Song of the Ancients (Ancient Magic Book 1)

by Sandy Wright

  We went to the Junipine in Oak Creek Canyon. The weather charmed us with warmth for late October. Nuin asked for a table on the deck under one of the heaters; we sat side by side looking out over the railing. The stars twinkled bright and distinct in the clear autumn sky with no moon. I could even see the misty light swirl of the Milky Way above the trees. I sighed and tilted my head back on the chair. "What a beautiful night."

  Nuin draped his arm around my shoulders. "Being with you makes it perfect." He brushed a thumb across my cheek. "I'm looking forward to getting acquainted with you."

  I turned my head to smile at him. "You already know I own Past Lives. What kind of work do you do?"

  Nuin smirked. "I'm an independent businessman also. Of sorts."

  "What kind of business?"

  "Investments. People invest in me by paying me to solve their problems." His smirk continued, daring me to probe further.

  I stretched my legs out in front of him and crossed my ankles. "Sedona's an awfully small town for an investor, isn't it? Do you conduct your business mostly online?"

  Nuin nodded. "It is. But there is a lot of money here. And one of my biggest investment interests happens to be located here."

  I realized we'd been talking for ten minutes, and I still had no clear idea of his line of work. "What business interest is here?"

  Nuin removed his arm from the back of my chair and picked up his menu. "I'm sure my business plans are boring you. Are you ready to order?"

  When our salads arrived, I tried a different subject. "Maya tells me the two of you took over Crescent Moon coven after Nicholas' aunt Bella left," I said, handing him a roll. "But you gave me the impression you hadn't met her."

  "I haven't.," Nuin said. "I think I just missed her because when we met, Maya had been high priestess for less than a week. I came into town, asked around at a few of the occult stores for a coven to visit, and Crescent Moon kept popping up. Finally I saw a billboard flyer for a full moon ceremony. I went and met Maya. She needed a priest, so my timing was perfect." He paused. "I'm interested in Bella. Everyone in the coven looked up to her and wondered why she left. Her family led the group for decades, so it was a big adjustment to have two new leaders."

  "Most of the people in the coven know Bella?" I asked.

  "Not anymore," Nuin said. He paused while the waiter placed our meals of fresh-caught trout with almond crust and steaming sides of creamy potatoes sautéed with red peppers and sprinkled with parmesan. I leaned over my plate to inhale the tantalizing aromas, and realized I was starving. I flaked a bite of trout onto my fork as Nuin continued. "The original coven members have drifted away over this last year. When I arrived, we opened for new members. Now everyone except Maya is new."

  "Is it unusual for a coven to have so much turnover?"

  "Not really. There is a lot of ebb and flow in coven membership. It's a time commitment and people are busy with work and family. You know how it goes. It's the same in any ongoing group, not just the coven."

  Nuin seemed like a good source of information and more than willing to share. Maybe I should ask him to tutor me in witchcraft. "Are you looking forward to Samhain?"

  He frowned. "I'm not sure I'm going."

  "Why?"

  "Because your friend Nicholas is going to be High Priest, at Maya's request."

  "Is it unusual to have people swap leadership roles?" I asked. Personally, I thought it would be interesting to compare the two men's styles. But Nuin looked unhappy

  "Samhain is Maya's ritual. Who she chooses to work with in circle is up to her."

  "You don't like Nicholas?"

  Nuin pushed the potatoes around on his plate but didn't take a bite. "I don't dislike him. I don't know him personally." He shifted again in his chair. "He hasn't been back here for years, from what I understand. Now he's back in the coven, snooping around in his aunt's personal business, and asking questions. I just don't trust him."

  I put down my fork.

  "I'm sorry Nuin. I've made you uncomfortable, asking so many questions."

  He shook his head. "No you didn't. But I know he's a friend of yours, and I don't want to say anything bad about him. Let's just drop the subject."

  We finished our meal in uncomfortable silence. When the check arrived, Nuin looked at me apologetically. "I should get home and let the dog out. She has an unpredictable bladder."

  I laughed, grateful for a neutral topic. "What kind of dog?"

  "A black Lab. Her name is Bella Notte. And yes, she knows she's beautiful."

  "I love dogs, and labs are so loyal and friendly to everyone, even strangers." I smiled at him with warmth. Any man who loved animals couldn't be all bad. "Rumor has a dog too, a Border collie named Gypsy Rose. She brings her into the store sometimes. Gypsy's so smart, but kinda shy around strangers."

  Nuin laughed. He looked even more handsome when he was happy. "Stranger isn't in Bella's vocabulary." He pulled out my chair for me, hugged me and kissed my cheek. "I'm sorry to be negative about Nicholas. I enjoy your company Samantha. I hope we do this again."

  I put my hand on the back of his neck, pulling him to me, and kissed him on the lips, light and quick, but an invitation for the future. "Again would be nice."

  Chapter 8: Lifting the Veil

  The last days before Halloween, people jammed our tiny shop looking for vintage costumes. We outfitted pirates in baggy black pants and knee-high boots, feathered hats and skull-buck-led sword belts. Three middle-aged women spent an afternoon putting together witch costumes complete with pointy-toed shoes and handmade broomsticks. They looked so authentic we had them pose in front of our sign outside the shop. It would make amusing postcard reminders for next year.

  I finally felt at home in Sedona. Brisk business for the holiday season, which stretched through the end of the year, eased my worries about my investment. Rumor hit it off with customers, kept our accounts payable up-to-date, and she was a true-hearted friend.

  "You haven't mentioned your date with Nuin last weekend," she said as we pulled clothes out of the dressing room and returned them to the racks. "Think you'll go out with him again?"

  "I think so."

  "Hardly a glowing review," she teased.

  "I get the impression he doesn't like Nicholas much." I stopped and rested my hand on a rack. "I barely know Nicholas, but he's an interesting man. If I get involved with Nuin immediately, I doubt I'll ever get to know Nicholas. So I'm going to keep my options open, stay casual with them both for a while."

  Rumor nodded. "Sounds like a plan for a lively holiday season. I'm just pleased you're putting yourself back out there, no matter who you date."

  Rumor and I agreed in advance we'd close the store Saturday as soon as all the costumes had been picked up or delivered, so we'd have time to dress for the festivities with the coven. I'd been reading up on Samhain, and couldn't wait to see what happened in the ritual circle this time. I hoped to see a spirit.

  Kamaria was also closing the Mystery Hound early. "This is a busy time for me."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "There is much excitement! We all set up ofrendas in our homes, altars for our loved ones. Then we go for an evening picnic in the cemetery at my ancestors' gravesites. All of my relatives go. We take the dead ones' favorite foods to share with them, and reminisce about happy times. Our church holds a formal ceremony for Dia de los Muertos the next evening, including la procesion from the cemetery to the church. It's a lively party."

  "Witches have similar beliefs," Rumor said. "They believe on Samhain eve, the veil between the earth and the spirit world is thin, and the dead can return to visit their living families."

  "Many religions believe one can have contact with spirits," Kamaria said. "For me, this time of year represents closure."

  "For Wiccans this is New Year's Eve," Rumor said.

  "The perfect time for divination," Kamaria added.

  "Divination? As in fortune-telling?" I
asked.

  "As in looking ahead, interpreting choices in your future and deciding which path to take." She looked at me thoughtfully. "Maybe you'll learn what brought you to us."

  Rumor spread her hands on the counter between us, showing off her new manicure, black lacquer with a little white skull on each pointer finger. "But before we look forward, we'll look back, just like your family does, Kamaria. We're having a dumb supper."

  I hadn't found any mention of meals in my research. "What's a dumb supper? Is it also held in a graveyard?"

  Rumor pointed one skulled finger to me. "Don't you start freaking out," she warned. "It's not in a cemetery; it's in the same park we went to last time."

  I looked at my two friends, both beaming. Their excitement was infectious. I grinned back. "Tell me about this Dumb Supper."

  Rumor explained the dinner was observed in total silence in honor of your ancestors. "Bring a potluck dish and a picture of a loved one or something belonging to them. We'll add it to the ancestor altar."

  * * * * *

  When the Samhain party night arrived, I was ready. I brought a picture of my mother when she was about my age. She was photographed from behind, walking on the ties of a railroad track, her hands reaching out to the sides for balance. Just as the picture was snapped, she had turned her head to smile at the photographer – my father, I assumed. It was my favorite picture of her. When she died, I framed it and placed it by her casket at the funeral. For tonight, I had also selected one of her sable hair paint brushes and a charcoal pencil, to represent her artistic talents, tied together with a black ribbon.

  The ramada was already half-full when we arrived, and several dishes of food lined the center of the feast table. Rumor and I added our tureen of spicy pumpkin and squash soup and homemade bread, next to platters of ham and roasted turkey.

  Another table held offerings brought to honor loved ones. I excused myself and walked over to add Mom's picture and art supplies to the altar. A book lay open in the center of the table, titled "Ledger of the Dead." Several names were already listed on the open page. I added 'Nancy Campbell, beloved mother' below the other names, surprised to notice my hand trembled. Is it possible she will actually show up? And what does one say to a ghost? Should I tell her what's been going on in my life, or can she see my day-to-day life through the veil? Mom had been polite, but cool, to my husband. I had a feeling, if she'd been alive, she would have supported my decision to get divorced. Actually, she probably would have seen the signs of his infidelity, and urged me to file sooner. Mothers are preternaturally wise when it comes to their children.

  Unlit votive candles lined the back of the altar. I lit one for Mom and turned around to look for Rumor. She stood in the clearing, talking with Nuin, so I walked along the feast table to see the unusual decorations and calm my jittery mind.

  At the head of the table was the spirit chair, shrouded in black satin. The side chairs were empty, each with a place setting of black dishes and goblets. A glowing black candle and a vase of black roses and bittersweet sat in the middle of the empty seating arrangement. Further down, a length of shimmering black fabric hung suspended from the ceiling of the ramada, puddling on the table and dividing it in half.

  Past the veil, the other side of the table was set with white china, white candles and white flowers. I looked down the table and mentally reviewed what I knew about the dumb supper. We were to sit on the white side, our ancestors on the dark end. The entire meal was to be conducted in silence, in respect for our ancestors who could no longer speak.

  Someone pulled a chair out beside me. Startled, I looked up into Nicholas' dark eyes. He motioned for me to sit. I began a comment, but he touched his finger to his lips and gave me a stern frown. Oh, right, I corrected myself.

  He took the chair to my right and handed me a slip of parchment. Thankfully, Rumor had reviewed this part of the ceremony with me, so I knew what to do. I wrote a simple prayer for Mom and handed the paper back to Nicholas. He rose, walked around the hanging veil, and slipped each of our prayers under two black plates.

  As we passed the serving dishes around the long table family style, and ate our silent meal, I stared at the luminous half-moon just rising above the tree line, and thought about my mother. She had been blessed with a unique connection to nature. Neighbors marveled at her green thumb as her garden grew vigorous and lush each year, producing vegetables to feed the families up and down our street.

  Unfortunately, she felt less comfortable with people than with plants. She hated going to Dad's office parties; small talk was painful for her, even among friends. But her artwork was mesmerizing and always accepted into the city's juried art show. People would stand in front of her watercolors with happy, glazed expressions. Afterwards, they reminisced with her about a particular location in a painting, although she hadn't told them where she had painted the scene.

  By the end of our meal, my impressions of Mother had shifted. Before, I thought of her as kind but shy, never one to shine. Now I wondered if my opinion was superficial. When she wanted, she could fold and knead a person's perception like warm dough between her hands. Was the quiet, solemn-eyed woman just the façade she wore for this world? Were there other faces I had simply never noticed? She dressed as a gypsy every Halloween, the neighbor children gathering around her for stories, not candy. She had the odd habit of fanning playing cards out on the table, studying them one by one, when she had to make an important decision. What else had my childish eyes missed? Did she practice witchcraft and magic without me knowing? What would Mother think of this bizarre dinner in her honor? My eyes filled with tears. Yes. She would approve.

  After eating we joined hands in silence. Nicholas squeezed my fingers. I studied his profile, wondering who he'd thought about during our silent meal. Who had he loved and lost? Maya gathered the prayers from under the plates and burned them in the flame of the candle, catching the ashes in a container. While the Priestess finished our memorial, I closed my eyes, blinking away tears. Of all the strange things I had been asked to do in these last weeks, communing with my mother's spirit in silence for an evening was the easiest. I had dropped my guard completely, suspended my rigid, rational beliefs, and allowed myself to be comforted by the thought of her spirit joining me at the table.

  I fingered my tears away and looked down the candle-lit table. Most of the diners had their heads bowed, and a few dabbed at their eyes and sniffed quietly as they composed themselves.

  Except for Nicholas. He was watching me. When I met his eyes, he squeezed my hand again and nodded, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

  When we left, stopping by our ancestor's plate on the way out to nod goodbye, I wondered if such a ritual would be comforting for families who had lost loved ones in recent tragedies around the world. So many dead, so violently and abruptly ripped from the land of the living. What of their souls? Are they still staggering, lost between the worlds? Have they found rest? Did they have a chance to say goodbye?

  I kissed my fingertips and caressed the back of an empty black chair. "Blessed be all," I whispered to those souls as we silently filed past the row of vacant seats.

  * * * * *

  At midnight, we moved into the nearby grove for the Samhain ritual. The firs flanking our clearing stood tall and regal, their shrouded limbs giving privacy and protection. A thin mist crept upon the ground and swirled around the altar table, softening the candlelight from clear flames to soft yellow glow.

  The temperature had dropped. I shivered and tucked my hands under my cloak. Nicholas had disappeared as silently as he had appeared by my side at dinner. Rumor, still beside Nuin, motioned for me to join her. I took a step forward, but then I looked at Nuin. His scowl readily showed his disapproval. He must still be pissed at having Nicholas as High Priest, or mad because we'd sat together. I decided to let him get over it alone, and stepped back.

  Maya lit the bonfire in the center, and the flames rose to the sky, spitting sparks
. We drew closer around her clasping hands. A woman to one side of me lifted her booted foot over mine and placed it next to my instep; I did the same to the person on my other side. The movement rippled around the line, linking the circle by both feet and hands.

  The Priestess placed her palms on the black leather-bound book in which we had signed the names of our deceased. Eyes closed, she spoke, murmuring the names we had written. From a pocket of her cloak, she withdrew a handful of herbs and threw them into the flames, making the fire pop and crackle. Mist and fragrance rose in a cloud. I shut my eyes and inhaled the elemental scent, breathing slowly, as she intoned, "I call on the power of these herbs to bless this space and the spirits who come to visit."

  A second figure stepped from the ring to join Maya in the center. As the hooded man stood before the fire, the embers rose and orbited round him like tiny moons, tumbling and floating. The two leaders raised their arms and clasped hands, index fingers extended, pointing to the fire.

  "Mother wise and Mother strong,

  Wake to greet your mighty throng.

  From your vortex now give birth,

  To magic spirits round our girth."

  The embers swirled higher around us, spinning faster and faster, blocking the forest outside the circle, until we were contained within a cone of spinning golden light. I strained my neck to look around. The circle perimeter glowed, and I felt as if we were standing within a campfire ring.

  "As above, so below!" Maya called out. "This circle is sealed!" The embers dropped to the ground, sizzling. Inside the circle, it was so quiet I could hear my own breathing.