Lunatic (14 page)

n hour passed before Darsal had gone far enough to escape all traces, sights, sounds, and smells of Horde in the forest. Except for those that traveled with her, on her flesh, in her hair and nostrils and mind.

She had to fight the urge to scratch off her own skin.

But did it really matter anymore?

She fumbled over a stump and kept going, pressing into the unknown.

Here in the dark the trees were full of mangy fur, beady red eyes, and long, razorlike fangs. Sweat oozed down her neck and spine, mixing with the tingly, invisible sensation of an icy claw raking along the tender skin and slicing her to ribbons.

Darsal could almost feel the Shataikis' breath at her ear and neck, smell the horrid stench like sulfur and ash.

A dark laughter echoed through the forest. Darsal spun around, tried to see her tormentors. Laughter and wings.

"Stay away!" Her fists knotted around her sword, body coiled in a half crouch. "I killed one of your queens," she warned. "You are nothing to me! Nothing!"

Shallow breathing, pulsing hearts.

Madness, girl. You're going mad. Is this real or not? Darsal didn't know anymore. In the dungeon it was dreams. What am I doing?

Rustling wings, a high-pitched squeal. Where were they? How many?

Darsal ran, one arm over her head. Invisible bats breezed past her ear and shrieked. She suspected that it was all in her mind, part of her turning Horde ...

Maybe.

Darsal still slapped at the beasts, which were always out of reach. More bats circled through the leaves, rattling branches and herding her like a wayward cow. She couldn't see them. Couldn't see them, but they were there, in her mind, bent on consuming her alive.

It took her another hour to find Jordan's grove of spider trees, and she'd carelessly rushed over a ledge, slipped down a muddy slope, rolled sideways, and struck shoulder first against a rock among the trees.

Silence.

She groaned, rubbed her eyes. Spider trees dripped down over her face and blotted out the moon. Mud caked her skin, cooling it. She crawled on all fours, then rose up on her knees.

She'd landed in what looked like a marsh or swamp. Fog and cloud cover obscured her vision, but enough moonlight escaped to let her glimpse her surroundings.

Darsal pulled a twig free of her hair and brought one foot under her, pushed up, and stood. Her eyes immediately searched the swampy floor west. Gradually grass and mud and tree mingled with reddish sand and desert wheat.

Her heart thrilled. Close. So close. She sucked a long, ragged breath.

"Look for the grove of spider trees. You'll find a cluster of them that looks like a tent or a canopy of sorts, with a small gap somewhat like a door. It'll be a good place to hide. Drown, Darsal. Drown and live!"

A cruel joke? The ramblings of a madman? But she'd seen his eyes. Soft, mournful eyes that bore no hate.

Then again, if Jordan was sick, he might truly believe the same as the general about albinos: better dead than diseased.

Hadn't Darsal once said as much herself?

She turned full circle and tried to gain her bearings. Ledge. Rocks. Desert meeting forest on the western side. Spider trees forming a kind of refuge. But where?

Darsal kept south. Jordan had implied that the grove of spider trees wasn't big, merely well concealed, and therefore she wouldn't have trouble finding the pool.

But did she really want to find this red pool, submerge herself, inhale water, and drown? Feet squishing over black mud, she still had the nagging thought that the enemy was somehow trying to trick her into killing herself.

Jordan and Xedan could have tricked her. They could be Shataiki disguised as Forest Guard. Or the whole thing could be a sadistic pretense meant to fool her into betraying the Guard. Betraying Thomas. Betraying Elyon.

She had meant to ask more, so much more. How did the lakes turn red? Why? Why would Elyon change the rules he himself had put into place? Furthermore, why would Elyon expect her to die?

But the prospect of her turning had preoccupied her with a self-loathing that had left no room for hope or even the means of hope.

"There is much to say and little time. Trust me, Darsal. just trust me, if nothing else. You have to drown in a red lake. You must. Elyon will be with you. Do so and never turn Horde again. "

The woods threatened to swallow her. A thick grove of spider trees closed in from the forest, blocking out the border. She stopped.

The overgrown runner plants grew up about four feet, trunks in a half-moon shape, runners and leaves fashioning a kind of dome. A hut, almost.

Moonlight flickered, then vanished, behind cloud cover. A gentle breeze kissed her skin, ruffling her hair, and mist wafted up from the ground.

There wasn't much time. The Scabs would be hunting her now. They would find her soon enough. She took a deep breath and entered the little cavern, heart driving blood through her chest like ranchers driving a thousand cattle across open plain.

The space inside was warm, musty, and dry. It was about twelve feet across. In the dark she couldn't tell the color of the pool, but it looked about ten feet across and glimmered up at her. Beckoning. Mocking.

Darsal froze at the mere sight of the water. Itching and burning and flaking aside, she could only gawk and hold her breath. She knew its color, even if she couldn't see very well. She'd followed Jordan's instructions and Xedan's promptings to the letter, and everything thus far had been exactly as they had said.

There were no more pristine lakes of Elyon.

There were muddy, useless lakes.

There were these defiled, blood-infested red lakes that were also useless to her.

Unless she drowned in such.

So said the condemned.

Darsal took a few steps forward and merely stared. She circled the pool, crouched beside it, then stood and resumed her anxious pacing. Her heart rate soared, if that were possible at this point.

She wondered briefly about Johnis and Silvie. They had either turned Horde or died. Left her to turn Horde or die. Or they'd drowned and were alive, which sounded very much like a contradiction to her.

Darsal slid to her knees, face pressed against the sand. She curled into a ball, all hope of this whole mess being merely a nightmare shattered. "Elyon, I can't do this. I can't do this. This is madness, and I can't."

He had yet to hear her. Yet to answer her. Xedan had come. Jordan had come. But Elyon had not. And even they were only temporary solace, with all their madness about drowning.

She scratched hard at a place on her shoulder blade, but it was just out of reach and she could only twist uncomfortably.

She sat up, staring at the clouds that concealed the lesser lights of star and moon. Lesser but no less glorious.

Behind her the red pool still summoned her, still called. Still dared her to jump and see for herself if Jordan and Xedan were telling the truth.

At worst, they were liars and she would die and be rid of the scabbing disease for good.

She snorted. Yes, either way Jordan would be right, wouldn't he? Either she would drown and the water would somehow revive her without the disease, or she would drown and be forever without the disease in whatever afterlife awaited her.

Of course, maybe Elyon's idea of hell was eternity with a skin disease that drove you mad and a million Shataiki scraping away your flesh. It would work.

Blood roared in her ears. Her muscles tensed and she completely lost track of time. The sky grew darker. Time passed. She clutched Jordan's necklace.

At last she could bring herself to move. No other recourse presented itself.

She would die.

Darsal stood and went back to the spider trees, her feet swishing over sand, then squishing through mud.

Muggy air hit her when she came back into the refuge. Once more she faced the pool. Circled it, sizing the water up the same way she would a Scab.

She removed her boots and placed them to one side. Then her clothes.

She put her right toe into the water, flinched back.

Nothing.

She sighed. No, nothing would happen yet. Of course.

Darsal stepped into the cold, thick water and slipped, gasped. Then managed a short laugh. Evidently the pool had a sharp ledge and she'd stepped off it. She started to tread in the deep, deep water.

So Jordan was right. The water would not work this way anymore, for reasons unknown to her.

Hot tears streamed down her face alongside cold red.

Dripped down off her chin.

Blood and water.

Never taint the water with blood. Never.

Darsal drew a deep breath and plunged under.

arsal stroked with her arms and kicked, swimming quickly so she couldn't change her mind. Deeper, deeper. Gradually the water became warm. It occurred to her that the pool could be fed by an underground river.

If she swam deep enough she might be sucked in.

It also occurred to her that she hadn't exactly seen for certain the water's color. Furthermore, if Elyon truly had condemned her, he had no reason to allow her to test him in this nonsensical and blasphemous way.

But beneath the surface the water was dark.

She swam deeper.

This was something Johnis would do and as a result would probably kill her.

Her lungs started to burn.

Darsal let herself float for a moment, eyes closed, adrenaline racing and mind reeling. This was a mistake, a gross mistake.

She couldn't make herself swallow water. She couldn't! Even if she tried, her body would rebel. Her mind rebelled at the mere thought.

And then she was out of air.

On instinct she exhaled, then inhaled.

The mouthful of water made her sputter. Sparks filled her vision and she clutched her throat, kicking toward what she thought was the surface then realized wasn't.

Darsal sucked in another breath to scream. Choking on water, she now knew she'd never make it. This cursed pool was determined to have her and would take her straight into its gullet.

Death had come. So be it.

She breathed out, pursed her lips, and glared into the dark.

Then opened her mouth and took in a long, gluttonous breath.

Water scraped down her lungs like Shataiki claws, and yellow, red, and blue tinged her sight. She didn't fight it.

Against all urge to struggle, Darsal curled her limbs together and took another defiant drag of killing water.

The last ten years for nothing. The ordeal with the books all ended in being cut off, left to rot in a prison cell, and now suicide by drowning. Absolutely nothing.

All went black.

Her heart stopped, her lungs no longer cried for air and begged her to relieve them of water. Her limbs did not move. She did not blink. She was suspended in the water in a dead man's float.

Red light filtered up from below, where she'd expected to find a muddy black floor and come to rest against other idiots who had come to drown.

Someone's horrific screams flooded her mind, penetrated the water, and invaded every pore of her being until she, too, wanted to scream but could not.

The sound of cracking whips overpowered the voice, even though the louder they came the louder the wretched voice shrieked.