Lord Ryder

As the black rider of the apocalypse, Death collects souls with his horse Despair. When he collects young Kit's soul, he makes a connection that will alter young Kit's path forever.

I always knew I’d die hungry and alone, but I hadn’t planned on the rain. I tried drawing the tattered dress tighter around me, but it was already soaked through and offered little protection against the ice cold drops.

I usually liked the rain. I didn’t have to worry about bugs biting, and it cooled down the hot nights. Normally, I would find some sort of cover from the downpour, but I hadn’t been able to work up the strength to move. “At least I’ll be clean for Death,” I thought.

A strong gust shot droplets straight against my face and I shivered. I curled myself as tight as I could against the stone wall and gave a dry heave as my stomach protested against the movement. I felt it churn and roll. I wondered if were possible for my stomach to try and eat it’s way out of my body, but decided against it; it would have tried it long ago. “I doubt there is enough of me to satisfy it anyway,” I thought. My laughter at my own ridiculousness turned into a coughing fit that had me gasping for air.

I smiled as I heard the clack of hooves and the harsh snorts. I looked expectantly through the rain, but was fighting to keep my eyes open as the monstrous stallion appeared. Even through the storm, I could make out the ashen color of the horse’s coat, as well as his black cloaked rider.

“You finally came,” I said relaxing.

“I wasn’t aware I was expected my lady,” the rider responded. I frowned at the use of “my lady” no one had ever called me a lady before. Street Rat was the only title I held. “And who might I ask do you think me to be?”

“You’re Death aren’t you?” I asked. Another gust of wind brought another coughing fit. I couldn’t stop it any more than I could stop the spasms that followed. I wished that Death would stop taking his time and ferry me off already. I was so tired.

I glared up at the dark rider, who only stared back without a hint of emotion. I saw no pity in his gaze, nor contempt. He almost looked as if he was studying me.

“You think me Death?” His voice was eerie. A whisper that I could hear clearly through the rain. “Why would you be glad to see me?” He asked. “Shouldn’t a young lady be afraid of Death?” He almost sounded curious or maybe it was my own light-headedness talking.

“Why should I be afraid?” I whispered. “I knew you’d be coming for me. I see no point in fear or despair. I know that begging won’t save me, besides,” I felt nauseous as I stared up at him, his form blurry in the rain. “If this isn’t what dying feels like, I’d rather not stick around to feel it get worse.”

The stallion snorted and stamped its hoof into the ground. Once. Twice. The man patted its neck and dismounted. To my surprise he kneeled in the mud in front of me. “My name is Lord Ryder, though, more commonly I am referred to as Death,” he extended a gloved hand to me. “I ask you to come with me, Kit.”

I closed my eyes and smiled. “I wasn’t under the impression that I had a choice, but I accept,” I told him. I felt something hard tap my chest, and it got even harder to breathe. “Where are we going?” I managed to ask.

“Hades.”

*** 

I woke up feeling disoriented and hazy, but also painless and warm. I was right. Death was much better. “You’re awake,” a voice whispered.

I jerked around to find the source, but ended up in a tangled mess of blankets on the floor. Nothing in my body seemed to want to work right. “My apologies,” the voice spoke from the corner of the candle lit room. “I forgot how disorienting the transition can be. You’ll be fine in a moment.”

“Who are you?” My voice cracked, as I strained my eyes towards the speaker. I could barely make out his figure in the dim room.

“You knew me before,” he said.

“Death? But why are you here? Where am I?” I focused on getting my limbs to move the way I wanted them to, as I waited for his answer.

“You are on my estate, Hades,” he said. “But you may think of it as limbo, if that helps.”

“Limbo?” My head swam, as I sat up. Death nodded at me, and I concentrated on standing up. “Is Limbo where all souls go?”

“No.”

I made my way over to him, swaying unsteadily. “Then why am I here?” I asked.

“You will be staying with me from now on,” He said. His gaze was unnerving, as he stared at me. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move.

“Why?” I asked.

“You’re duties will be to take care of Despair, and…” He started.

“Despair?” I interrupted.

“My stallion.”

“You named your horse, Despair?” I felt more uncomfortable every second I stood next to Death.

“Despair is what he brings,” Death told me. “Now, besides Despair, you will also be in charge of the manor, and will accompany me out, when I wish it.”

I held my head in my hands and tried to get the pounding to stop. “No,” I said.

“No?”

“This isn’t how it works,” I said. “You’re Death.”

“Ryder,” he interrupted me. “Call me Ryder.”

“Death, Ryder, I don’t care,” I started crying. “I died. You’re supposed to take me wherever it is street kids go when they die. I’m not supposed to get trapped in Limbo to serve you.”

“You do not fear death, but you are afraid of staying hear with me?” His lips quirked in an awkward half smile, like he was trying to remember how to form one. It hit me that he probably had not had any real interactions with people, besides when they were dying. It made me cry harder that he was trying to act like a real person, to make me feel comfortable. “Are you angry or sad that you’re hear?” He asked me.

“Both,” I said staring at the ground. “I died. That’s supposed to be it, so why am I here?”

He stared out the window, at a darkened sky. “I’ve ridden alone for a very long time,” he said. “The sky is always dark, and not even stars dare to shine here.” He didn’t say anymore. He just stared out the window. I heard the shrill cry of Despair in the night.

“Death?” I took a slow step forward.

“Ryder,” he whispered, not looking at me.

“I’ll stay.” I received another half-smile in return. 

 ***

“Lord Dea..Ryder,” I corrected myself. “Where are we going?” It had been nearly a week since he had taken me to his estate, and this was my first trip out.

“To work,” he told me.

I glared at his back. “You know, only you could make that sound creepy,” I told him.

He gave me his odd, awkward half smile over his shoulder. “Kit, I believe it comes with the job.” I should have been used to his awkward attempts at normal interactions by now, but I couldn’t get over just how odd a person he was.  Despair snorted beneath us.

“I get the impression that he’s laughing at us,” I muttered against his back.

“Kit, Despair, this is no time for laughter,” Ryder said over his shoulder.

“What do you…?” I trailed off as I looked up and around. We were in a bedroom, darkened by rich velvet curtains. Paintings hung around the room. Some depicting fields in summer, some with brightly colored flowers, but the painting that got my attention was the portrait of a man. He was richly dressed, and the artist had captured confidence and pride in the man’s gaze. I nearly fell off Despair when someone groaned. I peeked around Ryder to see an old man lying in the bed. His eyes were glossy, his face ashen and pasty, as he stared at us.  

“Please, leave me,” he begged. “I’m not ready. There’s so much left for me to do.”

“My Lord Wellesley,” Ryder greeted, as he dismounted Despair. He grabbed his cane from the saddlebag and I shuddered. His “scythe.” I had hoped to never seem him use it.

“Please, please no,” Wellesley moaned and thrashed in the sheets.

“Duke of Wellington,” Ryder continued over him as if he wasn’t saying a word. “I am ready for you now, would you come with me, please.” I could only stare wide-eyed at the trembling old man, as he begged for Death to spare him. “I do not spare anyone, and I do not make bargains, my lord,” Ryder told Wellesley.

I felt nauseous and light-headed as I watched Ryder talk with him. I couldn’t tell if it was Ryder’s detachment or the fact that I was witnessing the death of a duke that made me want to vomit, but as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t stop watching. “You will follow me now, my lord,” Ryder said.

Ryder tapped his cane against the Duke’s chest and he went frighteningly still. I shuddered and buried my head into Despair’s mane. He made a soft keening sound and touched his nose against my leg.

“Thanks, boy,” I whispered, patting his neck.

“Issues, Kit?” I looked up at Ryder, who was attaching his cane to Despair’s saddle bag. His voice nor manner had changed in the slightest. He remained frustratingly calm. I shivered at the blankness in his gray eyes, as he looked up at me, but I could tell that he was studying me, again.

“I guess I thought it would be…” I hesitated, dragging my braid over my shoulder and pulling on the tail. “Well more.”

“More?” He didn’t blink, didn’t move as he stared at me.

I stared down at Despair’s mane and ran my fingers through it until Despair tossed his head back and snorted. I sighed. “He is, um, was the Duke of Wellington, and you treated him like,” I jerked my fingers through my braid’s tale. “Like you treated me.”

Ryder frowned at me. “Why would I treat you differently?”

I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh, cry, or throw something at him. “Ryder,” my voice was shaky, “I was just a street kid, a nobody.” I looked away from him and jerked my fingers through my braid’s tail faster and faster.

“And he was a Duke,” Ryder said. “Kit,” I looked back up at him. He opened his mouth but closed it a second later. He sighed removing his hat to run his ran through his own dark hair. I was a little surprised. This was the first sign of impatience or frustration that I’d seen from him. He motioned for me to scoot back as he mounted Despair.

“Kit,” he began, sounding weary, his voice quiet enough, that I had to strain to hear him. “I am not a judge. I do not look for any worth or lack thereof in people. Your soul, his soul, they both equal one. No more, no less.”

 

***

“Can we go home, yet?” I whined.

“Kit,” Ryder warned, not bothering to look at me. “We have one last stop, so calm down.”

I perked up at the thought of one last stop. These trips with Ryder got longer every time he took me with him. It had been over a year since that first trip to Lord Wellesley’s manor, and I was beginning to ease into this routine. I no longer cringed at every stop we made.

We approached a tiny building, in the middle of a small village. I heard weak crying through the open windows, and I had a sudden sense that I didn’t want to be here, that I didn’t want to enter this home. I ignored my feelings, dismounted Despair, and walked inside. I almost walked right back out. Inside, a tiny pale women lay on a bed of twisted sweaty and bloody sheets, lying next to her was a weakly crying infant.  

It was a tiny little thing. I swallowed thickly and approached the bed. I touched the soft fuzz on his head, and he stopped crying, and I couldn’t stop myself from starting. His pudgy hands reached up to me, and I slid my pinky into his grip.

“Ryder?” I turned to look back at him. “Do we have to take her?”

“Kit, he’s a boy,” Ryder said softly.

“I know,” I cried. “But he’s going to need a mother, Ryder.”

“Kit,” Ryder laid his hand on my shoulder. “We’re not here for the mother.”

I froze, mouth open, staring at Ryder. My chest tightened painfully, and I grew nauseous. “Not the mother?” I whispered. The baby squeezed my finger tighter.

Ryder said nothing. He held out his cane to me, but I just stared at it. Ryder gently pulled my hand away from the baby and pressed his cane into my hands. I nearly vomited across his boots. My world was shaking and blurring around the edges, and I prayed that Ryder would take me away from here.

“Kit, everyone…” Ryder started.

“Don’t,” I said, clenching my teeth. “Don’t you dare.” I clamped my hands over my ears, his cane clattering to the floor. Ryder picked it up and held it back out to me. “What do you want from me?” I asked.

“Kit,” Ryder pulled my hands down and closed my hands around his cane. “I want you to take him.”

“Don’t make me do this,” I started chocking on air, as I cried. My chest convulsed, and I felt dizzy.

Ryder grabbed my shoulders and turned me back toward the child. “You need to calm down, Kit.”

“Calm down!” I shrieked at him. “He’s a baby, a little boy, and you want me to take him?” My hands clenched into fists as I yelled at him.

Ryder didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t get angry with me. He just pushed me toward the baby and said, “Yes.”

“You’re a monster!” I dropped his cane again and whirled and punched him as hard as I could. I punched and kicked him over and over and begged him to not make me do this, and Ryder never made a move to stop me. It was only when I heard the baby’s pathetic whine behind me that I stopped.

“Do the old deserve to die, Kit?” Ryder asked finally. “Did you deserve it?” I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. “If you’re looking for reason, than stop,” Ryder picked up his cane, again. “You won’t find any, Kit. You’ll drive yourself mad trying to find clarity in death. We ferry souls Kit, we look at nothing else.”

“How do you do it?” I asked. My hands shook, as I rubbed the baby’s soft head.

Ryder sighed as he leaned over to look at the child. “Kit,” he said. “I know that everything ends. Nothing survives time, and while some survive longer than others, in the end, Death comes for all. If I started to judge these souls or looked at who deserves to die, I would be a monster.”

Ryder held his can out over the baby’s heat, but I grabbed his arm. With shaking hands, I took it out of his hands. “Come with me, little one,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, as I tapped his chest.  

 

***

“Kit, I need you,” Ryder called.

“And now he calls me,” I groaned setting Despair’s brush to the side. I glared at the skittish stallion, as he danced back in forth. “What is wrong with you two?” Both Despair and Ryder had been on edge for about a week, and it was starting to make me nervous. I’d seen more emotion from Ryder in the past week than I had since the first time he’d given me his cane. Despair snorted and stamped the ground. “I’m going. I’m going,” I told him, closing the door to the stables.

A chilled breeze greeted me as I walked out of the stable. I shivered as I looked at the sky. “A storm’s coming,” I thought, hurrying into the manor. I gave a soft knock, before entering the study door.

“Lord Ryder,” I called out to him. He was sitting at his desk, in the center of the room, his head in his hands. Candles were lit all around casting shadows and smoke figures, and a pungent incense was burning.

“Kit, you’re finally here,” Ryder said.

“Lord Ryder, something is wrong with Despair. He’s behaving oddly.” I left out that he too was behaving oddly. “He’s barely eating, and he’s being really skittish.” Ryder was acting the same way.

“I know,” he said wearily.

“Ryder?” I looked him over. He was paler than normal, his skin more the hue of Despair’s ashen coat, and he looked tired, more exhausted than I’d ever seen him. “Are you alright?”

He laughed. A cold empty laugh that left me with chills. “How many years has it been, Kit?” He asked.

“Nearly seven,” I said. My skin prickled with goosebumps, and I wanted nothing more than to scurry out the door, but I forced myself to stay. Something was wrong with Ryder.

“Seven,” he whispered. His eyes looked vacant, glossy. He shook his head, a pained smile on his face. “I have taught you everything that you need to know.” He shakily stood, but he didn’t use his cane, instead he held it out to me.

“I don’t understand,” I said, backing away as he came closer.

“Everything ends, Kit,” he told me, pressing his cane into my hands. “Everything, except the work. Death and Despair’s work, survives across all time.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, again. I was almost in tears, and I feared the man in front of me more than I ever had before. “Why are you speaking like you aren’t Death?”

He clutched my shoulders with shaky, sweaty hands. “Because I’m dying, and you shall inherit the title Death.”

I couldn’t breathe, as I jerked out of his hold. “You…you’re Death!” I cried. “You can’t die.”

He laughed. The same cold laugh as before. “Everything ends, Kit.” He held out his cane. “Even me.”

“No, no, no! Why me? Why not pick someone else?” I screamed and threw the cane at him, before bolting out the door. At this point, I didn’t care where I went. I just couldn’t be here. I couldn’t face Death.

The wind tore at me, as I raced out the door of the manor. The rain almost immediately soaked through my thin dress. I shivered, but I didn’t stop running, not even when I heard Despair’s cry. I heard the beat of Despair’s hooves, but I was too scared to look. I didn’t want to see the stallion or his rider so I turned to look over my shoulder. I couldn’t stand to see the stallion or his rider. I nearly screamed when Despair appeared in front of me, rearing up and shrieking a challenge. I fell to the ground backing away from the pair.

“Kit, did you think you could run from me?”

Death dismounted Despair and strode over to me. He was every bit the dark horseman that I had met all those years ago.

“I had to,” I cried. “You’re insane! I can’t be you. I can’t be Death.” I kept scooting backwards, but I couldn’t find my footing to start running, again.

“You were not afraid of Death,” he said. “You know what it means to be Death. Why fight this now?”

“I was ready to die!” I held my head in my hands and cried harder. “I didn’t ask for this responsibility; I don’t want it!” I glared up at him. “You’re Death. I’m not. I was never even meant to be here. I was supposed to move on, and you kept me on a whim.”

“Kit, you were always meant to be here,” Ryder whispered to me, and to my surprise, both rider and stallion kneeled in the mud, in front of me. “From the point that you proved unafraid, that you showed you would not beg, would not try to bargain with me, that you would not yell and scream, you were chosen.” He held unto my shoulders, when I tried backing away. “I needed someone, who could not only ride with me, but could take over for me, and it has always been you, Kit, young Lady Death.”

“But I don’t want this,” I whispered. “I want you to stay with me. I don’t want anything to change.” I rested my head against his shoulder and cried. “Ryder, you’re the only one who ever looked at me and saw more than a dirty street kid.”

 Death ignored me and held out his cane in a gloved hand.

I stared at him and at Despair, and then at the cane he offered. I slowly took it from his hands.

“My Lord Ryder,” I grinned down at him, though tears still ran down my face. “I’m ready for you now; will you come with me?”

Ryder laughed weakly, “My lady, I wasn’t under the impression that I had a choice, but I accept.”

 

Author's Note

What do you think of Kit's dialogue? Should I try to write in more of a Cockney accent?

Reviews

[SVT]

Kit IS a fighter I agree, the dialogue came across well and it did its job moving the story along. I agree with others that writing in a specific accent can be daunting on the reader (Cormac Mcarthy comes to mind) --but at the same time, depending on how vital it is to the story, how minimal it's occurence is and the structure, I think it would be interesting to see you experiment with it. Great story.

[Rose Black]

I really liked the story. Kit is a fighter , fearless just my kind of woman. Kit's dialogue is very balanced, just the right amount of narrator and character. Really smart choice.

[Matthew Kult]

Quick edit. Hear should be here. Don't worry I do it all the time

Hello Jaylynn,

Have I ever told you how much I love Missouri writers? No? Why not? Oh we haven't met. Well that would be an issue then wouldn't it. Accents are hard on Casual readers however, you can say in some sort of description she has a bit of an accent and maybe toss in a slang term here and there. You can expand off this as well and talk more of the journey and training. Show deeper trials. Overall it's a great read and excellent work.

With Love,

Matthew