Whispers of the Past

by Shawna Hunter

  Whispers

  of the

  Past

  Shawna Hunter

  Copyright

  Whispers of the Past is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  WHISPERS OF THE PAST: A NOVEL

  Copyright © 2018 by Shawna Hunter

  All rights reserved.

  Editing by KP Editing

  Cover design by KP Designs

  Published by Kingston Publishing Company

  The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means—including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 1

  Forests have been on this Earth far longer than man. Once, long ago, they sheltered man’s ancestors until men had grown enough to strike out on their own. Seeing that men were ready to stand and make their own way in the world, the forests began to recede and give men space to grow. Like any good teacher, however, they never stopped watching their charge.

  They watched as men bent stone to our purposes. They provided the wood for fires that shaped bronze, iron, and steel. They fell to give rise to man’s cities, and yet, they still sheltered men as they delved into the darker mysteries of this world.

  Magic. Few remember that it was the forests who birthed it. The legends speak of elves and fairies, but it was not these flights of fancy. It was the trees themselves and the shadows they cast. Humans, in our hubris, forgot this truth. We imagined spirits and sprites, demons and gods all with human faces and human motives to explain away the mysteries. Stories told to calm those haunted by the whispers they heard in the forests at night. Whispers most of mankind had long since learned to ignore, for they spoke of a power far beyond that of the human world, and what does man fear if not a power greater than himself?

  There are a those, however, who still have ears willing to listen and hearts willing to accept the wisdom of the forest. They go by many names: sorcerers, magicians, wizards, enchantresses, and witches, but none of those names is truly correct. Each path towards the mysteries is born of only a fraction of the truth and only a few of the whispers. Like all human endeavors, the magic explored by these half-hearing practitioners is tainted by what they no longer understand. Like the child who does not heed the nursemaid’s tales, they have forgotten the most important lessons of the forest. Though the trees remember, and on special nights, they may remind men of what they have forgotten to fear.

  ***

  “Come on Nightshadow,” Moonbane whined as the taller girl tripped over her spiked heels for the dozenth time. No one in the coven understood why such a beanstalk of a girl would seek to add to her height. Maybe it just made her feel better than the rest of them. Whatever the reason, it slowed her down on the rough terrain and, as she was needed for the ritual, it slowed the rest of the group as well.

  “It’s not my fault,” Nightshadow grumbled as she brushed the leaves and dirt from her new black dress, “you guys didn’t tell me we were going so far off the trail.”

  “Duh,” Panathea rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips to chastise their most junior sister, “it’s a sacred Sabbath; you can’t exactly have it on some manicured, city-made trail.”

  “Well you could have mentioned proper footwear in your e-vite,” Nightshadow fired back.

  “You could always take your shoes off,” Moonbane pointed out, “we’re meant to be communing with the ancient spirits, after all. I’m pretty sure they didn’t wear plastic heels from Hot Topic in ancient times.”

  “Yeah, they wore sandals like these,” Panathea added as she pulled up her ankle length skirt to show off her J-Crew gladiator sandals for the hundredth time that day.

  “Oh please,” Moonbane fired back, “they didn’t have Chinese sweatshop workers making their shoes in ancient times.”

  “You’re one to talk. You’re wearing freaking Crocs!” The two girls squared off, almost forgetting Nightshadow whose head sank into her shoulders in the face of the confrontation. Moonbane and Panathea always got like this when they were together, and without someone to shift their focus, it would get far worse.

  “I, uh, guys? I don’t want to go barefoot,” Nightshadow stammered, “I, um, might step on something.”

  “Oh, like it would matter,” Moonbane turned to stare up at her once more, “it would take the pain signals like a year to reach your head.” In her mundane life Moonbane was an undergrad with aspirations of becoming a neurosurgeon. How she imagined that would work out with a biology degree from community college Nightshadow had no idea, but, then again, they were all dreamers. Nightshadow herself was in the theater program. Although, she’d never confess it to her coven sisters, she hoped that she’d one day be discovered by a modeling agency. Maybe then her lanky height and small chest would finally become an advantage.

  Moonbane would scoff at that daydream just as Nightshadow scoffed at her medical career.

  “Don’t be such a smartypants all the time,” Panathea spat as she half-assedly came to Nightshadow’s defense. Of the four coven sisters Nightshadow had the most in common with Panathea. A fashion major with a slight vanity problem, she’d done both costume design and hair and make-up for the theater program more than once. Nightshadow loved how beautiful Panathea could make her when she wasn’t being all catty. Tonight, however, she was out in the woods just a little after midnight, and she clearly hadn’t gotten enough sleep beforehand. That, combined with Moonbane's presence, was sucking all the sweetness out of Panathea’s demeanor.

  “Whatever, where is Silvanth anyway? Zi said zi would meet us a half mile east of the trail.” Moonbane had pulled out her phone during the argument, and now she was anxiously clicking at it. Silvanth was the leader of their coven. Zi was studying history with an eye to folklore and ran the college’s Wicca club which zi had used to recruit the three others. Zi had inspired each by claiming that only they had any real power, but Nightshadow had seen through that ploy. She’d only joined because zi was an androgynous cutie with a knack for giving advice.

  “Gods, it’s always east with zir,” Panathea crossed her arms with a huff but Nightshadow could see that it was all a show. The other woman wasn’t sulking, she was cold. Her scandalously low-cut dress was clearly not suited to the night air. Nightshadow’s own dress wasn’t much better, but at least it was up at her shoulders and made of a thicker fabric.

  “Well zi is the guardian of the East,” Nightshadow pointed out, “if I were setting a meeting for a ritual, then I’d probably set it in the North, just like Panathea would in the West or you would…”

  “I know my damn corners, Nightshadow,” Moonbane shouted. She too must have been freezing with her toga style dress hanging off of one shoulder.

  “Please speak more softly, sister,” a lyrical voice sang out of the trees, “this is a holy night after all.” Silvanth emerged from the trees with zir usual other-worldly grace. Almost as tall as Nightshadow, zi had the longest hair in the
group. A cascade of dyed-silver strands that ran to just past zir shoulder blades. Zi was the only one among them wearing pants. Black slacks with a long sleeve black button-up under a vest zi had probably borrowed from zir day job as a waiter. No one felt it polite to speak until zi completed zir grand entrance but once zi had Moonbane tore into zir.

  “What the hell took you so long?” She demanded.

  “I was preparing the clearing,” zi replied in that same unnervingly calm lilting voice, “the magic we’ll be working tonight is more powerful than most. It requires special wards.” In Nightshadow’s earliest days with the coven Silvanth had explained that magical workings created something akin to a spiritual campfire. One had to know how to properly stoke it and put it out or else the magic could go out of control or worse linger, like burning embers, where it could be accidentally re-ignited. That always required special care but Silvanth had apparently gone above and beyond this time and that worried her.

  “We’ve never needed wardings around a ritual site before,” Nightshadow observed, “why now?”

  “Tonight, little sister, is All Hallows’ Eve. We’ll be using the thinning of the barriers between worlds to commune with the ancients. That amount of power may draw other forces, so it is best that we take special care.” Silvanth wasn’t much older than any of the others, but zi had been studying their craft far longer. This, combined with zir status as leader, meant zi was always going out of zir way to patiently explain everything. As cocky as it usually made zir sound.

  “Besides,” Panathea added, “I don’t want some drunken idiots stumbling on our ritual and gawking at us. It was bad enough just getting here. People kept telling me Vampira wasn’t blonde. As if this hotness were just some costume.” She twirled her hand to invite the others to examine the way her skimpy dress showed off the body beneath.

  “Forgive them, for they know not what they do,” Moonbane mumbled.

  “Please sister,” Silvanth said in a far more human voice, “do not quote those blasphemies here.”

  “Sorry,” Moonbane added quickly, “I didn’t mean to…”

  “No offense taken,” Silvanth returned to zir lilting tone, “but let us continue on in peace.” Zi turned and indicated that the others should follow as zi continued on into the denser part of the forest from which zi had emerged.

  Only Nightshadow hesitated at the threshold. She looked up at the ancient trees that loomed them in that direction for a moment and suppressed the shudder that passed through her. Those trees whispered louder than the others, though none of her coven sisters seemed able to hear it. She almost considered turning back, in fact, until Moonbane called out for her to follow and she shook off the sense of foreboding.

  Chapter 2

  Silvanth weaved zir way through the forest with a preternatural grace. Zi had always been the most comfortable in the woods and had confessed the reason one night over drinks. The world, zi had explained, is not very tolerant of those who do not fit into the common conceptions of gender. Growing up, as zi had, outside those all-too-rigid boxes, had made zir an outcast. Bullied relentlessly, all zir life, zi had found refuge in the deep woods.

  Every child in the area was taught to stay on the trails, and few ever disobeyed often enough to learn the terrain as Silvanth had. Zi could vanish in the forest with ease and run almost silently, much like the elves zi loved to read about. Nightshadow had been sympathetic. Ever the tall, lanky girl, she had had her own issues with being rejected by the world. Boys rarely asked out a girl who was taller than them, and girls were always jealous of her seeming inability to gain weight. It wasn’t exactly a fair comparison to make, Silvanth had certainly had a far harder time than she had, but Nightshadow did feel a kinship with Silvanth more so than with their other sisters.

  Perhaps, she thought as she watched them make their way through the woods, that was why Silvanth pursued magic. They all had a reason, of course. Panathea wanted the power to glamour people. To transform them more convincingly than any make-up or clothing trick could achieve. Moonbane wanted into people’s heads, to pull them apart and understand them. Silvanth, at least, wanted power to change zirself more than others. Nightshadow did wonder at exactly what Silvanth would become should zi gain the power zi sought but thought it too personal a question to ask.

  Silvanth felt the same about her own motives for delving into the secrets. She got the sense that Silvanth’s intuition had given zir some insight into Nightshadow’s connection, but zi had always been too polite to question her about it. That was another quality of Silvanth’s that Nightshadow appreciated. Zi didn’t pry into those secrets which made zir sisters uncomfortable. Even now, Nightshadow felt them, the trees, as if they were row after row of judgemental parents watching the coven.

  They’d whisper sometimes in a language she did not always understand. They rarely seemed to approve of Nightshadow or the company she kept but over the years; she’d grown accustomed to that. The trees, she’d realized long ago, rarely approved of anyone. Even now, on a trip to honor them and the many who had worshiped at their feet, they whispered disapprovingly. She couldn’t tell exactly what they were saying, she’d taken precautions to muffle the sound of the whispers, but she knew that they were not pleased, as of yet, with the coven’s plans.

  “How much further?” Moonbane finally demanded to know.

  “We are almost there,” Silvanth replied calmly, “it is just beyond that tree. Zi pointed ahead to a particularly broad trunk, and Nightshadow froze. If the average tree was a nursemaid or aunt, then these would be the great grandparents. What Silvanth had led them to was a clearing ringed by the oldest and angriest trees Nightshadow had ever beheld.

  All trees were disapproving, but these seemed particularly bitter, even spiteful. Nightshadow could feel their power as if it were vibrating through the ground and everything in her told her to run. Her friends, however, were entering the clearing, and she dared not leave them to face this forest alone.

  “Beautiful, what is it?” Panathea breathed as she approached one of the trees. For a moment, Nightshadow thought her friend may also be able to hear the angry whispers that circled around them. Was she, perhaps, perceiving the energy that was making Nightshadow’s neck hairs stand on end? Panathea didn’t seem to be aware of it as she moved towards the tree. Nightshadow watched her, but it soon became clear that Panathea did not see things the way Nightshadow did. Instead, she found that her friend had merely been commenting on Silvanth’s desecration.

  In zir time alone, among these ancient marvels, Silvanth had clearly been busy. Zi had drawn on zir studies to find fantastic runes and symbols from a dozen cultures and combined them into zir warding. Carved into the bark with agonizingly slow attention to detail, Nightshadow could see them on every tree in the circle. They were beautiful as Panathea had said, but the trees were not pleased by the mutilation necessary to carve them into their trunks.

  “Silence,” Moonbane said, and everyone turned to look at her. She was not giving an order; however, she was pointing at one of the runes. “This one is Celtic,” Moonbane clarified, “it means silence, and is said to keep all sound from passing.”

  “Yes,” Silvanth said approvingly, “and this one?” Zi pointed to an elaborate rune in a redwood.

  “Shadow,” Panathea chirped, “it makes it so that no one can see what happens within the barrier. I used to draw it on the shower door back in the dorms.”

  “Did it work?” Moonbane asked playfully.

  “It seemed to,” Panathea winked, “or no one felt like commenting on the fact that they could see this body all soapy and wet. Which would you say is more likely?”

  “Magic is indeed powerful,” Moonbane whispered as she tried to hide a blush, “but shower doors are supposed to blur what’s behind them, dummy.” The insult she spoke loud enough for Panathea to hear. To her credit, the blonde simply stuck out her tongue in response.

  “And you, Nightshadow?” Silvanth asked as sh
e continued to stare in awe at the scope of what zi had done to the trees, “do you recognize any?” She did, of course, she hadn’t slacked off on her studies, but one drew her attention more than any other. The one which had the trees’ attention as well. “The stone circle,” she whispered. The trees were lamenting its very presence, and even she, in her usual ignorance, understood why.

  “What about it?” Moonbane asked.

  “Ya, it’s just a fire pit,” Panathea added.

  “No, it isn’t,” Silvanth replied like a patient teacher, “why don’t you enlighten them, Nightshadow?” Many rituals, Nightshadow had read, take place around a fire. Modern scholars believe that this is because all communal activities once did. Humans would gather around fires to hold off the cold, cook their meat, and light the shadows to warn them of danger. The fire pit had another significance in magic, however, as it acted much like a focal point for the energies of those who surrounded it. Always at the center of a sacred circle, it would collect and amplify the powers called upon and directed by the witches of that circle. It was the beating heart of most human rituals, but it was also an insult to the sources of the power.

  Fires were fueled by wood, and humans were never content to take what nature gave them. They would expedite the process, cutting down trees and burning their memories to ash. Often brazenly in the sight of their still living kin. Of all the atrocities committed by mankind’s hubris, this was the one the whispers spoke of most. It was forgivable, fires happen in nature, but compounded with the sin of scaring these ancient trees, it was a crime that would not go unpunished.

  “The fire acts like the center of a satellite dish,” she responded carefully. It was an edited truth, but her whole understanding may hint at its source, and Nightshadow was not yet willing to give away her sense of the whispers, “it focuses the power.”