Famine by Laura Thalassa
Chapter 14
The few travelers we pass all die. The horseman makes sure of that.
The first time I see another living soul, I immediately tense. The man plods down the road, driving a small herd of goats. He doesn’t notice us until we’re nearly upon him, and when he does, he only has time for his eyes to widen before a twisting bush rises from the ground, ensnaring him in its grasp.
I bite back a scream as the plant kills him. Perhaps the most macabre part of it all is that even as the man thrashes in its clutches, the plant sprouts delicate, pink-petaled roses.
It’s not just travelers the Reaper kills. We pass through several small towns, and in each one, the horseman’s petrifying plants sprout up, trapping and killing the people in their clutches.
It’s not until we enter the city of Colombo that Famine whispers in my ear. “We’re staying here.”
I suppress a shiver at his words. I’d like to say it’s from sheer terror, but there’s a sick part of me that still inappropriately reacts to the low, sultry timbre of his voice, just as I did when I was seventeen.
Our entrance is nothing like the one I witnessed back in Laguna. Crowds don’t line the streets, no one waits for us. The first time anyone recognizes Famine, they scream, dropping the basket they were carrying and fleeing to their house. It happens a second time, and then a third, until it seems the whole city is in an uproar.
I guess Famine hadn’t sent anyone ahead to alert the town of his arrival.
We charge forward, Famine’s horse speeding up until he’s galloping through the city streets. All around us—madness. People are fleeing in every direction, their goods scattering. Livestock is running loose, a few pigs squealing in panic.
Right in the middle of it all, Famine stops his horse, the steed rearing back. I have to grab onto the horse’s neck to keep myself seated.
“Stop.” The Reaper’s voice rings out, echoing with supernatural force.
To my shock … people do slow down, their frightened gazes moving to the horseman.
“I need a place to stay,” he says. “The best house in the city. And I need good men who are willing to help me. Do this, and I will withhold the worst of my wrath.”
At that, I glance back at Famine. His expression seems genuine enough, but then, is he even capable of being merciful?
A handful of people begin to come forward, ready to assist the horseman.
I guess we’re all about to find out …
By the time Famine and I eventually enter the house we’ll be staying in, night has already fallen. My shackles clang as I walk next to the horseman and some of the townspeople who’ve been helping us over the last several hours.
The Reaper holds his scythe in one hand, and in the other he grips my upper arm. Not so discreetly I try to shrug his hold off. Rather than releasing me, his grip tightens.
“Let me go,” I hiss under my breath.
The horseman gives me the side eye, but otherwise ignores my request.
“… This is the master bedroom,” says Luiz, a senior official with the Colombo police department. He’s the one who’s orchestrated most of our accommodations. “The owners of the house have graciously given it up for you and your, uh—” Luiz’s eyes size me up, lingering on my manacles, which still haven’t come off. Famine doesn’t offer up any sort of explanation, and neither do I, “—companion.”
The Reaper openly glares at the man, hostility rolling off him. This has been Famine’s reaction ever since the two of us learned that Luiz was a part of the police force. Whoever once hurt the horseman, I have a sneaking suspicion that they were uniformed men.
Luiz leads us back to the front of the house, where an aging couple stand rigid, looking upset and uncomfortable.
The official’s face relaxes. “Mr. and Mrs. Barbosa. There you are.” He walks ahead of us to greet them.
Even as they take his hand, their eyes are glued to the Reaper.
Luiz turns to face us. “Famine,” he says, “these are your hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Barbosa,” he repeats unnecessarily, “the owners of the house.”
They look both angry and alarmed.
The wife is the first to notice me. She sees Famine’s grip on my arm, then my handcuffs. She eyes me from the top of my wild, curly hair, down my ill-fitting dress, and finally to my grimy bare feet. Her nostrils flare, and she grimaces, like she can sense my ill-repute wafting off of me. I wonder what she would do if she realized that I actually was a prostitute.
Famine squeezes my arm, then releases it, stepping forward.
“Ah, the owners,” he says. “Just the people I wanted to see.”
Faster than I can follow, he lifts his scythe from his back and slashes it across the couple’s necks. For an instant, it looks as though the couple is wearing crimson collars. Then their heads topple off their shoulders.
I’m the first to scream, my shackled hands coming up to my mouth. A moment later, the rest of the room begins to shout as men and women grab their weapons.
Luiz comes at the horseman, and Famine spins the scythe in his hand, like it’s an elaborate sort of dance. The blade arcs up, the tip of it catching the police chief low in the gut and opening him up all the way to his collarbone.
At the sight, my legs fold.
Everyone else is rushing the Reaper, weapons drawn.
“Enough.” Famine’s voice booms.
I don’t know what sort of devilish magic is at work, but for whatever reason, people listen to him. The men and women around us halt their attack, some even lowering their weapons.
“Me and my little human here—” The Reaper reaches out and jangles my manacles, “are going to be staying here. You can either help me and keep your miserable lives, or I can kill you now. Who wants to die?” His gaze sweeps over the remaining men and women who surround us.
No one makes a sound.
“As I thought.” Famine lowers his scythe to the ground, holding it like a staff.
“Clean up these bodies,” he orders no one in particular. “I need someone to make dinner, and I want some form of entertainment. Find me the best that this city has to offer and bring it here.” Or else. He doesn’t say it, but we all hear it.
Famine grabs my shackles and begins to lead me away. We’ve barely taken three steps before he pauses, causing me to nearly run into him.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” the horseman says, turning back to face the men. “In case any of you are considering rebelling, let me save you the trouble—don’t.
“Any attempts on my life will be met with painful retribution. I cannot emphasize that enough.” Famine nods to the bodies. Luiz is still alive and moaning. “This is mercy. Just ask her.” He shakes my manacles, and several sets of eyes move to me.
I don’t say anything, but I imagine they can see my fear. I can certainly feel it seeping through my body.
“Well?” Famine says, his gaze passing over them. “Why are you all still standing there? Get to it. Now.”
The horseman leads me to an empty room, following me inside. The moment he closes the door, I shudder, my muscles weakening. My legs don’t really want to hold me up, but somehow they manage to.
“What do you want?” I say. My voice wavers.
“What, no sexual innuendos?” Famine says, tossing his scythe onto the bed, the blood from the blade smearing onto the comforter.
I press my lips together. Several people just died. I can’t wrap my mind around his casualness.
All this time I was trying to get under his skin, and instead, Famine got under mine. He knows it, too. Sick shit that he is, he’s enjoying the moment.
“You’ve been telling me that I had to put something in your mouth to get you to shut up, but it appears all I needed to do is kill a few people,” he says. “How fortunate for me, since I happen to be in the business of death.”
I shudder and turn away from him, moving over to the window. I can’t see anything outside; the darkness is absolute.
I exhale, my breath shaky. “The day I saved you—do you know why I did it?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at him.
“I don’t care why you did it,” Famine says, and yet I can see that beautiful face of his turned in my direction, waiting for me to finish my thought.
“I couldn’t stand the thought that someone could hurt another person the way you were hurt.”
“I’m not a person, Ana. I’m a horseman.”
“Do you think that made a difference in my mind?”
He has nothing to say to that.
I turn back to the window, not wanting to look at Famine or the blood that’s splattered across his bronze armor.
A moment later, he comes up to my side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him reach into his black trousers and pull out a key. The Reaper grabs my wrists and begins unlocking the manacles.
“You’re taking me out of the cuffs?” I ask.
“Would you prefer I didn’t?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.
I don’t say anything to that.
He finishes unlocking the thick iron shackles, and I roll my wrists. In some spots, the skin has been rubbed raw.
“I thought you didn’t trust me,” I say suspiciously.
“I don’t,” Famine agrees. “But what can you really do at this point?”
“I could hurt you,” I say, my gaze flinty. I think I would really enjoy sinking another blade into the Reaper right about now.
Famine looks downright tickled at the thought. “And chance suffering my wrath? I think not,” he says. “Though I welcome your attempts—meager as they’ve so far proven to be.”
“I thought you said I was safe with you,” I remind him.
“You are. I don’t plan on hurting you if you don’t hurt me.”
Begrudgingly I admit that’s fair.
“And if I run?” I ask.
“Your attempts at escape have been even worse than your attempts at murder,” he says, stepping in close.
I can’t help it, my breath hitches at the sight of him.
“But humor me, little flower,” he continues. “Run. Go back to your poor, abandoned city, and live in your empty whorehouse. Try to earn a living again selling yourself to dead men and enjoy what scraps of moldering food escaped my reach. I’m sure you will live a long and prosperous life.”
As he speaks, my hate rises, closing up my throat. I stare up at him. He’s standing far too close to me. Only my clients ever got this close, but then it was for entirely different reasons.
Famine’s gaze searches mine. “No, you won’t run,” he says. “Because running takes a certain level of courage that you utterly lack.”
My palm comes up before I can help it, and I slap him across the cheek. I can feel the sting of contact against my skin. The Reaper’s head snaps to the side.
In the moment that follows, neither of us does anything. I’m breathing heavily, and the horseman’s face is turned away from me.
Slowly, his hand comes up, and he touches his cheek. He lets out a laugh, and the hairs along my arms stand up.
This man just killed three people, and I went and hit him.
Faster than I can follow, he grabs my jaw. “You foolish little flower. Have you learned nothing?” As he speaks, he walks forward, backing me up until I hit the wall. Once there, I’m pinned in. “Maybe you are courageous after all to tempt my anger.”
His eyes dip to my mouth, and in the midst of his hate-fueled rant, I see something flare in those unearthly green eyes.
His gaze moves up to mine, and there’s a zing of connection. “Or maybe you believe you’re above punishment.”
As he speaks the hardwood floor beneath me rises up like an anthill before splintering open. A seemingly harmless stem rises from the ground before probing around towards my leg. I try not to scream at the sight of it, even as it begins to slither up my leg.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Reminding you why you don’t try to stab me or slap me or accost me in any other manner.”
The single shoot splits off into two, then three, then four, growing up and around me. Tiny thorns appear along the stem, lengthening and sharpening the bigger the plant becomes. The shrub doesn’t quite wrap itself around me. Instead it grows like a cage around my body. Only once it’s bracketed me in does Famine release his hold.
He backs away. “You saved me once, so I’ll spare you for that reason alone,” he says, “but do not ever test me again.”
With that, he exits the room, slamming the door behind him.
I stand still for a beat, waiting for something else to happen—for Famine to come back or this cage to wither up and die.
Neither thing does.
“How the fuck am I supposed to get out?” I finally mutter to myself.
The answer, I find out several hours and many cuts later, is painfully—that’s how I’m supposed to get out.
