My Reaper's Daughter (2 page)

“It’s a hawk,” he said, pushing his hat back and turning his head so she could see

the entire tat that swept across his left temple, a little ways over his forehead and

partway down his cheek. The dark blue design of spread talons vanished into the thick

black hair of his sideburn.

“Why do you have a hawk on your face?” she asked, and then giggled, showing a

missing front tooth. “That’s funny! You have a hawk on your face!”

Grinning broadly at the child, he told her it was his family crest and that it stood for

clear thinking and bold action. “The hawk is the messenger between this world and the

next,” he told her, although he didn’t think she’d understand what that meant.

“Does it wash off?”

He shook his head. “No, dearling. It’s etched into the skin.”

“Etched?” she repeated, and looked up at her mother for clarification of the word.

“Scraped,” her mother provided, giving Glyn a look that said she knew the drawing

must have hurt when applied.

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“Actually it was burned into the skin,” he said, and wished he hadn’t for the little

girl’s eyes got wide as saucers in her face.

“That’s just icky,” Valda decided.

“I thought so too, Valda,” Glyn admitted.

“Can’t you get it off somehow?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Did a bad person do that to you, Mr. Reaper?” she questioned.

“Let’s just say She isn’t a nice person,” he replied.

“
Tread carefully, my Reaper
,” a disembodied voice hissed in his head, and the pain

doubled for a moment so that he was forced to put his fingertips to his temples,

swallowing hard against the agony that was crippling in its intensity.

“Do you have a bad ache in your head?” Valda asked.

“Why don’t you make that brat shut up before she angers his lordship? He’s trying

to be polite but there’s a limit to a man’s endurance,” the dandified man spoke up. “You

ought not to allow her to act up like that.”

Glyn didn’t cut his eyes toward the man, didn’t move a muscle except for the one

that flared in his cheek. In a deadly tone he said, “And you ought to apologize to Valda

and her mother before I make it impossible for you to insult anyone else ever again. It

would be hard to sell anything without the ability to speak, don’t you think?”

The man’s eyes flared wide and he nearly choked. “I’m s-sorry, lady,” he was quick

to say. “And little girl. I didn’t mean nothing by what I said.” He turned his head,

peeled back the leather curtain and found something very interesting to look at outside.

“Do you, Mr. Reaper?” Valda pressed, ignoring the man’s apology. “Do you got a

achy in your head?”

“Like a big dog,” he answered.

Valda giggled. “Dogs don’t get headaches, silly!” she declared.

“Do too,” Glyn countered.

“Do not,” Valda returned.

“Young lady!” her mother admonished in vexation.

Glyn regarded the child. “How old are you, Lady Valda? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

Valda giggled. “No, silly goose,” she responded, one leg bouncing against the seat.

She held up her hands. “I’m this many years.”

“Six, huh?” he queried. He gave her mother a slight smile.

“Going on twenty-four,” her mother grumbled.

“She’s going to give some man a run for his money. I hope whoever he is likes to

talk,” he said then lowered the brim of his hat once more before laying his head against

the seat back.

“He’s got a bad ache in his head, Mama,” Valda whispered overly loud.

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My Reaper’s Daughter

“Yes, so you should be quiet and let him rest,” Valda’s mother cautioned her

daughter.

There were a few moments of relative silence then Valda piped up again.

“What’s that metal thingie on your hip?”

Her mother groaned and Glyn chuckled despite his pain. He sat up, knowing he

wasn’t going to rest anytime soon.

“It’s my whip,” he answered. “Wanna see it?”

“Is that wise, milord?” her mother asked, worried.

Glyn took the handle from its silver sheath. “It can only be activated by my hand,”

he said, handing it to Valda.

“What’s this?” the child asked, fingering the handle’s head.

“That’s a dragon’s claw,” he said.

She looked up from the handle. “What’s a dragon?”

“A big flying lizard.”

“You’re being silly again,” she declared. “Lizards can’t fly.”

“Can too,” he said, and put his hand out for the whip.

“I don’t think so,” Valda said then her eyebrows drew together. “If it’s a whip,

where’s the tail?”

“Inside it,” he said.

“Then how do you make it go pop?”

“I flick my wrist like this,” he demonstrated, “and a tail of fire shoots out the end.”

Valda pursed her lips and heaved a gigantic sigh. “Mama, he’s just
so
silly,” she

declared, and lay her head on her mother’s shoulder, yawning widely.

“That’s enough now,” her mother told her. “Put your head in my lap and go to

sleep so his lordship can too. I’m sure your gabbing isn’t helping his headache.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Reaper,” Valda said as she lay down.

“It’s Glyn,” he said, surprising himself.

“Hey, Glyn,” Valda said, and reached out her little hand to him. “It’s nice to meet

you.”

“Hey, Valda,” he replied, gently shaking her hand. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“My mama’s name is Mystery Butler.”

Glyn cocked an eyebrow, glanced at the young woman and then at her daughter.

“And just how did she get a name like that?”

Valda yawned again. “My grandpa and grandma had seven sons all in a row.

Boom, boom, boom,” Valda said in a voice that suggested she had memorized the story.

Glyn pursed his lips to keep from laughing out loud.

“Then Mama came along,” Valda continued. “When somebody asked Grandma

where Mama had come from, she said, ‘It’s a mystery to me!’” She yawned a third time,

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little eyelids fluttering. “And that’s how Mama got her name.” Her words trailed off

and she fell asleep.

Glyn exchanged an amused look with the child’s mother and once more settled

down in his seat, pulling the brim of his hat low. Within a matter of moments he too

was asleep and—as it always did—the dream came.

Lightning crawled across the heavens, the light flaring so bright the men were blinded for a

few moments. Icy shards of hail pelted them as they ran across the clearing, swords gripped tight

in hands bruised and bleeding, knuckles scraped raw with myriad cuts already beginning to

fester. Everywhere there was thick, dark gray mud, and protruding from the ooze were hundreds

of bodies frozen forever in unbelievable positions, uniformed arms raised as though beseeching

the gods who had abandoned them.

Glyn Kullen, his brother Dusken and cousins Haynes, Will and Robyn led two other

soldiers who had managed to survive the fierce battle that days before had claimed the lives of

nearly every man in three regiments. Seven men out of nearly a thousand had survived but two

were walking dead, only a few breaths away from taking their last. One of those men was being

held back from his final fate by the trembling, tired arm of Glyn Kullen.

“Hang on, Gentry,” Glyn urged. The man, who was to have been the best man at Glyn’s

Joining, had one useless arm draped over his friend’s shoulder, the other dangled just as uselessly

against a blood-splattered leg as he stumbled along.

“Put me down, Glynnie,” Gentry Tarnes pleaded. “I’m not going to make it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Glyn hissed. He felt his burden sag even more and knew it was but a

matter of moments before he’d be forced to ease Gentry down into the sucking mud and leave him

there for the carrion eaters. He tightened his grip around his friend’s waist, tugged harder on the

hand hanging over his own chest. “Just a few yards more.”

Another shrill, piercing shriek of lightning zinged overhead then struck a tree at the edge of

the forest to which the men were running, splintering the majestic oak from canopy to root ball,

cleaving the ancient trunk in twain. The ground shook as the mighty growth fell. Fire flared and

smoke billowed as the two halves of the tree burst into flames. The scent of burning wood filled

the night air.

“They’ll see us!” Haynes Kullen said.

“They already know where we are,” Hayne’s brother Robyn reminded. He looked back at the

battlefield over which they’d passed and saw the green-clad horsemen bearing down on them.

“Glyn?”

“I know,” Glyn said. He felt the advancing cavalry, could almost feel cold steel running him

through. He tripped over a corpse and the weight of Gentry’s dying body pitched them both

sideways into the muck. Glyn went facedown into the cloying mud, his arm still around his

friend.

So exhausted, so weary of the war that had been going on since he was old enough to hold a

sword, he just lay there, all the fight drained away. In his heart, he knew Gentry was gone. He

had felt his friend’s spirit leave his body even before they had fallen. The others were scrambling

toward the forest with the huge destriers of the Cleavton militia racing toward them. Lifting his

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My Reaper’s Daughter

head, he saw Haynes fall to a spear, watched Will’s head cleft from his body, and could not look

away as two warriors hacked at Robyn and Gentry’s friend Brent with swords that flashed in the

strobing glare of the almost constant lightning. As for Dusken, he did not see him anywhere and

hoped with all his heart his younger brother had managed to escape into the woods. He knew it

was but a matter of time before one of the warriors wheeled his mount around and came back for

him.

He was ready to die. It was his time. Though he wished with all his heart he could be back

home in Donetal when he left this world, he was prepared to meet his end here among those with

whom he’d served for the last eight years. Prying his arm from around Gentry, Glyn flopped to

his back, looking up at the light works stair-stepping across the firmament. The hail had ceased

but a steady rain fell onto his upturned face. He opened his mouth to let the water ease his

parched throat. He heard the pounding of hooves and knew death was coming.

“
Leih doonin nyn beccaghyn
,” he said to the stormy night sky, asking forgiveness for

their sins, hoping the ear of at least one god was cocked his way.

A sharp crack of lightning shook the ground as it struck nearby.

“
Livrey shin veih olk
,” he asked that god to deliver them from any evil lurking in wait for

their souls.

Continuous bolts speared from the heavens and lit the forest as bright as day.

The jingle of harness, the muted thud of hooves—he knew those would be the last sounds he

heard before the spear or blade was driven into his defenseless body.

“
Dty aigney dy row jeant
,” acknowledging that it was the gods’ will that would be done.

He spread his arms wide in willing sacrifice to the warrior coming to take his life. He spoke

the one name that held warmth and joy and peace to him but the woman who had been given that

sweet name at her christening was long gone, her body given to the flames months before.

A continuous barrage of lightning lit up the heavens, webbed across the blackness, and as

the mighty roan stallion came to a prancing halt beside him, Glyn switched his gaze to the

shadowed face of his murderer. He could not see the Cleavton warrior’s visage but he saw the

spear the man lifted high.

“
Ta mee dy dty laih er coontey dry voir,”
Glyn said to his killer, granting the warrior

forgiveness for his mother’s sake, and then started to close his eyes.

It happened in slow motion so that the image of it would be forever burned into Glyn’s

mind. A bolt of lightning was flung from the heavens and struck the Cleavton warrior in the

back, turning him rigid instantly. The spear in his hand glowed as bright as a taper, sparks

shooting from the tip. The force of energy went through the warrior and into Glyn Kullen’s chest

before stabbing deep into the ground beneath the fallen soldier.

The sizzling, burning pain that pierced his heart was excruciating and Glyn’s body

shuddered violently under the attack. He met his death in agony, heart burned to a crisp.

Then he heard the flap of giant wings…

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Coming awake with a gasp, the Reaper became aware of the sound of rain hitting

the roof of the stage. He sat up, dragging off his hat to arm away the sweat that coated

his face.

“Bad dream?” Mystery asked softly so as not to awaken her sleeping daughter.

He didn’t answer for a moment, putting a hand to his mouth and sinking his teeth

into the finger of his right glove to pull it off. “Nightmare,” he finally said, aware his

hands were shaking as he removed the other glove as well.