Page 89 of Wind Rider

Sides heaving—breath leaving—the Alpha stroked on

He kept swimming, even after his strength was gone.

They reached the shore by his blood and his brawn

He saw them safe before the last of his breath was drawn.

That is why always and still

The Tribe remembers mighty Alpha Raphael.”

Ralina bowed her head and crossed her arms over her chest to signify the end of her tale, and the God laughed and clapped.

“Ah, I do so love a story that ends in death! I am eager to hear how you will begin my tale, and I have been considering where you should start. Perhaps not with my victory over the Tribe of the Trees. Perhaps you should begin as I awakened. What are your thoughts, Storyteller?”

You would kill me for my thoughts.Aloud, Ralina said, “Great God, it would be difficult for me to begin your tale by describing something I was not there to observe, especially as I know you would want me to be as accurate as possible.”

“Hum, you make an excellent point, Storyteller, though I mourn that the beginnings of my tale will be lost.” Death sighed sadly as one of the girls He called Feather rubbed His cloven hooves, and another whose name Ralina had never heard Him speak hand-fed Him pieces of rabbit.

Ralina had to keep herself from glaring at the God. She could smell that the rabbit meat was untainted, and could be safely fed to the Tribe, but the God hoarded every bit of untainted meat for Himself. Ralina was beginning to understand that Death’s intention was to infect them all—every one of them.

I must figure out a way to stop Him—and to do that I need to know more about how He went from a sleeping God to one that walks the earth, bringing misery and pestilence.

“My Lord, there is an alternative,” Ralina said.

“Speak, Storyteller!”

“It is just a thought, and I do not mean to overstep, but if you explained to me in detail what happened, how you were awakened, I could recount your tale accurately, and it would be told over and over again throughout the ages.”

Death nibbled a piece of succulent rabbit from the girl’s hand, licking and sucking fat from her fingers while He considered Ralina’s words.

The Storyteller’s empty stomach roiled, and she averted her eyes from His greasy lips and the disgusting noises He made as the girl fed Him.

“I like this new idea of yours very much,” He said as He chewed noisily.

“I would need access to you during the process of researching your tale, though, my Lord. Would that be something you might allow?”

“Of course! Anything to immortalize my story! I shall let Iron Fist know that he is to pass word to all Reapers that you are given leave to come and go freely.” Then the God glanced around the platform, as if just realizing something was missing.

“Where is your handsome Shepherd? What is his name again?”

“Bear, my Lord.” Ralina forced her voice to remain emotionless. She purposefully left her Companion in the roped-off area where Death had segregated all members of the Tribe who had not accepted The Cure. She didn’t like how the God stared at the Shepherds, especially the large males.

“Yes, Bear! Aptly named. He is one of the largest of the Tribe’s canines, is he not?”

“There were several males larger than Bear, but none are with us anymore,” Ralina prevaricated.

Death’s gaze hardened along with His voice. “Then there is no need to speak of them! Bring your canine with you next time you come. I enjoy observing them.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Ralina said, as terror clenched her heart.

Death was watching her closely. “Storyteller, you do not appear to be ill.”

“I am not, my Lord,” she replied carefully. “Or at least I am not at this moment.”

“It would be interesting to see what a magnificent being you would become should you fall ill and take The Cure. Merging your flesh with that mighty canine of yours—why, you would be even more powerful than the beloved Raphael of your old tale!”

“I will keep that in mind should I fall ill, my Lord.”