Black (6 page)

“Please. This isn't funny anymore.”

“Never was funny.”

“You've made your point, okay? I was a fool, I'm sorry, but the fact is, we
are
still alive, and some pretty bad people
are
trying to kill me.”

“Have you called the police yet?”

“That won't stop these guys.” He ran his fingers along the bandage and stood. His world tipped crazily.

“Sit down,” Kara ordered.

She was being bossy, but he deserved to be bossed at the moment. Besides, allowing her to boss him would help repair any breach in their relationship.

He sat.

“Take these.” She handed him two pills. He threw them into his mouth and swallowed without water.

Kara sighed again. “Okay, from the top. You have some mob thugs after you for stiffing them out of $100,000. After four years your sins have finally caught up with you, presumably through the Magic Circle dinner theater or the Java Hut. They shot at you and you escaped. But you were on foot, so they know you live close by, and it's only a matter of time before they find you again. Right?”

“That's about it.”

“To top it all off, the blow to your head is tempting you to think that you live in another world. Still right?”

He nodded. “Maybe. Sort of.”

She closed her eyes. “This is insane.”

“Maybe. But we still have to get out of here.”

“And exactly where are we supposed to go? I have a job. I can't just pick up and take off.”

“I'm not saying we can't come back. But we can't just wait here for them.” He stood and began to pace, ignoring a sudden whirl of disorientation. “Maybe we should go back to the Philippines for a while. We have passports. We have friends who—”

“Forget it. It's taken me ten years to make the break from Manila. I'm not going back. Not now.”

“Please, you have more Filipino in you than American. You can't run forever.”

“Who's got the bullet wound in his head?
I'm
not running anymore. I'm here. I'm an American, I live in Denver, Colorado, and I like who I've become.”

“So do I. But if they came this far to settle a debt, they'll hound me for the rest of my life!”

“You should have thought about that earlier.”

“Like I said, you made your point. Don't beat me into the ground with it.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe I can fake my death.”

“How on earth did you manage to talk them out of $100,000 to start with?”

He shrugged. “I convinced them I was an arms dealer.”

“Oh, that's just great.”

The pain pills were starting to make him woozy. Tom sat again, leaned back, closed his eyes. “We have to do something.”

They sat quietly for a long minute. Kara had always insisted she was happy here in Denver, but she was twenty-six and she was beautiful and she hadn't dated in three years despite her talk of getting married. What did that mean? It meant she was a stranger in a strange land, just like him. Try as they may, they couldn't escape their past.

“I'm sure you'll think of something,” Kara said. “I don't think I can leave.”

“I'm not going to leave you alone here. Not a chance.” His head was spinning. “What did you give me?”

“Demerol.” She stood and walked to the window. “This is completely insane.”

Tom said something. Something about leaving immediately. Something about needing money. But his voice sounded distant. Maybe it was the Demerol. Maybe it was the knock on the head. Maybe it was because he was really lying on the bank of a river, stripped of his skin, dying.

Kara was saying something.

“What?” he asked.

“.. . in the morning. Until then . . .”

That's all he got.

6

A
t the foot of the arching bridge, on thick green grass, the bloodied man lay facedown as though he had been dead for days. The black beasts on the opposite shore had deserted the charred trees. Two white creatures leaned over the prone body, their wings folded around their furry torsos, their short, spindly legs shifting so that their bodies swayed like penguins.

“Hurry, into the forest,” Michal said.

“Can we drag him?” asked Gabil.

“Of course we can. Grab his other hand.”

They bent, though not so far—they stood only about three feet if they stretched—and hauled the man from the bank. Michal led them over the grass, through the trees, into a small clearing surrounded by fruit trees. The ground was clear of debris and rocks, but they couldn't be doing the man's belly any favors. Soon it wouldn't matter.

“Here.” He dropped the man's arm. “I assume he can't hear us.”

“Of course he can't understand us. No sir,” Gabil said, kneeling beside the man. “How can he understand us when he's unconscious?”

Michal nudged the man in the shoulder with a frail foot resembling a bird's . “You say you
led
him out from the black forest?” Not that he should doubt his friend, but Gabil did have a way of milking a story. It was more of a comment than a question.

Gabil nodded and scrunched his lightly furred forehead. The expression looked out of place on his round, soft face.

“He's lucky to have lived.” Gabil stretched one wing in the direction they'd come. “He barely made it through the black trees. You should have seen the Shataiki that had him. Ten at least.” Gabil hopped around the fallen body. “You should have seen, Michal. You really should have. He must be from the far side—I don't recognize him.”

“How could you possibly recognize him? His skin is missing.”

“I saw him before they took his skin. I'm telling you, this one's never been in these parts before.” Gabil stood over the prostrate body again, swaying.

“Well, he didn't drink the water; that's what really matters,” Michal said.

“But he may have if I hadn't flown in,” Gabil said enthusiastically.

“And you flew in because . . . ?” They rarely confronted the black bats anymore. There was a time, long ago, when heroic battles had been fought, but not for a millennium now.

“Because I saw the sky black with Shataiki about a mile in, that's why. I went in high, but when I saw him, I couldn't leave him. There were a thousand of the beasts flying mad circles around me, I'm telling you. It was nothing short of spectacular.”

“And how did you manage to escape a thousand Shataiki?”

“Michal, please! It's I! The
conqueror
of Shataiki.” He raised his wing in a mock salute. “Flies or beasts, black or red, urge them on. I'll dispatch them to darkness.” He waited for a response from Michal and continued when he received none.

“Actually, I took them by surprise. Out of the sun. And did I tell you about the flies? I blasted through a horde of flies like they were the air itself.”

“Of course you did.” And then after a moment of thought, “Well done.”

Michal tilted his head and studied the man's rising back. Fresh blood still oozed from three gaping holes at the man's neck, his buttocks, and his right thigh where the Shataiki had eaten him to the bone. His flesh quivered under the hot sun. There was something strange about the man. It was strange enough that someone from one of the distant villages had entered the black forest at all. It had happened only once before. But the strangeness was more than that. He could smell the stench that came from the man's ragged breathing—like the breath of the Shataiki bats.

“Well, let's get on with it then. You have the water?”

“Hello?”

They both turned as one. A young woman stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes wide. Rachelle.

Rachelle stared at the bloodied body, stunned by the gruesome sight. Had she ever seen anything so terrible? Never! She hurried forward, red tunic swishing below her knees.

“What . . . what is it?” A man, of course. She could see that by the muscles in his back and legs. He lay on his belly, head turned toward her, a bloody mess. “Who is he?”

The Roush, Michal and Gabil, exchanged a glance. “We don't know,” Michal said.

“He's no one we know,” Gabil blurted. “No sir, this one's from one of the other villages.”

Rachelle stopped, mesmerized. One arm lay at an odd angle, cleanly broken below the elbow. Empathy swelled in her chest. “Dear. Oh dear, oh dear.” She dropped to her knees by his shoulder. “How could anything like this possibly have happened?”

“The bats. I led him from the black forest,” Gabil said.

Alarm flashed. “The bats? He's been
in
the black forest?”

“Yes, but he didn't drink the water,” Michal said.

Silence settled over them. This was the work of the Shataiki! She'd never actually seen one, much less encountered their fangs, but here on the grass was evidence enough of the terrible beasts'brutality. So much blood. Why hadn't the Roush healed him immediately? They knew as much as she how blood defiled a man. It defiled man, woman, child, grass, water, anything that it touched. It wasn't meant to be spilled. And on the rare occasions that it was, there were accommodations.

Rage displaced her alarm. What kind of thinking could influence any creature to do this to a man?

“This is why Tanis has talked about an expedition to destroy the bats!” she said. “It's horrible!”

“And any expedition would put Tanis in the same condition!” Michal snapped impatiently. “Don't be ridiculous.”

Rachelle returned her gaze to the bloodied body. He was breathing steadily, lost to this world. Such a poor, innocent soul.

Yet an air of mystery and intrigue seemed to rise from the man. He had entered the black forest without succumbing to the water. What kind of man could do such a thing? Only a very strong man.

“The water, Gabil,” Michal said.

The smaller Roush withdrew a gourd of water from under his wing.

Rachelle wanted to reach out. To touch the man's skin. The thought surprised her.

Could
he
be the man? This thought surprised her even more. How could she dare think of choosing a man she didn't know for marriage?

Michal had taken the pouch from Gabil. He pulled the cork from its neck.

How absurd that she should think of this brutalized man as anything more than someone who desperately needed the water and Elyon's love. But the thought swelled in her mind. She felt herself irrevocably drawn to it, like blood to the heart. Since when did men and women qualify the ones they chose? All men were good, all women were good, all marriages perfect. So then why not this man if she felt so suddenly drawn by compassion for him? He was the first she'd ever seen in such desperate need of Elyon's water.

Michal waddled forward. He tilted the flask.

Rachelle lifted her hand. “Wait.”

“Wait?”

She wasn't sure what had come over her, but emotion tugged at her heart in a way she'd never quite felt before. She looked at Michal. “Is . . . do you think he's marked?”

The two Roush exchanged another glance.

“What do you mean?” Michal asked.

The man's forehead, which would bear the mark of union, was covered in blood. She was suddenly desperate to wipe the blood and see if he bore the telltale one-inch circle that signified his union to another woman. Or the half circle that meant he was promised. But she hesitated; spilled blood was the undoing of Elyon's creation and should be avoided or immediately restored.

Michal lowered the water pouch. “Please, you can't seriously be thinking—”

“It's a wonderful idea!” Gabil said, hopping up and down. “How wonderfully romantic.”

“Why not?” Rachelle asked Michal.

“You don't even know him!”

“Since when has that made any difference to any woman? Does Elyon exercise such discrimination? And I
did
find him.”

“What you're feeling is empathy, certainly not—”

“Don't be so quick to decide what I'm feeling,” Rachelle said. “I'm telling you I have a very strong feeling for this man. The poor soul has been through the most awful ordeal imaginable.”

“No, it's not the worst imaginable,” Michal said. “Trust me.”

“But that's not the point. The point is, I feel very strongly for this man, and I think I may be meant to choose him.
Is that so unreasonable?”

“No, I don't think it's unreasonable at all,” the smaller Roush said. “It's very, very, very romantic! Don't be so cautious, Michal; it's a delicious thought!”

“I have no idea if he's marked,” Michal said, but he seemed to have softened.

Rachelle was twenty-one, and she'd never once felt such a strong desire to choose a man. Most women her age had already chosen and been chosen. She certainly was eligible. And it really didn't matter whom she chose, more that she did choose. That was the custom.