One Great Year (43 page)

Nate and Elijah grew to be friends, and Nate continued to pursue and flirt with Eden. More than once, across a dinner table, she had considered him romantically. He was kind, funny, and eager to please, but her heart belonged to another.

Eden kept in daily contact with Quinn, who had found a temporary place to live and was spending most days toiling with disaster cleanup. Rebuilding had begun, and as he worked, he spoke in his calm, hopeful way and inspired those around him. His life suddenly seemed to have direction and, unbeknownst to him, his soul purpose was soon to be realized.

Quinn was grateful that Eden was safe. She was scheduled to proceed to Morocco and then home. He was anxious to see her again, but he knew that Washington State was not the best place for them to be. The relief and cleanup had been bungled, reminiscent of the Hurricane Katrina debacle in Louisiana, and many of the citizens of Washington, Oregon, and California were angry and suffering shortages. Alaska, always hearty and independent, had fared much better, but summer was passing quickly and there was much left to do.

“I'm thinking I should come meet you in Marrakech and we can work from there. Things are still a mess here, and I don't know when they'll be back on track … hopefully before the snow comes. It's already brutal with all this unseasonable rain,” Quinn said, from his recently purchased cellphone. He was a traveler again; he had no choice but to give in and get one, just to stay connected.

“It's still
that
bad? Oh shit! Honestly, I haven't wanted to worry you, but its bad here too. Pretty chaotic in the streets. I don't even know how you can get here! It's so bloody expensive. I was going to tell you—we've decided to postpone our return another month, because I've been searching for flights and couldn't manage anything.”

“All the more reason I should come to you,” Quinn said. He wouldn't be swayed. Theron had been separated from him too long, and he didn't know what the Universe might throw at them next. He did know that he certainly wanted to be with her no matter what was to come.

“That sounds great, and Max, I can't wait for you to see the footage we got. There are no phonies here; these kids are the real deal. We met one girl yesterday, Anjolie, she's fourteen. She's been keeping a journal since she was four! She has fifty-one completed notebooks, about fifty pages each. No one taught her to write, she just writes … but that's not the amazing part. She writes in perfect Greek and Russian and English, and other languages I can't even recognize!”

“Fantastic! What does she write about?”

“Everything. Sometimes it's terrifying, about floods and ancient ceremonies. She can't even read the stuff in the other languages, she only speaks French. She says her ‘inside-brain' writes it all for her and tells her in French what it's about.”

“Fascinating. I'd love to meet her,” Quinn said honestly, wondering who she was, certain she must be an Emissary. Quinn was thrilled that so many of the Crystal Children seemed to have ancient knowledge. It had to mean that the darkest part of the cycle was nearing an end. Could Theron soon have memory too?

“Do you ever feel like you're one of them?” he asked hopefully.

“Me? No! Well, not exactly, though I have to admit, sometimes lately I am having the strangest feelings of déjà-vu. Like they're rubbing off on me. I'm dreaming like crazy too, and my dreams are so lucid, of places I've never been but I can recall in fine detail.”

“Such as?” Quinn asked.

“I dreamed we had a school, you and I. We didn't look like ourselves but I knew it was us anyway. I was standing with you on a high set of white steps, and we were surrounded by students. We all had white toga-style clothes on, and I could see every face and eye color and cloud in the sky. You had a craggy old-man face but a gentle smile … I woke up deliriously happy from that one.”

“Maybe the school is in our past?” Quinn said hoarsely, filled with emotion by her remembrance of them in Ancient Greece.

“I didn't think of that … I was thinking it's about our future. I think it was a confirmation that we're supposed to go ahead and create a school when we're done this.”

“Mmmm,” Quinn said, happy that she was thinking about a future with him. “I like hearing your dreams … any more?” he asked.

“No, it's silly. Anyway, when are you coming?”

“As soon as possible. I'll let you know as soon as I'm booked,” he said.

“Great! Umm, Max, do you really think we knew each other in a past life?” she said sheepishly, and he knew she was embarrassed even though he couldn't see her blushing.

“I am certain of it,” he said, his voice full of longing for her. He heard a quick intake of breath.

“You'll have to explain that certainty to me one of these days,” she said demurely. “We're leaving Lyon tonight for Marseilles, and then we should be in Marrakech in three days. Keep me posted,” she added.

“See you soon,” Quinn said, and for the first time he hung up before she did.

Quinn had little time to savor his conversation with Eden; he had to arrange a flight to Africa. The earthquake and continuing wars and volatility in the Middle East had sent fuel prices soaring, and shortages had driven them further upward. Quinn used his laptop to secure himself a hideously overpriced flight through London to Morocco, nearly eight thousand US dollars. His credit was maxed out. Finished.

August first, Quinn's plane set down at Heathrow airport. The customs lineup was ridiculously long, seven hours at least. Quinn knew that he would certainly miss his connection to Marrakech and, though flights from Europe were not as outrageously priced as out of the US, his credit cards were useless and his cash was severely depleted.

“Max Quinn? Max Quinn?” An airport security member was calling out his name. Quinn raised his hand and worked his way to the edge of the snaking, endless lineup. “Follow me, sir,” the guard said politely.

“Where? I'm already gonna miss my flight.”

“You'll make your flight. Follow me,” the man commanded.

Quinn was relieved by the promise and complied willingly, while the bedraggled travelers around him looked on with envy.

“Hey, I have a flight to catch too,” a pissed-off Swiss banker called after them.

“Where are we going?” Max asked, intrigued. He soon realized that no explanation was forthcoming, so he stopped asking and followed the tightly stuffed uniform in silence.

Inside a lavish private room nestled in a secret corner of the Heathrow terminal, Quinn was left alone to ponder his circumstances. His instincts were prickling and unsettled. Would it be Helghul? Had Marcus been discovered somehow? A thousand possibilities could have been entertained, but instead Quinn kept his mind clear. He had lived too many lives to fear the unknown or to waste time with useless worry and speculation. He would deal with reality when it arrived. He waited patiently.

The door finally opened and Quinn was startled to see a handsome, familiar face. He had seen the features many times staring back at him from magazine covers, newspapers, and television interviews. “Seducer-Producer” the tabloids called the man, alluding to his irresistible charisma and monopolization of the mass media industry.

The celebrity strongly resembled a forty-something Paul Newman; his salt-and-pepper hair was cropped short, and his blue eyes glowed in his darkly tanned face. He was a striking physical specimen—muscular, trim, and beyond six feet tall.

Quinn was difficult to impress, but the man before him awed him on two counts. Oswald Zahn was a renowned philanthropist, movie producer, and mogul, but more importantly he bloomed with the light and violet aura of Grey Elder. Quinn was jolted by the recognition.

“You're a difficult man to find, Marcus,” Zahn said, smiling. Quinn was startled by the use of his true name.

“Grey Elder! You remember?” Quinn almost shouted, and the two men merrily embraced.

Marcus was elated to be in the presence of someone other than Helghul who had memory. Only Red Elder had also had memory, and the last time they had met was in Heliopolis more than two thousand years earlier.

“You remember back in Stone-at-Center, Marcus?” Zahn asked.

“Of course,” Quinn nodded, urging him on, absently running his hands through his thick hair and holding them there, pressing, as if trying to contain the myriad of thoughts hammering against his skull.

“I talked to you then about the burden of having taken the potion …” Zahn's voice trailed off.

“I remember … I was so young, so stubborn and self absorbed … I should have known that all the Elders would have memory,” he said, shaking his head.

“We all have choice, don't we?” Zahn said smoothly, a rebellious glint in his sparkling eyes.

“It's been so many lifetimes since then. I've often wondered why we haven't met again,” Quinn said.

“We've been close many times. I listened to you speak in Ancient Greece, but the crowd was large and you were well out of my reach … Another time in Jakarta, I was born to you and died … it was your lesson, not mine,” he said sorrowfully.

“Ohhh,” Marcus breathed, immediately remembering that difficult lifetime and, for an instant, filling with the grief of that mother love. That had been such a hard and short life, during which Marcus had met Siddhartha Gautama, the man who had gone on to be called simply “Buddha.” Like Socrates, he had not displayed the karmic colors of an Emissary, but his energy and charisma were unmistakably pure and powerful. Of course, Marcus hadn't known then how profoundly important that individual would become. “How did you find me?” he asked curiously, his mind filled with questions.

“The Emissary,” Zahn said simply. “Interesting blog. It was easy to find out who registered the name. I went in person to see if it was you, but I was too late. Your apartment building was in ruins. It wasn't until you booked this flight that you showed up in the system again.”

Quinn was unnerved at having been hunted but was pleased to be reunited with one of the wise Elders of old. He had so much he wanted to know. “I guess fame and fortune have some perks,” he smiled. “But why look for me?”

“Because we have work to do. I need your help.”

“
You
need
my
help? I was just thinking the same thing!”

“Do you know where Theron is?” Grey Elder asked, and Marcus hesitated protectively. “I see little has changed, Marcus!” Grey Elder laughed.

“Yes, I know where she is,” he answered.

“Is her name Eden Anderson?” Zahn asked hopefully, and Quinn nodded, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Excellent! I haven't met her yet, but I understand that she is working on a project with many of the young Emissaries.”

“I knew it! The Crystal Children
are
Emissaries,” Quinn exclaimed.

“Yes, as are many others. Does she have memory yet?”

“Yet? No, well, not really. Why? Should she?” Quinn said hopefully.

“It may come. The cycle has turned, ascending into a lighter Age.”

“I'm on my way to meet her now. I don't know what else we are supposed to be doing. Why didn't the Elders prepare us better?”

“You're more prepared than you know. Everything you've learned up until now will guide you. Just trust me.”

“I do, but I need to know what to do, what to expect.”

“The Crystal Children have been born with special intuitions, memories, and psychic skills that will help the world pass through the shadow and into the Light. You and Theron need to gather them, and I am going to help you. All of my wealth, prestige, and resources are at your disposal.” Zahn said, and Quinn was stunned.

“This is unbelievable … we talked about recreating the Mystery School, but we didn't know how we could do it! And now here you are with a blank check and all the influence we could hope for.”

“The Universe provides, but we have to move quickly,” Grey Elder warned.

“It's hard to do anything quickly these days. I hate to rush you, but I gotta go
now
or I'm going to miss my flight.” Quinn said, distractedly.

“I'll take you from here, Marcus. My fleet of jets will be at your and Theron's disposal. There is more … I have already built the school, with everything the Emissaries could possibly need,” Grey Elder informed, and Quinn was dumbfounded.

“Built and ready?”

“You forget, Marcus, I've always known what my role would be. I have been preparing for nearly thirteen thousand years.”

“Right. Shit … I … Where is it? Egypt?” Marcus asked, thinking that
he
should have been doing more … preparing
somehow
, but he didn't know what he would have done differently.

“Torres del Paine, the cradle of the living Earth's chi.”

“South America?”

“Chile. The children are being targeted by dark forces as we speak. I have a secured location. They're vulnerable, and Theron's filming and blogging has made it worse. Those children are in serious danger, and we have to get them to safety as soon as possible. We'll reintegrate them into the world exactly at the right time.”

“Danger?”

“There is evil at work that would hope to hold the world in a Dark Age forever.”

“Is that possible?” Quinn asked in alarm.

“Anything is possible,” Zahn replied.

“We have to get to her! We have to tell her what's going on!” Quinn said, panic rising in him.

“We can go now,” Zahn said, opening the door.

As the men exited, an entourage of bodyguards and assistants closed in around them, creating a barrier.

“What if we can't convince the parents of the children that they need to come with us?” Quinn asked, as they walked toward a private hangar.