Soul Thief

By Julia Skinner

Out on the shoreline, between the waves and the fire, Death made his home. He walked across the silver-gray sand, trailing wisps of memories as they faded slowly from his grasp.

He paused for a moment, turning his eyes to the waves. The water crashed against the rock, swelling forward one moment, then pulling back the next, as if disgusted with the sight of him.

“I’m searching,” he said, cocking his head at the waves. They didn’t answer. Not even one little swish. Just silence.

There hadn’t been a sound in… how long?

Death rubbed his head and continued scanning the glistening, translucent sand with blurred eyes. What was it he was looking for again? He squinted, trying to shove through the shroud of confusion that was becoming so normal lately.

Buried deep within the sand were souls. He could see them. Gems that pulsed like the waves, some blaring their light across miles, others quivering and frail. Their light peeked through the sand like tiny pinpricks.

Oh—Death jolted—my soul. He was searching for his soul.

The waves smashed the shore.

He was searching for the Thief.

“Life is a battle,” he recited to the sea. It was the one thought that stayed when all others danced from his grasp. The single, burning anthem that incessantly pounded his skull, urging him to continue his desperate search.

Fight, it said. Make the Thief pay.

He continued along the shore, one hand inside the bag at his side, fingering one of the gems within it. There were countless bags full of souls in his cabin down the shore. Countless. He’d been wandering the rifts, stealing gems in search of his own soul ever since the heir of the Scythe’s Curse had betrayed him, stealing Death’s soul and leaving him with the curse instead.

The Scythe’s Curse tied him to this silent, nameless beach, making him nothing more than a shadow in the living realm. And with every moment that passed, it weaseled more of his memories from his grasp. But if he found the Thief, he could take his soul back and be free of this fate. And without a soul gem, the Thief would be the one cursed. Just as it was supposed to be from the very beginning.

He pulled out one of the soul stones in his bag as he shuffled along the beach. It glowed blue. Glaring down at it, he clenched the stone in trembling fingers. This wasn’t his. His was red. Red like… like something. Death shoved the gem back into the sack. How many souls have I gone through in this search? A scream clawed at his throat, trapped.

He couldn’t go on like this. He needed his soul back.

Death stumbled forward, his eyes finally locking on the grey light of a fading soul. Passing through the rift, he stepped down into a hallway. Here he was nothing more than a mass of darkness. Death moved through the building like a shadow dancing across ice. Gripping his scythe in a cold grasp, his eyes pierced the walls, searching. Red, he thought, tense. All I need is a flash of red.

But why? No, wait. His soul. He needed his soul. Because, because… if he found it, something about him would change? He blinked.

Wait—why is there a barrier in front of me?

Death halted and stared at the door. Head cocked, he pressed his hand against the wood. Something trembled on the other side. A flash of red, a breath of warmth. Death jerked back.

“My soul,” he hissed, kicking the door down.

The room was barely more than a closet, with a heap of clothes littering the floor. Weak, red light from his long-lost soul stone emanated from the person slumped in the far corner.

The Thief.

Death crossed the room, grasping his scythe tighter.

“Life,” a forgotten memory suddenly said in his voice, and Death froze. His scythe was a hair’s breadth from the Thief’s chest. The red glow of his soul gem grew brighter, and Death could see the wisps of his memories slowly slipping back to him.

“I think it’s about giving what you have, y’ know? For the people you care about.” The memory spoke his words, from a long time ago.

Death clutched the scythe in two hands, squeezing his eyes closed. Colors washed through the dark, images and voices. He could almost see himself—back before he’d been cursed—sitting against the trunk of a tree, pen and paper in hand.

“You’re wrong,” a familiar voice had rasped from the side. Death remembered turning to find his best friend holding a scythe inches from his throat.

“I’m sorry,” his friend had said, “Life’s a battle. Ya gotta take what you need to survive.”

Death stumbled back. More memories flashed into his mind, filling some of the ache, dancing their words through the void in his chest. He trembled, he was almost… free. All he had to do was touch the Thief with the scythe and take his soul back.

But he paused. The Thief looked so… small, tears trailed his cheek like miniature, translucent gems. In his hand, the Thief clutched a cracked picture frame.

Marcus, he remembered. His friend’s name was Marcus.

Death clutched his scythe in both hands.

I… I could be free.

It’d be so, so easy just to take his soul gem back, become whole again, go back to living. Forget about Marcus. He could leave the scythe in the hands of the person who’d put him through all this hurt and leave him to walk the rifts alone. Marcus—no, the Thief—didn’t deserve anything more.

Life’s a battle… gotta take what you need to survive.

But the pain bleeding from Marcus’ eyes shifted something inside of him.

It’s about giving what you have… for the people you care about.

Closing his eyes, he dismissed his scythe.

And for the first time in ages, Death turned away.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Julia Skinner is a seventeen year old writer, blogger, and ice cream enthusiast. When she’s not working on one of her (many) Sci-Fi Fantasy novels, she can be found playing video games, happy-ranting about one of Brandon Sanderson’s books, or wondering just how many germs are on the door handle. Julia strives to bring glory to her Savior, Jesus Christ, and if any good comes from her journey, it’s because of Him.

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