The stench overpowers me and it is all I can taste throughout my entire being. Delusions, disorientation, anxiety, mental absence. She does not know we are here. She does not know she is here.
It is a small gift to us that the human is with this sickness and I am almost grateful—until I watch War move up behind her, his hand reaching over his shoulder for the hilt of his sword.
Shadow screams through our bond, No!, but not at War … at me.
“Stop!” I demand and march towards him. “She is no threat or inconvenience. Leave her be.”
The room is suddenly thick. If I needed to breathe, I would suffocate.
Tension radiates between us two Riders, but I stand my ground and watch him slowly turn to face me. No more are his eyes black marbles. Now, they shine with the blaze of a raging fire, destroying all in its path.
I have obstructed his bloodthirst. I have intervened—yet another mark against me as a Horserider.
Seething, War hisses, “You dare throw your orders at me?” Disbelief is burnt out of his lethal tone, and a shiver runs down my spine. “You. A remade human taking rank above me?”
Fear does not reveal itself on my guarded expression or bored stance, but it crawls through my chilled veins nonetheless.
Whatever motivates me to spare the old human, I cannot say—perhaps it is the strange and mysterious reason I warned the young girl, Allie. No matter the reason, I cannot admit these thoughts to War. His fierce, unrelenting stare proves too precarious.
I settle on a half-lie. “When Famine wishes you to spill blood, she will order it. Until that time comes, we draw as little attention to ourselves as possible. The humans are aware of our presence—a first for our kind. Let us not feed their interest in us before our tasks call for such revelations.”
War is furious. Not exactly at me or my argument, but more I suspect that he is to be guided by one like myself. A once-human in immortal flesh, younger than he, weaker than he.
Fury simmers behind the marble of his eyes and shows in the white of his clenched knuckles. Suspicion trickles through me, and I think he fights the urge to draw his sword and strike me down.
Distraction is needed.
“If you refuse to name her, I will do it on your behalf,” I say and gesture to his steed, standing in the doorway, gaze on Shadow who rests on the rug. “Your steed will be your only constant companion throughout the rest of your existence on this earth. She is owed a name.”
War’s hand relaxes. “My existence here will be short. But if you aim to insist every waking moment of our time together, then please name her. The less you speak, the better my mood.”
I eye him darkly. “How it must bother you that a creature like me affects you so.”
Startled, he swerves his blank eyes to me, but I turn my back on him and stroke his steed’s nose. She shivers, tense, then nudges against my hand.
“Yes.”
I still, my spine stiff, hand resting on the nose of a nameless steed.
Soft footfalls draw closer to me, and with each step I feel the pulses of his power, twisted with poison. “It does bother me. For I know the punishment that comes with you.”
Stunned, I stare into the blank eyes of the steed. “You blame me for Death’s fate?”
War is close behind me, so close that I almost feel the brush of his leather armour over my bare back.
He leans in, his breath hot on my ear, and whispers, “What more can be done to me?” A coldness sweeps down me as he pulls back. “Your defiance even as a mere human drew a lot of attention.”
“Yes, well, tempting fate and defying Them comes with consequences. I have learned that, Death has too.” I narrow my eyes and look over my shoulder at him. “Will you?”
War lifts his strong chin and looks down his fine nose at me. Pride sweeps across his face and blazes through his fierce eyes.
“You assume I am here on Their orders, when I could be of the Darkness.”
A bitter laugh snaps through me. “You are far too preachy to be from the Darkness.”
“And you are too human to be from either.”
Fury darkens my eyes, and my jaw clamps shut so tight that almost think my teeth will shatter in my mouth. “You know nothing about me. Not my human life, not my after life.”
“I know that when the sun sets on humanity’s final day, you will take your final breath.” War comes up so close to me that I taste the fresh seawater on him. “And I will be the one to draw it from you.”
I reel back as if struck. Shadow’s fear rushes through me, but I am so stunned that I can’t truly feel it.
So War has not only come to end humanity. He has come to end me too.
The thought is too much. My life has been long. Thousands of years. But much of that was spent asleep, and I’m not ready to embrace my end just yet.
I turn my back on War and take Shadow by the reins. I won’t make his work easy for him. And to hell with Them. They might have made me what I am, but my obedience ends now.
If War seeks to end me, he will face a fight like no other he has ever endured.
“Find your own way to Famine.” I guide Shadow closer to me and lead him to the door. “When we meet again, prepare yourself. I won’t go quietly.”
I make it one step before a thought strikes me. I look over my shoulder, gaze steady against the blaze of his eyes.
“Brunhella,” I say, cutting my gaze to his crimson, silent steed. “That is her name. A fitting one, too. For the one closest to her is the one who cares the least. She is doomed to a life without meaning.”
War does not stop me as I guide Shadow out of the seaside house. Words are not always needed when our bonds burn with the rage of a Horserider.
And that is what I feel now—a raging fire, laced with blood and tears.
All the things he takes.
I know, because I take them too.
426 B.C.; Athens.
On Death’s third visit, Hella wasn’t in the vineyard.
It was daylight, the hot sun scorched through the barn, and even the wooden walls sweated.
Perched on an oak crate in the coolest corner of the barn, she hunched over and nibbled on the hard crust of stale bread.
Again, she sensed his dark presence before she saw him.
“I don’t have any grapes for you,” she told him, her eyes downcast, voice as hoarse as the work horn. “Or is it me you’ve come for today?”
Death drew nearer, his movements unearthly, like a panther slinking closer to its prey. His shadow grew taller, stretching up the rotting walls to the arched ceiling.
A faint shadow mirrored his. A horse. But when she looked up, there was no horse behind him. He walked alone down the straw-littered barn.
His hood was drawn, casting darkness over his face. But even beneath the hood, his black eyes shimmered.
“Why do you do it?” he asked, a mild curiosity in his tone.
A hand clutched her heart and squeezed. Hella rubbed her chest, soothing the sudden pain, and shook her head. “Do what?”
Death moved so quickly that before she felt the gust of air hit her, he was in front of her. She cried out and flew off the crate.
Standing before her, Death had her cornered—the swell of hardness in his eyes sent shivers down her spine.
“Do not lie to me, human,” he spat. He crouched down before her; the cloak slipped to the side just enough for Hella to catch the glint of a dagger made of bone, its hilt wrapped with leather. “Why do you do it?”
Hella shimmied back until she touched the wall. A shaky breath flew from her lips. “Because I hate them.”
“Why do you hate them?”
Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away, but they only caught onto her lashes.
“They’re evil,” she whispered. “All of them. They whip us, beat us, starve us. They do … terrible things.” Her watery gaze turned pleading, her voice choking on her words. “I didn’t mean to get the others sick—the slaves. I only meant for t
he mistress and master to get the sickness. I … How was I to know it would spread so fast?”
Death lifted his hands and drew back his hood. The pallor of his skin was just as striking as it was the first time she saw him.
Hella bit the inside of her cheek and wondered how something so destructive, so raw, could be so beautiful.
“How did you do it?”
“I…I stole from the dead,” she said. “In the city, all the people who died from the plague are on the streets. They’re piled on top of each other. I … I covered myself and stole things—clothes and rags. I bagged them and brought them back.”
She used the back of her hand to wipe at her wet cheek.
No regret shook her words or dampened her eyes, but Death had come to her, and Hella feared he would take her for what she’d done.
“It didn’t take much,” she said. “I made sure I didn’t touch anything, I even covered my hands with bags and rags. But I wiped all of the infected things on the master’s bed.” She met Death’s unreadable eyes. “He hasn’t gotten sick yet.”
Death extended his hand.
Swallowing back tears, Hella placed her shaky hand on his. She wasn’t ready to depart the world, to abandon her life. But in a warped way, a way she couldn’t accept, this was justice.
Only, justice didn’t strike her down. It didn’t walk her out of the door and to a world below.
Death clasped his fingers around her hand and dipped his head. The warmth of his breath on her knuckles had her toes curling.
He planted a soft, gentle kiss where his breath touched.
And then, he was gone.
Chapter 12
War’s threat haunts me through the barren scope of this land.
“I know that when the sun sets on humanity’s final day, you will take your final breath.”
Famine told me that all of humanity will die. She will spread the famine, I will spread the disease, and Death will collect the souls once we are done.
War coming makes it all different. He’s changed the order, and he’s here to make sure no human survives.
There is a reason we were not a foursome. Four is the catalyst for the end.
Four gates to the Dark Place. Four mouths to the eternal river, where dark souls drown forever. Four oceans, four seasons, four elements, the four Sirens.
I loathe Sirens…
Now, we are the four—to end this world.
I have no pity for the humans. But I won’t survive this cull. War said so himself.
“I will be the one to draw it from you.”
My breath, so to speak. I don’t breathe. But I know he means my life source, my aged soul that has spanned longer than a once-human ought to.
War is going to be the one to kill me.
The desire to flee sweeps over me like a warm breeze on a cold day. I wish I could. But I don’t have a choice.
Unlike humans, Free-Will is a gift I’m no longer afforded. It was taken long ago, and I see Their humour in it—the edge to Their vengeance.
As a human, I used Free-Will to kill people. It was the choice I made. Now, I am Their killer. And there is no choice in that.
If I defy Them, nothing will happen, because I cannot defy Them.
Still, I was a cunning killer as a human, and an even more cunning killer as Pestilence. My master might have changed, but the game has not.
And I always find a way.
So I peel apart the bond and let him flood through me.
Come to me, Death.
426 B.C.; Athens.
Death returned a few times.
Whether day or night, he visited Hella. He brought no justice for her crimes, only questions and lingering looks.
Death told her about his duties, how he goes where he is needed, collecting the dead and delivering them to the afterlife. Death didn’t care of what the afterlife had in store for each human he delivered.
When they sat in the vineyard together one night, he admitted to her, “You are the only human I can tolerate.” He ran his pale spidery finger over the dirt between them. “Perhaps,” he added reluctantly, “my tolerance of you has blossomed.”
Hella smiled and scooted closer to him. “Like the roses?”
“Roses die.”
Her smile faded.
Death stared straight ahead at the end of the lane, a hard set to his jaw.
“I am dying,” she said, in a voice so quiet that the breeze almost swallowed it whole. “Not because I am human and we all die. I have the sickness.”
Death’s lashes lowered and touched to his skin.
A silence washed over them; she just stared at him, her heartbeat the only sound to reach her ears. Then, he turned to face her and lifted his hand; his finger stroked down her jawline to her chin.
“I know,” he said. “I have smelled it on you for some time.”
She gave a tight smile. “It was my own doing. I brought the sickness into this house.”
Death tilted her chin up, luring her gaze to his. “It should not be your undoing.”
“No,” she said, her smile spreading. “That’s you.”
Death made to pull away, but she grabbed his wrist and guided him closer.
Gazes locked, he followed her down to the dirt, where the crushed grapes laid scattered. Hella released his wrist when her back touched the ground. She roamed her hands along his arms, never breaking from their locked gaze, and brushed her fingertips over his shoulders.
“It’s forbidden,” he said, yet drew nearer, moulding himself to her. “There will be consequences. They will not forgive this.”
Hella brushed her lips against his, and spoke against the warmth of his breath; “I’m already dying, I won’t go to heaven.” And then, Hella grinned and said the words that sealed her fate for all eternity. “What else can be done to me?”
Death swerved his gaze up to hers, a sudden tension swelling up between them. A tension Hella didn’t welcome. She swung her legs around his waist, locking her ankles together, and ran her hands up his neck.
Fingers tangled in inky black hair, Hella chanced a weak smile—a smile that strengthened as he lowered himself onto her. His lips grazed over hers. Once. Twice. And the third pushed harder, ending with the kiss of Death.
He tasted like blood and poison. Rot and death.
Hella found she liked it.
“This should stop,” he whispered against her mouth.
Hella’s smile spread into a grin. “It should,” she admitted. “It is wrong—definitely wrong.”
Another thing she found she liked.
He grazed his hand over her thigh, guiding her dress further up each time, until it bundled at her waist.
“I want this,” he said, lips travelling down her neck. “I want you.”
The last words that were spoken to seal their fates.
Chapter 13
Beneath me, Shadows gives a tired huff. He still hasn’t recovered fully, and our long trek isn’t helping.
“We will stop once we find cover,” I tell him softly, but I cannot hide my thoughts from him, and I feel every muscle under me ripple with tension when my mind adds, ‘Once I know we are safe.’
Safe from the humans and their flying birds.
They cannot kill us. Or hurt us, really. But their notice of us has certainly become an inconvenience, and I will not stand for any harm against my Shadow.
At my thoughts, Shadow’s huffs soften into gentle whines.
But he says nothing because his voice hasn’t quite come back yet. Decapitation is a disorienting way to suffer, we are fast learning.
We are deep into the thick woods when the sky begins to darken. Dusk comes without colours this night—the sky is decorated in grey and silver brushstrokes, and I have a burst of nostalgia. Once, I saw a dreary painting just like it. A painting about Death that I saw with Death.
I called for him a while ago now.
He’s getting closer, but it’s taking longer than I expected.
&nbs
p; The edge of the woods is far behind me when I finally feel his presence, like ink creeping through the cracked soil, a darker and deeper poison than anything I can ever create.
Suffocating.
Death.
Swaying to the steps of my steed, I clench my hand tight on the reins and keep my face smooth.
Clouds above choke the land we ride on into something dark, a grey mist of dust and bitter words left unspoken.
“Do you remember,” I begin, keeping my gaze hooked onto the trees, “when I would call for you and want to see you? Those days seem as far away as my human days.”
I don’t see him yet. Death will make himself known when he decides. For now, he crawls over me in crooked shadows, and burns my nostrils with the faint smell of smoke and rot. Bodies, burning.
Death’s smooth voice whispers at the shell of my ear, and my toes curls; “If anyone holds a grudge better than you, my sweet disease, I will eat my steed.”
After his voice comes a course fingernail down the nape of my neck, and despite myself, I let out a shuddering breath.
“Grudges are only needed after a betrayal,” I chew back at him.
I swat his shadowy touch away. I feel the frosty chill of his presence freeze my arm for a fleeting second.
Death appears beside me.
Now I know why the moon doesn’t shine in this cloudy night. Death has stolen it, and the moonlight shines beneath his skin. A ghostly glow that captured me completely a time ago. In another life.
“Your emotions have been tumultuous this time,” he tells me, his inky black eyes rinsing over my face. “You might not have wanted to see me, but you have been calling for me since I woke, Hella.”
My head snaps to the side and I glare at him with the power of a thousand diseases battling in my molten eyes. “That name is as dead as the human who wore it.”
“Not dead,” he tells me. “Given a new life.”
“A curse,” I say evenly; my gaze holds as stern as my tone.
Feared Fables Box Set: Dark and Twisted Fairy Tale Retellings, (Feared Fables Box Sets Book 1) Page 38