Eighth Fire (15 page)

Shana walked up behind Jeremy as he sat
their dinner orders on the table at their usual booth in The Oasis.
Shana smiled and said, “Well Mark, tell me a little about
intentions versus actions.”

Jeremy looked puzzled and said to Shana,
“Isn’t that a bit beyond his grade level?”

Shana faced Jeremy. “Oh, you’ll find that
he’s quite intuitive about a lot of things; watch.” She turned back
to Mark.

The front of Mark’s mind started to fill
with anger. He felt as if he were being pushed to perform. He
thought,
Why are you doing this to me?
He didn’t even bother
to try to suppress it and knew full well everyone within fifty
yards was picking up his anger and his thoughts.

Shana tilted her head and frowned. “We don’t
have to do this now. You can wait until next year for this lesson
if you like, but I was just thinking it might be useful to you
now.”

Mark pulled his plate closer and stabbed a
small piece of Kobe steak with his fork. “Intentions are just what
you think or feel and have no physical existence. Actions are what
you do. What you do has consequences. It’s that simple.” He put the
steak in his mouth and started chewing the succulent morsel. “Wow,
that’s good!”

Jeremy smiled. “Yep. That’s one of my
favorites.”

“So, you’re saying intentions and actions
are unrelated.” Shana raised her hands in a questioning
gesture.

“Of course they’re related.” He thought for
a moment. “I can’t think of any action that anyone can do that
doesn’t come from an intention.”

Shana shrugged and tilted her head,
“Snoring?”

“Unless someone is trying to fake being
asleep, snoring is an unintended consequence.”

“Actions often don’t result in the
anticipated intention; therefore there are often unintended
consequences. How often do you think that happens?”

“I don’t know; I suppose a lot.”

“Would you be surprised if I told you it
happens with every action?”

“Like ripples on a pond.”

Nick exclaimed, “Eureka!” He slid his plate
back and pulled a laptop computer from Aaron’s Grasp. “That’s it.
An electron takes every possible path to its next point of
existence. Time must work the same way. Time is nodal!”

Jeremy chuckled and both he and Shana turned
to face each other in surprise. Nick started tapping away at the
keyboard.

Shana said, “That’s quite perceptive; it’s
what we call destiny. Certain events are predestined to come to
pass and all eventualities converge on destiny’s course at some
point.”

Nick continued typing and didn’t look up.
“That’s what I said, time is nodal.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Destiny Beckons

The auto-cars skimmed above the grass on the
perimeter of the cemetery and came to a stop by a fairly large
building that looked like some kind of ancient temple. A wide set
of stone stairs led up to the entrance. Large columns held up the
roof that covered the narrow porch around the building and the
marble walls were adorned with sculptures carved in a band all
around it at about head height. The entrance itself was a single
narrow arch with a stone slab slid to the side.

A counselor that Mark didn’t recognize
climbed to the top of the stairs and addressed the entire group of
nearly three hundred students. “In this hallowed hall you are about
to enter are more than ten million names of deceased brothers and
sisters inscribed on the many walls herein along with the deeds
they are remembered for. It is customary to remain absolutely
silent while within this monument.

“This place was built more than three
thousand years ago to honor our dead. Since from when the first
Magi broke from the traditional followers of Zoroaster to follow
the teachings of the One True God, we have maintained these grounds
and this honored hall. Since that time we have chosen to bury our
dead and honor their service at The Seventh Mountain in this
place.

“The walls in here are very close together
so you may wish to keep in mind the shortest path to the exit.”

Each group entered five minutes after the
group before them to allow for adequate spacing between groups
inside. Since Mark’s group was an add-on to Mr. Foran’s group they
were the last of the twelve groups to go in.

The walls inside were arranged like diagonal
bookshelves forming narrow aisles between each floor to ceiling
slab. Mark thought it would be difficult for anyone overweight to
easily negotiate between the slabs.

Each inscription appeared to be inlaid with
gold leaf and the one he was looking at was in a language he
couldn’t read. From what he knew of math symbols, he thought the
language must be Greek or something similar except for the
identifying number which was standard Arabic.

Three floors down were the oldest
inscriptions, carved around 500 BC and they looked as fresh as the
scant few six floors up that had been carved within the last ten
years. Mark thought it interesting to note the obvious changes in
languages over the years used in carving the epitaphs. He was
intensely curious as to why he could read the ones written four
hundred to five hundred years ago in Spanish, and the ones written
in French three hundred to four hundred years ago. He made his way
up and out and found Mr. Foran waiting by the entrance.

He walked over to him and said, “Sir, I can
read Spanish and French writing and I don’t understand why.”

Mr. Foran chuckled and answered in German.
“Your counselors were supposed to tell you about that at the
beginning of this year, but I see you missed that lecture. All
freshmen learned three languages last year, while they slept:
Spanish, French and of course, German. This year your languages
will be Russian, Mandarin and Cantonese.”

“You mean like dream casting?”

“We call it Shawtaf Chalomee, immersion
dreaming. Magi whose native tongue is the language you are learning
dream cast and direct the dreams. You are immersed in a dream world
where that’s the natural language. In less than three months you
can read, write and speak like a native of that language.”

“What else are we learning while we’re
asleep?”

“That depends on your level of experience
and any special courses you’re taking. For instance, this year the
first part of your Communications class will be taught when you’re
just waking up to take advantage of that time when there’s a
natural link between your spirit and your mind. That’s for the
lessons in Rooack Mareh or Spirit Sight.”

Jamal walked out followed by Chenoa and
Nick. A moment later the rest of Mr. Foran’s group walked out.

Nick walked up to Mr. Foran and said, “My
brother told me about this place. Is it true that all the Magi from
The Seventh Mountain are buried here?”

Mr. Foran smiled and then chuckled. “I
certainly hope not! If that were true, I’d be in one heck of a
pickle!” A few students standing behind Mr. Foran tittered.

He grinned at Jamal and it took a second for
Jamal to catch on. Jamal said, “You know what I mean.”

“Of course I know what you mean.” He put his
hand on Jamal’s shoulder. “Not all those buried here are Magi, and
not all Magi of The Seventh Mountain are buried here when they die.
That is a prerequisite you know. You have to be dead first.” He
chuckled again.

“This place is where we honor those that
died while in the service of The Seventh Mountain, and not just
Magi either. We honor anyone that died in the service of The
Seventh Mountain. And all markers don’t necessarily have a body
buried under them either. Take for instance Don Diego Sanchez,
better known as Zorro.” He made three slashing motions with his arm
like he was carving the letter “Z” with a rapier. “Diego was on a
mission and just happened to be passing through a village in
southern California when he heard the cries of a damsel emanating
from a second story window. He rode his horse to the edge of the
building’s porch, climbed to the porch roof and quickly went to the
open window. Inside he saw a fat old man trying to take liberties
upon a fair young maiden. Diego’s sword of choice was a rapier
which he used to swat the man across the back three times. The man
was moving and unfortunately a crude “Z” was formed by the red welt
marks the sword left. The man fled and as Diego was climbing back
down to his horse the young maiden called after him to know who he
was. He called back to her, ‘I am but a man that follows the
teachings of Zoroaster.’ Zoroaster was the founder of the original
Magi if you didn’t know. All the damsel caught of what he said was
Zorro something or other and hence, the legend of Zorro was
born…

“He’s not buried here, but we honor him
since he was in the service of The Seventh Mountain when he died in
1963, and that is but one of his many deeds.”

Somebody in the back said, “I thought Zorro
was Don Diego Vega.” Someone else said, “No, Zorro was Joaquin
Murrieta.”

Mr. Foran said, “No need to get twisted
about it. You’re both right, in a way. The young maiden happened to
be Rosa Murrieta, wife of Joaquin Murrieta and the old fat guy was
none other than the corrupt head honcho of that little town and
also the cousin of the governor of California.

“He sent a bunch of drunken thugs after
Joaquin for the assault, thinking Joaquin to be this Zorro
character, only they brought back Joaquin’s brother. Seeing how
they got the wrong man, they accused the brother of some heinous
crime and hung him anyway. Then he formed another group to go after
that Zorro something or other fellow, Joaquin. They brought Joaquin
back and the honcho saw it wasn’t the right man so he accused him
of stealing a mule and had him horse whipped. Rosa, Joaquin’s wife
didn’t fare well at the hands of the honcho either, or his gang of
henchmen. She was later thrown, badly beaten into the also badly
beaten Joaquin’s arms where she died. Joaquin swore revenge for his
wife and his brother.

“Don Diego Sanchez was well out of town when
all of this happened and had no idea anything like this would have
happened. He thought the old fat guy would have gotten out of town
as fast as he could after being caught and humiliated like that. It
wasn’t until three months later when he returned that he heard the
story.

“By then Joaquin had essentially declared
war against California, but only after tracking down and killing
the men responsible for his wife and brother’s deaths. Diego was
able to track down Joaquin and apologize for not realizing he
needed to stick around a bit longer. Joaquin would have none of it
and continued on his rampage.

“Diego saw the need for someone to be there
to right injustices and he stayed three years while he trained a
young apprentice in sword fighting. The apprentice took the name
Don Diego de la Costa and was fictionalized by Johnston McCulley as
Don Diego Vega, the Zorro of legend. Don Diego Sanchez is the one
whose grave is here.”

The last day of Orientation was for
socializing and just plain having fun until it was time for the
first assembly of the year. Students were required to wear tribe
colors and stay within the confines of the school until five p.m.
when the assembly started.

It was obvious that Chenoa had been
practicing at dueling pinball and Mark had a hard time beating her.
In fact he had lost the first three games of the eight they had
played. LeOmi beat Jamal and Nick at darts without much effort, but
billiards seemed to be Nick’s game. He beat anyone that challenged
him.

Mark’s group walked into The Oasis a few
minutes ahead of most students and they saw James standing just
inside. James quickly walked over to the group and said, “Finally.
You guys are hard to find.”

LeOmi said, “What’d you expect? Why didn’t
you try our dorm?”

“I did, only I couldn’t get in.”

“Why not?”

“Listen, it doesn’t matter. I just need to
talk to Mark.”

Mark said, “Is it about what I think it’s
about?”

“Yeah. Should I tell or not?”

“That’s up to you, but people are going to
find out sooner or later.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say, but it
makes people treat you different.”

“Yeah, but if you were born with six toes it
wouldn’t be any different. You’d still be who you are, no matter
what.”

“I see what you mean. I’m going to make it
public. I’ll see you after the assembly.”

LeOmi started following James as he walked
off. She called to James, “Hold up. I’m coming with you.”

LeOmi rejoined the group just as they were
sitting down. Mark said, “Did you do what I think you did?”

LeOmi said, “You’re right. It doesn’t change
who I am.”

Chenoa leaned across the table. “What are
you talking about?”

Mark looked at Chenoa and paused a moment
before saying, “My brother was pre-chosen; Agate Tribe.”