by Ted Dekker
The Senate majority leader was taken completely off guard by the revelation.
“Okay, so you have a psychic in your intelligence circles. And I take it this psychic has told you that the United Sates won’t receive the antivirus in time. And now you’re going to base your entire strategy on this revelation of his. Have you considered the basic logic that if they administer the antivirus to France, the United States is only a seven-hour flight away? It doesn’t matter who they give the antivirus to; our scientists can copy it from any carrier.”
They’d discussed the scenario already, and there were ways that Svensson could still keep the United States from acquiring and duplicating any antivirus in time. But Thomas had insisted that the United States would not receive the antivirus. In light of his recent success, Blair was prone to believe him.
“Maybe. I’ll take it under advisement. Our hope is to avoid getting to that point.”
“God knows I hope we can. But if you play hardball with the French on this, I’m going to bring this whole nation down around your ears.”
“I’ll take that under advisement as well. If our current mission fails, the arms will ship on schedule. I won’t do anything rash; you have my word. Only as a very last resort. But don’t expect me to roll over yet. Give me at least that much, for heaven’s sake. If you really think these guys are going to let us live to fight another day, you’re not seeing what I see.”
“Well, we always did live in different worlds, didn’t we? I hope you can keep the Israelis calm.”
“Calm, no. They’re climbing the walls behind closed doors over there. But I do have Benjamin’s word that they will make a show of compliance, at least for the time being. You do understand that they will not go down without a fight, don’t you, Dwight?”
“Fools.” Olsen stood to leave. “Meanwhile our country’s totally in the dark out there. We have to tell them soon. I can promise you they will be enraged for not being told sooner.”
“I would have thought you would count that politically expedient, Dwight.”
The man gave him a parting glare, and Blair was sure the man had already considered his political future in all of this. It was perhaps the only reason he hadn’t already run to the press.
“Keep this quiet,” the president said.
Dwight Olsen turned. “I’ll give you two days. If I like what I see, I may play ball. If not, no promises.”
“You leak this and I’ll have you arrested.”
“On what grounds?”
“Treason. Leaking sensitive military operations is an actionable offense. We have a virus, but we also have a military action under way.”
It was more bluff than actionable, but Blair didn’t care.
“Sir.” Intercom.
“Yes?”
“Report in from Hawaii.”
He caught Olsen’s eyes. It was the mission.
The secretary of defense glanced up, eyes wide. “Send it in, Bill.”
Ten seconds later Graham Meyers had a red folder in his hands. His eyes scanned the report. Olsen had quietly stepped back into the room.
The president loosened his already sloppy tie. “Well, spit it out, for crying out loud.”
“The mission successfully located and entered a large complex on the backside of Cyclops. No casualties. The complex was abandoned.”
“What?”
“Abandoned within the last several hours. They’re gathering some computers now, but the hard drives have been removed. The place is clean.” Grant looked up. “There’s evidence to suggest at least one soldier was in one of the rooms. Buttons from one of our uniforms.”
“Hunter.”
The room was silent.
“They can’t be far,” someone said.
The president pushed back his chair and stood. “Find him!”
18
THE CELEBRATION had gone late into the night, as was always the case during the three days the Forest People held their annual Gathering. Music and dancing and plays and food, too much food. And drink, of course. Fruit wines and berry ales mostly. Anything and everything that even hinted at their memories of the Great Romance in the colored forest.
The opening ceremonies were held with each tribe marching down the avenue that led to the lake, led by the elders from that tribe. Ciphus led the largest entourage from the Middle Forest, followed by the other forests by their location, from north to south.
Twenty thousand torches burned around the lake as Ciphus recited their creeds and reminded them all why they must adhere to the very fabric of the Great Romance without the slightest deviation, as Elyon would surely have it. Their religion was a simple one, with only six laws at the heart, but the other laws, the ones the Council had refined over the years to assist in following the six, had to be given the same weight, he said. The way to love Elyon was to give yourself completely to his ways, without the slightest compromise.
Thomas had collapsed in bed late, slept with heavy dreams of torture, and awakened with two parallel preoccupations.
The first was this business of finding out who Carlos might be in this reality, if indeed such a thing was even possible, as Rachelle had suggested in passing. A thin thread, to be sure, but following it was the only way he could think of to escape the dungeon with Monique.
The second was the challenge, which was to be held that afternoon. Other than posting notice of it, the Council had been wisely silent about Justin. Still, it had been the talk of the village all morning.
Some wondered why an inquiry was even necessary—the doctrines of Justin weren’t so different from any they had followed all these years. He talked about love. Wasn’t the Great Romance all about love? Yes, his teachings of peace with the Horde were very difficult to follow, but now he was talking love. Perhaps he’d changed.
Others wondered why Justin wasn’t simply banished out of hand—his teachings were clearly an affront to all that was sacred about the Great Romance, beginning with his talk of peace. How could anyone make peace with the enemies of Elyon? And his teachings were difficult only because they worked against the Great Romance, they said.
The amphitheater where the challenge would be held was large enough to hold twenty-five thousand adults, which was nearly adequate as only adults could attend. The rest would have to find places in the forest above the large bowl-like structure on the west side of the lake.
The stone slabs that acted as benches on terraced earth were nearly full shortly after noon. By the time the sun hung halfway down the western sky, there was no longer empty space to stand, much less sit.
Thomas sat with Rachelle and his lieutenants in one of the gazebos overlooking the spectacle.
“I should be tracking the Horde into the desert,” Thomas muttered.
“Don’t think that you won’t be called on to do your part here,” Mikil said. “When it’s finished, we’ll go after the Horde and I’ll be the first by your side.”
She stood next to Jamous. They’d announced their plans for marriage at the celebration last evening. To their right, William scanned the crowd.
Rachelle put her hand on Thomas’s arm. She alone understood his dilemma here.
“Even if there is a fight, I won’t kill him, Mikil,” he said. “Banishment, but not death.”
“Fine. Banishment is better than giving him the freedom to poison the minds of our children,” she said.
He took a calming breath. “I have to go after the Books of Histories again.”
“And this time I will enter the tent,” Mikil said. “The rest of this Gathering I can do without. We deal with Justin and then we leave to find your books. And Jamous will come with us.”
Jamous kissed her on the lips. “As long as I am with you, I could cross the desert.”
“Always,” she said.
“Always,” he repeated, and they kissed again.
The crowd suddenly hushed.
“They’re coming.”
Thomas walked to the railing and looked do
wn on the amphitheater. Ciphus was walking down the long slope in his long white ceremonial robe. Behind him, the other six members of the Council. They approached a large platform in the middle of the field. Seven large torches burned in a semicircle around eight tall wooden stools. A stand held a bowl of water between them.
They walked in silence to seven of the stools. The eighth remained empty. If Justin won the inquiry, he would be allowed to sit with the Council in a show of their acceptance of him. Since the Council had cast the inquiry, they were not obligated to accept his doctrine, but in time, even it might be incorporated in the Great Romance.
The members climbed onto their stools and faced a similar, smaller platform with a single stool twenty yards from their own.
“Where is Justin?” Mikil whispered.
Ciphus lifted a hand for silence, though no gesture was needed—no one was moving, much less speaking. If Thomas were to cough, the whole arena would likely hear him.
“The Council will issue its challenge of the philosophies of Justin of Southern in this the tenth annual Gathering of all Forest People,” Ciphus cried. His voice rang loud and clear.
“Justin of Southern, we call you forth.”
The Council turned back toward the slope down which they had walked. At the crest of the slope, seven large trees marked the only entrance to the amphitheater.
No one appeared.
“He’s going to default,” Mikil said. “He knows that he’s wrong and he’s—”
“Who is that?” William asked.
A villager was walking from one of the lower seats. Instead of wearing the more popular short tunic, he was dressed in a longer, hooded beige one. And he wore the boots of a soldier.
“That’s him,” Jamous said.
The Council still hadn’t seen him. The man walked to the lone stool, seated himself, and pulled back his hood.
“Justin of Southern accepts your challenge,” he said loudly.
The Council spun as one. Murmurs ran through the amphitheater. A few chuckles.
“He’s daring; I’ll give him that,” Mikil said.
Thomas could practically see the steam coming from Ciphus’s ears.
The elder held up his hand for silence, and this time it was required. He walked to the bowl, dipped his hands into the water, and dabbed them dry on a small towel. Behind him the other members took their seats.
Ciphus paced the leading edge of the platform and pulled at his beard. “It is precisely this kind of trickery that I fear has deceived you, my friend,” he said, just loudly enough to be heard.
“I have no desire to confuse the important questions you will ask,” Justin said. “It is what we say today, not how we look, that will win or lose the hearts of the people.”
Ciphus hesitated, then addressed the people. “Then hear what I have to say. The man we see seated before us today is a mighty warrior who has favored the forests with many victories in his time. He is the kind of man who loves children and who marches like a true hero and accepts praise with graciousness. Each of these we all know. For each of these I owe a debt of gratitude to Justin of Southern.” He dipped his head at Justin. “Thank you.”
Justin returned the bow.
Ciphus was no fool, Thomas thought.
“Nevertheless, it is said that this man has also spread the poison of blasphemy against Elyon throughout the Southern Forest in these past two years. Our task today is only to determine if this is true. We judge not the man, but his doctrine. And as with any challenge, you, the people, will be the judge of the matter when we have concluded our arguments. So then, judge well.”
On Thomas’s left, murmuring broke out, voices of dissent already. These must be those of the Southern Forest, Justin’s strongest supporters. Where were the two men who had entered the Valley of Tuhan with Justin? Ronin and Arvyl, if Jamous had told him correctly. Their voices were in the crowd, surely, but not on the floor as Thomas might have expected. On the other hand, it was like Justin to fight his own battles and defend his own philosophies. He’d probably forbidden them from interfering.
“Silence!”
They hushed again.
“It won’t take long. A very simple matter in fact. I think that for this inquiry we could have the children vote and end up with a clear, just verdict. The matter is this.”
Ciphus turned to Justin.
“Is it or is it not true that the Horde is truly the enemy of Elyon?”
“It is true,” Justin said.
“Correct, we all know this. So then, is it or is it not true that to conspire with the enemy of Elyon is to conspire against Elyon himself?”
“It is true.”
“Yes, of course. We all know this as well. So then, is it or is it not true that you advocate creating a bond with the Horde by negotiating peace?”
“It is true.”
A gasp flushed through the arena. Shocked mutterings rose from the left and admonishments to let them finish from the right. Ciphus again silenced the crowd with his hand. He measured Justin carefully, undoubtedly thinking that he was plotting some of his trickery.
“You do realize that to conspire with the Horde has always been treasonous to us? We don’t compromise with the enemy of Elyon, according to the word of Elyon himself. We subscribe to the boy’s prophecy, that Elyon will provide a way to rid the world of this scourge that’s upon us. Yet you seem to want to make peace with it. Isn’t this blasphemous?”
“Blasphemous, yes,” Justin said.
The man had no sense, Thomas thought. With those words he’d conscripted himself to banishment.
“The question is,” Justin continued, “blasphemous against what? Against your Great Romance, or against Elyon himself?”
Ciphus was shocked by this assertion. “And you think there is a difference?”
“There is a great difference. Not in spirit, but in form. To make peace with the Horde may defile your Great Romance, but it does not blaspheme Elyon. Elyon would make peace with every man, woman, and child on this world, even though his enemies are found everywhere, even here in this very place.”
Silence. The people seemed too stunned to speak. He’d cut his own throat, Thomas thought. What he said had a freshness to it, perhaps an idea that he might entertain if he were a theologian. But Justin had decried all that was sacred except Elyon himself. By questioning the Great Romance, he might as well have included Elyon as well.
“You say that we are Elyon’s enemy?” There was a tremble in Ciphus’s voice.
“Do you love your lake and your trees and your flowers, or do you love Elyon? Would you die for these, or would you die for Elyon? You are no different than the Horde. If you would die for Elyon, perhaps you should die for the Horde. They are his, after all.”
“You would have us die for the Horde?” Ciphus cried, red faced. “Die for the enemy of Elyon, whom we have sworn to destroy!”
“If need be, yes.”
“You speak treason against Elyon!” Ciphus pointed a trembling finger at Justin. “You are a son of the Shataiki!”
Order abandoned the amphitheater with that one word: Shataiki. Cries of outrage ripped through the air, met head-on with cries of objection that Ciphus could say such a thing against this prophet. This Justin of Southern. If they would only let the man explain himself, they would understand, they cried.
Any ambivalence Thomas had felt toward this hearing left him. How could any man who’d served under him dare suggest they die for the Horde? Die in battle defending Elyon’s lakes, yes. Die protecting the forest and their children from the Horde, yes. Die upholding the Great Romance in the face of an enemy who’d sworn to wipe Elyon’s name from the face of the earth, yes.
But die for the Horde? Broker peace so that they might be free to work their deceit?
Never!
“How can he say that?” Rachelle asked beside him. “Did he just suggest we lie down and die for the Horde?”
“What did I tell you?” Mikil said. “We should
have killed him yesterday when we had the chance.”
“If we’d killed him yesterday, we’d be dead today,” Thomas said.
“Better dead than indebted to this traitor.”
The arena was a mess of riotous noise. Ciphus made no attempt to stop them. He walked to the bowl of water and dipped his hands in once again. He was done, Thomas realized.
The elder conferred with the other Council members one by one.
Justin sat calmly. He made no attempt to explain himself. He seemed satisfied despite having put up no real defense at all. Maybe he wanted a fight.
Ciphus finally raised both hands and, after a few moments, quieted the crowd enough for him to be heard.
“I have made my challenge to this heresy, and now you will decide this man’s fate. Should we embrace his teaching or send him away from us, never to return? Or should we put his fate in Elyon’s hands through a fight to the death? Search your hearts and let your decision be heard.”
Thomas prayed the vote would be clear. Despite his aversion to what Justin had said, he wanted no part in a fight. Not that he feared Justin’s sword, but the thought of being dragged down in support of the Council didn’t sit well with him either.
On the other hand, there would be a kind of justice in asserting himself over his former lieutenant in one final match before sending him to live with the Horde. Either way, Ciphus would not get his death.
“It’s over,” he said quietly.
“Then you weren’t in the valley yesterday,” Rachelle said.
Ciphus lowered his right hand. “If you say this man speaks blasphemy, let your voice be heard!”
A thunderous roar shook the gazebo. Enough. Surely enough.
Ciphus let the cry run on until he was satisfied, then silenced them.
“And if you say we should accept this man’s teaching and make peace with the Horde, then let your voice be heard.”
The Southern Forest dwellers had strong lungs, because the cry was loud. And it swelled with as much thunder as the first cry. Or was it less? The distinction was not enough for Ciphus to call it.