Song of the Ancients (Ancient Magic Book 1) (3 page)

"Is this the cloak?" When I nodded, Nuin reached for my crumpled wrap in the corner. He stroked the dark material, running his thumb across the crescent moon clasp.

"Your coven sign, what a coincidence." Immediately I regret-ted my words, they seemed flippant and too personal.

Nuin steepled his fingers against his chin, still studying the cloak. "Ah, a primary rule of witchcraft: There is no coincidence, only synchronicity." He bent closer to look at the fabric below the clasp. "What's this pattern?"

The velvet nap had worn through below the clasp, leaving a slight zig-zag design in the cloth. "I think it's just worn, from holding it to put the loop around the clasp," I said.

Nuin didn't answer. He drummed two fingers on the table as he examined the material. After a long moment he pushed the cloak aside. Still silent, he handed Nicholas' business card back to me.

Rumor looked over my shoulder at it. "What's his address?"

"Two thirty-seven Black Cat Road," I read.

"I think I'd remember the street," she mused. "It sounds too hokey to be real, like an old gothic novel." She looked closer at the card. "Oh! Because it's not in Sedona." She pointed to the third line. "It's in Jerome."

"Where's Jerome?" I asked.

"It's about thirty miles away, an old copper mining town from the 1800s. Now it's an artist colony. Really gothic and spooky. We should go look at this house, Sam. A lot of the houses are hundred-year-old Victorians. Plus, if Nicholas brought you one trunkful of goodies from his aunt's house, there could be an attic full."

"Good idea," I said. "I'll call Nicholas and ask him if next weekend would be okay."

The waitress collected the tab. Nuin walked out with us, but put a hand on my arm to hold me back. He reached into the pocket of his robe and drew out a small black box. "For you, a remembrance of your first ritual. Welcome to Sedona, Samantha," he said softly, pressing the box into my hand.

I pulled off the lid. A charm nestled inside, the sliver of a crescent moon, formed out of milky moonstone and threaded on a black silk cord.

"I try to bring a gift for first-time attendees," he said. "Rumor mentioned she wanted to invite you." He removed the necklace and motioned for me to turn around. When he tied the charm around my neck it felt hot. "It's a moonstone. Your birthstone." I held it away from my skin and the little moon immediately cooled.

He brushed my hair aside. "It's made from moonlight, as are you," he whispered, leaning in to kiss me.

I froze. He was sexy and seemed nice, but he was a stranger. My shoulders stiffened. I turned my head, and his lips grazed my cheek.

He straightened and stepped back. "I thought we had an attraction. Guess I was wrong." His anger twined itself around me like soot-filled smoke, smothering the last tranquil remnants of the ritual. "My apologies." He turned and strode away. It appeared he wasn't accustomed to rejection.

"What an ego," I muttered. Anxiety prickled across my shoulders.

I shivered and hurried to Rumor and her convertible.

"What is with him?" I stopped beside Rumor. "Does he act this way with all the newbies?"

"Uh,
no
." Rumor unlocked the passenger door and gave me a thumbs-up sign. "I don't know why I worried about your social life. You're doing just fine on your own."

Remembering Nuin's stormy eyes, I wondered if I'd pay a price for turning him down.

Chapter 3: Strands of Destiny

In the next town, Nicholas waited until midnight to climb the stairs to the second-floor balcony of his aunt's house, cradling a black glass ball in one arm.
Forewarned is always best
, he told himself, although it grated to admit Samantha was important enough to make him worry.

When he shook Samantha's hand at the store, he saw. He had not meant to look. He usually tried to maintain a polite distance with strangers and keep himself shielded. People he met for the first time often described him as aloof, but it was a necessary pre-caution. On rare occasions, however, a casual touch broke through his barrier, piercing his head with a single burst of razor-sharp images. Yesterday, Nicholas had glimpsed Samantha's future. But he needed to be sure before he moved forward with his plans.

The power coursing through his blood was ancient. Even as a lad, Nicholas knew he was a witch, and his talents gave him an advantage. But such gifts were not without price: The blinding headaches, the illnesses, and the weakened immune system. Magic always charged a toll. His parents could not lower the cost or pay it for him. The young boy dabbled with his magic and experienced the pain of his impulsive behavior.

The man was much more cautious.

Still, tonight he could not help asking,
who are you?
He lit the candles, and his words formed cold puffs when he whispered an incantation to cast the protective circle. Drawing in the earthy scent of mugwort, he knelt in the center, closed his eyes and lifted his arms. "Earth and fire, water and breeze, bend your time to let me see. As I will, so mote it be."

The power roiled inside him, a brief, sharp wave of nausea, before it moved out to his extremities, making his fingertips tingle.

He lifted the sphere of black crystal to the full moon, cupping it in both hands so it absorbed the light from the flickering candles below, and the moon above. Frost turned the globe opaque. He leaned close and blew on its surface, rubbing his hands across it in slow spirals. The icy crystals cleared, and the globe glowed with a pure, dazzling white light.

Within, Nicholas saw a red mountaintop, a spindly pinon pine, wet and black with rain. Goose bumps rose on his arms, and he could smell the wet earth. He shivered and tilted the orb to one side and then the other until he could see her. Samantha. She wore a loose white gown, molded to her body by the rain. She swayed in a circle of lanterns, her arms raised to the stormy sky. The wind whipped her unbound hair across her face and hid her expression, but her movements were those of celebration, a wild jubilance in time with the whipping wind of the thunderstorm.

Nicholas' groin muscles clenched and surged with heat in response to her dance. He cursed his weakness but did not look away. A sleek raven glided onto the pinon branch, shaking its wet wings in agitation, drawing his eyes away from the dancing woman.

In the shadows below the tree, a figure watched Samantha, his eyes full of her. The man Nicholas hunted.

Chapter 4: Song of the Ancients

The cellphone on my bedside table began to vibrate just before sunrise. The shop was closed on Sunday and Monday, so it couldn't be work. I put it to my ear and cleared my throat.

"
Good morning Starshine.
" Rumor warbled. "Get up, get dressed, wear your boots, we're going hiking."

I groaned. "Did your parents teach you every old hippie song they knew? You'd better be bringing coffee."

Barely an hour later we were in the convertible, sipping lattes and watching the rising sun turn the red rocks other-worldly crimson. The towering formations enclosed the town like the ruins of an ancient fortress wall. I could understand why the locals said they had supernatural power.

When Kamaria had first mentioned magical energy, I'd scoffed. But since the full moon ritual, I'd been undecided about energy and magic. Maybe there
was
unusual power here.

I pulled a brochure out of my bag, brandished my latte toward the red mountain in front of us, and lectured in my best peppy, tour-guide voice. "According to local lore, Cathedral Rock is one of five major vortexes in Sedona. Each site has its own personality. Some radiate male, yang energies, active and energizing. Others are female, calming and tranquil yin."

I studied Cathedral Rock. Definitely male. It looked like a larger rock wall had been blasted apart, leaving vaguely phallic slivers of rock jutting through the center.

Rumor pointed to a flat spot between two spires. "Up there is where we're going. It's steep but only about two miles round trip."

She parked near the bottom of the formation and handed me a hydration pack filled with water so I'd have both hands free for climbing. I pulled a couple of things from my purse, including lip gloss and a pen, and stuck them in the pack.

The faint trail rose through the center of the formation on steep, slick rock. The only way to tell the path was by cairns spaced along the way. Over the years, hikers had etched holds into the rocky face. We used our hands, feet, and occasionally our knees, to make the climb.

I leaned against a boulder to catch my breath, and studied the thin spires looming above the trail.

"Geologists call those skinny pieces volcanic intrusions," Rumor said, stopping to pull bandanas from her pack and wetting them. "Most of the area was once an ancient seabed with subsurface volcanoes. When they erupted, molten magma forced its way into cracks of the sandstone. Over time, the softer rock wore away, leaving these volcanic spires."

I wiped my face with the cool cloth and considered Kamaria's comments the evening before last. "Besides turning the soil this bright red, a high iron content attracts lightning. The iron plus the shape would explain the strikes." I turned to Rumor. "Kamaria says it has magical energy. What do you think?"

"She's not the only one who feels the area is unusual," Rumor said. "The Native people think those rock spires work like satellite antenna, connecting to one of those mountains out in the middle of the valley called Vision Butte. Tribal medicine men have used the site for hundreds of years for vision quests and ceremonies. Cathedral is state land, but Vision Butte was decreed sacred. No non-Native visitors."

"Do you know which one is Vision Butte?"

Rumor shrugged. "No idea. It's not on any of the maps."

Ignoring the burning muscles in my thighs, I climbed to the top and stopped, panting. "Wow."

The overlook resembled a wide sidewalk, with steep drops on each side. The view was jaw-dropping in both directions.

We walked to the edge and sat down, dangling our legs over the side. The breeze came up the ledge from the desert below, lifting my damp shirt away from my sweaty skin. I sighed and raised my arms over my head, stretching out my shoulders. The place slipped into me, a shimmering wind I drew in with each breath. It wasn't just the view, or the breeze, but a vibration in the air, not quite audible, like a dog whistle barely above hearing range. I closed my eyes and listened.

I didn't know how long I sat, feeling the wind whoosh up my legs from the valley floor far below. At some point, the vibration increased, and I could hear words, in a simple melody:

"Wakan, wakan, every creature,

Wakan, wakan, every rock.

Tuku Skanskan, the time surrounds you.

From sacred earth we send our voices.

Wachin ksapa yo! Be attentive!"

I reached for Rumor, to ask if she heard it, but she was gone. I jerked my eyes open and looked around.

Rumor stood, eyes closed and arms outstretched in a "V" over her head, oblivious to the precipice beyond her. The wind spiraled around her head, swirling the dark strands of her long hair across her face.

I stood up slowly and tiptoed over to her, took her hand and pulled her gently away from the edge.

"Oh." She made a little, surprised sound, like she'd forgotten I was there. Then she crossed her ankles and sunk to the ground.

"Wakan tanka, we watch the Earth.

To Man below, we send our voices.

Wakan, wakan, every creature,

Wakan, wakan, every rock."

The song rode the wind, ebbing and fading until it disappeared, swallowed by the air currents from the valley floor below. I tugged off my pack and rummaged in the outside pocket for my pen, mumbling under my breath.

Rumor looked up at me with a dazed expression.

"I need to write it down before I forget," I explained.

"Write what down?" She slurred her words and looked groggy, like Rip Van Winkle awakening from his twenty-year siesta.

"The words to the song."

She shook her head, uncomprehending.

"The song we just heard. On the wind."

Rumor shrugged. "I didn't hear anything."

"Then what were you doing leaning over the edge of the cliff like you were hypnotized, with your arms over your head?" I pantomimed swaying with my hands outstretched.

Rumor covered her mouth in the crook of her elbow and yawned. "Calm down, Sam. I'm fine." She stretched out on the warm ground, her daypack pillowing her head. "I didn't hear anything but I sure am sleepy. Let's take a quick nap before we head down."

Totally exasperated, I found my pen and scribbled what little I could remember on the back of my hand.
Wakan, wakan. Wakan tanka
, I muttered as I wrote.

* * * * *

Tuesday morning, with the singsong chant still running through my head, I transferred my scribbling into a document on my computer before I showered. Tomorrow, when I got a break at work, I'd search for more information. But first I wanted to take advantage of my last day off and visit some of the art galleries in Sedona. I'd been here for more than a month and my walls were still bare. Maybe I'd look for some kind of impressionistic South-west landscape to complement my new plum sofa. Maybe add some bright red or turquoise throw pillows. My ex-husband favored chrome and black leather. In Sedona, my home would be filled with jewel tones.

I ended up at Tlaquepaque, a Spanish-themed open air shopping plaza. On the second floor I spied the Standing Bear Gallery, complete with a nine foot tall carved bear totem guarding the entrance. I looked through the window.

A man was seated at a large, half-finished canvas, his back to me. He wore a blue bandana around his forehead, and his long black hair was loose down his back, tucked behind his ears to keep it out of his paint palette.

The painting drew me inside. He worked on the top half of the canvas, adding details to an eerily familiar scene. The same view I had looked down on the day before from atop Cathedral Rock.

I inched further into the room, taking care not to disturb his work, but he turned and smiled, pointing silently to a nearby chair.