Circle Series 4-in-1

by Ted Dekker

  Epilogue

  SO THEN, were you right or were you wrong?” Gabil asked, scanning the titles of Books on the library’s top shelf. “It really is a simple question with a simple . . .” He stopped short. “Ah! I’ve found it!”

  He withdrew an old leather-bound book and swooped down toward Michal, who teetered on the edge of the desk, peering at another Book of History he’d withdrawn only minutes ago. A single candle lit the old pages. The Horde library lay in shadows, deserted at this late hour.

  “None of this is simple,” Michal said. “Patience.”

  “I thought you said you’d found it,” Gabil said, fluttering for a landing beside Michal. He set the Book he’d retrieved on the desk.

  “I said I found the section that deals with the Great Deception, not the actual sentence that states the actual date.”

  “You did tell Thomas of Hunter early in the twenty-first century. I remember that much.”

  “And if I did, then you agreed,” Michal said, scanning the page.

  “Did I? You’re positive?”

  “Did you disagree? You’re far too interested in this minor point, Gabil. What difference does the date make in the end? This is a silly exercise.”

  “I’m interested because the histories couldn’t have said early in the twenty-first century. Thomas changed history. The virus didn’t ravage the world. So the question is, when does the Great Deception take place? Or does it even?”

  Gabil studied the cover of his Book, then opened it to the first page. This history was taken from the colored forest. He flipped toward the back of the Book.

  “Of course the Great Deception takes place,” Michal said. “I’m reading the details now, as we speak. You see, right here . . .” The Roush stopped.

  “What?” Gabil released the page in his fingers, hopped once, and leaned over to see.

  “Give me some room,” Michal protested. “This . . . I don’t remember anything about . . .”

  “I knew it!” Gabil chirped. “Yes, I did. I knew it. It’s changed, hasn’t it?”

  “Well, it’s no longer early in the twenty-first century. But we could have been mistaken about that. But these other things . . .”

  “Thomas changed history!”

  Michal ran his finger down the page. “The Tribulation as recorded by John hasn’t changed, but the date . . . and the Great Deception . . .” He returned to where he’d started reading. “I do say, the events leading up to John’s prophecy have changed.”

  “He did change history. He did, he did!” Gabil hopped again, twice, lost his footing, and toppled to the floor. He bounded to his feet and did a little jig of sorts. “Ha! It’s fascinating! It’s magnicalicious!”

  “Please, settle down. That’s not even a word.”

  “Why not?” Gabil said. “If Thomas can change history, I think I have the right to change a few words.”

  He jumped back up on the desk and resumed his search in the Book that recorded the colored forest’s demise.

  Michal looked at him, still gripping the page he’d been reading. “So you really think knowing how Thomas entered the black forest will shed any light on—”

  “Here!”

  Michal jumped. “What is it?”

  “I think I’ve found it! This Book records his story.” He flipped forward to the very end, scanning anxiously. “Here, here, it has to be here in this volume.”

  Michal looked over the pages with interest.

  “Give me space,” Gabil said.

  “Humph.” Michal took a tiny step to his right.

  Gabil came to the last page and stopped cold. “What is this?”

  “What?”

  “It’s been . . .” He leaned forward. “It’s been changed. Erased and written over.”

  Michal crowded Gabil again. “What’s it say?”

  The smaller Roush ran his index finger under the words of the last paragraph, which were clearly written in handwriting different from those preceding.

  He read aloud.

  “Then the man named Thomas found himself in the black forest, where he fell and hit his head and lost his memory. Ha.”

  Gabil looked up at Michal, taken aback.

  “‘Ha’?” Michal asked, incredulous. “It says ‘ha’? That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Then it’s signed.”

  Gabil looked at the page. “Billy, Storyteller,” he read. “Someone named Billy who is a storyteller wrote this.”

  They stared in silence for a few seconds.

  Michal sighed and returned to his Book. “I have to admit, this is . . . fascinating.”

  “It seems Thomas wasn’t the only one who changed history,” Gabil said. “Didn’t I tell you? Ha!”

  “Ha?”

  “Ha!” He closed his book and hopped on top of it. “So read. Read this new history that I told you we would find even though you doubted.” He lifted his chin and grinned.

  Michal eyed his fuzzy friend. “Yes, I guess you did tell me.”

  Then the Roush took a deep breath and began to read from the Book of Histories.

  THE JOURNEY CONTINUES WITH GREEN . . .

  GREEN

  THE LAST STAND

  Author’s Note

  YOU HAVE IN YOUR HANDS the entire Circle Series with an all new ending to Green which brings complete closure to the series.

  Originally Green was seen as Book Zero, an entry point into the series and as such the ending was an intellectual mind bender. That original ending follows the new ending for Green—have some fun with it. But seeing that you clearly started with Black and are ending here with Green I think I owe you a final climax.

  Either way, enjoy the read. Dive Deep. I promise you a trip you will not soon forget.

  Prologue

  ACCORDING TO the Books of History, everything that happened after the year 2010 actually began in the year 4036 AD. It began in the future, not the past. Confusing perhaps, but perfectly understandable once you realize that some things are as dependent on the future as on the past.

  The world’s history was written in the Books of History, those magnificent volumes that recorded only the truth of all that happened. Earth was destroyed once during the twenty-first century, in an apocalypse foretold in the books of the ancient prophets Daniel and John, and then recorded as history in the Books of History. But the time for history was not yet finished, and Elyon in his great wisdom set upon the earth a new firstborn named Tanis.

  This time, Elyon gave humans an advantage: What had been spiritual and unseen became physical and seen. All good and evil could be watched and felt and touched and tasted. As time passed, however, mankind closed its eyes to what was real and became blind to the forces that surrounded it.

  But there remained a small band of rebels who longed to see Elyon as they once had. They were led by one man who claimed to have visited the twenty-first century in his dreams.

  His name was Thomas Hunter.

  This is his story.

  0

  The Future

  CHELISE HUNTER, wife of Thomas Hunter, stood beside her son, Samuel, and gazed over the canyon now flooded with those who’d crossed the desert for the annual Gathering. The sound of pounding drums echoed from the cliff walls; thousands milled in groups or danced in small circles as they awaited the final ceremonies, which would commence when the sun settled beyond the horizon. The night would fill with cries of loyalty and all would feast on fatted cows and hopes for deliverance from their great enemy, the Horde.

  But Samuel, a warrior with a heavy sword and angry glare, had evidently put his hope in something entirely different. He stood still, but she knew that under the leather chest-and-shoulder armor his muscles were tense and, in his mind’s eye, moving already. Racing off to make war.

  Chelise let the breeze blow her hair about her face and tried to calm herself with steady breathing. “This is impossible, Samuel. Complete foolishness.”

  “Is it? Say that to Sacura.”

  “She w
ould agree with me.”

  Sacura, mother of three just a few days earlier, was now mother of two. Her fifteen-year-old son, Richard, had been caught and hung by a Horde scouting party when he’d straggled behind his tribe as it made its way to the Gathering.

  “Then she’s the fool, not me.”

  “You think our nonviolent ways are just a haphazard strategy to gain us the upper hand?” Chelise demanded. “You think returning death with more death will bring us peace? Nearly everyone in the valley was once Horde, including me, in case I need to remind you—now you want to hunt their families because they haven’t converted to our ways?”

  “And you would let them slaughter us instead? How many of us do they need to kill before you shed this absurd love you have for our enemy?”

  Chelise could take his backtalk no longer. It took all of her strength to resist the temptation to slap his face, here and now. But it occurred to her that using violence at precisely this moment would strengthen his point.

  And knowing Samuel, he would only grin. She knew how to fight, they all did as a matter of tradition, but next to Samuel she was the butterfly and he the eagle.

  Chelise settled. For the sake of Jake, her youngest, they must follow the ways of Elyon. For the sake of her father, Qurong, commander of the Horde, and her mother. For the sake of the world, they had to cling to what they knew, not what their emotions demanded from them. To take up arms now would make an unforgivable mockery of all the Circle stood for.

  She faced Samuel and saw that his sleeve was hitched up under his left arm guard. She pulled it down and brushed it flat. “It’s hard, I know,” she said, casting a glance back at the three mounted guards who waited behind them. Samuel’s band numbered a couple dozen, all sharing his hatred. Honorable men who were tired of seeing loved ones die at the hands of the Horde.

  “He’s larger-than-life, we all know that. Just because you’re his son doesn’t mean you have to blaze his trail.”

  She’d meant to console him, but he stiffened and she knew her words had done the opposite. “Not that you feel like you have to measure up to Thomas, but—”

  “This has nothing to do with Thomas!” he snapped, pulling away. “Nobody could possibly measure up to a man with his past. My concern is the future, not some crazy history bounding between the worlds through those dreams of his.”

  Odd that he would refer to the time when Thomas claimed to have traveled back in time through dreams. Thomas so rarely referred to it himself those days.

  “Forget his dreams. My husband is the leader of the Circle. He carries the burden of keeping twelve thousand hearts in line with the truth, and you, his son, would undermine that?”

  Samuel’s jaw knotted. “The truth, Mother?” he bit off. He shoved a hand south, in the direction of Qurongi Forest, once controlled by Thomas and the Forest Guard, now inhabited by her father, leader of the Horde, Qurong. “The truth is, your precious Horde hates us and butchers us wherever they find us.”

  “What do you suggest?” she cried. “Run off now, on the eve of our greatest celebration, in search of a few Scabs who are likely back in the city by now?”

  Samuel lowered his hand and looked back at his men. Then to the south again. “We have him now.”

  “You have who now?”

  “The Scab who killed Sacura’s son. We have him captive in a canyon.”

  Chelise didn’t know what to say to this. They had taken a Scab captive? Who’d ever heard of such a thing?

  “We’re going to give him a trial in the desert,” Samuel said.

  “For what purpose?”

  “For justice!”

  “You cannot kill him, Samuel! The Gathering would come undone! I don’t have to tell you what that would do to your father.”

  “To my father?” He looked at her. “Or to you, Mother, the daughter of Qurong, supreme commander of all that is wicked and vile?”

  Chelise slapped him. Nothing more than a flat palm to his cheek, but the crack of the blow sounded like a whip.

  Samuel grinned. She immediately wished to take her anger back.

  “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean that. But you’re speaking of my father!”

  “Yes, you did mean that, Mother.” He turned and strode toward his horse.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To conduct a trial,” he said.

  “Then at least bring him in, Samuel.” She started after him, but he was already swinging into the saddle. “Think!”

  “I’m done thinking.” He pulled his horse around and brushed past his men, who turned with him. “It’s time to act.”

  “Samuel . . .”

  “Keep this between us, will you?” he said, looking over his shoulder. “I’d hate to put a damper on such a wonderful night of celebration.”

  “Samuel. Stop this!”

  He kicked his horse and left her with the sound of pounding hooves.

  Dear Elyon . . . the boy would be the ruin of them all.

  1

  THOMAS HUNTER stood next to his wife, Chelise, facing the shallow canyon lined by three thousand of Elyon’s lovers, who’d drowned in the red lakes to rid their bodies of the scabbing disease that covered the skin of all Horde.

  The reenactment of the Great Wedding had taken an hour, and the final salute, which would usher the Gathering into a wild night of celebration, was upon them.

  As was customary, both he and Chelise were dressed in white, because Elyon would come in white. She with lilies in her hair and a long, flowing gown spun from silk; he in a bleached tunic, dyed red around the collar to remind them of the blood that had paid for this wedding.

  This was their great romance, and there could not possibly be a dry eye in the valley.

  Six maidens also in white faced Chelise and Thomas on their knees and sang the Great Wedding’s song. Their sweet, yearning voices filled the valley as they cried the refrain in melodic unison, faces bright with an eager desperation.

  You are Beautiful . . . so Beautiful . . . Beautiful . . . Beautiful . . .

  The drums lifted the cry to a crescendo. Milus, one of the older children, had recounted their history earlier in the night to thundering applause. Now Thomas retraced from his own vantage all that had brought them here.

  Ten years ago, most of these people had been Horde, enslaved by Teeleh’s disease. The rest were Forest Dwellers who had kept the disease at bay by washing in Elyon’s lakes once every day as he’d directed.

  Then the Horde, led by Qurong, had invaded the forests and defiled the lakes. All had succumbed to the scabbing disease, which deceived the mind and cracked the skin.

  But Elyon made a new way to defeat the evil disease: Any Horde simply had to drown in one of the red pools, and the disease would be washed away, never to return. Those who chose to drown and find new life were called albinos by the Horde, because their skin, whether dark or light, was smooth.

  The albinos formed a Circle of trust and followed their leader, Thomas of Hunter.

  The Horde, however, divided into two races: Purebred Horde, who’d always had the scabbing disease, and half-breeds, who’d been Forest Dwellers but turned Horde after Qurong’s invasion of the forests. The full-breed Horde despised and persecuted the half-breeds because they’d once been Forest Dwellers.

  Eram, a half-breed, had fled Qurong’s persecution and welcomed all half-breeds to join him in the deep northern desert, where they thrived as Horde and enemies of Qurong. Nearly half a million, rumor had it.

  They called the faction who followed Eram Eramites, remnants of the faithful who were as diseased as any other Scab. All suffered from the sickly, smelly disease that covered the skin and clouded the mind.

  Thomas glanced at his bride. To look at Chelise’s smooth, bronzed jaw now . . . her bright emerald eyes had once been gray. Her long blonde hair had once been tangled dreadlocks smothered in morst paste to fight the stench of the scabbing disease.

  Chelise, who’d given birth to one of his three children,
was a vision of perfect beauty. And in so many ways they were all perfectly beautiful, as Elyon was beautiful. Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful.

  They had all once denied Elyon, their maker, their lover, the author of the Great Romance. Now they were the Circle, roughly twelve thousand who lived in nomadic tribes, fugitives from the Horde hunters who sought their deaths.

  Three thousand had come together northwest of Qurongi City in a remote, shallow canyon called Paradose. They did this every year to express their solidarity and celebrate their passion for Elyon.

  The Gathering, they called it. This year four Gatherings would take place near four forests, one north, one south, one east, one west. The danger of all twelve thousand crossing the desert from where they had scattered and coming to one location was simply too great.

  Thomas scanned the three thousand strewn along the rocks and on the earth in a huge semicircle before him. After three days of late nights and long days filled with laughter and dancing and innumerable embraces of affection, they now stared at him in wide-eyed silence.

  A large bonfire raged to his left, casting shifting shadows over their intent gazes. To his right, the red pool glistened, black in the night, one of seventy-seven they’d found throughout the land. Cliffs surrounded the hidden canyon, broken only by two gaps wide enough for four horses abreast. Guards lined the tops of the cliffs, keeping a keen eye on the desert beyond for any sign of Horde.

  How many times over the past ten years had members of the Circle been found and slaughtered wholesale? Too many to count. But they had learned well, gone deep, tracked the Horde’s movements, become invisible in the desert canyons. So invisible that the Scabs now often referred to the Circle as ghosts.

  But Thomas now knew that the greatest danger no longer came from the Horde.

  Treachery was brewing inside the Circle.

  A horse snorted from the corrals around the bend behind Thomas. The fire popped and crackled as hungry flames lapped at the shimmering waves of heat they chased into the cool night air. The breathing of several thousand bodies steadied in the magic of the maiden’s song.