It was a death I had resigned myself to long ago, when I felt the cold blade of the king’s sword on my shoulders, even through the thick wool tunic. I was meant to protect, but not protect myself. My blood, hot against my skin, seeped down my side, soaking my clothing and staining the chain metal.

Death was not just a possibility anymore, but imminent. It didn’t matter that the carriage was rattling back to London at top speed or that my squire was using every ounce of his strength to staunch the bleeding. He would make a fine knight soon. The noble was safe, the attacker vanquished. I had won the battle, and would die with honor.

I looked up at the roof of the carriage. It would’ve been nice to see the sky as I fell into death, to feel the open wind against my skin, to breathe air that did not so strongly reek of death. I closed my eyes for the final. The hard bench of the carriage was gone, replaced by soft, sweet grass. The air smelled of wildflowers and spring showers.

“Sir Ward,” a man said.

I opened my eyes to an azure sky above me. Sitting up, I looked at my hands. The wrinkles and scars were gone, and so was the pain that accompanied every moment in the last of my days. Instead, I was limber and strong. I stood and looked around. We were on a hill overlooking vast fields, and a man sat nearby on a picnic blanket with a feast spread out in front of him.

“Welcome to the realm of the dead,” he said. He was a youth more than a man, the kind of young male beauty that poets wrote about. His long golden hair fell to his shoulder hair and his face was delicate and heart-shaped.

“Is this heaven?” I asked. I did not think I had done much to earn entry to such a place. I had killed countless of the poor to protect a few of the rich. I had become wealthy in the process. I was not evil, but I was never near good in the biblical sense of the word.

“Something like it,” the youth said. “Those are the fields of Atisa, where every dead man and woman must toil to make up for their life’s sins. Once they have paid their penance, they are given an eternity of peace. Every dead man and woman, except for a few lucky ones. Like you, Sir Ward.”

“Why me?”

“There are those who seek to escape death. Considering your occupation in life, I think you would adept at catching them.”

“I only protected people,” I said. “I didn’t catch any criminals.”

“You killed people, Sir Ward. You were very good at it, too. Not many knights live long enough to suffer the ravages of old age.”

He bit into an apple and smiled. “I’m here with a proposal for you. Considering your sins in life, you would spend ten thousands years in the field. Day and night slaving away. Instead of that, you could work for me for a mortal lifetime and gain entry to Alitheine. Heaven, in your language.”

I looked down at the fields below. Men and women of all walks of life tilled the soil and planted seeds under a glaring sun. There was an apathy on their face, an emptiness derived from too much monotony, and no source of happiness.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

“Good,” the youth said, wiping the edges of his mouth with a napkin. “All you have to do is sign an agreement.”

A piece of parchment appeared in one of his hands, an inked quill in the other. I hesitantly took both and read through the agreement and its conditions. Two places were left blank at the bottom. I signed on one side, and the youth signed on the other.

“I’ve just made a deal with the devil, haven’t I?” I asked.

The youth chuckled. “The devil would not give you such favorable conditions, Sir Ward. Now, it is time for you to go back to the mortal world.”