Totentanz

Book 1 Chapter VI: Wie Schwer Kann es Sein?

WIE SCHWER KANN ES SEIN?
German, "how hard can it be?"

Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die. -- Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

"I don't believe this."

Magicians witnessed and caused many strange and improbable things. They liked to boast nothing could shock them now. Diarnlan had discovered several times in the past that yes, she could still be shocked. But never before had she faced a situation like this.

She remembered fighting her loathsome former pupil. She remembered the pain of the sword plunging into her chest. She remembered the surge of fury when she saw she hadn't fatally injured him. She remembered dying -- well, in a way. At any rate she remembered a feeling like falling into a deep abyss. Yet here she was, on a frozen lake -- very similar to the one in Sólbjǫrgvegr -- under a tree covered in glowing red leaves -- very like the one her teacher had in her realm -- with Karandren's body lying a short distance away.

There were many things wrong with this situation. In the first place, Diarnlan was uninjured and no longer wearing her armour. In the second, Karandren had survived their fight. He had no business lying there pretending to be dead. In the third, Sólbjǫrgvegr would have collapsed as soon as she died. Karandren, that slippery bastard, would no doubt have run for his worthless life the minute he realised what was happening. In the fourth, why was he not wearing his armour either?

Diarnlan stared blankly at his fur-trimmed dark blue overcoat. It was ever so slightly too large for him. If he was standing he would have looked like he'd borrowed someone else's clothes. Lying down he looked as if some strange alien lifeform was enveloping him in its grasp.

Even after so many years Diarnlan recognised that overcoat. He'd worn it on his first day as her pupil. She distinctly remembered snapping at him that it looked utterly ridiculous.

"Most people know better than to make such a spectacle of themselves," she'd said icily. "Have you no coats that fit you properly or must you wear someone else's?"

The brat had the audacity to pretend to be hurt. He'd stared sadly up at her with his best imitation of a kicked puppy. "This is my coat. Dad sent me one that's too big so I can grow into it."

Strange. She hadn't thought of that incident for decades. In fact she'd tried not to think of her hated student at all. Yet the memory was as vivid as if it had only happened yesterday.

Diarnlan eyed the motionless boy dubiously. He certainly looked as if he was dead. Knowing him that might very well be an act. He might just be waiting for her to let her guard down so he could attack her. Instinctively she reached for her sword at her side.

It wasn't there. Instead her hand landed on the pleated knee-length skirt of her tunic. For the first time it dawned on her what she was wearing. A black tunic embroidered with gold leaves over black trousers. A matching cape, also black with gold embroidery, was no longer draped over her shoulders. It lay on the snow behind her. Apparently it hadn't been fastened and had fallen off when she sat up. Diarnlan stared at it. Then she looked down at her clothes again. She rubbed her eyes.

At least she hadn't woken up in a stranger's clothes. This outfit had certainly belonged to her once. Unless her memory was playing tricks on her, she'd worn it on the day Karandren first inflicted his presence upon her. There was just one problem. Shortly after Karandren's... abrupt departure, she'd accidentally spilt paint on the tunic. She'd never worn it after that. In fact she couldn't even remember what she'd done with it.

Thoroughly rattled by now, Diarnlan stood up and looked around for her sword. At last she saw it. To her disbelief it was sticking out of the frozen lake, as if someone had stabbed it into the ice with all their might. Karandren's sword was right next to it.