One Great Year (3 page)

Atitalan tradition dictated that the students would entertain the senate and the honorary visitors with demonstrations. The entire empire had painstakingly prepared for the festival, which would be attended by the Elders, visiting kings, dignitaries, and ordinary citizens.

Later that afternoon Theron woke. Her leg had been reconstructed from the knee down, and she contemplated her good fortune. Because there were few illnesses that had not been eradicated, it was normal for healthy Atitalans to live hundreds of years if they avoided accidents. Elders could live into their thousands. She marveled at how close she had come to dying in only her twenty-second year. White Elder stood beside her, concern deepening the many lines in her face. Theron smiled, her mind clear and rested.

How could Marcus let this happen?
White Elder thought protectively, sending her question telepathically to her daughter.

I am fine, Mother, it was an accident. It wasn't his fault
, Theron said without sound. The woman bent and took her daughter's hand.

I suppose swimming was your idea?
her mother responded knowingly and, not waiting for an answer, added,
He is reckless, and he makes bad choices.

You are too severe. He is just … adventurous.

Daughter, your injury comes at a most unfortunate time.

I can fulfill my duties for summer solstice, not to worry
, Theron reassured.

There is much more afoot these days than solstice, daughter
, White Elder's mind pictures spoke mysteriously. But as Theron stirred to question her, White Elder closed her mind.

“Heal well. I am glad you are safe. I must leave you now,” the leader said aloud, kissing her daughter's head and exiting with a directive nod to the healer in the corner. Theron was intrigued but could not imagine the burden of knowledge her mother concealed.

As White Elder departed, Helghul paced his own chamber, reflecting on what had happened in the quarry. He worried that he may have been seen. He wondered what fault would have been his, what blame, if Theron had died. Would he have been responsible? Was failing to do right, doing nothing, the same as doing wrong? He wondered how he would be judged, and he shrank from the answers that his conscience gave him. Helghul knew that were he ever to become White Elder he would have to be chosen. He would have to atone for every action or inaction in his lifetime. His pale skin flushed with emotion as he justified to himself that he had merely been an innocent bystander.

Helghul had often gone to the quarry. He secretly studied the Nephilim as they processed the sacred rock. The energy released during the mining of atlantium crystal was too intense for humans to endure at close range. The Nephilim had always been the guardians of the method. The vibrations rattled his teeth and made him feel powerful and invincible. He watched the Nephilim as they worked, aware that atlantium in the wrong hands could be a great danger.

Though he had not gone to the mine with any ill intent, Helghul's conscience continued to rub. He felt shame and unease at the sinister feelings that had come over him so readily. He was aware that the dark emotions had begun to fill him more often, and, rather than concerned, he felt intrigued.

Atitala was changing. The Elders were troubled by the growing endarkenment of their citizens. There was a subtle transmutation occurring year by year. The Elders prayed and worked tirelessly to guide and teach their people. They surrounded the nation with positive energy but could not eliminate the growing undercurrent pushing back. It was a descending flow, and the Elders prepared for the inevitable.

Crime was a new phenomenon, a throwback to ages long ago. Citizens had begun to covet and to compete with one another. Envy was widespread, and an insipid restlessness and discontent percolated behind closed doors.

When the summer solstice festival began, a tired-looking Theron was at the right hand of Marcus, her injured leg hidden beneath her filmy robes. White Elder nodded, and the tranquil harp music abruptly ended and was replaced by a blast of horns heralding the commencement of the celebration.

White Elder watched from her central vantage point at the southern end of the room. Her uneasiness was apparent to no one but Theron, who felt it like an oyster feels a grain of sand against its soft underbelly. The other Elders sat next to White Elder in a semicircle. The Trinity Elders—Brown, Grey, and Red—were closest, and the seven Elders of the chakras were beside them. The visiting kings, queens, and nobles from distant lands took places of honor around the majestic Great Hall, shining in their multicolored robes, saris, and jewels.

The white-robed citizens of Atitala filled the remainder of the vast space, each of them highlighted by the rainbow auras that glowingly displayed their individual karmic codes. The gorgeous white, black, and red marble amphitheater held hundreds of thousands of people easily, with balconies and tunnels throughout to prevent congestion. The space was ingeniously designed for optimal viewing and auditory projection.

Huge gold pillars encircled the center court, supporting an intricate glass ceiling that was at least five hundred feet from end to end. The design allowed light from the dazzling sun, the moon, and the stars to warm and illuminate the chamber throughout the seasons. A stunning solid-gold statue of a chariot with winged horses large enough to seat a Nephilim dominated the northern point of the room and gave the impression that it might spring into flight at any moment.

As the burst of jubilant horns sounded, the citizens took their seats and became quiet in anticipation. The demonstrators and performers were seated in rows on the opposite side of the vast auditorium.

Across the hall, Helghul bitterly contemplated Theron's chosen future mate and mentally compared himself to the dullard. The rival was undeniably handsome and intelligent but lacked Helghul's ambition and drive. Marcus was patient and easygoing, while Helghul was intense and competitive. Marcus did not seek notoriety, nor had he set his sights on the senate despite his obvious popularity and ability. Helghul concluded that Marcus was lazy, but it did nothing to ease his envy.

The Elders were leading the congregation in sacred hymns and meditation. In keeping with tradition, the entire assembly joined in the celebration. Through the striking of deliberate octaves and conscious notes the room was electrified, and it buzzed with the building energy. The silver moonlight shone on them from its place in the center of the glass ceiling.

The Elders began to build the multicolored, sacred Unity Grid, beginning with the six-petal seed of life. Rapidly they advanced well beyond its simplicity and demonstrated a vast array of patterns and sacred geometric shapes, including the star tetrahedron. They called upon the congregation to join them. The building resonated with their chants and movement. The collective energy empowered and strengthened the people, unifying and filling them, while the vibrations caused by their voices lit the Grid around them and turned it like a kaleidoscope. One after another the beautiful designs were illuminated.

Marcus and Theron were filled with the vibration around them. They stood face to face, their hands tightly clasped with one another and their eyes locked in an intense connection.

Suddenly, something went wrong. As the group pushed to expand the scope of the Grid beyond the glass ceiling into the starry night sky, they faltered. The voices went off key, the image flickered, and large sections of the Unity Grid faded. There were audible gasps, and a wave of fear—foreign to the Great Hall—blew through like an icy wind. All of the voices stopped their hum, and the lights and connection disappeared into silence. Then people erupted into frantic whispers.

The people of Atitala had never known a time when their will and voices were not purely united; the sacred unity ceremony had never faltered, at least not in Atitala. A sinister shiver had raised the hair on their arms and necks, and in shock they looked to White Elder for an explanation.

“Be calm … fill your hearts with love. Remind yourself of what you know to be true. Trust in our oneness and unity,” White Elder instructed. “Fear is unnecessary. Join me now and clear your minds.”

The people of Atitala joined White Elder in meditation, but many were unable to extinguish their concern. Some cleared their minds and filled themselves with love, but others could not, would not, and they were anxious to leave the Great Hall. They wanted to discuss the faltering of the sacred Unity Grid. The people of Atitala wondered if they had lost favor with the Great Spirit. The fear and uncertainty that they were feeling reflected new vibrations in their frequency. Something had to be done.

Amidst the chaos Helghul had felt empowered and, despite the confusion and concern around him, he had remained unperturbed. He had not been participating in the Unity Grid but had only pretended, going through the outward motions. He was happy that the unification had failed; it meant that he was not the only Atitalan feeling differently these days. He had been relieved to witness the weakness of others. It had been hinted that something like this might happen and that an opportunity could present itself. Helghul searched the crowd for his mentor and found him, his head and arms raised dutifully skyward.

After a soothing and reassuring meditation, White Elder blessed and dismissed the uneasy crowd. Marcus and Theron reluctantly separated as White Elder led her daughter to their nearby quarters, surrounded by the other Elders. Their calm was based on their surrender. Things were always as they were meant to be.

Marcus had returned to his chamber alone. He had no family with whom he could consult or speculate. His elderly parents had died years before, and he had been left in the care of the community. Marcus contemplated the breakdown of the sacred Unity Grid, but he also found himself thinking of Theron—her touch, her laugh—and he dreamed hopefully of their future together.

 

The changes in Atitala had become obvious. There were nights when the air and ground rumbled with thunder, though the sky was clear and cloud-free. The weather had begun to change—as if conjured, violent winds blew and sudden storms swept over the city without warning. Lightning strikes claimed property and lives, and again the thunder boomed.

The most distressing of the recent developments was the series of disappearances. It had begun with one missing child—an infant stolen from the cot next to his parents while they slept. There was no evidence, only a window they had confidently left open. Then another, a toddler, gone as her parents happily chased her through the marketplace. She had dashed lightheartedly ahead, mingling in a sea of legs, and then suddenly she had vanished. The frantic parents searched in confusion; the colorful fruit and vegetable carts hid no playful child. Her voice was gone, her mind pictures disappeared all at once, and her parents could not reach her in any manner. It was unheard of, unfathomable, yet children continued to disappear without explanation.

Nine young ones, all under five years of age, had inexplicably gone missing since summer solstice three months earlier. As a precaution, White Elder warned parents to supervise vigilantly until the mystery of the disappearances could be solved. The citizens were hopeful and prayed for the safe return of the lost little ones while growing understandably fearful and protective of their own children.

It was not only the children of Atitala who had alarmingly begun to disappear. The birds and insects had begun a mysterious migration also. At first it was undetectable, small flocks in formation above, but eventually there were enormous noisy clouds that cast shadows over the landscape and unnerved the people below. There was no apparent cause, yet winged creatures were fleeing and the jungle volume had rapidly decreased by half.

“It is a sign; the prophecies speak of this happening at the end of the Age,” some insisted gravely, but most were too confused and frightened to openly speculate.

The citizens closed their doors and minds against the occurrences and looked to the Elders for guidance and protection. White Elder and her senate worked tirelessly to solve the mystery of the disappearances, but, despite their suspicions and intuition, they were unable to stem the flow.

The Elders grew rigid with their teachings, keeping their students unusually long hours. Theron and Marcus's schedules were grueling. Marcus begged Theron to skip classes with him, but she always refused, more serious in her studies than ever before. He grudgingly remained with her in lessons, spending every moment he could at her side.

Theron's leg had healed, and one day Marcus was admiring the faintly scarred curve of her ankle instead of concentrating on their lecture. Theron nudged him to attention as Red Elder informed the students of an important development. The sturdy instructor looked out at the four thousand faces that were casually regarding him from the stone amphitheater. The room spiraled like a nautilus shell to the high cathedral ceiling, and his voice carried effortlessly to every ear.

“I am sure you have all heard rumors,” he said, walking out from behind his writing table, his white robes flowing gently. The tired students had been sitting a long time but were suddenly alert and interested. Red Elder stroked his short salt-and-pepper beard as he continued, “Our world has clearly entered an age of turmoil. Before your years, we were a nation of light and harmony. A shift has been occurring and the people are becoming fearful and suspicious … even dangerous at times. The descent from the Golden Age can no longer be ignored,” Red Elder paused.

Marcus and many of his fellow students slumped, disappointed, in their seats. This information was nothing new; since summer solstice, it had been the topic in every household. Helghul picked at his nail cuticles absently. He was especially tired, still having been on secret assignment on top of all his other responsibilities, and he was bored with the rhetoric.

Red Elder continued, determined that his students understand the significance of what he was telling them.