Infidel Read online

His cry chased them into the darkness. “He will destroy you, Chosen One!”

  They stopped at the boulders, collected the hidden water, mounted the faster Guard horses, and raced toward the Middle Forest. All of them. Johnis, Silvie, Billos, Darsal, Rosa, and Karas.

  And in his saddlebag Billos carried three of the seven original Books of History.

  e’ve heard it all, but I still wonder what you think,” Ciphus, high priest of the Great Romance, said, “We can’t ignore what you’ve accomplished, despite the costs. If the decision were yours, what would it be?”

  They’d spent an hour giving full account of themselves to the Council, who lined the chamber’s stone seats and dressed in white tunics.

  Behind Johnis sat Billos, Darsal, and Silvie on benches, having stood and given their accounts of what had happened. Silvie had passionately sworn a new allegiance to whatever love had compelled Johnis to go after his mother, because it was this love that truly separated Horde from the Forest Dwellers. Billos and Darsal had agreed with more eloquence than Johnis had expected—from Billos, at least. Darsal, yes, but Billos seemed exceptionally verbose in his praise of the successful mission.

  Not a word spoken about the library or the Books of History, they had all sworn.

  His mother and father, Rosa and Ramos, sat next to Kiella and Karas. The reunion of his parents alone was worth any cost he personally could have paid, Johnis thought. They threw themselves at each other and danced like foolish children, weeping unabashedly as hundreds gathered in stunned disbelief at seeing Rosa alive.

  On the trip back, Karas had taken to staring at Darsal, and when Johnis asked her why, the young girl only shrugged and said that she looked like her mother. Before her mother died.

  Thomas and Rachelle sat to the Council’s left, quiet mostly, letting the other leaders of the Forest Dwellers direct the inquiry. They were biased, Johnis knew. They alone believed he was the Chosen One and had agreed to keep the knowledge to themselves for now. The danger was too great.

  Still, the events of the past week were unprecedented. Even Thomas was quite sure that some kind of correction was in order. Never before in the short history of the forests had any Guard led them in the kind of deception that Johnis had practiced in leading the Third Fighting Group into battle and abandoning Thomas in the Red Valley.

  The Guard had nearly killed Thomas at the forests edge, mistaking him for a Horde—only his roars of protest had stopped them from sending arrows through his chest. He’d thrown himself into the lake and washed all traces of the desert away in a matter of minutes.

  Thomas had lived, but more than a hundred fighters had not.

  “For the deaths in the Third Fighting Group …” Johnis stopped, choked with sorrow. “For the widows and the children left behind, I should receive a flogging—one hundred lashes—or a month in prison—for each.”

  The room was stilled to the sound of soft breathing.

  “There is no defense for my betrayal of all that I love. I would give my life for Thomas Hunter and for this Council, but I had no right to ask others to give their lives for my mother. Sentence me and be done with it. If I survive my punishment, I’ll take whatever position you suggest to serve the forests.”

  They hadn’t expected this from him, he saw, but it was how he felt. He heard a flutter of wings and turned to see Gabil and Michal perched on a long brass spear on the chambers far end. Michal stared at him, unwavering. Johnis wondered how long they’d been watching.

  “It’s a just punishment,” Thomas said.

  Johnis turned back to the Council.

  “The imprisonment, not the lashes,” Thomas continued. “But there are mitigating circumstances here that should affect our judgment.”

  William, Thomas’s lieutenant, spoke out of turn. “The Third Fighting Group knew it was going to face the Horde as they might on any other mission. How many thousands have given their lives following the commands of superiors over the last five years?”

  “Following the orders of legitimate commanders,” Tulas, a short, plump member said. “No sane man can excuse …”

  “Let me finish,” snapped William. “I am not saying that Johnis is innocent of deceiving Captain Hilgard. But 137 fighters died as any die, following orders to which end only fate or Elyon knows. This is war, not the business of civil servants.”

  “They wouldn’t have gone if he hadn’t deceived them!” Tulas said.

  “Every month, more than a thousand fighters die because someone told them to go into battle! Many die on account of their commander’s poor judgment. Are we to incriminate all who make poor judgments? Johnis’s crime was assuming authority he did not have.”

  “And my husband was saved by Johnis,” Rachelle said. “He sent the daughter of Qurong out into the desert looking for him. But this isn’t about Thomas or the Third Fighting Group, is it? This is about the Great Romance. The love of a boy for his mother.” Rachelle put her hand on her husband’s knee. “Would Karas please take the center?”

  Karas was dressed in a red frock made from the hibiscus flower and cotton, one that matched Kiella’s. The two girls had struck an immediate bond, and Kiella was already demanding that Karas stay with them, maybe even join their family.

  “Go on,” Kiella whispered.

  Karas stared at the Council with wide eyes, blue, as it turned out. It was so strange to think that color waited beyond the whites of all Scabs’eyes.

  Kiella grabbed her hand and led her to the front, then hurried back to her seat.

  Karas’s arms hung by her sides. Kiella had braided her long brown hair, which was now silky smooth and clean. To match her dress she wore a hibiscus bloom behind her right ear. We wanted to look special in honor of you, Johnis, Kiella had informed him. Do you like it?

  He could hardly hold back his tears. The same emotion swallowed him now, but he resolved to remain professional before the Council.

  “You’re a very beautiful girl, Karas,” Rachelle said. “It’s an honor to have you among us.”

  “Thank you,” Karas said.

  “Tell us, Johnis: what is going through your mind when you look at her?”

  Johnis wasn’t sure he could or should tell them how he really felt. Wasn’t sure he knew fully himself, yet. It was on the morning after their escape, as they fled across the desert, that he’d seen the dramatic change in Karas, and his heart had begun to break.

  “Tell us,” Rachelle repeated.

  He glanced over at Michal and was surprised to see the Roush dip his head.

  Johnis walked over to Karas and stepped behind her. He touched her silky hair and her pink cheek, and tears flooded his eyes. “What I feel?”

  He clasped his hands behind his back and faced the Council, “I feel like Elyon must feel when he looks at me,” he said. “I feel like we should open our arms to those who wish to bathe in our lakes.”

  Ciphus coughed. They all knew he frequently opposed the thought. The lakes were only so big, only so much water. They were chosen; the Horde was not.

  “I feel like she is no different from my own sister, Kiella. And I swear to love her with every beat of my heart.”

  “Are a hundred fighters’ deaths worth the life of this one?” Rachelle asked.

  He knew he was on dangerous ground. “I would die a hundred times for Karas,” he said. “Now that I know . , ,”

  “Know what?” Thomas demanded.

  “That she, too, is chosen.”

  The Council broke into several exchanges, none of which had any meaning to johnis.

  Karas was looking up at him with round eyes, smiling wide enough to swallow the room. He knelt on one knee, took her hand, and kissed the backs of her fingers.

  “You saved my life,” he said. “Now I owe you mine.”

  Karas leaned forward and accepted his debt with a kiss on his forehead.

  The Council had gone quiet.

  “Still, its irresistible,” Rachelle said. “In any form love is truly the only heaier.
Even if you argue he’s misguided in some of his thinking, you cannot fault Johnis for his love. Who would dare put someone like this in a deep, dark prison?”

  Thomas stood. “I agree. It would be wrong to level such an unusual crime with a usual punishment. Instead of lashings or imprisonment, I say the boy should be promoted to the rank of major.”

  He silenced the mumbling with a raised hand.

  “As a major he will report directly to me, and I will remove him from active duty until I see that he is fit to lead in a battle that requires more than his heart or mind.”

  “But the Third Fighting Group!” someone protested.

  “Their deaths are regrettable, and we will hold another ceremony in their honor this very night. But the information that Johnis has brought us from his infiltration of the Horde city will surely save countless lives in the years to come. The fact that he himself wasn’t killed was a matter of pure luck.”

  Actually, the commander’s words make some good sense, Johnis thought. The only problem was that he could only share some of what he’d learned, having sworn silence about his mission.

  The Council wasn’t protesting.

  “All in favor—”

  “That’s not a punishment,” someone said.

  “It is to him!” Thomas snapped. “All in favor, speak aye.”

  The room voted eleven ayes, one nay. And it was settled.

  Rosa was the first to rush up to Johnis. Then the rest, slapping his back or hugging him or shaking his hand.

  “How you do it, I’ll never know,” Silvie said, kissing his hand and winking.

  “We,” he said. “We did it.” He reached for Darsal and pulled her close. “And Darsal. And Billos. The four of us. We can’t forget that. Where’s Billos?”

  They looked at the bench Billos had occupied just moments ago, but it was empty.

  “He was just there,” Darsal said. “I could have sworn he was—”

  “Where are the books?” Johnis asked, alarmed. He’d been rushed away the minute they’d returned, and he’d left the books in their care.

  Darsal and Silvie looked at him with wide eyes.

  “Where are the books?” he demanded.

  “In his saddlebag,” Darsal said. “Billos has them.”

  Johnis felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t explain why this small piece of information disturbed him so much, but he was certain that their mission to find the seven missing Books of History had just taken a very sharp turn for the worse.

  “He’s going to use them,” Johnis whispered. “Dear Elyon, we have to stop him!”

  illos swung his leg over the stallion and dropped to the ground in the clearing. The sun was blazing overhead. Birds chirped in the trees. His horse snorted and lowered its head to feed on the grass.

  He had to work fast. Knowing Johnis, they would be coming soon. This newly anointed major who could do no wrong. Not that he disagreed with the verdict—Johnis was certainly a worthy leader of men.

  But the boy was holding something back, something about the books they’d each sworn to find. What couldn’t be said in the Council’s chamber was more important than what could be said. Johnis had gone to the Horde city for more than his mother.

  Having freed Rosa and Silvie, he’d stayed for more than the Horde girl, as he would have them believe.

  No, Johnis had gone and stayed for the Books of History.

  Billos threw the saddlebag open and reached inside for the books. With trembling hands he pulled them out.

  The Dark Priest had possessed the blue book before he’d stumbled into possession of the two that Johnis had lost at the massacre.

  Billos hurried to the boulder at the clearing’s center. He didn’t know what power came with having all seven books. Nor with opening a single book.

  In fact, he wasn’t sure he had the courage to find out just yet.

  What he did have was an insatiable need to taste the same surge of power that he’d felt when he’d touched the book with his blood.

  He set the books on the stone and pulled out his knife.

  His heart was hammering; sweat ran down his cheeks; his hands trembled. Inconsequential details.

  The black leather book on top stared up at him, beckoning, demanding, begging.

  Touch me, Billos. Show me your blood, and I’ll show you a new world.

  He sliced his finger with his knife and winced because he’d gone deeper than he’d meant to. Blood leaked from the cut.

  Hooves pounded behind.

  Panicked, he thrust his finger down and pressed it against the ancient leather cover.

  The clearing vanished, replaced by the same darkness he’d seen before. A distorted hole erupted before him, and from the darkness the figure of a man dressed in black.

  This could be Teeleh, he thought. Or the Dark Priest. But the figure didn’t quite look like either.

  The man’s long arm reached out for Billos, long fingernails beckoning. A moan filled his ears, so loud Billos thought the sound might be coming from his own throat.

  Then the vortex opened to another place, not as dark. A six-foot hole in this world stood right in front of him, ringed in rippling blackness. He reached out and touched the hole with a single finger. But his finger went beyond the surface into a place that was warmer than the clearing.

  Billos could feel his bones shaking, but his fear didn’t dim his desire. He stepped forward to the edge of the large hole.

  “Billossss …” Someone was calling his name.

  He took one last deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped through the circle.

  JOHNIS LED THE CHARGE TO THE CLEARING WITH SINKING hopes of finding Billos before it was too late.

  “Billos!”

  He saw the stallion through the trees. And past the stallion, Billos standing at the rock.

  “Billos!”

  He broke from the trees and pulled up hard. Billos stood over the boulder, hand extended to one of the Books of History bound in leather. His finger pressed against it.

  Blood pooled on the cover.

  The boy was shaking in his boots, like a goat hit by lightning.

  Silvie and Darsal slid to a stop beside Johnis, eyes glued to the scene.

  “Billos!” Johnis cried.

  And then Billos disappeared, leaving behind a single flash of light that followed him into oblivion. And a bare boulder.

  The birds were chirping; the horses were stamping; the breeze was blowing.

  And Billos and the books were simply gone.

  The three other recruits—the ones who’d sworn to find the seven missing Books of History before the Dark One could use them to wreak terrible havoc—sat on their horses and stared.

  Silvie was the first to find her voice. “He’s gone.”

  “He’s gone,” Johnis said.

  “No!” Darsal screamed her denial. And in that one word was more meaning, more rage, more fear, more pain that Johnis had heard in such a short word.

  “He is,” Johnis said.

  For a moment they stood in silence.

  “Now what?” Silvie asked in a voice that could have come from a girl half her age.

  For a while no one could answer. Then Johnis summoned the courage to tell them what they all knew was next. “Now we find Billos.”