Circle Series 4-in-1

by Ted Dekker

  “You mean Justin of Southern?”

  “No, not with Justin. With Johan. That is the name I know him by. Johan.”

  Half an hour later they had their meeting.

  Johan was clearly there under his stinking, flaking skin. Older now, late twenties. Paint his eyes green and his skin flesh-colored, and no one who’d known the boy could possibly mistake him. The round circle of the druids was shaded on his forehead.

  But he moved and spoke like a completely different man. His eyes shifted warily and he kept his movements short to minimize the pain from his disease. Like all of the Horde, he didn’t think of the rot as a disease. His mind was sharp, but he’d been swallowed by lies that had long ago persuaded him that this was the way all good men should look and move and feel. Pain was natural. The smell of rotting flesh was more a scent of wholesome humanity than a stench.

  Johan looked down at Thomas and wrinkled his nose. “The lakes do that to you?”

  “Do what?”

  “Give you that terrible smell.”

  “I suppose so. And your skin is no less offensive to us. You hated the smell yourself, three years ago. Where’s Justin?”

  Johan hesitated. “He left an hour ago.”

  “Will he be back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you agree to peace with him?”

  “That is clearly his intent.”

  “Is it yours?”

  “You tell me; is it?”

  The man was talking in riddles. He needed to speak with Johan candidly.

  “What I have to say is for your ears only,” he said. “Send your men away and I will send my lieutenant away.”

  “Sir—”

  He held up his hand to Mikil. She wouldn’t question him further in public.

  “Surely you don’t fear me,” Thomas said. “You’re my wife’s brother.”

  “Leave,” Johan said to the four warriors behind him.

  They hesitated, then backed out. Thomas looked at Mikil who glared disapprovingly, then left. Both parties walked off about fifty paces in opposite directions, then stopped to watch from the open desert.

  “Johan,” Thomas said. “You don’t remember your real name, do you?”

  “You mean the name I had as a child. Every boy grows up. Or are all Forest People still children?”

  “Is there any of Johan left in you?”

  “Only the man.”

  “And why is it that one of my soldiers can kill five of yours?”

  Johan’s eye twitched. “Because my men are only just now learning to fight you. I know your ways. Our skills will soon surpass yours.”

  “You are teaching them new tricks, aren’t you? But think back, Johan. Before you lost your way in the desert. You were much stronger than you are now. The skin condition, it’s a disease.”

  The man just held his gaze.

  “How did you get lost?”

  “Is this why you called me out? To talk about a time when we played with toy swords?”

  Johan’s mind was as scaled as his flesh, Thomas thought. He wondered if Rachelle could break through his deception.

  “No. I’ve come because I know more than I should.” He had to be careful. “I overheard a discussion in your leader’s tent several nights ago when I killed the general. I hope you won’t hold his death against me.”

  “The general you killed was a good friend of mine.”

  “Then please accept my condolences. Either way, I now know that you’re conspiring with Justin and Qurong against the Forest People. You will offer them peace, and in the face of overwhelming odds, you think Justin will persuade our people to accept your offer. But you intend to betray us once you have won our trust.”

  Thomas let the statement stand. Johan made no comment. It was impossible to read his face, shrouded by the dark hood and scaled as it was.

  “I’m curious, what will Justin receive for his betrayal?”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  “How long have you been planning this?”

  “Long enough.”

  “I should have known. You’re both originally from our forest. First you go missing three years ago, and then you conveniently show up as a general who knows our ways. A year later Justin refuses my appointment and begins to preach his peace. All the while you two are plotting the overthrow of the forest. For all I know you hatched the plan with Justin in the Southern Forest and then chose the life of a Scab. He’s been seeding doubt while you’ve been building your army to take advantage of that doubt. Was it his idea or yours? Will you make Justin supreme leader of the Horde?”

  Johan—Martyn, the druid general—stared at him for a long time. But he refused to answer.

  “Still, you must be worried about the toll a battle in the forest would have on your army or you’d just march on us now, without any attempt at betrayal,” Thomas said. “Betrayal is your equalizer. You hope to catch us with our guard down.”

  “Is that right? Well, if you know this, our plan is foiled.”

  Such a quick admission? But Johan didn’t have the tone of a defeated man.

  “Not necessarily. We each have a problem. Mine is Justin; yours is Qurong. I think that Justin may have enough power to compromise our will for battle.”

  Johan hesitated. “A surprisingly candid admission.”

  “I’m not here to play games. Even with your betrayal, the battle would be fierce. Many of your men would die. Most.”

  “A possibility. And what is my problem?”

  “Your problem is Qurong. He will fight this battle even knowing his betrayal has been compromised. In the end, the forest will be red with blood and you will have few people left to govern.”

  “Isn’t that the way it is? War?”

  “No.” Thomas lowered his voice. It had taken Mikil most of the ride through the forest to embrace the wisdom of what he was about to propose.

  “There can never be a true peace between our people; neither of us can accept it. But there can be a truce.” He tapped his finger on the table. “Now.”

  “As Justin has proposed. A truce.”

  “He’s proposed a peace that will end in more bloodshed than anyone can imagine, most of it Horde blood. The only way I see out of this quagmire is for the brother of my wife, Johan, to lead the Horde instead of Qurong. You may have become a man, but will you kill your own sister?”

  “I could have you killed for such words,” Johan said. He glanced at his men. Clearly he wasn’t excited about the mention of treason against his leader.

  “You’re suggesting a revolt against Qurong, the man who is my father.”

  “He’s not your father.”

  “His name was Tanis, and I’ve always seen him as my father.”

  Tanis. Tanis? The firstborn of all men. A father figure to the people of the colored forest. Qurong was Tanis! Thomas felt his chest constrict. He took this in with alarm, though he hoped none showed.

  “If you think your armies can survive the explosives we have for them, you’re sadly mistaken. Surely you heard about the fate of your Scabs in the canyons. If it’s more death you want, tell Qurong to march now, tonight! But I can promise you, for every one of my Guard you kill, our gunpowder will rip the head off a hundred of yours.”

  It was all a bluff; they had no explosives. But by Johan’s slight reaction, Thomas thought it had at least created some confusion.

  He continued quickly. “I will ensure your safe passage into the forest with Qurong and Justin. Bring a thousand of your best warriors if you like. Before the people, you will expose the betrayal of Justin and Qurong, and I will swear that what you say is the truth. We will condemn Qurong to death. You will step into the vacancy.”

  Slowly a smile nudged Johan’s mouth. “You are the son of the Shataiki, aren’t you?”

  “That would be Qurong, the firstborn who brought this sickness upon us in the first place.”

  “And Justin?”

  Thomas shrugged. “He will be dis
credited. Banished.”

  “I may kill him?”

  The question struck Thomas as strange. “Why?”

  “His loyalty to Qurong would be a problem for me.”

  Thomas hesitated. “Do what you must.”

  “You think I’m foolish enough to walk into a trap with only a thousand of my men at my side? Qurong will never agree to this.”

  “He will if I agree to stay here as a guarantee of his safety.” It was the most troublesome element of the plan for Mikil. But Thomas had convinced her that the world was at stake. Without some kind of compromise, there would be a bloodbath. Qurong would attack. The forest would be burned. They might kill most of the Horde army, but in the end they wouldn’t have their wives or children to justify such a terrible victory.

  “Your plan is treasonous,” Johan finally said. “I’m not a man who will entertain treason.”

  “My plan will save your people. And mine. I am the husband of your sister. I beg you, consider your heritage and help me build a truce. With Qurong there is only war. Teeleh has bound him hand and heart. I believe that in your heart there is still room for Rachelle and your own people.”

  Johan looked at him and finally stood. “Wait here.” He walked out into the desert and faced the distant dunes. For a long time he stood with his back to Thomas. Then he walked slowly back into camp.

  Mikil ran into the tent. “Well?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is he considering it?”

  “I think.”

  “I still don’t like it. What’s to keep a stray soldier with a sickle from taking off your head?”

  “I will insist on protection. The last time I checked, I could handle a stray maniac with a single sickle. Besides, you’ll have Qurong at the tip of your sword.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Then they don’t take you into custody until Qurong is in the forest, under our Guard’s watch.”

  “Of course. Here he comes.”

  She retreated, eying the approaching general with skepticism.

  Johan swept his robe aside and sat down. “I don’t care what you say; you are a son of the Shataiki,” he said. “But I like your plan. My conditions are as follows: As a sign of good faith, you will not only stay, as you have offered, but you will pull the army on your perimeter back to the center of the forest. I don’t want you waging war while I am inside.”

  Thomas considered the request. Qurong would be their guarantee. As long as Mikil had their leader, they would never attack.

  “Agreed.”

  “My other condition is that you allow me to conduct Qurong’s execution as a show of my new authority over my people. It is a language they will understand.”

  “Understood.”

  Martyn, general of the Horde whose name was once Johan, dipped his head. “Then we have an agreement.”

  They spent another half hour refining details before Thomas and his lone aide mounted and rode away from the camp. His second—Mikil, she was called—would leave for the forest tonight after dark. Qurong, Martyn, Justin, and a thousand warriors would follow the next morning. They would enter the forest in exchange for Thomas, who would then be taken into custody by the Horde army.

  Qurong and Thomas would entrust their lives to each other.

  The entourage would arrive at the lake in the evening with full assurance that Mikil had set the stage. If she hadn’t done so satisfactorily, Qurong and Martyn would retreat. If they were ambushed by the Guard, Thomas would also die. And of course, vice versa.

  So it was planned. So it was agreed.

  Martyn stared toward the west, where he could just see the distant forest in the twilight. Qurong stood beside him, frowning.

  “So they suspect nothing?”

  “Nothing. He honestly thinks I would betray you. They are children, as I once was.”

  “And Justin will agree?”

  “Justin will agree. He knows what he’s doing.”

  Qurong grunted and turned back to the camp. “As will they all, soon enough.”

  22

  DARKNESS SWALLOWED the desert. The moon rose and cast an eerie glow over the rising dunes. How many hours had passed? The sun would surely rise soon—she had to hang on until then. That’s what Rachelle kept telling herself. If she could just make it to morning, the light would bring new hope.

  But now a new problem presented itself: She hadn’t bathed for a full day and a half, since the night of the celebration, and her skin was beginning to burn. The pain beneath her skin was now nearly as bad as the dull ache of her wounds.

  She lay on one side, feeling the disease slowly eat at her skin, afraid to close her eyes, afraid sleep would take her life, afraid someone might find her and kill her, afraid that she might never see Thomas or Samuel or Marie again. How would they cope without a loving wife and a knowing mother?

  They would be lost without her. She didn’t think of herself in any inflated way; it was simply a fact. Thomas needed her like he needed water. Samuel and Marie had friends who’d lost their fathers to war, but not their mothers.

  She’d managed to crawl off her horse without losing consciousness. The stallion waited patiently, twenty paces away. She wasn’t sure whether she wished it would go and find help, or stay in case she needed it to ride out, although she couldn’t imagine either actually happening.

  She faded in and out of a semblance of sleep. Oddly enough, she was quite sure that she was still asleep under the lean-to with Thomas in France. Perhaps this was all a dream. Was she bleeding from her leg and side there?

  So much that she didn’t understand.

  The hours dragged on. No crickets here. No forest sounds. The silence of the desert was its own sound. It was cold, but that was good because it kept her from slipping into unconsciousness. She had to concentrate to keep from shivering, because shivering sent waves of pain through her back. Maybe she had a fever, because she couldn’t remember it ever being—

  Was that light? Rachelle stared at the barely graying horizon.

  Already! The dawn was coming. She’d made it! Filled with an irrational hope, she moved her arm to sit up. Sharp pain sliced through her belly.

  She closed her eyes and winced. Her whole body was going stiff. She couldn’t get to her feet, much less to the horse. And when the sun was finished welcoming her to the land of the living, it would only burn her to a crisp. Hope fell to the pit of her stomach like a lead weight.

  Her heart plodded on, but it felt slower now. Hardly like a heart at all. Like a horse walking through sand. A shooshing sound more than a thudding heart sound. For a moment she imagined herself on a horse, plodding out to the desert. She was hallucinating.

  Rachelle cracked her eyes. Saw the horse. Plod, plod, shoosh, shoosh. Right toward her as if it were real and the means for her delivery.

  That is a real horse, Rachelle.

  Now she did hear her heart, and it was bolting in her chest. There, not twenty paces away, stood a pale horse. Its rider was throwing his leg over the saddle to dismount.

  This was a Forest Dweller!

  She jerked up. Pain filled her eyes with black specks, but she held on.

  “Hel . . . hello?”

  “It’s okay,” the voice said. “Hold on!”

  He—yes, it was a he—was hurrying to her. Thomas?

  Her vision cleared and she saw him plainly for the first time. This was Justin of Southern!

  Her strength gave way and she sank back down. Tears flooded her eyes, but they weren’t from the pain.

  Justin ran the last few steps and knelt by her side. His hand gently touched her forehead. “Just relax. Breathe. I’m so sorry, my dear. I came to find you as soon as I heard what the patrol had done, but it took me all night to follow your tracks through the canyons. You’re a fighter, no doubt about that.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure she even had the strength to speak intelligently. This was Justin. She wasn’t even sure what to think about that. Tears were
leaking down her cheeks, blurring her vision.

  “Shh, shh. It’s okay, Rachelle. I promise you it will be okay.”

  He knew her from when he was under Thomas’s command. His hand touched the arrows, each one, as if he was checking to see whether they were too deep to pull.

  “I’m dying,” she stammered.

  “No, I won’t let you. But you’re turning.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you carrying water on your horse?”

  She glanced at the skin on her arm. Gray. He must not be carrying any, or he’d have retrieved his own.

  “Some,” she said.

  “Where is your horse?”

  She looked past him. The horse had gone off?

  It was suddenly all too much. There was no way. Even now, having been found, she knew that she could never survive the injuries she’d sustained. And the lake was too far. Her life was seeping from her by the moment.

  She closed her eyes and let herself go. Sobs wracked her body. Not sorrow for herself, but for her children and for Thomas.

  “Why are you crying?” he asked.

  She sniffed and swallowed deep. She would die with her head high, not blubbering like a baby.

  “Hear me, my child. I will not let you die today.”

  He was trying to console her, but she was lying here with arrows protruding from infected wounds, barely clinging to life; his words rang empty. Did he think she was a child to build her hopes on such empty words of promise?

  “Don’t lie to me,” she said.

  “No, I would never—”

  “Don’t lie to me!” she shouted. “I’m dying! And I’m dying because of you. He came out here because of your obsession with this impossible peace!” The words came out in a rush that left her breathless. Justin deserved no such tirade, and her anger was really directed at her circumstance more than him, but she didn’t care. This was the man who’d defeated her husband in the inquiry. And, at least in part, she was dying now because of it!

  Justin stood. Then stepped back. He stared at her, eyes round. She’d hurt him, surprised him. But she was too far gone with pain and dread over her own predicament to care. She rolled her head away from him and cried.