Page 18 of At The End There Was You

“You know. You just know.”

“I just know,” he repeated, holding her hostage for one minute longer before stepping back and handing her the book. “What did you find out?”

With a shaky hand, she reached and took the book from Azriel, and then sat on the furthest spot from his. “The book spoke about folk tales detailing a few moments from Death’s life which nothing else does. All books regard him as he is to be regarded—a God. They speak of him in exaltation and fear and humility, none go in detail of what sort of God he is, or even as a person. As humans, we’ve settled that dying is of course bad. But what of the dark God? What does he think of his gift? How would we know his anger when we know nothing of him at all. Nothing relating to him showing any emotion, whether anger, happiness, sadness. I asked a few of the other priestesses if they’d ever heard folk tales about Death because I had never. My mother never—" She stopped as if she had caught herself and looked up at him. Azriel did not give her the reassurance she needed, but she continued past her slip up, “No one ever told me tales, especially about Death. Everyone tells me they serve no purpose. Few of the girls said the cooks or the merchants coming in and out of the Sanctum might know a few since they are older, so I rushed to catch them when they were delivering to the kitchens this morning.”

“And? Did they sate your curiosity?”

“A little. A few stories here and there. I was hoping you could sate it some more,” she said carefully.

“Why would I do that?”

“You’re a Mage and all Mages serve him, you ought to know some. Besides, we have one purpose in this.”

“Do we?”

She hesitated, blinking a little taken aback at him. “Yes.”

A smirk rose on his face at her perplexed expression. “If we had the same purpose, Winter, you would slit my throat before the days are up. But I’ll indulge you.”

Hopefulness filled her eyes until the black of her pupils ate around the amber of her irises. “You will?”

He nodded.

Excitement coloured Winter’s face with patches of red that offered the most inconvenient distraction for Azriel because he really wanted to concentrate on what she was going to say. “What can you tell me first?”

“How about a tale told by a man who’d escaped him?”

She gathered herself tightly. “Will I be able to sleep tonight?”

“You can always join me, if you can’t.”

Winter gaped at him and then glared until he smiled again. “The tale you were about to tell?”

He stretched back in his seat. “At the gates of Asphodel, the realm of Death, roamed the three headed serpents. The past, the future, and the present. Each one of them asks a question to whoever crosses to the land of the dead. Once you answer them, they point you to the last fate a human soul meets—the afterlife. Hell, heaven or the lost in between.”

“I thought that was his duty.”

“His duty is to preserve the afterlife, not dictate it. He is merely a keeper.”

“What happened to that man who escaped him?”

“A man showed at the gates, he had been a shepherd. Not young. Not old. Lived a boring life. Harmed no fly and wished no ill. When the three headed serpent asked him what he had been, what he was and what he would be, the man told them he did not know because he truly did not know. He’d only ever been what they’d asked him to be. Born the son of a shepherd and a housewife, being a shepherd was all he knew and all that had ever been told to him. Terrified of what that meant for him, afraid that fates would deem his life a waste and sentence him to hell, he fled back.”

“How could one flee from Asphodel?”

“Death let him and warned him of a cost.”

Winter’s eyes widened. “Why did he let him in the first place?”

Azriel was lost in his thoughts for a moment. “I wouldn’t know, Winter. Truly, I have not one clue. But he let the man return. Do you know what the man did when he returned to the land of the living?”

She picked on the skin of her fingers as she thought about it. “Searched for answers, chased after a dream or two. Found out who he was so he could have an answer for the serpent.”

“Of a sort, but not exactly. The man went to the big city, chased excitement of all sorts, gave himself a shot at hobbies and meeting new people, even felt like he could fall in love again.”

“Again? Who was he in love with?”

“He was already in love with the life he’d lived. After days of wandering worse than a haunted ghost, he returned to his village, to his dog and his elderly parents, and to being a shepherd. Without realising, he’d lived the richest life any man could ever live. Out in the wild, under blue skies and the radiant sun, with two parents who had raised him with love and adoration, who’d taught him to love back and be kind. He’d never been cold at night, he’d always had a shoulder to cry on, he’d never felt helpless or alone.”