A DEATH OF MUSIC
The Four Horsewomen of the Apocalypse
Book 2
A.A. Chamberlynn
Books by A.A. Chamberlynn
The Four Horsewomen Series
A War of Daisies (Book 1)
A Death of Music (Book 2)
A Famine of Crows (Book 3)
A Pestilence of Pride (Book 4)
A Bargain with Angels (Book 5)
A Dance with Demons (Book 6)
A Song for the Devil (Book 7)
The Zyan Star Series
Martinis with the Devil (Book 1)
Whiskey and Angelfire (Book 2)
Vengeance and Vermouth (Book 3)
Black Magic and Mojitos (Prequel Novelette)
Sorcery and Sidecars (Origin Story Novella)
The Quinn Chronicles (A Zyan Star Spin-off Series)
Death and Dating (Book 1)
Death and Promises (Book 2)
Death and Eternity (Book 3)
The Timekeeper’s War Series
Huntress Found (Book 1)
Huntress Lost (Book 2)
Huntress at War (Book 3)
Other Books by A.A. Chamberlynn
Of Blood, Earth, and Magic
www.AlexiaChamberlynn.com
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A land ravished by magic, a circus of rebels, a girl with a deadly secret.
There was a time when the Tribes lived in harmony. Sun, Moon, even the fabled Shadow Tribe. That time is no longer. Now the land has become a wicked wasteland, plagued by strange creatures, enchanted storms, and bubbles of trapped time, remnants of the Shaman Wars. Magic has been outlawed by the Sun, the Moon have gone into seclusion, and the Shadow are all but annihilated.
For Elea, the idea of peace between the tribes is a nothing more than a legend from the history books. She works for a circus of outcasts who travel between the Sun cities. All she wants is freedom: from the circus, to perform her magic, to be herself. But she possesses a deadly secret that makes any chance of liberty impossible.
Ashe is heir to one of the seven Sun cities. He rebels against his overprotective father by competing in illegal fight dens. Like most Sun, he believes that science is the future, and he's never traveled outside the walls of his city due to the dangers that lie beyond.
When a new kind of evil begins to terrorize the land, Elea and Ashe find themselves thrown into the center of a coup that could destroy Iamar. To fight the enemy, the Sun and Moon must unite, something that hasn't been done in three hundred years. But first they must find the Moon Tribe, and that means crossing Iamar, which grows more and more unstable as the dark magic spreads. Dark magic which has everything to do with Elea and her terrible secret.
Copyright © 2020 by A.A. Chamberlynn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact A.A. Chamberlynn at www.alexiachamberlynn.com
Cover design by Novak Illustration.
Chapter One
Death/Dynah
The demon stood before the four Riders and spoke of the Apocalypse. Of the battle for the souls of humankind. The battle that would be the end of it all.
Unless they could stop it.
Well, he wasn’t a demon. He was Fallen. But he certainly looked like a demon. Blood-red wings. Golden eyes. To Dynah, he didn’t bear the appearance of one who had once been an angel.
Yet Dynah’s understanding of such things was insubstantial compared to the rush of power and knowledge within her now. She was Death, and Death was her. It felt almost like another presence living within her, this maelstrom of past memories and feelings merged with an entirely new awareness.
Death saw the bones of the dead beneath the earth, felt the shiver of spirits who had been unable to pass beyond the veil.
Dynah’s heart slipped away piece by piece, like someone was carving it, cutting it out. Her mother was dead, their family shattered. She’d died to protect her and Penelope.
Death felt no connection to living things. She breathed in and out slowly, not because she needed oxygen, but because she could taste life, and the far-off stars, and the tilt of the universe, all in an inhale.
Dynah saw the destruction they’d caused in Hawk’s Hollow, saw the eyes of the townsfolk. Eyes filled with terror, with dread, with anger.
Death saw the path they rode, felt the sureness of victory. This was all meant to be, a season on this plane of existence, like winter before the spring. The passage of a babe through the womb. In order for there to be light, darkness must first be known.
Her mother’s eyes, widening as the bullet hit her. The slip of her soul as it passed by.
Power, big as the sun, sitting inside her. Her father’s life, snuffed out in the blink of an eye.
The screams, the flames, the prayers.
Emptiness. Numbness. Frailty. Nothing would ever be the same again.
And this knowledge within her…to know what made the earth grow, and die, and be reborn again. To understand the vast mysteries. Time and space and energy. Everything energy.
Too much.
Dynah’s thoughts quieted, and Death took control. She swept her cloak around her as she watched the Fallen. They had work to do. A world to conquer. A world to save. All much the same, in the end.
“The Apocalypse has begun,” Beziel said, “But in order for Heaven’s plan to be fully realized, the seven seals must be broken. Until that happens, there is still a chance to save humanity.”
“Seven seals?” Death asked. She touched the diadem of tiny black bones and gemstones sitting at her brow. Their transformation had been physical as well. She wore a black corset now, and a long, brown cloak. Her flame-red hair flickered with real flames here and there, something caught only from the corner of the eye.
Beziel nodded. “The seven seals are objects of varying make, hidden around the world. Four were broken today, when you claimed your powers as Riders. But the other three must be broken before the Apocalypse is complete. Each of the seals brings a new wave of death and destruction to the earth. You need to find the remaining seals and turn them over to me for safekeeping.”
“And where will you keep them that is safe from both Heaven and Hell?” War asked.
The Fallen swept his golden gaze over the Riders. “In the realm of the Fallen, where neither can enter. With the seals out of their reach, the Apocalypse is over, now and forever.”
Famine shook her head. “Why don’t they break all the seals now? If this is a battle they’ve waged for millennia, why would Heaven take chances?”
“There is an order to things. The fifth seal must be broken five days hence,” Beziel said. “No sooner, no later. The sixth six days from then. And the seventh a week after the sixth.”
Pestilence placed a hand on the neck of her white horse to calm his pawing. Sparks rose from the ground where his hoof struck. “Why not just destroy them after we find them?”
“To destroy them is to open them,” Beziel said.
Death spoke again. Her voice vibrated with power and the air grew dark around them. “I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we have had enough of those who attempt to control us. Why should we trust y
ou?”
The other three Riders nodded. War’s flames flared, Pestilence tightened her hand on the bronze crossbow at her side, and Famine caused the earth to rumble.
Beziel bowed his head to them. “I know you have no reason to trust me. I can only pray that you do. That together, we can save humanity.”
Around them, the air shivered abruptly, and the ground shook. The bubble of time Beziel had created for them fractured, fine cracks running through it like an old china teacup.
“We don’t have much more time,” the Fallen said. He reached within his robes and pulled something out. When he opened his fist, four silver rings sat on the palm of his hand. “These rings will allow you to summon me and create a time pocket like this one.”
Beziel tossed the rings in the air and they floated toward the Riders. The women reached out and took them, slid them onto their fingers.
“How do we find the seals?” Famine asked.
Another vibration in the walls of the time bubble, followed by more cracks.
“They are the most powerful magical artifacts on earth—they change the location of them frequently as a precaution,” Beziel said. “Seek the demon Sassafras—she will show you the way. And know this—once you get close enough, they call to you, and you call to them.”
A violent quake this time. A sliver of the wall shattered and fell, revealing the bright light of the outside world, where time moved freely.
“Just remember—Heaven must not know your plan. Which means you must ride forth.” He closed his eyes as if his words caused him pain. “The Apocalypse must get worse before it can get better.”
And the walls around them shattered completely, the Fallen vanished, and the Riders stood before a host of angels.
Chapter Two
War/Willow
Alinar, the angel, blinked at War, anger warping his beautiful features. And she remembered what she’d said to him, in the moment before Beziel had frozen time around them.
“It seems to us that Heaven is only interested in using us, just as we’ve been used by everyone else in our lives.”
She almost smiled. Almost sent a wall of flames blasting toward the lot of them. But they were double agents now. Keep your friends close, and your enemies… well. She had a role to play.
So she spoke, before he had a chance to respond. “However, we are all tools in God’s work, are we not? All here to be used for a greater purpose?” War cast her gaze over her fellow Riders. “We see the greatness of our mission, this battle for the souls of mankind, as you said. It is a worthy cause.”
She sat on her flaming horse, red leather duster billowing slightly. Her white blonde hair had grown long again when the magic changed them; her green eyes burned an unnatural hue as she watched the angel.
Alinar blinked again, and then smiled. The other angels nodded. All except Zane, whose river blue eyes locked on hers for a moment, his beautiful lips pressed into a thin line. Zane, the one who knew the woman she’d been before her transformation. The woman who breathed hellfire even before an ounce of magic touched her. Soul of steel and lightning, who acquiesced to no one.
But he said nothing, and then Alinar’s words broke the moment.
“There is no worthier mission indeed. War, Pestilence, Famine, and Death. Carry forth to all corners of the world, finish your work. Let the cleansing begin.”
A flash of brilliance, and the host of angels was gone.
War felt a flicker of emotion within her. It wasn’t the rage she’d felt before, when she’d first learned of Zane’s betrayal. Or the surprise when she saw him standing there with the angels, when she realized she’d been tricked all along. It felt uncomfortably close to sorrow, to pain, to devastation. Something that ached down in the pit of her stomach, and further, to a place at her core that had nothing to do with her physical body.
“Let’s ride,” she called to the others.
She cast one last look at Hawk’s Hollow, burning down around them, and she turned her horse and galloped south. Fled the cursed town that had suppressed her for so long. Escaped the tug of those dangerous feelings stirring within her. Bullet’s hooves devoured the ground, and they ran full out for miles, longer than any natural horse could run. The mare had transformed, too.
At last, when she felt she’d put sufficient distance between herself and her past, she reined Bullet in. The other three, right on her heels, came to a stop around her. Where they’d passed, the color had bleached out of the earth and sky from Pestilence’s passing, and rips in time and space looked like black and blue ribbons where Famine touched the air. Bringing up the rear, Death’s army of skeletons hurried to catch up, and overhead her bone dragon let out an earth-shattering shriek.
“So,” she said, “Beziel’s plan. Do we trust him?”
“Hardly,” Death said.
“We can’t trust the angels, and we can’t trust the Fallen. I doubt the demons are any better, either,” Pestilence added. “Interesting that he told us to find one.”
Famine kept her silence for a moment. “It’s just the four of us. We can only trust each other.”
War felt an energy move between them. She’d felt it before, when she went to find Penelope—Pestilence—at the Navajo reservation. A connection between them, a drawing together. She felt it now with the other two, even Famine, who she hadn’t known before today. None of that mattered anymore. Their human lives were behind them. Petty details, they were together now. Riders. Sisters.
“Beziel failed to mention where to find the demon Sassafras,” Pestilence said. “But I think I have an idea where to start. My clan.”
“They’re not your clan anymore,” War said.
Pestilence shook her head. “I know. My—the shaman, Nascha, she knew before today about the coming darkness. We were going to talk about it, but then… well, then everything happened. I think she knows something.”
Pestilence’s eyes flicked to Death. War could feel a swell of emotion between the two. Something had happened with their family, right before the transformation. That much was obvious.
“I think it’s as good a place to start as any,” Pestilence continued. “Unless anyone else has leads they want to mention.”
Silence fell for several moments, and then the Riders all shook their heads.
“We have our path then,” War said, turning Bullet to the west. She touched the Colt at her hip for luck. “The hunt for the fifth seal begins.”
Chapter Three
Pestilence/Penelope
When Pestilence saw the glimmering lights of her Navajo clan against the lavender tones of early evening, memories punctured her like blades.
She’d known nothing but happiness with her clan, but it was not happiness that she felt now. Because it had all been taken away from her, the one good thing she’d ever had.
For the others, the transformation had occurred the moment all four Riders joined together out on the plains. But her fuse had been lit before, the moment Roy had shot her horse. The moment she knew it was all pointless, any attempt at seeking this life she’d dreamed of. Rage had consumed her in that moment, and even seeing her mother’s lifeless body hadn’t eroded it. That woman had let Roy torment Penelope her whole life. They both deserved what they got.
The silhouettes of two riders appeared in the twilight beyond. Pestilence appreciated their bravery, coming out to face the Riders of the Apocalypse alone, protectors of the clan. As if they could stop anything that would happen. The white wolf trotting between them let out a mournful howl.
The two groups stopped a dozen feet apart from each other.
“Shitsoi,” said Nascha, her voice dragged down by unbearable sorrow.
“I was your granddaughter,” Pestilence said. She watched them as they took in her appearance. Her blindingly white horse. The white, fringed doeskin tunic she wore. The necklace of bright green feathers and coyote teeth around her neck. The crossbow at her side. “But I am that woman no longer.”
Beside Nascha,
Atsa sat on his paint horse, his eyes unable to leave her. He asked questions with those eyes, questions she couldn’t answer, so she stared back impassively. At his side, the wolf whined.
“Why have you come?” Nascha asked.
Pestilence heard both fear and threat in her words. She knew she could not stand against these four, but she would die trying if she must. Her and Atsa both.
“We need your help,” Pestilence said with a shrug.
“With what?” Atsa asked, finally finding his voice.
“We need to find three seals,” War said.
Nascha’s mouth tightened. “We cannot help you further the end of the world.”
“That is not our intention,” Famine said.
“Then why do you wish to find the seals?” Nascha asked.
Pestilence smiled. “Perhaps you could invite us in, and we’ll tell you everything.”
The old woman sat up straighter on her horse. “You must promise that no harm will come to the Diné people.”
Something inside of Pestilence stirred, something of the woman she had been. Pain. Pain that her grandmother would think she would harm her clan. “You have our word,” she said softly.
Nascha nodded and turned her horse, leading them toward the cluster of glowing hogans. Pestilence cast her gaze over the other Riders, ensuring they ceased the flow of their magic, as she herself did. The only hint of their powers were the flames coming off War, and the black shadows that clustered around Death.
Not a soul could be seen as they moved between the dwellings. Not even a horse or a dog. The area seemed abandoned, though Pestilence knew it was not. She could feel the humans huddled inside. Their heartbeats. Their blood. Their souls. Faint glowing pulsations like the wings of a moth.
They reached Nascha’s hogan and dismounted, leaving the horses outside. Atsa held back the woven blanket that was the door to the hogan. His eyes grazed over her as she passed him. They made a circle around the small fire in the center of the hexagonal room, cross-legged on woven rugs. Nascha offered them tea, which they declined. Pestilence did not require food or drink.
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