Black by Ted Dekker Page A

him!”
    â€œSince when has that made any difference to any woman? Does Elyon exercise such discrimination? And I did find him.”
    â€œWhat you’re feeling is empathy, certainly not—”
    â€œDon’t be so quick to decide what I’m feeling,” Rachelle said. “I’m telling you I have a very strong feeling for this man. The poor soul has been through the most awful ordeal imaginable.”
    â€œNo, it’s not the worst imaginable,” Michal said. “Trust me.”
    â€œBut that’s not the point. The point is, I feel very strongly for this man, and I think I may be meant to choose him.
Is that so unreasonable?”
    â€œNo, I don’t think it’s unreasonable at all,” the smaller Roush said. “It’s very, very, very romantic! Don’t be so cautious, Michal; it’s a delicious thought!”
    â€œI have no idea if he’s marked,” Michal said, but he seemed to have softened.
    Rachelle was twenty-one, and she’d never once felt such a strong desire to choose a man. Most women her age had already chosen and been chosen. She certainly was eligible. And it really didn’t matter whom she chose, more that she did choose. That was the custom.
    She snatched up a handful of grass and brought it to the man’s forehead. Careful not to let it make any contact with her skin, she wiped the blood away.
    No mark!
    Her heart pounded. The custom was rare but clear. Any eligible woman who brought wholeness to an eligible man showed her invitation. She was choosing him. The man would then accept her invitation and choose her by pursuing her.
    Rachelle stood slowly. “There’s no mark.”
    Gabil hopped. “It’s perfect, perfect!”
    Michal looked at her, then at the man. “It seems highly unusual, not even knowing which village he comes from. But I suppose you’re right. It’s your choice. Would you like to bring him wholeness?”
    Her bones trembled. It seemed so daring. So audacious. But she knew, staring down at the man, that the reason she hadn’t made her choice until this day was because she was more adventurous than most. Was he a good man? Of course. All men were good. Would he pursue her? What man would not romance a woman who had invited him? And what woman would not romance a man who had chosen her? It was the nature of the Great Romance. They all knew it. Thrived on it.
    In this most unusual and daring situation, she was ready to choose this man. She was suddenly more ready to choose and be chosen by this man than she could express to any Roush, even the wisest, like Michal. How could they understand? They weren’t human.
    â€œI would,” Rachelle said. “Yes, I would.” She reached a trembling hand for the pouch. “Give me the water.”
    A smile tugged at Michal’s mouth. His left brow arched. “You are sure?”
    â€œGive me the pouch. I am very sure!”
    â€œSo you are.” He handed her the water.
    Rachelle took the gourd. She impulsively brought the pouch to her lips and sipped the sweet green water. A surge of power washed through her belly and she shuddered.
    â€œWell, come on, Gabil,” Michal said. “Roll him over.”
    Gabil stopped his pacing, clasped the man’s arm, and hauled him over onto his back. “Oh dear,” he said. “Yes sir. He is bad off, isn’t he? Yes sir. Oh, may Elyon have mercy on this poor being.” His broken arm now lay doubled over on itself.
    The emotion that had compelled Rachelle swallowed her. She could hardly wait another second to bring wholeness to this man. She sank to her knees, tilted the pouch over his face, and let the clear green water trickle onto his lips.
    The water seemed to glow a little and then spread over the man’s face, as though searching for the right kind of healing for this pulp. Immediately red lumps of flesh began to recede and blend in with pink skin.