Renegade

by Ted Dekker

  “Are you sure you haven’t lost your mind to this desert?” Karas asked.

  “Yes. Hunter, I’m waiting.”

  “Fine. Fine, but I don’t like it.” He mumbled something and hopped onto the horse’s head, facing them both. “The least I can do is give you two sets of eyes.”

  Hunter swept his wing toward Karas and whispered. “For this one, who has ears to hear and eyes to see, let her hear and see.”

  Karas gasped and stared wide-eyed at Hunter. “What’s that?” “I’m Hunter, the Roush that Darsal kidnapped from Middle Forest.”

  Karas blinked at the furry white animal. “You’re real. So cute!” “ They’re real too,” Darsal said, motioning ahead at the Shataiki who stared with red eyes. “Not so cute.”

  Again, Karas gasped. “Shataiki!” She grabbed a bag of water from behind her and pulled it into her lap.

  “You’re sure about this?” Hunter asked. “I could take her with me.”

  “I doubt she’d go. Besides, you can’t fly with her. Go. Now. You’re free; go before I change my mind.”

  Hunter fluttered over to Karas’s horse and landed on its head. “Touch my fur, cute little girl; go on, touch it.”

  She reached her hand out and stroked his neck lightly, eyes sparkling with wonder.

  “You see, real. It’s all real, everything the Horde can’t see and many Forest Dwellers don’t care to see. And it’s all part of the real order. Elyon’s order. That’s his water you have, and it’s a good idea. Keep Darsal alive for me until I get back with Johnis, will you?”

  “Me? I will. I swear I will!”

  Then Hunter leapt off the horse, spread his wings, zoomed low over the desert sand, and winged his way south.

  Darsal and Karas sat on their horses, alone, facing the Shataiki, who were unfazed by this intrusion into their domain.

  “Ready?”

  “For what?” Karas asked.

  Darsal cast her a silent look, then nudged her horse forward.

  illos awoke and found himself curled up in the corner with his cheek plastered on the hard, white floor and his saliva pooling.

  He sat up, disoriented. Then he remembered where he was. Imprisoned in this white room with a useless contraption called DELL. NO book, no food, no water. Abandoned by Elyon.

  His desperation had grown slowly as he’d become more aware of just how confining his new environment really was. The mystery had been replaced by a predictability that offered nothing new, no matter what buttons he pushed or levers he pulled or surfaces he pried. The buggy, if indeed that’s what it was, lay dormant.

  There was no way out, not without a horse to kick through the door. Maybe not even then. He’d slammed into the glass wall with his full weight and bounced back like a hollow walnut shell.

  He wondered if this was hell, the place reserved for the Horde. Maybe the books were a gateway straight to hell itself. Maybe that’s why Teeleh was so interested in them.

  “Please, Elyon, forgive me for my hot head. I shouldn’t have used the book, and 1 swear never to use it again if you’ll save me.”

  But he prayed this a hundred times to no avail.

  Billos pushed himself to his feet and walked around DELL again. He pushed the buttons for a few minutes, mumbling his disgust at anything so intricate and so dumb at once.

  “Argh!” He slammed his hand on the lettered buttons. The glass surfaces glared black. The buggy sat like a lump. He looked around, trying his best to keep his mind but failing.

  How long had it been? A day? And already he was going mad. There was nothing to do … but sleep.

  Billos climbed into one of the seats, lay back on the cushion, and faced the glowing squares on the ceiling. Night didn’t seem to come here. Not that he longed for darkness.

  A shudder passed through his body. He shoved his hands into the gloves that were attached by black cords to the bed. Best he could tell, the ropes were the reins that steered the buggy, and these gloves were some kind of armor.

  He pulled the battle helmet over his head and snapped the latch. Darkness swallowed him. His breathing sounded loud in his ears. The experience was rather frightful, but it was a change from the white room, and at the moment it was what he needed.

  “Let’s go, you haggard old beast. Do something!”

  Nothing, of course.

  Claustrophobia began to set in. He yanked the helmet and gloves off, rolled from the bed, and stood undecided.

  He crossed to the door, kicked it with his boot, and screamed his frustration. “Open! Just open, for the love of …”

  The door swung lazily inward.

  Open?

  Billos was so astonished that he stood still, unable to move. What had he done? He was free?

  He threw the door open wide and stepped into a dark hallway. The door at the other end was open. He ran down the passage, feet slapping the smooth floor with each stride.

  The hall opened to a larger room with a cushioned floor, unlike any he’d seen. Stuffed chairs were situated around the room in neat groupings. Against one wall stood the rooms only door, this one with some letters stamped above it: EXIT.

  Billos crossed to the door, heart hammering. He was free; he was going to make it. To where, he had no clue—but out. Out was what he’d needed, and out was where he was going!

  He put his hand on the door and twisted. It swung easily into a dim interior. Cool air flooded his face.

  Okay, okay, not the bright sunlight he’d been expecting, but he was out, right? Or was he?

  The wind carried a distant voice to him. Yelling from overhead, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  He ran into a damp hallway with rough walls, past a curtain, into a dimly lit room with gray walls and stacks of brown containers. Stairs rose on his left, and he hurried for them.

  The voices grew louder. Or voice, he should say—one gruff voice expressing enough outrage to slow Billos to a timid climb.

  He nudged the door at the top, saw no immediate danger, and stepped into … a library of some kind?

  Bookcases towered on either side of a passage that led into a great room, two stories high. A large crystalline chandelier hung from the domed ceiling.

  “You betrayed them, Cutes. For that I think you deserve to die, don’t you?” The voice echoed from the main room. “You think your lover boy will try to save you now? I think not.”

  A chill rode Billos’s spine. He gripped the knife tighter and crept forward on the balls of his feet. Behind him the door clicked shut. He reached back for the doorknob.

  Locked.

  There would be no going back the way he’d come.

  “You should be thrilled that at least one of you is going to make it out of this place alive. You know that these doors are sealed with blood. Only blood can pry them open. If not yours, then whose? Hmmm? Not mine, not a chance, Cutes.”

  Soft crying. Muffled, definitely muffled.

  Something about that voice struck a chord deep in Billos’s mind. Female. Familiar.

  He stopped.

  Darsal?

  A dozen thoughts crashed into his mind, and he knew that he was right. Darsal was not only in this place, but her life was hanging in the balance.

  And lover boy? Someone else? No, never!

  But what if? He’d never even considered the possibility that Darsal might fall for another man. She’d never shown the slightest interest in anyone but him since he’d killed her uncle for habitually beating her to a pulp after her parents’ deaths.

  The thought of losing her to another man suddenly struck him as obscene. Billos dropped the pretense of stealth and sprinted the rest of the way.

  Around him rose a round atrium bordered on all sides with bookcases. A dozen vacant tables sat in the middle. Railing ran along the perimeter, separating the bookcases from the tables.

  Darsal was strapped to the railing, hands tied behind her back, mouth gagged with a brown cloth. Her eyes darted to him, spread wide with fear. Then wrinkled, begging.


  In front of Darsal stood a tall man dressed in black. Black hat, black trench coat, black slacks, black boots tipped in silver. Dark hair to his shoulders, smile twisted like a snake’s tail, one eyebrow arched.

  “Hello, Billy.” He paused. “Mind if I call you Billy? It’s easier to say than this Billos crap. Besides, Bill rhymes with will, and that’s what we’re here to fix. My will, her will, we all scream for Bill’s will. Kapische?”

  Billos stepped toward Darsal, who looked as if she’d been beaten before being strung up. “What’s going on? Who are you? You can’t do this!”

  “I can’t. Gee whiz, oh my gosh, I’m sorry. What’s your plan? We all lie down and die? ‘Cause that’s what happens in about five minutes if we don’t kill someone. Her. Or you. I’m not volunteering, and there’s no other way out.”

  That was the second time the man in black had suggested that there was no way out of the library. Billos glanced around—no windows or doors that he could see.

  “Name’s Black,” the man said. “Marsuvees Black. You, Billy Boy, and me, the Black man, and Darsal-poo here have all found ourselves trapped in a magical room that will only let us out if one of us dies. So say The Powers That Be.”

  Billos stared at Darsal, pushing down the confusion that throbbed through his head. Confusion that unnerved him like the rest of this crazy place. Like this—he looked back at the man called Black—this human dressed up like a Shataiki,

  “The Powers That Be?” he asked.

  Black forced a grin. “Evil, baby. I suggest we comply. Trust me, when we do get out of this room, the world that awaits you no less than seriously rocks. Power that will make your bones quiver like a snake’s tail, baby.”

  The man took a breath, holding his grin. “But I’ll let you make the choice. Let me kill her and walk into a new life. Or pretend you can stop me and die with her. Your choice.”

  Billos hesitated only a moment, filled with thoughts of power that might make his bones quiver, then regained his composure and with it his backbone. He walked toward Darsal, swiveling his knife.

  The man called Marsuvees Black slipped a large silver knife from a sheath Billos hadn’t seen until now and stepped up to Darsal.

  “Think about this, you stupid nincompoop.” The man spoke with a certain uncaring that made Billos believe he could as easily kill both Darsal and him as take a breath.

  For a brief moment he considered his options. The man’s eyes flashed above his curved lips, inviting or threatening or both.

  “No,” Billos said. Then he threw reason aside and vaulted the railing, knife extended.

  “No? The boy from the land of books says no?”

  “I said no!” Billos launched himself at the man in a single bound that carried him much higher than he expected with ridiculous ease.

  He spun once in the air and thrust out his right foot, knowing Black could not anticipate such a precise, powerful move. Truth be told, he could hardly anticipate it. The air was different here.

  His foot swished through the air where Black …

  Through thin air. He’d shifted? So quickly!

  Billos landed on his feet and ducked in anticipation of the blow he knew would come.

  Silence filled the room. Only his heart disturbed the stillness. He whipped around to his left. No one.

  To the right. No one.

  No Darsal. No Black. He was alone.

  Billos stood straight, breathing steadily through his nostrils, knife still ready.

  “Hello?” His voice echoed softly. “Hello, hello …”

  He’d imagined it all? He was dreaming, like Thomas of Hunter had once supposedly dreamed, unable to distinguish reality from dreams?

  “Hello?” he called again.

  “Hello, Billos’ssssss.”

  Billos whirled. The man in black stood between two bookcases, legs spread slightly, arms crossed, head tilted down, grinning.

  “Surprised?”

  Billos kept his blade out, tip trembling despite his attempt to still it.

  “You did well, son. Very well, I might say.” The man lowered his arms and walked out into the room, scanning the ceiling. “I had to know where your heart was, you understand. If you had made any other choice, I would have left you alone to make your way in this messed-up place. Live or die, I don’t—”

  “Stop!”

  The man faced him. Surprised.

  “How did you do that?” Billos asked. “Where did she go?”

  “Nowhere. She was never here. Are your ears plugged? I set that up to test your loyalty. You showed me that you won’t turn your back on those you love.”

  “Which does not include you. What is this place? How did you make her appear and disappear?”

  The corner of Black’s mouth nudged his right cheek. “I wasn’t lying about the power in this world, baby. But I need you to trust me the way I trusted you.”

  “Trusted me? You threatened—”

  “Stop!” Black thundered. Then softer, “Stop being so dense. If I’m going to partner with you, I need to know I can trust you. Can I? Because if I can’t, so help me, I’ll leave you to face your own demons.”

  Billos felt his muscles relax some. “So none of that happened?”

  “In your mind, with your body—is there a difference? It happened. I gave you a choice, and you chose her over yourself. I refuse to work with anyone who isn’t completely loyal.”

  “I don’t give my loyalty easily,” Billos said. “What makes you think I care about you?”

  “The feet that I’m your only way out. The fact that I can give you what you deserve. The fact, Billy-boy, that you’re here for a purpose. The fact that I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

  So then Black was good?

  The man continued. “Now and then we’re all confronted with a new slice of truth, an opportunity that could change everything. The realization that the brick wall in front of us isn’t solid at all, if we only have the guts to run pell-mell into it.”

  Billos lowered his knife.

  Black smiled. “What do you think, Billy-bong?”

  Billos glanced around. “I don’t know …”

  “Am I good? Or am I evil?”

  He thought for a moment and gave the only answer that made any sense to him. “I don’t know.”

  Marsuvees Black smiled, teeth white, mouth pink. “I like you, boy. We’re going to get along just fine.”

  “Where’s Darsal? The real Darsal?”

  “Looking for you, I would guess.”

  It made sense. They would all be looking for him. Wondering what had happened to the books. Johnis would be pacing a ditch into the ground, worrying, wondering what Billos knew that they did not.

  But Billos didn’t know enough.

  “So I suppose you’d like to know what’s happening,” Black said.

  “Fair enough, what is happening?”

  Black winked. “The million-dollar question,” He interlaced his fingers and cracked his knuckles. “Or should I say the seven-book question, which makes the million-dollar question look like a piece of week-old spinach on the bottom of a boot.”

  “Where am I?”

  Black paced to his left, eyes still on Billos. “You’re here, in the good old U-S-of-A. Where three of the seven books have gone conveniently missing. Do you know what the books do, Billy? Do you mind if I call you Billy?”

  “My name is Billos. And no, I’m not sure I do know what they do.”

  The man chuckled. But it was a friendly sound that tempted Billos to grin with him.

  “Well, Billos, then let me tell you. It’s high time you know why we sought your help. The books are pure transparency, baby. Reality stripped of rules except those written in the books themselves. The truth. They can make truth, and they tell it the way it is—no mincing of words. No rules except those written into the books themselves.”

  “What does that have to do with me disappearing into the book and waking in the white room?”r />
  “You didn’t disappear into the book. You entered the book’s cover, which is a different matter, you’ll see. Either way, it’s all real, baby, and it’s all good.”

  He turned his head and stared at the far wall, where Billos saw a door that he didn’t remember seeing earlier.

  “Well, not all good,” Black said. “In the wrong hands, the seven books could be quite a problem.”

  “Why all seven books?”

  “Together all seven can undo any rules written into the books.” He faced Billos again, light from the windows glinting in his eyes. “Their power is limitless. Which is why we need to secure them before the Dark One gets his paws on them. And we need you to help us, Billos-baby. Not Johnny-come-lately, not Saliva, not even Dorksal, although she’s a close second. We were interested in you.”

  The words made Billos dizzy for a moment. These names were nearly beyond him, but he knew Black was referring to Johnis, Silvie, and Darsal.

  “Why me?”

  “Who’s standing here now? Johnny-come-lately? Saliva? Only you had the guts to do what needed to be done to get to where the books are. Johnis played his part, don’t get me wrong. But this has always been your trip, baby.”

  “And who’s to say that you’re not the Dark One?” Billos asked, though he was starting to think that Black had made some good points.

  The man stared at him hard, surprised. “No, no, no, boy. Don’t mistake my little test with Darsal for more than that. Like I’ve said—to the point of making me wonder if you’re thicker in the head than I was led to believe—I had to know how loyal you were.”

  Made sense. Right?

  “Then who is the Dark One?”

  “The black, nasty bat, naturally. You’re going to have to choose his way. Or my way. Take your pick.”

  “So this is all about you finding the books,” Billos said.

  “Before he does. Like I said, his way or my way. You either accept the fact that you were actually meant to come here and find me for the sake of the books, which is my way. Or you believe that you betrayed the others by making off with the books and entering them; that would be the nasty way of Teeleh.”