Stronger than Bone (10 page)

(Present Day: 237 Cycles into the Light)

Men moved out of his way; far out of his way, as he walked the road. There was an undeniable darkness about him now. Death took long, easy strides toward his destination. He could feel each man’s fear as he approached, and he relished it. He felt more powerful than ever.

At each village he sought out a drunk or a cripple in the shadows. They were the people nobody saw, but who saw everything. He inquired about his target, but as expected, there was no new information. No matter. He had all the time in the world. He reached up and ran his hands over the textured skin of his new hat. It was the finest hat he had made so far, and he made many hats.
“Perhaps it is the burned skin
,” he mused.

As twilight approached, he knew he was getting closer to the priest’s cottage. Looking about, he found a suitable spot and waited. It was uncomfortable and cold in the damp and shadowy spot he picked, but he paid it no mind. He did not need or want comfort. He needed the priest. He needed to renew the power of the runes that could bring him back to life again. He wanted to resume his hunt for Hayes, the man who forced him into this Hell of an existence, but he needed blood. Blood, is what was necessary: fresh blood.

An hour or two after night fell, he found what he was waiting for. A boy, no more than fourteen was hurrying home along the road. Death sensed no fear coming from him, and although it was disappointing, it did not matter.

The lad was not afraid to be out in the dark, and for good reason. The young man had been visiting a girl, and it wasn’t just any girl. She was the girl he had admired for his whole life! He had finally worked up the courage to talk to Nevah, the townie girl with long blonde hair and soft red lips, and he had spent the rest of the afternoon talking and laughing with her and gazing into her blue eyes. He was returning home in absolute elation, and reliving the moments in his mind with each step.

Death waited until the boy was nearly to his hiding spot and stepped into the road. Unable to stop, he ran headlong into the towering figure.

“Holy cripes!” the young man yelled as he fought to get free from the powerful arms that were suddenly wrapping around him. “No! Get off of me!” he shouted as he struggled.

Death said nothing as he constricted the boy with his long, sinewy arms. The struggling stopped when the boy’s ribs began to break with a sickening crunch. The youth whimpered for a moment and then lost consciousness. The sound of bones breaking was also the sign to stop squeezing. Death needed this boy alive during the ritual after all.

He hefted the boy up and over his shoulder. The unconscious youth whimpered again as his broken ribs rubbed against each other. Death turned towards the priests cottage once again and began walking unhurriedly, taking long steady strides toward peace of mind and immortality.

It was nearly midnight when he knocked heavily on the priest’s door.

The priest must have been awake because he came immediately to the door and opened it slightly. He peered out at the tall stranger and the body slung over his shoulder and immediately tried to shut the door. Death pushed the toe of one huge boot into the threshold, blocking the door from closing and said, “A blood rite. That is what I seek.” And he pulled his boot back, giving the priest the power to close the door again if he chose to. The priest hesitated, looking up at the questionable hat atop Death’s head and then back to his scarred face. He narrowed his eyes and they glazed over for a moment before he opened the door wider and stepped aside to let Death enter.

The interior of the cottage was rather mundane, and for a moment Death wondered if he hadn’t been tricked about this holy man’s true nature. He was rumored to use black magic, specifically blood magic, and the villagers for many miles professed to be afraid of him. The priest led him farther inside and opened a hidden door in the floor leading down into something different all together. He followed the old man down the steps into a hidden chamber.

“Now this is blood magic,”
thought Death. He recognized the runes drawn on the walls and floor. Red candles were lit all around the room, and also at each point of a pentagram which was drawn on the floor in what appeared to be blackened blood. Death could smell the decay and raw dark power coming from this place. His own runes began burning hot under his clothes.

“What rite is it that you seek?” the priest asked as he peered suspiciously at the being in his basement.

In answer, Death dropped the boy and removed his own shirt exposing the runes tattooed on his body.

The priest’s eyes widened and he stepped closer. “Rebirth!” And then he looked up at Death and asked, “How many times have you been reborn?” He walked around the taller man, inspecting him with undisguised interest as he waited for a response.

There wasn’t one.

Death waited silently and simply stared at the priest with hard cold eyes.

“Give me your name then, please. I need your name to perform the ritual,” said the priest.

“Men call me Death,” he said in a gravelly voice.

“Men can call you whatever they like, but your TRUE name is required for this rite!” the priest shouted with authority as he looked up at Death and stared into his eyes. “I am not the small man you think you see before you, giant. I have been a drinker of blood and its power for over one hundred years. I know what it is that you seek, and here you can find it, but first you must give me your name.”

There was a long pause as Death weighed the words and the tone they were spoken in. Finally, he said, “Daniel, my name was Daniel Szerimi.”

“Bring the boy over here, near the tub,” the priest ordered. “Now remove the rest of your clothes and…whatever it is you’ve put on top of your head, and kneel in the center of the pentagram.”

Death did as he was commanded, taking special care to lay his hat down without wrinkling it, and knelt on the stone floor. The last thing he remembered was the priest’s low chanting and the pungent odor of fresh blood. Then there was nothing but darkness.

(Present Day: 237 Cycles into the Light)

Kelly opened the wooden box suspiciously. It wasn’t like his sister to send him gifts without an occasion. He didn’t believe she would ever cause him harm, but someone who did wish him ill may very well send something in her name to catch him off guard. There were those who were jealous of his many talents. He reasoned that there were also many women who probably harbored ill will when he declined their advances, or did not make advances of his own.

He was relieved to see a note stuck to the inside of the lid that was fixed with his sister’s own green seal. Before reading the sealed message he lifted the gift, a golden quill, from the box. It was exquisite. Beneath it, there was a single word etched into the wooden box.

“Mightier”

Kelly looked up and rolled his eyes, sighing. His sister and her jibes…

“Well, let’s see what dear sis has to say, shall we?” he said to no one. He replaced the quill and picked up the sealed letter. He opened it and stood silent for many minutes reading and re-reading it. A deep frown creased his brow as he pondered the importance of this message. Suddenly he came to his senses and walked stiffly to the fireplace. He stoked the fire and tossed the letter in, letting the flames consume the worrisome message.

“Sergeant Lynn Hayes…I should have known
.”

That afternoon, Kelly employed a flourish of style and charm, directed entirely to the ladies of the court, as he strode into the reception hall. Although he was old enough to be a grandfather, he had earned a reputation over the years as something of a lady’s man. His prowess with the sword was not his greatest skill, it was said. He was not disappointed by the smiles and flirtatious glances he received as he made his way toward the empty throne of King Lawrence.

“Master of Swords,” acknowledged the High Priest, Percival Oglefurth, who was holding court in the King’s stead. His voice was nasally and monotone, which made for some very long and tedious sermons. On the occasions Kelly was obliged to attend, he usually fell asleep. Kelly made a grand show of bowing, but only slightly before the head of the King’s church. He felt no loyalty or love for the man, and it irked him that this charlatan was holding court as if he were royalty and not just a puppet.

“High Priest,” Kelly replied with an icy smile. Having completed the required formality expected at court, Kelly turned his back on the priest and set out to find more interesting conversation.

“His Lordship, Duke Dennison!” shouted the herald from the other end of the hall. All eyes turned to see the Duke and his footman enter. They were followed closely by six of the Duke’s own guards. The Duke scowled as he walked swiftly toward the throne dais, his boot heels striking the marble floor with more force than necessary. Apparently, having all eyes on him wasn’t enough. He needed them all to hear him approaching as well. It was as if he thought he could assert his authority by sheer force of boots to stone.

When he reached the dais he stopped and looked around, pretending surprise that the King was not on his throne.

“Duke Dennison,” said the High Priest, acknowledging his presence.

The Duke ignored protocol by not acknowledging the priest’s position, and simply said, “I’m here at the King’s request. When can I see him?”

“Your Lordship is here at MY request,” said the priest.

Duke Dennison raised an eyebrow at that.

“I assure you the King is well, but will not be seeing you today. You will join me for dinner this evening, of course. We must discuss a pressing matter. Perhaps we will see about getting you an audience with his Grace tomorrow."

Kelly watched the exchange with interest. He also watched the Duke’s footman for his reaction, and was surprised to see how stoic the man remained. He showed absolutely no emotion or surprise.

“Very well,” said the Duke. “Dinner tonight then,” and with that he turned and left.

Kelly, turned back to the courtesan he had been chatting with and smiled. She really was beautiful. She was a wealthy widow, with a delightful accent and captivating green eyes. It only took a few seconds before he forgot all about the Duke and the message from his sister.

That night at dinner, Kelly was delighted with his luck! He was seated between two of the most beautiful women in the banquet hall. The green eyed woman he had been flirting with earlier in the day sat on his right, and an exotic woman with brown, almond shaped eyes sat on his left. He took a moment to appreciate this work of divine providence and unmistakable hand of lady justice in his placement. Even when Duke Dennison entered the hall and took his seat opposite of the Master of Swords, his spirits did not waiver.

Kelly nearly let out a surprised yelp when the green eyed Lady rested her hand on his leg under the table. She smiled innocently and looked about, as if she was merely observing the other guests.

“Duke Dennison,” the priest said loudly to get everyone’s attention. “I trust your quarters and this feast are to your liking?”

“As always, I feel…at home within these walls,” he replied. “As for the fare, I have little appetite knowing our King is not well enough to join us, but thank you just the same.”

Kelly noticed the emphasis placed on “at home” and the borderline treasonous admission that the King was ill. The Lady was still distracting him though, and he was having trouble concentrating on the politics playing out before him. He knew it was important that he try, so he leaned forward in his chair and redoubled his efforts to pay attention.

“The King dines in his chambers at his discretion. I assure you he is quite well. Perhaps he simply dislikes the company?” The priest fired back.

The Duke gave an icy glare before standing and storming out of the hall.

“This is fantastic!” Kelly thought aloud, although he spoke the words softly enough that only those sitting next to him could hear. “We are served dinner and a show!” He didn’t even try to hide his pleasure at the turn of events. He sat back in his chair and let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. “I believe this night is going to be one I will remember for a long, long time.”

The beautiful, green eyed Lady gave his leg firm squeezes after he said that, and he wished for the meal to be over soon.

Later that evening, Kelly was whistling as he lit candles and waited for the Lady to arrive. He felt like a schoolboy waiting in secret to kiss a girl for the first time. He began smiling so widely that he wasn’t able to whistle. That made him smile even more.

He looked about the room and decided it was perfect. An extremely masculine portrait hung on the wall over the lit fireplace, swords and armor adorned the walls, and candles filled the empty spaces with soft light. He had fruit and wine in plentiful portions set on tables, and also next to the bed. The bed was dressed with fresh linen and plush blankets.

A knock sounded at the door. It was a soft knocking, most likely made by a soft hand. Kelly casually walked to the door and opened it. His breath caught in his throat and he stood frozen for an instant before stepping aside to let her in. She was wrapped in a luxurious fur overcoat, but her feet were bare and her hair was down, leaving no question as to her intentions. She stepped into the chamber silently, and let the overcoat slip off of her shoulders and crumple to the floor.

The next morning Kelly awoke and opened his eyes to see his bed empty. He sat up and looked about, and then fell back against the soft pillows laughing to himself. “I am a King,” he whispered as he remembered the highlights of the previous night. Raising himself out of bed, he began to get dressed. As he sat on the edge of his bed he noticed a peculiar difference to his room. Something was missing from the table against the far wall.
“My box!”
he thought.
“My sister’s gift has been taken.”

He began to realize why the events of the night before had seemed a little too good to be true. He breathed a very heavy sigh of relief that he burned the note Lady Evelynn had hidden within the box. Unfortunately, the theft indicated that some knowledge, or at least suspicion, was already present.

A moment later he was smiling again. Whoever employed the beautiful Lady to take his box had only succeeded at gifting him with a wonderful experience. Nothing untoward could be associated with the box and gift inside, and that made him look innocent.

He began whistling as he finished getting dressed.
“I think some exercise in the ring before breakfast is in order,”
he thought. He was feeling young again and virile. Why not make the most of it and see how well he could still handle a sword
. “If last night was any indication…”
and suddenly he couldn’t whistle again for his smile.