Green: The Beginning and the End

by Ted Dekker

  “Blood?” Monique said, leaning back in her chair.

  “Blood. The one remaining vial of Thomas Hunter’s blood that you put in safekeeping. Did you think you two were the only ones who knew? The lab technician who withdrew the blood was named Isabella Romain and she lives in Covington, Kentucky, today. Naturally she refused to say what her mind was thinking, but I know with absolute certainty that a vial of Thomas Hunter’s blood was taken by you, Dr. Raison, for security.”

  They did not deny it.

  “And these eyes of mine exposed a few other secrets,” he said. “Turns out that Thomas’s blood allowed anyone who used it to wake up in the reality that the Books of History came from. Is it in fact another reality? Or is it our future? Either way, that makes the vial of blood a potent little vessel of a whole lot of fun, don’t you think? Not to mention a path to some pretty powerful books.”

  Billy couldn’t stop the wild grin that twisted his lips. He was sweating, he realized. Profusely. It beaded up on his forehead and ran past his temples. With each passing week he seemed to have more difficulty maintaining control of his nerves. The tics and the sweating were the worst. Thankfully he’d managed to suppress the tics thus far. Wouldn’t do to start jerking about like a short-circuiting robot before asking them to trust him with their deepest secrets.

  He took a deep breath and made an effort to appear reasonable. “Seriously, friends, I know it all. And I’ve come to ask you to bring me in.”

  “In?” Monique asked, one brow raised.

  “Trust me. Use me. I’m all yours.”

  “To what end?”

  “To what end?” It was a fair question, no matter how obvious the answer seemed to him. “Sorry, being through what I’ve been through makes that question sound a bit silly. For the purpose of survival, naturally. To that end. So that we can take this messy, crazy world and make sense of it again.”

  “And just how do you propose to do that?”

  “For starters, as I’m sure you realize, some would consider me a fugitive. Have been for over two years, ever since the Tolerance Act in the fabulous United States of America turned people like me into bigots. Wackos at the least. That doesn’t sit right with all people. The world is primed for more than simple, regional conflicts. Surely you can see that. The very laws that are meant to bring peace and love are gonna bring the big boom, baby.”

  A bit too free with the colloquialism there.

  “And?”

  “And we may have the one thing that could set things right.”

  Both stared without showing any reaction.

  He stood and paced. “I need to connect with my past. And with the future. Are you catching my drift here?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “I need the blood.”

  Silence. Dead giveaway.

  Monique cleared her throat. “I don’t think you understand, Mr. Rediger. Even if we knew where this figment of your imagination was, this so-called vial of blood, what exactly do you think you could do with it?”

  “Go into Thomas’s dreams! To the place all this began. Please, don’t tell me you haven’t tried it.”

  No admission. No denial.

  “You have no idea how much work it took to uncover these dark secrets of yours. Only a handful of people know what actually happened: That Thomas Hunter’s blood was altered when he crossed into the other reality. That it contained unique properties. That when even a single drop of his blood mixes with a person’s while they are dreaming, they, too, can go where he went, which might well be the future. That, my two lovely friends, sounds like a very major trip. You can’t possibly go your entire life knowing about such a thing and not try it at least once. Kinda like sex, right?”

  They still didn’t seem to appreciate the simple honesty he was laying down here.

  “No?” he pressed.

  “Not really, no,” Monique said.

  “You haven’t tried it?”

  “Sex?”

  “The blood!”

  “We haven’t established that this blood you talk about even exists. If it does, perhaps you can tell us where we could find it. The powers you describe sound incredibly valuable.”

  So, they would play it this way. What he would give to dive into their minds right now.

  One way or another, he would have his way with both of their minds.

  “Cute,” he said. “We’re going to pretend, then, is that it?”

  Kara walked back to her chair and sat. “Please, Billy, have a seat.”

  He sat again, aware that his right hand was twitching slightly.

  “Tea?”

  Tea? A bit late to ask him if he wanted to break bread with them. On the other hand, this represented a sea change in at least Kara’s attitude toward him. Yes, indeed. At least a pretention of being sweet.

  “No thank you, Kara. No tea at the moment, but thank you for offering.”

  She smiled. “Perhaps we were a bit too hasty in dismissing you. Let’s try a different approach, shall we? After Thomas left, my life never seemed to find its true bearing.”

  “Careful, Kara,” Monique warned in a low voice.

  Kara glanced at her friend. “It’s okay. He obviously knows at least some of the truth.” Back to Billy. “But you must understand how dangerous your knowledge is. I’m not sure you do. In the wrong hands, what you know could bring about more pain and suffering than you can possibly imagine.”

  “Oh, I think I can imagine it just fine. Why do you think I’m here? I’ve spent every waking minute for the last year thinking of it, tracking you two down.”

  “The information you have could end life as we know it,” Kara continued.

  “It could bring the great dragon down from the sky and fill the oceans with blood,” Billy said. “Saint John’s Apocalypse.”

  He could only imagine them blinking behind their shades. Too much, way too much. His imaginations were a thing that he should keep strictly to himself. He should know that by now. Not even these two had the capacity to go where his mind went, which is why he was suited—perhaps even prepared, preordained, chosen, all of that rot—to do what needed doing now.

  “As a figure of speech,” he said, circling his hand for effect, “the dragon being the symbol of death, virus, nuclear holocaust, Armageddon. Point is, if it’s all true, if a person could cross into another world with Thomas’s blood, and then return with untold secrets, they might not only unravel the past, but also solve the problems of the future. Of now.”

  “We get it,” Monique said.

  He couldn’t read her true sentiment by her tone; he’d become too accustomed to reading people by their minds.

  “So then. You’re going to bring me in?” Billy asked.

  “We should lock you up and throw away the key, Billy,” Monique said.

  “What she means,” Kara inserted, “is that none of us is trustworthy with what we know. We both try to stay . . . private. We’re not sure you appreciate just how difficult that can be.”

  “I was raised in a monastery. I think that qualifies me.”

  “Perhaps. But we don’t know where the blood is, Billy. Or if it even still exists. We’ve removed ourselves from that knowledge.”

  “For everyone’s sake,” Monique said.

  Nonsense. Billy knew then that they had no intention whatsoever of trusting him with the code to their front gates, much less the most potent secret the world had ever known. And why should they? He’d presented himself as a bit of a loose cannon.

  But they didn’t know him. He’d danced with the devil himself, and he wouldn’t let these two witches stop him from doing it again.

  “Well, then we’ll have to take this one step at a time,” Billy said. “I was wondering if you could recommend suitable accommodations.”

  The door flew wide and a young woman walked in, dressed in a short black dress with spaghetti straps. Bare feet, petite physique. Her black hair fell loosely past square shoulders, and her soft brown eyes cut shar
ply through the world.

  “Excuse me, Mother. So sorry to interrupt. Henri tells me you’ve decided to sell our New York research laboratory. One of my laboratories the last time I checked. Tell me why Henri has decided to speak lies.”

  “So nice to see you, Janae,” Monique returned in a soothing voice. “How was your trip to France?”

  “As expected.” No further explanation. Monique’s daughter, this stunning creature with a fluid French accent who looked to be in her early twenties, seemed to notice Billy for the first time. She turned her gaze on him and peeled him open with that first look.

  And who is this young pip? An American, clearly, dressed to attend a rock concert. What kind of fools is Mother exposing herself to these days? And what are those monstrous glasses doing on Mother’s face?

  “Mr. Rediger, please meet my daughter, Janae.” Billy saw that a thin smile had nudged the corner of Monique’s mouth northward. “But then you probably already know all about her, don’t you? Perhaps more than I do.”

  The bold pronouncement left Janae silent for the moment. Billy thought it best to leave the young woman wondering.

  “You might want to consider wearing dark glasses, dear Janae. Our visitor from America seems to have the ability to read minds.”

  Again, silence from the spirited one. Billy decided then that he would out himself fully to the dark-haired beauty. One, because he found her strangely compelling, and two, because he thought it wise to give her a reason to find him just as interesting.

  “Young pip?” He stared into her eyes. “This young pip who’s dressed to attend a rock concert is inside your mind right now, dear Janae. And what a delicious treat it is, all that hostility and resentment for having never known your father. He vanished when you were a small child, and you’re thinking even now that he held secrets that would complete you. Isn’t that what all orphans believe?”

  She blinked. Her mouth parted slightly but held back the gasp some might utter when so quickly stripped. He liked her already.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m an orphan as well.”

  “I think we all get the point,” Monique said. “He’s quite dangerous. I would tread carefully.”

  But Billy wasn’t finished. “I’m here for the vial of blood that your mother harvested from Thomas Hunter three decades ago. Maybe you know where it is. Or you could help me find it.”

  He might as well have dropped a bomb in the room.

  Janae looked at her mother. “What blood?”

  “This is completely unacceptable,” Kara snapped, rising from her chair.

  “On the contrary, this is the only acceptable course,” Billy returned. “You need to keep an eye on me. What better way than to keep me close? You know I won’t put up with either of you babysitting me.”

  His implication could hardly be stronger. He took the fact that Janae didn’t immediately reject the notion of “babysitting” him as a sign of her interest. A glance into her eyes confirmed this.

  On second look, interest was a bad word choice to describe her disposition toward him. Fascination was better. Billy turned back to the others.

  Kara was clearly on rough ground. “Surely you can’t—”

  “It’s okay, Kara,” Monique said. “He’s right. He can stay in the guest quarters until his curiosity is satisfied. God knows we’re all better off with him here than out there where real damage can be done.”

  Monique de Raison thought she could control him, Billy realized. Anyone else and he would dismiss the possibility outright. But Monique was not anyone else. Neither was Kara.

  Nor, for that matter, was Janae, who was still trying to understand him.

  “Please give us a moment, Billy,” Monique said. “Williston will show you to the guest building. Janae will be right out.”

  Billy stood and walked for the door. The scent of Janae’s musky perfume filled him with a sudden desire as he walked past her. Those deep, dark secrets her father had hidden from her seemed to beckon him. There was something about Janae that pulled at him like a strong tide.

  “Take your time,” he said, stepping from the room.

  4

  The Future

  CHELISE WATCHED Samuel and Marie stare at each other in the dead silence, seemingly unconcerned by the other’s sword, like two roosters facing off, expressionless. Vadal stood to one side, pale. The other leaders looked on, unmoving.

  The Circle hung on the unfolding drama as if not quite sure it was all really happening. One moment they’d been awash in Thomas’s poetic love for her and for Elyon; the next, the Gathering celebration had been flattened with this insane challenge to the essence of what they held sacred.

  The Great Romance was being debated at the end of a sword! Is this what she’d drowned for? They all waited for Thomas.

  But Thomas wasn’t stopping the lunacy.

  Elyon’s people had never adopted a hierarchy of government that allowed a few to control the many. Guide, yes. But each person was encouraged to follow his heart. They’d all seen what religion had done when the Horde followed their priests, first Ciphus, then Witch, then Sucrow, and now the worst of the lot, Ba’al.

  Thomas had a particular distaste for manipulation through religion, preferring faith and Elyon’s Great Romance. But this . . . this was ridiculous.

  Chelise glanced at him and saw that his jaw was set. He was going to allow them to fight.

  Samuel launched himself at a knee-high boulder, planted his right foot near the top, and threw himself into a backflip high over Marie’s head. He brought his sword down as he sailed above her, a devastating swing that took full advantage of not only his well-muscled arms, but his leg strength, transferred now to his downward thrust. Thomas had told her that the splitter, as the move had been dubbed, had been named back in the days of war for its ability to cut a warrior in half, from head to crotch, with one blow.

  Marie dropped to one knee, lifted her sword—one hand on the handle, one on the broad blade—and jerked the weapon over her head as a shield. The sound of Samuel’s blade crashing into Marie’s clanged through the valley, echoing off the cliff walls.

  Would Samuel have completed his swing if Marie hadn’t reacted in time? The impetuous fool had lost his mind.

  Marie’s braided hair swirled around her face as she pivoted, still on one knee, then lunged for Samuel’s body before he landed and gathered his bearings.

  Samuel anticipated her. Somehow he managed to withdraw a gutting knife. With a flip of his wrist he turned the knife back along his forearm and deflected Marie’s sword. He landed with a chuckle and used his momentum to throw himself into a back handspring.

  But Marie was already swinging around, sword extended for a second blow. This one nicked Samuel’s chin as he threw himself out of the way.

  Marie snatched her blade back, and Samuel righted himself. He touched his chin, felt the blood flowing over his fingers, and glared, face red. Marie stood on guard, breathing steadily through her nostrils.

  A grin slowly twisted Samuel’s lips, but this was not the look of humor or the stuff of play. This was a fierce grin, strung with resolve and rage.

  “Now,” he said. “Now you will see.”

  “You want to kill me, Samuel?” She circled to her left, opposite him. “Huh? Is that what the love of Elyon has taught you?”

  “Was that Elyon who just drew first blood? I could have sworn it was you.”

  “Only because you challenged to kill my lover,” she said.

  “One for the sake of many.”

  “You wouldn’t kill me, Samuel.”

  He responded in a low, guttural voice that could have belonged to an animal, Chelise thought. “Then you don’t know me.”

  Samuel moved so quickly that Marie didn’t have time to deflect. She could only jerk to her right as his knife flashed from his left hand, sliced through the night air, and thudded securely into her left shoulder.

  Where it quivered, then stilled, buried two inches in her f
lesh.

  Chelise was too stunned to act on the horror that swept through her mind. Thomas looked on, immobilized by outrage or letting history take its own course, she couldn’t tell, but she wanted to slap him and tell him to make them stop.

  They lived in a brutal world, but the way of the Circle was to avoid this kind of brutality in favor of love, dancing, and feasting deep into the night.

  “Stop this.” Mikil said, stepping forward. “For the love of Elyon, stop this foolishness.”

  “Back off.” The growl came from Marie now.

  Johan joined Mikil. “She’s right, this is proving nothing.”

  Marie jerked the blade from her shoulder and sent it flying in Johan’s direction. “Back off!”

  He slapped the blade from the air before it reached him and snarled. The general in him hadn’t forgotten how to move.

  But before any of them could move to interfere, Marie threw herself forward and swung her blade.

  Again, Samuel deflected the blow.

  Again, Marie swung.

  Then they were in close combat, thrusting and parrying, filling the valley with grunts and the clash of metal against metal.

  The first sounds from the crowd came in the form of gasps when either Marie or Samuel narrowly escaped the opponent’s blade. Then cheers of support or objection rose from a small number when Marie landed a hard blow to Samuel’s right leg, severing his leather thigh guard in two.

  The crowd is being pulled in, Chelise thought. They are throwing aside their love for Elyon and blindly following this sickening orgy of violence. The crowd’s cheers of support or opposition swelled. Then one cry rose above them all and sliced through Chelise’s mind.

  “Silence the Horde lover, Samuel! Gut this child of Qurong!”

  Chelise’s blood ran cold. The call, a woman’s shrill cry rising above the others, had come from the right side.

  “They took my child. Take theirs! Vengeance belongs to Elyon, and he will drink their blood as they have become drunk on ours.”

  Samuel and Marie couldn’t possibly have heard the voice amid the cacophony of shouts, the roar of three thousand voices now either crying out in outrage or throwing their support behind one of the combatants.