The three horsemen appeared in front of the house with a sound of slashed reality. A dog stopped barking, then started again at full force.
“Strange beasts,” the dark one said. “Maybe we should call back the horses.”
The fiery one stepped forward, already taking a human form, height, shape and colors changing fast.
“They’ll be fine.”
“We won’t need them here,” the white one said.
They looked around, searching for the ashen one. They could feel an essence like their own somewhere nearby, but there were only humans walking along the street, their bodies dark silhouettes without light.
Death was already looking at them through one of the front windows. She knew who they were, even if she had never met them. She checked the calendar on the wall, looking at the rows of numbers that divided that day from the one circled in red.
She straightened her back and went to open the door.
“Ashen one,” they greeted her, every trace of uncertainty gone from their faces.
Their human forms were hidden by the light that emanated from each one: red, black, white.
“It’s too early,” she said. “It’s supposed to start in a month.”
“We know,” the fiery one answered, almost cutting her off.
“We wanted to meet you,” the dark one added.
“We want to see what you can do,” the white one concluded.
Death nodded, not knowing what to say. They had witnessed the first war of the angels and the eternity after that, while she only knew what was contained in the universe she’d been born with.
“I’m the essence of chaos,” the fiery one said.
“You must find Earth pretty boring, then,” Death observed.
“No. I know it will get better in a few days.”
Death couldn’t smile back at that, so she looked at the dark one.
“My essence is lack and emptiness.”
“Mine is hatred and desperation,” the white one declared with superiority. “And yours, ashen one?”
“I’m Death,” she said, “I bring endings.”
They waited in silence for an explanation. She stepped back.
“Please, come in.”
“Death?” the fiery one repeated as they entered.
She closed the door.
“This is how humans call me. Thousands of versions of this name.”
“They have seen you?” the white one asked.
“No. It’s the name they gave to my essence, and I thought it was fitting.”
They stood in the living room. There was a single wooden chair against a wall, while the rest of the space was occupied by marble pedestals, each supporting an object from past eras: a statue of a roman general; a bag of sand from a sea that only dinosaurs had seen; clocks of any shapes from every century of human history, because she had a sense of humor.
The fiery one started to wander from one pedestal to the next, picking up the objects to examine them, only to put them down in a different position. The white one walked straight towards the chair and sat on it, legs crossed and hands folded on top of the knee. The dark one stood at the center of the room, arms abandoned at the sides and eyes fixed on the empty ceiling.
Death propped her back against a wall.
“What do you do in Hell?”
The white one looked at her.
“You don’t know?”
“No. An angel comes here once every millennia to give me instructions. The only thing they told me was that you existed and lived in Hell.”
The white one nodded and looked away, as if forgetting her question.
“We are a punishment,” the dark one said slowly, as if every word was dripping from a place miles above the room. “For the angels who were defeated. I make them crave divine light, so that they’ll always remember what they lost.”
“I make them hate each other,” the white one said. “So that they’ll always be alone, at their core. They can never find comfort in each other’s company, and when they do, they live in fear of an inevitable betrayal.”
“And I change the rules of their world.” The fiery one smiled. “So that they’ll never be able to organize themselves enough to attack again.”
“And you?” the white one spoke again. “What do you do here?”
Death thought about it. Was she a punishment too?
“My duty is easier than yours. I just need to exist, and everything around me will eventually come to an end.”
“You said that your name is ‘Death’ because of what you do to humans,” the dark one said. “What is that, exactly?”
“It’s just an ending like the others. They cease to exist. They disappear from this world.”
“And then?” the white one asked.
“Then nothing.”
The white one’s brow furrowed.
“Now that we are here, will we end too?”
Death focused on the strings, the tendrils of power that connected her to everything in that world that could end forever. The strings were always moving and changing, some were created, some disappeared. But she was sure none of them were connected to the other three horsemen.
“No,” she said. “You’re not from this world.”
“I want to see it” the fiery one said, letting one of the vases fall to the ground.
It shattered, and the thin tendril of power that connected it to Death dissolved. The other two didn’t pay it any attention, and Death didn’t either. She’d felt the object’s ending approach as its string became thinner.
“What do you want to see?” she asked.
“What you do to humans. The thing called death.”
“You want to see people die.”
The fiery one looked at her, light moving behind the eyes, and nodded.
“Follow me,” she said, and left her physical form for the instant necessary to travel to the other side of the planet, following a group of strings that were changing faster than the rest.
An explosion showered her with chunks of dirt.
“I saw it,” the fiery one screamed in excitement at her side.
Death looked at the man’s corpse. A million more strings had dissolved with him, small things that had lived in the ground.
She stood behind with the other two horsemen while the fiery one walked through the projectiles, straining the human neck to look around. The red essence shined stronger at every explosion, at every soldier screaming or dying, and when a building collapsed it looked like the fiery one was about to explode too.
“This is glorious.”
A tank fired. The fiery one raised a hand, and the projectile deviated. Death felt the strings of the soldiers in the new trajectory become even thinner. She grabbed the tendrils with both hands and pulled them closer.
The men were all badly injured, but they didn’t die right there. Some of them would have survived.
Death released the strings. Humans could kill each other, if they chose to. But she wouldn’t have let anyone interfere with that, not before the final day. It felt wrong to do otherwise.
The fiery one shined while the explosion hit, looked around for a while longer, then walked back towards the other horsemen.
“I want to see this in Hell. Tell me how you did it, I want to know everything.”
Death hadn’t done anything, so she didn’t answer.
“Is death always like this?” the white one asked with a hint of disgust.
“It’s loud,” the dark one added. “And the suffering doesn’t last much.”
“It’s just war,” Death said. “There are many other ways to die.”
“I’ve seen war,” the fiery one said as an explosion hit close. “It was quick and orderly. The angels above won immediately.”
“It’s different here,” Death said.
“How do humans call it?”
Death listed the word in all the languages people had spoken across the millennia.
“I like how it sounds,” the fiery one said. “I want to be called War.”
War turned to look at the people screaming and shooting.
“It’s a pity I won’t be able to see this anymore, after the final day.”
Death raised her head, following a sudden thought.
“What will be you task once Apocalypse ends?”
“We’ll keep punishing the devils,” the white one said.
“I’ll also get to keep the matter of this world in chaos, once everything is destroyed,” the fiery one added. “Like I did before it was created.”
“Now the earth was formless and empty,” Death said.
They gave her confused looks.
“It’s from the Bible. A book humans wrote.”
“A book?” the white one asked.
“They knew a lot about how this world was created, and what comes next. They knew about us.”
She crossed the space back to her own house, and they followed, War an instant slower than the others. Death guided them towards her garden, this time. She cared too much about her clocks.
“What about you?” the dark one asked. “What are you going to do after the last day?”
Death recalled the words of the angel during their last visit.
“I’ll be a guardian between Heaven and Hell. No one will be able to get closer to the divine without crossing my path.”
She didn’t talk about the tendrils. Of how the power seemed to flow from the people, the creatures, and the objects to her, and not vice versa. How humans had described the world after the Apocalypse as an endless one, and they were always right about these things. She’d been born with that world, she’d have died with it.
“If I knew war was so magnificent here, I’d have visited sooner,” War said. “I don’t want this world to end so soon.”
“It’s the reason we’re here,” the white one said.
“I know.”
Death looked at them as they spoke. She didn’t want to disappear. She was scared of her own essence, after all.
“We could wait some time,” she said. “And visit more wars.”
“More wars?” War asked, shining of red.
“No,” the dark one said.
“We’ll see what you’ll show us until the final day,” the white one added. “Then we’ll destroy this world, as we were sent to do.”
Death lowered her eyes and nodded.
They stood in silence for a long instant.
“So, what next?” War asked.
Death focused on the strings. She found two more conflicts that War would have appreciated, but even if they both wanted to delay the Apocalypse, she knew they couldn’t prevent the other horsemen from destroying the Earth alone.
She focused on the dark one; the essence of lacking, emptiness. There was a place in the world that was full of that.
“Follow me,” she said, and moved.
They were in the dark, but they didn’t need eyes to perceive the walls of the cave and the group of humans scattered inside it.
“Please,” one of them screamed. “Somebody help.”
“Stop wasting your breath,” another answered, while most of the others just shushed him.
War looked around with a bored expression and kicked a rock. The sound startled two of the men, but they didn’t have the energy to get up, so they just stared at the dark until they seemed to forget what they were looking for.
“A lot of suffering,” the white one observed, hands clasped behind the back.
Death ignored both of them, focusing on the dark one. The dark essence was flowing outside the contours of the human shape.
“They crave,” the voice was deeper than usual, without a trace of boredom, “so many things.”
The dark one walked in circle along the walls and round corners of the cave.
“Food,” Death said, following the trail of darkness, “Water.”
“Safety,” the dark one continued, “Light. Freedom. Love.”
They completed the circle and stopped between a man who was sleeping and one who cried quietly, clutching the image of a woman as if he could see her despite the dark.
“How did you do this?” the dark one asked.
“Every human needs these things. They can’t reach them in this place, and that makes them suffer.”
“The devils only need one thing, divine light. And they’re already trapped in a place where they can’t reach it.”
“That should make your task easier.”
“It does,” the dark one said, and this time the words oozed boredom like another dark essence escaping its bounds.
“There are many more ways to cause this,” Death whispered, gesturing at the cave. “War is one of them. So are earthquakes, wild fires, floods. Or you could try to take away just one thing, like food, and see how everything else starts to crumble.”
The dark one’s eyes moved around the room, as if they could see the things she was talking about.
“I’ve seen this world from above. There’s food growing in the fields, everywhere.”
“And with your power, you could destroy it all. Bring the greatest famine the world has ever seen.”
The words felt wrong, but it was the only thing she could offer.
“Famine?” the dark one repeated. “I like this name.”
“Then it can be yours, like all the rest. There’s nobody here to stop you.”
Famine turned to look at the white one before focusing on her again.
“If you want to delay the Apocalypse, I’m with you.”
Death nodded. She thought about it as they jumped back to her house. They were three against one, they could decide what to do. But even if they won, with Famine and War loose on the planet, the Apocalypse wouldn’t have been delayed by much. She needed someone who could reason with them on her side.
“The final day is near,” the white one said, sitting on the chair. “What will you show us now?”
Death consulted the strings, looking for hate and desperation. The world was full of it and, she imagined, Hell too. She needed to find a place that was different enough to capture the white one’s interest.
“Come,” she said, and moved towards a group of strings full of life that were clashing against each other, next to another one that was slowly disappearing.
The house they were in had a high ceiling and white walls that reflected the light of the sun. There was a group of people inside, clearly divided in two sides even if they were standing in a circle, screaming at each other. Some of them looked angry, some miserable.
“Finally some chaos,” War said.
The white one stepped forward and watched the scene with a bit of interest. Death waited for a reaction, eyes going from the horseman to the people in front of her and back. But the white one didn’t move for a long time.
“Do you like it?” Death asked.
“I know what you’re trying to do. It won’t work with me. There’s nothing you can offer better than what I already have.”
Death hesitated.
“Their hate for each other is intense.”
“I can feel it. But intensity isn’t as important as vastness. There are fights between devils that have lasted for centuries, and still have consequences to this day. A pyramid of relationships made of hatred for common enemies and distrust of temporary allies. Even if I could do that with humans, they’ll eventually die, and all that work would be lost.”
“The angel told me there are ten thousands devils in Hell. Humans are seven billions. You could cover the world with these pyramids, if it’s vastness that you want.”
“They would crumble in a century or less. It’s pointless.”
“What about desperation? Humans can feel it deeply.”
“You won’t convince me. Stop trying.”
“I’m not trying to convince you.”
“Then you’re wasting our time. I wanted to see death, but I don’t see it here.”
Death lowered her head and stepped in the direction of a big door.
“This way.”
The white one followed her, while War and Famine stood behind, talking in low voices.
The only bed in the room was surrounded by glass walls and a glass door. A faint string passed through them, ending on the forehead of the old man inside the bed.
Death stopped in front of the glass, while the white one crossed the barrier to look at the dying man.
“Desperation, yes.”
Death observed as the interest slowly faded from the white one’s face. She didn’t say anything. Pushing for a discussion would have been as useless as talking about the weather with an angel.
The white one frowned.
“I can’t find the reason for this death. The other ones were more easy to understand.”
“It’s an illness. Something that destroys human bodies.”
“Why? What does it do?”
Death looked at the old man.
“I don’t know. There are so many illnesses I can’t remember them all. They damage different things.”
The white one nodded, then turned as if to leave, and seemed to notice the glass barriers just then.
“Why these walls?”
“I don’t know for sure. My guess is that the illness is contagious, so nobody can get near him except to bring him cures.”
“What would happen if they did get close?”
“They would get the same illness.”
The white one turned again to look at the man in the bed.
“Could he get up? Escape?”
“I don’t think he’s strong enough. And the others would try to put him back in.”
“His enemies?”
“His family and friends.”
The white one’s essence trembled.
“How is that possible?”
“They don’t want to be infected. And they want him to continue the cure, so that he’ll live longer.”
The white one seemed to reflect for a bit.
“Tell me how these illnesses work.”
And Death told him of the plague, leprosy, the Spanish flu. Of how people who got it were isolated and sometimes outright rejected. How entire groups of people were hated because others thought they were the cause of the disease. She talked about the fear of who was healthy, and the desperation of who was ill.
“This word, ‘illness’… it feels weak,” the white one said.
“I’ve heard them using the term ‘pestilence’.”
“Then I’ll take that name too.”
The white essence flickered like a candle.
“But it doesn’t mean you won. I want to see the things you have talked about, and cause a pestilence myself. If it won’t satisfy me, I’Il start the Apocalypse alone. And believe me: I’m strong enough to see it through.”
Death nodded. She followed Pestilence back to the other room, then jumped to her home with the other horsemen.
A light rain was washing the garden. Pestilence was talking with War and Famine, in a low voice. Death stepped forward and stared at the roses, thinking about her future. It would have been short, if all of them used their powers on the world at the same time, Apocalypse or not.
“We have decided to stay,” Pestilence announced. “But we won’t destroy the world, yet.”
“Where is the biggest war?” War asked. “I want to see it.”
Famine looked at the sky.
“We should ask for permission, first. I don’t think we can delay the Apocalypse without the Divine’s approval.”
They all looked up.
After an instant of confusion, Death did the same. Humans who glanced over the fence would have seen four people looking straight up at the rain, eyes wide open.
“Luminous one,” Pestilence called. “We ask for your permission to stay here and experience this world. We’ll start the Apocalypse when we are ready.”
Death lowered her eyes to glance at the three horsemen: they were looking at the sky with full certainty they’d receive an answer. War’s essence was pulsing, at different intervals and intensities; Famine’s extended its smoky tendrils in the air; Pestilence’s swayed and flickered like a flame.
And her own, Death knew without even looking at it, was gray and calm like a lake in a cloudy morning. The strings flowed into her through every corner of the planet.
They looked at her. War kicked the ground, sending pebbles and fragments of soil flying around.
“Let’s go, then. I want to see war. I want to create explosions. You have to teach me how to start them.”
Death stared at War for a moment.
“Teach you?”
“And me,” Famine said. “I know how to use my powers, but I don’t know much about this world.”
“I want to know too,” Pestilence added. “So that I can judge properly the worth of what you have offered me. If we’re to cause death properly, we should know how it works.”
Death looked at them, and then at the sky, to gain some more time. She could tell them she didn’t do or know anything, and lose any kind of power she had over them. Or pretend she could teach them, rein them in, and become the direct cause of all the destruction they would bring to the world.
“It’s not easy,” she started. “Death needs to be balanced with all the rest if you want it to work. Just throwing explosions around, destroying food everywhere, cover the world with illnesses will destroy this balance, and then your powers won’t have effect anymore.”
Because everyone would be dead, she thought, but didn’t say it. They wouldn’t have considered it relevant.
“What do you suggest we do, then?” Pestilence asked.
Death pulled a string, the only one who wasn’t dissipating at all.
“Call your horses and follow me. I’ll show you everything you need to know about this world, and tell you when you can use your powers without destroying the balance.”
The string she’d pulled got shorter and shorter, until the gray horse was at her side. A part of her essence that had taken shape.
“I’ll follow you as long as it suits me,” Pestilence said, as a white horse appeared at the end of the garden.
Death nodded, then looked at Famine.
“As long as we keep moving. I don’t want to stay in one place.”
“We won’t stop for a while.”
A black horse turned the corner of the house.
“I want to see war,” War said, as a red horse jumped over the fence.
“We’ll start with that, then,” Death answered, mounting on her steed.
She went north, cities and forests flowing around her every time the horse’s hooves left the ground. She could move faster alone, but it didn’t feel half as good, and she wanted the other horsemen to look around, experience the reality around them as much as possible, like she had done during her first centuries. They were the younger ones, now.
She looked over her shoulder at the three of them, riding one next to the other. She had to balance their impulses carefully. Distracting the other two while one of them tortured a piece of the planet, let the world rest as long as possible before starting again.
She didn’t like the idea of them interfering. But at least the strings would have kept tangling into each other, like they’d been doing since the universe was born, as she guarded over them for the rest of her existence.
