Black Sun Rising (Order Of The Black Sun Book 3)

by P. W. Child

  "But plenty of religious apps exist, don't they?" Nina was constitutionally incapable of letting a badly formulated argument slip by. "When I set my phone up, the most popular free apps available were the Bible and the Quran."

  Hunter's pudgy face rounded into a smug smile. "They exist," he said, oblivious as Nina bristled at his condescending tone. "Of course, they exist. But they're not mandatory. You can be a Christian and not have a Bible app on your phone. But you can't join FireStorm without using the company app, which means going through the complete sign up. And yeah, it's free . . . but did nobody ever tell you that if you're not the paying customer, you're the product?"

  It was clear from Hunter's tone that he believed that he had just delivered the slam dunk that would leave Nina with no possible retort, but before he could bask in his victory, Purdue gave a gentle chuckle.

  "That might be true of certain types of apps," he said, pushing his round glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Indeed, there are many that serve no other purpose. But I think you are mistaken where FireStorm is concerned, Hunter. If there is a mandatory app to which all members are expected to subscribe, it is certainly a small part of a larger package, and you will find that its users are paying for it in other ways. To run such a large operation as this, simply in order to mine data . . . I simply can't see how it would be financially viable."

  "Dude, do you even know how much people are willing to pay for that kind of data?"

  Sam couldn't help himself. He laughed aloud. Hunter looked deeply offended and started to pull himself up onto his knees, preparing to leave in search of a more sympathetic tent.

  "Sorry, pal," Sam said, laying a conciliatory hand on Hunter's arm. "No need to go. I'm not laughing at you. It's just that if you knew this man, you'd know that he's probably the one person who knows the exact retail price on people's data, because he's the one who pays it. He's a mad bastard who likes to know everything about everyone, and he's probably done his homework on you too."

  Julia Rose looked shocked. A couple of days in Las Vegas had not been sufficient for her to figure out the dynamics between Sam, Nina, and Purdue. She did not yet know how they worked, or how far Sam could go without provoking Purdue's ire. If truth be told, Sam himself did not know—but he was interested to find out.

  Not a flicker of discomposure showed on Purdue's face. He merely nodded in acknowledgment. "Sam is quite correct," he said. "When I require information about someone, I pay well for it."

  Hunter looked as though he did not want to believe that he was sharing his space with someone who would perpetuate data mining. Sam had never seen anyone look at Purdue with such evident judgment. "Well, at least you won't have much on me," Hunter spoke with absolute certainty. "I dedicate a lot of time to making sure my online footprint is minimal. So if you've been paying someone for information about me, you've been wasting your money. Now I'm going to go and find out what's happening next. Excuse me."

  With as much dignity as he could muster while dressed in Bermuda shorts that should have been left in the 1980s, Hunter ducked through the flap of the tent and disappeared in search of Cody. "Oh dear," said Sam. "I don't think that's the response he was expecting."

  "What was he expecting?" Nina wondered. "You can't come to a place like this and expect to find a sympathetic ear for stuff like that. I mean, he's probably right, there probably is something incredibly cynical about all of this. I'd be more surprised if it wasn't an attempt to fleece people, to be quite honest. But still, I wouldn't have thought that being quite so loose-lipped about the idea that it's some kind of conspiracy is a great idea."

  "As far as I can tell, what we just saw was the latest in a long line of ill-advised choices made by Mr. Sherwood," Purdue said, consulting what Sam had thought was a notebook. Instead, it turned out to be a small device resembling a tiny tablet computer, but extremely thin and capable of being folded.

  When Purdue produced it from his pocket it was the size of a matchbook, but he deftly unfolded it until it was the length of his hand. His strokes on its surface as he searched for information were more of a caress than a swipe. "Hmm. Yes. If Hunter's everyday intelligence were equal to his programming ability, he might be a dangerous man. Certainly he would be running KNCT in Ms. Ito's place. And he would surely realize that refusing to use Facebook is considerably more effective if you don't spend a great deal of time blogging about how you don't use Facebook."

  ☼

  Chapter Ten

  A dozen small tents peppered the desert sand, their poles reaching up toward the clear blue sky. These had been designated as the delegates' sleeping areas, four or five to a tent. A little way off, they had cleared an area of scrubby vegetation to erect a larger structure, more akin to a yurt in shape than to a teepee, though still constructed of the same red cedar and bison hides as the sleeping tents. This tent, large enough to contain everyone, would be the focal point of all meetings, rituals and "connections." Sam had cringed a little when Cody had said the word "connections" with no apparent awareness of how incredibly vacuous the whole thing sounded, but he had played his part in raising the tent without complaint.

  Jefferson had led the building of the connection tent. Flashing his dazzling smile at the assembled delegates, he threw himself heart and soul into motivating and guiding the group. When they needed an outside eye to instruct them in where to place a pole or how taut to pull a rope or a hide, he stepped back and called out to them in his best public-speaking voice. Whenever they would benefit from another pair of hands, or when the mood of the group threatened to sour and turn against their current leader, he would be right there working alongside them, putting his back into the heaviest of work and encouraging his family to do the same.

  Based largely on her put-together appearance and her precise, regulated manners, Sam had not expected Paige to embrace the kind of work they were doing. Seeing her in action, though, he had to admit that he had misjudged her. She matched her efforts perfectly to her husband's. Her smile never wavered, and her contribution to the work was far from negligible. Even Henley seemed to be in good form. For all her teenage cynicism and the little rebellions that Sam had witnessed at close quarters, she had spent a lifetime being trained by her parents to behave well when people were watching. Sam began to see how they would function as a political family, if Jefferson pursued his ambitions. He wondered briefly whether the family's involvement with FireStorm would help or hinder them, but before his mind could wander too far down that path he was called on to help shift the central pole, and the physical exertion to which he was so unaccustomed demanded the entirety of his attention.

  As soon as the tent-building was finished, there was a mass migration down to the river. It had been hot work, and most of the delegates were now sticky with sweat. Sam's hair was plastered to his head and his throat was like sandpaper. He had emptied the contents of his waterskin before work on the main tent had even begun, and now he wanted nothing more than to down mouthful after clear, cool mouthful of river water. He cupped his hands and scooped it into his mouth, over and over again, until his thirst was quenched and he was ready to go downstream and join the others who were already wading to cool off. The water was brackish and cold despite the beating sun, and Sam plunged into it gratefully.

  By the time he surfaced he was a little giddy from the change in temperature and the roar of the water in his ears. He took a step toward the bank, but his foot landed on a slippery rock and he lost his balance, collapsing sideways into the water. As he fell he was vaguely aware that he had barely missed a collision with someone next to him, and he scrambled to his feet to apologize.

  "Don't worry about it, Sam," Sara's melodious voice washed over him. She stood up to her hips in the water, her long, dark hair soaked and glistening in a long braid down her back. Her long, loose cotton shift clung to her golden skin. "Are you suffering in this heat? This is tame for Parashant, but I remember that you mentioned how warm you were finding Montana. I can only imagine ho
w you're finding it here."

  "It's . . . it's fine." As hard as he tried, Sam was struggling to maintain eye contact. "I know this must be really mild for you. I've read about how hot it gets out here. But where I come from, this is heat-wave temperature. This is when Scottish people just lie in darkened rooms with a fan pointed at them. Or we strip off and bake ourselves until we're pink, but I always favored the darkened room, myself."

  "I believe you," Sara smirked, looking him up and down. "I'm sure you'll get used to it soon enough, but until you do, here's a hint—pure cotton is your best friend just now. If it's thoroughly soaked, it won't provide any insulation at all. It'll just trap all the moisture, which will keep you cool, and it'll dry slower than that blended fabric that you're wearing, buying you a few more precious minutes of cooling. If it's a loose garment, it'll work even better. Something like . . . mine, for instance." She smoothed the drenched cloth over her body in a gesture so unsubtle that Sam was extremely glad that he was standing in deep, cold water. "If you don't have anything with you, talk to Cody. We always bring a few spare shirts along for anyone who needs them. You'll be glad of it, especially at night."

  As she strolled off downstream, Sam plunged back under the water. When he reemerged, Nina was watching him with an amused grin on her face. "Was that you getting converted?" she inquired politely.

  "Something like that," Sam said. "I might yet be convinced about all this connection malarkey."

  As he headed back toward the connection tent, a delicious aroma of cooking hit Sam's nose. His stomach growled urgently. He had not even noticed that he was getting hungry, not while he had been so busy attending to his other needs, but now he found himself ravenous. He joined the line of people filing into the tent and gratefully accepted a bowl of some kind of stew. He had no idea what it was. There were definitely lentils, and as he took an eager mouthful he could taste herbs that his uneducated palette was at a loss to identify. All he knew was that it was food, and it was delicious, even if it was vegetarian.

  Once he had scraped the last remains from his bowl, he set it down on the reed-strewn floor where he sat cross-legged. Only then did it occur to him to wonder where the food had come from. It was being served by Cody from a large cauldron suspended over a fire pit near the center of the tent, but Sam could not imagine that so much food could have been prepared by one man, with apparently no counter space or storage for ingredients, in such a short time. It had been less than an hour since the connection tent had been finished, and at that point the fire pit had not even been constructed.

  Or had it? Sam leaned over to get a better look at it. Beneath the rough hewn stones he could just make out a base of breeze blocks. As the fire began to burn a little lower he could see the soot and carbon markings on the stone, darker and more deeply ingrained than he would have expected to see on a newly constructed pit. I suppose they built it for a previous Vision Quest, he thought. Makes sense. If they always bring their groups to the same place, it would save time and material just to have this already built and covered up. I’m still not sure where they conjured up the food from, though. It tasted fresh, but what do I know? That's probably just because it was healthy. That must have been pre-prepared. There's no way Cody could have made this much so quickly.

  "Ok, people!" Cody clapped his hands together, calling for everyone's attention. "Thanks for all your hard work today. It's been great to see everyone bonding so quickly—you did a great job of getting the teepees up real fast! Isn't this place great? I love Parashant, I really do. I think I love it a little more every time I come here. Isn't it just the most beautiful place?" He waited for a response. A ripple of nods and murmurs went around the room, punctuated by a few more emphatic agreements.

  "Now, here's what's going to happen, ok? First of all, we're going to come around and collect all your phones, tablets, computers, watches, and anything else you can use to communicate with the outside world or subscribe to the concept of time. Don't worry, you'll get 'em back! This is just for the first few days, while you get use to being out here and focusing on communicating and connecting with one another.

  Once you're all accustomed to making true, genuine connections with the people here in front of you, it'll be time to start integrating that process into how you interact with the outside world. By the time you leave Parashant, if you commit to what we're doing here, you'll be perfectly capable of connecting openly, honestly, truthfully, and fully with anyone you meet. The divinity in you will be able to meet with the divinity in them, no matter what means of communication you're using."

  Sure enough, two of the FireStorm acolytes had started moving swiftly but discreetly among the delegates, carrying wicker baskets in which they collected the devices that people surrendered. "Don't you worry if you don't have your gadgets on you," Cody reassured them all. "We'll send someone to your teepees a little later on. Everything will be kept under lock and key, and that key will be on my person every minute of the day."

  Sam's ancient brick of a phone was still in his backpack, but as the basket passed his way he took the opportunity to have a quick look at its contents. He guessed that the cheap, bottom-of-the-range smart phone that stood out among the brand new iPhones must belong to Julia Rose. There was no sign of Purdue's tiny folding tablet, but Sam was not sure whether that was because it was buried under the larger devices, the basket had not been passed to him yet, or Purdue simply had not handed it over. Considering that it was likely to be some one-of-a-kind invention of his own, Sam was not sure whether Purdue would willingly hand it over.

  "Later this evening," Cody continued, "right about sunset, we'll bring everyone back here and introduce you to this special, spiritual place. That's when we will start the first stage of our process. Now, I should warn you, it's not going to be easy. Do any of you know how to start a fire? I mean, without matches or paraffin or pressing an ignition switch? Friction. Friction is how you start that kind of a fire. It's hard work. It takes a while. It has to be done just right. Despite what you might have learned in Boy Scouts, you can't just grab a couple of random sticks, give them a little rub together, and expect something to happen. You've got to apply the friction in just the right places, blow gently at exactly the right moment, and give it just the right amount of space to breathe.

  For some of you, tonight will feel easy because you've done something like this before—you've practiced mindfulness or meditation maybe, and you've got used to sitting with your fears and discomfort. For the rest of you, it's likely to feel like friction. But trust us. We know what we're doing, and we'll guide you through this. Let us help you through the friction, and we'll get you to the point where we generate the spark and kindle the FireStorm that will ignite your whole life and bring you into contact with the divinity in you."

  ☼

  Chapter Eleven

  The horizon glowed a deep orange as the sun descended toward it. There had been no word about the exact time at which the evening's introductory event was due to begin—not that it would have mattered, because all devices that could be used to tell the time were now in Cody's keeping. Sam had asked a couple of people if they knew. Only one, CEO Ethan McCluskey of a social media start-up named Synergize, had seemed to have a clue. He had taken part in Vision Quests and other ceremonies before.

  "You're supposed to just feel when the time is right," he'd said, with a finality that made Sam feel utterly stupid. How is that even possible? he had asked himself. How can an entire group of people just feel when the time is right, when they can't even tell what time it is? I'll just keep an eye on the others and figure it out that way.

  It turned out that his concerns were unwarranted. As the light changed and began to tinge the valley with gold, the two young FireStorm acolytes emerged from the connection tent, each carrying drums. Sam wondered whether they were twins, they looked so alike—one was male, the other female, but their angular faces were nearly identical and it required a second glance at their athletic bodies to figure ou
t which was which. They both sported long, loosely braided brown hair and wore matching white tunics. As one, they lifted the drums and began to walk around the outside of the tent, beating a rapid, energetic rhythm, an unmistakable signal that it was time for the ceremony to begin.

  Unfortunately, Sam's vantage point was from behind one of the scrubby bushes uphill from the campsite, where he was attempting to answer the call of nature. By the time he had finished and scrambled back down the hill, the rest of the delegates were already inside. He looked around for his friends as he stepped inside, but before he could spot them he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Cody. He pushed Sam down onto his knees like the other delegates and stooped to whisper in his ear "Deep breaths, Sam. Just match them to everyone else's and you'll be fine."

  Sara walked among the kneeling figures in full ceremonial regalia. She was a spectacular sight to behold. Her long, white robe was streaked with red down the back and emblazoned with the same spiky, angular black sun Sam had seen on the curtains in Las Vegas on the front. Her feet were bare but her toes were decorated with gold rings. A long, heavy chain, hung around her neck and falling almost to her waist, had feathers and crystals suspended from it.

  Her dark hair was loose, with flowers and more feathers woven into it, and a delicate filigree ornament encircled her head. She carried a tied bundle of herbs in one hand, which she held for a moment in the flames from the fire pit. It caught light, releasing a cloud of sweet, fragrant smoke. Slowly she circled the room, trailing the smudge stick through the air above the heads of the delegates, chanting gently as she went.