The Future
CHELISE HUNTER, wife of Thomas Hunter, stood beside her son, Samuel, and gazed over the canyon now flooded with those who’d crossed the desert for the annual Gathering. The sound of pounding drums echoed from the cliff walls; thousands milled in groups or danced in small circles as they awaited the final ceremonies, which would commence when the sun settled beyond the horizon. The night would fill with cries of loyalty and all would feast on fatted cows and hopes for deliverance from their great enemy, the Horde.
But Samuel, a warrior with a heavy sword and angry glare, had evidently put his hope in something entirely different. He stood still, but she knew that under the leather chest-and-shoulder armor his muscles were tense and, in his mind’s eye, moving already. Racing off to make war.
Chelise let the breeze blow her hair about her face and tried to calm herself with steady breathing. “This is impossible, Samuel. Complete foolishness.”
“Is it? Say that to Sacura.”
“She would agree with me.”
Sacura, mother of three just a few days earlier, was now mother of two. Her fifteen-year-old son, Richard, had been caught and hung by a Horde scouting party when he’d straggled behind his tribe as it made its way to the Gathering.
“Then she’s the fool, not me.”
“You think our nonviolent ways are just a haphazard strategy to gain us the upper hand?” Chelise demanded. “You think returning death with more death will bring us peace? Nearly everyone in the valley was once Horde, including me, in case I need to remind you—now you want to hunt their families because they haven’t converted to our ways?”
“And you would let them slaughter us instead? How many of us do they need to kill before you shed this absurd love you have for our enemy?”
Chelise could take his backtalk no longer. It took all of her strength to resist the temptation to slap his face, here and now. But it occurred to her that using violence at precisely this moment would strengthen his point.
And knowing Samuel, he would only grin. She knew how to fight, they all did as a matter of tradition, but next to Samuel she was the butterfly and he the eagle.
Chelise settled. For the sake of Jake, her youngest, they must follow the ways of Elyon. For the sake of her father, Qurong, commander of the Horde, and her mother. For the sake of the world, they had to cling to what they knew, not what their emotions demanded from them. To take up arms now would make an unforgivable mockery of all the Circle stood for.
She faced Samuel and saw that his sleeve was hitched up under his left arm guard. She pulled it down and brushed it flat. “It’s hard, I know,” she said, casting a glance back at the three mounted guards who waited behind them. Samuel’s band numbered a couple dozen, all sharing his hatred. Honorable men who were tired of seeing loved ones die at the hands of the Horde.
“He’s larger-than-life, we all know that. Just because you’re his son doesn’t mean you have to blaze his trail.”
She’d meant to console him, but he stiffened and she knew her words had done the opposite. “Not that you feel like you have to measure up to Thomas, but—”
“This has nothing to do with Thomas!” he snapped, pulling away. “Nobody could possibly measure up to a man with his past. My concern is the future, not some crazy history bounding between the worlds through those dreams of his.”
Odd that he would refer to the time when Thomas claimed to have traveled back in time through dreams. Thomas so rarely referred to it himself those days.
“Forget his dreams. My husband is the leader of the Circle. He carries the burden of keeping twelve thousand hearts in line with the truth, and you, his son, would undermine that?”
Samuel’s jaw knotted. “The truth, Mother?” he bit off. He shoved a hand south, in the direction of Qurongi Forest, once controlled by Thomas and the Forest Guard, now inhabited by her father, leader of the Horde, Qurong. “The truth is, your precious Horde hates us and butchers us wherever they find us.”
“What do you suggest?” she cried. “Run off now, on the eve of our greatest celebration, in search of a few Scabs who are likely back in the city by now?”
Samuel lowered his hand and looked back at his men. Then to the south again. “We have him now.”
“You have who now?”
“The Scab who killed Sacura’s son. We have him captive in a canyon.”
Chelise didn’t know what to say to this. They had taken a Scab captive? Who’d ever heard of such a thing?
“We’re going to give him a trial in the desert,” Samuel said.
“For what purpose?”
“For justice!”
“You cannot kill him, Samuel! The Gathering would come undone! I don’t have to tell you what that would do to your father.”
“To my father?” He looked at her. “Or to you, Mother, the daughter of Qurong, supreme commander of all that is wicked and vile?”
Chelise slapped him. Nothing more than a flat palm to his cheek, but the crack of the blow sounded like a whip.
Samuel grinned. She immediately wished to take her anger back.
“Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean that. But you’re speaking of my father!”
“Yes, you did mean that, Mother.” He turned and strode toward his horse.
“Where are you going?”
“To conduct a trial,” he said.
“Then at least bring him in, Samuel.” She started after him, but he was already swinging into the saddle. “Think!”
“I’m done thinking.” He pulled his horse around and brushed past his men, who turned with him. “It’s time to act.”
“Samuel . . .”
“Keep this between us, will you?” he said, looking over his shoulder. “I’d hate to put a damper on such a wonderful night of celebration.”
“Samuel. Stop this!”
He kicked his horse and left her with the sound of pounding hooves.
Dear Elyon . . . the boy would be the ruin of them all.