“The Silver?”
Lord I was tired! So much had happened today and a rush of fatigue washed hard over me, giving me a good case of the dizzies. I rose to my feet to get my blood pumping while addressing my best, and only, friend. “Listen, everything you need to know is in that envelope I gave you, the whole damn story. Just read it, please man.” Normally I’d be happy shooting the crap with Mike for the rest of the night, but his look of dismay, his crumbling sense of certainty was painful to watch. Plus, I was more than a little afraid of how he would react to what he would learn. “I’m going outside for a second, just wait for me, please.”
Cold air nearly robbed the breath from my lungs as I stepped outside, the door narrowly missing my butt as it slammed. The small sprite had gone, no doubt bored with hanging around a motel parking lot. Everything seemed peaceful, but we needed protection-an early warning system-and I knew the perfect one.
Diamond stars sparkled above my head and long grass filled with cockleburs and goatheads lay beneath my feet, pricking the tough calluses of my soles. I knelt and dug my fingers into the grassy ground, reaching, searching for fertile earth. Deep, deep, deep I dug, nails scrabbling, until the skin of my fingers found cool topsoil. Perfect.
The Language of Earth rumbled forth bringing the aroma of fresh-cut summertime grass, a scent I’ve always loved.
On and on the rumble issued from my aching throat, floating in the air like leaves on a pond. Despite the pain, the strain on my vocal cords, Earth Speech had always been my favorite; the slow rolling cadences, the patient tumble of vowels and consonants, the utter tranquility of the enduring soil.
Rustling and tumbling, rocks, dozens, hundreds, rolled toward me across the Kansas flatland, crushing grass; many splitting the ground as they spat themselves out of the earth in a rocky parade toward my position.
A rock the size of my skull rumble-tumbled to a stop in front of me. Round and almost smooth on one end, the other side jagged and ragged like a wound. Soon a couple more joined it. Then more and more, the latecomers rolling up on top of the dozen or so big stones on the bottom. The rustle of grass became louder and louder as an ever-increasing flurry of smaller rocks bounced my way and clacked to the top of the growing pile of stones. Within minutes it resembled a cairn, then the tall cast-offs you’d see at a quarry, before settling itself into an imposing ten-foot-high pile that loomed over my head.
Small stones shifted and moved in ways that defied gravity as the being-an Earth elemental-pressed its regard against my skin. “You have called, Olivier Magus, and I have come,” it thundered in the Language of Earth, a clackety rumble that shook bone. The fresh-cut lawn scent was nearly overpowering.
I blinked in surprise. “You know me?”
“All earth is connected, all stones and rock remember. You have talked to us before.”
That was years ago! “Good memory.”
Rubbly laughter. “Water has no memory, it only carves and babbles, while Air is flighty and Fire does not care, but Earth, dear Magus, Earth always remembers.”
“Enemies search for me,” I began. “Protection is needed. I would appreciate it if you could guard over our dwelling until the light of morning.”
“Olivier Deschamps, your elder searches and has asked Earth for assistance.”
Okay, that news hit like an ice water enema. Certainly set my stomach looking for destinations south. “Julian?”
“Yes, your elder, your brood sire. He has demanded that Earth search ceaselessly until you are found. He was quite adamant.”
“How long ago was this?”
“What is time to stone and rock? What we perceive as gentle passing you humans see as ages come and gone, the rise and fall of what you call civilizations. To the round world, your species has barely begun.”
Wasn’t that a comforting thought? Mankind has always prided itself on being on the tippy-top of the food chain and it was a bit off-putting to realize that there existed those that not only might be a few links up from you, but outside the whole damn chain as well.
“Will you tell my … brood sire my location?” I asked, more than a little uneasy. Things were worse than I thought.
“The brood sire Julian has no respect for Earth. He rages, demands and rails against It in ways that are unseemly. Had we been Fire and Air, his life would be forfeit. The Earth will not abide by his desires.”
“Thank you.”
“Your thanks are not necessary for you are respectful. Earth knows this, Magus. You will be protected until the light of the sun touches this place.” With that the giant mound of stone and soil began to rattle, creaking and clattering, finally sinking out of sight.
With a sigh, I went inside, eager to sleep, but first I had to put more holy water into the fish bowl.
Chapter Five
Mike
Oh Lord, did I ever need a good slug of bourbon. Magic! Can you believe it? What Jude had showed me cracked the foundations of my reality. Elementals, Words, Silver … all these ran together in a jibber-jabber mishmash of nonsense as I attempted to absorb the enormity of the night’s revelations.
Only one thing could ease my mind … prayer. My rosary slipping around my knuckles, I knelt and clasped my hands. I cast my mind out for a prayer to aid me in this situation and found that I couldn’t think of anything. I drew a blank. At least three, perhaps four, minutes passed before the words of St. Alcuin of York came to mind. A prayer for comfort and strength:
“Give me O Lord, I pray Thee, firm faith, unwavering hope, perfect charity. Pour into my heart the Spirit of wisdom and understanding, the Spirit of counsel and spiritual strength, the Spirit of knowledge and true godliness and the Spirit of Thy holy fear. Light eternal, deliver me from evil …”
That night I tossed and turned; sleep managed to evade me, chased away by a heady cocktail of adrenaline, fear and confusion that prayer was unable to dissipate. How was I going to resolve my faith and the use, not to mention the very existence of, magic?
I did get a few fitful winks in here and there, just enough to make me feel worse. In fact, my body felt so abused that I had Jude drive south on the 77, hooking up with the 35 to Wichita and down into Oklahoma.
“St. Stephen’s going to be okay without you?” Jude asked suddenly after yawning hard enough to crack his jaw.
“Hm? Oh, yes,” I replied, staring out the window at the miles of rich farm and pastureland. Black Angus cattle moved listlessly behind barbed wire fencing. “Fathers Anthony and Ray will carry on just fine. I wish you had let me call instead of leaving a note telling them I had to leave due to an emergency.”
Jude snorted. “Not hardly. Couldn’t take the chance, man. If you stop fiddling with that envelope and read what’s inside, you’ll understand why.”
I gave voice to what was eating at me. “Little scared here, Jude. No, that’s not right … I’m a lot scared.”
“Please Mike, just read it, okay?”
Hiding my amusement at how very American he sounded compared to that young, frightened man I’d met all those years ago, I opened the envelope (creased and frayed from my nervous hands) and pulled out a sheaf of cream-colored paper. Sighing, I began to read.
Family and Other Unsavory Things
If you were born into, say, the Ku Klux Klan and everything was ‘nigger’ this and ‘spic’ that, ‘kike, lesbo, faggot, dago’ etc., etc., all your life, would you think of yourself as a bigot? Let us consider the ancient Romans; they kept slaves with no pangs of conscience. To them a slave was something to be used, like a condom, and that attitude was normal, commonplace. Today if you talked about keeping a slave you’d be regarded as dangerous or criminal.