One Great Year (32 page)

“Have we started an unprovoked war?” one clansmen, silent until now, spoke up incredulously. “My totems lead me to be more hesitant of such careless disregard for my life and the lives of my kin.”

“The great wolf came to me last night; he was armed and ready for battle. This path is true. Temujin's father stole a Merkit wife many moons past. This is merely the gods' way of balancing the Universe,” the old shaman added seriously.

“I am tired of this wind and cold for tonight. My prize awaits me,” the khan proclaimed, turning his bulky frame toward Borte's horse, a lascivious glint in his eye. She was now his property, stolen or not.

Chilger urgently took his arm and spoke into his ear. “This is Borte. This is the girl that I left in search of,” he whispered.

The leader was astonished by the revelation and the synchronicity of it. “Once again, shaman, your visions and callings seem to speak with the voice of Tengri. She is yours,” he said respectfully, stepping away.

To everyone's surprise, Chilger took the head of the mare and led the prisoner toward his simple ger near the eastern boundary of the settlement.

“Where are you taking me?” Borte asked, fear vibrating in her voice and stinging him like salt to a wound. He longed to hold her, comfort her, and ease her worried mind. Her aura was thick with doubt and apprehension.

“Borte, you will endure no hardship or ill treatment so long as you are with me,” he assured her kindly. His body floated beneath him, barely feeling the ground at his feet. She was so close, her skin, her eyes, her hands. He watched the tendrils of air as she breathed and he longed to take in every particle she exhaled. His Marcus-brain whooped and cheered and scattered his energy as widely as he was able.

Borte's mind eased slightly and she hoped that he spoke the truth. They made their way away from the group, carefully observed.

“Who are you?” she asked skeptically, mirroring his whisper.

The shaman paused and raised his face to meet hers squarely for the first time, hope and love plain in his deep brown eyes. “I am your friend,” he replied earnestly. “I am Chilger … do you not remember me?”

Borte did remember Chilger. She had affectionate recollections of her friend from the market. They had played more than once, and he had repeatedly presented her with little gifts and treats. As is often the case with children, his generosity had endeared him to her.

After offering the appropriate blessings and thanks, Chilger made a place for Borte at the north side of his ger, the place for honored guests—though he secretly hoped that she would someday take permanent residence in the east side of the circle.

“You must help me get home to Temujin,” Borte said simply, when Chilger had dealt with the horse and finished stoking the fire at the center of the lodging. She was unsure how he would respond to the request, but she did not fear him.

“Never,” Chilger said simply, catching her by surprise. “It is not with him that you belong, but with me,” he finished, keeping himself busy gathering furs and blankets for her comfort.

Borte had expected that he might say he could not, or even would not, help her, but she had not expected this response. “With you?” she said, shocked.

Once again he felt a literal sting as her fear rose in her, and the colors swirling around her darkened significantly in the dusky evening light. “Please do not fear me. I can see your panic. I feel it as if it was my own, and it weighs on me. There is so much that you do not understand. So much that you do not remember,” he said, sighing, his distress and anguish clear on his face.

He lowered a fur to the floor beside her, and as she sat their bodies touched. It was electric, like the sting of a wasp, only somehow pleasant. The energy between them grew exponentially with the touch, and she found herself being inexplicably pulled in, swimming in a familiar warm bath of elation and sorrow all at once. Her intuition hummed and whirred as their karmic energies rejoined and found one another.

“Tell me what I do not understand,” Borte entreated.

Chilger began slowly, reminding her of their interactions in the market, the chance meetings, the joy and freedom they had felt running together as children, and the connection they had formed. He brought her to a familiar and comfortable place in their time together, putting her at ease.

“But there is more, so much more … our connection is an ancient one,” he said, as they finished giving offering and began to eat together. He let the words hang in the air, his Marcus-brain desperately hoping and wishing, as always, that Theron would know him as he knew her.

“Ancient?” she repeated simply, but the words were far from simple. The notion sent shivers through her, and she stared at the shaman incredulously. Though reincarnation was an accepted tenet of their spiritual beliefs, only a rare few ever professed to have recollection. The idea excited and intimidated Borte, and she longed for more information. She waited for Chilger to continue.

“Do you know me?” he asked, willing her to see his Marcus-spirit.

“I know what I see,” she said, but then uncertainly she added, “I always remembered our time in the marketplace. I should be afraid. I was afraid … but now the fear has subsided and you feel … familiar. It's like a tingle in the Tengri-god center of my head telling me to trust you.”

“I am familiar because this is only one of the many lives we have shared,” he explained, his Marcus-brain hopeful that somehow Theron recognized him.

The warmth in the ger was growing unbearable, and Borte gulped as her stomach fluttered and lurched. “I am joined with Temujin,” she croaked, feeling burdened with the memory of him. He seemed more like a stranger to her than a husband, and Chilger was here filling her with confusing feelings. She remembered him from her childhood, but there was more. She felt a strong pull at her core drawing her to him.

“Forgive me, I forget that we are not at the same place in this and I leap ahead,” he said, worried that he had frightened her. He respectfully leaned further away from her.

Marcus was filled with longing. It had been so long since they had been together as man and woman. They sat in silence for a long time. Chilger would wait. Marcus was used to waiting. He would allow her all the time she needed to process what he had told her.

“Will you tell me everything?” she asked. She was filled with uncertainty and felt as though she was dreaming. She was amazed by her easy acceptance of this stranger. She could not deny the sensation of connection, the ease of their conversation, the unexplored passion he awoke in her.

“Eventually, I will tell you everything,” he said, reaching out and gently brushing an errant strand of hair from her face.

Something inside her gave in to him then; that familiar motion, the tenderness and beauty of the gesture. She only faintly leaned forward, bending her neck, but it was enough. It was the cue that he had been waiting for, and he took her into his arms and kissed her gently, slowly stroking her face, her neck, her shoulder, and feeling his spirit seeking her desperately. She melted into him willingly, and hundreds of lifetimes of passion and love flowed between them.

The union of their souls was extraordinary, and their kisses became feverish and hungry. Her inexperience was irrelevant as nature and passion took over. They continued to kiss as they peeled off the layers of their clothing until they lay together warm and naked, toe to toe, thigh to thigh, belly to belly.

Her skin felt like soft cashmere beside him and she could feel his excitement. She breathed heavily against his neck and moaned lightly. In that moment, he was overcome and he lost control, his desire suddenly too much for him to manage. His body became rigid in the clutches of his untimely orgasm. He pulled away from her, humiliated and disappointed, but she pulled him back in close to her.

She was now the instigator and she urgently kissed his face and neck, holding him tightly and ignoring the sticky, damp warmth between them. His hands explored her flesh, not shyly but as a practiced lover, his premature excitement quickly forgotten. He slid his hands between her legs, stroking and rubbing, and her hips bucked and responded. He was overcome by her beauty and sensuality as the fire's glow lit her magnificent silhouette. He saw his Theron there among the furs, and her violet light enveloped them both. It didn't take long before his young body complied and was ready again.

Borte and Chilger did not move from the furs until the next morning. She was at peace, and she pushed the uncertainty that threatened her happiness to the back of her mind. They had found one other. Both of them felt the threads linking them like an intricate web. They were at the center, surrounded by the miraculous glimmering strands that gently whispered their story, but where was the spider?

Though she struggled to maintain the glow of the night before, Borte was worried about Temujin, the consequences of her kidnapping, and what he might do. She spoke to Chilger about her fears, and he assured her that only the gods could have planned things as they were. The coincidence of her coming to his camp on the day that he returned from his journey searching for her was too great. They would have to wait and see what was in store for them.

“Be grateful and live in the moment. Accept the gift that we have been given,” he told her. “At the first sign of spring, we will make a great pilgrimage and seek the wisdom and glory of Shambhala. Until then, we must trust that we are in the hands of Father Sky and Mother Earth, and we are their servants.”

“What if he comes for me? Will you cut him down like a birch in the forest? Would we see him murdered, though he is my rightful husband and he is innocent?” she asked, tears of shame stinging her eyes.

“We are not murderers. We have been sent here for much greater things. We will understand better when we reach Shambhala. Trust, Borte … our path will be revealed to us in time.”

There was much preparation to be done in the final days before snowfall and it helped to distract her. Chilger stayed with Borte as they worked together, his shaman apron, all mirrors and metal, clanging and singing to them as they moved, his golden eagle soaring overhead protectively.

He told her tales of their history and the lives that had come before. She questioned and listened, enthralled, without reservation or doubt. He watchfully gauged her response, judging how much she would be able to accept, but she was open. He held back the most brutal and upsetting details, not wanting to cause her any unnecessary pain. He was burdened with knowing all of the sad and tragic details; she need not be. Reincarnation was an accepted truth for her, and when he spoke she believed every word and envied his clear recall, though when he spoke of walking in the spirit world she was frightened.

Over the next few weeks, the snow began to fall in flakes of every size, on violent winds and in gentle sheets. The landscape around them was washed clean, and Borte was relieved that there was no sign of Temujin. She settled into Chilger's ger as his wife, accepting his Marcus-memories to be the absolute truth, and her feelings for him intensified. She was cosmically drawn to him and felt as though they were stitched together down the center, from the inside out, each chakra meeting and interlocking so that when he spoke she could easily imagine the images that his words painted.

“Why do you remember and I do not?” she queried one evening, as she lay naked in his arms under layers of fur, their bodies still racing and sparking with recent pleasure.

“My connection to the spirits in this lifetime is great. I am humbly grateful,” he said, carefully avoiding her question.

For the first time in many lifetimes, Marcus reaped the benefit of having taken the potion. It had allowed him to find Borte … but had he found her? He had looked and had intended to find her, but the gods had delivered her to his door with no input or effort from him. It was as it should be. He was reminded that his having taken the potion did not make finding Theron more likely, it only made him languish for her when he could not. They came together when it was meant to be so and, despite his best efforts, he was never in control.

“If we are meant to be together in all these times, why would the gods first send Temujin to me?” she asked, speaking his very thoughts.

“They did also deliver you to me. I am a prisoner to fate like all men. Our lifetimes will unfold as they are meant to do, and it is not until they are over that we can look back and understand the lessons,” he replied, instantly feeling guilty that he had yet to share any knowledge of Helghul with her whatsoever. Chilger had only seen Helghul in his dreams and visions, the red devil of the plains, but he was the very description of Temujin, and Chilger was certain that they were indeed one and the same.

“You have seen the world after … after death?” she gasped in amazement. “And you remember?” she marveled, her mouth open in awe. She had been lying with her back to him, cupped by his warm body, and she quickly twisted to face him, her eyes glowing but afraid.

“Do not be alarmed, it is a place where we have all been many times. There is nothing to fear in it. It is the Meadow, a vast landscape more like this place in summer than any other land I have ever known. Like here, the trees and grasses and flowers and animals speak to the souls around them, and they flow together in harmony and are One. We are all One with the Source, and the connection and joy that we feel there is indescribable.”

“Why do you come back?” she asked.

“To find you,” he replied, and they kissed with the passion of an eternal bond, and she wept knowing that he was telling the truth. He kissed each tear and wiped them away, and they made love again.

Borte did not want to be rescued, and she shuddered to think what chaos and bloodshed would occur if Temujin came. He would not expect to find her in love with her captor, connecting at a level that she could not even begin to comprehend.