by P. C. Cast
I was sitting there, just holding her hand and softly singing the words of one of the Cherokee lullabies she liked to sing me to sleep with when Sister Mary Angela finally breezed into the room.
She took one look at me, one look at my grandma, and then she opened her arms. I hurled myself into her arms, stifling my sobs against the smooth material of her habit.
“Shh, now. All will be well, child. She is in Our Lady’s hands now,” she murmured while she patted my back.
When I could finally talk, I looked up at her and thought I’d never been so happy to see anyone in my life. “Thank you so much for coming, Sister.”
“I was honored that you called me, and I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I had a lot of fires to put out before I could get away from the abbey,” she said. Still keeping an arm around me, she walked back to Grandma’s bedside.
“That’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here now. Sister Mary Angela, this is my grandma, Sylvia Redbird,” I said in a choked little voice. “She’s been my mother and my father. I love her very much.”
“She must be quite a special woman to have the devotion of such a grandchild.”
I looked quickly up at Sister Mary Angela. “The hospital doesn’t know I’m a fledgling.”
“It shouldn’t matter what you are,” the nun said firmly. “If you or your family needs succor and care, they should provide it.”
“It doesn’t always work out that way,” I said.
Her wise eyes studied me. “Unfortunately, I must agree with you.”
“Then you’ll help me without telling them who I am?”
“I will,” she said.
“Good, because Grandma and I need your help.”
“What can I do?”
I glanced at Grandma. She seemed to be resting as peacefully as she had been ever since I sat down next to her. I’d heard no more bird wings, and felt no premonitions of evil. And yet I was reluctant to leave her alone, even if it was for just a few minutes.
“Zoey?”
I looked into the wise, kind eyes of this amazing nun and told her the utter truth. “I need to talk to you, and I don’t want to do it in here, where we could be interrupted or overheard, but I’m scared to leave Grandma alone and unprotected.”
She gazed back at me calmly, not at all perturbed by my weirdness. Then she reached into one of the front pockets of her voluminous black habit and drew out a small but beautifully detailed statue of the Virgin Mary.
“Would it ease your mind if I left Our Lady here with your grandmother while you and I speak?”
I nodded. “I think it would, Sister,” I said, not trying to analyze why I should be so reassured by an icon of the mother of Christianity that a nun had brought with her. I was just grateful my gut was saying that I could trust this nun and the “magic” she carried.
Sister Mary Angela put the little statue of Mary on Grandma’s bedside table. Then she bowed her head and clasped her hands. I could see her lips moving, but her words were so soft that I could not hear them. The nun crossed herself, kissed her fingers, and touched the statue lightly, and then she and I left Grandma’s room.
“Is it still daylight outside?” I asked.
She looked at me with surprise. “It hasn’t been daylight for hours, Zoey. It’s after ten o’clock at night.”
I rubbed at my face. I was utterly exhausted. “Do you mind if we walk outside for just a little while? I have to tell you a lot of hard stuff, and it’ll be easier if I can feel the night air surrounding me.”
“It’s a lovely, cool night. I’d be happy to walk in it with you.”
We wound our way out of the maze of St. John’s and finally exited on its west side, facing Utica Street and the beautiful fountain that cascaded across the street from the hospital at the corner of Twenty-first and Utica.
“Wanta walk over by the fountain?” I asked.
“Lead the way, Zoey,” Sister Mary Angela said with a smile.
We didn’t talk while we walked. I looked all around us, watching for twisted bird images hiding in shadows, listening for the mocking sound that passed too easily for simple ravens. But there was nothing. The only thing I sensed in the night around us was waiting. And I didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign.
There was a handy bench not far from the fountain. It faced the white marble statue of Mary surrounded by lambs and shepherd boys that decorated the southwest corner of the hospital. There was also a really pretty statue of Mary in full color, wearing her famous blue shawl, right inside the door to the ER. Strange how I’d never noticed how many statues there were of Mary around here before now.
We’d been sitting on the bench for a little while, just resting in the cool silence of the night, when I drew a deep breath and turned on the bench so that I could face Sister Mary Angela.
“Sister, do you believe in demons?” I decided to go right for the jugular. There was just no point in messing around. Plus, I really didn’t have the time or patience for it.
She raised her gray brows. “Demons? Well, yes, I do. Demons and the Catholic church have a long and turbulent history.”
Then she just looked steadily at me, waiting like it was my turn. This is one of the things I liked best about Sister Mary Angela. She wasn’t one of those adults who felt like it was their job to finish a sentence for you. She also wasn’t one of those adults who couldn’t stand to be quiet and wait while a kid got her thoughts in order.
“Have you ever known any personally?”
“Not any real ones, no. I’ve had some close calls, but all of them turned out to be either very sick people or very dishonest people.”
“How about angels?”
“Do I believe in them or do I know any?”
“Both,” I said.
“Yes and no, in that order. Although I’d much rather meet an angel than a demon, should I get the choice.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Zoey?”
“Does the word Nephilim sound familiar to you?”
“Yes, they’re referenced in the Old Testament. Some theologians surmise that Goliath was either a nephilium, or the offspring of one.”
“And Goliath wasn’t a good guy, right?”
“Not according to the Old Testament.”
“Okay, well, I need to tell you a story about another Nephilim. He wasn’t a good guy, either. It’s a story that comes from my grandma’s people.”
“Her people?”
“She’s Cherokee.”
“Oh, then proceed, Zoey. I enjoy Native American tales.”
“Well, hold on to your wimple. This one is no bedtime story.” Then I launched into an abbreviated version of what Grandma had told me about Kalona, the Tsi Sgili, and the Raven Mockers.
I ended the story with Kalona’s imprisonment and the lost song of the Raven Mockers that prophesied their father’s return. Sister Mary Angela didn’t say anything for several minutes. When she did speak, it was eerie how she echoed my first reaction to the story.
“The women made what was little more than a clay doll come alive?”
I smiled. “That was what I said to Grandma when she told me the story.”
“And how did your grandmother respond?”
I could tell by the serene expression on her face that she expected me to laugh and say Grandma had explained that it was a fairy tale, or maybe a religious allegory. Instead I told her the truth.
“Grandma reminded me that magic is real. And that her ancestors, who were really my ancestors, too, weren’t any more or less believable than a girl who can summon and command all five of the elements.”
“Are you saying that is your gift and why you are important enough to require a warrior escort to Street Cats?” Sister Mary Angela said.
I could see in her eyes that she didn’t want to call me a liar and break our newly formed friendship, but she didn’t believe me. So I stood up and took one short step back from the bench so that I was out of the abrasive light of
the streetlamp. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply of the cool night air. I didn’t have to think long to find east. It came to me naturally. I faced St. John’s, which was across the street and directly east of where I stood. I opened my eyes and, smiling, said, “Wind, you have answered my call often in the past days. I honor you for your loyalty and I ask that you answer to me once again. Come to me, wind!”
There had been virtually no night breeze, but the moment I invoked the first element, a sweet, teasing breeze began to whip around me. Sister Mary Angela was close enough that she felt the wind obey me. She even had to put a hand up to her wimple to keep it from blowing off her head. I waggled my eyebrows at her stunned look. Then I turned to my right, facing south.
“Fire, the evening is cool and, as always, we have need of your protecting warmth. Come to me, fire!”
The cool wind suddenly went warm, hot even. I could hear the crackling of a blazing fireplace surrounding me, and it felt like Sister Mary Angela and I were getting ready to roast weenies on a balmy summer night.
“My goodness!” I heard her gasp.
I smiled and turned to my right again. “Water, we need you to cleanse us and relieve the heat fire brings. Come to me, water!”
It was with more than a little relief that I felt the heat instantly doused in the scent and touch of a spring rain. My skin didn’t get wet, but it should have. It was like being dropped down in the middle of a rainstorm and washed, cooled, and renewed.
Sister Mary Angela tilted her face up to the sky and opened her mouth, as if she thought she could actually catch a raindrop.
I continued to my right. “Earth, I always feel close to you. You nurture and protect. Come to me, earth!”
The spring rain metamorphosized into a newly cut field of summer hay. The rain-cooled breeze was now thick with alfalfa and sun and the happy sounds of playing children.
I looked at the nun. She was still sitting on the bench, but she’d pulled off her wimple so that her short gray hair blew around her face as she laughed and breathed deeply of the summer breeze, making her look like a pretty child again.
She felt my gaze on her and she met my eyes just as I raised my arms over my head. “It is spirit that unites us, and spirit that makes us unique. Come to me, spirit!”
As always the sweetly familiar sensation of my soul lifting caught me and filled me as spirit answered my call.
“Oh!” Sister Mary Angela’s gasp didn’t sound freaked or angry. It sounded awed. I watched as the nun bowed her head and pressed the rosary beads that she wore around her neck to her heart.
“Thank you, spirit, earth, water, fire, and wind. You may depart now with my thanks. I appreciate you!” I cried, throwing wide my arms as the elements swirled playfully around me and then dissipated into the night.
Slowly, I walked back to the bench and took my seat beside Sister Mary Angela, who was smoothing her hair and reaffixing her wimple. Finally she looked at me.
“I’ve long suspected it.”
That was so not what I’d expected her to say. “You suspected that I can control the elements?”
She laughed. “No, child. I’ve long suspected that the world is filled with unseen powers.”
“No offense, but that’s weird for a nun to say.”
“Really? I don’t think it’s so weird when you remember I’m married to what is in essence a spirit.” She hesitated, then continued, “And I have felt the stirrings of these powers—”
“Elements,” I interrupted. “They’re the five elements.”
“I stand corrected. I have felt the stirrings of these elements often before at our abbey. Legend has it the abbey is built on an ancient place of power. You see, Zoey Redbird, fledgling Priestess, what you have shown me tonight is more validation than shock.”
“Huh, well, that’s good to hear.”
“So, you were explaining how the Ghigua Women created a maiden from clay who entrapped the fallen angel, and the Raven Mockers sang a song about his return, and then turned into spirit? Then what happened?”
I grinned at her matter-of-fact tone before my expression got serious again. “Apparently nothing much happened for a bunch of years—like a thousand or so. Then, just a few days ago, I started hearing what I thought were crows cawing obnoxiously at night.”
“You don’t think they’re crows?”
“I know they’re not. First of all, cawing is not really what they did—they croaked.”
She nodded. “Ravens croak. Crows caw.”
I nodded. “So I’ve recently learned. Second, not only have I been attacked by two of them, but I saw one last night. It was listening in at my window when Grandma was saying where she’d be driving to today while I was asleep. It was while she was driving that she had her weird, and almost fatal, ‘accident.’ ” I made air quotes around accident. “Witnesses said it was caused by a huge black bird flying directly at her car.”
“Mother of God! Why were the Raven Mockers after your grandmother?”
“I think they were after her to get to me and to be sure she didn’t help us any more than she already has.”
“Help you and who else with what?”
“Help me and my fledgling friends. Most of them have single affinities for the elements, and one of my friends sees visions that warn about bad things that are going to happen—usually death and destruction, you know, the standard vision stuff.”
“Would that be Aphrodite, the lovely young woman who—thankfully—adopted Maleficent yesterday?”
I grinned. “Yeah, that’s Vision Girl. And no, none of us are thrilled about the Maleficent adoption.” Sister Mary Angela laughed, and I went on. “Anyway, Aphrodite saw what we think is the Raven Mockers’ prophecy in her last vision, and she wrote it down.”
Sister Mary Angela’s face paled. “And the prophecy foretells the return of Kalona?”
“Yes, which appears to be happening now.”
“Oh, Mary!” she breathed, crossing herself.
“That’s why we need your help,” I said.
“How can I help keep the prophecy from coming true? I do know a few things about the Nephilim, but nothing specific to this Cherokee legend.”
“No, I think we have most of it figured out, and tonight we’re setting into motion some stuff that’s seriously going to mess with his ability to fulfill the prophecy. What I need your help with is Grandma. See, the Raven Mockers were right. By messing with her, they messed with me. I won’t leave her alone so that they can torment her. The folks at St. John won’t call in a Medicine Man because they don’t like the whole Pagan thing. So I need someone who is spiritually powerful, and who believes me.”
“So that is where I come in,” she said.
“Yes. Will you help me? Will you stay with Grandma and protect her from the Raven Mockers while I try to set the prophecy back another thousand years or so?”
“I would love to.” She stood up and started walking resolutely to the crosswalk. She glanced back at me. “What? You thought you’d have to conjure wind again to blow me back up there?”
I laughed and crossed the street with her. This time when she paused before the statue of Mary in the foyer, bowing her head and whispering a quick prayer, I didn’t wait impatiently. This time I took a good long look at the statue of the Virgin, noticing for the first time the kindness of her face and the wisdom in her eyes. And as Sister Mary Angela genuflected, I whispered, “Fire, I need you.” When I felt the heat begin to build around me, I cupped it into my hand and then flicked my fingers at one of the votive candles that sat, unlit, at the statue’s feet. Instantly it, along with half a dozen others, burst into happy flame. “Thank you, fire. You can go play now,” I said.
Sister Mary Angela didn’t say anything; she just picked up one of the lit votives and looked at me expectantly. When I didn’t say anything, she prompted, “Do you have a quarter?”
“Yeah, I think so.” I dug into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out the change I’d gotten fro
m the Coke machine earlier that day. There were two quarters, two dimes, and a nickel in my hand. Not sure what she wanted me to do with any of it, I held the change out to her.
She just smiled and said, “Good, put all of it in place of this candle, and let’s go upstairs.”
I did as she told me and then we walked back to Grandma’s room while she shielded the flickering flame of the votive with her hand.
The flutter of wings did not greet us as we entered Grandma’s room. And there weren’t any dark shadows that flitted suddenly at the edge of my vision. Sister Mary Angela went to the statue of Mary and placed the votive in front of it; then she took a seat in the chair I’d been sitting in all day and took her rosary from around her neck. Without looking at me, she said, “Hadn’t you better be going, child? You have your own evil to battle.”
“Yeah, I do.” I hurried to the side of Grandma’s bed. She hadn’t moved, but I tried to believe that her color looked a little healthier and that her breathing was a little stronger. I kissed her on the forehead and whispered, “I love you, Grandma. I’ll be back soon. Until then, Sister Mary Angela will stay with you. She won’t let the Raven Mockers take you away.”
Then I turned to the nun who looked so serene and other-worldly sitting in the hospital chair, fingering her rosary in the small flickering light of the votive that danced shadows on her and on her goddess. I was just opening my mouth to thank her when she spoke first.
“You don’t need to thank me, child. This is my job.”
“Sitting with the sick is your job?”
“Helping good keep evil at bay is my job.”
“I’m glad you’re good at it,” I said.
“As am I.”
I bent and kissed her soft cheek, and she smiled. But there was one more thing I had to say before I left. “Sister, if I don’t do it . . . If my friends and I don’t get Kalona stopped and he does rise, it’s going to be bad for people around here, especially female people. You’ll need to get somewhere underground. Do you know someplace, like a basement or a cellar or even a cave, that you can get to quickly and stay for a while?”
