The Secret of the Sacred Four

by E J Elwin

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Lizzie, Arthur, and I have all had near-death experiences in the last week. Things we shouldn’t have survived but did because of our gifts. I fell from the top of the Tillamook Head trail and was fine. Arthur was in that explosion in Portland that’s been on the news—”

  “That was you?!” asked Hortensia, just like Sylvie had.

  “That was me,” I said, in a resigned sort of way. “My boyfriend Connor wasn’t so lucky…”

  “I’m sorry,” Hortensia said quietly. I turned and gave her a smile to acknowledge the sentiment.

  “And Lizzie was in the Seastar disaster,” said Sylvie.

  “Oh damn, I’m so sorry!” said Hortensia, appalled.

  “What happened to you?” asked Lizzie.

  Hortensia was silent for a moment. “You know the shooting at school?” she asked.

  No one said anything, and I guessed that Sylvie and Lizzie were nodding, because of course they knew about the shooting that happened two weeks ago at their school, Seaside High. Despite my ignorance of the news since Connor’s death, I knew about the shooting because it had happened the same day we were in the car accident.

  A deranged boy who was a student at Seaside came into school that morning with a gun, and then murdered twelve of his classmates before killing himself. Ten years ago, it might have closed down the school for a few weeks, but it was business as usual the following Monday. The authorities did have the courtesy of closing down the music room at least, which was where most of the carnage had taken place, perhaps to spend a few days giving the blood on the carpet a good scrubbing.

  “I was in the music room when it happened,” said Hortensia. “I was talking to a friend of mine. She was laughing… then she was crying. She was gone before I could even figure out exactly where she was shot. There was only one way out of the room, and that’s where the killer was. All I could do was duck under a table while he unloaded his gun all over the room. I heard his footsteps, and before I could do anything else, he shot at all four of us who were under that table. I braced myself for the pain, braced myself to die… but it never happened. When I opened my eyes, I was sitting in a pool of blood and they were all dead… but I didn’t have a scratch on me. I had no idea how I survived and they didn’t. How could the killer miss me when I was huddled right in between them? Now I know.”

  Lizzie was in tears, and I turned to see both her and Sylvie put an arm around Hortensia. Jessica stared ahead at the road. “That school just can’t catch a break,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER 14

  The Unusual, Uncanny, and Unrivaled Utterances of Ursula Urry

  The vine and rose gates of Jessica and Jasper’s estate creaked open with a wave of Jessica’s hand and we drove up the sloping lawn. Sylvie, Lizzie, and Hortensia looked impressed and a little apprehensive as they looked out at the property. Small white lights illuminated the long curving driveway as we drove into the thicket of trees and then the garage.

  “That thing you did with the trees, is that one of your gifts?” Sylvie asked Jessica as we got out of the car.

  “Yup,” said Jessica. “I have a connection to things that grow from the earth— trees, plants, flowers. Witchcraft books will refer to it as manus terrae, which means—”

  “Hands of the earth,” said Hortensia.

  We all looked at her.

  “It’s Latin,” she said. “I’m really into languages.”

  “That’s exactly what it means,” said Jessica, looking impressed. “It’s the proper name for the gift. Personally, I prefer flower power.”

  We followed her into the trees and toward the front doors.

  “How many languages do you know?” Lizzie asked Hortensia.

  “Well, I grew up with English and Spanish, and I’m fluent in Italian and French, which are a lot easier to learn if you already speak a Romance language like Spanish.”

  “So you’re tetralingual,” said Jessica. “You can speak four languages. That is too good.”

  We reached the tall double front doors, which Jessica opened with a wave of her hand. She beckoned us all inside and I was able to glimpse the brightly lit living room, with all the lamps still on, when one of the girls gasped. I looked around and saw what they were looking at.

  Four large bottles of champagne hovered in midair at the entrance to the living room. Jessica laughed and started to say something when all four corks suddenly shot into the air with loud popping noises, leaving bubbling eruptions of foam flowing out of the bottles and dripping onto the floor. The bottles then glided over to the coffee table where there were seven sparkling crystal glasses. Three of the four bottles touched down side by side on the table while the fourth hovered over each glass, neatly pouring out equal measures of champagne into each one.

  Then Harriet and Jasper emerged from the sunroom, Harriet holding her hands out at her sides, both of them with wide smiles on their faces.

  “With champagne,” said Harriet, “the witches themselves will toast!”

  “Good timing!” said Jessica.

  “I sensed you were on your way,” said Jasper.

  He and Harriet came up and introduced themselves to each of the girls. They both looked like they were meeting their favorite movie stars. “The Sacred Four,” Jasper breathed, as he shook Sylvie’s hand. “This is magical history happening right before our eyes!”

  “Which one is which?” asked Harriet excitedly, looking at Sylvie, Lizzie, and Hortensia.

  “The Hanged,” said Sylvie, putting up a hand.

  “The Drowned,” said Lizzie.

  “The Stoned,” said Hortensia.

  “Wow!” whispered Jasper, looking more animated than I’d seen him thus far.

  “You’re all so pretty, too,” said Harriet. “The prophecy never specified just how pretty the four of you would be.”

  “Oh!” said Sylvie, flicking a hand.

  “You all have your powers now, I take it?” asked Jasper.

  The girls nodded. “It was incredible,” said Jessica. “I assume you caught the meteor shower? Unfortunately, it happened before everyone had their Cloaking Crystals on, and we were tracked. We finally met the traitor. Well, sort of…”

  We sat down around the coffee table. Jessica, Harriet, Jasper, and I each took our previous seats in the armchairs, while Sylvie, Lizzie, and Hortensia sat on the red velvet couch with its many pillows.

  “The Sacred Four,” said Jasper, raising his champagne glass.

  “The Sacred Four,” we all repeated after him, and took sips of the bubbling liquid. It was delicious and instantly made me feel cheerier and lighter, like I could float into the air the way the bottles had. I thought of Connor and how thrilled he’d been when he learned Harriet could fly. That was Sylvie’s gift of course, but I could do it now too, with a broomstick. I wondered what it was like… I snapped back to attention as Jessica began describing our encounter with the traitor witch.

  “A swan, if you can believe that,” she said. “She must have sensed us since the Purple Haze. There were bursts of magical energy as soon as they shook hands…”

  “Naturally,” said Jasper.

  “So she can turn into anything she wants?” asked Lizzie. “Anyone?”

  “We can all disguise ourselves as other people,” said Jessica, “with some simple magic in the cauldron and a bit of the intended person’s blood. The gift of shapeshifting, rare as it is, only allows transformation into animals; and while it is theoretically possible for the witch to turn into any animal she wants, there’s usually a single one with which she has an affinity, a special bond, a spirit animal, if you will. In this witch’s case, that animal is a swan.”

  “A damn creepy swan,” Sylvie muttered. “Why is she helping them?”

  “None of us is sure yet,” said Jessica, “but we’ll find out. I was able to get these…” She pulled the black feathers out of her purse and handed them to Jasper.

  “Oh, great!” he said, taki
ng the feathers. “I’ll see what I can do with them…”

  “Anyway, enough about her,” said Jessica. “Let’s talk about the four of you.” Sylvie, Lizzie, and Hortensia sat up straighter in their seats. “This all starts, as you know, with a witch named Ursula…”

  I sipped my champagne as I watched Jessica tell them the tale of Ursula and her prophecy. It was refreshing to watch people other than me be on the receiving end of outlandish stories about fairy tale prophecies come true. Sylvie and Hortensia looked riveted, hanging on Jessica’s every word, while Lizzie registered sadness at Ursula not being taken seriously in her later years due to her brain illness.

  When Jessica came to the part about Ursula casting a spell on the pages she’d written to preserve them, Sylvie interrupted the story at exactly the point that I had that morning.

  “Permanent Prophecy Parchment…?”

  “Permanent Prophecy Parchment Preservation Spell,” Jessica repeated, as Harriet had. “I told you Ursula was fond of alliteration. Say, what are your last names, by the way?”

  “Sayers,” said Sylvie.

  “Levine,” said Lizzie.

  “Huerta,” said Hortensia.

  “Arthur, what’s yours?” asked Jessica.

  “Atwood,” I said.

  “Hmm, not quite all alliterative,” she said, “but Ursula would still approve. Anyway…”

  She described the prophecy itself, the four witches with extraordinary powers destined to protect witches from a dangerous threat. She described the energy that arose from the bloodshed of the Burning Times, how it developed over centuries into the gifts we now had, our ability to defy death in our own individual ways, what Ursula called the Secret of the Sacred Four.

  “Why four?” asked Hortensia. “Why isn’t it, like, the Sacred Six or Seven?”

  “Four is the number of stability, of balance, of completeness,” said Jessica. “There are four seasons, four cardinal directions— north, south, east, and west, four essential elements— earth, air, fire, and water.”

  “Four Beatles,” Harriet chimed in. She winked at me over her glass of champagne and I smiled, remembering us listening to Beatles records with Connor after we brought him back…

  Jessica went on to list the reasons most witches never believed in the prophecy, the biggest one being Ursula’s declaration that the Sacred Four would consist of a male witch.

  “There’s never been boy witches, ever?” asked Lizzie.

  “Nope,” said Jessica. “Arthur is the first.”

  “But what about—?” Lizzie looked uncertainly at Jasper.

  “I was born female,” said Jasper, “but there was always something not quite right, and I didn’t understand what that was for a long time. Ten years ago, I concocted what you now see in the cauldron and found that it felt much more like me than my female body. So I kept it. I finally understood. I’ll look like this for the rest of my life as long as I keep this ring on.”

  He held up the dark blue Concealment Crystal in the silver ring on his finger, and Lizzie, Hortensia, and Sylvie all leaned in to get a good look at it.

  “Cool,” whispered Sylvie, looking from the ring to Jasper’s bearded face.

  “There’s more to learn in the prophecy,” said Jessica. “I think it’s about time for you all to go read it fully. It’s upstairs in our library.”

  “You actually have the Permanently Preserved Prophecy Parchment from 1644?” asked Sylvie.

  “Unfortunately, no,” said Jessica. “We have copies that have been made by witches over time. The original text, Ursula’s The Secret of the Sacred Four, was lost somewhere along the way. It would be really nice to have it. One of the many exciting things about all this is that the four of you might be able to find it, being that it is about you.”

  “Shall we head up to the library?” asked Harriet cheerfully. She stood up from her chair and the champagne bottles rose with her.

  **

  The seven of us walked up the winding staircase, the three remaining champagne bottles following along in the air behind us. We followed Jessica and Jasper down the long second floor hallway, past my bedroom and the many white doors, until we reached the staircase to the third floor. My eyes flicked to the bathroom, its door still ajar from when we left it earlier, and I noticed that Harriet’s eyes flicked to it too. She briefly gripped my shoulder.

  We climbed to the third floor, and I got a glimpse of a long hall very similar to the one below, with another long Persian rug and closed doors on each side, before we continued to the staircase that led to the fourth and final level. When we reached the top, Sylvie, Lizzie, Hortensia and I all gasped.

  The fourth floor was one massive, airy room with a four-sided sloping ceiling that was like being inside of a pyramid. The walls were lined with books, making it look like the ceiling was supported only by bookshelves. The only break in the many rows of books was a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out at the ocean, a big black telescope and a world globe standing in front of it. The furniture was the same as in the living room, with cushioned armchairs and polished wooden tables bearing delicate antique lamps. There were also poofy, cozy-looking couches sitting on fuzzy carpets of swirling purples and blues. A large black cauldron similar to Harriet’s stood in a corner.

  “This,” said Sylvie, “is the coolest library I’ve ever seen.”

  “It’s beautiful,” said Lizzie breathlessly.

  Hortensia and I nodded our agreement. It was a book lover’s paradise. I imagined Jessica and Jasper curled up on these couches with cups of tea during the many rainy Oregon days throughout the year, the ocean waves outside the window turbulent and crashing beneath a stormy sky.

  “It’s wide open to you four,” said Jessica. “There’s a world of things to learn.”

  She walked to a section of the bookshelves near the floor-to-ceiling window, and squinted around at the many volumes, trailing a finger over the bindings. She stopped on one near the top and pulled it from the shelf.

  “This is it,” she said. She brought it to one of the wooden tables in the center of the room and Sylvie, Lizzie, Hortensia, and I gathered around her. It was a thick, hard cover book that was colored bright purple, with its title embossed in shining silver letters:

  The Unusual, Uncanny, and Unrivaled Utterances of Ursula Urry by Olivia Ogle

  “That is some amusing alliteration,” said Sylvie. “Is this a witch thing?”

  “Witches, as a people, do tend to be quite poetic,” said Harriet. “Ursula really popularized alliteration in particular.”

  “Transatlantic trendsetter,” said Jessica. “The prophecy’s on page forty-four, I believe…” She opened the book to page forty-four. “I’ll leave you four to read it.” She stepped away.

  Sylvie, Lizzie, Hortensia, and I leaned in to read the page, which was headed “The Secret of the Sacred Four – the Prophecy without Precedent”. Beneath the heading was a bold geometric symbol consisting of four equilateral triangles pointing inward at the points of a square, which was turned on its side so that it resembled a diamond. I’d never seen a shape quite like it before, although it reminded me a little of a Celtic cross. Tracing its outlines with my eyes, I was sure that it could be drawn in one stroke, without lifting pen from paper. I pulled my gaze from it to read the following passage:

  Much has been made of the many prophecies given by the great Seer during her heyday. Less esteemed are the many preposterous predictions she made in the years following the onset of her illness, which began the day she declared to her three daughters, without a trace of humor in her voice, that a gargantuan pig was prancing and snorting its way through the English countryside en route to London, bent on world domination.

  So began the tragic decline of one of the great magical minds in history and the deterioration of one of the strongest Sights ever beheld by witch kind. Four years after that first bizarre prediction, termed The Prophecy of the Pig by her daughters, and long after losing her credibility as a Seer, our de
ar Ursula awoke from her sleep around four in the morning on the fourth day of the fourth month of 1644, with a singularly fantastic vision.

  The prophecy, titled “The Secret of the Sacred Four”, which has since entered witch lore as a whimsical fairy tale for young witches due to its unbelievable yet wonderfully entertaining contents, nevertheless developed a fringe following of sorts due to the uncanny details surrounding its pronouncement. How could a witch who was four years into mental decline articulate something so eloquently and in such great detail? Was her fanciful language merely a product of her own whimsy, or indicative of a glimpse into a distant future? Could every single one of the occurrences of the number four contained in the date and time of the prophecy be simply coincidence? Was it fair to completely dismiss the validity of Ursula’s predictions even while she was still up to the task of creating entirely new spells, such as the Permanent Prophecy Parchment Preservation Spell?

  A significant minority of witches, this author included, believe that the prophecy of the Sacred Four may not ultimately be complete nonsense. The surviving text is reproduced here verbatim for posterity and education, and in the hope that perhaps one day, the four witches from Ursula’s dazzling vision will stand before these pages, reading these words for themselves as they prepare to meet their destinies as protectors of our kind.

  The Secret of the Sacred Four

  The world burned and chaos reigned

  Dreadful death, our spirits drained

  Our fellow man, blood was his thirst

  Slaughter all life, witches slain first

  Decades of savagery, cruelty unbound

  Witch or not, they killed whoever they found

  But even in darkness, hope survives

  Nightmares do end, and magic, it thrives

  Out of the screams of the burned

  Out of their cries that were spurned

  Out of the gasps of the drowned

  Out of the last dying sound

  Out of the blood on the fallen stones

  Out of the flesh and the broken bones

  Out of the twitch of the hanged, and strain of the noose