Zion lifts her head. The eagle is circling over the valley with a dangle of blue yarn in its claw. “Mother…”she whispers. “What are you saying?”
The eagle drops the yarn, and the wind blows it away.
Is she to sacrifice the veil? But without it, how will she translate the symbols? Maybe she has misinterpreted her mission. Maybe the rose is her guidance now, not the veil. That would explain…
It explains nothing.
The esoterica of Geshlama and Zalos are meaningless here, and the shawl is not the veil. It was a gift, a simple expression of love. On Gaia, a gift of food, clothing, transportation, or shelter is a statement: I want you to live and thrive. And some love so much, they give their lives….
She rocks, brooding. She came here to stand on the cliff to renew commitment to her task. Now she feels Wahyonihumaniel and the eagle are telling her to surrender the veil. Why? Is she unworthy of the call she felt was hers? Maybe through her servant the eagle, Wahyonihumaniel was telling her the veil on Earth would be a flaunt. Even if she could translate the symbols, who would understand? Earth has her own wisdoms, and here Zion is a fledgling.
Shivering, she makes her way over the rocky ground to stand at the edge of the cliff. She removes the shawl, holds it aloft. “I ac—accept, Wahyonihumaniel.” Her teeth are chattering, her words, earnest stutters. “Here is the symbol for what I believed was my destiny. Now I give it over to you, by your wisdom, not mine. Let your servants, the winds, do with it as they will. Let the eagle do as he wills. Accept this gift for all orphans of love. Let us all eat, be warm, and thrive. Let there be roses….”
She throws the shawl. A gust of wind lifts it, flattens it like a huge spider web, then twirls it, like water twisting down a drainpipe. Before it disappears from sight, Zion turns at the sound of the powerful flapping of the eagle's wings. The eagle has fetched and flung the plaid blanket over the top of the pillar etched with the Star of David!
“I am thinking you are not a messenger but a trickster!” Oh, fine…then she threw the shawl over the cliff for nothing.
It's twenty paces to the rock, a hundred to the minivan to warm clothes. Compared to her careful approach of the cliff, she practically runs back to Star Rock. A corner of the blanket extends down far enough for her to reach. Leaning against the stone, she reaches up to drag down the blanket.
Suddenly the rock feels as soft as cotton balls, and the blanket seems as high as the clouds. Knowledge of what is transpiring registers in her deeper mind, but conscious thought is blacked like a hand swiftly covering a child's eyes to protect against sight of something horrible.
Surrendering to the pull, Zion instinctively curls into the dream-sleep of voyage.
Consciousness returns in a pinprick of light that slowly expands, revealing a scene most humans would call illusionary, as most would describe Zion as ghostly in appearance. Across a threshold of shimmering light, she recognizes an old friend. The curtain of light is a boundary beyond which neither can pass, and continue to exist as they are. The meeting place impresses as a bubble in the center of a large crystal topaz that glows like a golden sunset. Zion might be sitting on a velvet cushion, observing her friend through a mist. Though they are both clothed in the glowing raiments of the soul, each clearly recognizes the face of the other.
Zion remembers Therin as a tall, broad-shouldered lad with long, dark hair and eyes that blazed with adoration for her. He is a man now, handsomer than the youth. His aura is spiked with green, an impression of the steward's tunic she is sure he wears proudly on Geshlama. He is not alone, she senses. His fellow travelers register as indistinct energy forms, close by. She can see indications of arrows over her friend's left shoulder, contained in a quiver strapped to his back. The air practically sparks with the energy of warriorship. After all these years, Therin and his band of bows-and arrowsmen have risked return to the vortex where she fell.
“Therin. You beckoned me.” Kidnapped is truer, but she knows he means well.
His smile is radiant. He thrusts up his right palm in a Geshlaman salute. “Veil! I come with sacred news. Soon we can bring you home. We are creating a vessel to transport you. It is almost complete.”
“Surely you do not mean to force your will,” she says, aware she has reverted to the formal speech patterns of Geshlama.
Therin's reaction to her blunt response records in excited ripples across the curtain of light.
“Force…Veil! Have you lost your Geshlaman mind?”
“Yes, Therin. Gaia is my home now.”
“But your presence at the vortex signaled your will to return to Geshlama….”
“Ah…you have mastered the reading of soul maps, have you?”
He blanks.
“My destiny is carved upon Star Rock.”
“Wake up, dear Veil! Have you forgotten the archons forced you down?”
“I remember the fall, and I did yearn for Geshlama. But now the bindings are cut.”
“Ah, Veil…No, not a severing. You dream in the darkness of Gaia. You say you remember? Then you remember you did not choose Gaia.”
“Do you remember choosing Geshlama?”
He blanks again. It is clear he came expecting to rendezvous with the fairchild “Veil”, changed only by time and maturity, as he has changed. But she is speaking as Zinestar, her Higher Self, Earthbound souls would say.
The agitation is apparent in his handsome face. “I did not foresee we would be speaking of histories and origins,” he says. “One naturally gravitates to a realm where the soul can best serve. Remember?”
“I do. But you speak as if reciting a creed. Perhaps you secretly feel you are superior to Gaians.”
“I do not judge Gaia as a lesser world.”
“Then why do you feel you must rescue me?”
“You are from Zalos! For you to be on Gaia is a breach of nature. The truth, Veil. You are at home on Gaia?”
She smiles at the irony. “The feeling that Gaia is an alien world is prevalent. Humans here think of death as going home. Many feel they are caught on a wheel of reincarnation they need to escape. They spend their lives trying to make themselves righteous enough to leave for good. They have forgotten that grace governs migrations, not achievement.”
“It sounds a very confusing place. How do you bear it?”
“As you said, it is a matter of soul service.”
“Since when did the archons determine our service?” he says in a peppery tone.
“Perhaps my fall only appeared to have been a mistake. You know that the orchestrations and navigations of spirit are cloaked for our learning.”
“Oh! I suppose the archons are in the service of spirit, too!”
He came hoping for a battle, she sees. His warrior soul is restless. On Geshlama, he can only don the costume and assume the role, as a boy on Earth plays cops and robbers. As a steward, he care-takes forms in the most gentle of environments. There is no war on Geshlama, no killing, no destruction, no disease. Everyone and everything is nurtured. A soul can grow lazy and proud.
“Therin, listen to yourself. Have you forgotten? All works in the service of One.”
“Yes, all is resolved in the reaches of the Unisphere,” he says tiredly. “And evil is a force at the lower rings. But this was not your nature, to contend with evil. You are Zalosian.”
“And Rose. A foreigner to even Geshlama.”
“Not so foreign as to Gaia. Zalos and Geshlama are compatible realms.”
“Not as compatible as Geshlama and Emray,” she says, knowing it will consternate him.
“M-ray?”
“You do not know the full nature of Geshlama, Therin, yet you know where I should be.”
“What is this M-Ray you speak of?”
“Magicians, healers, mediators. They live beyond the Royal Mountains.”
He scoffs. “There is only desert beyond the Royals.”
“So you say.”
“Gaia has changed you. You have forgotten the order of worlds. We gove
rn the evolution of souls. Naturally we see from a higher view.”
Spoken as if he had a hand in the design. A cycle on Earth will do him good.
“In your higher view, you came prepared to confront the enemy in the archons,” she says.
“Of course. Did we not learn our lesson?”
“Good unchallenged is evil's potential for victory.”
“Your words are a conundrum. We came prepared to defeat the archons.”
“The archons are but the clowns of evil with garish faces that entertain men's ignorance. The energies of fear, lust, greed, and pride must take on forms, for this is the nature of Gaia. Soon Gaians will understand that they themselves are the creators of all forms in this sphere. First they must understand themselves, and in this quest, evil is a teacher who rips off the mask to reveal the terrible face of power. A spiritual warrior anchors light.”
“Anchors? You speak foreign.”
“An anchor is a stabilizing construct of the water worker, like a stone pillar the builder erects, like the light beams connecting our worlds.”
“You burden a simple concept.”
“It is my curse.”
“Tell me true, Veil—your wisdom finds ears on Gaia?”
“My teachers are on Gaia.”
“Gaians teach you….” His tone mocks.
“One who comes to impart wisdom is quickly humbled. You fear it.”
“I fear nothing.”
“Then be my child on Gaia.”
“What?”
The curtain of light swirls. He is nearly as shocked at her proposal as she was, discovering she was pregnant.
“I carry a fertile seed. I shall bear a child in due course.”
“Be your child? But I love you, Veil!”
“Does your love demand I subject?”
“I do not look down on you!”
“No, you look up to me. If I joined you, as you have envisioned, you would feel lifted. You are ambitious, Therin.”
“For loving you, I am ambitious.”
“For wanting me. You are taught on Geshlama that will is forged on Gaia. This is a half-truth. Earth is a chisel that carves the faces of heroes and heroines. This is not a Zalosian esotericism, Therin. I learned it on Gaia from the winds in stone. A teacher lives within Star Rock. A very old spirit who knows only of Zalos in spirit, not by experience. Gaia is a wise world, as wise as any that reside above her. I now believe that service to Gaia is the highest calling for a soul. This is why so many return. The home forgetful souls seek is within them. This is for Gaians to discover. When they do, this will be the light of the world. Geshlamans and Zalosians do not bring light, they prepare the way for the light to shine. If you want to be a light worker, come down, Therin. Be my son.”
“And who would be my father?” His derision is strident.
“Your father will not be your adversary. He is a very old spirit. His love to mine is like a gale to a breeze. My soul seeks fire that he does not sweep me into himself.”
“My soul seeks Zalos.”
“In bypass of Emray?”
“I do not—”
“Emray is a step to Zalos. The staircase is a spiral that gyrates through Morlwurl. As you know, the River Midiakwa runs through Morlwurl to Gaia. The staircase is there, as well, but one does not ascend to Zalos vertically. The staircase loops and crosses through Morlwurl, that souls might find their places. Some thought to bypass the staircase. Ambitious souls. They are the archons.”
His alarm shudders across the curtain of light. “You fear my destiny is the archons?”
“Your love shields you. But the flame of love in you is cool compared to what it will be on Gaia.”
“Your words are knives plunged into my heart.”
“It is good to stoke the flames now and then.”
“You speak in riddles.”
“Food for thought, eat or not. You came prepared to battle the archons for my honor. The light we make will dissolve the forms where their souls have slept in the tombs of time. When they are set free, they shall know terror. Then the healing will begin. Who shall heal them?”
“You will tell me.”
“Those most familiar with pride.”
“Then pride is a gift.”
“All distinctions are gifts. Is not all one? The wizard of creation will awaken in us all, and together we will build one kingdom. Gaia is the heart, Therin. Life pulsates here strongest.”
He shudders. “Pulsates in good and evil.”
“Perfect environment for a spiritual warrior, no?”
“One who desires duty in the trenches!”
“Ah, I suppose a general wants not to muss himself.”
“It is a matter of right service,” he says doggedly.
“Truth hides her face. She is beautiful, ugly, good, evil, and she is love, a stern mistress only stalwart hearts can bed.”
“Please, Veil. Let us speak of realities. Tell your stories to your children.”
I am, she is thinking. “I do speak of realities. I carry a fertile seed. I cannot return now. Nor do I desire.” Her words sound cold, but she must not give in to sentimentality. His love for her is a thorn that torments.
“I have spent my days for this moment….”
“Your love is true, dear Therin. But love, remember, does not bind to roles.”
“But I can only see you as Veil.”
“I see it is true.”
“You are lost to me as Veil, then.”
“I am Zion Rose now, daughter of Gaia.”
“I release you.” His tone is bitter and sad. “Forgive me. I did not know.”
“Dear Therin. All live in the light of the Unisphere. Smile. Love shines everywhere….”
There is no more to say. The energy of his grief dissolves the curtain, and Zion is left alone in the darkness.
Curled up in the plaid blanket at the base of Star Rock's northern pillar, she awakens, as if from a quickly fading dream. She knows something extraordinary happened, but concentration fails to clarify the memory.
Her thoughts are on the seed of life in her womb. It seems she misconstrued her mission on Gaia…. She will be a mother. No one on Earth is less prepared, she is sure.
She gathers up the blanket, shakes it vigorously.
Life on Earth makes no sense.
The crimson light above the setting sun calms her. Wrapped in the blanket, she pads down the slope toward the minivan, stopping when she sees an eagle feather on the ground. She bends, picks it up. “Thank you…” she whispers, searching the sky, but the bird is gone.
Stroking the silken feather, she remembers the lore of fairies. For the glitter she must leave them a gift.
She takes a Power Bar out of the pickup, removes the wrapper, and sets the treat on the hood of the Ram.
Warmed by the heat in the minivan, Zion is down the mountain, halfway home before she remembers she forgot to carve her message on the stone, and she did not leave the card. On the card, she had written, I remember. Perhaps she should not be hasty in telling Jonah…. Would she have such a thought if he were not coming home?
As she turns the corner onto Crabapple Drive, the eastern sky over the rocks is aglow in a mix of golds and soft blues, the colors of the eidolon she saw at Star Rock.
Apple Valley is the only place in the world where the sun sets in the east, Jo had told her, teasing. The sun doesn't actually set in the east—the light is projected off the western wall of rocks onto the eastern wall, like a mirror reflection. Whatever the science, the light show lifts her heart.
While parking the minivan under the carport, and running up to the house, Zion feels a new emotion…home.
Triss greets her at the door.
“No coat?” She pulls Zion into the house, shuts the door. “You had your blue shawl.”
“It's a long story….”
Triss studies her face. “Whatever, something good must have happened. Your face is glowing.”
“Fairies.”
She can't wait to tell Coral Kay about the glitter. The child's faith is the fire that warms them all.
Zion has mixed emotions about her trip to Star Rock. Part of her experience was awesome, but she feels something like grief as well, as if she just lost an old friend. Surely the feeling is not precursory of the denouement for Jonah. Maybe it is only her confusion about the role she is to play. It seems destiny wants her to be much more earthly than she had anticipated. The prospect of motherhood frightens her. Paradoxically, she has never felt more at home on Earth.
After she exhausted the stories of her trip, embellishing for Coral, the child finally settled down in bed around ten o'clock. Now the two women are in the living room, where they usually end their days in companionship. The roaring fire Zion made earlier is now a clump of red coals glowing behind the fireplace glass. Roasting oak and pinion is spiced with the aroma of the blue spruce Christmas tree. Zion almost cried when Triss and Avery came home with a living tree. But she did not spoil their joy with tears for the death of the tree.
It is beautiful, cluttered with Coral's school- and homemade decorations, and so many strings of multicolored minilights, they need no other light on.
Thunderpaws is gracing their presence tonight, a rarity. Curled on Zion's lap, he purrs as she strokes the black diamond of fur on his head.
“Old, bold spirit. You shall live nine-times-nine lives with us. The eagle told me.” Thunder looks up at her, as if to say…you listen to birds, when you have me?
Triss is dunking peppermint teabags in a cup of hot water. She sits in her favorite spot, the stuffed chair next to the sofa where Zion and Thunder are lounging.
Zion is gathering courage to confess her secret to Triss. Maybe she ought to do it the Triss way. Just say it.
“Triss…”
“Mmmm.”
Zion waits for her to swallow the bite of cookie. Triss decorated sugar cookies today with green and red glitter. They all had a good laugh about her tale of the fairy glitter….
“I'm pregnant.”
Triss slams forward, her mouth wide open. “You said you weren't lovers! Oh…not Avery…” She falls back and fans her face with her hand. Thunder leaps down and trots off, as if disgusted with the drama. He makes babies twice a year. Big deal.
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