Circle Series 4-in-1

by Ted Dekker

  He walked straight toward her. “Fine. But if I walk out of this building, I go straight to Fox. Tell them that. You have about thirty seconds to make up your minds. Either way, the full story breaks today.”

  “Don’t you dare threaten me! You’re going back on the air, and you’re going to tell them that you had no business saying what you did.”

  Her voice echoed through the room. She still didn’t believe him, did she? She was either suffering a terminal case of denial or had lost her compass in the shock of hearing about the virus.

  “You tell them, Marcy,” he said quietly. A dozen sets of eyes stared at him. The Lexus advertisement had yielded to a Mountain Dew commercial.

  The door behind Marcy burst open. “Who’s manning the hotline?” This was Wally, the news director. His eyes took in Marcy, then moved to Mike standing on the main floor by the cameras instead of seated in his seat beside Nancy. “What in the blazes is going on down here?”

  “You get back in that seat,” Marcy said icily.

  “I need a news break. Now! NBC is reporting that the French government has just declared martial law,” Wally said. “We’ve confirmed it.”

  “Martial law?” Mike said. “Why?”

  “To control the threat of a virus they claim has affected France.”

  “The Raison Strain?”

  Wally obviously hadn’t been watching Mike’s little speech.

  “How did you know that?”

  28

  MARTYN, COMMANDER of the Horde army under Qurong, stood beside his leader, facing Ciphus and the rest of the forest Council. Qurong was working his betrayal exactly as he’d planned so many months ago.

  Thousands of the villagers had gathered in the amphitheater on short notice. The news that a thousand Scab warriors had entered the village from the backside with Justin had spread quickly. Now they filled the bleachers and peered down in silence to the proceedings on the ground beneath them.

  Ciphus stood on the stage near the center, facing Qurong. Mikil and Justin were there on the left with a thousand of the Forest Guard to match his own warriors on the right. The fate of the world was riding on this play of Qurong’s. So far everything had progressed precisely as he had anticipated. By morning, the forests would be theirs.

  “Hear me, great Ciphus,” Qurong said. “I have put my life in your hands to meet with you. Surely you will consider my proposal for a truce until we can work out a lasting peace between us.”

  This wasn’t going as Ciphus had anticipated; that much was clear. Mikil had told the Council that Martyn would give up Qurong, but she’d been wrong.

  The Council leader shifted his eyes to Martyn, perhaps expecting, wanting, the commander to step in as Thomas had proposed.

  Ciphus cleared his throat. “Of course, we are always willing to listen. But you must realize that we have no basis for peace. You live in violation of Elyon’s laws. The penalty for disobeying Elyon is death. Now you want us to deny Elyon his own law by making peace with the Horde? You deserve death, not peace.”

  This was the classic doctrine of the Forest People. Ciphus was opening the door for Martyn to spring his trap, to offer Qurong’s life in exchange for peace. Not so fast, you old goat.

  “How many of us will you kill to satisfy your God?” Qurong demanded.

  “You live in death already!” Ciphus cried. “You would have us make an alliance with death? You have the whole desert; we have but seven small forests. I should ask you, why do you wage war against a small peaceful people?”

  Qurong glanced at Martyn. They made no overt signal, but the message was clear. The supreme leader was going to proceed as planned.

  “It is because we have no basis for trust between our people that we can’t extend true peace,” Qurong said. “You won’t elevate us above dogs, and we see you for the snakes you really are.”

  A rumble hurried through the crowd. Ciphus held up a hand.

  “You are right; we don’t trust you. A dog will see a golden rod and think it has seen a snake. Your eyes are blinded by your rebellion against Elyon.”

  Qurong smiled, but he didn’t take the bait to defend himself.

  “Then I will offer you more than the words of a dog today,” Qurong said. “I will show you and your people on this day that I am an honorable leader in my own way. If I do so, will you consider a truce between our people?”

  Martyn studied the elder. Come on, you wheezing old bat. You can only accept. I know you.

  Ciphus frowned and finally spoke quietly. “We would consider it.”

  “Then hear me, all of you,” Qurong said. “I have two armies camped outside of your forest at this moment. The two hundred thousand warriors to the east you know of well enough. What you don’t know is that we have a second army, twice as large, camped in the western desert.”

  This news was received by total silence. Perhaps they thought their Guard could deal with both armies. They were wrong for reasons beyond their understanding. In twenty-four hours, their Guard would be defeated.

  “I am willing to commit my armies to a campaign that will destroy much of your forest and most of your warriors,” Qurong said. “But my victory would not be certain unless I had an element of complete surprise. We both know this.”

  Here it was, then. Sweat stung Martyn’s cracked skin, but he hardly noticed it.

  “As a sign of goodwill, I will now show my hand in the hopes of winning your faith. We came here today with betrayal on our minds. We planned to offer you peace, and when you accepted that peace—when your Guard was compromised—we planned to bring the full force of our armies against you in one massive campaign.”

  The silence deepened, and Martyn was quite sure it was from shock now.

  “But I will hold back for the sake of a peace accord!” shouted Qurong. “I have already told you about my army to the west. I have just now revealed my intentions and robbed myself of any victory. I see that peace is more valuable than victory.”

  Ciphus glanced at Martyn. He hadn’t expected quite this. Mikil wasn’t prepared for this either. She had the look of a dumb goat.

  “Then what do you propose?” Ciphus demanded. “That we offer you peace because you have confessed your intent to ruin us? We are to believe that you’ve experienced some kind of wholesale conversion since entering our village? A man does not change so quickly. There can be no peace without the appropriate payment. You can’t make peace with Elyon while living in your disease!”

  “No. I realize that your laws have to be satisfied in order for there to be peace. As do our laws. I propose to meet the requirements of those laws.”

  “By confessing? It’s not enough.”

  “By the death of the man who would lead us to war. I am not the one who concocted this scheme.”

  “Then who?”

  “It was him.” Qurong pointed his finger toward the Forest Guard.

  Toward Justin.

  “Justin.”

  Confusion swept through the crowd.

  “It was Justin who claimed our victory would be complete by offering peace!”

  Justin looked at Martyn, expressionless. The people were yelling in such chaos that it was impossible to tell their reaction to this news. Ciphus shouted his silence at the crowd, and slowly they quieted enough for his voice to be heard.

  “How dare you accuse one of our own in order to save yourself?” Ciphus said, voice shaking. Martyn wondered if he’d misjudged the man. Surely this emotion was for show.

  The elder took a breath and continued, voice lower. “If what you say is true, then yes, we would consider your argument. But what corroboration is there that Justin planned any of this? You take us for fools?”

  “I can corroborate!” Thomas’s second yelled, stepping forward from the ranks of the Guard. Mikil. “And I can do so with Thomas of Hunter’s authority. He is in the Horde camp now, guaranteeing the commander’s safety with his own life so that Qurong can expose the truth of this betrayal. Justin is complicit in t
he plot against the Forest People!”

  “What more could show my true intent?” Qurong said. “I give you your traitor and I consign myself to peace.”

  Ciphus crossed his arms into the sleeves of his robe and paced. “Intent? And what do intentions have to do with peace?”

  “Then I will satisfy your own law. I will give you a death at my own expense.”

  Ciphus stopped his pacing.

  “Death to the traitor!” a lone voice cried from the bleachers.

  Dissension and argument exploded. But were they for or against Justin? Martyn couldn’t tell.

  “Your laws require death for defilement of Elyon’s love,” Qurong shouted. “If treason is not defilement, then what is? Furthermore, he has also waged war against the Desert Dwellers. Our law also requires his death. His death will satisfy both of our laws.”

  Ciphus seemed to be deep in thought, as if he hadn’t considered this thought. He faced Justin.

  “Step out.”

  Justin walked three paces and stopped.

  “What do you say to this charge?”

  A woman cried over the crowd. “Justin! No, Justin!”

  A dozen voices joined. If Martyn wasn’t mistaken, children’s voices were mixed in. The sound was oddly unnerving.

  “Silence!” Ciphus shouted.

  They quieted.

  “What do you say to these charges?” the elder demanded again.

  “I say that I have fulfilled your laws, and I have bathed in the lakes, and I have loved all that Elyon loves.”

  “Have you conspired to betray the people of Elyon?”

  Justin remained silent.

  Justin hadn’t conspired, but it wouldn’t have mattered either way. Hearing the silence, Martyn knew they would win this war. In a day’s time, he would defeat these Forest People without lifting a sword.

  If they only knew.

  It had been Justin’s idea for Johan to enter the desert as Thomas had guessed. But now the culmination of their planning would end very differently than even Justin knew.

  “Answer me!”

  Justin spoke in a low voice—too quiet to be heard past the floor. “Have you become so blind, Ciphus, that you can’t remember me?”

  “What?”

  “Has it been so long since we swam together?”

  Ciphus had frozen like a tree. He was actually shaking. “Don’t try your deceitful words on me. You’re forgetting that I am the elder of Elyon’s Council.”

  “Then you should know the answer to your question.”

  “Answer me or I’ll condemn you myself ! You lost the challenge yesterday, except for Thomas’s failure to finish you. Perhaps this is the justice of Elyon now. What say you?”

  The amphitheater had grown so quiet that Martyn thought he could hear Ciphus breathing. Justin looked up at the people. Martyn thought he was going to say something, but he remained silent. His eyes met Martyn’s. The deep green eyes struck terror into his heart.

  Justin lowered his head. If Martyn wasn’t mistaken, the man was struggling to keep his desperation in check. What kind of warrior could cry before his accusers? When Justin lifted his head, his eyes swam in tears. But he held his head steady.

  “Then condemn me,” Justin said softly.

  “And you realize that condemnation will mean death.” The elder’s voice was unsteady.

  Justin didn’t answer. He wouldn’t walk the path that Ciphus set before him, but it was close enough. Ciphus lifted both fists and glared at the man below him.

  “Answer me when I speak to you in this holy gathering!” the elder shouted. “Why do you insult the man whom Elyon has made your superior?”

  Justin looked at the man but refused to speak.

  Ciphus lifted both fists above his head. “Then for treason against the laws of Elyon and his people, I condemn you to death at the hands of your enemies!”

  Wails cut the air. Shouts of approval. Cries of outrage. It all blended into a cacophony of confusion that Martyn knew would amount to nothing. There was no prevailing voice. No one would defy the sentence of the Council.

  “Take him!” Ciphus shouted at Qurong.

  “I will accept him on one condition,” Qurong said. “He will die according to our laws. By the drowning. We will give him back to your God. Back to Elyon, in your lake.”

  Ciphus hadn’t expected this. If he refused, Martyn had the appropriate contingency plans. The elder conferred with his Council, then turned to give his verdict.

  “Agreed. Our Gathering ends tonight. You may deal with him then.”

  “No, it should be now, with your cooperation. Let his death be a seal for a truce between our armies. His blood will be on both of our hands.”

  Another short conference.

  “Then let our peace be sealed with his blood,” Ciphus said.

  Thomas and Rachelle came into sight of the village at sunset, winded and worn due to lack of sleep. The ride had been filled with long stretches of silence as the two retreated into their own thoughts. There was little to say after they’d exhausted the telling and retelling of Justin’s healing touch and his words. I have too much riding on you. Remember me. They were the same as the boy’s words.

  They heard the first sign of trouble when they passed the gates, the unmistakable wail of mourning for the dead.

  “Thomas? What is that?”

  He urged his horse into a trot, past the main gate. The women were mourning a death. There had been a skirmish, and some of his Guard had been killed. Or there was news of a battle on the western perimeter. Or this was about Justin.

  The sky was already dark gray, but the glow of torches cast an orange hue over the lake at the end of the main road. Lawns and doorways were vacant of the loitering so typical on crowded Gathering evenings. There was a man here and a woman there, but they avoided Thomas’s eyes and shuffled with distraction.

  A sudden cry of horrible agony echoed distant. Thomas’s heart rose into his throat.

  “Thomas!” Rachelle sounded frantic. She slapped her horse and galloped past him, straight for the lake.

  “Rachelle!” He wasn’t sure why he called her name. He kicked his horse, and together they thundered down the wide stone causeway that split the village in two.

  They saw the crowd before they reached the end of the street. A sea of people stood on the shore with their backs to the village, staring toward the lake.

  “You have to stop them!” Rachelle cried. “It’s him!”

  “Can you see him?”

  They both brought their horses to a rearing halt where the road gave way to the beach. She stared over heads, her eyes wide and her face wrinkled with anguish.

  Then Thomas saw what she was looking at. A square wooden tower had been erected to their left, by the shore. Beside the tower, a ring of Horde encircled two Scabs. The Council stood on one side; Qurong and Martyn stood on the other. In the center was a post, and on that post hung a man.

  Justin.

  One of the Scab’s arms went back, then swung forward and struck Justin’s ribs. Crack! One of his ribs broke with the blow. Justin jerked and sagged against the post.

  “Stop!” Rachelle’s scream ripped through the air. “Stop!” She grunted with a sob, clenched her jaw, and drove her horse into the crowd.

  Villagers unprepared for a stamping, barging steed cried out and scrambled back to make way for the large Scab stallion.

  “Back! Out of the way,” Thomas yelled. He followed her in.

  The Scab hit Justin again, unfazed by the commotion.

  “Stop!” Rachelle cried.

  The people separated in front of them like falling dominoes. Then they were through. Mikil and Jamous stood with several dozen of the Guard. Another thousand milled on the north side of the lake. The Horde army waited down the shore on the south side. Women and children cried softly, an eerie tone. On the post, Justin’s near naked body had stilled.

  They hadn’t drawn blood. He’d heard of this method of torture
employed by the Horde—methodically breaking the bones of a victim without draining any of his life—his blood. They wanted the drowning and the drowning alone to take the man. One look at Justin’s swollen body made it clear they’d perfected their torture.

  Thomas dropped to the sand and rushed forward. “What’s this? Who authorized this?”

  “You did,” Mikil said.

  Rachelle sobbed and ran for Justin. She fell on her knees, gripped his ankles, and bowed so that her hair touched his lumpy, broken feet.

  “Get her off of him!” Ciphus ordered.

  Rachelle spun back and pleaded. “Thomas!”

  Two of the Guard leaped forward and dragged her back.

  She struggled against them furiously. “It’s him! It’s him, can’t you see? It’s Elyon!”

  “Don’t be a fool!” Ciphus snapped. “Keep her back.”

  Thomas couldn’t pull his eyes from Justin’s brutalized body. They’d pulled his arms above his head and strapped them to the top of the post. His face was swollen. Cheekbones broken beneath the skin. His eyes were closed and his head hung limp. How long had they been beating him? It was hard to imagine that he was the boy, grown now into a man, but with a little imagination, Thomas thought he could see the resemblance.

  He faced Mikil. “Release him.”

  She made no move.

  “That’s an order. This man isn’t who you think. I want him released immediately!”

  Mikil blinked. “I thought—”

  “She can’t release him,” Ciphus said softly. “To do so would defy the order of the Council and Elyon himself.”

  “You’re killing Elyon!” Rachelle cried.

  “That’s absurd. Can Elyon die?”

  “Justin, please, I beg you! Please, wake up. Tell them!”

  “Shut her up!” Ciphus said. “Gag her!”

  Jamous pulled out a strap of leather to gag her, but he glanced up at Thomas and stopped. What had gotten into them all? Jamous would actually consider binding his commander’s wife?

  “Gag her!”

  The lieutenant slipped the leather thong around her mouth and muffled a scream. “Thoma . . . mm! Hmmmm!”