by Ted Dekker
“And who holds it now?” Ba’al asked.
“I do,” Jacob said. “Would you like it back the same way?”
“Few Albinos wield the blade. Only we, as Horde. We have the advantage and we have the army. But soon, very soon, that will change. We won’t be the only ones wielding the sword.”
“You speak of Albinos as if they are something to fear,” Qurong said. “These weaklings you capture to study and dissect like insects in your dungeons. Even if they do take up arms, they’re only a few thousand. Flies for our horses to swat off their backs. Gathered as one, my army would number over five hundred thousand.”
“Thomas of Hunter’s Albinos number only a few thousand. But they are not the only Albinos.”
The Elyonites, Jacob thought. From the far side where the young woman had come from. He’d known that Ba’al’s summons was about his failure to bring her back, but watching the priest now, Jacob realized he might have underestimated the weightiness of the matter.
Had Ba’al known she was the 49th?
“The Elyonites have never crossed the Divide,” Qurong said. “They have no interest in our world.”
“Not today, but if she reaches them, that will change.”
“Who?” Jacob interjected. “The Albino who escaped you? The one who claims to be the 49th?”
Ba’al glared at Jacob. Qurong had gone still.
“You let the 49th Mystic out of your grasp?” his father demanded of Ba’al.
“You think I knew?” the priest snapped. “I only just learned the truth myself!”
So Ba’al had spoken to one of Jacob’s men already.
“And how can you be sure?” Qurong asked.
“Because I stole her memory, and yet she now makes a claim that can only come from powers beyond this world.” He paced, hands gripped tight. “She is the one, I now know this in my bones.”
“How could you allow this?” Qurong thundered.
“Are you deaf? I did not know!”
“Then what good are you to us? A prophet with no power to know the greatest threat when it arises? You should have killed her while she was in your dungeons instead of subjecting her to all of these nonsensical tests and dissections you perform on Albinos!”
“No. Not kill. The 49th must be taken alive. If we kill any 49th, another will only rise in their place. No, she must be made to betray her kind, this much is certain. In either this world or the other. It is the only way to be done with the threat forever.”
“The other?” Qurong eyed him with disdain. Ba’al had occasionally spoken of other worlds, but neither Jacob nor his father gave such talk any mind. They were the mad ramblings of a religious fool.
“I realize you don’t care about other dimensions,” Ba’al said. “But you will. Indeed, her defeat in that other world will facilitate her defeat here, and vice versa. She must betray herself, either here or there. To this end, Teeleh long ago dispatched a Leedhan to the other world to wait for her. If the 49th doesn’t betray herself, all Horde are doomed.”
The prophecy. Then the lion will lie down with the lamb. Meaning the lion, all Horde, would bow to the lamb and become Albino. Ba’al insisted that he knew this from Teeleh.
This, Jacob could grasp. But Ba’al’s speaking of other worlds confused the matter. How could such a thing be possible?
Qurong’s jaw flexed. “If there is this other world, and if Teeleh dispatched a Leedhan to deal with the 49th long ago, why is there still a problem? This is the typical posturing your kind always—”
“Because the 49th only becomes the 49th at the fullness of age,” Ba’al interrupted. “Three sevens. This clearly occurred only recently. Rather than question what is known, I would set my mind on correcting the failings of your son.”
Jacob refused to cower. “There is no failing,” he said. “Only a delay.”
“I have talked to the men,” Ba’al said, biting off each word. “Twice she was in your grasp! Twice she slipped through! How does a frail Albino without any memory escape the clutches of Jacob, son of Qurong?”
It was a good question, one Jacob had been asking himself. Short of magic, he couldn’t fathom how she’d managed to escape them in the darkness.
The second encounter was less of a mystery. She’d proven herself to be adept with knives. He could still see her eyes as she bore down on him, blade clenched between her teeth. But her weapon flew wide. Intentionally so. Why, after killing his other men so readily? Something in her eyes intrigued him.
“She went east,” Ba’al said. “East, where the Elyonites live. They would use her to crush us.”
“Now you speak sacrilege.” Qurong glared at the priest. “No Albino army can crush the Horde.”
“None but one led by the 49th. Or do you now doubt the words of Teeleh?”
Qurong remained silent.
“I do not question your armies, my lord.” Ba’al dipped his head. “They are far superior to any other. But we cannot pretend to know more than Teeleh. The 49th must be taken before she falls into the hands of our enemies, or they will rise in a holy terror to enslave all Horde.”
“Let them try.” But Jacob heard concern in his father’s voice.
“She’s far more powerful than you realize,” Ba’al said.
“I won’t let her reach the Great Divide,” Jacob said, eager to move beyond the talk of superstitions.
“You won’t.” Ba’al walked up to Jacob and plucked away the dagger he’d thrown. “Because I will send Campous.”
Campous, a cutthroat whose hatred for all things Albino made up for his lesser skill with a blade.
“Nonsense,” Jacob said. “My men are already saddled on fresh horses, waiting for me at the northern gate. Did you think I came back for wine and women?” He suppressed his anger. “This is the reason for your urgent summons? To cut me down in front of my father?”
Qurong was lost to his own thoughts, staring out the far window. “Take additional horses,” he said, facing Jacob. “She has only six or seven hours on you and she’ll need to rest—the Divide is a full five days’ ride even at the best pace. She must not be allowed to reach the Elyonites. Do you understand? 49th or not, we can take no chances. She must be stopped. If you must, kill her.”
“Alive!” Ba’al snapped. “It’s the only way to defeat the prophecy and forever bind this world to Teeleh.”
“What makes you think you can force her to betray her own?” Qurong demanded. “You’ve already failed to deal with her.”
Ba’al ignored the slight, jaw firm. “He will force her hand.”
“He?” Qurong searched the priest’s eyes. “The one sent by Teeleh into this other world you speak of?”
“Yes. Together, we cannot fail. She will betray her own, but not if she slips our grasp.”
“Fine. Take her alive. But if you can’t, kill her before the Elyonites take her. Am I clear?”
“They won’t reach the Divide,” Jacob said, walking for the door.
“They?” Ba’al turned. “There is more than one?”
Jacob turned back. “Didn’t my men tell you? We found the tracks of a third Albino at the oasis. She rides east with him.”
This seemed to puzzle Ba’al, but he brushed his concern away. “You must take her,” he said.
Jacob stared him down for a moment, then headed out. “Of course. Alive, and subdued for your sharp little daggers.”
12
IT WAS amazing how only a few short words could completely change a person’s perspective, David thought. How just one strand of code could alter a program, how switching one gene on or off could modify an entire organism’s expression. Vlad Smith was right about one thing: all organism was algorithm.
But those weren’t the words that had short-circuited David’s brain. Vlad’s other statement had done that trick.
Your wife was murdered.
He didn’t believe the man, naturally. Not fully and completely. He’d made that much clear to Rachelle after trying and
failing to track down Vlad only minutes after he’d left.
David didn’t believe . . . but he did. At the very least, that something about his wife’s death didn’t make sense. For years he’d blamed himself for her death, but now a door had been kicked open to another possibility, one that was much darker than any he could have imagined.
He knew this was just how the mind got people into trouble, but that didn’t stop his mind from trying to get him into trouble. The mere suggestion of something afoul was enough to set gears in motion, and once they were churning, their momentum took on a life of its own. Years of guilt, anger, and self-condemnation had created new neural pathways in his brain. As they said, neurons that fire together, wire together. Those well-worn ruts in his frontal lobe had accepted and embraced the new content Vlad had supplied. Namely, that his wife had been murdered because she was special. Like their daughter. Which David knew to be true. The man might be onto something.
He’d also been onto something in implying that this information wasn’t something David could just throw in Simon’s face, true or not. Regardless of whether Simon knew anything, he would immediately pull Barth in. And Barth wasn’t the kind of man you could question or cross without consequence.
David let it all stew, knowing he was feeding his own fear and anger without being able to set the accusations aside. He would have dismissed the matter altogether, but he didn’t have that kind of control over his mind. Truth was, Rachelle was more practiced in the disciplines of dealing with fear.
There was more to consider, of course. For starters, how Rachelle had managed to catch the apple Smith had thrown at her with enough speed to strike out most ballplayers. Without the slightest warning.
Then there was the book Smith had pulled out.
Rachelle was concerned about how her mother may have died, but she feared something far more ominous was happening, and right now, not just back then. She tried to explain that her dreams were more than just her way of working through her blindness.
Even if she was right, which he doubted, it all stemmed from his wife’s death.
After an hour, David told Rachelle to stay put—he was going to the hospital to clear his mind. Maybe Miranda would have some ideas.
“Ideas about what?” Rachelle asked.
“A clinical perspective. If your mother was murdered, we should be able to find evidence.”
“What evidence? That was sixteen years ago.”
“We never did an autopsy. Maybe exhume her body.”
“No. Not that. Even if you find some evidence, Simon will have an explanation.”
She had a point.
“Let it go, Dad. At least for the next five days.”
“Why five?”
“Because Vlad told you six days, which now leaves five.”
He’d forgotten about Smith’s claim that the world as they knew it would end in six days. That was yesterday.
He looked at his daughter pacing, biting on a fingernail. The young girl who’d bounced around the town only yesterday, proclaiming her sight to the world, had been stolen and replaced by a young woman who believed the fate of the world rested on her shoulders.
He had no desire to feed her paranoia. She was already obsessed. He had his own obsession to deal with.
He caught himself. No, that wasn’t true.
“Okay, I’ll let it go,” he said. “But I’m going to talk to Miranda. Promise me you’ll stay put. If Smith wanted to harm either of us, he’s had plenty of opportunity, but I don’t want you taking any chances.”
“Chances? Like accusing Barth of murder?” she said.
He nodded. “Yes, chances like that. I got it.”
But he hadn’t really gotten it, because his mind was screaming past its hopeless attempt at denial. Even knowing this, he felt powerless against it. He turned his back and headed for the door.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“What begins as White that man has made Black?”
He thought a moment. A riddle. “I have no idea. But I do know what’s black and white and red all over.”
“What’s that?”
“A skunk in a blender.”
Rachelle nodded, but he doubted she’d even heard him.
“If I’m not here, I’ll be at the pasture,” she said. “I need some air.”
“Okay, but nowhere else.”
HE FOUND MIRANDA at the hospital with RG, but it took him a while to work through how to tell them what Smith had done and said. He finally just laid it out for them exactly as he understood it himself.
“Well? What do you think?” he asked.
“Sounds like someone wants to stir up trouble so he can sell his snake oil,” RG said.
“I don’t know.” Miranda was more reluctant. “There could be some truth to it. The mind’s more powerful than we know.”
“Exactly!” David stood and crossed to the window. “The question is why? What was so threatening about my wife?”
“No, not the part about your wife,” Miranda said. “I agree with RG. Smith’s just stirring up trouble. Ignore it.”
That put him back.
“Then exactly which part makes sense to you? The part about my daughter dreaming of white bats or the part where she has to save the world?”
“Those are just dreams. But even snake oil can work if the salesman does his job and gets a susceptible customer to believe.”
“She was out when he pricked her finger!”
“True,” RG said. “But our subconscious mind hears and registers everything around us while we’re sleeping.”
David knew that.
He also knew that they weren’t going to bite. Miranda had hopes of replacing his wife and wanted nothing to do with an investigation into how she’d died. She definitely wouldn’t jump at the idea of exhuming her body. And RG . . . Well, RG was too logical to think past what was right in front of him.
It was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon before David made the decision that he would talk to Simon. He simply had to, if not for his own sake, then out of respect for his wife. He wouldn’t go in hurling accusations, which would endanger them all. Instead, he’d speak to Simon without even mentioning his wife. He’d win the Judge’s confidence by dutifully reporting the danger that Smith presented in throwing out wild suggestions that the residents of Eden were somehow being manipulated.
He would watch the man like a hawk. Simon had balked when Rachelle asked if something was wrong with Eden. How would he react to more pointed insinuations?
But he wouldn’t mention his wife. Not yet.
David told Miranda and RG that he had to check in on Rachelle, then he slipped out a side door, in no mood to talk to Sue at the front. He walked quickly, head down, hands in pockets, straight for the council chambers, hoping Simon would be there monitoring outside news on the ham radio, assuming the satellite feed wasn’t back online.
Funny, he’d hardly thought about the grid crisis all day. The world was in a nosedive out there and he hardly cared. There would be plenty of time for that later.
It only took him a few minutes to reach the back entrance to the administration office. He climbed the four wooden steps to the porch and put his hand on the knob. Then hesitated.
He released the handle and ran his fingers through his hair, rehearsing his act one more time. Maybe he should just come out with it. Only way to really know. Maybe Simon would agree not to share any details with Barth. Or maybe he—
“David?”
He spun around. Hillary Moses stood on the gravel walkway holding the hand of her youngest, Carina.
“You need something?”
David hesitated. “Well . . . I just wanted to talk to Simon for a second.”
“You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Terrorists detonated EMPs over Los Angeles, Phoenix, and Salt Lake City. Isis, they say.”
He stood still, dumbstruck. “Electromagnetic pulse blasts?”
“When?”
“Simon just heard it on the ham radio half an hour ago.”
“Mommy, can we go?” Carina was tugging on Hillary’s arm.
“Just a moment, sweetie.” Hillary smoothed the blonde curls of the seven-year-old. She looked back up. “Sorry, we were on the way to get some ice cream. I don’t think any of this should affect the children.”
“No,” he heard himself say. “No, of course not.”
“Simon’s off the grid.” She caught her own pun and grinned. “So to speak. Says he needs to get his ducks in a row for the meeting tonight.”
The town hall meeting. He’d forgotten.
“What time again?”
She glanced at her watch. “Two hours. Six o’clock. I thought you knew.”
“Yeah. Sorry, I’m . . . Wow. An EMP, huh?”
“Three of them. But Jesus will protect us. This is going to change things around here, David. I’ve never seen Simon so focused. It’s really happening.”
SIMON MOSES stood at the tunnel’s inner gate, fumbling with keys. Barth had locked the massive barred entrance yesterday, effectively cutting off Eden from the outside world. But Simon had to be sure that all was in order. He had to know because he knew what none of them possibly could. All except for Smith. Smith might know.
And if Smith knew . . .
He found the key and glanced at his watch. Five oh three. An hour. He had to hurry.
With a quick twist of the key, the titanium lock fell open. Two steps to the control panel. The gates rumbled when he hit the large red button with his palm.
Power was still on. That was good. He hurried back to his Dodge Ram, climbed in, shoved the stick into drive, and took the truck through the opening gate and into the dark tunnel.
It had taken them a month to blast the seventy yards through this cursed cliff. Another seven months to lay the two-lane road that snaked its way into the valley behind him. Even without gates, Eden was secured from the outside world by its isolation alone.
A long line of yellow lights along the ceiling cast an amber glow on the asphalt road.