Eighth Fire (6 page)

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.