Death's Warnings

I panted and fell to the ground. My cloak billowed in the cold evening wind, snapping and cracking like a whip. My fleshless fingers were colder than they should be, my bones weary and tired.

There was a great crashing and roar. Looking up and across the dirt road, I saw my adversary there upon his knees. It seems he had suffered as much as me. His golden eyes had turned to black gems, his body of stone and moss was crossed with dozens of cracks and fractures. I smiled and gave a chilling cackle. The giant looked across the road laboriously at me, before he gave a deep groan like far away thunder, the cracks widening and his body falling apart and crumbling to lie in a pile on the grass, shining and gleaming in the moonlight.

I tried to never interfere with the affairs of the living, but that thing had initiated the conflict. After all, no one likes getting a stone planted on their head, least of all me. Releasing a soundless cry, my hands and knees gave way beneath me. My body slammed into the ground and I groaned, turning over onto my back. My sightless eyes looked deep into the night sky. The stars, I never knew they were so beautiful. Like twinkling eyes, keeping their vigil over me. And the moon was the greatest eye of all, a half-closed eye that watched me sleepily.

Soon there came a trotting of horseshoe on stone and neighing. A shout, “Ho there, friend!”

Friend? Was that what he saw?

“Are you injured?”

You could say that. My bones felt splintered and fractured all over, I was glad I didn’t have flesh or it would have been torn clean off in my tangle with that giant. What did the man see? Mortals’ eyes are so very clouded, they’d be better off blind. Maybe he saw a tired old man, or an injured traveller.

The hoofbeats grew louder, then stopped. There was a sound of something hitting the ground, then I saw a face block my view of the stars. A young man with just the hint of man hood creeping into his visage. His brows were furrowed in worry. “You alright, friend?”

I groaned and replied, “Help would be appreciated, yes it would.”

The man recoiled at first from my cold voice, but returned. “Aye, friend, looks like you need it.”

A strong hand grasped my arm and I cried out from the pain. The young man didn’t let go, slipping my arm over his shoulder and with a grunt he heaved me upright. My legs were unsteady under me, but he helped me stumble along to his horse, a handsome palomino stallion with a pale brown coat like leather that towed along a cart full of firewood. He screamed and reared back as I staggered near, but his master laid a rough hand upon its nose and the beast calmed. I couldn’t blame the horse for fearing me.

The man helped me onto his horse and stepped back, massaging his hands. He said, “My, you may feel like nothing but skin and bones but by God, you do weigh quite a bit.”

I could tell him a few things about God. The man glanced over to the pile of stone and rubble that marked the last resting place of my giant adversary. The boy’s eyes widened at the enormity of the pile of ruin and moss. “This is a strange place indeed, who would move so much good stone out here and leave it?”

“Baffles the mind, yes it does,” I remarked half-heartedly.

He took the horse’s reins and led it forth on the ground. Soon the hoofbeats became quite the rhythm to me, therapeutic almost. The man said, “You know, I heard a story once about stone giants.”

“Did you now?”

“Aye, and they say that when these things die they crumble apart and leave huge piles of stone…”

Two hours and a quarter, that was the time it took to arrive at the man’s cottage.

The building was rather ordinary, besides the fact it seemed to be a great distance from any other human settlement. A single story house made of brick with one of those new stone roofs blotted out a large group of beautiful stars. A single chimney broke the peak of the building, but no smoke poured from its mouth. No one would be able to survive in these days on the doorstep of winter without a good fire. So this man lived alone.

He helped me off the horse and led it into a tiny stable before attending to me. He supported me into the cottage and let me fall into a comfortable rocking chair. He knelt by the fireplace and struck a match, turning the still and cold wood into a blazing flame.

I surveyed my surroundings now illuminated by the fireplace. The stone fireplace dominated the room. Around it were two chairs, one of which I currently sat in, and there was little else save a cupboard under a window frosted over. There was a doorway to one side which probably led into a bedroom. The man asked, “Would you like something to drink? Ale, mead, wine?”

Raising a hand, I rasped, “I don’t partake, no I don’t.”

He slapped a hand to his forehead and exclaimed, “Of course! You’re old and injured, alcohol wouldn’t do. Perhaps some tea? Or maybe a hearty stew, I have a few rabbits and a slice of salted venison-”

“Appreciated, but I decline,” I replied hoarsely. “Right now, I’d like nothing but some rest, yes I would.”

He smiled knowingly and nodded readily, “Of course, friend. You do have a strange way of speaking.”

I didn’t answer.

When I opened my eyes again the man was sitting with his head bowed over a bottle in his hands. Must be asleep. I placed my skeletal hand on his shoulder and cringed at the warmth of the living. I pushed his shoulder up slightly and saw the words printed finely across the bottle’s label: Iron John’s Spiced Brew.

I took the bottle and sniffed its mouth and recoiled immediately. Spiced indeed.

Placing the bottle gently back into the man’s embrace I noticed how his forehead was creased with furrows and wrinkles, as if something in his dreams displeased him. I noticed how tired his face was, how sunken in his cheeks were for one so young. I looked around the house and realised how utterly devoid of amenities it was. This man must have a hard life. No, I swept my cloak and turned away. The affairs of the living were no affairs of mine.

Heading for the door, I heard a familiar voice. It muttered, “Hey, friend, leaving so soon?”

The man stirred slightly and his eyes half opened, like the moon I’d spied far above. His voice was sleepy and tired. I placed a bony hand on his back and eased him back into a sleeping position. “Rest, child, it is not morning yet, no it isn’t.”

He nodded like a child following a parent, but whispered so soft I could barely hear. “I see you now.”

My hand stiffened. The man muttered something else, before speaking more clearly, “I see you, Reaper in Black.”

I stepped back. How could he see me? I clench my fist, no matter, I need only leave and he’d believe this all a dream.

But he halted me with his words, “Stop, take me away, please, from this horrible world.”

I hesitated. “Do you not cherish life?”

“Cherish?” He laughed. “What’s there to cherish, friend? In this world of hurt, one loss after another.” He counted off his fingers, “There goes Ma, Pa, Brother, all of them gone.”

His voice was light and joyous, but what he spoke of wasn’t. He continued, “If only I’ve more lives to live for my family who didn’t get that chance.”

I paused for a while, before placing my hand around his shoulders and kneeling by him. His eyes widened at the sight of me and his skin paled. I knew he saw. But I wasn’t scared, and neither was he. I cooed, “I’m sorry, child. Life is not mine to give, only to take. The White Maiden wouldn’t take kindly to me doing so, but perhaps we, the two of us here, can arrange something, yes we can.”

He looked drowsily at me. I grinned, but my skull probably didn’t change. “I will take your life, as I will take the lives of all, but you’ll receive three warnings before that happens. To get your affairs in order and make your peace, yes.”

He looked at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before the smile reached his own face. He gave a laugh, before falling over in his chair and lying unmoving on the ground.

I left.

*****

I returned seventy and nine years later.

Standing outside the cottage, I was amazed to see it seemed to have tripled in size. It had transformed from a peasant’s hut to what one could call a villa. Now there were two horses instead of one, and I spied a gaggle of geese sleeping between their legs. The animals woke as I neared, the geese flapping their wings in alarm and the horses rearing back and kicking at me. I raised a single hand to calm them.

Stepping into the building, I found that its interior had also greatly changed. The fire was a raging inferno, illuminating every nook and cranny of this place. Four wicker chairs by the fire there were now, though none sat in them. A pantry with one door open was visible and I saw within rows of preserved fruits, cloves of vegetables and salted meats. Now instead of one doorway leading away there were four.

Voices now. A man and a woman, both quite young. The woman pleaded, “Please, Father, you have to hold on a bit longer.”

The man now, “Hush, sister. Father needs his rest.”

There was a new voice now, one old and ancient, weary and tired. Yet still with an edge of steel in it. “Stop fretting, woman, it’s not my time yet. I know it isn’t.”

There was a racking cough. I smiled sadly.

Stepping through the doorway I emerged into a small bedroom, illuminated by a single candle on a nightstand. The single light source cast a ghostly glow over the scene. A man lay in the only bed in the room, his face a valley of wrinkles. There were two figures at his side, one a young woman who clung to her dying father’s arm, the other a man who seemed identical to the one I’d seen seventy and nine years ago. The man in the bed saw me, but his children didn’t. He said wearily, “Children, leave your father. He needs… to sleep.”

They left, reluctantly yes, but they left nonetheless. I sat in a wicker chair by the man and leaned back luxuriously. The man sighed in comfort as he snuggled into his bed sheets. His face was a labyrinth of wrinkles, from age, not stress. His eyes were half closed and looked at me drowsily. He smiled but his words weren’t kind. “You lied to me.”

“No.”

“You said there would be three warnings before you came again.”

“And there were.”

I twirled one finger around the candle flame, letting the fire dance around the pearly bone. “They all came knocking on your doorstep not long ago.”

“I found nothing on my doorstep, unless you’re talking about my wife, bless her soul.” He smiled. “If so then-”

His body was seized by another racking cough, his body shaking. His eyes contorted in pain and he convulsed there, before settling back slowly. I laid a hand on his forehead and found it burning, then spoke, “The first warning seizes you now, Sickness.”

His eyes widened as my words sank in.

I continued, “The second was the message of Old Age.”

He opened his mouth, “But I-”

“And the third, was Sleep.”

He sank deeper into his bed sheets, face paler than it already was. He shook his head slowly, murmuring, “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen.”

I laid a hand on his arm, “Peace upon your soul.”

He looked up sadly at me. “Can you give me a bit more time to do what I couldn’t?”

I shook my head. “The White Maiden wouldn’t allow it.”

He nodded, accepting the inevitable. His body was seized by another coughing fit, his shoulders shaking and the bed shuddering under his convulsions. But when it ended he was smiling. “I’ve lived a good enough life. Yes, good enough.”

He looked me in the eye. “Before I go, I need to ask about the third warning.”

“Sleep?”

“Yes, did it come to me in some strange way to escape my attention?”

“No, it will come in time. But whether you accept it is completely up to you.”

He slid down so he was lying flat on the bed. “I’m ready.”

I smiled and saw his eyes were like the half-moon I’d seen in the sky so long ago. I got up and cast my cloak over his body. “So am I, friend.”