by Ted Dekker
“Is it so impossible?” Vadal, son of the elder Ronin asked quietly.
“Sit down, Vadal,” Marie snapped.
He looked into Chelise’s eyes and she saw his confusion. When put this way, how could they deny?
Janae repeated her question. “Who will stand with me? And who will challenge me?”
Nearly half stood to their feet. A jumble of support and objection filled the canyon.
Chelise felt her world crumbling. It was too much. Thomas, Thomas, Thomas. Where are you, my love? She felt as though she might burst into tears.
She slowly lifted one hand into the air and spoke clearly. “I do.”
Mikil, who’d been yelling the crowd down along with Jamous and Johan, looked up at her. But no one else showed they’d heard. The council argued among themselves. Even they were divided.
“I do!” she cried louder, shaking her fist at the sky. Then she screamed it, letting her emotions rally. “I do!”
Now they were listening. All of them. She breathed hard and pointed to Janae. “I do challenge your authority as the one who has come with this gift from Elyon.”
She leaped from the rock, strode over to Samuel. Yanked his sword from his back where he’d slung it. Walked to the center of the stone slab.
“I do challenge you by the same rules invoked by Samuel, and I deny any to fight for me.”
“What’s this?” Janae asked whimsically.
Samuel explained that a challenge once settled disputes. The winner’s way would be followed.
Chelise wasn’t sure what she expected in the moment—some resistance from the council at least, a moment to judge the skill of her opponent as they squared off. Anything but what happened.
Janae handed her vial to Samuel, stepped over to Eram, who was still watching with amused interest, took his sword from the scabbard, and sprang forward.
But this was not just any ordinary leap. She took two steps, launched herself into the air like a cat, and flew a full ten yards before landing in a crouch directly in front of Chelise, sword on guard.
“Your first mistake, Mother,” Janae said. “And your last.”
Chelise lowered her sword by her side as if surrendering, but turned it in at the last moment and ran it up under Janae as she threw herself back into an aerial somersault with a loud cry.
It was one of Thomas’s basic maneuvers, once taught to all Forest Guard, extremely effective because an opponent had to contend with both the blade and the attacker’s feet at once. But Janae had something not even Thomas had.
The speed of a bat.
How did she manage to escape Chelise’s sword and appear behind her? Chelise couldn’t know; she’d been upside down when Janae moved.
But Chelise was no slouch, and she didn’t waste any energy trying to understand what had just happened. She was swinging her sword with as much strength as she possessed before she landed.
Their blades met with a clang that echoed through the canyon. Chelise’s hands stung with the clash of metal against metal. But they’d both escaped injury.
Each having earned the other’s respect, Chelise expected they would hesitate in the crowd’s silence for a moment before . . .
But Janae was moving already, this time with such speed that Chelise couldn’t react except to gasp and attempt a block with a wild swing of her sword. Her opponent’s blade sliced cleanly through the strap that held her chest armor in place.
Janae reached in and yanked the armor down. The leather thongs slipped free, and the chest guard fell to the ground.
“You’ve lost your top, Mother.”
She felt naked with only a tunic between herself and this witch’s blade. More to the point, she knew she was as good as dead. What kind of black magic empowered this woman was an easy guess, but unless Elyon himself granted her the strength and agility of the Roush, she would die.
She now knew that fighting this woman was utterly foolish, but Chelise was committed. And this fight was for her father, whom they sought to kill. If she must die, she would do so knowing she’d died for him.
“Come on, you little whore,” she breathed. “Kill me. Or die trying.”
Janae flung her sword to one side, easily evaded a thrust from Chelise’s sword that would have connected with most mortals, and punched her soundly in the jaw.
Chelise’s world spun. Faded. The ground beneath her feet tilted. She landed on the ground with a hard thud.
“I will not kill a child of Elyon,” Janae was crying in the distance. “Our war is not between us. It is with the enemy of Elyon! Now this matter is settled. Samuel has joined Eram and the Forest Guard who wait over these hills.”
Chelise’s world began to right itself. She tried to push herself up but was still too weak.
“Today we will march on the Valley of Miggdon, where Qurong will move his army. In two days’ time we will crush them with one blow of Elyon’s wrath, and we will leave the blood of the dragon in the valley to feed the lust of all Shataiki. Then, and only then, will Elyon deliver us into his glory!”
A roar spontaneously erupted.
“Who is with me?”
Not all of them, certainly not all. But many were crying out in support. Chelise had to stop them! This could not be happening, not now with Thomas gone.
She tried to call out, tried to stand. But then Janae lifted her head by the hair and slammed it into the ground, and Chelise thought her skull may have broken.
Twelve thousand souls who’d drowned in the lakes and found new life were crying out, but to Chelise, the roar sounded muffled, like a voice from a large shell. Someone was shaking her, calling her name.
Then the sounds faded completely, and she lay in darkness for a while.
COMPLETE AND utter solitude and contentment. Chelise was stripped of all worries for the first time since Samuel had ridden into the Gathering and slung the Horde head onto the ground. Just one moment of absolute peace, sweet and restful.
Where was Thomas?
“. . . dead.”
“No, no, don’t speak that . . . more fruit . . .”
The silence gave way to this soft talk around her. Chelise’s mind dragged itself from the solitude with gaining awareness. She wasn’t alone. Two people were talking over her. One thought she might be dead. The other wanted to give her more fruit.
“We need to get the juice down her throat,” one was saying. “Sit her up again.”
“Why would she respond now? She’s been like this all night.” This was Marie’s voice. Marie, sweet Mar . . .
All night? She’d been here all night? No. No, it had only been a moment.
“Dear Elyon, have mercy on them.” Johan’s voice.
Chelise tried to open her eyes. Failed. Then tried again. Firelight glowed around the edges of her sight.
“She’s waking!”
A piece of fruit was pressed against her lips. Chelise bit deeply and felt the juice of a peach run down her throat. Then more, until she was eating large chunks of the flesh, ravenous for the healing nectar. Her mind cleared and the light grew bright.
They were in Marie’s tent with Johan. It was dark outside, and one of them had said she’d been out all night. Janae had beaten her in the challenge while the sun was still high in the sky, many hours ago.
She could hear desert crickets singing outside. The camp was all peace and quiet. Which could only mean . . .
Chelise blinked. Tried to speak, then cleared her throat. “How many?”
Marie glanced over at Johan, who responded. “Nearly five thousand.” “Five thousand? Here?”
“No, five thousand left with Samuel and the half-breeds,” Johan said.
“Vadal is with them,” Marie said.
“Vadal?”
She bolted up in bed, but a headache of thundering proportions made her world spin again, and she dropped back down.
“No, Mother,” Marie whispered. “It’s too late, they’re gone and you’re hurt. Give the fruit some time.”
Johan spoke in a soothing voice that failed to calm her. “We did all we could, Chelise. After you lost the challenge our footing was weak, but the council mounted a long defense that won many over to our side.”
“And the rest? The five thousand?”
He shrugged. “They’ve been deceived by a compelling case.”
“So they go against the Horde?”
“Yes,” Johan said. “They go to Miggdon where they will die.”
“Die?” But Johan would know more than most—before drowning he’d been a Horde commander of undisputed skill. “What makes you think Qurong will defeat them?”
“Because Qurong and the master he serves are far too crafty.”
Chelise sat up, this time successfully. She looked around the room, saw no sign of Jake.
“He’s with Mikil,” Marie said. “Seven thousand are here, by the red pool. They’re lost in tales of glory. And I’m here, lost in sickness over that fool who would be my husband.”
“I’m sorry.” Chelise pushed herself to her feet despite Marie’s objections. “I know. Believe me, I know. And now I have to go.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mother. You’ll go nowhere.”
“They’re going to kill my father,” she cried. “Get me more fruit.”
“And they’re going to kill Vadal. I’ll go with you.”
“I’m not going to the Eramites.”
Johan nodded at Marie. “Then I’ll gather—”
“No,” Chelise snapped. “This time I go alone.”
They faced each other, knowing even a show of objection was pointless. The same thought that had echoed through her mind for a day now came again: The world awaits you, Chelise. She’d failed to stop Samuel here—Michal’s admonition clearly referred to something else.
Johan withdrew a vial from his pocket and handed it to her. “Then take this.”
“What is it?” She took the small glass bottle, identical to the one the witch had called Teeleh’s breath.
“We don’t know. It fell from her cloak. The label says it’s Thomas’s blood. Maybe it has some power. Why else would she carry it?” Johan turned and lifted the tent flap. “If you see the harlot, shove it down her throat for me.”
Marie was still pouting. “Mother, please—”
“No. I go to my father, and I go alone.”
37
WITH EACH passing day Billy remembered more why he loved Marsuuv the way he did. In so many ways he was only doing what he was created to do: love himself.
Naturally. To love the beast was to love himself, because Marsuuv was as much a mirror of Billy’s heart as a beast, born and bred to feed on the blood of mortal souls.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in the lair following Janae’s departure, a few days at least. The intimacy Marsuuv had shown Janae in both words and deed at first twisted a knife through his belly. Who was she to steal Marsuuv’s affection after Billy’s own long journey to find him?
When Marsuuv descended on her and thrust his fangs into her neck, he’d nearly cried out in protest. Seeing Marsuuv exchange his blood with her like that . . .
Billy had trembled with rage.
But then she’d been sent off and Billy had time to think about what happened.
Janae was a very small part, perhaps only one-hundredth, Shataiki, a descendant of someone bitten by Alucard generations earlier. A creature of the night.
Although the mythology surrounding vampires was sadly misinformed, there was some truth to the rumors. Vampires were real, of course, but they’d originated from this reality—not from Dracula in Transylvania but from a Shataiki queen named Alucard. Dracula spelled backward.
Crossbreeds between Shataiki and human were the Nephilim referred to in the Holy Bible itself. Billy had found the subject oddly compelling as a young boy.
While Janae was fulfilling her own destiny, Billy was preparing for his, as Marsuuv had promised.
“He comes,” Marsuuv said, shifting his torso away from Billy.
They’d been reclining on the beast’s bed with only their breathing and the occasional popping sound of Marsuuv’s phlegm to accompany them. More accurately, Billy had been reclining, leaning against the queen’s belly as he lightly stroked Billy’s hair and cheek.
It struck him now and then, but less and less with each passing day, that he should be appalled by his environment. Instead, he was convinced he lay in heaven, and he found himself yearning to be even closer to his lover. They’d bitten each other several times, but Billy wanted to be bitten again. This was how Billos had become Ba’al, he thought.
He found himself dreaming of a blood transfusion. If he could only rid himself of all human blood and be pure Shataiki . . .
“He comes!” Marsuuv said again, brushing Billy aside.
He sat up groggily and came to himself. The scent of Marsuuv’s breath wafted over him, and he fought off the desire to lie against the beast’s belly again.
But the clack of talons on stone arrested his attention, and he forgot the thought. And then he remembered who it was Marsuuv referred to. Teeleh was coming.
The great beast himself?
Teeleh stepped into Marsuuv’s lair, dragging his wings. He was taller than the queen, clearly the master here, though Marsuuv didn’t bow or show respect other than to bare his fangs. He put a wing behind Billy and nudged him closer, as if to say, this one is mine, and Billy found the gesture as kind and loving as any Marsuuv had yet shown him. He swallowed a bundle of emotion that rose up in his throat.
“Billy . . .” Teeleh said.
Billy looked at him again, took in the mangy fur that crawled with tiny worms and flies. His large red eyes weren’t glamorous like Marsuuv’s, but terrifying. A quiver ran over Teeleh’s shoulders, scattering a few flies.
“He is mine,” Marsuuv said, and Billy felt better.
Teeleh ignored the queen. He stepped closer to Billy and examined him. “Stand up. Let me see you.”
Marsuuv removed his arm. Billy scooted off the bed and stood next to the altar, five feet from the beast.
Teeleh’s bulging red eyes studied him from head to foot. Billy was still dressed in the black robe he’d taken off the temple guard, but after days with Marsuuv it was badly stained.
“Take it off,” Teeleh said in a soft, gravelly voice.
Billy glanced at Marsuuv, received a nod, and shrugged out of the robe. He stood naked except for his underwear. Sores from Marsuuv’s fangs marked the inside of his arm and would be clearly visible on either side of his neck.
“Such a beautiful specimen,” Teeleh said in a low, crackling voice. He reached a long claw for him and touched Billy’s white chest. Then ran his talon down, leaving a thin scratch.
Billy looked at Marsuuv again, shaking with fear now.
“Be strong.”
“If I didn’t need you so badly, I would pull out your jugular now and have my fill,” Teeleh said. “You humans make me sick. Why you were given such power . . .” He didn’t finish, but his disdain was clear.
The beast lowered his claw and rested it on the altar, satisfied to stare at him for a moment.
“If you fail me, I will drain you.” He flicked a fly off his cheek with a long pink tongue. “Do you understand this?”
“Yes. Yes, I understand.”
“You will use the books and return with a single ambition. To deliver a time of tribulation in which my kind will reign. The Great Deception will leave humans desperate for a leader.”
“What he says is true,” the queen Marsuuv said with uncharacteristic reverence.
“In that day, many will flee and many will cower before me, and you will stand at my right hand.”
The words washed over Billy as if carried by an electric current. He was shaking again, but not out of fear. Teeleh’s words intoxicated him as much as Marsuuv’s bite.
“You must not let the other one, Thomas, stop you. He will try. He will enter the Black Forest and all of humanity will stand i
n awe. But you, Billy, you can stop him. He must drink the water.”
Teeleh spat to one side.
“Say it. He must drink the water.”
“He must drink the water,” Billy repeated.
“If he does not drink the water, I will crucify you. He must drink the water before he can save the world. You must go back to force his hand.”
“I’m going back?” The idea terrified him. He wanted to stay here, with Marsuuv.
“Betrayal is written in the hearts of all, but you, Billy, will make betrayal your lover.” Teeleh tilted his head back, swallowed the fly, then faced him again. “We will need to extract your . . . inner beauty and recreate you as two. One of you will go to Bangkok, the other will go back to the beginning to kill Thomas before he can cross over.”
Billy looked over at Marsuuv and saw that the Shataiki had begun to tremble. The queen opened his jaw and cocked his head like a fledgling bird, then allowed Teeleh to spit into his mouth. Marsuuv settled with some satisfaction.
“I . . .” Billy didn’t know what to say.
“Do our ways of evil disturb you, Billy?” Teeleh asked.
They did, but not as much as he would have thought.
“No,” he said.
“They should.” Teeleh faced Marsuuv, who seemed agitated, excited. “But you humans can’t help yourselves. Blindness becomes you.”
The queen sprang through the air and landed on the altar before Billy. He lifted a jar in which two large, slimy balls similar to fish eggs lay in a solution. Billy had studied the jar in his stupor these past few days and wondered what poor beast had given up their eyes as a trophy.
Now Marsuuv unceremoniously dumped the jar’s contents on the table. When he spoke, his voice was strained with delight.
“Accept this as my gift to you and our offspring,” Marsuuv said, lifting the black orbs. “Look into my eyes.”
Billy already was looking. The queen leaned forward as if he intended to either bite him on the face or kiss him, and Billy really didn’t care which. He only wanted to be held in a place of safety.
Slowly, the beast lifted his claw and traced his cheeks. “After I’ve taken your eyes and sent you back, you’ll remember little of this. Only what you need to know. Only the impulses and the demands upon your life. And you’ll be able to follow Thomas when he dreams.” Marsuuv’s breathing thickened. “May I blind you?”
