Circle of Fire (Prophecy of the Sisters, Book 3)

by Michelle Zink

  I’m able to maintain my silence for only a moment. “Forgive me, but—”

  “Ack!” She throws her hands in the air. “What is it now?”

  I straighten my back, trying to keep hold of my dignity even as I begin to feel foolish for my impatience. “I was just wondering how you could be sure this… event or… whatever it is will happen with this sunrise?”

  She leans back against the cold stone of the cairn. “Nothing is ever certain, but I’m as sure as can be expected.”

  “Yes,” Dimitri says, his own voice belying the hesitance even he feels to incite Maeve’s ire. “But why? Why are you as sure as can be expected?”

  Maeve’s eyes remain closed as she speaks. “Because today is the twenty-second of March, and it didn’t happen yesterday or the day before, so it has to happen today or tomorrow.”

  I draw absently with my finger in the dirt. “And it always happens on one of those days?”

  It is increasingly difficult not to feel mad as we dance around the event of which Maeve is so certain but that seems more and more ludicrous the longer we sit, freezing, in the cairn.

  “Well, not exactly. Two years ago it happened on the nineteenth day of the month, but that was unusual indeed. Now I come early, just in case.”

  “I see. And tell me again about the others. The ones who came before us.” I have been afraid to ask, but it seems we have time to burn. We may as well pass it learning all we can.

  Maeve lifts her head from the stone wall of the cairn. Her eyes, full of fire and mystery, find mine in the faint light offered by the torch. “I don’t wish to speak of them.”

  I nod, sighing. “Fair enough, Maeve.”

  We fall into silence and I scoot closer to Dimitri, trying to absorb some of his body heat. After a while his breathing slows, and it is only moments later that sleep comes to claim me as well.

  “Wake up! It’s happening!”

  I am awoken with a rude shaking and open my eyes to find Maeve’s dirty face directly in front of mine. I don’t have to ask to what she is referring. Even in the little half-sleep I was able to manage, my mind was alert, waiting for the event Maeve brought us here to witness.

  Dimitri is on his feet in an instant, reaching a hand down to help me up from the floor.

  “Where is it?” he asks Maeve, looking around as he pulls me to my feet.

  “Right here. Right here!” She is unable to contain her excitement, and I look around the interior of the cave, wondering what I’m missing. “Come! This way.”

  She pulls me to the side, turning my body so that I am facing the rear of the cavern and the wall of stone that rises from its floor.

  “Just wait.” Her words come out in a breathless sigh, and I know that whatever she is waiting for will come.

  It begins with the sun as Dimitri stands behind me, both of us to the side of the cramped path leading all the way through the cave to the place where we now stand. The cairn, before dark save for the minimal light offered by the torch, begins to brighten ever so slightly with the dawn.

  The rising sun, lifting into the sky somewhere outside the cairn, casts its rays straight through the cavern, a rectangle of golden light becoming visible in the back corner of the wall farthest from the entrance. It seems a small thing, but I cannot fathom how the light, sent from millions of miles away, can find its way through the twists and turns of the cavern in such a way as to light up the back wall of the cave.

  And that’s not all.

  As we watch, the light moves from left to right, growing larger by the minute as it creeps toward the back of the cairn. When it reaches the center, the entire backstone seems alight with fire, the intricate carvings visible in all their sacred, mysterious glory. It is impossible to imagine how the people who created the cairns, thousands of years ago, managed to line everything up just so. The fact that it is designed to highlight the backstone only once a year is even more of a mystery, but a moment later, the words come to me as if on the mists of Altus: the Spring Equinox.

  The cairn is designed so that the sun will light the backstone only during the Spring Equinox.

  In this moment, I feel everything more acutely. Dimitri behind me, our bodies touching just enough for me to register the quickened pace of his breathing as he watches the sun make its journey across the writings on the cave wall. The cairn floor, cold and solid, centuries old, beneath my boots. The musty, metallic smell of the stone inside the cave, and the earth atop which it sits.

  It takes a few minutes for the light to make its way from the center of the backstone to the right, growing smaller as it continues its journey. We stand without moving or speaking, watching the light track across the stone until the cairn again grows dim, the rectangle of illumination becoming ever smaller until it is but a pinprick, as bright as a star, in the moment before it disappears entirely.

  We do not move for some time. When I finally look up, twisting my head to look at Dimitri behind me, his eyes meet mine. In them is the bond of our shared history, the history of our people, and, yes, the future we both imagine together. His smile is a promise, and I am somehow certain that from this moment forward, we are bound through all space and time.

  22

  Gathering my wits, I turn to Maeve, still staring with rapt attention at the place where the last point of light disappeared. She must feel my gaze because she turns to look at me, her eyes clearer than I have seen them in the few hours since we met.

  “Thank you.” My words are a whisper. I want to tell her that I recognize the magic of the moment, even if it did not bring us the answers we sought.

  Her face lights with a smile. “You shouldn’t thank me yet. I still have to show you what you’re looking for.”

  I think she will try to decipher the marking on the backstone, but instead she pulls me to the side of it and bends down to look at something very near the floor.

  “It isn’t the backstone itself, you see, though I wonder if maybe it says the same thing using symbols that are long gone.” She waves Dimitri forward, motioning for his torch, and he leans in, holding the flame very near the wall.

  I don’t see anything unusual. Only a small, flat ledge, indented in the middle, beneath a long stretch of rock reaching toward the ceiling of the cairn.

  “Wait…” Dimitri reaches for the wall with his free hand, brushing away some of the dirt until it rises like dust motes in the light of the torch. When he speaks again, it is in a surprised murmur. “There is something here.”

  I look more closely, wondering if he is going round the bend, for I do not see any markings at all. But then Dimitri’s hand moves ever so slightly, the light catching a divot in the wall, and I begin to see it.

  Reaching forward with the hem of my shirt, I wipe the cairn wall more carefully near the place where I am just beginning to make out some kind of marking. It does not take long to see that Dimitri is right.

  There is something there after all.

  “Hold the torch.” Dimitri hands it to me, and I point the flame in the direction of the wall as he leans forward.

  He does not speak for a long moment, and I begin to wonder if perhaps we have gotten ahead of ourselves. If perhaps the markings have nothing to do with the Stone.

  But when he turns to meet my eyes, I know they do.

  “It’s the prophecy. It’s written here, carved here, in Latin.”

  “I told you.” Maeve beams.

  “Is that all?” I lean forward, wanting to see for myself despite my unfortunate inability to speak Latin. “Does it say anything about the Stone? Is it hidden here?”

  He traces with his fingers the letters carved into the wall. “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?” I don’t bother trying to hide my impatience.

  “It lists the prophecy, both the page you found in your father’s library and the one we found at Chartres.” He pauses, his voice growing grave with concentration. “And then it says, roughly, and in Latin, ‘In the first light of Nos Galon-Mai fr
ee those bound by the Fallen with the power of this Stone and the words of their Rite.’ ”

  I shake my head. “Wait a minute…‘the words of their Rite’? Do you mean to say that it refers to the Rite of the Fallen? Does it state what the Rite is?”

  His brow furrows as he leans still closer to the wall. “It’s… it’s possible. It says something about… let’s see… a circle that is cast by angels fallen past, and… something about summoning the power of the Sisters to close the Guardian’s Gate, keeping the world safe from the Beast of… of Ages.” He turns to me, his eyes shining, his voice giving away the excitement he is trying not to betray. “It’s difficult to make out the exact translation here and now. The wall is dirty, the words carved long ago, but it does seem to be an incantation of some kind.”

  “An incantation?” I say. “So it is a spell? One that might be used to close the Gate at Avebury?”

  Dimitri’s nod is slow, and I see the working of his mind. “It sounds that way. Almost any spell could be called a rite as well, I suppose. And it does say ‘with the power of this Stone,’ which could mean the Stone was here, hidden with the words of the Rite all along.”

  “Except it wasn’t. Or it’s not now, in any case,” I say, looking around. “Unless…” I look at Maeve. “Did you take something, Maeve? Was there once something here that isn’t here now?”

  Anger flashes in her eyes. “I didn’t take anything! I only come to watch.” She turns her head, gazing stubbornly at the wall of the cairn. When she speaks again, it is in a mutter. “ ’Tis other people who take. I only watch. Watching’s all I do.”

  Her words shake something loose in my mind, and I reach toward the ledge just beneath the carved words of the Rite. The indentation in the rock is smooth and round. I look up, and Dimitri’s eyes find mine through the shadows of the cave.

  I turn back to Maeve. “I’m sorry, Maeve. I understand now. You only watch. It’s the others who take. The others who have taken, isn’t that right?”

  She meets my gaze for only a moment before looking away once more, but it is all the time I need.

  I turn back to Dimitri. “Let’s go.”

  We have just closed the horses in the barn and are preparing to make our way to the house when Dimitri puts a hand on my arm.

  “They’re not part of the Guard, that much we can be sure of.”

  I nod. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t working on behalf of the Guard, and it doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous in their own right.”

  Dimitri nods. “They’re involved somehow, that’s for certain. Since we’ve arrived, they’ve done everything in their power to ensure that we would not find the cairn.”

  “Or the Stone,” I add. “Besides, they ask too many questions, show too much interest in our comings and goings.”

  “How do you feel?” I hear the hesitation in his question and know he does not relish asking it.

  Gazing up at him as the clear morning light streams into the barn, I am equal parts offended that he thinks me weak and grateful that he senses my waning strength.

  “I am… fighting. Fighting to stay strong.”

  His eyes soften. “You’re always fighting, Lia. That is never in question. I need to know how strong you are right now. This moment.” His eyes burn more deeply into mine. “And you must be honest.”

  I swallow hard, looking away and taking a deep breath before speaking. “I’m not as strong as I would like. The adder stone is nearly cold. My power…” I turn to face him, wanting him to see conviction through my doubt. “Well, it is undoubtedly weaker than it was three months ago, when I could count on the full force of Aunt Abigail’s authority to augment my own. But I am still more than capable of putting up a fight, if that’s your concern.”

  “I don’t know what we face, Lia. I wish…” He rubs a hand over his face, a sigh of frustration escaping his body. “I wish I had somewhere safe to send you, but I fear there is nowhere safer for you than with me.”

  I lift my chin. “I wouldn’t go anyway. My place is here, bringing the prophecy to its end.”

  A smile of admiration creeps to his mouth. “And?”

  I stand on the tips of my toes, wrapping my arms around his neck and leaning my head back to look in his eyes. “And,” I say, “with you. My place is with you.”

  One of his arms slips around my waist and he pulls my body closer to his. “So you will stay.”

  His mouth, when it meets mine, is soft and tender. Our kiss lasts only a moment, but I feel somehow stronger when we pull apart, and as we make our way to the house, I tell myself that together we can do anything. I tell myself it doesn’t matter if Mr. O’Leary and Brigid work on behalf of the Souls, the Guard, or Samael himself.

  Then I tell myself I believe it, despite the voice in the back of my mind that calls me a liar.

  I think I am prepared for anything, but upon stepping into the parlor and coming face-to-face with the shotgun, I realize I am not.

  “Come in, now, why don’t you.” Mr. O’Leary is sitting in his chair in the parlor, holding the gun like someone accustomed to holding one. “I do believe we have some talking to do.”

  Brigid stands behind his chair, her eyes dark and unreadable in the firelight.

  Dimitri reaches for my hand, pulling me closer and stepping in front of me so my body is shielded by his. “I don’t think there is any need for the gun, Mr. O’Leary. Surely we can be reasonable with one another.”

  The older man’s laugh is wry. “I’ve seen the way your kind means ‘reasonable.’ I don’t think we agree on its definition.”

  I cannot see Dimitri’s face, but I sense his confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean by ‘my kind,’ but I do believe you have something we need.”

  Mr. O’Leary narrows his eyes at Dimitri. “I’m sure I don’t have anything that’s yours.”

  Dimitri nods slowly. “It’s true that it isn’t mine. But it isn’t yours, either, is it? And I promise you, our purpose is far more noble than that to which you have aligned yourself.”

  “How dare you?” Brigid breaks in, her eyes flashing. “Do you think us so simple that we’ll believe your lies? That we’ll consign the world to the dark fate that awaits it at your hands?”

  Confusion lights Dimitri’s eyes in the ensuing silence as I grasp about the muddied waters of my own mind. I see Brigid, her too-curious gaze probing mine. Her many questions. Her uncommon knowledge.

  Stepping out from behind Dimitri, I try to make my voice calm. “Whatever you believe, I promise you, we’re on your side.”

  Dimitri turns to look at me, shock and confusion on his face. “Lia? What are you doing?”

  I make my way toward Brigid, trying not to look at the gun pointed in my direction. “You took it, didn’t you? You took the Stone from the cairn?”

  To her credit, she does not blink in the face of my approach. Her father, on the other hand, tenses as I near them. “It’s time for you to step away from my daughter. Time for you to leave this house altogether, I think.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. O’Leary, but I cannot do that.” I have to swallow around the lump of fear in my throat in order to get the words out.

  Dimitri steps toward us. “Lia, I—”

  The sound of the shotgun being cocked causes Dimitri to step back.

  “You’re not alone, Brigid.” I reach for my left wrist, pushing the sleeve of my shirt up just enough so that the mark is visible.

  Her eyes drop to my wrist, and I see her bosom rising and falling as her breath comes fast with the proof of my mark.

  I reach for her arm. “May I?”

  She nods even as her father shouts, “You will do no such thing. Now! Remove your hands from my daughter.”

  But I cannot. I hear Philip’s distant voice: I’ve already been told, you see, that the girl no longer resides in the town. Apparently her mother died giving birth to her, and her father took her away some years later.

  I half-expect to hear the roar of the gu
n, but it is Brigid’s voice, softer than I’ve heard it in the time we’ve been at Loughcrew, that breaks the tension.

  “It is her, Father. Just as Thomas said.”

  I shake off the shock I feel at the mention of my father and reach for her hand. I now understand why her gowns are too large, their sleeves too long, for when I push up her sleeve to reveal the soft flesh of her left hand, the mark stares back at me.

  Sonia’s mark. Luisa’s mark. Helene’s mark.

  The mark of the final key.

  “I thought so.” Brigid’s skin is warm under my fingers, and I rub my thumb over the familiar symbol. The Jorgumand. The snake eating its own tail. The circle.

  Turning my own wrist, I cross my arm over hers, aligning our marks. Our eyes meet for a moment before her gaze skips to her father, behind me. Her nod is almost imperceptible, but it seems to be all Mr. O’Leary needs.

  He sets the gun aside, pausing for a long moment before speaking. “It seems we have a lot to discuss after all—and not much time in which to do it.”

  23

  “Your father was far more clever than I first thought—and I already thought him very clever, indeed.” Dimitri eyes me over the steam rising from his teacup.

  It has been less than an hour since the moment when Mr. O’Leary lowered his gun. Dimitri and I have spent the time filling the O’Learys in on the details of the prophecy, the Otherworlds, the Souls, the other keys. I expected Brigid to be incredulous. To deny the things that still sound fantastical when spoken aloud.

  But she does no such thing. She simply sits, rapt, as if she knew it to be true all along.

  I look at her. “You were born in England like the others, weren’t you? How did you come to be at Loughcrew in the very place hiding the Rite?”

  It is not Brigid who answers but her father. “My wife died in childbirth, you see. We were in England so her family outside of Newbury could help with the birthing, but it didn’t do any good.”