Circle Series 4-in-1

by Ted Dekker

  She bathed once a day now.

  “Excuse me, mistress, but Qurong calls for you.”

  Chelise faced her maidservant, Elison, a petite woman with long black hair knotted around yellow flowers. Daffodils. Adorning oneself with flowers was the one Forest Dweller practice that Chelise enjoyed adopting more than perhaps any other. They’d never had such a luxury in the desert. As of late, flowers were becoming more difficult to find near the city.

  “Did he say why he wants to see me?” Chelise asked.

  “Only that he has a gift for you.”

  “Did he say what kind of gift?”

  “No, mistress.” Elison grinned. “But I don’t think it’s fruit or flowers.”

  Chelise felt her pulse surge. “The villa?”

  They all knew that Qurong was building a villa for her in the large walled compound referred to as the royal garden, three miles outside the city. She hadn’t seen the villa yet, as Qurong kept the section where it was being built cordoned off. But she’d been to the compound many times, usually to the library to write or to read the Books collected over the past fifteen years. The sprawling gardens and orchards were kept by a staff of twenty servants. Not a blade of grass was out of place. Elyon himself would live here, they said, such was its beauty.

  And Chelise would live there too, beside the library where she would sequester herself and write into the night. Maybe even one day discover the key to reading the Books of Histories.

  “Perhaps.” Her maidservant winked.

  Chelise ran into her room. “Quickly, help me dress. What should I wear?”

  “I would say that a white gown—”

  “With red flowers! Is he waiting?”

  “He will meet you in the courtyard in a few minutes.”

  “A few minutes? Then we have to hurry!”

  The palace had been built from wood with flattened reeds for walls and pounded bark for floors—a luxury reserved only for the upper class. The Forest People had built their homes in the same manner, and Qurong had promised that they would all live in such magnificent homes soon enough. Their simple mud dwellings were only temporary, a necessity mandated by the need to build so many houses in a short period of time.

  She discarded her simple bedclothes and took the long bleached tunic that Elison had retrieved from her closet. The gown was woven from thread that the Forest People had perfected—smooth and silky, unlike the rough burlap the Horde had made from the woven stalks of desert wheat. The costs of the campaigns against the forests had been staggering, but Qurong had been right about the benefits of conquering them.

  “The flowers . . .”

  Elison laughed. “The villa won’t be going anywhere. Take your time. Sometimes it’s best to make a man wait, even if he is the supreme leader.”

  “You know men so well?”

  Elison didn’t respond, and Chelise knew that her comment had stung. Maidservants were forbidden to marry.

  She sat in front of the resin mirror and picked up a brush. “I will let you marry, Elison. I’ve told you, the day that I marry, you’ll be free to find your own man.”

  Elison dipped her head and left the room to fetch the flowers.

  The mirror’s resin had been poured over a flat black stone that reflected her features as a pool of dark water would. She dipped the bristles of her brush into a small bowl of oil and began working out the flakes that speckled her dark hair—an unending task that most women avoided by wearing a hood.

  And when will Qurong allow you to marry, Chelise?

  When he finds a suitable man for you. This is the burden of royalty. You can’t just marry the first handsome man who walks by this castle.

  Chelise decided to forget the brushing and settle for the hood after all. She dabbed her fingers into a large bowl of white morst powder and patted her face and neck where she’d already applied paste. The regular variety of the powdery paste soothed skin by drying any lingering moisture such as sweat, but it tended to flake with the skin. This new variety, developed by her father’s alchemist, consisted of two separate applications: a clear thin salve, then a white morst powder that contained ground herbs, effectively minimizing the flaking. It might be fine for the common woman to walk around with loose flakes of skin hanging from her tunic, but it wasn’t fitting for royalty.

  Elison returned with red roses.

  “Roses?”

  “I also have tuhan flowers,” Elison said.

  Chelise took the roses and smiled.

  They descended the stairs ten minutes later and hurried toward the courtyard. They crossed an atrium that rose all five stories and featured a large fruit tree at its center. Sweet fruit—not the bitter rot that the desert tribes preferred—was the one spoil of the forest that all of the people gorged themselves on. Chelise stopped before the arching entrance to the courtyard, faced Elison, and opened her hands, palms up. “Okay?”

  “You’re stunning.”

  “Thank you.”

  She turned and kissed the base of a tall bronze statue of Elyon—a winged serpent on a pole. “I feel religious today,” she said softly, and walked into the courtyard.

  Qurong stood in a black tunic beside Woref, who was dressed in full battle gear. Behind them were the albinos under guard.

  The sight snatched away any thought of the villa. Chelise stopped, confused. Qurong meant to give her some albinos as a gift? No, that couldn’t possibly be it. His gift was to show off his little victory.

  Qurong saw her, spread his arms, and smiled wide. “My daughter arrives. A vision of beauty to grace her father’s pride.”

  What was he saying? He rarely spoke in such lofty terms.

  “Good morning, Father. I’m told you have a gift.”

  He laughed. “And I do. But first I want to show you something.” Qurong glanced at Woref, who was staring at her directly. “Show her, Woref.”

  The general dipped his head, stepped to one side, and stood tall like a peacock. For all his fearful reputation, he demeaned himself with this display of pride. Did he think she would tremble with respect at his capturing a few albinos? He should have wiped out the whole band of jackals by now.

  She looked at the poor victims. These few were a mockery of his . . .

  Something about the albino on the left stopped her. He looked vaguely familiar. Impossible, of course—the only albinos she’d ever seen were the ones dragged in as prisoners these past few months. A couple dozen at most. This man wasn’t one of them. Then what was it? His green eyes seemed to look through her. Unnerving. She averted her stare.

  The prisoners’ hands were bound behind them, and their ankles were shackled. Other than simple loin skirts, they were all naked except for one—a woman. They’d been covered in ash, but their sweat had washed most of it away, revealing broad vertical swaths of fleshy skin.

  “You don’t know who you’re looking at, do you, my dear?”

  “What is this?” a voice demanded behind her. Mother had come in. “How dare you bring these filthy creatures into my house?”

  “Watch your tongue, wife,” Qurong snapped. It was no secret that Patricia ruled the castle, but Qurong wouldn’t tolerate brazenness in front of his men.

  Patricia stopped beside Chelise and eyed her husband. “Please remove these albinos from my house.”

  “Thank you for coming, my dear. Your house will be disease-free soon enough. First, please, both of you, look closely and tell me what you see.”

  Chelise glanced at her mother, who held Qurong with a glare. Her eyes were as white as the moon, but today the moon was on fire.

  “For the sake of Elyon, woman! It won’t kill you! Look at them!”

  Her mother finally obeyed.

  Something strange was happening with this ceremonious display, but Chelise was at a loss. They were simply five albinos in chains, headed for the dungeons and then for a drowning. Why would her father take such pride?

  She guessed it the moment Qurong spoke.

  “You see,
even the great Thomas of Hunter is nothing but one more albino in chains.”

  Thomas of Hunter!

  “Which one?” Patricia asked.

  But Chelise already knew which one. The once-great commander of the feared Forest Guard was the man who was staring at her. She blinked and looked away again. He looked at her as if he recognized her.

  “Take them away,” Chelise said.

  “So you’ve captured their leader,” her mother said. “This is good news, but their presence in our house is offensive. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of commoners to cheer your victory.”

  Qurong’s jaw muscles flexed. Mother was pushing him too far. “It isn’t the commoner’s victory,” he snapped. “It’s yours. And it’s your daughter’s.”

  Hers? A smile returned to Qurong’s face.

  “Our daughter’s?” Patricia asked.

  Now Qurong’s eyes were on Chelise. “Yes, our daughter’s. Today I am announcing the marriage of my only daughter.”

  Her mother gasped.

  It took a moment for the words to sink in. She felt Elison’s hand take her elbow. But what did her marriage have to do with these albinos?

  “I am to be married?”

  “Yes, my love.”

  “Well, that is good news indeed,” her mother said.

  Chelise felt a momentary surge of panic. “Married to whom?”

  “To the man who captured him, of course.” Qurong stepped to his left and put a hand on his general’s shoulder. “To Woref, commander of my armies.”

  Woref!

  Chelise felt the breath leave her lungs. The general’s hands hung loosely by his sides—big, thick hands with gnarled fingers. He was twice her size. He lifted a hand and pulled back his hood to reveal his head. Long dreadlocks fell over his shoulders. There could be no mistake about it: this man was part beast.

  But he was also Woref, mightiest man in the Horde, next to her father. And even now his gray eyes looked at her hungrily. Desire. This mighty man wanted her as his wife.

  Whatever reservation she struggled with was more than compensated for by her mother, who rushed over to the general and bent to one knee. She took his hand and kissed it.

  “My daughter is yours, my lord.”

  She stood as quickly and kissed her husband on the cheek. “You have made me a very happy woman.”

  Qurong chuckled.

  “Well,” her mother said, facing Chelise. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  Chelise was still too stunned to speak.

  Her maidservant squeezed her elbow. “It is a most excellent choice,” Elison whispered.

  Her compassionate voice filled Chelise with courage. She lowered her head and knelt to one knee. “I am honored to accept this gift, great Qurong of the Horde. You have made me a very happy woman.”

  With those words her apprehension fled. An excitement she’d never known before flooded her veins. She was going to marry the mightiest man on the earth. She would be the envy of every woman who still possessed the fire to love. She was about to find new life.

  She heard him coming toward her. She opened her eyes but dared not lift her head. His muddy battle boots stopped three feet from her. Then one knee. He was kneeling!

  Woref ’s hand touched her chin and lifted her face gently. She stared into his gray eyes. A tremble swept through her bones. Was this terror or desire?

  Woref leaned forward and kissed her forehead. He spoke softly, but she couldn’t mistake the great emotion in his voice. “You are mine. Forever, you are mine,” he said. Then he stood.

  The courtyard had fallen completely silent. Now her mother sniffed. She’d never heard the sound from Patricia before.

  “When will they marry?” Mother asked.

  “In three days,” Qurong said. “On the same day that we drown Thomas of Hunter.”

  11

  THOMAS HAD recognized her the moment she stepped into the courtyard. This was Chelise, the daughter of Qurong, whom he’d once met in the desert after the disease had taken him. He’d persuaded her that he was an assassin, and she’d treated him kindly before sending him on his way with a horse. He’d barely made it back to the lake to bathe. He would never forget the pain of that bathing.

  He would never forget the kindness of this woman who stared at him with flat gray eyes. She didn’t recognize him.

  Now he’d just learned that she was being given in marriage to the vilest Scab he’d yet met. Woref. He wasn’t sure if she wanted Woref or loathed him, but she’d reacted with enough passion to bring a lump to his throat.

  Both Chelise and her mother had used liberal amounts of the morst to cover their faces and smooth out the cracks in their skin. This wasn’t done for comfort alone, he thought. Not nearly so much would have sufficed. The powder they used actually covered their skin. In its own way, the Horde’s upper class seemed to be distancing itself from the disease. At least the royal women did.

  If not for Woref ’s armor and Qurong’s cloak, both which incorporated heavy use of polished bronze buttons, trims, and a winged serpent plate on their chests, both men would have been indistinguishable from any other Scab. They wore their hair long, in knotted dreadlocks, and cracked skin hung in small flakes off their cheeks and noses. They too used morst, but the lightly powdered variety that served the practical purpose of keeping the skin dry, if not smooth.

  Seeing the best of the Horde in such close proximity, Thomas was reminded why his people had such an aversion to Scabs. The disease that Justin had drowned to heal was disturbing in the least. Even looking at the disease for too long was frowned upon among some tribes.

  Yet Thomas couldn’t tear his eyes from Chelise, and at first he didn’t know why. Then he understood—he pitied her. This woman who had once treated him with such kindness wanted to be free from the disease, he was sure of it. Or was he simply imposing his will on hers?

  When Qurong had announced her marriage, Thomas found himself silently begging her to scream her objections. For a moment he thought she might. Then she’d fallen to her knee and expressed her pleasure, and Thomas’s heart had fallen like a rock.

  Was she so blind? He felt smothered by empathy.

  Qurong had just said something, but Thomas had missed it. The room was quiet. Chelise was looking at him again. Their eyes locked.

  Do you recognize me? He willed her to see. Elyon once sent you to save my life. I am the man who called himself an assassin in front of your tent.

  What had Qurong said that brought this silence?

  “Well, then, we have three days to prepare,” Qurong’s wife said. “Not exactly ample time to prepare a wedding, but considering the occasion, I would say that sooner is better than later.” She took her daughter’s arm and bowed to her husband and Woref. “My lords.” Then she led Chelise from the courtyard.

  Three days.

  Qurong spoke to Woref: “Take them to the dungeon. Apart from you, no one but Ciphus or myself is to speak to them.”

  Woref dipped his head. “Sir.”

  Qurong stepped up to Thomas and eyed him carefully. He lifted his hand and squeezed Thomas’s cheeks. “Three days. I’m tempted to finish you now, but I intend to make you speak first.” He released his cheeks and absently wiped his fingers on his tunic.

  “I will speak now,” Thomas said.

  Qurong glanced at Woref, then back, grinning. “So easily? I expected the mighty warrior to be more reticent.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  His candor seemed to put the leader off.

  “Tell me the locations of your tribes.”

  “They’ve moved. I don’t know where they are.”

  Qurong looked at Woref.

  “I’m afraid it’s true, sir. The tribes move when contact is made.”

  “You run like a pack of dogs,” Qurong said. “The great warriors have turned into frightened pups.”

  “The bravery of my people is greater than any man who wields a sword,” Thomas said. “We coul
d kill your warriors easily enough, but this isn’t the way of Justin.”

  “Justin is dead, you fool!”

  “Is he? The Horde is dead.”

  “Do I look dead?” Qurong slapped him on the cheek. “Did a dead man just strike you?”

  Thomas didn’t respond. This man was going to drown him in three days—not enough time for Mikil to mount a rescue, not with her duty to protect the tribe first. He had his dreams. If there was any way to turn the tables here, it would come from his dreams.

  “Ciphus says you’ve lost your minds. I see now that he’s right. Take them to the dungeons.”

  He turned away. A guard grabbed Thomas’s arm and pulled him around.

  “And, Woref,” Qurong said, turning back. “Feed him the rhambutan.”

  He knew?

  “We don’t want these dreams Martyn spoke about interfering with our plans. If he refuses to eat, kill one of the other prisoners.”

  Woref led them from the castle back into the street. Thomas stared, still taken aback by the changes.

  He’d grown accustomed to the scent of sulfur during the long trip through the desert, but the stink had nearly overpowered him while they were still two miles from the Horde city. Thousands of trees had been cleared to make room for a city that looked more like a garbage pile than a place humans were expected to live. It reminded Thomas of images from the histories, slums in India, only made of mud rather than rusted tin shanties. Flies had infested the place, drawn by the stink.

  Thousands of Scabs had lined the road, giving the war party a wide berth. Some mocked in high-pitched tones; some stood with folded arms; all stared with bland eyes. There was no way to tell which ones had once been Forest People. Thomas didn’t recognize a single face.

  If Thomas wasn’t mistaken, Qurong had built his castle on the very spot that his own house had once been built. The wooden structures that had been homes for the Forest People still stood, but they had fallen into disrepair, and the yards had gone to waste.

  “Move!”

  They marched toward the lake. The homes once occupied by Ciphus and his council were now bordered by twin statues of the winged serpent. Teeleh.