Rise of the Mystics

by Ted Dekker

  The Realm of Mystics was a physical metaphor for the kingdom of heaven there—he doubted it looked like this on Earth. Or maybe it did. Could it be? Both realities were real, but in different ways.

  “Now, we must be going,” Michal was saying.

  They followed the Roush, who’d both taken to the air. They were headed for the village where answers could be found, but a new kind of logic had already fallen into Thomas’s mind. So many of Justin’s teachings suddenly made sense. As did the struggle of all Albinos. And of all Horde.

  The Circle had mistakenly embraced the thought that in becoming Albino, they were fulfilling the teachings of Justin, even though they had never truly manifested what he said they could expect. Particularly the evidence of love without judgment, which was the only true evidence of living in Justin’s way.

  They’d been blind to love this whole time, thinking that they could see! Their own doctrines of judgment had blinded them to love without fear. The 49th was here to help them see.

  The thoughts were replaced by wonder as they walked under a great blue-and-gold arch at the village entrance, then down a wide brown path between rows of colored huts. Without a word, Gabil flew away, following others who were on a path heading east.

  “Amazing,” Chelise whispered, staring at the wood.

  Thomas stopped at the first house, taken by the ruby glow of its walls. A lawn wrapped around the dwelling in a thick, uniform carpet of green, highlighted by flowers growing in symmetrical clusters. What appeared to be carvings of brightly colored sapphire and golden wood accented the lawn, giving it a surreal beauty.

  “Do you remember?” Michal asked.

  “Sort of.” He looked up the row of homes. A few small groupings of Mystics busied themselves, paying them no mind.

  “We go to the Thrall, where Mirium will come for you.”

  Both sides of the road were lined with beautifully landscaped lawns that bordered each colored cottage. The homes shone like pearl. Flowers like the daisies on the valley floor grew in wide swaths across the bright green lawns. Large cats meandered and parrots fluttered about the village in harmony as if they too owned a part of this incredible work of art.

  Every object, every carving, every flower, and every path was in exactly the right location, like a perfectly arranged symphony. Move one path and the vision would crumble. Move one flower and chaos would ensue.

  They reached a lawn where several women sat on the ground, working with leaves and flowers—they seemed to be making tunics. Two were quite thin, two plump, and their skin tones varied from dark to light. They each nodded at Thomas and Chelise with knowing glints in their emerald eyes.

  He dipped his head and walked on, unsure of the proper etiquette here, assuming there was any.

  On their left, a group of men pressed their bare hands into a piece of red wood, shifting its shape. Beside them a woman was closing up a fruit stand, seven or eight wood boxes filled with different fruits. They looked like ordinary Albinos, less the wear and tear of hard desert living.

  But in each of them he saw two things. The first was that they were completely unaffected by the presence of strangers in their midst, even though such an occurrence was likely very rare.

  The second was the look on their faces, in their eyes. A deep, inviting calm bright with mystery. Like wise children who knew no fear.

  A hand suddenly filled his own, and he turned to see that a small boy with blond hair and bright eyes had taken both his and Chelise’s hands and was hurrying between them to keep up.

  “Hello! I’m called Johan,” he said. “My mother is Mirium.”

  “Well hello, Johan.” Chelise beamed. “We are so delighted to meet you.”

  “What do they call you?”

  “Chelise. And that’s Thomas.”

  “Hello, Chelise and Thomas.” He looked at two children, a boy and a girl, who stared wide-eyed from a lawn just ahead. “That is Ishmael and Latfa. They’re singers like me.” Then to the children: “This is Thomas and Chelise! They’re our friends.”

  Both children had dark hair and green eyes; both stood a tad taller than Johan. “Hello, Chelise. Hello, Thomas.”

  Thomas blinked. Hadn’t this happened before? “Hello, Ishmael and Lafta.”

  The one on the left lifted a hand to her mouth and giggled. “Latfa!” she blurted. “My name is Latfa!”

  “Forgive me. Latfa?”

  “Yes. Latfa.”

  To his right, a plump woman in a tunic made of blue flowers chuckled at the exchange.

  “Come now, we mustn’t dally,” Michal said, waving them on. “The Gathering awaits.”

  Johan released their hands and ran to join his two friends. With a glance behind, Thomas saw that half those he’d seen were already gone and the rest were setting things aside, preparing to leave.

  “Hurry!” Michal was evidently eager for the Gathering.

  The Thrall was large compared to the other structures, and if the village was a work of refined art, then this was its crowning glory. They paused at the bottom of wide steps that ascended to the circular building. The jade-colored dome looked as though it had been made out of some flawless crystalline material that allowed light to pass through it.

  Ahead, Michal struggled up the steps one by one. Thomas took Chelise’s hand, gingerly placed his foot on the first step, and led her up. They followed Michal into the Thrall.

  The scope of the large auditorium was at once intimidating and spectacular. Four glowing pillars—ruby, emerald, jasper, and a golden yellow—rose from the floor to the iridescent domed ceiling. There was no furniture in the room. All of this he saw at first glance.

  But it was on the great circular floor centered under the dome that he rested his gaze.

  Chelise stepped past Michal and walked lightly to the floor’s edge. “Can you walk on it?”

  “But of course.”

  The floor seemed to draw Thomas into itself. He slowly knelt and reached out his hand. He couldn’t see a single blemish on its hard, clear surface, like a pool of resin poured over a massive, unflawed emerald. He stroked the floor, breathing steadily. A sudden, slight vibration shot up his arm, and he quickly withdrew his hand.

  “It’s quite all right, my friend,” a voice said behind him.

  He stood, turning. In the entrance stood a woman. Bare feet. Simple blue dress. Gentle smile. Midtwenties, Marie’s age. But there was nothing plain about the woman. Her eyes seemed to reach through him and hold the world in some unseen knowing that immediately stilled his heart.

  “It’s a sight that I never get used to myself,” she said, walking in. Michal had left them. “It was made from a thousand green trees. Not a blemish to be found.” She put one hand on her chest. “I am called Mirium, elder of the Mystics. We are so pleased Talya sent you to us.”

  “You’re the elder?” Chelise asked, maybe because Mirium was younger than others they’d seen. Much younger than Talya.

  “This year, yes. It’s only a role. There is no status or lack of status among us.” She stepped up to Chelise and ran her knuckles over her cheek. “So beautiful, daughter. Justin’s heart faints at the sight of you.”

  Chelise stared for a moment before responding. “Thank you.”

  “No need to thank me, dear one. I’m not the one who made you. Or your daughter, Marie.” She searched Chelise’s eyes. “I know you think she’s dead, but only because you don’t yet truly know that death is only a shadow. Justin overcame it. Your daughter only shed one costume for another. I can hear her laughing with delight even now.”

  Chelise’s lower lip quivered as the simple words washed over her.

  Mirium smiled and stepped lightly over to Thomas. She took his hand and kissed his knuckles, never removing her gaze from his.

  “And you, beautiful son. Justin weeps with gratitude in your presence.”

  Thomas felt his knees go weak. He couldn’t imagine Justin feeling such gratitude for him, the one who’d failed the Circle in so ma
ny ways for so many years.

  “No, Thomas, you haven’t failed,” Mirium said, voice soft. “Your journey has been precisely what you’ve required to come to this place of awakening. Even the law of blindness teaches by demonstrating its uselessness.1 To think flesh is evil is the mistake of the Gnostics. Give yourself grace. You underestimate the infinite love and power of Justin.”

  She released his hand and stepped away, facing Chelise again.

  “Do you remember the first time you felt unspeakable joy in the depths of the red pool? You were Horde then, being healed of the scabbing disease, yes?”

  Chelise didn’t seem to have a voice to respond, but none was needed. They all remembered.

  “In that death, were there any problems, or were you aware only of goodness?”

  “Only goodness,” Chelise managed, voice weak.

  “And you wonder why that joy didn’t remain with you. Why that first love grew cold over time.”

  Chelise slowly nodded.

  “In the ancient texts it is written that in the last days the whole earth will tremble at the goodness of God. That day is upon us both now and every day. We will all play our roles, beyond even our understanding.”

  The questions faded from Thomas’s mind, replaced by a simple acceptance.

  “Every problem you see is simply an opportunity to see the goodness of Elyon, until you finally understand that all problems are only shadows. They have power only to the extent you put your faith in them. Surrendering your faith in those shadows, to see who you already are in divine light, is called being Inchristi. That is your true identity. Your name. You’re already glorified, meaning not of this world but of divinity. You just don’t see yourself or the world the way Justin does until your mind is made new. When it is, you will tremble at the goodness of Elyon. As will all.”

  The words washed over him. A tear slipped down Chelise’s cheek.

  Mirium smiled. “If what you call death were of any concern, we Mystics would be in fear, knowing that armies gather to crush us. This is of no concern to us.”

  What was she saying? What did she know that would bring fear?

  “Talya has asked me to teach you our ways before Thomas leaves in two days for his mission. That mission is known only to Talya and Justin now. Until then you will remain here with us. When you do leave, Chelise will remain here.”

  “They’ll be safe?” Thomas asked. “The Circle.”

  “They, like you, are on a journey of discovering who they are. As is the 49th, who stood in this very Thrall many years ago and agreed to take the journey from blindness to light once more, beginning on her twenty-first birthday. She takes the same journey all take. If the 49th succeeds in knowing all five seals, the lion will lie down with the lamb in staggering fashion in this world. Struggle will finally yield to an age of innocence, and peace will reign in a new millennium. What you see here among the Mystics is the firstfruits of that age.”

  For the first time the prophecy made sense to him. “What about the other world?”

  “Ahhh, you mean the one you came from. Ancient Earth.”

  “Yes.”

  Mirium crossed her arms and paced, eyes on the wall. “The age of peace will come there as well, though perhaps not as most believe.” Her voice softened. “The lake is within all. The prophecies of terrible cataclysm and great reward are most useful when understood as the story of the struggle in the hearts of all humans in each moment.”

  So then he was right about the difference between the two worlds. That this wisdom and depth came from such a young woman mystified him. And the 49th was even younger.

  Mirium suddenly turned, full of excitement. “And now Elyon will show you those firstfruits. The Gathering awaits. Quickly, we mustn’t keep them long.”

  With that, Mirium hurried from the Thrall, down the steps, and up the path, blue dress flowing around her thighs. Thomas and Chelise ran after her, drawn by a power beyond them. Or in them. Or everywhere.

  He’d been here before, and that distant memory was being coaxed out of a deep forgetfulness.

  He could hear the distant roar of the waterfall, growing louder with each step as they ran. Along a creek beside the colored forest. Over a long, gentle slope.

  Thomas crested the hill and slid to a stop beside Chelise.

  Before them sprawled a great circular lake, glowing with fluorescent emerald water. The water was lined with huge, evenly spaced, gleaming trees, set back forty paces from a white sandy shore. Animals encircled the lake, sleeping or drinking.

  On the far side, a towering pearl cliff shimmered with ruby and topaz hues. Over the cliff poured a huge waterfall that throbbed with green and golden light as it thundered into the water a hundred meters below. The rising mist captured light from the trees, giving the appearance that colors arose out of the lake itself. Here, there could hardly be a difference between day and night. To his right, the creek fed the lake.

  Michal and Gabil were at the water’s edge, as were all the Mystics, most seated on the sand with legs crossed, arms raised, swaying slowly.

  Oblivious to Chelise now, Thomas stumbled down to the shore, heart in his throat, desperate to know as he’d once known. Feet bare on the sand, he took four long steps and dropped to his knees. A warm mist hit his face. His vision exploded with a red fireball and he gasped, sucking the mist into his lungs.

  Elyon.

  He was aware of the wetness tickling his tongue. The sweetest taste of sugar laced with a hint of cherry flooded his mouth. He swallowed. The aroma of gardenias blossomed in his nostrils.

  Ever so gently, Elyon’s water engulfed him, careful not to overpower his mind. But deliberately.

  The red fireball suddenly melted into a river of deep blue that flowed into the base of his skull and wound its way down his spine, caressing each nerve. Intense pleasure shot down every nerve path to his extremities. He dropped to his belly, body shaking in earnest.

  Elyon.

  How long had it been since he’d felt such an intimate oneness with the Source of all that was? In that awareness now, he didn’t know how he’d managed without it.

  The waterfall’s pounding intensified, and his mind reeled under the power of this Creator, who opened his senses to new colors and smells, his heart to new emotions that made the old seem flat by comparison.

  The first note came then, a low tone, lower than the thunder of a million stallions in full gallop. The rumbling tone shot up an octave, rose to a forte, and began etching a melody in Thomas’s skull. He could hear no words, only music.

  The single melody was joined by another, entirely unique yet in harmony with the first. The first stroked his ears, the second laughed. And a third melody joined the first two, screaming in pleasure. And then a fourth and a fifth, until Thomas heard a hundred melodies streaming through his mind, each one unique, each one distinct.

  All together not more than a single note from Elyon, one that was always present though rarely heard.

  A note that cried, I love you.

  Thomas breathed in great gasps now. He stretched his arms out before him. His chest heaved on the warm sand. His skin tingled with each droplet of mist that touched him.

  Elyon.

  Me too! Me too! I love you too.

  Then he formed the words screaming in his mind. “I love you,” he breathed softly.

  Immediately, a new burst of colors exploded in his mind. Gold and blue and green cascaded over his head, filling each fold of his brain with delight.

  The lake is inside. Always present but rarely known.

  He trembled with the thought and rolled to one side, eyes closed. A hundred melodies mushroomed into a thousand. His nostrils flared with the pungent smell of lilacs and roses and jasmine, and his eyes watered with the intensity.

  It was as though Elyon was a bottomless ocean, and Thomas tasting only a stray drop. As though Elyon was a symphony played by a million instruments, and he thrown from his feet by a single note.

  He opene
d his eyes. Long ribbons of color streamed through the mist above the lake. Light spilled from the waterfall. Chelise lay in a fetal position several paces away, curled up in the warmth of Elyon’s power. The Mystics trembled as the mist washed over their bodies. No sound could be heard above the waterfall.

  The words from Elyon came then.

  I love you. You are precious to me. You have always been mine. Look at me again and smile.

  “I will look at you always,” he wept. “I worship the air you breathe. I worship the ground you walk on. Without you there is nothing. Without you I’ll die a thousand deaths. Don’t ever let me leave you.”

  How can you leave where you always are, hidden in me, and I in you?

  Always present. Always light. Always here, never over there. A dimension, not a destination.

  He heard the distant sound of a child giggling. Then the voice of the child.

  Do you want to climb the cliff?

  The cliff! Thomas gasped. He’d been up those cliffs before . . .

  Mirium’s voice cried out for all to hear: “In whom are we one?” She was on her feet, arms spread wide.

  The rest were on their feet now, crying out in unison above the thundering falls, “Inchristi is all; Inchristi is in all!”

  Thomas pushed himself up and gazed about, still stunned by the child’s invitation. None of the others looked his way, not even Chelise, who was also on her feet, fists raised to the sky in rapture. Like children, their display was simple abandonment to affection. It would appear foolish in any other context, but it was completely genuine here.

  The child’s voice came again, echoing through his mind.

  Do you want to climb the cliff, Thomas?

  He spun toward the forest that ended at the cliff. Behind him the others were running into the lake, splashing with delight.

  Do you want to play?

  And then he knew where his mission from Talya would begin.

  In two days’ time, while the armies of Other Earth clashed in battle, he would climb the cliff.