Chaos

by Ted Dekker

  “But she gave you her blue book and told you about us,” Karas said. “So why didn’t you contact me sooner?”

  “I can’t say I truly believed her until I saw Johnis and Silvie on the Net, speaking of the books in the exact same way Darsal did. Needless to say, I was shocked. I left immediately.”

  “Where is it?” Karas demanded.

  Miranda stared at the younger woman, dropped her smoke stick on the marble, and ground it out with a high-heeled black shoe.

  “Darsal made me promise two things before she died. That I would never so much as show the book she left to any person without first confirming they had the others. And that I was to give the book to Johnis only and offer to help.”

  The curator from Turkey slid one leg over the other and waited for them to react.

  Karas crossed her legs in similar fashion. “Then give Johnis the blue book. It’s the only help we need.”

  Miranda smiled at her for a few long beats, then stood and crossed behind the couch. “Listen to you, refusing help from a friend who owes a debt. If Darsal was right, you already have your share of enemies, lurking out there in the night.”

  She ran her hand along the back cushion. A finger over Johnis’s shoulder. “So beautiful and innocent, yet so naive.”

  “Bold for a woman standing in my house,” Karas said.

  “Take your hand off of him!” Silvie shouted.

  Miranda continued, drawing her hand along his shoulder as she walked past. “She was very specific,” she said. “According to Darsal, the presence of four books in this reality makes the final three visible. I’m assuming that to now be the case. But she also said that if the four books are brought, they can open a gateway back into the other reality. Now, you understand my reluctance to just hand over that kind of power to anyone.”

  “We are Johnis, Silvie, and Karas!” Johnis said. “What else do you need?”

  “The books,” Miranda said. “Show me the other three books, and convince me you have a plan to recover the final three, and I’ll give you the fourth. I assure you it’s only a matter of precaution.”

  Miranda might have stumbled onto Darsal’s book, but she was still a seductive tramp, and the faster they satisfied her curiosity and got rid of her, the better, Silvie thought.

  “Fine. Show her the books, Karas.”

  Johnis nodded.

  Karas eyed the woman cautiously, then retreated into her mansion, to the vault that she’d shown them earlier.

  Miranda leaned up against the railing and smoked another cigarette. She stared at the mansion, ignoring them as if they didn’t exist.

  “I don’t trust her,” Silvie whispered.

  “Think about it; she’s playing her cards right.”

  “What do you mean, ‘right ? She’s a tramp!”

  “Please, Silvie, she’s sitting on what she now knows is a very powerful book. She’s testing us, playing the tramp, throwing us off center.”

  “To what end? That’s ridiculous.”

  “People reveal their true character when they’re off center. You have to at least admire her tactics.”

  “Bah! I don’t buy it.”

  Karas glided toward them, holding the wooden box. “Where is your book?” she asked.

  “Show me,” Miranda said, stepping up to the table.

  “Are we complete imbeciles?” Johnis said. “Prove that you have the blue book.”

  Miranda eyed him. Smiled. She reached into her purse, pulled out an object bound in aging white cloth, and set it on the table.

  Johnis unwrapped the blue Book of History and set it down gingerly. It could be a fake, but if so, it was a perfect replica. Silvie didn’t think there was a way to prove the authenticity of the book without actually using it.

  “Looks real.”

  “Of course it’s real,” Miranda said. “Now yours.”

  Johnis nodded.

  Karas pulled the black, the brown, and the green Books of History out and laid them next to each other on the glass table. They stared at them in silence.

  “So …” Miranda finally said. “Tell me how you’re planning to find the other three.”

  “You think it’s wise to discuss that in front of her?” Silvie demanded.

  “Discuss what?” Johnis said. “We don’t even have a plan. Admittedly, she’s come off like a rude tramp.” He turned to her and shrugged. “Sorry, but it’s true.” Back to Silvie, “But that doesn’t make her wrong.”

  What could she say to that?

  “I don’t like her attitude,” Karas said.

  “She brought us the blue book,” Johnis said. “You don’t have to like her attitude. Or her hairstyle or the way she’s dressed, for that matter. She makes a point. What is our next move?”

  Karas sighed. “The subject of my dreams for ten years. I only know details of the mission from what Darsal shared on Other Earth, and she wasn’t the most forthcoming, being so consumed with Billos. But I’ve also pieced together a few details from the people in Paradise, Colorado, that might help us.”

  “Such as?”

  She sat. “I told you about the simulation called Paradise earlier, the one we entered by touching the cover of the book with blood.”

  “Yes.”

  “I dug up everything I could get my hands on about Paradise, Colorado, and I found more. It seems to be some kind of epicenter for the books, not only in the simulation, but also in reality.”

  “Darsal mentioned Paradise,” Miranda said. “Only to say that it was the first place she searched before going to Turkey.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing. A small town that refuses to grow up,’ she said.”

  “Maybe there’s a reason it refuses to grow up. Follow me here. We know that Thomas Hunter spared this world from impending disaster in 2010, roughly twenty-three years ago, right?”

  “Right,” Johnis said, though he couldn’t possibly know this level of detail. “As you say.” Better.

  “What very few know is that an incident occurred in Paradise eleven years later—the year 2021. An experiment in a monastery dubbed ‘Project Showdown,’ in which thirty-six children were raised in a kind of utopian environment, spared from evil. But the whole thing went terribly wrong.”

  “How does this fit into the seven missing books?” Johnis asked.

  “It’s rumored that the children in the monastery had access to magical books”—she looked at Miranda—“from Turkey.”

  “The Books of History?”

  “I think Thomas Hunter brought some Books of History into this reality,” Karas said. “And among them were the books we seek.”

  “In Paradise?”

  “It’s a starting point,” Karas said. “Think about it, the history of the world rests in the hands of the choices we make. My own history changed when I chose to bathe in the lake water. It’s the will of men that Teeleh seeks. Paradise is made or corrupted depending on the choices of children and the evil character they shudder to think about. A priest gone bad: Marsuvees Black.”

  “So the quest for the books was always about saving this place, not the forests?” Silvie asked.

  “Perhaps. And maybe Paradise is the epicenter. Paradise, perfection. In our history there is a number that represents perfection.”

  “Seven,” Miranda said.

  Karas nodded. “The seven lost books.” She shrugged. “It’s a thought anyway.”

  Silvie was still stuck on the suggestion that their entire mission was about saving this reality rather than saving the forests from the Horde.

  “If the mission has always been about this reality,” Johnis said, tracking with her, “then who is the Dark One? This ‘Black’ character?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

  Crickets chirped in the darkness.

  “So,” Miranda said, and they all looked at her. “You’ll take up your search in this town of yours—Paradise, Colorado.” The moon was high now, and the woman’s face was pale by it
s light. As were her arms and hands, Silvie saw. She was a curator, who rarely saw the light of day.

  Karas shook her head. “Actually, no. Not the town. I’ve scoured it high and low, and the monastery is gone. I’m more interested in the history of the books that destroyed Paradise.” Her eyes settled on Miranda. “And those books came from Turkey.” “Oh?”

  “But that’s enough. We’ve said enough for you to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that we are who we say we are and are committed to finding the books. You can leave this book with us.”

  “Yes, of course. But first, Darsal insisted that I tell the chosen one something. That would be Johnis.”

  “We’re all chosen,” Silvie snapped.

  “Johnis. She was quite specific. Come.”

  Johnis stood still, clearly unsure about the way she’d ordered him.

  “Don’t be afraid. Come here.”

  He walked up to her tentatively.

  Silvie saw her move a split second before the weapon was in Miranda’s hand. She whipped a gun hidden in her loose slacks like a striking snake and leveled it at his head.

  “Can the chosen one dodge bullets?” Miranda asked sweetly. “I don’t think so. No one moves, or he dies.”

  A dull thumping beat at the air then swelled to a pounding that buffeted the night.

  Miranda smiled. “We’re going to find out just how much power these books have. If Darsal was right, the world as we know it is about to change.”

  A helicopter rose over the edge of the pool—how it had remained undetected or from where ir had come, Silvie didn’t know, but she could see that Karas was dumbfounded.

  Two warriors in black hung from either door, their weapons trained on Silvie and Karas. The flying beetle hovered ten feet from Miranda, who smiled gently.

  “Do something, Silvie. Let me send at least one of you to join Darsal.” And Silvie knew she would at the slightest excuse.

  Miranda walked to the table, scooped up all of the books except the one she’d brought, and stepped back, maintaining her sights on Johnis.

  “You can keep that blue book; it’s worthless. Into the bird, baby.” She waved the gun at the helicopter. “Now!”

  Silvie knew she had to do something. But it was all happening too quickly, and she half-expected Karas to stop the tramp! Silvie stood rooted to the ground, her mind blank. Johnis stared, pleading for her to save him.

  “Teeleh’s lair,” he said.

  Miranda lowered her gun a few inches and pulled the trigger. A projectile tugged at Johnis’s jeans, but he did not move, did not even flinch. Blood seeped from the superficial wound.

  “Go on, Silvie,” Miranda sneered. “Go for one of those knives in your pocket. Move, Johnis, or I go higher.”

  “Teeleh’s lair, Silvie,” he said. “Tell Karas every—”

  “Silence!”

  Johnis turned and walked to the helicopter.

  Silvie took a step forward, her heart hammering, ready to throw herself at the woman backing to the bird.

  “No, Silvie,” Karas said. “Not now.”

  “No, Silvie,” Miranda cried over the slicing blades. “Not now, not ever.” She slid into the cabin, and the aircraft rose. It chopped higher into the night sky and faded into the darkness, leaving them speechless.

  “We’ve lost the books,” Karas said.

  Silvie whirled on the young girl who’d grown up overnight. “The books? You have all the power in the world, and you let this tramp into your house to take Johnis?”

  “Easy …”

  “How dare you?” she screamed, trembling from head to foot. “How dare you let them take him? He’s all I have!”

  “Your emotions, Silvie.” Karas walked up to her. “Please, I’m sorry …”

  Silvie felt her hand move before she could stop herself. Felt the sting of her palm as it struck the older girl’s cheek.

  For a moment they stared at each other, Silvie breathing steadily through her rage, Karas standing white with a red cheek.

  Karas stepped forward, opening her arms.

  I’ve lost him, Silvie thought. I’ve lost Johnis …”

  Then she dropped her head onto Karas’s shoulder and began to weep.

  hoever Miranda Card was, she seemed to have adequate resources at her disposal, Johnis thought. He doubted any average human in the Histories had access to helicopters and jets like the one he’d been hustled into.

  The two assistants that worked for the woman had strapped a muzzle over his mouth, fixed a blindfold on his head, clamped shackles on his hands and feet, and shoved him into the dark compartment in which he now lay. The whole abduction, from the time they’d left the ground at Karas’s home to the time they’d switched over to the jet and taken to the air once again, had been a half hour at most. No sign of Miranda Card.

  Johnis lay on his side, telling himself to remain calm. His nerves were sending fear through his system—more than he was accustomed to. He kept telling himself it was the air here, as Karas had said. He’d faced the Shataiki and felt less fear.

  Then again, maybe he had reason to feel more fear now than when he’d faced Teeleh. He was in the belly of a flying beast far above the ground, being flown to the far reaches of an earth stuck in the Histories, far from anything remotely familiar to him.

  And if that wasn’t enough cause for alarm, there was the fact that they’d managed to hand all four books over to an enemy about whom they knew next to nothing other than her clear intent to use the books for harm. It had to be the doing of Alucard. He’d killed Darsal and then corrupted the woman who’d taken her book.

  A door opened. Slammed shut. Fingers pulled the blindfold up to his forehead.

  Miranda Card stood above him, expressionless except for a wicked flash in her eyes. She’d changed into a charcoal dress with thin straps over each shoulder, black lacy underclothing peeking below the hem at her knees. Instead of high heels, she wore black leather boots with dark grey socks. Black rubber straps circled her neck and wrists. A tattoo of a serpent crawled along her right shoulder.

  She tugged the muzzle free and shoved a bowl of water toward him with her foot. “Drink. I don’t need you dead yet.”

  Johnis had no appetite for water, not with this creature lording over him. She was worse than the Shataiki—at least they were inhuman beasts given to the destruction of good. But this one …

  A human who’d turned. Like Tanis. Like the Horde. It was no wonder that the people of the Histories would come to a nasty end, as was spoken of in hushed tones around campfires—more than mere legends.

  “I’m sorry your travels between the worlds had to come to such an abrupt end so soon, but I’ve been patient enough.”

  “You’re bluffing; you only have three of the books,” he said.

  “I assure you, I have the blue book, complete with the smudge of Datsal’s blood on the first page. I not only have it; I’ve used it to enter the simulation—Paradise—many times. I assume you know about the simulation. The skin of this world.”

  “I’ve been there once. The man in the desert.”

  “Oh, that—Red, one of Black’s creations gone rogue. As was White. Never mind them. I have all four books now, which is the key to the final three.”

  “You’re underestimating Karas,” Johnis said, “She’s probably already on a jet, chasing you down.”

  “Is that so? To where?”

  “Turkey.”

  Miranda grinned, then flattened her mouth. “Turkey is where the books were collected before they went to the monastery. They disappeared again, but not to Turkey; I’ve exhausted my search there,”

  “Then where?”

  Miranda walked to the door, opened it, and stepped outside. “Romania,” she said, and shut him into pitch darkness once again.

  THE FLIGHT LASTED FOR MANY HOURS, AND AT ONE POINT Johnis was sure they would perish. The flying contraption bounced around like a tube strapped to a stallion’s rear quarters. He cried out in alarm a dozen times
, begging for Elyon to take him quickly, but if anyone was listening, he neither responded nor settled the bucking ship.

  It occurred to him after an hour of being thrown about that they must be under attack. Karas had found them and was giving chase! It was the only possible explanation. Surely she realized that if the jet crashed to the ground, he would go with it! But when they finally hauled him from the craft in the dead of night, no one showed any concern of having narrowly escaped disaster.

  They bound him in the back of a square, black car and sped through darkness, led by another car that carried Miranda Card. “Bucharest,” one of them said, when Johnis asked where they were. And then, with a chuckle, “Welcome to hell.”

  Johnis still had some advantages they might not know about. His speed, his strength. His superior intelligence, although according to Karas, his mind would need time to make the adjustment.

  Neither his speed nor his strength offered any advantage as long as they kept him in shackles. They seemed to have taken all the necessary precautions.

  The large car left the city lights behind and climbed laboriously up a winding road that quickly turned rough. Dirt rather than concrete. A light fog settled over the mountain, but the headlamps pierced it with thick chords of light. The longer they traveled, the less talking took place between the driver and his guard. Soon the only sounds were the engines whine and crunching gravel under the wheels.

  When they finally stopped and turned off the engine, the air felt heavy, or was it the silence? The fog had thinned, and he could see the colossal citadel towering over them, barely visible against the dark sky. No lights. And no windows to allow light out.

  Miranda walked in ahead of him. They shoved him forward, forcing him to take small, quick steps to avoid tripping on the shackles.

  He stumbled through huge wooden doors that thudded shut behind him. Miranda’s hard-soled shoes echoed down the torch-lit stone hall.

  “There is no escape, chosen one. Follow me.” Her voice dripped with spite.

  Johnis followed, his heart pounding with each clank of his chains. Down the hall, into a stairwell that curved as it fell into the ground. He stopped at the entrance to several tunnels and lifted his arm to his nose. The odor was unmistakable: Shataiki.