The Grim Reaper

The first bell struck while Mara Voss was still waist-deep in the harbor.

Its note rolled through Gullwake Port so violently that the iron rings on the mooring posts began to chatter. Mara lost her grip on the rope and plunged beneath the black water. Cold closed over her head. For one blind instant, the storm became silence.

Then someone seized the back of her coat.

“Hold on!”

Riven hauled her upward with both hands. Mara broke the surface coughing, rain needling her face, her fingers clawing for the slick edge of the quay. He dragged her onto the stones as another wave burst against the seawall and washed over their boots.

Above them, the bell tolled again.

Mara turned toward the sound.

Gullwake’s bell tower rose beyond the warehouses, a narrow black finger stabbing into the storm. Lightning showed its cracked windows and the iron bell swinging inside. No hand stood near it. No rope descended from the belfry.

Yet the bell moved.

“Where is the harbor master?” Mara demanded.

Riven pushed wet hair from his eyes. Blood ran from a cut along his temple, diluted pink by the rain. “Gone inland. Everyone with sense is gone inland.”

“Then we’re the last two fools in Gullwake.”

“Not quite.” He glanced toward the water.

A lantern bobbed between the pilings. It was fixed to the bow of a small fishing boat, though no one stood at its tiller. The craft pitched sideways, vanished behind a wave, and appeared again closer to shore.

Mara’s stomach tightened.

“Is that - ”

“Don’t say his name.”

The bell struck a third time.

The sound passed through her ribs. Somewhere beyond the rain, a man cried out. The cry ended abruptly, as if a door had slammed shut.

Mara knew that voice.

“Elias.”

She ran.

Riven caught her wrist. “Mara, wait.”

She tore free. “He’s in the tower.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I heard him.”

“You heard the storm.”

“I know my brother.”

The harbor fought her at every step. Wind drove salt and grit across the quay. Loose nets snapped from their hooks and lashed the walls like living things. A crate broke apart near her feet, scattering rusted harpoons across the stones. Mara leaped over them and kept moving.

The bell tower stood at the far end of the port, past the abandoned fish market and the customs house with its roof peeled open. Between Mara and the tower, the main street had become a river. Water rushed downhill in brown sheets, carrying barrels, rope, and splintered boards toward the sea.

Riven caught up beside her.

“Left,” he shouted. “The market steps are higher.”

Mara looked at the flooded street. A figure moved in the water near the customs house, stumbling against the current.

“Elias!”

The figure lifted its head.

Lightning flashed.

It was not Elias. It was an old woman in a nightdress, one hand gripping a child’s red coat. The current struck them both and swept them toward the open harbor.

Mara stopped.

Riven grabbed her shoulder. “No.”

“She’ll drown.”

“If you go in, we all drown.”

The woman screamed. The child disappeared beneath the brown water.

Mara saw the red coat surface once.

Then she jumped.

The current seized her before her boots touched bottom. It slammed her against the customs house wall. Stone tore the skin from her palm. She reached for the child and caught only a handful of soaked wool.

A second body struck her from behind. Riven had followed.

“Give me your hand!” he shouted.

Mara twisted, found the child’s collar, and shoved the boy toward him. Riven locked one arm around a broken post and dragged the child close. The old woman clung to Mara’s coat, sobbing through clenched teeth.

Another bell note rolled over them.

The water surged.

For a moment Mara saw something standing beneath the surface. A tall shape in a long black coat, its face hidden by the angle of the rain-dark water. One pale hand held a lantern below the waves. Its flame burned without flickering.

Mara blinked, and the shape was gone.

“Move!” Riven yelled.

He pulled the boy onto the market steps. Mara dragged the old woman after him. They collapsed beneath the awning of a shuttered stall while the flood rushed past.

The child coughed seawater onto the stones. His mother pressed him against her chest.

Mara stared toward the tower.

Riven wiped rain from his mouth. “You saw it.”

“What?”

“The man in the water.”

“I saw nothing.”

“Liar.”

The bell tolled again.

This time the note did not fade. It seemed to remain in the air, vibrating through the wood beneath Mara’s knees.

The old woman looked toward the tower and began to pray.

Riven leaned close. “The bell only rings when the Reaper comes ashore.”

Mara turned on him. “You knew?”

“I knew enough to leave.”

“And you brought me here.”

“I brought you because Elias sent for you.”

At the sound of her brother’s name, Mara seized the front of his coat. “Where is he?”

Riven’s gaze dropped to her hand. “In the tower, if the bell is calling him.”

“Then take me there.”

“You heard what I said.”

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