Elyon (18 page)
Darsal glanced up at the sky, which was no longer visible. Thunder pealed with the sharp crack of lightning. “I need a pool, Gabil. I can’t find one in the dark.” Even as she said it, she knew what she was going to do.
She still loved Marak, and Marak couldn’t die a Scab.
A screech overhead. Shataiki wings slapped the air and circled over the peaks. The scouts.
Marak the Scab would never change his mind. But Marak the albino might.
Elyon save us.
The Roush laughed softly. “You’ll always find water when you need it, Darsal. Trust that much. Elyon didn’t bring you out here to die.”
Another memory surfaced, and with it came understanding. Darsal drew a breath. Marak would be back with the rest of the expedition, headed north. She’d gone east a ways, looking for Johnis and Silvie, before turning north. Now she’d have to turn back west a bit to intercept the general.
No, Gabil said they’d passed her. Fine. Even more easily done.
But if Sucrow was making a power play, what would he do to Marak?
She’d find out . . .
“I leave them and find Marak, then. So be it.” With those words came an ache.
A loud rush of leather wings and Shataiki roars split the air. The swarm circled twice in formation, endless rows and columns of glowing red eyes.
Gabil nodded. He flapped twice and was airborne. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
“Wait, you’re leaving again?”
“Two million Shataiki, Darsal. Neither of us is doing this alone. I would keep north, if I were you.”
“WE WILL CUT THROUGH THE PASS,” SUCROW SAID TO Marak’s commander. “Spread the word.” He gestured at two of his serpent warriors, who rode up on either side of the officer.
“Marak will be expecting us to follow the scout’s advice,” Reyan argued. “He’ll be waiting.”
“Is your general here?” Sucrow snapped. The commander tensed. “Inform your men that Marak has deserted to the rebels, and I am in command.”
Reyan scowled. His hand fell to his scabbard, but Sucrow held up his hand. He twisted his fingers around his staff and silently invoked Teeleh’s powers, already at hand. The commander’s expression tensed. Tendrils of crimson slithered around Reyan’s throat. Not that the commander would notice.
Sucrow flashed a wicked grin. If only this fool knew what was coming. “Come, now, Commander. Marak led you into the desert, only to desert in the final hours. I have equal rank with the general, if not higher, and it is to me you will look.”
The commander’s jaw tightened. “Marak’s angry. Nothing more.”
A fighter, then. As formidable as Cassak was, though the captain was more stubborn. So be it. If Reyan’s will would not bend, it would break.
“Are you so certain?” Bile rose in Sucrow’s throat. The general’s mantra of loyalty, integrity, and honor had poisoned the entire army. A disgusting parasite he would soon rid them of. Sucrow dipped his staff.
Confusion drifted across the commander’s face, just as surely as Sucrow’s enchantment did its work. Reyan started to reply.
A rider in full gallop rushed straight for them. The scout raced straight across, heading for the front of the line. Their horses reared. The rider swerved in with a whoop, trying to knock them all off course.
Sucrow swung his staff. The rider grabbed the end and swung it level across his throat. Sucrow fell off the horse and landed on his back with the assailant on him. The smell hit him—an albino.
“Kill her, you fools!” he screamed, clawing at the albino. Three swords rang out. A hot knife blade dug into his throat, a thin trickle of blood forming below it.
“I’ll kill him first! Where is Marak, Priest?” the general’s slave growled. “What did you do with him? He’s supposed to be here!”
Sucrow sneered. “What do you care?”
She leaned in close and whispered. “Three seconds, Priest. They can’t kill me before I slit your throat.”
“He deserted,” Reyan snapped. “He left.”
“Where, you half-brained dimwit?”
“North,” Sucrow sneered. “Not that any of this will save you.”
“It isn’t about me.” She grabbed him and swung back onto her horse, Sucrow slung across like a carcass. “Follow me and he dies! Ya!” The albino whipped the horse into a gallop and raced away from them.
Sucrow struck at her. She beat him over the head. “The medallion,” she snapped. “Where is it?”
He snarled. “You’re mistaken if you think I’d tell you.”
“I could just search your clothes after you’re dead.”
Sucrow mentally began an incantation.
The albino turned the horse, taking a zigzag pattern to throw him off. The sky was almost too dark to see. The albino searched his clothes. Sucrow’s hand clamped down around the amulet.
She tried to wrestle it from him. Sucrow sliced his sharp nails into her flesh. She fought with him. They both fell off the horse and hit hard. Sucrow snarled and raised his hands, clawlike.
“Your magic will not aid you,” she snapped.
Sucrow didn’t answer. He’d nearly killed her with a well-placed invocation before. He summoned Teeleh’s power into his hands. An orb formed.
She dodged the blast and swung back onto the horse, then galloped into the mountains, presumably after her arrogant general.
The fools could both die out there. The Shataiki would have both of them.
The commander caught up to him, bringing the priest’s horse and his staff. He mounted.
“She escaped.”
“She won’t escape for long.” Sucrow motioned to his serpent warriors. The nearest ran his spear through Reyan and knocked him off his horse. Sucrow watched idly. “Never betray your master, Commander.” He sneered. “Tragically, the albino killed you.”
To his men, “Summon the captain. Inform him his general has deserted and his commander is dead. We must make haste to the high place before the albino does something foolish.”
M
arak guided his horse into the pass, following the scout’s advice. From here he could see the precipice, the mountain where everything would end. He’d had enough of the priest, no desire to see him again before the ceremony, and certainly not after.
Idiot, why did you leave?
he imagined Jordan demanding.
You left the priest unattended. Do you realize what he can do while you’re gone? He already killed Josef. He has the medallion, brother.
He knew, and his reason told him he needed to turn back, to stop following this insane compulsion to reach the peak ahead of Sucrow. Something was there, something he needed to get to before Sucrow. As important as the amulet itself.
A loud roar erupted from the mountain, underscored by the lightning storm that had started a half hour or so ago. When the light flashed again, Marak glimpsed the massive amulet guardian circling the high place, raging against his enslavement. A mere mortal had tricked him; no wonder he was so angry.
Marak shook his head, not sure how he knew such things or why he speculated them. The horse faltered, and he carefully set the animal’s course on better footing.
“How in Teeleh’s name is this faster?” he grumbled. The scout had to be mad.
“Marak!” A voice echoed over the wind. “Marak! Wait!”
Darsal?
He balked, looked over his shoulder. She was back?
Impulse took over. She’d ripped his heart out. Marak turned his back and kept going at a steady pace. Darsal called out again, making her way toward him as fast as the narrow drop-off allowed. Shataiki screeched and boiled above them, frothing at the mouth, Derias howling louder than all. Marak’s senses were at their end, worn ragged by the chase.
His emotions twisted at the sound of her voice, at the smell of albino caught in the wind. Impulse drove him forward while his heart said to wait, to pull back, to let her catch him, to sweep her off her mount and hold her.
Darsal caught up to him. She rode up the side of the ravine and back down in front of him. Her hand lashed around his mount’s reins. “Come with me!”
For a second he could only stare at her. Marak jerked on the leather. “I thought you left.”
“Sucrow tried to kill us,” she said. “I went after Warryn, but I didn’t find him! We have to leave now!” She pulled the reins free of his hands and hurried the horses.
“Darsal!”
“Hurry!”
The bats were screaming above the mountains.
Darsal got them through the pass and into a narrow valley. Ignoring the fretting horses, she whipped them into a run. The sky grew darker. The bulk of the Shataiki swarm was almost over them. Darsal smashed into a winged serpent shrine and sent the idol and the incense altar clattering down the hillside.
Marak finally quit trying to get the reins from her and hung onto the saddle horn. “Darsal, if you’d stop for just a—”
The sand turned to mud and worn rocks. Darsal barely avoided a tree, then darted around two more. On they fled, zigzagging through the treacherous terrain.
Darsal stopped and dismounted. Marak jumped down and grabbed her shoulder. Her skin was hot and slick. “What’s going on?”
“I know you’re mad at me, Marak,” she panted. “And you’re going to—going to hate me for this, but I—I have no choice!”
“No choice but—”
Darsal whipped out a dagger and cracked him across the skull.
DARSAL CAUGHT MARAK AROUND THE CHEST AND UNDER HIS arms. She half carried, half dragged him over the sand. Her arms were killing her. Sweat poured down her skin. Marak’s dead weight slowed her down. Darsal dragged him by the armpits to the red pool and plopped him next to it. She sank down alongside him.
He wouldn’t be out long.
She caught her breath, then tugged Marak’s head so that he hung over the edge of the pool. Darsal grabbed a tuft of hair and shoved his whole head facedown into the pool and held him under. She yanked him back out, then under again.
Marak started to sputter and struggle. Darsal knocked him out and jumped on his back. She straddled his shoulders and baptized him again.
Again.
Darsal plunged him back under, clinging to his scalp. She jerked his head out and shoved him all the way into the pool. Her stomach churned. She pulled herself over the edge and yanked his head above the surface by the hair. He was barely breathing.
Blood oozed out his nose and ran down his face.
She pushed him under again. “Drown already! For the love of Elyon, drown, you fool Scab! Drown already!” Again and again she forced him under.
Until he . . . went limp . . . in her grasp.
She dragged him out of the pool and rolled him over. A flash of light splashed over his skin. Her heart froze. Marak’s flesh was still flaky. Scab.
Darsal’s eyes widened. Her stomach curdled.
“No! Why are you still Scab? You drowned; you can’t be—” She cut herself off as the revelation dawned.
It wasn’t just drowning. Marak hadn’t believed. And she’d drowned him.
Darsal ripped off his shirt and pounded on his chest.
“Wake up! Wake up! By Elyon, wake up!”
She slapped his face and struck him hard with both fists, slamming into his heart with all her strength.
“Marak, I love you. I didn’t mean to hurt you!”
Darsal’s fists struck the unconscious general’s chest one more time. She raised her fists up, then let them drop. She knew it was over. Darsal fell across him, bawling like an infant, her arms around his neck.
“Elyon, Elyon, please . . .”
His heart. She couldn’t hear his heart.
She sat over him. Stroked the scaly flesh and let her fingers hover along his torso a minute. She touched his cheek and wiped away her tears that fell on his face.
Once more. Just once more.
Darsal put her mouth to his and breathed into him, then pumped his chest. She breathed air into his lungs, then pumped again.
A third time she blew air into his lungs and prayed to Elyon they would fill and he would take in life.
Nothing.
Furious, she slapped him hard.
“Oh, come on, you stubborn, bullheaded Scab! If you won’t live for me, won’t you live to spite Sucrow, at least? Please, Marak, I need you. Why didn’t you believe?”
A desperate thought passed through her crazed mind. It was stupid and foolish, and there was absolutely nothing in it. Something from another time, another world altogether, when a man had begged the Maker for the life of a boy.
Even so, Darsal put his arms on either side of him and straightened his legs. She lay directly on top of him, forehead to forehead. She kissed him on the lips. Begged Marak and Elyon one last time for some form of cooperation.
How long would it take for them to kill everyone? Days? Hours? Minutes?
This whole mission was doomed from the day I walked back into the dungeon. It’s worse than the books, a thousand times worse. I’m sorry, Johnis. I couldn’t stop either of you.
Darsal rolled away from Marak and curled into a ball.
“Marak,” she wept. “Marak. My general. My friend. My love. I failed you. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. By Elyon, I’m sorry . . .”
Darsal lay still in the darkness, the impossible hope that her general might rise from the dead forcing her to linger.
She didn’t have the energy anymore. Twice she’d lost a lover, twice a man had brushed her cheek with a kiss, only to perish.
She didn’t want this fight. Elyon had made her do it. The general had been so close, and then she’d ruined it.
Now she’d killed him.
“Elyon, why can’t you just let me die? Take me, not him.”
Mud stained her face, caking her eyes shut. She didn’t care.
Marak was gone. Gone.
d
arsal folded up on herself, limp. Minutes passed. And then, silently, languidly, a mist began to curl up from the ground, winding around her like so many octopus tentacles. Darsal twisted around, looking toward the pool where Marak’s body lay. Already the mist was so heavy she couldn’t see man or pool. The haze turned a purple-red hue.
Darsal got up on her knees and felt for any of Marak’s daggers, even her own, stolen from Cassak.
Either the mist was too thick or she was too frantic to search. Helpless, worthless, useless, alone. She had nothing.
