Green: The Beginning and the End (16 page)

19

How long had it been since he’d laid eyes on the forest once proudly inhabited by the Forest Dwellers? Ten years. So much had changed since he fled this city.

He pulled back the hood of the Scab robe Samuel had discarded, which he’d exchanged for his own tunic. Before the Horde’s time, the crystalline lake’s southern shore had been white sand, reserved for the nightly celebrations. His people had defended the forests against Qurong’s encroaching armies, always returning victorious to this safe haven. It was a place where flower-crowned children and youths too inexperienced for war had run through the streets, welcoming them home. The homes were simple but colorful. They often danced late into the night to the sounds of guitars and flutes and drums.

They’d bathed in the lake together, washing away all traces of the dreaded scabbing disease.

To think that he’d once brought his people bits and pieces of advanced technology from his dreams of another world—it was hardly conceivable now. He’d lived in two worlds at once, awake here while dreaming in the other, and awake there when dreaming here. There he’d loved a sister named Kara and a woman named Monique.

If the lost books, as Ba’al had called them, did indeed exist . . .

He brought his mind back to the city. Except for the palace on the far side, and the Thrall, which stood alone on the near side, Qurongi City was practically colorless. Gray blocks of mud and stone topped by straw roofs leaked smoke from the dinner fires inside. The Horde still subsisted on wheat cakes, but instead of harvesting desert wheat as they once had, they grew green wheat in the large cleared fields of the forests to the south. Meat was a delicacy, reserved primarily for the upper class, the priests, and royalty.

The Thrall stood tall by the muddy lake’s shore, lit by orange flames that illuminated a spire rising to the height of three buildings. They said that Ba’al had erected this new addition, topped by a brass image of the winged serpent. The new wing that looked large enough to house hundreds of priests stretched out from the western wall.

The lost books would be either in this temple, under Ba’al’s watchful eye, or in Qurong’s care. If the dark priest had access to them, he would surely have used them.

The thought had clawed at Thomas’s mind for the last eight hours as he pushed his horse south. If a man like Ba’al were to find his way into the other world . . . The thought made him shiver.

But Ba’al apparently hadn’t used the books. His lament to Teeleh made it clear that he hadn’t been sent like the others. This could only mean that Ba’al didn’t have the books.

Qurong must have them. Assuming they existed, of course, which was anything but certain.

Either way, Thomas’s need to know had grown like a monster inside him. He felt sure that his fate was somehow dependent on what happened in the other world, which also meant that the Circle’s fate was tied to the other world. To the books. It had always been about the Books of History, he could see that now.

“Hello, old friend.”

Thomas twisted to his right, lost his grip on the tree trunk for a moment, and grabbed a handful of branches to steady himself. He looked into the large, green eyes of a Roush perhaps two feet in height.

The fuzzy white creature’s huge eyes stared unblinking. “Sorry.”

Thomas couldn’t find his voice. This . . . a Roush!

It had been so long since he’d seen one, even he was beginning to wonder whether he’d only dreamed of the legendary creatures that did Elyon’s bidding. Yet here one was, perched not five feet away, looking at Thomas as if he might be an idiot.

“You’re real,” Thomas finally managed.

“And so are you. Unless it’s now my turn to dream.”

Then he recognized the Roush. Could it be?

“Michal?”

“Thomas?”

“So . . . so it’s you?”

“In the flesh.”

“Seriously?”

“Now you’re beginning to worry me. We have considerable history together, and yet you sound as if you doubt my existence.”

“No. Just . . . we haven’t seen one of you for an eternity.”

“Actually, that’s a long time and yet to come. It’s been ten years, I believe.” He clucked with his tongue. “You humans do have such a short memory.”

“Dear Elyon, if the others could only see.”

“Your eyes were opened to the Shataiki?” Michal asked. “Yes?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“Well, then. Now you see me. But it doesn’t mean I haven’t been around.”

“No, of course not.” Thomas wanted to hug the creature. Wrap him up in his arms and bury his face in that fuzzy neck. But then he wasn’t a boy any longer. Or was he? What was it Elyon used to say?

Am I a lion, a lamb, or a boy?

He swung to a lower branch and dropped twenty feet to the soft forest floor. The Roush stared down at him, unmoving, then made a soft humphing sound and hopped into the air. He floated to the ground, spreading wide his wings of thin white skin.

“You’ve developed a fear of heights?” Michal asked. “I would . . .”

It was as far as the Roush got. Driven by a desperate need to know, to touch, to feel, Thomas fell to his knees, threw his arms around the creature’s neck, which was hardly a neck at all, and pulled the soft torso tight against his chest.

The feeling of this warm body, so real in his arms, flooded him with a brew of emotion that pushed tears into his eyes. Joy. Love. Relief. Vindication and power.

Samuel was wrong, so very wrong.

“Easy, easy. Phew, the stench of that robe . . . please, you’re going to suffocate me!”

“Sorry.” Thomas pushed himself back and stared at the round face. “Sorry.”

“Understood. Apology unnecessary but accepted. They told me you’d disguised yourself in this dreadful garb, but I didn’t expect to have to wear it myself.” Michal hopped to his right and glanced back. “Good thinking, by the way. It should get you into the city easily enough. It’s getting out that I worry about.”

“Then you approve of what I’m doing.”

“Not mine to approve or disapprove. I’m simply here with a message. But while I’m here, I could be talked into parting with some advice. That is, if you still value the advice of Elyon’s Roush.”

“I would be a fool not to. Has your opinion of humans fallen so low?”

The Roush lifted one eyebrow.

“Okay, so we’ve made a few mistakes along the way.”

“Will,” Michal said. “We
will
make some mistakes along the way.”

“Okay, will. But surely this will all come to an end before we all drop dead of old age.”

The Roush gazed off into the forest. “Is that what you think? That there’s an end? That when you die it all ends?”

“No, but not everything is forever.” That seemed to satisfy the Roush. “You have a message?”

Michal stared at Thomas, nodded once, and spoke as if he was reciting poetry. “The colored forests, like Elyon, Maker of all that is good, will come again. This is the beginning and it is the end, and yet still the beginning. The first will be last and the last will be first. What was once black will be green. And what was once green will be consumed by darkness. Follow your heart, Thomas, because the time has come. Weep with the mourners; beg with beggars; knock and knock again, because he will give you what you ask in that hour when all is lost.”

The Roush took a deep breath and looked off again. “Go to the place you came from. Make a way for the Circle to fulfill its hope.”

The night grew still. A night bird cawed far off, and the breeze rustled leaves overhead.

“That’s it?”

“It’s not enough?”

“No. Well, yes, it is, but it’s not exactly clear.”

“For him who has ears to hear, it’s perfectly clear.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’ll become clear in time.”

“You don’t understand it?”

The Roush threw him a side glance. “I understand what I’m meant to understand.”

Thomas scratched his skull and paced. “Then at least tell me what you understand. I’m out on a limb here. I’ve just lost a son to the half-breeds, the Circle is fractured, the Shataiki have gathered at Ba’al’s call . . . my world is falling apart! At least tell me how to save my son.”

The Roush sighed and waddled a few steps, steadying himself with a flutter of wings.

“You’ve heard of the lost books?”

So he was right. “I’ve heard rumors . . .”

“They are true. The seven original Books of History went missing, three of them into history.”

Into history?
He was about to demand the furry creature continue when Michal spoke.

“It’s a long story, more than you need to know. But what might be useful is the knowledge that these seven books aren’t like the other Books of History. With all seven, one could rewrite the rules that control the blank books.”

“Like a key.”

“If you like. The Books of History reflect the truth of all that has occurred in history. Write in one of the numerous blank books with the faith of a child, and create history. But with all seven of the original books, one can actually change the rules that govern the rest of the books.”

“And these seven original books are no longer lost, I take it.”

“They were found by four warriors—”

“Johnis and—”

“Another story altogether. But they ended up here, hidden in Qurong’s private library. Fortunately Ba’al”—Michal paused as if considering what to say, then continued—“doesn’t know that Qurong has them, or he would have used them a long time ago.”

“Used them? To rewrite the rules of the books?”

“No, you need all seven to do that. Qurong has six. But with only four of them, a person can unlock time that binds history and travel into it.”

Thomas’s heart pounded. The suggestion was immediately clear. “So . . . I can use the four books to return to ancient Earth?”

Michal raised an eyebrow and offered a coy smile. His words whispered through Thomas’s mind.
Go to the place you came from. Make a way for the Circle to fulfill its hope
.

“How? How do you use these four books?”

“As I was saying . . .” Michal cleared his throat. “A person can travel into history if he touches four books together with his blood.”

“Four books,” Thomas said, holding up four fingers.

“Yes, four books.”

“Which Qurong has.”

“Yes, which Qurong has.”

“Qurong has them, but only Ba’al knows of their power.”

“Correct, Qurong has them, but Ba’al wouldn’t dream of telling what he knows about the Books of History.”

“And if I cut myself and touch four of these books, I will enter history, so to speak. Like I could once do in my dreams.”

“Not quite the same. You would go physically, along with anything in your possession.”

“Physically? You mean actually,
poof
, go?”

“Yes.
Poof
.”

Thomas blinked. “And return the same way?
Poof
?” He snapped his fingers.

“Yes.
Poof
.” Michal made an inaudible snapping motion with his small fingers.

“And this is what I’m meant to do?” Thomas asked.

“That is up to you. I’m only a messenger, and I can’t say that the message was so clear.”

“And how is this supposed to get me my son back? Without Samuel, I have no hope.”

“Did I say the books would help you find your son?”

Thomas’s reasoning stalled. “You’re saying he’s lost?” He paced, frantic. “I won’t have it! There has to be a way to save Samuel.”

“And I didn’t say there wasn’t. Go. And return quickly before it’s too late. Do that and you might save your son.”

Thomas ran his hands through his hair and tried to think clearly. The prospect of returning to history pulled at his mind like a powerful magnet tugging at a steel ball. They were inexplicably linked, he and the histories. Perhaps because he really had come from Denver, Colorado. From Bangkok. The histories where his sister, Kara, waited.

“Be careful, Thomas,” Michal was saying behind him. “Where there is great hope, there is also great evil. Teeleh’s time has also come. The blood will flow like a river.”

“Yes,” he said absently. “Of course.” Was Kara still alive? Monique? The books were in Qurong’s possession. He’d been right in coming for them, regardless of the risk to himself. If he could get his blood on the four books and return to history, a new hope would present itself.

And then the end would come.

“Whose time has come?” He turned back. “What evil are you . . .”

But there was no furry white Roush to hear him. He looked up, saw only empty branches, and turned around, scanning the forest.

Michal was gone.

The Roush had made himself seen after ten years and said what he’d come to say. It was indeed the beginning of the end.

Thomas faced Qurongi City, where the lost books waited. He took a deep breath, flipped the hood of the priest’s robe back over his head, and ran.

20

His urgency came from the books. More specifically from the need to return to the histories, where he would find a way for them all.

Once again, the world hung in the balance of every choice he made.

Michal’s words haunted him as he strode by a Scab warrior who mistook him for a priest and gave him a wide berth. What was once black will be green. And what was once green will be consumed by darkness. So, after all these years the great pursuit of mankind’s heart would finally end. Either Teeleh or Elyon would win them all.

Follow your heart, Thomas, because the time has come . . . he will give you what you ask in that hour when all is lost.
What this meant, Thomas could not know. Only that an hour was fast approaching when all would appear lost, a prospect that certainly justified some urgency. The Roush’s next words could hardly be mistaken.

Go to the place you came from. Make a way for the Circle to fulfill its hope
.

He approached two guards at the palace gate. The dried blood that covered the dead priest’s garment couldn’t hurt his chances.

“Open!” he hissed, snatching up a hand, careful to keep his flesh hidden beneath the sleeve. “I have urgent business from Ba’al.”

The guard on the left made for the latch, but the other stepped up. “Does his Excellency expect—”

“Open or I turn back and bring the dark priest to answer your questions!”

“No, my lord,” the first one said, pulling the gate open. “Ba’al’s word is Teeleh’s word.”

Thomas rushed past, giving them no time to peer beneath the hood. Six Throaters were positioned on each side of the path ahead.

“Let Ba’al’s servant pass,” the guard called. The mere prospect of answering to Ba’al had the desired effect. None of the warriors questioned the order. Even better, the guard at the next wooden entrance had heard the call and opened the door with a bow.

Thomas hurried inside the large atrium and pulled up, pulse pounding. Two large torches lapped at the walls on either side, filling the room with orange light. To his right, a bowl of morst powder sat beside some fruit. A round table made of stone centered the room, adorned with a tall statue of the black beast, Teeleh.

He considered powdering his face with the sweet-smelling morst to cover his albino skin, but he hadn’t come to hide. Instead, he threw back his hood, took several calming breaths, and introduced himself at the top of his lungs.

“Patricia, wife of Qurong, the servant of Ba’al calls you to hear him in the most urgent matter!”

His voice rang through the stone atrium and beyond. A servant appeared in the archway and looked at him curiously. Her eyes went wide, and she uttered a short cry before running off, yelling in a high pitch.

Thomas strode forward. “Patricia, wife of Qurong, Ba’al demands your presence.”

“Then come,” a woman called back impatiently. “What’s the ruckus? For the love of Teeleh don’t stand out there, come in and speak.”

Thomas entered the receiving room. A long table sat under three brass torches suspended by leather thongs. The walls were decorated with a dozen skulls of bulls and goats, either painted in reds and purples or plastered with morst paste. Chairs made of bone supporting leather seats ran around the table.

He recognized Patricia immediately. She had a large yellow melon in one hand and a black candle in the other, a woman not too elevated in her own eyes to help where she saw the need, despite having dozens of servants at her disposal. Her pale green dress ran to the floor, a long-sleeved garment with a brown belt. Her hair was braided and smothered in the white morst, as were her face and hands. Odd how the Horde claimed to prefer the smell of their own skin over the stench of albino flesh, yet they went to such great lengths to moderate their own stink.

“Well, then, speak.” Patricia glanced up as she set the candle in a stand on the table’s far side. “You know I honor the word of . . .”

Her mouth dropped open and she froze.

“The husband of your daughter,” Thomas said. “Thomas of Hunter, leader of all albinos. I come in peace.”

She still didn’t find her voice. Two Throaters with drawn swords rushed into the room, no doubt alerted by the servant.

Thomas shrugged out of the robe and let it fall around his feet. He spread his hands.

“I’m unarmed. Hold them back.”

Patricia hesitated, then waved them back. “Leave us.”

Neither moved. The cries of others came down the halls now, yelling a general alarm. Two of them burst into the room from a side hall and pulled up sharply at the door.

“Leave us!” Patricia snapped.

“My lady . . .”

“I said leave us. Or I’ll have your head! All of you. Stand down.”

They glanced at one another, then backed away slowly, muttering something about Qurong. Thomas kept his eyes on Patricia, knowing now that he’d chosen the right introduction. As the husband of her daughter, he held a place of importance to Patricia. She might relish the prospect of torturing him for tearing their family apart, but not before gaining some understanding about her daughter.

“I’ve come from Ba’al Bek, where Elyon made a mockery of your dark priest,” he said. “Now I’m here to appeal to Qurong without that snake’s knowledge. But I fear he may not hear what I have to say.”

She plopped the melon on the table and put a hand on her hip. “And what makes you think I’m interested in what my enemy has to say?”

“Because you were sent packing from Ba’al Bek with your tail between your legs.” Thomas said. Too strong?

“Is that what happened? Perspectives shape how we see mystical matters. I heard of a great victory.”

“Two hundred priests died. They didn’t tell you?”

“You mean Ba’al’s offering? I heard that Teeleh and his black beasts showed themselves to the world. The streets are teeming with fear already.”

“But in the end, my son climbed off the altar, alive.” He didn’t have the time to persuade her of what she hadn’t seen with her own eyes. Ba’al had already put his spin on the whole mess.

“Never mind,” he said. “I have a new proposal for Qurong. One that will help him destroy the enemy he fears.”

Patricia walked around the end of the table. “You’re mistaken if you think Qurong is threatened by the albinos. Just because you managed to steal Chelise doesn’t mean we fear you.”

“I’m not your enemy,” Thomas said. “You should fear the Eramites and Ba’al.”

He saw the quick movement in her eyes. He continued before she could form a response.

“My wife weeps for her mother and her father. No one has a more tender heart toward the Horde than she. What I have to say could save you all. I beg you, take me to Qurong and convince him to listen to me before he disposes of me.”

She stared at him, flat-footed. For long seconds neither moved nor spoke.

“And how is my daughter?” she finally asked.

A voice spoke from the darkened hall on Thomas’s right. “We
have
no daughter.” Qurong walked in, dressed in a leather tunic with long pants and soft-soled boots. No guards, no weapons. He stood nearly a foot taller than his wife, and his bare arms were maybe one and a half times the diameter of Thomas’s. His legs, thick like trunks without an ounce of fat. The man might not have Thomas’s speed, but he could likely drop a bull with one blow to its skull.

The supreme commander of the Horde snatched up a chalice of red wine and splashed some into a glass goblet. This he threw back in one long drink before turning his eyes to Thomas. He studied him for several long beats.

“I see Cassak failed to prove his worth,” he finally said.

“On the contrary, your general proved better than most. But it was an unfair race. My son knows Eramite territory too well.”

To this Qurong said nothing.

“You’re wondering why the man who just fled you at Ba’al Bek now stands before you,” Thomas said.

“You’ll have to forgive us.” Qurong spat to one side. “It’s not every day a smelly salamander snakes its way into our courts.”

“How about a drink? It’s been a while since I’ve had a good drink of Horde wine.”

The leader hesitated, then nodded at his wife, who poured half a glass and stepped back. Thomas stepped up to the table and took a sip of the bitter liquid, grateful to hydrate his parched throat despite the nasty taste.

“He’s earned his right to speak,” Patricia said.

“Quiet, woman. I’ll decide who has what rights in my own house.” Qurong looked at Thomas. “So taking my daughter wasn’t enough? Now you come back and try to seduce my wife?”

Patricia glared at him. “Don’t be—”

“Silence!” he thundered.

“Her beauty and charm notwithstanding, I have no intention of seducing your wife any more than I seduced your daughter,” Thomas said. “I simply loved her, as I now love all people—albino, Horde, half-breed—they are all one. But if you don’t let me talk, you may not learn how Samuel, my son, whom Ba’al allowed to escape, is conspiring your death. Kill this albino salamander who stinks up your palace, and my knowledge will die with me.”

The man surely wasn’t foolish enough to dismiss this claim, not considering the source. Qurong frowned, then looked at his wife.

“Leave us. Seal the doors. I want no one within earshot.”

Her eyes didn’t leave Thomas. “How is she?”

Qurong held up his hand to stop them. But when Thomas spoke, he didn’t silence him.

“Good. Excellent. Healthy and as spirited as ever.” Thomas offered her a thin smile. “She speaks of her mother and father every evening, making you both heroes in Jake’s mind. Sometimes I wonder why she ever left you for Elyon.”

When he didn’t offer more, Patricia spoke very softly. “Jake?”

“Forgive me, I thought you’d heard. Jake is your grandson.”

He might as well have told them that they’d just swallowed poison and had only minutes to live.

“Leave us,” Qurong repeated in a low voice.

“I—”

“Leave us!”

This time she bowed at his raised hand, turned, and walked from the room, issuing orders to those beyond. The door slammed, leaving Thomas and Qurong to face off alone.

“Listen to me, albino. Your pleas for sympathy may melt the hearts of mothers, but all of this talk falls on deaf ears now. Never speak to me of this woman and her child again. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, I think we do.”

“I need you to be certain.”

“Then yes.”

“If it’s war you speak of, I’ll give you one minute to explain yourself.”

“It’s all I need,” Thomas said.

Qurong finally let out a breath, poured himself more wine, and sat. “I’ll never figure out you albino ghosts. Any other enemy and I would feel compelled to put you in chains the moment you enter our city. But you’ve all forgotten how to fight. You’re hardly a man.”

“I can see how you might think that.”

“Well, you’ve earned this right to speak”—Qurong waved his hand—“so speak.”

“It’s simple. The only reason the Eramites haven’t annihilated you is because they don’t have the numbers. But that’s about to change. My son has turned against me and will take half of all albinos with him to join Eram for the sole purpose of waging war against you.”

He let that sink in. It was a bold-faced exaggeration, but he was here for the books, not to help Qurong. His only ally was Qurong’s fear.

Thomas pressed his point. “Your high priest would like nothing more than to see you dead.”

“What would you know of Ba’al?”

“He let Samuel live. Why? Because he has conspired to bring you to ruin, and Samuel is his greatest ally. Once your body has fed a dozen Shataiki, he will step in and control all of the land, Horde, albino, and Eramite.”

“Absurd!” But Qurong stood and walked around the end of the table, clearly concerned.

“You’re deceived about some things, Qurong, but otherwise you’re a wise man. You surely know most of this already. Tell me that Ba’al isn’t your enemy.”

The leader glanced at the door.

“Or that Eram doesn’t lead a growing army that can no longer be discounted. Or that Samuel wouldn’t try to slit your throat if he were standing here.”

“Your minute is up.”

“I haven’t told you how to end this threat, once and for all.”

Qurong glowered. “There’s no end to your disrespect. This young woman who used to be my daughter may have drowned, but I . . .” He seemed to shudder. “I’m not such a fool.”

“You misunderstand me. I’m not here to tell you how to drown. I’m here to tell you how to defeat Eram, Ba’al, and Samuel.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

The man cast another glance at the doors to be sure they were secure. He lowered his voice. “Well, then. Speak.”

“My minute is up.”

“Then I give you another.”

“Did you ever wonder how I’ve been able to stay a step ahead of you at every turn for so long? How the Forest Dwellers were always the innovators, sprouting technology as if it grew in our closets? The forging of metals, the use of wheels, weapons—all of it, first to the Forest Guard and then to the Horde through your spies?”

The man frowned. “Hurry it up.”

“It was me. I came across the secrets to these advances personally.”

Qurong waited for more. “And how will this deal with Eram?”

“We can do it again,” Thomas said.

“Do what again?”

“Go into the Books of History and retrieve what we need to defeat Ba’al and his hideous god, Teeleh.”

“Go into the books?” Qurong was incredulous.

Thomas slipped into a chair and folded his hands on the table. “Not any books, naturally. One of the lost books.”

Qurong nodded slowly. “I see. You’ve come to enter the lost books. Have you lost your mind? This is worse than Ba’al’s antics. I know nothing of any lost books or this magic you’re trying to seduce me with.”

Here it was, then. Either Qurong had the books or he didn’t.