War (The Four Horsemen, #2)(21)

I shake my head. “They’re gone too.”

We ride west, away from Jerusalem, along the lonely road. It’s shockingly quiet, like the very earth doesn’t have words for what’s happened to this land.

I glance over my shoulder, looking for some sign of the horde traveling behind us, but for the last twenty minutes I haven’t been able to see any sign of them.

“They’re back there,” War says.

I’m not sure if he’s reassuring me or warning me—probably both.

“How do you get them to follow you?” I ask. “Not just right now, but in battle?”

One small oath of allegiance cannot possibly be enough to earn an army’s devotion, especially not after the atrocities we’ve all witnessed.

“I don’t get them to do anything,” the horseman says. “My job isn’t to earn their loyalty, it’s to judge their hearts.”

That response sounds … biblical. Biblical and worrisome.

“And what about my heart?” I ask. “Have you judged it?”

War stares at me for a beat before he says softly, “Your heart is largely an enigma to me. But we shall find out the truth of it soon enough.”





Chapter 8


We don’t pass a single soul while riding along the mountain road, and after a while the lack of people becomes alarming.

My skin pricks.

Are they all dead? And if so, how?

How could War and a few thousand men at most take out an entire region? Not just cities, but everything in between as well? Something about that doesn’t add up.

I glance at the horseman, and his calmness only further unnerves me. None of this bothers him. It should bother him.

Not human, I remind myself.

And whatever beast War truly is, I have the pleasure of being his plaything for the moment.

You’ll get through this, Miriam, just as you have everything else.

The problem is that for the first time in a very long time, I don’t think just getting through this is good enough.

I just don’t know what is good enough.

Not yet.

We pass by the burnt remains of a large structure that could’ve once been a mosque or a Jewish temple.

I’ve heard of the horrors that happened in some other areas of New Palestine during our civil war, but this is the first time I might be seeing evidence of it outside of Jerusalem proper. No one and no religion was spared.

That was my first lesson in war: everyone loses, even the victors.

One mountain leads to another, which leads to another. It’s beautiful and all, but—

“Where are we going?” I ask War.

“Towards the ocean.”

The ocean. My heart skips a beat.

There’s water and fire and … and … and God the pain—the pain, the pain, the pain. The sharp bite of it nearly steals my breath.

I haven’t seen the ocean in seven years.

War glances at me. “Is everything alright?”

I nod a little too quickly. “I’m fine.”

He stares at me for a beat longer, then faces forward again. “Over the course of human existence, your kind has come up with hundreds of thousands of words for everything imaginable, yet somehow none of you have figured out how to actually speak your mind.”

“I’m fine.” No way am I sharing my true thoughts on the ocean.

Overhead, the full brunt of the midday sun is frying my skin to a crisp. My face feels tight, and I can see the dusty red flush of my forearms.

I’m also sweating like a cow.

I glance over at the horseman, eyeing the maroon armor that he wears over his clothing.

“Aren’t you hot?” I ask him, changing the subject.

If I were him, I’d be effing miserable.

All that leather just locks the heat in. If I were him, I’d be bathing in sweat. Instead he appears irritatingly unaffected.

“Is my wife concerned for my wellbeing?”

I fix my gaze on a horse stall up ahead. “I forgot—you’re used to hotter climates,” I say. “I hear hell is particularly warm this time of year.”

I can feel the weight of the horseman’s eyes on me. “You think I’m a demon?” he asks skeptically.

“I haven’t ruled it out …” My words fall away as I squint a little more closely at another structure ahead of us.

These days you can find newly erected stables and inns and general stores speckled along roadways. They’re the sorts of places you stop at to refuel and rest. It looks like we’re coming up to one such place.

But as we get closer, something appears … off.

Birds circle overhead and there must be more on the ground because I can hear them calling out to one another.

I stare at those birds. Despite the heat, a chill slides over my skin.

It’s not until we pass the general store and the abandoned horse stalls that I see what’s caught the birds’ attention.

Close to a dozen birds—eagles, vultures, crows—all swarm and fight over some unmoving thing on the ground.

A few moments later, it registers that the thing on the ground is a human.

I stare and stare and stare and then I’m halting my horse and hopping off.

The birds take flight as I near the body. I use the corner of my shirt to cover my mouth as I peer down at the corpse. I can’t make sense of exactly what I’m seeing, and I don’t try to. The individual is dead. That’s all that matters. Anything else is just nightmare fodder. About a stone’s throw away rests a pile of discolored bones, the grinning mouth of the skull smeared with blood.