Death (The Four Horsemen Book 4)

by Laura Thalassa

  A choked sound slips from Famine’s lips. As I watch, his bronze armor disappears from his body. At his side, the scythe he once put against my neck fades away until nothing remains.

  Then, all at once, Famine goes limp. I think he’s dead for a second, but then I hear his shallow pants. With Death’s gaze still fixed on him, I take several more steps towards my horseman, all but holding my breath.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Famine put a hand to his chest.

  He lets out a weak laugh. “You bastard,” the Reaper wheezes out. “You bastard.”

  I fear War and Pestilence are already dead. I fear that if I waste any more time being subtle, Famine will die too.

  I step over the scattered bones and corpses, not bothering to muffle my steps. The world around us is quiet, so painfully quiet.

  Achingly slow, Thanatos turns his attention to me.

  He’s just as beautiful and tragic as the first time I laid eyes on him. Only now, I see that he was shaped for this moment.

  “I can’t let you do this,” I say.

  Those strange and lovely eyes of his—the ones that seem to hold the entire universe—take me in.

  “What is there to fear, kismet?” he says softly. His hair is rippling with the immensity of his power. “You will not die, and I will not leave you behind.”

  “Damn you, Thanatos, this isn’t about me.” It’s never been about me.

  Death spoke of God watching—meddling even.

  Surely in this moment I have Her ear.

  Let me stop this. Whatever role I’m supposed to play, let me play it. Let me end this.

  There’s a sound like the crack of thunder and a blinding light that seems to come from behind my eyes.

  I stumble, unable to hear beyond the ringing in my ears or see past the light clouding my vision.

  Slowly, the ringing in my ears turns into the sound of my pulse pounding. Th-thump—th-thump—th-thump.

  I blink several times, the world coming back into focus.

  “Lazarus.” There’s a hand on my back, and I glance up into Death’s unearthly eyes. Those silver freckles in his irises seem to shine brighter than before, and they’re full of the concern I’m used to seeing on Thanatos’s face.

  Solemn, tragic Thanatos, who is not afraid of death, but hates suffering. Thanatos, who is universally hated, even by his own brothers. He who is forever chained to his awful task. Forever misunderstood. Forever alone.

  Except when we’re together.

  Do you really think any of it was random?

  Tightening my grip on my weapon, I lift the blade, my eyes meeting Thanatos’s. It’s just us. The other horsemen are as good as gone. The city lays in ruins, and its inhabitants are scattered around us.

  The hand holding my dagger trembles as I point it at Death’s chest, the tip of it hovering over those chthonic images hammered into the metal. I’m petrified as my gaze lifts to the horseman’s. What I’m about to do goes against everything I believe in.

  For an instant, Death’s eyes flicker with betrayal. I take a deep breath, my entire body quaking.

  “You would hurt me?” he says softly.

  I swallow as I stare at him.

  His mouth forms a grim line as he takes in my expression.

  Thanatos squares his chest. “Do it,” he dares. “This is the only chance I’ll give you.”

  I draw in a shaky breath. Give me strength.

  There are two ways to stop Death: kill him—

  Or kill me.

  I turn the dagger on myself and drive it into my chest.

  Chapter 73

  Los Angeles, California

  October, Year 27 of the Horsemen

  I’ve read stories about people falling on their own swords. They always made it seem noble and tragic.

  Fuck all of that. This hurts like shit.

  “NO!” Death roars like a wounded creature.

  I barely hear it over the rushing sound of blood pounding in my ears. The strange way my heart spasms makes it clear that I hit something important.

  I choke on the pain as I glance down at my chest. The blade is still sticking partway out, but it hurts so damn bad I don’t think I can push it in any deeper.

  I reach for the wound, slicing myself on the exposed blade. Blood slips between my fingers, and it’s coming out … fast. Real fast.

  Then Death is there, his body enveloping mine. He lowers us both to the ground, cradling me in his arms.

  “Why, Lazarus?” he says, his voice breaking, “Why?” No longer is he remote and larger than life.

  It takes effort to move my eyes to his.

  “Someone … needed … to stop … you.”

  Death’s wings come around us. The battle has been forgotten. Humanity and Judgement Day has been forgotten. All of it has been sidelined as he stares down at me.

  He’s shaking his head. “You cannot stop me.”

  I slump against him, a ragged sound slipping from my lips.

  He presses a hand to my wound, and I gasp at the pain it elicits.

  “I need to get this out,” he says, wrapping a hand around the hilt of the dagger.

  I shake my head, but he isn’t listening.

  Grimacing, I see his face grow resolved. Then—

  He pulls the blade from my chest.

  I scream—or at least I try to. It comes out as an agonized moan, and blessedly, I black out.

  “Kismet …”

  I stir, pulled to wakefulness by that lamenting voice.

  I blink my eyes open, and—

  Agony. Blazing, suffocating agony. It’s all I feel—that and the rivulets of blood soaking my chest as they leave my body.

  “I’m sorry, Laz. It will be alright soon,” Thanatos vows. “It will be.”

  He places a hand over the wound, and I hiss in a breath. Even that light touch is brutally painful.

  I feel Death’s power brush against my skin. I wait for my flesh to warm and itch as my body stitches itself back together.

  Only—

  “It’s not working.” Panic laces the horseman’s voice.

  The most powerful creature cannot heal me. I gasp up at him.

  That desperate plea of mine, that bolt of light behind my eyes …

  That was intercession.

  It happens to humans all the time, but you’re all so blinded by your own perceptions of reality that you miss it. You miss the most potent forces of magic in your lives even when they unfold right before you.

  I think … I think I have been made truly mortal.

  Terror lances through me. I’ve never feared death before because I never actually stayed dead.

  But this time around, this one feels like it’s going to take.

  Oh God, I thought I’d have more time. Endless time.

  I close my eyes, exhausted from the pain.

  I want to say I’m at peace, but fuck, I feel like I’m leaving before the closing act.

  “Thanatos,” I murmur. I blindly reach for his hand.

  I especially don’t want to leave him. He’s all the reasons I want to live.

  “Laz …”

  Laz. I open my eyes at the intimacy of that name.

  I meet Thanatos’s gaze. Fear fills his eyes. He’s afraid too. But it’s only death. It’s his most natural state.

  “’S okay,” I breathe, even as I start to shiver.

  He hold on me tightens. “No, Lazarus, I’m not going to let you go,” he vows.

  “Life and death are lovers.” I remind him. “Nothing … changes that.” I squeeze his hand. “I love you,” I finally admit.

  His expression crumbles. “No.” He says it like a plea, a tear slipping out from the corner of his eye.

  My eyes begin to close.

  “Lazarus, stay with me.”

  But my stubborn body ignores his commands.

  He kisses my lips, and even in that act I feel the desperate press of his power, willing me to live.

  It makes no differen
ce.

  With that kiss, my breath stills, my heart stops, and I am finally, truly released.

  Death

  The moment my lips leave hers, I know.

  She’s gone.

  And for the first time since I met her, I feel her spirit untangle itself from her body.

  No.

  Lazarus’s immortality is not so different than ours. It can be removed.

  It’s been removed.

  In the distance Famine laughs, a wheezy, wet sound. I can’t think of a more inappropriate reaction.

  “She made another deal behind your back, brother,” he says.

  My breath catches as I stare down at my Lazarus.

  Did you? I silently ask her.

  But of course she must’ve. She couldn’t remove her immortality herself. And there is only one person who can freely take and give life.

  God has forsaken me.

  “Finally, you understand as we have all been made to understand,” Famine wheezes. “You cannot have both. You must make a choice.” Famine wheezes.

  “The choice has been taken from me,” I spit out.

  “It hasn’t.”

  I glance up at him then. I can feel my steady heart pick up at what he’s insinuating.

  My hand shakes as I glance back down at Lazarus. Lazarus who was never supposed to die.

  Lazarus bargained for humanity. I don’t know if the voice in my head is my own, or Hers. This form muddles my extra senses. What will you do? It is your decision in the end.

  “It’s not my decision,” I say vehemently. I’ve only ever followed the universe’s orders.

  My gaze passes over Famine before touching on the still forms of Pestilence and War. My three brothers were willing to do everything to stop me. I’d accepted their decision to fight for humanity. I’d even understood the deep drive that fueled them. They loved their wives and their children, and they all came around to appreciating humanity—Famine and his hardened heart included.

  I have seen each of my brothers clutch their woman in death. I’ve heard their bargains. I thought myself above it all.

  And now here I am, with this woman of flesh and blood, who fought me and fueled me, and who loved me. The woman who I am hopelessly in love with.

  “Take your woman and run, Thanatos,” Famine breathes.

  “I cannot.” My voice breaks.

  I have never once broken the rules. Not in all my long years of existence. I have delivered every single soul to its afterlife.

  Just as I will hers.

  I have to take her.

  I’m heaving as I lay her body gently down.

  “Fool,” Famine whispers.

  I rise and face Lazarus’s soul. It is every bit as brilliant as I knew it would be.

  Clasping her close, I slip us into the world of spirits, and I take my kismet to the afterlife.

  Chapter 74

  The Beyond

  October, Year 27 of the Horsemen

  Lazarus

  Death is … the wrong word for this. Death is an ending, but this isn’t an ending at all. It feels like a beginning. Like rebirth.

  Transmutation.

  I smile—or at least, I feel like I’m smiling even though I’m not sure I’m solid. I honestly don’t know what I am, just that I exist and I am aware.

  I look around. Wherever I am, muted light surrounds me. I take a step back, my body—or essence—bumps into something solid.

  I turn, and the first thing I see is that gleaming silver armor, then those large black wings. Finally, my eyes settle on that beloved face that I swear I’ve always known.

  “Thanatos.” I say his name softly. I thought I had left him, but of course not, he is death. “You were right, this isn’t so bad.”

  But now I notice how agonized his eyes still are.

  Rather than answering, Death looks down. I follow his gaze, and the muted light blows away in wisps, as though it were merely thick smoke. Below, I see my lifeless body resting among the wreckage.

  Finally, the fighting is over. And I lost—all of humanity lost—but this isn’t so bad. That urge to beg and plead, to leverage and threaten and bargain my way into some compromise is gone. The time for that passed with my life.

  Death takes my spectral hand and I grip his tightly. As I watch, my body below grows smaller and smaller, as though we’re floating away from it.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  Thanatos’s grieving eyes burn as they look at me. “Founipa.”

  Heaven.

  The dim light around us brightens, and it’s like sun breaking through the clouds.

  In the distance, figures appear. At least, I think they’re figures. To be honest, they’re more impressions of people than actual, physical bodies. Instead of skin and bones, their forms seem to be made of light.

  As they come into focus, I begin to recognize them. At the front, there’s my mom. Then there’s River, and Nicolette, and Robin, and Ethan, Owen and Juniper. I see my nieces and nephews—I even see Harrison, my adoptive father; I’ve only ever known him through pictures, and yet he’s still here, welcoming me.

  Near the front of the group are two more people who I have no memory of, and yet I inherently know them. My birth parents.

  I make a small noise. They’re all here, all waiting for me. And though it makes no sense, I can feel their love for me.

  You’re loved. You’re home.

  I glance over at Thanatos and his tormented eyes.

  Death the ferryman, who takes souls and delivers them, but does not join the dead. Death, who belongs neither to earth, nor to the afterlife.

  He belongs with me. That is the one thing I am certain of.

  He releases my hand to touch my cheek. “I will dream of you every day, Lazarus.” He looks as though he’s burning in his own sort of hell.

  “Come with me,” I insist.

  “I cannot,” he says, his voice hoarse. Worse, I feel his devastation as though it’s my own.

  He gives me a tight smile, and nods to the people waiting for me. “Go to your loved ones. They are waiting for you.”

  This is where I should feel fear, but the closest I come to it is confusion. This … isn’t supposed to be how we part. But my essence is being called towards my family and it’s hard to ignore.

  “I love you, Thanatos,” I say, taking him in. “Forever and always. Nothing will ever change that. And I’ll be waiting for you when even you, the Angel of Death, meet your own end.”

  Chapter 75

  The Beyond

  October, Year 27 of the Horsemen

  Death

  Lazarus’s words are nearly my end. I have endured much over my existence, but this moment makes all past traumas pale in comparison.

  How am I supposed to let her go?

  Despite her words, she lingers in front of me. I stare down at her as, with a spectral finger, Lazarus draws a shape on my armor.

  To her, it must simply be a mindless doodle, but the shape her finger idly makes, I know that symbol.

  Opotu.

  Love.

  Realization slams into me, so potent that I can barely catch my breath around it.

  I knew God had given me a word, just as She had my brothers, a word that was both a lesson and a choice wrapped into one. I even knew early on what my word was—life. I thought I had figured it out and pressed on.

  But I hadn’t understood my task and my challenge, nor had I understood the word. Not until now.

  I was wrong. I misunderstood it all. The word—the choice, the lesson—it was never life.

  It was love.

  Love.

  And for whatever reason, that shifts the way in which I see everything.

  Lazarus frowns, her eyes regretful as she glances up at me. “Until we meet again, Thanatos,” she says.

  I can feel the sharp edge of her love as she moves away from me.

  She looks over the gathered crowd once more, her eyes searching. I know who she’s looking for. It�
��s the one human she loves above all others, the one she tried to bargain her life for. Ben.

  The moment Lazarus saved that baby and claimed him as her own was also the moment she truly stopped fighting me. She gave up humanity for that child because she loved him.

  There’s that human selfishness—to pick one human over millions.

  But is it selfishness?

  That choice made Lazarus vulnerable to my brothers’ manipulation—and to my own. All for a little boy she just happened to save. Perhaps you could call that selfishness, but perhaps you could also say that what she had was a love so intense and selfless that it eclipsed everything else.

  My lungs seize up at the thought.

  That same love made Lazarus desperately bargain her life for her child’s. An extraordinary sacrifice—one I didn’t accept—but also one I’ve heard many, many times from humans.

  My life for theirs …

  I would do anything …

  And perhaps it was that same love that made Lazarus turn her blade on herself rather than sinking it into my own flesh.

  My brothers and I have assumed we were better than these humans we were tasked to destroy, but we have been the ones pitting their compassion against them.

  I have followed orders this entire time. That’s what I’m good at. Even Lazarus was fated to me by God, so she too sat comfortably in my world … until, of course, she didn’t. She gave me raw, painful, messy humanity. With all its spontaneity and beauty. She awoke me, and no matter how today ends, I cannot go back to who and what I once was.

  I see Lazarus hesitate and look back at me. I see plainly in her eyes that she doesn’t want to leave me, even though the afterlife and all her loved ones are calling her home. My heart aches so fiercely at the sight of her.

  I quake at the thought of existing without her.

  What will you do? It is your decision in the end.

  Those words ring in my ears. They feel like a trick, even though that is not the way the universe works.

  Cities have crumbled and legions have died and I have felt nothing. But the sound of Lazarus’s laughter has stirred my heart, and the slide of her body under mine has awoken my soul. How many lonely miles have I traveled with the memory of her voice keeping me company?