School of Deaths

by Christopher Mannino

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I am a friend as well,” he said.

  Blue flames swam upward, shooting toward the sky. They leaped higher and higher off the ground, running together. Behind her, the earth folded skyward into a cliff. The flames parted in a sliver of light, at the base of the waterfall.

  She opened her eyes.

  “Suzie?” Frank leaned over her, his face full of concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Frank?”

  “You were annoyed at Billy and stormed off, but collapsed right outside the house.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “Only a minute,” said Billy. “I’m sorry again.”

  “Me too,” she said. “Sometimes I forget.”

  “Forget what?” asked Frank.

  “That I’m not alone in this world.”

  * * * *

  They hadn’t spoken about Sindril. Frank and Billy were too busy with boskery, and Jason seemed to have other things on his mind. She’d bring it up after the holidays. Suzie didn’t tell the others about her visions, but they seemed to be growing more frequent. Flames and green eyes haunted her sleep, though she no longer feared them while awake. In a way, the strange images comforted her. She glanced at the calendar on the kitchen wall. Friday, December 17th: the big day had arrived.

  Red and white streamers now covered the rocky College walls. Teachers and students wore red ribbons on their robes, commemorating the blood shed in the Great War. Even the scythes in the Ring glimmered with blood-red light. A large mural, painted by Cronk’s art classes, hung across the back of the Lower Hall. Suzie had painted Lovethar, while other Deaths had painted Deaths and Dragons around her. In Lovethar’s hand, Suzie had painted a smudge. It represented the Dragon Key, though she’d told Cronk the smudge was a mistake.

  “You ready?” asked Jason, straightening a red ribbon on the front of his robe. Suzie wore a similar ribbon and a second bright ribbon in her hair.

  “I am,” she said. A constant noise streamed in through the windows, as Deaths headed toward the Ring for the Styxia parade, marking the beginning of the three day holiday. The boskery match would be tomorrow, and the festivities would end at the feast on Sunday. School was suspended for the entire week, and that suited her fine. Forays into the Living World had also stopped, but Hann had announced a second trip immediately following the holidays. Combined with the stress of dealing with Luc and her teachers, as well as an upcoming report due in Theory, she was glad for this vacation.

  She straightened her robe and glanced in the mirror. A Death looked back. A pretty Death with dark, curly hair, a red ribbon, freckles, and lipstick gazed at her from the mirror. She’d decided to look feminine. They had to wear their robes, but commemorating a day associated with the negative aspects of Lovethar had given her the idea to accent her femininity. It was a bold move, one Frank encouraged, though Billy disagreed.

  “Let’s go,” she said. She walked out of Eagle Two, followed by Jason. Billy and Frank would meet them later, they were in the parade. They joined a crowd of Deaths young and old, wearing robes and red ribbons. Her thoughts turned to Billy and Frank.

  Billy was the first friendly boy she’d met here. He was fun to live with, but lately she’d started to have mixed feelings. At the start of the year, he’d excited her. Maybe, she blushed to think, maybe she’d even had a slight crush. But then she’d seen Sindril the first time. He’d been the most hesitant to believe her. Every time she brought up the conspiracy, Frank had been supportive, while Billy had doubted. Frank, the boy who’d sought her out on his own to introduce himself. She liked Frank a lot. When they played boskery, would she be cheering Billy or Frank?

  “This is insane,” muttered Jason. The throng grew around them.

  “I’ve never seen this many Deaths,” she said.

  “It’s not only the College,” he replied. “The nearby towns have emptied out. All of the Deaths are here for Styxia.”

  A loud horn blared through the strawberry-scented air. The sun shone high above them, casting light onto the crowd of black robes. A cool breeze blew overhead, but the air was warm from the assembled bodies. Strange how even Deaths are warm. As they came to the Ring of Scythes, Deaths leaned out of windows waving down. Someone threw a bucket of confetti, showering the crowd with scraps of red. Suzie wiped confetti from her shoulders.

  A tall, portly Death shoved his way past Suzie and Jason, wiping sweat off his brow.

  “They’ve moved the location,” he muttered. “We have to hurry. Damn ’Mentals.” He hurried away from them.

  “Everyone’s in such a rush,” said Jason.

  “That’s odd,” said Suzie. “He mentioned ’Mentals.”

  “And?”

  “In this huge crowd I haven’t spotted a single ’Mental.”

  “Suzie, listen to me. You over-think everything. I’m sure the ’Mentals are keeping out of the way of the crowds.”

  They came to a stop about three yards outside of the Ring of Scythes. The throng stopped, and a smaller crowd of Deaths stood a few yards farther away, with a path for the parade between them. The path surrounded the entire campus of the College, circling the Ring. The air sizzled with excitement. Behind them, the mountain of West Tower shot into the sky, draped in blood-red banners. The stone didn’t appear festive, it looked frightening. The sun slipped behind a cloud. The horn blasted again and the noise grew to a roar.

  “The parade’s starting,” said Jason. “Look.” He pointed. A procession of Deaths marched around the crowd to their left, circling the Ring of Scythes. The parade would make a single large lap, starting and ending near West Tower, and she wouldn’t be able to leave until the parade was over. This wasn’t simple entertainment, but an obligation; a responsibility for every Death in the entire world. Suzie sighed.

  The teachers marched first. Hann stood at the head of the line, followed by a group of Deaths Suzie didn’t recognize. Dr. James smiled as he marched, arrogant like always. Professor Stevens struggled at the end of the group, leaning on Cronk as he walked. Cronk looked nervously at the crowd.

  The four boskery teams marched next. The Dragon Seekers walked first. As they passed, Frenchie turned and spat at her.

  “Hey,” yelled Suzie.

  Frenchie turned, but didn’t stop marching.

  “You’re a jerk,” she said. “And you’re going to lose the match.”

  Jason put a hand on her arm.

  Frenchie muttered something and continued to walk. A few of the other Dragon Seekers shot dirty looks her way, but the parade was moving. The Giant Tamers and Widow Makers followed. Suzie recognized some of the faces.

  She cheered as the Gray Knights came into sight. Billy and Frank waved.

  “Don’t skip the game tomorrow,” said Jason.

  “I won’t.” She meant it.

  After the boskery teams, two horse-driven carts rolled past. Green shapes sat on the carts, covered by red cloths.

  “To symbolize the dead Dragons,” said Jason, “killed in the War.”

  Behind the carts, a Death marched. His hood was down. He wore a blonde wig and bright red lipstick. At first, Suzie wanted to laugh, until she realized whom he represented. The Death pretending to be Lovethar turned to the crowd and screamed. Then he fell and burst into flames.

  Suzie screamed, and even Jason looked shocked. The flames vanished and the Death stood up. A man wearing blue pants and no shirt extended his arm toward the fake Lovethar.

  “It’s a ’Mental,” said Jason. “They used a theatrical effect to show the punishment of Lovethar.”

  The fake Lovethar stood, adjusted his wig, and waved to the crowd. The Deaths around him applauded, but Suzie only stared. He moved on, followed by the ’Mental. Two Deaths stood on either side of the ’Mental.

  “He’s chained,” she whispered. “Jason, look at the ’Mental.” The Deaths pulled on the chains as he walked past them.

  “He made a Death catch fire. It’s probably to ke
ep him under control.”

  The fake Lovethar screamed again, replicating his act for the next part of the crowd. The ’Mental raised his hand. He paused right in front of Suzie, and a tear fell from his eye. The Deaths tugged on his chains. He continued to walk past them.

  The next group was the most shocking.

  A dozen ’Mentals marched next, each wearing blue plants and no shirt. They stared at the ground as they walked. Collars of iron chained their necks together. Black-robed Deaths held each chain.

  “What the—” started Suzie.

  “It’s symbolic, like everything in the Parade,” said Jason.

  “Symbolic of what? The ’Mentals aren’t slaves. They’re servants.”

  “True,” said Jason, shrugging, “maybe it has to do with the Great War.”

  The ’Mentals marched by. She recognized them; each had served her at least once in the hall.

  “This is wrong,” she said. What could she do? She started forward and raised her hand.

  “Out of the way,” shouted a voice. She jumped back into the crowd as a team of horses pulled the final cart in front of her. The Council of Twelve, each in their purple robes, waved to the crowd. Sindril glanced down at her as the cart passed by. He smiled, but his eyes glittered with menace. A thirteenth chair on the cart, taller than the others, was empty.

  “Where’s Lord Coran?” she asked, after the procession passed. They would have to wait until the parade circled the entire College, before they could leave.

  “Haven’t you heard?” asked Jason. “They say he’s starting to fade.”

  “Fade?”

  “He’s been a Death for over ninety years.”

  Wait,” said Susan, “he did look old, but—”

  “Michael, in my Applications class, said a Death faded last year, one of his teachers. They had a big ceremony like he died, and even wrote his name on some monument near the Examination Room.”

  “I sort of remember Athanasius, the ’Mental who gave me my contract, mentioning this. He said it’s better to fade. If you get killed, you stop.”

  “You cease,” said Jason. “That’s what they say. No one remembers, and you just vanish. If you fade, you go to…well, you’ve been to the wall of water and the big doors?”

  “Yeah. They called it the Hereafter.”

  “Whatever it is,” said Jason. “Maybe Deaths who fade end up on the other side of the doors. But Deaths who cease—”

  “They stop. They never existed. Everyone forgets them.”

  “Right,” said Jason.

  Suzie realized something. “But wait a second,” she said. “Lovethar was a Death. A true Death. And she was killed. They keep telling us how she was executed for treason, but we remember her. She didn’t cease.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t certified?”

  “The pieces don’t add up,” said Suzie. “She was killed, but didn’t cease. We’d forget her completely, unless—”

  “Unless she faded,” said Jason. “But the story about her—”

  Some of the Deaths around them had grown quiet. Too quiet.

  “Yeah, what a silly joke,” laughed Suzie, suddenly nervous. “When we get home I’ll tell you one of mine. It’s about two Deaths who walk into a bar.”

  Jason gave her a strange look but stopped talking. This was dangerous. If Lovethar had been killed, no one would remember her, but everyone did. What happened a million years ago? Why was Lovethar’s death played out repeatedly in history books, and even in the Styxia parade? What was the connection, if any, to the ’Mentals? Whatever was going on, she’d need to talk to the others in private. She remembered Frank’s story about Cibran and shuddered.

  “Are you cold?” asked Jason, who seemed happy to change the subject.

  “It is a little chilly out here.”

  “How about the ’Mental who set the Death on fire? Pretty neat effect, right?”

  “Yes, pretty neat,” she said. And pretty horrible how the ’Mentals were in chains. What was happening here?

  “Reminded me of your part of the mural,” continued Jason. The Deaths near them were talking about other things, but Suzie remained watchful. Tension hung in the air.

  “I’m glad we’re in Art together,” she said. Keep it simple, keep it innocent.

  The chatter continued for another hour. She avoided mentioning Lovethar, Sindril, or even the ’Mentals. Several times, she found her thoughts drifting to Athanasius, the first ’Mental she’d met. It seemed a lifetime since she’d met the strange goat- man. Cronk had brought her to that in-between place and he’d given her the contract.

  She blushed. She’d completely forgotten the cake. How much had she been through already? She reached into the pocket of her robe and found the small bag. She’d thought she might need it on her first day of school, but hadn’t had a piece since Widow’s Peak. She pulled out the pouch and looked at the cake. She broke off a small piece and popped some in her mouth. She had nothing to be frightened of now, no reason to indulge, but having a piece now made up for the times she hadn’t eaten. They’d thrown rocks at her, sliced her with a boskery blade, and even frightened her with the albino. She’d suffered through fiery visions, burning questions, and painful ridicule. She deserved a small bite of strength.

  As the cake dissolved on her tongue, courage and comfort welled up inside her heart. She stood up straighter, unafraid to confront this World of Death and its mysteries; this world where even though she was alone, she’d finally made friends. She glanced at the pouch again. A single piece of cake remained. She folded the pouch carefully into her pocket.

  “Sneak that from the Hall?” asked Jason. The horn blew, and they finally started to leave the parade route, heading back into the College.

  “It was a gift,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  “From a friend.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Boskery

  Suzie looked down from the stands. A crowd of Deaths surrounded the circular boskery field, filling six enormous grandstands. More Deaths stood around the field itself. Chalk crossed the field, dividing it into four equal quarters, each a half-acre large. In the center, a smaller circle stood. A few trees dotted the field, and a small canal, shaped like a river, cut across three of the quadrants. A twelve-foot wooden tower stood at the edge of each quadrant, forming four distant points around the field’s perimeter. Ladders covered the sides of the towers, and a platform with a bucket stood atop each one.

  The four boskery teams walked around the center of the field, each staying in their assigned quadrant. Suzie could hardly make out which team was which. The Gray Knights were in gray, in the nearest quadrant to her grandstand. The Dragon Seekers, wearing bright red were opposite; the orange-clad Widow Makers and blue Giant Tamers paced in the other quadrants.

  “You understand the rules, right?” asked Jason, who’d been coming to the games.

  “Sort of.” She glanced at the double-bladed boskery scythes in each player’s hand. With ten players on a team, eighty blades gleamed in the sunlight. She remembered the blade Frenchie had used to attack her during try-outs. The memory stung, even if the wound had healed.

  “A referee will drop a ball into the center. That ten-yard wide circle in the center is no-man’s land, a free-for-all area. Each team has to try to get the ball out of that area and into the other team’s goals. If you get it in a tower other than yours, you get one point. If your team makes all three of the opposing goals at least once, you win automatically. If no one gets the other goals, the team with the most points after three hours wins.”

  “All right, I get that. But why four teams at once?”

  “To watch more players at one time; don’t forget that the older kids have to do this to prove their scythe mastery. Besides, having four teams at once is fun. Teams can join forces against other teams, as part of their strategy. Each team puts one player at the base of their tower. They’re like the goalie, they protect the tower. If no one scores and time runs out,
or if time runs out and it’s a tie, the four Protectors face off in the center. The last one standing wins the game for their team.”

  “Last one standing?”

  “Boskery blades paralyze you for ten minutes if you get hit. Like what happened to you back at try-outs. That’s what makes the game tough. Every player has a double-bladed boskery scythe; one hit from any of them, and you’re down.”

  “Those things hurt like hell,” she said.

  “I’ve heard,” said Jason, “and one last rule. You can be in your quadrant or the center any time. After the whistle blows, you can only have four Deaths in an opposing quadrant at any time. That’s a big challenge, and I’ve watched a lot of penalties. When a player breaks that rule, they lose their scythe for ten minutes.”

  “You mean they have to play without a way to defend themselves from the other blades?”

  “Exactly.”

  Suzie’s respect for Billy and Frank grew. This was a painful, difficult game. It might be required, but they’d still made it this far.

  “Frank and Billy will be trying to score goals on the other towers?” she asked.

  “Billy will. Frank’s the Protector.”

  A whistle blew and the stands quieted. A referee wearing white and yellow rode to the center of the field atop a large white horse. Suzie recognized his dour expression. It was Hann. Other mounted referees stationed themselves around the massive field.

  “Here we go,” said Jason.

  The four teams readied their scythes. Suzie couldn’t tell who was who, but she saw the blades glinting, eager to strike. One player from each team moved toward their home tower. As he came closer, she recognized Frank. He looked nervous, though perhaps she only projected her own apprehension.

  Hann yelled something she couldn’t hear and blew his whistle again. He tossed a large ball into the air and spurred his horse away. A group of players raced toward it, their blades whirling in a circular motion. One of the Giant Slayers fell to the ground, and a Widow Maker picked up the ball. Two Dragon Seekers darted forward, catching the Widow Maker between their blades. He fell with a scream, clutching his side. The Gray Knights started forward but fell back as four Dragon Seekers stormed into their quadrant. A fifth Dragon Seeker ran into the Knights’ quadrant followed by Widow Makers and Giant Slayers.