Page 86 of War

Problematic when you’re trying to kill off a species.

War finishes setting up the pallet, then pulls out a few logs of wood from my horse’s pack, along with a weathered packet of matches and some kindling.

“Doesn’t that bother you? That children are dying?” I ask, taking a seat on one of the pallets. “Surely there’s some part of you—maybe the part that saved me—that’s bothered by that.”

The horseman begins stacking the dry wood. “Famine takes no issue with children—and Death,” a mirthless smile flashes along War’s face for a second, and then it’s gone. “Death would love nothing more than to hold the entire world in his cold embrace.

“So, no, Miriam, I am not concerned with my leniency.”

“What about Pestilence?” I press, slinging my arms over my knees.

“What of him?” War finally says, adding the kindling to the logs.

My heart pounds harder and harder. There’s something here. Something to this first brother that War decidedly doesn’t want me to know.

“You didn’t include him in your list,” I say.

War takes his time lighting a match, then bringing it to the kindling.

“Did I need to?” he says, snuffing the match out. “You and I both know that the plague doesn’t discriminate its victims.”

I narrow my eyes on War, sure that he’s being clever with his words. “Whatever it is you’re keeping from me, I will find out.”

Late that evening, after I have eaten and drunk my fill (War abstaining in the name of rationing resources), I watch the horseman over the dying fire. He has his sword across his lap and a whetstone to sharpen its blade. I can hear the rhythmic zing of it as he slides the stone along the metal.

“Tomorrow we will set up camp here,” he says, shattering the quiet.

“Here?” I ask, glancing around. We’re in the middle of nowhere. “Where even are we?” I ask.

“Egypt,” War replies.

Egypt.

I’ve never been out of the country before. It feels weird, traveling farther than I ever have before. For years I’ve wanted to travel; go figure that when I finally get the opportunity, it’s in the wrong direction.

My gaze sweeps over our barren surroundings again. So this will be the end of our travels. Not that it means anything. The horseman will erect my tent right next to his and we’ll continue right on with thisthingwe have between us.

But thisisthe end of something, at least for now. Out on the road it’s easier to like a man like War. He’s not focused on killing people, and honestly, when you remove that from the equation, he’s not nearly so horrible.

The low flames flicker over his olive skin and dance in his eyes. They glint across the blade of his sword and lovingly illuminate his thick arm. War doesn’t look like a modern man right now.

“Before you arrived on Earth, who were you?” I ask.

His eyes meet mine. “Not who, Miriam,” he says, “butwhat.”

I don’t say anything, and eventually he continues.

“I have lived along the Somme, rested Normandy, and scattered myself on the ancient shores of Troy; I have tasted most parts of this earth, and my dead have sowed countless fields with their bodies. Even now I can feel those bodies deep beneath me in the soil.”

Goosebumps break out along my skin. Half of what he’s saying doesn’t make sense, but I can feel the truth of it. Every last word.

“I’m old and new and it is a terrible, burdensome experience.”Zing. He passes the whetstone over his sword again.

“But unlike my brothers, I am unique in one single, fundamental way.” He pauses, his gaze heavy on mine.

“What way is that?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

His eyes go to the fire. “I exist solely in the hearts of men.” War gazes at the flames. Now that I’ve opened him up, it seems as though his entire story is tumbling out. “All creatures can experience pestilence, famine, and death—but war, true war, that is a singularly human experience.”