One Great Year

by Tamara Veitch

  Eden, and especially Nate, stared at him skeptically, but he had anticipated their disbelief and apprehension.

  “Emissaries?” Eden said, repeating the word and remembering Quinn’s blog name.

  “There are a lot of us,” Quinn explained.

  “This is impossible … I mean, it’s too unreal … I don’t know the secret of creation. How can I teach it, if I don’t even know it?” she asked doubtfully.

  “I’ve wondered that myself, but you always seem to find a way … all of you do … you just seem to … know.”

  “Who is Theron?” Eden asked.

  Quinn gulped. To hear her say the name was overwhelming. “You … it’s you. Your name was Theron,” he said, and Eden gasped in surprise.

  Nate listened carefully, the hair of his neck standing on end. Quinn could see and feel the karmic energy around Eden billowing and exploring as it joined with the many auras united in the room.

  “Me? What do you mean?”

  “It starts with the soul.”

  “Oh, here we go,” Nate moaned.

  “Shhh! Go on, Max, I need to know what all this means if I’m going to find my son,” Eden said, frowning at Nate briefly. The tears in her eyes had been replaced by determination. She was collecting information now, building a plan to rescue Elijah. She needed to understand everything that Zahn had said.

  “There is an intrinsic essence in each of us that survives our bodies and connects us to one another … if you don’t believe that, then there is no point telling you anything else,” Quinn said, exhausted both from eons of enduring his predicament and by the hopelessness of their situation.

  “You know I believe it,” she said.

  Nate did not claim to accept the idea of a soul, but he listened with new consideration. He wanted to believe.

  “Go ahead,” Eden urged, gesturing impatiently.

  Quinn began to explain. “Our home was called Atitala. There have been many civilizations before ours. They come and go with the cycle of the Great Year. A Golden Age ended about thirteen thousand years ago. We were chosen as Emissaries and given the responsibility of maintaining the Great Light and leaving clues of the ancient knowledge for those who would seek it. Our world shifted dramatically and we were scattered like seeds to the wind. We have been reincarnated many lifetimes, driven by our purpose. There is much Darkness in the world, our Adversaries. I thought Zahn was with the Light—he was an Elder, one of our leaders—but I was wrong. Now the Great Year is due to once more begin its ascent and eventually take us into a Golden Age. Zahn is trying to prevent that.”

  Eden contemplated him intently. She had read the theories about the twenty-six-thousand-year cycle. It was everywhere: the notion that human history dated back much farther than historians and theologians believed, the belief that the placement of the stars mattered, and that civilizations came and went in cycles. There was even a yearly Conference on Precession and Ancient Knowledge33 that she had hoped to attend someday.

  She looked into Quinn’s eyes. There was no guile there, no urgency, no pleading or need to convince her. She saw only patience, weariness, honesty, and longing. With her gaze fixed on him so intently, the ache within him grew like grass being touched by sunlight.

  “And who are we to each other?” she asked intuitively.

  Quinn’s eyes changed and became smoky and his lids lowered slightly. Nate grew rigid next to her—the talk about the Light and the Darkness had been confusing, but this he understood. The undeniable bond between Quinn and Eden was about to be explained.

  “We … are everything,” Quinn rasped, and his aura was deep purple and green, radiating in beats around him. He dared to sweep the hair from her face, and he placed his hand on her cheek. Would she push him away? Would she reject his touch? He couldn’t stop himself. To be so near, so close to her, and yet apart was agonizing.

  Eden raised her hand, but she did not deny his touch. She placed her fingers over his and shocked both him and Nate by reaching her other hand behind his neck and kissing him. Quinn swept her up into his arms, and they kissed with the passion of centuries of longing. Nate wanted to stop her, but she was Quinn’s, and it had been obvious since the beginning. Quinn was euphoric; Eden was overwhelmed. The power of their ancient energies binding together filled them both. Hesitantly, Eden pulled away.

  “Why is Elijah separated? Why isn’t he here with the rest of us?” she asked.

  “Elijah’s … special,” Quinn answered diplomatically, though even in his joy his jaw clenched at the thought of Helghul.

  “Special how?” Eden asked. Their forearms were locked together, holding one another at the elbow.

  “He’s powerful, more powerful than most. So are you,” Quinn explained.

  “Is he in danger?” the mother asked, desperate for reassurance.

  “I don’t think so. I think Grey Elder will try to use him again,” Quinn answered.

  “Again?” Nate and Eden echoed simultaneously.

  “There’ve been many lifetimes,” Quinn said cryptically.

  “I dreamt he was an emperor?” she said.

  “He was. They weren’t dreams, they were memories. Zahn said your memory could start returning. It’s another sign of the Dark Age ending. You probably know more than you think; you’ve just classified your memories incorrectly. They were past realities.”

  “I’ve had a recurring dream about the Mongolian plains ever since I met you four months ago,” she admitted.

  “We were there,” Quinn confirmed.

  “Egypt?” Nate gasped.

  “We knew each other there, but the first time I saw you was in a place called Stone-at-Center,” Quinn said.

  “So I’m a …” Nate said, struggling to say the right word.

  “Emissary?” Quinn finished for him. “No. All living beings are reincarnated. Most people will sometimes have flashes of memory and recognition, they just don’t understand them.” Quinn could see Nate’s disappointment, so he added, “That doesn’t mean you’re not important. We must be a part of the same soul group,” Quinn explained, but Nate was obviously unsatisfied.

  Eden jumped in: “So we’re … soulmates, and my son is some sort of leader, but what now? We’re prisoners here? What do we do now?” she asked.

  “We pray, we meditate, and we wait. The answers will come,” Quinn replied.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, really? That is all the wisdom we get … just sit and wait?” Nate said in frustration.

  “With spiritualism comes trust and acceptance, Nate. Anyway, have you got a better idea?” Quinn said calmly.

  “Hard to have a worse one,” Nate snorted.

  Eden looked at him with compassion and placed her hand on his arm. “He’s right, Nate. We just have to wait and ask for guidance. Do you think they know?” she asked, gesturing to the others.

  “No.”

  “Why? Why are you the only one who knows?” Nate asked curiously.

  “We weren’t meant to remember. I took a memory potion and chose a torturous road.”

  “Why didn’t I?” Eden asked.

  “You didn’t have the opportunity,” Marcus said, too simply. “I’ve searched for you in every lifetime,” he told her, stroking her wrist as he spoke.

  “Did you find me?”

  “Too often, I did not.”

  “It must be lonely being the only one to remember,” she sympathized. “Was it difficult?”

  “I traveled my path … and I learned that there is no shortcut to enlightenment, even for an Emissary. Separation and loneliness are illusions. We are all One and are therefore all connected … always. I just need to remind myself of that when I get lonely.”

  “Like bubbles in the same glass of champagne?” she suggested.

  “Exactly. It is only on this plane that we experience the isolation associated with the false belief that we are independent beings. That misapprehension does not exist elsewhere in the Universe. We come into our bodies to feel this, yet many
of us spend our entire lives trying to get back to unity and connection,” Marcus said.

  “You have to tell them,” Eden said, gesturing to the diverse, multicolored crowd.

  “They won’t believe me,” he answered.

  “They need to know. I think this is why you took the memory potion. This moment, this time right now is why you have memory. It is so you can help us all understand.”

  “Once again you imagine me nobler than I am. I stumbled my way into becoming an Emissary, and I may have doomed all of us with my blindness,” Quinn confessed miserably.

  “You have to tell them,” Nate said sternly.

  Quinn and Eden looked at him in surprise.

  “Well, they have a right to know … to make up their own minds. At least you owe them that. I’m trying, you know. I wanna believe this Oneness thing. I want to think I’ve been here before and I’ll be here again, and that life has some meaning. But it’s easy to say, I just wish I knew it, really felt it, like you two seem to … like the monks and nuns and whoever. There’s so much faith and I just don’t … feel it.”

  “You will, eventually,” Quinn answered. “It’s like building a pyramid—key-stones, base, and then one layer at a time until your reach the top. The light is much brighter closer to the top, so it’s easier to see it.”

  “So you’re closer to the top than me?” Nate tried to clarify.

  “No. You can’t compare people like that … but I am currently more conscious than you. I’m an Emissary and I have memory … there just aren’t as many mysteries for me. There are truths that I know absolutely.”

  “Such as?” Nate asked, intrigued and wanting to be convinced.

  “It is not my place to convince you … you will come to it on your own, when you’re ready.”

  “Maybe you’re supposed to teach me … so I can get there quicker. Maybe that’s why I’m in your soul gang.”

  “Soul group,” Quinn corrected.

  “Whatever,” Nate said impatiently. “Tell me something you know, tell me the mysteries.”

  “Okay. But you could have found this information anywhere. That’s the thing about the mysteries. They are all around us. People just don’t see or choose not to see.” Quinn paused, and Nate rolled his hands over one another, gesturing impatiently for him to continue. “When we die our souls recycle back into the Grid … think of it like a web of superhighways, but electric current and light, not matter. We are whole and connected, and we know and see totally differently. We see and taste and hear and experience with every part of our spirit, not through limited senses, and it’s … heaven. Perfection. Words are inadequate.”

  “I knew it!” Eden said excitedly. “You have to tell them.”

  “What am I going to say? God help me! What should I say?” Quinn said desperately, and instantly an answer came before anyone could say a word. It was a whisper, a silent instinct inside his head. The truth. Tell them the truth. “The truth,” Quinn whispered.

  They stood together, and Quinn called out to the crowd around him.

  “People, everyone, I need your attention, please!” he exclaimed, unsure how to proceed. Would they believe him? Would they think he was insane?

  The crowd came closer and grew quiet, except for the younger children zooming about. As people grew nearer to one another, their karmic energies grew more brilliant. Quinn waited.

  “My name is Maxwell Quinn,” he began, “and I have a message for you, a story to share.” He paused. There were others echoing his words in whispers to one another, translating from English and trying to make sure everyone understood.

  “It’s about time!” someone grumbled.

  “I suspect that for many of you, in your lives you have felt a sense of urgency, a purpose, a need to do good and to heal others in the world.” The crowd around him looked on in anticipation. “This might sound crazy … but I’m here to tell you that you are chosen people. Most of you are Emissaries reincarnated into this world as teachers, healers, and messengers. I have just learned … too late … that Zahn is a fallen Elder, a dark soul, and he has gathered us here to control and neutralize us … to extinguish our Light and to cast the world into Darkness.”

  The crowd listened intently, stirring with skepticism and emotion. The room was electrified, and Quinn felt the hum of the bonding collective energies as they warmed the air. It was reminiscent of the connections Marcus had experienced in Atitala. He knew that Eden had been correct. Having taken the memory potion was allowing him to play this role. Marcus knew that if he had it to do over again, he would make the same choice.

  “But what can we do? How do we get these kids outta here?” a male voice called.

  “I’m afraid,” a female voice said.

  “No way, you’re nuts,” someone else said.

  “How can we make a difference stuck here?” a deep voice intoned.

  Quinn had the answers they sought. “We have to try. One thing that I do know is that fear and doubt keep the soul from moving forward and growing and advancing. By being conscious of that, by choosing to face our fears, we can overpower them. We are connected and we are spirit. We never stop being spirit. If you believe you have a soul, then you must know that your divinity never leaves you. When we join together with others like us, others who understand the power of Oneness and connection, then we can illuminate the darkness around us. We can affect the vibration of the collective world consciousness.”

  “But we are here, we’re trapped God-knows-where. How can we illuminate anything from here?” a woman asked.

  “God-knows-where … you said it yourself. It is not on a human, physical level that we must battle … we can’t beat Zahn that way. Those soldiers and their guns are real. Ours must be a spiritual resistance. Spirit cannot be contained by walls or chains. It crosses an ocean or a continent without a moment’s passing. If we recognize that we are One and join in spirit, we may be able to send hope to the world outside these walls, enough positive energy and connection to link with others and make a difference,” Quinn answered optimistically.

  “The power of prayer,” someone added with a smile.

  “Yes … and unity,” Quinn said. “There will be millions of people reaching out spiritually; good people. They, too, will be struggling to abate their fears. As Emissaries we each chose this mission and purpose. We can merge our positive energies with theirs. We can fight against the Great Darkness. Our skin and bones come and go, but we are so much more than that,” he finished, with his adrenaline flowing, feeling slightly like a crazy evangelist. He was reminded of his lifetime as Plato and his connection to spirit as Chilger all at once. He looked out at the many faces, and he prepared himself for the arguments and doubts that he knew would certainly come.

  “I have to get out of here! I have children, a family! You don’t understand, they’ll be sick with worry!” one Russian woman near the back called out in despair.

  Others chimed in, their concern and fear understandable and essentially human.

  “Americans did this!” a Punjabi man near the front said in broken English. “You are one of them. Why should we believe you?” he asked suspiciously.

  “We cannot be divided. I know it’s shocking, I know it’s difficult, but we must trust one another,” Quinn answered.

  “We can’t help anyway!” another exasperated voice intoned.

  An African woman near the front spoke up: “It looks like we are here indefinitely, so shouldn’t we at least try? Are we better to retreat into despair? Or should we channel our energy and our hope?”

  “I prayed for the monks and they were killed just the same. It’s a waste of time,” a Tibetan woman said softly.

  “Many died, but many more lived,” Quinn answered.

  “I don’t belong here,” an elderly, thickly accented Frenchman spoke up. “I am not one of those … those things you talk of. I am a surgeon, I have a practice. There are people who will die, who likely already have. I must get back to Paris. I don’t even b
elieve in this soul business … when we die, we just die,” he said, arching a bushy silver eyebrow.

  “Why should we believe you? A strung-out hippy?” an unkind voice called out.

  “What could I possibly want from you? I can’t make you believe me … I can only tell you what I know is true,” Quinn answered, more tired than defensive, and buoyed by the tight grip that Eden had on his arm.

  “So, Monsieur, tell us … why do you know? What makes you so special?” the old surgeon queried with less sarcasm than Quinn would have expected.

  “I am not special, you are. I don’t think that I am nearly as special as any one of you. I am along for the ride, a hitchhiker you might say. Believe me or don’t, I’ve done what I can. All I ask is that you sit still. Listen to your own thoughts; they will take you where you need to go if you let them.”

  “‘And he shall magnify himself in his heart and by peace shall destroy many. He shall stand up against the Prince of Princes, but he shall be broken without hand.’ Daniel 8:25!34 The Bible forewarns of this time in the End of Days when God’s people will resist without violence and overcome the Great Darkness!” a man wearing the robes of a minister exclaimed.

  The crowd was buzzing, mostly with positive energy and hopefulness. There was doubt and fear, but many believed. The karmic energy was building and Quinn could see it all around them. People pondered and contemplated and discussed, and, despite their personal losses and misgivings, a fiery current pulsed through the congregation. It had grown with every word, as Quinn had confirmed for them what many had already known deep inside.

  “How do we start?” Eden asked, with a fresh strength in her determined jaw.

  Quinn met her direct gaze and was once more electrified by her indigo aura, thick and compelling, mixing with those near her. She looked much younger than her thirty-six years.

  Before he could answer, a very young child spoke out from near the front, her aura glowing indigo and tipped with golden light. “We need to come together,” the girl said, her innocent voice heard clearly across the large gathering.