Ted Dekker - Outlaw

“I will,” Stephen managed.

“Yes. You will. It’s the only way.”

Shaka stepped up to him, stared into his eyes, and offered him a consoling smile. He lifted his hand and clasped Stephen’s neck, then pulled him forward and gently kissed his forehead.

“I treasure you, my son. When the way seems dark, only remember to surrender to the Truth beyond the law of this world. You are Outlaw. You and all those who follow that narrow way.”

“I will,” Stephen said. His voice came out weak, strained by the power sweeping though him.

Shaka took Stephen’s hand and placed a medallion in his palm. It was a tribal stone with a large O carved on the surface and the word DEDITIO engraved within the circle.

“Keep this with you always as a reminder.”

Stephen swallowed deeply. “Thank you.”

“Close your eyes.”

He did. Felt the pressure of his teacher’s thumbs on his eyelids for a moment before Shaka swiped them away.

“Open them.”

He opened his eyes.

“What do you see?”

Nothing had changed.

“I see you.”

“Yes. You see me. But you will see more when the time comes. You will see the narrow path inside of you that very few find and even fewer follow. Very few. It is your destiny to take this path. Follow where it leads you.”

Yes. Yes of course, he should. Already he knew where it would lead him.

“What if they kill us?”

Shaka smiled. Winked.

“We don’t really need these costumes, now do we?”

“No.”

“No. And you will not see this one again. Come to me. Your fate awaits.”

And then Shaka walked away and vanished into the darkness. There was nothing more to say. Nor to see, as it pertained to Shaka.

Stephen turned. There was no sign of his mother either.

The wind whispered softly. The night was dark. He was by himself.

But he was not alone.

His mother was dreaming in peace. He too would sleep.

And then he would follow the narrow way into the Tulim valley.

Chapter Thirty

THE SUN SHONE bright and hot over Stephen’s head as he ran in a steady cadence, planting one foot before the other without breaking stride, gracefully avoiding obstacles. The drumming of each footfall on the earth provided a simple guide—three for each pull of breath—which kept his mind fixed and his resolve sound.

It was true, as Shaka had taught him, that in life there was nowhere to go, only a place to be. But in the world of flesh and bone, he ran for the Tulim valley, his mind disregarding any trouble it might bring.

Because now he remembered, without doubt, that there were problems only in the world of madness, from which he’d been rescued long ago.

He was the child of his Father. Nothing could possibly threaten his Father. Therefore, abiding in his Father, he could know no threat, much less any real problem. Wasn’t this the lesson he’d learned in Shaka’s illustration, in which God was as big as a million suns and could not be threatened by a mere mouse?

Only yesterday he’d forgotten and feared that mouse. Thinking now, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

And so he ran, one stride followed by another in perfect rhythm, three footfalls for every breath; two heartbeats for every footfall.

The sun was already low in the western sky when he reached the cliff from which he and Lela had gazed into the Tulim valley. He pulled up on the rock ledge, chest heaving like a massive bellows.

He’d half expected to see the black fog, the madness that had imprisoned the Tulim. But the valley was perfectly clear, without a hint of low cloud or mist. He thought it was because he wasn’t bothered by the valley’s threat.

But the moment he thought this, a black mist began to materialize, first above the distant swamps, encroaching up-valley.

He watched in fascination as the low-hanging fog formed out of thin air on all sides, flowing like long reaching fingers that coiled and flowed of their own accord, as though alive.

They joined to form a seamless river of darkness that blanketed the lower Tulim valley, where the Warik gathered for their feast at Kirutu’s feet.

A feast?

Yes. At which his mother would be sacrificed to that darkness.

Fear whispered through his mind. It was then that Stephen realized his task might be impossible, and the thought made him shiver.

He closed his eyes. Breathed. Set his mind at the feet of his infinite Father. Saw that there was no snake to threaten such vast love and power. As far as the east was from the west—as far as one end of infinity was from the other—this was how far his Father had removed the threat of separation from him. It no longer existed, not even in the mind of God, for even to think of a threat is to be threatened. The infinite did not contemplate any such thing.

Peace washed over him like warm water, and he breathed it deep.

When he opened his eyes, the fog was gone.

“You see, Stephen. Madness has no power over you,” he whispered.

A long call cut the still air and he spun to see its source. The call was coming from another bluff some distance off. It was uttered by a warrior just visible between the trees, calling down into the valley.

The cry echoed, then fell away, followed by another, this one from much farther down in the valley, barely heard, answering or passing on the first call.

He’d been seen by Warik scouts. They were sending word down into the valley. So then…they would be ready for him.

But he’d expected no less. Kirutu was no fool. The ruler knew now that the white son raised as Outlaw was a highly skilled warrior not easily killed.

And this was Kirutu’s clear intention. To kill him.

Stephen knew this as well, and being reminded of it now gave him pause. But he allowed the concern to pass quickly. His place wasn’t to outwit or best Kirutu. Not this time. Nor ever.

It would take some time to reach the village, and darkness would be falling. They would be waiting and he wouldn’t disappoint them.

He ducked back into the jungle and ran. Through the trees, down the switchbacks that took him lower, always lower, then over a creek and up a rise, the view of the valley now hidden by the jungle.

Still he ran, closing the distance between himself and Kirutu.

His mother would be awake now, he thought. She probably wouldn’t remember what had happened in her dreams, much less realize that they, not her waking hours, held the Truth of awakening. It could be said that his mother was only truly awake while sleeping. During the day she lived a nightmare, separated from the Truth. Only the remnants of her dreams continued to give her hope.

He would quicken that hope. Like a burning log, he would join her and their fire would burn brighter. Where two or more gathered, there was always more light, Shaka said.

Exactly how he would do this when he arrived at the Warik village, he didn’t know yet. In truth he knew far more what he would not do when he arrived than what he would.

He would not entertain any grievance against Kirutu or the Warik.

He would not allow his costume to wail of its need or shout with any grievance.

He would not resist.

He was dead to this flesh, to the law of the world. His costume might not know it, because it was only flesh and bone and brain, but his true self, long ago made whole, did.

He was only a short way from the knoll that overlooked the village when he heard the sound of crashing through the understory to his right. His first thought was that he’d disturbed a boar.

He pulled up and scanned the forest. This was human. And now he could hear the unmistakable sound behind and to his left as well.

They already had him surrounded, just beyond the trees. The thought that he should evade them again skipped through his mind, but he immediately let it go. He’d been raised in this jungle for this day. Resisting his destiny on any level would only trigger his own madness once again.