desert.
Male voices caught his attention. He ducked behind some brush and waited to see if they'd heard him. There were three, all Scabs in Scab uniform. Dogs sniffed for Johnis's scent.
"Think it was albinos or Eramites?" one asked.
"Eram isn't that stupid." This was the taller Scab. He seemed older, more experienced. The other two flitted around him like horseflies.
Johnis settled and listened further. Who was Eram?
"Stupid enough to cross Marak," the third said.
"Marak waits when he should swing and swings when he should wait," the first said. "And provokes the priest too often."
"The priest," the second scoffed.
"Where'd the bloody albinos go?" another protested. "They're ghosts, the lot of them."
"They aren't ghosts, and they have nowhere to go. Be patient."
Johnis backed away and snuck over to Silvie.
She was waiting for him, glaring. "So they've finally split forces. Something to remember."
"We need to find Darsal." He borrowed her knife and carved another Book of History into the soft bark of one of the spider trees.
It was a long shot she'd ever find this place, but better than nothing.
"If Darsal managed to escape and make it to the lake, she'll know by now it doesn't work. Hopefully she'll find your mark. And not kill you for carving another book."
"But she'd hide out and circle back. And a Book of History makes sense to us and not to anyone else. She'll get over it." He retrieved his book from the ground. Brushed off the dirt. Tucked it back in his waistband.
"If she's not there?"
"Then we go into the desert. It's our only option. The Horde's too familiar with Natalga Gap. I'd take my chances north if I were him."
"No, we find water," Silvie said. "That is our only option."
Johnis wrung the rest of the water out of his shirt and shook it out. More water slung on Silvie.
She flinched back and made a face. "Just put it on already."
The urge to sling it at her again came over him, but Johnis dismissed it. They didn't have the time for that.
He donned his shirt, chilly against his skin.
The woman's reflection rippled across the surface of the pool.
Silvie scooted forward and knelt, lapping like a dog and scooping with both hands, gorging herself.
The face vanished.
He blinked.
She sat up and wiped her chin. "No more fantasy women."
"I'm telling you, she's real." He dropped beside her. Looked into the pool. Nothing. Just red water.
His mind drifted for a moment, tried to refocus. Another early sign of the disease.
"Seek me in the desert, Chosen One. . . "
"Do we really have time to return to the lake?" Silvie asked, staring at the forest to their right.
Darsal. Darsal was waiting, one way or another.
His mind's eye saw fruit and wine and brilliant eyes like glittering jewels. A warm, exotic presence flooded his soul, spilled into him like waterfalls.
"It's two hours just to Middle," Silvie was saying. "And that's if we run."
Both of them were losing it.
"Are you arguing for or against the desert?" he asked her. "You aren't making sense."
"I'm arguing for finding water and ignoring this newfound fantasy of yours. And for leaving Darsal to find us. She's good at that, you recall."
"That was a little low."
His mind drifted again, from the pool with the woman's face to her haunting, seductive voice. Then caught up to Silvie's insinuation.
Darsal was really good at this game of hide-and-seek. And the betrayal nigh broke her. She had been so hopeless before ...
What if she hadn't really planned on joining back up with them? Jumping out of an attic into a roomful of Horde unarmed was suicidal.
And not any different than what Billos had done for her.
"We can't abandon Darsal."
She faced him. "What good are we to Darsal if we're Horde? Honestly, do you think we can make it? Get back to Middle, find Darsal, rescue her if she's captive, then go in search of water, all before the disease turns us stupid?"
"You have a point," Johnis conceded.
But the notion of leaving Darsal behind
Male voices caught his attention. He ducked behind some brush and waited to see if they'd heard him. There were three, all Scabs in Scab uniform. Dogs sniffed for Johnis's scent.
"Think it was albinos or Eramites?" one asked.
"Eram isn't that stupid." This was the taller Scab. He seemed older, more experienced. The other two flitted around him like horseflies.
Johnis settled and listened further. Who was Eram?
"Stupid enough to cross Marak," the third said.
"Marak waits when he should swing and swings when he should wait," the first said. "And provokes the priest too often."
"The priest," the second scoffed.
"Where'd the bloody albinos go?" another protested. "They're ghosts, the lot of them."
"They aren't ghosts, and they have nowhere to go. Be patient."
Johnis backed away and snuck over to Silvie.
She was waiting for him, glaring. "So they've finally split forces. Something to remember."
"We need to find Darsal." He borrowed her knife and carved another Book of History into the soft bark of one of the spider trees.
It was a long shot she'd ever find this place, but better than nothing.
"If Darsal managed to escape and make it to the lake, she'll know by now it doesn't work. Hopefully she'll find your mark. And not kill you for carving another book."
"But she'd hide out and circle back. And a Book of History makes sense to us and not to anyone else. She'll get over it." He retrieved his book from the ground. Brushed off the dirt. Tucked it back in his waistband.
"If she's not there?"
"Then we go into the desert. It's our only option. The Horde's too familiar with Natalga Gap. I'd take my chances north if I were him."
"No, we find water," Silvie said. "That is our only option."
Johnis wrung the rest of the water out of his shirt and shook it out. More water slung on Silvie.
She flinched back and made a face. "Just put it on already."
The urge to sling it at her again came over him, but Johnis dismissed it. They didn't have the time for that.
He donned his shirt, chilly against his skin.
The woman's reflection rippled across the surface of the pool.
Silvie scooted forward and knelt, lapping like a dog and scooping with both hands, gorging herself.
The face vanished.
He blinked.
She sat up and wiped her chin. "No more fantasy women."
"I'm telling you, she's real." He dropped beside her. Looked into the pool. Nothing. Just red water.
His mind drifted for a moment, tried to refocus. Another early sign of the disease.
"Seek me in the desert, Chosen One. . . "
"Do we really have time to return to the lake?" Silvie asked, staring at the forest to their right.
Darsal. Darsal was waiting, one way or another.
His mind's eye saw fruit and wine and brilliant eyes like glittering jewels. A warm, exotic presence flooded his soul, spilled into him like waterfalls.
"It's two hours just to Middle," Silvie was saying. "And that's if we run."
Both of them were losing it.
"Are you arguing for or against the desert?" he asked her. "You aren't making sense."
"I'm arguing for finding water and ignoring this newfound fantasy of yours. And for leaving Darsal to find us. She's good at that, you recall."
"That was a little low."
His mind drifted again, from the pool with the woman's face to her haunting, seductive voice. Then caught up to Silvie's insinuation.
Darsal was really good at this game of hide-and-seek. And the betrayal nigh broke her. She had been so hopeless before ...
What if she hadn't really planned on joining back up with them? Jumping out of an attic into a roomful of Horde unarmed was suicidal.
And not any different than what Billos had done for her.
"We can't abandon Darsal."
She faced him. "What good are we to Darsal if we're Horde? Honestly, do you think we can make it? Get back to Middle, find Darsal, rescue her if she's captive, then go in search of water, all before the disease turns us stupid?"
"You have a point," Johnis conceded.
But the notion of leaving Darsal behind
Similar Books
