Lunatic (15 page)

So loud Darsal thought her bones would shatter into a million pieces.

I never abandoned you, Darsal. I've heard you, and I am here.

And then her heart began to pump. Blood filled her veins and circulated on its course. Her mind cleared, and red light swarmed her. She was surfacing, fast, and a tingling sensation made her quiver. Dizzying.

Darsal, Darsal, Darsal. Don't you know I love you and I made you and I love the way I made you?

She looked around for the voice in the water. "I'm a traitor. I've done-"

I am not yet done with you.

"I will do whatever you ask of me."

Then return to the Horde and love them for me. For johnis.

Suspended beneath the surface, having died and come back to life, Darsal didn't, for a single breath of the living water, question Elyon's request.

"I will. I Will, I will!"

And then the water was silent and she was rising quickly.

Darsal's eyes widened when she broke the face of the water, lungs still heavy. She clambered over the ledge and pulled herself out. Fell forward and vomited water. Lots of water. Multiple liters of water.

She sputtered and coughed up the rest, then started to laugh and cry at the same time. Pale light glowed through the gap in the spider trees and lit the pool bloodred. She looked down at her smooth, tanned skin.

Her eyes widened.

She'd really breathed Elyon's water.

She'd swum with him, heard his voice, felt the disease melt away from her riddled body.

She had died and come to life!

The words echoed through her mind.

Return to the Horde and love them for me. For johnis.

Heart still pounding, Darsal dressed, pants, tunic, boots. Horde cloak. Then reached for the sword. She hesitated, then held the weapon in both hands. She'd told Johnis she wasn't ready. Not after the carnage she'd caused.

Not after the innocents she'd killed.

She drew her blade from its scabbard, studied it a minute, then pushed it back into its leather covering and tied the sheath to her back.

Something caught her attention. One of the trees. In the dim light she couldn't make it out.

Darsal came closer. Something was carved in the wood. Curious in a hiding place so closely guarded.

Then she saw it: a crudely carved book. Not just any book.

A Book of History.

"I'm going to beat him."

But her initial irritation turned to a broad grin. She couldn't help it. Johnis and Silvie were alive! And they'd found the pool. Had they drowned?

No, they wouldn't know about Elyon's waters turning red.

Elyon's command took on new meaning. Darsal's mind reeled with the implications.

Jordan indicated the Circle was in the northwest desert.

If she could rescue Jordan and the other two, maybe they could all find Johnis and Silvie and make sure they drowned. Then they could find the Guard.

Return to the Horde and love them for me. For Johnis.

Jordan. Johnis. Forest Guard. Then she would find out what loving the Horde could possibly mean.

"Go ON, MARAK," CASSAK SAID QUIETLY. "I'LL HANDLE the cleanup."

His general said nothing.

"Go home," Cassak persisted.

Marak wouldn't look at him. He gave a brief nod and mounted his horse. Started back toward the city. Those last moments had been quiet.

The albinos had finally stopped screaming.

In the end they clenched their teeth and died in silent defiance.

Cassak sat on a rock, slowly wiping blood off his sword. Marak's Desecration test proved a success. The three albinos were dead.

A shame the fourth escaped.

His men carried off the bodies to be destroyed.

"Nicely done, eh?" Warryn sneered beside him.

Cassak raised his head, scowling, and followed the throater's gaze to Marak's shrinking form.

"Now maybe his head's cleared," the throater continued. "Our orders are to round up the rest."

"Your orders. Mine are elsewhere."

"Eram comes second to the albinos."

Cassak's eyes narrowed. "We will see."

DARSAL SKIDDED TO A STOP AT THE TOP OF A HILL OVERlooking the city of Middle. The sun blazed overhead. Far below and to her left, out several hundred feet, was the edge of Middle Lake, murky and brown, with the bridge crossing over to the ominous thrall. Directly across and on her right was the palace and the Horde's dungeon.

The whole place crawled with Scabs.

Return to the Horde and love them for me. For johnis.

Now she was here with the disgusting smell and sights and wondering what in the world Elyon had meant. Maybe `them' meant Jordan and his wife and grandfather.

She could love them.

For a second the despair that had overwhelmed her tickled the back of her mind, crept up with steel claws, and caressed her spine and neck. She swallowed and shook her head.

She wasn't alone.

Jordan had told her the truth.

Now she needed to sneak back in, brave his "I told you so," and get all of them out of this place.

They would escape into the desert.

To whatever refuge Elyon had planned for them.

Darsal climbed back down the hillside and pondered her next move. She would rely on stealth. Less was more.

She soon found the dungeons, as bleak on the outside as they were on the inside.

Her courage wavered only a moment.

Darting in, Darsal slipped past the guard and into the darkness. Several torches lit the way. She took one and came down the staircase into the long hall, past several corridors, and into what used to be the cells she shared with the others.

She tried the door. Unlocked. Breathless, she burst inside and called out softly. "Jordan!" She raced to their cells, imagining their faces. "Thank Elyon you were ..."

No one answered.

Darsal nearly fell into the bars.

Ronas cage was empty. So were Jordan's and Xedan's.

Blood stained the back wall and the dirt floor.

Her brow furrowed, arms limp at her sides, mind refusing to understand.

"Jordan?"

Maybe it was the wrong cell. She'd gone the wrong way, chased an empty room.

The dungeon ran cold. Every ounce of excitement crashed out of her body. Her limbs felt stiff and icy.

No, this was the right room. Their blankets and Xedan's tattered cloak were still within the empty prison cells.

"Dead," came a rich, gruff voice from behind. Only now did she notice that atrocious Scab scent. "Jordan of Southern is dead."

The torch fell from her hand, landed on hard-packed dirt, and snuffed out in an instant. Darsal felt her balance start to give. She put her hand on the iron bar. There was no way she would collapse like a child in front of this Scab.

She continued to stare at the empty cages.

"As you will be," the voice finished. Shuffling feet told Darsal that more were with him. The scuffling and short whispers fell very still.

She turned to face her captor, unslung her sword.

General Marak's tall, lean frame filled the doorway. His scaly, battle-scarred face was set, jaw clenched. Gray eyes overcast and dark. Brow creased in an emotion Darsal couldn't place. He wore tans and browns, two knives on each thigh, and a sword across his back. Behind him was a commander.

But why was he here?

For a long minute they merely regarded each other with penetrating stares. His hand was on the hilt of his sword. He hadn't drawn it. He shouldn't have been able to walk up on her. She should be wiping his blood off her blade.

Return to the Horde and love them for me. For johnis.

She could still fight her way out. This general hadn't expected anyone alive, much less free and armed, down here. She couldn't love her three cellmates if they were dead. Maybe Marak was hiding them somewhere.

No, Darsal. Love this one.

This Scab?

Bile rose in her throat. Never.

The commander grabbed at her wrists. Darsal slammed her fist into his nose, then her elbow. He went backward. She raised her sword to swing it, then paused midstroke.

That cost her. The commander recovered, slapped her sword away, and shoved her to her knees. Her sword clattered to the floor. Marak picked it up.

Darsal struggled. Only at Elyon's quiet prompting did she fall still. You want me to love this Scab?

The silent affirmative unnerved her.

Marak was still staring. Darsal swallowed her pride. Whatever Elyon meant, fine. She would try. But her cellmates ...

"They're really dead?" she asked.

Marak's eyes had a soft cast to them that hadn't been there before. What color would his eyes be, beneath the disease that slowly rotted him through?

Stop this nonsense. He's a Scab. Why should I care?

Elyon's words still echoed.

"You want me to kill her, sir?"

Marak held up his hand. "Why are you here?"

Once more Jordan's expression came to mind. None of them had hated her. None of them.

Return to the Horde and love them, Elyon had said. But what was it he wanted? She couldn't save the three Forest Guard if they were already dead. And she couldn't escape now to help Johnis and find the others.

"Their executions were moved up because they helped you escape," the general said.

"But they didn't ..." Darsal tried to rise but was forced back down. Her knees slammed into the ground. Jordan's necklace bounced off her chin.

"I see their effort was in vain." Marak pushed past her, past Rona's cage, and entered Jordan's. Why was he so concerned over this particular albino?

Old memories came back, something Johnis once said. His compassion for a Scab had gotten them in a world of trouble once. He'd looked at one the same way Jordan had this one.

"I came for them," Darsal said. "I was coming to help them escape."

She watched Marak search for something, not find it, and swear softly. He balled his fists. "You knew he would die."

"I didn't." Her mind struggled to understand him and couldn't. There was nothing to understand. He blamed her needlessly for executing three albinos.

"Kill her," Marak ordered.

No! Elyon wasn't done with her! An impulse nibbled at her mind, chewing in the back and daring her.

She fought it, digging her elbows at the Scab again.

The commander's rough hand forced her head down. Her nose struck the floor. Darsal sprang half up before the sword touched her neck.

Love him.

The sword was coming down. How to ...

"Let me serve you." The words were out before she realized it, barely audible. But her mind caught up, and she knew there was no bluff.

There would be no heroic rescue, no escape.

But maybe, maybe there was still a point to all of this.

Maybe the mission with the books had been only the prologue for something more-something greater.

Greater than saving the world?

Maybe Elyon was doing something else.

The sword did not fall.

She stared up at Marak. At the gray eyes and repulsive skin. Yes. Maybe she could live among Scabs. Her mission would be to love them.

To serve this one. Love this one. This beast of a man who would sooner take her head than look at her.

Penance. She'd stolen life in her bitterness over Billos's death. Now maybe she could save life.

"I will serve you." Her voice was confident this time. Whatever loving a Scab was, that was her mission and her penance.

His commander cuffed her head. He repositioned his sword.

Marak lifted his hand to stop the man.

"Sir?"

"Let her finish," he growled. He was looking at her again with that unreadable expression.

The commander silenced. Marak waited.

"Let me be your slave." Elyon help her, she was begging a Scab for her life. Thomas wouldn't be pleased. Billos would call her a baby. Maybe she was.

She didn't know what else to say. That he had stayed his commander said he was at least considering the idea. And if he was even considering, for whatever reason ran through his head, that meant maybe Elyon had put the otherwise repulsive notion of being a slave-worse, slave to a Scab-in her head.

Darsal waited. Jordan's necklace swung on her neck. A beat.

"General?" the commander asked.

Marak was staring at her, at the dangling necklace. Her heart skipped a few beats. She looked him in the eyes. Refused to look away.

The general forced her head back by a tuft of hair. She stared up into Marak's unyielding gaze. He shoved her forward. "Get her in chains."

he disease was settling in. Johnis walked faster to ignore his stiff joints and sore muscles, but that was no longer helping.