Winter Moon: A Banshee's Tale

Chapter 7

"What?" Unlike her, I never know when someone is going to die. Even with her, it may be hours, days, or even months, unless they saw her, in which case, it wouldn't be over a day or two. With me, however, the time to our next meeting is never of consequence, and of course, everyone and everything must meet me before the end. Even so, the girl yet looked hale, if a little underfed, last I saw her. Admittedly, it was months ago, but even so, this was unexpected.

"She heard me." This time, it was an accusation loud and clear.

"You cannot be certain?"

"I saw her when I was out today...crying. That's when she heard me."

It's not that I didn't trust my companion, but you must admit, in a town where so many people are in some form of mourning or the other, it would have been hard to tell who the girl heard for certain. "But she could have heard anyone cry."

"No! I am sure, why won't you trust me?" She sighed. "I was the only one around apart from those kids. And she followed in my general direction. She even asked her friends if they heard, but they didn't. Not one of them, and there were three."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Not that I could truly mean it when her death is inevitable, as is everyone's, but I did mean to offer what little comfort I could. I'm not all that certain I succeeded. Perhaps you could ask her, and maybe she will deign to tell.

"You spoke of guardian angels. What use is an angel if she's dead?"

"You speak although she is dead already; she is not."

"But she will be! We should have left her alone. You should have left her alone." It was entirely possible this did not portend the girl's death, but I attempted to offer her a hug nonetheless, hoping it might comfort her as it had a few days prior; she turned away. The silence engulfed us once more; for a while, it was clear she had nothing more to say, and that she would listen to nothing I said either. Nightmares are hardly anything of consequence to the dead when their entire existence was the substance of one, but both of us greeted the morning with a lighter heart nonetheless, and it was nearly dawn when she spoke again. "I thought about what you said... about Aoife and guardian angels. Do you think I should talk to her?"

"I will not point you either way, child, but do you remember what we spoke of when you first came with me?" Children like my companion, or more accurately, the ones who die young but play a role like mine thereafter, are not ones I take into my service out of cruelty or boredom; I offer them a choice, one far kinder than the circumstances that led them to me.

"To speak the truth, not really. The years are a haze, as you well know. I do not know if I would prefer it otherwise. What is it you refer to?" A little wren fluttered its way past us, trilling a merry tune.

"You wished to warn the others, should the time of their death draw near, so they may find the closure you wished for yourself." The alternative, of course, was a peaceful rest before another life, if they chose to have one. You would think that a peaceful rest would be the best choice, though perhaps some may call the former the more noble of the two. I, though, can tell you this choice is made more often from gut-wrenching pain and anger; nobility is hardly the foremost thought when one is dying. After all, I bring the inevitability of truth, and few indeed are of noble make in this world.

"It might have been easier had I not, but that was a promise, wasn't it?" She looked back at me ruefully.

"It was," I said. "But holding a conversation was never a part of the deal. Your wail is considered warning enough, as it has been for all those before you, and so it will be for those that follow. Should you choose to speak, however, I will not stop you."