Page 53 of War

He’s doing this. Singlehandedly.

Without thinking, my feet are moving me forward, towards him.

A mounted phobos rider blocks my way. “No one disturbs the warlord.”

War turns then, his eyes filled with dark intent. He lowers his arm, though the screams don’t stop.

“Jehareh se hib’wa,” he says.

Let her through.

I push past the rider, feeling the horseman’s gaze on me.

“Stop this,” I say when I get to him.

He stares at me for a long time, his face unreadable. Then, very deliberately, he turns from me, back towards the city.

There is my answer. It’s written in every line of his body.

No.

“Stop it,” I say louder. “Please. This isn’twar.”

This is eradication.

The horseman’s voice rumbles. “This is God’s will.”

I’m forced towait until it’s over. It’s depressingly quick. From the sounds of it, there is no winning against the dead. If your opponent can’t die, then they can’t truly be stopped.

At some point, the screams begin to lessen. It’s no longer a distant chorus of cries but a whisper. And then that, too, is gone.

Shortly after the screams die away, something around me …changes. I can’t say exactly what it is, only that the air seems easier to breathe. Maybe it’s everyone’s collective tension. The crowd seems to be rousing itself now that the entertainment is over.

War lowers his hand and turns his steed away from the city, steering him over to me.

He stops at my side, extending a hand to me. It’s the same hand he used to raise the dead.

“Aššatu,” he says.

Wife.

It’s clear he means to load me back onto his horse and return me to camp.

I step away from his hand, my eyes rising to meet the horseman’s.

“I hate you,” I say softly, my pulse pounding in my veins. “I think I hate you more than I have ever hated anything.”

War’s confident demeanor slips a little at my words. I swear for a moment he looks almost …uncertain.

I back away from him then, and he gets the message loud and clear, withdrawing his hand. He lingers for several seconds longer, and again, I sense his deep doubt. For all he supposedly knows of humans, he doesn’t appear to know how to handle our moods.

Eventually, War gives me a heavy, final glance, then steers his horse towards the front of the crowd. I guess he figured I’d follow him back on foot alongside the rest of the soldiers, who are now trailing after him.

I don’t.

I stay rooted in place, watching them all retreat back the way they came.

I swivel around and face the burning remains of Ashdod. My heart aches at the sight of it. Was this what Jerusalem looked like? If I could stand on the Mount of Olives at this very moment and look out over my hometown, would it appear as silent and still as Ashdod?