothing to do with you?”

“Hmm, well, when you put it that way, I'd want to avoid myself at all costs too.  But I was just playing with you, I wasn't actually going to do anything- I already promised that.  Why didn't you believe me?”

“Why should I have?  I don't know you.”

“And I don't know you either, yet I saved you from freezing to death, numb and comatose, on the floor of an abandoned church.  Don't I get at least half a bone?”

“We've already been over this:  If you hadn't been there in the first place-

“None of this would have happened,” he intoned, “et cetera et cetera.  No, you're right, I wouldn't be here and you'd still be living your boring, mundane life, devoid of wonder and miracles.  Poor mortals, there's so much beneath the surfaces of your small, quaint lives that you never notice.  You think yourselves kings of the world when you're fleas.  Man is the best kind of pawn that exists- the kind that is unaware  he serves anything at all.”

“What is that supposed to mean?  Don't we have free will?”

“Of course you do,” he said shortly.

“Then how could humans ever serve anything unwillingly, if these gods do exist?”

“Good question!  I'd answer it, but I’m growing tired of this discussion. I never was much of one for metaphysics.  Say, how about you join me for midnight tea? That's where I was headed before you interrupted my journey.  It will be a devilishly good time, I promise.”

“You want me to take tea with you?” I said flatly.

He looked at me in question.

 “You're insane.”

“Perhaps.  But at least I'm charming and roguishly handsome.”

“You look like a lunatic in a garbage bag.”

“It's a cloak,” he snapped, scowling and loosening the cowl.  The robe dripped shadows as he removed it.  Without warning, he threw it at me.  I caught it and gasped.  It was slick like water and downy soft; layers of it seemed to glide through my fingers.  Streamers of smoke rose from its edges as I ran my hands through the strange raiment, gaze lingering on it as it gleamed blue-black in the moonlight, just like a raven's wing.

Smug, he watched me study the garment in awe.  I glared back, half-expecting to see a rib-cage where his robe should be.  Instead, there was most definitely flesh, and well-muscled flesh at that, decked out in an outfit that would make a biker cry.  Red pinstriped pants over combat boots battled to tame a Count of Monte Cristo-esque ruffled white shirt into submission.  He wore a fitted leather jacket over the ensemble.  The chain of a pocket-watch dangled from his breast, and a studded belt flashed silver in the moonlight.  He looked like a Victorian gentleman that'd been mauled by Hell's Angels.

“You're speechless.  Don't worry, I get that all the time,” he said, resting his hands behind his neck and cocking his head to the side.

“Oh please.  I'm just wondering whether to laugh myself to death or cry because my eyes are burning,” I shot back, trying to hide the fact that my gaze was plastered to his remarkable biceps.

“When you're immortal, Callie, you develop your own sense of style.”

“Right.”  Now I knew what people meant when they called someone's physique god-like.

“My head is up here, you know,” he said, flexing his arms and snapping me out of my stupor.

“I've decided- I'm going to cry myself a river. Victorian fashion and 80's hair metal blend together hideously,” I said, cursing myself inwardly for the blush of embarrassment on my cheeks.

I wasn't staring at your body.  Not at all.

“Yes you were, maggot.”

“Did I just say that out loud?” I gasped.

The corner of his lip curled.  “You really are a fool, aren't you?” he asked, grabbing my hand and pulling me after him.

“Where are you taking me?” I said.  “You still haven't told me where we are.  The lake just disappeared.  But how?  You can't be standing somewhere one moment and, the next time you look around, be somewhere completely different.  This isn't quantum mechanics.”

“Ah, but this is the lake.  Look up at the sky, Callie.”

“What?...” I said, voice trailing off.  The night was still, full-mooned, with traceries of faint light dancing across the sky.  Gaping, I watched the lines of cool light rippling with the patterns of water across the firmament. 

Just like I was at the bottom of a lake, gazing up at the gentle surface.

“It's more than just a pool, Callie- it's a gateway to the Border,” he explained patiently.  “All around you are things not as they seem...” he said, stroking the trunk of an apple tree.  The branches quivered under his touch, leaves rustling, and suddenly two whorls in the bark opened, revealing amber eyes.  I gasped as the trunk creaked open and a beautiful girl with dark hair and golden skin danced out in a dress of buckskin, bowing deeply to Corpseboy and then running off, laughing, into the woods beyond.

“The apples are yours for the taking!” she sang, voice echoing as she disappeared.

My face drained of color.  “What- how did that girl just emerge from a tree?  How did she breathe in there?”

“Quit your hysterics, Callie, it's just a friendly local dryad- a wood nymph,” he said, picking several ripe apples and stuffing them in to a shoulder bag that had materialized from nowhere.  “Here- see for yourself how things are more than they appear,” he said softly, handing me the fruit.

“This reminds me of a certain serpent and a particularly dumb blonde,” I said skeptically, weighing the apple with one hand.

Corpseboy snapped to attention, back rod-straight, eyes gleaming.  “There's more to that myth than you could possible know,” he said, eyes lingering on the apple.

“Care to enlighten me?”

He smiled furtively.  “Take a bite.”

I shrugged, figuring that if I hadn't died by now then Death was going to spare me tonight and took a small bite.  It was totally innocuous, tasting like a normal apple.  “What do you mean, 'see for yourself'?  I could buy this thing at any grocery store...”  My eyes stung.  He steadied me, making comforting sounds.

“It will only hurt for a moment more,” he murmured.

“Am I going blind?”

“Open your eyes, there.  Now tell me what you see.”

I did so hesitantly.

The Milky Way streamed through the night sky like the stairway to heaven and, out of nowhere, the Aurora Borealis began to dance across the firmament, ribbons of purple and green illuminating the night.  The stars had intensified to the colors of flames.  The moon was a silver mirror that captured the starlight and reflected brilliant shafts of light upon the woods.  There were slumbering spirits in the tree trunks.  Pale maidens danced in a ring at the center of the glade.  Forms silhouetted against the sky, flying silently.  Will-o'-the-wisps flickered through the field and eyes peered out of the blackness.

“What in the world?” I whispered, the sweet taste of apple lingering on my tongue.

“I told you your eyes would be opened, didn't I?” he said, smug.

“I didn't think you meant literally,” I whispered, watching as painfully thin beings, black as coal, scampered on knuckles and feet through the brambles.  “This whole place, it's impossible.”

He smirked.  “You're still trying to judge tonight by your standards of reality?”

I sighed.  “You're right- I give up.  I might as well commit myself to a mental ward and spend my life trying to knit socks out of dryer lint.  That would make more sense than this,” I said, motioning to the wide expanse of strange I was confronted with.

“No, Callie, embrace the strange!” Sam declared.  The other beings perked up and staring at us.  “Otherwise, you will lose your sanity.”

I blinked, eyes adjusting to my fantastical surroundings.  “What is this place?” I whispered.

“The border between worlds.  It is a place with no beginning and no end.  Everyone dreams of it, some know of it, and few understand it.  It is the fabric binding realms together.  The place where myths are made,” he said, eying a particularly drunk looking fairy, goblet in hand, who stumbled and collapsed into a woozy heap.  “Or, it's the place one comes to get piss-drunk and party until the Apocalypse.”

I cringed as the fairy belched.  “So, do you live here?”

“Live here? By the devil, no.  My home is a place you hopefully will never see.”

“And why is that?”

He grinned slightly.  “Come, Callie, I've an aching for scones,” he said, taking my hand and leading me to the hearse once more.  Irritated by his avoidance of my question, I slowed down deliberately until he was dragging me.  “I'm not going to carry you, you know.”

“I wouldn't want you to.”  Actually, I might, considering how much I appreciated those arms.  He could probably lift me as easily as a feather with biceps like those.

He said something.  “What?” I responded. 

He peered at me strangely.  “Why do your eyes glaze over when you look at me?  The apple should sharpen your vision.”

“Umm, there's something in my eye...”

“Of course there is.  Well, I'm taking tea, with or without you.  It's a ritual I can't afford to miss.  I've interrupted battles before to have a proper Earl Gray.  No one dares disturb me.  Otherwise, they'd meet a rather unfortunate end...”

“Well, if you put it that way, then I guess I have to go with you.”