One Great Year Read online

  Red Elder waited as the students buzzed with excitement and disbelief.

  “As we speak, the Elders are preparing to choose from among you, the students of Atitala. Not all of you are destined to become Emissaries, but it is not for us to say. Those of you who cannot or choose not to take on this duty will be weeded out.”

  “How?” Marcus called out doubtfully. Theron cringed, and a few rows away Helghul sneered. Red Elder scanned the crowd for the source of the voice.

  “By your ineptitude,” Helghul interjected loudly, and a small chuckle erupted from some of their fellow classmates. Marcus smirked and placed his hand on top of Theron’s. Helghul scowled, looking away, and did not see Theron throw off the mocking digits, annoyed to be a pawn in their competition.

  “It will all be explained,” Red Elder answered, glancing disapprovingly at Helghul. The students were frustrated with the professor’s vague answer.

  “Who will choose? What will the Emissaries do?” another student called out unbidden. Red Elder felt their doubt and concern and concentrated on projecting a comforting energy while responding as specifically as he could.

  “My students, the Emissaries will be the keepers of the sacred knowledge. You will become the teachers, the healers, and the lights as the Age descends into darkness. Your frequencies will remain high and will help elevate the vibrations of those around you. Your greatest challenge will be to choose your path, to maintain your balance. The time will come when all of your questions shall be answered. I wish I had more to tell you. I must return to the senate. That will conclude our lesson for today.”

  Red Elder gathered up his belongings and exited. He was hesitant to say too much. The students gradually departed, chattering loudly to one another as they made their way to their next lecture or work station.

  The Elders had been communing with the Great Light through meditation and prayer, but still they had no definitive instructions. They were waiting for a sign—one that would come sooner than they imagined.

  As he walked to the senate chamber, Red Elder continued to feel the uncertainty of his students like a thick, humid fog clinging to his every cell. He was heavy with concern about them and their preparedness to become Emissaries. Had he schooled them as best he could in philosophy, ethics, and higher thinking? Would they be prepared to sacrifice the needs of the individual and the self for the greater good? Should they? All of these questions plagued him, and, based on the strong negative energy that had been growing, he knew there wasn’t much time.

  As Red Elder opened the door to the senate chamber, his worries were forgotten. All of his senses were inundated. He heard a resounding hum of “Om”; there were whimsical visions of light and color. He smelled sweet jasmine and felt warm wind against his cheek. His skin prickled in response, and radiant warmth immediately enfolded him and drew him in like a favorite blanket. He joined the glowing circle that vibrated before him.

  The Elders sat, heads bowed, chanting, meditating, sharing their energy, and wordlessly exchanging their thoughts and feelings. The swirling powerful force circled them, and though they were materially tiny in the vast room, they filled the space.

  Red Elder gave thanks and opened himself up to the Universe. He called upon the collective consciousness of the group and sought knowledge and guidance. He centered on the chakras of his own body and released his energy to join the circle. He breathed the short, sharp breaths of fire and felt his own energy begin to cyclone around him.

  At the end of this Golden Age, God was recognized within them, part of them. The Source energy flowed between the human conduits in thick bands of brilliant light and color as they flowed in and out of one another. They heard each whisper, thought, and question. They felt every joy and worry, not only of one another, but of every creature. The Elders saw overwhelming love and basked in the indigo glow of their shared hum.

  The Greater Power identified the fear and doubt in the room—a lick of it, a tiny taste, hardly anything compared to the dark fear feeding on itself outside the senate doors in the private hearts and minds of the Atitalans. Soothing the darkness with love, like aloe to a burn, the Great Light cradled the Elders and the people of the city. It lived in them and through them. With every breath the loving energy flowed in and out—through their mouths, noses, eyes, ears, cells—and permitted them to exist as One, despite the illusion of separateness.

  The Elders knew that they were One with creation and with one another, and they listened for the answers to the questions over which they had meditated. The balance was always there. Darkness was a part of everyone, some more than others, but one and all encompass both dark and light. The dark energy had grown stronger and was there in the room, gaining strength daily, but it was well masked. Despite the Elders’ desperate pleas, the missing young ones were not found.

  The ancient scriptures of Atitala explained that the Golden Age was the peak of a rotation. As the cycle continued, the Age would end; it always had to end. In that moment of shared meditation and enlightenment, the Elders were informed that the turn had come. The nearly twenty-six-thousand-year cycle would continue.

  It was the end of the Golden Age, and the next thirteen thousand years would descend into darkness before the cycle would once again turn upward. The souls who had learned their lessons would ascend to a higher realm. Those souls who were blocked or dark would continue learning in their earthly incarnations. For a moment, darkness erupted from the perimeter of the light. The inky blackness sent overwhelming doubt and fear through the room and through the walls into the world afar. It projected an image of humankind without faith and light. Inside the chamber and everywhere beyond, people were momentarily stung and sickened by negative and foreboding images. They saw murder and selfishness—one was stealing bread from another. They saw a world corrupt with human sacrifice—a head bouncing and splattering blood as it tumbled down steep pyramid steps in faulty attempts to honor the gods. There were as many ominous, diverse visions manufactured by the energy as there were people.

  For an instant the Great Source was rendered still by a hideous and powerful grief that rumbled through the chamber and through all of Atitala. Though fear tempted them also, the Elders continued their meditation and hum. The brightness re-emerged, bursting through and scattering the darkness. Once again the senate chamber was filled with glorious light.

  It was then that the message came clearly to each of the Elders simultaneously: “The Emissaries must be chosen immediately. They will devise new tools of understanding to sustain the people. They will be beacons of hope in the coming dark days.”

  White Elder looked up from her place.

  “The message has been given,” she said, her voice replacing the hum of energy. “We must prepare. The reconciliation of man will come within days. The worthy and faithful Emissaries must be chosen, and they too must choose. As the prophecies have foretold, these Emissaries will be the way-showers and will carry forward the secret of Oneness. The knowledge must not be lost.”

  “What of us? Do we continue here?” Grey Elder asked.

  The room remained quiet. Though Grey Elder was given no answer, a reply did come, instantly but silently, but only to White Elder. White Elder alone heard the Universe respond. For those who remain, the wrath of the earth, water, wind, and fire will overtake all of the continents, heralding the end of this Golden Age. First will come water, that which sustains and takes life. Only the chosen Emissaries shall leave, accompanied by Red Elder and Grey Elder, White Elder was told.

  “Only the Emissaries will go,” White Elder answered. “The rest of us are to remain here.”

  “How will they be chosen. What must we do?” the Elder of the Crown Chakra asked.

  “Red Elder has begun the task already. The trials have been designed, and the students will be chosen and will choose. We begin tonight,” White Elder said.

  The Elders broke their circle, and their light and colors lingered around them. There was much to prepare, and the importanc
e of the task ahead of them was daunting.

  “Red Elder, one last thing,” White Elder called, as she finished speaking privately to Grey and Brown, giving them each special tasks to complete before they departed.

  “What is it?” Red Elder asked.

  “Tell no one what I say now. As you know, a new beginning is upon us. For the next Great Year you have been given a task of prime importance: to accompany the Emissaries. It is a sacrifice; you could go on to the higher dimension and exist in bliss. Soon the Emerald Tablet will be removed from the Grand Pyramid so that, as the consciousness descends, the dark energy is not amplified. It will remain unused until the next Golden Age begins, when the energy is once again worthy. You will carry the message of the Emerald Tablet into the world. Do you accept this responsibility?”

  “I am happy to accept. It is not a sacrifice, it is an honor. Will you join us?” Red Elder asked.

  “No, my path and cycle are of a different nature,” White Elder answered simply, and Red Elder understood that the journey is never done, no matter what level of enlightenment one has attained.

  “Has this great Age truly ended, when there is still so much good in our world?”

  “We have always been told to question everything, but the cycle continues as it must,” White Elder explained.

  “And the rock rolls downhill,” Red Elder added. The Elders embraced warmly before departing.

  Beyond the walls of the senate chamber, oblivious to the monumental events that had unfolded, Marcus and Theron sat shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, and deep in conversation. The cenote that surrounded them glowed turquoise blue and white.

  The cenote was a round stone chamber naturally eroded by an underground river with a number of tunnels branching off into darkness. The fresh water was dazzled by the sunlight springing through the overhead skylight, worn by nature’s erosion. Their feet were soothed by the warm, still pool. Roots of living trees hung like chandeliers from the red soil ceiling, some reaching all the way to the water.

  “I love it here,” Theron said. “When we were young, Helghul and I found this place. We used to come here to practice mind games. One of us would use a rock to scrape an image or symbol into the soft walls over there, and the other would sit here with our feet in the water and try to guess what it was. He used to get so mad. I always won and he could never guess anything I drew.” She smiled at the memory.

  “So he’s always been an ass,” Marcus said, laughing and squeezing her tightly with one arm.

  “He’s not so bad, Marcus,” she defended. “I don’t know what the grudge is between you.”

  Marcus was barely listening now. He breathed in her natural clean smell, and as she had turned to speak her thigh pushed firmly against him, an instant distraction.

  The sun peeking through the open ceiling was splintered by the dangling roots and dappled her in a golden glow. Her nose and her tiny eyes in isolation were nothing special, but somehow in her face they were perfect. All at once Marcus felt his breath sucked out of him.

  “The last thing I want to do right now is talk about Helghul!” he said, placing his hand behind her neck and pulling her in for a deep kiss. She responded willingly, gently biting his bottom lip, and they wrapped their bodies together.

  As their passion mounted she stopped him, as she always did. She pulled his forehead to meet hers, locking her hands behind his neck, and stayed there with her eyes closed, saying nothing. Marcus felt their connection deeply, and his frustration slipped away. After a moment he stood; unselfconsciously he slipped out of his loose trousers and pulled his tunic over his head, plunging into the welcome cool of the water. As he surfaced he swam to the edge and searched with his feet for the hollow nook on which to stand.

  His caramel skin glistened in the speckled sunlight and his spongy curls almost touched his shoulders. Impulsively Theron stood up and, with one tug, dropped her airy white robe in a heap at her feet. There was only a brief moment before she slipped into the water next to Marcus, but that vision would be forever burned into his memory. It was the single most arousing moment of his life; to see her there, for the first time, free and naked. Her curves so perfectly long and lean, surrounded by the stunning blue and gold of the cenote. It was almost too much for him.

  No amount of cool water could sate him. She came to him, her soft skin pressed against his, her mouth open before their lips met, and their hands explored one another. She felt his hardness against her and she floated into him. Instantly she felt the heat between her legs, the longing in her belly. Her second chakra burned and desire shot through her. Marcus’s left hand slid tenderly from her hip up to her breast. Her nipple responded to his touch, swelling, and he brought his mouth to it. They held the edge of the pool for support and her free hand stroked his rippling shoulder. Soon they were kissing again, fevered and wet. Marcus was out of his mind with passion, overwhelmed with his love and longing for her.

  “Now,” she whispered in his ear, kissing and licking it seductively. He looked at her, searching her face. He needed to be clear that they were ready—it was their first time. Marcus placed his hands on her hips, lifting her as she wrapped her strong limbs around his waist. This was the perfect connection, the ideal moment.

  “STOP!” A tortured yell tore through the cave, startling the couple and shattering their blissful state.

  The moment gone, they watched in shock as Helghul approached the pool’s edge, his eyes wild. “Get away from her!” he ordered. Marcus didn’t move, but before he could say anything Theron shouted at her classmate irritably.

  “What are you doing here? Have you lost your mind?” she snapped. Helghul ignored the question and angrily rounded on her.

  “You bring this to our spot?” he hissed. “You spoil yourself with … with this?” he spat, pacing the edge of the water, glowering at her. His jealousy twisted his thin face, and Theron was stunned by his vehemence.

  “You need to leave NOW,” Marcus commanded. Theron placed her hand on his shoulder.

  “Helghul please, just go,” Theron said more kindly. Helghul stopped pacing and glared at her, his pale face blotched with rage.

  “You are unclean! Don’t speak to me,” he hissed, spittle flying as he spoke. He was cut short as Marcus leapt out of the pool, his nakedness forgotten.

  Despite Helghul’s attempt to back away, Marcus’s coiled knuckles crunched against the bone of his cheek. Helghul was thrown back by the blow, his counterpunch lost to the air as he stumbled.

  “Stop!” Theron shouted. Marcus ignored her as she grabbed on to his bicep, both of them naked and dripping. “Marcus, let go! Let him go!” she shouted. Marcus backed the stumbling adversary to the water’s edge and shoved him in.

  “What is wrong with you?” Theron fumed, as she began to quickly pull her clothes back on.

  “You’re mad at me?” a disbelieving Marcus snapped in response.

  Helghul began climbing out of the water, his sopping garments clinging to him. Theron’s dress was awkwardly twisted and stuck to her as she instinctively reached out and offered Helghul her hand. As she bent toward him, he did the unthinkable. In a flash he backhanded her roughly across the face and sent her reeling on her haunches. Blood flowed from her nose as she skidded across the stone floor, landing on her tailbone. She was dumbfounded as blood and tears poured down her clinging dress. She had never been hit before. She had never been intentionally injured by anyone.

  Before Theron could process what had happened, Marcus pounced on Helghul, who was now out of the water. They were wrestling on the stone floor, and Theron was shouting at them to stop, when Helghul unsheathed a small knife from the waist of his soaked clothing. He slashed at Marcus, opening a superficial gash in his right forearm. Marcus’s eyes bulged at the realization of the weapon. He grappled with Helghul, ultimately sending the blade bouncing off the rock and into the deep water.

  “ENOUGH!” A powerful voice boomed through the underground chamber, reverberating off the walls a
nd simultaneously sending a debilitating telepathic screech that cut through their minds painfully. Marcus and Helghul let go of one another, bringing their hands to their ears in useless defense.

  Grey Elder stared at the students angrily as they stumbled and pushed away from one another. The young men stood dirty and bleeding from miscellaneous scrapes and punches, and both avoided the intimidating gaze of the Elder. The older man was tall and extremely thin. He wore his silver hair shaved short, and his dark eyes showed little emotion. His face was red and his jaw was tightly clenched as he looked at the bloodied, miserable Theron and then back at the young men.

  “Grey Elder …” Theron began.

  “Say nothing, I have seen enough. I will bring this matter to the senate,” he said. “We have no time. You need to go prepare, the students have been summoned. You are to report to the Great Hall within the hour,” he said. Then, looking at Theron, he added, “Do not let your mother see you thus, Theron. It will distress her unduly.”

  Theron marched angrily out of the cavern, and Marcus bumped against Helghul roughly as he passed to catch up to her. The young men sneered openly at one another, and Grey Elder took Helghul by the arm and steered him away.

  “There is no time for your nonsense!” he hissed at the student, and Helghul shook his arm free but stared dejectedly at the ground.

  Grey Elder was annoyed and deeply troubled. There was so much to do and the offspring of White Elder only added to his worries. When he arrived back at the senate chamber, Grey Elder solemnly conveyed the story to the other Elders.

  White Elder’s face clouded with concern and she asked after Theron. “What of my daughter, is she badly injured?” At that moment she was less spiritual leader and more distressed mother.

  “She is well, White Elder. She is in her room changing her robes,” Grey Elder assured.

  “This violence on the eve of the departure of the Emissaries … what does it mean? Can they be trusted on this odyssey?” Brown Elder questioned, folding her hands contemplatively.