Chapter 11:
The Green Fields of France
November 12, 1918
Well, how do you do, young Willie McBride?
Contrary to what most humans thought, Death did not spend much of his time in graveyards. Though he often found the silence of a cemetery peaceful, he was usually far too busy to actually take the time to linger anywhere.
Do you mind if I sit here, down by your graveside,
and rest for a while 'neath the warm summer sun?
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done.
The morning was cool; a fine mist hung in the air, the scent of the poppies that grew on the peripheries of this improvised cemetery rising with it. The sun had just begun to peak over the horizon as Death wandered down the rows of freshly dug graves, silent as he read the names and ages of the fallen soldiers.
I see by your gravestone you were only 19
when you joined the great fallen in 1916.
I hope you died well, and I hope you died clean,
or young Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?
Did they beat the drum slowly,
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play the Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
Why the humans would feel the need to fight a war like this escaped Death's ken; they'd driven even War into the ground with this so-called 'Great War'.
And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind?
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined
Although you died back in 1916
In that faithful heart are you forever nineteen?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Enclosed then forever behind a glass pane
In an old photograph torn, battered, and stained
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame?
A bitter laugh signaled the arrival of said Horseman behind him. Death turned to see War, mounted on her sweating, exhausted steed, standing on a rise close to the wire fence surrounding the cemetery.
"'War to end all wars' my ass," she muttered, staring at the ground as though in a trance. "Their treaty won't hold. I sense it already. The fires for another one are already brewing."
If Death could have sighed, he would have. He could sense it as well, mainly through his link to Famine.
The sun now shines o'er these green fields of France
There's a warm summer breeze that makes the red poppies dance
And look how the sun shines from under the clouds
There's no gas, no barbed wire, there's no guns firing now
But here in this graveyard it's still no man's land
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man
To a whole generation that were butchered and damned
The quiet sound of black hooves cantering over the road announced her coming. Her face was expressionless, though there was an unusual lack of sternness in her voice when she spoke to War.
"It will begin in Germany. They have not the money to both pay reparations for this war and feed their nation. Many will not survive the coming years."
Now young Willy McBride I can't help but wonder why
Do those who lie here know why did they die?
Did they believe when they answered the cause?
Did they really believe that this war would end wars?
The Reapers began arriving in a bedraggled train, all very slowly, all looking very much like ghouls and ghosts themselves. Solriss could barely hold his head up and his horse was all but leaning on Pestilence's mount as the White Horseman rode beside her. One by one, every single Reaper, with a nod to Death, settled themselves near a massive oak tree that grew at the edge of the graveyard, and were asleep within minutes.
Death himself stood near the trunk; many of the younger Reapers had gathered close to his feet as they slept. War stood at his left, essentially leaning on his shoulder. Famine stood at the Red Horseman's other side, Pestilence at Famine's left.
"Why must humans be so petty?" Pestilence muttered, observing the crowd of sleeping Reapers.
For the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain
The killing and dying were all done in vain
For young Willy McBride it all happened again
And again, and again, and again, and again.
"Go to sleep, my Red, beautiful Flame," Death murmured, wrapping a cloaked arm around the shoulders of the Red Horseman and pressing his equivalent of a light kiss to her forehead. War collapsed against him, murmuring quietly and senselessly, and Death lowered both her and himself until they rested against the trunk of the tree. War buried her face in Death's shoulder as Famine lay down beside them. Pestilence did the same, albeit slightly further away, and was asleep within seconds. War was already out like a light. Famine was still awake, observing her Red counterpart with a slight crease in her brow.
"What is wrong, Famine?" Death asked quietly, watching her. Famine blinked over at him, plainly anxious now.
"I've never seen her so close to tears before."
"Neither have I," Death mused, looking down at the slumbering War.
Famine tilted her head suddenly. "Do you ever cry?"
"The last time I did so was long before I separated the rest of you from my being."
Famine let things be at that, settling down against War's back and closing her eyes, burying her face in the crook of a black-clad arm. It didn't take long before she, too, was asleep.
Death remained awake for a time, observing the slumbering Reapers and Horsemen and expanding his powers so no other being aside from another Primordial would be able to sense them, and even then it would prove difficult for them; the last thing he needed to see right now was Mephistopheles.
Which was why he was somewhat surprised when he felt a rush of cold wind and, barely a second later, Jack dropped down from the lower branches of the tree and stood before him, shifting from foot to foot and not meeting Death's gaze for more than a second at a time before glancing away.
They hadn't spoken in nearly three years at this point, Jack having avoided Death and the Horsemen and Reapers ever since that night in the Scottish Highlands. It was understandable, Death knew, and he was slightly surprised Jack was approaching him so soon. And at such a… well, difficult moment on Death's part.
"Are… are they all… okay?" Jack asked hesitantly. He nudged a sleeping Reaper… Aditi… with the crook of his staff. She muttered a sleepy protest before darting out a hand and nearly managing to latch onto Jack's ankle. Jack managed to leap out of the way only just in time. Aditi instead grabbed onto a snoozing Ming and pulled the older Reaper into a one-armed hug, not waking up once the entire time. Ming's only reaction was a long-suffering sigh; she rolled over and returned the gesture without once opening her eyes.
"They'll be alright. We're all just worn-out at the moment," Death replied, unable to keep an undercurrent of amusement form his voice as he observed the two Reapers.
Jack's face fell at the reminder of the war that had just ended. Then it twisted into an expression of confusion. "You're not… happy about this?"
"Of course not. I find it ridiculous, the number of ways humans come up with to kill each other."
"But… but you're… you're Death."
"Has anybody ever always liked their duties?"
"What about V… War?"
In answer Death indicated the bedraggled Red Horseman, sleeping tucked into his side. Jack's face fell again. "Oh."
There was silence for several moments. Then Jack said, "It's just… I figured… jeez, for a while… until now, I guess, I thought you guys were the ones behind all of this. I mean, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, this seemed right up your alley."
"'Of the Apocalypse' is something of a misnomer," Death mused, sounding slightly irritated. "We help maintain a balance, that is all. 'Four Horsemen Who Keep the Wheels Turning' is distinctly less dramatic, though closer to the truth."
Jack managed a wan smile for a moment before returning his gaze to the ground.
"Why did you lie to me?" He asked quietly. "About… who you were? Your name?"
"When I first found you, you were alone and terrified out of your mind," Death responded. "How would you have reacted if I'd walked up to you looking like this, or told you that I was the Incarnation of Death? And later, what do you think the summer spirits would have done, had they discovered your connection to me? They already hate you for being what you are; I did not wish to give them, or any other spirits, further reason to push you away."
"But couldn't you have at least told me your real name?"
"Technically, I did. Do you know what Ants'nel means?"
Jack paused, thinking. "No."
"It is Armenian for 'to cross over' or 'to pass on'. Valka is the Czech word for war. Maras is a Lithuanian word that translates to 'a deadly epidemic', and Eia is an extension of the Chinese word for hunger."
Jack's jaw dropped. "What? So… wow, you technically didn't lie about your names."
Death nodded.
"How… how was I supposed to figure that out? Armenian? Come on!"
"You're two hundred years old; haven't you learned any other languages besides English?"
Jack blushed, looking at the ground again. "Fair enough."
Silence again. Then, quietly, so quietly Death barely heard it, "Can… can I join you?"
Oh, no. "Summer sprites again?"
"Yeah."
In response, Death unfolded his free arm from his side. Smiling slightly, Jack leaped over and lay down, curling into Death's side and laying his head on his chest, closing his eyes.
"Thanks, Dad," the frost spirit murmured, burying his face in Death's robe.
If he could have blinked, Death would have.
Did they beat the drum slowly,
did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play the Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?