The Tower A Novel (Sanctus)

6





EIGHT MONTHS EARLIER

Badiyat Al-Sham – Syrian Desert

Northwestern Iraq

When Gabriel Mann pointed the horse towards the horizon his only wish was to get as far from the compound as possible before he

died.

He headed northwest, into the empty heart of the desert, with the heat of the rising sun on his shoulder and the scent of oranges

strong in his nostrils. He tried not to think about all he was leaving behind because it only made it harder for him to go, and

that was what he had to do – he had to leave her.

Instead, he tried to focus only on staying alive long enough to be far, far away when the disease took him. He didn’t want to

risk infecting others or falling where circling buzzards might draw human scavengers who would steal his clothes and weapons and

risk carrying away something far more deadly. He needed to die where no one would ever find him, somewhere the desert sun could

dry and purify his flesh and the wind could scatter his dust over the sterile ground where nothing grew and everything perished

and was forgotten.

He travelled for nearly four hours before the fever struck. The heat had been building for some time, though it was hard to tell

how much of it was coming from the sun and how much from him. He was in the scant shade of a low, dry wadi, keeping the hot wind

away from his horse, when his skin started to prickle as if biting insects were suddenly swarming all over him. At the same time a

sensation welled up inside him like a feeling of uncontrollable grief. Despite his efforts to put her from his mind he had been

thinking about Liv, picturing her face, the green of her eyes and how her hair had spread bright and golden over the pillow the

last time he had seen her, sleeping in the sick bay. This sadness of leaving her, fuelled by the fever, now spilled out of him and

tears rolled through the dry dust on his cheeks. He raised a shaking hand to wipe his face and it came away bloody.

A blight – the monk from the Citadel had called it – a strong smell of oranges followed by a sudden and violent nosebleed.

It’s over, he thought, with something close to relief. Now I can lie down.

He steered his horse to an overhang that formed a small oasis of shadow amid the blinding white. This was it, the place his whole

life had been heading towards, this dark nook that looked like a vertical grave.

This was where he would die.