sat like a brick in his gut. Assuming Darsal was anywhere near Middle.
Unlikely.
Unless she was captive.
The brick started to rot. Acidic poison worked its way into his chest and throat.
He had to get to the desert.
He had to get to Darsal.
His heart was tearing in two.
"We have to find water before we-"
"We have to keep our word first," Johnis snapped. "Then we go for the desert." Into the desert. "And we find out if this woman is for real or not."
"You mean `water.' You're not using your head."
"No, I'm following my heart." Johnis stood. "We go back and we look. Then ... then we find water."
ou don't know if you're a Scab?" Jordan spoke after another hour or so. His tears had dried. Her story had at least temporarily distracted him from whatever the Scabs were doing to his wife. His voice was stronger.
The increasing pain to her joints and skin and the stiffness served as a haunting reminder of her predicament. So far no cracks, but the agony brutalized her.
"It's too difficult to explain." She tucked herself back under the cloak, her only solace from the chafing disease. "I don't understand any of this. Where is everyone? Why are the Scabs ruling Middle? What happened to everyone? Where is Thomas? And this nonsense about not turning?"
Xedan drew a breath. "The Horde took over Middle a long time ago. We don't know where the others are. We were separated from them ourselves."
"Grandfather and I drowned with Thomas. Rona, a few months later. Things got out of control. The Horde had gone on an albino hunting spree. The Circle split into groups to keep from being annihilated and went deep. Very, very deep ..."
Darsal nodded. "If you were caught, you couldn't reveal the others."
Pain flashed across Jordan's face.
"No," he said. "We couldn't. We have a rendezvous point in the ..." He hesitated and glanced toward the guard, then looked at Darsal. "That is, Jordan of Southern is far from home. And if the sun kisses the sky he'll meet Jordan last."
Darsal thought the riddle out. The sun kissed the sky in the east...
"Our band was small," Xedan offered. "And close to Middle."
"Strategically placed," Jordan reminded him.
"You weren't with the others," Darsal noted.
Jordan's expression turned grim. "I was leading a smaller group. A decoy to keep the Horde away from the main body of the Circle." He fell quiet, then continued. "A month ago we were routed. Fifty of ours were taken, Rona included. Grandfather, three others, and I helped them escape. Only Rona was recaptured," Jordan said, eyes flashing. His normally amiable expression turned wicked. "I couldn't leave her." He shook, struggling not to lose composure.
Xedan's gaze returned to Darsal. "We all have our price, so it seems."
"Drowning," Darsal repeated.
The pain from the disease was like many teeth and claws chewing all over her body, ravenous predators tearing and fighting over her flesh. She'd seen a pack of hyenas do that once, and the picture resurfaced now.
"Your wounds bother you?" Xedan asked. "You've taken quite a beating-two in less than twenty-four hours."
The gash on her arm from fighting the Scab. She'd almost forgotten. It did hurt, but now she'd never notice.
A dry, humorless laugh snorted out of her. She winced. "Elyon's angry with me."
Her voice was raspy, dry. She coughed.
"The Horde's taken over, you say. The others ... dead or hiding? Or Scab?"
"No." Jordan's voice came out small and weak, so he cleared it and started over. "No. But listen to me, Darsal. Listen to me. I'll tell you what happened if you promise to listen. The Circle, those who drowned in the red lakes, followers of Elyon, are hunted by the Horde. We drown to find life and spend it as outcasts. Your choice in this world is to live as Horde or die as followers of Elyon."
He paused.
"And let me tell you, dying is the better choice by far."
The Books of History hadn't killed her.
So now the disease would.
Or the very water that Elyon once used to heal them.
A
Unlikely.
Unless she was captive.
The brick started to rot. Acidic poison worked its way into his chest and throat.
He had to get to the desert.
He had to get to Darsal.
His heart was tearing in two.
"We have to find water before we-"
"We have to keep our word first," Johnis snapped. "Then we go for the desert." Into the desert. "And we find out if this woman is for real or not."
"You mean `water.' You're not using your head."
"No, I'm following my heart." Johnis stood. "We go back and we look. Then ... then we find water."
ou don't know if you're a Scab?" Jordan spoke after another hour or so. His tears had dried. Her story had at least temporarily distracted him from whatever the Scabs were doing to his wife. His voice was stronger.
The increasing pain to her joints and skin and the stiffness served as a haunting reminder of her predicament. So far no cracks, but the agony brutalized her.
"It's too difficult to explain." She tucked herself back under the cloak, her only solace from the chafing disease. "I don't understand any of this. Where is everyone? Why are the Scabs ruling Middle? What happened to everyone? Where is Thomas? And this nonsense about not turning?"
Xedan drew a breath. "The Horde took over Middle a long time ago. We don't know where the others are. We were separated from them ourselves."
"Grandfather and I drowned with Thomas. Rona, a few months later. Things got out of control. The Horde had gone on an albino hunting spree. The Circle split into groups to keep from being annihilated and went deep. Very, very deep ..."
Darsal nodded. "If you were caught, you couldn't reveal the others."
Pain flashed across Jordan's face.
"No," he said. "We couldn't. We have a rendezvous point in the ..." He hesitated and glanced toward the guard, then looked at Darsal. "That is, Jordan of Southern is far from home. And if the sun kisses the sky he'll meet Jordan last."
Darsal thought the riddle out. The sun kissed the sky in the east...
"Our band was small," Xedan offered. "And close to Middle."
"Strategically placed," Jordan reminded him.
"You weren't with the others," Darsal noted.
Jordan's expression turned grim. "I was leading a smaller group. A decoy to keep the Horde away from the main body of the Circle." He fell quiet, then continued. "A month ago we were routed. Fifty of ours were taken, Rona included. Grandfather, three others, and I helped them escape. Only Rona was recaptured," Jordan said, eyes flashing. His normally amiable expression turned wicked. "I couldn't leave her." He shook, struggling not to lose composure.
Xedan's gaze returned to Darsal. "We all have our price, so it seems."
"Drowning," Darsal repeated.
The pain from the disease was like many teeth and claws chewing all over her body, ravenous predators tearing and fighting over her flesh. She'd seen a pack of hyenas do that once, and the picture resurfaced now.
"Your wounds bother you?" Xedan asked. "You've taken quite a beating-two in less than twenty-four hours."
The gash on her arm from fighting the Scab. She'd almost forgotten. It did hurt, but now she'd never notice.
A dry, humorless laugh snorted out of her. She winced. "Elyon's angry with me."
Her voice was raspy, dry. She coughed.
"The Horde's taken over, you say. The others ... dead or hiding? Or Scab?"
"No." Jordan's voice came out small and weak, so he cleared it and started over. "No. But listen to me, Darsal. Listen to me. I'll tell you what happened if you promise to listen. The Circle, those who drowned in the red lakes, followers of Elyon, are hunted by the Horde. We drown to find life and spend it as outcasts. Your choice in this world is to live as Horde or die as followers of Elyon."
He paused.
"And let me tell you, dying is the better choice by far."
The Books of History hadn't killed her.
So now the disease would.
Or the very water that Elyon once used to heal them.
A
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