The Death Crier

One look at the small child and I know that she will die within three new moons. 

Her mother doesn’t meet my gaze. They never do. They just wait for the proclamation. In this instant, she is as innocent as the child, hoping my words will bring fortune instead of doom. This mother, she knows she will live until the gray covers her head and the wrinkles line her face, for my own mother declared it long before I took my first breath 14 years ago. And now, I must tell her that her own child will not see many days to come.

“She is a beautiful child,” I tell her, choking back the emotion that hits me every time the proclamation is dire. 

“Thank you.” She looks down at the dirt on the floor, then kisses her child, the soft blonde curls flattening gently beneath her lips.

I turn and look back at Oma who fiercely holds my gaze and nods, a knowing in her eyes. 

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and speak truth to the mother. I am precise as I steady my voice. “Your child will be gone in 78 days.” I hear her gasp but do not open my eyes. “She is but a flicker of light and the remembrance of that light will carry you forward.”

I turn and walk away, ignoring the wailing that has started behind me, for it is not my place to offer comfort. Oma takes my hand and leads me up the hill, away from the town, away from the sorrow. But it lingers today, a greater force upon my heart than I have yet known, and I must fight away the tears.

“You served your gift well today, Joli,” Oma tells me after some time, and I know it is a distraction from the words of the young mother. Words that follow me towards my home. Witch. Demon. Liar. Words that do not scare me, but rather fill my heart with pain. We walk then, silently through the trees, where darkness begins to block out the light, the brambles along the path grabbing at my cape. A place of fear for many. A place of comfort for me. 

“What good do I do?” I ask at last. 

Oma laughs, a sound out of place here in the sorrow. “You ask that every time, Joli. Even when the proclamation is a good one. You know that we bring order. We prepare our people so that they may be ready when the time comes, so that no death is unexpected.”

“But then they must grieve twice,” I tell her, not unkindly. “And they hate me for being the bearer of their grief. They hate us. Me, you, Mama.”

“It is not our place to question the gifts we have been given,” she says and stops suddenly, turning to look at me. I see worry etched across her face. “Our gift is the greatest of all. The one we must bear deeper than all the other gifts of our world. Don’t you see? When we know the when, we can live out the best of our days. That mother, she will be fine because she will be ready. And she will have more children who will outlive her. There will be no suddenness to her loss. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Oma,” I say, looking away, back towards the town. But my words are a lie. 

#

Everyone in the Tel is born with a gift. There is no choosing. Sometimes, like with me, we come into our world with the same gifts as our mothers. But more often, the gift is completely different. Seemingly random. Like Oma, who is older than anyone else here. Her mother was a Slayer. Her father a Wisdom Crier.

And yet, there is no randomness in the Tel. Every gift assures our survival. The Slayers and the Guardians protect us. The Wisdom Criers help us to make the right choices. The Beauty Unfolders keep the Tel from the decay of the Outside. Healers take care of the sick. Every gift is important for our world. Except, some say, the Death Criers. 

We begin our training as soon as we know our death day. Unless, like the small child today, the death day will come soon. Training takes our entire childhood. Oma is my mentor now, because we are the only three, myself, Oma and Mama and Mama can no longer help me. Oma was her mentor and one day, I will mentor the next Death Crier. And it is so with the others as well, the Guardians, Slayers, and the rest. School and training until we are ready. It is a good life for most. There is the order that Oma speaks of. The Tel is beautiful, and we are safe from the Outside, an ugly and noxious place where no life can survive.

#

We arrive at the small cottage. From inside I hear Mama talking loudly and I know there is no one else but her. My father is long dead, and even though she knew it would happen, the grief laid heavy on my mother’s heart, despite what Oma tells me. She rests now, her gift dormant, her mind as fleeting as the small dragon birds that fly outside the cottage on warm days. 

“Hurry, child,” Oma says, opening the door. “You need your rest. You did well today. I am proud of you. But you still must go to school in the morning.” 

She smiles a warm, gentle smile, meant to help me along and I smile back at her, but there will be no rest for me this night. And I’ve already decided that tomorrow I will spend in the woods instead of the school. No one will notice. On the best days, I am ignored. An invisible girl with no friends. On the worst days, the days they decide to see me, they call me cursed. They say I am the bringer of death rather than the messenger. But I am still just a girl, and the words are sharp, and I wonder if I will always be alone. 

#

The path is narrow and overgrown in many places, because only Oma and I ever walk it. To the town and back. To school and back. To a proclamation and back. When I get about halfway to the town, I turn off to the right. There is an overgrowth that hides the even narrower path I have worn into the ground over the years. This is my path. The one that takes me away from both the cottage and the town. It winds far away to a place I discovered the day Father died. The day Mama changed. The day I decided I didn’t want this gift. This responsibility as Mama used to say. As Oma tells me now. 

On that day long ago, I ran, headed towards the Outside. But long before I reached the boundary, instead, I found the Water. I was stunned by its power and beauty as it fell from the steep and massive rocks above. The sound was thunder. The coolness, a cleansing. And it was in this place I found peace. I never told anyone. This is my place, and I will not share. If I must bear this burden, I will have my own secrets. 

It takes the full morning to reach the Water. I am covered in sweat, so I remove my cape and my dress and first dip my bare feet into the water along the bank. It is like ice, but it soothes me, and I walk slowly out to where it covers my knees, my waist, my shoulders. I listen to the thunder. I watch the dragon birds. 

It is then I see the flash of color in the distance. Moving among the trees. Not on my path but making its way closer. A person. Quickly, I make my way back to the edge and retrieve my clothes and run to the rocks where the Water falls. Here I can hide. After I slip on my clothes, I dare to peek around the side of the rock. They are still a distance, two of them.

My eyes are sharp, and I see the first person come around the trees. Dez! My heart does a little summersault, and I am glad for my hiding place, because I feel my face burning red. But then, the summersault turns to a flame as I see the second person. Eymi. Dez is holding her hand, leading her along. I cannot hear over the thunder all around me, but I can see they are both laughing. Dez stops suddenly and leans back against a tree, pulling Eymi to him. She stops, close enough to taste his breath and closes her eyes. I look away as their lips come together. Sinking to the ground, I am consumed with an ache stronger than the sorrow of yesterday’s proclamation. 

I sit for a few minutes before I dare to look again, and they are gone. I walk to the Water, but it does not comfort me now. I sink to my knees and lean in close where my reflection can tell me the truth I already know. I am a plain girl. There is nothing I see that Dez would ever love. Did I ever really believe that? He has always been kind to me, a great Wisdom Crier they say. But he is older. He doesn’t even know my name; I am sure of it. Of course, he would be with Eymi. The beautiful daughter of the Tel’s King. The girl whose gift is to create and maintain beauty, to keep the Outside away. She who never sees me when we pass on the path to school. She who has almost everything.  Except perhaps the most important thing. A death day far into the future.

#

I am wakened from a dream of rainbow-colored dragon birds who lead me to the Water. I sit up and search the darkness for whatever pulled me from my sleep. A knock at the door, sharp, urgent. My heart thumps suddenly in my chest. No one ever comes to the cottage except Oma. I get up and pull my cape around me, for there is a chill in this night. There is no sound from Mama’s room, so I tip toe quietly into the kitchen and look out the window towards the front door. 

“Dez?” 

He turns towards my voice. “Joli,” he says, just above a whisper. “Please, I need your help.”

I move quickly to the door and open it and step outside so as not to disturb Mama. Under the full moon, I can see that his eyes are red, puffy. It’s been two years since the day I saw him with Eymi at the Water, and I have put him out of my mind. And yet, standing here in front of him, the ache, the desire, it returns without warning. My arms feel heavy, and I pull my cape tight around my shaking body. I cannot look at him for fear he will see it. 

“What is it?” I ask. “Why are you here so late?”

“It’s Eymi,” he says, and I feel my heart sink. “Her death day is near.”

I know this because I know all the death days, including mine, many moons from now. “But I don’t make the death days,” I tell him in defense. “I only bring—”

“No!” His voice rings through the woods and I turn quickly to make sure he didn’t wake Mama. “I’m sorry,” he says, lowering his voice. “I am not here to accuse you. I am here because only you can help.”

“But how? How can I help? There is nothing to be done.” 

“Come,” he says. “Please. There isn’t much time. I can explain as we walk.”

I turn and close the door gently, knowing I will follow. He grabs my hand and I feel the familiar flutter in my heart as he leads me down the steps and into the woods.

“Today is Eymi’s death day.” I cannot see his face, but I hear in his voice the anguish between the breaths and feel his nails dig deeply into my hand as we move ever faster towards town. 

“Surely you have known this all along.” 

But I wonder. 

He lets go of my hand and stops suddenly and I almost fall with the suddenness of it. He turns to face me, and I can’t help but look away. His eyes, as dark as the night, are filled with longing but that longing is not for me.

“No,” he says softly. “Her father lied to her. He told her she had many more years. Joli, no one else knew the truth. Except perhaps you.” There is no anger, no accusation. Only fear of having discovered something terrible.

“But why? I don’t understand. The whole point is to prepare.”

“He has no heir. If anyone knew, he would have been replaced. Kings and Queens of the Tel must have an heir. This has always been the way it is.”

He is walking again. I run to catch up, but my mind is whirling. “What about the Healers? Can they not do anything?”

“Healers only alleviate suffering, bring comfort. They cannot change a death day.”

I see a few flickers of candles ahead through the trees as we approach the town. But most are still sleeping, and we walk quickly towards the schoolhouse. This time, I stop. “Dez, I still don’t understand. What am I to do? A death day is a death day. Even I cannot change what is to be.”

He turns to face me. “But you can, Joli.” 

“How?” It’s suddenly colder and I wrap my cape tighter around me.

“Death Criers can proclaim a trade.”

I take a step backwards. “That is but ancient myth.” My voice shakes as I speak in a low whisper. “No one has ever done this. It is only a foolish tale.”

“Oma has done so. Surely you know this.” He runs his hand through his hair and looks from me to the school. “Your mother.  Your father—”

“No! My father died on his death day.” But I search my memory. I was just a small child. “My mother couldn’t handle it. She was weak. She…” I stop talking and search Dez’s face. There is kindness. There is desperation.

“I’m sorry, Joli. I thought you knew. As your mother’s death day approached, he bargained with Oma to trade. Your mother didn’t know.”

“How do you know all this?” I wipe a tear from my face as the memories all begin to fall into place and finally make sense. 

“I am one of the greatest Wisdom Criers, it’s been said. A blessing and a curse, you know?”

I do know.

“You want to trade your death day with Eymi.” It is not a question now. 

He takes both of my hands and moves them to his face. He kisses them lightly and the longing wracks my body. “Please, Joli. She cannot die. Without her, I cannot live. So please. For me. For the Tel.”

“What if I say no?”

Dez lets go of my hands, he closes his eyes and his head drops. He doesn’t answer me, but I know now what I must do. 

“Where is she?” I ask him. “She must be present.”

“In the schoolhouse waiting. I told her I was getting you to verify the death day. She must not know that I will take her place.”

I nod and we walk quickly towards the old building. I see a shadow as we approach, and Eymi is there in the doorway. She looks at me and then at Dez. Even in the dark, I can see the anguish. And yet, she is still beautiful.

“Thank you for coming, Joli. I am sorry to have dragged you out of bed at such an hour. But we must know. We must be sure.” Her voice is soft, resigned. And I can see why Dez loves her.

I nod but don’t speak. I must be quick. If the myth is true, if my father did trade his death day for my mother’s, then I have only to hold their hands and speak the ancient words. Dez stands next to me, but I only take Eymi’s hands into mine and close my eyes. I see Oma in my memories. She is holding my mother’s hands, telling her that she will help take care of me. I see her suddenly reaching for my father’s hand and uttering the words that proclaim the trade. I see my father drop to the ground, my mother screaming as she understands what has happened. I see Oma walking away. I feel Dez next to me. I do not take his hands. Only Eymi’s. And I say the words. I feel myself dropping to the ground, a darkness coming upon me. I think of the dragon birds as they lead me to the Water.

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