Famine by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 13

As we ride, the fields wilt.

At first, I don’t notice it because Curitiba stretches on for so long, block after city block filled with buildings that cannot wither away. But eventually we do leave the city, and at some point, the structures are replaced with farmland.

But the longer I sit in the saddle with the guy, the more I realize that the land is changingbefore my very eyes.

Fields of corn and soybeans, rice and sugarcane—and everything in between—all wither away, the stalks blackening, the leaves curling. The color seems to drain away in mere seconds. By the time I glance over my shoulder at the crops we’ve passed, it’s a sea of dead foliage.

Famine’s power doesn’t, however, touch the wild things. Not the grass or the weeds or the indigenous plants that greedily press up against the edges of the fields. It’s our subsistence he wants to end.

“Will it ever grow back?” I ask, gazing out at the dying crops.

“Not any time soon,” he replies, “and when it does, it won’t be crops. This land doesn’t belong to humans. It never has, and it never will.”

Despite the rising heat of the day, goosebumps break out along my skin.

Life really isn’t going to ever go back to the way it was. I mean, I knew that the moment Famine rode into my city, but I hadn’t fully processed it until now. There will be no more farmers, no more market days. There will be no more lazy afternoons at the bordello or evenings where it’s business as usual. Here in southern Brazil, farming is our main form of commerce. If Famine wipes that out … he won’t need to kill us in an instant. We’ll all eventually starve.

“You’ve presented me with a problem,” he admits, cutting through my thoughts.

“I’m going to put this in the nicest way possible:” I say, swinging my bare feet back and forth, “you can go fuck yourself and your problem away.”

His grip digs into my thigh. “Is fucking your only solution to any problem?”

“Is killing yours?” I shoot back.

“My problem,” he continues smoothly, as though we weren’t just arguing, “is that I’m here to blight crops and starve your kind, yet I must feed you.”

He sounds truly torn about this.

“What will you do?”

“You would be wise not to offend me,” he says. “I have seen humans boil their belts and their Bibles’ leather casing, all so that they might fill their stomachs with something representing food. I’ve seen them eat all manner of inedible things. I’ve even seen them eat their own kind. All in the name of relieving that painful ache in their guts. I don’t need to make your survival easy or comfortable.”

“You’ve actually let people live long enough to boil their belts?” I say. “I find that hard to believe.”

I shift in the saddle, and I swear I feel the searing heat of his gaze on my legs.

“You know,” I add, “you’d probably be much less bloodthirsty if you banged your aggression out.”

“I don’t want to be less bloodthirsty—and I definitely don’t want to ‘bang’ you.”

“I wasn’t offering, though I’m sure you could find someone open to the idea. Probably not a living someone, but still, someone.”

“You say that as though you didn’t throw yourself at me mere weeks ago,” he says, sounding exasperated.

I didn’t throw myself at him. Ana da Silva doesn’t throw herself at anyone; she coyly lures the unwitting into her sex den and enslaves their wills to hers … for a time.

“I was blinded by memories of a nicer Famine,” I say.

“And I have been blinded by memories of a nicer, less sexual version of you.”

I raise my eyebrows, an unwilling smile spreading across my face. “I didn’t realize my sexuality mattered to you.”

He growls. “Will you be quiet?”

“Only if you put something in my mouth. Dicks are still an option,” I say, just to taunt him.

“I thought you weren’t offering,” he says.

I open my mouth to argue, but—oh, he’s right.

“I might make an exception just this once,” I say, “for the sake of humanity, of course. A blowjob to end all bloodshed—that sounds appropriately valiant.”

It really does.

A horseman was brought to his knees when a human got down on hers …

The PR might need to be adjusted a bit, but I’m definitely liking the sound of that. Who knew prostitution could be such a noble cause?

“Fucking fine.” Famine halts his horse abruptly.

Oh shit.

“Wait,” I say. “Are you actually taking me up on the offer?”

I was more interested in taunting the horseman than actually following through on my word. But now …

Famine dismounts. A moment later, he reaches for me, cuffs and all, dragging me off his horse. My bare feet stumble against the earth, my shackles clanging as they shift.

“Alright,” I say, glancing around. “Right here. Okay.” I swallow, clear my throat. “I didn’t realize you were so eager.”

I glance at the horseman’s pants. I’ve seen him naked before, but he was so badly hurt then that I hadn’t really noticed his genitals. Now, however, I’m oddly piqued at the thought of seeing his dick, damn my curious mind.

When Famine doesn’t make a move to undo his pants, I reach for them.

He glances down at me. “What are you doing?”

I can feel all that disapproving energy focused on me.

“Getting things started. If you’re a little shy, we can take this slower—”

“Shy?” he echoes.

Understanding flashes in his eyes a second later, followed by—wait for it—annoyance.

He swats my hands away. “Stop,” he says, vaguely irritated.

I give him a confused look, but he’s not even paying attention to me. His focus is on a grassy patch of earth a few meters away.

I back away from him as he reaches out a hand towards the ground.

Seconds go by. Then, from the earth, a tiny sapling sprouts before my eyes, rising up gracefully, its branches and stems unfurling.

Only hours ago I saw a different batch of plants rise from the ground, and yet, this process looks wholly different from what I saw this morning. Those earlier plants grew aggressively; it was a violent, monstrous birth. This, on the other hand, looks like a slow dance.

It takes much longer for this plant to grow, partially because the tree is so damn large. As it grows and fills out, its leaves sway up and down, almost as though it’s breathing. Its trunk thickens and then—wonder of wonders—beads of fruit swell along that trunk and some of the larger branches. They turn color, going from green to wine red to, finally, a violet-black.

And then, the tree settles, its rapid growth complete. I stare up at it. It’s a jabuticaba tree, much like the one I picked fruit from the day I found the horseman.

Famine lowers his hand, turning to me.

“Well?” he says.

My brows draw together, confused. “Do you want me to suck your dick under there?”

He exhales, his eyes rising heavenward in exasperation.

“I’m kidding.” Sort of. I’m still thinking about the blowjob to save all humanity.

The Reaper glowers at me. “It’s food for you to eat,” he explains anyway. “To get you to stop talking about sex for five seconds.”

I guess his dilemma about feeding me is not much of a dilemma when sex is the other looming option.

Shame. I was half excited about his supernatural dick too.