War

by T. A. Chase

  “Yes, though it morphed into me being stranded on the same ledge as before. Only this time, it wasn’t nearly as big and I had to hold on or else I’d fall. I could hear Jimmy and William yelling for help, but I couldn’t help them. Hell, if I’d let go, I would have fallen myself. Their screams got louder and louder.” He shuddered. “When I looked down, I was hanging above a river of blood.”

  War didn’t speak, but just having his arms around him made Russell feel safe, like he would never fall into the abyss again. He rested even more of his weight on War, knowing his lover would be able to handle it.

  “I know this all has to do with my survivor’s guilt and being covered with blood and other shit when they died.” Russell turned and pressed his lips to War’s shoulder. “I’m not stupid about the whole psychology behind my mental problems. Yet I can’t stop reliving those moments.”

  “We all relive things. I relive the instant my sword stabbed Asad in the throat. The look of shock in his eyes, and standing there as the light drained out of them.”

  War spoke in a soft voice, but Russell could hear the sorrow in his words. Why did Russell see the truth about War’s situation and could offer advice on how to fix it? Yet he couldn’t seem to get a handle on his own

  “Were you and Jimmy good friends?”

  Russell closed his eyes and thought about Jimmy. Were they friends? Yes, in the way that untried boys became friends as they evolved into men. Jimmy was one of the few guys Russell had gone through basic training with and they’d been assigned to the same unit. While they hadn’t known everything about each other, they’d fought next to each other during the time they’d been in Afghanistan.

  “I think so. We didn’t hang out a lot off base, but still we talked about our families and stuff. I trusted him to have my back when I needed him. Maybe that’s the issue. When he needed me, I didn’t do anything to help him.”

  “Did you know one of the insurgents was going to shoot him?”

  “No.” Russell rolled his eyes. “Of course, I had no idea who they were shooting at. Sometimes I think they just fired their guns without aiming, hoping they would hit someone by accident.”

  War snorted. “They aren’t quite as well trained as you were. Do you see what I was getting at, though? You had no way of knowing Jimmy was going to be shot. If you did, I’m sure you would have done something to help him. Also, you didn’t know the medic was going to be hit as well. Did you know the medic’s name?”

  Russell shook his head. “He joined our unit while I was in the hospital, and I never could remember his name. Does that make me a bad person?”

  “No, Russell. It doesn’t make you a bad person for not remembering his name. You remember what he looks like, right? Because you dream about him every night and it’s like you’ve memorised every aspect of his face.”

  “You’re right. The worst part is looking into his eyes and seeing the shock as the bullet hit. Then watching his head explode and cover me with blood and brain matter. I couldn’t seem to clean my hands and face enough after that. The doctors said it was one of the repetitive things I did while I was catatonic. I continually washed my hands.”

  He held them up to the moonlight and turned them back and forth.

  “There are times when I still see blood and sand on them, even though I know they’re clean.”

  War took his hands in his and squeezed them. “I’m here to remind you, their blood isn’t on your hands. You were a victim as much as they were. Russell, there wasn’t anything you could have done to save them. I could give you platitudes and tell you it was their time to go. Destiny had chosen the heat of battle for their lives to end.”

  Russell pushed out of War’s arms and turned to face him. “Do you really believe that?”

  “I told you I could tell you that, but I won’t. At least, I won’t mean it when I say it. I don’t know why people die when they do. Death tells me there is a plan for the world. Fate, destiny, or whatever you want to call it, has been plotted out for some purpose. For good or evil, I have no idea, but it must have something to do with the balance of the world. As Horsemen, we are concerned with making sure neither side gets out of hand.”

  “I don’t understand how war and disease help keep things even.” Russell had the odd feeling of being stupid, like he was missing a very obvious point.

  War grimaced. “Neither do I, but Death assures me we’re helping. Maybe it has to do with keeping the populations from exploding. I really don’t know, and since Death is the only one I can ask I have to go on what he says.”

  “I have the feeling Death doesn’t tell you everything he knows,” Russell said.

  “You’re right. He doesn’t, and it’s really weird because he is the youngest of us in terms of years as Horseman.” War gazed off into the distance while he thought.

  “Who’s the oldest out of you four?”

  “Well, Pestilence doesn’t count because he’s new. We got a new comrade when Aldo fell in love and became mortal again.” War scrunched his nose. “I think Famine is the oldest of us now, though he can’t be much older than me. I think we came from around the same period. I’m not sure what he did to get drafted as a Horseman. We don’t talk about our former lives; makes it easier to accept the new one.”

  “Where do the others live?” Russell probably shouldn’t be asking questions, but his curiosity was demanding answers and War seemed willing to spill them.

  War gathered Russell back into his arms, and they sat on the small hill, overlooking the herd. Russell stifled a contented sigh. How could just sitting in the dark, wrapped in another person’s arms, feel so much like home? Who would have thought he’d find a place he loved by travelling to the other side of the world?

  “Aldo used to live deep in the jungle of the Amazon. He saw fewer people than I did.” War laughed. “Now he lives in Boston because his partner is a professor at Harvard. I’m not sure if Famine has a home. He tends to wander the countries of Africa, spreading his awful power over many groups. I think he’s originally from that particular continent anyway. Death is the only one of the current Horsemen who lives anywhere near people. He lives in Paris.”

  Russell made a soft noise. “Is Death French?”

  The movement behind Russell suggested War had shrugged.

  “I’m not sure. He doesn’t have much of an accent, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’s been Death since the seventeen hundreds, so he’s had time to lose it if he wanted to. Death does seem more at home among mortals than we do.”

  One of the horses whinnied and Russell watched as the dogs stood, shook off the dew, and circled the herd, checking the perimeter for danger. They didn’t bark so he relaxed a little. There wasn’t much out there for them to worry about, but it paid to stay alert.

  “Having a couple more sets of eyes and three good noses are some of the reasons why I use the dogs. They stay alert, even if I doze off,” War explained.

  “You used the word ‘alive’ a few minutes ago. Why? It’s not like you aren’t alive right now,” Russell pointed out.

  “For us, being alive is different from what we are now. Being alive was back when we were mortal.” War hesitated for a second before continuing, “We’re immortal now. We can’t die or be killed, though that seems a little odd, doesn’t it? Why should we worry about being killed? For the most part, people don’t see us. We pass through the world unnoticed.”

  “If that’s true, then why did I see you?”

  “Hmmm…good question. You shouldn’t have been able to. Oh, you were seriously injured, and probably close to dying. You said you saw Death before I showed up.”

  “Yeah. He told me to hang on because help was coming.”

  The noise War made sounded like exasperation. “He’s a sneaky bastard. He never told me he talked to you on the ledge before I found you. I happened to be in the area because he told me I needed to be there. “

  “So Death is a matchmaker, huh? Who would have thought that?”
r />   Russell laughed and War joined in.

  “’A hopeless romantic’ isn’t the first thought that pops into my head when I see Death,” War admitted.

  “I bet.”

  Their conversation drifted into casual chatter about silly things, and questions to get to know each other like favourite colours and songs. War impressed Russell by being rather current on his music choices. Russell was shocked when War admitted he hadn’t been to a movie in a long time.

  “When was the last time you saw a movie in the theatre?”

  War narrowed his gaze while he tried to remember. “I think it was The Godfather.”

  Russell shook his head in surprise. “You’re kidding me? It’s been thirty-nine years since you’ve gone to the movies? I think that might be a record.”

  “I don’t think so. I think Famine has me beat. I don’t think he’s ever seen a movie. They didn’t exist when he was alive, and he spends most of his time in third-world countries. And thank you for making me feel like a freak.”

  Russell turned in War’s arms and wrapped his own around War’s neck. He brought their lips together in a gentle kiss. He nibbled on War’s bottom lip, catching it between his teeth and tugging on it lightly before letting it go and leaning back.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve just never met anyone who hasn’t seen recent movies. Of course, I’ve never met a man like you before, and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by anything you have or haven’t done.”

  “I’m experienced enough in one thing to keep you happy.” War wiggled his eyebrows and Russell laughed.

  “Yes, you do keep me happy.” He pushed to his feet and held out his hand to War. “Let’s go back to bed and see just how happy you can make me.”

  War let Russell haul him to his feet and they wandered back to the blankets. Russell stood while War shook them out.

  “Have to make sure no creatures crawled in to get warm.”

  “Yeah. Nothing kills the mood faster than getting bit by a snake or spider.”

  They slipped into the makeshift bed and turned towards each other, coming together with easy desire, touching in all the right spots to build their pleasure. When War sank into his ass, Russell inhaled deeply, staring up into his lover’s black eyes and seeing all his emotions reflected back at him.

  Rocking in unison, Russell and War chased each other up along the path of lust and need until the pleasure swelled to the point of pain. Russell grunted as the bubble burst and his climax overwhelmed him, causing stars to blur his vision. War threw back his head and shouted his joy to the night sky, filling Russell with his hot cum.

  Both men trembled as the aftershocks of their mutual climax faded away. War kept his body braced above Russell, but Russell wanted him pressed tight to him. He embraced War, tugging to bring the man down on top of him.

  “I don’t want to crush you,” War protested.

  “I’m not fragile, you idiot. I’ll be fine. I can toss you off if you get too heavy.” Russell encouraged War to lie on him.

  War rolled so they were lying on their sides, but still touching. Russell moaned as War’s limp cock slid from him.

  “We should probably clean up before we fall back asleep,” War suggested.

  Russell didn’t reply, his eyes closed as he breathed in War’s scent, a familiar mixture of sweat and horse. He never thought he’d like that, but it had become his favourite smell in the entire world, even more comforting than the smell of grass on a warm summer breeze.

  He mumbled in protest as War left his side. Russell listened to him walking to the small pool of water they were camped next to and dipping the bucket into it. He must have drifted off because he jumped when War swiped Russell’s thighs with a cold, wet cloth. He didn’t fight as War rolled him around, cleaning him quickly.

  Sighing, he snuggled back into War’s arms when the man returned to their blankets. He kissed War’s chest.

  “Thank you,” Russell whispered.

  “For what?”

  “For staying up with me and loving me until I was too tired to think about my nightmare.”

  War nuzzled his face into Russell’s. “It wasn’t a hardship, sweetheart. Any time you can’t sleep, wake me up. I’ll listen to you, or talk to you, or just fuck you until you can rest in my arms.”

  Russell started to say something, but a yawn interrupted him and he found he didn’t really have the energy to finish the conversation. With War beside him, Russell didn’t worry about bloody dreams or a guilty conscience waking him up.

  * * * *

  A hard nudge to his shoulder woke War up and he opened his eyes to see a long black leather boot in front of his face. He studied it, trying to get his mind up to speed and figure out who owned the boot.

  “Get up.”

  Blinking, he groaned. “Why are you here?”

  Death snorted and poked him again with his foot. “I’m here to get you. There’s work to be done. I can’t have you lazing around all the time. It’s bad for business.”

  “What sort of business is that?” Russell spoke up from where he lay, facing the opposite direction.

  War sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face while he thought about Death’s appearance. “I can’t leave. Russell isn’t experienced enough to get the horses back to the hut with the dogs. Maybe if he had a little more time out here he’d be able to do it.”

  “I’ll get someone to come and help him.” Death crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at War. “You really don’t have any choice in the matter. It’s your job.”

  “I do think I have a choice. This war—or whatever you want to call it—can wait a day while I take the herd back.” War had never told Death no before.

  He meant what he’d said. Russell wasn’t capable at the moment of herding the horses and getting them back to the pens without something going wrong. War remembered how long it had taken him to learn from the nomadic herders when he’d arrived in Mongolia.

  Death didn’t look happy about it. Russell groaned, rolled out from under the covers and stood, stretching and yawning. Both War and Death stared at him, ogling his naked form.

  “I can see why you lust after him,” Death commented casually.

  Russell blushed fiery red and snatched up his clothes, dashing for the closest tree. Luckily there were a few on the banks of the river. They watched him scurry away before War stood and dressed, unconcerned about being naked in front of Death.

  “You didn’t have to embarrass him like that.”

  Death shrugged. “I didn’t think he’d be bothered by my words. Are you sure you can’t come right now?”

  “Yes.”

  The Pale Rider heaved an annoyed sigh and grimaced. “Fine. I guess I should help you and we’ll get this taken care of faster.”

  War shot him an incredulous glance. “You’re going to herd horses with me?”

  “You sound surprised? I can ride any horse, and not just my mount as a Horseman.” Death rested his hands on his hips and glared at War. “I rode horses most of my life when I was alive. Aside from carriages, they were the only mode of transportation that didn’t include walking, and I wasn’t going to walk anywhere.”

  “Too good for that, huh?” Russell came out from behind the tree, clothes on and a disgruntled look on his face. “Do you get a kick out of sneaking up on people like that?”

  ”A man of my social position simply didn’t walk anywhere in Paris while I was mortal.” Death sniffed.

  “Did you die during the French Revolution?” Russell’s narrowed eyes threw sparks at Death.

  “No. A couple of years before actually. The French Revolution was the first large-scale event I dealt with when I became Death.” The pale-haired man seemed rather smug about the whole thing.

  “I’m guessing you were an aristocrat, which is why you never walked anywhere. How can you be so smug about the massacre that was the French Revolution? Wasn’t it your own people who died?” Russell started to roll up the blankets, even while tak
ing Death to task for his callousness.

  “I never considered them my people. Trust me, if they’d known the truth about me, they would have shunned me. They only accepted me into their society because I had money.”

  “So you were a rich man, but without a title?”

  Death’s jaw tightened and War could see the man’s usual cool detachment starting to fray. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not, but he was curious to see how Death would respond to Russell’s question.

  “This is the last thing I will say. I was the only son of a very rich man, but we had no title and so were tolerated in Parisian society because of our money.” Death took a deep breath and looked at War. “Are we going? If we don’t leave now, I will drag you to your horse and force you to come with me, leaving him to get your herd home without help.”

  War winced as it became apparent that Russell had touched a raw nerve. He moved off to get the horses ready.

  He turned back and asked, “Are you going to ride? I don’t have an extra saddle.”

  Death stared at him for a moment. “I will ride without a saddle. Just throw a blanket on one of your horses and use a rope as a hackamore. I promise not to be rough on my mount. I can’t use my own horse for this. Your herd would panic if he came close.”

  “Where do your horses go when you’re not using them?” Russell had finished packing their stuff into the saddlebags and had them tossed over one shoulder.

  Death wandered off, not acknowledging him. Russell laughed softly.

  “Guess I pissed him off with my questions, huh?”

  “I think you touched on a sore subject for him. I don’t think he’s ever taken the time to think about his former life. He seems bitter about his station in life and, to be honest, he has a right to be. During his time, bastards weren’t treated nearly as well as they are now. The illegitimate son of a nobleman and a maid was something to be ashamed of back in those days.”

  “Do you think his mother was a maid?”

  War shot Russell a glance. “It doesn’t matter what position his mother held. She was obviously not a member of the ruling class.”