The boy lay dying while his father danced. He played his drum and sang out in prayer, begging protection from the spirits who would surely draw close as the child passed from life. Everyone knew the spirits could bring all manner of destruction. The tribe wailed and lamented in support of the man. The fires were kept stoked, hot and bright.

Another boy, older by a handful of seasons, watched from afar. He'd learned long ago to stay hidden at such time, lest anyone remember his strange and disastrous origins and blame him for any evil that may come. He could still remember the stinging pain on his chest and arms the time they threw burning embers at him because a hunt had failed on the day of remembrance of his birth.

Now, this child had been struck on the head by a rock and he would surely be gone by morning. The older boy had been among the men. No one could blame him of foul play, but they could certainly blame the bad luck surrounding him.

The one who had always protected him was, herself, dead and gone now. She'd been quite old, after all--nearly forty years! No one could ask for more than that from the gods. At least, that's what she told him as she prepared his favorite meal for the last time. "You must clean every bit of the inside out before you stuff the grain in. Wrap it in leaves to keep the fat inside and don't cook it in the flame, but in the coal. It takes longer, but it is worth the wait."

"Why do you tell me this now?" he'd asked.

"Because my heart hurts in my breast and I know it will not go on much longer. You must learn to stand on your own. When I am gone, you will be alone."

He understood why his people viewed him as they did. It had been explained in great depth by the spirit leader. His mother had lain with a god--one who appeared from nowhere, bigger and stronger than any man--and she had died in birth as a result. The baby was left to die in the snow, but when he still cried after three days his protector took mercy, brought him inside the cave, and fed him on the milk of a goat. Within a day his frozen skin glowed as soft and smooth as that of any other newborn.

It was unnatural, they said. It was evil. But they feared the retribution of his father and so he was allowed to live, though never truly as one of them.

He knew enough, even at a young age, not to speak of the Shining One who played with him in the forest. The Shining One seemed always to be injured, but never to seem much bothered by his wounds, which were never the same twice. He teased the boy, but it was different from the teasing of his peers. Playful and silly, never hurtful or mean.

"Are you my father?" He'd once asked.

The Shining One thought that was a marvelous joke. He'd rolled on the ground, holding his sides and laughing. "I am not," he said. "I would not be with a human. You are too strange, like bald apes. You're funny, though."

"Is that why my father loved my mother? Because she made him laugh?"

The Shining One seemed to give serious consideration to that question. "Maybe so. Azrael does not laugh easily. I don't really know. It's not my place to explain the incomprehensible."

"Do you think I'll ever meet him?"

"If you do, I'll come to you and be sure you are safe."

The boy, accustomed to being thought of as strange, dangerous, and a nuisance, puzzled over that. "Why would you do that for me?"

"I love you, because you first loved me."

And the boy did love him. He loved everyone. Even those who hurt and frightened him. He couldn't help but to love them. He saw in each person a bright, shining silver strand of light that connected straight to his own heart. That light was a web, touching each blade of grass and every insect upon the ground and every bird soaring the sky overhead. The Shining One was part of the web, but different. He was the branch to which the web was anchored. He was the filament from which the web was created. He was a still water, reflecting the web upon itself.

Now, the boy was nearly a man. In fact, if not for this child's untimely accident, he would be on his first hunt.

What change would come if he succeeded?

Would they finally accept him? Allow him to take a woman and establish a hearth of his own?

Or would he be cast out? Left to wander, alone, in a world so vast he may or may not ever stumble across another person?

He pushed his long, dirty hair away from his eyes and watched his people.

The dying boy's body shuddered and his father's dance grew wilder, but then, miraculously, the boy sat up! He frowned and scratched his head. "Why do you mourn, father?" he asked.

But his father did not answer. Rather, he fell to his knees, a keening wail rising up from his lips.

"Father?" The boy said and hopping down, he reached for the man.

It was then that the son of the god realized something different. The boy appeared the same as ever, and yet changed. Stronger. Taller. The part of his head bloodied and deformed from his horrible accident now looked whole and perfect. Soft light emanated from his form. When his hand touched his father's shoulder, it did not stop, but passed through as if the man were no more than a shadow.

"Father?" Panic in his voice now, rising as loud as the cries of the mourners.

And then a familiar light appeared in the cave and the Shining One walked out of the shadows to join the frightened man-child.

His body grew weak with relief and he blurted the questions growing in his mind. "Do you see?" The boy asked. "What's happening? Why does he look like you?"

"Don't be insulting!" The Shining One said, but the twinkle in his eye showed that he was amused rather than offended. He looked past the cave entrance toward the gathering. "You see that boy, do you? You see him as he is? Panicked and screaming at them?"

"Yes! But I see his body, too! He is dead. Is that his spirit? Will he destroy us?"

"It is, and he will not," a deep voice replied from the shadows. A man stepped into view. He stood head and shoulders taller than The Shining One and the web of light did not touch him. If anything, it drew away, and that absence sent a fear into the boy's heart such as he had never known before. "Do not be afraid. I am not here to bring you harm."

The boy's gaze flickered to his friend and back to the stranger. "You are my father." It wasn't a question. He knew it in his deepest heart.

The man nodded. "I am."

"Have you come to kill me?" The boy asked.

"Why would I do that?" The man seemed genuinely puzzled. "Life is not mine to give or take."

"But you are Death, the absence of light."

Both visitors started in surprise.

"Why would you say that?" The father asked.

"Life touches everything. It is beautiful. It is..." the boy had no word for what he meant to say.

"Perfection," the man offered.

"Yes. But it does not touch you."

The man studied him with his dark, piercing eyes. "Your mother is dead, and yet her blood flows in your veins, does it not?"

"Of course," the boy said.

The man gestured to a nearby birch tree in full bloom, stretching a lush canopy over the cave entrance. "This tree, from where did it come?"

The boy shrugged. "From a seed."

"From where did the seed come?"

"From another tree."

The man tipped his head to one side, studying the boy. "And where is that tree, now?"

The boy shrugged again. "Gone."

"Dead," the man corrected.

"I suppose," the boy conceded.

"Do you fail to understand? It is dead, but it is not gone, for it is there, in this new tree. Death is the continuation of life. Life cannot remain stagnant. It must grow and change and move on just as surely as a rock, dropped from a height, must fall to the ground. It is the law."

The boy pushed his hair away from his eyes and frowned at the man.

"I am curious," the man said. "Come with me." Without waiting for a reply, he walked toward the gathering, now a funeral rather than a prayer vigil.

The Shining One nodded and the boy, trusting his beloved friend, followed after his father.

The spirit raced from person to person. He yanked at his hair and clawed at his own arms. He screamed for help. "Why don't you see me?" He shouted.

"I see you," Death told him in a soft, gentle voice.

The spirit's tears vanished. He turned, wide-eyed toward the man.

"You are not alone." He held out a hand. "Come with me. I can take you to the next place."

"You see me?" The spirit asked.

"Yes. And I am here to help you," Death answered, still offering his hand.

The spirit reached for him, but he was light, as all humans were light, and light and darkness cannot meet. "I can't," he whimpered, unable to bridge the last tiny gap between himself and Death.

Witnessing this, something in the living boy melted away and, without thinking of what he was doing or why, he reached forward, taking the spirit's hand in his right and his own father's hand in his left, and he brought them together. Peace, beyond all understanding filled his heart, forcing tears from his eyes, for how else could such emotion know release? Then, the spirit and the man were gone. A prickling sensation crawled over him and he stood with his friend in the circle of mourners.

Only now, his friend did not shine. He was just a young man, dressed in furs, with a wary look in his eye.

"Run," he whispered. The boy did so without hesitation, but he wasn't fast enough.

Cries rose up around him.

"Unnatural!"

"Abomination!"

"Witch!"

He never even saw who swung the club that killed him, but when he opened his eyes in a dark place his own father was smiling over him.

"What I did with in prideful ambition, the Lord has turned to good. You have a great destiny, my son. You will reap. You will be first and you will be greatest. Together, we will bridge the gap between life and death, between the temporary and the eternal. God has given us this gift. I will teach you to use it."

He called the Shining One, who came in a flash of light.

"Daniel, this is my son, Maximus. He is your charge. Watch, and see what he will do."

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OK, total honesty here - I'm usually totally open to constructive criticism but this chapter is absolutely one of my "darlings." I cried the whole time I was writing it, and it made me fall so much more deeply in love with Max and Daniel (and maybe even Big Bad Death), so if you hated it, please don't tell me. You'll break my heart. 

On the other hand, if you loved it  let me know and you'll make my day (week? month?)!

Thanks for reading this far. You're so close now to finding out how it all ends... or rather IF it all ends...