Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

Jacob stood at the top of a hill just outside town. As his eyes adjusted to the predawn darkness, he could see the world below him bathed in deep shadows. A cold breeze stirred tendrils of icy mist emanating from the inky lake below sending a shiver through his being. Directly across from him on a lofty hill to the east, were four riders on tremendous steeds, silhouetted in the pale light of the rising sun. They were a bit much in his opinion, overkill on the part of the university. Yes, the document mentioned riders, but he felt they were metaphorical references rather than actual beings. If anyone had asked him, Jacob would have told them the end of the world should be spectacular enough without cheap theatrics.

Not that he actually believed the world was coming to an end, per say. The prophecies from the document he uncovered did mention some pretty dramatic events, but he viewed most of them more as an indicator of major change than the end of all things; an allegory, nothing more. Sure, he expected some of the mentioned events to take place, maybe the heavy winds or sudden change in temperature, after all, the times, date and location were very specific. As for the rest, Jacob was more skeptical. The university’s insistence on hiring actors to herald the start of these events made him the butt end of every joke told by family, friends, and colleagues alike.

He endured it all stoically, knowing that despite the university's publicity stunt, his work was about to be placed in the spotlight, providing him with job security for a long time to come. The sheer thought of success made him shiver. But mostly he shivered because in his haste to get out of the house and secure a good spot, he had neglected to grab his coat or put on proper shoes. A sweater and socks might have helped ward off the chill, but leaving his coat behind had definitely been a mistake. Jacob debated for a moment going back to retrieve it, but then decided against it. It was already close to the time everything was supposed to start n and to leave would mean giving up his spot such as it was.

As it was, he nearly missed the event altogether, waking only after being disturbed by noise of his neighbors pulling lawn chairs out of their shed. Cursing his faulty alarm clock, he untangled himself from his sheets and dressed in the first thing that came to his hand, a crumpled pair of jeans off the floor and a dirty white tee shirt left draped over a chair the night before. After a frantic and fruitless search for his cell phone to document the momentous occasion, and desperate not to miss the event altogether, he raced out, barely taking the time to slip an old pair of flip flops. He rubbed his arms trying to keep warm, his wiry frame shaking as he stamped his feet against the frosted ground while fingers of anticipation grasped his heart.

“Hey Jacob.” called a neighbor.

“Hey.” Jacob struggled to keep his tone casual over the chattering of his teeth.

“Want a glass of wine?”

“Uh, no thanks. I’m good.” Jacob didn’t care for wine and thought it was a little early in the day to start drinking.

The man shrugged and poured himself a glass. “Suit yourself.”

Minutes crawled by as the red orb behind the horsemen slowly rose to cast their shadows along the hillside. To the north, darkened objects began coming to life; houses in town grew down to their foundations, the outline of the boats bobbing up and down in the small harbor sharpened, and the forest beyond emerged in brilliant fuchsia. Dotted collections of people were now visible on both hillsides, some standing in small groups, others, like his neighbors, seated in lawn chairs with picnics spread about them. A festive air surrounded them as they drank warm beverages or alcohol and munched on cheese and crackers.

“So when do they start?” asked the neighbor waving his wine glass in the direction of the eastern hill.

“According to the records, it should begin as the sun breaks the crest of the hill.”

“Ahh. So any minute.”

“Yes, any minute now.” Jacob muttered. He could scarcely believe the casual way they were discussing momentous events about to enfold. After all the jokes, it would serve them right if the strong predicted wind blew away their chairs.

Around him, Jacob could see people taking pictures with the horsemen featured in the background. As they posted their selfies with the university hashtag, his stomach growled, and he thought about how nice a warm cup of coffee and a breakfast sandwich would go down. The whole town had come out, more if his count of people was accurate, all dressed in warm coats and blankets to ward off the chill autumn morning while he stood in a dirty t-shirt and jeans, his feet turning numb in the cold. Somehow he had envisioned facing the end of times in a more dignified manner. Providing it was the end of times and not merely a major shift in the world as it was currently known, he corrected himself. He supposed it didn’t matter. Even if it wasn’t the end of the world, they were about to witness dramatic change, the like of which was only documented in the early books of the bible. He felt the atmosphere should be one of awe and reflection, not partying like it was spring break.

The last of the stars winked out as the sun climbed into a clear blue sky, harkening to the few birds who chose to remain past the first frost. Grumbling, he turned and squinted in the direction of the four horsemen, who remained silent and unmoving upon their steeds. Nothing remained in shadow, except the four horsemen who were obscured by the glare, mostly because the sun was behind them, and partially because Jacob had also forgotten his sunglasses in his rush. Of course, he shouldn't have needed them. Everything should have already started.

Except nothing was happening. There were no gusting winds, no darkening skies, not even the clatter of hooves as the actors spurred their horses down the hill. Something had to happen, even if it was just theatrics. Otherwise he might be out of a job.

"Oh for Pete's sake, this is ridiculous." Jacob began to descend his hill.

Back and forth he wove his way among the onlookers gathered, steadily progressing to the taller eastern hill. Catcalls and jeers followed in his wake. By the time he began his ascent, he found himself sweating despite the chill. The east hill proved to be much steeper than it first appeared. Slippery with frost, it took him much longer to reach the top than he expected. He had never climbed this particular hill before and resolved that he would never do so again.

By the time he reached the summit, he was bent over with his hands on his thighs and desperately trying to catch his breath. Resolving to work out more if he survived the end of days and didn’t get fired, he craned his neck upward to get a closer look at the riders. Their steeds were larger than they appeared from his earlier vantage point, but with the brilliant sunlight behind them, he was unable to distinguish one rider from another. Once again he wished in vain for his sunglasses, left on the kitchen counter next to the back door. For a moment he tried to remember if he had locked the door, but then decided it didn’t really matter. He didn’t own anything worth stealing.

After a few moments of squinting and panting for breath, he noticed one of the riders had nudged his horse forward and was holding out a canteen toward him. Grateful, he took it, nodding his head in thanks. The water was warm, but felt good against his parched throat. Everything else was absolutely still and silence reigned, unless you counted the faint sound of flies buzzing.

Catching his breath at last, Jacob straightened and attempted to manage some semblance of dignity. “Thanks.” He handed the canteen back.

“Sure, no problem. Any time.” The rider answered in a clear voice that spoke of culture and refinement.

“Any time?” Jacob blurted out.

“Well, you know what I mean.” The man hitched the canteen back to its saddle strap and directed his horse a short distance away from the others. Now that the sun was gaining altitude, Jacob could see the riders more clearly. They were dressed pretty much the way he had expected, medieval garb that reminded him of the numerous paintings he viewed over the years with the exception of one, who appeared to have clad himself in a more Romanesque garb. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was on the ground and they were on their rather large horses, but he got the impression they were all taller than the average man. The silence drew out, flies buzzed, and the sun climbed. Jacob could feel his chill returning.

"What are you waiting for?" he finally asked.

The riders shifted slightly and looked at one another.

The silence stretched to an uncomfortable length. "Look, it's clear that events don't seem to be unfolding as expected, but you have a job to do. Weren't you supposed to start riding at the first light of dawn?" Jacob was getting angry and a bit worried about his job. It was bad enough the environmental events predicted weren't happening, but for the actors to simply sit on their horses was going to make the university look bad. There was no mystery who would take the fall if the the entire day was a fiasco.

Again the riders looked at one another, and the one closest to Jacob lowered his head and nodded slightly as he adjusted a saddle strap. Jacob waited for a further explanation, his stomach grumbling loudly in the quiet. Another one of the horses shifted forward and snorted, the rider leaning out from his saddle.

"Don't suppose you brought anything to eat?" suggested the skinny man, his robes flapping loosely in the breeze. The rider had a high, thin whiny voice that seemed to escape his loose robes rather than project from his mouth. Despite the size of the beast, the horse he rode was as gaunt as he was, ribs clearly showing beneath its black hide. The other horsemen cast furtive glances at one another.

"Eat? You're waiting for something to eat?" Jacob asked incredulously. He couldn’t imagine that was in their contract.

"Well, no." said one of the others as his mount shifted sideways. "We’re waiting for one of the other riders. He’s late."

"But something to eat would be nice while we are waiting." commented the skinny horseman.

Jacob's brow furrowed. "Other rider?" He counted the riders. "Which one? Pestilence?"

"Nope, that would be me." Jacob realized that the sound of flies increased as the horse moved nearer. The guy apparently took his job very seriously.

"Maybe just some hot coffee?" ventured the skinny rider.

Jacob addressed the buzzing rider. “War?” He was still mentally counting horses.

"No, that’s him on the big red charger with the broadsword, three crossbows, two shotguns, wicked set of hunting knives, and semi-automatic rifle." replied Pestilence swatting a fly. In the growing morning light Jacob could see he sported a five o’clock shadow that did little to disguise a rash.

"The conqueror?" asked Jacob tentatively. Somehow he still seemed unable to tally the number of horses correctly.

"He’s the one on the white horse, with the bow strapped to his back.” Jacob could see the regal man in question was on the phone. His horse's tail swished, slapping away flies off its pale flanks. “You probably didn’t recognize him without his crown. It’s in the saddle bag. Doesn't want to get it tarnished, you know." Pestilence shrugged. “Besides, it tends to fall off in a charge.”

"Who is he calling? Famine?"

"Really?" Asked Pestilence, gesturing to the whiny rider on his skinny black horse.

"Oh, yeah." Muttered Jacob, both embarrassed and confused. Somehow he was sure that math should not be tackled in the early morning hours.

"Maybe we should head into town for a quick bite, then pop back up here afterward. It could be a while before we start, and I’m starving." piped up the whiny rider. His horse's ears perked up at the mention of food.

"You're always hungry." snapped Pestilence.

"Might not be a bad idea. Still can't get a hold of him." said the Conqueror putting his cell phone in the pocket of the silk vest he wore beneath his fur lined cloak. He dismounted his horse and moved beside Pestilence. "Left him a voicemail."

"Who?" asked Jacob.

“Our brother.” Responded the Conqueror simply.

“Your brother?” Jacob was beginning to think that perhaps he had missed something.

"Yes, our brother. You know, the Fifth Rider?”

Jacob shook his head dumbly. He was beginning to feel uneasy about the whole conversation.

Pestilence sighed, then spoke in a deep voice. “The most fearsome and dreaded of our company, not to mention the most terrifying, and sinister of our family. The one whose very name strikes fear deep into the souls of men."

"Sorry." Jacob shook his head again, a headache beginning to grow behind his temples. He was certain he had read everything and was now sure he was missing something quite important.

"Parchment Cut." replied Pestilence in a thundering voice that rang out over the hillside and echoed back. Jacob took an involuntary step back in surprise.

"Who?" Jacob was now so confused that one of his eyes would not focus.

The Conqueror patted Pestilence on the leg . "Paper Cut, Pesty” He said to the fly plagued rider. “He now goes by the moniker Paper Cut. No one uses parchment anymore." The Conqueror turned to Jacob. "We're waiting for our brother Paper Cut to arrive. He has to be here before we begin. Supposed to be five of us. But I think he forgot to turn on his alarm clock."