Elyon

by Ted Dekker

  “I believed you before. And I see how intoxicating she can be.” Darsal’s smile faded a little, mournful.

  “What do you want with us?” He pulled at the chain. “They’re going to set off the attack. The Shataiki, they’re—”

  “They’ve reached Ba’al Bek. It won’t be long now.” Darsal brushed mud and grime off his face and washed it with her head-scarf. Pain shone on her face.

  “They’ll find you too.”

  “Yes. They will . . . Sucrow meant to kill you, Johnis. If I wanted to betray you, I would have left you with him. Is that not right?”

  She had a point.

  “Shaeda told me how to find you, how to bring you here. And she told me there was only one way to keep Sucrow from using the amulet. I saw Gabil. He said she was telling the truth.”

  A cold feeling crept up Johnis’s legs, then up to his midsection.

  Yes, he knew that too. Whoever took the amulet from the Shataiki guardian . . .

  “You die.”

  Darsal offered him more water, then squeezed fruit on his wounds. The burning made him flinch.

  “What are you—?”

  “The only thing I can do, Johnis. It’s a healing fruit. There’s a whole grove here. Don’t struggle. Now, listen. I’m trying to help you. So I need you to listen, and listen fast.”

  “Help us? We’re staked to the ground in the middle of—”

  “Just listen. Do you know why there is an oasis in the northwest desert, Johnis? Look to your right. Just look. What do you see?”

  He turned his head and strained to see, knowing there was a body of water behind him.

  A lake. A moderate-sized lake surrounded by trees with leaves as wide as Johnis’s head, and long vines drooping down. Heavy mist lingered in the air, dissipating fast in the light of the rising orange-gold sun.

  A red lake. The crazy albino slave had taken them to a red lake.

  “By the Maker . . . you’re going to drown us.”

  “Don’t panic, Johnis. I haven’t the time to calm you down. But listen to me. I’ve thought about this.” Darsal spoke quickly. “Johnis, Shaeda used you.”

  Johnis winced and tried to scratch an itch he couldn’t reach. The grass made it worse. He twitched, desperate to make it stop. Shaeda chuckled in his head, voice low and intoxicating.

  “My foolish little pet, heed my voice once more . . .”

  Cold and darkness swarmed over him. Shaeda needed him free, free to kill Sucrow, free to take back the amulet and use it for his own designs. He needed her powers. Needed . . .

  “No, my pet . . . die . . . Even your Elyon wishes such . . .”

  “Let us go, and stop this nonsense. Sucrow—We have to get to Sucrow.”

  Darsal found the spot on his side and scratched it, scowling as she understood Johnis wasn’t talking to her. When she withdrew her hand, it was covered with flakes of skin.

  “Yes, we do.” She brushed her fingers off and gave him more water. “Which is why you have to drown. Think about it, Johnis. Shaeda is half-Shataiki. She wanted you to kill the Circle and the Horde. She used you. Her power is a drug. And the amulet’s power lasts four days or until the one who took the amulet dies.”

  The cold water cleared his head.

  Darsal helped Silvie drink. She rubbed an itch on Silvie’s arm for her.

  “We can stop Sucrow. But first you have to drown. Both of you.”

  His mind reeled, desperate to keep up. Darsal was talking fast, and she couldn’t seem to stop moving. Johnis scowled.

  “Drown.”

  MARAK WATCHED THE DARK PRIEST FORCE EACH OF THE seven Eramites to their knees with Derias raging overhead. He struggled with Shaeda, tried reasoning with her. Take it, take it now! Before Josef and his lover come back! Before Sucrow takes the amulet’s power for himself!

  Shaeda wrapped herself around him like a robe and drew him into her seductive embrace. Her eyes drank him in, showed him what would befall. “A little longer, my pet, a little longer. We must wait until the other dies. Only then, only then . . .”

  Understanding flowed from her mind into his, her answer to his barely conjured question. They could not take the amulet from the priest. Marak felt a cold chill at the next revelation: they would have to take it from the Shataiki guardian. From Derias.

  His name brought bile into Shaeda’s mouth.

  She cut off the flow of thought and directed him once more to the crazed priest, drunk on his own asserted victory. Sucrow had not even noticed Marak here in the darkness, covered by whatever spell Shaeda cast over him.

  From the shadows came a figure Marak hadn’t noticed earlier but recognized now as Cassak, sword in hand.

  Cassak was with the priest? Focus. Marak gripped his knife. Shaeda spilled over him. So his favored captain thought him a traitor and sought ambition over friendship. Marak’s jaw tensed. How long had they been in league together?

  Everything started to make sense now. Sucrow had enchanted him. Cassak had changed sides.

  “My general, unfortunately his eagerness to attend your family was not for your benefit. He used them, used your pain, for his own glory. Such was he who determined they would never be released. Qurong would have relented . . . for he as well lost a child to the albinos.”

  He felt an invisible knife tear into his gut. Cassak had him convinced he’d had no choice. But why had Cassak lied? He’d killed them on principle. He’d taken Jordan and Rona and Grandfather out into the desert and slaughtered them like . . .

  The memory came back to him, stark and vivid as the day he’d gone with Cassak to do it. Thus far Marak had managed to silence it with Darsal, but now . . .

  He drew his knife and started after the priest and his treacherous captain.

  Shaeda’s talons dragged him back. He snarled. Let me go!

  Not yet, she insisted, not yet. Marak knew what was coming now, now that Sucrow took blood and sereken and poisons from deep within the desert’s bowels and mixed them in a stone bowl, chanting.

  Shaeda distracted him, setting his mind to Martyn’s journal, so similar to this—minus the key component. Martyn had been thorough. From various hints and implications—either overlooked or ignored in favor of war—Marak had been able to glean what poisons would react with an albino’s skin, what they would be susceptible to that a non-albino would not.

  He’d read it in Martyn’s journal, set his men to work making three copies of notes regarding the Desecration of the albinos. And he had watched as his family was eaten alive: their skin eroded away and stripped, their flesh boiled off their bones, their brittle gray skeletons turned to ash.

  Nothing could spare them now.

  Pay attention!

  Shaeda tightened her grip on him. Marak watched as Cassak executed the Eramites. His stomach curdled. For some reason his mind drifted to his last execution. Jordan’s screaming slammed into his head.

  No. He never was, nor would he ever be, like his brother.

  He was general to Qurong, trained by Martyn. And soon he would be greater than his lord.

  Again the Leedhan cut off his thoughts, bound his emotions to hers. The albinos would die by Shataiki swarm, their bodies torn to shreds, leaving them to rot on the desert floor.

  At last the final Eramite thumped lifeless to the ground.

  “Have no fear, general mine, for the end shall not be the same for you. You will be great among men, for you shall take such and wield against all who oppose you. The time grows nigh . . .”

  His attention centered on the priest, now surrounded by seven corpses along with his men. Sucrow took his knife and slit his own arm and mingled his blood into the mix of sacrificial elements.

  “Blood of the Chosen One,” Sucrow began. “Blood of the First and of the Ruler of men. Blood of the enemy, twicefold to die. Blood of the righteous, whose souls upward fly. Wine of the gods, elixir divine, grain of the earth, bound by mortal swine. Elements of air and water and fire; elements of earth, the living immortal mire.�
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  Marak’s hair rose, tickling his neck. His back and shoulders tensed. Once more his hand went for his knife. This was it. He had to act now. Already Derias was swooping, circling, lost in reverie and the anticipation of freedom.

  “Not yet!” Shaeda screamed in his head. The sound echoed, deafening him. He missed the rest of Sucrow’s opening, his final invocation. Shataiki wings thrummed. The end was in sight. Even Shaeda coiled up in anticipation, ready to spring at the last possible second. Sucrow continued his dark blessing.

  The wind picked up, and the flames from the torches swelled, burning so hot and bright that no one could look at them. Sucrow shouted over the din, his voice escalating. Below them the earth began to rumble. A few Throaters lost their balance. Shaeda held Marak fast.

  Sucrow’s staff was high overhead, gripped between both rotting hands, knuckles white. His face shone in self-made glory, as though he’d seen a vision of Teeleh himself. Marak’s heart thrummed.

  The spears began to pound against the earth. Below a shout went up, a chant from the warriors led by one of the commanders. “Death to the albinos! Slay them all! Find them from the four corners of the earth and cut them down! Let the sons of Tanis fall down dead, let them all be torn to shreds!”

  Marak fought for breath. Was that him or Shaeda?

  She cut off her thoughts and dug hard into his back with invisible claws. His nostrils flared. Time was growing short. So close, so close . . . Would Johnis die in time, or would she miss her final stroke?

  Kill them. Kill them all.

  Marak rushed forward and cut down two Throaters before Shaeda could stop him. He let out a scream that Shaeda cut short. The other Throaters turned, shocked to see him alive. He felt Shaeda dominating him, knew Sucrow was deliberately ignoring him, saw Cassak go for his sword . . .

  “Patience!”

  Sucrow’s final rite began. Still Shaeda held Marak back, her hypnotic gaze his only restraint. Derias circled once and landed to the side. Cassak and the Throaters shrank back from the sight. The Shataiki queen stood waiting, wings unfurled, talons curled.

  “And now, O guardian queen, blessed servant of the Great One, hear our emboldened request. For blood this day shall be spilled. A thousand years from now this day shall be remembered as the albinos’ final hour, when the Shataiki came unleashed, and in their blessed fury rid us of this bane! Come, come to me, and ready yourselves; come to the high priest of man and beast, and let forth your blood-driven fangs!”

  Marak and Shaeda both bristled.

  Come on! Die already!

  Shaeda’s lip curled. Marak’s curled. They both gave a low snarl. Marak could feel the end coming, the rush.

  How will we know Johnis is dead?

  Shaeda growled, frustrated with his questions. “Such will not be questionable. Take heed and behold!” Her grip tightened, as if checking the reins of a restless warhorse.

  Their clothes flapped around their bodies; the great Shataiki throng hissed and snapped, whipped into a hurricane around them, their beating wings a deafening roar, adding to the thunder and lightning.

  Sucrow chanted louder. Marak’s pulse spiked. The priest put the amulet on the end of his staff and raised it high above his head. The roar above and below swelled.

  And still Shaeda waited.

  thirty- two

  She really is trying to kill us.” Silvie groaned.

  “No, no, listen to me! So little time, so much to—” Darsal pulled at her hair and gave an exasperated cry. She drew a ragged breath and faced them, circling both of them. “Okay, you tried to bathe, didn’t you?”

  Lake water scalding his flesh, burning it off. He tried not to think about that. Besides, these waters were red, not green.

  “It’s been polluted,” Silvie said. “It doesn’t work. If you put us in there, we’ll die.”

  “In the green lakes you had to bathe once a day, and the scabbing disease always came back if you didn’t, right?”

  “Darsal, don’t make me go in the water.” Johnis stared at her.

  She couldn’t be serious. She couldn’t really mean to drown them. She couldn’t really be conspiring with Shaeda to kill him.

  “You’ve been with the Horde too long.”

  The pained look crossed her face again. “Maybe I have. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “The gen—”

  “Don’t talk to me about the general! Don’t talk to me about Marak.”

  Shaeda clamped down on him again, the moment of clarity lost. Her hypnotic eyes he could drown in . . . He had to die, for Shaeda. Could he do that? Did he want to?

  He should leave the Leedhan to wallow in her own failure. Silvie was right—she was a self-absorbed seductress, and she’d used him.

  No, that wasn’t true. Shaeda loved him, wanted him.

  And he wanted her.

  “Now listen to me,” Darsal said. “What if Elyon decided to make it so we didn’t have to keep bathing? What if he decided to change something? What if the water changed so that instead of just coating our skins with water, we drown ourselves in it? Do you see?”

  “I don’t. Why would Elyon change the rules? And I am not touching that water. Nor am I going to die.”

  Shaeda . . .

  “But you will, Johnis. The Shataiki can’t be trusted. As soon as Sucrow uses them to kill the Guard, Derias will turn on him and kill the Horde too. You remember watching them feed off the bodies after battle.”

  Johnis was having difficulty breathing. He felt numb. Darsal was making sense. He just couldn’t fathom the thought of getting in that water and inhaling it until the bubbles stopped.

  “You’re trying to kill us.”

  “Maybe.” Darsal dropped to her knees between them. “Or maybe I think the only way for you to stop Sucrow is to drown. I drowned, Johnis. Do I look dead?”

  Johnis didn’t answer.

  “Listen to me, Johnis. If nothing else, what’s your heart telling you? Here.”

  His heart. Johnis groaned. He didn’t know anymore. He wanted Shaeda, needed her. Hated her. Elyon help him, he wanted his entity back. The same one now determined to kill him at an albino’s hand.

  Fitting.

  “This is about the heart.” Darsal planted her index finger hard against the center of his chest. It hurt horribly. “This is about Elyon loving a Scab. He sent me to the Horde so I would love a Scab and love you.” Pause. “Sucrow will kill you. And I might drown you.” Her voice caught.

  Johnis wondered what had happened with Marak.

  “Johnis, Middle is dying. Sucrow is killing the Circle. Killing our families. Killing Thomas. Killing every human in this world.

  Decide.”

  “I’ll do it.” Silvie startled him. She pulled on her restraints. “For Elyon’s sake, let me up! I’ll do what you want. Just let me get up!”

  Darsal hurried to comply. Silvie rubbed her wrists.

  “Sil—”

  “I would rather drown myself than let Sucrow near me!”

  And Silvie dove in.

  Shaeda laughed at a joke only she seemed to grasp.

  “Silvie!” Johnis fought his chains. “Don’t let her die, Darsal! Don’t let her—”

  “Trust me, Johnis. Trust Elyon.” Darsal stood by the water’s edge. Her breath was shallow, and she didn’t move.

  “I don’t want to trust Elyon. I want Silvie to live! Let me up!”

  “If I let you up, will you drown?”

  “No! I’m going to jump in there and pull Silvie—”

  “That lake’s bigger and deeper than you think, Johnis. It’s no pool, and you won’t find Silvie. You’ll find something, but it won’t be Silvie. But you’ll see her when you come out, I think.”

  Something. Something in the water.

  Shaeda’s eyes . . . beckoning him as she’d done before . . .

  “You think!” Johnis started to weep. “Darsal, don’t kill her. Don’t kill Silvie. I’m sorry for everything. Just don’t kill her.”


  “I’m not killing her, Johnis.” Darsal released him from the stakes. He was on his feet before she grabbed him by the collar.

  “Oh yes, my pet, go to your little female . . . and drown with her.”

  “Now, listen to me. You jump in there, you won’t see Silvie. You have to trust Elyon or you will drown down there. You understand?”

  He stared down into the water that still rippled from Silvie’s plunge. The seconds ticked by. The impulse grew. Shaeda’s will wrenched at his throat.

  She was winning. Again. He couldn’t find his heart when all three of them were ripping it apart.

  Sweat collected on his forehead and down his neck and spine. Johnis tried to move forward, but Darsal had a vise grip on him and wouldn’t relent. Seconds turned to minutes. Silvie hadn’t yet surfaced. She was not going to die.

  “All right, all right. You win.”

  Darsal stared at him, searching his eyes for a trick. He pushed her hand away and pulled off his shirt.

  “You win.”

  thirty- three

  Johnis plunged into the cold water after Silvie and swam deep beneath the surface, looking for her. The red water was clear, but he saw nothing. He swam in a large circle, hoping for a glimpse.

  Was she already dead? Would her body sink or float if she was?

  Deeper still.

  More chuckling. Shaeda’s laugh ran his blood cold. “Perhaps. . .” His Leedhan’s haunting melody trickled through. “Perhaps she is deceased, as you shall be. My foolish, troubled pet, so arrogant, so weak . . . If you must know the truth, then yes . . . I have planned such from the beginning, and you have all played your parts so well.”

  You will not kill Silvie, he insisted within. That only amused Shaeda further.

  If Silvie was down here, he would find her, even if he had to drag her up from the bottom. The farther beneath the surface he went, the warmer the water became. Johnis swam faster, listening for any sign of struggle, any gasping for air indicating she was caught.

  “Shall I tell you what I will do, my pet? I have indeed taken another for my own, a new lover . . . one whose heart is fully devoted to my will, unlike you . . . you who always found me second to your troublesome female . . .”