Leona Kerke
(Natalia Jagielska)
Symphony of Dark
Hello, I am Death.
The Son of Life and friend of Shadow.
I inhabit this world since I can remember.
My existence can be stated as an expression, or reality
it is for man to decide.
No matter how much I loathe my job,
I am forced to do it, as many state it is for good.
Things change slightly when I find Love.
(And Sin with it)
For my Mother and Father,
Their support and love,
Because even simplest
Thank you
Can mean a universe
"You are discussing pretty serious matters in very simple language..." Said a critic.
"Is there any better way of discussing the serious than by being simple?" Replied the writer.
Odds and Ends
Things that don't have mass don't exist, fellow people state.
Personally I think this theory is partly factual and partly bogus... it all hinges on which side of coin you are looking at. To express myself with clarity, I will use thought as an example it weights nothing, but still exists, same goes to numbers, same goes to imagination, same goes to me. And me is death.
Am I a piece of fiction, expression, reality it is for soul to decide... As I am similarly clueless.
Being mass-less makes me invisible to the world of living or as we call it, the soul world. Much like thought, like imagination, like numbers, I am there, but at same time I am not.
My body isn’t corporal, it doesn’t exist, but I can picture my attributes, sometimes I imagine myself being as a looming shadow, other times I take shape of a serpent, sometimes even mould myself into an image of an illuminating swift, yet currently I am in human interpretation of me.
My body speaks of nothing but dead, cloak darker than night, those spidery fingers; scythe resting on my shoulder, recovering from a recent onslaught. The hood usually covers my face, but behind the shade I imagine myself being quite handsome, having raven dark, long hair and eyes equally as appealing. Everything settled on pale, thin aristocratic body.
Currently I am sitting on run-down hut, accompanied by my followers, the crows. Out of all living souls those clever, dark birds seem to notice me. It might be my imagination, like the Nature suggested, as well as it can be reality.
I take pleasure in their company, their lustrous plumage, intelligent eyes, and structured hierarchy. Most of my time I take the pleasure of just sitting down near areas that are bitter and cold, such as Alaska, and observe them with highest interest.
My aunt, Nature, said that crows were one of her favourite inventions. I could not question her comment.
With my feathered friends, on one regular, yet grey, day in Constantinople, we took observing of some fiery affair. It featured three men belonging to Byzantine army which had recently noticed that their third company was a traitor, a two-faced Slav spy that worked against their wish.
"Ve biz size güvenilir inanmak!" Shirked one working for Byzantine, dagger held firmly by his hand. He tried to find Slav who was hiding in the ruins of the suburban areas.
Slav's name was Lech, and I instantly knew it meant cunning.
Being death has some advantages, I have a first sit to get to see most emotional scenes human nature can display, and this gift comes with an add-on which is ability to know names of everyone.
Lech looked miserable, his sandy hair had stuck to his forehead and eyes were wide with terror. I observed him with mild interest, deciding who was the good one and the bad one in this situation. Wish that life was this easy, with only two distinguishable sides and a definitive good.
Two members of army inspected corners and nooks of the dump; Lech was surrounded, but had an advantage of invisibility thanks to his cover in shade.
I bit my upper lip and rested head on my palm, Life or Luck weren't seen around, so I presume Lech is going to die. Resentful taste invaded my gullet; he was a young man, aged below twenty. I hated welcoming individuals like him.
Crows tensed and so did I when the two attackers located Lech helplessly clinging to the dark, with weapons out they slowly strode to his hiding place, their shadows loomed over the rickety structures that once were used for a living.
Assailants leaped into his direction, ready to stab, squash, maim and kill but Lech was quicker. The situation lasted less than seconds, as he whisked a weapon from the one, and slashed the blade against others torso, astounded Byzantine page took a bit too long to realise what was going on and with slight delay longed at Lech. Slav was waiting for that move and with one agile manoeuvre jabbed at his heart. And it was over; a man called Arda joined my bidding. Lech looked at the falling body, then faced attacker with slashed chest, who was now searching for a support from a neighbouring wall, it was tricky as his desperate eyes were glaring at the scarlet wound.
Lech immediately dropped the weapon and fled, leaving bleeding man, named Tarek, helpless.
Tarek's fate was decided. I kneeled as his body started to roll down the barrier leaving a bloody trail behind. My imaginary hands held his; I counted his last heartbeats, last impulses. Last breath left Tarek and so did I, as now he was in company of crows.
My hood found its spot over my head and I walked down the cool hallway which was hiding its nooks from merciless, cold sun. I walked in ghastly silence, just like the one that appears before the storm; but I waited for The Call to move over me and whisk into another death defined scenario.
Betrayal, Lie, Deception hissed the air; it was a nerve shredding sound, filled with both pleasure and anger. I stopped my pacing and looked around to spot the source of the phenomena. Thing that caught my interest was that it wasn't soul made; it came from my reality. As soon as I recognised it I hurriedly grabbed my scythe, hung it over the shoulder and with dynamic jog speeded down the alley.
My imaginary heart pounded, if it is what I this it is, I am doomed. Doomed as death could be.
I tried to put my mind away from the darkest scenarios, so I focused on my feelings towards the freshest death, I didn't know what circulated me, grief or anger. When in fear one instinctually goes to a group, for coverage or a support. Low hum of commotion, the fishmongers trying to sell fish, the carpet makers showing their crafts, kids laughing from some dull play they made out of scraps of litter, summoned me. My insides thought that arriving into a highly populated place will bring my redemption.
With head hanging low I finally entered the soul trading place, my eyes focused on them committing to their normal business. Somewhere two traders were fighting verbally for asparagus price, some homeless begged for funds, children tried to sell polluted water. They won't see me, they won't feel me, but their massless factors, like imagination or thought, will unconsciously sense me. They would feel anxiety, tinge of fear, and feeling of loss.
But that wasn’t my freedom and the eerie, directionless hiss hung in the air of my existence, like Dracula over the prey.
Treachery, Sell-out, Sin... Sin... Air purred again and my press on the scythe hardened. I knew Sin. He, much like me, Life, Nature or such was a massless. He called himself the expression of wrong doings and pleasure, brother of Love, the most cruel of all massless. Death knew about his existence, but never came face to face, and never would want to. Sin was hideous, dangerous, lying, well shall we say... a sinful being; or non-being that is.
Then I stopped, no need to hide now, he was there.
With determination drawn on my face and air held in the gut I slowly turned to face the stalker and the whisperer.
Sin, but massless used to call him Crux, was the symbol of all wrongdoings. Now standing in front of the falling sun, in a public, crowded place; blocking the life giving light. And like angel he looked, those dark wings, were not as beautiful as those of a crow, but nevertheless, dark and shiny and imperial; the torn toga was partly covering his body, sloping down to the ground as if coming from some Greek God; and those striking features on his face, capped with the long, lustrous, blonde/white hair. He was much taller than me. Crux might have looked like dream, if not his hideous red devil eyes.
"Long time, no see. Death." He starts the conversation, and his voice was luscious and illuminating with pleasure, crafted with lies. I did not reply I just stood there, bending my cloaked body on dark, wooden weapon I owned. "I looked forward to seeing you more repeatedly, death; I had a notion of sin and murder often accompanying each other."
My lips remained sealed like closed envelope, they will open only to the ones addressed, and Sin has no address.
Crux bends lower, to eye me, my dark glared into this red, hideous composition.
It is said that death breaks people apart, I must disagree, it is sin really; death is just a not-so-common side effect. Most of the deaths aren't caused by sin, most common are the natural deaths from disasters, illnesses, old age or accidents, but those driven by wrong doing are the most unpleasant ones I had witnessed. Not to say there’s no glory in death, as there are also noble deaths, but those are as rare like flowers blooming in winter... not impossible, but not common.
"Today was quite a scenario was it?" Crux pointed out eagerly. “Boring and usual example of the betrayal." He sighed at retrospection. "And it resulted in you, haven't it, death?"
Yes, but the sinner fled and attackers died. Murder is never justified and never would be that is maybe why it falls into hands of sin and, unfortunately, me.
"Hey, Death, Responde, Responde!" Crux was fuming, the he blinks as if realising something staring him in the face. He laughs with one syllable and chants. "U cannot believe it. You are afraid! You, great and powerful threat for all the souls and it withers and fears someone as me?"
"I am not afraid." I boomed, Crux smirked, he wanted me to talk and I accomplished his desire. The tongue travelled to the back of my mouth, I will not play his game and utter another word.
"Yes, why should you be? Death the greatest pain of them all doesn't have to fear anything?" Crux sneered; this grimace looked preposterous on his angelic face, almost out of place, almost devilish. It occurred to me that the Sin likes to cover its real nature with luscious and appealing facade.
"Death isn't the greatest pain there can be..." I remark, when the tongue sneaks back up, I wished I stayed silent.
Crux's face stiffens, his red eyes gleam with fire they remind me windows to hell. I can sense displeasure literally cracking the air, and I know that sinful thoughts and images flash in minds of people we are near. That’s our life and that’s our job to observe and influence the spirits around us.
The argument over the asparagus had broken into open fight. The other one snapped and hit another into face, successfully cracking the nose. Sin is behind this, he was the one to spark the aggression, now he’s looking as the domino pieces are falling together with sneer on his face. The damaged one longed for revenge and seized puncher, hot blooded eyewitnesses join to the skirmish; women with children cried, running into areas of safety. Pillows were being ripped, carpets on displays moulded, man were so intensely focused on pain they had forgotten it was over something simple, like price of an asparagus. Crux smiles seeing the discord his presence caused.
"What's worse than you?" He finally asks me, and I know the answer, it was him, the sin. The commotion round us turns mute and we stare at each other. I kept my tongue, unsure what my comment might spark, seeing the outburst he caused currently, I didn't wanted to risk and add logs to fire.
"Pain." I figured out an alternative.
"Pain?" Crux arched his thread-thin, white eyebrow.
"Yeah, pain of lose, physical pain, anything that causes discomfort."
Crux has nothing to add, but I do. "You are pain to me." And soon as it came out, I wished it didn't.
He jerks his head aggressively in my direction, "What is that supposed to mean?!"
"N-N-N-Nothing." I hesitate and lie.
Fable, BackBite, Lie the hissing sounds were emitted from something that seemed to be Crux skin, they sounded like legion of hungering snakes.
"Pain to you!" Crux exploded. "I would cause a real pain to you!"
The silly battalion behind us transformed into head-on bloodshed, chairs, and tables smashed heads and cracked bones, open wounds created blood falls that watered dried ground. And I ignored it all, as entire my attention was focused on Crux the Sin as he drew sharp, silver sword out.
I replicated his move, and my loyal scythe was set to the fight.
Crux was the one to make the first move, he used swift but powerful motion to my left, and I easily blocked it with handle, but the impulse threw me off balance. Devil noted my discomfort and struck again, this time it was direct jab.
I managed to spin out of view and use the momentum of twirl to fuel my slash. Crux wasn't prepared and the blade missed him by inches. We don't feel pain, but we know what it is like, which is the same thing.
He has this advantage of being furious; his hits are aimed and desired, while the movements fluid and strong. He keeps attacking me and I am barely catching up to block him. Sparks fly from collisions of instruments, people storm through us and we storm through them. I spin my scythe and with butt of the wood smack down at his ribcage. He coils himself, arms at place where he was smacked, eyes slanted, heavy breaths escaping wounded massless.
"You're fine?" I ask sounding worried.
Crux smirks, and then with sudden jerk he plants his blade goes straight through my abdomen. I can feel the metal piercing my flesh, serving veins and devastating organs. I shriek and fall on my knees.
Wound prickled as if set of burning coals was puncturing my body. I could feel blood flowing in streams and sweat rolling onto my forehead. Of course nothing following happened, my wound practically didn't exist and I myself was unable to bleed, but I know the pain, I was there with people were dying in similar way; they shared that feeling with me and I have ability to recall the pain in such situations.
The awful feeling of being holed, of your organs slashed, of sword withdrawing. I thought nothing but of pain, and begged for death like people do. My hands cover the lower set of my body and I grit my teeth so hard I feel them moving under the pressure. Crux laughs, and slowly walks away from my panting body. But I won't let this bastard go, my mind focuses on revenge rather than on agony and I find myself running towards him, my scythe up.
The weapon emits a light swish sound when cutting through nonexistent air, Crux doesn't even have time to react when blade whips his torso. His shout is a banshee.
Run, I decide, further from him further from trouble.
The trading plaza is still in havoc, but I leave it with relief. Quickly swishing through shady labyrinth of walls, I cannot think about anything but Crux. My first encounter was definitively a bad encounter. When I move into another dead end, I just press myself to the wall, cover in darkness and wait, breathing heavily.
The chest moving up and down in erratic fashion and I almost choke myself.
An echoing words bounce of the walls and trigger my nerves. I clutch to my knees, if it is Crux I have no chances of escaping. He is furious and wounded, and will not stop himself from cutting me into pieces.
But it's a happy song, weird but happy, echoing though the shadows. I manage to grasp some of the words.
Moving over shadows a thing grim,
Obscure and scary as it seem.
Little Death, why not grin?
How was frequent battle been?
I smile as soon as I recognise the voice, even laugh slightly.
"Shadow, shut it!" My voice equally lined with amusement and annoyance. We massless have ability to talk to the elements, I can communicate with any abiotic factor like thunder, water, wind, even shadow. Elements are much like us, but unlike us they are visible for souls, non-living, but visible nevertheless. I can sense darkest parts of the shadow stirring behind me. A shadow signifies mystery, much like me, because you can't see through it.
Shadow giggles and faces me; he is an outline of an animal, raccoon currently. I can see his shadow striped tail silhouette.
"How was death doing today?" Asked the shadow, its voice was mysterious and constantly echoing.
"I haven't experienced such a rush of adrenaline in a decade." I pointed out.
Shadow giggled and spun above my head, laughing manically and childishly.
"Why won't you go someplace else?" He proposed.
"I am just waiting for that." And I started to sense calmest of the places.
As death I cannot pick where I can go, I can only get summoned to place of frequent or a forthcoming death. The more historical or emotional death is it makes the summoning stronger than other, and sometimes it is hard to withdraw from it. Thanks to it I had seen all the legendary deaths.
I call it the call.
I focused on some random call and waited for it to summon me, further away from Crux and this horrid place, the better.
The Shadow fidgeted.
"Leaving me so soon?" He asked.
I wanted to answer but the call had already summoned me.
Like raven I flew above trees, mountains, passing serpentine rivers, twisting like silver threads. Then darkness, my existence pushed me down to the ground, inside a rocky tube, and then a sudden stop.
My body found itself in narrow, circular vent; I was in the well, meters below the ground, slightly above water, which was dark and hideous in the shadow.
The feeling of being trapped in small spaces discomforted me, I clutched to myself and tried to fight urge to panic. I suffered from something souls call claustrophobia.
Water below me splashed and vibrated, hissing and howling, as it was shyest of the elements. Because of the darkness I could barely see a small figure struggling to keep above liquid, its huge, desperate eyes flashed in the black.
His name was Harmon, and was seven, Latvian. Foolishness pushed him down the well, fear and desperation of survival erased this frequent memory. The water was cold and desirably dragging him down.
Human soul minds are wonderful things, kudos Nature, they can be sorted and focused during casual situations, but when something drastically takes a turn their instincts take over, leaving them equal to their inferiors, the animals.
Harmon tried to grasp to the walls of the well, as he wasn't good swimmer himself, but to his misfortune the unreachable ladder of survival was wet and so slippery.
I silently support him, even try to raise his little head and hold above the water level, but I am invisible, untouchable, my efforts are fruitless. In my entire, eternal life I haven't seen a miracle, but that doesn't stop me from trying to get it happening.
"Jāmēģina." I encouraged him.
He stopped struggle, looked around but noted nothing. I cannot speak to people, or communicate with animals (crows are unproved exception), but in some desperate situations the world of living can clearly note my presence, too bad there’s no one to spread the word after the conversation.
"Kas tur ir?" Harmon whispers, his voice quiet and wobbling.
"Tas man." I reply to him, indicating that he currently speaks to me.
"Nāve?" My name is spoken and I nod. As a death I purse the world, feel feelings other feel, see things some cannot, and always have a sneak-peek from life of my victims, it's like their biography in nutshell. I feel like I know everybody better than everyone else does, to me Harmon feels like friend I had for eternity.
Silence lingers, I can hear laughs and chants coming from the shadows, and mumbles of the water, but it is still there, the silence, it is deathly.
"Harmon..." I mutter to him, pressing palm on his shoulder, which was colder and wetter than his murderer.
"Ja, Nāve." He replies, his flaccid legs turning stationery.
"Jāmēģina." Keep trying, I repeat, knowing that his hopes already changed into vapour.
Harmon stared at me, he could see me. Our eyes meet, for a while, because his eyes became blank. With rigid legs, frozen body and empty mind, his body slowly was consumed by dark, waters delirious arms as they coiled around him. I couldn't stand to look longer, with closed eyes I climbed out of the well.
Sun ran over my skeletal body, exposing every feature.
I found myself in quiet, green village. Handmade houses lined foot-pressed ground; trees provided shade for farm workers, sweaty and tired, half sleeping. It looked heavenly. I spotted a dark haired boy, with age similar to that of Harmon, he dragged old man and cried quickly and impatiently. I could make out one word, or name in his hasty speech. "Harmon"
So close to survival that young one was, unfortunately I was quicker.
Jerking my head, I stormed off to different direction, towards some yellowish fields.
Tall, swift grass swayed lightly on the wind; birds fluttered, sometimes diving to grasp insect or anything they feed on; from somewhere pair of giggles, cherish and welcoming, came. Call tried to drag me to more eventful place, but I tried to resist it, I struggled, and after time, it left me.
Somewhere in my chest I had a pulsing thing, which beats like heart, but far faster. It's my fatality-counter, which pumps each time something leaves world of living. I named it counter, but Nature suggested better name, a meter.
Meter pounded fairly slowly today, even found rhythmical tempo that composed some eerie beat.
Call pushed me backwards again, summoning to some another devastating event, but I tried to snap out of it, I had consumed my dose of pain already.
Another push, this time it was strong enough to bring me down to the ground. I clutched to the solid and tried to resist the call, it ran down me like a gale, but I was rebellious. After moments of struggle it left me, I was waiting on ground patiently deciding if rising would do any good. Welcoming giggles sounded again in the near distance, they were like catalyst and pushed me stronger than call of death.
To my sight came two girls, dressed in sturdy, moulded dresses. Their awful covers haven’t hidden their faces, illuminating with pure joy.
Something like smile crawled up my face, it felt weird and out of place, but I enjoyed it.
One girl was ginger, her face freckled and spoke of nothing but farm, her name reflected looks, for so she was named Ginger. Second one wore name of Violet, but her hair haven't matched that colour. One thing that bonded them together was ecstasy, and strong thread of friendship. Sensation unknown to me. It had taken me minutes to work out what cheered them, when I moved my eyes upwards I noted pair of colourful materials sailing the azure.
Those were called puki, the kites.
All wore colour of stained yellow, but were decorated with pigments and light flowers. Colourful tail of small scraps of clothes followed zooming objects, that spun and rolled like fish do in ocean or birds on wind.
I couldn't stop looking; their spirals and twists were close to hypnotising. Then I noted something that moved under floating materials, turgid with blowing air. It was wind, a slight silhouette of dragonfly arousing air currents, and he had a companion.
Eyes closed and opened few times, wondering if the thing I see is real, or real in my reality. I had never seen massless as stunning as her, I never had seen this massless before.
She played with air current, coiling around kites. She was like feather on the wind, white and delicate. Reminding me of white dove from saint stories. Her massless posture were those of human, sleek and graceful, but back covered with pure, pillowy feathers. Eyes calmingly pink and hair red as fire. She, much to my despise, had pair of silvery wings attached to her furry back.
Wind and posture danced around each other, while pair of children directing kites sat down and looked almost at nothingness. The cherish mood had washed when I stepped a bit closer.
Wind flapped its wings and with disbelief gazed, white posture spun down to children, her red hair leaving fiery trail behind. She slammed on the ground and covered soul children with her wings, as if protecting, from me.
"You dare to hurt them..." Winged massless hissed, her voice lined with hater, but light as dream. "I won't stop myself from hurting you."
I just stared at her, my mouth slightly open. Not knowing why, I felt embarrassment and fear, but different type of fear, fear of her leaving.
Colour washed from soul faces, their thoughts sensed me. Two girls were now thinking about death, but their worry was protected by wings of massless I yet not know.
"Who are you?" I ask, feeling stupid, staring conversation with question.
"I am something foreign to death." She hissed, mockery in her tone made me grin. I opened my mouth to reply, but children started to speak.
"Ja kaut kas notiktu." Started Violet. If something would happen. "Jūs tur?" Would you be there?
Ginger nodded, "Uz visiem laikiem, un vienmēr..." forever and always.
"Vienmēr un uz visiem laikiem," Violet mouthed, always and forever.
We both stared at two child souls. Combination of me being here, and her being as well, resulted with something new, eternal bond of loveable friendship. Now I knew who stood in front of me, the white dove, symbol of love. Silence stretched forever, wind was lingering above our heads, waiting for something.
"My name is Amor." She muttered, "Commonly known as love."
"While mine is Mort." I added, "Massless of death."
She titled her head like pigeon, then opened her wings defensively and hissed aggressively. "Go away."
I tried to speak, but she shrieked crazily "Go Away, Go Away, GO AWAY!"
Each shout louder and crazier than previous. I hesitated, almost tripped over when withdrawing.
I allowed for call to summon me somewhere, and before I knew everything turned into blur, Amor's face fresh in my imagination, enhanced by my thoughts, still lingering. I wished I could stay there a little longer, wondering if I looked like coward in front of her. Guilt pressing my chest and crushing shattered emotions. I tried to hijack call, change its course so I would land next to Amor again. I missed her, our encounter seemed too short. It all felt new and weird, but I liked it.
(Natalia Jagielska)
Symphony of Dark
Hello, I am Death.
The Son of Life and friend of Shadow.
I inhabit this world since I can remember.
My existence can be stated as an expression, or reality
it is for man to decide.
No matter how much I loathe my job,
I am forced to do it, as many state it is for good.
Things change slightly when I find Love.
(And Sin with it)
For my Mother and Father,
Their support and love,
Because even simplest
Thank you
Can mean a universe
"You are discussing pretty serious matters in very simple language..." Said a critic.
"Is there any better way of discussing the serious than by being simple?" Replied the writer.
Odds and Ends
Things that don't have mass don't exist, fellow people state.
Personally I think this theory is partly factual and partly bogus... it all hinges on which side of coin you are looking at. To express myself with clarity, I will use thought as an example it weights nothing, but still exists, same goes to numbers, same goes to imagination, same goes to me. And me is death.
Am I a piece of fiction, expression, reality it is for soul to decide... As I am similarly clueless.
Being mass-less makes me invisible to the world of living or as we call it, the soul world. Much like thought, like imagination, like numbers, I am there, but at same time I am not.
My body isn’t corporal, it doesn’t exist, but I can picture my attributes, sometimes I imagine myself being as a looming shadow, other times I take shape of a serpent, sometimes even mould myself into an image of an illuminating swift, yet currently I am in human interpretation of me.
My body speaks of nothing but dead, cloak darker than night, those spidery fingers; scythe resting on my shoulder, recovering from a recent onslaught. The hood usually covers my face, but behind the shade I imagine myself being quite handsome, having raven dark, long hair and eyes equally as appealing. Everything settled on pale, thin aristocratic body.
Currently I am sitting on run-down hut, accompanied by my followers, the crows. Out of all living souls those clever, dark birds seem to notice me. It might be my imagination, like the Nature suggested, as well as it can be reality.
I take pleasure in their company, their lustrous plumage, intelligent eyes, and structured hierarchy. Most of my time I take the pleasure of just sitting down near areas that are bitter and cold, such as Alaska, and observe them with highest interest.
My aunt, Nature, said that crows were one of her favourite inventions. I could not question her comment.
With my feathered friends, on one regular, yet grey, day in Constantinople, we took observing of some fiery affair. It featured three men belonging to Byzantine army which had recently noticed that their third company was a traitor, a two-faced Slav spy that worked against their wish.
"Ve biz size güvenilir inanmak!" Shirked one working for Byzantine, dagger held firmly by his hand. He tried to find Slav who was hiding in the ruins of the suburban areas.
Slav's name was Lech, and I instantly knew it meant cunning.
Being death has some advantages, I have a first sit to get to see most emotional scenes human nature can display, and this gift comes with an add-on which is ability to know names of everyone.
Lech looked miserable, his sandy hair had stuck to his forehead and eyes were wide with terror. I observed him with mild interest, deciding who was the good one and the bad one in this situation. Wish that life was this easy, with only two distinguishable sides and a definitive good.
Two members of army inspected corners and nooks of the dump; Lech was surrounded, but had an advantage of invisibility thanks to his cover in shade.
I bit my upper lip and rested head on my palm, Life or Luck weren't seen around, so I presume Lech is going to die. Resentful taste invaded my gullet; he was a young man, aged below twenty. I hated welcoming individuals like him.
Crows tensed and so did I when the two attackers located Lech helplessly clinging to the dark, with weapons out they slowly strode to his hiding place, their shadows loomed over the rickety structures that once were used for a living.
Assailants leaped into his direction, ready to stab, squash, maim and kill but Lech was quicker. The situation lasted less than seconds, as he whisked a weapon from the one, and slashed the blade against others torso, astounded Byzantine page took a bit too long to realise what was going on and with slight delay longed at Lech. Slav was waiting for that move and with one agile manoeuvre jabbed at his heart. And it was over; a man called Arda joined my bidding. Lech looked at the falling body, then faced attacker with slashed chest, who was now searching for a support from a neighbouring wall, it was tricky as his desperate eyes were glaring at the scarlet wound.
Lech immediately dropped the weapon and fled, leaving bleeding man, named Tarek, helpless.
Tarek's fate was decided. I kneeled as his body started to roll down the barrier leaving a bloody trail behind. My imaginary hands held his; I counted his last heartbeats, last impulses. Last breath left Tarek and so did I, as now he was in company of crows.
My hood found its spot over my head and I walked down the cool hallway which was hiding its nooks from merciless, cold sun. I walked in ghastly silence, just like the one that appears before the storm; but I waited for The Call to move over me and whisk into another death defined scenario.
Betrayal, Lie, Deception hissed the air; it was a nerve shredding sound, filled with both pleasure and anger. I stopped my pacing and looked around to spot the source of the phenomena. Thing that caught my interest was that it wasn't soul made; it came from my reality. As soon as I recognised it I hurriedly grabbed my scythe, hung it over the shoulder and with dynamic jog speeded down the alley.
My imaginary heart pounded, if it is what I this it is, I am doomed. Doomed as death could be.
I tried to put my mind away from the darkest scenarios, so I focused on my feelings towards the freshest death, I didn't know what circulated me, grief or anger. When in fear one instinctually goes to a group, for coverage or a support. Low hum of commotion, the fishmongers trying to sell fish, the carpet makers showing their crafts, kids laughing from some dull play they made out of scraps of litter, summoned me. My insides thought that arriving into a highly populated place will bring my redemption.
With head hanging low I finally entered the soul trading place, my eyes focused on them committing to their normal business. Somewhere two traders were fighting verbally for asparagus price, some homeless begged for funds, children tried to sell polluted water. They won't see me, they won't feel me, but their massless factors, like imagination or thought, will unconsciously sense me. They would feel anxiety, tinge of fear, and feeling of loss.
But that wasn’t my freedom and the eerie, directionless hiss hung in the air of my existence, like Dracula over the prey.
Treachery, Sell-out, Sin... Sin... Air purred again and my press on the scythe hardened. I knew Sin. He, much like me, Life, Nature or such was a massless. He called himself the expression of wrong doings and pleasure, brother of Love, the most cruel of all massless. Death knew about his existence, but never came face to face, and never would want to. Sin was hideous, dangerous, lying, well shall we say... a sinful being; or non-being that is.
Then I stopped, no need to hide now, he was there.
With determination drawn on my face and air held in the gut I slowly turned to face the stalker and the whisperer.
Sin, but massless used to call him Crux, was the symbol of all wrongdoings. Now standing in front of the falling sun, in a public, crowded place; blocking the life giving light. And like angel he looked, those dark wings, were not as beautiful as those of a crow, but nevertheless, dark and shiny and imperial; the torn toga was partly covering his body, sloping down to the ground as if coming from some Greek God; and those striking features on his face, capped with the long, lustrous, blonde/white hair. He was much taller than me. Crux might have looked like dream, if not his hideous red devil eyes.
"Long time, no see. Death." He starts the conversation, and his voice was luscious and illuminating with pleasure, crafted with lies. I did not reply I just stood there, bending my cloaked body on dark, wooden weapon I owned. "I looked forward to seeing you more repeatedly, death; I had a notion of sin and murder often accompanying each other."
My lips remained sealed like closed envelope, they will open only to the ones addressed, and Sin has no address.
Crux bends lower, to eye me, my dark glared into this red, hideous composition.
It is said that death breaks people apart, I must disagree, it is sin really; death is just a not-so-common side effect. Most of the deaths aren't caused by sin, most common are the natural deaths from disasters, illnesses, old age or accidents, but those driven by wrong doing are the most unpleasant ones I had witnessed. Not to say there’s no glory in death, as there are also noble deaths, but those are as rare like flowers blooming in winter... not impossible, but not common.
"Today was quite a scenario was it?" Crux pointed out eagerly. “Boring and usual example of the betrayal." He sighed at retrospection. "And it resulted in you, haven't it, death?"
Yes, but the sinner fled and attackers died. Murder is never justified and never would be that is maybe why it falls into hands of sin and, unfortunately, me.
"Hey, Death, Responde, Responde!" Crux was fuming, the he blinks as if realising something staring him in the face. He laughs with one syllable and chants. "U cannot believe it. You are afraid! You, great and powerful threat for all the souls and it withers and fears someone as me?"
"I am not afraid." I boomed, Crux smirked, he wanted me to talk and I accomplished his desire. The tongue travelled to the back of my mouth, I will not play his game and utter another word.
"Yes, why should you be? Death the greatest pain of them all doesn't have to fear anything?" Crux sneered; this grimace looked preposterous on his angelic face, almost out of place, almost devilish. It occurred to me that the Sin likes to cover its real nature with luscious and appealing facade.
"Death isn't the greatest pain there can be..." I remark, when the tongue sneaks back up, I wished I stayed silent.
Crux's face stiffens, his red eyes gleam with fire they remind me windows to hell. I can sense displeasure literally cracking the air, and I know that sinful thoughts and images flash in minds of people we are near. That’s our life and that’s our job to observe and influence the spirits around us.
The argument over the asparagus had broken into open fight. The other one snapped and hit another into face, successfully cracking the nose. Sin is behind this, he was the one to spark the aggression, now he’s looking as the domino pieces are falling together with sneer on his face. The damaged one longed for revenge and seized puncher, hot blooded eyewitnesses join to the skirmish; women with children cried, running into areas of safety. Pillows were being ripped, carpets on displays moulded, man were so intensely focused on pain they had forgotten it was over something simple, like price of an asparagus. Crux smiles seeing the discord his presence caused.
"What's worse than you?" He finally asks me, and I know the answer, it was him, the sin. The commotion round us turns mute and we stare at each other. I kept my tongue, unsure what my comment might spark, seeing the outburst he caused currently, I didn't wanted to risk and add logs to fire.
"Pain." I figured out an alternative.
"Pain?" Crux arched his thread-thin, white eyebrow.
"Yeah, pain of lose, physical pain, anything that causes discomfort."
Crux has nothing to add, but I do. "You are pain to me." And soon as it came out, I wished it didn't.
He jerks his head aggressively in my direction, "What is that supposed to mean?!"
"N-N-N-Nothing." I hesitate and lie.
Fable, BackBite, Lie the hissing sounds were emitted from something that seemed to be Crux skin, they sounded like legion of hungering snakes.
"Pain to you!" Crux exploded. "I would cause a real pain to you!"
The silly battalion behind us transformed into head-on bloodshed, chairs, and tables smashed heads and cracked bones, open wounds created blood falls that watered dried ground. And I ignored it all, as entire my attention was focused on Crux the Sin as he drew sharp, silver sword out.
I replicated his move, and my loyal scythe was set to the fight.
Crux was the one to make the first move, he used swift but powerful motion to my left, and I easily blocked it with handle, but the impulse threw me off balance. Devil noted my discomfort and struck again, this time it was direct jab.
I managed to spin out of view and use the momentum of twirl to fuel my slash. Crux wasn't prepared and the blade missed him by inches. We don't feel pain, but we know what it is like, which is the same thing.
He has this advantage of being furious; his hits are aimed and desired, while the movements fluid and strong. He keeps attacking me and I am barely catching up to block him. Sparks fly from collisions of instruments, people storm through us and we storm through them. I spin my scythe and with butt of the wood smack down at his ribcage. He coils himself, arms at place where he was smacked, eyes slanted, heavy breaths escaping wounded massless.
"You're fine?" I ask sounding worried.
Crux smirks, and then with sudden jerk he plants his blade goes straight through my abdomen. I can feel the metal piercing my flesh, serving veins and devastating organs. I shriek and fall on my knees.
Wound prickled as if set of burning coals was puncturing my body. I could feel blood flowing in streams and sweat rolling onto my forehead. Of course nothing following happened, my wound practically didn't exist and I myself was unable to bleed, but I know the pain, I was there with people were dying in similar way; they shared that feeling with me and I have ability to recall the pain in such situations.
The awful feeling of being holed, of your organs slashed, of sword withdrawing. I thought nothing but of pain, and begged for death like people do. My hands cover the lower set of my body and I grit my teeth so hard I feel them moving under the pressure. Crux laughs, and slowly walks away from my panting body. But I won't let this bastard go, my mind focuses on revenge rather than on agony and I find myself running towards him, my scythe up.
The weapon emits a light swish sound when cutting through nonexistent air, Crux doesn't even have time to react when blade whips his torso. His shout is a banshee.
Run, I decide, further from him further from trouble.
The trading plaza is still in havoc, but I leave it with relief. Quickly swishing through shady labyrinth of walls, I cannot think about anything but Crux. My first encounter was definitively a bad encounter. When I move into another dead end, I just press myself to the wall, cover in darkness and wait, breathing heavily.
The chest moving up and down in erratic fashion and I almost choke myself.
An echoing words bounce of the walls and trigger my nerves. I clutch to my knees, if it is Crux I have no chances of escaping. He is furious and wounded, and will not stop himself from cutting me into pieces.
But it's a happy song, weird but happy, echoing though the shadows. I manage to grasp some of the words.
Moving over shadows a thing grim,
Obscure and scary as it seem.
Little Death, why not grin?
How was frequent battle been?
I smile as soon as I recognise the voice, even laugh slightly.
"Shadow, shut it!" My voice equally lined with amusement and annoyance. We massless have ability to talk to the elements, I can communicate with any abiotic factor like thunder, water, wind, even shadow. Elements are much like us, but unlike us they are visible for souls, non-living, but visible nevertheless. I can sense darkest parts of the shadow stirring behind me. A shadow signifies mystery, much like me, because you can't see through it.
Shadow giggles and faces me; he is an outline of an animal, raccoon currently. I can see his shadow striped tail silhouette.
"How was death doing today?" Asked the shadow, its voice was mysterious and constantly echoing.
"I haven't experienced such a rush of adrenaline in a decade." I pointed out.
Shadow giggled and spun above my head, laughing manically and childishly.
"Why won't you go someplace else?" He proposed.
"I am just waiting for that." And I started to sense calmest of the places.
As death I cannot pick where I can go, I can only get summoned to place of frequent or a forthcoming death. The more historical or emotional death is it makes the summoning stronger than other, and sometimes it is hard to withdraw from it. Thanks to it I had seen all the legendary deaths.
I call it the call.
I focused on some random call and waited for it to summon me, further away from Crux and this horrid place, the better.
The Shadow fidgeted.
"Leaving me so soon?" He asked.
I wanted to answer but the call had already summoned me.
Like raven I flew above trees, mountains, passing serpentine rivers, twisting like silver threads. Then darkness, my existence pushed me down to the ground, inside a rocky tube, and then a sudden stop.
My body found itself in narrow, circular vent; I was in the well, meters below the ground, slightly above water, which was dark and hideous in the shadow.
The feeling of being trapped in small spaces discomforted me, I clutched to myself and tried to fight urge to panic. I suffered from something souls call claustrophobia.
Water below me splashed and vibrated, hissing and howling, as it was shyest of the elements. Because of the darkness I could barely see a small figure struggling to keep above liquid, its huge, desperate eyes flashed in the black.
His name was Harmon, and was seven, Latvian. Foolishness pushed him down the well, fear and desperation of survival erased this frequent memory. The water was cold and desirably dragging him down.
Human soul minds are wonderful things, kudos Nature, they can be sorted and focused during casual situations, but when something drastically takes a turn their instincts take over, leaving them equal to their inferiors, the animals.
Harmon tried to grasp to the walls of the well, as he wasn't good swimmer himself, but to his misfortune the unreachable ladder of survival was wet and so slippery.
I silently support him, even try to raise his little head and hold above the water level, but I am invisible, untouchable, my efforts are fruitless. In my entire, eternal life I haven't seen a miracle, but that doesn't stop me from trying to get it happening.
"Jāmēģina." I encouraged him.
He stopped struggle, looked around but noted nothing. I cannot speak to people, or communicate with animals (crows are unproved exception), but in some desperate situations the world of living can clearly note my presence, too bad there’s no one to spread the word after the conversation.
"Kas tur ir?" Harmon whispers, his voice quiet and wobbling.
"Tas man." I reply to him, indicating that he currently speaks to me.
"Nāve?" My name is spoken and I nod. As a death I purse the world, feel feelings other feel, see things some cannot, and always have a sneak-peek from life of my victims, it's like their biography in nutshell. I feel like I know everybody better than everyone else does, to me Harmon feels like friend I had for eternity.
Silence lingers, I can hear laughs and chants coming from the shadows, and mumbles of the water, but it is still there, the silence, it is deathly.
"Harmon..." I mutter to him, pressing palm on his shoulder, which was colder and wetter than his murderer.
"Ja, Nāve." He replies, his flaccid legs turning stationery.
"Jāmēģina." Keep trying, I repeat, knowing that his hopes already changed into vapour.
Harmon stared at me, he could see me. Our eyes meet, for a while, because his eyes became blank. With rigid legs, frozen body and empty mind, his body slowly was consumed by dark, waters delirious arms as they coiled around him. I couldn't stand to look longer, with closed eyes I climbed out of the well.
Sun ran over my skeletal body, exposing every feature.
I found myself in quiet, green village. Handmade houses lined foot-pressed ground; trees provided shade for farm workers, sweaty and tired, half sleeping. It looked heavenly. I spotted a dark haired boy, with age similar to that of Harmon, he dragged old man and cried quickly and impatiently. I could make out one word, or name in his hasty speech. "Harmon"
So close to survival that young one was, unfortunately I was quicker.
Jerking my head, I stormed off to different direction, towards some yellowish fields.
Tall, swift grass swayed lightly on the wind; birds fluttered, sometimes diving to grasp insect or anything they feed on; from somewhere pair of giggles, cherish and welcoming, came. Call tried to drag me to more eventful place, but I tried to resist it, I struggled, and after time, it left me.
Somewhere in my chest I had a pulsing thing, which beats like heart, but far faster. It's my fatality-counter, which pumps each time something leaves world of living. I named it counter, but Nature suggested better name, a meter.
Meter pounded fairly slowly today, even found rhythmical tempo that composed some eerie beat.
Call pushed me backwards again, summoning to some another devastating event, but I tried to snap out of it, I had consumed my dose of pain already.
Another push, this time it was strong enough to bring me down to the ground. I clutched to the solid and tried to resist the call, it ran down me like a gale, but I was rebellious. After moments of struggle it left me, I was waiting on ground patiently deciding if rising would do any good. Welcoming giggles sounded again in the near distance, they were like catalyst and pushed me stronger than call of death.
To my sight came two girls, dressed in sturdy, moulded dresses. Their awful covers haven’t hidden their faces, illuminating with pure joy.
Something like smile crawled up my face, it felt weird and out of place, but I enjoyed it.
One girl was ginger, her face freckled and spoke of nothing but farm, her name reflected looks, for so she was named Ginger. Second one wore name of Violet, but her hair haven't matched that colour. One thing that bonded them together was ecstasy, and strong thread of friendship. Sensation unknown to me. It had taken me minutes to work out what cheered them, when I moved my eyes upwards I noted pair of colourful materials sailing the azure.
Those were called puki, the kites.
All wore colour of stained yellow, but were decorated with pigments and light flowers. Colourful tail of small scraps of clothes followed zooming objects, that spun and rolled like fish do in ocean or birds on wind.
I couldn't stop looking; their spirals and twists were close to hypnotising. Then I noted something that moved under floating materials, turgid with blowing air. It was wind, a slight silhouette of dragonfly arousing air currents, and he had a companion.
Eyes closed and opened few times, wondering if the thing I see is real, or real in my reality. I had never seen massless as stunning as her, I never had seen this massless before.
She played with air current, coiling around kites. She was like feather on the wind, white and delicate. Reminding me of white dove from saint stories. Her massless posture were those of human, sleek and graceful, but back covered with pure, pillowy feathers. Eyes calmingly pink and hair red as fire. She, much to my despise, had pair of silvery wings attached to her furry back.
Wind and posture danced around each other, while pair of children directing kites sat down and looked almost at nothingness. The cherish mood had washed when I stepped a bit closer.
Wind flapped its wings and with disbelief gazed, white posture spun down to children, her red hair leaving fiery trail behind. She slammed on the ground and covered soul children with her wings, as if protecting, from me.
"You dare to hurt them..." Winged massless hissed, her voice lined with hater, but light as dream. "I won't stop myself from hurting you."
I just stared at her, my mouth slightly open. Not knowing why, I felt embarrassment and fear, but different type of fear, fear of her leaving.
Colour washed from soul faces, their thoughts sensed me. Two girls were now thinking about death, but their worry was protected by wings of massless I yet not know.
"Who are you?" I ask, feeling stupid, staring conversation with question.
"I am something foreign to death." She hissed, mockery in her tone made me grin. I opened my mouth to reply, but children started to speak.
"Ja kaut kas notiktu." Started Violet. If something would happen. "Jūs tur?" Would you be there?
Ginger nodded, "Uz visiem laikiem, un vienmēr..." forever and always.
"Vienmēr un uz visiem laikiem," Violet mouthed, always and forever.
We both stared at two child souls. Combination of me being here, and her being as well, resulted with something new, eternal bond of loveable friendship. Now I knew who stood in front of me, the white dove, symbol of love. Silence stretched forever, wind was lingering above our heads, waiting for something.
"My name is Amor." She muttered, "Commonly known as love."
"While mine is Mort." I added, "Massless of death."
She titled her head like pigeon, then opened her wings defensively and hissed aggressively. "Go away."
I tried to speak, but she shrieked crazily "Go Away, Go Away, GO AWAY!"
Each shout louder and crazier than previous. I hesitated, almost tripped over when withdrawing.
I allowed for call to summon me somewhere, and before I knew everything turned into blur, Amor's face fresh in my imagination, enhanced by my thoughts, still lingering. I wished I could stay there a little longer, wondering if I looked like coward in front of her. Guilt pressing my chest and crushing shattered emotions. I tried to hijack call, change its course so I would land next to Amor again. I missed her, our encounter seemed too short. It all felt new and weird, but I liked it.