Black

Black by Ted Dekker

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Authors: Ted Dekker
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muscles in his back and legs. He lay on his belly, head turned toward her, a bloody mess. “Who is he?”
    The Roush, Michal and Gabil, exchanged a glance. “We don’t know,” Michal said.
    â€œHe’s no one we know,” Gabil blurted. “No sir, this one’s from one of the other villages.”
    Rachelle stopped, mesmerized. One arm lay at an odd angle, cleanly broken below the elbow. Empathy swelled in her chest. “Dear. Oh dear, oh dear.” She dropped to her knees by his shoulder. “How could anything like this possibly have happened?”
    â€œThe bats. I led him from the black forest,” Gabil said.
    Alarm flashed. “The bats? He’s been in the black forest?”
    â€œYes, but he didn’t drink the water,” Michal said.
    Silence settled over them. This was the work of the Shataiki! She’d never actually seen one, much less encountered their fangs, but here on the grass was evidence enough of the terrible beasts’brutality. So much blood. Why hadn’t the Roush healed him immediately? They knew as much as she how blood defiled a man. It defiled man, woman, child, grass, water, anything that it touched. It wasn’t meant to be spilled. And on the rare occasions that it was, there were accommodations.
    Rage displaced her alarm. What kind of thinking could influence any creature to do this to a man?
    â€œThis is why Tanis has talked about an expedition to destroy the bats!” she said. “It’s horrible!”
    â€œAnd any expedition would put Tanis in the same condition!” Michal snapped impatiently. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
    Rachelle returned her gaze to the bloodied body. He was breathing steadily, lost to this world. Such a poor, innocent soul.
    Yet an air of mystery and intrigue seemed to rise from the man. He had entered the black forest without succumbing to the water. What kind of man could do such a thing? Only a very strong man.
    â€œThe water, Gabil,” Michal said.
    The smaller Roush withdrew a gourd of water from under his wing.
    Rachelle wanted to reach out. To touch the man’s skin. The thought surprised her.
    Could he be the man? This thought surprised her even more. How could she dare think of choosing a man she didn’t know for marriage?
    Michal had taken the pouch from Gabil. He pulled the cork from its neck.
    How absurd that she should think of this brutalized man as anything more than someone who desperately needed the water and Elyon’s love. But the thought swelled in her mind. She felt herself irrevocably drawn to it, like blood to the heart. Since when did men and women qualify the ones they chose? All men were good, all women were good, all marriages perfect. So then why not this man if she felt so suddenly drawn by compassion for him? He was the first she’d ever seen in such desperate need of Elyon’s water.
    Michal waddled forward. He tilted the flask.
    Rachelle lifted her hand. “Wait.”
    â€œWait?”
    She wasn’t sure what had come over her, but emotion tugged at her heart in a way she’d never quite felt before. She looked at Michal. “Is . . . do you think he’s marked?”
    The two Roush exchanged another glance.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Michal asked.
    The man’s forehead, which would bear the mark of union, was covered in blood. She was suddenly desperate to wipe the blood and see if he bore the telltale one-inch circle that signified his union to another woman. Or the half circle that meant he was promised. But she hesitated; spilled blood was the undoing of Elyon’s creation and should be avoided or immediately restored.
    Michal lowered the water pouch. “Please, you can’t seriously be thinking—”
    â€œIt’s a wonderful idea!” Gabil said, hopping up and down. “How wonderfully romantic.”
    â€œWhy not?” Rachelle asked Michal.
    â€œYou don’t even know

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