⌚ Approximately 6 minute read

⚠ Content Warning: violence, death, deception, betrayal

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“Come closer, Yawo.” The old man motioned for me to step forward. I walked toward him, leaving the other apprentices standing near the wall, sure to walk in the slow, methodical pace of Yawo I had worked so hard to perfect. I had been her too long for a simple mistake like that to give me away.

As I approached, I could see Ebo’s sunken eyes, cataracts long since occluding his vision, yet the dying man continued to follow my form as I crossed the room to his side. The hair on my arms stood on end. Had his blind eyes somehow seen through my disguise?

But my fears were soon asuaged as Ebo spoke, “As you know my apostle, I am dying.” I nodded for him to continue, afraid to speak up, lest the martyr of immortality recognize my deception. “And so, I must pass this burden onto one of my acolytes.”

Despite the old man’s decrepit state, his voice became louder for what followed, as if by some force outside his own. “I have chosen Yawo, my finest pupil, to carry on where I cannot. For without one to carry this responsibility of mortality, all our kind would surely perish. It is with great sadness and hope that I transfer upon her, this most sacred duty.”

With this, Ebo lifted a necklace, with some effort, from beneath his tattered robes. Hanging from it was a glowing pendant, two long cylinders, crossed like an X. At each end of the cylinders was a sphere.

The artifact of immortality shone somehow golden in the dim light of the death room as Ebo lifted it over his dreads, gray as a symbol of mortality. Perhaps the real Yawo knew what method the old man used to dye his hair gray rather than black, but I had spent more time learning to cheat the gift for myself than studying the ways of death as my peers had.

“Come closer.” Ebo’s voice had returned to its near-death weakness. “I haven’t the strength to sit up.”

I bowed my head wordlessly, and the man put one hand on my shoulder, pulling me closer still with surprising strength. With my face next to his, I could smell the foul odor of death upon him. He slid the chain of the artifact over my head, pulling my hood down in the process. My heart skipped a beat. Would my peers recognize me without my hood up as being an imposter? But I calmed myself, reasuring myself of the perfection of my disguise. My hair and makeup were a perfect replication of Yawo’s, especially from the distance my peers were from the deathbed.

Ebo’s voice cracked as he tried to speak again, but coughed instead. Reflexively, I tried to move away from him, but his firm hand on my shoulder kept my face near his during the coughing fit. How could this man so near death still have such strength?

“I…” Ebo began again in a whisper. My heart raced. All the years of preparation were finally paying off. Ebo was going to tell me the final secret of death and my mision would be complete. He cleared his throat and started again, whispering into my ear, “I know you are Awesi.”

As the final word left his lips, his hand which had been holding me so firmly before, loosened and fell to his side. I jerked my head away, staring down at the dying man, his face betraying a grin. Then, his eyes closed and I knew he had passed from this life.

How could he have known? My disguise was perfect, especially for a blind and dying man. Now I would never know the final secret of death.

Before I could continue contemplating this situation, however, the door to the death chamber flew open and the real Yawo strode in, still in her small clothes, carrying a scimitar in her hand. She must have loosed her bonds, but it was too late. The artifact hung around my neck already.

“Awesi!” she screamed, raising the blade above her head.

I froze, unsure of what to do next. The other apprentices rushed forward, following the real Yawo toward the deathbed, and I knew my time was running out. I had to think quickly, or I would lose everything I had worked so hard to achieve. I could hear the murmuring of my peers, questioning who was the real Yawo.

“Fools!” I shouted above the rabble, banking on Yawo’s normally quiet demeanor — surely none of these others had ever heard her shout. How then could they be sure which of our shouts was the real Yawo? “I am clearly the true Yawo! Ebo has bestowed upon me the artifact of immortality. I shall become the next martyr of immortality! Do you think he would be so easily duped?”

Yawo rushed toward me, scimitar still over her head, and her scream now completely unintelligible. I had nothing but luck and perhaps the tears in Yawo’s eyes to thank when she stumbled, giving me the time to side step her attack. The scimitar swung harmlessly passed me, sticking into the headboard of the deathbed.

Apparently, my speech had moved at least one of the other acolytes, as he shouted, “Yawo!” I turned just in time to catch the spear he had tossed to me.

With a quick movement, I thrust the spear forward, catching the true Yawo in the chest as she attempted to free her blade. She fell to the ground, gasping and clutching at the spear. The other apprentices stared in shock and disbelief. How many years had it been since someone other than the martyr of immortality had died? In my few centuries of life, I had heard of only a handful, usually accidents.

I turned toward the gathered acolytes, seeing terror, sadness, and confusion in their faces.

“Do not fear,” I declared, grasping the pendant around my neck. “I will continue the work of Ebo. With the artifact in my possession, our people will thrive and prosper for eternity.” The apprentices looked at each other, uncertain, but I knew they would follow me. They had no other choice. I was now the bearer of mortality.

“There will be no reason for any more pointless death. I wi—” but my words were cut short as the blade of a scimitar plunged out of my chest.

I turned to see Yawo, her hand slipping off the hilt of the scimitar as she and I both collapsed to the ground. The wound in my chest mirrored hers in some kind of twisted revenge for my impersonation of her.

Suddenly, I was surrounded by apprentices. I could barely make out what they were saying, but they seemed frantically asking for something. The artifact, I guessed. And the final secret of death.

But I had no secret to give them and in my final moments I knew I had doomed all of my people to mortality. Why had I been so ambitious? Why had I betrayed my friend? Perhaps I would atone in my next life…