Page 1 of A Waltz with Lord Death
Chapter 1
Europe 1346
Tall grass passed by as he moved through the darkness with silent nimbleness. The breeze stilled, shying away from his movements. Shin-high black boots brushed against long green reeds, which promptly wallowed away into dried, crispy brown foliage as the color leached out of them.
A trail of wispy darkness followed in his wake, consuming, claiming. Pink flowers shriveled into unrecognizable clumps, each petal falling to the dry ground. In the form of three hounds, the wisps reached and clawed their way over the terrain, beasts begging to be unleashed upon the earth. He called them back before they ventured into the field of corn and snuffed out the life like a candle flame desperate for air. They were reluctant, on the edge of disobedience.
He could not keep them leashed for long.
Finally, he reached the quaint farmhouse. A light flickered through the window as two silhouettes passed one way, and then the other way. The farmhouse was the only sign of civilization for a mile, situated beside vast fields of corn, potatoes, and sunflowers. Shutters were cracked from age, graying wood gasping for air as if on the brink of suffocation.
The poor condition was not his fault at least.
His heart pounded against his ribcage like a prisoner begging to be freed from a dank dungeon. With trepidation in each step, he continued toward the farmhouse. Pushing away every thought of darkness, he struggled to pull thoughts of warmth into his mind, doing his best to bring forth the power of Life sitting dormant in his soul—a power he was not meant to wield, but had no choice in the matter.
The laughter of children.
Sunshine after a week of heavy rain.
A meadow filled with flowers springing with life.
Muffled voices escaped through the closed door. Frantic. Premature grieving. He threw the door open. A swift breeze entered in his wake. Two of three gazes darted in his direction. Tears drowned one woman’s face in sorrow. The thick set of eyebrows of the man next to her pulled together.
“I must not have locked the door,” the man said as he moved in his direction. He stepped aside and briefly watched the man close the door and return to his place beside a bed, one occupied by a twelve-year-old boy tossing and turning and thrashing. Sweat adhered to every inch of the boy’s skin, his clothing clinging to the last thread of life within him.
The boy mumbled incoherently, his eyes closed tight.
“My baby,” the woman cried, replacing the damp cloth on his forehead.
Only a minute left now. He could do this.
Happy thoughts.
He took one step forward—dog wagging its tail as it sloshed through mud.
He took two steps forward—learning of an inheritance after years of poverty.
He took three steps forward—the first bloom of spring after a long, hard winter.
Never once did he take his gaze off the boy. The thrashing continued, but slower now. Happy, warm thoughts filled his mind, and he took one last raspy breath as he stood at the head of the bed, everyone oblivious to his presence. He placed his hand on top of the boy’s burning forehead.
But instead of breathing life into the boy, his dark power seeped within the boy’s soul and pulled. The remaining thread snapped, and the boy stilled. His final breath left his lungs.
“Derick!” the mother cried, shaking the boy’s still shoulders. “No. No! My baby!”
She turned into the father’s embrace and wept into his chest, all while he watched with a numb expression. He’d seen threads snapped before, too numerous to count. But this one…
He stared down at his hands, the rough surfaces only capable of destruction.
True, genuine fear gripped him as his black, wispy shadows slithered over his feet and across uneven wooden floorboards. They bounced and rolled with the joy of claiming another soul. Life’s power had not worked for him when his own power waxed so strongly.
Horrified over what was soon to come, Lord Death turned his attention to the boy’s grieving family.Everything I touch dies.
Chapter 2
Rumbling thunder rolled across the sky. Gray clouds stretched endlessly from one horizon to the other. A bolt of lightning flashed across the landscape and illuminated the flower garden outside. A light sprinkle of rain pattered against the window pane, followed by a tumultuous downpour.
The heavy rain obscuring her view, Meira Abrams opened the window, wincing when the fierce wind ripped the panels from her fingers and slammed them against either side of the wall.
