The hand of the clock continued to move, albeit slowly. Clouds rumbled, rain poured and flooded the land of men.
Eighteen bodies stood upon the prow of the ship, crashing against the dark waves, water seeping into the cracks and flooding the hold. The continuous rocking and lurching of the vessel caused by the creatures of the deep stirring from their slumbers gave way to the disgruntled.
Here they remain locked in battle with the elements.
The clock hand continues to move.
Six men from the East, Six from the West and Six from the North. None represented the frozen and uninhabited lands of the South. Life being impossible in those barren wastelands.
Behold the seal. Hammered by a nail from the cross upon the foremast. Soaked and limp it held the fate of many, such an unassuming thing this scroll. The power of which it held unknown, only the greed of those who stared at this tattered item belied any importance of what was contained within.
"Tis a gift from God." Said East.
"He answered our prayers." Said West.
"We are deserving." Said North.
The lamb appeared between them, noble and serene. Eyes focused on the faces of those that held him captive with their words, his sorrow remained masked, his features betraying nothing. His thoughts though...
'Ah, the greed of man.'
The Lamb approached.
The clock moved on.
"Remove the seal," chorused the voice of man.
The lamb sighed.
"Forgive them father for they know not what they do."
The seal broke, once, twice, thrice, four times.
The boat stopped rocking, the rains calmed, the sea slept beneath their feet. The wind gave one last groan and fell into slumber as the sails fell flat and rigid. A stillness descended as the hands of the clock stopped. The air sang with the hum of anticipation, becoming heavier as the men sucked in their breath, waiting. Stepping out of time into this moment, the moment man took his power and ended all time.
For such was the want of man, the incessant drive for knowledge and power. The cost misinterpreted, wealth being imagined in golden coin and jewels. Resplendent in dreams of leisure. For what else was larger than a man's desire to saunter the streets dressed in silks, gorging on sweet meats and honey, success dripping from the milk of their fingers.
"Alas," sighed the Lamb.
The water lay flat and unstirred, nothing so much as a ripple broke the glass surface.
The men, looked, the men stared, the men awaited their bounty.
Their bounty appeared before them, riding across the water, one from every direction of the earth. East, West, North and South.
Mounted upon horses of such stature as to be considered monstrous, flames gushing forth from their nostrils, manes and tails streams of bright light, the radiance cast making it impossible for any mortal to glance upon their riders. They circled the ship, a thunderous roar causing the men to fall to their knees begging for it to stop.
On their knees they remained. Heads bowed to the glare, bodies trembling with the force of the reverberations ricocheting along the planks.
Silence.
The clock remained still.
The men daring to look as one, raised their brows and gazed up.
Before them, stood in divine magnificence, four beings.
The lamb spoke...
"Behold...Pestilence, War, Famine and Death."
And afore them stood four riders, one pale, one red, one yellow, one black.
They spoke not, their brilliance of face too painful to look upon by a mere mortal.
Frozen in their realisation of the terrible mistake they had made, the hope of man cloked in eighteen bodies begged for forgiveness in their arrogance to the one they had enslaved, starved and beaten. Though his visage was one of sorrow he could not retract their actions. Nor would he be able to grant forgiveness. Only one existed so mighty as to be able to gift that boon.
The choices were made, the realm of time stopped. An acquisition of debt had been created.
In a voice full of woe, the Lamb declared them a solemn and foreboding glimpse into what was to come.
"Here before you stand the riders, a body of four. They have been given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine, plague and wild beast."
In a voice as one, the depth of which split the ears of men leaving them writhing in agony, the riders proclaimed...
"Henceforth we ride."
Behold man, the four horse riders of the apocalypse have been unleashed and they ride to you. They will not forgive, they will not show mercy, they will not be bought or enslaved. They will not judge man or hold the King to account. They are here to claim the debt of injustice, abuse, greed and ego. None shall escape the last revelation.
The clock hands began once again their forward journey as the harbingers of doom rode out. Each movement, each second bringing closer the end of the fate man.
An irreversible conclusion.
You see, the universe has a balance, an order, humans are but an infinitesimal moment in aeons of engineering. Yet in arrogance they walk forward, their ignorance held before them like banners of war. Learning nothing yet owing all.
Until the four mounted beings of divinity ride
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from Short Stories
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