The child death spared

Darren breathed hard, twitching away from every sound and light as the rain poured down hard overhead, pounding against the stone of the abandoned houses, and lightning and thunder cracked and boomed, lighting up the field that was the farmland surrounding the town that he had grown up in as two armies lined up on either side of it, preparing to destroy each other and anything in the way. Against his parents wishes, he had rushed back home as they fled in order to grab a toy that had been left behind - a small doll that looked vaguely like his departed sister, which his mother had given to him a few years prior in order to stifle his cries. It had taken him time to find it, and when he had run down the stairs to escape, he found he had taken too long.

He was terrified. In the flashes of lightning, he saw the the swords and armor of the soldiers brighter than anything else. Their images stayed longer than the rest of it, etched into his eyes because of their reflective nature. They looked like empty suits, possessed by the dead to fight for eternity, and drag more and more people into their endless war over nothing. Darren clutched the sister-doll close to his heart, trying very hard not to cry, because he knew if he did it would give him away. He didn't trust that these people - if they could even be called that - would spare him just because he was a child.

There was a long pause in the lightning. It was night now, and Darren couldn't see anything past his hand in front of his own face. The pour of the rain was clouding out any other sounds from being able to reach his ears. He could only wait for the next bolt to light the area, to see if he might be able to find a way to escape. But when it finally came, he saw that the armies were no longer where they had been. He lurched forward, trying to catch sight of him, and slammed headfirst into the leg of a soldier running past to reach the other side.

Darren flew back and hit the wall he had been hiding behind hard. Pain surged through his body, and there was a warm liquid pooling on his head where he had run into the soldier's armored leg, mixing with the icy drops of rain.

He couldn't help himself now. He cried hard, harder even than when his sister passed away. He wanted to see her again, but he didn't want to have to lose his parents to do it.

He sensed a figure step in front of him. Caught a glimpse of the shape of its sword as it plunged into the ground just in front of Darren. It had to be a soldier, coming to find the source of the crying. Darren only cried harder.

Another flash of lightning, and Darren so with explicit detail the form in front of him. It had stooped down to look him dead in the face, its black, empty sockets starring into his eyes. A massive figure in a black cloak, its only discernible feature the bone skull that sat on its white shoulders, barely visible under the cloak.

"Darren," an icy voice came from the skull as its jaw dropped open. "You have been a naughty boy tonight. Going places you have no business being. Seeing things young eyes should not see." The jaw opened and closed to the words as they rattled into Darren's mind, but they didn't quite fit. Like it was a face quite out of practice of talking.

"W-who are you?" Darren asked, barely able to hear his own voice over the storm.

"By all rights, you should not be leaving this town tonight," the voice continued, ignoring the boy's question. "But there is much bloodshed tonight. I have enough work to do. And so, I am in a good mood. Come with me."

Darren looked at the face as another bolt flew. It terrified him more than any soldier he had seen, but a fleeting thought came to him as he stared into the empty eye sockets. Perhaps something more terrifying was what he needed to get past the terror he had face before. Quietly, he nodded.

He felt a bony, frigid hand close around his arm. He looked down to see its lack of skin or muscle. He heard the figure loose its sword from the dirt before it led him forward.

Darren knew the town layout well. Even in the dark, he knew the feel of the main roads. They walked along them, towards the enemy from the next kingdom over. Darren could feel the sweat on his palms as the fear of what would happen if they came across them sunk into his mind. He had wanted to escape. This... creature was leading him directly into their path. But he was even more afraid of speaking up. The fear that he might be abandoned was worse than the fear of what would happen if he was found by the wrong people. And the figure had promised him safe passage. Or so he was assuming.

Through the sound of the rain, Darren began to hear the sound of battle. Steel clashing on steel, and soon momentary sparks splashed through the air, giving brief glimpses of tumbling figures on the brink of death before the sparks were extinguished by the rain. Shivers ran down his spine, and without thinking he reached up to grab hold of the hand holding his arm. The arm was thin and tough under the cloak, with a gap in the middle that Darren could slip his fingers into. The figure said nothing in response.

As the sounds grew louder and closer, Darren could feel the tears welling in his eyes. He tried to wipe them away, and as he pulled his hand away between wipes, he saw a steel cladded warrior charging almost directly at him. He screamed, but the man froze in mid strike. Darren's guide had struck in an instant, impaling the soldier on his sword. With seemingly no effort, he lifted the body into the air on the end of the blade and, with a flick of the wrist, sent it tumbling away into the darkness.

The figure did not stop walking. Darren had no choice but to follow.

The cloaked one cut a path through the battlefield for the child, as if he were cutting a path through an overgrown field. Its bony hand never left Darren's arm until they were clear of the battle. Only then did Darren realize he had been led to the path his family had used to escape.

The figure knelt down in front of him once more. "You'd best move, Darren, before I change my mind."

But Darren hesitated. "H-how do you know my name?" he asked.

The figure stood up and began to walk away, but his voice came into Darren's mind just as clear as ever. "Death knows the names of all its children. It never forgets those who have come to it, and it knows the exact moment the rest will follow. Tonight was not the death of the child, Darren. I suggest you remember that."

And then Darren was alone. But he was safe. And he had his doll.

He ran to find his family.