The Serpent's Song

by S. Robertson

  Angi was not your typical adventurer. She possessed a quiet personality, usually preferring time to assess people and situations before getting too involved. While this hesitancy persisted, rapidly changing circumstances were forcing her to react faster which increased her anxiety. She originally saw herself spending her entire life in the Maritimes of Canada close to her grandmother, but destiny had altered that scenario.

  An hour passed as she slipped into meditation to shed the negative effects of her dream. “Maybe now I can get more shut-eye,” she thought as she rose to leave. At that moment she was startled to hear a woman’s voice.

  “Well, Angi Talismann, how are you enjoying your new home?”

  Angi looked around the balcony but could see no one. “Where are you?” she asked. “How did you get to the third floor of such a well-protected building?” Guarded, she thought, “Should I yell out for Vette in the next suite?” The calming voice of her intruder made her hesitate.

  “Oh, I’m skilled at getting into strange places. I just wanted to chat with the wearer of this fascinating medallion.”

  “It sounds like a mature voice,” thought Angi, “one unfamiliar with English.” She moved about slowly, making her way to the suite entrance. There, to her amazement, sat her intruder, securely positioned on a low branch of a large potted tree. “I must be hallucinating,” she said with a chuckle, “And you, my charming guest, must be lost.” Before her sat a Snowy Owl, the cat-like eyes burrowing a hole into her psyche. What little she remembered seemed to fit. Her intruder, one of the largest owl species in North America, had yellow eyes, a black beak, a smooth rounded head and no ear tufts. Even in the moonlight, she could discern the feathers were mostly white with speckled brown markings.

  “No, I’m not lost,” came the gentle response, “I chose this disguise as one from your world to make you feel at home. What do you think?”

  Angi could almost sense a smile behind the question, and replied, “Your thoughtfulness is indeed appreciated even though Snowy Owls exist much further north in Canada from where I grew up.” Silence fell as she tried to comprehend the situation. Then she asked, “Does this mean you’re a shape-shifter?” The thought popping into her head from a once read article.

  The respondent hesitated as if trying to translate the word ‘shape-shifter.’

  Before she answered, Angi continued, “I read once that certain aboriginal shaman had the ability to change themselves into birds or animals. Is that what you’re doing?”

  “Oh, I see,” came the reply, suddenly understanding the question, “Maybe that’s the closest we’ll get to a description. For now, can you and I live with this arrangement while we get acquainted?”

  “I guess so,” replied Angi, “Weirdness has seeped into every facet of my life of late; holographic people, ghosts, and teleporting items I never thought possible. Why not add a talking Snowy Owl to the list. So, what can I do for you?” Whirling through her mind she tried to remember what little she had read about owls. Angi thought to herself, “Celtic tradition regarded the owl as a symbol of divinity and a messenger of the gods. They also thought birds represented freedom and transcendence; the human soul in flight. Other societies thought the owl a symbol of Mother Earth, a harbinger of wisdom and a protector. Similarly, Native Americans associated the owl with wisdom, foresight and a keeper of sacred knowledge. So, what does my special guest represent? Is she a messenger of the gods? What gods? Fascinating……….. For now I’ll count my blessings and see what transpires. This journey continues to offer an unending array of mysteries.”

  “Well, Angi, tell me briefly how you came into the possession of this wondrous medallion?” came the clear directive.

  Angi, glad for the diversion and not wanting to analyze the situation further, began, “Briefly……..well that may be difficult, but here goes. I can hardly believe it’s just months since my life went into a tailspin. In my world, I had progressed in my profession to being a director of an emergency department of a large teaching hospital in a capital city of an eastern province in my country, Canada.”

  “Were you a healer or what your culture calls a physician?” asked her guest.

  “A healer, yes, but not a physician. I studied to be a nurse, a role I preferred. My simplest explanation is that in our health system physicians diagnose and prescribe while nurses manage the care. It took four years at university to get my nursing degree.” Angi waited, but when no questions appeared, she proceeded, “I had just been appointed to my position when I was diagnosed with a fatal disease and within days my grandmother was attacked by an international thief trying to steal a family heirloom. While she survived the attack it was too much for her weakened heart and she died.” Remembering her grandmother, her voice faltered as she thought, “I’ve had little time to properly mourn my grandmother’s death and that’s not right. I must make time while I’m here.”

  A sympathetic response filled the temporary gap, “You must have loved your grandmother a great deal. I’m sorry for your loss. Where were your parents?”

  “My father and mother were divorced in New York, United States, when I was a little girl and my mother and I returned to her home in Prince Edward Island, Canada. A few years later my mother died of an allergic reaction to a medication. I was brought up by my maternal grandmother.” Angi could almost sense the recipient calibrating the geographical distance on an invisible map.

  “How did the medallion come into your life?”

  “The medallion, or family heirloom, had been in our family for generations, mainly in the care of women. I was negligent in knowing its history or value because I did not pay enough attention to my grandmother when she tried to instruct me on its importance. All I knew was that this was a revered family secret. To me it looked like an old piece of jewelry with missing gemstones. However, after my grandmother’s death, and uncertain over my own future, I thought it prudent to share this well-kept family secret with a few trusted people as the responsibility for the secret had now fallen to me. At that point, the medallion was practically sidelined due to the mounting concerns over my safety when the international thief who attacked my grandmother was subsequently murdered while being incarcerated in the local jail. Friends insisted that I should have a bodyguard. This brought Vette Gallant, an off-duty police officer, into my life, and we have been together ever since.”

  “Vette is the young woman in the adjacent suite,” came the quick reply.

  Angi, searching for every clue, thought, “Why do I feel she already knows the layout of this place and details of our group. Play along, maybe I’ll learn more,” and replied, “Yes,” and proceeded. “My Grandmother’s death blocked my normal response to the unfolding danger. But the death of the thief indicated others might be involved who knew far more about the medallion.”

  “What happened next?”

  “After my grandmother’s funeral, I decided to deliver the medallion to my grandmother’s Boston contact, one of two women she corresponded with every Christmas. Vette and I travelled there where we met not only my grandmother’s contact, but two other females; one from Australia and the other from New Zealand. There I learned that they, and myself, belonged to a group of specially chosen families from the 1600s committed to protecting this ancient treasure. Ironically, so much time had passed that much of the medallion’s information existed in bits and pieces which, in some instances, made little sense. Yet, they were convinced that my grandmother’s death marked the beginning of the ‘coming times,’ a phrase which had little meaning to us. Anyway, I thought my role was simple; place the medallion into the hands of these women and return to my island to die.”

  “But that’s not what happened?” came the reply of the stranger who was carefully following the story.

  “No, events soon transpired that forced me onto another path. Oh, I forgot to mention. In Boston, I met Wolfram Stark, the grandson of my grandmother’s American contact. While we were in Boston he took charge of matters, arranging o
ur stay and keeping the killer at bay. He confirmed there was only one mastermind behind the attacks, and that this killer was closing in rapidly. But this gathering of four women was unique. For the first time since the 1600s, half of the medallion’s gemstones were together in one place. Each family guarded one gemstone. So, Wolfram’s grandfather invited a gemologist to authenticate the gemstones on the premise that if any were fake there was no reason to pursue the matter further. I was convinced that would be the outcome as so much could have happened in over three hundred years.”

  “What did the gemologist find?” The owl blinked her cat-like eyes and her feathers fluttered in the breeze.

  “He confirmed the superb quality of the gemstones and added that in his opinion the gold workmanship and the selection of gemstones might have some connection to a legend of an ancient magical device from Atlantis or Egypt. Needless to say, most of us scoffed at this, but such doubts were soon challenged.”

  “Go on, what changed your mind?”

  “Once the gemstones’ quality had received a preliminary authentication, we faced the next problem. With no instructions, how were we to insert three gemstones into the open sockets of the medallion? Since I possessed the medallion itself, my gemstone had not been removed. Unsure, we laid the other three gemstones next to the medallion and waited. What happened next was the initiation into a magical world none of us could have envisioned. First the central blue stone came alive and, like some programmed computer, shot forth an arc of light, and one by one lifted each stone into the air and dropped it into its designated position. Yet, even with this miraculous display, I was still convinced that I would be heading home.”

  “But next came the question as to who should wear the medallion. When the other three women tried on the medallion they received a critical burning of the skin under the medallion. When it came my turn, it did not burn my skin, instead I collapsed onto the floor. In a faint I heard the voice of whom I would later identify as Sirona, someone from this world, who reassured me that everything was fine. When I came to, it was clear I not only was the one to wear the medallion but, from the bits and pieces of past information, taking it off before all gemstones were inserted could endanger my life. This was not an appealing proposition. I thought I might be permanently attached to this unstable piece of technology for the rest of my life. So, Vette, Wolfram and I headed to Ireland and Scotland to retrieve the remaining gemstones, a quest fraught with uncertainties. Eventually the stones were found thanks to Andrew Sinclair and Bryce Roberts whom we met in Scotland. As each gemstone was inserted Sirona’s holographic image grew stronger and she was able to instruct me on how to handle the medallion’s powers without inflicting harm on myself and others.”

  “What happened to the killer who was stalking you?”

  “That had a bizarre twist. The predator was himself killed by another conniving individual who was arrested by the Scottish police. After that incident we were able to focus all our attention on getting to the Hill of Tara in Ireland and the Serpent’s Gate. That’s the story in a nutshell devoid of our emotional ups and downs in getting here. It’s been an amazing, stressful few months.”

  “Ah yes. So that’s the reason you’re here? If so, why so many?”

  “That’s a good question,” replied Angi, realizing others might ask the same question, and thinking out loud continued, “I expect we were all caught up in the initial quest and proceeded on that principle to see it to its conclusion. In the group of twelve there are actually two, maybe three, subgroups. There are myself, Vette, Wolfram, and Morgan Mandelthrope; I and Wolfram belong to the ‘Sacred Families,’ Vette became my friend and bodyguard and Morgan, a friend of Wolfram, is an archeologist/historian who knows a great deal about the Celtic world and was the one who initiated the research on one of the gemstones. Andrew and Bryce both belong to British gentry and have very important contacts in secret and not so secret societies. Without them, I’m sure we would not be here. The other six are under orders from Andrew to be our bodyguards while we’re here. But then again, I expect you already knew most of this.”

  “You’re very intuitive, Angi. Yes, I already knew most of it but felt this would be an easy starting point for us to begin our chats.”

  “Chats? So you expect there will be more. How many? What is the purpose of these chats? Will I ever meet you in person?” The questions bubbled forth as she scrambled for more information.

  “Yes, there is a reason and, I expect, a few chats should suffice. In time we’ll meet in person, as you say,” came the reply.

  “By the way, what’s your name?” asked Angi, realizing she needed to know who she was talking to.

  “Yes, a name…………... I’m known as Adawee.”

  Angi repeated the name, “Adawee, that’s a nice name.” She sensed the name was somehow irrelevant and wondered, “Does she not need a name or is her real name too foreign for me to pronounce?”

  Suddenly, Adawee shifted the conversation and said, “Angi, a word of caution. As you were careful in your world with the medallion, follow the same pattern here. Not everyone is pleased that you have this technology. Sirona and others will help you become more proficient in its use. You have many wonders ahead.”

  Angi sensed Adawee wanted to say more but hesitated. “Thanks for the warning, I’ll not let my guard down.” Then with a smile she continued, “Wait till I tell my friends I’ve been talking to a Snowy Owl.”

  “Oh, I wonder if you might hold off telling them for now. I need some uninterrupted time with you. Can you do that?”

  “Fine,” came Angi’s hesitant reply, “But I hate keeping secrets from my friends.” At that moment the morning sun peeped over the horizon and Angi stared at her visitor. “Well, you’ve added another dimension to the Snowy Owl, your white feathers have a rainbow tint. It’s beautiful!”

  Not responding to her comment, Adawee said, “Is that your friend Vette on the other balcony?”

  Angi turned thinking Vette, hearing voices, had come out onto her balcony to investigate. But Vette was not there. When she looked back Adawee had disappeared. “Now that’s odd,” she thought, “No flapping wings, not a sound. What do I really know about my Snowy Owl? Practically nothing except she’s definitely mysterious. But why the disguise? Even if I wanted to tell my friends, I’ve little to report. If I told them I was talking to a Snowy Owl they would question my sanity. Silence for now. No time to think……..Look at the time. I’ll need to scurry to get to breakfast.” She raced into her suite unaware of the significance of the messages which had just been delivered in diverse ways.

  * * *

  The House of Learning, Dining Area

  An inner patio near their sleeping quarters served as a dining room. As Angi arrived, she could hear students assembling in the lower courtyard for their morning calisthenics. Sunlight caressed the tip of the tiled roof, and tiny yellow birds flitted in and out joyously heralding a new day.

  Greeting her colleagues, she proceeded to make selections from a buffet of fruits, vegetables, and other tantalizing delicacies. Aed, a tall, English speaking attendant, dressed in blue, provided assistance and answered questions. But after a couple of days the team had adapted to their unfamiliar diet, with few gastric complications.

  The simple seating plan in their dining area consisted of two tables of six. Initially their bodyguards chose to sit together, but the team had already decided a more democratic arrangement would be introduced.

  “Running late this morning are we?” asked Wolfram with a grin as Angi sat down. “Still wrestling with the shower system?” He knew the women in the group were grumbling about what to do about their hair. “I rather like your platinum curls.”

  Wolfram Stark was the child of the lost generation which became ensnared in the music industry’s drug scene. His father died of a drug overdose somewhere in California and his mother spent her life in and out of drug addiction clinics. He grew up in Boston with his maternal grandparents who were in the
lucrative antique business. Perhaps as a need to understand his parent’s destroyed lives or to strike out on his own, he opted for a police career over the wishes of his grandparents. Restless, he soon branched out and began studying part-time for his law degree with a specialty in antique fraud. The week he graduated from law school, and in his last days as a police officer, he had a devastating car accident which left him disabled with a shattered left leg, and a white streak through his black hair, a lasting symbol of the ordeal. His entrance into the medallion quest was initiated when he asked his friend Morgan to look into a 1600s secret with roots in Scotland or Ireland connected to his family. His involvement increased when he discovered a killer was not only after his grandparents, but also anyone with a gemstone of this mysterious medallion. Having resigned himself to a life as a disabled, he was ecstatic when Angi healed him with the aid of her medallion. Rejuvenated, Wolfram became more outgoing with the occasional jovial comment to members of the team. His new found friends had restored his life and their quest had focused his energies.

  Angi took his jibe in stride as she liked Wolfram’s calm, in-charge manner. Smiling, she responded, “I suppose change is as good as a rest. We’ll either find a solution or settle on this new hairstyle. Actually, overall I rather like our hotel arrangements, my skin has never been so healthy. How about you, Vette?” her question directed at her friend sitting across the table.

  Vette Gallant was born on Prince Edward Island into an Acadian family in Canada. The opposite of Angi, she was slightly built, with dark hair, piercing brown eyes and an extrovert personality. Her first career choice was the theatre until her only brother, the youngest of her three siblings, was killed while on duty as an RCMP officer. Devastated, she decided to honour the family tradition and enlisted herself, much to the disapproval of her father, a senior member of the police force. Trying to prove herself, she not only excelled in the training program but upon graduation volunteered to work undercover in the Atlantic coast drug enforcement squad. Recovering from a gunshot wound brought her into a temporary assignment with Angi. Enchanted by the medallion adventure, she took a leave of absence from the police force to accompany the group on their quest.