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Johan frowned. “What matter of treason is this?”

“He wouldn't say,” Simion said. “Only that Thomas of Hunter would know.”

They looked at him. “She allowed me to dream,” he said absently. “Surely no man, not even Qurong, would kill his own daughter for allowing a prisoner to dream.”

“No,” Johan said. “I agree; there must be more. This is Woref 's doing.”

“But why would they think such an absurd demand would be of any concern to us?” William demanded.

Immediately Thomas knew.

“Cain. Stephen. Keep our guests company,” he ordered. He caught Suzan's stare. “I call a council.”

“For what?” William demanded. “This is a simple matter.”

“Then our meeting will be short. A woman's life is at stake. We won't dismiss the matter without proper consideration.”

He turned his back on them and walked down the canyon, around a bend, and to a patch of bare sand shaded by the towering cliffs. Conflicting emotions collided in his chest.

He ran a hand through his hair and paced. He had no call to feel so concerned for this one woman. Chelise. A woman he hardly knew. A woman who had thumbed her nose at the tribes and was complicit in the hunt for them. Qurong's own daughter! The others would never understand.

“If I didn't know better,” William said behind him, “I would say you had feelings for this woman.”

Thomas faced them. They stood in a rough circle around him, Johan, William, Mikil, Jamous, and Suzan.

“My feelings for her are no different than Justin's feelings for you, William,” he said. “She is his creation as much as you are.”

William looked at a loss. “You're actually considering Qurong's demand?”

“What's the use of a council if we don't discuss our options?” Thomas shouted. “You've made a decision already—that isn't our way.”

They stood in the echo of his voice.

“He's right,” Suzan said. “A woman's life is at stake.”

“A Scab's life.”

“Suzan is right,” Mikil said. “Although I tend to agree with William about the life of a Scab, we should hear Thomas out. We were all Scabs once.”

She sat. The others followed. It was long ago decided that sitting was the preferred posture if any argument was likely to break out.

“Elyon, we ask for your mind,” Mikil said in the traditional manner. “Let us see as you see.”

“So be it,” the rest agreed in unison.

William took a settling breath. “Forgive me for my impulsive response. I am impatient to return to the tribe. They are vulnerable without us.” He took a deep breath. “You're right, Mikil. We were once Scabs ourselves. But risking Thomas's life for the daughter of Qurong, who will continue to live in defiance of Elyon, is not only unwise but may be immoral.”

“Perhaps Thomas should explain himself first,” Suzan said.

They looked at him expectantly. And what was he supposed to say?
I think I may have fallen in love with a Scab princess?
The suddenness of the thought shocked him. No. He should say nothing at all about love.

“I want it to be clear that I haven't fallen in love with a Scab princess.” He cleared his throat. “But I will admit that she gained my trust while I was with her in the library.”

“Trust?” Johan said. “I wouldn't trust any daughter of Qurong's.”

“Then call it empathy,” Thomas snapped back. “I can't explain how I feel, only that I do. She doesn't deserve her own deception.”

“Yet it is hers,” Mikil said. “We're all free to make a choice, and she's made hers.”

“That doesn't mean she can't choose differently. She's a person, like any one of us!”

His statement rang too loudly for the small canyon.

“No, Thomas, she's not like any one of us,” William said. “She's a Scab. I never would have believed I would hear these words coming from you. Your emotions are clouding your judgment. Get ahold of yourself, man!”

“And what about Justin's emotions?” Suzan asked. “Wasn't it his love that led to his own drowning?”

Several spoke at once, and their words were a jumbled mess to Thomas. Like his own feelings. He wasn't sure how he felt. Emotions weren't trustworthy; they all knew that. On the other hand, Suzan asked a good question. How would Justin see this?

He held up his hand for silence. They quieted. “If Ronin were here, we would defer to his judgment. I admit, the thought of this woman's death sickens me, but I will defer to the judgment of this council. I have no argument except for my own emotions, which I've expressed. William, explain your doctrine.”

William dipped his head. “Thank you. I have three points that will guide us. One, as to Suzan's question about Justin's emotions, it is said that Elyon is lovesick over his bride. This we all know. We also know that we, the Circle, are his bride. He told us as much in the desert. The Horde is not his bride.”

He glanced around, received no objection, and continued.

“Two, the disease, which can only be washed clean by the drowning, is an offense to Elyon. Some say that anything a Scab touches is unclean, though I wouldn't go so far. But a Scab is certainly unclean. To embrace such a wretched creature who has embraced filth is to embrace the filth itself.”

“Justin embraced me when I was a Scab,” Johan said.

“That was before the drowning was available. In fact, that is why he provided the drowning, so that we could cure the disease. You're saying it makes no difference if we're clean or not? He would never have gone to such lengths if it made no difference.”

There was some logic to William's argument, but it didn't sit well with Thomas. He didn't trust himself to speak.

“He hates the disease,” Suzan said, “but not the man or woman beneath it.”

“Is that why the Book states that he will burn any branch that does not remain in him and bear fruit?” William demanded. “I am the vine, you are the branches, but see what happens to those branches that are fruitless.”

That shut them up.

“And finally, if this is not enough, consider Elyon's anger toward those who refuse him. Would you trade yourself for Teeleh, Thomas? Or for a Shataiki? Are the Scabs less deceived than they are? I would say to give yourself to or for any Scab woman is no less offensive than embracing the Shataiki and would invoke Elyon's anger.”

The argument was so offensive that none of them seemed able to engage it properly. Instead of finding any encouragement to do what he now knew must be done, Thomas felt his desperation deepen. He could feel his pulse in his ears.

“You all know that I disagree with William,” Johan said. “At the last council I argued that we should embrace the Horde by becoming more like them. But this is different. The Circle needs you, Thomas. Your tribe needs you. Many more of the Horde will come to the Circle through your leadership than this one woman.”

Thomas looked at the others. Mikil remained quiet, as did Jamous. Not even Suzan objected to Johan's statement.

“This is the council's decision?”

No one spoke.

He stood. “So be it.”

Thomas walked from them, rounded the corner, and marched toward the waiting Scab.

“Thomas!” Mikil ran to catch up. “Thomas, please, she's a Scab, for heaven's sake,” she whispered. “Let it go.”

“I am letting it go!” he snapped.

He stopped in front of the Scab. “Go tell your general that Thomas of Hunter will no more agree to his ridiculous terms than he will drink his own blood.” The least he could do for Chelise was to send a clear message to Qurong that he despised his daughter. “And tell Qurong that what he does with his daughter is his business. Now leave us.”

The Scab hesitated, then mounted quickly, turned his horse around, and trotted up the canyon.

26

T
hey left the valley in single file and headed across the desert toward the Southern Forest. Thomas's sullen mood had smothered the group. Mikil and Johan had tried to lighten his disposition with talk of the dreams, but he quickly reminded them that there was little hope of surviving in the dreams more than a week. He might be better off eating the rhambutan fruit every night for the rest of his life and forgetting the histories even existed. They finally left him to sulk on his own.

William led and Thomas brought up the rear, behind Suzan, who had consoled him with a kind smile. The horses plodded up the sandy dunes with no more than an occasional snort to clear dust from their nostrils.

With each step Thomas felt his heart sink deeper into his gut. Try as he might, he couldn't lift his own spirits. There was no reason to these emotions he battled. None at all. He told himself this much a hundred times over.

She's a Scab covered by disease, Thomas. Her breath smells like sulfur, and
her mind is clouded by deception. She would more likely order your death
than drown in a red pool.

Then why this inexorable attraction to her? Surely he didn't love her as a man loved a woman. How could he love any woman after losing Rachelle only thirteen months ago? How could any woman, much less this diseased whore, replace Rachelle?

The file was moving faster than he was, but rather than urging his mount to catch them, he slowed even more. Their decision to sentence Chelise to her death had separated them from him.

It's your shame that holds you back. Or is it protest?

Either way, falling behind seemed appropriate. They glanced back but let him have his space. He was soon a full dune behind them.

Only then, when he was out of their sight completely, did he begin to feel at ease. He let images of her fill his mind without regret.

Chelise staring up at him on the ladder, arms folded as he looked frantically through the Books of Histories.

Chelise repeating the words she'd written, wild-eyed with excitement.

Chelise crushed by her inability to put a full sentence together.

Take the disease from her skin and the deception from her mind and what kind of woman would she be? What prince would be worthy of this princess?

“Hello, Thomas.”

He jerked up on his horse. But there was no one. He was next to a lone rock formation between two dunes, alone. No sight of the others. The sun was getting to his mind.

“Over here, my old friend.”

Thomas twisted around to the sound of the voice. There, on a small rock behind him, stood a bat.

A white bat. A Roush.

“Michal?”

The animal's furry snout smiled wide. “One and the same.”

“It's . . . it's really you? I haven't seen . . .” He trailed off.

“You haven't seen a Roush in a long time, yes, I know. That doesn't mean we're not here. I've been watching you. I must say, you've done well. Much better than I guessed publicly before all the others, though I hate to admit it.”

Thomas spilled off his horse and ran toward the bat. He wanted to throw his arms around the creature's neck and tell Michal how good it was to see him. Instead he slid to a stop three paces from Michal and gawked like a schoolboy.

“It's . . . You're really here . . .” Thomas finally stammered.

“In the flesh. Although I would prefer that you keep our meeting to yourself.”

Thomas sank to his knees, partially out of weakness, partially to match the shorter creature's height. “I'm sorry. I don't know what's happening to me.”

“But I do.”

Thomas took a deep breath. “Then tell me.”

“She's come over you,” Michal said.

Thomas stood. How much did Michal know? “Who?”

“Chelise. The princess.”

“I empathize with her, if that's what you mean. She's doesn't deserve to die. We spent time together in the library, and she may be a Scab, but she's not what I expected any Scab to be. Surely Elyon can have mercy on even—”

“You call this empathy?” Michal asked. “I would call it love.”

“No. No, it's not like that.”

“Then perhaps it should be,” Michal said.

Thomas stared at the Roush, dumbstruck. “What do you mean? She's a Scab.”

“And so were you. But he doesn't see it that way.”

“Justin?”

“Justin.”

Thomas glanced up the dune at the trail left by the others. “But the doctrine . . .”

“Then you must have your doctrine wrong. Tell me what William said.”

Why had Michal chosen this moment to reveal himself? Hope began to swell in Thomas's chest.

“The Circle is his bride. He's lovesick over the Circle.”

“True enough, but he's wooing his bride even now,” Michal said. “Believe me, if you were to see Justin now, he would be over there by those rocks, pacing with his hands in his hair, desperate to win the love of the Horde. They will be his bride as much as you.”

Thomas looked at the rocks and imagined Justin pacing. His heart began to pound.

“What else did William say?” the Roush asked.

“That Elyon's anger toward those who refuse him must be appeased by the drowning before we can embrace them.”

Michal frowned. “I would have guessed that after Justin's death you would understand him better. Elyon's anger is directed toward anything that hinders his love. Toward Teeleh and the Shataiki who would deceive and steal that love. Anything that hinders his bride's love, he detests.”

“Not the Scab.”

“I'm not saying that I understand it—Elyon is beyond my mind. But his love is boundless. Do you know that when you drown, he's made a covenant to forget your disease? He remembers only your love. Even when you stumble as William does now, Justin vows to forget and remembers only William's love, however imperfect it might be. To say that you humans have it made would be an understatement. I would set William straight, to be sure. Elyon is mostly thrilled. Yes, there is a price to pay. Yes, there is a drowning to be done, but he is thrilled with his bride and desperate to woo others into his Circle.”