White

by Ted Dekker

  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 gal-loped 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, wideeyed, 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 himself. 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 expres-sively, 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 mis-guided 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.

  All fine and good, but what if he didn’t come back? He’d drawn her along
with his infectious passion, but what if it all went badly? If Thomas was dead by morning, she would share the blame.

  “Be careful, Thomas. It’ll be the lake, not the library, if you get caught.”

  “I know.” He gazed north, toward the city. “Am I doing the right thing?”

  “Do you love her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then go get her, Thomas of Hunter. We’ve said all there is to say.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Elyon’s strength.”

  “Elyon’s strength.”

  Thomas approached the city from the east, around the royal garden, down the less-traveled road that ran directly to the castle. A bright moon had risen overhead. If anyone spoke to him, he would respond with a dipped head. With any luck he wouldn’t have to test his impersonation of a Scab.

  The castle rose to his right, tall in the moonlight. He let the horse have its head—this was familiar ground for the animal. He could feel the sweat gathering under the robe, mixing with the morst.

  What if she won’t come, Thomas?

  Suzan had asked the question, and in his enthusiasm he’d assured her that Chelise would come. But he wasn’t so sure now. In fact, thinking through his task clearly now, he realized that getting into her room would be the easiest part. Getting Chelise out of her own accord might be far more difficult.

  The road was still empty. So far so good. It occurred to him that the single greatest advantage he had was the Circle’s policy of nonviolence. The Horde had no real enemies to threaten their security. Their defenses weren’t built for an assault, and the penalty for simple crimes, such as theft, were so severe that few Scabs ever attempted them. He’d heard that any infraction against the royal house was punishable by death to the perpetrator’s entire family.

  The guard around the castle surely had been increased since his escape, but they weren’t accustomed to the kind of stealth the Circle had perfected. At least that was Thomas’s hope. If the weak performance of their guards yesterday was any measure, he had good reason to hope.

  He turned into the forest before he came to any guard on the road. He swung his leg back into a reasonable riding position and guided the horse through the trees, toward the stables behind the castle. The mare snorted at the scent of her familiar pen.

  “Easy, girl.”

  He slipped to the ground and tied the animal to a branch. Light from the castle’s back rooms filtered through the trees despite the midnight hour. Hopefully they were torches that burned all night.

  Twigs crunched underfoot, but no guards detected the noise. Thomas hurried around the stables. Chelise had told him that her bedroom faced the city on the top floor. He’d seen the stairs that led to the roof during the last escape. He hurried to the fence that surrounded the grounds and peered between the poles.

  No guard.

  This was it. Once over, he was committed. He gripped the top of the pole, took a deep breath, and vaulted.

  “Who goes?”

  Thomas was still airborne, dropping to the ground like a parachute, when the voice cut through the night air. Close.

  He landed on both feet and stared at a guard ten feet to his right. The warrior had been stationed by the fence.

  Thomas lowered his head and walked toward the castle as if nothing at all was unusual about a Scab dropping out of the sky.

  “Stop! What’s the meaning of this?”

  Thomas halted and faced the warrior again, mind spinning through options. More accurately, option. Singular.

  The guard had to go. Chelise’s life depended on it.

  He walked toward the guard, head down. Five paces, he thought.

  “Stop there!”

  Thomas replied in a high pitch. “The general, Woref, told me to meet him here.”

  “The general?”

  “I am his concubine.”

  “His . . .”

  Thomas moved before the man could process his shocking claim. He dove to his right, rolled once, and came up three feet to the guard’s right. The man spun, broad blade flashing.

  Thomas let his momentum carry him into a roundhouse kick. His foot connected solidly with the man’s temple.

  One grunt and the man fell like a sack of rocks.

  “Forgive me,” Thomas whispered. He dropped to his knee, ripped the guard’s sleeve at the shoulder, and hog-tied him, hands-to-feet behind his back. He tore off the other sleeve and gagged his mouth tightly.

  Thomas ran toward the building and flew up the stairs. He spilled onto the roof and crouched behind the railing. Had he torn his garment? He checked, catching his breath. All intact, as far as he could tell.

  Speed was now an issue. The guard would wake soon enough and, even bound, might be able to raise enough of a fuss to draw attention.

  Thomas ran toward the only stairwell he could see. He pushed the latch on the door. Locked. He studied the latch. It was forest technology. His own design.

  He’d designed the lock to secure a door against strong winds, not thieves. A simple bronze bolt held the entire assembly in place. He pulled the pin free. The latch fell into his hand. He set it down and eased the door open.

  Dim light filled a narrow stairwell. He slipped in, closed the door behind him, and stood very still.

  No sound. The castle slept.

  Thomas eased down the steps, pausing with each creak. They may have used forest technology, but the craftsmanship had been hurried.

  At the bottom, a balcony ran the perimeter of the top floor. In front of him, a single torch burned between two doors. If he was right, one led to Chelise’s bedroom. Only one way to find out which.

  He poked his head over the railing, saw the courtyard below was empty, and hurried toward the first door.

  Again locked.

  Again his design.

  Again he dislodged the bolt.

  He stepped into the room and pulled the door shut. An oil lamp cast dim light over a large bed. She was in the bed, asleep! Thomas took in the rest of the room with a glance. Doors that led to another balcony. A large armoire on which the lamp sat. A desk with mirror. Long flowing drapes. Horde royalty.

  The moment of truth had arrived. If this wasn’t Chelise, he might be forced to hog-tie yet one more Scab.

  He crept to the bed and leaned over the form under the blanket. She slept with the sheets over her head? He had to see her face to be sure, but the thought of unveiling her while she slept . . .

  The floor creaked behind. Something struck his head. He fell forward onto the sleeping form and scrambled to right himself.

  The object struck him again, square on the back. This time he grunted.

  It occurred to him them, midgrunt, that the form under him wasn’t a body at all. Pillows.

  The third blow hit his head, and for a moment he thought he might pass out. He managed to find his voice. “It’s me! It’s Thomas!”

  His assailant stopped long enough for Thomas to roll over. There, in the orange lamplight, stood a fully clothed woman.

  “Thomas?”

  “Chelise!” He sat up, head throbbing. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean, what am I doing!” she whispered. “I’m defending myself.”

  “I’m here to help you, not attack you.”

  Chelise held an unlit torch in her hands. She glanced at the door. “How did you get in here? You’ve come to turn yourself in?”

  “No. No, I can’t do that.”

  “Why not? Your escape has landed me in a terrible position. I’ve been expecting that beast to barge in here all night. I was told that you denied Qurong’s demand.”

  So it was all true. She understood that her life was in danger.

  “If I turn myself in, they’ll kill me. Would you want that?”

  She lowered the torch.

  Thomas stood and faced her. They looked at each other for the first time since she’d last left him in the library. Her face looked beautiful by the lamp’s flame.

  Thomas stepped toward he
r and started to lift his hand to her face, then thought better of it. “I’ve come to rescue you.”

  “I don’t need rescuing. What I need is for you to turn yourself in to Qurong so that we can put this madness behind us. I should call the guard right now.”

  Her dismissal sent a shaft of pain through his chest. His face flushed hot. “Then call the guard.”

  “Keep your voice down. You look ridiculous in that morst.”

  “You prefer me without it?”

  She walked to her desk, set the torch down, and stared into the mirror, which showed nothing in this dim light.

  She hadn’t called the guard.

  “Listen to me, Chelise. You know as well as I do that whatever life you thought you had in this castle is over. Woref will destroy you. If you survive by turning me in, that beast, as you call him, will give you a living death. And if you refuse to cower under his fist, he’ll kill you.”

  “None of this would have happened without you,” she shot back. “Without you Woref wouldn’t be such a pig, and without you I wouldn’t be put in this terrible position to choose.”

  “Then at least you see that you do have a choice.”

  “Between what? Between an animal and an albino? What kind of choice is that?”

  He ignored the bite in her words. “Then don’t choose either of us. Leave this place and negotiate with your father from a position of strength.”

  The notion stalled her. When she spoke again, the edge in her voice had softened. “If I leave with you, Woref would never forgive me.”

  “You won’t leave with me. I’ll take you by force.”

  She laughed. “By force? As your prisoner. How can I negotiate with Qurong as your prisoner?”

  “We’ll think of something. I’ll tell Qurong that I want Woref in exchange for you. Something like that. And what would Woref do to possess you?”