Without Death.

---- Whatever being holds its power over the night sky must have plucked its two brightest and most vibrant stars and placed them within her eyes. The shimmering, twinkling golden seals reflected some minute trace of the brilliance and flame within her.

It was a warm autumn night beneath those very stars when we married, and it was twenty-six years of bliss afterwards. Then, I died. A stroke, catastrophic and terrible. Not a quick death either; something that lasted for years.

My name was Arthur, or Aaron, or Amell. I- can’t quite remember – a stroke will do that to you – but it was certainly something with an ’A’.

Her name, however, was etched upon my heart. Kate... Or maybe it was just Kat?

She sat at my bedside every night for two years while I drooled and moaned and... died.

Usually, when the end of a life comes and my memories begin to slip, I find some... quick end.

Memories are all I have, all I am. Every time I lose one to dementia or concussion, I become less of myself and more of the horde of me.

The man I once was slips away with every forgotten day, and I become more of Zhou, Winston, Alexander, Kleotep, Liu’huendan... Arthur.

At the end of a life, we are awarded a chance to recount what we have been through. I typically look back and recall all I have achieved. This time, there are few accolades to tout, yet I would say it was a life more than worth living.

---- But then the feeling claws at me. Then there is that light, the light at the end of the darkness. The light that floods, and warms, and beckons, and drowns. And there, in an instant, I yearn yet again for the calming darkness. I beg for abyss.

I feel my new flesh, saggy and cold as it is, wrap my old bones. The pressure that I will never get used to as I am forced from my ethereal contemplation into some new world.

I am born in the summer. Birds flutter over my village, though they are scaled and dragon-like. I learn to walk and run, and I cannot help but laugh at the excitement of it all.

This body is weak but wilful. I believe it will last quite some time.

My childhood is calm and happy. We live amongst lilac trees and crimson grasses. A dragon mother lives atop a nearby mountain and protects us. My brother, the eldest sibling of the bunch, visits the mountain often. He tells me stories of fangs bigger than men, of claws bigger than houses and of a breath hotter than an evening sun.

“Can I meet the dragon?” I ask one boring winter’s day.

“Sure, you can!” He bellows, nearly waking our youngest sibling. “But I warn you, it’s a mighty dangerous trek.”

“I’m not scared!” I lie. “I’ll face any dragon!”

He just looks at me, the same way our father looks at me, the same way every man looks at me. To them, my fury is... admirable, cute.

For the longest time, I believe it is because I am a child. I am determined that when I grow big and strong, I shall face a dragon as a mighty and equal warrior. That will be a good way to spend this life.

---- I am in my twenty-third year when I finally realise something. Until now, I have known the limits of what I might become. I look in a puddle and notice something... different.

I have trained for heroism all my life, yet I haven’t the muscled form to show for it. Instead, I see curved and gentle features. I see hair that, though tightly bound, is just a little too... silken.

I have lived so many lives; I have been so many men. I have worked as an intergalactic taxi driver, hopping between star systems for dollars an hour. I have battled against demon lords and conquered in the name of darkness. I have run bakeries and brothels, managed empires and office blocks, yet in all my lives, I have never been named Liana. I have never been a woman before.

It seems even eternity has some surprises left, after all.

“Liana,” my dear mother urges. “Are you well?”

“Yes mother,” I answer, tearing my eyes from my own reflection and mounting my beloved horse once again.

“You seem distant.”

“Just... Stuck in thought,” I admit quietly as we gallop along.

“I can guess what about,” she smirks. “Boy trouble?”

“I... No, not that,” I sigh. There is a conversation I could have; it is one I have had many times before with many mothers before her.

I could explain that I am not her daughter, though she certainly birthed and raised me, and that I am some kind of cosmic aberration, cursed to live and live, and live.

But why would I ruin our day with such talk? It is so rare that we two get to spend time together.

“Then... dragon slaying has your mind in its grasp?” She asks with a hidden frown.

“I don’t wish to slay the dragon,” I insist. “I wish to meet her, talk with her.”

“Why? What could an immortal dragon have to talk with you about?”

Immortality, of course. I might have said as much, had I a mood for an argument. Instead, I simply reply, “We all have much to learn from our elders, mother.”

“Hmm, you would be right to remember that beyond the dragon,” she says in a gently scolding way. “I mightn’t have wings or scales, young lady, but I certainly have teeth.”

“And a fury to match the dragon,” I tease.

“Aye,” she proudly nods. “The fury and the wisdom to contain it. What need have you of some old lizard when your old mam’ is right here.”

“You are not so old as you think,” I laugh.

“Nor are you, by the way you talk half the time.”

---- The day is well spent. We pick apples in the orchard and ride our horses till’ our legs are rubbed raw. She convinces me all the while that I am of an age to marry some rich man, but she may so well as be courting to the moon, for she would garner as much of a response from the pale rock as she would from me, but a part of me enjoys her nagging. I know I’ll miss it soon enough.

There won’t be many days left with her and even fewer like this one.

She shows the signs; things others wouldn’t notice. Things I am all too familiar with.

A twitch here, a sniffle there. She has a year left at most.

It- it always hurts when I lose them... every single time, and I always fight it, but sometimes I wonder... if this curse was shared, would it double my pain or half it?

“Mother,” I quietly urge as we make our way home. She tries to turn and face me, but the sun at my back blinds her.

“Yes, Li?” She replies as she slows her horse and comes to my side.

“I- if you could live forever... would you?”

“Live forever?” she repeats, amused. “Possibly. Would I age, or be as I am now?”

“You would age... then you would be young again,” I say.

“How young? Heavens know I wouldn’t want to be a teenager again. Can I stick to thirty?” she scoffs.

“You would... live again. A babe, then an elder, then a babe again.”

“I see,” she considers. “I suppose... No. A mother should never outlive her child, nor her grandchild, or her grandchild’s grandchild. My heart wouldn’t take it.” She reaches out a hand and strokes it over my own. “That is... if you ever deign to give me grandchildren. Heavens know your brothers won’t bless us anytime soon.”

I remember the children I have held in lives past. I remember the multitudes that have worn my names. I remember the love and unequalled joy that came of holding my first born, and my hundredth. I remember the pain of leaving them all behind or worse, having them leave me.

It was worth it every time though – To have known them, to have loved them, and to live on with some trace of each within me. It is worth each shed tear for the many unborn and those others, lost too soon.

But to bare the child myself? The idea does not appeal to me. Besides, I am determined that this is a warrior’s life. There is little room for a little one.

“Who knows?” I sigh. “Maybe Malesh will meet some maiden atop the mountain.”

“Ha, one can only hope.”

---- I blink and it is the next week. My brother and I battle with fists and teeth. He throws me easily, but I am unwilling to concede. I charge and strike, my fist meets his jaw and cracks loudly.

It takes no time at all for us to realise that it was not his jaw that cracked, but my knuckle. My hand glows purple and pulses red.

“Fuck,” I can’t help but groan.

“Shit, Li are you okay?” Malesh barks as he rubs his jaw.

“Yeah, I-” I try to rub my hand, but it serves no purpose aside fanning the pain. The sharp agony chokes my breath and stutters my attempted words. “-I think its broken.”

“Let me see,” he orders. He tears my left hand away and pulls out my wounded right.

Beneath the expected blood atop my knuckle, he finds terrible bruising. He spits on the edge of his shirt and gently wipes away that which stains my cutup knuckle.

“Ow!”

“It’s definitely broken,” he sighs. “Dad’s going to kill me.”

“It’s my fault,” I insist. “I went too hard.”

“He won’t care,” Malesh groans with a faint smile. “How bad does it hurt?”

“I felt worse.”

“When?” he scoffs.

“I don’t know,” I lie. I pull my hand back from his careful grasp and cradle it for a while. After a deep breath, he offers me a hand in rising.

We return to our campsite. Dead rabbits hang from the rack while our younger brother stokes the fire. He notices my injury quickly but isn’t so graceful as to ask how I am. A cruel grin catches him and he bolts from his log chair.

“Did ya try punching through a boulder?” he mocks.

“Nope, just me,” Malesh chuckles. “Damn, you hit the only thing dumber and denser on the whole mountain.”

“Yeah, very funn-”

I blink and it is another month, then another year, then I am a grown woman and a hardened warrior. Legends are whispered when my back is turned, of my vast feats of combat and strength. But I... I don’t remember them.

I was... atop the mountain; I wanted to meet the dragon. Now I stand at the fore of an army who’s banners I don’t recognise.

This life should not be so quickly passing. It should not be so quickly forgotten. I- I don’t know what is going on...

---- The body is grey and weak. My skin is paper thin, and my heart is all too light for my age. I do not know who this girl is beside me, but she bears the same silken hair of my mother and the same curious smile as my brother.

“We’re almost there,” she whispers.

“Almost where?” I ask.

“The mountain, grandmother. We’re almost atop the mountain.”

“G- Grandmother? Me?”

“It’s okay,” she smiles. “Just a little further.”

It might have been a ‘little further’ in my youth, but for some reason I lack that particular virtue. I face the dirt, the damp, the cold, and it shakes me to my core.

“Why are we climbing the mountain?” I ask.

“To meet the dragon, grandmother. You told me it was your last wish.”

“Last... wish?”

“I- Yes, I’m- sorry. You’ve lived a good life,” she comforts as she carries me the final few steps. “You have defeated many enemies, saved many lives. Now it is your time to rest.”

A lifetime passes in a blink, yet this small walk seems to last the eternity I have forgotten. I realise that I am missing toes as I struggle to find footing atop the ancient and worn cobbles. I lack a left hand too; no doubt sacrificed to some battlefield.

“Here,” my ‘granddaughter’ whispers. She sets me down atop a rounded stone and kneels at my feet. Shadows grow long, and longer. They wrap around her pretty face and flood over her jade eyes.

“What is your name?” I ask.

“Lianna, grandmother. I was named for you... remember?” she says in a begging way.

“I- I do not,” I admit, the shame of it fills my heart.

“That’s okay,” she smiles, and I watch her fight away a tear. “The dragon might help you remember.”

“Have I... Have I ever met the dragon before?” I ask.

“No, grandmother. Life kept you from her, and war stole your dreams of meeting her.”

“So, I truly was a warrior in this life,” I chuckle.

“The greatest of all,” she says with a beaming pride. “You have more legends than there are stars in the night sky.”

“Good,” I sigh. “But now I am old, and a stranger knows my tale better than I.”

“Maybe... but all the same, you saved many lives. Let that be enough.”

“It’s not,” I croak. She places her hands in my own and a shimmer finds her beautiful eyes. “But it might be enough to learn that I was good to you.”

“You were,” she chokes. “You were...”

I am... grateful for the silent moment that follows. This brief moment of bliss and warmth as the sun sets in far horizon. It is impossibly warm atop the mountain; no breeze sheers us despite the altitude and the flakes of gentle snow warm my old flesh.

Lianna rests her head on my lap as she brushes a hand through the dew sodden grasses. I find a scar at the side of her neck, as deep and dangerous as it is old and forgotten. It echoes of an ancient trial we both faced, and the clashing of swords rings in my ears as I try to recall it.

But then death comes atop lilac wings.

So vast as she was ancient, her wings block out the horizon and swallow the sun. Veins of gold span their shimmering lengths, and a great winding neck bears feathers of every hue.

Each beat of her wings carries a chorus of a thousand baritone singers, and I am reminded of the humming monks in their empty temples.

She does not land before us, but atop and around us. Her wings seal the tip of the mountain while her body must be coiled around its base. All I can see of her - within the new darkness of her embrace - is a single flaming eye and a pupil of pure white within.

“AT... LAST,” it sings in voice of thunder.

“You have been waiting?” I cry out.

“I... HAVE.”

“For what? For me?”

“FOR SOMEONE LIKE ME,” it declared in a mouthless voice.

“You know what I am?”

“The winds, the fight, the darkness of night. We are the unebbing, the always dying, the ever crying.”

It is closer now, personal. The winds of the world rush past my ears and whisper the words in place of her world eating maw. It must be a terrible thing, to have the power and scale to express the sorrow of an eternal life, and yet the will to keep that pain within and not place it upon the world beneath.

“How do you know of me?” I ask.

“Your eyes,” the winds whisper. “So old... so broken, and yet so full of hope. You are too ancient to hate eternity. Too old to wish away life, yet old enough to understand the plight of it.”

“And you? How ancient can you be with only a single life?”

“I was born with the first stars. I was, before there was, and yet I believe you are older still.”

“I... do not know how old I am. I do not know how many lives I have lived,” I admit, and my granddaughter looks at me with a strange horror.

“Then I ask that you tell me of mortality,” the dragon said.

“Me... tell you? I came hoping that you might have answers for me,” I say.

“I may well tell you of eternity,” it says, “But I know nothing of mortality. Answer me; death... does it hurt?”

“Death?” I repeat. “Do you fear death, old dragon? I thought you eternal.”

“Eternal, aye, but even eternity must end eventually. I suppose... To a manner, yes, I do fear my death.”

“Then I will tell you that death wears a new face for every life. I will tell you that I have died more times than I have lived, yet I still fear it every time. Death is no man, no monster. It... it is the only thing without comparison in life. A force, a direction, a...” The words are lost to me, but the passion heats my old heart. “Death is; and that is all I can say for it.”

“I- Must say... that is very little comfort,” the dragon admits.

“Maybe, but there is little comfort to be had in death. Joy is in life; comfort is in a lover, or in the search to find one.”

“Then never have you wished death for yourself? Never a life so hopeless have you lived that death seemed the only resort?”

“Never,” I declare. “Upon a first death, I realised the value of even my worst lives. I would not waste a second, let alone a lifetime, when so much good can come of my darkness.”

Lianna looks at me and wraps herself in my declaration. She cannot find a voice to ask her questions of me, but I see them written plain across her freckled face. “Death is never an answer, not by my own hand or when offered to any other being.”

“But you have lived as a warrior,” the dragon accuses. “You have taken many lives. Is this not hypocrisy?”

“Maybe,” I admit. “But war is constant in all my lives. I hope that in this life, I provided this world a new way of waging. I hope that my actions saved more lives in the centuries to come. I hope my legacy in this world is held in the beauty of my granddaughter, not in the density of my graveyards.”

“I do not understand,” the dragon admits. “But maybe one day I will. Tell me now, what answers did you seek of me that brought you so far?”

“I sought to know if you had met another like me in your long, long life... Though I suppose you have answered that already.”

“I have met many. Men and women; beast and god. I have known beings so vast they fed upon worlds, and I have borne witness to entire galaxies so ancient that the gods mightn’t even know that they ever were. Yet in all, I have never met one who had been two, or twenty, or twenty million, as you are. Never have I known life after death, and certainly I have never known life to come from one’s lives previous.”

“Then you can tell me nothing of my condition?” I say, the hope drained from my aged voice. “You can offer no companionship...”

“I cannot,” it answers, shame dripping from the thunderclouds.

“Then the end of this life is close, though the end of my journey is not. I thank you for your time, great dragon. I am sorry that I cannot offer you solace in your eternity.”

“And I am sorry that I can not offer you comfort in your next life. Know that the world you leave behind here shall remember you, and that I shall take your kin and make demi-gods of them. They shall want for nothing. They shall never face strife again. I swear it by my years lived, and my years yet to come.”

Something changes quickly. I know its signature, but the parchment it marks is strange. I feel my life ebb, and I feel the grip of death come on swift wings.

It wears a new face – as always – only now I do not feel a pressure, nor do I fall into it or rise towards its embrace. It spreads from within me. It touches parts of my body beyond the physical and begins its drain.

“Granddaughter,” I whisper as I grow feint.

“I’m here,” she whimpers.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember you... I really wish I could.”

“That’s okay,” she chokes. Tears fall freely down her freckled cheeks as she rises above me. I feel her arms wrap around me as I fall into her.

“Tell me,” I whisper. “Tell me of our life.”

She tells me a tale of her recent youth. The story of how I came to raise her in place of her own parents. She laughs at the memory, though it seems a sad story.

My breath catches in the mist and a gentle tear cools my forehead as I close my eyes to better hear the tale.

I die slowly at the end of a deep winter’s day. I die hearing tales of family and love. I die quietly. I die well. I die again.