Journey Into the Flame: Book One of the Rising World Trilogy

by T. R. Williams

  The loss of his father and mother in a car accident nine years ago had distressed Simon deeply. With no brothers or sisters, Simon had inherited everything—the Château and all of its priceless artwork and arcana, along with the entire Hitchlords fortune. Well, perhaps he hadn’t been all that distressed.

  Sitting in his reading room, Simon browsed through the pages of a tattered blue journal. Its cover had the remnants of two bloody handprints, one smaller than the other. As he turned the handwritten pages, his eyes were drawn to the strange mark in the upper right corner.

  Simon paused at places where pages had obviously been torn out. That bothered him. Why were they torn out? What am I missing? He couldn’t let it distract him. He kept turning the pages until he found the entry he was looking for, one he had read many times before.

  December 24, 2033. It has been just over three years since I found the books in the forest. I am learning that they contain more veiled secrets than we’d thought. In addition to the printed words on the pages, I am beginning to see strange Old English-styled writings and symbols on the pages I’d at first thought were blank at the end of the third book. Symbols beyond the Fundamental Four. I haven’t told anyone, not the Council, not even Cassandra, although I suspect that she might also be seeing them. The Satraya Flame seems to be the key. If you truly begin to master the flame and then look at the pages, the hidden writings and symbols appear. These symbols are different as they seem to float on the page. They seem to hold the promise of something powerful and supernatural.

  Simon paused for a moment and looked up at the crackling fire in the fireplace. He remembered watching Camden scribble in the journal during Council meetings. Simon’s father, Fendral, had attempted to browse through it one day, but Camden caught him and thereafter guarded the journal more closely. Simon looked back down and continued to read.

  There are three blank pages at the end of Book III. Two of the pages have hidden symbols and writings on them. Combinations that look like “Be” and “Te” on the first blank page, written in the same Old English style. On the second, I’ve seen the word “Solokan.” It always appeared below a fragment of a solid line and an arc of some sort. The third page is still a mystery to me. It seems to have only a partial symbol and some scattered letters, among them clearly “m” and “o.” I don’t have the focus yet to see the complete symbol or decipher the words.

  Tomorrow I am going to ask Deya and Madu if they are seeing hidden symbols in the final pages of the third volume in their sets. I am going to borrow their books for the night. I dare not ask Fendral.

  When Simon had finished reading the entry, he closed the journal. He was not the first in his family to study the occult. Other Hitchlords men had studied many different doctrines, hoping to attain the powers they promised. After his parents died, at the urging of Andrea’s husband, Lord Benson, Simon had spent a great deal of time studying the history of his lineage and the activities of his forefathers. He also studied the esoteric works his family had secretly acquired, sometimes by questionable means: books, papers, scrolls. Now Simon browsed through an old leather folder containing some of them. There was a handwritten letter dated March 18, 1882, which was purported to have come from the original collection of the Mahatma Letters, currently locked away in the British Museum. Of course, this letter had been appropriated before the six-volume collection reached the museum. The exquisite penmanship of the letter and the masterful strokes of the sage’s blue pen impressed Simon. He was particularly interested in the part of the letter that dealt with the power of symbols.

  Regarding your question about symbols. The most direct answer to your query is an emphatic yes. Symbols do hold great and immense power. We must tread lightly here upon the subjects of images, marks, and motifs. There exists information that cannot be communicated by any language that you possess. It is only through proper inward study and contemplation that the secrets of the symbols are revealed. But rare is the person who can cleanly wield the power which is bestowed upon them. Therefore, we who guard them do not cast them before man carelessly. For in the wrong hands the symbols could unleash great harm upon our world.

  The cross motif, of the venerable Yeshua Ben Yosef, is regarded as such a symbol. In our ancient span, it was revered as the Intersection of Man, where his journey from left to right intersected with his journey from lower to higher (excuse our words, for we possess not tongue to properly impart this mark). It depicted a standing man or woman with their arms spread open, welcoming that which was before them into their heart. It represented unconditional love, which could not be spoken but only experienced. We are saddened to see that it has been used for such vile subjugation over the last two of your ages. In the old ways, this is a mark to be embraced by all men and women for it applies to each equally.

  Second, the original Shield of David, the inverted triads. One representing man’s journey from heaven to earth and the other representing his journey from earth to heaven. How has your world used this most powerful of symbols? This too is an old and ancient mark whose original meaning is lost to you, but not to us. This too is a mark to be understood and adopted by all men and women.

  There will soon be one born into your world who will pursue a particular mark. It is yet another old symbol that will be misused for a terrible act. The mark of the sun and of the fourth seal will soon be bloodied for eons to come. Its original beauty will be lost, only held sacred by those who left long ago. Be wary of the one who chooses the Swastika, for his abuse of the mark will last for many ages.

  Symbols are put away for great purpose. But we cannot permanently shield them from view. We have not that claim upon them. All symbols are for all the children of the spirit. When properly and adequately focused upon, they endow the observer with great powers. No symbol judges right from wrong, no symbol is the arbiter of good and evil. The symbol only transmits information and power from the moment it was fashioned.

  Simon closed the folder and set it on top of Camden’s journal. Symbols, he thought. And secrets. As Camden wrote in his journal, the Satraya Flame is the key . . .

  One of the first techniques described in the Chronicles, the Satraya Flame involved sitting motionless in front of a lit candle. With diligent practice, an individual would be able to still his mind and reach a point of utter clarity. The mysteries a person would be able to realize in that moment of clarity were said to be indescribable and could only be experienced.

  Like his father and Andrea, Simon had not been able to muster the discipline to accomplish the task fully. At least, not until he’d obtained Camden’s journal, read its entries, and discovered what an irresistible prize such discipline would yield. Having worked diligently over the past two years to master the Satraya Flame, Simon had begun to apply the same technique to the blank pages of the books. His father’s set of the Chronicles held secrets just as the other sets did. Odd shapes and lettering similar to what Camden had described. Simon’s personal quest was to learn all of those secrets. No one in Era, not even Andrea, knew of his pursuit.

  Just then, there was a knock on the door. One of Simon’s servants entered, carrying a leather bag. “Good evening, sir. Macliv has just arrived, and he sent this forward. He brought a guest and is waiting for you in the lower chamber.”

  Simon nodded. “Set them down.”

  The servant put the leather bag on the desk and exited the room, closing the door behind him. Then Simon opened the bag. Along with the books he’d been waiting for, he found a note from Andrea.

  Dearest Simon,

  Here are the Chronicles from Cairo. I will be visiting the doctor at G-LAB to ensure that everything there is proceeding as planned. We will take care of some business in Washington, D.C., and then travel to the activation site for the day of victory.

  Fondly,

  Andrea

  Simon tossed the note into the fire and pulled the Pyramid Set from the leather pouch. He put the books on the desk in front of him, next to his father’s set of The
Chronicles of Satraya, which was known as the Train Set. The Forest Set, which had been acquired at the auction the night before, was scheduled to arrive the next morning via armored courier. The only set missing was the one Deya Sarin had found, the River Set. And soon he would have that one, too.

  “Your nightmare is coming to pass, Camden,” Simon said, laughing.

  He rose from his desk. He had a guest to greet in the dungeon.

  10

  Opportunities for adventure are all around you. Whether the adventure is small or large, short or long, find the courage to go on one. It does not matter where you think it will lead; just know it will lead to where you have never been.

  —THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

  NEW CHICAGO, ILLINOIS, 9:00 A.M. LOCAL TIME,

  5 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

  “Even if I were convinced that Simon and Andrea were responsible for my parents’ murders and all that happened last night, what would you have me do?” Logan asked Mr. Perrot. “There’s nothing I want more than to bring my parents’ killers to justice. But if they’re as ruthless as you say, then nothing and nobody is off limits to them. How do we guarantee our own safety? Or the safety of our families?”

  “We can’t,” Mr. Perrot stated matter-of-factly. “This will be a risky undertaking. The authorities cannot help us until we manage to get some evidence implicating Simon and Andrea. And in order for that to happen, we have to take matters into our own hands.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “The theft in Cairo is one thing, but the murder of Cynthia leads me to believe that something worse is coming. Andrea does not do things without having a grand purpose in mind. We must do what the Council members and the volunteers didn’t do all those years ago: we need to confront Andrea directly.”

  “Where do we find her?” Logan was pacing with his hands in his pockets. He turned to Mr. Perrot. “Do you think Ms. Crawley at the auction house might know where she lives?”

  “No, Logan,” Mr. Perrot answered. “These people are not so easily found. We have to do something that will draw them out.”

  Logan suddenly stopped his pacing. “I forgot about this,” he said, as he pulled an envelope from his pocket. Logan removed the note and unfolded it. “It fell out of one of the books last night during the auction.” Blue wax seemed to have melted and dripped all over it. “It’s hard to make out,” Logan said, as he went and grabbed a magnifying glass from his father’s desk. Mr. Perrot put on his reading glasses. Together, they attempted to read the faded writing.

  November 19, 2037

  To My Dearest Friend Baté Sisán,

  I hope life finds you well and in good spirits.

  I am writing this letter because I suspect that my entire world is being watched. I cannot confirm it, but I feel it. The Council has splintered, the group has broken apart. Your warnings were not heeded. I wish they had been.

  Deya and Madu have returned home. We are leaving tomorrow. I fear for them and us. I have persuaded Robert to come with us. I know that it was not what we had planned. But I don’t know how to help anymore; we have to protect our families. I suspect that I may never see you again. I will never forget your help.

  Maybe the answer will come in the flame to the person brave enough to look. Sadly, that person cannot be me. I will hide it under the old meeting place. 4B5W. The King’s Gambit is our best and only option. They must accept it. I pray to the star above that everything will unfold properly. It is now in the hands of destiny to select the finder.

  Your friend, Camden Ford

  Logan and Mr. Perrot were silent for a few moments. Then Logan asked, “Who is Baté Sisán?”

  “That is a name I have never heard before,” Mr. Perrot answered.

  “It’s odd that the letter was never sent,” Logan commented. “Why write a letter like this and not send it?”

  Mr. Perrot shook his head and then repeated a part of the letter: “ ‘I will hide it under the old meeting place . . .’ ”

  “Do you know what it means?” Logan asked.

  “I believe so,” Mr. Perrot answered. “It must be the old meeting place in the basement of the current offices of the Council of Satraya in Washington, D.C. The harder question to answer is what we are going to find when we search there.”

  “What do you mean, when we search there?”

  “Well, my boy, you said you wanted to see your parents’ killers brought to justice. Here is your chance. And mine. It seems as though an old man has been granted a second chance. I am going to make the choice I failed to make all those years ago. I am going to enter the fight.” He turned to Logan and waited. “Now the only question is, what are you going to do?”

  Logan stayed silent and continued to look at Mr. Perrot.

  “If fear endeavors to guide your choice, then to the wise one, the choice has already been made,” Mr. Perrot recited.

  “A line from the Chronicles?” Logan asked.

  Mr. Perrot nodded.

  Logan folded the note and put it back into his pocket. I guess I have someplace to go and something to do now, he thought. “How long do you think we’ll be gone?”

  Mr. Perrot smiled. Their adventure was on.

  11

  Find a place to go that is yours. It can be under a tree or atop a great mountain, it matters not. But wherever it might be, call it your own.

  —THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

  ISLE OF MAN, 9:00 P.M. LOCAL TIME, 5 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

  The Arcis Chamber was the easternmost room in Sebastian Quinn’s home. Twelve onyx pillars adorned the curved wall of the circular room, and between the pillars stood twelve statues carved from limestone. Twelve sages of old, six male and six female. The familiar embodiments of Yeshua Ben Yosef, Buddha, Saint Germain, and the ancient one named Ramachandra stood next to others, such as the Lady of Light, of whom history spoke little but whose contributions were profound. The black and white checkered floor was clean and polished, reflecting the dim light that emanated from behind the statues and from the great chandelier that hung from the center of the domed ceiling. Soft violin music filled the room, the sound of a bell and the strumming of a harp occasionally joining the calming melody. A soft drumbeat could also be heard in the background. A hint of roses scented the air. A circular mat with a cushion had been laid in the center of the floor, and directly to the right of it was a goblet of water. A meter in front of the goblet was a golden candlestick holding an unlit blue candle. A silver lighter rested on the floor next to the candlestick.

  Sebastian entered the chamber, walked across the checkered floor to the center of the room, and stood with his feet together behind the mat. He closed his eyes and allowed the serenity of the room and the music to envelop him. He put his hands together as if to pray and slowly bowed. Then he straightened, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. In a focused state, he opened his eyes and walked over to the candlestick. He picked up the lighter and lit the blue candle. The struggling flame crackled at first, then settled into a still, brilliant light. With a single voice command, the lights in the Arcis Chamber slowly dimmed to darkness. The only illumination came from the solitary flame at the center of the chamber.

  Sebastian sat on the cushion, crossing his legs and moving into a half-lotus position. He took a sip of water from the goblet, then placed his hands gently on his knees. He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The flame, which stood at eye level a meter in front of him, quivered in response to his exhalation but within a moment returned to its steady burn. Sebastian fixed his eyes on the flame, and as if a switch had been engaged, he held perfectly still. The faces of the statues, which were dully illuminated by the candlelight, looked like ghosts and wayward spirits. Sebastian tightened his focus, and the ghostlike faces disappeared. The music played on, a flute now joining the violin and the harp. Sebastian deepened his focus again, and the sound of the music faded away. He had mastered his will, and with that mastery, he could push away the sensual world and make room for
something else. His mind was matching the stillness of the flame.

  As known by the adepts of old and as taught in the Chronicles, time was of little consequence; in the center of the flame, one lost all sense of it. The soft music continued to play in the Arcis Chamber, the candle continued to burn, and the fragrance of roses still hung in the air, but not for Sebastian. In his mind, he was reaching a deeper state of the Satraya Flame. He had blocked out any awareness of his body, his surroundings, and any stray thoughts. His only focus was the flame, and even now, that began to fade. He heard nothing, only perfect silence. Different hues of color began to cross in front of his open eyes, as if clouds were passing in the sky. If thoughts could take shape and form, they would most certainly appear as these moving mists of magnificent colors.

  Sebastian’s parents had been adepts at using the flame, too. They had taught him the technique at a very early age, a seemingly simple act of his mind but one that took practice to perfect. When he was young, his parents had him focus on the candle every day. Sometimes they would try to distract him by blowing in his ear or running a feather across his neck, but he’d known he had to remain focused on the flame. They would encourage him, saying in the gentlest, sweetest voices, “A bit more, Sebastian, a bit more. Every moment you become closer to the flame is a moment you become closer to all things. In the flame of Satraya, all that you wish to know will be revealed. The key is sincerity. A bit more, my love, a bit more.”