White

by Ted Dekker

  Thomas took him with a foot to his temple, one swift roundhouse kick that landed with a sickening thud. Then a clatter as the man collapsed on the metal folding chair he’d been using.

  Thomas didn’t bother covering his tracks. No time. He did, however, pluck the nine-millimeter from the man’s hand. Short of finding a key to the cell, he would blow the door off its hinges. Noisy but effective.

  First the phone.

  He passed a window and saw a least a dozen guards milling around the driveway, smoking. They were mostly ranking French military, he noted. Not thugs you’d find in the underground. That would be a concern in a few minutes. Phone—where was the phone?

  On the wall, naturally. Black and outdated like most things in the French countryside. He dug in his pocket, relieved to find the card Grant had given him in Washington. On the back, scrawled in pencil, a direct line to the White House.

  Thomas snatched up the phone and dialed the long number.

  Silence.

  For a moment he feared the lines were out. Naturally, the French would monitor all calls. Getting through would be impossible.

  The line suddenly clicked. Then hissed for a while. He prayed the call would connect.

  “You have reached the White House. Please listen closely, as our menu options have changed. You may press zero at any time to speak to an operator . . .”

  Hand trembling. Zero.

  A switchboard operator answered after four rings. “White House.”

  “This is Thomas Hunter. I’m in France and I need to speak to the president immediately.”

  8

  Then you were clearly mistaken,” Woref said. “Whatever you think you saw was never there.”

  Soren shook his head. “I could swear that I saw the albino shift an object under his tunic just before falling asleep. He managed to hide something from us during our initial search.”

  “But there is no object; you said so yourself. Get some sleep while you can. We raise the army in four hours. Leave me.”

  Soren bowed. “Yes sir.” He left his commander alone in the tent.

  They’d made good time and stopped for a few hours’ sleep in the dead of night. Tomorrow they would enter the city and receive their reward for Thomas of Hunter’s capture.

  They had forced the albinos to walk most of the way, carrying their chains, and they had fallen asleep almost immediately, according to Soren. Even if Hunter had managed to conceal a weapon in the folds of his tunic, they had little to fear from him now. The once-mighty warrior was a shell of his former self. He’d not only stripped himself of healthy flesh by dipping in the red pools, but he’d lost his manhood in the process. Hunter was nothing more than a diseased rodent, and his only threat to the Horde was the spread of his disease.

  Woref removed the hard leather breastplate and set it on the floor beside his cot. A single lamp spewed black smoke. He ran his hand over his hairy chest, brushed away the flecks of dried skin that had fallen on his apron, and pulled on a nightshirt. The day that he would finally take Chelise into his house as wife had come. The thought made his belly feel light.

  He drew back the tent flap and stepped into the cool night. They’d camped in a meadow that sloped away from the forest. From his vantage he could see the entire army, settled for the night, some in hastily erected tents, most around smoldering fire pits. They’d celebrated with ale and meat, both delicacies over the standard rations of fermented water and starch.

  The prisoners lay uncovered twenty yards to his right, under the standing guard of six warriors. Woref grunted and headed for the tree line to relieve himself.

  A deeper darkness settled over him when he stepped past the first trees. The Horde preferred day over night, mostly due to unfounded tales in which Shataiki lured men into the trees to consume them alive. Until this moment, Woref had never given any such myth a second thought.

  But now, with blackness pressing his skin, all those stories crashed through his mind. He stopped and gazed at the trunks ahead. Turned and saw that the camp slept as peacefully as a moment ago.

  Woref spit into the leaves and walked deeper, leaving the relative safety of the meadow behind. But not far enough to lose complete sight of the camp.

  “Wwrrrreffffffffsssssssss.”

  He stopped, startled by the sound of his name, whispering through the night. The trees rose like charcoal marks against the dark forest. He had imagined . . .

  “Woreffff.”

  He grabbed the hilt of his short sword and spun back.

  Nothing. Trees, yes. A thick forest of trees. But he couldn’t see the camp any longer. He’d wandered too deep.

  “You’re looking the wrong direction, my beast of a man.”

  The sound came from behind. Woref couldn’t remember the last time terror had gripped him in its fist. It wasn’t just the darkness, nor the whis-pering of his name, nor the disappearing of the camp. His horror was primarily motivated by the voice.

  He knew this voice!

  Gravel sloshing at the bottom of a water pail.

  He’d never actually heard the voice of Shataiki before, but he knew now, without looking, that the voice behind him belonged to a creature from the myths.

  “No need to be afraid. Turn around and face me. You’ll like what you see. I promise you.”

  Woref kept his hand on his blade, but any thought of drawing it had fled with his common sense. He found himself turning.

  The tall batlike creature that stood facing him between two trees not ten feet away looked remarkably similar to the bronze-winged serpent on the Horde’s crest. This one, though, was larger than any of the stories claimed.

  This was Teeleh.

  The bat drilled him with round, pupilless red eyes. Bulging cherries. His fur was black and his snout ran long to loose lips that hung over yellow-crusted fangs.

  The leader of the Shataiki grinned and held a red fruit in his wiry and nimble fingers. “That’s right. In the flesh.”

  Teeleh sank his fangs into the fruit’s meat. Juice mixed with saliva dripped to the forest floor. He said the name, speaking through smacking lips.

  “Teeleh.”

  Woref closed his eyes for a moment, sure that if he kept them shut long enough, the vision would vanish.

  “Open your eyes!” Teeleh roared.

  Hot, sweet breath buffeted Woref ’s face, and he jerked his eyes open. He reached for the tree on his right to steady himself.

  “Are all humans so weak?” the bat demanded.

  Had Soren or the others heard Teeleh’s cry? They would come . . .

  “No. No, I don’t think anyone will come running to your aid. And if you think you need their help, then you’ll prove me wrong. I’ve been grooming the wrong man.”

  Woref ’s terror began to fade. The bat hadn’t attacked him. Hadn’t bitten him. Hadn’t harmed him in any way.

  “Do you know what love is, Woref?”

  He hardly heard the question.

  “You’re real,” Woref said.

  “Love.” The bat took another bite. This time he lifted his snout, opened his mouth wide, let the fruit drop into his throat, and swallowed it with a pool of fluid. When his head lowered, his eyes were closed. They opened slowly. “Will you have some?”

  Woref didn’t respond.

  “You don’t mind me saying that you humans make me sick, do you? Even you, the one I’ve chosen.”

  The leaves in the trees behind Teeleh rustled, and Woref lifted his face to a sea of red eyes glowing in the darkness. The rustling spread to his left, his right, and behind and seemed to swallow him.

  A bat the size of a dog dropped to the ground behind Teeleh. Eyes gleaming, furry skin quivering. Then another, beside him. And another. They fell like rotten fruit.

  “My servants,” Teeleh said. “It’s been awhile since I’ve allowed them to show themselves. They’re quite excited. Ignore them.”

  The bats kept their distance but stared at him, unblinking.

  “Do you
love her?” Teeleh asked.

  “Chelise?”

  “He speaks. Yes, the daughter of Qurong, firstborn among the humans who drank my water. Do you love her?”

  “She will be my wife.” Woref ’s throat felt parched, his tongue dry like morst in his mouth.

  “That’s the idea, I know. But do you love her? Not like I love her—I don’t expect you to love her so exquisitely—but as the love of a man goes. Do you feel overpowering emotion for her?”

  “Yes.” The Shataiki were here to bless his union? That might be a good sign.

  “And this love you think you have for her, how can you be sure she will return it?”

  “She will. Why wouldn’t she?”

  “Because she’s human. Humans make their own choices about their loyalties. That’s what makes them who they are.”

  “She will love me,” Woref said confidently.

  “Or?”

  He hadn’t really considered the matter. “I am a powerful man who will one day rule the Horde. It’s a woman’s place to serve men like me. I’m not sure you understand who you’re talking to.”

  “I am talking to the man who owes me his life.”

  Teeleh tossed what was left of his fruit to the ground and wrapped his wide, paperthin wings around his torso. The Shataiki was taking credit for Woref ’s rise to power?

  “Yes, she will be lured by your power and your strength, but don’t assume that she will give you her love. She’s deceived like the rest of you, but she seems to be more stubborn than most.”

  They still hadn’t made any move against him. Clearly, the Shataiki, regardless of their fierce reputation, meant him no harm. Teeleh seemed more concerned with his marriage to Chelise than with destroying him.

  “I’m not sure what this had to do with you,” he said, gaining more confidence.

  “It has to do with me because I love her far more than you could ever imagine. I broke Tanis’s mind, and now I will have his daughter’s heart.”

  Fear smothered Woref again.

  “Do you hear what I’m saying? I will possess her. I will crush her and then I will consume her, and she will be mine.”

  “I . . . How—”

  “Through you.”

  “You’re asking me to kill her? Never! I have waited years to make her mine.”

  The night grew perfectly quiet. For a long time the bat’s red eyes drilled Woref. The Shataiki were growing restless, hopping from branch to branch, hissing and snickering.

  “Clearly, you don’t understand what love is. I want her heart, not her life. If I wanted to kill her, I would use her father.” Teeleh rolled his head and momentarily closed his eyes. “You’re as wretched as she is. You’re all as blind as bats.” He unfolded his wings and stepped forward. “But you will win her love. I don’t care if you have to beat it out of her.”

  Teeleh approached slowly, dragging his wings through dead leaves. Woref ’s limbs began to tremble. He couldn’t move.

  “I don’t care if you have to club it out of her; you will earn her loyalty and her love. I will not lose her to the albinos. And then you will give her to me.”

  Where he found the sudden strength to resist, Woref wasn’t sure, but a blind rage swept over him. “I could never give her to you. She would never love you!”

  “When she loves you, she will love me,” Teeleh said. Louder now. “He will try to win her love, but she will come to me. Me!”

  And then Teeleh leaned forward so that his snout was only inches from Woref ’s face. The bat’s jaw spread wide so that the only thing Woref could see was a long pink tongue snaking back into the black hole that was the bat’s throat. A hot, foul stench smothered him.

  Teeleh withdrew, snapped his jaw closed with a loud snap.

  “I have shown you my power; now I will show you my heart,” he said. “I will show you my love.”

  Teeleh swept his wing around himself and grinned wickedly. With a parting razor-sharp glare, he leaped into the air, flew into the trees, and was gone. The branches shook as his minions scattered into darkness.

  Woref felt hot tears running down his cheeks. He still couldn’t move, much less understand.

  I will show you my heart. My love.

  Then Woref was throwing up.

  9

  Follow me,” Merton Gains said.

  Monique followed him through a short hall to a conference room off the West Wing.

  “Kara’s in with him. The president’s got his hands full with the crisis in the Middle East, and he’s got a room full of advisors, but he insisted you come in after hearing Kara. Just tread lightly. They’re pretty high-strung in there.”

  The conference room that Monique walked into was large enough to seat at least twenty people around an oval table. A dozen advisors and military types were seated or standing. A few talked in hushed tones at one side. The rest were staring at three large screens, which tracked the unfolding situation in the Middle East and France.

  “Sir, I have Benjamin on the line.”

  “Put him through,” the president said.

  The receiver buzzed and he picked it up.

  “Hello, Mr. Prime Minister. I hope you have good news for me.”

  Monique scanned the room for Kara. Their eyes met, and Thomas’s sister walked toward her.

  “I agree, Isaac, and I don’t necessarily blame you for pushing this,” the president was saying. “But even in the remotest mountain range, you’re bound to have casualties. We don’t see how any further escalation will benefit you.”

  Another pause.

  “Naturally. I understand principle.” The president sighed. “It’s an impossible situation, I agree. But we still have time. Let’s not wipe out our cities before we have to.”

  Kara stopped three feet from Monique, eyes wide. “You disappeared,” she said quietly.

  “My car ran off the road.”

  “You were hurt?”

  “No. I just blacked out.”

  “You did?”

  Why was this so striking to Kara?

  The president had finished his call.

  “You were dead,” Kara said.

  “You mean figuratively. My car slammed into a tree and knocked me out.”

  “You remember that? Or did you just pass out before the car rolled off the road?”

  Kara was right. Monique had no memory of actually flying over the edge. “I passed out first.”

  “I was there, Monique. With Mikil. I dreamed as Mikil. Rachelle was killed by the Horde thirteen months ago. Because of your unique connection to her, I think you died when she died. You believed that you were Rachelle, right?”

  “Rachelle’s dead?”

  “Thirteen months ago.”

  “But I’m alive. I’m not sure I follow.”

  “I’ll explain later, but I’m pretty sure you were dead.”

  “And Thomas?”

  “Thomas is alive. At least, in the desert he’s alive. Rachelle found him dead in the Horde camp and healed him with Justin’s power. You know about Justin’s power, don’t you?”

  “Yes. And is Thomas alive here?”

  Kara looked deep into her eyes. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

  “Excuse me,” the president said. “You’re saying that Monique died last night?”

  “Sir?”

  He held up his hand to silence his chief of staff.

  “Monique?”

  “Yes, I think she’s right. I know it sounds crazy, but if Rachelle was killed in the other reality, I would have died here. We were . . . connected.”

  “Connected how?”

  “Belief. Knowledge.” Monique looked at Kara. A small part of her still remembered Thomas’s first lieutenant, Mikil, from the short time she’d lived as Rachelle.

  “Sir, I think you should take this call,” Ron Kreet pressed.

  “Who is it?” the president demanded without removing his eyes from Monique.

  “He says he’s Thomas Hunter.”

&n
bsp; The president turned around. “Thomas Hunter?”

  “I knew it!” Kara whispered. “The Horde didn’t kill him!”

  “He says he has information critical to the standoff with Israel.”

  “Put him on speaker.”

  The chief of staff punched a button and set the receiver in its cradle. “Mr. Hunter, I have the president on the line. You’re on a speakerphone. Your sister and Monique de Raison are here as well.”

  The line remained silent.

  “Thomas?” the president said.

  “Hello, Mr. President. Monique is alive, then?”

  “She’s standing right here with Kara.”

  “The Book works.”

  “What book?” the president asked.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. President. Kara can explain later. Did the others escape?”

  “They’re safe,” Kara said.

  “What’s this about?” President Blair asked.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Thomas said. “I know it isn’t making a lot of sense, but you have to listen carefully. The French intend to offer the antivirus to Israel in an open-sea exchange five days from now. The offer is genuine. If Israel calls their bluff and launches another strike, Fortier will retaliate by taking out Tel Aviv.”

  The president slowly sat. “You’re sure about this?”

  “Yes sir, I am. I can also tell you that they won’t tolerate the existence of a United States postvirus. Can you get me out of here?”

  Blair glanced up at a general, who nodded.

  “I’ll let General Peters give you some coordinates. Are you sure you can make it?”

  “No.”

  Blair paused, then said, “I’m giving the phone to Peters. Godspeed, Thomas. Get back to us.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The general picked up the phone and talked quickly, feeding Thomas with basic instructions and coordinates for a pickup point fifty miles south of Paris.

  “Get the Israeli prime minister on the phone now,” the president instructed Kreet. Then to Monique and Kara: “I think I deserve an explanation.”

  Kara was staring at the floor. She lifted a hand and pulled absently at her hair. “I have to get back and tell Mikil that he’s with the Horde.”