“I leave that to your inference. But I will tell you of my workings, as promised.”
“Please do,” I encouraged, my mind racing. Enthusiasm lifted the corners of my lips before I could hold myself back. Luckily, Thanatos made no further comment on my eagerness. Instead, he relaxed his wings and acquiesced.
“I feel all souls when it is time for them to go. I feel the essence of each person calling to me, and I can understand the whole of them. In an instant I know their lives, their character, every moment that they ever lived. All of this contained in one sensation. Right here.” He tapped his chest just above his heart. “It is difficult to describe that bit, I will admit,” he said with a shrug.
At my nod, he continued. “Of the multitudes, I like to visit the most interesting ones and speak to them. I learn what they think of their mortal lives, now that they have ended. What wasworth it? What would they change if they could? It is a moment of clarity for many, and no one ever lies. People freely give their secrets up in death.”
“Are you ever surprised?”
“Rarely. But I do not mind. Novelty is not required for appreciation. In truth, many souls are simply too overwhelmed by my arrival to say anything at all. Instead, I feel them searching for tears they cannot cry. I cannot blame them. I tend to have that effect.”
Thanatos watched me closely, anticipating my reaction, and the eerie stillness of his aura seemed to deepen in the air. “We fear the loss of our control,” I remarked, splitting the difference between sympathy and acceptance.
“Yes. Such a thing is worthy of fear. But I am a necessary balance on the scales of existence.”
I chewed my lip as the meaning of his words sank in. Thanatos waited patiently, silently: the antithesis of life seated before me on a garden bench. Humanity’s final fear was calm and empathetic and somehow more respectful of our fragility than many mortals I knew. Could he truly beneeded?
“I can’t pretend to fully understand,” I said, my voice strangely rough.
He nodded as if to himself. “Nor would I expect it of you. I will not attempt to explain the structure of reality—only trivialities which pertain to myself. Such as the question you asked me last night.”
“Right,” I remembered. I cleared my throat. “About the people who are dying now, while you’re here chatting with me.”
“Yes. I can feel them out there, across the world.” He peered out toward some invisible spot on the horizon and gave a short flutter of his wings. “But I would prefer to be here, so I simply draw them to me. They always come easily. I do not even have to think about it anymore.”
“So those people won’t see you at their deathbed, then? The ones who are drawn to you?”
“Oh, I am certain they have some sense of me,” he said, turning back to meet my eyes. “They know what is happening as they leave their bodies behind, even if they are afforded no words. But they feel nothing once they come to my wings.”
“Incredible,” I breathed. “You’re closer to us than we’ve ever realized. In some way, you know everyone. Everyone who has ever died.”
He nodded, but a sort of melancholy fell across his face. “Yes. Everyone…and no one.”
Lonely Death. What a strange existence for a god. “Is that why you’re talking to me?”
“I am talking to you because you are interesting,” he replied. His voice revealed nothing.
I made a disbelieving expression, then tried to reform it into something more neutral. I was far from interesting, but I reckoned I didn’t have to tell him that much. How had this happened to me? Why did I of all people get to converse with Death? To look on his face and confront the paradox of how hauntingly beautiful he was?
“What are you thinking?” Thanatos asked.
“That I am a fool,” I said honestly. “You’ve answered questions I’ve only considered since we met. Why have I never wondered about you before?”
He laughed. “Why would you? You are young, and presumably healthy. Mortals tend to ignore what they do not like until a reckoning is unavoidable.”
“True. But I would like to be smarter than that, on occasion.”
“Neither you nor I can outwit our nature.”
“You’re agod,” I countered. “You can do as you please. And as for me…isn’t outwitting our nature what being human is all about?”
Thanatos regarded me quietly. His wings relaxed further, his dark feathers shifting in the moonlight. “If I have learned anything from holding every soul, it is that being human is simply what one chooses to make of it.”
He waited for me to dwell on his words. They were elegant, if somewhat infuriating. I held the gift of his knowledge close to my heart, all the same, storing it away to ponder for nights to come. I would have liked to reply to him with something wise, but my mind kept turning—until I stumbled upon a potentially sickening realization.
“Wait.” I swallowed nervously. “You feel every part of every soul. You know everything about them. I’m…I’mhere, in your realm, talking to you! Can you—do you know everything aboutme?”
“No, clever mortal,” he said wryly. “I cannot feel your soul. That you have wandered into my plane does not change the fact that you are not yet dead.”
