Eighth Fire (5 page)

Mark looked down at his feet and then back
up at the High Elder. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Mr. Grob said, “It’s perfectly all right. I
think I’m going to like you.”

The entrance to the
labyrinth at The First Mountain was at the same relative location
as it was at the other six mountains, on a wall in the basement in
the mountain’s museum of artifacts
.
All of the mountains had the same basic layout, with classrooms for
core course study on the first level’s outer ring, with the next
two inner rings comprising shops and the like, and with various
recreational facilities making up the rest of the inside of the
first level. The lower levels served as basements, and housed
support facilities and storage areas with one large room serving as
a museum, displaying recovered artifacts.

Support crews, mostly medical personnel,
were standing by to tend those that were expected to be rescued
from the bowels of this labyrinth. The self supporting ladder had
already been inserted through the door which opened, as was the
case with all the others, once a day at a random time.

Mark addressed the rescue crew which was
made up of about three hundred instructors and workers from his
mountain. “This is the last one, let’s get it over with.” He walked
up to the wall, sat down and touched the door with the staff. The
wall section disappeared and the Magi started filing in. At thirty
seconds each it would take about two and a half hours, outside
time, for everyone to get in. That would be about two and a half
days according to inside time.

A couple of seconds after the last of the
crew had entered duffel bags full of scrolls and artifacts began
coming back through the door. Workers, clad in gray work tunics,
scrambled to collect the bags and get them out of the way. When it
was obvious that the last bag had come out, Mark stood and crossed
the threshold.

The ladder stretched well over one hundred
feet to what was perceived to be the far wall from outside the
labyrinth, but was, in actuality, the floor since gravity shifted
ninety degrees beyond the door. This wasn’t the only place that
gravity shifted either. Mark had experienced one other such shift
in the labyrinth of The Seventh Mountain and it was obvious that it
shifted at least twice more within the labyrinth since in the final
room gravity was the same as it was in the first room.

Mark reached the bottom of the ladder and
the smell of burnt fish permeated the air. Gerod said, “Mr.
Diefenderfer wants you to see this.” Gerod started walking away
from the area where the door to the final room, the grotto, was.
The entire group followed them.

Mark said, “What is it?”

Gerod shrugged, “We don’t know. It has a
tarp over it and the note on the rope knot says not to look at it
and to leave it in the labyrinth. The note also says to ask the
staff bearer and there is a part of the note that nobody can
read.”

“Do you think it’s another sunstone or
something?”

“It’s big enough to be. There is something
else strange about the note. Mr. Diefenderfer thinks that he
recognizes the handwriting and won’t tell anyone who he thinks
wrote it.”

They reached the far end of the football
field sized room. Gerod held his lantern up for Mark to see that a
very large tarp covered something about the size and general shape
of a small concrete truck. A rope had been laced through the
eyelets of the tarp, dawn tight and tied in an elaborate security
knot which was sealed with red wax. The imprint in the wax was from
a signet that he knew well. It was three sabers forming a triangle,
Nick’s signet or one very much like it.

The note read:

No one should look at what is under the
tarp, it must remain in the labyrinth and no one should ever speak
of it. It is imperative that it be kept entirely secret. Bring the
staff bearer so that this may be judged.

Hi Mark,

I’m sure you recognize your own hand writing
and Nick’s seal. I can’t tell you anything about this thing except
that it must be kept out of Benrah’s hands at all costs. I can tell
you that you have a traitor in your midst, but I can’t tell you who
it is. Things must play out as they must.

Say nothing of what you have read here
except what follows. Mr. Diefenderfer is going to say, “Perchance…
you’ll inform us...of what the note says.” You will respond, “The
note says, I am a traveler from the west, seeking that which was,
that which is and that which shall be.” He will understand.

Mark looked up from the note and immediately
Mr. Diefenderfer said, “Perchance… you’ll inform us...of what the
note says.”

Mark looked directly into Mr. Diefenderfer’s
eyes, swallowed hard and said, “The note says, I am a traveler from
the west, seeking that which was, that which is and that which
shall be.”

Mr. Diefenderfer cocked his head slightly
and was obviously surprised by Mark’s response. After a pause he
said in a loud voice, “I decree...no one here...is to communicate
anything...to anyone...about this object...or what has happened
here...concerning this object.”

Everything else in the labyrinth went as
planned with seven hundred thirty-five persons being rescued. A
large number of those rescued had been trapped in there for well
over three thousand years outside time, more than seventy thousand
years inside time.

CHAPTER THREE

Seven Fires

Chenoa’s father knocked on her bedroom door.
“Chenoa...today is a special day. Get up and get dressed. We don’t
have much time.”

Se Day, Chenoa’s father, was an average
looking, moderately muscular man with a pleasantly round face,
short black hair and a smile that lingered in the mind of anyone
that had ever seen it. He had told Chenoa that his smile was from
his spirit. “When the spirit smiles it’s a very good thing.”

It had been just over two months since
Chenoa had come home for summer vacation. Her dad, a Magi of The
Seventh Mountain and an Occoneechee chief, prepared for what he
must do. It was seven in the morning and the sun had already been
up for two hours. As had been done for him, and countless
firstborns before him, the prophecy of The Eighth Fire would be
passed on to his firstborn, Chenoa, at sunrise, atop Aztec Butte,
on the morning beginning her thirteenth year. He had little more
than half an hour to wake her and get her there.

Mr. Day had chosen to come back to his
people after completing The Seventh Mountain, to use his knowledge
and skills there. Their small farm house had been purchased by his
great grandfather for just the land value. At the time, the old
house had been a dilapidated structure, mostly falling down and
worthless. Magi and friends helped his great grandfather restore it
and make it livable again. Right after that, most of the land was
confiscated by the government for the Kerr Dam / Bugg’s Island Lake
project. Compensation, as usual from the government, had been less
than minimal. But the good thing was they did have a home, free and
clear, and right on the lakefront to boot. Over the years, many
children had been raised there.

Mr. Day walked down the old stairs, through
the living room and into the dining room to join his wife. “Chenoa
is thirteen today. I have to take her somewhere. We’ll be back
before lunch time, hopefully.”

Chenoa’s mother, Mia, was standing beside
the dining room table, drinking a cup of coffee and looking out the
window. Her burgundy, geometric print shift didn’t hide the fact
she was rather thin. She turned to greet her husband. Her straight,
jet black hair stretched down her back, glimmering in the early
morning light that shone through the single dining room window. Her
hair was one characteristic she was happy that Chenoa had
inherited.

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.”