White

by Ted Dekker

  At first she thought he hadn’t been brought yet. Then she saw him, on the ladder high above, searching madly through the Books again. He looked like a child caught stealing a wheat cake from the jar.

  “Still looking for your secret Book?” she asked.

  He descended quickly and stood with his arms by his sides, twenty feet from her. The long black robe made him look noble. With the hood pulled up and a little morst properly applied, he would look like one of them.

  “Good morning, my lady.”

  “Good morning.”

  “I have a confession,” he said.

  She walked to his right, hands clasped behind her back. “Oh?”

  “I found the parade yesterday appalling.”

  She knew he was probing, but she didn’t care. “I’m sorry about that. My confession is that I found it appalling as well.”

  Her statement robbed him of words, she thought.

  “No decent man should have to suffer that,” she said.

  “I agree.”

  “Good. Then we’re in agreement. Today I would like to learn to read.”

  “I have another confession,” he said.

  “Two confessions. I’m not sure I can match you.”

  “I can’t get you off my mind,” he said.

  Now his statement robbed her of words. Heat spread down the nape of her neck. He was saying too much. Surely he realized that she could only do so much for him. Light, food, a bath, clothing. But she had her limitations.

  “I will never be your savior, Thomas. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  “I don’t think of you as my savior. I think of you as a woman, loved and cherished by Elyon.”

  “You’re saying too much. We should start the lesson now.”

  He looked away, embarrassed. “Of course. I didn’t mean that I had feelings for you. Not as a woman like that. I just . . .”

  “You just what? Do you have an albino wife?”

  “She was killed by your people when we made our first escape from the red lake. Our children are with my tribe now. Samuel and Marie.”

  She wasn’t sure what to make of that. She’d never heard that Thomas of Hunter had lost his wife. Or had children, for that matter.

  “How old are they?”

  “Samuel thinks he’s twenty, though he’s only thirteen. Marie is nearly fifteen.”

  Thomas walked to the shelf and pulled out a Book. “I think it’s important that you realize that your teacher respects you. As a student. As a woman who has ears to hear. I meant nothing else. Shall we begin?”

  They spent an hour with the Book, carefully going over the letters that he insisted were English. They weren’t, of course, but she began to associate certain marks with specific letters. She felt as if she was learning a new alphabet.

  He worked with her with measured reason at first, gently explaining and rehearsing each letter. But as the hour passed, his passion for the task grew and became contagious. He explained with increasing enthusiasm and the movement of his arms became more exaggerated.

  They worked closely, she on the chair behind the desk, he over her shoulder, when he wasn’t pacing the floor in front of her. He had a habit of pressing the tips of his fingers together as he walked, and she found herself wondering how many swords those fingers had held over the years. How many throats had they slit in battle? How many women had they loved?

  She would guess only one. His late wife.

  They laughed and they argued over fine points, and gradually she became more comfortable with his proximity to her. With her proximity to his side, bumping her shoulder when he hurried in to point at a letter she’d missed; to his finger, accidentally touching her own; to his hand, gently tapping her back when she got it right.

  His breath on her cheek when he was too passionate about a particular point to realize he was speaking loudly, so close.

  She was no fool, of course. Thomas was no buffoon. In his own measured way, he was trying to draw her in. Disarming her. Winning her trust. Perhaps even her admiration.

  And she was allowing him to do it. Was it so wrong to bump the shoulder of an albino? Did the guards not touch his skin when they shackled him?

  Three hours had passed when Thomas decided that a test was finally in order.

  “Okay,” he said, clapping his hands. “Read the whole paragraph, beginning to end.”

  “The whole thing?” She felt positively giddy.

  “Of course! Read what you’ve written.”

  She focused on the words and began to read.

  “The woman was give the sword man if running . . .” She stopped. It made no sense to her.

  “That’s not what you’ve written,” he said. “Please, in order, exactly as you wrote it.”

  “I am reading it exactly as I wrote it!”

  He frowned. “Then try again.”

  “What’s wrong? Why does it sound so mixed up?”

  “Please, try again. From the top. Follow with your finger as I showed you.”

  She started again, pointing to each word as she read. “The woman running if horse . . .”

  Chelise looked up at him, horrified. “What’s this nonsense coming from my mouth? I can’t read it!”

  His face lightened a shade. He stepped forward, took the paper she’d written on. His eye ran across the page. “You’re not reading what’s on the page,” he said. “You’re mixing the words.”

  Chelise felt hope drain from her like flour from a broken clay jar. “Then I won’t be able to learn. What good is it if I can write the alphabet and form the words if they don’t make any sense?”

  He set the paper down and paced.

  Chelise felt crushed. She would never be able to read these mysteries. Was she so stupid as that? Her throat suddenly felt tight.

  Thomas faced her. “I’m sorry, Chelise. It’s not your writing or your reading. It’s your heart. It’s the disease. As long as you have the disease, you’ll never be able to read from the Books of Histories.”

  She suddenly felt furious with him. “You knew this? How dare you toy with me!”

  “No! Yes, I suspected that the disease might keep you from hearing, but the other day you did hear the truth behind the story. I thought you might be able to learn.”

  “I have no disease! You’re the albino, not me!” Tears sprang into her eyes.

  Thomas looked stricken. He hurried around the desk and knelt beside her. “I’m so sorry. Please, we can fix this!”

  Chelise placed her forehead in one hand. She took a deep breath and calmed herself. She didn’t understand his sorcery, but she doubted her ignorance was his fault.

  Thomas put a hand on her shoulder. “I can help you. I can teach you to read the Books of Histories, I swear. I will. Do you hear me? I will.”

  “What’s the meaning of this?”

  Woref ’s voice echoed through the room like the crack of a whip.

  Chelise instinctively gasped and sat up. Woref glared at them from the doorway. She’d left the door unlocked?

  The general walked into the room. Thomas withdrew his hand and stood back.

  “How dare you touch her?” Woref raged.

  Chelise stood. “My lord, he was only instructing me on this passage. He did only what I demanded. How dare you suggest anything else?”

  “It makes no difference what you instructed him. No man, certainly no albino, has the right to touch what is mine! Get away from her.”

  Thomas eased away. “The rules of these holy Books supersede the rules of man,” he said. “Are you saying your authority is greater than the Great Romance?”

  “I should cut out your tongue and feed it to Elyon.”

  Woref had lost his reason, Chelise thought. “Then we’ll let Qurong decide by whose authority we live,” she said. “Yours or Elyon’s.”

  Woref scowled at her, then at Thomas. “I don’t see why any instruction would require his comforting.”

  “Comforting?” Chelise smiled wryly. “You
think I would allow this pathetic albino to comfort me? We were playacting. It’s a part of breaking the code required to understand that what I can see now is clearly beyond your mind.” Easy, Chelise.

  She stepped closer to him and winked. “But then I’m not fascinated by a man’s mind. It’s your strength and courage I find exhilarating. If you were a feeble scribe, I would never consent to our marriage.”

  She walked up to him and drew her finger over his shoulder, stepping behind him. “I expected nothing less than this tirade. You flatter me. But you did misunderstand, my lord. Now tell me why you’ve come.”

  He wasn’t buying her toying wholeheartedly, but she’d effectively cut him off.

  “I have changed my mind about the blank Books,” he said, still stern. “They have vanished. My men have searched every possible hiding place for such a large collection, and they can’t be found. I think the sorcery of this albino is to blame. They disappeared about the same time he arrived.”

  “I have no sorcery,” Thomas said.

  Woref dismissed the claim. “I demand that you convince your father to withdraw his request that I find the Books before we are married.”

  “You’ve talked to him about this?”

  “I have. He’s obsessed with these blank Books.”

  “And I understand why,” Chelise said. “The blank Books make the collection complete. Surely you can find them.”

  “As I said, they no longer exist. I won’t delay my possession of you over this nonsense!”

  “Then make my father see the light.”

  “He will only concede on the albinos,” Woref said. “I need you to help him see the light in regard to the Books. I can assure you that I’ll make it up to you.”

  “How has he conceded on the albinos?” Chelise asked.

  “He’s agreed to kill the other four tomorrow. He said that you thought they should be kept alive, but I’ve convinced him otherwise. One living albino is bad enough.”

  She glanced at Thomas and saw the fear cross his face. But she had to choose her battles.

  “Fine. Let me think about how to persuade Qurong to forget about the blank Books. Now if you’ll excuse us, we are in the middle of a lesson.”

  Woref stared at Thomas for a few seconds, spit upon the floor, and walked from the room without closing the door.

  “I beg you, Chelise, you can’t let them die!” Thomas whispered.

  She hurried to the door and closed it. “It’s out of my hands. How would it look for me to beg for their lives?”

  Thomas paced, frenzied.

  “We’re on dangerous ground here. Not only you, but now me. I know Woref ’s kind, and I promise you that one day I’ll pay for what he just saw. You have to be more careful. Please, keep your distance.”

  He suddenly stopped and faced her. “I can dream now!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve been drinking the rhambutan juice because Woref has been holding my friends’ lives over my head. He’s just removed that threat! I’ll refuse to eat the fruit and dream tonight. But they may try to force me. Can you stop them?”

  She didn’t respond. Why this business of dreams was so terribly important to him, she didn’t know. But he was right; Woref had undermined his own threat.

  He rushed over to her and grabbed her hand. “Please, I beg you. And you can’t say a word about this!” He kissed her hand. “Please, not a word!”

  “I . . .” He was still holding her hand. “This isn’t keeping your distance.”

  Thomas released her and stepped back. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean that. I lost my mind.”

  “Clearly.”

  “But you’ll help me?”

  “I can’t help you. But I don’t see the harm in a few dreams.” And then she added something that shocked even her. “As long as you promise to dream about me.”

  19

  The helicopter sat down on the White House lawn with a thump that pounded through Kara’s head. Thomas was on that helicopter. Her brother, who had traveled to hell and back in the last three weeks. Or was it four weeks now?

  The rotors wound down slowly. The door opened and Thomas emerged into the afternoon sun. He stepped onto the grass, ducked his head, and hurried toward them.

  “Hey, Thomas.” She closed the gap between them and met him by the line of secret service agents, which had doubled since news of the crisis had flooded the airwaves.

  Thomas took her in his arms and hugged her. “Hey, sis.”

  “You’re alive,” she said.

  “And kicking.”

  He turned to Monique, who waited with a sheepish smile. “Monique.”

  She took his hand and kissed his cheek. “Hello, Thomas.”

  “How’s it feel?” he asked.

  He was asking her about waking from the dead, Kara thought.

  “You tell me,” she said.

  “Like waking from a dream.”

  “Been doing a lot of that lately, from what I understand.”

  “More than I care. Although I have to say, I think I’m on to something this time.”

  Merton Gains stepped forward, hand extended. “Good to have you back. The president’s expecting you.”

  The situation room was buzzing when Thomas stepped in, followed by Kara and Monique. President Blair saw him and excused himself from a conversation with the secretary of state. He approached with a tired smile and stuck out his hand.

  “The cat has nine lives after all.”

  “Two, actually.” Thomas glanced around the room and lowered his voice. “What I have to say has to be said in private, sir. I’m not sure who we can trust.”

  “And I can’t work in a vacuum,” the president said. “Not this late in the game.”

  “Please, sir, just hear me out. Then you can decide who needs to know. You were told they have someone on the inside?”

  “Yes. Okay, wait for me in my office. Give me a minute. Merton, please show them into the Oval Office and leave them.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Blair took his chief of staff aside and spoke quietly.

  “This way,” Gains said. They followed him silently through several halls bustling with activity. Into the Oval Office.

  They stood in the stately office, surrounded by silence.

  “The Book crossed over with me, Kara.”

  “The blank Book? What do you mean ‘crossed over’?”

  “When I woke up on the gurney in the basement of Fortier’s complex, it was with me. It’s the only object that’s ever crossed between the realities. Skills, blood, and knowledge—and now this Book. And if I’m right, the rest of the blank Books may have followed somehow.”

  “The Books are knowledge,” Kara said. “Knowledge crosses. This is incredible!”

  “No, this isn’t incredible. I lost the Book. It was taken by one of the guards, who has no clue what it can do. How much time do we have with the virus?”

  “Five days. Maybe less, maybe more. Ten before it’s all over.”

  “Then I guess the Book will have to wait.”

  The door suddenly opened and the president walked in alone.

  “Sorry, I got hung up.” He walked to his desk and picked up a warm Pepsi can, then ushered them to the sofas.

  “Okay, Thomas. You’re on.”

  “This office is clean?”

  “Swept for bugs this morning.”

  “By whom? Sorry, never mind. I can’t decide which world I’m in.”

  Blair nodded. “Talk to me.”

  “Okay.” Thomas took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the couch. “Follow me closely. I understand the immediate crisis between Israel and France has been defused.”

  “For the time being. But things could get bad anytime. In three days we lose our nuclear arsenal.”

  “We’re going to need the Israelis.”

  “How so?” the president asked.

  He decided to hold back. “What would you say if I told you I
may have a way to put a man in their inner circle?”

  “You mean next to Fortier?”

  “Close enough to smell his breath.”

  “I would say we should have done that two weeks ago. Who?”

  “Carlos Missirian.”

  “He’s with them. I don’t understand.”

  “I think we may be able to get inside of Carlos’s head. I’ll need Johan for that. They’ve shared a connection once before; I think Johan could do it again. But he’ll need to dream while in contact with my blood.”

  “I’m not sure I know this Johan.”

  “Johan is . . . connected with Carlos?” Kara asked.

  “You’re saying that if Johan dreamed using you as a gateway, he would wake up as Carlos!” Monique said.

  “Yes.”

  “It could work!”

  The president held up his hand. “Excuse me. Maybe you could be a little clearer here.”

  “It’s the way our dreams work,” Thomas said. “All three of us have dreamed. We know someone in the other world who could get to Carlos.”

  “Is that all? I’m surprised I didn’t think of it.”

  “Please, we’re running out of time, Mr. President.”

  Blair lifted both hands. “Fine. I’ll try anything at this point. How do we get to this Johan?”

  “Well, actually, we have a problem there. I’m being held captive at the moment. We have to get Johan to me, which is where Kara comes in.” He looked at his sister. “Come back with me. As Mikil. You and Johan have to break us out of the city—the others are scheduled for execution tomorrow.”

  She stared, lost in the suggestion. “Break you out without fighting?”

  “I have an idea. It’ll be tricky, but with Johan’s help you should have a decent chance.”

  “You can’t fight?” Monique asked. “You should go in there and do whatever’s necessary. Kill the lot if you have to!”

  “No,” Thomas said. “That’s not the way the Circle works now.”

  The president sat back and crossed his legs. “If we weren’t facing extinction, I might be calling security at this point.”

  All three looked at him. Thomas turned back to Kara. “You have to get me out. If Mikil is still near the Southern Forest, a day’s ride south, it may already be too late. But I can’t think of any alternatives.”