and Silvie and Billos.
No bats.
Nothing but Scabs and their bloody skin disease.
Her bloody skin disease.
"Now," Xedan said softly after the Scab stomped off. "Tell me what's made you think you're in such desperate need to bathe once you've already done so?"
Darsal tensed. "I've been gone awhile. The last time I was here was before the Scabs took over Middle. I haven't bathed in..."
Technically she hadn't bathed in over a decade. How much faster would the disease progress? Did she start on day one here or day two or three?
Maybe she was already Horde and didn't know it yet.
This is a nightmare concocted by Teeleh himself. He knows what I want most. And he's offering it on a silver platter.
"For the love of Elyon, what's happened these past five years?" she asked.
Jordan answered. "What happened is a drowning that turned the lakes red. You really don't remember? The Horde. The blood. The ..."
Haunted eyes looked into the distance, relived some horrific memory.
He sucked a breath. "Don't you remember any of this?"
"As I said, I've been gone a long time. My friends and I returned to this ... this place ..." Darsal trailed off at the thought of what had befallen in their absence. "But you say the water turned to blood. How did you keep the disease away?"
"We found something greater than the lakes." Xedan continued to study her, transfixed at the idea she was unaware of such important events.
"Sacrilege." She stiffened. Now I know this is all a ruse of Teeleh, a final temptation. The devil's invitation.
"No, love. Who is greater: the lakes or Elyon?"
Darsal cleared her throat. "I don't think you understand ..."
"Understand what, love?"
Seconds ticked on.
"Everything."
The Books of History. Six in an attic storage space well out of reach.
Thank Elyon, Johnis had taken one.
Assuming he didn't turn Scab.
Darsal tensed.
They had found the books. Then left them.
If they all turned Scab ...
No. She didn't care.
The books were history.
The others were waiting on an answer.
Darsal had held her tongue for a decade. Held it for so long, and then everything came crashing in. And there had been no point in trying to say it to her two lovebird partners in crime.
They wouldn't understand, anyway.
But Xedan looked as if he might.
And if he didn't, he would pretend.
So Darsal told them about the other world.
All of it.
"Another world. Another life. And for me it was much longer than five measly years. A world with more darkness and less hope than I care to remember. Bleak and starless, full of diseased men. It's inside them there. In some ways it makes it worse. You don't know who's diseased and who isn't. You don't know when you've become a Scab."
CASSAK SWUNG OFF HIS HORSE AND LET HIS BOOTS THUMP. Dust from the hot desert floor swirled up and clung to his nose.
He turned to meet his men and the twelve albinos they'd captured. Four youths, the rest adults. Three female. All bound and forced to their knees.
"They were headed for the city," his lieutenant said. "Likely a rescue party for the three the general's got."
Cassak looked the prisoners over. He preferred to take his own tallies, the only reason these twelve required his presence before execution. Their faces were set-even the youngest. Pendants dangled from their throats.
"Which one's the leader?" he asked.
"They're not saying."
Cassak frowned. Not that it would have spared any of them. "Start with the youngest."
His man drew his sword and went to the smallest of the youths. Drew back.
Hooves pounded the desert. Cassak turned. Warryn and two others approached. Cassak turned back to the albinos.
Warryn's boots thumped against the ground. He'd swung down off his horse. "This is the priest's territory."
"My orders come from Marak."
"And Marak no longer has the authority to execute albinos."
"I am on an errand regarding Eram."
"These are not Eram," Warryn reminded, a sneer ever fixed on his face. "My orders are to ensure protocol is
No bats.
Nothing but Scabs and their bloody skin disease.
Her bloody skin disease.
"Now," Xedan said softly after the Scab stomped off. "Tell me what's made you think you're in such desperate need to bathe once you've already done so?"
Darsal tensed. "I've been gone awhile. The last time I was here was before the Scabs took over Middle. I haven't bathed in..."
Technically she hadn't bathed in over a decade. How much faster would the disease progress? Did she start on day one here or day two or three?
Maybe she was already Horde and didn't know it yet.
This is a nightmare concocted by Teeleh himself. He knows what I want most. And he's offering it on a silver platter.
"For the love of Elyon, what's happened these past five years?" she asked.
Jordan answered. "What happened is a drowning that turned the lakes red. You really don't remember? The Horde. The blood. The ..."
Haunted eyes looked into the distance, relived some horrific memory.
He sucked a breath. "Don't you remember any of this?"
"As I said, I've been gone a long time. My friends and I returned to this ... this place ..." Darsal trailed off at the thought of what had befallen in their absence. "But you say the water turned to blood. How did you keep the disease away?"
"We found something greater than the lakes." Xedan continued to study her, transfixed at the idea she was unaware of such important events.
"Sacrilege." She stiffened. Now I know this is all a ruse of Teeleh, a final temptation. The devil's invitation.
"No, love. Who is greater: the lakes or Elyon?"
Darsal cleared her throat. "I don't think you understand ..."
"Understand what, love?"
Seconds ticked on.
"Everything."
The Books of History. Six in an attic storage space well out of reach.
Thank Elyon, Johnis had taken one.
Assuming he didn't turn Scab.
Darsal tensed.
They had found the books. Then left them.
If they all turned Scab ...
No. She didn't care.
The books were history.
The others were waiting on an answer.
Darsal had held her tongue for a decade. Held it for so long, and then everything came crashing in. And there had been no point in trying to say it to her two lovebird partners in crime.
They wouldn't understand, anyway.
But Xedan looked as if he might.
And if he didn't, he would pretend.
So Darsal told them about the other world.
All of it.
"Another world. Another life. And for me it was much longer than five measly years. A world with more darkness and less hope than I care to remember. Bleak and starless, full of diseased men. It's inside them there. In some ways it makes it worse. You don't know who's diseased and who isn't. You don't know when you've become a Scab."
CASSAK SWUNG OFF HIS HORSE AND LET HIS BOOTS THUMP. Dust from the hot desert floor swirled up and clung to his nose.
He turned to meet his men and the twelve albinos they'd captured. Four youths, the rest adults. Three female. All bound and forced to their knees.
"They were headed for the city," his lieutenant said. "Likely a rescue party for the three the general's got."
Cassak looked the prisoners over. He preferred to take his own tallies, the only reason these twelve required his presence before execution. Their faces were set-even the youngest. Pendants dangled from their throats.
"Which one's the leader?" he asked.
"They're not saying."
Cassak frowned. Not that it would have spared any of them. "Start with the youngest."
His man drew his sword and went to the smallest of the youths. Drew back.
Hooves pounded the desert. Cassak turned. Warryn and two others approached. Cassak turned back to the albinos.
Warryn's boots thumped against the ground. He'd swung down off his horse. "This is the priest's territory."
"My orders come from Marak."
"And Marak no longer has the authority to execute albinos."
"I am on an errand regarding Eram."
"These are not Eram," Warryn reminded, a sneer ever fixed on his face. "My orders are to ensure protocol is
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