by Ted Dekker
She ignored his second question, as if it were too silly to take seriously.
“You might be surprised to know what a single drop of Teeleh’s blood can do. But for now, we’ll have to do with the Raison Strain, a brutal, incurable virus that destroys the body from the inside in a matter of hours.”
“We have our poisons,” Eram said. “So you have another. What of it?”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot, neither of you has a PhD in biochemistry.”
Samuel didn’t know what she meant, but he heard the mockery in her tone.
“Let me put it to you this way: if I could deliver what I hold in my hand to the Horde army, the condition that afflicts them already would become worse. Much worse. It would immobilize them in minutes. A strong army could wipe them out.”
“And how do you propose to get such a small amount to the entire Horde army without also infecting us?” Eram asked, intrigued.
“Every witch has her secrets,” she said. Her eyes turned to Samuel. “Do as I suggest and I will prove my power in front of the entire Gathering.”
So, she had more than words and beauty. Or so she claimed. Eram chuckled and faced Samuel. “As I said, young Hunter, the decision’s yours.” He turned his stallion around and winked. “I’ll give you some time to . . . consider this alone.”
Eram galloped away, motioned his guard to follow him, and rode over the hill, leaving Samuel alone with Janae. The conniving rogue likely thought Samuel too weak to fend off the advances of this witch, but he didn’t know the backbone of Thomas Hunter’s son, now, did he?
When he turned back, the woman was staring to her right, into nothing but the horizon from what he could see. Her sly grin was gone, her sultry eyes now harsh. Finally, the real woman stripped of ulterior motives.
“You may have our brave leader by the loins, witch, but I have no intention of handing control of his army over to you.”
“That’s funny. He said you would be the most difficult.”
“Who did?”
She faced him. “Marsuuv. The son of the mighty Thomas Hunter has a backbone of steel like his father. Stubborn to the heels.”
“Then the old bat knows more than I would have given him credit for.”
Janae dismounted and walked toward the trees. “Let me show you something.”
He hesitated, then followed her into the small grove. She let him catch up and took his hand without it being offered.
“To be perfectly honest, the disease these filthy beasts have disgusts me. It’s good to touch the flesh of a normal human.” She rubbed her thumb on the back of his hand as she led him through the trees. “What I said about me coming from another reality wasn’t meant to make me look foolish, Samuel. It’s the truth. I come from the same place your own father once came from. This very planet, actually. Two thousand years ago. The world was much more advanced then. Evil wasn’t as plain. Good was even less plain. I do believe it all ended badly, judging by what I see here. All the cities and cars, the roadways, the concrete jungles . . . gone.”
They stepped out of the trees on the far side and gazed out at lowlands that stretched as far as the eye could see. “You see this world? It’s a simple place compared to what was once here. Manageable. And whether or not you like it, dear Samuel, you and I have been chosen to manage it.” She released his hand and slipped her arm around his waist, eyes still on the lowlands. “At the very least, we will manage it the next few days.”
He wasn’t sure what to say to that. She’d changed her tone.
“You may not like the Shataiki, but they share one thing in common with you.”
He was meant to ask what, so he did, but his mind was on her hand, which now softly rubbed his back in an unapologetic show of tenderness. Did she think him a child to be so easily manipulated?
“The Shataiki, like you, despise the Horde.”
“Along with the rest of humanity,” he said.
“Granted. But also like you, they mean to destroy the Horde, and they have empowered me to help you do it.”
He didn’t know what to make of this claim.
“I have no interest in taking your place, Samuel. I’ll help you, only if that’s what you want.” She turned into him and pulled him close, staring up into his eyes. “And I won’t lie; I wouldn’t mind some companionship in the process.”
Her approach was so direct, so transparent, that he lost track of her motivation for trickery. He should pry her hands off him and call her out! But he didn’t, not yet. What if she meant what she said?
“Our goals are the same, Samuel,” she said, searching his eyes in that way. “We are one at heart. Both albinos, both with the same hatred of the Horde, both called by powers beyond our understanding. We were meant to be together.”
She’s a witch, Samuel. She’ll use you and leave you for dead. Still, his breathing thickened.
“I hate the Horde because they’ve waged war on my people for as long as I can remember,” he said. “If you’ve come from the histories, why do you harbor such hatred for those who’ve done you no wrong?”
His mind was swimming in her eyes. Her soft lips, her perfect jawline. But above these, her words. So perfectly placed, so knowing. Enough to make his belly rise into his throat.
“Don’t be silly, Samuel,” she said, coming closer to his face. She spoke in a low, purring voice, but her eyes flashed with passion. “We all want the same thing. Hmm? The contentment, the pleasure, the power we were born for. Love life or die trying, isn’t that a fighter’s motto?”
Was it?
He broke into a sweat, knowing full well that she was manipulating him. But he couldn’t remember what part of her suggestions didn’t align with his own desires.
She touched his lips with her own, not so much a kiss as a peck, but it made his mind go completely blank.
“Say yes, Samuel,” she whispered. “This is what you want. What you need as much as I do. Tell Eram that he shouldn’t wait another day.”
“Take the army today.” He meant it as a question, but it came out as a statement.
“If you march all night, you could be in the western canyons when the sun goes down tomorrow.”
“The others have gone to the Gathering. I would speak to them.”
“You would speak to them,” she whispered. “Samuel, son of Hunter.”
“Some would follow us.”
“No, Samuel. Many would follow you. I’ve been assured.”
The party doing the assuring could only be Shataiki, his greatest enemy, but at the moment this minute detail seemed strangely inconsequential. He placed his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. Her lips were softer than he had imagined, and for a few moments he felt like a boy discovering love for the first time. She kissed him hungrily, and he knew that he could not say no to the woman in his arms.
Worse, he didn’t want to. How things had changed in just a few short minutes. Eram was right. Janae was right.
The time to change the world would not wait.
“Say yes, Samuel. Tell me yes. I want to hear it.”
Stripped of any reason to deny her, he said it softly but without reluctance.
“Yes.”
35
QURONG DISMOUNTED the sweating black stallion, threw the reins to one of the Throaters who’d accompanied him on the long ride back to Qurongi City, and marched up the Thrall steps, still furious for having left his army in the dead of night. But the situation had become complicated and he was forced to abandon his good sense for the sake of a woman and a priest.
His wife had emerged after spending hours eating a meal with Chelise and demanded to be taken back to the city immediately. Qurong would have sent her with an escort, but then word came from one of the temple priests: Ba’al had returned from the Black Forest with a message that was a matter of life and death for the Horde. Qurong must come immediately. No, Ba’al could not come out because certain rituals were required.
So Qurong endured the sile
nt four-hour trek, during which he and his wife ignored each other in protest over the other’s behavior regarding their daughter.
What did she want? He had principles. Chelise might be his daughter, but she had joined his greatest enemy, for the breath of Teeleh!
He spat on the temple steps. She’d wed his greatest enemy. Borne a son by him. Now Patricia wanted him, Qurong, leader of the world, to throw away decades of conflict so that she could cuddle her little albino grandson? She’d likely catch his disease!
Worse than this was the position that Patricia had put him in by insisting they meet. His heart had stopped the moment Chelise walked into the tent. He’d put her from his mind a long time ago. But there she was, his flesh and blood, standing so beautifully in his doorway. The sight of her was brutal punishment. He’d exercised extraordinary self-control in making sure she didn’t receive hope from him.
Then she told him she loved him, and he took a horse into the forest alone to hide his emotions.
He opened the door to the Thrall’s sanctuary. “Where is Ba’al?” he shouted without bothering to look. If he had looked he would have seen the dark priest directly ahead, standing behind the stone altar dressed in his purple ceremonial robe. A red cape Qurong had never seen before covered Ba’al’s shoulders.
A butchered goat lay on the altar, sacrificed already. The torches licked at the air, glancing off the serpent’s wings on either side of the bleeding goat.
“I’m here,” Qurong announced, striding forward. “And I’m in no mood to stay long. You called me from my army at the most inopportune time.”
“The day before they are to be slaughtered?” Ba’al rasped. His eyes were red and there was blood on his lower lip. “You meant to wish them all well on their way to hell?”
Qurong drew up and closed his eyes, resolving to suffer through the man’s games if he must. “Fine, my dear dark priest. What is it this time?”
Ba’al stared at him for a long moment. His usual coy grin was gone. Another quality about him gave Qurong pause. He looked more emaciated in the face, perhaps. Dirtier, as if he’d gone on this journey of his and returned without bathing. And he hadn’t bothered to apply enough morst to hide his flaking skin.
“The world is crumbling about you, Qurong, and you don’t have the decency to hear of it. I suggest you listen to the spirits of fear.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Then I’ll say what he told me to say and leave your fate up to him.” Ba’al picked up a crudely fashioned glass bottle from the podium behind him and set it on the altar. It appeared to be filled with a black fluid.
“You’re going to have to make a choice, my lord,” Ba’al bit off. “Tonight you will give all your allegiance to Teeleh, or you will suffer the same fate as the rest.”
There was something different about his voice. Simple authority. No pretense. Qurong let him continue.
“At this very moment, the Eramites are gathering with the albinos to march on your army. Did you know that?”
Nonsense. But he would listen.
“Samuel, son of Hunter, has brokered a deal with Eram to fight together against the Horde.”
“This isn’t news to me.”
“Janae, that albino witch from beyond, will convince many albinos to join. They mean to strike within days with an army of one hundred fifty thousand half-breeds and thousands of albinos.”
Qurong felt his veins run cold. “That’s not possible. I was with one of their leaders just today, and they said nothing of this.”
“Your daughter, Chelise, knows nothing. If she did, she never would have come to meet with you.”
Ba’al knew of Chelise’s visit. More to the point, he seemed to know more than Qurong. There was no end to his spies!
“What I know comes directly from my lover, the queen Marsuuv, the twelfth of twelve who serve Teeleh. The day of the dragon has arrived, my lord. All those who do not bear the mark of the beast will die in the Valley of Miggdon—albino, half-breed Eramite, and full-breed Horde. I bring to you today the means to your salvation.”
He’d heard similar words from Ba’al, but at this midnight hour, these words resonated with an undeniable quality that had Qurong’s heart beating like a fist.
“We’ve all taken the mark of your beast,” he said. “What more could he possibly demand?”
“Your heart, my lord.”
“My heart? He has my entire body!” Qurong thundered. “What is this of Miggdon? We are gathered in Torun, not Miggdon.”
“So you are. And I commend you on your plan; it was good thinking. But it won’t be enough.”
“You know all this how?”
Ba’al picked up the bottle and held it up to the flame. What Qurong had assumed to be black turned red as the light passed through the glass. Blood.
“You look up and you see only sky. I look up and I see the watchers of our souls perched in the trees, soaring over our heads. The Shataiki see everything.”
“Only Shataiki? So Elyon is a fable.”
“Only Shataiki,” he said, bringing the vial to his lips. “For a time, only Shataiki.” He kissed the blood and whispered lovingly, “I am your servant, my lover, Marsuuv.”
“One hundred fifty thousand, you say.” Qurong paced to his left, lost in the size of the half-breed army. “Less than one-third the size of our own.”
“They haven’t been sitting in the desert getting fat. And they will have albinos.”
“A few thousand at most.”
“Enough to tip the balance. Don’t underestimate the albinos, my lord. They may have laid their swords down, but they were trained by Thomas of Hunter.” Ba’al spit to one side and black saliva splattered on the altar.
“I’m listening.”
The dark priest set the bottle of blood back down and slowly slid it across the altar until it rested in front of Qurong.
“Move your army to the east face of Miggdon Valley, where the terrain will play to your advantage. Hide three hundred thousand behind the valley and leave the rest on the hills to be seen.”
“Bait.”
“Eram will lead his army to the other side of Miggdon Valley.” Ba’al drew out his plan on the dead goat’s hide with a long, crooked finger in need of a nail trim. “He will take the bait and attack the army in the valley with enough men to destroy them.”
“And we will descend with the two hundred thousand in plain sight.”
“Which he will expect, naturally. He will then commit the rest of his forces against your army, not knowing that you have another three hundred thousand in reserve on the high ground.”
“We take them out with a crushing blow, once and for all,” Qurong said.
Ba’al smiled and stepped back. “If, and only if, you appease Teeleh.”
Qurong didn’t see the connection, and his face clearly betrayed his confusion.
“It is the day of the dragon, my lord. This isn’t about you. You must believe me when I tell you there’s black magic afoot. The Eramites aren’t fools. They’ll come with their own plans for victory.”
“What plans?”
“Dark magic. If I knew more I would tell you, but I can’t say what will happen if you don’t take the side of my dark lover. In the end it is he who will rule. Not me, not you, not Eram, and certainly not Thomas of Hunter.”
Qurong looked at the blood. The blood of Teeleh or Marsuuv, both equally terrifying. He lifted the glass container and held it up to the light.
“Drinking the blood will seal your vow,” Ba’al said.
What madness could come from drinking blood?
“A vow?” Qurong asked.
“From your heart.”
He could either refuse the rite, which would earn the rage of both Ba’al and whoever controlled him, or he could win their favor. The choice seemed simple enough.
Qurong twisted the stopper, lifted the blood to his nostrils and immediately regretted his decision to do so. The foul smell might have been an old open woun
d. He would have to drink quickly.
“Will you give your heart to my master?” Ba’al asked.
“Yes.”
“Then repeat my words.” Ba’al lifted both hands and called the pledge to the ceiling in a loud, ringing voice. “I, Qurong, supreme commander of the Horde, pledge my heart and my loyalty to the dragon called Teeleh, to do his bidding in accordance with only his will.”
“I, Qurong, supreme commander of the Horde, pledge my heart and my loyalty to the dragon called Teeleh, to do his bidding in accordance with only his will.”
“And I seal my vow with this blood, knowing that it comes from my master, Teeleh, maker of the evil that lives on our flesh.”
The jargon of black magic was comical, but he knew every word would be important to Ba’al, so he repeated the vow exactly as instructed.
“Now drink!” Ba’al cried. “Drink of this blood in remembrance of the day you first embraced the evil. Drink to Teeleh, your lord and your master.”
“I drink,” Qurong said, and drained the blood into his mouth. He swallowed quickly, as if it was a hard drink, and slammed the glass down on the altar. He was tempted to spit, but he dared not. So he swallowed the last of it and steadied himself on the stone.
“Satisfied?”
Ba’al grinned at him. “More than you know, my lord.”
“Good.”
“Do you feel any different?”
“Only nauseated.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Your mind is already eaten by the worms.”
More magic nonsense. And that was that.
“Then, if your lord requires—”
“Your lord,” Ba’al corrected. “He’s your lord now.”
“Of course. If my lord requires nothing more, I have to leave immediately.”
“To the Valley of Miggdon,” Ba’al said.
“To the Valley of Miggdon.”
WHILE QURONG was vowing his allegiance to Teeleh two thousand years in the future, Thomas Hunter, who’d come from that future, paced in Monique de Raison’s personal library, slowly coming apart at the seams, aware only that this world was no longer his home.
