Rise of the Mystics

by Ted Dekker

  He ripped his tunic at the breast, lifted his face, and sobbed at the sky.

  The wails began behind him with Chelise. Then with a hundred more, accepting permission to express their gut-wrenching truth. Within seconds, the entire Circle was undone.

  Thomas sank to his knees, doubled over and wept.

  5

  THE SOUND of Rachelle’s first scream had flipped a switch somewhere in Steve’s mind as he watched, powerless to stop her trembling in the MEP three hours earlier. It wasn’t her last scream. She spent half of the procedure in agony, and no amount of correction made the slightest difference.

  Now he sat in a lounge chair outside the recovery room while David spent a few minutes with his daughter. It was critical that those few anchors to reality Rachelle still had be reinforced—the director had agreed to at least that much. David tied her more firmly to terra firma than any other influence, despite the fact that most of his own memories had been stripped.

  The MEP had failed. Her mind simply wasn’t compatible with the algorithms that other minds aligned to. She’d survived and returned to consciousness without any memory of the treatment. Which was good, because if anything had happened to her he would . . .

  Steve didn’t know what he would do. But he couldn’t just stand by while they methodically destroyed her.

  One way or the other, they were intent on silencing her. With the failure of the MEP, he wouldn’t put it past whoever was pulling DARPA’s chains to consider removing her from the equation altogether.

  Which raised the same questions he’d asked himself a hundred times: Who was pulling DARPA’s chains? Who was so threatened by her?

  There was something more threatening about Rachelle than her ability to expose the truth about Project Eden. Something more concerning to them than the fact that she could read minds.

  What?

  David opened the recovery room door and poked his head out. “She’s asking for you.”

  “How is she?”

  David grinned. “See for yourself.”

  He followed David into the recovery room where Rachelle lay under covers, propped up in a hospital bed. Wearing a faint, pale smile under tangled black hair, she looked like a brave doll that had been dragged around by a dog.

  “Hi, Steve.”

  “Hi, Rachelle.”

  Her fingers were still trembling. He glanced at the monitor. “Vitals still in line. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I can’t stop all this shaking, if that’s what you mean. But the doctor said it was normal. My body’s reacting to the treatment.”

  It wasn’t normal. But Charlene wouldn’t have left her if she had concerns.

  “Well, I think you came through like a champ.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so,” Steve said.

  “I’m still hearing voices. So . . . there’s that.”

  He nodded. “I guess your mind’s just too broke to fix the normal way. And by broke, I mean brilliantly broke.”

  “So it seems.”

  Her father grinned wide. “That’s my girl.” He eased into the bedside chair. “Nothing can shake her.”

  David was wearing his blue flannel nightclothes with slippers. Hair combed neatly, T-shirt pressed. He’d come out of his reconditioning with a clean streak.

  He too had come out of Eden talking of dreams, but the team determined that the dreams were psychosomatic, and they were in such a rush to cover their tracks that they wiped his brain before any serious study could be made of it.

  Clearly, science wasn’t interested in anything beyond its self-imposed materialistic firewall. If it couldn’t be measured within the material system, it wasn’t science. There was nothing beyond the observable universe. Dreams of another world were like fairies—nice conversation for children, but absurd, like any hallucination.

  Steve looked at Rachelle. “So how are you feeling, really?”

  She shrugged. “Tired, like I got hit by a train, maybe. I’m imagining you talking about dreams and science. And I’m hungry.”

  “Right. We’ll get you some chicken, how’s that sound?”

  “Sounds yummy.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ve already eaten,” David said.

  “Dinner any good?”

  “The steak or the dessert?”

  “Either.”

  “The steak was tough and the ice cream was too cold. Makes the mouth so numb you can’t taste anything.”

  “Good to know. You tell Mary?”

  “Naw. She’s got enough to do besides microwaving my ice cream.”

  Sweet man. Not the same man who’d lived in Eden, but so sweet. Simple. Rachelle knew he’d changed, naturally, but her own drugs kept her amenable. In some ways, she was like the parent now. At the very least they parented each other.

  More accurately, neither parented. DARPA was now their parent. Sad.

  Steve crossed to the wall and flipped a red switch.

  “What’s that?” Rachelle asked.

  “I’m making sure no one can hear us.”

  “What for?”

  He returned and sat on the edge of the bed. “Because I want to ask you a few questions, for our ears only. Is that okay?”

  “Sure.”

  He glanced at her father. “You, David?”

  David lifted his thumb and forefinger and zipped his mouth. “My lips are sealed.”

  “Good.” Steve stood and paced, choosing his words carefully. Both father and daughter were in a delicate place. Popping their carefully constructed bubbles could throw them into a tailspin. “David, you don’t remember any of your dreams, right?”

  “I don’t dream. Not that I know of.”

  “And you don’t remember any of your dreams from when you were in Eden.”

  “Right. Or is that left?” He glanced between them, grinning. “Right or left, get it?”

  “Don’t be silly, Dad. He’s trying to be serious.”

  “I get it,” Steve said. “Very funny. What about you, Rachelle? Remember any dreams?” He already knew the answer.

  “I don’t dream anymore either, but I do remember dreaming. Why?”

  “So you can or can’t remember the dreams you had in Eden?”

  “Not really, no.” She looked slightly uneasy. “Why? I don’t want to remember those dreams. They were all a part of some fantasy you created in Project Eden. Why would I ever want to remember the dreams that messed me up?”

  Neither of them knew that their water supply was dosed with Rexpinal to actively suppress subconscious brain activity like dreams. The only way to find out if there was any validity to those dreams was to allow them to dream again. A single dose of Kinazeran would negate the effects of Rexpinal and allow either to dream for a night, but Steve couldn’t even think about activating their subconscious minds without their consent. In strict confidence, of course—doing this would put him in breach of his operating agreement. If anyone else found out, he would likely be dismissed.

  For Rachelle’s sake, he couldn’t risk that.

  “Maybe you wouldn’t want to remember those dreams,” he agreed, “but would you ever want to dream again? New dreams, unrelated to those old dreams.”

  She looked away, concerned. “Not really. What good are dreams?”

  “You’re afraid you might dream the same kinds of dreams you did in Eden?”

  “I can’t remember my dreams from Eden, like I said.”

  “But part of you is afraid that if you did dream—tonight, say—that dream might stir up old memories. Something like that, right?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “Something like that.”

  He decided not to press the matter further. “Sounds reasonable.” Steve looked at David. “What about you?”

  “You’re asking me? Because I wouldn’t mind dreaming, not at all. I just can’t. However that MEP machine of yours works, it messed with that part of my brain. But heck, yeah. I think it would be cool to dream again.”


  “You sure?” Rachelle asked him.

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. Nothing more.

  They sat in silence for a moment. David, then, Steve thought. He’d give David a dose of Kinazeran when they retired, and either David would dream or he wouldn’t.

  If he did, he just might dream of that world. The world Rachelle had once claimed gave her the same clairaudience and telekinesis she now had. The world that had given sight to a blind girl.

  Steve had considered the possibility a hundred times but backed off, hoping DARPA’s methods would ultimately allow Rachelle to stabilize and return to some semblance of normal life.

  But with the introduction of the new MEP, the game had changed. He had to start somewhere. Allowing David to dream might be that start, if only to see if that dream world might, just might, open to a mind cleanly wiped. However absurd it sounded, even to him.

  “Well, if you do dream, David, make me a promise. Tell only me. Not a word to anyone else. Deal?”

  “Deal. But like I said, I can’t dream anymore.”

  6

  VLAD SMITH rode high on his black stallion and peered down at the city of Mosseum, east of the Great Divide. The 49th was there, deep in an Elyonite prison.

  Chained to the mount behind him, naked to the waist, rode his leverage, David Matthews, the father of the 49th in that ancient world. They’d left Ba’al’s Thrall in Qurongi City five days earlier, on the same day both he and David had awakened in this world.

  Although only five days had passed here, four months had passed in that other world. The world where those he’d set in place were surely doing as instructed—his persuasion was thorough. They awaited his return.

  He knew all of this because, although the 49th wasn’t dreaming in either world, David was dreaming here and informing him of his experience in that world.

  Both David and Rachelle were mere shadows of who they’d once been. Blinded. And that blindness would soon deepen. The 49th was more easily hindered in that other world than here, which had been the whole point of his going there so long ago.

  She still had only three seals. His aim to prevent her from finding all five before the Horde and Elyonites found and destroyed the Realm of Mystics was now almost a foregone conclusion.

  Her guide, the old sage Talya, couldn’t be underestimated, but he was confined to this world. Vlad would crush the 49th in the other.

  “It’s the perfect day to wreak havoc, is it not, David?”

  Only the clopping of the man’s mare answered his question. He turned back and glanced at the slouched man, barely awake in his saddle, mouth bound by cloth. A part of him almost felt pity for such a hopeless soul.

  “You should be proud of the service you will offer me during your short visit to this world. Though I must say, dragging you all this way hasn’t been the most convenient of my tasks. You’ve cost me at least two days, Daddy.”

  David lifted his head and studied the city ahead with bloodshot eyes.

  “Today is the day,” Vlad said, facing the city again. “My legion tells me that all is in place for our little party. All the guests have arrived, awaiting only you and me, although they don’t know it yet. Aaron, Jacob, Samuel. The three sons of the three great leaders, all in one place. I couldn’t possibly have hoped for more.”

  Clop, clop, clop. After so many years in a different world, he found traveling by horse a terrible bore. Which is why he kept David bound and gagged except to feed him and coax details of his dreams from him each morning. Amusement could be found in many forms, most satisfyingly in another’s suffering.

  “You know, they say that the second generation learns from the mistakes of the first generation. I’m glad to say this isn’t the case, or everyone would be water walkers by now. The sons are as blind as their fathers, and I intend to keep it that way. You’ll see, David. You’ll see.”

  He let the horse amble on.

  “Or maybe you won’t see anything.”

  And then that was enough of talking to the gagged slab of meat. It was time to set his mind on the simple task ahead in the hall of fools.

  Vlad nudged his stallion and felt the rope tied to David’s mount jerk as the beast kept pace. The clothing Ba’al had offered him would do the job—black pants and tan shirt with a dark jacket, all woven of the finest cotton and silk. Tall riding boots. No need for weapons, but he’d accepted the sword in his scabbard if for no other reason than it looked impressive in the eyes of small minds.

  As Leedhan, Vlad could appear to be Horde or Albino, whichever suited his purpose best. Today, he rode as Albino, approaching the great Albino city of Mosseum.

  Half an hour and he was at their gates, facing four of their black-clad Court Guard who blocked the way. As if they could.

  Vlad cleared his throat. “Send word for Aaron, son of Mosseum. Tell him Marsuuv of the first order brings an ally in his war against the Horde. I will speak to him and the other two sons in private quarters immediately.”

  The first man glanced at the second guard, who was grinning. “That so? Leedhan, is it?”

  “Are you deaf?”

  Undeterred, the man took in David behind him. “And I suppose this wretch is the ally you bring?”

  “Both deaf and blind. Can’t you see that he’s my prisoner?”

  The guard’s mouth fell flat. “No one enters without proof of citizenship or express approval.”

  “Which is what I’m seeking.”

  The guard studied him, unsettled by his tone. “You’ll have to wait here.” He shoved his chin at one of the rear guards, who took off at a jog. “And you should know that any insult of the Court Guard is an insult of Aaron.”

  “Now you annoy me.” Vlad nudged his horse and rode forward, eyes on the bustling city beyond the gate. “If you keep talking, I may have to cut out your tongue.”

  The guard withdrew his blade and stepped up to stop him. “You will wait until word—”

  Vlad grabbed the man’s hair, lifted him off the ground at arm’s length, shifted the color of his eyes from green to a bright amber, and drilled him with a penetrating stare.

  “I don’t have time to wait. Neither do you. My audience will be in place before I reach Aaron’s chambers or I’ll take the time to hunt you down and remove your bowels. Is this something you can comprehend, or have they taken your mind with your eyes and ears?”

  The man grasped at his hair, wincing. He tried to nod—good enough. Vlad released his grip. The guard landed hard and stumbled back, glancing at the other two, who’d also found wisdom in backing away.

  “Run,” Vlad said. “Make sure I’m properly anticipated.”

  The man took off at a run, chasing the first guard.

  Satisfied, Vlad took his prisoner into the city.

  He rode leisurely, allowing them time. No one took much notice of an Albino riding with a second in tow.

  He’d only spent a few hours among the Horde before leaving, but from what he could gather, there was little difference between this Albino city and the Horde city. Different skin, different colors, different flags, different architecture, yes. But human behavior in the world of polarity was still just human behavior, which wasn’t so different from any animal behavior.

  Here, mothers chased their children off the streets and traded their wares in the market, just like in the Horde city. Boys and girls kicked around balls of tightly wound grass. Here, like there, men sawed wood and laid bricks; horses were shoed; dinner was served; some kissing and cuddling and sleeping took place before they all rose to do it all again, over and over for years and decades and centuries.

  Humanity lost in polarity.

  He should know. He’d watched the other world over the course of three hundred years and saw no real shift beyond humanity’s desperate yet hopeless attempt to improve life through style and technology.

  But that wasn’t entirely true. A few had indeed shifted beyond polarity—devout women and men of faith. Most of these
had lost interest in the world’s self-absorption and remained humble, out of the limelight that seduced most religious leaders.

  Here, like there, religion blinded most followers to their own true power. Various forms of fear and judgment enslaved the faithful to polarity in this life, in large part by shifting the conversation to the next life.

  The 49th could change that. Fortunately for him, they’d branded her a heretic.

  “You like their stench, yes, David?” The man was fully awake, staring. “That’s right, you can’t smell it like I can. It’s the stench of fear. Found not only among the Shataiki but in nearly all humans, Horde and Albino. Love, love, love that smell. In this way we all smell the same, including you and me. Take it in, it’s who you are.”

  Vlad took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

  “Fear. Love, love, love.”

  A terrible terror washed through him and his fingers trembled. Truly, fear was all he knew.

  It took him twenty minutes to reach the massive domed palace. As he’d hoped, the guard who’d gone to announce his arrival awaited him.

  “Aaron waits in his chambers. You may leave your horses here.”

  “Good.” Vlad swung his leg off the mount and dropped to the cobblestones. “Do me a favor and help our friend from his horse, will you?”

  “Of course, sire.”

  The man dragged David off his mount and led him by his restraints. Vlad took the chain and nodded at the man.

  “This way.”

  Aaron’s chambers were well appointed with many bookcases, comfortable seating, a desk, woven rugs—but these didn’t interest Vlad. Neither did Aaron’s battle dress, the way he’d groomed his dark hair, or the authority with which he held himself.

  The moment Vlad stepped through the open door and gained the man’s eyes, he knew Aaron would do his bidding. This is what interested him.

  “Your guest, sire,” the guard said before bowing and taking up position at the door opposite another guard.

  The other two sons were also present. Samuel, son of Thomas, Albino. And Jacob, son of Qurong, Horde. Samuel, unbound, was dressed in a tunic and sandals. A guest here. Jacob stood in tattered undergarments, arms chained behind his back. A prisoner here.