"Power, my dears, manifests in many ways – knowledge, effort, talent, devotion… But our power, it comes from tradition," the elder's voice resonated with age-old wisdom as she addressed the circle of young apprentices. Their eyes, wide with curiosity, were fixed upon her, absorbing each word like parched earth soaks up rain.
"Our lineage, steeped in centuries, is a tapestry woven from generation to generation. Now, ponder this – how might we preserve such a legacy when all else fades to the ever-changing time?" Her gaze, piercing and discerning, met each of their youthful eyes.
Children, ever eager for recognition, quickly offered their thoughts.
"We keep and honor our traditions… and distance ourselves from them," ventured a boy, his voice betraying the innocence of youth.
"Not quite, child," the elder gently corrected, her tone pausing the whispers of leaves around them. "Our strength lies in secrecy. We hide our traditions, our very essence, in shadows."
The air grew thick with hidden meanings as her words sank in. "If there is an 'us', there will be a 'them'. So we keep what makes 'us' hidden from 'them'." Her message, though profound, seemed to float just beyond their grasp.
This moment, under the mother tree and the elder's wisdom, would forever be engraved in Sarah's memory.
Twelve years later, the significance of those words finally became clear to her. It was just a few days after her twentieth birthday, and Sarah, now a young woman in her prime with flowing light brown hair, a tall and lean frame, was immersed in coding for a university project. Seated cross-legged in her dorm room, she sipped coffee, each gulp sharpening her focus.
A sudden beep from her smartphone shattered the tranquility. Glancing at the notification on the lock screen, she took a casual sip of her drink.
The message, however, was anything but casual. Sarah choked on her coffee as the message from her mother screamed in silence – 'Run. They know about us.'
A whirlwind of thoughts engulfed her. Who were 'they'? But the urgency in her mother's words snapped her back to reality. The message was clear: she needed to run.
Sarah's mind raced with possibilities, her pulse quickening. To most, such a message might seem like a mere prank or a scam, but for her, it struck a string in her heart. The cryptic words echoed in her thoughts: 'If there is an us, there will be a they'. Could it truly be happening?
Without hesitation, she reached for her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she dialed her mother's number. But the only answer was silence, not even the comforting sound of a ringtone. A sense of unease crept over her as she tried her brother's number next, only to be met with the same eerie quiet.
A heavy cloud of doubt and apprehension began to loom over her. Over the years, she had often pondered what would happen if their family's secrets were exposed. Her conclusion was always the same: they would be dismissed as delusional, their claims lost in a sea of skepticism. In this era of advanced technology, any evidence of magic would likely be brushed off as clever digital trickery.
In fact, their traditions were fading, with fewer and fewer practitioners. Yet, the stern warnings of the elders had kept their practices carefully hidden. How, then, could 'they' have possibly found out? And why would 'they' be targeting her family?
Despite a creeping suspicion that her mother might be overreacting, Sarah couldn't shake off the chilling thought of being watched, potentially hunted. She couldn't afford to take any chances.
With a mix of doubt and confusion, Sarah began to pack. A weekend getaway, she reasoned, might not be such a bad idea. She could even pay her mother an unexpected visit. Her packing was hasty and pragmatic: her laptop for work, essential documents, a change of clothes, cereal bars for quick sustenance, basic makeup, and her emergency cash.
Once her bag was ready, she locked her dorm room, prepared for an indefinite absence. As she walked down the corridor, her mind was a mess of plans and possibilities. A café seemed like a sensible first stop – a public place where she could blend in and work on her project. Maybe, just maybe, her mother would call back shortly to explain the whole thing.
But just to be safe, Sarah decided to choose a café a little further from her usual haunts. It was better to err on the side of caution, especially with the unknown threat.
As Sarah made her way toward the exit, the sight of police officers talking with the receptionist halted her in her tracks. Instinctively, she slipped into a nearby storage room, her heart pounding wildly. She scolded herself for acting like a fugitive but remained hidden, curious to overhear their conversation. Surely, their presence had a logical explanation that didn't involve her.
Peeking through a crack in the door, Sarah's ears perked up at the mention of her room number. "… she's in C3, room 21, right over..." The receptionist's words sent a jolt of panic through her. This was no coincidence. They were looking for her.
Huddled in the storage room, realization dawned on Sarah. Her mother's warning was not an overreaction. They were being hunted. Collapsing against the wall, she felt a wave of disbelief. 'This is the 21st century, not the dark ages,' she thought. Yet, the elder's words echoed in her mind, 'If there is an us, there will be a them.'
Taking deep, steadying breaths, Sarah composed herself. She needed to escape, and quickly. Slipping back into the building, she navigated towards the staff's back entrance, usually bustling with the activities of trash disposal and deliveries.
Along the way, she encountered a few familiar faces, including an old janitor with a broom. She returned his greeting with a brief nod, her terse response easily attributed to youthful impatience.
As she approached the security door – a one-way exit requiring a password and keycard from the outside but merely a handle from within – Sarah felt the weight of scrutiny from a few onlookers. Fortunately, it wasn't uncommon for residents to use this less conspicuous exit.
Stepping through the door, a rush of relief washed over her, her body nearly succumbing to the overwhelming release of tension. She was free, for now. The next step was to disappear into the city's embrace before…
"Sarah Elderwood?" The question came from behind her, spoken by a nondescript male voice.
Startled, Sarah spun around, her heart pounding in her chest. 'They've found me,' she thought, her eyes landing on a middle-aged man with slick black hair, dressed in a crisp business suit. His demeanor was anything but friendly, his voice tinged with a note of impatience, as if she owed him an immediate response.
Frantically scanning her surroundings for an escape route, Sarah stuttered out a weak denial that wouldn't fool anyone. The man's hand moved towards something at his waist, which Sarah's panicked mind identified as a gun.
Just then, a garbage truck rumbled around the corner, heading in their direction. Seizing the opportunity, Sarah bolted towards the truck, quickly maneuvering around it to put the vehicle between herself and the man.
"Stop right there, or I'll shoot!" the man bellowed after her, his voice overflowing with irritation.
Ignoring his threats, Sarah dashed around the corner, her feet pounding the pavement. The early morning streets were bustling with people absorbed in their daily routines, all becoming mere blurs in her frantic escape. The man's shouts for her to halt mingled with calls for bystanders to clear the way.
Driven by sheer adrenaline, Sarah pushed herself to her limits, her mind singularly focused on evading her pursuer. Then, spotting a potential escape – or a colossal mistake – she darted into a department store housed within a larger shopping complex.
Heart racing, she weaved through the building, her breaths quick and uneven. The alarmed voices of startled shoppers and the clatter of her own hurried footsteps echoed around her as she made her way through the maze of stores. She was heading towards another exit that opened onto a different street, her only thought to put as much distance between herself and her pursuer as possible.
The man's persistent shouts and pounding footsteps were not far behind her. Sarah, heart racing, darted around the corner of the hall and slipped into the nearest store. She quickly ducked behind a tall dresser, peering out just in time to see her pursuer sprint past towards the exit. Without hesitation, she emerged and retraced her steps, slipping into another store further down the corridor.
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Blending in as an ordinary shopper, she hastily picked up a hat adorned with blue lace and made her way to the cashier. It was pricier than she would normally consider, but under the circumstances, thrift was the least of her concerns. Her hands trembled slightly as she handed over the money, her breath still catching in her chest. The surrounding customers paid no mind, lost in their own worlds.
Sarah then requested access to the dressing rooms, receiving a quizzical look from the clerk before being granted permission. Inside the dressing room, she quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a red coat, both from the emergency clothes she had packed. Tying her hair into a bun, she topped it off with the newly purchased hat, transforming her appearance.
As she stepped out of the dressing room, the clerk cast a judgmental glance at her attire, which morphed into a superficial smile as Sarah passed by.
With sunglasses now shielding her eyes, Sarah clutched her backpack beneath her coat, concealing it against her body. She walked out of the store with feigned calmness, her ears picking up snippets of conversation from the crowd. People were abuzz with talk of a woman and a man in a frantic chase, but none seemed to connect her to the commotion.
'Watching those TV dramas might not have been such a waste of time,' she mused inwardly. It appeared that the clichéd disguises and tricks from the screen could indeed work in real life, allowing her to blend seamlessly into the oblivious throng.
Sarah's legs carried her forward, her steps shaky and deliberate as she endeavored to appear nonchalant. A nagging thought intruded her mind – the possibility of her phone being tracked. Such feats weren't typically within the reach of ordinary people, but she couldn't discount the capabilities of the police, or worse, a skilled hacker. The risk of being located through her phone was too great to ignore.
Entering a sports store, she brushed off the assistance of a keen clerk and found a more isolated spot. With a reluctant sigh, she pulled out her phone. The screen showed no new notifications. Quickly, she typed a message to her mother, informing her of her narrow escape and assuring her of her safety. On a second thought, she added that she would be ditching her phone, and sent the message.
Her heart sank as she powered off the phone, extracted the SIM and memory card, and, with a sense of sadness, crushed it underfoot. It was a painful moment, letting go of the device she had worked so hard to acquire, especially without certainty that it was even necessary.
Next, Sarah headed to a nearby ATM, withdrawing her entire balance of 4,000 pounds. Initially, she had planned to do this after escaping the area, but in the off chance they could trace the specific ATM, it made sense to withdraw the money where her presence was already known.
With cash in hand, she walked towards the nearest station, her mind a tumult of confusion and disbelief. Could they really be pursuing her kin because of their mystical traditions? In an age dominated by technology and science, what threat could their charms pose against the might of modern devices and digital networks? The whole situation seemed absurd.
Part of her was even tempted to turn herself in, curious to hear the explanations they might offer. Had it not been for her mother's dire warning, and her own certainty of innocence, she might have suspected they wanted her for some other inexplicable reason.
Once more, the elder's cryptic words resonated within her. Had the moment come when they would be targeted for who they were? The thought lingered as she made her way through the bustling streets, adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
xxx
Seated at the rear of a bus, Sarah gazed out the window, her eyes tracing the passing landscape but seeing none of it, her mind lost in thoughts. She had resolved to leave the country, a decision that weighed heavily on her heart. Despite her deep love for her homeland, she knew that the UK wouldn’t be the best place the hide once the authorities got involved. The idea of abandoning her family was agonizing, but survival dictated a retreat, possibly even beyond the borders of Europe.
However, there was one thing she had to do before fleeing. She needed answers, and for that, she had to return to the place where all begun – her childhood village. It was a risky move, perhaps even foolish, but she couldn't depart without visiting the place. Twelve years had passed since they left the village, but her grandmother remained there. Sarah's visits had dwindled over the years as she grew older and busier.
If her family was being targeted for their ancestry, the village would surely be in danger too. The thought of her grandmother in the hands of their pursuers, or worse, was unbearable. She had to know her grandmother's fate before she could leave. Of course, she would be cautious. Opting against the direct route, she took a bus to a nearby town – close, but not the closest. From there, she planned to rent a car or scooter, something that wouldn't require online registration.
As the bus came to a halt, Sarah blended seamlessly with the disembarking passengers. Gone was the hat, replaced by a hoodie that shrouded her hair and obscured her features. It wasn't an uncommon sight, especially given the season's persistent rain showers.
She wandered along the town's commercial streets, her eyes scanning for signs or advertisements for a rental service. The absence of a smartphone to guide her felt both strange and frustrating, like being thrust back into the past. She made a mental note to acquire a new, unregistered phone as soon as she was safely out of the country.
Sarah's search for transportation led her to three rental stores, but each one insisted on card validation. Frustrated and running out of options, she finally hailed a taxi. The driver, after some negotiation, agreed to take her to her destination and wait for two hours, demanding a steep fare of 300 pounds. What choice did she have?
The village lay a mere 30 miles away, making for a short journey. She instructed the driver to drop her off a quarter-mile from the village and then wait at a roadside diner half a mile away. She would return after attending to her matters. The driver raised an eyebrow in suspicion but complied, especially after she stepped out and handed him half the fare, ignoring his muttered complaints. If he decided to abandon her, she'd have to find another way back.
The walk to the village took only twenty minutes, but nothing could have prepared her for the desolation that greeted her. As she neared, the sight of open doors, shattered windows, and strewn furniture quickened her pace to a run. Tears blurred her vision as she cried out in despair. What had happened here? What had become of the villagers?
Her initial plan of a stealthy approach was forgotten in the face of such devastation. It was clear that the quaint wooden and straw houses had been savagely ransacked, and there was no sign of the villagers. Desperation fueled her steps as she thought of her grandmother, frail and defenseless. How could anyone justify such brutality? This was the modern age, not a time of lawlessness!
Through tear-streaked eyes, Sarah raced towards her grandmother's hut, located at the far end of the village. It was one of the oldest buildings there, a place rich with childhood memories. As she ran, she paused for a brief moment, her gaze drawn to the mother tree standing solemnly at the village's heart. It seemed to share in the sorrow, its branches drooping in silent mourning.
"No!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the empty village. With renewed urgency, she dashed towards her grandmother's home, dread and hope battling within her.
The old cabin, once a haven for a young Sarah, now lay in ruins, its charm shattered just like the others. Despite the naivety of her hope, a part of her had clung to the wish that her grandmother's home might have been spared. But as she stood amidst the wreckage, it was clear that no miracles would graced their doorstep, not for people like them.
Falling to her knees at the threshold, Sarah clutched at the remnants of her grandmother's beloved rocking chair, now just a relic of happier times. Tears flowed unrestrained as she allowed herself a moment to grieve, to be consumed by her emotions.
After a while, she rose, her eyes scanning the chaos. She sought some clue, some reason behind this senseless destruction, some indication of her grandmother's fate. But the debris offered no answers, only echoes of the past. With a heavy heart, she began to salvage some fragments of sentimental value – her grandmother's cherished sweater, a worn pendant that had always adorned the elder's neck.
Her tears eventually subsided, replaced by a grim resolve. Time was slipping away, and if the taxi driver had honored his word, she needed to hurry back to the agreed meeting point.
As she turned to leave, an inexplicable sensation tugged at her. Hesitantly, she faced the corner of the cabin, where an ordinary glance revealed nothing but empty space. But then, the air seemed to warp, the very fabric of the room bending in a way that defied logic.
A memory stirred within her, a fragment from her childhood. She was five or six, gathered with her brother as their grandmother imparted a clandestine lesson. The elder's voice echoed in her mind, 'It always starts with a circle, where the beginning and the end meet. And then in pairs to maintain balance. A source and a target, a medium and a sigil.'
Sarah's breath caught as the significance of the memory dawned on her. The corner, seemingly empty, might hold more than met the eye. A hidden truth, a forgotten practice, a link to her past and perhaps a key to understanding the present chaos. With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, she stepped toward the corner, her heart pounding with expectation.
Guided by the whispers of memory, Sarah retrieved a shard of broken clay from the debris and knelt before the mysterious corner. With a steady hand, she pressed the clay against the wooden floor, etching a circle as precise as she could manage under the circumstances. Inside this circle, she carefully drew a smaller one, from which an arrow extended, pointing directly at the corner.
A sense of purpose propelled her to her feet as she scanned the cabin for something sharp. A knife, discarded near where the sink once stood, caught her eye. Clutching it, she returned to her makeshift ritual site. Her heart pounded as she hesitated only a moment before slicing her finger, letting a few drops of blood fall into the smaller circle. The source and target were set; now the medium and the sigil.
Her search for the appropriate medium was abruptly cut short as something tumbled from her pocket – her grandmother's pendant. 'Perfect,' she thought, placing it gently beside the drawn arrow.
The final step required the utmost concentration. Sarah closed her eyes, dredging up the image of the Reveal sigil from the depths of her childhood teachings. The design was intricate but also intuitive – sharp strokes to denote the abruptness of revelation, a blend of straight and curved lines to represent the inherent uncertainty of discovery. It wasn't overly complex, featuring concentric layers connected in a way that suggested unfolding secrets behind an opened door.
With a deep breath, Sarah completed the sigil, her heart racing with anticipation. The moment the last line was drawn, the air around the corner began to warp and shift, reality peeling away layer by layer. What materialized before her eyes was nothing short of miraculous – an ancient-looking book, seemingly conjured from the folds of hidden space, a proof that the secrets nestled within their traditions were not mere superstition.