by Ashley McLeo
Prophecy of Three
Book One of the Starseed Trilogy
Ashley McLeo
Contents
Hypatia
Lily
The Emerald Isle
Brigit’s Tale
Hecate’s Daughters
Chance and Choice
A History of Witches
The Unbinding
Magic Lessons
A Change of Heart
Samhain
Alexandria
The Vampire Twins
Blood and Ash
The Tree of Life
In the Beginning
The Shadow Days
Also by Ashley McLeo
The Siren’s Call
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by Ashley McLeo
Meraki Press
Ashley McLeo website
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to people living or dead is coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-947245-00-6
For my husband Kurt.
The Starseed universe would not exist
without your help, patience, and love.
Hypatia
The Library of Alexandria, 48 B.C.
The knots in Hypatia’s back wound tighter as memories of black smoke and lost knowledge flooded her mind.
The library was burning. Thousands of treasures flying toward the heavens reincarnated as ash and ember. Original works of Sophocles, Homer, and Euripides gone, and yet, Hypatia cared for only one. The one passed down through the centuries from woman to woman, witch to witch. She’d read it hundreds of times, recited every word and enunciated every syllable with care, should a disaster such as this ever occur. The one entrusted to her for safekeeping. The true secret of secrets and future of man.
She hardly felt the hot stones beneath her feet as she sprinted toward the volume secreted away in the quietest wing of the royal library. She was halfway there when the smoke began to lay siege to her body. Her muscles, strong from hours of dueling with her sisters for sport, strained beneath her will. Her skin screamed in protest with each brush against a flaming scroll or hot stone. A mere fifty paces away, Hypatia closed her burning eyes and began to navigate the long hallway and staircase blind. Her breath came like a reluctant lover, teasing her lungs before wrenching itself from her body. Years seemed to pass as she pulled herself up the steep stairs, and then suddenly, the floor flattened beneath her palms. She’d made it.
I must be quick, Hypatia thought, opening her eyes. Her heart dropped from its cage. The tower was not aflame, as she had feared. The fire was dying, having eaten its fill and moved on. Only layers of ash and gray ghosts remained in the inferno’s wake. But how, when paces below the tower a fire devoured its prey with greed and glee?
The answer hit her: This place, the library’s most isolated, least loved wing, had been the fire’s birthing room. Her left eye twitched.
Someone knew of the treasure hidden here. They knew they would never find it. Not with a flock of dedicated librarians puttering about day after day. The enemy cared not for the sanctity of humanity’s treasures. In their desire to destroy her ward, they had set aflame thousands of other works. Worse yet, they were still on the loose, shrouded in anonymity. But she had revealed herself.
How foolish! Based on the fire’s point of origin, it was likely they had already suspected Hypatia as the keeper of the ancient text. Now she had eliminated any suspicions. What else could be so important that one would rush into flames? Only a matter of life or death.
Her heart chipped into smaller and smaller pieces as she examined the destruction further. Surviving scraps of parchment waved up at her like old friends from the wreckage. Half burnt symbols and illustrations, thoughts, entire worlds gone.
Hypatia’s knees buckled beneath her, hitting stone. Her body and spirit cried out for mercy as she curled in on herself, relinquishing her weight to the floor, a sole mourner for the dead.
She woke in an unfamiliar room, cleaned and bandaged by familiar people.
Two days had passed since the fire. Hypatia’s sisters-in-truth had ensured she survived the marks of smoke and flame by sitting at her side day and night. They whispered of conspiracy, arson, and murders in their coven. Each knew the secret Hypatia guarded, though none as well as she. None had ever bothered to commit even a single passage to memory, let alone the entire text, as Hypatia had done. There had never been the need, though there was now. They hatched a plan, knowing for all its flaws, it was their only option. Hypatia would rewrite the book as best she could from memory and place it under an enchantment only those long awaited could break. Hide it in space, guard it with time, and couple enchantment with prophecy. All before the ones responsible for the fire and deaths plaguing them came for Hypatia, as they were sure to do. Hypatia’s sisters promised to provide protection while she worked. Lie for her, die for her if it came to it, but she must hurry.
And so, she did.
Three days she had been writing, teasing any detail she could from her memory. What if her scroll was the only surviving recollection of the past by the time those destined to save them arrived? If the past no longer lived as it did now, flying off the tongues of old women to young children eager to catch it. The threat was all too real. Hypatia had been as diligent as possible in her race against time, pausing only to sleep or when Octavia, her regular guard, brought food or news.
Octavia’s assurances of peace within the magical wards their coven had put in place gave Hypatia hope. There had been no unknown visitors or lost wanderers seen in the area. Only Hypatia’s family, friends, and library colleagues had asked after her. All had been told the same story: Hypatia was fine, embarrassed by her brashness, and intent on hiding her burned face and pride until they healed. She was sure to emerge soon, her sisters lied.
But then, maybe it was possible? She had not yet dared to hope, but now . . . she was close after all. Could she see her family once more before her enemies came for her?
Hypatia picked up the stylus and began writing with wild abandon, prying each detail from her memory and scribing it back into history. The curved reed mesmerized her as it danced in lines and swirls across papyri. Octavia dropped off breakfast, and still, Hypatia wrote.
Her hand stopped only as the sun rose high above the lighthouse tower. Eyes blurring and stomach clenching with hunger, she re-read the last line.
She’d done it.
The rush of blood that came with rising for the first time in hours dampened the sting in her legs. Spots swam in Hypatia’s vision as she shuffled to the small table Octavia had set her breakfast on. She ate the stale bread and cold soup with gusto, washing it down with wine to fortify her for what came next: the part she had been dreading.
Amenia, the Alexandrian coven's high priestess, had reassured Hypatia after each of her many protestations that the enchantment, though challenging, was not beyond Hypatia’s skills. Still, Hypatia had her doubts. She had never had a reason to bewitch an object into hiding. Nor had she ever bound an item to another being, much less beings yet to exist. When Hypatia had worried over the predicted length of time the enchantment should hold, Amenia assured her the words she’d woven for Hypatia would work. The tome would wait for the ones destined to fulfill the prophecy. The ones witches had awaited for centuries.
Hypatia had never been much good at reciting enchantments. There was no denying she would have liked more time to practice, more time for the spell to feel natural. When asked, Amenia admitted to having performed a similar spell twice in her fifty years. Yet she refused Hypatia outright when Hypatia requested the high priestess perform the enchantment in her stead.
“The volume knows you best. Thus, the spell will work best if you perform it,” Amenia had explained with aggravating confidence.
While Hypatia rarely doubted Amenia’s wisdom, right now with her nerves jangled and eyes half closed from exhaustion, the feat seemed impossible.
Perhaps a small nap for strength? Hypatia’s dark eyes slid to her cold, neglected bed mat. Thin and lumpy though it was, at that moment Hypatia could not recall a more beautiful sight. No doubt a rest would make the magic easier. Help it flow, she thought, hope rising in her chest. Yes, I’ll lie down for a few minutes to gather my strength.
A scream ripped through the night air, wrenching Hypatia from her dreams. Adrenaline tore through her as she ran to the window and gazed into a peaceful courtyard beneath a star-filled sky. I’ve been asleep for hours! How could I have been so careless? She whirled around to grab the sheets of papyri. Another strangled scream filtered heavenward.
That was close. Too close.
Her head whipped to face the door. A plate of steaming stew lay upon the table, its savory scent so fresh it had yet to cross the distance of her small room.
Octavia, she thought, rushing to the door to save her friend. The moment her hand clutched the latch she stopped. The ominous silence beyond her thin fortification registered in the sensible part of her mind.
Changing tack, Hypatia tossed the table and writing stool against the thin reed door. Her small barricade would not keep her pursuer at bay for long, but it only needed to buy her enough time to complete her task. She hoped they had not already managed to get past the wards her sisters had set in the alley.
Darting to her scribing slab, Hypatia seized the volume. There’s no time to glue together a proper scroll, she thought. Quickly, she arranged the pages in order and wrapped them in the piece of goat leather she’d procured for the scroll’s protective casing. A few loops of string around the crude codex bound it all together.
Hypatia laid the volume on her writing slab and rested her hand atop the leather. Trying her best to ignore the sound of soft, insidious footsteps approaching Hypatia began chanting the words Amenia had crafted.
* * *
“Seek your home.
A being foreseen,
A time unknown.
End my watch.
Go to thee.”
* * *
In her mind’s eye, a figure grew, and Hypatia’s skin tingled with elation.
Though dressed as a man and large in stature, the figure’s round belly proclaimed impending motherhood. The vision grew more detailed as three others materialized, hands clasped together in a circle around the mother-to-be.
Good, she’ll need protection, Hypatia thought, as an insistent thrusting of reeds against wood sounded at her back. Committing to the image, the rest of the spell rushed from her lips.
* * *
“Hide in space.
Dissolve in time.
Become but myth,
In all but mind.
Seek those from whom,
Pure magic flows.
Offer them knowledge,
Hope, and voice.
Guide them home,
Give them choice.”
* * *
A blue glow ignited in Hypatia’s core, flew down her arms and out her fingertips, seeking refuge in the pages she had crafted. Through her palm she sensed heat, her magic, pulsing below the leather and string, weaving through the words. Finally, she whispered the prophecy, the plea to their saviors as reeds cracked dangerously behind her.
It was done.
Removing her hand, Hypatia saw the eddies of power she’d relinquished transmuting from the soft blue of her own magic to brilliant sapphire, fiery red, and finally a vibrant emerald green. Three colors, just as Amenia had said there would be. Hypatia watched mesmerized as the green light pulsed once more before dissipating into the book, sealing the prophecy.
A deafening cascade of furniture sounded. Hypatia glanced back to see a figure bathed in moonlight slinking over the threshold of her sanctuary. The man, if one could call him that, crept toward her like a cat, graceful and silent.
Hypatia sought his eye, a sliver of humanity with which to beg for her life. Instead, she saw the glint of a blade as it flew at her throat.
Blood shot from Hypatia’s neck, leaving a testament to her life on the walls and floors. Her head grew slack, dipping to her chest, no longer able to hold its own weight. From her position of surrender, Hypatia watched as a river spilled from her. Streams of red flowed down her arms to the bony backs of her hands. Dimly she saw them trickle into creeks, following the fine lines of her fingers, before finally coming to rest upon the empty writing slab.
Lily
2016 A.D.
Lily had always admired the stars’ indifference. How they remained unaffected by everyday trivialities, great loves, wars, and falls of empires. They were simply there, not knowing or caring that humans prized their light, prayed to them during their darkest hours, even steered their entire lives by them. It felt safe to look upon them, non-threatening and obvious. It was a relief to know such steadiness existed when Lily’s life seemed anything but steady.
She pulled her gaze down to the road. The Columbia River shimmered at her right. Its inky fingers glimmered and undulated east to west between Oregon and Washington, cocooned in the familiar peaks and forests of the Gorge. In her rear view mirror a sliver of light blue peaked over the horizon as the sun threatened the night.
Lily let out a sigh as her neck spasmed. Pain, once occasional and limited to post-race soreness, was now a familiar sensation. It had started over Christmas break as a dull ache creeping down her neck, claiming one vertebra at a time and knitting them together. From there it moved inward, settling in the shadow of her ribcage, occasionally radiating up and down her spine. Her anxiety about the mysterious aches and pains grew daily. They felt contradictory—as if something was trying to crawl out of her and sink deeper all at once. It made it hard to concentrate. Her last semester of college was nothing more than a blur.
As graduation day approached, it became difficult to believe Lily’s senior year had begun happily. She’d performed beyond her expectations in her final cross-country season, and even managed to lead a relatively active social life—a small miracle, considering her preference for a hike in the woods over socializing. Most surprising of all, she’d had her first boyfriend.
Until a few months ago, Lily Whiplark had never been interested in dating, a quirk that seemed to baffle others. She figured ambivalence toward dating was bound to happen when you were raised in a commune where women ruled the roost and stories of past relationships gone acidic were no secret. She remembered wondering if she’d change her mind when she went to college. She hadn’t. At least not until she met Liam.
He had been different. That much was clear upon their first meeting, when he’d rendered her powerless with his violet-flecked gray eyes and smooth baritone voice. She’d agreed to see him again later that day and promptly dissolved into him.
Lily had never met a man so perfect, so unlike any other guy her age. He didn’t mind that she wanted to take things slow, that she never stayed at his place, or that she often kept her eyes wide open when they kissed. Even she thought that was weird. None of her neuroses phased him. After every perfect date Lily would collapse into bed like a lovestruck teenager, already obsessing about the next time she’d see Liam. Replaying the precise cadence of his voice as he dropped her off at her door: “Goodnight, Lily love.”
Then, one day, Liam seemed to mind everything. He grew forceful, demanding answers and throwing allegations at her, each one more crazy and righte
ous than the last.
“You’re hiding something. Rest assured, I’ll uncover your secrets. You can’t remain silent forever. You’ll slip up soon, I can feel it. If you don't give them to me, I can force them from you,” he whispered, right before Lily slapped his accusatory finger from between her eyes and ran out the door.
Her fear brought on the realization that she didn’t like the person she’d become when she was with Liam. She’d transformed into one of the women she pitied, the ones who lost themselves in the men they were with. She’d never make that mistake again.
“Damn it,” Lily swore, pounding the brakes as her Prius skidded into a turn identified by a Douglas fir tree decorated with ornaments. A box wedged in the back seat flew forward, nearly taking her shoulder with it as she brought the vehicle to a sideways stop.
Argh! A thousand miles away and he’s still a menace, Lily thought, smashing the rogue box into the middle console before taking the wheel once more.
Lush greenery choked the narrow, pothole-riddled gravel drive, creating the strangely pleasing illusion of traveling down a funnel, as Lily drove the miles to the commune center at a snail's pace. The first of three iron fences that surrounded Terramar Commune had a reputation for sneaking up on people, and it had the dents to prove it.
Rena, the commune matriarch, considered lights on the secluded, treed drive an unnecessary expense. “Who’s going to be visiting in the dark of night? We hardly get visitors in the day!” was her predictable rebuttal when the matter was brought up at community meetings.
As Lily dragged the third rusted gate over the uneven ground, she wondered why Rena insisted on keeping the three behemoths shut all hours of the day if no one ever visited. Hypocrite, she thought, pulling through and leaving the third gate open on principle.