There was once a boy who, because he was the seventh son of a seventh son, had no family inheritance to look forward to. In its place he possessed a gift, both terrible and wonderful, for he was a prophet.

It was said that his prophecies were so uncannily accurate that, rather than have him be proved wrong, the Universe would change its shape to match his predictions. Now, there came a day in this boy’s nineteenth year when a woman, who was both old and young, dark-haired and grey, smooth-skinned and wrinkled with age, came to him, where he sat in the shade of the courtyard of his father’s house, and put to him a question. That question was, ‘When will I die?’

The boy had heard this question many times already in his life, young though he was, and he always gave the same answer to it: ‘Madam,’ he said. ‘You will die when you find your Death, and he finds you.’

‘Then I shall never die, for I have locked my Death away in a dark place far below the surface of the Urth. He will not be able to find me, and so I shall live forever and not die.’

‘Does your Death have hands?’

‘Yes, he does.’

‘Then he will be able to scratch his way through the rock and gravel and soil and grass until he reaches the surface, and then he will be able to find you.’

‘He will not, for I have buried him many thousands of leagues away, in a grotto underneath the sea-bed.’

‘Does your Death have feet?’

‘Yes he does.’

‘Then he will be able to kick his way though the sea-water until he reaches the surface, as the divers do who compete in the Great Thracian Games, and then he will be able to find you.’

‘But I shall still not die.’

‘Why so?’

‘Because, before I buried my Death in a cavern deep below the bed of the Peaceable Ocean, I blinded him with a bar of red-hot bronze. He will not be able to see me, and so I shall live forever and not die.’

‘Did you remember to seal up his nostrils?’

‘Yes, I did. I also blocked his ears with spermaceti wax. He will not be able to see, hear or smell me, and so he will not be able to find me, and so I shall live forever and not die.’

The boy sat and considered the young-old-young woman for a minute or two. Then, ‘Wait here,’ he said and stood up and walked over to the door of his father’s house. The woman heard a terrific crashing and banging inside the house, and the sound of store-cupboard doors opening and closing. Eventually, the prophet emerged, covered with dust and carrying a hessian sack over his shoulder. ‘I have brought you the things you need,’ he said.

‘But I did not ask you to bring me anything. I do not want you to bring me anything.’

‘Nevertheless, I have brought you the things you need. Behold!’ And the boy emptied the sack onto the ground in front of the young-old-young woman with a loud clattering sound.

She stared in astonishment. ‘What are these things?’ Scattered across the flagstones of the courtyard lay a pair of antique iron-shod leather sandals, a spade of tempered steel and some aëronaut’s goggles.

‘They are what you need. You have buried your Death a very long way off, so you will need these hard-wearing shoes to carry you there. He lies many fathoms below the waves, so you will need these goggles to help you navigate your way through the water. And you have buried him deep under the sea-bed, so you will need this spade to dig your way down to his grave so that you may find him. For, my lady,’ and the boy fixed the young-old-young woman with his emerald-facetted gaze, ‘most assuredly the time will come when the thing which you desire most above all things will be to find and embrace your Death, for he was made for you and you were made for him. When that time comes, I should not wish to come between you, nor be the cause of any undue delay in your union. Now go! And take that stuff with you. It is blocking the path.’

The young-old-young woman replaced the sandals and the spade and the goggles in the sack, and threw it over her shoulder, and went out of the courtyard and into the street, to her home and her husband and her children. She put the things that the prophet had given her on display in her house, and when anybody asked her why she had done so, she replied ‘As a momento mori.’ And it was said in the later days that she was a woman who knew how to die well, and that she had made a good death for herself.