Free Green: The Beginning and the End by Ted Dekker Page A

unholies, as Ba’al called it. Flames crackled from the torches on the room’s perimeter. Thick, purple velvet curtains hung from the tall ceiling on each side, framing large gold etchings of the winged serpent. Directly behind the altar, the same material closed off an arched passageway, which led to Ba’al’s private library. What kind of plotting and deception was conceived behind that curtain Qurong could only guess, but those guesses were not happy thoughts.
    “Where is he?” Patricia whispered.
    Qurong hesitated. “Doing the work of Teeleh.”
    That he, the supreme commander of more than three million souls, had agreed to leave his home in the middle of the night for an audience with Ba’al was offensive enough. That he had to now wait in these ghastly chambers while the witch took his bloody time wiping off his wet blades was infuriating.
    But this was not the place to betray his emotions. Qurong knew all too well how revered Ba’al was among the common people, particularly now, during the days of the black moon. During the last lunar eclipse, Ba’al came forth from the sanctum and declared that Teeleh had shown him a vision of the coming red dragon, who would devour the children of all who betrayed him. All those who marked themselves as loyal servants of Teeleh and Ba’al would be spared. Three claws carved on the forehead, the mark of the beast’s perfection.
    Qurong had received the mark of the beast, naturally, but he doubted that it would truly protect him, assuming the beast existed.
    The priest who’d let them in climbed the two steps to the platform, shuffled slowly around the altar, and parted the curtains with a withered hand. The door behind the drapes closed softly, and they were left alone.
    “This is asinine,” Qurong mumbled.
    “Hush.”
    The curtain parted and Ba’al stepped into the inner sanctum, dressed in his usual black silk robes with a purple sash around his neck. Layers of gold, silver, and black beads hung over his breast. The circular serpent’s medallion hung from a silver chain.
    Ba’al’s narrow white face peered at Qurong from his hood, like a king judging his subject. The expression was enough to make Qurong’s blood boil.
    The priest carefully navigated the steps down from the platform.
    “Thank you for coming to me so late, my lord.” His voice was low and wet, the sound of a man who needed to clear his throat.
    “This had better be good.”
    Ba’al lifted his face to the Horde leader, and for the first time Qurong saw that the three claw marks on his forehead had been reopened. Thin trails of blood snaked down his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The man was a masochist.
    “Good?” Ba’al said. “The true child has been born, and now the dragon will wage war on her illegitimate children. That can hardly be good.” He walked around a table to the side. The goat’s head lay on a silver platter, still bleeding, and Ba’al dipped his long black fingernail into the blood. “Babylon will become drunk on her blood yet.”
    “Idiots may swoon with your talk of children and dragons and the end of all times,” Qurong said, “but I’m a simple man who wields the sword. Let’s not forget that here.”
    “Ah, yes, of course. Your sword, your power, your stranglehold on the Horde. Forgive me if I suggested that the dragon doesn’t hold his king in the highest regard. He was the one who made you king, after all.”
    Qurong had no patience for this. “So what is it that is so urgent to keep me from sleep?”
    “The day for your full glory has come, my lord, all in good time. But first I must know who you are and who you serve.”
    “What glory? Another ritual to this god who has abandoned us?”
    “Remember where you are, my lord.” Ba’al glanced at the walls without moving his head, then shifted his eyes back to Qurong and brought his wet fingers to his lips. “He has ears everywhere,” the high priest whispered around his taste of goat’s