One Great Year (18 page)

“This was my father's … he was a skilled artisan and carved his whole life. It is a strong blade and should make your work much easier,” he said proudly. Sartaña held the tool like it was a precious gem, turning it over in her hands in disbelief. “Don't hurt yourself,” he added pensively, glancing back and meeting her grateful eyes. She wished she could thank him. She knew that if Katari discovered what he had done, he would kill him. Her guard was a good, brave man.

Sartaña made her way to the heap of stones and chose one. She raised it to the heavens in blessing, and her mind flashed with visions from her many past lives. When finally she settled on one image, she began to scrape, scrape, scrape. She was a whirlwind, overcome with purpose and expertly carving with a skill she had never learned.

Day after day, week after week, month after month Sartaña churned out the spectacular etchings at an impossible pace. She engraved images from Marcus's past lifetimes, concepts that no one of her time or land had ever dreamed of.

There were days when Sartaña almost ceased to exist, fully transmuted to the higher part of herself. She carved stories, ideas, experiments, celestial maps, centuries of knowledge etched deep into the indigenous river rock. Her guard had begun leaving her cell door ajar, and the light and warmth from his fire comforted her and danced in patterns on her walls. He would sit next to the opening with his back pressed to the outer wall while she carved, and he'd tell her stories about Inti and the generosity and kindness of his spirit.

As the days passed, he shared humorous and interesting stories about his own children and family, as well as the daily events in the city. Sartaña loved the sound of his voice and worked in a new state of contentment. More than once he shared with her a hallucinogenic cactus drink, which helped her visions and creativity to bloom.

The guard continued to bring fresh stones and take the completed art away. Unsure what was happening to them, Sartaña found she didn't care. The stones would end up where they needed to be. Her job was to produce them, as prodigiously and prolifically as possible. What she did not know was that she was not alone in her task—other people nearby, Emissaries like her, were also busily carving without training or cause, but with burning determination and in complete awe of the results of their toil. They too were being guided by their unconscious higher selves, though they did not know it at all. The Emissaries were often confused and disturbed by the foreign images they produced, but they were compelled to continue.

The stones began to turn up in Stone-at-Center. Citizens found them and marveled at their intricacy and bizarre images. The community embraced them as signs from the gods riddled with messages too grand for them to understand, and they took them to their high priest to decode. Initially Katari dismissed the stones, intrigued but unconcerned by the images, assuming they were remnants from a time long past, a Golden Age that he had known well and did not fear.

Katari's interest in the stones changed as they grew quickly in number and the entire community could speak of nothing else. One afternoon Katari was handed a specimen that caused him considerable alarm. The image was of a young warrior, aiming a spear at the belly of an older man. In the sky above there were three stars, and at the feet of the older man there were oddly bent bodies that looked to be fatally injured infants and children. The boy was wearing the headdress of a high priest, and on his forehead was the eye of protection in the center of a triangle. Unlike the other stones that he had disregarded, Katari pulled this stone aside and kept it hidden in his chamber, disturbed by its imagery and its resemblance to both Inti and himself.

People continued to bring the perplexing stones to their leader, and his unease grew. He was given another specimen that depicted a young boy in a high priest headdress marked with the eye of protection, sitting on what was unmistakably a throne.

The next day, after a restless night plagued by nightmares, Katari decreed that all of the artisan stones were to be brought to him, and for each one he would pay a small sack of grain. The hungry people reaped the benefit of the high priest's interest.

Katari didn't know where the stones were coming from or who was producing them, but many of the images indicated the knowledge of Atitalans. He had murdered or imprisoned the few Emissaries that he had encountered in this life, but Helghul knew there must be more. The high priest outlawed the production of the stones, declaring that anyone caught carving them would be put to death.

Early one evening shortly after the decree, Katari was interrupted during his meal. He was especially irritable because the crops were doing poorly, and he had spent the day threatening the farmers and demanding they work longer hours to manage the grueling task of better irrigating their lands.

“Master, a load of stones has arrived,” a servant announced.

“More of the same?” Katari snapped.

“There are too many to tell.”

“Put them in the courtyard. I will see them after I eat,” Katari ordered, through a mouthful of bread.

“Why do you care about a pile of rocks?” Inti asked sheepishly, too curious about his father's growing obsession to stay quiet as he usually would have.

“Any change is worth noting. The people care, they are mesmerized by them. A smart leader watches the crowd,” he explained.

“The ones I saw were all children's tales: monsters and moons,” Inti countered, his mouth, like his father's, spraying crumbs as he spoke.

“Have you heard them called the ‘magic stones' or the ‘sacred stones'?” Katari asked. Inti could only nod, his mouth bursting with half-chewed meat. “Doesn't that concern you? Have you learned nothing from me?” the father snapped at his son irritably.

Inti retreated back into silence while he ate. His hope was to endure his training with Katari and to eventually lead with compassion and humility. He continued to hear his mother's words these ten years later:
Trust your instincts. You will be a great and well-loved leader.
He missed her and wondered how alike they might have been. Would they have laughed together? Healed together? Would she be ashamed of him if she knew the things that he had done? He was ashamed of himself. As he aged, it pricked at his conscience, a constant reminder to do better in the future.

Katari was despised by his subjects. Selfish and cold-hearted, he had continued to claim the greatest part of his city's wealth and crops for himself. He ran the sacred sites and temples like a business. For thousands of years, Stone-at-Center had been open to all people. Katari had changed all that, limiting access and requiring “donations” of beans, grains, peanuts, and cloth. No one could enter without paying his toll, and many were turned away—the sick, the elderly—even after days and weeks of travel. The high priest had become powerful and rich, continually expanding his lands through commerce and force, but the people were left with barely enough to survive.

Inti was increasingly aware of the discontent in the kingdom but dared say nothing. He knew what his father would say, he had heard it many times: “A king must feather his own nest first.”

After they finished eating, the duo stretched their thick frames, belched, and made their way out to the square. Inti was quiet as they walked, so similar in body but not in soul.

Upon exiting the low stone archway, they were stunned to see a pile of more than two hundred stones of varying sizes. The high priest and his son contemplated the stack.

Inti ran to the pile and crouched, laying the smaller stones in neat rows at his feet. He studied the images of maps and celestial charts, but he could not understand what they were. The knowledge was locked deep inside him. Inti wondered if the stones held prophecies or if they were from the Ancient Ones as rumors had claimed. Some were incredibly well done and detailed, but others were just scratches, no skill at all, undoubtedly by someone desperate for a sack of grain.

When Katari approached from behind, Inti was holding an intricately carved stone the size of a child's head. Through his fingers the eye of protection was easily visible. As he shifted his grip, Katari could see the familiar image of a boy high priest.

“Enough! Come now,” Katari demanded. Inti responded immediately, placing the stone gingerly on the ground and jumping to attention.

As the weeks went on, countless more stones were delivered. As before there were many of noticeably poor quality, carved without purpose or skill to gain a sack of grain. It was the other stones, creative and fantastic, that continued to confound Katari. It couldn't be Marcus; Sartaña remained securely neutralized. Helghul knew the scenes and recognized Atitala and the ancient knowledge, but he could not understand the purpose of the stones, where they were coming from, or how the artisans were eluding his guards.

The image of the boy with the headdress and the eye of protection concerned him most. The number of stones grew and rubbed him like a blister, so the leader arranged for them to be secretly carted far from the city and placed deep in a stone cavern, well camouflaged by a waterfall. He kept only the stones depicting the young high priest, which now numbered thirteen.

Sartaña continued to work feverishly, inspired, and unaware that mounds of stones came and went. Her guard continued to smuggle out her finished work and supply her with fresh stones, and he spent hours talking to her.

Like the other citizens, the guard believed that the stones were special. He told Sartaña about the rocks turning up en masse, and she was bewildered. Her confusion quickly turned to happiness at the realization that she wasn't alone. It was the confirmation that her path, though it seemed insignificant, must have a purpose greater than she could understand. There were others like her, compelled to tell the stories in the stone. She was surprised to learn that Katari had proclaimed the rocks illegal, and she was worried for the safety of her guard. He never knew about her concern, but he put her at ease when he expressed his gratitude for the extra grain that the stones brought to his table. He also shared his pleasure at the apparent frustration the carvings were causing their oppressive leader.

One morning Inti and Katari headed out walking, with their typical entourage of personal guards and warriors, to survey the city and surrounding lands. Unable to contain himself, Inti interrupted the extended silence. “I have an idea … can I tell you?” he stammered meekly, not used to speaking to his father except to respond. Katari gave one sharp nod. “I have … an idea … for a watering system … to take the burden off the farmers. It's complicated … but I know it will work,” Inti said. He was literally glowing with enthusiasm, and the violet and orange of his aura was particularly irritating to Katari when it intruded on him so. He encouraged Inti to elaborate, and after an enthusiastic explanation the boy waited for his father's response.

“I will consider the irrigation system, not because it eases the burden of the farmer but because, if it increases the harvest, my territory will grow richer,” Katari said.

Inti was overjoyed. His idea had been accepted. “When will we begin?' he asked excitedly.

“You may return to the city now and tell your plan to my chief builder. He will be instrumental in its creation. I will join you this afternoon.”

Katari let Inti leave, happy to be free of the overwhelming light that had been emanating from him. It was growing stronger every day, and the leader feared that Theron's energy might yet become too powerful to be subdued, despite his best efforts.

The space was widening between him and his son, and it might be a good thing to direct the boy's energy into a harmless project that could benefit the high priest at the same time.

Katari's Helghul-brain had begun sending him warning messages. Was Inti a threat? Not likely. He knew Theron's spirit well, and she had no memory. He was sure that he could control the boy and manipulate him as required. He would wait, but he was prepared to eliminate the Emissary if necessary.

Inti quickly made his way back toward the city. In his haste and distraction, he tripped on a stone and went over on his right ankle. Stumble, stumble, crash! He was unable to catch himself, and he sprawled awkwardly onto the gravel path. Wrist, elbow, and knee bleeding and scraped, he attempted to get up. A severe pain shot through his leg, and he turned over and sat, his eyes squeezed tightly shut so that he wouldn't cry. How would he walk now? He held his injured ankle gently in his hands. The tiniest movement sent pain through him. It was then he saw it, the stone that had tripped him. He picked it up and was shocked to see that it was intricately carved. It was one of the so-called sacred stones, just lying on the path.

It was unlike any of the others that he had seen before. It was the image of a flower, each of the six petals exactly the same size and surrounded by a perfect circle. There was not a gap, a chip, a single spot that was not precisely balanced.

Inti knew that he was going to have to walk, injured ankle or not. Using both hands, he carefully got to his feet. He was pleased that the pain in his ankle had diminished slightly, but he knew he must not turn it again. With care, he began to limp back toward the city, still holding the beautiful artifact.

Up ahead he was relieved to see a mule. He called out to the man beside it, who appeared to be struggling with a bulky pouch that was slung over the animal's back. The man jumped in alarm but immediately ran to help Inti. After a brief explanation, he brought the mule back to carry the boy home. The man nervously looked at the stone in Inti's hand. He bent to help him onto the animal's back. In that instant Inti recognized him as one of the guards from the prison. As Inti took his seat on the donkey, he saw that the bulky animal-skin pouches were full of the special stones.

“Where did these came from? Who's making them?” Inti asked inquisitively.

The guard looked at him in alarm, and he fully expected to be punished for having been caught in possession of the rocks. He did not respond.