the grove of spider trees. You'll find a cluster of them that looks like a tent or a canopy of sorts, with a small gap somewhat like a door. It'll be a good place to hide. Drown, Darsal. Drown and live!"
A cruel joke? The ramblings of a madman? But she'd seen his eyes. Soft, mournful eyes that bore no hate.
Then again, if Jordan was sick, he might truly believe the same as the general about albinos: better dead than diseased.
Hadn't Darsal once said as much herself?
She turned full circle and tried to gain her bearings. Ledge. Rocks. Desert meeting forest on the western side. Spider trees forming a kind of refuge. But where?
Darsal kept south. Jordan had implied that the grove of spider trees wasn't big, merely well concealed, and therefore she wouldn't have trouble finding the pool.
But did she really want to find this red pool, submerge herself, inhale water, and drown? Feet squishing over black mud, she still had the nagging thought that the enemy was somehow trying to trick her into killing herself.
Jordan and Xedan could have tricked her. They could be Shataiki disguised as Forest Guard. Or the whole thing could be a sadistic pretense meant to fool her into betraying the Guard. Betraying Thomas. Betraying Elyon.
She had meant to ask more, so much more. How did the lakes turn red? Why? Why would Elyon change the rules he himself had put into place? Furthermore, why would Elyon expect her to die?
But the prospect of her turning had preoccupied her with a self-loathing that had left no room for hope or even the means of hope.
"There is much to say and little time. Trust me, Darsal. just trust me, if nothing else. You have to drown in a red lake. You must. Elyon will be with you. Do so and never turn Horde again. "
The woods threatened to swallow her. A thick grove of spider trees closed in from the forest, blocking out the border. She stopped.
The overgrown runner plants grew up about four feet, trunks in a half-moon shape, runners and leaves fashioning a kind of dome. A hut, almost.
Moonlight flickered, then vanished, behind cloud cover. A gentle breeze kissed her skin, ruffling her hair, and mist wafted up from the ground.
There wasn't much time. The Scabs would be hunting her now. They would find her soon enough. She took a deep breath and entered the little cavern, heart driving blood through her chest like ranchers driving a thousand cattle across open plain.
The space inside was warm, musty, and dry. It was about twelve feet across. In the dark she couldn't tell the color of the pool, but it looked about ten feet across and glimmered up at her. Beckoning. Mocking.
Darsal froze at the mere sight of the water. Itching and burning and flaking aside, she could only gawk and hold her breath. She knew its color, even if she couldn't see very well. She'd followed Jordan's instructions and Xedan's promptings to the letter, and everything thus far had been exactly as they had said.
There were no more pristine lakes of Elyon.
There were muddy, useless lakes.
There were these defiled, blood-infested red lakes that were also useless to her.
Unless she drowned in such.
So said the condemned.
Darsal took a few steps forward and merely stared. She circled the pool, crouched beside it, then stood and resumed her anxious pacing. Her heart rate soared, if that were possible at this point.
She wondered briefly about Johnis and Silvie. They had either turned Horde or died. Left her to turn Horde or die. Or they'd drowned and were alive, which sounded very much like a contradiction to her.
Darsal slid to her knees, face pressed against the sand. She curled into a ball, all hope of this whole mess being merely a nightmare shattered. "Elyon, I can't do this. I can't do this. This is madness, and I can't."
He had yet to hear her. Yet to answer her. Xedan had come. Jordan had come. But Elyon had not. And even they were only temporary solace, with all their madness about drowning.
She scratched hard at a place on
A cruel joke? The ramblings of a madman? But she'd seen his eyes. Soft, mournful eyes that bore no hate.
Then again, if Jordan was sick, he might truly believe the same as the general about albinos: better dead than diseased.
Hadn't Darsal once said as much herself?
She turned full circle and tried to gain her bearings. Ledge. Rocks. Desert meeting forest on the western side. Spider trees forming a kind of refuge. But where?
Darsal kept south. Jordan had implied that the grove of spider trees wasn't big, merely well concealed, and therefore she wouldn't have trouble finding the pool.
But did she really want to find this red pool, submerge herself, inhale water, and drown? Feet squishing over black mud, she still had the nagging thought that the enemy was somehow trying to trick her into killing herself.
Jordan and Xedan could have tricked her. They could be Shataiki disguised as Forest Guard. Or the whole thing could be a sadistic pretense meant to fool her into betraying the Guard. Betraying Thomas. Betraying Elyon.
She had meant to ask more, so much more. How did the lakes turn red? Why? Why would Elyon change the rules he himself had put into place? Furthermore, why would Elyon expect her to die?
But the prospect of her turning had preoccupied her with a self-loathing that had left no room for hope or even the means of hope.
"There is much to say and little time. Trust me, Darsal. just trust me, if nothing else. You have to drown in a red lake. You must. Elyon will be with you. Do so and never turn Horde again. "
The woods threatened to swallow her. A thick grove of spider trees closed in from the forest, blocking out the border. She stopped.
The overgrown runner plants grew up about four feet, trunks in a half-moon shape, runners and leaves fashioning a kind of dome. A hut, almost.
Moonlight flickered, then vanished, behind cloud cover. A gentle breeze kissed her skin, ruffling her hair, and mist wafted up from the ground.
There wasn't much time. The Scabs would be hunting her now. They would find her soon enough. She took a deep breath and entered the little cavern, heart driving blood through her chest like ranchers driving a thousand cattle across open plain.
The space inside was warm, musty, and dry. It was about twelve feet across. In the dark she couldn't tell the color of the pool, but it looked about ten feet across and glimmered up at her. Beckoning. Mocking.
Darsal froze at the mere sight of the water. Itching and burning and flaking aside, she could only gawk and hold her breath. She knew its color, even if she couldn't see very well. She'd followed Jordan's instructions and Xedan's promptings to the letter, and everything thus far had been exactly as they had said.
There were no more pristine lakes of Elyon.
There were muddy, useless lakes.
There were these defiled, blood-infested red lakes that were also useless to her.
Unless she drowned in such.
So said the condemned.
Darsal took a few steps forward and merely stared. She circled the pool, crouched beside it, then stood and resumed her anxious pacing. Her heart rate soared, if that were possible at this point.
She wondered briefly about Johnis and Silvie. They had either turned Horde or died. Left her to turn Horde or die. Or they'd drowned and were alive, which sounded very much like a contradiction to her.
Darsal slid to her knees, face pressed against the sand. She curled into a ball, all hope of this whole mess being merely a nightmare shattered. "Elyon, I can't do this. I can't do this. This is madness, and I can't."
He had yet to hear her. Yet to answer her. Xedan had come. Jordan had come. But Elyon had not. And even they were only temporary solace, with all their madness about drowning.
She scratched hard at a place on
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