Song of the Ancients (Ancient Magic Book 1)

by Sandy Wright

  Then I remembered the family tree.

  When I was a little girl, my mother had spent most of one summer visiting relatives and going through old family photo al-bums, piecing together our family history. That year was our town's bi-centennial, and many families were going through the same exercise. The local newspaper morgue was a popular meeting place that summer.

  Mom sleuthed out several generations on both sides of the family, no small task in those days. With no Internet or computers, every piece of information was uncovered by word of mouth, book research, and plain old detective work.

  Her resulting work, along with many of the neighboring family histories, ended up printed and bound into a book by the current newspaper editor (a third cousin through marriage, she discovered). When Mom died, the book ended up in my library by default. Dad wasn't much of a reader or a collector.

  I dug out the dog-eared volume and went through it line by line during breakfast, but found no name resembling Orenda.

  I packed it with my laptop to continue digging when I got to work.

  It had snowed all night; when I arrived at the shop, the street looked like a scene straight out of Dickens. I held out a gloved hand to catch the fluffy ice crystals. This was one of the things I missed most about the Midwest, and the snowy scene lifted my spirits a little, even though I still hadn't heard from Nicholas. I debated driving to his house, but, after my last snowy misadventure on the mountain, decided against it.

  Between the weather and the midweek lull, I had few customers, and I needed some physical movement to quell my restlessness. I added a red bow and a sprig of mistletoe to the bells over the front door. All pagan this year, just like Nicholas instructed. I looked at the bare little pine tree on the counter by the front window. A customer gave it to us, but neither Rumor nor I had bothered to decorate it. On a whim, I poked through the holiday boxes stored in the back room, then dug into the petty cash box.

  Onto the little tree went pinecones and coins for prosperity, silver bells and a crescent moon. The silver angel tree topper stayed in her box, cradled in tissue. Instead, I fashioned a five-pointed star of holly and red berries and attached it to the top branch.

  Every ornament I hung reminded me of Nicholas.

  I checked my phone for the third time. The no messages screen mocked me.

  I slipped my phone in my pocket, picked up my backpack containing Nicholas's Yule gift, taped a note on the window directing customers next door, and trudged through the now foot-high snow to the Mystery Hound. I wanted to see if Kamaria had any books on the old Traditional witch families. I had a feeling this secretive bunch would not be an easy Google search.

  Kamaria sat curled up in one of the overstuffed chairs she had tucked around the bookstore for patrons. She was hand stitching a quilt block while keeping an eye on the handful of customers browsing for last-minute holiday gifts in New Releases at the front of the store.

  "Feliz Navidad mi amiga," she greeted me. "Any customers your way?"

  "Unfortunately not." Pulling the anagram napkin out of my purse, I kept my voice low so her customers couldn't hear. "In the meantime, I need your help solving a mystery."

  "My area of expertise. What do you need?"

  "Where would you look first to research your family tree," I asked, "if the tree was full of witches?"

  "Are you delving into the Orenda family?"

  "Yes, actually. All of the Traditional witch families."

  "Let's start with the Orenda family tree. Give me the full names you know," she said briskly, stepping to her computer and pulling up a search website. "Orenda and what else?"

  "His grandmother's name is Renard Corbeau Orenda. Maybe Corbeau is her maiden name?"

  "Do you know where she lived?"

  "Nicholas said she lived in New York."

  Kamaria typed Renard Corbeau and added New York in the location field. "There you go! The possible first branch of your ancestral tree." She scrolled down through the records listed under Renard's name. One was titled 'Marriage Certificate.' "I think we have the right person," she said, pointing to the copy of the mimeographed record on the screen.

  I leaned down to peer over her shoulder at the tiny image. The file stated Renard Corbeau married Jonas Orenda in 1937.

  Bingo. "Can you save it?"

  Kamaria looked up as a couple approached the cash register with books and a calendar. "You'll have to open an account to save files. Why don't you go ahead and open one while I ring up these purchases?"

  I filled out the account information for the site and saved the Renard file. Another link showed census information for the 1930 U.S. Census, showing Renard, age 13, as part of a household in Brooklyn, New York. Her parents were listed as Henri and Elise Corbeau. An attached document gave the account of his immigration to New York from Paris. Two other household members appeared on the census form, with the description of domestic: A woman and a young girl, both with the last name of Idle.

  I stared at the cursor blinking on the last name. One of my family surnames: Idol. Could this be my missing link to the Orenda family, overlooked because of a simple misspelling?

  I added Renard's parents to the family tree, put the Idle names in a separate file and went to find Kamaria, and waited while she said, "Happy holidays," to her departing customer.

  "Any luck?" she asked.

  "Possibly. There is something else you may be able to help me with."

  I opened my backpack and pulled out the book I'd gotten for Nicholas. With a guilty start, I recalled Mr. Ravenscroft's stern instructions, and pulled on the white gloves before unwrapping the book.

  Kamaria watched me open the delicate vellum from the inside cover. Together we studied the Latin inscription: Potestatem obscuri nescitis.

  "Where did you get this book Samantha?"

  "Ravenscroft's. In Flagstaff."

  "I have visited Noah's store several times, but I have never seen this volume," she mused.

  "He said it's one of a kind."

  "Oh, I have no doubt. The question is what, exactly, is it?" She turned the first several pages with the tip of her pen. "No publisher's mark, no date or origin of printing. Hmmm."

  I could practically see her ticking off book collector checkmarks in her head. "You purchased this for Nicholas? I had no idea the two of you were this seriously involved."

  "Why would you think we are?"

  "This is an extremely expensive gift."

  "Mr. Ravenscroft gave it to me," I said. "He said he thought Nicholas would like it and to bring it back if it wasn't right for him."

  Kamaria turned from the book to stare at me in surprise, the pen marking her spot. "He gave it to you?"

  I shrugged.

  She paged slowly through the first few chapters, apparently appraising the print and binding quality, and pointed out the beautiful hand calligraphy of the initial letter of each chapter. I read snatches of the pages over her shoulder.

  "Wait! Stop for a minute."

  I scanned the page. "Listen to this: 'The Dark Ones, Los Oscuros, are entities formless, ageless and eternal, who exist in the twilight realms. They flow between worlds and times as they please, through nexions--gates or tunnels between twilight and the material mundane'."

  Kamaria looked troubled. "What a strange book." She paged to the next chapter and read more. 'There are many Dark Gods and an even larger number of demons. In the human world, these shapeshifter deities cannot exist for long in corporeal form. They need to return to the acausal world, or regularly find some source of acausal energy here.'

  "Why would Mr. Ravenscroft suggest a book on demons for a holiday gift? He doesn't know me or Nicholas."

  Or did he? I didn't recall mentioning Nicholas at all, yet the bookseller had said, "I think your gentleman would enjoy this volume." Nuin too acted as if he knew Nicholas, a creepy déjà vu I had paid no attention to until now.

  "Samantha," Kamaria said slowly. "Listen t
o this part."

  'The dark realm is joined to our physical world through nine gates or portals. Each gate opens only once an Aeon, forcing its way through the earth at a depleted energy site. If the magic at a gate is positively charged, Los Oscuros must find another entrance or wait until the new Aeon to return'."

  A cabal of magical ancestors guarding the slumbering power in the earth, looking for the signs of the dark times to rekindle it. The Dark Ones, waiting for the next occurrence of a weakened energetic gateway to allow their demon god to surface.

  In other words, a cosmic apocalypse waiting to happen. Were any of Sedona's other residents aware of the events about to occur in their backyards?

  "Does any of this sound familiar to you? Have you heard or read of any of this prophecy lore about Sedona and the vortexes?"

  Kamaria looked at me blankly. "No. Do you think--"

  I cut her off. "It's a warning. The book, it's a warning."

  I wrapped the slim volume back in its paper and shoved it in my backpack, pulling out my cell phone. Still no messages.

  Chapter 44: Yule Party

  I went through the motions of everyday life for the two days before the Yule party. I even bought snow chains and braved the mountain to Jerome. Tramped around the house and pounded on Nicholas's front door. His car was gone, and the tire tracks in the snow looked recent.

  Heart heavy, I surrendered to the truth. Nicholas's phone was not dead. He did not inadvertently overlook my calls. He ignored them. I wrapped gifts, picked up my party dress from the alterations woman, hugged Rumor goodbye when she left for Phoenix to pick Duncan up at the airport, all on autopilot. I considered not going to Maya's at all. No, he wasn't going to make me miserable for the holidays.

  I had offered him my heart and my partnership. I had asked for his protection. He had refused.

  The timing could not be worse. I faced some kind of supernatural battle in a little more than ten days, and it looked like I'd be in it without him. Instead of feeling frightened, the prospect brought only resignation, a fading of innocence, and the opening of an interminable waiting. I now felt the constant ticking of the clock counting my end of days. I was going to have to face Nuin alone.

  But there were still a few things I could do. First, I left a message for Sinclair and asked him if we could meet sometime before Christmas. Then I pulled up the notes of the torn grimoire page I'd painstakingly copied while housesitting for Nicholas. Lastly, I pulled a business card from my purse and dialed the number.

  "Ravenscroft's Rare Books," the familiar voice answered. "How may I help you?"

  "Mr. Ravenscroft, this is Samantha Danroe. I need to talk with you about the book you gave me."

  I heard the little man clear his throat. A quiet cough. "I wondered if you would call," he finally said. "I'm sure we have quite a lot to talk about. Have you presented the gift yet?"

  His words brought a stab of pain to my heart. "No. Our Yule party is tomorrow."

  "Will you be coming alone then?" he asked quietly.

  "I'm…I'm not sure. Possibly."

  "Not a problem my dear."

  I sniffed, thinking, Stiff upper lip, Sam. Carry on and all that crap. "Oh, Mr. Ravenscroft, I have another favor to ask. I need a translation on a document. If I fax it over, would you take a look at it?"

  "Certainly," the strange, kind little man answered. "Send it over right now and I'll start on it immediately."

  I drew a deep breath of sadness mingled with relief. Time to get ready for the party. Time to face the man I feared. And the one with whom I was falling in love.

  * * * * *

  Winter stayed for Yule eve and added another dusting of fresh snow. Pristine and white, it sparkled in the light of the bare sliver of a new moon. The pines along Maya's long drive stood like sparkling ladies wearing crystalline coats of ice on their dark green shoulders.

  I left my shoulders bare, and let my hair fall wild and loose, twisting only the sides into French braids, tucking a sprig of holly at each temple. The only jewelry I chose to wear was my moonstone necklace and a pair of tiny earrings I'd found to match.

  Maya stood in the doorway greeting guests as I picked my way carefully up the snow-covered drive. She wore a long green skirt and a shimmering cloak of white, edged in silver thread.

  Behind her I could see glowing candles on the walls and a long table crammed with food. In the center of the foyer stood the beautiful Yule tree, which we would decorate tonight.

  The house was packed with people. Some coven members I had met at the various full moon rituals, but many more were strangers. I put my cloak in the bedroom and did a quick circuit of the house, but Nicholas had not arrived. Nuin helped Maya in the kitchen, and I avoided them both, still hoping Nicholas would arrive in time to have my back when I approached Nuin.

  Rumor introduced Duncan Campbell. She glowed with happiness, and my heart swelled for her good fortune. From the way he looked at her, I guessed he'd be back to visit often.

  Standing Bear sat in a corner with his guest, a beautiful woman with flowing black hair named Red Deer. When I caught his attention, he nodded solemnly.

  When everyone held a cup of Nuin's wassail, we gathered in the foyer for the Yule tree trimming. Maya had already strung red, green and white lights through the branches.

  Each of us had brought a special decoration to add. Standing Bear hung a glass ornament on which he had painted a landscape of Sedona. Red Deer added a small doeskin pouch filled with seeds for future life.

  A coven member I did not know pulled a fresh sprig of mistletoe from her hair and attached it to the tree with a jeweled clip. Another hung a glowing piece of amber, tied with green satin ribbon.

  Rumor hung an orange pompadour studded with cloves, while Duncan added a quartz crystal icicle. Several people contributed herbs from their own gardens: Sage, rosemary, catnip. I added my own bundle of lavender stems covered with pungent buds and tied with silver ribbon.

  Kamaria hung a clay pottery sun ornament, painted in bright Mexican colors of orange, turquoise, black and yellow.

  When everyone had a turn, Nuin placed a grapevine pentagram as a tree topper. I watched him carefully, but he was engrossed in holiday celebrations and didn't glance my way. If Nuin intended to harm me, then he was the world's best faker tonight.

  Maya carried a big wicker basket to the tree. In it were strands upon strands of cranberries and anise seeds, interwoven with tiny bells. They tinkled softly with every step…tink, tink, tink…as she distributed a strand to pairs of us to drape on the tree.

  As we finished the doorbell rang. Maya excused herself and came back looking grim. Nicholas followed behind her, but he wasn't alone. Lilith's thin, black-clad arm was tucked through his.

  My mouth dropped open. I watched in numb disbelief as Maya, looking unhappy, wound her way through the group introducing the latecomers.

  When Nicholas and Lilith walked up to the tree to add their ornaments, I turned away, too shattered to watch.

  The tree glowed with light and the Yule log burned brightly in the fireplace. The room was filled with the scent of orange and pine, and music played a soft undercurrent to the happy conversations and laughter. Soon Maya called us into the dining room to eat.

  The magic of the night was wasted on me. I sat alone on the hearth staring into the fire as the merriment faded away. All I could see was Nicholas, eyes downcast, avoiding my astonished stare when he entered the room.

  I stood up from the hearth and walked to the tree. In the front, on a middle branch, sat Nicholas's ornament, a tiny black Book of Shadows, with a gold pentagram painted on the front. It hung on a braided cord of red, black and white. I wondered fleetingly if Nicholas had thought of me when he bought it.

  On the branch next to the book was Lilith's contribution: A tarot card of the Holly King, the ruler of the waning year and Yule. The card depicted him dressed in winter furs and wearing a holly wreath crown. I recalled the
card signified dissolution or loss.

  I looked more closely at the Holly King's dark eyes and long black hair. Lilith's choice of this card and the figure's resemblance to Nicholas was no coincidence, and I felt the loss as acutely as if she had cut him out of my heart with her blade.

  The guests filed into the dining room, but I veered off at the foyer and slipped out to the front porch. I sat on the porch swing and tucked my feet under me for warmth. I knew tonight would be hard, but this was a nightmare. My heart felt like a leaden dead lump in my chest. No pain. No tears. I was beyond hurt. Beyond loss. All I felt was emptiness. And oh, so alone.

  Voices drifted through the front door from the foyer, a man and woman in heated conversation. "I don't want her in my house!" the woman said, her voice full of suppressed anger. Maya I guessed.

  "Lower your voice and take it easy," the man said. "They're not hurting anyone." Maya murmured something, and the man replied, "All right. I'll ask them to leave right after dinner."

  The front door opened and Nuin walked out onto the porch. He began pacing with his back to me, and, for a moment, I thought I could sneak in unseen. But as I uncurled my legs to stand up, he turned.

  "Sam." He looked surprised for a moment and then chuckled. "Having a nice evening? No. Of course you're not. Did you also hear our argument?"

  I looked at the floor.

  He sat beside me on the swing, rocking us gently. "Why your friend would choose to bring an ousted coven member to our High Priestess's house is beyond me. And it's insulting to you." Stopping abruptly, Nuin continued in a gentler tone. "I'm sorry the party's not turning out the way you planned." He put his arm around me and squeezed. The charm around my neck warmed at this touch. "But you look ravishing, which you know is the best revenge." He stood up and planted a kiss on the top of my head. "Just wait, sweetheart, your evening will get better. We're going to ask Lilith to leave. I assume Nicholas will have to go too, if he's her ride."

  Maybe leaving is the best solution for both of us, I thought as Nuin stood and went inside, His departure left the swing rocking me gently.