Trent Jamieson - Death most definite

And, there, I see my parents. The tree has begun to wrap around Mom and Dad's legs with woody vines rising from the trunk. Mom looks up, her eyes are dull. Death is already settling down her humanity, letting her sink into the tree and the universal thought or whatever it is that exists beyond the flesh and the memory of flesh. Soon she and Dad will be nothing but whispers and light dripping from the roots of the tree.

It's always faster with Pomps, maybe because we have an idea of what to expect, and we're cool with it. Slipping into some sort of universal truth is so much better than spending your eternity in heaven or whatever. Still, when Mom sees me her eyes widen and the dullness fades away.

"Steven. Oh, no. I was hoping that-"

"It's OK, Mom. I'm not dead."

Mum gives Dad a significant look. She might as well be giving him the crazy signal. Dad frowns.

"Seriously, both of you. I'm not."

"Then what in the seven bloody hells are you doing here? The living aren't meant for this place, Pomp or not."

"I'm looking for Lissa."

"Oh, the Jones girl! An Orpheus Maneuver, eh?" Dad gives me an extremely wicked look. "You know where she is, love?"

Mom has always had a greater sensitivity to the dead. We both look at her. Mom lifts her head and breathes deeply. "Oh, but there are a lot of Stirrers on the tree! They're like termites. They're going to be hard to get rid of, and it makes it difficult to… Yes! I can feel her. She's on the next level. She came in fast, which means she'll leave fast. If you weren't here I'd think you were with her." She glances over at Dad. "He was certainly all over her."

I redden at that. "Yeah, well…"

Dad winks at me, and Mom sighs. "But Steven, if you are here, it's not bad. It's marvelous, in fact. I've not felt… It's… Well…" Finally she shakes her head.

I know what she means. It is terrible and marvelous at once. The things I've seen getting here, things not even hinted at from our vantage point at Number Four. It's the sort of stuff you're not supposed to know until you're dead.

I don't know what I am here in the Underworld, except I'm not that. Definitely not dead, not yet. I kiss Mom's forehead. Her skin is cold against my lips. I'm finally getting the chance to say goodbye, but it isn't any easier.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you, Steven." She blinks. "Get out of here as quickly as you can."

Dad nods. "Go get her, Steve," he says. "She's a good one."

"I could try and send you back," I say, and there's a slight pleading tone in my voice.

"No, I've died once. That's enough for me, Steve. I'd like to say I miss you but that's for the living, and your mother and I, well, we're not living anymore." He smiles, looks over to Mom, and she nods her head-wow, they actually agree on something. "Get her, Steve," he says. "And then, stop Morrigan. I can feel what he's doing even here. He's an idiot. You can't deal with the enemy and not expect grim consequences."

I look at them one last time, then clamber up the interconnecting branch.

"Oh, and I'm glad you got rid of that beard!" Mom shouts after me.

I look down and notice that, not too far below, there are Stirrers with machine guns. One of them points up at me. I hear a distant crack, crack, cracking and the wood near my feet explodes. I get out of the way, quick smart.

Even more worrying is the helicopter racing over the city toward this branch.

I don't know how long I've got, but I can hear the chopper drawing nearer. It's a peculiar looking thing, with huge, flat tear-shaped blades that look as though they're made of brass. But the Stirrers in its cockpit are grim- and melty-faced and all of them are carrying guns-old AK-47s. Morrigan's ambitions are huge, but he's still obviously working on a budget. One of the chopper crew points in my direction.

"That can't be good," Wal says, less than helpfully.

All I can do is try and climb faster.

The wind is picking up: salt driven on the air. A storm rushes along the surface of the sea, pelting toward the city. I grin into the wind, feeling somehow recharged by it. Out there beyond the edge of the city the great dark sea is crashing against the shore. Even here things rage and swell and live a kind of life, and my cares fall away from me all at once.

I'm wearing that smile on my face when I see her, but it doesn't last.

The One Tree has bound itself around her with rough fingers of bark. Lissa's eyes are milky with death. There is no recognition there. I might already be too late.

One of her fingers wiggles.

I touch it, and feel the slightest warmth, just the barest hint of life.

I don't want to be here and, above all, I don't want her to be here. If I could tear down the Underworld I would. But I don't have that power, just my love and my will. I'm terrified of failing, I'm terrified of succeeding. The only thing I don't doubt are my feelings for her.

The branch fights me all the way. It grows thorns. It snaps at my fingers with little teeth. I bleed pulling the bark off her, and maybe that's what does it, because the tree gives her up at last. I lay her gently onto the branch.

I touch her face. There's a flat warmth to her flesh that is almost worse than the cold I was expecting. Her eyes are dull, barely green at all, and nowhere near the startling, quick to fire color that I remember.

I hold her in my arms. She is still. I can't feel any more warmth. I lower my lips to hers and a force, a presence, a fire passes through me in a brief, agonizing flash. The tree shakes. Something howls, the light dims and I get a vague sense that the whole Underworld has paused. Even the storm seems to be waiting.

Then Lissa coughs and shudders. Her eyes widen. "Steven?"

"Lissa." My darling Lissa.

Her face wrinkles. "Steven, this isn't some sort of cruel joke, is it?"

"It better not be." I'm grinning again, a smile so wide that it hurts. My hand rests on her cheek; her skin is warming. And her eyes, they're no longer as flat, as lifeless. Shit, of course that could just be wishful thinking-that's gotten me here as much as anything else, even if Wal doesn't believe it.

"So how do we do this?" I ask her, and she frowns.

"Do what?"

"I'm taking you back."

"There's no… You can't. Not an Orpheus Maneuver," Lissa says. "You'll get yourself killed."

"That's been on the cards for about a week now," I say.

"No, you have to leave me here. You can't."

"Another bloody optimist," Wal says. "How do you two get out of bed in the morning?"

Lissa's eyes regain some of their gleam. "Who's your little friend?" she asks.

"Little friend!" Wal snorts. "This woman lacks sensitivity. Throw her back, Steve. There's more fish in the sea."

"Hmm, I don't like him either," Lissa says. "He's much better as a tatt."

Introductions are quickly made above the increasingly vocal wind. The dark clouds bunching up near the horizon are sliding toward us fast.

"I'm getting you out of here," I say.

"But the thing is that Orpheus Maneuvers always fail."

"Paradigm shift," I say, then kiss her.

She kisses me back. Her flesh warms, then burns. I feel her excitement. Her hands are getting busy at the back of my head, pulling me in closer, and I'm holding her face. When we finally pull away she looks into my eyes.

"I love you, Steven. Find me," she says.

There is a sudden blinding brightness. I'm on the One Tree alone. Lissa's gone. I'm not sure where, the Deepest Dark or back to the land of the living. I stand there looking out at the Underworld, and stare at all those bodies closest to me, wrapped in tree. Most of them are Pomps. The nearest one is Don.

"How about a kiss then," he says and grins lasciviously.

I roll my eyes.