The Star-Fire Prophecy

by Jane Toombs

  In the dark a coyote howled and Danica’s mother stepped back a pace, listened and nodded, while Danica stared, fascinated. Her mother refused to explain and insisted they both go to bed.

  Danica woke early; her mother still slept. Dawn was near, the sky beginning to redden, when Danica finished dressing in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. She slipped out of the cabin and walked into the desert, beginning to run as the sense of being alone and a truant exhilarated her. The air was sharp and clear, filling her with a sense of expectancy as she ran on into the emptiness, sky and dirt and rock, the hills etched against the sunrise, the giant saguaro cacti reaching for the light, straight or multi-armed sentinels. The desert was exotic in comparison with the wooded hills and ocean that surrounded Santa Barbara, where she’d lived her twelve years.

  I’m the first, she thought, the first to see this new day, and she ran on until she stumbled on a rock and fell, twisting her ankle. After a moment she sat up and held her ankle, not crying, but making low moaning sounds of pain. She didn’t see the old man until he stood over her.

  “Oh!”

  “You are the child,” he said. He squatted and laid his hands on her ankle and she stared at him. He was not looking at her; his attention seemed to be concentrated inward and he held her ankle, not moving for moments more. Then his hands came away slowly and it was as though he drew out the pain with his hands. Danica flexed her leg, and stood up. There was no pain at all.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He nodded once.

  What had he said—she was the child? Like her mother the night before. What did it mean? “I’m Danica Linstrom,” she said.

  “They call me Francisco,” he answered.

  “Are you from the reservation?”

  “No.” His voice was low and without accent, yet his words sounded different.

  “I woke up early,” she said, “and I came out to see the sunrise. Then I fell…”

  “Pain leads to discovery.” He pointed to the ground between them and Danica noticed a dark object.

  “That’s the rock I stumbled on,” she said. But when she picked it up it didn’t look like any rock she’d ever seen.

  “You have found your amulet,” he said. “Never lose it.”

  Danica stared at the odd piece of metal that was pointed at one end like a crude dagger. “But what is…?”

  His thin finger touched the metal. “You would say meteorite,” he told her, “a traveler from worlds other than this, burning as it falls through the night, bringing protection to a child yet unborn.”

  “You said it was mine.”

  “This fell from the sky the night you were born and has waited for your finding. Now in your hands it has become the Sign and has gathered power.”

  “What sign?”

  “The sign of the Archer, Sagittarius.” The old man chanted the prophecy to her and the words seemed to burn inward, making her head ache.

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  “At the right time you will remember, understanding will come.”

  “How do you know all this?” She examined him as she spoke. He was old, though his brown skin was hardly wrinkled. Old; she felt he was old beyond guessing. “You’re not one of the Papagos,” she said. “Are you related to me?”

  He smiled, an ancient, sad smile. “Enough to matter,” he said. “But not as you think of being related. She has died and I am the last of the Watchers.”

  He means my great-great-aunt, Danica thought, and was suddenly aware of the strangeness of the man and their conversation. “I’d better start back,” she said. She was not afraid, but a quivering had started deep inside her. She looked for the village and saw nothing except the desert stretching around her in all directions.

  “I—which way do I go?” she asked.

  “The way Path Marker has shown you,” he answered. “There is no other way.”

  Path Marker. Danica remembered her mother listening to the coyote howl in the night. She shivered and turned away to look again, and saw thin threads of smoke in the still air. When she looked back, he was gone. She’d never seen him again.

  The piece of metal was here with her now, she’d always kept it. But what kind of lucky charm would allow her to let Kevin die? Danica went to the closet and lifted the meteorite from the shelf. It was surprisingly heavy for its size, a rough chunk of fused metal, crudely arrow shaped. The end product of a shooting star. She’d never seen a shooting star in Los Angeles, what with the smog and the city lights. Maybe Evan Hanover saw them where he worked—what was that odd name? Star-Fire. Unusual name for a home for mentally disabled children. Still, Evan had said the place was controversial, experimental.

  “You’d fit in beautifully, Danica. This work you’ve been doing with light energy, the laying on of hands, complements what we’re doing. Another branch of the same theory, as far as I can tell.” Evan had taken her out after the seminar and they sat over coffee. His blue eyes blended into green, almost an aquamarine, and they shone with enthusiasm.

  “We haven’t a full staff, why don’t you apply? I’ll tell Galt Anders about you as soon as I get back. I know he’ll want you. I certainly do.” Evan had smiled, a handsome man, blond and tall. “Drive up and I’ll show you around.”

  But Danica had refused, happy with what she was doing and thinking that if Evan was really interested in seeing her again, he’d come to L.A. After all, how far away was Star-Fire? Evan had mentioned a five-hour drive.

  Danica placed the meteorite on her dresser and rummaged through a desk drawer for a California map. Yes, here was Porterville; Star-Fire nestled in the foothills somewhere east of the town, according to Evan. What would they be like, this dedicated group who sought to help the disabled by using psychic energy? Suddenly she wanted to meet them, see for herself what they were doing. Maybe I can help, she thought. Evan had said it wasn’t easy to find the right kind of person to be a part of Star-Fire. But he’d also said she was one.

  She pictured the setting in her mind: a group of rough cabins sheltered by pines, the children and staff living together, sharing a camp-like camaraderie. Probably little money, but…

  I could work for nothing if they want me, she told herself. At least for a while. I need to be a part of something, I need to be useful. She stood up. I’ll drive to Star-Fire, she decided. I can call Evan from Porterville, he’ll tell me how to find the place from there.

  Danica pulled out suitcases and began selecting clothes. Best to be prepared to stay. Would it be cold? Snow? She added sweaters, socks, her heavy shoes. She left her uniforms hanging in the closet.

  Angie was working—she’d have to leave a note for her. What should I tell her? Danica wondered. No point in mentioning Star-Fire, I haven’t before and she won’t understand. I’ll just say I’m driving north and will write when I have an address. Danica left the note in an envelope with a check for her share of December’s rent.

  Once on the Golden State Freeway, heading north in her red VW, excitement and anticipation made her skin tingle. She found herself tense with eagerness to be there, foot pushing the accelerator past the speed limit, hands clenched on the steering wheel. Danica took a deep breath and tried to relax, but the freeway was no place to gather awareness and use her white star of energy to achieve inner harmony.

  The car climbed the Ridge Route out of the L.A. smog and into cleaner, colder air where the sun shone on the bleakness of upended rocks. She had a milkshake in Gorman and the wind blew chill through her sweater. It was a disappointment to descend the Grapevine into Bakersfield and see a thin, dirty haze over the city.

  After getting gas in Bakersfield, she found the Porterville turnoff a few miles beyond, and soon the haze was gone and the land began to hump into rolling hills instead of the flat sameness of the San Joaquin Valley. She drove through young orange groves, but otherwise saw few trees.

  The highway ducked around Porterville, so she stopped in a gas station to call Evan.

  “Danica
Linstrom! I’d given you up.”

  She made a face at the phone; what did she care if he hadn’t been as interested in her as he’d pretended? What mattered was getting to Star-Fire. “In Porterville?” Evan was incredulous. There was a brief silence and her heart sank. Had he made it all up: the job, her rightness to fill it?

  “I’ve got a great idea,” Evan said. “Why don’t I drive down there and we can have supper in town?”

  He was keeping her away. “I’d like to see Star-Fire,” she said bluntly.

  “Well, naturally. You can follow me back after we eat. It’s rather tricky to find if you don’t know the area.”

  They had supper at White Blossoms, an old, temple-like building in a large orange grove. The trees crowded close, each branch dripping with green globes shaded with orange.

  “I’m glad you like Chinese food,” Evan said.

  Danica smiled at him. “I surprised you, didn’t I?”

  “You were so positive you’d never leave where you were.”

  Her smile faded. She couldn’t talk about Kevin yet. “I—we all need a change sometimes,” she said. “I couldn’t get Star-Fire out of my mind. Did you ever mention me to the director?”

  “Galt? As a matter of fact I did. He said we’d be glad to welcome you to Star-Fire.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Well, of course, there are a few formalities.” Evan lowered his head to sip his tea, then glanced up at her through thick blond lashes. “How do you feel about horoscopes?”

  “Horoscopes? Why, I don’t know, I’ve never thought about them much.”

  “Ever have your own cast?”

  “My horoscope? No.”

  “Any objection to having it done?”

  “I—I suppose not. What are you getting at?”

  He grinned. “That’s part of your application to Star-Fire—a suitable horoscope.”

  Danica stared at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “But who—where would I have such a thing done?”

  “We cast it for you.”

  “You?”

  Evan laughed. “Oh, I’m not qualified as an astrologist. No, Melantha does all the horoscopes. Melantha Cross.”

  Before they left the restaurant, Danica cracked her fortune cookie and drew out the printed slip. She read it and frowned, then smiled at Evan. “I guess you’re okay,” she said. “This warns me to be careful of a dark stranger. That’s certainly not you.”

  He crumpled his fortune into a ball.

  “What’s yours?” she asked.

  He shrugged.

  “Oh, come on.” Danica held out her hand. “Let me see.”

  “‘Every gift has two sides,’” she read off the wrinkled paper. “What’s so bad about that?”

  He half smiled. “They’re warning me about you,” he said. “You’re my gift to Star-Fire.”

  Danica shook her head. “Now you are joking.” But her voice was uncertain.

  They crossed to the door. Danica waited while Evan paid the cashier. She was conscious of stares from the nearby tables and looked down at her clothes to make sure there was nothing wrong.

  “He’s one of them,” she heard a woman say to her companion. “I never saw her before, but he’s one of them from that place up there where they have the bonfires.”

  The man with the woman cleared his throat and Danica glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He spoke in a voice obviously pitched for Evan and her to hear.

  “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live…”

  Chapter Three

  Once outside the restaurant, Danica put her hand on Evan’s arm. “Did you hear what that man said?” she asked.

  “Exodus 22:18.”

  “Oh, I know it’s a Biblical quote,” she said, her voice impatient. “But why did he say it?”

  “Some of the locals—a clannish group, by the way—find us menacing.” Evan laughed harshly. “Anything they don’t understand is a threat.”

  “Well, I know many people are uneasy about the mentally disabled,” Danica said.

  “Oh, no, not the children, the children don’t bother them at all. Didn’t you know Porterville has a state hospital for the disabled?”

  She shook her head.

  “No, we’re the ones they distrust—the staff. Maybe you’ll have second thoughts after this.”

  She tried to see his expression in the gathering darkness. Did he want her at Star-Fire or not? She was no longer sure.

  She followed the taillights of Evan’s blue Porsche up blacktopped roads that wound around hills, all the time ascending. Lights grew fewer and the final stretch of road was unpaved. As she trailed him through an open gate, she saw the flicker of fire ahead. “Bonfires,” the woman had said. Danica smiled, thinking of her mental picture of the site.

  “Campfires,” she murmured. Why were people so afraid of the unknown?

  She pulled her car alongside Evan’s and got out. Would they invite her to spend the night? There’d been motels in Porterville, but she wasn’t sure she could negotiate the different turns and twists to get back to town.

  “Hand me your suitcases,” Evan said. “We have guest accommodations.”

  She got out her luggage and locked the car. The fire was hidden from them by the back of a large A-frame structure. Probably the recreation hall, she thought.

  “This is the Chanting Room,” Evan said. “Tonight is a ritual-fire night. We have them at least once a month, usually oftener in the winter.” He led her around the building and she saw the fire.

  Flames rose tall and yellow from a semicircular area in front of the A-frame. Dark figures clustered around the fire, forming a complete circle. Faces glowed orange in the light and Danica saw the children were here, too. The ritual fire was for everyone.

  “We can’t join them,” Evan whispered. “You haven’t been shown the rites.” He moved past them and she followed, head turned to watch the fire.

  A rhythm came into her step, she found her body swaying and realized the entire group about the flames was chanting, voices pitched low. The sound went through her, settled into her bones, and flooded her head with images of flickering lights and groping shadows. She shivered and hurried to catch up with Evan. This was more than a friendly campfire.

  “When the weather’s bad we go inside to chant at the source,” he told her. “It’s a group consciousness thing—one of Galt’s best ideas.”

  “He’s the director?”

  “Yes. Galt Anders. I’m taking you to his house now, he’ll be up after the fire is put away.”

  “Put away?”

  “It’s all a part of what you’ll be learning if you stay. The eternal fire is kept in the Chanting Room, the fire source, so to speak. All the outdoor fires are lit from it, and after the outside ritual a small part of that fire is brought back to the source.”

  Danica shrugged mentally. She’d wait and see the rest of Star-Fire before making any judgment. But this part did sound odd.

  They began climbing steps, going up to a structure that Danica could see was circular. “A round house?” she asked, somewhat breathless from the long climb up.

  “All the houses are round. They’ve been here for years. When Galt bought the property the only building we added was the Chanting Room.” Evan opened a door and she went past him into Galt Anders’s house.

  She stepped into a room lit by two lamps on either side of a fireplace. The bulbs were dim and shadows lurked in the angles of furniture. There were no corners in the room. A window wall overlooked the fire scene below. Danica turned away from the window and her eye caught a flicker of motion, but when she looked about her there was no one to be seen except Evan staring down at the flames.

  “Evan,” she said, “is there someone in the house with us?”

  “What?” He turned around to face her. “No, Galt is with the others. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  “But I saw something. Does he have a p
et?”

  “A pet? No, there are no animals at Star-Fire except Melantha’s cat. And the horses, of course.”

  A shadow detached itself from behind the couch.

  “Evan, it’s one of the children,” Danica said.

  “Amy.” His voice was flat; then the pitch changed, becoming singsong. “Amy, listen to me, Amy, you must go to the fire, the fire helps us all, you must not hide, the fire is for you.”

  With a sudden rush of movement, the child disappeared into the darkness beyond an archway.

  “She isn’t supposed to be here,” Evan said. “Galt indulges her.” He followed Amy, switching on lights as he went. “Amy,” he called.

  Danica trailed along. Something about the child had suggested Amy was afraid. This wasn’t a giggling child, hiding to tease or for the fun of being found. Amy’s silent disappearance had been that of a small, hunted animal.

  “Don’t disturb her,” Danica said to Evan. “Let’s go back to the living room.”

  “She shouldn’t be allowed to miss the ritual fire,” he repeated stubbornly.

  “But isn’t that almost over for tonight? Don’t hunt her down.”

  Evan stopped and swung around to stare at Danica. “Has she gotten to you already?” he muttered.

  “I haven’t even seen her clearly, but I know Amy is afraid. Your searching for her hiding place can only increase her fear—it certainly won’t do her any good.”

  “And how are you so sure of this from a shadow? You admit you wouldn’t know Amy if you saw her. Why do you accuse me of hunting her down? Don’t you find that a strong phrase for what I’m doing?”

  Danica shook her head. “I don’t know, I can’t explain, but she’s terrified. Please let her be, come back to the living room.”

  Evan shrugged. In the harsh overhead light his face was hard, the blue-green eyes cold. Can Amy be afraid of Evan, specifically? Danica asked herself. Is this fear I feel, flowing like an air current about me, directed toward him or is it free-floating, a fear of everything?

  “What’s wrong?” A man’s voice spoke from behind them.

  They both turned and Danica saw a man with dark hair standing in the hall. He was taller than Evan, though not as heavily built.