Pestilence (The Four Horsemen #1)(23)

I’m feeling a little weird towards him. I don’t know whether it’s weird good or weird bad—probably weird bad.

I pull my knees up to my chest, leaning my cheek against them. “You still don’t know my name,” I say.

“I don’t need to,” he says, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “‘Human’ is just fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

His eyes narrow.

“Sara,” I say. “My name is Sara.”

He frowns. “What does it matter what you’re called?” he responds. “You’re all the same.”

“Gee, you know how to make a girl feel special.”

His mouth turns down. “You aren’t special. None of you are. You’re all vile, violent things.”

“Says the guy who’s killing off people by the thousands.”

“I don’t enjoy it,” he says.

“Neither did I.” The memory of Pestilence bleeding in the road, bleeding and yet alive, it still sets my teeth on edge.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says.

I force out a laugh. “Then you’re not nearly as good at reading humans as you are at judging them.”

He cocks his head. “Maybe,” he agrees, “but then, I don’t need to read them, do I?”

He just needs to kill them.

We’re quiet for a while. The horseman is scrutinizing the pliancy of his bow, and I’m letting the water’s chill sink into my skin.

“Do you have a name?” I ask. “Other than ‘Pestilence the Conqueror’?”

He sets his bow aside. “I was not named.”

I don’t dwell on the fact that implied in that statement is that someone else was around who could’ve named him.

“Why not?”

Pestilence’s eyes sharpen on mine. “I do not need a name to have a purpose. Humans are the ones who demand names for every blade of grass on this good green earth.”

Because naming things humanizes them. And once you humanize something, you are essentially recognizing its existence. But considering that the horseman is on a mission to kill as many people as possible, I can see why he’d have a problem with humanizing anything.

He wasn’t given a name. I let that sink in.

Setting aside my intense dislike for the man, there’s a part of me that feels sorry for him. He doesn’t even have a proper name.

Be happy, Sara. Otherwise, you might risk humanizing him.

And wouldn’t that be awful?

“So … it’s fine to call you Pestilence?” I say.

He inclines his head. “It’s just a name.”

Just a name. How ironic, considering not a minute ago he insisted he wasn’t named. Then again, maybe I’m the one thinking about this wrong. Pestilence the Conqueror was the name we gave him. It’s not like it was emblazoned across his chest the day he arrived, or something he declared as he was massacring whole cities.

I stare at the horseman some more. He really hurts my eyes. It’s a good thing I don’t trust pretty men. Because this one is definitely the prettiest I’ve ever seen, and he’s also the worst one of the lot—save for maybe his brethren, but since the world hasn’t seen hide nor hair of them … he remains the worst.

Pestilence stands, slinging first his bow then his quiver over his shoulders.

“Come,” he says. He grabs a towel from the rack and throws it at me. I don’t manage to catch it in time, and a good portion of it hits the water. “I know you’ve finished bathing,” he continues, oblivious to the black look I’m giving him, “and I’m eager to leave this latrine.”

“It’s not a latrine,” I say, standing and wrapping the towel around myself. “It’s a bathroom.”

He shakes his head as he opens the door. “Bathroom.” He splits the word into two parts. “The irony of the term isn’t lost on me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only you humans would think it wise to put your privy next to your bathing vessels.”

Seems reasonable to me. I mean, you shit, and then you bathe. What’s there not to like about the arrangement?

“Where would you put it?” I ask, tilting my head to towel off my hair.

He opens the door. “Not next to each other.”

Oh, that’s real helpful.

“Of course you would bitch about a problem without actually having a solution,” I say.

He glances at me over his shoulder, swaggering down the hall. “One doesn’t need to have a solution to recognize a problem when they see one.”

“Your solution would probably be to burn toilets everywhere. Right? ‘They’re vile, disgusting things. Just get rid of them!’”

Ahead of me Pestilence guffaws. “Only a human would come up with such a ridiculous solution.”

“I was mocking you!”

“I thought mockery was supposed to be insulting?” he says as he glances back at me. “As far as I can tell, you are the one who likened your kind to privies.”

Ugh. I did, didn’t I?

“You’re missing the point,” I say.

“I fail to see how you have one.”

This is never going to end. The two of us could keep going round and round like this until the end of time.