ORDER OF SEVEN (12 page)

Gently I run my finger over the photo. It looks so familiar. I can feel the cool dirt under my bare feet and the sun on my shoulders. I search their faces. “Who are you?” I whisper.

•◊
10
ץ

CONNECTIONS

I
t’s Tuesday morning and I’m having a bowl of Cinnamon Grahams in the kitchen, chatting with Jamie One, who’s up early for a change. Cinnamon Grahams is not my favorite cereal, nor is cereal my favorite breakfast—that’s English muffins with a smidge of butter, and
sometimes
grape jelly if I’m feeling adventurous—but I couldn’t help but buy them. They remind me of my mom, not only because Nodin and I ate this cereal as kids, but because cinnamon is her favorite spice. She uses it in her tea, coffee, baked goods; it’s even the secret spice in her chili.

I guess I miss home a little.

I take a bite but drop my spoon when energy bolts up my legs and rams me right in the gut. I cough, spewing cereal and milk out in all directions. Jamie is alarmed, but I tell her I just sucked some milk down the wrong pipe.

It’s the calling, but the intensity is different. It usually begins with vibrations I feel from afar, accompanied with anxiety, and the intensity increases throughout the day. I’ve never been assaulted out of the gate like this. Maybe I slept through the beginning of it, but I don’t think so.

I wipe my mouth and clean up the mess with paper towels, excusing myself to get ready for work and, later, economics. As soon as I shut my bedroom door, I’m hit again.

This time I feel it coming. It’s more subtle, but out of character with strength. Like an earthquake, it rumbles across the room, hits my legs and shoots up my body. My breath hitches and I grab the doorknob to steady myself.

“What the fuck?” I whisper, reaching for the peridot stone.

I put off showering as I get ready for the day, for fear another one will hit. It doesn’t. When I have nothing left to do, I take a record-fast shower and throw on yoga pants, a shirt, and a cardigan. It seems like things have calmed down, so I head to work.

About thirty minutes into my shift, the vibrations start again. Anxiety makes a nest in my stomach, ripping and tearing. I can’t concentrate on anything. When I begin to shake, I call in another employee to take my place, telling her I’m throwing up. She arrives a half hour later and I rush out the door and drive straight to Joe’s.

Panic rips through me as I consider the possibility he won’t be home. I will have to jump the fence. I have no choice.

I pull over in front of the house and throw my truck into park. I go to his porch slumped over in pain and bang on the door. No answer. I moan and bang again. Joe opens it and I try to stand up straight and appear normal. I am so
not
normal.

“Devi. What a nice surprise. I almost didn’t come to the door. You sure are coming more often lately,” he says with a wide grin. He opens the door and beckons me inside. Assface serenades me with snaps and growls.

I walk past him inside the house. “It’s the holiday season. Brings back memories, you know?”

“Ah, yes, that happens.” He squints at me. “You don’t look so good. Are you sick?”

“No, just tired. Finals coming up. I don’t have much time today.”

His face drops. “Oh, okay.”

“But I’ll be coming over again soon...when I have more time,” I say, attempting to appease him.

“Oh, that’d be nice. I have some new pieces I’d like to show ya.”

“Oh good.” I reach out for the wall, jolted with another wave.

“Heavens, girl, you can’t even stand up. Do you want to lie down?”

“No, I’m fine, really. I’m gonna go out back now so I can get home to bed soon.” I don’t wait for him to respond, but walk out the back door and veer straight to my tree. I reach up and grab my branch, pulling up, climbing to my sanctuary. As I collapse into my seat, succumbing to its demand, the hum of the tree’s energy webs its way through my fibers.

I’m somewhere I don’t recognize. A grassy plain with tall golden reeds blowing in the breeze takes up my entire field of vision. Trees dot the area and something large looms across the horizon. It’s hard to make out. I think at first they’re clouds, but then I realize they’re mountains.

This is a vast place, and I feel an emotion attached to it. Fear? Anxiety?

I keep watching, waiting for something to change in the vision. The only sound is the grass being pushed back and forth by the wind. It’s warm here and the wind feels good against my sweaty body. I might be waiting for something or someone. Yes. I’m expecting an arrival.

I hear a noise and cock my head to find its origin, seeing nothing. It sounds like a growl but continues too long. Maybe a distant motorcycle? That’s too mechanical. This sounds animal, but too consistent for a growl. Still, it continues. I look around for it again. I still see nothing. My whole body quakes.

I blink back to awareness as the vision fades, still shaking from residual anxiety. This vision didn’t have a déjà vu sensation. It felt like something yet to come. I check my watch. It’s been forty-five minutes. Shorter than usual. I wait until I feel stable and climb down.

Joe leads me through the house. “Bye, Devi. Come back soon,” he says as he holds the front door open for me.

Later, I call Baron and tell him about the new vision.

“Don’t you think that’s eerily similar to my tree vision?” he asks. “With the tall grass and the feeling I’m waiting for something?”

I get chills. “Wait, do you hear the rumbling sound in your vision?”

“I hear a roar of rushing water. Do you think what you heard is water?”

“No,” I say. “The tone is too...something, too guttural. I can’t place it, but it’s not water.” We both pause. “You there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. It’s just...well, I’m wondering if I made an assumption the sound was water. You know, when your brain tries to make sense out of things, sometimes misallocating sounds. I wonder if we’re hearing the same thing.”

“It’s possible.” Feeling overwhelmed, I sit on the bed with a sigh. “Wait, you’re still having the tree vision? I thought the visions stopped when you tattooed them?”

“They do, usually. There must be something I’m missing. Something I haven’t noticed before.”

I sigh again. “Things are accelerating so fast. I’ve never had the tree call me like that, and then I have this vision....”

“This is good. We’re getting the answers we need.”

“I know, but I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of whatever it is that we’re doing. I mean, am I going to the place in my vision? What if it’s Africa or Peru? I can’t go, Baron. I can’t go that far.”

“Stop. You’re worrying about something that hasn’t even happened. That place could be Arizona for all we know. And you’re not alone. I’m with you on this, remember?”

I exhale. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’ve got good news.”

“Really?”

“When I asked Hahn questions about the Tabari and told him I wanted to know more about them, he contacted some of his colleagues. He learned about an archaeologist named Jim Mealy who’s been studying the Tabari for about three years. They’ve evidently started tolerating his nosing around. Hahn is in the process of trying to get in touch with this Mealy guy. I’ll get back to you as soon as I hear anything. This could be good. Cross your fingers.”

My phone chimes, indicating I’m getting another call. It’s Nodin. Baron and I say quick good-byes and hang up.

“Wassup?” I say, answering the other line.

“It’s water!” Nodin’s voice is high and excited.

“What?”

“Water. That’s the answer—the conduit for the energy.” He’s talking so fast I can hardly make out what he’s saying. “There’s an underground spring going right under the old house.”

“But how do you know it’s carrying the energy?”

“Water is a natural conduit for energy. That’s a no-brainer, but then there’s Baron’s Australian serpent tattoo that symbolizes the importance of water to mankind. And the Nazca lines, they’re maps to water. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Yes. In some strange, fucked up way it makes total sense. There’s only one way to know for sure.

I have to try to channel at another tree by water.

•◊
11
ץ

THUNDER

O
n Wednesday, I sit up front in my animal behavior class. We have a guest speaker, an ecologist. She’s lecturing on the evolution of communication in certain mammals. My mind wanders, but my attention is caught when she connects her laptop to a TV so we can see her screen.

A title marches across the top in red letters:
Elephant Thunder
. She explains female elephants have the ability to use infrasound communication, which is too low for the human ear to hear. It’s typically in the range of fourteen to forty-five hertz. The elephants can send warnings to other herds or communicate their locations.

At the end of her lecture, she pops a CD in her laptop and turns the volume up. It’s a recording made of an elephant call, the frequency sped up so humans can hear it, and then slowed down to replicate how an elephant would hear it.

I practically run out when class is over, fumbling for my phone to call Baron.

“The rumbling sound in my vision—I know what it is,” I say. “It’s elephants.” I explain what I heard when the lecturer played the tape.

“And the Mahtembo worship elephants,” he muses. “It’s another clue to your biological family’s whereabouts.”

“You think it confirms my father is still in Africa?”

“It could.”

“Baron, remember how you said the sound you heard in your vision sounds like continuous, rumbling water?”

“Of course.”

“What if you’re hearing elephant communication too?”

Silence.

“Baron?”

“Huh.” He pauses. “You could be right. That would explain why it sounds so close, yet I don’t see any water source.”

“How can we know for sure?” I ask.

“We wait.”

•◊•◊•

It’s Thursday. I planned on going to the tree tomorrow, the day before we leave for Oklahoma, but as usual the tree dictates my life. I awake, surprised I’m feeling the familiar anxious sensation that marks the start of the calling. The vibrations resound at my feet as I shower. By the time my four-hour shift ends, my muscles quake. The vibrations are strong. Constant.

I drive straight to Joe’s from the bookstore and sit on his couch while he shows me new pieces in his skull collections. He has one made of pink quartz he’s proud of, explaining it’s good for balancing female energy. He also shows me a skull made of hematite, which strengthens connections to the Earth, enhances focus and clarity, and protects the wearer.

“Do you like this one?” he asks, inspecting the pink skull. He holds it up to the light and squints.

My eyes drift to the other one, drawn to it. “I like that one,” I say.

“The hematite skull? Well, goes to show ya. I’ll never figure women out.” He picks it up and puts it in my palm. “Take it. It’s yours.”

“No.” I try to hand it back. “I’m not taking one of your skulls.”

He ignores my outstretched hand. “I’m not asking. Consider it a belated graduation gift.”

I laugh. “My high school graduation was more than five months ago.”

Joe grins. “I said it was belated.”

I roll it around in my palm. “Well, thank you. That’s sweet.” I tense for a round of vibrations I sense coming. They blast through me, leaving my ears throbbing. I open my eyes to see Joe with his head tilted and eyes squinting at me.

He pats my hand and stands to walk me to the backdoor. “Put that skull in your pocket. It’ll help you.”

Crunching through fallen leaves, I walk across the yard and reach for my branch. Once in my seat, I stretch like a well-fed cub and surrender.

I’m in the field. The canopy of darkness so thick, it’s difficult to see ten feet in front of me. Moonlight is my only beacon. I hear the papery sounds of grass being swayed by the wind.

The anxiety is strong—so is the fear. I’m afraid. I look around, waiting. I tremble, but not from the chilly air. The sound begins. A rumble. It continues, low and long, seeming to come from everywhere at once. I clench my fists, tense with anticipation. I feel a different vibration—a hum—coming from behind me. It’s familiar and I’m unalarmed. It’s Baron.

The rumble turns to a deeper tone, almost a growl, and then stops. Whatever I—or we—are waiting for has arrived. I peer into a small group of trees about forty feet away to our left, but don’t see anything.

I take a few shaky steps forward, holding my hair out of my eyes.

Then I see it, the outline of an elephant’s head. I freeze. It steps forward from the trees without a sound, taking steps toward me, stopping about twenty feet away. I’m shaking so hard I fall to my knees. Our eyes meet. Hers look familiar.

“Mandah,” I hear an ambiguous voice say in my head.

I know to stand.

“Nami,” I whisper, tears streaming down my face.

•◊•◊•

On my way home, I call Nodin from the car and tell him about the vision.

“Wait. I don’t understand,” he says. “The elephant is the brown lady with the braids?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but the eyes were human, and the Mahtembo believe their shaman’s souls continue to live in elephants. Like a reincarnation thing. It was her, Nodin.”

“But that would imply she was a Mahtembo shaman. She’s Tabari, or at least that’s our hunch. How does a Tabari woman become a Mahtembo shaman?” he says.

“I don’t know.” I park my truck in front of my house.

“Are you packed for Ardmore?” he asks.

“Not yet. I’ll do it tomorrow. What time are we leaving?”

“Bright and early. I’ll pick you up at six on Saturday.” He clears his throat. “I wanted to let you know there’s no shortage of streams and rivers in Oklahoma. I think you should try channeling at another tree.”

I stop before opening my front door. “Okay. Yeah.” Anxiety grips my throat. The idea freezes and frees me simultaneously. “I’ll tell Baron about my vision. Talk to you later.”

We hang up. Both my roomies are home. Jamie Two is sprawled on the couch watching TV in his boxers.