One Great Year

by Tamara Veitch

  When he heard the tsunami warning for Christchurch, Quinn tried unsuccessfully to reach Eden and Nate. There was nothing, no email from them, no message, and Quinn felt ill. He didn’t leave his computer for hours, and he was relieved when he finally read a general Facebook entry from Eden, assuring all of her friends and family that she and Elijah were safe.

  Relieved, Quinn jumped in the shower. He was interrupted mid-suds by a slow rumble and sway. At first he was disoriented, thinking he was off balance and too consumed with earthquake images from the net. As the motion intensified, the bottles and shelves began to crash around him. There was no time to think, but there was no need. Marcus had lived through many times and tragedies. Quinn was incapable of panic, though adrenaline flowed through his body as it would for anyone.

  A terrifying sound reverberated through the air and, as the earth violently bucked, it reawakened a host of ancient memories in him. Quinn stumbled out of the shower and steadied himself under the doorway, while the ground continued to shake violently. He felt as though he were a young child, lifted and shaken by strong adult arms.

  Naked and cold, Quinn was growing more alarmed; the trembling was extreme and was lasting too long. He was certain it was causing devastation and death. His was an old building and low, not a skyscraper. Downtown buildings would be swaying, crumbling, and dropping tons of glass and brick to the sidewalks below. Quinn said a prayer for the victims and the loved ones they would leave behind.

  Finally the shaking subsided and Quinn sidestepped the broken glass at his feet; his cologne lay shattered. He pulled on his jeans and was awed by the destruction in his apartment. The large gilt mirror once secured behind his bed had ripped away from its anchors, dropping onto his headboard and shattering where he had lain sleeping only hours before. He shuddered to think that his new beginning with Theron might have ended that abruptly.

  Books were in heaps on the floor, emptied from shelves and tables, joining the many that had been there in piles before the quake. The kitchen was a mess. Most of the cupboards had fallen open and spilled their contents onto the floor.

  Quinn flicked the lights. No power. He thought of his battery-powered radio … somewhere. As he began to search for it, the ground once again began to shake. He heard an ominous ripping sound as an opening to the outdoors was cleaved into the plaster of the apartment’s southern wall. The building was collapsing. Quinn knew he had to get the hell out. There was no time. He found shoes and moved stealthily into the outside corridor, shirtless and stumbling under the power of a second tremor.

  The earth continued shaking, more violently than the first time, and Quinn rushed to the aid of his neighbor, who was also trying to escape. The young mother had two crying babies in tow, and they were being thrown mercilessly about as she struggled to regain her footing. Her knees were bloody and scraped, and a third child, of about six years, was fighting to stay in the crumbling apartment, too terrified to leave. He was planted firmly on his bottom, his cheek pressed to the doorjamb, his eyes squeezed shut. The desperate woman’s arms were loaded with the two wailing siblings, and the boy was immovable as she begged him to release his hold. Quinn swooped in and picked up the older child, easily loosening his grip.

  “I gotcha, buddy. I gotcha, hang on to me,” Quinn said calmly, over the screech of fire alarms and wailing babies. The boy attached to him like a monkey to a branch and buried his face in Quinn’s neck. “This way, this way!” Quinn commanded, supporting the young mother with his free hand and guiding her to the distant stairwell. He had seen the south side of the building listing and crumbling; he hoped the stairs on the north were still passable.

  Once safely clear of the wreckage, Quinn left the traumatized young family lying in the grass a hundred yards from the building, grateful that the May weather was warm and dry. He rushed back to see what further help he could offer.

  Neighbors were clamoring about, though many were away at work, which sadly may have proven fatal for them. The second tremor had ended, and the sobs and calls continued as Quinn cautiously re-entered the building, knocking on doors and making certain there were no unattended victims.

  The building was ruined, completely unsafe, but thankfully there had been no deaths in his small patch. Sirens, smoke, and alarms were ominous in the distance, and no one expected medical attention any time soon. Keys, coat, laptop, and wallet in hand, Quinn sat in his car and listened to the alarming satellite reports of the damage to the Pacific Northwest.

  The entire west coast from San Diego to Alaska had felt the quake. Seattle was in discord, even though the epicenter of the 8.0-magnitude quake had struck hundreds of miles north, hitting Vancouver Island, Canada, directly. The large Canadian island and the smaller surrounding islands had been completely devastated, and tsunami tides threatened inhabitants on both sides of the Pacific Ocean.

  It was Eden and Nate’s turn to worry. They didn’t eat or sleep as they watched reports coming out of North America with horror. Finally, seven hours later, they learned via email that Max Quinn had survived.

  Sadly, more than six thousand had died when office buildings, hospitals, shopping malls, and schools had been damaged. There had been looting in places, especially the big cities, but in many instances people had acted with surprising generosity and brotherhood.

  For some, the tragedy had reawakened them to what was truly important. Obsessions with video games, handbags, and bigger and better cars were replaced by the appreciation for friends and family, charity, compassion, and the love of their fellow human beings.

  Suddenly there was more to life … and less. Simplicity: an epiphany. A light went on and people wondered how they could have missed what it was all about. How could they have lived so robotically, in a fog, unconscious? The spiritual world is necessarily separate from the material world.

  The bigger question was, would they remain conscious or would they slip back to their old patterns?

  Over the next two months, the aftershocks continued and rebuilding commenced. Quinn couldn’t help but think the Earth was voicing its displeasure. Plato had discussed the idea of anima mundi, the world soul. Would things get worse before they finally got better?

  Eden’s initial instinct had been to return to the Pacific Northwest immediately and assist with the cleanup. Quinn had spent hours debating and counseling her in her helplessness, but he had ultimately convinced her that the Crystal Project was now more important for the unification of people than ever. The citizens of the world needed to see the human potential that the children would exhibit. They needed to know what was possible and that there was a brighter future ahead.

  Finally, Eden resumed interviewing the Crystal Children, meeting more wherever she went. Across the oceans people were detached from the turmoil in North America, and though they felt sympathy for the misfortunes of their distant neighbors, they had their own hardships to contend with. The headlines changed and the “Great American Quake” was quickly old news.

  Life continued, as it always had, only harder and more uncertain by the day. Man-made disasters like civil wars and riots were becoming the norm, and countries that had been living in Mafia states for a long time were getting worse. In places like Mexico, Ukraine, Russia, and Serbia people trusted no one. Only money and power had a voice. Governments and police were corrupt. Students had to pay under the table for the opportunity to take their exams, and babies in daycare only had their diapers changed if their parents paid extra. People were miserable and enslaved, and charity and compassion were uncommon or hidden from view.

  Quinn wished that the ascent through the Bronze Age could be sped up; sometimes it felt as though the Dark Age had somehow been extended.

  It was an important time for Eden and Elijah. For the first time, the boy didn’t feel isolated and abnormal. Instead, he felt that he had been chosen to do something important in the world. Eden quelled his natural tendency to grow proud and self-important by reminding him to stay humble and compassionate. It was a stru
ggle.

  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.

  CHAPTER 32

  THE SEDUCER-PRODUCER

  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.”