Dice with Death Chapter 7 The Crone The bells tolled their mournful song across the flooded graves. The sky wept at the open procession. Six young men and women laid to rest this day. An entire family cut from the seams. The Crone stood before six muddy pits. Each one about to be filled. Six grandchildren laid to rest before her. A darkness spread to her heart at the thought. The last of her line an old maid of seventy four. Mourners shed their tears to out pour the rain. Silver fringed handkerchiefs and silken tissues. A crowd of black fitted her mood. As the priest said his words the icy rain gripped her. Perhaps it was the words of rest that came from his mouth. Or maybe it was the thought she might be next. Shaking such thoughts from her mind she stood in the rain staring as those pits were filled. Three granddaughters and three grandsons side by side. Standing long since the soil had been laid she never felt so alone. A niggling at the back of her mind told her otherwise. A far off rattling sounded. Again closer this time. Like dice being thrown in a gamblers pit. Hard edges hitting the flat surface. Their fortune spilling on display. Her heart stopped for that moment as she saw them materialise from the deluge. A woman of extreme beauty painted white in a shock of lilac. Idly twirling a paper umbrella of cherry blossoms and birds. The oddly dressed man in so many colours. A silly grin fixed in place and juggling silver flashes. The stern man in uniform resting heavily on a silver cane. A worn expression and blood shot eyes. A handsome young man swaggering and owning the rain. A twinkle in his eye too bright for this gloom. A ragged youth followed next. Dirty clothes and filthy face shadowed by a heavy green cloak. A drowned rat pulling himself out the gutter. And last a battle torn man in strange armour. A wickedly curved sword at his side and a hard glint in his eye. As they approached closer from all sides the rattle thundered in her ears. Louder and louder with each footstep. Rooted in place The Crone couldn't move an inch. Squeezing her eyes shut she tried to block the sound. A sudden silence forced her to open her eyes in shock. Before her stood the beautiful woman with odd lips. She bowed gracefully and presented her with a pair of dice. Feeling the smooth bone in her hands The Crone's pulse raced. Twins weapons of gambling in her hand. Absently she thought of the deeds in her pocket. Six inheritances to collect. Throwing the dice across the fresh graves her hopes soared. The moment she had been waiting for. As they tumble across the uneven soil she thought of her spoiled grandchildren. Wasting their youth on petty things. Garnishing their prides and indulging their bodies. Slowing now The Crone held her breath. One chance in twelve for it all to go wrong. Flashes if their stone faces flickered in her mind. Coming to a halt she blocked them out, no pity and no remorse. Only the gamble of youth and death remained. Stilling on the youngest she looked on in awe. A five and a two. Clapping with glee she reached in her pockets and handed the deeds out one by one. Each stranger taking their prize and backing away warily into the incoming fog. The airy white sea washed up against her feet and swirled against her legs. Reaching higher and higher it enveloped her in a towers of clouds. The Crone felt the years melt away. Wrinkles became flat and smooth once more. Blurry eyes saw in pinpoint detail. Wiry hair regained its silky brown texture. Her bosom lifted and her stomach firmed. Stepping out into the grave she was a Crone no longer. Clutching those bone dice in her hands she smiled to herself. Without another thought of her slain kin she disappeared into the fog. ©Samurai2012