Prologue #2
They didn’t speak as they reached her low cabin, situated at the far back of the plantation, edged by dense forest and brambles.
The cabin’s condition was poor—even by human standards—with rough-cut windows providing little light and poor ventilation.
A shoddily hewn door that gaped, somehow managing to both trap the heat of the day and allow in the creeping chill of night.
Wooden wattle peeked through the rough white tabby walls as jagged bits of oyster shell glinted in the dim light.
A crude fireplace sat at one end, a pair of lumpy pallets at the other, next to a small stand holding a washbasin, a pitcher, and two chamber pots, the fetid smell of sick rising in the cabin’s thick heat.
A square wooden table, two chairs, and an assortment of pans and dry goods comprised the rest of the cabin’s contents.
He helped her to the closest pallet, where a small book rested on the stained cloth, its cover bright yellow. He moved it and settled her down. Once she lay back, it was as if all the strength had fled her body. He sat in one of the spindly chairs, surveying her.
“Where is everyone?” he asked, more for conversation than anything else.
“Once the overseer took sick, they moved everyone healthy to Master’s brother’s home and boarded up the Big House.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
She gestured to her skin, mottled with rash. Her eyes gleamed with fever; she had sweat through her dress. He’d seen humans abandon their young for less.
“So, what now?” she wheezed. Blood covered her hand where she’d coughed.
He considered her question. “I take your soul, and we transcend this place.”
She nodded, accepting the fact. “Will it hurt?”
“You’ll leave this pain behind.”
“That would be good. It’s all I’ve known.”
She reached for her book, and Death handed it to her, first reading the title.
Robinson Crusoe.
“Is that important to you?”
She nodded. “My father—I mean, Master Carter—read from it when I was small. I can read it myself now, having listened to his stepdaughter Mary’s lessons.” She dragged it up to her chest. “It brings a bit of comfort.”
“You can’t take it with you.” Although people were always trying. Gold, jewels, papers, and once even a prized pig. Worldly goods held no value in the next place. He nodded toward the book. “What’s it about?”
He didn’t particularly care, but he wasn’t ready to collect her—not yet.
She wiped her hand on her skirt, the blood smearing. “A man who goes on an adventure and sees all the sights to see. He is made a slave and then finds himself free.”
Death examined her. “Is that what you would do?”
She nodded adamantly, wincing at the effort.
“I’d give anything to see the world. My brother and I dreamed about it when we were young.
How we’d leave our old place and travel.
Silas was so sure there must be more to life than this.
” She gestured weakly to the rough, craggy wood floor where she made her home.
A coughing fit filled her lungs, wet and thick.
It wouldn’t be long now.
By rights, he should take her and ferry her soul, but . . . he found he didn’t want to. All he wanted to do was carry on speaking with her.
“Tell me, where would you go if you could?” he asked, delaying the inevitable.
“Away from here.”
“Anywhere more specific?”
She was quiet as she considered the question, probably having never been asked anything like it before.
“I’d want to go everywhere. Places I’ve only heard about, like Paris or London or where my mother said her father was from.
I’d like to see the world and its wondrous things.
I’d like to be free,” she said, her breathing ragged.
Death shrugged, slightly miffed at her answer. “You’re not missing much. Places are places and humans are humans, everywhere they live.”
“I don’t think so. I want to believe there is a better sort—at least better than I’ve experienced,” she challenged.
Death snorted. “I can assure you they’re not.
” His mind wandered to the men he’d seen south of here who had set whole towns on fire to dominate those they thought inferior, leaving only destruction in their wake.
Nothing about those men was worth saving, but it hadn’t been their time.
When it was, Death would have something special for them, indeed.
They would learn that no one was crueler than he.
“What about me? What have I ever done to anybody?”
Death’s gaze swept over her, studying her like he was seeing the core of who she was, deep in her marrow. It was true. She’d been born in bondage during this godforsaken time. Her soul, for all its ill treatment, was still pure.
This fact didn’t fit Death’s plans, so he conveniently ignored it.
“You are only one person. Millions more are wretches, waiting for their chance to inflict themselves on other humans. Living is more trouble than it’s worth.”
Her mouth fell open with shock. “How can you say that? Of anyone, you should know how precious life is.”
“It’s because I know that I am an authority.”
Nella shook her head forcefully. “Then you don’t understand it at all.
Life, I mean. I’ve seen my fair share of trouble and terribleness.
But Mama always reminded me there’s still love to be had, even in humans, even in this terrible place.
” No doubt she meant the plantation she and others had been forced to labor on.
“There’s family . . . even if they’re gone.
There’s the people we love and who love us .
. . even if it’s all just memories. There’s the things we leave behind.
It’s the only way my people survived this hell.
Holding on to dawn. All you have to do is pay attention. ”
He quirked his eyebrows at her spirit. Even while dying, even in the face of all the horror she’d endured, she was willing to disagree with Death himself. “So, I can’t see people’s goodness?” he asked. “And you . . . could show it to me? Is that what you’re saying?”
Her eyes sharpened with clarity. “Let me live—and do this life over again. I’ll show you. It’s all around us.”
Death scoffed, but her proposition surprised him. She hadn’t lived long enough to see the fallacy of her words. If she’d existed as long as he had, she’d see this was the only conclusion. She, born enslaved, should know better than anyone.
But he paused as he considered her bargain. Many prayed to him for this sort of rescue, though he’d never answered. “So, you would like to live?”
She glanced at him. “Yes.”
Death was strangely animated; he’d never had to share his thoughts, let alone his plans, with anyone else. He played it out in his mind. It was an exquisite solution. “I’ve grown quite weary of humans. I could collect your soul and bring you to the new world, and that could be your new life.”
“What new world?”
“The one that will be created after I destroy this one,” Death said as a matter of fact.
She lurched up, eyes wide, using the last of her energy. “But you can’t do that. What about all the people? My brother, Silas? He’s out there somewhere. You’re going to kill them all?”
He frowned. She didn’t seem to appreciate the simplicity of the plan. “Precisely the point. I am quite sure there is no one and nothing redeemable among them. It will be good to start again,” he explained. “You would see if—”
“I bet I wouldn’t!” Nella’s chest heaved at her effort. “There’s me, Silas, my late mama, and surely others. We all can’t be as bad as you say.”
“I assure you this is the case.”
“I’ll find proof. I’ll show you what you cannot see. Give me a second chance . . . a new life.”
Keep her living . . . on the earth as it existed.
Death thought it over. Could she do it? Make him care about them?
Show him something he didn’t already know?
Her arrogance amused him. “So, if I save you, grant you life, you’ll bring me this evidence you speak of?
And I will decide if humanity should continue its existence? ”
Her eyes widened, but she nodded. “What kind of proof do you want?”
What kind, indeed? His eyes dropped to the slim yellow volume.
Death grinned, more excited about this than anything he could ever remember.
“Like your book—you’ll be Crusoe. Record your adventures, show me that man is redeemable—worth saving.
” He hadn’t paid much attention to the inane scribblings of humans and their vain attempts at remembrance.
But this would be different. This would be written for him, and only he would know.
“What’s the catch?” Her eyes narrowed. “There’s always a price.”
Nella continued to amuse Death. He thought she might not have seen much of the world beyond the Carter plantation in Georgia, but she knew that fundamental rule of life: There must always be an exchange for a deal to be honored.
“I will give you the second chance you seek. A true chance outside of the shackles of this current existence. Several lifetimes of freedom and a gift to help you be understood, no matter where you might land. And you will write for me. Prove your lofty ideas about redemption and love—”
“What do I lose?” she interrupted.
Death leaned back, the shock of her irreverence increasing his curiosity tenfold.
A slow smile crept into the corner of his mouth.
“You shall have no descendants. No family. No tangible legacy on this earth. Only the words you write for me. And you can tell no one of our bargain.” He extended a strong brown hand, tickled at the idea. “What do you say?”
“How will you see these words?”
“You will publish them along the way, and I will meet with you to discuss them and anything else you want to show me.”
She took a deep, ragged breath. “How will you know the writing is mine?”
“I will know.” He liked how she underestimated him. “Any more questions?”
“For how long?”
“As long as you are able.” His smile deepened. “Given the task, I doubt it’ll be very long.”
“And if we don’t agree?”
He shrugged. “Then you die. I’ll take your soul and collect the rest of the world as planned.”
He watched memories rush through her mind: her brother and first friend Silas, sold away to the outskirts of New Orleans five years before. Her mama died not soon after that. Her lonely life left behind as Master Carter’s enslaved daughter. “You can’t do that.”
“I can, and I will.” He smiled at her, pleased with his solution despite her turmoil. “Whether I do so or not depends entirely upon you and the bargain you put forth. If I am not compelled by what you write, what you show me, then you’ll come with me, and the rest of this world will end too.”
The small cabin filled with her heavy breathing as she weighed his offer—the gift of life or a certain death.
Slowly, Nella put out her hand. “I’ll do it.”
He took her slender hand in his. He wondered how long it would be before she broke—before she saw the world as he did and surrendered to his will.
“I’ll check in from time to time—I’ll let you know when. Until then, I look forward to your efforts.” He reached out one long brown finger, brushing it across her forehead.
Nella shuddered. He watched the cooling sensation ripple across her skin as the pain receded. She rose, taking her first easy breath in days, lungs clear. She stared at her hands, spots gone, her rich brown skin smooth, every movement effortless. He relished in his power to change her.
Death stood, pulling Nella to her feet. She staggered a bit before she steadied, clutching her book to her chest.
She faced Death, eyes wide, uncertain. “What now?”
He smiled, his teeth white against his tanned brown skin. “What, indeed?”