Thane

The scent was what alerted him to her presence. Chandler went on guard, but did not broadcast his new status to the world, allowing only silver eyes to scan the area for signs of life beyond his own. The scent was faint and barely there - it was possible that he'd just found a place she'd been through in the recent past, but Chandler never risked his life on possibilities. Either she was here or she wasn't and that was all. She had to be here.

Chandler unsnapped the knife at his thigh and pulled it free, reversing the blade so that it pointed to the ground. He walked slowly along the path he'd been going when the smell hit. Under his breath, he began the children's poem of whose subject was near.

"First the howls of hounds to call
Next the cries of babes to all
Silence reigns in the path of Thane
Spread by those horribly sane.

The Blight, it's called
The Afflicted be walled
'til flesh to bone and bone to ash!
Only pain and death be near
Now that old Thane, doth appear."

There was the clucking of a tongue and she stepped out of the shadows, tall and clad all in black.

"And the devil-woman approacheth. What business have you, Thane?" Chandler asked her, keeping the knife low against his leg.

She smiled and he felt his dinner push up from his stomach. "Hello, Chandler. Beautiful night, isn't it?"

His nose wrinkled. "Turning a bit sour, actually. What command do you have for me this time?"

"You don't have to ask like that...I think I've been quite nice to you. I've never asked you to do anything any worse than you've already done, have I? And I've given you this, haven't I?" Thane held up a small glass vial full of red liquid that looked black in the night.

Chandler's heart thumped harder at the very sight of it. His throat went dry and before he could stop himself, his hand reached up toward it. A twist of her fingers and the vial had vanished, spirited into one of her many pockets.

Thane clucked her tongue again and shook her head. "We've been through this enough times that you know I never pay without services rendered."

Chandler bowed his hand and knew he was bought, yet again. "Your will?"

"The target is a woman, one who has made herself a thorn in my side."

"Does this thorn have a name?" He asked without hesitation.

"Ngella, I believe it's pronounced."

Chandler's eyes widened at the sound of the name and it was a couple of minutes before he nodded.

~~~~

Chandler was careful to make sure that his footsteps would be heard by the woman in the house. Fair warning meant that she would not shoot him now and ask questions later. The curtain twitched and a second later, the wooden door opened and Ngella stood in the rectangle. Her brown hair was braided and pulled back into a tie and its length still left it hanging halfway down her back. She smiled when she saw him and he felt sick again, though for a different reason than when Thane smiled.

"Chandler, you are just full of surprises."

His hand started to lift so he could scratch at his neck, but he stopped it, dropping it back to hang at his side. "I was in the area and thought I'd stop by. Not interrupting anything, am I?"

Ngella shook her head, stepping aside to let him into the small house. The place was sparsely furnished, basically one room with a fireplace, a bed against the far wall, and a few other small items. And with each, Chandler could find a way to fulfill Thane's command. The door shut and was latched behind him and he turned slowly to face her.

"So, you're not here for any particular reason? Just wanted to...drop in." Ngella said and her fingers began working on her shirt, deftly undoing buttons she'd probably sewed on herself.

Chandler found himself unable to answer. Only a couple minutes in her presence and Ngella was already dropping her guard, her clothes, and everything she'd spent her entire life becoming.

Trust. She trusted him and as more skin was revealed, Chandler's mind kept returning to the items in the room and the weapons on his person that could be used to wipe her out completely. And when she stood bare to his eyes alone, perfect and ripe like a fruit on the end of a branch, he thought about apologizing, leaving and running as fast and as far as he could get.

She walked toward him, unashamed of her nudity and there was no reason to be. When her lips touched his, when her hands began to work at his clothes and gear, Chandler forced his impending deed away from thought for now.

~~~

Chandler watched her sleep for a long time. With her back to him, the only signs that she was still alive was the flush that had yet to leave her skin and the slow movement of her side on every breath. He touched her and could feel the power she held even in sleep, the muscles and well-trained body.

He would never be able to defeat her in a fair fight and he knew that. He had scars to prove that point.

He could have loved her, he knew that as well. There was a large empty well inside him that could have been filled to bursting with love and happiness, but that swallowed every drop just like he swallowed every bit of the red liquid he could get his hands on.

Now, he could do it now. Wrap his hands about her throat and snap the spine. The vial would be in his hands by morning. Or, he could wait until she was awake, attack, and let her put him out of his misery.

"Gut me from cock to throat," he whispered, "and spill every drop to the ground."

Ngella shifted, rolling onto her back and the sheet pulled down to reveal her ample breasts. Her eyes inched open. "What was that?"

Chandler shook his head. "Nothing."

"No, you said something," Ngella half sat up and he gently pushed her back on the bed.

"No I didn't." He dropped his head to one breast and she arched her back, eyes like slits watching him until they closed in pleasure.

~~~

They made love three times before he slipped away just before dawn, escaping into the woods. He didn't care which direction, just that he made lots of ground before Thane realized he'd skipped out and came after him. Breaking a deal was almost always punished by death and she would deal the blow herself. She would infect him with the Blight and then death would be a long ordeal, slow and painful right up until the end, if she didn't extend that just to spite him.

He would run far and away and hope death could be outpaced.

~~~

The old man had been sitting in the corner of the pub all day and it was making Letrice nervous. He'd ordered several pints of ale, but the last had been hours ago, before dusk and she hadn't heard a word from him since. Now the pub was beginning to fill up with more of the usual local crowd and the men had started up outside with the song that would kick off their nightly fare of music to pull in patrons.

"We two, Travelin' men
Stopped by, for a pint at the Inn.
For on the road, our days are long
Thus we came up with our song.

"We two, travelers afar
have seen the land and every bar.
Yet return we to the Travelin' Inn
For a pint of the best and a good-lookin' wen'!

"You two, are ye Travelin' guys?
Step inside, if ye are wise!
Have ye wives and kids at home?
Stop for a pint and leave them alone."

The song continued on and Letrice's thoughts drifted back to the man in the corner, patched hood up over his head and yet unmoving. With the crowd growing inside the pub, she felt that someone would protect her if he became violent. She hoped, anyway, and still sent up a prayer to the Goddess for luck in dealing with the man.

"Sir, are you all right? Can I get you anything else?"

Letrice waited and when he made no move to answer, she was about to ask again and then he coughed and Letrice took a step back at the dust that flew out from beneath the hood.

"No, no, no...nothing else will help." His voice was soft with a grating quality that sounded close to two rough stones rubbing against each other. "Your accent, you're from the valley worlds, aren't you? Brénan or Fabrác?"

"Brénan, born and bred. Blight took my Pa and I left to get away from it." She answered.

The man nodded and then laughed, more dust floating out of the shadow beneath the hood. "Can't outrun death, little girl. Thane finds us all. It take your eye?"

Letrice shook her head. “No, Sir. Man attacked me on the road out.”

“Did you take something of his?” He coughed again.

“Yes. Are you sick? Is it the Blight?" Letrice took another step back and covered her mouth with her hand, though she knew it would take more than that to stop the disease from claiming her.

He turned a little, only his head moving, and she could see only darkness where his face should be, save for two shining eyes. "No, nothing so pleasant. No matter where you go, how fast you run, if she's looking for you, she'll find you."

The cloak moved around where his chest was and he held out a folded piece of paper to Letrice. She stared at it, but did not take it. The hand holding it seemed to be made up of all fingers, each long and bone-thin, seemingly held together by nothing at all.

"Take it," he prompted. "My story needs to be told."

Letrice was reaching for it when a puff of dust flew out from under the hood and he keeled over, hitting the floor and melting to dust. The pub fell silent and Letrice stood frozen, hand out toward the paper. She crouched down and reached for the paper again, covered in grey dust now and a large, hot hand wrapped around her wrist. Letrice looked up to find a local man, a miner if she remembered correctly, leaning down to her.

"Don't touch it; you don't know what he's got."

Letrice stared at him for a minute and with her free hand, scooped up the paper. She looked around at the people staring at her and the pile of dust and barked, "Back to what you were doin'!"

The miner released her and stepped back. Letrice stared at the paper in her hand and rubbed her thumb over it, the dust creating black smears on the paper and her skin. She slipped the paper into a pocket on her dress and then reached for the cloak. Letrice lifted it and more ash fell to the floor.

"Jehj!" Letrice called and the little man came running out of the back, his short legs moving fast.

"Yeah?"

Letrice pointed to the pile of dust. "Sweep this up and collect as much of it as you can in a jar, all right?"

He nodded and disappeared to get a broom. Letrice waited until he returned and then brought him something to contain what remained of the man. She kept it under the bar until the pub emptied out and she was alone.

Letrice lifted the jar onto the counter and couldn't help but think that it was much too light to contain an entire man. Her dad's voice from those final days echoed in her mind then. A man's life is more than body and mind, Letty. A man's life is everything that came before his death--the experiences, the people he loved and who loved him. No one should die unloved. Remember that, Letrice. That's why this, he pounded his chest, doesn't matter.

She rubbed her hand over the jar's lid and pulled out the paper. She unfolded it and found that it was several sheets covered in small, tight script. Letrice went around the bar and took a seat on one of the wooden stools.

In my life, I've known fear. But I learned, too early, that I could kill anything that scared me. Scary things die just like the rest of us...

~~~

Letrice read and read and when she finally looked up, she found that the candle she'd lit had burned low. The night was coming to a close, yet darkness still reigned outside. A chill trickled over her skin and for reasons unknown, Letrice looked into the darkest corner of the room.

In the darkness, there was a person. The second that Letrice's attention was on it, the person stood, walking with a smooth step to the bar. It was a woman, her face made up of sharp points that kept her from being beautiful. She was wearing a black dress that dipped at the neck into a deep V so that her breasts were pale half-moons. Both hair and eyes were the black at the bottom of a well.

The woman perched on the stool next to Letrice. She picked up the jar in delicate hands and held it in her lap, running her fingers along the lid. Her voice was low. “I loved him.”

Before she spoke, Letrice had an idea of her identity. Now she knew for sure. She kept her mouth shut, though, not wanting to bring anything down on herself. Gods were difficult things to understand – their actions unpredictable.

The Dead Goddess Thane went on. “Do not misunderstand me, Letrice. No physical love existed between us. But I loved him. I don't suppose you know why we gods are not allowed to bear children of our own?”

Letrice's eyes were wide when she shook her head. Her breath was visible in the cold that had descended upon Thane's first words.

“If we could have our own children, what would stop us from taking over the world? What would stop an army of us slaughtering every last one of you?”

Thane's smile made Letrice's stomach cramp. “Nothing, that's what. The only children we are allowed are ones that we create. Humans that come under our hold. Humans that become a part of us. We raise them, teach them all we know, and every time it is the same outcome.”

The deep chasms that were Thane's eyes moved from the jar of ash in her lap to Letrice's. “We can give you decades longer to live and you always do something to mess everything up. Why?”

Letrice had no plan to answer, but her voice came anyway. “Because no one can be completely controlled. Not even by one of you.”

Thane laughed. It was the sound of glass breaking. “An unfortunate fact that is proven true again and again. Well, you read his last words...what did he say about me?”

Again, Letrice didn't want to speak and it came anyway, tears filling her eye. It was like a force outside of her reached in and pulled it forth. “He said you were a horrible thing. A hideous monster who steals the souls of every poor being unfortunate enough to come into contact with it.”

Thane brushed at the tears on Letrice's cheek. The other came up to pull the cloth away from the girl's ruined eye. “Never cry over telling the truth. It is what it is – it is not your fault. It was not only the attacker's eye that you took, was it?”

“Are you going to kill me?” Letrice asked, not sure which way she wanted the answer to go.

Thane stood, the jar falling to shatter on the floor in front of the bar. As the dust that had once been a man named Chandler settled, the Dead Goddess reached out to the bar maid. Letrice surprised herself by falling into the embrace, pressing her face into the cool skin at Thane's chest.

“Oh, my Sweet One,” Thane said, “you will never die if it is my choice.”

Letrice felt cloth brush her cheek a second before her head was gently moved into place. She opened her eyes and found herself staring at Thane's bare breast from only an inch away. Only one was uncovered, the shoulder of the black dress hanging across Thane's pale arm. It hung heavy, a drop of ruby red collecting at the tip.

She didn't fight, though she thought she should have done something against this. So gentle as to make it seem like she was doing it herself, Letrice's mouth was brought to the nipple.

And she drank.

“You are mine, now,” Thane whispered, her voice a cold breeze to cover the coming day.