by Ted Dekker
Loyalty, integrity, honor. Where were Marak’s in all of this?
“What do you want now?” Cassak snapped. That strange sensation swept over him again, the numbing one that left him dizzy and wondering what he’d just done.
“Patience,” Sucrow answered. Cassak circled him, both irritated and unable to simply leave. He had to do this, had to make Marak see the truth.
“Do you have the copies?”
The war journal. Marak had made a copy and put it in his captain’s care shortly after discovering it. Upon learning their former general’s information, the Desecration hadn’t taken long to concoct. Cassak had helped develop it.
He nodded and gave Sucrow the book, along with his report on Jordan’s death. “Don’t expect anything else.”
Dark humor crossed the priest’s face. “Of course not, Captain.” His staff turned in his hand. Cassak’s throat tickled, making him cough.
“You’re still prepared for the other, are you not?”
Josef and Arya. Sucrow wanted Josef and Arya dead, the entity gone. Why, Cassak could only speculate, but there were reasonable explanations.
“Now it is you who requires patience,” Cassak warned. “The men will be ready. But beyond that I wash my hands of this.”
Sucrow chuckled. His hand moved in a circular motion.
Cassak scratched his neck.
“Still believe yourself loyal to the general, do you?”
“That is not your concern.” Or was it? Lately the priest was making more sense than the general, though Cassak hardly dared admit it.
“Well, understand this then, Captain: the general’s loyalties no longer lie with Qurong. I suggest you make up your mind.”
seventeen
Time was running out to get back to Qurong and on to Ba’al Bek, wherever that was. As far as Darsal could tell, only the Leedhan actually knew.
Darsal couldn’t stand the sight of those beady, red eyes staring at her from all sides any longer. Skirmishes among the bats disrupted the stillness, but all was otherwise well. In a matter of hours, she would be dead. She had not won Marak. She had not stopped Johnis.
Ill at ease, she shifted in the saddle. This place was full of devilry.
The Shataiki ranks began to rustle, the throngs shifting into formation. They were hungry, Johnis had said, ravenous for a kill, their nostrils riddled with the scent of their favored prey.
Marak grated his teeth, irritated at being pulled in two directions.
“Josef, one bat gets out of hand and I’ll have your head. I’ll keep the head and give the body to the bats. Understood?”
Johnis didn’t answer right away; instead he looked up at the swarm he controlled. “Understood.”
They were exhausted but pressed on into the night. Soon all was quiet. Not one wing fluttered. Darsal heard nothing except the blood surging through her veins and her throbbing, pulsing heart.
As one, the Shataiki surrounding them roared and took flight. Screams shook the night. Darsal jumped and strained to see, but all was black. Then the shrieks were overpowered by the sound of Shataiki feeding on flesh. Living or dead, she did not know.
The expedition party fell into a panic. The Scabs rushed around, trying to find the source of the slaughter, shouting in the midst of Shataiki whipping about them. The bats clawed and bit, wings open wide.
Darsal leaped from the saddle and ran, searching for a weapon. A bat caught her by the shoulders and ripped into her back with its claws. She screeched and kicked it in the gut, refusing to fall to a beast almost as big as she was. It knocked her down.
She grabbed a rock and smashed it into the head of one. She glimpsed a green eye among the red but didn’t have time to respond. Two now fell on her, fighting over her body. One had her by the leg, another by the wrist. They ripped at her flesh and clung to her. Blood seeped from her wounds. She smashed a claw into the hard-packed sand.
Bloodlust sent the rest of the bats into a frenzy. The entire mass began to swarm and rage, boiling in a kind of cauldron.
Metal rang out and slashed through the meat of one of the bats on top of her with a sick, sucking sound. The beast roared as it died. The second turned on her rescuer and left her in the dust. Darsal rolled away and jumped to all fours, still in search of a weapon. The Scabs were fighting now, torches lit and swords in hand. Johnis and Silvie were in there . . . somewhere . . . shouting to one another.
A powerful arm snatched her around the waist and ran, fighting Shataiki with one arm. Darsal was pinned against his side, dangling like a toy and being further battered by the melee.
Gruff utterances against the fates. Marak. The general dumped her on her feet as he barked another order. Darsal snatched a knife from his thigh sheath as he passed her and went back to back with him. Minutes passed. Minutes filled with the sounds of men and Shataiki in battle.
Then it was over.
All was pensive and riddled with nervous, quivering bodies. Darsal turned, eyes drawn to the commotion behind her. The warriors and Throaters had formed a circle around Marak. Torchlight cast odd shadows over their faces. Her eyes followed their gaze until she saw Marak. He stood holding Johnis by his throat, his feet dangling above the ground. Johnis’s arms were wrapped around Marak’s wrist, his face twisted in pain. A standoff.
Cassak held Silvie by the arms, restraining her. But why did Marak have Johnis?
Johnis’s skin and eyes took on their recent unnatural look. His face twisted into a hard snarl. “Release me,” he warned.
“You ordered them to attack,” Marak growled. He flung Johnis down, realized Darsal had his knife, and swiped it back. The weapon sang into its sheath.
Johnis landed in a crouch. Wild-eyed. “You doubt me?” His voice had turned low and inhuman. Shaeda.
Had she persuaded him to set the Shataiki on them? If so, why? Or had they come after Shaeda?
Marak’s sword ran red, dripping on the ground. Now he raised the weapon. “Is this the best the great Josef has to offer?”
Johnis still looked possessed. As though he might spring at Marak and slit his throat without hesitation. “Your men interfered with their hunt.”
The anger radiated off Marak’s body.
“She is lying.” Darsal heard Gabil and glanced around. The Roush’s wing vanished behind a rock. She tensed. If the amulet could reveal the Shataiki, it could reveal a Roush.
“I did not break our agreement,” Johnis insisted.
The general’s sword came to rest at Johnis’s throat. “Do you prefer to die kneeling or standing?”
Silvie grumbled from behind Johnis. He turned to look at her, and the two traded a look Darsal didn’t understand.
The look Cassak gave Marak, though, was clear. One wrong move now, one mistake, and the captain’s hand would be forced. Cassak would declare Marak a traitor. Marak would die.
But Marak had also given his word, and he would not break it.
Would she lose both Marak and Johnis in one foolish moment?
“I prefer not to die at all.” Johnis sneered and fingered his medallion. His eyes—Shaeda’s eyes—were ruthless.
If Shaeda attacked . . .
Lose Marak or Johnis or both.
“Wait, General!” All eyes fell on Darsal. “This was a mistake.” She stepped up beside him, then between Johnis and Marak. “General, don’t kill him. This was . . . an accident.”
Marak turned, obviously angry. “An accident?”
“A Shataiki thought I was attacking Josef. It wouldn’t do for their master to perish.”
Darsal waited. He wouldn’t buy it. Marak would know this was all an act. That she was lying. And she knew it was absurd to claim the bats were protecting Johnis from an alleged attack by a desperate albino. But the Scabs might not know that. Not even Sucrow had seen this before. And Johnis didn’t want to die.
“General,” Cassak said finally. “We need your decision.”
Marak looked at Johnis. “Is this true?”
Hesitation. Was Shaeda considering making him do something foolish?
Johnis regained control of himself. “Yes.”
Marak sheathed his weapon and stormed off into the desert.
“The next to cause an accident dies.”
eighteen
Darsal rode with Marak, lying still so he would think her asleep. So close to dawn, and yet the eclipse blacked out the sky. They rode ahead, with Sucrow somewhere behind, reciting a chant that sounded eerily familiar. Johnis and Silvie had also dropped back, whispering about something.
“Let it alone, Cassak. It was nothing.” Marak’s voice startled her. She shifted in the saddle. “She has her uses. I would like to keep her as long as is reasonable.”
“Be fair. I’m not a fool.” Cassak was impatient, his tone irreverent toward his general. But they were friends, which alone explained his casual behavior.
“You don’t intend to execute her at all.”
Unfortunately Cassak was more observant than the others.
“She’ll die soon enough.” Marak was still bristling. The edge in his voice was unmistakable.
“She should already be dead.”
Marak grumbled something under his breath.
“So now you’re doing her favors?” Cassak sounded scandalized. Why was he so bent on her being dead? He’d been patient enough with Marak’s family. She dared a peek. Once more she saw the strange, starry-eyed serpent on the captain’s throat.
What did it mean?
“I’m doing myself a favor.”
“Jordan and Rona.”
Another low, angry remark from the general. The silence lingered.
If pushed, what would Marak do?
A white wing caught her attention. Gabil, hiding in the shadows. His green eyes shone in the dark, then vanished. “Pay attention,” she heard him whisper.
So this was about more than killing one lone albino. Everything came back to the Circle. To Thomas. To Elyon. She’d distracted herself from that truth. Hopefully not to the point of no return.
“Aren’t you the one who said, ‘Loyalty comes before and above all else’?” the captain was asking. Something was in his tone, a strained sound.
“Cassak . . .”
“Loyalty. Integrity. Honor. Those are the first things you taught me, and you learned everything from Martyn himself.”
“I’m not betraying you, Cassak.”
“I can’t keep quiet forever.” The two men fell silent. The unease was catching. It spread like poison. “She’s like Rona.” The captain paused. “Isn’t she?”
Marak didn’t answer.
“You need to execute her, Marak.” Worry spilled into Cassak’s voice. Worry or fear? Darsal leaned in. No, something was wrong. Cassak was acting. She wasn’t entirely sure how she knew, but Cassak was no longer Cassak.
“You need to do it tonight. Don’t throw away your career and your life for an albino wench.”
“Don’t call her that!”
“Why not? She is!”
“Because I—” Marak caught himself.
“You what?” the captain demanded. He snorted. “I don’t believe this. You love an albino.”
“I do not—”
“She’s using you, Marak. Can’t you see that?”
“There’s nothing to see.”
“I’m sorry, General.” That part Darsal wanted to believe. Cassak’s voice was strained, conflicted. “I can’t protect you this time.” He rode away.
Darsal waited until Cassak was gone before shifting. Marak rode farther ahead.
“We have no time. It’s over, Darsal. Cassak will have me marked a traitor shortly after the business with the Circle is done.”
Darsal let that sink in and didn’t like the implications. She wanted so much more and knew it would never happen. Marak was resolute.
Adrenaline pounded through her, making her dizzy. His hand lingered a second before releasing her, always too soon.
Darsal grabbed the reins. “Come on.”
“Middle is the other—”
“We need water, Marak. We need to—”
He went rigid and spun her toward him. “I’ve been far too lenient if you truly think that after so little time I would be swayed.”
He knew she wanted him to drown. Of course he did.
“I save your life and you ask me to kill myself?” He let go of her. “Isn’t my love enough?”
A flash of heat made its way up Darsal’s spine. She forced herself to inhale, forced her mind to catch up. He still didn’t understand.
“Love is deeper than this, Marak. So much—”
“I spared your friends at your request. I let you lie for them. I spared your life when I should have sentenced you on the spot. All of this, Darsal, and still you want my life?”
“I gave you mine.” Darsal breathed deep. “That wasn’t fair.” She backed down, trying to reclaim whatever was left of this mad relationship. With Elyon’s gentle prompting as her guide, she softened.
“You love Elyon, don’t you, Marak?”
He didn’t answer.
No, he wouldn’t admit that much. But just maybe . . .
“Don’t do it for me. Do it for Elyon. Don’t you wonder where he went? Why he’s silent? Haven’t you wondered why all of these things are happening and still Elyon says nothing?”
Marak let out a low, raspy breath, irritated because he didn’t want to answer.
“Do you really believe I came from another world, Marak? That I did not bathe for ten years?”
“I believe you. But what does that have to do with—”
“Jordan watched my skin turn in the dungeon, my general. They watched me rot in a cell for three days before Jordan helped me escape. I didn’t believe him either.”
That stopped him.
“I didn’t believe him until the water went into my lungs and I stopped breathing air and started breathing water. I just wanted Elyon more than I wanted to live.”
“Patience, daughter, patience,” she heard Elyon chastise.
Marak thrust a finger in her face. “I am not having this conversation again. There will be no more talk of drowning.”
“Marak—”
“No more, Darsal. No more.”
nineteen
You’re sure you control the bats?” Silvie argued. She glared at him, commanding his attention with her voice. They rode a little ahead of the others, alone able to see inside this throng of shadows.
“Yes,” Johnis snapped. He didn’t mean to, but everything was purple haze, and Shaeda was anxious, so anxious. “She’s terrified,” he managed. “She’s half-human; she can’t fight this many . . .”
Shaeda tore into his thoughts. Blue and purple sparked across his mind, raking over his eyes. She didn’t like him exposing her weaknesses, and the weakness was that she was only half-Shataiki. Powerful but mortal.
Her alluring gaze, her siren song . . .
Everything in him screamed to gallop ahead to Middle and get out from beneath this swarm of Shataiki, to lead the guardian queen where he willed, to silence that horrific sound of Derias lusty for a kill.
“Josef,” Silvie said. His mind shifted, focusing on her. Shadows drifted over him, Shaeda’s night vision retreating with her thoughts. “Why did the bats attack?”
“Because . . .”
The overpowering foresight took hold. He saw red desert fanning before him, giving way to canyons and a glorious mountain range full of desert trees and shrubs. The treacherous peaks were all angles and drop-offs, narrow cliffs and passes.
Beyond that, more desert, the land growing increasingly desolate. Jackals fought over dried bones, and carrion birds sought elsewhere for food, preying instead on the packs of hounds that fed off each other.
“Forget not, my pet . . . The human of my choosing was you. Yet such can alter . . . alter at a moment’s breath . . .”
He smelled sulfur and felt as if his face were basking in the steam of hot springs, soothing his skin
of the flaking, rotting cracks and the stiffening pain that overwhelmed him.
Twice divinely forsaken, by both Elyon and Teeleh, and thrice by the sons of men. And yet over the rise, beyond the cliffs, down the sharp ravine where craggy rocks grew from the earth like teeth, were the springs, near the mighty rushing river which the great tree spanned. A red river no human dared cross, for none could survive its falls. This river girded the earth as a belt and guarded the world of purebloods from the world of half-breeds.
From the far side of the world was no return . . .
How did you cross, then?
“Johnis!” Silvie dared use his real name. The vision retreated. He looked at her. “Why did the Shataiki attack us?”
Understanding washed over him. Shaeda looked upon her and raised his chin. “Take comfort, little female . . . Such will not occur again.”
Silvie scowled. “Shaeda. It was you they wanted.”
The Leedhan’s thoughts darkened. Johnis’s night vision returned. His gaze fell ahead. He kicked the horse and broke into a gallop, desperate for Middle, for home. Visions of blue forests and sweet, tangy badaiis swept over him.
He barely heard the general call after him. Let them keep pace.
twenty
The expedition party marched down the main road of Middle toward Qurong’s white palace, now eclipsed by the shadow of Shataiki.
People ran out of their homes in panic, but Marak’s men were ready. He rode at the head of the procession with Sucrow on his left. At his right, Cassak and Reyan. Warryn and the Throaters rode at Sucrow’s far side.
Next came Johnis and Silvie. Behind them were the servants. Cassak had split his men to form a rear guard and two flanks to keep the streets clear of spectators.
Bats screeched and flapped, soaring through the city. Horns sounded the return of the priest and the general, announcing to all of Middle their success and the prize they brought Qurong.
