Eighth Fire

by Curtis, Gene

  The lake, seen through the window, was as still as a sheet of glass and as soothing as a warm embrace this morning. It gave the feeling that today was going to be a good day.

  “Magi business?” She smiled at her husband and he smiled back.

  “No, not yet I hope—Occoneechee business. I need to show her something and tell her a story. That’s all, no need to be worried.” He took the large, empty canvas bag from beside the fireplace. The bag was usually used to bring in wood and kindling from the woodpile outside. Today it would serve a similar purpose.

  Magi and Occoneechee secrets were a way of life in this family and had been for a long time. That was the way it had been since the universal war about a thousand years ago. History, prophecy, and traditions were passed on, by word of mouth, and never written down since that time. It had been the written forms of these three things that had spawned that war in the first place and driven Yésah, The People, back to the east after the Quest of the Seven Fires.

  The Quest of the Seven Fires started with the Prophecy of the Seven Fires. Seven prophets, each in turn, told of the seven fires, signs of things to come; things that would change the course of things that should be, change them for good or for evil. The story of the quest is still told by crackling campfires in all tribes and bands of The People. It is a legend that is told only to those of Yésah. Most of those not of The People, even if told, have no understanding of it, their spirits are deaf. Today would be one such day, in which an important legend and prophecy would pass from firstborn to firstborn.

  Mr. Day walked into the kitchen and removed a plastic bag from the freezer. The bag held the frozen heart and liver of a particular kind of fish, something he felt was needed this morning. Even though the place they were going was supposed to be sacred, where nothing evil could go, it was better to take precautions for something this important.

  He walked outside to the woodpile and stuffed the canvas bag full of kindling and firewood. Chenoa walked out the back door, clad in jeans and a flannel shirt, yawning, stretching and rubbing her sleepy eyes.

  “Hi Daddy; what’s so important?”

  “I can’t tell you here.” He extended his elbow toward her. “Grab my arm and let’s go. The sun will be just coming up there. It’s tradition to be there at sunrise.”

  Chenoa took his arm and instantly they were on top of, still dark, Aztec Butte. This prominence jutted from the land north of the confluence of the Colorado River and the Green River in the U.S. state of Utah. This hill had been called Aztec Butte long before Europeans came to the area. The name alone was a mystery since no Aztec settlement had ever been near here.

  Mr. Day dumped the bundle of wood into a neat pile, struck a match on the rock surface and lit the fire. A few minutes later, it was burning well and he carefully laid the contents of the plastic bag on the topmost piece of wood. It started burning and stunk up the calm morning air fairly well.

  Chenoa sat cross legged in front of the fire, warming herself from the still chilly night air. She knew she didn’t need to ask her dad any questions. She felt he knew what he was doing and would answer any questions that she might have in due course. Serenity is a thing of the spirit, he would say.

  Soon the eastern horizon began getting slightly brighter, making the horizon just visible. A little while later the sun would breach that line, bringing with it light, warmth and hope for another chance at opportunities missed. Mr. Day began in the same way with Chenoa that his father had begun with him.

  “Do you remember the legend of the Quest for the Seven Fires?”

  Chenoa nodded her head. “Yes.”

  “In the prophecy, there was a mention of the seventh fire lighting an eighth fire. I am going to tell you the prophecy of The Eighth Fire as given to our ancestors, passed from firstborn to firstborn in two Occoneechee families. Ours is one of those families, the other I do not know. Are you ready to hear the prophecy?”

  Shades of deep purple began giving way to faint wisps of pink bathed in a background of ultramarine on the distant eastern sky. A crisp morning breeze was beginning to kiss their cheeks, an irony of being in the desert. Soon, this butte would be a frying pan.

  Chenoa stared into the face of her dad. “I am ready to hear it.”

  “The Eighth Fire represents a choice of which path to take. A warrior will come to this place to search the maze.” Mr. Day pointed to a section of the canyon they were over looking. The dim morning light was getting brighter. The area below truly was a maze, formed by eons of erosion. It was miles wide and miles across.

  “More than two thousand years ago, The Great Spirit saw that The People lived in harmony with the land of the seven entrances, caves concealed in the maze.” He swept his arm to indicate the lands below. “The Great Spirit thought to give The People a gift. This gift was the first sunstone. All other sunstones have been made based on that legend. This land that you see here is the land of The People, the place where our ancestors lived in harmony with the land and with The Great Spirit.” Mr. Day pointed to the horizon and then turned in a circle. “Farther than you can see The People inhabited this land.”

  Chenoa stood and turned, surveying the horizon for as far as she could see.

  “The spirit of the nine winds, an evil spirit, came and stole the gift. He sought to hide it from The People in the spirit world but, he could not. The gift was not of this world and he had no power over it. So, he selected the best and strongest of the Aztec warriors, Otomi, to guard it in some unknown place. Before Otomi could be taken away, his brother, Xocotli, took its source of power, a thing he called the fingernail of The Great Spirit, and ran away.

  “The people to the south that followed the ways of the evil spirit of the nine winds sought his blood. The ones that followed The Great Spirit helped him. This caused a war that drove The People east the first time, more than two thousand years ago. Xocotli hid the thing here, in a cave in this maze.”

  Chenoa said, “Otomi is the name of the warrior that was guarding the sunstone in the labyrinth.”

  Mr. Day smiled, but it wasn’t his usual smile. His spirit was troubled. He squatted and lowered his head to look down between his knees. After a moment he looked back at Chenoa.

  “The time of The Eighth Fire is close. It troubles me.” He looked back down between his knees and said something that Chenoa couldn’t quite make out. He looked back up at her. “I don’t think that we’re ready.” Mr. Day stared into the fire for a moment before turning back at Chenoa.

  “Xocotli was given a prophecy and he made drawings on the stones here about that prophecy. When he left, he told two men, in different families, the prophecy. This prophecy has been passed to the firstborn, on the sunrise of their thirteenth year, since that time.”

  Mr. Day stood and looked into his daughter’s eyes. “Today is that day for you. What I tell you now must not be told to another until you tell it to your firstborn. I have known this prophecy since my thirteenth birthday, and I know that you will want to tell it. You will feel like you must tell it, but you must not.”

  Chenoa looked into her father’s eyes. They were awaiting her answer. “I will not tell it until I tell it to my firstborn on the sunrise of the thirteenth year of their life. I will tell it here, just as you are about to tell me.”

  “Keeping your promise will be hard.” Mr. Day looked down again, paused and looked back at his daughter. “There are seven entrances to the maze. Xocotli chose the most difficult, through a cave. A spirit showed him the way and instructed him in preparing the seven deaths. Some will seek to explore this cave for knowledge, for adventure and in search of the power source. None will be able to pass through the seven deaths except one; the chosen one.

  “One day a warrior will come, bearing the cane of The Great Spirit. The cane is not of this world and possesses great power. It will be known by its markings. It will have writing in a language not known. It will be read before the Column of Keeping and the Column of Destiny. The writing will say:


  The Great Spirit is my guardian,

  I will lack nothing,

  He places me in good grounds,

  He gives my spirit rest,

  He heals my heart,

  He shows me the right way to go,

  He is the Great Spirit,

  I may journey to death but,

  I will fear nothing,

  He is with me,

  His pole and his cane will protect me.”

  Mr. Day took one of the burning pieces of wood out of the fire. (Only one end of the wood was burning.) He drew a long question mark on the stone surface using the burning end of the wood.

  “This is the shape of the cane. It has circles on it and around it, of yellow metal. The writing is blue and goes around and down the cane like this.”

  Mr. Day used his fingernail to scribe diagonal lines on the charcoal question mark he had drawn.

  Chenoa was becoming antsy. Proper etiquette required her to sit still and listen. She knew this was important, but she also knew who this warrior was. Her father had just described Mark’s staff, perfectly.

  “I know you want to talk, but just listen.”

  She felt like she was going to burst. “Dad, I have to speak.”

  “I know how you feel, I know of Mark, too.”

  Chenoa sat down by the fire again. The sun was fully up now and the breeze was becoming a little warmer.

  “The warrior will come, seeking the fingernail of The Great Spirit and The Eighth Fire will light on the Column of Destiny. The Column of Keeping will open, revealing the pole, mate of the cane. The warrior will pass through the seven deaths: fire, blood, insects, poison, rot, breath and freezing. If—if he recovers the object, he must pass back through the seven deaths. If he dies in this quest, the path of all people will be set for destruction. If he lives, the path is not set. There remains hope.”

  Chenoa started to speak, but her father spoke first. “If the warrior fails, our path is set for destruction...If he fails...there is no hope. You must let destiny take its course.”

  “I can at least tell him so he can prepare.”

  “No. You must not. He may not be the one. It may be another. We won’t know for sure until The Eighth Fire has been lit and then, we may only witness this and tell The People that The Eighth Fire has been lit. To do otherwise is to work against The Great Spirit.”

  Mr. Day extended his elbow toward Chenoa. “I have something else to show you. You can ask questions there.”

  She took his arm and instantly they were somewhere else.

  “This place is called The Gallery. The drawings are some of the ones I told you about.”

  “Xocotli wasn’t a very good artist.”

  “These drawings have been here for more than two thousand years. They are a little bit weathered.”

  “That big guy there, I recognize the headdress he’s wearing. It’s the High Elder.”

  “Yes and there has only ever been one Magi High Elder with a beard like that.”

  “You mean that is a drawing of Habeas Grob, the current High Elder?”

  “With that blazon he’s wearing, it looks an awful lot like him to me.”

  Chenoa stepped up closer to the drawing and examined the two short columns in front of the tall figure. “It’s hard to tell. Is that supposed to be The Eighth Fire on top of that column?” She pointed to the column on her left.

  “Yes, it is, and the other column is the Column of Keeping.”

  Chenoa pointed to the shape on the far left. “That figure looks like it could be me.”

  “There’s really no way to tell until The Eighth Fire is lit. Their appearance has always been a little vague.”

  “How many people know about this?”

  “This drawing? Millions I suppose. This glyph is pretty famous; it’s in a lot of books.”

  “How many know about the prophecy?”

  “There are you, me, my father and his father in our family. There is another family, so I suppose as many as eight to ten living people could know of it.”

  Chenoa walked up and down in front of the drawings examining them as she went. “What’s this group over here?”

  “I was going to call that to your attention if you didn’t ask about it. Notice that one figure of a Magi has been erased?”

  “Yes, why was he erased?”

  “A group of Magi will attempt to recover the fingernail of The Great Spirit and one will die.”

  “That’s why you’re afraid of Mark trying. You think he might die and set the course for destruction.”

  “That’s some of it. If he is the one and tries before he is ready, he is likely to die. If he isn’t the one and he tries, he will die. Either way is bad.”

  “But, he is the one… I just know he is.”

  “I believe so as well, but, believing doesn’t make it so. Destiny must be allowed to take its natural path. Too much is at stake to do anything else.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Orientation Begins

  This year, the start of school on September 1st would fall on a Monday and that meant Mark was due at Orientation on the Monday the week before the start of classes at seven in the morning. He had plenty of time given that The Seventh Mountain was three hours behind Virginia time. Mark’s older brother wouldn’t be going with him. James was a freshman and he was required to show up and check in with enough time to meet his counselor in The Oasis by eight at night.

  Mark’s mom had made his favorite breakfast this morning, steak and eggs, and the aroma filled the house. When he smelled it, he kicked his covers back and sat on the edge of his bed. A lot of things had changed since last year. For one, he had gotten used to the dreams, well most of them. He knew he didn’t remember all of them, but the ones he did remember he thought were rather interesting. They didn’t have the dire sense of foreboding last year’s dreams had. The one from last night was one he hadn’t had in a while, but it was just the same as it had always been.

  He’d been following the course of an ancient Aztec warrior. He figured from looking at a map, the warrior traveled from central Mexico all the way up into the western United States, where he had either lost or hidden the object he was carrying. After that, the warrior started heading east and that was as far as the dreams had ever gone.

  He had a pretty good idea the warrior in the dreams was Otomi’s brother, and the thing he was carrying was the key he had stolen from the sunstone. He also figured the key had to be a power source of some sort. The warrior had at times wielded it to fend off attackers and Mark had seen large electric sparks come from it.

  Mark got up and went to his bathroom. (All the bedrooms in their new house had their own bathrooms.) He decided this key to the sunstone was what Mrs. Shadowitz meant when she said he probably did know what Benrah was after. It made sense that Benrah would want to keep the key out of Magi control. Mrs. Shadowitz had reasoned the sunstone would reveal some vital information for this juncture in history, only no one could figure out how to get that information. Now that he thought he knew, he’d have to tell her.

  At the breakfast table, James was bursting with excitement. As soon as their dad finished asking the blessing, he scooped up a bite of eggs on his fork and asked while holding the fork over his plate, “What’s it like, the first day I mean?”

  Mark thought back to how excited he'd been about going from grade school to junior high school last year and how he’d pestered James about what it was like. He smiled. “You’ve been there; you know what the school is like.”

  “I know that, but what’s the first day like?”

  “You just check in, go to The Good Steward and set up your account, and then you get to check out everything you want until eight o’clock when you meet your counselor in The Oasis.”

  James still had his fork hovering over his plate. “When do you get your books and clothes and stuff?”

  “I got some of the clothes that night: a gray tunic set. You have to wait until you know what tribe you’re in
before you can get the stuff you need in tribe colors. When you get your signet is up to your counselor; same thing with the books and other things.”

  “How will I know who my counselor is?” He was still holding the fork over his plate.

  Their mom said, “James, your food is getting cold.”

  He glanced at his mother and then down at his fork. “Yes ma’am.” He shoved the eggs in his mouth and loaded his fork again.

  Mark said, “It’ll be the one that picks you up, so just relax. The first day is like going to the mall, but you already know all this.”

  “I know, but it just seems so unreal, I mean how did you deal with it?” His fork didn’t budge.

  “For me it just happened so fast. I knew I was supposed to go to this special school, but I didn’t know anything about it, not even where it was. And so many strange things were happening, I didn’t really think about it. I’d given up on trying to figure things out. Then I was simply there. It just felt so right, like I knew deep inside I was supposed to be there. It felt comfortable, like coming home after a long day. I know that doesn’t make sense, but it’s how I felt. I felt like I was home.”

  Shirley was sitting next to Mark and he felt her looking at him. He faced her and saw her eyes welling up. He knew she was remembering last year, how Mark had been the little brother, and James the big brother. Now, even though James was a year older, James was the little brother. He felt it had just dawned on her how much he had grown; thirteen years old and he had already saved hundreds, if not thousands of people from the brink of hell. Now he was talking about The Seventh Mountain feeling more like home than his home here with her. He knew he had just hurt his mother, but she knew he was right. She had just realized her little boy had grown up now; every bit the person she could have ever hoped he would be, and more. But, he was still just thirteen years old, still her little boy.