The Whims of Lady Luck
Oct. 28th, 2004 10:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cinaedFound this morbid story, and polished it up. It rather amuses me with the obnoxious gods and my gambler. "The deuce it is!"
THE WHIMS OF LADY LUCK
It seemed that Lady Luck had gotten bored with him. It was too bad, really. He’d been on a rather glorious winning streak. He thought wistfully of the twelve gold coins that he’d snatched out from under that pompous noble’s nose and sighed. The sound seemed to die on his lips, shifting into a half-gurgle, half-groan.
“Damn bastards.” At the very least he could croak that insult out into the open air. He tasted the bitterness on his lips. . .wait, the taste was metallic almost--oh, it was blood. Well, he supposed being stabbed in the stomach a few times would make blood dribble from a fellow’s mouth. Gagging a little at the metallic taste, he tried to ignore the dark thoughts stirring in the back of his head, the ones that said he’d gone into shock and that was why he wasn’t feeling anymore agony from his belly. He pushed those thoughts aside. He rather liked being in shock. Pain truly wasn’t his thing.
He struggled to roll onto his back, but after a moment of trembling limbs and sweat dripping into his eyes he gave up, closing his eyes and feeling the grass scratch at his cheek. Whoever the poet was who talked of lying in fields of green obviously had never done so. He struggled to take in a deep breath and choked a little on the blood that seeped from the corners of his mouth.
Coughing, he moaned out a soft protest to his fate. “Lady Luck, weren’t I a. . .good boy to. . .you? Weren’t I right. . .an’ honorable when. . .it came to playin’ the…game?”
“Yes, she did say that you were one of her favorite mortals to play with, Ixaka Juxtan.” The deep, serene comment seemed to be whispered in his ear and yet shouted from a far-off distance, soft but powerful. “However, it is your time to go, and even Lady Luck must step aside for her brother Death.”
Hands as cold as ice took hold of Ixaka’s shoulders and slowly turned the dying man over to face the skies.
Ixaka blinked, gazing into the endless blue of the afternoon atmosphere. “My. . .my thanks, sir,” he managed to murmur, too weak to get angry and argue about the idea of destiny. How could Fate be so callous in killing him now? “I weren’t meanin’ to. . .grumble, sir. . . . It jus’ dun seem. . .fair t’me that those bastards. . .stole my money. . . .”
The man, who was just out of the gambler’s line of sight, was silent for a moment, and then he spoke, his deep words resonating although he spoke quietly. “What is fair and what is not fair? How can a mere mortal perceive divine justice? You had a decent, albeit short, life, Ixaka. Did life disappoint you?”
Ixaka didn’t stop to wonder at the man knowing his name. After all, any gambler worth his salt eventually built up a reputation. He struggled to understand the words, a little confused at why someone would spout such philosophical nonsense at him when he was obviously living his final hour. Probably a priest, he decided after a moment. “No, sir, life were. . .plenty good to. . .me. Pro’ly too good. Yessir, jus’ too. . .good t’leave wi’ou’ a. . .figh’.”
There was another hushed hiatus, and then the other man laughed, the sound like the far-off roar of the ocean’s waves as they crashed against the shore. “You cannot fight death, Ixaka. You can protest, but your words will do nothing save amuse a listening god.” He paused, and then murmured, “Unless. . .unless you are willing to make a deal with Dauthus.”
“A deal?” Ixaka used a bit of his fading strength to raise his eyebrows. Whoever heard of someone making a deal with Dauthus? This priest is insane. Still, his gambler blood warmed to the prospect of an exchange, and he couldn’t help but ask, “What sorta deal?”
The priest didn’t answer him at first. “Have you heard talk of the war going on between Aquene and Eron?”
“O’ course. Mos’ folks have.”
“Yes, well, what would you think if I told you that the war was caused by Guerre, the god of war, and that he began it ten years too early?”
Ixaka chuckled, fresh blood trickling from the corner of his mouth at the action. “I’d say yer crazy, bu’ I suppose my ‘pinion dun matter much.”
The other man laughed once more, and the rumbling sound filled the air and silenced the dying gambler. “I suppose most would think that. What if I told you that Guerre’s meddling caused a war between the gods? That his interference is why there have been earthquakes and tidal waves and other such catastrophic occurrences lately?”
Ixaka attempted a feeble shrug and grimaced as the motion caused a fierce ache that began in his belly, where the knife had pierced his flesh. The shock seemed to be wearing off, unfortunately. “I’d still say you was crazy, bu’ I still wanna hear abou’ this here deal o’ your’n.”
“Very well then, here is the deal. The war between the gods and the war between the mortals have caused serious instability in the balance of things, and Dauthus and Libhama, goddess of life, have aligned to try and steady the Balance once more. To do this, the god of Death is selecting a few dying mortals to offer a gift of temporary immortality to. If you accept, you will not die but having everlasting life--well, at least until you’ve finished the tasks that Libhama and her brother expect of you.”
Ixaka remembered just in time not to shrug, and instead forced his chapped lips into a half-smile, the closest thing to a true smile he’d had in a few weeks. “You ‘pect me t’believe tha’ tale o’ your’n?”
“If I’m lying, does it really matter? In a moment, you’ll be dead. Make the choice.” The man leaned over him, and Ixaka couldn’t help but stare. The priest had to be the palest person the gambler had ever seen, his flesh the color of a porcelain figurine that Ixaka had once bought for a lady friend during a festival. His hair was white, but it almost seemed as though there were light blue highlights in the ivory strands. . . . But of course there couldn’t be blue highlights. Whoever heard of a fellow with blue hair? Ixaka couldn’t even guess at the other man’s age. One second the priest seemed as youthful as twenty; the next, he appeared as ancient as eighty.
Then the priest caught his gaze and Ixaka was spellbound. The priest’s eyes were deep, and fathomless in their deepness. They seemed like an endless sky quenched of all light. Ixaka found himself rising a little from the scratchy grass and trying to lose himself in those eyes. If he lost himself, the throbbing in his stomach would ease and he would at last be at peace and--
“By all the stars in the sky,” Ixaka breathed, incredulous still, for even a gambler is not a man who can hide his shock at meeting a god. “You’re Dauthus. . . .”
The god of death tilted his head to the side, and a smile that didn’t reach those infinite eyes curved his lips. “As much as my sister--you call her Lady Luck so I’ll not give her true name--was amused by you, I must say you’re frightfully slow for a mortal.”
Ixaka ignored the insult, and tore his gaze from those eyes that seemed to make each breath shorter than the last. “I--I mean t’beg yer pardon, sir. I--I weren’t tryin’ t’cause trouble.” He latched desperately onto the conversation he and the deity had been having before the realization of he was speaking to had struck. “What--what sorta tasks would I have t’do if I ‘cepted yer deal?”
“Simply protect five mortals who will help reinstate the proper order of things,” Dauthus said with his rhythmic voice. The god’s words seemed to have the faintest undertone of amusement. “It is a simple enough undertaking, we think. Not even a mortal could botch it.”
Look after five mortals? That didn’t sound too hard. Ixaka hesitated for only a moment, a painful cough that rattled his frame urging him to accept. Swallowing and tasting the blood on his lips once more, the gambler murmured, “I ‘cept the deal, Lord Death.”
Dauthus seemed pleased. That cold smile never left his pale features. “Very well then. Simply repeat these words after me: I, the mortal Ixaka Juxtan, do pledge my utmost allegiance to Dauthus, the god of Death. In return for my years of servitude, I swear to keep alive those who the Lord of the Dead commands me to and let die whosoever he chooses to take to his realm, no matter the cost to my sanity or happiness. In the name of Father Fire and Mother Earth, my name is my honor.”
Fumbling over the words and garbling many of them with his uncultured speech, the gambler nevertheless repeated the oath, the last word of a mere rasp as his lungs seemed to wither in his chest. The promise of allegiance fell from his bloodstained lips, and immediately something burdensome tugged at his neck. Still feeling the throbbing in his belly, he glanced down and then gazed in surprise at the onyx watch that now hung around his neck on a silver chain. Ancient runes glittered on the bright surface of the watch, flowing like a river of bright magic through the links of the chain. With trembling fingers, Ixaka automatically tried to open the watch to see the time, but the clasp wouldn’t open.
“Ixaka Juxtan, you now bear the mark of my servants. This watch contains your mortality. Until I open it and reveal my true face to you, you shall not die but have everlasting life, though after a time you may come to loathe your immortality.” Dauthus sounded almost bored with the conversation as he spoke.
The onyx watch seemed to shudder in his trembling hand, and a cool breath of air caressed his flesh, stealing away the ache in his stomach that had nearly taken his life. He took in a deep breath, and was unsurprised that he could breathe without a dangerous rattle in his chest. Smiling, he turned a thrilled look upon Dauthus, but the delighted expression shifted to one of bewilderment when he realized that the god had vanished.
“Suppose he had another ‘poin’ment,” Ixaka murmured to himself, sitting upright and fingering the dark watch thoughtfully. So he was immortal--at least for the moment. He rather thought it was time to go find those robbers and get back those twelve gold coins that had been wrenched from his unfeeling fingers. . . .
*
Whistling to himself, Ixaka shook the bulging bag of coins and enjoyed the music of twelve gold coins clinking against one another. It truly was a lovely sound. Although no smile appeared on his solemn face at the clinking of coins, creases of withheld laughter appeared at the corner of his eyes. So what if a week had gone by and he still hadn’t gone to find any of the five that he was supposed to be protecting. It had taken that long to hunt down the thieves, and the five could protect themselves for a little while longer.
Still whistling to himself, the gambler carelessly kicked away the weak hand that had been clutching desperately at his ankle. The fallen thief let out a soft moan and then was still, his careworn features taking on the mock-peaceful look of death. It served the bastard right for trying to kill him! It served them all right!
Turning away from the motionless thieves, Ixaka paused when he heard quiet, rich laughter from the nearby bushes. The gambler’s expression didn’t change as he drawled, “What’s so funny?”
“Why, you are! I heard talk that there was a gambler who’d won both Lady Luck and Lord Death’s favor, but I didn’t believe it until that display.” It was a woman who addressed him from the undergrowth, the words as musical as if she was singing. “How are you going to stop that nasty cut from bleeding?”
Ixaka glanced down. The final thief had slashed a nasty cut across his chest, deep enough that his tan shirt was now soaked with blood. However, he wasn’t feeling weak from the loss of blood and he could ignore the mild pain (he suspected the agony was deadened by the gift that Dauthus had given him). He frowned for a moment, and then shrugged. “Bandage it an’ wait fer it t’stop bleedin’, I suppose. Not like the blood loss is gonna kill me.”
“No, I suppose not,” the woman agreed, amusement in her clear soprano song as she stepped out from the greenery. She was striking, and this time Ixaka instantly recognized her as one of the deities. Unlike Dauthus, this goddess was as dark as the freshly tilled earth after a farmer’s work, with voluptuous curves that complimented every inch of her tall form. Thick waves of mahogany-hued tendrils cascaded around her heart-shaped face, falling to her waist. She turned her smiling eyes upon him, and he lost himself in the sparkling blue irises, the shade reminding him of the sky just after dawn. “Good day, young Ixaka. I see you have been testing this temporary immortality of yours.”
“I have, milady,” Ixaka assured her while he pressed a hand already stained crimson against his chest wound in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. “I were meanin’ t’thank Lord Dauthus, once I finish my tasks.”
The goddess raised an elegant eyebrow, seeming surprised. “You mean silly old Dauthus neglected to mention the final part of the deal? How. . .foolish of him.” A warm smile lit up her dark features, and Ixaka found his lips threatening to curve into a smile without his permission.
He carefully schooled his face into a deadpan expression before asking, “What final par’ o’ the deal, milady?”
The warm smile turned slightly serious at that, and her pale blue gaze flickered around, as though to watch for anyone approaching. “We must take care. Where men have died, Dauthus tends to lurk,” she warned him. “Let us leave this place of death, and I shall tell you of what my brother tried to hide from you.”
“T’would be my honor, milady,” Ixaka assured her and stepped away from the gory scene that he had left for the next passerby to stumble upon. His heart was jumping with a nervous beat in his chest, although his composure never faltered outwardly. What had Dauthus neglected to deal him? *Something that would have made things even better for me, I’d wager.*
He followed the unnamed goddess down the dusty path until even the stench of the blood was no longer carried to his nose by the mischievous wind, which seemed to demand contrition for the deadly deeds. Ixaka lowered his gaze to the ground and noticed without much surprise that the divinity left no footprints as she led the way. He kept his gaze on the verdant green hem of her dress and also noticed that her garb seemed to refuse any dust that might cling to the velvety fabric.
At last, her footfalls stopped, and she glanced over her shoulder to favor him with an amicable smile that made the sun suddenly seem to shine brighter. They stood in a clearing, with several moss-covered boulders that nestled upon the lush foliage. “Come now, have a seat.” She waved a careless hand towards one of the few rocks not adorned with green, and Ixaka obeyed, one hand still pressed to his chest. Surely the blood would stop flowing soon. Those pale eyes regarded him once more, and the goddess seemed to muse aloud. “You’re not one to look at, for a mortal. Dusty brown hair, mud brown eyes, freckles--worse, wrinkles--and not even a dimple to be seen. Whatever did my sister see in you?”
The gambler resisted the urge to bristle at the insults. Sure, he had light brown hair, but the strands were lightly touched with paler highlights--the golden touch of Lady Luck, he had often liked to boast--and women had often found the curly texture appealing. True enough, as well, that he had light brown eyes that often made any rare smile seem insincere, but he could occasionally light up his eyes with a warm smile, one that made him seem rakishly good-looking, albeit not handsome. She was right that he had freckles, but they had only served to make him seem a few years younger than his actual years, which he was grateful for. The only comment he took a complete affront to was the derisive comment about his wrinkles. He didn’t have wrinkles! He had a few crease lines from the sun, of course, but nothing so deep that they could be jeeringly referred to as wrinkles.
Still, he held his tongue and let no flicker of his anger reach his eyes. “If you’re referrin’ t’Lady Luck, milady, I always were deeply grateful t’her. A bit o’ every winnin’ wen’ t’her shrine up in Welkin.”
The goddess nodded in acceptance. “Oh, so you were always aware of your debt to her. She does so like positive recognition.” She nodded towards the bag of coins. “Are you planning to give her a few of those lovely gold coins then? It was her influence that helped you win the favor of Dauthus, after all.”
“O’ course I will. I always give some o’ my winnin’s t’her,” Ixaka repeated and a crimson-stained hand automatically reached to stroke the leather bag that bulged with money. He cleared his throat, trying to be respectful. “So, milady. . . . You was talkin’ o’ the final par’ o’ my deal wi’ Lord Dauthus?”
“Oh yes, that.” The goddess paused for a moment, her gaze still lingering on him. “You don’t really have to do the duty that he wishes you to do. There is a final rule that should you meet another god or goddess who can take up the task, then you may give the watch to him or her, and that deity will do your task while you get set to reap the benefits of immortality.”
Ixaka gawked at her for a moment and forgot in his surprise not to stare. “Really, milady? Iff’n I give this here watch t’you, I dun hafta go an’ help those five souls that I were supposed to?”
“Precisely. If you wish to burden a god or goddess with your assigned task rather than do it yourself, then you may simply give the watch to them.” She extended a dark brown hand. Her pale eyes watched his face carefully. “Will you give it to me?”
The gambler paused for a moment, weighing his options. He really should’ve have asked her name beforehand, but it was too late to without sounding suspicious. His searching eyes examined her face for any guile, but she seemed to be perfectly honest. Her light blue eyes sparkled with earnestness and her expression was sincere. At last, he shrugged, and undid the chain’s clasp from around his neck. Ignoring the sight of scarlet upon the silver chain, he let the watch drop silently onto the goddess’s outstretched palm.
A smile of satisfaction curved her lips upwards, and her long, slender fingers turned into a fist around the onyx gift of Dauthus. This time, however, the smile didn’t reach her brilliant eyes, which had darkened to the grayness of the sky when a storm approached. “Very well then. It took you longer than most of the others to give it to me, I’ll have you know.”
“What’s that mean, milady?” Ixaka winced as the pain in his chest suddenly flared, the agony increasing as though someone had suddenly buried their fingers into the gaping wound and tried to peel the skin away. He grabbed at his chest and fell, tumbling off the large boulder to land in the soft grass. So this was the sort of grass that poet had been writing of when he’d written that sonnet. . . . Gasping for oxygen, the gambler gazed up at the goddess, who now towered before him, her expression detached as she looked upon the tortured man.
She turned away from the breathless gambler and called in her clear soprano voice, sounding almost as though she was warbling like a songbird, “Oh, brother dear, I believe I have something of yours. Won’t you be a darling and hurry over here?”
There was a brief pause, in which Ixaka struggled to breathe, and then another shadow fell upon the gambler’s face. Then a familiar voice like the distant sea rumbled, “Only a week, Libhama? I truly thought this one would do the task.”
Ixaka’s eyes widened in horror, and his deadpan features twisted in shock. Any of his gambling companions would have been shocked to see the aloof man looking terrified and humbled. “No. . . .” he breathed, the word almost a groan. “No. . . .”
Ice-cold hands grasped his shoulders and forced him to his feet, ignoring the man’s whimpers of agony as the movement made the pain in his chest intensify. “Yes, Ixaka Juxtan. I must say that I am very disappointed with you.” Dauthus glanced towards his sister and his eyes flickered towards the watch with its bloodstained chain. “I believe the watch is mine, Libhama.”
“The. . .the deuce it is!” Ixaka gasped, and then struggled against those freezing hands whose touch seemed to turn his blood to ice in his veins. Thick liquid choked him once more, and he coughed, knowing that what splattered upon his chin was blood. “You two tricked me! Never listen t’any deity bu’ Lady Luck! I shoulda remembered that! Always trust Lady Luck. . . . Always--” He was halted by the gods’ cool laughter.
“Ixaka, be silent. Our sister, Lady Luck, is just another goddess, and she too is prone to her quirks. After all, she found you amusing for a little while. But remember--even Lady Luck disdains blood money.” The goddess of life cast a scornful gaze towards the bulging leather bag that still contained the twelve gold coins.
Ixaka writhed but Dauthus still held him in his grip, and once the Shadow King had you in his grasp, he never released you. “The. . .the deuce. . . .” It was so hard to breathe, far harder than it had been only a week prior, and another half-groan, half-gurgle escaped his lips. He struggled for another moment and then suddenly smiled, a whimsical grin that lit up even his light brown eyes and made Libhama see for a moment why her sister had found the gambler so amusing. “Might I leave. . .a note at least? I have. . .some final words. . . . Dun want t’be anymore trouble than I was, o’ course.”
The god of death glanced towards his sister, but Libhama simply shrugged and looked vaguely entertained at the mortal’s audacity. With a powerful shrug of his shoulders, Dauthus murmured, releasing Ixaka from his grasp, “Very well.”
As soon as Ixaka was released, he sank to his knees from the dizziness that accompanied major blood loss. Fumbling in his pack for a scrap of paper and a quill and finding neither, he glanced up almost hopefully. There was a sigh from the gods, and then he found a clean piece of paper and a quill freshly dipped in ink on the green grass before him. With a hand that trembled from the weakness of impending death, the gambler bit down on his lower lip and carefully wrote, struggling to spell everything right. Didn’t want to be made a fool after dying, after all. After a moment, he set the quill and paper down and sighed before he tilted his head towards where the deities watched. “My thanks, Lord Death. I’m sorry fer troublin’ you an’ tryin’ t’cheat you.” His lips quirked in a faint half-smile. “Though you hafta admit Libhama wears a damned good poker face.”
Dauthus waved aside the apology, seeming almost amused by it. “All the others have failed during their tests as well. Do not trouble yourself with it too much.” He made no comment about his sister’s “poker face” and instead pressed a gentle hand to the gambler’s damp forehead. “Ixaka Juxtan, your pact with me has been terminated. May you be welcomed in the Realm of Shadows.”
The effect of the god’s words was instantaneous; Ixaka managed another weak chortle of faint laughter before he slumped forward. Those brown eyes misted over with the haze of death. His kneeling form gazed blindly down at the note he had just written, his soul no longer there to take delight in the ironic words he had penned in his final moments.
The immortal duo watched his motionless corpse for a moment, and then Dauthus nodded to the shade that had stepped from the body. Ixaka’s soul was a mere wisp of what he once had been, but there still seemed an aura of amusement as the soul bowed and faded from even their divine sight, traveling to the Land of Shadows. There was silence, and then--
“What did he write, brother mine?”
Dauthus gazed down at the paper, and a look of amusement lightened the Dark Lord’s features. “Now I see why our sister enjoyed him so,” was his simple response, and Libhama turned her gaze upon the note, a laugh leaping from her throat before she could contain herself, for, in a trembling but firm hand, the dying gambler had written:
“Here lies Ixaka Juxtan, a man who lived for the shuffling of cards, a pint of cold beer every night, and the jingle of a few coins in his pocket. In the game of life, he won the favor of the gods but lost it in but a week, all thanks to the whims of Lady Luck.”
-----------
*is still amused by the end* Anyway, I'm heading off to bed. ^_^ Night everyone!
THE WHIMS OF LADY LUCK
It seemed that Lady Luck had gotten bored with him. It was too bad, really. He’d been on a rather glorious winning streak. He thought wistfully of the twelve gold coins that he’d snatched out from under that pompous noble’s nose and sighed. The sound seemed to die on his lips, shifting into a half-gurgle, half-groan.
“Damn bastards.” At the very least he could croak that insult out into the open air. He tasted the bitterness on his lips. . .wait, the taste was metallic almost--oh, it was blood. Well, he supposed being stabbed in the stomach a few times would make blood dribble from a fellow’s mouth. Gagging a little at the metallic taste, he tried to ignore the dark thoughts stirring in the back of his head, the ones that said he’d gone into shock and that was why he wasn’t feeling anymore agony from his belly. He pushed those thoughts aside. He rather liked being in shock. Pain truly wasn’t his thing.
He struggled to roll onto his back, but after a moment of trembling limbs and sweat dripping into his eyes he gave up, closing his eyes and feeling the grass scratch at his cheek. Whoever the poet was who talked of lying in fields of green obviously had never done so. He struggled to take in a deep breath and choked a little on the blood that seeped from the corners of his mouth.
Coughing, he moaned out a soft protest to his fate. “Lady Luck, weren’t I a. . .good boy to. . .you? Weren’t I right. . .an’ honorable when. . .it came to playin’ the…game?”
“Yes, she did say that you were one of her favorite mortals to play with, Ixaka Juxtan.” The deep, serene comment seemed to be whispered in his ear and yet shouted from a far-off distance, soft but powerful. “However, it is your time to go, and even Lady Luck must step aside for her brother Death.”
Hands as cold as ice took hold of Ixaka’s shoulders and slowly turned the dying man over to face the skies.
Ixaka blinked, gazing into the endless blue of the afternoon atmosphere. “My. . .my thanks, sir,” he managed to murmur, too weak to get angry and argue about the idea of destiny. How could Fate be so callous in killing him now? “I weren’t meanin’ to. . .grumble, sir. . . . It jus’ dun seem. . .fair t’me that those bastards. . .stole my money. . . .”
The man, who was just out of the gambler’s line of sight, was silent for a moment, and then he spoke, his deep words resonating although he spoke quietly. “What is fair and what is not fair? How can a mere mortal perceive divine justice? You had a decent, albeit short, life, Ixaka. Did life disappoint you?”
Ixaka didn’t stop to wonder at the man knowing his name. After all, any gambler worth his salt eventually built up a reputation. He struggled to understand the words, a little confused at why someone would spout such philosophical nonsense at him when he was obviously living his final hour. Probably a priest, he decided after a moment. “No, sir, life were. . .plenty good to. . .me. Pro’ly too good. Yessir, jus’ too. . .good t’leave wi’ou’ a. . .figh’.”
There was another hushed hiatus, and then the other man laughed, the sound like the far-off roar of the ocean’s waves as they crashed against the shore. “You cannot fight death, Ixaka. You can protest, but your words will do nothing save amuse a listening god.” He paused, and then murmured, “Unless. . .unless you are willing to make a deal with Dauthus.”
“A deal?” Ixaka used a bit of his fading strength to raise his eyebrows. Whoever heard of someone making a deal with Dauthus? This priest is insane. Still, his gambler blood warmed to the prospect of an exchange, and he couldn’t help but ask, “What sorta deal?”
The priest didn’t answer him at first. “Have you heard talk of the war going on between Aquene and Eron?”
“O’ course. Mos’ folks have.”
“Yes, well, what would you think if I told you that the war was caused by Guerre, the god of war, and that he began it ten years too early?”
Ixaka chuckled, fresh blood trickling from the corner of his mouth at the action. “I’d say yer crazy, bu’ I suppose my ‘pinion dun matter much.”
The other man laughed once more, and the rumbling sound filled the air and silenced the dying gambler. “I suppose most would think that. What if I told you that Guerre’s meddling caused a war between the gods? That his interference is why there have been earthquakes and tidal waves and other such catastrophic occurrences lately?”
Ixaka attempted a feeble shrug and grimaced as the motion caused a fierce ache that began in his belly, where the knife had pierced his flesh. The shock seemed to be wearing off, unfortunately. “I’d still say you was crazy, bu’ I still wanna hear abou’ this here deal o’ your’n.”
“Very well then, here is the deal. The war between the gods and the war between the mortals have caused serious instability in the balance of things, and Dauthus and Libhama, goddess of life, have aligned to try and steady the Balance once more. To do this, the god of Death is selecting a few dying mortals to offer a gift of temporary immortality to. If you accept, you will not die but having everlasting life--well, at least until you’ve finished the tasks that Libhama and her brother expect of you.”
Ixaka remembered just in time not to shrug, and instead forced his chapped lips into a half-smile, the closest thing to a true smile he’d had in a few weeks. “You ‘pect me t’believe tha’ tale o’ your’n?”
“If I’m lying, does it really matter? In a moment, you’ll be dead. Make the choice.” The man leaned over him, and Ixaka couldn’t help but stare. The priest had to be the palest person the gambler had ever seen, his flesh the color of a porcelain figurine that Ixaka had once bought for a lady friend during a festival. His hair was white, but it almost seemed as though there were light blue highlights in the ivory strands. . . . But of course there couldn’t be blue highlights. Whoever heard of a fellow with blue hair? Ixaka couldn’t even guess at the other man’s age. One second the priest seemed as youthful as twenty; the next, he appeared as ancient as eighty.
Then the priest caught his gaze and Ixaka was spellbound. The priest’s eyes were deep, and fathomless in their deepness. They seemed like an endless sky quenched of all light. Ixaka found himself rising a little from the scratchy grass and trying to lose himself in those eyes. If he lost himself, the throbbing in his stomach would ease and he would at last be at peace and--
“By all the stars in the sky,” Ixaka breathed, incredulous still, for even a gambler is not a man who can hide his shock at meeting a god. “You’re Dauthus. . . .”
The god of death tilted his head to the side, and a smile that didn’t reach those infinite eyes curved his lips. “As much as my sister--you call her Lady Luck so I’ll not give her true name--was amused by you, I must say you’re frightfully slow for a mortal.”
Ixaka ignored the insult, and tore his gaze from those eyes that seemed to make each breath shorter than the last. “I--I mean t’beg yer pardon, sir. I--I weren’t tryin’ t’cause trouble.” He latched desperately onto the conversation he and the deity had been having before the realization of he was speaking to had struck. “What--what sorta tasks would I have t’do if I ‘cepted yer deal?”
“Simply protect five mortals who will help reinstate the proper order of things,” Dauthus said with his rhythmic voice. The god’s words seemed to have the faintest undertone of amusement. “It is a simple enough undertaking, we think. Not even a mortal could botch it.”
Look after five mortals? That didn’t sound too hard. Ixaka hesitated for only a moment, a painful cough that rattled his frame urging him to accept. Swallowing and tasting the blood on his lips once more, the gambler murmured, “I ‘cept the deal, Lord Death.”
Dauthus seemed pleased. That cold smile never left his pale features. “Very well then. Simply repeat these words after me: I, the mortal Ixaka Juxtan, do pledge my utmost allegiance to Dauthus, the god of Death. In return for my years of servitude, I swear to keep alive those who the Lord of the Dead commands me to and let die whosoever he chooses to take to his realm, no matter the cost to my sanity or happiness. In the name of Father Fire and Mother Earth, my name is my honor.”
Fumbling over the words and garbling many of them with his uncultured speech, the gambler nevertheless repeated the oath, the last word of a mere rasp as his lungs seemed to wither in his chest. The promise of allegiance fell from his bloodstained lips, and immediately something burdensome tugged at his neck. Still feeling the throbbing in his belly, he glanced down and then gazed in surprise at the onyx watch that now hung around his neck on a silver chain. Ancient runes glittered on the bright surface of the watch, flowing like a river of bright magic through the links of the chain. With trembling fingers, Ixaka automatically tried to open the watch to see the time, but the clasp wouldn’t open.
“Ixaka Juxtan, you now bear the mark of my servants. This watch contains your mortality. Until I open it and reveal my true face to you, you shall not die but have everlasting life, though after a time you may come to loathe your immortality.” Dauthus sounded almost bored with the conversation as he spoke.
The onyx watch seemed to shudder in his trembling hand, and a cool breath of air caressed his flesh, stealing away the ache in his stomach that had nearly taken his life. He took in a deep breath, and was unsurprised that he could breathe without a dangerous rattle in his chest. Smiling, he turned a thrilled look upon Dauthus, but the delighted expression shifted to one of bewilderment when he realized that the god had vanished.
“Suppose he had another ‘poin’ment,” Ixaka murmured to himself, sitting upright and fingering the dark watch thoughtfully. So he was immortal--at least for the moment. He rather thought it was time to go find those robbers and get back those twelve gold coins that had been wrenched from his unfeeling fingers. . . .
*
Whistling to himself, Ixaka shook the bulging bag of coins and enjoyed the music of twelve gold coins clinking against one another. It truly was a lovely sound. Although no smile appeared on his solemn face at the clinking of coins, creases of withheld laughter appeared at the corner of his eyes. So what if a week had gone by and he still hadn’t gone to find any of the five that he was supposed to be protecting. It had taken that long to hunt down the thieves, and the five could protect themselves for a little while longer.
Still whistling to himself, the gambler carelessly kicked away the weak hand that had been clutching desperately at his ankle. The fallen thief let out a soft moan and then was still, his careworn features taking on the mock-peaceful look of death. It served the bastard right for trying to kill him! It served them all right!
Turning away from the motionless thieves, Ixaka paused when he heard quiet, rich laughter from the nearby bushes. The gambler’s expression didn’t change as he drawled, “What’s so funny?”
“Why, you are! I heard talk that there was a gambler who’d won both Lady Luck and Lord Death’s favor, but I didn’t believe it until that display.” It was a woman who addressed him from the undergrowth, the words as musical as if she was singing. “How are you going to stop that nasty cut from bleeding?”
Ixaka glanced down. The final thief had slashed a nasty cut across his chest, deep enough that his tan shirt was now soaked with blood. However, he wasn’t feeling weak from the loss of blood and he could ignore the mild pain (he suspected the agony was deadened by the gift that Dauthus had given him). He frowned for a moment, and then shrugged. “Bandage it an’ wait fer it t’stop bleedin’, I suppose. Not like the blood loss is gonna kill me.”
“No, I suppose not,” the woman agreed, amusement in her clear soprano song as she stepped out from the greenery. She was striking, and this time Ixaka instantly recognized her as one of the deities. Unlike Dauthus, this goddess was as dark as the freshly tilled earth after a farmer’s work, with voluptuous curves that complimented every inch of her tall form. Thick waves of mahogany-hued tendrils cascaded around her heart-shaped face, falling to her waist. She turned her smiling eyes upon him, and he lost himself in the sparkling blue irises, the shade reminding him of the sky just after dawn. “Good day, young Ixaka. I see you have been testing this temporary immortality of yours.”
“I have, milady,” Ixaka assured her while he pressed a hand already stained crimson against his chest wound in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. “I were meanin’ t’thank Lord Dauthus, once I finish my tasks.”
The goddess raised an elegant eyebrow, seeming surprised. “You mean silly old Dauthus neglected to mention the final part of the deal? How. . .foolish of him.” A warm smile lit up her dark features, and Ixaka found his lips threatening to curve into a smile without his permission.
He carefully schooled his face into a deadpan expression before asking, “What final par’ o’ the deal, milady?”
The warm smile turned slightly serious at that, and her pale blue gaze flickered around, as though to watch for anyone approaching. “We must take care. Where men have died, Dauthus tends to lurk,” she warned him. “Let us leave this place of death, and I shall tell you of what my brother tried to hide from you.”
“T’would be my honor, milady,” Ixaka assured her and stepped away from the gory scene that he had left for the next passerby to stumble upon. His heart was jumping with a nervous beat in his chest, although his composure never faltered outwardly. What had Dauthus neglected to deal him? *Something that would have made things even better for me, I’d wager.*
He followed the unnamed goddess down the dusty path until even the stench of the blood was no longer carried to his nose by the mischievous wind, which seemed to demand contrition for the deadly deeds. Ixaka lowered his gaze to the ground and noticed without much surprise that the divinity left no footprints as she led the way. He kept his gaze on the verdant green hem of her dress and also noticed that her garb seemed to refuse any dust that might cling to the velvety fabric.
At last, her footfalls stopped, and she glanced over her shoulder to favor him with an amicable smile that made the sun suddenly seem to shine brighter. They stood in a clearing, with several moss-covered boulders that nestled upon the lush foliage. “Come now, have a seat.” She waved a careless hand towards one of the few rocks not adorned with green, and Ixaka obeyed, one hand still pressed to his chest. Surely the blood would stop flowing soon. Those pale eyes regarded him once more, and the goddess seemed to muse aloud. “You’re not one to look at, for a mortal. Dusty brown hair, mud brown eyes, freckles--worse, wrinkles--and not even a dimple to be seen. Whatever did my sister see in you?”
The gambler resisted the urge to bristle at the insults. Sure, he had light brown hair, but the strands were lightly touched with paler highlights--the golden touch of Lady Luck, he had often liked to boast--and women had often found the curly texture appealing. True enough, as well, that he had light brown eyes that often made any rare smile seem insincere, but he could occasionally light up his eyes with a warm smile, one that made him seem rakishly good-looking, albeit not handsome. She was right that he had freckles, but they had only served to make him seem a few years younger than his actual years, which he was grateful for. The only comment he took a complete affront to was the derisive comment about his wrinkles. He didn’t have wrinkles! He had a few crease lines from the sun, of course, but nothing so deep that they could be jeeringly referred to as wrinkles.
Still, he held his tongue and let no flicker of his anger reach his eyes. “If you’re referrin’ t’Lady Luck, milady, I always were deeply grateful t’her. A bit o’ every winnin’ wen’ t’her shrine up in Welkin.”
The goddess nodded in acceptance. “Oh, so you were always aware of your debt to her. She does so like positive recognition.” She nodded towards the bag of coins. “Are you planning to give her a few of those lovely gold coins then? It was her influence that helped you win the favor of Dauthus, after all.”
“O’ course I will. I always give some o’ my winnin’s t’her,” Ixaka repeated and a crimson-stained hand automatically reached to stroke the leather bag that bulged with money. He cleared his throat, trying to be respectful. “So, milady. . . . You was talkin’ o’ the final par’ o’ my deal wi’ Lord Dauthus?”
“Oh yes, that.” The goddess paused for a moment, her gaze still lingering on him. “You don’t really have to do the duty that he wishes you to do. There is a final rule that should you meet another god or goddess who can take up the task, then you may give the watch to him or her, and that deity will do your task while you get set to reap the benefits of immortality.”
Ixaka gawked at her for a moment and forgot in his surprise not to stare. “Really, milady? Iff’n I give this here watch t’you, I dun hafta go an’ help those five souls that I were supposed to?”
“Precisely. If you wish to burden a god or goddess with your assigned task rather than do it yourself, then you may simply give the watch to them.” She extended a dark brown hand. Her pale eyes watched his face carefully. “Will you give it to me?”
The gambler paused for a moment, weighing his options. He really should’ve have asked her name beforehand, but it was too late to without sounding suspicious. His searching eyes examined her face for any guile, but she seemed to be perfectly honest. Her light blue eyes sparkled with earnestness and her expression was sincere. At last, he shrugged, and undid the chain’s clasp from around his neck. Ignoring the sight of scarlet upon the silver chain, he let the watch drop silently onto the goddess’s outstretched palm.
A smile of satisfaction curved her lips upwards, and her long, slender fingers turned into a fist around the onyx gift of Dauthus. This time, however, the smile didn’t reach her brilliant eyes, which had darkened to the grayness of the sky when a storm approached. “Very well then. It took you longer than most of the others to give it to me, I’ll have you know.”
“What’s that mean, milady?” Ixaka winced as the pain in his chest suddenly flared, the agony increasing as though someone had suddenly buried their fingers into the gaping wound and tried to peel the skin away. He grabbed at his chest and fell, tumbling off the large boulder to land in the soft grass. So this was the sort of grass that poet had been writing of when he’d written that sonnet. . . . Gasping for oxygen, the gambler gazed up at the goddess, who now towered before him, her expression detached as she looked upon the tortured man.
She turned away from the breathless gambler and called in her clear soprano voice, sounding almost as though she was warbling like a songbird, “Oh, brother dear, I believe I have something of yours. Won’t you be a darling and hurry over here?”
There was a brief pause, in which Ixaka struggled to breathe, and then another shadow fell upon the gambler’s face. Then a familiar voice like the distant sea rumbled, “Only a week, Libhama? I truly thought this one would do the task.”
Ixaka’s eyes widened in horror, and his deadpan features twisted in shock. Any of his gambling companions would have been shocked to see the aloof man looking terrified and humbled. “No. . . .” he breathed, the word almost a groan. “No. . . .”
Ice-cold hands grasped his shoulders and forced him to his feet, ignoring the man’s whimpers of agony as the movement made the pain in his chest intensify. “Yes, Ixaka Juxtan. I must say that I am very disappointed with you.” Dauthus glanced towards his sister and his eyes flickered towards the watch with its bloodstained chain. “I believe the watch is mine, Libhama.”
“The. . .the deuce it is!” Ixaka gasped, and then struggled against those freezing hands whose touch seemed to turn his blood to ice in his veins. Thick liquid choked him once more, and he coughed, knowing that what splattered upon his chin was blood. “You two tricked me! Never listen t’any deity bu’ Lady Luck! I shoulda remembered that! Always trust Lady Luck. . . . Always--” He was halted by the gods’ cool laughter.
“Ixaka, be silent. Our sister, Lady Luck, is just another goddess, and she too is prone to her quirks. After all, she found you amusing for a little while. But remember--even Lady Luck disdains blood money.” The goddess of life cast a scornful gaze towards the bulging leather bag that still contained the twelve gold coins.
Ixaka writhed but Dauthus still held him in his grip, and once the Shadow King had you in his grasp, he never released you. “The. . .the deuce. . . .” It was so hard to breathe, far harder than it had been only a week prior, and another half-groan, half-gurgle escaped his lips. He struggled for another moment and then suddenly smiled, a whimsical grin that lit up even his light brown eyes and made Libhama see for a moment why her sister had found the gambler so amusing. “Might I leave. . .a note at least? I have. . .some final words. . . . Dun want t’be anymore trouble than I was, o’ course.”
The god of death glanced towards his sister, but Libhama simply shrugged and looked vaguely entertained at the mortal’s audacity. With a powerful shrug of his shoulders, Dauthus murmured, releasing Ixaka from his grasp, “Very well.”
As soon as Ixaka was released, he sank to his knees from the dizziness that accompanied major blood loss. Fumbling in his pack for a scrap of paper and a quill and finding neither, he glanced up almost hopefully. There was a sigh from the gods, and then he found a clean piece of paper and a quill freshly dipped in ink on the green grass before him. With a hand that trembled from the weakness of impending death, the gambler bit down on his lower lip and carefully wrote, struggling to spell everything right. Didn’t want to be made a fool after dying, after all. After a moment, he set the quill and paper down and sighed before he tilted his head towards where the deities watched. “My thanks, Lord Death. I’m sorry fer troublin’ you an’ tryin’ t’cheat you.” His lips quirked in a faint half-smile. “Though you hafta admit Libhama wears a damned good poker face.”
Dauthus waved aside the apology, seeming almost amused by it. “All the others have failed during their tests as well. Do not trouble yourself with it too much.” He made no comment about his sister’s “poker face” and instead pressed a gentle hand to the gambler’s damp forehead. “Ixaka Juxtan, your pact with me has been terminated. May you be welcomed in the Realm of Shadows.”
The effect of the god’s words was instantaneous; Ixaka managed another weak chortle of faint laughter before he slumped forward. Those brown eyes misted over with the haze of death. His kneeling form gazed blindly down at the note he had just written, his soul no longer there to take delight in the ironic words he had penned in his final moments.
The immortal duo watched his motionless corpse for a moment, and then Dauthus nodded to the shade that had stepped from the body. Ixaka’s soul was a mere wisp of what he once had been, but there still seemed an aura of amusement as the soul bowed and faded from even their divine sight, traveling to the Land of Shadows. There was silence, and then--
“What did he write, brother mine?”
Dauthus gazed down at the paper, and a look of amusement lightened the Dark Lord’s features. “Now I see why our sister enjoyed him so,” was his simple response, and Libhama turned her gaze upon the note, a laugh leaping from her throat before she could contain herself, for, in a trembling but firm hand, the dying gambler had written:
“Here lies Ixaka Juxtan, a man who lived for the shuffling of cards, a pint of cold beer every night, and the jingle of a few coins in his pocket. In the game of life, he won the favor of the gods but lost it in but a week, all thanks to the whims of Lady Luck.”
-----------
*is still amused by the end* Anyway, I'm heading off to bed. ^_^ Night everyone!
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