by Brandt Legg
“But it’s only a human mask,” Gale said.
“Sure. I know. But when that human mask is on, our true identity, our soul, is forgotten.”
“The Movement is trying to change that,” Gale said. “You’re trying to change that.”
“I don’t seem to be doing a very good job . . . and the Movement tried to kill us last night, so I don’t have high hopes for them either.” I looked around at the ravaged beach and shivered in the breeze.
Gale had somehow calmed me down without even trying. While we were talking, the pilots put up a large tent and opened canvas camping chairs. Ripley, Travis and Gale watched in awe as we created Lusans to aid in our recovery. One of the pilots brought fresh clothes, water and food. While devouring crackers and bean dip, Booker suggested we move into the tent.
Travis Curry told us things about the Jadeo that I’d never heard. I wasn’t sure if Spencer even knew, but its history was much richer than I’d imagined. Like a child, I believed that the high points of the sacred object revolved around me and absently assumed that the rest of the time it sat hidden, unknown to all but eight of the nine entrusted who remained loyal and the betrayer, who sought to exploit it. There had been hundreds of close calls, losses and even a few complete disappearances over the long history of the Jadeo.
“Throughout the centuries, people have lived their lives as if the world was merely what it appeared to be,” Curry began. “They believed themselves to be superior to all else in nature and that by building roads, bigger buildings, and inventing dazzling technologies, they were evolving.”
“The accumulation of wealth is not the path to enlightenment,” Booker added. “I’ll say it before anyone else. More stuff does not equal evolution.”
“Although it has been invaluable to keeping the Movement alive,” Ripley added.
“And me,” I said.
Booker winked at me.
“Agreed,” Curry continued, “but for the most recent part of human history, we’ve thought that this material world was all there was. Yet, all through the ages, there have been happenings and activities occurring all around us, unseen by most and unimagined by the vast majority. Visits from other planets, other times and other dimensions are as common as flights from Chicago’s O’Hare.” He paused. “And the battle for the Jadeo has been part of that.”
“I’m glad I’m not the first to have lost it,” I said.
“On the contrary,” Curry said. “Your friend Dunaway doesn’t even know what he has. When the traitor succeeds in locating it, which is only a matter of time, Dunaway will be destroyed.”
“That wouldn’t hurt my feelings,” I said, but then regretted. “Except the traitor would have the Jadeo and . . . I think Dunaway will one day prove to be a powerful ally to the Movement.”
We went on to discuss how each of the nine possesses the power to locate the Jadeo but often the process could take years. However, three of us together could amplify that power and hopefully find Dunaway and the Jadeo before the betrayer did.
“There have been indications that the betrayer is in some way connected to Omnia. This is why the Jadeo can’t be allowed to float out there any longer. If Omnia were to find the Jadeo and open it, all hope would be lost,” Booker said calmly, while looking only at me.
“You’ll forgive me,” Amber began. “I don’t even know exactly what the Jadeo is, and I’m not asking, but why would such a thing that could cause such irreparable damage have been created in the first place?”
“Because of the incomprehensible good it can do,” Curry answered. “When it was forged, those involved understood that something so powerful could, in the wrong hands, be misused. That is why the nine entrusted were chosen and charged with its protection.”
“It’s like the Clastier papers,” Gale said. “The world was not yet ready to receive them in Clastier’s time, so they have been hidden and guarded until now.”
I looked at Gale and then at Ripley. The idea that he fought me so hard during my life as Clastier in order to make sure the papers were not released before the world was ready, well, it seemed an awfully convenient explanation. “Too easy,” I said.
“The truth is usually simple,” Wandus said in my head. “How does a hummingbird fly so fast? By flapping its wings very fast.”
“We’re not saying the Clastier papers are anything close to the importance of the Jadeo, just that there is a time for everything,” Ripley said.
“Ripley, as you know, is an archaeologist,” Booker said. “He knows about timing. He has made a discovery that changes ten thousand years of history. Not surprisingly, there are many powerful groups who want to suppress his finding.”
Amber seemed satisfied.
“Is that why you’re hiding in time?” I asked Gale.
“We know almost as much about running, hiding and protecting things as you do, Nate.” Gale smiled.
Soon the tent was cleared except for Travis, Ripley and me. It took hours of joint meditation, but we found the Jadeo and Dunaway. He was on a large yacht off the east coast of Mexico. Booker would send a team immediately.
“How soon can you get me there?” I asked. “No offense to your people, but Dunaway is one of the seven, and I’m best equipped to handle him.”
“No offense, Nate, but your track record with Dunaway indicates you could use some help. My team will be there in less than eight hours. It’ll take twenty-four to get you there . . . unless . . .”
“What?”
“We stop and see Wandus first.”
55
Linh, Amber, Booker and I were on one plane, while Travis, Ripley and Gale took another. Assuming we got the Jadeo back, I might not see them again; if we failed, however, a second gathering would have to be risked.
Linh, still pained by what had happened, opted to sleep through the flight instead of talking. Booker, distracted by his laptop, ignored us.
Amber and I had a long conversation over the astral, mostly speculating about what Ripley might have found that could have so changed history, but we also recounted the saga that had brought us to this point. Then Amber’s mood shifted and she asked a question I hoped would never come up.
“Last night, just before Linh went over the falls, I felt you about to let go of me. What changed your mind?” Amber asked.
“Kyle had come to me before the storm and told me that things aren’t always what they appear. If I let you go, you’d die for sure, but Linh could Skyclimb and had a chance.”
“But you chose Linh?”
“I saved you both.”
“But you chose Linh.”
“I kicked Linh over the falls. She isn’t even speaking to me.”
“You did that thinking it was the only chance to save us both, but before that, you chose Linh; when you thought only one of us could live, you chose Linh. You were going to let me die.”
“How can anyone make that choice? There was only a second or two . . .”
“Yet, you decided.”
“Death is only a door.”
“Nate, don’t get caught up in denials and what ifs. Take the good out of that storm. You found clarity in something that has hung over the three of us for years. Who does Nate want? You couldn’t answer, until you had to. And you chose Linh.”
“Amber, it’s not that simple.”
“Yangchen taught me that the most complicated things are usually the simplest.”
“Spencer taught me just the opposite.”
“You need to tell Linh what really happened,” she said, suddenly crying.
“Are you okay?”
“Wrong question, Nate! I’m anything but okay . . . I’m destroyed. I wanted you to want me and only me.”
“I do –”
“Don’t say anything, Nate. Life isn’t fair and this isn’t our time.”
“Amber . . .”
“We’ll be together again. I know that.”
“Amber, I love you.”
“I know that, too.”
“Nate, this is important. It is likely to be a long time before we see each other again.”
“Sorry. Do you think I could just read you and get the information that way?”
“No. Part of my problem with Omnia is the way our privacy has been disappearing. Having someone inside my head seems to be the biggest invasion of my privacy I can imagine. Plus, it kind of creeps me out. Sorry, we’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
The information fascinated and scared me at the same time, but also gave me hope. The Movement had infiltrated every government agency, and more importantly, we had operatives inside all major corporations. IM members or sympathizers were part of most militaries and law enforcement agencies. At the same time, IM centers had all been discovered and destroyed. Meetings were extremely rare and more members were in prison or Carst than free. “We’re so close, yet so far,” Booker said. “We need to get the Air-Projection up and we need to find out who is running Omnia. The success of those two things could turn this all back in our favor.”
“If we find out who’s in charge, what are we going to do?” I asked, worried about the Movement using violence.
“Let’s hope we find him before Dunaway does.”
“My question still stands; what if we do?”
“That’ll be your decision, Nate. You should start thinking about what you would do with a person who has caused so much suffering.”
Linh could not be talked into going to see Wandus. She returned to the States with Booker.
“I’ll make sure she gets back to the lake house,” he said. Linh didn’t even hug me goodbye, saying only that we’d talk when I returned.
Amber and I waded through the surf and stood on the beach watching the seaplane take off. I lingered until it was a dot in the distant sky.
“Come on,” Amber said impatiently. “It’s not safe for us to be standing around.” We climbed the rocky cliff and halfway up I spotted the portal Booker had assured us would be there. Once inside, the light sound of a soft spring rain and the strong aroma of pine and carnations overwhelmed us. We floated in what could only be described as orange pixie dust. “This is my favorite portal ever,” Amber laughed.
When first emerging from the portal, it felt as if we were stepping into another portal, or a kind of fairy world. Among the normal green trees and ferns were hundreds of shimmering orange ones. Then, all at once, the trees evaporated into the sky, turning it from blue to orange.
“They’re butterflies,” Amber squealed. “Like your tattoo!”
It took a minute for the truth of her words to sink in as the swirling and fluttering grew, until millions of monarch butterflies left the trees and danced above us. Their collective flapping wings reminded me of the rain sound from the portal but louder.
Wandus laughed as he floated down from the treetops. “They tickle, you know?”
“Wandus, where are we?”
“I do this each day. When it gets warm enough they take off. You try this tomorrow and you’ll see, they tickle . . . from the inside out.” He settled a foot off the ground between Amber and me.
“Where are we?” I repeated.
“I think you are here. Are you not?” He smiled at Amber.
“Where is here?”
“Who knows? One thing I do know is that here is not there, unless it is.”
“Is this place real?” I tried again.
“No place is real by the definition implied in your question.”
I was getting frustrated. Amber tried. “How do the butterflies get here?”
Instead of answering as I expected, “By flapping their wings,” he said, “a billion butterflies come here every year from all over North America. They come to this one forest in the middle of Central Mexico for love.”
“Incredible,” Amber said.
“Yes, it is. Scientists don’t know how they do it but scientists also say I can’t levitate. Scientists don’t know as much as they think. Given all there is to know, they know nothing at all.”
“I don’t either,” I said.
“You know the most important thing to know . . . your soul is part of everything; it is the butterfly, and your body is the caterpillar. Once this is understood, then all the power of the soul can be touched.”
“Why is it so easy to forget?” I asked.
“The human world is afraid. I forget, too. This is why I stay away from the human world, so I don’t forget.”
“Not everyone can do that,” Amber said.
“I hope they have better memories than mine.” Wandus smiled, but his yellow teeth quickly vanished and his leathery face turned sad. “Omnia is keeping the world distracted. Time is running out for the Movement.”
“It can all change in an instant,” I said.
“An instant can last ten thousand years.”
“Why did you send for us?” Amber asked.
“I am old; I worry. There has been too much energy used on chase and strategy. These have their place, perhaps, but this is not a war to be won on human terms . . . this is a spiritual quest for every soul residing on this planet. It must be seen that way or you will not succeed.”
“But, Wandus, I need to get the Jadeo back. Clastier is being held by Dunaway. Spencer is lost in time, there are still two names unaccounted for on the list of the nine entrusted, and Omnia is sending thousands of people to prison every day. I have to deal with all those things.”
“You will think apple and I will think pear,” Wandus’ eyes left mine and gazed at the ground littered with thousands of butterfly bodies like fallen autumn leaves.
“Are they dead?” Amber asked.
“Many freeze in the cold night.” He swept his arm in a long slow arch; all the “dead” butterflies came to life and took to the skies. “It is always a spiritual solution.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do.”
“How can I do all these things?”
“Look at this. What do you see?”
“An old rotting log.”
“That is what your eyes see; look with your soul.”
I stared. I kept expecting it to change to a beautiful healthy tree. Nothing. I turned back to Wandus.
“Your soul is not your brain, not your thoughts, it is nothing connected to the physical energy you are so accustomed to navigating with.” He walked away.
“Where are you going?”
“Away.”
“Why?”
“You’re not trying.”
“I am.” I looked at Amber for help.
“This is not your first day of school, Nate. This is the final week,” Wandus said. “Your soul is the cosmos – the stars, the oceans, a comet, those butterflies. You have been there, over and over, yet you keep returning to your personality. If you want the wisdom of your soul, let go of yourself.”
I stared at the log, thinking about how I felt in all the different portals, about those moments of entering different lifetimes, of how each death always felt exactly the same in the final instant. Then I was meditating. My eyes opened. Instead of the log, I saw a glittering puddle of tiny stars quickly transform into butterflies of every color. They flew in a confetti explosion all around me, lifting my body with their soaring energy. Wandus and Amber were gone but as the stars and butterflies filled the forest, I could feel Amber as if she were standing there, as if I were inside her. All the mystical and spiritual happenings of the past few years could not have prepared me for the euphoric sensation of communicating with Amber in that way.
56
The soul-sensation lasted forever but ended suddenly. Amber and Wandus had not moved. “You see,” Wandus said, smiling.
“Yes,” I said, looking from him to Amber. “I had no idea. It’s beyond imagining.”
“This is wh
at must be seen by everyone. This changes everything, does it not?”
“Everything,” I repeated, still in awe of the experience. I could not take my eyes off Amber; she was so much more radiant and magnetic. There were butterflies and stardust filling the air and for a moment I wasn’t sure if I was back with my soul or just Nate.
“Why did it take this long for me to see this?” I asked.
“Understanding must be accumulated before one is ready.”
“Do you live this close to your soul?”
“It comes and goes. But as I age, it comes more.”
“Can I see it?” Amber asked.
“Oh, Amber, you were there,” I said softly.
“But all I saw was the log.”
“Amber,” said Wandus, “you will soon know this understanding, too. Yours will come in a different way.” They stared at each other a long time. “You know this.”
She nodded and brushed away a tear, stoic and sad.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She turned away. “I’m fine.”
I looked to Wandus for clarification.
“All the answers eventually come. Do not worry now.” The cloud of butterflies thickened as they began returning to the trees.
“They’re the symbol of the Movement,” I said absently.
“They are the symbol of transformation . . . reincarnation, change. Everything changes. They remind us that no matter what hardships we face and what obstacles may appear to be, they become something beautiful, free . . . magnificent.”
“It’s hard to see that in the world today. Soldiers seem to be everywhere, freedoms are vanishing, and Omnia has stolen anything of value.”
“Soldiers are pawns to the masters of war; it has always been this way. Soldiers will never end war. Their very existence makes it impossible; even drones must be flown by someone.”