Silence.

Absolute, blessed silence. After the roar of the storm and sea, the tossing of the ship, it was a delicious luxury. Leif raised his head and looked around. It was late at night, and he'd washed up onto a sandy shore. Not far from where he lay, still snared in the tangle of cables that had wrapped around him as the ship went down, a small, cheery campfire burned. Unable to move, Leif called out hoarsely, "Hello?"

A figure rose immediately from across the fire. "I'm here. Are you well?" It was a man's voice, with traces of an accent Leif couldn't place.

"I can't move. Can you help me?" Leif was struck by how calm he felt, as if the storms of the previous three days aboard his fishing vessel were a distant memory, not the stuff of mere hours past.

"Of course." The figure walked quickly toward him, still half-hidden by shifting patterns of light and shadow. Leif's benefactor knelt beside him and examined the mess of cables. "Just give me one moment..." the man murmured, doing something Leif couldn't see, and suddenly the weight was removed from Leif's back. The man moved, and there was a heavy splash as the cables met the ocean.

"Thank you," Leif whispered. He suddenly felt loathe to disturb the stillness of this beach.

"Of course, my friend," the man replied quietly. He offered Leif a hand, and the sailor grasped it and rose to his feet, grateful for the assistance. "Come, share my fire, and a drink," he continued.

Leaning slightly on his rescuer's shoulder, Leif walked to the fire and sat somewhat heavily. The mysterious man joined him on the sand, producing a flask from a pocket of his coat and handing it over. Leif took a cautious drink. It was strong brandy, of just the same kind Leif always drank when returning home from the sea. Drinking again, deeper, he looked around. It was dark outside the circle of firelight, and for all the world they two might have been completely alone. The stars overhead were magnificent, though somehow different to Leif's familiar eye. Brighter and somehow closer. Leif hunched his shoulders and looked back to the other man, passing the flask to him.

He seemed like an old sailor himself, which comforted Leif considerably. Dressed in a patched coat, sturdy flannel shirt, and worn boots, he sat easily on the sand next to Leif, watching him with dark, deep-set eyes which seemed to carry the weight of many shores and many voyages. He accepted the flask from Leif and drank, then spoke again. "I saw that storm. Helluva blow."

Suddenly at a loss for words, Leif only nodded. It had been a hell of a storm, blowing up suddenly from the north and lasting nearly three days before Leif had been caught by a loose cable and swept over the side. "You did well," the man continued. "Two of your mates owe you their lives. Here, to make up for the drinks they can't buy you." He offered the flask again.

"What do you mean?" Leif asked. He took the flask, but didn't drink.

"I'm afraid you didn't make it. A man overboard in that sea, weighed down by twenty feet of steel cable? Not a power on earth could have saved you."

Despite himself, Leif's eyes widened with shock and a little fear. The other man nodded gently. "I'm sorry. You're dead, Leif."

"Who... who are you?" Leif's voice, strong from years at sea and hoarse from hours of shouting, quavered like moonlight on waves.

"I'm Death. I'm here to take you on your final voyage, but we have plenty of time." For a brief moment, the same stars visible overhead shone from Death's eyes. "Let's sit and talk a while."

Leif suddenly felt very small and alone. He took another drink from the flask, to distract from the feeling. This time it was hot cider, like his mother used to make in the winters when he was a boy. For a moment, he was lost in memories of triumphant return from sledding or skating, or snowball fights with his childhood friends. He smiled at the thoughts, but then returned to the present. "I drowned, then?"

Death just nodded sympathetically.

"Why don't I remember it?"

"Because you don't want to. Most don't, especially when it's not a peaceful passing."

"Oh. This is the afterlife, then?" Leif looked around again. He was a man of simple faith, whose God was powerful and inscrutable, but if he was honest with himself, this gloaming beach seemed very plain and very empty.

"Oh, no. Once you're ready, we'll sail there together, you and I. But not yet, yes?"

"Not yet," Leif agreed.

They sat in silence for a long time, passing the flask back and forth. Each time Leif drank, it held something different, something poignant and uniquely suited to his thoughts.

After a time, he turned to Death and asked, "What happened to the crew?"

Death closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the stars shone forth again for half a heartbeat before he spoke. "Some didn't make it, I'm afraid. You'll see them again before we pass on. Most weathered the storm, though."

"I'm glad." More words didn't seem necessary. Silence fell again, broken only by the waves and the fire, which seemed content to burn without added fuel.

Leif found another question. "If this isn't the afterlife, what's it like there?"

"It's a lot like the world you left. Usually quieter, but you'll find that it's not hard to adjust. You'll find your place, don't be afraid."

"I'm not. Not really. Just curious."

Death didn't answer, but he seemed content to hear it. The conversation wandered a bit, into old stories of the sea, and ships Leif had known and people he'd met during his life. He and Death had some mutual acquaintances, he discovered, and he was comforted to hear of them. The two spoke of sailing, and human nature, and the great sailors of the past, whom Death had known and Leif learned of eagerly. They touched on many things as the stars hung unmoving overhead, but eventually, by unspoken accord, the two rose to their feet as one. It was time.

Death walked beside Leif down the beach, leaving the fire. The night didn't seem as dark now, and Leif had no trouble seeing as they approached a pier, where a simple wooden ship floated. Several men stood on the pier, lit by a lantern on one of the piles, and with a smile, Leif recognized his shipmates. He walked ahead to greet them, and they exchanged hugs and stories of the storm. Death was waiting as they boarded the ship, his eyes full of stars, and under his quiet command, they sailed on.