Snippets of Writing

2.

The light had faded from the sky. He heard a sigh on the moaning wind as he knelt on the ground with tears in his eyes. As the snowflakes covered his fallen brothers, he would say his last goodbye.

Night was now falling, and yet there he remained. So ends this day, he thought numbly. As will all others. The road was now calling to him, and he wanted to away - under cloud and beneath the stars, to see the snow on a winter's morn, to turn to paths that led to - to home. To escape his grief. But he felt a nagging feeling, as if he had not finished his tribute to his brothers-in-arms. To his brother, who lay still in the palace while he shirked the duty of avenging him.

His head snapped up as he heard a sound behind him. No, not a sound - more like, like the absence of a sound. The hollowness created by a pocket of silence in a living world. He turned to see a figure standing behind him, taller than any man could be. It was humanoid and cloaked in robes of black - but they weren't robes. They were shadows, living and writhing. In its hand, it held a scythe with a terrible blade, the only thing on it that didn't absorb all light.

And Death spoke to him. Yᴏᴜ ɢʀɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ.

Panic filled him as he fell to the ground trying to stand and bow. "Y-yes. I do."

Wʜᴏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ? Death cocked its head to the side. He could see no expression under the hood. I ʀᴇᴀᴘ, ʙᴜᴛ I ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʜᴏ I ʀᴇᴀᴘ.

"They- they were my brothers," he said hollowly. "My brothers-in-arms..."

Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ, Death affirmed. I ʀᴇᴀᴘᴇᴅ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇғɪᴇʟᴅ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Mᴀssᴀᴄʀᴇ.

"Yes," he said bitterly. "Yes, you did."

I ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴛ ғᴀᴜʟᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ, Death thundered. Iᴛ ɪs Lɪғᴇ's ᴅᴜᴛʏ ᴛᴏ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴍɪɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴏɴᴡᴀʀᴅ. Yᴏᴜ, ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ, sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪs.

"No," he whispered. "No. I am not - I am not a reaper."

Bᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ, Death said. Hᴏᴡ ᴍᴀɴʏ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴛ ғᴏʟᴋ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ, Bʟᴀᴄᴋᴛʜᴏʀɴ? Hᴏᴡ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴡᴏᴍᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ?

"No!" he said. "I- I want to heal," he whispered. "Healing. I wish to forget them - forget what I have done, forget this - this pain."

Yᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀɪɴ ɪs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ, Death said, sounding amused.

"I wish to forget it," he insisted. "You are the god of endings - can you not end my pain?"

Death was silent for some time. Then he spoke. I ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴇɴᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴ, he said. Fᴏʀ I ᴄᴀɴ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴇɴᴅ ʟɪғᴇ. Pᴀɪɴ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʙsᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏғ ʟɪғᴇ. Oɴʟʏ Lɪғᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴇɴᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴ.

"Then how can I end my pain?" he begged. "Please, I want you to take it from me." He glanced at the neat row of graves. Each one of them - lighteyes, all of them - had died under his command, died because of his lack of prowess as a leader. Each had been his friend.

Tʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ, Death said after thinking long and hard.

"Tell me," he said. "Tell me."

Iᴛ ɪs ᴅɪғғɪᴄᴜʟᴛ.

"I care not!"

Death nodded its great head. Oᴠᴇʀ ʜɪʟʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʀᴇᴇ, ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʟᴀɴᴅs ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴀs sʜᴏɴᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙʏ sɪʟᴠᴇʀ sᴛʀᴇᴀᴍs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴀ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴀ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ. A ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀs ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀs. Tʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀʟʟ ʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ Nɪɢʜᴛᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇʀ, ғᴏʀ sʜᴇ ɪs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘs ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs ʀᴇᴀʟᴍ.

"Tell me more," he said eagerly.

Sʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ sᴇᴇᴋ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀʟsᴏ ᴀ ᴘᴜɴɪsʜᴍᴇɴᴛ.

"I will seek her," he whispered. "I will - I will forget." He glanced at the graves, then closed his eyes and thought of his wife, his beautiful wife, and her laughter, and her singing. And of his two sons.

Death glanced over its shoulder. I ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʏ, it said. And the world around him started to live again.

Dalinar Kholin rose to his feet and wiped away his tears. He turned to the rows of graves, then to the east, where Kholinar loomed. "I bid you all a very find farewell," he whispered.

Now he knew what he had to do.

songfic based on billy boyd's "the last goodbye"
and brandon sanderson's "stormlight archive series"