by Ted Dekker
The small fire lit up the walls. Several dried-out shrubs withered along the smooth stone. Jacob sat on the sand and crossed his legs, satisfied.
“The fuel won’t last long and it will grow cold, but even a small fire will lift the heart. Rest.”
I sat across from him, gazing into the growing flames. Not so long ago I’d faced Talya across many fires, listening to his tales and watching the flames’ reflection in his bright eyes. Where was he now? Finding Thomas. Why Thomas?
“You said you were with Samuel,” I said, looking up at Jacob. “How was he?”
“He was Samuel. The impetuous one who is taken with you.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s impossible for him to hide.”
“Well, that’s good. I’m taken with him.”
“You are?”
“Of course. And with Aaron. And with as many as I can be. Not the way you mean it, but they’re all just lost. Isn’t that why I’m here?”
“I suppose so.”
I stared at the flames. “But there’s something unique about Samuel, don’t you think? I don’t know . . . Maybe because he once saved me from you.” I grinned.
Jacob did not.
“In all seriousness though, there’s a quality in him that draws me. He’s like a boy, full of wonder and unbridled passion. It’s a part of humanity that I never noticed. Or at least can’t remember.”
“Ba’al’s poison is a terrible thing to know,” he said.
And then neither of us said anything for a while.
THREE times, Samuel had all but given up on following through a rain heavy enough to wash away the tracks of their horses. If not for the fact that his stallion was well trained in picking up the scent of Horde, if not for the favorable direction of the wind, he would have lost the trail.
All the way he cursed under his breath. The Leedhan was wrong, naturally—no offspring of Shataiki and Horde could possibly speak truth or deal in anything short of deception. It was in their blood.
Yes, he’d seen how favorable Rachelle had been toward Jacob during the trial and after, in Aaron’s chambers. But she’d been as gentle with Aaron. They mistook her gentle nature for more.
The fact was, Rachelle, whom he’d rescued from the Horde, could not love any Horde as women loved men. To think of it bothered him.
What bothered him even more was that he cared so much whom she did or didn’t love.
Why had he followed Jacob and Rachelle to the Great Divide in the first place?
Why had he surrendered himself to the Elyonites, knowing they held her?
Why had he remained as a guest of Aaron for a full week, after the man had given him permission to leave, unharmed?
Why had he betrayed his obsession with Rachelle to the Leedhan and Aaron?
But he knew why, and he gave himself clear answers for every question. He had followed Jacob because he’d vowed to protect all Albinos from the Horde. He’d surrendered himself to the Elyonites because such a vast body of Albinos was unknown to the Circle, and he would be the one to make this first contact for his father. He’d remained in the Elyonite city to save Rachelle, an innocent Albino. He’d betrayed his obsession with her to the Leedhan because the foul beast’s eyes had confounded his mind.
He wasn’t obsessed. Of course not. And the only reason he’d gone along with the plan to follow Jacob and Rachelle was because he had no intention of returning to Aaron with what he learned.
He was going to save Rachelle from Jacob. His mission was to keep her from falling into a trap.
These were the stories that occupied Samuel’s mind as he pushed his mount toward the towering cliffs, close on their heels with rain and wind in his face.
He pulled up sharply half a mile from the cliffs when one of their mounts pounded past him, headed back toward the city. They’d abandoned their horses? But his own was still intent on the cliffs, aware of Horde scent.
Samuel gave the stallion his head and let him trot the last half mile to a fissure in the cliffs, the only conceivable passage up the rock surface. No sign of the second horse.
He dismounted, tied his mount to a shrub, and started a slow climb, careful not to catch them and be discovered. They could easily have taken refuge along the way. Not once did he hear them, which meant they were either well ahead of him or holed up.
He was forced to make his way slowly, silently cursing the cold and rain. So be it.
The rain had stopped and the clouds were gone by the time he finally reached the plateau to discover yet another lip ahead, rising fifty feet. Surely they couldn’t have scaled the sheer face without tackle. Not here.
Moonlight cast the wide ledge in cold gray. He picked his way south through the rocks, crouching low. But the farther he went, the higher the lip rose. So he doubled back, past the fissure, and headed north.
He’d only gone fifty paces before he saw the dark hole. A cave. And from that cave, a thin haze.
Smoke. He was surprised he hadn’t smelled it earlier. They were in the cave . . . Or was that a passage to the far side? No, a cave. If a passage, they wouldn’t have stopped and built a fire. Then again, it had been raining when they’d reached the plateau. Maybe they’d decided to rest for the night.
The Leedhan seemed to think Rachelle would take Jacob to the Realm of Mystics, but she’d told him she had no memory of her past. Where was she going? Was she following some sixth sense, like a bird that knew its home?
Heart pounding, Samuel crept to the cliff, then edged his way to the mouth of the cave. Held his place for a few long, careful breaths.
A soft grunt from inside spiked his pulse. Then nothing. The beast in his sleep.
Samuel peered around the edge of the cave and let his eyes adjust to the deep shadow. He blinked.
There on the ground next to a burned-out fire lay the Horde’s body. Jacob was on his side with his back to Samuel, lost to the world. But no sign of Rachelle. He could see the back wall, but no one else was in the cave. He’d abandoned her?
He wrapped his fingers around the butt of his blade, considering the option of ending the man’s life now. Yes, his purpose was to follow them to this Realm of Rachelle’s, but . . .
The beast shifted his leg, and doing so revealed another leg. A much thinner leg. Rachelle’s leg. She was sleeping in Jacob’s arms with her back to him.
Samuel pulled back, mind spinning for reason. Jacob offered warmth, yes, but she’d suffered through much colder nights. And with a Scab? How could she stomach the scent of his rotting flesh? Was she restrained? No.
She’d accepted his warmth willingly.
The Leedhan’s claim whispered through his mind like a hissing snake. She’s falling in love with Jacob. And he with her.
Samuel leaned back on the cliff face and swallowed deep, closing his eyes. Had he been so blind? If so . . . If in a confused state of shock due to Ba’al’s poison Rachelle didn’t know better than to fall in love with Horde, the state of the world itself would soon rescue her from that madness.
Jacob was Horde. All Horde were destined to suffer in this life and the next. It was in the defiled nature of Scabs to take advantage of all humans, including one as innocent and confused as Rachelle.
Ba’al had poisoned her in his Thrall.
Jacob defiled her by his presence.
Once again, Samuel considered taking the beast’s life—cut his throat while he slept. But he knew this wouldn’t go over well with Rachelle in her current state of mind. She was under the delusion that the fool had rescued her, oblivious to the fact that he intended to betray her.
No. Not now. He’d come this far for her; he would go as far as required to save her from Jacob. From her delusions. From all that would harm her in any way.
In the end, she would see the truth for what it was.
Samuel retreated, feeling ill.
11
A POUNDING on my door woke me and I jerked up, gasping.
I’d just dreamed!
&nb
sp; “You okay, Rachelle?” Steve’s voice penetrated the door. “We have to leave soon.” It was Sunday. We were going to the early service, he’d said, not the later one like normal.
“Okay,” I called.
But my mind was on that dream. I blinked. It was a little fuzzy and slipping quickly, because on my meds everything did. But for the first time in months, I’d dreamed. And in that dream, I knew who I was. I was the 49th Mystic and I lived in Other Earth, where Jacob had rescued me from the Elyonite dungeons. Vlad Smith had come there and killed my father. That’s how he’d died.
He’d written Vlad back into this world.
My heart was pounding. So it was real!
“Coming!”
“I’ll be in the rec room.”
“Okay.”
I flew out of bed and lurched for the bathroom, nearly stumbling because my thoughts were on the dream, not the floor. It was real, and so was what had happened in Eden. Maybe not all of it, but enough. Vlad was something . . . I couldn’t remember the name . . . He’d come to stop me, just like I’d once believed.
I was the 49th Mystic, and I was searching for the Five Seals of Truth before the Realm of Mystics could be destroyed.
I stopped in front of the mirror and yanked up my sleeve. Three of those seals were now a part of me. If my dreams were real, then DARPA had lied to me. Even Steve!
If they hadn’t prevented me from dreaming, I might have found a way to save my father.
A terrible bitterness settled over me as I stared into the mirror. My mind was fuzzy and I couldn’t hold on to my thoughts for long, and that too was their fault. The details of the dream were already fading. If I only pretended to take my meds, that would clear up, right?
I reached for my blue toothbrush, squeezed on some toothpaste, turned on the water, and brushed my teeth, raging.
But then another thought hit me. Not taking the meds would only make my symptoms worse. My delusions would take over my life. All the work we’d done would be set back and . . .
I stopped and stared at the mirror, foamy toothbrush sticking from my mouth. No, that was the meds talking. I wasn’t delusional at all, was I? If I was, it was being caused by the meds, not the dreams.
But within seconds, confusion pushed aside the certainty of that as well. In dreaming, my mind could easily have tripped back to what it thought was real in Eden. I was relapsing and dreaming of things that weren’t real again.
Or maybe not. So which was it?
I rinsed out my mouth and splashed water on my face—no time for a shower, but I’d taken one last night. Dressing quickly, I made the one decision that made sense to me, regardless of what was really happening. I wouldn’t tell them what happened, not even Steve. If I told them how upset I was, they’d only increase the meds.
Maybe that would be a good thing. Maybe not. But until I figured some things out, I’d just be who they’d made me to be.
The me whose father had died.
A deep sorrow overtook me as I finished getting ready. He’d come to me in my dreams, but that part was fuzzy to me now. I suddenly felt hollowed out, nearly dead myself.
I brushed my hair and applied some deodorant—getting ready for church never took long because I didn’t use makeup. There was no one to impress. We always sat at the back of the church and slipped out early. Some of the regulars recognized me from all the media coverage following Eden’s collapse, but Steve kept them at a distance.
I gave myself one last look in the mirror, took a deep breath, and headed out to the rec room.
Steve was at the door, keys in hand. “You good?”
“As good as can be expected, I suppose.”
He opened the door and put his hand on my back, ushering me through. “Maybe church will help.”
Maybe it would. I always loved the music and the reverence. Steve said the opportunity to recontextualize what had once hurt me was good therapy.
“See you soon,” Mary called, sticking her head out of the cafeteria. “Eggs, bacon, and French toast for brunch.”
“’Kay. See you, Mary.”
And then we were gone, up the elevator to the ground level, into the parking garage, out into a dreary day. At least it wasn’t raining.
We drove for a while in silence. Normally I was a talker, asking questions about how the car worked without input, why there were so many drones, what other countries were like—anything and everything, because the technology was quite different from what I’d known in Project Eden, and I found it fascinating. They’d kept us locked in a time bubble while the rest of the world advanced.
But this time it was Steve who broke the silence.
“So how’d you sleep last night?”
“Good.”
“Good.” But I heard more as I sometimes did. I heard, Did she dream?
Before I thought to stop myself, I answered. “Yup.”
“Yup, what?”
Oops. I’d decided not to tell Steve. But suddenly I was.
“I dreamed.”
“I didn’t ask you if you dreamed.”
“Well, that’s what my mind asked me, so, yes. I dreamed last night.” I faced him. “I dreamed about Vlad and the other world. How’s that possible?”
He set his hands on the steering wheel, which all cars still had as an option. “I don’t know, likely buried memories. Tell me about it.”
So I did. I talked the whole way, telling him everything, including how Vlad had poisoned my father and was back in this reality coming after me. My story came in bits and snatches because my memory of the dream kept going in and out. He didn’t correct or suggest, he just listened like he always did. That’s another reason I liked him.
By the time the car parked itself in the lot behind the church, I’d told him everything I could remember, wondering how much I’d forgotten or butchered with meds on board.
He faced me, one arm on the wheel. “Do you think that’s how your father died?”
“I’ll answer if you answer a question first.”
“Fair enough.”
“Were you going to ask me if I dreamed?”
He looked ahead, and I already heard an answer in my head.
“Yes,” he said.
“So these thoughts I keep having . . . they’re not all auditory hallucinations.”
“Honestly, Rachelle, I don’t know what’s really happening. Or how. That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
“We or you?”
He hesitated. “I’m not sure. Me, at least, and I’ve got your back.”
“You were going to ask, and I did hear that. So it’s possible I can do that.”
He nodded and let out a breath. “It’s possible, yes. Actually, more than possible.”
It was the first time he’d said that to me, and a dozen thoughts swirled through my mind. I was right: they’d forced him to mislead me. If about the voices, then what else?
“Thank you for being honest.”
He nodded, concerned. “The dreams are another thing. Who knows, seems far-fetched to me. We’ll talk more on the way home, okay? Just promise me you won’t say anything back at the center.”
“Promise.”
We’d parked in a new garage at the back, so we didn’t see all the extra security until we were around the side, in front of the massive towers that rose high over our heads. Steve stuck out his arm and stopped me.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Someone important. Just stay by my side.”
“Maybe we should go.”
He frowned at the commotion. Red ropes blocked off the main entry into the back of the sanctuary. “Maybe.”
“Steve?”
We turned to the voice on our right. A woman with short dark hair had opened a side door.
“Steve Collingsworth?”
“That’s me.” Then under his breath to me, “She’s the president’s chief of staff, Karen Willis.”
The woman stood to one side of the do
or, smiling. “This way.”
“You know her?” I asked.
“Not personally, no.”
He took my hand and led me toward her.
“Karen Willis,” she said, holding out her hand, which Steve shook. “And you must be Rachelle.”
I shook her hand without responding. I wasn’t used to strangers.
“You’ll forgive all the fuss, but the president’s in attendance today. He can’t meet you personally, you understand how it goes. He’ll be leaving for another engagement before the end of the service.”
I could see reporters with cameras through the hall behind her.
“He asked me to extend the country’s respect for you and all the residents who braved Project Eden,” Karen was saying to me. “He also asked me to pass on his condolences for the loss of your father. We’re so sorry.”
I looked up at her. They knew?
“They’ve roped off a section to the side for special guests.” And then she was drawing us in, leading us down the hall and into the church.
That was strange enough. But even more so, the moment we entered the formal sanctuary, we were surrounded by cameras.
Steve pulled me back. “What’s this?”
Karen turned on her heels. Now it was her with a ring of media people, and me with Steve, surrounded. “You don’t mind, do you? We thought it would be appropriate to get a word from you.” She winked at me. “You have a lot of fans out there, young lady. It’s been a long time since anyone’s heard from you.”
“Out of the question,” Steve snapped. “Rachelle’s under strict protocols that prohibit—”
“It’s all right, Steve. Theresa’s given her consent.” Karen held his eyes for a moment, then nodded at a blonde woman who held a microphone. “This is Cynthia Rupert for World News. Do you mind taking a question or two? Just a hi-and-bye kind of thing.”
I glanced at Steve, who looked like he’d been caught flat-footed. The last thing I wanted to do was answer any questions. What was I supposed to say? That they’ve been lying to me about the voices in my head and my father just died, so leave me alone?
But then Cynthia was there, holding a microphone while a cameraman filmed.
