The aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the treehouse as Science worked with the china. For a moment, the familiar scent brought back memories for Kristen. The pang of loss had dulled over the years, but it had never quite gone away.

"Your timing is impeccable," Science said, arranging an assortment of delicate teacups on a tray. "I've just perfected my brewing technique for this particular blend."

"He's been experimenting for weeks," Death commented from his armchair. "Though I fail to see the point, given my current dietary restrictions." He gestured vaguely at his skeletal form.

"The scientific method applies to all pursuits," Science insisted, setting a steaming cup before Kristen and motioning for her to sit. "Even tea preparation."

“And what of your pursuits?” Death asked Kristen while she unshouldered her bow and quiver.

She looked at the grim reaper in his armchair. Last time she’d seen him, the light in his eyes danced like little coins flipping at varying rates of speed. She wondered if he was going to do a similar trick.

“Last time,” he said. “It was a bit darker.”

How did he always know what she was thinking?

A slight movement of Death’s head suggested that he was about to answer. But he didn’t, so she hung her stuff on one of the other chairs and took a seat at the place Science had set for her. She tried to sound nonchalant. “My hunting final? Well, it is a little scientific and maybe even a bit methodical.” She glanced at the teacup and then turned sharply back to Death. “As you can see, I’ve made it through my last trial. Last time? Where were you? Last time? If you didn’t know, it got a lot darker after my visit with you. We barely survived!”

She hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but couldn’t stop herself until Science placed a cup of tea on the side table by Death’s chair. Death’s expression hadn’t changed, of course. Only when she saw Science’s coloring cheeks did she realize she had been yelling.

"I do have work, you know,” Death said calmly. “Anyhow, I was referring to last time the worlds were connected."

“Last time,” Kristen whispered with a huff, considering. Then she picked up her teacup.

“It was the dark ages after all.”

She glanced at him briefly to see if he was joking but like always, she could never tell. Ugh! The old deadhead could be so frustrating! She raised the cup to take a sip but could tell it would only burn her tongue so reconsidered. She felt a little calmer now anyway. “What are you going to do with that tea anyhow? Won’t it just make a mess on the floor or something?”

“He likes to sample the aroma,” Science said while pouring his own cup.

“If it makes you feel better,” Death said, “I suffered a demerit and am only now able to enjoy some paid time off.”

Again, she couldn’t tell if he was being serious. After their last meeting, Satan had presented himself to her as the incarnation of Fate, and later transformed into a giant crow. Something she likely wouldn’t have survived had not John and the other boys showed up. She wondered again about what John was up to now. She looked longingly at Death. The truth was, she wanted to hug him, but hugging the grim reaper might come with some undesirable consequences. She settled for a little civility instead. “The truth is, I would have never guessed it was the father of lies if not for you. She was rather convincing.”

“She?” asked Death.

“Well, he,” said Kristen explaining, “disguised himself as Fate, but she was rather unattractive.”

A sound came from Death like half a cough and Kristen realized he had suppressed a laugh.

She continued, saying,”But I knew better. She was definitely not your type.”

Death lifted the cup of tea to his nose and inhaled the aroma but suddenly coughed, unable to suppress his laughter anymore. The newt leapt to Kristen’s other shoulder trying to avoid the spray of tea.

“And… it’s on the furniture again,” Science said as Kristen unshielded her eyes.

Death indulged in a windy chuckle, the shoulders of his black robe bouncing up and down, tea sloshing in his cup. Science came and carefully took it from him, depositing it in the sink. Then he handed Kristen a kitchen rag so she could dab up the wet. As she did so, Death said, “His story was quite different. Just wait until the next inauguration! I can see their reactions now.”

Now, this was the Death she remembered! He saw the look in her eye that said so and before she could even ask him, Death said, “He is doing just fine.” Meaning her late father.

Things went still again, besides the newt who was lapping up drops of tea from the furniture, and the sound of slurping as Science finally tried enjoying his own cup.

“Thank you,” Kristen found herself saying before she even knew it. At least there weren’t any tears this time. She lifted the cup and finally inhaled the aroma. It did smell wonderful.

She drank.

After nothing was said, she looked at both Science and then at Death and figured it out. “So, what’s the catch?”

“I believe Science called it a Solaris Salamandra—” Death said.

But Kristen was used to his wit and cut him off, “—you know what I mean!”

“Okay,” Death began. “But it is a good find. Will probably graduate you—”

“—if,” Science finished, “you provide proper documentation.”

And there it was. The likely bribe. But what could they possibly want from her in exchange?

Science said, “As I stated before, it has some rather unique bioluminescent properties…” His eyebrows did a little dance. “I’m certain there is some study material around here somewhere.”

She watched as Science went over near Death’s recliner and began pushing volumes on the bookshelf aside.

“That doesn’t look like Rootworld literature,” Kristen said.

Science only briefly glanced before continuing his search. Death said, “From my personal collection.”

Science pulled two volumes and headed her way.

Death said, “I was going to tell you about the rift, but I would hate to distract you from your work.”

“Oh, come on,” said Science placing the books on the table. “She’s about to be a member of the Hunter’s guild! Multi-tasking is part of the basic skillset.”

"That is a huge stack of paper," Kristen said as Science deposited a sheaf next to the books, along with two actual Globe-side fountain pens. The pens had a fuzzy bunny where a pencil’s eraser might be.

“Everything about the Solaris should be here,” said Science, patting the books. "But if we’re going to talk about the rift, when everything was connected, that historical record will require careful analysis."

“I thought the two worlds were only recently linked after the Continental Convergence.”

"They were linked before, right up through the dark ages," Death said. "But the entrance to Avalon was eventually lost in the mists for good."

The magiscope flickered to life unbidden with a static burst that became a fog. The eyes of the golden dragon statuettes glowed green as the images in the crystal sphere began to take shape.

"Now," Science said, settling into his chair, "those times have been documented, albeit with significant observational bias."

"No matter how vaguely or mysteriously incomplete," Death said indifferently. "Though it's not our intention here for Kristen to re-write history. She has undoubtedly read the Mabinogian…"

She had, and even made a pretty good run at The Tome of Ages, but what exactly did Death mean by her re-writing history? "I'm sorry?" Kristen said, lifting her tea. "Doesn't Rootworld have its own history books?"

"Yes. Though they're printed on leaves of trees and strung along lines in totem houses—"

"At least until recently," Science interjected, " A fascinating archival method, though vulnerable to certain lepidopteran interference."

"He means caterpillars," Death translated dryly. "If this world and Rootworld had never undergone de-coherence, then perhaps we could have consulted those leaf houses for a complete history of worlds' past. That is, if Moore hadn't spent his workdays swooning over a young fawn instead of clearing away the army of caterpillars that devoured some two-hundred years' worth of priceless literature."

"A tragic loss of data," Science sighed.

"But even Moore isn't the reason that world history is so spotty," Death continued while the images in the magiscope changed like a flipbook. Stop-motion pictures of red-cheeked men raising their cups. "In short, that's due to the wine."

"In Moore's defense," Science offered, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses, "it was the first time he'd met a female centaur."

"Also," Death added dryly, "the first time a girl hung around for any amount of time after he'd opened his mouth."

The newt on Kristen's shoulder made a sound suspiciously like a snicker.

"The year was 2030," Science said, as if that explained everything. When it was obvious that it didn’t, he said, "The convergence of our worlds should have come as no surprise to any careful observer of quantum mechanics and theoretical physics—”

"If you ask me," Death interrupted. "Magic was bound to re-emerge when you finally matured."

Kristen paused with her teacup halfway to her mouth. "What do you mean?"

“I think he means me,” said Science.

The magiscope's images started flipping again, showing various religious symbols. "From the start of religious intolerance," Death explained, "which began with the Romans' vicious assault on the druids of Britain during 800 AD and lasted right up through the witch trials of Salem in 1692 AD, oppression has only ever resulted in one thing.” A woman was led to a post in the middle of a town square and laden with fags of wood. The bonfire was lit, but the magiscope filled with static before the woman in it could scream. “Narrowing the minds of the people on the Globe," Death finished.

"Science is a constant voyage of discovery," Science said uncomfortably. “Doesn’t mean I will never get old."

"The Pheryllt priests of Rootworld," Death continued pointedly, "will go as far as claiming that they only created the Globe in order to give the hot-headed acolytes of the New Religions some much-needed time to cool off."

Science set down his teacup with perhaps more force than necessary. "A rather simplified view of interdimensional causality, in my opinion."

"Well, since you’ve finally found even footing with Magic," Death suggested, "don’t you think the world deserves a written explanation as to why it happened and how come nobody seems to remember?" He paused. "Albeit again, mostly from the wine."

"I suppose," Science said shrugging.

"And I suppose,” Kristen said, warming her hands on her teacup, “you're uniquely qualified to tell the story? Being Death and all?"

"Indeed." Death's skull seemed to gleam in the magiscope's light. “And who better to transcribe the events than someone who has been my pupil before?"

"Ugh,” Kristen sighed, putting down her cup. She knew things wouldn’t be as simple as a single captured newt!

Death and Science looked at one another as if they had been planning this.

"Shall we start with the Neo-pagans?" Death asked Kristen, clearly enjoying this.

“What?” she said. “No leaves for me to write on?” She riffled the ream of waiting paper.

Science laughed at her quip and Death’s placid gaze. “Sugar?” he asked, holding out a porcelain goblet with white cubes piled high.

“Please,” she said.

Death directed her eyes to the magiscope with a bony finger as Science dropped a cube in her cup. A muted cinematic sequence appeared, showing a bustling crowd in tie-die t-shirts. Some were camping out of Volkswagen vans, and all were in some state of altered consciousness. She was reminded of what her father once called Woodstock.

"In modern times, religious intolerance has waned a little," Death continued, "there are groups of self-ascribed Neo-pagans sprouting up everywhere with a sense that something else lies beneath the surface of everyday reality."

"Ah yes," Science perked up. "The altered states of consciousness induced by certain ethnobotanical compounds can produce fascinating neurological effects—"

"Just ask any one of them," Death cut in, "and they might put down their mushrooms long enough to direct one's attention to the world of horticulture and say, 'Look! As above so below.'"

Kristen raised an eyebrow. "Mushrooms?"

"There is a reason," Science said, thinking he felt his stomach rumble, "these miracles of nature might give them that sense. It is well documented in the volumes at the Rootworld library that when someone eats a mushroom, the mushroom begins seeing the world from the eyes of the human."

The newt tilted its head skeptically.

"Next time you put mushrooms on your pizza," Death added, gesturing to the vacant air before him, "just ask yourself if the mushroom didn't somehow convince you to eat it."

Science cleared his throat. "While that's a rather poetic interpretation, the chemical compounds involved in fungal-human interactions are actually quite fascinating. The psilocybin molecule, for instanc—"

"But in reality," Death interrupted, "we all know that the roots of a plant can appear far different from the foliage. I mean, just look at the carrot!"

The magiscope obligingly showed an image of a carrot plant, complete with its hidden root structure.

"While root and foliage may be similar in some respects, and undoubtedly reliant on one another," Death continued, "the world of what lies above and beneath can be quite opposite. Take the experiments of Spiegel and Sylvester for example."

"Oh dear," Science muttered, but Death was already going strong. He filled their cups, though he continued to participate in the conversation as he worked.

"Spiegel and Sylvester were great breeders," Death said, the screen of the magiscope panning over fields of grazing cattle and then plains of running buffalo, "who took a chance and, through trial and error, produced some of the tastiest beefalo in the Midwest by breeding the strongest buffalo with the finest dairy producing cattle."

"The genetic principles involved were quite revolutionary for their time," Science admitted. Then as an afterthought said, “Is anyone else getting hungry?”

Death only slightly acknowledged him. Kristen stopped, her teacup just at her lips, and nodded vigorously.

"They derived a type of jerky," Death continued, as Science turned from the table. "A jerky, that was less fatty but still tender. The downside was, it was extremely hard to catch."

“Lucky for us, ours is refrigerated,” said Science as the stove flared to life with a whoosh. "We should eat. The metabolic benefits of proper nutrition during extended historical discussions—"

Kristen tried ignoring the interruption. "Hard to catch?" she asked.

"The beefalo,” Death's voice carried a hint of amusement. "Lucky for them, their chief investor was the owner of a nearby casino. When they came to him for help, he said that his people knew all about risk. Fortunately, they were also very good with bows and arrows."

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Science worked at a cutting board beside his compact stove. "Their work with bovine genetic hybridization was merely the beginning. Soon, the industry was calling for a better turkey," he said, turning down the heat. Kristen felt another pang when she saw him dropping mushrooms into soy sauce. She all but expected her father’s image to show up in the magiscope.

"Yes. Next, they spliced the genes of the common turkey with the twit," Death finished for him. A white ibis appeared, riding along the back of a horse.

"A twit?" Kristen asked, finally making her first notes on the pad and pressing the memories of her father’s world-famous meals away.

"An intellectual bird found largely in the company of cows," Death explained. "Also, a small egotistical egret."

"The resulting phenotype displayed remarkable cognitive improvements," Science said enthusiastically. "Though I should note that the ethical implications of such genetic manipulation—"

“—resulted in a smarter tasting bird," Death interrupted, "with a less watered-down flavor, as the turkey tended to drown itself less often from staring up at the rain."

The magiscope showed an image of turkeys looking skyward during a storm, while nearby, more sophisticated-looking birds took shelter.

"Though twits everywhere rallied together to prevent this unethical trespass," Death continued, "their voices remained largely unheard due to their spokespersons being unavailable. In short, it was a busy pirating season, and the parrots were on deployment."

A snickering sound came from Kristen's shoulder and she looked at the newt suspiciously.

Science was searing the meat and chopping some more veggies. "It was only when they tried taking their success into the world of agriculture that things just wouldn't jive," he said.

“Is jive a technical term?” Death asked.

“Still thinking about Woodstock,” said Science. The aroma of seared steak and mushrooms had filled the treehouse.

"Ah.”

Kristen thought Death looked thoughtful, despite his lack of eyebrows.

“Spiegel and Sylvester were also avid farmers," Death explained, as the magiscope showed what appeared to be a cartoon radish, with obscenely big lips, giving a well-endowed female cabbage a kiss. "So, it was only natural that after their successes in livestock and poultry, they would utilize their gene-splicing techniques to attempt a marriage of their most prized radishes and voluptuous cabbages."

"An interesting attempt at optimizing agricultural land use," Science mused, plating the meal.

"They hoped," Death continued, "to conserve agricultural farmland by raising a product with both useful roots and leaves in one grow cycle. What resulted was, the rabbage."

Kristen leaned forward, pushing her hands between her knees and taking in the familiar aroma of the approaching plate, before fully registering what Death had said. "The what?" she asked abruptly, craning her neck toward Death while Science placed her dish.

"The rabbage. Its root turned out to be that of the cabbage, sickly and feeble," Death said, as the magiscope displayed the unfortunate vegetable, "and the leaves came out as that of the radish, bristly and scarce."

"The genetic recombination clearly demonstrated unforeseen epistatic interactions," Science said, getting his own plate.

"Two annual bouts of being outsmarted by produce was enough to curb their enthusiasm for genetically altering plant-life," Death said. "Though in plant-life's defense, it is far better at genetically altering us."

Kristen poked questionably with a fork at the stringy looking green leaves.

"That's actually quite accurate," Science admitted, setting down his plate and sitting across from her. "The co-evolutionary relationship between humans and their food sources—"

“—probably had nothing to do with their earlier attempt," Death added, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "at engineering a cortato by splicing the unfamiliar genes of the potato with that of the corn."

The magiscope's image changed again, showing something that made Kristen glad she'd not been chewing yet.

"What resulted was the brief existence of a tasteless ground level gourd," Death continued. "It had both ears, and eyes, and also the golden hair of corn silk. The face resembled something of a famous adult film star, and it came to be invariably known as porn."

Science nearly choked on his first bite of steak. "Perhaps we could focus on the scientific implications—" Kristen laughed and began to cut her steak and mushrooms while she listened and watched.

"While the value in porn's produce was lacking," Death seemed to be enjoying Science's discomfort, "it was said that the gourd had so much starch in it that a single bite would render one's trousers as stiff as cardboard fresh off the ironing board, at least in the crotch region."

Kristen was shaking her head as she popped the first morsel in her mouth. By the gods, it tasted just like her father’s!

"I believe," Science said firmly, setting down his cup, "we were discussing the theological implications of dimensional separation?" He smiled at Kristen and winked when he noticed her staring.

"Ah yes," Death's tone became more serious. "The same sort of trial and error is theorized to have taken place by the gods when the worlds were being separated, or brought forth, one from the other, however you may see it."

The magiscope's images took on a more tv-like quality. Science continued eating while Kristen made a quick doodle of the mythical cortato.

"Consider God's early attempt at creation," Death continued, "when he literally tried to do everything for everybody all the time."

Surprisingly Science didn’t interject and only nodded. Perhaps it was because his mouth was full?

The magiscope was portraying a mother running around a messy house, picking up dirty laundry.

"He was seen as a great and agreeable god," Death narrated. "A generous god who could literally do anything (because he did) and everything, for that matter, all of the time!"

The newt scampered down Kristen’s arm to the table and stood by her plate. The magiscope showed a kid holding a video game controller while waving for his mother to move out from in front of the tv.

"Yet he was surrounded," Death's voice took on a note of exasperation, "by a bunch of lazy and self-entitled loafs who refused to pick their wretched and brittle socks up off the bedroom floor after eating Twinkies, watching television, and masturbating for eons on end."

Science nearly dropped his fork. "Must we be quite so... colorful in our metaphors?"

"The behavioral patterns you're describing," Kristen ventured, pushing a mushroom off her plate and onto the table, "they sound awfully familiar." She thought of Levi and the Beav. Poked the mushroom with her fork while remembering her old paintball crew, and the newt began licking at the soy sauce and butter that had pooled beneath it.

"Great floods became a huge part of history because, well, let’s just say there were a lot of them," Death continued as the magiscope conveyed a tidal wave that came and washed the house and entire scene away. "But only one flood mattered when it came to reconciling the rift between this world and the other. And that is the flood that happened during the Continental Convergence during the twenty-first century."

"Ah yes," Science brightened, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "The hydrological implications of tectonic reorganization are quite fascinating. The fluid dynamics alone—”

Kristen was making notes, feeling this was important.

"Without the flood," Death cut in, "it would have been a long road getting back to a time when the inhabitants of both worlds would again see eye to eye."

In the scope, the Great Pyramid grew up from the desert and the world, as Kristen had known it, formed before her eyes. The Continental Convergence.

"An outright reunion of the two universes had been impossible due to entropy and the second law of thermodynamics," Science explained, unable to contain himself. "Though the quantum mechanical principles governing dimensional separation, well…”

"Resurrecting the Pyramid of Babel and drawing the Earth's land mass back together was a good start in healing the great rifts of intolerance which earthlings had created," Death said. "It was then, nearly two-thousand years after the coming of our lord Hazeus, that the potential for peace finally lay just beyond the horizon."

"I feel a poetic interpretation coming," Science muttered.

"Though horizons," Death added dryly, "have a way of running away from you."

“See?” Science said. Kristen was taking their banter as an opportunity to enjoy a bit more of her food.

"To understand how the world of the Globe sprang forth from atop the Great pyramid of Bael," Death continued, ignoring him, "one must recall that the resurrection of Hazeus marked two critical points in history."

"What points?" Kristen asked, drawing Roman numerals I and II as headings on the to top of a blank page.

The magiscope's images became clearer, showing ancient scenes of celebration and solemnity. "The truth about what happened was," Death began, "the Order of Bards and Druids had been prophesizing the coming and resurrection for a hundred years, and frankly had been drowning themselves with libations for exactly that long in celebration."

"Or preparation," Science added, settling his fork and knife down with a clink, "depending on who you ask."

The newt flinched, then took the entire remaining piece of mushroom down its gullet. A soft orange glow radiating from its satiated belly. Kristen thought it may have smiled.

"What else can be expected from a race of men and women who possessed the sight?" Death's skull tilted thoughtfully. "For those worshipers, the son of God's arrival was expected and marked the great time of sobriety. One might say that there's nothing like a tattletale coming around to straighten people out."

The Roman celebrations, portrayed inside the magic orb, were a marked contrast to the earlier Druidic scenes. Kristen had noted the druids’ start of sobriety under Roman numeral I, which she had labeled Druids.

"To the Roman agnostics however," Death continued, "Hazeus's revival was a surprise. An unexpected miracle to be celebrated. Because of that, it became a widely known tradition to partake in holy communion; represented by wine and unleavened bread."

"The chemical composition of ancient communion wine," Science interjected, gathering up his dish and silverware, "was actually quite different from modern—”

“Well of course,” said Death over him. “It was made by magic, after all. But for many of the previously unholy, visits to the pulpit were the only thing keeping them relatively sober. So, when the body and blood of the lord began being served at the altar, followers began imbibing to their hearts' content."

The newt now shook its head disapprovingly and Kristen chuckled—covering her mouth when Death became even less animated.

"A celebration, which was supposed to be a total liberation of sin, became a hedonistic cacophony where the line between what feels good and what was right became just as blurred as their vision had."

Kristen, seeing where things were going, notated Romans in the right-hand column and wrote, end-of-sobriety.

"There are fascinating sociological parallels," Science noted, standing, "between religious celebration and communal intoxication across various cultures—"

"There is a difference," Death said firmly, "between being part of the origin story and celebrating its victories from the sidelines. Just look at modern day football."

Kristen watched as a grandstand appeared in the viewer. Six shirtless guys, each with a letter of GO TEAM painted on their chest, stood drinking beer and thrusting giant foam fingers into the air. "Like the difference between the players and the fans?" she asked?

"Exactly. A world of health lies between those on the field playing for the victories and the fans watching and celebrating those victories, quite often right into an early grave."

"The mortality statistics for sports-related celebration are indeed quite striking," Science agreed, washing his dish. "Though if we consider the underlying behavioral psychology—"

"It all comes right down to facts," Death continued.

Science mumbled at being cut-off, yet again.

"The practicing religious Druids began their dry spell just as the Romans fell off the wagon and into a two-thousand-year soiree of libations in God's name." The magiscope now showed split images: Druids in solemn ceremony alongside Romans in celebration. "What else would you expect," he added dryly, "from a world run by big kids?"

Science came for Kristen’s plate, getting a scornful look from the newt as he lifted it. Kristen was proud of herself from coming to such a conclusion on her own.

"If you think the original world wasn't run by big kids," Death's voice took on an amused tone, "just ask yourself why the men went around hitting each other with sticks while dressed like aluminum trash cans and then bragged at their dinner tables about how many dragons and fantastic beasts they had slain while hiding out drunk in the woods."

Science cleared his throat, pouring cookies out onto a tray. "The development of medieval armor actually followed quite logical engineering principles if you must know.” The newt’s head perked up when Science came toward them with the treats.

"So, what's the big deal you may ask?" Death continued. The comical knights in the magiscope faded and the images focused on a familiar figure at the Last Supper. "Well, just imagine. A savior is born to teach the value in loving the body as the great pyramid of God, or Temple if you may..."

Kristen took a cookie. She wasn’t exactly the religious type, but she listened to the familiar story as Death described Hazeus's final meal and sacrifice. The crystal orb showed the man stand among his patrons and declare that he would not partake of food nor drink.

"Would-be followers then witnessed his crucifixion and marveled at his resurrection," Death said. "Imagine the Lord's surprise when he rose to find the Agnostic Romans drinking in his name!"

"The psychological impact of cognitive dissonance in religious practice," Science began, arranging the cookies in a perfect geometric pattern on the plate. The newt nabbed one and Science frowned at the resulting dissymmetry.

"Even the daftest know," Death interrupted, "that if you're going to indulge in bad habits, to do so in moderation, and never in front of your own Father!"

Kristen looked at her cookie questionably. Moderation, she thought, and took a bite.

"His time among those ill-deceived would be short lived," Death continued, "as the universe was about to be torn asunder."

"An interesting choice of metaphor," Science said, adjusting his glasses as he sat down again.

"The tearing of which," Death added with what might have been a smirk, "turned out to be quite the embarrassment, as it happened to be the seam of Father Time's trousers."

The newt made a retching sound and coughed up a crumb. He then ate it again. Kristen began a doodle of him as she listened.

"The inebriated, whom had witnessed their resurrected lord ascend into the blessed realm, should have paused to consider that it might be they who had gotten it backwards." The magiscope showed crowds of people watching the sky in wonder.

"Kind of reminds you of the turkeys, doesn’t it?” Death asked, getting her attention again. “Alas, as with most drunks they assumed their first thought was the correct one, when in actuality, it was they who had moved into another realm, not the prophet."

"Though the prophet did technically relocate as well," Science noted, reaching for another cookie. "As evidenced by—"

"However," Death cut in, "the movement still was in a relatively upward direction." The magiscope's image shifted to show a sphere atop a pyramid. "In fact, when someone says don't get a big head, they are referring to how the Globe grew up from the body of the universe like a blossoming flower."

"A fascinating geometric metaphor," Science said. "If we consider the topological implications—"

"If you picture a sphere atop a pyramid," Death continued, "you might visualize the shape of the now known universe. Largely, it resembles a woman in a dress. Hence the term Mother Nature, which represents all things physical, as opposed to Father Time, who represents all things spiritual."

Kristen leaned forward, brushing cookie crumbs from her lap. Then she drew the figure on the notepad, looking at the neck of the image where the circle and triangle came together in a pinch. "Is that bit, between the shapes, the White Hole?"

"The astronomical mechanics of the White Hole are quite remarkable," Science began enthusiastically, determined not to get interrupted. "The quantum tunneling effect alone… Of course, on the Globe side it is known as the sun."

“Not always,” said Kristen.

"Splitting hairs," Death said. "The point is—” Scenes of increasing Roman influence crowded in the sphere of the magiscope. "—if drinking in the name of God was encouraged, what else could be done righteously, if only in his holy name?"

Kristen looked at him, feeling the seriousness of the comment.

"You guessed it."

She wrote the word genocide on the notepad

"Though there are no volumes left around on the Globe to certify the root cause for the endemic spread of Roman Catholic rule, a couple of Pheryllt Priests bore well witness through a magiscope from Mount Meritites."

"Much like this one?" Kristen asked, gesturing to the device before them.

"Similar model," Death confirmed. "Let's just say, prying the wine bottle from a Friar's hand would have been only marginally easier than separating him from his own shadow."

Science set down his teacup with a thoughtful expression. "The psychological parallels between addiction and religious fervor are quite fascinating from a neurological perspective—"

"Have you ever tried to convince an alcoholic to let off the habit before they'd reached absolute rock bottom," Death asked Science, as the magiscope showed scenes of frustrated Druids attempting to reason with their Roman counterparts. Science was surprisingly silent for once. "If you had, then you might understand how the Druids and advisors were pulling their hair out to talk sense into the heads of the new religion."

The newt had returned to Kristen's shoulder and was nodding sagely.

"But it is only a matter of time," Death's hollow voice grew darker, "before those in power who have a ritualistic and hedonistic desire begin exercising the prudes."

"I think you mean the demons," Science said.

"Same difference. Frankly," said Death, "when you play with that kind of power, you start to believe that you can get away with murder." He eyed his fingertip, and then his scythe, thoughtfully.

The sphere of crystal flickered, and a burning glen came into view. Roman soldiers paraded along the shore of an island and robed priests cowered at the island’s interior.

"Luckily," Death continued, "mottos existed way back before we can remember, and the druids happened to have one. They always declared that it was Truth against the world."

"A rather absolutist philosophical position," Science noted.

"The truth, however, was that no matter what people believed or how childish they may have acted, it would never be right to persecute in the name of God—” Death paused and cocked his head toward the ceiling for a second, then looked back down and said, “Even if he had become flesh and stood for it once before."

Kristen turned her chair as to stop craning her neck. "So, what do you do when you get two violently clashing orders of belief?"

"What do good parents do when their children are fighting?" Death asked. "Separate them by creating a safe place for each to play until they can make up."

"The dimensional mechanics involved in such a separation," Science said excitedly, "would require an extraordinary manipulation of space-time—"

"Thus bloomed the Globe," Death said finally. Also known as Earth, or the world. An intergalactic treadmill of sorts where the misbehaved could exercise their intolerance for a while, while the disciplined would remain relatively safe in Rootworld."

"Though 'treadmill' is perhaps not the most scientifically accurate metaphor," Science muttered.

"It may seem a strange conundrum," Death added, "that, in certain circles, the second realm be called the world and the original realm be known as the Otherworld, but it was much easier than arguing with the drunks, who everyone knows, are always right."

The newt made its snickering sound again, and even Science smiled slightly at that.

The magiscope's interior contained misty shores and a magnificent island slowly fading from view. A pronounced silence followed.

"Of course," said Death raising a finger, just as Kristen was laying the pen down on the table, "there was an awkward transition during the end of the first millennium that occurred when people could no longer believe in a man nor god that valued both the hedonistic ways of the Globe and the pure ways of the Temple. It was then the beloved Isle of Avalon finally disappeared from the land of the Globe for good. Such was known as the age of Arthur."

"The meteorological conditions necessary for such a disappearance—" Science began.

"The death of Arthur," Death spoke solemnly, "broke the final chains straining to hold back the heavy gated veil between realms. When beliefs wane, it happens." The magiscope showed the legendary king's final moments. "Well, at least up until tolerance and love would again become commonplace."

Kristen recognized the book cover which appeared in the magiscope. "All of that is covered and recorded in the Tome of Ages?" she said.

"Indeed," Death nodded. "And had to do with a time long past, and largely falsely documented. Not to blame the writers, it was once beautifully said that memory is often a mysterious odyssey of recollection."

"With the neurological processes involved in long-term memory formation, it’s understandable," Science said.

"Understandable," Death agreed.

Science’s mouth was frozen in a half-opened gawk. Had Death just agreed with him?

The newt clambered onto Kristen’s hand where it rode the wave of her knuckles while she drummed on the table.

“So,” Kristen said. “That’s how Magic left the Globe.”

Death gave a small nod. Just a tiny inclination of the head.

“But it was thriving while I was growing up there. We were required to get our diploma in Minor Magics before graduating.” She had never actually been successful in performing magic but had passed all of her written exams. Magic to her was pretty much that tingly feeling she got when thinking of John. She flushed, surprised at her internal dialogue.

“Ah,” Death said. “The rapid decline in scholarship is no small wonder to me, but you’d think they would teach basic History alongside Minor Magics.” He sighed. “Alas, how Magic returned in your age is another story altogether.”

Something dinged and Death sighed. He reached into his robe and removed a device that looked much like a Globe-side cellular phone. He thumbed it then stood. His head nearly brushed the ceiling of the treehouse.

“Going somewhere?” asked Science.

Death placed the device back in his robes and took his scythe. “It’s Marty,” he said. “I told them this would happen.” Death shook his cowled head. “Can’t get a moment’s peace.”

Death reached onto the bookshelf and slid out one of the records that had been awkwardly protruding beyond the ledge. He deposited it onto the table between Science and Kristen.

The cover art portrayed a priest smoking, what seemed to be a self-rolled cigarette, in front of a congregation. The title read:

LILITH.

“Are you coming back?” asked Kristen, looking up into his empty sockets far above.

“It is certain,” he said. Then Death turned and ducked out of the front door and onto the balcony before disappearing in a flash.

Science lifted the vinyl, sliding it out of its sleeve. “Well,” he said. “Popcorn?”