Renegade Page 8

  “Take it out and put it between us.”

  The bat withdrew a filthy bundle. Careful so as not to touch its contents, he peeled back the dirty rags and exposed an old, green book bound in red twine. He set the half-exposed book on the wood planks. The Stories of History.

  Darsal’s fingers tingled. The fourth book. Her gateway to Billos. Her concern for any danger they had walked into fell away. It was all she could do not to slice her finger right then and there and thrust it against the ancient leather cover.

  “Swear to me on your life that you will bring back all four books, and I will give you safe passage from here,” Alucard said.

  “I swear,” Darsal said, only half-believing herself.

  “If you do not, either you or Billos is mine. My choice.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then seal the oath with the book.”

  What did he mean?

  “An oath made over the books is binding. You cannot break it and live. Did you expect me to take your unbound word?”

  The revelation took some of Darsal’s wind away. But now she was committed.

  “Not a good idea,” Karas said.

  “Quiet!”

  Darsal dismounted, walked to the book, placed one hand on the cover, and swore to return all four to Alucard or forfeit her life. And Billos’s, though she wasn’t sure she could swear for him.

  She wrapped her fingers around the book and stood. “May I?”

  “Take it,” Alucard said.

  He stared at her for a few moments. Without another word, he turned and clacked away from them. The torchlight wavered, then snuffed out, leaving them in darkness. Surrounded by a sea of red eyes in the trees.

  “What have you done?” Karas asked.

  he library led to a stone tunnel, which in turn led to a flight of rock-hewn steps, which finally ended at a trapdoor in the floor of a small cabin.

  Marsuvees Black led Billos out of the cabin and down a canyon, always staying one step ahead. Turning back now and then to deliver his nuggets of truth.

  “Life’s what you make it, boy. A clean sheet every day.”

  “Do you like mustard? Keeps the mind sharp.”

  “They’re all enemies, Billos. Don’t trust them. The nicer they talk, the worse they are.”

  “You ever stake anyone through the heart, Billow?”

  Half of the comments made no sense, but all of them intrigued Billos.

  To think that all along their search for the books was designed to take him through the books to this magical place where you could snap your fingers and have them filled with steel.

  Billos tried it again and was immediately rewarded with a gun. He twirled it in his hand, relishing the very feel of this amazing weapon that could scare people with its bang and destroy objects some distance away with its suhupow. And to stow it you simply …

  Billos threw the gun at the earth and watched it vanish. Amazing.

  “Find me the books, and the world is yours,” Black said, winking. He was both frightening and intoxicating at once, “Try snapping the fingers of your other hand.”

  Billos did. This time a rose appeared.

  “To seduce the women, my friend.”

  He smelled the rose, felt it tickle his nose, then threw it into oblivion, “Ha! Is there any limit to this suhupow?”

  “Not if you make it to the top. Follow me; I’ll show the way.”

  They passed through a forested region and came out on a cliff overlooking a village. The structures were unlike any he’d ever seen. They were more square and smoother, and the roads between them were black, perfectly straight.

  “Welcome to Paradise,” Black said. His face twitched. “The little town that could. But that’ll all change. This is where I leave.”

  “Leave? I don’t know this place.”

  “Didn’t stop me; shouldn’t stop you. Like I said, you have to find the books on your own, then bring them to me.”

  “Down there?”

  “Maybe they’re there, maybe not. But down there is where you start. Practice. This little hole is full of conspirators who’ll have you fooled the moment they open their mouths, if you let them. Think of Paradise as your final test. Comprende?” “Comprende.” Whatever that meant.

  “Watch out for impostors. Shape-shifters. Brats who pretend to be your best friends. Conspirators, the bunch of them.”

  Billos walked to the edge of the cliff and studied the tiny forms of villagers walking down the main street. “Conspirators.”

  “Bring me the books. I need four, but I’ll take three for now. See you on the dark side, baby.”

  “All of them are evil?” Billos asked, turning back. But Marsuvees Black was gone. Vanished. For a moment Billos felt alone. But just for a moment. Because then he snapped his fingers, watched a steel gun materialize in his hand, and he felt very much at peace.

  He stowed the gun with a flip of his wrist, cracked his neck, faced the village below, and headed down to Paradise.

  DUST BLEW OVER THE STREET THAT RAN DOWN THE MIDDLE of Paradise. Billos stopped at a sign that read, WELCOME TO PARADISE, POPULATION 545, and stared ahead in wonder. Words could hardly describe what he saw, Suhupow, everywhere suhupow! The road he stood on was rock hard, perfectly formed from a black substance that looked to have been melted and laid down in one long strip. But more stunning than this finely crafted road were the buggies that traveled on top of it. Painted in different colors with black wheels to roll over the road, they moved without horses, without any beast pulling or pushing. With suhupow and suhupow alone.

  Billos felt like a child of wonder more than a warrior who’d trained his whole life to kill the Horde. What would Darsal say of Paradise? He strode down the yellow dash in the middle of the road, not bothering to wipe the crooked grin from his mouth.

  Two things were now clear to him. No, three things: First, he’d made the right choice to enter the Book of History, which had, if he wasn’t mistaken, taken him into history itself. Second, the mission was really about Billos’s helping Marsuvees Black find the Books of History, which were invisible to all but him here in the histories. And third, this critical mission depended on his skill, his intelligence, his craftiness—his ability to defeat the enemy and find what no other man could find.

  It’s your turn to follow me into hell, Johnis. Shut your flapper, Scrapper, and stay close behind. Not a peep, because I don’t have time to babysit every time you cry out in fear. You too, Silvie.

  Darsal, step up here by my side. It’s our turn. It’s our turn to trip, baby.

  A thought occurred to him: he wasn’t dressed for the occasion. This brown tunic he’d worn from Middle Forest felt out of place. Ahead a man dressed in blue slacks and a brown hat swept dust from the sidewalk, paying him no mind. The establishment behind him had a large red sign that read SMITHER’S BARBEQUE.

  On a whim, Billos snapped his fingers. The gun materialized in his hand. He shoved it into his pocket, thought of a hat, touched his head, and snapped again.

  Shade covered his head. He pulled off a black, broad-rimmed hat that looked just like the one worn by Marsuvees Black. Replacing the hat, he snapped his fingers again and was immediately rewarded with black pants and a black trench coat. He was now suited for battle in the histories.

  Two men sat on a bench next to the worker who swept the sidewalk. One of the buggies, a red one, rolled past him on four black wheels, purring as it swished by. It belched at him angrily, the sound of a goose honking. Billos stepped to one side and placed his hand on the gun, which was now tucked in his belt. But the machine didn’t attack.

  Crafty conspirators, every one of them. The Horde of the histories. He had to move among them without raising an alarm until he was ready. Practice, Black had said.

  He couldn’t very well just start slaying them with the gun, could he? They would likely pour out of the buildings armed with swords. Or, worse, armed with guns. Did they also have these magical weapons?

  Billos had
fought off the Horde in full combat, killing them with a skill he’d developed over many years, growing to be a man of seventeen. The enemies sitting on the bench and the one sweeping the porch didn’t appear hostile, but Billos might prefer to lace a dozen armed Scabs at the moment. At least the Horde didn’t wield suhupow.

  One of the men on the porch beneath the Smither’s Barbeque sign faced him and tilted his hat back. Billos mistook the gesture as an aggressive move and very nearly pulled out his gun. But instead he shoved his anxiety down, lowered his head, and strode on as if at complete ease. He saw that he still wore his brown boots from the forest; they looked out of place under the black slacks. But he wasn’t here to impress them with his sense of good fashion.

  “Howdy, partner. Can I help you?”

  Billos drilled him with a stare, walking on. “Can you? That depends.”

  The other man looked at him cautiously, as if measuring him for a casket, then relaxed. He considered something then dismissed it. Or was being sly.

  “Well, if it’s a drink you want, I’m just opening.”

  The two men rose, eyeing him curiously. No weapons that Billos could see. They followed the man who’d been sweeping inside, leaving Billos on the street.

  He glanced around and saw that he was alone. But he wasn’t so easily fooled. The enemy was undoubtedly peering at him by the dozens, lying in ambush.

  Suddenly unnerved, Billos sprinted to the alley between Smither’s Barbeque and the establishment next to it, All Right Convenience. Both were names that meant nothing to him.

  He pulled up under the eaves, backed against the wall, and immediately chided himself for running. Such an obvious reaction was sure to put them on guard. He withdrew the gun and stared at it.

  He sniffed the tube. Looked down the hole. It was a fantastic weapon that he would take with him back to the forest. They would immediately promote him to general with such a gun.

  “Hello?”

  Billos spun to his left, gun leveled. A young boy with blond hair stood behind the building, staring at him with round, green eyes.

  “You don’t need that,” the boy said.

  Billos lowered the barrel; no need to be too obvious. “You startled me.”

  “He’s lying, you know.”

  “Who is?”

  “The Dark One. Black.”

  So it was starting already—Billos had to tread very carefully. This boy not only knew of Marsuvees Black but was conspiring to undermine him.

  “You think I don’t know that?” Billos said.

  “I think your mind is too full of yourself to know that,” the boy said. “I think you would betray Elyon in favor of the Dark One. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  The boy seemed to know of his mission to retrieve the missing Books of History, which made him even more dangerous. A bead of sweat broke from Billos’s brow and snaked down his temple.

  “You’re wrong. I would never betray Elyon. Do you know where the books are?”

  The boy just stared at him, a clear sign that he knew more than he was saying.

  “You’re going to break his heart,” he finally said. “All dressed up like the Dark One, swinging that gun around. Do you plan to kill us all?”

  Billos didn’t know how to respond to such direct threats, so he filled the empty space with small talk. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “My name?” See, even here the boy was being coy. “You can call me Samuel. You should give me the gun. The power you have didn’t come from Elyon.”

  Billos turned away, gun cocked by his side. This small viper draped in bright colors was death. But the gun was too loud and would warn the others that the battle had started. He eased his hand closer to the knife strapped on his thigh.

  “Well, Samuel, since you obviously know more than I do, you won’t have trouble believing that I’m secretly working against the Dark One. And I would like you to help …”

  He brought the knife around midsentence, putting his full weight into a throwing arc that would land the blade in the boy’s throat and silence him before he could warn the others.

  But the boy was gone.

  Billos held the knife back and searched the alley. He was alone. The boy had snuck around the building while his attention was diverted. A slippery snake.

  Which meant that Billos’s hand was now forced. This Samuel would warn the others. Billos had to earn their trust and take the battle to them or risk an ambush. Thomas had taught them well—the best defense was often a forward attack, right down their throats.

  He stowed the gun and the knife, hurried around the corner, and leapt up the steps that led into Smither’s Barbeque. They might be crafty, as Black had warned, but he was craftier.

  arsal broke from the Black Forest just behind Karas, who’d taken the lead this time despite Darsal’s warning to get behind. The girl couldn’t temper her desire to be out of this putrid black hole.

  “There it is!” Karas cried, looking up at the cliff and beyond to the blue sky. She kicked her horse into a gallop, and Darsal followed.

  The green book bound in red twine sat in her saddlebag, begging to be used, and use it she would. As soon as they cleared the danger presented by the Shataiki.

  Black bats rimmed the cliff, peering down, squawking, but otherwise they presented no threat. Alucard had kept his word. The fact that he could only gain through this trade wasn’t lost on Darsal, but neither was the fact that she’d done what was necessary to follow Billos. They would work a way out of their troubles together.

  Karas didn’t need to urge her mount onto the switchbacks that led to the desert above them. The horse surged up the incline, leaning into each step.

  Now that she had the book, Darsal had to consider what course to take with the girl. In hindsight, she might have asked the Roush to wait in the desert and escort the girl back to the forest. As it was now, she would have to send Karas back alone with all the water and clear directions.

  The girl knew the desert, after all, and it had been her choice to follow.

  Darsal galloped past the girl into the desert as soon as they spilled over the lip. “Go!” They rode hard for twenty minutes before she finally eased up to give the horses a rest.

  “Not fun,” Karas said. “This whole business is reckless.”

  “Welcome to life in the forests.”

  “Thank you for making my point. We’re in the desert, not the forest.”

  Darsal grunted. “We’ll stop in the outcropping for a proper rest,” she said.

  An hour later the large outcropping rose before them, and Darsal’s palms began to sweat with the anticipation of cutting her finger and thrusting the blood against the book’s cover.

  “You’re not afraid?” Karas asked, breaking a long spell of silence.

  She’d already told Karas how Billos had vanished. “Like I said, life in the forests. We live with fear, little girl.”

  “Sounds like the Horde.”

  A dozen boulders towered four times the height of their horses ahead, surrounded by one or two score smaller rocks. It would make for an ideal camp; she would have to remember its location.

  “I think I should come with you, Sister,” Karas said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Why not?”

  “For starters, 1 don’t know where I’m going. For all I know, Billos vanished into oblivion. And regardless of where it is, getting back must not be easy or Billos would have done so already. We could get stuck.”

  “We?”

  “Billos and I.”

  “And me?”

  Darsal sighed. “It wasn’t my idea for you to—”

  “I don’t care if it wasn’t your idea!” Karas blurted. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Darsal glanced over, surprised by the emotion in Karass voice. Tears misted the girl’s eyes.

  “I followed you because I saw my mother in you. And I miss my mother! Now you’re just going to throw me away like a dirty rag?”

&n
bsp; “That’s not what I’m doing. If anything I’m trying to protect you!”

  “Then protect my heart as well. You don’t think I’m worthy to stay with you? Ask Johnis if I was helpful in saving him.”

  The words stung, and Darsal wasn’t sure why. What was this one small girl in the grand scheme of things? It wasn’t that Darsal had no heart, only that she’d learned to protect it or suffer with every blow. And in their battle with the Horde, the blows came nearly daily.

  Still, she couldn’t deny that there was something special about Karas.

  “What good is your heart if you’re dead?” she asked. “You have to get back to the forest, where Thomas can protect you.”

  “I’ll get lost in the desert!”

  “You know the desert well enough.”

  “I was just rescued from the desert. I hate the desert!”

  “And you hate oblivion any less?” Darsal guided her horse through a wide gap between two of the largest boulders and pulled up in the shade beyond. “Look, maybe you are my niece. If so, I have an obligation to protect you. The Roush Hunter knows you’re out here. Johnis is probably already on the way. They’ll send out a hundred Roush to spot you from the air and take you home. Am I just stupid, or does that seem the safest for you?”

  “I’m afraid to go alone. Please, Dar—”

  The word caught in her throat, and Darsal looked back to see what had stopped her.

  Three Scabs on horses filled the gap behind Karas. Another to her side with a long spear pressed against her neck. For a brief moment Darsal’s mind went blank. Then the survival reasoning that Thomas had drilled into his Guard screamed through.

  How? Knowing how your enemy gained the advantage they had might offer a clue as to how to undo that advantage.

  Why? Knowing why you allowed your enemy to gain the advantage will aid you in not repeating the same mistake.

  What? What then should you do in response to your disadvantage?

  All of this, in a few scarce moments, of course, or disadvantage would become disembowelment.

  The answers were painfully obvious. The wind was blowing east, which explained why the horses hadn’t picked up on the Horde stench. These Scabs had probably followed their tracks and holed up here for an ambush.