Red (55 page)

Merton Gains eased into a chair next to him and shot him a glance.

“Yes, of course. Hunter. It all goes back to Hunter.” He sighed. “Okay, thank you. If anything new comes up, tell them to interrupt me.”

He closed the phone, mind swimming.

“It looks like it's started,” Gains said. “We have reports of widespread rioting in Jakarta and Bangkok.” He opened the folder. “There are a number of cities on this report, sir.” He stopped and looked up at Blair. “Including Tel Aviv.”

The skin at the back of Blair's neck tingled. Israel? He'd spent a full hour on the phone with Isaac Benjamin early this morning, and it was all he could do to keep the man from hanging up on him. Israel was fracturing on every fault line inherent in their delicate political system. They were the only nation with nuclear weapons not to meet France's schedule for compliance, and they'd received a new demand overnight, threatening a first strike if Israel didn't ship their weapons from where they'd been gathered in the ports of Tel Aviv and Haifa.

“Get Benjamin on the phone,” he said. “If he's unavailable, I want you to speak to the deputy. We can't stop the rioting, but we'd better keep the Israelis in line.”

The UN's secretary general was introducing him at the podium.

“My address is only two minutes; you tell them to sit tight until I can talk to Benjamin.”

“The president of the United States.”

There was no applause.

Blair approached the podium, shook the secretary general's hand, and faced the circle of countries gathered in New York for answers to this, the world's greatest crisis since man first formed nations.

“Thank you. We're gathered . . .”

It was as far as he got. One of the doors to his right slammed open. The room was deadly silent and every head instinctively turned. There in the doorway stood his chief of staff, Ron Kreet, with an expression that made Blair think he'd swallowed a bitter pill. His face was pale.

Kreet didn't offer a hint of apology. He simply tapped his lips. Meaning he needed to speak to the president. Now.

Blair glanced at the delegates. It was highly unusual, clearly, but Kreet knew this better than most—he'd spent two years as their ambassador to the United Nations.

Something had happened. Something very bad.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Blair said and walked off the platform.

32

TWELVE ADULTS and five children. Seventeen. That was how many had entered the lake and escaped as outcasts.

They rode for five hours in a strange silence. Slowly the others began to talk about their experience in the lake. Slowly the others' sorrow over having lost Rachelle was replaced by the wonder of their own resurrection in the red waters. Slowly Thomas and Marie and Samuel were left to their own lingering sorrow.

In the sixth hour, Thomas began to speak to Marie and Samuel about their mother. About how she had saved their lives and the lives of the others by leading them all to the lake. About her courage in placing them on the horses first and then saving his life by coming back for him. About Rachelle's place now, with Elyon, though he really didn't understand this last thing.

They reached the forest's northern edge after seven hours, and all signs of the pursuit were gone.

There they rolled Rachelle in a blanket and buried her in a deep grave as was customary when the circumstances did not favor cremation. They set fruits and flowers by her body and then filled in the grave.

“Mount!” he cried and swung into his saddle.

A fresh determination had filled him over the hours. His destiny was now with Elyon. With every waking moment he would now honor the memory of his wife, and he would cherish the two children she'd given him, but his path was now beyond him.

He sat on his horse and stared at the blistering, red-hued dunes. They'd stopped at a creek and filled the canteens sewn into all saddles. It was spring water, clear and fresh. They wouldn't use it for bathing. Even then, they had only enough to keep them for two or three days at most.

Johan eased his horse next to Thomas. “Now where?”

He cleared his throat. “They won't expect us to leave the forest.”

“No, because there's no sense in leaving the forest,” Mikil said from behind. “We've never lived in the desert. Where will we find water? Food?”

“I've lived in the desert,” Johan said.

“The desert,” Thomas said. “All I know is that we ride into the desert.”

Johan looked at him. “You say that as if you know something more.”

“Only that we are meant to be there.”

“The sand will show our tracks,” Mikil said.

“Not in the northern canyon lands,” Johan countered. “We could lose them for good there.”

“We could lose ourselves for good there.”

The others had mounted and now sat on their horses in a long line, staring out at the desert.

“Do you think the lakes in the other forests are . . .” Jamous stopped.

“Red?” Thomas said. “I don't know. But they won't work the way they used to. The only way to defeat the disease now is to follow Justin in his death.”

“And the disease is gone forever,” Lucy said.

Thomas turned to the little girl with bright green eyes. “You know this?”

“That's what I heard.”

“From whom?”

“From Justin. In the lake.”

He exchanged a knowing grin with the girl's mother, Alisha.

“She's right,” Marie said.

“Well. Then maybe Lucy should lead us. Where do you say we should go?” he asked.

Lucy laughed. His own daughter managed a smile, which brought him hope, considering her loss. Thomas returned her smile. Her eyes watered and she turned away.

He faced the red dunes again, resisting his own sorrow.

“Will the Horde find us here, Johan?”

“Not tonight. Tomorrow they will.”

“Is . . .” Samuel asked the question no one had asked yet. “Is Justin dead?”

“It depends on what you mean by Justin,” Thomas said.

“I mean the Justin who drowned. Not Elyon, but Justin.”

Justin. They all pondered the question.

“We saw him drown,” Johan said. “And I watched the lake for several hours. He didn't come up. If his body is gone, Ciphus may have stolen it to cast blame on Thomas. But does it matter if Justin is dead or not? It's just a body he was using. Right? We all know that Elyon isn't dead.”

Johan had been the one who'd shoved his sword into that body—perhaps he was easing his guilt.

They let the matter rest.

Thomas looked down the line of horses. Five experienced warriors including William and Suzan, five children, and six civilians including Jeremiah, the converted old man who'd once been a Scab. Ronin and Arvyl, of course. And the last three were from the Southern Forest as well.

An unlikely crew, but one he suddenly felt supremely proud of. From so many, these were the few who'd responded to Justin's cry. The fate of the world now rested on the shoulders of people like Marie and Lucy and Johan. Thomas glanced at his arm. The disease would never gray it again. They were truly new people. No longer Forest People, certainly not the Horde. They were outcasts.

They were the chosen. Those who had died. Those who lived.

I love you, Rachelle. I love you dearly. I will always love you
.

He wanted to cry again.

“Then we make camp here tonight,” he said, looking out at the red hills. “No fires.”

“You're saying we waste the rest of the day?” Mikil asked. “What if I'm wrong? What if they do come after us?”

“Then we will post guards. But we wait here.”

“What's that?” Samuel asked.

Thomas followed his gaze. A dot on the sand. A rider.

His heart rose into his throat. The horse was riding hard, straight toward them from the desert. A scout?

“Back!” Mikil said, pulling her horse around. “Take cover. If they see us, they'll report it.”

The horses responded to the tugs on their reins and retreated behind a row of trees.

They peered from their hiding. The rider was moving as fast as Thomas had ever seen, down the slope of the last dune, leaving a trail of disturbed sand in his wake. A black horse. The rider was dressed in white. His cloak flapped behind him and he rode on the balls of his feet, bent over.

“It's him!” Lucy cried. She dropped off her mother's horse and was running before Thomas could stop her.

“Lucy!”

“It's Justin!” she said.

Thomas blinked, strained for a better view. His heart hammered. And then he knew that the man on the black horse riding pell-mell toward them
was
Justin.

His shoulder-length hair flew with his cape, and even at this distance, Thomas was sure he could see the brilliant green of his eyes. His passion was immediately infectious.

Thomas was frozen by the sudden realization that Justin was actually alive.

Had he come to give Rachelle back to him?

Justin's horse stamped to a halt twenty feet from the trees. His eyes were on Lucy, who was running out to him.

This was Elyon, and Elyon leaned over the side of his horse, grabbed Lucy under her arms, swept her up into his saddle, and spurred his horse into a full sprint. Lucy squealed. He swung the horse back less than fifty paces out and rode in a wide circle, now laughing aloud with the girl.

Thomas urged his horse forward, but he wasn't the only one; they were all rushing from the trees and dismounting.

Justin rode in, lowered Lucy to the ground, and measured them all with a bright, mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Good afternoon,” he said.

None of them replied.

“How did you like the lake?”

Thomas slid off his saddle, dropped to one knee, and lowered his head. “Forgive me.”

Justin dismounted and walked up to him. “I have. And you followed me, didn't you?” He touched Thomas's cheek. “Look at me.”

Thomas lifted his head. There wasn't a blemish on Justin's face to show for the pounding he'd taken. Except for his eyes, he looked every bit human. Yet in those deep emerald eyes Thomas could see only Elyon.

“I knew I could depend on you. Thank you,” Justin said.

Thomas wasn't sure he'd heard just right. Thank you? He lowered his head, swamped with emotion. What about Rachelle?

“Look at me, Thomas.”

When he looked up, he saw that tears were running down Justin's face. Thomas began to cry. He didn't know there was anything left in him to cry, but there, kneeling, staring into Elyon's crying eyes, he began to shake with long, desperate sobs.

“You understand what you've done, and it's tearing at your mind. You want your wife back, I know. But that's not what I have in mind.”

“I'm sorry!” He sounded foolish, but at the moment he only wished he could say whatever was needed to earn Justin's complete forgiveness for his doubt.

“You're a prince to me,” Justin said. “I've shown you my mind and my way, but soon I will show you my heart.”

“But Rachelle . . .” Thomas's heart felt as though it might explode.

“Is in good hands,” Justin finished. “Laughing like she used to in the lake.”

His eyes made contact with the others, pausing at each face. “The Great Romance is for you. If only one of you would have followed me, the heavens would not have been able to contain my cries of joy.”

Justin's eyes grew impassioned. He hurried over to Johan, lifted his hand, and kissed it. “Johan . . .”

Johan fell to his knees and sobbed before Justin could say more.

“I forgive you.” He kissed the man's head. “Now you will ride with me.”

Justin stepped to the old man Jeremiah, lifted his hand, and kissed it. “You, Jeremiah, I called you out of the Horde like so many. But you came.”

The old man dropped to his knees and began to weep.

Justin ran to Lucy's mother and kissed her hand. “And you, Alisha, I once told you that love would conquer death, but that it wouldn't look like love; do you remember?”

She dropped to her knees, lowered her head, and cried.

“No, no, you followed me, Alisha! You all followed me!”

He went down the line, kissing each of their hands. Their Creator had taken the form of a man and was kissing their hands. They could hardly bear it, much less understand it.

Justin stepped back from the seventeen followers, all still on their knees. He walked to his left, then to his right, like a man overcome by his first viewing of a magnificent painting he himself had painted. “Wonderful,” he whispered to himself. “Incredible.” His face twisted with emotion. “Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful.” He paced, face stricken with emotion.

He suddenly spun from them, fell to his knees, threw his head back, and thrust both hands at the sky.

“Father!” he cried. “My father, she is beautiful!” He burst into a joyful laugh, and his brilliant eyes, full of love, traveled around the small group. “My bride is beautiful! How I have waited for this day.”

Thomas immediately understood the significance of what they were watching. He could hardly see it for his own tears, and he couldn't hear too well over the crashing of his own heart, but he knew that this was about the Great Romance between Elyon and his creation. His people.

Elyon was restoring the Great Romance. Teeleh had stolen his first love, but now Justin had reclaimed her. The price had been his own life. He'd taken her disease on himself and he'd drowned with it, inviting them to embrace his invitation to the Romance by following him into the lake to drown with him. To live as his bride!

And Justin had called to his father. Until this moment, Thomas had never thought of such clear distinctions in Elyon's character. But it could hardly be clearer—somehow Elyon the father had given Elyon, his son, a bride. They were the bride. Thomas couldn't help but think that this very moment had been chosen long ago.