On the third day, as the cold sun rises, it breaks through me—
Agony.
I gasp and grab onto the rails. My back curves, my face twists with pain.
Even Shadow moans a low, wounded sound.
War is waking.
His pain is mine. His sorrow rips through me.
He is lost, confused—alone.
Through the tangled emotions, I try to tap into him, to send him patience, to send him comfort. With two days left of my journey, I hope he listens.
I am coming, War. I am coming.
Chapter 7
I remember the day I first woke to this existence. I remember the fear, most of all.
It rushes back to me in waves. Cripples me. Ruins me.
To awake the first time alone…it’s horrible. And now War truly is one of us. For he, too, has woken alone. Lost and confused.
Afraid.
As I tap into our bond, my eyelids squeeze shut against the spray of seawater. I taste salt on my lips. It’s up my nose. But I focus only on our bond.
It flows from me to War. The calmness, the reassurance. My attempt to soothe his panic.
I do this until adrenaline stops flowing through the bond and a stillness settles over his presence in my mind. He hears me.
It took until dawn, but he hears me.
War isn’t quite calm. More placid, I think.
For a moment, I wish I could see through his eyes. Has he emerged from whatever his resting place is? Is he under the ice, waiting for me?
Famine should have been the one to do this. It is her job. The Conqueror of the Four (Famine, Pestilence, War and Death), and now she is Famine the Conqueror. The First of the Four.
And here I am, stuck with her menial tasks.
She never would’ve asked Death to do this. Then again, Death isn’t exactly good with others. Not even his own kind.
۞
Shadow shakes off the last of his pain.
I tighten the water-proof coat around his body. “Did you feel his steed?”
“I couldn’t,” he tells me. “Not through the chaos War was sending us. I tried to dig through it to his steed, but it was too dense.”
I know exactly what he means.
The bridge door opens.
I glance over my shoulder to see one of the boatmen creep out of the bridge, a metal container clutched in his gloved hands.
He has a sheepish look about him. One that tells me he isn’t so hesitant to come to me, but more of what his fellow boatmates might think of it.
No doubt, they’ve all been talking under the bridge about how to stay away from me the whole trip and to avoid my gaze as if it might strike them down on the spot.
With a gentle sigh, I turn to the water before us. “How long until we are there?”
Seaman wades his way toward me. The metal canister clinks against the soaked rails when he stops beside me. “Be there by tomorrow midday,” he says. “Brought you some coffee. Thought you might be freezin’ your arse off up here.” His plain brown eyes rinse over me. “Not that you look too cold…”
His voice rose as he trailed off, leaving me to wonder if it was meant as a comment or a question.
Without another glance at the canister, I say, “I don’t get cold.”
“But your horse does, don’t it? That’s why you’ve got it all covered up.”
“Oh, Shadow doesn’t feel the cold either.” A smile twists my lips. “He’s just very particular about his coat staying dry.” I turn to the seaman. “We spend much of our time in the water, so when we are on land, Shadow prefers to feel that we are on land.”
Seaman doesn’t understand. Half of his face is lifted up—lip, cheek and eyebrow. For a moment, I almost think it comical. He reminds me of a painting I saw once, a woman with distorted features.
“All right then,” is all he says.
From the corner of my eye, I watch him unscrew the lid. Steam rises from the container and warms the man’s blotchy, red face. Beside me, he sips the tea.
Why is he still here? Surely I frighten him. Enough for him and the others to hide below deck for three days. Men don’t suddenly gain courage.
Finally, he tells me, “They’re talkin’ about you on the news.”
My mind churns. News. Newspapers, telegraphs, message stones.
“Are they?” I ask, somewhat intrigued.
He swigs from the canister. “Aye. You’ve gone viral.”
A sharp laugh tears through me. Even Shadow hides a guffaw.
As my laughter fades, I grin at the frowning seaman. “You have no idea how viral I can be.”
He tucks the canister into his raincoat pocket, then grabs onto the rails. The boat rocks from side to side, water splashes up and onto the deck. Balance is failing him.
“What do your people say about me?”
He shakes his wet hair. Some drops of water hit my cheek.
“Mostly nothin’,” he says. “A whole lotta nothin’.”
I must look confused. My brows might be knitted together, or my lip might be curled.
He takes one glance at me before he explains, “On the radio, they talk about those pictures and the video of you. They reckon it’s a prank, you know? A massive joke. ‘Cause you look…” He trails his wary gaze over my silvery hair, my grey-tinted skin, my metallic eyes. Clearing his throat, he pulls back to the water. “You look like you’re wearin’ a costume, all done up and that. Not everyone’s buying it, though.”
“Buying?”
He hunches over the barrier, his face hidden by his lumpy shoulders. “Not everyone reckons you’re … one of us. A few people online have started to talk, you know? About who you are … or what you are. It doesn’t help that the cops are lookin’ for you. Makes it look like they don’t believe what they’re tellin’ us, either.”
My nose crinkles. “What are ‘cops’?”
“Well they’re police, ain’t they?” he snaps.
His mask of patience is cracking, crumbling before my mercurial eyes. This is my favourite part. When humans let themselves fail.
“And they’re after you,” he adds, jabbing his thumb my way. “Probs got the whole damn government out there, turnin’ over every stone. And here we are, with you … on our boat.”
Regret steams his eyes, like a morning mist. Though, I can’t tell what his regret is for, precisely. Is it for being stuck with me on a boat? Bowing to my demands? Or not delivering me to their law enforcement agencies?
“You should concern yourself less about them.” I study his face as he looks up at me. “Your law, your police—they can’t help you now. No one can.”
My intentions were to offer a small slice of reassurance, but the truth got the better of me. And, in all honesty, my vindictive side shines for humans. It really does.
Horror twists his face, but there is no surprise in his eyes. He suspected, he had hoped the opposite, but he’d known in his gut what I am.
Not who, but what—the end.
“Who are you?” he whispers.
Waves crash against the boat and threaten to swallow his words, but I hear them, the pain in them, the anguish. I hear his fear.
A struggle blocks my answer. Is the truth better to some humans than to others? Is he, the rough seaman before me, another Allie?
I look away at the thought.
“I am the beginning of your end,” I tell him. “I am the Second Horserider.”
He hangs on my words, swaying beside me, pain etched into the lines of his face.
I turn to him, my lashes low, my face severe. “I am Pestilence.”
Still, he stands beside me. Rocking back and forth with the boat. Fingers tight on the damp rails. Then, he stumbles back.
My gaze follows him. He staggers away from me. Horror never leaves his face.
He runs through the bridge door, back to below deck.
I doubt he’ll return to offer me teas and hot drinks, news of his world, news of me.
He knows
better now.
That’s what I thought at least.
But sometime after we sail through the ridge, dusk comes and darkens the sky. Humans are right when they say, ‘monsters come out at night’.
I hear the bridge door creak open again.
I stay where I stand, beside Shadow who sleeps beneath his raincoat, and watch the water rush up at me.
No matter how hard I look, I don’t see Emperor Penguins anywhe—
I’m shoved into the barrier. Blood spills from my lips onto my hands.
I stagger back, the soles of my feet slipping against the deck. My eyes drift downwards to my hands, to what they cup.
A spike pokes out from my armour-dress, where a red stain gathers and spreads.
I’ve been speared.
Chapter 8
Before I can get a grip on the spear, another shoots its way through my heart. My legs buckle; I sink to the slippery floor, now wet with my blood.
Shadow jolts awake. He writhes on his side to stand. He barely lifts his head before the captain charges at him.
“No!” I scream.
I tug and tear at the spears, but my wild eyes are on the captain.
“Touch him and you die!”
He raises a machete in the air, above Shadow’s head.
A feral scream rips through me.
I’m on my feet, rushing at him. I make it halfway when the third spear slams through my head.
I collapse.
My eyes stay open.
A flash of metal, the crunch of bone.
Shadow’s detached head is kicked towards me.
I reach out to touch him. Hoarse grunts are all I manage before I’m yanked back, down the deck.
My armour screeches against the bloody floor. The spears tug and twist inside of me, but I can’t move. Stunned. I think I’m stunned.
Heavy footsteps bound all around me. They’ve finally come above deck. All of them. And they came to destroy me.
“Get ‘er!” one of them shouts. “Get ‘er feet, throw ‘er overboard!”
“Aye, captain.” It’s the voice of the seaman I spoke to. “I’ve got her.”
He grabs my hip and rolls me onto my side. Three spears poke out from me in a neat row, and seaman spares them a mere glance. His face is grim, he won’t meet my eyes.
“You!” the captain shouts. “Help me with this bloody horse!”
Shadow.
I try to roar. Scream. Promise vengeance on everyone they’ve ever known or loved. But all that happens is blood bubbles in my mouth and I choke on it.
Our connection is static. Shadow is still in my mind, but he doesn’t speak to me.
With a grunt, I try to roll over, to get to Shadow. But I’m yanked back to the seaman again—blood leaks from my mouth.
Through hooded eyes, I see the seaman pulling on wire. My gaze traces the wire to my back; there are three ropes of them. I think they’re attached to the spears lodged inside of me.
Shadow’s body is heaved over the side of the boat. It crashes into the icy ocean with a splash, one that sprays saltwater all over us.
Captain tosses Shadow’s head over after, with an indifferent victory that stirs nausea in my stomach.
“You’ll die for this,” I croak.
My strained voice is more of a gurgle, but I know the seaman hears me.
He freezes, a pause.
I can taste his fear.
“It won’t be quick,” I promise. “I’ll slaughter each one of you with my bare hands. Count on it, human.”
They grab me. Seaman takes my legs, Captain grabs my underarms.
And they throw me overboard, like they had Shadow.
I don’t scream. I make no more vengeful promises. All I do is close my eyes and let the ice-cold water envelope me.
Finally, the bond erupts within me.
Death’s fury strikes first.
It ripples through my bones, making me shudder.
Behind my eyelids, I can almost imagine him. Tearing through villages, destroying all that he passes, riding across far lands to reach me. But there’s a bitterness beneath his rage. One I’ve known for many years. Hatred for the humans, far stronger than his love for me.
Through the turmoil, the faintest touch of curiosity reaches out to me. Not from Famine, who remains silent. From War. He tries to calm me, like I did him.
There’s no need. I am calm. I must be to plot my revenge.
When I open my eyes again, ribbons of blood spiral up from me. The light from above is blocked by the depths of the ocean. I can’t swim up. Armour weighs me down. And I must fall with Shadow.
I must let the ocean drag us down.
I clutch onto a spear, the one that sticks out from my head. Unlike the others, it’s not caught on my armour-dress.
My teeth clench as I pull it. It drags through my skull, and I catch sight of tiny brain fragments drifting from the wound.
With a final wrench, the spear slides out of my forehead. Already, the healing begins. Familiar sensations warm my head. Skin knitting together. Bone piecing back into place.
I still sink.
Squinting, I look around the abyss for Shadow. His head floats above me, metres away. I drag myself through the water to beneath it.
We shouldn’t land too far from each other now. His body might be on the ocean floor by now. It’s heavy. It would sink faster.
All I can do now is wait.
۞
I land on the edge of a ridge.
Though the water is dark around me, my thinned eyes are fixed upwards. Cowards have likely turned around by now, headed for the island. They think they’re safe.
Foolish humans.
Shadow’s decapitated head sits on a rock not too far from me.
I hurl the spear. It pierces through his torn neck and I use the wire to guide myself closer.
As I wade through the scattering marine life, my eyes search for the rest of my steed. A giant, dark, lump looms ahead, perched atop a sloped rock. As I near it, I drag Shadow’s head over the ocean floor.
Beside Shadow’s body, I lower his head to the rock, then pull the other two spears from my body. More blood lifts up in the water, but I wave the diluted-red spirals away.
It takes two spears to attach Shadow’s head to his body. Stuck through his neck to behind his shoulder blades on either side, they should hold him together long enough.
I slip off my armour-dress and drape it over Shadow’s neck. The dress should hold him down when he comes to. Its weight will pull me down if I try swim back to the boat with it on.
But I must move quickly. The boatmen will have already turned around.
As I tuck the edges of my dress around Shadow, a sudden burst of something hits me. Part curiosity. Laced with intrigue. Embers of relief and…tempered lust?
Slowly, I straighten up and look over my shoulder.
Metres from where I stand, they stand side by side.
A crimson horse, bound in a saddle and ribbed armour so red that they appear to have been crafted from drops of hardened blood. The steed’s nose shines like a ruby-stained beacon in the dark ocean depths, a beacon or a warning of what is to come.
Beside him, is his companion. War, a sight to behold, a statue of power and cruelty.
I cannot resist my study of him.
A wave of raven hair floats in the water, a dark halo encircling a proud, pale face. A ruby-encrusted circlet sits on the crown of his head and wraps around his porcelain forehead, above eyes that draw me back to my human days at the vineyard, where the night sky would turn the sharp grape leaves amber.
Not unlike the armour his steed wears, War is sheathed in strong leather so dark that at first glance I think it’s black—until the clear ocean water glides over it and reveals the glitter of blood stains that spear like cracks in dry earth.
A second skin, the leather armour is wrapped so tightly to his body that each muscle of pure strength pulses through the water and washes over me with the salt.
And through the water, red flecks shimmer at me from his slightly eastern eyes. Within them I see the same as I felt. Curiosity, intrigue, relief and—a thirst for blood.
War has come and I cannot decide if this is fortune or a curse.
426 B.C.; Athens.
Hella soon learned the reason for Death’s visit.
He had come for the dead.
One slave had died in the middle of the night, and the house’s mistress, too. The sickness had taken them, like it had taken much of Athens already.
Because of it, Hella was left with a bigger workload than before. Without much rest, she was back out in the vineyard for harvest, then into the grange for grape-stomping. At least the work kept her away from the master of the house and his whip.
Death didn’t come that night. He came six nights later.
Hella was in the vineyard again.
It was much like their first meeting. Hella backed into a rosebush, where she sat, tense and shivering. Death knelt beside the wicker basket and ate a few grapes.
When he chewed on his fourth grape, Hella scraped up enough courage to whisper, “Who are you here for?”
His jaw stilled.
A pause churned between them, he stared at her through those tar-like eyes of his. Then, he resumed chewing. He didn’t look away from her, he ignored her question.
The next morning, she learned that another slave had passed.
Chapter 9
Amber eyes drift over my bare body.
Behind an unveiled sheet of disgust, there is a current of desire in his gaze.
Desire is not a feeling reserved for humans. And though I was human before this eternal life of mine, it was an immortal’s desire that had me cursed to this existence.
War’s lustful gaze turns fleeting—he is suddenly flippant and disinterest takes root. His blood-stained lips harden into a tight line. Gone are the stirs of anxiety he had when he woke, and gone is the gratitude for my earlier surges of reassurance.
The being before me is not the same one I felt on the boat.
Whoever—or whatever—he was before this existence has started to creep its way into his body. A volatile, unpredictable soul.
Feared Fables Box Set: Dark and Twisted Fairy Tale Retellings, (Feared Fables Box Sets Book 1) Page 36