Rise of the Mystics Page 7

  They looked at him in silence, all curious. Slightly unnerved except for Jacob. Vlad’s legion had informed him they’d been here a week.

  It wasn’t the only thing they told him.

  “So,” Aaron said, stepping forward. “To what end does an Albino who claims to be Leedhan appear at my gates, demanding an audience with me? I was occupied.”

  “Pleasures of the flesh can wait. The world needs us, my friend.” Vlad shot his prisoner a harsh glare—stay—dropped the chain, and walked toward them, leaving David near the guards.

  To Aaron, indicating the couch: “Please, my friend, take a seat.”

  “I don’t know you as a friend, and we sit if I say we sit.”

  “Stand if you prefer. But I see you followed my orders to have your two guests join us. I think that settles the question of who’s in charge here, don’t you?”

  Aaron glared, but he was too seasoned to squabble. A good sign.

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “Better.” Vlad crossed to a high-backed chair covered in sheepskin, sat to face the three sons, and folded one leg over the other. Then shifted his eye color again, answering the better part of the first question with one look.

  “I am the Leedhan Marsuuv, better known across the worlds as Vlad Smith. So you will call me Vlad. Before I tell you what I want, do you need me to persuade you further?”

  “Dear Elyon, it’s true!” Samuel breathed. “I thought they were rumors.”

  Aaron’s jaw clenched.

  Jacob looked unaffected.

  “Why are you here?” Aaron demanded. “Who’s your prisoner?”

  “My prisoner is the father of the 49th Mystic. My legion tells me you have her in your dungeons.”

  “How did you come across her father? Mystics are ghosts in this desert.”

  “I also understand that you’ve fed her the rhambutan fruit to keep her from babbling about other worlds.”

  “I know nothing of other worlds.” Aaron paused. “You’re well informed.”

  “But of course. I have eyes unseen by you. And though you may know nothing of other worlds, you will. Tell me the prophecy that concerns the 49th.”

  Aaron glanced at Samuel, gauging the other’s reaction. They’d become comfortable with each other. Also good.

  “‘A child will be born, the 49th Mystic, who will divide to expose the shadow of death,’” Aaron recited. “‘Then the lion will lie down with the lamb.’ So?”

  “So . . . the Horde believes this to mean that if the 49th succeeds in exposing this shadow of death, they, the lion, will be subjugated by the Albinos. Your people believe the opposite. And so you both have your reasons for wanting her to fail, which indeed she must. But it’s much worse than what either you or the Horde believe.”

  “Nothing could be worse than being enslaved to Horde,” Aaron said. “I prefer death, as would any true follower of Elyon.”

  “Of course. And the Horde would say the same about being subjugated by Albinos. But you both have it wrong. In truth, if the 49th completes her mission, she would expose the shadow of death, as the prophecy states. If the shadow is brought forward, it will blind all. The lion and the lamb will lie down together. Both Horde and Albino will be forever lost in a darkness not yet known.”

  He let his claim set in for a beat.

  “You see how devastating heresy is? Indeed, the Realm of Mystics should be called the Realm of Heretics. The 49th will be the death of all.”

  It was a lie, naturally. But those in fear knew no better than to fight fear with more fear. Fear was their god. They were compelled to protect themselves from a perceived threat, as they always had been.

  “This can’t be true,” Jacob said, speaking for the first time.

  Vlad drilled him with a piercing stare. “Isn’t this what the prophecy states? ‘A child will be born, the 49th Mystic, who will divide to expose the shadow of death.’ Both Horde and Albino live in so much fear of each other that they no longer see the far greater threat of the shadow of death that looms over all.”

  Jacob evidently thought better than to advance his argument.

  “So you see, we are at a time of great reckoning. In the end, either the 49th and her Mystics will complete their mission and release the shadow of darkness to enslave all Horde and Albinos, or the 49th will betray the Realm of Heretics so we can destroy it and break the curse looming over our world. Do I have your understanding of this?”

  “Why have none of our theologians interpreted the prophecy in this way?” Aaron demanded. “Or the theologians of the Horde, for that matter?”

  “Because you are equally blind.” That much was true. “I’m here to give you sight.” That was stretching things a bit. “You must know by now that if you torture any scripture long enough, you can get it to say whatever you want.” True and common in both worlds. “But I present you with a truth you cannot afford to dismiss for fear it might be right.”

  None of them replied, but Vlad knew he had Aaron’s attention. The other two . . . Well, at least one of them would eventually come along.

  “What is your role in this matter?” Aaron asked.

  “I am Leedhan. My only concern is to save this world for my kind. To that end, I was dispatched to the other dimension, which the 49th also seeks to blind. My role was and is to undermine her there, for the simple reason that if she succeeds there, she will also succeed here, and we can’t have that. You don’t want to live in hell, do you?”

  David, who’d remained obediently silent thus far, staggered forward, issuing gagged cries at the mention of his daughter in the other world.

  “Silence him,” Vlad ordered.

  The guard behind David hit him with the hilt of his sword, hard enough to drop the man to the floor, unconscious.

  Vlad looked at Aaron and continued. “Following her birth in the other world, I learned that her mind couldn’t be compromised like other simple minds, at least not using the means available there. I require the help of . . . shall we say, ‘elements’ from this world. Which is why I went to so much trouble to make my way back. I won’t be here long. I only need you to understand your most critical role here so that I can play my role there.” He flashed a grin. “Capisce?”

  It was the first time he’d laid out his mission to humans in such plain terms, all of them true. He felt a bit naked. An interesting feeling.

  “Capisce?” Aaron said.

  “A term from the other world. To understand.”

  “This is madness,” Aaron snapped, crossing to the mantel where his glass of burgundy wine sat. “There are no such worlds.”

  “You don’t need to believe that there are. It’s none of your concern. Finding and crushing the Realm of Heretics before the 49th can fulfill her mission, on the other hand, is.”

  Aaron turned back, glass in hand. “My concern is to protect my people. To this end, the Horde are the most immediate threat.” He took a sip of his wine.

  “Of course, and you’ll get your war. Qurong marches east as we speak and will be joined by the Eramites. Frankly, I don’t care if you all kill each—”

  “The Eramites? The half-breeds from the north?” Aaron had lowered his glass.

  Vlad was losing his patience. “Will you question everything I say?”

  No response. Aaron was stubborn, he’d give the man that much. A good quality, if properly channeled.

  “As I said, you will get your war. But in all the bloodshed, you must remember what you hear today. The Mystics are by far the greatest threat our world faces. All of them. Not one can be allowed to remain living.”

  Aaron stared at him. His capture of Jacob could only mean he was baiting the Horde, eager to end them in one final conflict.

  “How far out?” the son of Mosseum asked.

  “Two days. Now, the more urgent matter.”

  “You’re suggesting I execute the 49th.”

  “No,” Samuel said, stepping forward. He caught himself and quickly offered his
reasoning in a thinly veiled attempt to throw them off. “No, she must betray herself.”

  “Very good, son of Thomas. The 49th is the only one who can betray the Realm of Mystics. So, no, execution won’t do.”

  Vlad unfolded his legs and stood. It was time to move things along.

  “The 49th must be allowed to escape. To this end”—he faced the son of Qurong—“Jacob will break her out.”

  “Out of the question!” Aaron snapped. “I have him as bait and leverage.”

  “Your bait has already drawn the full attention of Qurong. As for leverage, Qurong isn’t so easily manipulated. Jacob’s release, on the other hand, will make the Horde think twice and weaken their resolve. This will be to your advantage.”

  He let the logic sink in.

  “What matters far more is that Jacob will be led by the 49th to the Realm of Mystics, which has been hidden from you for so long. When he returns with the location, you will be free to destroy them. Do you not understand the gravity of your situation?”

  “You trust a Horde to reveal what he finds?” Samuel objected. “Why this beast?”

  “Because the 49th is falling for him.”

  The statement settled between them. Jacob stood impassively in his chains. Samuel, on the other hand, could not hide his offense.

  “She trusts Jacob,” Vlad continued. “Which is why it must be him and no one else.” He held Jacob in a long stare. “But we know he would never betray his own people. Allowing the Realm of Mystics to survive would endanger Horde as much as Albino.”

  Silence settled in the room. Aaron was torn between a war against the Horde and the destruction of all Mystics. Jacob was eager to liberate the 49th. Samuel was still trying to decide if it was possible that the 49th could love a Scab.

  Surely.

  Aaron faced Jacob. “What say you?”

  The Scab hesitated, then offered a single nod. “His logic isn’t flawed.”

  “You agree to this?”

  “I do.”

  Aaron returned his glass to the mantel. “So be it. When?”

  Samuel stood like stone, face flushed.

  Vlad ignored him for the moment. “Tonight.”

  “I’ll need my armor and weapons,” Jacob said.

  Vlad dipped his head. “Naturally. I suggest you prepare. You may go. Samuel, stay for a moment.”

  Jacob glanced at Aaron, who nodded.

  The Scab looked at Vlad, held his gaze for a moment, then strode for the exit. The guard opened the door and allowed two others to escort Jacob from the room.

  “How can you know this?” Samuel snapped the moment the door closed. “That she loves this beast?”

  Vlad cocked his brow. “Do you doubt me?”

  “It’s impossible! She loves all, but not him, not as a man!”

  “Why do you care?”

  No response. Which was answer enough.

  “But you’re right about one thing, son of Thomas. Jacob cannot be trusted.”

  “Of course not. He’s Horde.”

  “Not because he’s Horde. Because he’s falling in love with her.”

  Samuel looked gut-punched. “You’re saying that they’re both party to this madness?”

  “I’m saying that you must follow them without being seen. They will lead you to the Realm of Mystics. You, my friend, will be the one who saves all Albinos from the shadow of death.”

  Vlad faced Aaron. “Kill every last rotting Scab if you must. But remember what I’ve told you today. The annihilation of all Mystics must take precedence! I have eyes everywhere.”

  “And yet not even you know where the Realm of Mystics is.”

  “The Mystics have surrendered polarity at a very high level. Like all Shataiki, Roush, Horde, and Albino, we Leedhan are bound in polarity.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, their Realm is beyond our purview. If we knew where they were, they would already be dead.”

  Aaron frowned. “So be it.”

  “Good. Now show me where you have the 49th. I have a gift for her before I leave you all.”

  7

  DAVID bolted up in bed, sheets soaked, heart hammering, confused and disoriented. Confused because he’d just dreamed—only it wasn’t a dream. Or was it?

  Disoriented because he’d just been in a room with a man named Vlad and three other people after riding across a desert as a prisoner. He’d awakened here when they knocked him out there.

  So was this place the dream? No. No, that couldn’t be.

  He flipped on the light, flung his legs from the bed and sat still, listening. Staring at the white wall. The details of his dream spun through his mind in perfect clarity. Rachelle was there, they said, a prisoner in their dungeons. She was called the 49th Mystic. Vlad wanted her dead.

  Steve had asked him if he wanted to dream. But it felt so real . . . Was this how he’d dreamed in Eden?

  The question tripped through his mind. What if Rachelle really was in some kind of danger? And what about him?

  He shoved himself from the bed and crossed to the door. Twisted the knob. Locked from the outside. Of course, it was after hours. He could press the button beside his bed, but that would bring Mary. Mary couldn’t know about the dream—he’d given his word to Steve.

  Regardless, it was just a dream, had to be. A nightmare.

  He turned and glanced around the small room. No windows. One bed with a reddish, pinkish cover, one white dresser, one bedside table with a green lamp.

  Safe. Familiar. Home.

  Slowly, his heart returned to an even pace. The clock on his nightstand read 2:12 a.m. He’d slept only a few hours. What if he forgot the dream in the morning?

  Returning to his bed, David opened the drawer on his bedside table, pulled out his notepad and pen. There, on the first page, he scribbled himself a note.

  Dream: Another world. Desert. Vlad. Mystic. Captive.

  He stared at his writing. Enough to jog his memory. He returned the notebook to the drawer, slid back under the covers, and turned off the light.

  Strange how he’d awakened here when he got knocked out there, in the nightmare. But that’s how dreams worked. Even more strange—how he was so worked up about something his mind had only imagined. Unlike him, Rachelle still had some memory of Eden, even though it was mostly suppressed. Maybe this was why she didn’t want to dream.

  Maybe she knew it would be a nightmare.

  David let his mind drift. Tomorrow was what? Saturday, so pancakes for breakfast. He wasn’t sure how the MEP had altered his mind, because he couldn’t remember anything before the treatment, nothing at all. They’d given him subconscious memories, which affected his preferences, like his craving for pancakes, which Rachelle claimed he used to hate.

  A part of him wondered if having his memories wiped should upset him, but he didn’t have any reason to be upset about something he couldn’t remember, like how he’d once been. He was just . . . this.

  After the first couple of weeks, Rachelle had stopped telling him how things used to be. The MEP didn’t work with her for some unknown reason, but she was on her own path of healing. Memories that were fake to begin with were slowly being washed from her so she could focus on that healing.

  Sleep pulled at him, and his mind returned to the other world again. What if believing in another world was like believing in religion? The thought got him thinking about Rachelle’s Sunday excursions to the church. He’d never gone, but maybe he should. She always returned with a smile. It was the music, she said. That and seeing other people looking beyond themselves to something greater. God. She said she’d always had a deep faith in God, and she was working through that somehow.

  Good for her. She was so beautiful. Such a gentle and bright spirit. So loving and smart. Maybe he should go with her. Maybe it would do him some good too . . .

  Those were the last thoughts that crossed David’s mind before he fell asleep and opened his eyes in another world.

  He was on the gro
und. Someone had just kicked him. He grunted and tried to get up, but his hands were chained behind his back.

  A familiar panic coursed through his veins. He’d been here, crossing the desert with the one called Marsuuv, who was Vlad Smith. They had Rachelle. Dear God . . .

  “Cover his head.”

  Someone shoved a hood over his head and hauled him to his feet.

  “Bring him.”

  VLAD SMITH peered through the open cell door, studying the small form sleeping dreamlessly in the stone hole. The guard stood behind him, holding a torch in one hand and the father’s restraints in the other. He’d taken the liberty of placing a hood over David’s head. No need for a commotion before its appointed time.

  Looking at her frail form, he knew that commotion would be significant. Wonder filled him to think that this woman curled up in a filthy, tattered tunic—black hair disheveled, skin bruised—presented the greatest risk to the shadow, excepting Justin himself.

  He stepped up to the cell. Wrapped his fingers around one of the iron bars. Was it wonder or fear he felt? He could hardly tell the difference anymore. Because there was no difference to him. He could only feel fear, regardless of what he called it or how he pretended to be.

  Her chest slowly rose and fell with shallow breathing. Her eyes were no longer blind, he knew that. She’d brought the sky down in Eden and gained the Third Seal. All three were there, on her bare shoulder.

  White. Green. Black.

  Seeing them now, he took a calming breath. He couldn’t fathom how the world would be if they all discovered who they were. But it wasn’t going to happen.

  Here lay the 49th Mystic in all her puny glory. That a single human could cause such a disturbance in the valley of shadow made him ill. He’d given so many years of his life in the other world, preparing. All was in order there, waiting for his return to end what he’d started.

  And yet . . . three seals. If she found a way to recover her strength there, in the other world, despite all of his preparations . . .

  A chill washed down his back.

  “Set the torch.”