Pen - Part 2

The room had always been intimidating. There were large pillars that stretched high up towards the sky, disappearing into the black and gold lights. Planets were birthed and destroyed above, thousands of light-years away, sharing their last bits of life to anyone who may have needed it. The palace would receive it all, eventually. Bottling it up to keep a record of those who were lost. Never truly letting those worlds die. 

Echoes of the dead shrouded the room, congregating within the corners, surroundings small pools of light. Pen had noticed that about the spirits. They liked the lights.  It was the last vestiges of life that they clung to. Some would fade. Others would be reborn. While a fated few would stick around forever.

Stepping inside the room, Pen looked at the pools of spirits, fighting the urge to rub their arms vigorously. It wasn’t that the cold was taking control, but there was a sense of emptiness to the air. That’s what had always bothered them. Death felt empty.

“Merripen.”

The voice of their father boomed through the room. It echoed from high above, from where he sat on a throne that stretched into nothing. Father Death was sitting on the throne, head disappearing into a cloud of stardust.  But upon seeing his child, he began to shrink. Arms and legs pulling inwards until he became just a bit taller than Pen, long black cloaks flowing around him. He walked up to Pen, embracing him.

“I have not seen you for a spell. Are you well?”

Pen leaned into the comfort of their father for a moment. The smell of peppermint and grave dirt was strong today. “I am. Did you just come in from the garden?”

Death smiled.  The garden was the graveyards that they tended. Death loved them. Took care of them. Took long strolls within the tombstones, speaking to the restless souls that were trying to understand what had happened to them.

“I did. There is a wonderful new one that has formed in the world beyond. Intricate stones. The world expands to fit the capacity that is needed. It’s genius really.”

“Is this within Night?”

“Night. Yes. I do forget that you two play.”

Play was not the word Pen would use. Not any longer. Pen had grown up. Was an adult now.  Night was sometimes not but they came back to themselves when they saw how serious Pen had become. Time for play was lost in the past. Nothing more than fond memories that didn’t belong in the world now.

“I’m glad the garden within that world is taking so well. I know you had some concern.”

“A nexus point. It is an interesting concept, but one I am not opposed to.  If it works, I think the spirits will be much happier.”  

With a hand on Pen’s shoulder, Death lead them to a room off to the side. It was a much quieter area. One where there was a small koi pond, the water cascading over the side.  Pen knew that the water connected down into the world. The sprites liked playing in it.  Two large chairs appeared just at the pond's edge, wrapped in purple velvet. Death kicked off their shoes, Pen following, and before saying anything else, they both put their feet within the water.

“That hits the spot,” Death sighed. Leaning backwards, the black robes cascaded all around, shifting into tendrils of shadow that billowed across the floors, seeking out others to envelop in their folds. He was quiet for a long moment, letting the soothing sounds of water cascade downwards, easing away the noise from the rest of the day.

Pen, however, sat stiffly.

“I assume you know why I called you here,” Death started, cracking open an eye. Pen did. They were hoping that it wasn’t going to be a conversation. “Have you thought about what I have told you?”

Pen shifted uncomfortably. It was all they had talked about. It was a sore spot in their mind that continued to hound them throughout their waking hours. “I don’t have an answer for you.” There was such shame in those words.

Sitting up, Death leaned forward, steepling bone fingers under his chin. “Is there anything I can do to answer your questions better? Help you with your decision.”

“Is it a decision?” Pen had promised they would not be doing this. It was not supposed to be an argument. Yet, they felt the injustice and the unfairness of it all rise in their chest like an old wound.

“Mer,” Death sighed.

“No. It’s not a decision. You know this is not. You want me to take over the mantle of Death. You have no other children. If I don’t do it, who will?”

“Your mother and I can always have another child.”

“So I’m passing this off on some baby? One who may or may not want it?” Pen hadn’t gotten a choice to be Death’s heir. This child would be given the same fate.

“No,” Death said patiently. “They would be given a choice. Just like you.”

“And as the days go on, you keep the job longer and longer, and it is held over my head that I am the reason you cannot go and be with mom.”

The words echoed throughout the room. They felt like a slap every time. Not taking over the mantle of Death meant shoving responsibility off on a poor soul yet to be born. Taking the mantle felt as if giving up any semblance of a life.

“Mer,” Death began softly. “I am not asking you to make a decision at this moment. It is a big one. And I am not pressuring you.”

“But you miss mom.”

“I miss her more than anything. But, I also care for my child just as much. And if you are not ready for me to leave, I won’t.”

Pen reeled back. “It has nothing to do with that.” It was responsibility Pen shied away from. The thought of forcing this onto another. It was not the fear of their father leaving.  Pen didn’t believe in fear.

Leaning forward, Death reached out, taking their child's hand. There was light in the skull face, hidden beneath the hood. Pen wondered what their father actually looked like. Vague images from birth were all they had to cling to.

“I love you,” Death said. “I will love you even after these robes are shed from my body. And if that is never, then so be it.”

Pen felt tears slip down their cheeks. “That’s not fair,” they whispered.

“Perhaps. But when we chose to bring you into this world, your mother and I swore that this would be the path we would take. You came before us. And you will always come before us.”

Pen felt their chest crack. Like the gnawing paws of destiny were splitting open their chest and clawing their way inside. “I want to answer you,” they said softly.

“And you will.” Death patted their hand. “Just not today.”

Pen leaned forward, pressing their head against their clasped hands. And Death did not move. Instead, the world paused for a long moment in order for the younger reaper to cry. And Death held the rest of the spirits at bay to give them the space to do so.