Rise of the Mystics

by Ted Dekker

  Follow the finger under the moon, precious daughter.

  I dropped my arms and gasped. The familiar voice in my mind was tender, but in that solitude it might as well have been an orchestra in full crescendo.

  I was too stunned to speak. I’d heard it, right? It wasn’t just my mind speaking. No, it was audible, just like before.

  Follow it to the moon until you can follow no farther.

  My heart pounded and I wanted to scream with gratitude, because now I had no doubt. I’d heard! And if I’d heard, it could only mean that something was going to happen. I couldn’t follow the moon in here because there was no moon in here!

  I blinked. “Follow what moon? Am I okay? Is my father okay?”

  Follow the finger under the moon, dear one. Follow it until you can follow it no farther.

  My mind swam in those words as meaning settled. The seals. I was being given a clue. A finger that came before each Seal of Truth, like riddles that pointed the way. This was a riddle?

  No, it must be a direction that would take me to the next riddle.

  I finally found my voice again, broken and scratchy. “What moon?”

  Silence answered me.

  “Is someone coming for me?” I asked.

  I waited for a few seconds, but nothing came and I knew it wouldn’t. Not now. Not until it was needed. And I knew from Talya that my earthen vessel self didn’t know what was in my best interests or what I truly needed. For that I would have to trust.

  Still, I tried again.

  “Hello?” A beat. “Are you there?”

  I am everywhere, dear one.

  That infinite voice came like a whisper that shook my bones.

  I dropped to my knees, hung my head and wept.

  WHILE RACHELLE wept in the Elyonite dungeon, oblivious to the fate of her other fractured self on Earth, Thomas Hunter faced a shallow desert canyon lined by three thousand of Elyon’s followers. Each had drowned in the red lakes to rid their bodies of the scabbing disease that covered the skin of all Horde.

  They called themselves the Circle.

  To Thomas’s left stood his wife, Chelise. To his right stood the old man Talya. And on a hill behind Talya, his lion, Judah. The man had come from the desert speaking of the age to be ushered in by the 49th Mystic, a girl named Rachelle who dreamed of the other world.

  Of Earth, where Thomas had come from in his own dreams so long ago.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Thomas breathed.

  Talya’s gaze over the gathering remained steadfast. “Justin always knows what he’s doing.”

  “I wasn’t talking about Justin.”

  “He’s all that matters.”

  However cryptic, the man’s authority was undeniable. Thomas’s flesh prickled with both anticipation and anxiety.

  His mind spun back to his first meeting with the mysterious man who’d haunted his dreams, calling him into the desert. After seven nights of this, he’d finally gone and been surprised to find Talya there, exactly as the dreams had shown. For that reason alone, he clung to the prophet’s words.

  “Call your tribes to a Gathering celebration at the Bhodista canyons in the eastern desert,” Talya had said. “You will find a red pool there. In four days’ time, I will address all.”

  A red pool at the Bhodista canyons? He’d never heard of it.

  “To what end? The eastern desert is exposed and dangerous.”

  “And more so now, for the Horde army marches east to the Great Divide, beyond which more than a million Elyonites make their home. Albinos like you.”

  The revelation stunned him. “It’s true then.”

  “As is the prophecy of the 49th Mystic. She’s there, in their dungeons. She needs you. As does your son, who’s there of his own choosing.”

  “Samuel?” His son had been gone for more than a week, but the boy always returned. “Across the Great Divide?”

  “Don’t worry. He’s as safe as your Circle for now. But that will all change if you don’t do as I say.”

  Thomas sat on his stallion, wondering what kind of madness would draw his son to the Great Divide. He’d lost his mind!

  “The 49th Mystic drew him, as she now draws you,” Talya answered, as if Thomas had spoken his thoughts. “He rescued her from the Horde a week ago. I would venture to say he’s smitten with her.” He dipped his head, eyes on Thomas. He was already turning his horse. “Gather all you can, conduct your ceremony of the Gathering, and present me to your people in four days. I will meet you there.”

  The old prophet had left without another word, leaving Thomas conflicted and frustrated. Frustrated because he knew he couldn’t ignore the old man’s directions despite the danger. And so here they were.

  He’d told the council only what Talya had told him.

  Standing before the people who were now lost in the song of the Great Wedding to come, he had no clue what to expect. A hundred questions had peppered his mind over the last forty-eight hours as they rode east, joined by smaller tribes to whom he’d sent word.

  The 49th Mystic had the same name as his first wife, who’d been killed by the Horde long ago. Was there a connection? Did she have access to a Book of History? What was happening in that ancient Earth? Did the dreams work for her as they had for him, without the correlation of time if she ate the rhambutan fruit? How would the Elyonites receive other Albinos, beginning with Samuel? Why were the Horde marching east?

  Thomas set his mind back on the Gathering still lost in song. The sweet, yearning voices of six maidens filled the valley as they cried the refrain in unison, faces bright with an eager desperation.

  Ten years ago, most had been Horde, enslaved by Teeleh’s disease. But Elyon made a new way to defeat the 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 first called Albinos by the Horde, because their skin, whether dark or light, was smooth.

  Thomas glanced at Chelise, who was watching Talya with bright eyes. She glanced at him, brow raised. Thomas offered her a shallow nod.

  A raging bonfire cast shifting shadows over intent gazes in the dusk. To his left, the red pool Talya had promised they’d find glistened, nearly black in the dim light. Guards lined the top of the hills, keeping a keen eye on the desert for any sign of Horde.

  An echo followed the last note, and silence fell upon the Gathering as the maidens backed slowly into the crowd. Thomas lifted his chalice, filled to the brim with Elyon’s red healing waters from the pool, as was customary at all Gatherings.

  As one, three thousand followers of Elyon lifted their chalices to Thomas. Their eyes held his, some defiant in their determination to stay true, many wet with tears of gratitude for the great sacrifice that had first turned the pools red.

  He let them wait.

  The leaders stood on a ledge beyond Chelise. Mikil and Jamous, her husband, side by side, goblets raised, staring at Thomas and Talya. Suzan, one of the many colored Albinos, and her lover, Johan, who had been a mighty warrior—was a mighty warrior—held each other’s hands and watched with curiosity.

  They all wore the symbol that represented their own history, a medallion or a tattoo shaped like a circle, with an outer ring in green to signify the beginning of life. Then a black circle to remember the darkness of evil. Crossing the black circle were two straps of red, the drowning that brought life in the red waters. And at the center, a white circle, because it was prophesied that Elyon would come again and rescue his bride from Teeleh, the enemy who pursued her day and night.

  Still the Circle waited for him. He let the silence stretch.

  Marie, his daughter, stood beside Vadal, the dark-skinned warrior she was to wed. Marie, dear Marie. What a stunning beauty she was—a warrior to the core in her own right. Where had all the years gone? The last time he’d taken a breath, Marie was sixteen; now she was twenty-five. A hundred boys would have wed her years ago if Thomas hadn’t bee
n so stuffy, as she put it. Two years ago, Marie had taken up hunting Horde with Samuel after his fiancée was killed. Marie’s betrothal to Vadal occurred only after she’d abandoned her more violent passions.

  Samuel, on the other hand, still pursued his, with enough eagerness to throw them all in danger.

  The fire crackled. The Gathering watched him over raised goblets.

  Thomas startled, suddenly aware that he’d experienced this before. Not in the same detail, but he was certain he’d stood here thinking these same thoughts once. In his dreams, maybe. Or in another time and place. The déjà vu stilled his breathing for a moment. No—it was more than just déjà vu.

  But that was impossible.

  Or was it? No. Talya’s claim that Rachelle, the 49th Mystic, was dreaming of ancient Earth had triggered the awareness.

  He collected his thoughts and returned his focus to the ceremony. They couldn’t see Elyon, hadn’t seen him for many years, but he was near. Soon, Thomas thought. Justin had to come soon.

  “Lovers of Elyon who have drowned in the lakes and been given life . . .” His voice flooded the canyon. “This is our hope, our passion, our reason to live.”

  “It is as he says,” Chelise said in a soft but clear voice.

  Together the three thousand responded, “He speaks the truth.”

  Thomas recited the Gathering tenets with more intensity. “He has rescued us. He has wooed us. He has lavished us with more pleasures than we can contain in this life.”

  “It is as he says,” Chelise said.

  Their reply washed over Thomas like a wave, gaining volume. “He speaks the truth.”

  “Now we wait for the return of our king, the prince-warrior Justin, who will bring justice.”

  “It is as he says.”

  “He speaks the truth.”

  “Our lives are his, born in his waters, made pure by the very blood we now raise to the sky!” Thomas lifted his chalice high. As did Talya his own, honoring their customs.

  Chelise cried her agreement now. “It is as he says.”

  “He speaks the truth.” Their voices spilled over the canyon walls for any within a mile to hear.

  “Remember Elyon, brothers and sisters of the Circle. Live for him. Ready the bride, make a celebration ready for his coming.”

  “It is as he says.”

  The volume rose to a crushing roar. “He speaks the truth.”

  Silence.

  “Drink to remember. To the Great Romance. To Elyon!”

  This time they whispered their response in reverence, as if each syllable was something as precious as the red water in their hands.

  “To Elyon.”

  Thomas closed his eyes, brought his chalice to his lips, tilted it back, and let the cool water flow into his mouth. The healing waters weren’t nearly as strong as the green lake waters that had once flowed with Elyon’s presence. And they didn’t contain the same medicinal qualities of the fruit that had hung from the trees around the pools, but they lifted spirits and brought simple pleasure.

  “To Justin!”

  As one, the Circle pulled their goblets from their mouths like parched warriors satisfied by sweet ale and roared at the night sky.

  “To Justin!”

  Thomas turned to Chelise, drew her to him with his free arm, and kissed her wet lips. A thousand voices cried their approval, chased by undulating calls from the unwed maidens and their hopeful suitors. Chelise’s laughter filled his mouth and he spun back to the crowd, goblet still raised.

  But before he could speak again, Talya stepped forward. Just one step, and with that step the crowd began to quiet. They fell to a hush when he casually lifted one hand.

  “Now, Thomas,” he muttered without turning.

  Now what?

  “Now give me your authority to speak,” Talya said.

  Thomas faced the Gathering. “You are wondering who this man is. What stranger I would invite to stand beside me at a Gathering called so suddenly. His name is Talya and he comes with his lion, Judah. He claims to be from beyond the Great Divide where the Elyonite Albinos live. Samuel, my son, has crossed the Divide in pursuit of a woman said to be the 49th Mystic.”

  Whispers of concern filled the valley, and Thomas held up his hand for silence.

  “It was Talya who persuaded me to call you here to the eastern desert. We will hear what he has to say. Know that my son’s life may depend on it.”

  He turned to give Talya the floor, but the man was already speaking.

  “When you look upon a forested valley many years after it has been consumed by a raging fire, what do you see?” he called out. “A lush valley. Beauty, blooming with new growth and flowers so that one would never know a fire had ravaged that place, yes?”

  A few agreed audibly, though all knew it was true.

  “But during the fire, all caught in its flames might assume that reckoning, that judgment, to be a terrible thing. They can’t see that new beauty is being born by the burning of so much undergrowth. This wrath of fire is simply nature, purging the old and moving forward to higher beauty.”

  He paused for a moment.

  “A similar wrath now comes to this world, like a sword to divide the old from the new. It is a reckoning of the old ways of law and the new way of love and peace. In this fire’s judgment, many bodies will perish through war, both Horde and Albino. But even in that death, there is only good for all.”

  Thomas felt Chelise take his arm, moving closer, but his mind was swallowed by Talya. Not by what he’d said as much as how he was. His presence. Thomas could feel his words as much as hear them.

  “On whose authority do you make such claims?” Vadal demanded, stepping away from Marie, who cast Thomas an apologetic glance. “The rumors of Albinos beyond the Divide have never been substantiated,” Vadal continued. “Much less these Mystics.”

  “And yet you gaze upon one now,” Talya said, brow cocked.

  “How do we know this is true?”

  “Because I tell you it is.”

  “Yes, but why should we—”

  Talya lifted a hand toward the bonfire, and the roaring flames suddenly winked out, leaving only glowing coals. For the space of several breaths, they all stared, stupefied. Talya snapped his fingers and the flames erupted again.

  “You should listen, Vadal,” Talya said softly. Thomas had no idea how he could know the man’s name.

  Talya addressed the full Gathering. “We don’t have time for argument. The end of this age calls to us all. Among all Albinos, you, the Circle, are most prepared for what comes because you’ve given yourself to Justin without yet knowing the extent of his love. The Elyonite Albinos number in the millions. They too have drowned in the red pools, and they, like you, claim to follow Justin. They, like you, know little of who they are.”

  “What do you mean, we don’t know who we are?” Vadal pressed. The same stubbornness that had earned him Marie’s hand was on full display. “You’re condemning our way?”

  “Let him speak, Vadal,” Thomas said. He turned to Talya. “We’ve given ourselves to love the Horde. Isn’t this the way of Justin? The woman you just saw me kiss was once Horde.”

  “Yes. Chelise, daughter of Qurong, sister of Jacob, who joins Samuel in their pursuit of the 49th. I am well aware.”

  “You’ve seen my brother?” Chelise asked, stepping out.

  “I have. He, like Samuel, thinks he loves the 49th. And herein, the mystery.” Talya faced Thomas. “Albino and Horde alike think they know love. But do you?”

  Silence.

  Broken by Vadal.

  “Love, yes, but we also seek a light that will rescue us from the Horde when Justin returns,” he said. “His return is our greater concern.”

  “And Justin will return, though perhaps not in the way you expect. You only have to ask yourself, is Justin also Elyon?”

  “He is.”

  “Is he then limited like you are, able only to be here or there?”

  Thomas answ
ered for them all. “No.”

  Talya turned his bright eyes to him. “He’s everywhere at once. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Talya looked at Vadal with kindness, like a father leading his son into truth. “If Justin is like Elyon, everywhere, is he not here already?”

  Vadal hesitated.

  “Yes,” Marie said.

  “Ahhh, so then you already know. Justin never left. When you sing ‘come to me,’ or when you invite his Spirit to fill you, you’re really asking for your awareness of him to come or to fill you. He never left. How can he return as you think of returning, if he’s already here?”

  “But . . .” Vadal glanced at Thomas, seeking support. “He’s coming again—all Albinos know this.”

  “He will come again for all to perceive,” Talya said. “And he never left. So now we seek the one who never left while we still draw breath in these earthen vessels. In our seeking, we awaken to who we are now, glorified and complete. And in this knowing all will discover true love.”

  The idea was new to Thomas. His skin tingled with fresh anticipation. This was the Mystic way?

  “To this end,” Talya said, “Justin has called the 49th Mystic. She comes like a sword to divide the old way from the new way. She asks all to surrender that old way of being in fear, so that she can lead you in the way of love, which knows no fear. Her name is Rachelle, and she is currently held in the Elyonite dungeons by Aaron, son of Mosseum.”

  He cleared his throat. “If the 49th succeeds, the shadow blinding this world will lift. Then the lion will lie down with the lamb. I urge you to go there, beyond the Great Divide, where you will find true life. All of you.”

  Talya swept the gathering with steady eyes. “You should also know that the Elyonites have taken Qurong’s son, Jacob. The Horde marches east to wage war as we speak, some not far from us.”

  Thomas scanned the hills. No sign from the guard. “How far?”

  “We can’t just up and leave for the Great Divide!” Vadal cried. He faced the council. “You know this, Jamous. Mikil. Our home is west, where we know every watering hole, every forest, all that we need. Going east is madness! We must know more!”