Darren Shan - The Thin Executioner

“Could you answer a question for me in return?” Jebel asked.

“If I can.”

Jebel gulped. “You said you plucked my spirit before my time was up. What did you mean?”

“You were not dead when I summoned you,” Rakhebt Wadak said. “Close to death but still alive. If I had waited, your spirit would have been consigned to the hold.”

“But I’m dead now?” Jebel pressed.

“We would not be talking if you were,” the god said.

“Then what happens next?” asked Jebel. “Do I keep you company until you tire of me? Do you drop me back in the as-Sudat or slit my throat?”

“I drop you back,” Rakhebt Wadak said. “Soon, before I reach my destination. The river will finish what it started, and I will take possession of your spirit.”

“But isn’t it possible… couldn’t you…” Jebel trailed off into silence.

“Spare you?” Rakhebt Wadak shook his head. “Death spares no one.”

“But it can surely give them more time,” Jebel said. “You could put me ashore and collect my spirit later.”

Rakhebt Wadak grunted. “Each person has a natural life span. Yours has been decided. I would break the rules if I returned you.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Jebel asked. “Would you be punished?”

“Nobody can punish me ,” Rakhebt Wadak said, but it wasn’t a boast, merely a statement of fact.

“Then what’s to stop you?” Jebel pressed. He had been ready to accept death, but now that he knew there was a chance to seize life again, he clutched at it.

“Why should I release you?” Rakhebt Wadak countered. “Of all those I have pulled from the water — warriors, priests, lords, even fallen gods — why should I release you ? What makes you special?”

Jebel shrugged. “The fact that I asked?”

“Many ask.”

“You said that you enjoyed my story.”

“It was engaging but not the best I have heard.”

Jebel thought wildly. A dozen logical arguments presented themselves, but he sensed that Rakhebt Wadak would ignore them all. Then a crazy idea struck him, and he ran with it. “You’re lonely.”

“What of it?”

“I can be your friend.”

The god snorted. “Many humans wait for me to come for them. They welcome me. Some worship me. I am not short of friends .”

“But they only know you as an agent of death,” Jebel said. “They see you once, then never again. I bet you’ve never had the chance to greet an old friend on this boat, to say, ‘Hello, it’s good to see you again.’ Have you?”

Rakhebt Wadak was silent. Then quietly he said, “No.”

“If you let me go,” Jebel continued, “you can look forward to our meeting. If you grab me before I’m due to die, you’ll pull a true friend aboard. We can chat. Tell some jokes.” He laughed. “Kill some time!”

Rakhebt Wadak didn’t move, except for his eyes, which stared at the deck, then out across the river. “That might be… interesting,” he whispered.

“More than that,” Jebel said. “It might be nice .” While the god mulled it over, he added, “Do you know how long I’d have if you let me live?”

“No. I would sense it shortly before the end, but only then.”

“So you won’t know when to expect me.” Jebel smiled. “It will be a surprise when I pop up. An unexpected treat.”

There was another long silence. Then Rakhebt Wadak chuckled raggedly — it was not a natural sound for him. “You have the tongue of a politician,” he said. “But your heart is not small or twisted. Very well, you have convinced me. I will return you to the shores of the living.” He raised a finger. “But the other gods will not approve of this. They will probably punish you. You may come to wish that you had accepted death when you had the chance.”

“No,” Jebel said evenly. “No matter how bad things get, I’ll still be alive. I see how precious life is now. I don’t want to turn my back on it until I have to.”

“So be it.” Rakhebt Wadak turned to face the starboard side. He raised both hands above his head, and slowly, with much creaking and protest, the boat turned out of the current and angled towards shore.

“You don’t have to put me aside so soon,” Jebel said. “We can talk some more.”

“I would like that,” Rakhebt Wadak said. “But we draw close to the point of offloading, and if you do not step off now, it will be too late.”

“Oh. In that case, good-bye. No, I mean, so long. Until we meet again.”

He jumped. There was disorientation as he fell through the unnatural upper layer of the river. Then the agony of a great chill and aching limbs as he found himself back in the water, standing waist-high near the edge of the as-Sudat.

Jebel glanced over his shoulder, searching for the boat of Rakhebt Wadak, but all he could see now was the tossing tumult of the river. He waved once, in case the lonely god of death could still see him, then struck for shore before the current ripped him from his feet and dragged him under.

He waded out of the water with difficulty, slipping on the snow-lined banks, but eventually pulled his feet clear and rolled onto his back. He gazed up at the most beautiful clouds he’d ever laid eyes on. His chest rose and fell in gulps, and though his limbs shook, he felt nothing but happiness.

After a minute of appreciating his unbelievable good fortune, he got up before he froze to death — how embarrassing that would be! — and looked around. To his astonished delight he found that Rakhebt Wadak had set him ashore at the foot of the cliff where the um Hamata had lived.

The bodies of the dead cave dwellers now lay strewn around, most covered with a light layer of snow. Scavenging animals had been at work, and many corpses had been chewed and pecked at. Jebel forced his gaze away from the sad spectacle and limped to the cliff. He had little energy left, but he knew that he had to climb. If he made it to the warmth of the caves, he could crawl out of his wet clothes, rest, shelter from the elements, eat, and grow strong. To stay in the open would mean certain death.

Groaning and weeping, Jebel hauled himself up the cliff. He almost fell several times but clung on with the willpower of one who truly knows what death holds in store. Finally he made it to the mouth of the lowest tunnel, where he paused, working up the strength to drag himself forward.

Before he could, two pairs of arms darted out of the darkness and yanked him inside. For a frantic second he thought that the angry gods had come to Makhras to punish him in person. Then someone spoke, and he realized he was in the grip of a less powerful but just as dangerous duo.

“Do my eyes deceive me, Master Blair?”

“They most certainly do not, Master Bush.”

Exhaustion, fear, and shock wove their combined spell on Jebel, and he fainted. The last thing he heard before the welcome release of unconsciousness was cruel, mocking laughter in the dark.

Jebel’s wet clothes had been removed and replaced with a thick rug when he awoke. For a moment he stretched and smiled sleepily, luxuriating in the comfort and warmth. Then he remembered the voices, and his eyes snapped open. He hoped he had been dreaming, but when he saw the graverobbers sitting nearby, smirking like alligators, his hopes were dashed. Groaning, he stared at the ceiling and cursed.

“Our young apprentice isn’t pleased to see us,” Blair commented drily, stroking his mustache.

“It seems not,” Bush chuckled, combing his beard. “In fact he looks… I hesitate to say fit to murder us… but certainly ready to administer a sound thrashing.”

“How did you get here?” Jebel snarled.