White (13 page)

“Take them to the deepest chamber,” Woref said. He spit to one side. “They speak to no one other than myself and the high priest. If they escape, I will personally see to the drowning of the entire temple guard.”

He turned and left them without another glance.

They were marched toward the amphitheater where they'd judged and sentenced Justin. But there was no amphitheater now. It had been filled in. No, not filled in, Thomas realized. Covered. They were being marched to an entrance that led into the dungeons where the amphitheater once stood.

Thomas glanced at Cain and Stephen, who had helped with this construction before drowning in the red waters. They both stared ahead, eyes glazed.

“Elyon's strength,” Thomas said softly.

The guards either didn't hear him or didn't mind him invoking the common greeting. They themselves now referred to Teeleh as Elyon, though they didn't seem to notice the incongruity of the practice.

The dungeons were dark and smelled of mildew. The albinos were herded down a long flight of stone steps, along a wet corridor, and pushed into a twenty-by-twenty cell with bronze bars. A single shaft of light, roughly a foot square, filtered through an air vent in the ceiling.

The gate crashed shut. The guards ran a thick bolt into the wall, locked it down with a key, and left them.

Something dripped nearby—a single drop every four or five seconds. Water, muddy or pure, would be a welcome taste now. A distant clang of the outer gate echoed down the stairs.

Thomas sank to his haunches along one wall, and the others followed suit. They'd been on their feet since being wakened in the desert for the last leg of their march.

For a long minute no one spoke. William broke the silence.

“Well, we've done it now. This is our tomb.” There was no levity in his voice. No one bothered to challenge him.

The outer door clanged again. Boots clomped down the stairs. They could hear any such approach, not that knowing when the executioner entered the dungeon would be any consolation.

A new guard came into view and shoved a container through the bars. “Water,” he said. He pointed at Thomas. “Drink it.”

Thomas glanced at the others then walked over and picked up the pitcher. He knew by the smell that they'd mixed rhambutan juice with the water, but he had no choice. It went down cool and sweet.

Satisfied, the guard retreated without waiting for the others to drink. They drained the entire pitcher before the outer gate closed.

Once again they sat in silence.

“Any ideas?” Thomas asked.

“We won't dream now,” William said.

“Right.”

“Which means you can't go to this other world of yours and retrieve any information that might help us out. Like you did when we made the black powder.”

“That's right. I'm stuck here. I could spend a month in this dungeon while only minutes or hours pass there.”

“And what's happening there?” he asked. William was starting to believe, Thomas saw.

“I'm sleeping on an airplane after barely making a helicopter pickup south of Paris.”

The explanation earned him a blank stare.

“You know the daughter of Qurong,” Suzan said. “She was the one who gave you a horse once.”

His mind was drawn back to Chelise. She was facing her own kind of execution without even knowing it. Why was this a concern of Suzan's?

“You're thinking something?”

“No. Only that she seemed to be taken with you.”

William scoffed. “With his death, you mean. She's a Scab!”

“She's also a woman,” Suzan said.

“So is her mother. The old witch is worse than Qurong.”

“Let her speak,” Thomas said. To Suzan: “She's a woman; what of it?”

“She might think differently than her father. Not about us, mind you. But she may be more reasoned than Qurong.”

“Reasoned about what?” William asked. “She would just as soon see us dead as her father would.”

“Reasoned about the Books of Histories.”

Thomas blinked in the dim light. “The Books of Histories?”

“The Horde still has them, right?”

“As far as we know.”

“And you have special knowledge concerning the histories.”

“I don't see—”

“Didn't you say that she was fascinated by the histories when you met her in the desert?”

Thomas suddenly saw where she was going. He stood slowly.

“If you could win an audience with her,” Suzan continued, “and persuade her that you can show her how to read the histories, she might have the influence to delay our execution. Or at least yours.”

“But how would I win an audience with her?”

“This is lunacy,” William said. “The Horde can't even read the Books of History!”

“We don't know that they can't be taught.” Thomas said. “Suzan may be on to something.”

“And what would delaying our execution accomplish?” William objected.

“Are you going to argue with everything?” Thomas demanded. “We aren't exactly brimming with alternatives here. Give her a chance.”

He turned back to Suzan. “On the other hand, he does have a point. I doubt a Scab can be taught to read the Books of Histories. They can't decipher the truth in them.”

“Did the blank Book work?” she asked.

The Book had crossed over into the other reality. When it disappeared, Thomas had offered no explanation to his comrades. “Yes. Yes, as a matter of fact it did.”

“Are there more blank Books?”

He hadn't considered the possibility. “I don't know.”

“You may not be able to get an audience with Chelise, but Ciphus will see you,” Suzan said. “Make him promises concerning the power of the blank Books.”

“They don't work in this reality.”

“Promises, Thomas. Only promises.”

Then Thomas saw the entire plan clearly. He spun to Cain. “How do I get the attention of a guard?”

12

F
ive fully armed Scabs led Thomas into the Thrall through a back entrance. The entire structure was built with the original Thrall in mind. Without the option of colored wood, Ciphus had used mud and then covered the mud with dyed thatch work—Horde handiwork. The large circular floor in the domed auditorium was green, again dyed thatch work instead of the glowing resin once shaped by the hands of innocent men. Hundreds of worshipers lay prostrate around the circumference, with only their heads and hands in the green circle.

It was as if they were paying homage to this green lake.

The primary departure from the original Thrall was the large statue of the winged serpent, which stood on top of the dome. A smaller replica hung from its crest inside.

This was Teeleh's Thrall.

Thomas was pushed past the auditorium into a hall and then into a side office, where a single hooded man stood with his back to the door, staring out of a small window. The door closed behind Thomas.

He stood in chains before a large wooden slab, a desk of sorts, bordered on each side with bronze statues of the winged serpent. Candles blazed from two large candlesticks, spewing their oily smoke to the ceiling.

The man turned slowly. Thomas's first thought was that Ciphus had become a ghost. The powder on his face was as white as the robe he wore, and his eyes only a shade darker.

The high priest stared at him like a cat, emotionless, arms folded into draping sleeves that hid his hands.

“Hello, Thomas.”

Thomas dipped his head slightly. “Ciphus. It's good to see you, old friend.”

For a long time the high priest just looked at him, and Thomas refused to speak again. He would play and win this purposeful game.

Ciphus stepped to a tall flask on his desk and gripped its narrow neck with his long white fingers. He was wearing the same powder as Chelise and her mother had worn, Thomas guessed. The cracked skin was still visible beneath, but not in the same scaly fashion that characterized the scabies.

The priest poured a green liquid into a chalice. “Drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“You sure? It's fruit juice.”

“We have fruit, Ciphus. Have you tasted it?”

“Your bitter seeds? Your preference for that should be the first indicator that you've lost your senses. The birds and the animals eat bitter seeds eagerly. So do you.” He took a sip of the fruit juice.

“Do the seeds eaten by animals also heal them?” Thomas asked.

“No. But animals don't practice sorcery. Which is the one clear indication that you're not truly animals either. So then, what are you, Thomas? You're clearly no longer human; one look at your flesh is proof enough. And you're not really an animal like they all say. Then what are you? Hmm? Other than enemies of Elyon?”

“We are the followers of Justin, who is Elyon.”

“Please, not in here,” Ciphus said with lips drawn. “We are in his temple; I will not have you utter such blasphemy here.” He set the glass down carefully. “You requested an audience. I assume that you intend to beg for your life. You defy me and my council when you have your sword, and now you beg at my feet when I have you in chains, is that it?”

“You don't have me in chains. Qurong does.”

“And where is Justin now? I would have thought he would come riding in on a white horse to draw a protective line in the sand for you.”

“You can't go on pretending that nothing happened when you killed him, Ciphus.”

“Martyn killed him!” Ciphus snapped. “Your precious Johan killed him!”

“And you allowed him to. Johan has found new life. You still live in your death.”

“You're wrong. Justin's death
proves
that you're wrong. Only a simpleton could ever be convinced that Elyon would die. Or
could
die, for that matter. You live in this silly condition of yours because of your own fool-ishness in following Justin's charade. It is Teeleh's judgment against you.”

“Teeleh's judgment?”

“Don't try your trickery on me,” Ciphus snapped. “Elyon has judged you.”

“You said Teeleh's judgment.”

“I would never even speak that name in the holy place. Don't put words in my mouth.”

He hadn't heard himself. He wasn't only blind to the truth; he was deaf. A man to be pitied, not hated.

“Justin's alive, Ciphus. One day, sooner or later, you'll see that. He will not rest until his bride returns to him.”

“What nonsense are you talking about now? What bride?”

“That is what he calls us. You. Any who would embrace his invitation to the Great Romance.”

“By drowning? How absurd!”

“By dying to this disease that hangs off your skin and blinds your eyes. By finding a new life with him.”

Ciphus frowned and paced along his desk, hands behind his back.

“How did you turn the lake brown?” Thomas asked.

“We drained the defiled water and filled the lake from the spring. We had to get back to the Great Romance; I'm sure you understand. The people went two weeks without bathing, and it was only by the grace of Elyon that he didn't punish us for our indiscretion. An indis-cretion that was yours, may I remind you.”

“So you're all back to normal here. Bathing away a disease that remains.”

“The disease is in the mind, not the skin, you fool. It manifests itself in the cult of yours. What do you call it? The Circle?”

“It represents the circle of marriage.”

“So you are married to Elyon?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“And what manner is that?”

“In the same way that he is a lion or a lamb or a boy or Justin.”

Ciphus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Elyon, give me strength. I can see that you will insist on dying. I had hoped I could help you see sense, Thomas. I really had. The supreme leader listens to me, you know. I may have been able to turn him.”

“And you still may.”

“Not now. Not with your stubborn heart.”

“I'm not suggesting you turn him for my sake,” Thomas said. “For yours.”

“Hmm? Is that right? I, arguably the most powerful man alive, need your help? How benevolent of you.”

“Yes. In all of this building with mud and dabbling in your new lake, you may have missed a point.”

Ciphus stared at him. “Go ahead.”

“You are not the most powerful man in the world, though arguably you should be. Unfortunately, you are simply a pawn of Qurong's.”

“Nonsense!”

“He tolerates you as matter of expedience. His motives are purely political.”

“This talk will win you an execution!”

“I've already won an execution. Surely you see what I'm saying, Ciphus. I just came from Qurong's castle. He has no shred of interest in the Great Romance. He knows that making his people subject to a higher power will only strengthen his power over them. He is using you to put a hold on his people.”

“There always has been a tension between politics and religion, hasn't there?” Ciphus said. “When you were in your right mind, did the people follow you, or did they follow me?”

“We followed Elyon. The Great Romance was always first! And now you've let that monster in the castle make a fool of you by putting you underneath him.”

Ciphus froze halfway through Thomas's point, perhaps as much in fear of being overheard as because of any chord it struck in him. Thomas had to walk a thin line.

“No?” he pushed. “Then consider this: when you decided to allow Justin's execution, I was powerless to stop you. Your word was above mine. But if you now tell Qurong that the council has decided his castle must be torn down, would he do it? I think he might tear down your Thrall instead.”

“This is the talk of fools. It is a great privilege for me to serve the people—”

“You mean Qurong. You are the slave of Qurong, Ciphus. Even your blind eyes can see that.”