Maroz 1 - Death Comes

Death will come, riding on a black horse to swallow the world in his shadow. They and he of the five will bind together and the sixth will defeat the darkness.

Jeck Henly took pride in keeping his little house clean, which included sweeping any leaves from the pathway from his house. He was an old man and had long since retired as a bookkeeper, so keeping his place neat was as much of a way to pass time, as a care for cleanliness. As the wind picked up it lifted the cap from his balding head and he reached up to grab it before it got away. Placing the hat back on tightly, Jeck went back to sweeping as if it had never happened. It was almost a game to him; a sense of stubbornness, that he would out last the wind that day and when the wind finally died away he felt a growing satisfaction as he swept the remaining leaves from the stone path. Half way down the path he stopped with a curious wonder as the sky to the west looked as if it was noon, which it was, but the sky above him looked as if it was dusk. There was not a cloud in the sky, yet the day continued to grow darker though the sun should still be high. Others were noticing the strangeness as well and they stopped what they were doing to look around in a curious fashion, and soon every eye became fastened on the eastern sky, its near pitch dark crawling toward them.

Within a few hours the village was covered in darkness as if it was night and every person had a lamp and was outside talking to one another giving their opinions of what was happening. “The moon had moved to block the sun”. No, it was not the right time or year for that. “The sun had gone out like in the stories of Maryth and his adventures.” No, they could still see the sun shining just a short distance to the west. The ideas came and were promptly pushed away as common sense took over; still they could not come up with a reasonable answer for what was happening.

Jeck rubbed his chin for a moment before deciding on one fact. He would trust his instinct and get away. He was an elemental, though be it a very weak one, and very few knew of it. Nonetheless his ability was in spirit and he had long ago learned to trust his feelings when they grabbed at his stomach even half as strong as he felt them now. Not only was something not right, something was dreadfully wrong, and he could feel it in his core. The few he tried to tell only laughed at him, accusing him of being afraid of the dark, so he ignored them as he went inside and packed quickly. They should know better than to ignore his warnings! Did he not warn them to bring their crops in early two years ago before a swarm of locust destroyed them? Did he not warn them not to go out to sea to fish on the dreadful day last summer, before rough waters took three boats? Twice they have ignored his feelings and twice they had paid dearly and still they laugh at him again! Wrapping his gnarled fingers around his sack he lifted it over his shoulder and went back outside.

The others were now joking about the strange shadow covering their town and a few laughed as he walked with his bag to the stables and saddled his horse ‘Clops’. More joined in with jaunts of their own as he rode out of the barn and out of town, but he ignored them every inch of the way. The western ground rose steadily for a hundred paces and he was just topping the rise when he heard a distant scream behind him. Turning Clops around, Jeck watched in horror as small winged creatures began attacking the people. The creatures had legs and arms like humans with wings of bats. The people were screaming as they ran from them or tried in vain to fight them, but there were too many, far too many to fight. Where someone would fall, the creatures would converge on them and moments later would be off again looking for their next victim, leaving behind them a scattering of flesh wrought bones. Writhes with their ghostly cloaks were there as well, snatching the souls out of the dying and living, the death hounds attacking any souls trying to get away. Lamps were turned over or smashed, the flames spreading quickly through the village creating a hellish background to all of the chaos. Yet, out of this entire unbelievably nightmarish scene, it was not the fire or the people dying or the winged beasts or writhes that attracted Jeck’s eye, but the rider that seemed to go untouched. A man in a dark cloak riding on a black horse moved slowly among the carnage, surveying the handiwork; his cloak swirling around as if caught up by a breeze when there was none. He and his black horse moved right through heavy flames and neither rider nor horse ever showed any sign of noticing.

Suddenly the rider’s head swung to look in Jeck’s direction and a thin pasty white hand lifted and pointed at him. Some of the winged creatures turned and started to fly towards him but it took Jeck a moment to move, for it was difficult to tear his eyes away from the dark clad stranger.

Spinning Clops around he dug his heels into the horse’s ribs and rushed away and as he sped on, the darkness slowly began to give away to light but behind him he could hear the flapping of the wings gaining on him quickly. The darkness was fading still but too slowly he thought. He would never make it to the light in time.

“Darn my blasted curiosity!” Jeck said to his horse. “I had to stop and watch didn’t I Clops? Now I might be ripped to shreds just like all the others!”

As the creatures came closer he started to hear more than just their wings. They began to utter words at him in thin scratchy voices, though whatever it was that they were saying, he didn’t understand a word. They were speaking in a language that sounded harsh and foreign to any he had ever heard before.

Urging Clops for more speed, Jeck began to fear the worst when he realized the wings were no longer getting closer, but were only keeping pace and then a moment later began to fall back. Risking a look behind him as he sped away he could see the creatures hovering at what must have been their limit, their hands clenching and loosening as if upset he had gotten away. One of the creatures that tried to continue after him began to scream, just for an instant, before it exploded into a cloud of dust. Pulling Clops to a halt, Jeck sat his saddle and watched them for a moment before realizing they were not hovering but they were moving slowly towards him. Their speed seemed coincided with that of the shadow he sat at the edge of.

The air near the flying creatures began to blur for a moment, then a larger beast stepped out of the air to stand amongst them. Though this one did not fly, its body was heavily muscled with thick arteries showing through its leathery skin.

"That one ‘Clops’”, Jeck had a habit of speaking to his horse like it was his best friend. “Would have pulled our limbs off without any help from his friends.” Jeck spoke the words quietly as if afraid to hear them himself.

Realizing the shadow was now moving faster than it had when it first hit his village; Jeck decided he had best keep moving. There would be villages ahead of him that would need to be warned if they would listen. He was sure they would not listen but he would give them that chance anyway. As he turned Clops to the west, he could hear the larger beast shout from behind him. Again he didn’t recognize the language but somehow he knew what the words meant as if they had been uttered in the spirit just so he would understand. “You cannot run from Death!”

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