The wizened old wanderer’s breath puffed out in feeble clouds of steam as he hauled his aching bones up the final step. Behind him lay ten thousand and one stairs, strewn with the evidence of his life as piece by piece he shed the needless weight.
Pots, pans, sleeping rags, precious jewels and bundles of silk from the ends of the world; all that yet remained was the armour on his body, the sword in his hand and the steady beating of his heart. Nothing else was needed. Nothing else mattered. One way or another, this was his last day as a mortal man.
He stood a moment, drinking in the sight of the snow-capped obsidian keep. Its curled spires and towering walls rose impossible high, reaching seemingly into the depths of the sky itself - yet still unseen by those who did not yet stand at its gates.
Regina Mortem Domus: Home of Queen Death.
Between him and the doors lay a vast, circular field of compacted snow, littered with the crumpled, withered remains of those who had come before – dozens upon dozens of warriors whose lives had been claimed in this quest for immortality.
* * *
As the ragged little man stepped forward, his one good eye peering about warily, a thunderous voice spoke from the shadows of the castle gates.
"Past the midnight veil, beyond the dreaming sea,
Behold the halls of dust, the pale watchers three.
Taste the heart of ancient stone,
Hear the squawk of faceless crow,
Touch the empty font of wisdom,
Smell the molten, bleeding snow.
A riddle solved, a lock obtained, a hero laid to rest,
Ten thousand stairs and then one more,
To face your final test."
Thoom… Thoom… Thoom…
To describe the gate’s guardian as ‘large’ would have been woefully insufficient. The knight’s build was broad and strong, his legs surely shaking the very foundations of the world with each booming stride. Not a scrap of flesh could be seen from the top of his helm to the tips of his iron boots. A blade of ageless steel hung at his belt, its length a match for even the mightiest oak that grows in woods yet untouched by men.
Beyond the slit of his visor lay naught but darkness, yet steam rose from unseen lips just as with his guest.
The old man’s one good eye widened for a fraction of a moment, before returning to normal; no sense showing fear now.
"Speak thy name and purpose, thou who hath spent thy coffers of time to stand before my lady’s gates."
"My name," the old man replied, his voice like a knitted woollen blanket, "is Sigmund Cole. I seek to challenge Queen Death herself, that I might live eternal."
"As do all who seek to challenge her majesty, Sir Sigmund."
"You honour me sir, but I am no knight. I would not besmirch the title of such men and women by accepting such a name; I am merely Sigmund. I serve no purpose but the one I have given myself."
"Your honesty is commendable Sigmund Cole." The titan replied, the light of the setting sun glinting off his armoured form like a tower of steel dappled with hues of purple and orange. "Your purpose has brought you to this moment. When you so choose, we shall begin, and you shall be given a chance to impress me. For now however, there is no rush."
In the midst of the snowy arena, a flickering yellow flame burst to life within a ring of old stones, drawing attention to the smooth, stone table that lay waiting.
"Eat, drink, rest your feet and take what time you need to be ready."
Sigmund felt his resolve crack slightly at the sight of the table, its surface littered with bowls of fruit, loaves of fresh bread and even a steaming plate of meat beside a bottle filled with red spirits.
His eyes flicked up to the guardian who stood watching, patiently. The behemoth was the only obstacle that yet stood in his way, he could practically taste what lay beyond.
But he could also feel the fatigue in his old bones. The knight seemed to be speaking honestly enough, and Sigmund couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent feed; stubbornness and determination can only get one so far after all.
"If you do not object," Sigmund replied eventually, "I would very much like to eat before our duel, Sir."
"The offer was not made in jest; take as long as you require, Sigmund Cole."
The old man made his way slowly over to the table, his footprints barely visible in the cacophony of snow and bodies as he seated himself on a slab of stone. His eyes glittered hungrily as he gazed upon the food, his cracked, parched lips still managing to salivate somehow.
Before he could reach out for the first loaf of bread however, he paused and looked up at the titan standing patiently beyond. Was there a man behind that helm? Did he eat and drink like an ordinary mortal, or was he kept vital by the power of Queen Death? Whatever the case, there was no need to be discourteous.
"Please Sir, will you not join me? I am honoured by your generosity; the least I can do is show my appreciation."
Though there was no verbal chuckle, something in the subtle tilt of the guardian’s head told Sigmund that the giant was amused by the comment. A silent pause hung in the air before the knight stepped forwards, the ground quaking beneath his boots as he closed the distance to the table in two quick strides.
Sinking to one knee, the gigantic figure slowly lowered to the snowy ground, the impact as he took his seat causing snow to dislodge itself from the spires of the castle.
"It would be my pleasure, Sigmund Cole. I do not partake of the same type of food as you, but if you are willing I would gorge myself on a different meal."
"Oh?" The old man asked, tearing a chunk off his loaf with his teeth and hungrily munching.
"Aye: conversation. Though this field of the fallen may suggest otherwise, guests to this place are rare indeed. If you would be so inclined, tell me a little of yourself?"
Sigmund considered the request, shrugging briefly after a while.
"I know not what you would find interesting, Sir. I can hardly think that I am the most interesting man to ever stand before you; I am not of noble birth, there are no songs or legends sung of me and I have spent the last decade of my life alone… I am afraid my skills of conversation may be lacking."
"The circumstances of your birth are of little consequence, Sigmund Cole – nor is your infamy beyond this peak. For there are none in the world of greater fame and legend than Queen Death; such things are not the domain of nourishing discourse. There are far more succulent tales you might tell me."
"Such as?"
"Why are you here, Sigmund Cole? You are no knight in service to his liege, you are no mighty warrior seeking fame and glory and you are no holy man on a divine quest. Yet here you are, seeking to face an adversary who has existed since before mankind had crawled forth from its cradle, with nothing but a sword and the clothes on your back.
"You have taken the time to decipher the old riddles, to seek out the answers and drag yourself here. These are not actions taken on a whim; they are the trials shouldered by one driven with great purpose. So what is your answer?"
The old man drank a long, warm draught from the bottle of mulled wine, his heart singing at the sensation as he gulped it down thirstily. He took a while to consider the knight’s question before he replied.
"I… shall tell you, Sir. I shall explain my purpose in seeking life eternal, though I shall not deceive you; it is a long tale. It may yet be deep into the night by the time I am finished… I do not wish to waste your time."
"Sigmund Cole," the titan rumbled with the low, thunderous laughter of a storm dancing on the ocean horizon, "time is something I have in spades. I would be delighted to hear your tale in its entirety, from start to finish."
"Very well, Sir." Sigmund smiled faintly, wiping flecks of soup from his lips as he gazed up at the knight through wrinkled eyes. "I suppose if I am to risk my doom to face you, it would be no bad thing that at least one person hears the story of my life… I shall not be remembered otherwise in any case.
“It began in a grove of apple trees…"
And so, Sigmund set in place the first threads of his yarn, weaving a story for the knight who sat listening in quiet interest. Though he would pause periodically to consume another mouthful of food, his hunger was eventually sated as the sun sank beyond the mountains, plunging the pair into darkness.
Starlight and moonlight wafted from the Heavens above as their fire danced its glow across the steel plate of the two men. Long was Sigmund’s tale, his awareness of his surroundings fading periodically as he lost himself in memory, old feelings of love, triumph, tragedy and betrayal bringing a banquet of expressions to his face.
Tears of longing, laughter of jubilance and the gleaming smile of pride in those who yet lingered in the world.
Finally, at long last, the tale came to an end while the first rays of morning crept up the peak towards them.
"You sell yourself short, Sigmund Cole." The knight said eventually, having had the time to digest the old man’s tale. "You have brought me a veritable buffet of life lived well; I thank you for your gift."
Sigmund nodded, his eyes blinking heavily as he wobbled faintly. The flames in the stone circle had died down to mere embers, just in time for the sun to rise.
"I am glad to hear it wasn’t all a waste." The old man pressed his hands against the cold, stone surface of the table. He felt, all at once, so very tired. "Forgive my rudeness, Sir… but I must ask your pardon once more; I… find myself quite in need of sleep. I…" His shoulders sagged as he fell slowly, his arms giving out as he rested his cheek on his elbow. "... I must rest… for a while…"
The knight nodded silently, an unseen smile on the smoky face beyond the helm as he watched Sigmund drift away. A ragged breath shuddered from the old man’s throat… then another… and then…
… silence.
The mighty, iron gauntlet of the titan reached down with the greatest of care and delicacy, scooping the wizened wanderer’s soul out of the shell of his fallen body. He cupped the precious, glowing thing in his palm as he rose, opening the gates with an impulse of thought and striding into the depths of the castle.
Within the keep lay the garden of Queen Death, a sprawling, spiralling field of flowers that stretched on seemingly for an eternity. The footfalls of the knight struck the ground with immense care, his looming figure arriving finally before a small, pale-skinned, black-haired woman tending to a patch of freshly dug soil.
She glanced up at him with a black painted smile, an expectant expression on her face.
"A new addition to your garden, my lady: Sigmund Cole. A most impressive man indeed." The Knight sank to his knee, offering the soul to Queen Death. She took it gently in her fingers, pressing it briefly to her heart before setting it in the soil.
"Welcome to my home, Sigmund Cole… Sleep eternal, and dream of your long lost paradise."