Journey Into the Flame: Book One of the Rising World Trilogy Read online

  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

  CHTEAU 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.”

  As if orchestrated, all eleven simultaneously removed their masks and set them down on the table. In silence, they looked at one another. The salutis personatus, or masked greeting, was a centuries-old tradition used by secret societies to signify anonymity. Some of the people at the table who were already acquainted acknowledged one another with a slight nod or knowing glance.

  The oldest of those gathered, a slight, frail man wearing a forest-green ascot and grasping a black cane even while seated in a wheelchair, spoke with a raspy voice. “Why have you summoned us here, Simon? For what reason would you bring a group such as this together, and under the traditions of the old guard?”

  “Because it is time, Dario.” Simon leaned forward in his chair and pushed his mask aside. “After forty-two years, my friend, it is time. The Rising is over.”

  “Are you certain?” the old man asked.

  “Yes. It is time to finish the work my father was unable to accomplish in his lifetime. The moment has
come for us to reclaim what the Great Disruption and the rebellion of men took from us!”

  A sharp-chinned blond woman interrupted. “Those days are over, Simon. They ended with the arrival of those books you now display in front of us. Put them away! Even after all these years, they still make me sick.”

  Before Simon could respond, a woman with dark, expressive eyes added, “I agree with Catherine. We all know the damage those books wreaked upon our stature in the world. People no longer need us. Camden and Cassandra Ford, along with the Council of Satraya, saw to that. But I do not have to tell you that, Simon. You know that story better than any of us.”

  Catherine acknowledged her with a nod. “Thank you, Ilia.”

  Simon watched with displeasure as some in the group nodded in agreement. Others, such as Dario, remained silent, waiting for Simon to prove Catherine and Ilia wrong. Simon did not make them wait long. “No, Catherine! No, Ilia!” he began. “The people need us again. I have found the way to bring back the old order.”

  The old order Simon referred to was that of a group who called themselves Reges Hominum, the Kings of Men. They were twelve immensely wealthy shadow families who, in league with one another, had discreetly controlled the fate of men for centuries, moving them like pieces on a chessboard. While the Great Disruption had loosened their tight grip on humanity by diminishing their wealth and mechanisms of power, The Chronicles of Satraya had forced them to let go entirely.

  “What way can there be, Simon?” Catherine replied in an agitated voice. “Your father was a founding member of the Council of Satraya, working alongside Camden and Cassandra Ford, distributing throughout the world those insurrectionist books that did so much damage. I never understood how the great Fendral Hitchlords could commit such a foul deed and betray our trust. Perhaps you should start by explaining that, and then move on to how we can restore the old order.”

  “We all know that my father joined Camden and the others after finding his own set of the books,” Simon replied, glaring at Catherine. “I assure you he did so only in order to channel the Satraya movement in a constructive direction, a direction that would have benefited us all. But when it became evident that this was not possible, he left the Council. Be assured, my father did not betray any of you.”

  Simon, now forty-three years old and the only son of Fendral Hitchlords, moved forward in his chair and placed his hands on the books, his glossy black hair reflecting the light from the chandelier high above. His dark brown eyes contrasted starkly with his alabaster complexion, physical traits that had been passed down to him from his forefathers, whose portraits hung on the chamber’s walls. Simon could trace his lineage back to the fourth century, the time of Constantine and the first popes. The ten other people seated at the table were from similar dynasties, many of which had once been equal in worldly power, wealth, and influence to the Hitchlords family, although none was as old. Nor had any of them found an original set of The Chronicles of Satraya. Like his father, Simon was a student of the Chronicles, but he studied the books for a different purpose from that of the rest of the world.

  In an effort to defuse the tension between Simon and Catherine, Dario said, “We have all been through a great deal over the last many years. Catherine, please, let us listen to what young Hitchlords has to say. We owe his father that much. We can see that Simon possesses his father’s passion. Now let us also see if he possesses his father’s vision.”

  Simon nodded in thanks, letting his dark gaze leave Catherine to roam over the group seated before him. “The time has come for us to emerge from the shadows. As my father predicted, the world is beginning to forget the lessons of the past. He told me long ago that the Chronicles would share the same fate as other influential books throughout history such as the Bible, the Vedas, and the Kabbalah: they would lose their allure, and their lessons would be forgotten. My father was right. Look at the world now. People take their freedom for granted. They are giving up on self-reliance and are opting for the conveniences provided by governments and corporations.” Simon pressed down on a hidden compartment in the table, revealing a control pad. With the swipe of his hand, a three-dimensional image of the world was displayed over the center of the table, surrounded by various graphs and charts. “See for yourself how people’s consumption of food, energy, and drugs has increased exponentially in just the last three years. Thanks to some special work that I commissioned, we now have access to some secured government data. In particular, the financial and medical records of most of the people on the planet.” Simon continued to navigate the controls until he isolated a particular piece of information. An image of Catherine appeared on the display. “Oh, Catherine, I’m sorry to see that you have a thyroid condition.”

  “That is quite enough, Simon,” Dario said. “Shut that thing down.”

  Simon did as Dario requested, and the image disappeared.

  “Simon, please understand that I want to support you,” Catherine said, her tone noticeably more conciliatory now. “We all do. But my question still stands. What of those books there in front of you? What of the Chronicles? How do you plan to reverse the damage they and that Council have done?”

  “The original Council of Satraya disbanded years ago,” Simon answered, “and the current one has been castrated to nothing more than a quaint political organization.”

  “I also see that people are growing lazy again,” a German man wearing wire-rimmed glasses interjected. “Yet the books still have a following, however small. They have empowered individuals, encouraged people to resist control and not rely on others. There are still people today who follow those precepts. Remember the Financial Reset of 2025 that was caused by Crowd Twelve? Remember how people banded together and launched the boycotts that were adopted worldwide, shriveling the bottom lines of several multi-national corporations? Remember how people protested en masse against the financial institutions, refusing to repay their loans or pay their credit-card bills? Many of our colleagues lost everything. Even your father suffered losses, Simon. I dare say C12 would have succeeded in bringing down the world’s economy had the Great Disruption not done it for them. How can we be assured that something like that will not happen again? Those who still follow the philosophies of the Chronicles are as recalcitrant as the members of Crowd Twelve.”

  “I will answer your question, Klaus, but before I continue, I must be certain of everyone’s support.” Simon leaned forward and placed his right palm on the table. “If anyone here does not wish to be a part of this vision, please leave now. You will not be judged for your choice.” Simon’s tone was steady, the expression in his eyes serious. He exchanged a cool glance with the woman to his right, who was cloaked in a crimson hood. There was silence in the hall as a few people looked at one another and at the black rose in front of the empty twelfth chair. No one took up Simon’s offer to leave.

  “Very good,” Simon said. “We have found a way to rid the world of rebellion once and for all. The next Freedom Day celebration will mark the end times of the Chronicles and the beginning of a new era for humanity. We will once again be able to provide the world with stability and a sound financial system that restores our wealth and influence.” Simon paused to look around the table. Catherine, his most vocal critic, now sat silent. “And yes, some will die. But unlike the plagues of the Dark Ages or the many wars that have engulfed the world or even the chaos caused by the Great Disruption, our method will be more merciful; those who perish will suffer no pain, and their passing will be instantaneous.”

  “The promise of having our rightful place in the world restored is attractive, indeed,” said Dario. “But you still speak vaguely, my friend. And who is we?”

  Andrea Montavon, who was seated to Simon’s right, pulled back her crimson hood, revealing ash-blond hair and an exquisite face that showed few signs of her sixty-eight years of age. She turned her topaz-brown gaze from Simon to Dario. “I and my late husband have been assisting Simon in this quest,” she stated. “I know tha
t Simon’s plans sound vague, but I assure you that the details have all been worked out meticulously. Over the last eight years, while some of you may have resigned yourselves to your fate, we have been proactive. Just as the Chronicles would advise us to do.” She said this with a sly smile. Derisive laughter could be heard around the table.

  “I was sorry to hear about your husband, Andrea,” a bald man with a Japanese accent said. “I was told that Lord Benson’s death was sudden and most unexpected.”

  “Thank you, Yinsir,” Andrea said. “The black rose on the table honors him. He died in support of our efforts. He is terribly missed.”

  The German man cleared his throat and shifted in his chair impatiently. “Simon, if this plan of yours is some kind of population control, it has been tried before, and it didn’t work. Why should we think it will work now?”

  “No, this is not population control, Klaus,” Simon retorted. “That has never worked. My great-grandfather learned long ago that humans have an unquenchable desire to live. Kill several million of them, and others will just propagate more rapidly. We are taking an alternative approach—let us call it population grooming.”

  “I prefer to refer to our plan as the Purging,” Andrea added with a smile. “Simon, I think it is time for you to provide a few specifics.”

  Simon once again activated his holographic projector and set about presenting the details of his vision.

  He spoke for a long while, and afterward there was silence in the hall. But the people seated at the table were not startled by the ruthlessness of his proposed solution. For centuries, their families had secretly manipulated world affairs in ways that would have appalled humanity.

  “Brilliant,” said a classically handsome middle-aged man with dark hair who was seated to Andrea’s right. He clapped his hands together three times, the large black diamond of his gold ring catching the light of the torches behind him. “Absolutely brilliant! The two of you have been busy, indeed . . .”