Page 140 of Wind Rider

Death said nothing. He stood in magnificent silence until the priest made a motion for Him to follow. Then everyone headed back up the path.

Death turned his massive head and nodded to the Reapers waiting beside the boats. Like a deadly swarm, they left the beached craft and followed their God.

Ralina noted that the only supplies any of them carried were their sharp-tipped tridents.

The beauty of the resting Saleesh village made Ralina’s heart hurt. She didn’t know what Death had planned, but whatever it was she knew it would change this peaceful, prosperous people forevermore.

Incense drifted through the night air, along with the musical chimes of glass wind ornaments hanging from the roofs of neatly kept houses. Torches and campfires lit the village. Women, swathed in fabric from their heads to their toes, sat on porches and around the campfires, stirring big pots whose aromas mingled with the cozy sights and sounds.

Ralina wanted to scream at them to run—hide—Do something, anything, but do not welcome Death into your village!The women did nothing. They only stared at Death as He strode after their old priest.

Renard bumped her shoulder. When she looked at him he cut his eyes to the side. She followed his gaze to see that several dozen more young men—all in robes like the other young priests—had begun to appear. They were all armed with the fishhook lances.

Father John had stopped before a beautiful altar. The centerpiece was a larger-than-life statue of a woman. She was covered in a white dress and over that she wore a blue wrap, which concealed her hair and someof her lovely, downturned face. All around her were candles and other offerings—food and drink, and delicate jewelry and trinkets. Her back was to the river far below.

“Behold our Mother!” Father John announced, sweeping his arms out and bowing low to the idol.

Death moved closer and closer to the statue, so that finally His cloven hooves ground against the stone slab on which she stood, knocking over the candles and overturning the offerings.

“You must not—” the priest began, but Death rounded on him.

“Silence!” The word was deafening, and spittle flew from the God’s mouth into Father John’s face.

The priest paled and wiped his face with a trembling hand. The young men holding lances drew closer.

Death turned His back on the priest and continued to study the idol. Within a few breaths He threw back His head and laughed. Then He faced the priest.

“This is no Goddess. She is an empty statue who serves only as an extension of your ego. She is not the Mother, the Great Earth Goddess of Life. You are a fraud, Father John, and your people are fools.”

“Brothers! Attack!” Father John shouted.

The dozen men who had accompanied the priest to the beach were closest to the God. They raised their lances and began moving forward, obviously attempting to herd Death and His people away from the altar.

“Stop them,” Death commanded in a voice so calm—so quiet—that it was almost lost to the night.

Almost.

But Thaddeus heard. “Take them out!” he told the Warriors, and with smooth, practiced movements the Warriors drew crossbows from within their cloaks and fired—killing each of the young men.

Father John screamed and tried to run, but the long arm of Death caught him by his cloak and yanked him off his feet so that the priest crumbled to the ground.

“Behold what a real God can do!”

Death faced the river and threw his arms wide. In a voice impossibly loud He called out into the darkness of the listening night.

“Spirits of the dead, hear the call of your God! Come forth and do my bidding!” Then Death whirled around and pointed at the still bleeding bodies of the fallen Saleesh. From behind Him there was a great keening sound. Then up from the river poured a freezing mist. Within that mist Ralina could see shapes of all kinds of men—young, old, short, tall—all of them wearing odd clothing that hung from their bodies like they were living skeletons. The first of the specters rushed to the bodies, hurling themselves into the mouths of the newly dead.

Absolutely frozen with dread, Ralina watched those bodies twitch, moan, and then stagger to their feet, their open eyes milky orbs focused on the God of Death and the spirits that surrounded Him.

The other men in robes were frozen in fear. They halted just feet away from Thaddeus and the Warriors, staring at the reanimated men in dread.

Death smiled down on Father John and then lifted the huge statue and threw her down to break on the rocky shore so many feet below. “Do you see the power of a real God?”

“What are you doing? Why are you here?”

“When will you learn Gods do not suffer being questioned by mortals?” And then the God reached for Father John—lifted the shrieking, kicking man over His head—and threw him to his death beside his shattered idol.

Then the God turned his attention to the frozen Saleesh men.