Spirit Prophecy

by E. E. Holmes

  “Thank you, Braxton,” Finvarra said. “What about Lucida?”

  Braxton shook his head ruefully. “I could not find her, High Priestess.”

  Finvarra rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised? When is Lucida ever where I need her to be? Very well, please keep looking.” Braxton clicked his heels together and marched from the room.

  “MacKenzie, Savannah, please sit down. I shall speak with you in a few moments,” Finvarra said. Mackie, trembling from head to foot, sat immediately. Savannah made a brave attempt at her usual swagger, but also sat without protest.

  “Hannah please come here and join your sister,” Finvarra said.

  Hannah shuffled forward, looking smaller than ever in the vast cavern of the hall. As she reached my side, Milo shivered into view beside her.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered, reaching out to touch me but unsure where she could safely place a hand.

  “I’ll live,” I said, winking at her. She didn’t smile.

  “Are you sure?” Milo asked. “No offense, really, but you look like hell.”

  “I feel like hell, so that seems appropriate,” I said. “But really, I’m alright. I’ve got some bad burns on my hands, but —”

  “Does the ghost need to be present for this?” Marion asked.

  Milo’s eyes snapped up to meet Marion’s with the ferocity of a mama tiger in her den. “The ghost has a name, Miss Thang, and we’d appreciate if you’d use it. Also, the ghost is a spirit guide, Bound to protect these girls, so you bet your sweet ass he needs to be present for this.”

  Marion’s face twisted into a sour knot, but she raised no further objection. “That’s enough,” Finvarra said sternly. “Hannah, why were you trying to leave Fairhaven?”

  Hannah swallowed hard and the voice that escaped her was barely more than a whisper. “Jess told Mackie I should get out of here. She didn’t tell me why, but I trust my sister.”

  “And did you see the entrance hall? Are you aware that your sister created that image?”

  Hannah nodded, her eyes filling slowly with tears. “It…it looks terrible.”

  “It is terrible,” Finvarra said. “It is a depiction of a prophecy made many hundreds of years ago. Perhaps its importance will make more sense to you if you hear it for yourself.”

  We listened to the prophecy again. When it was over, it was hard to tell whether Hannah or Milo looked more like a ghost. “A Caller?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Finvarra said, closing the book once more.

  “And you think the Caller in this prophecy is me? That I have the power to …” she looked down at her own hands, as though she had found them suddenly to be deadly weapons rather than just tiny, scarred hands.

  “We must proceed under that assumption. Which brings me back to my orders. Marion, please draw up a letter to —”

  “With all due respect, High Priestess, I must protest,” Marion said, rising from her seat. “I contend that we have no time for the drafting of letters or the calling of meetings. We need to act, and act swiftly.”

  “Please clarify yourself, Marion,” Finvarra said. Carrick was stirring nervously beside her.

  “I am moving that we separate these girls and confer them immediately to the dungeons, where they will be placed under castings of containment until we can discuss what further action should be taken to protect ourselves from them.”

  These words were met with a huge outburst. Savvy was on her feet, shouting. Celeste and Fiona were likewise protesting. But it was apparent that the general tenor of the noise was that of assent; most of these women were agreeing with Marion, staring down at us in alarm and mistrust.

  “This is preposterous and I will not allow it!” Finvarra’s voice boomed over the racket, which quieted to a buzz. “This is not the dark ages, Marion, and these girls have done nothing wrong.”

  “It is not what they have done, but what they are capable of doing that we must prevent!” Marion said, standing her ground.

  “There is no proof!” Celeste said. “No evidence at all that what you are saying is even true!”

  Marion turned on her. “What do you call that monstrous display marring the walls upstairs? What do you call the behavior of the Silent Child? If these things are not evidence, I don’t know what would please you.”

  “You can’t lock them up! You have no right!” Celeste cried. She had crossed the room and now stood between us, one hand on Hannah’s arm and the other on my shoulder.

  “We have every right!” Marion replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “We have not only the right, but the responsibility as members of this Council to protect the Durupinen from the utter destruction that these girls will surely cause.”

  Voices all around the room rose in a swell of frantic agreement. Marion’s fear-mongering was working, whipping them all into a frenzy.

  I looked up at Finn. He was standing poker-straight, fists clenched, eyes darting furiously around the room for the first sign of attack. I knew, though we’d barely spoken a civil word to each other in our entire relationship, that he would fight with his last breath to protect us, if it came to that. But looking around the room at all of the other Caomhnóir, his last breath seemed like a real possibility.

  “Stop this at once!” Finvarra said, slamming her hand down upon her podium with a resounding crack. “I will not allow our fear to turn us into monsters! There is no reason at all why we should —”

  “This is not a question of monstrosity!” Marion cut across her. The disrespect inherent in the gesture elicited gasps from several of the Council members, and Carrick actually planted himself protectively between the two women, as though the interruption were a physical threat. “It is about safety and a responsibility to protect our way of life! You saw the horror defiling the walls of our sacred hall upstairs. Will you really stand by and allow those images to become our reality?”

  The murmur of the crowd grew louder, angrier, as Marion’s words sunk in and further sparked their fear. Under cover of the noise, I leaned in toward Finn.

  “Should we be nervous right now?” I hissed.

  Finn did not take his eyes from the heated debate in front of us, but he nodded his head. “I think so. If she rallies enough of them on her side, we may be in trouble.”

  “What can we do about it?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking,” he said. His eyes were darting around the room now, taking in the closed doors, the high windows, the stone-faced Caomhnóir stationed along the perimeter; in other words, the utter lack of an escape route.

  “What I will not do,” Finvarra said, “is stand by and watch as two of our own are scapegoated. Marion, I must ask you to step down.”

  “No, Finvarra. I must ask you to step down,” Marion said, her voice ringing with cold satisfaction. And she pulled from the pocket of her jacket a scroll of paper, sealed with gold wax.

  It was as though someone had stopped time. No one moved. No one spoke. Finvarra’s face was a mask of shock, as was Carrick’s beside her.

  “I have here,” Marion continued, “an order of no confidence, signed by a majority of the Council members including all three officers. We have long expressed concerns about your refusal to act decisively on this issue. Now the survival of our order hangs in the balance. We will not let you destroy all that we stand for.”

  Still Finvarra did not speak, but merely stared, disbelieving, at Marion, as though she had never seen her before in all the time they had spent together.

  “This order gives us the right, here in this assembly, to vote for your expulsion from the office of High Priestess. We have cited your past decisions, or lack thereof, concerning this issue.”

  I felt like a spectator, an outsider looking in on a situation I surely could not be a part of. The detachment was the only way to fend off panic and think rationally. We were the “issue” they were talking about, like my sister and I were a poorly enforced regulation or a pest control problem. How could Marion look us both in the eye, as
she was brazenly doing at this moment, and talk about us in this manner, demanding our imprisonment and who knew what else? Even knowing what I knew of her, it seemed too cruel, too cold. And yet she plowed on.

  “This should come as no surprise, Finvarra. Your decisions have been debated and called into question for months now. Surely you knew that this discontent would come to a head?”

  “I little expected,” Finvarra said through clenched teeth, “for commonplace disagreement to disintegrate into something as underhanded as this. How long have you been working to undermine me by collecting these signatures? I rather think this smacks of mutiny.”

  Marion opened her mouth to answer, but I did not hear her reply. At that moment, Carrick vanished from Finvarra’s side and instantly began speaking quietly in my ear, though I could not see him. I jumped violently at the sound of his voice, but no one other than Finn and Hannah seemed to notice. From the widening of her eyes, I could tell that Hannah could hear him, too.

  “You must find a way to get out of here. If the vote comes out against Finvarra, there will be nothing she can do to protect you.”

  “But how? The entrance is guarded, and there’s no way we can get past that many Caomhnóir,” I said, trying not to move my lips.

  “Hannah, you will need to use your powers. You need to harness the power of the spirits to create enough of a distraction to cover your escape.”

  “I can’t,” Hannah said in a tiny whimper. “I’m not allowed to. Lucida has been teaching me to keep the Calling under control.”

  “It’s time to break the rules, Hannah. This has turned into a witch hunt, and Marion will not rest until she sees you imprisoned or worse.”

  “But I can’t control it,” she hissed. “When I try to control them like that, I get carried away. I don’t know what will happen. Remember when I hurt you?”

  “And I am perfectly fine. It is a risk you will have to take to save yourselves.”

  Marion’s voice rang throughout the hall, drawing our attention back to her.

  “I ask now for the support of the Council on this matter. I ask you to raise your hand with me now if you believe, as I do, that new leadership is needed to deal with this grave matter of Durupinen safety. We cannot risk the future of our order. We cannot sit silently by as this clan lays waste to all we hold dear. This woman,” Marion pointed an accusatory finger at Finvarra, “would have us bide our time, drawing closer and closer to the inevitable doom now smeared in terrible detail on the walls of our great castle. We cannot let this be. We will not let this be. Let us vote. All in favor of expulsion of the High Priestess?”

  Nine hands rose into the air. Then after a tense, tremulous moment, a tenth rose to meet them. Siobhán kept her eyes on the floor as she betrayed us, but her shoulders were trembling. The only two who refused to seal our fate were Celeste and Fiona, who kept their arms defiantly at their sides, though their decision would do nothing to help us. The motion had carried.

  Several voices cried out in protest around the room. Celeste was talking now, trying to make some sort of argument. The Caomhnóir were spreading across the room, making quieting motions to the crowd. Finvarra was still standing in numb disbelief. And silently, unnoticed by anyone but me, Hannah closed her eyes and began to mutter under her breath. I felt the subtle change at once, the current of energy that accompanied her Callings zinging over my skin like the snap of electricity in the air before a storm.

  A really big storm.

  Marion tossed her head triumphantly, and held up her hands for silence, though it did not fall right away. She called over the commotion. “The Council has spoken. Finvarra, you have been removed from the office of High Priestess. You will step down at once and relinquish your amulet.”

  Finvarra’s did not move at first. Her hands were clenched in white-knuckled fists at her sides. Then, in one swift motion, she wrenched the golden chain from her neck and threw the large golden amulet down upon the table before her, where it thudded with echoing finality. Carrick had reappeared beside her, a ghostly hand upon her shoulder.

  Many Durupinen around the room began to clap and shout, their faces and voices full of fierce pleasure. They were the faces that had respected her, even revered her mere hours ago. This was perhaps the most frightening thing, the suddenness with which the tide had turned against her, swallowed her whole, and washed her away.

  Under cover of the celebration and protest, degree by degree, the temperature in the Council room began to drop. One or two of the Caomhnóir shifted uncomfortably. In the onlooking crowd, several faces had torn their gazes from the scene up front to look warily around the room. Hannah’s hair began to blow gently around her face, as though it were floating in water.

  Finn glanced at me, his eyebrows raised quizzically. As quietly as I could, I said to him, “She’s Calling the spirits. She’s going to use them to get us out of here. Get ready.”

  Finn nodded slightly, never relaxing his stance, but now his eyes darted every few seconds to Hannah, in tense anticipation of the moment to act.

  “As first officer of the Council, I will fulfill the duties of the High Priestess until a proper election can be held, as is procedure and tradition,” Marion said, making no effort to restrain the exultation in her voice. She reached for the amulet and held it up before her eyes. It hung there between her fingertips for a moment, the light of the many candles glinting off of it, playing across Marion’s jubilant face. Then she dropped the heavy necklace over her head and nestled it carefully into the hollow of her throat.

  Again, a burst of applause and shouts of approval followed, punctuated by scattered cries of protest that were quickly swallowed up. No one could spare a glance, it seemed, for the girls of whom they were all supposedly so terrified. And while they forgot we were even there, Hannah’s trance was deepening, her connection reaching farther than it ever had before, gathering the masses of the dead to come to our aid.

  “Seamus,” Marion called to one of the senior Caomhnóir. “You are to escort Finvarra to her chambers and make sure she stays there. Under no circumstances is she to leave. Is that clear?”

  Seamus looked stunned at first, but hitched his look of stony indifference back onto his face with commendable speed. He stepped forward, motioning for Finvarra to follow him. Carrick floated between them, ready for a fight.

  “Carrick,” Marion said sharply, “if you cause any trouble here, you will be expelled.”

  Carrick looked for a moment like he very much planned to risk expulsion, but Finvarra looked at him and shook her head. He drifted back to his customary place off of her shoulder, bitterness etched in every line of his expression.

  Finvarra seemed to realize she had no choice. Head held high, she descended from the platform and stood beside Seamus. “You will never get away with this, Marion,” she said. “Enjoy the amulet while you can. I assure you, you will not be wearing it for long.”

  “I’m afraid you have no say in how long I wear it, Finvarra,” Marion said. “That will be for the rest of the Durupinen to decide, and I doubt very much they are going to put their support behind a leader who would allow this to become our reality.” She gestured to the scrolls still spread on the table, depicting the prophecy. “But they just might be interested in a leader who took decisive action to ensure our safety. What do you think?”

  Finvarra did not answer, but turned to follow Seamus, whose guiding hand she brushed roughly away. “I do not require your assistance, I assure you,” she spat at him. But they had only made it halfway across the chamber when Finvarra halted.

  “What is that?” she asked, to no one in particular.

  “We are not interested in your delays, Finvarra,” Marion said.

  “No, everyone stop. Can’t you feel that?” Finvarra asked. There was an edge of fear in her voice.

  “What are you babbling about?” Marion said. “I don’t feel —”

  “No, she’s right!” Siobhán said, rising from her seat. “I feel it, too.
Something is happening with the spirits!”

  Marion looked from Siobhán to Finvarra impatiently and then, quite suddenly, she felt it, too. All around the room, Durupinen and Caomhnóir were shivering and shuddering as the dropping temperature and rising spirit energy penetrated their senses at last.

  “It’s Hannah! Look at Hannah!” one of the other Council members cried.

  All eyes turned on Hannah, who was so deeply engrossed in her trance that she did not even realize we had been discovered. Her hair was whipping around her face now, and her mouth was moving alarmingly fast. The air around her was crackling and popping with building energy. Beside her, Milo’s expression had gone blank, as though he were hypnotized.

  “What is she doing?” shouted a voice.

  “Someone stop her!”

  “Hannah! Stop this at once!” Marion shouted.

  Abruptly, Hannah opened her eyes. Her hair floated harmlessly down to rest on her shoulders, and her face was utterly calm. “Yes, High Priestess.”

  Marion’s shoulders were heaving. Her eyes darted around the room. “What were you doing just now? What have you done?”

  “I’ve just been setting up a little contingency plan,” Hannah said.

  “What do you mean? Explain yourself.”

  “We —that is to say, Jess and Finn and I —are going to leave now. We don’t want anyone to follow us, please,” she said, as politely as if she were asking if Marion would like one lump or two in her tea. It took Marion a moment to recover.

  “And how exactly do you propose to do that? The Caomhnóir have no intention of letting you leave this room, unless it is under their guard to the dungeons. You understand why I must act so, in light of the prophecy.”

  “We are going to leave here peacefully,” Hannah said, “or every ghost within a hundred miles is going to descend upon this hall and attack on my command.” Her words echoed through the cold silence, dancing on the tiny, smoky puffs of her breath.

  Marion gave her an appraising look. “I have been carefully monitoring your progress with your Calling. I have spoken to Lucida regularly, and based on our conversations, I do not believe you have the ability to Call that many ghosts, let alone to force them to do your bidding.”