have always worked well together. And we pave the way for Death. We are Death's harbingers."
Her head spinning from the White Rider's words, Lisa said, "And War is Death's handmaiden."
"War," Pestilence said, sneering. He spat noisily, and where his spittle landed, the ground sizzled. "War sees this all as a glorious battle."
"It's ... not?"
He shot her a pitying look. "A horseman is one who rides a horse. There's nothing in the description that calls us to arms."
"Then..." She looked at the burial, then back at the White Rider. "Did you cause the sickness here?"
He snorted. "Did you cause the famine?"
"Of course not," she said, shocked.
"Like you, I was drawn here. We don't cause the ills of the world, little Famine."
"Then ... what are we supposed to do?"
"
Do?
" A horrific smile oozed along his face. "A thousand rats destroyed this village practically overnight. The Great Pestilence wiped out more than seventy-five million people in the fourteenth century. Smallpox killed more than three hundred million people in the twentieth century." He paused, searching her face. "What makes you think those numbers couldn't have been higher?"
She blinked. "What?"
"Do you have any idea how easy it would be for a plague to annihilate all of humanity?" he said drolly. "Especially these days, with scientists mucking about in their labs, all those diseases lined up like toy soldiers?"
She could picture it all too easily.
"I am quite busy keeping things in check, thank you very much." Pestilence brushed at his collar, as if to flick away the dusty aura surrounding him. "You'd think I sit around, whiling away my time eating chocolates."
Hershey's Kisses
, the Thin voice said.
Twenty-five calories.
Shut up
, Lisa scolded.
Amazingly, the Thin voice fell silent. Lisa had never stood up to it before.
"Unlike War," Pestilence said with a sneer, "my duty is both local and global. Disease is rampant, pandemic. The Spanish flu killed twenty million people around the world. More than thirty-three million people have AIDS today."
Lisa's head swam as she tried to understand his words. "So you ... help people?"
"Well, if everyone dies, I'd be out a job, wouldn't I?"
She waved a hand at the villagers. "So help them! Cure them!"
His liquid gaze locked on to hers, and she thought he was trying to tell her something silently, implore her to action or to understanding.
"You know," he finally said, "you and I are very much alike."
The very notion nauseated her.
"Famine attacks people from without, destroying their food sources. Pestilence attacks from within, destroying their bodies. But whether from without or within, we achieve the same result. We destroy."
"What are you saying?"
"We are the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, little Famine. We don't cure people. We destroy. That's all we've ever done."
Lisa turned away from him. She didn't want him to see her cry. Slowly, the villagers buried their dead.
"As early as 200 B.C.," Pestilence said, "people experimented with vaccination. The Chinese, the Indians, the Turks; they all dabbled. Then came Edward Jenner, with his theory of milkmaids and cowpox. Humans have gone from gifting natives with smallpox blankets to eradicating smallpox completely. You see? People can fight using disease. Or they can inject themselves with it to cure themselves. But whichever path they choose, they first must understand disease intimately."
Lisa frowned.
"The first thing you must do, little Famine, is understand hunger."
She faced him, holding her chin high. "I think I already do."
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Indeed."
"So you're saying I don't have to hurt people?" she asked, her words hesitant. "I can help them? Somehow?"
He smiled again, twisting his face into a parody of mirth. "As I said, you and I are very much alike."
She looked down at her hands, remembered what she'd done at the restaurant just yesterday, at Joe's Diner the night before. "But how?"
"That you'll discover as you
Her head spinning from the White Rider's words, Lisa said, "And War is Death's handmaiden."
"War," Pestilence said, sneering. He spat noisily, and where his spittle landed, the ground sizzled. "War sees this all as a glorious battle."
"It's ... not?"
He shot her a pitying look. "A horseman is one who rides a horse. There's nothing in the description that calls us to arms."
"Then..." She looked at the burial, then back at the White Rider. "Did you cause the sickness here?"
He snorted. "Did you cause the famine?"
"Of course not," she said, shocked.
"Like you, I was drawn here. We don't cause the ills of the world, little Famine."
"Then ... what are we supposed to do?"
"
Do?
" A horrific smile oozed along his face. "A thousand rats destroyed this village practically overnight. The Great Pestilence wiped out more than seventy-five million people in the fourteenth century. Smallpox killed more than three hundred million people in the twentieth century." He paused, searching her face. "What makes you think those numbers couldn't have been higher?"
She blinked. "What?"
"Do you have any idea how easy it would be for a plague to annihilate all of humanity?" he said drolly. "Especially these days, with scientists mucking about in their labs, all those diseases lined up like toy soldiers?"
She could picture it all too easily.
"I am quite busy keeping things in check, thank you very much." Pestilence brushed at his collar, as if to flick away the dusty aura surrounding him. "You'd think I sit around, whiling away my time eating chocolates."
Hershey's Kisses
, the Thin voice said.
Twenty-five calories.
Shut up
, Lisa scolded.
Amazingly, the Thin voice fell silent. Lisa had never stood up to it before.
"Unlike War," Pestilence said with a sneer, "my duty is both local and global. Disease is rampant, pandemic. The Spanish flu killed twenty million people around the world. More than thirty-three million people have AIDS today."
Lisa's head swam as she tried to understand his words. "So you ... help people?"
"Well, if everyone dies, I'd be out a job, wouldn't I?"
She waved a hand at the villagers. "So help them! Cure them!"
His liquid gaze locked on to hers, and she thought he was trying to tell her something silently, implore her to action or to understanding.
"You know," he finally said, "you and I are very much alike."
The very notion nauseated her.
"Famine attacks people from without, destroying their food sources. Pestilence attacks from within, destroying their bodies. But whether from without or within, we achieve the same result. We destroy."
"What are you saying?"
"We are the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, little Famine. We don't cure people. We destroy. That's all we've ever done."
Lisa turned away from him. She didn't want him to see her cry. Slowly, the villagers buried their dead.
"As early as 200 B.C.," Pestilence said, "people experimented with vaccination. The Chinese, the Indians, the Turks; they all dabbled. Then came Edward Jenner, with his theory of milkmaids and cowpox. Humans have gone from gifting natives with smallpox blankets to eradicating smallpox completely. You see? People can fight using disease. Or they can inject themselves with it to cure themselves. But whichever path they choose, they first must understand disease intimately."
Lisa frowned.
"The first thing you must do, little Famine, is understand hunger."
She faced him, holding her chin high. "I think I already do."
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Indeed."
"So you're saying I don't have to hurt people?" she asked, her words hesitant. "I can help them? Somehow?"
He smiled again, twisting his face into a parody of mirth. "As I said, you and I are very much alike."
She looked down at her hands, remembered what she'd done at the restaurant just yesterday, at Joe's Diner the night before. "But how?"
"That you'll discover as you
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