The Count of the Living Death (The Chronicles of Hildigrim Blackbeard) (24 page)

“Don’t listen to it!” Ivan shouted.

“I don’t know—I can’t know that!” she said, lowering the sword. “I see myself killing him, shoving the blade in his heart. But it’s Leopold I’m killing! I can’t see it any other way. I’m sorry…”

“How disappointing,” the Death said, with a shrug. “I suppose we’ll just wait here until the spell wears off…and then I’ll kill you one by one.”

“You can’t kill me—it works both ways,” Leopold said.

“No, but I can make you watch. As soon as the circle dissolves I’ll destroy them. Starting with her.”

“I thought you loved her.”

“We do. But I mean to have her. In death she can still be mine.”

“What does that mean?”

But the Death only smiled, basking in its secret knowledge and Leopold’s complete inability to stop it.

“Feel free to run. Try and hide—you have the entire world, after all. This spell should last a few more hours. You could cover a lot of ground in that time. Who knows, I might even need another nap after all this exertion…”

So it was all for nothing. Finding Ivan, rescuing Mary, despoiling his father’s grave and killing Blackbeard. He might have saved everyone the trouble and simply opened the third lock. Fate was fate, it seemed. There was nothing he could do to change it, no magic in the world he could summon to freeze the stars or change their orbits. Not even this sword…

So he had nothing to lose. He leapt across the circle and plunged the sword into its heart. It shrieked, seizing him with both arms and trying to shake him off…but within seconds the arms fell slack. Its expression changed from defiant range to a softer, almost resigned countenance. It leaned in close to him, its voice falling to a thin, raspy whisper.

“Good for you…you called my bluff. We’re no longer the same, as much as I tried…I’ve become something else entirely. I was stronger, much better than you. You’ll never be what I was.”

“I’m satisfied being less, if that’s what I am,” he replied.

“Perhaps I was too beautiful to live. I had such ideas, Leopold, you could never understand them. And Mary…she would have loved me, given time. I know it.”

“You’re wrong. But I guess we’ll never know.”

The Death frowned, running its fingers over the sword it was impaled on.

“Blackbeard’s magic. I could defeat the man, but not his craft. I knew he unnwould kill me.”

“He didn’t deserve to die,” Leopold said, his anger growing.

“None of us deserve it. And it never comes too late. Even now, I wonder what’s to become of me. I don’t remember…”

In the midst of this sentence it simply vanished along with the sword. The circle disappeared as well, leaving a tiny pile of ash around the edges. Leopold staggered backwards, his head swimming, feeling elated and nauseous. Mary caught him in her arms, wrapping her arms around his chest, pulling him close.

“You did it. You killed him,” she said.

“But am I…?”

“No, you’re alive. You’re here with me.”

“I had to risk it. I couldn’t let him destroy you or Ivan. I couldn’t live with that. Even if I had to—”

“Shhh, you won,” she said, leading him away. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“I feel like…like I watched myself die. I can’t explain…”

“You don’t have to. Now come, sit down.”

Leopold collapsed beside Ivan, who hastily took off his jacket to wrap around the Count.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” Mary said, resting her head against him. “You’re mine forever now. We can put all this behind us.”

“Yes…” he said, as his eyes turned to Blackbeard’s body.

It lay there seemingly on the verge of life, more like a man asleep than one who would never awaken. Even now, his hair caught in the breeze, and his arm, outstretched, seemed to twitch and shift its weight—

It moved. The body slowly, even clumsily, turned over and rose on all fours. The head lifted so that the eyes caught Leopold’s stare. They widened with recognition, as if seeing a long-lost friend. His expression, however, remained stern and impassive, the lips puckered as if withholding a secret.

“Blackbeard! You’re alive!” he shouted.

Mary and Ivan leapt in surprise, but were far less excited in their response. In fact, they didn’t know what—or who—he was talking to. Blackbeard remained cold and lifeless, the wind blowing his hair and clothing the way it might toss a scrap of parchment across a field.

“Leopold…I don’t understand,” she said.

“But—he’s right here! He’s alive!”

By this time Blackbeard had struggled to his feet and approached the Count, his head shaking with disapproval.

“Not how I wanted it to go at all. I apologize for my carelessness, Leopold.”

“Careless? We won! He’s dead—I killed him!”

“The Death? Mmm, quite. Good work. But the fact that you can see me doesn’t bode well in the long term.”

“That I can
see you
?” Leopold laughed, turning to the others. “Why shouldn’t I see you? Don’t you want to be alive?”

Mary and Ivan exchanged glances, fearing the struggle had unbalanced his mind; that, or he felt such profound guilt for the sorcerer’s death that he refused to acknowledge his end. She tried to speak but only exclaimed wordlessly, looking to Ivan for support. He merely shrugged and spit out, “Leopold…he’s not here. He’s gone.”

“Not here? But look at him!”rt.

Mary’s eyes welled with tears, not wanting to cause him more pain. She only gestured to the body and sobbed.

“Blackbeard—say something to them!” he said, waving his arms. “Show them—”

“Leopold, they can’t see me for a very good reason. I’m dead.”

“Dead?” he repeated.

“Your Death enticed my Death to come out early; it devoured me on the spot. At least it was painless,” he shrugged. “I cast a spell with my dying breath that might have saved me, but so much for that. Now, unfortunately, I am very much on the other side. And you shouldn’t be able to see me—none of the living can,” he said, gesturing to Mary and Ivan.

“Then…then why
can
I see you? Because I can—I can see, even feel you. You’re right here with me.”

“Before you had no Death, but it was there, attached by an invisible thread. Now the thread is broken,” he said, hesitantly. “You have no Death to return to: you are dead without dying. The ability to die is the vital ingredient to life. So, technically speaking, you are no longer among the living.”

“You’re joking! How can you say that? Look at me…they can see me, I’m very much alive!”

“Leopold, please, calm down. You don’t have to do this…” Mary said, pulling him close.

“He says I’m not alive—that I’ve cut some thread, that I’m…what, exactly?”

“I didn’t foresee this…a regrettable lack of vision. How can I explain? Simply put, I thought if your Death was slain in this world he would return to his post. I didn’t think a Death could actually
die
. I simply wanted to erase what he was and bring back his essence. Or rather,
its
essence.”

“And he didn’t…its not here?”

“Not if you can see me. It means you’re between both worlds, a kind of life-in-death, dead without the possibility of rest. Alive without the promise of…”

Blackbeard shuddered and turned away. Leopold followed him, despite Mary’s pleas to come back, to stop torturing himself with regrets.

“What? What are you trying to say?”

“I’ve cursed you even more terribly, Leopold,” the sorcerer said, with a catch in his throat. “You’ll live forever with all the thirsts and desires of life…and never be able to quench them. You’ll become…one of
them
.”

“Them?”

“A
Wanderer
.”

Blackbeard told him the terrible history of the Wanderers, poor souls unable to relinquish their hold on the living. Typically they had been murdered, betrayed, or else they were incredibly evil and couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving their power behind. When the Deaths had consumed the last ounce of their life, instead of moving beyond, the Wanderers held fast to an illusion of mortality. They were dead, of course, but they remained in this world as spirits, ghosts, wraiths, spectres, or whatever approximated their existence in life. Now Leopold had joined their ranks, but in a most unusual way: his death was gone but his life force remained, making him both spirit and mortal. However advantageous this might sound, Blackbeahe idrd warned him of the fatal consequence: nothing could give him peace, rest, or fulfillment. At night he would lie sleepless; at dinner he would polish off an entire meal in vain; at all times his throat would burn with an unquenchable thirst. Given time, most Wanderers usually gave up their hold on life, realizing that death offered compensations that no amount of grief or revenge could assuage. For Leopold, however, there was no question of giving up; he would have to go on wandering for…well, Blackbeard wasn’t entirely clear on the prison sentence.

“I don’t understand, how can I be in both places? I never changed!” he exclaimed, holding his head in fear of its breaking apart. “And what does that make you? Why are you here? Are you a Wanderer, too?”

“No, there are many kinds of spirits, those who walk the earth—as you do—and those who merely visit. I will be called away once my work here is done.”

“So that’s it—I’m lost? Congratulations: we killed your Death, enjoy being a blasted Wanderer?!”

“Naturally, it’s not that simple—”

“Not for you! You simply get
called away
! This is all your doing, remember? My father’s death-curse! And
I
have to be punished—I have to wander the earth—”

“At present, there’s very little I can do—” Blackbeard protested.

“Yes, of course, you’re
dead
, I forgot. You’re excused from the whole wretched affair. Sorry to bother you…”

Walking off in a daze, he was followed by Mary, who tried to take him aside, frightened at what she couldn’t understand. What little she could make out sounded confused, disjointed; that he was a ‘Wanderer,’ that he could no longer sleep or eat or find peace; that even Blackbeard couldn’t help him? Was this madness? Had they rescued him from the clutches of death simply to lose his mind in the process? Rest, he just needed rest. Everything would make sense in the morning.

“Leopold, please talk to me…stop moving for a second! I want you to talk to me!” she urged, grabbing his arm.

“There’s nothing to say, you’ve heard it already,” he said, wandering in circles. “I’m worse than dead now. I’m
nothing.
Everything we’ve done, all our suffering and struggles come to this—come to nothing! I might as well have opened the lock and let it out from the beginning. None of this would have happened.”

“None of
this
—of us being together?” she asked, taking hold of him. “And what about me? You would abandon me?”

“But I
have
abandoned you, Mary! I can’t mean anything to you now.”

“Surely you don’t believe that! Dead, or alive, or whatever else you claim to be, you belong to me and nothing can change that. Whatever happened, rightly or wrongly, it gave you to me. And I can’t question that.”

She kissed him, trying to anchor him back on earth, to remind him of what they fought for. For a moment, he remembered—and forgot all the rest.

“There,” she said, her eyes shining. “Did you feel that?”

“Yes…”

“Then you’re not dead, are you? You’re here, with me. With us.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he asked, pulling away.

“Leopold…I don’t know what to believe. Everything’s happening so fast. I just want it to end…”

“Ivan—at least tell me you understand. You believe me, right? You know what I’m saying is true.”

Ivan leapt up in haste, trying to wave off the responsibility. But his expression was more than clear: he
hoped
Leopold had temporarily lost hold of his senses. Mary was right, too much had happened too quickly. Blackbeard was dead; Leopold was saved. To contemplate another round of spells and disappointments was more than unthinkable, it was perverse. Frankly he wanted no part of it.

“After everything we’ve been through and
now
you doubt me? Now you think I’m insane?” Leopold said, angrily. “But I can make him speak—I can tell you what he says. Go on, ask me something only he would know. You’ll see!”

“Leopold, please. Haven’t we been through enough?”

“Ask me something! Go on!” he said, almost striking Ivan.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” he replied. “That woman loves you more than anything on earth, and instead of consoling her, you spin out this nonsense, while she’s over there in tears.”

“Ah, of course, I forgot: you love her, too!” he said, with a bitter laugh. “You would like me to be mad, wouldn’t you? Well never fear, I’m a living corpse, no church in the world would marry us! So you’ll win in the end.”

The reminder stung. Mary avoided looking at him. Humiliated, Ivan said something about his mother’s favorite song. Everyone who knew her knew it; Blackbeard would have heard it, too.