War Read online

  “When will this be over?”

  War stood on a cliff higher up the Hindukush, overlooking a pass. Both armies that were fighting the ten-year long war were shooting at each other. Over the centuries he had grown deaf to the sounds of battle, though the noise of the dying still bothered him at a soul-deep level.

  “Some form of this conflict will continue for decades more, but one side of this particular war will be leaving soon.”

  He turned to meet the impassive gaze of Death, his fellow Horseman, though not the same one who’d shaken him from the darkness and told him his entire life would be different from that moment on. That particular Death had moved on, to wherever Horsemen go when they stop being Horsemen. This Death appeared shortly before the French Revolution.

  “How do you know?”

  Death shrugged, his face expressionless. He made a snake seem warm and cuddly. “They’ve paid dearly with blood and money for a never-ending war. They will return to their country where their own people threaten to revolt.”

  As he turned back to look at the fight below him, weariness waved over War. He’d been a Horseman for more centuries than he could remember. Battles and fighting were all he knew. At moments like these, though, he wished he could give it all up for a lasting death.

  “Go home. Ride your horses. Train the young ones. Forget about this for a while.” Death gestured towards the mayhem going on below them. War nodded as a large red stallion paced up to him.

  He mounted, but before he left he asked, “Will this ever stop?”

  “What?” For a moment, Death seemed puzzled by War’s question.

  “War and the constant need to destroy each other and the world.”

  The Pale Horseman looked at him with a strangely understanding glance. “Soon it won’t matter to you any more.”

  War frowned, but Death turned away, ending the conversation. It was time for him to return to the steppes of Mongolia, where his herd wandered and he could forget about battles for a while.

  As he rode off, Death sighed. Melancholy and despair radiated from War, yet Death had seen what was in store for the Red Horseman and what Death had said had been true.

  Soon War wouldn’t care about being a Horseman. Change was coming soon.

  Chapter One

  Somewhere in the mountains between Afghanistan and Pakistan

  Russell’s ears rang and he blinked, trying hard to focus, but the shockwave wouldn’t let him. His teammates ran around him, securing the perimeter and helping those soldiers hurt the most.

  All the noise came from a distance, as though Russell was separated from the action by a thick wall of plastic. His team yelled at him, but he didn’t understand any of what they said since he couldn’t hear. Bullets chipped the rocks close by. Yet it was the bombs exploding around him that were causing his disorientation and temporary deafness.

  He crouched at the edge of the cliff and stared down at the enemy shooting up at him. So far Russell had been lucky and hadn’t got injured since shipping over from Fort Hood, Texas. Unlike quite a few of his unit and other fellow soldiers who had been wounded or killed by insurgents. Russell had three more months in the country before he shipped back home and he tried hard not to think about anything except doing his job. He didn’t want to jinx it.

  Suddenly a numbing pain tore through his side and he wobbled at the edge before falling off the cliff. He had no breath to cry out as he bounced off ledges and rocks. When his momentum stopped, he lay on his back and stared up into the clear sky. When had it got so bright? He stared up at the cloudless expanse of blue. He tried to grip his gun closer to his chest. A soldier should never be without his weapon. Russell’s hand didn’t want to cooperate.

  Unable to yell or move, Russell Heinz contemplated his death, half a world away in a war he wasn’t sure he believed in any more. Oh, he believed in his duty to his country, but he’d fought so long without rest and he wasn’t entirely sure the people he was fighting to free really cared about freedom.

  Russell hoped his parents wouldn’t take the news too badly. The army had been a way to get out of the small town he’d been trapped in and he’d liked most of the experience, except for the killing part. He’d done his best to reconcile that so that he could function.

  The noise of the battle faded, causing Russell to wonder if he was drifting into unconsciousness or if the fight had moved away from where he’d fallen. Either no one had noticed his fall or they’d assumed he was dead and had no way of retrieving him from the ledge.

  Pain swamped him and he bit his lip clean through, not wanting to yell and alert the enemy. Maybe he should have, though, because they might have been merciful and killed him quickly, which would be better than the lingering death he’d condemned himself to by falling off the cliff above.

  As the sun inched across the sky and all he heard around him was the wind, Russell began thinking about his life. At twenty-five, he should’ve been far more experienced than he was. While he’d seen some of the world as a soldier, he’d never really lived. He’d tended towards being quiet and introverted instead of outgoing, so he only had a few close friends.

  Even those few didn’t know Russell was gay. He hadn’t wanted to involve them in the whole ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ issue. The idiotic law might have been repealed, and all the troops trained in the political correctness of accepting gays in the military, but Russell hadn’t been about to risk his career or those of his friends by blurting out his sexual preferences. Illegal or not, it would take more than a silly repeal to get people to accept the truth about him, so Russell had chosen to keep his mouth shut.

  It wasn’t as if he’d had anyone special to come out for, anyway. He had hoped that after he’d left his hometown it was going to get easier. Should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. He’d hooked up a couple of times when he’d been on leave and had headed towards the nearest big city to lose himself in a crowd. At least he wasn’t going to die a virgin.

  Russell snorted and nearly passed out from the pain the action caused. Hell, did he have broken ribs? What else had he broken when he’d fallen? Probably his back and shit. It would suck if he lived through this day. Not that he believed he would.

  Internal bleeding would probably be what killed him, though the wound in his leg still bled sluggishly. He could feel the warm trickle of blood down his thigh under his uniform. When he breathed deeply, it felt like someone was sticking a hot blade into his lung. There wasn’t any coming back from this injury. Russell wished he could talk to his parents one last time and tell them how much he loved them.

  They weren’t worldly people, having lived all their lives in the same town growing up only blocks away from each other before marrying and settling down. Yet they’d understood and hadn’t tried to stop him when he’d left. They might even have suspected the main reason he’d hightailed it out of town as soon as he’d graduated, but, like the military, it wasn’t something they asked or talked about. He’d imagined how shocked they would’ve been if he’d brought a man home to meet them. Now it would never happen and his heart ached with the knowledge that he’d never be able to fall in love. Searing pain ripped through him but he didn’t have the energy to fight it.

  His eyes rolled back in his head and he let go, hoping the pain would ease when he woke.

  The sun shone on his left side as he swam to consciousness again and opened his eyes. The pain throbbed throughout his body, but it wasn’t the sharp stabbing kind from before. Maybe his wounds weren’t as bad as he’d thought, or maybe he was shutting down because they were life-threatening.

  Russell rolled his eyes. Of course, he’d die from his injuries if someone didn’t find him soon, and he didn’t hold any hope that his fellow soldiers would be able to make their way back to him. The entire mountainside crawled with enemy fighters and they took pleasure in killing the foreign soldiers who’d come to their land to force democracy on them. At least, Russell figured that was how they felt.

  How
long had he been out? He couldn’t tell by the position of the sun. Never learnt how to tell time that way. Russell couldn’t lift his arm to check his watch. Every inch of his body hurt, but seemed numb at the same time. At least it wasn’t directly overhead, beating down into his eyes.

  The air around him hung heavy and arid in the dirt-scented air. Heat rose around him, slowly baking him. He didn’t have any shade or cover from the relentless sun. Russell swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in his throat.

  Not a sound reached his ears, as if all the creatures that called the mountain home had fled before the vicious fighting. How long would it take for the animals to return? Would they ever feel safe in their own territory again? Would they feast on his flesh after he’d died? At least he’d be able to help keep the animals alive.

  Closing his eyes against the bright sunlight, he listened to the quiet and breathed, slowly slipping into a meditative state. The pain backed away like a faint memory of hurt. Russell allowed his mind to wander, but a scrape of a boot on stone caused his eyes to pop open.

  Should he shout out to see if anyone was around? What if it was the enemy, searching for wounded soldiers, either to kill or capture? Did it matter whether they killed him or whether he died on the ledge? Either way, it was over and he’d never see the blue skies over his Kansas home again.

  Tears welled in his eyes at the thought of never seeing his mother’s smile or hearing his father’s laugh. Never again would his grandmother’s arms wrap tightly around him and squeeze all the breath out of his lungs. His grandfather wouldn’t slap him on the shoulder so hard he almost fell over.

  Dying didn’t seem so bad, except for all the people he’d be leaving behind. Russell might not have anyone special in his heart, but he did have people who loved him. Hell of a time to remember that, just as he was about to die.

  Another sound—more like a pebble bouncing down the side of the mountain. He licked his lips and shouted. What came out was more of a moan. He doubted it was loud enough for anyone to hear.

  All those people who said their lives had flashed before their eyes when they had been close to death had to be lying. Russell’s life didn’t flash; it wandered from one moment to another like a horse as it grazes. His mind didn’t settle on one image as more important than another, but he discovered each one had a special place in his heart for a reason.

  From the first Christmas he remembered to the most recent one, when he was in Afghanistan and had to talk to his parents over the Internet…Halloween and Fourth of July parties where he might have drunk too much, but had had a lot of fun before he’d paid for it the next day. Russell didn’t have regrets for the most part, but he did wish he’d known love just once. Not the love of friends and family, but the love of a man who loved him simply because he was Russell.

  He’d seen that kind of love between his parents and his brothers and their wives. Even some of his unit mates had found love with their girlfriends. Maybe he just wasn’t meant for those emotions. It didn’t matter any more. What he would miss was his family and the small town he’d lived in. He’d been so eager to leave it, but now, on this lonely ledge, Russell realised how good he’d had it back there, even with hiding his sexuality.

  Russell’s vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes. He inhaled sharply to keep from crying again. No point in wasting water when there wasn’t anyone to see him or offer comfort.

  Hold on a few minutes more. Someone is coming.

  Frowning, Russell rolled his head from side to side, trying to see who had spoken to him. No one stood near him or above him.

  You can’t see me. I’m talking to you in your mind.

  Okay, now he was hallucinating, which sucked, because it meant his condition had worsened.

  You’re not hallucinating. Not yet anyway, but if your wounds aren’t taken care of soon, you will be and you will die on this unknown ledge. That would suck.

  Yeah, it would.

  I’m sending someone to you. Let him help you as best he can. If you do, I believe you will live and your life might get better as a result.

  Great, now the voice in his head sounded like a therapist. Russell couldn’t bring himself to truly care. It was just his subconscious telling him not to give up, even though rescue was a hopeless wish.

  An image materialised in front of his eyes. He blinked as it blurred once and again before clearing up. A pale-haired man with all-black eyes stared down at him with a rather annoyed expression.

  “I would think you’d be more trusting,” the man muttered.

  “Trusting of the voice in my head?” Russell coughed. When he could breathe again, he said, “Who are you?”

  “Death, but I’m not here for you.” Death glanced up at the top of the cliff. “I must go.”

  Death reached out and touched Russell’s forehead. “You’ll think I was simply a dream and you don’t need to tell anyone I talked to you.”

  Russell blinked and the pale man disappeared. Too tired to rack his mind about the meaning of his vision, he let his eyes slip closed and didn’t fight the darkness swallowing him again.

  War stared down at the soldier lying on the ledge below him. Yet another dead man fighting in a confrontation half a world away from where he’d grown up. Why had Death sent War back to Afghanistan? There weren’t any troops around for him to trick into fighting each other. No bullets to be fired. Simply the dead to be buried and War didn’t do that.

  He made his way down to the ledge like a mountain goat. Standing, he studied the man’s gapping wound in his thigh. It looked like it had bled a lot, but hadn’t hit an artery. Other cuts and bruises covered the soldier’s body as well. There might have been internal injuries from the fall the soldier had taken down the side of the cliff. War wasn’t a doctor, so he didn’t know anything about how to take care of injuries. It didn’t matter since the man was dead anyway.

  “Who are you?”

  He jerked and lifted his gaze from where it’d landed on the soldier’s wound. Bright hazel eyes met his and he swallowed.

  “I’m no one special,” he muttered.

  The solider blinked in confusion and coughed. “You’re not American. Are you Afghani? I’m already dying, so I’m not sure why you’re here. I’m Russell.”

  “I’m no one important on either side,” War repeated, crouching next to Russell, unconcerned at how close to the edge he was.

  “Somehow I doubt that. What’s up with your eyes and hair? You look Afghani, but I’ve never seen one with that colour hair.”

  Russell lifted a trembling hand to point at War’s hair. War ran his own hand over the short curls and grimaced. Before his death, he’d had black hair and brown eyes like most people in his tribe. But being a Horseman meant that he rode the Red Horse of War and his hair had changed to match. His eyes were completely black, no whites, irises, or pupils. They were as black as a starless night.

  It was such an unusual combination that if he went out in public he wore sunglasses and a hat. Thank God, the only people who saw him were Mongol herdsmen and they didn’t ask questions.

  Noise came from above them and War pushed to his feet.

  “Don’t leave me,” Russell begged, wrapping his hand around War’s ankle. “I don’t want to die alone. Please.”

  War needed to get out of there before anyone else saw him. Death might have sent him to this spot, but the head Horseman hated it when mortals spotted them. As War stared into Russell’s eyes, the man’s fear of dying alone hit home for him. He’d chosen not to call out and maybe save his own life. Yet he acknowledged the worry and, yes, fear that had welled inside him in the minutes before he’d lost consciousness.

  With a sigh, he scooped Russell into his arms and whistled. His horse appeared, making the already crowded ledge even more precarious. Somehow, he managed to mount without dropping Russell or knocking all of them off the cliff. Not that the fall would have killed him or the horse, but Russell wouldn’t have survived it.

  “Close yo
ur eyes,” he murmured into Russell’s ear.

  War watched Russell do what he’d ordered before nudging the stallion’s sides. It neighed and leapt into the air. Closing his own eyes, War heard the clap of thunder that accompanied the leap.

  The soldiers gathered in the hills around the border ducked as lightning flashed and thunder broke in the blue sky above them. When neither rain nor clouds appeared, they shrugged it off as another drone attack or missile strike.

  When War opened his eyes again, they stood in a shaded backyard. It was obviously in a well-developed country since he could see the gleam of streetlights. Glancing around, he frowned because he didn’t recognise the place. He dismounted and his stallion snorted.

  “Where have you taken me?” War asked in a low voice. “Are we on the other side of the world? Is that why it’s dark out?”

  The horse tossed its head and seemed to point with its nose towards the back of the house. War had never quite figured out just how much the stallion understood. It rarely interacted with him, and War wondered where it went when he didn’t need it. He had figured out it wasn’t a real horse.

  Another snort and this time the horse pushed him in the shoulder, shoving him in the direction of the house.

  “All right.”

  War shifted Russell in his arms, hoping he wasn’t causing more damage by moving the soldier. He kicked the door and waited.

  Barking sounded inside the house and War winced. While the dog would probably wake up anyone who might have been living in the house, War didn’t want him bothering the neighbours. At least tall trees guarded the backyard, blocking most of the view.

  A few minutes later, a light came on over the door and War blinked in the sudden brightness, but he kept his face visible for whoever was looking at him through the window.

  The door swung open and an auburn-haired man stepped out on to the deck. There was something familiar about him.