THE FIRST thing Thomas realized was that he was back. He was waking up in the Thrall with Rachelle and Johan curled by his feet. He’d dreamed of Bangkok and was getting ready to enter a meeting with some people who were finally willing to consider the Raison Strain.
They’d spent the evening huddled together on the Thrall’s floor. The night seemed colder than usual. Depression hung in the room like a thick fog. Rachelle had even tried to dance once, but she just couldn’t find the right rhythm. She gave up and sat back down, head in her hands. They soon grew silent and finally drifted off to sleep.
Sometime in the middle of the night, they were awakened by a scratching on the roof, but the sound passed within a few minutes and they managed to return to sleep.
Thomas was the first to wake. Morning rays lit the translucent dome. He quietly stood, walked to the large doors, and pressed his ear against the glowing wood. If anything alive was waiting beyond the doors, it made no sound. Satisfied, he hurried across the room to a side door that Rachelle said led to storage. He opened it and descended a short flight of steps to a small storage room.
A clear jar containing about a dozen pieces of fruit sat against the far wall. Some bread. Good. He closed the door and returned upstairs.
Rachelle and Johan still slept, and Thomas decided to leave them to their sleep as long as he could. He walked over to the main doors and put an ear to the wood again.
He listened for a full minute this time. Nothing.
He eased the bolt open and cracked the door, half expecting to hear a sudden flurry of black wings. Instead, he heard only the slight creak of the hinges. The morning air remained absolutely still. He pushed the door farther open and cautiously peered around. He squinted in the bright light and quickly scanned the village for Shataiki.
But there were none. He held his breath and stepped out into putrid morning air.
The village was deserted. Not a soul, living or dead, occupied the once lively streets. There were no dead bodies as he had expected. Only patches of blood that had soaked the ground. Nor were there Shataiki perched on the rooftops, waiting for him to leave the safety of the Thrall. He twisted to look at the Thrall’s roof, thinking of the scratching during the night. Still no bats.
But where were the people?
Apparently even the animals had been chased from the valley. The buildings no longer glowed. The entire village looked as though it had been covered by a great settling of gray ash.
“What happened?” Rachelle and Johan stood dumbstruck.
“It went dark inside,” Johan said, staring past Thomas with wide eyes.
He was right; the wood inside had lost its glow as well. It must have been somehow affected by the air he had let in when he opened the door. He turned back to the scene before him.
Thomas felt nauseated. Scared. His pulse beat steady and hard. Had evil entered him somehow, or was it just out here in this physical form? And what about the others?
“It’s all changed!” Rachelle cried. She grabbed Thomas’s arm with a firm, trembling grip. Frightened? She’d known caution before. But fear? So she, too, felt the effects of the transformation even without being torn to shreds.
“What . . . what happened to the land?” Johan asked.
The meadows surrounding the village were now black. But the starkest change in the land was the forest at the meadow’s edge. The trees were all charred, as though an immense fire had ravaged the land.
Black.
For a long time they stood still, frozen by the scene before them. Thomas looked to his left where the path snaked over scorched earth toward the lake. He placed his arms around Johan and Rachelle.
“We should go to the lake.”
Rachelle looked at him. “Can’t we eat first? I’m starving.”
Her eyes. They weren’t green.
He lowered his arm and swallowed. The emerald windows to her soul were now grayish white. As though she’d contracted an advanced case of cataracts.
It took every ounce of his composure not to jump. He stepped back cautiously. Her face had lost its shine and her skin had dried. Tiny lines were etched over her arms.
And Johan—it was the same with him!
Thomas turned around and looked at his own arm. Dry. No pain, just bone dry. The nausea in his gut swelled.
“Eat? Don’t you want to go to the lake first?”
He waited for a response, afraid to face them. Afraid to look into their eyes. Afraid to ask whether his eyes were also gray saucers.
They weren’t responding. See, they were afraid too. They’d seen his eyes and were stunned to dumbness. They stood on the steps of the Thrall, ashamed and silent. Thomas certainly felt—
He heard a loud smacking sound and spun around, fearing bats. But it wasn’t bats. It was Rachelle and Johan. They’d descended the steps and were stuffing some fruit he hadn’t seen into their mouths.
Whose fruit? Everything else here appeared to be dead.
Teeleh’s.
“Wait!” He took the steps in long leaps, rushed over to Rachelle, and ripped the fruit from her mouth.
She whirled around and struck him, her hand flexed firm and her fingers curved to form a claw. “Leave me!” she snarled, spewing juice.
Thomas staggered in shock. He touched his cheek and brought his hand away bloody. Rachelle snatched up another fruit and shoved it into her mouth.
He shifted his gaze to Johan, who ignored them totally. Like a ravenous dog intent on a meal, he greedily chewed the flesh of a fruit.
Thomas backed to the steps. This couldn’t be happening. Not to Johan, of all people. Johan was the innocent child who just yesterday had walked around the village in a daze, lost in thoughts about diving into Elyon’s bosom. And now this?
And Rachelle. His dearest Rachelle. Beautiful Rachelle, who could spend countless hours dancing in the arms of her beloved Creator. How could she have so easily turned into this snarling, desperate animal with dead eyes and flaking skin?
A flurry of wings startled Thomas. He spun his head to the blackened entrance of the Thrall. Michal sat perched on the railing.
“Michal!”
Thomas bounded up the steps. “Thank goodness! Thank goodness, Michal! I . . .” Tears blurred his vision. “It’s terrible! It’s . . .” He turned to Rachelle and Johan, who were making quick work of the fruit scattered below.
“Look at them!” he blurted out, flinging an arm in their direction. “What’s happening?” Even as he said it, he felt a sudden desire to cool his own throat with the fruit.
Michal stared ahead, regarding the scene serenely. “They are embracing evil,” he said quietly.
Thomas felt himself begin to calm. The fruit looked exactly like any fruit they’d eaten at a table set by Karyl. Intoxicating, sweet. He shivered with growing desperation. “They’ve gone mad,” he said in a low voice.
“Perceptive. They’re in shock. It won’t always be this bad.”
“Shock?” Thomas heard himself say it, but his eyes were on the last piece of fruit, which both Rachelle and Johan were heading for.
“Shock of the most severe nature,” Michal said. “You’ve tasted the fruit before. Its effect isn’t so shocking to you, but don’t think you’re any different from them.”
Johan reached the fruit first, but his taller sister quickly towered over him. She put one hand on her hip and shoved the other at the fruit. “It’s mine!” she screamed. “You have no right to take what is mine. Give it to me!”
“No!” Johan screamed, his eyes bulging from a beet-red face. “I found it. I’ll eat it!” Rachelle leaped on her younger brother with nails extended.
“They’re going to kill each other,” Thomas said. It occurred to him that he was actually less horrified than amused. The realization frightened him.
“With their bare hands? I doubt it. Just keep them away from anything that can be used as a weapon.” The Roush looked at them with a blank stare. “And get them to the lake as soon as you can.”
Rachelle and Johan separated and circled each other warily. From the corner of his eyes, Thomas saw a small black cloud approaching. But he kept his eyes on the fruit in Johan’s fist. He really should run down there and take the fruit away himself. They’d eaten more than enough. Right?
Thomas cast a side glance at Michal. The Roush had his eyes on the sky. “Remember, Thomas. The lake.” He leaped into the air and swept away.
“Michal?” Thomas glanced at the sky that had interested the Roush.
The black cloud swept in over blackened trees. Shataiki!
“Rachelle!” he screamed. These black beasts terrified him more now than they had in the black forest.
“Rachelle!” He bounded down the stairs and seized first Rachelle and then Johan by their arms, nearly jerking them from their feet. He glanced at the skyline, surprised at how close the Shataiki had come. Their shrieks of delight echoed through the valley.
Rachelle and Johan had seen, too, and they ran willingly. But their strength was gone, and Thomas had to practically drag them up the stairs into the Thrall. Even with Rachelle finally pulling free and stumbling up the steps on her own, they just managed to flop into the dark Thrall and shove the doors closed when the first Shataiki slammed into the heavy wood. Then they came, shrieking and beating, one after another.
Thomas scrambled back, saw the door was secure, and dropped to his seat, panting. Rachelle and Johan lay unmoving to his right. He had no idea how to follow Michal’s last request. It would be hard enough to sneak undetected to the lake by himself. With Rachelle and Johan in their present catatonic state, it would be impossible.
Neither of them stirred in the Thrall’s dim light. The once brilliant green floor was now a dark slab of cold wood. The tall pillars now towered like black ghosts in the shadows. Only the weak light filtering in through the still-translucent dome allowed Thomas to see at all.
He rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. The Shataiki still slammed unnervingly against the door, but the period between hits began to lengthen. He doubted they could find a way to break into the building. But it wasn’t the Shataiki he feared most at the moment. No, it was the two humans at his feet who sent shivers up his spine. And himself. What was happening to them?
The fruit in the storage room. Thomas scrambled to his feet and pounded down the steps. Had the air destroyed that fruit as well? Actually, now that he thought about it, the fruit in the forest had dropped to the ground as he ran by, but it hadn’t turned black. Not right away.
He slammed into the door and pulled up. This door had been closed before they’d opened the main Thrall doors. If he opened it, would the air that now filled the Thrall destroy the fruit?
He would have to take that chance. He threw the door open, stepped in, and slammed it behind him. The jar stood against the far wall. He bounded over, grabbed one fruit out, and immediately stuffed rags in the top. He had no clue if this would work, but nothing else came to mind.
Thomas lifted the one red fruit up and blew out a lungful of air.
Bad air, he thought. Too late.
The fruit didn’t wilt in his hand. How long would it last?
He shoved the fruit into his mouth and bit deep. The juice ran over his tongue, his chin. It slipped down his throat.
The relief was instantaneous. Gentle spasms ran through his stomach. Thomas dropped to his knees and tore into the sweet flesh.
He’d eaten half the fruit before remembering Rachelle and Johan. He grabbed an orange fruit from the jar, stuffed the rag back into its neck, and tore up the stairs.
Rachelle and Johan still lay like limp rags.
He slid to his knees and rolled Rachelle onto her back. He placed the fruit directly over her lips and squeezed. The skin of the orange fruit split. A trickle of juice ran down his finger and spilled onto her parched lips. Her mouth filled with the liquid and she moaned. Her neck arched as the nectar worked into her throat. In a long, slow exhale, she pushed air from her lungs and opened her eyes.
Eyeing the fruit in Thomas’s hand with a glint of desperation, she reached up, snatched the fruit, and began devouring. Thomas chuckled and pressed his half-eaten fruit into Johan’s mouth. The moment the young boy’s eyes flickered open, he grabbed the fruit and bit deeply. Without speaking they ravenously consumed flesh, seeds, and juice.
If Thomas wasn’t mistaken, some color had returned to their skin, and the cuts they had sustained during their argument were not as red. The fruit still had its power.
“How do you guys feel?” he asked, glancing from one to the other. They both stared at him with dull eyes. Neither spoke.
“Please, I need you with me here. How do you feel?”
“Fine,” Johan said. Rachelle still did not respond.
“We have more, maybe a dozen or so.”
Still no response. He had to get them to the lake. And to do that he had to keep himself sane.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. He left them cross-legged on the floor and returned to the basement, where he ate another whole fruit, a delicious white nectar he thought was called a sursak.
Eleven left. At least they weren’t spoiling as quickly as he’d feared. If Rachelle and Johan showed any further signs of deterioration, he would give them more, but there was no guarantee they would find any more. They couldn’t waste a single one.
The next few hours crept by with scarcely a word among them. The attacks at the door had stopped completely. Thomas tried his patience with futile attempts to lure them into discussing possible courses of action now that they had found a temporary haven from the Shataiki. But only Johan engaged him, and then in a way that made Thomas wish he hadn’t.
“Tanis was right,” Johan bit off. “We should have launched a preemptive expedition to destroy them.”
“Has it occurred to you that that’s what he was doing? But it obviously didn’t work, did it?”
“What do you know? He would have called me to go with him if he was going to battle. He promised me I could lead an attack! And I would have too!”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, Johan.”
“I wish we would have followed Tanis. Look where you got us!”
Thomas didn’t want to think where this line of reasoning would lead the boy. He turned away and broke off the conversation.
Two hours into the unbearable silence, Thomas noticed the change in Rachelle and Johan. The gray pallor was returning to their skin. They grew more restless with each passing hour, scratching at their skin until it bled. In another hour, tiny flaking scales covered their bodies, and Johan had rubbed his left arm raw. Thomas gave them each another fruit. Another one for him. They were now down to eight. At this rate, they wouldn’t last the day.
“Okay, we’re going to try to make it to the lake.”
He grabbed both by their tunics and helped them to their feet. They hung their heads and shuffled to the back entrance without protesting. But there didn’t seem to be a drop of eagerness in them. Why so reluctant to return to the Elyon they once were so desperate for?
“Now, when we get outside, I don’t want any fighting or anything stupid. You hear? It doesn’t sound like there are any black bats out there, but we don’t want to attract any, so keep quiet.”
“You don’t have to be so demanding,” Rachelle said. “It’s not like we’re dying or anything.”
It was the first full sentence she had spoken for hours, and it surprised Thomas. “That’s what you think? The fact is, you’re already dead.” She frowned but didn’t argue.
Thomas pressed his ear against the door. No signs of Shataiki. He eased the door open, still heard nothing, and stepped out.
They stood on the threshold and looked over the empty village for the second time that day. The bats had left.
“Okay, let’s go.”
They walked through the village and over the hill in silence. An eerie sense of death hung in the air as they walked past the tall trees looming black and bare against the sky. The bubbling sound of running water was gone. A muddy trench now ran close to the path where the river from the lake had flowed. Had they waited too long? It had been only a few hours since Michal urged him to go to the lake.
Lions and horses no longer lined the road. Blackened flowers drooped to the ground, giving the appearance that a slight wind might shatter their stems and send them crumbling to join the burned grass on the ground. No fruit. None at all that Thomas could see. Had the Shataiki taken it?
Thomas stayed to the rear of Rachelle and Johan, carrying the jar of fruit under one arm and a black stick he had picked up in the other hand. His sword, he thought wryly. He expected a patrol of beasts to swoop down from the sky and attack them at any moment, but the overcast sky hung quietly over the charred canopy. With one eye on the heavens and the other on the incredible changes about him, Thomas herded Rachelle and Johan up the path.
It wasn’t until they approached the corner just before the lake that Johan finally broke the silence. “I don’t want to go, Thomas. I’m afraid of the lake. What if we drown in it?”
“Drown in it? Since when have you drowned in any lake? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard.”
They continued hesitantly around the next bend. The view that greeted them stopped all three in their tracks.
Only a thread of water dribbled over the cliff into a small grayish pond below. The lake had been reduced to a small pool of water. Large white sandy beaches dropped a hundred feet before meeting the pool. No animals of any kind were in sight. Not a single green leaf remained on the dark circle of trees now edging the dwindling pool.
“Dear God. Oh, dear God. Elyon.” Thomas took a step forward and stopped.
“Has he left?” Rachelle asked, looking around.
“Who?” Thomas asked absently.
She motioned to the lake.
“Look.” Johan had fixed his eyes on the lip of the cliff.
There, on the high rock ledge, stood a single lion, gazing out over the land.
Thomas’s heart bolted. A Roshuim? One of the lionlike creatures from the upper lake? And what of the upper lake? What of the boy?
The magnificent beast was suddenly joined by another. And then a third, then ten, and then a hundred white lions, filing into a long line along the crest of the dried falls.
Thomas turned to the others and saw their eyes peeled wide.
The beasts at the head of the falls were shifting uneasily now. The line split in two.
The boy stepped into the gap, and Thomas thought his heart stopped beating at first sight of the boy’s head. The lions crumpled to their knees and pressed their muzzles flat on the stone surface. And then the boy’s small body filled the position reserved for him at the cliff ’s crest. The boy stood barefooted on the rock, dressed only in a loincloth.
For a few moments, Thomas forgot to breathe.
The entire line of beasts bowed their heads in homage to the boy. The child slowly turned and gazed over the land below him. His tiny slumped shoulders rose and fell slowly. A lump rose in Thomas’s throat.
And then the boy’s face twisted with sorrow. He raised his head, opened his mouth, and cried to the sky.
The long line of beasts dropped flat to their bellies, like a string of dominoes, sending an echo of thumps over the cliff. A chorus of bays ran down the line.
The air filled with the boy’s wail. His song. A long, sustained note that poured grief into the canyon like molten lead.
Thomas dropped to his knees and began gasping for air. He’d heard a simi-lar sound before, in the lake’s bowels, when Elyon’s heart was breaking in red waters.
The boy sank to his knees.
Tears sprang into Thomas’s eyes, blurring the image of the gathered beasts. He closed his eyes and let the sobs come. He couldn’t take this. The boy had to stop.
But the boy didn’t stop. The cry ran on and on with unrelenting sorrow.
The wail fell to a whimper—a hopeless little sound that squeaked from a paralyzed throat. And then it dwindled into silence.
Thomas lifted his head. The beasts on the cliff fell silent but remained prone. The boy’s chest heaved now, in long, slow gasps through his nostrils. And then, just as Thomas began to wonder whether the show of sorrow was over, the small boy’s eyes flashed open. He stood to his feet and took a step forward.
The boy threw his fists into the air and let loose a high-pitched shriek that shattered the still morning air. Like the wail of a man forced to watch his children’s execution, with a red face and bulging eyes, screaming in rage. But all from the mouth of the small boy standing high on the cliff.
Thomas trembled in agony and threw himself forward on the sand. The shriek took the form of a song and howled through the valley in long, dreadful tones. Thomas clutched his ears, afraid his head might burst. Still the boy pushed his song into the air with a voice that Thomas thought filled the entire planet.
And then, suddenly, the boy fell silent, leaving only the echoes of his voice to drift through the air.
For a moment, Thomas could not move. He slowly pushed himself up to his elbows and lifted his head. He ran a forearm across his eyes to clear his vision. The child stood still for a few moments, staring ahead as though dazed, and then turned and disappeared. The beasts clamored to their feet and backed away from the cliff until only a deserted gray ledge ran along the horizon. Silence filled the valley once again.
The boy was gone.
Thomas scrambled to his feet, panicked. No. No, it couldn’t be! Without looking at the others, he sprinted down the white bank and into the dwindling water.
The intoxication was immediate. Thomas plunged his head under the water and gulped deeply. He stood up, threw his head back, and raised two fists in the air. “Elyon!” he yelled to the overcast sky.
Johan ran only a step ahead of Rachelle, down the bank and facefirst into the water. Now numb with pleasure, Thomas watched the two dunk their heads under the surface like desperately thirsty animals. The contrast between the terror that consumed the land and this remnant of Elyon’s potent power, left as a gift for them, was staggering. He flopped facedown into the pool.
But there was a difference, wasn’t there?
Elyon?
Silence.
He stood up. The water seemed to be lower.
Rachelle and then Johan stood from the water. A healthy glow had returned to their skin, but they looked down, confused.
“What’s happening?” Rachelle asked.
The pond was sinking into the sand. Draining. Thomas splashed water on his face. He drank more of it. “Drink it! Drink it!”
They lowered their heads and drank.
But the level fell fast. It was soon at their knees. Then their ankles.
“So, now you know,” a voice said behind Thomas.
Michal stood on the bank. “I’m afraid I have to go, my friends. I may not see you for a while.” His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked very sad.
Thomas splashed out of the pond. “Is this it? Is this the last of the water? You can’t go!”
Michal shifted away and stared at the cliff. “You’re not in a position to be demanding.”
“We’ll die out here!”
“You’re already dead,” Michal said.
The last of the water seeped into the sand.
Michal took a deep breath. “Go back to the Crossing. Walk through the black forest due east from the bridge. You’ll come to a desert. Enter the desert and keep walking. If you survive that long, you may eventually find refuge.”
“Through the black forest again? How can there be refuge in the black forest? The whole place is swarming with the bats!”
“Was swarming. The other villages are much larger than this one. The bats have gone for them. But you’ll have your hands full enough. You have the fruit. Use it.”
“The whole planet is like this?” Rachelle asked.
“What did you expect?”
Michal hopped twice, as if to take off. “And don’t drink the water. It’s been poisoned.”
“Don’t drink any of it? We have to drink.”
“If it’s the color of Elyon, you may drink it.” He hopped again, readying for flight. “But you won’t be seeing any of that soon.”
He took off.
“Wait!” Thomas yelled. “What about the rest? Where are the rest?”
But the Roush either didn’t hear or didn’t want to answer.
They left the charred valley and ran for the Crossing.
Thomas stopped them within the first mile and insisted they all spread ash over their bodies—the bats might mistake them for something other than humans. They picked their way through the landscape like gray ghosts. The ground was littered with fallen trees, and their unprotected feet were easily cut by the sharp wood, slowing them to a walk at times. But they pressed forward, keeping a careful eye to the skies as they went.
There were still a few pieces of fruit here and there that hadn’t dried up, and what juice remained still held its healing power. They used the juice on their feet when the cuts became unbearable. And when the shriveled fruit became scarce, they began using the fruit from the jar. They were soon down to six pieces.
“We’ll each take two,” Thomas decided. “But use them sparingly. I have the feeling this is the last we’ll see.”
Slowly and silently they made their way toward the Crossing. It was midmorning before they saw the first Shataiki formation, flying high overhead, at least a thousand strong. The Shataiki were headed toward the black forest and flapped on. They either did not see the party of three or were fooled by the ash.
An hour later they reached the Crossing. The old grayed bridge arched over a small stream of brown water. The rest of the riverbed was cracked dry.
Johan ran to the bank. “It looks okay.”
“Don’t drink it!”
“We’re going to die of thirst out here!” he said. “Who says we have to listen to the bat?”
The bat? Michal.
“Then eat some fruit. Michal said not to drink the water, and I for one will follow his advice. Let’s go!”
Johan frowned at the water then reluctantly joined them on the bridge.
The far bank showed a dark stain where the Shataiki had torn Tanis to shreds, but otherwise there was nothing peculiar about the black forest. It looked just like the ground they had already traversed.
“Come on,” Thomas urged after a moment. He swallowed a lump in his throat and led them over the bridge and into the black forest.
They slowly made their way through the forest, stopping every hundred meters or so to wipe more juice on the soles of their feet.
“Use it sparingly,” Thomas insisted. “Leave enough to eat.” He hated to think what would happen when they ran out.
Shataiki sat perched in the limbs above, squealing and fighting over petty matters. Only the more curious looked down at the trio passing beneath them. It must be the ash, Thomas thought. Deceptive enough to confuse the mindless, deceptive creatures.
They had picked their way through the forest for what seemed a very long time when they came to a clearing.
“The desert!” Rachelle said.
Thomas glanced around. “Where?”
“There!” She pointed directly ahead.
Black trees bordered the far side of the clearing. And beyond a fifty-foot swath of trees, glimpses of white sand. The prospect of getting out of the forest was enough to make Thomas’s pulse scream in anticipation.
“That’s my girl. Come on!” He stepped forward.
“So I’m still your girl?”
Thomas turned back. She wore a sly smirk. “Of course. Aren’t you?”
“I don’t know, Thomas. Am I?”
She lifted her chin and walked past him. She was. At least he hoped she was. Although it occurred to him that the Great Romance had been blackened like everything else in this cursed land.
He shoved the thoughts from his mind and trudged after her. Their need for survival was greater than any romance. He quickly passed her and led the way. He might not be the man he was, but he could at least put on a front of protection. Famed warrior, Thomas Hunter. He grunted in disgust.
They had reached the field’s midpoint when the first black Shataiki dived from the sky and settled to the ground ahead of them. Thomas looked at the bat. Keep moving. Just keep moving.
He adjusted his course, but the bat hopped over to block his passage.
“You think you can pass me so easily?” the Shataiki sneered. “Not so easy now, eh?”
Johan jumped forward and put up his fists as if to take the bat on. Thomas lifted a hand to the boy without removing his eyes from the Shataiki. “Back off, Johan.”
“Back off, Johan,” the bat mimicked. Its pupil-less red eyes glared. “Are you too weak for me, Johan?” The bat raised one of its talons. “I could cut you open right here! How does that feel? Welcome to our new world.” The Shataiki cackled with delight and bit deeply into a fruit it had withdrawn from behind.
“Want some?” he taunted and then laughed again as though this had been a hilarious assault.
Thomas took a step in the direction of the bat. The Shataiki immediately flared his wings and snarled. “Stay!” A flock of Shataiki had now gathered in the sky and circled above them, taunting. “You tell him,” one with a raspy voice taunted.
“You tell him,” another mimicked.
And the first Shataiki did. “You stay put!” it yelled now, even though Thomas hadn’t moved.
Thomas reached into his pocket and squeezed his last fruit so that the juice from the flesh seeped out between his fingers.
He turned calmly around and faced Rachelle and Johan. “Use your fruit,” he whispered. “When I say, run.”
“Face me when I talk to you, you—”
It was as far as the Shataiki got. Thomas flung the dripping fruit at the Shataiki. “Run!” he yelled.
The fruit landed squarely in the Shataiki’s face. Burning flesh hissed loudly. The beast screamed and swatted at his face. A strong stench of sulfur filled the air as Thomas rushed by, followed by Johan then Rachelle.
“It’s a green fruit!” a bat cried from among those that circled the scene. “They have the green fruit! They’re not dead. Kill them!”
Thomas tore through the field. No less than twenty Shataiki dived toward them from behind.
“Use your fruit! Rachelle!”
She spun and hurled her fruit at the swarm. They scattered like flies. Rachelle flew by him. Then Johan. But the bats had reorganized and were coming again. Johan clutched their last fruit between his fingers. They shouldn’t have thrown the fruits.
“Wait, Johan! Don’t throw it.” They ran into the trees. “Give me your fruit.”
Johan ran on, desperate to reach the white sand.
“Drop it!”
The fruit fell from his fingers. Thomas scooped it up and whirled around. A hundred or more of the bats had materialized from nowhere. They saw the fruit in his hand and passed him. Straight for Johan.
“Back!” Thomas screamed. He raced for the boy, reached him, and shoved the fruit into the face of the first bat to reach them.
The Shataiki shrieked and fell to the ground.
And then they were through the trees and running on white sand.
“Stay together!” Thomas panted. “Stay close.”
They ran a hundred yards before Thomas glanced back and then stopped. “Hold up.”
Rachelle and Johan stopped. Doubled over, heaving for breath.
The bats flew in circles over the black forest, screeching their protests. But they weren’t following.
They weren’t flying into the desert.
Johan jumped into the air and let out a whoop. Thomas swung his fist at the circling bats. “Ha!”
“Ha!” Rachelle yelled, flinging sand at the forest. She laughed and stumbled over to Thomas. “I knew it!” Her laughter was throaty and full of confidence, and Thomas laughed with her.
She straightened and walked up to him wearing a tempting smile. “So,” she said, drawing a finger over his cheek. “You’re still my fearless fighter after all.”
“Did you ever doubt?”
She hesitated. He saw that her skin was drying out again.
“For a moment,” she said. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. “Only for a moment.”
Rachelle turned and left him standing with two thoughts. The first was that she was a beautifully mischievous woman.
The second was that her breath smelled a bit like sulfur.
“Rachelle?”
“Yes, dear warrior?”
He took a big bite out of their last fruit and tossed her the rest. “Have some fruit. Give the rest to Johan.”
She caught it with one hand, winked at him, and bit down hard. “So, which way?”
He pointed into the desert.
The last of their exuberance vacated them at midday, when the sun stood directly overhead.
They navigated by the ball of fire in the sky. Deeper into the desert. East, as Michal had said. But with each step the sand seemed to grow hotter and the sun’s descent into the western sky slower. The flats quickly gave way to gentle dunes, which would have been manageable with the right shoes and at least a little water. But these small hills of sand soon led to huge mountains that ran east to west so that they were forced to crawl up one side and stagger down the other. And there was not a drop of water. Not even poisoned water.
By midafternoon, Thomas’s strength began to fail him. In his cautiousness, he’d had much less fruit since leaving the lake than either of them, and he guessed that it was beginning to show.
“We’re walking in circles!” Rachelle said, stopping at the top of a dune. “We’re not getting anywhere.”
Thomas kept walking. “Don’t stop.”
“I will stop! This is madness! We’ll never make it!”
“I want to go back,” Johan said.
“To what? To the bats? Keep going.”
“You’re marching us to our deaths!” he yelled.
Thomas whirled around. “Walk!”
They stared at him, stunned by his outburst.
“We can’t stop,” Thomas said. “Michal said to walk east.” He pointed at the sun. “Not north, not south, not west. East!”
“Then we should take a break,” Rachelle said.
“We don’t have time for a break!”
He marched down the hill, knowing they had no choice but to follow. They did follow. But slowly. So as not to be too obvious, he slowed and let them catch up.
The first hallucinations began toying with his mind ten minutes later. He saw trees that he knew weren’t trees. He saw pools of water that weren’t the least bit wet. He saw rocks where there were no rocks.
He saw Bangkok. And in Bangkok he saw Monique, trapped in a dark dungeon.
Still he plodded on. Their throats were raw, their skin was parched, and their feet were blistering, but they had no choice. Michal had said to walk east, and so they would walk east.
He began to mumble incoherently in another half hour. He wasn’t sure what he was saying and tried not to say anything at all, but he could hear himself over a hot wind that blew in their faces.
Finally, when he knew that he would collapse with even one more step, he stopped.
“Now we will rest,” he said and collapsed to his seat.
Johan plopped down on his right, and Rachelle eased to her seat on his left.
“Yes, of course, now we have time for a rest,” Rachelle said. “Half an hour ago it would have killed us because Michal said to walk east. But now that you’re babbling like a fool, now that our mighty warrior has deemed it perfectly logical, we will take a rest.”
He didn’t bother to respond. He was too exhausted to argue. It was a wonder she still had the energy to pick a fight.
They sat in silence on the tall dune for several minutes. Thomas finally braved a glance over at Rachelle. She sat hugging her knees, staring at the horizon, jaw firm. The wind whipped her long hair behind her. She refused to look at him.
If he had it in him, he might tell her to stop acting like a child.
Ahead the dunes rose and fell without the slightest hint of change. Michal had told them to come to the desert because he knew the Shataiki wouldn’t leave their trees. But why had he insisted they go deeper into the desert? Was it possible that the Roush was sending them to their deaths?
“You’re already dead,” he’d said. Maybe not in the way Thomas had first assumed. Maybe “dead” as in, I know you’ll follow my direction because you have no other choice. You’ll walk into the desert and die as you deserve to die. So really, you’re already dead.
Dead man walking.
“You’re still dreaming about Monique.”
The hallucinations were back. Monique was calling to him. Kara was telling him—
“I heard you speak her name. At a time like this, she’s on your mind?”
No, not Monique. Rachelle. He faced her. “What?”
Her eyes flashed. “I want to know why you’re mumbling her name.”
So. He’d mumbled about the woman from his dreams—her name, maybe more—and Rachelle had heard him. She was jealous. This was insane! They were facing their deaths, and Rachelle was drawing strength from a ridiculous jealousy of a woman who didn’t even exist!
Thomas turned away. “Monique de Raison, my dear Rachelle, doesn’t exist. She’s a figment of my imagination. My dreams.” Not the best way to put it, actually. He emphasized his first point. “She doesn’t exist, and you know it. And arguing about her definitely won’t help us survive this blasted desert.”
He stood to his feet and marched down the hill. “Let’s move!” he ordered, but he felt sick. He had no right to dismiss her jealousy so flippantly. Just this morning he’d stared at her and Johan fighting over the fruit, horrified by their disregard for each other, yet he was no different, as Michal had pointed out.
Johan was the last to stand. Thomas had already reached the next crest when he looked back and saw the boy facing the way they’d come.
“Johan!”
The boy turned slowly, looked back one last time, and headed down the dune after them.
“He wants to go back,” Rachelle said, walking past him. “I’m not sure I blame him.”
They walked another two hours in forlorn silence, taking breaks every ten or fifteen minutes for Rachelle’s and Johan’s benefit now as much as his own. The wind died down and the heat became oppressive.
Every time Thomas felt the onset of hallucinations, he stopped them. He might not be much of a leader any longer, but he was leading the way by default. He had to keep his mind as clear as possible under the circumstances.
They walked with the dread knowledge that they were walking to their deaths. Slowly, painfully now, the mountainous dunes fell behind them, one by one. The only change was the gradual appearance of boulders. But no one even mentioned them. If boulders didn’t hold water, they didn’t care about boulders.
The valley they were in when the sun dipped below the horizon was maybe a hundred yards wide. A cropping of boulders rose from the valley floor.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” Thomas said. He nodded at the boulders. “The rocks will block any wind.”
No one argued. Thomas collapsed by the rocks and set his head back in the sand as the setting sun cast a rich red glow across the desert floor. He closed his eyes.
The sky was black when he opened them again. Whether it was complete exhaustion or the unbearable silence that kept him from sleep, he wasn’t sure. Johan had rolled into a ball and lay under the rocks. Rachelle lay twenty feet away, staring at the sky. He could see the moonlight’s reflection in her glassy eyes.
Awake.
It was an absurd situation. They were as likely going to die out here as live, and the only woman he could ever remember loving was lying twenty feet away either fuming or biting her tongue, or hating him, he didn’t know which.
But he did know that he missed her terribly.
He pushed himself to his feet, walked over to her, and lay down beside her.
“Are you awake?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
It was the first word she’d spoken since telling him that Johan wanted to go back, and it was amazing how glad he was to hear it.
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
“I guess it’s been a day to yell,” she said.
“I guess.”
They lay quietly. Her hand lay in the sand, and he reached over and touched it. She took his thumb.
“I want you to make me a promise,” she said.
“Okay, anything you want.”
“I want you to promise not to dream about Monique ever again.”
“Please—”
“I don’t care what she is or isn’t,” Rachelle said. “Just promise me.”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Forget the histories; they don’t mean a thing anymore anyway. Everything’s changed.”
“You’re right. Forget dreams about Bangkok. They seem silly now.”
“They are silly,” she said, then she rolled over and pushed herself to one elbow. The moonlight played on her eyes. A beautiful gray.
She leaned over and gently kissed him on the lips. “Dream of me,” she said. She settled on her side and curled up to sleep.
I will, Thomas thought. I will dream only about Rachelle. Thomas closed his eyes feeling more content than he’d felt since trudging into this terrible desert. He fell asleep and he dreamed.
He dreamed about Bangkok.