Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it. If I did I'd be rich, famous, own a huge house on 100 acres in the forests near Lake Tahoe, have a Belgian Warmblood breeding and training farm, and be a Grand Prix rider.

A/N: Chapter two! Yay!

Chapter Two - The Black God Comes

Chapter 2 - The Black God Comes

The cold settled in for nearly three months. The families of the Auckland fief had no food, and gradually, they began to die, until there was none left. The lonely houses seemed to shed tears as the icicles on their roofs formed, everlasting signs of weeping. However, locked in the attic of another crying blacksmith's forge, was the last survivor.

She was barely a survivor, her skin stretched tight over her ribcage and cheekbones. Her eyes were sunken, and her arms and fingers skeletal. Carefully, she reached for her last piece of bread. It was the size of her fist, hardly enough to call a meal, but with the water and snow she'd been eating, she would last for a while longer. The bread tasted like wood on her parched tongue, but she swallowed it, and kept it down.

The stallion had broken out of his stall, and every once in awhile he'd whicker up at her, ears pricked. He was beginning to feel the pains of hunger as well, his ribs stuck out and his hips jutted out of his hindquarters. Still his brown eyes were alive and well, and more and more often he came to check to see if his friend was still alive.

A few days later, she was sick.

Shivering uncontrollably, she struggled to find a way to wrap the cloth even tighter around her shaking frame. Her breath rattled in her lungs, and she knew, in all her six years, that this was what dying felt like.

For that last few days, she'd dreamt of a tall, dark figure, hooded, cloaked, with a cold, but comforting air about him. His mighty presence seemed almost too real for a dream, but she woke up, and he was gone, along with the comfort and secure darkness.

So embraced by her sickness she was, she didn't notice the black figure standing in the corner, watching her, as if waiting.

He was clad in all black, threadbare, yet regal robes hanging over a seemingly skeletal frame. His huge, belled sleeves nearly dragged on the floor, as his robes trailed behind him. His hood was drawn up, and there was no visible face in the dark void under it. Slowly, he walked up to the girl's bed, his hands covered in armor gauntlets, each step seeming to take eternity. He bent, his belled sleeve brushing the girl's shoulder as he grasped it, and turned her over.

Misery, anger, and some relief mixed in her face, though it was sickly and grotesquely bony from the meager food supply. Her lips were blue, her caramel skin tinged a blue-green.

The Black God stood there for a moment, contemplating. For three long months, no, more than that, her whole life, this very girl had fought his grasp. She should have died a long time ago, and now that she was, he didn't want it to happen. Her determination he admired, and she still held under her heavy burden of neglect.

They shared a common fate, the little mystery and him. He was doomed in his right, in a way. The Black God, the one in charge of Death, Destruction, Chaos, Hurt, Pain, Suffering.the list went on as he thought of the element judges that went by those names respectively. No one prayed to him unless it was "Please, take pity on my , rest soul in peace."

Anyone who had actually BEEN to the Village of the Dead, the dwellings of people's souls after they left the mortal plain, would know it was a much better place than the real world. But, wow, what a concept. In the Village, you could be whatever you wanted to be, you could converse with others, you were assigned a house like everyone else, but there was no hierarchy. Everyone was at peace, their souls destined for an eternity of resting and relaxing. But why did no one praise and ask things of him? He was exiled. His own power had turned people from him, and they had become afraid of meeting him in person some day.

The girl shared it with him. Her baby sister, her rival, her parents, they were her wild horse's reins that held her back from galloping ahead to her full potential, they got devotion, love, everything they could give to each other they did. She was forced to sit and watch as she sat apart.

He stood beside her bed and reached to brush a hair from her face. Her gray eyes fixed on him, and seemed to show some recognition. Recognition was all she showed. Fear, hatred, all that one that was dying should have shown she did not reveal. Instead, she closed her eyes and sighed, letting herself drop into that place between life and death. However, instead of taking her to the place of the dead, where others of past years dwelt, he put his hand gently over her eyes, and took them both to his dark castle in the Realm of the Gods.

He sent for one of the skeleton maids to set her up in her quarters, and the maid grinned the only grin a skeleton can give, a toothy one. In the brittle boned arms made strong by dark magic, Nameless was taken to her new home.

*~*~*~*~*

She woke up and curled up in the velvet blankets, relishing the feel of the blood red satin sheets, the silk nightdress, the feather pillows.wait a second.

Her eyes flew open, and she looked around in awe. The walls were painted a dark gray, with a blood red carpet, black silk bed curtains, and blood red sheets and covers on the bed's surface. A lamp in the far corner was held up by a skeleton's arm. The wood furniture was made of cherry, stained a red wine color.

Nameless stood and stepped out of her bed lightly, and looked at herself. She wasn't deathly thin or sickly pale anymore. Her eyes sparkled with life, and her face was once again angled, but not pinched. Going to the mirror decorated with a bull's skull at the top, she looked at herself. The forest green nightdress was made regally, out of the finest linen she'd ever felt. It was trimmed with lighter green lace, and the sleeves were woven with the same color green ribbons.

"Where.?" She didn't finish her sentence, as the bull's skull snorted through the bone nostrils and seemed to perk up.

"Morning tidings to you, lass." It said courteously, in a light accent. She looked up at it in wonder more than fear, and touched the hard bone muzzle. The skull snorted yet again and jerked away.

"Stop lassie, it tickles." He said matter-of-factly. Nameless smiled and reached up to touch the skull again.

"Aah! For the love of Marcy, stop!" He cried, feebly trying to get away from her tickling fingers.

She couldn't say she wasn't intrigued by this new place, and for some strange reason, she didn't feel afraid. Her conscience was terrified, and was urging her to be, too. Instead, she found pleasure irritating the old, decrepit bull's skull.

It was a strange place, she'd noticed as she looked around. Not much for decorations, though she could see them growing on her in time. Her favorite color, red, seemed a primary color in this alternate world, and she loved her bed. Her mind wandered to Sarajevo, her stallion, and suddenly she stopped tickling the peevish skull, to sit on her bed.

He hadn't gotten out of that place, she concluded, and her heart was heavy because of it. The smile melted off her lips, replaced by sullen sadness.

"Don't look so grim, no one's died!" The bull skull said irritatingly. Nameless laughed, and suddenly her laughs turned to tears, and soon she was sobbing on her bed, face buried in her huge feather pillows, tears running down the smooth silk.

The door clicked open, and there was a rush of feet as something squishy and sort of foul smelling embraced her.

"What did you say, Rayearth?!" Demanded a hoarse, but feminine voice. The bull skull snorted defiantly.

"I didn't do anything!" He protested. The soft, squishy arms embraced her again, and Nameless looked down and saw to surprise and horror, a rotting arm, bandaged, and the smell was the scent of putrid meat. She tried to squirm out of the zombie's grasp, but she held her tight.

"Easy now milady. I know you aren't used to seeing the likes of me, or Rayearth for that matter, but humph, no one could get used to seeing him." Rayearth snorted and snapped, "Hey!" But the zombie woman turned her around slowly, and to Nameless' surprise, it wasn't so bad as she thought.

"Anyway, little mistress, I'm Celeste, I'll be your lady-in-waiting." She smiled brightly, and a few teeth fell out. Through a few tears that still dripped from her gray eyes, she gave her a small smile.

"That's the ticket, milady, don't cry now. Your stallion's outside, and he's fine. The skeleton, Quinn, bless his soul, is taking good care of him. Not to worry." This news lightened the load on Nameless' shoulders, and she smiled a little brighter. Celeste smiled back, not losing any teeth this time, though Nameless noticed that she had her jaw tight, probably to preserve her teeth from their fate.

"Where am I?" She asked, looking around.

"You are in the realm of the Black God, milady. He brought you here to be cared for. Funny god, the master, always surprising everyone every few millennia." Nameless had to stifle a smile as Celeste rattled on and on, and as Rayearth became a mimic, opening and closing his mouth dramatically like Celeste did when she talked and bobbing his head side to side. Nameless had to laugh internally at their love-hate relationship.

"But I'm going on again, aren't I love?" Celeste apologized comically as she came back to her senses, "Now then, the master wants you at dinner, and we have to get you all prettied up for it." She walked to an ornately carved armoire, and opened it, revealing clothing in three chief colors, black, gray, and red. They were all sized to perfectly fit Nameless' small frame.

"Now this one I think will do you justice." Celeste began as she threw on dress after dress, fiddling with style, color shade, and other various things.

Within an hour, Nameless was cleaned and ready, descending the grand staircase that lead into the dining room. The iron-gray gown she wore was nothing like the plain homespun her mother had made her. This had thin strands of silver woven in its dark depths, and a black, obsidian-studded belt draped over her hips, the front trailing down the skirt of her gown. At the elbow, the sleeves flared into a dramatic bell, nearly touching the floor, showing her under-layer, which was black silk. Her mahogany-bronze hair was brushed to a sheen and left to hang loose over her shoulders.

A regally dressed zombie man smiled and opened the door for her with rotting fingers. He ushered her in, whispering gently, "Don't be afraid, milady." Though she had yet to get used to half-dead humans wandering the place, she tossed a small, though timid smile at the zombie. He seemed kind enough.

She entered a long dining room, with black crystal chandeliers threaded with spider webs. The dining table was long as well, covered in beautifully crafted embroidered velvet. A ghostly hand waved her to a seat, and when she looked up when she was seated, the hand was gone. A low voice clearing his throat caught her attention, and she looked into the empty hood of the Black Lord himself. Immediately she rose and curtsied, nearly falling over, but being steadied by a firm gauntlet. She looked up at the empty hood, but a light aura of amusement radiated off the Black Lord, and he laughed lightly. It had many tones in it, like he had different voices speaking at the same time.

He drew up a chair beside her and seemed to watch her for a moment, though where he was actually looking was a mystery. Finally he waved a hand and food appeared on the table in front of them. There was a plate of roast beef, a small salad, and two goblets, silver, with swirled carvings, like wind. Instead of a goblet stem was a skeletal hand. It seemed like small amounts for a god.

"I don't have to eat." He said abruptly, as if he had known what she had been thinking. She mentally berated herself; of course he knew what she was thinking! He was a god for.uh.god's sake! He laughed again, a little louder than before. Nameless blushed deeply, knowing that he was getting everything she was saying to herself. It was like the walking naked dream, and then waking up and realizing that.wow.it's true! The Black God took a sip from his goblet to stifle his laughter.

Nameless looked at the god, trying not to smile, but failing miserably. People expected gods to be like the Great Mother Goddess, poised, in control, worthy of worship, and stuff like that. The Black Lord seemed quite different, and Nameless realized she liked him better that way. She wasn't so intimidated by him as she thought she would be around other gods and goddesses.

"I'm pleased that you think of me that way, lass." He said kindly in his multi-toned voice. "Always a good thing when one feels comfortable, eh?" She smiled shyly and nodded, glancing at her goblet and picking it up, touching the liquid to her lips. Water! It was cold, refreshing, almost filled with life.

"Brave girl, taking food from strangers." He said. "Of course, seeing Celeste didn't faze you, so why should this?" He added as an afterthought.

"She wasn't as bad as I thought she'd be. Gentle as a lamb, I thought." Nameless suddenly said. The Black Lord nodded, and she sensed a smile, somewhere, coming from him.

"Truly an extraordinary girl." He said, nodding in a pleased way. They talked a little about this and that, how the world works, other people.or somewhat people that she'd meet in the future. Soon it was eleven, and Nameless yawned greatly.

"I suppose you have to sleep, too." He said as if disappointed, then added, "I'm busy most of the days, so you will not see me much at all, but I will always see you at dinner, no matter what." Nameless smiled in admiration. Never had anyone held a candle to her and cared for her, and now she was blessed with the care of a god! Impulsively, she ran up and hugged the Black God around his middle, which seemed considerably higher, and he much taller up close. Patting her hair awkwardly, he gave her a little push towards the grand stairwell.

"Come up to bed, milady!" Celeste called cheerily from the top of the stair, "You've had a busy day, and you're dog tired, I'd guess." Before she disappeared, the girl curtsied tipsily, and waved.

"Goodnight, milord!" He disappeared the next moment.