ACCLAIM FOR SOUL’S GATE
“Powerful storytelling. Rubart writes with a depth of understanding about a realm most of us never investigate, let alone delve into. A deep and mystical journey that will leave you thinking long after you finish the book.”
—TED DEKKER, NEW YORK TIMES BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF THE CIRCLE SERIES AND FORBIDDEN (WITH TOSCA LEE)
“Tight, boiled-down writing and an intriguing premise that will make you reconsider what you think you know about the spiritual realm.”
—STEVEN JAMES, NATIONAL BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF PLACEBO AND OPENING MOVES
“Soul’s Gate takes readers on a wild flight of fantasy into the spiritual realm, where we find the battle for our souls is even wilder than we imagined—and very, very real. With vividly drawn characters, startling imagery, and the power of a spiritual air-raid siren, the story is at once entertaining and breathtakingly enlightening. James L. Rubart has crafted a stunning piece of work, a call to arms for everyone who yearns for the freedom of the abundant life Christ promises us—and is willing to fight for it. Rubart knocks it out of the park with this one.”
—ROBERT LIPARULO, AUTHOR OF THE 13TH TRIBE AND COMES A HORSEMAN
“Don’t read this unless you’re ready to see with new eyes. Through evocative prose and masterful storytelling, Rubart transports you to the spiritual realm—a realm of vision, mystery, healing and power. A deep and thoughtful—and jet-propelled—spiritual journey of a book.”
—TOSCA LEE, NEW YORK TIMES BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF THE BOOKS OF MORTALS SERIES WITH TED DEKKER AND DEMON: A MEMOIR
ACCLAIM FOR ROOMS
“Suspenseful . . . compelling.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
“Rubart’s novel takes an amazing, unique look at God.”
—ROMANTIC TIMES TOP PICK
“Rooms is one of the best books I’ve read in the past year. If you liked The Shack, I think you’ll like Rooms. If you didn’t like The Shack, I bet you’ll love Rooms.”
—RANDY INGERMANSON, AUTHOR OF OXYGEN
“A profound spiritual tale spun with imaginative flair.”
—JAMES SCOTT BELL, AUTHOR OF ANGELS FLIGHT (WITH TRACIE PETERSON)
ACCLAIM FOR BOOK OF DAYS
“. . . Rubart has created a page turner.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
“Rubart has again created a unique and amazingly thought provoking novel.”
—ROMANTIC TIMES
“Rubart combines scripture with legend to create an engaging tale of self-discovery . . .”
—CHRISTIAN RETAILING
“Well crafted and full of plot twists and turns . . . will appeal to fans of Ted Dekker.”
”—LIBRARY JOURNAL
“Rubart is one of my favorite new authors . . . a master storyteller with his second release as good as or better than Rooms.”
—EXAMINER.COM
“James L. Rubart is a storyteller who pricks the heart of our generation and causes us to think about where we’ve been and where we’re going. Book of Days is a must read.”
—RACHEL HAUCK, BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF THE WEDDING DRESS
“Book of Days is a great read, why people buy novels.”
—DAN WALSH, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF THE UNFINISHED GIFT
“[In Book of Days] Rubart crafts a terrific story that is equal parts fast-paced thriller, thought-provoking allegory, and moving drama.”
—RICK ACKER, AUTHOR OF WHEN THE DEVIL WHISTLES
ACCLAIM FOR THE CHAIR
“James Rubart is one of my new favorite authors. The Chair has the same depth and creativity as Rooms, and it was impossible for me to think of anything else until I finished it. I can’t wait for his next book!”
—TERRI BLACKSTOCK, BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF INTERVENTION AND VICIOUS CYCLE
“Romance, mystery, danger, betrayal . . . and most of all, a message of healing and restoration. Taking readers far beneath the surface, Rubart masterfully paints a picture of God’s depth of love and longing for relationship with even those who are running away from Him as fast as they can. A tale of unimaginable sacrifice and unconditional love that will tug at your heart long after you’ve completed the last page.”
—KATHI MACIAS, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF DELIVER ME FROM EVIL
“Rubart has a stellar ability to communicate spiritual truth through a highly original, well-told story . . . a compulsively readable tale.”
—ROMANTIC TIMES
SOUL’S
GATE
SOUL’S
GATE
A WELL SPRING NOVEL: BOOK 1
JAMES L. RUBART
© 2012 by James L. Rubart
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.
The author is represented by the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680
Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920. www.alivecommunications.com.
Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Scripture quotations are taken from HOLY BIBLE: NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc. ™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE®, © The Lockman Foundation 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995. Used by permission. Holy Bible, New Living Translation. © 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved. THE ENGLISH STANDARD VERSION. © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a division of Good News Publishers. The Message by Eugene H. Peterson. © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group. All rights reserved. HOLY BIBLE: NEW INTERNATIONAL READER’S VERSION®. Copyright © 1996, 1998 Biblica. All rights reserved throughout the world. Used by permission of Biblica.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Rubart, James L.
Soul’s gate / James L. Rubart.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-4016-8605-5 (trade paper)
1. Christian fiction. I. Title.
PS3618.U2326S68 2012
813’.6--dc23
2012035205
Printed in the United States of America
12 13 14 15 16 QG 6 5 4 3 2 1
CONTENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FO
UR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
READING GROUP GUIDE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
FOR HALL, FOR MAKING MY DREAMS COME TRUE
“Our fight is not against human beings. It is against the rulers, the authorities and the powers of this dark world. It is against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly world.”
PAUL OF TARSUS TO THE EPHESIANS, AD 62
“There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them. They themselves are equally pleased by both errors.”
C. S. LEWIS
“We are locked in a battle. This is not a friendly gentlemen’s discussion. It is a life and death conflict between the spiritual hosts of wickedness and those who claim the name of Christ.”
FRANCIS A. SCHAEFFER
ONE
REECE ROTH SPUN AT THE SOUND—A DULL SCRAPE LIKE log on log. But there was nothing behind him except a small pile of driftwood worn white by years of ocean rain and wind. A shadow flitted in the corner of his eye, but as he turned farther to his left, the darkness vanished.
His heart pumped faster as he took another quarter turn to complete the circle. His feet dug into the russet sand, his gaze darting from ground to sky, taking in everything—seeing nothing unusual.
Only waves and seagulls and an endless beach stretching beyond his sight both north and south. But the sensation that skittered up and down his back didn’t come from his imagination. Reece forced himself to breathe slower as he brushed his thick graying hair back from his forehead and squinted at the orange sun sinking below the horizon.
Calm. Abba’s peace. Embrace it. He needed to be here.
To get comfortable with doing this again after so many years away.
You killed them.
The thought slammed into Reece’s mind like a fist to his temple.
Admit it. It was your arrogance. Your pride. Just like you’re going to kill the four of the prophecy. You will fail again.
“No.” Reece squeezed his eyes shut. it wasn’t the truth. take every thought captive. Every idea.
He prayed against the attack and a few moments later the thoughts melted away. The power inside him was more than enough to counter any kind of assault. Without question Reece’s head knew it was true. If only his heart could believe with the strength it used to.
He looked up the beach to his right. A hundred yards away two men in tan pants and white T-shirts seemed to materialize out of the dusk. They strolled toward him, glancing between the waves and the rocky cliffs to their left. A blast of wind shrieked into Reece’s ears and kicked sand into his eyes. He slammed his eyes shut and covered his face.
When he lowered his hands and opened his eyes, the two men stood ten feet away. Smiling.
Reece’s heart rate spiked.
“Good evening, Reece.” The man on the right flicked his finger toward the orange-and-red-smeared clouds and the sky turned dark. He motioned again and the thundering waves froze in place as if they’d been doused in liquid nitrogen. “You don’t mind, do you? Always nice to set an appropriate mood, you know?”
“Greater is he that is in me.” Reece riveted his gaze on the two men.
“Yes, we’re familiar with that sentiment. Thanks for bringing it up.”
Reece stumbled back a step. “Jesus.”
The man on the left smiled wider and pointed in back of Reece. The wood-on-wood sound filled the air again and Reece glanced behind him. What was a pile of driftwood minutes earlier had morphed into a sort of hut, maybe three feet tall and four feet wide.
He turned back to the men. “You have no power over me.”
“Really?” The man on the left pointed behind him again. “You might want to look out, old man.”
Something heavy slammed into his upper back and Reece lurched to his hands and knees and gasped for air. A moment later the hut thudded down around him. A driftwood cage.
“Comfortable?” The first man sauntered through the sand toward Reece and the other man followed.
Reece shoved his huge six-foot-five-inch frame hard against the driftwood logs that made up the ceiling and grunted. Nothing. The structure was like concrete bolted to the ground.
“Don’t exhaust yourself. You won’t escape.”
“You can’t stop me.” Reece reached out and wrenched on the wood in front of him, but it didn’t budge.
“Of course we can.” The man laughed as he bent down, his face inches from the wood, and stared into Reece’s eyes. “If you try, we’ll take you out again. Like last time so long ago. You think you’re ready to train them? You’re not even close. You know that. So do we. Consider this a friendly warning, for old time’s sake. Stay away from the four. Drop the idea of taking them to Well Spring. Cancel the trip. If you do, we won’t go after them and we’ll leave you alone. All those concerned will be much happier.”
“In the name of Jesus get out of—”
“Good-bye, Reece. Please believe us, it will be extremely unprofitable for you—and for the four—if you attempt to go through the gateway into someone’s soul ever again. Consider what is about to happen in the next few seconds an example as to what would come your way if you do.”
The second man winked at Reece, then swirled his toe in the sand in a tight circle. As he did, the ground under Reece’s knees and palms gave way and he was sucked down into the sand.
Grains poured over his head and forced their way into his mouth, covering his tongue and scraping down his throat. He choked, his head jerking forward, his lips parting, allowing more sand to jam its way into his mouth. He tried to suck in a breath through his nose but the sand filled it. The sand around his body thickened, pressing Reece’s arms against his hips, pressing the remaining air out of his lungs. The darkness surrounding him grew and seemed to fill his mind.
No. Fight this. Have to get out of here!
The pressure on his body increased and the blackness swallowed him.
Your blood, Jesus, your power, now!
TWO
AN INSTANT LATER THE SAND AROUND REECE VANISHED. Early morning sun shot through the maple trees in his backyard and spilled over him. He heaved forward in his chair, huge coughs racking his body and filling the Pacific northwest air. He blinked and gasped, his hands clenching the arms of his teak chair. How long had he been . . . ? His watch said seven fifteen. He’d been inside for an hour and a half. Too long. He shouldn’t have pushed it that far.
Reece stared at the fire pit in front of him. The flames had died out but the coals still burned red, throwing off enough heat to warm his hands. He let the warmth seep into his palms for a moment, then rubbed them against his face and over his head.
He shivered in spite of the fire. The sweat that soaked through his Beatles T-shirt made the cool late spring morning colder. He slipped onto his knees on the stamped concrete that surrounded the fire pit and leaned forward, hands on his legs.
“I can’t do this, lord. I’m not ready.”
It’s time. And there is little time left for you to do what must be done.
“You saw what happened in there.”
Yes.
“And I’m supposed to train them to do what I didn’t just do?”
Silence.
“You heard what they told me, Lord.”
Nothing. Reece stayed on his knees for another five minutes, allowing his emotions to settle. Final
ly he rose to his feet, grabbed the thick, gnarled stick next to the ring of large stones that made up his fire pit, and spread out the coals. No chance of a spark lighting anything on fire even if it did escape, but it couldn’t hurt to be safe.
He stared at the embers as he moved the stick through them in a slow circle. Should he postpone the trip? Get more prepared? Going in this morning should have been simple. The soul he’d entered should have been a safe place to practice. It made no sense.
It was meant to be a straightforward exercise, a test to make sure he still knew how to go in and get back out safely. To build his confidence for when he taught the four how to do it. To make sure he could protect them. But he’d blown it. They were leaving for Colorado in five days. He should have practiced every day since he embraced his destiny to train them. Why had he waited so long?
Simple. Fear hounded him. He was scared of being back on the front lines. Scared that it would turn out exactly as it had just now. Scared that the nameless ones were right and he would only usher in more death.
He glanced at his watch again. Seven twenty-five. In a little over thirty-two hours he’d head for Snoqualmie Falls, introduce the four to each other, and give them a few final thoughts before heading for Well Spring. And what would those thoughts be? He didn’t know.
Reece set his fire stick down next to the pit, closed his eyes, and shook his head. He should call it off. He couldn’t train them in his current spiritual condition.
I am in this. I will walk with you, every step.
“You were in that? Just now? Where?”
Again, silence. He picked up his old beat-up tan Stetson, put it on, and stood. As he stepped the one hudred yards from the fire pit to the back door of his two-story log cabin twenty miles northeast of Seattle, Reece again mulled over what he would tell the four tomorrow at the falls.
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