One Great Year

by Tamara Veitch

  It is a sign, he told himself. It is your death! his mind cried in response. She did not look like an apparition or a dream. She was all heat and fur and breath, and she exposed her teeth and growled once more, deep and threatening.

  “I am no enemy to you, beast,” Chilger began. “We seek Shambhala and nothing more.”

  “That is everything!” an unearthly, growling voice replied from deep inside the creature. The cat began to pace, never taking her piercing cobalt eyes from Chilger.

  Back and forth, she blocked the opening behind which a vulnerable, unaware Borte peacefully slept. “We come in service. We come to help the world,” Chilger said simply. His fear managed now, he knew what he must do, and he was elated that their journey had finally met a fresh turn.

  “We see all … she comes in service … with a pure heart,” the snow leopard said, nodding deliberately toward the ger. “Your intentions are not so clear. There is a selfish air around your journey that holds you back. You seek Shambhala for both selfish and unselfish reasons, and yet you expect to succeed?”

  “It is true … I do not desire to fool anybody. I bring her here so that she will know me, our ancient souls so long apart. I crave her recognition and recall, but that is not the only reason … we have been called by the great King of Shambhala, who has visited me in my dreams. I know I am an imperfect mortal—there is no other kind—but she has a purpose, that I am sure of, though I don’t fully understand what it is. We come to Shambhala to learn. To stop the red devil that seeks to bring the Darkness to this land.”

  “Perhaps he is meant to do as he does, just as you are,” the feline purred, and fear flowed through Chilger. He could not save them if the leopard chose to attack.

  “Perhaps,” Chilger agreed diplomatically.

  “There is a price to pay if you are to reach your destination. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. If you agree to my terms, I will help guide you the rest of the way,” the leopard bargained.

  Chilger paused, his skin prickling cautiously, suddenly reminded of the stories he had heard: hunters, shaman, being fooled and misled by evil spirits in disguise. There was a low and dark feeling about this creature that Chilger had never known before in nature. He hesitated—he did not know what to think. He had never been on such a profound journey. Perhaps the protectors of Shambhala all had a necessary and frightening energy, to weed out the unworthy. He proceeded cautiously.

  “If Father Sky and Mother Earth bless this alliance and show me that you are true, I will agree. I have prayed for a guide and perhaps they have answered my prayers … how can I know that you are not a devil sent to lead us astray?”

  At that moment the night split open, and the eagles soaring overhead screeched wildly as they attacked the luminescent leopard. As their claws tore into her, she hissed and growled ferociously, but in an instant she faded to black and magically became smoke and shadow, then disappeared as if she had never existed. She was gone, a mirage dispelled, and the eagles probed the dirt searching for further sign of her.

  Chilger immediately understood how close he had come to entering into a doomed contract. The eagles would never have attacked a true guide. He felt sure that they had only narrowly escaped being led away from their destination to certain peril. Chilger thanked his friends the eagles, but he still felt lost and disconnected, no further ahead than he had been moments before. He finally took the warm place next to Borte but slept fitfully without helpful dreams.

  When Chilger woke in the morning, Borte was already up arranging a simple breakfast for them.

  “I had a dream last night,” she said hesitantly, as Chilger began to move. He waited for her to continue. “A wild beast came to guide us … and we followed it right to the gates of a beautiful crystal city.”

  Chilger became rigid and she watched him, gauging his response. Immediately he feared that he had made a mistake. Had his doubt and fear chased away their only chance of finding Shambhala?

  “I know that my intuition is nothing compared to yours, but it was so real and beautiful,” she smiled, remembering.

  “Do not underestimate the strength of your wind horse, Borte. You have an incredibly powerful and beautiful spirit. Promise me that you will tell me if you have any other dreams or visions, anything at all. We are on this journey together,” Chilger said. Borte nodded and continued with her work.

  They would be entering the mountains that day. Chilger had hoped that they would not have to venture into that treacherous terrain. Spring had brought longer days, but the temperatures were still severely cold and, when combined with wind and elevation, threatened to end their journey in tragedy.

  The sun had been on the horizon for only half an hour and everything was covered with a thick, glistening, frozen crust as they prepared once again to move on. Chilger exited first, and he stopped so quickly that Borte crashed into the back of him. Fifty paces away, at the edge of their camp, was a large blue wolf. He did not growl or snarl or even react at the sight of them. His sapphire eyes examined them calmly as he sat at ease at the edge of their camp. It was not the glowing leopard apparition of the night before. This was a full grown, flesh and blood, male wolf, his thick neck and head impressive and beautiful.

  “He’s come!” Borte marveled, staring at the beast. She trembled slightly but she was not afraid, though all reason would dictate she should be. Chilger was more hesitant, remembering the scene from the previous night.

  “Good wolf, we wonder if you are sent by Tengri … we seek guidance to our destination,” Chilger called out.

  The wolf, which had been crouched on his hindquarters, lay down flat and lowered his head as if to bow—a show of respect, peace, and deference.

  The horses remained unperturbed, grazing, tethered nearby, paying no attention to the predator in their midst.

  Above, the two eagles soared once more and miraculously, as if called by a master, Chilger’s companion came down and landed on his outstretched arm. From there she flew across the camp and serenely landed next to the wolf, scratching at the ground before him. Mortal enemies, side by side, staring at the humans, the message was clear: This wolf came with blessings and was a gift.

  Borte and Chilger embraced one another, relieved, and prepared to set out for the day. The sun shone warmer, their burden felt lighter, and as they mounted their horses, the wolf took up the lead as they expected he would, and they followed dutifully.

  Chilger watched the subtleties of the world around him, searching for signs and direction, and blissfully he found them. Everywhere he looked spring was bursting from the soil, and the naked outstretched branches, speckled with fresh buds, pointed the way.

  “It seems as though the whole world is guiding us now!” Borte said, after a few hours of silent reverie.

  The wolf stayed well ahead of them but never out of sight, always stopping when he got too far away. Higher and higher their strong horses carried them, their breath heavy and deep.

  At every pass and plateau there were stupas—cone-shaped prayer mounds of various heights. As they had done throughout their journey, Chilger and Borte dismounted at each of the sacred shrines and bid their respects. They walked three times clockwise around each man-made tower of stone, and each time they placed a rock on top and gave a small offering.

  Chilger wondered if their supplies would run out, but the offerings were made in the belief that the gods would bless them and continue to provide for their needs. Borte took these opportunities to rest and take her fill of water or mare’s milk.

  As they climbed higher into the mountains, Chilger wrapped Borte in additional furs. She was shifting heavily on her horse; her lower back ached relentlessly, punished from the bouncing and pounding of the trail and the weight of her unborn child. She kept quiet as long as she could; she did not want to be a burden. She finally spoke when she could ride no more. The lack of support often made it preferable for her to walk, which slowed them down dramatically. When her feet and hands swe
lled like engorged sheep bladders she would once again try to mount, but the travel days were considerably less progressive.

  Chilger chided himself for not having thought to procure a cart. He had underestimated the toll the journey would take on her. Would they die on this mountain and return into the Grid, only for Marcus to once again begin his searching? Would Helghul be left to massacre the people of the steppe and plains because Chilger had misunderstood the call of Shambhala?

  From the cliffs above them a great black bear stretched and yawned, her hibernation over. With pure hearts they had crossed the Field of Reeds and now, after five days of climbing, they had reached the summit of the fabled Mountain of Ascension. Though they did not know it, Borte would not have to travel much longer. They made their way down the other side of the mountain, faithfully following the great wolf, which still guided them like a shadow in the distance.

  “What is it we are looking for exactly? How will we know when we find it?” Borte asked, not for the first time, as they set out into their third week.

  “It will find us, Borte.”

  “I near the time when the baby will come, Chilger. I have not done this before and, though I have seen a woman bring a baby, it only makes me more afraid to do it alone.”

  “You will not be unassisted, Borte, I am here. I will help you,” Chilger promised, but neither of them felt easy. The women traditionally helped bring the babies.

  Borte missed her mother and grandmother more than she had in months, and the usual nervousness and fatigue of the last weeks of pregnancy drained her. Chilger offered her herbs and remedies to dampen the discomfort, but she knew that their journey must end soon because, equally soon, she would be unable to go on.

  The mountain trail widened up ahead and they saw them: stupas. They were everywhere, speckling the rocky, brown landscape as they descended into the spacious open expanse. It was a sight to behold, as if pilgrims had become stone midquest and stood waiting to be liberated.

  The sight caused Chilger deep concern, for if they acted respectfully and walked clockwise three times around each one and made an offering, it would delay them for hours and significantly deplete their stores. The shaman did not delay. There was no choice to be made. He dismissed his urge to forgo the proper ritualism and respect.

  With thanks and gratitude in their hearts, Borte and Chilger honored every stone monument, conscious that someone had built each one in great joy, sorrow, celebration, or need. They opened up to the energy, and they shared the overwhelming power of the vast, stippled meadow. Their wolf guide left them, likely to find a meal, but returned later and sat patiently waiting at the outer edge of the field.

  “Last one,” Borte smiled. There had been one hundred and seven in all, and the sun had moved significantly across the sky.

  Chilger came to her and took her arm. “One more,” he said, placing a large rock in her hand, and immediately she understood.

  Together they bent down and began to build the one hundred and eighth stupa, encasing all of their own dreams, wishes, and fears within. They were grateful during every moment of its creation that they were there together, they were healthy and able to build, and they were able to pray for guidance on their continued journey. When it was completed, they walked clockwise three times around the shoulder-height mound and Chilger emptied the last of their rice onto it. He would have to hunt to provide their night’s dinner, but he did not resent the offering.

  They mounted their horses to move on, but they did not get far before it was time to set camp for the night. They came upon a beautiful spot that had a sweet freshwater creek running through it, allowing them to drink and bathe themselves, truly clean for the first time in weeks. Though he expected many animals near the water, Chilger saw no trails and not a single beast came. He had watched the landscape carefully but was unable to snare a rabbit or a marmot, and for the first time they went to sleep hungry. Borte held Chilger close and assured him she was all right, but he felt shame that she and his child should sleep unfed.

  When Borte and Chilger rose in the morning, they were stunned to find that the creek had disappeared. What they did not understand was that the fabled Stream of Purification27 had appeared and served its purpose. Not a drop of water remained, no puddle, no evidence it had ever existed.

  In its place stood a formidable stupa, twice Chilger’s height and twenty paces around. How could it be? They could not have missed it the night before. Its many strips of silk and cloth waved greetings in the wind, and its stones were piled and balanced precariously all around its ancient base, where their wolf companion now sat waiting for them. It was not an illusion. They ran their hands admiringly along its bumpy stone exterior. They began to pray and walked clockwise around the miraculous temple, having only flower buds to lay in offering.

  As they completed their third turn, Borte gasped. The southern wall of the sacred monument had transformed into an archway, and standing in the opening, resplendently reflecting the sunlight in multicolored prisms as if he were made of crystal, was a fat, robed man. A glorious crown glowed like a halo on his smooth, dark hair. Beside him stood a tall, willowy male companion. The wolf rose and found a place at the right hand of the cherubic man, who happily placed his multiringed fingers on the animal’s head. Particles of light and silver sparkled all around them like tiny swarming lightning bugs.

  “Thanks to Father Sky and to our glorious Mother Earth. We give them thanks and hope that they are pleased, for they have brought us here. We humbly request passage to this world’s sacred heart, where the truest of truths will be revealed,” Chilger said, dropping to his knees and helping Borte to kneel beside him. They raised their arms and hands together and bowed. From a distance many animals watched the magical scene.

  “I am the King of Shambhala. You seek the higher dimension, which allows for the soul’s full expression. You are a spiritual pair. Shaman, you understand that there is a world above, and in the middle, and below. You seek the realm that allows for the expression of all of these to ascend into higher understanding. This is where spirit and matter are at one,” the king said.

  Borte huddled next to Chilger and listened in awe. The vibrations of the holy king made her teeth chatter, and she placed her palms flat on the ground to steady her tremors.

  “We know why you have come. You have proven yourselves worthy and devout and we have called you. Many are called, but so few are listening. Before you enter, you must be clear that only the will of the Great Spirit exists within. We exist not for ourselves or for mankind. There is no argument or action great enough to alter one’s destined path.”

  “We understand. We are honored,” Borte and Chilger chimed, unpracticed but in unison. Chilger’s Marcus-brain exploded with joyful anticipation.

  “There is a cost to everything … for each high an equal low … for each blessing a burden,” the king warned lastly, his rainbows cast so far and wide now that all manner of bird and beast gathered in abundance nearby, peacefully observing the spectacle and paying their respects. Chilger quickly scanned the sky and, as always, his companion eagle and her mate were within view, playfully soaring in apparent celebration.

  The king stepped aside, exposing the dark opening of the stupa, which reasonably should have led nowhere, and motioned for them to enter. Borte and Chilger rose, and he held her hand as she awkwardly climbed the high first step into the doorway. As they passed the king closely, the silver rain that swirled around him enveloped them like a cool mist and smelled of sweet lotus petals. Borte reached out and stroked their wolf guide, projecting her thanks as she passed, and her hand momentarily touched the hand of the king. She felt bliss, pure and loving.

  As they moved into the complete darkness of the stupa, expecting to butt against hard stone at any moment, the king and his companion moved in behind them and the archway disappeared like water running into a drain. And then, suddenly, it was gone.

  The king continued glowing, without the reflection of the sun. Once
the portal was sealed he held up his hand, illuminating a single bright, vibrant crystal that Borte assumed they would use like a torch. She could tell the stupa was obviously much larger than it appeared, but she was unprepared for what would come next. The king placed the crystal in a small notch carefully carved into the solid stone wall. Borte noticed the beautiful flower symbol carved behind it.

  As the crystal was placed, a chain reaction occurred. The light from the first crystal traveled like a laser down into a deep chamber and ricocheted magically time after time and from wall to wall, illuminating an enormous curving tunnel at least fifty feet in width and height and of unknown length.

  For the first time in months, Borte was light of foot and felt as though air blew up beneath her, helping her to hover, barely touching the earth at all. Chilger held her hand, overwhelmed with the spirit of the place, and they both succumbed to tears of happiness and relief, embracing one another before they moved on.

  As they followed the king, all around them balconies, alcoves, and precipices magically appeared in the cavern walls. The people of Shambhala were illuminated, emerging from the surroundings like chameleons changing color. Each one of them was as different and varied as the people of the world can be, but they all raised their right hands to their hearts and bowed, smiling, as the honored guests passed by.

  “Surely this display is for the king,” Borte whispered to Chilger. But her supposition was rebutted immediately, by way of thought, from every direction.

  It is for you, good Emissaries of Atitala, all of the citizens answered, without words. Their multitude of voices were like music, a symphony in the minds of the couple, and again Borte and Chilger were staggered. He had told her that they were Emissaries, but before that moment it was just a word. To witness this reverence and to be so venerated filled Borte and Chilger with a sense of humility and responsibility greater than they had ever known.