One Great Year (7 page)

He was dry with thirst and heat, and finally he stripped down, the muscles of his dark body glistening with sweat. Marcus jumped into the water and felt relief and coolness. As he reached for the jug and brought it to his parched lips, he felt the touch of a gentle hand on his shoulder. In his dream state he did not need to turn to know—he knew it was Theron, it was the beautiful girl he loved.

Marcus continued to drink, unquenchable, the jug ever full. Then he felt a hand on his other shoulder that did not quite make sense. He became confused as one can only in a dream and his unconscious struggled to sort it out, but he could not stop drinking the water to look. Finally he turned and there were three of them. Three beautiful women, each one more beautiful than the next. They were naked and smiling, and there was not a freckled nose or a crooked smile among them. The women were perfect.

Their breasts moved seductively as they surrounded him, laughing and smiling, and Marcus could hear music in the distance, his favorite song, and the heat and the thirst that had plagued him was all focused and centered now in his first and second chakras, and his groin felt as though it was on fire, and the women were caressing him and kissing him. Marcus ached with desire.

“Stop,” he tried to say, but the words failed to come. He felt the softness of the tiny feminine hands on his body, and they teased him, touching his thighs, his buttocks, and his naval. Coming so close to his tortured organ but never taking hold.

“Do you want us?” one of the women whispered sweetly as she kissed his neck and rubbed her breasts against his arm. He felt them on all sides of him, and he felt their skin, their erect nipples, their bodies so soft and willing. He thought of Theron and his unconscious urged him on:
It's just a dream, she'll never know
, it said.

Marcus battled with himself and knew that he could have them, all of them, if he just stopped resisting, if he just reached out and stroked the soft warm place between her legs, any of them, the beautiful naked girls in the cenote would be his.

Marcus remembered his dream of astral travel and the soul connection he had experienced with Theron.

“I have chosen Theron,” he said, but the women still clung to him.

“She'll never know,” they purred.

“I'll know,” Marcus replied.

The scene changed, suddenly and without reason as is the way in dreams. Marcus found himself once again walking into the cenote, but this time Theron stood in the distance, removing her filmy robe, her naked body resplendent in the glowing light as she lowered herself into the water. It was just as she had been only hours before and Marcus was anxious to join her.

Wait! Something was wrong. There was a deep voice, a husky laugh. She was in the arms of a man. A jealous rage welled up in him. Marcus saw Theron lifted up in the water; her legs and arms wrapped lovingly around … him? He saw himself holding her, his dark head shifted to the side as the couple kissed passionately. It didn't make sense; his emotions surged and burned within him uncontrollably. The dreamer was stunned, his mind scrambling to understand what he was seeing as he inched toward the water's edge. His stomach churned as fury swelled within him.

In the water he saw himself, no longer himself. He saw the pale face of Helghul looking back at him from his reflection. Confusion. He heard her voice, a faint whisper.

“Now,” she said, and Marcus's mind exploded in outrage.

“STOP!” he shouted. Pain, excruciating betrayal was all he felt. There was no logic, no recollection or understanding that this world was a dream. Marcus was fully engulfed and choking on the bitter scene.

“What are you doing here? Have you lost your mind?” Theron said indifferently.

“You need to leave NOW!” the imitation Marcus shouted.

The dreamer's fury doubled as the imposter jumped out of the water and charged toward him. He felt the cold hard knuckles against his cheek and was sent reeling backward, his attempt to retaliate lost to the air.

Marcus felt the knife sheathed at his waist and before his adversary reached him he pulled it out. Every vessel in his body prepared for battle, and his muscles surged with adrenaline as he stared at the blade in his hand. In his dream conscious he had changed places with Helghul. He felt the sting of Theron's disregard. He felt the jealousy of her love for Marcus. The torment of her betrayal was fresh and devastating, fueling the dark passion that had always been latent within him but that had now grown and was eclipsing him.

In that moment of dark anger, Marcus contemplated his predicament. Had Helghul truly felt how he was feeling? Had he been so injured by seeing Theron in Marcus's arms? Marcus was filled with compassion, and he moved through the unconscious rage of his emotion and made a conscious decision. He threw the knife aside and instead prepared only to defend himself. Even in his darkest pain he would not attempt to take the life of another.

“Emissary,” a voice boomed.

Marcus jerked awake as if he had dreamed of falling. He lay panting and unable to quiet his racing heart for some time. It had been so vivid, so terribly real.
Emissary
, he thought, understanding that he had passed the first test.

Marcus suddenly understood Helghul more fully than he had ever desired to. He reminded himself that there were more tasks to come, and he lay awake wondering what they might entail.

Throughout the city, potential Emissaries had meditated and then dreamed realistic and disturbing scenarios that challenged their greatest fears, alliances, and weaknesses. Some were designated citizen and others Emissary, but each had heard the deep judging tone.

The sunrise was pink and fresh, and Theron was knocking on Marcus's door. He opened on the second knock, squinting and bleary-eyed in the bright sun. Theron had the sick feeling of déjà vu as he pulled her inside.

“Did you dream?” she asked anxiously, her eyebrows bent with concern.

“I did. Obviously you did too,” he said, trying to kiss her as she darted away impatiently.

“Well, what was it?” she asked, barely able to stand the suspense.

“Emissary … I passed, just like you said I would … I guess you weren't as sure of me as you thought,” he remarked.

“My dream … it said you failed … I … didn't doubt you … it was so real, that's all,” she stammered uncharacteristically.

“I passed, you can relax,” he said, throwing himself down on his bed and making room for her to lie beside him.

“I am so relieved, Marcus. I am so happy we'll do this together,” she said, a distracted smile relieving the stress in her face as she sat on the edge of his bed. “I dreamed we connected in the Grid,” she added, taking his hand between both of hers.

“I did too. Our souls … touched,” he said, happy that she had experienced it also.

“But you didn't want to come back,” she said, confused.

“I had no choice, the gong sounded and I was jolted awake. But I could still feel you. It was incredible.” Theron lay down next to Marcus and they rested silently, forehead to forehead.

After a few minutes, Theron stirred. “I'm going to talk to Mother and see what I can learn. I will see you in the senate chamber at the gathering,” she said, kissing Marcus lovingly.

“You've got to leave now?” Marcus replied, but she was already half out the door. Theron turned back with a twinkle in her eye and flashed him a smile.

Marcus did not rush to dress; instead, he lay in his bed for a long time considering what task might lie ahead. The gathering was scheduled to begin in one hour; knowing that Theron was presently very distracted, he was in no hurry to join her and be ignored.

Just before the gathering began, Marcus sauntered casually into the senate chamber. Theron was hovering at her mother's elbow. Helghul and a group of his cronies were nearby, and Marcus noticed that he avoided looking in the direction of Theron and White Elder. His eye was purple and black where he had been punched, and Marcus rejected the shame that percolated inside him, determined to justify his violence.

“What did you find out?” Marcus whispered conspiratorially, pulling Theron aside.

“Where have you been?” she asked crossly. Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “Nothing. She completely blocked me. I expected she would. It is only fair.”

Helghul glared openly, but Marcus no longer shared his animosity. His experience in the Grid with Theron and his cenote experience from Helghul's perspective had changed his smug condescension to begrudging compassion. It was strange that at the end of a Golden Age, Marcus's enlightenment had reached its peak.

Directly in front of the spectators was the white marble throne of White Elder. It was massive, and she was dwarfed by it. The chair back was straight and severe, reaching five yards into the air, capped on either side by a shimmering sphere of phosphorescent green atlantium crystal. The ornately carved arm rests and legs all had identical glowing globes at their ends. Throughout the entire chamber there were more strategically placed crystals, and the magic of the throne was fully realized when the sun was directly overhead. Through the impressive skylight, the sun sent beams to the atlantium crystal, which in turn reflected through the room to create a brilliant display of light and color. To the right of White Elder's throne were three smaller seats made of expertly molded solid silver. On its left there were seven more of copper.

The hour had arrived, and all of the potential students were in attendance. A trumpet sounded, heralding the start of the gathering, and the Trinity Elders—Red, Grey, and Brown—took their seats along with the seven Elders of the chakras. White Elder addressed them effectively with only the amplification of the well-designed room to help.

“Welcome. You are a worthy, courageous group and any one of you would make an honorable Emissary. What you must remember is that for each of you there is a plan. If it is not your path to become an Emissary, it is not a shame upon you or a fault. It is simply not your calling.

“What you may not realize is that the first of the trials is complete. Last night in your dreams you faced your fears, your weaknesses, or your desires. As I said, there are those of you who are destined to become Emissaries and those who are not. If you have been chosen, you clearly heard the decree of ‘Emissary.' If you heard the verdict ‘citizen' there is no dishonor; it is simply not your destiny to continue to the next trial. Many good people will stay here in Atitala.”

Marcus and Theron began whispering, as students all around them reacted in a noisy assortment of emotions. Marcus searched the crowd for Helghul and saw him obviously flushed with anger. He filled with satisfaction, hopeful that the pest had been weeded out.

“Citizens, please return to your homes and families now, and pray for your compatriots as they journey forth,” White Elder instructed. Scores of people embraced, cried, and offered encouragement, while many others skulked from the room, downcast and disappointed despite White Elder's assurances.

The crowd thinned less than Marcus had first anticipated; twenty-five hundred eighty-four of the original four thousand one hundred eighty-one students were still in the rows. Marcus was astonished to see that Helghul remained, though judging by his sour look he was not happy about it. White Elder spoke again as the last of the eliminated students exited.

“You have completed a significant task. There are two more stages in the selection process. We do not aim to trick you or to confuse you. Let me be clear, the first stage will be a simple test of your moral reasoning. The second is in your hands. We will explain the role and duties of the Emissaries. We will then ask you to exercise your free will to serve or to stay. Red Elder, let us proceed.” White Elder was seated as Red Elder rose from his perch and began to speak.

“Good morning. It is a good day that brings us here to choose the heirs to the knowledge, those who will go on to serve mankind and protect the secrets of Oneness in the coming Age. First I will ask that you clear your minds. It is imperative that you do not communicate in mind pictures or speak with one another during this task. To do so will eliminate you automatically. I will give you a scenario and two choices. If you choose number one, I want you to stand on the east side of the room. If you choose number two, I want you to stand on the west side of the room.

“Now, imagine a land like this one … there is a great canal and it is bursting its banks, threatening to sweep a family of three into its rapids and to certain death. There is a mother in her mid-years, a toddler in his fourth year, and a newborn baby. The bank they are standing on is quickly eroding, and you have only room for three on your raft. Do you, one: take the mother and one child? Or, two: take the two children, leaving the mother, who might have some chance of survival on her own. Remember you have only room for yourself and two others.”

Red Elder waited at the front of the room while people silently struggled with the dilemma. Before long, keen students began committing to positions and crossing the room dramatically. Like the choosing of teams in an informal sport, they made their way to either the east team or the west and greeted one another self-assuredly. Marcus did not contemplate at all. He didn't need to. He knew that he would go wherever Theron did, and he suspected that some others were doing the same. To Marcus's displeasure, Helghul had also stayed rooted to his bench in the center of the room.

Theron went nowhere. She stayed in her seat, her eyes closed, not wanting to know where others were going and wondering how many would miss the obvious.

When the room was divided Red Elder asked if everyone had decided. The group to the west, who had chosen to rescue both children, nodded confidently. The much smaller group to the east also nodded; they too were ready. Marcus was completely flabbergasted when the group of people sitting in the center of the room around him also nodded. They hadn't chosen! He didn't understand. He was sure that Theron would save the children; the mother might make it on her own but a young child certainly wouldn't.