Rise of the Mystics

by Ted Dekker

  “What is it?” Mikil demanded again. “Horde?”

  Chelise turned to Thomas, eyes wide. “Are you . . . Do you see this?”

  “I do,” he whispered.

  “For the love of Elyon, will someone please tell me what I’m supposed to be seeing!” Mikil cried.

  Thomas was too overcome to respond. There was more than the colored forest. There was the village near the east side. Several dozen square huts, each glowing with a different color, rested like children’s playing blocks in concentric circles around a large pinnacled structure, which towered above the others at the village center. The sky above the dwellings was spotted with Roush that floated and dove and twisted in the afternoon sun.

  As his eyes adjusted to the incredible scene, he saw a door open from a dwelling far below. He watched a tiny form step from the door. And then he saw that others dotted the village.

  A powerful sense of déjà vu hit him. He’d been here before, stumbling upon a scene just like this a long time ago when he’d first awakened in Other Earth. The memories were dulled by decades of desert dwelling, hiding from Horde, but he’d been in a village like this. Maybe even this one.

  When he looked past the village to the east, his heart bolted.

  The lake! And feeding that lake, the waterfall cascading down the distant cliffs. He couldn’t see what source fed the waterfall, but he was sure he’d been to that source. Was it there now?

  “Do you know this place, Thomas?” Chelise asked.

  He hesitated. “Yes . . .”

  “It’s the place you told me about?”

  “Yes, like that place.”

  “Here? But . . .” She jerked her head and stared at him with round eyes. “I thought the Shataiki blackened the land with the Fall.”

  “They did. I . . . I was there.”

  “And yet it still exists!” she cried, scanning the village again.

  “You’re seeing forests down there?” Mikil asked, now far less demanding. “How is that possible? I can only see sand and rugged hills strewn with dead shrubs.”

  Chelise grabbed her arm, excited like a child. “He spit in our eyes!”

  “Who spit?”

  “Talya! He opened our eyes to see this.”

  “It’s a perception, not a destination,” Thomas said.

  “The old man spit in your eyes and now you’re seeing what I can’t see.” Mikil peered down as if by chance she too might suddenly see. “That’s what you’re telling me? Then for the love of Elyon, at least describe it.”

  “A colored forest as bright as a box of crystals in the sun!” Chelise returned. “Large white birds floating in the sky. A village with people. Living souls, hidden from the world.”

  “Roush?” Mikil asked. No one had seen a Roush in years. Many doubted they’d ever existed. “Do you mean to tell me you see Roush?”

  Thomas’s wonder was now joined with an excitement he hadn’t felt for a long time. He began to pace, thinking through their options. Then he stopped and stared at the sight of this Realm called Eden. Here it was, undeniable, drawing him like honey drew the bee. A terrible analogy—the draw was far greater than something that could only be tasted. It was . . .

  “Thomas!”

  “Yes?” He spun to Mikil, who’d been talking.

  “Should we?”

  “Should we what?”

  “Bring the others.”

  He paced again, hand in his hair, casting glances to the Realm below. “Dear Elyon, no. No, no, they wouldn’t see a thing, and even if they could, Talya told us to wait for him in the plains. Only Chelise and I can see this.”

  “But to what end?” Mikil demanded. “We have thousands of frightened souls hidden on the plain north, far from safety. Vadal is swimming in misery and leaking whispers of revolt. We have to give the people something! What will you tell them?”

  “Nothing,” Chelise interjected. “Thomas will tell them nothing because he isn’t returning.”

  “Don’t be absurd! He’s the only one they’ll listen to.”

  “Well, they’ll have to listen to you this time, Mikil, because Thomas is taking me down there. I have to see it! Talya wanted us to see it.”

  “Apparently, you are seeing it.”

  “I mean up close. I have to be in it!”

  “While the rest of us—”

  “Enough!” Thomas lifted his hand. Chelise’s excitement wasn’t only infectious, it was demanding. “She’s right. Talya wouldn’t have wanted us to find this Realm if he didn’t want us to enter it. To what end, I don’t know yet, but this will change everything! Can’t you see that?”

  Mikil studied the sinkhole, only a wasteland in her perception. They were asking her to believe what could not be seen—a tall order for any rational human.

  “I suppose I can,” she said. “If I imagine seeing what you say you see.”

  “It’s there, Mikil. I swear! All of it!”

  Mikil softened and looked at him quizzically. “You say the old man spit in your eyes. Perhaps if you spit in my eye—”

  “My spit means nothing.”

  “And his does?”

  “You saw how he quenched the fire with nothing more than a raised hand. Yes, his spittle evidently does mean something. Only Chelise and I can see, so we have to go. And so do you, back to the Circle. Surely you can all survive without me for a few hours.”

  “Hours? It’ll take half the day for you to find a way down there.”

  “Then a day or two. I don’t know. Whatever’s needed.”

  Mikil finally nodded. “Okay. You’re right.”

  “Just don’t let Vadal prevail.”

  “We can handle Vadal.” Mikil scanned the mountains. Between where they stood and that Great Divide lay a city of Elyonites none of them had yet seen. And beyond the Divide, the Horde were gathering for war.

  “Maybe the old man will come to us,” Mikil said. “Maybe with this 49th Mystic he spoke about. For our sakes, I hope so, and soon.”

  Thomas wondered where the 49th was now. If Talya was right—and Thomas was now certain of it—this world teetered on the balance of her journey.

  “He’ll come.”

  Mikil was staring down again. “Roush, huh? Do you suppose they might be everywhere, and us only blind to them?”

  Thomas looked around. There were no Roush outside of the Realm that he could see. But Mikil made a good point. The only difference between her and them was that they were seeing differently. Talya had changed their perception.

  “It’s possible,” Chelise said.

  “Wouldn’t that be something?” Mikil said.

  Thomas stared down at the incredible sight. “It would be,” he said.

  And then they didn’t say anything for a while.

  18

  IT TOOK Thomas and Chelise two hours to find their way down the narrow crevasse, along broken ledges, and finally to a meadow that butted up against the red cliff at the bottom of the sinkhole called the Realm of Mystics. They stood on a flat rock, three feet above a thick carpet of vibrantly green grass. And there, only twenty paces ahead, trees. Colored trees that glowed.

  “This is it,” Chelise whispered, staring at the trees. She was breathing heavily from the climb down. “This is it!”

  They were maybe a mile from the village, due east, where the Mystics lived in houses made of wood from the colored trees.

  He glanced up. No Roush that he could see.

  “Come on.” He took her hand. “Just hop down.”

  They took the three-foot drop together, landing lightly on the thick grass. He released Chelise’s hand and stooped to feel the grass. Rubbed the blades between his fingers. Grass, just like any grass. Smelled his fingers. Grass that smelled like lilacs.

  Chelise gasped. “Thomas?”

  “What is it?” He stood and turned to see that she was looking back at the cliffs they’d just descended. Only there were no cliffs.

  He blinked. The meadow they were in ran a hundred pace
s before running into more trees. He spun around, stunned. No cliffs. None anywhere!

  “How’s this possible?”

  Thomas reached for her hand, took it in his, heart hammering. Gently rolling hills filled with trees extended in every direction, as far as the eye could see.

  “The Realm is a dimension,” he said. “Not a destination.”

  The moment he said it, a warm breeze wafted through his hair, bringing with it the scent of roses. And when the warm air hit his lungs, a gentle power lit his nerves, sending tingles through his arms and legs.

  Chelise lifted her hand and stared at her fingers. “Did you feel that?”

  “I did.” And he’d felt it before. “Everything here is charged.”

  The air stilled and the scent faded, as did the subtle power they’d felt.

  “Come on!” He pulled her toward the colored forest, headed east. The village still had to be east.

  The thick grass silenced his footfalls. The carpet didn’t thin out under the trees but ran heavy and lush right through. Violet and lavender flowers with petals the size of his hand stood knee-high, scattered about the forest floor. No debris or dead branches littered the ground.

  Thomas lifted his eyes to the tall trees shining their soft colors about him. Most seemed to glow with one predominant color—like red or blue or yellow—accented by the other colors. How could the trees glow? It was as if they were powered by some massive underground generator that delivered fluorescent chemicals in large tubes made to look like trees. No, that was technology from ancient Earth.

  He ran his hand gently across the surface of a large ruby tree with a purple hue, surprised at how smooth it was, as if it had no bark at all. He took in the tree’s full height. Breathtaking. He’d been here before . . .

  Thomas spun around, grabbed Chelise’s hand, and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her mouth before throwing his arms wide and turning in the shafts of light piercing the canopy above them.

  “This is it!” he cried. “I’ve found my home!”

  She laughed and spun with him like a ballerina. “Home!” Then to him: “This is your home?”

  “I don’t know, but I hope it is. Our home. To think it’s been here all this time. Mikil was right! We were blinded by the Fall! Our perception was distorted!”

  “It’s only her theory.”

  “True, but how else is this possible? Hurry, we have to reach the village!”

  He walked fast, like a schoolboy headed home to play, with Chelise right there, skipping once or twice to keep up. They broke into a meadow and Thomas took to a jog.

  “Hurry!”

  She tore past him, then turned, skipping backward. “Hurry, you say? Do you think I look like the kind of girl who needs to hurry to keep up with you? If my memory serves me correctly, I beat you in the race at the last games.”

  He took after her full tilt, but she was fast. Faster than him if only by half a step when they entered the forest again. They were both still clothed in battle dress, and their thick boots didn’t help.

  “Hold on!” He pulled up, dropped to his seat in the grass, and tugged his boots off.

  “Whatever for?” she asked.

  “I want to feel the ground under my feet,” he said, scrambling up and leaping into the air. “I want to touch the trees and breathe the air and smell the flowers and kiss my bride!”

  Her eyes flashed with excitement. “And I want to eat the fruit and . . .” She caught herself and looked at a branch heavy with a red fruit. “Can we do that? Eat the fruit?”

  A flutter of wings from above and behind turned both of them. Thomas watched, heart in his throat, as a white Roush swept down from the treetops and alighted next to him, plump face grinning. “Are you hungry, Thomas Hunter?” He held up one of two blue fruits in his spindly fingers.

  Thomas blinked. Here, before his eyes, a real, living Roush with thick white fur and round green eyes.

  “You know my name?” he stammered.

  “But of course. We’ve known each other a very long time, though I will admit that it’s been a long time since you’ve had the good sense to see me.” The Roush paused. “You do see me now, don’t you? You do recognize me? Or do you think you’re dreaming again?”

  “That will be quite enough, Gabil,” a voice said above them.

  Thomas watched as a second Roush floated to the ground and alighted next to Chelise, who took a step back.

  “That’s Michal,” the first Roush said. “Be careful, he can bite.”

  “Don’t be childish,” Michal chided. “Pay him no mind. Do you know the one named Talya?”

  Gabil. Michal. The memory of being rescued by these two at the Crossing flooded him.

  “Gabil? It’s you!”

  “It’s me!” the Roush cried, throwing his wings wide and nearly tipping over.

  Thomas dropped to his knee, wrapped his arms around the furry creature’s exposed body, and lifted him up, twirling around. The Roush giggled and flapped his wings. “Ooooh, that tickles! Hehehe, ooooh, that tickles!”

  Laughing, Chelise impulsively mirrored Thomas, wrapping her arms around Michal.

  “Oh yes, well, easy there. Easy now . . .”

  Thomas set Gabil down as Chelise stood, beaming. For a long moment they all stared at each other.

  “Michal is getting old, so you shouldn’t be alarmed by his strange behavior,” Gabil said, hopping over to Chelise. “You can hug me. And if you like, I can show you how to fight like I showed Thomas. You’re in love with him?”

  She glanced at Thomas, delighted. “Well, I would love to hug you!” She bent over and gave him a gentle squeeze. “And yes, I am in love with Thomas.”

  “All very well,” Michal said, waddling away from her, “but we do have business to attend to. Talya sent us here, far from our home. He doubted you would remember much because the scabbing disease once fogged your older memory, but he thought our familiar faces might help. We’re only to guide you to the village, that sort of thing. It’s quite easy to get lost if you don’t know the way.”

  “Food?” Gabil said, holding the blue fruit up to Chelise. She took it in her fingers and Gabil tossed the second one to Thomas, who caught it.

  “This is very good fruit. A blue peach. Look.” Gabil reached for the fruit he’d given Chelise, took a small bite, and showed them. The juice glistening in the bite mark held a green, oily tinge. “Delicious,” he said, shoving it back up to Chelise.

  Thomas took a small bite and felt the cool, sweet juice fill his mouth. A flutter descended into his stomach and warmth spread through his body.

  Gabil grinned wide. “You see? I’ll get more!” With that the short creature trot-waddled a few feet, leaped off the ground, and flew back into the canopy.

  Michal chuckled at his companion and headed into the forest. “Come. Come. We must not wait.”

  With a nod at Chelise, Thomas followed. Through the forest, across a wide meadow, into more colored trees, heading in a more northerly direction than they would have taken alone.

  Chelise had just finished the blue peach when Gabil brought them both another fruit, a red one this time. With a swoop and a shrill laugh, he dropped it into their hands and took off again. The third time the fruit was green and required peeling, but its flesh was perhaps the tastiest yet.

  Gabil’s fourth appearance included an aerobatics show. The Roush screamed in from high above, looping with an arched back, then twisting into a dive. Thomas threw up his arms and ducked, sure the Roush had miscalculated. With a flurry of wings and a screech, Gabil buzzed his head.

  “Gabil!” Michal called out after him. “Show some care!”

  Gabil settled on a high branch and looked back at them, smiling bashfully yet obviously impressed with himself.

  “Mighty warrior indeed,” Michal said, stepping back along the path.

  Less than a mile later, the Roush stopped on a crest. Thomas and Chelise stepped up beside the furry creatures and looked down on a large green
valley covered in flowers like daisies, but turquoise and orange. Nestled far below was the village, laid out in a circular pattern, sparkling with color.

  Thomas caught his breath. He was sure he’d been here before, not just here at this village, but standing here with Gabil and Michal, seeing the village so close for the first time.

  Beside him, Chelise stared, speechless.

  The square huts glowing in different colors, the large pinnacled structure that towered above the others at the center, the Roush flying above. And humans here and there, going about their business without hurry.

  These were the Mystics?

  “Does it jog any memories?” Michal asked.

  “Maybe. Yes, but they’re not clear. It’s smaller somehow.”

  “Oh, but this isn’t the village you first came to. There were hundreds of dwellings then. Only forty-nine live here now. They’ve rebuilt the houses.”

  “So it was destroyed? When did the colored trees come back?”

  “With Justin’s rising, naturally. After his drowning. But only those with eyes to see can see.”

  “So . . . our drowning doesn’t necessarily mean we can see?”

  “Well, I think you already know the answer to that question.”

  “If I knew I wouldn’t be asking. I can see now.”

  “That was Talya’s doing. It’s temporary, I think.”

  Gabil hopped forward and lifted eager eyes to Thomas. “What Michal is trying to say, and what I’ll now say with perfectly chosen words, is that most Albinos are as blind as bats.” He strutted to his right, finger raised like a little furry prophet. “As written in the Books of History, unless a human is born once more they cannot see the kingdom that’s already here. The realm of love without judgment. If you don’t experience it . . . well, that must mean you’re blind. At least somewhat blind.”

  He lowered his wing and grinned ear to ear. “Simple.” Then looked at Michal for approval. “How was that?”

  “Too many words,” Michal replied. “At any rate, I don’t think it’s our place to explain these things. Mirium can show you. Or Talya. Or the 49th, if she finds all five seals.”

  But Thomas was caught up in Gabil’s mention of what was written in the Books of History. It was language from ancient Earth. The one he’d come from so long ago when he’d lived in Denver, Colorado. The two worlds mirrored each other, but what was spiritual there was represented in a physical way here. Or so he’d once concluded.