Something a little different this time.
"Are you afraid of the death, Ross Poldark?"
He turned around startled to look at the stranger asking him.
"I was a soldier. I'm used to death," he said.
"That's not what I asked," he thought he saw a hint of a smile on the face hidden from his view by the deep hood shadowing it almost completely. Then the man ordered: "Come."
Without question, he squeezed the sides of the horse with his thighs and followed his mysterious companion uphill. They stopped at the top where two other silent figures were already awaiting them.
"Look," he heard and he obeyed, looking down the cliff. Instead of the see he saw the images of lands and people, so clear as if he was standing close by, and yet watching from a great distance.
Not lands, he thought looking closer and recognizing Cornish landscape. Just my land.
He saw men at each other's throats, the riots, soldiers firing their weapon and blood spilled. Were his former comrades among them?
He saw miners starving, fighting to death for a scrap of food, like wild dogs. A villager hung for poaching in the rich lord's woods, caught in a desperate act of providing for his family.
He saw prisoners in their dark cells, alone and hopeless, falling victims to the disease. He saw people dying alone and the whole families.
He saw his Demelza lying on the bed in the room lit by a single candle, like a bird with broken wings. He wanted to go to her, but he found that he couldn't move.
He saw death in thousands of different forms, horrifying and strangely fascinating in its variety. Corpses, decay, and naked bones.
And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth, he thought grimly.
All apocalyptic plagues in his little corner of Earth.
"Is this the end of the world?" he heard himself asking.
"No. Just a world. There is always some world ending."
Was it his world? Was his world ending? He had to admit, it didn't seem too improbable to him.
"Why are you showing me this?"
"So you can understand."
"Understand what?"
There was no answer this time, so he turned his head and looked at his guide, but he couldn't see his face under the hood.
"Who are you?" Ross asked.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"Who are you?"
He hesitated, not sure what was expected of him.
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Which one are you? Disease, war, famine, or death?"
"What? No, I…"
He looked around alarmed, suddenly comprehending what he was seeing: his three companions, dark, cloaked figures, him sitting on a horse in line with them, side by side, arm by arm…
Four horsemen.
"No. That's not who I am," he protested.
"Who are you then?"
"My name is Ross Poldark," he said trying to make his voice strong, but it sounded weak in his own ears.
"And who is that?"
He hesitated again. How could he answer a question like that? Who was he? A nobleman? A mine owner? An heir to the patch of Cornwall land?
None of that sounded right, his titles meaningless and superficial, his names empty. There was nothing for him in them.
He searched for something other, something that would hold enough weight to mention.
"I'm a father and a husband," he said finally.
"Are you, though?"
"Of course I am."
"Yet, your child is dead and your wife is dying," stated one of the strangers in a cool, leveled voice. "Misery and pain follow you. Whatever you touch, turns into ashes. You bring turmoil, conflict and heartbreak with you."
"That's not true."
"What is the truth, then?"
He found it hard to breath when he realized he had no idea what to say. His head was empty.
"I don't know."
"Who are you, Ross Poldark?"
And then, when he felt like he was about to suffocate, the wind picked up, carrying the words spoken in Demelza's voice with them.
…a good man.
As the breeze washed over him, Ross finally managed to catch a breath and it seemed like even the horsemen faltered. The spell was lifted, if only for a second.
He broke free and drifted away from the dark hill, leaving that particular nightmare.
Give me a crumb!