Death, A Flower and Hope

The sky above where the man stood and waited was pure black. All the stars had been swallowed already by the growing cancer in the center of the void. Death’s egg loomed large, encircled by rings of bright light which it was slowly drinking up to plunge the world into darkness. He stood on the white marble of the heavens Palace, both of his hands rested on the pommel of his sword while the tip had been thrust into the stone. He had known this had been coming, this calamity, but everything in him still had a hard time believing it was real.

With the sound of her footsteps approaching, with the telltale sound of metal dragging against stone echoing after them, he knew that he'd do anything and everything to stop how prophecy had seen this playing out.

“Move Johan.” She rasped as the footsteps stopped below him.

Her voice was strained, raw. A far cry from the gentle rumble that reverberated throughout his fondest memories.

“I can’t let you do this, Dona.” His voice cracked over his nickname for her.

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I know.”

He took a deep breath and with a swift tug pulled his sword out of the marble and turned to face her. For a moment, in the dying light of the universe, he saw her as she had been when they’d first met. Her long black hair tied into a complicated pattern of interlacing braids held in place with feather pins and detailed metal bird claws. Her lips tilted at the corners into playful smirks and dripping with endearing sarcasm. Her eyes were bright golden suns of joy, strength and hope. Her broad shoulders and strong back standing tall against the evils of the world. She was a bastion of warmth and humanity.

The form before him on the stairs was far from the glowing vessel he’d once asked to marry him. Her hair was down and matted with dirt and blood, it was an impenetrable bramble of shadows that hung around her pale face. Her strong features were sharpened and hardened by the curse she’d been forced to endure, twisting all the small planes of happiness into anger and pain. Her lips scowled, teeth gritted, her eyes were black pools that begged him to move. She was a shell of herself, an emptiness radiated from her just like the egg in the sky. She seemed to absorb the light around her.

“Belladona,” he breathed as his heart trembled at the sight of her, “let me take this from you. Let me do this. It doesn’t have to be you.”

She leaned heavily on the massive great-sword that had been passed down her family for this singular purpose. To slay the incarnate Death and free the world from her scourge.

“You know that's not true,” she wheezed as she closed her eyes.

The curse of Death had been hers since she’d been a child but it hadn’t begun to change her until a few years ago.

She was a princess of a long living people who had once been protectors of life and honor, but had suffered a terrible curse which had ravished their kingdom and turned everyone but the royal family to stone. She’d only been a child then, and had dedicated her life to roaming their world in the name of honor and justice until the day she could find a way to cure her people. They’d met on a warm summers night, he could never forget it.

She’d been invited to his kingdom's summer solstice festivities as she had every solstice since her kingdom had fallen, however this was the first time she’d ever attended.

She’d been the center of his world since the moment she’d walked into the ballroom. Her people were a head taller and stronger than his, it was hard not to find her in a room full of people. Not only was she large, but her personality occupied its own space. She was loud, quick to laugh, witty and more striking than a sunset after a rainstorm. She’d been the center of attention that night, and the palace was abuzz with conversation about her the next few days afterwards. He hadn’t gotten a chance to meet her formally that night, or if he was being honest with himself, he’d avoided her. What could he say to her that was worth her hearing?

He’d been wandering the gardens one night, trying to pace out his frustrations, when she’d stumbled upon him and the rut he’d dug into the ground with his dragging feet. Her eyes had practically danced with humor as she gently teased him about the garden work, and he’d stumbled over himself to reply both literally and figuratively. Their relationship blossomed into its own garden after that night. She stayed longer at the palace than either of them realized, and it wasn’t until winter had passed and summer came along again that the world began to cry out for her protection once again. He wanted nothing more than to travel with her, to fight by her side and strive to find solutions to her problems with her but his duty forbade it. He was the crown prince, after all.

He had his people to think about.

Summers and winters passed, she visited as much as she could. Every time he saw her black war horse trudging through the cobbled streets of his city his heart soared. They spent every waking minute together, he cherished their time together and he knew she did too. One warm summers night, he invited her to the same spot in the garden where they’d first met and proposed to her. She cried in his arms under the stars, she wanted to, more than anything she wanted to make a life with him here, in the garden, in his palace with his people. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She would take the ring, however, and wear it until she’d brought her people back. And then she’d come find him and say yes, no matter what state she found him in or where.

He could see the ring reflected in the dying light, a bright green emerald clutched in tiny, delicate bird claws. The symbols of her people. His throat tightened the same way it did when she didn’t come back. When she disappeared for years without a single word or letter. His world had gotten dark then. Every day seemed to be filled with grey skies and rain. He learned to continue on, he trudged through his fathers funeral, his coronation, through the growing reports of cultists in his countryside and monsters ravaging the outer villages. A sage had warned him of the coming calamity; the physical birth and dominion of the Goddess of Death and the prophecy about the last princess of that doomed people defeating Death at the cost of her own life.

He prepared every day after that. He gathered his armies, his intelligence, every single scrap of information he could on Death, her cult, and her curse on his beloved’s people. When the stars began to wink out, and when the ground had cracked, and the world of the Gods and mortals had phased into one horrible amalgamation, he’d known exactly where to go.

It was the first time in years that he’d seen her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he took a step down towards her.

Her eyes flew open, confusion and sadness pooled in their dark depths before she drew herself up and with great effort she hefted her sword up.

“Not another step, love. Please. Think of your people.”

“I am,” he assured her, “and yours. Your tired, dearest, look, your sword is trembling. You can barely hold yourself up. Let me help you.”

She stood defiant for a moment as her expression shifted between exhaustion to anger to sadness and back again. He thought she was going to refuse but, with a loud clatter, the sword fell from her arms and she collapsed to her knees with a groan. His sword was quickly discarded alongside hers as he rushed down the stairs to hold her before she completely collapsed. She barely weighted anything, the curse had so thoroughly sapped her strength to prevent her from carrying out her fate and killing Death. He lifted her with a disturbing ease and carried her to the top of the stairs where he gently propped her up against the remains of a shattered pillar.

Her eyes fluttered open as she whispered, “my love?”

“I’m here,” he assured her as he swept some hair from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. He took one of her calloused hands and kissed the bruised and cracked skin of her knuckles. “I’m here.”

Tears began to well up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, carving lines into the dirt that caked her skin.

“Hey, no, hey” he shuffled closer to her and tried to wipe her tears away with his thumbs as he cupped her face, “it’s going to be okay, okay?”

She sucked in a breath and choked a little, “I’m sorry. I should be the one. This burden is mine to carry.”

Tears stung his own eyes as he gazed into the face of the woman who’d been so willing to carry the whole world and its problems that she’d never put herself first a day in her life.

“Never be sorry for this,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead against hers, “it’s my honor. It’s been my honor to love you, and to know you. To see you smile and dance. To see you cry and worry. I have loved every single second with you, and I will take all that love with me to my last moments.”

She shook her head as her body was wracked with sobs. Her arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders, he could feel her tremble at the effort and felt himself start to sob. Death had taken so much from her. He slid his arms under hers and around her to hold her close. He breathed in the dusty smell of her hair and buried his face into the skin of her neck.

There it was. The smell of roses and iron. The smell of her.

He knew she’d passed out when her arms went limp around him and slid to the floor. He gave her one last squeeze and pulled away to wipe away his own tears.

“Look after both of our people, okay? For me?” He whispered to her before he pressed one last kiss to her forehead.

With a shaking breath he stood and headed back to the stairs for the great-sword. It was heavier than any weapon he was used to, but he’d only need one good swing. One good swing to cleave the egg in half and send Death back to her own realm for eternity. He lifted it with a grunt and rested the flat of the blade against his shoulder as he climbed the stairs again and towards the bridge that led to the growing egg. The bridge had been shattered, its pieces lay floating and scattered in space, suspended by whatever strange magic now permeated their world. He took a deep breath and then took a running jump.

He never looked back at Beladona, he knew if he did his weakness would overtake him and he’d stay with her until Death took them all. He would sit beside her and hold her hand as the universe fell into the maw of darkness. But at least they’d be together. He landed with a grunt and ran down the length of the piece until he had to jump to the next floating section. Instead of focusing on her sleeping form, he thought of her bravery and her fire and prayed to whatever gods remained that they would give him just a fraction of it to see this through.

His legs burned with the effort and the cold by the time he’d reached the last piece of the bridge. The air had turned icy cold, and frost had begun to creep across his clothing and skin. Holding the sword was an intense kind of pain as the metal grew colder and colder. It was like gripping the very heart of an ice storm. He stared at the giant, wriggling mass a few feet from him that continued to gorge itself on the last shreds of light. He took a deep breath and called out,

“I am Johan Toldren the Seventh! King of Yorn and lover of your curse bearer! Death, behold her courage in me and tremble! You’ve slaughtered thousands of innocent people, you’ve thrown our world into chaos and you’ve brought your wretched stench to my doorstep” The longer he shouted, the angrier he got, "but worst of all, you’re the source of all of her pain and guilt and that alone is enough for me to slay you.”

The thing began to chuckle, a sound that rattled his mind and drove him to his knees.

Who are you, worm, that you threaten me? I am Death, see me and despair.

Johan gritted his teeth and stood, “Begone shade of grief! I have known love deeper than you could imagine in your wildest dreams, I have loved my people and been loved by them! I have felt the quiet calmness of a summer's day. I have been known and loved by the fiercest, most wonderful woman to ever grace existence.”

He took a deep breath and poised to leap, “I am their hope!”

He jumped just as the last drops of light were consumed.

***

Beladona sighed as sunlight warmed her. The balcony was her favorite place to be, to bask in the light and let it chase away all the cold shadows that occasionally clouded her mind. A soft knock drew her attention to her personal scribe, who took a hesitant step out onto the balcony with a few sheets of paper in her hand.

“The reports you asked for, your highness.”

“Ah yes, thank you Lorual. How’s the reconstruction efforts coming along?”

The scribe pushed up her glasses with a smile, “swimmingly your highness. The upper regions of your kingdom are coming together and the palace at Yorn is almost complete.”

“Thank you, I’ll be down for the meeting with the councilors in a few minutes.”

“Yes, you’re highness.” She bowed and left the Queen alone on the balcony.

Beladona let out a heavy sigh and looked up at the sun with a small smile.

“Well, my love, I'm trying my best. I hope you’re proud of me.” She hesitated as the smile trembled and slipped, “I miss you,” she added quietly.

She quickly left the balcony before the light could see her tears. The sun burned a little brighter for the rest of that month to remind her how proud he was of her and how much he loved her.