Prophecy Awakened: Prime Prophecy Series Book 1

by Tamar Sloan

  On the upside, there’s a softness to Eden that I’ve enjoyed walking alongside. Her patient explanations, although probably highly reinforcing for young Jeremiah, were the most I’ve ever heard her talk. It’s quite possible that Jeremiah has created a chink in that armor of hers. One that I fully intend on exploiting and expanding.

  We’re sitting on a log, slightly apart from the others, when I try to strike up another conversation. “You’ve been around kids a bit then?”

  She looks surprised, and for a split second, her eyes fly to mine. Against the coniferous background, her evergreen eyes are luminescent. They widen slightly, and I drink in the heated sense of awareness that invariably begins in my chest and steadily spreads to every corner of my being. I suspect if this girl looked at me for long enough, my body temperature would reach thermonuclear. She returns to studying the blades of grass between her shoes, shrugging a one-shoulder shrug. “No, not really.”

  “You were great with Jeremiah. I just thought…”

  She contemplates this as she watches Jeremiah chase his younger brothers, squealing and giggling. Their mother sits across the clearing, watching in contented exhaustion. I wonder if Eden’s going to answer, expecting this conversation to mirror the short, monosyllabic exchanges we’ve had up until now. “They’re much like animals, I suppose. A little patience and understanding can open just about any door.”

  I have a feeling those two words are significant. Patience. Understanding. I wonder if that’s the key for this mystifying girl. For Eden, I’m willing to invest a truckload of patience. Although it appears that getting to the understanding bit could take an entire convoy.

  I almost fall off the log in delighted astonishment when she contributes a question of her own. “What about you? You obviously know kids.”

  I roll my eyes. “I have a lot of cousins.” I place hefty emphasis on the understatement ‘a lot’.

  Eden doesn’t miss the significance. “How many is a lot?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe. I have more extended family than Jeremiah has questions.”

  Eden’s lip twitches. An almost smile! I resist the urge to jump up, fist pump, and totally overreact.

  “Okay, people, let’s start the walk back.” Tour-guide-Todd maintains the theme of this little expedition: Mission Interruptus. We get up and dust ourselves off, once again forming the tail of the group as we start the family-friendly walk back.

  As we walk, I try to pick up the thread of our conversation. “So, you should check out one of our family barbeques. We have to serve up half an antelope just to feed the immediate Phelans.”

  There’s no response. Oh no, did I just offend her vegetarian sensibilities? I turn to see if I can judge her reaction. The girl can be hard to read, especially with her eyes glued to her shoes. But Eden’s not there. I stop, and turn one way and then the other.

  Eden is nowhere to be seen.

  She couldn’t have gone far; we were talking just a minute ago. But she’s obviously left the trail. The group continues up ahead, unaware of her disappearing act. My eyebrows sink over my eyes. Where did she go?

  I take a deep breath, in through my nose, and let it flow out of my mouth. In that brief pause I decide to go left. Within a few steps I’m amongst the trees, instantly enveloped by their shadowy coolness. I continue walking, looking for signs that she may have passed. Nothing signals Eden took this route: no broken branches, kicked stones or trampled moss. I continue doggedly, unsure why I’m continuing. Like a wild goose chase, I have a target and not much else.

  It’s only a short minute before I hear the soft gurgling and bubbling of water. The trees open around a small creek running through a grassy clearing. The last blue camas of the season dot the picturesque meadow. I pause, because Eden is kneeling beside the water; her dark hair drapes over her cheek, obscuring her face. I’m about to ask her what in the heck she’s doing when she shifts, and I see the graceful outline of a trumpeter swan besides her.

  It’s then that the haunting melody reaches me, the luminous notes carried on the fluttering breeze. Shocked awareness registers that it’s flowing from Eden, that she’s humming to the bird. I squint, and see her fingers deftly moving around the bird’s left foot. I realize with a jolt, she’s unwinding fishing line. The bird remains still, neck arched toward her, wings tucked passively into its sides. It calmly allows her to twist and unwind the cutting braid. Twice Eden reaches around in the process of unravelling the line, circling the bird with her arms. The swan patiently and calmly remains still.

  The whole time the earthy, wordless tune ebbs and flows around the landscape. A sense of serenity and peace is being artfully woven, note by haunting note. I stand in stunned silence. This is the second time this girl has left me slack-jawed and mute.

  Eden finishes, and sits back on her heels. She slides her hand down the swan’s sleek, white neck. The swan arches, and I feel myself mimicking its stretched pose as it seeks more of the gentle caress. She stands, takes a step back, and the melody fades from her lips. The swan stretches and ruffles its feathers before waddling to the creek edge. It’s then that I notice its mate, gliding gently by the shore. With a splash, the swans reunite and paddle away.

  Eden turns; a soft, satisfied smile tilts her rose lips. She turns to head back and sees me at the edge of the trees, and the smile falls like a puppeteer has cut its strings.

  “What are you doing here?” Her tone is sharp with disapproval.

  I hold out my hands, palm up. “Looking for you?” She frowns. “You did a Houdini on me, so I went searching.” She takes a few steps toward me, closing the distance between us.

  “How did you find me?”

  I shrug again. Seeing as I don’t really have an answer for that one, I decide to ask a question of my own. “What just—?”

  “We’d better get back to the group.” Eden rapidly covers the remaining distance and sails past me, leaving flurries of her wildflower scent swirling around me. She quickly steps amongst the trees. The ridges on my forehead rival those of the giant mountain that juts in the distance. Did she just brush me off? I don’t think so.

  As I stomp after her, I notice only one set of footsteps can be heard. Eden’s light footed tread gracefully sidesteps understory bushes, agilely ducks branches, deftly avoids rocks. Barely a blade of grass is out of place. That’s why I couldn’t track her. The girl is like a nimble ghost. My irritation doesn’t afford the forest the same respect as I trample behind her. I call out, but Eden continues toward the trail. With an unerring sense of direction she doesn’t head toward where we left, but meets the trail farther up. It’s not long before the noise of the group can be heard up ahead. Eden only slows down once we are at the back of the chattering, snap-happy group.

  I try again. “Did you want to tell me—?”

  “Noah!” Jeremiah throws his stubby arms around my leg. I stare at the sky, shoulders deflated, wondering why the universe hates me so much. “Where did you go?”

  “Hey, bud. I was just checking something out.” Eden stiffens besides me. I concede defeat, knowing an explanation won’t be forthcoming for the moment. I’m willing to wait.

  On the return walk I discover there are worse torture mechanisms than the dreaded ‘what’s dat’ question. Jeremiah ramps it up with the agonizing and tedious ‘why’. Eden impresses me once again with her knowledge as she answers the ceaseless questions. Why don’t fish drown when they go to sleep? Why don’t spiders get caught in their own webs? And why is that deer doing that? A bull elk, resplendent in his daunting headwear is bugling, the eerie sound piercing the late afternoon air. Even informative Eden glosses over the mating rituals of an elk in rut, blushing delicately.

  On the upside, the walk goes quickly. This is good, because the casual, easy air that had developed on the walk in has evaporated. Although Eden chats openly with Jeremiah, she casts me guarded looks from the corner of her eye.

  As I walk, I have time to think. Until I came across Eden and th
e swan, she had slowly relaxed and started talking. Jeremiah and the scenic surroundings had loosened her tenacious armor. She obviously doesn’t want to talk about whatever went on in the glade and as perplexing as it was, I know better than anyone there’s more to this world than meets the eye. And I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. I decide to let the topic slide. For now.

  As we return to the visitors’ centre, Jeremiah flings himself at us, endowing us each with a soggy hug, before running up ahead to his mother. She throws us a grateful wave before climbing onto the bus, one child asleep on her shoulder. Once we’re again standing beside Eden’s apparently offensive sedan, I lean on it, hands back in my pockets. Eden stands beside me, upright, arms crossed across her chest, lips stretched tight like a bow. I’m not sure if it’s an offensive or defensive stance.

  “Nice kid,” I comment.

  Her mouth softens, now just an archer watching, waiting warily. “Yeah. Do they usually ask that many questions?”

  I chuckle. “I think Jeremiah took a child’s natural curiosity and dialed it up to insatiable.”

  Eden shifts her weight to her other foot.

  I turn to face her, my hip resting on the car. “Well, I had a great time, and we’ve got half of the assignment done.”

  Confusion tangles the fine muscles of her face. “Yeah.” I’m not sure which half of the statement she’s referring to.

  I pause for a second, but she doesn’t elaborate. “Well, I’ll see you at school tomorrow, and we can come up with a game plan for the rest of it.” I push away from the car. “Bye, Eden.”

  Eden takes a cautious step away from the car, uncrossing her arms. Although she a moment ago she looked like she was about to single-handedly defend a fort, one whose battlements were compromised…and contained vulnerable women and children, now she almost looks disappointed. She pauses, like she’s waiting for something else. I simply stand and wait, unsure what she’s expecting of me. After a confused moment she takes two more backward steps toward the driver’s side.

  Her eyes meet mine briefly, her lips gently tipping up at the corners. “Bye, Noah.”

  Something strikes me, making me pause. Eden continues to her car. I watch her climb in, noting her ability to make even that look graceful and eye-catching. And I realize what caught my attention. Eden just said my name. The beautiful, meaningful sound sings through my veins. For the first time since my gaze collided with this girl, I have something to pin hope on. With a chuckle I refuse to acknowledge how little it takes to fuel that optimistic emotion.

  As I clamber into my truck I realize something else. I never reached my goal for today. Despite the past couple of hours with Eden, I haven’t learned anything I didn’t know before.

  I already figured there was more to this girl than meets the eye.

  9

  Eden

  I’m pacing the confines of my room, queen-size bed to flat screen TV, and back. Queen-size bed to flat screen TV, and back. But the few marching steps it takes my lanky legs to traverse the room are not helping my tense muscles or tangled mind. I’m tired of spending time in that convoluted, chaotic maze, where all I keep finding are dead ends.

  Needing time, I once again avoided Noah at school. The undecipherable timetable was actually on my side today—no biology. But despite endless hours spent considering, deliberating, and speculating, I haven’t made any progress. I consider taking Caesar for a walk, but decide that something more strenuous may be in order. Besides, my monotonous pacing appears to have lulled him to sleep. He’s curled up on the bed, snoring softly. I glance at the clock. I should have time if I don’t go too far from home. I briefly consult the map for somewhere close and convenient.

  Luckily, living on site means my mother doesn’t need the use of her car. Unluckily, it means there’s no reason for me to have my own wheels. Ones that don’t say, “I have a pretentious amount of money.” Although I hate what the sleek sedan represents, I jump into my only form of transportation and head to the reserve. The drive is short and sweet, leaving me plenty of time for hiking. I quickly grab my backpack and head for the trail.

  Within seconds, as the sun pierces the clouds to warm my face, I know that it was a good choice to go hiking in this picturesque valley. The trail beneath my feet is a well-worn path through the skeletal soil. An arresting kaleidoscope of green blankets the expanse before me. Glades of wildflowers, brilliant red paintbrushes, and bright blue alpine forget-me-nots sprinkle the basin floor. The walls of the valley are all variegated angles, sheer faces through to gently sloping embankments, rising to frame the dramatic snowcapped mountains in the distance. As the altitude increases, harsh rock juts amongst the striking greenery, extending until the highest peaks are nothing but naked grey ridges. The breathtaking grandeur is a balm for my agitated mind.

  There are a few fellow visitors sharing the walking trail with me. One mother’s face is drawn in tight lines as her daughter aims rapid-fire questions with the speed of an assault rifle. Farther up, a teen lags behind his father, feet scuffing the ground, a frown on his pimpled face. His father is peering through binoculars, impervious to his son’s scowling. At one particularly scenic area a young couple, shoulders brushing intimately, are taking a gazillion photos — mostly selfies, their cameras sounding like a family of crickets.

  I fade them out of awareness as I continue up the trail. The visitors thin along with the oxygen the farther I climb. Here, I don’t dwell on Tara’s motivation to befriend me. I have a few theories, and they are all predicated on pity, or maybe curiosity for the new freak in town. I don’t dwell on the confusing feelings I have for Noah—the breathless impact his blue-eyed grin has on me, the little part of me that wants to see that grin again and again. The seductive hope that keeps trickling from invisible cracks in my tightly held control. I stumble on a barely protruding stone. Okay, maybe I haven’t banished these feelings completely.

  I turn a bend and, to the left, a rocky outcropping in the distance glows under spears of light breaching the pale clouds. The secluded little space calls to me. I glance over my shoulder and, seeing the trail empty, head toward it. I slip in amongst the tall trees, walking for a several minutes until I’m surrounded by the pungent scent of sage and pine. There, alone, I sit down cross-legged and allow my surroundings to seep into my consciousness, stillness descending on me. Slowly, the warm mantle of nature’s chorus envelops me in the singing and warbling of birds, the welcome whispers of the leaves, and the subtle promise of serenity.

  As I sit there, a marmot, scrambling through the bushes, catches my attention. The plump ground squirrel nimbly navigates through the thicket, his speckled grey fur mimicking the shades of the surrounding rocky outcrop. He pauses in alarm a few feet in front of me when he notices my presence. My lips tip up in delight, and almost unconsciously my melody flows from my lips. The rock chuck stands up on his hind legs, nose twitching, the soft fur of his belly the color of mellowed honey.

  My smile widens. I slowly pull my hands from my pocket, extracting the biscuit I’d packed earlier. Its nose twitches again. The humming continues as I slowly hold the treat out and wait patiently. He sniffs cautiously, then starts up a rhythm of taking two or three tentative steps followed by a pause. I simply hum and wait. A few moments later he reaches out its neck and nibbles the barest edge of the cracker. When I don’t move, he steps closer and takes a braver bite. Another minute and he’s eating the biscuit with enthusiasm, nose twitching, rabbit-like teeth flashing.

  From the corner of my eye I notice a furry head pop up from a burrow hidden amongst the rocks. Three more marmots bustle from the tunnel opening. The larger marmot makes a few clicking sounds, and his harem of females cautiously approach. It doesn’t take long for them to register the food, and they join their mate. I break the remainder in two and hold the pieces out. Delight courses through me as one rests its little paw on my finger to eat the remaining crumbs. It’s always a high when a small, wild animal puts such trust in you. Then again, th
ere’s little I wouldn’t do for a sugar fix either.

  A sharp gust of wind breaks the reverie, and the male marmot twitches his nose again. He sounds a high-pitched whistle before darting away, the females hot on his heels. Another icy blast returns me to my immediate surroundings. I glance up, and notice for the first time, the dark grey clouds obscuring the once-blue sky. I stand up, tension tightening my brows. In the shaded copse I didn’t notice the accumulating hazard overhead. I begin walking toward the direction of the trail when a flash of light splits the darkening sky. Ominous rumbling echoes across the valley. Shoot, I don’t think I have long before—

  A fat, cold drop falls on my face. A frisson of alarm streaks down my spine. Belatedly, the safety warnings I read on the map run through my mind: DO NOT leave the walking trail. Ah yes, and the warning about rapid changes in weather being common in the fall months. I quickly take my plastic poncho from my backpack and put it on. An edgy nervousness is crawling around in my stomach, like spiders have spawned in there and aren’t appreciating the confined space. I need to head back to the trail and get back to the car. Noah’s concerned blue eyes flash before me, although why he would cross my mind now, I don’t know.

  Another crack of lightning heralds the onslaught of rain as the tap upstairs goes from drip to deluge in the space of a few seconds. This would certainly be the definition of a freak weather change. The poncho offers little protection and I’m drenched almost instantaneously. Small shivers run through my body as I wrap my arms around myself. Okay, I really need to find the trail.

  I walk toward the direction I entered. I trudge through the muddy soil for several minutes before I realize the trees should have opened up by now. Rivers of rain run down my face and below the neckline of my shirt, trickling icy tracks down my torso in random lines. I push my sodden hair from my face and bite my lip. It’s starting to feel like I’m running out of room for the ballooning anxiety in my tightening chest.