Ted Dekker - Outlaw

“What is it?” Lela asked, on edge, looking back at him. She followed his eyes, scanning the jungle ahead. “What do you see?”

“I hear.”

“Hear what?”

“The sound of insects, high and low at once. A kind I haven’t heard.”

She listened for a moment. “I hear nothing new.”

“Then you shouldn’t worry.”

But it was too late, Lela’s fingers were trembling already.

“These are the evil spirits!” she said. “You hear death with the ears of the shaman!”

Stephen thought she might be right, but he could find no words to express what he did not know. He could only assure her that all would be well.

“How far to the Warik?”

“I told you, the whole valley is Warik,” she said. “The main village is just beyond this draw where the land has been cleared to the swamps. Down this path.” She motioned to a narrow trail fifty paces ahead.

“Then follow me.”

He passed her and headed down the path, unable to dislodge the whine from his hearing, eager to discover its source. Even more willing to root the sound out of his mind.

Do not forget who you are.

He did not.

“Stephen…”

He turned back and saw that Lela was staring at him, still rooted to the ground.

“There’s nothing to fear,” he said, stepping back to her. “Trust me. Stay close to me.”

She glanced at the jungle beyond him, then walked forward.

He smiled and continued down the trail, spreading his arms. “You see? Nothing to fear.”

Behind him Lela said nothing.

They made their way back into the trees and down the mountain along a switchback that led them into another clearing.

“You see?” he asked, stepping out. He scanned the trees that surrounded the clearing. “There’s nothing to fear here. Nothing but trees.”

“Kirutu sees everything,” she whispered.

“Then he sees only what cannot hurt us,” Stephen said. “I will keep you safe.”

The high-pitched whine did not abate. Instead it grew, and this caused him some concern, but not enough for him to redirect his course. If he was meant to do anything other than face the fear that presented itself, Shaka would have told him so.

The only way to overcome fear is to walk through it and learn that it is but a shadow of death.

So he walked on, one foot in front of the other, straight toward the trees on the far side of the clearing. Spreading his arms once again to reassure her.

“You see? There is nothing to…”

But then there was something. The distinct sound of a long shaft hurtling through the air. An airborne spear to his right.

He instinctively dropped to a crouch.

Heard the unmistakable whump of wood connecting with bone just behind him. And with the whump , the sudden termination of the whining in his head.

Stephen spun back as Lela’s body fell heavily to the ground, bounced once, and then lay still, head bloodied by a blunt spear, which rolled into the grass three paces from her.

Silence settled over the clearing. She’d been struck by the spear. Her chest still rose and fell with breath.

For a long moment Stephen didn’t seem capable of processing any thought. Shaka had talked about war and he’d read his mother’s account, so he knew of the violence that humans took upon themselves, but seeing it now he wasn’t sure how to process what he was seeing. What to think about the blood seeping from the wound on her head.

He turned his head to the right and blinked. There, between two towering trees, stood a man wearing only black and red markings on his face, and yellow bands on his arms and legs. Staring at Stephen nonchalantly, without threat in his eyes.

A dozen warriors silently emerged from the trees and stood in a line, watching with only casual interest.

He looked back at Lela’s unconscious body. Her jaw was broken. Blood seeped from her mouth. What manner of insanity could possibly lead to such a brutal attack? He couldn’t bring himself to understand.

And then he did understand something. Or rather feel it. A terrible sorrow that reached up through his chest and threatened to swallow him whole.

Here lay Lela, collapsed as though dead with one blow. Lela, who had done nothing except trust him.

In a flurry of thoughts, memories of their journey swept through his mind. Of laughing and touching and sleeping side by side with such contentment.

Trust me, Lela. I will keep you safe.

And yet there she lay, bleeding on the ground.

Stephen slowly straightened, suddenly ill. He felt his spear slip from his fingers and fall to the ground.

Do not forget.

He lifted his head, breathing deep, aware of the scent of blood in the air. Even more aware that forgetting now could throw him into a pit of fear.

Shaka had known?

The warriors were approaching, twelve abreast, cautious now, each holding a spear or a long blade made of steel. Machetes, Shaka had called these. Two carried long bows.

They thought to hurt him? But they couldn’t reach him easily. The jungle was open behind him and on either side. If he wanted to, he could easily slip away.

Only then did he see the others, emerging from the trees on all sides, no fewer than fifty warriors approaching their single prey.

Do not forget . But in that moment Stephen forgot what he shouldn’t forget. Because the warriors were suddenly jogging forward, closing in on him like a noose. His mind had gone blank and all he could think to do was what he’d come to do.

Find his mother.

If these men took his life now, he wouldn’t be able to do that.

He turned toward the only gap in the closing circle and he ran, moving with the same instincts that had often kept him safe.

His mind calculated distances and speeds on the fly: thirty-five long paces to the trees; fifty paces for the closest warriors.

You’re leaving her, Stephen. You’re running from Lela, whom you love.

Yes, but he knew nothing else to do. The warriors wouldn’t leave Lela to die—they would want to find out what she knew. He couldn’t protect her by staying at her side. Not now.

Now he had to find his mother.

He heard the sounds of flying projectiles behind; saw their trajectories with a slight twist of his head; made a small adjustment to his course to avoid three spears that sped harmlessly by and clattered into the branches ahead.

He was already halfway to the trees, and although many of the warriors were now sprinting, they wouldn’t reach him in time. Once in the dense vegetation he would be as difficult to track as a boar on the run. The leader always had the advantage once aware. It was why stealth was so critical in hunting.

The wind was at his back. They wouldn’t be able to track him by scent. Could Tulim warriors even track by scent? It had taken him many years to refine his senses to Shaka’s satisfaction.

All of these thoughts whispered around the edges of his mind. At its core only one thought spoke clearly.

Run! Find your mother. She will know.

Two hastily slung arrows slapped through the brush to his right as he planted his right palm on a massive fallen tree and catapulted his body up and over the timber. A third arrow angled toward his body before he landed beyond the log.

This one he swatted away like a fly with his left hand.

He landed on his right foot and threw his weight forward, then to his left, around the trunk of a tall sago palm. Within five strides he was beyond their line of sight.

Stealth, not speed or strength, was now his greatest ally. They would stop to listen and follow any sound he made, but he would offer them none.

It occurred to him only then that he could just as easily turn and attempt to deal with them head on.