The 13th Horseman (19 page)

T
HE SONIC BOOM
whipped up the air around Drake. He didn’t flinch, not even when the horse tore from the air directly in front of him.

Its front hooves came down hard on the ground, but they didn’t make a sound. Its back hooves also fell silently on to the tarmac surface of the road. The horse reared up on to its hind legs, and Drake realised it was bigger than even War’s mighty steed.

War had called it ‘the pale horse’, and it was pale, but not in the way Drake had been expecting. It wasn’t so much pale in terms of colour, as pale in terms of
solidity
. Light flowed through it, bending and warping as if passing through a crystal.

The animal wasn’t completely transparent, though. Swirls of living white heaved deep beneath its glassy skin, forming patterns that shifted and whirled every time it moved. When it stood still, as it did now, it could be mistaken for an ice sculpture.

There was no saddle on the horse’s back, and there were no reins with which to hold on. Neither of those things made Drake hesitate. In one leap he was sitting on the animal’s broad back, the Deathblade clutched in his right hand.

He had expected the horse to be cold, like ice, but it felt neither cold nor warm beneath him. It just felt... there.

Drake didn’t give the horse any command. He didn’t say anything to make it take to the air. He just thought the instruction and the horse obeyed.
Up
, he thought, and up the horse went, moving swiftly and silently in a steep uphill curve.

The faster the horse moved, the less tangible it became. It no longer resembled an ice sculpture. Now it was a horse-shaped cloud, a silvery vapour trail billowing out in its wake.

Up it went, higher and higher, until the ground was little more than a distant memory. They were running almost straight up now, but Drake was having no problem staying on the horse’s back, despite the oncoming wind and gravity’s insistent pull. It was as if he and the horse were one creature, inseparable until he decided otherwise.

Over the howling of the wind, Drake heard another sound. The horse banked right, just as the roar of engines filled the air. The robot battle armour whistled by them, performed an impossibly tight turn, then streaked back in their direction.

Drake swung with the Deathblade. There was a
ching
of metal hitting metal, and a bolt of angry lightning ripped across the sky.

Mr Franks drew back War’s sword. Red fire crackled along the length of its blade. It lit up his face, illuminating the madness that danced behind his eyes. “Nice horse,” he said. “Had it long?”

He lunged again with the sword. The Deathblade twirled in Drake’s hand. Was he moving it, or was it moving him? He couldn’t quite say. The hooked blade
clanked
against the side of the sword, knocking Mr Franks’ aim off.

More lightning exploded and the teacher leaped back, his rocket-boots blasting him out of harm’s way. They both lunged again, hacking and slashing with their weapons as they climbed higher and higher into the sky. Each time the weapons met, fingers of electricity clawed at the air around them.

“I’ve got this problem, Drake,” Mr Franks said. He had stopped attacking for the moment, but was still moving upwards. The horse trotted across the sky, maintaining the distance between them. “At first I thought it was just this minor irritation, but, well, it’s got bigger, and it just refuses to go away. It’s you, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” Drake told him.

“I was trying to be nice to you. I wanted you free to fulfil your destiny when Armageddon all kicks off.” The teacher’s face filled up with contempt. “And it will all kick off. You see, you think you’ve stopped it, but you haven’t. You can’t prevent the end of the world, Drake. It’s inevitable.”

“There’s only one thing that’s inevitable,” Drake replied. “And I’m it.”

Lunging wildly, he swung the Deathblade in a wide arc. It sliced through part of a robotic arm, and a spray of red coolant pumped out. The liquid distracted Drake. He didn’t see the other exo-skeleton arm come up sharply. A fist the size of a breeze block went
whump
against Drake’s chin, and he discovered that he could, in fact, be separated from the horse.

The town was spread out below him like a toy village as he plunged towards it. He could see the roofs of houses. He could see his back garden. And there, lying among it all, was the giant robot the horsemen had defeated together.

The wind seemed to laugh as it howled past his ears. Gravity’s pull felt stronger than ever. Drake clung tightly to the Deathblade, as if it could somehow slow his descent, or stop his fall completely.

A metal fist
clanged
against his cheek, widening the split and sending blood spraying up behind him. He tried to twist, but there was nothing to push against. He cried out in pain as a robotic foot slammed against his lower back, and a white-hot jet-engine flame scorched his skin.

He hacked with the scythe, flailing it behind him. Mr Franks dodged easily. Hydraulics
whirred
and an alloy elbow was driven hard against the base of Drake’s skull.

The force of the blow flipped him. He spun until he was facing the right way, standing up as he fell down towards the now not nearly so distant ground. A flash of red fire sliced towards him. He held up the Deathblade and War’s sword smashed against the blade.

A jagged streak of electricity tore down at them from above, striking the weapons at the same time. They both watched helplessly, as the sword and the scythe were ripped from their hands, and sent tumbling down through the clouds.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Mr Franks roared. “Now how am I supposed to kill you? The fall? I doubt that’ll be enough.”

He looked up. A deranged grin spread across his face, and a metal hand caught hold of Drake. Rockets flared on the battle armour’s feet, and they began to climb, straight up at eye-watering speed.

“It’s been fun, hasn’t it?” the teacher hollered. “You and me. All of
this
. It’s been fun. But now I need you out of the way. The sword could’ve killed you, but now I’ve lost that, so you’ve forced me to improvise.”

A clear Perspex visor snapped down over Mr Franks’ head. “I still need to breathe,” he explained. “Until I eat your girlfriend’s soul, at least. But you? You’re a horseman. Breathing’s optional.”

Drake had no idea what the madman was on about. “So?”

“Look up.”

They had been climbing at an incredible rate. Drake raised his eyes and saw that the blue sky had become a haze of colours. It looked as if the fabric of the heavens had been stretched out, pulled so thin that he could see the stars shining through it.

“I’m ending the world,” Mr Franks cackled, as he saw the moment of realisation spread like a rash across Drake’s face. “But, lucky for you, you’re not going to be on it.”

Drake grabbed at the battle armour. A shock jolted through him, but he kept clawing, kept trying to find a way of pulling the helmet open, of tearing the exo-skeleton apart.

A glug of red coolant slicked his fingers and he lost what little grip he had on the armour. He heard Mr Franks laugh, even over the whistling of the wind, but his attention was fixed on the blood-like liquid.

He thought back to the cave of the Deathblade Guardian, and to the cupboard in Dr Black’s room. Air conditioning. Climate control. The engine coolant dribbled from his fingertips, and everything clicked into place.

They began to rise through a bank of cloud, which had appeared as if from nowhere. A horse-shaped section of the vapour suddenly became solid beneath Drake, and their impossibly quick ascent stopped impossibly quickly.

Drake took a moment to look around. He could see the curvature of the Earth stretching out far, far below. He could see the colours of the upper atmosphere, swirling like the surface of a giant bubble. He could see the stars, above and around them, and he could hear... nothing at all. Mr Franks was speaking – shouting – but Drake could not hear a sound.

There was no air, but neither Drake nor his horse required it. Drake looked down at the world spread out below him. It would not end today.

Ignoring the shock of pain, he took hold of Mr Franks’ metal frame. He didn’t even need to think the next command. The horse moved all by itself.

Down they went, plunging through the atmosphere, faster even than they had climbed. The silence ended with a sudden
boom
, and the sounds of hooves and wind and screaming filled Drake’s ears.

The metal of the battle armour went orange, then red, then white as the heat generated by their re-entry into the atmosphere began burning the suit up. Heat. That was the key. That was the weakness.

“Stop!” Mr Franks pleaded. But Drake did not stop. He rode, not across the sky, but straight down, ushering in one very specific, localised Apocalypse.

The heat was intense. Drake could feel it scorching against his skin, but it didn’t burn him,
couldn’t
burn him.

“Give me her soul back,” Drake snarled. “Let her go.”

Mr Franks tried to swing with a wild punch, but the heat was making the armour seize up. His fist creaked to a stop several centimetres from its target.

“Let her go, or you die!”

Mr Franks’s eyes were wide with terror, but he was hanging on to his defiance. “You won’t do it. You’re not a murderer.”

“No,” Drake agreed. “Murderers can be stopped. Death can’t. Not by burning, not by falling, not by
you
! “

“You won’t do it!”

“Yes,” said Drake. “I will.” He released his grip. A look of puzzled terror crossed Mr Franks’s face and he suddenly found himself freefalling.

Down
, Drake thought, and the horse raced after the plummeting teacher, keeping pace, but making no attempt to intercept him. Drake listened to Mr Franks’s screams all the way down to the ground.

The madman closed his eyes and prepared himself for the end as the tarmac rushed up to meet him. But he did not hit it. At least, not right away. A firm hand caught him by a robotic ankle, stopping his skull splattering like an egg on the concrete.

“Well, well, well, look who dropped in,” War growled. He opened his hand and the armour, with Mr Franks inside, clattered down on to the ground.

Mr Franks looked up to see War, Famine and Pestilence glaring down. War’s sword was back in the giant’s hand, the tip of the blade held just centimetres from the teacher’s face.

“Oh God,” Mr Franks groaned. “Not you three.”

“Lovely to see you too,” Pest said. “We really
mustn’t
do this again some time.”

There was a moment of ominous silence, when even the blaring of the police sirens died away, and Drake’s horse touched down beside them. The other three horsemen stepped aside as Drake strode over, pausing only to pick up the fallen scythe. Even without the Robe of Sorrows, he looked every inch the embodiment of Death.

“Give me back her soul,” he commanded, in a voice like the tolling of a funeral bell.

“You want it?” Mr Franks coughed. “You’re going to have to kill me to get it.”

Without a word, Drake raised the scythe and angled the point towards the teacher’s head. “That’s it, boy,” Mr Franks hissed. “What are you waiting for? Do it. Kill me. Become the Death you are.”

Drake shifted his grip on the handle. He chose a spot in the centre of Mr Franks’s chest.

“Come on, what are you waiting for? Do it,” Mr Franks snarled, and Drake saw the teacher’s teeth were coated in blood. “Finish me; do it!”

Without a word, Drake brought the Deathblade down sharply. There was a sound of tearing metal and Mr Franks screamed briefly before he realised he was still very much in one piece.

The armour fell in two, like a peanut shell splitting open. From within the cables and circuitry, a blue glow began to flicker. Drake alone watched as the glow rose into the air, forming a pulsating egg shape. And then, it was gone.

Over by the side of the road, Mel made a sound between a sneeze and a scream. Then she sat bolt upright, her eyes wide. “Wow,” she muttered. “That was... interesting.”

“She’s alive!” Pest cried. “You did it!”

“That’s one problem solved,” Famine said. He gave the teacher a kick. “What are we going to do with him?”

“Yeah, what are you going to do with me?” Mr Franks demanded.

“Leave him there,” War shrugged. He studied the blade of his sword for a moment, shook his head, then slipped it into the sheath across his back.

“You can’t leave me here!” Mr Franks looked pointedly to his arms and legs, which were still trapped within the twisted wreckage of the armour. “I can’t move.”

“Good, then you can explain everything to the police,” Pest said.

“The police?” Mr Franks spluttered. “But... but that’s for
humans
.”

“Yes, but you
are
human now, aren’t you?” Pestilence said. “Your choice, no one else’s. I’d imagine the police will want to ask you a lot of questions about giant robots and the like.”

“And then, I’d imagine, they’ll lock you up,” Famine added. “With other humans. Violent ones.”

“You can’t leave me,” Mr Franks cried. “What about all those times we had? We were a team. Right?”