by Jaci Miller
Nathan Callan stood up and came over to where his daughter sat on the sofa, taking her hand in his. She handed the note card to him watching silently as he read it quickly and then handed it back.
“What can you tell me about this prophecy that grandfather speaks of,” she asked.
She could feel her father tense as he thought about the words on the note card pausing only for a moment before he spoke. “You know for centuries my family has been a male-dominated lineage with very few females being born into it, but what you may not know is that there has never been, a female born first to a Callan male. You Dane, ARE the first.”
“Ok so kind of odd, but do you really think it has any significance?” She questioned, waving the note card around.
“Apparently, your grandfather thought so.” Her father’s brow furrowed as he tried to bring the old memories forward. “The bedtime stories I told you as a child Dane, were the same ones your grandfather told me. I thought it was all part of the Warlician myth but apparently, my father thought differently. It was always important to your grandfather that my brother and I understood and respected all aspects of our family lineage, true or otherwise, but I never thought that he took the legend seriously.” Nathan Callan shook his head in disbelief at this sudden revelation.
“The prophecy dad—what is it!?” She demanded, her voice rising slightly.
“The Callan legend, as you know, reveals my side of the family to be descendants of a mythological group of magical warriors—an order known as the Warlicians. It is a story that has been passed through generations of Callan sons and one that quite frankly we have always assumed to be fabled—like the Greek Gods. These Warlician warriors were said to be a male race, derived from the most powerful warlocks of the age. Apparently, the first-born sons of these dominant tribes were promised to The Order in return for peace and prosperity. The magical sons were trained to become elite warriors sworn to protect the magical realms and their people. Legend tells, the Warlicians harbored peace among the realms differing races for centuries, until the Great War when an ancient evil almost destroyed the realms and their magic.”
Her father looked over at her mother, who nodded, encouraging him with a faint smile.
“Anyway,” he continued giving Dane a somber look. “There have been stories about an ancient prophecy whispered through my family for generations. Most of us just assumed it was part of the lore. It foretold of a female, born first to a Callan son. She would be destined to become a fierce warrior—an immortal that would lead an army of supernatural beings in a fight to save mankind from extinction. The story changes slightly over time as many myths do but that is basically the basis of it.”
He looked at his daughter, her lack of reaction causing him to shift uncomfortably. “This so-called prophecy was just part of our heritage Dane, no one actually believes it to be true. I am shocked to find that my father might have. Your grandfather was entrenched in the magical community, a pillar of it. He was extremely active in its preservation and often secretive about it, but you knew him, Dane he was a man of great integrity he was not delusional even if this does seem a little far-fetched.”
“Do you think that there is a possibility that the myths are based on truth? That perhaps the prophecy is about me?” She asked curiously, her inner child relishing the fantasies of her childhood and the possibility that they still may come true.
“I don’t know Dane, I doubt it,” her father said, a weariness making him seem older than he was. “Your mother and I will try to find out more about this prophecy and the myths surrounding the Warlician legend when we get back to Salem, but this is a big surprise to all of us. My father never spoke of any of this to me, I had no idea. I have a feeling that he meant to pass this on to you himself, but unfortunately never got the chance.”
She nodded tears welling up in her eyes as her father’s words brought up painful memories of the sudden death of her beloved grandfather.
He squeezed her hand. “There is a lot of paperwork in that old chest, maybe you will find something useful. Something that will reveal the nature of the dreams and your connection to that old tree. In the meantime, try not to read too much into these tales, any truth behind them is highly implausible even for our kind. I am sure it is not as ominous as your grandfather’s note makes it out to be.” He looked back at her mother another guarded gaze passing between them.
“There is something else,” he said gently.
“What?” she asked, the heaviness of the air in the room causing her breathing to shallow.
He reached into his other pocket and withdrew a small leather satchel. “It’s a medallion, a very old one. I have never seen anything like it. I found it tucked in a corner of the chest. There was a note with it, written in your grandfather’s handwriting.”
He hesitated, and she felt a sudden chill crawl down her spine as she waited for her father to continue. “The note said—For Dane when destiny finds you.”
Swallowing loudly, she took the small leather satchel from her father, holding it gently in her hand. The softness of the rich, thick leather was unexpected as the worn weather-beaten surface looked rough and aged. The pouch secreted a musky scent, which mingled oddly with the strong aroma of an herb, one that she knew well—sage. The satchel was tied with an intricately braided cord the ends encased in small metal tips.
Opening the pouch, she removed the ancient medallion surprised at how dense it felt in her hand. It was a large silver disk, approximately an inch and a half in diameter, its metal tarnished. She held it between her thumb and forefinger the attached thick linked chain falling between her other fingers. The front of the medallion was slightly convex and intricately crafted and detailed. A pentacle encircled a stunning green gem, its five points reaching out toward the delicate Celtic knotwork that edged the metal’s outer circumference. Just inside the knotwork, carved in a circle were the words—spiritus, aura, caminus, aqua, and humus. She recognized the Latin words immediately–-spirit, air, fire, water, and earth.
“The elements,” she whispered, feeling her parent’s eyes upon her.
Carefully she turned over the medallion, the front now facing down in her palm. The back of the disc was unremarkable, its surface was flat and smooth displaying none of the craftsmanship detailed on the front. There was a small brass plate welded to its middle and as she looked closer, she could see that a figure protruded out slightly from its center—the glyph—the same as on the latch of the chest.
She stared at the medallion in her hand, the glyph staring back at her like a silent omen. Was it an ancient symbol for the element earth, a message her grandfather never had the time to reveal, or a warning of things to come?
Chapter 11
They were having dinner at Valentia, the local American-Italian restaurant located a few doors up from Gabby’s store. Everyone had made it, including Cal, Ethan, and Kai’s father, Jason Parker who was currently talking football with her dad. Her mother was chatting incessantly with Kai and Stevie about wedding plans and teasing Ethan about being outnumbered by the five women in Kai’s life. Dane looked around the table at her extended family, a warm feeling coming over her as she basked in the smiles, laughter, and loving energy of the most important people in her life.
“Happy Birthday Dane!” Marlee said, holding up her wine glass in a toast, the others cheering and joining in.
Smiling she raised her glass in response. “Thanks for coming. I love you all.”
The evening was going exactly as it always did when they all got together, her mother fussed over all the girls worrying if they were eating right and getting enough sleep. Her father and Mr. Parker finalized their March golf trip by loudly wondering if they should allow Cal and Ethan to tag along again. The girls amused everyone with stories of their many escapades together, each girl remembering a slightly different version, arguing over detail
s until they broke out in fits of laughter.
The waiter came to clear the dinner plates and inquire if anyone would care for coffee and dessert when she felt an empty, emotionless energy crawl over her skin and sink deep into her pores. The menacing chill was followed by a wave of uneasiness and discomfort, a sensation she recognized immediately. Her eyes darting around the restaurant searching for the red-haired woman.
She spotted her, casually drinking a glass of red wine at the bar, the rim of the glass stained with her signature bright red lipstick.
The conversation noise at the table became muted as she blocked it out, focusing her attention on the woman, eyes boring into the back of her head. She knew the red-haired woman could feel her eyes upon her. She seemed to delight in the game of avoidance, casually taking another sip of her wine.
She continued to stare at the woman intently, every one of her senses directed toward her. Slowly, as if she just realized Dane’s eyes were upon her, the redhead put down her wine glass and turned leisurely around, dark eyes penetrating, her face distorted with resentment.
Dane felt an unfamiliar twinge deep down in her being, as a strange wave of familiarity rose from the depths, flooding her with an unnerving feeling of déjà vu. She managed to maintain her gaze until the redhead turned on her heel and walked toward the exit, leaving her slightly breathless and encased in a cold, clammy chill.
Excusing herself, she left the table catching her mother’s worried look as she ran after the woman. Her mother knew what that woman was, it was there in her eyes, she too must have sensed the suffocating void surrounding the dark witch.
She burst through the restaurants front door, apologizing to the young couple who were just heading in. Scanning the street, she found the redhead turning into the back alley behind the restaurant. Running, she followed her into the shadows.
The alley was dimly lit. A fog had started to descend into its thin corridor, but she saw the woman just up ahead. Moving quickly, she closed the gap, grabbing her by the arm, and forcing her around, so they were face to face.
Suddenly, everything before her eyes went black, as nausea rifled through her body and visions erupted in her head. A young red-haired girl being beaten by a drunken man, his breath laden with the smell of whiskey, his clothes soaked with stale sweat. The girl’s cries were drenched with pain and sorrow as she cowered in the corner, her frail little body crumpling under his abuse. Then, a young teen appeared, her red hair tied back in a tight ponytail, tears streaming down her face as other kids her age mocked and ridiculed her, calling her worthless, poor, and trash. The images morphed again as chants echoed through a dark forest. A coven of dark figures surrounding an altar, a menacing tone to their voices as they performed their ritual, the redhead, a young woman now, at its center.
Her head throbbed as the images hurled through her mind until finally, she saw the red-haired woman cloaked in black velvet robes staring vacantly out a window of the old flour mill, its dilapidated exterior shrouded in a decadent red glow. The ferocity of the last image was so intense she immediately released her grip on the woman’s arm, their eyes locking, confusion saturating the surrounding air.
“Who are you?!” She demanded as the redhead stood gaping in disbelief at Dane, her cool disconnected veneer cracking slightly.
She knows what I saw, she thought as she repeated the question again.
The force of her voice cut through the quiet night echoing off the brick walls that surrounded them. The woman tensed briefly as if startled by her sudden aggression but managed to regain her composure, her face quickly returning to a flat, unemotional canvas. Her dark gaze fixed coolly on Dane, unadulterated disgust flickering deep within her irises.
Seconds ticked by as the two witches continued their silent stare, the glow from a single street lamp filtered into the dark foggy alley, highlighting the tension that propagated between them. The redhead’s face began to contort as her cool facade slipped replaced by a cruel sneer and a tortured shadow that darkened her gaze.
“Lilith” she hissed, hatred dripping off her tongue as she answered the question, her eyes boring into Dane with such fury that she felt herself recoil slightly. “Remember that name,” she spat. “For it will be your undoing.”
Without a backward glance, she turned and hurried off into the darkness of the alley. The sound of her high heels clicking against the pavement and echoing back toward her was the only thing Dane heard as the fog swallowed her up.
“Lilith,” she whispered staring down the alley, her gaze obscured by the thickening fog that slowly descended over the passageway.
She felt a twinge pull at the base of her mind as a surge of nausea rifled through her head causing it to spin in response. Her hand reached out, feeling the rough surface of the restaurant wall. Leaning her forehead against the cool brick she closed her eyes as the uncomfortable feeling swelled.
Through the pain in her head, she heard a voice calling her name, but she couldn’t respond as another wave of nausea overtook her. The voice echoed through the alleyway, worry coating its tone as she felt her mother’s familiar energy and her comforting arms wrap around her.
Carefully, she opened her eyes, her mother’s familiar face directly in front of her, the dim light highlighting the worry in her eyes.
“Dane, are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she replied wearily, feeling exhausted but managing to push herself off the wall into an upright position.
Nodding her mother took her arm, gently guiding her out of the alleyway and back toward the restaurant.
As the cool night air brushed past her flushed cheeks, she began to feel better; the general sense of malaise subsiding. They walked back into the restaurant an unspoken understanding drifting between them. Her mother casting worried glances, which she tried unsuccessfully to disguise with a forced smile.
The party was just breaking up as they sat back down at the table. Glancing at her watch she realized she had only been gone about fifteen minutes and no one at the table, other than her parents, seemed concerned about her disappearance. She stood as Cal gave her a big hug goodbye making her promise that she would come over for dinner with the rest of the girls soon. Agreeing, she waved as he, Elyse, and Marlee left the restaurant.
Kai’s father handed her a small gift-wrapped box, “I made it for you,” he said kissing her cheek and winking, as he followed Kai and Ethan out of the restaurant, the rest of the girls leaving shortly after.
Dane sat quietly at the table, sensing her parent’s eyes on her as she wrestled with the strange feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. Anxious she was not, but the overwhelming sensation that ran through her veins was a little too unfamiliar to ignore. She was acutely aware of the incessant pounding in her head.
Why do I feel like I am hungover? She thought to herself, finally raising her eyes to look at her parents. They both sat quietly, their eyes full of curiosity more than concern.
Finally, her father spoke. “Is your blood racing Dane?” He asked, “Your head pounding? Do you feel slightly out of sorts?”
She frowned at him wondering why he was asking such odd questions. Nodding she closed her eyes and rubbed her head, wishing for these strange feelings to subside.
Her father spoke again, “You will be able to absorb the after-effects once you learn how to control the visions.”
Her eyes shot open suddenly as the entire room began to close in around her. “How did you know about the visions?” She asked her voice shaking slightly.
Smiling, her father took her trembling hand. “Because I saw them as well.”
She was speechless. She had just experienced a connection with a dark witch, something, unlike anything she had experienced before. What was her father talking about?
Her father’s curious gaze stared at her from across the table as her m
other leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Let’s go home, you need your rest. We will talk tomorrow.”
It was almost midnight as Dane pulled back the comforter on her bed and climbed beneath it. The box that Kai’s father had given her still sat unopened on the edge of her nightstand. Curiously, she took the small package and untied the bailing twine that was wrapped around the bright green wrapping paper. Opening, the lid of the small white box, she read the card that lay inside—life’s roots will always bring you home. Love J.P.
Smiling at the sentiment she lifted the card from the box to reveal a beautiful wooden carving, an intricately sculpted heart that surrounded a tree, its branches reaching toward the top of the heart, its roots filtering to the point. Dane knew that Mr. Parker had taken up whittling as a hobby a few years ago but had no idea how good he had gotten.
She gently pulled the carving from the box. The hearts sides were attached to a slim black leather strap. Carefully, she tied the leather bracelet around her wrist, closing the lobster clasp to secure it. Running her fingers softly over the polished wood, she closed her eyes and yawned, allowing exhaustion to take over.
The red-head slammed her purse on the table, sending dust flying in every direction. The old flour mill groaned in response as the wind whistled through its emptiness.
