Prophecy of the Sisters

by Michelle Zink

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  She swallows so hard that her delicate throat ripples. “It is only… well,” she laughs nervously. “I find I’m suddenly afraid. Will you keep watch over me? If something should happen, something that does not seem right, you must break the circle and force me out of the spirit trance.”

  I know of what she speaks. I have felt the dark thing. I have heard the throbbing of the Souls, felt their fiery breath on my back. “We’ll keep watch, Sonia. You have my word.”

  She nods, closing her eyes against her fear.

  For a time, nothing happens. I slip into a state that is almost hypnotic, aided by the crackling of the fire and the silence in the room. I have stopped expecting something to happen when I smell him, as I did before. It is the faint reminder of Father’s pipe, the wool of his favorite jacket smelling of cedar from the wardrobe.

  Sonia’s voice breaks the heavy silence in the room. “Is that Thomas Milthorpe? Father of Lia and Alice and Henry?” There is a pause before she continues, this time speaking more softly. “Yes, yes. We shall be quiet.”

  Her eyes open, an unusual sharpness burning within them. The blue of her eyes is brighter, the black circle on the outer edge of her pupil more clearly defined. A strange pulsing energy, almost heard, has filled the room. It makes me feel warm and overwhelmed at the same time, and I fight the urge to cover my ears as if this will somehow block out the presence that seems to spill into the room from some unseen place.

  “Before Lia will speak to you, Spirit, you must tell her something only she will know. Something that will prove your identity.”

  I wonder at this question, at her reason for asking it, waiting for Sonia to pass my father’s reply back into the room. A prickly tingling begins where my palm meets Sonia’s, one that spreads to include my fingers so that my whole hand feels alive with fire. And then I hear the voice, hoarse and coming from what seems a very long distance.

  “Lia? Lia? Do you hear me, Daughter?”

  I shake my head, disbelieving. It is my father’s voice, of this I’m certain, but I do not know how I have come to hear it, to make contact with my dead father simply by holding Sonia’s hand. My eyes drift to Luisa, whose hand has become hot in mine. Her eyes are open and startled as she stares in wonder at Sonia’s face. She hears it as well.

  The voice, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, forces me to attention. “Lia… Listen. There is much to discuss…” The voice is crackly, breaking in the middle of some of the words. “I shall offer you the proof the Spirit Talker demands, but we must be quick. They will soon come.…”

  His voice fades for a moment before returning. “Lia… Daughter… Do you remember when you tried to build the raft? Henry dropped… into the river and… remember? You were so small, but… sure you could catch up to it if… paddled swiftly enough. You were never very good… building things, Lia. Remember? But you tried anyway. You worked and worked, though surely… it could not be done.…”

  Tears sting my eyelids as I remember working to build a makeshift raft to find Henry’s toy boat, certain I could catch it though it traveled purposefully downstream. Alice stood by, saying over and over again it could not be done. I think even poor Henry knew that we would never catch the toy, though the river’s current was gentle after a long season without rain. But I hammered wood together anyway, all the while in my best pinafore, using tools and scrap that father’s workmen had left lying about when they broke for lunch. I worked feverishly, though with no real skill. When I finally launched my haphazard rescue raft, it sank before I could get in as much as a toe. I think I was more distraught over my inability to save the toy boat than Henry was with losing it.

  “I remember.” My voice is a whisper.

  For a moment all is silent, and I fear we have lost the fragile connection to the Otherworlds. But the voice returns, though quite a bit fainter.

  “Good, Lia. Good. You must find the… keys. I tried… I tried to… over. I located… but only two… You must… list… to complete the circle. I left it in… behind the… It is the only way… an end to the prophecy. You are the… It is your… once and for all, but not without the four.”

  I feel him fading as much as I hear it in his broken voice. The energy that filled the room ever fuller now fades, growing slightly stronger for a few seconds before diminishing even further.

  Sonia steps in, more authoritative in the spirit trance than in the real world. “Mr. Milthorpe, we must find the list of keys. Your presence is fading.… We didn’t understand all that you said. Can you repeat it? Can you stay with us, Mr. Milthorpe?”

  We wait in silence for his answer, at last hearing a whisper more urgent than before. “Shhh… He is coming. I… go. Lia… You must find the list… they are the keys. Look… Henry is all that is left of the veil. We are… you, Daughter. We… you.”

  And then he is gone. I feel it in the absence of his presence. The room that before felt as normal as any other, now feels empty without the heat of my father’s spirit. Sonia’s head falls forward against her chest as if she has fallen fast asleep.

  “Sonia? It is over, Sonia. You can —”

  But I do not get any further. Her head suddenly snaps up, her blue eyes open, looking directly at me, the strange vibrancy even more clear. The voice that emerges is not hers, nor is it my father’s.

  “You play a dangerous game, Mistress.”

  A shiver drips like a drop of rain from the back of my neck all the way down my spine. Sonia’s eyes are glassy, and I know that this is not really her.

  I sit straighter, frantically considering our options while trying to maintain a look of calm. “You must go. You do not belong here.”

  “You are mistaken. Why do you not allow me passage? Why must you seek the keys when it is I who can provide all you desire? Summon me, Mistress, and let chaos reign.”

  I am entranced by the eyes, Sonia’s eyes and not Sonia’s eyes. It is both morbid and fascinating to hear the eerie voice coming from Sonia’s delicate face.

  “Be gone, Spirit. You are not welcome.” I try to keep my voice steady, but the presence of evil, the knowledge that I am far too close to something I don’t understand, causes me to shake.

  “There will be no peace until you open the Gate.” It is a chant, the call of a thousand voices, soft and insidious. “Open the Gate… Open the Gate… Open the —”

  I scoot back, breaking the circle as Luisa lunges across its center, grabbing Sonia by the shoulders and shaking… shaking “Sonia! Wake up, Sonia! You must come back!”

  Her pleas become more panicked and insistent, and the words of the spirit being warp and garble as Luisa shakes and shakes. “It is time… Time for chaos to reign.”

  Sonia’s body goes rigid, her face contorting in a look of sheer terror and pain before she slumps onto the floor. With her release I feel my own. I scramble over to her side, lifting her head from the hard floor onto my lap.

  “Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!” Luisa repeats the refrain over and over.

  It takes me a moment to speak over the thudding of my heart. “Sonia! Wake up, Sonia. Come back!” I speak to her harshly, willing her back with the force of my fear.

  I don’t realize we have stopped being quiet. Everything worldly has fallen away in the strange seclusion of the room. It is only when the door opens, closing just as quickly, that I realize we have been too loud for the sleeping house.

  The footsteps are fast but graceful across the floor. I hardly have time to register her presence when Aunt Virginia bends to the floor, her eyes taking in our broken circle, the panic on our faces, Sonia lying on the floor, eyes still closed, her face a deathly white.

  She looks at me, her face filled with anguish. “What are you doing? Oh Lia! Whatever have you done?”

  22

  “I feel as if my head will split in two.” Sonia lies on the bed nearest the window, her pale hair a shimmering web across the pillow.

  I cannot think
of a thing to say, for this is surely my fault. If I had not pressed Sonia to try and reach Father, she would not have fallen victim to the horrid spirit-thing.

  “Are you… are you all right?” Luisa’s voice is hesitant, and I know she is unsure how much to say in front of Aunt Virginia.

  Sonia presses her head to her temples before answering. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She, too, steps carefully around the issue of what we were doing when Aunt Virginia happened upon us.

  But my aunt does no such thing. She stands up, confident now that her charge is in good health or soon will be. “Whatever were you doing? Whatever were you thinking? Do you not know how dangerous the Otherworlds can be?”

  There is nothing to do but take the responsibility I know is mine. “It was my fault. I… I wanted to speak to Father. I pressured Sonia to lead a sitting… to try to make contact with him.”

  There is no disbelief on her face, only a calm and fearful acceptance. “You, all of you, do not understand the thing with which you play.” She makes eye contact with each of us, even Sonia, who shrinks from the glare of her eyes as if it is a ray of bright sun against her headache.

  I move toward her, anger surging in my blood. “Surely I would understand more if only you or Father or Mother or someone had told me when they had the chance! Instead I’ve been forced to skulk about, looking for answers to questions I don’t even understand. We have searched high and low to decipher the riddle of the prophecy. And do you know what? We found the answer! We did! But it is not so neat as that.”

  I am aware of a gathering madness, of being pushed so close to the edge of a great precipice that I would rather fling myself from it than continue fearing it. “The keys are the children, Aunt Virginia. Those Father sought and those for whom he was still searching when he died. Except it is only Luisa and Sonia who are here. We need the list to find the other keys, and I thought Father could tell us where he hid it, all right? That is why I asked Sonia to make contact with Father.” I am breathless with fury, breathing heavy as if I have run a long way when I have done nothing but empty my soul of all the bitterness and blame that has hung like a noose around my neck.

  Aunt Virginia drops onto the bed next to Sonia, her voice but a murmur. “It cannot be.”

  I sit next to her, my anger reduced to a slow boil. “It is. It must be. We saw someone today, Aunt Virginia. Someone who helped us find the answer.”

  I take one of her hands in mine as I tell her of our visit to Madame Berrier’s and then to Mr. Wigan’s, hoping she will be able to fill in the blanks and guide us to the list.

  “Do you have any idea, any idea at all, where Father might have hid it?” I ask her when I am finished.

  Aunt Virginia’s eyes are still hazy with surprise. I recognize the expression as a kind of stupor, a kind of denial as her soul tries to refute the things her mind knows.

  “I’ve no idea, Lia. I told you, he never showed it to me. He was most secretive about it, and now I see why. According to the prophecy, you must have all four keys to bind the Beast. If they are indeed people… if their identities should be revealed…” She looks up at Sonia and Luisa with fearful eyes. “They would be in grave danger.”

  I know she is thinking of Alice. The thought of Sonia and Luisa in danger from my sister fills me with dread. “Do you think we should get them away from Birchwood, Aunt Virginia? Should they leave now, before Alice discovers the things we ourselves have discovered?”

  It is not my aunt who answers, but Luisa, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t know about Sonia, but I have no intention of leaving. This battle is mine as well, and I intend to fight it. Besides, Alice may not yet know about the keys. Our leaving suddenly would only serve to draw undue attention to us.”

  Sonia steps forward, wincing and touching her head. “Luisa is right. It will cause a great fuss if we leave now when we’re meant to stay until Sunday, and who knows when we will have such time together again to search for the other keys. Besides, there are more fearsome things to face in the Otherworlds. I’ll not be frightened of a girl, even if that girl is Alice.”

  They do not know Alice, I think. They do not know of what she is capable.

  But this I do not say aloud, for whatever else Alice may be, she is still my sister. And besides, we are all taking risks to see the prophecy brought to an end.

  The magnitude of the task at hand, the danger in seeing it through, hits me with sudden force. How are we to find two more keys? Even with the list, Sonia and Luisa are proof that the other keys could be scattered the world over.

  “What if we cannot find them, Aunt Virginia? What if we cannot do it?”

  She presses her lips together, rising to the bureau between the two beds and removing something from its drawer. When she returns, it is with a small Bible in her hands. Her hands shake as she turns to the back, very near the end.

  She reads without further pretext. “ ‘And I heard a great voice out of the temple saying to the seven angels, “Go your ways, and pour out the vials of the wrath of God upon the earth.” And the first went, and poured out his vial upon the earth; and there fell a noisome and grievous sore upon the men which had the mark of the Beast, and upon them which worshipped his image. And the second angel poured out his vial upon the sea; and it became as the blood of a dead man: and every living soul died in the sea. And the third angel poured out his vial upon the rivers and fountains of waters; and they became blood. And I heard the angel of the waters say —’ ”

  “The Seven Plagues.” Luisa’s voice is a whispered interruption.

  Aunt Virginia closes the Bible, looking up at Luisa nodding. “That’s right.”

  Luisa turns to me. “The Seven Plagues are a sign of the end in the Bible. A return to the fathomless chaos that existed before the beginning of time.”

  A noiseless remnant of the mysterious puzzle clicks into place, and I add my own piece to the rest. “ ‘Death, Famine, Blood, Fire, Darkness, Drought, Ruin.’ ” I have read the words of the prophecy so many times since finding the book that I shall never forget them.

  “Yes,” Aunt Virginia confirms. “The Bible presents the plagues as an end that precedes a new beginning, one in which the world will be ruled by God in light. But the Bible is a written history, and like all written histories that are translated into thousands of languages and passed down through thousands of years, it includes things which are perhaps less than true. And omits others that are perhaps even truer.”

  “So what does it mean, then?” I ask.

  Aunt Virginia reaches over, taking my hand in hers. “The plagues are simply the sign of an end. An end to the world we know and the beginning of a world ruled by the Beast forever-more. If you cannot find the four keys and close the circle, Samael will find his way through you and it will be too late. The Seven Plagues will begin, causing great torment and destruction before an end that is nothing more than that. The end.”

  I shake my head furiously, thinking of Henry, of Luisa and Sonia and Aunt Virginia. “But I am the Angel. Everyone says so. I have a choice. If I refuse him passage, he cannot come.” I sound a child, even to myself.

  Virginia looks into my eyes. “I wish it were so, Lia. But Samael will exploit your weakness. He will lie in wait for you while you sleep. He will send his Army to find you, those that wait in the Otherworlds and those that have already crossed into ours. He will use those you most love against you.

  “You may fight him for a time, but I fear you will not be able to do so for very long. The Army has been gathering for centuries waiting for their King. Waiting for the Gate that will bring him forward to begin their reign of terror. Waiting for you, Lia. They will not give up so easily. You must find the list. You must find the other keys. And you must do it quickly.”

  I do not want to sleep. Finding the answers I wanted has not offered me the comfort I imagined, and I wonder if Sonia and Luisa are as fitful as I. There is much to do, but the hour is late, and we have resolved to search the li
brary for the list tomorrow in the clear light of day. The book was in the library, and so, too, may be the list.

  It is the only place I can think of to begin our search.

  We did not discuss what we will do once we find it, how we will go about locating the two remaining keys. What has been left unsaid, but is understood nonetheless, is that we must take one small step at a time or else we shall all go mad.

  I sit with my back against the tall wooden headboard, trying to remain alert. I have knotted ribbons around my wrist. Even if the medallion finds its way to my wrist, it will not be able to line up to the mark unless the ribbons are removed, though this may well be possible, for all I do and do not know. The medallion found its way to me in the most improbable way imaginable and, even more unlikely, found its way back from the depths of the river. What is there to do but accept that it is mine?

  And try not to wear it, not to open the Gate.

  23

  The field in which I stand is barren. There is a vague familiarity in its rolling hills and shallow valleys, and I think I recognize it as one of the many fields bordering Birchwood Manor. But the tall grass and enormous oak trees at the edge are where any sense of comfort or recognition ends.

  The sky is a forbidding gray, mirrored by the ashen fields that look nothing like the rich, golden grass that sways around Birchwood much of the year. The tree line at the edge of the field is so black it is almost purple. It is a wasteland, at once recognizable and foreign in its bleakness. The cold bites through the thin fabric of my nightgown, and my feet are wet with dew as I stand on the dead grass.

  The ribbons are still wrapped around my wrists. The medallion is not there. The Beast will not come through me this night, but relief does not find me as it should. It is clear that I have been summoned. By whom and for what purpose I shall no doubt discover.