The Death Walker

The Rebellion

It is said that when we die, we meet Death himself in the Abyss. He then offers us a choice; either we may die peacefully or be reincarnated as something else, a creature that holds horror stories in their name. To become a being that walks by Death, that consumes souls to survive—to be reincarnated as a Death Walker.

I don't remember the grim face of Death when I died. I don't even remember being given such a choice to be reincarnated. In fact, I have no memory at all of the time before I was reincarnated. My wife, Landrileth, has helped me piece it together somewhat, but I've never remembered marrying her, or even having our son. I also don't remember what it's like to eat, to feel another's warmth, to feel an itch on my skin or the fatigue of illness. All I've ever felt is a need to consume souls.

However, as a Death Walker, I have had glimpses of who I was when I was human. My red eyes allow me to see visions in flames—visions of which are often vague, and hardly show me anything, but they're all I've ever had to knowing what a normal life was once like. These flames allow me not simply to see visions but also to feel them, to experience a dream-like moment of a time far gone. They have shown me many things, revealing to me many lives and experiences others had within the flames. However, I can never know if these visions are true or if the events have taken place in the past or future. They are like stories read to me from a book. Stories with few facts and fewer details. Stories that I have told some others within my village, particularly to my son.

We travel down the path, past more burning homes, past more dead and injured. Villagers eye me as I walk by them, giving scowls of contempt as if this is all my fault. I try to ignore them as I arrive where our measly army of rebels band together at the Mid-Home. The building of which is not even scratched. I shake my head nearly disappointed. We have lived beneath the oppressive feet of the gods for many years. Wieldstone has been ruled by several gods over the centuries until most recently Raider took over at the end of the War. We have had to pay nearly all our coin and minerals to avoid suffering beneath his wrath—or rather, as Raider now likes to put it, paying for his protection. And now everyone is homeless, without coin, and broken whilst the Masters here live in this luxurious mansion.

For some reason the Sacratyr who attack us and pillage our people never come to the home of the Masters. They avoid it like a plague, almost as if they have some honour or respect for the elderly. Since the Masters are the ones who gather our coin and moonstone for taxing, maybe it is them who are lying about the tales of the gods' oppression, taking portions of our resources and hard work, providing the rest to the Sacratyr so that they are the ones who are truly protected while the rest of us suffer.

Such justice, I think. If only I could run from this decrepit town.

But where would I go? I don't know the land of Gahalamore. And as a kerek what village or town would take me in? Instead, I'd likely be killed, or enslaved at best by some god. The only chance I'd have would be to keep running forever, which is not a life that I want to live. The best for me, as far as I know, is to stay here and free the people of Wieldstone. Only once Raider is dead, I will I be able to live as I please.

I take a moment to turn back to the frightened men and women who stand before the great building, waiting to seek revenge for their families. The numbers are few. We had lost so much more than I thought. Closing my eyes, I enter the warm dark home. Lanterns suspend without array, shining upon polished shadowy wood, lighting the abode untouched from the outside light. A warm fire in a cauldron glows softly at the back end of the room, its rising smoke escaping through the stone chimney above. A map is displayed on the table with a rough outline of Raider's kingdom Oracuse. It has two gleaming towers atop, a cliff with many other buildings, and a wall that encompasses its entirety. Surrounding the table, seven red robed Masters argue to each other, shouting time to time at trainer Mcrary.