Rage by Jackie Morse Kessler Page B

ears flattened back.
    Missy shook her head, the motion exaggerated, as if she were slicing the air with her chin. She wasn't having any of that, not from her horse.
You hear me, horse? You're mine. Behave.
    The red steed's ears quivered, then flicked toward her.
    Missy began moving again, circling the steed. This time, it didn't threaten to kick her as she passed its hindquarters. Better. She walked by its right shoulder, noting how its neck was arched high, its muscles tight. The horse was tense, anticipating. In a burst of intuition, she realized it was waiting for something.
    In her mind, the Sword sang of blood and violence.
    Ah.
    Her dead face secure, Missy bottled her heart and held out her hand. She told the Sword,
Come to me.
    The weapon appeared in a blink, hovering just over her palm.
Yes,
she thought, appreciating the way the blade caught the gleam of moonlight.
Yes.
Missy wrapped her fingers around the hilt, and adrenaline surged through her, bringing her blood to a boil. She wanted to dance, to move, to slam her foot against a soccer ball—to rip a tree up from its roots and throw it into the heavens.
    And she
could.
With the Sword in her hand, she could do anything.
    Anything at all.
    Control,
whispered a still, small voice, as soft as death.
    Yes, control. Missy was in control. She pointed her symbol of office at the steed. The wicked point ended just beneath the animal's chin. It stood very, very still.
    "Hello, little horse," she said, her voice like thunder. "I'm War."
    The horse blew air out its nostrils in a quick burst, its breath fogging the steel blade. Its ears twitched.
    "And you're my steed."
    The horse let out a soft nicker. Then it snorted once as it stepped backward, just out of range of the Sword's point, and it bowed its head.
    Missy wanted to whoop for joy. Instead she allowed herself a very small smile.
    "Told you you'd figure it out," said Death.
    She lowered the Sword and approached the horse, which kept its head low. Visions whirled in her mind, showing her the red steed with its Rider as they traveled on land faster than a train, flying through the air like a comet, slicing across the turbulent seas—War and her steed, together, leaving their imprint on the world like hoofmarks in mud.
    Lost in memories that weren't hers, Missy sheathed her Sword. She didn't see it vanish as she slid it to rest, and because its presence glowed contently in her mind, she didn't feel its physical departure. Her gaze was transfixed on the horse, her horse, and as she ran her hand over its powerful neck, she marveled at the strength she felt beneath her fingers.
    "You put other horses to shame," she said softly. "You're magnificent."
    The steed blew air through its nose, acknowledging the compliment.
    "You're feeding its ego," Death said.
    Missy smiled proudly. "It should have an ego. It's amazing." She paused, her fingers rubbing its shoulder. "What's its name?"
    "It is the red steed. It needs no name, War."
    Missy imagined a life of being called "horse." Well, no wonder it had an attitude. "I think you should have a name," she said to her steed. "I'll call you Ares."
    The horse craned its neck so that it was looking at Missy, and it let out a satisfied snort.
    "You named it after a god?" Death laughed. "I did mention its ego, didn't I?"
    Ares leveled a stare at Death, who laughed even louder.
    "Don't mind him," Missy said to the horse, stroking its back. "He's just jealous." How could she have ever thought her steed's eyes were frightening? They were dual onyxes, shining with liquid emotion.
    She heard movement behind her even as Ares neighed in warning. Missy turned abruptly, summoning the Sword as she did so, rational thought giving way to the instinct for violence. But Death was right there in front of her, kissing-close, making her weapon useless. His face was blank, masklike, all but his eyes. Emotions swirled in their depths, too quick and deep for Missy to name.
    Her mouth went painfully dry. How