by Dekker, Ted
Cassak sat on a rock, slowly wiping blood off his sword. Marak's Desecration test proved a success. The three albinos were dead.
A shame the fourth escaped.
His men carried off the bodies to be destroyed.
"Nicely done, eh?" Warryn sneered beside him.
Cassak raised his head, scowling, and followed the throater's gaze to Marak's shrinking form.
"Now maybe his head's cleared," the throater continued. "Our orders are to round up the rest."
"Your orders. Mine are elsewhere."
"Eram comes second to the albinos."
Cassak's eyes narrowed. "We will see."
DARSAL SKIDDED TO A STOP AT THE TOP OF A HILL OVERlooking the city of Middle. The sun blazed overhead. Far below and to her left, out several hundred feet, was the edge of Middle Lake, murky and brown, with the bridge crossing over to the ominous thrall. Directly across and on her right was the palace and the Horde's dungeon.
The whole place crawled with Scabs.
Return to the Horde and love them for me. For johnis.
Now she was here with the disgusting smell and sights and wondering what in the world Elyon had meant. Maybe `them' meant Jordan and his wife and grandfather.
She could love them.
For a second the despair that had overwhelmed her tickled the back of her mind, crept up with steel claws, and caressed her spine and neck. She swallowed and shook her head.
She wasn't alone.
Jordan had told her the truth.
Now she needed to sneak back in, brave his "I told you so," and get all of them out of this place.
They would escape into the desert.
To whatever refuge Elyon had planned for them.
Darsal climbed back down the hillside and pondered her next move. She would rely on stealth. Less was more.
She soon found the dungeons, as bleak on the outside as they were on the inside.
Her courage wavered only a moment.
Darting in, Darsal slipped past the guard and into the darkness. Several torches lit the way. She took one and came down the staircase into the long hall, past several corridors, and into what used to be the cells she shared with the others.
She tried the door. Unlocked. Breathless, she burst inside and called out softly. "Jordan!" She raced to their cells, imagining their faces. "Thank Elyon you were ..."
No one answered.
Darsal nearly fell into the bars.
Ronas cage was empty. So were Jordan's and Xedan's.
Blood stained the back wall and the dirt floor.
Her brow furrowed, arms limp at her sides, mind refusing to understand.
"Jordan?"
Maybe it was the wrong cell. She'd gone the wrong way, chased an empty room.
The dungeon ran cold. Every ounce of excitement crashed out of her body. Her limbs felt stiff and icy.
No, this was the right room. Their blankets and Xedan's tattered cloak were still within the empty prison cells.
"Dead," came a rich, gruff voice from behind. Only now did she notice that atrocious Scab scent. "Jordan of Southern is dead."
The torch fell from her hand, landed on hard-packed dirt, and snuffed out in an instant. Darsal felt her balance start to give. She put her hand on the iron bar. There was no way she would collapse like a child in front of this Scab.
She continued to stare at the empty cages.
"As you will be," the voice finished. Shuffling feet told Darsal that more were with him. The scuffling and short whispers fell very still.
She turned to face her captor, unslung her sword.
General Marak's tall, lean frame filled the doorway. His scaly, battle-scarred face was set, jaw clenched. Gray eyes overcast and dark. Brow creased in an emotion Darsal couldn't place. He wore tans and browns, two knives on each thigh, and a sword across his back. Behind him was a commander.
But why was he here?
For a long minute they merely regarded each other with penetrating stares. His hand was on the hilt of his sword. He hadn't drawn it. He shouldn't have been able to walk up on her. She should be wiping his blood off her blade.
Return to the Horde and love them for me. For johnis.
She could still fight her way out. This general hadn't expected anyone alive, much less free and armed, down here. She couldn't love her three cellmates if they were dead. Maybe Marak was hiding them somewhere.
No, Darsal. Love this one.
This Scab?
Bile rose in her throat. Never.
The commander grabbed at her wrists. Darsal slammed her fist into his nose, then her elbow. He went backward. She raised her sword to swing it, then paused midstroke.
That cost her. The commander recovered, slapped her sword away, and shoved her to her knees. Her sword clattered to the floor. Marak picked it up.
Darsal struggled. Only at Elyon's quiet prompting did she fall still. You want me to love this Scab?
The silent affirmative unnerved her.
Marak was still staring. Darsal swallowed her pride. Whatever Elyon meant, fine. She would try. But her cellmates ...
"They're really dead?" she asked.
Marak's eyes had a soft cast to them that hadn't been there before. What color would his eyes be, beneath the disease that slowly rotted him through?
Stop this nonsense. He's a Scab. Why should I care?
Elyon's words still echoed.
"You want me to kill her, sir?"
Marak held up his hand. "Why are you here?"
Once more Jordan's expression came to mind. None of them had hated her. None of them.
Return to the Horde and love them, Elyon had said. But what was it he wanted? She couldn't save the three Forest Guard if they were already dead. And she couldn't escape now to help Johnis and find the others.
"Their executions were moved up because they helped you escape," the general said.
"But they didn't ..." Darsal tried to rise but was forced back down. Her knees slammed into the ground. Jordan's necklace bounced off her chin.
"I see their effort was in vain." Marak pushed past her, past Rona's cage, and entered Jordan's. Why was he so concerned over this particular albino?
Old memories came back, something Johnis once said. His compassion for a Scab had gotten them in a world of trouble once. He'd looked at one the same way Jordan had this one.
"I came for them," Darsal said. "I was coming to help them escape."
She watched Marak search for something, not find it, and swear softly. He balled his fists. "You knew he would die."
"I didn't." Her mind struggled to understand him and couldn't. There was nothing to understand. He blamed her needlessly for executing three albinos.
"Kill her," Marak ordered.
No! Elyon wasn't done with her! An impulse nibbled at her mind, chewing in the back and daring her.
She fought it, digging her elbows at the Scab again.
The commander's rough hand forced her head down. Her nose struck the floor. Darsal sprang half up before the sword touched her neck.
Love him.
The sword was coming down. How to ...
"Let me serve you." The words were out before she realized it, barely audible. But her mind caught up, and she knew there was no bluff.
There would be no heroic rescue, no escape.
But maybe, maybe there was still a point to all of this.
Maybe the mission with the books had been only the prologue for something more-something greater.
Greater than saving the world?
Maybe Elyon was doing something else.
The sword did not fall.
She stared up at Marak. At the gray eyes and repulsive skin. Yes. Maybe she could live among Scabs. Her mission would be to love them.
To serve this one. Love this one. This beast of a man who would sooner take her head than look at her.
Penance. She'd stolen life in her bitterness over Billos's death. Now maybe she could save life.
"I
will serve you." Her voice was confident this time. Whatever loving a Scab was, that was her mission and her penance.
His commander cuffed her head. He repositioned his sword.
Marak lifted his hand to stop the man.
"Sir?"
"Let her finish," he growled. He was looking at her again with that unreadable expression.
The commander silenced. Marak waited.
"Let me be your slave." Elyon help her, she was begging a Scab for her life. Thomas wouldn't be pleased. Billos would call her a baby. Maybe she was.
She didn't know what else to say. That he had stayed his commander said he was at least considering the idea. And if he was even considering, for whatever reason ran through his head, that meant maybe Elyon had put the otherwise repulsive notion of being a slave-worse, slave to a Scab-in her head.
Darsal waited. Jordan's necklace swung on her neck. A beat.
"General?" the commander asked.
Marak was staring at her, at the dangling necklace. Her heart skipped a few beats. She looked him in the eyes. Refused to look away.
The general forced her head back by a tuft of hair. She stared up into Marak's unyielding gaze. He shoved her forward. "Get her in chains."
he disease was settling in. Johnis walked faster to ignore his stiff joints and sore muscles, but that was no longer helping.
He could smell carrion birds in the distance. Smell something salty that tasted of copper. Feel the smallest of hairs move on his arm. And he could see the desert with hawk's eyes.
His arms and legs were completely white and scaly, flaking in coin-sized pieces. As were his stomach, sides, and chest.
"Anything from your invisible lady?" Silvie's dry voice was low and husky. Long cracks flaked along the creases in her face, now fixed in a constant frown. Her lip had split, and dried blood caked the corner of her mouth.
"No." Johnis tasted salt on his lips. He stopped, wiping away sweat that wasn't there. "We'll get to Natalga Gap and find help. Maybe find her. Maybe she can ..."
"I don't want the help of some imaginary woman." Silvie retreated beneath an overhang and pressed against a rock formation to rest. She slid down along the wall, slumped over. "It's over."
"It can't be over. We didn't do all of this just to keel over dead in the desert."
"We have no water, Johnis!" she snapped at him, gray eyes narrowed. Gray eyes with a sick, yellow cast to them. She scraped at her flesh. "We're dying."
"I didn't come out here to die!"
"They're dead."
Johnis clenched his teeth and tore at his hair. Hot tears stung his eyes. He'd saved them. He'd never hurt any of them.
But you did, didn't you, Johnis? You did hurt them, and you justified it. You'd do it again if you could.
"We won't find water in time, even if it's there to find. Assuming Darsal's alive, she's Horde too. We can't touch her. And if the others are there, we can't hope to find them. We're Horde. They'll kill us."
The sun dipped low in the horizon and churned the canyon's sparkling colors. Once more the clouds were rolling in, taming the brilliant colors to solemn shadows. Even a trace or two of yellowishgreen. A warm, stale breeze picked up, sharp and biting at first.
johnis ..
He froze. Realized where he was. "The woman. She said she would be out here. Somewhere." His thoughts or the woman's? "We should ..."
"No, Johnis. No beautiful women. Just me."
He frowned at her. Offered his hand. "Come on. It'll be better with the sun gone." She accepted, then followed him westor, rather, what he thought was west.
"This way .. .
The wind at their backs shifted head-on and forced them to turn aside. Fog dampened his cheeks. His limbs turned cold.
He couldn't see.
Johnis drew a sharp breath. "Silvie ... Remember what I told you?"
Even the dry sand turned to mud.
The desert was eerily quiet. No insects. No jackals, no coyotes howling. Out toward the horizon, across the dunes, and nestled in a canyon, the ground seemed to ripple, to shimmer.
"Silvie, are you seeing this?"
Deep blue flickered, rocked up and down, swirled like waves lapping a shore.
A river?
Silvie trembled, stepped forward. "Y-yes. Your visions ... ?"
He nodded dumbly.
Her arms went limp at her sides. Johnis found his legs and stumbled toward the river like a drunk. "We need water ..."
"Hello, mighty Chosen One ... Is this what you seek?"
Yes, they needed water. They would die without water, and then there would be no one left. No one but Scabs and Shataiki. But the Shataiki hadn't been so bad, had they? Oversized black bats, no trouble, no worries. And Scabs. Yes, he did have a scab, right on his left knee where he'd skinned it earlier. Minor things.
"Do you hear her now?"
Johnis could only bob his head. The woman's siren song floated toward him. Summoned him. This time he had no choice.
She was close. Very, very close.
The river seemed to move, ever beyond their grasp. It taunted him.
"We should run," Silvie said.
He forced his feet forward. "Yes, we should."
But neither increased speed. The energy required simply wasn't there, and the water constantly retreated from them.
He could see the woman in the surface of the water, just like before. Her white-blonde hair rippled. Her eyes, blue and purple flecked with red, swallowed him. Promised pleasure and power and life.
Colder. Darker.
Minutes passed.
A white fog settled over them, curling over desert shrub and rock like elongated fingers.
The dark haze swelled until he could see nothing.
Nothing, including Silvie.
He stopped and turned a tight circle without actually leaving the place where he stood. "Silvie?"
No answer. But she'd been right beside him, up until ...
His heart sank like lead into his boots when he realized he didn't know exactly when Silvie had gotten away from him. He neither saw nor heard her now.
"Silvie, don't do this to me."
Not this. Not now. Not after Middle and the Scabs and losing his parents and sister. And Darsal.
Alone.
No family to hound and scold him.
No supreme commander to kick his butt and put him back to work.
No Darsal to call him an idealistic fool.
No Silvie to slap him around.
Just absolute solitude and darkness.
"Silvie? Where are you?" Johnis took several tentative steps, listening, straining to see or hear any sign of her.
Silence.
He called out again, ignoring the way his voice broke, that he sounded like a child and should be embarrassed for it.
Not Silvie. Not her too.
He dropped to his knees and groaned.
"Fear not, my Chosen One. Raise up your head."
He obeyed without hesitation, half-aware the woman's voice was outside his head.
Silvie. Prone. On the sand.
Johnis started, then touched her cheek. "Silvie? Silvie, wake up!" She merely groaned, stirred, and rolled over. "Silvie, talk to me. Wake up. Wake up!"
"She lives."
The woman spoke from behind. Her voice carried the weight of authority, gentle and calm. The two words flowed off her tongue, trailing back as if she could say more but preferred not to trouble him. In the dense fog he couldn't see the woman.
Johnis whirled around and jumped to his feet. It was her! He'd found her!
"Where are you?"
A bemused chuckle. The fog parted a little and two vibrant, glowing eyes sparkled at him. The left eye was a startling purple with a sliver of rich crimson. The right, a vibrant blue with the same crimson half-moon slice. Perfect almonds, shining like jewels in sunlight.
"Peace, Johnis. She sleeps. She will soon wake."
He lowered Silvie's dagger halfway. "You're ... real."
"I am."
The woman had a sweet scent. Alluring, in the same way the smell of baking bread is alluring to a starving man. And her eyes-those huge, intoxicating eyes with thick black lashes.
"How ... did you do that?"
"In time, my Chosen One." She shrugged the fog back the way she might a cloak and let it fall from her shoulders. It drifted to the ground. "Such is more easily shown than explained."
"I thought you were in trouble."
"So such appears ..."
She was even more beautiful up close. Johnis lost himself in her. Her lips parted in a seductive smile. The woman was tall and exquisitely shaped, everything about her long and willowy. She wore a strapless white dress that fell to her ankles and made a feathery train behind her. A small chain circled her neck, silver with a blue stone pendant. Her feet were bare.
"Look upon me, son of Ramos ..."
The woman's riveting eyes commanded his attention, and he was lost in them once more. She smiled and took a bite of the fruit he only now saw in her hand. It was pear-shaped, with purple translucent skin that seemed to glow.
His mind was drifting.
Elyon alive, she was breathtaking.
Fight, johnis. Silvie's unconscious.
"What have you done to Silvie?"
The woman glided to him, stopping so close he could feel her warmth. She licked the wound on the face of the fruit.
"The female has not been harmed."
He stepped back, still holding Silvie's knife. "Why is she on the ground? And how do you know my name?"
Her eyes narrowed for a moment, displeased with his answer. "I am armed with fruit and drink alone, yet I pose a threat?"
She had a point.
"Did you see the hidden pool?" The woman asked softly. Her voice was even. Cool, like fresh water sliding down his throat and quenching his thirst.
"I saw you." Johnis maintained his stance, indecisive. "She hasn't awakened, either."
Something about this woman was heady, sent gooseflesh across his skin, and hypnotized him. He could drink her, he thought, and never thirst again.
The woman seemed amused.
"I do not speak of your red Forest Guard pool. And perhaps she sipped too long on my eluweiss."
He took a step back. "The mirage?"
More gentle laughter. "I merely made visible that which is invisible, Johnis. Your female wished for water."