Followed by Fros(13)

Fear clawed at me as I began my slow slog north. My knees stiffened with it. If I could even find a wizard, who was to say he would not laugh at my plight, worsen it, or even kill me?

A new layer of gooseflesh ran up my back and down my arms, each bump burning with cold. What if Mordan had fled north, to his own kind? How much more pain would he rain down upon me should we reunite?

But Mordan had come to Euwan for a reason. I concluded he had run from the wizards the same way he had run from me, so onward I trekked.

Yet I had not forgotten the previous night’s visitor. Several times in my journey I glanced over my shoulder, searching for that tall, cloaked silhouette, but Death did not follow me. There was, in that, some sense of relief. The cold that afflicted me was unbearable, but I feared death, and determined then that, even alone, I would survive. I didn’t know how, but I would live.

I ate my breakfast as I climbed hill after wooded hill, careful to wrap the dried meat in my spare chemise before lifting it to my lips, trying to keep it as soft as possible. Somewhere in the shadow of the storm clouds that followed me, an owl hooted and took flight, the cold having awoken it from its slumber.

During a rest I pulled off my shoes with inflexible fingers to study my frozen feet. The skin over my heels had begun to crack. I wept as I traced my fingertips over the splits. I had no oils or salves to rub into the flesh. I had not thought to bring any. Again I recited the harsh words I had prepared for Mordan, and when that failed to offer me comfort, I scripted a speech for all those in Euwan who had abandoned me. Not even Ashlen had come to say good-bye.

The cracks in my feet marked only the beginning of my ailments. I learned quickly enough that, were I not careful, my own urine would freeze to me when I relieved myself. I could not bathe without the water—no matter how swift the river’s current—hardening around me. And, no matter where I fled, Death was never far behind.

He appeared on the opposite bank of the river two days after his last visit, strolling as casually as if he were within the walls of his own home. I did not notice him at first, but when I did, I startled. Acting on instinct, I ran in the opposite direction, darting through forest and thicket. Thorns caught on the skirt of my dress and tore it, but I did not slow. The clouds above me shifted, always keeping me in their shadow, and a chilled wind pushed at my back.

I didn’t stop until I reached a small glade, a flock of blackbirds springing skyward at my arrival. As I leaned against a birch tree, gasping for air, the trunk quickly frosted beneath my touch.

Death appeared before me, smiling as though the chase had never happened. Then again, I doubted Death had chased me at all, only waited for me to stop.

“I assume that’s a yes,” he said, lifting the rim of his broad hat.

I held my stomach, sucking in gulps of air. “T-To what?” I couldn’t be sure if the stutter came from the constant chattering of my teeth or from the fear that roiled in my gut like bubbling iron.

He tilted his head. “That you are afraid of me.”

“Of course I am!” I shouted, turning back the way I had come. I moved as quickly as my sore feet could carry me, trying to keep the trees between us. “Everyone is afraid of death!”

He materialized before me again, effortless. I stopped so suddenly I fell backward, landing hard on my tailbone. I winced at the impact but picked myself up, gripping the strap of my schoolbag.

“Not everyone,” he said, for once appearing more thoughtful than amused. He studied me once more. “Sadriel.”

I backed away from him, my eyes wide.

He took a step forward, but only one, allowing me my space. “My name,” he clarified. “Sadriel.”

I laughed, a single, mirthless expelling of air. “Death has a name?”

“He has many,” he said, those vibrant, amber eyes glinting.

I took a moment to catch my breath before asking, “What do you want? Why are you here again?”

That smile returned. “To pay my respects, of course.”

He took the hat off his head and bowed deeply, flourishing his cloak. His long, dark auburn hair fell in thick waves over each shoulder.

I backed away another step.

Death—Sadriel—straightened and replaced the hat atop his head. “You are queen of the forest now, empress of the wild.” He grinned. “You have been at it for days!”

“So you’ve come to mock me,” I spat.

“Has no one else?” he asked, glancing about the glade. “But that’s right—there is no one else.”

Those few words crushed my anger to crumbs, and a wintry breeze stole them away from me, leaving me with nothing but my emptiness. But I refused to cry again.

Sadriel stepped forward. This time I did not move.

“My offer stands,” he said. “I can help you.”

The smile returned to his lips, and he got down on one knee and opened his arms to me. “Come with me, Smitha.”

My hands began to throb from their tight grip on my bag, but I didn’t loosen them. “To be queen of hell?”

He barked a laugh. “I’d have none to rule beside me, Smitha. Certainly not a mortal, however obscured your mortality might be. But I could make you free.”

I frowned and forced half-frozen spit down my throat. “Would I have to die?” I whispered, shocked to hear the question pass my lips. Still, I pressed on. “I would, wouldn’t I?”