No. As if I had suddenly grown up, my heart was schooled. My friends, my village, and Angleland would all go on. They had already left me behind.
I turned away from the village and stepped into the forest.
In a little while I could no longer hear the familiar sounds of the village—the laughter of children, the squawks of geese, the lowing of cattle. All I could hear was the shushing of the green sea of leaves, silencing me.
I thought I understood the forest from the days when I was lost in it. Oh, proud trees, so tall and hard, I thought. You would not bend to make me feel less small. You would stand still and watch me die.
The forest was rampant, pathless, and full of shadows. The forest was death, and yet as I walked I began to see the secret life beneath every leaf. I heard eyes blinking, heard small hearts beating. I put one hand upon a tree. Even in the cool shadows, it was warm. I stood still, and as I stood I saw birds flit from branch to branch, squirrels run from their holes, and a rabbit lope around a tree. A butterfly lit on a bush, and a graceful doe stepped briefly into my vision in the deep of the forest. The wood leapt and swayed.
Then I saw the hart standing still as a tree trunk nearby in the shadows. He looked at me. Silently he turned, and just as silently I followed.
I followed the hart until I thought I had lost him. Then I found him, then lost him again. Soon I knew I was lost in the wood, and I sat against a tree. I daydreamed that my whole life until then was a story I had made up and now had forgotten, all but the end. It was a lovely gown I had tried on for a time, a gown whose color I could not now recall. It was a delicious meal that had not filled me.
The sound of a horse brought me to my feet. When I saw the black stallion approaching, I put my hand in my apron pocket. The eye was still as death, but I did not need the charm to understand the magic that was in my own heart.
Lord Death came close to me. I could feel no heat from him, hear no breath in his lungs. He was utterly still beside me, but there was a strange comfort in that stillness. It was as if he had eternity to stand beside me, and forever to listen. There was no time or motion to disturb us.
“And so there was no love for you?” he asked gently.
“Tell me what it is like to die,” I answered.
He dismounted from his horse, looking at me strangely the whole while. “You experience something similar every day,” he said softly. “It is as familiar to you as bread and butter.”
“Yes,” I said. “It is like every night when I fall asleep.”
“No. It is like every morning when you wake up.” He searched my face, touched it gently with fingers so cold they burned along my jaw, my temple, my lips, burned me to the very core. “But to know that is never enough. Keturah, I have abdicated my claim upon your soul. Come, I must take you home. Do you not know you have defeated me? That you have tricked my heart into loving you? Do what you will, marry whom you will, go where you will. You shall live to be a great age, and you shall not see me again until life has pressed its hand so heavily upon you that you wish to see it lift.” He stepped away from me and offered me his hand to lift me to the saddle.
I realized that I held my life in my own arms, then. I cradled it, felt its warm weight and the breath of it. But I had come too far. I saw that the forest was more beautiful than the village even with its bright paint, that the forest’s silence rang more lovely than Beatrice’s singing.
I felt my life grow heavier in my arms until I could not hold it anymore.
I stood very tall. “Sir, here is my wish: that you take me to wife.”
The breeze stilled, the birds stopped their song, and the trees seemed to bend and listen.
“You have determined you would marry for love,” he said.
“I love you,” I replied.
The trees breathed around us, sighing and singing and whispering. “Can I believe what you say?” Lord Death asked.
“I will tell you the end of the story,” I said. “The very end, the truest end there ever was. Once there was a girl—”
“And such a girl,” he murmured.
“—who, long before she was lost in the wood, loved Lord Death. Last year it snowed until June. She did not care, for love of him.
“When the hungry deer and their cold babies came wandering into the town that blackthorn winter, she did not begrudge them her tulips, which they ate stem, stalk, and bud. She did not begrudge them all the yellow of her stolen spring. The hope of yellow must be nothing to the taste of it, she thought.
“In fall, she knew it was Death who sweetened the apples. He made her see the sun in a blue sky and hear the trees in a spring wind. He made her see how much she loved her friends, for all their trouble, and how much her grandmother loved her, and oh, he made her love the breath in her lungs.
“She knew she had never been truly alive until she met him, and never so happy and content with her lot until she was touched by the sorrow of him.”
He lifted his hand as if he would take mine, and then he did not. “Keturah ...” He dropped his arm.
“You, my lord, are the ending of all true stories.”
I moved to touch him.
“I will not let you go with him,” said a voice behind me.
“John!” I cried.
He burst from the bushes, vibrant life shaking the very air around him. His face was pale, his jaw set.
“I thought it was a fairy prince after all you were running away to, Keturah. I never thought—but it does not matter.” John faced Lord Death. “Let her stay, sir. If you love her, you will let her stay, for I will make her a manored lady.”
“John.” I held up my hand. “John, stay back.”
“In my realm, John Temsland, she would have the powers of a queen,” Lord Death said.
John took a step toward him. His hands fisted up, then opened, then fisted again, as if they did not know how to fight such a foe. “I heard that you have a pirate heart, but I did not know until now how black it is,” he said, his voice low and shaking.
“I love her,” Lord Death said, and his endless eyes turned to me.
“If you love her, why would you take her to your dark dwelling? To your hell?”
Lord Death looked at John now, and there was pity in his eyes. “There is no hell, John Temsland. Each man, when he dies, sees the landscape of his own soul.”
“I am not afraid of hell or of you!” John cried, taking another step closer.
And truly, Lord Death, in that moment, seemed to be nothing to fear, a dark and beautiful man only. The lightning went out of his eyes, and one shoulder shrugged. “Of course you are afraid of me,” he said. “I can take the two things you value most—your life and your love.”
John took another stride toward him, and I could hear the rage in that one step. He drew his hunting knife from its sheath. The wind lifted dust from the forest floor, filling my eyes with tears.
Lord Death raised one eyebrow. He drew his cloak aside a little, and the gloam multiplied out its folds. Night shied and whinnied.
“John,” I said, my voice shaking, “will you kill Death?”
“No,” John said to me, though his eyes remained upon Lord Death, “but if he takes you, I will follow.” He turned his hunting knife backward, to point at his own heart.
I put my hand out to steady him, just as he had steadied the hart’s mate that day in the woods that seemed so long ago. I felt my hand tremble, and with all the effort of my will I stilled it. “Don’t you see, John, I must go with him.”
The knife did not waver.
“John, I will try to tell you—” I kept my voice as even as I could, to calm him. “Doesn’t Lord Death own my every breath? Doesn’t thinking of him make me glad of a single day? John, I—I love him.”
“How can you love Death?”
How could I explain that many times in my life Lord Death had walked with me, that he was inevitably a part of my life, my intimate, bargain or no, and that he had always been and must always be my companion, my soul-and-heart love. He had steadied me before—how many times? How many times had I thought I had escaped him, when truly it was that he had not yet claimed me? How often had I felt the power in his arms, power enough to change the course of a river, to bring down a mountain, to spin or stop the world?