The Enlightened (3 page)

We take an intricate set of stairs up to what looks like some kind of barracks.

“Here, put these on,” Grandpa says, handing me a robe and plain sandals that match those of the monks.

I put on the robe, feeling silly about the resultant look.

“Now that you’re more presentable, there are people I want you to meet,” Grandpa says and unceremoniously heads out of the room, preventing me from asking any questions.

Annoyed, I follow, wondering whether he would’ve ordered Caleb to drag me out of the room had I decided not to cooperate. I’m guessing the answer is yes.

The three of us enter a large amphitheater located on the top floor. Around the perimeter of the massive round room is a large circle of orange-clad monks all frozen in the lotus pose. Their faces are serene and blank. Rows and rows of candles and incense surround them. The motionless fire and smoke look like the result of high-speed, three-dimensional photography. In the center of the room, surrounded by the monks, are over a dozen figures sitting in a large circle with a foot or so between them. Their white robes match that of Grandpa’s, and like him, they all appear older. I see white hair on all but a few of the men, and those few are bald. As we approach, I notice a gray-haired, orange-robed person sitting at the very center of this strange arrangement. There is a lot of space between him and the circle of white-robed people, almost as if another, smaller circle belongs in the middle.

Navigating through the seated meditators, Grandpa approaches the white circle and touches an older woman on the back of her neck. In an instant, a lively version of this woman is looking at Grandpa intently.

“You should have a look at him,” Grandpa says, gesturing toward me. “I now have little doubt.”

The woman looks me up and down, her eyes settling on my face. Her kind, round face seems to be smiling without outwardly doing so, like the Mona Lisa.

“Hello, Darren,” she says. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She knows my name. Is that good or bad? Probably bad.

“Hi,” I say uncomfortably. “Who are you?”

“I am Rose,” she says, breaking into a genuine smile.

“Nice to meet you, Rose.” I try to keep my tone polite. “Can you please tell me where I am?”

“Didn’t Paul explain it already?” she asks, looking at Grandpa.

“There was no time,” Paul says. “We had to make sure everything went according to plan.”

“Sure,” she says, prolonging the word to make it sound placating. I catch a hint of eye rolling. “Do we tell him now, or do we pull Edward and Marsha in?”

“Your call,” Paul says, his face even. If he noticed her reaction, he’s hiding it well.

“All right, Darren, let me start by telling you who we are,” she says, turning toward me. “You might’ve heard others refer to us as the Enlightened, though I personally think the term is a bit posh.”

The Enlightened? I can hardly believe my ears. She’s claiming they’re the legendary Readers who, according to Eugene, can stay in the Quiet for record times—like me. I glance at Caleb, seeking verification, but he’s not paying attention to me. Instead, he’s looking at the older woman, his expression that of deep respect.

Okay then.

I take a steadying breath. “I’ve heard the term mentioned,” I tell the woman. “But I’m not sure what it really means.”

“Nor am I,” she says, chuckling. “It’s just what Readers call us.”

“Okay.” I decide to give up on that line of questioning for now. “Can you tell me where this is, and more importantly, why I’m here?”

“In due time,” Paul interjects. “First, you have to tell us a few things.”

“Sure,” I say cautiously. “Like what?”

“Tell them why you asked me about Mark Robinson,” Caleb butts in.

Paul nods. “That would be a good start.”

I am so busted. If I tell them the truth, they’ll figure out my mixed heritage. But I have no idea what lie I can concoct to explain why I was asking about Mark, a long-dead Reader.

“Jacob mentioned him when we spoke, the day I got shot,” I say, deciding to start with the truth. “Naturally, I was curious.”

At the mention of Jacob’s name, Caleb’s face darkens, and I realize that wasn’t the most strategic response on my part.

“You know more,” Paul says calmly. He isn’t accusing me of lying so much as he’s simply stating a fact.

“I might,” I allow. “But why don’t you tell me something next? Quid pro quo.”

“He’s scared,” Rose says, her kind face turning serious. “Why is he scared?”

This turn in the conversation is completely unexpected. Rose sounds as though she’s defending me. Is this some kind of strange bad cop (Grandpa) / good cop (Rose, the nice old lady) game?

“Why are you looking at me like it’s my fault? Why not ask this oaf?” Paul says defensively, pointing to Caleb.

“Young man,” Rose says, her full attention on Caleb. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing,” Caleb answers, and his voice takes on a note I haven’t heard from him before. If it were someone else, I’d swear he sounded deferential. “I just asked him a few important questions about the business with Jacob.”

I shudder, remembering how he’d chosen to ask those ‘few important questions.’

“You were explicitly instructed to bring him in unharmed,” Paul says, apparently noticing my reaction. His eyes narrow at Caleb. “Which part of that instruction was left open to interpretation?”

“Is he harmed?” Caleb says, and now he’s the one sounding defensive.

“Darren,” Rose says in an overly soothing tone, the kind a mother takes with a tantrum-throwing child. “Whatever happened with Jacob will not get you into trouble. Whatever Caleb told you was because he was mad about his mission going awry.”

Caleb gives an angry grunt but says nothing.

“What mission?” I ask suspiciously.

“Jacob was part of a group that Readers call the Purists. The Purists are part of another group, a bigger group, called the Orthodoxy,” she explains patiently. “Caleb has been working with us to penetrate the Orthodoxy, and Jacob was an important lead.”

“What is the Orthodoxy?” I ask, my head spinning. Caleb was an undercover agent of some kind? Actually, when I think about it, it doesn’t require a stretch of the imagination to picture Caleb in such a role. He’s certainly well versed in fighting.

“It’s complicated,” Rose says. “We believe there is an alliance between the Purists and their traditional counterparts among the Pushers.”

“There’s a whole organization of these people? It wasn’t just Jacob and a Pusher?” I blurt out before I can stop myself, and realize I might’ve admitted to knowing too much.

“So Jacob did have a Pusher ally?” Caleb asks, his face managing to darken even more.

“Yes,” I say. At this point, lying probably won’t help matters. “In fact, that’s who I was really going after when this thing happened with Jacob.”

“Tell us everything,” Caleb says.

“Young man,” Paul says to Caleb. “Remember your place.”

“We’ll find out what happened when we perform the Joining,” Rose says gently. “For now, we just want to make sure you, Darren, are who we think you are.”

“Wait, I want to learn about the Orthodoxy,” I say, keeping to my original subject. I don’t want to be at the center of their interest. I don’t want them confirming their suspicions about who they think I am, especially if those suspicions include me being part Guide. It’s a big break as is that they’re apparently not angry with me for offing Jacob. At least the Enlightened aren’t; Caleb clearly is.

“We don’t know much about them. They’re religiously secretive. People like him”—she nods at Caleb—“are trying to uncover more information about this sect. From what little we’ve learned, we know they’re responsible for many actions we don’t approve of.”

“What kind of actions?” I ask, staring at her.

“They’re too numerous to list,” she says, frowning, “but their biggest mistake is their desire to get rid of
us.
They want to return to the days when Readers of our magnitude didn’t exist. Our power scares them. Our practices scare them. Anything new scares them, really, which is why they intentionally stifle human progress of any kind. They want to make sure the world remains within certain parameters that are comfortable for them. We suspect they’re behind most of the fundamentalist groups in the world, be it Islamic extremists or—”

 
“Enough,” Paul says. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Rose, but we can cover this at another time. Darren, let’s cut to the chase. Was Mark your father?”

I look at them. Rose gives me an entreating look. Caleb’s eyebrow rises slightly, but his expression otherwise remains blank. Paul waits expectantly.

“Why would you ask that?” I ask, searching for a way to dodge this subject.

“We ask because we’re almost certain that you are his son,” Rose says. “We want to know without a shadow of doubt before we proceed with the next part of our plan.”

I rattle questions at them as quickly as I can. “What plan? Why do you think I’m this person’s son? And why does it matter?”

“We believe you’re Mark’s son because we looked you up before asking Caleb to bring you here. When we saw you, we noticed the familial resemblance. Combined with your questions about the man, the likelihood seems great, but given whom Mark married, we just didn’t think it was possible,” Rose explains.

“You know whom he married?” I give them a surprised look.

“We do,” Rose says, cautiously looking toward Caleb. “No point in going into that right this moment.”

“Indeed,” Paul says. “But I am beginning to understand the source of your reluctance on this issue.”

“Yes, now I get it, too.” Rose smiles at me. “You have nothing to worry about, though. Not from us two, that’s for sure.”

“Oh?” I say noncommittally. “Why is that?”

“Because, child, Mark was our son,” she says, gesturing toward Paul. “You’re our grandson.”

Chapter 4

R
ose is my grandma? Paul, the guy I nicknamed ‘Grandpa,’ actually
is
my grandpa? That’s just too much to take in. Since I learned Sara isn’t my biological mom, I knew I’d eventually come across new family—and it’s logical that my family would be from the Reader and Guide communities—but knowing this and actually having it happen are two different things. I’m more surprised by Paul and Rose being my grandparents than I was to learn that Hillary is my aunt.

Studying their features more closely, I notice the resemblance: Paul has my eye color, and Rose has my chin. Or rather, I have theirs. My heart starts beating even faster. I hate that we’re in the Quiet, because that means I can’t phase out to take a breather, as I usually would in similar situations.

“As soon as I saw your pictures online, I suspected you were my grandson,” Rose says, pulling me out of my shock. “I hoped. You look just like Mark did when he was your age, and even more like Paul.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” Caleb asks, looking at Paul. Apparently, this is a surprise to him, too. “It would’ve been nice to be in the loop.”

“Did you need to know?” Paul retorts coldly.

“I guess not,” Caleb says, deflating. “But it would’ve helped. I thought—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Paul says. “Rose, I think we should bring in a few of the others.”

I have to say, in contrast to Rose, who is beaming at me, I’m not getting any warm and fuzzy feelings from Grandpa. Not one bit. Maybe he’s one of those crankier older gentlemen.

“You may go,” Rose tells Caleb. “But do stick around in this Mind Dimension for the time being.”

“You got it,” Caleb says and walks off. If it’s possible to express anger through one’s gait, he’s doing an extremely good job of it. It sounds as though he misunderstood their reason for having me brought here, and I wonder what the actual reason is.

Rose and Paul walk over to two other white-robed figures. She touches a bald man on the head, and Paul goes for the neck of a heavyset woman who’s sitting on the other side of the circle.

The moving versions of the two new people appear. I’m still digesting having grandparents—grandparents who are among the Enlightened, no less.

“Darren, this is Edward, my husband,” Rose says, introducing the bald man.

“And this is my wife, Marsha,” Paul says.

Both newcomers look at me with varying levels of fascination.

“I can see it,” the bald one, Edward, says.

The chubby lady, Marsha, nods.

When the introductions sink in—and though it’s not the weirdest thing I’ve heard today—I can’t help but say, “Wait, you two aren’t married?”

“No,” Rose says, giving her husband a reassuring squeeze on the arm. “Paul and I had Mark because it was genetically advantageous, but when it came to choosing life partners, each of us married for love.”

Okay, so fact one: I have grandparents. Fact two: they’re swingers. It just gets better and better.

“Rose and I are the most powerful of our kind,” Paul says. He must’ve interpreted the expression on my face as incredulity about the ‘genetically advantageous’ reference, when my astonishment was in regards to their sex life.

“Yes,” Rose chimes in. “We were bred, through generations, for our Depth. Our ancestors have been trying to—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, hon,” Edward says to her, “but shouldn’t we do the Joining first? Before we tell him everything?”

“That’s a great idea,” Paul says. “We can only fully confide in him after the Joining.”

“Joining?” I ask, slowly regaining my scattered wits. “Like when I joined my mind with Caleb’s to read the fighter’s thoughts?”

“Something like that, yes,” Rose says, “but on a bigger scale.”

“Caleb gave us the report on your experience,” Paul says. “He gleaned your guilt about your Pusher nature without fully understanding the situation. Since you obviously can Read and all.”

“He did? I was so afraid he’d find out I was a Pusher and kill me like he did that guy in his memories,” I blurt out. “I can’t believe he saw my biggest fear and didn’t confront me about it.”

“The man Caleb killed was one of the Pushers allied with the Orthodoxy,” Paul says. “You witnessed the event out of context. The explosion Caleb prevented was meant to put a deeper wedge between Readers and Pushers. It was also how we began suspecting Jacob of being in league with the Orthodoxy. He wasn’t at the community when the explosion was supposed to happen.” His voice hardens. “Believe me, he won’t be missed.”