Journey Through the Mirrors Read online

  No one at the table refuted him.

  “I can’t believe any of you are listening to him!” Cassandra said in disbelief. “What about the miracle you all said you wanted? You plan to ambush trucks and kill innocent people while you wait for God’s sign? Tell me again why we shouldn’t have been forgotten!”

  Before Cassandra could continue, everyone’s attention turned to a flare rising high in the twilight sky. A moment later, another flare appeared, then another.

  “Looks like the Beariman clan is tracking something,” RJ said, intrigued.

  “Or someone,” Allen added. “And they’re not far away. The flares look like they’re coming from Route Forty. Alert everyone, just in case we have to deal with the Bearimans tonight.”

  Two more flares shot up, this time east of where the others had appeared.

  “You’re right, they’re too close,” Cassandra said, rising to her feet. “We need to find out what’s going on. Otherwise, we’ll be sitting like turtles in a tub.” That was a phrase Cassandra’s father used to say to her and her older brother during their vacations. Holidays were more like survival adventures as they explored some of the more exotic places around the world. Just prior to the Great Disruption, Cassandra and her family had returned from a two-week exploration of jungles surrounding Angkor Wat.

  They agreed and rose. RJ gave his shotgun a quick pump.

  Cassandra retrieved her rifle and satchel from her tent, then returned to lead a group of twenty men and women into the forest toward the last set of flares. Some people held crossbows, others carried rifles, but most could muster only clubs and long sticks. Night had fallen, but the moon provided enough light for them to see the way.

  Suddenly, Cassandra motioned for them to stop.

  “What?” RJ asked.

  “I hear something. It sounds like a car engine.”

  Allen nodded, confirming that he heard it, too, and they continued in the direction from which the sound was coming. Moments later, Cassandra halted the group again. The sound had stopped. They waited silently, looking for more flares. The sound of a car door opening and closing broke the silence. Someone was up ahead, very close. Cassandra led the group forward until she saw a clearing about twenty feet away. They had come to the edge of a campsite. At the center was a circle of large rocks that formed a fire pit, a stack of logs nearby. Cassandra motioned for everyone to be quiet, and they watched from the forest as one man helped another lie down on the ground.

  “Who are they?” RJ asked, maneuvering for a better view and stepping on a twig that snapped loudly. Cassandra pressed a finger to her lips.

  “Hello!” the man standing in the campsite called out, still just a silhouette in the darkness. “Is anyone here?”

  Everyone remained silent, watching. The man threw the beam of his flashlight around the campsite. It landed on a nearby tree trunk. The man drew closer and picked up something that looked like a small bag. What did he find? Cassandra wondered. How did this man know about this campsite? And why haven’t we come across it before?

  The man returned to the fire pit, sat down on a rock close to where he’d set the other man, took something out of the bag he’d found, and used his flashlight to inspect it.

  RJ tried again to get a better view, this time setting loose a stone that bounced along the ground. The man heard the sound and reached for something next to him. In a moment, he was pointing a small gun in their direction.

  Cassandra grabbed RJ by the arm, imploring him to be still. She took the flare gun along with the two cartridges she had found that morning from her satchel and handed them to Beth, who stood close by. “I want you to make your way to Route Forty and walk west for five minutes or so. Then stop and fire one flare; wait thirty seconds, and then fire another. We need to throw the Beariman clan off this trail.” Beth left, taking two other members of their group with her.

  Cassandra turned back to the man at the campsite. He had lowered his gun and returned his attention to what he was holding in his hand. Cassandra still could not make out what it was, her view further compromised by the sudden emergence of a brilliant blue light emitted by whatever the man was holding. Soon the glow of the blue light encompassed the entire campsite. Who is this man? Cassandra asked herself, awestruck. And what strange magic does he possess?

  RJ readied his gun, but both Cassandra and Allen grabbed the barrel and pushed it toward the ground. They dared not disturb what was happening at the campsite. The light seemed to be coming from a kind of supernatural ball floating in front of the man’s face. Incredibly, after a moment, the man also began to float, rising off the ground and drifting around the campsite. Cassandra gazed on in disbelief. In a fleeting moment, she realized that the blue was somehow warm and comforting. The light intensified almost to the point of being blinding before fading. When the man returned to the ground and the blue light disappeared, Cassandra could not hold the group back any longer. Almost hypnotized, the Forgotten Ones walked out of the woods into the campsite. The man grabbed his gun and thrust it out in defense. Cassandra saw a red flare shoot into the sky, then another. Beth had successfully fired the decoy flares, or so she hoped.

  “Go away! I don’t have anything you want!” the man yelled as he waved his gun at them.

  Whoever this man was, Cassandra could tell that he was scared. With her rifle slung over her shoulder, she pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She saw that he was younger than she’d first thought, perhaps even her age. She walked slowly, not sure what she was dealing with. Noticing a book of matches lying on a large stone, she picked it up.

  “Nice campsite,” she said, in a tone she hoped would hide her own fear. The young man remained silent. Cassandra struck a match and threw it into the fire pit, where logs and kindling had been meticulously arranged. “I’m surprised we didn’t come across it before.”

  The campfire roared to life, illuminating the site. Now that she could see him better, Cassandra was sure that he was her age. Just over six feet tall, he had short brown hair and matching brown eyes. And fear was clearly evident on his face.

  “This isn’t my campsite,” the young man said. “I thought it was yours. I don’t have anything you want.”

  “I heard you the first time,” Cassandra said, as she walked around him. He was holding the gun in his right hand and something else in his left. “Are you a magician?” she asked, as she took what he was holding in his left hand. It turned out to be a book.

  “Me? No,” he replied. “I don’t know what that blue orb was. I just opened that book, and all of a sudden, I was floating around.”

  Cassandra looked at the cover. There was only a title and a symbol, both embossed in gold leaf:

  The Chronicles of Satraya

  She opened the book and began to read the first page.

  “You can read?” the young man asked, sounding surprised. Cassandra looked up at him, annoyed by his assumption. “Sorry. I’ve just heard some things about you people.”

  “Us people?” she retorted. “Not all of us are what you think we are. If we were, you and your friend wouldn’t be alive.” She looked over at the man who lay asleep or unconscious on the ground.

  There was a commotion in the crowd. Cassandra saw RJ emerge from behind the young man, pressing the end of his shotgun into his back.

  “Don’t move. Drop your gun,” RJ ordered, and the young man’s small .38 handgun fell to the ground. “Now, turn around.” The young man did as he was told. “Come on, Cassie,” RJ said. “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.” Cassandra watched as RJ cocked his shotgun and sneered at the man. “I hope your sins don’t keep you from heaven’s gates.”

  “Put the gun down,” Cassandra told RJ. “Put it down right now, or I’ll shoot you instead of him.”

  RJ glared at her but did not move. Cassandra walked over and pushed the barrel of his shotgun toward the ground. A moment passed, and the t
wo continued staring at each other. Then RJ ripped off his red bandana and threw it to the ground. He stepped back.

  Over RJ’s shoulder, Cassandra could see more Forgotten Ones arriving at the campsite after seeing the dazzling light from the encampment. Two more red flares shot into the sky, this time farther away. The Bearimans were off the trail.

  Cassandra looked into the forlorn faces of her Forgotten brothers and sisters, the clan she had come to love over the last three years. “We have wanted a miracle for a long time,” she said loudly so everyone could hear her. “Some sign that we will be all right. Something, anything, to let us know that we have not been forgotten . . .” She paused a moment, taking in the crowd. “You all saw the blue orb and the light. You all saw him lifted off the ground. Maybe that is the miracle we have been waiting for. Not him,” she said, pointing to the young man, “but this.” She held up the book in her hand. Then she opened it and read the first page 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.

  Cassandra paused and looked at the faces of her Forgotten Ones. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she saw a glimmer of hope in their eyes.

  “Read on!” Allen shouted.

  Cassandra walked back to the young man and stood beside him.

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

  “See?” Cassandra said, smiling at the young man. “You do have something we need. Hope.”

  1

  A civilization can construct monuments to the gods and learn nothing.

  A man can build a fire to keep himself warm and learn everything.

  —THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

  MEXICO CITY, 10:20 A.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 20, 2070

  A high-pitched scream jolted Logan awake. He sat up in the beach chair and looked around for his son and daughter. This wasn’t the first time he had heard his daughter’s distress call. He spotted a group of teenagers standing at the shoreline, pointing at something. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the blazing Mexican sun and saw his daughter, Jamie, frantically wading through the chest-high water toward the shore. Logan sprang up and jogged toward the ocean, looking for his son, Jordan, who was supposed to be keeping an eye on his younger sister. He was nowhere in sight. People walking on the beach paused and pointed at Jamie. Someone yelled, “Shark!”

  As Logan’s jog turned into a sprint, spraying sand on other vacationers, he spotted the fin near Jamie. More people were yelling, “Shark! Shark!” Logan veered around a group of onlookers and grabbed a boat paddle, which was stuck in the sand next to an upside-down kayak. He held it above his head as he ran full-force into the water toward his panicked daughter. Jamie let out another shriek as she splashed toward Logan and wrapped her arms around his waist when she reached him.

  “Get behind me,” Logan said, as he eyed the fin moving slowly through the water. Logan felt Jamie squeeze him tightly as the shark moved closer. He placed both of his hands on the paddle and raised it above his head with both arms. A few more feet, and the shark would be close enough for Logan to drive it off with a single well-aimed blow. At least, that’s what he hoped. Suddenly, Logan’s mind blanked, and the sound of Jamie’s screaming became muffled. Logan’s view of the advancing shark blurred, and somehow another perspective was overlaid on top. Logan could see someone’s legs and feet walking along the floor of the ocean. The flash lasted but a moment before the overlay disappeared. He found himself now only a meter or so away from the shark. The fin stopped its advance. Logan bent his legs to better support himself as he prepared to strike.

  The fin popped out of the water. It was affixed to the top of a young man’s head, held there by a strap that ran under his chin. He removed a scuba mask from his face and took the snorkel out of his mouth. “Hey, Dad,” he said. “What’s the paddle for? Are we going kayaking?”

  Logan lowered the paddle. “Jordan, what are you doing?” he said. “You’re supposed to be watching your sister, not scaring her and the other people on the beach half to death!”

  Jamie waded out from behind Logan. “Yeah!” she yelled, agreeing with her father. “Stop scaring me!” She skimmed the surface with her hand and splashed water into her brother’s face.

  Jordan looked at his sister and his father, then noticed the crowd on the shore looking at them. Two lifeguards had left their stations and were heading toward them. “Sorry, Dad,” he said, realizing that what he had done was not very amusing. “Sorry, Jamie.”

  Logan looked at his daughter, who seemed to have recovered from her brother’s prank. “Both of you have twenty more minutes in the water before we have to leave,” Logan said sternly. He held his hand out to Jordan, who sheepishly waded over and handed him the goggles, snorkel, and artificial fin.

  “Where did you get this thing, anyway?” Logan asked, shaking his head and heading back to shore without waiting for an answer. Logan handed one of the lifeguards the fin and apologized for the commotion. He stuck the paddle into the sand next to the kayak and made his way back to the lounge chair, where his girlfriend, Valerie, was waiting.

  “What happened?” she asked. She was dressed in a red bikini top and a rainbow-colored cover-up, a long way from looking like the senior agent of the World Crime Federation that she was. She had just returned from the beach bar and was carrying two tropical drinks, complete with slices of pineapple and strawberries. “You don’t look very happy.”

  “Jordan being Jordan,” Logan answered, as he straightened out the towel on his chair. “One day, his little sister’s going to roar back, and Jordan’s not going to like it.” He went quiet, his stare lingering on the ocean.

  “What is it?” Valerie asked.

  “You know that thing I’ve been telling you that’s been happening to me lately, where I’m suddenly looking at something different? Well, it happened again.”

  “Really?” Valerie set the drinks down on the small wooden table between them.

  “I was standing in the water, and all of a sudden, I caught a glimpse under the water. Like my perspective shifted for a second. I saw a set of legs walking on the ocean floor.”

  “It sounds a bit like what happens to you when you stare into a candle flame. But you probably should get it checked out to be safe. It could also be related to all the stress you’ve been under for the last year.” Valerie stretched out in her chair and adjusted the brim of her sombrero. She held up her new PCD. “What do you think? It’s the latest in personal communication devices, with a few government enhancements.”

  “Is it integrated with your thoughts?” Logan asked facetiously.

  “Almost,” Valerie said. With a few taps on the screen, a book was projected in front of her. “I want to get through this chapter before we have to leave for the Institute.”

  “That actually looks like a real book and not a projection,” Logan said incredulously, reaching over and passing his hand through the book.

  “And check this out. It tracks with my eyes, so when I get to the end of the page, it automatically turns to the next.”

  “What are you reading?” asked Logan.

  “The Chronicles. I figure it’s about time I read the books that saved humanity forty years ago and then wreaked such havoc in our lives this past year. It doesn’t seem possible that books that have brought so much good to the world also provoked so much evil.”


  “The books didn’t provoke evil,” Logan said. “People did. History is filled with instances of people committing terrible deeds in the name of a philosophy, religion, or political system that they have distorted to suit their own selfish purposes. There is a thin line between the justification of good versus the rationale of evil.”

  Valerie gave Logan a questioning look, as the projected book in front of her disappeared. “In law enforcement, the line between good and evil is pretty clear.”

  “In terms of the law, I agree,” Logan said. “But in terms of people . . .”

  “I can’t believe that you, of all people, would believe that. After what Simon and Andrea did?”

  “Keep reading,” Logan urged. “And let me know if there’s anything in the books you need me to explain.”

  Valerie made the sound of a roaring lioness, putting a grin on Logan’s face. She looked back down at her PCD, causing the first volume of the Chronicles to reappear. The pages flipped to where she had left off.

  Logan, his children, and Valerie had flown down from New Chicago yesterday at the invitation of Juan Montez of the National Institute of Anthropology and History, who had hired Logan to restore a piece of pre-Columbian statuary. The Institute had put them up at the luxurious Orilla de Joyas, a newly constructed beach resort, located a few kilometers west of Mexico City. During the Great Disruption of 2027, a massive earthquake sank a large portion of Mexico’s west coast, from Guadalajara to Salina Cruz, into the Pacific Ocean. Only a ten-kilometer area surrounding Nevado de Toluca, the largest stratovolcano in central Mexico, remained above sea level. The eight-kilometer-wide gulf between the new island and the shore of Mexico City had become a getaway for vacationers from all over the North American Federation, which was made up of Canada, the United States of America, and Mexico. While hotels and resorts had been constructed up and down the Mexico City shoreline, development on the island was forbidden. During the reconstruction efforts that followed the Great Disruption, a period known as the Rising, the NAF’s flag was placed at Pico del Fraile, the highest point on the island. It could be seen from the shore of Mexico City and came to represent the perseverance of mankind. It was rumored that a fifth original copy of The Chronicles of Satraya was hidden somewhere on the peak, but that claim had yet to be proven. Daily excursions to the island afforded visitors the opportunity to search for it themselves, one of the area’s major tourist attractions.