by Ted Dekker
“Furthermore, you elevate the death of the body to have great meaning, thus you worship death.”
“Heresy!”
“You judge a man by his confession. Flesh. And by his deeds. Flesh. And by his adherence to law in the flesh. You build your edifices and tremble at the lakes. Flesh. You wail when your child is ill. Flesh. You do not know Elyon except in the flesh, through rituals and buildings and confessions of loyalty. You have made Elyon in your image of flesh, a father with a beard who paces the sky, wailing with worry and disappointment. And you wait for the kingdom to be ushered in with signs, in the flesh. Thus you worship the flesh.”
The courtroom was deadly silent for the space of five breaths. Cirrus was half right, I thought. Talya had quoted Yeshua in saying that the kingdom of heaven wasn’t coming with signs but was already among and within us. Also that the death of the body wasn’t death but only a shedding of the temporary earthen vessel. But the Gnostic was also half mistaken. The material world was not evil. Justin had come in the flesh.
The old man, like the Elyonites, was only following his best convictions, however misguided they were. I wondered if he had a wife or children.
“This is your defense?” the prosecutor demanded. “To insult us all with your lies?”
Cirrus lowered his head. “I only wish to speak the truth before you take my head.”
“Then His Grace, the voice of Justin, will surely send you swiftly to hell.” He faced our defender. “Will this suffice?”
“I have nothing to add.”
“Good.” To Cirrus: “Step back.”
The prosecutor looked at Jacob, who stood on my left. Seated on his throne, Mosseum was picking at his mouth with a small ivory toothpick, eyeing me.
“Step forward, Horde,” the prosecutor snapped.
Jacob cast me a side glance and a wink, then stepped up. He was trying to embolden me, but he couldn’t hide the sweat on his own brow.
“It has come to the attention of this court that you claim to be son of the beast Qurong, sworn enemy of all Albino. Is this true?”
“I am he,” Jacob said, dipping his head.
“And you were found protecting a Mystic, the greater enemy. To what end?”
Jacob hesitated. “I was sent by my father as an ambassador to the Elyonites. When it became clear that I would die before completing my mission, I said what needed to be said to spare my life. Nothing more.”
He was lying on my behalf as much as his own, determined to persuade them I wasn’t the 49th. But I didn’t know if I could support that lie. My palms were clammy.
“You’re saying it was a fabrication.”
“Made for the sake of both our people.”
The prosecutor turned to Aaron, who gave him a slight nod.
Back to Jacob: “It is known that the greatest heresy of all is to refuse bathing in the red pools. The disease I see before me is evidence enough that you have refused. As such, you live in denial of Elyon and are subject to death in all ages. Do you deny this charge?”
“I am Horde, if that’s what you’re asking. And you are right, I cannot serve your deity any more than I can serve Teeleh.”
“And yet not to worship Elyon is to worship Teeleh, yes?”
“No,” Jacob said.
“No? What kind of answer is that?”
“It is my answer.”
“Do you deny that Justin is one with Elyon?”
“I don’t know Justin, so I can’t say who he is or isn’t. I only know what I’ve heard of him. That he was a loving man who died willingly. I see no more love in this room than I see among my own people. So it would come as a great surprise to me to hear that you serve Justin, who was so loving.”
“How dare you blaspheme the name of Justin!” Mosseum thundered, rising from his throne. “What do you know of love? The law is love! Ridding this world of all demons like you so followers of Elyon can worship him in peace—that is love. Son of Qurong or not, you are Horde, a devil in disguise. It is my calling to rid the world of every last devil!”
He’d transformed into a monster before our eyes. His son still showed no emotion.
“Are you so blind to your own heresy?” Mosseum demanded.
Jacob blinked.
“Answer me!”
“I am blind, Your Grace. But only to the difference between Elyonites and Horde. My skin is different and I don’t follow your deity, but in every other respect, I am just a man who loves women and children and all innocent creatures. Why would I seek a life like yours if it is no different or greater than the one our high priest, Ba’al, offers?”
“To save your putrid self, you utter moron! Do you not wish to live in eternal bliss?”
“Not if it looks anything like you.”
His words sent a chill down my back. Was he so eager to meet his death? Or did Jacob, like Cirrus, already know that there was no way to find mercy in this court? He was only stating his truth plainly. My heart surged.
“This is why Elyon despises you,” Mosseum said. “You have no . . .” He motioned wildly with his hands, searching for the right word. “Respect! Respect for Elyon. Respect for Justin. Respect for his bride. Only torment awaits your kind.”
“Perhaps,” Jacob said. “But now you know that I am not afraid to speak my truth. Is it not wiser to sit and discuss these matters over bread than slaughter each other?”
Mosseum glared at him, but Jacob had stalled his attack with diplomacy. My nerves were taut. Whatever he was or wasn’t, Jacob, son of Qurong, was a man of profound honor, seeking both to save me and to bridge the gulf between his people and the Elyonites.
The ruler straightened his robe with a tug and slouched back in his throne. “Next!”
The prosecutor, who had retreated from the bench, stepped up. “Back!” He flipped his hand at Jacob. To me: “Forward.”
I closed my fingers so they wouldn’t shake, and I took one step forward.
“Now to the one that matters, Your Grace. The woman who claims to be the 49th Mystic.” He tapped his fingertips on the bench, gathering his words. “You have just heard the beast claim that he lied about your identity to save his skin.” He paced to his right. “Is it or is it not true that you were found yesterday by our warriors with a terrible wound in your thigh?”
“It is true, sire,” I said.
“And do you have that wound today?”
“No.”
“By what means did you come to have no wound?”
“By the means of a fruit invested with Elyon’s power. When Jacob applied the juice of that fruit to my wound, I was healed.”
“Let the record reflect that in saying ‘Jacob’ she refers to the Horde by her side,” the prosecutor instructed the clerk. “Not me.”
Eyes on me. “From the Holy Scriptures all Elyonites know that any power shown of spirit is as likely borne of the Shataiki devils as of any benevolent source. Thus, all meddling in the healing arts is dangerous and deemed witchery.” He faced my defender. “Will this suffice for a conviction on the first matter of witchcraft?”
“I would hear her confession,” the man said.
“Very well.” The prosecutor turned his staunch face back to me. “Do you deny meddling in the healing arts?”
“No.”
“And do you not fear that doing so might invite evil upon you?”
Even their truth seeking was bound in fear. And that fear began to press in on me as I stood there. Talya would know what to say, but I wasn’t him.
A warm breath suddenly filled my lungs—the same breath I’d felt when first facing down Vlad in Eden’s sanctuary. And with it, the same comfort I’d felt on the cliff.
What is known that cannot be named?
I didn’t know, but fear fell from me like the shedding of a dead skin when I heard the tender whisper. My fingers tingled and my breathing lightened. There in that deep comfort, I spoke the gentle words that came to me next.
“If I ask my Father for bread, will he giv
e me a stone? If I ask him for a fish, will he give me a snake?1 No. Then why should I fear deception? Fear only draws to itself that which it fears. And love creates more love. There are only two systems at work, fear and love. You can only serve one master. As for my healing, it was for you more than me. A sign, so that you too might surrender to the only law remaining: the law of grace and love, which knows no fear, because there is no fear of the shadow when you see with love.”
The words spilled from my lips.
“The shadow of death gathers to crush this world. Embrace the law of grace and be freed from the law of sin and death that blinds you in this life.”
“We are Elyonites!” the prosecutor thundered. “Cleansed in the red waters of Justin!”
“And yet you’re still bound by fear. Embrace a love that holds no record of wrong, because without it, all of your other confessions and beliefs are nothing, as Paulus wrote.”
“The writings of Paulus embraced in ancient times have been firmly rejected by our council for their repeated claim that man is united with Elyon. They are an abomination!”
“If you don’t embrace the love Paulus writes of, you will soon reap a great harvest of suffering, brought upon you by yourself.”
Behind him, Mosseum’s face had paled. He stared at me, and I felt a rush of compassion for him, for all of them, and for myself as well. Only a moment ago, I too had been bound to the world of trouble.
You are precious to me, dear one.
The gentle words washed over me, and I nearly burst into tears. The gratitude that filled me was beyond expression.
The prosecutor shoved a finger at me. “The only sign in this courtroom is witchery! You are possessed of Teeleh, the devil of old. The Holy Spirit has filled my heart with its fear in your presence. That fear tells me your doctrine is bound in hell.”
“Your fear is only a lack of love,” I heard myself saying, “as is all fear. Do you not know that the Spirit of Elyon is infinitely complete and cannot fear or suffer loss? Have you not heard that Justin cannot be bothered, much less be threatened, by Teeleh? If he doesn’t fear, why should you?”
He looked shell-shocked. I felt only peace and gratitude.
“Do you not believe that Elyon created this world?” he asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“And do you not see all the problems in this world?”
“I do.”
“Then you know that Elyon is terribly disturbed by all those problems! He wrings his hands, terribly disappointed by all that has occurred on his watch! He storms the heavens, vowing to rescue his bride, however filthy she might be. He will crush the serpent, Teeleh, and torment all who stand in his way. How can he not fear loss or suffer disappointment? He already suffers, even a child can see that! Are you so blind?”
At his mention of blindness, my nerves began to buzz. But I pressed on, only half hearing Shadow Man’s promise to blind me.
“My Father is infinitely complete and cannot feel threatened,” I repeated. “There is no fear in love. Is my Father not perfected in love? He never has, nor ever will, fear loss, least of all fear the loss of you, his son.”
The prosecutor’s hands were shaking. “If Elyon were as you say, there would be no death . . .”
“There is no death, only crumbling jars of clay that are temporal and shift in form—flesh today, dust tomorrow. The struggle called death is finished. You continue your own struggle in vain because you mistake the dust as your true identity.”
The man spun to Mosseum. “Your Grace, I have more, but I would spare the church court from further blasphemy in your presence! I move that you issue your verdict now. The evidence is far more than needed.”
Mosseum was watching me, jaw firm.
“Your Grace?”
He eased back in his throne. “Continue.”
“Your Grace—”
“Finish what you started.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The prosecutor looked back down at his ledger and seemed to be searching for his next point. He finally cleared his throat and looked up at me.
“It is further said that Mystics believe in the ancient writings of Paulus and Johnin and Petrus, all of which claim that we participate in the divine nature and are already complete, in union with Elyon.2 As I’ve mentioned, these texts have been shown to be heretical. Do you cling to these writings?”
Tell them, dear one. Speak for me.
“Inchristi is all,” I said, and I could see the power of the words wash over them like a breeze. “Inchristi is in all. We are the light of the world. The light is divine so we are divine, not as earthen vessels but as we truly are. To deny this is blasphemy. Blasphemy blinds us to who we are as the light.”
He stared at me, dumbfounded.
“I see.” He walked alongside the bench, running his fingers over the surface. “Furthermore, it is said that Mystics love the Horde as they love themselves. All Elyonites know we cannot love ourselves. In our hearts, we are too wretched to be loved by ourselves. Do you love yourself?”
“Would I not love what my Father loves? Would I not see myself the way Elyon sees me? Would I not give my flesh to see the beauty that Justin sees in me?”
I turned to Jacob, filled with an overwhelming love for him in that moment. The room was still, waiting for my self-incrimination to be confirmed, but none of that concerned me.
I was merely looking into Jacob’s gray eyes, wide and misted. I didn’t see his flaking skin, nor his long, dirty dreadlocks. These were only his earthen vessel, which meant nothing to me in that moment.
My throat was swollen. “And would I not love all of Elyon’s children in the same way he loves me?”
“Enough!” Mosseum rose to his feet, glaring. “I will not hear one more word of this blasphemy!”
“But you must,” I said, drilling him with my stare. “I have been delivered to your court to tell you that I am the 49th Mystic, chosen by Justin to bring a great crisis that will divide truth from falsehood and lead all out of fear. Only then will the lion lie down with the lamb.”
“You deceiver,” Mosseum hissed. “We are the lamb of Justin, and we will never yield to the Horde lion. I sentence a beast, a Gnostic, and a Mystic to death by drowning in the black pool this very night.”
Aaron rose from his seat, nodded to someone at the back of the auditorium, and approached his father. He spoke too softly to be heard by me, but I could hear the doors behind us opening. Several boots stepped into the room. Guards, I assumed.
Slowly, like a heavy gathering fog, the ruler’s sentence sank into my awareness. Death . . .
I closed my eyes, wondering what I had just done. But I had to say what I’d said. My words had come from beyond me.
“It’s him,” I heard Jacob say quietly. “Be strong, little lamb.”
When I opened my eyes, I saw that they’d brought a fourth prisoner into the courthouse. One with long brown hair, arms strapped behind his back, watching me as they tugged him to a halt beside the jury box.
Samuel of Hunter. My heart skipped a beat.
Aaron stood back from his father, who slowly turned to face their new prisoner. Mosseum shifted his eyes to me and held me in a long stare before facing Samuel once more.
“My son tells me that you are Samuel of Hunter, son of the rumored Thomas of Hunter, proselytizer and enemy of the Horde.”
Samuel looked past me to Jacob, eyes hard. “Thomas is my father, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“An Albino who’s neither Elyonite nor Mystic, it is said.”
“You’ve heard correctly. We are the Circle.”
“And you crossed the Great Divide. Why?”
Samuel faced the ruler. “To save the 49th Mystic from the Horde,” he said.
“You know this how?”
“I know what my own intentions are, don’t I?”
“I mean the 49th, you fool. How do you know this Mystic is the one?”
Samuel took his time before responding, choosing his word
s carefully. “Talya, the old man who travels with a lion, told me she was the 49th after I rescued her from the Horde, my sworn enemy.”
There could be no more doubt in their minds. Talya had told me that the Elyonites held him in disdain. He was a ghost to them, never available for capture.
Samuel had made it clear that he was enemy of the Horde, not the Elyonites. He’d already spoken to Aaron and was secretly working on a plan to save me, surely. Why Aaron would care, I didn’t know.
Mosseum abruptly turned and exited through a door behind his throne.
“Return the Gnostic to his cell to await execution,” Aaron ordered. “Take the other three to my library.”
“Sire, the law is clear,” the prosecutor objected. “No sentence uttered by the supreme ruler may be countermanded under any—”
“Now. Before I sentence you to the same.”
27
WE STOOD IN AARON’S library, a vast room with hundreds of leather-bound books marked by numbers, not titles. Oil lamps between the tall bookcases supplemented the skylights. Aside from a large desk in the center, a table with six chairs and a couch with burgundy cushions were the only furniture.
Four Court Guards had bound Jacob’s and my hands behind our backs and ushered all three of us down a hall and into the room before taking up positions by the door. I was aware of the tension between Jacob and Samuel. Their wary glances spoke clearly enough.
But I was still elevated from the flow of words that had come through me, delivered by a power both beyond me and within. It was as if the light Justin had shown me was flowing through my veins, was one with the Spirit of truth and had spoken.
We stood by the desk, waiting in an awkward silence. But Samuel wasn’t one to wait. He positioned himself between me and Jacob, who stood watching. Calm.
“Are you well?” Samuel whispered, urgent.
I looked up into his soft eyes and saw only deep concern. Jacob no doubt thought his pursuit of me was foolish, but I found it heroic. The risks he’d taken, however misguided, humbled me.
I smiled. “Is there no stopping you, Samuel? Talya told you to stay.”
“How could I stay, knowing this beast was intent on crushing you? Has he touched you? Harmed you in any way?”
