The Mortality Doctrine 01: The Eye of Minds

by James Dashner

  He kept moving, creeping his way forward, focused on Bryson’s legs. He was scared to death that his friend might disappear at any second, leaving him all alone. His hands and knees were beginning to hurt, his arms and legs cramping. And he was growing more disoriented and nauseated by the minute.

  On and on they went, shuffling along like a line of ants. They’d gone at least a mile, maybe two. His body wasn’t used to such a thing. A whisper of panic was also starting to build within him, a claustrophobic feeling that threatened to take over. But he forced it down, took each moment, and inch, at a time, relying on his friends’ hacking and coding skills. He never thought he’d ever be so thankful for Bryson’s butt, a beacon in that purple fog.

  They were still crawling in silence when something suddenly slammed down on Michael, pressing his body hard into the ground. He fell flat onto his stomach and lost his breath. His fear flared into terror, and he screamed and kicked. He was barely able to move. His mind began to cloud up, and a wild feeling crept in, like he’d lost control of his own actions.

  And then it ended. All of it ended. The purple tunnel, the silence, the pressure that pushed him to the ground. He was lying on a hard gray surface. He got his hands under him and pushed up to his knees. Then he stared in wonder at what surrounded him.

  He and his friends were crouched on the edge of a huge stone disk a few dozen feet wide, seemingly hanging in midair. Massive formations of dark clouds hung above their heads, growing and shrinking like living things. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed and the air was heavy with humidity, as if rain would pour down any minute.

  Michael had no idea where they were—he’d never been anywhere like it in the VirtNet. Yet despite its oddness, he was relieved to leave the tunnel behind.

  “Hey.” Bryson gestured with his head for Michael to look behind him.

  Michael spun around to face the center of the disk. Nothing had been there when they’d arrived—he was sure of it—but now there was an old woman sitting in a rocking chair, the wood creaking as she slowly rocked back and forth. She was dressed in a shapeless length of gray wool. Michael thought she looked like a kind grandmother.

  “Hello, my young friends,” she said in a hoarse croak. “Come on over and sit a spell.”

  3

  Michael just stared at the woman, and when neither of his friends moved, either, she stopped rocking in her chair and leaned toward them. “Gods above, you better get your rumps over here right quick or there’ll be hell to pay, I can tell you that much. Now!”

  Startled by her abrupt change, Michael scrambled to his feet, Bryson and Sarah at his heels, and made his way to the center of the platform to join the woman.

  “Sit,” she commanded. Her wrinkled lips were puckered as if she had no teeth, and her voice was scratchy.

  They did as she said. Michael folded his legs beneath him and waited intently. Stuff like this was weird, he thought, but it wasn’t that weird—he’d spent half his life inside the Sleep, and he’d gotten used to strange characters like this appearing. Most of the time they were harmless, but still, he reminded himself, if they had made it to the Path, this lady might be linked to Kaine, and that spelled trouble.

  The woman peered down at the three of them, her eyes the only thing about her that didn’t seem a hundred years old. They were sharp and bright, but the rest of her looked used up and washed out. Yellowed skin wrinkled and drooping from her frail bones. Wispy gray hair that was barely there. Two ancient hands lay folded in her lap, like gnarled tree roots twisted upon themselves.

  “Where are we?” Sarah asked. “And who are you?”

  The old woman’s eyes snapped into focus. “Who am I, you ask? Where are you? What’s this place, what is here, why is this, and how is that? Where’d we come from, and where will we be going? Questions tumble out of your mouth, girl. But answers hide in the mist of the clouds.”

  The woman’s eyes wandered as she spoke, slowly drifting until she was gazing at something far in the distance. Michael glanced over at Bryson, who raised his eyebrows in a warning for Michael to keep his mouth shut for a change.

  “You,” the old woman said. One of her hands lifted from her lap, shaking slightly, and a crooked finger pointed down at Michael. “Make one wisecrack and this will be your end.”

  Her face had hardened into a scowl, and Michael knew right then that he didn’t ever want to cross this woman. For all he knew, she’d morph into a dragon and eat them. This was the Sleep after all.

  “Did your brain process my words properly?” she asked, her skin wrinkling up even more around her eyes as they narrowed. “Do you understand me?”

  Bryson elbowed him in the ribs. “Be good.”

  “Yeah,” Michael answered her. “Loud and clear.”

  The old woman nodded and leaned back in her chair, began rocking again. “You kids couldn’t even give an old woman a proper greetin’ before you started spewing questions.”

  “We’re sorry,” Sarah spoke up. “Really. We went through a lot to get here, and we just want to know how to keep going. We’re looking for a place called the Hallowed Ravine.”

  “Oh, I know very well what those hearts of yours are lookin’ for. The Path only leads to one destination, and that destination only has one path to it. The Hallowed Ravine is far from where you sit right now, though, I can tell you that much.”

  Michael was getting impatient. “So what do we need to know?”

  Her finger came back out, its yellowed nail pointing straight at him. “This one is no longer allowed to speak. One peep and I vanish.”

  Bryson snapped an arm out and clamped his hand over Michael’s mouth before he could say another word.

  “He had a rough time getting here,” Bryson explained, an exasperated look on his face. “He’s a little bit softer around the edges than the rest of us. Don’t worry. He’ll keep his mouth shut. Won’t you, Michael? Nod once for yes like a good boy.”

  Michael wanted to smack him, but he nodded once with a smile and peeled his friend’s hand from his face.

  The old woman folded her hands in her lap again and started talking.

  4

  “They call me the Satchel, and never you mind the reasons. I’m here to keep my eye on the Path. At times we get intruders walking its ways. I don’t think I need to tell you that it won’t be much of a pleasant trip. Not very pleasant at all. Some of them smarter folks might call it irony, but the Path’s only purpose is to try and stop people from walkin’ it.”

  She paused again. “Things are different here,” she continued. “Not like anywhere else in the VirtNet. You had to hack and code to get this far, but from here on out you can’t just rely on that alone. You’re gonna need to be clever. And brave. And there’s one rule you’ll need to remember most of all. When you hear it, you’re gonna wish your ears had been lying.”

  “What is it?” Sarah asked.

  The Satchel didn’t answer for a second, and Michael almost trembled with impatience.

  “You die, you’re done,” she finally said. “Done like rabbits in a lion’s den. You’ll be sent back to the Wake, and the odds of you ever making it back inside the Path rank right up there with tryin’ to walk from Venus to Mars. It can’t be done. You made it here, that’s a fact—and with some fine bravery and gaming skills. But now we have you registered top to bottom, inside and out, and there’s no way you’ll get in twice.”

  Michael swallowed hard and exchanged a worried look with his friends. This was serious business. Even the most brutal games in the VirtNet were played with the knowledge that dying was just a setback. Nothing more than a delay. And that helped people go out there and play without reserve, taking chances and doing things they’d never do in real life. That was what made it fun—you could always go back and try again.

  But if what this old woman had said was true, Michael and his friends only had one shot at this. If that had been the case in Devils of Destruction, they’d have been done days ago.

&nb
sp; “You’re taking it like grown-ups,” the Satchel said. “I gotta give you credit for that. Things are different on the Path—never been a better firewall built. Hands down.”

  Michael was about to go crazy from the command not to speak, even though he didn’t really know what he wanted to say.

  Thankfully, Bryson spoke up. “Okay, if we die, we’re sent back to the Wake. Got it. What else can you tell us?”

  The Satchel laughed before she answered. “There are only two ways off this disk. The first one’s to jump to your death and head back to the Wake.”

  That’s not an option, Michael thought.

  “And the second?” Bryson asked.

  The woman smiled, shifting the many wrinkles on her face. “Figure out what time it is.”

  5

  As soon as she said the words, the entire structure on which they sat dropped several feet. Michael’s stomach lurched as they fell, and he reached out to grab on to something to still himself.

  Light flashed in the sky, and openings began to appear and disappear in random patterns around them, chasms of pure darkness that hung in the air just a few feet from the lip of the stone.

  The disk abruptly rotated in place, throwing Michael off-balance again. He sprawled across the stone and was sliding toward the edge when the disk slammed to a stop. The Satchel’s chair remained unmoved, and the old woman cackled from her perch.

  “What’s going on?” Sarah asked. “Why are we moving?”

  Michael crawled back to sit right next to the chair in the center.

  “I’ve already told you what needs be done,” the Satchel said. “Searching the code won’t help you now.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” Michael asked, forgetting her command to stay quiet. “How do we guess the time?”

  Her eyes found his—they were dark with anger. “I only have a few more words for you troublesome three, and then I’ll be gone.”

  “Then get on with it,” Michael answered, relieved she hadn’t reacted to his breaking his silence.

  The disk shifted again, and everyone scrambled to hold themselves in place. Michael glanced up at the edge of the stone circle and saw that the black rectangles were still appearing and vanishing. All around, dark clouds churned and boiled, stretching, collapsing on themselves, then growing large again.

  The Satchel shifted in her seat, pulling Michael’s attention back.

  “Listen closely,” she said, her expression now blank. “For I won’t repeat my words.”

  “Okay,” Sarah said. “We’re ready.”

  Business as usual, that’s Sarah, Michael thought. He leaned closer to the chair and prepared to listen intently—to not miss a thing. The Satchel spoke clearly, but her words were some kind of riddle:

  Before you choose the witching hour,

  Take care to dream the tallest tower.

  Then careful before you leave too soon,

  Behold the dark and hollow moon.

  She gave one last cackle before she, along with her rocking chair, disappeared.

  6

  Michael focused all his attention on remembering her words as she spoke, so he hardly noticed when she vanished. But when he squeezed his eyes shut and ran through it again, he was disappointed to find that he only remembered about half of it.

  “Did you guys get that?” Bryson asked.

  Michael looked at him, heart sinking. “Uh … maybe. Most of it. Some of it?”

  Sarah shifted her position so that the three of them faced one another. She was just about to say something when the disk rotated again, spinning ninety degrees. The dark rectangles—which Michael assumed were Portals of some sort—continued their pattern, flashing in and out of existence.

  “Okay, I think I remember,” Sarah said.

  Bryson projected his NetScreen and keyboard and typed out her words as she spoke. Sarah remembered most of it, and the three spent a minute or so going back and forth, comparing it to what Bryson and Michael recalled. Soon the group had it to the point that all three of them agreed. But Michael was stumped.

  He threw his hands up in frustration. “The old bag could’ve given us a little more.”

  “Well,” Bryson said, “she said we need to figure out what time it is. I guess, if nothing else, it will tell us exactly when life on a flying saucer made out of rock began for us.”

  Sarah groaned. “Come on, guys. We can do this.”

  “I know,” Michael said. “Look, we’ve got this thing spinning around, we’ve got Portals to somewhere, and we’ve got a riddle about a witching hour. And like Bryson said, the Satchel told us to figure out what time it is. Easy peasy.”

  “And we’re on a disk—it’s round like a clock,” Sarah offered.

  Bryson jumped in. “Maybe we solve the riddle, pick the spot of the correct hour, and jump through one of those black rectangles.”

  “But how do we know where the numbers are?” Michael asked. Before his friends answered, however, he’d started crawling toward the edge of the disk to get a better look.

  “Careful!” Sarah yelled. “The thing might move at any second!”

  The last word had barely come out of her mouth when the disk spun again, throwing Michael onto his side. He rolled several feet and lost any sense of direction. Letting out an embarrassing yelp, he slammed his palms down hard on the stone, stopping his tumble. The disk came to a standstill and he looked up.

  He was still safe by ten feet, but he could only imagine the things Bryson would say later if they ever made it to safety. Michael got on his hands and knees and crawled toward the edge again, keeping his arms and legs spread as much as possible for a steadier center of balance. One of the Portals opened up right before him, and its depth was impossible. It was so black the darkness seemed almost alive.

  Slowly, he crawled until he was barely a foot from the edge. He sank down on his belly and pulled himself a few inches closer. As he did, the Portal in front of him vanished and was instantly replaced by the color and movement of the cloudy sky. Michael closed his eyes and looked down, and when he opened them he saw that there was something carved into the disk, right on the very edge. He peered closely at the stone. Numerals—a large one and two—had been etched there. The number twelve.

  He turned back to shout at the others. “I found midnight!”

  7

  Sarah answered immediately: “Get over here before this thing sends you skydiving!”

  Michael pulled himself to the left until he found the eleven. As soon as he caught sight of it, he scrambled around and popped onto his hands and knees. The disk spun again and he froze, holding himself firmly in place until the rotation ended, then quickly crawled back to his friends.

  “It’s numbered,” Michael said. “Just like a clock.”

  Sarah nodded. “Way to go. Bryson’s marking the spot with his legs.”

  Michael looked at his friend. He was sitting with his legs out, feet pointed to where Michael had been moments before. “Wow, you guys are smart.”

  “Okay, now the easy part,” Bryson said. “Figure out the riddle.” His NetScreen was still floating in front of him and he turned it to face the others. Michael leaned in to read through the riddle again:

  Before you choose the witching hour,

  Take care to dream the tallest tower.

  Then careful before you leave too soon,

  Behold the dark and hollow moon.

  “It’s gotta be a clue about moon cycles,” Sarah said. “Does anyone know what the moon’s phases are?”

  “Or when it would look dark and hollow?” Bryson added. “Is that as easy as a new moon, when it’s all black? Or maybe an eclipse?”

  The disk spun again, and they stilled.

  Sarah looked deep in thought. “What could the tower be? Maybe that’s symbolic of something, and when there’s a new moon and a … Oh, man. I seriously don’t know what the heck I’m talking about.”

  Michael sat there and observed his two friends. Something told him t
hey were totally on the wrong track. Totally. This had nothing to do with a real moon or a tower or cycles or stages. It was something else, and he could almost, but not quite, put his finger on what.

  “Michael?” Sarah asked. “You’re the genius—what do you think it is?”

  His eyes met hers, but he didn’t speak. In his mind he was turning over everything, processing, almost there.

  “Well?” she finally pushed. “What’re you—”

  Two things happened at once that cut her off. First, a sound Michael had never heard before, like the sonic boom of a thousand jets. It was so loud and close that Michael’s ears popped. At the same time, a brilliant flash of blinding light lit up the sky in massive bolts of white fire, piercing the stone disk about twenty feet from where they sat. Michael’s ears rang, and spots swam before his eyes.

  “What now?” he heard Bryson say, though it was as if he’d spoken through a thick curtain.

  Michael was dazed. He’d been thrown onto his back by the force of the explosion. He twisted onto his stomach and got to his knees again. Just as he did, a cracking sound broke through the air, like the settling of a glacier. He spun toward the source and saw that the stone disk was breaking—hairline fractures webbing out from where the lightning had struck. They continued to lengthen, splitting open as the web grew larger. Horror filled Michael as the realization hit him: the whole disk was going to crumble any minute.

  “Stand up!” Michael yelled. “Huddle together!”

  Even as his friends got to their feet and moved toward him, Michael’s mind cleared, focusing like a scope. The answer was so obvious he wanted to laugh out loud.