Death Stalks

Sarah Ashwood  
 

“What? What's that you say?

You wish to know why, ofttimes when we are alone or in the gloom of evening or the dark of the night, chills creep down our spine bidding us glance over our shoulders to see what may be behind?”

The ancient Wise Woman glanced about the circle of children gathered at her feet, eager not so much to imbibe her wisdom but deliciously frighten themselves with an unnerving, bloodcurdling tale. Their fervent nods told her all she needed to know, but even as she assented by launching into her story she planned to give them far more than that for which they'd bargained.

“You have heard of Aglenta, no? The beautiful fairy queen of the wood, whose power causes the plants to grow, the trees to thrust their tops toward the sky, and the flowers to lift their bright faces? You have heard of her beauty, yes, a beauty surpassing the sunset sky, coupled with an ethereal radiance eclipsing the moon and stars in the heavens.

“You have heard also,” she continued, “the tales of Death. Of Death personified as a skeletal creature clad in a tattered black robe, wielding a tall scythe with which he harvests the spirits of men from their flesh. Perhaps you imagine, as many of the old tales suggest, that such a creature is invisible but real, and one day you will see him--in that half-second before he harvests your spirit.

“Well, my young ones, I am here to tell you it is not so.”

At this decisive pronouncement, more than one youngster, although still curious over the connection between the legendary Aglenta and mythical personification of Death, breathed a sigh of relief.

“The truth is, in fact, far direr.”

Instantly, relaxed spines stiffened. Drooping ears pricked up, and the attention of all was firmly fixed upon the Wise Woman.

“Death is not one creature, sent from the Underworld to harvest spirits,” she affirmed. “Rather, Death is a host of beings who lurk in serpent fangs and beasts' claws; in men's grudges, hatred, jealousy, avarice, and greed; in the breaking of an axle or the stumbling of an ox; in the dregs of drink and the folly of drunkenness; in the sting of a blade, the blow of an axe, or the rough hemp of a noose; in a stroke of lightning or the speed of a cyclone; in ocean tempests, in disease, in misfortunate, and in all manner of means by which all things living meet their ends.

“Death stalks, stalks us one and all. Death wishes nothing more than to devour, for in devouring Death feeds itself, spawning other like beings to prosper its purposes.”

Properly frightened, her youthful listeners were now uncomfortably aware of the encroaching night, of the thick stands of trees enclosing them, and of the pall breath of evening air. Ghostly chills crept up spines, and involuntary glances were cast over shoulders.

“Every day Death consumes countless victims, and once Death had grown so powerful during a year of drought and famine that it thought to stalk Aglenta herself. We know,” she clarified, “that the fey ones are immortal: more powerful than Death itself. Wisely, Death leaves the fey to themselves, but in this year the diminishing of the forest equated, in Deaths' mind, to the diminishing of Aglenta's powers. Now, it resolved, it would strike--and finally mortality would conqueror the immortal.

“So, one fateful evening, while Aglenta glided through her forest in the lonely gloaming, communing with her ill, but by no means perishing, realm, Death stalked her. With the senses of the fey, far surpassing those of mankind, Algenta perceived her danger, though she knew not her foe. Strived as she might to cast off her fears as unreasoning and frivolous, knowing 'nothing could possibly be out there' and 'nothing exists in the darkness that lacks in the daylight,' something told Aglenta she must return home, to the heart of her forest, where amid her fey kin Death and danger dared not pursue.

“Faster and a little faster she walked. Death, gathering its minions, slid from tree to tree, bush to boulder, and stone to log. Millions gathered, filling the air with an electrifying tension that sent chills up and down Aglenta's spine. Never before had she felt unsafe in her own dominion. Never before had the fine hair on her flesh stiffened with an awareness of impending doom. Never before had she suffered the odd desire to turn and look over her shoulder. Fiercely, she fought her fears, little realizing she was fighting the true and honest warnings of her fey senses. She told herself to cease being asinine, to crush these harebrained and harelike doubts and fears.

“However, as Aglenta's fears grew, so did Deaths' strength. Finally, overpowered by an unprecedented surge of panic, Aglenta took to her heels and began to run. The heart of the forest lay not far ahead; could she reach it? Death was determined she would not. A final, desperate chance on Deaths' part: summoning those gathered millions it burst from the forest in a wave of voracious, exultant, jubilant malevolence. At that fatal instant, a lightning strike in time before Death touched and consumed her, Aglenta succumbed to the strange pressure compelling her--and glanced back over her shoulder to look.

“Even Death in its millions had no power against the Queen of the Fey when she turned those eyes of power upon it. Instantly, Aglenta saw and grasped Deaths' threat. From those emerald eyes blasted all the ageless strength of the forest, combined with the indomitable forces of nature and the full magic of feykind. In that blast of light and magic Death was consumed by the tens of thousands. Any who survived fell away, shrieking in pain, tormented and scarred beyond recognition.”

The Wise Woman paused her monologue, studying the fire-lit, animated faced of her listeners. “Aglenta's mighty blow did more than drive back her foes, however. Since that day, my young ones, a portion of the senses that forewarned her have been transmitted to all mankind as well as feykind. A gift from Aglenta? We may never know. Nevertheless, now you do know why, oft times when we are alone or in the gloom of evening or the dark of the night, chills creep down our spine bidding us glance over our shoulders to see what may be behind.

“Now you also know,” she summarized, “the vast importance of succumbing to those strange portents. Death stalks, and sometimes only that backwards glance that meets and acknowledges the danger--even if it is invisible and we see nothing--saves our lives.

“Now, leave me,” she commanded, not unkindly, slumping down onto her seat and wrapping her frayed cloak firmly about her frail form. “But as you journey home through the forest, keep close to one another. Remember Aglenta's example, for at all times…death stalks.” 

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Sarah’s first book, a volume of poetry titled A Minstrel's Musings, was published by Cyberwizard Productions in April 2009.  In 2010, Sarah’s Young Adult fantasy novel, Knight’s Rebirth, will also be published by Cyberwizard Productions. Sarah’s western-fantasy short story, Twenty-Two, has been selected to appear in a Best of 2008 anthology published by The Lorelei Signal; it will be available later this year. Along with her cousin, Carol Green, Sarah is co-editor of the fantasy ezine, Moon Drenched Fables. For more information, visit www.sarahashwood.homestead.com.