by Amy Marie
Never mind that I didn’t like her very much.
“What do you think, Mr. Augustine?” Rafe asks, looking to Uncle Mike.
Uncle Mike stands silent, his back facing us. The excitement dies down as we all turn to his unexpected reaction, or lack thereof.
“Another light soul?” He turns and shakes his head at me, as if questioning my story. “She said ‘the original bearer of light’?” he asks.
“What is it, Michael?” Darcy asks.
Uncle Mike is nearly shaking. I haven’t seen him this upset since Char was kidnapped.
“Don’t you all see? We know this story, or something similar to it!”
We all look to each other for a hint, but come up short.
“But the Statera says nothing about a previous light soul,” says Rafe.
“Not the Statera,” answers Uncle Mike.
“How else could we know this story?” I ask.
“My Goodness, I can’t believe I’ve been so blind!” Uncle Mike exclaims to himself with a hand to his forehead. He scrambles around searching the endless piles of antique books that adorn the great room.
I look to Darcy and he shrugs, just as mystified.
“Milton, Milton, Milton... ah yes, here it is!” Uncle Mike exclaims and holds up an aged book in triumph. An antique copy of Paradise Lost is grasped in his hands.
“My God!” Rafe staggers to take a seat as Uncle Mike’s meaning clearly hits him before the rest of us.
“What is it?” asks Char.
The color drains from Darcy’s face as he looks my way.
I look from the book, to Uncle Mike, and back and forth again trying to recall my own knowledge of John Milton’s epic poem.
I remember the book was a Christian mythology on the origins of sin. Visions of angels, and snakes, and my own interpretation of the garden of Eden flash through my mind. How strange, I think the book even includes Michael and Raphael – a few of God’s archangels. I look to Uncle Mike and Rafe and wonder if that is the coincidence that’s astounding them.
The reminiscence begins to hum around me, tickling my skin. Something sparks in my mind.
Everything goes black.
Out of the darkness, there is small glowing orb. Fixated on the orb, it swirls in my vision in a streak of hot white light.
A star.
My mind fills in the blank. And the orb grows brighter in response.
Not just a star. The star. The first light. I’ve heard the name before…
The morning star.
Oh no!
My mind makes the connection and my vision goes blind from the power of the burning hot light. The energy from the light is out of control and ready to consume me. I’m burning. Screaming. Scorched by the uncontrolled power of the light.
I come back to reality looking up into four familiar faces of concern, huddled around my crumpled form.
Glancing from face to face, I can see the mirrored fear from the discovery.
The first light soul. Tempted by the power within. The original bearer of light...
“Lucifer!” I choke on the revelation.
Could he have been the original light soul?
Chapter 4
Darcy transfers a warm cup of tea into my grasp as I huddle into the corner of the couch. To my surprise, he stays close and gathers my shaking form close to his side, giving me comfort.
We all sit in astonishment, wondering how our reality tipped into this branch of religious lore. Char and Rafe are sitting together, whispering quietly. More than a few times, they cast worried glances my way.
Uncle Mike is silently reading the book that started the evening’s controversy.
“It’s strange,” he says, looking up, “that this story could match so well with the Statera’s previous form of existence and the shattering of souls. We’re talking about the war of the heavens! Let’s say, for example, that the original light soul was responsible. Chaos ensued and the souls were shattered. The original light and dark souls were destroyed and new ones were re-born for our existence, along with the protection of the four elements. Were the re-born souls Adam and Eve?”
He looks to Darcy and me as if we might remember the garden of Eden.
I shake my head, befuddled.
“I think some of those stories are just stories,” Darcy says. “I do not recall Nora offering me my first apple.”
I give a weak huff at his attempted joke, but remain uneasy.
“Oftentimes, ancient stories are metaphors, but there are also times when they are stemmed from some version of the truth,” Uncle Mike says eyeing Darcy.
His words remind me of Darcy’s curse and its rumored influence on the attributes of modern day vampire legends. Does that really mean that the previous version of my soul could be connected with what some religions refer to as the devil?
“Are you alright?” Darcy’s breath tickles my brow, speaking softly to me.
His concerned gaze has me lost in pools of hazel.
“I don’t understand how I can be connected with that kind of evil. It frightens me,” I admit.
“You are not connected. That is the point. You were chosen to house the power of the light soul because, unlike him, you can harness that power without pride. You are the opposite of what he was.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Have you ever even tried to manipulate the light within you? You are not even sure what the power is, or what you are capable of. None of us are. You may be a stubborn woman, but selfish pride and lust for power does not dwell within you.”
A roundabout compliment, but a compliment nonetheless.
“It just bothers me,” I say, shrinking into the crook of his arm.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“This information is different from everything I’ve ever been taught about religion. Everything I should believe in, it’s all wrong,” I explain.
“Finding out and knowing everything we know does not have to combat your faith, Nora. If anything, it can help build it,” he gives me a squeeze of reassurance. “You must be open to changing your perspective.”
I only shrug, not knowing what to say as I ponder over his response. Just because everything we’re learning may be different than the things I was taught growing up, it doesn’t make them untrue. It actually verifies the idea, even though the specifics are different. The basic belief is still there. There’s a definite battle of good versus evil here. But where am I in the midst of all this? Am I doomed to end up like Lucifer?
Darcy forces my gaze up to meet his. “I know what you keep thinking. You know who you are, Nora. Nothing we learned today changes that.”
I force the corner of my mouth up into a half-smile. At least I’m in Darcy’s arms for the time being. That’s enough to keep me satisfied for the night. The struggles of my soul can wait until tomorrow.
“What’s our next move?” I ask out loud, remembering the others in the room.
Darcy surprises me as the one who answers. “I was thinking of taking Nora to Oklahoma to speak to the members of the Potawatomi to follow up on her dream,” he suggests, turning towards Uncle Mike.
“Just the two of you?” Uncle Mike asks, puffing up as a guardian in more than one way. I bite my lip to hide my smile.
“Of course not, Michael. I was going to ask you to come along to chaperone. And to escort Nora during the day. If you would you be so willing?” Darcy asks in his strange, other-worldly and courteous way.
“An excellent idea,” Uncle Mike closes his book as he stands. “I’ll get Mrs. Spacey to make the arrangements. We’ll leave first thing! Raphael, my dear boy, will you be able to handle things while I’m awa–”
Uh-oh. Caught.
Uncle Mike stops short after seeing me wiggle my eyebrows in Char’s direction at the idea of her and Rafe having the sanctuary to themselves.
“On second thought, perhaps Raphael would be a better chaperone on this journey. I’m an old man and don’t travel well
, you see,” Uncle Mike says with feigned innocence, and real genius.
Darcy looks between the three of them and shakes his head with a smirk. “Of course. Rafe, would you be willing to join us?” he offers.
Rafe’s disappointment at being downgraded from a romantic weekend alone with Char to a third wheel chaperone is obvious. With a sigh, he agrees, and we make our plans to go seek the fire elemental.
The next morning, Rafe and I walk through the terminal at Boston Logan to catch our flight. Darcy plans to follow us later, on a night flight.
We pass a pretzel vendor in the A terminal, and I hear a familiar clicking of heels close behind me. I turn around to see if we’re being followed, but only notice men in suits rushing past me in their hasty travel.
“Is something wrong?” Rafe stops alongside me.
“Nothing. I just thought… how about a pretzel?” I ask, grasping for a distraction.
“Sure! You wait here, I’ll grab us a snack,” Rafe offers.
I move to the side and pretend to people watch as Rafe gets our snack. Really, I’m just looking for a blond barbie on the prowl. I swear I thought I heard the distinct click of Emily’s stilettos following us. Emily has had it out for me ever since I first met Rafe. She doesn’t even realize that Rafe is dating my sister. She was blinded by jealousy, and it seemed to make her a little unstable.
Feeling foolish, I shake my head. Plenty of women wear stilettos. Why did my mind automatically jump to Emily? I’m way too paranoid, and our trip is only just beginning.
With food in tow, and no sign of any crazy blonds, we board our plane to Oklahoma.
On the flight, Rafe can sense my rising discomfort, so he distracts me with his knowledge of ancient native religions. During the takeoff and climb out, my grip on the seat handle turns my knuckles white.
To save the day, Rafe starts singing from the musical Oklahoma about winds and plains to make me laugh. Soon, he distracts me into a competitive trivia contest, and before I know it, the flight is over!
Now our mission begins.
Uncle Mike has arranged for us to meet with a young woman who will be giving us a tour of the Shawnee and Tecumseh areas, southeast of the city. She thinks we’re here on a research trip for a thesis on Native American Indian Territory and its preserved religious practices. This will give us access to the current tribe Shaman as well. It’s the perfect setup!
We check into the local resort that includes a casino owned by the tribe. Walking through the main entrance, Rafe waves me to follow him through the casino floor.
“I can’t go into the casino area,” I try to be subtle and talk without moving my mouth. There are cameras everywhere.
Rafe laughs. “Relax, you’re good. This is a tribal casino. The age limit is eighteen. You’re perfectly legal. You could even make a bet if you wanted to!”
Oh, well then, a tour of the casino it is! I fall in love with the lights and sounds. The whole setting is quite mesmerizing. The themed décor is an obvious reference to fire. There are light sculptures throughout the floor of dancing flames reaching up to the ceiling.
Rafe follows my gaze and explains, “The Potawatomi is part of an alliance of three tribes. They call themselves the council of the three fires. Mr. Augustine said that this tribe is said to be the Keepers of the Fire. Along with your dream, I’m guessing this will be our best bet.”
“The Keepers of the Fire! That’s what the Chief said in my dream!” My pulse races. “I think we’re exactly where we need to be!” I exclaim.
“Today might be our lucky day after all. Let’s get started by finding our tour guide,” Rafe says with enthusiasm. He’s just as excited as I am – my complete brother in nerdiness.
After lunch, we meet with a young woman from the tribe. The attractive lady gives a small nod, but her expression remains quite serious without even a hint of a smile in her greeting.
“Hello, my name is Dansé. I’m here as your guide, and to translate between you and the Shaman for your meeting.” Her nametag spells her name as D-A-N-S-E, but when she introduced herself, it sounded like Dans-ah.
“Hello Dansé,” I shake her hand with a smile.
Rafe follows suit, but holds her hand just a moment longer. “What a beautiful name,” he lays on the charm. “May I ask what it translates to?”
She finally smiles, and with a nod answers, “It means daughter, a name given by the Shaman. He’s my adopted father.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. I guess it would’ve been a little too easy for our first encounter to automatically be someone who could be the fire spirit.
“Have you had a chance to explore the casino?” she asks.
“Yes,” I respond. “The fire décor is beautiful. It’s so warm and inviting here.”
She nods along still smiling, warming up to us herself. “Well, where shall we start? I can give you a tour of the local landmarks, then we can set up a dinner with the Shaman?”
“Actually,” Rafe interjects. “We have a friend flying in around dinner time. Is there any way to meet with the Shaman first?”
She does well to hide her surprise. “Let me see if he’s available now. Please, give me just a moment.” She excuses herself to use her cell phone.
“What are you doing?” I whisper to him.
He turns his eyebrow up at me and says, “Trust me.”
Our temporary guide returns with good news, but her smile is gone now. “The Shaman has made some time to see you. We’ll have to meet him at the tribal council office. It’s not far, if you’d like to follow me there?” She gives us suspicious glances, but remains formal.
“We really appreciate it,” answers Rafe.
After a short drive, we arrive at the Tribal Nation headquarters. It’s just a small office building, similar to a government or city council office. We pass a front desk area where I spot pictures of Dansé and an elderly man, seemingly much too old to be her father.
She interrupts my observations by inviting us back into the Shaman’s office.
We walk back down a corridor and it’s almost as if we’re being transported back in time. The office is dark, the windows blocked out. The light is dim, similar to the light a fire would cast. Tribal decorations fill the walls with hand painted symbols, dream catchers, totems, and many more objects. It’s uniquely beautiful, and for some reason, it feels almost spiritual. I can sense a connection to something in this room. Maybe it’s a familiarity from my dream?
A wrinkled man moves from the shadowed corner to greet us. After a brief formal introduction, the aged Shaman asks what he can help us with, and Dansé begins her duty of translation for the old man’s ancient language.
“Thank you for seeing us today, sir,” I begin. “I recently have had a connection to the Potawatomi tribe, and I was wondering, can you tell me anything about these symbols?” I ask, handing over a stack of drawings of the four point symbols from my dreams.
The old man takes the papers with a nod, but continues to stare at me. He squints, almost like he’s searching for something on my face. I avoid his gaze and look around the room. After a moment, he answers, “There are many variations, but the four-point symbol always pays homage to the ancient symbol of the four sacred elements,” the older man’s hands move with his words as Dansé’s translation confirms my dream.
At his answer, I meet his eyes.
“I had a dream that included one of these symbols, and the dream was about the Potawatomi,” I explain, not wanting to reveal too much detail just yet. I’m careful to watch the old man for his reaction. After a flicker of surprise, the Shaman moves close to me and grabs my hand. He turns my palm facing upward and uses his finger to trace along the lines of my palm.
I glance to Dansé, seeking an explanation, but she just stares at her elder, slack-jawed.
“Petaské kwé. Petaské kwé,” the older man keeps saying, as he traces on my palm.
“What’s that he’s repeating?” asks Rafe.
Dans
é appears to be more stunned than confused. “He… he’s saying the sun is shining from you,” she stutters in my direction.
Chapter 5
The shaman gestures to himself and goes off on a rant, but then goes back to pointing at me and pressing into my palm to stress his point.
“He is saying that he is the Shaman, a medicine man, and he recognizes others who know the Spirit. He says he recognizes you. He is calling you “The sun shines in her” that is what Petaské kwé means,” Dansé now looks to me in wonder – or maybe it’s fear.
My face burns with the revelation of truth. “How does he know that?” I ask, bewildered.
He listens to the question and when he answers, he points from his head to my palm, over and over again as he rambles on.
“He says, you have the dreams. And the symbol of the Great Spirit on your palm.”
“What symbol is he referring to?” asks Rafe, moving closer to look at my hand as if I’ve grown an extra finger.
“The Hand Eye,” the girl’s voice lowers to almost a whisper. Yep – definitely fear.
Looking down at my palm, I argue, “I don’t quite understand. He was tracing a square on my palm, not an oval. There is no eye.”
“Not a square. A diamond,” Dansé answers on her own without involving the Shaman. She points to the far wall that displays an array of dreamcatchers surrounding a design painted onto the wall. The design catches and holds my attention. It looks like an oval trapped inside of a diamond, and another oval:
“You know this symbol?” the Shaman asks through Dansé, pointing at the wall.
I step closer to the wall. “It kind of reminds me of the eye of providence,” I admit without thinking. It was the first thing that popped into my mind.
He nods at Dansé’s version of my words.
“You have knowledge. This is a similar interpretation. It is a symbol of the Great Spirit.”
Somehow, I recognize the symbol. Maybe not the symbol itself, but I somehow know its meaning. At least, I know it’s familiar.
“So, he thinks I have this symbol on my palm? This Hand Eye? What does that mean?” I ask.