The 49th Mystic

by Ted Dekker

  “The Roush told me I was. And—”

  “Roush? You’ve seen the Roush?”

  “So they’re real?”

  “You ask? You just said they spoke to you.”

  “Yes, but for all I know I was hallucinating.” Though I doubted that. “But yes, two white Ewok-looking creatures found me on the sands, one called Gabil, the other Michal.”

  “Ewok?”

  You know, Star Wars, I nearly said. But then I remembered where I was. Or more correctly, where I wasn’t.

  “Just a word meaning a fuzzy little creature about two feet tall,” I said.

  His right brow arched. “No one has seen the Roush for decades. You probably imagined it based on the stories.”

  “No, that would be my dreams of another life. I didn’t imagine the Horde, did I?”

  “What other life?”

  I hesitated. “A town called Eden. The Roush told me I was dreaming of ancient Earth.”

  Samuel studied me in the dark for a long moment, then turned and nudged his horse into a trot.

  “Can you at least tell me where you’re taking me?” I asked.

  “To a safe place where I can think.” His tone had shifted. If nothing else I had managed to fill him with curiosity.

  After a few minutes that curiosity got the better of him.

  “My father, Thomas of Hunter, claims that half of what he knows came from dreams of ancient Earth,” he began in a soft voice. Then he told me much more about his father, and I let him talk without interrupting.

  He told me how Thomas had entered dreams of ancient Earth and saved humanity from a deadly virus called the Raison Strain, but at considerable cost. His actions changed the course of history, something Samuel couldn’t quite fathom.

  My mind spun. I, along with every living soul on Earth, knew of the Raison Strain, an airborne virus that would have killed most of the world’s population if not for a man named Thomas Hunter. That Thomas Hunter was this Thomas of Hunter?

  Samuel told me that, according to his father, every time he fell asleep in this world he woke up in ancient Earth, and vice versa. Until a few years ago, the only way not to dream of the ancient history was to eat a fruit called the rhambutan, which kept him dreamless and sane, tethered to this world. But the gateway had been closed. The crossing between worlds was no longer possible—all of this according to Thomas.

  Rhambutan. It was the fruit the Roush had mentioned. And Thomas was wrong, because I was crossing between worlds. Me, the 49th. Could it be? But I let Samuel go on, filling in many details of his father’s dreams. He clearly wasn’t convinced about any of it, but the more he talked the more I knew I had to speak to Thomas. He had experienced what I was experiencing. Maybe Thomas was the helper Justin had promised me.

  “Where is your father now?” I asked.

  He told me. They had all been Horde many years ago. But Justin had made a way for the scabbing disease to be healed. A Scab, meaning one of the Horde, had only to drown in one of the red lakes to emerge Albino, free of disease.

  The Horde, who served their god, Teeleh, and his high priest, Ba’al, despised the red lakes and hunted all Albinos like dogs. They believed Albinos had been poisoned by the red lakes and lost their minds. From a Scab’s perspective, Albino was a disease. Qurong, ruler of all Horde, had vowed to exterminate all trace of them from the earth.

  So Albinos had formed an alliance called the Circle, led by Thomas. They numbered roughly three thousand and were scattered among four nomadic tribes—nomadic because, as pacifists who were prohibited from defending or attacking, they could only run.

  Samuel’s biting tone showed his disdain for the nonviolence. There was clearly division in their ranks.

  “You hate your own people,” I said. “Do you also hate your father?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “We disagree,” he said quietly. “The Horde killed my love, Anya. Two years ago, a week before our wedding, I found her body butchered and strapped to a pole on a cliff. My father speaks of forgiveness, and I tried.” Samuel spat. “If he knew how deep my anger runs, he would probably confine me to quarters.”

  “Maybe he does know.”

  “Perhaps. But there’s more than the death of Anya. My father’s wife, Chelise, was once Horde, daughter of Qurong. Whenever I see her now, my stomach turns.”

  “So you hate your mother as well? I can’t imagine—”

  “She is not my mother. I was born to Thomas’s first wife, who also was killed by the Horde, many years ago. So you see, there is too much for me to forgive.”

  I felt only compassion for Samuel in that moment.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. “I lost my mother as well, but I can’t imagine the pain of finding someone you love like that.”

  The horse snorted and plowed on.

  “What was your mother’s name?” he asked.

  “Rachelle. My father named me after her. My father in my dream world, that is. Here . . . I don’t know.”

  He twisted back. “Rachelle, you say.”

  “Yes. Why?”

  He faced the dunes again. “My mother’s name was also Rachelle.”

  I didn’t know what to make of that coincidence. By his silence, I guessed he didn’t either.

  “How many Horde are there?” I asked after several long moments.

  “Too many to count. Millions among seven forests. Surely this comes back to you now with my recounting.”

  I thought about it. “No.”

  After a gentle grunt he told me more. The Albinos were like dogs trapped in canyons, waiting for Justin to return and save them before they were slaughtered. In the meantime, they were lost in a wasteland of darkness, fearing the Horde.

  Slaves to fear, he said. And they were, I thought. Saved in a world to come, but slaves to the fears of this world, just as Justin had said.

  “So then, what’s the advantage of drowning and becoming Albino?” I asked him.

  “Because one day the Horde will be slaughtered by Elyon while we enter paradise.”

  The story was familiar to me. Not here, but in Eden.

  “I think that might be true,” I said.

  He shrugged and looked up at the starry sky. “I’ve seen no evidence of this paradise for many years. Children will believe anything, but there comes a time to grow up.”

  “But it’s coming, right? I think that’s the point. One day you’ll be saved. Simon . . .” I stopped, realizing details from the other world would only confuse him.

  “Simon?”

  “Someone from my dreams. Never mind.”

  “Your dreams. Yes, of course. Well, whatever you do, don’t bring anyone back with you. Terrible people have crossed over before, if I’m to believe the stories.”

  “Maybe you should. I’m living proof.”

  “Yes, well, as I said, my father says the gate between worlds is closed, regardless.”

  “Are you deaf? You think I’m just making this all up? I’ve been there. I am there!”

  We rode in silence for a full minute as he chewed on my claim.

  “Then tell me, Rachelle. Tell me how it’s possible that you live in the histories and that I, flesh and blood, am only a part of your dream.”

  “You’re not just part of my dream. You’re real, like me. But don’t ask me how it works because I don’t understand it myself.”

  He grunted. “Then at least amuse me with your knowledge of the histories.”

  So I told him. I pretended that I was in Eden only dreaming, and I explained to him the whole world as I knew it. He went along with it, asking me questions with more than a touch of skepticism.

  How did planes fly?

  How could power travel through metal string and a grid that powered contraptions a long way off?

  How could voices be heard on a phone object when it wasn’t connected to these wires?

  What was the internet?

  What was an atomic weapon?

  I offered simple expl
anations and left out details that would only raise additional questions.

  The sun rose in the east as we talked, Samuel lost in my story of an impossible world, I lost in this one. But I couldn’t dismiss the powerful horse beneath me, nor Samuel’s body, which I clung to. The heat of the desert as the sun climbed the horizon, the musky scent of his sweat, the creak of the saddle and tackle, the beating of my heart and his—all real.

  I can’t say he believed much of anything I said, only that with each passing mile his tone grew warmer and his questions less confrontational. I decided Samuel was a child at heart, full of bravado and more questions than answers.

  The sun was directly above us when we reached a small grove of trees near a watering hole hidden in canyons.

  “How far is your tribe?” I asked as he brought his horse to a stop.

  “Another day’s ride north and east.” He slipped off, dropped to the sand, and offered me a hand. “But we spend the night here. I need to think.”

  “Think about what?”

  He lowered his arm. His bright green eyes captivated me—I couldn’t say why. Maybe because we were about the same age and our time together on the horse had been the first time in any world that I’d been in such close proximity to a man for so long. Maybe because he had saved me from certain death and I saw him as a kind of savior.

  “Think about you,” he said. “There’s no denying you’re the greatest mystery ever to have fallen into my lap.”

  I looked back the way we had come. “How can you be sure they won’t find us here?”

  “If they do, my father might excuse me for cutting them down to protect a dreamer like him.”

  “They’re fifty. You’re one.”

  “True. But they won’t come. It’ll take them a day to find our tracks if they’re lucky. The wind has been at our backs, so they haven’t been able to follow our scent.”

  “I don’t know . . . They seemed pretty good—”

  “Have no fear!” he said, effortlessly withdrawing one of two long knives strapped to his thighs, twirling the blade in his fingers like a drumstick. “Unlike my father, I live by the sword. The old ways of the Forest Guard still live in me and those I lead. I swear to you, not a hair on your beautiful head will be harmed as long as Samuel of Hunter watches over you.”

  He winked at me, dropped the knife back into its sheath, and extended his hand again. I tried not to smile, but my mouth wasn’t paying attention to my mind.

  I took his hand, swung from Razor, and dropped down next to him.

  “The water’s safe to drink?” I asked, watching the horse amble toward the pool ten paces ahead.

  No response.

  I turned to face him and saw that his eyes were fixed on my shoulder. My circle tattoo.

  “Where did you get that?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. The Roush said it marks me as an Elyonite. A Mystic.”

  He slowly reached for my shoulder and traced the thin line with his finger. “A Mystic? Could it be true?”

  “Everything I told you is true,” I said, aware of his flesh on mine.

  His eyes were full of wonder. “No one has ever seen an Elyonite, much less a Mystic—a race of Albinos marked by a single circle who supposedly live beyond the Great Divide. It is said Mystics can wield the sword like no other.”

  How could I respond to that?

  “I don’t know about wielding a sword, the Roush only said I’m a Mystic. The 49th.”

  I might as well have dropped a bomb.

  “The 49th Mystic?”

  “Yes, evidently.”

  “And the prophecy,” he said, hand still on my shoulder. “The Roush said that was true as well?”

  “What prophecy?”

  “‘A child will be born among us, the 49th Mystic,’” he quickly recited. “‘And she will divide to expose the shadow of death. Then the lion will lie down with the lamb.’”

  “That’s what Justin said!”

  His hand fell from my shoulder. “Justin?”

  “That’s who he said he was. Justin.”

  “You’re saying you’ve seen Justin? That he talked to you? When?”

  “Just before the Horde came.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  “I . . . Didn’t I? You weren’t exactly listening to—”

  “What did he say?” he demanded.

  I nearly told him about the five seals, but then I remembered that they were my personal journey. And that I had to find them before the appointed time. But what was the appointed time?

  “He said I would bring the world to a point of great crisis. I’ve been . . .” I hesitated, thinking my charge sounded absurd, then said it anyway. “I’ve been chosen to lead the way out of darkness and fear in this life. Assuming I can find that way before the appointed time myself.”

  “He said that to you?” He paced, lost in thought. “Then he speaks of my people. Albinos, clean on the outside but mastered by fear still . . .”

  “But I don’t see how—”

  “‘The lion will lie down with the lamb’ can only mean that the Horde will be crushed,” he said, turning back. “What else did he say?”

  I hesitated, thinking. My memory of the words was like a dream fogged by time.

  “That my journey would cost me everything.”

  “Not with me by your side. No harm will come to you under my charge, I swear it. What else?”

  “That he would send me a helper.”

  “And here I am. What else? Anything about the Books of History?”

  “No. What books?”

  “Ancient volumes that record all truth as experienced in all of history. My father claims they allowed others to cross between realities before the gateway was closed.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in—”

  “That was before. How can I deny what my eyes show me? The gateway has been opened by you, the 49th. Only you. It must be!”

  “The books are the gateway?” I asked. “But I don’t have a book.”

  “Blood makes them a gateway, my father says. It’s also rumored that whatever’s written in them by a believing soul manifests in reality. The gateway is supposed to be closed, but it would make sense that you, the 49th, might open that gateway. You’re from ancient Earth, right? So it must be.”

  “If this is true, why now?” I asked, speaking as much to myself as to him. “And why am I younger there and older here?”

  “You are?”

  “Yes.”

  He shrugged, undeterred. “These are mysteries to be discovered. After all, you are a Mystic, yes?”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

  Samuel, on the other hand, had suddenly become a true believer. He grabbed my hand and tugged me toward several large boulders in the shade. “Tell me more.”

  “I’ve already told you everything.”

  He released my hand, rushed over to the horse, and quickly untied a leather bag of water and a satchel of food affixed to the saddle.

  “Tell me again,” he said, hurrying back. “That circle on your arm”—he motioned to my arm with his chin—“is the first real evidence that speaks to more than we know. If the Elyonites do exist, then there are more than a few thousand Albinos alive to form an army against the Horde. I, Samuel of Hunter, will know what you know. All of it.”

  9

  THERE WASN’T much more to tell Samuel, but this time he hung on my every word, so it felt like I was telling him for the first time. I told him every detail from the moment I first woke up in the desert, again leaving out the part about the five seals. Somehow that felt private to me, like a treasure I was to seek for myself. And then I told him again as we chewed on strips of dried jerky and ate stale cabush bread harvested from a desert grain. We washed it all down with sweet water from the oasis. And still again as he paced, hands running through his hair.

  As the hours passed, the doubter in him yielded to a deep seed of hope that had taken root and sp
rung up.

  He told me wild tales of a time not so long ago when his father was a young man, when all evil had been contained in a forbidden forest. All humans had lived innocently, without the knowledge of either good or evil, because everything was wildly perfect. They lived in a village near a lake at the base of a colored waterfall. The powerful waters filled all who drank with intoxicating wonder.

  But then Tanis, firstborn among them, was seduced by Teeleh and crossed into the forbidden forest. Tanis ate Teeleh’s fruit, thereby opening the way for evil to flood the land.

  The Shataiki, Teeleh’s creatures, infected all with the scabbing disease. It was said that Teeleh himself, like his queens, was much larger than those vile beings, but even one of them could tear through twelve men and leave them in shreds.

  Justin drowned to create a way to be free of the disease, but fear ruled the hearts of men nonetheless.

  I couldn’t help but see how this world’s history mirrored the history of my dream world. Ancient Earth. The world of Eden, Utah. But by Samuel’s recounting, the entire history from Tanis until now transpired in less than forty years. I found it fascinating.

  “If the Shataiki can kill, why haven’t they just killed all humans?” I asked, thinking of the wounds suffered by the plump Roush Gabil.

  “Who would they inflict their fear upon? Who would they rule? They keep the Horde as their prize.” He paused. “Or perhaps they can only influence. Or, more likely, they don’t exist anymore.”

  Influence. I couldn’t help thinking of Shadow Man. According to him, my nightmares were only a fore-shadow, which is why I called him Shadow Man. A deep dread spread through my bones. And yet, what if he could only influence? What if he couldn’t take life himself? He hadn’t killed me—maybe his only influence was fear through his accusations and threats.

  What was I thinking? Of course he couldn’t kill me! He was only part of my nightmares.

  “You’ve never seen these Shataiki?” I asked. “Not even as a child?”

  “Perhaps.” He frowned. “I can’t remember. All memory of those times is like a fog to me. But I do suppose they once existed. No one has seen the Shataiki since then.” He eyed me curiously. “Have you?”

  “No.”

  “And yet you’ve seen Roush.”