Tomorrows Child
Starr West
Smashwords Edition
Copyright Starr West 2012
Discover more about the author by visiting
http://starrwest.wordpress.com/
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Dedication
To my boys
You give me a reason to get up in the morning and to be more today than I was yesterday.
To all my Angels in heaven, especially my Dad,
who thought I could do anything, encouraged me to try everything and inspired me to begin this story.
I love you all so very much xxx
Tomorrows Child
LAKOTA WARNING
Only those who have learned to live on the land will find sanctuary.
Go to where the eagles fly, to where the wolf roams, to where the bear lives.
Here you will find life because they will always go where the water is pure and the air can be breathed.
Live where the trees, the lungs of the earth, purify the air.
There is a time coming - beyond the weather, when the veil between the worlds is thinning…
The Lakota People
A NEW EARTH
The sun rose over a new earth, not the promised land, pristine in its perfection, but a devastated land, bathed in the blood of humanity and washed clean by the tears of the Goddess.
Many people blamed the Christian God; it seemed only fair that someone shouldered the blame, but even a vengeful god wouldn’t go to these extremes. The truth was that the demise of civilisation was caused by mankind’s ignorance and greed. In the end, the enemy of humanity was humanity itself.
Interestingly, no one blamed the Goddess, who controlled the cycles of the earth and was Mother of the natural world to some. Who would blame a nurturing Goddess when so many others stood to gain so much? Still, many ignored the Goddess and the old religion that had served earth since time began.
Nevertheless, the world had been at war for almost twenty years and governments sent soldiers into battle, promising peace; although war was never for the sake of peace, but for power, vengeance, and the control of dwindling resources. In one day alone, seven nations vanished as if they’d never existed. On one moonless night, their leaders issued orders from foreign shores and bombed sacred lands until dawn. By then, there was no one left to shed a tear.
Governments lied, and should, by right, have carried the blame, but lies and deception were so embedded into their structure that even they were ignorant of the truth. Neglect was easier; ignorance made the populace content and fear controlled them. Propaganda was simply a creative means to satisfy an apathetic population. In the end, the governments were nothing more than powerless figureheads trying to rule a crumbling world.
Corporations, on the other hand, were neither powerless nor figureheads; they actually held the power to affect it all. They held governments to ransom and controlled the daily lives of the people, though few realised this until it was almost over. When scientists identified the green plague, blame fell directly into the hands of the corporate giants, who refused to accept responsibility for the mutant genes that spawned the plague in the first place.
Mutated genetic material in the food chain created a new microvirus that produced chaos in the human body. It caused the body to develop phosphorescent skin and blood that glowed under ultraviolet light. It might have been fun, if it hadn’t mutated into psychotic mania and ultimately, death. The green plague became a tragic reminder that corporations shouldn’t screw with nature and this alone made everything else seem minor.
All this occurred against a backdrop of natural disasters and extreme weather events. First, Mother Nature cried, but no one noticed, then she yelled and screamed and still, she was ignored. Finally, she exploded in fury; but by then, she was only cleansing away the filth.
The truth? It was all of this and more. It was the abuse of a ravenous population, the neglect by egotistical governments, the insatiable greed of corporations, the fallout of vengeful wars and nature purifying the earth the only way she could.
The source of the problem, however, began an eon ago, hidden in the mysteries that were given to humanity by the gods. As time passed, the mysteries became secrets, concealed in the shadows, stolen from humanity and twisted into lies or buried in sacred tombs. What no one realised was that the truth would have changed everything. The truth could have saved humanity.
Chapter 1 ~ DAUGHTER OF THE APOCALYPSE
In the hours before dawn, there is peace. A quiet stillness reaches across the land and deep shadows obscure the reality of life. There is peace in this nothingness. I know I’m not safe, but for a while I can pretend that everything is okay.
Soon the sun will rise and wash away the emptiness, and this brief peace will be replaced by the bleak reality of life. For a while, I thought I could embrace the darkness; it was easier than looking for joy. But as the days passed, the darkness became an entity, consuming my life and pressing against my soul.
I am Psyche Darnell, daughter of the apocalypse, an orphan of the end of times.
When I close my eyes, I imagine how things once were. I can see people walking along sidewalks and in malls, chatting, laughing and drinking coffee from paper cups. Shop assistants chat as they scan food and pack groceries into crinkly plastic bags. Even the smell of fumes from the endless procession of cars stays etched in my mind.
All this is gone.
I was born in the days when rock stars were heroes and Facebook ruled. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was predictable and safe. In those days, you could ignore the bad stuff if you wanted to, which most of us did. It was easier than worrying about a world we felt we couldn’t change.
Many say that life was destined to end this way and that the prophets had given us ample warning, but if this were our destiny, there would have been nothing we could have done to change the outcome. Others claimed we were given the gift of free will, not to save the world, but to enjoy our time while it lasted and nothing more.
I think they’re all wrong.
But what I think doesn’t matter anymore; neither does the truth. Nevertheless, beyond blame and truth, people suffered. We all suffered.
Farmland became salted wastelands and deserts turned into floodplains. Food crops failed and genetically modified sludge filled our bellies. Famine weakened nations and sickness spread like gossip, but this was in the early days of government-managed relief camps. Eventually, even the tasteless sludge ran out and Utopia became a dream lost to the horrifying reality of life on earth.
It didn’t happen overnight. If it had, we would have set aside a day to remember the dead and celebrate life. Looking back, we realised it took years to get this bad, we just never noticed when it all began. The dark days, the ones we remember as the end of the world, lasted just a few months. The population of planet earth, once almost seven billion, was now just a few million.
If you ask me, the lucky ones were not the survivors, but the people who died in the early days, before the famine and the plague. Still, there were survivors and as we know, where there is life, there is hope, even if it is only a tiny glimmer. With hope, that is enough.
I am a survivor, so is Libby.
Libby is my grandmother, my mother’s mother. Libby is a stranger to me although she is the only family I have left in the world. She lives in a valley protected by tropical rainforest, supported by a group of friends who saw the end coming and prepared. They are self-sufficient and live entirely off the land. In many ways, it is a lifestyle based on an obsession to survive, but it’s not the only obsession in their lives.
Libby is obsessed by the old religion. She worships the goddess and practices magick. This was a new experience for me, but for Mum it was normal; it was how she grew up. Beyond the necessary changes to our lives to ensure our survival, I also had to adjust to a religion I didn’t understand. Even doing the dishes became an exercise in ritual and routine.
The kitchen, according to Libby was the heart of the home, by tradition, and an altar to the Goddess, by design. Working in the kitchen provided time to reflect, to give thanks and to honour the Goddess. Libby held our earth mother in the highest esteem, but she also allowed room for other deities in her home, paying homage to whomever or whatever the situation called for.
We observed the cycles of the earth and our days were organised by the phases of the moon. “This is how it always was and how it was meant to be,” Libby said. I adjusted to the routine easily, it was weird and a little crazy, but so was everything else these days.
Magick had never been part of my life as it had been for my mother and grandmother and a dozen generations of Darnell women before them. But now that we were home, Libby expected me to make up for the “lost years”. Mum had sheltered me from the magick when I was young, hoping that I would be happier and safer growing up away from the madness. She claimed that living under the shadow of magick had made her life miserable.
So I was initially raised away from my grandmother and a heritage that dated back hundreds of years. Libby argued that we had wasted time, time when I should have been learning and preparing for the future, but I didn’t learn about any of this until recently. I knew they had a big disagreement about something, but I didn’t know it was about me.
Only after we arrived home did my mother reveal the truth about our family, a legacy and a prophecy that bound us to the past and dictated our future. Mum said it was more of a curse than a blessing; while Libby had dedicated her life to preserving the secret and preparing for the future. She just expected us to do the same.
Without knowing the effect it would have on my life, I promised Libby I would make up for the lost years and begin the lessons that she considered mandatory for our survival. Mum’s attitude flipped overnight. Suddenly she feared she had left it too late and admitted it was a mistake to isolate me from my heritage. It all seemed a little melodramatic and the significance of my promise was not as important to me as it was to everyone else, but the relationship between Mum and Libby improved and peace finally arrived in the Darnell household.
It wasn’t always like this, in the old days, I was happy. I grew up living a gypsy’s life with my mother travelling with the wind and sleeping when the sun set. Life was easy back then. I admit we didn’t really travel on the wind, we drove an old Bedford bus, but it made our life an adventure.
When it became obvious that the world was beyond repair, we headed north to the safety of my mother’s childhood home. As we travelled, we listened to the radio and watched civilisation dissolve before our eyes. Reports of tragedy and despair filled the airwaves as some organisation kept track of the devastation, watching the world’s population decline while recording the death toll; but they didn’t report the numbers in the final days. There was no need.
We arrived at Libby’s in the summer, amidst tropical storms and warm summer rain that eased the heat and washed away the horrors of life. There was no celebration to mark our arrival or acknowledge the changing seasons or the start of a new year. Instead, we watched civilisation take its final breath and all that we took for granted vanish. We mourned for those who had lost their lives, for humanity and for ourselves, but we were the lucky ones; we were safe and we were alive.
For a time, I was glad we had returned to Mum’s childhood home and my birthplace, but time passed slowly and the serenity was short-lived. If I had known at the time, I would have embraced these precious days, but I couldn’t see into the future and didn’t know how precious they would become.
When the fever arrived, we hoped it was nothing more than a common cold, but deadly fevers shrouded the new world and influenza killed millions. We knew it could get a lot worse. Within days, Mum grew weak and pale and the fever made her delirious until she was barely conscious. We waited in vain for the fever to break.
Without hospitals, our only access to medicine consisted of herbal remedies and concoctions brewed in the kitchen. Libby called it “delirium fever” as if that were a proper diagnosis. She treated Mum with tinctures and teas and soaked her feet in herbal brews. Then we wrapped her body in hot cloths to draw out the poison. Libby even hung magick charms from the bed head to chase away mysterious things and she cleansed the room with incense and smoking sage. We treated everything from influenza to demonic curses. Nothing helped.
Nine days after the fever appeared, my mother died.
Some men, strangers then, dug a grave at the bottom of the garden and did what neither Libby nor I had the heart to do. They lowered her body into the ground and covered my beautiful mother with damp earth.
We stood on the edge of the grave that day, under a grey sky, in the misty rain and said our final goodbyes. I watched the rain fall on the red dirt and trickle into the grave, forming little rivers that looked like blood flowing from the earth. Libby spoke words of love and told stories about the girl she used to know. I said nothing.
My world changed in an instant; the sanity was gone and darkness replaced the only love I had ever known. At first, it was unbearable, the ache in my heart, unimaginable. I wanted to die, I wished for it to come. I even thought I could end my life and join my mother. I tried, but I failed. I doubted Libby would mourn my passing, she hardly knew me. There was no one else.
I prayed that I would go to sleep and not wake up. But each morning, I would wake with my eyelashes crusted in salt. Tears formed before I opened my eyes and a bitter acidic taste burned my throat. I wallowed in the grief of my life and waited to die. And I waited.
Until, one day, I no longer wanted to die.
Chapter 2 ~ EVERY DAUGHTER’S DAUGHTER
A labyrinth of paths wove in and out of Libby’s garden. Vegetables grew beneath fruit trees and vines rambled over the hen house. Herbs grew everywhere, scattered in the garden like weeds. Delicate herbs were pampered in pots while others had become rambling hedges. There was no space wasted and nothing left untended. It had to be this way if we were going to survive.
It’s possible that I could get lost wandering in Libby’s garden, more than possible, actually; my sense of direction is appalling. I am probably the only teenage girl capable of getting lost in a shopping centre, or at least I used to.
If Libby's garden is a labyrinth, then her house is Aladdin’s cave, but not the type of cave filled with riches and treasure. Hers was more like an eclectic hoarder’s cave with storage for every useful tool and device invented in the past hundred years. I didn’t know everything that Libby had stashed away for the next rainy day, but her motivation made sense in an obsessive kind of way.
Noise in the kitchen told me that Libby was awake. I knew her routine: stoke the fire in the woodstove, boil water for tea and prepare oat porridge for breakfast. Some days it was eggs, but I could smell the oats cooking; today it was porridge. I let the sun bathe my face for just a moment longer before joining her.
“Morning, Libby,” I said as I forced a smile.
“Good morning, Psyche. You’re up early.” Libby was already dressed and drinking tea when I sat at the table. She didn’t look old enough to be my grandmother or at least, she never looked like the grandmother I expected. Today, her grey hair was pulled away from her face to reveal tiny creases around her blue eyes. She didn’t have deep wrinkles, her movements weren’t slow and she didn’t complain about her aging body. She was youthful and energetic, “sprite” was the term she used to define herself, and I thought that described her perfectly.
“Are you ready to start your lessons today?” I knew Libby wasn’t sure how I would answer. She refused to watch me wallow in grief any longer and made me promise that I would leave my room and choose to live. I made this promise reluctantly, but I also promised that I would participate in the “family legacy” and catch up on the “lost years”. I still wasn’t sure what this meant, but I made the promise anyway; it seemed such a small thing compared to everything else. I’d just spent the better part of three months living in exile, wallowing in self-pity, treating Libby as if she didn’t exist and behaving like a spoilt child. Guilt oozed as the realisation hit me and I felt ashamed for the first time. Mum would have been disappointed.
“Sure,” I shrugged, “today is as good a day as any.” I swallowed the lump of guilt and smiled again.
“Perfect,” she said, “today is a wonderful day for magick.” Libby leapt from her chair and pulled a large book from one of the shelves that lined the walls. They held hundreds of books. I hadn’t bothered to read the spines to see what subjects interested her; perhaps today I would.
“This is our family diary; it is a tradition that we pass from mother to daughter.” Libby paused and held her hand to her heart, “But we also have our own. Your Mum and I have a similar book and you will begin writing in yours today.”
Libby noticed the look on my face and frowned, “It’s more than just a diary or history book, it’s an instruction manual for life. It’s our family’s Book of Shadows. It holds all the wisdom I have learnt, the lessons my mother taught me and all that her mother taught her. Generations of Darnell women have contributed to the information in this book.”
I took the old book and opened the cover. A musty odour escaped from the yellowing pages. I noticed that some of the entries were very old, while others were quite new. There appeared to be no particular order to the entries, not by date or category, nothing seemed to organise the information. But I held the book carefully and couldn’t help but acknowledge a certain reverence for the seemingly ancient text.
I knew that these pages contained secrets about my family and a prophecy that secured my destiny. I should have felt the weight of this, but I didn’t. The prophecy was the “madness” Mum had referred to. This was going to be interesting.
Libby flicked through the book and stopped at a page covered in writing too small to read from across the table. This ink was black and written in a messy script. There were places where the ink blurred and ran into the word next to it, but on the next page, the same words were written neatly, the inked text, crisp and clear. This was the prophecy.
A light tap at the door caught my attention; it was Phoenix. His family lived next door and they were Libby’s surrogate family. She had known Phoenix since birth and he was a regular visitor. He was also the only neighbour brave enough to spend time in the presence of Libby’s lifeless granddaughter.
“Hi Libby; hi Psyche,” Phoenix’s smile warmed the room as he greeted us. “You’re looking better today.”
Phoenix was well aware I had spent most of my time in bed or sulking in the garden. When he visited, he made small talk or silently sat next to me in a futile attempt to help me deal with my grief. I ignored him and hoped he would go away, but he never did.
I felt the heat of Phoenix's gaze and looked up to see him watching me, staring, really. It was long enough to make me feel uncomfortable. I looked away. He seemed to be searching for something or waiting for me to respond to some unspoken question, but I had nothing to say so he turned to Libby and asked, “Do you need fire wood? I have to split logs for Mum and thought you might need some too.”
It was Phoenix’s responsibility to split firewood for everyone, so normally he didn’t ask, he just turned up with logs and filled the wood box. Libby accepted Phoenix's offer, and we continued with the lesson.
A new leather-bound book had appeared on the table. Embossed in the centre of the burgundy cover was an unfamiliar symbol. Libby explained that this was my name, written as a witch’s symbol, just as it would have been four hundred years ago. Engraved at the top of the cover was a crescent moon. A leather cord wrapped around the book and held it closed, keeping its secrets safe from prying eyes.
My fingers trembled as I carefully unwound the cord, consumed by expectation. Folding the leather cover back, I noticed that the pages were smooth and creamy, but they were all blank. I imagined the book would hold the secrets that Libby spoke about. I expected the magick to leap out, devouring me like a hungry beast… that’s what I imagined anyway.
“This is your book, Psyche. You must fill the pages with the lessons important to you. Your words will fill this book, not mine, not your mother’s.”
I was afraid of what the book contained, but now that I'd discovered the pages were blank, part of me was disappointed. I was far too boring and not at all magical. There was no point writing anything in my newly acquired “Book of Shadows” or filling the pristine pages with messy scribble.
“Sweetie, you look disappointed when you should be excited.”
“It’s just, I was expecting more… or something.” It meant a lot to Libby and I smiled, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. She turned to the prophecy in the old book and began to read…
Listen to me, daughters of yew, willow and oak
Listen to me, children of the earth
You have kept the faith beyond the days of the hunt
You have kept the promise,
The earth is your mother and she knows your heart
These words are your gift, and this gift is your guidance,
hear me well
The veil that protects you is the veil that protects all
The veil will fail in the era of the Ninth Daughter
This is the age of endings and of beginnings
From daughter to daughter nine times
For my knowledge is your knowledge and your knowledge is her knowledge
This link, from you to the ninth daughter shall remain unbroken
Always enduring, always eternal
The first daughter is the keeper of ancient wisdom
The second will keep the secrets hidden
The third is the pretender and walks unseen
The fourth daughter is the seer and she will see the way
The fifth seeks the ancient land
The sixth is the circle-maker and she will find the sacred place
The seventh is the death speaker, she will lead the way
The eighth daughter sings the songs that heal our mother
All this will pass to the ninth daughter
The knowledge from the first and the gifts from all
The ninth daughter is the dreamer of dreams
She is the keeper of secrets, the custodian of the stone
She is every daughter’s daughter, she is the last
Embrace these words, my daughters,
for this is my sacred gift to you.
I sat silently, absorbing the words. I could feel my heart beating and hear the sound of my breath. Libby sat with her eyes closed; she may have kept them closed the entire time; perhaps she knew this verse by heart.
“Psyche, this is your heritage, this is the promise we are sworn to keep. I took an oath when I was twelve and your mother did the same. You’re seventeen, Psyche, so much wasted time…” Libby’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as a memory from the past flicked across her mind.
“This is the first entry for your book and now would be a good time to begin,” she handed me a pen and I began to write. My scrawly writing etched across the paper. The daughters’ words filled my head; perhaps it was the importance of the words or maybe the words themselves that held the magick. I imagined the daughters, living through the ages, sitting and writing the same words I wrote. I could see the clothes they wore, the rooms in which they sat. I could hear the sounds and smell the aromas that infused their lives.
When I finished, I sat speechless, no words were necessary. Libby sat across from me looking… smiling… it was the same look Phoenix had given me earlier that day.
“You need to rest,” she said. "Let’s have morning tea. Phoenix will be here soon anyway and that boy is always hungry.”
As Libby boiled the water and put leaves in an old china teapot, she spoke about the first daughter. I’m not sure if this was conversation or education, perhaps both.
“The first daughter, Mary Darnell was born in the 1700s. The official witch trials had been over for a while, though the persecution continued. In those days, all women were viewed suspiciously, especially midwives and healers. Walking in the woods alone or miscarrying a child was enough to be accused of witchcraft. Mary grew up with this fear and it forced her to keep the knowledge a secret, even from her own husband.
“The sad thing is that it wasn’t knowledge that warranted death, it was wisdom passed down from mother to daughter since time began. It was the wisdom of the earth, the knowledge to heal and an understanding of the cycles of nature and life. However, it was wisdom and knowledge held mostly by women who honoured the Goddess in a world dominated by men who worshipped a jealous God. In the end, it was more about power and fear than anything substantial.”
“So they really did murder women for witchcraft?”
“They murdered millions: men, women and children.”
“I thought this was a myth, like unicorns and fairies.” I have a vivid imagination, but I’d never given much thought to witches or the myths that surround magick and mythical creatures. Venturing beyond the pages of a fairytale was new territory for my imagination.
“What did your mother teach you? I am surprised she never talked about the witch trials.”
“So what’s the story of the prophecy, where did it come from?” I was still trying to figure out if this were true or not.
“The story I have been told is that Mary was walking in the forest and heard a voice. I imagine she was afraid. In those days, it was believed that women were tempted by the devil and often visited the forest to meet him in privacy. It was nonsense, of course, but the fear was real. They say a beautiful woman appeared, eased Mary’s fear, and spoke the words of the prophecy. Mary memorised the words and passed them on to her daughter. Those words are remembered here, in this book, and their knowledge is recorded so that we know about the gift and the promise.”
Libby smiled then and a twinkle sparkled mischievously in her eyes. “But remember, Psyche, myths are only stories - stories about a time long forgotten and a place, hidden from the everyday. But myths contain many truths. Nowadays, we resist the truth or simply choose not to remember, but it’s all connected. Everything is part of the energy and the story of the earth, the myths and the legends, the hearts of men and women, the imagination of children and the magick.”
Phoenix had been standing at the door for a few minutes, listening and smiling. I wondered if he believed this or if his smile was a sign of humour. It didn’t matter I guess, I was doing this to please an old woman who, like me, was grieving.
“Phoenix, we’ve been waiting. You’re a little late. Come and sit and have some tea and bread.” Libby spoke as if Phoenix had provided his schedule for the day, but this wasn’t the case. He said nothing more than he would split wood, but Libby always seemed to be waiting for things to happen and answering questions that were never asked.
Phoenix sat across from me, his cup filled with murky liquid, just like mine. Tea with Libby meant that you drank whatever herbal brew she’d prepared that day. I smelt my cup but couldn’t recognise the herbs. Libby used a lot of peppermint during the day, but I think that was mostly to mask the bitter taste of the other herbs. I dripped globs of golden honey into my cup in an effort to make it more palatable.
“Hey guys!” Navarre exclaimed as he stood at the door, “Hi Psyche.” Navarre was seventeen and Phoenix’s younger brother. The boys had two sisters. Raven was sixteen and Jalani only four. Their parents were Ruben and Tahinah.
“There’s a group of us going into town tomorrow. You know it’s Sunday, and it’s supposed to be market day. Dad thought some of the locals might be thinkin’ the same and head into town too. Don’t expect the markets to be runnin’, but maybe we can find out what’s going on and well you know… see who’s still alive and stuff.” Navarre spoke fast; his words ran together like one endless sentence.
“Also Mum thought since Psyche was… feeling better she might like to come over for dinner on Tuesday. There’s a full moon.” Finally, Navarre took a breath, but he didn’t look at me when he spoke and addressed his question solely to Libby.
“Dinner would be wonderful, but the markets? Do you know what the plan is?”
“Dad is going to drive in. The cruiser still runs, but fuel is a problem… You know the rule, emergencies only, but I think this is an emergency, sort of anyway. Lachlan is taking the Jeep so he can only fit four, but we can take seven. Mum’s not going, she reckons it’s asking for trouble; but said you’ll want to check in on some people on the way.”
“She’s right of course. But I thought the plan might be to walk. Don’t know if these ‘young’ legs would get me to town and home again. If you’re not walking, you can tell Ruben that Psyche and I will come.”
“What do you think, Psyche?” Navarre finally looked at me and waited for a reply.
“Hmm, yeah, I guess.”
Libby, Phoenix and Navarre chatted about the trip to town, which had created a bit of excitement. I nodded, smiled, and pretended to take notice. My mind was elsewhere. I was thinking about the prophecy; it didn’t make a lot of sense. I couldn’t get the connection between it and me. As secrets go, it seemed a bit lame. It was kinda cool having something from my ancestors written hundreds of years ago, but the words meant little to me. It wasn’t as if I was about to meet these women, nor was it likely that I would be required to keep the secret. People practiced witchcraft openly these days. With no threat of death, there was little reason for the fuss. No wonder Mum thought it madness.
I opened the book and ran my fingers across the words - I could hear the women again, whispering the secret until the words became embedded in their hearts. The chatting in the room had turned to silence. I looked up then. Phoenix and Libby had that same searching look they gave me earlier. What were they looking for? Grief perhaps. In truth, it bubbled beneath the surface, waiting to expose itself. Maybe it would eventually, and I’d slip back in to the dark world I’d so recently escaped.
“Phoenix has offered to show you around, if you’re up to it. It’s important that you find your way; it’s very easy to get lost around here.” Libby stood and waited for us to leave. She seemed to be in a hurry to get us out the door and I wondered what else I’d missed.
Chapter 3 ~ A TOUCH OF MAGICK
Phoenix was pleasant enough. Although I had seen him most days, I never really had much to do with him. As I wallowed, misery and grief became the foundation of my life. It insulated me from everything and consumed my every thought. Phoenix, on the other hand, was helping the families that lived nearby to continue life with some sort of normalcy.
I noticed him today as if it were the first day. Standing in front of me was a tall, dark-haired man. As the sun fell across his face, I saw he really was good-looking. His violet eyes intrigued me and his smile was cautious and cheeky, like someone with a secret. If life had been different, I may have let my teenage hormones flow with images of what could be.
We walked along the twisted paths that meandered through the labyrinth and past the gardens. A cornucopia of herbs, vegetables and fruit trees grew wild and appeared, to the untrained eye, to be in disarray. Like mine for instance. Libby assured me that the garden grew exactly as it should. The yard sloped beyond the gardens, ran into the rainforest and flowed towards the creek. Massive gums and pines formed a sentry around the perimeter, like ominous guardians, protecting the forest from trespassers and intruders.
Phoenix walked straight into the forest, with me following. He didn’t hesitate or seem to notice the guardians or the darkness that existed beyond the boundary. The air became cooler as soon as we stepped under the canopy. Leaves covered the ground thickly in some areas, all in various stages of decay and a mouldy odour erupted under the pressure of our feet. The earthy smell was comforting in an unusual way. It almost smelt familiar. It was as if I should recognise the smells and welcome the memories they brought to mind. But I had no recollection of the forest or the musty, rotting leaves and evoking old memories was something I wanted to avoid.
Phoenix was a good teacher; we stopped often and he pointed out the various trees, shrubs, vines and ferns as if he knew each one personally, as if they were his friends. He ran his hand over the bark and encouraged me to do the same. I smelled the leaves and tasted fruit, and watched his eyes sparkle when he spoke. His love for the forest was obvious. He drew me into his world, brimming with life and love.
Instead of seeing the forest as a dark haunted entity, I began to look at it differently and saw each plant as an important component of the forest. He showed me tree ferns and wait-a-while, cedars and silky oaks, sassafras and walnut, as well as Davidson plums and lemon aspen. We stood under Quandong trees that grew along the creek banks, and flame trees that grew further up the slopes. Everything had a place and a special purpose to fulfil. Birds lived in the canopy and lizards scuttled under fallen leaves. The forest was crawling with life.
Phoenix led me deep into the forest where the sun was hidden behind a dense canopy of leaves and vines. The trees here were massive, twice the size of the monsters that guarded Libby’s garden. “This is old growth forest,” he said, “the loggers never came here – these trees were never touched by humans.”
“They’re amazing.” I said breathlessly, I walked to one of the biggest trees and threw my arms around it, barely covering more than a fraction of its girth. “Hello, old man,” I said. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and thought of my mother. Bubbles of grief threatened their way to the surface, but I swallowed hard and pushed them away. When I finished hugging the tree and finally moved away, I noticed that Phoenix was smiling and then frowning in puzzlement.
“Oh, I did that for my mother. She would have wanted me to say hello.” I shrugged and walked away. I knew I would come and spend time with the old men of the forest again someday.
We rested on the trunk of a fallen tree, “Take your shoes off and wriggle your toes into the earth,” he said. "See how it feels.” This was a strange request, but I obliged and removed my shoes, sinking my toes into the cold, rotting leaves. I found that beneath the surface there was fresh, loose dirt. Disrupting the newly formed soil forced little creatures out of their homes, and as the small bugs scuttled away, a new, fresh, earthy smell erupted. I expected the forest floor to be slimy and stinky, but it wasn’t. As I wriggled my toes in the damp earth, I wondered what compelled me to obey Phoenix in the first place.
The smell tugged at my memory again and evoked thoughts of Libby, my mother and magick, but the details were still out of reach. I was born here after all, so maybe there were lost memories trapped in the depths of my mind.
As we sat in silence, I thought it was a good time to ask what Phoenix thought about magic or magick as Libby pointed out in an effort to define a difference between her magick and the magicians who used smoke and mirrors. “It makes a difference,” she said, though I couldn’t see it.
“So… do you believe all this stuff about magick?” I asked.
“Sure, what’s to believe? It’s just how it is.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure. It just seems a little crazy or something,” I didn’t want to upset a devotee so I tried to frame my scepticism in a subtle way.
“You know it’s not all about casting spells and riding broomsticks.” Although Phoenix meant this as a joke, I had actually considered the broomstick thing.
“It’s more about the earth and connecting to its energy.” Phoenix was thoughtful and little wrinkles formed in the corner of his eyes. “You’re a little strange, you know; you hug trees but don’t believe in magick.”
“Mum always says that everything is alive and that we should acknowledge the living spirits, especially when the trees are really old.” It wasn’t the first time I spent an afternoon hugging trees. Phoenix just smiled.
“I can show you something, if you like,” he said.
“Sure.” I’d just rammed my toes amongst the dirt and bugs, why would I say no to this?
Phoenix took my hands and held them together as if I were about pray. “Close your eyes, and take some deep breaths. Breathe deep, down into your diaphragm,” he instructed me as he placed his hand lightly on my stomach, just above my waist. He was so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath. A tiny butterfly fluttered in my stomach and my toes tingled.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. I could feel the cool air seeping slowly into my lungs. I took slow deep breaths for a few minutes. The vibrant sounds of the forest faded and grew distant until I was only aware of my breath and Phoenix’s voice.
“Find a quiet place in your mind, where your own thoughts don’t interrupt… now, focus on your hands… call the energy to you… you’ll feel your fingers tingle… good, move your hands apart a little… feel them resist… it should pull like they’re magnetic.” My fingers tingled, everything tingled and I was amazed to feel a slight repulsion, exactly as if my hands were polarized magnets.
Phoenix continued to speak slow and soft. “Good, try a little more - cup your hands like your holding a ball. Yes. Can you feel that? Slowly… just move a little bit at a time… play with the energy for a minute… hold it… allow it to grow… feel it between your hands… don’t rush, take it slow… now… open your eyes… cool! Hey, don’t move too fast. Just hold it and look down at your hands. Can you see the colours? The swirling?” He was excited and didn’t wait for my answer, “That energy comes from the earth, from the trees and the flowers and from you; it’s all around us everywhere. Psyche, that’s magick. It’s a tangible essence, not make-believe. It’s just like the spirits in the tree.”
I was smiling now; I bit my lip and wrinkled my nose, embarrassed, “That’s really cool.”
Phoenix was delighted and his crooked smile tugged at my heart. It was as if we had achieved something special, like we shared a secret, and I guess we had.
Phoenix reached out and touched my hands, causing a small, visible spark of electricity to zap. I pulled away in shock. Phoenix frowned and looked at me again with that same intense gaze, the look that pulled at my soul and searched for answers. I was still suspicious, I guess, but maybe that was just his way.
The ground trembled beneath our feet. Another aftershock maybe, or a tiny earthquake; it’s hard to tell. We were getting used to them now, more or less.
“We should be getting back; Libby will think I kidnapped you.” We stood up, turned around, took no more than fifty steps and were back in the garden, but now we stood at the top of the garden, directly opposite the place we had entered the forest a few hours earlier.
“I thought you were supposed to show me how to find my way and not get lost. I don’t think you were very successful.” A minute ago, I was quietly confident, but as I absorbed the view in front of me, I realised there was no way I could have found my way home. I thought I knew where we were. I was wrong. I looked at Phoenix, heaved a sigh and stomped off towards the house, leaving Phoenix behind. In the distance, I heard the rumble of thunder.
Dinner was ready and the house was warm and inviting. It was autumn but already the night air had begun to chill. It’s not unusual to get frost this time of year, I’m told, and it already felt as if this year would be especially cold.
“How’d you go?” Libby asked and I waited for Phoenix to respond. My anger dissolved as quickly as it had formed. I knew how my day had been, but I wondered what he thought.
“She’s a fast learner, Libby, so that makes the late start a bit easier for everyone.” He looked at me then and shook his head. “But I wouldn’t let her out alone just yet. I expect she’ll get quite lost.” Phoenix was laughing and they spoke about me as if I weren’t there. It was obvious that Phoenix spent a lot of time with Libby. They were comfortable with each other and I relaxed in the warmth of their company. Libby never tried to replace Mum by asserting parental authority, except for the day she forced me out of my room and made me promise to live. She had shown me respect and treated me like a friend, the same way she treated Phoenix.
Phoenix was watching me as Libby went about getting dinner. I watched her and Phoenix watched me. Every now and again I would sneak a peek to see if he had grown tired of waiting for whatever it was he seemed to be waiting for. Each time my eyes met his, I found the same look, seeking… searching… waiting… This time, Phoenix smiled, perhaps he had finally found the answers he sought.
I left the pair in the kitchen and hurried off to shower and change. I had muddy feet and my jeans were stained from rotting bark and streaks of moss. The shower was soothing once I warmed to the temperature of the water, but water was precious and showers were a privilege, so I hurried to finish.
I was thinking about how easily the tiny ball of magick had formed in my hand. It wasn’t really a world-changing achievement, but it was amazing. I hadn’t seen the swirling colours that Phoenix assumed I had, but the energy was real. Surely, there must be more to magick than that? Whispers greeted me as I opened the bathroom door. I listened harder and instantly felt like an intruder.
“Did you know?” Phoenix questioned, I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about and knew it was none of my business, but I was still curious.
“I guessed, but I couldn’t be sure, there was no real way to know.”
“You should have told me, given me some warning. What do I do now? Do I tell her? I thought I was here to help,” Phoenix said, sounding as if he were afraid or annoyed. “I didn’t know she would be the one. How can that be helpful?”
“You would give your life for her, Phoenix. How much more helpful can you be?”
It sounded like they were talking about me, but it wasn’t a subject I could grasp. What on earth were they talking about? Why would anyone have to give their life for her or anyone else for that matter?
When I walked back into the kitchen, both Phoenix and Libby smiled as if the previous conversation never happened and I couldn’t very well ask what they were talking about.
“Wow, you look different without the outer coating of mud,” Phoenix commented, making me blush. I hated blushing, but it happened to me often, too often. I always considered it the ultimate betrayal when your own body revealed your secrets.
“Shall we eat?” Libby served dinner and Phoenix stayed.
The conversation over dinner was effortless and the relaxed atmosphere surprised me. I ate slowly because I knew Phoenix would leave as soon as we finished, yet he too seemed in no hurry. I saw him looking at me with the same intent stare, but there was now a hint of sadness in his eyes, I think.
I was tired by the time Phoenix left. I didn’t cry myself to sleep for the first time in months. Yesterday I was lost, floundering in the darkness and seeking death. Today felt like the first day of my new life. I had a new friend and discovered that somewhere deep inside me, magick really did exist. Perhaps I had found a home after all.
~~~~
Thoughts of the day scattered and dissolved into the surreal world of my dreams. Rainbows danced across the sky and butterflies fluttered from flowers made of glass. A girl stood in the sunlight, dressed in white. Sometimes I was the girl, but today I watched her from a distance. She turned and peered into the shadows. I thought it was “the man” but the shadow moved and became a bird without eyes. Black feathers fell to the ground, bleeding into the rainbow sky. I became the girl in white.
Fear consumed me as I ran across a sparsely covered land. Trees were scattered and the open wasteland provided nowhere to hide. The bird grew larger as it approached and landed in the tall grass. Beating wings soon became thunder from the earth and a howling beast emerged from the shadows.
I ran through tall golden grass, which provided protection for the hunter, but not for me, the hunted. Large boulders jutted up and a stream ran beside me. In the distance, a light shone but I couldn’t reach it. I ran. The beast closed in… I could hear my heart thumping, my breaths turning raspy and a scream that cut the air. I would not survive today…
And then from the light, a figure emerged… I’d seen him before… he’s always here, waiting to rescue me. I had run from the beast, hoping to find him… my heart slowed, I knew I was safe… I would not die today.
Chapter 4 ~ THE SMELL OF DEATH AND DEVASTATION
We were living as if the world had already ended and in many ways, it had; but today we were driving to town in a four-wheel-drive wagon. It was strange to hear the motor hum and watch the trees flash past as we drove there. I could almost imagine that life was normal, but the narrow winding road was deserted, littered with debris and led to a ghost town.
The town of Mount Misty was only ever a small country town with less than a thousand residents and no industry other than a few dairy farms and some logging in the early days. As a ghost town, it was destined to become a boomtown because it was the perfect location for survivors seeking refuge from a broken world.
Situated on the top of the Great Dividing Range, Mount Misty sat safely at more than a thousand metres above sea level. In a time of cataclysmic natural disasters, it was probably one of the safest places on earth. If sea levels continued to rise, we would be sitting high and dry, but this was no secret and any survivor looking for a haven would probably head this way.
Altitude was an important fact, but the region was also safe from other disasters. Earthquakes had not affected the area, though small aftershocks were still a daily occurrence. Volcanic eruptions were a possibility, but the local volcanos had been extinct for millions of years, so the only real threats to the region were from cyclones and violent storms.
Yes, Mount Misty was safe.
Ruben drove the wagon with Libby strapped into the passenger seat. Ruben was Phoenix’s father, a tall sturdy man, ex-army and Vietnam vet.
“Do you think there will be many people in town?” I asked.
“I hope there are thousands,” said Raven, “That way I can ditch this crappy life and do something fun.”
“The area won’t cope with thousands, but I expect there to be some refugees, maybe a few hundred.” Ruben thought the refugees from the city would be heading to higher ground and eventually find Mount Misty.
“We came into town a couple times in the first few weeks; but most of the arrivals had family here or were heading further west,” said Phoenix.
“You think people will still be coming? It’s been so long.”
“It depends on how many survived and what happened on the coast and in the cities. It’s hard to know what we will find. Maybe there will be no one.”
We still had no reports of what was going on in the cities, but there was some hope that the government had been able to scrape up the remnants of civilisation and save society. It was unlikely, but there was still hope.
“Maybe it will be good news,” I said. I was hopeful, but Mum and I drove to Mount Misty as civilisation was crumbling. We saw the devastation and death. It would take a miracle to fix this and even that wouldn’t be enough.
“Of course it will be good news. We should have gone to town weeks ago instead of hanging out, thinking that the world had ended.” Raven’s view differed from everyone else in the valley; she thought it was a massive overreaction to a power outage.
“Either way, we need to be careful what we say,” said Libby. “These are desperate times and we need to be cautious. I suggest we lie.”
“Yes, that’s the only way to be sure. We have to protect what we’ve built,” said Ruben. “If anyone asks, let them know that life is a real struggle, lay it on a bit if you have to. It wouldn’t hurt to mention that we’ve had sickness and death.”
“But don’t let them think we’ve had the green plague; that would be a disaster. We might even get shot for spreading the sickness,” said Libby.
“Raven, I want you to be very careful what you say today,” said Ruben.
“Whatever! What about Phoenix and Navarre? Why don’t you tell them to keep their mouths shut?”
“Don’t worry about me,” said Navarre, “I just want to check out what’s going on. I don’t plan on tellin’ anyone anything.”
“But if you’re asked, you must lie,” Ruben said.
For me, it wasn’t really a lie. I wasn’t starving, but I was miserable most of the time and I had lost a loved one to sickness. I knew it wasn’t the green plague, but I wasn’t planning to talk to anyone, so it didn’t matter.
“We should pull into Nell’s place,” said Libby. “No one will hear the vehicles and we can walk to town from there. Plus, I’d like to make sure that Nell is okay.” Libby had never mentioned Nell, but then again, she’d never mentioned any of her friends.
When we pulled into Nell’s driveway, everything appeared deserted. The yard was overgrown and the house was closed up. It appeared that Nell might have left some time ago.
“Perhaps she’s gone to town,” Libby said, trying to sound hopeful, but she had a high-pitched twang of concern in her voice. “I’d know… you know that… I would know!”
Nell lived in a small cottage with an oversized yard. If she were still here, it was likely that she had suffered greatly over the past few months. I followed Libby to the back of the house, where the grass was waist-high and dewy wet. The back door hung open and one of the hinges was broken so the door hung slightly askew. The house was cold and dark and mouldy, stale air greeted us as we entered through the back door.
“Stay here, Psyche.” Libby put her hand in the middle of my chest to stop me taking another step. I knew she was afraid of what she might find. I was going to protest, but Ruben came to the door.
“Psyche! Go stand over there with Phoenix,” and when I hesitated, “Now!” he said.
We waited in silence. I knew they expected the worst and that’s what they would find. Navarre held a number of spent bullet shells in his hand and more lay on the ground at his feet. I felt the blood drain from my face. Life had not been a struggle for Nell after all. Her life had been taken along with her food and whatever else the thieves thought they needed more than Nell did.
I really wasn’t suited to this life.
“We must do the right thing for Nell and lay her body to rest,” Libby said when she returned.
“Phoenix? See if Nell has a couple of shovels in the back shed.” Ruben’s face was ashen. The shock and horror of the scene was difficult even for him. “I expect we will see more of this. As long as people think they can take whatever they need, no one is safe.” Ruben was angry and the colour that returned to his face was tinged with rage.
We dug a small shallow grave in the backyard. Phoenix and Ruben carried Nell’s remains, wrapped in a quilt. Black marks covered the quilt like inkblots, evidence of blood, old and dry, evidence of a life taken. Libby spoke words of friendship over the mound of fresh dirt and planted a rosebush she’d uprooted from the front garden.
My mind raced. The implications of this single act of violence made me realise life really had changed. Prior to this, I considered my life safe, our lives to be safe. It hadn’t occurred to me that people would be so desperate that they would resort to murder. It felt as if we had slipped backwards through time into the dark ages.
Her grave, a dark damp hole in the ground, was so final. Libby had taught me that it was only her body in the ground and that the essence of Nell had already moved on. Her spirit had returned home. But death is never easy, no matter what you believe. My heart ached for the life taken, for Libby’s pain and Nell’s fear in her final moments and the ragged edges of my own grief returned with renewed rawness.
We left Nell to rest in peace in her overgrown garden and headed toward town.