Richard Ford - Lord of Ashes

‘Thank you, Seth,’ said the lad, looking up at the old man with his one eye.

Seth saw only darkness in that eye. Saw the death of everything. Saw the end of the world.

‘Are you going to kill me now?’ the old man asked.

The lad paused, as though considering it. Then he laughed, long and loud, harder than any joke should have made any man laugh.

‘Seth, I like you,’ he said. ‘And rest assured, you’re going to live.’ All the humour drained from his face, all warmth seeped from every gap in the walls and the light seemed to dim. The lad leaned in and Seth could smell his fetid stench as he whispered. ‘But you’ll wish I’d killed you. When you see what’s coming, Seth, you’ll wish I’d torn the flesh from your bones and left the rest out for the gulls to peck on.’

Seth felt a second tear roll down his cheek.

The lad was smiling again now. Smiling as he moved by, walking on thin bare legs. He paused at the door for a second, breathing deep of the cold morning air.

‘And when the world is crying out in pain,’ he said. ‘When a thousand thousand souls are screaming for mercy. You can tell them it was Rembram Thule who brought this whole stinking mess down on them.’ He turned to Seth, showing his yellow teeth in a wry smile. ‘And you were the one that helped me do it.’

With that he was gone through the door, leaving nothing but cold dread behind him.

Seth stared after, the open door letting in the cold for a long while.

That day, for the first time in thirty some years, the fire in his forge died.