Cynthia heard an uneasy murmur ripple through the audience as she paused and took a sip of water. “Fearmonger!” someone yelled. She looked over at the table where a man with long stringy brown hair and a fanatical gleam in his eyes was sitting. It was Randolph Fenquist, the leader of a political-action group called the Sentinel Coterie. He had a grim smile on his face. “Fearmonger!” the burly man seated next to him who had a hideous scar on his face shouted again. Fenquist coolly took the knife from his place setting and dug its pointy tip into the table. He slowly rotated it in a clockwise direction.
Cynthia was not deterred by the interruption. She had dealt with the Coterie before. “You would be foolish to think otherwise,” Cynthia said, looking directly at Randolph Fenquist. “If you back people into a corner, they will band together and fight anything and anyone they feel is threatening their lives.”
As she continued, she noticed two Council members leaving their table and walking to the back of the banquet room. She remained focused on her speech, even though more Council members were following them.
“My dear friends, now is not the time to take a step backward. The Chronicles have given us a road map to a bright future. We only have to seize the opportunity and move intently to realize it. Thank you for affording me the opportunity to speak to you tonight,” she said in conclusion. “Love and blessings to you all.”
The audience applauded politely. As Cynthia and the other speakers left the stage, the anthem of the North American Federation began to play, and people in the audience rose from their seats to mingle before dinner was served.
Monique gave Cynthia a big hug when she arrived backstage. “That was wonderful. So inspiring!”
Cynthia shook her head. “Thank you, but I don’t know how much of an impression I made. Their faces looked pretty blank. My hope is fading.”
“Well, maybe this will boost your hope,” John Davis said as he and another Council member, Jacob Summers, walked over to her. “We have some interesting news, something that may shift the tide in our favor.”
He motioned for them to discuss it in the hallway, and they stepped out of the banquet room via a side door. John looked around to make sure they were alone. “The Forest Set has been located.”
“The Forest Set!” Cynthia said, shocked.
“Yes, I just received a phone call from a reporter friend asking if we were going to participate in the auction at Mason One in New Chicago tonight. He told me that Camden Ford’s set of the Chronicles is going to be auctioned, in about an hour and a half.”
Cynthia was stunned. She was well aware that the Forest Set had disappeared thirty-two years ago, along with Camden and his wife, Cassandra. “I wonder if Camden and Cassandra are alive,” she said. “And why didn’t the auction house contact us sooner? They should have known that we would be interested in those books.”
“All good questions,” John responded, but he shook his head to say he did not have the answers.
“We need to get back to the office and see if we can secure the money to purchase the books,” Cynthia said excitedly. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and we’re going to seize it.”
5
Every choice is yours. You and you alone bear the responsibility of your decisions.
No matter how great or small they may be.
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
CAIRO, EGYPT, 2:00 A.M. LOCAL TIME,
6 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY
A taxi pulled up in front of the private jet hangar at the Cairo airport. Lucius paid the driver with paper money, which was rarely used since the establishment of the new electronic monetary system. It was useful, though, for carrying out untraceable financial transactions.
“Sorry, sir, I don’t carry any paper money, so I can’t give you change.” The driver gave Lucius a perplexed look. “Most everyone pays with their PCDs these days. Do you have one of those, sir?”
“Keep the change,” Lucius said impatiently, as he pulled up his hood and stepped out of the taxi into the rain.
A Gulfstream ES2300 was waiting on the tarmac. A set of stairs led to the open entry door, where a female flight attendant stood, waiting to welcome passengers onboard. The plane was equipped with three Hazzly Electro Static engines, the latest in flight technology. The engines could produce incredible thrust and were very efficient. A large electric energizing truck sat behind the plane, charging the high-capacity fuel cells for the long-distance trip.
Carrying the briefcase in one hand and the leather pouch in the other, Lucius jogged up the stairs. The flight attendant shut the doors behind him, and Lucius inhaled the scent of leather as he entered the main cabin of the state-of-the-art aircraft. There were sixteen large seats, grouped in four sections, with a center table and a 3-D digital communication pad with universal PCD docking ports. Lucius saw his mother sitting in the right front section, talking to a projected image of Simon.
“What a relief!” Andrea said, as she looked up and saw Lucius. “Simon said he lost contact with you in the museum.”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Lucius said calmly. “Just a few extra details I had to deal with.”
“Do you have them?” Simon asked anxiously.
“Yes, of course,” Lucius responded.
“Let’s see them, dear,” Andrea said. “Put them here so Simon can see the result of your efforts tonight.”
Lucius took the three books from the leather pouch and set them on the table. Simon’s image stared at the books, his hand trying to reach out and touch them, but the image simply passed through them like a ghost passing through a wall.
“Excellent work, Lucius! I trust that you didn’t meet with too much resistance. Although I do see that you did not escape the rain.”
Lucius was surprised to see the flight attendant opening the door again and deploying the stairs. He looked out the window and noticed a man waiting to enter the aircraft. Not knowing who he was or what his intentions were, Lucius took his gun out of his jacket pocket. “Do you know who that is?” he asked his mother.
“No,” Andrea said, as she looked out the window. “I have never seen him before.”
“Relax, Lucius,” Simon said, as the man boarded the plane. “Put your gun away. Macliv has come for the books.”
The man called Macliv entered the cabin and walked over to Lucius and Andrea. He was a husky man with a blank face and a red and black tribal tattoo that circled his neck above the collar of his fitted white shirt. Lucius put the books back in the leather pouch along with a folded sheet of paper Andrea gave him and then handed the pouch to Macliv. The man nodded, and then, as quickly as he had arrived, he left the aircraft. “Talkative guy,” Lucius said, taking a seat across from his mother. “Where’d you find him?”
“Andrea,” Simon said, ignoring Lucius, “I have one other task for you before you land in the NAF.”
“I do hope it will not take too long,” Andrea replied. “We have much to do for our project, and time is short.”
“No, it will not take much time at all,” Simon assured her. “You will be able to accomplish it during your flight. There is a special event tonight in New Chicago. The Forest Set will be put up for auction.”
“The Forest Set!” Andrea was shocked and sat up straighter in her chair. “How can that be? Are you saying that Camden and Cassandra have resurfaced?” Worry showed on her face. She had served on the original Council of Satraya with Simon’s father, Fendral, and knew firsthand the events that had led to the splintering of the first Council.
“I must attend to other matters at the moment,” Simon said, not bothering to address Andrea’s concern. “I want you to secure that set. The price is of little importance. The auction house is expecting you to bid remotely, and an anonymous payment account has already been set up, so my name does not have to be mentioned. I’m forwarding specific instructions to your PCD.”
The image of Simon disappeared abruptly. The 3-D communication pad went dark, and Andrea yanked he
r PCD from the docking station. Her face was still tense from the revelation that Camden’s set of the Chronicles—and possibly Camden himself—had turned up.
“Mother, were you referring to Camden Ford?” Lucius asked, as he stood and took off his wet coat.
Andrea did not answer; she was thinking about her time on the Council, years that she would just as soon forget.
“Mother, what’s wrong? Why does Simon want another copy of the books?”
“Lucius!” Andrea replied in a stern tone. “I have a headache and need to rest. Just sit down over there.” She gestured to another section of seats. “We are about to take off.”
“But this doesn’t make sense,” Lucius insisted. “We’re supposed to be doing the work of Era. Instead, we’re flying all over the world collecting these books we’re all supposed to hate. And then some guy we’ve never seen before comes and takes the books that I risked my life to steal! We need to get clear on who we work for.”
“Lucius, just go sit down!” Andrea ordered. She was annoyed with her son, not because his questions were not valid but because they were. Why did Simon want those books? And more important, why wasn’t he concerned about Camden, Fendral’s most hated rival? Andrea fastened her seatbelt as the engines of the plane revved. She could not deny that it appeared Simon was keeping significant information from her.
A member of the flight crew poured Andrea a glass of wine. Lucius had made himself comfortable across the aisle and had fallen asleep. Andrea took a sip of her drink and leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes.
Forty-two years ago, Andrea had been living in the spotlight of a very successful modeling and fashion design career when she met the international playboy Alfred Benson at one of the many high-society balls Fendral Hitchlords hosted at Château Dugan. Reports had it that Alfred instantly fell under her spell but that Andrea played hard-to-get. She was twenty-six, gaining renown as a women’s rights advocate, and presumably wanted more out of life than to be the escort of a powerful, wealthy man. So, in order to secure Andrea’s long-term affections, Alfred did the only thing a man in his position could do: he purchased a world-famous fashion house and turned the reins over to her. Three months later, Andrea and Alfred were married.
Andrea now had a platform from which she could further her ambitions for both her fashion career and her advocacy for women’s rights around the world. “Women need to be heard,” she would say to Alfred. “Why should we sit back and allow so many short-sighted men to run our countries and corporations?” Alfred would smile and listen with only one ear as he planned his next safari in Kenya or scuba-diving adventure in Bali.
Andrea, meanwhile, continued to build her empire. To promote her women’s advocacy group, Women of the Veil, she created a popular line of fashion accessories, scarves and hoods, which quickly came to signify that a woman was more than a pretty face or smile. As she traveled around the world, speaking to ever-growing enthusiastic groups of women, attracting the attention of the media and political leaders, she got a taste of power. And she wanted more.
But in 2027, the world came to a halt, and so did Andrea’s dreams and ambitions. Within moments, her beauty, glamour, and, indeed, her movement, which had captivated a generation, suddenly became irrelevant.
The years that followed the Great Disruption were difficult for all the survivors. The value of paper money and stock certificates was defined by how long they could fuel a fire. The value of a house was judged by how good the locks were. What good were fancy cars if their electronics had been destroyed by the solar flare? What good were diamonds, precious gems, and gold when most people didn’t have food to eat?
The Bensons, most of whose wealth had been wiped out by the financial convulsions that preceded the Great Disruption, retreated to farmland that Alfred had inherited in Switzerland. The land was replete with lakes and streams, food and water, and they would spend the next five years there until their close friend, Fendral Hitchlords, asked them to join him on a trip to Washington, D.C. While Alfred chose to keep his focus on the recovery of his family’s fortune and prominence, Andrea went with Fendral and his young son, Simon, on the adventure. It was then that Andrea reemerged on the world stage, this time as a founding member of the Council of Satraya.
Andrea pulled her thoughts back to the present, opened her eyes, and adjusted her crimson hood. She was still worried about Simon’s nonchalant attitude regarding Camden and the emergence of the Forest Set. But confronting Simon was not advisable. She’d been reminded of that when she’d seen the black rose he’d laid at the place her late husband used to occupy at the meeting table at Château Dugan. She looked through the window and out at the darkness, wondering if yet another man was going to disappoint her.
It was almost time for the auction.
6
Every step taken and not taken, every choice made and not made, unfolds your life. Just be sincere in all you do or do not do.
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
NEW CHICAGO, ILLINOIS, 8:00 P.M. LOCAL TIME,
6 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY
New Chicago had suffered greatly at the hands of the Great Disruption. More than half of the buildings along Michigan Avenue, once known as the Magnificent Mile, had crumbled into heaps of concrete and steel, taking all of their inhabitants with them. As a major population area, New Chicago had since received a great deal of government support. Rebuilding occurred rapidly, and the city thrived during the Rising. Survivors in the surrounding suburbs and exurbs made their way to the city to start new lives, and soon it became a model for how reconstruction efforts should be carried out around the world. The world-renowned Mason One Auction House was located on the corner of Michigan Avenue and East Huron Street, one of the busiest intersections in the city. It was where the abandoned Allerton Hotel had been, until John Mason bought and converted it in 2055.
In the car on the way there, Logan heard an unruly crowd chanting, “Burn the books! Burn the books!” It gave him chills.
Soon the car pulled up in front of the arched entrance of the renovated building. The auction house had not only provided Logan’s transportation for the evening, but it had also provided his attire. He adjusted the uncomfortable tie and brushed his long brown hair out of his eyes. The driver opened the door for him, and a team of policemen ensured that the protesters didn’t harass any of Mason One’s patrons.
A woman in a pink tweed suit walked out from the main entrance toward Logan. “Good evening, dear,” she greeted him. “Let’s go inside, away from the madness out here. Why these Coterie people are so determined to disrupt things is beyond me.” She shot an unfriendly look at one of the protesters as she grabbed Logan by the arm and escorted him inside.
Ms. Crawley, the auction house coordinator, was in her late sixties but looked much younger. She always had a set of reading glasses around her neck, and she was as sharp as a tack. No one really understood the relationship between her and John Mason, but it was evident that Ms. Crawley usually got what she wanted. She reminded Logan of a mother hen.
“You’ll be happy to know that some very prominent people have arrived at the last minute. It’s not every day that we get to auction off an original set of The Chronicles of Satraya.”
“Doesn’t look like the people out there are too happy about it,” said Logan. “I apologize for causing such a stir and waiting till the last minute to decide whether to sell the books. They meant a great deal to my parents, and I wasn’t sure if I could part with them. But it turns out I need to.”
“Everything is working out,” Ms. Crawley reassured him. Whispering in Logan’s ear, she added, “These collectors enjoy a bit of unexpected drama in their lives, and it makes the auction more high-spirited.”
Logan nodded. “Thanks for keeping my identity quiet,” he said. “I don’t want any attention.”
“I understand, dear,” Ms. Crawley said, as she escorted Logan into the great auction hall.
Logan had inherited an original copy o
f The Chronicles of Satraya that was known as the Forest Set when his mother and father died two years ago. He remembered watching them page through the books as they sat together discussing its many short stories and philosophies. Some nights they went on for hours debating the meaning of what they had just read. Logan would fall asleep in a chair, waking up the next morning alone in the study with a blanket over him.
He still didn’t fully understand how his parents had come to possess the books. Whenever he’d asked, he’d received only vague answers:
“A very good friend of ours gave them to us for safekeeping,” his father had told him when he was around ten years old. “Your mother and I knew him when we lived in Washington, D.C., before you were born. He had to go on an extended trip on behalf of the Council and didn’t want to take them along.”
“You mean Camden Ford?” Logan asked. “My teacher, Mr. D, says the Rising would not have happened without Camden and the Council of Satraya. He says that without them, we might not be here, at least not like we are today.”
“I suppose that is true in some ways.” His father smiled. “But I think the books deserve most of the credit. The books are what really inspired people.”
“Mr. D said that Camden disappeared after the first Council of Satraya broke up, and nobody knows why he left or where he went.”
“Yes, that is true. It’s one of the great mysteries of the post–Great Disruption period. But before he left, he gave your mother and me these books. Camden wanted us to keep them safe and never tell anyone we had them. He said he would return one day and reclaim them.”
“You mean he wanted you to keep them a secret? Why?”
“He didn’t say; he just made us promise. And you have to promise, too.”
“I promise.”
As the years passed, Logan lost interest in the hows and whys of the books. He remembered seeing the books all over the house, sometimes on his father’s desk or on the bookshelf, sometimes in his parents’ bedroom or on the kitchen table. But whenever guests came over, the books were put away and out of sight. Logan witnessed his father’s diligence about keeping his word to Camden. As time went on, Logan saw the books less frequently. By the time Logan entered his adult years, he hardly saw the books at all, and soon forgot about them entirely. That is, until his parents’ death two years ago.
Journey Into the Flame: Book One of the Rising World Trilogy Page 5
