I comes in on him first, it’s a sight burned into the closed eye, seeing it in the dark spaces of the night. He’s lying on the floor, all blood, runes and metal, and bodies everywhere, like Death’s fallen out the sky to take all around him.
I runs straight through the burning camp, the spirit-blessed foot-flyers had come in ahead, and they were laying waste to our enemy all about, to keep our folks from falling into the darkness. Ways off, through the sun-kissed plain, power of the spirits eye far and close, I sees the glint of metal moving, and the Great Beast flapping on the ground, as I seen the smoke of the burning short time past. We been running long, but I’m all in my power for the Great Rite into the Foundchild, spirits strong in me and I can run on for days. So I’m sloping up to take the bugger on, but I stops in sharp amazement – a sight burned into the closed eye.
First, there’s prostrate Death in metal, bearing half the runes of Father Foundchild. The curve of the dawn’s sun rising from the back of the metal head, skull eyes burning into me from front. Eyes of killing to look right through me. There’s the dark blood and the bright all washing the bronze, and his legs spitted open like the mess I made my first try at the butcher’s craft. His metal’s up to take me, but I stands well away though he be lying down.
There’s bodies all around him. Moon-followers all mangled and covered in the dark blood and the bright. The saw-tooth ogre lying on his side with the hole straight in him to let the light shine through where his heart should be. No Peaceful Cut, no coming back for him!
Overlooking, all alarm and bellow, the fearsome screaming Dragonson flaps and agitates. His wing’s torn off and hanging, bad butchery pouring darkness on the ground. He’s mad for the attack, his poison stinger twitching for the killing, as is his spirit’s drive – but he’s afraid and frantic, crazed with pain and fury – won’t come near prone Death who’s dealt him savage. When others race in, he turns and runs, dragging his mashed wing and thrashing tail behind him - no more the sky for him.
Listen: Old Baruba comes right in and stands before the metal Death. This killer, where’s he come from? Dropped out the sky to waste about the Moon-Followers with blood and iron. We stands a short while, til wasted Death pulls off his bloody mask of terror, only it’s worse what’s underneath!
All blackened out with runes of Death and Truth he is, and Death and Truth’s what draws me in his eyes. As he turns his bloodied face Baruba gasps! He sees the sign for Dragon on his face – steps right on in and calls the great power to see to it the Foundchild soothes his leg. Straightway, he’s up and standing. He looks at us all with his dead eyes, blank to stare right through you. No speech that we can know, but Baruba calls him friend.
Gives me the charge of brotherhood upon him. To cleave to me until the Great Rite’s done. Baruba says he’s to be Initiated. Baruba says he’s to be one of us.
This is how I met my friend with the death in his eyes. The killers eyes that took so long to soften.
And then, just for a while.