by Ted Dekker
“That doesn’t mean she can’t choose differently. She’s a person, like any one of us!”
His statement rang too loudly for the small canyon.
“No, Thomas, she’s not like any one of us,” William said. “She’s a Scab. I never would have believed I would hear these words coming from you. Your emotions are clouding your judgment. Get ahold of yourself, man!”
“And what about Justin’s emotions?” Suzan asked. “Wasn’t it his love that led to his own drowning?”
Several spoke at once, and their words were a jumbled mess to Thomas. Like his own feelings. He wasn’t sure how he felt. Emotions weren’t trustworthy; they all knew that. On the other hand, Suzan asked a good question. How would Justin see this?
He held up his hand for silence. They quieted. “If Ronin were here, we would defer to his judgment. I admit, the thought of this woman’s death sickens me, but I will defer to the judgment of this council. I have no argument except for my own emotions, which I’ve expressed. William, explain your doctrine.”
William dipped his head. “Thank you. I have three points that will guide us. One, as to Suzan’s question about Justin’s emotions, it is said that Elyon is lovesick over his bride. This we all know. We also know that we, the Circle, are his bride. He told us as much in the desert. The Horde is not his bride.”
He glanced around, received no objection, and continued.
“Two, the disease, which can only be washed clean by the drowning, is an offense to Elyon. Some say that anything a Scab touches is unclean, though I wouldn’t go so far. But a Scab is certainly unclean. To embrace such a wretched creature who has embraced filth is to embrace the filth itself.”
“Justin embraced me when I was a Scab,” Johan said.
“That was before the drowning was available. In fact, that is why he provided the drowning, so that we could cure the disease. You’re saying it makes no difference if we’re clean or not? He would never have gone to such lengths if it made no difference.”
There was some logic to William’s argument, but it didn’t sit well with Thomas. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
“He hates the disease,” Suzan said, “but not the man or woman beneath it.”
“Is that why the Book states that he will burn any branch that does not remain in him and bear fruit?” William demanded. “I am the vine, you are the branches, but see what happens to those branches that are fruitless.”
That shut them up.
“And finally, if this is not enough, consider Elyon’s anger toward those who refuse him. Would you trade yourself for Teeleh, Thomas? Or for a Shataiki? Are the Scabs less deceived than they are? I would say to give yourself to or for any Scab woman is no less offensive than embracing the Shataiki and would invoke Elyon’s anger.”
The argument was so offensive that none of them seemed able to engage it properly. Instead of finding any encouragement to do what he now knew must be done, Thomas felt his desperation deepen. He could feel his pulse in his ears.
“You all know that I disagree with William,” Johan said. “At the last council I argued that we should embrace the Horde by becoming more like them. But this is different. The Circle needs you, Thomas. Your tribe needs you. Many more of the Horde will come to the Circle through your leadership than this one woman.”
Thomas looked at the others. Mikil remained quiet, as did Jamous. Not even Suzan objected to Johan’s statement.
“This is the council’s decision?”
No one spoke.
He stood. “So be it.”
Thomas walked from them, rounded the corner, and marched toward the waiting Scab.
“Thomas!” Mikil ran to catch up. “Thomas, please, she’s a Scab, for heaven’s sake,” she whispered. “Let it go.”
“I am letting it go!” he snapped.
He stopped in front of the Scab. “Go tell your general that Thomas of Hunter will no more agree to his ridiculous terms than he will drink his own blood.” The least he could do for Chelise was to send a clear message to Qurong that he despised his daughter. “And tell Qurong that what he does with his daughter is his business. Now leave us.”
The Scab hesitated, then mounted quickly, turned his horse around, and trotted up the canyon.
26
THEY LEFT the valley in single file and headed across the desert toward the Southern forest. Thomas’s sullen mood had smothered the group. Mikil and Johan had tried to lighten his disposition with talk of the dreams, but he quickly reminded them that there was little hope of surviving in the dreams more than a week. He might be better off eating the rhambutan fruit every night for the rest of his life and forgetting the histories even existed. They finally left him to sulk on his own.
William led and Thomas brought up the rear, behind Suzan, who had consoled him with a kind smile. The horses plodded up the sandy dunes with no more than an occasional snort to clear dust from their nostrils.
With each step Thomas felt his heart sink deeper into his gut. Try as he might, he couldn’t lift his own spirits. There was no reason to these emotions he battled. None at all. He told himself this much a hundred times over.
She’s a Scab covered by disease, Thomas. Her breath smells like sulfur, and her mind is clouded by deception. She would more likely order your death than drown in a red pool.
Then why this inexorable attraction to her? Surely he didn’t love her as a man loved a woman. How could he love any woman after losing Rachelle only thirteen months ago? How could any woman, much less this diseased whore, replace Rachelle?
The file was moving faster than he was, but rather than urging his mount to catch them, he slowed even more. Their decision to sentence Chelise to her death had separated them from him.
It’s your shame that holds you back. Or is it protest?
Either way, falling behind seemed appropriate. They glanced back but let him have his space. He was soon a full dune behind them.
Only then, when he was out of their sight completely, did he begin to feel at ease. He let images of her fill his mind without regret.
Chelise staring up at him on the ladder, arms folded as he looked frantically through the Books of Histories.
Chelise repeating the words she’d written, wild-eyed with excitement.
Chelise crushed by her inability to put a full sentence together.
Take the disease from her skin and the deception from her mind and what kind of woman would she be? What prince would be worthy of this princess?
“Hello, Thomas.”
He jerked up on his horse. But there was no one. He was next to a lone rock formation between two dunes, alone. No sight of the others. The sun was getting to his mind.
“Over here, my old friend.”
Thomas twisted around to the sound of the voice. There, on a small rock behind him, stood a bat.
A white bat. A Roush.
“Michal?”
The animal’s furry snout smiled wide. “One and the same.”
“It’s . . . it’s really you? I haven’t seen . . .” He trailed off.
“You haven’t seen a Roush in a long time, yes, I know. That doesn’t mean we’re not here. I’ve been watching you. I must say, you’ve done well. Much better than I guessed publicly before all the others, though I hate to admit it.”
Thomas spilled off his horse and ran toward the bat. He wanted to throw his arms around the creature’s neck and tell Michal how good it was to see him. Instead he slid to a stop three paces from Michal and gawked like a schoolboy.
“It’s . . . You’re really here . . .” Thomas finally stammered.
“In the flesh. Although I would prefer that you keep our meeting to yourself.”
Thomas sank to his knees, partially out of weakness, partially to match the shorter creature’s height. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“But I do.”
Thomas took a deep breath. “Then tell me.”
“She’s come over you,” Mic
hal said.
Thomas stood. How much did Michal know? “Who?”
“Chelise. The princess.”
“I empathize with her, if that’s what you mean. She’s doesn’t deserve to die. We spent time together in the library, and she may be a Scab, but she’s not what I expected any Scab to be. Surely Elyon can have mercy on even—”
“You call this empathy?” Michal asked. “I would call it love.”
“No. No, it’s not like that.”
“Then perhaps it should be,” Michal said.
Thomas stared at the Roush, dumbstruck. “What do you mean? She’s a Scab.”
“And so were you. But he doesn’t see it that way.”
“Justin?”
“Justin.”
Thomas glanced up the dune at the trail left by the others. “But the doctrine . . .”
“Then you must have your doctrine wrong. Tell me what William said.”
Why had Michal chosen this moment to reveal himself? Hope began to swell in Thomas’s chest.
“The Circle is his bride. He’s lovesick over the Circle.”
“True enough, but he’s wooing his bride even now,” Michal said. “Believe me, if you were to see Justin now, he would be over there by those rocks, pacing with his hands in his hair, desperate to win the love of the Horde. They will be his bride as much as you.”
Thomas looked at the rocks and imagined Justin pacing. His heart began to pound.
“What else did William say?” the Roush asked.
“That Elyon’s anger toward those who refuse him must be appeased by the drowning before we can embrace them.”
Michal frowned. “I would have guessed that after Justin’s death you would understand him better. Elyon’s anger is directed toward anything that hinders his love. Toward Teeleh and the Shataiki who would deceive and steal that love. Anything that hinders his bride’s love, he detests.”
“Not the Scab.”
“I’m not saying that I understand it—Elyon is beyond my mind. But his love is boundless. Do you know that when you drown, he’s made a covenant to forget your disease? He remembers only your love. Even when you stumble as William does now, Justin vows to forget and remembers only William’s love, however imperfect it might be. To say that you humans have it made would be an understatement. I would set William straight, to be sure. Elyon is mostly thrilled. Yes, there is a price to pay. Yes, there is a drowning to be done, but he is thrilled with his bride and desperate to woo others into his Circle.”
Thomas knew all of this; of course he did! But not quite in such blatant terms.
“If you were to glimpse Justin’s love for Chelise, you would wither where you stand,” Michal said with a small grin. “This is the Great Romance.”
Thomas began to pace. This meant what? That he was right about Chelise being like any other woman, Scab or not? That he was right in wanting to save her? That any love he might feel for Chelise was no different from his love for Rachelle?
But how could he possibly love a Scab in the same way he’d loved Rachelle? No, Michal couldn’t possibly mean that.
“Follow your heart, Thomas. Justin’s showing you his own.”
Justin’s words to him returned. He lifted his head and stared out at the desert and let the truth flood his mind. This was beyond him. He did love Chelise. She might not love him, but he couldn’t deny the simple fact that he loved her, more than he could remember loving anyone other than Rachelle.
“Thomas!”
He turned to the dune. Suzan stood on the crest looking down at him. She hadn’t seen Justin earlier; did she see Michal now?
He spun. The Roush was gone!
“Thomas, the others are waiting,” Suzan called.
He stood still, torn for a long moment. Then he knew what he would do. What he must do.
He ran to his horse and leaped onto its back. With a parting glance at Suzan, he whirled his mount around and galloped away from her, toward the forest.
“Thomas! Wait!”
He crested the first dune and plunged down the far side.
“Thomas, wait! I’m with you!”
Suzan was following. He pulled the horse to a stamping halt. She galloped up behind him.
“I’m going back for her.”
“Then we’re both going back for her,” she said.
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You taught me to live for danger. And although no one knows it, I’m a sap for romance.”
The dunes behind her were bare. The others would see their tracks and know what had happened. Hopefully they would keep their senses and continue to the tribe, where they were needed.
“Then we have to hurry.” He spurred his horse. “We have to get to her before the messenger does.”
“You’re not going to turn yourself in?”
“I’m going to take her out of there.”
They sprinted over the dune. “What if she refuses to go?”
“Then I’ll have to persuade her, won’t I?” he said with a wide grin.
The tracks told the story plainly enough.
“The fool’s gone back,” William said.
“And Suzan with him,” Mikil said.
Johan turned next to the dune. “He doesn’t plan on turning himself in, or he wouldn’t have allowed Suzan to follow. He’s going after Chelise.” It was beyond him, this obsession that Thomas had developed for Qurong’s daughter. He’d known her as a spirited woman, beautiful among Scabs, but still a Scab, as diseased as any.
He’d argued that the Circle should relax its standards to make it easier for the Horde to turn, but he’d been thinking about the drowning, not love. Now he wondered if he had it backward. Perhaps they should remain rigid on the commitments required to enter the Circle but love the Horde regardless. In many ways what Thomas was doing now would test his own arguments. Would Thomas become a Scab, or would Chelise become an albino?
Or were their conditions irreconcilable?
“We have to stop them!” Mikil said.
“And how would you do that?” William asked. “Follow them all the way back into the dungeons?”
“We wait for them,” Johan said. “Here.”
“We can’t leave the tribe alone so long.”
“Then I will wait for them.”
Mikil looked at her husband. “Jamous?”
“We wait with Johan.” He turned to William. “Take Cain and Stephen with you.”
William sighed. “I don’t like it. The Circle is in trying times, and its leaders are risking their necks for a whore.”
“You need some enlightenment, William,” Johan snapped. “This is Thomas, the same man who saved your neck a dozen times.”
William frowned and guided his mount around. “Then we’ll see you at the tribe. Elyon’s strength.”
Johan nodded. “Elyon’s strength.”
27
“MORE!” THOMAS insisted. “I want to pass inspection at five paces.”
“Then you’ll have to grow scales,” Suzan said. They’d stolen the morst paste and powder with some clothes after dark, from a house on the city’s perimeter. Thomas had his shirt off and was caking the powder on. Suzan rubbed it onto his back. “It’ll be dark and you’ll have a veiled hood on. I really don’t see the need to be so enthusiastic about this stuff.”
“The smell!” He turned to her, wide-eyed, like a child. His passion for this mission was infectious. The others would think he’d flipped his lid if they saw the way he’d carried on throughout the day.
He hadn’t flipped his lid. He was losing his heart. He might not admit it, but Suzan would recognize these signs with her eyes closed. Thomas of Hunter was going down a road that he had deliberately skirted since Rachelle’s death. He was in the early stages of falling crazily in love. Watching him, Suzan felt a yearning for the same.
He was still doing his best to hide his emotions, or perhaps he wasn’t really sure what to make of his emotions, but he couldn’t help himse
lf. He’d told her what had happened between him and Chelise at the library in far more detail than any man she knew ever would. He talked expressively, with grand arm movements, drawing irrational conclusions about the simplest exchanges.
“Her arms were folded, Suzan,” he would say. “Imagine that!”
“I am imagining it. I’m not sure I get the significance.”
“Folded! She knows very well that when she stands like that she’s striking a seductive pose.”
“Arms folded? I’m not sure—”
“It’s not the arms. Forget the arms. It’s everything about her. You’ll see.”
Now he was plastering morst on his face, talking of smell. “I want to smell Horde. I’ve done it before, right into Qurong’s bedchamber while he was snoring like a dragon.” He grabbed another handful and slapped it against his cheek. The white residue billowed about his head.
“This time it’s into her chamber, and I have a feeling she’ll be more sensitive than her father. The morst won’t cover my albino scent if it’s only on my face, now, will it?”
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you want to become a Scab for more than sneaking into the castle. You’re wanting to be like her!”
“Am I? Well, maybe there was a hint of truth to Johan’s arguments. I’m becoming a Scab to rescue a Scab from being a Scab.”
Suzan laughed. “One look at you and she’ll know you’re not a Scab. There’s no hiding your true colors—that’s where Johan’s wrong.”
He stood and turned in the moonlight. “Agreed. How do I look?”
“Like a Scab.” This was a Thomas few had ever seen. To most he was the mighty warrior turned introspective philosopher. But here in the desert he was becoming Thomas the lover. Suzan grinned. She rather liked this hidden side of him.
Thomas leaped for the robe and pulled it over his head.
“Good?” he asked.
“Good. Definitely Scab.”
“Well then. I think I’m ready. It’ll take me an hour to reach the castle from here, and an hour back. Give me till daybreak. If I’m not back, use your better judgment.” He climbed onto his horse.
He was riding into insanity to fetch a woman who, despite his misguided assumptions, did not love him. And Suzan was enabling him because she knew that once Thomas of Hunter put his mind to something, he always saw it through. That and the romance in her own spirit was cheering him on.