Tomorrows Child Page 2

  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 n
ever 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 c
ame 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.