Prologue
“If one wishes to form a true estimate of the full grandeur of religion, one must keep in mind what it undertakes to do for men. It gives them information about the source and origin of the universe, it assures them of protection and final happiness amid the changing vicissitudes of life, and it guides their thoughts and motions by means of precepts which are backed by the whole force of its authority.... Religion is an illusion and it derives its strength from the fact that it falls in with our instinctual desires.”
Sigmund Freud, New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis
Bright and festive streets were swarmed with hundreds of people eager for the New Year. The night was a news correspondent’s dream, as pedestrians flocked the streets hoping to get a glimpse of the traditional ball-dropping in Times Square. Fanatics dressed in flamboyant glasses and hats that expressed their excitement and fears for the new year. The entire audience shuddered, and reporters alerted their cameramen as electronic numbers appeared on the vast screen and counted down to the enviable end of the year. Together the crowd chanted, “Ten!” The huge glitter ball began to plummet down its pole. “Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!” The screen flashed the last number as the sphere reached its end. “Happy New Year!” they shouted in unison as they threw their hats up and shared hugs and kisses with strangers. Confetti poured from the sky and they welcomed it with cheers.
Dana’s brown eyes teared when she took hold of the foreign scene that unfolded before her. The scent of coffee and blood filled the large shop. This was no longer her country. There were no shops like this. The entire venue was covered in expensive soft green carpet. Shelves were packed high with decorative ceramic mugs, stuffed animals and designer hot chocolate bags. Industrial sized cappuccino machines cooled in the night under the shadowy green mermaid logo.
On her knees, she was last in line. There were three other muzzled girls before her and three large men dressed in hooded robes beside them. Were they kidnapped like she was? Though she could only count eight strangers in the room, Dana had the unsettling feeling that they were being watched by a large yet invisible audience. Unsure of her eyes, she saw no one else but refused to trust all the hidden corners of this massive cafe.
The first man drove a chill down Dana’s spine while he took a step forward, lugging his gagged woman behind him. Dressed in an ivory robe, his hair was shoulder length and white, his lips thin and his nose long and bony. The other girl looked as young as Dana, just about fifteen, and her large blue eyes were red from the strain of crying. “I am Odium, I bring a virgin from the North.” Dana didn’t understand a word of English, but her brown ears fretfully listened between whimpers.
A blue eyed spectator advanced from the shadows and threw her polished blonde hair backward. With eyes like enchanted diamonds, rosy cheeks and perfectly painted lips, the woman wore a pink undershirt beneath a white blouse and a blue cardigan tied around her shoulders. Lilith shined a flawless grin and daintily crossed the floor. She opened Odium’s hand and placed an upright golden cross in it, then slowly turned it upside down to invert it.
“Over this death I prophesy that mothers shall but smile as they run nails under their infants eyes. Blood shall hold no worth as kin murder kin with hate in their hearts and the Horseman of Conquest in their souls!” With that, he raised the cross high above his head then shoved it into the neck of the virgin. The pain was so great that even though her mouth was open, she was voiceless. Odium dropped the dead girl then opened his
mouth and revealed short sharp teeth. A droplet of blood fell from the cross onto his tongue. Dana struggled relentlessly in her binds. They killed that girl. Were they going to kill her as well? She couldn’t die. She had a mother and two brothers to watch out for. But the inhumanly strong man beside her refused to let go. Her petrified body cried out in dismay and alarm as she scrambled for air.
“With my wounds, I sacrifice my body to the root.” Odium ran the sharp edges of the bloody cross on his wrists. He passed the weapon to the fallen angel, Lilith, and she passed it to another observer. The Hallowed One was thin and elderly. He wore a black suit and a black round Amish hat. Smiling a gray grin, he licked the cross clean.
Odium lifted his hood and placed his palms together before him. Soon the pitter patter of horse hooves echoed into the room. From a far dark corner a large white steed entered. The beast slowly approached Odium before it knelt and revealed a long bow with long-stem arrows at its side.
The stranger in the red hood moved out of line and forced a Spanish girl to the side. His wild red hair matched his dangerous red eyes. The teen jolted about frantically. “I am Bellum, I bring a virgin from the West!” Lilith handed him the cross.
Bellum held the cross over the young girl’s head as instinct took over. The tan girl unleashed an unsuccessful series of kicks and punches through her binds. She wrestled until the strip of cloth around her mouth ripped. Between cries she struggled and bit the Horseman. Her shrill screams pushed pins in Dana’s soul and her efforts were only met by Bellum’s snide smile. She refused to watch her be murdered.
“Over this death I prophesy that the streets will turn into hot rivers of thy neighbor’s blood! Onslaught is all they will know and destruction is all they shall breathe under the sway of the Horseman of War!” The woman continued to cry and curse in Spanish as Bellum shoved the golden crucifix into her neck. Her eyes bulged and Bellum ripped the cross from her and drank the few drops of blood that fell.
“With my wound I sacrifice my body to the root.” Like Odium, Bellum slit his wrists with the cross then passed it on to the Hallowed One for his blood to drink. A fiery red steed stepped from the darkness with a large Roman sword on his back.
The third man, dressed in a black hood, took a single step forward and yanked an Asian girl behind him, “A quart of wheat for a day’s wages, and three quarts of barley for a day’s wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!” Dana’s eyes widened. Their language was strange to her, but their dangerous expressions paralyzed her with panic.
Smugly, the man continued, “I am Fames, I bring a virgin from the East. Over this death, I do prophesy that brothers will suck marrow from their sister’s bones but never be sated. For there will be not a grain of wheat to bud, nor a tree to bear a single fruit under the sway of the Horseman of Famine.” He drove the golden cross into the neck of the Asian female.
As she died, Fames slit his own wrists and declaimed, “With my wound, I sacrifice my body to the root.” He handed the cross to the blonde woman and she passed it on to the Hallowed One.
Fames placed his black hood over his head and placed his hands palm-to- palm before him. A black horse bearing an unbalanced weighing scale made of pearl and marble crept from a dim corner and knelt before him.
Dana’s heart dropped in her chest as she realized she was last in line. Her huge brown eyes looked up to the man dressed in a pale yellow that was only slightly darker than his jaundiced skin. This man was slender, and his sickly yellow eyes bulged out of his head. He took a step forward and dragged Dana by her long brown hair behind him. Her entire body was in pain, but she was unsure there were any tears left in her. She desperately tried to escape, but he was too strong. “I am Mors. I bring a virgin from the South.” Dana squealed in total horror as he was passed the upside down cross. “Over this death, I prophesy that death shall be the outcome of the others. Neither man, woman, nor child or beast shall escape under the sway of the Horseman of Death.” Dana knew what was to come next. Her free fingers grabbed and clawed at her African dress as if she was trying to tear away her grim reality. There was no hope. She knew she was going to die. She closed her eyes and recited an old prayer her mother once taught her, but before she could finish the unholy weapon tore into her ebony skin and freed the blood from her neck. Her eyes dislodged and her mouth gaped open. Pain trickled through her body. The corners of her eyesight slowly faded. Her life was slipping away. Mors lifted the crucifix and let her blood drip into his mouth.
“With my wound, I sacrifice my body to the root,” he slit his wrists and passed on the golden weapon. He placed the hood over his head and moved his palms into a praying position. From the shadows, a sickly pale horse slowly marched into the ritual and on its back he carried a thin scythe.
“The positions you have just taken should not be engaged frivolously...” the Hallowed One spoke. “It is a vow that extends your physical existence and destruction. Your jobs must be completed...There will always be the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. As they shall be ensured by my blessings and the celestial exalt of my touch.” “May the Four Horsemen bring us through the light and into the darkness! The two thousand years of morality has ended! Now it’s our turn,” the Hallowed One recited joyfully while the men mounted their horses. “Now we will get drunk off the blood of saints! Let these four thrive!”
A stir of whispers swept into the room. The invisible chorus celebrated. In the order of which they presented, the Horsemen exited the room upon their horses in a clap of thunder.
“Come!” they yelled in unison as they departed.
