Read Online The Four Horsemen 3 - Famine by T.A. Chase - Free Book Online
Authors: T.A. Chase
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racked with guilt over something they’d done while they were mortal. Well, all except this Death. It almost seemed like once a Horseman came to terms with his guilt, and forgave himself, he’d cease being a Horseman.
Famine sighed, trying to figure out why he still felt guilty. All he’d done was try not to let his tribe become involved in human sacrifice. At the time, he hadn’t understood what the shedding of human blood for the Gods entailed. Famine had just known it was wrong, yet he’d found himself part of a bigger plot, one fuelled by jealousy and fear. Could his guilt be because he hadn’t stopped them? He wasn’t sure how he could have when he’d been the one chosen to die by their hands.
Yet could the shaman have been right? Had the Gods only been looking for blood in order to end the drought? Why hadn’t their prayers and devotion been enough to appease them? He’d never understood that, but his Gods had been harsh and terrible gods. They weren’t merciful like the God of the Christians.
Had his stubbornness in fighting against the sacrifice caused the death of others in his village? If he had allowed the shaman to kill someone sooner, would the drought have ended earlier? Or had it all been dumb luck, and the shaman had been looking to kill Famine without getting into trouble for it?
Famine closed his eyes, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his side. It was a phantom pain, like that of amputees who feel their lost limbs. It had taken him a few years to learn to accept it, and not freak out each time he felt it. It usually only happened when he thought about his death and the events leading up to it.
He rolled over and slowly swam back to the riverbank. After climbing out of the water, Famine grabbed his shorts and sandals. He didn’t worry about towelling off; the heat would make sure he was dry before he got back to the tree. Famine enjoyed the fact that it didn’t really cool off much at night, even by the river.
As he walked back to the tree where his lodging was, he thought about Ekundayo. What was he really going to do with the young man? Once Ekundayo healed and regained his strength, should Famine take him back to the diamond mines? He knew the mines, and, no matter what anyone said, they weren’t particularly safe or humane.
Too many hours spent chipping the rough diamonds out of the ground with inadequate food and water. No one should work in conditions like that, and yet the world overlooked them because of the valuable nature of the product the miners were producing.
“Are you becoming a human rights activist now?”
Famine jumped and whirled, almost dropping his clothes in the process. He glared at the silver-haired man standing just off the trail.
“What the hell are you doing here, Lam?” Famine glared at Lam.
“Just thought I’d stop by, and see what has Death mumbling to himself.” Lam stepped out on to the trail, his blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight.
Famine shook his head, and continued down the path. “I’m not doing anything to annoy him. Not on purpose anyway.”
“None of you ever do it on purpose.”
“Why are you talking to Death, anyway? I thought you didn’t have anything to do with us unless you’re delivering a message.” Famine kept walking. He wasn’t interested in stopping for an involved conversation with the messenger angel.
Lamb of God, or Lam for short, was a messenger angel who was most often sent to deal with the Horsemen. He wasn’t the Lamb of God, of course, but all of the messenger angels were given lamb of God as their title.
“Oh, I was delivering a message for him, and he kept muttering about stupid Horsemen and their bleeding hearts. He didn’t seem very happy. So, once I wrangled it out of him that you were the one upsetting him, I thought I’d come to see what you’d done.”
Famine fought the urge to scuff his foot on the ground. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You know I think there’s a rule against lying to an
Famine sighed, trying to figure out why he still felt guilty. All he’d done was try not to let his tribe become involved in human sacrifice. At the time, he hadn’t understood what the shedding of human blood for the Gods entailed. Famine had just known it was wrong, yet he’d found himself part of a bigger plot, one fuelled by jealousy and fear. Could his guilt be because he hadn’t stopped them? He wasn’t sure how he could have when he’d been the one chosen to die by their hands.
Yet could the shaman have been right? Had the Gods only been looking for blood in order to end the drought? Why hadn’t their prayers and devotion been enough to appease them? He’d never understood that, but his Gods had been harsh and terrible gods. They weren’t merciful like the God of the Christians.
Had his stubbornness in fighting against the sacrifice caused the death of others in his village? If he had allowed the shaman to kill someone sooner, would the drought have ended earlier? Or had it all been dumb luck, and the shaman had been looking to kill Famine without getting into trouble for it?
Famine closed his eyes, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his side. It was a phantom pain, like that of amputees who feel their lost limbs. It had taken him a few years to learn to accept it, and not freak out each time he felt it. It usually only happened when he thought about his death and the events leading up to it.
He rolled over and slowly swam back to the riverbank. After climbing out of the water, Famine grabbed his shorts and sandals. He didn’t worry about towelling off; the heat would make sure he was dry before he got back to the tree. Famine enjoyed the fact that it didn’t really cool off much at night, even by the river.
As he walked back to the tree where his lodging was, he thought about Ekundayo. What was he really going to do with the young man? Once Ekundayo healed and regained his strength, should Famine take him back to the diamond mines? He knew the mines, and, no matter what anyone said, they weren’t particularly safe or humane.
Too many hours spent chipping the rough diamonds out of the ground with inadequate food and water. No one should work in conditions like that, and yet the world overlooked them because of the valuable nature of the product the miners were producing.
“Are you becoming a human rights activist now?”
Famine jumped and whirled, almost dropping his clothes in the process. He glared at the silver-haired man standing just off the trail.
“What the hell are you doing here, Lam?” Famine glared at Lam.
“Just thought I’d stop by, and see what has Death mumbling to himself.” Lam stepped out on to the trail, his blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight.
Famine shook his head, and continued down the path. “I’m not doing anything to annoy him. Not on purpose anyway.”
“None of you ever do it on purpose.”
“Why are you talking to Death, anyway? I thought you didn’t have anything to do with us unless you’re delivering a message.” Famine kept walking. He wasn’t interested in stopping for an involved conversation with the messenger angel.
Lamb of God, or Lam for short, was a messenger angel who was most often sent to deal with the Horsemen. He wasn’t the Lamb of God, of course, but all of the messenger angels were given lamb of God as their title.
“Oh, I was delivering a message for him, and he kept muttering about stupid Horsemen and their bleeding hearts. He didn’t seem very happy. So, once I wrangled it out of him that you were the one upsetting him, I thought I’d come to see what you’d done.”
Famine fought the urge to scuff his foot on the ground. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You know I think there’s a rule against lying to an
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