by Ted Dekker
Hunter would make no such claim, of course, but there was some truth in the statement. There would be a coup attempt.
Muslims, not a godless Frenchman, would end up the winners in this war of Allah’s.
Fortier wasn’t the only man who knew how to think.
20
THOMAS GASPED in his sleep and was instantly awake. He jerked up.
Black. Silent.
He blinked and strained for sight. The walls slowly came into focus. Monique was in the bed beside him, breathing steadily.
No, not Monique. Rachelle, who’d cried herself to sleep last night after learning the truth about her brother, Johan.
An ache ran up his forearm and he felt his wrist. Bruised and cut. Yes, of course—the handcuffs they’d placed on him were too tight and had bit into his skin. There had been blood on his wrists. He had bled here as well.
The events of both worlds crashed in on him. He’d escaped with Monique and was sleeping under a boulder in the quarry, desperate to dream so that he could come back here and deal with the betrayal.
He swung his feet out of bed, grabbed his boots and clothes, and sneaked into the main room without waking Rachelle. Leaving her alone without a word for the second time in a week struck him as possibly cruel. Yet he didn’t dare wake her and run the risk of her interfering with such a perfect plan. What he had in mind had a ring of lunacy to it, and Rachelle would undoubtedly hear that ring and call it out.
Mikil, on the other hand, would jump at the chance.
He dressed quickly, slung his sword over his shoulder, and slipped into the cool morning air. The overcrowded village was still lost in deep dreams of the day’s unusual events and the evening’s high-pitched celebrations. They’d roasted a hundred goats along the shores of the lake as was the custom on the second night. The dances had gone late, and the talk of Justin and Martyn had gone later.
The warrior from Southern was defended as vigorously by some as he was chastised by others. The idea of peace with the Horde, regardless of the circumstances, was offensive to most. Even Justin’s supporters agreed on one thing: If the Horde did march on the forest, it would probably mean that Justin had betrayed them. But not to worry—their hero of the Southern Forest would never betray them. When he said he would broker peace, he had only true peace in mind.
Why Thomas hadn’t realized earlier the truth of Qurong’s words, he didn’t know. Perhaps because his dreaming had confused his mind one too many times. Maybe because he was so taken aback by Martyn’s true identity that he couldn’t keep his thoughts objective. Either way, he was sure that if he told the counsel what the Horde leader had said in that tent, they would rally an army to head off Justin and Martyn’s plan for “peace.”
He found Mikil in deep sleep and woke her with a gentle shake. She bounded out of bed, sword in hand.
“It’s me!” he whispered.
“Thomas?”
“Yes. Hurry, we have business.”
“The scouts have reported in?” She rushed to the window and peered past the shutters.
“No. No word. Hurry.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll tell you on the way. Meet me at the stables.”
He ran for the Guard stables at the edge of the village and was there when she caught up to him.
“Where are we going?”
“Shh, keep quiet. What would you say if I told you that Justin might have betrayal in mind?”
“I would say this is old news. You’ve learned something new?”
He opened the stable gate. “Saddle up. I’ll explain when we’re clear.”
They walked their horses past the main village entrance, then mounted and rode into the forest.
“Tell me,” she demanded, glancing back. “What is it?”
“I dreamed.”
“That again. Fine. What did you dream?”
“I dreamed of what I overheard in Qurong’s tent.” He told her again, word for word, and explained his logic.
She kicked her horse, surged ahead, and then turned it back. “I knew it! He’ll be the end of the forest! How many times did I warn you?”
She was right. His silence was confession enough.
“We have to stop this!” she said.
“Why do you think we’re on horses before dawn? We ride to the eastern desert, where Qurong last camped. If I’m right, he will still be there, maybe even closer.”
“What, you plan on the two of us taking on the whole army?”
“I think our scouts will find that Justin was right: The Horde has gathered in larger numbers than we’ve guessed. For all we know they have an army to the west, waiting until our preoccupation with the east bares our flank. That would be Martyn’s kind of strategy.”
“Then you’re thinking of negotiation? That’s the same plan Justin has! No, Thomas. No peace!”
“I’m thinking that Martyn will listen to another proposal. One that will turn the tables completely.”
The sun was hot.
Monique opened her eyes. Sun?
Light streamed through shutters, exposing a thousand particles of lazily floating dust.
Where am I?
I am home.
Who am I?
You are Monique.
She pushed herself to her elbow and blinked. She wasn’t entirely herself. Or she was completely herself. Rachelle.
She lifted her hand and moved her fingers. She was Monique, and she knew that she had to be dreaming while sleeping under the boulder next to Thomas, but she also knew that she was experiencing much more than just a dream. Amazing. This was how Thomas felt when he woke.
She’d dreamed of Thomas’s other world because she was holding his hand while she slept? And she was dreaming as Rachelle because she believed that she was connected to Rachelle? It was about belief, Thomas had said. She was sharing Rachelle’s life.
Does this mean it’s all true? Everything Thomas said is true?
She knew the answer immediately, because as Rachelle she knew this reality was as real as France or Bangkok. What else did Rachelle know?
My husband’s name is Thomas. And I have children.
She twisted to his side of the bed. “Thomas!”
But Thomas was gone. Of course, he always woke early. She knew that too. She knew that he was only home one out of every two days because he was the commander of the Guard, a mighty warrior and hero whose name was practically revered in all of the forests.
Her husband, a mighty warrior.
She knew that he had fought Justin yesterday and lost. And she knew that the Horde general, Martyn, was her own brother, Johan.
Rachelle swallowed and set her feet on the floor. This was how Thomas had first felt, waking up in the black forest fifteen years earlier. He’d tried to make her understand, but only now could she. Only he’d awakened without any memory because of his fall.
He’d fallen in the black forest and as a result began dreaming of the histories. This was the reality; that was the dream. She was sure of it. At least at this moment she was sure of it.
Her wrists hurt. The handcuffs. They’d drawn blood, and Thomas said that blood was special. They’d fallen asleep, hand in hand, her wrist touching his. It was why Monique was dreaming of Rachelle at this very moment. It was how she had dreamed of Monique before. She’d cut her shoulder on the door and it had bled in her sleep next to Thomas. A connection had been made in their blood.
Her children . . .
She threw off the blanket, donned a long-sleeved blouse to hide her wrists, and hurried from the room. She found Marie exactly where she expected to find her, digging through the fruit basket for a choice nectar.
“Hi, Mother.” Her daughter yawned. “Papa’s gone.”
“Yes. Your brother’s still sleeping?”
“That’s all he does anymore.”
“He’s a growing boy.”
She hurried to his room. Yes, indeed, there lay Samuel, arm hanging over the edge of his bed, lost to
dreams of fighting the Horde with a sword as tall as he. She walked over and kissed the back of his head.
She was living a second life! In an instant she’d become a whole new person. She could smell Tuhan blossoms. Someone was cooking meat. Laughter drifted in from outside. Everything felt new. This was the time of the annual Gathering when the streets would be full of dancing and stories and the drinking of ale. And she was a magnificent dancer, wasn’t she? Yes, of course she was. One of the best.
Her heart was having a hard time keeping up. She understood why Thomas was so persuaded. She had to find Thomas and tell him about this immediately!
Marie had found a large yellow nanka, and its juice ran down her chin.
“Don’t be a pig, Marie. Wipe your chin.” She looked at the living room. Her living room. Thomas’s second sword, which normally leaned in the corner, was gone. Odd.
“Do you know where Papa went?” she asked Marie.
“No. He left early. Before the sun was up. I heard him.”
Rachelle froze. His words to her in France echoed through her mind. I’ll have to go after Justin to do that, he’d said.
After Justin?
He’d gone after Justin! Justin was with Martyn. They would be with the Horde. For the second time this week, he’d left her sleeping while he sneaked off on some harebrained mission that only a man as stubborn as Thomas could take beyond mere fantasy.
Justin and Martyn had gone east, according to the scouts. East toward Qurong’s army.
She hurried to the bedroom and completed dressing. If Justin was with Martyn, then he was also with Johan. Did Thomas mean that he was going after her brother?
What if he meant to kill Johan, thinking that in doing so he would kill Carlos? But he couldn’t do that. Johan was her brother! They’d all lost family to the Horde fifteen years ago, when Tanis was deceived, but they dealt with it as part of a great tragedy. The thought of losing her own brother to her husband’s sword now brought a small panic to her chest.
She had to stop him! And even if he hadn’t gone to kill Johan, she had to tell him that she now knew. She was Rachelle. She was Monique! Without a doubt, they were connected.
She wrapped her wrists and managed to make the bandage look like bands with brass accents. The first major task was to get out of the village alone without casting suspicion on her intent. She couldn’t walk too fast to Anna’s, and when she asked the older mother if she would watch over Marie and Samuel for the day while she went out to gather a special treat for Thomas, she had to sound natural.
Andrew, who oversaw the common stables, would ask questions about why she was taking one of the stallions, but she’d simply tell him that she was in the mood for a wild ride. The Gathering inspired the women as well as the men.
Samuel had dragged himself from sleep by the time she returned with Anna’s blessing. She hugged both children, told them to mind their Aunt Anna, and promised to be back by nightfall. If she wasn’t back, not to worry, she and Papa had some preparations they had to attend to.
A full hour after waking, Rachelle left behind the last of the curious well-wishers who’d inquired where she was headed on such a magnificent animal. She led the horse through the gates, threw her leg over the saddle, and rode east.
The first hour seemed to last only minutes. With Monique everything felt new and fresh, as if experienced for the first time, which was the case in Monique’s mind. The French woman had surely never imagined feeling so powerful, such an accomplished rider, so full of passion as Rachelle was now.
So invigorated was she in fact that she half hoped that one of the Horde would jump out from behind a tree so she could kick him back to where he belonged. Twice she very nearly dismounted to try a few flips. But her thoughts of finding Thomas kept her on the run.
One hour became two and then three and then five. The forest flew by and her mind flew with it. With each passing mile, her eagerness to find Thomas increased. She now knew that he had indeed come this way—his stallion’s tracks, which she could read like her own palm, marked the mud at nearly every turn. He’d passed with Mikil. At least he had the sense to bring his best warrior.
She considered the potential danger ahead, but whatever danger her husband had submitted himself to wasn’t too much for her. The fate of worlds was at hand, and she had her role to play.
She reached the edge of the forest late in the afternoon and pulled up. The sky and the desert were both blood red this time of day. She’d left the village about two hours after Thomas and had followed his tracks up to this point. If she rode hard, she might reach the place where—
Her heart suddenly rose into her throat. The Horde camp was there, on the horizon, just visible against the red sand. They’d moved closer.
Much closer.
Did they plan to attack? She felt immobilized by panic. The camp seemed larger than she remembered. Nearly double in size. This could only be a gathering for war! Thomas had gone down to them?
She studied his tracks. They went straight on and turned down the canyon. There were two well-traveled paths down to the desert, and Thomas had taken this one. He’d seen the Horde camp and continued. Then she would as well.
Rachelle prodded her horse.
The black stallion had taken only two steps when something struck her broadside.
She gasped and looked down. A stick protruded from her side. The shaft of an arrow. Pain screamed through her body.
Another arrow smacked into her shoulder, and a third into her thigh. She saw the Scabs near the tree line now, a party of five or six. They had bows! She didn’t know—
The next arrow hit Rachelle in the back. She kicked the horse into a startled gallop. To her left! She had to get away from them!
There were arrows sticking from her body. Arrows! Panic crowded her mind.
The stallion plunged down a narrow path, over the canyon’s lip.
Three more arrows whipped by her head and she ducked. The pain from the others rode up and down her back and leg in waves now.
“Hiyaa!” The path was steep and the horse slipped on the stones but caught itself and leaped over a boulder that suddenly blocked their way. Then around a bend.
Would the Scabs follow?
They were yelling above her now. Laughing.
She reached the sandy bottom and pointed the horse up the first narrow canyon to her right. Hoofs clacked along the stone high above. They were giving chase along the top of the canyon. She pulled the horse close to the left wall and leaned low, wincing with the pain. Terrible pain through her gut.
She was shot. Four arrows—two in her body, one in her leg, one in her arm. She had to hide and then find help.
Should she try to remove the arrows?
We’re going to die.
No, no, she couldn’t die! Rachelle couldn’t die! Not now!
The horse slowed to a trot. Voices echoed, but they seemed to have fallen back. The rocky canyons were like a maze—it was no wonder they had opted to ride along the plateau. But if she worked her way further in, away from the walls near the forest, they would have a difficult time finding her.
Rachelle cut into a side wash, then through a small gap that fed into a long basin. The voices sounded distant now, but her mind wasn’t as clear as it had been. Maybe she wasn’t hearing as well. She gave the horse its head and examined the arrow in her leg. If she left it in, the movement of the horse might cause the tip to work its way farther in. If she pulled it out, it would bleed badly.
She moaned. The arrow in her side was worse. It had sunk in deep. Through her internal organs. Even if she could extract it without passing out, she would risk terrible internal bleeding. She could feel the stalk of the one in her back.
It was horrible! She had ridden after her husband like a fool and now would die out here in the canyons, alone!
She didn’t know how long she rode, or where the horse took her. Only that her strength steadily faded. The Scabs had lost her, but she didn’t know if they
were waiting along the edge for her to return, so she kept the horse walking.
You have to find help. You have to go back into the forest and hope for help. She stopped and looked around, but her vision was blurred, and she knew that she would never find the forest in this waning light.
In fact, if she was right, she was at the edge of the desert now, where the canyons gave way to miles of sand. How far had she traveled? If she just kept riding, she might find herself even farther from where she needed to go. And she couldn’t keep riding with the arrows in her. The slightest movement shot spikes of pain along her leg and up her spine.
She had to rest. She had to get off the horse and lie down. But she was afraid that if she tried to dismount, she might faint.
“Elyon, help me,” Rachelle whispered. “Dear God, don’t let me die.”
But she knew she would.
21
THOMAS AND Mikil sat across a reed table from Martyn in an open tent that some of the general’s aides had erected for their leader after he’d agreed to talk to Thomas. The stench of Scab was almost too much to bear.
The fact that the Horde had nearly doubled in size and moved closer to the forest was an ominous sign, all the more reason for Thomas to approach Martyn.
They’d ridden in waving a white flag—Thomas’s idea. No one had ever used a white flag, to his recollection, but the sign was understood quickly enough, and the camp’s perimeter guard had held them off at a hundred paces while they checked with their leaders. Another general had finally come out, heard that Thomas of Hunter requested an audience with Martyn, and relayed the question.
“Tell Martyn that Thomas of Hunter requests a meeting with Johan,” Thomas said to the general.
