Chronicles of Fire

Prologue November 25, 1992 St. Michael, the Protector Church, Greenville, Ohio. Father Walter O’Malley was unusually restless this night and he felt that a walk around the churchyard might calm his nerves. His black jacket clung to him, soaked from the relentless rain and the cold autumn air causing the hair on his neck to stand on end, but the weather didn’t bother him. He couldn’t break his mind from his dream. For the past two weeks, he experienced nightmares. Each so real he would wake up panting and covered in a sweat. The dream was always the same. He would open his eyes and he was enveloped in darkness, feeling as if he were suspended in mid-air. No matter how loud he shouted, there was no sound except for the echo of his own voice. He was alone in the void. Suddenly a piercing screech came from overhead. The sound was better described as a shriek from some large carnivorous animal on the hunt. The sound pierced Father O’Malley’s mind like a hot iron spike. The creature slowly emerged, its murderous red eyes set on making the man its next meal. O’Malley could feel the creature’s hot breath on his face. It reeked of rotten flesh and death. He could almost imagine the creature’s jaws slowly closing around his helpless body, but before the creature could devour him a faint group of lights began to glow around him. As the lights glowed, the traces of a melody began to play. O’Malley counted five lights, and each glowed like a gemstone in a brilliant light, but these stones were giving off their own light, each a different stone, emerald, sapphire, ruby, diamond, and opal. The creature shrieked as the emission of light struck it. O’Malley felt like his head was going to explode, and then there was silence. He would wake up in his room, alone and shaking. What was this creature and why do I keep having this dream? A cloaked woman crouching over the steps of the church broke Father O’Malley‘s train of thought. She was humming the melody from his dream. Just hearing the soothing song caused a wave of relief to flow over his troubled mind. The cloak she wore was velvet. It was as pink as rose in full bloom and was trimmed in a golden thread design that the priest had never seen before. O’Malley faced the woman in awe, unable to speak, not wanting to speak. Finally, he gained control of his senses and tried to speak to her. “Are… are, you okay, Ma’am?” He finally asked. The woman stood upright facing him. Her face was shadowed in the darkness of the night and the cloak. She was of average height, but that was the only thing average about her. The cloak shrouded her entire body, hiding most of her features. The hood of the cloak was drawn over her face, hiding all but her ivory pale chin and her full rose-red lips. She did not speak; she just stood there, frozen in time. She’s not a part of the congregation, O’Malley thought to himself. He could see out of the corner of his eye that on the steps was a large wicker basket. He turned his attention on the basket for only a moment and then looked back to the woman, but she was gone. The priest darted down the alley adjacent to the church, hoping to catch her; but as he rounded the corner, there wasn‘t a single trace of her. Taking a few moments to catch his breath, he walked back to see what had been the focus of the woman’s attention. The basket contained an infant swaddled in a fire-red blanket. Father O’Malley stared into the infant’s amber eyes; he was at a loss for words. The child was motionless, staring up into the old pastor’s eyes. Also resting in the basket was a scroll made of some sort of rough leather. “Who are you, little guy?” the old man asked the boy as if he expected to get a response from the child. The child surprised him when he looked over to a note attached to the basket. Father O’Malley plucked the note out of the basket. The note read this: This is my son Jacob. Because of unforeseen circumstances, I am unable to protect him. Please watch over him and do not tell him about anything that has transpired this night until the day of his eighteenth birthday. The scroll must not leave the church and cannot be opened by anyone but Jacob on his eighteenth birthday. The date is a week past. On this date, present him with the scroll, which will provide him with the path to the truth of whom he is and why I cannot be with him. I beg of you, inform no one of the scroll including Jacob. It is of the utmost importance that you keep all that has transpired this night a secret for his safety. I want you to let my son know that his mother loves him dearly, and I hope that the day will come when we can be reunited once more. Sincerely Clementia. Father O’Malley read the note twice before he picked up the basket containing the child and headed into the warmth of the church. He decided to call the rectory housekeeper, Joan Wadsworth. Joan had been working for St. Michael’s for the past eighteen years and was well known within the small community. She would know what to do with the boy. Joan arrived less than twenty minutes after receiving the call. Her slate gray Oldsmobile sputtered in protest as she pulled up to the curb. As she approached the door, Father O’Malley was already waiting for her. In his arms, she could see the child that her pastor had recently spoken. “How is he?” she asked. She was barely audible over the torrent of rain outside. “He is still sleeping. He hasn’t made a sound since I found him.” “May I see him?” She stretched out her arms to grasp the child. Father O’Malley nodded and handed the boy over. Joan cuddled the baby in her arm, smiling gently at the peacefully sleeping infant. “What are you going to do with him?” “That’s why I called you here,” Father O’Malley said eagerly. “I have no idea what to do. I thought of handing him over to the authorities, but that was against the mother’s wishes. I wanted to know if you could think of any family that would be willing to take this child in and care for him.” The room was silent for several minutes; and then Joan spoke up, “Well, you know that my husband, Jerry and I…” she paused, looking away, her cheeks were red with embarrassment, “…could never have children of our own and I know that he would support me in the decision to adopt this child.” Her voice trail away and she looked into the face of the dozing child and then into the priest’s face; her aged eyes behind her wire-framed spectacles gave a look of longing that he knew he couldn’t refuse. “Ohhh…” muttered O’Malley. This was a much-unexpected turn of events to an already strange night. “Umm, well, if you want to take care of him, I see no reason why you and your husband should not.” “Are you sure?” Joan asked, feebly attempted to hide the excitement in her voice. “Of course. Do you need anything to take care of him?” “Well, actually yes…” It was another hour before Joan had all that she would need to take care of young Jacob from the churches supply garage. Father O’Malley waved goodbye from the rectory as he watched Joan drive away, eager to show her husband the newest member of their little family. Father O’Malley slowly staggered to his room, exhausted from all of the night’s occurrences. As he exchanged his clothes for his pajamas, he looked to the end table beside his bed. There sat the scroll. He noticed for first time a strange fire-red ruby talisman connected to the scroll. He walked over to the table and picked up the scroll. Turning it around in his hands, he looked it over. The ruby glimmered as if it were alive. The intensity was breathtaking. As he peered into it, it reminded him of the ruby in the darkness. He shuddered, thinking about the nightmare that hadn’t crossed his mind since the strange encounter with the mysterious woman and the finding of young Jacob. Taking a deep breath, he sighed with relief as he took the scroll and placed it in the far ba