by Ted Dekker
Suzan chuckled. “If even half of that is true, then you are smitten, Thomas of Hunter.”
His grin faded and he diverted his eyes. “It is.”
Chelise suddenly moved. Turned her head toward them. “Are you two going to talk all night? I’m trying to sleep.”
Thomas blinked. “You’re awake.”
“And you’re talking too much. I don’t know how albinos court their women, but you might want to consider a little subtlety.”
Silence filled the camp.
“She has a point,” Suzan finally said.
“I . . . I didn’t know you were listening.” Chelise was smiling, he could see it in the dark. “Okay, then, I guess it’s time to sleep.” He lay down, unsure whether he should be embarrassed or thrilled that she’d heard him.
They lay quietly for a long time.
Then Chelise spoke quietly. “Thank you, Thomas. They were kind words.”
He swallowed. “You’re welcome.”
She rolled over. “Just remember our agreement.”
Yes, of course. Their agreement. He’d nearly forgotten.
Chelise and Suzan let Thomas sleep as the sun rose. They’d both risen an hour earlier and decided that they could wait another hour before heading for the desert. The chance of any Scab stumbling upon them in the small canyon where they’d made camp was remote.
Suzan had bathed in a small creek nearby, and Chelise decided that she would bathe as well. She waited until Suzan was finished before cautiously slipping into the water. Although she’d grown accustomed to the ritual bathing in the lake, the cold water stung her skin.
If it weren’t for Thomas, she would never bathe in a stream, but she felt compelled to present herself in a manner that wasn’t offensive to the albinos. She bore the pain and washed her skin well. Then she carefully applied the scented morst using a small pool as a mirror. She picked several smaller tuhan flowers and placed the sweet-smelling blossoms in her hair. All of this for his sake.
And why, Chelise? Why are you so concerned about pleasing Thomas? She couldn’t answer that question. Perhaps because he was so kind to her.
Albino or not, he was a man, and she could hardly ignore this mad affection he’d displayed by rescuing her.
Chelise faced Suzan, trying not to stare at her dark skin. So very different from her own white flesh. The pendant the albinos wore hung from her neck.
“Why do you wear the pendant?” she asked Suzan.
The albino lifted the medallion in her hand and looked at it. “These are the colors of the Circle. Green for the colored forest, then black for the evil that destroyed us all. Then red, you see?” She indicated the two crossing straps of red leather. “Justin’s blood. And finally, a white circle.”
“And why white?”
Suzan looked into her eyes. “White. We are Justin’s bride.”
Such an odd way of seeing things. Foolish even. Whoever heard of being the bride of a slain warrior? Of course, they believed he was still alive.
Absurd.
Chelise looked at Thomas. “Should we wake him?”
“I can’t believe he’s still sleeping.” Suzan smiled. “You must have worn him out last night.”
“Ha! I think he’s wearing me out with all of his enthusiasm.”
Suzan cinched down the extra saddle Thomas had brought from the city. “Do you feel anything for him?”
Chelise hadn’t expected such a forward question. She didn’t know what to say.
“There lies Thomas of Hunter, legend of the Forest Guard, and he’s falling in love with you, daughter of his nemesis, Qurong. It’s a fairy tale in the making.”
“He’s an albino,” Chelise said.
Suzan put her hand on the saddle and faced her. “That doesn’t mean he’s too good for you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“No, but it’s what you feel. It’s why you bathed and why you cover your skin for him. For the record, I agree with Thomas. I think you’re quite beautiful. And I don’t think you have any idea how fortunate you are to have this man love you.”
Chelise felt suddenly choked up. She looked at Thomas. There lay the king of the albinos. Or was Justin their king? Despite his attempt to wipe it off, the morst Thomas had applied last night still caked parts of his face.
“It does feel good, though, doesn’t it?” Suzan asked.
“What?”
“Being loved.”
She hesitated. “Yes.” She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so awkward. Was Thomas right in saying that she was covering her shame? And now Suzan had said the same thing. She’d never thought of it in those terms.
“I think you deserve it,” Suzan said.
The knot in her throat grew, and she had to swallow to keep from crying. Where the sudden emotion had come from, she didn’t know, but it wasn’t the first time the albinos had affected her so easily. The lessons in the library with Thomas had been similar.
Chelise decided then, staring off into the forest so that Suzan couldn’t see her fighting tears, that she liked albinos.
“Why don’t you wake him?” Suzan said. “We should leave.”
Chelise walked over to him, glad for the reprieve. “Wake up.”
He grunted and rolled his head, still lost to the world. She glanced at Suzan, but the woman was busy saddling another horse.
She bent down and nudged him. “Wake up, Thomas.”
He bolted up, looked around, then saw her and came to himself. He stood and brushed his cloak. “What time is it? You let me sleep?”
“You looked tired.”
He glanced at Suzan, then studied Chelise. “I’ll be right back,” he said and hurried in the direction of the creek. This obsession the albinos had with cleanliness was interesting.
Thomas returned ten minutes later, beaming face clean of the morst. “I feel like a new man. No offense, but the stuff makes my skin itch.”
“Really? I find it quite soothing.”
“It suits you. The white flowers are a perfect complement.”
She smiled. “Thank you.” Did he really think she was beautiful, or was he patronizing her?
They mounted and headed south away from the city, toward the desert. Thomas led them along a game trail, far from any well-traveled routes.
They rode without speaking for an hour, Suzan bringing up the rear. Chelise finally broke the silence.
“Did you dream well, Thomas?”
“I didn’t dream at all. I ate the rhambutan.”
“I thought you wanted to dream. I nearly lost my life over your dreaming.”
“I’ve made a vow: no dreams while I’m with you.”
She didn’t know what he could possibly have in mind, but she didn’t press for an explanation.
Thomas brought his horse closer to hers. “Have you decided what we should demand for your return?”
“We could trade me for Woref, like you suggested,” she said. “You could turn him into an albino. That would serve the beast.”
Thomas chuckled. “Unfortunately, the drowning only works if it’s done willingly. Otherwise we would round up Scabs in bunches and shove them under, wouldn’t we, Suzan?”
“It’s been suggested,” she said.
Chelise shuddered. “What an awful death that would be.”
“Do I look dead?” Thomas asked. “Alive like you’ve never known.” He stretched out his arm. “When I move my arm, no pain in my joints. And not just because I’ve grown used to it.”
The thought of drowning terrified her. She had grown so accustomed to the pain in her own joints that she simply ignored it most of the time.
“We could demand sanctuary for your Circle,” Chelise said.
“You’d do that?”
She shrugged. “Why not?”
“Suzan, I think she’s warming up to us.”
Just yesterday she would have responded with a cutting remark to set him straight. Any such comment felt silly now. She let it go.
/> “Maybe we should let my father stew for a day or two,” Chelise said. “I am not in a position to blackmail him very often.”
“Perfect. Then we’ll wait a week.”
“A week? I wouldn’t know what to do with myself for a week out here.”
“You’ll ride with us.”
“And where, exactly, are we riding?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” he said. “Away from the Horde. Out of danger. Would you like to visit our Circle?”
“No, no. I couldn’t do that. They would be horrified by me! And I by them. Anywhere but one of your tribes.”
He smiled. “Then we’ll just head south. As long as I’m with you to keep you safe, and you’re comfortable, we’ll ride.”
She couldn’t look at him without feeling uncomfortable. “Sounds fair.”
The sun passed overhead and began its descent toward the western horizon. Suzan rode ahead several times to scout out the route, and at times Chelise wondered if Thomas and his lieutenant hadn’t planned the lengthy disappearances so that Thomas could be left alone with her. Not that she minded.
He told her stories of his days as commander of the Forest Guard, and she reciprocated with memories of her days in the desert: how they made use of the desert wheat, where they found their water, what it was like to grow up playing with other children who weren’t of royal blood.
He seemed especially taken by her stories of the children and asked dozens of questions about how they learned to cope with the disease, as he called it. He really did think of their skin condition as an abnormality. And, of course, it was to him, as his condition was to her. But, as she pointed out, if you took the world as a whole and compared the millions of Scabs with only a thousand albinos, who was abnormal? And who was diseased?
He graciously let the subject go. There was no reconciling their diseases.
“I met you once in the desert,” he said with a grin.
“Before? How could you have?”
“Roland.”
“Roland? But Roland was from the Horde.”
“Roland was Thomas, commander of the Forest Guard, who’d lost his way and contracted the disease. Naturally I was forced to lie to you.”
“You were Roland? I had the life of Thomas of Hunter in my hands? I should have slit your throat!”
“Then you would have foregone the pleasure of riding with me today.”
“Honestly, I was quite taken with Roland. I remember that.”
“If you had to do it over again, would you still slit my throat?” he asked.
She looked at the rolling shoulders of the horse beneath her. “Knowing what I know today, knowing that I would be in a position to blackmail my father, no.”
“Even knowing that I would go on to kill many of your warriors in the wars after that day?”
He made a good point. “Then yes, I’m sorry to say that I would have slit your throat.”
“Good. I love an honest woman.” They shared a smile.
He was so obvious. Thomas of Hunter, this famous warrior who rode beside her, meant to win her love.
By the time they reached the desert, she wasn’t sure that she didn’t have some feelings for him. He rode ahead to find Suzan once, and she felt surprisingly left out. Lonely. No, more than lonely, yearning for his company. And when he reappeared five minutes later wearing a silly grin, she felt relief.
“Did you miss me?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Were you gone?” She immediately wanted to withdraw the tease. This time she did. “I was alone.”
When had all of this happened? In the library?
Suzan galloped toward them, waving her arm. Thomas pulled back on his horse. “She’s found something.”
“The Horde?”
“I don’t think so. Come on!” They rode out to meet her.
Suzan reined back, bright-eyed. “Johan is waiting with Mikil and Jamous. They must have sent William ahead with the others.”
“Where?”
“They have a camp in a canyon.” She pointed. “Two miles.”
Thomas looked at Chelise. “Excellent! It’s Martyn.”
“He’s here?”
“In the flesh.” Thomas spurred his horse. “Ride!”
Chelise was terrified by this sudden development—Thomas and Suzan were one thing, but the prospect of meeting more of the Circle didn’t sit well. And Martyn! Next to Thomas, there was no other name she’d grown to hate more.
She rode.
29
WHILE THOMAS slept in the White House at President Blair’s insistence, Kara was following an insistence of her own. She had no desire to sleep, no cause to dream. She’d only wanted one thing, and that was to understand the rash that had appeared under her arm.
Genetrix Laboratories had become Monique’s home. She slept on a cot in her office, and she ate what was left of the food in the cafeteria, although they hadn’t received a shipment in three days—the catering company had suspended operations. Didn’t matter. They had enough nonperishable foods to feed the five hundred technicians and scientists for at least two days. By then they would know if it was time to go home and start saying their good-byes or to hunker down for a last-ditch effort.
Monique examined Kara’s arm in silence. Kara watched her eyes—it was too bad that Thomas was so taken with this other woman in Mikil’s world. Chelise. The more time Kara spent with Monique, the more she decided the stiff-spined Frenchwoman was softer than she’d initially assumed. She and Thomas might make a good couple. Assuming both survived.
Monique’s eyes were no longer on the cut that had attracted her curiosity. She was scanning the rest of her arm.
“What is it?” Kara asked.
“Have you noticed rashes anywhere else? Your stomach or back, maybe?”
Kara stepped away. “It’s happening already?”
“On some, yes. No other rashes?”
“No. Not that I’ve noticed.”
On the other hand, now that she thought about it, her skin seemed to itch in a number of places.
“How long have you known?”
“A few hours,” Monique said.
Kara turned to her. “You?”
“No.”
“I thought we had another week! Who else?”
“There’ve been a number of reported cases in Bangkok. Theresa Sumner. The entire team who came to meet with Thomas a few weeks ago. Some in the Far East have reported having the rash as long as ten days. Our guess is that this would only occur among those whose systems are actively fighting the virus. The rash is evidence of the body’s resistance, though that doesn’t mean much.”
The revelation wasn’t as shocking as she’d thought it might be. In fact, it was a bit of a relief after so much mystery. Like finally knowing that the cancer you had was terminal after all. You were going to die in exactly thirty days. Live and prepare to die.
“How many?”
Monique shrugged. “Several thousand. Our initial estimations of the virus’s latency period were only that, estimates. We always knew it could come sooner. Now it appears to have done just that.”
They exchanged a long look. What more was there to say? “So unless we go through with this exchange with France and get the antivirus, we’re dead,” Kara said.
“So it appears.”
“The president knows?”
“Not yet. We’re running tests. He’ll know within the hour.”
Kara sighed, dug in her packet, and pulled out a glass vial with a very small sample of blood. Thomas’s blood. Her brother had insisted before leaving Johns Hopkins. His reasoning was simple: he was quite sure that he would be going back to France, but he refused to explain why. In the event something happened to him, he wanted Kara and Monique to have some options.
Kara set the vial on the desk.
“Thomas’s?” Monique said.
“His idea. You know what would happen if you and I dreamed with this blood?”
Monique stared at he
r. “Rachelle is dead. You would wake as Mikil. I don’t who I would wake as.”
“No. But you would wake. And what would happen if you ate the rhambutan fruit when you were there?”
“No dreams.”
“What if you ate the rhambutan fruit every day for the rest of your life?”
“Would it matter? If I die here, I die there. Isn’t that how it works?”
“Not if dreaming a one-night dream here lasts forty years there. We could live a full life in another reality while waiting for death to take us here.”
A small grin crossed Monique’s face. Then an incredulous laugh. “Thomas suggested we should do this?”
“No. He said we would know what to do with it. You have a better idea?”
“No. But that doesn’t make your idea sane.”
“So you won’t do it? He mentioned you, no one else.”
“Of course I’ll do it,” Monique said, taking the small vial. “Why not?”
The smile on her face softened. She stared at the blood sample. “Does Thomas have a rash?”
Kara recalled what he’d said about the rash he’d picked up in Indonesia. “Now that you mention it, I think so, yes. Which means he may be among the first.”
No reply.
Mike Orear scanned the swelling crowd, too many to count now—estimates put it at nearly a million. It wouldn’t take much to redirect their self-reflection into outrage. The frustration in their eyes was undeniable. The words he was about to speak on the air would do nothing less than open the floodgates of rage, directed at the world’s best-known symbol of power: the White House.
He’d called Theresa earlier and fished for more on the possibility of an antivirus, but ever since he’d taken this stance as a voice for the people, she’d gone cold. It was a miracle he’d even gotten through to her. When he had confronted her with the accusation that the administration was misleading the people by holding out hope where none existed, she simply sighed and told him she wasn’t working twenty-four–hour shifts to please the administration.
Then she’d hung up on him.
This so-called hope of hers had to be paper-thin. Their only real hope lay with the only man who possessed an antivirus that would do anyone any good: Svensson. If the president didn’t play ball with France, there was no hope.
