Hunger (6 page)

Lisa squeezed her eyes closed and desperately prayed for this to be a nightmare.

"Lisa? Do you still want to die?"

Did she?

Last night, she'd wanted to just slip into sleep and never wake up. She'd just been so tired of not feeling anything except a dull ache in her chest, a pang for something lost that she truly believed she would never find again. She was tired of either walking on eggshells with James or fighting with him, knowing in her heart that he cared for her and that it didn't matter. She was tired of her parents either coddling her or ignoring her. She was tired of trying to be considerate. And she was so damn tired of the Thin voice telling her that she wasn't good enough, that she was fat, that she would never be happy as long as she still had weight to lose. When you're that tired, sometimes all you want to do is sleep.

But a tiny part of her—the part that cared for James as much as he cared for her, the part that missed Suzanne and loved her mom and dad and hoped that someday she really would be happy even if she never lost all the weight—didn't want to just curl up and die.

Last night, that part of her had been buried too deep for her to remember. But now, with Death standing before her, Lisa felt that small part of her soul, and she tried to hold on to it with arthritic fingers that scrabbled for purchase. As hope slipped away, the Thin voice laughed at her, mocking her as she spiraled deeper into despair.

"Lisa," Death said again, "do you want to die?"

Her voice the barest of whispers, she replied, "I don't know."

Silence stretched between them as Lisabeth Lewis stood before Death, her eyes shut tight and her thoughts a whirling dervish in her mind, and Death loomed over her, considering.

Finally, he said, "Well, until you tell me definitively that yes, you're ready to shuffle off this mortal coil, you're the new Famine."

His declaration echoed in her head and weighed heavily in her heart. "That's it, then?" she said. "Either I'm Famine, or you're going to kill me?"

He let out a laugh, and it echoed in the finished basement. "If you want to get all melodramatic about it, that's one way of looking at it. But you know, I probably wouldn't kill you."

She opened her eyes and stared at Death. "Oh?"

"War would be happy to do it for me." He shrugged, an easy movement of his shoulders. "She has a thing for killing."

Lisa felt the blood drain from her face. "Oh."

"She can be brutal, too," Death added, his voice still cold and yet somehow chipper. "Some people like quick deaths. War isn't one of them. She likes to draw it out. Slowly. And rather painfully."

Lisa's stomach dropped to her toes. For the second time that night, she thought she was going to vomit.

Death grinned. "So chin up, Black Rider. It's time for you to start earning your keep."

***

"Your steed awaits," Death said.

In the garden, Lisa tentatively approached the black horse. The good news for her sanity was that the horse—stallion? mare? gelding? She wasn't about to look between its legs to check—was indeed real, down to its glowing white eyes. The bad news, of course, was that it was the steed of Famine, and Lisa was its designated rider. That part she was still having trouble with.

A horse
, she thought, looking at it. She'd never been horseback riding and didn't know the first thing about how to groom such a creature. Did it have to go for walks? Was she supposed to brush its mane? Feed it apples? Where was she supposed to stable it? And what on earth would her parents say? They never even let her have any pets after she'd accidentally killed her goldfish when she was seven. She hadn't believed her mom when she'd warned Lisa that overfeeding the fish would kill them. A quarter jar of food later, Lisa had a tankful of belly-up golden red fish. She'd cried, and her dad had patted her shoulder as her mom unceremoniously dumped the dead fish down the toilet.

She had a feeling her parents wouldn't be too keen on an equestrian pet, especially one that ate her mom's rhododendrons.

Not knowing the proper way to introduce herself without spooking the black horse, she offered her hand for it to sniff. The horse deigned to do so, then kneeled down before her, its ears pulled forward, as if expecting something. A treat, maybe.

Lisa stood there stupidly, shivering in the cold.

"Famine, your steed is waiting for you to climb up," Death said, sounding jovial.

With a shaking hand, Lisa reached out to stroke the black horse's side. Its flesh felt surprisingly warm, almost as if it hungered for her touch. As she glided her fingers over its hide, the horse nickered softly. Encouraged by the sound, Lisa stroked it again.

"What's its name?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

"Our steeds have no names," Death said. "They simply are, much as we are."

She glanced over her shoulder to look at the Pale Rider. "I have a name. Don't you?"

He smiled, bemused. "You were Lisabeth Lewis. Now you are Famine."

She didn't like the past tense usage with her name, but she decided that correcting Death was a bad idea. "So who were you before you were ... you?"

His smile stretched wider. "I have always been what I am."

"You never had a name?"

"Oh, I've had hundreds of names. Thousands. People have a penchant for naming things. It gives them a sense of control, of understanding." He spread his arms wide. "But no matter what I am called, I am universal. I don't need a name."

Lisa thought about that as she stroked the horse. "I think that's sad," she said. "Everyone should have a name."

"So, what will you name your steed?"

The horse turned its head to regard her, and she was struck by the frank curiosity she saw in its white eyes.

"I think ... I'd like to call you Midnight," she said to the horse, understanding on some level that she should ask the steed for permission to give it a name. "Would that be all right?"

The horse nickered again, and Lisa thought its mouth quirked into a smile.

"Well," Death said, "at least you didn't go with Muffin. "

The horse—Midnight—cast a long look at the Pale Rider, then snorted.

Lisa bit back a laugh. Oh, she liked this horse. "People can't see it," she said to Death, "can they?"

"Only Horsemen can see steeds. Come on now. Saddle up."

As there was no saddle, Lisa said to the horse, "May I pull myself up?"

And damned if the horse didn't nod.

"Okay," she said, and then said "okay" again. She took a deep breath, and then grabbed hold of Midnight's black mane and pulled herself up, launching her left leg over the horse's back. She wobbled for a moment, but soon she was sitting astride the massive black beast. A wave of delight washed over her, leaving her giddy.

Then the horse stood up, and Lisa let out a squeak. She gripped its mane for dear life.

"My dad's going to worry," she said over the clamor of her galloping heartbeat. "If I'm not there and he checks on me, he's going to absolutely freak out."

"He won't even notice you're gone."

"If James calls..."

"No one will call you. You are no longer Lisabeth Lewis. You are Famine."

She turned her head to see that Death, too, was atop his steed. "But I don't know what to do or where I'm supposed to go!"

Seated on his pale horse, Death looked at ease, all slouching confidence and careless smiles. His long blond hair rustled in the wind. "Your steed knows where Famine is supposed to be," he said. "As for what to do, you'll need your symbol of office."

"My...?" Oh, right. "The Scales."

"Yes."

"They're inside."

"No," Death said patiently, "they're not."

Lisa took a breath and held it, wondering what she was supposed to do. She remembered the feel of the metal balance in her hands last night, pictured the way the light gleamed off the plates earlier that evening when the Scales had appeared on the kitchen table.

Exhaling, she held out her hand and thought:
Come.
She felt incredibly stupid, but she thought it again, more clearly:
Come to me.

She'd expected maybe a poof of smoke, even a boom. But the Scales materialized quietly before her, something out of nothing, hovering in the nighttime air like some clockwork hummingbird. The balance was smaller than she remembered; the whole thing could sit in the palm of her hand.

Scaled according to size
, she thought, and nearly laughed.

Hesitating for a moment, Lisa stared at the bronze (or maybe brass) set of scales, impressed by how something so small could radiate such menace. The center beam was intricately shaped, curving and sensuous—rather feminine-looking, except for the harsh, masculine quality to the metal. At its tip was a hook, suitable either for gripping with a hand or attaching to a ring. Identical thin beams stretched from the top of the center post, also curving lazily in'S shapes, like a bisected figure eight. Both of those beams ended in metal rings, from which hung a triad of chains. Each of the triads held a metal dish. The Scales were beautiful, and old, almost shining with power.

Lisa steeled herself, then closed her fist around the hook at the tip of the Scales.

In a rush, the world opened its mouth to her—and it was screaming.

Everywhere—the air around her, the ground beneath her, the stars above—rippled with the soul-wrenching cries of hunger: the trees and bushes and plants all twisted and bent, their branches and stems clawing the sky in skeletal panic; the animals and insects, flying and crawling and burrowing, each frantic in its own way, searching incessantly to end the gnawing demand in its belly; the swarms of people, clotting the world, stuffing themselves only to beg for more, be it food or wealth or attention—all of them, desperate, insatiable. So very hungry.

All of them, leeching on to her. Sucking her dry.

"Make it stop!" she screamed. "Oh God, please, make it stop!"

Over the cacophony of every living thing wailing for sustenance, she heard Death speak in a still, small voice:
Balance.

She shrieked, "I don't understand!"

Death spoke, his voice a velvet murmur in her mind:
Living means constantly growing closer to death. Satisfaction only temporarily relieves hunger. Find the balance, and plant your feet.

Trembling, Lisa held on to the Scales with both hands. The voice of the world screamed all around her, and it was all she could do to hold on to the Scales and not slam her hands over her ears.

Balance.

Through the turmoil of the hungry, Lisa felt the black horse beneath her, a soothing presence, one that was steady, certain. She heard the quiet assuredness of Death, unmoved in the face of gripping anguish. She took a tortured breath, and then another, and as she breathed and forced herself to simply accept that the world was screaming, those voices soon diminished. They didn't quiet to stillness, nor did they fade; they were a steady hum of background noises, static that she felt with all her senses. It was uncomfortable, like the first stirrings of a migraine. But it was manageable.

Slowly, she lowered the Scales. A moment later, the balance popped away—outside of her vision, yes, but she knew that all she had to do was summon it, and the Scales would appear again. Sort of a negative space. She would have thought it was neat if she weren't on the verge of a complete breakdown.

Looking up, she met Death's dark gaze. "What was that?" she asked, her voice raw.

"That was you fighting against yourself."

"No, that wasn't me. That was..." She tried to compress all that she'd felt into words, and she failed miserably. "Everything," she said lamely.

"Thou art Famine," Death said. "The voices of the hungry should beckon to you like old friends. They shouldn't cause you pain."

"Those weren't friends." Lisa folded her arms over her chest and hugged herself. Beneath her, Midnight held still, as if the horse sensed that she needed it to be steady for her. "That was overwhelming. The voices—they were everywhere."

Death nodded. "Hunger is part of life. Life is all around you."

"I can't do this," she whispered. Tears welled in her eyes. "Whatever it is you think I agreed to, I can't do it."

"You are full of fear," Death said, "when instead you should be comfortable with your own strength."

That made her bark out a laugh, one utterly without mirth. "I'm not strong." God, no, she wasn't strong. She was weak. Pathetic.

And fat
, the Thin voice whispered.

Oh yes, and so very fat.

"You will learn," Death said knowingly, sitting atop the pale horse. "But I'm afraid you'll have to learn on the job. You're running late."

She rubbed her arms. "Where am I going?"

Death motioned broadly, taking in the night. "Out unto the world."

Lisa blinked at him. "Going to be a long night."

He let out a belly laugh, one that was rich and resonating, filling the space between them. "Hey, she
does
have a sense of humor." Death winked at her, and for a moment, Lisa thought she saw a skull peering at her beneath a mask of flesh. "You're starting small. Don't worry. She'll be apples."

Before Lisa could ask what apples had to do with anything, Midnight reared up. With a squawk, Lisa grabbed on to the horse's mane, terrified she was going to fall. A wild part of her wanted to shout,
Hiyo, Silver, awayyyy!
The rest of her screamed that she was insane, that this whole thing was insane, that the world no longer made sense.

And then they were gone.

The world before her blurred like half-forgotten memories, all browns and greens and blues, smeared in a finger-painted landscape. Faster than wind, truer than love, they traveled across the land and sea, dusting mountains, skimming clouds. On they went, thundering like impending doom: Famine of the Apocalypse and her black steed.

Lisabeth Lewis did her best not to vomit.

At first, Lisa was too petrified to do more than hold on for dear life, squeezing her thighs until they were rigid blocks, her eyes shut tight. But within a few minutes of being borne on horseback, she realized she wasn't getting thrown off and trampled, and her stomach settled down. They were galloping through the air like some mythical creatures—and if you wanted to get technical, Lisa now
was
a mythical creature—but the horse's footing was sure. It knew what it was doing. That, Lisa believed.