Rise of the Mystics

by Ted Dekker

  “How . . .” Behind me, Karen was seeing what we were seeing.

  The center of the seal filled in with black as I walked toward the door on feet as light as feathers. The first three seals. White. Green. Black.

  And below the seals, the finger pointing the way to the Fourth Seal. What is seeing beyond what you think should be?

  I stopped eighteen inches from the door.

  “What we think should be is what the flesh self thinks should be,” I said, voice thin. “Gravity should draw down. Water should not support your weight. You should be in fashion. The world should be nice to you. The flesh holds judgment and grievance against whatever isn’t what it thinks should be.”

  I pulled up my right sleeve so they could all see, lifted my arm, and slowly extended my hand toward the door. As I did, a red cross filled the black center. But of course, I thought. Of course!

  “Our journey in this life is to see light in the darkness. The only way to see beyond what the flesh self thinks should be is to surrender. Surrender everything that blocks sight of the light. All judgment, all grievance, all blaming of wrong. Deny that self. Let go of all attachments in this life. Be in the world but not of it.”

  I knew what was coming next, and my anticipation of the Fourth Seal robbed me of breath.

  “Red: Surrender is the Means to Seeing the Light,” I whispered, and pressed my palm against the center of the cross.

  For a moment, nothing. Then it came, radiant and hot as if lit by a thousand volts. A red glow filled the room. The energy surged up my arm, burned hot on my right shoulder, then winked out, leaving me trembling where I stood.

  I slowly twisted my head and stared at my shoulder. There, at the center of the black core encircled by green and white bands, shone a red cross, reaching into my flesh.

  I had the Fourth Seal, and it was surrender.

  FOR AN HOUR Steve and Karen paced and questioned and stared and touched my shoulder, just to be sure what they’d seen was real. Steve was like a child in his excitement, Karen the stubborn doubter, questioning everything that had happened in a desperate attempt to cling to what she thought she knew about the world.

  I didn’t speak much and answered their questions more with silence than with thoughtful insight. Although I did tell Steve that he was right about belief and consciousness. In Other Earth it was called binding. What you bind in heaven is bound on Earth. What you bind through faith in a higher plane manifests on Earth.

  But my mind was more on the path before me, both in this world and in Other Earth. Talya had said the Fourth Seal would show me my path. I was sure that the me there now had the Fourth Seal as well and would find her way, though I would remain unaware of what she was facing until I fell asleep and dreamed.

  And I would dream again, Thomas said. The dreams wouldn’t work in a linear way as they had before, but I would dream and know what the other me was doing, both ways.

  So I set my mind on my path in this world.

  My whole demeanor had shifted. It was as though in the space of twenty minutes I had grown up ten years, Steve said. But none of that mattered to me because my mind was fixed on my quest.

  I would undoubtedly need that focus. All of it.

  Vlad was no fool.

  Thomas had found a blue shirt and some hiking boots that fit him well enough. He wouldn’t consider changing his pants—his would dry out just fine, as would his hair, which was tangled, befitting a warrior from Other Earth, I thought.

  I spent more than half of the first hour outside with him while Steve and Karen argued over a course of action. We were the same, he and I. Two dreamers who’d changed the world in one way or another.

  We talked about Samuel. An impulsive but passionate son who brought a smile to both of our faces.

  We talked about Jacob’s drowning near the Realm of Mystics, and how he’d missed such simple truth for so long.

  I’d lost a father in David but found one in Thomas. He, far more than Steve, was my mentor now. And I his.

  Strangely, I already knew what we would do next. It was obvious to me and I knew we had to move quickly. But I let Steve and Karen talk as I acclimated to my new way of being. And to Thomas, whom I adored.

  “It’s time,” I finally said, seated next to Thomas on the porch seat.

  He nodded and stood. “Yes. It is.”

  He opened the door for me and I stepped in. Steve and Karen dropped their discussion and turned from the center of the room.

  “Karen, you said the next bombing will happen this afternoon?”

  She gave a little nod.

  “You should call the president now and tell him to call it off. Everything, including StetNox.”

  “You don’t understand. Vlad—”

  “Vlad will do what Vlad will do, and both you and Calvin Johnson will deal with the consequences of your actions as the world sees fit when I’m finished doing what I need to do.”

  She blinked. “What are you going to do?”

  “Find the Fifth Seal.”

  She stared at me dumbly.

  “I’d like to meet with the president,” I said. “You can arrange it, right?”

  “Half the world is looking for you! He’ll never put himself in a compromising position. Meeting with you would incriminate him.”

  “I think he’ll agree to meet.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because you’re going to tell him that Thomas Hunter is risen from the dead and will talk to the media if he doesn’t.”

  30

  TO SAY the first full day of battle had surprised them all could be an understatement, depending on the Horde’s expectation. Knowing Qurong’s stubborn ways, he might have anticipated the loss of the fifty thousand men, but Samuel hadn’t expected the losses he and the Elyonites suffered.

  In all, nearly five hundred of the Circle. At least twenty thousand Elyonites.

  The war of the world had become a bloodbath. So much blood and so many fallen warriors that Qurong accepted Aaron’s request that they cease fighting to deal with their dead and wounded.

  Dusk brought a light but welcomed rain, and Samuel pulled the Forest Guard back into the trees, north of the valley, where they hastily erected canvas shelters.

  Samuel’s mind tripped back to his meeting with Aaron an hour earlier. He’d found Aaron on the third hill overlooking Miggdon as the sun set. There, before the Elyonite commander and three of his generals, Samuel laid out his plan.

  “Twenty, no more. The very best fighters. Qurong won’t suspect such a mad move. He’ll be dead before he knows his life is in danger!”

  Aaron lifted his brow, curious. “It would be suicide.”

  To this, Samuel ripped open his bag and pulled out a Scab skin he and Vadal had taken off one of the dead warriors. They’d washed the face and scalp of blood—the rest of their bodies would be masked by Horde armor.

  “Not wearing this,” Samuel said, holding up the skin. “Messy, but with some mud, blood, and tar, it will pass.” He dropped the skin on their table.

  That stopped them. Of course it did, because it was a brilliant plan.

  “You did this?”

  “I did. With one of my men.”

  “I see.” Aaron picked up the skin with a stick and studied their handiwork. “Clever. And who would lead such a daring raid?”

  “I will, of course.”

  Aaron chuckled, eyes bright. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, son of Hunter?”

  It was then Samuel learned that Aaron had sent word to Qurong to cease the slaughter for the night.

  “If our summit in the morning fails, we’ll make an attempt at the head of this snake, as you suggest.” He slapped Samuel on the back. “Ten of my men, ten of yours, wearing these skins.” Eyeing the Horde carcass, he said, “You do have brass, I’ll give you that.”

  “A summit? What summit?”

  “I was going to send word to you. A night of reconsideration after such heavy losses might shi
ft Qurong. We will stand face-to-face and gauge our enemies—Qurong, Eram, you, and myself. If he fails to surrender, we will show no mercy.”

  “We will show no mercy even if they do surrender!” Samuel objected. “All of them must die. We may never get another chance to break them!”

  “That’s the whole point, my friend. Lure them into some form of capitulation and betray them when they are weak!”

  He wasn’t convinced. “Qurong has agreed to this summit?”

  “He has.”

  So soon? But Samuel nodded. “So be it.”

  He fell asleep late, unable to settle his frayed nerves, and woke after the sun was already high. Frantic, he dressed and pulled on his boots.

  “They come!” Vadal called, slapping the side of his lean-to.

  Samuel buckled his fourth knife to his thigh and adjusted the leather armor on his chest. “Where?”

  “At the center, as you said.”

  He ducked into the clear morning air and headed to his stallion. Hundreds of canvas tents littered the forest floor. He suspected half of the men were eager, the other half wondering what Thomas would say when they mourned their dead at the funeral pyres.

  But all of that would mean nothing after they cut off the viper’s head. One way or the other, the Circle’s great enemy would be no more. Leadership had its price.

  He swung into his saddle and pulled his mount around. Vadal joined him and they rode the hundred paces to the high tree line in silence. Suzan waited alone, staring into the valley.

  He pulled up next to her and scanned the Valley of Miggdon. Rain had washed the blood into the sand, and the battlefield was empty of fallen warriors—vacant of all warriors but twenty or thirty around a single canvas at the center, two miles down the valley.

  “You’re sure about this?” Suzan said.

  “What do you mean? Of course I’m sure.”

  “I mean going alone. Why would they bring a guard but ask you to come alone?”

  “Aaron and his men are my guard. It’s a summit, not a battle. We’re a small contingent—the best fighters, mind you—but a fraction of their numbers. They only need our leader. Me.”

  She frowned. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Well then, Samuel of Hunter, what are you waiting for?” Vadal prodded. “And get a good look at the beast whose head we’ll take when all this talk is done. We don’t want to kill the wrong Scab.”

  It took him ten minutes at a brisk pace to reach the center of the valley, where he slowed his mount to a walk. Above, the hot sun hung in a blue sky dotted with soaring vultures, though most were on the ground, picking at body parts. To his right, the hills were lined with Eramites, at ease and awaiting orders. Thousands of Elyonite guards loitered on the southern hills, watching. The Horde’s large army lay west, unseen from his vantage point. A massive bull waiting for its supreme commander to point it one way or the other.

  There, under the canopy, were four men—three Scabs and one Albino. A priest of some sort, Qurong, Eram, and Aaron. Awaiting his arrival.

  All eyes were on him as he let his stallion amble up, dismounted, and approached the canopy. All three were in full armor. All well seasoned in battle. But none of them had spent their lives in constant danger, evading and outsmarting an enemy at every turn.

  He stepped into the canopy’s shade and gave Aaron a nod, not quite sure what to say.

  “So. Here we are.”

  Aaron returned his greeting. “Here we are.”

  Qurong stood to his right, arms crossed, staring at him with vacant gray eyes. Chelise’s father. It had been years since Samuel had last seen him, and then only at a distance. The commander was taller and thicker than he remembered. His priest, the one they called Ba’al, watched him with beady eyes.

  “Here we are,” Qurong said.

  Eram stood behind and to the right of Qurong, oddly disconnected, as if he was there only as a prop to do Qurong’s bidding. In the same way Samuel was Aaron’s prop in their minds. But that would soon change.

  “Thank you for joining us, Samuel,” Aaron was saying. “We didn’t want to start without you. In fact, we couldn’t.”

  “Of course.”

  “It has occurred to us that we’re here because of the 49th Mystic. Without her, none of this would have transpired. Since you know her better than any of us, we would require your opinion.”

  Mention of the 49th gave him pause. What did this have to do with her?

  “Yes, of course. What do you want to know?”

  “Tell Qurong what you know about this Realm of Mystics.”

  “The Realm? It’s of no concern to us. A hole in the ground beyond the Divide.”

  “Indulge us. What did you see and how did you see it?”

  He glanced between them, annoyed by the question. “It . . . I saw it as a forest filled with color. Then as a wasteland.”

  “Both?” Qurong demanded. “How’s that possible? It sounds like your eyes were deceiving you.”

  “I can assure you, I’m not easily deceived. When she was there, it was a forest. After she left, it was what you saw. A wasteland.”

  The priest, Ba’al, stepped forward, eyes unblinking. “Then you claim it’s her witchery that reveals the Realm,” he rasped. “When she’s present, it can be seen. When she’s not, there’s nothing to be seen but wasteland, which is why it’s eluded the world for so long.”

  The priest’s face was gaunt and nearly white with the scabbing disease. His presence so close was far more disturbing than his commander’s. Teeleh himself had possessed the man.

  “It was your own witchery that created her,” Samuel said. “Without your poison, I don’t think she ever would have been what she is.”

  The priest blinked. “How so?”

  “She claimed Justin told her that losing her mind was the beginning of her journey.”

  Ba’al stepped closer, far too close, and Samuel would have backed away if not for the rest. The priest studied him up and down.

  “You were the one who stole her from Jacob?”

  “I . . . I rescued her, yes. She’s Albino.”

  “She loves you?”

  “Loves me? I don’t know what—”

  “Does she love you?” Ba’al spat.

  “I would say she loves all!” Samuel snapped. “What’s the meaning of this insanity?”

  “But does she love you?” the old bat cried, stabbing Samuel’s chest with a long, thin finger. “You, you, you!” Three insulting stabs and it was all Samuel could do not to take the man’s head off with his bare hands.

  “Yes! Back up!”

  “There you have it,” Aaron said. “Are you satisfied?”

  Ba’al spun back in a whirl of black robes and strode past Qurong. “Take him,” he muttered.

  The warriors standing guard on either side of the canopy shifted, forming a circle. The meaning of the summit was suddenly clear to Samuel. His value to Aaron and now Ba’al was only in his ability to lead them to the Realm of Mystics.

  He moved quickly, snatching the knife at his right thigh before they could breathe. He put the knife to Eram’s throat before they could move.

  “Back!”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Aaron said. “You have an important role to play, and if you play it well, you may live to speak of it.”

  “Back!” A heavy breath. “What do you mean?”

  “He means,” Ba’al bit off, “that your life has only one value, and that value is to draw out the 49th so we can use her to reveal the Realm of Mystics. The prophecy is all that matters now, you fool!”

  Samuel pressed his blade deeper into the folds of Eram’s neck, panicked. Beyond the canopy, warriors were erecting a tall wooden beam.

  “Wait! I can draw her!” He jerked his head to Aaron, pleading. “It doesn’t have to be like this. I can bring her. She’ll come.”

  “We’re counting on it.” Aaron shrugged. “So sorry, young friend.”

  “I . . .”
r />   A mallet smashed into his head from behind and Samuel felt himself collapsing.

  DARKNESS. Deep darkness filled with dreams of Shataiki clawing at his skin. Samuel was sweating under the heat of their breath as they slammed into his body, tearing at his wrists and his ankles. One of them was gnawing on his head, sending bone-chilling pain into every nerve, but he couldn’t seem to reach it.

  He had to wake up, that’s all he knew. He had to wake from this nightmare tempting him to believe what could not be. It was just a dream. Only a figment of his imagination.

  He couldn’t move his arms! He couldn’t run! He had to wake!

  With a tremendous will motivated by terror, Samuel pulled his mind from sleep and opened his eyes with a groan. His head was bent back and he was staring at the sun directly overhead. Three black Shataiki soared above him, circling.

  No, vultures. The battle . . .

  Then the rest of it crashed into his awareness and he jerked his head up. Cried out with a deep pain in his neck. But no cry came. He was gagged.

  Gagged and bound! Hung upright on a tall post with a crossbeam, planted in the desert.

  He jerked his arms, but the ropes binding his wrists to the crossbeam were unyielding. As were those at his knees and ankles.

  He looked down, horrified to see himself stripped of all but a loincloth. They’d covered him with Horde blood and beaten his feet, both now swollen and bruised. Even if he could get down, running would be futile.

  Samuel screamed into his gag and craned his neck, searching for the Circle.

  But there was no Circle to be seen. Tens of thousands of warriors lined the hills, watching him, Elyonites on the left, Horde to the right. The canopy they’d erected for the summit was gone, as was the guard. Not a soul to be seen in the valley itself.

  They’d left him alone like a slab of meat.

  He knew then that no one could help him. The Circle would cry and plead, but there was no way Vadal or Suzan or even a thousand Forest Guard could find their way past two full armies.

  They were baiting the 49th. He was their bait.

  Samuel hung his head and wept.

  31

  IRRITATION. That’s all it was, and Vlad was as comfortable with the sentiment as he was with fear. They were one and the same.