~ Chapter One ~
  Death Revisited 

Death was pissed.

He glanced upward toward the moon in the frozen October sky and released a frustrated sigh.  It was a busy time, what with the deep cold claiming so many lives recently.  So many souls to collect; it had been virtually endless since the last full moon.

Some souls had been lost. Most had been collected properly. He had been increasingly distracted lately, trying to identify a growing restlessness from within. He had ignored it at first, but despite his forced inattention it kept creeping back to the forefront of his consciousness.

Worse, it was starting to affect his duties, and he could not have that. Not with so much at stake. If he did not get a handle on this soon the Others would begin to notice, and that was attention he really did not want to attract. Not now, not ever.

And now, amid the chaos and horror that was his existence, Death realized that one soul in particular was calling for him.  Again.

Twelve times before he had heard this wail; twelve times he had answered only to be denied collection at the very last moment.  It was highly unusual for a mortal to survive so many misfortunes – and be the cause of it for so many others.

As the icy wail of despair flowed over the valley, Death found himself once again looking down upon the simple, proud home of the village Brewer.  The Brewer himself was a hardworking man who ran the local tavern and crafted the many ales sold there.  He was honest and treated others fairly.  Death did not expect to come for him for quite some time.
His daughter, however, was a different matter entirely.

Death’s eyes slowly grew red with anger as he leaned against the Great Scythe.  The wooden handle creaked softly as his cold skeletal hand gripped it in frustration. Mortis, his great pale steed, snorted and shifted uneasily beneath him sensing his master’s sudden shift in mood.
Death had come for the Brewer’s daughter, Barley, many times before.  She was beautiful girl, very beautiful indeed.  She was also very deadly.

Death first came for her as a child many years ago.  There had been a great sickness in the village and Barley had contracted the fatal virus.  Death had waited patiently in the shadowed corner of Barley’s cramped room, watching the family pray silently around the child’s small bed.  The village doctor had given her some medicine earlier in the day, but it was a last-ditch attempt at a cure from an old man whose best healing years were far behind him.  Death flipped casually through his collection tome and saw that he was to come for the good doctor in two night’s time.  Just as well.

Without warning the child started coughing violently.  Death slid the tome back under his robe and stepped from the shadows in anticipation, the Great Scythe leaning out towards the sickly child. He would reap this small soul quickly so as not to cause her further pain or suffering. As he lowered the Great Scythe the child turned her head towards him.  Death could tell from her terrified expression that she could now see him. 

Then something extraordinary happened.  The child raised her hand, grasped the cold steel blade of the scythe, and with a smile tossed it away.  Her coughing suddenly ceased as she slipped into a deep healing sleep.

It seemed that medicine had worked after all.

Death stood quietly over the child, noting the bravery and boldness of a soul so young.  No one had cast the Great Scythe away before.

The cries of the dying called to him from the distance so he could not stay.  As he left the room through the shadows he looked back briefly at the sleeping girl.  He considered her fortunate and did not expect to come for her for some time.

Death would soon realize he was greatly mistaken.

Death shook the memory away. No more mistakes, this time the daughter would come with him. He turned in the saddle to search the skies behind him, raising the scythe high above his head. From the cold darkness came a crackling “Caw!” moments before a large black crow swooped low and circled the rider and his mount.

“Smite.” Death hissed as he pointed a skeletal finger towards their new destination. The crow cackled acknowledgement and launched itself down the mountain towards the warm flickering windows of the Brewers' home.

Chapter 2 >>