The Exchange
Spectator Entry 1: Death And All his Friends

Bizarre wasn’t even the word for it. Here he was, dressed as a ringleader, sitting in a green pickup truck with a man who claimed to be Death, driving through swirling mists of ebony and lilac. And the radio was playing some unbearable piece of hardcore music. DeLargo shuffled uncomfortably, pondering his situation. Malcolm had died less than an hour ago. Before his corpse could even grow cold, a man came striding towards them, claiming to be Death. Not only that, but swearing that by entering his tournament, DeLargo could save his mentor. Perhaps it was this knowledge, or the maddening surroundings, that kept the youth from feeling the pain of Malcolm’s death. Or his lack of emotion was just further proof of his inhumanity. Next to him, Death cleared his throat.

‘Here we are, kid. The city of Nothing.’

The clouds cleared, revealing an industrial dystopia stretching out into the distance. Its buildings stood dilapidated and dirty, some on the perpetual brink of collapse. A thick smog exuded from tall chimneys above menacing foundaries. Just beyond its limits lay the high walls of what appeared to be a maze. Darkness oozed from the place; a sense of foreboding doom that clutched at one’s very soul.

So this was hell.

The truck crept towards it slowly, as though even the machine was weary of the city. Death continued talking, but DeLargo wasn’t paying attention. He had noticed the city’s denizens.

Many of them still appeared to be human, nothing more than ordinary people. Some, however, were different. Serpent eyes and clawed hands passed by as the truck continued onwards. All of them were covered in chains, some more than others, but not a single citizen stood unhindered by the presence of at least one metal rope. One was covered head to toe in steel links, the only defining article of clothing being, from what DeLargo could tell, a McDonald’s cap.

‘… and when you’re ready, you’ll need to go find a spot at the labyrinth.’ DeLargo turned back to Death, and noticed he was pointing at the tall-walled structure in the distance. The truck was slowing now, turning off to one side to stop outside a skyscraper. As it drew to a halt, the door flung itself open as Death gestured DeLargo to leave.

‘I’m confused - where should I be going now?’ He asked, the subtle tone of panic abundant in his voice.

‘Just go in there, tell the clerk you’re an entrant and she’ll sort you out. You weren’t on the original list, and administrantion’ll go wild if you don’t get registered. Now I’ve gotta be going. I have an appointment to kill a king.’

The grim trucker grinned to himself, and drove off, leaving the ringleader alone in the middle of the street.

~~~

The place was too full of colors, lights and millions of feelings, swirling like a tempest always at its crescendo. Elias's hand stayed firmly clutched to hers, keeping her against his side as he picked his careful way through the crowds of destitute souls fettered in chains. 

The roar of their emotions had become something of a dull ring in Adilah's ears, blocking out all else, but with no pain to it. A steady hum, one of sorrow and anguish and regret that left the taste of charcoal in her mouth. Her nostrils flared in distaste and she drew her eyes about their surroundings.

The tall gray shadows of buildings were unlike anything either of them had seen, festooned with lights that came in colors that neither of them knew the name of. They ran color pallets through their minds, checking off with one another in trying to find some common comparison, but the colors in their mind's eyes fell miserably short of the surprising vibrancy of the underworld. Blurs of neon against stark black and gray, smoke pouring from chimneys, mouths. Adilah's second hand found Eli's elbow and clutched them even closer together as a man dragged himself past, laden in heavy chains until even his face was obscured.



"This awful, Godless place," Elias said with a shaking breath as they skirted a pair of cat-eyed women who purred as the young man strode quickly by. "You are determined to continue?" He asked, turning his head slightly to the girl.

She nodded, the firm steel of her resolve stuck between his teeth and turned his taste to metal.

"Very well, then," Elias breathed, gripping her fingers tightly with his. "He instructed us toward that building, and if he's to be trusted, that is where we will find your mother."

More sideways glances followed him, and, drawing down his eyebrows in defense, he tugged them further through the crowd to the looming labyrinth on the outskirts of the city.

Adilah's eyes and mind wandered, and as they wandered, the frightened palpitations of a mind called out to her. A mind that wasn't used to feeling nervous or that anything was out of its control. Something terrible had just happened to that mind, that fractured mind, something that felt dusty as if it had been closed up for years and, just once, someone had opened the door to peek in.

Her grip on Elias's elbow loosened and her head turned to the sound of that mind through the dull slog of the timeless thoughts around her. The beacon of Eli was so bright... Surely she could find him again with no problem. Perhaps there was someone like her, someone who had lost someone important, his mind was a little bit lost. Eli knew where he was going, perhaps if she could find the lost, fractured mind and lead him to Eli...

Her fingers slipped out from between Elias's, and before he could turn and grasp back at her, she had melded into the black and gray crowd.

~~~

DeLargo had once heard an old wife’s tale that all suicides go on to be civil servants in the afterlife. It was probably no surprise, then, that the administration building was bustling with the victims of self-harm. The more elderly-looking workers still had nooses strung around their necks, while the younger ones still had fresh cuts across their wrists. The woman currently sat opposite him had a long, neat slit across her throat, which quivered with each word she spoke.

‘Full Name?’

‘Mr. DeLargo.’

‘Occupation?’

‘… Student.’

She put on her glasses and stared at a clipboard.

‘You understand that by entering this tournament you hereby foreswear all liability of Lucifer & Co for accidents, loss of limbs, premature demise and loss of a soul and agree with the terms and conditions listed on page 31 of the handout first issued on December 31st 1964?’

Said handout was lying in a rubbish bin just out of the clerk’s line of sight, and had been since she handed it to him. DeLargo nodded in agreement.

‘Very well, you are qualified to be a part of Death’s Labyrinth. Make your way to the maze north of town and wait for further instruction. Next.’

DeLargo found himself being pushed from his chair as a bundle of chains took his place. The muffled sound of speech escaped from beneath the metal, and the clerk rolled her eyes.

‘For the last time, Dennis, it takes a hundred years of community service to remove each chain. No amount of paperwork will speed this up.’

A slightly angrier mumble replied.

The ringleader left the two to argue as he marched towards the exit. It was almost disconcerting how Nothing failed to have an effect on him. For all its sinister appearances and malevolent atmosphere, the city was just as empty as the life before it. He walked out onto the street, beginning to twirl his cane once more. Malcolm wasn’t dead. He was just waiting at the end of another night’s work, another evening of violence and crime. Nothing had changed. And as soon as he was done here, things would be perfectly normal.

Before he could once again lose himself in memory and thought, DeLargo felt a tug on his sleeve. He whipped round, cane poised to strike his assailant.

There stood a rather delicate-looking girl, scarcely younger than he. Her arabic attire was strangely appropriate for the surroundings, its dark hues of black and grey giving the pretence of mourning. Her face was largely veiled by a headscarf of some description, and DeLargo could define no clear feature other than her eyes. Two beautiful, soul-piercing eyes stared at him with worry and… sympathy?

The slightly more strangely-dressed of the two grinned and tipped his hat. ‘Greetings to you, my dear. What brings one such as yourself to this subterranean pit of woe and despair?’

She continued to stare at him, unsure of how to respond. Gathering herself, she stepped forward and pointed a finger towards him.

‘Help.’

Something stirred inside DeLargo. Something that had settled there long ago, forgotten and aged, refusing to move for one reason or another. And before it could be identified, it settled down once more. Shaking his head, the youth dismissed the feeling. He narrowed his brow in an attempt to look grave.

‘Help? Help with what?

The girl simply stared. DeLargo’s patience wore thin.

‘Why don’t you say something, you silly little girl? It’s pointless to play ga-’

He caught her eyes, and they said more than words ever could. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t know how. But she was here for support. DeLargo stuttered, and the girl drew closer.

‘Adiliah,’ she said clearly, gesturing towards herself. Sighing deeply, the ringleader mimicked the gesture.

‘DeLargo.’

‘DeLargo,’ Adiliah repeated. A slight warm sensation began to rise from his stomache.

‘Right then, Adiliah,’ he said, bowing and gesturing with his cane, ‘this is certainly no place for someone as beautiful as you. Please, follow me, and we shall try and find a way out of this… Nothing.’ He held out a hand. Giggling, she took it, and together the two marched down the street.

~~~

It was a clawing, thrashing feeling that tore up his insides as he crawled through the crowds of chained souls. All of them staring with inhuman eyes, with dead eyes.

"Adilah!" He called, bumping off of the shoulder of a passing creature with a bearded, apathetic face and a hooked nose, who growled callously as Eli passed by.

His chain mail clanked in time with the constant movement of the chains. His heart was beating too hard and too hot in his chest, all liquid fire in his veins and into his head. He couldn't lose the girl, not so soon. He nearly stumbled over a pair of angry-looking children in dark colors who he may have mistaken from behind as his ward. But the steely look from the tallest child with short-cropped hair pressed Elias back until he lost them, too, in the crowd.

"Adilah!" he cried again, and again it went unanswered. The thrashing something had worked its way up into his throat, and he uttered a defeated note as he passed a hopeless hand through his curly hair. "Oh that I were a shepherd, I could keep better track of her," he chided himself with a voice thick with worry. "If I could reign in my flock like the Father, oh, I would have no little errant Arab girl stray from me. Think, Elias, and calm yourself."

A handful of travelers past by him, chatting quietly in a hundred different tongues, and he took his chance.

"Young sir," Eli cried, seizing a passing young man by the shoulder. The boy, pale as death and weighted down by too many belts, tried immediately to shake his pursuer off, but Eli remained persistent. "Have you seen a young Arab girl? She is only as tall as you are, in a black—"

"Woah, King Arthur" the boy responded, finally breaking away from Eli's grip, "back the hell up!" He brushed off his offended shoulder, pointed two fingers at his own eyes and then a threatening jab in Eli's direction before he broke off toward the menacing building on the outskirts of town. That seemed to be the general direction of flow for everyone, in fact. Those not in chains. Were the creatures not bound up in chains people like himself and Adilah? Had they, too, been wrangled into a game played by Gods?

Then, the wind picked up and filled his lungs with the honeysuckle scent of home. Eli took a deep breath and turned on heel. There, in the crowd somewhere far off, was his ward. She tugged hard at a hand encasing her own. Assaulted by a man in a tall hat and a blindingly red overcoat. Blaspheming the red of the Lionheart himself! All of the concern that should have bled out of him bottled and boiled into self-righteous rage. He had hardly time enough to catch his breath as he bolted back into the moving crowd toward the two of them.

Adilah's head snapped up, away from trying to tug DeLargo closer to the shining mental beacon that Elias broadcasted. He was coming right toward them. Finally, she breathed a happy sigh and tugged lightly on DeLargo's sleeve to get his attention. Just as the ringleader chanced to look up from the girl's eyes, the three met in an Almighty crash of ego and anger and mental sparks flew all around the girl's head.

A sword was drawn with no effort and Eli held it out with a level hand, his eyes just as steady. "Let go of the girl. You do speak English?"

The stranger's hand did not drop away, instead curled the girl's hand closer as if in protection. "The Queen's English," the stranger bit back with a sarcastic half-smirk. "And I thought I was all dressed up with nowhere to go."

"Let go of the girl," Elias growled, his teeth hardly parted and lips curled in threat. "This instant! I charge you in the name of Sir Richard the Lionheart and our Lord God, or I will cut you down as you stand if you continue to keep her from me."

And DeLargo laughed—a boisterous, strangled thing. Adilah's now-frightened eyes bolted from one to the other, her jaw waggling behind the veil of the shayla.

"Richard the Lionheart?" DeLargo laughed. "You really think you're the real thing, don't you? And just what do you plan on doing with Adilah—you do know she has a name, don't you, Sir Robin?"

"Elias," Adilah pleaded, tugging furiously at DeLargo's sleeve. Both of the men glanced down, and she took hold of Eli's wrist as well. She stared pleadingly into the knight's eyes and uttered again: "Help."

Elias glared at the man across from him as DeLargo's eyes narrowed themselves. The picture painted itself clearly across the white canvas he'd left for her in his mind. The man was lost, in more ways than one in this dark and evil place, and she had sought to bring him to aid. He suddenly knew the strange man's name, how he had bowed so kindly to her. Elias copied the stranger's sideways, contemptuous smirk, then decided that it did not fit him. He settled for a firm, down-turned mouth and disapproving eyebrows.

"I suppose I am a shepherd after all. She brought you to me, Sir DeLargo, because she thinks that I can help you."

"Brilliant," DeLargo huffed, staring down his nose at the curly-haired knight.

Her fingers loosened from DeLargo's, but she drew down the mask of her headdress and smiled encouragingly at the man. She drew safely against Eli's side, motioning DeLargo forward with her steady, kind smile.

The ringleader's eyes flicked to the edifice taking up the far side of town, exhaling an exasperated breath. "I suppose that since the two of you are not fettered down, you're a part of the trucker's little game as well?"

"The pale rider brought us here," Elias said, a chill still present at the base of his spine, having ridden with Death himself.

"DeLargo, help," Adilah prodded, beckoning the both of them onward. Determination sat behind the pretty light in her eyes, something that Elias had come to know quite well.

"Oh, very well," DeLargo huffed, falling in beside her and not sparing her warden a second glance. The electric battle of their minds sparked over Adilah's head as they followed Elias's lead to the maze at the edge of town.