by Thomas Grave
Sebastian arrogantly brought his chin up so that this human could admire the true face of Death.
Know your place, human, he repeated several times in his head. Each time, with more conviction. It occurred to him that Cole was not looking at him, but past him.
Turning around to see who stood behind him, Sebastian saw an attractive human female, the barkeep. Of course it was her. What were the odds? The Soul he was here to collect.
He needed to verify. “Elder, death check.”
Imogen O’Sullivan. Age at death: 24. Time of death: Tonight, 3:15am.
With her attention directed at Cole she said, “You brought a friend. Your stew will be out in a few minutes. Is there anything else I can get you?”
Cole glanced at Sebastian for a second, then back at the beautiful bartender. What the hell, he thought.
“Your smile,” he said.
She giggled softly. “You’re sweet.”
Cole stood and gazed into her eyes.
“There it is,” he said brightly, not caring who noticed him. “This room is filled with something as bright as the sun, as beautiful as the moon, as warm as the new summer day, as soft as winter snow. If I were a sunset, I would be envious of your beauty.”
The tavern quieted, waiting for Cole to continue. He did, “I know you don’t know me, but if you give me a chance, every day with me will be as wonderful as a perfect spring morning. My name is Cole, and I fell in love with you from the first moment I saw you.”
Sebastian’s eyes widened. Very few things surprised him, but this wormy little human had done it twice in one evening: first by not being in the book, and second by this ridiculous outburst. He was actually curious about what would happen next. Lifting his gaze to Imogen, he awaited her reply.
“I–I–I’m sorry. I’m with someone,” the stunned girl said. She swallowed hard before hurrying back into the kitchen. Conversations picked up in the tavern.
Sebastian scratched the back of his head. “Wow. Okay. I—Wow. That answers my question.”
“She turned me down,” Cole whispered.
Sebastian was quiet, letting the silence between them linger. He sighed deeply. Emotions were not something Death should have. However, in this case, compassion was something he could allow himself.
This one time.
“You gave it your all,” Sebastian said, shrugging. “Not a lot of humans could have done that. I commend you.”
Cole exhaled. “I’m pathetic.”
“That’s a bunch of rubbish, you wormy little human. I saw the way you looked at her. You were terrified. I told you to make your last moment count and you did,” Sebastian complimented. “You attempted to woo that beautiful woman, and had the presence of mind to do it while sitting next to me of all beings. That takes courage.”
“Are you still going to—”
“Meh,” Sebastian interrupted. “I’ll kill you later. How about you get me a drink.”
Cole’s attention was drawn to the center of the tavern. One of the men who’d chased him through the streets had come in and spoke to Taniel, their leader, and someone else Cole recognized. His clothes were normal, leather boots, long brown cloak, but the hat. Cole recognized that hat. Witch-hunter. That’s who he was. His name was Dalton. He had seen the guy in action once and that was all he needed.
Cole eyed Taniel’s ugly face and tried to erase the image he had in his brain of this disgusting being kissing Imogen. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. The thought of someone like Imogen being with a dimwit like Taniel was horrifying. Earlier in the evening Taniel had noticed Cole’s interest in Imogen and had ordered Cole to be beaten to death. Now, in a strange way, Cole took a bit of comfort in sitting next to the personification of Death. Still, he slunk his head farther into the hood of his cape. The last thing he needed was Taniel to notice him, especially after having poured his heart out to the brute’s girlfriend. As if reading his mind, Taniel turned and looked into Coles eyes.
“We should get out of here,” Cole said to Sebastian.
“Excuse me?” Sebastian asked. He was not exactly used to a human giving him orders. Still, he glanced over in the direction Cole gestured. A group of drunken, hostile men were headed in their direction.
Imogen hurried out of the kitchen with an expression of annoyance on her face. She quickly got between them. Then she began arguing with another human Sebastian hadn’t noticed.
“Death Check,” Sebastian said. “The one in charge.”
Taniel O’Bryan. Age at death: 72, said the Elder.
“Seventy-two?” Sebastian scoffed. A brute like that was going to live another thirty some years? Great. It would have been nice to reap this guy right here and now. Oh well, he knew the rules. If he couldn’t take his soul, he could at least make him suffer a bit.
The party of men began walking toward them. One of Sebastian’s pet peeves was a cocky human. If they only knew how small they were. And they brought a witch hunter with them? Why in all the realms would they bring a witch hunter? Imogen was still arguing with Taniel when they arrived at their table.
“Taniel, stop this!”
Taniel ignored Imogen and slammed his fist down on the bar. This guy had some nerve, showing his face. Watching his woman, beating up his brother, and now this new report of him buying her dinner? Gavin was still unconscious. He had two broken legs, a broken arm, and several busted ribs. Only way this guy could have done that much damage was if he were a witch. Male witches were common around these parts and now here he was in his bar, bringing his witchy friend with him. Probably his apprentice, teaching him the dark arts of chicken sacrifices.
With cold eyes, Taniel glared at Cole, and words spewed from his mouth like vomit after a twelve-hour drinking binge.
“First, you have the gall to attack my men. Now, you come back here after what you did and you bring your witchy apprentice with you?” He pointed over to Sebastian.
“What did you just call me?” Sebastian asked, his tone mixed with confusion and irritation.
“Quiet, Witch boy!”
The lights dimmed in the bar. “You, my friend, Taniel,” Sebastian said slowly, “have plenty of time to die. Why are you in such a hurry?”
Imogen stepped in front of Taniel. “Taniel, please. Stop this!”
“Woman! I said go away!” Taniel thundered, backhanding Imogen across the cheek and knocking her into the bar. The echo of the slap silenced the room.
Cole leapt to his feet and lunged at Taniel, pushing him back.
“What the bloody hell is wrong with you putting your damn hands on her!” Cole yelled.
One of the thugs from the rowdy table stood. He was a large fellow, almost seven feet of pure muscle. His handlebar mustache quivered beneath large blue eyes and a perfectly shaped nose. He grabbed Cole easily and held his arms.
Sebastian was mildly entertained. He watched from his seat in amusement. On the table sat a bowl of nuts. He grabbed a handful and tossed them one at a time into his mouth with a smile of glee.
Taniel punched Cole in the face. Again. Stomach. Crotch.
“Ooh,” Sebastian said. “That looked like that hurt.”
“He—help,” Cole pleaded.
Retrieving a large knife from his boot, Taniel said, “You should have known you had this coming. This is for Gavin!”
As he reared back to plunge the knife deep into Cole, Sebastian came from behind them and grabbed Taniel’s wrist. Cole had no idea when the boy had moved. He had been sitting at the table, and then in just a blink of an eye, he was behind Taniel.
Sebastian sighed. “Why do I keep doing this?”
With a slight twist of his hand, he snapped Taniel’s wrist. The pop echoed through the quiet bar.
Taniel screamed out in pain as though his whole body burned.
“Well, if you thought that hurt . . .” With his other hand, Sebastian grabbed Taniel’s collar and flung him across the room. The human projectile crashed through a row of tables before rolling t
o a stop in a swamp of spilled beer and broken mugs.
Cole’s eyes shot open wider and his head instantly whipped to Sebastian.
Sebastian shrugged. “What? He’ll live.”
“But you won’t,” said Dalton the witch hunter, as he stepped forward holding some sort of flat stone with cryptic carvings and black outlines. A small, red line kept moving about on the stone’s surface, tracing the cryptic symbols over and over again.
Dalton gazed at Sebastian, his eyes intense. “You’re no witch,” he said, “but you’re definitely not human.”
Dalton raised his hand and a bright blast of fire jetted out of the stone toward Sebastian.
The side of the tavern exploded as Sebastian burst out of the building, the whirlpool of fire continued to push him twenty feet out into the street. Sebastian regained his footing and noticed Dalton step through the jagged hole in the side of the bar. The stone he held in his hand was still jetting a stream of fire at Sebastian.
Sebastian ripped down his scythe from the ethereal. Holding the scythe in front of him, he blocked the blast with a wicked glee. He sliced. The flames were instantly extinguished.
Dalton inspected the boy’s weapon with a slightly puzzled expression. Realization washed over him.
“Ah, the scythe. A necromancer?” asked a very cocky Dalton.
“Is that what you think?” Sebastian replied, a wry smile on his lips.
“I think it’s time for you to die, boy.”
Sebastian pointed to the witch hunter. “Death check. The idiot witch hunter.”
Dalton Ray, Age at Death: 31.
“How old are you Dalton?” Sebastian asked, his eyes boring into Dalton’s.
Beyond his control, Dalton answered immediately. “31.”
Dalton shook himself. What kind of monster was this boy? Had this necromancer perfected the sinister art of mind control?
Sebastian’s eyes lit with pleasure. “If you wanted to dance, Dalton, you should have asked.”
Dalton raised the stone and fired another unforgiving assault. The whirlpool of fire roared in the air toward Sebastian. This time Sebastian was ready. He parried the jet fire with his scythe and with a graceful slice, parted the flames, extinguishing them. The force continued to travel forward until it hit the fire stone in Dalton’s hand, cutting the stone in half.
Dalton jumped back, gasping. “What are you?”
“Want to take another guess?”
Rocketing off his heels, Sebastian dashed toward Dalton in a blur.
Dalton swallowed hard and dug in his leather pouch for one of his favorite weapons, a type of glittery dust, used mainly for defense. He flung his arm and threw the dust into the air.
Sebastian slammed into a newly formed invisible wall. For an instant it lit up with a faint trace of electricity, cracks from the impact spreading out like golden spider webs across its surface before fading away, the wall invisible once again.
He was stuck.
Encased.
Trapped.
Dalton allowed himself a careful smile as the necromancer disappeared from sight, trapped within the wall. He took a few steps back, his eyes scanning the spot where he’d formed the wall. He held his breath.
Within seconds the once invisible wall was encased in noxious black mist.
Dalton’s eyes opened wide. “You—you’re a demon.”
After taking a deep breath, his hands shaky, Dalton dug back into his brown, leather satchel and brought out a black metal rod and an unlit candle. He worked quickly.
“I—I’ve never fought a demon before,” said Dalton, his voice unsteady.
Quickly, Dalton put the bottom half of the candle flat against the wall. He was about to strike the tip with the black metal rod when Sebastian’s voice seemed to come from all around, reverberating throughout the street, even echoing in Dalton’s mind. “You humans and your toys.”
Dalton froze.
The cracks that had formed when Sebastian hit the wall became visible again. A pair of white, narrowing eyes appeared within the wall.
Black smoke seeped out from the fissures, like toxic fumes out of thin air. From within the wall, Sebastian took his scythe and sliced, feeling his annoyance in every fiber of his being. The wall exploded, mystical glass shards flying everywhere. Dalton was thrown back by the burst, straight through the hole in the tavern wall, and landed hard on the floor, pressed up against the solid wood bar. Sebastian followed, his scythe in hand. He stood over Dalton and lifted it up, ready to make a killing blow.
“No necromancer could—” Dalton’s voice broke. “Who are you?”
“Allow me to educate you on your stupidity.” Sebastian stepped on Dalton’s foot, sending a pulse of understanding.
Dalton’s eyes went wide with shock.
“You,” he said, fear seeping from his face.
“Yes,” Sebastian replied, a slight smile spread across his face. “It is.”
Dalton clawed the ground, his head down, screaming, “My apologies, I—I didn’t know!”
With that wicked smile, Sebastian replied, “You do now.”
Sebastian again lifted his scythe to strike when Cole jumped in front of Dalton.
“No, stop!” Cole screamed, protecting Dalton.
“What are you doing?” Sebastian asked, annoyed.
“I know this guy!”
“And?”
“Please,” Cole begged.
“Please, what?”
“Please let him live.”
“After he attacked me?” Sebastian scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”
“If you need to take somebody’s life, take mine.”
Sebastian furrowed his brow, his tone calm, yet curious. “You would sacrifice yourself? For him?” The last bit came out as cold as ice.
Cole bit his lip and nodded. “He’s a good man.”
He scanned the crowd, which stood by silent and scared. Imogen cried silently, her head buried in Taniel’s great chest. Cole grimaced at the sight, but he went on.
“He’s protected our village many times,” he said. “His life is worth more than mine.”
Sebastian studied Cole’s expression, then followed his gaze to Imogen. “I highly doubt that.”
Scanning the crowd, he saw that he had caused enough of a scene. This was not his way, allowing humans to see him at work.
Sebastian blinked and was gone.
1514 AD
The endless black and star-filled sky stretched in every direction, pinpoints of light shining down upon the grassy field below. Wavering bleats of sheep echoed through the night, overlaid with the sound of hunting insects. Cole lay on a hay cart, his arms crossed behind his head as he watched the sky. He thought he’d likely be spending the next couple of nights here. The bleating sheep offered him comfort, a type of normalcy, like being back in a regular routine, such as it was.
His mind was preoccupied with the day’s events. When he first arrived a week ago, with no family or friends, he was ready to tackle whatever life could throw at him. He issued life a challenge with open arms.
Throw anything you want at me, he told it. I am ready.
In return, life threw at him the most perfect woman in all of creation, but it also threw danger—running for his life, almost getting killed—and of course, Death incarnate himself.
Life had defeated him miserably. Here he was, homeless and broken, with no idea what his next step should be. On top of that, the love of his life had shattered his heart. What else could go wrong?
“Have you ever heard of the heather flower?”
He recognized the voice of Death.
Cole supposed there was a bit of irony in the fact that Death was a boy no older than seventeen or eighteen. And yet, there was a heaviness to his voice. It left behind a brooding sense of dread whenever he spoke. But this time, Cole was not scared.
His heart had been ripped out. Dying seemed like the logical next step.
The boy lay beside him on the cart, arm
s also folded and placed behind his head. Both of them took in the wondrous site of the stars above.
Casually, Cole answered, “No.”
“It’s a wondrous thing, both in appearance and smell. Grows mainly east of here. It’s also used to dye wool yellow and to tan leather. Back in the day, it was used to make beer. Some did say the beer was too sweet, which is why humans moved to hops. It was so beautiful that nobles and kings have named their daughters after it.” He paused. “Do you know why I’m telling you this?”
Cole shrugged. “No.”
“Imagine its simple beauty. Now think of the complete opposite. Something so ugly it’s unfathomable. That is how I view your actions earlier today. Senseless. Ludicrous and beyond stupid.”
Insects clicked in the background. A few more bleats. Finally, Sebastian asked, “Why would you do that?”
Nonchalantly, Cole answered, “Dalton, the Witch-Hunter, has done more good for Elton then I ever could. If it’s a competition, I would not win”.
“How do you know that?” Sebastian asked, “You don’t even know the guy.”
“My first night in Elton was a nightmare. I’d been walking forever and when I finally came into the city, I thought it was deserted. I thought, maybe, I had come to the wrong place. I had heard stories about it—Elton I mean—how it was up and coming, that there was plenty of work, but seeing it for the first time, it wasn’t what I expected. It was sad. That’s when I saw them.”
“Saw what?”
“Two witches coming out from the tree line. Called themselves Daughters of the Dream. Later, I found out they came by once every couple of months taking what they wished, who they wished.”
Sebastian shrugged. “Things of that nature are not really uncommon.”
“True. But it seemed that the town had had enough. Imogen had moved to the city just a few months before, but she decided to call her brother for help, Dalton.”
“That witch hunter was her brother?”
Cole nodded. “I saw Dalton fight off and kill both witches. It was amazing. He fought with more courage than I thought possible. Dalton saved a lot of people that night. If he hadn’t been there, things would have turned out badly. If it came down to a choice between him and me, I’d pick him every time. He’s a hero. I’m a nobody.”