#rincedeath

“Aren’t you a little bit frightened?” asked Rincewind as he scooted himself back into the safety of the hood.

OF THE GODS? Death replied. THEY DO THESE COURT MEETINGS ALL THE TIME. IT MAKES THEM HAPPY.

“So, what happens if someone loses?”

YOU GET ANNOYINGLY DISCORPORATED, Death replied. NOT A HARSH PUNISHMENT, BUT I HAVE SOME READING I HAVE TO CATCH UP ON IF I DO.

“Oh,” said Rincewind as his face became perplexed with what reaction should be said of such a conversational topic. “Well, we certainly don’t want that to happen to you.”

INDEED. Death nodded. THIS TYPE OF TARDINESS DOES NOT LOOK PROFESSIONAL AT ALL. BUT I GUESS THE WORLD SHOULD BE FINE WITH A FEW ANIMATED CORPSES ROAMING ABOUT.

“You mean…zombies?”

I TRIED MY BEST TO PUT THEM BACK, confessed Death, BUT THERE HAVE BEEN…COMPLICATIONS RECENTLY.

“Why?”

APPARENTLY, THEY STARTED TO UNIONIZE.*

Rincewind didn’t reply, believing that this topic was not for the living to know about and that he would probably regret it later.

*With zombies, mummies, and other undead species (minus the vampires) popping back around, Death really has not had his work cut out for him. As long as the soul has a great amount of will and unfinished business, it IS possible to become a zombie. However, while that certainly is a sensical theory, the truth of the matter is, and one that Death does not want to come to light; Most cases of zombism happen either because:

Death took a “wrong” turn and got late for an appointment.

A body has been marked by the Gods to come back for next Tuesday.

Some cult or pajama-wearing folks thought summoning Death would be a good after-party trick. This one happens a lot. Mostly by wizards.

There was also a very recent occurrence with The Fresh Start Club starting a thing called “Undead In-Sewer-Ants.” Death has no idea what that exactly entails, but he sure didn’t want to get another desk filled with a new island of paperwork to read. So in most cases, rather than push the dead back from whence they came (i.e., the ground), Death just gives them the “You-Don’t-See-Me-I-Don’t-See-You” approach. And his desk has never been happier.

AH, THERE WE ARE.

They reached a golden gate, and just to the side of it stood a little toll booth. Death marched forward to the lonely kiosk and cleared his imaginable throat. A shaking hand from below the booth raised up and placed a service bell. The hand sank back into the darkness.

Death and the wizard ferret exchanged a glance before he reached for the bell.

Ring! Ring!

“Alright, alright, be with you in a moment,” said the voice from below the booth.

They were greeted by a pair of large ram horns.

While the horns looked magnificent and strong, they did not match that of their owner. His once-imposing leather armor and shaggy beast fur around him would have made him a terrifying opponent. But the wearer was a bit of a pathetic sight. He felt like he had seen better days. When countries were once filled with the fury of battle, and the sound of a trumpet was the beacon of destruction, this fellow could have probably put War to shame.

“Name, please,” said the horned man.

DEATH, THE REAPER OF SOULS.

“Death…Death…let me see…” The man, known as Heimdall in some other parts of the world*, carried a scroll and some reading glasses. He looked through the parchment and sighed.

“Sorry, don’t see your name here.”

CHECK AGAIN.

Heimdall sighed and cleaned his glasses. He was taking his time.

*Ever since the Silver Horde invaded Dunmanifestin, the Gods decided to get creative. This meant recruiting from the not-well-known Norse division. Their plan was simple: If the Silver Horde ever showed up again, then maybe they would stop for a moment if they saw a…friendly face. So far, they haven't invaded, so that’s a sign it’s working, right?

Death tapped his skeletal finger on his arm.

“Hmm… Death… Death… huhhhhh hmmm…”

TRY UNDER “R,” Death suggested. FOR REAPER.

By the Gods, Rincewind thought. No wonder he doesn’t get along with them.

“Ah!” Heimdall responded. “There it is, yes. D.E.A.T.H. That’s it. How could I have missed that?”

INDEED.

Heimdall raised his head and, for the first time, looked directly at his visitor. He didn’t shiver or apologize. Instead, he leaned forward and squinted at something resting on Death’s shoulder.

“And who’s that?” He pointed.

NEW DEATH, Death replied easily. DEATH OF WEASELS.

Rincewind took that as his cue and let out a convincing squeak.

“Well, it’s about time.” Heimdall chuckled. “These little fellas are slippery, mind you. Really takes the load off, doesn’t it?”

He opened the booth and walked toward the gate, raising his prized trumpet and playing a high note. The golden gates swung wide for their arrival.

“Are all the Gods this friendly?” Rincewind asked as Death stepped forward.

IS THAT SARCASM? Death turned his head toward the little creature. I CAN’T ALWAYS TELL.

“Well—”

THEY’RE NOT.

“Oh.”

BUT… Death rested a skeletal hand on his chin. I GUESS THERE’S—

“Ah, Death,” said a soothing, mint-flavored voice. “So glad you could join us.”

THIS TIME, Death made a short, simple bow. I FELT IT WAS MOST NEEDED.

Rincewind poked his head out to see the speaker. A pair of emerald eyes watched him like a hawk.

“This must be…” The Lady seemed amused. “The Death of Weasels, I presume?”

INDEED… Death’s voided eyes locked onto hers. Rincewind glanced between the two. It almost seemed like they were engaged in a mental battle. Or, more likely, a game of chess.

The Lady leaned forward, her face uncomfortably close to Rincewind’s. He tried to back away, but those solid green eyes pinned him in place.

“You know,” she continued, never breaking eye contact, “weasels have many meanings in human cultures. They can be cunning, stealthy, resourceful… My personal favorites are that they can represent bad luck, but fortune in some other parts of the world.”

Can she read my thoughts? Rincewind wondered. I should think of something else—bananas, potatoes, yes, that’s it. Don’t picture anything that will make her think I’m a wizaaaaaaa—BUTTERFLIES! CLOUDS! GOOD STUFF! YAY! Please, stop looking at me!

“I suppose it’s just a matter of perspective,” the Lady said with a quiet chuckle, finally backing away. “I shall see you inside.”

She turned and walked toward the steps of the temple.

Now alone, Death turned his skull toward his stunted friend. I’M IMPRESSED, RINCEWIND. I THOUGHT YOU WOULD RUN AWAY.

“Oh, I thought so too,” Rincewind admitted. “But really, it’s not the first time I’ve seen her. And any time I do, it’s not like she’s ever caused me harm.” He hesitated, then quickly added, “The lightning-bolt-throwing-at-you kind of harm, at least.”

ARE YOU READY?

“Oh, I’m never ready,” Rincewind confessed. “But I’ll do it anyway, and if running becomes necessary, I’m your weasel!”

THEN LET US MOVE FORWARD.

Move forward… that’s a funny phrase, Rincewind mused as Death walked, each step deliberately long. This shouldn’t have been the time for his life to flash before his eyes, but it happened anyway. Each step. One by one.

Strangely enough, he remembered a particular moment with Eric. They had been running—he couldn’t quite recall from what—but Eric had asked where they were running to. Rincewind had a simple philosophy to answer that question: it didn’t matter . Away was the most important part. Never the where .

But now… the wizard found himself perplexed. Because if he imagined where he might run to, he saw himself running toward things instead. Running back to the tavern where Corinna worked. Running back to the University to dust off some old books. Even trying more of Eric’s weird soups was looking appealing right about now. And, most importantly, he had to visit Twoflower. He was sure Twoflower would marvel at all the adventures he never had the chance to share.

But none of that would happen—not if he ran away now. Not with his life tangled in the curse of heroism and adventure. Sure, he was alive because of the precarious balance between Fate and the Lady. But he hadn’t quite… lived .

Twoflower had told him to be selfish.

And he would.

…

This… isn’t a trial, Rincewind realized.

The Gods laughed and cheered for another round of beer as something amusing happened on the board in the center of the room. Coins clinked across the table, confusing the wizard—what did Gods even need currency for? But Blind Io was winning this match.

Fate stood back, those two infinite black holes he called eyes watching what he would describe as a mere exhibition game.

“I was sure Winter would have lasted longer than that…” Offler groaned, pushing his losses toward Blind Io.

“Never bet against witches, my friend,” Bibulous said, patting the dejected crocodile. “It’s a given.”

“Well, that was a fun run,” Fate said, swinging his arm as the board vanished in a puff of cloud. “Shall we return to the true reason we’re here?”

The others sulked but took their places, forming a circle of desks around Death.

“Death,” Fate declared, “as you well know, this hearing has been called because you stand accused of interfering with our Godly interventions regarding the man known as Rincewind.”

Rincewind barely managed to suppress an eye-roll. Did he even hear himself? Intervening in an intervention? Did that even make sense?

Perhaps he’d gone too far in his thinking, because Death suddenly raised a hand toward him.

Tip…Tap…

“So he does a little poking about,” Blind Io chuckled, shaping a small cloud into a golden dish piled high with perfect, delectable grapes. “We gods do that all the time, do we not?”

As he popped a grape into his mouth, the other gods around him nodded in agreement. Fate did not. But he didn’t let his temper get the better of him.

“Don’t we all?” He said with a fake grin, “Yet, our reasonings as to why we poke around, is so we get our powers stronger! Find some little nobody from nowhere, gift them some power or knowledge or whatever, a challenge there and boom! He goes home a hero, tells everyone about us, and our faith goes stronger! THAT’s how it’s done!”

Fate stood up and slammed his hands hard on the desk, “But no, Gods and Goddess, Death’s reason to interfere is simply just to ask… Questions !”

A ripple of disgust spread through the room. Questions are what Gods truly fear. And so, they refrain from saying it, thinking that one will lead to hundreds more. 

“That’s right… Questions!” He observed his audience carefully and pointed dramatically at Death, “Do you deny this?”

IS THAT A GENUINE QUESTION? Death asked.

A few gods dared to snicker in silence.

“Please answer the ques - what was requested of you, Death.” said Blind Io, the Chief of the Gods, and now playing as the neutral party.

VERY WELL, Death replied, pausing just long enough to make the dramatic flail worth it.

He struck his scythe against the floor and bellowed, I’VE DONE NOTHING WRONG!

Everyone gasped on cue.

“Objection!” Yelled Errata, the Goddess of Misunderstandings.

“What-what does that mean?” Asked Bibulous The God of Wine and Things on Sticks.

“I don’t know,” Answered Errata, again the Goddess of Misunderstandings, “I just thought it made sense saying it.”

By the Gods… thought Rincewind, as he watched like a caged animal (Well not really caged, but you know.) at hundreds of Gods disputing and throwing meaningless words around like nothing. His fur was starting to fizzle and his teeth began to clatter. This isn’t like him, but the voices inside his head became louder.

They have no clue what a trial is, don’t they? 

So why do they even have it?

Both thoughts settled with an answer: Because we would expect them to.

It was like Death’s bathroom. There was no real need for one in his realm. But people assumed Death, like anyone else, lived in a house. And houses had bathrooms, didn’t they? Of course, if you were a guest like Rincewind, you might notice that the water in the toilet flushed in what he could only describe as multi-counter-clockwise.

IT IS MY DUTY, Death’s sharp iced-voice echoed across the whole trial, TO CARE FOR THE SOULS THAT WHICH WILL MEET ME IN TOMORROW’S END.

The room darkened. Every god fell silent as Death’s eyes ignited with a cold blue fire.

I HAVE ONE SOUL Death claimed as Rincewind the weasel felt the shoulder he was standing on grew cold as a blizzard storm, WHOSE LIFE HAS BEEN PULLED, STRETCHED, PUSHED, AND BOPPED THAT NOW HIS OWN LIFETIMER IS NOTHING BUT A COMPLICATED MAZE OF UNCERTAINTY.

Rincewind scanned the gods' faces. None showed unease, no hint of guilt—except the Lady, who was grinning .

“And what soul would that be?” She asked as the audience.

THIS ONE.

Death lifted a squirming, twitch-nosed weasel into the air. Its little eyes bulged in absolute terror.

This should have been the moment in a play where the surprise hero revealed himself, the stage lights shifted, and the audience held their breath.

Instead, the gods laughed.

Fate did not.

He was thinking. And he was putting the pieces together. His gaze on the weasel sharpened. Slowly, Fate extended just his pinky finger and flicked an invisible spell, lassoing it around the creature.

A spark. A shift.

Now stood the wizard, trying to dust off the magic sparkles out of his hat.

“Look!” Said one god, “It’s the Great WEAZZEL!”

The laughter turned into thunderous mockery. Rincewind tried to block it all out by hiding under his hat and wishing he was small enough for it.

Fate of course…did not laughed, however he did showed a bit of a sore winner’s grin,

“Have you come to give us gratitude?”

“Gratitude?” Rincewind echoed, appalled. There was no room for fear anymore. Righteous fury had taken up all the space in the room, shoving fear outside to fumble for a spare key under the mat. Unknowingly that righteous fury has put a sofa to block the door.

“Why yes!” Fate chuckled, “If it weren’t for the Lady and myself, why, you would have been stuck at home! With not a claim to your name! No battle scars! No glory! Why…your life would have been completely boredom!”

“Boredom!” Rincewind exclaimed, “That’s the thing I’m looking for! Yes! Can I have that to go, please?”

“Boredom?” Blind Io was done laughing and grew curious, “My good mortal, we Gods can give you anything! Riches, Knowledge, Power, Glory-”

“No, I think I’ll stick with boredom.” Rincewind replied politely as boldness had apparently slipped in through the chimney, “Or for better terms, not having any of you meddling with my life seems quite nice too.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Exclaimed Fate, “Humans like you need us! To explain the unexplainable! The comfort of uncertainty! The lightning before the plague!”

“Well, that’s all good.” Rincewind nodded, “We don’t get a lot of plagues anymore, and we certainly are watching out for any lighting above our heads.”

The voices of the gods murmured around like bees realizing the honey wasn’t as rich as yesterday’s batch.

“And word from a Sourcerer is that you gods need us more than we need you.” Rincewind pointed, “We used boredom to create you! Yes, and also with fear. Actually…a lot of fear, but I’m sure boredom takes a little bit of credit there!”

“ Fine! ” Fate snapped, standing and manifesting in the center of the jury hall. “You want to see what happens if we gods don’t interfere with humanity?”

“N-no, I just want myself to—”

“Then let’s take a look! ” Fate cut him off, sweeping his hands outward and conjuring a swirling vortex of energy.

The winds roared, whipping through the hall.

 Rincewind held onto his hat and Death stood between them and kept his scythe still grounded on the floor.

The vortex stopped and has become a sort of window screen.

"Fate." The Lady’s voice was a whisper. Her piercing green eyes locked onto the swirling image before them. "What have you done?"

The screen displayed the Agatean Empire, its soldiers gathered in tight formation. Opposing them stood an army of demons and men, ready for war.

“You were supposed to inform me whenever you decided to meddle in the affairs of kingdoms, Fate.”

“Not really my meddling, my dear Lady,” Fate said smoothly. “I merely nudged a few demons there, a few angry men here… I didn’t lead them to fight in the exact spot where our little wizard decided to rest his head.”

The Lady’s green eyes glowed ominously. She raised a hand toward the screen—

“No,” Blind Io interrupted. “Let it play out.”

For a long moment, the Lady remained still, her fury burning just behind her expression. Then, slowly, she lowered her hand.

“We shall see how mortals fare without us.” Io’s voice carried across the hall, heavy with divine authority. His gaze swept the room. “We will intervene only if someone prays for our aid.”

The Lady’s silence was deafening. Without another word, she sat down.

“Not a problem for you, is it, wizard?” Io asked.

Rincewind stared at the screen. His heart leapt into his throat at the sight of Twoflower.

 His own body was telling him to run. Run away and…try to be where Twoflower was. But he remembered TwoFlower’s words. He needed to trust him. And he needed to fix his own problem here. 

His silence was all the answer the Chief of the Gods needed.

“Very well,” Io said, turning to Fate. “Continue.”

Rincewind instantly became nervous as soon as he saw Two-Flower dismissed his army and had both his daughters stand besides him. The emperor made a suggestion to Pretty Butterfly, and with hesitation, the daughter put her weapon down. 

The renegade demons and cultists ran forwards with purpose, and then…

The Luggage crashed from the sky and into the ground like a comet. The army screeched to a halt, but the luggage opened up its mouth and showed its collection of teeth.

Surprisingly though, there was no munching or feasting-of-the-flesh. Instead, the Luggage spewed up whatever had bothered the box through its whole journey. 

A ball. 

Most importantly, a round-object with the number 8 painted on it. The ball bounced off the chest of an unfortunate demon, sending them flying backward. As their body skidded to a stop, both armies cautiously lowered their weapons, their eyes drawn to the mysterious object.

“It’s…it’s the Orb!” Yelled Bruce, the cultist leader, “It has returned to us in full glory!”

The cultists rejoiced. The demons became curious and peeked their heads over.

“What is that object?” spewed Killer-buzz.

Bruce happily grabbed the orb and showed it off, “It is our object of worship! It holds wisdom and knowledge of the universe!”

“Really?” Asked Killer-buzz in intrigue, “Are you saying it is some type of…God-ish figure?”

“But it is!” Said Bruce proudly, “It has never been wrong!”

“How does it work?”

Bruce puts his mouth inches away from the object and asks, “Oh mysterious Orb, will I ever get married?” 

He shook the ball, it replied with the words: Yes.

“THE ORB SPEAKS!”

The crowd cheered in response. 

“What a lovely object.” Said Two-Flower, as he was just a few feet away from the other leaders, “If you excuse my Ankh-morporkian, would you mind giving the miss a try?”

“But of course!” Said Bruce as he handed the Orb to Killer-Buzz, “The Orb is for anyone that asks for its wisdom!”

“You fool!” cried Killer-Buzz, “Don’t you see? It’s just a trick! Its only response are only one word! Yes! No! Maybe! They’re all just party tricks!”

“Well, ask it something then!” Asked one of the demons, “Doesn’t hurt to try, does it?”

“Fine!” grumbled Killer-Buzz as she snatched the orb and thought carefully for an answer larger than one word. The leaders stood in anticipation. Bruce stared from her left, and Two-Flower on her right.

“Tell me…Orb….” said Killer-Buzz warily, “I am the commander of this here army. I have stepped up where our demons have failed. We followed a false leader. A fake God! We seek glory! We seek for a day we demons can see a tomorrow filled with flames! As the Queen of the new demon army, tell me Orb…Who will stand next to me? Who is worthy to become my equal and my righteous King?”

She shook the eight-numbered ball and people’s necks could not extend even longer for the anticipation.