by Ted Dekker
Darsal got up on her knees and felt for any of Marak’s daggers, even her own, stolen from Cassak.
Either the mist was too thick or she was too frantic to search. Helpless, worthless, useless, alone. She had nothing.
“Peace, Darsal.” A musical voice floated from the trees.
Out stepped a delicate, willowy woman, almost glowing. She had flawless, white, translucent skin and wore a long, thin, green gown. White-gold hair fell to her calves. Her wide eyes burned in the darkness and cut through the haze.
The entity. Johnis’s Leedhan.
Shaeda.
Darsal drew back at the woman’s approach. Her mouth ran dry. The woman crouched in front of her and pressed her slender hand against Darsal’s chest. Darsal’s heart thrummed faster at the contact.
She couldn’t pull her gaze from the woman’s eyes. Her steady, penetrating gaze that probed the soul and soothed the mind.
That could seize control of body, mind, and soul.
“Peace.” Shaeda blew a gentle puff of air in Darsal’s face, an unnervingly sweet aroma. “I have need of you, albino . . .”
Darsal’s body relaxed of its own accord. Her eyes drooped. “Who are you . . . ?”
Shaeda cupped Darsal’s face and gave her something to drink from a stone bowl. “Take such.”
She hesitated.
“Such is not fruit,” Shaeda said. “Such will not yield you to me. I desire not to grant you my power, nor gain control over you. Accept my restraint.”
Darsal wanted to resist, but found she couldn’t. She obeyed, and the Leedhan removed the bowl. The drink smelled like Rhambutan and citrus.
“Shaeda . . . you tricked Johnis . . .”
“Men hear what they will.”
“Marak . . .” Darsal’s thoughts were scattering, petals breaking off of flowers and drifting away in the wind. “Johnis . . . Thomas . . .”
“Remain with me, daughter of men. The potion is strong, but will take time to work its course. Then such will enable you to resist me. Concern yourself not with this man. He is beyond your skill. Drink again.”
The stone bowl returned to Darsal’s mouth. She drank her fill while Shaeda talked.
“Johnis . . .”
“Teeleh’s priest has the amulet, yet he must not keep such.
The Shataiki must be thwarted, lest they kill every human in this world . . . and naught shall prevent such foul creatures from passing to the other side of the river. I shall reveal to you the way in which you must go. Comprehend you such? Daughter of men, awake.”
Shaeda traced her sharp half claw of a nail over the scar on Darsal’s cheek and down the side of her throat. She kissed her on the forehead and both cheeks. “Do not slumber now. We have need of you yet.”
Darsal tensed, head clearing in the fog. “Johnis.”
Shaeda nodded once. “He is shattered to pieces. The priest will unleash the Shataiki on your Circle. Your kind and the Horde shall perish. The priest will prevail unless Johnis dies. Do you comprehend?”
Darsal struggled to keep up. Shaeda spoke slowly but covered many subjects in the time it took most to process the first sentence. Time seemed almost irrelevant.
“Johnis . . . lives?”
Darsal’s mind was reeling. Shaeda didn’t want the priest to have control of the Shataiki. The Leedhan wanted Johnis and Silvie to drown. Needed them to drown.
My enemy’s enemy . . .
“You want him to drown,” Darsal said.
Pause. “You must make haste, daughter of men. Upon Johnis’s death the amulet’s power shall break. Retrieve the medallion and take such to the river. There you may cross but once.”
Darsal bit her lip. “Why? What have you done to them?”
The maddening Leedhan simply could not answer quickly. “Johnis must drown that another might gain control. The son of Ramos refused me his whole heart; thus our ways have parted.”
“You used him.” Darsal scoffed. “You used him and left him for dead.” But now her mind was catching up. Shaeda was not telling her to drown them out of the goodness of her heart. She was asking her because she was an albino.
Shaeda would use the very albino she wished to destroy to make sure Johnis was dead and her own plans furthered.
Whether or not Johnis returned to life as an albino destined to die was none of her concern.
Wench. Vampiress.
Darsal bristled. “How much time do I have?”
Shaeda answered in her own time. “The Dark Priest shall reach the summit at sunrise.” She gave Darsal directions to Johnis’s prison. “But a mile from Ba’al Bek lies one of the red lakes, a narrow oasis. Make haste and go there.”
Darsal nodded. Shaeda helped her stand.
“But Marak . . .”
The Leedhan’s brow creased. “Go now and be swift, daughter of men.”
Shaeda took a step back, spread wide her arms, and threw her head skyward. She sang out a single note just barely audible. The sound permeated the ravine and shook the ground. Thunder clapped.
The pool bubbled. Fog swarmed around them. Shaeda bowed her head to her chest. And the mist was gone. As was Shaeda.
Darsal needed to leave. Her legs remained riveted, drawn instead to the Leedhan’s presence. A rustling sound.
“Darsal?” The fluttering landed just beyond her. She blinked. All was dark save a pair of glowing green eyes illuminating white fur. Gabil.
The spell lifted. She shook her head, looked from Gabil to Marak’s body lying by the pool. Darsal’s jaw clenched as she fought the emotions welling up inside her.
The Roush hopped forward. “I don’t imagine Elyon’s through with you.”
“How do I stop Sucrow, Gabil?” Her voice was flat. She rolled her shoulders back and knotted her fists.
“Sucrow? I thought perhaps you’d go after Johnis and Silvie.”
“You told me to—”
“I told you nothing, daughter.”
She tensed. “Can I trust her?”
“Trust her?” Gabil’s eyes narrowed. “She is as determined as you to keep that accursed charm from the priest.”
“And Marak?”
The Roush hesitated. “You’ve run out of time, child.”
Elyon help them.
Darsal glanced up at the sky. “I need to move now.”
“Yes, you do. You should already be gone. But a moment . . .” Gabil motioned her to him. She went down on one knee. The Roush touched his wing tips to her eyelids.
Darsal’s vision shifted. She could see greens and reds and blues just as easily as the day. The colors were rich and dark, but she could see quite well. Her eyes widened.
Gabil nodded. Now that she could see him, he looked as if he’d been in a fight already. “There’s your light.” He smiled. “Remember, north.”
Darsal hugged the Roush and jumped up. “Will I see you again?”
“Elyon knows. Now go!”
She ran.
twenty- nine
Johnis hung helpless in his prison. The pit was deep and provided no comfort. He listened to Shataiki screaming into the night. Empty. Bitter ashes and stale vinegar. Johnis tried to vomit but had nothing in his stomach. In some ways he was glad Silvie was already dead.
Laughter.
“Your little female was a nuisance, a pebble in my shoe,” Shaeda taunted. Her physical presence was gone, but she could still communicate over a great distance, and now she mocked him. Constantly.
“The priest is but a pawn in this. Still, he has pleased me more than you, my pet, who have shown weakness rather than strength.”
Sucrow. The conniving, shrewd, lying jackal! If he had the strength to stand, he would climb out, run back, and tear the priest limb from limb. As it was . . . he couldn’t ever remember if he was dreaming or if he really was trapped in a pit awaiting death.
Let them come. Silvie was dead. Middle was gone.
Sucrow had won.
“Do you truly wish to know truth, my pet?”
>
“Leave me,” he growled.
The entity laughed. More infuriating, he still felt the pull of her eyes, the tug of her siren song in his head. He would do anything for her, even now.
Her purplish-red haze came over him. Johnis saw Ba’al Bek and the priest, saw the Horde conquered and the Circle destroyed. He saw the Shataiki enslaved to Shaeda, who stood on the precipice with her fists raised, amulet high.
Icy, invisible fingers slithered up his spine.
A scuffle came from above, shouts and flesh striking flesh. “How quaint,” Warryn’s voice taunted the intruder.
“Scared, Cyclops?” a semifamiliar female voice snarled. Metal rang out, and Johnis listened to the pair fight. Clumps of dirt fell on Johnis’s head. He looked down.
The skirmish ended. A body thumped hard against the earth. Someone sent it flying down the shaft. Johnis turned his head away.
Warryn’s one eye gaped up at him. Blood poured out his head and torso.
“As you shall be . . . ”
Moments later the rope around his wrists tugged tight. A soft grunt. Johnis was pulled upward. His back and legs scraped along the side of the pit. He bent his head forward to keep from banging it around.
He submitted to the dragging and felt the final jerk of the line as he went over the lip. Then he was on his back. His tormenter hoisted him over one shoulder, rotten stench overwhelming.
Albino?
More deep, husky laughter. “Such is at my disposal, my pet . . .”
He refused to look, refused to let the albino see his face. The stale smell of overripe fruit struck him full force. Johnis gagged. Warm, smooth fingers touched his bared shoulder. He recoiled.
A cloth bag went over his head. The albino secured it and slung him sideways over a horse. He was tied across the horse’s back and left alone.
They broke into a gallop, two sets of maddening horses’ hooves bent on rattling him to death.
SHAEDA KNELT OVER THE GENERAL A LITTLE LONGER, stroking his face with her half talons. All was not lost, not yet. The albino girl was so overwrought with passion that she could not see the life slowly seeping back into her precious general.
Yet Shaeda had seen the slight flush of life return to his cheek. Poor wretches, both of them. It was best if the albino didn’t know her magic had succeeded.
Piteous albino, to fall so easily.
All of these children of clay fell readily into her arms. She smiled, amused at her own scheming. Her pets never did learn. Pity the last had to perish.
But Shaeda needed this one, this mighty general, just as wretched a mortal as the smooth-skinned worm who destroyed him. Ah, Marak. So strong, so broken. Such was piteous, to lose so mighty a son of man as this. She half smiled and licked her fingers.
Overhead the cauldron lingered, and Derias’s screams intensified. Such was to his peril. Such his reward for the abduction of her mate. Such the price the amulet guardian must pay for more glorious designs, designs such as hers.
An even costlier price would the great usurper Teeleh pay for banishing her and the other Leedhan across the river.
Soon they would all feel her wrath. Her calculations were impeccable, from the ensorcelled captain Cassak to the enticement of the female Darsal.
Such was pleasing.
And yet the tingling in her spine reminded her she dared not linger. Soon enough she would glory; she would triumph. When she brought on Teeleh’s demise, all would be as they ought. She would rule with her mate, and rule well.
She took a lingering look at the general. Once she took her pet and entered him, she would know all of his thoughts at all times.
Shaeda leaned across Marak’s still form and kissed him full on the mouth. A hunger overcame her. She clung tight and tasted his skin. Her needlelike fangs split his lip, and his blood tinged her tongue.
Reluctantly she pulled away, tracing her half claw across his lips, smiling. “An excellent lover would you have made, my general . . .”
Another of Derias’s roars.
A hint of fear threatened her. Shaeda shoved this emotion back. He could not harm her, not yet. Not as long as the amulet’s power held.
She rose up on her knee, slid Marak’s daggers back into their thigh sheaths. Another thing the girl, in her foolishness, had missed. Shaeda then arranged his cloak and stood.
“Fear not, Guardian Derias,” she said, half-smiling. “Your demise comes, and from there the demise of your master and all your kind.” Shaeda withdrew a badaii and ate it, taking pleasure from the sweet nectar. “Arise, my new pet, my mighty Chosen One . . .”
thirty
Johnis waited in the silence broken only by the occasional whisper of a voice and the bad-dum, bad-dum, bad-dum of pounding hooves. He tried not to let his imagination run away with him.
The nightmares came anyway, as surely as the rising and falling slopes and the horse’s steady, never-ending gait. The horse squealed and reared up.
Shaeda’s eyes haunted him, her scent, her skin . . . her kisses.
Invisible talons stroked through his hair. “Our time together was never more than a vapor, my pet . . .”
I don’t understand. Shaeda . . .
Someone screamed. The horse jerked back down, backed up quivering, readying for some great feat. Then it jumped—it seemed forever passed—and hit the other side of whatever obstacle it tried to clear, back leg catching the rim. Yellow, blue, and red stars sparked across his mind’s eye.
Johnis cried out. The beast jerked, hopped, and fumbled forward. All grew still. Someone rushed over and checked the horse’s leg. Another whisper. More rustling.
They were moving again, slower. The horse limped for a few minutes, then regained its confidence and strength. Its gait became steady, now slow enough that Johnis could feel its heaving, panting sides and hear its heart deep within its barrel torso. Foam oozed against Johnis’s exposed skin. The beast was done. Its body quivered with fatigue, begging for rest.
Farther and farther from Shaeda, from his lovely, his entity, Johnis still felt the pain of separation, as though he were being torn in half by two powers. She’d used him, hadn’t she?
And yet he wanted her. Needed her. Shaeda, come. Come and save me! Come, and together we will . . .
She tsked him like a child. “No, my Johnisss, you shall indeed further my mission. You have accomplished my desires and brought the amulet to me. You have taken the Horde to the high place, taken control of the Shataiki . . . These you have done at my bidding. And now, now, my Chosen One, you must die. I have told you such, have I not?”
You said nothing of dying!
“Your sacrifice shall not be forgotten, my pet. Yet your heart was never fully mine, therefore required I another, one stronger, one whose heart beats as one with mine . . .”
The stagnant breath of the desert gave way to cool, crisp air that smelled almost sweet. Not the sickly sweet smell of an albino, but a pleasant, spicy sweet he couldn’t quite place. Like fruit trees or an intoxicatingly fragrant flower.
Crisp grass crushed beneath the horse’s weary feet. A bird twittered, answered by what sounded like an owl. Soft wings and the faint sound of cicadas filled the silence.
I do not wish to die! Shaeda, no, don’t do this! I promise I will not leave you!
She chuckled. “Oh, but you must, my Johnis. My general cannot possess the amulet’s power until the current possessor dies. And, thus, you must drown.”
His skin crawled. Twigs and leaves crunched beneath the horse’s feet. They passed through a shadow. Water lapped against a shore close by. A few toads croaked in warning.
Rough, strong hands untied him from the beast and hauled him down over powerful shoulders. Citrus. Albino and citrus.
“I thought perhaps ’twas fitting you died at the hands of one of your former comrades in arms. She is going to drown you, my pet, and willingly. Her delusions are but misguided lies.”
He was placed on the ground. The chain at his wrists snapped in
half.
“What occurs when blood touches the water, my pet? Do you know?” Shaeda’s dark laughter filled his head, making him dizzy. “Such is defiled. And you have defiled that which is sacred.”
Someone sat on him and hammered a stake into the earth, pinning his chain through a link. Whoever it was jumped over him and staked his other arm the same way. The same treatment was given to his ankles.
His captor left him.
“Shaeda,” Johnis groaned, writhing in agony from the cold separation. “Shaeda, my entity, my love . . . I gave you everything. Shaeda, don’t leave.”
More hammering, but several feet away.
A soft voice spoke in soothing tones to someone who thrashed. The brief conflict ended to the satisfaction of the first voice.
“Truly you are a fool, my pet, should you ever have entertained the thought I would share power. Nay, little Chosen One, entities do not share power. Yet I did enjoy your kisses and your embrace.Now comes my executioner, and she shall wish you to die. Fail me not, my pet.”
Footsteps.
“LINGER, GENERAL . . .” A VOICE. A WOMAN. MARAK SHIFTED. A firm, slender hand pushed him back down. “Yield . . . Fear me not . . .”
He couldn’t breathe. Someone was on top of him, lips pressed against his, breathing life back into him. Marak sputtered. Turned sideways. She held him.
Citrus. He smelled citrus. Darsal? No, the crazy albino had tried to kill him.
A purple haze flooded his mind. Marak sank back into the dark dreams, hypnotized by a siren song he couldn’t place. He was dying, dead. Maybe he would see Rona again . . .
Darkness.
“Awaken . . . mighty warrior.”
A firm hand shook him awake. He reached for a knife. His eyes opened to mist, to a lithe woman with long, white-gold hair, who wore the fog as a robe. Her gown was green and bared her shoulders, scooped low. Her skin was translucent white and flawless, so pale he could see vibrant blue veins beneath. So perfect, so alluring . . .