Green: The Beginning and the End (28 page)

She touched his lips with her own, not so much a kiss as a peck, but it made his mind go completely blank.

“Say yes, Samuel,” she whispered. “This is what you want. What you need as much as I do. Tell Eram that he shouldn’t wait another day.”

“Take the army today.” He meant it as a question, but it came out as a statement.

“If you march all night, you could be in the western canyons when the sun goes down tomorrow.”

“The others have gone to the Gathering. I would speak to them.”

“You would speak to them,” she whispered. “Samuel, son of Hunter.”

“Some would follow us.”

“No, Samuel. Many would follow you. I’ve been assured.”

The party doing the assuring could only be Shataiki, his greatest enemy, but at the moment this minute detail seemed strangely inconsequential. He placed his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. Her lips were softer than he had imagined, and for a few moments he felt like a boy discovering love for the first time. She kissed him hungrily, and he knew that he could not say no to the woman in his arms.

Worse, he didn’t want to. How things had changed in just a few short minutes. Eram was right. Janae was right.

The time to change the world would not wait.

“Say yes, Samuel. Tell me yes. I want to hear it.”

Stripped of any reason to deny her, he said it softly but without reluctance.

“Yes.”

35

His wife had emerged after spending hours eating a meal with Chelise and demanded to be taken back to the city immediately. Qurong would have sent her with an escort, but then word came from one of the temple priests: Ba’al had returned from the Black Forest with a message that was a matter of life and death for the Horde. Qurong must come immediately. No, Ba’al could not come out because certain rituals were required.

So Qurong endured the silent four-hour trek, during which he and his wife ignored each other in protest over the other’s behavior regarding their daughter.

What did she want? He had principles. Chelise might be his daughter, but she had joined his greatest enemy, for the breath of Teeleh!

He spat on the temple steps. She’d
wed
his greatest enemy. Borne a son by him. Now Patricia wanted him, Qurong, leader of the world, to throw away decades of conflict so that she could cuddle her little albino grandson? She’d likely catch his disease!

Worse than this was the position that Patricia had put him in by insisting they meet. His heart had stopped the moment Chelise walked into the tent. He’d put her from his mind a long time ago. But there she was, his flesh and blood, standing so beautifully in his doorway. The sight of her was brutal punishment. He’d exercised extraordinary self-control in making sure she didn’t receive hope from him.

Then she told him she loved him, and he took a horse into the forest alone to hide his emotions.

He opened the door to the Thrall’s sanctuary. “Where is Ba’al?” he shouted without bothering to look. If he had looked he would have seen the dark priest directly ahead, standing behind the stone altar dressed in his purple ceremonial robe. A red cape Qurong had never seen before covered Ba’al’s shoulders.

A butchered goat lay on the altar, sacrificed already. The torches licked at the air, glancing off the serpent’s wings on either side of the bleeding goat.

“I’m here,” Qurong announced, striding forward. “And I’m in no mood to stay long. You called me from my army at the most inopportune time.”

“The day before they are to be slaughtered?” Ba’al rasped. His eyes were red and there was blood on his lower lip. “You meant to wish them all well on their way to hell?”

Qurong drew up and closed his eyes, resolving to suffer through the man’s games if he must. “Fine, my dear dark priest. What is it this time?”

Ba’al stared at him for a long moment. His usual coy grin was gone. Another quality about him gave Qurong pause. He looked more emaciated in the face, perhaps. Dirtier, as if he’d gone on this journey of his and returned without bathing. And he hadn’t bothered to apply enough morst to hide his flaking skin.

“The world is crumbling about you, Qurong, and you don’t have the decency to hear of it. I suggest you listen to the spirits of fear.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Then I’ll say what he told me to say and leave your fate up to him.” Ba’al picked up a crudely fashioned glass bottle from the podium behind him and set it on the altar. It appeared to be filled with a black fluid.

“You’re going to have to make a choice, my lord,” Ba’al bit off. “Tonight you will give all your allegiance to Teeleh, or you will suffer the same fate as the rest.”

There was something different about his voice. Simple authority. No pretense. Qurong let him continue.

“At this very moment, the Eramites are gathering with the albinos to march on your army. Did you know that?”

Nonsense. But he would listen.

“Samuel, son of Hunter, has brokered a deal with Eram to fight together against the Horde.”

“This isn’t news to me.”

“Janae, that albino witch from beyond, will convince many albinos to join. They mean to strike within days with an army of one hundred fifty thousand half-breeds and thousands of albinos.”

Qurong felt his veins run cold. “That’s not possible. I was with one of their leaders just today, and they said nothing of this.”

“Your daughter, Chelise, knows nothing. If she did, she never would have come to meet with you.”

Ba’al knew of Chelise’s visit. More to the point, he seemed to know more than Qurong. There was no end to his spies!

“What I know comes directly from my lover, the queen Marsuuv, the twelfth of twelve who serve Teeleh. The day of the dragon has arrived, my lord. All those who do not bear the mark of the beast will die in the Valley of Miggdon—albino, half-breed Eramite, and full-breed Horde. I bring to you today the means to your salvation.”

He’d heard similar words from Ba’al, but at this midnight hour, these words resonated with an undeniable quality that had Qurong’s heart beating like a fist.

“We’ve all taken the mark of your beast,” he said. “What more could he possibly demand?”

“Your heart, my lord.”

“My heart? He has my entire body!” Qurong thundered. “What is this of Miggdon? We are gathered in Torun, not Miggdon.”

“So you are. And I commend you on your plan; it was good thinking. But it won’t be enough.”

“You know all this how?”

Ba’al picked up the bottle and held it up to the flame. What Qurong had assumed to be black turned red as the light passed through the glass. Blood.

“You look up and you see only sky. I look up and I see the watchers of our souls perched in the trees, soaring over our heads. The Shataiki see everything.”

“Only Shataiki? So Elyon is a fable.”

“Only Shataiki,” he said, bringing the vial to his lips. “For a time, only Shataiki.” He kissed the blood and whispered lovingly, “I am your servant, my lover, Marsuuv.”

“One hundred fifty thousand, you say.” Qurong paced to his left, lost in the size of the half-breed army. “Less than one-third the size of our own.”

“They haven’t been sitting in the desert getting fat. And they will have albinos.”

“A few thousand at most.”

“Enough to tip the balance. Don’t underestimate the albinos, my lord. They may have laid their swords down, but they were trained by Thomas of Hunter.” Ba’al spit to one side and black saliva splattered on the altar.

“I’m listening.”

The dark priest set the bottle of blood back down and slowly slid it across the altar until it rested in front of Qurong.

“Move your army to the east face of Miggdon Valley, where the terrain will play to your advantage. Hide three hundred thousand behind the valley and leave the rest on the hills to be seen.”

“Bait.”

“Eram will lead his army to the other side of Miggdon Valley.” Ba’al drew out his plan on the dead goat’s hide with a long, crooked finger in need of a nail trim. “He will take the bait and attack the army in the valley with enough men to destroy them.”

“And we will descend with the two hundred thousand in plain sight.”

“Which he will expect, naturally. He will then commit the rest of his forces against your army, not knowing that you have another three hundred thousand in reserve on the high ground.”

“We take them out with a crushing blow, once and for all,” Qurong said.

Ba’al smiled and stepped back. “If, and only if, you appease Teeleh.”

Qurong didn’t see the connection, and his face clearly betrayed his confusion.

“It is the day of the dragon, my lord. This isn’t about you. You must believe me when I tell you there’s black magic afoot. The Eramites aren’t fools. They’ll come with their own plans for victory.”

“What plans?”

“Dark magic. If I knew more I would tell you, but I can’t say what will happen if you don’t take the side of my dark lover. In the end it is he who will rule. Not me, not you, not Eram, and certainly not Thomas of Hunter.”

Qurong looked at the blood. The blood of Teeleh or Marsuuv, both equally terrifying. He lifted the glass container and held it up to the light.

“Drinking the blood will seal your vow,” Ba’al said.

What madness could come from drinking blood?

“A vow?” Qurong asked.

“From your heart.”

He could either refuse the rite, which would earn the rage of both Ba’al and whoever controlled him, or he could win their favor. The choice seemed simple enough.

Qurong twisted the stopper, lifted the blood to his nostrils and immediately regretted his decision to do so. The foul smell might have been an old open wound. He would have to drink quickly.

“Will you give your heart to my master?” Ba’al asked.

“Yes.”

“Then repeat my words.” Ba’al lifted both hands and called the pledge to the ceiling in a loud, ringing voice. “I, Qurong, supreme commander of the Horde, pledge my heart and my loyalty to the dragon called Teeleh, to do his bidding in accordance with only his will.”

“I, Qurong, supreme commander of the Horde, pledge my heart and my loyalty to the dragon called Teeleh, to do his bidding in accordance with only his will.”

“And I seal my vow with this blood, knowing that it comes from my master, Teeleh, maker of the evil that lives on our flesh.”

The jargon of black magic was comical, but he knew every word would be important to Ba’al, so he repeated the vow exactly as instructed.

“Now drink!” Ba’al cried. “Drink of this blood in remembrance of the day you first embraced the evil. Drink to Teeleh, your lord and your master.”

“I drink,” Qurong said, and drained the blood into his mouth. He swallowed quickly, as if it was a hard drink, and slammed the glass down on the altar. He was tempted to spit, but he dared not. So he swallowed the last of it and steadied himself on the stone.

“Satisfied?”

Ba’al grinned at him. “More than you know, my lord.”

“Good.”

“Do you feel any different?”

“Only nauseated.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Your mind is already eaten by the worms.”

More magic nonsense. And that was that.

“Then, if your lord requires—”

“
Your
lord,” Ba’al corrected. “He’s
your
lord now.”

“Of course. If
my
lord requires nothing more, I have to leave immediately.”

“To the Valley of Miggdon,” Ba’al said.

“To the Valley of Miggdon.”

“But it could be your home,” Kara said. “Please, Thomas, sit down. I don’t know how long I can take this pacing.”

He spun around and threw his arms wide. “I’m lost, Kara! I’m stranded here in this”—he glanced about—“godforsaken place.”

“This godforsaken place might very well be the only place you’ll ever live. You’ve affected this reality as much as you’ve affected the other; it’s time you acknowledge that. For all we know, this little jaunt of yours will have a profound impact on our future.”

“Yes, of course, the apocalypse is just around the corner, and it’s here because of me. Right.”

She stood and crossed to him, intending to calm him. “You’ve said it yourself: everything that’s happened there is a mirror image of what’s happened here. It’s a dim reflection that’s anything but precise, but history is unraveling in almost perfect symmetry. What awaits you in the other reality?”

“Nothing much. Only the end of the world.”

“And here?”

She had a good point. “Okay.” He lifted both hands in surrender. “You’re right, the same awaits me here.”

“
Us
here,” she corrected.

“Okay, us here.”

“Eight billion people are on the cusp of either a tragic ending or a grand climax. And for all you know, you’re here to usher it in. That doesn’t sound like a rather important consideration to you?”

She was right, so right. But Thomas couldn’t wrap his heart around the importance of any role he might play in this reality.

He turned from her, gripping his hair. His chest felt as though it might burst.

And then suddenly it was. Bursting. He shouted his frustration through clenched teeth and keeled over. “I can’t be here! She needs me. Jake needs me. Samuel needs me!”

“I need you,” Kara said softly.

Thomas faced her. “I will take you, Kara. I swear I will take you. Billy will come back with the books, because if anyone has a role to play in the end of this world, it’s that redhead from hell! I won’t leave this place. I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll eat here, I’ll sleep here. The moment he appears, I’ll . . .”

He’d what? Knock him out, take the books, and vanish? Yes, if that was what returning required.

“You never know how much you love someone until they’re gone,” Kara said. “When you left us, I thought I would die. I understand how you feel.”

“They are my life, Kara. And Chelise . . .” He felt his eyes tear up. “I’m telling you, she is my breath. A constant reminder that Elyon longs for me the way I long for her. Without her I would dry up like an uprooted Catalina cactus.” He spoke the words in a rush, feeding on his need to say what was eating him alive.

“She’s water to me, my gift from the Giver of all that is good. She’s my sky, my ground, my reason for waking and my reason for sleeping. She is my life!”

Kara’s neck darkened a shade. “Wow.”

“It’s all about him; of course it is. But I see him in
her
! She’s become the lake that I drown in!”

Overstated in a state of despair, perhaps, but hardly.

“I would rather die than stay here, separated from the woman I love, from the son who turned his back on me! I need to find them!”

Kara set her jaw. “Then beg Elyon to save you from a living death. Because from where I’m standing, you’re stuck here. In this death.”

She was right. Dear Elyon, she was so right!

Thomas turned around and fell to his knees. He squeezed his hands into two fists, faced the ceiling, and through streams of tears begged Elyon to send him the books.