by Dekker, Ted
The priest needed to go. No religious man should have equal or greater power than a governing ruler. Exactly who ruled whom, the priest or the supreme commander?
Sucrow poured two glasses and gave one to Marak.
He pushed it away. "Qurong wants me to let you at the helm of my project. He did not order me to drink with a superstitious old man who worships a snake with wings, Priest."
Sucrow threw him a cold stare. "Blasphemer or not, you will show respect for the Great One while inside my temple."
"Your temple or his?"
"You know what I mean."
"Then say what you mean."
After a few moments, the priest conceded. "Killing kin. Something your grandfather never would consent to."
Marak ground his teeth.
The priest chuckled. "Still reeling over their deaths, Marak? They were diseased. Far better to die quickly than slowly, don't you think?"
Marak fought the urge to turn this priest into a mound of clay on the ground. But the old sorcerer had far more to his advantage than met the eye.
"I think a wise man knows when to mind his tongue. He never said I couldn't kill you."
Sucrow's amusement only increased. The viper needed to die, slowly and painfully, the most excruciating death available.
"Marak, Marak, such a temper."
"Don't tempt me, Priest. You've seen what I'm capable of." Marak turned. He hadn't touched the wine and had no intention of doing so. Sucrow likely meant to get him drunk and wave some spell over him.
"General ..."
Marak paused but didn't turn around, hand still on the door.
"As you've said. You're capable of anything, correct?"
"Say what you mean, Priest. This is why religious idiots have no business leading an army. You'd kill us all with your yammering."
More cackling. "Very well. Since you're so adept at killing albinos, take care of the one you've been dragging around."
Darsal.
"I do things my own way, Priest. She'll die when she dies."
"I want her dead, General. You can kill your own brother, surely you can take care of a nameless wench." Pause. "Or you could give her to me. She'd make a lovely replacement for the other wench."
Rona.
"Fine," he growled. "I'll kill her."
Sucrow chuckled. "Pity. She might enjoy Teelehs caresses as much as the other one did."
"Leave it, Sucrow. I said I'd kill her." He tried to leave.
"Ah, General?"
"What now, Priest?" he snarled.
"Are you curious what the youth might say?"
"Send your servant with a report. I'm taking the wench now."
He shut the door. The young man and woman were still waiting in the hall. "Enter." Without waiting for a response, he stormed off.
Sucrow was trying to usurp the military arm.
Qurong was breathing down his neck to finish off the albinos.
Eram threatened rebellion.
He'd killed his own his brother and sister-in-law.
Then taken in a pet albino.
Lunacy.
Darsal had to die.
Then Sucrow would get off him and he could see to getting his command back.
SUCROW HAD LOCKED DARSAL IN WHAT LOOKED LIKE A small ritual room and posted a guard outside. A room with Teeleh's winged serpent image leering at her and an altar and a silver bowl of unlit incense. She'd had neither the time nor stamina to resist being placed there.
Not that it would have mattered.
Marak might kill her.
Sucrow would kill her.
And that was counter to Elyon's mission for her.
She couldn't do penance if she was dead.
Once the door shut she started to pace. Johnis and Silvie were alive. Alive and Scab. Alive and coming to deal with Sucrow.
What to do, what to do?
Darsal sat, one knee up, as far from the feet of the idol as she could get. No way would she take a kneeling posture before the image.
"Elyon ... ?"
She tried to wrap her head around this idea that Johnis and Silvie had not found water, had not gone on as they should have to bathe and find Thomas.
This was not what was supposed to happen.
"Elyon, why?"
Everything in her screamed to break out of the temple, rush out, and find her friends. Shake them, reason with them. She could try it. Overpower the guard, steal his weapon. Grab Johnis and slam him against the wall, fling him into a red lake and drown him.
But no-even if she could get out of the room, she'd never get beyond the first corridor before someone ran her through.
She couldn't help Johnis and Silvie. They were in agony. The Scab general was to blame.
How could she choose Marak over Johnis and Silvie? Hopeless.
Return to the Horde and love them for me. For Johnis.
"Do you want me to help Johnis or stay with Marak?"
The seconds turned to minutes. Darsal laid her forehead on the cool floor.
Arguing outside. Marak burst through the door. Darsal stood. Her leg chain clattered on the cold stone floor.
"Come," he snapped. "We're leaving."
She squeezed between him and the door, under his arm, barely brushing his clothes. Marak poked at her with the butt of his knife.
"What's-"
"Silence!" he ordered.
She obeyed.
"WHO ARE YOU?" SUCROW DEMANDED. THE SNAKE WAS just as disgusting and slimy as his predecessor.
"My name is Josef of Southern. This is Arya, my betrothed."
They had both agreed to change their identities. Josef after a story Darsal's niece once told them. Arya after Silvie's mother.
Of course, Silvie couldn't be sure if the suggestion was Johnis's or Shaeda's.
She wasn't sure what she knew anymore. Johnis wasn't himself.
Johnis approached the desk and leaned forward. "I've a solution to the albino problem. We can be rid of them all in three days' time."
Sucrow squinted at him. He had the look of a man curious but trying to appear indifferent. With one hand he pushed Johnis back.
Silvie kept a hawk's eye on the cretin's fingers. Though the more rational part of her told her Shaeda, if she was really controlling him to any degree, would not allow him to be injured for long.
As long as he obeyed.
"And what might that be?"
Silvie tried to keep their greater purpose in mind: conquer the Horde. With them Sucrow would die too.
Shaedas will was infinitely potent.
Soon enough. Soon enough. Johnis's plan included breaking free of the accursed Leedhan's stranglehold and keeping her powers for himself. Then they could kill the Horde instead of just conquering them.
Silvie toyed with her knife, imagining slitting the woman's throat.
Under normal circumstances she would already have planted one in the Dark Priest's brain and another in his torso.
Soon.
Very soon.
Her hand was getting itchy for a throw. The blade would have to go right past Johnis's ear, likely touching it, to reach the priest's skull. She'd made that throw before. Her love was in no danger if she made a second attempt.
"An ancient power," Johnis answered, "beyond the likes this world has ever seen."
The priest picked up his pen and started rummaging in his desk, apparently bored with Johnis's assertions.
Illusion, of course.
If anyone knew the old tales, Sucrow did. That was why Johnis had been confident selling the point to Marak. Sucrow would know.
"I've been given the means and locations required to retrieve it."
"Is that so, boy?" The priest's coyness made her blade-finger twitchy.
Johnis's cutting glare hardened. "It is."
"And how do you propose to get this ... weapon?" Sucrow sneered.
"With this." Johnis withdrew the maggoty, rancid yellow grapefruit-thing and held it right under Sucrow's nose.
The priest's eyes widened. Only for a second, but enough for Silvie to notice. Johnis was right.
Which meant Shaeda was right too.
Her stomach turned.
But why was Sucrow pretending he didn't believe? Or maybe Johnis really had surprised him with a fruit that no one had seen before. Comforting, that thought.
"We use this as bait, then go to the Black Forest into a Shataiki lair and recover a certain charm," Johnis said. "With that, and your summoning ceremony, we can gain control of the entire horde of Shataiki for four days. Nothing can stop them once they've flown. It will be perfect. You will see."
Sucrow slapped the fruit away. It rolled across the ground, a single maggot landing on the desk, several more falling out when the fruit struck. Silvie almost gagged.
"And what makes you think these Shataiki are more than legend, boy?"
Johnis leaned close. Very close. "I think we both know that's a fool's question."
They stared each other down for several minutes before Johnis straightened. Sucrow chortled and went back to his work.
"You're the fool, boy, to come waltzing in here with rotten fruit and a child's notion of controlling Shataiki."
Johnis retrieved his fruit and slapped the desk. "I alone have the location of the Black Forest, and I alone have the bait. You'll never find the place without me."
Sucrow picked up a maggot from the desk, inspected it. Then squished it between his fingers. "You have nothing but empty words. Now go."
"Sucrow, you must listen-"
"Guards! Escort these children back outside and inform them that if they're caught trespassing again, they'll be executed."
Four muscular temple guards entered, two through the side door that likely led to the library, and two from the front. They grabbed Silvie by the wrists and began dragging her out.
The other two had Johnis. He kept protesting, but no one would listen.
Silvie cursed the priest as they were taken down the halls. Out on the patio, toward the steps.
"Let me alone," Johnis growled. Silvie snapped her head around. The voice wasn't Johnis's. It was lower, more sinister. His eyes had a cast to them she couldn't describe.
The guards were stunned too.
Johnis jerked free. Lowered into a crouch. Readied for a fight. The guard holding Silvie had let go.
Shaeda.
She didn't like her little pet threatened.
A chill wound around Silvie's spine.
Johnis lunged.
Silvie grabbed his arm. "Don't. They'll kill us."
Johnis ground his teeth, fists balled, muscles in his arms tightening. His eyes were dull, narrowed to slits, and very dark against his flaking, mosaic skin. He broke free of her and snarled.
"Follow us and it'll be the last thing you do," he warned the guards. Johnis grabbed Silvie's arms and marched off. Left Sucrow's men standing there gawking.
"What was that?" she asked when they were away.
He didn't answer.
"Johnis."
He was wrestling Shaeda again.
Finally his head cleared. Clarity came into his eyes.
Johnis's mistress had spoken.
He looked at her. "We'll have to find another way to convince Sucrow. The fruit he'll blow off as coincidental. We need more."
He grabbed her by the hand and hurried into the trees.
Silvie yelped. "Where are we going?"
"To get the amulet. We need to get supplies and some horses. I'll explain on the way."
SUCROW WAITED UNTIL THE TWO YOUTHS WERE OUT OF HIS sight and the door shut before reaching into his desk.
The boy had said far more than he likely comprehended. And he knew what the boy wanted, what he needed.
Josef had the means, but he would require a particular ritual to bring his plan to fruition. A ritual only a priest ofTeeleh would know.
He retrieved parchment and pen and a small, leather-bound book tied with gold twine that contained a series of legends and incantations. His guest had made him suspicious of an old tale that few remembered.
Sucrow flipped through the book to a dog-eared page and read it again. His frown deepened.
That fruit the boy carried wasn't supposed to exist.
It was a harach, supposedly from a purple-leafed tree that simply did not grow anywhere in the world. Only a precious few even knew the tale. Rumors, scarcely whispered stories from a tightlipped, waning number of priests who devoted themselves to ancient practices and to the winged serpent.
Leedhan magic. The entities.
Vampire lore.
The amulet wasn't supposed to exist.
"But if it did," he mused, "if it did, it really could mean the end of the world as we know it. This truly can become a world without albinos."
But what else would it mean?
With trembling fingers he scanned the pages, looking for the location of ancient things. A simple ritual would gain him access.
Teeleh would not be pleased if these abominations gained control of his following. If this amulet of Josef's really was the same, he could control the world. Surely Teeleh would prefer his own trusted priest to hold that Shataiki's bane. Not some fool who would enslave him.
This meant he didn't need said fool running around unsupervised. Josef and his lover needed to be under Sucrow's control.
"Yes," he muttered. "That would do it." He needed to send Warryn to catch up to the couple he'd too quickly dismissed and have them go after the amulet together.
Upon their return he would deal with them and take the Leedhan magic for himself. And then the girl would make a nice addition to his rituals. She was extra baggage, anyway. The boy would be more compliant locked in a dungeon.
Or dead.
Sucrow called to his apprentice in the library next door. "Come. I have a message for Warryn. A special assignment." Sucrow wrote on a parchment, rolled it up, then sealed it.
The skinny youth bowed upon his approach. "Furthermore," Sucrow instructed, "I want to know where the lair is."
"It is done." The servant's hand closed on the scroll.
Sucrow grabbed his wrist and gripped it with his long, sharp nails until the youth's flesh tore and began to bleed. "Do not let them leave the city."
here are we going, General?" Darsal asked, fighting the butt of his knife against her spine.
"Keep moving." Marak ignored her questions, marched her to the north end of the lake. Ignored the diseased flesh and the Circle pendant that made her look so much like the woman he'd almost married.
"Where are we going, Marak?" Rona's voice echoed. He remembered taking her here. She'd brought a meal from the market, and her long braid bounced as she ran to greet him. Loose tendrils had fallen around her eyes and cheeks, and she'd flung her arms wide. He'd caught her up in his arms ...
Darsal broke free and faced him. "What's going on, General?"
Jordan's pendant still hung around her neck. She'd tried twice to return it, but he'd been so frustrated with her he'd never taken it.
His uneasiness grew.
"You don't have to do it, Marak, "he heard Jordan protest in his head. "You don't have to give in to Sucrow. And you don't have to stay Qurong's general. You can leave. You can come live with us. No one's going to force you to drown. Come live with us. "
Jordan was an idealistic fool. No one just walked away from Qurong. And Sucrow was right. He'd had no business making promises to albinos. They were dead. And it was Marak's job to keep them dead.
But his little brother's face wouldn't leave his mind.
"Stop asking me questions and march." Marak gave her a push. Not hard, just enough to make her move.
No one was in sight. There was a thick grove of trees off the beaten path, on the north end of the lake, that would afford them some privacy. He didn't want company. He just wanted to kill the diseased albino and be rid of at least one problem.
"Tell me what's going on," she demanded.
Curse the wench. She
was going to be difficult, wasn't she? The gnawing in his stomach grew. "Go, albino."
Her arms crossed.
Teeleh's breath, she was Rona again.
Enough of this lunacy.
"Fine. Here's as good as any." He drew his sword. "Get on your knees."
Darsal's wide brown eyes drank him in again. She stepped back, but didn't scream. "Why should I?"
Teeleh, Elyon, anyone help him.
"I said kneel." His heart started to pound against his chest. She wasn't screaming; she didn't try to run. She had Rona's backbone. Marak's skin crawled.
She didn't kneel. Marak pushed her to her knees. "Hands on the ground." He held her by the collar as she put her palms on the grass. The pendant dangled.
Marak stepped to the side. The minute he let go, she sprang up. He grabbed her arm. Darsal fought loose and punched him, sent him backward. He righted himself and tackled her.
Teeleh's breath, she was strong.
Darsal kicked free. They grappled for several minutes.
Finally he snatched her leg chain and yanked her feet out from under her. Marak pinned her facedown and tied her wrists. He hated himself for it, but what was he supposed to do?
"Don't be difficult," he snapped. "It has to be done."
Darsal quit struggling. She turned her face to the side. Jordan's pendant stuck to her skin. "Says who? You're a general, for Elyon's sake!"
He stood. "I'm under orders, albino. That's all you need to know."
"My name is Darsal."
He placed his sword at her neck. Raised it.
Marak, I love you, " he heard Rona plead. "Why are you doing this? Don't throw me off, please!"
"Marak ..."
He tensed.
'Jordan and I aren't sick. You are. "
"I'm not the one whose skin's been eaten right off-"
Jordan grabbed his hand, turned the inside of his arm outward, and rubbed hard at his skin. The morst smeared, and his flesh cracked and flaked onto his fingers and palms. "Then what is this, Marak?"
He jerked away. It was fine until you did that!"
"Until I revealed the truth!"
"For the love of Elyon, Marak..."
"Silence!"
He couldn't do this if she kept saying his name, if she kept making him think of his brother and Rona. There was no option.