Page 46 of The Death Wish

He laughed, of all things. And the simurgh settled itself like a dragon at the base of its pile of treasures, its gem-eyes never leaving the wisp atop their makeshift mountain.

Scarlet hit a particularly lovely note, one of a low bass register, the boom of a distant thundercloud, that sent delightful shivers up Pitch’s spine. It was a massage upon the senses. The wisp jerked their chin, once towards him, then another down at the gazing simurgh.

The will-o’-the-wisp repeated the move. Their intention clear.

‘I amtryingto put it back, but you might have noticed the beast is not so keen,’ he whispered, like an irate librarian. ‘All well and good that you’ve calmed it…but that doesn’t help me with –’

The simurgh suddenly moved, shook itself hard, feathers coming loose and filling the air so thickly that Pitch shrank back, squinting, trying to see what the blazes the damned thing intended now.

The fucking thing had best not fly off, not after all this.

Scarlet’s strumming altered, the resonance giving way to something lighter. The lift of the storm, the melting of the ice.

The clarity of morning as it dawned.

Pitch’s vision cleared.

The simurgh had not flown off. It perched upon the bed, standing upon its one decent leg, the other held curled and close to its violet belly.

But it was not the same creature he’d seen when he entered the room. There would be no holding onto this swan’s neck.

The simurgh had shed more than its feathers.

The Cultivation was translucent. Its corporeal form was gone.

The harp playing ceased. Scarlet’s small mouth hung open as it stared with its horrid lifeless eyes at the simurgh.

Pitch remained on his knees. He did not shift when the wildness once again lifted its wings. This time it did not seek to strike at him, but rather, embraced him. Wings wrapped about him, soft to the touch as clouds.

Enormous clouds that stretched on with an endlessness that made Pitch breathless.

The sense of the ancient about this bird, gods, it made his heart stumble.

The simurgh…what the simurgh truly was…was fathomless.

Pitch shivered. Not fear, not exactly. He was wary…cautious…a little dry-mouthed at the thought of taking in this monstrosity.

He knelt before the infinite. But did not fear it.

Pitch had lived with this creature for a long time.

He hadcontainedthis creature within him. Found a way to live without being swallowed by the gaping depths of its existence.

Pitch pushed up off his knees, hearing the crack of joints as he did so. There was no pain, but there would be.

He lay down upon the bed, finding his place beside the wild and terrible beauty of the simurgh.

A topaz eye was fixed on him, more like a gemstone than ever, now that the creature had shed its corporeal layers.

‘I’m ready. Hurry now.’

The intangible wings brought their endlessness near.

The simurgh rose into the air, drifting just a few feet above him. Pitch’s fingers curled into the remaining sheet, clutching at its useless protection.

He was not afraid of pain. Gods knew he’d felt enough of it to grow accustomed to its company. But he was tired of being its whipping boy.

The simurgh bore down on him. Silent as falling snow. Spreading wings wide, its primordial presence the slow descent of the morning star. Far too much for him.