Circle Series 4-in-1

by Ted Dekker

  He sank to both knees and buried his head in both hands. “Forgive me,” he wept. “Forgive me.”

  “I forgive you, Father.” Now she was crying. She stood not ten feet from Qurong while the black beasts ravaged the Horde, and she begged like a mother pleading for the life of her only child.

  “Drown, I beg you, drown. The Shataiki won’t consume you now, you’re protected by the blood. We can make it out, to a red pool nearby. Please, please, I beg you, Father.”

  She heard the faint pounding of hooves behind her, and an image flashed through her mind. The half-breed she’d seen.

  Chelise twisted back and saw the horse upon her. Saw the sword on its way down. Heard the roar of protest from her father.

  Saw in a fleeting glimpse that this was Samuel, turned Horde.

  Felt the sting of the blade as it cut into her neck.

  And then Chelise of Hunter’s horizon went blue.

  A brilliant sky rising from a perfectly silent desert. Nothing else, just a rolling white desert and a perfectly blue sky.

  One moment—searing pain as the sword’s metal edge sliced through her neck. The next—absolute peace in this bright world spread before her.

  No pain.

  No sorrow.

  No blood.

  Several long seconds slogged through the perfect silence.

  A child laughed behind her. She turned around and saw that she wasn’t alone. A thin boy of maybe thirteen stood on the bank of a green pool.

  Yes, she thought, there is the pool.

  “Hello, Chelise, daughter of Elyon,” the boy said.

  She knew at the first sound of his voice that he was far more than just any ordinary boy. Her voice trembled when she answered.

  “Hello.”

  He grinned mischievously, looked at the water, then at her, then back at the water. Finally, his bright green eyes settled on her again.

  “Are you ready?”

  Are you ready? She couldn’t find her voice any longer. And she suddenly couldn’t see, because her eyes were blurred by tears of desperation.

  Unable to contain his own excitement, the boy turned and dived.

  Chelise tore her feet from the sand, gasping. She’d already taken three steps when his body splashed through the surface and vanished beneath the emerald waters.

  Then Chelise dived headlong into Elyon’s lake, and the pleasure of her first contact with him took her breath away.

  QURONG HAD been so absorbed, so vanquished by his own misery, so consumed by self-pity, that he didn’t see the danger. He’d seen the fleeing warrior earlier, but not until too late did he realize that he was coming in for the kill.

  He leaped to his feet and threw out his hands, thinking one of his men was mistaking Chelise for an Eramite threatening him. “My daughter!” he screamed. “She’s my . . .”

  Then he saw that this was an Eramite warrior whose bloodstained armor made him nearly indistinguishable from his own warriors. Still, in the last moment, he thought the half-breed would heed his cry.

  But it was too late. The momentum of the fighter’s sword could not be stopped.

  His blade sliced cleanly through Chelise’s neck. Her head flew from her body, bounced off the attacker’s horse, and fell to the ground, eyes still open.

  Qurong didn’t have time to consider the horror of this sudden change before the warrior swung again with a cry of rage, now at him. He ducked under the blow, aware that the pain he’d felt only a minute earlier was nearly gone. The attacker’s sword clanged off the rock behind him, then the man was rearing his horse for another pass.

  But there was Chelise, lying dead and bleeding from her neck, and Qurong could not manage the sight of it. He had killed his own daughter, as clearly as if he’d swung the sword himself.

  She smiled in death. A pure, clean face, free of any blemish. This daughter, whose forehead he’d often kissed and who’d often strutted around announcing to all that her papa was the strongest, greatest man in the world—this daughter named Chelise was dead. On his account.

  Qurong wanted to die. Let the half-breed end it now!

  SAMUEL’S BLADE was in full swing when the guard turned and Samuel saw that the he was a she.

  Saw that this woman was not one of Qurong’s guards as he’d assumed from the cloak she wore and the horse she rode.

  Saw that this woman was Chelise. His mother.

  Terrified by the sight, he jerked his sword back and away, but the momentum was too great, and his blade slashed through her neck as if it were made of white clay.

  His boot bumped her falling head as he rushed past. His mind lost track of his mortal enemy, the father of his mother. He was mistaken; this woman could not be his mother! He could undo this. Mother would never be cloaked as a Scab, riding a Horde mount!

  But scream as it may, his mind drained of blood and reason as he struggled to force his horse around. He rushed back, pulled the horse up, and dropped to the ground. Qurong was there, on his knees, face white with shock.

  And there on the ground, ten feet from him, lay . . . yes. Yes, it was her.

  Samuel’s world spun. The horizon started to fade, all but the green eyes staring at him from the face of this impetuous woman who’d scolded him so often, yet loved him as her son.

  Chelise. Chelise! Mother! Dear Mother.

  “Mother?”

  He was facing the valley darkened by Shataiki, but in that moment nothing existed except for his own foolishness and the longing to join his mother on the ground, dead.

  THE HALF-BREED did not end Qurong’s life. He made no attempt at a second attack. Instead, he dropped from his saddle and staggered forward. “Mother?”

  Mother? Mother? Qurong felt his rage rise and his self-control slip.

  Thunder crashed overhead, and Qurong turned to look at jagged lines of lightning that stuttered through the sky. The core of the black swarm circling the valley scattered as light cut through them. Thousands of Shataiki began to fall from the sky, screeching. It was as if a wide shaft of white-hot sunshine had bored through their middle and burned them to a crisp.

  The light slammed into the battlefield, and the earth beneath Qurong’s feet shook.

  The world was ending.

  Qurong slowly turned back to the half-breed. The world was ending, and there was only one task that would bring the smallest measure of peace to a man who’d lost everything.

  Qurong reached for his sword, snugged the hilt tight in his fist, and rose from his knees, shaking from head to foot. He rushed the halfbreed who was frozen by confusion. His wrath came out in a long bloody cry from the bottom of his chest, and he swung the blade with all of his strength, severing the man’s body nearly in half at his chest.

  The half-breed looked at him with wide eyes, then toppled dead at his feet, taking Qurong’s sword down with him.

  Qurong stood heaving over the two dead bodies, numb. Then he fell to his face by Chelise’s head, and he wept into the ground.

  45

  THEY HAD raced through the desert for eight hours, and with each pounding hoof, Thomas’s heart beat with an expectation that had been building for the last twenty-seven years.

  This was it! This was everything.

  Everything except Samuel and Chelise.

  Their horses fell into a natural formation in a full, tireless gallop over the sand. A million Roush flew above, filling the sky as far as he could see. The streaming colored light formed a tunnel around them, ushering them forward. Thomas wanted to touch it again, to swim in those colors and dive into Elyon’s waters of intoxicating power.

  But these thoughts were whispers of promise; the Warrior on the white horse who rushed ahead of them stole his mind. He could not keep his eyes off Elyon, just there, a hundred yards ahead, sprinting full tilt over the desert with his red cape flowing behind him. As his horse passed, the sand came alive with light, so that by the time Thomas and Kara reached it, they looked to be rushing through a thin cloud of raw, white power. Maybe
this is what gave the horses their unflagging strength.

  They were being escorted in a vast display of wonder and power, and no one seemed able to speak a single word. They didn’t stop to eat; this anticipation was their food.

  This hope was their nourishment.

  How had they missed it? Like children wandering in the desert, they’d lost sight of the promise, so easily consumed with finding reward in a daily feeding of crumbs from the sky. Elyon’s Israel had lost its way.

  But all along, this power crackled just beyond the skin of their world. If only they could have seen . . .

  If only the other world could see. But they had, he thought. Someone named Johnny had shown them some things. The saint had opened their eyes. And soon Billy, the sinner, would blind them in an ultimate showdown.

  How he knew this, he wasn’t sure, because this was his home and he now knew little about the other world. Did Kara know about Samuel and Paradise?

  The abstract thought distracted him for a moment. Samuel. What about Samuel? So complete was his preoccupation with the Warrior, he’d forgotten about Samuel and Chelise! He had to save them!

  He had to find them and bring them with him!

  But then he knew something else, like he’d known about someone called Johnny. There was a reason for their rush through the desert.

  They were going after Samuel and Chelise.

  Thomas leaned lower and pressed harder, but then the brilliant colors swallowed him again, and again he became fixated on his desire to reach Elyon’s lake.

  “Run, Thomas, run!”

  He looked to his left and saw that Gabil, a fluffy white Roush he’d first met long ago, flew not ten feet from him. The creature’s round green eyes sparkled with his mischievous nature. The flier flipped over midflight and executed what looked to be a karate kick at some unseen enemy. “Hiyaa!”

  Thomas felt more than heard laughter bubbling from his own chest.

  “Impressed, huh?” Then the Roush showed off more, and Thomas saw five younger Roush in his wake, mimicking his every move. “Hiyaa!” The warrior had found himself some apprentices.

  He turned to Kara, thinking to show her, but saw that another Roush sat in front of her, holding the reins with her. Had he been there long? She couldn’t keep her eyes off the creature’s furry head.

  Thousands of Roush had joined the seven thousand albinos, riding or flying with them all. And high above them all flew one. Perhaps Michal, following the Warrior who cut through the sand.

  Thomas first became aware of the huge vortex of Shataiki when they were still far from the Valley of Miggdon. The beasts reached down to the earth through a funnel, a staggering sight even from this distance. The battle was there, raging, and he should have felt some alarm, but he couldn’t seem to work up any.

  Gabil and his young recruits, who’d grown to nearly a hundred, continued their antics nearby. No one seemed remotely concerned about this swirling black mass.

  The Roush overhead suddenly rose higher, above the swirling vortex of Shataiki, and Thomas wondered if they were going to attack from above.

  The Warrior had led them east, dead east, but he now veered south, where the Valley of Miggdon lay open. The light turned with him on either side; the Roush banked south; the seven thousand altered course hard on the Warrior’s heels.

  The Roush rose even higher, and the colored light swept lower. They were sweeping into the thick of the blackened valley, straight for the center of the Shataiki. At any minute, Chelise would join them. She would rush down from one of the slopes with Samuel by her side.

  Thomas could see the whole valley now. Countless Shataiki littered the ground directly ahead. But they were not alone. There were bodies under the beasts.

  The Shataiki were feeding on the fallen, a whole sea of death.

  The scene took his breath away, and if his mount hadn’t had a head for the Warrior alone, he would have pulled up. Gabil and his entourage were gone. The albinos’ horses rushed forward, undisturbed by the carnage layering the valley floor.

  Bodies lay upon bodies, and only a few thousand were left to flee the Shataiki, who methodically pulled them down and plunged their fangs into their heads.

  The valley was screaming, a high-pitched inhuman wail from Shataiki throats. And in that moment, Thomas knew that he had made this very scene possible by creating a breach in time for Billy and Janae.

  Michal’s words flashed through his mind. Go to the place you came from. Make a way for the Circle to fulfill its hope.

  But there was more. And return quickly before it’s too late. Do that and you might save your son.

  Where was he? Where was Samuel?

  And where was Chelise?

  The Warrior leading them didn’t look back or slow. He thundered down the center of the valley.

  “Thomas!”

  He glanced at Kara, then followed her eyes up. The Roush were above the huge gathering of Shataiki swirling through the sky, and a thin stream of them were diving directly into the center of the black swarm.

  The Roush cut into the beasts, and the whole swarm of Shataiki shifted, reacting to the intrusion.

  The Warrior on the white horse stood in his stirrups and leaned into the wind, still at a full gallop. He thrust a finger from each hand into the air and screamed his charge, then abruptly clapped his hands together. The sound of his clap came as thunder, and it shook the valley.

  Lightning stuttered through the sky.

  And the bottom of the Shataiki swarm blew out as the first Roush broke through, red with blood. White light streamed through the hole they’d cut. A dozen, and then a hundred followed, each badly bloodied.

  Black bats rained from the hole as the Roush punched through their center by the thousands now, creating a great hole at the heart of the vortex. Shrieking with terror, the exposed black bats on the ground abandoned their prey and flapped madly for the relative safety of those above. The whole swarm was off-kilter now, but they clung together like syrup, unwilling to flee alone.

  The Warrior Elyon leaned over his white horse, sprinting faster, faster, head down. He was leading them directly into this bloodbath.

  The Roush had created their own swarm, a tunnel through the center of the Shataiki, and the streak of light at the core suddenly swelled to a wide shaft and reached down, into the battlefield. It slammed into the ground below, vaporizing any flesh in its path.

  The ground shook, then cracked. A chasm opened wide directly ahead of them. Roush streamed down into the great hole with the shaft of light and vanished. They flowed with the light, streaking through the angry swirl of Shataiki and those shrieking for safety, right into the wide gap, maybe a hundred paces across.

  The earth was swallowing them all.

  The colorful tunnel around the seven thousand narrowed as they entered the battleground, led by the Warrior. Whatever waited in their path was consumed by the light. The Warrior cleared a wide swath through the heaps of dead.

  And then Thomas saw their destination, and his breathing stopped. Water was rising in the chasm. Red water, forming a new lake at the heart of the battlefield. The Roush still streamed into a swirling green hole at the lake’s center, vanishing into the depths.

  This was it. This was it!

  But where was Chelise?

  Thomas jerked his head around. Kara was there, ten feet to his right, beaming like a child. Mikil, Johan, and Marie were close behind, staring past him at the new lake. The seven thousand leaned forward on their mounts, eyes fixed on the water like dehydrated souls staring at their last hope.

  But there was no sign of Chelise. Nor Samuel.

  It occurred to him then that they might be lost. Lost! The mere suggestion of it shoved his heart into his throat. Above, the Roush flowed into the eye of this new whirlpool; behind, the seven thousand gave hard chase as the Warrior’s horse galloped at full speed; ahead, the lake beckoned.

  But Chelise was lost.

  “Elyon!” he shouted. The Warrior didn
’t turn or slow. “Elyon!” Panic reached long fingers into his mind, and he screamed it this time. “Elyon!”

  The last of the Roush vanished below the water’s surface, and the hole at the lake’s middle collapsed on itself. The water at the center swirled in hues of green, surrounded by a mirror of red.

  The streaming light on either side of them reached the lake’s edge. It curved downward and plunged into the water as if sucked by a powerful vacuum. A dull roar filled the valley, the sound of pure power. Above, the black Shataiki were scattering.

  And then Elyon launched his horse over the slight rise that ran around the lake, catapulted himself from the white steed’s back, and sailed through the air in a perfectly executed dive. His body followed his outstretched hands, and the moment his head entered the water, a brilliant white light spread out just under the surface like a shock wave.

  Elyon vanished into the depths.

  Thomas was going to follow as he had followed before—Elyon knew how desperately he needed to enter the water. But where was Samuel?

  “Elyon!” He was crying out at empty water. “Elyon.”

  A lone Roush flew over his head, low enough to batter his face with wind, headed to the slope. He immediately recognized Michal, the leader of the Roush, fur red with blood. Thomas looked at the far slope in the direction Michal was flying and saw that a crude altar had been erected. A man was on his knees, fists raised at the sky, wailing.

  Qurong!

  “In,” he cried to Kara. “Dive in after him! I’ll come . . .”

  He veered to the right, following the Roush. Kara hardly needed encouragement. She took her horse over the edge and fell headlong into the red lake with a mighty splash. Elyon’s waters swallowed her.

  Thomas followed the Roush to the west of the pool, tempted to turn back and dive in. But Qurong was there, just ahead, and Chelise had come for Qurong.

  The seven thousand were now plowing into the lake, waves and waves, some of them clinging to their mounts, others diving midair, still others—mostly the young, squealing with laughter—tumbling through the air before splashing beneath the surface.