The Four Horsemen 3 - Famine (2 page)

Famine turned from the dark, pleading eyes of the children in the refugee camp. The children and the dying were the ones who saw him as he moved through the camps and over the land. Centuries had passed since he’d become Famine. Yet still the young ones’ deaths were the hardest for Famine to deal with, and he could admit to himself, if no one else, that he never really accepted them. Stopping at the edge of the camp, he glanced around and spied Death standing with the horses.

He slipped the rest of the salt into the medicine bag hanging around his neck and wandered over to where his fellow Horseman stood. Death greeted him with a nod before mounting his stallion.

“You’ve done well here, Famine.” Death gazed over the overflowing camp with a grim expression on his face.
“Pardon me if I don’t take any pleasure in your compliment.” Famine swung aboard his mount. “Too many in there and never enough food to go around. Most of it isn’t even of my doing. The warlords and greedy government men take so much from these people.”
Death nodded. “Our actions are making a small difference, but I’m afraid too many are caught up in their own lives and troubles. It’s easy to forget them when they are on the other side of the world.”
Famine shot a glance at Death. The hair and eyes were the same colour, but this Death was younger, and, if possible, even more cynical than the one who had originally shown Famine the ropes. The first Death Famine had known had disappeared and the new one had showed up one day to tell Famine where he needed to go. This Death had become a Horseman shortly after the French Revolution. Famine always wondered if he’d been instrumental in starting the killings, but he didn’t have the nerve to ask Death about it. He figured Death wouldn’t have answered him anyway.
He’d learned about the Horsemen and how there were always four of them—Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death. Each one had a purpose in keeping the balance between good and evil. Each Horseman would come into whichever part of the world needed their presence to restore the balance, and if the mortals didn’t heed the first warning of Pestilence, the death toll would grow until someone in power changed the situation. There had been two Deaths and two Pestilences since Famine had come to be a Horseman. Famine had always wondered where they’d gone since they’d just stopped showing up one day, and then a new Horseman would appear to take their place. It wasn’t until the last couple of months that he’d learnt where they’d gone. Of course, the most recent Pestilence had gone back to being mortal, and War had done so as well, having found two men they could love, they found forgiveness from their guilt.
With two new Horsemen to deal with, Death seemed a little more rushed and not as interested in dealing with Famine’s issues. Not that Death had cared all that much before. Out of all the Horsemen Famine had dealt with, this Death seemed the least guilt-stricken by what he’d done in his mortal life to get him the illustrious job as Death, the Pale Horseman.
“Will the others be coming here?”
Death shrugged one shoulder. “War will probably be showing up. I believe the warlords are getting restless, and it’s time for them to go on another rampage. I’m hoping this skirmish is the one to convince those in power to do something about the innocents here.”
The Pale Horseman didn’t sound convinced that it would happen, and neither was Famine. He’d been through too many centuries wishing the mortals would pay attention to their warnings, but so far none of them had. Oh, wars would end, and diseases would be eradicated, but only for a little while before they started fighting amongst themselves again. As the balance between good and evil tipped in favour of one or the other, the Horsemen rode out to even things again. It had taken him several decades to deal with the fact he had to go and destroy crops if things tipped too far onto the side of good, because the balance needed to be kept. Too much good could be as harmful as too much evil.
Famine glanced down at the ground. It was dusty and dry because no water had fallen in the area for more than six months. The rain that’d fallen before that had been soaked up so quickly that nothing had had a chance to grow. The ground was ruined like it’d been sown with salt. Famine had walked miles around the area, ensuring that nothing would grow for decades to come.
“I have to go,” Death declared.
“All right. Oh, wait. How are Pestilence and War doing with their mortal lovers? Have you seen either of them?”
He wasn’t sure why he wanted to know. It wasn’t like he and the other two were best friends or anything. More colleagues than anything else. Maybe he wanted to know they were happy because he hoped for a good outcome for himself. Famine didn’t know if he believed in his ability to fall in love. How could there possibly be someone out there who could fall in love with a man who sowed famine and drought wherever he walked?
Famine touched the medicine bag resting against his chest. When he’d first become Famine, he’d been given the bag full of salt and told that his power of drought and starvation manifested in it. He never took it off, fearing someone else would get hold of it and cause more problems. Yet Famine had been informed that no one else could do what he did, which didn’t make him feel any better about his job.
Death pursed his lips, looking thoughtful for the first time since Famine had met him. “They seem to be getting on rather well. I’m surprised at how well they are adapting back into the mortal world.”
“Do you talk to them or anything?”
“I have briefly talked to them. They remember their time as Horsemen, but we’re not really supposed to have any contact with them. They are to fully incorporate back into mortal life.” Death shook his head. “I’m not worried about them anymore. They will live and die like the mortals they fell in love with.”
Famine was glad to hear that. Living alone for centuries and it was a lonely existence when he rarely interacted with mortals. At least Pestilence and War were able to take time off once in a while. Next to Death, Famine was the busiest of the Horsemen. The African continent was in a state of constant turmoil, and he spent the majority of his time walking from one end to the other, spreading drought and starvation to as many mortals as he could. He rarely travelled to the other countries outside of those in Africa.
“Now, I really must go. I’ll get in touch with you as soon as I know anything. Keep to your regular journey.” Death nudged his stallion with his heels and the horse span around.
Famine watched as it leapt into the air. The ground shook and there was a brief flash of light. After Death had disappeared, Famine glanced over his shoulder at the refugee camp. People were outside their tents, staring up at the sky. Their hopeful expressions tore at his heart because he knew there wouldn’t be any rain today or any other day for a long time to come.
“Let’s go. We have to be down by Botswana. Death said there must be a localised famine around the Orapa Diamond mine. I hate going down there. They treat those miners like slaves.”
His horse snorted. It wasn’t a brilliant commentary on the lives of the miners. How much did the Horsemen’s mounts understand? Wherever they had to go, the stallions got them there. Yet the creatures never really seemed like real horses. More like beings masquerading as horses. Death had told him they had been created to help the Horsemen keep the balance, and Famine had accepted it as a good enough reason. There were many things Famine didn’t know or understand about being a Horseman, or what else existed in the world they lived in, but he decided it was easier to simply not ask questions, and just do his job.
“Can we stop by Victoria Falls?” He no longer felt weird requesting something from his stallion.
It snorted again, jerking its head up and down. The horse whirled on its hind legs and took off at a gallop. Famine clung to it, having never totally got the hang of riding. He’d been told not to worry about it because his mount would never lose him, and so far that had turned out to be true.
They jumped into the air, and Famine’s vision went blank. How they managed to travel through space and time like they did, he never understood. Death had told him he didn’t know for sure either. Probably the only one who knew was whoever had created the horses.
In the blink of an eye, they stood at the top of the great Victoria Falls on the Zambezi River. Famine dismounted, and his horse wandered off. It would return when he wanted to leave. He moved as close to the edge as he could get without being swept over it.
The noise of the water falling over the vertical cliff thundered through his entire body. He loved the feeling of power hearing the cascade of water gave him. Yet there was an overwhelming sense of peace, and infinite patience. The water had been falling on the Zambezi for hundreds, if not thousands of years. No one could stop it from continuing to do so for that many more years.
The first time he had come to see ‘the smoke that thunders’—as the natives called the falls—his heart had swelled and he had found a spiritual connection with the river. It was like hearing the Gods speak to him, and trying to figure out what they were telling him. He hadn’t finished his shamanic training before he’d died, so he’d never got a chance to learn how to interpret their words.
Still, standing where he was always made him feel closer to his Gods, even if they had demanded his death all those centuries ago. He’d given up any sort of hatred he might have had for them the moment he’d felt the raindrops on his face.
Closing his eyes for a second, he absorbed the strength flowing from the river, and he felt his reserves slowly replenishing. It wasn’t his power to sow drought wherever he went that he was taking strength from the river for, it was simply having the energy to continue what he was doing. Sometimes, Famine got so tired of destroying people’s land, of making it impossible for them to feed their children. When he got to the point where he couldn’t take another step or create one more starvation point, he would come to the Zambezi and simply stand.
Famine heard the hoof beats of his horse coming up behind him. It was time to go, and while his mount seemed to understand why he’d come here, the stallion wouldn’t allow him to dwell on things. It nudged him in the back, and he turned to look into those fathomless eyes.
“I know. Thank you for stopping here.”
The horse nodded, and swung around, presenting its side to him. He wrapped his hand in its mane, and leapt astride. It stood still until he’d finished wiggling to get comfortable. Famine took one last look around the great waterfall and beautiful river.
“Thank you,” he cried out, not sure who he was thanking, the gods of his mortal life or the gods of the river. Both of them had given him something different, and, while he never enjoyed his job, maybe it was better than being dead.
Of course, he didn’t know any dead people to ask. He shifted slightly, and his horse trotted towards the edge of the falls. The first time his mount had leapt off it, Famine had almost had a heart attack, but now he was used to the dramatic exit the stallion usually made.
“Off to the diamond mines,” he muttered, and the horse jumped.
The boom of thunder heard over the roar of the falls jolted birds from the trees around the river, and caused the animals grazing along the banks to startle and race away. The flash of light might have been lightning at any other time of the season, and heralded a storm, but nothing came of it. The animals settled back into their routines, unconcerned about Horsemen or the problems of men.

His throat burning with thirst, Ekundayo stared up into the brilliant blue sky. He should move out from under the burning sun, but he couldn’t work up the strength to climb to his feet or anything like that. There was no water to be had in the rocky outcropping he’d taken refuge on.

The mine guards called out to each other as they searched for him. They were actually moving farther away from where he was hiding. He wasn’t sure why, when the dogs should have been able to find him without any trouble. Maybe they hadn’t got the dogs out since water had been getting scarce over the past several days.

Why had he run away? What moment of madness had infected his brain, and convinced him that stealing from the mine was a good thing to do? Ekundayo stuck his hand in his pocket and ran his fingers over the rough edges of the lump. Having worked at the mine since he was ten, Ekundayo recognised the value of the diamond that had been hidden underneath the dirt and rock.

He should have turned it in with the rest of his ore and taken the food he would have been given. Not that there was much. While the world thought the mines being run to humane conditions, those who worked there could have told them differently. The miners worked sixty hours a week in ten hour shifts, for little pay and little food. Most of them were little more than slaves to the owners.

Ekundayo smiled, and his dried lips cracked, blood seeping through the wounds. Madness indeed. Maybe he could go back to the mining offices and plead for his life, saying the heat and the lack of food had driven him to momentary insanity. Yet it wouldn’t matter. He would be executed as a thief if he returned there.

Should he try to get away? Run somewhere no one would know him, and try to sell the uncut diamond? That probably wouldn’t work because the mine owners would alert officials that one of their workers had stolen something from them. How did they know he’d taken something? It wasn’t like they had a tracking system or anything like that.

One of the other workers had probably seen him pick up the diamond and stick it in his pocket. They were encouraged to tell on each other. All of the mines jealously protected their products and didn’t share their wealth, not even with those who dug the diamonds up. Ekundayo shook his head, closing his eyes as his vision blurred. Idiot. What had he been thinking?

The sound of movement faded away, and Ekundayo rolled over on to his stomach, peering through the boulders. No one was around. Maybe he could make it to the border. Slipping into Zimbabwe might be difficult, but he could do it. Yet again he was crazy to think he could escape that way. The mines would talk to the authorities and they would be on the lookout for him.

He didn’t know how much time had gone by since he’d come to lie in the circle of boulders. At least two hours or so, since he’d glanced up to check the position of the sun. Sweat trickled down his face, dripping into the thirsty dirt beneath him. He needed to go and find some water, somewhere, because he was sweating it out more than he could replenish. Dehydration was a very real possibility outside the city. Hell, it was a possibility even inside the city limits.