Journey Into the Flame: Book One of the Rising World Trilogy

by T. R. Williams

  Logan stopped his reading. “Who is Robert?” he asked.

  “Robert Tilbo. He was the man Camden rescued from the Forgotten Ones at the safe house, the day he first discovered the Chronicles,” Mr. Perrot answered. “He served with Camden and Cassandra on the first Council and also disappeared after the splintering.”

  Logan nodded. Another disappearance, he thought. Then he continued to read.

  All my fears about Fendral and Andrea were confirmed last night. I overheard them talking in the hallway before the Council meeting. I heard Fendral say that he had figured out a way to restore his family’s place in history. It had to do with securing control of the Council. He told Andrea that if his plan worked, the Hitchlords and Benson families would once again rule from the shadows. And he promised she would have a seat next to them.

  I took my chance and barged in on their conversation. Then I confronted Fendral with a secret I’d uncovered which I dare not include here. The only move I had left to save the Council was to threaten Fendral with the release of the information. It seemed to work. For the first time ever, I saw fear in his eyes. We both agreed to depart from Washington and leave the Council to Cynthia. I told him directly that should he attempt to influence the Council in any way, I would publicly release his shame and bring an end to the Hitchlords dynasty.

  “Sit where you may mind your enemy,

  Remember forever their names as if etched into stone.

  That which supports you in your vigilance

  Will ultimately be your savior.”

  We are leaving tonight. We are not going to risk our safety by playing any part in Fendral’s deadly games.

  Logan finished reading the entry and looked up at Mr. Perrot in silence.

  “So Camden blackmailed Fendral into leaving the Council,” Mr. Perrot mused. “I suspected he knew something about him that the rest of us did not. I wonder if it has anything to do with what Simon and Andrea are up to at present. If we can find out what it is, perhaps we can use it again.”

  Logan’s mind was elsewhere. “There’s that name Baté again,” he said. “And what about that strange quote near the end?”

  “The quote—I have no recollection of it. It does not come from the Chronicles.”

  Logan turned the page over and saw a short scribbled list on the other side. The name of Hitchlords was at the top, with what seemed to be some members of the Hitchlords lineage underneath it. The names of organizations were written in the margins next to them. Logan read them out loud.

  “My knowledge of these organizations is limited,” Mr. Perrot said. “I never heard of ‘Thule’ or ‘MJ-12,’ but I do remember the ‘Federal Reserve.’ It was at the center of the financial world prior to the Great Disruption. Everything it attempted to stave off the Financial Reset of 2025 was met with vehement resistance. I dare say if your father was correct, the Hitchlords family was involved with one of the most influential clandestine groups in history. However—” He broke off. “However, none of this ties Simon and Andrea to the murders of the Council members or your parents. Keep reading; perhaps those other pages, from 2035, will provide something for immediate use, maybe even the secret Camden used against Fendral.”

  July 16, 2035. Freedom Day is coming, and this morning, I took my walk through the park earlier than I usually do. The festival crews were going to arrive at 10:00 A.M. to begin decorating. I wanted to get there when all was still quiet.

  “I wonder which park he’s talking about,” Logan stopped to ask.

  “Before the Great Disruption, it was called the Ellipse,” Mr. Perrot answered. “But afterward, the circle was completely rebuilt and renamed Compass Park. It was given that name in the hope that people would never lose their direction again. Camden went for walks there every chance he could get, usually in the mornings. I would join him from time to time.”

  Logan nodded and continued.

  I sat on a bench and was looking up at the sky, in a daydream of sorts. I can’t recall what I was thinking about. A man sat beside me and asked me a strange question. “If the universe wanted to tell you one thing, what do you think it would be?” I looked at him, not really knowing if or even how I should answer the question. Without waiting for me to answer, he introduced himself as Baté Sisán. He stood, tipped his hat at me, and wished me a good day. He walked away as suddenly as he had arrived. I don’t know who this man is, but his question is still haunting me. Maybe I’ll see him in the park tomorrow. I plan to go early again.

  “There is nothing more from that day,” Logan said, as he set the page down. “Here’s the next entry.”

  July 17, 2035. I met him again this morning. Baté. We spoke longer today as we sat on that same park bench. I told him that I had thought about his question but didn’t have the answer. He told me the answer would come in time and that it was only for me to know. He is an intriguing man. He knows things about The Chronicles of Satraya that no one else knows. Insights that I myself have not even thought to ponder. The books have only been distributed for a few years now, yet he knows them and recites their words from memory. He asked me questions about my experience with the blue orb in the forest and then made comments that deepened my understanding of the answers. He is stranger than anyone I have ever met. I can’t for the life of me read him. I couldn’t even tell you how old he is or what part of the world he’s from. His face and eyes are timeless. That is the only way I can describe him.

  I asked him if I would see him in the park tomorrow. He replied, “Only tomorrow can say.” And once again, he tipped his hat, wished me a wonderful day, and walked off. I hope he’s there tomorrow. As strange as I find him, I feel I need him in my life. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

  “Baté Sisán,” Logan mused in a whisper. The name, which he had first read that morning, was beginning to carry more weight.

  “Please continue,” Mr. Perrot said.

  July 18, 2035. After dropping Cassandra off at her violin lesson, I went back to the park. I was not disappointed. Baté was already sitting on the bench when I arrived. We spoke at length today. I had many questions about the Chronicles and their teachings. Before he answered any of them, he challenged me. He asked if I knew the difference between philosophy and truth. He asked if I knew what wisdom was. He reminded me of the simple verity that was written in the Chronicles: Philosophy must be combined with Experience if we desire Wisdom. We must have spoken for hours on this simple subject. I realized very quickly that there was so much more I had to understand about these books.

  Before he left, he asked how I was doing with my work on the Satraya Flame. I asked how he knew about that. He just smiled and asked the question again. I told him that I had reached something of a block. I explained to Baté that each time I focused on the flame, I got this incredibly loud ringing in my ears. The sound is so loud that it distracts me from meditating on the flame, and so I stopped working on it.

  Logan paused. There was a strange look on his face, something between understanding and fear. “I think I know that sound,” Logan said, half thinking aloud. “It happens to me when I paint. I get this loud ringing noise in my ears, and I can’t work anymore. None of the doctors I’ve gone to can explain it.”

  Mr. Perrot nodded solemnly. “Perhaps the pages can,” he said. “Please. Read on.”

  Baté explained that the Satraya Flame has many levels and that each level has a secret. He said the flame is only a tool to understand focus and the stilling of the mind. He explained that the ringing I hear indicates that I am reaching a deeper level of mind. He advised me to continue the flame work and embrace the ringing, to allow it to consume me as if I were listening to a magnificent symphony. Embrace it as I would a piece of inspirational music, he said. On the other side, I would find the next secret of the flame and the next door. Every experience with the flame has purpose. And with that, he stood, tipped his hat, and wished me a wonderful day.

  “There is another entry from later that same day,” Logan observed.r />
  July 18, 2035. I did as Baté told me this morning. I focused on the flame, and as before, the ringing came, louder than ever. It took me several attempts, but I was finally able to break through. I forced myself to focus beyond the sound. As Baté suggested, I embraced it as music. I don’t have words to describe what I saw in the flame. I actually can’t even say that it was in the flame. I don’t know what happened. I saw things, some good and others bad. It was as if I was actually there.

  Without stopping, Logan read on.

  July 19, 2035. No Baté this morning. I’ll keep focusing on the Satraya Flame.

  July 20, 2035. No Baté this morning.

  July 21, 2035. No Baté this morning. But my work with the flame is getting easier and easier. Today is Freedom Day. I will be spending all day with Cassandra and the rest of the Council at Compass Park. The celebration this year is going to be large.

  July 22, 2035. Yesterday’s Freedom Day was wonderful. Cassandra looked stunning at the evening dance. When I returned to the park this morning, once again Baté was not there. As mysteriously as he arrived in my life, he has disappeared. But I owe him a great deal of thanks. The Satraya Flame has become wisdom to me and no longer a philosophy. I am beginning to experience it, as he promised I would.

  “Strange.” Logan flipped through the remaining sheets. “The next entry is months later.”

  November 10, 2035. He was there again after all these months. Baté. He was in the park feeding some pigeons. I was so excited to see him I gave him a hug. He asked me straightaway about my Satraya Flame work. I told him that I had done as he said, and it worked. I described my experiences and what was happening to me in the deeper levels of the flame. He smiled and said, “Is not truth wonderful?” He then did something I did not expect. He invited me to come visit him at the home he is renting. I am to go on the night of the 12th. He told me that he wanted to show me something. A “deeper secret” of the flame, as he put it. I couldn’t refuse.

  Logan set the page on the table. “And here is the last one,” he said.

  November 13, 2035. I spent last night with Baté, and it changed my life. I am sworn to secrecy, but Baté told me that I could write about it in my journal. He said that one day, it might prove useful. How he knew about my journal I do not know, nor did I ask.

  We both sat in the center of a small room he had prepared. He’d moved all the furniture off to the side and cleared the middle of the room. Between us, he placed a strange candle. Actually, it was two blue candles attached by a bit of melted wax. He told me I had progressed enough in flame work that it was time for me to experience a deeper truth. He said the technique was called the Manas Mantr, or Spirit Talk. He said this would be the last time I would physically see him, but if I desired, we could communicate through the flame. He didn’t tell me why this would be our last physical meeting.

  He told me that one day, when my mind was sufficiently developed, I would no longer need the support of the physical flame and would be able to rely strictly on the discipline of my mind, but until that time, the candle would be our link. He showed me a hand-drawn picture of a small room. It looked like an old study with a small desk at the center and books of all kinds on the shelves. He instructed me to bring up the image of the room and hold it in my mind when I had reached a certain place during my flame meditation. I asked what would happen, and he said not to worry about it. Just maintain the focus, and I would know what to do when it happened.

  Baté explained that the physics of where I was about to go were very different from here. He handed me a blank piece of paper and a pen. He told me to write down any questions I had and to hold the paper in my hand as I focused on the flame. He further explained that what I had with me now was what I would have when I got there. None of it really made sense to me, but I did as he instructed and wrote down the only question I could ask.

  Without further discussion, Baté struck a match and lit the wicks of both candles. He told me to focus on the flame to the right while he focused on the other. I don’t know how long we sat there. As I had practiced, I went beyond the ringing sound that had stopped me before. I brought my mind to a quiet place. All I remember from that point is that when I started to focus on the picture of the room that Baté had drawn for me, the sketch in my mind suddenly became real. It was as if I was actually there. The desk became real; the books on the shelves became real. I could open the books and read them. Everything was tangible; it was much more than a dream. It was as if I had left this place and gone somewhere else.

  The surface of the desk was empty, except for a single piece of paper with some writing on it. I bent over and read what it said. “What is the question that you hold in your hand?” I had almost forgotten why I was there. I looked on the desk for a pen but didn’t find one. But then I remembered that I had already written my question, and when I looked at my hand, there was the piece of paper I’d written it on. Somehow the paper had come with me to this strange place. I laid the paper on the desk, and in a split second, I found myself back in Baté’s house, sitting on the floor. One of the candles was still burning. The other was gone. So was Baté. I have so many questions.

  Mr. Perrot picked up the blue candle and inspected it, turning it over in his hand. “This must be the candle he is describing.” He pointed out some small pieces of melted wax stuck to it, the places where it was presumably attached to the other candle.

  “But what are we supposed to do with all of this?” Logan asked. “There was nothing more about Fendral’s secret.”

  “No, maybe not directly,” Mr. Perrot said, “but we have to be pragmatic. There is a reason Camden tore these particular pages from his journal and hid them. There is also a reason for his leading us to find them. Perhaps he wants to take us further. After all, you just said you hear the same ringing sound he did. Maybe, Logan, maybe you must be the one to follow in his footsteps.”

  Logan stared at Mr. Perrot in silence. He knew what his old friend was suggesting. But could he do it? Could he put his doubts and his fears aside? Could he do this for his parents? He set down the last journal page and put the pages back in order. “We’re going to need a match,” he said.

  17

  May this be the last moment of your fears.

  May this be the last moment of your doubts.

  May this be the last moment of your uncertainties.

  May this be the first moment of your future.

  —THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

  WASHINGTON, D.C., 10:20 P.M. LOCAL TIME,

  5 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

  Mr. Perrot and Logan rearranged the furniture in Valerie’s den. They pushed the couch, the table, and the rest of the furniture off to the side. Logan took out a sheet of paper from his backpack and, after consulting with Mr. Perrot, wrote a question on it. Then Mr. Perrot dimmed the lights, and Logan sat on the floor in the center of the room. Mr. Perrot found a candleholder, placed the blue candle in it, and handed it to Logan.

  “How do we know this is going to work?” Logan asked.

  “I have no evidence to support it and none to discount it,” Mr. Perrot answered. “But that is what faith is all about.”

  Logan nodded.

  “To start, the Chronicles say to place the candle about an arm’s length away from you, with the flame at about eye level.”

  Logan took the candle and did as Mr. Perrot instructed. “Sounds like you’ve done this before.”

  “Camden once instructed a group of us about the flame. I worked on it from time to time through the years,” Mr. Perrot said. “I made some progress but not to the degree that Camden seemingly accomplished. You, on the other hand, may have progressed to a key point. Even though you never focused on a candle, perhaps focusing on all the artwork you have done sufficiently advanced your powers of concentration. It is written in the Chronicles that all of the techniques described are just tools. The most important thing is to learn how to silence our chattering minds. I wonder if you didn’t just find a dif
ferent tool.”

  “I never really embraced the fundamentals taught by the Chronicles like my parents wished,” Logan admitted. “But as you said, maybe painting was my tool.”

  “Let us hope so,” Mr. Perrot said. “Now, remember what Camden wrote. If the ringing sound starts, you have to keep focusing and keep going. Are you ready?”

  “Wait,” Logan said. “Let me look at the drawing of the study again. I want to make sure I can remember what the room looks like.” Mr. Perrot handed him the sheet with the drawing. Logan opened and closed his eyes a few times, ensuring that the layout was etched in his mind. “OK. I think I’ve got it.”

  “Do you have the sheet of paper with our question?” Logan held up the folded sheet. Mr. Perrot lit the candle.

  The only light in the apartment came from the candle. To Logan, Mr. Perrot soon appeared to be nothing more than a shadow. The candle flame crackled. Logan tried to relax, taking deep breaths and exhaling slowly. His mind was racing as he recalled the extraordinary events of the day: uncovering the secret tunnel, locating the hidden box, being apprehended by the police, seeing Valerie, and all he’d learned from reading the torn-out pages of Camden Ford’s journal. He continued to stare at the flame, but the harder he concentrated on it, the louder his mind-chatter became. The flame was dancing like an anxious child as the minutes slowly passed. Logan could see the shadowed image of Mr. Perrot on the couch, and he heard the ticking of a clock that was hanging on the wall.

  “I don’t think I’m getting it,” Logan said out loud, adjusting his posture and flexing his shoulders.

  “You have to hold still, fight any desire to move,” Mr. Perrot whispered. “Camden said to start by focusing on something we enjoyed doing or some task we were good at performing. He told us it would help slow down our minds and help block out the chatter.”

  Logan readjusted until he found a more comfortable position. He scanned his memories for a pleasant moment and began to focus on a day when he was teaching his children how to paint. It was a scene of the ocean. He remembered how he’d taught them to draw the waves and sketch the sky with many floating clouds. He remembered his daughter, Jamie, coloring in her first whale and his son, Jordan, drawing a submarine. As Mr. Perrot predicted, Logan was feeling more relaxed, his mind clearing. The flame, which had been frantically moving to and fro, settled down before his eyes. His mind was finding a peaceful place, and the flame was matching it.