The Prophecies Trilogy (Omnibus Edition): A Dystopian Adventure

by Linda Hawley

  “Chocolate is sure to ease your jet lag, Ann,” Chow teased. “Do you realize how much you dream about food?”

  “Hey…no throwing my dreams in my face. I didn’t give you permission, remember?”

  “Yes. My apologies,” he said, feeling the reprimand.

  “I’m just teasing you…although it’s kinda weird to think of what you know about me.”

  “I know how important it is to feed you,” he said seriously and then smiled.

  “Yes, it is. So a patisserie, then a garden, right?”

  “Yes. I’ll tell Paul-Henri.”

  Our driver joined us after loading up the luggage, and Chow quickly informed him of our needs.

  Within a few minutes of leaving the airport, we arrived at a little shop. As Paul-Henri opened the door of the patisserie, a smell escaped that delighted my nose. As we entered, I inhaled a deep lungful of French pastries and was in smell-memory bliss. As Chow ordered from the woman in French, I observed the little edible masterpieces lined up in the case, fresh and colorful. I was salivating for every one of them.

  I moved close to him. “Please order two chocolate croissants as well,” I said quietly.

  “Instead of the almond croissant?” he asked, looking at me.

  “No. Order three. One almond and two chocolate.” I grinned in clarification.

  He smiled and then chuckled. He told the woman, and she smiled in response.

  “It’s a long drive,” I said, unrepentant.

  As the woman was filling our order, Chow turned to me. “The park’s only around the corner from here.”

  “Why do all the buildings here look like they’re from the 1970s? I expected them all to be made of stone, here since the seventeenth century.”

  “Eighty percent of Brest was bombed in World War Two, Ann.”

  “Oh, that’s sad. So much history lost.”

  “Yes. But Vitre is supposed to be beautiful.”

  Chapter 27

  VITRE, FRANCE

  The Year 2015

  When we arrived in Vitre, Chow had to wake me. I didn’t even realize that I had fallen asleep. My neck had a kink in it, and my clothes were wrinkly. I sat up and looked out the window as Paul-Henri stopped the car. I brushed my newly brown hair as I looked out the window.

  The overcast skies had cleared, and the sun shone upon a stone, multi-storied French chateau with a tower. Paul-Henri opened my door, and I stepped out. Immediately, the smell of the French countryside hit my nostrils. As I breathed deeply, it smelled like a mixture of sweet flowers and earth that had just received rain. Paul-Henri started speaking to Chow in French after he was standing beside me, also looking at the structure and garden.

  “Paul-Henri says that the tower is from the eleventh century, there is a wing from the fifteenth century, and the rest of the chateau is from the eighteenth century. There is a formal rose garden to the side, which leads to the swimming pool, built in the old barn courtyard. It is surrounded by twenty-three acres of pasture land, a wood, and streams.”

  “Very beautiful,” I remarked.

  “He says that the garden surrounding the chateau is lush green, with sculpted shrubbery that employs a gardener full time.”

  As we stood on the graveled drive, a couple came to meet us. Paul-Henri went to meet who I assumed was now my extended French family.

  A woman quickened her step and approached me. “Bonjour et bienvenue, Madame,” she said, taking my hands warmly while reaching to kiss me on both cheeks.

  “Bonjour, Madame,” I said in my rusty French, bending down to return her kisses.

  “I am Aimée Belle, Eliott’s aunt,” she said in perfect English.

  She was about five foot three, with dark brown hair pulled back off her chiseled olive face, showing the most adorable dimples on her late-forties face. Her eyes were hazel and round and sparkled. Aimée was clearly a happy woman.

  “I’m Ann Torgeson, Elinor’s mother. Please call me Ann,” I replied with a smile. “My French is out of practice; please forgive me,” I whispered.

  “It’s okay. My English can use some polish, too,” Aimée replied with a wink. “This must be the famous Lulu,” she said, reaching down and putting out her hand for Lulu to smell.

  “Yes. I think she’s worn out from our travels.”

  “Why don’t we let her walk?” Aimée said, releasing Lulu from her leash as she gave her a pet. “Please call me Aimée,” she said, slipping her arm around my waist. “We are family now,” she said carefully, with a smile.

  The six-foot-tall man finished his conversation with Chow and then turned to me. “Welcome, Ann,” he said, foregoing the formality and kissing me on both cheeks. “I am Eliott’s uncle, Jean-Pierre Belle.” He was skinny, and his voice was guttural and strongly accented in French.

  His skin tone was slightly darker than Aimée’s, but their hair color was the same. His eyes were dark blue. Jean-Pierre and Eliott shared the same beautiful wide smile.

  “Pleased to meet you both. Thank you for the kind welcome,” I said. “Oh, excuse me, Aimée. This is my friend, Chow Lai,” I said, introducing him, a little embarrassed that I’d forgotten.

  She released me to greet Chow. “Bonjour et bienvenue, Monsieur,” Aimée said warmly.

  “I’m sure you are both very tired since your journey,” Aimée said, looking at us both. “Shall I give you a house tour before you rest?” she asked, turning to me.

  “Yes, thank you,” I replied as Chow nodded in agreement. “Your chateau is very beautiful,” I said to her as we walked toward it, her arm wrapped around me again.

  “It’s old—everything always having to be repaired,” she said, gesturing expansively before sighing.

  “Chateau de La Rongere has been in my family since the sixteenth century,” Jean-Pierre proudly explained. “Things break—it is the way of life,” he said with a shrug.

  I smiled at their exchange, finding it endearing.

  Inside, the stone continued along walls that led to very high ceilings. There were roses from the garden in vases throughout the house, and the air was permeated with their glorious sweetness. Archways framed the passageways. The kitchen held a massive open fireplace, and the rustic dining-room table held twenty. The rooms all had excellent light and were welcoming. I was thrilled when Aimée showed me to my room, which already contained my luggage.

  “I planned a late lunch, about four. This will give you time to rest,” she said, giving me a squeeze around my waist. “I hope you will think of this as your home, Ann,” she said gently. She likely knew of the destruction of my own home.

  “Thank you, Aimée,” I said as she left my room, touched by her subtle compassion.

  I went to the window and pushed the shutters outward and was rewarded with the warm sun on my face and a view of the rose garden. You would love this, Armond, I thought, remembering when he and I had discovered Paris together.

  Chapter 28

  VITRE, FRANCE

  The Year 2015

  “We are happy Lulu has settled here so well. She will stay while you two are in India?” Aimée asked at lunch.

  “Only if that’s not a problem for you,” I said.

  “No problem,” Jean-Pierre said, nodding in agreement.

  “Where is she, anyway?” I asked Chow, who was sitting next to me at the table.

  “I have not seen Lulu,” he replied.

  “By the pigs,” Jean-Pierre answered. “With Simon—he is a farm hand.”

  “Simon loves dogs. Lulu and Simon are good friends,” Aimée added, reassuring me.

  “Let us talk about this India trip,” Jean-Pierre said abruptly.

  As lunch began, Jean-Pierre explained to Chow and me how the Belle’s became involved with GOG. He explained that he was the senior GOG contact for this part of France. Jean-Pierre was a no-nonsense man, almost to the point of being gruff. He took some getting used to, especially when his dark blue eyes peered through you.

  “GOG has told us what you
can do, Ann,” he began.

  “Well, I’m still developing my skills,” I said carefully.

  “That is not what GOG tells us. You are the greatest weapon in the fight,” Jean-Pierre said emphatically.

  My discomfort with the statement must have shown on my face, for Aimée quickly chimed in. “You will have to forgive my husband, Ann. He does not know how to speak gently.”

  “Ce n'est pas ce que vous avez dit quand je vous courtisé,” Jean-Pierre said to his wife.

  “Ann does not want to know how you courted me, Jean-Pierre. Let us discuss the India trip,” Aimée redirected her husband.

  “India. They have some problems there. We are sending you to Mount Abu.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” I said.

  Jean-Pierre unexpectedly stood and flicked a switch on the wall. A screen began to descend from the ceiling. Aimée opened her laptop and turned off the lights. Within a few minutes, Google was giving us a visual tour of Mount Abu in Western India. It was old technology, but it worked in this centuries-old chateau.

  “Indians call it an oasis in the desert. You can see in these pictures that it is very beautiful.”

  “Yes,” confirmed Chow. “Where is the meeting?” he asked.

  “The meeting is at Brahma Kumaris World Spiritual University. The University is supportive of GOG and safe for you,” Jean-Pierre said with a nod to me. “It is also where you and the other GOG members will stay.”

  Aimée clicked around her laptop, showing us pictures of the University.

  “Everyone is wearing white,” I said, slightly surprised.

  “Yes. All visitors must wear white while they are there. They will loan those clothes to you. To stay there, you will also attend daily meditation at four in the morning. They call it Amrit Vela.”

  “Nectar Time,” Chow quietly said as everyone looked at him.

  “What does it mean?” I asked him.

  “Amrit Vela means the ambrosial period. It is called the Nectar Time—two and a half hours before dawn arrives. This is a time when many souls are born or leave their bodies. Nectar Time is said to have profound effects on the subconscious, bringing it to the surface and into conscious awareness,” Chow explained.

  “It will be the right place for you, Ann,” Jean-Pierre announced. “You know, they believe there that humanity is reaching the end of the current cycle and that the earth will be destroyed.”

  Chow and I suddenly looked at one another.

  “Does that mean something to the two of you?” he asked.

  “It does,” Chow answered. He began to tell them of The Prophecies and our role in them. I added information and answered questions as Jean-Pierre and Aimée asked them.

  “Magnifique!” Aimée said, amazed when we had finished, looking at her husband with wide eyes.

  “A member of my own family is the Guardian of Time!” Jean-Pierre said to his wife.

  That went over well, I thought, initially unsure of how it would be received.

  “Thank you for supporting us,” I said gratefully.

  They both nodded.

  “You will fly into Dabok Airport in Udaipur, India. I’m sorry, Ann—it is a twenty-hour flight with three stops. Then Mount Abu is two hundred and ten kilometers from Udaipur. It can take up to six hours to drive up to Mount Abu, depending on the mountain road conditions,” Jean-Pierre informed us.

  “Oh my goodness. Six hours on mountain roads in India after flying for twenty hours. What could be worse?” I said, despair edging my voice.

  “Traveling there on a donkey,” Jean-Pierre answered flatly, in his dry humor. “That would be worse.”

  Aimée gave her husband a disgusted look.

  “It seems daunting because we have just traveled many hours today. After a few days’ rest, it will not seem so overwhelming,” Chow said gently to me, his hand on my arm for comfort.

  “Chow is right, Ann. A few days will put you right,” Aimée kindly added.

  “I think I’ll need their nectar when I get there,” I said sarcastically.

  Everyone chuckled. Aimée turned on the lights, closed her laptop, and returned the screen to its original position.

  “Now let us enjoy our lunch,” Aimée suggested with a smile.

  “That is a fine idea, mon amour,” Jean-Pierre replied and then winked at her, trying to soften her up.

  She scowled at him again.

  Chapter 29

  INDIA

  The Year 2015

  It did take me three full days to recover in Vitre from my jet lag and prepare for our travel to Mount Abu. When we finally arrived in Udaipur, India, it had taken thirty-three hours to fly, instead of twenty hours, caused by a mechanical delay with one of our planes. I had been coughed on, squished, inundated by exotic smells—both of spices and humans—and was so exhausted that Chow insisted that we find rooms somewhere and travel on to Mount Abu the following day. I didn’t resist.

  When we arrived in the city by taxi from the airport, we quickly learned that the annual pilgrimage to Mount Abu’s temples and shrines was well underway. There wasn’t a hotel room to be had anywhere. With his unfailing patience, Chow left me in a café to rest, while he sought out a place for us to sleep. After he was gone an hour, I was willing to sleep on the dirty café floor and was actively contemplating the possibility.

  “I found something,” Chow said as he came up behind me, startling me out of my upright trance.

  “Okay,” I said and stood to follow, limbs heavy. I felt drugged.

  The only transportation Chow could flag down in the mass of pilgrims was an auto-rickshaw. When the three-wheeled cart stopped to pick us up, I looked at Chow curiously and then stepped into it while he bargained with the driver, fixing the price.

  As my head led my body into the tiny space, I was immediately engulfed by the mixed smells of sweat, wet fur, urine, mold, bad feet, and spices. Quickly, I pulled my shirt to my nose and tried not to gag. Chow climbed in and looked at me as he crinkled up his nose, then looked ahead. The driver started moving.

  It was a ten-minute journey I shall never forget. I’m convinced the driver was half out of his mind, for he heeded no traffic sign, nor rules, opting instead for any maniacal driving that suited him on the unpaved, dusty, potholed road. As we weaved around other motorized and human-powered rickshaws, camels ridden by whole families, and trucks filled with stones for road-building, I had to hold on to my bag for dear life to keep it from tumbling onto the dirt road. When we finally stopped, I was filled with gratitude and left the device as though it were flammable.

  Not looking forward to the smell memory created by the trip, I tried to find something unique and alien to focus on, to tie it to something I would never encounter again.

  Now that I had left the smell trap, I repeatedly breathed deeply. Chow paid the driver, who quickly left, and then he turned to me and burst out laughing. I had never seen him like this before. I watched Chow as he lost complete control, giving in to the stress of the day as he exercised his funny bone.

  That’s when I noticed the roses behind him. In front of me, I saw hundreds, or perhaps thousands, of roses of every imaginable color.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” I said in astonishment.

  Chow reduced his laughing fit and turned around to see what I was gazing at.

  “It’s the only place I could get for us,” he said, wiping his eyes.

  “We’re sleeping in a rose garden?” I asked, unsure, considering our recent travel experiences.

  He started laughing again; he was still working out that funny bone.

  “Chow, where are we?” I asked seriously.

  “We are at Sahelion Ki Bari.”

  “And what is Sahelion Ki Bari?”

  “A garden.”

  “We’re sleeping in a garden?”

  “No. I’ve secured the caretaker’s guest house. He will sleep amongst the roses.” That was all it took, and Chow was in a full-on laugh attack.

&n
bsp; I sat down right where I was on the concrete and waited him out. I imagined a simple bedroll, pillow, and light blanket; it was enough for me today.

  Chow finally gathered himself, took a deep breath, and stepped out to find the caretaker. I decided to simply sit there and breathe deeply. They returned together a half hour later.

  It took two days of rest for me to recover; at least my recovery time was decreasing. Chow seemed resilient from jet lag and spent his time touring the garden, which he then told me the history of.

  Sahelion Ki Bari—meaning Garden of the Maidens—was situated on the banks of Fateh Sagar Lake and was built in the eighteenth century. It was full of fountains, pools, extensive lawns, sculpted marble elephants, and of course the fragrant and glorious rose garden.

  I was sorry not to investigate it further, but we were late in arriving for our GOG meeting. Chow had sent word to Brahma Kumaris World Spiritual University that we were delayed. I prepared myself mentally for the long journey to Mount Abu over mountain roads, knowing it would be difficult.

  We traveled by Jeep, which apparently had excellent suspension, because the trip wasn’t as jarring as I’d prepared myself for. Our driver made the trip in five hours, which was lightning quick, compared to the standard. We passed many pilgrims on the journey up the mountain. Streams flowed from the lush hills, and the statuesque mountains of the Aravali range mesmerized me. I was glad not to be driving the Jeep, for I certainly would have driven off the embankment, plunging into the gorge below.

  As we arrived at Brahma Kumaris World Spiritual University, a warm feeling enveloped me as I stepped out of the Jeep and into the cool mountain air. Before me on a hill was the white, three-story Universal Peace Hall, a very large building with domes on either side. Nearly fifty steps climbed to the archways, which spanned the front of the building. Behind them were ground-to-ceiling windows that covered the entire level. Each building end curved around to the sides, creating a beautiful majestic presence. When the Om Shanti Bhawan was built thirty-two years previously, it was the largest structure without interior columns or pillars on the Asian subcontinent. The name of the spiritual organization, Brahma Kumaris, adorned the front, above the center three archways. Climbing the steps to the Peace Hall were hundreds of pilgrims, clothed in every imaginable color. The contrast of their adornment to the whiteness of the building as they ascended, coupled with the clouds touching the surrounding mountains, impacted me deeply, as though the pilgrims were ascending into Heaven itself.