The 13th Horseman

by Barry Hutchison

“Then what are you waiting for? We had a deal, remember?”

  Drake nodded and smiled grimly. “I remember.”

  From the noise she made, Drake knew it hurt, but Mel forced her head and shoulders up until she could kiss him on the cheek. “Go get him, Drake,” she said.

  “Can we hurry this up, do you think?” War muttered. “I’m three seconds away from puking in my own beard.”

  “Oh, stop teasing him,” Pest said, slapping War on the arm. “Can’t you see? The boy’s in love!”

  “What?” Drake spluttered, his face reddening.

  “Listen, if you ever need any advice, Drake, come and see me,” Famine told him, then he winked and tapped his nose. “I know a thing or three.”

  “Will everyone please shut up?” War growled. “We’ve still got the big metal bugger there to deal with, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Drake joined War in staring up at the mechanoid. “Any ideas? Could you, like, chop its feet off or something?”

  “Doubt the sword will get through that,” War said.

  “I could eat it,” Famine suggested. “But it might take a while,” he admitted.

  “We have to do something,” Pest said.

  But the robot did something instead. Its foot lifted into the air as it began to stride forward once more. The horsemen watched the foot pass above them, before it slammed down on top of a parked car, sending all four tyres rolling along the road.

  The machine paused then, before its arms raised out in front of it, first one, then the other. It twisted at the waist, then its head jerked round until it was facing the wrong way.

  With a loud clank, the head and the torso snapped back to face the front again, just as the other leg lifted into the air.

  “What’s it playing at?” War growled. “It’s going mental.”

  “It must be the souls,” Drake said, peering up. He could see blue streaks looping around at the top of the robot’s head. “I set the souls free. They’re running riot up there. They must’ve damaged the controls. We need to bring it down before it trashes the whole town.”

  “But how?” Pest asked.

  Drake’s mind raced. There was something else about his two visits to Sunday School. Something else that had been covered in the puppet show. A sort of mini-show, before the Jesus and the Leper main event. What was it? What was it?

  “Daniel and Goliath!” he cried.

  “You mean David and Goliath,” War said.

  “Daniel, David, whatever,” Drake said. He looked across to one of the spheres that had fallen during the battle. War followed his gaze. Realisation slowly dawned across his bearded face. “Can you do it?” Drake asked.

  With barely a grunt, War picked up the sphere. “With my eyes shut.”

  “Fire away,” Drake said. “Aim for the head, like Daniel did.”

  “David!”

  “Whatever! Just throw it.”

  War balanced the ball in one hand, then pressed it against the side of his hairy cheek. Like a shot-putter, he launched the ball skyward. They all watched as it flew up, up, up towards the robot’s head.

  “Easy,” War said, flexing his muscles. “It’s home and dry.”

  There was a distant bang as the ball smashed against the robot’s thick shell.

  “Look out!” Drake cried. A rain of metal and wire and dark red liquid fell to Earth around them.

  Pest stared at the falling liquid in horror. “Blood,” he whimpered. “A rain of blood. Another sign!”

  “It’s not blood,” War said, touching the stuff with his fingers and smelling it. “It’s engine coolant.”

  “Coolant?” Drake muttered.

  “Must be to stop the spheres overheating,” War said, wiping his gloves on his trousers.

  “Looks like blood to me,” fretted Pest.

  “It’s not blood!” War bellowed. “And it’s not the Apocalypse.”

  “It might be if we can’t stop that thing,” Drake said. The robot took another thunderous step forward. “Can you try again?”

  “The balls aren’t solid enough,” War told him. “It’s no use. We need something heavier.”

  “We don’t have anything heavier!”

  There was the sound of a throat being cleared. “Me.”

  Drake, War and Pestilence turned. Famine stood behind them, looking a little embarrassed. He smiled uncertainly. “Throw me.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Pest said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “It’s a long fall from up there,” War said. “There’s no saying you’d survive.”

  Famine’s round shoulders shrugged. “There’s no saying I won’t. Besides, Drake did.”

  “Aye, but you’ve... got a bit more weight behind you,” War said diplomatically.

  Something like a laser blast scorched from the robot’s outstretched hand and a petrol station a hundred metres away became a ball of flame.

  “Better hurry,” Famine said.

  “There’s got to be another way,” Pest protested. He had found his leather cap again, and was holding it in both hands, nervously fiddling with the peak. “There’s got to be.”

  “Well, we could throw you, but the wind’d carry you away,” Famine told him. Then he smiled, warmly and patted his friend on the shoulder as he passed him.

  “Are you sure about this?” asked Drake.

  “Not really,” Famine admitted. He turned to War. “Let’s get it over with, eh?”

  War creaked his neck and stretched his muscles. “Aye,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

  He caught Famine by the back of the neck and the waistband of his trousers.

  “Brace yourself,” he warned, as he began to spin like a hammer thrower, twirling the fat man out in a wide circle.

  “Good luck,” Famine blurted, then he very suddenly felt lighter than he had ever felt before. The ground and the other horsemen fell away. Famine laughed. He was flying, soaring, rising up and up like some beautiful, elegant bird.

  WHANG!

  Famine’s arms and legs formed a sort of squidgy star-shape as his body struck the head of the robot. He barely had time to utter an “ooyah” before he slid down what passed for the mechanoid’s forehead, then began the long plunge back down to Earth.

  He hit the ground like a meteorite, throwing up chunks of rubble and debris in all directions. He was very relieved that it hurt. That meant he wasn’t dead. Not quite, at least.

  His head went light. The world turned grey at the edges. The last thing Famine saw before he passed out was an eighty-metre tall robot ever so slowly begin to topple backwards.

  DRAKE HEARD THE sound of cheering or screaming in the distance, he couldn’t tell which. Then he heard the indescribable sound of a giant robot falling on to a row of houses, and then, for the next few seconds, he heard nothing but the ringing in his own ears.

  Drake hadn’t seen him move, but Pest was already scrabbling down the side of the crater caused by Famine’s fall.

  “He’s alive!”

  Even over the ringing in his ears and the sound of settling debris, Drake heard War sigh with relief.

  “He’s alive, but he’s hurt,” Pest cried. “Someone fetch me a Kit-Kat.”

  “We did it,” Drake said, looking over at the fallen robot.

  War nodded. “Aye. Looks like it,” he said. He nodded towards where Mel was still sitting on the ground. “Go and check on her. I’ll help that pair.”

  Drake didn’t hang about. He hurried over to the side of the road and knelt down by Mel. She managed a smile for him, and he gave one right back.

  “It’s over,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “We stopped him. It’s over.”

  Her smile widened, until it became the crinkle-nosed grin Drake would never, ever tire of seeing. “Good work,” she said. “I knew you could do it.” She thought about this. “Well, hoped, at least.”

  Down in the crater, Pest was cradling Famine’s head. He didn’t even appear bothered by the strings of drool hanging f
rom the fat man’s open mouth, even when they began dripping on to his leather chaps.

  War slid down the last few metres of the hole and nudged Famine with his boot. “Right, wake up,” he said.

  “Steady on,” Pestilence complained. “He’s hurt. Don’t be so rough. You can’t just make him wake up.”

  “Oh, look,” said War loudly. “I’ve found a cake.”

  Famine’s eyes opened. “Cake?”

  War smirked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an individually wrapped muffin. Famine took it and ate it, without bothering to unwrap it first.

  “Did I do good?” Famine asked, as the other horsemen helped him to his feet.

  “You did good,” War said, nodding.

  “You were wonderful,” Pest enthused. He and War took an arm each and led Famine up the incline and on to the pock-marked road. They waved over to Drake. Pestilence began to say something.

  That was when it hit them.

  Drake didn’t see what hit the horsemen. The light was so blinding it forced his eyes to close, but even that couldn’t stop it burning into his retinas. He heard Mel hiss with the pain and shock of it.

  When the light faded and Drake could open his eyes, War, Famine and Pestilence were face down on the ground, motionless.

  Something moved in the pit behind them. Drake watched in horror as a twisted metal monstrosity clanked up on to the street.

  It had Mr Franks’ face, but the rest of it was machine. Hydraulics hissed as it marched forward a few paces, each thunderous footstep driving a new pothole into the road. “Robotic exo-skeleton,” Mr Franks announced. “Now I know you weren’t expecting that.”

  An arm rose. The palm of the robotic hand glowed a swirling white. Drake heard Mel gasp, turned and saw a blue light illuminate her from within. She sagged too quickly for him to catch her. She collapsed to the pavement as her soul streaked past Drake and was swallowed by the light.

  “No,” Drake cried. “No!”

  Mr Franks licked his lips. “Mmm, tasty, tasty!” he cackled. “That one’s going to be a meal all by itself.”

  “Give her back,” Drake bellowed. He ran at the teacher. “Let her go!”

  Mr Franks reached down and grabbed something from the ground. Something whummed towards Drake’s face. Drake twisted, but not fast enough. He felt his cheek split open and his blood fell like rain upon the ground.

  “Ooh, that looks nasty,” Mr Franks grinned. He raised War’s sword triumphantly. The point drew a figure of eight in the air just a few centimetres from Drake’s nose.

  “Give me back her soul, or I’m going to kill you,” Drake growled.

  “See, this is how it should be!” Mr Franks cried. His eyes blazed with excitement. He was loving every minute of this. “Thrills, spills, drama, adventure. That’s what being a horseman should be about, not sitting in a shed for a thousand years playing Snap. I should have ended the world centuries ago.”

  “You’re not going to end the world. We stopped you,” Drake reminded him.

  “Oh, come on, Drake, you think I didn’t have a back-up plan?” He flexed the hydraulic muscles of the metal suit. “Mystical battle armour,” he crowed. “What do you think? Does everything the big robot did, but in an all-new slimline package. You were right, the giant robot was a little on the old-fashioned side, but this? This is the future.”

  “I’ll tear it to pieces, with you inside.”

  “Them’s fighting words!” Mr Franks laughed. With one robotic arm he reached round to his back. A long, loosely wrapped bundle of blue polythene landed on the ground at Drake’s feet. “So, let’s do this properly. Let’s settle it. A fight,” he beamed, “to the Death.”

  Not taking his eyes off the teacher, Drake unfolded the bundle. A long-handled scythe rolled out. Its blade looked brand new, but Drake somehow sensed that the weapon was as old as time itself.

  “So, you’re the one who took it.”

  “The Deathblade,” Mr Franks announced. “Pick it up. Embrace your destiny. And then, I’m going to kill –” he breathed in deeply through his nose – “everyone.”

  The wooden handle vibrated gently beneath Drake’s grip as he hoisted the Deathblade up. It stood taller than he did, but it felt almost weightless in his hands.

  “Not if I kill you first,” Drake said.

  “Man, I love this! It’s so... exciting!” Mr Franks cackled. “OK then, Drake, try to kill me. Try to save your girlfriend,” he said. With a click of his heels, two compact jet-engines unfolded from the backs of his metal-clad legs. “Catch me if you can!”

  With a roar from his rocket-boots, Mr Franks propelled himself vertically upwards towards the clouds far, far overhead.

  Drake didn’t stop to think. His hand was moving before his brain had fully realised what was happening. He curled his thumb and index finger. He put them in his mouth, and he whistled. Finally, he whistled, long and shrill and loud.

  And he heard, as it were, the noise of thunder.

  THE SONIC BOOM whipped up the air around Drake. He didn’t flinch, not even when the horse tore from the air directly in front of him.

  Its front hooves came down hard on the ground, but they didn’t make a sound. Its back hooves also fell silently on to the tarmac surface of the road. The horse reared up on to its hind legs, and Drake realised it was bigger than even War’s mighty steed.

  War had called it ‘the pale horse’, and it was pale, but not in the way Drake had been expecting. It wasn’t so much pale in terms of colour, as pale in terms of solidity. Light flowed through it, bending and warping as if passing through a crystal.

  The animal wasn’t completely transparent, though. Swirls of living white heaved deep beneath its glassy skin, forming patterns that shifted and whirled every time it moved. When it stood still, as it did now, it could be mistaken for an ice sculpture.

  There was no saddle on the horse’s back, and there were no reins with which to hold on. Neither of those things made Drake hesitate. In one leap he was sitting on the animal’s broad back, the Deathblade clutched in his right hand.

  He had expected the horse to be cold, like ice, but it felt neither cold nor warm beneath him. It just felt... there.

  Drake didn’t give the horse any command. He didn’t say anything to make it take to the air. He just thought the instruction and the horse obeyed. Up, he thought, and up the horse went, moving swiftly and silently in a steep uphill curve.

  The faster the horse moved, the less tangible it became. It no longer resembled an ice sculpture. Now it was a horse-shaped cloud, a silvery vapour trail billowing out in its wake.

  Up it went, higher and higher, until the ground was little more than a distant memory. They were running almost straight up now, but Drake was having no problem staying on the horse’s back, despite the oncoming wind and gravity’s insistent pull. It was as if he and the horse were one creature, inseparable until he decided otherwise.

  Over the howling of the wind, Drake heard another sound. The horse banked right, just as the roar of engines filled the air. The robot battle armour whistled by them, performed an impossibly tight turn, then streaked back in their direction.

  Drake swung with the Deathblade. There was a ching of metal hitting metal, and a bolt of angry lightning ripped across the sky.

  Mr Franks drew back War’s sword. Red fire crackled along the length of its blade. It lit up his face, illuminating the madness that danced behind his eyes. “Nice horse,” he said. “Had it long?”

  He lunged again with the sword. The Deathblade twirled in Drake’s hand. Was he moving it, or was it moving him? He couldn’t quite say. The hooked blade clanked against the side of the sword, knocking Mr Franks’ aim off.

  More lightning exploded and the teacher leaped back, his rocket-boots blasting him out of harm’s way. They both lunged again, hacking and slashing with their weapons as they climbed higher and higher into the sky. Each time the weapons met, fingers of electricity clawed at the air around them.

>   “I’ve got this problem, Drake,” Mr Franks said. He had stopped attacking for the moment, but was still moving upwards. The horse trotted across the sky, maintaining the distance between them. “At first I thought it was just this minor irritation, but, well, it’s got bigger, and it just refuses to go away. It’s you, in case you were wondering.”

  “I wasn’t,” Drake told him.

  “I was trying to be nice to you. I wanted you free to fulfil your destiny when Armageddon all kicks off.” The teacher’s face filled up with contempt. “And it will all kick off. You see, you think you’ve stopped it, but you haven’t. You can’t prevent the end of the world, Drake. It’s inevitable.”

  “There’s only one thing that’s inevitable,” Drake replied. “And I’m it.”

  Lunging wildly, he swung the Deathblade in a wide arc. It sliced through part of a robotic arm, and a spray of red coolant pumped out. The liquid distracted Drake. He didn’t see the other exo-skeleton arm come up sharply. A fist the size of a breeze block went whump against Drake’s chin, and he discovered that he could, in fact, be separated from the horse.

  The town was spread out below him like a toy village as he plunged towards it. He could see the roofs of houses. He could see his back garden. And there, lying among it all, was the giant robot the horsemen had defeated together.

  The wind seemed to laugh as it howled past his ears. Gravity’s pull felt stronger than ever. Drake clung tightly to the Deathblade, as if it could somehow slow his descent, or stop his fall completely.

  A metal fist clanged against his cheek, widening the split and sending blood spraying up behind him. He tried to twist, but there was nothing to push against. He cried out in pain as a robotic foot slammed against his lower back, and a white-hot jet-engine flame scorched his skin.

  He hacked with the scythe, flailing it behind him. Mr Franks dodged easily. Hydraulics whirred and an alloy elbow was driven hard against the base of Drake’s skull.

  The force of the blow flipped him. He spun until he was facing the right way, standing up as he fell down towards the now not nearly so distant ground. A flash of red fire sliced towards him. He held up the Deathblade and War’s sword smashed against the blade.