Hazen rose, swallowed the rest of his drink, and looked at Renny.
She made an exaggerated scared face before smiling. “Go. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Hazen took a breath and hurried after his father, who’d exited into the hall. Sal led him onto a moonlit deck off the back of the enormous house. They stood together against the far rail, which overlooked a hilly drop to a rocky beach. Lake Michigan lapped against the rocks, and the moonlight created flashing waves of silver from here to the dark horizon.
“Hazen, did something happen? When you first showed up, you both looked horribly nervous, like you were scared. Are you running from something?”
Damn it, thought Hazen. He’s always so perceptive.
He put his hands in his pockets. “Can what happened in Vegas stay there? I don’t know how to explain. This is all…surreal.”
Sal frowned. “I don’t like this. Are you sure you can trust these Kota people? I understand you want answers, but Tibet’s a long way from home.”
“I know, but I need to do this. I’m not a child, and I can take care of myself. I am going to Tibet. I’ll find a way to get us there even if you refuse to let me get the money.” He looked across the water, then back at his father. “You trust me to know what I’m doing, don’t you? You have so far, and I’ve told you some pretty weird stuff.”
Sal looked over at him, his face shadowed. “Yes, I believe in you, Hazen. But I’m your father, and I want to keep you safe – that was true the day you were born, it’s true now that you’re thirty, and it’ll be true ‘til the day I die. And you’re a special case, since you have this thing in your life that I don’t understand. It frightens me.”
“It frightens me too. But I learned years ago not to run from it. And now I have people counting on me.”
Sal sighed. “Are you sure you won’t consider coming to work for me at the WSP? You’re good with people – you’d fit perfectly with our international relations team.”
“I can’t, Dad. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I really do. Without your success, I wouldn’t be able to help people the way I do. But I have to do what I do, not what you do.”
“But why go to the other side of the world? Aren’t there enough people in our own country who need help? We have poverty, corruption, disease, famine. You’ve had tons of visions of people here, right? Why can’t you stay here, find a fulfilling day job, and play hero on the side?”
Hazen thought on the future he’d seen.
“There’s more I’m meant to do, Dad. I can’t explain it, but the Kota can help me learn what I’m supposed to do for the future.”
Sal held the rail. “Isn’t the present enough to fix? The future isn’t always your responsibility, son.”
But this one might be, thought Hazen. The present world has problems, yes. But the future I see is going to be worse. So. Much. Worse. If I’m meant to somehow make it better, I can’t ignore that responsibility. I’ve tried to heal hundreds of short-term futures, but the distant-future visions have always felt more important. That future is the world I have to care about.
“Dad, I need to go to Tibet. Please, understand.” He made a face. “Renny’s going too. At least she’ll be there to watch after me, right?”
Sal half-grinned at this. He took a second, then finally nodded. “Okay. I’ll go with you to the bank in the morning.” He put a hand on Hazen’s shoulder and smiled. “But I get to drive your car while you’re gone. The service brought it back from the airport last night.”
Hazen smiled. “Deal.”
6
The WSP Ship
Several months later, Hazen woke to the sound of his tent swelling and contracting with the wind. He’d grown accustomed to the sound, and to rains which bounced off his tent’s cover. As he sat up from his pile of blankets, he stretched to relieve muscles stiff from sleeping on the single mat. He took a deep breath of thin, cool air and reached for his black robes to dress.
When Hazen stepped out of his tent, he looked first beyond the stone wall of the Kota temple. The scattered clouds above allowed bright sunlight to shine upon Gyantse’s high hill nearby. A Tibetan monastery stood atop this hill of dirt and stone, and red walls bordered the hilltop like a crown. Far in the distance, gray-blue mountains stretched across the horizon. If standing outside the temple walls, Hazen knew one could see the surrounding land’s greens and blues and browns, washed out with a hazy gray the farther one looked. There was also the highway that had brought them from Lhasa over the rivers and valleys and overall gorgeous scenery.
It’s a beautiful land, thought Hazen. There’s something quiet, holy, and completely foreign about this place. It’s intimidating. We’re so far from everything… But the locals in Gyantse are kind. And the Kota have taught us so much.
He turned to see the neighboring tents of his three friends. Jazzmon, also wearing black robes, had just emerged from hers. She hadn’t been thrilled at first about cutting her hair as short as Renny’s, and even now Hazen saw her stroke the unfamiliar buzz cut. When she noticed Hazen, they exchanged bows. Then Jazzmon headed off for her morning routine.
This practice of silence thing is killing me, thought Hazen. I don’t know how Mino does this. At least we get to talk after noon.
He looked at the other two tents, but there was no movement from inside.
Renny and Oryan are probably already at chores, thought Hazen. Glad I don’t have cow duty today.
He smiled and walked around their tents to the main section of the Kota temple. The locals of Gyantse had sold the Kota this land over a decade ago. The humble, white-gray, stone buildings were a good hike from town, but the Kota had worked hard to be respectful of the surrounding culture. The main, single-story building was shaped like an ‘L’ with a narrow porch of wood lining the inward-facing walls. Hazen walked over the bare ground to this porch and paused to look over by the stables.
Renny and Oryan, dressed in black robes, were indeed at work with the livestock. Oryan was leading Betsy by her halter toward the temple’s gate, presumably taking her to pasture. Renny looked up from tugging on Otto’s lead and spotted Hazen watching her, and she stuck out her tongue.
Hazen laughed silently and turned to enter the temple, slipping off his shoes at the door. The front room was warm from a fireplace in the far wall. A visitor had long ago gifted the temple with a thick, red carpet. In its center stood a low table surrounded by floor pillows. On either side of this communal room, hallways led to the monks’ quarters, library, kitchen, wash rooms, training rooms, rooms for meditation, and the sensory deprivation chamber (not his favorite).
Making his way first to the simple kitchen, Hazen found an elderly woman in black robes preparing her breakfast. He recognized her as Mino’s sister, who like many at the temple spoke little English. The head-shaved nun smiled with a small bow and continued her activities with a grace Hazen always admired. He himself tried not to clack his pan and bowl as he prepared tsampa porridge over the rudimentary stove. When he was finished, he poured himself warm tea from the communal pot, smiled at Mino’s sister, and carried his meal back out to the front room’s table. She joined him a short time later and sat across from him.
Renny’s right, he thought. The Kota use such a jumble of religious and cultural traditions. They’ve tried to adapt to the surrounding culture to make locals welcome. They’ve adopted things like these robes, shaving our heads…bowing. And they call those who study here monks and nuns, but those are just the terms that make the most sense. Lhamo says the Kota faith is what matters. As long as that’s the foundation, each Kota community around the world is allowed to live however they feel comfortable. That’s pretty cool. I wonder what a Kota community in L.A. would look like. Maybe I’ll start one someday and invite my mom.
He grinned at this thought, imagining her reaction if he showed up as he was dressed now.
When finished breaking his fast, Hazen cleaned his dishes and h
eaded down a hall to the meditation rooms. He entered the one set aside for him, slid the wooden door closed, and knelt on the mat in the darkness. By memory, he reached for the candle and struck a match, illuminating the tiny, stone room. With the candle lit in front of him, he cleared his mind as Lhamo had trained him.
Seth and Lhamo had been right about how their visions would change. It’d been months since Hazen or the others saw their normal nightmares or dreams. Instead, now every vision showed them the distant future. And the visions were clearer. Stronger. What each of them saw still didn’t make sense alone, but together they were able to piece together what they were seeing.
Breathe, he thought. Hear the stillness. Become weightless. Let the vision come…
The candle light blurred as Hazen stared at it.
He stands in a thousand different places at once, yet they’re all the same place. Whenever the scene changes, it’s only the time of the place that changes. He suddenly stands in a living room, and a swirl of red and yellow light is before him. He makes a motion with his hand that triggers the anomaly. He’s then floating in a place where only the light exists. It seems eternal. Swirling hues of red mix around him and pulse in and out, acting as the heartbeat of this realm. Different openings appear before him. As he floats over the lights, he sees that these openings look into many exotic lands and places.
Hazen’s open eyes blinked as he came out of the vision. He sucked in a breath. Looking at the candle in front of him, he saw it was half-melted.
How much time was I out? he thought.
He blew out the candle and rose from the mat, then turned and slid open the door. His eyes adjusted to the light as he walked up the temple hall, and when he came into the communal front room he saw his three friends already gathered. It was after noon, surely, but they still were silent as they tended to their individual tasks. Renny had her usual notebook open in front of her, and at least ten separate pieces of paper were organized around her on the tabletop. She stared down at whatever she was writing while tapping her pen against her teeth. Oryan had taken a piece of paper from Renny, and he drew with one hand while eating a piece of dried yak meat in the other. His ears stuck out now that his hair was shaved, and his glasses made his head look small as Hazen walked by him. Jazzmon also had paper and was writing fast.
Looks like she had a vision, thought Hazen. And Oryan always draws what he sees, so he must’ve dreamed too. Good.
While the visions they had now were stronger and clearer, they were also fewer. In a way, this was a sign of their progress. Over the months, they’d pieced together several dreams and nightmares and made sense of what they were shown. After much debate about wording, Renny would then write the final version of what they’d seen, thusly recording prophecies of these future events. They’d so far created half a dozen prophecies. The interesting discovery they’d made was that, if they weren’t sure about the wording, they’d keep having visions pertaining to that prophecy until they got it right. Once Renny’s final version was apparently satisfactory to fate, the visions of those events would cease.
Hazen sat at the table beside Renny, across from Oryan and Jazzmon. He looked down at his bare arm and saw his Mark tattoo.
We’re trying to solidify the Mark Prophecy, he thought. I hope one of the others had a vision about it, because I think mine was something new. I didn’t sense any of the Marked… It was like I was a person I’ve never envisioned before.
He didn’t want to be the one to break the silence, so he looked over to read the paper nearest him.
’The Virus
When the mind of man abuses all known by him
and calamity comes most unnatural,
the sons of men shall be tested.
Some will revolt from truth;
others faithful will remain.
Only the true Kota, the un-tainted,
shall escape the curse of man’s corruption.’
Those visions I certainly don’t miss, thought Hazen. The infected people always gave me the creeps. Floating in those containers. Terrorizing city streets. Attacking soldiers who tried to put them down. And always that horrible sense of being out of my mind. Enraged. Hungry…
He looked at Jazzmon where she’d finished writing and was reading over her paper.
Jazzmon has nightmares about scientists, he thought. She feels their greed and corruption. They don’t care about the infected. And she said they do horrible experiments on people, cutting into them…
He felt a chill and watched Oryan drawing across from him.
The other two are lucky, he thought. Their dreams sound so much nicer. They see tons of Kota in the future. Our people stand up against greed and corruption. And while Jazzmon and I see the virus spreading from people to people, Renny says the Kota remain unharmed, she felt like they escape. And how they escape… Oryan dreamed of Kota loading onto a futuristic spacecraft.
Hazen’s gaze moved from paper to paper until he found the prophecy he wanted.
’The Signal
When all arrives,
time shall be opened.
Heaven’s churning lights will be key –
a sign unto the Kota.
Through the doorway they shall pass,
but some knowing truth will remain behind.
Hope will come for Earth’s side of the gateway.’
This is talking about those lights we always see, he thought. They’re these ‘churning lights.’ And if we’re right, the lights show us a realm that’s never been opened before. But where are the Kota going in their spacecraft? This Signal of the lights opening means ‘time’ is opening. Where does this doorway lead? To some new future? To the past? That certainly makes sense with my new vision just now.
He thought back on his vision with these churning lights.
That was the least like a nightmare I’ve ever had, he thought. I mean, it was terrifying to not know if I could control it… But it was kind of awesome too.
Oryan let out a long breath, finally breaking the silence. “Okay, Renny, what are we pretty sure about so far on the Mark Prophecy?”
She read the paper in front of her, ignoring the crossed off lines and notes in the margins.
“‘The Mark
By the Bearers brought into time,
fulfillment shall come in a Mark,
and hope in four children born.’”
She tapped a line with her pen. “And the part we’re not sure about is… ‘The enemy will disappear when the four Marked win.’”
Hazen leaned his elbows on the table. “Yeah, that doesn’t feel right.”
The others seemed to agree. And since they still had visions about the Mark Prophecy, fate didn’t seem to like this wording either.
Oryan twirled his pencil. “Okay, so what’d everyone see today?”
Jazzmon wiggled on her floor pillow and made a face. “Why don’t you dreamers go first?”
“Hmm.” Oryan read his vision partner’s expression. “Start with the good news. Got it.” He motioned to Renny. “Lady’s first.”
Hazen smiled to himself. He liked Oryan. Jazzmon wasn’t half as much fun, though Hazen understood why, considering the things she saw.
Renny took a breath. “I dreamed I was looking down at a newborn little girl, and I turned her to see the Mark on her arm.” She shrugged. “I’ve seen that dream lots of times since my visions started. I think I’m always the same man, looking down at the baby in my manly arms.” She smirked.
Oryan pointed at her with his pencil. “And do you get a feeling like everything’s coming together? Like the girl with the Mark is an answer to prayer?”
“Yes, exactly. There’s this remarkable sense of hope. And accomplishment.”
After a twirl of his pencil, Oryan tapped it on the table. “I had a repeat dream too. Just like yours, except I was holding a Marked little boy. My dreams give me manly arms too, by the way.”
Hazen laughed.
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Jazzmon looked at Oryan. “Since you draw so well, it’s a shame you never see the man’s face. You could draw him, and in the future the Kota could use the drawing to find the Bearer and know exactly who will father these children.”
Hazen looked at the papers on the table, but the Bearers Prophecy was on the far side of Renny.
Oryan tucked his pencil behind his ear. “Yeah, that’d help. But if we’re seeing through future people’s eyes, it makes sense that we see only what they’re looking at. I mean, it always drives me nuts in movies when people have back-flashes and see themselves.” He waved with his hands. “If you’re supposed to be seeing something from your own memory, how the heck does it make sense that you see yourself from different camera angles?”
Renny and Hazen laughed.
Jazzmon even grinned at this. “If you had a repeat dream, then what’s your new drawing?”
Oryan spun the paper around and pushed it to the middle of the table so they could see. “I was redrawing what I remembered from my dream about the Signal Prophecy. I wasn’t happy with the last drawing.”
Hazen looked at this update and saw a spacecraft similar to the original drawing. But Oryan had been less hurried in this drawing, and his lines and details were clearer.
“Holy…” Hazen spun the drawing to face him. “I know this ship.”
“From a nightmare?”
“No. I’ve seen sketches of a ship almost exactly like this in my dad’s study.”
Oryan’s jaw dropped. “Oh, man. I forgot how cool your dad’s job is.”
Jazzmon tried to refocus her partner. “You’re sure this spacecraft takes Kota through one of the churning portals?”
“Positive.”
Jazzmon looked at Hazen. “If it’s a World Space Program ship and one you’ve seen planned…”
Hazen knew what she was thinking. “This future might not be as distant as we think.”
The Prophet Page 5