Pestilence

By T.A. Chase

For Pestilence, the White Horseman, love becomes the most powerful cure.

Having lost his wife and child during the Black Death, Pestilence accepts the fate destiny has given him as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. For centuries, Pestilence did his job, spreading plagues and disease around the world. He does it to keep the balance between good and evil, yet he hates every minute of it. He longs to be left alone, but suddenly fate seems to have a different plan for him.

When Bart Winston stumbles into an Amazon clearing, he's terribly ill and sure he's going to die. A tall white-haired man with unusual black eyes catches him in his arms and Bart's life takes a turn into the unbelievable. Blaming the whole situation on his illness might have worked, but as he gets better and learns about the strange man who heals him, Bart must accept there are more things in the world than he ever guessed.

Pestilence and Bart heal each other, and begin to wonder if there can be a future for the White Horseman and the mortal he's fallen in love with.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pride Publishing
• Release date: Nov 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781784308575

T.A. Chase

There is beauty in every kind of love, so why not live a life without boundaries? Experiencing everything the world offers fascinates TA and writing about the things that make each of us unique is how she shares those insights. When not writing, TA's watching movies, reading and living life to the fullest.

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Pestilence

ISBN # 978-1-78430-857-5

©Copyright T.A. Chase 2015

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright November 2015

Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz and Rebecca Scott

Pride Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2015 by Pride Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

The Four Horsemen

PESTILENCE

T.A. Chase

Book one in The Four Horsemen series

For Pestilence, the White Horseman, love becomes the most powerful cure.

Having lost his wife and child during the Black Death, Pestilence accepts the fate destiny has given him as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. For centuries, Pestilence did his job, spreading plagues and disease around the world. He does it to keep the balance between good and evil, yet he hates every minute of it. He longs to be left alone, but suddenly fate seems to have a different plan for him.

When Bart Winston stumbles into an Amazon clearing, he’s terribly ill and sure he’s going to die. A tall white-haired man with unusual black eyes catches him in his arms and Bart’s life takes a turn into the unbelievable. Blaming the whole situation on his illness might have worked, but as he gets better and learns about the strange man who heals him, Bart must accept there are more things in the world than he ever guessed.

Pestilence and Bart heal each other, and begin to wonder if there can be a future for the White Horseman and the mortal he’s fallen in love with.

Dedication

Thank you to all my readers and fans. Knowing you’re out there,

patiently waiting for my next book keeps me writing.

Trademarks Acknowledgment

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson Company

Popsicle: Unilever

Prologue

Lights flashed in the darkness behind Aldo’s eyes as he slowly regained consciousness. Pain rocketed through his body and he gasped.

Open your eyes.

Aldo couldn’t fight the command in the voice. He pried his eyes open and stared up into a visage as cold as marble. Dark eyes studied him like a scientist would study a bug. Aldo’s throat burned every time he swallowed. Confused, he lifted his hand to touch his neck.

You should not touch that. It is raw.

What happened? he croaked out, not recognizing where he was or the person staring at him. How had he ended up on the ground?

It seems you had grown tired of your world and decided to end your life. The pale-haired man shrugged. Maybe it was for the best since your wife and son are gone. Yet the Black Death has killed so many others, I would not be surprised if more people take their lives as well.

As the words were spoken, all of Aldo’s grief came flooding back. Tears welled in his eyes and he rolled onto his side, sobbing harshly as the memory of what had happened returned. It had only been two days since he’d buried his family in a pit with other victims of the plague. His village had been decimated by the mysterious illness.

Why am I not dead? He pressed his face in the ground under him. Did the rope break?

Oh, you were dead, but we have something more important for you to do than die.

The chill in the man’s words sent shudders down Aldo’s spine. What was going on? None of his words made any sense. How could Aldo have been dead when he was talking to this man?

I am not dead. If I was, I would not be talking to you, he pointed out as he glared up at the stranger.

His companion nudged him with his foot and held out his hand. You need to stand. We have things to do and you have much to learn.

What are you talking about? Learn? I did not know there were classes on how to be dead, Aldo quipped, but he let the man pull him off the ground. Who are you?

You may call me Death.

Aldo rolled his eyes at the odd announcement. I’m not going to call you anything. Are you going to keep telling me what’s going to happen?

Death pinched the bridge of his nose and ground his teeth together. Aldo could tell he frustrated the man, but there wasn’t any way he would just calmly wander off with him. He glanced around them and the blank landscape puzzled him. It didn’t look like the outskirts of the village he lived in. It didn’t look like anything, actually. No trees or buildings. Nothing except a white stallion and a pale one standing a few feet away.

Where are we? What are they doing here?

The man shot him a glare. We are in the middle place, where those who are chosen for a different life come. It is here you meet your true destiny. As to the creatures, they are our mounts. You are a Horseman now.

A Horseman? What is that?

Come with me and I will explain. Death stalked off toward the horses.

So I do not have a choice? Aldo followed slowly behind him.

Death swung aboard the pale stallion and stared down at him. You took your choice away when you tied the noose around your neck. You are now Pestilence, and you will help keep the balance between Heaven and Hell.

Me? Seems a big responsibility for one man. He approached the white stallion with caution. The horse turned blood-red eyes on him and Aldo shuddered. This is not an ordinary horse. I do not know how to ride.

No. They are creatures unknown by mortal man. You do not have to know how to ride. He will take care of you while you ride him. Get on. I do not have any more time to waste on you.

You are Death? Are there more of you? He managed to scramble astride the horse. After settling into the saddle, he snatched the reins and froze.

You will not be doing this alone. There are four of us and it is our job to keep the human world from getting out of control. Balance must be kept at all times, and if it means mortals must die or get sick, then so be it. I would rather some die than the entire world be destroyed.

Aldo had a hard time reconciling that statement with how he’d lived his entire life, taking care of the sick and trying to keep them from dying. Of course, he hadn’t done a great job of it since his wife and son had died from the Black Death, along with many others from his village.

I will tell you this. You were picked to be Pestilence because of your training in medicine, and because of your untimely death. Maybe it is our punishment for dying before our time. We must go and get you ready to take your place among our comrades.

Death kicked his heels into the side of the pale horse. The stallion reared and when its hooves hit the ground, it took off. All Aldo could do was hold on as his horse raced after the pale one.

* * * *

The centuries had passed by quickly since the fateful moment in 1349 when Aldo had opened his eyes and met the gaze of Death. He no longer went by the name Aldo, but was called Pestilence, the bringer of disease and plagues. Life before his death was a blur of faded memories, and though he wished his family hadn’t died from such a tragic and painful disease, he’d grudgingly come to accept his place in maintaining the balance of things.

He’d learned to laugh at the irony of a doctor becoming the Horseman to spread disease and epidemics across the world. At times, it still broke his heart not to be able to help them, but railing against fate didn’t help him when he began his new journey through the world.

Pestilence had gained three colleagues. He wouldn’t call them friends at all. They stayed away from each other because none of them liked what they did. War, Famine and Death accepted his qualms because they had their own. Well, War and Famine had them. Death was a different creature all together, and one Pestilence didn’t quite understand. How could Death accept the horrible burden of existing as the one Horseman mortals feared the most? Nothing ever seemed to bother the pale Horseman, not even having to escort souls to their judgments.

You may go. Your job is done for now. Death spoke from behind him.

Pestilence stood on the hill overlooking the refugee camp in the Sudan. The familiar stench of illness drifted up to him on the arid breeze. He’d grown accustomed to the scent while attending to the dying during the plague. Mournful wails assaulted his ears.

Didn’t you hear me? You may leave now.

Turning, he met the dark, fathomless gaze of his fellow Horseman. Death stared back at him, seemingly unaffected by the sounds of the dying. Pestilence snorted softly. After centuries, maybe the death of a mortal meant nothing to his comrade. There certainly was never any hesitation when Death had to do his job. The Death standing at his side wasn’t the one who had grabbed him from the ground and dragged him into the shadowy world of the Horsemen. For some reason, the Death Pestilence had met on that faithful day had disappeared, and this one had appeared to take his place shortly before the French Revolution.

Are you sure?

Death broke their contact and glanced down into the valley.

Yes. You’re the first. The others will come when it’s time. He rested his fists on his hips. I’ll stay through it all.

Why?

Because it’s my job.

Pestilence shook his head and gestured toward the crowded camp. No. Why this camp? Why these people?

Death shrugged, his pale gold hair sliding over his shoulder. I don’t ask the whys and wherefores. When I receive my orders from the messenger angels, I simply go. Maybe the mortals whose actions brought us here will realize their mistakes and mend their ways.

He sounded skeptical, spitting in the dirt near their feet, his gaze dispassionate. Such bitterness from the youngest Horseman might have seemed strange, but Death had the most difficult job. Escorting the dead to the judgment gates after helping orchestrate massacres or pandemics could make even the most optimistic person sour. Death had started out cynical, and had grown more so over the centuries.

They watched medical personnel scramble to fight the diseases Pestilence brought to their temporary homes. So many worrying about the poor and the helpless caught between power hungry men. It helped restore Pestilence’s hope in mortals when he saw the doctors and nurses fighting to keep the sick alive.

I wonder how many will die tonight?

Death’s coldness unnerved Pestilence, driving home all the reasons why he avoided the pale Horseman. Death shot him another glance, but there was something different in his gaze this time.

I told you to leave, Pestilence. Retreat to your jungle and try to erase this place from your memories. For good or ill, this camp and its people will be gone within two months.

Whirling away, Pestilence strolled to where his mount stood. The pure white stallion with blazing red eyes waited for him. He wrapped his fingers in its mane and leaped astride. With a fierce snort, the horse tossed his head and pawed the dirt under his front hoof.

Before he left, he looked over his shoulder to see Death studying him. He thought about waving, but doubted his comrade would appreciate the gesture. Pestilence shifted his weight forward and the stallion broke into a gallop. As he leaped into the air, Pestilence heard Death’s voice on the wind.

Someday you will let your guilt go and the forgiveness you seek will be offered, my comrade. I hope you have the courage to accept it.

What was Death saying? Pestilence didn’t have time to fully process the words as white light engulfed him and the sound of a door closing rang through the air.

Thunder boomed over the Amazon as Pestilence appeared in a flash of light in the middle of a clearing. After he dismounted, his stallion faded away. Pestilence strolled over to the pool, stripping his clothes off as he went. He looked around once as he took off his last piece of clothing. The coast was clear, so he dove into the water, letting it wash him clean of all the dirt and grime coating his skin after strolling through the refugee camp.

After resurfacing, he floated on his back, staring up through the canopy of leaves above him at the blue sky beyond. The birds and monkeys started to sing again, and the familiar noises relaxed him. Pestilence loved living in the Amazon for many reasons, but mostly because of the isolation he could achieve. If he needed solitude, he didn’t need to see any mortal for months, or even years.

Aside from the ability to never see a human if he wished, the greenness of the rainforest eased him, and it was so different from the village he’d lived in when he was mortal. The jungle helped erase memories of his last heartbreaking days as Aldo, the medico who couldn’t save his own family.

* * * *

Bart Winston pushed through the last curtain of vines and stumbled over a root into the camp. As he straightened and glanced around him, the scene greeting his gaze explained why the jungle remained so unnaturally silent. No one moved around the camp and only his tent remained. All the equipment, boxes and people were gone.

He stalked to his tent, hoping Jasper had seen fit to leave him directions to where they’d moved. Bart had gotten lost on his way back to base a few times, but he’d been caught up in the new information he’d gathered about the flowering plant and missed the correct fork in the trail he’d been supposed to take.

If Jasper had told him they were moving, he wouldn’t have gone out to take another look at the plant. Bart grimaced as he swiped an arm across his forehead, wiping the sweat from his skin. One would think, after spending several months in the jungle, he’d be used to the humidity, but lately, it seemed like it was hotter than usual. He dropped to his knees and shoved aside the netting covering the opening of his tent.

What the fuck?

His personal pack and journals were gone. There were two boxes sitting on his blanket, and he crawled in to open them. Packaged food and bottled water greeted his gaze when he tugged the top apart. All he had to carry his provisions in was the bag he used to carry his specimens. As a biologist out in the field, he rarely went anywhere without a bag to carry his tools and vials in.

Bart backed out of the tent and stood, hands on hips, glaring in every direction before cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting, Very funny, Jasper. Where the fuck are you?

The porters had told them not to make any more sound than necessary because drug runners moved about the jungle with ease. They’d look on Bart as a gift, whether for ransom, selling into slavery, or using as a drug mule. Or they just might kill him if they found him out here.

The fear welling up in Bart wasn’t just from the threat of the drug soldiers. Where the hell had Jasper and the others gone? And why had they left him behind? If a tribe of natives or the bad guys took them, would they have left him food and water? Wouldn’t