Journey Into the Flame (2 page)

Two more red flares pierced the darkening sky, but this time, they illuminated the sky ahead of him. The Forgotten Ones were waiting for him up there. A voice inside Camden’s head screamed,
Turn off your lights, turn left here, do it now!
Camden spotted the turnoff, quickly shut off his headlights, and turned onto the dirt road.

The glow from the flares was dimming as Camden slowly drove down the tree-lined path, which narrowed as it wound back and forth. Camden’s adrenaline was still coursing through his veins; his only allies were the rising moon and an unconscious stranger lying in the backseat. Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes; the road was too narrow now for him to continue by car. He sat there for a moment, deciding on his next move. If he returned to the main road, he would have to face the Forgotten Ones. And if he continued down the dirt road on foot, who knew what he would find? Camden turned off the engine and leaned back in the seat. His father’s voice came to him: “The keys to survival are water and a dry place to hide.”

Quietly, Camden got out of the car. With the Forgotten Ones prowling around, it wasn’t safe to spend the night in the vehicle. He took his flashlight from his pack and moved toward the back of the car, where the young man with the bleeding neck lay unconscious. Camden leaned forward, taking him by the shoulder and whispering, “Robert, Robert . . .”

The young man moaned in pain, but with Camden’s help, he
managed to get to his feet. They set off down the trail. The only sounds were the cracking of twigs and the crushing of dried leaves under their feet. From time to time, Camden heard the howling of a distant coyote—at least, he hoped it was distant.

The moon was now in its full glory, and Camden could see a multitude of trails that led deeper into the forest. A well-cleared walking path to his right caught Camden’s attention; it seemed to lead to a campsite. Camden paused, Robert clinging to his shoulder. He knew a campsite was the last place he should hide.
Whoever set up this campsite has to be coming back
, he thought. But he had to stop somewhere for a moment or two. He couldn’t carry Robert, who was losing consciousness again, much farther. Slowly, without a choice, he led him down the twenty-foot path. Near the end, Camden saw a circle of carefully stacked stones forming a fire pit. It was filled with logs, twigs, and dry grass, ready to be set ablaze. On one of the stones was a book of matches, a valuable item these days. A few feet from the pit was a second stack of logs, large enough to keep the fire fueled for days.

Unable to support Robert’s weight any longer, Camden laid him gently on the ground and gave him a drink of water from his canteen.

“Hello,” he called softly. “Is anyone here?”

There was no answer. Camden felt dead tired and needed to get some rest. He wanted to strike a match and ignite the fire, but the risk was too great. The Forgotten Ones were surely nearby, even though he hadn’t seen a flare since he’d turned off the highway. Gripping his flashlight, he inspected the campsite, walking around the perimeter.

As he was about to dim his light, Camden spotted a small brown leather bag with a single brass buckle lying on a tree stump. Camden picked it up and sat by the fire pit next to Robert.
Maybe it belongs to the person who built the campsite
, he thought.

Carefully, Camden opened the bag and found three leather-bound books inside. Using his flashlight, he examined the books’ covers. Only a title,
The Chronicles of Satraya,
and a strange symbol embossed in gold leaf were printed on them.

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the trees. Camden dropped the books and removed the gun from his pack. Now on one knee, his finger on the trigger, Camden held perfectly still as he surveyed the dark woods beyond the campsite. He didn’t see anyone. He looked up at the sky for red flares or any sign that he’d been spotted again. After a few silent moments, he lowered his gun back down and set it beside him.

Still tense, he turned his attention back to the books. He took the first one and opened the leather cover. As soon as he did so, a brilliant blue orb the size of an apple emerged from the pages. It hovered silently in front of him, its blue light casting an eerie glow over the entire campsite. He could not believe what he was seeing. As much as he wanted to get up and run, he couldn’t move. His eyes were fixed on the radiant blue orb. As Camden stared at it, he began to hear a slight hum, like the sound of a soft flute. There was something soothing about the blue light and the humming sound. He blew gently on the orb, and it turned an even deeper shade of blue; then the hum grew louder.
What is going on?
he wondered.
I need to get out of here . . .

But something kept Camden rooted to the spot. He raised his right hand and gently placed his palm under the orb, cradling it as he had done with falling snowflakes when he was little. The moment he did, he felt an electrical charge run through his body, a lightness of being overcame him, and then, miraculously, his body floated off the ground. A gentle wind blew, nudging him around the campsite, as if he were a feather floating on a stray current of air. Camden’s gaze remained focused on the blue orb, and his mind went blank except for a single phrase:
In a time of great need, we are with you.
The phrase was repeated again and again by an unfamiliar, distant-sounding voice:
In a time of great need, we are with you. . . .

After a lost period of time, Camden and the orb floated back to the
fire pit, next to Robert, who was still unconscious. Somehow Camden knew it was time to release the blue orb. And when he did so, he was gracefully set back down on the ground. The flutelike hum faded, and the blue orb sank like the setting sun, back into the pages of the book. The bright blue light disappeared, and once again, only the moon illuminated the campsite. Camden looked down at the first page of the book and saw the words that had been running through his mind:

In a time of great need, we are with you.

As it has always been.

Suddenly, Camden heard the sound of rustling leaves again. Closer this time. His heart raced as he scrambled to reach for his gun. Standing now, he felt his right hand trembling as he pointed his small .38 at the edge of the woods, first to the left and then to the right. Red flares shot into the night sky.

The Forgotten Ones had arrived. And more were coming.

Like spirits from the forest, they started to emerge at the edges of the campsite, their clothes grubby, their faces haggard. Some held crossbows, others carried rifles, and most brandished clubs and sticks. More frightened than he’d ever been in his life, Camden continued to point his gun at the growing crowd. “Go away!” he shouted. “I don’t have anything you want!”

At that moment, a young woman broke from the crowd. She appeared to be only a few years older than Camden. A rifle was slung over her shoulder. “Nice campsite,” she said, as she struck a match and tossed it into the fire pit. “I’m surprised we didn’t come across it before.” The campfire roared to life, its flames filling the clearing with a warming orange light. The young woman had long blond hair, which was tied back with a piece of frayed rope. She had piercing blue eyes and a confident bearing.

“This isn’t my campsite,” Camden responded. “I thought it was yours. I don’t have anything you want.”

“I heard you the first time,” the young woman said. She circled around him, unconcerned about Camden’s nervously holding his gun. “Are you a magician?” she asked, as she took the book from Camden’s hand.

“Me? No,” Camden replied, realizing she must have seen the blue light and what had happened to him. “I don’t know what that blue orb was. I just opened this book, and all of a sudden, I was floating around.” By the light of the campfire, Camden could see her eyes moving down the page. “You can read?” he said, surprised.

The young woman gave him an annoyed look.

“Sorry. I’ve just heard some things about you people.”

“Us people?” the young woman replied, still skimming the page. “Not all of us are what you think we are. If we were, you and your friend wouldn’t be alive.” Her reading was interrupted by a commotion coming from the crowd of Forgotten Ones.

“Don’t move,” said a voice behind Camden. “Drop your gun.” Camden did as he was told. He could feel something cool pressed against the back of his neck. “Now, turn around.” As Camden did so, he found himself face-to-face with a six-foot-four, muscular, and fearsome-looking man wearing ragged blue jeans and a ripped T-shirt, with a red bandana on his head. He was pointing the barrel of a shotgun at Camden’s head. “Come on, Cassie,” he said, giving the young woman an irritated look. “We got better things to do than mess around with these
cared-for
folks. Let’s empty their pockets, grab their food, and go home.” The man turned to Camden and cocked his shotgun, his lips twisting into a nasty grin. “I hope your sins don’t keep you from heaven’s gates.”

This is it
, Camden thought again. He took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes. After surviving all the events of the Great Disruption, he was going to die at the hands of a shotgun-toting Forgotten One.

“Put the gun down,” the young woman said. “Put it down right now, or I’ll shoot you instead of him.”

Camden opened his eyes and saw that the young woman had walked
over and forcefully pushed the barrel of the man’s gun to the ground. The man ripped off his bandana in frustration and stepped back. Camden could hear a murmur of voices.

The young woman turned to the crowd that was encircling them, pressing closer as more people came out of the forest. Red flares continued to shoot into the night sky. “We have wanted a miracle for a long time. Some sign that we will be all right. Something, anything, to let us know that we have not been forgotten . . .” She paused a moment, looking into the faces of those gathered around her. “You all saw the blue orb and the light,” she continued. “You all saw him lifted off the ground. Maybe that is the miracle we have been waiting for. Not him”—she pointed to Camden—“but this.” She held up the book in her hand.

The rumbling from the crowd ceased, and Camden could hear only the crackling of the fire. Whoever this woman was, she had the Forgotten Ones’ attention. Camden watched as she opened the book again and began reading aloud.

In a time of great need, we are with you.

As it has always been.

Contained in the pages of these books are the answers to your deepest questions. They are questions that have been asked by many who have come before you. Now, in this time of great despair, these words will provide you with resolution. Within each of you is a secret. If it is uncovered, something will be triggered in you, something that has not been activated in a long while. You have been asleep. Now it is time for you to wake up and claim your freedom. The rising of mankind is upon the land.

In a time of great need, we are with you.

As it has always been.

The young woman stopped reading. Camden looked at her and then at the faces of the Forgotten Ones. He realized they were no different from him or any of the other survivors of the Great Disruption he
had met in Washington and on his trips around the country. Everyone wanted a better life and a better world; everyone wanted to know that there was a greater reason why they had survived and now had to deal with the ravages of the disruption.

“Read on!” someone shouted.

The young woman walked over and stood next to Camden.

“Yes, read on!” yelled another, and soon there was a chorus of voices urging her to continue.

“See?” the young woman said to Camden with a gentle, sweet smile. “You do have something we need.
Hope.
”

1

What does one crave when money and material wealth are all but gathered, when recognition and acclaim are won?

Power and control will be sought, the great temptations and corrupters of mankind.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

CHÂTEAU DUGAN, SWISS ALPS, 7:00 P.M., LOCAL TIME, JULY 15, 2069

A great iron bell rang, its sound reverberating through the meeting hall of Château Dugan for the first time in over forty years. High above the stone mosaic floor, a chandelier hung on a heavy chain from the barrel-vaulted ceiling, casting a dim, unsettling light. Flaming torches mounted on the walls offered additional illumination. There were no windows in the chamber, and only a solitary door provided access. Eleven people sat at a large rectangular table made of dark polished granite, their faces hidden by burnished gold masks that reflected the dancing light from the torches. A twelfth chair at one end of the table was unoccupied; a black rose lay on the table in front of it.

“Welcome, my friends,” said the man who was seated in the most ornate chair at the head of the table. In front of him lay an original copy of
The Chronicles of Satraya.
“Some time has passed since we all gathered here. Please, let us reveal ourselves to one another and be assured that we are among friends.”