White by Ted Dekker Read Free Book Online Page B

said. “I have the fire.”
    He ran to the center of the camp where he was certain to be seen clearly. With any luck they would key in on him. The price on his head was a hundred times that on anyone else’s. And Thomas had heard the rumor that Qurong’s own daughter, Chelise, whom he had once met deep in the desert, was promised to Woref upon his capture.
    The cries quieted quickly. The Circle had been through its share of escapes before. They all knew that screaming was no way to avoid attention. There were enough horses to carry the entire tribe, one adult and one child per horse, with a dozen left over to carry their supplies.
    Thomas grabbed the smoldering torch next to the main campfire. Gruff shouting directed the attack overhead. An arrow sliced through the air and thudded into flesh on Thomas’s right. He spun.
    Alisha, Lucy’s mother, was grabbing at a shaft that protruded from her side. Thomas started toward her but pulled up when he saw that Lucy was already running for her mother, gripping one of the fleshy, orange fruits that healed. She reached her mother, dropped the fruit, gripped the shaft with both hands, and pulled hard. Alisha groaned. The arrow slid free.
    Then Lucy was squeezing the fruit over the open wound.
    Thomas ran to intercept William, who led Suzan and two mounted tribe members. He leaped into the saddle on the run and kicked the horse into a full gallop, leading the others now.
    A throaty grunt behind him made him turn his head. It was the old man, Jeremiah. Most of the tribe had already taken their positions under a protective ledge by the stables, but the council had been farthest from the horses when the attack had started. The old man had lagged. A Scab spear had found his back.
    In the confusion, no one was running to his aid. If he died, the fruit wouldn’t bring him back.
    â€œWilliam, torch!”
    He tossed the smoking fire to William, who caught it with one hand and looked back to see the problem.
    â€œHurry, Thomas. We’re cutting this close.”
    â€œLight the fires. Go!”
    Thomas spun his horse and sprinted for the old man, who lay face-down now. He dropped by Jeremiah, fruit in hand. But he knew before his knee hit the sand that he was too late.
    â€œJeremiah!” He grabbed the spear, put one foot on the man’s back, and yanked it out. The spinal column had been severed in two.
    Thomas crushed the fruit in both hands, grunting with anger. Juice poured into the gaping hole.
    Nothing. If the man was still alive, the juice would have begun its regeneration immediately.
    An arrow slammed into his shoulder.
    He stood and faced the direction it had come from. The archers on the nearest cliff stared down at him, momentarily off guard.
    â€œHe was once one of you!” he screamed. Without removing his eyes from them, Thomas grabbed the arrow in his shoulder, pulled it out, and threw it on the ground. He shoved the fruit against the wound.
    â€œNow he is dead, as you yourselves are. You hear me? Dead! All of you. You live in death!”
    One of them let an arrow fly. Thomas saw that the projectile was wide and let it hiss past without moving. It struck the sand.
    Then he moved. Faster than they had expected. Onto his horse and straight toward the eastern canyon.
    The first fire was already spewing thick black smoke skyward. William had lit the second on the opposite side of the canyon and was galloping toward the third pile of brush they’d prepared for precisely this eventuality.
    Thomas ignored the arrows flying by, leaned over his horse’s neck, and plunged into the thick smoke.

    Soren raised his hand to give the signal.
    â€œWait,” Woref said.
    â€œThe rest will break for the canyon,” his lieutenant said. “We should give chase now.”
    â€œI said wait.”
    Soren lowered his hand.
    The plan had been to box them in, wound as many as possible from a high angle of attack, and then sweep down to