Providence (Statera Saga Book 3)

by Amy Marie

  I sit on one of the couches next to Rafe, oblivious to our altitude and the storms around us, discussing the strategy for meeting the Midewin.

  “Do you think she’ll know who the elemental soul of fire is?” asks Rafe.

  “If she doesn’t, hopefully she’ll at least know where to look,” I shrug.

  “I hope we can trust this woman,” Rafe says.

  “I think the Keepers of Fire have been dealing with just as much tragedy as we have.” I glance over at Dansé, asleep on another couch. “I have a feeling we’ll be able to trust them. They need us just as much as we need them. We’re all in this together.”

  Turning back to face Rafe, I attempt to change the subject away from the grim future. “What’s all that?” I ask, gesturing to stacks of papers he’s dividing up and tucking away into envelopes.

  “It’s a few lists of the secured locations that we still have available to us that Darcy never knew about, different security passwords, as well as some codes for the encryptions for the new complete digital Statera files. I’ve decided to make some backup protocol plans in case something happens to me. Mr. Augustine did well to prepare me, but I want to prepare everyone,” he explains, sounding much too old for his age.

  I stare at him until he looks up from his papers to meet my eyes. “I’m not going to let anything happen to another guardian under my watch,” I say with fierce determination.

  “Anything could happen to any one of us at any given time,” Rafe says, growing serious. “I just want to be sure I’m not leaving a trail of riddles behind. I want all the information we have readily available, should the worst happen.”

  “Rafe, if the worst should happen, it’ll already be too late,” I say in a low voice, not wanting the others to hear.

  “You know we don’t really know if that’s true. Who knows how it works? When Aria was killed, we’re not sure if she really was the air soul and Joe just stepped up and took her place, or if Joe was meant to be the one we found all along,” Rafe whispers, reminding me of the tragic loss of Joe’s sister. “If we lose anybody, and there’s a way to find another potential soul, we’ll be ready.”

  I shrink into my seat at that idea. Are our souls really that disposable, that we can be so easily replaced?

  “Don’t make that face,” Rafe whispered tone softens. “It’s just precautionary measures. For all we know, this could all be our predetermined fate. No matter what choices we think we have, maybe we’re really just fulfilling our higher destiny.”

  “Do you believe in that? Fate and destiny?” I ask. “I feel like it takes away the idea of free will.”

  “Not really,” he shrugs. “Free will can still forge our path. It could just determine whether you take the shortcut to your destiny or the scenic route. If it means good is meant to defeat evil, I’d say yes to a predetermined fate any day. Isn’t that what Providence is all about?” he asks.

  “Sometimes you sound so much like Uncle Mike, it’s scary!” I giggle to ease the tension. “And speaking of that, how did we end up in a secret shelter house that Uncle Mike hid from Darcy?”

  “Strange coincidence. It was the estate of an old professor that was in on the secrets of the Statera. When he passed away, he left the property to the college with the intent that it could be used as a safe house because of the gated property and bomb shelter. Augustine left Besim in charge of certain finances and properties like that. Thankfully, Darcy never knew about any of it.”

  “How could Uncle Mike have known to prepare for all of this?” I ask.

  “He’s had protocols in place since he took over for his grandfather, Uriel Augustine. Uncle Mike’s life wasn’t an easy one. He knew the risks.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Since he first met Darcy, he saw nothing but tragedy every time he had a run in with the destructor. He never talked about his early life with me directly, but Besim’s been filling me on things that Uncle Mike never shared with us.”

  “Like what?” I ask, curious for a peek into the beloved man’s past.

  “Well, for example, Uncle Mike’s wife. He lost her because he was a guardian. She had just had a baby girl. The destructor killed them both.” Rafe’s voice wavers at the spoken tragedy.

  “Uncle Mike had a daughter?” I exclaim.

  “Yes. When he was supposed to get married, they had to postpone the wedding because a member of his wife’s family was killed the night before. Besim says it was the destructor. Anyway, when he finally did marry, they got pregnant right away and gave birth to a baby girl. They named the girl after that same family member that was killed and, within days, the destructor hunted down his wife and child.”

  “How terrible! But Uncle Mike specifically told me he never had any children!” I can’t help but contradict Besim’s story.

  “He told me the same thing. It may have been too painful for him to talk about. I’m sure he regretted not being able to protect his family.” Rafe’s eyes move to the floor.

  “What was her name?” I ask, painfully aware of how much I used to complain to Uncle Mike about how unfair my burden was. If only I had known about his!

  “Uncle Mike’s wife’s name was Addie, short for Adelaide.”

  “No, I mean her family member. What was the name they passed on to the baby?” I ask.

  “Oh. I believe her name was Aurora,” he replies.

  And with his response, it’s like a light dawning on the hidden memories in my brain.

  I remember…

  Chapter 4

  Aurora.

  “She was a light soul,” I say, as the reminiscence unlocks part of the puzzle in my mind, piece by piece. My mind recalls glimpses of another life, and another light soul lost.

  “Who?” asks Rafe.

  “Aurora. That’s why Talbot killed her. That’s why he killed the baby, he didn’t want her to have the potential for the next light soul,” I claim, somehow knowing I’m right. The memories are hazy without Darcy here to help trigger them, but I can still feel the truth of what I’m saying. Maybe if I can look into Aurora’s story a little more, I can bring more memories to the surface.

  Rafe’s eyes widen. “It makes sense. The name Aurora has to do with light, right? Like the northern lights, Aurora Borealis.”

  “Darcy and Uncle Mike both once told me that Darcy had found a young girl that had the potential for the light soul, but that Talbot had killed her before he could tell her. That must’ve been her!” I exclaim.

  “I remember Mr. Augustine mentioning it. But he left out the connection to his wife. And I had no idea about the baby until Professor Besim told me. He was dealing with so much more than he ever let on,” Rafe says, growing pensive.

  “Is that why you’ve been so protective of Char lately?” I ask.

  Rafe’s eyes snap back to mine. “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t want anything to happen to her, because of her connection to us?” I venture.

  “Oh,” he breathes out. “I guess I’ve been a little overprotective lately. But Uncle Mike’s story proves we can’t be too careful, right?”

  I give him a funny look, but he interrupts any response that I could’ve come up with by pointing out the window at the cityscape coming into view. “There she is, Las Vegas.”

  My eyes go round at the picturesque beauty of the oasis metropolis covering the desert landscape. It’s a different kind of beauty, a stark contrast to the green countryside back East.

  As the plane rolls out after landing, we’re provided with a perfect view of the famous Las Vegas Strip. I’m in awe for only a moment until I realize we’re surrounded by casinos like the one in Oklahoma. Horrifying images of destructive blasts prompt me to close the shade on the scenery.

  “Okay, I’ve asked Joe and Dylan to wait with the plane in case we need to make a quick escape,” Rafe says after we’ve parked and gathered in the fixed base operations building for private flights. “Dansé arranged for us to meet the Midewin outside the
city in one of the state parks.”

  “Why a state park?” I ask.

  “The Valley of Fire is one of the places the council used to meet,” Dansé explains. “The Midewin wants to honor our tribes’ traditions and sacrifices.”

  I nod, but reach into my bag to reassure myself, laying my hand on Dylan’s prototype element weapon. It may be daytime, but like Rafe said, we can’t be too careful.

  Turning to gaze out the window, I consider the desert landscape passing by. Red rock is what they call it, though the nickname is a bit restrictive. The midday sun highlights the abstract flourish of crimson, tangerine, flaxen, and even hints of violet in a geological rainbow. Some of the rocks we pass are even carved with ancient native petroglyphs.

  “This is the place.” Dansé points through the front two seats at the sign up ahead. Rafe pulls our SUV into a spot facing a national park sign for the Valley of Fire.

  Petroglyphs… possible translations, the sign reads. Among the symbols are a sun, an unfinished circle, and a four-pointed symbol of elements. All symbols that’ve carried through countless cultures, traditions, religions, and interpretations. All symbols that’ve also been transcribed in the Statera. Even the long-forgotten North American tribes knew of the ongoing battle against the emptiness.

  As we hike a trail that leads to a small basin, I’m grateful for the towering rocks that provide solace from scorching heat of the desert sun.

  Up ahead near the rain-filled basin, a few people stand ready to greet us.

  “Bozho nikan,” Dansé hails the people from her council in the language of the Potawatomi.

  A gracefully aged woman seems to float from behind her two companions to greet us. “Hello, daughter of the tribe,” she says, surprising me with her greeting in English. Before Dansé can even introduce us, the woman turns to me with a knowing gaze. “The light does indeed shine from you.”

  I give an openmouthed nod in acknowledgement, and then remember to introduce myself. “Hello. I’m Nora, and this is my friend and guardian, Rafe. Pleased to meet you…” I trail off, not sure how to address the medicine woman. She seems to have an aura about her. My power has opened up my ability to sense these traces of energy.

  “I am what you would describe as the teacher of Shamans. Our word is Midewin,” she says, answering my unspoken question. “I’ve been instructed in the ancient ways of our tribe, and I have seen the destruction closing in. I know why you’ve come.”

  “We need to find the fire,” I say.

  “You need much more than that, light one. But I will speak to the fire on your behalf,” she assures me.

  I’m not sure I understand what she means. “Speak to the fire?” I ask.

  “The fire is the most powerful of elements, and the most dangerous. It can warm you, or burn you. It can comfort you, or engulf on you. You must speak to the fire, and in the fire, you will find the answers you’re looking for,” she explains while her attendants move to build a small bonfire on the desert floor.

  I glance to Dansé in confusion. She leans closer to me to whisper, “She can speak to the flames and interpret their dance. She sees prophecies.”

  I nod, finally understanding. I think back to the Shaman from my dreams who saw the visions in the fire. I hope the fire’s prophecy is more promising this time around.

  The Midewin’s companions produce small flames in no time. They contain the fire within an iron triangle that reminds me of a billiard rack.

  “The triangle represents the council of three fires, but also something much more ancient,” the Midewin begins. “Are there members of each tribe present?”

  One of the builders of the fire steps forward. He’s a middle-aged man with a strong jaw and dimples. One of the dimples runs deep into a scar that runs down his cheek. “The Chippewa are present,” he says in a deep baritone.

  The next fire builder steps forward. He’s a younger man with a pointed chin and piercing amber eyes. “The Ottawa are present,” he says, sounding even younger then he looks.

  Dansé steps forward with her shoulders pulled back. I notice some freckles on the bridge of her nose in the sunlight. Her features are dark, but flecks of gold highlight her deep chocolate-colored hair. “The Potawatomi are present,” she says with a somber tone.

  “The three tribes have come together to call on the fire.” The Midewin raises her arms and begins to chant a native song. The three representatives of the council quietly sing along, eyes closed.

  In the moment, I’m swept back through the timeless tradition, and I can envision the tribes of the past speaking to the fire. The dances, the chanting, the smoke, the flames — I can picture it all. There’s a connection to the past forged in the flames and reincarnated through this ritual.

  “Spirits of fire, we call upon you. In your flames, help shape our path,” the Midewin commands the blaze. “Show us the way!” She stares into the flames. I follow her lead and see a few small flickers, but nothing else. After a few moments, the Midewin speaks again. “I see a triangle,” she says, with unfocused eyes. Her voice has gone flat, like she’s in a trance.

  My gaze drops down to the iron enclosure surrounding the fire.

  Yeah… so do I…

  “A pyramid. And an eye,” she continues.

  My eyes widen and search the flames, desperate for answers. “Where’s the pyramid?” I ask, forgetting myself.

  “It’s full of light. And then another underground. You must seek the pyramid, and it will lead you to the eye,” she answers, her voice low.

  “Is that where we’ll find the fire?” I ask.

  “No, you must face the flame and ask to see the fire yourself,” she responds.

  I turn to Dansé and she gestures me toward the fire, still chanting.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, immersing myself into the energy of the triad’s chant. When I feel my light connect with the flame, I open my mouth to speak. “Spirit of Fire, we seek your soul. Let the chosen one come forth to face the light.” I open my eyes, staring into the light of the flames. After a minute, an ember leaps from the fire with a pop. We all jump, and the chanting stops. The ember fizzles out, and nothing happens.

  “I don’t think it worked,” whispers Rafe after a few disappointing minutes.

  “There’s not a prayer in the world that’s answered on demand. You will get your answer at the right time,” says the Midewin.

  “Fire always reveals itself,” Dansé adds.

  “You are right, Shkote’mskwe’. The tribe has taught you well,” the Midewin says to Dansé.

  “Wait,” I pause at the Midewin’s words. I recognize one of them from the Potawatomi language that was spoken in my dream — she said Shkote’. “What did she just call you?” I ask Dansé.

  “Oh, it’s an old nickname of mine from the tribe,” Dansé shrugs off my question.

  “What does it mean?” I ask, knowing that word was part of the fire spirit’s name from my dream. He was called Shkote’Nsi.

  “Shkote’mskwe’ roughly translates to fire blood. I had a reputation for having a hot temper when I was younger,” Dansé admits, looking to the ground.

  “I recognize that word,” I insist. “It was part of the fire spirit’s name from my dreams! He was named after the fire!”

  Rafe is following along to the conversation with wide-eyed interest.

  “Right. That’s the word that means fire. Technically it’s the tribe name I was given at birth by my mother, right before she died. But my adopted father, the Shaman, quickly changed it to Dansé. I’ve gone by that ever since.”

  I glance back and forth between her and the Midewin, speechless.

  She has the potential!

  “Why did the Shaman change your name?” Rafe cuts in. “If that was the name you were born with, then you have the potential to carry the soul of fire! Maybe he was trying to hide you from the destructor!”

  “No,” a young man’s voice calls from behind me, startling us all. “She hides fro
m me.”

  Chapter 5

  The faces of the Ottawa and Chippewa tribesmen, as well as the Midewin, are frozen in shock across from me. I slowly turn around to find a recognizable ghost from my dreams. The young tribesman, Shkote’Nsi, is standing ten feet away from me.

  How is this possible?

  “Shkote’Nsi?” I test out the name I learned from my dream.

  He can’t hide his reaction as he gives a small jolt at the use of his name.

  Rafe moves closer to my side and I can feel the panic radiating from him. He recognized the name too.

  “Yes,” he replies.

  “How are you alive?” I ask the spirit.

  “I am not alive. I am not dead. I am cursed.” The words are stilted and toneless. I’ve seen it before. His face begins to turn red as he struggles to add, “I am sorry.”

  Before I can react to that, he raises his hand and makes a glowing fist in the air. There’s a whoosh from the fire behind me, and a trail of flames jumps from the triangle onto the Midewin and the tribesmen, lighting them up like human torches. Screams of agony echo through the rocks, and everything seems to happen in slow motion.

  Dansé runs to tackle the Midewin and roll her into the water of the basin. There’s a big splash, but the screams haven’t stopped.

  I know these screams. I know that smell. I’m frozen in fear.

  The men are burning alive.

  “Nora!” Rafe yells, dragging me behind a nearby rock. “You have to use your power to fight him!”

  At his words, I snap out of my daze and my hands begin to crackle with pure white light. I step out from behind the rock, ready to face the fire.

  But he’s vanished.

  I pause a split second in confusion, but then turn to scream a command to Rafe. “Push those men into the basin. Help them if you can. Call for backup and hide in the water!” I know Rafe will be compelled to follow my command as sure as I know my eyes are glowing. My power has taken over.