Spirit Prophecy

by E. E. Holmes

  “If that Peyton is anything like her mother, you should watch her like a hawk,” she advised. “And from what I’ve seen so far the rotten apple didn’t fall far from the tree. When I alerted the Council to what those girls did to you, do you know what Marion said? ‘Girls will be girls’.” Karen said, in an excellent imitation of Marion’s condescending tone. “She didn’t even sound surprised, which just confirms the fact she probably suggested the whole thing.”

  There wasn’t a lot of time to discuss it. Karen went off to meet with our mentors, sort of like the Durupinen version of parent-teacher conferences, and Hannah and I went to get ready for the Initiation, which consisted of changing into our ceremonial whites and our clan garb.

  Milo was doing his own paranormal version of pacing, which involved popping into existence in a bunch of different locations in rapid succession.

  “Stop doing that!” I cried at last, after he materialized directly behind me in the mirror, making me jump. “You’re freaking me out. I never know where you are.”

  “What are you so nervous about, anyway?” Hannah asked. “Carrick talked to you about being a spirit guide. It doesn’t sound like anything too difficult.”

  “I know that,” Milo said, wringing his hands. “I just don’t like going up in front of all of those people.”

  “Since when have you been shy?” I asked. “I always thought you considered a moment out of the spotlight a moment wasted.”

  “Maybe with you ladies, but with the Caomhnóir? They’re so… ”

  I didn’t even need to hear the word that was eluding him. “Yeah, they are. And I can’t believe we’re going to have to spend the rest of our lives with one.”

  “He’s really not that bad, you know. And he is really good at his job,” Hannah said.

  “I know, I know,” I said. “I’m not saying he’s not a good Caomhnóir. I just hate the way he talks to me—like he’s being forced to do something painful or unpleasant.”

  “I don’t blame the guy. I feel that way every time I talk to you,” Milo said.

  “The feeling is mutual,” I said to him.

  Hannah paused in braiding her hair and put her hands on her hips. Her expression was unusually fierce. “Are you two even going to try to get along? We are less than an hour away from the ceremony that is going to bind you together for life!”

  Milo caught my eye, and his face reflected my own sheepishness. “Sorry, sweetness,” he said to Hannah. “I’m just messing around, honest. Jess knows I’m kidding, don’t you, Jess?”

  I nodded. “We’re fine. We just don’t know how to interact without teasing each other.”

  Hannah continued to scowl at us, but went back to braiding. “Don’t think I’m going to spend all my time breaking up your arguments.”

  “Yes, Mom,” Milo and I said at the same time, then looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  Hannah tried and failed not to smile. “That’s better.”

  The Initiation ceremony was taking place in the Grand Council Room which, according to Mackie, was like the great hall or the throne room in other old castles. It was by far the most opulent room in that castle, with intricately carved Gothic arches, massive candle-filled chandeliers, and two-story tall stained glass windows depicting historic High Priestesses, including, I noticed after a few minutes of gawking around, our own ancestor, Agnes Isherwood, whose tapestry Mackie had pointed out to me on the first day. For some reason, the sight of her serene face, lit from the dying sun, calmed me.

  The Fairhaven bells rang the eight o’clock hour, and right on cue, the Caomhnóir marched in, followed by the Novitiates in two straight lines. Each Novitiate was wearing a black silk sash over a white button down shirt and tan trousers tucked into tall brown leather boots.

  “Mixing brown and black? Tragic,” Milo whispered to us. We both attempted unsuccessfully to stifle our sniggers and earned a dirty look from Siobhán, who was standing nearby.

  The adult Caomhnóir were each wearing a sash that corresponded with one of the clans. I looked carefully at each and realized that our clan color was not represented.

  “Karen, why doesn’t our family have a Caomhnóir? Is the one who was assigned to you not here?”

  Karen’s expression was grim. “No, he’s not. His name was Liam. He died in a car accident about a year after your mom ran off.”

  “He died?” Hannah asked in surprise.

  “Yes,” Karen said. “It was really tragic. Lizzy and I never got along with him very well —you’ve seen how the Caomhnóir are trained to treat us —but obviously, I was very upset when that happened. It was the same car crash that killed Finvarra’s Caomhnóir, Carrick.”

  “That’s awful,” I said. I looked over to where Finvarra sat in her throne-like chair and gazed at Carrick, who was, as usual, at attention by her side. “What happened?”

  “Carrick was Liam’s mentor. When your mother first vanished, Carrick offered to help Liam look for her. It was just an accident —a slippery road at night. I’m told Finvarra took it very badly.”

  “That’s awful,” I said again. We lapsed into silence and watched the Novitiates approach the raised platform at the front of the room.

  “Where’s Finn?” Hannah whispered.

  I scanned the two lines of marching figures as they climbed the stairs and faced the crowd. Beside Isaac, there was an obvious gap in the line, and Finn was nowhere to be seen.

  Other people had noticed, too. Whispers were rippling through the rows of seats now. Siobhán had slid out of her chair and gone to the doorway, where Braxton stood, deep in conversation with another Caomhnóir. After a moment, Braxton jogged from the room.

  “They all look confused,” Hannah said. “They must not have realized he was missing.”

  “Well, they’ve certainly realized it now,” I said. It struck me as so strange that Finn wouldn’t be here. He personified the Caomhnóir commitment to duty; what was he doing, missing a ceremony like this?

  Minutes ticked by. The Novitiates were standing at attention, but sneaking more and more frequent glances toward their instructors, unsure if they were going to proceed. The scattered whispers had blossomed into a low hum of conversation. Olivia, I noticed, looked particularly concerned, and had flagged down Marion, who was talking to her in a soothing but carrying voice.”

  “Not to worry, Olivia, dear, I am sure he was merely delayed. These things happen. No doubt he will have a reasonable explanation for his absence.”

  Finally, after about fifteen minutes, Celeste climbed the steps to the platform and stood in front of the Novitiates.

  “Our apologies everyone, but there has been a delay in locating one of our Novitiates. We have decided to postpone the Initiation ceremony until tomorrow so that we can —”

  The doors banged open and Braxton re-entered, followed my Finn, whose expression was defiant. He spared not a single glance for the crowd of onlookers, but marched straight up onto the platform and took his place in the front row, shoulders squared and chest thrown out. He was not wearing a sash.

  “It appears that I spoke too soon!” Celeste said with an apologetic shrug. “If everything is now in order, we will begin.”

  Braxton nodded and a drum began playing from the back of the hall, beating out a military rhythm. I watched as three Caomhnóir marched toward the platform, each with an enormous flag; the central one was purple with a large golden triskele on it. The other two were black, depicting a familiar rune of protection embroidered in shining silver thread. It was the same symbol, I now noticed, that each of the Caomhnóir wore on the shoulder of his black sash.

  As the drum beat, the Novitiates stomped their right foot in time and pounded their chests with their left hands, chanting something which, to my still-untrained ear, sounded like Old English. It was at once primitive and powerful. The flag bearers marched to the staircase at the left of the platform, mounted it, and set their flags into their stands behind the Novitiates. Then they took their posit
ions among the other Caomhnóir and the drumming rose in a thunderous crescendo and then stopped.

  Braxton stepped forward. “These men today begin their sacred duty as protectors of the Gateways. The Caomhnóir have a long and glorious history as guardians of the Durupinen. Our commitment to the spirits we serve is vital to the continuation of our ancient calling. We the Chosen, salute you, our Brothers.”

  Here every Caomhnóir turned to the rows of Novitiates on the platform and gave them a sort of salute: three sharp strikes against the chest followed by a bow.

  Braxton went on, “When I call the clan name, will the Apprentices please come forward and join their Caomhnóir on the platform.

  Róisín and Riley Lightfoot were called first. They ascended the platform to stand beside their Caomhnóir, a strapping, square-jawed man named Patrick who looked about ten years older than the boys on either side of him. He thrust forward a large, veined hand, and Róisín and Riley placed their hands on top of it. Braxton raised a long, ancient-looking leather strap, branded with runes. He placed it on top of the three joined hands and wrapped it once, twice, three times around.

  “And thus you are bound to the service of the Gateway. Gatekeepers and Guardian united as one, until the beacon is passed to the next generation.”

  Braxton unwound the leather strap and then one of the Caomhnóir stepped down between Patrick and the Lightfoot girls. He faced Patrick and removed his own sash, a bright scarlet. Patrick bowed forward and the Caomhnóir placed the sash over Patrick’s head, adjusting it carefully and pinning it to his shoulder.

  The crowd broke into applause, under cover of which I asked Karen another question.

  “What happens to that older Caomhnóir now?”

  “He has completed his duties. He’s done,” Karen said.

  “So what, he’s…unemployed now?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Karen said, laughing. “But the Durupinen aren’t just going to kick him out to fend for himself. They will ensure he finds a comfortable living situation and secure him a job. He may even want to stay here to teach and train the new Novitiates. That’s what many of them do. There are also diplomatic positions he could take. Don’t worry, they’ve got plenty of options.”

  I looked across the line of Caomhnóir waiting to turn over their sashes. How strange it must be, to train your entire life for something, and then be told you can’t do it anymore. But at least they were free to choose now.

  One by one, the Novitiates were bound to the Apprentices. Finally with only three clans remaining, our number was up.

  “Clan Sassanaigh.”

  Hannah and I mounted the platform, accompanied by Milo, who had been instructed to follow us.

  “To this clan we bind not only a Caomhnóir, but also a spirit guide. Milo Chang, do you swear to defend these Apprentices as they carry out the sacred duties of the Durupinen? Do you promise to do your utmost to protect them from harm and to guide them in the decisions that lead them always to the heart of their calling?”

  “I swear by the body I have left behind me, and by the form in which I now am Bound,” Milo recited carefully. Upon completing the vow, his form lit up with a momentary glow that forced us to shield our eyes. When we dared to look again, Milo looked like himself once more, though with an upright, prideful air about him.

  “Very well. And now, Finn Carey please step forward,” Braxton said.

  Finn did not move at once. His face was absolutely inscrutable, but his hands gave him away as he clenched and unclenched them at his sides. With a deep low breath, as though he was preparing to attempt something dangerous, he stepped forward at last and thrust out a hand.

  Hannah and I placed our hands on top of Finn’s. As my skin came to rest on top of his, I felt him twitch, and I thought for sure that he was going to pull away. He kept his eyes carefully trained on a spot somewhere over our heads.

  Braxton wound the strap around our hands. He did it very loosely, but I still felt the alarming urge to fling it from me and run. Finn’s eyes were closed, and he was breathing very slowly and deeply through his nose, as though fighting the urge to be sick.

  Braxton’s voice rang out. “And thus you are bound to the service of the Gateway. Gatekeepers and Guardian united as one, until the beacon is passed to the next generation.”

  Before the strap could even be unwound, Finn had pulled his hand away. When he opened his eyes again, they bore, for the briefest of moments into my own, and they spoke of a pain that took my breath away.

  As the rest of the ceremony continued around us, beyond my notice, all I could do was wonder. Why had Finn been late for the ceremony? Had he been trying, albeit in vain, to avoid being tied to us? Could he really have been dreading the Initiation even more than I was? And what in the world was causing him the kind of pain that I had seen staring out at me from those dark, fathomless eyes? Perhaps, at some point in the many years we would now be compelled to spend together, I would find the courage to ask him.

  13

  CANDLE IN THE DARK

  THAT NIGHT I DREAMED AGAIN OF THE SILENT CHILD. She stood before a towering inferno, flames rolling and churning behind her. She made no attempts to escape the fire; she did not run, or scream, or call for help. She simply raised her hands helplessly, perhaps in supplication. The smell of smoke was overpowering; it scratched at my throat and stung my eyes. I began to cough.

  Without remembering having woken, I was sitting up, still wracked with coughing. Though the dream had faded, the acrid smell of smoke remained.

  “Hannah, wake up! I think something’s on fire!” I gasped between spasms.

  Hannah did not stir. I looked around the room, but everything was still and quiet. The fire in the grate had long since burned to gently glowing embers, and the candles sat cold and unlit in their holders.

  I continued to cough. Was it just the aftermath of the dream? I could still smell smoke. I slid out of bed and crossed to the door, where the smell grew more pungent. The door handle was warm to the touch, and I hesitated. I was pretty sure I had a vague childhood memory of a public service announcement that warned small children about staying far away from such doors. I opened it anyway, and leapt back with a yell.

  The Silent Child stood perfectly still just outside the door, alight like a human torch.

  My first instinct was to look frantically around for something to smother the fire, but my reason caught up with me, and I remembered that a ghost couldn’t burn. I shielded my eyes from the intensity of the firelight. The Silent Child did not appear to be in any pain at all; she simply looked at me, a very serious expression visible through the shimmer of the flames.

  “What do you want?” I asked her.

  She beckoned for me to follow her, and turned to walk down the hallway.

  I looked back over my shoulder. Hannah was still sound asleep, and Milo was nowhere to be seen. I shrugged into the black sweater hanging on the back of my chair, slid my feet into my slippers, and followed the Silent Child out into the hall, closing the door behind me.

  She made no sound as she guided me through the corridors, a grisly little beacon bent on an unknown destination, her light undulating over the stones and casting long pointed shadows all around her.

  We climbed another staircase and entered a wing of the castle I’d never seen before. We turned a corner where the statue of a robed woman loomed and the Silent Child stopped.

  I froze, several feet behind her. She turned back to me and pointed a small trembling finger toward the end of the hallway where I could see a sliver of light escaping around the edges of a door which hung slightly ajar.

  “Is there something in there you want me to see?” I asked.

  She shook her head, sending sparks twirling into the air above her. She pointed again, and then put a finger to her lips. Then she vanished in a puff of smoke that hung for a moment in her shape before dissipating, leaving me in almost total darkness.

  I crept down the hallway, heart pounding like mad, t
oward the partially open door. As I inched nearer, I could hear muffled voices coming from within the room, at least three different voices, one much lower than the others. I pressed myself up against the wall as I approached the door, blessing the thick old carpet that deadened the sound of my footsteps. I leaned as close to the opening as possible and listened.

  “… don’t really understand why this needed to be brought to my attention, and at such an hour,” said the first voice, which I recognized at once as Finvarra’s. “Honestly, Marion, I don’t see what there is to be concerned about.”

  “Did you not read my notes properly?” came Marion’s voice, with a sharp edge of impatience.

  “I venture to say that my literacy skills are as good as ever they were,” Finvarra replied, her own voice growing sharp now.

  “Well, then perhaps you are interpreting things differently, but I found Lucida’s report to be very disturbing indeed.”

  “Disturbing in what way?” said a new voice, a deep one. Carrick, never far from Finvarra’s side, had accompanied her to this late night meeting.

  “The girl’s skills are clearly far more advanced than any other Caller we have record of,” Marion said. “She has not only the ability to Call spirits to her, but she is able to Call many and with impressive speed.”

  “This is not unheard of,” Finvarra said calmly. “Lucida herself can Call multiple spirits at once, and there is no great delay in their appearance.”

  “Lucida has had years of training,” Marion snapped. “But this is not the most disturbing detail. She also seems to be able, in some circumstances, to influence their behavior.”

  I fought to calm my breath. They were talking about Hannah.

  “The gift of Calling is very rare,” Finvarra said. “We have very little precedent with which to compare the girl’s abilities, and the documentation is scattered at best, so it is impossible to say if her abilities are unusual for a Caller. It could very well be a normal part of the gift.”