Elyon (22 page)

Nothing could spare them now.

Pay attention!

Shaeda tightened her grip on him. Marak watched as Cassak executed the Eramites. His stomach curdled. For some reason his mind drifted to his last execution. Jordan’s screaming slammed into his head.

No. He never was, nor would he ever be, like his brother.

He was general to Qurong, trained by Martyn. And soon he would be greater than his lord.

Again the Leedhan cut off his thoughts, bound his emotions to hers. The albinos would die by Shataiki swarm, their bodies torn to shreds, leaving them to rot on the desert floor.

At last the final Eramite thumped lifeless to the ground.

“Have no fear, general mine, for the end shall not be the same for you. You will be great among men, for you shall take such and wield against all who oppose you. The time grows nigh . . .”

His attention centered on the priest, now surrounded by seven corpses along with his men. Sucrow took his knife and slit his own arm and mingled his blood into the mix of sacrificial elements.

“Blood of the Chosen One,” Sucrow began. “Blood of the First and of the Ruler of men. Blood of the enemy, twicefold to die. Blood of the righteous, whose souls upward fly. Wine of the gods, elixir divine, grain of the earth, bound by mortal swine. Elements of air and water and fire; elements of earth, the living immortal mire.”

Marak’s hair rose, tickling his neck. His back and shoulders tensed. Once more his hand went for his knife. This was it. He had to act now. Already Derias was swooping, circling, lost in reverie and the anticipation of freedom.

“Not yet!”
Shaeda screamed in his head. The sound echoed, deafening him. He missed the rest of Sucrow’s opening, his final invocation. Shataiki wings thrummed. The end was in sight. Even Shaeda coiled up in anticipation, ready to spring at the last possible second. Sucrow continued his dark blessing.

The wind picked up, and the flames from the torches swelled, burning so hot and bright that no one could look at them. Sucrow shouted over the din, his voice escalating. Below them the earth began to rumble. A few Throaters lost their balance. Shaeda held Marak fast.

Sucrow’s staff was high overhead, gripped between both rotting hands, knuckles white. His face shone in self-made glory, as though he’d seen a vision of Teeleh himself. Marak’s heart thrummed.

The spears began to pound against the earth. Below a shout went up, a chant from the warriors led by one of the commanders. “Death to the albinos! Slay them all! Find them from the four corners of the earth and cut them down! Let the sons of Tanis fall down dead, let them all be torn to shreds!”

Marak fought for breath. Was that him or Shaeda?

She cut off her thoughts and dug hard into his back with invisible claws. His nostrils flared. Time was growing short. So close, so close . . . Would Johnis die in time, or would she miss her final stroke?

Kill them. Kill them all.

Marak rushed forward and cut down two Throaters before Shaeda could stop him. He let out a scream that Shaeda cut short. The other Throaters turned, shocked to see him alive. He felt Shaeda dominating him, knew Sucrow was deliberately ignoring him, saw Cassak go for his sword . . .

“Patience!”

Sucrow’s final rite began. Still Shaeda held Marak back, her hypnotic gaze his only restraint. Derias circled once and landed to the side. Cassak and the Throaters shrank back from the sight. The Shataiki queen stood waiting, wings unfurled, talons curled.

“And now, O guardian queen, blessed servant of the Great One, hear our emboldened request. For blood this day shall be spilled. A thousand years from now this day shall be remembered as the albinos’ final hour, when the Shataiki came unleashed, and in their blessed fury rid us of this bane! Come, come to me, and ready yourselves; come to the high priest of man and beast, and let forth your blood-driven fangs!”

Marak and Shaeda both bristled.

Come on! Die already!

Shaeda’s lip curled. Marak’s curled. They both gave a low snarl. Marak could feel the end coming, the rush.

How will we know Johnis is dead?

Shaeda growled, frustrated with his questions.
“Such will not be questionable. Take heed and behold!”
Her grip tightened, as if checking the reins of a restless warhorse.

Their clothes flapped around their bodies; the great Shataiki throng hissed and snapped, whipped into a hurricane around them, their beating wings a deafening roar, adding to the thunder and lightning.

Sucrow chanted louder. Marak’s pulse spiked. The priest put the amulet on the end of his staff and raised it high above his head. The roar above and below swelled.

And still Shaeda waited.

thirty- two

S
he really is trying to kill us.” Silvie groaned.

“No, no, listen to me! So little time, so much to—” Darsal pulled at her hair and gave an exasperated cry. She drew a ragged breath and faced them, circling both of them. “Okay, you tried to bathe, didn’t you?”

Lake water scalding his flesh, burning it off. He tried not to think about that. Besides, these waters were red, not green.

“It’s been polluted,” Silvie said. “It doesn’t work. If you put us in there, we’ll die.”

“In the green lakes you had to bathe once a day, and the scabbing disease always came back if you didn’t, right?”

“Darsal, don’t make me go in the water.” Johnis stared at her.

She couldn’t be serious. She couldn’t really mean to drown them. She couldn’t really be conspiring with Shaeda to kill him.

“You’ve been with the Horde too long.”

The pained look crossed her face again. “Maybe I have. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“The gen—”

“Don’t talk to me about the general! Don’t talk to me about Marak.”

Shaeda clamped down on him again, the moment of clarity lost. Her hypnotic eyes he could drown in . . . He had to die, for Shaeda. Could he do that? Did he want to?

He should leave the Leedhan to wallow in her own failure. Silvie was right—she was a self-absorbed seductress, and she’d used him.

No, that wasn’t true. Shaeda loved him, wanted him.

And he wanted her.

“Now listen to me,” Darsal said. “What if Elyon decided to make it so we didn’t have to keep bathing? What if he decided to change something? What if the water changed so that instead of just coating our skins with water, we drown ourselves in it? Do you see?”

“I don’t. Why would Elyon change the rules? And I am not touching that water. Nor am I going to die.”

Shaeda . . .

“But you will, Johnis. The Shataiki can’t be trusted. As soon as Sucrow uses them to kill the Guard, Derias will turn on him and kill the Horde too. You remember watching them feed off the bodies after battle.”

Johnis was having difficulty breathing. He felt numb. Darsal was making sense. He just couldn’t fathom the thought of getting in that water and inhaling it until the bubbles stopped.

“You’re trying to kill us.”

“Maybe.” Darsal dropped to her knees between them. “Or maybe I think the only way for you to stop Sucrow is to drown. I drowned, Johnis. Do I look dead?”

Johnis didn’t answer.

“Listen to me, Johnis. If nothing else, what’s your heart telling you? Here.”

His heart. Johnis groaned. He didn’t know anymore. He wanted Shaeda, needed her. Hated her. Elyon help him, he wanted his entity back. The same one now determined to kill him at an albino’s hand.

Fitting.

“This is about the heart.” Darsal planted her index finger hard against the center of his chest. It hurt horribly. “This is about Elyon loving a Scab. He sent me to the Horde so I would love a Scab and love you.” Pause. “Sucrow will kill you. And I might drown you.” Her voice caught.

Johnis wondered what had happened with Marak.

“Johnis, Middle is dying. Sucrow is killing the Circle. Killing our families. Killing Thomas. Killing every human in this world.

Decide.”

“I’ll do it.” Silvie startled him. She pulled on her restraints. “For Elyon’s sake, let me up! I’ll do what you want. Just let me get up!”

Darsal hurried to comply. Silvie rubbed her wrists.

“Sil—”

“I would rather drown myself than let Sucrow near me!”

And Silvie dove in.

Shaeda laughed at a joke only she seemed to grasp.

“Silvie!” Johnis fought his chains. “Don’t let her die, Darsal! Don’t let her—”

“Trust me, Johnis. Trust Elyon.” Darsal stood by the water’s edge. Her breath was shallow, and she didn’t move.

“I don’t want to trust Elyon. I want Silvie to live! Let me up!”

“If I let you up, will you drown?”

“No! I’m going to jump in there and pull Silvie—”

“That lake’s bigger and deeper than you think, Johnis. It’s no pool, and you won’t find Silvie. You’ll find something, but it won’t be Silvie. But you’ll see her when you come out, I think.”

Something. Something in the water.

Shaeda’s eyes . . . beckoning him as she’d done before . . .

“You think!” Johnis started to weep. “Darsal, don’t kill her. Don’t kill Silvie. I’m sorry for everything. Just don’t kill her.”

“I’m not killing her, Johnis.” Darsal released him from the stakes. He was on his feet before she grabbed him by the collar.

“Oh yes, my pet, go to your little female . . . and drown with her.”

“Now, listen to me. You jump in there, you won’t see Silvie. You have to trust Elyon or you
will drown
down there. You understand?”

He stared down into the water that still rippled from Silvie’s plunge. The seconds ticked by. The impulse grew. Shaeda’s will wrenched at his throat.

She was winning. Again. He couldn’t find his heart when all three of them were ripping it apart.

Sweat collected on his forehead and down his neck and spine. Johnis tried to move forward, but Darsal had a vise grip on him and wouldn’t relent. Seconds turned to minutes. Silvie hadn’t yet surfaced. She was not going to die.

“All right, all right. You win.”

Darsal stared at him, searching his eyes for a trick. He pushed her hand away and pulled off his shirt.

“You win.”

thirty- three

J
ohnis plunged into the cold water after Silvie and swam deep beneath the surface, looking for her. The red water was clear, but he saw nothing. He swam in a large circle, hoping for a glimpse.

Was she already dead? Would her body sink or float if she was?

Deeper still.

More chuckling. Shaeda’s laugh ran his blood cold.
“Perhaps. . .”
His Leedhan’s haunting melody trickled through.
“Perhaps she is deceased, as you shall be. My foolish, troubled pet, so arrogant, so weak . . . If you must know the truth, then yes . . . I have planned such from the beginning, and you have all played your parts so well.”

You will not kill Silvie,
he insisted within. That only amused Shaeda further.

If Silvie was down here, he would find her, even if he had to drag her up from the bottom. The farther beneath the surface he went, the warmer the water became. Johnis swam faster, listening for any sign of struggle, any gasping for air indicating she was caught.

“Shall I tell you what I will do, my pet? I have indeed taken another for my own, a new lover . . . one whose heart is fully devoted to my will, unlike you . . . you who always found me second to your troublesome female . . .”

The minutes ticked by. He was out of air in the bowels of the lake. He turned for the surface, but couldn’t find his direction. He continued to swim, certain he was being pulled down, not up. And he couldn’t find Silvie. Maybe the same suction had forced her under as well.

His lungs burned. Johnis kicked and thrashed, resisting the impulse to inhale. No, no! He would not die!

“Trust me, Johnis. Trust me.”

He froze. That voice was not Shaeda. It was masculine, and didn’t match that of the Leedhan at all.

And yet her laughter now came on the new voice’s heels.
“Such will not be long now . . .”
Shaeda dragged him down, forcing him with the pull of her mesmerizing gaze, the lethal, bottomless eyes.

The surface was nowhere to be found. Yellow and red overtook his vision. He knew he was dying, thrashing in the lake like a fish caught in a net. The more he fought, the worse it became.

“Johnis . . .”
came the new voice again.

The outline of a hand appeared, a large, calloused palm with worn and bleeding fingers, cracked from years of hard work. The hand extended toward him.

Instinctively he reached. Their hands touched.
“Breathe, Johnis. You need to breathe,”
the new voice commanded.

A sharp jerk pulled him down. Johnis gasped. Water poured into his lungs. He curled into a ball and started to sputter. Not like this. Anything but this. More water flooded his lungs.

“Breathe, Johnis!”
the male voice shouted in his head.
“Trust in me!”

The faster the stranger pulled him, the more water gushed into his body. His mouth opened wide against his will. Johnis pulled back.

“And now, my pet,”
Shaeda taunted.
“Your life is forfeit. Farewell, son of Ramos. Now, die.”

“Breathe!”
the new voice commanded once more.

And he did.

Wide-eyed and terrified, with absolutely no way out and this hand pulling him deep, deep into the heart of the lake, Johnis stopped fighting and drew in a greedy mouthful of water.

The pain completely racked him. Johnis screamed and allowed himself to go limp, allowed this person to carry him where he willed. Everything went dark, and all he knew was the rushing water all around him.

His body was dead, he knew. And he knew whose hand he held. Through the darkness he went, boyish laughter all around.

Elyon?

The giggle swelled.

“Hello, Johnis. Swim with me.”