Rise of the Mystics

by Ted Dekker

  “They said no.”

  “We are outcast,” Maya said, still grinning.

  Talya nodded. “And among Albino?”

  “Outcast,” I said.

  “Then they are the least among all, wouldn’t you say? From the world’s view, that is.”

  Maya was still looking at me. What could I say?

  But Talya rescued me. “‘What you do to the least of these, you do to me,’ Yeshua said. He was speaking of the sinners in his day, destitute and imprisoned and cast out for their crimes. Help me out, 49th. How could Yeshua say that what we do to sinners and outcasts, we are actually doing to him? Why would he go on to say that those who called him Lord but didn’t grasp that he was all, including the outcasts, were like goats, while his true followers were sheep?”1

  “He said that?”

  “Have you not read your own Scriptures?”

  I sat on the horse in silence, trying to wrap my clogged brain around such a teaching.

  “And so I ride with Justin seated before me,” Talya said. “Seeing her any other way would make me a goat, the true outcast.” He stared off. “Now tell me, 49th, who do you sit with on your horse now, as we ride?”

  “Myself.”

  “A Scab. The least among us. An outcast. And what you do to yourself as that Scab, you do to Justin. Perhaps you might consider loving yourself, then. You can only love your neighbor as yourself if you love yourself as you are.” He looked at me. “Love, 49th. The evidence of Justin is love.”

  “I’m a water walker,” Maya said proudly, hijacking the discourse. She craned her neck and looked up at Talya. “I walked on water.”

  “Indeed you did, indeed you did.” He winked at me. “Once. Three steps, I think it was.”

  “Three steps, but then I sank. Talya’s going to help me again, aren’t you, Talya?”

  “But I am helping you, Maya. I already am. As much as I’m helping the 49th. And maybe I can help you cross into the other world, like Rachelle does. They could use your help in the future, I think. Would you like that?”

  “I can fly to another world like a bird!” Maya proclaimed.

  “Like a bird in a dream.”

  And so we went, onto the Marrudo plateau, drawing ever closer to the Circle and Samuel. I heard all of Talya’s teaching but remained silent, stewing again, frustrated by such lofty teachings and judging Talya for offering them when I was so lost.

  Maya repeated almost everything Talya said, and he made no attempt to quiet her. In fact, he seemed to say things just to hear her repeat them, like a proud grandfather.

  “Just over that knoll,” he finally said. “We’ve been trailed by two of their scouts for the last ten minutes. If you were a warrior, they would’ve already sounded the alarm.” He stopped his horse and scanned the horizon. “But they see only a Horde woman with her child. And me. They see me, the wizard who snuffed out their fire. I stop here.”

  “Are you sure?” Worry battered me. “I’m not even sure why I’m going.”

  “That’s why Maya’s going to guide you. Isn’t that right, Maya?”

  She clambered from the saddle, eager to join me. “Don’t worry, Miss Rachelle. I’m not afraid of the Albinos. They gave us food too.”

  I had no idea how such a young parrot of Talya could guide me, but I had few reasons to argue.

  Talya cleared his throat and faced me. “Tell me who you are.”

  My mind was on Samuel and what I might find on such a doubtful mission that had no clear objective. “I’m the 49th Mystic.”

  “This is one of the names you cling to,” he said. “A mask that imprisons you.”

  “That’s a mask,” Maya repeated. “Like a prison over your head!”

  “Tell me who you really are.”

  I hesitated, then gave him the correct answer. “Inchristi is me,” I said. “As one, we are in this earthen vessel called Rachelle. Inchristi is all and in all.”2

  He dipped his head. “Nothing else matters if you forget who you are and cling instead to your old names.”

  “A name like Albino,” Maya said.

  “Like all the names you wear,” Talya said. “Scab. Woman. Victim. Wounded. Stupid. Ugly. Failure. Even 49th Mystic. Surrender all of them on that altar where judgment was put to death.”

  He spoke in terms familiar to me from Eden, Utah. Take up the cross. Die to yourself daily. Those hard teachings of Yeshua that Simon had turned into frightful sermons.

  “They are hard only because most people see according to the powerless traditions and reasoning of men and religion,” Talya said. “In truth, they’re the most liberating of all his teachings. Through them, he shows us how to find salvation from the troubles of this life. Inchristi is the only way.”

  Then he repeated another hard teaching I’d heard in Eden.

  “As he taught: ‘Unless you hate your father, wife, husband, children—indeed, hate everything about yourself—you cannot follow me in seeing the kingdom now at hand.’3 Sounds brutal, wouldn’t you say?”

  I looked at him. “Only a moment ago you said I should love my neighbor as myself. Now you say hate?”

  “But to hate simply means to release all attachment to. When you surrender your clinging to all attachments, all masks, all judgment, you awaken to a staggering love. In that love, you hold no record of wrong, and you escape all fear because there is no fear in love. Isn’t that what you want, 49th?”

  I looked at the rise ahead of us and saw that a line of six or seven warriors had formed. “It’s all I want.”

  “Wonderful. And here I thought you wanted to be Albino.” He drew his horse around. “You can find me at the large boulder we passed.”

  THE CIRCLE’S camp was like a grain of sand compared to the massive sprawl of the Horde camp we’d passed through in the desert. They used simple canvas shelters affixed to saplings—easily torn down at a moment’s notice. Everywhere I looked I saw order and color, whether only a yellow shawl hanging over an entrance or a basket of red and purple plums set out on the grass. Even their warriors’ armor made liberal use of dyed leather, blue and yellow mostly.

  None of these Albinos scowled at the sight of their warriors leading a Scab woman and her daughter through the camp. Their way was to offer drowning, not slaughter, to the Horde.

  Maya sat motionless in front of me, staring at the Albino children as we were led to a large tent on the northern side of their camp. Word had been sent ahead of us. A woman claiming to be the 49th Mystic was here to meet with Samuel.

  They’d also undoubtedly delivered the news that this so-called 49th Mystic was Horde.

  “Samuel’s inside,” the warrior who guided us said, shoving his chin at the closed flap. He looked us over one last time. “They’re expecting you.” And then, “Know that whoever you are, you’re a friend of the Circle. A cloud of division hangs over us all, so if things are said that should not be said, please accept our apologies.”

  I could hear strong voices inside, someone arguing a point with unwavering passion. The warrior dipped his head, turned his horse, and left us.

  Maya stood on the saddle, then dropped to the ground like a monkey. She reached her hand up to me. “Come, Miss Rachelle. They are our friends.”

  But the moment I swept the flap aside and stepped into the large room, I knew that not all saw us as friends. The one who was talking seemed put off that our entrance had interrupted his argument. His face darkened when he saw our skin.

  As one they stared at us. Four of them, two men and two women, all in battle dress, were seated on thick sheep hides. Bows and swords lined the tent wall next to a few crates of supplies.

  On the far right, Samuel.

  Samuel, who stared dumbly at me with round eyes.

  One of the women stood, and with her, the rest. “My name is Mikil,” she said, stepping forward. But she didn’t offer me any customary grasp. “This is Vadal, Suzan of Southern, and Samuel, son of Thomas.”

  I gave her a shallow bow. “My
name is Rachelle. This is Maya.” My eyes were on Samuel, who still stared, locked in confusion. “Samuel and I have met. It’s good to see—”

  “I don’t know you,” he snapped. “You’re not the Rachelle I saved.”

  “But I am. It’s just that I’ve . . .” I stopped, at a loss. What could I say that they would believe? Embarrassment heated my face.

  “She’s become Horde,” Maya said innocently. “Talya made her like me because we’re both special.”

  Mikil smiled at my guide. “Well, aren’t you a precious thing. You know this Talya?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” the one called Vadal snapped. “They’re more likely spies, sent to us from Qurong. If they knew Talya, they would’ve drowned already.”

  “Not necessarily, Vadal,” Mikil gently corrected. “There’s much about this whole business that turns what we’ve believed on its head. Love, not exclusion, is our way.”

  “Tell that to my bride!” Vadal bit off. “But you can’t because she was butchered by the beasts! She’s dead! We took up swords then, and we will now, as Samuel insists. May they all rot in hell.”

  I heard little Maya speak beside me. “You should let go of the specialness of your bride so you don’t suffer,” she said to Vadal. “Justin says we should have no attachments to special people. You’ve made her an idol to you. A boulder tied to your legs so you can’t fly.”

  A moment of silence lingered in the wake of her statement.

  “And what would a child know of brides?” Vadal asked.

  “The role of bride is only a mask. We can’t love if we hide behind masks.”

  “This from a little imp who wears Scab as her mask.”

  “That’s enough, Vadal!” Mikil snapped.

  Part of me wanted to join in Maya’s defense, but I was still fixated on Samuel, silently begging him to recognize and accept me. I was Horde, but my face was still the same face he’d known. My voice the same voice. Flakes of skin from my dried scalp had filled my dark hair, but it wasn’t in dreadlocks. Not yet anyway.

  “Samuel . . .” I took a step toward him. “It’s me, can’t you see? You rescued me from the Horde in the southern desert, where I was trapped under the cliffs. We went to the pool, where Talya took me. I was put on trial in the Elyonite—”

  “No. No, that wasn’t you!” His eyes darted to the others. “I’m telling you, that old wizard has used his magic to bring us an imposter.” A beat. “She’s Horde, for the love of Elyon! With a Horde child! This isn’t the 49th Mystic I know!”

  “No, sir, you’re mistaken!” Maya piped up, grabbing my hand. “She is the Mystic Talya brought to us. We’ve come to tell you the good news!”

  “What good news?” Mikil asked.

  “That we are the light of the world and we don’t have to be afraid of each other.”

  “Blasphemy!” Vadal roared, gripping his hair. “Blasphemy!” He thrust his finger at Maya. “How can this rotting little corpse be the light of the world? She’s Horde!” And then again, as if the second time was needed to drive his point home: “Horde!”

  “Talya says blasphemy is denying that you are the divine light. It makes you blind.”

  Vadal fumed. Then spat his charge again. “Blasphemy!”

  The dark-skinned one named Suzan spoke up. “Metaphorically speaking, I can see how such an innocent young child could be called the light of the world. But surely, even innocence knows that it is Horde, child.”

  “Talya said that what you do to me you do to Justin. This is true love. I’ve come to help Miss Rachelle tell you.”

  They were all struggling with Maya’s claims, but then so was I. Intellectually, I knew her statements were true, but I wasn’t experiencing the truth like she was. Only a week earlier I’d stood before Elyonite Albinos and boldly stated what I had learned when my eyes had been opened by Talya. I felt none of that power now, but Talya had sent me to speak truth, I assumed, so I did.

  “Maya’s right. I admit that I’m not at my best right now, as you can see . . .”

  I stopped midsentence, hearing my words. In saying those words I was condemning myself. I was saying that another way would be better, and that right now I didn’t measure up to that better version.

  I was blinding myself through judgment. I was such a failure.

  But that thought stopped me too. I was now condemning myself by calling myself a failure. Did it never stop? It was no wonder there were so few water walkers in the world.

  And now I was judging the world.

  “Yes?” Mikil asked.

  “Sorry, I . . . What I meant to say is that Maya is right. I can’t say I know how it all works, because I’m not thinking straight, you know.” Dear Elyon, help me. “But I can tell you that the Horde aren’t your enemy. Your own perception is. Most Albinos are as blind as the Horde to who they are.”

  “Impossible!” Samuel blurted. “How can you pretend to be the 49th Mystic? The Rachelle I knew used her blade when the Horde attacked us. I don’t know by what means of magic the old goat has turned you into someone who looks vaguely like her, but the 49th I knew would speak no such blasphemy!”

  “That’s not true!” I snapped, losing my good sense. “I didn’t know who I was when Jacob attacked us!”

  “And you do now, as Horde?” He stepped up, face red. “Jacob is with the 49th now, I saw it with my own eyes. And since you seem to know so much about her, you must know where she is. So tell me, where is she?”

  “Here!” I said, hands balled into fists. “I’m right here! And I’m here to tell you that you’ll be fools to join the Elyonites against the Horde. Tens of thousands will die in that bloodbath!”

  “So says the spy from the Horde. Of course you don’t want us to take up arms with our brothers. You know how much value we add against your beasts! And for the record, I was sent here to find the 49th, who alone can open the gate to the Realm of Mystics. Is that you? No! You’re Scab.” He spat to one side.

  “What are you saying?” Mikil asked, facing Samuel. “Aaron sent you to find the 49th here?”

  “The Elyonites are our brothers,” Vadal said. “Aaron sent Samuel to speak common sense into us. That common sense demands that we do what we crossed the Great Divide to do. Go to war as we should have long before our wives and children were slaughtered by the Horde.”

  “No, Thomas was clear,” Mikil snapped. “We hold our ground here.”

  “While he vanishes into some sinkhole chasing ancient dreams of another world?” Samuel cut in. “Aaron takes his army against the Horde tomorrow. We can’t wait for my father. Even he drew his sword against them. This is what he would want.”

  “That isn’t what he wants,” Mikil objected. “He was very clear. We wait!”

  “Then we’ll let each man decide for himself,” Vadal said. “It’s always been our way.”

  “Yes, but this isn’t just always . . .”

  They went on, oblivious to Maya and me standing there like two sores. I could hardly follow their angry exchange because I was too caught up in my own. The one happening between my ears. The one telling me that I was a failure.

  A failure for being furious with Samuel, who was betraying me as I stood there in desperate need. I wasn’t judging only him, I was judging the whole world for conspiring to put me in the impossible position of having to surrender just to be able to see clearly.

  Tears of shame filled my eyes as they threw their words at each other. Maya had gone silent in the barrage. I had to get away from this. There was only hatred here, and I didn’t know how to offer love to myself, much less to them.

  Mikil noticed the tears on my cheeks and the others followed her stare. For a few seconds, silence visited the tent as the Scab before them silently wept for herself. Maya was the one who broke the silence.

  “It is true, she is the 49th,” she said in a simple, sweet voice. “Talya told me.”

  Samuel spat to one side again. “If you’re the 49th, then the Elyonites are right in thei
r interpretation of the prophecy. You will bring all Albinos to their knees at the feet of Horde. Your being Horde now proves it.” He clenched his jaw. “But you’re not her.” To the others: “We should bind her and hold her in a hole so she can’t report.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Mikil snapped. “War or not, we don’t treat women and children with cruelty.” She studied me. “I don’t know why you’re here, but if you do know Talya, tell him this isn’t the way to win our confidence.” Another beat. “You may leave us. No one will harm you.”

  Turning immediately, I slipped out of the tent and hurried to my horse, hearing the patter of small feet behind me.

  I could not have been more mortified. Not because I was Horde but because I should know better. Do better. Be better. Me, of all people, the 49th Mystic! And yet I’d just shown myself to be an utter fool, powerless and crying with self-pity for all to see.

  I wanted to run. I wanted to hide and never be seen again.

  Releasing a sob, I spun back, threw my arms around Maya and lifted her from her feet, holding on for dear life.

  Here was the one who loved me. This little Scab girl. Here was the one I clung to, a child who hadn’t learned to judge yet. Whatever Talya had expected of me, I didn’t know, but I had gloriously failed.

  What is seeing beyond what you think should be?

  I didn’t know, but I did know that I should be better than I was.

  And so you live in a prison of your own making, precious one.

  For a split second, I saw the power of those words, and then I was swallowed by self-loathing once more.

  “It’s okay, they don’t mean it,” Maya said in her tender way. “Talya says we should forgive them because they don’t know what they do. Forgive everyone because they’re only doing what life taught them to do.”

  She pulled back and looked into my eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter what they think. I love you.”

  Her words pulled more tears from me.

  “I love you too, Maya.”

  24

  I KNEW I was supposed to be tuning into anger so I would have the power to stop Vlad, but embracing anger was a hard thing at first. Like tuning into other frequencies, it required practice.