by Dekker, Ted
Now this was a bizarre turn.
"Is that you or the scabbing disease talking?"
He scowled at her. "It's me, Darsal. If we try to leave, and we're caught, the Scabs have the books."
"And if we escape, they still have the books." Darsal returned his hard look. "You really want to leave them?"
"No." He wouldn't look at her. "They won't find the crate." Johnis sucked a breath.
"Fuzzy white bat tell you that?"
Johnis's fist knotted and came off the crate. He squeezed hard, then brought his fist back down in a very controlled manner.
"What'd you put in your waistband?"
He furrowed a brow. Didn't answer the question. Instead he said, "If we can get out unnoticed, they won't know to look."
Darsal frowned. A Book of History. He'd thought not to keep all seven in one place.
Good.
She chided herself for not thinking of that first. Glanced over. "Silvie?"
"Leaving them is a bad idea," Silvie said slowly. By the look on her face, she knew too. "But I agree with Johnis. Getting caught with them is worse. How do we plan to come back?"
Johnis hesitated. "We'll figure it out. First we find Thomas."
Instinctively Darsal glanced at her tanned skin. "First we bathe."
"First we get out of here."
"From one hell to another," Darsal muttered. "We need to bathe before we-"
"I know." Johnis still looked as though he might jump out the window and do something that would get them all killed.
Silvie ran her tongue over her mouth. She was scared and trapped and itchy for a fight. "I say we just duck out and try not to be seen."
"With what weapons? We weren't armed when we used the books."
Darsal looked away. That was her fault, and they all knew it. She'd disarmed them herself.
Johnis glanced at her. "I didn't mean anything by that."
She nodded.
He dropped to both knees and lifted the crate to listen through the crack in the floor. "Okay, if this is the old council hall, then the attic's a series of storage rooms, and we're in the one above the main hall. You remember?"
"Yes." Darsal dropped beside him, caught her breath. She hadn't forgotten the basic layout. Johnis's mind was working again.
That mattered.
Impulsive Johnis only burned them, and only the mercies of Elyon ever got them out mostly unscathed.
Mostly.
"The amphitheater's on the south side, and the Gatherings were about a half mile east."
"Right." Johnis got up and made another round along his invisible track. His boot scuffed against the wood.
"What's the best way out of here?" Darsal asked. "Preferably without drawing attention to ourselves."
"I've only been up here a couple times, both to hide. The door dumps out into a narrow corridor that runs into a series of hallways. The rooms are small, but the halls run all over the attic space. Assuming they haven't changed much."
Johnis glanced up at the window, probably still considering the jump, then continued. "There are ladders. We'll have to find one, but the only one I know might not drop us where we want to be. I don't know what it is now. It could put us on top of Sucrow for all I know."
"I certainly won't mind crushing him." Silvie shifted closer to Johnis. "What if we got Horde clothing again? That could work."
"We'd have to take out a few Scabs barehanded without drawing attention," Darsal said. "We'll never make it if we all leave at once. Johnis knows Middle far better than we do. So what if ... ?"
Darsal hesitated and started over. "One of us needs to distract the guards. The other two can slip by during the diversion. Then we-
"I don't want to split up."
"But you know it's our best option. Divide them. We'll meet up at the lake, bathe, and find Thomas."
He pursed his lips, clearly unhappy at the suggestion. They didn't have time for this! Guards were probably approaching now to see what the Horde leaders had heard above them.
Darsal spun to Silvie. "Talk to him."
"I prefer a fight to running," the blonde fired back. "But she's right-we have to get out first."
Silence as they all contemplated the plan. "What happens to the distracter?" Johnis asked.
Darsal didn't want to think about that. "Let's just get to the Middle pool and bathe. I'll find you."
"You're going to do it?" Johnis turned on his heels back toward her. His face had gone pale again. Was he really so concerned? She was still the better fighter. "Darsal ... no ..."
"Yes. You two let me go down first and create a diversion."
"You should let me, Darsal. I grew up here."
"Here isn't home anymore, Johnis. And your growing up here is why it has to be me. You two need stealth. I just need speed. I'll-"
"Shh!" Silvie's hand flew up. "Someone's coming."
Darsal lowered her voice. "I'll go down first. After I get out, I may have to hide out for an hour or two."
"Let me go," Johnis insisted. "I know this place best."
She shook her head. "No. We meet at the far side of the lake. Bathe. Find Thomas."
"Hurry!" Silvie snapped.
Johnis gave his begrudging consent. "Don't wait too long or you'll start to turn." He shoved out his fist. Darsal and Silvie put their hands over his. "For Elyon."
"For Elyon."
A key jangled in the lock. Silvie dove behind the door. Darsal ducked behind the book box. Johnis vanished behind something with a tarp over it. The doorknob turned. Darsal's heart was a giant throbbing knot in her throat. Slowly the door opened. A dark figure inched inside. He smelled awful.
Silvie lashed out, grabbed the Scab in a headlock, and twisted sharply. The Scab nearly fell on top of her much smaller frame.
Johnis closed the door. "Key!" Silvie tossed it to him. Darsal came out and reached Silvie just as the girl drew the Scab's sword and gave it to her. Silvie took his knife.
More footsteps.
"Darsal!" Johnis plastered his back against the door, hand on the knob. He threw her a look.
She nodded and took a ragged breath. After ten years the blade was familiar in her hand, but after Earth, the sword also sickened her. She wasn't sure she could kill again, not even to save her life.
She'd done more in her ten-year life in the other world than even these two knew.
Darsal passed Johnis the sword. "Bathe. Then Thomas."
He accepted with little more than eye contact, then swung the door open. Darsal sprang out into the narrow hallway.
alt!"
Darsal raced the opposite way, ignoring the guard's shouts. She tore down the narrow passages and banked a sharp left, then right, praying to Elyon she wouldn't run into a dead end. The hallway was even narrower than Johnis had told her. The Scab Silvie killed had to have bent at an awkward angle just to fit through.
"Stop her. We have a runner!"
At the next three-way in the passage, she saw the left shaft was smaller than the right and chose it. The Scab couldn't follow where he couldn't fit.
She threw herself down the passage and was forced to her hands and knees, sweating and crawling as fast as she could, feeling the rough, uneven beams.
But she'd been wrong about the Scab not fitting; his loud grunts close behind made that clear enough. A hand latched onto her foot. Darsal curled into a ball, kicked into the Scab's belly, and kept going, free for the moment.
She was on wooden beams that crossed over a large room, a catwalk of sorts. But the beams were spaced too far apart for comfort, and they bowed under her weight.
"Get back here, you little wench! I'll slit your throat!"
Darsal wobbled precariously, latched on with one hand, and pressed her foot against a beam to hold her weight. She grabbed with the other hand and resumed crawling. The shakes came so hard she could barely make her hands and feet hold on.
The Scab grabbed her by the calf and pulled hard. She kicked and tried to keep going.
But he had her like a fish dangling from a hook and wouldn't let go. He jerked her toward him.
She released her grip and flew backward into him.
The beams bowed, then broke under their combined weight, and they both fell, grappling for control.
Darsal threw her weight sideways and grabbed his tunic, pulling her body close to his torso and curling her legs under her. He hit the ground with a heavy thud, flat on his back, unconscious. Heartbeat still skyrocketing, Darsal grabbed his sword and knife and sprang up. Turned. Where was she?
A large, fan-shaped room. Council hall, but completely redesigned: wood floors, blue rug across the middle and down aisles on either side of three sections of silky cushions, picture on the wall.
Shouts and running down the hall. More swearing. A voice that sounded like Silvie screeched from beyond the door.
"Dear Elyon."
Four Scabs poured into the room.
Among them the one called Marak.
Darsal scanned the room for another exit. One more, but it was on the same wall as the one the Scabs raced from, on the other end.
She ran for it.
The smallest of the Scabs sped toward her. She lunged forward, blade extended. The two swords scraped together, and his nearly took her hand off. She blocked, then took a swipe at his head, using her sword as a club.
Even now the thought of killing this Scab struck her as offensive.
She cursed herself.
His blade slapped her sideways, then down. Almost cut her in half. Darsal rolled and raised her sword in time to block a third swing.
Sweat trickled down her neck. Sticky morst from her assailant dripped down on her forehead. She grimaced.
She could easily grab her knife and run him through the stomach...
Instead, Darsal swept his feet from under him, rolled to her feet, and fled for the door.
The second and third corralled her, swords drawn. She couldn't see the general. Pivoting on her heel, she twirled away from the door, ran up the wall and along it, then sprang off and clubbed the nearest Scab in the head.
He went sprawling.
Blood oozed from a wound to her upper arm she hadn't noticed before. Now the gash throbbed with irritating pain.
Two more to go, if the general was gone. One on either side. Darsal feinted for the door, then banked right and darted around the taller, older Scab.
"Teeleh's fangs, stop her, you fools!"
A rope snapped tight around her throat and yanked her flat on her back, sword flying. Darsal's yelp cut short when she hit the floor. She twisted, scrambling to her knees as the Scab dragged her toward him.
Her nose rammed against large, heavy boots.
He picked her up by the collar, hefted her a few inches off the ground, stared at her for a moment, then set her down.
A pair of hands grabbed each of her arms and jerked them behind her back. Blood oozed down her arm. The throbbing pain returned. She struggled out of sheer bullheadedness as they held her wrists together and bound them.
Hopeless.
Elyon help Johnis and Silvie, or her own demise would be pointless.
Now she could see her captor: tall, lean, dreadlocks over his shoulders and down his chest. Gray eyes dull and cold. Morst splitting apart and gumming where his white skin had started to flake. He wore leather battle gear and his sword strapped across his back, two throwing knives on each thigh as Silvie would have worn them.
General Marak.
He stared at her. Then his face cracked into a stern, humorless smile as he motioned to the two youths behind him. "Take her away."
JOHNIS AND SILVIE REACTED AS ONE AS SOON AS DARSAL was down the hall with the Scab calling after her.
Silvie flung the dead Scab's cloak over Johnis and tucked her knife into her waistband, out of sight.
Time to play Scab thug and albino prisoner.
They found a ladder and shimmied down.
Something crashed from Darsal's direction far behind them now. A Scab thundered curses.
"Elyon help her," he whispered, pressing the stolen sword against Silvie's throat. "Move for the atrium. Right."
He guided Silvie toward the atrium. Checked his waistband, just to be satisfied. The book was still there.
Johnis swept his gaze from side to side down the hall. Winged serpents guarded each doorway, lonely silver and black opal sentinels with leering red-glass eyes. The one outside the main room was larger and stood above a kind of incense altar. Pungent aroma wafted after them.
Polished wooden floors with blue carpets lined the hallways. He saw Teelehs winged serpent image, hangmen dangling from bowl-shaped torch stands blazing on the walls, and crossed Horde swords above Horde shields and crests.
The hall looked like a private sanctuary for Teeleh. A palace chapel.
"You're cutting me," Silvie whispered through clenched teeth.
He loosened his grip. Her light skin had reddened where he'd grabbed too tightly, and a thin cut lacerated her neck.
Two Scab acolytes in white rounded the corner and marched abreast down the hall toward them, swinging incense. Behind them stormed a priest in a pointed hood.
Sucrow!
He froze. Then bolted to his right, dragging Silvie with him.
"Get them!" Sucrow screamed.
He released Silvie's wrist and fled out the front door, down the whitewashed temple steps. Side by side they vaulted a low railing and sprinted down a hard-packed dirt road.
"Which way?" Silvie asked from his side.
"Alley!"
He cut to his right between two mud huts. The sounds of barking dogs chased them south. Barracks ahead on the left, with the lake to his right-west.
"This way," he panted, cutting right again.
He leaped over a box lying in the street. Past Horde children playing with a vine jump rope. The children's mothers shrieked and called them away from the crazy albinos racing past.
On past wood-and-reed frame houses, then mud-brick ones. Out of the cleaner, prettier part of the city. Deeper into the trees. Past weeds that overran yards, swallowing the little huts alive. Enormous tree roots sometimes grew straight through the sides of the buildings. No fences between the yards.
Mud squished where hard-packed dirt had been.
The muddy lake lay directly ahead.
"We've lost them!" Silvie cast a look over her shoulder as she ran for the lake by his side.
"Into the water!"
Johnis cut through a yard and down the steep bank. Tossed the Book of History into the grass. Leaped off the ledge like he used to when he was a boy and dove into warm, murky water.
No burning, tingling sensation.
No healing powers of Elyon's water.
He swam deeper, submerged, feeling nothing.
Then surfaced twenty yards from shore, sputtering and coughing. Johnis looked down. Silvie came up immediately after.
The water was so brown he couldn't even see the two of them in it. Muddy droplets made rivulets down Silvie's light skin.
Why?
"It's not working," Silvie cried, eyes wide on him. "Now what?"
Johnis set his jaw and started for the shore to his right. At least they were free of the guards. For the moment.
johnis .. .
"What?"
Silvie eyed him. "I didn't say anything."
johnis..
Her mouth had not moved. Johnis shrugged it off. Retrieved the book and pocketed it.
"Where now?"
An image formed in his mind of something he'd forgotten. A pool, near the edge of the forest.
`Drink .. .
"Johnis?"
"Nothing. Just an odd sensation. We can't stay here."
"And Darsal?"
Darsal. She would come looking soon. "Give me your knife."
He carved a simple sign into the tree closest to him, then returned the knife.
"Old hiding place of mine." Johnis's throat was even more parched now that he'd swallowed mud.
"The bank winds around, and then a path heads south. Follow me!"
he cage door clanged shut. Darsal broke her fall with her palms. Her shackles clanked together and thumped against the hard-packed dirt floor.
"Fool albino," muttered the guard. He turned the lock and left her, torchlight retreating with him. A second door thudded closed.
A thin tendril of pale light came down the corridor. Dimly she noted her immediate surroundings. A six-by-six cell, probably not over six feet high.
For a long time she merely lay there, drifting in and out of restless half-sleep. Her body slowly numbed itself to the beating, and the tears dried on her face. The metal bands around her wrists and ankles were cool against her skin.
Elyon save me.
She rolled to one side. More time elapsed, her limbs stiffening, joints beginning to ache. Her left side went numb from lying on it so long.
"Elyon ..."
Darsal wrapped her arms around her knees, pressing them against her chest. Then flinched back when her hand touched an open wound on her right arm.
But the pain cleared her head. She bit her lip.
Had Johnis and Silvie made it? If not, this had all been for nothing.
Darsal hadn't fought her way out of a storage closet to wind up as Scab target practice.
She jumped up, slamming her head against the back corner of the cage, and grabbed the bars. Darsal winced, then ran her fingers along the lock and tried to pick it with her fingernail.
"I don't imagine that will aid you."
Darsal turned. "Who's there?"
An itch. She scratched the back of her head.
Past hers, rows of large iron cages lay mostly empty, desolate save the occasional bone or scrap of clothing. In the cell next to her own lay a gray-bearded man with an eye patch and a lined face. The remaining eye regarded her with a piercing gaze-the kind difficult to break free of.
In the cell on his other side was a youth-a blond boy of about sixteen or seventeen whose bare back was scarred from old whiplashes and raw and bleeding from a fresh scoring, his body burned and beaten.
And in a cell beyond him a woman lay shrouded in shadows. Her face wasn't visible, only her outline and long hair.