by Ted Dekker
Billos nodded, and they split up again. It took them an hour to position the carts, primarily because they had to move them with painstaking caution. Finding enough rope had been the single greatest challenge, and it took Darsal sneaking into a shed five houses down to get enough to tie into long strands.
Still no sign of Shataiki—maybe they’d all fled the city after the sun had gone down.
They gathered at the stable and stared out at their handiwork, which, thankfully, couldn’t be seen in the darkness: two carts on either side of the door at the courtyard’s edge; ropes strung to the large curved handles, then laid along the ground at forty-five degree angles. Billos and Darsal would take the far rope, Silvie and Rosa the near one.
“You’re sure we won’t burn the temple down?” Billos breathed.
“Only enough of it to preoccupy Witch,” Silvie said. “He won’t like the idea of losing the library any more than you do.”
Sweat beaded Billos’s face “So light them and then pull them in.”
“Light all four carts,” Silvie said. “We pull only when the blaze is large enough to burn the front door. Then get your tails to the back window where we go in.”
“What if the distraction doesn’t take?” Darsal asked. “Witch might know exactly what we’re up to.”
“Then we fight our way out,” Silvie said. “You have a better idea, it’s not too late. I said this would be suicide, didn’t I?”
“Let them come,” Billos sneered. “Where would you say the missing books might be?”
“Forget the books,” Rosa said. “First Johnis.”
“We’d be fools not to take every opportunity to get them.”
“I have no clue. There’s a large room underground—I could imagine Witch hiding the books inside. If we get that far, we’ll be passing through. Ready?”
A lone shriek carried through the night. Shataiki. But no sighting yet.
“Ready?” Silvie asked again.
“Let s go.”
Darsal touched Billos’s arm. He gripped the flint in one hand and the resin-dipped fire sticks in the other. Then Darsal was off into the night with Billos after her like a shadow.
Silvie wiped the sweat from her brow and tried to still the tremor in her fingers. “As we agreed,” she whispered.
“I should go with you,” Rosa said.
“Someone has to man the carts we’ve tied to the horses. You stay in the barn as agreed. Take the rope.”
They grabbed the rope and braced for the pull.
Their wait was longer than Silvie thought it should take. Maybe Billos was having difficulty lighting the fire sticks. But then a flame ignited and took to the straw of the near cart.
She saw Billos crouched and running to the far cart. It took flame.
“Wait …” she said. “Wait …”
The flames grew, licking at the carts. A window in the temple flew open.
“Now!”
They pulled on the rope with all their might. The cart rolled slowly at first, then gained momentum and wobbled across the courtyard, spewing fire into the sky.
What if the rope burns?
All four carts careened toward the front doors and crashed against one another in a great burning mess.
“Ready the other carts!” Silvie ordered and ran toward the back of the redbrick house they’d escaped from earlier with Johnis.
Cries filled the night. Shrieks of Shataiki and the loud curses of Scabs yelling for water.
Silvie didn’t stop to watch. She reached the side of the house, crashed through the window, and rolled to her feet inside the storage room Johnis had taken them through before.
Billos and Darsal dove through only moments after her. They scrambled to their feet.
Silvie snatched her hand up to stop them. From the hall beyond the room came grunts and yells of fire: “Water, get water!”
It’s working, Silvie thought. But she’d guessed they might get this far. Getting out would be the real challenge. Once they went down, they would be at the mercy of Elyon. They could execute the plan perfectly and still find a trap. Witch wasn’t an idiot.
“Follow me!”
She poked her head past the curtain, saw the hall was clear, and ran around the corner into the stairwell that descended to the subterranean rooms. No torches, but she didn’t want to advertise their presence. She descended by feel, taking the steps two at a time, then through the curtains into the lavishly furnished room illuminated by a single oil lamp on the wall.
“This is it?” Billos asked.
“The dungeon’s at the end of the hall. Grab the lamp.”
We’re going to make it in, Silvie thought.
The door at the top of the stairwell behind them slammed shut, and they spun as one.
“What was that?” Billos demanded.
Silvie took a deep breath. “That was the door to our tomb.”
he screams high above woke Johnis from a dead sleep, and he sat up in his cage, wondering if he’d dreamed of Shataiki.
Then he heard shrieks, and he knew it wasn’t a dream. The black bats were up in arms—why, he didn’t care.
The pain on his skin had intensified slowly, but the disease still hadn’t take his mind or his muscles, which meant that he’d been down here more than one day but less than two.
A key scraped and clanked in the side door, and he stood. It’s night outside, he thought. Surely Silvie and his mother hadn’t been foolish enough to …
The door swung open and Billos piled in, holding a lamp high. Followed by Darsal and, finally, Silvie.
He couldn’t find his voice to express either terror or relief, and honestly he wasn’t sure which he should feel.
“They closed the door behind us,” Silvie said, running past Billos. She snatched the key ring from his hand and tried two keys before springing the lock.
“You came back,” Johnis said.
She rushed in, kissed him on the lips. “That’s in case we don’t make it out.” Then she handed him an extra sword and pulled him stumbling from the cage.
“Nice of you to join us,” Johnis said to Billos and Darsal. “Thank Elyon for little sisters.”
“You think we’d leave you to run off with the books again?” Billos said, grinning. “Where are they?”
“The books? Where’s Rosa?”
“Waiting,” Silvie said. “Hurry! We have to go up through the library!”
“Wait, the books could be back in that room, right?” Billos ran for the door and disappeared down the hall.
“Billos!” Silvie ran after him.
“He’s right, Silvie,” Johnis said. “We should get the books.”
“Then we’ll be dead,” Darsal cried, taking up Silvie’s concern.
But they were already in the room. Weapons of all kinds hung on the walls around a large wooden table and reclining cushions. Johnis pulled Billos aside and hurried toward a large trunk set beneath a huge brass carving of the winged serpent, Teeleh. Why the Horde gave their images of the Shataiki a serpent’s body, Johnis had no clue. But he was sure by Karas’s reaction that the missing books waited below this one.
The trunk was locked. “Billos, your blade.”
Billos attacked the latch like a wolf, splintering the wood with a few hard jerks. The latch sprang open. Johnis jerked the lid up.
A candlestick in the winged serpent’s image rested on either side of the trunk’s red interior. And between the candlesticks …
Nothing.
Johnis stood back. “Gone.”
“They were here,” Billos said. “They had to be.”
“We have to leave,” Darsal snapped. “We can’t find the books if we’re dead.”
Silvie emerged from the stairwell. “Locked. They know! Get your swords ready. We have to go out the front—it’s the only other way.”
She led them at a full sprint back into the cage room, then up the stairs that led into the library.
“Silvie, slow down,” Johnis whisp
ered, but she was too fast, determined not to be trapped in the dungeon again. “There’s Shataiki.”
Silvie threw wide the door at the top of the stairs and rushed into the library. Johnis, Billos, and Darsal slid to a stop behind her.
As one they caught their breath. The library was black with the Shataiki clinging to every square inch of wall and ceiling, glaring at them silently.
“Dear Elyon,” Darsal whispered.
A few of the black beasts hissed at the use of the name.
It was as if the walls had sprouted a horrible, black, lumpy cancer.
“They can’t hurt us,” Johnis said, trying to believe it himself. “Not unless we go into the black forests.”
“You’re sure?” Darsal asked.
“Yes.”
The door behind them slammed shut; and before Johnis had time to consider what that might mean, the main door swung open.
A line of Horde, all dressed in pitch black, marched in two lines, one spreading each way to encircle them. The temple guard, Johnis had learned earlier, elite assassins. Twenty of them. Or more.
Then Witch stepped in, casually, wearing a smug expression of supreme confidence. And he wasn’t alone.
The large mangy black bat named Alucard, who’d tortured them once, was riding his back. The bat’s two forearms snaked around Witch’s neck, and its powerful legs were snug around the priest’s belly. Its wings dragged on the floor behind, and its wolflike head nestled between Witch’s right shoulder and his neck, like a cat, purring comfortably.
“I assure you,” the Dark Priest said, “there are more outside.”
Johnis could see the main sanctuary past the door, coated in Shataiki like a bat’s cave. At least twenty more Horde assassins waited there with drawn swords. The door leading outward was smoldering—Silvie must have tried to distract them with fire.
“Drop your swords.”
Johnis let his clatter to the floor. The others saw what he saw, and after a moments hesitation four swords lay on the ground. None of the Scabs made a move to retrieve them.
“The Chosen One is chosen no longer,” Witch said, “I have all four of the young recruits. It seems that your luck has run out.”
“Where are the books?” Billos asked. An odd question, Johnis thought. Yes, they were on a quest for the books, but Billos was in no position to demand them.
“Safe with me,” Witch said. “The question is where the rest are.”
“And that information will remain safe,” Johnis said, calling the priest’s bluff. “With me.”
Witch walked forward, ridden by Alucard, the huge lump on his back, who slowly rubbed his furry chin against the Dark Priest’s neck. His tongue flickered out and licked Witch’s cheek, then eye.
“I don’t think so, Chosen One,” Witch said. “When all four of you are Scabs, you’ll spill your secrets. Even if they could, do you think the Forest Guard will cross the desert to save four lost recruits who have betrayed them?”
No, Johnis thought. They won’t.
“No, I’m afraid not,” Witch said. “There’s no one left to save you.”
His words rang with a finality that Johnis knew was simply the truth. No Roush, no Guard, no comrades in arms. Rosa was waiting for them, but she didn’t stand a chance. No one stood a chance. They really were at the end of their rope this time.
The door behind them opened. So now they would be led to the dungeon to die the slow death.
Witch froze, eyes fixed behind Johnis. Qurong? Or Martyn?
“You’re wrong,” a soft female voice said.
Johnis spun around. Karas stood in the doorway, dressed in a raggedy white tunic, staring at her father, the Dark Priest named Witch.
“There is one person left who can save them.”
ohnis didn’t know what Karas was thinking, but the thought that she would risk throwing her life away flooded him with fear.
“Karas? Please …”
The little Horde girl lifted up two bags, one gripped in each hand. One was lumpy, and only then did Johnis think it might contain books. Three books.
The three missing Books of History. But even these books couldn’t save them, could they?
Alucard hissed and recoiled, eyes fixed on the second bag. A bag of water. The one Johnis had brought in to douse Silvie and Rosa with.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Witch demanded. “Drop it! Drop it where you stand.”
Karas’s eyes were on Darsal, lingering there as if something about her was especially noteworthy, though Johnis didn’t know what.
“I have the dreaded water, Father,” Karas said, looking at Witch. She dropped the bag of books by Billos’s feet and held the water out with both hands. Billos snatched up the fallen bag and looked inside. The look on his face confirmed Johnis’s suspicion. The Books of History.
Working with her small fingers, Karas opened the neck of the bag. Then she dipped one finger into the water, gasped, and brought it out.
The change on her finger was unmistakable. Gray, cracked flesh had become pink. She stared at her hand in wide wonder. Then up at Darsal again.
The Horde assassins stepped back. She’d collected the water bag from the cell where he’d dropped it several days ago, and now she intended to use the healing water as a weapon. He’d never heard of such a thing, perhaps because the forests had no inclination to save the Horde, thereby diluting their blood with converted Horde. Perhaps because there wasn’t enough water to use in battle anyway.
Yet there was nothing the Horde feared as much as Elyon’s water. It made a fine weapon indeed.
The sudden turn of events had frozen them all, but the guards could still kill her, Johnis realized. A thrown knife or sword could cut Karas down where she stood.
“You killed my mother,” the girl said, drilling Witch with a fierce gaze that could have melted steel. “I don’t want to be like you.” She suddenly reached into the bag. Her hand came out cupping water. Careful not to spill a drop, she brought her hand to her face, closed her eyes, and let the water spill over the bridge of her nose.
The healing water seared her skin, sealing it as if by magic. Her small body trembled with pain. But the sensations passed, and her mouth parted in a silent cry. Tears began to seep from her eyes.
“Drop it! Kill her!” the Dark Priest screamed.
Johnis dove at Witch while all eyes were locked on the girl. He grabbed the priests cloak and threw him to the floor. Alucard flapped for the ceiling, squawking with rage.
Johnis dragged the flailing priest into the group of four Forest fighters. “Douse him, Karas!” he yelled, foot on the priest’s cloak so he couldn’t stand.
She understood immediately. In one step she was over him, bag poised to douse him. But she was still fixated on the water for herself, he thought. Desperate for more.
“Get back!” Johnis cried at the Horde.
The priest threw both hands over his head. “Back! Do as he says. Back!”
No one moved.
Karas dipped her hand into the bag and splashed water over herself, this time her head, and another palmful on her neck. And more on her chest and her shoulders. She began to tremble like a twig in the wind, weeping as she quickly doused herself and washed away the disease at the heart of the Teeleh’s temple.
“It’s getting on me!” the priest shrieked. “Stay back, stay back!”
Only a spot or two of water touched him, but in his mind it might well be acid burning his flesh. And perhaps it was.
Silvie had her sword at the priest’s throat. “One move and you’ll pray it was only water, not your own blood.”
The room squirmed with a thousand Shataiki cowering back into the corners. They’d never been this close to the healing waters.
“Out of the room, all of you,” Johnis snapped.
The temple guard still didn’t move. Their twisted minds couldn’t fathom being so soundly routed by a bag of water.
Silvie pressed her blade against Witch’s
neck. “Tell them.”
“Get out. Out, out, out!”
They rushed out, clogging the doorway. Shataiki bats streamed out above them like a swarm fleeing their cave at dusk.
Silvie yanked the priest to his feet. “Don’t think I can’t sever your head with one jerk of my sword. Move!”
Johnis took the bag of water from Karas and splashed half of what remained on her back. What was once Horde had become a creature of Elyon once more.
He kissed her on her cheek, “You’re the bravest litde girl I know.” The first moment he had the time, he would hold her right and swing her around until she squealed with delight.
They formed a box around the priest, Johnis rushing forward with the bag of water held out threateningly. Silvie and Darsal on either side, swords at his neck. Billos behind, books in one hand, sword drawn back with the other, ready for the slightest excuse to swing.
And Karas running behind, still weeping. Some might think she was in agony, but Johnis knew. She was overcome with relief because her change wasn’t simply a matter of healed skin but of a changed heart.
They plowed through a half-burned door and into the courtyard—and faced a ring of Horde gaping in disbelief. The sky swarmed with screaming Shataiki bats.
“Now, Rosa!” Silvie shouted. “Now!”
For a moment, nothing. And then three horses crashed through the stable doors, pulling a line of three carts like a train. Rosa rode the lead horse, eyes wide at the sight of so many Horde.
“Tell them to let her in,” Silvie snapped.
“Let her in!” the priest cried.
Rosa didn’t bother stopping the train, but pulled close enough for them all to pile on, priest included. Then she steered the horses away from the temple, onto the main road, and toward the main gates.
Silvie cut two of the carts free to lighten their load. They’d intended to use fire, Johnis saw, but with the priest aboard, they didnt have the need.
No one spoke as they rode the main street down the center of Thrall. The priest tried once, but Johnis shut him down. Not a word. Not even a whisper.
They dumped him at the city gates with the last cart, and he watched them race away on three horses.