Song of the Ancients

Song of the Ancients - Chap. 1: Paths and Portents

Prologue


      Behind her she could hear the men as they searched the woods and the baying of their dogs. She had eaten herbs that made her invisible to her hunters, but her scent still lingered for the hounds as she pushed through the scant underbrush.  There was not much time.
      Quickly she unfastened her cloak and laid it out on the pine needle-strewn ground. Holding her hands over the garment, she closed her eyes and took one long, deep breath, letting it out slowly.
         “Round and round this cloth I weave
            My order to find One to receive.
            Who it is, you clearly will see.
            As I will
            So mote it be!”
      Pointing her finger at the garment, she collected her energy and hurled it through the fingertip into the fabric. The moon clasp at the neck glowed white for an instant. She left the cloak crumpled on the ground and trotted further into the forest.
      A sense of calmness and peace descended around her shoulders, smoothing her tension. Here the forest here was silent. These trees have grown up together for hundreds of years, she thought.  Their huge, gnarled faces watched her silently, noting her passage. She knew they would not allow anyone to disrupt their realm, so she found a space in the trees where the night sky seeped through and stepped into the moonlight. As she peered at the stars above – four brilliant orbs brighter than the rest--mystical voices whispered to her on the breeze, “We bear witness to all that has transpired.”
    “Then I am ready,” she replied.




Chapter 1: Paths and Portents


      Alexis met me as I came into work, grabbing my arm and pulling me through the front door of the shop.
      “Sam, look what was dropped off this morning,” she whispered, patting an antique steamer trunk. “I was waiting for you to get here to go through it.”
    I turned to the trunk and flipped open the tarnished brass clasp. The scent of smoky sage and lavender drifted up from the contents as I raised the curved lid. The trunk was full. Victorian dresses. Skirts of good fabric, soft silk to heavy velvet. Colors rich yet subdued: dark wine, forest green, and black. The garments were perfect for Past Lives, our vintage clothing store. I began to pull out garments and list them on a sales receipt, as Alexis hung them on satin padded hangers.              At the bottom was full-length hooded black cloak. When I lifted it from the trunk, it felt warm, as if recently discarded.  The edge of one collar was frayed and there was a  rip in the hood. In my mind a fleeting image appeared, a woman catching her hood on a passing tree limb as she ran through the forest. Startled, I held the cloak out in front of me to look at it again. The silver clasp at the neck was in the shape of a crescent moon. 
    “Who brought them in?” I asked.
    “He’ll be back soon. He went next door –“  Alexis stopped in mid-sentence as our wind chimes swayed, disturbed by the breeze of the opened front door. 
    A man stepped into the shop with Lilith, the assistant manager of the book store adjacent to Past Lives. Framed in the morning sun, they looked like slightly mismatched bookends: Lilith, the techno Goth wannabe in short black skirt and studded leather jacket, and this stranger with shoulder-length black hair, obsidian eyes and long black coat. He was in the midst of conversation but stopped speaking when he saw us. Lilith frowned as she followed his gaze, but motioned him into the shop to join us.
    “Alexis Rafferty  and Samantha Danroe, this is Nicholas Orenda,” Lilith said coolly, taking a step closer to him and resting her black-lacquered fingers on Nicholas’ arm. “I understand Mister Orenda has left you a generous selection of his… wife’s...belongings?” She looked up at him as she patted the antique steamer trunk between us.
    “No, these are my aunt’s things.” The fleeting twitch at the corners of his mouth confirmed he had caught Lilith’s relief at this answer.
  “Your aunt has exquisite taste.”  I smiled at Nicholas. “We can consign all of them, although this one will need repairs.” I held out the black cloak to him. “It’s beautiful, but there’s a flaw…”
    “That one is not for donation,” Nicholas interrupted. “It’s for you.” He handed the cloak back to me. Again, it felt warm, alive, with a subtle vibration that spread through me and ended in a beaded chill on my skin, as if a breath had run across my hand. I stood unmoving, running my hand across the soft velvet.
    When I looked up, I found Nicholas’s black eyes studying me with intense interest. I could feel my face flush with embarrassment as I signed the receipt and handed it to him, forcing myself to make eye contact. “Why me?” I asked. “You don’t even know me.”
      He gave a small shrug, still studying my face, his back to Lilith and Alexis. “It’s not my decision to make. The cloak chooses its owner.”
* * * * *
      It was my turn to close the store that night, but I barely noticed my surroundings. My hand kept drifting back to the cloak, to finger the soft warmth of the material.
    “I heard you had an interesting customer today.” 
      I jumped, startled from my reverie by the voice. 
Kamaria, the book store owner, was at the front door, the cold night air following her inside.
    “You’ll learn a lot working here; it’s a focal point for energies.” She smiled at me.
    She meant Sedona, I knew.  The residents were quite taken with their little town. 
    “Many people believe the vortex sites in Sedona contain magical energy, Kamaria said. “It’s based on science, you know. Sedona gets more lightning strikes than almost anywhere in the country because the rocks contain so much iron.” 
    Lightning strikes are one thing, I thought. But magic?  It was all a little too New Age for me.
“Well, at least it brings the tourists.” I smiled back at her.
    “When you have lived here longer you’ll understand,” she said. “The essence of the place soaks into you. She cupped her fingers under my chin, and looked into my eyes. “And if you’re receptive to that power, it seeks you out.”
    I rolled my eyes.
    Kamaria laughed. “Okay, on the bright side, you now have a winter coat.” She looked at me more seriously. “Sam, listen to me. You have potential, I can feel it.”
    I started to protest, but the older woman shushed me gently. “I know, I know, New Age voodoo. But humor me and answer one question: Why did you come to Sedona?”
    I opened my mouth, but again she stopped me.
    “That answer is not for me, it’s for you. Go home and think about it.”
    On the way home, I pondered her question. Why had I chosen to move halfway across the country to start my new life?  Part of it was running away more than seeking. I’d gotten married so young and had been too idealistic to see it wouldn’t work.  Now my ex-husband was in the Midwest, my goal to be as far away from him and his new girlfriend as possible. At a primal level I had known my spirit would dry up and blow away with the autumn leaves if I continued to live near him, on the outskirts of his life, uncomfortable with our mutual friends. Moving away was running away, yes, but also a relief. Every mile I drove farther from green, humid Kansas City and into the dry, rocky landscape of Arizona, I felt my burden of guilt lessen, burnt off in the glaring desert sun. When I reached Sedona, the color of the sand changed from tan to adobe red. I stopped to look, and immediately invested my share of the divorce proceeds in a clothing boutique in a town where I knew no one. So unlike me, to make a decision on a whim. That was two months ago. I felt like this is where I belonged. Why?