Our camels formed a line following Jacques over miles and miles of rocky scrubland. As we rode, Jacques updated us on Don’s latest maneuvers since the earthquakes. He’d ordered a link between every precept and the UN’s global satellite system. He’d said it was just temporary, for safety and tracking purposes following the disasters. He’d called for the world’s leaders to gather to discuss how to solve their conflicts in unity. He’d promised a new hope for mankind, through something he called the Omega Project. No one, not even the order, had guesses about what that project would be.
After a while, Chris and Jacques rode slightly ahead to talk in private. That left me with Naomi and Patrick. We hardly spoke, which suited me just fine. It was taking enough effort just to hold onto Grabuge. By the time the sun reached its peak, my entire body ached as the camel swayed and jerked his way forward.
The camel had tried to bite me a dozen times. After I’d punched him in the face once, we’d come to a delicate truce. I gripped the reins harder. I wouldn’t dare fall off. If I did, Grabuge would bite me for sure, and he’d probably spit on me for good measure.
“There’s our oasis!” Jacques finally announced from ahead, as we crested another hill.
In the valley below there were three palm trees in a cluster. Just three.
We followed Jacques down the steep slope. As we rode closer, I noticed a few low canvas buildings were scattered around the palms. They were nearly invisible from a distance.
A woman came out to greet us. She had long black hair and bronzed skin. She wore leather-strapped sandals, loose-fitting khaki pants, and a white tunic. In the wind, the light fabric blew against her slim body. Her face was gorgeous, but showed no hint of a smile. She looked like she could be walking from her vacation villa to the beach, instead of from some tents in a desert to a caravan of filthy travelers.
She introduced herself as Camille, but she spoke not a word of English. She fawned over Jacques, Chris, and Naomi. She ignored Patrick and me.
Jacques led us toward one of the tents. A pot of spicy-smelling stew was simmering over a fire outside.
“Lentil stew.” Jacques gestured toward the pot and smiled at us. “Camille makes the finest stew within a five-day ride. The secret is the tarragon.” He picked up a stack of bowls and spoons. “Here, take, we eat inside.”
Each of us filled a bowl and went into the tent. The six of us sat in a circle on a bright-patterned rug. The stew was the same as the night before, only warmer.
Camille was the last to join us. “Quand partez-vous?” Her question sounded like amused contempt. Maybe she was a movie star gone into early retirement.
“Dans une heure,” Chris answered. His accent sounded flawless, but who was I to know? He looked to Patrick. “You’ll come with me.”
Patrick nodded. “But what about Naomi?”
“Avec-vous fait?” Camille challenged him.
“English,” Jacques pleaded at her side. “My love, a little honor for our guests, yes?” He rubbed her shoulder gently. “Remember, their precepts are off.”
“Oui,” she answered. “You will not take the girl, or whichever boy did it. Bien?” The woman was looking at me accusingly. What did she think I had done?
“Okay,” Chris said. “Jacques will lead Patrick and me to the closest town. From there we will make our way back to our country. We’ll be seen as we travel. Our enemies will be searching the area. By dividing, we might protect Naomi and Elijah here. You will keep them safe?”
“Oui.” Camille turned to me. She studied me like a teacher studies a naughty boy. “Si il l’a fait.” A devious little grin touched her beautiful face.
I did what? She seemed to know something I didn’t.
“How long before you come back for us?” Naomi asked.
“I don’t know,” Chris said to her. “It may be a long time. As much as I’d like your help with our mission, your safety is the most important thing. Jacques and Camille can protect you here. We’ll maintain an encrypted connection to them. Communicate rarely to avoid risking discovery, but signal any danger.”
Naomi nodded but looked uncertain.
“We have a good home,” Jacques assured her. He rubbed the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. “We can learn from you more of what has happened in these recent days.”
“And you can learn from us,” Camille added, again with a conspiratorial tone.
The talk turned to logistics of travel and communication as we finished our stew. In short order, Chris and Patrick said their goodbyes and left with Jacques. Chris seemed above all in a hurry to be gone. Maybe “our enemies,” as he’d called them, were closer than I thought.
After they departed, Naomi, Camille, and I sat outside at the base of one of the palm trees. Camille began to ask us innocent questions about our past. We had been talking only half an hour when Naomi’s face went ashen.
“What is it?” I asked her.
“I feel something…I don’t know…dark.” She looked to the sky, and as if on cue, the dragon’s long sinuous body flew overhead in the direction the men had gone. Its giant shadow snaked over the oasis without pausing.
“What are you looking at?” Camille asked us.
“I’m not sure,” Naomi muttered, “Elijah?”
“It’s the dragon,” I said, this time with full conviction of what I’d seen. “It just flew past—there.” I pointed to it on the horizon. “It seemed to be looking ahead, instead of searching around us.”
“The ancient serpent unbound,” Naomi added.
“Quiet,” Camille said. “Say no more.” She studied Naomi and me with a look of concern on her face.
Long after the dragon had disappeared, Naomi shuddered and put her hand to her belly. “I don’t feel well,” she said.
“I can understand that,” said Camille.
“You can?” Naomi asked.
“I have a son, myself,” she said. “Haven’t you heard morning sickness is not confined to the mornings?”
“What?” I blurted out.
“That’s impossible,” Naomi said.
“You tell that to God,” Camille said, “and to your boyfriend.” She looked at me accusingly again.
“No, really,” I said, “it’s impossible.”
“Look at her, seer.”
I did, and Naomi’s scared face shined at me.
“You see,” Camille said, “she’s pregnant. Aren’t you girl?”
Naomi looked down at her waist. She put her hands over her stomach, and quietly began to cry.
END OF BOOK ONE
AUTHOR PAGE
Want to know who the baby’s father is? You’ll learn that and much more in the next book of the trilogy: Clothed With The Sun. Get your copy here.
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* * *
J.B. Simmons lives outside Washington, DC, with his wife, three little kids, and an intriguing day job. He writes before dawn and runs all day. His secret fuel: coffee and leftover juice boxes. Learn more at www.jbsimmons.com.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Lindsay for always pushing me to be better. Thanks to my family and friends for providing the love and support from which art can grow. Thanks to the Neukomms, because the spark of this idea came during a visit to their book-filled home. Thanks to the fantastic beta-readers: Anne, Danny, Gigi, Grace, Kimberly, Jean, Lindsay, Michael, Nate, Rebekah, Ronnie, and Ryan. Unbound would not be what it is without them.
OTHER WORKS BY J.B. SIMMONS
THE GLOAMING BOOKS
Light in the Gloaming
Breaking the Gloaming
In
the Gloaming books, J.B. weaves political philosophy into fantasy, like A Game of Thrones with a C.S. Lewis twist. The characters champion history’s great thinkers, from Machiavelli to Locke to Nietzsche, and bring them to battle, even in the darkest of underground cities: The Gloaming.
“Tightly crafted . . . thoroughly entertaining . . . a real triumph to creative literature and well deserving of its stars.” Sara Bain, author, Ivy Moon Press
“A great mix of fantasy, adventure, and allegory.” Sunshine Somerville, author, The Kota Series
“The characters were outstanding . . . The story was excellent . . . [E]very part of the world is more brilliant in the way the author describes it.” Two Reads Blog
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