Introduction: A Time with Death

A skeletal hand reached out and turned an hourglass over on its axle, then turned it back upright.

The devices were mounted in neat rows and columns like in a library, but the shelves were twice the height of the hooded figure that stood before them and stretched out in to seeming infinity beyond him, disappearing into the extreme distance of the gothic space. Anyone but Death might get lost in this labyrinth of hallways if they were trying to find an entry or an exit.

Light played along the mahogany shelving and glittered off the blown glass of the artifacts and Death knew the incoming visitor was using no door.

"Trying to get my attention?" asked the Incarnation of Time, who had materialized behind the grim reaper.

Death did not turn his shrouded head, only paused with the hourglass half-tilted again. The Incarnation could see that the hourglass was his own. The letters of his name carved into the golden plate at its base KRONOS.

"Oh," said Death, in the hollow voice one would expect. "I wasn't going to break it." This time he did turn to the Incarnation and said, "It's just so much easier to hold a conversation when the sand is running backwards."

A lash of golden light went over Kronos like a jump rope when Death settled the glass properly upside down. Another lash threatened, then faded and the sand began to drop again in a more steady stream.

"We won't have long," said Kronos, his golden eyes returning to Death's empty gaze.

Death dropped his hand to his side. "Couldn't you just do the thing?" The way Death tilted his skull beneath that cowl made the question more pronounced.

Kronos grimaced. "Yeah. Well, since our last stunt, I'm already up two demerits. Not to mention, I'm supposed to be dead."

Death would've looked surprised if he'd had any eyebrows. He thought he was the only Incarnation with two demerits! He settled for empathy and said, "Understandable. I just thought I'd make it up to you."

Another lash of gold jump-roped Kronos, this time gyroscopically. Before its orbital glow guttered out again, he spotted a baby blue hourglass along the rail. It rested just near the tip of Death's scythe, two shelves up.

Death turned his head to it when he was sure Kronos had noticed. "I thought," said Death, "you'd like to witness the birth."

Kronos stepped around the cloaked figure as it grew taller, and he stood beneath the hourglass. Now, Death was large enough to easily manipulate the blue artifact, as it was only at elbow level.

"I always wondered how you managed the upper shelves," said Kronos.

"Size—turns out," said Death looking down at him, "is relative."

Kronos read the gold identification placard on the blue hourglass aloud, "Science?"

Death nodded.

"It's empty," said Kronos, then noticed a particularly interesting hourglass that was two different shades of red. The top placard read "Magic" and the bottom placard "Love". The sand was more than half-full on the bottom. He reached out to touch it.

A sharp rap echoed through the hallway and Kronos snatched his hand away.

"It's not empty," said Death pointedly.

"You scared me," Kronos said. "And look. You've broken one of the floor tiles."

Death lifted the butt of his scythe from the floor, ignoring the tinkling sound—surveyed the damage—and then shrugged. "It's not empty," he continued, looking again at the blue artifact. "There is a single grain of sand in the bottom. It's simply waiting its turn."

"And then we'll have a bouncing baby boy?"

"Boy?" Death looked down at the grinning, golden haired man. "Oh, the color." He put a phalange to his chin and said, "We can hope."

"So, the color has nothing to do with it?" Kronos asked.

Two more golden hoops flashed around Kronos's body. A third joined the fray before they finally fizzed out.

Death sighed. "Not in my experience," he said. "Would you like to do the honors?"

Flabbergasted, Kronos said, "Could I?"

"Of course," said Death. The reaper thumped the base of the shelf with the sickle handle and a step slid out.

Kronos climbed onto it. He could now see the tiny shimmer at the bottom of the glass against the backdrop of blue wood. He reached but paused. "What is going to happen to the other one?"

Death stared at him. Small dancing lights had begun emanating from his eye sockets. It was like the far-off twinkle of stars. When Kronos got no response, he said, "The other hourglass labeled 'Science'?"

"Oh," said Death. "Nothing. That one is in the history section."

"And what section are we in?"

"New age."

Kronos looked thoughtful, then shrugged. "Okay," he said, then he spun the hourglass over on its axle.

There was a flash of blue light as the grain passed through the bottleneck and sand then started filling the base. Kronos was about to ask where the sand was coming from Death remarked, "Now that means it's a boy."

Kronos turned to face Death and was relieved to see the light in his eyes receding like silver coins flipping at varying rates of speed. "The flash?" he asked.

Death nodded.

"What color do the girls get?"

"Yellow," said Death, "interestingly enough."

Kronos stepped down and the golden arcs began dancing around him again. Death toed the step back into its housing and shrank to normal size. He still stood head and shoulders above Kronos. Death cocked his head and gestured at the loping yellow orbs. "Always yellow," he said.

"Ha!" barked Kronos. "Real funny!" The ambiguous corona finally abated. "We better flip mine again or we'll have to do this all over. The next warp is gonna take me."

Death nodded and then reached for the hourglass pausing. "So," he asked. "What did you think?"

"About the birth? Rather anti-climactic," he admitted.

"Well, that's the point," Death said. "It is only a beginning."

The words hung there for a moment, and then Death reached his bony finger to tip Kronos's glass back proper.

"Uh, could I?" Kronos asked.

Death turned beneath his cowl toward him and said, "You may try."

After Death's hand was safely away, Kronos reached cautiously up…

"Oh," Death said. "And Kronos?"

Kronos stopped, the tip of his finger resting on the wood bevel.

"The sand comes from the endless desert."

Kronos nodded.

"Now you know," said Death and he gestured to the hourglass with his skeletal palm.

"Thanks," said Kronos. "This is gonna make a real mess of things."

"I believe its now referred to as entropy," said the skeleton.

Kronos tried the word out for himself, "Entropy." Then nodded. "Well. Be seeing ya." Then he righted his own hourglass.

"It is inevitable," said Death to the space where Kronos had been. Only a small golden glitter still faded catching back up to the reverse flow of time.

Death looked to the hourglass. It sat one degree off from plum. He put out a bleached digit and finished righting it.

"We all think we can do it alone," he said aloud. Then he glanced down at the strange glass marked magic and love. It was righting itself on its own, making little tilts and adjustments. This wasn't surprising. It was how they were all supposed to work.

It was when they stopped that caused any real trouble.

Something tinkled down by his foot and the reaper stepped back.

"Squeak!"

"Thank you, Garth," Death said to the skeletal rat in the black cowl.

The Death of rats squeaked again and another rat—this one in a bonnet—stepped out from under the footboard of the endless shelving. She took the ceramic shard from Garth and handed him his tiny scythe. Then… the two rats nuzzled their heads together.

"Hmmph!" The old reaper's own scoff surprised him. He looked awkwardly away from the rats' show of affection, smoothing his robes.

Well, they'll have that tile fixed soon, he thought. Then he peered at the strange reddish hourglass. He had never met the Incarnation of Magic nor Love, whichever this one represented…

Death dared another look back to the floor and saw Garth staring up at him while the lady rat fixed the new tile in place.

"Squeak!" said Garth. The lady rat looked up from her work and waved.

"Hi, Ramona," said Death. "Nice to meet you."

There were multiple squeaks before they resumed their tiny work.

Well, thought Death, there's nothing for it.

In a flash he was standing at the gate of his home, patting the shoulder of Buxly.

The large pale horse was also a skeleton, but stroking its hair was comforting. Death placed both hands on the horse's bleach-white nose and leaned his forehead against it, pretending Buxly was feeling anything but tolerance. Then, he opened the white picket gate and strode up to his red front door.

He was going in there and doing anything but thinking about her…

and he was most definitely NOT going to interfere!