Rage (21 page)

Adam's voice, colder than steel:
Run home and cry to your mommy.

Melissa Miller lifted her chin and told the Red Rider to go to hell.

"O
H, GIRL
," War said happily. "I'
M GOING TO ENJOY THIS VERY, VERY MUCH
." And then she lunged at Missy.

***

A fourth horse now stood with the other three, its coat immaculately white, a nimbus of dust around it like a halo of smog. Pestilence took a seat on the left side of Death, who slid the White Rider a look. "Feeling better?"

"For the moment."

Black, Pale, and White watched the dance of the Red.

After a time, Pestilence commented, "You have a very strange taste in women."

Death smiled, his gaze on the girl at the bottom of the steps. "The struggle of humanity is all 'hot ice and wondrous strange snow'. It is a fascinating contradiction. And War has always embodied it well."

"Your latest embodiment is poised to destroy the world," said Famine.

"Maybe," Death agreed cheerfully. "Isn't it exciting?"

***

Missy threw herself to the right, barely avoiding War's gauntleted hands. She landed hard on the ground, her face kissing grass. Spitting dirt, she rolled left just as a heavy boot sailed past in a kick that would have taken off her head.

Oh God oh God oh God!
She scuttled backward, her heart in her throat as War lumbered after her.

"I
AM GOING TO TEAR YOU APART
," War crooned, "
ONE PIECE AT A TIME
."

But first, War would have to catch her. Crab-crawling backward, Missy moved out of kicking range, then scrambled to her feet. She dashed to the far end of the field until she was in the goal box. Beyond the soccer field, there was nothing—no bleachers of seats, no locker room, no trees or buildings or anything. She was trapped.

Panting, she turned to face War, who was closing the distance. If she had the Sword in her hands, she could fight back properly. But War, apparently,
was
the Sword. And she didn't seem inclined to let Missy do anything other than bleed. All in all, Missy preferred War as a voice in her head.

Act instead of react,
Death said.

Remembering his words, Missy pushed aside her fear—and that allowed her to think.
Armor's slowing her down.
She leaned forward, knees bent, elbows close to her body.
So just keep away from her, tire her out.

Did the embodiment of war
get
tired?

War's hands rose overhead as she approached, fingers lacing together to form an enormous metal fist. With a roar, she swung her arms down in a killing blow—and Missy dove to the side, tucking in a roll. She heard War's hands slam into the ground, the impact hard enough to make Missy's teeth rattle.

She was back on her feet as War turned, the red eyes glowing within the shadow of the helm. "S
TAY STILL, LITTLE GIRL
."

Even if someone's coming at you, you can't freeze,
Bella said.

And with that memory came an idea. It might have been a bad idea, but Missy was pretty sure her options were limited to Bad Ideas and No Ideas At All. She called out, "Come and get me."

Don't be scared and run away from the ball,
Bella coached.
Be confident. Block the shot.

War lunged forward, her fist cocked back to strike.

I can do it,
Missy told herself—a command, a promise, fueled with the strength of faith.
I can.
She leaned back to let War's fist sail past—and she caught War's arm, then pivoted down sharply. War flipped over Missy's shoulder and hit the ground in a deafening clang of metal.

The sound of steel on steel reverberated, and Missy understood deep in her soul that the Sword was hers, no matter what its form.

It was
hers.

And just like that, she knew what to do.

War pulled herself up, planting first one foot and then the other. She rose to her full height, radiating violence. "I
WILL KILL YOU AND WEAR YOUR SKIN AS MY CLOTHING
."

Melissa Miller held out her hand. Words had power, Death had told her. And so did actions. She threw all her willpower into one word, knowing it would work because she wielded the Sword. She opened her mouth and she commanded: "STOP."

And War stopped.

Missy would have smiled, but she was too busy thinking as hard as she could that War was the Sword, and the Sword was hers, so therefore she controlled War. Control, just as Death had been telling her—it had always been about control.

The Red Rider loomed over Missy, frozen in her rage. Her bellow would have made dragons tremble.
"W
HAT ARE YOU DOING?
"

"Wielding you," Missy said through clenched teeth. "You're my Sword. You're my tool. That's all you are—just a tool."

War's eyes narrowed, but those hot coals burned no less brightly. "E
VEN THE SMALLEST OF TOOLS MAY KILL THEIR WIELDERS
. A
ND
I
AM FAR FROM SMALL
."

Missy's knees threatened to give out.

Just a tool,
Missy told herself.
I wield the Sword. The Sword is a blade. And I've been handling a blade for a long, long time.

I can do this.

She blew out a shaky breath and ignored the sweat trickling down her face. War's arms shook in her effort to break free, but Missy had bottled her in a glass jar. All she had to do was figure out how to seal it tight, and then she could relax.

But the glass jar broke so easily in the past. Could she ever truly let her guard down and risk War bursting free?

War, like the other Horsemen, must have been able to read Missy's mind, for she declared: "Y
OU
WILL
TIRE, AND YOUR CONCENTRATION WILL SLIP.
A
ND WHEN IT DOES,
I
WILL DESTROY YOU
. Y
OU CANNOT LOCK ME AWAY FOREVER, LITTLE GIRL
. T
RUST ME ON THAT
."

Missy felt the familiar pressure in her chest, the slow closing of her throat. Her eyes widened in panic.
Not now! Please, God——I can't lose it now! How do I stop War?

War's voice, victorious:
T
RUST ME ON THAT.

It hit her in an epiphany, shattering her and rebuilding her all at once: it wasn't about bottling her emotions or fighting them for dominance, or slicing herself when it was all too much. She couldn't control what she didn't trust.

Trust.

She kept her rage within and then cut to let it out. Could she trust herself enough to release her rage without the blade?

Yes,
she thought, a smile blooming on her face. Trust. It was stronger than power, subtler than influence. She could simply let herself feel, acknowledge the bad and embrace the good—and between the two, come to an acceptance.

She could learn not to merely survive but to live.

Melissa Miller, sixteen and a self-injurer, looked upon the embodiment of her rage. "I accept you," Missy said, opening her arms wide. "I accept
me.
"

With a savage roar, the Red Rider pounced.

Missy, unafraid, closed her arms around the knight and embraced her, embraced herself as a torrent of emotion flooded her. Violence and hatred and loathing and bitterness and too many other feelings to name hammered her, ravaged her ... and washed over her without dragging her under. She felt them all, and let them go.

How does one stop war? By offering peace.

***

On the bottom steps of the school, a young woman hugged herself. By her feet lay the symbol of War.

Famine glanced at the Pale Rider. "You knew it would end thus?"

"I'm not a fortuneteller," said Death.

"But you knew all the same."

A tiny smile played on Death's lips. "So tell me, wielder of the Scales and blight of abundance. Are we once again in balance?"

Famine stood and looked down at him, her face shrouded by the wide brim of her black hat. "You already know the answer."

Death chuckled softly. "Indeed. Go thee out unto the world, Black Rider. And have a little fun while you're at it."

She touched her gloved hand to her hat. "Gentlemen," she said. And then she and her steed were gone.

***

"I
HATE YOU
," War murmured in Missy's ear.

"That's okay," said Missy, hugging War all the tighter. "I've hated me for a long time. But I'm ready to let that go now."

"I
AM THE BEST PART OF YOU
," War said, her voice fading.

"Maybe. But you're just a part of me. Nothing more..."

The empty armor crashed to the ground.

"...and nothing less," Missy finished.

***

Death glanced at the White Rider. "We Four were together," he said. "And I couldn't help but notice there was no Last Battle."

Pestilence sniffed. "We were together, yes. But we weren't Riding." And then he exited in a sneeze of white.

***

Melissa Miller, alone on the battlefield outside of her school, let out a shaky breath. Tears streamed down her face, and her smile was a thing of radiant beauty.

"Well, now," said Death, grinning as he walked down the stairs. "The things we do to get out of class."

Missy wiped away her tears as she faced the Pale Rider. "She was part of me all along, wasn't she?"

"Once you accepted the Sword? Of course. You think I was calling you War because it was a code name?" Death smiled warmly. "Okay, maybe it would make a good code name. But no, I was calling you by your office, by your title. By your name. Thou art War, Melissa Miller."

She nodded, and she was surprised by how right that sounded. She was War, the Red Rider of the Apocalypse. And she was Missy Miller. "I'm not sure how I'm going to fit in all the warring with classes and stuff."

"You'll figure it out." Death paused, and Missy was once again struck by how incredibly human he seemed, from the way his hair moved in the wind to the slouch of his shoulders—that, and so much more. He said, "You know, the other Horsemen have turned their backs on their human lives. Pestilence did so long ago, and Famine more recently. But they've left that part of themselves behind. You could do the same."

No more pre-calc classes? Now
that
was tempting.

Missy smiled sheepishly and shook her head. "I've just come to terms with a new part of myself. I'm not ready to leave any other pieces right now." Her smile turned rueful. "Besides, I don't have my driver's license yet."

Death laughed, and the sound was sweet to Missy's ears. "There is much that awaits you. And I am pleased that you've fully accepted your charge." He motioned to her, and she looked down at herself to see that her soccer uniform had been replaced with a duster, vest, pants, and boots, all leather, and all a fiery red-orange, like lava. The shirt beneath the vest felt like silk. Only her goalkeeper gloves remained the same.

Missy, momentarily stunned, forgot just how exhausted she was. Grinning like a kid locked in a candy shop, Missy spun around. "Okay, this is seriously cool."

"It is," said Death, stepping up to her, smiling softly, his eyes shining with secrets. "And it's only the beginning." He touched her cheek lightly, a small stroke and then his hand was gone, but that one touch was enough to speed up her heart.

Flushing, she looked up into his blue, blue eyes. "Why me?" she asked softly. "I'm just a girl. No one special. Why did you pick me?"

Something mischievous played along Death's face. "You're assuming I did the picking. And you're asking the wrong question." He took her hands in his, and even through the gloves she felt the chill of his fingers. "The real question is, why
not
you?"

For that, Missy had no answer. So she just looked up into Death's face, and she thought she saw her future written in his gaze.

"A question for a question," he said, still holding her hands. "Why do you believe you killed your cat?"

The words startled her. "She died in my arms."

"Graygirl was fourteen and sick, and you held her as the veterinarian put her to sleep. Why do you believe you killed her?"

Missy blinked away sudden tears. "It was my call," she said, her voice breaking. "Mom and Dad would have let the vet put a tube in her chest to help with her breathing, but they let me make the call because she had always been my cat, from when she was a kitten. I got her when I was two," she said, smiling with the vague memory of an eight-week-old kitten, a ball of gray fuzz, kneading her paws on Missy's lap. "Sure, she was the family cat, but she was mine, you know? She followed me and stayed in my room and slept in my bed. She chose me."

"Yes," said Death.

"And I chose to let her go." Missy's chest tightened ... but she didn't feel the pressing need to drag a razor across her belly. She was horribly sad, and it felt as if a hand were squeezing her heart. But she didn't want to cut.

"Some would say you gave her a blessing. You sent her on her way to peace."

"Is that what happens after?" Missy asked, peering into his eyes. "Peace?"

"That would be telling," he said, winking.

She let out a laugh, and for the first time since Graygirl died, she didn't feel guilty. She loved her cat and always would. It was time to let the pain go.

"See that?" Death said softly. "Right there, that's the amazing thing about you, about all people. You learn."

He smiled at her, and Missy's sadness melted, leaving her drained but not completely empty—not as long as she had the memory of Graygirl to fill her once again.

Death murmured, "I have to go."

She wanted to tell him to stay, but she knew better. "Will I see you again?"

"Before you know it. War and Death work very..." He squeezed her hands, once. "...
very
well together."

She had only thought she had blushed before. Now her entire face was on fire.

"Go thee out unto the world, Red Rider," said Death. "Live your life, Melissa Miller. Our paths will cross again."

He released her hands, and she had a wild urge to kiss him before he left.