The castle of Lord Matu had nothing to envy to any famous villain’s dwelling. It was an orgy of black bricks and sharp edges. The first morning light revealed the structure as if it were a fallen, starless patch of the night sky. Some of the spires stood in impossible angles, a few of them even scarring the ground as the claws of a hill-sized arthropod would. It was surrounded by a dry moat, where half-aptly-named white and black dogs roamed, waiting for any misfortunate enemy to take a wrong step on the permanent, serpentine, dark bridge that led to the giant metal doors. The choice of a stone bridge was a message, a statement on the power of the sovereign inside: It needed not a drawbridge as it feared no siege.
The pit pits cluttered around the bridge to salute Florencia as she led us all to the entrance.
“Who dares step into the kingdom of the Lord of earth and sky?” asked a sinister, echoing voice that came from within the entrails of the fortress.
“It’s me,” answered the half-elf, and the doors opened wide. Some universal laws, it seems, applied even to the afterlife.
It was not a hall, but a jaw and throat made of basalt, dimly lit by lazy magical orbs akin to the one Flor had conjured. Castle, monster, beast, or kinky and talented cosplaying giantess: whatever it truly was, the unease impregnated me like the owner of the place had a fucking elf.
The pit bulls dispersed quickly, going god-knows-where, becoming one with the shaded doorways, the bifurcations in the path that led to places unknown.
Eventually, after halls and halls and stairs upon stairs, we arrived to a big, spacious chamber, lit by shining glyphs that meandered over the walls and the distant roof.
And before us, trio of stairs led to a pitch black throne, whose appearance reminded to that of intertwined roots. In it, a bald man with stubble on his face and a pair of really fucking cool shades sat in absolute calm, humming a song that had been popular around 2013 or so. We kept on walking until we stood before the first step.
“Daddy, I have brought the man that leveled a city, killed multiple homeowners, committed ecoterrorism… and murdered Cousin Meristrafalita,” said Florencia as if my crimes were merely a shopping list.
“Mariana did all of that,” I muttered.
“Flor, Florcita, how many times had I told you to call me Father in front of the guests!” echoed the voice of the tyrant.
“Mariana, you could say something to defend me, you know.”
“Hey, shiny head man, where is the magic flour?” If she was trying to get us anything but killed, she was failing at it. Miserably.
“We store the cocaine in the recreational drugs cabinet, of course. Wait, this dog talks?”
“I was equally surprised when I found out,” said Florencia.
“I am sorry for any problems we may have caused, Lord Mateo, I assure you most of them were accidents caused by Mariana, here present, being comparable to a hurricane in both destructive capacity and her awareness of it,” I explained as calm as I could, a bit tense, but not noticeably so.
“Classic Golden Retriever,” Matu conceded. “Okay, Flor, dear, you are dismissed, go do whatever you want. I want to have a men talk with Walter and Mariana.”
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“But… I am no man.”
“Your stupidity and recklessness have earned you the title of honorary man in my eyes.”
“Yay, honorary man in my eyes!”
My face and right hand decided it was the perfect moment for a passionate kiss.
“I find her adorable.”
“That’s just schadenfreude in disguise.”
As soon as we saw the last feather of Florencia leave the room, he stepped down for the throne. Mariana rushed towards him and jumped on the lord of the land, her paws upon his chest, and her stare crossing his as she panted.
“Headpats, now,” she commanded, and he laughed and obliged.
“Lovely. But get down, honorary man, get down.”
Mariana returned to my side after receiving her due. Then she circled a few times, and sat down.
“Well, Walter, I am willing to clean your slate, to treat you as if you were just a mere citizen, or, who knows, even a friend. You have something invaluable. Something nobody else can provide, and I need. Furthermore, what I need can only be shared, never strictly given. You lose nothing.”
“I take it that you need information. Perhaps the affairs of a little blue planet beyond the veil?”
He chuckled heartily. Mariana was wagging her tail as if the existence of steak depended on it.
“Clever boy, you might be the last newspaper from our lost home. Tell me, tell me about the whereabouts of famous criminals, the undertakings of over-promising politicians, the cries on TV of those who regret their choices. The deaths of the celebrities, the birth of new ones. The war and the peace, the entertainment and the serious issues. Tell me about the taste of squid rings, remind me of the moon that shines dead on the sky. Show me a way of non-fiction that leads back home, even if we may never be able to walk it.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder, and I knew it would be the best for both of us to fulfill his wish.
“Well, Maradona died.”
“Mierda.”
“Yes, Messi quitted the Barcelona too.”
“Carajo.”
“A variant of coronavirus infected the world and some governments are stepping over people rights to try and fail to contain an illness with a relatively small mortality rate that affects mostly old people,” I ventured. I could always omit details, if he didn’t know the whole truth.
“Is Mirtha alright?” he eventually asked with a trembling voice.
“I don’t think so: the highlander competence is heating up.”
He snorted.
“You had me worried for a second there. Now I know you are Argentinian too.”
“What are the odds of every earthling here having been born in Argentina? I mean, except Mariana, she was born in the United States.”
“I was born in the living room,” she commented.
“In a living room in the United States…”
He turned and crossed his arms towards his back, giving a long stare at the throne. Then, he faced me once more.
“She probably got dragged with you. It seems the focal point for bringing people shifts after a certain mass of chosen individuals ends up here, or every so many years. What year was it when you died, Walter?”
“2021 AD”
He let out a long sight.
“So, only five years... time runs differently here, but coming up with an equivalence was dishonest with Lucía and I being the sole reference points. With you as part of the equation I can assume the relation between years there and here remains constant, or nearly so. It will be the anniversary of your death in 2022 after you spend about four years here.”
“This means we have more time?” I asked, scratching my chin, smiling mischievously.
“We age normally. What this means is, even if we live to hundred and some years and another unfortunate soul gets trapped here, we will never know of all the great discoveries, of all the tragedies, of the progress and regressions of our people. Or lifespan remains equal, but our very humanity has been abridged,” he answered, taciturn, defeated.
I glared at Mariana. She was fixating on a random point in space.
“Listen, I am tired after a night of riding in horse and all, wake me up tomorrow to share a breakfast and we can talk about what we lost all you want, man. And I am sorry for making Mariana kill an elf that was trying to murder me.”
Then I embraced the elf-fucker, and the elf-fucker embraced me.
“No problem, that is a common misconception, it probably wanted to kidnap and torture you, nothing lethal. We can talk tomorrow.”
He said, and pointed me in direction to the bedrooms.
“And, Walter, as long as you behave and tell me about the years you lived and I didn’t, you are welcome here. Even if you run out of anecdotes, know we earthlings have to look out for each other. Good night.”
“I am glad and thankful, Mateo. Good night.”