I make exceptions from time to time—my brothers’ wives are proof of that. But in the end, the four of us horsemen must finish our task, regardless of our personal feelings.
Still, I am shattered because I love Lazarus and she will hate me as she once did. Because all the rest of humanity hates me and I love them and I cannot help them cling to these lives they covet. Not without betraying the entire sentient universe.
And I will not do that.
Lazarus
I … failed.
I seduced Death, I made him fall in love with me—I even fell in love with him. I have given up everything—my cause, my son, my body, my heart—and Death is still set to slay the world.
The thought closes up my throat. I can’t breathe around this paralyzing fear.
He looks grief-stricken, so I guess there’s some consolation in that. Not that it changes anything.
“I’m sorry, my love—”
“Don’t,” I say, my voice breaking. “Don’t call me that.”
His expression shutters. After a moment, he moves away from me. He reaches for his discarded clothing, putting it on once more.
Preparing for battle. Because I think that’s what’s about to happen.
In the distance I hear the pound of horse’s hooves, and it startles me from my thoughts.
The highway curves around a steep hill, so I see nothing beyond the bodies already scattered along the road.
A minute later, however, a figure on horseback rounds the curve, coming into view. Shortly after that, two other individuals follow on foot.
Death’s brothers.
I feel the last sand in my hourglass slip through my fingers. The task they gave me—seduce Death—didn’t work. All it did was make me love the one thing I shouldn’t. I didn’t even get to hold Ben in my arms one final time.
The closer the three men get, the more details I can make out. The most obvious is Famine with his coal-black steed and bronze armor, his scythe rising up behind his back. Both War and Pestilence wear black, though they lack the armor of their brother. Pestilence carries a bow and quiver, and War has a massive sword strapped to him.
They, too, came ready for battle.
The horsemen stop thirty or so feet from us, though it feels like they’re still an ocean away.
War’s gaze falls heavily on me, and I know what he must be thinking.
She failed.
“Lazarus, it’s good to see you again,” Pestilence calls out. He takes me in, his eyes pinched with worry. They harden a bit when they move to the man behind me. Returning his attention to me, Pestilence says, “Are you alright?”
That single question—that simple but heartfelt concern—threatens to crush me.
No, I’m not alright. I thought I was but this is really, really bad and I’m just one woman and I think we’re all about to witness the end of the world.
My own gaze moves from horseman to horseman. Without even fully intending to, I begin to walk towards them.
Death doesn’t stop me, though I swear he wants to. I think, despite how remote he’s being, that he wants to clutch me to his chest to ensure I never leave.
Famine hops off his steed while the others cast their flinty gazes on Death, as though the winged horseman might detonate at any moment.
I don’t stop walking until I get to Pestilence.
He likes to be called Victor, I remind myself.
The horseman doesn’t hesitate. The moment I’m within arm’s reach, he pulls me in for a hug I wasn’t expecting. His hand rubs up and down my back in an almost fatherly fashion. Without meaning to, I sort of collapse into the embrace, and he holds me all the tighter.
None of this makes sense. My lover killed my family, the man hugging me killed my parents, and the other two have killed countless more. My son is staying with people I have never met, and all of it might not matter very, very soon.
“You’re alright,” the horseman says, his voice gentle. “It’s going to be okay. Truly, it is.”
It’s such a small, innocuous line, and yet I’m choking up the same way I did when I saw my mother only days ago.
I nod, maybe a little too quickly, and pull away, flashing Pestilence a tight smile.
“How is Ben?” I ask, even though Death probably has more insight than he does.
“He’s well taken care of,” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “My wife Sara has dubbed herself his fairy godmother.” Pestilence winks. “She was feeding him sugar cookies when we left.” His eyes skim over me again. “How are you doing?”
I’m in love with Death, and my soul is screaming, but—